Elder Isles 2: The Green Pearl (29 page)

Visbhume reflected upon the cache of magical apparatus which he had stored in Dahaut. Some of the simpler items functioned in a manner which he understood. Others, like Twitten’s Almanac, might well respond to his closer investigation. The use of other objects and adjuncts remained beyond his present capabilities. Still, who could say? Among these items might be an effectuant to provide Visbhume the swift and easy transit for which he yearned so deeply,

Visbhume came to a firm decision. In the morning, instead of taking ship for Troicinet, as King Casmir might well have preferred, he rode up the Sfer Arct to the north, then off at a slant to Old Street, then east to Icnield Way, north through Pomperol into Dahaut. Arriving at the village Glimwillow, he went to a secret place and retrieved the large brass-bound chest containing the goods which he had taken away from Maule.

Visbhume lodged himself in a private chamber at the Sign of the Mandrake, and for three days worked among the contents of the chest. When at last he returned south along Icnield Way, he carried a yellow leather wallet containing a variety of those articles he deemed most accessible to his use, and a few others of fascinating potentiality, like Twitten’s Almanac. He found no obvious device or methed by which he might be conveyed at speed directly to Troicinet, or elsewhere, and so rode the stately white mare as before. At Slute Skeme he sold the white mare and with many misgivings took passage aboard a lumbering cargo vessel bound for Domreis.

Three days of cautious inquiry at last yielded information that, in the absence of Prince Dhrun… now making a ceremonial visit to Dascinet… the Princess Glyneth had taken herself off to Watershade.

In the morning Visbhume set off along the coast road. A storm of roaring winds and driving rain persuaded him to break his journey at the town Hag’s Head, under Cape Haze, where he took lodging at the Three Lampreys. To pass the time he composed himself to a study of Twitten’s Almanac, and became so enthralled by the vistas of opportunity suddenly displayed before his imagination that he extended his visit another day, and yet another, and another, even though the weather had once again become fine.

Meanwhile, the Three Lampreys was comfortable and convenient; Visbhume ate well, drank well, and sat long hours in the sunshine, pondering Twitten’s wonderful calculations and the no less remarkable conversion of theory into fact. Visbhume called for ink, quill and parchment, and attempted calculations of his own, to the wondering curiosity of others at the inn, who at last decided him to be an astrologer calculating the moods, surges and retrogressions of the several planets: a conjecture which pleased Visbhume and which he took no pains to disabuse.

Visbhume enjoyed other activities as well. He dozed in the sunlight, took short strolls along the shore, and tried to induce the serving maids to accompany him on these strolls. He was especially interested in the flaxen-haired butter-and-milk girl, whose body, despite her youth, had started to show a number of appealing aspects.

Visbhume’s interest in her attributes became so forthright that the innkeeper came out to chide him: “You, sir, I must ask you to mend your ways! These little maids do not know how to cope with your lewdness. I have told them to throw a good drench of cold water on you if you fondle them again.”

Visbhume said haughtily: “Fellow, you are presuming far out of your place!”

“That is as may be. In any case, let us have no more of your leers and probing fingers and invitations down the shore.”

“This is sheer insolence!” stormed Visbhume. “Be warned! I am almost prompted to take my custom elsewhere!”

“Do as you like; there will be no grief at Three Lampreys! Truth to tell, with your constant tapping and prancing of the feet, you are alarming my regulars; they think you a natural and as I reflect on it, so do I. By the statutes of law I cannot turn you out unless you commit a nuisance, and you have veered yourself very close. Beware!”

Visbhume declared in all dignity: “Innkeeper, you are surly and dull. The girls enjoy my little play; if not, they would never come so often, lilting and tittling, flirting and showing their things; just so.”

“Aha! You will find how they like it when they cool your play with good cold water. Meanwhile, you may also pay your score as of this moment, in case you become suddenly indignant and prance off by night.”

“That is a churlish remark to make to a gentleman!”

“No doubt. I am careful never to do so.”

“You have offended me,” said Visbhume. “I will pay the score and depart your premises at once. As for your gratuity, expect not even a groat.”

