I picked up the bow, disarmed it, and tossed it up and over the edge of the wall. I was hoping it would land at their feet just when the senior man approached them. Maximum embarrassment for them, possible entrance for me, as I had stopped the boy without hurting anyone and returned their weapon.
After a few moments, a new face appeared at the wall. His head was shaved from the top of his ears to the nape of his neck in Oranstonian traditional style, but he'd allowed his beard to grow out white and full like a Shavigman. It was a distinctive style and made him easy to recognize.
Haverness's right-hand man, I thought in surprise. I didn't know his name; I don't think I'd ever heard him say more than four words together. He was always at Haverness's side, and so should have been at Estian. Haverness was only allowed at Callis for a fortnight at planting and a fortnight at harvest, which was still a month or more away this far south.
He frowned at me. "Who are you, son, and what do you want?" He asked it in Tallvenish, so I replied in the same language.
"Ward of Hurog. I have some news about the Vorsag."
"Wait here." He scattered the guards back to their posts and then left.
Oreg handed me another apple. "So, are we in?"
I took a bite. "I think so."
If the old fox's shadow had been here alone, he'd have had the authority to open the gate at once or send us on our way. That he'd left the wall implied he was going to speak to his superior, Haverness.
Haverness had always been kind to me. Of course he might not feel the same way when he found out I wasn't an idiot. I wondered what he was doing here; had King Jakoven finally decided the raiders were a threat?
The gate rattled and began rising slowly.
"Mount up," I called, following my own advice.
We rode through the narrow passage into the bailey proper. Most of the expanse between the walls and the inner keep was cobbled; I suppose they'd have to because of the rain. Spring at Hurog left our bailey half a foot deep in muck. Here it would have been year-round.
Straw had been piled along the edges of the bailey, and tents were set up all along the walls. A quick glance led me to estimate that Callis held at least two hundred more men than she'd been built to. Had the king allowed Haverness to come home and defend his land? I couldn't believe that the old fox would break his word and return without the king's permission. We were met halfway to the keep by Haverness himself and a few servants.
"Ward," he said. "What are you doing here, boy?"
I started to give him my stupid cow look out of habit but restrained myself. It would be a deadly mistake to let Haverness think I was stupid now. His dislike of lies and broken promises was the stuff of legends.
"The same as you, I imagine," I said. "Fighting the Vorsag."
The warm smile left his face at my crisp reply. I dismounted, loosened Pansy's girth, and continued talking to give him time to think. "I think the Vorsag are raiding rather than conquering right now, though. Kariarn has always lusted after magic. I've just come from Silverfells, and the raiders had left there not a half day before us, killing everyone in the village. My men tell me that the last time they were there—fifteen years ago—Meron's temple at Silverfells claimed a large stone dragon, which is not there anymore."
"Oranstone seems to have had a beneficial effect on your intellect," he said.
I gave him a slow grin. "We'll have to recommend it." I could see from his face it wasn't enough, so I continued more soberly. "My father killed his father to get Hurog, and he half killed me. I was afraid he'd finish the job."
Shock came and went quickly on his face. Slowly, he nodded his head; he knew my father. "Survive how you can," he said. "Would you introduce me? I see several Hurog faces, but I can't place them."
"Haverness," I said formally. Oranstonians dislike titles, so I gave him none. "These are my men, Axiel and Penrod, who fought under my father's banner and now follow me." Normally, one wouldn't introduce one's troop to a man of Haverness's standing, but he'd all but ordered me to do so. "And my sister Ciarra." She gave him a gamine smile in return for his courtly bow. "You're supposed to curtsy, you mannerless ruffian." She rolled her eyes at me, then bobbed quickly up and down like a serving maid, and Haverness chuckled.
"My brother Tosten."
Haverness's gazed sharpened on my brother. "I thought he was dead."
"Who said that? I asked. I hadn't heard that bit of gossip.
"Your father, I believe."
"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Tosten, bowing. "My father was mistaken."
"Bastilla of Avinhelle," I continued the introductions. "Mage and warrior."
Bastilla smiled and sank into a graceful curtsy that managed to look ladylike despite her moldering fighting leathers.
"And our second mage, Oreg, my cousin or some such, who tells me it is possible that Kariarn plans on draining the magic from his artifacts to perform great magic. Also that Kariarn's mages have managed to transform whatever was in the stone dragon into something real. He thinks it was a dragon."
"Ward?" The voice was familiar, but it was so out of place I couldn't attribute it until I saw one of my cousins hurrying over to us. I could usually tell them apart, but in some strange way, this man looked like neither of them. He'd lost weight, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks—nor smiled in all that time. "As I live and breathe," he said, sounding as astounded as I felt. (What was my cousin, whichever one it was, doing here?) "It is you. Where did you come from?"
There were no bright scarves tied in odd places, but it was the neatness of his appearance that finally made me guess. "Beckram? What are you doing here?"
He clapped me on the shoulder and ignored my question. "Father will be glad to know…" His jaw dropped. "Tosten?"
"Good to see you again, Beckram," he answered.
"I'll leave you to your greetings." Haverness nodded at us. "Beckram, see that they are settled in."
11—WARDWICK
I wasn't entirely sure whether I'd gotten myself into a war to defend Oranstone from the Vorsag, or a war against the high king. Either way, it suited me.
The Blue Guard was camped along a soft stretch of turf against one wall. I whistled when I counted the tents, which included Stala's distinctive one. Three Blue Guardsmen were walking a lazy patrol around the perimeter. The rest were probably out practicing somewhere, knowing my aunt.
"What are you doing all the way out here with Stala and half the Blue Guard, Beckram?" Tosten asked my question, which seemed wise, given how Beckram felt about me. "Did the king decide there was a war going on at last?"
Beckram snorted. "The king misspoke himself and fell into his half brother's trap."
"Alizon?" I said.
"None other. The upshot is that Haverness was given leave to bring a hundred men to quell the problems here in Oranstone."
"And he chose the Blue Guard?" I said doubtfully.
Beckram stopped walking toward the tents. "No, that's another story. Ward, what happened to you?"
He sounded concerned. I fought back the impulse to list my nicks and bruises; old habits die hard.
"My father died." I said. "It improved my outlook remarkably—as well as my intelligence."
He smiled slowly—not his usual brilliant smile—and I wondered for a minute if he were Erdrick. They switched places sometimes, and it was surprisingly difficult, even with their widely disparate personalities, to tell which was which.
"Erdrick was right," he said. "He told me once that he didn't think you were as stupid as everyone thought you were."
"Stupid enough to lose Hurog," I returned.