Firmly, he turned his mind back to the plans in front of him. If this invasion followed the same pattern as the last one, the destruction that marked the path of the Matholych would at first move northward faster at the eastern border of Gramwood and the western border of Mournwal. In the center, where the Hoven-Thalar would be riding north, the Matholych would move more slowly, forming an arc of ruin around an untouched center. Eventually, the center began moving forward more quickly, reaching halfway to the northern border of Sevairn in a single sudden wave.
Jermain could understand why Carachel did not want to explain his battle plan in great detail. It looked very much as if Carachel’s army would be facing the Hoven-Thalar in the center of the arc, with the Matholych spreading northward on either side. And if the center of the Matholych moved forward too quickly, or sooner than Carachel expected . . .
Carefully, Jermain rolled the crumbling scrolls and stacked them on the edge of the table. He put out the lamp and lay down on his cot, but it was a long time before he slept.
CHAPTER 9
By the time Eltiron reached the bottom of the tower, the courtyard was full of hurrying people. Eltiron picked his way among them, wondering who had brought word to the castle and whether the Princess really was with the caravan. He had covered barely a quarter of the distance from the tower to the main entrance of the castle when he was hailed with relief by the harried castle steward, who informed him that the Princess of Barinash would be arriving within an hour. Eltiron, said the steward, was commanded by the King to prepare himself to formally receive his bride; the Princess and her escort would be brought directly to the Gray Hall and everyone must be there to meet her, and why was Eltiron just standing there? Eltiron left hurriedly.
An hour and a half later, Eltiron stood beside Marreth at the center of the Gray Hall, waiting. He was uncomfortably aware of the way the courtiers were eyeing him, and he found himself wishing he could talk to Jermain, or Vandaris. But Jermain was in exile, Vandaris was somewhere among the mass of people lining the walls in hopes of witnessing the Princess’s arrival, and Eltiron did not feel up to starting a conversation with his father. He waited in silence.
Terrel stood on Marreth’s other side, looking as calm and at ease as if he had not dressed as hastily as everyone else in the room. He wore a red silk shirt, heavily embroidered with gold, which suited his blond coloration perfectly, and he seemed cool and comfortable in spite of the room’s warmth. The crowd of courtiers had been waiting for nearly an hour, and the Gray Hall had quickly become overheated despite its size.
Silently, Eltiron cursed the man who had decided that pale blue velvet would be appropriate for the Prince of Sevairn to wear to meet his bride. The clothes were hot and uncomfortable as well as unbecoming; once again, Terrel looked more the prince than Eltiron. Eltiron felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. Mentally, he cursed again and wished he had the courage to tell the tailors what he thought of this wonderful idea. His collar was making his neck itch. He put up a hand to ease it, and the horns outside blew to announce the arrival of the Princess.
A moment later, the doors swung open and the Princess of Barinash and her escort entered the room. First came the guards, resplendent in green-and-silver uniforms, and Eltiron had time to wonder how they managed to look so fresh after two or three weeks of traveling. A short, unpleasant-looking man followed; Eltiron had a vague memory of his having been an ambassador or something several years before. Behind him came the Princess and two of her ladies.
The short man began a rambling speech of introduction, none of which Eltiron heard. As the Princess entered, Eltiron’s face grew hot, and he dropped his eyes in an attempt to regain some of his composure. Why hadn’t anyone told him that the Princess Crystalorn was beautiful? At least, he thought it was the Princess he’d seen. He looked up, and his stomach knotted. The Princess hadn’t even noticed him. She was watching Terrel.
Swallowing disappointment, Eltiron forced himself to look at the Princess’s companions. She doesn’t know yet who I am, he thought. Underneath the thought was the hurt of knowing that he was right, that he did not look like a prince, that when she did learn who he was she would be disappointed. He didn’t want to think about disappointing her, because there was no way he could prevent it. In a few minutes, she would be formally presented to him, and she would know.
