Count Scar - SA (34 page)

"And did you create magical food out of his bag as well? All I found in it was the remains of a loaf."

He smiled and shook his head. "Magic cannot create. The food I bought from a sheep farmer a little way down the mountain. I saw his smoke early this morning, and since you appeared to be
resting peacefully I took a chance by leaving you and riding down there—tricky, riding with only one hand! While I was out I also performed the incantations that would hide our tracks if any
more Perfected came after us—or the farmer proved to be an enemy. The dog at the farm was quite fierce, not at all impressed by a priests vestments, but the old farmer himself proved as good a
son of the True Faith as you are likely to find up in these mountains. He was quite happy to sell me eggs, cheese, and barley cakes—I hope you do not mind, Count, that I took the money from
your belt pouch. But he seemed very suspicious about me at first and kept asking if I had already tried to buy some chickens the other night! Poor old man; living alone all summer long may allow
his fancies to take more solid form than they otherwise would."

I decided to tell him the story of my chicken raid another time. "Thank you, Father Melchior," I said, leaning back and enjoying the warmth of the sun. "By my calculations you've saved my life
at least three times since we buried Bruno. It looks as if the heretics won't find us now, so as soon as we've both recovered a little more strength, we can ride home to Peyrefixade. Maybe by then
some of the knights will also have made their way back, and we can plan how to ransom the rest and get started on finding that great telesma your Order wants so badly."

It was two more days before we both felt strong enough to start toward home. I let the priest handle the purchase of additional food. My leg was healing now without infection, but the heretics
sword had severed muscle. Would Arsendis ever be interested, I wondered, in a cripple? The answer kept coming back negative no matter how I phrased it. The name of Count Scar actually
sounded rather appealing when compared to Count Stumblefoot.

It took a day of riding just to find a road we recognized again, and it was late in the second day when we reached the bottom of Peyrefixade's mountain and looked up to see the watchfires of
besiegers camped all around it.

My heart sank. What I had feared then was true: the heretics had come straight from ambushing us to the castle. "Well, Father Melchior," I said grimly, "it looks like we won't be home to good
food and a hot bath as soon as we hoped. We'd better head toward the duke's city to see if he'll put us up, and incidentally ask him for some knights to help us attack these heretics from the rear."

But the priest had been staring up the mountain with an absorbed, faraway expression. "Those are not the heretics besieging your castle, Count. Those are the duke's knights."

Which could only mean the heretics were already inside.

Chapter Twelve ~ Malchior

Chapter Twelve ~ Malchior

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I had been filled with unease as we rode up the steep track to the tightly shut gates of Peyrefixade in the early light, and it was proving to have been well justified. Count Caloran and the duke
had been like two dogs circling each other from the moment we'd entered the siege-camp the night before, and this parley with the occupiers of Peyrefixade was doing nothing to ease the tension
between them. Only the slim, handsome man not far from Count Galoran's age who stood looking down upon us from the wall, with two Perfected Magians standing at his side, seemed to be
enjoying the situation.

"Ah, Count, I fear circumstances dictate that I must decline to return control of this castle to you at present. But do allow me to congratulate you and your Magian-priest for having managed to
survive both the mountain nights and the weapons of the men who were sent after you." Seeing him now, with the duke at our side, I was amazed I had not realized who he had to be, the day he'd
appeared before us so unexpectedly as we returned from meeting Prince Alfonso. Much of the duke showed in the sharp curve of his nose and the arc of his black fine brows—and something of the
Lady Arsendis's ironic humor in his eye and voice. Once these had been noted, there could be no doubt this was the duke's son Gavain. Glancing sideways, I saw the duke gazing up at his son with
a face that showed both fury and deep sorrow.

"The devil take you and your congratulations!" Count Caloran roared back. "I again call upon you to yield up my castle, which you have gained only through a stratagem fully worthy of a
heretic and a traitor! How dare you appear upon my wall and speak to me with my own clothing on your back!"

"What, do you not think your raiment becomes me, Count?" Even without use of the second eye, it was easy enough to see Gavain's devilish smile as he stretched out one arm to display the fine
broad sleeve of Count Galoran's best doublet, pillaged from our stolen baggage along with his good cloak. "The style is a bit drab for my taste, I own, but the fabric and needlework would do credit
to any gentleman. Moreover, I have good evidence that it renders me your very mirror. With this upon my back, the hood of your cloak drawn up about my face, and my fellows riding behind in
the evening gloom arrayed in the excellent armor and cloaks your captured knights had so graciously 'lent' them, I had no trouble convincing the sentries upon your formidable gates to admit us
to this excellent castle. Nevertheless, I shall wear these borrowed plumes no more now that I find we shall have the unexpected pleasure of your company after all. I have no wish to offend so
redoubtable a warrior and gentleman unnecessarily."

As a canon and priest, I could never set down precisely what Count Caloran replied. But the duke's son only laughed. "Ah, it is always so pleasant to bandy courtly witticisms with another
gentleman! But you must excuse me now; I have business to which I really must attend. There seems to be at least the possibility that I and my companions shall have to remain here for some time
under conditions of siege, and I must look to our supplies and defenses."

As Count Caloran and the duke rode just ahead of me down the steep track from the gates of Peyrefixade, I could see the flesh pull tight around the counts scar. "Their supplies! Their defenses!" he
snarled. "The fellow sits inside my castle, eating my food, drinking my wine, wearing my clothes, then laughs at me from my own wall." He turned in the saddle to glare back up the hill. "I
don't suppose there's any chance he'd think it another fine joke to have his archers put a few arrows into our backs as we ride down this road exposed like three roaches on a table?"

