Cethe (34 page)

arguments had more of truth in them than he liked to admit.

The idea of disseminating the Chronicles remained a favorite discussion topic. By now, the others had read most of the

volume from the secret room and, as Stefn had been, were shocked and furious at the extent of the Church’s alterations. Even

Iarhlaith, whose religious faith ran deeper than his friends, was won over. “They’re worse than the demons they decry,” he declared.

“To deliberately defile St. Aramis’ writings! They should be confronted openly and made to explain themselves!”

Luckily, cooler heads prevailed. “It’s cal ed a diversion, my dear lump,” Auron drawled. “If Locke is busily hunting around for

the source of the books, he won’t be watching us.”

There would be no copies to distribute, however, unless they could get their hands on a printing press.

“What about Withwil ow?” Michael asked final y. “Not their existing presses, of course. I was thinking more in the lines of

finding some account of how to build one. Withwil ow has the largest col ection of libraries in Tanyrin and some of them are very old

indeed.”

His suggestion was greeted with enthusiasm.

“Good idea.” Severyn bent a warm look on his friend. “Go back to Withwil ow. See what you can find.”

“What about the bishop? Should we bring him in on this?”

“Why not?” Severyn replied. “If he’s sincere about wanting the truth known, he could be useful in distributing the legitimate

volumes.”

The remodeling of Castle Shia was nearly complete, but work continued in the vil ages. Stefn became accustomed to seeing

the steady traffic of wagons rol past the castle, heavily laden with lumber, bricks or roofing tiles. Along with making much needed

repairs on the homes of the parish tenants, the prince had released several hundred acres of good grazing land once kept

exclusively for the late earl’s personal pleasure.

“They’re singin’ His Highness’ praises in the vil ages, that’s for sure,” Marin told Stefn one night as he folded clean laundry

into a dresser drawer. “Used to be, the children had to move away to find a living’. Now, I hear, they’re al moving back.”

“I’d like to see the improvements.”

Marin’s eyes dropped for the briefest of moments before he said with a smile, “I’m sure one o’ the lords would accompany you

if you asked.”

Stefn hadn’t seriously intended to do any such thing. He knew damn wel what the vil agers would think should he come riding

among their homes and children. After the death of his father and brother, their fear of him would be ten times worse.

“Perhaps later,” he said. “You haven’t seen my notebook, have you? I thought I left it around here somewhere.”

It didn’t matter, Stefn told himself. Soon, Michael would be going back to Withwil ow and had promised Stefn could come with

him. If al went according to plan, this time he would have a chance to visit some of the Col ege’s famous libraries. The pure

excitement of that eclipsed nearly everything else. Not even hearing they would be stopping by Blackmarsh on the way could

deflate Stefn’s high spirits.

The night before he and Michael were to leave for Withwil ow, however, he found himself politely but firmly excluded from the

after-dinner gathering. With nothing else to do, he wandered through Shia’s bright new corridors, coming eventual y to the north

tower.

He stood awhile at the foot of the stairs, looking up. Months had passed since he’d first confronted the true face of Michael

Arranz. Not once since then had he set foot in his former sanctuary.

The latch slipped open easily: oiled. Had Lothlain’s builders been up here, too? The stairwel was dark, the familiar smel of

stone and damp stil present. He took a candle from the sconce beside the door and lit it. At once the moonstone drank up the feeble

light and gave it back. Candle in hand, he climbed the stairs. Reaching the landing at the top, he took a deep breath and opened the

door. His jaw dropped.

The top floor had been emptied of rubbish. As elsewhere in the north wing, crumbling plaster had been scraped away to

reveal the moonstone beneath. Underfoot, rugs added warmth and quiet. Several shabby, but wel -stuffed armchairs were gathered

before a new, pot-bel ied stove. The rickety old table by the window had been replaced with a desk. His books, left behind that

terrible night, were neatly stacked on it.

Al three windows boasted new storm shutters. Opening one, he could see nothing outside but dark and the rain running down

the glass, steady and soothing. How long had it been like this, waiting for him to find it?

Stefn started a fire. He opened the shutters. To the east, he saw a scattering of lights: Shiaton vil age. Al else was dark.

One of the armchairs proved especial y comfortable. He took a book, his place was stil marked, and settled in. No one but

Michael could have done this. Why even bother? Did he think to make up for everything that had happened with such gestures?

Except…

“
Had circumstances been different, I would have liked you for a friend.”

There was no reason for Arranz to see to Stefn’s comfort. No reason at al . No reason to speak on his behalf or seek out his

company. No reason to go out of his way to drag an awestricken youth up a crumbling old tower in a far-away city or ride around

Withwil ow to stare at monuments he’d probably seen a hundred times.

Stefn’s own kin had shown him far worse treatment and never a single kindness to even it. Yet, thanks to Arranz, here he sat,

warm, comfortable and wel -fed. His life had irrevocably changed and his horizons thrown open so wide it made him dizzy. Was the

price Arranz demanded real y that high?

He dozed final y, to dream of the h’naran lord, of his deep, smooth chest and broad shoulders, and his sudden, unexpectedly

boyish grin.

