Monarchies Of God - Hawkwoods Voyage Part 18

"We'll camp here, and attempt the pa.s.s in the morning," the King said to his chief steward.

The man bowed in the saddle and then wrenched his horse around to begin the job of setting up camp.

The King sat relaxed in the saddle and watched the ungainly straggling groups of men and animals gradually coalesce on the slope below him. The horses were finding it heavy going. If the snow grew much deeper-and it would-then they would all be afoot, hauling their mounts behind them. The snows had come early this year, and there was a bitter wind winnowing the high peaks. The baking heat of Abrusio seemed like a dream.

"Is it here you hope to meet up with King Mark, sire?" a woman's voice asked.

"Hereabouts." The King turned to regard the hooded lady who sat her palfrey behind him. The fine-stepping horse was feeling the cold; it was not the best of mounts for a journey such as this. "I hope you have good walking boots with you, lady. That nag of yours will drop in its tracks ere we've put another ten leagues behind us."

The lady Jemilla threw back her hood. Her dark hair was bound up in circled braids around her head, held in place with pearl-topped pins. Two larger pearls shone like little moons in her earlobes. Her eyes sparkled in the snow-light.

"The walk will do me good. I am putting on weight."

Abeleyn grinned. If so, he had not noticed. He looked down the hillside. His staff were erecting the huge hide tents, and he could see the dull flicker of a fire. His toes were numb in his furlined boots and his breath was whipped away from his lips, but he did not immediately ride down to the warmth of the fires.

Rather he gazed south, along the line of the mountains to where Astarac loomed blue with distance on the southern side of the Arcolm river. If truth be told, they were in Astarac now, for the Arcolm had always been the traditional boundary between Astarac and Fimbria. But up in the mountains such technicalities were irrelevant. Shepherds herded their goats from one kingdom to another without formalities, as they always had. Up here the niceties of borders and diplomacy seemed like a faraway farce to be played out in the palaces of the world.

"When will he arrive, do you think?" Jemilla asked.

She was becoming a little familiar of late. He must watch that.

"Soon I hope, lady, soon. But he will be here no quicker for our watching. Come, let us warm ourselves and give our poor mounts a rest." He kicked his horse into motion down the icy slope.

Jemilla did not follow him at once. She sat her shivering steed and stared at the King's retreating back.

One gloved hand felt her stomach tentatively, and for a moment her face became as hard as gla.s.s. Then she followed her king and lover down to the growing bustle of the camp, and the fires that were burningorange and yellow against the snow.

T HE wind had blown up into a gale. Abeleyn held his hands out to the glowing brazier-they would be running out of coal soon-and listened to the snowstorm that had come upon them with the swooping in of night. Perhaps he should have taken the sea route, south-east through the Malacar Straits, but then he would have needed a small fleet as escort. To the corsairs, a Hebrian king would have been too tempting a target to let by unmolested, despite-or perhaps because of-the longstanding accommodations they had had with the Hebrian crown.

And besides, he needed this chance to talk openly with King Mark before the intrigue of the conclave swallowed them all.

Something struck the side of the tent, seemingly propelled by the wind. It scrabbled there for a moment, and the steward came in from the adjoining extension. There was the clatter of plates from in there; they were clearing the remains of dinner.

"Was there something, sire? I thought I heard-"

"It was nothing, Cabran. Dismiss the servants, will you? They can finish in the morning."

The steward bowed, then left for the s.p.a.cious extension, clapping his hands at the serving maids.

Abeleyn rose and let slip the heavy hide curtain that shut out their noise.

"Sire." It was the bodyguard at the entrance. "We've something here. It struck the tent, and you told us to look out for-"

"Yes," Abeleyn snapped. "Bring it here, and then let no others enter."

The tent flap was thrown back and a heavily cloaked and armoured man thrust his way in, admitting a gust of snow and chill air. He had something in his hands, which he left on the low cot at a nod from Abeleyn.

"Thank you, Merco. Have you men a decent fire out there?"

"Good enough, sire. We switch round every hour." The man's voice was m.u.f.fled in the folds of cloak he had wrapped round his face.

"Very well. That will be all, then."

The man bowed and left. The snow he had let in began to melt on the thick hide of the tent's floor.

"Well, Golophin?" Abeleyn said. He bent over the ice-encrusted gyrfalcon that crouched on the furs of the cot and gently wiped its feathers. The yellow inhuman eyes glared at him. The beak opened, and the voice of the old wizard said: "Well met, my lord."