Visbhume departed and took up residence at the Sea Coral Inn on the other side of town, where he stayed another three days, continuing his studies of the Almanac. At last his calculations prompted him to be off about his affairs. He purchased a small cart drawn by a dainty little pony, which carried him along the road at a spanking pace, with a twinkling clack-clack-clack of varnished hooves. Past the Three Lampreys rode Visbhume, sitting proudly high on the seat, then along the road to Rundle River Valley, up the River Road to Green Man’s Gap, over and down upon the Ceald.

A STRANGE SWEET MOOD had come over Glyneth of late. When in the company of her friends, or even with Dhrun, she often would have preferred solitude. And sometimes, when she had slipped away and was truly alone, then: perversity of perversities! an indefinable uneasiness afflicted her, as if somewhere wonderful events were in progress, and there she longed to be, though, poor forlorn girl, she had not been invited and no one even noticed her absence.

Glyneth became wistful and restless. At times fascinating images came to tease her, glimpses less substantial than daydreams, figments and fancies, of madcap revelries by moonlight; of fetes where she was adored by gallant strangers; of drifting over land and sea in a magic ship of the air, in the company of the one she loved most of all and who loved her no less.

With Dhrun gone from Domreis and then-schooling at recess, Glyneth dithered and wavered for a day or so, but without the presence of Dhrun or Aillas, Miraldra held no charm, and she took herself to Watershade, where she resolved that she would read all the books in Ospero’s library. She made a brave start, and read Lagronius: his Chronicles, and Memories of Nausicaa and even started to pick her way through The Iliad, but the dreamy moods came on her often, and the books were put aside.

When the lake lay calm and blue in the sunlight, she liked to row out into total solitude and lie back to watch the tall white clouds. There was no sweeter occupation; she seemed to become one with this world she loved so dearly, which was hers to enjoy and possess during her term. And sometimes the feelings became too intense and she rose up quickly, to sit with arms clasped around her knees, blinking back tears for the passing of halcyon moments.

So Glyneth indulged herself with romantic excesses, and at times wondered if someone had cast a glamour upon her. Dame Flora became vaguely worried because her darling Glyneth had not gone out to climb trees or jump fences.

As the days passed, Glyneth began to feel lonely. Occasionally she rode into the village to visit her friend the Lady Alicia at Black Oak Manor; as often she walked into the Wild Woods to pick strawberries.

The day before Dhrun was due to arrive, Glyneth arose early and after due consideration, decided to gather strawberries. She kissed Dame Flora goodbye and taking her basket, set off into the Wild Woods.

By noon Glyneth had not returned to Watershade, nor yet by sunset, and servants went out to search. They found nothing.

Early the next morning a messenger was despatched to Domreis; he met Dhrun along the way and both rode in haste to Castle Miraldra.

FOR AILLAS, the Ska occupation of Suarach posed him more than a military dilemma; the action, so coldly deliberate, also inflicted a notable personal humiliation upon him. In the purview of the Ulfs, such a provocation compelled retort, since a person who suffered shame by the purposeful act of another carried the stink of the occasion upon him until his enemy had been punished or until he had died in the attempt. Hence, as Aillas went about his affairs, he felt conspicuous and tainted, and knew that every eye watched him.

Aillas ignored the covert attention as best he could and pressed the training of his brigades with even greater diligence. Of late he had noticed a gratifying new spirit among the troops: a briskness and precision where before the Ulfish slouch and reluctance to move to unfamiliar cadences had been more apparent. The changes would seem to reflect a grudging confidence in the army’s fighting efficiency. Aillas still wondered as to their stamina and cohesiveness in the face of ponderous and ominously careful onslaughts of the Ska, which in the past had destroyed not only North Ulfish armies, but also Godelian and Daut forces of superior number.

It was a cruel problem, with no comfortable solutions. If Aillas risked a confrontation and events went badly, his troops’ morale would be shattered and he would lose his credibility as a commander. The Ska, by occupying Suarach, apparently hoped to provoke him into a reckless set battle, where their heavy cavalry could demolish the Ulfish army as a hammer smashes a nut. Aillas had no intention of risking such an engagement, certainly not at this time. Still, if he waited too long before taking any action whatever, the Ulfs, who were temperamentally prompted to quick and savage response to provocation, might well become cynical and stale.

