Zandru's Forge by Marion Zimmer Bradley
No, I cannot risk her, not when she is newly found! Then Carolin remembered that she was a Swordswoman, even as Jandria was. She had proven her courage and resourcefulness, in the wild lands, on the trail, in battle. She had no empty pride; if she said she could do a thing, whether it was nursing an ailing sentry bird or training a warhorse, it was done.
“You may try,” he agreed. “At the least, we will have an idea where to strike first, so that they will put him to a swift death. Rest now, and wait until full dark,”
She went off with Jandria to the tent of the Swordswomen. Carolin paced for a while, until it felt he must collapse under the weight of so many deaths, so many decisions.
He went out into the camp, as he had so many times before, under the wan light of a single moon. Men, gathered around their cook fires, lifted their faces as he passed. He paused here and there to speak to them. Gradually, the awful burden lightened, or perhaps it was the sense, gathered one moment at a time, that he did not carry it alone.
Romilly had left the camp by now, gliding like a shadow into the city, and by her own choice. Maura, too, had chosen, as had all who rode with him.
He himself had also chosen. He could as easily have stayed in the wild lands beyond the Kadarin, eking out a fugitive living. He might have sought asylum with his Aldaran kin in the far Hellers.
Memory swept him, the figure of light which had taken his hands and heard the vow spoken only in the silence of his heart.
He thought of Varzil, at Hestral Tower many leagues away, and how he had brought the siege to an end, not by force of arms or laran weaponry, but by the simple power of right.
There are two kinds of power in the world, he had said, that of the Tower and that of the crown. But each of them rested upon the free choice of those who served.
He would honor that pledge, keeping faith with his people and his dearest friends, his sworn brothers and his beloved, but most importantly, with himself.
50
Carolin slept fitfully, weaving in and out of broken dreams. He seemed to be moving through a preternaturally quiet city. Shadows, dense and quiet, clung to its streets like funeral draperies. From the edges of his vision, he caught furtive shapes and lights quickly covered. The scent and taste of fear hung like a black mist in the air.
Peace, peace ... silence ... Romilly’s thoughts spread across the walls where the sentry birds sat like great misshapen statues. He felt their vigilance soften under her mental touch.
Peace ... silence ...
Somewhere beyond the wall, a dog snarled at a rat, then subsided. Horses drowsed in their stables, mice within their nests. Cats curled up on their hearths. Fretful babies quieted.
Silence, silence ... peace ...
The contact vanished and he jerked awake. Romilly must have passed beyond the laran barrier. He wondered if Rakhal had thought to watch the rest of the city as well, or if his leronyn were already stretched too thin, guarding the gates.
Evanda and Avarra keep her safe.
Before Romilly left, he had offered her any reward in his power to give, even marriage to one of his own sons, if she could free Orain or, failing that, put a swift end to his suffering. She had looked at him strangely.
“I do this for Orain’s sake and not for any reward,” she had said, “because he was kind to me beyond all duty when he knew me only as a runaway hawkmaster’s apprentice.”
Now he had lost all trace of her. She was in the hands of the gods. He must try to find what rest he could before dawn, for he would soon need all his strength.
At last, he could remain still no longer. He summoned water to wash his hands and face, ate a cold breakfast, and prepared himself. Outside the tent, a faint milky tinge lightened the eastern sky.
Where was Romilly? Why had she not returned? Had something gone amiss and was she, too, now in Lyondri’s hands? What if she needed more time to find Orain? What if the attack raised the alarm and resulted in her death as well as Orain’s? Should he not wait a little longer?
His officers were already moving about, giving orders in hushed, tense voices; foot soldiers and horsemen alike finished a hasty meal, doused their fires, and took up their weapons. Along the picket lines, men saddled horses. Expectancy roiled through the camp.
Carolin met briefly with his advisers and officers, giving last minute encouragement. One of his aides went to bring the horse he would ride. It was not as fine and brave as Sunstar, but he doubted he would ever see the equal of the black stallion.
