“It’s a lovely country,” I said. “And Crath City is very impressive. Celebrations were in full swing when we arrived.”
She frowned at that, pursing her lips. Evidently, I’d struck a sour note. Pregnant or not, she was very pretty. “Scorron is a more beautiful land, and the Eisenschloss a finer fortress.” She didn’t seem aware that we men of Red March counted the Scorrons as our mortal enemies. No matter—I’ve long been a proponent of love, not war, though they often make close bedfellows. “But you are right, Prince Jalan, Ancrath has much to recommend it.”
“Indeed. I fear though, my queen, that I’m somewhat at a loss here. I think perhaps it would be more seemly if we discussed these matters this afternoon at court? Your beauty is talked of far and wide, and people might mistake my intentions if it were known that . . .” Normally I would be happy to cuckold any man foolish enough to leave a woman like Sareth wanting more . . . but Olidan Ancrath? No. And besides, her pregnancy and my present invalid status both helped to lessen my interest in the opportunity.
Sareth’s face crumpled in dismay, her bottom lip wobbled, and, hefting herself from her chair, she hastened across to kneel beside mine. “Forgive me, Prince Jalan!” She took my dark and callused hands in her slim white ones. “It’s just—just—we’ve all had such a shock what with the arrival of this dreadful boy.”
“Boy?” I’d had very little sleep for two nights now and none of this was making sense.
“Jorg, Olidan’s son.”
“Ah, the lost prince,” I said, enjoying her hands around mine.
“Better he had stayed lost.” And I glimpsed some steel behind her tear-stained prettiness.
Suddenly even my sleep-deprived mind couldn’t refuse to see the problem any longer. This returned prince couldn’t be Sareth’s son, she wasn’t old enough for that . . . A second wife, then, busy producing what she had thought would be an heir of her own?
“Ah.” I leaned forwards, my glance falling to her belly. “I can see his return might be a problem for you.” Her face contorted in misery again. “There, there, don’t cry, my queen.” And I pawed her a bit, the bluff hero comforting a damsel in distress, and perhaps running his hands through that wonderful hair.
“Why couldn’t the boy stay lost and wandering?” She turned those wet-lashed eyes on me.
“Boy, you say?” I’d thought the prince a grown man for some reason. “Just how old is—”
“A child! A week ago he was thirteen and forgotten. Past all care. Now he’s reached majority and . . .” Another flood of tears, her face buried against my shoulder. “Oh, the trouble he’s caused. The chaos in the throne room.”
“It’s a difficult age.” I nodded wisely and drew her closer. It’s an instinct. I can’t help it. She smelled gorgeous, of lilac and honeysuckle, and pregnancy hadn’t just filled her womb—her bodice overflowed with nature’s gifts too.
“In my homeland they call you the Devil of the Aral,” she said. “The Red Prince.”
“They do?” I tried the words again, removing the surprise from my voice. “They do.”
A nod against my shoulder. “Sir Karlan survived the battle in which you fought, and escaped to the North. At court he told us how you battled without fear—like a madman, striking down man after man. Sir Gort amongst them. Sir Gort was the son of my father’s cousin. A warrior of some renown.”
“Well . . .” I guessed some tales grew in the telling and that too much fear might sometimes look like no fear at all. Either way, the queen had given me a gift and it was beholden to me to milk it. “My people do call me the hero of the pass. I suppose it’s fitting that the Scorrons call me the devil. I will wear the name with pride.”
“A hero.” Sareth sniffed, wiped at her eyes, one slim hand on my chest. “You could help.” Soft words, almost a whisper, and close enough to my ear to make me shiver deliciously.
“Of course, of course, dear lady.” I caught myself before I promised too much. “How?”
“He’s a bully, this Jorg. He needs putting in his place. Of course, he’s too highborn for just anyone to deliver the lessons he deserves. But a prince could challenge him. He’d have to accept a challenge from a prince.”
