Children of Enchantment (32 page)

“Must you go?”

He hesitated. “Let me talk to this messenger. Perhaps it won’t be necessary.”

“Roderic!” Brand called from the steps which led into the inner ward. “The messenger is in the hall.”

“Let’s talk to him now.” With Annandale at his heels, Roderic followed Brand into the castle. In the hall, a knot of perhaps
a dozen people clustered near one of the great hearths. A kingdom messenger lay spent on a pile of furs hastily pulled off
the benches. His uniform was in tatters, covered in mud, his shoulder was bound with a bloody bandage, and crusted rags covered
another wound on his thigh. Peregrine knelt by his side, a goblet in her hand, a bowl of water on the floor next to her.

Annandale clenched her fists together and sank down on a bench some distance away.

“Will you be all right?” asked Roderic, holding her hands in both his. “Let me talk to him—I’ll have him moved to private
quarters, and then—” Their eyes met, and she nodded. He was beginning to understand, she thought, how it was for her.

“Messenger.” Roderic dropped down on one knee. The man opened his eyes; his breathing was labored, and his breath was foul.

“You—the Prince?”

“Yes. What can you tell me of my brother’s situation?”

He coughed painfully, and Roderic looked at Peregrine, who shook her head. “Betrayed.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

“By whom?”

“The Chiefs. Complete surprise. He trusted them. He sought peace—a new treaty—“

“Take your time.”

“No time left.” The messenger groped at Roderic’s tunic. “He sent out five of us—I alone made it through the lines. He is
on Sentellen’s Island. I took this—” he gestured weakly to his arm and legs “—when I ran into a scouting party in Mondana.”

“They have attacked the Lords of Mondana as well?”

“The whole Northwest—they have set fire to the Forest of Koralane. You will have difficulty moving into the region.”

“But why? What happened?”

The messenger’s dark eyes seemed to glaze. “Alexander was working to heal the ancient breach between the Chiefs and the Lords
of Mondana. But someone betrayed him … someone turned the Chiefs against him. The treaties fell apart and Alexander was trapped
on Sentellen’s.” He fell back in a faint, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

Roderic looked over his shoulder at Brand, who shook his head. “Have him taken to one of the rooms above. See to his needs
as best you can, Peregrine.”

“As you say. Lord Prince.” She kept her eyes down and would not look at him.

Roderic sighed and got heavily to his feet. He waved the spectators away with an impatient flick of his hand. He glanced at
Annandale and motioned her closer. “What do you think?” he asked Brand as Annandale came to stand beside him.

“We should get up there as quickly as we can,” said Brand.

Roderic glanced at Annandale. “I would rather not leave Ahga if it can be helped.”

Brand made an exasperated noise. “Will you excuse us, lady?” He dragged Roderic to a hearth across the hall. “So now you intend
to sit by the fire and hold your wife’s hand?”

“I didn’t say that, Brand. It’s just that—“

“Just that you’ve been married not a month and the thought of leaving her tears at your heart.”

Roderic glanced around the hall. If anyone was paying them any attention at all, they were concealing it well. But the walls
themselves had ears; he knew the servants gossiped and that there was little they didn’t know. “I have to protect her, Brand.
She is very special—“

“I agree. But who else can go and settle a dispute between our brother and the Chiefs and the Lord of Mondana? Who else has
the authority? And didn’t you hear the messenger? Someone betrayed Alex. Who do you think that someone might be?”

Roderic met his oldest brother’s eyes evenly. “Amanander’s name was the first to occur to me, although I can’t quite believe
Amanander would betray his own brother.”

“Why not? He might have told Alex something of his plans, and if Alex rejected them—don’t you think Amanander is capable of
turning against anyone who might stand in his way?”

“Yes,” Roderic nodded slowly, “I do.”

“Then let’s go get him. Let’s end this now, once and for all. And then we can all grow fat together here beside the fires.”