Abruptly, Eltiron realized that he was staring at one of the Princess’s ladies, a tall woman with hair the color of unpolished steel. She was regarding him with a direct and rather disconcerting gaze, and Eltiron blinked apologetically. The woman smiled warmly, and Eltiron felt himself smiling in return. As she looked away, Eltiron noticed with unreasonable satisfaction that her gaze swept by Terrel without pausing. At least there was someone among the Princess’s escort whom Terrel did not impress.
“Eltiron!” Marreth’s voice was low, but it held an angry warning. Eltiron came back to the present with a jerk and a sick, sinking feeling. He had not noticed when the unpleasant little man had finished his speech and the Princess had come forward. Now Marreth was facing Eltiron, the Princess Crystalorn at his side.
“My son,” Marreth said in a louder voice, “I present to you the Princess Crystalorn Halaget, daughter of King Urhelds of Barinash.”
“I give you greeting, my lady.” Eltiron gave the formal response automatically.
“I thank you for your welcome, Prince Eltiron,” the Princess said.
Eltiron was uncomfortably aware of the sweat on his palms but unable to do anything about it. As he took the Princess’s hand and bowed over it, the room erupted into cheering. He straightened and found himself looking down into a pair of impossibly blue eyes framed in waves of thick brown hair. The eyes were studying him with a speculative frown, but before their owner could say anything, Marreth raised his hand and the courtiers quieted.
“We welcome the Princess of Barinash and her companions to our court, and we hope . . .” Marreth began the speech he always gave when someone of importance arrived in Leshiya, and Eltiron stopped listening. Instead, he watched the Princess watching him.
The Princess’s scrutiny did not last much longer. When Marreth was about three sentences into his speech, she gave her head a tiny shake and gently disengaged her hand from Eltiron’s. She turned slightly, so that she faced Marreth once more, and Eltiron thought he saw her sigh.
Marreth’s speech seemed to last hours. When he finally finished, Terrel announced that the welcoming feast would be held in two days’ time, to give the Princess and her escort time to recover from their journey. Then the horns blew again, and the formal welcome was officially over. The delegation from Barinash was shown to the rooms that had been prepared for them, the courtiers dispersed, and Eltiron, his head still whirling from his brief encounter with his prospective bride, went to look for Vandaris.
He found her in the gardens, shaving long curls of wood from a rough staff. She looked up as he approached and raised an eyebrow. “Well, now that you’ve met her, what do you think of her?”
“The Princess Crystalorn? She’s . . . she’s very pretty.”
“Sweet snakes, man, is that all you want in a bride? I thought you had more sense!”
“Well, I don’t know anything else about her; I’ve hardly talked to her at all,” Eltiron said defensively.
“So arrange to talk to her! It shouldn’t be that hard.”
“What difference would it make? Terrel was the one she was looking at. Didn’t you notice?”
“I think you are underestimating yourself rather badly,” Vandaris said with uncharacteristic gentleness. “And I think you’re underestimating Crystalorn as well. As for Terrel Lassond . . .” She frowned. “I wish I knew for certain what he’s doing and how he’s doing it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you see the way he and Parel were eyeing each other?”
“Parel?”
“Salentor Parel, molasses mind. He’s the Barinash ambassador who brought Cry
stalorn. You can’t have missed him; his speech went on forever.”
Eltiron felt his face grow warm. “I’m afraid I didn’t notice.”
“I see,” Vandaris said dryly. “Well, the two of them looked like a pair of cats watching the same mouse hole—cooperating, but not too pleased about it, if you see what I mean. It makes me wonder.” She sighed. “I wish Trevannon were here; I could use some of his sources.”
“I thought you already were.”
“What?” Vandaris sat up sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“The Hoven-Thalar you were talking to the day of our first practice match. Wasn’t he the same one Jermain used to talk to? I was sure I recognized him.”
Vandaris stared at him for a moment. “You’re sure?”
“I think so. I’ve seen Jermain with him several times. You mean you didn’t know?”
Instead of answering, Vandaris began cursing quietly. Eltiron listened for several minutes before he finally tried to interrupt. “Vandaris?”
