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“Where’s Bardolin?”
“Asleep. It will speed his healing.”
“Is he… has he—?”
“The beast is dormant for now. I have been able to help him control it.”
“You can cure him, then?”
“No. No-one can. But I can help him manage it. He has been telling me of your voyage. A veritable nightmare.”
“Yes. It was.”
“Not many could have survived it.”
Hawkwood went to the window. It looked out from the tower’s great height over southern Hebrion, the land green and serene under the sun, the sea a sparkle on the horizon.
“I think we were meant to survive it—Bardolin was anyway. They allowed us to escape. I sometimes wonder if they even guided our course on the voyage home. Bardolin told you of them, I suppose. A race of monstrosities. He thinks some of them are in Norma
“Well, we are forewarned at least—thanks to you. What are your own plans now, Captain?”
The question took Hawkwood by surprise. “I hadn’t thought about it. Lord, I’ve only been back on dry land a day. So much has happened. My wife died in Abrusio, my house is gone. All I have left is my ship, and she is in a sorry state. I suppose I was thinking of going to the King, to see if he had anything for me.” He realised how that sounded, and flushed.
“You have earned something, that much is true,” Golophin reassured him gently. “I am sure Abeleyn will not be remiss in recognising that. Your expedition may have been a failure, but it has also been a valuable source of information. Tell me, what think you of Lord Murad?”
“He’s unhinged. Oh, not in a foaming-at-the-mouth kind of way, but something has gone awry in his head. It was the west that did it.”
“And the girl-shifter, Griella.”
“Bardolin told you of that? Yes, perhaps. That was a queer thing. He felt something for her, and she for him, but it harmed them both.”
Isolla came back with pewter mugs of chilled wine. “Your Majesty,” Hawkwood said as he took his, eyes dancing.
She frowned. “Not yet.”
“Not for several weeks.” Golophin gri
“With you, yes. Sometimes you are like a little boy, Golophin.”
“Is that so? Abeleyn always thought of me as an old woman. I am a man for all seasons it seems.”
Hawkwood dragged his gaze away from Isolla and set aside his tankard after the merest sip. “I’ll be going. I just wanted to make sure all was well with Bardolin.”
“I’ll speak to the King on your behalf, Captain. We’ll see you are recompensed for your losses, and your achievement,” Golophin promised.
“That won’t be necessary,” Hawkwood said with stiff pride. “Look after Bardolin; he’s a good man, no matter what that bastard wizard turned him into. I can take care of myself. Goodbye, Golophin.” He bowed slightly. “Lady.” And left.
“A proud man for a commoner,” Isolla said.
“He is not a common man,” Golophin retorted. “I was a fool to phrase it so. He deserves recognition for what he did, but he’ll turn his back on it if he thinks it smacks of charity. And meanwhile Lord Murad is no doubt standing on his hind legs as we speak, relating the marvells of his expedition and reaping as much of the credit as he can. It’s a filthy world, Isolla.”
“It could be worse,” she told him. He glanced at her, and laughed.
“Ah, what it is to be in love.” Which made her blush to the roots of her hair.
“You’ll make him a grand wife, if our stiff-necked Captain doesn’t steal you away first.”
“What? What are you saying?”
“Never mind. Hebrion has her King again, and will soon have a worthy Queen. The country needs a rest from war and intrigue for a while. So do I. I intend to immure myself here with Bardolin, and lose myself in pure research. I have neglected that lately. Too much of politics in the way. You and Abeleyn can run the kingdom admirably between you without my help. Just be sure to keep an eye on Murad, and that harpy, Jemilla.”
“She’s finished at court. None of the nobles will give her the time of day now.”
“Don’t be too sure. She still bears a king’s child who, although illegitimate, will always be older than any you have.”
“We had best hope she has a girl, then.”
“Indeed. Now get back to the palace, Isolla. There is a man there who has need of you.”
She kissed the old wizard on the cheek. In Hebrion she had found a husband, and a man who had become like a father. Golophin was right: the worst was over, surely. The country would have its rest.
PART TWO DEATH OF A SOLDIER
Soon a great warrior
Will tower over the land,
And you will see the ground
Strewn with severed heads.
The clamour of blue swords
Will echo in the hills;
The dew of blood
Will lace the limbs of men.
Njal’s Saga
SEVENTEEN
T HE Papal palace of Macrobius had once been an Inceptine abbey, and was now bursting at the seams with all ma
Queen Odelia and her commander-in-chief had come to call upon Macrobius, and they must needs be received with all the pomp and ceremony that embattled Toru
Corfe was far and away the most sombre-looking member of the cavalcade that had made its way through Toru
The cavalcade dismounted in the main square of the abbey. The balconies which surrounded the square were lined with cheering monks and priests—a weird and somewhat comical sight. Then Corfe took the Queen’s arm, and to a flourish of trumpets they were ushered into the great reception hall of the palace, ru
Monsignor Alembord had barely cleared his throat to a
“Corfe.”
Corfe took the searching hand. It felt as dry as an autumn leaf in his grasp, frail as thistledown. He looked at the ravaged face and remembered the long cold nights on the Western Road on the retreat from Aekir.