Keeper of the Keys

  The captain's eyebrows rose. He flashed Jaric a startled glance and bellowed irritably for the horse-boy.

  But the child on duty ran from the stables already. He caught the reins Corley flung with deft efficiency, relieved Taen of her mare, and jerked his head at Jaric's grey. 'Let that one go. He's battle-trained to stand.'

  'On, then.' Corley caught Jaric's arm in a firm grip and steadied the boy's first steps. Bent against the downpour, Taen followed the two of them across the rain-sleek slate of the bailey.

  'Kor damn the weather!' Corley stepped through the vaulted arches from the dooryard. 'Made just to please the ducks.'

  Blotting his face on his surcoat, he marked puddled footsteps the length of the hallway beyond. Taen shed her cloak as she walked, and nearly repeated Corley's oath as a thick lock of hair snagged on the Kielmark's ruby pin. She worried at the tangle with her head tilted sideways, out of habit veering towards the entrance to the main hall.

  'No, Lady,' said Corley without turning around. Cued to the Dreamweaver's change in direction by the sound of her footsteps, he added more kindly, 'The Kielmark waits in his private study.'

  Taen yanked her hair free of the brooch and irritably hurried to catch up while the captain steered Jaric up a short flight of steps. She followed the length of a corridor floored with gold-veined marble. The ironbound door at the end lay ajar, firelight shining through the crack.

  Corley shouldered the panel open without knocking.

  'I have the both of them, Lord, sopped as fishes, but secure.'

  The door swung wide, revealing a patterned expanse of carpet, carved chairs, and tables untidily sprawled with charts. Flame-light glanced over gilt carving and curled parchment, and cast crawling shadows across walls lined with books. No method attended their shelving; Cliffhaven castle held priceless treasure, plundered and gathered as tribute from ships which hailed from the farthest corners of Keithland. But the owner cared nothing for neatness. A pearl and lacquer side table supported a box of rusty horseshoes, and a smiling marble cherub danced with the Kielmark's buckler and great sword slung across its wings.

  A man muscled to match that weapon rose from behind the charts. Candles flickered in the draught from the door, spattering light over eyes pale and restless as a wolf's. Beneath wavy black hair, the Sovereign Ruler of Cliffhaven wore an expression ominous as thunderheads. 'You're late,' he opened sharply. 'The watch reported twenty minutes ago.' Rubies sparkled in the torque at his throat as he moved around the table.

  Corley offered no excuse, but turned and gently latched the door. Long years in the Kielmark's service had taught him when to keep silent. Left facing Jaric, the Lord of Cliffhaven treated the boy to a glance of rapacious intensity. Then he crossed the chamber in three fluid strides.

  'Young fool.' The Kielmark caught Jaric's shoulder, spun him deftly into a chair, and bellowed for a servant to bring mulled wine. Then he gestured for Taen and Corley to be seated.

  'Don't mind the wet clothes,' he barked as Taen hesitated. 'There are plenty more pretty chairs in the warehouses by the dockside.'

  Taen sat, wincing for the abused brocade. As the candle flames steadied and brightened, she noticed that the Kielmark's leather tunic was creased and soiled with ship's tar; his nails were rimmed with dirt, and his hair lay in soggy curls against his neck. No doubt he had come directly from the wharf, where his men shortened docklines against the rising wind.

  Restless as live coals, the Kielmark paced before the hearth. Although his face lay in shadow, his displeasure could be felt the breadth of the room. He stopped without warning and spoke. 'Kor's Fires, boy, the Dreamweaver told us you wouldn't raise Anskiere. Did you have to stay out sulking all night?'

  Jaric stiffened, and Taen stifled a cry behind her knuckles.

  Before she could speak, the Kielmark rounded on her, eyes slitted with keen speculation. 'Ah, so you didn't tell him.'

  Taen shook her head, annoyed to see her efforts wasted. As Jaric turned resentful eyes towards her, she tried desperately to mend the damage caused by the Kielmark's thoughtlessness. 'You wouldn't have listened, Jaric. No matter what anyone said, you would have gone to the ice cliffs to see for yourself.'

