Children of Enchantment (34 page)

“If I am to convince my people, you must tell me everything you can about this twin of Alexander’s.”

Briefly, Roderic told her about Amanander, Jesselyn’s death, the fruitless search.

“I remember your soldiers coming to ask about the brother of yours,” she said as a knock on the door interrupted them. She
got to her feet and retrieved a bundle of clothes from the guard. With a puckered frown, and a calculated expression in her
eyes, she dropped the bundle in Roderic’s lap. “But I did not realize that he so closely resembled Alexander we could all
have been fooled.”

Roderic unwrapped the bundle. Inside were clothes: linen underclothes, a short tunic woven in varying shades of green and
blue, woolen trousers, and a short woolen cloak of the same tartan Deirdre wore. “At the time he disappeared, he didn’t look
like Alex. Alex has a beard—Amanander doesn’t. Alex’s hair is short—Amanander wore his long and oiled. Amanander has a distinctive
taste in clothes—Alex dresses like a soldier. But all those things are easily altered, and otherwise, the brothers are identical.
And as for your sister, Alexander told me last year he loved her. He asked me for permission to marry her, and he spoke like
a man in love. Alexander would never have harmed your sister in the way you describe.” But Amanander might, thought Roderic,
if he believed his twin had betrayed him.

“And the man I’m holding here isn’t the man who’s caused all the trouble?”

“No, and if he were, we’d have a different issue to settle between us. I want him, too.”

She stared into the flames. “And the fire?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You say the Lords of Mondana didn’t set the fire in Koralane? That they appealed to you for aid?”

“At the same time we heard from Alex.”

“And he was besieged here—” She rose. Roderic heard her speaking to the guards outside. “You may speak with your brother.”
She took a deep breath, her mixed feelings plain on her face. “He’ll be here in a few minutes. I want to warn you—” She broke
off and Roderic looked at her with concern. “He is not well. I don’t believe it was the effects of the siege alone, nor do
I want you to think he has been treated badly, for we don’t treat our prisoners of war cruelly. But your brother is a sick
man.”

She gave a brief bow, picked up a dark red-and-blue cloak, and was gone in a swirl of plaid. Roderic rose and dressed mechanically
in the clothes he had been given, turning her words over and over in his mind. His thoughts were interrupted as the door banged
open and two guards carried in a prone form on a fur-covered stretcher.

“Alex!” He jumped to his feet.

The man on the stretcher bore little resemblance to the man Roderic remembered. He was thin to the point of starvation, hot
with some fever. His black beard was long and tangled, a stark contrast to his white face, and sweat beaded his forehead.
Shocked, Roderic knelt by his side and whispered his name. “Alex? It’s me, Roderic. I’ve come to take you home.”

Alexander plucked at Roderic’s sleeve with skeletal fingers. “Roderic? Forgive—“

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“You should not have come.”

“You’re my brother. Should I have let these people kill you?”

He opened his eyes. “Roderic—“

Roderic tried to suppress a sigh. There was no point in forcing Alexander to talk when he was clearly so weak. “It’s all right,
Alex. We can talk later.”

“No!” He gripped Roderic’s arm with frantic claws. “Roderic, there’s no reason why this should have happened. Old Cormall’s
dead. Died last summer. I never had a chance to ask for Brea’s hand. I wanted to ask Deirdre, but—“

“Alex, we’ll talk later.”

“No! There’s no time. Where’s Brand?”

“In Mondana. Trying to get through Koralane. The lords say the Chiefs set it on fire; now the M’Callaster says they did no
such thing, that it must have been the lords. Did you know that?”

He sank into the pillow. “I have had such dreams.” His voice faded, and he stared vacantly at the beams of the ceiling. “Dreams
of fire reaching to the sky.” His eyes focused, and he struggled to sit. “Koralane burns—Roderic, it makes no sense. It would
be as if you poisoned the earth around Ahga. The Chiefs would never burn Koralane. It is their life—they need the forest as
much as they depend upon the sea. And neither would the Lords of Mondana. To do so would be utter madness.”

