Sacrifice (Book 4) (14 page)

Turning to Lord Kildan, she announced, “I will speak with the man she travels with—Amos, was it?—and see if he knows anything about her whereabouts.”

With Gerand in tow, she strode quickly toward Gen. As she started walking in his direction, he pulled the brim of his hat down to hide his face. As it became apparent that she approached him specifically, he rose to go as naturally as he could.

The Chalaine’s heart pounded as she approached. “Excuse me, Amos?” she called to him, subduing the excitement in her voice and trying to sound as if she were addressing a stranger. He turned to go. “Sir! Amos!” she called more loudly. He stopped, and she almost laughed at his obvious discomfort as he slowly turned to face her. When he did, he kept his face and eyes down, executing a bow and leaning on a quarterstaff.

“Yes, Holiness?” he asked. The Chalaine completely underestimated the effect that hearing his voice again would have on her. It was deep, calm, and wonderfully familiar. Wherever that voice spoke was her peace, her home. “Milady?” he said as she paused, and the fear that he thought she recognized him gave her the ability to tame her emotions and continue.

“I am sorry,” she said, “but I didn’t understand what you had said, as you were talking at the ground. You are Amos, the one who travels with Maewen, correct?”

“Yes, Holiness,” he answered.

“Well, look up, Amos, or shall I lie on the ground at your feet so I can see your face?”

He looked up reluctantly, though he did not meet her eye, focusing his gaze behind her. Now that she could get a good look at him, she marveled at his face, skin smooth and free of scars, but undeniably his. The long hair and close-cropped beard lent him a few more years, and despite his rustic attire, the intelligence of eye imbued him dignity and nobility, as she remembered.

“But I’ve interrupted your breakfast. Please sit and eat. I just have a few brief questions for you concerning Maewen.”

“Thank you, Holiness,” he said, returning his quarterstaff to the ground and sitting with his back against the tree. The Chalaine realized that this gave him the advantage of hiding his face again, so she surprised him and Gerand by taking a seat beside him.

“Please, do not be uncomfortable,” she soothed. “Think of me as just another woman. I am quite tired of people treating me as if I were a spider who might bite or a bird who might fly away. Be at ease. I promise I mean you no harm.”

“Forgive me. I am but a simple woodsman, Milady.”

“You are forgiven. My questions are these. First,” she said, “the council wonders if Maewen thinks we will make the river before dark, and if so, if we should camp close to it.”

“We should arrive at the river before midday,” he said evenly as he rummaged through his leather bag for some bread and nuts, keeping his face away from her as much as possible. “Our camping situation will be dictated by the disposition of the surrounding area.”

“What?” she asked, amused.

“Did I say something amiss?” he inquired, taken aback.

“Well, not really. You said, ‘our camping situation will be dictated by the disposition of the surrounding area.’ Now, I’ve not had the pleasure of knowing many
simple
woodsmen, but that sounded like something Lord Kildan would say.” She could almost see him chiding himself. “You don’t happen to be a general in disguise? We could use another good one.”

“No, Milady. The second question?”

“Maewen is late returning from her usual morning scout. We wondered if you knew if she intended to go farther ahead than usual and if she might be in some danger?”

He pulled his hat down. “She had intended to go forward far enough to see the plain, though she was unsure of the exact distance. I believe she wanted to see if we would find any danger there. She may be delayed for that reason.”

“Should we worry?”

“I do not think so. Perhaps I should go see if the sentries have had any sign of her.” He shifted his worn leather satchel to his lap and started to repack his food. The Chalaine thought hard for a way to stall his escape.

“Perhaps you should,” she said before he could stand, “but may I ask if you would be capable of leading the column forward in her absence? I assume that since you are a woodsman with a staff and a bow rather than a wood ax and rope that you earned your title by something other than cutting and hauling lumber?”

“I am not as skilled as Maewen, but I could substitute in her absence.”

