The Misbegotten King (17 page)

“Bah!” Deirdre cut him off with a snort. “Is the lady in the habit of foolishness?” The early morning light glinted off the
short sword strapped to her thigh, the polished brass of her bridle. At her shoulder, an intricate pin held her brown-and-red
battle-plaid securely in place. Roderic gazed up into her square-jawed, strong-featured face and was not comforted.

“Swear to me, M’Callaster—”

“I’ve already sworn to you, Prince.‘Tis not the time for oaths. Today’s the time to act.” Deirdre’s horse pawed impatiently,
as though some of his mistress’s own impatience was communicated to him through the saddle.

With a heavy sigh, Roderic looked again at Annandale. Her dark blue cloak was pulled high against her throat, her hair was
bound in a plain white coif. Her hood was pulled low, and from the shadows of her hood,
he could see her eyes, that same extraordinary blue he remembered as his father’s—the same as his son’s—and a lump rose in
his throat. “Be well, lady.”

She leaned down in her saddle and brushed her gloved fingers against his cheek. “And you, my love.”

Beside her, Deirdre wheeled her horse, her hand raised, her voice shouting the first commands to the guards who were to accompany
Vere and Annandale.

“Vere,” said Roderic, looking over at his brother, where he sat calmly upon a gray gelding, “she is my life.”

Vere’s eyes flickered over him, up and down, and he nodded. “I shall see her safely to the College, Roderic.”

Roderic nodded and cast one last look at the dozen or so riders who clustered by the gates. Deirdre had handpicked the very
best of her men. He recognized all of them by sight, at least, except for one, who he noticed was heavily cloaked. The rider
seemed to be the most impatient of the lot to be off. He narrowed his eyes and then glanced at Deirdre. She knew what she
was doing. To question her choices in front of her men would be most unseemly.

With a final nod, he stepped back. He waved his hand at the guards by the gates, and the heavy gates swung open, with a low
groan of ancient hinges. He watched the little party ride across the drawbridge, down to the ancient highway. They turned
their horses east and they were gone from his view.

He hooked his thumbs in his belt. A servant approached. “Yes?”

“Lord Phineas requests a word with you, Lord
Prince, before the meeting this morning.” The servant bowed.

“Very well.” He hooked his thumbs in his swordbelt and climbed the low steps. It was time to talk to Phineas.

He found Phineas waiting in what he had come to think of as the council room. He cleared his throat in the open doorway. “You
wanted to speak to me, Phineas?”

The old man nodded, his sightless eyes turning in the direction of Roderic’s voice. “Has she gone?” His voice had an unfamiliar
quaver.

“Yes.” Roderic drew a deep breath and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “I want to talk to you. Before she
left, Annandale told me the truth.”

“The truth?”

“About my birth—about her birth. I am not really the true heir of Meriga, am I?”

“No, Roderic!” Phineas pushed at the arms of his litter as though he would leap to his feet. “Never doubt that. You are indeed
the Prince of Meriga. You were born for no other reason.”

“Do you deny you are my father?”

Phineas seemed to grope for words. “This much is true. It was my seed which grew in the Queen’s womb. But you were conceived
for one purpose, and one purpose alone. And that was to reign in Ahga after Abelard was gone. You were born to be King.”

“It was that prophecy of Nydia’s. And you let him use you—he used my mother—Nydia. How could you agree? Didn’t you know there
were bound to be consequences? Didn’t anyone explain how the Magic worked?”

“Oh.” Phineas ran a hand over his chin. “Yes. I knew. I knew there would be repercussions. What happened to me didn’t matter.
I was sworn to uphold the kingdom— in nearly thirty years I had never violated that oath. At the time Abelard came to me,
I couldn’t see any other way.” He took a deep breath and sighed.

“So—” Roderic sat down in a chair near the litter. “So you’ve been maimed, blinded—all in the name of loyalty?”

Phineas gave a bitter laugh. “You think this is hard to bear? I would have borne twice this and more if I could have saved
your mother—saved Nydia. I lost both the woman I loved and the woman I should have loved, Roderic. That is what made these
years so empty.”

“What do you mean? You loved my mother?”

“As much as any man can love a woman, I think. She was an extraordinary woman—Melisande Mortmain. She deserved much better
than she got. The four of us gave Meriga an heir, Roderic, but the price we paid was dear.”

