King's Dragon
The church bell rang at dawn on Penitire, calling the faithful to the day of penitence. Alain rose, fed the hounds, and allowed himself a handful of fresh rainwater out of the water barrel to wet his throat. From the stockade he could see the road that wound down the valley to Lavas town and the church. Already he saw people, some shuffling forward on their knees, others bent double, the rest with hands clasped across chests, moving toward the church. There Frater Agius would lead the morning service because Deacon Waldrada was still too ill to preach.
Like the stable hands and stock-keepers, he had to care for his charges before he could pray. So had the blessed Daisan wept and prayed and suffered remorse for the sins of the faithful, whose shepherd he was, before he could himself find release from the Earth and pass up through the seven spheres to the heart of the Lord and Lady.
Someone was watching. Alain turned. The Eika prince stared at him. His hair, as white as bone, marked a pale line against the dark slatted walls of the cage. Did he ever sleep? Alain was beginning to believe he did not.
Master Rodlin had left no directions about the prince. All fasted on Penitire. But wasn’t the Eika prince pledged to false gods? Alain decided it would be more merciful to feed him. So he brought the portion allocated to the prince, and while the prince ate, Alain spoke in a calm voice—not wanting to startle him—about the blessed Daisan and the Holy Circle of Unity. After all, the light of the faithful could be brought to all creatures. Had not the goblin kin of the Harenz Mountains been brought to the faith by the exertions of St. Martin and his sister, the holy martyr St. Placidana?
“On this day we remember our sins,” he said. In the cool, quiet dawn, his voice sounded strange, disembodied, as if someone else was speaking. He heard, like a counterpoint to his speech, the low growls of the hounds as they crunched on bones. The prince ate noiselessly. “And then, for seven days we pray and fast just as the blessed Daisan did at the church Hearth in Saïs, the blessed city. These seven days we call the Ekstasis. In his rapture, as he prayed, seeking redemption for all who might come into the Light of the Circle of Unity drawn by Our Lord and Lady, his soul ascended through the seven spheres until at last, on the morning of the seventh day, it came to the Chamber of Light. And the Lord and Lady in their mercy conveyed him directly to heaven. It is written in the Acts of St. Thecla, the Witnesser, that the church was entirely illuminated with the light of God’s mercy, so brilliant that she was blinded for seven times seven days thereafter. But the blessed Daisan was gone, taken up unto the Chamber of Light. On that day, which we know as the Translatus, there is feasting and rejoicing, for so may we all find mercy in the grace of Our Lord and Lady.”
Like the hounds, the prince seemed to prefer his meat raw, and he ate every bit of it, including the bones. Now he lifted his head and his narrow tongue licked the air. This close, he had the sheen of a snake’s skin, a mellow reddish-brown. He smelled not humanlike, sweat and skin, but like a musty cave, entombed, dry stone.
And he spoke. “Halane.”
Alain started back two steps, he was so surprised. Then he jumped forward and chained the prince’s hand back with the other.
“Halane,” said the Eika, slit eyes fixed on Alain. Bound now, he could only move his chin, up and over. His voice had the smooth tone of a flute.
He’s trying to point at me, Alain thought. And shuddered. Halane.
“My name is Alain,” he said, hesitantly, not sure if he was interpreting the Eika’s intent correctly. “I am Alain, son of Henri. Do you have a name?” He copied the gesture the creature had made. “Do you have a name?”
It bared its teeth, but Alain could not tell if, like a hound, the grimace was meant to scare or if it was trying to smile. “Henry. King.”
Alain gulped down an exclamation. “King Henry rules in Wendar and Varre. What is your name? Who rules in the lands where you come from?”
“Bloodheart. King of shipmen. I also son. Son of Bloodheart.”
Son of the Eika king! Was that truly what the prince was saying? And hard against his astonishment, a wild bubble of laughter tried to escape: The Eika prince thought that he, Alain, was the son of King Henry!
