In the night, while they were sleeping, a liveried servant rode in and left a message for Scribe Tomas Giraud, sealed with a ring that bore the crest of three bells. They read it over breakfast in the parlor of the Swan. Part was a request for common services—part was in a cipher only Tomas could read. He copied the words out for Gael on a wax tablet before he erased them and burnt the letter.
Good Tomas, I send greeting to yourself and to your betrothed, Captain Gael Maddoc. I have heard something of the rescue that was lately carried out in Wennsford, and I delight in the news that my helper Mistress Hestrem and her lady, Mother Mistress Elnora, are safe and unharmed.
The Chaplain of our house, Brother Less, has spoken to me of a foreshadowing concerning a portrait. I will speak urgently to Captain Maddoc of this matter, as I have by my side one who can shed light upon it. We will be at Aird, the town of the half-Shee, at noon today.
The signature on the message proper was elegant but without curlicues.
Auric Barry
“He is bold to speak of this rescue,” Tomas told her. “In Lien, the Witchfinder carries great power. Even one so high born as a scion of the house of Chantry must watch his words.”
“Even here in Mel’Nir?” Gael was surprised.
“The Witchfinder has been aggressive in the spread of his
agents,” Tomas said seriously. “Even within Mel’Nir, one such as Auric Barry must be circumspect.”
“It had seemed to me,” Gael said, “that in Lien, a high title was proof against the Brown Brothers’ dictates.”
Tomas smiled, a little grimly. “You should tell that to the wild Lord Garvis of Grays,” he said. “He is the last survivor of Lien’s highest noble house, but these past fifteen years, he has lived as an outlaw, and all because he would not bow his head to the Council of the Brother-Advocates.”
Gael raised her brows—she had not heard this story. “Who is Garvis of Grays?”
Tomas shook his head and sighed. “He is not well-known outside of Lien in these days. Garvis is the example one such as Lord Auric must look to when he stands against the Brown Brotherhood’s ways. He was stripped of his lands—of all his titles and riches—when he would not bow his head to accept the Brotherhood’s rise. He made a plea to his fellow landholders—but they were cowed, they would not support him. The Brotherhood keeps the people of Lien quiet; it commands obedience and order. There are few lords who will stand against that—not least because it keeps their own people tame, where they retain many of their privileges.”
Gael held the wax tablet in her hand, read over again Lord Auric’s message. Perhaps she felt more sympathetic to this young lord, now she knew he risked something to treat with her.
There was no question—of course she would go to this meeting. Gael knew that she was putting off her confrontation with Lord Luran for perhaps another day. Tomas showed that he understood her anxiety—all they could do was promise a swift meeting when she sent for him.
She rode into Aird not long after midday; the town was serene and beautiful as ever in the sunshine. As she came to the center of town, where the chestnut tree was in full bloom, a man came running up, followed by several others. He cried out in a troubled voice:
“Captain! Captain Maddoc!”
She was alarmed at first and reined in Ebony.
“Captain Maddoc, forgive me—”
She saw that the man was dark, middle aged, stockily built; it was Galdo, the innkeeper at Tzurn’s Haven, who had been so rude at their first meeting.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course I forgive you, Master Galdo!”
“I behaved very ill, when we first met,” he panted. “Then we understood that you served the Eilif lords—the hero Waltan himself came and bore you away … . Now we know you are the
Wanderer …”
“Hush,” said Gael. “I have no wish to be known …”
“You are awaited in Tzurn’s Haven,” he said humbly. “Please to step in.”
She dismounted and gave Ebony to the servants, then walked with him toward the inn.
“I was so rough when you were last here, Captain,” he said, “because I was half-mad with the stress of so many passing through the town on the way to the wedding at Chernak. Goddess bless us! The news we hear is that that all goes well for the young queen and her consort!”
