Part 47 (1/2)

Under this storm of strategy and politics, worse things slid in the deeps of Durand's soul. He tried to conjure up the faces around him as Waer spat those words on the headland. He saw sneering Waer and Agryn looking on, and Berchard. He remembered Ouen arguing. All of them would know.

He wondered how many others. He wondered about Lamoric.

Durand mumbled a profanity, and forced it all back down long enough for other doubts to rise.

What if the whole treason plot was madness? What if he dragged these men here for nothing? What would become of them then? With a long winter swinging down and their lord dest.i.tute and finished, the last thing they wanted was to lame a horse or lose their arms to some rich lord. Every man's fist was tight around his last few pennies now there might be no more. Who knew what might happen when the last was gone?

Once, he had seen the Heavens when a king died. He had seen the Banished stir in their chains when royal blood was spilt. With the king cast down and a usurper on the Hazelwood Throne, only Heaven's King knew what h.e.l.ls would be loosed in the land. It would be better if Durand Col were a fool, his friends starving, and the people safe.

27 Leopard on the Green

He must have slept, for now he woke in the dark.

Breathing rose and fell from two hundred sleeping men beyond the tent walls. The air was still as caverns, but he heard the horses: anxious stamps and snorts. Animals saw the spirits, and smelled them. Cats were always watching something something move through a room when no human eye could see. Something was coming. move through a room when no human eye could see. Something was coming.

Rolling silently to his forearms, Durand moved to the tent flap and looked into the cool stillness. Horses, tents, palings- everything seemed to be in its place. The Blood Moon hung above Tern Gyre.

Durand set his palms flat on the ground.And flinched back. It was alive.

Worms and grubs and maggots stood, wavering like a second crop of gra.s.s. They were beads and fingers and phalluses-white veins mes.h.i.+ng the sod.

One spasm had Durand on his haunches, sword in hand.

As the worms crawled over sleeping men and bedclothes, he forced himself to stay in the doorway with his eyes wide even as his mind wrestled with memories. This was why he had dragged them all back.

He forced himself out under the moon, feeling the slime under his soles. The serving men too poor for tents lay under slithering cauls. He walked in widening circles through tents and cold fires, certain beyond reason that the worms were the first breath of the coming storm.

He could feel eyes on him.Back toward Lamoric's tents, one horse whinnied.

Only a few paces from the spot where Sir Waer fell stood a gathering of tall men and dark horses. Durand was suddenly conscious of the headland's height above the sea and the fields south. He was standing alone on the top of the world with these strangers.

A profanity slipped out on Durand's breath. They had stepped from the Otherworld, and the Blood Moon's glow did little but sink shadows deeper into their manties.

Plain under the moonlight, Durand stiffened but held his ground.

They were knights, all mantled and all still. A pair of low shapes stole from shadow to shadow with the sleeves of their black robes dangling like the wings of carrion birds. Some manner of hunchbacked brute knelt before the lord of the company. And the stooped figure of a new Duke of Yrlac hulked at the center of it all, his skull gleaming like a s.h.i.+eld boss.

. Durand remembered poor Duke Ailnor at Fetch Hollow. They had both known the doom that waited him. It had been a fool's hope to think the old duke might live.

He felt the heat of Radomor's stare, and knew that the hot silence back in that Ferangore hall had had nothing to do with uncertainty; it was the sneer of a man who had bartered his soul and been offered a crown.

Abrupdy, a figure stumbled from the tents only a few paces from Durand: Heremund Skald. If he had appeared but a foot closer, he would have caught three feet of Durand's blade.

”Something's come.” The little man's tongue worked against the roof of his mouth. He stared into the air, his eyes rolling like a sleepwalker's as he squelched among the glistening worms. The little man's tongue worked against the roof of his mouth. He stared into the air, his eyes rolling like a sleepwalker's as he squelched among the glistening worms. ”Something moves.” ”Something moves.”

Durand grabbed the startled skald in both fists, and spun him toward the figures at the bridgehead. The little man's mysteries were finished.

DURAND GOT A short keg to sit on and took to working his sword as he kept his eye on Radomor. Heremund hovered anxiously, speechless. short keg to sit on and took to working his sword as he kept his eye on Radomor. Heremund hovered anxiously, speechless.

