Ships from the West

Fifteen

The Royal bedchamber was something of a forbidding place, the vast four-poster dominating it like a fortress. The bed seemed to have been sturdily built to accommodate duties rather than pleasures. Corfe had slept alone in it for fourteen years.

He stood before a fireplace wide enough to roast a side of pork, and warmed his hands unnecessarily at the towering flames. The same room, the same ring on his finger, but soon a different woman to warm the bed. He reached for the wine glass which glinted discreetly on the tall mantel, and drank half its blood-red contents at a gulp. It might have been water for all he tasted.

A quiet ceremony indeed. Only Formio, Comillan and Haratta had been present as witnesses, and Albrec had been brief and to the point, thank God. Aria had removed her veil and hood, for she was a Torunnan now, and she had bowed her head as the Pontiff placed the delicate filigree of a queen's crown upon her raven tresses.

Corfe rubbed his chest absently. There had been an ache there since this morning which he could not account for. It had begun during the wedding ceremony and was like the dull throb of a bruise.

'Enter,' he said as the door was knocked so softly as to be barely audible.

A miniature procession entered the room. First came a pair of Merduk maids bearing lighted candles, then came Aria, her black hair unbound, a dark cloak about her shoulders, and finally Haratta bearing another candle. Corfe watched be shy;mused as the three women stood around Aria as though shielding her. The cloak was dropped by the bedside, and he caught only a candlelit glimpse of a white shape flitting under the covers before Haratta and the maids had turned again. The maids left like women in a trance, not flinching as the wax of their candles dripped down the back of their hands, but Haratta paused.

'We have delivered her intact, my lord, and have fulfilled our duty. We wish you joy of her.' The look in Haratta's eye wished him anything but. 'I shall be outside, if anything is needed.'

'You will not,' Corfe snapped. 'You will return to your quarters at once. Is that clear?' Haratta bowed soundlessly and left the room.

The chamber seemed very dark as the candles were taken away, lit only by the red light of the fire. Corfe threw back the last of his wine. In the huge bed, Aria's face looked like that of a forgotten child's doll. He tugged off his tunic and sat on the side of the bed to haul off his boots, wishing now that he had not had so much wine. Wishing he had drunk more.

The boots were thrown across the room and his breeches followed. Kaile Ormann's circlet was laid with more reverence on the low table by the bed. Corfe rubbed his fingers over his face, wondering at the absurdity of it all, the twists of fate which had brought himself and this girl into the same bed. Better not to dwell on it.

He burrowed under the covers feeling tired and vinous and old. Aria jumped as he brushed against her. She was cold.

'Come here,' he said. 'You're like a blasted icicle.'

He put his arms about her. He was warm from the fire but she was trembling and chilled. She seemed very slim and fragile in his grasp. He nuzzled her hair and the breath caught in his throat. 'That scent you're wearing. Where did you get it?'

'It was a parting gift from my mother.'

He lay still, and could almost have laughed. He had bought that perfume as a young man for his young wife. The Aekir bazaars sold it yet it seemed.

He rolled away from the trembling girl in his arms and stared at the flame light dancing on the tall ceiling.

'My lord, have I offended you?' she asked.

'You're my wife now, Aria. Call me Corfe.' He pulled her close. She had warmed now and lay in the crook of his arm with her head resting on his shoulder. When he did not move further she began to trace a ridge of raised flesh on his collar bone. 'What did this?'

'A Merduk tulwar.'

'And this?'

'That was . . . hell, I don't know.' 'You have many scars, Corfe.' 'I have been all my life a soldier.'

She was silent. Corfe found himself drifting off, his eyes struggling to shut. It was very pleasant lying here like this. He laid a hand on Aria's smooth hip and traced the curve of her thigh. At that, something in him kindled. He rolled easily on top of her, supporting his weight on his elbows, his hands cupping her face. Her mouth was set in an O of surprise.

That face within his hands, the dark hair fanning out from it. It smote him with old memories. He bent his head and kissed her mouth. She responded timidly, but then seemed to catch fire from his own urgency and became eager or, at least, eager to please.

He tried not to hurt her but she uttered a sharp, small cry all the same, and her nails dug into his back. It did not take long. When he was spent he rolled off her and stared at the ceiling once again, thinking it is done. His eyes stung and in the dimness he found himself blinking, as though he faced the pitiless glare of a noon sun.

'Does it always hurt like that?' Aria asked quietly.

'The first time? Yes, no -I suppose so.'

1 must bear you a son. My father told me so,' she went on. She took his hand under the covers. 'It was not as bad as I thought it would be.'

