Magician (50 page)

Fannon looked less than pleased “He
may be a very clever spy, but you’re right. There’s no
harm if we keep a close watch on him. Father Tully, why don’t
you take these men to soldiers’ commons and see what you can
learn from them. I’ll be along shortly.”

Tully spoke to the three slaves and
indicated they should follow. The two timid slaves moved at once, but
Tchakachakalla bent his knee before Arutha. He spoke rapidly in the
Tsurani tongue; Tully translated.

“He’s just demanded you
either kill him or make him your man. He asked how a man can be free
with no house, clan, or honor. On his world such men are called grey
warriors and have no honor.”

Arutha said, “Our ways are not
your ways. Here a man can be free with no family or clan and still
have honor.”

Tchakachakalla bent his head slightly
while listening, then nodded. He rose and said, “Tchakachakalla
understand.” Then with a grin he added, “Soon, I be your
man. Good lord need good warrior. Tchakachakalla good warrior.”

“Tully, take them along, and find
out how much Tchak . . . Tchakal . . .” Arutha laughed. “I
can’t pronounce that mouthful.” To the slave he said, “If
you’re to serve here, you need a Kingdom name.”

The slave looked about and then gave a
curt nod.

Longbow said, “Call him Charles.
It’s as close a name as I can imagine.”

Arutha said, “As good a name as
any. From now on, you will be called Charles.”

The newly named slave said, “Tcharles?”
He shrugged and nodded. Without another word he fell in beside Father
Tully, who led the slaves toward the soldiers’ commons.

Roland said, “What do you make of
that?” as the three slaves vanished around the corner.

Fannon said, “Time will tell if
we’ve been duped.”

Longbow laughed “I’ll keep
an eye on Charles, Swordmaster. He’s a tough little fellow. He
traveled at a good pace when we brought them in. Maybe I’ll
turn him into a tracker.”

Arutha interrupted “It will be
some time before I’ll be comfortable letting him outside the
castle walls.”

Fannon let the matter drop. To Longbow
he said, “Where did you find them?”

“To the north, along the
Clearbrook branch of the river. We were following the signs of a
large party of warriors heading for the coast.”

Fannon considered this. “Gardan
leads another patrol near there. Perhaps he’ll catch sight of
them and we’ll find out what the bastards are up to this year.”
Without another word he walked back toward the keep.

Martin laughed, Arutha was surprised to
hear him. “What in this strikes you as funny, Huntmaster?”

Martin shook his head. “A little
thing, Highness It’s the Swordmaster himself He’ll not
speak of it to anyone, but I wager he would give all he owns to have
your father back in command. He’s a good soldier, but he
dislikes the responsibility.”

Arutha regarded the retreating back of
the Swordmaster, then said, “I think you are right, Martin.”
His voice carried a thoughtful note. “I have been at odds with
Fannon so much of late, I lost sight of the fact he never requested
this commission.”

Lowering his voice, Martin said, “A
suggestion, Arutha.”

Arutha nodded Martin pointed to Fannon.
“Should anything happen to Fannon, name another Swordmaster
quickly; do not wait for your father’s consent. For if you
wait, Algon will assume command, and he is a fool.”

Arutha stiffened at the Huntmaster’s
presumption, while Roland tried to silence Martin with a warning
look. Arutha coldly said, “I thought you a friend of the
Horsemaster.”

Martin smiled, his eyes hinting at
strange humor. “Aye, I am, as are all in the castle. But anyone
you ask will tell you the same: take his horses away, and Algon is an
indifferent thinker.”

Nettled by Martin’s manner,
Arutha said, “And who should take his place? The Huntmaster?”

Martin laughed, a sound of such open,
clear amusement at the thought, Arutha found himself less angry at
his suggestion.

“I?” said the Huntmaster
“Heaven forfend, Highness. I am a simple hunter, no more. No,
should the need come, name Gardan. He is by far the most able soldier
in Crydee.”

Arutha knew Martin was correct, but
gave in to impatience. “Enough. Fannon is well, and I trust
will remain so.”

Martin nodded “May the gods
preserve him . . . and us all. Please excuse me, it was but a passing
concern. Now, with Your Highness’s leave, I’ve not had a
hot meal in a week.”

