Brotherhood of the Wolf (46 page)

Pashtuk stopped him at the palace gate, a huge portal of blackened wrought iron backed by gold-plated wood.

He could not see past the gate, so Borenson stared about in wonder at the dozens of hummingbirds that flitted about, drinking from the deep-throated flowers that dripped saffron and pink from the palace wall.

Borenson could not see beyond the gate, but he could hear the splash of a fountain behind it.

A guard standing above the gate spoke in a loud, high voice to Borenson in Tuulistanese.

Pashtuk translated. “The eunuch says that Saffira will entertain you here in the courtyard. He will open the gate so that you may speak. By royal decree, you must not to look upon her. If you choose to do so, by king's command you may be slain.” In a softer voice, he added, “However, I should warn you that if Saffira decides to intervene in your behalf, that sentence can be commuted, and instead she may elect to have you castrated, so that you can remain in the palace as her servant.”

Borenson snickered. He had never seen a woman with more than ten endowments of glamour, had never even considered the possibility, but he understood the danger. A man who took glamour might be terribly handsome, but Borenson had never felt any sexual attraction to such a man—even Raj Ahten's astonishing beauty left him cold—though he knew others who could not say the same. So he'd never struggled with his feelings when looking upon a lord.

Sometimes, when he saw a queen or high lady with several endowments of glamour, he'd found himself striving
against certain unsavory temptations. A woman's glamour affected him far more powerfully than a man's. But though Borenson admired women, he'd always felt that high ladies with several endowments of glamour were above him—untouchable, so gorgeous that they seemed more than human. Saffira, with her hundreds of endowments, presented an exquisite temptation.

“I'll forgo the pleasure,” Borenson said. “I've always been somewhat attached to my walnuts.”

“I also am loath to sever such attachments,” Pashtuk said.

Borenson grinned. Pashtuk nodded a signal. The guards cranked the winch, raising the gate.

“Close your eyes tight,” Pashtuk warned, dropping down to his hands and knees in a formal gesture of obeisance. “Squint, so that the guards know that you do not see. Since you are a northerner, they may seek excuse to kill you. Indeed, they could offer you a blindfold, but they may prefer to have a reason to kill you.”

Borenson squinted tightly and felt a bit unsure of himself. Courtly manners differed from land to land. Saffira's stature was hard to define. As a member of a royal harem, she was not quite as elevated in status as a queen. She would not have a Days at her side. Yet she was also Raj Ahten's favorite, a diamond that he secreted away.

Borenson decided to treat her as a queen. He wearily climbed down to his hands and knees on the hot, sun-washed paving stones, so that his nose was even with the ants.

It was a difficult feat, wearing manacles.

To his astonishment, when Saffira spoke, her clear voice came to him in Rofehavanish, with only the faintest trace of an accent.

“Welcome, Sir Borenson,” she said. “Never have we had a visitor from Rofehavan. It is a singular pleasure. I am delighted to see that the tales are true, that there are men in the world with pale skin and fire for hair.” He listened hard to her voice. It was soft and sensual, melodic and surprisingly deep. He imagined that Saffira must be an elegant
woman, with dozens of endowments of Voice. Furthermore, since she spoke Rofehavanish so perfectly without ever having seen a man from his realm, he suspected that she also had garnered one or more endowments of wit.

Saffira drew close, the rustle of a woman's silks announcing her. In moments her shadow fell upon him, blocking the sun's rays, and he smelled a mild, exotic perfume. Borenson did not answer, for she had not yet given him permission to speak.

“What is this?” Saffira asked. “You have brown spots upon your head! Are these tattoos?”

Borenson nearly laughed. Apparently her study of language was not all-encompassing. Now that she had asked a question, he was free to speak. “The spots are natural, Your Highness,” Borenson said. “They are called ‘freckles.'”

“Freckles?” she said. “But are not the spots on trout called ‘freckles'?”

“In northern realms of Rofehavan, they are called that, Your Highness, though in Mystarria and the southern realms we call such spots ‘speckles.'”

“I see,” Saffira said, amused. “So even in your own lands, you cannot agree what to call them.”

Borenson heard the patter of small feet. Children were coming out of the courtyard, drawing close.

