Tigana Part 5

There was a smoothly graceful silence acknowledging all of this.

It was broken by Nievole. 'That was was Sandre's doing, wasn't it?' he growled from by his fire. 'Not the Canziano at all!' Sandre's doing, wasn't it?' he growled from by his fire. 'Not the Canziano at all!'

'It was our doing,' Toma.s.so agreed calmly. 'We learned a great deal, I must say.'

'So,' Scalvaia murmured drily, 'did the Canziano. Your father always hated Fabro bar Canzian.'

'They could not have been said to be on the best of terms,' Toma.s.so said blandly. 'Though I must say that if you focus on that aspect of things I fear you might miss the point.'

'The point you prefer us to take,' Nievole amended pointedly.

Unexpectedly, Scalvaia came to Toma.s.so's aid. 'Not fair, my lord,' he said to Nievole. 'If we can accept anything as true in this room and these times it is that Sandre's hatred and his desire had moved beyond old wars and rivalries. His target was Alberico.'

His icy blue eyes held Nievole's for a long moment, and finally the bigger man nodded. Scalvaia shifted in his chair, wincing at a pain in his afflicted leg.

'Very well,' he said to Toma.s.so. 'You have now told us why we are here and have made clear your father's purpose and your own. For my own part I will make a confession. I will confess, in the spirit of truth that a death vigil should inspire, that being ruled by a coa.r.s.e, vicious, overbearing minor lord from Barbadior brings little joy to my aged heart. I am with you. If you have a plan I would like to hear it. On my oath and honour I will keep faith with the Sandreni in this.'

Toma.s.so shivered at the invocation of the ancient words. 'Your oath and honour are sureties beyond measure,' he said, and meant it.

'They are indeed, bar Sandre,' said Nievole, taking a heavy step forward from the fire. 'And I will dare to say that the word of the Nievolene has never been valued at lesser coin. The dearest wish of my heart is for the Barbadian to lie dead and cut to pieces-Triad willing, by my own blade. I too am with you-by my oath and honour.'

'Such terribly splendid words!' said an amused voice from the window opposite the door.

Five faces, four white with shock and the bearded one flushing red, whipped around. The speaker stood outside the open window, elbows resting on the ledge, chin in his hands. He eyed them with a mild scrutiny, his face shadowed by the wood of the window-frame.

'I have never yet,' he said, 'known gallant phrases from however august a lineage to succeed in ousting a tyrant. In the Palm or anywhere else.' With an economical motion he hoisted himself upwards, swung his feet into the room and sat comfortably perched on the ledge. 'On the other hand,' he added, 'agreeing on a cause does make a starting-point, I will concede that much.'

'You are the sixth of whom my father spoke?' Toma.s.so asked warily.

The man did look familiar now that he was in the light. He was dressed for the forest not the city, in two shades of grey with a black sheepskin vest over his shirt, and breeches tucked into worn black riding boots. There was a knife at his belt, without ornament.

'I heard you mention that,' the fellow said. 'I actually hope I'm not, because if I am the implications are unsettling, to say the least. The fact is, I never spoke to your father in my life. If he knew of my activities and somehow expected me to find out about this meeting and be here ... well, I would be somewhat flattered by his confidence but rather more disturbed that he would have known so much about me. On the other hand,' he said for a second time, 'it is Sandre d'Astibar we're talking about, and I do seem to make six here, don't I?' He bowed, without any visible irony, towards the bier on its trestles.

'You are, then, also in league against Alberico?' Nievole's eyes were watchful.

'I am not,' said the man in the window quite bluntly. 'Alberico means nothing to me. Except as a tool. A wedge to open a door of my own.'

'And what is it lies behind that door?' Scalvaia asked from deep in his armchair.

But in that moment Toma.s.so remembered.

'I know you!' he said abruptly. 'I saw you this morning. You are the Tregean shepherd who played the pipes in the mourning rites!' Taeri snapped his fingers as the recognition came home to him as well.

'I played the pipes, yes,' the man on the window-ledge said, quite unruffled. 'But I am not a shepherd nor from Tregea. It has suited my purposes to play a role, many different roles, in fact, for a great many years. Toma.s.so bar Sandre ought to appreciate that.' He grinned.

Toma.s.so did not return the smile. 'Perhaps then, under the circ.u.mstances, you might favour us by saying who you really are.' He said it as politely as the situation seemed to warrant. 'My father might have known but we do not.'

