Chapter One
Full Moon
copyright © 1998 by Linda Reames Fox and Joyce Cottrell
"By Enath, I summon you."
A woman's voice shattered his dreams.
"By Elun, I summon you."
The too-familiar flames roared up, filling his consciousness.
"By Anchytel, I summon you."
The flames died to a small fire on a slab of stone. Walter of Jacin, Leader of the Wild Hunt, felt the cool night air on his face, felt the presence of the men he led beside him. He paced his horse one slow step forward, and asked as he must, "By Enath, Elun, Anchytel, we have come. Who are you and for what do you summon us?"
The woman who had tended the fire spun round to face the half circle of mounted men that now surrounded her, her hand groping toward a dagger that glinted near the flames. She looked from face to face before her eyes settled on his. Her hand fell to her side. Startling as their sudden manifestation must have been, it was not the Wild Hunt that she feared. Yet she was afraid; Walter could read fear in the tension of her body, and in her eyes, dark in her moon-paled face.
Fear did not mar her voice as she answered him. "I am Richenza of the House of Indes, and I have summoned you to avenge my brother and destroy the House of Thaiter as it has destroyed the House of Indes."
Walter's heart sank. Avenge. Destroy. The words were too familiar. The mourning black of her clothes was too familiar. As was the name of Indes. Indes had been one of the twenty companions of Tarses the conqueror, who helped him destroy the Rensel Empire. Even in Walter's time, ten generations later, the House of Indes had been one of the greatest lineages of Tarsia. Whenever this was that could not have changed. This woman, this girl--she could not be much more than twenty--must be a noblewoman. The task she set them would shatter lives beyond hers and the House of Thaiter.
Thaiter. That name he didn't recognize.
This was Reasalyn, the Rensel's ruined capital. Too familiar. They were in the Temple of the Goddesses in whose names the Hunt had been summoned. Here Amloth, Tarses's son, had been cursed with his brothers and followers, the first to form the Wild Hunt. On that altar slab where this night's fire burned Amloth had....
A branch snapped, rescuing him from his thoughts. The girl gasped and swung round. Wordlessly with the power the Goddesses granted him, he dispatched his men--half to search, half to guard.
The silence stretched unbroken as they listened for the sounds of pursuit. She stood looking up at him, studying him. Looking for what? Centuries of age? He had known Amloth. He had seen the fall of Onsalm when Amloth failed. Despite the passage of time he knew he looked only the forty years he had been when he was cursed, his brown hair no more greyed, his face no more lined. On the outside he was the same man he had been the day his wife and son had died.
Like a blow to the gut Walter remembered who had looked up at him with that same questioning gaze. He could not deal with that memory and dismounted.
In the distance one of his men shouted. Stones clattered, falling on stone. Hooves thudded on sod. Someone screamed--a scream cut short. Richenza of Indes flinched.
"My lady." He was right: she did not deny the title. "That was no man of yours?"
"I came alone." She stared in the direction of the scream. "I was afraid I would be followed, so I hid behind the altar till the moon rose. I saw no one, but I could sense someone near."
Hamon--it would be Hamon--rode back into the clearing. He leaned down from the saddle. "I take it that you didn't want him alive."
Richenza shook her head.
"No," Walter answered.
"Good." Hamon straightened. "Otherwise, it would have been a trifle late. He broke his neck falling off what must be the only wall still standing in Reasalyn. Now what?"
"Was there anything to identify him?"
"Nondescript man in nondescript clothes--not livery. No papers. Tarsean coins--a fair number--in his purse and these," Hamon dropped two bits of metal onto Walter's palm and waited expectantly.
"Hide the body and see if you can find his mount," Walter held the bits of metal out to the Lady Richenza, who frowned over them but did not touch them as they lay in his palm.
"That's Leot's badge." She pointed to a small metal plate shaped like a leopard's mask with holes at its edges. Walter remembered such badges sewn on livery to identify noble retainers in the southern kingdom of Yesacroth, but not in Tarsia. Some things had obviously changed.
"The other is just a foreign coin, Ascovian, I think. Perhaps it was his good-luck charm." She shivered as though touched by the man's lack of luck. Her face was lit half by the full moon's cold light, half by the fire's warmth. Half-live, half-dead, caught between two worlds as he was. He buried the thought and looked away.