Roderic pushed him gently back against the blanket. “Then if the Chiefs and the lords didn’t set it on fire, who did?”

Alexander wet his dry, cracked lips and spoke so softly Roderic felt rather than heard the name, “Aman.” It was less than
a sigh.

“Amanander?”

“He comes to me in dreams, stalks my sleep.”

“Alex, you’ve been sick.”

“This is not raving, I swear it. I’ve had such dreams, Roderic, of great fires, and—and—Dad.”

Roderic gripped Alexander’s shoulder, searching his face for the truth. “What about Dad?”

“I don’t know. I see him on a throne—I know Aman wants me dead.”

The automatic denial died on his lips. Roderic remembered Annandale’s words.

Alexander met his eyes, and in that moment a recognition passed between them. “You think Amanander’s behind this, Alex.” It
was a statement.

Alexander closed his eyes and nodded wearily. “Yes. I refused him, you see. I refused to help him win the regency, and so
he turned against me.” A tear crept out of the corner of one eye and streaked down his narrow, too thin face. “I should have
told you this at Minnis.”

“Alex, you need to rest.”

“Listen to me. Amanander wants the throne.”

“I know that. Here, I’ll call for the men—“

“Damn you.” Alexander clutched at Roderic’s tunic, and Roderic would never have thought a dying man had so much strength.
“Listen to me. He won’t stop until he has it—I was wrong not to tell you after he killed Jesselyn.”

“Tell me what, Alex? I knew then he wanted the throne. So did Phineas, and Brand.”

“You don’t understand!” He gripped Roderic’s hand in both of his with such frantic urgency the knuckles cracked. “Listen.
When we were younger than you are now—twelve—our grandmother quarreled with Dad. She wanted him to make Amanander his heir,
and when he refused, she hounded him until he banished her.”

“What does this have to do—“

“She got her hands on some old books—books which went back before the Armageddon—books of Magic, she said. And she tried to
learn how to use it. When she was banished from the court, she went back to Missiluse, and she took us with her.”

“What happened?”

“She and my uncle, Eldred, they found a Muten. I don’t know where or how, but they wanted the Muten to teach the Magic to
them. And he did—or he started to. Dad came down after her, finally. Amanander overheard Dad tell her that it didn’t matter
whether she knew the Magic or not, that Amanander would never be King, not with Magic or without it. And Amanander never forgot
that. Aman knows the old Magic is real—he’s seen it work, and he did begin to learn it.”

Roderic gently disentangled his hand from Alex’s clawlike grasp.

Alexander looked at him with burning eyes. “He was pleased Dad sent him to Dlas—it would save him a great deal of trouble,
he told me. Roderic, that’s not all, please, listen.” Tears ran down his face. “I should have told you everything Aman has
convinced Reginald to join against you. And Reginald—“

Fear, pure and black and hard as the cliffs of Sentellen’s cut through Roderic like a blade. “What about Reginald?”

“Reginald is poised to break the treaties you signed last year with the Mutens—to rally the lesser lords of Atland and Missiluse—Roderic,
don’t you see what he’s done?”

“Yes,” he whispered finally, when he could speak. “I do.”

“I just don’t know where he’s gone….” Alexander’s voice trailed off.

Roderic looked down at his weary brother. The room was so quiet, he could hear the incessant drip of water from the eaves,
and the snap of the fire beneath Alexander’s ragged breathing. “I do,” he said, grimly. “I think I know exactly where he has
headed and I understand exactly what he has done. The question now is only can we undo this mischief in time to prevent the
worst from happening.”

A
nd what about my cattle?” The M’Cullen’s bellow was a challenge that reverberated through the thin frame of the hodge. Roderic
groaned inwardly as the expressions on the faces of the men crouched around the hearth changed from those of grudging cooperation
to avid interest.

“Not the time nor place to worry about your cows,” snorted the M’Cooley as he tipped back a wineskin.

“How many cows d’you think you had?” jeered a red-bearded giant across the room.

