Sir Apropos Of Nothing Part 34

"Apropos! This is the p.i.s.sant squire I told the forest men to be on the lookout for! I knew if anyone was apt to try and bolt for it, it would be this little coward." Coreolis looked at me with disdain. "Well? Did you think you'd get away with it, you fear-crazed weasel? Did you? Speak up?" This is the p.i.s.sant squire I told the forest men to be on the lookout for! I knew if anyone was apt to try and bolt for it, it would be this little coward." Coreolis looked at me with disdain. "Well? Did you think you'd get away with it, you fear-crazed weasel? Did you? Speak up?"

Keeping the quavering out of my voice as best I could, I said politely, "My apologies, sir . . . have we met?"

"Have we-?" I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his skull. "d.a.m.n you! I should have simply killed you in your sleep! But no, I had to decide that you weren't worth the trouble! More fool I! And more fool you, Meander, for listening to him!"

"Have a care, good sir knight," Meander said with clear danger in his voice. "I am still a king, and will not brook such insolence."

Quickly realizing that he'd overstepped himself, Coreolis bowed. "My apologies, Highness. I let my rage carry me . . . rage directed not at you, but at this little cretin!" and he pointed a trembling finger at me.

"You speak of Tacit?"

"Tacit! Tacit lies dead with a brace of arrows in him! I speak of this creature, Apropos of Nothing, who serves Runcible and has the eye of Runcible's daughter."

"Is that a fact?" inquired Meander, turning to me.

"Sire," I said as patiently as I could, as if Coreolis was a lunatic whom I did not want to offend for reasons of personal safety, "if the good knight claims my brother is dead . . . I am . . . I am taken aback, milord. Grief-stricken. I will need time to deal with his loss. As for the rest . . . I am not certain what sort of madness has embraced him . . ."

"Madness!" bellowed Coreolis. "The only madness is that you're all standing here when I've delivered Runcible to you on a silver platter! He's-" He frowned. "What's that d.a.m.ned singing?"

He looked to the point of origin of the singing and his eyes widened. "Is . . . is that . . . ?"

"Aye. Your king, on a silver platter," said Meander. "Except we believe that it is in fact trickery. A clever plan to entrap us. Which would mean, sir knight, that either you are also tricked by a king who suspected your treachery . . . or else you are in on it with him and have endeavored to lead us into an attack. Neither possibility bodes well for you."

"Don't you see!" howled Coreolis, face purpling, looking as if he was on the verge of a breakdown. "The only trickery here is on the part of Apropos . . ."

"Tacit," I quietly corrected him.

"d.a.m.n you and your Tacit!" He yanked out his sword, brandis.h.i.+ng it fiercely. "I know who you are!"

"That makes two of us." I was feeling that same sense of empowerment that I had so long ago, what seemed a lifetime ago, when my att.i.tude had sent Sir Justus into fits of fury. I, the lowborn son of a wh.o.r.e, was giving a highborn knight convulsions while simultaneously maintaining my sangfroid.

Meander regarded me thoughtfully. "Well. We seem to have a disagreement as to your ident.i.ty. And who you are will weigh rather heavily into what is to be done. Tell me, young sir . . . have you any here who can vouch for you? Anyone of long standing in my ranks who knows you to be Tacit, rather than this 'Apropos' who seems to have Sir Coreolis so overwrought?"

Dead silence. I could hear nothing save the snow, and the distant howling of the wind. It suddenly seemed much, much colder, with more ice coming in. Overhead the branches were becoming thick and encrusted with frozen coatings. I looked to Grimmoir, to the lieutenant, to any of the men that I'd spoken to in hopes that somehow they would misremember and think that I had been around for quite some time. Nothing. No responses. I felt my blood running as cold as the ice forming overhead.

And then a female voice floated through the stillness.

"Tacit, my love . . . I thought you would never get here."

I couldn't believe it. Could not believe it.

