The Doomfarers of Coramonde (23 page)

King and
Princess disappeared for a few minutes, leaving the visitors to the ample
hospitality of deferential servants. Soon they were all together again, four
guests and two hosts, weapons and equipment put aside, sunken in comfortable
furniture and eating and drinking from trays of refreshments. The servants were
dismissed and the wayfarers fell to with gusto.

“There’ll be
time later for display of paraments and formal speaking,” said the Snow
Leopardess, “and I think perhaps that the easiest way to state our respective
positions is for you to say on, and tell how you come to be here.”

“I will tell
the tale then,” the Prince said, and Katya looked to her brother, who bobbed
his head once.

“Agreed,” she
said, and they all knew beyond a doubt then that, though he spoke seldom,
Reacher had the final word on all matters within that realm.

Springbuck told
the story completely, including some of Van Duyn’s history, with but the
deletion of the matter of Gabrielle’s parentage. If she wished it known, he
thought, she could bring it out herself.

The King and
Princess listened to the unfolding account of the conspiracies of Yardiff Bey
and his war-making plans for their nation. When Springbuck had finished, the
room was hushed for a moment. Then the Snow Leopardess spoke.

“You had a
difficult time of your escape, Highness—I’ll call you Springbuck, with your
let—but you would have reached here with greater dispatch if you’d not made one
fundamental mistake.”

So saying, she
rose and strode to a curtained doorway, drawing aside the hangings.

The Prince’s
astonishment knew no bounds as the Lady Duskwind stepped forth. Taken off
balance, he could do no more than gape at her dumbly.

“The Lady
Duskwind is our cousin,” Katya said. “She has been our agent in your father’s
court for these past two years, and a capable operative even before she was
sent there. She was about to spirit you away here, and had slain the traitor
Faurbuhl to prevent him from raising the hue and cry, when you were returned to
your room that last evening at Earthfast and misapprehended all. Before she
could explain, it seems, you trussed her up like a naming-day gift.”

The Prince
wasn’t shocked by the revelation that Freegate kept spies in the Court of the
Ku-Mor-Mai;
this was standard procedure and Coramonde had occasionally returned the
courtesy. He experienced a stab of bitterness, though, that one of them should
have been Duskwind; he’d been under the impression that she was from a place
other than Freegate. But it was quickly replaced by a wave of relief that she
hadn’t been harmed and gratitude that she’d been prepared to act in his
interests at the risk of her life. The painful details of the incident,
including Hightower’s death, threatened to intrude again, and so he turned his
attention to the loveliness of Duskwind.

She was, as
ever, marvelous to look upon. Her honey-streak hair was bound tightly at the
nape of her neck in a simple twist, her demure gown covered neck and wrists; as
always, her slender, elegant fingers blazed with rings, while anklets clinked
and jingled softly at her barefoot steps. She smiled faintly at him. As she
turned to seat herself in one of the plush chairs, he saw that, modest as her
attire was in front, it dipped shamelessly low in back.

Arousing as the
sight of her was, however, he found his thoughts and gaze drifting back to
Gabrielle. Travel-worn and weary though she was, the sorceress drove Duskwind
from his mind. She met his eye now with an expression more eloquent than words,
her languorous smile and the humor in a lifted eyebrow saying, “Content
yourself with looking at this girl of your youth. I am Gabrielle deCourteney;
you are with me now, and know it.” Some jolt or thrill ran through him then,
but of ecstasy or of dread, he didn’t know.

“Needless to
tell,” the Snow Leopardess was continuing, “she was hard put to escape and find
Captain Brodur, whom she’d enlisted in her plans—you have a rude way with a
girl, Springbuck! But my cousin is a resourceful female. She was successful at
relaying news of your flight to those who remain loyal to you, and in
persuading them to play a waiting game. She’s still possessed of enough
blackmailing information to assure us a flow of news.”

Van Duyn was
fascinated by all this. Duskwind couldn’t be more than a ripe eighteen, yet for
two years she’d been calmly, patiently spying and contriving, concealing her
actions in her role as courtier and later as consort to the Prince. When the
crisis had come, she’d kept her head and done what she had to, accomplishing
what she could before fleeing for her life. His admiration was very, very high.

