She took a chance of getting things wrong and replied:
“Yes, we are quite fresh, m’lord.”
“That is a splendid black you have there,” said Lord Lemaine. “Bred in Mel’Nir?”
“Ebony was bred in the Southland,” she replied, “where I served the Lord of Pfolben.”
“I’ll have the gift box, I think, Captain,” he said, “and we’ll ride into the town a little way.”
Gael, a little reluctant, let the jewel box show itself in the special carrying place on the front of her saddle. The lord urged his old grey charger closer so she could hand over the precious gift.
“Shall I mount the banner, my lord?” she asked.
“No—no,” said Lemaine. “Simply ride ahead.”
She set off at a decent walking pace and rode in through the flower-decked gates of Folgry. Escort duty—when had it last been light hearted for her? She thought of the time when she rode proudly through the lands of Aghiras before Blayn of Pfolben, glorying in her young lord’s beauty and his seeming matchless grace. Such innocent days—they seemed so long departed, though it was not yet one full turn of the seasons since she had trod on the Burnt Lands’ sand!
Adrift in these musings, she paid little heed to the lie of the
land around her, but presently, as they crossed a wide strip of greensward inside the gates, there was a hail from the right—a kedran in the now-familiar Pendark garb was riding toward them on a bay.
The second officer sent to meet her was a sturdy woman. Past forty, Gael decided, and she wore stars of rank that were somewhat rare. A guerdon general, retired from her regimental duties. Gael saluted and said her name.
“Annwyn Sallis,” said the general in return, cracking a smile.
“Handed over the last of the presents, Captain? Good. Shall we go? Have to report back to the Grand Array before too long! We’ll take the Festal Way across the plain to the left”
“General,” said Gael. “I must raise the banner!”
The pair seemed a little impatient with this punctilio, but Gael, despite their superior rank, ignored them, knowing it to be her right. It was a matter of dismounting, taking her lance from its carrying sling, then threading the long pennant for the Fishers, carried by Lord Lemaine. The spring breeze caught it well as they turned in good order and went out of the gates of Folgry. The Festal Way was beautiful, decorated along its whole length with white flowers, planted in tubs or in beds on the roadside, twined in long garlands overhead. Men and women were still working on the long display—they waved and cheered as the three riders went by.
Gael Maddoc, looking to left and right, beyond the white flowers, understood at last the nature of the Chameln, the vastness of the plains, the scattered groves of trees, the rolling hills and distant mountains. She thought of that distant work camp in the wild northeast where an old man, a hero, still lived and labored. She had come out of the realm of the ancient King Gol of Mel’Nir, and now she was in the same country as his trueborn son!
Behind her, General Sallis and Lord Lemaine rode side by side and kept up a lively commentary not only on the countryside but on groups of liveried servants and escort troops and the finer folk whom they served. Now they were in sight of Chernak New Town, a large town, unwalled and spreading. Gael knew and now was informed again, by Lord Lemaine, that the place had first grown up to house the builders of Chernak
Palace, constructed at the whim of the one they called Summer’s King, Sham Am Zor. General Sallis had the tale that the town reeve and his council had petitioned the young queen for a change of name. King’s Town, was it? Or Summer Town? At any rate Queen Tanit had refused the request. Now the general called directions, and they swung past the town and came to a great field below the royal gardens, which rose up in tiers, crowned on the heights with the long, glistening windows of the palace.
The broad meadow was like a new town itself, with three groups of pavilions, structures between a tent and a longhouse, bearing the crests of the orders of Eildon. The general pointed out that Gael had a place allotted in the Pendark pavilion. They walked their horses slowly across the field, crowded with visitors and with hucksters selling food and tokens of the wedding. They were hailed and saluted by other men and women in the colors of the Fishers. Gael saw the pavilions of the Hunters and wondered if Lord and Lady Malm might be among the wedding guests. Well, thank the Goddess, they would have their own Eildon escort this time!
“Let us go first to the Gift Treasury,” said Lord Lemaine. “This Moon of Erris weighs upon me. You can lead up the paved path at the end of the lower terrace, Captain.”
As they passed along toward this white path, Gael thought of Sir Hugh McLlyr’s gift for the Princess Merigaun. She felt sure that if she mentioned it, her companions would quietly take it from her and deliver it in private to the Princess in some fine room, away in the palace. Yet she longed to behold Merigaun, one of the Lyreth, the sea folk; it might be better to hand the gift over in person. Who could say it was not her duty to do this? She thought then of the warning, the warning from Brother Less, and his particular wish that his words should be brought to Merigaun Pendark, and she decided to keep her peace.