  Yet Jaric misinterpreted. His grip tightened on the arms of his chair until the fingers stood white against the wood. Fair, wind-tangled hair dripped water down the line of a jaw just starting to show a beard. Barely eighteen, he was ill prepared to contend with the fate Ivain Firelord had bequeathed him. Caught by a moment of pity, Taen reached out with her powers, and brushed lightly through the surface of his mind in an instinctive desire to reassure.

  Jaric felt her touch and flinched. Cut by his mistrust, and unpleasantly aware of how closely the Kielmark followed the exchange, Taen tried again. Her tone turned sharper than she intended. 'Jaric, I needed no Vaerish sorceries to see your desire to be released from Anskiere's geas.'

  That moment the latch clicked. The Kielmark spun on light feet as the door opened and a grizzled servant entered with a tray. Wary of his master's mood, the man moved with maximum speed and no noise. He rested his burden by the box of horseshoes. The scent of spices and hot spirits filled the room as he began to pour from a cut-crystal carafe.

  The Kielmark caught up the first tankard the instant it was full and personally handed the steaming drink to Jaric. 'You're numbed witless from the cold, boy. A girl-child could knock you down with a rag doll.'

  Jaric lifted the tankard to his lips. He managed a shaky swallow, and a thin flush of colour suffused his cheeks. The Kielmark folded his arms; as if softened by a woman's touch, his stance relaxed, and Taen sensed the tension leave him. Corley released a pent-up breath, pulled a knife from his boot, and with soft, rhythmic strokes scraped the blade across the whetstone in his other hand. As if the habit signalled safety, the servant resumed his duties.

  'Now,' said the Kielmark. Parchment crackled as he braced his weight against the chart table and swept a glance around the chamber. 'Here is what I propose.'

  But his tone of voice suggested outright command. As Taen accepted mulled wine from the servant, she understood no debate would be tolerated. Corley knew also. His steel sang crisply under the pressure of his hands, and his deep, cinnamon eyes stayed shadowed under his lashes.

  'My brigantine Moonless is provisioned and a full crew stands anchor watch.' The Kielmark hooked his thumbs in his belt. 'When the tide turns, she'll sail and take you both to the Isle of the Vaere under my flag.'

  Jaric perched his tankard between his knees. His cheeks flushed red in the firelight as he looked up. 'No.'

  Corley's whetstone bit into steel with a clear and savage ring, and the servant fled from the chamber. Taen felt a stab of dread. Fearfully she watched the Kielmark's sword arm bunch until the muscles strained the stitches of his cuff.

  'Boy, I didn't hear you say that.'

  'You will.' Jaric lifted his chin with unprecedented composure. 'My boat Callinde was a loan. She must be returned to a fisherman in Mearren Ard.'

  Deliberate as a cat, the Kielmark straightened. Corley's fingers froze on his knife, and the whetstone's whispered stroke went silent. Taen's skin prickled with alarm. With the sensitivity of her dream-sense upset by an overpowering threat of violence, she saw Jaric must desist, or risk destruction. She acted without thought, and initiated the rapport shared through the dangerous recovery of the Keys to Elrinfaer. For she knew the single fact which could forestall his headlong course and protect him from the Kielmark's wrath. Given no time to soften fact, Taen balanced her gift, bent Jaric's mind to a place leagues distant, and forced him to see.

  Under her influence, the chamber rippled, transformed, became a misty shore haunted by the dissonant cries of gulls. In the smoke-dimmed interior of a shack which reeked of fish, a girl wept over the body of an elderly man. Closed in death, his eyes no longer shone with the piercing clarity of a sailor; work-crippled hands lay slack against mottled, silver-tipped furs costly enough to clothe a prince.

&nb
sp; Through the rapport of the dream-link, Taen felt the echo of Jaric's shock as he recognized the girl and her uncle. His grief cut like a cry through darkness, for the man, Mathieson Keldric, had once answered a boy's desperate need and traded his only treasure for a cloak of ice-otter fur he had not wanted. Repaired and seaworthy, Callinde had sailed; Jaric had been spared, but the loss of a beloved boat had broken the old man's heart.

  The link shattered, dissolved into firelight and book-smell as Jaric wrenched free. 'Kordane's Blessed Fires!' He turned tortured eyes to Taen, and she read there a desperation beyond her ability to fathom. 'You might have spared me that!'