As Durand watched the night through, the writhing carpet finally sank below the turf. The sky paled to a cool blue. Agryn appeared among the tents already clad in his war gear and yellow surcoat, and with no more than a glance at Radomor and his companions took himself off to the eastern cliff. The man knelt to wait the Eye of Heaven.

For all the others on the hilltop, the arrival of Radomor's crew was a bigger surprise. As each bleary soul stumbled out of bed, they saw the strange company and stopped to stare. Many drifted into line around Durand's barrel. Some seized weapons. Others simply stood, half-dressed and staring, as Durand honed the notches from his blade.

Dawn changed the strangers. Drop by drop, dawn poured crimson into the hooks and finials of mane and talon on their chests. It was Yrlac's rampant leopard, red on green. Soon the fanciful creatures seemed almost to glow.

Heremund scratched his head with his hat mashed over his skullcap. ”Everything you ever do will come to nothing,” he whispered. ”G.o.ds. G.o.ds.”

After hours of silence, this is what came from the man's mouth. Durand felt the hair on his neck rise, but answered flatly, ”Let us hope you were right.”

”G.o.ds,” Heremund muttered. ”What's the man done?” He shook his head. ”I can't breathe. The reek of it's boiling in my throat.”

Durand left off polis.h.i.+ng his sword. There was nothing in the air but the sea wind.

”What do you mean? What is it you smell?” he asked.

Again, the little man's tongue was working in his mouth. ”I met a wise woman once. She said she felt the spirits on her like cold fingers. Said a room full of people was like a fist rolling knuckles over her. Me? It's a thing I taste. Or smell maybe. Same thing.” Again, he licked compulsively at the roof of his mouth. ”All I taste now is lead. Hot lead crackling in the air.”

”You're telling me you've got second scent?” Durand asked.

The skald suddenly began slapping at himself, purse and belt. He stopped, and reached for his throat.

”Here,” he said, drawing a dark-stained rag from his collar. ”You'd better have this back.”

Durand took the offered rag. Only as it touched his hand did he realize. It was the Green Lady's veil.

Before he could wonder, Ouen appeared at his side, rapping his arm with big knuckles. Soon, Berchard joined them, setting his hand on Durand's shoulder, while Badan grumbled something about Durand and luck. Finally, Lamoric and his captain joined the line.

Men from the castle-Durand recognized Biedin's steward-crossed from the gatehouse to speak with Radomor and his preening Rooks. He couldn't hear what pa.s.sed between them.

”Those are Yrlac's colors Radomor's wearing,” Berchard said. .

”If Radomor lives, he is the Duke of Yrlac,” Lamoric said. ”I cannot believe ... He has slain his father. He has come to take the throne.”

”And he ranks Baron Brudei Hearkenwald,” Coensar added. ”He'll be Marshal of the South.”

AND, IN THE south, Radomor waited with his armored champion still kneeling obeisance. He had spent hours on his knee. south, Radomor waited with his armored champion still kneeling obeisance. He had spent hours on his knee.

With his eye always on the Lord of Yrlac, Durand took lances, his roll of armor, and the rest of his gear to the north end of the courtyard. He curried his stolen bay. He checked the nails on his s.h.i.+eld straps, the wrap of his sword hilt, and the leather of girths and reins, all the while watching down the canyon of stone walls.

This was a day that mattered.

Under wheeling gulls, the castle yard filled with knights and serving men of all descriptions. Durand watched the knights, guessing at who might cause them trouble when the fight started. From time to time, a Mornaway knight would stop for a moment and stare, but Durand said nothing. There was nothing to say. When he had nearly finished, a trio of heralds pa.s.sed him carrying stakes and hammers. Berchard and some of the older men made a point of finding out what wood they used. Apparently, there was some augury in the choice. Berchard and Agryn consulted with a wary eye on the heralds.

”It's hazel in the north,” said Berchard. The throne of Errest was hazel from the chest of the Young Princes.

”The king is here,” ventured Agryn, carefully.”I suppose we're north of Eldinor,” Berchard allowed.