Eltiron remembered the incident, though it had taken place nearly ten years before; it was one of Vandaris’s less successful campaigns, and Marreth had taunted her with it for years. Eltiron was rather surprised that Amberglas and Vandaris had remained friends so long. His acerbic aunt seemed to him to have little in common with Amberglas, particularly if this rather vague woman really was a sorceress.
“That’s nice, but what are we going to do about this Matholych thing?” Crystalorn said.
“I’m afraid Galerinth’s towers are the only thing I know of that might be at all useful for doing anything to stop the Matholych, which is a bit unfortunate though not exactly surprising.”
“But you said the towers don’t work properly! So how can we get them to do anything at all?”
“That depends almost entirely on how willing Prince Eltiron is to try strengthening his link with the Tower of Judgment.”
Crystalorn’s expression suddenly became very thoughtful, and she fell silent. Eltiron looked down, trying to think. The Hoven-Thalar were bad enough, but at least he knew what to expect from them when they came north. The Matholych seemed more like the stuff of nightmares—deadly, powerful, and unpredictable. He did not want to even think about it. But if Amberglas was right, he might be the only one who had a chance of doing anything to stop it. “What do you want me to do?” he said at last.
All Amberglas asked was that Eltiron spend a few minutes each day with her at the top of the Tower of Judgment. Eltiron agreed with some relief, and for the next twelve days he made sure that he found the time she had requested. With all the official meetings, parades, fittings, Councils, feasts, sword practices, and wedding preparations, this was no easy task. He was not motivated entirely by fear of the Matholych; on most mornings Crystalorn joined them, and Eltiron was glad of the chance to see her without crowds of courtiers around them. He was beginning to like his promised bride.
On the first morning Eltiron was nervous, not knowing what to expect. Amberglas seemed a bit vaguer than usual, but as far as Eltiron could tell she did nothing unusual, and the time passed quickly in conversation. Though he was relieved to find that she did not try to teach him spells, he occasionally wondered just what she was trying to do. At last he asked her, but her response was so extremely confusing that he decided she did not want to explain. He did not ask again; he had plenty of other things to worry about.
Chief among Eltiron’s other worries was Lord Terrel Lassond. After a few days, Terrel had ceased courting Crystalorn in public, and at first Eltiron had been relieved. Then he noticed Terrel watching Vandaris at one of the receptions, and he began to grow uneasy again. He started to watch Terrel and realized that Terrel spent a good deal of his time studying Vandaris. Once he was sure, Eltiron tried to warn his aunt, but she was unconcerned.
“Lassond is the least of my problems,” she told Eltiron. “Anareme can’t get the army moving until Marreth gives the orders, and he’s being even more of an idiot than usual.”
“I’ve noticed,” Eltiron replied. That was another of the things that were bothering him. Marreth had always been stubborn and short-tempered, but since Crystalorn arrived he had been harder to live with than ever before. Even Terrel seemed to be on edge when Marreth was present. Fortunately, Marreth did not seem to take much interest in the preparations for Eltiron and Crystalorn’s wedding, so Eltiron was spared the worst of his father’s temperament, at least until the wedding breakfast on the first day of the festivities.
Custom and tradition dictated that a royal groom begin the three-day wedding festival with his family, so Eltiron broke his fast with Marreth and Vandaris. It was almost amusing, in a way. Vandaris and Marreth spent half the meal trading insults. The argument wandered over many subjects, and they agreed on none of them. Marreth kept coming back to Vandaris’s profession; he considered it an insult to his name that she should be a mercenary. Finally Vandaris told him that it was a good thing that she, not he, was the one who had become a mercenary. Marreth, she said, would have made a very poor soldier.
“We’ll see if you say the same when I’ve beaten you in the sword games this afternoon!” Marreth retorted.
Vandaris’s eyebrows rose. “You’re in the sword games? Are you sure you’re up to it? Darinhal seemed to think you’d be better off doing something . . . less strenuous.”
“Darinhal forgets that he is merely the castle physician, not the King!”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Vandaris muttered. “But when did your name go on the list? I didn’t see it when I looked over the layout two days ago.”
