The Heirs of Hammerfell (15 page)

Conn, knowing that his twin had not enough laran to follow Aidan's thoughts, repeated this in a low voice to Alastair, who nodded, smiling, and said, "Oh. You're right, of course."

Floria came at once to join them.

"Now you must dance with me, Conn. It is a country dance, and you are sure to know it," she said eagerly, and dragged him into the ring. Conn, embarrassed, but feeling he could not refuse, joined in the dance. Abruptly he remembered dancing at the harvest festival with Lilla, and how different this was; then he remembered how Markos had dragged him away, and blushed.

They came to a stop at the end of the figure, and

Floria faced Conn. She was heated with dancing, and her emotions roiled within her.

Under ordinary circumstances she could have stepped out on the terrace to cool herself a little, but the rain was blowing too hard into the courtyard. The old dog Jewel sat decorously by the door, and Floria pulled herself away absentmindedly to pat her and take a moment to slow her heart. Then she saw that Conn had stepped out into the rain; he looked troubled, and his eyes homed to, hers, filling her with a strange deep-lying sorrow which was almost physical pain.

I have no right to comfort him, no right to touch him this way at all.

Nevertheless, she met his eyes―in itself a breach of decorum for a young girl in

Thendara.

Decorum be damned. He is all Hut my brother!

He came toward her looking drawn and exhausted.

"What is it, my brother?" she asked him.

"I must go," he said. "By the king's word, I must return to Hammerfell―to summon what armies I have there."

"No!" He had not realized that Alastair was at his shoulder. "If anyone is to go, if the king intended anyone to go, I am the one, brother. I am Hammerfell; they are my armies, not yours; do you not understand that yet?"

"I understand, Alastair," Conn said, trying to control his temper "but what you do not understand―" He sighed. "I swear I have no intent to try and usurp your place, my brother. But," he fumbled to find words Alastair would understand, "I call these my men because I have lived among them all my life; they accept me, they know me―they do not even know you exist."

"Then they had better be learning," Alastair repeated. "After all―"

"You do not even know the way to Hammerfell," Conn said, interrupting in turn. "At the very least I should go and guide you―"

Floria broke in. "In this?" she asked, indicating the storm still raging outside, the pouring rain and the high winds battering the house.

"I will not melt into a puddle; I am not made of sugar candy. I have lived in the Hellers all my life, and I am not afraid of weather, Floria," Conn said.

"A few hours, after all, cannot matter," Floria protested. "Can it be so urgent that one of you must set forth in a storm, and in the middle of the night? And leave our handfasting undone? Alastair?"

"That at least should be completed," Alastair conceded with relief. "Let me go and find my mother and your father. It is for them to make the final decision on that." He strode away, leaving Floria and Conn standing together, regarding one another with frightened, troubled eyes.

Alastair walked through the crowd of holiday-clothed merrymakers, and spoke to Gavin Delleray at the tall harp. Gavin struck a chord and the crowd fell silent, while Erminie and Conn came to stand beside Alastair. All eyes turned to Floria, as her father took her arm and they joined the Hammerfells. Then Alastair spoke in his resonant singer's voice.

"My dear friends; I do not wish to interrupt the festivities, but I have learned that my presence is urgently required at Hammerfell; will you forgive me if we get on with the business which has brought us here tonight―Mother?"

Erminie took Floria's hand and frowned slightly at Alastair.

"I was aware of no messenger, my son," she said in an undertone.

"There was none," Alastair whispered back. "I will explain later―or Conn will tell you.

But I would not go with the handfasting incomplete and Floria's pledge unspoken."

Conn looked faintly relieved. He moved to stand beside his brother, while Queen

Antonella limped forward. From her stubby small finger, white and smooth, she drew a ring set with greenstones.

"A gift for the pledged bride," she said, thrust it on to Floria's finger―it was just a little too large― and stood on tiptoe to kiss the girl's rosy cheeks. "May you have much happiness, dear child."

"Thank you, your Grace," Floria murmured, "it is a lovely ring, and I shall cherish it as your gift."

Antonella smiled, and then a look of strain flitted across her face; she said, "Oh!" and her hand went to the lace at her throat; she stumbled and fell to her knees. Conn stooped quickly to raise her, but she was dead weight in his arms; she slid to the floor.