Gael had heard something of the same news from Mistress Vanna: in marriage, it seemed the ice that had sheathed young Tanit’s heart had been broken; all was well in the Chameln. Thinking on this, she touched at the hallow-string, which she had taken to wearing at her throat. The Chameln rulers had kept
their
Hallow safe—the Stone of the Daindru was cemented into the foundation wall in Achamar city. In Chernak, she had learned that the rulers performed a ceremonial “Honoring of the Stone” every year in the Aldermoon, the Moon of Death. Maintaining such reverence for their Hallow—was this how the Chameln lands managed to shrug off the trials that passed over them so lightly, while lands like the ancient Chyrian coast, so poor and impoverished, and Mel’Nir and Lien themselves, so embattled and full of rancor, could not find their peace?
Athron, where she had just been, had no Hallow to hold or lose. Perhaps this was why that land lived so well in quiet peace, lacking glory or fire perhaps, but also disruption and sorrow—save perhaps for a curdled curse of old, like Myrraud’s bane on the Wilds, or an aggressive venture such as that so recently put forward, so unsuccessfully, by Brother Sebald.
Ahead of her, Galdo flung open the door and bowed; in the
darkness after the bright sunlight, she saw Lord Auric, handsome as ever, spring up eagerly. She put thoughts of the Hallows hastily away—here was one whose course lay deep within the distresses of his country, high born enough to serve close to court, yet nourishing, through his mother’s chaplain Brother Less, a fire that flared counter to the ruling Brotherhood’s purposes. Her eyes became accustomed to the shade, and she saw that his companion at the table was an older man in Chameln dress—long full trousers of fine dressed leather and a long tunic of plum colored velvet.
“Captain Maddoc,” said Auric Barry earnestly, “tell me how my friends are faring after this daring rescue! How does it stand with Yolanda Hestrem and her mother?”
“They are both well, my lord,” she said. “Yolanda took no harm at all, and though her poor mother, Mistress Elnora, had been mishandled by the Witchfinder’s men, she was recovering quickly in her daughter’s care. They have sailed off in a Merwin ship, home to Lindriss in Eildon.”
It struck her that Lord Auric had asked for this news as he would for a friend, a helper—he did not regard Yolanda as a lover, as it had seemed at first.
“What will the Witchfinder, that fanatical young Sebald, do now?” he asked. “What will his bear-leader, old Justian, the Brother-Advocate, do?”
“They are both back in Lien,” said Gael, wondering that Lord Auric did not already know this. “My Tomas tells me this is a more serious matter than even I have understood.”
A shadow fell across the young lord’s handsome face. Gael could see he was a little disgusted, although reluctant to show such feelings. “Our queen will not delight to see her favorite humiliated—and by a pack of women out of skirts!”
Gael did not see why this should make any difference, though she knew it was the case in Lien, so she only shrugged. “They mocked him all through Athron,” she said. “Whatever triumphal procession he had planned came to naught.”
Lord Auric shook his head. “He is a clever man, and very stubborn. It would surprise me if he did not find some means to twist this defeat to his advantage. That is not beyond him, you must know. Some in Lien have counseled the queen
against aggressive outcursions. Sebald may use this chance to bring them low.”
“I wonder at Lien’s lords,” Gael said boldly, for she suspected Lord Auric’s family might have led the outcry against those “outcursions.” “It seems you feel the priesthood to be an excellent thing when it comes to promoting order among your people. It is only when its powers nip at your own heels that you begin to grow wary.”
Lord Auric gave her a sharp look. “Perhaps that
has
been so,” he said. “But now the Brown Brotherhood is nipping at our heels, and we have indeed grown wary. Which brings me to my introduction.” He made a flourish with his hands, calling attention to the old man who had waited, with an air of patience and benign amusement, while the two had spoken.
“Now I will present one whose name is well-known,” said Auric. “I am sure you have heard of the famed painter, Emyas Bill.”
The old man had a rather pale face with a slight tuft of beard; his hair was long and grey brown.
“I know Master Bill’s fame indeed!” Gael said, impressed and delighted together.
Emyas Bill smiled at her like a kindly uncle.
“Have you seen any miniatures or portraits of my school?” he asked.