“Terrel arranged it for me yesterday,” Marreth said with some satisfaction. “I’m taking Eltiron’s place on the cards.”
CHAPTER 12
T
he cloaked man bowed to Jermain. As he straightened, he swept the hood back from his dark hair and gave Jermain one of his rare smiles. “I came seeking for you,” Ranlyn said. “As you see, I am successful.”
“Yes, and how did you manage it?” Jermain demanded as he sheathed his sword. “You couldn’t have known where I was going; I didn’t know myself when I left you.”
“A Hoven-Thalar can always find the friends of the heart.”
Jermain nodded. Though the Hoven-Thalar were known as peerless trackers, few believed that a Hoven-Thalar could feel the object of his search as a magnet felt the pull of the north. During his six months with Ranlyn, however, Jermain had seen too many Hoven-Thalar move unerringly toward their prey to remain completely skeptical. Besides, he knew Ranlyn well enough to realize that he would get no further explanation. “Why didn’t you stop when you saw the army? Didn’t you realize what might happen if you were caught?”
“A well-trained army is of great value against another army, but a single man may easily avoid it. I have been following your soldiers since you entered the forest, waiting for a chance to speak with you. This night offered me my desire.”
“I should have guessed,” Jermain said, shaking his head. “No one else could get past the sentries without raising an alarm, even if he wanted to. And who else would take the risk?”
“One who in truth has a debt to pay.”
“You’ve saved my life more times than I’ve saved yours. That debt is long paid.”
Ranlyn shook his head. “Aid in battle is a debt any man owes his companions; it is one of the Twelve Lesser Obligations, and when battle is done the debt is finished. The Three Great Obligations are not paid so easily, and my debt to you unites all three—a debt of water, a debt of blood, and a debt of life.”
“You’ll be in no condition to pay debts to anyone if you stay here long,” Jermain said roughly, abandoning the old argument. “Friend or no, I should have you arrested as a spy, and if you don’t leave soon I’ll have no choice.”
Ranlyn smiled enigmatically. “Every man has choices; I have made some few of mine, and now the sands fall to your side of the wheel. The moment of choice is not always recognized, but it is always present.”
“Ranlyn, please! I don’t want to order you killed.”
“And when did the generals of the north begin executing their own spies?”
Jermain winced. “I never asked you to betray your people. I couldn’t refuse to use the information when you gave it to me, but I never asked for it.”
“I know.” Ranlyn’s face was impassive. “It is part of my life debt, to you and to them.”
For a moment, Jermain stood studying the other man. He would despise as a traitor anyone else who had done what Ranlyn had done, but he could not despise Ranlyn. Ranlyn lived by the Hoven-Thalar code, which put personal debts above the claims of people, clan, or clan head; by his own code, he had done no wrong in serving Jermain’s interests at the expense of his own people.
“I don’t understand you,” Jermain said at last, “but if you’re going to be stubborn, at least come in where it’s more comfortable.” Jermain had not finished with Blackflame, but he wanted to get Ranlyn out of sight before someone else arrived and he was forced to claim him as a spy. It would not harm the horse to wear a saddle for a few more minutes.
“Your tent is mine,” Ranlyn replied gravely.
Jermain suppressed a sigh of relief as he led the way into the tent. “Sit down and tell me what you have been doing since we parted.”
“Traveling. Most recently in your homeland.”
“Sevairn is no longer my home.”
“The heart speaks more truly than the tongue. You have no interest, then, in the presence of the King’s sister at Leshiya’s court?”
“Vandaris? So she’s finally gotten home again. What’s she doing?”
“Raising an army against my people and seeking you.”
Jermain hid his surprise. “Why is she looking for me? And how do you know?”
“I had speech with her before I left Leshiya, and she offered me gold to search for you. I regret that she did not share with me the reasons for her search.”
“Do you know how long she’d been in Leshiya before you talked to her?”
“Several days, I think, though she was not exact. She spoke of angering her brother at a dinner gathering the evening before.”
“Then she must have heard about . . . what happened seven months ago. And she was still looking for me?”
“As you say. She said that if I saw you I should tell you that she knows you are guiltless of treason.”