“Excellent. Make your inquiries to the sentries and return and report to me what you find. If she is not seen inside a half hour, we will move without her, you in the lead.”

He left quickly, and the Chalaine watched him go as she returned to Ethris and Kildan. While happy that she had finally heard his voice, she felt thoroughly unsatisfied. She could already tell the pretended unfamiliarity would quickly wear thin and annoy her. She wanted a return to the way it had been, and she wanted it now. She could not dissemble forever, and she wondered when and how she could tell him that she knew and loved him. At the same time, there would be no way to visit and talk with him if he maintained his nondescript role as woodsman. But how could she elevate him without calling attention to who he was or revealing her regard for him?

Dason stood in the circle when she and his brother returned to the council. Her amorous Protector beamed at her, taking her hand enthusiastically and kissing it. The affection in his eyes pained her, and the expectation in his countenance filled her with dread. He saw no obstacle now to their wedding, and by the way his father smiled at him and her, he didn’t either.

“Well, your Grace,” Lord Kildan began before Dason could say anything, “what does—what is his name again—what does he say?”

“Amos is his name, Lord Kildan,” the Chalaine answered. “He told me that Maewen intended to scout forward until she saw the plain, although she was unsure of the distance. He is capable of leading us forward if she does not return soon.”

“Really?” Ethris said, jumping ahead of Lord Kildan. “I’ve been meaning to ask her the origin of her friend. I’ve never known Maewen to consort much with anyone, though she did seem fond of Gen.”

“Doesn’t seem the wholesome sort,” Lord Kildan interjected. “I’ve seen him skulking about, hat low on his face. I don’t remember him in any of the battles we’ve survived.”

“I’ve noticed him lately as well,” Dason added. “And if I notice him, that means he is nearly always close to the Chalaine, which gives me concern. However, I must trust that one as old and as wise as Maewen would be careful in her choice of associates.”

“He seems quite harmless,” the Chalaine commented offhandedly.

“Seeming and being are quite different, your Holiness,” Ethris counseled.

“Yes,” the Chalaine replied, “but I am not a complete failure as a judge of character. It may well be that Maewen set him to watch over me while she blazes the trail for us. Besides you and the Dark Guard, I believe Maewen feels the most responsible for my safety.”

Lord Kildan and Dason objected fervently, and the Chalaine rolled her eyes up into her head while they proclaimed their utmost interest and concern for her welfare.

“Ethris,” Lord Kildan ordered, “ask Maewen directly the next time you see her. I want to know if she did order this protection. If not, then some action may need to be taken.”

“Ask me what?” Maewen inquired flatly, leaning on her bow just outside the circle. Sweat ran down her face, though she didn’t appear to be laboring. The Chalaine searched for Gen, disappointed at not finding him nearby.

“Ah! Maewen,” Lord Kildan exclaimed. “It is a small matter concerning the man Amos. But first, what report?”

“The way is clear to the plain, as near as I can tell. We should be to the Black River by dark and Blackshire castle by midday tomorrow.”

“Excellent news! Gerand, prepare the troops to march.” Gerand bowed and left. “Now to Amos. Dason says he’s seen him near the Chalaine quite frequently and we wonder how well you know him and if you’d ordered him to watch the Chalaine.”

If Maewen were surprised by the question, she didn’t show it. “I know him better than I know any of you. I did ask him to watch over her because. . .”

“Do you not trust the Dark Guard and me,” Dason interrupted, obviously offended, “to provide an adequate defense? I must object!”

“I could hardly see how one charged to protect her could object to one more pair of eyes watching in her behalf,” Maewen answered, annoyance plain. “Now if I may finish. I did ask him to watch over her because he is a skilled woodsman and can hear and see things you do not know to look or listen for.”

“Seems a bit young to have enough skill or experience to lend much aid,” Dason returned contemptuously.