"Gavain would not do that, not to men who'd approached openly asking for a parley," the duke answered in an angry tone. "He may have been blinded to much that is good and right by these
damned heretics, but he's still both a true knight and a gentleman." Despite the duke's fatherly confidence, I confess I kept the regard of my second eye fixed firmly on the battlements until we
were safely back inside the duke's siege-camp.

"I tell you, we must find a way to dislodge the Perfected from Peyrefixade before they find the old Magus's great battle telesma!" the count bellowed to the council of war gathered under the
duke's pavilion a little later, and struck his fist on the table.

"Do you imagine I don't understand that?" Duke Argave roared back. "My father fought in the great crusades against the Perfected alongside your own ancestors; he told me all about the terrible
power of their Magians' magical creations. Why do you suppose my family and your own have always been the most generous patrons of the Order of the Three Kings? Why do you think I was so
concerned that the castle in particular, the one nearest to their remaining territory up in the western mountains, be put under a strong master with one of the Order's best Magians at his side?

Though it appears I may have erred in my choice. You showed poor judgment, Count. First in going from here at all when you knew yourself to be the target of magical attacks by the heretics, and
more particularly in keeping in your service a Magian who appears incompetent to defend you from them. Had you been at your proper post within Peyrefixade, as your duty required, we would
not now be facing this situation."

"I am your sworn vassal, duke, but I will not stand silent and hear you impeach Father Melchior, who has saved my life many times by his skill and nearly died for his trouble!" Count Caloran
was glaring at Argave as no man facing his lord should, and I began to feel afraid of what might happen if this went on, gratifying though it might be that his first words had been in my defense.

"As to my abandoning my place and duty, did I not dispatch a messenger well in advance, informing you that I intended to go from Peyrefixade to the House of the Magians to bury my faithful
old companion Bruno? If you had reason to fear anything like this mad attack, why did you not warn me against going? Or failing that, why not send a troop of your own knights to guard the
borderland roads? You certainly had far better reason than I to know what an audacious devil the heretics' war captain can be. Besides, did I not leave the castle in the care of the man you of all
people would have thought most reliable?"

The duke started and glared at this, but the count ignored him and spoke on. "And what of your duty to me, your own sworn vassal? When Father Melchior and I lay hidden in the hills, badly
wounded and menaced by heretics seeking our lives, I do not recall that any party of your soldiers came looking to aid us. Instead, we were abandoned to make our way back home however we
could, arriving here last evening supposing we had reached safety at last only to find my castle in enemy hands, with you and your men camped comfortably in front of it, doing nothing."

"Nothing! Did I not ransom from my own purse all of your men who were being held within: both those captured holding back the heretics while you fled like a frightened rat, and also every man
of the castle garrison except for— for the bouteillier, and the other two knights they insisted upon keeping as hostages? And you appeared to be fit enough when you rode in last night, except for a
sore leg and a dirty cloak. How am I to know that you and your priest did not simply hide up there in the hills until you were certain I and my men had your castle securely encircled, with ample
reinforcements on the way, before you showed yourselves?"

"Are you accusing me of cowardice, Duke?" the count shouted, his hand convulsively gripping the hilt of his sword.

Now thoroughly alarmed, I fixed my attention on Prior Belthesar, who stood by as Duke Argave's spiritual counselor just as I was the count's. I spoke into his second ear, "Prior—we must stop
this!"

He pressed his lips together and gave a nod. I stepped forward, so did he, and we moved between the quarreling noblemen with hands upraised as the prior intoned, "Peace, my lords, peace. Your
quarrel is not with one another. Divisions among us only serve the interests of those we must all oppose."

"Humph—well, I suppose you are right about that," the duke muttered after a tense silence. "It's a standoff for the moment, anyway; they can't get out and we can't get in. This council is
adjourned until tonight, after supper. The additional men I've sent for should arrive by then."

I started after Count Caloran, but Prior Belthesar put his hand on my sleeve and told me to come with him. He led me to his own tent, which stood by itself in the meadow a little below the
soldiers' camp, and had a novice bring out a pair of seats.

"That was a close thing, but all's safe for the moment," he said, ordering me to sit despite my protest that I should stand before him, and telling the novice to bring wine. "We'll need to keep alert
to prevent more such trouble, though. It appears your count can be a dangerous man if pressed, and I know my duke is! And they're both close to the edge now. But enough of them for the
moment. Tell me how you are feeling. I was very glad to see you and the count ride in last night; I'd been very worried ever since the duke's search party met me on the road and told me what had
happened. You look better today, but still a little pale."

"I feel better, my father. A night on a camp bed under canvas might have seemed a hardship another time, but after what the count and I have been through it felt like luxury. I have a little pain
in my shoulder, nothing more. I intend to begin restoring the magic lines of my grandfathers telesma today."

"Yes, I suppose you're up to that," he said after leaning close to look into my eyes. "But be careful not to overdo. You mustn't risk a bout of mage-sickness today; both the Order and your count
will have need of you at your best before very long. This situation cannot be allowed to continue without decisive action, and that soon."

"What do you mean, Prior?"

"Several things come to mind, but the great battle telesma must be the chief concern for us of the Order. There is something you do not know yet that figures into this matter. Using such small
skill as I do possess at divination, I have determined for certain that the Perfected have the lesser battle telesma inside the castle now, doubtless hoping to use the affinity that exists between the
two as a means of locating its more powerful mate. But we, or rather you, hold the conviare that was wrought to unite and direct their power. Have you considered what might happen if the
Perfected should succeed in obtaining the great telesma and tried to wield the joined potency of both against us without the mediation of the conviare?"