The Gift Treasury was a solid stone building—perhaps a storehouse for the gardeners in winter. Now it was decorated, like everything else, but also guarded with a muster of fierce kerns from the northern tribes. It stood at the extreme western edge of the palace grounds, and there were marvelous vistas in every direction. Fountains were playing—behind a screen of
trees, there was a lake with swimmers; the glazed windows on the wings and towers of the palace were flung wide and glistened as they caught the sun.
“Is it the finest palace you have seen, Captain?” inquired Lord Lemaine, smiling.
Gael was conscious she had indeed gazed with wonder.
“It is very fine, m’Lord,” she replied. “I think it is in the style of Lien, where I have never traveled. But I have seen fine palaces of a different sort, in other lands.”
“What, in Eildon?” asked General Sallis.
“In the Burnt Lands, General.”
There was a burst of shouting, wild cries, from the dark building behind them, the Gift Treasury. From some door that Gael could not see, in the east, burst a rout of the footguards, tribesmen in leather bucklers and fur hats. They were wrestling and shouting, trying to seize and hold three men in curious tight fitting green trews and short jackets. These fellows were very nimble; the shortest one, not more than a boy, carried a hank of bright green rope. Now, as his comrades raced away across the lawns, this boy fell, and the guards began to beat him with the handles of their spears.
Gael gave a cry to the general, as if to ask her leave, but already she was urging Ebony across the grass to the mêlée. She cried out for the guards to halt and backed up her cry with a single, focused working—a mere whiff of the Stillstand but enough to tumble a pair of guards onto their backs.
“Hold!” she cried. “Don’t kill the boy! What has he done?”
The officer, whose rank she could not read, cried out:
“Is he from the Pendarks of Eildon? Is that it, Captain?”
His grasp of the common speech was good, his accent strange.
“No,” she said, panting. “But hold a moment—allow him to declare himself!”
The boy scrambled up painfully, holding his left side; there was blood on his face.
“Captain—save me from these wild men!” he said clearly. “Look where my brothers are returning. We are the acrobats, the Fareos, and we came with the Athron guests!”
Sure enough, the two older men in green were returning across the lawns.
“Ach!” The officer of the guard cursed under his breath in another speech. “It’s a mistake,” he said, in the common tongue. “We found them coming through a side entrance, took them for robbers. There’s a mort of fine treasures in the Gift House.”
“If the boy could be brought to a healer,” said Gael. “My name is Gael Maddoc—”
“I’m Han Harka of the Durgashen, chief of this troop, Fer-rad’s Own.” He returned her salute, showing white teeth under his dark moustachios. “We’ve been sent from Dan Aidris Am Firn for this special duty to the Daindru.” Dan, she remembered as he spoke, was the Chameln style of address for their rulers.
“Chief Harka,” she said, “I’ll see that the boy is taken care off. Do you see two high-ranking Pendark officers yonder? They truly have a rich gift to deposit in the Treasure House. They would value an escort!”
“At Pendark’s service, then!” said Harka.
He rounded up the men who had run out with him, sent five back to the side entry, then marched smartly down the slope of greensward with the remaining seven. She saw the escort collect Lord Lemaine and General Sallis, then approach the entry to the Gift Treasury.
The two elder Fareos were lithe and well muscled. They had brushed off their brother and were feeling him for broken bones. The second eldest was the spokesman: he gave their names as Tane, Trim, and the youngest, Tell. He thanked the good captain for saving the boy. He assured her that the Athron guests had a healer and a healer’s tent to serve their people. She watched them climb up toward the eastern wing of the palace. The boy was riding on Tane’s shoulders.
She was conscious of an emptiness, a glibness about this exchange; it was as if one rode among an army of other troops, hardly known to each other. There was no spirit of welcome, of expectation—she thought again of the Royal Hunt of the Lakes of Dawn in the Burnt Lands and the joyous spirit that had prevailed, despite all that afterward went wrong there.
She saw that the guards had escorted her companions right into the Treasury. She was tempted to seize this moment and ride off alone to the palace—search for the Princess of Pendark or perhaps for the headquarters of the palace guard, for some
kind of soldier’s mess and a stable where she could groom Ebony. Instead, she rode dutifully down again to the entry of the Gift Treasury, that frowning box of dressed stone, and waited for the officers of Eildon to return and meet her. Remembering the day she and the other Kestrels had laid the treasures of the Burnt Lands before Lord Maurik, defiant and proud as they declared their resurrection, she felt a pang of emotion, something like grief, that the gift of the Shee, the Moon of Erris, had been taken from her hands so ungratefully, as such a simple matter of course. Where was the hand of destiny upon her in
this
?