Before she said another word, before she pulled back the gray hood to reveal her features, I knew who it was. The crowd of soldiers parted for her, as if they were afraid to have her come into any sort of contact with them. If she was put off by that, she didn't show it.

I should have known. A weatherweaver controlling the environment. I should have d.a.m.ned well known.

"h.e.l.lo, Sharee," I said, keeping my voice as casual as I could.

Coreolis had gone completely ashen. Sharee didn't even bother to glance in his direction. Instead she walked up to me and draped an arm around the back of my neck. "You certainly took your time in arriving," she said with a voice like a winter's sigh. She pulled me to her and kissed me. Her lips were like frost; I nearly stuck to her.

Our mouths parted and I thought desperately of something to say. "Sorry" was all I came up with.

"You know this man, weaver?" asked Meander slowly.

"My beloved Tacit? How could I not know my lover? He who warms me with his very essence?"

"The good Sir Coreolis claims that he is in the employ of Runcible, and is actually named Apropos . . ."

She laughed at that. "What foolishness. The good Sir Coreolis is misinformed."

That caused him to find his voice. "The good Sir Coreolis is going to kill the both of you!" he bellowed.

Meander froze him with a glance. "Sharee has been in my service for some time now, Coreolis, and served me well. Restrain yourself. Now." Without even bothering to make sure that Coreolis did as ordered, Meander turned back to Sharee and said, in as grave a voice as I've ever heard any man employ, "Sharee . . . do you swear on your oath as a weaver that this man is named Tacit? That he is your lover? That he is not now, nor has he ever been, in service to King Runcible? On your oath, Sharee?"

The wind began to howl. I heard a distant creaking of ice from overhead. It felt as if the wintery winds and fierce weather that had been kept at bay by Sharee's magiks were starting to intrude on our zone of safety. I looked to Sharee nervously, and she, in turn, never wavered in her gaze as she and Meander faced one another.

"On my oath as a weaver, I do swear it to be so," she said.

"She lies!" bellowed Coreolis and, gripping his sword with both hands, he charged.

At that exact moment, there was a ma.s.sive cracking noise and a huge tree, weighed down by the ice that had gathered in its upper reaches, and pounded by winds so fearsome that they threatened to knock us all over, broke off at its base. It toppled over, ma.s.sive, irresistible. Everyone in its way scattered . . .

. . . save for Coreolis, who was so focused on attacking Sharee and me that he dashed directly into the tree's path. At the last second the cras.h.i.+ng of icicles around him alerted him and he looked up, but too late. He had barely enough time for an abortive scream, and then the tree slammed down and crushed him beneath its weight. His armor did him no good, as it was flattened along with the rest of him.

Once again silence reigned over the scene as we stared at the mishap, Coreolis's body completely obscured by the huge trunk.

And then, the picture of calm, Meander said, "Well. That would seem to be it, then." He raised his voice and addressed his men. "Gentlemen . . . it would appear that the clever King Runcible sent the late Sir Coreolis to us in an attempt to trap us. The supposed alliance he offered to form with us months ago, in exchange for our capturing King Runcible, was apparently naught but a meticulously constructed and elaborate invitation to disaster. Well . . . we will not accept his invitation. Allow the king to sit there in his foolish motley. We will attend to other matters. As for you, weaver," and he turned to Sharee.

"Yes, Highness?"

"Your servitude to me is at an end."

She blinked in surprise. "It . . . is?"

"You have attended to me quite well during this time. And in this instance, your intervention helped to unmask the duplicity of Coreolis and prevented me from tumbling into whatever trap Runcible had set. I believe that it is time to call our accounts settled. Unless you have objections to that . . ."

"No. No objections at all."

"Very well. Tacit . . . am I safe in a.s.suming that you will remain with your lover, rather than with the Journeymen?"

"That . . . is a safe a.s.sumption, Highness."

"Yes. Well, I cannot say I am surprised. Then again . . . it takes a great deal to surprise me."

He smiled at me.

I looked at the scars. My mother's handiwork on her murderer's face.