“—and next time I see that lizard-livered nomad, I’m going to feed him his own feet unless he tells the truth. All of it. That lock-jawed idiot knows where Trevannon is, and he didn’t say a word about it!”
“He does? How do you know?”
“I don’t,” Vandaris admitted, “but I’d still bet diamonds against dragon dung that I’m right. You didn’t see the way he reacted when I said I was looking for Trevannon. And the worst of it is, he left nearly a week ago; he could be anywhere by now. We’ll just have to hope he has sense enough to let Trevannon know what I told him.”
They talked for a few minutes more before Eltiron left to attend to his duties. He spent the rest of that day and most of the next running from one not-quite-finished thing to the next and wondering why no one had made any arrangements for the possibility of the Princess arriving early. Everyone had discussed at great length what to do if she arrived later than expected, but no one had been prepared for her to appear a day sooner.
In his few spare moments, Eltiron worried about the welcoming feast. Terrel’s wit was always more pointed when he had a large audience, and he had arranged to be seated on the other side of the Princess from Eltiron. And how would the Princess Crystalorn react when she saw Marreth walk in with one of his “ladies”? Eltiron wished fervently that he could speak to her privately before the feast, even for a little while, but there was no way he could arrange it.
The feast was even worse than he expected. Marreth was unusually loud and irritable, and the entertainers were nervous. Terrel monopolized the Princess’s attention for most of the meal, pointing out the important members of Marreth’s court and making occasional verbal jabs at Eltiron. By the time the uncomfortable evening ended, Eltiron was more than glad to escape to his rooms.
After an hour of brooding on all the things he might have said in response to Terrel, Eltiron could stand the silence no longer, and he went out to pace the halls of the castle. The hour was late enough that hardly anyone was stirring; he passed an occasional guard, but that was all. He was tempted to visit Vandaris, but he doubted that she was still awake. Besides, he couldn’t just keep running to her every time something went wrong; sooner or later he would have to do something. The question was, what?
Scowling in frustration, Eltiron kicked at an imaginary wrinkle in the carpeting. This was getting him no closer to solving his problems with Terrel; he might as well go back to his chambers and get some sleep. He glanced up to see where his rambles had brought him and saw a dim light spilling through a half-open doorway at the end of the hall.
Eltiron hesitated, wondering whether to investigate. Whoever was inside the room would think it very odd to be interrupted by the Prince of Sevairn in the middle of the night. Still, it was far more likely that someone had simply left a lamp burning and forgotten it. Much more likely. Eltiron walked down to the door and pushed it open.
At first he was surprised to find the room unlit; then he realized that this was the first of a series of rooms that might have been originally intended as guest chambers. There were several such odd arrangements in the castle, and as a child Eltiron had spent hours playing in them. The light was coming from the next room in the chain. Eltiron looked at the open doorway for a moment, then shrugged and walked across the room.
The second room was smaller than the one that opened into the hall. It had been furnished with a table and two slightly battered chairs; at the far end of the table, a small lamp was burning brightly. Just opposite Eltiron, another door led into the third and last room of the series. The door was closed, and a small, brown-haired figure crouched in front of it, listening intently.
Eltiron shook his head. “Tarilane, what are you—” The figure turned abruptly, and Eltiron’s jaw dropped. “Crystalorn?”
“Shhhhhhh!” hissed the Princess. “They’ll hear you!”
“Who?” Eltiron whispered. “And what are you—”
“Quiet! I want to hear this.”
Crystalorn put her ear back to the door. Eltiron watched in utter bewilderment, wondering what he ought to do. Tarilane was the only other person he could imagine finding in a situation like this, and he couldn’t treat a princess the way he would treat Vandaris’s sword squire.
Abruptly, Crystalorn rose. “They’re almost finished,” she whispered as she took the lamp from the table. “Come on, or they’ll catch us.”