Roderic glanced away. What Brand said made sense and yet, he didn’t want to leave Annandale’s side. But between Phineas and
Garrick, and the garrisons of the city and the castle, she should be safe enough—especially if Amanander were in the North.
“But the Forest of Koralane is burning. Our overland access is cut off. How quickly can we muster the army?”

“The standing divisions will be ready within the week,” answered Brand.

Roderic gazed beyond Brand’s head at the crest of the Ridenaus, the faded banner proclaiming the ancient motto:
Faith shall finish
… The words echoed in his mind even as his brain formulated the answer. “We must cross the Saranevas at the Koralado Pass
and go up the coast. And we’ll pray that snow hasn’t closed the passes, or we’ll have the devil’s own time getting there.”

“We’ll be almost completely cut off from our own reserves.”

Roderic looked at his brother. “Not we. You must go to Mondana—someone’s got to fight that fire and attack the Chiefs on their
flank. That will open up the overland supply route. And I will send a messenger on ahead to the M’Callaster and try to open
up negotiations with the Chiefs. We’ve got to have a clearer understanding of what’s happened.”

Brand gave Roderic a long look. “Arc you ready for this?”

Roderic glanced across the room at Annandale. She met his eyes and nodded, her eyes wide with love and something else, something
he wasn’t sure he understood. A look passed between them, and suddenly Roderic wanted nothing more than to hand the charge
of Alexander’s rescue over to someone— anyone—else. Garrick and Phineas were old men—too old,surely, to protect his precious
bride. And then Brand cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for his answer, and once more, Roderic
was reminded that he was the Regent of Meriga, charged with preserving the union of the estates. He squared his shoulders
and tried to speak lightly. “It’s like everything else. It really doesn’t matter whether I’m ready or not.”

Febry, 76th Year in the Reign of the Ridenau Kings (2748 Muten Old Calendar)

T
he oars dipped and rolled, carving a channel into the inky water. Silently as wraiths, the boats moved across the surface
of the bay. Before them, the black cliffs of Sentellen’s loomed higher and more forbidding as they approached the island under
a shrouded sky. Roderic shifted uneasily in the bow of the boat, as the white flag of truce fluttered in the breeze. A cold
drizzle stung his cheeks and trickled down his neck beneath his leather armor and his tunic. He was accustomed to the discomfort.
for the march through the Saranevas and up the thickly forested coast of Ragonn had been plagued with driving rain and bitter
cold. By the time they arrived on the shores of Ragonn, the defense of Sentellen’s had broken, and Alexander and his men taken
captive by the M’Callaster and the Chiefs. All that was left for him to do was try to negotiate a peace, and Alexander’s return.
And that, from what he understood, was going to be no small task. The Chiefs were demanding Alexander’s blood. But why? he
wondered, as he adjusted his cloak, pulling it tighter against his throat. What had Alexander done to arouse the ire of men
with whom he had lived so long and so peacefully? There was something about the whole situation he found unbelievable.

In the midst of his musings, Roderic felt the man beside him touch his arm. He started. “Yes, Havil?”

“Up there, Lord Prince. Do you see them?”

Roderic raised his eyes to the shoreline, squinting to see a mass of men waiting. “I do. That’s the Chiefs?”

“That’s their welcoming committee.” Havil grunted and hunkered down once more, pulling his hood lower over his face.

Thank the One for Havil, thought Roderic. Havil had been Alexander’s second-in-command at the garrison at Spogan, a levelheaded,
experienced administrator and soldier, utterly loyal to Alexander. He had met Roderic’s army on the northern shores of Ragonn
and had already proven an invaluable asset in dealing with the aged Senador of Ragonn and his sulky heir. Lewis of Ragonn
was one of those who had risen against the throne during Mortmain’s Rebellion. Although Roderic understood in principle the
urge which had made Abelard keep the rebellious lords so firmly under his thumb, Roderic wondered if his father had ever considered
the legacy of mistrust he had left for his heir.

