Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (7 page)

Connor chuckled. “I daresay you’d find the rest of the Council offering to be your second in that duel, m’lord. Your opinion appears to be shared by all.”

Garnoc settled into a chair by the fire. “All but the king,
though I think I know why Merrill puts up with him. It’s better to keep your enemy close enough to watch.”

“You’re sure Radenou is truly the king’s enemy?”

Garnoc gave a growl as he settled into the chair and thrust a pillow behind his lower back, giving Connor to know that part of his master’s ill temper had less to do with the Council than it did with his aching muscles. “If you mean, do I think Radenou would take up arms for Meroven, no. But the man delights in being a gadfly, and his contrariness wears on me. His sour disposition affects those in his circle, who go off to poison others with their cynicism.” His brows knitted together in a scowl. “Such cynicism can undermine a king, whether it’s meant as treason or not.”

Connor hurried to bring Garnoc his dinner from the covered plate a servant brought to the door. With a flourish meant to lighten Garnoc’s mood, Connor set out the dinner on the table, making a show of laying out the rolls, napkin, tureen of soup with its crust of baked cheese and ramekin of fruit compote, with a perfectly roasted game hen plated with radishes and caramelized parsnips. “Dinner is served, m’lord.”

Garnoc got slowly to his feet, but he waved off assistance. “I don’t need you hovering over me, Bevin!”

“Yes, m’lord,” Connor said with a deep bow that hid his smile. Garnoc was not always a congenial master, but he was a good and fair man who did not believe in beating either his servants or his horses. Unlike much of the nobility. Garnoc had also raised sons to maturity who willingly spoke well of their father.

“Show Millicent to the table,” Garnoc said.

Connor went to the mantle and took down the small oil painting that traveled everywhere with Lord Garnoc. The oval painting showed a dark-haired beauty with tempestuous eyes
and a full-lipped smile. Lady Garnoc was rumored to have had a force of personality equal to that of her husband, and the older servants still fondly remembered rows between the two that resulted in broken crockery. Yet their disagreements, however heated, had never gone beyond a few trampled trinkets, and from all recollections seemed to have been as much entertainment for the two as they had been about any subject of meaning.

Even now, twenty years after Lady Garnoc’s passing and long after she had aged to be a respected matron in the court, the elderly chambermaids still blushed when they whispered about the trysts between Lord and Lady Garnoc. The passion that had bound them together had not cooled for Lord Garnoc after his wife’s death, and he made it clear that he would never want anyone but Millicent.

Respectfully, Connor placed Millicent’s portrait opposite where Lord Garnoc sat, and withdrew.

“I did not want to say so in front of the others,” Garnoc said, “because I did not wish to appear to agree with anything Radenou says, but I, too, am worried.” Whether he was speaking to Millicent or to Connor, Connor did not know, but such conversations were common, and Connor accepted them as part of his role as Garnoc’s personal steward. “I have had dark dreams about this war. I don’t think Merrill has considered the impact if Vellanaj’s blockade succeeds, and I have told him as much in private.”

Garnoc shook his head. “Merrill is worried. He won’t show it, but I’ve known him since he was a lad, and I can tell this war wears on him. Merrill is a man of reason. He weighs his options and their cost before acting. Edgar of Meroven is hot-tempered and vain. Edgar must know his grab for land can’t go without reply, but he’s willing to risk everything, and for what?”

He glanced at Connor, who hurried to refill his brandy.
“What of the king’s mages, m’lord? Do they give counsel?” Connor asked.

Garnoc sighed. “They speak in riddles, as always. But of late, even those riddles are dark. I was with Merrill the last time his visioner cast the cards. Dark omens of wild seas and fire raining down from a mountain and of an early, killing frost.” He fell silent for a few moments as he finished his meal. “I don’t always hold with the findings of the king’s visioner, so I asked my astrologer, Atriella, to scry the stars for me.”