'No?' He smiled wryly. He could not look at her, but was grateful for her warmth and the touch of her hand and her low voice. He tugged her into his arms again, and she was still talking when he drifted off into black, blessed sleep.

A hammering on the door brought him bolt upright in bed, wide awake in an instant. The fire was a volcanic glow in the hearth. The slats of sky beyond the shutters were black as coal; it was not yet dawn.

'Sire,' a voice said beyond the door. 'News from Ostrabar. Tidings of the utmost urgency.' It was Felorin.

'Very well. I'll be a moment.' He pulled on his clothes and boots whilst Aria watched him wide-eyed, the sheets pulled up to her chin. He hesitated, and then kissed her on the lips. 'Go back to sleep. I will return.' He smoothed her hair and found himself smiling at her, then turned away.

The palace was dark yet, with only a few lamps lit in the wall sconces. Felorin bore a candle-lantern and as the two men strode along the echoing passageways it threw their shadows into mocking capers along the walls.

'It is Golophin, sir,' Felorin told Corfe. 'He is in the Blade shy;hall and refuses to speak to anyone save you. Ensign Baraz brought me word of his return. He has been to Aurungabar, by some magic or other, and something has happened there. I took the liberty of rousing out General Formio also, sir.'

'You did well. Lead on.'

The Bladehall was a vast cavernous darkness save at one end where a fire had been lit in the massive hearth and a table pulled across upon which a single lamp burned. Golophin stood with his back to the fire, his face a scarred mask impossible to read. At the table sat Formio with parchment, quills and ink, and standing in the shadows was Ensign Baraz.

'Golophin!' Corfe barked. Formio stood up at his approach. 'What's this news?'

The wizard looked at Baraz and Felorin questioningly.

'It's all right. Go on.'

Golophin's face did not change; still that terrible mask empty of expression. 'I have been to Aurungabar, never mind how. It would seem that both the Sultan and his Queen were assassinated this morning.'

No one spoke, though even Formio looked stunned. Corfe groped for a chair and sank into it like an old man.

'You're sure?' Baraz blurted.

'Quite sure,' the old mage snapped. 'The city is in an uproar, panicked crowds milling in the streets. They managed to keep it quiet for a couple of hours, but then someone blab shy;bed and now it is common knowledge.' He faltered, and there was something like disgust in his voice as he added: 'It is all wearily familiar.'

They looked at Corfe, but the King was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his eyes blank and sightless.

'Aruan?' Formio asked at last.

'That would be my guess. He must have wormed an agent into the household.'

She was dead. His Heria was dead. Finally Corfe spoke. 'This morning, you say?'

'Yes, sire. Or yesterday as it is now. Around the third hour before noon.'

Corfe rubbed his chest. The ache had gone, but something worse was settling inexorably in its place. He cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind.

'Nasir,' he said. 'How far along the road is he?'

'My familiar is with him now. He is ten leagues east of Khedi Anwar at the head of fifteen thousand men – the army he was to bring here.'

'He knows?'

'I told him sire, yes. He has already broken camp and is marching back the way he came.'

'We need those men,' Formio said in a low voice. 'Ostrabar needs a sultan,' Golophin replied. 'He's a boy, not yet seventeen.'

'The army is behind him. And he is Aurungzeb's publicly acknowledged heir. There is no other.'

Corfe raised his head. 'Golophin is right. Nasir will need those men to restore order in the capital. We must do without them.' Heria was dead, truly dead.

He fought the overwhelming wave of hopelessness which was trying to master him.

'Nasir will be five, maybe six days on the road before he re shy;enters Aurungabar. Golophin, are there any other claimants who could make trouble before he arrives?'

The wizard pondered a moment. 'Not that I know of.

Aurungzeb has sired other children by concubines, but Nasir is the only son, and he is well-known. I cannot foresee any difficulties with the succession.'

'Well and good. Who is in authority in Aurungabar at the moment?'

Golophin nodded at Ensign Baraz who stood forgotten in the shadows. 'That young man's kinsman, Shahr Baraz the Younger. He was a bodyguard of the Queen at one time, and remained a confidant. It was he who took charge when the maids discovered the bodies.'

'You have spoken to him?'

'Briefly.' Golophin did not relay his own suspicions about Shahr Baraz. The most upright and honourable of men, while he had told the wizard frankly of the assassinations he had nevertheless been holding something back. But, Golophin was convinced, not for his own aggrandisement. Shahr Baraz the Younger was of the old Hraib, who held that to tell a lie was to suffer a form of death.

Corfe stood up. 'Formio, have fast couriers sent to Aurun shy;gabar expressing our support for the new Sultan. Our whole shy;hearted and if necessary material support. Get one of the scribes to couch it in the necessary language, but get three copies of it on the road by dawn.'

