Cethe (7 page)

The taint’s nostrils flared, eyes narrowing. “Loth seems disinclined to do any such thing. Perhaps his anger at the sins of the

Elderings is not yet assuaged.” Another savage jerk pul ed Stefn al the way to his feet. Leaning close, mouth against Stefn’s ear,

the h’nar added, “Shame of Shia.”

It should not have hurt so much, that name, not from the lips of a taint. Stefn would have swung a punch had he use of his

hands. As it was, he could only glare, putting every ounce of his bitter hatred and anger behind it as Arranz straightened and

stepped away.

Pounding footsteps approached from the far end of the hal . “My lord!” Soldiers appeared around the corner. Seeing them, the

men started to run.

Startled, Stefn saw Lord Arranz sway, reaching out a hand to the wal , as if to steady himself. “Good work, my lord!” cried one,

coming up to them and looking curiously through the secret door.

The other took hold of Stefn’s arm. “What do you want done with him, my lord?”

Lord Arranz shook his head. “Take him back to his room and make certain he doesn’t leave it without at least two men by his

side at al times.”

“Are you al right, my lord?” one of the men asked, peering closely at the pale h’nar.

“Wel enough. Just tired.” He paused. “To be safe, put a new lock on his door. I’m in no mood to track him down again!”

Mick slept for a week after Eldering’s failed escape. The earl was not al owed out of his room, but thankful y he seemed to

have lost much of his overt rebel iousness.

“He reads, Y’r Highness,” reported Corliss when questioned. “At least, that’s what he’s doin’ each time someone opens his

door.”

The truce gave Severyn some time to deal with matters concerning the castle and surrounding countryside. Shia’s vil ages

were in truly wretched straits. Leaky roofs, crumbling wal s, failing crops: it was the same litany he heard from many northern

parishes these days. He made a point to visit each of the vil ages in person, to listen to the wary vil agers and careful y take down

the problems they pointed out to him.

Embry was the southernmost of Shia’s vil ages and the largest. It boasted not only a tavern, but a smal hostel and the Abbey.

The Shia River ran through it, tumbling down out of the southern hil s before meandering west toward Ilyea. The river brought trade

to the parish, but most of Embry’s folk, like the rest of Shia, were herders. Being late summer, the men were stil out in the hil s with

their flocks, but word of Severyn’s tour spread like wildfire, so by the time Severyn reached Embry, he was greeted by a smal crowd

of cheering vil agers.

He set up a temporary court in the tavern, which quickly became jammed with vil agers, and ordered a round of drinks from

the delighted landlord, a practice that never failed to start matters off on a positive note. With his men politely managing the

petitioners, he commenced his interviews. Each man or woman was al otted ten minutes each, during which time, the prince listened

and his aide careful y jotted down the particulars of the vil ager’s grievance in a big, leather-bound journal. Severyn finished up the

interviews with another round of drinks and left the taverns with their cheers ringing in his ears.

There was one more stop to make before returning to the castle. On high ground overlooking the vil age, surrounded by prime

pastureland, was Shia’s abbey. He owed a courtesy visit to the abbot; it was, in fact, long overdue.

Abbeys were not ordinarily found in such remote and impoverished parishes like Shia. Such backwaters were far more likely

to have a Chapel, if that. Had there not been a Hunter garrison and a knightmage here, Severyn doubted whether Shia would have

been so blessed. Indeed, the Abbey at Embry looked more like a large Chapel, bearing evidence of its provincial circumstances.

Both the Sanctuary and the Domicile were mud-brick and stone, like the local structures, although efforts had been made to

give the Domicile a more genteel, southern-cottage appearance. A semblance of a garden struggled valiantly to survive the harsh

conditions of the high, northern plains. There were a few outbuildings: a stable, a laundry, a shed. As assignments went, Severyn

thought with some sympathy, this had to be the armpit of the world.

Abbot Drummond greeted him in the Domicile’s smal , over-furnished parlor. He was a smal , round, fussy man who was

alternately awed to be hosting royalty and offended at his treatment to date at royalty’s hands.

