Darkover: First Contact (73 page)

“A woman?” Melora asked, startled. “Has a woman the strength to be Keeper?”

“Certainly, as much so as any
emmasca,
and after all, we do not need physical strength, or swordcraft, but strength of will and of mind . . . and women are less inclined to meddle in politics ; they know what is real, and what a Tower needs, perhaps, is not a strong man to rule, but a mother, to guide. . . .” Varzil was silent, frowning, and Melora and Bard forbore to disturb his thoughts.

As they rode on, and the day wore toward nightfall, thick clouds began to obscure the horizon. When they paused, near sunset (but the sun was hidden) to eat a little bread and dried meat, they drew their cloaks about them, anticipating rain or even snow, but gradually the weather cleared. Three moons, near full, floated in the dark-purple sky; the green face of Idriel, the blue-green face of Kyrrdis and the pearl disk of Mormallor; Liriel, a shy crescent, lingered near the horizon. In the bright moonlight they could see the road ahead, and, when they came up to the hill overlooking the valley of Asturias, they could see below them the dark mass that was the castle.

“It is not so bad as that,” Melora said quietly.

Varzil said, “I see lights, cousin. Lights, moving, and the shapes of buildings undisturbed. It may not be so bad—forgive me, cousin, I know you have suffered a dreadful loss, but you may not find your home in such ruin as you think. And certainly all is not lost.”

I said it to Paul: until I return, you are the Lord General. But what does he know of commanding my men? I taught him how to wield the power. But what does he know of the responsibility, the care for men who look to their leader for direction, for their hope, their comforts and even the necessities of life? Will he know how to make sure that they are well quartered, safe, cared for?
Bard realized that in a life where there had been few to love, few to love him, he had loved his men and been loved by them, and he had left them in another man’s hands, at a moment which had turned out to be more crucial than he knew!

His father had raised the army for conquest, and for his own ambition, but now his father was dead, and what would become of the army, how could he settle his men? As they rode downward to the castle, not knowing how much ruin they would find, Bard wondered what was to be done with the army. He would return to his father’s estate—his father had left no legitimate sons, after all, and there was no other to inherit—and Erlend must, of course, be legitimated, at once, in case he should die before he had any other children. But what of his men? Who would reign over Asturias, and what would that ruler do with the chaos he had inherited, the wreck in the wake of one man’s ambition?

He could do nothing until he knew what was left.

It was not so bad as he had feared. One wing of the castle, stark in the moonlight, lay in fallen rubble; lights were still moving in the ruins where workmen sought to dig out any remaining bodies. The main building, and the keep, and the west wing stood intact, enduring and straight against the flooding moonlight. And as they rode to the gates, Bard saw with relief that all was not utter chaos, for the voice of one of his soldiers rang out strong and clear.

“Who rides there? Stand, and declare yourself friend or foe!”

Bard started to call out his name—surely the man would know his voice—but the Keeper of Neskaya was not given to deference to any man alive. His voice was strong and sure.

“Varzil of Neskaya, and a
leronis
of his Tower, Melora MacAran.”

“And,” Bard added firmly, “Bard mac Fianna, Lord General of Asturias!”

The man’s voice was deferential. “
Dom
Varzil! Come away in sir, you’ll be welcome, and the
leronis,
her father is here. But by your leave, sir, that man with you isn’t the Lord General, you’ve been gulled by an imposter.”

“Nonsense,” said Varzil impatiently. “Do you think the Keeper of Neskaya does not know to whom he speaks?”

“I don’t know who he is, Lord Varzil, but he’s not the Lord General and that’s sure. The Lord General is
here
.”

Bard said sharply, “Hold that lantern here! Come on, Murakh, don’t you know me? The man who’s here is my paxman Harryl!”

The man held up the lantern, beginning to be uncertain. He said, uneasily, “Sir, whoever you are, you sure
look
like the Lord General, and you sound like him, too . . . but you can’t be the Lord General. I—he’s not the Lord General now, he’s the king. I was on guard tonight, and I saw him crowned. And married!”