“Well . . .” I breathed in her scent and covered the hand on my chest with my own. Visions of chasing those damnable bucket-boys through the back corridors of the opera house floated before me. I’d kicked a few backsides that day! A ragged thirteen-year-old princeling, returned cap-in-hand after a month starving by the waysides before hunger defeated his pride and he came home to Daddy . . . I could see myself delivering a sharp lesson to such a lad. Especially if it won favour with his lovely stepmother.
Sareth nuzzled closer, lips very near to my neck, her overfull breasts squashing against me. “Say you will, my prince.”
“But Olidan . . .”
“He’s an old man, and cold. He barely sees me now he’s done his duty.” Her lips touched my throat, hand sliding to my stomach. “Say you’ll help me, Jalan.”
“Of course, lady.” I closed my eyes, surrendering to her ministrations. Kicking an arrogant little boy-prince around the court would be fun, and by the time I came to tell the tale in Vermillion, Prince Jorg would be older and my audience would forget that he’d been a child when I taught him his lesson.
“I don’t mind if you hurt him.” She walked her hand two-fingered across my shirt, scratching at the buttons, playful.
“Accidents do happen,” I murmured.
That proved somewhat prophetic as the words inspired Sareth to explore rather more robustly and her hand plunged down into my trousers.
As any man wounded in the line of duty can tell you, a knee to the groin takes a while to recover from, and it may be several days before a prince’s crown jewels are ready for inspection once more. Sareth’s overhasty “cupping” reignited the earlier agonies, and I must admit that my cry of pain could be described as somewhat high-pitched. Possibly even . . . girly. Which would explain why the queen’s door guard took it upon themselves to crash in through her bolted door to rescue their charge from whatever fiend assaulted her.
Fear can be an excellent anaesthetic. Certainly the sudden appearance of two mean-faced men in Ancrath livery with bare steel in their hands gets rid of ball-ache double quick. A catapult could have ejected me from that chair no faster and I was clattering down the servant stair before you could say “adultery,” door slamming behind me.
I reached my room, panting and still in panic. Snorri had abandoned the chair I’d placed him in and now lay sprawled on the bed. “That was quick.” He raised his head.
“We should probably leave,” I said, realizing as I looked about for my belongings that I didn’t actually have any.
“Why?” Snorri swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, the structure creaking alarmingly beneath him.
“Uh . . .” I leaned back out into the corridor, looking for the approach of guardsmen. “I may have . . .”
“Not the queen?” Snorri stood and I became acutely aware once more of just how much he towered over me. “Who saw you?” Anger in his voice now.
“Two guards.”
“Her guards?”
“Yes.”
“She’ll buy them off. It will all be buried.”
“I’m just not wanting to get buried with it.”
“It’ll be fine.” I could see him thinking about that meeting with King Olidan, about all the lines I had sold him regarding knowing his enemy and getting the curse taken off us.
“You think?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Idiot.”
“We could leave anyway. I mean. I spoke to the king’s magician last night and he wasn’t that helpful—”
“Hah!” Snorri sat down again with a thump. “That old dream-witch! We’ll have to look elsewhere for help, Jal. His power’s broken. The boy smashed
Sageous’s totem a couple of days back. Some kind of glass tree. Jorg pushed it over in the throne room. Pieces of it everywhere!”
“Where—where do you get all this stuff?”
“I talk to people, Jal. While the queen’s sticking her tongue in your ear I’m busy listening instead. Prince Jorg undid Sageous’s power, and boldly. There must be some other sorcerer or wise woman who can help us. Sageous can’t be the only one in the whole country. We need King Olidan to advise us if we want this curse taken off.”
“Ah . . .”
“Ah?”
“I made a promise to rough up this boy-prince for Sareth. I’m hoping that won’t sour things with King Olidan. If he dotes on the child it could cause problems.”
“Why?” Snorri looked up at me, spreading his broad hands. “Why would you do that?” His axe lay by the bed and I toed it underneath, out of sight, just in case.
