Allegiance, page 35
part #3 of River of Souls Series
“My lady.” The woman bowed. She was short and stocky, her thick black hair tucked under a knitted cap, and she wore several visible weapons, including a short sword on her belt. Ilse guessed a search would uncover more.
“I had not requested an escort,” she said.
The woman shrugged. “If you wish me gone, my lady, you have only to say so. I hope you do not. The weather can be treacherous this late in the season. And we thought you might like a guide who knows the best sights.”
A guide who carried herself like a soldier, with weapons at her belt and boot. Ilse thought she detected Duke Kosenmark’s hand in this. He had reminded her, more than once, that the old factions continued to operate in secret. Ilse knew his concerns were borne out by incidents over the past three months, so she did not argue.
“Have you guessed my destination then?” she asked.
The woman’s mouth tucked into a cheerful smile. “Oh, dear no, my lady. I would never presume to guess. However, I trust I have come to you well prepared. My name is Guda Decker, if you should like to address your curses and commands more directly.”
It was impossible to resist her good humor, and Ilse smiled in return. “Then let us put your preparations to good use, Guda Decker.”
They mounted and rode through a series of courtyards, each a pocket of cold air surrounded by walls and towers, and the covered passageway that dipped under the outer wings of the palace, and through one of the many smaller side gates into the busy avenue beyond. The bells were ringing seven, and the skies had brightened, but the streets themselves were thick with fog and shadows, and most of the wagons carried lanterns to light the way.
“Do you wish to visit the winter markets?” Guda asked. “I know a stall with the best grilled sausages.”
Ilse surveyed the streets. The number of guards inside the palace itself had increased over the past month, and more patrolled the streets. The city was restive. Its mood would turn even more uneasy while the council debated the matter of kingship.
“Another day,” she said. “I would like to see something of the countryside. Will your preparations go far enough for that?”
Guda bowed in her saddle. “They will indeed, my lady. Give me a direction and I shall find you the closest city gate.”
Ilse tilted her head back and scanned the cloudless skies.
When she had first come to Duenne, she and her companions had leapt through the magic planes. It was as though a seamstress had snipped a length of cloth, and stitched together its ends, removing in a few deft movements a hundred or more miles of land. Which part of that missing journey to visit first? East lay Tiralien. She had traversed those hills twice, both times in hunger and panic. North lay a region she wanted to explore some day, but for now, she had enough of hills and mountains both. “South,” she declared. “Over the open plains.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Half an hour later saw them exiting the city gates for a highway leading south. They passed through the outer city, as Guda called it, crammed with small shops and yards for sheep and goats. Beyond that lay a ring of smaller farms, so it was not until the sun rose above the horizon that Ilse could count herself free of Duenne.
The plains spread outward before her, like a pale ocean that undulated toward an impossibly distant horizon. There were no forests, no mountains, nothing but an endless expanse that glittered with frost under the winter sun. Above, the skies were a burnished gray, clear and seemingly as limitless as the earth below.
Ilse urged her horse forward at a trot, and Guda followed. Their highway swung to the southeast, between a few outlying farms, then into the frozen sea of grassland. If they were to continue in this direction, they would reach the provinces of Pommersien within three weeks. Other highways branched off from this one, to Fortezzien, Tiralien, and other coastal cities. But she wanted no grand destination today, only a momentary refuge where she might think through her future.
Sooner than she expected, they came to a narrow track that angled to the right. Perhaps a smaller city or town lay at the end. Perhaps a farm settlement had paid the kingdom for this road. Ilse drew rein and considered the possibilities. From here, she could see a line of trees, and a faint blue mass that could be a village or farm. Dark shadows marked a drifting herd of cattle, and on the horizon, a swiftly moving speck of shadow that might be a horse galloping free.
“Let us ride, ride onward into infinity,” she murmured.
“My lady?” Guda said.
“A test for your preparations, Guda Decker. How fast can you ride?”