“Cares more for his cows than any man of us,” added the M’Clee, close by Deirdre’s side. He picked his teeth with a dagger
and spat into the fire.

“That’s cause he diddles ‘em.” The red-haired chief reached for the mead.

Across the room, the M’Cullen began to rise, and Roderic glanced at Deirdre. She appeared to be listening patiently to the
exchange, but as the M’Cullen began to move, his face distorted with rage, she grabbed the dagger away from the M’Clee and
threw it. Roderic tried not to cringe. The blade went through the hem of the M’Cullen’s cloak, pinning him to the floor.

“Now.” Deirdre cleared her throat. “I agree the matter of your cattle is serious, M’Cullen.” She used the formal address.
“But now is not the time or the place. You know as well as I that such matters are to be brought before the jury at the

Mid-Year Meet.” The Chief opened his mouth to protest, and she held up her hand. “1 will hear your grievance later. Not now.
Not before this honored guest.” With a sweep of her hand, she indicated Roderic.

There were low mutters among those clustered closest to the M’Cullen, and Deirdre sighed. “Think, you fools—d’you want the
mainlander to see us divided? You show him our weakness.” She shook her head and waved her hand. “Go on now—the day is late,
and I smell dinner. We’ll meet once more tomorrow. Early.”

There were groans from various sides of the fire, and as Deirdre rose to her feet, the door of the hodge opened, and a mud-spattered
messenger, accompanied by two of the nearly naked warriors, stumbled inside.

At once there was silence. “Messenger?” Deirdre asked even as Roderic recognized the colors of the King’s Guard.

Roderic rose and held out his hand and the messenger pressed the worn dispatch into his hands. “What news?”

“Koralane, Lord Prince,” replied the messenger. “Koralane is saved. The forest no longer burns. Your brother Brand sends you
this news.” He gave Roderic’s hands another squeeze and a look full of meaning.

“See to his needs,” Deirdre broke the silence. “Take the messenger, clothe and feed him, treat him as our own.”

A thousand questions danced on Roderic’s tongue, and he bit his lip as guards approached the messenger. “Read the dispatch,
Lord Prince,” the messenger replied to the look on Roderic’s face, as Deirdre’s household guards tapped him courteously on
the shoulder. “It will explain much.”

Roderic waited until the last of the Chiefs filed out of the low doorway of the hodge. As Deirdre reached for one of the jugs
of mead, Roderic tore open the seals, his frown deepening with each line.

“What’s wrong?” Deirdre eyed him over the rim as she swallowed a long draught.

“The messenger spoke truth. Koralane is saved. But the Lords of Mondana blame you—the Chiefs—and they want blood. Brand suggests
we ride to Spogan—you, a few of the cooler heads among you—and there negotiate a peace. Otherwise—“

“Otherwise it will be war.”

“Yes.” Roderic took the jug and swallowed. The liquor burned all the way to his belly, where it settled with a pleasant warmth.

Deirdre looked at him with something like amusement. “I thought our island liquor was too strong for you, Prince.”

He put the jug down, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Too strong? No. But someone needs to keep a cool head—I don’t
understand why you haven’t all killed each other long ago.”

“Ha.” Deirdre gestured dismissively. “It’s just the way things are. None of them mean most of the things they say, Prince.
For us, what we say is so much noise. It’s what we do that counts.”

“But tempers are so thin—“

“They’re like complaining old women. They blather on and on because it pleases them. You don’t understand what was really
said.”

Roderic looked at her. “Explain.”

“Well.” Deirdre shrugged. “When the M’Cullen mentioned his cows, he knew as well as everyone that it was not an issue here—it
meant that we were on home ground, so to speak—that the treaty you have offered us is acceptable, at least to the M’Cullen.
And they were getting bored. None of us are used to sitting still so long, Prince. They ‘re usually drunk or passed out if
they stay in one place this length of time. You’ll see.”

“And what about this?” He waved the dispatch in the air.

“We’ll ride to Spogan in another week or two. And if it’s to be war, it will be war. But it will not be of my choosing.”