“I’m sure,” Maewen said, “that people said the same when you were raised to the Protectorship at such an early age.” Dason turned red, and the Chalaine hoped he would hold his tongue before Maewen was forced to completely humiliate him. “At my age you all seem a bit too young for anything. But may I assure you all that Amos has the best of intentions toward the Chalaine and is a capable woodsman and an adequate fighter.” The Chalaine smiled at her whopping understatement. Thankfully, Maewen’s assertions put an end to all argument.

“I am satisfied,” Lord Kildan said. “Lead us forward, Maewen. I would like to get somewhere more civilized and defensible soon.”

A very different army from the one that had left Echo Hold descended from the alpine ridge to meet up with the county road that ran along the Black River at the southern edge of Rhugoth. While they had lost nearly half their number to the marauding Uyumaak, their thoughts now turned to home and family. The untamed wilds behind, they rejoiced to see the beginnings of the touch of human hands on the landscape. Squat stone farmhouses popped into view, set against green fields with corn and wheat nearly waist high. The lane widened and improved as orchard-draped hills and mighty oaks lined the way.

In the brilliant morning sunshine the Chalaine could almost believe that Eldaloth had returned, their danger having dissipated into the tree-choked mountains behind them. She glanced around, finding Gen nearer to her than he usually walked, speaking with Maewen in Elvish. The army no longer needed a guide to show them the way. Lord Kildan, General Harband, and Ethris were at the vanguard as they walked toward Blackshire, the estate her mother had promised to Gen and that Chertanne had given to Geoff and Fenna.

Perhaps now Gen would understand the love that her mother had for him, for the Chalaine couldn’t imagine a more beautiful, tranquil place to bestow upon a person. Everywhere the eye turned, something caught its interest, from the dark, flowing river, to the mountains rising on the east and south, to the rolling green hills and the pleasant breeze that rippled waves in the fields of grain. She knew Gen. She knew he would have loved this gorgeous country place. She loved it too, and just like the men around her she began that vain wishing that the war was indeed over. All she wanted was to drag Gen to the nearest Pureman and find a little home tucked away off down a distant lane and just live for him forever.

She peeked over her shoulder again but found that he and Maewen had turned, walking toward the rear of the column. For a moment, she feared that they would leave and strike out into the wilderness, but instead they stopped to speak with Cadaen, whose angry, sober face stood out in contrast to the rest of the smiling marchers.

While the Chalaine had spoken to Mirelle’s Protector before to offer him comfort, she realized his thoughts had now turned to leaving the army behind and going to find her mother. The Chalaine surprised Dason by turning on her heel and walking back to join them. As she had come to expect, Gen yanked his hat down and leaned on his quarterstaff as she approached. She vowed to rip the hat off his head and burn it at the first opportunity.

“I cannot delay,” Cadaen was saying. “Every minute I wait, she is in greater danger.”

“You cannot leave me today,” the Chalaine said. “I want my mother freed more than anything, but you must see me safely to Blackshire. Let us see what news has come. You must at least rest and re-provision tonight.”

As the Chalaine said these words, she knew she would have to let Gen go again. Cadaen could not confront Athan and the Council of Padras alone, and Gen alone held the power to extract Mirelle from whatever prison she languished in. The Chalaine would suffer on with Dason and bid the one she loved farewell.

“But, Chalaine, I. . .” Cadaen protested.

“No more, Cadaen,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “If you leave now and go alone, you will fail. You need rest, and you need help. Stay with me one more day, just one more, and you can go.”

The Chalaine glanced at Gen before turning away, finding his eyes sad and affectionate. It was hard not to turn and run to him, but she steeled herself and continued forward with the rest of the column. He walked close behind her now, just behind Dason, watchful and caring as always.

