The Singer's Crown (32 page)

AFTER DISMISSING
the few servants who lingered in her chambers, Evaine ushered the companions into the garden. Kattanan nodded to her, and she set out upon her mission. Together, he and Jordan crossed to the gate and motioned for Lyssa to follow when they had unlocked it. Groves of fruit trees shielded the gate from the other side. Here, she set down the wizard, and straightened. “Where do you want me, Majesty?”

He considered a moment. “Wait here, ready to come if I need you. Keep an eye out for soldiers. I expect they are patrolling somehow. Oh—and listen for our scouts. They'll be on horseback, just inside the forest.”

“How am I supposed to hear that?”

He frowned. “I should be my own lookout.”

Jordan gave a glimmer of a smile. “Is there a reason I shouldn't stay here to listen?”

“I'd like you with me.”

“But he's not well,” Lyssa pointed out. “Surely it makes more sense for me to be with you.”

“Maybe so, but I need him.”

She snorted and turned to peer into the trees. “I'll be here.”

“Thank you, Lyssa.” The pair walked back to the middle of the garden, but Kattanan glanced again toward the gate and sighed.

“This place is more to you than an escape route you did not take.”

“Yes.” They reached the bench, and Kattanan sat down uneasily. “This is where I last met my uncle. He killed my mother here.” He studied the new stone of the pathways.

“Kattanan.”

He looked to Jordan.

“All those times I teased you about being left at the monastery, how it was your fault,” Jordan said gently. “I am so sorry.”

“I knew you were trying to tell me that you would never leave me. Lyssa and the wizard told me what happened to you. I am sorry I did not trust you more.”

“You have not heard the half of it!” Jordan grinned. “You and I will sit by a fire, drinking Teresan tea, and tell each other every bit of the last six years.”

“And I should like to know how a monk becomes the Lirensha as well.”

“Actually, it was the other way 'round.”

Kattanan looked up suddenly, listening intently. “I hear Evaine's footsteps and his. Go! I want him to see me alone and think for just a moment that he's won.”

Jordan rose, but leaned to touch Kattanan's shoulder. “You are not alone,” he whispered. They shared a brief smile, then Jordan disappeared into the shadows.

Kattanan took a deep breath, making the sign of the Goddess. “Lady, if you let us live through this, I will learn any dance you ask,” he murmured toward the sky. Then he slipped his hands behind him as if bound and waited for his uncle to find him in the garden.

Evaine spoke softly, but Thorgir cut her off as he opened the door. “I said wait here, I would see him alone.” He turned through the door, and a feral grin crept to his lips. Bringing a torch, he stepped into the garden and shut the door. Kattanan heard a bar slide behind his uncle. Still he waited.

“So you are supposed to be King Rhys.” Thorgir approached slowly.

“I am the king,” he replied.

Thorgir stopped and snickered. “Your voice betrays you, Impostor; his voice would be as high as a child's, or a woman's.”

“Do you not know me?”

“Of course, you are an actor hired to portray a castrate, doing a very poor job. You are a good likeness, or is that magic?” He walked again, holding the torch aloft.

“Oh, stay there, Uncle.”

“Why?” the other barked, immediately sidestepping, looking sharply about.

“That is where you killed my mother.”

“She was crazy, she killed her sons—”

“Stop lying!” Kattanan was on his feet, hands still behind him. “You and I are the only men alive who saw! I was here.”

“Guard!” he called. “You in the shadow, your prisoner is getting rowdy!”

“Whose prisoner?” Jordan answered tightly, stepping from the shadows. Two swords, provided by Evaine, hung at his sides. He stood at ease, smiling.

Kattanan lifted his father's sword. “Even your sword is a lie, Uncle.”

Thorgir tore his gaze from the Liren-sha. “You are both illusions! You are dead!”

“What, at Strel Arwyn's?” Kattanan stepped toward him now. “Did you kill the abbot yourself, or did servants do that for you as well?”