“You did see her, the queen?” I asked. “How could I say no?”
Snorri shook his head. “I’ve never seen a man who understands so little about women and yet is so led about by them.”
“So, this boy. Will it cause problems if I knock him around a bit?” I asked. “Since you seem to know all there is to know about the Ancraths.”
“Well. The father doesn’t love the son. I know that much,” Snorri said.
“That’s a relief.” I relaxed enough to sink into the chair.
“And I know you’re a brave man, Jal, and a hero from the war . . .”
“Yes . . .”
“But I wouldn’t be so sure about knocking this Prince Jorg around. You did see him at the Angel the other night?”
“The Angel? What are you talking about?”
“The Falling Angel. I know you had other things on your mind, but you might have noticed the place was packed with his band. The Brothers.”
“What?” The chair contrived to trap me in its clutches as I tried to stand again.
“The prince was there, you know? In the corner with Sir Makin.”
“Oh God.” I remembered his eyes.
“And banging Sally in the room next to yours, I hear. Nice girl. From Totten just south of the Lure.”
“Dear God.” I’d thought Makin’s young companion to be eighteen at the least. He couldn’t have been less than six foot.
“And of course you know what prompted him to take another trip so soon after his return to the Tall Castle?”
“Remind me.” I would have thought making a mortal enemy of a dream-witch would be enough to get most men planning a long journey.
“He killed the king’s champion, the Captain of the Guard, Sir Galen. That’s who Sareth’s sister was in mourning for.”
“You’re going to tell me it wasn’t by poisoning his mead?”
“Single combat.”
“We’re leaving.” I called it from the corridor.
TWENTY
Nobody had orders to stop a visiting prince taking a ride around the city before his appointment at court. We collected Ron and Sleipnir and clattered down into Crath City. And kept on going. Riding proved a misery and I shifted constantly in my saddle, seeking more comfortable positions and cursing all Scorrons, their damned women most of all.
“Both of them had their eyes too close together too . . . I never liked ginger hair in any case, and I’m sure that younger one had—”
“She had something about her, that Katherine,” Snorri interrupted. “I could imagine her going places—doing great things. She had the look.”
“If you liked her so much you should have made your move.” Pain made me goad him, seeking distraction. “Perhaps she was looking for a bit of rough.”
Snorri shrugged, rolling in his saddle as we followed the Roma Road. “She’s a child yet. And I’m a married man.”
“She was seventeen if she was a day. And I thought you Vikings operated under ship rules?”
“Ship rules?” Snorri raised a brow. Crath City was nothing more than a stain in the air behind us now.
“If you get there by ship there are no rules,” I said.
“Ha.” He narrowed his eyes a touch. “We’re men as any other. Some good. Some bad. Most in between.”
I blew through my lips. “How old are you anyway, Snorri?”
“Thirty. I think.”
“Thirty! When I’m thirty I want to still be having fun.”
Again the shrug, a small smile. Snorri didn’t take offence at much. Which was a good thing all told. “Where we’re going, living to thirty is hard work.”
“Is there anything good about the North? Anything at all? Any single thing that I can’t better find somewhere warm?”
“Snow.”
“Snow’s not good. It’s just cold water gone wrong.”
“Mountains. The mountains are beautiful.”
“Mountains are inconvenient lumps of rock that get in people’s way. Besides, if it’s mountains I want, I have the Aups on my doorstep.”
We clomped along in silence for a minute. The traffic on the Roma Road had thinned, but on its long straight sections you could still see carts and horsemen, even travellers afoot, stretching off into the distance.
“My family,” he said.
And though I laid no claim to wisdom, I was wise enough to say nothing to that.
• • •
The summer that had welcomed us belatedly in Ancrath wore thin as we progressed north. At the town of Hoff, amidst fields ripe for harvest and on a cold day with more of autumn in it than any other season, Snorri led us east from the Roma Road.