Maura, who had spent this night apart with the other leronyn, preparing for their role in the morning’s battle, came to him. “All may yet be well. There is still no stirring in the city, not even the sentry birds, which should be waking at this hour. I suspect that is Romilly’s doing. Will you not hold off for a little time and wait for her return?”
She had spoken the thought which was in his own mind, the temptation to cling to hope, to delay irrevocable action. If he did as his heart urged him, however, he might never recover the momentum of this morning.
He kissed her brow. “All is in readiness. If we are to take the city and end Orain’s suffering, it must be now. Romilly understood this. We will attack as planned.”
She walked with him through the camp. The first rays of sunrise cast a gentle glow over the ancient city and glittered on the battle standards. Men led horses into position to the jingling of harness rings. They stood at attention as he passed.
Suddenly, a clamor erupted from beyond the gates, dogs yammering, birds screeching, and alarm bells ringing wildly.
“Look!” Alderic hurried up. “Look there, by the gate!”
Carolin strained to make out three figures racing away from one of the side entrances to the city. He recognized Romilly, her hair tied back under a dark scarf, her face smeared with soot, holding the hand of a fair-haired boy in a white nightshirt ... and on her heels, Orain. Rough bandages covered one side of his head and one hand, and he limped badly.
With an inarticulate sob, Carolin ran forward and caught Orain in his arms. Orain reeked of blood and filth, but he was alive. He hugged Carolin back with fervor.
Carolin heard Romilly crying, “We’re safe—we’re safe! Oh, Caryl, we could never have done it without you!” He turned his head to see Lyondri’s little son, his own namesake. The boy’s tear-streaked face glimmered in the faint dawnlight. Carolin, in a single motion, enclosed Caryl and Romilly along with Orain in his embrace.
“Listen,” Orain said, pulling away. His body shook with uncontrollable tremors. A second, even more frantic alarm burst from the city. “They know I am gone—”
“Our army is here to guard you,” Carolin said. “They shall not touch you again, my brother. Now, I think, they will have no choice but to surrender, as they will have few supporters left in the city and nothing left to bargain with.”
Orain flinched as Carolin, embracing him once more, brushed against his bandaged ear. In short order, Carolin took Orain back to his tent, where Jandria took charge of him.
Romilly again refused any reward, saying that she hoped Orain knew that even though she was a girl, she had no less courage. Something of her proud independence softened and she allowed Orain to rock her like a child, both of them weeping.
Orain reached out his free hand to Alderic. “I heard you had offered to exchange yourself for me. I know not what I have done to deserve it, for I have never been a good father to you.”
Alderic was silent for a moment. “You gave me life, sir, and you left me free to follow my own path. I owe you for that, at least.”
“You are all here and safe,” Carolin said. “That is enough.” To Lyondri’s little son, he said, “Whatever your father has done, you are safe with me. I will raise you as one of my own sons, and I will not kill Lyondri if I can help it. He may leave me no choice, for I dare not trust him; but if I can, I will offer him a life in exile.”
The boy replied, his voice shaking, “I know you will do what is honorable, Uncle.”
Romilly got to her feet and took Caryl’s hand. “My lord, may I take your little kinsman to the tent of the Swordswomen and find him some decent breeches?”
“Please, Uncle,” the boy said, “for I cannot show myself to the army in a nightgown.”
Carolin laughed, and it seemed a great weight had lifted from his heart. “Do as you wish, my hawkmistress. You have been faithful to me, and to those I love.”
He caught Maura’s smile. “I pledged to you that we would celebrate our Midsummer Festival at Hali, and indeed we shall. But first, I must take back my city.”
Carolin rode with his army to the main gate. Maura and his other leronyn came with him, and Jandria at the head of her Swordswomen, but not Romilly or Orain. They remained in the safety of the camp, having suffered too much already.