“What do you mean, the woman you should have loved?”

Phineas was silent. “Life is a series of choices, Roderic. I cannot deny that Nydia stirred my blood. She was the most beautiful
woman I have ever seen— to this day her memory haunts my dreams. And sometimes—” He laughed again, that same harsh, sound
that seemed torn from his throat. “Sometimes I think if it had been me who loved her—instead of Abelard— that things may have
turned out so much differently than they did.”

“You chose not to love her?’

“I knew the King wanted her. She was so vulnerable, Roderic, so achingly vulnerable. She had this knowledge, and this ability
which would have damned her to the stake, and did—twice. But Abelard wanted her, and I—” He paused. “I was not in the habit
of competing with my King.”

“Would she have loved you?”

Phineas shrugged and shook his head. “Who knows? Perhaps it is only an old man’s wishful fancy. But I was young once, tall,
strong, not unpleasant of face. The Queen loved me.

“Nydia and the King—well, it seemed clear to me from the day we found her in that forsaken little village that she would be
his. And I fell in love with your mother almost from the first day I met her in her father’s estate when I was held prisoner
there.”

“But, why then did Dad marry her? Didn’t you tell him how you felt?”

“Abelard married Melisande to consolidate the kingdom. He knew. It didn’t matter to him how we felt.”

“But then—didn’t she swear fidelity to him?”

“Of course. It was a foolish, forbidden love.”

“What did you do?”

“Tried to forget at first. Stayed away from Ahga for more than seven years. Oh, it was easy to stay away, believe me. Those
were the years the Harleyriders invaded Arkan. But then, after the danger had passed, and the Harleys were pushed back into
the deep deserts south of Dlas, he came to me. He had a scheme to circumvent
the prophecy. And all it required of me was to spend one night in the arms of the woman I had loved for nearly ten years.”
He turned his head to Roderic. “What would you have done?”

Unbidden, an image of Annandale rose before him. “Yes,” he said. “I understand.”

“It seemed an easy thing at the time. How could I know it was to cost her life? I had no idea the Magic could exact so harsh
a price.”

“But—but why, Phineas? Why did Dad—why did the King use you so?”

“Don’t you understand? It was Abelard’s answer to Nydia’s prophecy. Do you think Abelard was a man to accept fate’s decree?”

“But, Phineas, my whole life is a lie. For I am not the son of the King. Brand, Everard, Vere—even Amanander has a better
claim than I.” Roderic rose to his feet and paced to the window, where he could see the cold breeze whipping at the dresses
of the wash maids hanging out the laundry.

“You must not believe that, Roderic. All save Amanander and Alexander are the sons of common women—Abelard knew that the Congress
would divide into factions over any of the others.”

“Well, what of Amanander and Alexander? Why did Dad refuse to name either of them?”

“Amanander is the eldest. His mother was a noblewoman, related by some loose connection to Abelard’s mother. But Rabica Onrada
was not an ideal candidate. The reasons aren’t important now, Roderic. All that matters is that you are the acknowledged heir,
the acclaimed
Regent. Whether or not Amanander is the son of Abelard—”

“Don’t you think it might matter to me?” Roderic interrupted. “All this time I have held this regency in the name of my father—and
now I learn he isn’t my father after all.”

“Roderic.” Phineas turned his face to him, and Roderic had the uncanny feeling that the old man could see him. “Do you really
believe that? Did Abelard ever, by word or deed or look, ever treat you as anything less than the acknowledged heir of his
body, and of Meriga?”

For a long moment, Roderic stared at Phineas. “No,” he said at last. “I would never have known.”

“And neither does anyone else.”

“I only wonder now if I have the right, Phineas. Because the King willed it so, does that make it so?” Roderic looked at Phineas,
his voice soft.

Phineas drew a long, shuddering breath, and Roderic wondered what nerve he had touched. “In the present circumstances, Roderic,
it does indeed. Do you believe that Amanander would be the better King?”

Roderic stared once more out the window, remembering the cold, black look of his brother’s stare. “No,” he said finally.

“Then whether you believe it or not, you are the Prince of Meriga. And the charge laid upon you by the King is yours. Would
you abandon this nation to Amanander?”