“No one survived that fire!” The sword wavered back and forth between the two men. “Men of the Goddess returned to the stars.”

“For that alone, I should bury you,” Jordan said, “as you tried to have me buried.”

Thorgir took two steps back. “Evaine!”

“She will not help you.” Kattanan advanced a little farther. “She repented of her wrongdoings. How did you think we got here?”

“Through the gate. Evaine!”

“Locked.” He plucked her key ring from his belt and tossed it to his uncle.

The keys lay at his feet, glinting in the flickering light. Thorgir glanced down, then back to Kattanan. “My right-hand man saw them cut you! You are a eunuch.”

“I am a better man than you, Temple-burner. Drop your sword, and I may yet grant you mercy.”

“Nothing is in your power to grant,” he snarled, thrusting the torch into a stand by the path to grip his sword with both hands. “I am king here, no matter who you are. I have armies at my command.”

“Have you not heard?” A strange compassion grew in Kattanan's voice. “Your wall is breached; my soldiers overrun your temple and your common; your own soldiers flock to the banner of the True King. Uncle, your day is done.”

“No!” he cried, launching himself toward Kattanan.

As Kattanan sprang aside from the wild swing his eyes flicked to Jordan, who stood at the ready but made no move, then his attention was on his opponent.

Thorgir had gained some sixty pounds in the years of his kingship. His beard showed more gray than brown. His lips sneered, but his eyes were wide with terror.

Seeing this, Kattanan leapt to the offensive. Even as he lunged, parried, and lunged again a voice rang in his ears.
“Fear no blessing,”
it chanted,
“take no revenge.”
He pushed it back, remembering his mother, his brothers, his father's face only dimly.

Thorgir scrambled to put the well between them, and they circled warily. “You are a poor swordsman, Impostor.”

“As are you, Usurper.”

“My brother was dead; the throne should have been mine!”

“By what law? His wife and three heirs yet lived!”

“Not for long. I should have killed you in this garden the first time.”

“Now is your chance, murderer.” Kattanan backed away from the well, letting his sword point drop. “Or will you yet hide from me?”

“I am not hiding!” Thorgir moved out from behind the stones, but no nearer.

“You are. I can hear it in your voice. You are afraid of me because I should not live, should not be as you see me. You are afraid because the Liren-sha should not live, yet he is my second. Your wife has betrayed you to me; that, too, I can hear.” He stood very still and felt his anger ebbing away. “Speak again, Uncle, tell me more.”

“No!” His voice was strange, harsh and yet broken.

Kattanan did not move, for a moment his eyes were shut. “You do not want to kill me,” he breathed.

“You must die.” Thorgir lurched forward again, and still Kattanan did not move.

Jordan slipped out his left-hand sword, tensing.

“Your voice betrays you, Uncle,” Kattanan whispered. “You are afraid because you do not want me to die.” Slowly he lowered his sword, watching Thorgir's face.

Blinking fiercely, Thorgir advanced. “Of course I want you dead. I tried to kill you before, and now.” He held his sword in shaking hands and raised it.

Kattanan put out one hand to stay Jordan's sudden movement. “Why, Uncle?” he asked, his voice soft, comforting, forgiving. “Why will you not kill me?”

Their eyes met, and Thorgir's were full of tears. “Why did you come to me? I did everything I could to you! You should have hated me, should have run away, or stayed by her or hit me or something, anything!” The voice rose to a ragged cry, then fell back to a whisper. “Oh, Rhys, why didn't you run?” The sword clattered to the ground. Thorgir sank to his knees and wept.

A HINT OF
dawn touched the sky, lighting the tips of the banners. Breezes played with the pennants and rattled the siege engines, which awaited daylight. Wearily walking the long way around the city, Kattanan led his companions. Evaine had remained in her chambers, eyes brimming with tears at the sightof her husband bound and gagged. She would await full dawn to surrender the city. It was not until they once again reached the temple ground that they were able to acquire four horses from an awestruck squire. As they passed, the soldiers roused themselves. Those clustered around the temple kept a sleepless watch, waiting for dawn's light to finish the conquest they had begun. When the riders reached camp, with Thorgir bound to a horse that trailed Kattanan's, the king asked his heralds for silence.