It would not be difficult to breach the walls or batter down the wooden gates. Rakhal’s fortifications had been hasty, more for show than determined defense. Carolin preferred not to ruin the city he would rule, or shed the blood of his people if it could be helped. His herald cried out that the lawful king had returned, and bid the inhabitants cease resistance and welcome him. Again, Carolin promised that he would not harm any man who did not offer violence against him.
For a time, there was no response. The gates remained shut and silent. The first sign of surrender was the sudden falling away of the laran spells. Then came the sounds of fighting behind the gates.
“Rakhal’s leronyn have deserted him,” Maura said, “and his remaining men are at odds with one another.” Her eyes had a slightly glassy look of inward concentration, and Carolin knew she had been searching outward with the Sight. “Look now to the side gate, the one Romilly came through. Those who wish surrender and reconciliation will try to open it.”
Even as she spoke, the smaller gate swung open. Carolin’s vanguard pressed through. At first, they encountered resistance, but the defenders were also fighting against their own divided forces. Soon, Carolin’s men were able to win free and open the main gate, allowing his army to enter.
As Carolin’s forces penetrated deeper into the city, ordinary people emerged from their houses. They stood on balconies and ventured into the streets. From their balconies, a few ladies waved brightly colored scarves.
“It’s Carolin!” some cried, cheering. “King Carolin!”
Others responded. “Our rightful king! The king has returned!”
The most determined opposition came from small groups of men veering Lyondri’s badge. They fought desperately, without hope of mercy, for they had given none. With the defeat of their master, they would surely be called to account for their brutalities. Ordinary men joined Carolin’s soldiers and newly-loyal City Guards in the attack. One by one, faced with overwhelming force in a city just awakening to its liberation, Lyondri’s men succumbed or threw down their weapons.
Maura pointed to a massive gray hulk of a house, more fortress than dwelling. “Yonder is Lyondri’s stronghold, where he kept Orain captive.”
“Will he surrender? Will he fight?” Carolin asked her.
She shook her head, swaying in her saddle. “The Sight shows many things, but not the hearts of men.”
“And Rakhal?”
“In the palace. I think he is fled to the upper chambers—the room where we used to play at seeking—on rainy days—”
“Enough,” he said gently. “You have given me what I need. No man could ask more. Return now to the safety of the camp.”
Maura asked to remain instead with the other leronyn, though she agreed not to use the Sight further unless there was dire need. She argued that she was safer in the midst of Carolin’s army than anywhere else.
“Let me come with you,” Jandria said to Carolin. “For the sake of little Caryl, who aided Orain’s escape, and for the love we once shared, I would not see Lyondri die needlessly.”
The last of Lyondri’s men waited just inside the barricaded doors. As Carolin’s force broke through, the fiercest fighting erupted. Some wore soldiers’ gear, but not all, and Carolin wondered if Orain’s torturer were among them. These men were not cowards; they fought with grim determination. Jandria and her Swordswomen engaged them at close quarters, pressing them back.
They took the central hall and entrances to the corridors and stairways leading upward. With each passing minute, fewer defenders remained. Their blood spattered the threshold of a chamber which reeked of pain and despair. This must have been where Orain had been held, where—Carolin wrenched his attention back to the moment, to the clash of steel, the weight of the sword in his hand, the shouting of the men around him. The last of Lyondri’s men, four of them still on their feet and a fifth down with a spurting gash on one thigh, took up positions before the door of an inner room.
“Hold!” Carolin shouted. “You cannot win. Surrender now and I will spare your lives.”
“Never!” one of the men cried. He held his stance, sword raised, eyes lit with desperation. “We’ll go down in glory!”
“It is over.” The door swung open and Lyondri stood there, his shoulder sagging as if under an unendurable weight. He stepped forward and the light etched deep lines into his face. His eyes, gray under pale lashes, widened as he saw Jandria in her red vest, standing behind Carolin.
“It is over,” he repeated, as if to convince himself. Then he raised his voice. “Surrender to King Carolin, even as I do. It is my final order to you.” Though he spoke quietly, the men lowered their weapons.