Severyn was not looking forward to returning to Tantagrel. In spite of the cold, these last few weeks in Shia had been relaxing

and enjoyable. The castle was in good shape, ready to accept a royal, if unwil ing guest. The new barracks were adequate for the

number of troops that would be needed and spending al that money on repairs to the homes of vil agers had paid off handsomely in

terms of local goodwil .

Most of the others also had business elsewhere. Forry was off to his own estate while Erich was headed to a house party

hosted by friends with deep pockets and growing resentment of Arami’s excesses. Jeremy headed home to be with his gravely il

father. Only Auron was to remain in Shia to oversee the final bits of reconstruction.

“Why me?” he whined, looking to the window where, outside, light snow drifted.

“You’re the only one without responsibilities,” replied Jeremy.

“Not fair! I wil likely perish of boredom. Might I at least prey on the maids?”

Severyn rol ed his eyes. “Good luck. They can run faster than you.”

“That kil s it then,” Mick agreed. “Running is exercise. When was the last time anyone here saw our noble friend here exert

himself to such a degree?”

“I would cal you out for that insult,” drawled Auron amid the chorus of hoots and laughter, “but for the fact that dueling requires

so much energy.”

He would miss this, thought Severyn. These weeks in Shia had been almost idyl ic, as if they were al back in Col ege again,

blissful y unaware of the dark road ahead.

“Do we meet in Tantagrel?” asked Forry. “Or come back here?”

“It depends upon what Mick finds in Withwil ow.” Severyn looked over at his friend.

Mick sprawled the length of a sofa, his glass of port balanced precariously on his chest. “If I’m successful, I’l come back

here,” he said. “Otherwise, I’l send word that I’m returning to Blackmarsh to wait for your instructions.”

“What about your blushing fiancé?” Auron asked Severyn. “When do you mean to bring her here?”

Severyn didn’t want to think about that. “Not until after the wedding, and that, thank Loth, is a year away.”

“What of Zelenov?” asked Forry. “They wil almost certainly have used this time to approach the king with their appeal of your

verdict. The barracks are nearly finished. Why not start moving troops in now?”

“I’d rather not support them through one of Shia’s winters,” replied Severyn. “I’l have my hands ful keeping the local folk alive.

Their goodwil is almost as valuable as a wel -trained force of soldiers. No, we hold to the original plan.”

Later, when it was just Severyn and Mick in front of the fire, Mick brought the subject up again. “If Storm was tel ing the truth

and the Celestials can muster a force comparable to the king’s army, we could be in for a genuine fight. It might be worth the extra

trouble to have our men in place and in fighting shape sooner rather than later.”

“Shia is a backwater,” retorted Severyn. “The Hunters we faced were the dregs, sent from other posts because they couldn’t

measure up. We can’t be sure al the Hunters are like that. Besides, there are the knightmages. Is there any doubt which way they’d

go in a clash between the monarchy and the Church?”

Michael shook his head.

“No,” said Severyn. “We keep to the schedule and pray you and Storm work something out for the Chronicles. I’m counting on

this distraction. I think it was a bril iant idea, actual y.”

“Then tel Stefn,” Mick said. “I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear you say so.”

“Ah, our dear Lord Eldering.” Severyn’s lip curled. “He certainly has come around. I wonder if he’s sincere?”

“He’s not stupid,” said Mick. “We saw the truth, why shouldn’t he?”

“I confess,” Severyn said, “that he’s not at al like the other Elderings I’ve met. Do you suppose he’s a bastard?”

“I doubt it. Stefn’s mother was Earl Wil iam’s fourth wife and almost thirty years his junior. The old bastard had five wives in al .

”

“Five?” Auron stared. “Good God! What happened? Did the old stal ion wear them out?”

Mick shook his head. “While I was here as a spy, I was regaled by dozens of stories. Al of the women died of natural causes,

but most of the old Earl’s staff was convinced he had arranged each of their deaths somehow. Obviously, Lord Eldering was

displeased to be presented with a sin-catcher for a second son. When his wife died the next day, it’s easy to see how such rumors

might get started.”

“I wonder that they didn’t kil the child at birth.”

“And bring down the wrath of Loth?” Mick’s laugh was harsh.

“Superstitious yokels,” muttered Severyn. “I’m for bed. How about you?”

They walked together toward the back of the west wing where both apartments lay.

“Why not leave Eldering here?” Severyn suggested. “It’s asking a lot from Auron to remain here, month after month. He seems

to like the earl.”

“Stefn enjoyed Withwil ow the last time we went. Besides, we have a dozen or more libraries to comb. If he goes, we can split

up the task and be done sooner.”

Severyn could think of no reasonable objection to make, but the prospect of Eldering enjoying Mick’s company where he

could not, rankled.

“Are the refits finished yet?” he asked. “It must be inconvenient bunking with Eldering.”

“I rather like having a roommate,” replied Mick. He stopped by Eldering’s door. “In fact, this entire business of having a cethe

is working out much better than I’d expected. Once you get past his wal of reserve, Eldering can be an amusing companion.”

“Real y?” Severyn fought another flare of irritation. “How nice.”

Mick’s hand hesitated on the latch. “Sev?”