“These men fought hard, let them sleep,” he told the trumpeter. “They will wake to a different world.”

“But, Your Majesty, can we not spread word to those who kept the night?” the man asked.

“Tell them only that war is done. I wish to bring the news to the duchess myself.”

The trumpeter bowed very low and trotted off about his business.

A little farther along the path, Kattanan turned in his saddle, looking past his prisoner to Jordan. “The healers' hut is down there.” He gestured toward a distant flag. “You'll find me at the royal pavilion, with tea ready.”

The Liren-sha nodded gravely, reining his horse awkwardly in the new direction. The wizard slumped against him, rubbing her eyes.

Lyssa watched them go, then hurried to catch up with the king. On both sides, groggy knights and footmen rose at their passing and bowed. Kattanan took no notice until they finally reached the great pavilion. The guards there likewise bowed, and moved as if to announce him, but he stopped them.

“Is my grandmother within?”

“Aye, Your Majesty. Asleep, unless I miss my guess.”

Kattanan nodded. Darkness circled his eyes, and great weariness was on him, but he smiled and shook back his hair. Self-consciously, he glanced to his soiled garb and the armor he had taken off, which now burdened his horse and Lyssa's.

“You are quite handsome enough, Majesty,” she said, sliding down from her horse. “What of the Usurper?”

Thorgir's eyes above the gag flashed at this still, and he straightened.

“Keep him for me a little longer. I would speak with her alone a moment before I share that piece of news.”

“As you wish, Majesty.” She turned her attention to the prisoner, cutting the bonds at his legs and hauling him down. “Stand, you, and don't imagine you can run from us.”

He growled low in his throat, but did as she bid him, stretching his legs as they waited.

Pushing aside the flap, Kattanan ducked into the tent. The braziers still burned, and a few bright candles as well. Her cloak flung about her, Duchess Elyn slumped in the throne, snoring softly. One arm dangled from the chair, just above a small object. As he bent over her, he recognized the miniature portrait from his chamber at the manor. Her face creased with worry even in sleep, though it seemed not so hard as usual, perhaps because the piercing eyes were closed. Suddenly, she jerked and pulled herself erect.

Kattanan stood back a little. “Good morrow. I understand you have the only stock of Teresan tea, and I am in dire need.”

Elyn pushed herself up, tugging her clothing into place. “Your Majesty!” She started toward him, then stopped herself, the flash of relief swept away. “I heard that you entered the castle. Not to conference with our enemy, I trust?”

“I did not enter for that reason, but I have had speech with him.”

“What? Have you surrendered us?” Her hands clenched into fists.

“Peace, Grandmother.” He did not shrink before her, and once again her brows twitched her surprise.

“Tell me.”

Kattanan shook his head. “The sun is rising. Come outside with me.” He offered her his arm; she glanced at him suspiciously.

“Who are you?”

“I am King Rhys,” he said quietly. “I am what you wanted of me.”

“I think not. I shall discover your secret.”

His shoulders drooped, and he lowered his hands. “Please come out, just for a moment.”

She breezed past him and stopped short in the doorway, so that he had to slip around her to win free. “What magic is this?”

Thorgir locked his eyes on hers, holding his head high.

At Kattanan's nod, Lyssa stepped up and untied the gag.

“Elyn, it has been too long,” Thorgir said. “I would offer to kiss your hand, but my own are occupied.”

A smile grew on her lips, and she stepped out to walk around him. “I much admire this garb on you. Who is your tailor?” She glanced to Lyssa, who shook her head and pointed back to Kattanan.

“I did not even see the duel, Excellency,” Lyssa said.