The scholar
glanced around the room, deciding that the three women there were the most
striking collection of femininity he’d ever seen in one place. The Junoesque,
pallid Snow Leopardess, the fiery Gabrielle deCourteney and now the doe-eyed
Duskwind vied for attention to the delightful point that he no longer knew
where to look next. His spirits were on the decided upswing. During the trip
from Erub he’d tried to eradicate all feelings for the enchantress from his
heart, aided by her obvious affection for Springbuck.

After hearing
from Andre of her ill-fated love and marriage, he’d identified the nature of
her hurt and its effect on her behavior and had resisted the impulse to become
deeply involved, recognizing that eventually she’d leave him. But at his age,
an affair with such an extraordinary woman had led him to give more of himself
than he’d intended. Objectively, he had to admit that Gabrielle held her own
against the other two women. His musing turned to Katya; he began to consider
ways in which he might become more intimate with her. Contrary to his usual
habits he drifted into a daydream. He was healing.

“His interests
are not limited to war against Freegate,” Springbuck was saying. “Bey intends
to use Strongblade to dominate the High Ranges. Then his reach will turn
westward until his fist encloses all of the Crescent Lands.”

Katya asked,
“With what plan do you come to us, outlaws? The strength of Freegate cannot go
forth against the numberless armies of Coramonde. Even now Legion-Marshal
Novanwyn is assembling the forces of the southwest. Evidently the murder of
Hightower has evoked much unrest in his family and friends. Bey is taking no
chance on using eastern troops, whose loyalty is in doubt. So you see, there is
little refuge for you here; we will shortly look to the safety of our own
halls. What do you offer us?”

Before Andre or
Van Duyn could muster an answer, Springbuck seized the initiative. “We come
with the same idea which must have been in your mind when you tasked Duskwind
to aid in my escape. You cannot win in unqualified warfare, but you might be
able to delay the reach of my enemies, distract them sufficiently for me to fan
popular support in Coramonde and launch a revolution to take back the throne at
Earthfast. We will work on these two fronts and woo the help of Glyffa and
other western states that we may topple Bey’s puppets. The question which
occurs to me first is whether Freegate can hold her own for the requisite
time.”

The Snow
Leopardess leaned forward. “We do not plan to stand alone. We shall enlist the aid
of our allies, the steppes dwellers. And the question which occurs to
me,
my
young cock-a-hoop, is whether you have any hope of swaying the support of the
substates of Coramonde.”

The Prince’s
head was erect, his posture rigid with pride and his face was fell to see.
“They will rally to me. I am their Protector Suzerain.” And those in the room
were aware of a new imperiousness, a fixed and firm confidence, and there was
approval now in the expression of Gabrielle.

“On the way to
Freegate we formulated plans for the implementation of an underground
movement,” he continued, “and it is even now being germinated by a kernel group
we left behind in Coramonde.” He went into the details of the guerrilla
campaign as outlined by Gil MacDonald, its directions, tactics, organization
and priorities. He considered mentioning Van Duyn’s intention of changing
Coramonde’s government, but rejected the idea; these royal siblings might see
it as a threat to their own monarchy.

“This MacDonald
sounds as if he knows his business,” murmured Katya. “You say you expect him to
return from wherever it is that he went?”

“Just so. We
agreed on a time and place for his reappearance. His help may be critical in
this campaign.”

The
consultations continued, and soon all were contributing suggestions and
criticisms to the materializing plans; even the unspoken hostility between
Gabrielle and the Snow Leopardess was eased. All spoke, that is, save Reacher.
The King sat his chair, smallest member of the group, as if he were
enthroned—not with pomp and posturing, but wearing an invisible mantle of
authority. If it had not been for his hunting call in the glade earlier, the
Prince would have thought him mute. Somehow, without offending them, he managed
to make all those around him feel like subordinates. Springbuck studied and
learned.

But it was
Reacher who brought the conference to an end when, late that evening, he
interrupted his sister in midsentence by rising to his feet. She faced him at
once, speech forgotten, attention exclusively for her brother.