 

Bard swallowed, unable to do more than stare at the man.

Varzil said quietly, “I assure you, man, this man here beside me is Bard mac Fianna of Asturias, son to Dom Rafael and brother to the late king.”

The soldier looked troubled, staring up from Varzil to Bard, shifting the lantern in a shaking hand.

“I’ve got my duty, sir. It’s my business to make sure people are who they say they are. Even if you were the king, begging your pardon, my lord.”

Bard said to Varzil, “I’ll never fault a soldier for doing his duty. We can settle who I am tomorrow. Don’t argue. There are people here who know me beyond doubt. If I’m supposedly married to Lady Carlina—”

The Guardsman shook his head. “I don’t know anything about any Lady Carlina, sir, I thought she’d left the court years ago and was in a Tower or a house of priestesses or something like that. But the queen’s father, Master Gareth MacAran, he’s in the Great Hall tending the hurt folk they dug out of the ruins, and if you’re a
leronis,
my lady, they’ll welcome you there. . . .”

Bard smiled with grim humor. So he had arrived at Castle Asturias to find that he was king, and married, and now he was to be shut out of the gates as an imposter. Well, he had told Paul to fill his place till he returned, and it seemed that the other man had done so.

Varzil said in his deep voice, “I’ll vouch for this man; his identity’s something we can settle tomorrow. But I might be needed inside, too.”

“Oh, I’ll admit him as a member of your suite, Lord Varzil,” said Murakh deferentially, and they rode through the gates, giving up their homes in the undamaged stables.

The Great Hall was crowded with wounded men and, divided off by blankets, women; a hospital ward of those who had been injured in the collapse of the east wing, or in the search for bodies. Master Gareth welcomed Varzil, with deference which held no hint of too much humility, as a fellow craftman.

“It’s good of you to offer your help, sir. We’re short on it and there’s so many men here hurt and dying. . . .”

“What happened here?” Varzil demanded.

“As near as we can tell, it’s the men of Aldaran, taking this time to get into the war. Tomorrow the Lord General—the king, sir—will have to decide what’s to be done, perhaps we can stop ’em at the Kadarin, but right now we’ve put a
laran
-shield over the castle . . . they won’t strike at us again with
that
, but of course we can’t maintain it all that long; it’s taking four men and a boy. They must have known the army was here and wanted to put us about, so we wouldn’t know what they were doing . . . but right now I have to see to the wounded. And you, Melora, there’s need enough for someone among the women. As usual in any commotion, two or three women, one of the court ladies and one of the kitchen girls, and yes, one of the army’s washerwomen, took just
this
time to go a-birthing, so there’s more work than one midwife can handle. Avarra be praised, a priestess of Avarra was here, only the Goddess knows why, and she’s caring for them, but there were women hurt on the rockfalls, too, so if you’d go and help the healer-women, Melora—”

“Certainly I will go,” Melora said, turning her steps toward the other part of the hall, and after a moment’s thought, Bard followed. Carlina, here—and as a priestess of Avarra! When, if he had been crowned king of this land, she should be queen....

He found her bending over a woman with a bandaged arm and leg, her eye and skull bandaged. She saw Melora first and said curtly, “Are you a healer, and do you know anything of midwifery? One of the women has borne children before, I can safely leave her to the maids, but this woman is going to die, and there is a woman in labor who is past thirty, and bearing her first child, and another young girl with her first. . . .”

“I am not a midwife, but I am a woman and I have been taught something of healing,” Melora said, and Carlina looked her full in the face by the shaded lamp.

“Melisendra—” she said, and then stopped and blinked. “No, you are not even much like her, are you? You must be her sister, the
leronis
—there is no time to ask now how you came here, but in the name of Avarra I bless you! Will you come, then, and help me with the wounded?”

“Gladly,” Melora said. “Where are the women in labor?”

“We carried them into that room there, it was the old king’s study once . . . I will be with you in a moment,” Carlina said. She bent again to the dying woman, put a hand to her forehead, shook her head.

“She will not wake again,” she said, and went toward the room where she had sent Melora; but Bard laid a light hand on her sleeve.