“Sir Borenson,” Saffira said, “my children are curious. They have never seen a man of Rofehavan, and are naturally afraid. My eldest living son wishes permission to touch you. Do you object?”

Borenson had dragged the head of a reaver to the gates of Castle Sylvarresta only yesterday. Children and even many old people had gathered around to study it. Women had touched its rubbery gray flesh and screamed in mock terror. Now, he realized, the children here would do the same to him.

Have we sent so many assassins to this realm, he wondered, that they fear me so?

But of course the answer was yes. These children had been born here, hidden all their lives. And many a Knight Equitable, if he'd known of this “eldest living son,” would have considered the boy a proper target. Indeed, Borenson wondered what had happened to the eldest
nonliving
son.

“Your children are welcome to touch me,” Borenson said. “Though I am a Knight Equitable, I will not hurt them.”

Saffira spoke quickly and softly to the boy, and the child groaned to hear that Borenson was a Knight Equitable. With hesitant steps he drew near and tentatively touched the bald spot on Borenson's head, then raced away. Immediately after, Borenson heard the steps of a smaller child come rushing forward, and again he was touched. Last of all came a toddler, a child who could not have been more than a year or two, who grabbed Borenson's hair and patted him as if he were a kitten.

Three children, Borenson realized. Jureem had said that Saffira had been Raj Ahten's favorite for five years. He had not allowed himself to wonder if she'd borne him one child, much less three.

At his mother's command, the youngest child withdrew.

“You have a message for me, and a gift?” Saffira said.

“I do, Your Highness,” Borenson answered, aware that he was being treated with some hostility. Custom dictated that she offer him food and drink before asking his quest, even if such offers were only an informal gesture. But Saffira made no such offer. “I have come from Heredon, with a gift and a message from Gaborn Val Orden, the Earth King.”

There was a long pause, and Saffira drew a sharp breath. Borenson realized that she had not heard, here in this remote place, that an Earth King had risen in Heredon.

“But Heredon is ruled by King Sylvarresta, is it not?” Saffira asked.

“We are at war,” Borenson said. “Your husband attacked—”

“He would not have killed King Sylvarresta!” Saffira
said. “I forbade him to. He promised leniency. Sylvarresta was a friend to my father!”

All the air came hard out of Borenson's lungs, causing him to cough in surprise. It was true that Raj Ahten had shown Sylvarresta uncommon courtesy, had taken his endowment of wit instead of his life. But never in Borenson's wildest imaginings had he considered the possibility that a woman's influence had won Sylvarresta such a reprieve.

Now he began to wonder. He'd thought he'd come on a fool's quest, seeking to speak to Saffira at Gaborn's insistence. Had not Pashtuk said it best when he suggested that Gaborn was a weakling for listening to the counsel of women?

Yet it appeared that Saffira
could
sway Raj Ahten. “Your Highness,” Borenson admitted, “your husband was true to his word. Raj Ahten did not kill King Sylvarresta.”

“Can you name the warrior who killed him?” Saffira said. “I will see that he is punished.”

Borenson dared not speak the truth. He dared not say, “I, who kneel before you, slew King Sylvarresta.” He only hoped that the red of embarrassment did not show in his face.

Instead he averred, “I cannot say, Your Highness. I know only this, Gaborn Val Orden is in Heredon, and he has been chosen by the Earth to become its king.”

Saffira paused. “Gaborn Val Orden—the Prince of Mystarria—claims to be an Earth King?”

“It is true, Your Highness,” Borenson said. “The spirit of Erden Geboren himself appeared to a company of more than ten thousand men, and the spirit crowned Gaborn with leaves.”

She whirled and began shouting at the gatekeepers in Taifan. Borenson could easily guess the nature of her question: “Why was I not told?”

The eunuchs made apologetic noises.

Saffira turned her attention back to Borenson. “This is
grave news. And you say that the Earth King has sent me gifts and a message?”

“He has, Your Highness,” Borenson said. He opened the bag of forcibles, and spread them on the ground gently so that the soft blood metal would not dent. “He offers you gifts of glamour and of Voice.”

Saffira drew an astonished breath at the sight of so many forcibles. It was an impressive gift.

