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almost her conscience. His absences grew more frequent and extended. She found
herself thrown more and more into the company of Nepanthe, Turran, and
Valther.
Nepanthe, after Rolf, had been her best friend for years, but her constant
company was wearing. Nepanthe was a worrier.
Turran remained a perfect gentleman, ever attentive and willing to entertain.
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She began to fear what might happen. She tried to stay near Gerda, whose
basilisk eye could still the passion of a cat in heat.
Then Rolf and Uthe disappeared. She thought it another of their jaunts till
she discovered their weapons missing.
"Gerda, where've they gone?" she demanded. Like certain gods, the woman saw
the sparrows fall.
"Where do you think? Kavelin, of course. With help for himself. Who'll be
coming home someday, I'll remind you, and be expecting everything as he left
it."
Why couldn't Rolf stay put? Was he sublimating his love? Or just searching for
the spear with his name?
Autumn leaves were falling on the Littoral. Would it be getting on winter in
Kavelin?
The night Rolf left she sat up late with the Tear of Mimizan. Troubled, she
used the thing more as a focus for her attention than as a means of checking
Bragi's well-being.
The jewel suddenly seized her attention. The light within was strong and
growing stronger. Bragi was in trouble.
The light flashed suddenly, so brightly she was momentarily blinded. At the
same instant there was a scream from another room.
"The children!" she gasped. She rushed toward the sound. It went on and on.
Behind her, the ruby painted her bedroom shades of blood.
The screamer was Valther.
"She's here!" the man kept saying. "She's here. She's loosed her magic..."
"Who?" Nepanthe asked repeatedly.
"Must be Mist," Turran guessed. "Nothing else could've done this."
"But why?"
"Who knows the ways of Shinsan?"
"The jewel," Elana interjected. "Before he screamed, it flashed so bright it
almost blinded me."
Nepanthe's eyes met hers. Neither woman voiced her fear.
"She's in Kavelin, then," said Turran. He remained thoughtful while. Nepanthe
and Elana calmed Valther, who began asking, "What happened?" and "Where am I?"
"It grows too complex," Turran mused aloud. "A three-sided war... Nepanthe,
get a couple of horses ready. And weapons. I'll look after Valther."
"But..."
"Looks like we're getting a second chance. Elana, the
Tear is the most valuable thing in the west right now. Guard it well. If
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Kavelin goes, get it to Varthlokkur."
Things went so fast Elana had no time to protest. Before she exploded in
frustration, the brothers had gone. Valther remained puzzled, but seemed
determined to rectify his treason.
She and Nepanthe stood on a balcony and watched them ride toward the coast
road. Turran hoped to overtake Rolf and Uthe.
A stir in the gardens caught her eye. She said nothing to Nepanthe, merely
peered intently till she could make out a small old man nodding to himself. He
had spoken to Bragi at the landgrant. Quick as a bolting rabbit, he scooted
out a small side gate.
A moment later she gasped. The old man, astride a winged horse, rose toward
the moon and sped eastward.
TEN: The Closing Circles
i) From the jaws of despair
Ragnarson collapsed onto a rock. He could scarcely remain awake. The Nordmen
gave up their weapons meekly, though puzzledly. They couldn't believe that
they had been beaten by lesser men.
For Bragi, too, it seemed a dream. It had taken two man-breaking weeks, but he
had slipped out of the destroying vise.
He had fled Maisak certain he would never escape the Gap. Enemies had lain
before and behind him, and there had been no way to turn aside.
He had outrun the Captal, almost flying into the arms of the eastern barons,
who were pursuing Sir Andvbur Kimberlin, then had made a way to the side, out
of the inescapable trap of a box canyon. At least, his enemies had thought it
inescapable.
While they had taken the measure of one another and he had goaded them into
fighting, his men had cut stairs up the canyon wall. Abandoning everything but
weapons, they had climbed out one by one. Meanwhile, with a few Trolledyngjans
and Itaskians, Ragnarson had harassed the Captal's surviving Shinsaners so
they wouldn't get the best of the barons.
The desultory, constricted, unimaginative combat between pretenders had taken
four days to resolve itself. The barons had had numbers, the Captal sorcery
and men fanatically devoted to his child-pretender.
Ragnarson felt that, this time, he had won a decisive victory. He had won
time. The Captal couldn't muster new forces before winter sealed the Gap. The
succession might be determined by spring. And the eastern Nordmen had been
crushed. For the moment he and Volstokin commanded the only major forces in
Kavelin. If he moved swiftly, while winter prevented external interests from
aiding favorites, he could fulfill his commission.
And he could return to Elana.
If Haroun would let him. What Haroun's plans were he didn't know.
He had sent his men up the stone stairs, over mountains, and into the Gap
behind the barons. The animals and equipment he had abandoned had become bait.
They had rushed to the plunder.
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Ragnarson's captains, led by Blackfang, had struck savagely. In bitter
fighting they had closed the canyon behind the Nordmen. Bragi and a small
group had held the stairs against a repeat of his own escape.
There was no water in that canyon. Ragnarson's animals had already devoured
the sparse forage. The arrowstorm, once the mouth narrows had been secured,
had been impenetrable. The Nordmen had had no choice.
There had been more to it, as there was to all stories: heroism of men pushing
themselves beyond believed limits; inspired leadership by Blackfang, Ahring,
Al-tenkirk, and Sir Andvbur; and unsuspected bits of character surfacing.
Ragnarson studied Sir Andvbur. His judgment of the young knight's coolness and
competence had proven out during Kimberlin's operation around the headwaters
of the Ebeler. Under him, the Wessons had shown well against the barons,
particularly during disengagement and withdrawal.
But the first thing he had done, after getting his troops safely into the box
canyon, had been to throw a tantrum.
"Both leaders think they can handle us later," he had said.
"You sound bitter."
"1 am. Colonel, you haven't lived with their arrogance. Kavelin is the richest
country in the Lesser Kingdoms, and that's not just in wealth and resources.
There're fortunes in human potential here. But you find Wesson, Siluro, and
Marena Dimura geniuses plowing, emptying chamberpots, and eating grubs in the
forests. They're not allowed anything else. Meantime, Nordmen morons are
pushing Kavelin toward disaster. You think it's historical pressure that has
the lower classes rebelling? No. It's because of the blind excesses of my
class... Men like Eanred Tarlson could help make this kingdom decent for
everybody. But they never get anywhere. Unless, like Tarlson, they obtain
Royal favor. It's frustrating. Infuriating."
Ragnarson had made no comment at the time.
He hadn't realized that Sir Andvbur had a Cause. He decided he had best keep
an eye on the man.
Blackfang and Ahring took seats beside him. "We should get the hell out before
Shinsan tries for a rematch," said Haaken. "But there ain't nobody here who
could walk a mile."
"Not much choice, then, is there? Why worry?"
Blackfang shrugged.
"What about the prisoners?" Ahring asked.
"Won't have them long. We're going to Vorgreberg." He glanced up. The sky was
nasty again. There had been cold rain off and on since his withdrawal from [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]