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twenty-five
Red Ansel had easily
beclouded the minds of two Cathran grain-ship captains, making each think that
the other one had taken charge of him. By the time the corn fleet reached
He modified his appearance
somewhat and took a room in a sailors' lodging above a cookshop on the
waterfront, where he pretended to convalesce from recurrent ague, a common
affliction of seafarers visiting southern Continental ports. His dinghy,
disguised with a new sail and a repainted hull, was tied up at a nearby slip.
On moonless nights when the landlord and his wife were too busy with trade to
notice his absence, he prowled the bay, committing to memory its tidal vagaries
and hazards to navigation, while he easily scried the maneuvers of the Cathran
fleet and judged the competence of the different squadron leaders.
On the day that Didion's
navy emerged from the fog and became visible to his powerful oversight from
Cathra, Ansel was ashore. Events were fast coming to a head, and his great
premonitory talent warned him to remain alert. He had spent long hours
eavesdropping windspoken orders that had been flying between
Coming
himself from a race of expert fighting seamen, Ansel could scarcely believe
what happened next. Cutting off all debate, Copperstrand divided his strung-out
force of fifty-two warships into two equal groups. The first, under the command
of Vice Admiral Woodvale, headed for western
Oh, badly done! the shaman
said to himself. Unless the Tarnian mercenaries arrived to save the day,
Copperstrand had just ensured that one half of his fleet would be outnumbered
by Didion, while the other half faced an uncertain (but probably large) number
of corsairs sailing up from Stippen and Foraile.
Red Ansel debated with
himself whether to advise Vra-Sulkorig or the Prince Heritor's brother about
Copperstrand's dubious action. But he feared that the alchymists would never
understand the blunder; they might even think dividing the fleet was logical.
And the only person having the knowledge and authority to countermand the Lord
Admiral's decision was King Olmigon, who was resting after his heart spasm the
previous evening, tended ably enough by his alchymists but in no condition to
issue orders.
In the
end, the shaman decided that all he could do was wait.
He left his room and went to
the Chandlers Market, intending to buy neat's-foot oil to dress his boots, as
well as to sample the mood of Cala's waterfront denizens as the nation braced
for war. He was surprised to discover that commerce seemed to be proceeding at
its normal autumnal pace, with no one particularly worried about possible
threats from Didion. The shoemaker who sold him the oil opined that Cathra's
magificent warships were more than a match for the starving barbarians. Venders
who peddled roasted chestnuts, sweet apples, and pies to eat out of hand
confessed that nobody seemed to be buying up food to hoard against a siege.
Others that Ansel gossiped with seemed to believe that the so-called Didionite
threat was only propaganda instigated by Prince Heritor Conrig, with the motive
of raising taxes for his Sovereignty scheme once he succeeded to the throne.
As for the Continentals, everyone knew they were too lazy to disturb the status
quo-especially in an alliance with those pathetic losers from Didion.
It all made perfect sense,
Ansel realized, unless you knew the truth. But when had the common people ever
been privy to the dark secrets of the state?
With a
spicy venison pie in his scrip for supper, and munching on hot nuts, he was
about to leave the market and go down to his boat when he spotted a familiar
face critically surveying a tray of late-season table grapes. Rusgann Moorcock,
the loyal maidservant of Princess Maudrayne, was perhaps in search of a treat
for her ailing mistress. Ansel felt a guilty start as he realized he had neglected
to windwatch the princess for the past several days, having been distracted by
Conrig's invasion and the events taking place at sea.
He approached the strapping,
broad-featured woman and addressed her politely. "Goodwife Rusgann?
Perhaps you remember me. I'm Ansel Pikan, the shaman, a friend of Princess
Maudrayne. May I inquire about Her Grace's health these days?"
The maid turned slowly,
fixing him with a sharp look. "You were supposed to've been shipped back
to
He smiled. "But as you
see, I'm still here. I knew what had been done to the princess, poor soul. And
while I could not alleviate her condition, neither could I abandon her. I've
remained in Gala hoping so be of help to her when the time was ripe."
Rusgann appeared to be
thinking deeply. After a moment, she beckoned. "Come take a sup of ale
with me. I've something to tell you."
Maudrayne's
alchymical confinement was like a life lived underwater, a bright, viscous
world where movement was slowed and senses lacked their normal acuity, where
shapes and colors were blurred, sounds were distorted and indistinct, and her
lips formed words that never quite translated into speech.
The princess had been at
peace, even happy in that state of easy lassitude. She did as she was told when
she was told, obeying Lady Sovanna or Vra-Sulkorig like a puppet. Her mind was
intact except for its total lack of volition. Most of the time she sat
motionless by the fire or at the large window in the room she called her
studium, where the two younger ladies-in-waiting would read aloud, or make
music, or simply chatter to one another as they played games or embroidered,
while paying no more attention to their helpless mistress than to a piece of
furniture.
She was
never left alone, except after they put her to bed.
