Fool's Errand (20 page)

G
ENERAL MURDOCK'
s beady eyes gleamed in the darkness.

Though his soldiers had been much dismayed three dawns past when the identical groups of riders had galloped off in different directions from the princess's camp, General Murdock had not been dismayed. A military man did not
get
dismayed—just as he did not get angry or panic or act impulsively. Rather, he planned as well as he could, calmly assessed new facts as they emerged and adjusted his plans accordingly. That is why General Murdock had been able to remain calm while his panicked soldiers had dashed around trying to break camp and get the horses saddled as quickly as possible. Stroking his weak chin, he'd carefully considered all that he'd observed through his spyglass in the moments leading up to the abrupt departure of the galloping riders. In particular, he'd considered the fact that one of the men had gotten down on bended knee before one of the women, and that she'd responded by laying a hand upon his hooded head. The gesture had been a fleeting one, for another man had immediately leapt to his feet and begun hopping about for reasons unknown, but it'd had the unmistakable look of a blessing. Moreover, even from a distance, the woman who'd bestowed it had done so with the natural grace of a royal born.

With this in mind, rather than weakening his tracking force by sending a soldier or two chasing after each group—as the princess and the Gypsy had obviously hoped he'd do—General Murdock had decided to keep his force together and follow only the group that included the woman who'd bestowed the blessing. His soldiers had been visibly surprised by this decision. Indeed, one of them—an excited, gangly-limbed boy who was a prime example of the poor quality of recruits that had lately poured in to swell the ranks of the Regent's already mighty army of New Men—had even questioned the wisdom of putting all their eggs in one basket.

General Murdock had responded by impassively explaining to the youth that a military man took risks. Then, ordering him and the other soldiers to their horses, he'd led them all in such a careful pursuit of their quarry that the two women, the man and the boy had had no idea they were being followed.

Now, as he crouched in the shadows of the hidden tunnel beneath the waterfall watching the laughing Gypsies trickle back into the clearing after having delivered the princess and her new husband to the hut in the woods, General Murdock thought how handsomely that particular risk had paid off. Not only had he discovered a Gypsy nest bigger than any he'd discovered in many years, but in four-and-twenty hours of watching and listening, he'd gathered much vital intelligence. He'd seen the face of the princess's friend. He'd heard the Gypsy called Azriel admit to having lied to the Regent about being Balthazar's bastard. He'd seen the liar joined in matrimony to the woman whom the Regent both desired and despised beyond all reason—a crime for which he would someday suffer most exquisitely.

And he'd learned that the Gypsies believed in a king whose prophesied coming would unite the five tribes of Glyndoria. The treasonous nature of the prophecy offended General Murdock deeply. And while he'd never been one to believe in anything that smacked of fancy and could not see how his master's plans to become king could possibly be thwarted by a handful of tribal outlaws, he could not help feeling vaguely uneasy at the thought that by marrying the liar, the princess had made the doomed King Finnius a Gypsy.

As General Murdock nibbled on an immaculate fingernail and absently wondered if this meant that he was now lawfully entitled—or even
duty-bound
—to rip the scalp from the young king's head, the Gypsy music started up once more, drawing his attention back to the nest. He did not see yawning children and pretty girls with jingling bells at their ankles as much as he saw scalps, and his long, thin nose twitched as his gaze flicked from one glossy mane to the next. He could hardly contain himself—and yet, he did, for he had orders not to attack until the princess and the Gypsy had either found the healing pool or given up looking for it, and a military man always followed orders.

The nest would be purged in due course—and when it was, he would be able to collect more than enough prime scalps to present his master with a new “pet” to replace the one he'd recently burned to ashes.

With this satisfying thought, General Murdock drew farther back into the shadows, turned and slunk back the way he'd come so many hours earlier. In the morning, he would send one of the men back to the Regent in Parthania with news of all that he'd seen and heard. Then he would issue a belated order to have gagged and flogged to death the boy who'd questioned the wisdom of putting all their eggs in one basket. Under normal circumstances, General Murdock wouldn't necessarily have had him flogged to
death
for questioning a decision, but with the princess and the Gypsy about to embark upon their quest, he could not afford to have a man crippled by the whip slowing them down. And he
certainly
could not afford to let the infraction go unpunished. Small breakdowns in discipline and order invariably led to larger breakdowns in discipline and order, and General Murdock prided himself on setting an example for the entire army by maintaining the highest possible standards of behaviour among the troops under his direct command.

For now, though, he wished only to retire to his camp tent for a few well-deserved hours of rest upon a cot made up with sheets bleached white as snow and scented with lavender. The sheets were an extravagance, but one of many that General Murdock forgave himself for indulging in.

He was a military man, after all, not an animal.

NINETEEN

F
ROM HIS PERCH
high in the tree, the man in meanest homespun watched the General emerge from behind the waterfall. The man was exhausted from three days of hard travel followed by four-and-twenty hours of alternately watching for the General and watching his men, who were camped yonder. But he was also exhilarated, for he knew that he was doing a great service for the realm. It was true that not everyone would think so, but
he
certainly thought so. And that was why—beyond the
obvious
reason—he'd hardly batted an eye when he'd heard what he was being asked to do.