The Pendark officers reemerged presently with four of the palace kedran, who assisted at the display of precious gifts. Lemaine was in high good humor, noting that the Pendark gifts from Prince Beren and Princess Nairne were very fine, and assuring Gael that the gift from Princess Merigaun also took pride of place—yes, this last was how he described the Eilif lords’ lovely necklace! General Sallis passed a scolding remark about the captain’s interference with the guards’ duty.
There was a silvery trumpet call from the palace, echoed by the strange hooting sounds of the wooden trumpets of the Firn—it was the changing of the watch. Gael and her companions had been riding for hours without rest or refreshment. It was time for their watch to change too.
“We will attend the princess, then,” said General Sallis, dismissing her. “You won’t be required until the morning call, Captain, when the Eildon orders bring in the bridegroom before the Hall of Mirrors.”
Gael saluted unenthusiastically and watched them ride up the lawn toward the east wing. She turned aside with some relief and went on down to the Pendark pavilion on the fields below. The sun was casting long shadows through the trees, and the place had the familiar air of a camp. There were spacious stable tents; kedran and kerns went about their duties. She handed Ebony over to a young groom and was directed to the half of the pavilion that housed the kedran. She tramped in wearily; the light within the pavilion was blue green, as if they were all under the sea, like the Lyreth folk. After a trip to the wash place, she went to quarters. There was some kind of bustle running
ahead of her—when she entered the big chamber, there were some twenty Pendark kedran, clustered together, smiling.
“Captain Maddoc?” an ensign spoke up. “We know who you are!” Another kedran took Gael’s saddlebags and a third her lance.
“We know how it was in the Burnt Lands!”
Then the ranks parted, and there stood two tall kedran, one with dark hair, a captain, and one a red-headed ensign.
“By the Goddess!” breathed Gael. “Kerry-Red and Kerry-Black!”
“We changed our duty, Captain!” said Kerry-Black. “And Ensign Dirck—remember him?—is with us in the Pendark lands”
Then the old companions all embraced, and the others cheered and laughed, and Gael Maddoc began to think that a wedding duty might be a happy time after all.
The grand array of the wedding guests flowed over the lower lawns and rose up to the palace like a silver tide. The Falconers, of Eildon were first, led by their patron, Eorl Leffert, for their former patron, Prince Ross, was now the Priest-King, far away in holy seclusion. Next came the powerful order of the Hunters, led by Prince Borss Paldo, then the order of the Fishers, led by Prince Beren and his bride, daughter of one of the seven eorls. Only Prince Borss and his son Kirris were mounted—the Falconers and the Pendarks, including the ageless beauty Princess Merigaun, walked over the greensward Princes and nobles from other lands walked with the orders of Eildon. King Gol of Mel’Nir and his queen, Nimoné, rode in a small bronze open carriage, drawn by two Chameln grey horses. Prince Joris and his consort, Princess Imelda Am Kerrick, came from Athron, and from the distant Southland came Hem Blayn of Pfolben and his new wife, Ella of Wier, in Rift Kyrie. The kedran escorts had left their horses down in the pavilions, all but a few who were chosen to stand behind the array.
When all had settled to rest, music sounded—harps and flutes and sweet voices came from the palace itself. In a wide crescent of the lawn, covered with splendid carpets, doors opened. From the eastern door came the young queen, beautiful as the morning, her long dark hair unbound, reaching past the waist of her white and blue gown. A necklace of graduated blue white stones, uncut but highly polished, sparkled upon her neck, seeming to draw all light in toward her. From the western door came the bridegroom, tall, handsome, his hair also dark; he strode out smiling, and cheers sounded from the whole array. Count Liam extended his hand and walked toward his bride—Tanit Am Zor reached out and took his hand. They stood at arm’s length, and at last the queen smiled. It was as if the sun had come out.