While
she slept, she soared amidst memories of her happy childhood—sailing her little
boat on a summer sea dotted with bergy bits, flying on skis down the frozen
Donor River, pulled by a horse shod with spiked iron, gathering cloud-berries
on a hillside bright with the luscious pink flowers of dwarf willowherb,
sitting by the roaring hearth on blizzard nights with her brothers, listening
to Eldmama's tales of ancient heroes battling demons . . . But the calm
strangeness was ebbing away now, leaving unwelcome reality in its wake.
Last night, the dreams of
her youth had been fragmented by intermittent hints of dread, of another life
tainted by sorrow and rage that awaited her beyond the comfort of sleep. This
morning, when she woke and the maids came to dress her in an overly ornate gown
chosen by Lady Sovanna, she managed to utter a small sound of disapproval and
attempted to push the garment away.
"Let's have none of
that, madam," said the chief lady-in-waiting, gesturing briskly for the
women to continue fastening her into the billowing garnet-colored silk.
"Today the King's Grace is coming to visit, and we can't have him see you
lolling about in a shift and wrapper like some invalid, with your hair undone
and your face pale as a sheet."
So they adorned and primped
her and skillfully used cosmetics to give her complexion and lips a simulated
bloom of health, and all the while she felt the drugged lethargy continue to
fade. At breakfast, she ate without needing to be commanded. By mid-afternoon,
with Rusgann hovering excitedly near her, pressing her to drink cup after cup
of small beer to flush the remnants of the soporific physick from her body, she
was returning to herself and could speak in a fashion that was nearly normal.
They put her in an armchair
in the sitting room, lighting every candle because the day was overcast and
dreary, and there she waited half-dozing until King Olmigon, borne in a litter
and attended by his lords-in-waiting, entered the room.
Blinking uncertainly, with a
tentative half-smile on her face, she rose and dipped a small curtsey to her
father-in-law.
"Your
Grace."
The king uttered a cackle of
feeble triumph. "So you are getting well, Maudie! I didn't know whether to
believe it or not." He snapped at the footmen, ordering them to bring him
close to her chair. "Now everyone get out! I'll speak to the princess
alone."
Lady Sovanna opened her
mouth as if to object, then shut it again, frowning. She herded courtiers and
servants out of the sitting room and closed the door.
Olmigon
leaned toward Maudrayne, extending a trembling hand. She took it, searching his
ravaged face with bewilderment, seeing the dulled eyes more deeply sunken, the
cracked bluish lips, the furrowed cheeks now tinged with the grey pallor of
fast-approaching death.
She
said, "I'm . . . recovering, sire. And you ..."
He sighed. "It won't be
long, lass, but I'm not on my deathbed yet. Old Bazekoy will have to wait a
bit. The doctors got all miffed when I insisted on coming to see you, but I had
to make certain Sulkorig and Sovanna obeyed my command." A spark of anger
lit his eyes. "That they were no longer drugging you to make you
docile."
She looked away. "Is
that what it was? I felt very strange, but there was no discomfort?'
"You know why Conrig
had it done?"
"I . . . can't
remember."
"Because you were angry
at him and threatened to run away. We can't have you doing that, Maudie. Not
while Con's fighting the war for Sovereignty. It would devastate him if you
weren't here when he returned victorious."
"Ah." But her air
of puzzlement remained. Why had she been angry at Con? What had he done? Why
Oh, God!
Her hand flew to her mouth,
and she knew everything once more. A soft moan escaped inadvertently as she
thought of the babe. Was it still safe within her womb, in spite of the poisons
they'd given her? It was too new yet to make itself felt.
"Don't worry about
Conrig," the king said, misunderstanding her sudden anxiety. "He'll
be back soon. Meanwhile, I'm afraid you must stay in your rooms. But if you
would, I'd like you to visit with me every day. I've missed you."
"Of course I'll
come," she agreed. She fell silent, but her pensive frown betrayed the
fact that she was consumed by thought. "Sire? May I ask a small favor of
you?"
"Of course."
So she did, and after a
brief demurral during which she became more and more insistent, the king
finally agreed. His smile was wry. "Now I'm certain you're getting better.
You have the strength to argue, and I'm too decrepit to stand up to you!"
They laughed together, and
Olmigon bade her join him and the queen and little Prince Tancoron for an early
supper. "Sir Hale Brackenfield will come to escort you around the fourth
hour."
"The
Master-at-Arms?" She lifted a brow. "Am I in danger then?"
The king looked sheepish.
"Certainly not. Just come along with him and we'll have a nice meal. I'll
make a little music for us with my lute, and Prince Tanny will sing. I'm afraid
I can't tell you much about Con's doings in the north. The past few days I've
been too . . . tired to deal with affairs of state."
"I understand." She
had tended her dying mother, who had had the same aura of mortality about her
as the end neared. But this failing old man still possessed a store of uncanny
strength. The princess, deeply in touch with the arcane as were most of her
people, wondered if Emperor Bazekoy could be responsible.
