Fionavar 1 (5 page)

In a life shaped of careful decisions, the only impulsive act of significance had been the beginning of her relationship with Kevin Laine one night two years ago. Now, improbably, she found herself in a place where only the fact that she could see the Summer Triangle overhead gave her any kind of security. She shook her head and, not lacking in a sense of irony, smiled very slightly to herself.

Paul Schafer was speaking, answering the mage. "It seems," he said softly-they were all speaking
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quietly-"that if you brought us here, then we're already a part of your group, or we'll be seen that way anyhow. I'll keep my mouth shut."

Kevin was nodding, and then Kim. Jennifer turned from the window. "I won't say anything," she said. "But please find Dave soon, because I really am going to be very frightened if you don't."

"Company!" Matt growled from the doorway.

"Ailell? Already? It can't be," said Loren.

Matt listened for a moment longer. "No . . . not the King. I think . . ." and his dark, bearded face twisted into its version of a smile. "Listen for yourself," the Dwarf said.

A second later Kevin heard it, too: the unsteady caroling of someone coming down the hallway towards them, someone far gone in drink:

Those who rode that night with Revor

Did a deed to last forever . . .

The Weaver cut from brighter cloth

Those who rode through Daniloth!

"You fat buffoon!" another voice snarled, rather more controlled. "Shut up or you'll have him disinherited for bringing you in here." The sardonic laughter of a third person could be heard, as the footsteps made their tenuous way up the corridor.

"Song," the aggrieved troubadour said, "is a gift to men from the immortal gods."

"Not the way you sing, Tegid," his critic snapped. Loren was suppressing a smile, Kim saw.

Kevin snorted with laughter.

"Shipyard lout," the one called Tegid retorted, not quietly. "You betray your ignorance. Those who were there will never forget my singing that night in the Great Hall at Seresh. I had them weeping, I

had-"

"I was there, you clown! I was sitting beside you. And I've still got stains on my green doublet from when they started throwing fruit at you."

"Poltroons! What can you expect in Seresh? But the battle after, the brave fight in that same hall!

Even though wounded, I rallied our-"

"Wounded?" Hilarity and exasperation vied for mastery in the other speaker's voice. "A tomato in the eye is hardly-"

"Hold it, Coll." The third man spoke for the first tune. And in the room Loren and Matt exchanged a glance. "There's a guard just ahead," the light, controlling voice went on. "I'll deal with him. Wait for a minute after I go in, then take Tegid to the last room on the left. And keep him quiet, or by the river blood of Lisen, I will be disinherited."

Matt stepped quickly into the hallway. "Good even, Prince." He raised his dagger in salute. A vein of blue glittered in the light. "There is no guard here now. He has gone to bring your father-Silvercloak has just returned with four people who have crossed. You had best move Tegid to a safe place very fast."

"Sören? Welcome home," said the Prince, walking forward. "Coll, take him quickly."

"Quickly?" Tegid expostulated. "Great Tegid moves at his own pace. He deigns not to hide from minions and vassals. He confronts them with naked steel of Rhoden and the prodigious armor of his wrath. He-"

"Tegid," the Prince said with extreme softness, "move now, and sharply, or I will have you stuffed through a window and dropped to the courtyard. Prodigiously."

There was a silence. "Yes, my lord," the reply came, surprisingly meek. As they moved past the doorway Kim caught a glimpse of an enormously fat man, and another, muscled but seeming small beside him, before a third figure appeared in the entranceway, haloed by the wall torch in the corridor. Diarmuid, she had time to remember. They call him Diarmuid. The younger son.

And then she found herself staring.

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All his life Diarmuid dan Ailell had been doing that to people. Supporting himself with a beringed hand upon the wall, he leaned lazily in the doorway and accepted Loren's bow, surveying them all.

Kim, after a moment, was able to isolate some of the qualities: the lean, graceful build, high cheekbones in an over-refined face, a wide, expressive mouth, registering languid amusement just then, the jewelled hands, and the eyes . . . the cynical, mocking expression in the very blue eyes of the King's Heir in the High Kingdom. It was hard to judge his age; close to her own, she guessed.

"Thank you, Silvercloak," he said. "A timely return and a timely warning."