Instantly Erminie was at her side, King Aidan bending close; she opened her eyes and moaned, but it seemed that the queen's face had slipped all awry; her eye and mouth dragged down at the edge. She mumbled something; Erminie spoke reassuringly,

holding the small pudgy figure on her arm.

"A stroke," she murmured to Aidan. "She is not young, and it might have happened at any time these many years."

"Yes; I feared it," the king said, and knelt by the stricken woman.

"It's all right, my dear; I'm here beside you. We'll take you home at once."

Her eyes slid shut and she seemed to sleep. Gavin Delleray rose quickly from her side and murmured, "I'll summon a chair."

"A litter," Aidan corrected, "I don't think she can sit."

"As your Grace wishes."

He went out into the rain, quickly returning, beckoning the footmen to open doors for the litter carriers. As if it were a million miles away, Conn noted distantly that the rain had made a wreck of Gavin's elaborate costume and coiffure, but he seemed not to

notice. The littermen stooped, gently brushing King Aidan aside.

"By y'r leave, vai dom, we can lift her; it's our work, an' we're better at it than you. Easy, there; tuck the blanket round her legs. Now where do we carry her, me lord?" They had not recognized the king and it was probably just as well, Conn thought. Aidan gave quiet instructions and started out with them, walking beside the litter like any other elderly man worried about his suddenly ailing wife. He went to the king's side and asked, "May I summon your chair, sir? You'll gel. yourself drenched and catch your death of cold."

Then he stopped, abashed; it wasn't his place to speak so to the king.

Aidan looked at him blankly. "No, dear boy, I'll stay with Antonella; she might be afraid if she called out and didn't hear a familiar voice near her. But thank you; now do go in out of the rain yourself, lad."

The rain was slackening somewhat, but Conn realized he was already soaked; he hurried back inside.

The porch was crowded with Erminie's guests taking their leave; the queen's collapse had quite effectively broken up the party.

Remaining in the hall were Alastair and Floria, still standing side by side before the fireplace, Floria looking down, stunned, at Antonella's ring on her hand; Erminie, moving dazed from the exodus off the porch; Gavin, even more drenched than Conn, , rubbing his hair with a cloth a footman had brought him; Edric Elhalyn and Fiona's brother Gwynn, looking troubled; and Valentine Hastur, who had stayed to see what he could do for Erminie in this sudden disaster.

"An evil omen for your handfasting," said Gavin, coming up to Alastair. "Will you continue?"

"We have no witnesses now, except our footmen," Erminie said, "and it would be an even worse omen, I think, to speak on over the queen's fallen body."

"I'm afraid you are right," said Edric. "That she should fall stricken just as she gave you a wedding gift, Floria!"

"I am not superstitious," said Floria. "I think we should go on with the handfasting―I do not think the royal lady would grudge us that. Even if this should be her last act of kindness―"

"All Gods forbid," said Erminie and Edric speaking almost together.

Conn thought of the kindly little old woman he had hardly seen; and of the king he had suddenly learned to love, who had called him "dear boy" even when so troubled, and sent him in out of the rain.

"I cannot think a handfasting at this moment would show respect," Edric said, and looked regretfully at his daughter. "But we will have all the more merrymaking at the wedding, which shall follow―" he looked at Erminie. "When? At Midsummer? Midwinter?"

"This coming Midwinter," Erminie said, "if it wins your approval, Alastair―Floria?"

They both nodded. "Midwinter, then."

Alastair kissed Floria respectfully, such a kiss as a man might exchange with his promised wife in the presence of others. "May that day come soon when we shall be forever one," he said. Gavin came over and offered them congratulations.

"It seems a long time since Alastair and I used to chase you round the garden with spiders and snakes," he said, "but it was really only a few years. I think you much improved since those days, Floria; your jewels become you better than a striped

pinafore. Lady―" he bowed to Erminie, "I am wet through; will you give me leave to go?"

Erminie started out of preoccupation, "Don't be foolish, Gavin; you are all but a son in this house. Go upstairs, and Conn or Alastair will find you something dry to put on, and then we will all go to the kitchen and have some hot soup or tea."

