The Seven Towers (3 page)

“He doesn’t sound pleasant,” Amberglas agreed. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of Marreth’s discovering this for himself?”

“Oh, he’ll find out, all right,” Jermain said with renewed bitterness. “When it’s too late. Marreth deserves what he’s going to get. He’s made his stew; now he can eat it. For all I care, he can boil in it.” Jermain stopped. For six months he had schooled himself not to think of Leshiya, Marreth, Terrel, or Eltiron; the violence of his reaction to Amberglas’s questions shocked him.

“I see.” Amberglas studied one of the plants she was holding. “I don’t suppose you would be inclined to explain just what it was that all these people did? Because you haven’t, yet. You may not have realized it, so I thought I would point it out to you.”

Jermain snorted. “Terrel and His Royal Highness Prince Eltiron convinced Marreth that I was guilty of treason. As a result, Marreth stripped me of my lands and position and awarded them to Terrel. Isn’t that enough?”

“I do see that you might think so,” Amberglas said. “Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Were you guilty? Of treason, I mean; there are a great many other things you could be guilty of, but since you weren’t accused of any of them, they don’t really matter. Well, no, they do matter, certainly, but I’m not particularly interested in them at the moment, though if you happen to think of anything else you want to mention, it’s quite all right with me.”

“I am no traitor,” Jermain said stiffly.

“I didn’t think so. But of course, you could still be guilty of treason. That’s why I asked about it,” Amberglas said.

“No, I was not guilty,” Jermain said after a moment. “Unless it’s treason to believe an old friend’s warning, and counsel that preparation be made.” Absently, he fingered the place where the short scar on his left arm was hidden by his sleeve.

“That doesn’t sound much like treason,” Amberglas said. “Of course, it would depend on the friend. And the warning. Telling someone that his dinner is burning isn’t treason, at least, not in most places, though I couldn’t say for certain about Navren. The King there has made such extremely peculiar laws that one never knows what is treason in Navren. Or what isn’t,” she added thoughtfully, and looked at Jermain.

For a moment Jermain hesitated, then he nodded. He had no reason to remain silent. If safety was his main concern, he had already told Amberglas more than was wise; finishing the tale would make no difference. Besides, there was always the chance, however slim, that she might be willing to help him.

“Judge for yourself,” he said. “Ranlyn is one of the Hoven-Thalar, who roam the wasteland between Mournwal and the South Marnish Desert. He . . . owes me a debt, and among his people debts are a grave matter. So when he came to Leshiya seven months ago with the news that his people were beginning to move north, I believed him. I told Marreth, and advised him to prepare the army, and to send messengers to Gramwood, Mournwal, and Tar-Alem as well. Marreth refused to believe me. Terrel and Eltiron made it seem that Ranlyn lied and that I wanted war only to serve my own ambition.”

“How very sad,” Amberglas said absently. “Did you?”

“No!” Jermain almost shouted. “If Sevairn doesn’t join Mournwal, the Hoven-Thalar will sweep right over it, and Sevairn will be next! Even with Gramwood and Tar-Alem to help, it would take luck to stop a determined movement north. And the Hoven-Thalar are determined, believe me. I’ve spent the past six months in the south with Ranlyn, to see for myself. Does that sound like personal ambition?”

“Not precisely, though sometimes it’s hard to tell,” said Amberglas, even more absently than before. She tilted her head to one side. “You’re quite certain Marreth won’t change his mind?”

Jermain’s lips tightened. He shook his head, and his voice was harsh as he said, “You saw those men. Marreth couldn’t quite justify killing me publicly, but now that I’m safely forgotten, he’s willing to send his men to murder me in secret. Marreth can’t bear to be wrong; he won’t change.”

“Dear me. He must not like you at all.” Amberglas rose from her chair and began gathering up the piles of plants. “I suppose it is entirely possible that you are mistaken, although I must admit it doesn’t seem like it. But then, of course, it wouldn’t. People who are very sure of themselves never sound as if they are mistaken. I met a girl once who insisted that she was the Queen of the Thieves. Really, she was very bad at stealing. But very good at making up stories. She was quite convincing, if you didn’t know better.”