"It is folly to defy your father for Tegid," Loren began. "It is a matter far too trivial-"

Diarmuid laughed. "Advising me again? Already? A crossing hasn't changed you, Loren. There are reasons, there are reasons . . ."he murmured vaguely.

"I doubt it," the mage replied. "Other than perversity and South Keep wine."

"Good reasons, both," Diarmuid agreed, flashing a smile. "Who," he said, in a very different tone, "have you brought for Metran to parade tomorrow?" Loren, seemingly used to this, made the introductions gravely. Kevin, named first, bowed formally. Paul followed suit, keeping his eyes on those of the Prince. Kim merely nodded. And Jennifer-

"A peach!" exclaimed Diarmuid dan Ailell. "Silvercloak, you have brought me a peach to nibble."

He moved forward then, the jewellery at wrist and throat catching the torchlight, and, taking Jennifer's hand, bowed very low and kissed it.

Jennifer Lowell, not predisposed by character or environment to suffer this sort of thing gladly, let him have it as he straightened.

"Are you always this rude?" she asked. And there was no warmth in the voice at all, or in the green eyes. It stopped him for an instant only. "Almost always," he answered affably. "I do have some redeeming qualities, though I can never remember what they're supposed to be. I'll wager,"

he went

on, in a swift change of mood, "that Loren is shaking his head behind my back right now in tragic disapproval." Which happened to be true. "Ah well, then," he continued, turning to look at the frowning mage, "I suppose I'm expected to apologize now?"

He grinned at Loren's sober agreement, then turned once more to Jennifer. "I am sorry, sweetling.

Drink and a long ride this afternoon. You are quite extravagantly beautiful, and have probably dealt with worse intrusions before. Indulge me." It was prettily done. Jennifer, somewhat bemused, found she could only manage a nod. Which succeeded in provoking yet another sublimely mocking smile. She flushed, angry again.

Loren cut in sharply. "You are behaving badly, Diarmuid, and you know it."

"Enough!" the Prince snapped. "Don't push me, Loren." The two men exchanged a tense look.

When Diarmuid spoke again, though, it was in a milder tone. "I did apologize, Loren, do me some justice." After a moment, the mage nodded.

"Fair enough," he said. "We don't have time to quarrel, in any case. I need your help. Two things. A

svart attacked us in the world from which I brought these people. It followed Matt and me, and it was wearing a vellin stone."

"And the other thing?" Diarmuid was instantly attentive, drunk as he was.

"There was a fifth person who crossed with us. We lost him. He is in Fionavar-but I don't know where. I need him found, and I would much prefer that Gorlaes not know of him."

"Obviously. How do you know he is here?"

"Kimberly was our hook. She says she had him."

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Diarmuid turned to fix Kim with an appraising stare. Tossing her hair back she met the look, and the expression in her own eyes was more than a little hostile.

Turning without reaction, the Prince walked to the window and looked out in silence. The waning moon had risen-overly large, but Jennifer, also gazing out, did not notice that.

"It hasn't rained while you were gone, by the way," said Diarmuid. "We have other things to talk about. Matt," he continued crisply, "Coll is in the last room on the left. Make sure Tegid is asleep, then brief him. A description of the fifth person. Tell Coll I'll speak with him later."

Wordlessly, Matt slipped from the room.

"No rain at all?" Loren asked softly. "None." "And the crops?"

Diarmuid raised an eyebrow without bothering to answer. Loren's face seemed molded of fatigue and concern. "And the King?" he asked, almost reluctantly.

Diarmuid paused this time before answering. "Not well. He wanders sometimes. He was apparently talking to my mother last night during dinner in the Great Hall. Impressive, wouldn't you say, five years past her death?"

Loren shook his head. "He has been doing that for some time, though not in public before. Is there .

. . is there word of your brother?"

"None." The answer this tune was very swift. A strained silence followed. His name is not to be spoken, Kevin remembered and, looking at the Prince, wondered.

"There was a Gathering," Diarmuid said. "Seven nights past at the full of the moon. A secret one.

They invoked the Goddess as Dana, and there was blood."

"No!" The mage made a violent gesture. "That is going too far. Who summoned it?"

Diarmuid's wide mouth crooked slightly. "Herself, of course," he said.

"Jaelle?"

