“Tell me what?”
“The big Sefry secret, you dolt.”
“What the sceat are you talking about?”
Fend laughed. “Living with us all those years, and you never guessed? I suppose that’s fair. Even some of the Sefry don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“What we are,” Fend said. “We’re Skasloi, Aspar. We’re what remains of the Skasloi.”
“But—”
“Ah, no, sorry. I’ve answered your question. That’s all you get.”
He raised the bow, and Aspar tensed himself for one last try. The dirk wasn’t balanced for throwing, but—
Did he hear hoofbeats? He had a sudden image of Ogre come back from the dead and nearly laughed.
Fend’s eyes narrowed, then widened in shock as an arrow struck his breastplate, followed quickly by another in the knee joint. Aspar turned to find there was indeed a horse thundering up behind him, but it wasn’t Ogre; it was a dappled gray he’d never seen before.
The rider he recognized by her pale skin, black bangs, and almond violet eyes. She had a bow and shot it again, this time at Fend’s head. But he twisted aside, and the arrow missed. The horse thuttered to a stop, and she leapt off, slinging her bow on her shoulder.
“Come on,” she commanded. “Mount.”
“Fend—”
“No, look,” she said. “There’s more. Get on!”
She had to swing the broken leg over for him; the pain was so acute, he nearly fainted. But he saw what she meant: Several armored figures were coming to Fend’s aid. Fend himself was rising, fitting the deadly arrow to his string.
Leshya whirled her mount, and they were running. Aspar meant to take her bow and have a parting shot at Fend, but a hard bounce struck pain through him like a sledgehammer, and he sank away from the world.
Anne blinked in astonishment as the Sefry went down on their knees before her.
“I thought Mother Uun said that Sefry wouldn’t fight,” Austra said.
Anne nodded and squeezed her friend’s hand.
“Which one of you leads?” she asked.
A black-eyed fellow with pale yellow hair and silvery mail dipped his head.
“I am captain of this troop, Your Majesty.”
“What is your name, sir?”
“Cauth Versial, Highness,” he replied.
“Rise, Cauth Versial,” Anne said.
He did so.
“Did Mother Uun send you?” she asked at last.
“She told us what the Kept promised you.”
“But that was only moments ago,” Anne protested. “How could she know? How could you arrive so quickly?”
“We were waiting, Majesty. Mother Uun foresaw this possibility.”
“I don’t understand,” Anne said. “Mother Uun said she was one of his guardians; she helped keep him imprisoned. Why should he go to her?”
“These are very ancient matters, Your Majesty,” Cauth said, “and I do not understand them completely. Only that it was part of our geos that if he were ever freed, he could command us in one thing.”
“And he commanded you to save my life.”
“To protect you and serve you, Majesty.”
“Then your service isn’t over?”
“No, Majesty. It is not. Not until you release us or we die.”
“How many of you are there?”
“One hundred fifty, Majesty.”
“A hundred andDo you know a way into the castle from here?”
“Yes, Majesty,” he said, pointing. She turned and saw that she had practically backed against a massive metal portal.
“He’s right,” Alis said. “Prince Robert may have filled in every other passage, but he would not cut himself off from the Kept. Yet a key is needed.”
Even as she said it, the door opened soundlessly, revealing an ancient Sefry so frail and thin that Anne was almost afraid that he was another sort of walking dead. His eyes stared blankly into nothing.
“Majesty,” the old man said. “You have come at last. Welcome.”
Alis made a sputtering sound. “You had your tongue cut out,” she said. “And your eardrums burst.”
The aged Sefry smiled. “I healed.”
“You don’t seem very upset that your charge has escaped,” Anne said.
“It was fated,” the Keeper replied. “I felt him go and came here.”
“Command us, Majesty,” Cauth said.
Anne took a deep breath. “Do you think you have enough men to take the castle from within?”
“With the element of surprise, I should think so.”
“Very well. Cazio, you’re with me. Austra, take ten of these Sefry for a bodyguard. The Kept said he lifted the glamour on the passages. Lets find out. Find Sir Leafton. Have him drain the lower passages and send runners out to bring reinforcements from the army. The rest of you, come with me. No, wait. My uncle Robert was with these men. Find him first and bring him to me.”
But Robert, unremarkably, was nowhere to be found.
13
Muriele’s Watch
With Alis gone, Muriele felt blind to the outside world. She had her two windows, of course, and occasionally the guards would let something drop when they thought she was out of earshot, but she rarely trusted that, since anything she “overheard” from them might be part of one of Robert’s games.
But something was happening outside, of that she was certain. Through her southern-facing window, she could see a good bit of the city, and for days something had been happening near the Fastness, in or near the Sefry quarter. Fires were burning, and she had glimpses of armored men and siege engines moving along the streets leading there.
Was it a revolt of some sort? Or had Robert become even more distempered and decided for some reason to slaughter the Sefry?
There was a third possibility, but it was one she hardly dared think about. The Crepling passage was supposed to have an outlet in Gobelin Court. Had Sir Fail returned? But no, he wouldn’t be able to remember the passage. Unless Alis—
But Alis was dead. Wasn’t she?
On that question hung Muriele’s most slender hope. But locked in a tower as she was, she had plenty of time to entertain even the most forlorn possibilities.
The girl’s last words had been in Lierish, Muriele’s native tongue. I sleep. I sleep. I’ll find you.
Alis was coven-trained and well versed in the virtues of a thousand venoms. Might she somehow have only appeared to be dead?
No. That was an inane hope.
She conjured other scenarios. Perhaps Praifec Hespero had come to the conclusion that the Sefry were heretics in need of hanging and the Sefry weren’t surrendering quietly. That certainly made sense.
Perhaps something had gone wrong with Robert’s Hansan alliance and Hansa had somehow managed to gain a foothold in Eslen.
But no, that wasn’t likely at all. Her marriage gown had been fitted, and the other preparations for her wedding seemed to be moving along smoothly.
Her east-facing window, while providing a marvelous view of the confluence of the Dew and Warlock rivers, did not tell her much at all. She very much wished she could see west toward Thornrath or north to the King’s Poel. If there was a battle, that was where it would be.
She entertained herself as best she could and waited for something to happen, because everything was out of her hands now.
She found she liked that in a way. The only thing that really grieved her was that she didn’t know what had become of Anne. The shade of Erren had assured her that her youngest daughter was still alive, but that had been months ago now. Had Neil MeqVren found her?
Even if he had, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—bring her here. So it was best to pretend that Anne was safe, protected, anonymous in some far country.
On what she reckoned to be the fifteenth day of Etramen, Muriele awoke to the clash of arms. Sometimes the wind would carry the sounds of steel from the city and the voices of men shouting. But this seemed nearer, perhaps in the inner keep itself.
She went to her window and craned her neck to look down, but since the Wolfcoat Tower was set in the southern wall of the keep, she had very little view of the inner courtyard. She could hear better with her head in the air, however, and she was more certain than ever that there was fighting below.