“And he bears this message. Gaborn has recently wed Iome Sylvarresta, so that he is now your husband's cousin by marriage. There is news of reavers attacking in the south of Mystarria, and in Kartish. The Earth King wishes to put aside this conflict with your lord Raj Ahten, and he begs you to carry this message: ‘Though I hate my cousin, the enemy of my cousin is
my
enemy.'”

When Saffira drew a breath of astonishment, the sound was pure ecstasy. Sir Borenson waited for her answer. She knew what he asked. She knew that she would have to put the forcibles to use, travel to the battlefront in Rofehavan.

“The men who killed my son wish a truce?” Saffira asked. Borenson silently cursed. Jureem had not mentioned a murdered son.

“We do,” Borenson answered, as if he himself bore some responsibility for her son's death.

“If my husband agrees to this,” Saffira asked, “does that mean that you will quit sending the Knights Equitable against us? Will you quit slaughtering our Dedicates, and the members of the royal family? Does the Earth King have that much power?”

Borenson hesitated. It was common here in Indhopal to insist on conditions when making a bargain, in hopes of getting stronger assurances. The woman wanted confirmation that she and her children would no longer have to face the fear of murder at the hands of the Knights Equitable. It was a fair request.

But Gaborn had refused to Choose the High Marshal of the Knights Equitable, though High Marshal Skalbairn had offered to turn over command of his troops. Could Gaborn
truly claim to command the Knights Equitable?

The answer was both no and yes. Gaborn did not currently command that force, but he could do so if he chose.

Still, Saffira would not want to hear a no. Could he promise her safety? Would Gaborn offer to Choose the High Marshal, if doing so would guarantee a truce?

What had Gaborn seen in the High Marshal's heart that made him wish the man dead?

Borenson felt certain that no matter what foul deeds Skalbairn had committed, Gaborn would surely Choose him if he understood how much was at stake. The answer was yes.

“The command of the Knights Equitable has been offered to the Earth King,” Borenson said, skirting the truth. “Gaborn Val Orden would ensure peace.”

“Where is my husband now?” Saffira asked. Borenson noted that it was not the first time she had called him “my husband.” So the woman
was
married to him. She was indeed more than a mere concubine, she was the Queen of Indhopal.

“Raj Ahten slew the Dedicates at the Blue Tower in Mystarria more than two hours ago,” Borenson said. “I believe he will ride hard now to slaughter Duke Paldane's troops, which are amassed at Carris.”

Again Saffira drew in a sharp breath. She had to see how much depended on her. An entire nation now lay at her husband's mercy, like a convict with his head on the chopping block. At this very moment, Raj Ahten would be racing for Carris. The axe was falling; perhaps she alone could stop it.

“Carris is far,” Saffira said. “If I am to take endowments and ride there, we must hurry.”

“Please, do,” Borenson said.

She sighed deeply, as if she'd made up her mind. With a hint of desperation, she said, “My lord has drawn most of the palace guard off into his service. I have no one to escort me to Carris, no one but my personal guards to guide
the way, and I fear that I will need the guidance of a soldier of Mystarria.”

Borenson dreaded what was coming. Of course she'd need him. A cohort of riders coming out of Indhopal would face the risk of ambush by Mystarrian troops. And Borenson knew full well that even if Saffira carried a standard of truce, the soldiers at his borders were no more likely to honor such a truce as Indhopal's guards had been.

She needed him. He'd imagined that she'd ride with a thousand troops at her side, that once he delivered his message, he'd be free to leave.

Saffira said heavily, regretfully, “Pashtuk, Sir Borenson, would you escort me to Carris? Knowing the cost, would you enter my service?”

Borenson felt dizzy. Of course he was her best choice for a guide, her only choice if she wanted to reach Carris alive. But the price?

He was newly married. He loved his wife.

To give up his manhood! The very thought left him reeling, made him feel weak as a babe. Worse, it filled him with a sense of profound loss. What if I should never be able to consummate my love for my wife?

Could I do it? Dare I do it, even for Mystarria?

Pashtuk answered first. His answer was restrained, but spoken with a certain heaviness. “I will do so, if it pleases Your Highness.”