Sir Pirmence, returning from the high fells with a levy of conscripts, reinforced Aillas’ own fears. “You will never train them finer than they are now,” said Pirmence. “They need to test themselves and make sure that your heathen ideas are practical.”

“Very well,” said Aillas. “We shall put them to the test. But on ground of my own choosing.”

Pirmence hesitated and seemed to conduct an internal dialogue. At last he took a swaggering step forward and said: “I can also impart to you this report, which is well-founded: Castle Sank is a fortress across the border to the north.”

“As a matter of fact, I know it well,” said Aillas.

“The lord is the Duke Luhalcx. At this moment he has taken his family and much of his retinue to Skaghane, so that Sank is only lightly defended.”

“That is interesting news,” said Aillas. Two hours later he issued marching orders to six companies of Ulfish light cavalry and archers, two companies of Troice heavy cavalry, two companies of Troice infantry and a platoon of thirty-five Troice knights. They would depart Doun Darric at tomorrow’s sunset, that they might evade Ska surveillance.

Aillas was well aware that Ska spies monitored his movements. In order to neutralize their activity he had organized a squad of secret counterespionage police. Even before the issuance of marching orders Aillas sent his secret police out to strategic places around the camp, where they would be sure to intercept couriers attempting to carry information from Doun Darric.

The sun dropped into the west and twilight settled upon the camp. Aillas sat at his work-table studying maps. Outside he heard a scuffle of steps and muttered voices; the door opened and Sir Flews, his aide, looked into the room. “Sir, the police have made a capture.”

Sir Flews spoke with awe and suppressed excitement. Aillas straightened up from the table. “Bring them in.”

Six men entered the room, two with arms tied behind their backs. Aillas looked in slack-jawed wonder to see, first, a slim black-eyed young man with black hair cut in the Ska style, and, second, Sir Pirmence.

The captain of the police was Hilgretz, younger brother to Sir Ganwy of Koll Keep, and now he made his report. “We took up our posts, and almost immediately after dark noticed a flashing light from the camp. We deployed with care and captured the Ska at the crest of the hill, and when we followed the light to its source we came upon Sir Pirmence.”

“This is a sad situation,” said Aillas.

Sir Pirmence gave his full agreement. “It is cheerless indeed.”

“You betrayed me at Domreis, and I brought you here that you might redeem yourself; instead you have betrayed me again.”

Sir Pirmence looked at Aillas askance, like an old silver-haired fox. “You knew of my work in Domreis? How is this possible when it was so discreet?”

“Nothing is discreet when Yane starts looking into it. Both you and Maloof are traitors. Rather than kill you I thought to make use of your talents.”

“Ah Aillas, it was a gracious thought but over-subtle; I failed to grasp your intention. So poor Maloof has also transgressed.”

“He did and now he pays his debt. You also worked well and might have earned back your life, as I hope will Maloof.”

“Maloof dances to a different tune than I. More just to say, he hears no tune whatever and could not lift a leg if Terpsichore herself came to lead the measure.”

“At least he has desisted from his treachery, or so I suppose. Why have you not done likewise?”

Sir Pirmence sighed and shook his head. “Who knows? I hate you, and yet truly I love you. I sneer at your callow simplicity, but I glory in your enterprise. I crave your success, but I strive for your despair. What is wrong with me? Where is my flaw? Perhaps I wish that I were you, and since this cannot be I must punish you for the fault. Or if you prefer the crude facts, they are these: I was born to duplicity.”

“And what of Castle Sank? Was your information no more than bait to lure me and many good men to their deaths?”

“No, on my honour! Do you smile? Smile then. I am far too proud to lie. I gave you only the purest truth.”

Aillas looked to the Ska. “And you, sir: do you have anything to say?”

“Nothing.”

“You are a young man, with a long life ahead of you. If I spare this life, will you give me your parole never to work again to my detriment, or that of South Ulfland?”

“I could not in good faith make this guaranty.”

Aillas took Hilgretz aside. “I must put this matter into your hands. We cannot excite the camp by dangling Sir Pirmence and the Ska from a gibbet just before we march; there would be too many questions and too much conjecture.”