Behind the altar the great bas-relief of the Goddesses still stood, stirred to false life by the fire. Enath still stood on the left, fire at her feet, scroll in hand, Anchytel on the right with sheaf and serpent. In the center Elun still held the full moon in her hands, but below only a dark void showed where her waters had once flowed under the altar and down the center of the ceremonial way through the city, symbolically nourishing all the Rensel lands. The carved faces seemed to smile at him, smile not warmly but with the mockery of knowledge, of secrets unshared.
He turned his back on them. They had chosen this girl's task for him, for all the Wild Hunt, to perform or face eternal destruction, and they never told him why. Why this task, not another? There were other summoners; those who went unanswered, whose calls only touched the corners of his consciousness. Looking out over the ruins of Reasalyn he could guess the Goddesses' purpose this time.
A once-thriving city lay in desolation. The moonlight picked out few fragments of paving not swallowed under grass, few fragments of wall not broken by the roots of encroaching vegetation. It must be late autumn--the trees were bare and the grass brown. Dead, dead like Reasalyn. No one lived here, no one had since Tarses razed the city, enraged that his sons were cursed. The Goddesses would send them on any task that spread discord in the state Tarses had founded.
"Who is Leot?" he asked the girl.
She started as if she had expected him to know. "Leot? Leot is the king's son. Leot of the House of Thaiter."
Thaiter. The last time they had been in Tarsia the ruling house had been Vitaut. His Huntsman Alesander was a Vitaut. The questions came flooding at him. But he forced them back. Knowledge must be shared, known by all his men. Ignorance was dangerous.
He wished that they were gone from this dead city and fought the urge to call his men from their search. Half his men kept guard--six men. And six to search. He had a new Huntsman, Brian--he found only the name in his mind--and he had not let himself realize it till now. Careless, he chided himself. He could not afford to be careless.
Finally, his searchers returned, reporting the body hid, no sign of any human presence but the dead man's and the girl's and signs of two horses.
"My mare bolted before I could tie her," said Lady Richenza. No doubt the dead man's did, too, thought Walter, animals were too wise to be here when the moon was full.
Now they could go. Hurriedly he had the nearest Huntsman take her up before him, and, calling in the men who had stood guard, he led the way down the hill and through the ruined city.
Behind them the fire had sunk to embers on the altar, embers that would stay alive until the Hunt returned in success or failure at the next full moon. Beside the dormant fire a forgotten dagger lay.
* * * * * * * *
They rode through forest till they came to a rutted road that paralleled the Magnary as they pushed on north. To Walter's eyes the land looked prosperous, peaceful in the full moon's light. The villages still stood where they had since Rensel times, but he could see new, isolated farms. Only in peaceful times could men live thus, apart from their neighbors.
The Lady Richenza directed them off the high road, up a lane to an open gate. They halted, and Walter sent three of his men to scout the area and the boy Reynard to search the courtyard and outbuildings. A thief had his uses.
The courtyard seemed empty. Walter recognized the characteristic plan of a Rensel villa in the siting of the buildings; old stone had been reused in their walls. The lord's house, though, was not in the Rensel style. He noted the expanse of glazed windows reflecting the moonlight, the height of the pitched roof, the carved doorframe. Yet it was not new; the stones were not fresh-cut and raw, and vines clung to the far wall.
How much time had passed since their last summoning?
Reynard reported. There were five horses in the stable, three men asleep in the hayloft, no one in any of the outbuildings, and one upstairs window showed a light.
Walter looked at Richenza, who nodded. "If my horse returned, there would be five. I brought a groom and two men-at-arms, and my lady-in-waiting Annet is probably sitting up worrying about me."
Reassured, Walter called in his scouts, who had nothing suspicious to report, and led them into the courtyard. Richenza slid down from Hamon's horse and knocked on the door. Walter frowned. He should not have exposed her unnecessarily to Hamon. If she knew of the Wild Hunt she must know what Hamon of Saroth was. His nearness must have made her uncomfortable.
The door flew open to her knock. A bony middle-aged woman stood on the threshold. "My lady, where have you been? I've been beside myself since your horse--"
"Annet," Richenza cut her short, "did anyone come after I left?"
"No one. I--"
"It's all right," Richenza told Walter. The thirteen men dismounted from their moon-silver horses.