The first part of his mission was simple enough: to secretly follow whoever had been sent to follow the princess and to take whatever actions were necessary to ensure that this individual was unable to send reports back to Parthania. Though the man had not been told in so many words that he was to kill the messengers, he knew it was expected of him. And while he was not looking forward to the killing, he'd killed out of necessity before, and he understood that small acts of evil must sometimes be committed for the sake of the greater good.

He was content that his conscience would be clear on the matter of the dead messengers.

It was the second part of his mission that gave the man pause, for he'd seen the princess in action and he did not think she'd take kindly to what he'd been asked to do to her. Moreover, he wasn't sure he entirely understood
why
doing such a thing would be for the good of the realm. The way he saw it, just the
opposite
would be true.

Still.

If someone from an infinitely greater station than he felt it was so, then it must be so.

And so he would continue to secretly follow the General, he would kill the messengers, and he would try not to think too much about the second part of his orders.

With luck, it would never come to that.

TWENTY

Ninety-five white beans left in the jar

T
HE MORNING AFTER HER WEDDING
, Persephone awoke as she'd learned to do during her nightmare months of enslavement deep within the Mines of Torodania—without altering her breathing pattern or succumbing to the twitches that gave others away, with every fibre of her being alert to lurking danger and every muscle tensed to spring into defensive action.

Of course, she was no longer a half-dead little starveling curled up in a dirty ball; she was a married princess. And the lurking danger was not some feral child with glittering eyes and a taste for the unspeakable; it was her new husband. And while it was true that he'd not done anything especially
dangerous
the previous night (besides lie next to her breathing softly, occasionally shifting in his sleep and generally making it impossible for her to forget that he was there), there was every chance that he was still lying barely dressed in the bed beside her, and she did not know if she could bear the intimacy of opening her eyes to the sight of his warm and sleepy smile.

After some moments spent lying tense and unmoving, however, Persephone began to feel a bit foolish, so she opened one eye the barest of cracks. To her surprise, Azriel was
not
in bed beside her. Opening both eyes, she sat up, looked around and was dismayed to see that he wasn't even in the hut.

Before she could begin to wonder where he'd gone to, there came a knock at the door. Pulling the blanket up to her chin, Persephone invited the caller inside. The next instant, the door opened to reveal Azriel with a familiarlooking pile of coarse cloth tucked under one arm.

“A good morning to you, wife,” he said.

“A good morning to you she replied awkwardly, the word “husband” sticking in her throat.

Azriel smiled. Handing her the pile of cloth—which was, as she'd suspected, the lowborn disguise she'd worn before changing into her beautiful gown of liquid sunlight—he said, “You must dress and come out at once. The tribe is waiting for you.”

Persephone pressed the smelly bundle to her chest. “Why are they waiting for me?” she asked suspiciously, thinking of the Gypsies' fondness for springing things like marriage and consummation on a person.

As though he'd read her thoughts, Azriel laughed aloud. “They are waiting to see you take the Gypsy mark, for until you do so you cannot be considered a full member of the tribe—and neither can your brother, the king.”

“Oh,” said Persephone, relaxing slightly.

“After that, we'll break our fast while we go over what is known about old Balthazar's discovery of the healing pool,” he continued. “And after
that
, we shall gather the necessary supplies and begin our quest in earnest.”

After Azriel left the hut, Persephone quickly dressed and made her way through the woods to the clearing where the tribe was assembled. As soon as she came into sight, half the Gypsies started clapping and cheering, and the other half—the bleary-eyed, greenish-faced ones who'd had too much wedding wine to drink the night before—clutched their heads and moaned softly. Not wanting to think about
why
people were clapping and cheering, Persephone ducked her head to hide her burning cheeks and hurried to stand beside Rachel, who was beaming at her most vexingly. Halfway there, however, she remembered what Azriel had said about the need to act as though she'd been bedded “well and often.” Realizing that a
true
wife would probably want to stand by her new husband's side, she pivoted on one heel and slowly walked over to Azriel, who tenderly wrapped his arms around her.

“Wife,” he murmured, smiling down at her.

“Husband,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks burn hotter still.

At this display of newlywed affection, Rachel beamed harder, and many of the Gypsies chuckled and nudged one another. After a moment, Cairn—who was looking only a
little
greenish—called for quiet. Then she spread her hands wide and began to speak.

“When the world was young, we Gypsies were many, and all lived as one in a corner of the realm that belonged to none but us. We thrived as no other tribe in Glyndoria thrived, for the land upon which we lived was fertile beyond measure, and at its heart there existed a miraculous pool whose waters could cure any ill. For untold generations we lived in health and happiness until the day one of our own spilled the blood of a trusted companion at the water's edge. The blood tainted the pool, the pool dried up, and the once-fertile lands were as dust in the wind. To stay was to starve so we moved on. We have been a wandering people ever since—an echo of the healing power of the pool coursing through our veins, the belief that the pool will someday reappear burning in our hearts. That is why our mark takes the form of a droplet of water—to remind each of us who we are, where we came from and where we hope to return to one day. To take the mark is to pledge allegiance to a tribe that will love and protect you as one of their own—and to willingly accept the peril that goes along with joining the ranks of a hunted people. Tell us now, Persephone, wife of Azriel,” said Cairn in a voice trembling with emotion, “do you willingly pledge such allegiance and accept such peril?”