"Is the bird drunk, that he crashes into my tent?"

"The bird is exhausted, lad. This d.a.m.n snowstorm almost put paid to him for good. You will have a fine time forcing the pa.s.s if this keeps up."

"I know. What word of King Mark?"

"He is only hours away. He travels with a smaller party than you. Perhaps his ideas as to the dignity ofkings differ."

Abeleyn smiled, stroking the bird's feathers. "Perhaps. Well, old man, what news have you for me this time?"

"Momentous news, my boy. I have had the bird monitor Charibon as you requested. He has just come from there. I thought the flight over the mountains would kill him, but he had the east wind on his tail so he made good time in the end.

"You have to know, I suppose. The Synod convened eight days ago. Our good Himerius has been elected High Pontiff of the Five Kingdoms."

Abeleyn's hand went very still on the water-beaded plumage of the savage bird. "So they did it. They actually elected that slaughter-mongering wolf-livered b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Guard your words, sire. You speak of the spiritual head of the Ramusian world."

"By the blood of the Saints! Did no one object, Golophin?"

"Merion did, but he's an Antillian of low birth, and thus an outsider. I had thought Heyn of Torunna would also, but he must have been bought off somehow. No doubt Himerius is even now doling out rewards to the faithful who voted him into office."

"And the purges. I take it they will be extended continent-wide."

"Yes, lad. A Pontifical bull is expected within a few weeks. It is a black day for the Dweomer-folk, and for the west."

Abeleyn's face was as white as bone in the scarlet shadow of the tent.

"I will not allow it. The kings will not allow it. I will put it to the conclave that we cannot tolerate this interference in the day-to-day running of the state. These people are our subjects; whether the Church considers them heretics or no."

"Careful, lad. There is talk of excommunication in the air at Charibon, and Himerius has the power to issue a bull against you. A heretic king has no right to rule in the eyes of the world."

"d.a.m.n them," Abeleyn said through clenched teeth. "Is there nothing an anointed king can do in his kingdom without these G.o.d-cursed Ravens meddling in it?"

"It is the Inceptine game, sire. They have been playing it for centuries."

"I will speak to Mark of it. He is a moderate like me. We may not sway Lofantyr of Torunna, for he needs the Knights Militant too badly at the moment, or Haukir of Almark-he is too old, too set in his ways. Cadamost of Perigraine, though. He may be open to reason; he has always struck me as an amenable sort of fellow. What news from the d.y.k.e, Golophin? Does it hold?"

"Shahr Baraz's army is finding the pa.s.sage of the Western Road difficult. The main body has begun to move at last and there is skirmishing at the d.y.k.e itself, but so far there has been no major a.s.sault. This is old news, sire, gleaned from a colleague of mine. The bird has been too busy in Charibon to have a closer look at the east."

"Of course."

"There is a rumour, though, from Ormann d.y.k.e.""What? What of it?"

"It is rumoured that Macrobius was not slain in Aekir's fall, that he is alive. As I say, it is a rumour, no more."

"Macrobius alive? No, it's impossible, Golophin! Torunnan wishful thinking."

"Do you want me to look into it, sire?"

Abeleyn paused. "No. I need your feathered alter ego back at Charibon. I must be up to date with developments there when the conclave is a.s.sembled. There is no time to chase will-o'-the-wisps in the east."

"Very well, sire."

There was a silence. The gyrfalcon struggled to its taloned feet and shook its wings, spraying water over Abeleyn.

"Will the bird stay here tonight, Golophin?"

"If you please, sire. He needs a rest, and King Mark is on the right route to find you in the morning. I congratulate you on your navigating."

"I spend my life navigating, Golophin, trying to keep the ship of state from foundering."

"Then beware of shoals, my King. They are approaching by the score. Have you heard anything from Fimbria?"

Abeleyn rubbed his eyes, suddenly weary. "Yes. Narbukir is sending an envoy to the conclave. He travels with us, though he wants to remain as low-key as possible. From Fimbria proper there has been no reply to my emissary as yet. I do not honestly expect one, Golophin."

"Do not give up hope, sire. The Fimbrians may yet be the answer to some of our problems. They have never loved the Church; they blame it for their downfall. They would be a powerful ally if the worst happened and Hebrion went its own way."

"You mean if its king were excommunicated and it became an outlawed kingdom, beyond the pale of the Ramusian monarchies?"

"That is a picture I would not care to regard too closely, sire."

