The Misbegotten King (14 page)

The melody faded into the night and the raucous sounds of feasting continued. Her head ached and her healing wounds itched
and restlessness gnawed at a place deep inside. Her arm was stiff and sore, and she knew it would be many days before she
would be able to wield any kind of weapon again. Roderic’s concern had been justified. There had been no reason for her to
snap at him like an untried girl in the presence of her first love.

The thought that she might not be able to fight troubled her. Roderic didn’t need her lagging behind. At the thought of Roderic,
a wave of longing swept over her and she tightened her broad hands around the rough stone of the low wall before her. She
felt a sharp edge prick her hand, slicing through flesh, but she didn’t care. She shut her eyes.

Honesty compelled her to admit that the sight of Roderic with his wife seared her to the very marrow of her bones. The Lady
Annandale was more than everything she could never be: a woman more beautiful than any she had ever seen before, and those
eyes—those sea-blue eyes that seemed to look through her, into the deepest places where Deirdre kept the secrets of her soul.
Had the lady guessed, Deirdre wondered. Had she been able to see that Deirdre loved Roderic?

A sudden noise made Deirdre turn with heightened reflexes. Annandale stood on the threshold of the door, a slight figure with
a white shawl held to her throat against the late spring chill.

“Lady Annandale!” Deirdre whispered in disbelief. It was as if her thoughts had called the lady here.

“M’Callaster,” Annandale replied with grave courtesy.
She held out her hand. “The hall is hot—I came for a breath of air.”

There was such sincere simplicity in those words, Deirdre relaxed in spite of herself. “Then join me, lady. If you don’t mind
my company.”

Deirdre heard the soft intake of breath and the slap of her thin leather slippers on the rough surface of the stone as Annandale
walked to stand beside her. Deirdre glanced down. The top of the other woman’s head came to her shoulder. For a moment, Deirdre
felt large and gawky, like an untrained colt. She shifted on her feet, wondering why the presence of this woman at once unnerved
and soothed her.

“You’re in pain.”

The sound of Annandale’s voice startled her almost as much as the words. It was not a question, it was a statement.

“Yes—no—’tis not so bad.‘Twill heal.”

Annandale turned to face Deirdre, her head cocked to one side. “Roderic is lucky you are here.”

Deirdre felt her cheeks grow warm. “Well,” she said, gruffly. What did one say to the wife of the man one wished to bed? Such
a thing had never happened to her before. The Settle Islanders made little fuss of such matters, and as the M’Callaster, it
was understood that she had her pick of the men, as her father had had his pick of the women.

Annandale reached out and took Deirdre’s hand, and Deirdre started and tried to pull back. But the other woman’s grasp was
firm, and in that very instant, a thin blue light flared between them at the point of contact.
She gasped at the sight of that supernatural light, unable to move or react. On the pale skin of Annandale’s face, beads of
sweat appeared over her lower lip and laced her forehead. Inexplicably, a red line blossomed through her shawl, staining the
fine white wool. And as Deirdre watched, transfixed, the pain drained from her body like water through a sieve. A feeling
of wholeness, of health, swept over and through her like a tide. Her knotted muscles relaxed, the thick scabs flaked away.
She moved her arm and the motion was smooth, unencumbered. She stared in disbelief at Annandale.

The other woman opened her eyes, and for a moment the two women only gazed at each other. Then Deirdre spoke in a hoarse,
breathless voice: “Lady, what did you do? How have you done this?”

Annandale looked down, her cheeks still pale, her face wet with sweat in the moonlight. “It is a gift I have. To heal.”

Deirdre shook her head as though to clear it. “By the One, lady, what manner of woman are you?”

“I am,” said Annandale with a little rueful smile, “what the priests consider a witch.” She cocked her head and gazed up at
Deirdre.

Does she expect me to cry for the priests? wondered Deirdre. “A witch? Lady, how could anyone think that you of all people—surely
not—”

Annandale nodded. “A legacy of the Armageddon, I’m afraid. The Old Magic made me as surely as it made Meriga what it is today.”
She turned away to stare over the heavy balustrade at the walls before them.

“Old Magic,” repeated Deirdre. A vision of the Muten
attack rose before her eyes, white forms moving like ghosts through the skeletal shapes of the trees, and involuntarily she
shuddered, remembering the heat of the flames, the screams of her dying men. “I know it’s real, lady.”

“I know you do.” Suddenly Annandale gripped her forearm with a hand not much larger than a child’s. “I need your help.”

“My help?” Deirdre echoed, beginning to understand why this woman unnerved her so. “How can I help you?”

“You must help me convince Roderic to let me go with Vere to the College of the Muten Elders. Please.”

Deirdre stared down at her, uncomprehending. This whole conversation had a tinge of the absurd, the unbelievable. Here she
stood on the crumbling terrace of this forsaken outpost castle, side by side with the wife of the man she loved, a woman who
had just performed a miracle, speaking of Magic and Mutens—she shook her head to clear it. “Go with Vere where?”

Annandale sighed. “There is a place—they call it the College—where the Muten Elders study the Magic. And in order to learn
as much about it as they can, they need me. Vere has offered to take me there, but Roderic will never agree—”

“As well he shouldn’t, lady. Have you any idea how many enemies await beyond these walls? And Vere— Vere is a fine enough
man, but he is no soldier. He wouldn’t be able to protect you if you met any real trouble along the way. Where is this place
you want to go?”

Annandale sighed again. “I don’t know.”

“Lady—” Deirdre broke off, wondering what she
could possibly say to convince this woman of the madness of her proposal. How did men ever deal with women like this?

“M’Callaster—Deirdre.” In Annandale’s voice was a ring of such quiet conviction, Deirdre looked up in spite of herself. “I
know you love him.”