“And what was revealed?” Connor was skeptical when it came to the proclamations of most of the soothsayers, smoke-readers, and diviners who hung about every court and noble house like weevils in a granary. Yet Atriella was different. She did not affect the swoons and vapors that so many of the visioners used to announce their readings. When she searched the skies for signs of what would be, she was rarely wrong, despite her lack of showy ritual. Her accuracy had made many enemies among the lesser astrologers, who already held her common birth against her.

“You know that Charrot’s figure in the night sky remains visible all year long, dipping and rising but always in view.”

“Yes, m’lord. I’ve seen it when the sky is clear.” Connor had indeed seen the pattern of stars that was named for the two-natured, diune god. He glanced toward a large tapestry on the wall that illustrated a scene from the epic poems that recounted the stories of the gods. One of the tapestries depicted three figures against the constellations of the night sky: Charrot, the Source, and the god’s two consorts, Torven and Esthrane. Beneath them lay land, sea, and the realms of the dead and undead.

Charrot, the Source, ruled both the realm of gods and the realm of men. On one side of his body, Charrot had the form of
a perfect warrior: broad-shouldered, with rippling muscles in his arms and thighs and exceptionally well-endowed manhood. His skin was a dusky yellow, and his chiseled, masculine face was always depicted by the artists as handsome. But Charrot was both male and female, and the figure in the tapestry was turned slightly so that both sides showed. Viewed from the other side, Charrot was a woman of surpassing beauty, with heavy, full breasts and thighs that promised both fertility and fecundity. With skin the color of twilight and hair the shade of a midnight sky, Charrot was the epitome of feminine beauty.

In the tapestry, the god held out its hands to its two consorts. Torven, the god of illusion, was a blue-skinned man whose beauty equaled that of Charrot himself. Torven and his progeny ruled the air and sea, water and ice, darkness and twilight, metals and gems, and the Sea of Souls.

Esthrane, the second consort, also equaled Charrot’s feminine sensuality. With yellow-hued skin and a wide-eyed and sorrowfully knowing gaze, Esthrane and the gods of her offspring commanded fertility from the ground and from crops and herds, working their power in birth and fire. And it was Esthrane who kept watch over the Unseen realm, the wandering place of incomplete souls.

Beneath the feet of the figures in the tapestries were the artist’s imaginings of the hundreds of household gods, patron deities, and place-gods who were revered and worshipped. Temperamental and fickle, these lesser gods figured much more in the lives of ordinary citizens than the sons and daughters of Charrot’s consorts. From spoiled milk to turned ankles, the lesser gods influenced the daily routines of life, and a wise person knew how to beseech them for their favor.

Garnoc cleared his throat, pulling Connor back from his thoughts. “As I was saying—”

Connor nodded. “Atriella’s reading of the stars,” he said, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming.

“Aye. We’re coming on toward winter, and Esthrane’s constellation, Woman in Childbirth, dips below the horizon until summer, when life begins again. Torven’s constellation, the Conjuror, rises for the winter.” Garnoc sipped his brandy and cast a glance at Conner to assure his attention.

“You know of the planets in their courses?’

“Yes, m’lord. They move about our sun, like bees in a hive.”

Garnoc nodded, pleased at Connor’s answer. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Atriella says that once every seventy years, the outermost planets, Veo and Iderban, form a perfect line. If they align when Esthrane’s constellation is high, it augurs for prosperity and good harvest. But if they align when Torven’s stars are ascendant, it is a dark omen, full of changes and of things not being what they seem.”

Connor nodded, though he was unsure that he trusted in the star-seers as much as his lord. “Veo, the Thief. And Iderban, the Assassin,” he mused. Garnoc had told him once that the most remote planets were so named because they were faint to the eye without a spying glass, with shadowy, elusive shapes.

“Atriella believes that the omen bodes badly for the war, and for Donderath’s part in the fighting.” Lord Garnoc shook his head. “Given the news that we’re privy to, I fear she is right. If Vellanaj is able to maintain its blockade, we’ll be forced to feed our people and provision our army without the benefit of trade from abroad.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought.