Without waiting for an answer, she gave a shout and urged her horse into a gallop. The horse surged forward happily, willingly, hooves pounding over the frozen ground. Ilse yipped in delight and bent over her mount’s neck, the cold wind burning against her face. She hardly cared. She was riding into infinity, into an unknown future. From far behind, she heard Guda shouting after her.
She had surpassed the herd of cattle before she leaned back. Her horse slowed to her touch of the reins, and they circled around into the fields to meet up with her companion, who appeared torn between laughter and dismay.
Ilse grinned at her. “Are you hungry?”
“But my lady…”
“I am hungry,” Ilse said. “Let us investigate your preparations, Guda Decker, and what the kitchens have provided us.”
Her guide and guardian laughed, then shook her head. “Yes, my lady. Just as you ask. But not exactly here, if you please.”
There was a traveler’s camp another mile down this road, Guda told her, where they and the horses would be far more comfortable. Ilse could hardly disagree. A short interval later, they dismounted in the camp, which was a circle of bare dirt, with a well-used fire pit and a shelter of stone covered by a thatched roof that needed repair. A stream meandered past and disappeared into the frozen grass.
Guda built a fire using dry wood from the shelter, while Ilse walked their horses, then rubbed them down. By the time she finished, Guda had coffee brewing and was grilling bread and cheese. Ilse sorted through their saddlebags and discovered several sealed pots. One held a mixture of rice and spiced lamb, another porridge, another yet a thick soup of lentils and greens. There was also bread, dried figs, more cheese, and a plentiful supply of black tea leaves and dried meat—enough for an entire day, just as she had asked for.
She and Guda ate the bread and cheese first, then the porridge, and drank down a pot of hot coffee. Once they had finished, they washed their dishes and tidied up the camp.
“What next, my lady?” Guda asked.
The day had turned clear and bright. The air was crisply cold, with the scent of snow in the air. Ilse blew out a silver-bright breath. They had six hours until sunset.
“West,” she said. “I have an urge to see the compass.”
They left the roads and trails and rode west until the sun hovered directly overhead. This time there was no traveler’s camp nearby, but Guda knew of a ravine with a reliable stream and trees for shelter. Once more they built a fire and set water to boil. Ilse fed hot mash to the horses, while Guda constructed a shelter from canvas and sticks. Just as she finished, a wind kicked up from the north.
Crouched under the shelter, they consumed the lentil soup cold. Ilse accepted a mug of hot tea, grateful for the rush of warmth. She picked over the lamb and rice, however, finally setting the dish aside.
I cannot gallop forever.
Soon, she would have to return to Duenne, where her obligations to the crown awaited. There she would learn Raul’s decision, and from that she could make her own choices about the future.
He might say no.
He might agree, and the council, too. If that is so, they will want a noble queen. Or they will want someone with connections here and abroad.
Her heart constricted at the thought of Raul with another, and yet …
If that meant Veraene’s salvation, how could she argue? She had spent a lifetime and more seeking peace between the kingdoms. Raul Kosenmark would make a fine and wonderful king to Veraene.
She had choices, too, she told herself. She had earned a place in Duenne’s Court on her own. She had an income that offered independence. If she decided she could not bear … that is, if she hated politics, she could retire to Melnek or Fortezzien, or even to Tiralien. She could leap by magic to some unknown destination. And, and, and, they were not at the end of all their lives. If victory meant a delay, then so be it.
Ilse brushed the tears away with her gloved hand. She stood and paced along the edge of the ravine. Off in the distance, a thin blue ribbon marked Duenne’s presence. She stood, hands clasped behind her back, and stared northward. The horizon swept along until it reached a bump, another, then stuttered upward into the hills. Through that open gap the first outriders of Erythandra’s hordes had appeared. In the hills themselves, Tanja Duhr had chosen to spend her final years.
“My lady.”
“Another hour, Guda Decker, no longer.”
Ilse tilted her head upward, still restless, still uncertain.
It was a day for impulse. She would never have another in this lifetime.
