“Nyle,” the Prince said.
Geraden’s brother returned the greeting. “My lord Prince.”
Terisa could hear them perfectly. It was astonishing how well the cold and the ravine wall brought the sound up to her.
“I hope you were not kept waiting long.”
“Just long enough to build a fire.”
Like his men, Prince Kragen was wrapped in a white robe, with boots of white fur on his feet and a white fur cap on his head, using the winter itself for concealment. At first glance, Nyle’s black-brown garb, his half-cloak and leggings, looked like a bad choice by comparison. But his clothes were indistinguishable from the colors of the driftwood in the ravine, the dark trunks of the trees. If he stood still, no one would see him.
“What news do you have of Orison?”
“What’s the news of Alend, my lord Prince?”
A fringe of black hair showed around the rim of Prince Kragen’s cap, hair as black as his eyes. He studied Nyle for a moment, then turned to his men and gave them a gesture that set them in motion. Two of them went in opposite directions to keep watch up and down the ravine. The third began to unpack bundles tied to the back of his saddle.
A bit sadly, Prince Kragen commented, “You still do not really trust me, do you, Nyle?”
“Yes and no, my lord Prince.” Nyle’s voice emerged from a clenched throat. “I’m committed to you. But we’re traditional enemies. That’s hard to forget.”
At Terisa’s side, Geraden picked up a handful of snow and rubbed it across his face to cool a reckless inner fire.
“I understand,” replied the Prince evenly. “But I am more at risk here. You can ride back to Orison and resume your life. As soon as we separate, you are innocent. If I am caught, Castellan Lebbick might have me executed before anybody can explain to him that killing foreign princes is rarely wise.
“What news do you have of Orison?”
Argus turned away. Ribuld hissed at him for silence; he ignored the warning and began to pick his way back down the slope. Fortunately, the wall cut off the noise he made.
Grudgingly, Nyle answered, “Elega is in trouble.”
Prince Kragen flashed a glance. “What trouble?”
“For some reason – I don’t know how – that woman Terisa of Morgan decided you and Elega are plotting against the King. She convinced my brother Geraden. And he convinced the Tor.
“I told you the Tor has set himself up as some kind of chancellor. He issues orders as if he has the King’s authority behind him, and no one questions him. It might be true. After all, he is the Tor – the lord who gave King Joyse his start.”
“He is also,” the Prince put in, “a drunken fool.”
“He is. That’s probably why he believed Geraden. There aren’t many people left who can muster that much optimism.”
Geraden heard this with a grimace that reminded Terisa of Artagel’s fighting grin.
“And what trouble has this drunken fool caused for the lady Elega?” pursued Prince Kragen.
“He told her he knows what she’s doing. Then he went off on a long lecture about the loyalty children owe their parents.” Nyle shrugged. “She says it wasn’t much. She gave him a piece of her mind and left him looking – she says he looked cowed. And she says he won’t be able to interfere with her part of your plan. I’m not so sure. All he has to do is drop a few hints to Lebbick, and she won’t be able to take a step without half the guards in Orison watching her.”
“I see.” Prince Kragen thought for a moment. “I regret that she is at hazard. But she has assured me many times that her role is secure – and she is a woman who conveys conviction.” In a decisive tone, he concluded, “We must trust that she will do what she has said.”
Nyle’s voice sounded like he had both fists knotted around it. “I’m still waiting to hear exactly what that is.”
The Prince stiffened. With misleading casualness, he said, “My lord Prince.”
“My lord Prince.”
Prince Kragen’s nod advised, Remember it. His mouth commented, “The lady Elega’s safety and success depend upon secrecy.”
“Then maybe you’ll tell me the news of Alend. My lord Prince.” Nyle’s anger was controlled, but unmistakable. “Maybe you’ll tell me why we had to meet today. Not sooner. Not later. All I’ve had so far are assurances and rhetoric. Maybe you’ll tell me what’s going on.”
Geraden bobbed his head in approval. “Good,” he breathed. “Make him tell you what’s going on.”
Ribuld glowered at the Apt for speaking.