On a balcony just above the young pair stood the old queen, Aidris Am Firn, straight and regal, in Chameln dress: white doeskin breeches and a long tunic of white velvet, thickly embroidered in gold. On her right was Prince Sasko, Heir of the Firn, and his consort, Danu Rema Am Nuresh; on her left was a tall stately woman in a blue robe, the dowager, Lorn Am Zor, mother of the reigning queen. Beside Danu Lorn stood a young man, well built but not tall—this was Prince Gerd Am Zor, her son, the queen’s younger brother. He was of considerable interest at the court because it was rumored he was a Seer, born full of natural magic. If this were true, he might have heard the sad thoughts of Aidris, the Old Queen, herself gifted in this way:
“So many dead, so many gone from us! O Bajan, my love, O Sharn … O Sabeth, my friend … O Jalmar and Pinga—true servants—O Hazard, great minstrel …”
Then Dan Aidris and Lorn Am Zor moved aside, making way for the Chancellor of the Zor, Lord Seyl of Hodd, a handsome man, his dark hair barely streaked with grey. He spoke out in the common speech:
“Behold the Celebrants for this holy rite!”
It had been a subject for speculation: a marriage ceremony could be performed by a shaman or by a priestess or priest of any religion, also by a man or woman of high rank. Now Seyl led forth an older woman in a robe of blue, covered by a healer’s cloak, and it was Gradja Am Gilyan, the cousin of
Danu Lorn and the young queen. Then he led forth a man from Eildon, in the dress of a Druda, from the college of Priests. His name, Druda Aengus of Wencaer, was whispered. about—he was the half-brother of the bridegroom, Count Liam. The choice was very seemly and pleasing—these two would perform the rite next day. There was a discreet ripple of applause throughout the large array …
Gael Maddoc was in the line of seven mounted kedran captains who stood behind the massed array of the princes from Eildon and other lands. They were on a small strip of lawn, and it was trying for some of the riders—a captain of the Falconers on a high-strung roan had nearly gone down the bank. Ebony, despite his skittishness, knew how to stand, and Gael rewarded him with tidbits. Far away, before the Hall of Mirrors, the young pair stood hand in hand, too far for Gael to see more than the blue and white of the queen’s flowing dress, the smudge of burnished orange that was the color of Liam of Greddach’s house. At long last, when the horses were past restless, the music changed. Doors opened behind the bridal couple, and the queen led her betrothed into the banqueting hall.
Now was the time for a long leisurely feast for the noble guests—they began to drift indoors while their escorts waited to leave the field. Gael picked out a number of persons she knew—there was Blayn of Pfolben, handsome as ever, with his bride from Rift Kyrie. Was that Lord Malm, looking jolly and in his right wits? She saw that her old comrade Wennle was not in attendance on the master he had served so faithfully, and she believed that his service had ended one way or another. But there was one person at least that she could call a friend, Yolanda Hestrem, assisting an aged lady of the Falconers, and there was Lord Auric Barry, one of the few attendees from Lien.
A beautiful woman, richly dressed in sea green and black, with a coronet of pearls, came out alone from the nearby group of the Fishers and walked directly to Gael Maddoc. Gael could see this was a magic being: her hair ash blond, her eyes deep grey, her skin almost shining silver in the day’s dying light, and
silver in her voice. This was the Princess Merigaun, a child of the Lyreth Lords of the Sea. Gael gave her best salute.
“Captain Maddoc …”
“Highness!”
“You have something from my cousin Sir Hugh McLlyr!”
With these magic beings, it seemed to Gael, such things never came as surprises. She reached into the place for gifts on the front of Ebony’s saddle and handed the princess the small soft package Sir Hugh had trusted to her.
“Highness,”
she said in Chyrian,
“I have something else!
A
message from a great scribe who serves in the household of the duchess of Chantry!”
Her guess that the princess would understand Chyrian was correct.
“You must mean Brothers Less!”
said Merigaun.
“Tell me …”
“He had a foreboding about this wedding—it concerned a portrait, pretending to show a face from the past.”
“I will consider this message,” said the princess, returning to common speech. “My dear nephew’s happiness—” Gael knew she meant Liam Greddaer, Queen Tanit’s new husband. “It is precious to me. I will not see it lightly set asunder. Thank you, Captain Maddoc. My greetings to those you serve at beloved Tulach.”
With this last salute, she went off to join her retainers, Lemaine and Sallis, in the measured approach to the banqueting hall.
The mounted captains, set free from a troublesome duty, rode down from the upper lawn in good spirits. The horses, also set free, were provided with hot horse apples. Down among the pavilions, trestles were set up and the ale was flowing. Gael sat down with the Kerry sisters and with another friend who had come home from the Burnt Lands, Ensign Dirck, the good kern now a captain with the Fishers’ infantry.