All at once, before Alain could reply, the hounds left off worrying at the bones and ran to the stockade gate. The Eika prince threw his head back and as one with the hounds howled piercingly. Alain clapped his hands over his ears and jumped out of the cage, slamming the door shut and chaining it closed. Such noise! The hounds yammered and howled like wild things. He ran to the ladder, climbed it, and from its height saw what the others had smelled and heard.
There, coming down the road, was the most glorious procession he had ever seen. About fifty riders were surrounded by a great mass of servants and other foot attendants. Banners and pennons rose in the breeze, lit by the sun as it flooded the valley with light. Carts and wagons followed behind, most of them painted in bright colors, and at the very end came the stock-handlers and the extra horses and some few beasts of other description, including a great shrouded cage.
Alain flung himself over the stockade, lowered, and dropped to the ground. He ran. In all his life he had never seen or expected to see anything like this: the retinue of a great prince. He made it to the castle gates in time to fall in behind a smaller procession made up of Count Lavastine, who was dressed in a plain tunic and hosen—without ornament—as was fitting for Penitire, and his household. He and his retinue approached, on foot, the great cavalcade of Lady Sabella and met with them before the church, where a crowd had gathered.
Alain gaped at the fine ladies and lords and their splendid horses. All of them wore gold threaded in their tunics and gowns; there was even a biscop among them, her white robes adorned with gold piping and her donkey fitted with a handsome saddle worked with beads and silver. But the most marvelous among them all was Lady Sabella.
Alain recognized her at once since she wore a gold coronet on her brow and a magnificent golden torque around her neck. She wore a tunic thickly threaded with gold, a belt studded with gems, and gold bindings on her legs. At her belt she wore a sword which boasted a hilt inlaid with gold. That she wore a sword was strange but not unheard of for a woman, but Alain shivered, seeing it, wondering what the count’s reaction would be. A woman of Lady Sabella’s high rank only wore a sword if she meant to lead an army in her own person rather than through the agency of a kinsman. She had a strong face, and she wore her hair plaited back, dressed with gold and silver ribbons but uncovered, like a soldier’s. All at once she reminded him of the Lady of Battles, whom he had seen in that vision almost one year ago.
Count Lavastine greeted her in the formal manner, but he did not help her dismount. One of her own vassals did so, holding the stirrup while she swung down. Then her husband—a paunchy man distinguished only by the gold torque at his neck—dismounted. There were several girls in the party so draped with shawls that Alain could see no outward sign by which to distinguish Tallia—Sabella’s daughter—from the others.
Alain sidled over toward the doors of the church, coming to rest near poor Withi, who had taken up her usual station on her knees by the door.
The biscop, staff in hand, led the company forward to the doors. Frater Agius had come out, and he knelt on the porch in greeting.
“Where is your deacon?” asked the biscop.
“Deacon Waldrada has been ill with the lungfever, Your Grace,” said Lavastine. “She is not yet recovered enough to lead the service.”
“So do we obey the dictates of Our Lady and Lord. While it is not traditional, nevertheless this brother of the church shall assist me today, together with my clerics and deacons.” Almost at the porch, with the lords and ladies following, the biscop caught sight of Withi kneeling in the mud. She lifted her staff and pointed it at the girl. “Who is this penitent with her hair stained with ashes who kneels forward before the others?”
So close behind her, Alain saw Withi’s shoulders tremble as the biscop spoke. He wanted to go forward, to comfort Wit
hi, to tell her that surely this biscop, with her kindly face and her gentle but authoritative manner, could not be harsher than Frater Agius. He even took one step forward, only to halt at the sound of Agius’ hard voice.
“This sinner has confessed to the sin of fornication, Your Grace. She has repented of her sin and now kneels for the prescribed one hundred days here before the church, so that all may see and hear her cries to Our Lady, who is merciful.”
“Poor child,” said the biscop. She was an old woman, white-haired but robust, with cheeks rubbed rosy by evident good health. “Shall we not also act mercifully on this day of repentance?” She walked forward and extended a hand to Withi, who merely gaped at her.
All around, the crowd murmured at this sign of compassion from a great biscop, a noblewoman of high rank.
