Children of Enchantment (17 page)

He glanced up at the bearded faces of the merchants clustered before the dais. One held bolts of cloth, another a broken wagon
wheel. Another was speaking in a low voice to one of the court scribes, gesturing with a scroll covered in many-colored seals.
He nodded, more to himself than to the men before him, and the herald, gaudily dressed in the blue-andwhite tabard embroidered
with the Ridenau crest, stepped forward. With a loud cry, he announced the opening of the court. Roderic leaned back in his
father’s chair. The real work of his regency had begun.

Less than two weeks after his affirmation as the Regent of all Meriga, Roderic, with Alexander, Brand, Peregrine, and two
companies of the King’s Guard, set out for Minnis to wait for Jesselyn and enjoy a few days respite. As they cleared the outskirts
of the city, Roderic spurred his mount on ahead, as he always had as a boy, and burst out of the city gates ahead of the rest.
Before him, the road opened up into the wide paved roads of the open countryside, the rolling green fields and well-maintained
farms which stood as testimony to the years of peace under Abelard’s rule.

Just outside the city, he saw a crew working to repair the surface of the roads following the harsh winter weather, and Roderic
raised his hand in greeting and stopped to speak to the workmen. It was these roads which had enabled his father and his grandfather
to move armies and supplies across the great distances of Meriga, these roads which cut through mountains, arched over rivers,
reaching across the wide plains straighter than arrows. His tutors had all emphasized the strategic and tactical importance
of the highways, and Abelard had never begrudged the high costs of maintenance.

It was of some witch’s brew, thought Roderic, as they continued on their way, that the ancient pavings had been poured, and
he wondered if the men who had made the roads had known they were building their greatest legacy.

They had just remounted after stopping for a brief lunch, when Alexander nudged his mount over to Roderic. “A word, if you
will, Roderic. When I go back to Spogan, there is a coil waiting for me. I hope you might have some insight.”

“Me?” Roderic pulled at the reins so sharply that the horse whickered a protest. Alexander’s face behind his beard was smooth,
impassive; his eyes held an expression impossible to read. He knows about Atland, realized Roderic. He knows, and he wants
to see what sort of ruler I am. “I doubt that I’ll have any insight to offer,” he said at last. “You know that region so much
better than I.”

Quickly Alexander outlined the current state of affairs in the Northwest, and as Roderic listened, a glimmer of understanding
began to dawn. It came down to one thing. When Abelard had set a royal administrator over the affairs of the Senador of Ragonn,
as punishment for his participation in Mortmain’s Rebellion, he had upset the delicate balance of power in that region. So
devastated by the effects of that rebellion was Ragonn, however, that the unablanced situation wasn’t felt until now, more
than twenty-five years later.

“… and I believe a full-scale war is inevitable, if things continue on their present course,” finished Alexander.

“So we must find another way to balance the power than resorting to violence,” Roderic replied.

Alexander looked surprised. “And what do you suggest?”

“Perhaps it is time to recall the royal administrator. Leave the troops in place, but I’ll send out a dispatch to their commanding
officer, ordering him to report to you. That will remove one thorn in your side, as well as give you more flexibility, in
terms of men and resources.”

Alexander was looking at him with wary respect. “Indeed, Lord Prince. It very well may.” They trotted along in silence. Once
more, Alexander cleared his throat. “There is another matter, Roderic. The M’Callaster, old Cormall, has a younger daughter,
Brea. I’d like your permission to ask him for her hand.”

“You want to marry her?” Roderic’s mind raced furiously. Old Cormall had no sons, only two daughters by two different women.
If Alexander married one, it was possible that he could inherit the title of the Settle Islands—and what would that do to
the balance of power in the Northwest?

“Old Cormall’s close to death. I think he’d like to see her provided for. No—” Alexander shook his head at the skepticism
Roderic could not hide. “It’s not what you’re thinking. When one of the Chiefs dies without a direct heir, the contenders
for his title must fight for it. I don’t promise that I wouldn’t fight for it myself, but it is no certain thing.”