My hand started to go for my knife and then Sharee's hand was resting, gently but firmly, on my arm, freezing it in place.

Moments later the army of King Meander was moving off. I stood there and watched them go, the cloak drawn tightly around me to ward off the cold. Sharee stood close to me, and not a word pa.s.sed between us for quite some time as Meander's troops disappeared from view. The only thing that was left was the crushed body of Coreolis, somewhere beneath the frost-covered tree. When the spring thaw finally hit-which would happen sooner rather than later, thanks to Sharee no longer interfering with the weather patterns-some lucky scavenging animals would find their first meal, neatly preserved.

"That was interesting," she said.

I turned to her. "I was ready to think we were even now, for the time I saved you," I said. "But because of me, he released you from service to him. Let me guess: Gambling debt."

"You know me too well," she said with mild amus.e.m.e.nt, which quickly faded from her voice. "But no. We are not even, for reasons you cannot begin to comprehend. Don't you see? The only thing that enabled me to convince Meander of the truth of my words was to swear a weaver's oath. But I lied under that oath. Such actions, while benefiting in the short term, have long-term harsh consequences."

"For whom?" I asked nervously.

"For all who benefit in the short term."

I did not like the sound of that, but I felt that dwelling on it would serve me about as well as dwelling on the fact that I'd just let my mother's murderer walk away. Instead I s.h.i.+fted the subject. "You've been in my dreams. Why? What have you been trying to tell me?"

She stared at me as if I was mad. "Me? I've never been in your dreams. I'm no dreamweaver. You're imagining things."

"Are you willing to swear a weaver's oath on that? Or would you be violating two within minutes of each other?"

She didn't reply, unless you can consider an enigmatic smile a reply. "On your way now, little man."

"On my way? You mean . . ."

"I'm not coming with you, no. Not yet. It's not time. This other foolishness has to play out."

"What foolishness? Dammit, Sharee, can't you stop talking in riddles?"

She looked surprised that I even had to ask. "No," she said. She started to turn away and then, in an offhand manner, inquired, "Oh . . . is Tacit dead yet? Tacit One-Eye, I mean. Your childhood playmate. He who first tried to rescue me and owes his salvation to you and your purse."

Obviously she had not heard Sir Coreolis's bellowed p.r.o.nouncement of his fate. " 'Yet'? How did you know he was dead at all?" I asked, startled.

"That's easy. You're still alive. I never thought this world was big enough for the both of you."

And with that, she stepped back toward the icy trees. I swore I never took my eyes off her, and yet the next moment, between eyeblinks, she had blended in with the snow and was gone.

I stood there staring, although I had no idea for how long I did so. Although on the one hand I wanted to will her back to me, I nevertheless had the distinct feeling that I might have got off lucky. It was with those precise mixed emotions that I trudged away to the fort, having no idea how I was going to feel when I saw Entipy again . . . especially considering that I had already resigned myself to never seeing her, or her father, again (never seeing Odclay the jester wasn't preying on my mind at all).

As I approached the castle, I smiled and shook my head at the ludicrous sight of the King of Isteria, on my say-so, continuing his nonsensical singing. But I could tell that he was already beginning to suspect that Meander had departed, and when he caught sight of me, I waved to him and nodded. He didn't recognize me at first, clad as I was in the garments of a Journeyman. But when he did he got to his feet and returned the wave, looking somewhat relieved that he didn't have to keep singing. Then he disappeared from view as he climbed down, only to emerge some minutes later-with Entipy and Odclay on either side of him-from the front gate.

Entipy was, I have to say, quite a sight. She ran toward me, her arms pinwheeling, intermingling shouting of my name with nearly incoherent squeals of joy. I suddenly felt very tired, even exhausted, still having trouble believing that such a half-a.s.sed plan as I had developed had actually worked. Never in a million years would I have given myself the slightest hope of succeeding.