As they crested the hill, the city of Blackshire sprung into view. The small castle at its center sat pleasantly atop a tree-covered hill, the town encircling it on all sides. A low wall, meant to fend off wild animals rather than warriors, surrounded the older part of the city, though many buildings had recently risen up around the outside. Most structures had a mortared stone foundation with a plastered wood slats at the top. Long, thin trees shot up all through the town, bending in the air with the motions of a breeze that was hazy with wood smoke. They stopped to regard it, the city Warden and a handful of men riding toward their position, no doubt alarmed at the large armed force closing on their homes.

The Chalaine found Gen regarding the scene serenely, a slight smile on his lips, and she wondered what memories the scene invoked for him. Good ones, by the look in his eyes. For her, it was all about the memories she wanted to make and the ones she wanted to forget. Her duties to others seemed over. Now she could serve her own purposes without the burden of guilt. Blackshire was the symbol of that new life. Mikmir and its underground chambers might be safe, but the memory of that place felt like a prison. Here, she was free to ride and roam and love as never before.

The Warden, a tall thin man with sun-darkened skin, approached warily. Lord Kildan and Ethris greeted him warmly to allay his fears. They had worked out the story in council the day before. The Chalaine listened as Lord Kildan explained that they had escaped a large army of Uyumaak, and that the Chalaine had come to Blackshire to hide from Mikkik’s forces, who sought revenge.

“We just received word two days ago that Eldaloth had returned and the Ilch struck a blow,” the Warden explained, “but that the Chalaine had been found and returned safely to Echo Hold! Lord Geoff of Blackshire ordered a week-long celebration. It is just underway this day. While I must consult with him, I can assure you we have nowhere to quarter such a large band of men.”

“We can encamp in any place that is convenient,” Ethris said. “We are weary, however, and in need of some provisions before we press on to Mikmir.”

“I will ask the Lord how to proceed.”

They waited for nearly an hour, resting on the side of the road, trying to ignore the smell of roasted meats that the breeze carried to their noses. At last, a procession of men wearing the device of the Black Tree rode forward, and the Chalaine could spot Geoff and Fenna riding at their head, smiles wide. A host of memories of her handmaiden flooded back to her, and the Chalaine had to grin at the thought of all their long conversations about men and love. Geoff still wore his green hat, but his clothes looked a little tight and his face a little full. The elevation to nobility had treated him well. Fenna rode sidesaddle, and her pregnant belly looked ready to pop, an uncomfortable but happy expression on her sweating face.

From the corner of her eye, the Chalaine saw Gen casually walk away. The couple dismounted, Geoff taking Fenna’s hand and leading her forward in a regal style. The Chalaine stepped forward and her handmaiden embraced her warmly, belly interfering and reminding the Chalaine of her own pregnancy.

“It is dreadfully hot today,” Fenna complained. “Lord Blackshire and I insist that you, the Dark Guard, and your officers come stay with us in the manor for as long as you need. Ethris and Maewen, too. We have such a celebration planned for tonight! You have come just in time. But let’s get out of this cruel heat! We have heard so many stories! You must tell me everything!”

The trip into Blackshire proper only served to further endear the Chalaine to the place. Rustic and quaint, its rough cobble streets teeming with people seemed the happiest place in the world, though the lively festival all around her aided that perception. The girls twirled in brightly colored dresses meant to impress the young men, who had cleaned their boots and shirts to return the gesture. Performers and acrobats, food and song, all of it beckoned to the Chalaine who had tired of war and strife. If only her mother weren’t imprisoned miles away, and if only Mikkik weren’t making fools of them all.

One of the entourage had offered his horse to her, and she accepted it gladly. Gen brought up the rear, flicking coins to the children as he passed, gathering a cloud of youth until he feigned that he had no more to give. The smile on his face brought the Chalaine’s heart to her throat. His hat was back and his face plain in the afternoon sunshine. Something about him was different, something she couldn’t attribute to just his lack of scars or his beard. She couldn’t place her finger on what it was, though his countenance was certainly more inviting and handsome than it had been when scars marred it into a testament of cruelty.