“Who was she?” Jermain asked, half from curiosity and half from a desire to turn the conversation in a new direction.

“The Princess of Barinash,” Amberglas said. “But she promised not to do it anymore—tell people she was a thief, I mean—so it’s quite all right now, though not exactly the same as being mistaken, now that I come to think of it.”

Amberglas finished gathering up the plants and started for the stairs. She stopped at the bottom step to look back at Jermain. “I really do think you had better lie down and rest a little more. That was quite a bad wound in your side; in fact, it still is, though I’ve seen worse, but only on people who had been in battles, and I don’t believe you can call a fight with Sevairn’s Border Guard a battle. At least, you could call it that, but it wouldn’t really be proper.”

Depression and weariness swept over Jermain in a sudden wave. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have stopped them,” he said.

“If you mean that I should have let them kill you, you are being exceedingly silly,” Amberglas said. “I certainly should not, which ought to be plain even if you are feverish. Though I had rather hoped you wouldn’t be; still, it’s not surprising considering the blood loss and the damp ground and those extremely rude people.”

Jermain shook his head. Amberglas frowned in his direction. “I have no intention of allowing you to die here,” she said severely. “If you really want to, you’ll simply have to do it somewhere else, which of course you can’t until you are well enough to leave. So you had very much better stop this foolishness and rest instead.”

Amberglas started up the stairs. Jermain lay back, watching her with weary bewilderment. She moves with grace, he thought. Marreth’s ladies would envy her. Who is she, and why is she helping me? Amberglas’s silent tread upon the stone stairs gave him no answer, and presently he slept.

The next two days brought Jermain no closer to understanding Amberglas’s motives. He found it hard to believe that she could be a sorceress, but how else could she have saved him from the Border Guard? Jermain was certain he had not imagined the brown fog that had come from nowhere to engulf Morenar and his men. He tried, once, to ask her about it, but Amberglas’s answer—which involved mist, the River Nor, rowan trees, smoke, and a woman with two dogs who might have been taken for a witch if the dogs had been cats—so thoroughly confused him that he did not bring up the subject a second time.

Jermain was also worried about Blackflame, in spite of Amberglas’s confused assurances. The horse was practically the only thing Jermain had been able to bring out of Sevairn, and Jermain prized him highly. And what, really, could Amberglas know about caring for a warhorse? Jermain was not reassured until Amberglas took him to a small building just outside the house and showed him where Blackflame was stabled.

To his surprise, Jermain found the horse comfortable, clean, and well provided for. His saddle and bridle had been cleaned and polished; they hung on a peg just inside the door. Jermain examined everything carefully, partly from habit, partly to justify his earlier concern, but he found nothing to complain of. Finally he looked up from beside Blackflame. Amberglas was watching the horse. Jermain rose.

“I think I owe you an apology,” he said. “You were quite right; you need no advice from me. The King’s stables could do no better.”

“Well, I don’t suppose you could have known that,” Amberglas said as they started toward the stable door. “It is rather difficult to be sure of such things when you can’t see them, which of course you couldn’t since you were lying in bed most of the time. Actually, you really should go back; this is the first time you have been up—not counting meals, of course, which is quite reasonable, though not strictly accurate—and you really shouldn’t do too much just at present. So of course you were concerned about your horse.”

“I do feel a little—” Jermain broke off in midsentence and froze in the center of the open stable door.

“Dear me,” said Amberglas from slightly behind him. “Whatever is the matter?”

Jermain hardly heard her. He was staring incredulously at the building in front of him. Amberglas’s home was no house but a tower; and line for line, stone for stone, it was an exact duplicate of the Tower of Judgment in Leshiya. The Tower of Judgment, where King Marreth’s Council met. The Tower of Judgment, where Jermain had been sentenced to disgrace and exile.

A hand touched his arm lightly. Jermain swung around and found himself blinking at Amberglas. “You do seem quite upset,” Amberglas said. “I don’t suppose you would care to answer my question after all?”

Slowly, Jermain forced himself to relax. This was not Leshiya; no castle rose behind the tower, and he was surrounded by trees, not a city. “I am sorry,” he said at last. “I had not really looked at your tower before, and it brought back . . . unpleasant memories.”

“The tower? Why?”