"My lady," Annet quavered, looking at the faces lit by her lamp, "What have you done?"
"Don't fuss, Annet. Light a fire in the parlor. We have guests."
Walter turned to Richenza, who was staring at him, her eyes wide. She had dark eyes, blue with a violet cast, and they conjured up the face he tried so hard to forget. Her hair had been silver fair but...
He pushed the memory away. "Where is this parlor?" After twenty summonings he was no longer surprised that he knew without asking that that was a new name for a room. "We should move inside before we attract attention."
She led them through the screen passage and the great hall to a large room beyond. Windows filled the outer walls. This would be a sunny room in the daytime and an indefensible one. The western windows framed the sinking moon.
The Lady Richenza stood at the fireplace, gazing up as though she drew strength from the armorial display. Walter's gaze followed hers. In his own time Indes had had a battle standard of the same red and gold, but armory had been a southern innovation newly adopted the last time he had been in Tarsia. How would a pompous herald such as he had known in Yesacroth describe the design? It was a red field, pierced by three sharp golden points bespattered with red drops like blood. That would be gules, three piles conjoined in base or goutty de sang. An apt design for Indes or any other of Tarses the Conqueror's Companions.
Richenza of the House of Indes--Walter looked at her and smiled at the ironies of time. Would Indes the Sueve tribal leader have claimed this delicate, fine-boned girl as kin? Her pale skin, her build, her blue eyes would have marked her as Rensel to Indes. Eyes with a violet cast like hers had been sung by the Rensel bards as like the sky at sunset and dawning. All Indes would have recognized as his was her glossy black hair. And a name, he reminded himself, and the privileges that went with it.
Companion of the Conqueror--how many houses of the original twenty could prove the strict male descent from one of Tarses's council that was necessary to that rank? If Indes were destroyed, how many remained?
She turned and sat in the high-backed chair. Her long hands were folded sedately in her lap, but her back was rigid. The thirteen men of the Hunt settled about the room, waiting to learn the details of the task she had set them.
First Walter asked the question that he most--and least--wanted the answer to.
"My lady, what year is it?"
"The thirty-eighth year of the reign of King Rozer III."
Useless information; the name Rozer meant nothing to him.
"Since the fall of Reasalyn?" he corrected patiently.
Her eyes widened; she must have realized why he asked. "More than twelve hundred years."
Worse than he had feared; three hundred years, nearly, since their last summoning--by far the longest gap since the start of the Hunt. His men registered the time in their own ways, but he could sense their shock and unease.
He put his own feelings aside. Time passed; his only concern should be its impact on the task at hand.
To distract his men and his mind he turned to Richenza. "Exactly what is it that you wish done?"
She looked at her hands clenched in her lap. She consciously relaxed them, then met Walter's gaze. "There are two things I wish of you. First, my brother Nele was executed for high treason without trial or hearing. Indes has the right to choose a champion to fight in trial by combat to disprove the charge. However, all the nobles so fear the king's displeasure that I will find no one to take Indes's part."
Walter nodded; the combat should be no difficulty. Several of the Huntsmen could take care of a simple judicial combat.
"And... " he prompted.
"I wish the House of Thaiter to be destroyed as Thaiter has destroyed the House of Indes." This was the crux of the matter.
His men seemed to take this information with indifference, real or feigned.
"What, precisely, were the circumstances of your brother's death?" From the corner of his eye he could see that Alesander was watching the lady intently.
"Murder," she corrected. "My brother Nele became Grand Duke of Maldrin when our father died two years ago. My father was barely laid to rest when Prince Leot befriended Nele. I knew that Leot was up to some trickery, because Leot and his brothers hated my father. There was no reason why Leot should change his mind."
"Why did Prince Leot hate your father?"
"My father was governor to the two older princes, Ewets and Leot, for several years after their mother, Queen Kamilka, died. He always said an untrained man, like an untrained horse, is of no use to anyone, but the princes' other governors had let them run wild. By the time Father was appointed they were nearly of age, and it was too late. Then Rozer's new wife Betrissa tried to seduce Father, and when she failed she had him removed from office. Father retired to Maldrin, but things happened to suggest that Ewets, Leot, and the queen were conspiring against him."
"Your brother knew nothing of this?"