“And she’s really gotten Marreth to raise an army?” Jermain said after a moment. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible.”
“I saw the beginnings of the preparations myself. She means to keep the Hoven-Thalar from Sevairn.”
Jermain’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “Indeed? And how did the Lady Vandaris learn that the Hoven-Thalar were coming north?”
“I informed her of it,” Ranlyn said calmly.
“I suppose you owe her a debt as well,” Jermain said with angry sarcasm.
“Vandaris has no claim on me save that of any other warrior: courtesy, hospitality, aid to a companion, and a clean death to an enemy. No more.”
“Then how did she persuade you to betray your clan and the clans of the other Hoven-Thalar?”
“She did not persuade me. I offered her the information, as I offered it to you, and to Kildaver of Mournwal, Santh of Gramwood, and others.”
“Ranlyn . . .” Jermain did not want to believe what he had just heard.
“Why?”
“That is what I have come to tell you,” Ranlyn said. His face was somber as he looked at Jermain. “You gave the blood of your life to keep me from death; above all else I owe you truth. And that is a debt I have not paid.”
“Then do so,” Jermain said grimly.
“Truth is a harsh lord, and slippery as a swamp eel. When I came to you last fall and told you that the Hoven-Thalar would ride north this summer, I spoke truth, but not the whole truth. I knew your position, and I made use of you for my own ends.”
“How?”
“I warned you of only half the danger you faced, and that the lesser half. For whether the Hoven-Thalar ride or no, the Red Plague moves north this year.”
“I have heard of the Red Plague, but by the name of Matholych.”
“You have heard it, but not from me, and I doubt that you have heard all that you need to know. The Red Plague has been the scourge of your people and my own for centuries, but we remember more of it. Six times has it swept north out of the desert, and—”
“Six? I know of only three.”
“The histories of the Hoven-Thalar speak of six, but the first two did not cross the wasteland. When it comes, it moves always northward, devouring what life and magic lie in its path. And as it eats, it grows weaker.”
“Weaker? That doesn’t make sense!”
“Nonetheless, it is true. The strong can outride the Red Plague; the weak lag behind and slow it further, until it has had its fill and returns to its place in the desert. And when it has fully absorbed all that it has taken, it comes forth again, stronger than before.”
“What does this have to do with your . . . conduct?”
“The Red Plague will be stronger this time than it has ever been before. The last time it came north, it reached the edge of the Morlonian Hills before it was satisfied. How far will it come this time, and how fast? If my people ride north, I think few of them would survive.”
“None of them will survive if you stay where you are!” Jermain exploded. “You can’t go west into the ocean, and if speed is your concern, riding north is considerably faster than trying to get through Fenegrik Swamp.”
“Under normal conditions we could travel more swiftly if we moved north. But if an army waited for us, to slow us and perhaps stop us? The Red Plague moves swiftly; even a small delay could be our death.”
“You knew that, and you still told me that the clans would ride north this summer?”
“I told you for their lives. I knew you, or someone else, would believe and prepare, and when the preparations began I brought word of them to the clan council. When the clan heads heard my story, they voted to change the path of the riding. The Hoven-Thalar ride east, through Fenegrik Swamp. The Lady of the Tower has promised us dry passage, and by the time the Red Plague reaches the end of the wastelands, the Hoven-Thalar will be well away from danger. This is the use I have made of you and your armies, and now my purpose is accomplished.”
Jermain stared at his friend for a long moment. “You mean—”
A horn sounded just outside the tent, cutting off Jermain in midsentence. A moment later, a loud voice cried, “Carachel! In the name of the Guild of Mages, come out and face challenge!”
Jermain jumped to his feet and pulled back the tent flap. He felt Ranlyn rise and follow, but most of his attention was concentrated on the scene outside. Two men stood a little in front of his tent. Several soldiers lay groaning on the ground behind them; scorched places on their uniforms bore witness to the way the two men had bypassed the sentries. If anyone else had been present when the wizards arrived, they had wisely taken themselves to their tents, for the clearing was otherwise empty except for Jermain, Ranlyn, and the new arrivals.