“I must confess
that I shall need time to let my slow wits absorb all these things,” he said,
though Springbuck knew that this wasn’t true; the King had made his analysis
and conclusions already. “Tomorrow I will leave for the High Ranges to confirm
the aid of our allies the Horseblooded. Prince Springbuck, if he feels
sufficiently rested, is invited to accompany me, as befits a cobelligerent. I
thank you all most sincerely for your excogitations, welcome you as
comrades-in-arms and bid you make yourselves comfortable in this place. It is
as much yours as mine now.”

And this was
proof positive to the son of Surehand that the King of Freegate lacked nothing
in the way of diplomatic graces, however much he pretended otherwise.

By a
knight of ghosts and shadows,

I summoned
am to tourney,

Ten
leagues beyond the wide world’s end.

Methinks
it is no journey!

TOM O’BEDLAM’S SONG

EACH of the four was shown to a
comfortable suite of rooms not far below the belvedere. The Prince would have
liked to return to Gabrielle’s rooms to tarry, but as leader he felt compelled
to find, with the help of a household portglave, the quarters of the Erubites
and inquire after their well-being. Satisfied that they were provided for and
well situated, he returned to his own rooms.

He permitted
the domestics, two women, to bathe and groom him and to take away his weapons
and attire for servicing. He thanked them sleepily as they led him to his bed;
as they tiptoed out, he settled himself snugly in puffy pillows and heavy
covers, dropping into the deepest sleep he’d enjoyed since leaving Earthfast.

When he arose
late the next morning, he performed his ablutions without aid. When the
servitors entered, he requested that they have a selection of clothing and armor
brought. He’d broken his fast and was evaluating various suits of mail, mesh
and plate when Reacher knocked and entered.

“We may yet
make much distance today,” said the King, who was dressed as for the hunt,
cestus and clawed glove on his hands. “I don’t suggest you wear armor. Steppes
people are not unlike your Alebowrenians and consider such things effete. Your
traveling outfit, the bravo’s gear, is more fitting, but I warn you not to wear
spurs. The Wild Riders don’t use them. I go appareled as you see me, and will
await you in the courtyard and see to our mounts.”

Springbuck,
uncertain up to this point that he even wanted to accompany the King on this
mission, had little option.

The servants
hadn’t needed to see to Bar’s perpetually keen brightness, but they’d scoured
all blemishes from his main-gauche, honed it, put all tarnish from the metal
parts of his trappings and cleaned his leathers, coating them with a light
dubbing of oil and drying them. As in Earthfast, he judged that he didn’t want
to be burdened with armor.

Booted, armed
and bearing his war mask in the crook of his left arm, the Prince was guided to
the courtyard. Fireheel had been well cared for and was standing ready,
provisions strapped to the reconnaissance saddle with his cloak. Reacher was
astride a small bay.

The Coramondian
Pretender heard a piercing whistle and looked upward for its author. Leaning
out over a balcony was Gabrielle, wrapped in a fur robe. She laughed and waved,
showing much white skin, but the Prince, about serious business, was unwilling
to do more than incline his head perfunctorily.

“I see no
mounted men,” he said to the King. “Are we to be slowed by footmen?”

The majordomo
at his liege’s side answered for him. “Your Grace, your faring will be slowed
by no one. His Majesty prefers no retinue, since your trip is one of urgency,
and feels no need of armed companions. Who could hope to prevail against the
King and
Ku-Mor-Mai,
all in their strength?”

The Prince made
no response to this shrewd question, but mounted Fireheel. Donning war mask, he
was away at the King’s side, wondering how many more times he’d sleep huddled
in his cloak before he encountered a bed as soft as the one he’d vacated. It
wasn’t long before he began wishing that the trip had been delayed, or at the
very least that he’d fought off his fatigue the preceding night and visited
Gabrielle.

And he thought,
too, of the issues of life and death which murked the future for all of them.

Van Duyn awoke
to the racket of hooves and looked out of his balcony doors just in time to see
Reacher and Springbuck ride through the palace gates. For some time he followed
their progress from his vantage point as they moved down the city’s streets.