“Everyone from Bereich is eager to get home,” Garah said. “And the same goes for Atha and her ships. They’ll stick it out, but they have had enough already.”
“What about the other side?” I asked.
“Flavien is camped not far away and has sued for peace,” Garah said. “Raul and Mother Teilo and Father Cinwil have been beating out the terms with him, and the same with Hengist Guthrumsson for Cennet, and Sidrok Trumwinsson for Aylsfa. Those of Arling’s folk who are left around here have agreed to go back to Jarnholme as soon as they might. Some of them are in Caer Tanaga with Morthu though.”
“What have Flavien and Hengist and Sidrok agreed to?” I asked.
“Well, they have all agreed about the council, and about Glyn being king of Bregheda,” Garah said, and rolled her eyes. “What business it is of theirs to disapprove I don’t know. It has been agreed that in future if there is no clear heir, then the council will decide.” This was exactly the sort of thing Urdo had wanted the council for, of course. “They spent yesterday arguing about ransom for those killed, and today they were ready to move on to accepting Tereg ap Cinvar as king of Tathal.”
“Tereg? I thought his name was Pedrog?” I asked.
“Tereg is the younger brother,” Ulf said. “They were both in ap Erbin’s ala. Pedrog was a decurio. I knew him quite well. He was killed when they charged against the war machines. Tereg is a sequifer. You must have sung over his wounds, because he was quite near me in the sick tent on the night after the battle.”
“We are going to have a number of very young kings,” I said, inadequately. I ran through them in my mind, and realized who hadn’t been mentioned. “What about Angas?” I asked. Garah hesitated and gave me a curious glance. I gave the best smile I could. “What has he agreed to?”
Garah hesitated again. “It’s all right,” Ulf said. “Ap Gwien does not pursue vengeance on past the limits of sense.”
“I know that!” Garah snapped. “Here you are, alive to prove it, when vengeance would have had you dead in the dust five years ago after you killed Morien.” She rolled her eyes.
“Ap Theophilus stood witness that Morien challenged Gunnarsson. It was a judicial combat, and did not break Urdo’s Law,” I said.
“But if you were vengeful past sense you would not have forgiven the bloodfeud,” Ulf said.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I killed Arling in the battle,” I said, suddenly reminded.
Garah laughed. “Everyone knows that,” she said. “The tale of how you killed three kings has not diminished in the telling.”
“Thank you,” Ulf said, simply. Garah looked at him, puzzled.
“We were talking about Angas?” I reminded them.
“Angas has made peace,” Ulf said.
“Darien told me on the night of the battle that Angas had offered him a marriage alliance,” I said.
“And that wasn’t what sent you mad?” Garah asked cautiously.
I laughed, completely taken off balance. “It was Morthu who sent me mad,” I said, when I had recovered myself. “Didn’t Darien tell you?”
“Not in any detail at all,” Garah said.
“Was Morthu here?” Ulf asked. “I thought he was in Caer Tanaga from the evening of the battle.”
“He was in Caer Tanaga,” I said. “He reached here and sent me mad, by sorcery. Then the gods showed me the way back.”
Garah frowned. “You saw them?” she asked tentatively.
“I really am in my right mind again,” I said, and patted her arm. “I saw them all with Darien, but at the end they only helped me as they might help anyone who is lost in a wood. I had conversation only with the Lord of the Slain.” Ulf gave a little growl. “I struck no bargains with him,” I hastened to assure him.
Ulf muttered something into his beard in Jarnish that might have been “Good!” or might have been something else entirely. I decided not to press him about it. The memory of Gangrader’s eyes fixed on mine was still fresh.
“What did he want?” Garah asked gently, looking as if she suspected my wits were still wandering.
It was an impossible question. I wondered if I even knew what the answer was. “I think,” I began tentatively, and then I was sure. “He wanted, all of them wanted, wanted very strongly, for me to come back here and now. There is something I need to do. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s important.”
They both gaped at me, and again their expressions were identical. I did not laugh. “So why are you two together and looking for me?” I asked.