"Yes," said Alastair. "And I must set out before first light for Hammerfell."

"Mother," implored Conn, "tell him this is folly! He does not know the mountains, nor so much as the road to Hammerfell."

"Then the sooner I learn it, the better," said Alastair.

Conn had to admit that what he said was true but felt compelled to continue his protest.

"The men do not know you and will not obey you; they are used to me."

"Then they, too, must learn," said Alastair. "Come,

brother, this is my duty and it's time for me to start doing it; that I haven't done it before was wrong perhaps, but better now than never. And I want you to stay here and care for our mother. She has only just gotten you back; she should not lose you again so

quickly."

Conn realized there was nothing more that he could say without giving the impression that he was indeed refusing to give up the right to the position which was in fact his brother's―or that he was reluctant to care for his mother, or to do the duty his brother and lord assigned him.

Erminie said, "I don't wish either of you to go; but I know you must, and also, Conn, I think Alastair is right; it is high time he took up his duty to his people. With Markos at his side there is no question the men will obey him, once they know who he is."

"I am sure you are right," Conn said. "You had better have my horse," he added, "she is mountain bred; that fine lowland mount of yours would stumble over the steep paths she must travel, and die of the cold on the first night. My horse may not be handsome, but she can carry you anywhere you must go."

"What! That rough-skinned brute? She is no better than a donkey," Alastair said lightly.

"I wouldn't be seen on the beast."

"You'll find in the mountains, brother, that neither a man nor a horse is judged by his coat," Conn said, sick to death of this never ending argument he had with his brother.

"The mare is shaggy for the weather she must endure; and those fine clothes of yours will be torn to bits by the briars along the mountain paths. I think after all I had better ride with you and guide you."

"By no means," said Alastair, but his thoughts were clear to Conn. Markos still thinks of Conn as the duke and his lord; if Conn is there, I will never gain his total allegiance.

Conn said softly, "You wrong our vassal and foster-father, Alastair; when he knows the truth―and sees the tattoo which he himself set on your shoulder as the mark of the rightful duke, his allegiance will be entirely yours."

Alastair hugged him impulsively. "If all the world were as honorable as you, my brother, it would frighten me less. But I cannot hide behind your strength and your honor; I must face my people on my own. Indulge me in this, brother."

"If this is what you feel you must do," Conn said, "all Gods forbid I should prevent you.

Will you have my mountain-bred horse, though?"

"I am more than grateful for the offer," Alastair said with real warmth, "but I fear she cannot travel as fast as I should make my way."

Gavin Delleray came back into the room as he said this, wearing one of Conn's old coats which hung on him like a baggy tent. His hair had been roughly rubbed dry and was standing up in shaggy elflocks all over his head; a greater contrast to the perfect foppish appearance he had presented earlier would hardly have been possible. He said, "I would offer to go with you myself and guide you, my friend, if I knew the way any better than you. But if my services― here or in the Hellers―are any use to you, Alastair―"

Conn smiled at the thought of the slight, dandyish Gavin on the mountain roads. "If he will not accept me as a guide, nor the services of a twin brother, he would probably not accept yours either," he said

almost ruefully, but then he thought: Gavin, at least, is no threat to his power at Hammerfell.

Alastair smiled and laid a hand on Conn's shoulder and on Gavin's. He said, "I think I should go alone; I must not need protection. But truly I thank you both for your offers."

He turned to Erminie who approached them and said, "Mother, I need the fastest horse in our stables. In fact, what I truly need is a magical steed from the fairy tales you told me when I was a child. You bear magic, Mother; can you put it at my service now to bring me swiftly to Hammerfell?"

"All the magic at my command is yours, my son," Erminie said, and held out her hand to Edric Elhalyn. You may certainly have any horse in my stable; but I do agree that your brother's mountain-bred horse is best for you; I can more easily enhance a mount already suited to the nature of its task―maybe I can give you your magical steed after all. . . ."

Conn nodded, and Alastair climbed the stairs to the room which had been his when he was a small child. Several of his abandoned toys stood there, a few brilliantly carved toy soldiers, an old stuffed creature, more shapeless than a doll or a dog, made of wool, with which he had slept till he was seven years old; and, shoved into a corner beneath the window, his rocking horse.