“In a moment.” Prince Kragen’s composure was equal to the occasion. “I will answer a number of your questions in a moment. First, however, I prefer to tell you what I want you to do.”
Nyle still had his back to the eavesdroppers: Terisa couldn’t see his face. But his shoulders hunched as though he were strangling things inside himself.
“I asked you to meet me here on this particular day,” the Prince said steadily, “and I asked you to be prepared to leave Orison, because I want you to ride to Perdon. I want you to find the Perdon and offer him the kingship of Mordant.”
Breathing too loudly, Argus came back up the hill carrying his pouch of brandy. His companions paid no attention to him. At Prince Kragen’s announcement, Geraden’s whole body twitched. Terisa stared. At least temporarily, even Ribuld was too interested in what he heard to be interrupted by liquor.
Nyle’s surprise showed in the way he stood. “Why?”
“Why the Perdon?” Prince Kragen hid a trace of amusement under his black mustache. “Why the kingship? Or why you?”
Nyle seemed unable to do anything except nod.
“The Perdon is my only reasonable choice. You see, I profited from my meeting with the lords, although it did not have the outcome I desired. The Fayle is too old – and too loyal. The Tor has become a drunken fool. The Domne would refuse. The Armigite—” Prince Kragen snorted. “As for the Termigan, he is too far away. Also he is concerned only for the fate of his own Care.
“The Perdon must be offered the kingship to prove our good faith.”
Furiously, Geraden whispered, “Not to mention the fact that the Perdon is the only lord with an army close enough to threaten you, my lord Prince.”
“Despite what King Joyse and Castellan Lebbick believe,” Prince Kragen continued reasonably, “it has never been the Alend Monarch’s intention to conquer Mordant for himself. His first priority – his only overriding commitment – is to fill the vacuum of power in Mordant so that the Congery of Imagers will not fall into the hands of Cadwal. To accomplish that, we will conquer Mordant because we have no alternative. What else can we do? The King insulted my mission. The lords refused the union Master Eremis and I offered them.
“But we will not take Mordant for ourselves if the Perdon can be persuaded to be King. That will be your job. He might not listen to such a proposal from me. We are traditional enemies, as you have said. But a son of the Domne – a lifelong friend of the lady Elega – may perhaps persuade him. For the good of all who oppose Festten and Cadwal.
“Will you do it, Nyle?”
Nyle was silent for a long time. When he spoke, he sounded both astonished and relieved.
“Yes.” In spite of its softness, the word came out with too much steam, as if it were exploding from inside him. “Yes, my lord Prince. I’ll do it.”
Geraden covered his head with his hands, inadvertently smearing snow into his hair.
“Good.” Prince Kragen stepped closer to the fire to warm his hands. “Then you will need to know ‘what’s going on’ in order to convey that information to the Perdon.”
Argus put his brandy pouch down in front of Terisa. Noticing it, she realized that she was miserably cold. With a shiver, she loosened the neck of the pouch and raised it to her mouth. Like her cheeks, her lips were too numb to know what they were doing, but her tongue verified that the brandy was going into her mouth rather than down her chin. It tasted
like badly perfumed tarnish remover, but it did what it was supposed to do: it raised the temperature of her blood several degrees.
She passed the pouch to Geraden.
Down in the ravine, Prince Kragen crooked a finger at the bodyguard who had unpacked the bundles. The man came to him and handed him a stylus and a small writing tablet. Standing by the fire, Prince Kragen began to write. His fingers held the stylus as though they knew nothing about swords and had never helped save Terisa’s life.
“Is that a message to the Perdon, my lord Prince?” Nyle’s tone suggested impatience.
The Prince shook his head. “To my father. The Alend Monarch needs to know that you have agreed to approach the Perdon for us.”
“What will he do?”
“What he is already doing.” Prince Kragen’s mind was on his message. “In the bazaar of Orison during the first morning of the thaw, you brought me the lady Elega’s word that she had learned a way to fulfill her part of our plans. You noticed, I think, that I was pleased by this news.
“I was pleased because much hinges on her role. While you and I spoke together – while we chose the day and place for this meeting – my father and his armies were already crossing the Pestil into Armigite.”