Formio nodded, and made a note on his parchment. The scrape of his quill and the crack and spit of the logs in the hearth were the only sounds in the looming emptiness of the Bladehall.

'We will be short of troops now,' Corfe continued steadily. ‘I will have to weaken Melf's southern expedition in order to make up the numbers for the main operations here.' He strode to the fire and, leaning his fists on the stone mantel, he stared at the burning logs below.

'The enemy will move now, while our ally is temporarily incapacitated. Formio, another dispatch to Aras at Gaderion. He should expect a major assault very soon. And get the courier to repeat the message to Heyd on the road north. Henceforth he will move by forced marches.

'As for Torunn itself, I want the field army here put on notice to move at once. We have wasted enough time. I will lead them out within the week.'

Formio's scratching quill went silent at that. 'The snows are still lying deep in the foothills,' he said.

'It can't be helped. In my absence you will remain here, as regent.'

'Corfe, I-'

'You will obey orders.' The King turned from the fire and smiled at Formio to soften his words. 'You are the only person I would trust with it.'

The Fimbrian subsided. From the tip of his quill the ink dripped to blot a black circle on the pale parchment. Corfe turned to Golophin.

'It would ease my mind were you to remain here with him.'

'I cannot do that, sire.'

Corfe frowned, then turned away. 'I understand. It is not your responsibility.'

'You misunderstand me, sire. I am going with you.' 'What? Why in the world-?'

'I promised a dying woman, my lord, that I would remain by your side in this coming trial.' Golophin smiled. 'Perhaps I have just got the habit of serving kings. In any case, I go with you on campaign – if you'll have me.'

Corfe bowed, and some life came back into his eyes. 'I would be honoured, master mage.' As he straightened he turned to Ensign Baraz, who had not moved.

'I would very much like to have you accompany me also, Ensign.'

The young man stepped forward, then came stiffly to attention once again. 'Yes, sir.' His eyes shone.

'There is one more thing.' Here Corfe paused, and as they watched him they saw something flicker in his eyes, some instantly hidden agony.

'Mirren must go to Aurungabar at once, to be married.'

Formio nodded, but Baraz looked utterly wretched. It was Golophin who spoke up. 'Could that not wait a while?' he asked gently. 'I have barely begun her tuition.'

'No. Were we to delay, it would be seen as uncertainty about Nasir. No. They sent us Aria, we must send them Mirren. When she marries Nasir the whole world will see that the alliance is as strong as ever despite the death of Aurungzeb, the turning back of the Merduk reinforcements.'

'It is the clearest signal we can send,' Formio agreed.

And it was only right, Corfe thought, for himself to suffer something of what Heria suffered. There was an ironic sym shy;metry about it all, as though this were laid on for the amuse shy;ment of some scheming god. So be it. He would shoulder this grief along with the others.

'Ensign Baraz,' he said, 'fetch me the palace steward, if you please. Formio, get those notes off to the scribes and then rouse out the senior staff. We will all meet here in one hour. Felorin, secure the door.'

When only he and Golophin remained in the hall's vast emptiness, Corfe leant his forehead against the hot stone of the mantel.

'Golophin, how did she die?'

The old mage was startled. He seemed to take a moment to comprehend the question. 'The Merduk Queen? A knife, Shahr Baraz told me. There were maids close by, but they heard nothing. So he says.'

Corfe's tears fell invisibly into the flames below, to vanish with not so much as a hiss to note their passing.

'Sire – Corfe – is there something else the matter?'

'This is my wedding night,' the King said mechanically. 'I have a new wife waiting for me.'

Golophin set a hand on his arm. 'Perhaps you should return to her for a little while, before she hears the news from some shy;one else.'

Dear God, he had almost forgotten. He raised his head with a kind of dulled wonder. 'You are right. She should hear it from me. But I must talk to Cullen first.'

'Here then. Have a swallow of this.' The wizard was off shy;ering him a small steel flask. He took it automatically and tipped it to his mouth. Fimbrian brandy. His eyes smarted and ran as he filled his mouth with it and swallowed it down.

'I always keep a mote of something warming about me,'

Golophin said, drinking in his rum. 'Nothing else seems to keep out the cold these days.'

Corfe looked at him. The mage was regarding him with a kindly surmise, as though inviting him to speak. For a mo shy;ment it was all there, crowding on his tongue, and it would have been a blessed relief to let it gush forth, to lean on this old man as other kings had before him. But he bit back the words and swallowed them. It was enough that Albrec alone knew. He could take no sympathy tonight. It would break him. And others would need sympathy ere the night was done.

Footsteps the length of the hall, and Baraz was returning with the grizzled old palace steward. Corfe drew himself up.