But men like Alexander and Havil went a long way toward healing the breach, and Roderic wondered again and again what could
possibly have driven the Chiefs to rise against Alexander. Everywhere was evidence of Alexander’s evenhanded treatment of
the opposing interests which vied for control in the North.

“Not much longer, now, Lord Prince,” murmured Havil as he hunkered down beside Roderic in the bow of the boat.

Roderic murmured an assent. There had been no sign, no word of Amanander. No one had seen him, no one had heard where he had
gone, or what he had done. It was as though he had vanished into the forests surrounding Minnis.

Roderic found this profoundly disturbing. He had expected some word, some evidence of Amanander’s presence and the fact that
there was nothing, although he had quizzed both Havil and the Senador’s son, suggested that Amanander had never been there.

The walls of the cliffs seemed to rise perpendicularly out of the sea. The hollow echoing of the surf grew louder, and Roderic
realized it was the waves battering at the base of the giant rocks. Roderic drew a deep breath and held it. With Amanander’s
disappearance, Alexander’s rescue was paramount. He could not believe that Amanander had not tried to contact his twin, and
now, coupled with the urgency to return to Annandale, he needed to resolve this conflict as quickly as possible. He needed
Alexander’s insights in order to end the breach once and for all. Too much time had been wasted already.

He forced his cramped, cold legs to relax as the crews brought the boats through the swirling breakers to scud on the sand
of the narrow strip of beach beneath the cliffs. He wiped the mist off his face with wet leather gloves and leapt clumsily
out of the boat, where he stumbled on the sand. All around him, the other men splashed through the shallows. Havil touched
his arm and pointed.

Roderic looked up. Above them, a mass of men waited: tall, burly men, wrapped in lengths of patterned wool, furs draped around
their necks. A burst of rain fell as though the heavens opened, and the wind blew harder. They stared at each other, and then
the silence was broken by one of the men in the forefront of the mass. “Ridenau Prince?”

The words might have been curses. Roderic pulled his shoulders straighter and adjusted the short sword he wore at his hip.
“I am Roderic Ridenau.”

“M’Callaster awaits.”

With a jerk of his head, the Chief indicated the steps carved into the massive face of the rock wall rising above them. Roderic
glanced at his men, and Havil nodded. “Very well.”

The crowd parted, and here and there Roderic caught the flash of metal, of gold and silver and enameled jewelry at throats
and on bare upper arms. Some of the men were naked from the waist up beneath their plaids and seemed oblivious to the damp,
whining wind. And to a man, they were armed with swords and daggers, the leather sheaths finely tooled and worked in intricate
designs. He met their eyes, and they did not look down or break the stare; he was reminded again that the Chiefs of the Settle
Islands did not acknowledge the supremacy of the Ridenau Kings, and that the M’Callaster scorned his place among the Senadors
in the Congress.

He gazed up at the high, forbidding cliffs and he realized what sort of struggle Alexander must have put up in order to repel
the attackers. He straightened his shoulders and met their gazes evenly as he passed by.

The path wound up the beach, to the very base of the black cliffs, and Roderic realized that steps cut into the wet stone
were the only route up the face of the wall. A crude rope banister provided the only handhold. He glanced down at the faces
staring up at him, suspicion and hostility evident in each one. One by one, as they climbed the face of the cliff, they would
be easy pickings. He saw Havil glance over his shoulder at the men behind them, and he set his foot on the bottom step with
renewed determination.

He felt the weight of the eyes staring as he climbed.

Higher and higher they climbed, wending their way up the path. In places the stone was cracked and broken, and he was forced
to tread carefully, clinging to the frayed rope. The faces below faded into pale white moons, and only the colors of the plaids
distinguished one man from another. Roderic felt a momentary spasm of dizziness as he looked down. Then his vision cleared
and he looked up.

At the top, more men waited. They looked much like their fellows below, yet here and there, Roderic spied bandages, white
against the weathered skin. The fortress of Sentellen’s was where Alexander had withstood the siege.