  She stared at the carpet, her toes jabbed angrily into patterned wool. Tears stung her lashes. She held them back, determined Jaric should not see. Spare him she could not; had he persisted in sailing for Mearren Ard, the Kielmark would have lost his temper, and in the unpredictable reaction which followed, the Firelord's sole heir might easily have been killed.

  'So,' the Kielmark concluded. Muscle rippled under his tunic as he braced one arm against the mantel. 'You'll not be sailing to return your craft to a corpse.'

  Jaric sat spear-straight in his chair. Steam drifted from his tankard, wound lazy ribbons through the air before him. 'Neither will I sail for the Isle of the Vaere. I'm going to Landfast to study the libraries instead.'

  Corley stopped breathing. The Kielmark released a great, rowdy laugh, but the sound held menace like barbs wrapped in velvet. 'I'd kill you,' he said simply.

  'I'd let you.' Jaric's hands remained motionless in his lap. He held the Kielmark's furious gaze and his voice continued, passionless as ice water through the charged atmosphere of the room. 'Better I died, I think, than accept the madness, the recklessness, and the cruelty of my father's heritage.'

  The Kielmark's brows knotted. His eyes narrowed in surprise and he glanced swiftly at Taen.

  The enchantress nodded, dream-sent a spurious message much as she had when in the heat of the battle she had helped defend Cliffhaven against the demons. 'He means it, Lord. Jaric has been pressured as much as a man can be, and still believe in himself. Remember and be cautious. He faced down the Stormwarden before you, and lost.'

  The Kielmark stretched like a dog kicked out of sleep. He ran thick fingers through his hair and suddenly grinned. 'You're a bold one, I'll give you that,' he said to Jaric. 'And more like Ivain than you'd know, there's fact if ever you discover manhood enough to face it.' His manner changed, abruptly turned to challenge. 'Why Landfast?'

  Jaric drew a shaky breath and spoke over the careful scrape of Corley's knife. 'I intend to find an alternative answer to sorcery.'

  'Ah.' The Kielmark pushed off from the mantel, began restlessly pacing the rug. 'Then you'll sail there on Moonless, and Corley will captain.'

  Jaric made a slight sound. Before Taen could gather a shred of power in defence, the Kielmark plucked the sword from the cherub's back. Steel sang from his sheath with killing speed. In one spinning instant, the bare blade lay poised against Jaric's neck. Corley froze in place. Taen felt her hands break into sweat. With painstaking control she balanced her awareness, knowing all the while her powers were useless. Whether or not she stunned the Kielmark unconscious, the sword lay too close for safety. If the hand that held the weapon loosened, the weight of the blade alone would cut the flesh beneath.

  The Kielmark spoke into sudden stillness, his voice barely audible over the snap of the fire in the grate.

  'You'll listen, Firelord's heir.' His fist tightened; steel pressed against Jaric's skin, drawing a thin bead of blood. 'One hundred and eighty-four of my best men lie dead because of the Keys to Elrinfaer. I'll not repeat the experience, not for pride or any man's protest. Where you go, the Keys go. Demons and trouble will follow like sharks on a gaffed fish. You know this.'

  The Kielmark's wrists flexed, and the sword lifted so abruptly the edge sang through the air. 'You may have your time at Landfast. But only if you and that Dreamweaver board Moonless at once. There's a man waiting at the docks with a longboat. If you wish, your sloop Callinde may go along in tow, but you'll sail nowhere without my escort. Am I clear?'

  Jaric swallowed, nodded, and touched a finger to the tiny drop of blood on his neck. Beside the Kielmark's great bulk, he seemed slight to the point of fragility. His brown eyes turned poignant with uncertainty, as if he doubted his choice. Yet at length he stirred and stood.

  'So,' said the Kielmark. He sounded strangely tired. 'You're dismissed.'

  Like a warning, Corley's whetstone and knife stayed silent. Taen set her tankard down. Her hands shook and she dreaded the act of standing. Sapped by a sudden, fervent desire to be safely back on the Isle of the Vaere, she shut her eyes to regain her composure. A touch smoothed the hair against her shoulder. Taen looked, found Jaric before her with one hand extended. He half lifted her to her feet. Through his wiry strength, she felt the tremors which shook him; but whether he shivered from cold or the aftermath of fear she could not tell.

  'Corley, I want a word with you.' The Lord of Cliffhaven rested his sword point downward against the carpet. He stared through the rain-washed glass of the casement, and did not move until Dreamweaver and Firelord's heir had departed.