Arutha indicated he could leave, and
Martin walked away toward the kitchen Roland said, “He is wrong
on one account, Arutha.”

Arutha stood with his arms folded
across his chest, watching Longbow as he vanished around the corner.
“What is that, Roland?”

“That man is much more than the
simple hunter he pretends.”

Arutha was silent for a moment. “He
is Something about Martin Longbow has always made me uneasy, though I
have never found fault with him.”

Roland laughed, and Arutha said, “Now
something strikes you as funny, Roland?”

Roland shrugged. “Only that many
think you and he are much alike.”

Arutha turned a black gaze upon Roland,
who shook his head. “It’s often said we take offense most
in what we see of ourselves in others It’s true, Arutha. You
both have that same cutting edge to your humor, almost mocking, and
neither of you suffers foolishness.” Roland’s voice
became serious. “There’s no mystery to it, I should
think. You’re a great deal like your father, and with Martin
having no family, it follows he would pattern himself after the
Duke.”

Arutha became thoughtful. “Perhaps
you’re right. But something else troubles me about that man.”
He left the thought unfinished and turned toward the keep.

Roland fell into step beside the
thoughtful Prince and wondered if he had overstepped himself.

The night thundered. Ragged bolts of
lightning shattered the darkness as clouds rolled in from the west.
Roland stood on the southern tower watching the display. Since dinner
his mood had been as dark as the western sky. The day had not gone
well. First he had felt troubled by his conversation with Arutha by
the gate. Then Carline had treated him at dinner with the same stony
silence he had endured since their meeting on this very tower two
weeks earlier Carline had seemed more subdued than usual, but Roland
felt a stab of anger at himself each time he chanced a glance in her
direction. Roland could still see the pain in the Princess’s
eyes. “What a witless fool I am,” he said aloud.

“Not a fool, Roland.”

Carline was standing a few paces away,
looking toward the coming storm. She clutched a shawl around her
shoulders, though the air was temperate. The thunder had masked her
footfalls, and Roland said, “It is a poor night to be upon the
tower, my lady.”

She came to stand beside him and said,
“Will it rain? These hot nights bring thunder and lightning,
but usually little rain.”

“It will rain. Where are your
ladies?”

She indicated the tower door. “Upon
the stairs. They fear the lightning, and besides, I wished to speak
with you alone.”

Roland said nothing, and Carline
remained silent for a time. The night was sundered with violent
displays of energy tearing across the heavens, followed by cracking
booms of thunder. “When I was young,” she said at last,
“Father used to say on nights such as this the gods were
sporting in the sky.”

Roland looked at her face, illuminated
by the single lantern hanging on the wall. “My father-told me
they made war.”

She smiled “Roland, you spoke
rightly on the day Lyam left. I have been lost in my own grief,
unable to see the truth. Pug would have been the first to tell me
that nothing is forever. That living in the past is foolish and robs
us of the future.” She lowered her head a little. “Perhaps
it has something to do with Father. When Mother died, he never fully
recovered. I was very young, but I can still remember how he was. He
used to laugh a great deal before she died. He was more like Lyam
then. After . . . well, he became more like Arutha. He’d laugh,
but there’d be a hard edge to it, a bitterness.”

“As if somehow mocking?”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes,
mocking. Why did you say that?”

“Something I noticed . . .
something I pointed out to your brother today. About Martin Longbow.”

She sighed. “Yes, I understand.
Longbow is also like that.”

Softly Roland said, “Nevertheless,
you did not come to speak of your brother or Martin.”

“No, I came to tell you how sorry
I am for the way I’ve acted. I’ve been angry with you for
two weeks, but I’d no right. You only said what was true. I’ve
treated you badly.”

Roland was surprised. “You’ve
not treated me badly, Carline. I acted the boor.”

“No, you have done nothing but be
a friend to me, Roland. You told me the truth, not what I wanted to
hear. It must have been hard . . . considering how you feel.”
She looked out at the approaching storm. “When I first heard of
Pug’s capture, I thought the world ended.”

Trying to be understanding, Roland
quoted, “ ‘The first love is the difficult love.’ ”

Carline smiled at the aphorism. “That
is what they say. And with you?”

Roland mustered a carefree stance. “So
it seems, Princess.”