"Jaelle."

Loren began pacing the room. "She will cause trouble, I know it!"

"Of course she will. She means to. And my father is too old to deal with it. Can you see Ailell on the Summer Tree now?" And there was a new thing in the light voice-a deep, coruscating bitterness.

"I never could, Diarmuid." The mage's tone had suddenly gone soft. He stopped his pacing beside the Prince. "Whatever power lies in the Tree is outside my province. And Jaelle's, too, though she would deny it. You have heard my views on this. Blood magic, I fear, takes more than it gives back."

"So we sit," Diarmuid snarled, stiff anger cracking through, "we sit while the wheat burns up in fields all over Brennin! Fine doings for a would-be royal house!"

"My lord Prince"-the use of the title was careful, admonitory-"this is no ordinary season, and you do not need me to tell you that. Something unknown is at work, and not even Jaelle's midnight invocations will redress the balance, until we touch what lies beneath."

Diarmuid sank into one of the chairs, gazing blankly at the dim tapestry opposite the window.

The wall torches had almost burnt out, leaving the room webbed with lighter and darker shadows.

Leaning against the window ledge, Jennifer thought that she could almost see the threads of tension snaking through the darkened spaces. What am I doing here, she thought. Not for the last time. A

movement on the other side of the chamber caught her eye, and she turned to see Paul Schafer looking at her. He gave a small, unexpectedly reassuring smile. And I don't understand him, either, she thought, somewhat despairingly.

Diarmuid was on his feet again by then, seemingly unable to be still for any length of time.

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"Loren," he said, "you know the King won't come tonight. Did you-"

"He must! I won't let Gorlaes have-"

"Someone's here," Paul said sharply. He had quietly ended up in Mart's post by the door. "Five men, three with swords."

"Diarmuid-"

"I know. You haven't seen me. I won't be far," and the heir to the throne of Brennin leaped in a rustle of cloth and a moonlit flash of yellow hair through the window, reaching out, almost lazily, for a handhold on the wall outside. For God's sake, Kevin thought.

Which was all he had time for. Vart, the surly guard, appeared in the doorway. When he saw that Matt was nowhere to be seen, a thin smile flicked across his face.

"My lord the Chancellor," Vart announced.

Kevin wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't what he saw. Gorlaes, the Chancellor, was a big, broad-shouldered, brown-bearded man of middle years. He smiled generously, showing good teeth as he came sweeping in. "Welcome back, Silvercloak! And brightly woven, indeed.

You have come in the very teeth of time-as ever." And he laughed. Loren, Kevin saw, did not.

The other man who came in, an armed aide close beside him, was stooped and very old. The King?

Kevin wondered, for a brief, disoriented moment. But it was not.

"Good evening, Metran," Loren said deferentially to this white-haired new arrival. "Are you well?"

"Well, very well, very, very," Metran wheezed. He coughed. "There is not enough light in here. I want to see," he said querulously. A trembling arm was raised, and suddenly the six wall torches blazed, illuminating the chamber. Why, Kim thought, couldn't Loren have done that?

"Better, much better," Metran went on, shuffling forward to sink into one of the chairs. His attendant hovered close by. The other soldier, Kim saw, had placed himself by the door with Vart.

Paul had withdrawn towards Jennifer by the window.

"Where," Loren asked, "is the King? I sent Vart to advise him I was here."

"And he has been so advised," Gorlaes answered smoothly. Vart, in the doorway, snickered.

"Ailell has instructed me to convey his greetings to you, and your-," he paused to look around,

"-four companions."

"Four? Only four?" Metran cut in, barely audible over a coughing fit.

Gorlaes spared him only the briefest of glances and went on. "To your four companions. I have been asked to take them under my care as Chancellor for the night. The King had a trying day and would prefer to receive them formally in the morning. It is very late. I'm sure you understand." The smile was pleasant, even modest. "Now if you would be good enough to introduce me to our visitors I can have my men show them to their rooms . . . and you, my friend, can go to your richly deserved rest."

"Thank you, Gorlaes." Loren smiled, but a thin edge like that of a drawn blade had come into his voice. "However, under the circumstances I count myself responsible for the well-being of those who crossed with me. I will make arrangements for them, until the King has received us."