  V

  Crossing

  The latch clicked shut, and the sound of footsteps dwindled down the passage beyond the Kielmark's study. The Lord of Cliffhaven sheathed the sword he had turned upon Jaric and carefully lowered his muscled bulk into the nearest chair. Light from the candelabra fell full across his face, illuminating abrasions and bruises left over from his ruse to defeat Kisburn's army. Four days with too little rest had not encouraged healing. Deison Corley studied the Kielmark's pose with perception well honed by familiarity, and at once understood what the effort with the sword had cost. The captain bent with all the tact he possessed and sheathed his dagger in his boot. Then, absorbed by the movement of his hands, he straightened, flicked his wrist, and caught the slender blade which slithered from his sleeve. With what seemed limitless patience, he set steel against whetstone and began rhythmically to hone the point.

  'That boy is a brash one,' the Kielmark said presently.

  Corley scraped his blade across stone and grimaced. 'Got a will like one of Tierk's new anchor chains. And the girl's no different. Ever wonder how old she was when the Vaere took her for training?'

  'Taen?' The Kielmark rested his chin on his fist. 'She told me once.' His voice resumed quietly over the whispered ring of the dagger. 'The last memory she had before her passage into mastery was that of a ten-year-old girl.'

  Corley's hands faltered, stopped. 'Kor's Fires!' But blasphemy was inadequate; with an incredulity that prickled the hairs on his neck, the captain recalled Taen's part in the recent battle against Kisburn's army. She might wear the body of a grown woman, but in years and worldly experience, she was poignantly, vulnerably young. 'Did you know her age before you asked her to dream-weave those defences?'

  'No,' said the Kielmark abruptly. With Corley he made no effort to school his manner. 'Count on this, though. The Vaere themselves are desperate. Jaric is their final hope for Anskiere.'

  Steel sheared ringingly across whetstone. Corley remained silent, aware as no stranger could be that orders were forthcoming.

  The Kielmark straightened without warning. 'You will sail Moonless to Landfast. Place Jaric in the hands of Kor's priests, for trouble will nest with him like swarming wasps and he mustn't be caught defenceless in the countryside. I want the Dreamweaver clear of danger. She broke her oath with the Vaere to remain here and save Cliffhaven. Guard her life as you would my own, and return her to the Isle of the Vaere.'

  Corley set his whetstone on his knee and laid the little knife aside. He knew the Lord of Cliffhaven well enough to expect more instruction.

  The Kielmark rose. Propped by one arm against the edge of the table, he fished beneath horseshoes and with a clanking jangle of metal, retrieved a leather sack. This he tossed to his captain. Corley stretched and
fielded the object without upsetting knife and whetstone. Coins chimed as he thrust the bag beneath his tunic.

  Across the room the King of Pirates stared at sky through the casement. 'Someone well versed in arms made sure that Jaric carries a very fine sword. Corley, you must see he finishes learning how to use it. Instruct him during the crossing to Landfast. When you make port, use the gold to hire the city's most skilful weapons master. He will pose as a tutor, but actually serve Jaric as bodyguard. The boy is not to know. Let him believe his teacher saw talent, and chose as a gift to develop it.'

  Cued by a shift in his master's stance, Corley slipped his whetstone in his pocket. He sheathed the knife with an almost imperceptible movement and stood, awaiting the Kielmark's final instructions.

  'Make a safe passage, old friend.' The King of Pirates clapped Corley's shoulder in a rare gesture of concern. 'I'd trust this task to no other.'

  'Fires.' Corley rolled his eyes at the ceiling, a devilish grin on his lips. 'You would've, and for a song, too, if Selk's old hag of a wife hadn't tripped on that hen and done herself in with a pothook. One yell from her, even demons'd flee. Any kid old enough to eat meat would've taken to weapons in self-defence.'

  The Kielmark rewarded him with a genuine shout of laughter. 'Get out,' he said, gasping. 'Warp Moonless out of the harbour, or I swear I'll attach Selk's wife's maiden sister to your pay share!'

  Corley laid his hand on the latch. 'Don't. She's community property. We're saving her for the light tower in case the fog bells ever crack.' And he spun through the door before the Kielmark's quick mind could find a rejoinder.

  * * *