Argus, Ribuld, and Geraden became still: all movement was sucked out of them. They didn’t blink or glance around; they didn’t appear to breathe. Every part of them – their arms and legs, the angles of their backs, the set of their shoulders – concentrated on what they were hearing.
So it was all a lie, thought Terisa. His peaceful mission. His meeting with the lords. A lie. The Alend Monarch had begun marching before he even had time to learn the outcome of his son’s mission. He had never intended to do anything except invade Mordant.
Like an echo of her shocked thoughts, Nyle articulated softly, “You never wanted peace. You never meant King Joyse to take your mission seriously. You just came here looking for people to help you betray him.” Both arms leaped outward in a gesture full of violence, fiercely truncated. “This is what you call good faith.”
Distinct and sibilant in the cold, a sword came out of its sheath. Prince Kragen’s bodyguard moved forward, aiming the tip of his blade at Nyle’s throat.
Ribuld clutched at his own sword.
But a quick wave of the Prince’s hand stopped the bodyguard. The man shrugged stiffly and resheathed his longsword.
“I understand your anger, Nyle.” Prince Kragen spoke calmly, almost casually, but his tone warned Nyle not to push him too far. “You misunderstand me, however. The problem is one of communication, is it not? Knowing that I spent nearly thirty days in the worst of this winter making my way from the Alend Monarch’s seat in Scarab to Orison, you believe that we have had no time to exchange messages since my arrival here. Therefore you conclude that I have come merely to serve plans which he made before I left him.”
Nyle didn’t move.
With a faint smile, the Prince continued, “Those unruly barons, the Alend Lieges, are always striving to gain the advantage over each other. At last their petty wrestling has produced something useful.” Another gesture to his bodyguard brought the man forward carrying a bundle that appeared to be a swath of cloth wrapped around a rigid frame.
Prince Kragen rolled his message tightly and tied it into a tiny packet with a piece of thread. When he was done, his bodyguard unveiled the bundle, revealing a bird in a square cage.
“A carrier pigeon,” Terisa breathed in astonishment. “They’re using carrier pigeons.”
Argus, Ribuld, and Geraden all stared at her for an instant, then snapped their attention back down into the ravine.
The bird was unmistakably a pigeon. It cooed comfortably as the bodyguard removed it from the cage and held it so that Prince Kragen could bind his message to its leg. “One of the Lieges,” the Prince explained, “discovered that these birds have the ability to find their way over any distance back to the place they have been trained to recognize as home. This one has learned to identify a combination of tents, standards, and wagon lines that invariably occurs in my father’s encampments. It will fly to him when it is released.
“Now do you understand?” Prince Kragen’s tone was hard, a threat behind his amicable manner. “I brought a number of these birds from Alend. They bear messages to my father in a day – perhaps less. In this way, I make decisions for him.
“I came to Orison charged with the responsibility of resolving the dilemma of the Congery, Cadwal, and war – the dilemma of your King’s strange weakness. I am the Alend Contender. I wish strongly to earn the throne. For that reason, my mission of peace was sincere, I assure you. But when King Joyse rejected it, I began to think of war. I sent messages accordingly. Then, however, both Master Eremis and the lady Elega offered me hopes that were much preferable to war. Again I sent messages. When the lords of the Cares refused the pact Master Eremis suggested to them – and most especially when I experienced how vulnerable Orison, and therefore the Congery, was to attack from Cadwal – I determined to act on the possibilities the lady Elega and I had discussed.
“The Alend Monarch is doing what I ask of him. And I ask it because I believe it to be the least bloody and most effective answer to an intolerable danger. High King Festten must not gain control of the Congery. The breach of Orison’s wall is an opportunity I can not ignore.”
Firmly, the Prince concluded, “What is your answer now?”
Nyle looked like he was swallowing hard, trying to adjust his preconceptions to fit new information. At the moment, Geraden appeared to have no opinion about what his brother should do. He seemed to be scrambling to catch up with the implications of what he had just heard. Both Argus and Ribuld watched the encounter below with trouble in their eyes.