They looked at each other guiltily. “Actually, we weren’t looking for you,” Ulf said. “We were just walking up here to have a private conversation.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” I said, slightly hurt.
“I was hoping we might see you up here,” Garah said. “I have no idea what it was Ulf wanted to talk to me about.”
Ulf looked at me cautiously. “It doesn’t matter,” he said.
“Go on, what is it?” I asked, curious.
“Getting into Caer Tanaga,” he said at last, lowering his voice, though there was nobody anywhere near us. “You got out, ap Gavan. There must be a way back in. Not a way suitable for a whole ala, of course, and not honorable for the High King to be doing it, but if you got out then there is a way one person could go in, and kill Morthu. I could do it. And that would stop this plague killing everyone, and stop him hurting anyone else.”
“Elenn, and the people still in the city, you mean?” Garah asked.
“He is doing terrible things there. Right outside the usage of war. Darien said that to Angas, and Angas agreed.”
I remembered ap Madog asking me about the safety of the people of Magor, and how I had said they were unlikely to wander onto a battlefield. I could hardly believe I had ever been that naive. I shuddered.
“Them, yes, but everyone else as well,” Ulf said. “Morthu was asking for a ship to get away to Narlahena, the last I heard. Think what he could do there. And he could plot from over there, like Marchel. He could come back, in ten years or fifteen, when he was ready, and there would be all this to go through again. And even if he doesn’t do that, he can curse us all with plagues like this one, and the Grandfather of Heroes says it can only be ended when he is killed. Segantia would be a desert. Berth ap Panon is dead of the wound-rot, and he is not the only one. While Morthu lives we are none of us safe.”
“Did Inis definitely say it was—” I began, and then I remembered that I didn’t need to convince Urdo about that anymore. Sitting up here I had almost forgotten he wasn’t down there in the camp. “Where have they buried Urdo?” I asked, abruptly.
“He is near death, but not quite dead yet,” Garah said. “He is in his tent. He hardly speaks or knows anyone is there, but sometimes he can hear what Darien says, and replies.”
I could not imagine why this had gone on so long. Since he was dead, surely it would be better for everyone to know he was dead and for Darien to be ruling clearly in his own name? “I see,” I said.
Garah put her hand on mine sympathetically, then took it back. “I really think you need to bathe,” she said. “You’re all over scratches and grime, even worse than at Caer Lind.”
“I’ll go down soon,” I said. “But you were about to tell Ulf how to get into Caer Tanaga to kill Morthu.”
“You’re not going to stop me?” Ulf asked.
“Stop you?” I took a firm grip on my spear. “Far from it. I’m going to come with you.”
“But will Darien allow it?” Garah asked.
“Probably not, if he is negotiating,” I said. “Also, he wants to kill Morthu himself, though he knows the risk is too high. But we could do it without troubling him with it until Morthu was dead.”
“I am nobody,” Ulf said. “I am one Jarnish armiger. Darien could disown me if I were caught. You are the High King’s mother. You can’t risk giving Morthu a hostage like that.”
“High King’s mother nothing—” I began angrily, but
Garah interrupted me.
“You are Lord of Derwen,” she said. “You would leave another very young king if you are killed.”
“That’s true,” I said slowly. “My lady mother would cope, I suppose, but it will be five years before little Gwien is old enough to be king for himself. All the same, I fought in the battle and could have died, and did not count that a hindrance.”
“The battle yes, but nobody else could have done what you did; you had to fight,” Garah said. “This sneaking into Caer Tanaga is something anyone could do, if it is necessary that anyone do it.”
“I can go alone,” Ulf said. “It will be safest. There is least chance of being seen. I would have gone already without telling anyone, except for needing to know the way.”
“How will you get him to fight you?” Garah asked. “He will not agree. He will use magic and twist your mind against you if you are close to him.”
Ulf shifted uneasily. “I wasn’t planning to talk first,” he said. Garah and I just looked at him. “Yes, I’m prepared to murder him if that’s the only way to kill him!” he said after a moment, too loudly. Some startled pigeons flew up from the trees behind us.