Gael learned first of all what soldiers of Chernak had duties at the palace—she had seen the Tall Oaks of the Palace Guard and some of the household kedran. All finely drilled but friendly enough to the visiting escorts. But beware of the Companions! The queen’s “personal bodyguard,” were hard as
rock—seldom mounted but lurking about, tall as Melniros, even the kedran, and dressed in dark clothes …
There was plenty of other comment and gossip, which Gael saved up for Tomas: Who was
not
at the wedding? Why
not
the bride’s aunt, the widowed Princess Merilla Am Chiel, and her handsome, lordly-grown twin sons? It was said the young willow-boned queen, Tanit Am Zor, was in a fair way to bear twins herself, poor lass—they ran in the family of the Zor—or was it the Vauguens of Lien? Gael listened for anything concerning a picture or portrait but heard nothing. She took care not to get drunk—though there was no duty for her until the morrow.
After seeing to Ebony in the Pavilion stable, she went early to bed and enjoyed a long kind sleep, with dreams of the Chameln lands, stretching to the horizon. Next day the young queen was married to Count Liam on the balcony over the Hall of Mirrors, in view of noble guests and the folk from Chernak. There was a certain amount of crowd control for the kedran; after the ceremony, the folk and some visitors went westward to another green meadow to watch acrobats—including the Fareos—jugglers, minstrels, perform.
There were more exacting duties on the day following, when the bride and groom did their marriage walk, first in front of the palace, then down to the lower lawns. There, fine open carriages were waiting; the marriage walk became the royal progress. With the personal escorts of the princes riding before and behind, the procession drove to Chernak New Town to receive the greetings of the reeve or attaman, then on down the White Way, almost to Folgry. There were one or two incidents when citizens tried to get close to the royal pair with presents or flowers; they were intercepted by tall Companions in dark clothes, who flung them to the ground.
This was the wedding celebration. Many nobles had dispersed already. After two more days helping to dismantle the Pendark pavilion, Gael bade farewell to the Pendark delegation and to her friends. She retraced her steps—first to Folgry town, then to the Adderneck Pass, now full of horse and foot traffic, going both ways. She rested and made camp twice on the way
and came at last to the Palace Fortress of the Kings of Mel’Nir, where banners showed that the king and his queen had already come home. Then she rode on to the city of Lort, and home to the Swan Inn. Ebony was pleased to come home to his stablemate, an old mule; she asked a new groom after Master Forbian Flink, and the boy pointed up to the loft.
“He is sleeping, Captain—after long nights in his tower with scribe work!”
It was afternoon of a Midweek, as the days were counted in Mel’Nir. The Swan was quiet—she received a warm welcome from Demira Beck and gave out small gifts and tokens from the Chameln lands. Rolf Beck was off at the markets—she knew he would want a good report on the wedding of Queen Tanit Am Zor. Tomas was at his archives in the city; she waited in the dear and familiar tower room until he returned. When she saw him come in, wearing his dusty scholar’s gown, Gael Maddoc was filled at last with the happiness she had been promised everywhere, for the wedding duty. “And how was your task?” he asked her.
She replied from the shelter of his strong arms.
“It was a fiddling, uncomfortable escort duty. But on my way I met a friend from Lien!”
“Do we have many friends there?” asked Tomas.
“We have Brother Less!”
He gave a whoop—showing what pleased a scribe.
So, free from care at last, she slept late, made reports to Tomas and Innkeeper Beck and to Brother Robard and his wife Terza. It turned out that Forbian Flink was poorly with a chest rheum. Mistress Beck had brought him indoors and was feeding him possets. Gael visited him once, and he seemed bright eyed and cheerful already, but she gave him only a few snippets of the wedding at Chernak. There was no talk of Yorath Duaring in the northeast, where the great wall was being built.
Only a few days into the Birchmoon, the second moon of spring, Gael was summoned to return in haste to Tulach. The old servant Hurlas arrived by magic on his horse, just outside
the ancient Ox Gate, one fair morning. He rode into the yard of the Swan, and Gael was brought down to him at once.
“Thanks to the Goddess, Captain,” he panted. “Here—here is the summoning.”
In the leather bag he pressed into her hands was a mirror. When she held it up, Luran looked out of the glass.
“Come at once, Gael Maddoc,” he said. “Hurlas will show you the place to stand, near the Ox Gate. Fion Myrruad cannot stay … she has a task for you!”