“Go now to the rest you so richly deserve,” he said to his leronyn. “We will do what is needful here and as soon as may be, we will ride for Hali also. If Aldones smiles upon us, we will find Orain there with Rakhal in his custody, or else encamped at the gates, waiting for us.”
Jandria and the men withdrew, but Maura remained behind. He held out his hands and she came to him. Her hair did not smell of the usual intermingled sunshine and sweet herbs, but of smoke and the faint, acrid tang of clingfire.
Carolin seated her in one of the folding camp chairs and lowered himself in the other. He offered her a goblet of the wine he had not been able to touch earlier. “Now tell me, preciosa —”
Just then, he heard a commotion outside the tent, men’s voices, a horse’s hoofbeats and labored breathing, a sharp cry of command. The tent flap lifted and the guard stuck his head in.
“Vai dom, it is one of the men who rode with Lord Orain.”
Carolin leaped to attention. “Send him in.”
He recognized the man, a boy barely the age he’d been when he went to Arilinn, but one of the fastest riders in his company. From the way he handled horses, Carolin had wondered if he might not have a touch of the MacAran gift.
The boy wavered on his feet, gasping for breath. What was left of cloak and tunic were black with sweat and mud, blood as well. He took a step into the tent, raised one hand, and fell forward on to his knees.
“We—we had almost caught them—they set an ambush—Lyondri’s men—came at us—” His voice cracked, on the edge of a sob. “We fought—Aldones knows how we fought—”
Carolin felt Maura stir beside him, but she said nothing.
“Lord Orain?” he said, dreading the answer.
The boy fell back, so that he sat upon his heels, body curved forward, hands braced on either side of his knees. His shoulders heaved with the effort to draw breath. “He lives—at least, when I left him—but—” He looked up, tears streaking the grime on his cheeks. “But, vai dom, the last I saw of him, he was the prisoner of Lord Lyondri. Those of us who could, continued the chase. I took the fastest horse and came back. Would that I had died with the others, rather than carry this news!”
“Be at ease, lad,” Carolin said, and saw the responsive lightening of the boy’s spirit. He felt a wave of compassion for anyone who bore such a burden, let alone one so young. In a moment, his own fury and grief would set in, but he had time enough to send the boy away with a morsel of comfort and to direct a guard to see him given food and a dry bed. He turned to Maura as the dam burst.
Orain! In Lyondri’s clutches! he stormed. May Zandru curse both him and Rakhal with scorpion whips to the last level of his frozen hells! If they have harmed so much as one hair of Orain’s head, I will tear them to bleeding pieces with my own hands—
“Hush, love,” she whispered, laying a finger across his lips. “You cannot know what you will find at Hali. The only thing certain is that you will cripple your ability to think and act if you go on in this manner. For now, there is nothing you can do for Orain, nothing except rest and prepare yourself for the journey tomorrow,”
No soldier could have said it more clearly. He sighed, wishing he could so easily put aside the anguish raging in his heart.
“I will try to rest, since it is wise,” he said, hearing weariness roughen his voice, “though I do not think I have ever felt less able to sleep.”
“Leave that to me.”
Maura awoke in the middle of the night, sitting bolt upright. Carolin, rousing at her side, could not tell if she had cried out aloud or only in her mind. He reached for her, felt her trembling.
“What is it? What has happened?”
She was breathing fast and hard, as if she had been running. “I Saw—a terrible battle.” From her tone, this was no ordinary dream, but a result of the Sight.
Sitting, he took her into his arms. “You are safe here. My armies guard us. Nothing can harm you.”
She shook her head, creating ripples of movement in her unbound hair. “Not here—far away. Hali—the circle there—ordered to attack Hestral Tower.”
Hestral Tower! Where Varzil had gone...
“They cast a spell of unmaking upon Hestral’s very foundations, enough to bring the Tower down in ruin. Oh, Carlo, it is a terrible thing when one Tower makes war upon another. Many of us have kin in other Towers, or have trained together. Almost every night, we speak mind-to-mind across the relays.”