“We could take ship from a Conaught port,” I said.
“Men of the true North are not loved in Conaught,” Snorri replied. “We have visited too often.” He urged Sleipnir onto the unkempt and rutted track that pointed east towards the mountains of northern Gelleth.
“And the Thurtans will be better?”
“Well, the Thurtans will be bad too,” he admitted. “But in Maladon a warmer welcome awaits.”
“Fewer visits?”
“There we stayed. We’ll take ship in Maladon. I have cousins there.”
“We’d better, because I’m not going any farther east.” East of Maladon was Osheim, and nobody went to Osheim. Osheim was where the Builders built the Wheel, and every fairy tale that ever launched a nightmare starts, “Once upon a time, not far from the Wheel of Osheim.”
Snorri nodded, solemn. “Maladon. We’ll take ship in Maladon.”
The mountains thrust us up through autumn and into winter. Those were bad days, despite warm clothing and good provisions bought in Hoff. I’d paid the coin out with more than the usual measure of begrudging, knowing that the pieces of silver could have been paving my way back to the heat of Vermillion.
Amidst the high places of Gelleth I came to miss the small taste of luxury our night in the Tall Castle had afforded us. Even the stinking cots of the Falling Angel would have been heaven compared to bedding amongst rocks in the teeth of a gale halfway up some nameless mountain. I suggested to Snorri that we take the longer but less arduous path via the Castle Red. Merl Gellethar, the duke who kept that seat, was Grandmother’s nephew and would have some family duty to help us on our way.
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s too long a detour.” Snorri muttered the words, ill tempered—an unusual thing for him.
“That’s not the reason.” He always grew cross when lying.
“No.”
I waited.
“Aslaug cautioned against it,” he growled.
“Aslaug? Isn’t Loki the Father of Lies? And she’s his daughter . . .” I paused for him to deny it. “So that would make her . . . a lie?”
“I believe her this time,” he said.
“Hmmm.” I didn’t like the sound of that. W
hen your sole travelling companion is a seven-foot maniac with an axe, it can be unsettling to hear that he’s starting to believe the devil that whispers in his ear when the sun sets. Even so, I didn’t argue the point. Baraqel had told me the same thing that morning. Perhaps when an angel whispered to me at sunrise, I should start believing what he said.
I dreamed of Sageous that night, smiling a calm smile to himself as he watched the board across which I was pushed, from black square to white, white to black, dark to light . . . Snorri beside me, matching my moves, and all about us, shadowed pieces, orchestrated to some complex design. A grey hand pushed its pawns forwards—I felt the Silent Sister’s touch and stepped forwards, black to white. Behind her loomed another, more huge, deepest crimson, the Red Queen playing the longest game. A dead black hand reached across the board, high above it a larger hand, midnight blue, guiding. I could almost see the strings. Together the Lady Blue and the Dead King advanced a knight and without warning the unborn stood before me, only a plain porcelain mask to preserve my sanity from its horror. I woke screaming and waited for dawn without sleeping.
• • •
In the Thurtans we kept to ourselves, avoiding inns and towns, sleeping in hedges, drinking from the rivers, of which there are too many, dividing the country into innumerable strips.
On the border between East and West Thurtan there lies a great forest known as Gowfaugh, a vast expanse of pine, dark and threatening evil.
“We could just take the road,” I said.
“Better to cross the border without notice.” Snorri eyed the forest margins. “Thurtan guards are like as not to give us a month inside one of their cells and take any valuables as payment for the privilege.”
I looked back along the trail we’d taken down from the hills, a faint line across a dour moorland. The Gowfaugh had nothing inviting about it, but the threat behind worried me more. I felt it daily, nipping at our heels. I had been expecting trouble since we left Crath City, and not from King Olidan worried that I’d sullied his queen’s honour. The Dead King had moved twice to stop us and the third time could be the charm.
“Forwards, Jal, that’s the place to keep your attention. You southerners are always looking back.”