The king lay back on his
litter cushions and allowed his eyes to close. "Now call the others back,
if you please. I need a nap."
She rose and summoned the
royal attendants, who entered along with Maudrayne's own people in a bustling,
solicitous horde. After Olmigon was taken away, the princess stood by the
window for some minutes, looking out without saying a word. Her
ladies-in-waiting and maids hovered, clearly at a loss how to react now that
she seemed to have regained her wits. Many of them no doubt dreaded the
reappearance of her famous temper.
Finally Maudrayne said,
"You may all withdraw save Lady Sovanna and Rusgann." When they were
gone, she said to the maid, "I'll have another cup of beer."
And to the noblewoman: "Please come into my studium."
The two of them moved into
the inner chamber. The princess left Sovanna standing, went to a press, took
out a portfolio, placed it on a worktable, and began to leaf slowly through the
pages, which held mounted specimens of dried flowering plants.
"Beautiful, aren't
they?" she remarked. "Still very lifelike. I understand that certain
of them were fumed by alchymists to prevent their fading. The Brothers of Zeth
are so clever with their elixirs. So many mystical potions with so many
wonderful uses!"
"Yes,"
Sovanna said uncertainly.
"Since the king has
told me I must temporarily remain in my rooms, I've decided to organize my
botanical collection. Perhaps I'll begin a small book about the wildflowers of
Cathra."
"A
fine idea!" said the lady with forced heartiness. "The project will
occupy
your mind as you regain your usual good health. Just let me know how I may
help.'
"Sovanna, I know I have you to thank for taking such excellent care of me
during my late illness. You and Vra-Sulkorig. The King's Grace explained it to
me.'
The woman became very still.
Only the tightening of her thin lips showed that she understood. Her small dark
eyes glittered in the candlelight.
"I intend to live very
simply and quietly until the return of my royal husband. With King Olmigon's
permission, I'll no longer require highborn ladies to assist with my social
affairs."
"Nevertheless—"
The princess gazed at her
steadily. "Rusgann and the chambermaids will serve me well enough from now
on. I have no doubt that Queen Cataldise will reward you for your years of
devotion to me, and I will, of course, add my own token of appreciation to your
boon."
"But Prince Conrig
himself charged me to take care of you—"
The princess spoke in a
voice of ice. "If you stay, I shall not eat or drink. And King Olmigon
will know the reason why. I accept being imprisoned behind locked doors, but no
power on earth will compel me to endure your odious presence any longer. Now
go away and never let me see you again."
Sovanna inclined her head
stiffly and swept out of the room. A moment later, the outer door slammed.
Rusgann peeped around the
doorframe, grinning. "That's telling the wicked old bladder!" She
brought in the cup of beer.
Maudrayne laughed, but there
was no joy in her eyes. "Now that my brain is no longer so muddled, I must
make plans for my escape. But first, I must know whether or not my . . . secret
is still safe. And unharmed."
"It is, thanks to a
little flagon of chicken blood I smuggled in here and dripped on the
bedding!"
"Clever Rusgann."
A ferocious scowl twisted
the woman's features. "To tell the truth, I worried about the health of
the babe when they fed you that ungodly shite. But it's fine." The frown
turned to a smug grin. "We oldwives have ways of knowing."
"Bless you for your
kind reassurance! Now tell me how I'm guarded."
"Well, the door to the
corridor is locked and barred now, with two sentinels on duty at all times. I
heard one of them say you'll only be allowed out of here accompanied by an
armed escort. You won't escape easily, my lady."
"Hmmm." Sipping from the cup, the princess moved
back into the sitting room. "Bring me the ivory casket where I keep my
diary, and I'll show you something."
She
took a seat by the fire, and when the maid returned with the box she opened it
and removed a tiny green-glass phial. "I had this sleeping potion from my
friend Ansel the shaman when I was troubled by melancholy. But I found I didn't
need it after all. If you somehow persuade the guards outside my door to drink
it, then you and I can escape in disguise while they and the castle
sleep!"
Rusgann's eyes shifted.
She reached into the pocket of her skirt and drew out a folded scrap of grubby
parchment. "I don't know what this says, for I never learned to read. But
it comes from Red Ansel. I met him by chance in the market yesterday. He was
supposed to've been sent back to
Maudrayne opened it and
read:
Stay where you are until
I come. This is vitally important to both of you.
"Both of you," the
princess whispered, knowing at once that Ansel was not referring to Rusgann.
"Futtered again!"
With a
snarl of resignation, she wadded up the parchment and threw it over-hand into
the fire with a powerful gesture. "My friend, we'll have to wait. Ansel is
up to something, and he wants me to stay here until he comes to get me. Be
assured you'll be going along, too. Meanwhile, collect the things we'll need
for a long journey and hide them securely. When we do leave this damned place,
we won't ever be coming back."
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