'Nor, I'm afraid, shall you learn just yet,' the other said. He paused. 'Though I will say that were I to swear a vow of my own on the honour of my family it would carry a weight that would eclipse both such oaths sworn here tonight.'

It was matter-of-factly said, which made the arrogance greater, not less.

To forestall Nievole's predictable burst of anger Toma.s.so said quickly, 'You will not deny us some some information surely, even if you choose to shield your name. You said Alberico is a tool for you. A tool for what, Alessan not-of-Tregea?' He was pleased to find that he remembered the name Menico di Ferraut had mentioned yesterday. 'What information surely, even if you choose to shield your name. You said Alberico is a tool for you. A tool for what, Alessan not-of-Tregea?' He was pleased to find that he remembered the name Menico di Ferraut had mentioned yesterday. 'What is is your own purpose? What brings you to this lodge?' your own purpose? What brings you to this lodge?'

The other's face, lean and curiously hollowed with cheekbones in sharp relief, grew still, almost masklike. And into the waiting silence that ensued he said: 'I want Brandin. I want Brandin of Ygrath dead more than I want my soul's immortality beyond the last portal of Morian.'

There was a silence again, broken only by the crackle of the autumn fires on the two hearths. It seemed to Toma.s.so as if the chill of winter had come into the room with that speech.

Then: 'Such terribly splendid words!' murmured Scalvaia lazily, shattering the mood. He drew a shout of laughter from Nievole and Taeri, both. Scalvaia himself did not smile.

The man on the window-ledge acknowledged the thrust with the briefest nod of his head. He said, 'This is not, my lord, a subject about which I permit frivolity. If we are to work together it will be necessary for you to remember that.'

'You, I am forced to say, are an overly proud young man,' replied Scalvaia sharply. 'It might be appropriate for you to remember to whom you speak.'

The other visibly bit back his first retort. 'Pride is a family failing,' he said finally. 'I have not escaped it, I'm afraid. But I am indeed mindful of who you are. And the Sandreni and my lord Nievole. It is why I am here. I have made it my business to be aware of dissidence throughout the Palm for many years. At times I have encouraged it, discreetly. This evening marks the first instance in which I have come myself to a gathering such as this.'

'But you have already told us that Alberico is nothing to you.' Toma.s.so inwardly cursed his father for not having better prepared him for this very peculiar sixth figure.

'Nothing in himself,' the other corrected. 'Will you allow me?' Without waiting for a reply he lifted himself down from the ledge and walked over to the wine.

'Please,' said Toma.s.so, belatedly.

The man poured himself a generous gla.s.s of the vintage red. He drained it, and poured another. Only then did he turn back to address the five of them. Herado's eyes, watching him, were enormous.

'Two facts,' the man called Alessan said crisply. 'Learn them if you are serious about freedom in the Palm. One: if you oust or slay Alberico you will have Brandin upon you within three months. Two: if Brandin is ousted or slain Alberico will rule this peninsula within that same period of time.'

He stopped. His eyes-grey, Toma.s.so noticed now-moved from one to the other of them, challenging. No one spoke. Scalvaia toyed with the handle of his cane.

'These two things must be understood,' the stranger went on in the same tone. 'Neither I in my own pursuit, nor you in yours, can afford to lose sight of them. They are the core truths of the Palm in our time. The two sorcerers from overseas are their own balance of power and the only only balance of power in the peninsula right now, however different things might have been eighteen years ago. Today only the power of one keeps the magic of the other from being wielded as it was when they conquered us. If we take them then we must take them both-or make them bring down each other.' balance of power in the peninsula right now, however different things might have been eighteen years ago. Today only the power of one keeps the magic of the other from being wielded as it was when they conquered us. If we take them then we must take them both-or make them bring down each other.'

'How?' Taeri asked, too eagerly.

The lean face under the prematurely silvering dark hair turned to him and smiled briefly. 'Patience, Taeri bar Sandre. I have a number of things yet to tell you about carelessness before deciding if our paths are to join. And I say this with infinite respect for the dead man who seems-remarkably enough-to have drawn us here. I'm afraid you are going to have to agree to submit yourselves to my guidance or we can do nothing together at all.'

'The Scalvaiane have submitted themselves willingly to nothing and no one in living memory or recorded history,' that vulpine lord said, the texture of velvet in his voice. 'I am not readily of a mind to become the first to do so.'