The woman’s voice was almost sharp, and Jermain’s head turned in surprise. A slight shock went through him as he realized that Amberglas was looking, not past him or through him, but at him. Her gaze was clear and intense, and highly unsettling. Suddenly Jermain had no difficulty at all in believing she was a sorceress.

“Ah, it reminds me of a place in Leshiya,” Jermain said.

“What place?”

“The Tower of Judgment.”

“I see,” Amberglas said. She smiled, and her eyes took on the same slightly out-of-focus look that they had had before. “Under the circumstances, that would be quite unnerving, though this isn’t Leshiya, of course, or even Sevairn, which I think is quite a good thing. But then, some people think I have peculiar taste.”

Jermain was still too unnerved to think of an adequate answer. Amberglas, however, did not appear to require one. In silence, they crossed the open space between the stable and the tower.

Amberglas did not mention Sevairn, Marreth, or the tower again. Jermain was puzzled, but he remembered that odd, intense gaze too well to bring up the subject himself. He spent an uneasy night, and he awoke early. He was sitting at the table, watching the squirrel eat nuts on the back of one of the chairs and trying to decide whether to take his leave of Amberglas and the tower, when he heard a shout outside.

Almost at once, Jermain was out of his chair heading for his sword. The shout came again, more clearly this time. “Amberglas!”

Jermain slowed. The voice sounded too young to be a real threat. Still, he picked up the sword and fastened it in place before he took his seat again. A moment later the door banged open and a small, windblown figure burst into the room.

“Amberglas! Where are you? You won’t believe—” The girl stopped, staring at Jermain from inside an incredible mass of tangled brown hair. Her eyes were a dark, vivid blue. “Who are you?” she demanded. “And where’s Amberglas?”

“My name is Trevannon,” Jermain said. He rose and bowed slightly. “Will you honor me with yours?”

“Crystalorn,” the girl said a trifle less hostilely. “Would you tell me where Amberglas is, please?”

Jermain blinked, thinking he must certainly have heard wrong. The girl’s clothes were rich enough, and surely there was a suggestion of court training in her mannerisms, but what would the Princess of Barinash be doing alone in the middle of a forest? He realized that she was still waiting for an answer and opened his mouth to reply.

“I’m right here,” said Amberglas’s voice from behind him, “which of course doesn’t really say much, but as long as you are, too, it can’t matter a great deal.” Crystalorn and Jermain both started and turned to find her standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Amberglas! I’m so glad I found you. I have to—” Crystalorn stopped again and looked at Jermain. “Amberglas, can you come outside where we can talk? I have to decide what to do, and they’ll find out I’m missing before too long.”

“That’s quite all right, dear,” Amberglas said vaguely. “Do sit down and explain. It’s really much more comfortable in here, if you’ll only persuade Garren to take a different chair. Not that the other one isn’t quite as comfortable, but—”

“Oh, Amberglas, do you have to run on like that right now?” Crystalorn said. “This is important!”

“Well, of course it is, or you wouldn’t have come to see me this way,” Amberglas said. “Now, sit down and tell me about it.”

Crystalorn looked at Jermain uncertainly, then turned back to Amberglas. “You’re sure it’s all right?”

“Why ever not?”

“All right, then.” Crystalorn flopped into the nearest chair. The squirrel chattered at her and went back to cracking nuts. Crystalorn ignored it. “Father wants me to marry the Prince of Sevairn,” she said.

Jermain caught his breath. Had Marreth gone mad? Relations between Sevairn and Barinash had been strained ever since Barinash’s brief, abortive attempt at invasion eight years before; most of the nobility still believed that Barinash was simply waiting for the right opportunity to try again. If Marreth wasn’t careful, the nobles would revolt, and—Jermain shut off the thought. He was no longer Marreth’s adviser; there was nothing he could do.

“How interesting,” Amberglas murmured. “Marriage is quite a good thing; at least, most people seem to think so. I really couldn’t say, since I’ve never been married myself, but a great many other people have done it quite successfully. Though of course, that doesn’t always follow.”

“But I don’t want to get married,” Crystalorn said, leaning forward. “And it isn’t even Father’s idea. Salentor talked him into it.”