Renegade of Kregen

'No man can answer until he has faced the situation and the question.'

'Do you know that my Lady of the Stars and I are married? No — only a very few know. Grogor knows. We married permanently. Not in the rites of Grodno-' He picked up his glass and spilled most of it. He barely noticed.

'Then the king would honor a legal and sanctified marriage.'

'Fambly! He has the yrium. And the rites were not the rites of Grodno.' He chuckled. 'Even though there were two ceremonies, neither was that of Grodno.' And he drank and let the glass slip through his fingers.

I felt a prod might bring him back to reason. For so strong and powerful a personality he was letting go of his will, was allowing this matter that tormented him to undermine all the strength he possessed, and so I knew this was no ordinary matter that so obsessed him. I spoke carefully.

'If the king succeeded in taking my Lady, would your men fight to regain her? If the fact was over and done, would they risk treason against the king? In that situation would not their loyalty to the king transcend their loyalty to you?'

He struggled to rise and slumped back, panting.

'So that is how you answer the question of loyalty to your lady and loyalty to your country!'

'You should know better — if this is the case you present, then-'

'It is the case! Grogor would go up against the king for me, I know! And I picked you, for I thought you would be loyal — even if I could not, for the king has the yrium, even if I could not — you-' If that was his problem I fancied the stab of an emergency would quickly make up his mind for him. As though Drig himself had heard me and mocked me, on that thought the door opened and Grogor burst in. He looked ghastly. Both Gafard and I knew, at once, almost word for word what he would say. Gafard lumbered up, screeching, drawing his sword. Swords would be useless for a space, I fancied.

'Gernu! She is taken! Stikitches — real assassins in metal faces, professionals. . They ride toward the Volgodonts’ Aerie!'

The Volgodonts’ Aerie, another hunting lodge like the Zhantil’s Lair, stood some three burs’ ride away in the woods. That, we could not have foreseen.

Gafard’s face appeared both shrunken and bloated. His eyes glared. All the drink he had taken made his face enormous and yet the horror of the moment shriveled him. He gasped and struggled to breathe. I caught him and lowered him into his chair. Grogor stood, half bent, expecting an avalanche of invective. Gafard croaked words, vicious, harsh words like bolts from a crossbow.

'We must ride, Grogor! Have the sectrixes saddled up. Gather the men. We must ride like Zhuannar of the Storm!'

'Rather, master, call on Grakki-Grodno-'

I knew what he meant. Grakki-Grodno was the sky-god of draft-beasts of Magdag. So for all his brave talk, he had failed the test.

But Grogor said, 'The king has taken my Lady and she is now his. He is the king and he has the yrium. The men would have fought for you — have fought for you, master — when she was rightfully yours. Now she is rightfully the king’s. No man will raise his hand against the king.' Then, this bulky, sweaty man, a renegade, drew himself up. 'I would ride, my lord. Would you have me ride alone against the king?'

He had a powerful point. Gafard looked crushed. The strength and power oozed out of him. I felt a crushing sorrow for the Lady of the Stars. Evidently the little shishi had failed to convince the king. Spies had done the rest. There were those in Gafard’s household who did not love him, that was certain, and we had made a splendid spectacle riding out of Magdag. There was no point in my offering to ride. If Gafard roused himself, if Grogor rode, that would be three of us against a band of professional stikitches. The assassins of Kregen are an efficient bunch of rasts when they have to be, and on a task of kidnapping they are no less ruthless. No, sorrowful though this made me, I would have to go with the majority.

My own concerns for my Delia must come first. My Delia — ah! How I longed for her then. . How could a pretty girl, even a girl with the fire and spirit and charm of the Lady of the Stars, stand for a moment in my thoughts against my Delia!

The shadows in the corner of that masculine room — with the harsh trophies of the hunt upon the walls, the stands of arms, the pieces of harness and mail, the tall motionless drapes — all breathed to me of softer, sweeter things: of Delia’s laugh, the sight of her as we swam together in Esser Rarioch, the love we had for our children, all the intimate details that make of a man and a woman, make of a marriage, a single and indivisible oneness.

No, I would not throw away my Delia’s happiness for my Lady of the Stars. Gafard was breathing in hoarse, rattling gasps. The drink, the shock, the fuddlement, had left him bereft of that incisive command. He had been stricken down.

'The men will not ride!' He shook his head, hardly able to believe and yet knowing the stark truth of it. He turned to me and stretched out a hand. 'And you, Gadak the Renegade, the man I chose and pampered — will you, Gadak, ride for me this night?'

'No,' I said.

He fell back in the chair. His face sagged. He looked distraught, wild, near-insane. Then he proved himself.

'Then to Sicce with you all! I will ride myself, alone, for I know well what my Lord of Strombor will say!'

I felt no shock, only puzzlement.

He staggered up, waving his arms, casting about for his mail. I gripped his arm and Grogor jumped. I said, 'What is this of the Lord of Strombor?'

Gafard swung a wild, sweaty face upon me. The sweat clung to his dark, clustered curls and dripped down his face. The lines in that face were etched deep. His beard bristled.

'You onker! If the king takes my Lady — Pur Dray is in the city! He has been seen in Magdag, it is very sure.' He spoke down from that high screech, as a man explaining a simple problem to a child. He put a hand on my hand. 'Let me go, Gadak, traitor, ingrate! I will save my Lady for Pur Dray and then I will deal with you.'

I held him. Grogor moved and I swung my head and glared at him. 'Stand, Grogor, as you value your life!' I shook Gafard, the King’s Striker. 'Listen to me, Gafard! You prate of Pur Dray, the Lord of Strombor. What has he to do with this matter? Tell me the matter that lies between you, Gafard! Tell me!

What has the Lord of Strombor to do with the Lady of the Stars?' Some semblance of sanity returned to him. He was Gafard, the Sea-Zhantil, and he was not to be shaken by a mere mercenary, a renegade, a man he had made!

'You cramph!' he said. He spoke thickly. 'You are a dead man — for you sit and let my Lady go to certain death — hideous death — death by torture for what she knows, and, before that, to humiliation and the baiting of a trap.'

'Tell me, Gafard, you nurdling great onker! Tell me!'

He shrieked as my fingers bit into the bones of his arm.

He twisted and glared up, his fierce, predatory face close to mine and so like my own, so like my own.

'You fool! Pur Dray, the greatest Krozair of the Eye of the World, is here, in Magdag. And King Genod takes the Lady of the Stars! When he finds out, as he will find out — for he has the yrium, he will find out

— then — and then-'

I shook him again. I bore down on him, all the hateful ferocity in my face overmatching his own. Grogor took another step and I said 'Grogor!' and he stopped stock still.

'When the king finds out what, Gafard? What is this trap? Tell me or I will break your arm off!' He shrieked again and foam sprang to his lips. He tried to pull away and Grogor moved once more so I swung Gafard, the King’s Striker, about, prepared to hurl him at Grogor. I could feel his bones grinding under my fingers.

'Now, Gafard, now!'

'You are a dead man, Gadak! For King Genod has taken Velia, who is the daughter of Pur Dray, the Lord of Strombor.'

Chapter Nineteen