“Come, child,” said the biscop gently. “You must enter the house of Our Lady and Lord and be forgiven your sins.”
Withi burst into noisy sobs, but at last, under the biscop’s kind gaze, she put out a chapped, callused hand and the biscop took it in one of her own white, clean ones and lifted her up. With the girl beside her she led the procession into the church.
Agius remained kneeling to one side. He bowed his head, hiding his expression, so that Alain could not tell if he was furious, or shamed.
2
AS a man-at-arms in training, Alain was allowed to serve at the high table in the great hall. Dhuoda soon recalled that she had first noticed him serving at his aunt’s table, in Osna.
“Your manners are superior and your bearing is dignified,” Dhuoda informed him. “You may help serve wine at the high table.”
He did not get to pour the wine directly into the cups of the count or Lady Sabella or the other high personages, of course. They had their own servants to do that. But he was assigned the important duty of standing behind the table in order to make sure the servants’ pitchers never ran dry. Because, during Holy Week, it was customary to eat and drink sparingly—or to fast, as Frater Agius did—Alain had the luxury of a great deal of standing around and listening. And listen he did.
“I am a border lord, Your Highness. I have estates lying in both kingdoms.”
“Yet most of your lands are in Varre, are they not? As is this castle and your most ancient holdings. You are kin to my husband, Prince Berengar, and thereby a distant kinsman to the crown of Varre.”
“Which resides now in the hands of King Henry.” Count Lavastine maintained such a discreet hold on his tongue that Alain could not tell if he supported Lady Sabella or King Henry. Or, indeed, if he supported either one.
“Where it does not belong. I and my daughter are the last living heirs of the royal house of Varre, through my mother, Queen Berengaria. I am the only living child of Arnulf and Berengaria, whose names I remember in my prayers daily.”
“King Henry is also the child of Arnulf.”
“Through a woman who was not even a queen in her own right, but only through her marriage to Arnulf. I am the rightful queen, Count Lavastine, and when I am restored to my throne through the efforts of my faithful followers, I will give my daughter Tallia to the throne of Varre as queen and marry her to a man of noble birth among those who have supported me. Thus will Varre be restored, separate once again from Wendar and no longer subject to taxes and duties imposed by the reigning monarch in Wendar.”
Alain could scarcely catch his breath, hearing Sabella speak so bluntly. Count Lavastine evidently had unplumbed reserves of calm, because not a flicker of emotion escaped him.
“You speak rebellion, Your Highness, against King Henry, who has received the blessing of the skopos in Darre and of the assembly of biscops and presbyters at Autun. Henry was himself named heir by your father, the younger Arnulf. Did you not swear before Biscop Antonia of Mainni seven years ago to reconcile with your brother?”
“So I did reconcile at that time. I was younger, and my daughter not yet healthy. After many years of prayer and with the wise counsel of Biscop Antonia and the considered support of Rodulf, Duke of Varingia and Conrad the Black, Duke of Wayland, I have chosen again to put forward my case. Let us speak plainly, Count Lavastine. I seek your support as well.”
Sabella had a bland, almost monotone voice, but the deep furrows of long anger that lined her face gave the lie to her seeming coolness.
“Such a decision cannot be reached lightly,” said Lavastine. He glanced toward Alain as if he had known the boy was eavesdropping all along, then smoothly changed the subject to last summer’s Eika raids and the prisoner he had captured in the battle at the Vennu River.
Amazed by the count’s notice, Alain stood frozen until, mercifully, one of the biscop’s clerics signaled to him. Alain jerked himself away and hurried over to refill a fine glass pitcher. For a little while he was busy.
In the kitchens, where he refilled his own ceramic pitcher from barrels brought from the cellar, a different discussion was going on.
“I heard that fifty of those pigs will go to the beast that hides in the cage,” said one of Cook’s assistants.
“Hush, now,” said Cook. “We needn’t have your gossip here. Go back to your chopping.”
“I heard it, snuffling and clacking its teeth, and one of the handlers is missing a hand. Bitten off, it was, I’d wager.”
“It’s a monster!”