“Carlie,” he said.

She started away in shock; then, perhaps sensing in his voice that he was no threat to her, she let her breath go and said, “Bard. I did not expect to see you here—”

He saw the darkening bruise on her cheekbone.
Merciful Avarra, I did that to her
. . . but he had no time even for shame or self-pity. Even abasing himself to Carlina could wait. His land was under attack by Aldaran, and in the hands of an usurper.

“What’s this nonsense about my being crowned tonight, and married to someone else?”

“Crowned, married? I don’t know, Bard, I have been here all day since the other wing of the castle collapsed, tending the sick and hurt. I’ve had no time for anything else—I have had time for nothing, only to swallow a little bread and cheese. . . .”

“Is there no one else to do this, Carlie? You look so weary—”

“Oh, I am used to it, this is the work of a priestess—” she said with a faint smile. “And, although you may not believe it, Bard, that is what I am. Although perhaps I have been sheltered too long, perhaps we need the priestesses more in the world than on the Holy Isle.”

“Melisendra—is she—”

“She was with me at the time of the attack; she was unhurt. And your son, he is well, I heard. He was with Master Gareth all day,” she said. “But Bard, I have no time for you now, these women are dying. And the men, too . . . do you know there were over a hundred men hurt, and twelve of them have already died, so tomorrow we will have to have a whole regiment of soldiers to dig graves somewhere, and someone to send word to their families. . . . Bard, can you send someone to the Holy Isle, to beg priestesses to come and help me with the hurt and dying? If you send express riders, they can be there by daylight—”

“Certainly I can do that,” said Bard, sobered, “but will they listen to any man, will they come?”

“Not for the King of Asturias, perhaps. But perhaps for me, if they know it is I who ask it, Sister Liriel—”

“But there is no man can win through even to the shores of the Lake of Silence, Carlie, without incurring their evil sorceries—” he stopped. No, the sorceries were not evil; they were only protecting themselves. He said humbly, “No man can win through the protections they have laid about themselves without dying of terror.”

“But a woman may do so,” said Carlina. “Bard, with your army, have you any of the sworn Sisterhood of the Sword? They too ride under the protection of Avarra.”

“I think they have all left me, Carlina. But I will go and ask my sergeants; some of them will surely know.”

“Then send one of the Sisterhood, Bard. Beg her to ride there and bear the message from me, that they will come—”

Bard started to say that he did not
beg
anyone in his army to do what he—or she—was bidden to do by a lawful commander, then stopped himself. If Carlina could beg, he could too. He said, “I will send express riders at once, lady,” and went away, leaving Carlina staring after him, knowing that something very strange had happened, not only in the kingdom of Asturias, but within Bard too.

Bard went away toward the stables, thinking, with relief, that at least Carlina had not taken that moment to rail and upbraid him. She had a right to make a scene if she wanted to. He had done her wrong enough. But the greater tragedy had wiped out any personal consideration, as it had in himself.

One of his sergeants told him that when the prisoners and the mercenaries in his army had ridden away together, one of the women had been too sick to ride, and another of the sworn Sisters had remained to nurse her and care for her. The two were living together in a little tent near where the army’s camp followers and washer women were housed, beyond the regular army barracks. Bard started to say, tell her to ride express at once and send someone to look after her friend, then he realized that he was asking an extraordinary service of someone whom he had denied proper protection. He had better go himself.

He lost himself in the army encampment two or three times, before he finally found the quarters of the army camp followers.

Even in the wake of the disaster, here where the army was quartered things were reasonably normal. Men not badly hurt were being nursed by their comrades, and some of the women had been pressed to help. A few of the women who followed the army looked at Bard with a sidelong smile, and he knew he had not been recognized. It reminded him of his days as a mercenary soldier, and that in turn made him think of Lilla, and her son, who was probably his son as well. He had not harmed Lilla as he had harmed so many women; that was probably because she had neither expected nor needed anything from him, except what little money he could spare from a soldier’s pay to care for her son. She had given him no power to hurt her, and so he could not harm her in any way.