'Would you prefer,' the other said, 'to have your plans and your life and the long glory of your line snuffed out like candles on the Ember Days because of sheer sloppiness in your preparations?'

'You had better explain yourself,' Toma.s.so said icily.

'I intend to. Who was it who chose a double-moon night at double moonrise to meet?' Alessan retorted, his voice suddenly cutting like a blade. 'Why are no rear guards posted along the forest path to warn you if someone approaches-as I just did? Why were no servants left here this afternoon to guard this cabin? Have you even the faintest awareness of how dead the five of you would be-severed hands stuffed into your throats-were I not who I am?'

'My father ... Sandre ... said that Alberico would not have us followed,' Toma.s.so stammered furiously. 'He was absolutely certain of that.'

'And he is likely to have been absolutely right. But you cannot let your focus be so narrow. Your father-I am sorry to have to say it-was alone with his obsession for too long. He was too intent upon Alberico. It shows in everything you have done these past two days. What of the idly curious or the greedy? The petty informer who might decide to follow you just to see what happened here? Just to have a story to tell in the tavern tomorrow? Did you-or your father-give even half a thought to such things? Or to those who might have learned where you planned to come and arranged to be here before you?'

There was a hostile silence. A log on the smaller fire settled with a crack and a shower of sparks. Herado jumped involuntarily at the sound.

'Will it interest you to know,' the man called Alessan went on, more gently, 'that my people have been guarding the approaches to this cabin since you arrived? Or that I've had someone in here since mid-afternoon keeping an eye on the servants setting up, and who might follow them?'

'What?' Taeri exclaimed. 'In here! In our hunting lodge!'

'For your protection and my own,' the other man said, finishing his second gla.s.s of wine. He glanced upwards to the shadows of the half-loft above, where the extra pallets were stored.

'I think that should do it, my friend,' he called, pitching his voice to carry. 'You've earned a gla.s.s of wine after so long dry-throated among the dust. You may as well come down now, Devin.'

It had actually been very easy.

Menico, purse jingling with more money than he had ever earned from a single performance in his life, had graciously pa.s.sed their concert at the wine-merchant's house over to Burnet di Corte. Burnet, who needed the work, was pleased; the wine-merchant, angry at first, was quickly mollified upon learning what Menico's. .h.i.therto unfinalized tariff would now have been in the aftermath of the sensation they'd caused that morning.

So, in the event, Devin and the rest of the company had been given the rest of the day and evening off. Menico counted out for everyone an immediate bonus of five astins and benevolently waved them away to the various delights of the Festival. He didn't even offer his usual warning lecture.

Already, just past noon, there were wine-stands on every corner, more than one at the busier squares. Each vineyard in Astibar province, and even some from farther afield in Ferraut or Senzio, had its vintages from previous years available as harbingers of what this year's grapes would offer. Merchants looking to buy in quant.i.ty were sampling judiciously, early revellers rather less so.

Fruit-vendors were also in abundance, with figs and melons and the enormous grapes of the season displayed beside vast wheels of white cheeses from Tregea or bricks of red ones from northern Certando. Over by the market the din was deafening as the people of the city and its distrada canva.s.sed the offerings of this year's itinerant tradesmen. Overhead the banners of the n.o.ble houses and of the larger wine estates flapped brightly in the autumn breeze as Devin strode purposefully towards what he'd just been told was the most fashionable khav room in Astibar.

There were benefits to fame. He was recognized at the doorway, his arrival excitedly announced, and in a matter of moments he found himself at the dark wooden bar of The Paelion nursing a mug of hot khav laced with flambardion-no awkward questions asked about anyone's age, thank you very much.

It was the work of half an hour to find out what he needed to know about Sandre d'Astibar. His questions seemed entirely natural, coming from the tenor who had just sung the Duke's funeral lament. Devin learned about Sandre's long rule, his feuds, his bitter exile, and his sad decline in the last few years into a bl.u.s.tering, drunken hunter of small game, a wraith compared to what he once had been.

In that last context, rather more specifically, Devin asked about where the Duke had liked to hunt. They told him. They told him where his favourite hunting lodge had been. He changed the subject to wine.