The duchess's eyebrows rose. “Can this be true?” She looked from one man to the other, and Thorgir turned away. She laughed aloud and smacked her palms together. “Thorgir, you worm, you are mine!” She stalked around him again, gaze sharp.

From the gathering that built around them, a voice called out, “Your Majesty!” and a lady's face lit with joy.

“Brianna!” The crowd cleared between them as Kattanan dashed toward her. She held out her arms, but he stopped short. “Have you heard from Fionvar?”

Her arms fell. “Why should I?”

Kattanan stared at her, but Rolf, coming up behind her, swept him up in a huge embrace. “Ye live! Thank the Lady!” He set him down gently, adding, “Yer Majesty.”

The king smiled briefly. “It's good to see you, Rolf. Can you help me find Fionvar, and Wolfram?”

“If that's yer wish, I'll take ye as far as I got before the bastard jumped me. I had my hands at his throat”—his great fingers clenched—“Orie, I mean, then his brother wrestled me down. I knocked my head,” Rolf broke off, touching the wound. He looked away. “I was not there.”

Kattanan put a hand out to his friend. “Nor was I. So we must be there soon.”

“Ye seem more concerned for the other than for His Highness,” Rolf grumbled.

“I am more concerned for him because I do not know if he lives.” Anger flared in his voice, and he added, “I regret Wolfram's loss more than anything, but Fionvar has done well by me and deserves better than his rewards so far. Lead me where you can, but I will not hear words against him.”

Brianna's face paled, and she swayed on her feet. Kattanan caught her against him, lowering her to the ground. “I thought I had lost everything.”

“I am here.” His concern showed plainly.

“Do you even care for me?” she murmured.

“I do. And I think that you need sleep and food, apparently even more than I.”

The duchess crouched. “Are you well? You have not gotten the rest I ordered.”

“No,” she replied, “but my king has come home; I think I can rest now. Bring me word, would you?” She let herself be helped to her feet.

“I will,” he promised, and wondered where her own concerns lay. A pair of guards came to escort her back to her tent, and he told them, “Be sure the lady has all that she needs, and send a healer for her.” Quickly he turned back to the task at hand. “Lyssa, are you coming?”

“They're my brothers,” she snapped.

“Your Majesty is not going off again while the world is yet in darkness,” the duchess said. She stood as firmly as ever, but seemed to have shrunk, or simply grown much older.

“Two of my friends are lost in the woods, Excellency.” With a glance toward the silent Thorgir, he slipped past her, followed by Lyssa and Rolf, who nodded to the duchess with a fierce grin. “A king, indeed.”

She could only watch them go.

“First to the healers, to ask after Jordan.”

Lyssa nodded. “Shouldn't we bring more assistance, Majesty?”

Kattanan frowned. “We may not want to share too much of whatever has happened there, especially with wizardry involved.”

“I knew it,” Rolf said.

“The wizard—Alswytha—may be able to tell us something, if she is awake.”

Not only was she awake when they arrived, she was doing her best to confound the healers and Jordan both. “I was not unconscious all night,” she snapped, pulling away from a flustered-looking woman. “I was gathering my energies. I have them now, thank you.” She was clearly tired, but much of her color had returned, especially in the angry flash of her eyes.

“My lady,” Jordan said, with a smile, “you do seem much improved, aside from your disposition.”

She glowered at him briefly, but a ghost of a smile traced her lips as well.

Both turned their attention when Kattanan entered. The healers bowed and stepped back. “I am glad the patient is well,” Kattanan said, but his expression was grim.

“What is it?” Jordan asked, instantly concerned.

“Fionvar's not back yet, nor have any seen sign of him or Wolfram since they left yesterday afternoon.”

“There is a clearing with a large tree,” Alswytha began, sliding off the table to the ground, “it's down a slope.” She aimed another glare at the healers. “If we find the right direction, I may be able to trace the magic.”

Rolf snorted. “I know the way we set out in, anyhow.”

“Are you well enough?” Kattanan asked.