"Nor I. I am tired, Golophin, and your magnificent bird seems a little the worse for wear. Maybe we'll both sleep now. I have a perch ready, if it does not object to roosting on the end of a king's bed."

"He-and I-would be honoured, sire."

"My lord King." It was the steward's voice, coming from the other side of the hide part.i.tion.

"Yes, Cabran, what is it?"

"The lady Jemilla wonders if you would receive her, sire."

Abeleyn frowned. "No, Cabran. Tell her I am not to be disturbed until morning."

"Yes, sire.""And Cabran-I am to be wakened the moment King Mark's party is sighted."

"As you wish, sire. Good night."

Some kings and princes had body servants to undress them and prepare them for bed, but Abeleyn preferred to perform those functions himself. He reached under the low cot for the chamber-pot and p.i.s.sed into it gratefully.

"You brought Jemilla, then," the gyrfalcon said. Odd to hear Golophin's deep tones issue out of the harsh beak, as though the bird had the lips and lungs of a man.

Abeleyn shoved the steaming pot back under the cot. "Yes. What of it?"

"She has ambitions, that one."

"She will never be my queen, if that's what you're afraid of. She's much too old, and she was married before."

"I think she hopes, sire, in the way women do. Be careful of her. I do not think she is the kind of lady to be discarded lightly."

"I will worry about that, Golophin."

"And it is high time you were married yourself. You must be the most eligible bachelor in the Five Kingdoms."

"You sound like a mother goose fussing over her brood, Golophin. You know why I have not married. If I ally myself with one of the other monarchies through a state marriage then I alienate the others-"

"And Hebrion depends on the goodwill of all the kings for the trade that sustains her. I know the arguments, sire, but there is a new one now. You must bind Hebrion to another state if you intend to flout the holy writ of our new Pontiff; you cannot afford to let yourself be isolated. It is something you might bring up with King Mark when you meet."

"What schemes are you hatching now, Golophin?"

"Think of it, sire. An alliance between Astarac and Hebrion, and in between them the neutral state of Fimbria. That would be a bloc that even the Church would think twice before provoking. If you wish to shake free of the Church's authority then you should be thinking of the part of the continent that lies west of the Malvennor Mountains. The western states have always had a reputation for going their own way."

"If certain clerics heard your words, Golophin, you would be a heap of ashes at the foot of a blackened stake."

"If certain clerics saw this talking bird my end would be the same. I no longer have anything to lose and nor have you, sire. Think about what I have said, and if you have to bend a little to avoid becoming a heretic king, then so be it-but make sure that if you cannot bend far enough Hebrion is not left to stand alone."

Abeleyn yawned. "All right, I am convinced. Ah, this mountain air! It makes a man sleepy. Your bird looks shattered, Golophin."

"We both are. The powers of mages are not all they are rumoured to be. This night I feel as old and brittle as a dried leaf. This will be the last you hear from me in a while, Abeleyn. The old man needs hisrest."

"So does the King," Abeleyn said, yawning again. "I'd best get some ere King Mark turns up on our doorstep." He lay back on the cot and the falcon flapped and hopped, screaming softly, until it perched on the wooden frame at his feet.

Abeleyn stared at the roof of the heavy tent. The whole structure was swaying and creaking in the wind that was blasting down from the mountains.

"Do you remember the Blithe Spirit, Golophin?"

The bird was silent. Abeleyn smiled, putting his hands behind his head.

"I remember the green depths of the Hebrian Sea, and the master pointing out over the ship's rail to where the water turned deeper; that colour, as dark as an old wine. The Great Western Ocean that marks the end of the world.

"We were putting about to steer a course for the Fimbrian Gulf, back to the world of men. I remember the loom of the Hebros Mountains, like a thin line at the edge of sight. And the coast of Astarac with the shadows of the Malvennors. I remember the smell, Golophin. There is no other smell on earth like it. The smell of the open ocean, and the ship smells.

"Sometimes I wish I could have been a master mariner, carving my own road upon the surface of the world and leaving nothing but a wake of white water behind me. And nothing but a plank of Gabrionese oak between my soul and eternity . . ."

Abeleyn's eyes were closed. His breathing slowed.

"I wonder if Murad has found his fabled land in the west . . ." he murmured. His head tilted to one side.

The King slept.

K ING Mark of Astarac and his entourage arrived just before dawn, having travelled through the night in the blinding snowstorm. When the Astaran monarch was shown into Abeleyn's tent his face was grey beneath its mask of ice and frozen snow, and his young man's beard had been frosted white.