“I need to talk to Darien,” I said, turning the spear in my hands.
“You just said he wouldn’t let me go,” Ulf said.
“He must not negotiate a settlement where Morthu lives on to work malice,” I said. “But sneaking in and murdering Morthu breaks the Peace and Urdo’s Law. I cursed him, and I felt the curse take hold. It will take him.” I felt sure of it.
“But we can’t just sit and do nothing and wait until it does,” Ulf protested. “The gods send aid to those who put themselves in the way of it.”
“And while I don’t agree with murder either,” Garah said, “I did wonder ever since I heard about your curse whether he might be keeping himself alive against the curse by sorcery, and by murdering people to get the power for it.”
My gorge rose and I swallowed hard against it. Had Masarn’s wife died because of my curse? I remembered her long ago, on a cold winter morning at Caer Tanaga, eating chestnuts and smiling, surrounded by children. “We have to stop him,” I said, getting to my feet. “A siege is too long, even if it’s possible.”
“Murder is an ugly word,” Ulf said, looking up at me. “But it is not breaking the Peace for one man to break the Law and afterward come to justice. Remember how after Arvlid died, Urdo persuaded us not to move against Morthu? If I had done what I wanted to then, Morthu would have been under the earth eight years now, there would have been no war, and many good people would still be alive. It was what you wanted to do as well.” He looked steadily at me. It was true. I had regretted it ever since. I raised my chin. “If the gods have brought you back for a reason, maybe you should come with me. Maybe you could kill him with honor. But with or without, the world needs to be rid of him, as it is rid of Arling.”
“Not like that,” I said. “I want him dead as much as you do. But we must not begin Darien’s reign with murder. That is not what the gods want.” I looked at the spear, which just seemed like any spear, and at the thin white scar on my thumb, which looked as if it healed ten years ago at least. “The Smith put this into my hand for some purpose, and it was not to kill Morthu. It might be to rescue Elenn and the people of Caer Tanaga. But I need to speak to Darien. There might be a way to do it without going through the heating system.”
“It might not even be safe,” Garah said. “He will know I escaped, and Elenn might have told him how. You know how it is, when you’re talking to him what he says sounds like the most reasonable thing in the world and you almost agree. If he told her I was a traitor she might have shown him the entrance, and he might have blocked it, or have someone waiting there to get anyone coming in that way. Also, some parts are quite narrow—I’m not sure either of you would fit.”
“I’d take that risk,” Ulf said stubbornly.
I shook my head. “I’m going to find Darien,” I said, and turned to walk down toward the camp.
Garah hurried after me. “Aren’t you going to wash first?” she asked. “He’ll be busy with the peace talks, but he’ll probably come as soon as he hears you’re here. You probably have time to wash in the river.”
“That seems like a good idea,” I said. I glanced back at Ulf, who was sitting with his hands on his knees, looking thoroughly dejected. I felt an urge to throw something at him. “Come down to camp,” I called, startling the pigeons again. He got up and trudged down after us.
“I’m going to bathe, then I’m going to talk to Darien,” I said. “When we have a plan for a group to go in, I’ll make sure you’re part of it.”
“Thank you,” he said grudgingly.
“And if anyone is to go through the old heating system, it should be me,” Garah said.
“But you just said how dangerous it would be!” I said.
“It would be more dangerous for anyone else who wasn’t sure of the way, and especially if they were bigger,” Garah said, and shrugged.
We went on down into the camp. People immediately began fussing around me, as I had known they would. I told them I had been driven mad by Morthu’s sorcery, and didn’t say anything about what happened with time, or the gods. I might as well not have troubled myself. To this day they say that wood is haunted, and who is to say it is not?
At last I came down to the River Agned. They said it had flowed red with blood after the battle on the bridge, but it was back to the usual clear brown of river water by now. Ulf had gone off somewhere, probably to sulk about not being allowed to murder Morthu on his own account. Elidir was pressing soap on me and Govien was trying to explain exactly how he’d arranged the ala while I was away and Garah was fussing about my armor when they suddenly all went quiet. I looked up to see why, halfway through unbuckling the strap under my arm.