“Nay, it’s only a leopard, that’s what one of the servingmen back by the wagons said.”
“Has he ever seen it? Why must they shroud that cage, then? Why do they keep it outside the palisade, back by the forest, as if to hide it? It’s a basilisk, mark my words. One look and it will turn you to stone.”
“I won’t have this!” said Cook sternly, then turned her sharp gaze toward Alain. “You, lad, aren’t you serving wine?”
He hurried back into the hall, poured, fetched more wine, only to find himself in another lull. A monster in a shrouded cage! He was not quite sure what a leopard was, anyway. Was it like a basilisk?
He eased down the dais toward the count but came to a halt somewhat behind the chair of Biscop Antonia. Next to her sat the sallow, quiet girlchild whom Alain had identified as Tallia, daughter of Sabella and Berengar. Alain studied her surreptitiously. No longer truly a girl, she was not yet quite a woman. She had pale features that resembled neither her mother nor father strongly. A fine linen scarf woven with golden lions on a wheat-colored background, whose effect was to render her even paler, concealed her hair. The gold torque around her slender neck was so thick and heavy it appeared to imprison rather than elevate her.
Fish—for of course the noblefolk fasted for Penitire by eating no meat—and vegetables and savories lay untouched on her plate. She ate only bread, although twice he saw her drink watered wine from the cup urged on her by the biscop, who tended to her charge solicitously. Farther down the table, Prince Berengar drank and ate with gusto.
At last, pale Tallia leaned toward the biscop and spoke. “Why can my lord father not observe Holy Week in a Godly manner, Your Grace?”
The biscop patted her kindly on the hand. “You must never mind it, my child. We must each accept the burden that the Lady and Lord have given us to bear.”
“My lord father is an idiot,” murmured Tallia, and then blushed deeply.
“Nay, child, say not so. He is a simpleton, and is it not said in the Holy Book that ‘the simple soul is closest to God’?”
“You are kind to say so,” replied Tallia, looking mortified as Prince Berengar called loudly for more wine. Beyond Biscop Antonia, Lady Sabella seemed not to hear her husband’s shrill voice. But the servants hastened to assist him, and soon after Alain noticed Sabella make a hand sign to her steward. Within moments, a pair of burly young men deferentially escorted Prince Berengar, who was now singing the opening stanza of a song Alain usually only heard coming from the barracks, out of the hall.
“Has Frater Agius been with you for long?” asked the biscop, turning to Count Lavastine.
“He came a year or two ago
,” said the count. “You must ask my chatelaine if you wish more particulars.”
“And is he a good man?”
“He is devout. No scandal attaches to his name.”
“He is harsh, my lord, in his reading of penance, which is a virtue best left to those exalted brothers who devote their lives to the eradication of their own spiritual deficiencies. But not all souls born onto this earth are granted such vigor in their spiritual pursuits. I would draw your attention to that poor child I found kneeling outside the church this morning. Surely forty days of penance would have sufficed. She is young and pretty and not freeborn, I take it. Would it not have been better for such a young woman to marry the young man in question? So that she might then perform her duty to Our Lord and Lady by producing many fine young daughters and sons while lawfully allowing her body to take part in those earthly pleasures which are also a part of the nature of those of us who are human—for we are all of us, even the blessed Daisan, admixed by darkness, are we not? And then these fine strong children can work your fields, Count Lavastine. If we but aid the Lady and Lord in reaching the hearts of the faithful, in lending aid to all so they may also serve, then so will we all prosper the more.”
He inclined his head briefly. “I thank you for your counsel, Your Grace.” It was hard for Alain to tell if the count spoke sincerely or sardonically. “Since my men-at-arms do not marry without permission, I must assume that the young man was indeed unmarried. If it is your will, I will speak to my captain and to my chatelaine about the matter. They will resolve it speedily, I trust, and to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Sabella watched this interaction with a lifted eyebrow, as if waiting. But for what? Biscop Antonia merely nodded, smiling, then turned to make sure that Tallia had eaten all of her bread.
“Your love for Our Lady and Lord is an example to us all, my child, but you must keep up your strength.”