Roderic looked at the old man. “So I have no choice?”

Phineas sighed. “A long time ago, someone told me there is always a choice. You can choose to renounce
Abelard’s will. You can even choose to run away. You can choose to fight Amanander and then, in the end, give the crown to
Alexander, for example, or Brand or Everard or even Vere, if that is your wish. But, Roderic, remember this. Whatever you
choose, you must believe that what you do is right, that the ultimate result will be for the good of whatever you hope to
achieve. A leader may not know the answers, a leader may not know the outcome, but a leader always has faith. If you lose
your faith in yourself, and in your ability to lead this nation, we are already lost.”

Roderic stared at the old man.
Faith shall finish what hope begins.
The ancient motto of the Ridenau family ran through is mind. What hope had stirred in Abelard’s breast that he had set in
motion such a set of complicated events? And he had a stake in the future, too. Rhodri was his son. He remembered how he had
felt on the day Rhodri was born. The past hadn’t mattered then… only the future. He drew a deep breath as someone knocked
on the door. “Come,” he said.

Brand strode into the room and hard at his heels came Kye, followed by Grefith, Deirdre’s second-in-command. “Roderic,” Brand
began, “the scouts we sent east and south have returned.”

Roderic squared his shoulders. “Bring them in,” he said without hesitation. “Call for the captains of the regiments. I shall
review the troops this afternoon. We will begin to keep our enemies too busy to notice travelers.” He glanced at Phineas.
The habit of command—how easily he assumed it now. Was it really only a question of faith?

Behind Brand the captains of the divisions filed into the room. The men spoke with quiet voices, looking to him again and
again as they talked amongst themselves. He sighed softly as he took his place at the head of the table.

There was a stir at the door and six travel-stained men entered.

“The scouts, Lord Prince,” said Brand, taking his seat at Roderic’s right.

Roderic nodded as the scouts bowed. “Come in, gentlemen. Sit down and tell us everything you can.”

Less than a mile out of Ithan, the road forked north and west. At the crossroads, Deirdre paused, reining in her stallion
as she turned to Vere to confirm the direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the cloaked rider who
had been careful to stay on the periphery of the group as they had ridden out of Ithan. She frowned, quickly counting heads.
She wasn’t mistaken at all. There was an extra man. “You there—” She guided her mount over. “Who are you?”

The rider swept his cloak off his head. “M’Callaster,” said Alexander with grave courtesy. “I beg leave to accompany you.”

Deirdre stared. Around her the men muttered to themselves. Vere jerked so hard at his reins that his animal whinnied a protest.
Annandale broke the shocked silence. “Alex? But why?”

He looked across the men, mute appeal on his face. “I think I can find the King. If Vere will guide me, after he sees you
safely to the College.”

Deirdre glanced at Vere. Vere hesitated. “You think you know where Dad is, Alex?”

“I think I can find him with your help. Please. Roderic has enough on his mind. Dad’s running out of time.”

“How do you know this?” Deirdre narrowed her eyes, pinning Alexander with a stare her men recognized with a shudder.

Alexander looked from Annandale to Vere to Deirdre. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

The riders muttered and Deirdre swore beneath her breath, thinking fast. Now was not the time for such a discussion. She cast
a quick glance over her shoulder. It would be a simple enough thing to return to Ithan, to force Alexander to stay and wait
until Roderic could address the situation. And yet— She looked from Vere to Annandale to Alexander and made a decision based
on intuition alone. “I have a duty to see this lady to the College of the Muten Elders. If you wish to accompany us, so be
it, Alexander. Once the lady is safe, then you and Vere are free to decide where you wish to go.” She looked at Vere. “Does
that suit you?”

Vere nodded slowly. “Alex, we have to talk about this. You know that.”

“Then the journey will give us the time we need.” Alexander pulled his hood over his head with a satisfied nod.

Deirdre looked at the brothers and shook her head once more, swearing softly. Damn this tangled mainlander coil. She flapped
at her reins. There was no more time to waste. “Well, Vere? Which way?”

Slowly, Vere turned to her, his face wearing a puckered frown. “That way, M’Callaster.”

With another curse, Deirdre put the spurs to her horse, wondering why she had not had sense to stay home with the cows and
the gulls.