“In the name of all the gods, why would Hali do such a thing?”
“They would not make clingfire for Rakhal.” She shuddered, wrapping her arms around her body. “This was his doing. His, alone! But all is not lost. Hali broke off the attack before the destruction was complete. Varzil stood against them, bathed in silver light like Aldones himself. He—he showed them the horror of what they were doing and convinced them they must not fight one another.” She drew a deep breath. “Now Hali swears they will never do so again, nor will they make any laran weaponry for Rakhal or any other king.”
Carolin shook his head in amazement. Hali, of all Towers beholden to Rakhal, had in essence agreed to their pact. If any man could bring such a conflict to a halt, and in such a way that the Towers vowed neutrality, it was Varzil.
Varzil the Stubborn, Varzil the Resourceful, he thought. Varzil who faced down a pride of catmen to save his brother, who had foiled more than one assassination attempt, who shared his dream of a peace with honor for all Darkover. Varzil the Good.
49
Maura and Ruyven continued their laran search for Romilly as Carolin moved his forces through the outlying Venza Hills to the gates of Hali. He took with him all those men yet able to fight, leaving behind only sufficient numbers to care for the wounded. Fortunately, the lords and smallholders in that area were sympathetic, having suffered much under Rakhal’s rule, so that food for men and beasts would not be a pressing problem.
As Maura had said, Carolin did not know what conditions he might find at Hali, although it was unlikely that Rakhal would be able to amass another army. Yet Carolin must move swiftly, before Rakhal could set another trap or dig in his position so deep, they would have to fight from one room of the castle to the next.
Every passing hour tore at Carolin’s heart. Sometimes, as he gazed into the fires of his encampment along the road, it seemed that every one who had loved or trusted him met some terrible fate. All the men and horses slain in his cause, even poor Alianora dead in bearing his child, Romilly driven to madness, Orain ... he dared not think of what Orain might be suffering.
A whisper brushed his mind, I am here, bredu, and he sensed in Varzil’s presence an inexpressible comfort. Do not lose heart, for the men who followed you, and the women, too, did so freely. Already our dream is taking hold. Towers are turning away from the folly of destruction, and everywhere men look to you in hope.
Then, Carolin promised silently, he must not give way to despair. He roused himself to walk the camp, so that all would see him, hear his voice, feel his care for them, both his own men and the Swordswomen who had chosen to go with him. Along the road, the ranks had swelled with the shattered fragments of Rakhal’s army. Some of the men, having made their submission to Carolin, asked to be released on parole and return to their farms, but others offered their swords to the true Hastur King.
At last, they came to Hali itself, the long dimness of the lake, the Tower like a pale slender finger of light rising on the far shore, and the city hunched and gray under a lowering sky. A length of wall, much of it still bearing the laran imprint of its hasty construction, encircled the city. Before long, Rakhal sent out a messenger. Orain was his hostage, and if Carolin or any of his men entered the city in an attempt at rescue, he would kill Orain at once. Clearly, Rakhal intended to use Orain to parley.
Carolin sent back an offer of safe conduct for both Rakhal and Lyondri to beyond the Kadarin or wherever they wished to go, provided Orain was released unharmed. Lyondri’s son might return safely to Nev
arsin, or be reared according to his rank at Hali along urith Carolin’s own sons. It was perhaps too generous an offer, but he wanted to give Rakhal a solid reason to compromise. As long as his cousin saw no hope, his rising desperation would prompt him to more and more reckless actions.
Silence answered him. Hours passed, and then a day. The search for Romilly continued. Alderic pleaded with Carolin to offer himself in exchange for his father, along with a small treasure of copper and gold.
“I do not think Rakhal will listen,” Carolin said, “but you may try.” He hoped that Orain lived through this ordeal, if only to know what a fine and loyal son he had fathered.
Rakhal flatly rejected Alderic’s proposal. Maura made the same offer, that she would give herself up to Rakhal, even going into exile with him, if that was what he wished. Rakhal did not even answer her.