“Ei rûf ane gôtter!” she called out. “Ei rûf ane Anderswar!”
Challenge given, challenge answered.
The air drew tight. A strong green scent flooded her senses. Ilse blinked and Veraene disappeared. She stood on the edge of nothing, while the universe spun below. A stream of bright stars rippled overhead, souls in transit to their new lives.
Her beast crouched opposite, the same mad patchwork of feathers and fur and claws, as though a furious god had created it in retribution for some grave wrong. Its claws clicked against nothing, loud and sharp. Its sex hung heavy and low and full.
I am the creature of your expectations, it said.
She acknowledged the truth of that with a nod. I know that now.
So you are stupid, but not without redemption. Why have you come to me today?
No reason.
You think you can bid me farewell? Order me to begone?
Ilse laughed. Hardly. You and I will have more dealings over the years. No, I am not running away from you, or Duenne, or myself. Not any longer.
Then why did you call me?
Ilse held out a hand. The beast rose on its bent legs and skittered closer. It took all her self-control not to tremble in terror. Expectation or not, this was no tame creature. When it reared to embrace her, she felt a rush of bitter cold, as though Veraene’s winter had invaded the magical plane. She lifted her chin and met the beast’s lips with her own. Its beak was hard and sharp. The next moment, its flesh transformed into an almost human mouth.
My love, it whispered in a low, rasping voice.
No, she replied. My love is a man and not a beast. But I know that you are a necessary part of me.
Its lips peeled back into a grimace, at once terrifying and alluring. Another point to consider, she thought. I begin to think I have underestimated you, the beast said. Farewell, Ilse Zhalina. Farewell until you have need of me again.
It lifted its muzzle and howled. The magic current surged around them. With a sudden jolt, the void disappeared and she crouched on a cold hard surface. Ilse inhaled sharply, smelled mud and wood smoke and the scent of horse. Ordinary scents from an ordinary world. Even now the indication of magic was fading. All was dark, except for the bright blaze of a fire. Overhead, clouds obscured the moon and stars. A thick snow was falling.
She lurched to her feet, but her legs buckled and she collapsed. A woman caught her in her arms.
“My lady! You’re alive.”
Guda dragged Ilse closer to the fire. Snow blew past their campsite in streamers, but the canvas shielded them from the worst. Dimly Ilse became aware of the biting cold, the horses stamping and blowing gouts of steam, and the beckoning warmth of hot tea that Guda held to her lips.
“Drink, my lady.”
Ilse drank, grateful for the warmth. “Thank you. I’m sorry, Guda. Sorry I didn’t warn you.”
Guda was trembling, but she managed a smile. “My lady, you did ask if I were prepared, so did the duke, only I never thought—”
“None of us thought. I’m sorry. Here, drink the rest of the tea and let us consider what to do. How late is it, do you know? Shall we ride for Duenne, or do we remain here?”
“No later than six bells, my lady. Let us ride for Duenne. We can make it before the roads are impassable.”
It was a near thing, in spite of Guda Decker’s assurance.
They extinguished the fire and set off to the east, using a lamp Guda had brought to light their path. When the snow turned thick and impenetrable, Ilse called up magic to burn a path before them, but it was close to midnight before they regained the city walls, and another half hour to the palace itself. Stable hands on watch took the horses and bundled both women into warm dry clothing. They had strong spirits and tea at hand, and administered both in small doses until both women had ceased shivering.
Ilse clasped Guda Decker’s hands in hers. “Thank you, Captain Decker. Oh, yes, I could guess your rank. If I could have petitioned the gods for a companion for today, you would be her.”
Guda returned the grip. “And you for me, my lady. Though…” And she was laughing, though it was a high, tremulous laugh. “I would have asked for more warning about the magic.”
Ilse hugged her close and kissed Guda’s cheek. Then she was hurrying to her rooms, to where Theda no doubt waited anxiously. The day had changed nothing, while she did not know her future, a strange exhilaration had taken hold of her. She hardly noticed the emptiness of the hallways, or the stares from guards as she passed.