It was easy. He was a hero of the hour and The Paelion liked heroes, for an hour. They let him go eventually: he pleaded an artist's strained sensitivity after the morning's endeavours. With the benefit of hindsight he now attached a deal more importance than he had at the time to glimpsing Alessan di Tregea at a booth full of painters and poets. They were laughing about some wager concerning certain verses of condolence that had not yet arrived from Chiara. He and Alessan had saluted each other in an elaborately showy, performers' fashion that delighted the packed room.

Back at the inn, Devin had fended off the most ardent of the group who had walked him home and went upstairs alone. He had waited in his room, chafing, for an hour to be sure the last of them had gone. Having changed into a dark-brown tunic and breeches, he put on a cap to hide his hair and a woollen overshirt against the coming chill of evening. Then he made his way unnoticed through the now teeming crowds in the streets over to the eastern gate of the city.

And out, among several empty wagons, goods all sold, being ridden back to the distrada by sober, prudent farmers who preferred to reload and return in the morning instead of celebrating all night in town spending what they'd just earned.

Devin hitched a ride on a cart part of the way, commiserating with the driver on the taxes and the poor rates being paid that year for lamb's wool. Eventually he jumped off, feigning youthful exuberance, and ran a mile or so along the road to the east.

At one point he saw, with a grin of recognition, a temple of Adaon on the right. Just past it, as promised, was the delicately rendered image of a ship on the roadside gate of a modest country house. Rovigo's home-what Devin could see of it, set well back from the road among cypress and olive trees-looked comfortable and cared-for.

A day ago, a different person, he would have stopped. But something had happened to him that morning within the dusty s.p.a.ces of the Sandreni Palace. He kept going.

A half mile further on he found what he was looking for. He made sure he was alone and then quickly cut to his right, south into the woods, away from the main road that led to the east coast and Ardin town on the sea.

It was quiet in the forest and cooler where the branches and the many-coloured leaves dappled the sunlight. There was a path winding through the trees and Devin began to follow it, towards the hunting lodge of the Sandreni. From here on he redoubled his caution. On the road he was simply a walker in the autumn countryside; here he was a trespa.s.ser with no excuse at all for being where he was.

Unless pride and the strange, dreamlike events of the morning just past could be called adequate excuses. Devin rather doubted it. At the same time, it remained to be seen whether he or a certain manipulative red-headed personage was going to dictate the shape and flow of this day and those to come. If she were under the impression that he was so easy to dupe-a helpless, youthful slave to his pa.s.sions, blinded and deafened to anything else by the so-gracious offer of her body-well it was for this afternoon and this evening to show how wrong an arrogant girl could be.

What else the evening might reveal, Devin didn't know; he hadn't allowed himself to slow down long enough to consider the question.

There was no one there when he came to the lodge, though he lay silently among the trees for a long time to be certain. The front door was chained but Marra had been very good with such devices and had taught him a thing or two. He picked the lock with the buckle of his belt, went inside, opened a window, and climbed out to relock the chain. Then he slipped back in through the window, closed it, and took a look around.

There was little option, really. The two bedchambers at the back would be dangerous and not very useful if he wanted to hear. Devin balanced himself on the broad arm of a heavy wooden chair and, jumping, managed to make it up to the half-loft on his second attempt.

Nursing a shin bruised in the process he took a pillow from one of the pallets stored up there and proceeded to wedge himself into the remotest, darkest corner he could find, behind two beds and the stuffed head of an antlered corbin stag. By lying on his left side, eye to a c.h.i.n.k in the floorboards, he had an almost complete view of the room below.

He tried to guide himself towards a mood of calm and patience. Unfortunately, he soon became irrationally conscious of the fact that the gla.s.sy eye of the corbin was glitteringly fixed upon him. Under the circ.u.mstances it made him nervous. Eventually he got up, turned the chestnut head to one side and settled in to his hiding-place again.

And right about then, as the grimly purposeful activities of the day gave way to a time when he could do nothing but wait, Devin began to be afraid.

He was under no real illusions: he was a dead man if they found him here. The secrecy and tension in Toma.s.so bar Sandre's words and manner that morning made that clear enough. Even without what Catriana had done in her own effort to overhear those words, and then to prevent him from doing so. For the first time Devin began to contemplate where the rash momentum of his wounded pride had carried him.

