'Leave us,' Jorani said to the general. When they were alone, he gave Janosk his own chair, motioned Ilsabet into the other one, and sat on the edge of his table.
Jorani most resembled the birds he kept. Tall and cadaverously thin, he had deep-set, piercing black eyes, prominent high cheekbones, and a hook nose above a firm, expressive mouth. He once confessed to
Ilsabet that in his youth he had hoped to be a harper. Ilsabet had often heard him play and marveled at his skill, once asking if he regretted his choice.
'I would have perished from boredom, and undoubtedly starved,' he'd told her and smiled. There had been no mirth in his expression, no warmth, and she understood. He was always kind to her, almost gentle, but something about his appearance terrified. No one would ask such a man to play at anything but a funeral.
'Ilsabet says that you wish to speak to me,' Janosk said. 'Has she become a lax student?'
'Lax? Not at all. If anything, she is too intelligent. There is little I can teach her of philosophy and the world. But given her intelligence, she may have talent to equal mine in other things.'
Her father seemed to know exactly what Jorani meant. 'Have you discussed this with her?' he asked, speaking of Ilsabet as if she were not present.
'I wished to speak with you first, and ask permission to begin her education. If you give it, I would like to start by bringing her to the battle site tomorrow to watch the executions.'
'You think it necessary?'
'It is. And, yes, she is ready.'
To reveal any bit of her excitement might make Ilsabet seem too young, too eager. So she listened carefully, her expression guarded.
'Do you want to come to the camp and see the carnage?' her father asked.
She nodded solemnly.
'Do you know the services Lord Jorani performs for me?'
She nodded again.
Baron Janosk stood, bent over Ilsabet, and kissed her forehead. Jorani followed him to the door, but when the scribe bowed, the baron waved him back impatiently. 'As boys we wrestled one another,' he said. 'No need to be formal when there is no one here to notice.'
He left, the hawks screeching at the sound of his boots on the stairs.
As soon as they were alone, Jorani turned to Ilsa-bet. 'You said you know what I do for your father. Tell me what that is?'
She pointed to the center of the rug. 'Beneath the carpet is a door that leads to a hidden room. You were in that room for days before father left for battle. I think you made him some elixir to drink that would make him stronger.'
'And I gave him a powder as well, and instructions to have one of his soldiers go upwind of the rebel camp and let the powder loose into the air. It filled the rebels with fear and indecision. I made them easy to defeat.'
Her eyes widened. 'You did that?'
'Does that trouble you?'
'No, we only won with fewer losses on both sides. We would have won anyway.'
'A good reply. Now, how did you know about my private chamber?'
'I spied on you. I saw you go down there.'
'How did you keep the hawks quiet?'
'I walked carefully. I made no sound, and stayed in the shadows of the passage. I've had much practice.' She smiled, ruthlessly she hoped. 'I've seen Marishka sitting with that handsome fop from the palace guard. I've seen Mihael steal off to play cards with the kitchen servants. And I have seen you with Lady Lorena, holding her while she cries.'
'We all fear for your father's safety, child,' Jorani answered.
'She curses him with her lack of faith.'
'You know what her custom demands if he dies in battle. Can you blame her for being afraid?'
'She'd do better to breed. Then custom would allow her to raise her child.'
Jorani's anger flared, then dissipated just as quickly, leaving him gazing thoughtfully at her with just a hint of distaste. UI think I was right about your education, but there will be no lessons today. Prepare for a long hard ride tomorrow.'
TWO
Ilsabet met Jorani in the courtyard the following morning. She was dressed as befit the daughter of the lord, in a pale blue riding gown trimmed with lapis beads. Her hair was braided around her head like a crown.
Jorani, in contrast, dressed like a servant and carried a pair of hooded brown robes. 'Put this on,' he ordered, holding one out to her.
She shook her head. 'The daughter of Baron Janosk Obour, ruler of Kislova, will not sneak through her father's lands like some thief.'
'Your father has no guards to spare for our ride,' he reminded her, thrusting the robe into her hand. 'Put this on.'
She hesitated, then said, 'Very well, but it comes off before we reach my father's camp.'
They rode in silence through the fields, fallow in late autumn, Jorani constantly scanning the countryside, alert for an ambush. At the edge of the forest road, he reined in his horse and gave three loud whistles. A handful of soldiers rode toward them. As they did, Ilsabet untied the brown robe, turning the front flaps back over her shoulders to reveal the beauty and wealth of her gown. In spite of her plain appearance, she looked regal, and Jorani, noticing this, gave a quick nod of agreement. With Ilsabet at his side, they led the soldiers through the forest to the baron's encampment.
The smell of death was thick as they approached the camp. Ilsabet looked upwind and saw bodies stacked in a single huge pile, their pale limbs tangled together like some weathered deadfall. Farther on, they passed a second site where bodies were arranged carefully on the ground, respectfully covered and guarded until they could be returned to their families for burial.
'The difference between victors and defeated extends even to death,' Jorani commented.
Ilsabet covered her face with her hand, inhaling the scent of the perfume she had applied that morning, and quickened her pace.
Baron Janosk's soldiers lounged in front of their cooking fires. Many of them were wounded, and the rest looked far too weary to fight. On the ride in, Ilsabet had been told that their rest was well earned. The clash had ended in a complete rout of the enemy. Their leader and three of his henchmen had been captured as they fled toward the border, undoubtedly trying to reach the protection of Baron Peto's lands. Ilsabet passed three of the prisoners chained to a post. They looked dirty and starving, as if they had been in hiding a long time.
The rebel general had been separated from his men and put in an iron cage near the center of the camp. Though his hands and feet were shackled and a dirty rag was tied around his mouth, he was heavily guarded. Ilsabet dismounted and walked toward his cage, Jorani at her side. 'Note him well,' Jorani whispered to her. 'This is what an enemy looks like.'
The rebel leader was a young man, not nearly as tall or muscular as her father, hardly formidable except for the fanatical expression on his face and the fierce fire that seemed to glow in the depths of his hazel eyes.
'He calls himself Dark,' Jorani said. 'Mo one knows who his family might be, though from the looks of him I'd say he comes from the lands north of Pine.'
'What will happen to him?' Ilsabet asked.
'What do you suggest?' Jorani asked in turn.
'Lady Lorena would undoubtedly think we should wed him to Marishka.'
'Undoubtedly, but to do that we'd need his real name, which he refuses to give, probably because he has a wife already,' Jorani replied.