Theda waited in the corridor outside her rooms, her hands knotted together. At Ilse’s approach, she gave a smothered cry. “My lady. They sent word you had returned. I am so glad. You have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Ilse paused and took in Theda’s agitation. “Who is it? What has happened?”
Theda gestured wordlessly at the doors. A death, Ilse thought. Assassins. The duke himself or Raul … Her pulse leaping, she ran through the entryway, which was dark and quiet, and into her public sitting room.
Raul stood with his back to her, facing the series of high narrow windows that overlooked the eastern quadrant of the palace grounds. The shutters stood open, and a storm of snow blew in an unending cascade against the glass. A fire blazed in the hearth; on a sideboard stood a branch of candles. As she crossed the threshold, he turned and stepped toward her. Gems flashed in his ears. Firelight streamed up and around his collar, picking out the layers upon layers of formal robes.
“Ilse.”
He was like a ghost of shadows, edged by silver and firelight. She … she had no idea how she appeared. She only knew that her breath came short and sharp with sudden apprehension.
“What is wrong?” she whispered.
They both stared at one another. She wished she could read his expression, but the fire at his back made that impossible. He was like Toc in the everlasting dark, like a soul wandering through an endless void.
“They have made me king,” Raul said at last. His voice was harsh and soft and deep. Nothing like the contralto voice she remembered from years past. He gestured sharply, the firelight rippling over the gems he wore. “No, that is wrong. They offered. I accepted.” In a softer voice, he said, “I never thought they would. I never thought I would agree.”
He was shaking. His face was drawn into a mask.
“Sit,” Ilse told him. “I will fetch wine.”
He dropped into the nearest chair, quickly, as if a god had snipped the strings that held him upright. Ilse touched his hand, which felt cold, then glided out to where Theda waited. “Wine,” she said. “Wine, water, cups…”
“I sent for them already, my lady.”
Ilse hurried back to the sitting room where Raul had not stirred. She watched him, thinking she had not seen him so unstrung since Benno Iani came with news of Dedrick Maszuryn’s death.
Has he come for comfort? Or wisdom?
She did not think she had either to offer. She paced back to the front door. Runners had arrived with carafes of water and wine. Ilse took the tray and dismissed her maid for the night. She carried the tray into the sitting room where Raul sat, head resting on his hands.
“Your wine,” she said softly.
His head swung up. He watched as she poured two cups, then accepted one from her hands.
“I worried,” he said. “They told me you left the palace before sunrise.”
“And never returned. Did you think I had run away?”
“Yes.”
Ah. Oh. She ought to have left word. Except she had not known herself how long she had intended to be absent, nor had she predicted that impulsive visit to Anderswar. She certainly had not expected Duenne’s Court to choose a king today.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He made an airy gesture with one hand, as if to say it didn’t matter. On impulse, she caught his hand and kissed it.
Raul flung his wine cup to one side and gathered her into his arms.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he murmured. “Please. If you must go, please tell me first. I will never make a cage for you. I promised you that. I keep my promises. I swear it. Only … I have lost you so many times.”
He was about to withdraw from their embrace, but Ilse held him tight. “I love you,” she said. “I would leave if you needed me to. Not before.”
“That explains a great deal,” he said softly.
His own cup lay in fragments over the floor. Taking up Ilse’s, Raul handed it to her and drew her through the doors onto the balcony where snow blew and drifted over the stones. More snow streamed down from the skies. With a word in Erythandran, he created a bubble of warmth. It was exactly like the one Bela Sovic used when she first encountered Ilse. Ilse found herself wishing she knew Bela’s fate.
Raul led her to the edge of the balcony. A few dim circles of lamplight interrupted the darkness, but otherwise, all of Duenne was a blanket of blackness. The air would be frigid, but Ilse felt no cold. She settled onto a bench near the wall, with the wine cup cradled in her hands. Raul stood with his back to her, facing the expanse of darkness that was Duenne City.
