The Briar King (74 page)

Stephen's audience was ended soon after that, and he took the opportunity to wander through the airy halls of Glenchest to the hospital that had been set up in one of the lesser-used chambers. A young knight from Liery lay there, one Neil MeqVren. His deep, regular breaths proved him asleep, taking the rest his body needed to recover from the insults dealt it.

Stephen's own bed had been empty for two days; the wound in his arm still ached and leaked frequently, but the fever in it had gone quickly.

The third bed—Aspar's—was empty, of course.

Outside he heard voices. He peeked through the door to the terrace beyond, where two figures shared a bench between a pair of potted orange trees, gazing on the rich, rolling hills of Loiyes.

He'd turned, deciding not to interrupt, when a gruff voice called his name.

“What are you skulking about for, Cape Chavel Darige? Join us in the sun.”

“Yes, do,” Winna—who sat next to Aspar—said. Stephen noticed the two were holding hands.

“You've told me often how poor my skulking is,” Stephen replied. “I thought to improve it.”

“By practice? Is there no book on the subject?”

“Indeed,” Stephen said. “It's contained in a certain bestiary I know.”

Observations on the Quaint and Vulgar Behaviors of the Common Holter-Beast.

Stephen suppressed a smile. “But sometimes,” he went on, “sometimes, I've learned, a bit of practice is necessary.”

“Yah,” Aspar allowed. “Sometimes, I suppose. And some-times—not often, mind you—the learning of books may have its use.”

Stephen ambled out onto the white stone of the terrace. The air was edged with a promise of autumn, and to prove it the apple trees out on the fields wore golden crowns.

Winna rose, patted Aspar's hand, and kissed him lightly on
the lips. “I'll return,” she said. “I'm off to see what I can garner from the kitchen. I'll bring us back a picnic.”

“No pickled lark's tongue or gilded cockatrice balls,” As-par grunted. “Look in the servant's larder and see if you can find some honest cheese.”

When she had gone, Aspar glowered at Stephen. “What are you grinning about?”

“You blushed. When she kissed you.”

“Sceat. It's the sun, is all.”

“She's good for you, I think. She improves your disposition considerably.”

“It never needed improving.”

“So the old rooster said before ending in the pot,” Stephen replied.

“Huh,” Aspar grunted, apparently at a loss for a protracted defense.

Stephen took a seat on another bench, and a quiet grew between them, until Aspar cleared his throat.

“Why am I alive?” he asked. “The medicine Mother Gastya gave me could never have been that potent, and it was gone, besides.”

“True,” Stephen replied. “I'd hoped you would remember. Don't you?”

Aspar looked off toward the King's Forest. “
He
did it, didn't he?”

“I think so. Don't ask me why.”

“You've no fine, scholarly words to explain it, then? The Briar King was supposed to come and kill us all, yah?”

“He might yet. He left us because he had other things to do, and I suspect we will not like what those things are.” He shrugged. “He took the poison from you. He did not close your wounds or stop your blood; that was for us to do, and still you nearly went to pale.” Stephen lifted his hands. “Perhaps he thought you a creature of his kingdom. Perhaps you are—you certainly smell like one. A crippled boar, a mangy bear. You might be mistaken for such a thing.”

Aspar stared at him for a long moment.

“I only remember that when he touched me I felt something,
something I haven't known since I was a child. It was …” He frowned. “Sceat, I haven't the words.” He waved his hands, dismissing the entire matter. He was silent for long time, and Stephen began to wish Winna would hurry her return. She had a way of easing things.

But Aspar spoke, without looking at him.

“I've a sense it's a lucky thing I met you, Cape Chavel Darige,” he said.

Stephen blinked back an unexpected moistness in his eye.

On the Very Strange and Subtle Dispositions of the Holter-Beast,
he composed, in his head.
Though irascible in the extreme, it must be admitted the beast has not only a talent for annoyance, but beneath its tough and leathersome skin, something that resembles, in many respects, a human heart.

“
Now
what are you grinning at?” Aspar asked.

Stephen realized he
was
smiling. “Nothing,” he replied. “Something I read, once.”

When Cazio stepped into the small circle of firelight, Anne flinched involuntarily.

Z'Acatto clucked his tongue. “No need to worry, young casnara,” he said. “We're well away from those devils.”

“At least for the time being,” Cazio corrected. “If they are as persistent in the hunt as in leaving life, we shall see them again.”

“Don't worry the ladies with such talk,” z'Acatto growled. “We have eluded them for the time being, of that we can be sure. A hundred crooked leagues we have put between them and us, and never leaving any sign.” He looked up significantly at the younger man. “Unless you did so tonight.”

“I was a ghost,” Cazio replied. “A shadow entered the Inn of the Lisping Boar, a shadow left it.”

“Left it the heavier, I hope,” z'Acatto said hopefully, eyeing the sack Cazio had slung casually over one shoulder.

“Heavier, yes. But this is your sort of work, old man. I'm no thief, by trade.”

“You'll do as an amateur,” the swordsmaster said. “What've you got there?”

Anne found her own stomach rumbling. The countryside offered little in the way of sustenance, and avoiding anyone who might describe them to pursuers meant they couldn't beg the hospitality of strangers, though z'Acatto had assured them that hospitality was lacking in the poor and rustic province of Curhavia. Whatever the truth, the four of them had eaten only moldy bread the day before, and not much of that.