“No,” the wizard replied lightly, “but I do feel”—she looked hard at Lyssa—“responsible in a certain way. I am coming.”

Full light had reached the valley, though it was still dark beneath the trees, and they could hear the bright horns calling the camp into motion. The small party blundered through the woods. Finally they emerged, blinking, into the clearing Alswytha had described.

“Great Goddess!” Kattanan cried, sprinting toward the two men who lay at to the far side. Even as he did so, one of the bodies stirred and passed a hand over his face.

“Thank the Lady!” Lyssa said as her brother sat up slowly.

Fionvar's frown was quickly replaced by a grin as he saw Jordan and scrambled to his feet. “Wizard's Bane!” He embraced Jordan with his good arm, tears gleaming in his eyes. “I thought you were dead.”

Startled, Jordan returned the embrace. “I was. The wizard brought me back.”

Fionvar pulled away, glancing toward the wizard, who had gone to kneel beside Wolfram. “Can she…?” he asked, a faint, wild hope in his voice.

Alswytha shook her head as she studied the wound on Wolfram's arm. A mask made of bark and leaves covered his face with an almost comical expression of peace. She lifted it, sighed, and replaced it gently. “There is nothing. All ties have been severed. Did any blood spill?”

Fionvar, losing any hint of a smile, came beside her. “No. He seemed to—to take it into him.”

“Bury it!” she cursed, one hand resting on the dead man's shoulder.

Kattanan had settled by his friend's head, touching his hair with reverence. “Has a death chant been sung for him?”

Fionvar shook his head.

Swallowing hard, Kattanan rose to his feet. Jordan met his gaze and nodded. He began, very low, and Kattanan's new voice joined him. It did not soar above, the way his former voice had, but had a graceful range and rich sound that made their hearts nearly hush to hear it. There was no other sound in the forest as they sang, even though tears ran on the faces of the listeners. Jordan paused after three verses, the number of royalty, but Kattanan went on, and Jordan followed, until they reached seven, the number of holiness. When they had finished, sun shone down through the gap in the trees and lit their hair and features like pure gold.

Several minutes passed before anyone moved. Lyssa took a few steps toward her brother, surprised by the tears on his face. “I've never seen you like this, Fion. He was close to you,” she murmured.

“I did not think anyone could say so much to me in so short a time,” he whispered. “And he died for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Orie had the power to use someone else's blood, to heal himself, I think. He had taken some of mine, during the fight. Wolfram stopped when Orie threatened me, then he allowed this to happen.” He made a gesture toward Wolfram's body. “He let himself be killed so that I would live.”

Rolf growled low, glaring at Fionvar. “Why? What hold did ye have on him?”

“I don't know. Surely I did nothing deserving of that.” The anger that once would have flared now did not, and he looked on the huge man with only sadness.

Kattanan said, “I do not think he would have killed to save his own life, but he would die to save another's.” He started to look around the clearing. “Perhaps we can make a stretcher, to carry him back.”

“I can carry him myself,” Rolf insisted.

“Your Majesty,” Fionvar said softly, walking to stand before him, “I'm not going back.”

“What?”

“Brianna has left me, and the duchess distrusts me; it's only a matter of time before she tries to dissolve my influence on either one of you.”

“I can handle the duchess,” Kattanan said, and his tone brooked no disbelief.

“I take it something else has happened, Your Majesty.”

“It has indeed,” Jordan said. “Kattanan faced his uncle, vanquished him, and brought him back to the duchess as a gift. You may find your king a changed man.”

“Then it is done. You've won!” The light returned to Fionvar's face. He almost laughed. “If you've done this, you may indeed handle the duchess.” The light died quickly. “She is not the only reason I have to go.”

“Why, then?” Lyssa demanded, but Kattanan fingered a lock of his hair that had been cut short.

“I don't want to lose you,” Kattanan said. “What will you do?”

“Wolfram told me some time ago that if I ever left you, I should go to Orie.”

His audience gasped. “Why? How can you go to him after this?”