At once her cheeks flushed painfully. “Lady, I—”

“I know you do. And I know he’s quite taken with you, too, although he doesn’t know it yet.” There was a trace of amusement
in her voice, and a touch of sadness, too, and suddenly Deirdre felt terribly guilty.

“It’s not my intention—”

“Deirdre, listen to me.” Annandale’s face was pale in the moonlight, but her eyes glowed with an intensity that kept Deirdre’s
eyes focused upon her face. “I know you love him and I am glad. He needs you—he will need you—will need your strength, your
courage, your spirit. The days ahead are dark, and as for me—” She stopped speaking and looked toward the horizon. “As for
me—” Again she stopped. “We all have our parts to play. And mine—my most important part is done.”

“He loves you,” Deirdre whispered, still not quite comprehending what she heard.

“And I love him.” Annandale looked up at Deirdre. “But sometimes love isn’t enough, and sometimes love requires that we do
things which the other person doesn’t understand. I have a gift which will enable the ones with the right knowledge to use
the Magic without fear of destroying the world and all we know.

“It isn’t my choice to leave, but I can’t remain here behind these walls, wrapped in some cocoon, while
Roderic and you and all the brave men fight a battle which but for me might well be lost. I’ve given Roderic his heir. But
what use to him is an heir when his throne is so shaky? I cannot hide behind such courage as yours, when—”

“What would you have me do?”

“I will speak with Roderic myself, and if it becomes necessary, I might need you to add your voice to help me convince him.”

“You will need an escort, lady. There is no way Roderic will ever let the two of you step one foot outside these walls alone.”

“He needs you here.”

Deirdre startled. Had the woman read her thoughts?

“But perhaps one or two of your most trusted men? He has come to rely upon your Islanders as he does no others.”

“Only one or two?” Deirdre shook her head. “To protect the person he holds most dear? No, lady, surely—”

“I doubt that a full complement of men will be allowed to get close enough to the College to do any good.”

There was a long pause as Deirdre cast a considering look at the woman who stood beside her. “That’s why you’ve come to me,
isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t need my help if Roderic gives his consent. You need it in case he doesn’t.”

Annandale flushed and dropped her eyes. “You are indeed perceptive, M’Callaster.”

“But why to me? Why did you come to me? All of these men have retainers—”

“But would any of them understand that sometimes a woman must play a larger part than sitting and waiting for the wounded?”

The arrow hit home. Deirdre stared at Annandale. In the depths of those blue eyes, she saw a will forged of pain and suffering
beyond even her experience, and though Deirdre knew that Annandale was years younger, she suddenly felt as though she stood
in the presence of something ageless. She took a deep breath. “Go to Roderic. And when he says no, come back to me.”

“Thank you,” whispered Annandale.

Deirdre glanced up at the bone-white moon. “No,lady…” Her words stopped Annandale at the door. “Thank you.”

T
he found Roderic by the window, staring out at the same moon as Deirdre, his face gaunt in the moonlight. He did not turn
when he heard her step across the threshold.

“Roderic?”

“Yes.” There was such resignation in his tone, her heart ached.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded, still looking out the window. “Just tired. I didn’t get a nap.” It was said without reproach, and she knew he only
meant to tease, but his voice held a trace of bitterness, of weariness beyond his years. Was it possible, she wondered, that
they were both but twenty-two?

He turned to face her, and in the wavering candlelight, he looked like a stranger. His face was lined, his mouth drawn tight
and grim.

“This—situation—is bad, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Potentially, it is worse than anything my father ever faced.” He stripped off his shirt, and she saw the ripple of his
muscles beneath the skin, and the scars which bore silent testimony to the battles he had fought. Only
she could read the scars which lurked beneath his skin, the ones he bore upon his soul.

“Come, then, let’s get to bed. The morning comes early, and—” Here she paused, wondering if this was the opening she needed.
“I didn’t get a nap, either.”

“No?” he said, as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I left word you were not to be disturbed.”

She shrugged a little, her eyes fixed on the coverlet. “Vere came to talk to me.”

“Vere? What did he want with you?” Roderic paused in the removal of a boot.

“He came to ask me to go with him to the College of the Muten Elders.”

“Go with him?” Roderic gave a soft snort. “I hope you told him it was out of the question. I would sooner face the Muten hordes
alone than allow you to leave the safety of these walls.”

“Actually—” She came around to the other side of the bed and stood before him, wondering why she felt like a child asking
permission. “I told him I would talk to you about it.”

“Talk to me? What is there to talk about? I can’t let you leave Ithan—do you have any idea how many enemies surround us? Harleyriders
to the west, Mutens to the east, Atland’s sons to the south, Amanander out there the One only knows where, still itching to
get his hands on you, likely as not. Annandale, are you mad?”

“No,” she said coolly. “I am not mad. And I wish you would at least listen.”

Roderic heaved a sigh. “Listen to what? Madness? Lady, do you have any idea what we face?” He ran his
hand through the shock of hair that fell across his forehead. “My lines are stretched to the limit and beyond. There are no
reserves here. If Obayana and Rissona don’t honor their pledge and deliver up some troops, and if supplies don’t come from
the Western lords, there is a very good possibility right now that Meriga will splinter.

“It looks to me that Amanander is putting together a cohesive force and the One be with us all if I am right. The connections
are there—and you and I both know he would do anything, anything at all to win this throne. Including using the Magic.” Roderic
broke off and shook his head. “By the One, lady, you must be mad.”

“Roderic, you haven’t even listened to me.”

“I heard you.” He picked up a goblet of water on the bedside table and took a long drink.

“How dare you dismiss me like this?”

“Dismiss you?” He set the goblet down with a thud. “I am not dismissing you. You don’t seem to have listened to me, either.”