Just before sunset, a horn sounded from the city and another messenger rode out. Carolin recognized him as a minor lord whose fortunes had fared badly after some reversals in the cortes, and who clearly had prospered under Rakhal’s favor, by the rich cloth of his cloak and the silver ornaments on his horse’s saddle. After an elaborate bow, he handed Carolin’s officer a small wooden box, saying he had been bidden to deliver it into Carolin’s own hands before speaking his message. Carolin took it into his tent where, surrounded by Maura, Ruyven, and Alderic, he opened it. The slender package of yellow silk was sticky with blood. His hands shook as he lifted it out and unfolded the wrapping.
Inside lay a severed finger, callused and caked with blood. It still bore a little copper ring set with a blue stone called a sky-tear. Carolin had last seen it on Orain’s hand.
This very finger had clasped a sword hilt in Carolin’s defense, wrapped rags around Carolin’s half-frozen feet that first terrible winter beyond the Kadarin, nursed a handful of twigs into a fire. It had also raised a goblet of wine in celebration, stitched broken harness with precise skill, caressed a lover. Now it was no more than a rotting piece of flesh and the hand which bore it—
Carolin’s vision went gray and then red. He felt Maura’s touch as she took the hideous packet from him. She said nothing, offering only her silent presence. Alderic’s anger rippled through the tent, and then he wept.
It was many long minutes before Carolin was ready to hear the rest of the message. Ruyven signaled to the guards that the messenger might enter.
The messenger bowed and assumed an oratory posture. “In the name of Rakhal Felix-Alar—”
“Yes, we know who sent you,” Carolin snarled. “Just say what you have come to say.”
The messenger swallowed, his cheeks blanching. “I am bid to say that unless you, Carolin, unlawful pretender to the throne of Hastur, surrender yourself and your armies to King Rakhal, he will return your paxman to you, one piece at a time. You have until dawn to give your answer.”
His final words faded away into shocked silence. With another bow, this one considerably less assured than the first, the messenger withdrew.
Ruyven, looking even paler than usual, turned to Carolin. “You aren’t seriously—you cannot consider—” “
It took all Carolin’s strength to walk calmly to the camp chair and lower himself into it. In truth, for a single heartbeat, he had believed the only way to save Orain’s life was to do as Rakhal insisted. His own death would be quick enough, for Rakhal could not risk another claimant to the throne.
Then the enormity of Rakhal’s demand, the monstrous truth of what and who he was, swept over Carolin. If Rakhal would do this to Orain—or more likely, order Lyondri to do it—Orain who had been as a brother to them both from the time they were children, Orain who had served Lyondri faithfully for so long—Then in the name of all the gods, Carolin thought, what will he do to my people?
They all turned to stare at him. Carolin found his voice. “No,” he said. “No matter what happens, I will not betray everything we have fought so hard for.”
Maura said gently, “Orain would not have it otherwise. He would let himself be cut into little pieces to save you, to save the kingdom.”
Rakhal knows that, Carolin thought. He knows that I would give my own life for Orain. But it is not mine to give.
“We all love Orain,” Maura went on. “If there were a way to save him, any one of us would offer ourselves. That is not what Rakhal wants. I know how he thinks, although to my shame, I once tried to justify his actions. He wants above all to win, and he does not care how. He knows you love Orain, and he thinks that he can use that love to bend you to his will. But he does not know you. He sees you only as a fool who trusted too much. He cannot imagine that you are bound by something higher than your own personal feelings.”
Carolin straightened his shoulders. Grief lapped at him, the pain of the loss to come and the knowledge that he was powerless to prevent the torture which Lyondri’s butchers would surely inflict upon Orain, piece by piece, day by day,
“We will continue attempts at negotiation,” he said. “Perhaps Rakhal may hold off while he believes we are giving in. Something we cannot foresee may yet turn up. Meanwhile, we will begin preparations to take the city by force.”