“My lord Prince,” Nyle began thickly, “I should probably apologize. I didn’t know this was possible.” His hands moved helplessly at his sides. “Of course I’ll go to Perdon. I’ll persuade the Perdon somehow.”
Prince Kragen studied Nyle for a moment. Then he nodded.
His bodyguard released the pigeon.
It took to the air in a flash of gray, a hint of blue and green. Terisa watched it go, an easy labor of wings against the chill sky – watched it as if it were on its way to bring bloodshed down on Orison. After circling briefly, it turned north.
Ribuld glared at her. “You knew about that bird,” he murmured.
“We have them where I come from.” Defensively, she added, “We have horses, too, but I’ve never ridden one before.”
Geraden nudged the guard silent.
Nyle was still struggling to improve his grasp on the situation. “But is there time?” he asked after some thought. “When do you think the Alend Monarch will get to Orison? I don’t know where the Perdon is. He might not be in Scarping. He might be anywhere along the Vertigon, fighting Cadwals.”
“I have chosen the time with some care,” replied Prince Kragen as if this would reassure Nyle. “It is important that you not reach the Perdon too soon. If you do, and he is not persuaded, and so he brings his forces against us, he might be able to block us from Orison. For that reason, we did not meet until today. I calculate that if you find him immediately – and he rejects you and comes against us in furious haste – he will not reach Orison until after we have mastered it.”
Geraden shook his head. “It’s not that easy,” he whispered.
“You think it’s going to be that easy?” The idea seemed to incense Nyle. “A siege might take all spring. Even with that breach in the wall. You can’t just—”
“Nyle,” the Prince cut in. “I am not a child. Do not harangue me about sieges. I have studied them deeply. And I assure you that we will be able to master Orison.”
Nyle received this assertion like a man struggling not to let what he heard stun him. “Still, my lord Prince,” he said slowly, “it seems to me you’re trying to control events too delicately. What if the weather turns against you? We’re almost sure to get another storm.” br />
Prince Kragen shrugged. His patience was wearing thin. “Then you and the Perdon will be hindered as much as we are.”
“And what about the Armigite?” Nyle seemed unable to keep his anger down. “Is he going to let you march your army – and supply it – straight through his Care without making at least an effort to slow you down?”
At that, Prince Kragen laughed shortly. “I doubt that I need to concern myself with the Armigite.” His laugh held a note of scorn that made Terisa feel suddenly colder. “Nevertheless I have done so. He and I have negotiated a pact.
“Sweating fear all the while, he offered me an unhindered passage through his Care for as many armies as I chose to name. And what did he ask in exchange? That we do no violence to his people in their towns and villages? That we leave untouched the cattle pens and storehouses that feed his Care? No. He asked only that he be allowed to remain safe and ignorant – ignorant, Nyle – while the fate of Mordant was decided.”
Argus swore under his breath. But Terisa had met the Armigite: she wasn’t surprised.
“Personally,” the Prince went on with more nonchalance, “I would enjoy damaging his ignorance a little. His Care deserves better of him. But we will respect the pact. And we will do no harm to his people or his cattle or his stores. Our aim is to find an answer to your King’s weakness – and to oppose Cadwal – not to worsen the old enmity between Mordant and Alend.
“Have I satisfied you, Nyle?”
From the back, Nyle didn’t look satisfied: there was too much tension in his stance. Terisa would have expected him to be grateful to Prince Kragen for giving him so few causes for mistrust, so many reasons to believe he was doing the right thing. Why was he still angry? Why did he sound almost livid with fury as he replied, “Yes, my lord Prince.”
For a moment, Prince Kragen regarded his ally as though he, too, didn’t understand Nyle’s mood. But apparently what he saw in Nyle’s face assured him. “Good,” he said, suddenly brisk. “The Perdon will listen to you. Let us begin.”
At once, he signaled to his bodyguards.
The men watching either end of the ravine returned to their horses. Moving stiffly, Nyle readied his own mount. At last, Terisa saw his face. His features were set and implacable, as if nothing – not even his own passion – could dissuade him from the course he had chosen.