Angas was there. He had not long come out of the water, and had a towel in his hand. He had a nasty cut on his thigh, which he had taken from my sword; he was bruised around the shoulders, and his hair was streaming wet.
His eyes looked bruised, too, as if he had not slept for days.
“Sulien,” he said. “My old friend—” He trailed off, and tears welled in his eyes.
I just looked at him. I realized I was reaching for my sword only when my hand closed on my empty scabbard. “Traitor,” I said.
He stepped back a little as if I had struck him unexpectedly. “Must we be enemies?” he asked. I caught sight of Garah’s horrified face out of the corner of my eye.
“No,” I said. “No, King of Demedia, we have no blood-feud. The High King has made peace with you. If you can keep the law then assuredly I can. You need have no fear that Derwen will seek revenge.” The tears ran down into his beard, but I stayed absolutely cold.
“Urdo made us embrace as friends when we had quarreled about his birth,” he said. I remembered it well, the first night I rode with the ala, the spears against the sunset. “Sulien—”
“Derwen will keep the peace with Demedia,” I repeated.
He bowed his head. “I hoped you would understand,” he said.
“Oh, I understand,” I said. “I even pity you. I know about Morthu. But you could have spoken to me like this at the truce talks, you could have stopped giving in to Morthu; you killed Urdo by your own will and with your own hand and I cannot forgive that. As for my own private self, well Angas, old friend, if you don’t get out of my sight right now I am going to do my best to kill you barehanded.”
It would have given me a great deal of pleasure. But he left, not looking back, and I took off the rest of my armor and went down to the river.
— 23 —
Greatest of all living men is Aulius
who has restored the state
the great soldier, the great patron of art,
the great administrator,
Aulius, most renowned son of mother Vinca.
Fresh from his victory over the Sifacians
(and their adhe
rents, our treacherous fellow-citizens,)
he returns to Vinca to march in triumph
to be proclaimed the father of his country,
bringer of peace, saviour of the state.
From the Northern snows to the Southern desert
from one end of Empire to the other,
everyone takes notice of his goodwill,
his mercy, his benevolence.
Everyone offers flowers, or writes praise songs.
—“The Civil Wars Are Over Forever,”
Flaccus, Aulian Ode 2
As soon as I was dry and dressed in clean clothes, I dealt with Govien’s most urgent queries. I wished that Emlin was here, or Masarn for that matter, or ap Erbin. I decided that from now on I would train all my decurios so that they could do a tribuno’s work at need. The problem wasn’t that Govien couldn’t do it; he could, he just didn’t trust himself with it. I agreed with his dispositions and reassured him. Then I went to find Darien.
He was sitting outside Urdo’s tent arguing with a round-faced man wearing a torn and soot-stained drape. As I came up he made a gesture of dismissal, and the man grabbed his hand. I stepped forward. I had brought the spear with me, without considering it, and now I found it ready in my hand. Before I could reach him two of the guards had dragged the man away from Darien. They heaved him up and slung him down in a patch of mud, then watched with their hands on their weapons as he backed away.
“Who was that?” I asked, curious.
“Ap Alexias of Caer Custenn,” Darien said, his eyes on the man. He beckoned to the guard. “Send someone to follow him and make sure we know where he goes. He should not leave the camp. If he attempts any mischief, bring him to me.”
“Yes, my lord,” the guard said, and strode off.
There were other people waiting to speak to Darien, but he dismissed them. “Come back later,” he said. “I would speak to my mother alone for a while. If Raul comes, send him to me.”
“Ap Alexias was one of the men who worked the war machines,” Darien went on quickly, when we were alone but for guards and messengers, who waited where they could catch hand signals but not overhear quiet conversation. “He knows nothing about their construction, only their operation. He is the only survivor of their Lossian crews. He expects me to provide a ship to take him back to Caer Custenn.”