"He knew, but he chose to believe that Leot wasn't responsible--only Ewets and Betrissa. Ewets was openly hostile, and Wendis, the youngest prince, is a useless wastrel, so Nele came to believe that Leot was the only member of the Royal House worthy to rule. Leot convinced him that King Rozer was simpleminded and that the kingdom was in danger."
Lady Richenza's eyes dropped, and Walter wondered if she was ashamed to say what happened next. But she looked up and continued. "So when Leot decided to assassinate his father, Nele followed like a child, all puffed up by his own proposed role in history. But somehow Rozer learned of the plot. When he was confronted by his father, Leot confessed, and said he had been led astray by Nele, and Rozer, the fool, wept and forgave him."
Her eyes blazed with anger. "Nele was left to fall into the trap. They let him and his men get into the king's apartments and then they ambushed them. His men were killed. Nele fought through and escaped into the corridor. I'm told he sought refuge in the Princess Meriel's apartments. She called the guard, and they captured him. They took him out to the courtyard and beheaded him immediately so that he could not betray Leot's part. Leot had his body delivered home to me that dawn in an arrow chest.
"If my brother was a traitor, then the blood is corrupt, our name degraded, and our possessions forfeit. But they slipped; they forgot that Indes is beyond any law but the Laws of Ortas. My brother was not condemned by his peers, and without that judgment they cannot touch our goods. If I do not appeal Leot to prove his accusations, I am left in limbo. I cannot even legally mourn Nele's death because they have named him traitor. If I appeal and Leot wins, he proves his charges and I lose everything. If my champion wins, then Nele was innocent, whatever the evidence against him. But win or lose, the House of Indes ends with me. I cannot pass on its special status even if I had ten sons."
"Why have them all killed?" Thomas asked. "Why not just Leot and the king?"
"Rozer tells Ewets everything. He must have been part of the plot. Ewets is the heir; he would be glad to see the House of one of the Companions ended. And Leot had promised Meriel to Nele, and she encouraged him. In the end, though, she wouldn't hide him or plead for his life. Wendis must have known, too, for he left town so conveniently. The House of Thaiter is corrupt beyond salvaging."
"How many people comprise the House of Thaiter?" Walter asked.
"Only Rozer, his three sons, his daughter Meriel, and Queen Betrissa, who is also of the House, the last of the only surviving cadet branch. Thaiter is famous for its history of sudden death among younger sons."
"Fratricide runs in the family," Alesander said suddenly.
The Lady Richenza looked at the prince sharply, angrily, but he met her gaze with laughter in his blue eyes. Alesander had only ridden with the Hunt for two summonings--he still felt a compulsion to learn all he could of events in his homeland, events Walter had not had occasion to keep abreast of.
"Are you of Thaiter?" she asked.
"Haldan, no! Vitaut. The Thaiter from whom the current ruling house is descended was my father's brother--my only surviving uncle."
"Why did your father let him survive?" Hamon asked.
"He was absent minded and walked into walls. Besides, Father was fond of him. I was astounded to learn that he had rebelled against my younger brother and seized the throne. Not that it matters now, but I am sorry my relatives have caused the lady so much grief."
"So you didn't kill all your brothers." Hamon said.
"No, and I was always very kind to my sister."
"But I was very kind to my sister," Hamon sounded more wounded than offended. "The poison killed her quickly."
"Not quickly enough, apparently." Michel leaned over the back of Hamon's chair.
Hamon looked up at him, "She never knew when to shut up either." Then he smiled at Lady Richenza. "Actually, our old nurse cursed me. Nurse always did like her better."
Walter sent Hamon a silent warning. The lady looked wary. Walter had seen summoners lose their nerve when the task began in earnest.
He turned to her. "Has a date been set for the combat?"
"No, it will be set when I present my champion in audience in three days. However, Leot has already agreed to fight whomever I choose."
"Excellent." Walter looked about the room. His men had absorbed the nature of their task but now they were impatient. Walter began to give orders.
"Michel, go help in the kitchen. Reynard, tend the horses. Bertz, more wood for the fire. Garrett, see if some wine can be brought while we wait for the food."
Richenza looked taut to the point of breaking. Time to turn her mind to something more mundane than the Hunt.
"My lady, we need to go unnoticed in Tarsit. How must we dress?"