When the servants came half an hour later to prepare the room they gave him some very bad moments. Bad enough, in fact, to make him briefly wish that he was back home in Asoli guiding a plough behind a pair of stolid water buffaloes. They were fine creatures, water buffaloes, patient, uncomplaining. They ploughed fields for you, and their milk made cheese. There was even something to be said for the predictable grey skies of Asoli in autumn and the equally predictable people. None of their girls, for example, were as irritatingly superior as Catriana d'Astibar who had got him into this. Nor would any Asolini servant, Devin was quite certain, ever have volunteered, as one Triad-blighted fool below was doing even now, to bring down a pallet from the half-loft in case one of the vigil-keeping lords should grow weary.

'Goch, don't be more of a fool than you absolutely must be!' the steward snapped officiously in reply. 'They are here to keep a waking watch all night-a pallet in the room is an insult to them both. Be grateful you aren't dependent on your brain to feed your belly, Goch!'

Devin fervently seconded the sentiments of the insult and wished the steward a long and lucrative existence. For the tenth time since the Sandreni servants had entered the lower room he cursed Catriana, and for the twentieth time, himself. The ratio seemed about right.

Finally the servants left; heading back for Astibar to bear the Duke's body here. The steward's instructions were painstakingly explicit. With idiots like Goch around, Devin thought spitefully, they had to be.

From where he lay, Devin could see the daylight gradually waning towards dusk. He found himself softly humming his old cradle song. He made himself stop.

His mind turned back to the morning. To the long walk through empty, dusty rooms of the palace. To the hidden closet at the end. The sudden silken feel of Catriana when her gown had drifted above her hips. He made himself stop that too.

It grew steadily darker. The first owl called, not far away. Devin had grown up in the country; it was a familiar sound. He heard some forest animal rooting in the underbrush at the edge of the clearing. Once in a while a gusting of the wind would set the leaves to rustling.

Then, abruptly, there came a shining of white light through one of the drawn window curtains and Devin knew that Vidomni was high enough to look down upon this clearing amid the tall trees of the wood, which meant that blue Ilarion would be rising even now. Which meant it would not be very much longer.

It wasn't. There was a wavering of torchlight and the sound of voices. The lock clinked, rattled, and the door swung open. The steward led in eight men carrying a bier. Eye glued to his crack in the floor, breathing shallowly, Devin saw them lay it down. Toma.s.so came in with the two lords whose names and lineage Devin had learned in The Paelion.

The servants uncovered and laid out the food and then they left, Goch stumbling on the threshold and banging his shoulder pleasingly on the doorpost. The steward, last to go, shrugged a discreet apology, bowed, and closed the door behind him.

'Wine, my lords?' said Toma.s.so d'Astibar in the voice Devin had heard from the secret closet. 'We will have three others joining us very shortly.'

And from then on they had said what they said and Devin heard what he heard, and so gradually became aware of the magnitude of what he had stumbled upon, the peril he was in.

Then Alessan appeared at the window opposite the door.

Devin couldn't, in fact, see that window but he knew the voice immediately and it was with disbelief bordering on stupefaction that he heard Menico's recruit of a fortnight ago deny being from Tregea at all and then name Brandin, King of Ygrath, as the everlasting target of his soul's hate.

Rash, Devin certainly was, and he would not have denied that he carried more than his own due share of impulsive foolishness, but he had not ever been less than quick, or clever. In Asoli, small boys had to be.

So by the time Alessan named him, and invited him to come down, Devin's racing mind had put two more pieces of the puzzle together and he adroitly took the path offered him.

'All quiet, since mid-afternoon,' he called out, extricating himself from his corner and stepping past the corbin's antlers to the edge of the half-loft. 'Only the servants were here, but they didn't do much of a job when they chained the door-the lock was easy to pick. Two thieves and the Emperor of Barbadior could have been up here without seeing each other or anyone down there being the wiser.' he called out, extricating himself from his corner and stepping past the corbin's antlers to the edge of the half-loft. 'Only the servants were here, but they didn't do much of a job when they chained the door-the lock was easy to pick. Two thieves and the Emperor of Barbadior could have been up here without seeing each other or anyone down there being the wiser.'

He said it as coolly as he could. Then he lowered himself, with a deliberately showy flip, to the ground. He registered the looks on the faces of five of the men there-all of whom most certainly recognized him-but his concentration, and his satisfaction, lay in the brief smile of approval he received from Alessan.

For the moment his apprehension was gone, replaced by something entirely different. Alessan had claimed him, given him legitimacy here. He was clearly linked to the man who was controlling events in the room. And the events were on a scale that spanned the Palm. Devin had to fight hard to control his growing excitement.