They crossed up the switchbacks to the castle proper, passing through the thick outer walls that—compared to the impregnable fortresses of Mikmir and Echo Hold—seemed paltry. But Blackshire had never seen anything of war, having been built and settled after the eclipsing of Trys and the end of the Second Mikkikian War. The interior of the courtyard was beautiful, decorative trees and bushes lining the modestly sized manor house and the keep, and the Chapel behind it. Summer flowers bloomed in colorful planters along the windows, and a mighty oak hung protectively over one side of the edifice.

“We must get you properly attired!” Fenna said as they dismounted. “You’re all a-tatters! You will, of course, have a room all to yourself. We may have to double the others. I’ll let Wilkes take care of it. Who is that bearded fellow that walks with Maewen?”

“That is Amos, a woodsman and fighter. He is a friend of Maewen’s that helped us in our latest struggles.”

After a brief tour of the cheery manor, Fenna led her upstairs, Dason following behind. They left the handsome Tolnorian prince outside the doors and entered, just like old times. In moments Fenna had dismissed her own handmaiden and removed the Chalaine’s crude veil.

“There you are, just as pretty as ever,” Fenna said. “We’ll get a warm bath for everyone—you first, of course. So can you imagine such a strange ending to the prophecy? Who would have thought that Gen was the Ilch the whole time? I never really favored him much. There was always something not quite right about him. And those abominable scars! What a fright he was! You must have been shocked. And he tried to kill you just as you were about to be taken to Erelinda with your husband. How awful. He died, then?”

“Yes. He was killed by the Uyumaak.”

“What? How strange! Why would they kill him?”

The Chalaine shook her head, realizing how torturous her encounter with Fenna would be. “There are many mysteries yet to solve, Fenna. I don’t believe Gen intended to harm me at all.”

“Well, we’re all glad you’re rid of him,” Fenna said firmly. “And do you think you will have Eldaloth send you to your husband in Erelinda, or will you, um, turn your affections elsewhere for a while? I couldn’t help but notice that a certain eligible young man still follows you around. . .”

Inwardly the Chalaine groaned. “I will stay upon Ki’Hal. I must work to free my mother. I have no other object in view now.”
Except Gen.

“Your mother! What happened?”

The Chalaine invented a story about how Athan arrested her for treason for harboring and favoring Gen, a story the Chalaine fully expected to have come true.

Fenna gasped. “How awful! But Athan will set her free. Gen deceived all of us, the scoundrel!”

“Fenna,” the Chalaine said, trying to sound friendly. “I am dreadfully tired. Would you mind if I bathed now and slept for a while? It was a long march through rough country, and if I am to enjoy this excellent celebration, it would be nice to be fresh.”

“But of course!” Fenna agreed, giving the Chalaine’s hair another stroke with the brush. “But there is so much news and gossip to tell you! I have been so happy. Chertanne was a bit rough, but I thank him for having the wisdom to pair me with Geoff. He must have seen what kindred spirits we were, after all.”

With a little more prodding from the Chalaine, Fenna finally saw to the servants bringing in a large basin and warm water. After assuring the Lady of Blackshire that she needed no help bathing, she stripped her frayed and torn clothing away and soaked, the warmth lulling her eyes closed. When she did dream, Gen appeared in every scene, some of them as scandalous as the ones she had envisioned in her long days in Ironkeep. When she woke, the longing reflected in those dreams sparked a glow in her heart rather than the crushing guilt they had inspired before.

Fenna returned before dinner and brought her a gorgeous plum-colored dress trimmed in gold. “It will be a bit tight on you,” Fenna warned, “though you’ve thinned a bit from your wandering about the woods, I see. Anyway, I’ve had my maid stitch together a veil for you. It’s not as fancy as those you once wore, but certainly better than the awful thing you were wearing when you arrived. You know, my maid is just a little tiresome. All she wants to talk about is this boy and that and how she can’t do without them. Just one of the trials of nobility. I suppose it’s my duty to sober her up.”