“It’s a bad business, with winter coming. Likely to stir up all kinds of unrest. Hungry people at home make it difficult for a king to focus on the warfront.” He met Connor’s gaze. “It’s
likely to create other problems as well if the folks in the ginnels start looking for someone to blame. I believe Lanyon will want to know what we’ve learned.”

Connor nodded. “When do you want me to take the message?”

“Go now. It’ll be a few days before the king has more news. This has potential to affect Lanyon and his people. He needs to be warned.”

“Shall I wait until after you’re finished with your meal?”

Garnoc smiled. “You can take care of the table when you get back. Millicent and I have some catching up to do.”

C
ONNOR MADE SURE NO ONE SAW HIM LEAVING
Lord Garnoc’s rooms. He took the servants’ stairs down to the first floor, pausing only long enough to retrieve his cloak from his own room. Quillarth Castle had dozens of back stairways and at this hour, long after supper, the passageways were quiet.

Even the stables were empty of groomsmen and hired hands as Connor saddled his horse and led it from its stall. He encountered no one until he reached the gate, when a bored guard asked only if he intended to return that night.

Connor had not gone far beyond the walls of Quillarth Castle before he turned from the main road. There was a full moon, and it lit the way as he urged his horse along the meandering streets that would lead him out of the city and into the countryside.

He had been careful to hide his feelings when Garnoc sent him on the errand, but inside, Connor felt his stomach twist.
How long until Garnoc realizes I may have betrayed him?
Connor wondered. The question was rarely far from his mind. Garnoc had already noticed something was wrong. He had admonished
Connor more than once for allowing his attention to stray. But the fact that Garnoc still kept Connor in his service told him that he had not yet been found out.

I should confess
, Connor thought for the hundredth time.
Even though I don’t quite know what I’m confessing about.
He had been down this line of reasoning before, and it always led him in circles.
What do I tell him? That twice I’ve been waylaid on the way back from carrying a message, but that I’ve got no clue about who attacked me? That they left me unconscious in a ditch, and I awoke with no memory of where I’d been for the past few candlemarks?

Connor shook his head.
Who would believe me? I hadn’t been drinking, but that’s what they’ll assume. Nothing was taken. And yet, I’ve lost candlemarks of my life. I don’t know what I did or said. Gods help me! What if I’ve broken confidence, betrayed my master—and the king?

Another possibility loomed, equally frightening.
Or perhaps
, Connor thought,
I’m going mad. I’ve heard that men can go into a frenzy and remember nothing. Gods! What if I’ve killed someone, done something awful, and don’t remember? Either way, I’ve shamed my master, betrayed my vows, maybe even compromised the king.

Always the thoughts circled to the same conclusion.
Confess my fears, and Garnoc will disown me. No one else will want an unreliable assistant. I’ll starve. Or worse, Merrill will lock me up for treason. I can’t bear that, especially when I don’t even know what I’ve done.

Stay, and it could happen again.
He groaned, looking quickly from side to side to assure himself that he was alone on the road.
Gods forgive me! I don’t have the courage to confess to a crime I can’t remember. I could run away, but whoever’s done this to me might find me—before I starve as a beggar. The king might
fear I was a spy and send his men for me. What a choice! Run away and starve or stay and make it worse, and I can’t even remember what I’ve done!

In less than a candlemark, Connor had left the city of Castle Reach behind him. He paused for a moment and looked up at the sky. It was a clear night in late summer. He searched the sky for the constellations and found the lightning-like pattern of Charrot’s stars, chosen by those who thought it represented the Source God’s twin nature. Esthrane’s constellation, a row of five stars for the body of the mother and emerging child and four other stars at the corners of a square for the goddess’s hands and feet, were also visible. Connor guessed that the ancients who had named the stars had far more imagination than he did to envision such detailed images from a few points of light.