Late in the day, Jandria came to Carolin’s tent. He welcomed her and bade her sit beside him. In the lamplight, she looked haggard, with little remaining of her old prettiness, but she held herself with quiet competence. Whatever she had been, she was now a pledged Swordswoman, and sister to every other woman who wore the gold earring and red vest.
“We have made laran contact with Romilly,” she said, brightening. “Maura and the others have been trying to reach her ever since she disappeared after the last battle. We thought she must be hiding, not wanting to be found, for Ruyven would surely have known if she were dead.”
“She is alive, then.” The knot of pain in Carolin’s heart eased ever so slightly.
“Yes, although she has been living in the wilds like an animal. You were right, the battle was too much for her. Her mind was linked to the stallion’s when he died. You know the bond she had with all the animals she trained.”
Carolin nodded. Too much pain, too much loss, felt so deeply, without any defense ...
He wondered if any of them were ever truly prepared for the horrors of war, the brutalities of men like Rakhal and Lyondri, the betrayal of kinsmen.
Jandria had paused and was gazing at him with a mixture of compassion and reserve. “Romilly will come as quickly as she can, although the Dark Lady alone knows when that might be. She, too, loves Orain and will not leave him in Lyondri’s clutches if there is any way she can help.”
Romilly galloped into the army encampment two days later, riding a rangy, ill-bred roan gelding without any saddle or bridle. Carolin felt her presence even as she passed the outlying guards. Jandria rushed out to meet her, along with Alderic and Ruyven.
She looked weary, wearing a filthy, torn tunic and breeches, her hair matted and wild. Claw marks, still bloody, crossed her cheek and one earlobe was torn through. But her eyes were steady as she put off their questions.
“Later,” she insisted. “What is this about Orain being held hostage by Lyondri? Tell me!”
Carolin held out his hands to her. His heart rose in his throat and spoke with its own voice.
“Child—” he began, and she came into his arms as if she were indeed his dear child. He hugged her hard, feeling the wiry strength of her body. Into the tangle of her hair, he murmured, “I thought I had lost you, too. You and Orain, who both followed me, not as a king, but as a fugitive.”
He drew her into the tent, where they all gathered around, the people who had searched for her, Maura and Alderic, Ruyven and Jandria. Jandria insisted that Romilly take some cold meat and bread. Romilly ate as if she had not tasted food since the great battle. She would not speak of her flight or how she had survived in the wilderness, not even when Jandria, washing the cuts on her cheek, questioned her. Her thoughts were only for Orain, as Carolin knew they would be.
When he drew out
the package with Orain’s finger, she struggled visibly to keep from retching; her horror and outrage washed over him, echoing his own.
“Yesterday, it was an ear.” Carolin’s voice wavered, and he feared that if he went on, he would weep aloud.
Jandria said grimly, “I swear, I shall not sleep until Lyondri has been flayed alive!”
“Do not swear so,” Maura said, “for we have all suffered enough at his hands.”
“You come when we have almost lost hope,” Carolin said. “We are on the brink of storming the city, knowing that our action will bring Orain a swift, clean death.”
For the last two days, his men and leronyn had struggled to find a way into the city, but Rakhal had set sentry birds and savage dogs around the gates, which raised the alarm when a scout tried to sneak in. With their laran, they tried to follow the common soldier who brought the next bloody token, but Rakhal’s own sorcerers had set a psychic shield around the city. In the end, they had no choice but to proceed with a direct assault. In preparation, Carolin sent a promise of amnesty for every man in the city who did not raise a hand against him. The Tower had already declared itself neutral as a result of Varzil’s intervention; it would make no weapons and supply no leronyn for either side. Rakhal was cut off from any hope of reinforcement.
“We will take the city at dawn,” Carolin finished.
Romilly listened thoughtfully, especially to his description of the animal sentries. “My laran is of little use against men,” she reminded him, “and I have no power against Rakhal’s psychic defenses. But I have no fear of any dog or bird, or any natural creature. Let me go into the city before dawn and search for Orain in my own way. If I can find him, and bring him out safely, then you can attack freely.”