The princess got within four feet of me and then jumped, literally leaping into my arms. I staggered from the impact, and would have fallen over had not the king arrived quickly enough to brace me. I should say, though, that if there was one man even more ludicrous-looking than the king, it was the jester, attired in the king's own raiment. Yet even the jester rose to the occasion as he pumped my hand firmly and said, "Well done. Very well done," with absolutely no trace of insanity to his voice. If the man was capable of staying lucid for longer periods of time, we might actually be able to be friends.

"I never doubted you! Never!" said Entipy.

She had no idea, of course. No idea that, save for the timing of my encountering the scout in the woods, I would be far away from this place, while she and her father would be captives of Meander. Nor did she ever need to know.

"Nor did I, Princess," I replied as suavely as I could, "for I knew that I had you to come back to."

She held me tightly, and I winced because I was still aching from the wounds Tacit had inflicted. But I tried to keep a stoic face.

"Tell us what happened, Apropos," said the king as we walked slowly back to the fort. "Tell us everything."

Well, obviously I didn't tell them everything. Somehow I didn't think I would be doing myself any favors by telling them that I'd been looking to flee when fate had taken a hand. So obviously I gave myself a slightly more . . . willing . . . role in the proceedings.

The king looked both surprised and saddened to learn of Coreolis's involvement and duplicity. When Coreolis's name first came up, he stopped walking so that he could give the tale his full attention. Naturally we all had to stop as well as I told him everything, up to and including Coreolis's curious demise at the hands-well, limbs-of a tree.

"I have known for quite some time that he was discontent," murmured Runcible. "But that he would do this . . . it is tragic. Truly tragic. How someone can aspire to greatness and do so with no sense of honor at all . . . I do not understand it. Do you, squire?"

Desperate to move on, I simply gave a quick shake of the head and then managed to say, "So . . . what do we do now, Highness?" I was most anxious to do anything to draw attention away from myself.

The king frowned, considering the question. Surprisingly, it was the jester who spoke up, sounding as if he was sliding back into his comfortable lunacy. "No matter where they go . . . here we are," he said cheerfully.

I didn't pretend to understand, but the king promptly said, "That is a good observation, Odclay."

"It is?" Entipy said, surprised.

"Yes," said the king, cheerfully. "What he's saying is-"

And a voice, cold as ice, interrupted, "What he is saying is that you should remain here for a time to see if your escorts and knights return."

We stopped and looked ahead of us.

King Meander was leaning against the great front door of the fort, with a wry smile upon his face and a long sword in his hand.

Chapter 27.

Naturally we froze.

"h.e.l.lo. I'm King Meander-also known as the Keepless King and the Vagabond King. Although since it is just us few, I tend to think simply 'Meander' will do. I am not often one for standing on ceremony." Meander looked at each of us in turn, and then pointed the long sword at each of us, one by one. I was amazed by the fact that, even though it was a two-hander, he held it with one hand as if it weighed nothing. "The true jester . . . ?"

"Odclay, yes, sir," said the jester, trembling as the point was aimed at him. He probably thought that Meander was going to run him through simply on general principles. I thought as much myself.

But Meander just nodded slightly and turned the point to Entipy. "And . . . the princess?"

Entipy said nothing. She just looked at him defiantly, chin slightly upturned. But to her obvious surprise, her father said quietly, "You are being addressed by a king, my dear. Even an enemy king. As a princess, you are obliged to respond in a suitable manner."

She spit at Meander. The glob landed squarely on the front of his armor.

That's it, we're dead, I thought. I thought.

But to my shock, Meander simply laughed. "There are many," he said with obvious amus.e.m.e.nt, "who would concur that that response was appropriate. But they would not have the nerve to see such a sentiment through. Well done, Princess." He paused and then added as an afterthought, "Do it again and I will leave your neck longing for your pretty head."

She puckered her lips, preparing to let fly again. Immediately I clapped my hand over her mouth. The result was a large wad of saliva in my hand. I was rarely more thankful that I was wearing gloves.