“I had almost despaired of speaking with you, Your Highness,” he said, voice holding a hint of reproach. “When the dreadful

news reached us, I natural y tried to go at once to the castle, but was turned away repeatedly. Did you not get my messages?”

Of course he had. Severyn’s smile was apologetic. “I’ve been very busy,” he replied. “Shia was in terrible circumstances.

We’ve had our hands ful hunting the remnants of the murderers who attacked the castle.”

The abbot nodded. “I must say, I have found al this most irregular. Lord Eldering was a knightmage, with highly trained Hunter

troops at his command. He was certainly no more tolerant of outlaws than he was of taints. It was my impression he kept the parish

wel clear of thieves and brigands. How could he be overrun by such rabble? Where did they come from?”

Severyn had the story ready; they’d al coached each other until they could recite it in their sleep. “The brigands had an inside

man. Their spy disguised himself as the family priest, or so I believe. The cleric had only been in residence a few weeks and

disappeared quickly soon after we retook the castle. As for where such marauders come from?” He shrugged. “Times are hard, my

lord. When their families face starvation, even the most law-abiding men become desperate.”

The abbot was suitably shocked. “What nerve! I wouldn’t be surprised if the knave was a taint, some Penitent who broke his

vows and now, driven mad by guilt, seeks revenge upon the righteous. What of the outlaws? Did you final y get them al ?”

“Not yet,” Severyn said, assuming an expression of frustration and regret. “My men search for them daily. We’l find them and

bring them to justice.”

“I am most grateful, Your Highness, but I cannot help wondering. How was it that you were here at al ? We are very far

removed from either Tantagrel or Lothmont.”

Severyn, prepared for this, smiled modestly. “But not so far from Messerling,” he reminded the cleric gently. As the abbot

smiled weakly in acknowledgment, Severyn delivered the first blow. “As it happens, Lord Abbot, I had come to make a formal plea for

the hand of Miss Eldering in marriage.”

The man’s eyes nearly popped from his head. “I am delighted to hear it, Your Highness. Indeed, I shal waste no time in

sending word to the Council so they may replace the Hunters lost and begin…”

Severyn sailed on. “Of course, given the circumstances, I would prefer to keep my own men here. No offense, but as you

yourself pointed out, it’s troubling indeed when Hunters can be so easily bested. It’s my intention to restore this grand old castle to

its former glory; a gift to my new bride and her family, if you wil . I’l have tradesmen and artisans coming and going for several

months and have no desire to lose time, materials or men to rag-tag cutthroats.”

“As to that, Your Highness, I don’t wish to be contrary, but Lord Eldering and his heir were in covenant with the Church.” The

abbot looked uncomfortable. “Being Sworn to the Celestial Council, both the castle and Miss Eldering are their wards. Of course, I’m

sure there wil be no difficulty in making marriage arrangements, although I cannot speak for His Eminence, of course.”

“I’m sorry.” Severyn tried hard to keep the glee from his voice. “Did I say al Eldering’s heirs were kil ed? How bad of me. His

second son, Lord Stefn, survived. I was under the impression that he was neither a knightmage, nor sworn.”

“The s-sin-catcher?” The abbot was appal ed. “You, you cannot be serious!”

Severyn lifted an eyebrow.

“No, that’s not… I didn’t mean it that…” The man pul ed a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and mopped his brow. “How

did he — when the others… ”

“Lord Stefn was il and confined to his bed. The ruffians did not get far enough into the castle to find him, thanks be to Loth.”

The abbot looked dazed. Knowing this conversation would eventual y make its way back to Zelenov and the Celestial Council,

Severyn nodded sagely. “He’s natural y devastated by what’s happened. He blames himself.”

“As wel he should,” muttered the priest. “Sin-catcher! What a quandary, Your Highness! A sin-catcher as head of a fine old

family such as the Elderings! Loth’s justice is harshest against those he loves the most.”

Severyn thought of the pile of bones and kept determined hold of his smile. “Perhaps now Loth is content.”