Lyondri came forward and made as if to kneel before Carolin. Carolin bid him remain standing, but ordered his men to search Lyondri and bind his hands.
Even in victory, I dare not trust him as I once did.
“You will not leave me even a little dagger, with which to take my own life?” Lyondri said with a bitter smile. “It must be, then, that you reserve that pleasure for yourself.”
“You do not know King Carolin, or you would not say such a thing.” Jandria said.
“Have you, too, come to gloat over me in defeat?” Lyondri snarled.
“No,” she replied with a touch of sadness, “only to see if there was anything left of the friend I once loved.”
“You speak as you think, expecting the same treatment you have meted out to so many others,” Carolin said. “For Orain’s sake, I should flay you alive and pour salt into each bleeding strip. But then I would become like you, Lyondri, and your evil would have triumphed. For my own sake, and that of your innocent son, I offer you your life, to do with what you will, so long as you never step foot across my borders again.”
Lyondri hesitated. “Caryl is with you, then? I thought as much when he was not in his bed. I have no choice but to agree to your terms. You hold my only son as hostage against me.”
He thinks me a monster because that is what he has become.
“I will keep Caryl with me, yes,” Carolin said, “but not as a prisoner, nor will I punish him for your crimes. Your own conscience, if you still have one, must do that.”
Disgusted, Carolin turned his back on one cousin he had once loved, and went to deal with the other.
Carolin left a small force surrounding Lyondri’s headquarters and pressed on to the castle. Some of the guards moved to block his progress through the outer courtyard, but when they saw how little chance they had, and heard his offer of clemency, most lost heart and surrendered to him, so there was little real fighting in the castle itself.
Just as Maura had Seen, Rakhal had barricaded himself in one of the upper towers. Carolin climbed the last range of steps at the head of a dozen of his best men. Every stone evoked memories of who he once was, living here in innocence and trust. Yet every breath now also carried the tang of freshly-shed blood. The muscles of his shoulders ached from the weight of his sword. His lips shaped the names of those who were gone forever, men he had loved, men who had died in his service, even the stallion Sunstar, all because of the greed and ambition of the man in the room above.
How can I s
How can I be a just and faithful king to my people, as I swore to do, if I do not?
The latch moved freely under his hand. When they had played here as children, it had never been locked.
Watery daylight filled the little circular chamber, so that a gray film seemed to lie upon each stone, each curve of wood, and cushion. The windows had been opened fully. Rakhal stood beside one of them, his features backlit in silhouette, holding his fur-trimmed robes close against his body.
For a moment, Carolin thought he was looking into the past, seeing a ghost. Gone was the bloated, wine-soaked figure, the lecherous sneer, the habitually narrowed gaze. When Rakhal moved and the light shifted, he seemed not youthful but shriveled, as if consumed from within.
Two of Rakhal’s men remained, placed defensively in front of their lord, swords drawn. Carolin sensed a third, lying in ambush behind the opened door.
“So it has come to this,” Rakhal said. “The fool presents himself to claim his throne.” He swung his arms wide, sending the full sleeves of his robe flapping like the wings of a misshapen bird. “You are doomed! The day of fire is coming, and you cannot hold it back!”
Carolin signaled to his men to be ready to take on Rakhal’s defenders. His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword.
“Oh, yes,” Rakhal went on, “I know your secrets, that cristoforo witch you kept as a wife, whispering the poison of weakness into your ears. I should have throttled the brats in their cradles, but you would have found out too soon. The castle was full of spies. Spies everywhere, mumbling in the corners, whispering in my dreams. You turned them all against me, even sweet Maura, but she would not let me—leave me—A plague on her, Zandru’s pestilence take them all!”
His face convulsed, a rictus of anguish. “Attack!”
“Hold!” Carolin cried with such force that Rakhal’s men hesitated. “You cannot win. You are trapped here, and greatly outnumbered. The city has surrendered. There is nowhere to run. Your deaths will serve no purpose. Will you not lay down your swords and save your lives?”