“Oh, I have seen a marvelous collection of your original work!” she burst out.
Then she told of Cannford Old House in the Eastern Rift, where the Lady Pearl of Andine kept her school for the daughters of noble families.
“Praise the Goddess, yes!” cried Emyas Bill. “So the Andine-Strett miniatures have survived! Pray tell me, dear child, are they all intact? How are they displayed?”
So she went on and described something of the ambience of Lady Pearl, her magic and fortune-telling and the room where the paintings took pride of place. There they stood on a silver stand, among other family treasures.
“Excellent!” said the artist. “Oh, to think of the changes of fate and fortune that have stricken the fair girl children I painted long ago …”
“They have settled down,” said Lord Auric, a little coldly. “Now the eldest daughter, Lady Annhad, is wed to the Lord of the Southland; the Lady Pearl is an adept, having studied in Eildon; and the Lady Perrine is wed to Degan Keddar, who will soon be known as the Lord of the Eastmark. Fine fortunes to a trio of daughters whose bastard-born father was lost to civil conflict.”
Gael guessed he compared Strett of Cloudhill’s daughters to the Swans of Lien, whose fate had been more harsh. Still, she did not like his manner. “Our ladies of Cloudhill had no Rosmer to haunt them, my lord,” she said. “And, it is true, no one ever called them ‘Princess.’ But that is no reason to deny them their misfortunes!”
Lord Auric flushed a little, and it seemed to Gael that Emyas Bill hid a smile in his sleeve, suppressing amused approval. She realized as she was talking that her years with Blayn of Pfolben now served her well. She did not entirely understand the role Auric Barry sought to play in Lien’s service, but she would not defer to this handsome Lord of Chantry until he had better proved his merit to her.
Timely for their tempers, Bergit the serving wench came by with a flagon of fine red wine and fresh oatcakes and greeted Gael as a friend.
“Enough of these matters.” Auric Barry swirled his wine within his cup, swift recovering his mood. “I have asked you to meet me here today to speak of another strange affair: Brother Less, my mother’s chaplain and a master scribe, had a foreshadowing—a portrait which somehow told a lie, pretended to be what it was not. Sure enough, this portrait soon after appeared among Tanit Am Zor’s wedding presents.”
“I have heard of this,” Gael said. She could not tell whether or not Lord Auric knew of her strange meeting with Brother Less in the Adderneck. “Was it set out in the fortified garden house where the gifts were displayed?”
“No, it appeared at a private dinner for the young queen, the day after the wedding. It was a simple act of magic—a silk-wrapped package appeared suddenly upon the table, with broidered lettering which showed the names and crests of the young
queen. Nothing bad was expected, but of course the package was not opened by Queen Tanit herself, but her taster and bodyguard, Mekkin Am Rann, who also uses magical protection.”
Emyas Bill took up the tale:
“I have been shown the portrait that was in this package. One of the new style, not a miniature—they are painted in our school in the Old Town at Chameln Achamar and at many other workshops and schools of painting in the lands of Hylor. This painting showed a man seated under an oak tree and surrounded by symbols of the Chameln lands.”
“There was a message to the young queen with the portrait—written out fair upon a piece of vellum …” continued Auric.
“A message?” Gael asked.
“Trust me!” he smiled.
He drew out from the sleeve of his cambric shirt a folded piece of Lien paper with the message hastily scrawled with a stick of charcoal, reading it aloud in his voice so silken fine:
To Queen Tanit Sharn Aravel Am Zor, who shares the double throne, greeting!
Behold the likeness of one who was deemed lost or dead but who has returned to the world to proclaim his innocence of any treachery toward his royal brother and to greet in love his niece. This is Prince Carel Esher Kelen Am Zor, the so-called Lost Prince, brother of your lamented father, King Sharn, the Summer’s King, beloved throughout the lands of Hylor. Highness Carel, who is now in Eildon, humbly begs you and your advisors to give a sign that you will meet with him and hear his story, that all might be happily reconciled.