“I wil pray it’s so.” The abbot gave himself a little shake. “After al , it would seem Miss Eldering is to be a princess, perhaps

even, some day, a queen! I assume, the new earl has agreed to your petition?”

“I am flattered that he would trust me with his precious sister.”

The conversation turned to other, more local matters, leaving the dangerous territory behind. It wasn’t going to satisfy Zelenov,

his little story, not by a longshot; but with luck, it would keep them at bay long enough for Mick to get the unpredictable young earl

under his control and for Severyn to win the parish firmly to his side.

“There is just one thing, Your Highness.”

Severyn, ready to take his leave, smiled politely.

“I’ve been hearing distressing rumors about a taint in the castle.”

Irritation flared. He’d reckoned on this coming up. “Are you speaking of Lord Arranz?”

The abbot’s round race reddened.

“Lord Arranz is a valued friend, his bloodline blessed by St. Aramis himself. Or does the Church set itself over him, too?”

It did, of course, but the abbot was not so great a fool as to say so to Severyn’s face. He apologized quickly, claiming he

meant no offence and, of course, one couldn’t compare the House of Arranz to ordinary h’naran riffraff.

When Severyn final y returned to Shia, it was near sunset. To his delight, he was greeted by Peter Timkins, Messerling’s

young, imperturbable butler. Accompanying Tim were several members of his estimable staff. Civilization at last! And there was more

good news.

“Lord Michael is up and around. I gather he’s been taking one of his ‘naps?’” Timkins paused delicately, almost, but not quite

grinning. “At any rate, Your Highness, Marin says his lordship wil be down for dinner.”

“Excel ent!”

Timkins’ family had served the Lothlain crown princes for generations. His father and grandfathers had been Messerling’s

butlers before him. Peter had grown up with the prince and the duke’s grandson. In the course of his duties, he was al that was

proper and formal, but out of public view, there was little formality between them.

They had been keeping country hours, so Severyn had only time to change clothes before dinner was announced. He walked

into the informal dining room, drawn by the mouth-watering scent of roast fowl.

“No stew tonight!” Mick was already there. He had lost weight and was even paler than usual, but his smile was as quick and

appealing as always. “No offense, Marin.”

“None taken, m’lord,” replied the big servant cheerful y. “Can’t say as I’m unhappy to turn over the kitchen to Mrs. Fog.

Chicken pie belowstairs.”

“Foggie’s here?” Mick’s smile got brighter. “I may not leave after al !”

Severyn found himself wishing that were possible. Now that Tim had arrived, it was almost like being at Messerling again, just

the two of them knocking about with Timmy to keep them fed and comfortable. Unfortunately, the time was fast approaching for them

to go their separate ways, he back to Tantagrel and Mick to Blackmarsh.

After dinner, the two friends withdrew to the study to sample some of the port Timkins had brought from home. Severyn

recounted the past few days’ activities while Mick had been sleeping.

“What if the Council isn’t content with the abbot’s report?” asked Mick. “What if they decide to send someone from Zelenov? If

that happens, there wil almost certainly be mages involved. They wil wish to interview Lord Stefn.”

Severyn didn’t like this part of their plan. He’d deliberately avoided thinking about it. “By then he’l be Bound and under your

control.”

“We think.”

Severyn sighed. They’d been over this ground before.

“Everything we know about the naragi says they are absolute masters of their cethera.”

“But there are no more naragi to confirm the truth,” persisted Mick, “nor have there been any for centuries.”

“Then don’t do it,” Severyn said impulsively. He found himself hoping Mick would agree, would back out of the plan. He had

never much liked it, even while he acknowledged the necessity.

Mick was silent long enough for Severn’s hope to rise further. Then, the h’nar shrugged. “On the other hand, Stefn Eldering is

very pretty.”

Severyn, unaccountably irritated, sneered. “I suppose you could pretend he’s a girl, but I thought you didn’t like girls?”

“Shhh.” Mick’s eyes held a wicked gleam. “We mustn’t speak of such things, Your Highness. Of course I like girls! After al , I