“And what about the older daughter?”

“Dierdre? A hell-cat if ever there was one. It’ll take a better man than I to tame her.” Alexander hesitated, and when he
spoke again, his voice was soft. “I love Brea, Roderic. I’d take her if she had nothing but a shift on her shoulders.”

“I will think on it. You understand that I must consult with Dad’s Council over most decisions?”

Alexander nodded, a smile playing beneath his beard. “As you say, Lord Prince. As you say.”

T
hey took the journey to Minnis in easy stages. Ever since Amanander had left, the whole atmosphere seemed changed. Roderic
remembered the looks of relief among the soldiers of the King’s Guard when Amanander and his four bodyguards had ridden out
of Ahga.

On the last morning of their journey, before the towers of Minnis were visible, a party of men on foot stepped out from beneath
the thick cover of trees and waited by the roadside until Roderic and his companions drew closer.

The leader of the group, a short man dressed in a much-patched tunic and trousers, a longbow slung over his shoulder raised
his hand in a cautious salute. “Greetings. We seek the King.”

Roderic exchanged glances with Brand. The Wildings roamed the northern forests between C’Nadia and Meriga, coming over the
border especially in the summer. They were a solitary, nomadic people, who kept to themselves and lived off the land. Occasionally
there were complaints of theft, but the Wildings so seldom went into populated areas, they were left alone for the most part.

“I’m Roderic Ridenau,” said Roderic, as he guided his horse to the fore. “My father, the King, is away. I am his heir. Can
I be of assistance?”

The man glanced over his shoulder at his companions, and cleared his throat. “We hope so, lord. It’s the lycats, j’ou see.

The winter was bad up here, and there’s one that’s taken to killing humans.”

“It’s huge, lord.” Another man spoke up. “And it stalks us in the night—we’ve kept watch, but the thing is clever—it knows
when our men are watching.”

“It takes our children,” said another, with a quiver in his voice. “Got my daughter—she was only four years old.”

Roderic glanced again at Brand, who shrugged. Roderic suppressed a sigh. Even here, there were still responsibilities to be
met. “Good people, we will do what we can. Tomorrow morning, before the sun rises, my men and I will go out to the hunt. Meanwhile,
if you would come to Minnis this evening, around sunset, and give us more information about the beast—where it last hunted,
where it’s been seen—we will do what we can.”

There were low murmurs of assent and gratitude, and with awkward bows, the men faded back into the trees.

“It must be bad,” said Alexander. “I can count the number of times on one hand the Wildings have approached me in all my years
in Spogan. Even when the Sascatch Tribes are on the hunt, the Wildings keep to themselves.”

“I’ve caught glimpses of them now and again,” said Brand.

Roderic nodded in agreement. “Sometimes, in the deep forest, I think I’ve seen them watching through the trees.”

“Better a Wilding than a lycat or a Sascatch,” said Brand.

“Indeed,” said Alexander. “Wildings don’t eat you for dinner.”

The next day, Roderic rose before the sun and pressed a kiss into the tender skin beneath Peregrine’s ear. She smiled in her
sleep and snuggled deeper into her pillows. “Don’t go,” she murmured, and for a moment he hesitated. The thought of returning
to her side in the warm nest of blankets was tempting, but then he sighed and reached for the clothes he had discarded the
day before.

The Wildings’ plea was serious. Once having caught the taste of human meat, lycats never hesitated to hunt and stalk such
relatively easy prey. The soldiers of the garrison had confirmed that many lycats had been sighted in the forest surrounding
the castle, and one or two of the beasts had even been seen from the walls of Minnis itself. The winter before last had been
mild, and the past summer dry, resulting in ideal breeding conditions. As a result, there was a large hungry population roaming
the depleted forest.