Eltiron hesitated, then stepped aside to let Crystalorn come through the doorway. As he did, he heard someone fumbling with the latch of the closed door. Crystalorn muttered something too softly for him to catch it and ducked around the edge of the door frame, out of sight of anyone in the room she had just left. Eltiron followed, and Crystalorn put out the lamp. An instant later, he felt her tug at his arm. Carefully, the two began backing toward one of the dark corners of the room.
Light spilled suddenly through the doorway, and Eltiron heard a sharp voice say, “. . . quite safe. No one will be about at this hour, not after a feast.”
“You may believe that if you will; I’ll not risk this twice,” said a second voice, and Eltiron stiffened.
Terrel again! His head turned involuntarily toward Crystalorn, who shook her head warningly and pulled him toward a long, high-backed seat. She squeezed into the shadows between it and the wall, and motioned Eltiron to follow.
Eltiron had barely reached this rather dubious hiding place when he saw Terrel step into the room, carrying a lamp. He was followed by the short, unpleasant man who had accompanied the Princess to Sevairn—Salentor, that was his name. Eltiron froze as Terrel turned and gestured to the smaller man.
“You may have the privilege of being first to go your way,” Terrel said with a touch of mockery.
“You do not intend to accompany me?”
“On the contrary. I do not want even a guard to see us together at this hour. I have gone to a great deal of trouble to establish my position here; I don’t intend to ruin everything now.”
“As you wish, but I think you are being far more cautious than necessary.” Salentor bowed and left the room.
“Fool!” muttered Terrel. He shook his head, then began to pace. The lamp he held sent shadows leaping around the room as he walked. Eltiron shivered, hoping Terrel would not notice him, and tried to shrink farther back without moving. He did not think he was being particularly successful.
Terrel paced for several minutes, then set the lamp on a small table near the door. Reaching up, he removed the heavy gold chain he was wearing. Eltiron noticed for the first time that the medallion hanging from it was not the seal of office that Terrel usually wore but an intricate web of gold wire with a large amber stone set in its center. Terrel stared at it for a moment, then wrapped the chain around the medallion and put it in his pocket. Absently, he turned out the lamp, and a moment later Eltiron heard him leave.
For several minutes, Eltiron remained where he was. When he was sure that Terrel would not return, he squeezed out of his hiding place and stoo
d up. He heard a rustling as Crystalorn emerged behind him and discovered that he was not sure whether to be annoyed or grateful. Crouching behind a bench to eavesdrop on a pair of courtiers was not only uncomfortable, it was undignified. On the other hand, knowing about Terrel and Salentor might be very useful.
Behind him he heard a clinking noise, and then a muffled exclamation from Crystalorn. “What’s the matter?” he whispered.
“I’ve spilled most of the oil out of this lamp. Can you find the other one?”
“It’s right by the door.” Eltiron waited another moment while his eyes adjusted to the darkness, then walked across to the table and picked up the lamp. He gave it to Crystalorn, who pulled something from her pocket and bent over it. Eltiron could not see how she intended to light it, but he turned and closed the door just in case she could manage. After all, it was the light coming through the door that had drawn his attention to the room in the first place, and he certainly didn’t want anyone else to come down the hall and find him now.
As the door swung shut, the lamp lit with a fizzing noise and a bright flare of light. Eltiron blinked and squinted. “How did you do that?”
“Firesticks,” Crystalorn said with satisfaction. “It’s the first time I’ve used them; they work very well, don’t they?”
“Yes. What are they?”
“Sticks for lighting fires. Or lamps. And don’t ask me how they work; Amberglas didn’t tell me.”
“Amberglas?”
“You haven’t met her yet? She came to Sevairn with me. I thought she said something about wanting to talk to you, but I must have been wrong. Which isn’t hard, the way she says things. She gave me the firesticks.”
“Oh.”
Crystalorn looked at him warily. “I think we should go now,” she said after a moment, and reached for the lamp.
“I think you should explain first, Your Highness,” Eltiron said, trying to sound firm.
“I suppose so.” Crystalorn sighed, then smiled reluctantly. “You aren’t at all like what I expected, you know.”