She looked at him and relaxed as her thoughts moved to that everyday subject. "First of all, your hair is too long. The fashion is for hair no longer than his." She gestured toward the new one, Brian, whose black hair curled only as far as the nape of his neck. "Now as for your clothes..."
Dawn, gloomy and rain-soaked, lit the room and touched the faces of the Huntsmen. Walter looked down the table as the lady talked. As he had evaluated the strength of his troops before battle, Walter considered his men now.
Hamon, the most notorious of the notorious ruling princes of Saroth, lounged in his chair watching the others work. Walter need not question his willingness to perform a task. Be it rape, murder or any other filth that needed doing, Hamon would do it and enjoy the doing. His languid air was as characteristic of Saroth as his swarthy skin, black hair, and black eyes. Though he had played other parts, he was best cast as a southerner.
Eleylin, the longest cursed besides Walter and Hamon, would do whatever he was asked, but his coloring showed his origin as surely as Hamon's. Rensel coloring, silvery fair hair and pale blue eyes. Few but Selinian mercenaries had such coloring in Tarsia. His assured decisiveness could be mistaken for a mercenary's brash arrogance.
If there still are Selinian mercenaries. Three hundred years. Elun, don't make the task impossible.
When he looked at Thomas, Walter softened. Thomas he could trust to understand. No need to fear that Thomas would shirk a painful task or change an order to suit his own opinions. With his brown hair and eyes, he might be from anywhere.
Michel came in from the kitchen carrying a platter heaped with food. Square-built, yet pretty with his golden hair and green eyes, he appeared the soul of innocence, but behind that youthful face was a vicious and self-centered mind. Michel would do anything if convinced it was in his own interest.
Payne was helping Bertz carry firewood. He had his ancestor Amloth's dark red hair, but his eyes were green. Uncommon coloring, but as likely here as anywhere. Like Hamon, Payne would do the tasks set him with no qualms, if not with Hamon's relish.
Reynard, his fox-colored hair straight from the soaking rain, entered and came over to say, "Master, your horse is the bay now." Walter nodded. Thief, cutpurse, and general vagabond, he managed an air of innocence. At fifteen he was the youngest Huntsman, but he often proved more useful than his elders.
Ulick was studying the leaded-glass of the window. With his glossy black hair, lynx-colored eyes, ivory skin, and broad face, he was another whose origins could not be concealed. He was one of the nomadic Sueve--the Sueve who had stayed on their grassy plain. At least Tarsia's border with the Sueve lands made his presence more easy to explain than it had been farther South.
Justin had been given his wine already--Garrett had known who would want it first. Justin had heard that it must be killing. An alchemist could be kept far too busy with this task. He must find someone to watch Justin.
Alesander was listening intently to the Lady Richenza. The prince was valuable in any task that called for a man of station. With hair of gold and blue eyes, he possessed all the skills of a courtier, and on the field he was a fine example of young knighthood. His inbred rashness must be carefully curbed. Here in his homeland he would be an invaluable aid.
Bertz stared out the window. His looks were acceptable, his coppery hair and grey eyes possible anywhere this far north. But his accent was indelibly Stros. The Stros were a sect from the north, insular and of an unlikely monotheism. Furthermore, the man disapproved, seemingly, of everything. Including drunkenness. He could watch Justin, which would, Walter hoped, relieve anyone of watching Bertz.
Garrett had watched Bertz last time--the wrong job for someone from the Tributary Lordships, who were at constant war with the Stros. The young man's baiting of the Stros had caused trouble despite Bertz's indifference. Garrett was a little unpolished for Tarsia, but that could be explained. His light brown hair and pale green eyes were common enough, though his remarkable height--half a head taller than any other Huntsman--made him difficult to disguise or forget.
Finally, Walter looked at Brian, who sat on the stool farthest from the light. All he knew was a name and what he could see. He was young, in his early twenties, Walter estimated. His hair was black and curly; his eyes were blue, and he carried himself well. Nothing else was obvious. He must talk with the boy and soon.
Next to him Walter Lady Richenza faltered and put a hand to her head. She had not slept that night nor, if she had sat up with her brother's body as was the custom, the night before.
The serving woman hovered, scolding softly. Richenza murmured a protest to the older woman and continued talking.
Walter stopped her. "No, you need sleep, I will hear more later." Annet helped Richenza to her feet and out of the room. Walter watched the women leave, feeling Thomas's eyes on him. Thomas would have uncomfortable questions later.