The rising sun whitened the mist as the hunting party rode out from the high walls of Minnis, and tiny drops of water condensed
off the burgeoning canopy of leaves overhead. There was a wet, sweet scent in the air, a green scent, and the horses’ hooves
made a muted squish upon the damp earth of the forest trails. Roderic felt he belonged in these woods, beneath these trees,
as though with his father’s responsibilities came an appreciation of his father’s pleasures.

There was a sense of lightness which hung about him, even as the sun rose and the mist dissipated, and the horses crashed
through the green undergrowth. And this time, when his blood began to burn, and his senses seemed to swell with the fire of
the hunt, he felt none of the shameful guilt he had known that awful day in Atland, no awareness in some inner recess of his
mind that what he did was wrong. He swung his sword and threw his spear, and in the dark spurting blood, he felt somehow cleansed.

The hunt was not completely successful: in less than a few hours they had found and killed five of the beasts, but none so
large as that which the Wildings had described.

The men rested as the sun pierced through the leaves with bright shafts of light, laughing and passing pieces of the fresh-baked
bread and new-made cheese they had brought with them. Roderic lay on his back and listened to the others congratulate themselves
and discuss the finer points of the hunt.

The day was pleasantly warm, yet the breeze which stirred the treetops was cool. As the men got to their feet, brushing leaves
and debris from their clothes, Roderic rolled on his side and sat up. “Go on without me,” he said, over their startled protests.
“It’s too late in the day for the lycats, and we are close enough to Minnis.”

“But what will you do, Lord Prince?” asked the oldest of the lot, clearly bewildered.

“It’s been so long since I had any time to myself, Teck. I shall be along shortly. Tell the Lady Peregrine that I’ll want
my dinner as soon as I bathe. And tell the duty sergeant I said you were each to have double rations of ale today, for all
your pains.”

They needed no more urging than that, and Roderic was left in peace. He leaned against a tree trunk, remembering how, as a
child, he had often been afraid of the deep forest, the shadows beneath the ancient trees. His old terrors were all forgotten.
Perhaps that was to be expected. Imaginary monsters paled in comparison to real enemies armed with razor spears.

He had just decided to go back when he heard the first of the thin cries. It was a high-pitched wail, and the terror in it
was unmistakable. Roderic cocked his head and listened for the direction of the cry. When it came again, he swung up into
his saddle and guided the horse at a quick trot through the dense underbrush.

The cry came again, and this time it was pitched with pain. He touched his spurs to the stallion’s sides and crashed into
a clearing, in time to see the largest lycat he had ever imagined standing on hind legs, against a partially fallen tree,
claws extended. Its opened mouth revealed fangs at least six inches in length, a grotesque variation of the tabbies that haunted
the stables and the kitchens.

The tree had long ago been struck by lightning, or toppled by disease, for its trunk leaned over, and vines and a thick crop
of tiny branches covered it like leafy hair.

The lycat crouched, poised to spring, and again, Roderic heard the high, thin wail of terror. Before he could throw the spear,
however, the lycat pounced, and even as he aimed, the animal fell back, clutching a human child.

He came at a gallop, spear poised, and with one tremendous thrust, he buried it hard into the animal’s side. The stallion
screamed a challenge of its own to the red-and-brown spotted beast as they thundered past. Roderic pulled hard on the reins.
The horse wheeled and reared.

With a jerk of its head, the lycat flung the child into the weeds at the base of the tree. Thick blood pulsed from a gash
on the child’s neck as he lay still in a crumpled heap.

The spear quivered deep in the lycat’s side, but Roderic saw that he had missed a mortal blow by many inches. There was a
bright burning hatred in the animal’s eyes as it stood to take the measure of its newest prey. It stood, still as a stone,
only its tail lashing. And then it threw back its head and roared, and Roderic saw the bloodstained yellow fangs, the pink
jaws lined with double rows of teeth. The horse whinnied nervously as it caught the fetid stench of the carnivore. The lycat
crouched, eyes on Roderic.