She placed her hand upon his arm.
“Neither of us is free to feel other than as we do, Roland.”

His smile became sadder. “That is
the truth, Carline.”

“Will you always be my good
friend?”

There was a genuine note of concern in
her voice that touched the young Squire. She was trying to put
matters right between them, but without the guile she’d used
when younger. Her honest attempt turned aside any frustration he felt
at her not returning his affections fully. “I will, Carline.
I’ll always be your good friend.”

She came into his arms and he held her
close, her head against his chest. Softly she said, “Father
Tully says that some loves come unbidden like winds from the sea, and
others grow from the seeds of friendship.”

“I will hope for such a harvest,
Carline. But should it not come, still I will remain your good
friend.”

They stood quietly together for a time,
comforting each other for different causes, but sharing a tenderness
each had been denied for two years. Each of them was lost in the
comfort of the other’s nearness, and neither saw what the
lightning flashes revealed for brief instants. On the horizon,
beating for the harbor, came a ship.

The winds whipped the banners on the
palisades of the castle walls as rain began to fall. As water
gathered in small pools, the lanterns cast yellow reflections upward
off the puddles to give an otherworldly look to the two men standing
on the wall.

A flash of lightning illuminated the
sea, and a soldier said, “There! Highness, did you see? Three
points south of the Guardian Rocks.” He extended his arm,
pointing the way.

Arutha peered into the gloom, his brow
furrowed in concentration. “I can see nothing in this darkness.
It’s blacker than a Guiswan priest’s soul out there.”
The soldier absently made a protective sign at the mention of the
killer god. “Any signal from the beacon tower?”

“None, Highness. Not by beacon,
nor by messenger.”

Another flash of lightning illuminated
the night, and Arutha saw the ship outlined in the distance. He
swore. “It will need the beacon at Longpoint to reach the
harbor safely.” Without another word, he ran down the stairs
leading to the courtyard. Near the gate he instructed a soldier to
get his horse and two riders to accompany him. As he stood there
waiting, the rain passed, leaving the night with a clean but warm,
moist feeling. A few minutes later, Fannon appeared from the
direction of the soldiers’ commons. “What’s this?
Riding?”

Arutha said, “A ship makes for
the harbor, and there is no beacon at Longpoint.”

As a groom brought Arutha’s
horse, followed by two mounted soldiers, Fannon said, “You’d
best be off, then. And tell those stone-crowned layabouts at the
lighthouse I’ll have words for them when they finish duty.”

Arutha had expected an argument from
Fannon and felt relieved there would be none. He mounted and the
gates were opened. They rode through and headed down the road toward
town.

The brief rain had made the night rich
with fresh odors: the flowers along the road, and the scent of salt
from the sea, soon masked by the acrid odor of burned wood from the
charred remnants of gutted buildings as they neared town.

They sped past the quiet town, taking
the road along the harbor. A pair of guards stationed by the quayside
hastily saluted when they saw the Prince fly past. The shuttered
buildings near the docks bore mute testimony to those who had fled
after the raid.

They left the town and rode out to the
lighthouse, following a bend in the road. Beyond the town they gained
their first glimpse of the lighthouse, upon a natural island of rock
joined to the mainland by a long causeway of stone, topped by a
compacted dirt road. The horses’ hooves beat a dull tattoo upon
the dirt as they approached the tall tower. A lightning flash lit up
the sky, and the three riders could see the ship running under full
sail toward the harbor.

Shouting to the others, Arutha said,
“They’ll pile upon the rocks without a beacon.”

One of the guards shouted back, “Look,
Highness. Someone signals!”

They reined in and saw figures near the
base of the tower. A man dressed in black stood swinging a shuttered
lantern back and forth. It could be clearly seen by those on the
ship, but not by anyone upon the castle walls. In the dim light,
Arutha saw the still forms of Crydee soldiers lying on the ground.
Four men, also attired in black with head coverings that masked their
faces, ran toward the horsemen. Three drew long swords from back
scabbards, while the fourth aimed a bow. The soldier to Arutha’s
right cried out as an arrow struck him in the chest. Arutha charged
his horse among the three who closed, knocking over two while his
sword slashed out, taking the third across the face. The man fell
without a sound.