“Tonight we feast,” Cazio said. He proceeded to produce a joint of ham, a spit-roasted hen, a full loaf of crusty brown bread, a small amphora of olive oil, and two black bottles of wine. Anne watched this unloading hungrily, but when she glanced at Austra she saw something that more resembled worship, which was irritating. Cazio was made of better stuff than she had first supposed, true, and she and Austra doubtless owed him their lives, but there was no reason to be silly.

“This is the wrong year,” z'Acatto complained.

“Ghosts drink what they can find,” Cazio replied. “I'm sure this will do.”

Z'Acatto snatched one of the bottles, took a swallow, and swirled it about in his mouth.

“Hardly better than vinegar,” he said. Nevertheless, he took another long drink of it.

They ate with no thought to conversation. It was only later, when most of the wine was gone, that speech resumed.

“In three days we'll reach the coast,” Cazio said. “I've no doubt we can find the two of you passage there to someplace safe. Your home, perhaps.”

“You've been most kind,” Anne said.

“You can't just put us on a ship, two women alone,” Austra protested. “What if the Hanzish knights should find us at sea?”

“I'd be more worried about the sailors,” z'Acatto said. “They're the more known and obvious danger.”

“Well, go with them, then,” Cazio said. “Me, I'm returning to my house in Avella and pretending I never saw a knight who wouldn't die.”

“Anne's father will reward you,” Austra blurted.

“Austra, hush,” Anne said. “Casnars da Chiovattio and
z'Acatto have done more than we could ever repay them for already.”

“A gentleman does not require payment for saving young ladies in need,” Cazio pointed out.

“But a gentleman without funds can't pay off the lien on his property,” z'Acatto said, “even if certain legal complications have vanished, which cannot be taken for granted.”

Cazio looked pained. “Must you trouble me with such mundane matters?” he asked. But he turned to Anne. “Who
is
your father, by the by?”

Anne hesitated. “A wealthy man,” she said.

“From what country?”

“The empire of Crotheny.”

“That's a long journey,” Cazio noticed.

“Hah!” z'Acatto shouted. “You don't even know where it is! You've no idea! To you, z'Irbina is the end of the world.”

“I am content in Vitellio, if that's what you mean,” Cazio said. “I've my father's estates to win back.”

“You'll pardon him, casnaras,” z'Acatto said. “The experience with your Hanzish knights has taught Cazio here a certain reluctance when it comes to things foreign. You see, in Avella, he can fancy himself a great swordsmaster. In the wider world, he might find himself proven wrong.”

Cazio looked stung. “That is purest slander,” he said, “and you know it.”

“I know what I see. Dessrata is deeds, not words.”

“And you've told me on many occasions that I am no dessrator,” Cazio replied.

“And, on occasion, I tend toward pessimism,” z'Acatto murmured.

“Meaning?” Cazio's eyebrows leapt in surprise.

“Meaning there might be hope for you,” z'Acatto said. He wagged the wine bottle at his student. “Might.”

“So you admit—!”

“I admit nothing!”

“You drunken old fool, I—”

They argued on, but Anne knew the battle was won. She and Austra would have their escort back to Crotheny.

She thought again of her visions, of the thing she had done to the Hanzish knight, and wished everything in the world was as simple as Cazio. For her, the world would never be simple again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE EMPEROR SITS

THE EMPER OR OF CROTHENY counted to three and then clapped his hands in delight as Hound Hat produced a partridge from what appeared to be thin air.

“Most excellent, Sire!” the Sefry said. “And now I shall produce a fire, if to you I might implore, please this time to count to four.”

Muriele glanced hard at the Sefry and then more gently at her son. “Charles,” she said. “It is time to hold court.”

Charles looked at her, his face working. “Mother,” he whispered, “I can't count to four. What am I to do?”

“Charles,” she said, her voice a bit more insistent. “It is time for court. You must concentrate and be king.”

“But Father is king.”

“Your father is away. In his place, you must be king. Do you understand?”

He must have heard the frustration in her voice, for his face fell. Charles didn't always understand words, but at times he could be surprisingly sensitive to mood.

“How do I do that, Mother? How do I be king?”

She patted his hand. “I will teach you. Some men are going to come in, in a moment. You will know some of them. Your uncle Fail de Liery, for instance.”

“Uncle Fail?”

“Yes. I will talk to them, and you will remain silent. If you do this, then afterwards you can have fried apples and cream, and play games on the lawn.”

“I don't know that I want to go to the lawn,” Charles replied dubiously.

“Then you can do whatever you wish. But you must be silent while I talk to these men, unless I look at you. If I look at you, then you are to say, ‘That is my command.’ Only that, and nothing more. Can you do that?”

“That is how a king behaves?”

“It is
exactly
how a king behaves.”

Charles nodded earnestly. “That is my command,” he practiced.

Muriele flinched, for in that instant he sounded almost exactly like her dead William. Charles must have listened more than she'd thought, the few times he had been to court.

“Very well.” She started to nod at the Royal Footguard, but paused, briefly, to glance at Sir Neil, who stood stiffly a few feet from her.

“Sir Neil?” she asked. “Are you fit for this?”

Sir Neil turned his dark, hollowed eyes to her. “I can serve, Your Majesty,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “Come close, Sir Neil,” she said.

He did so, kneeling before her.

“Rise, and sit with me.”

The young knight with the old eyes did as he was told, taking a seat on the armless chair to the left of her own.

“Sir Neil,” she said softly, “I need you with me. With Erren gone, I need all of you here. Are you here?”