Garrett filled his goblet and Walter fingered the short stem thoughtfully. Garrett had only ridden with the Hunt once, so he might not have noticed that Walter did not touch wine, only ale or beer or water. He remembered his last cup of wine. It was almost the last pleasant moment he could remember--and that a thousand years before. He contemplated the goblet without lifting it. Did Justin find forgetfulness in the wine? Walter doubted it; he had seen no surcease of pain in the man's drunken eyes.
He pushed away from the table. This was no time to seek oblivion. There hadn't been in a thousand years, or twenty-two moons, however you figured it. This was a distasteful task, but it should not prove difficult.
"Alesander." The Prince of Tarsia started as if he, too, had been lost in thought. "How much does what the Lady Richenza described differ from Tarsia in your time?"
"The conduct of the Royal House seems all too familiar." Alesander smiled wryly, then sobered. "What I see of the estate and household arrangements seems little changed as well."
"Could you pass as a gentleman of the lady's household?"
"Certainly."
"Good. You joust sufficiently well to handle the judicial combat. You will be Indes's champion. Also, if the Royal House is determined to finish the House of Indes, the Lady Richenza is in danger. She will have to be guarded."
Alesander nodded.
Annet returned, disapproval radiating from her every move.
"Did the Lady Richenza get safely to bed?"
"She did."
"Is there some room where I could be alone?"
"There is the room where His Grace worked."
"Show me."
The room she took him to was small and isolated, furnished with no more than a table, a chair, a few books on a shelf, and a window.
As the woman turned to leave he stopped her. Grudgingly she turned back.
"Annet, you know who we are, and why your mistress called us."
"Yes."
"She has set us a task and we must perform it. The others will have questions. Answer them as best you can. A mistake could harm your mistress. Do you understand?"
The woman nodded.
"You may go." Walter turned to the window. He wanted this time alone, away from the old arguments and vituperative baiting of the others, away from Thomas's watchful eyes. He was weary and this was as close to sleep as he would come until the moon was full again and even that would probably be a sleep beset by nightmares.
How long will I dream next time? A thousand years? Forever?
He ought to think of the work at hand. He knew enough to make a start.
It would be hard this time. This time there was the Lady Richenza. If only she weren't just the right age, and if only her eyes were not that exact shade of blue-purple... She had even used the same angry, imperious tone that Cassimara had used when things were not arranged to her liking. Damn! He had too many people to worry about as it was.
Walter looked out the window, across the fields, alone with his thoughts--thoughts that would not be disciplined and strayed back to painful subjects. He was almost relieved when Thomas knocked lightly at the door.
"You've found a nice hole to hide in." Thomas stopped abruptly as if he knew that he had come too close to truth.
"What are the others doing?"
Thomas shrugged. "It is beginning to be noisy out there. I think the three hundred years bothers them. It certainly bothers me."
"I know."
"Is that what's troubling you?"
Walter sighed. "No more than usual."
"The task itself doesn't seem that difficult. At least it's a small family we're to hunt down. What, then, is the problem?"
"It's the girl. We need to be careful. It mustn't look like a single plot against the Royal House, or they'll blame her."
"She isn't a fool. She must realize that, and I remember nothing in her command stating she must survive to have the task fulfilled."
"Must you remember everything to the letter?"
"The ladies certainly do, so one of us has to. Besides, legal thinking is hard to outgrow."
"If I plan carefully, her death is not necessary. To plan I need quiet."
"Nonsense. When you plan you sound like a Sueve war leader taking a city. There's more to it." Thomas studied Walter. "It is the girl, though. You are rarely so thoughtful when gathering information. I've known you to question someone solidly for two days before you were satisfied. The Lady Richenza is asked a few polite questions and then allowed to take a nice nap. Why?"
"She'd already been up for two nights." Walter began to tick reasons off on his fingers. "Even I can't question an unconscious girl."
"This isn't a debate."
Walter gave up. "She reminds me of Cassimara."
"Your wife?"
Walter nodded. "Her eyes, her age, even her voice--"
"I see," Thomas stared at the matting. "Will it cause problems?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. It just makes everything... painful." The pair were silent until Walter thoughts drove him 8to speak. "I need something to do. Go tell the new man, Brian, that I want to see him."
End Chapter One