'Cullen, you must have the Princess Mirren woken at once. She is to pack for a long journey. Have the stables harness up a dozen light wagons, enough for a suitable entourage. Ensign Baraz, you will, with my authority, pick out a tercio of cuir shy;assiers as escort.'

'Where shall I tell the Princess she is going, sire?' Cullen asked, somewhat bewildered.

'She is going to Aurungabar to be married. I will see her before she goes, but she must be ready to leave by daybreak. That is all.'

The steward stood irresolute for a second, his mouth open shy;ing and closing. Then he bowed and left hurriedly, drawing his night robes closer about him as if the King exuded some baleful chill. Baraz followed him unhappily.

A blessed quiet for a few minutes. Corfe felt an over shy;whelming urge to go down to the stables, saddle up a horse, and take off alone for the mountains. To run away from this world and its decisions, its complications, its pain. He sighed and drew himself up. His bad leg was aching.

'You had best stay here,' he said to Golophin. 'I will be back soon.' Then he set off to tell his new wife that she was an orphan.

The troop transports took up four miles of river-frontage. There were over a hundred of the wide-beamed, shallow-draught vessels, each capable of carrying five tercios within its cavernous hold. They had been taking on their cargoes for two days now, and still the wharves of Torunn's waterfront were thronged with men and horses and mules and mountains of provisions and equipment. A dozen horses had been lost, and several tons of supplies, but the worst of the embarkation was over now and the transports would unmoor with the ebb of the evening tide in the estuary, and would begin their slow but sure battle upstream against the current of the Torrin river.

'The day has come at last,' Formio said with forced light shy;ness.

'Yes. At one time I thought it never would.' Corfe tugged at the hem of his armoured gauntlets. 'I'm leaving you three thousand of the regulars,' he told Formio. 'Along with the conscripts, that will give you a sizeable garrison. With Aras and Heyd at Gaderion, and Melf and Berza in the south, they should not even have to see battle.'

'We will miss those Merduk reinforcements ere we're done,' Formio said gravely.

'Yes. They would have eased my mind too. But there's no use crying after them now. Formio, I have been over all the paperwork with Albrec. As soon as I step aboard the trans shy;ports you become regent, and will remain so until I return. I've detached a few hundred of your Orphans to take over the training from the Bodyguard. The rest are already boarded.'

'You're taking the cream of the army,' Formio said.

'I know. They have a hard road ahead of them, and there's no place for conscripts upon it.'

'And the wizard goes too.'

Corfe smiled. 'He may be useful. And I feel he is a good man.'

'I do not trust him, Corfe. He is too close to the enemy. He knows too much about them, and that knowledge he has never explained.'

'It's his business to know such things, Formio. I for one shall be glad of his counsel. And besides, we shall face wizardry in battle before we're done. It's as well to be able to reply in kind.'

'I would I were going with you’ Formio said in a low voice.

'So would I, my friend. It has seemed to me that the more rank one acquires in this world, the less one is able to do as one prefers.'

Formio gripped Corfe by the arm. 'Do not go.' His normally closed face was bright with urgency. 'Let me take them out, Corfe. Stay you here.'

'I cannot. It's not in me, Formio. You know that.'

'Then be careful, my friend. You and I have seen many battlefields, but something in my heart tells me that this one you are setting out for shall be the worst'

'What are you now, a seer?'

Formio smiled, though there was little humour in his face. 'Perhaps.'

'Look for us in the early summer. If all goes well we shall march back by way of the Torrin Gap.'

The two men stood looking at one another for a long moment. They had no need to say more. Finally they em shy;braced like brothers. Formio moved back then and bowed deep.

'Farewell, my King. May God watch over you.'

Half the city came down to the waterfront to see them off, waving and cheering as ship after ship of the transport fleet pulled away from the wharves and nosed out into the middle of the estuary. The fat-bellied vessels set their courses to catch the south-east wind that was blowing in off the Kardian, and in line astern they began the long journey upriver.

Torunna's sole Princess had already left for Aurungabar and her wedding, but the kingdom's new Queen was there in the midst of a cloud of ladies-in-waiting, courtiers and body shy;guards. She raised a hand to Corfe, her face white and un shy;smiling, the eyes red-rimmed within it. He saluted in return, then turned his gaze from the cheering crowds and stared westwards to where the Cimbric Mountains loomed bright in the sunlight, their flanks still deep in snow, clouds streaming from their summits. Somewhere up in those terrible heights the secret pass existed which led all the way down to the Sea of Tor, and that was the path this great army he commanded must take to victory. He felt no trepidation, no apprehension at the thought of that mountain-passage or the battles that would follow. His mind was clear at last.