Chapter 24
WHERE THE HELL was Kiri? Cleve had looked in the sheep byre, in the privy, in the bathing hut. Where was she? He turned to look back toward the fortress, but he didn’t see her amongst all the people standing there. He strode toward the barley fields. He’d shake her good for disappearing like this.
Inside the huge fortress, Varrick, as was his wont, stood on the raised dais, regarding the fifty-some people in the great hall. He said in a calm voice that seemed to ring from the blackened wooden beams above, “Argana, you will come here to me now.”
Chessa frowned. Where was Cleve? Why was Varrick calling Argana to him?
She looked to see Athol, standing next to Igmal and his men, but he didn’t look frightened.
Indeed, there was a stark look of pleasure on his thin face.
He looked triumphant. She frowned, puzzled.
What in the name of the gods was going on here?
Argana walked tall and proud to the dais, to her husband. She stood below, flinging back her head to look up at him. “Yes, Lord Varrick? What is your pleasure?”
“You will learn of it shortly. Answer me now. Would you agree, Argana, that our son, Athol, is only a boy?”
“Aye, he is but sixteen. But he is nearly a man. You yourself have been seeking about for a suitable wife for him. You have said you wish him wedded soon. You wouldn’t want a boy to be a husband.”
“But he is still not of full reason. He is still easily swayed by those he admires, those he loves, those he trusts. Like you, Argana.”
“I trust that will be true when he has reached even your years, Lord Varrick.”
Varrick was silent, just staring at her, but Chessa wasn’t fooled, the insult had made him furious.
Suddenly, a wind came from the wide-open shutters behind him.
He was holding the burra, fingering its surface with his long white fingers.
There was conversation all around her, low and frightened.
Where was Cleve? She looked over at where Merrik and Laren stood, Laren holding Kiri.
The little girl looked bored, but she stayed quiet in Laren’s arms.
Slowly, the winds died. Varrick said nothing until there was utter silence both inside and outside the fortress.
He sheathed the burra once again at his belt.
It was a quick gesture, a furtive gesture.
She wondered if anyone else had noticed that he’d had the burra out when the winds had so suddenly arisen.
“A mother has great influence over her children, particularly her sons.”
“Aye,” Argana said quietly, “that is usually true. But here at Kinloch, with you, Lord Varrick, it isn’t. Athol takes his direction from you and from no other. All here take their direction from you and none other.”
“Didn’t you call Chessa a witch?”
“Aye, she is a witch. What of it? Did you not tell us that her father was Hormuze, the greatest magician you’d ever known?”
“Didn’t you tell your Athol that she was a witch and she would be better dead?”
“Nay, I didn’t say that.”
“But it is what you believe, is it not?”
Slowly, Argana turned and looked at Chessa.
She was frowning slightly, as if she didn’t understand something that she should understand.
There wasn’t particular dislike in her look, but confusion.
“Perhaps,” she said, and it was clear to all that she was uncertain, that she didn’t know where Varrick was leading with all this talk.
Chessa felt the flesh on her arms rise. She was frightened. Where was Cleve?
“Athol has told me that you ordered him to kill Cleve and all the visitors with him, including the child and Chessa. He has told me it wasn’t his fault. He was only following your wishes, your orders.”
“Nay, I did not. Cleve is your son. Why would I want to have one son kill another?”
“Ah, Argana, then you call your beloved son a liar and you want to see my knife slide between his ribs for his supposed treachery?”
Argana smiled. “That was well done, husband. My only question is why?”
Varrick didn’t answer. “Athol will learn honor. He will come to regret his actions of this day. He will no longer have a mother who incites him to violence, to betrayal.” He drew a long slender knife from his belt and slowly walked to Argana, who just stood there, staring at him, accepting.
Chessa couldn’t believe this. Argana, just standing there, watching him walk toward her, his knife raising, ready to come into her heart.
All his talk, it had been to convince everyone that the mother had incited the son to violence.
Chessa screamed, “Don’t you dare kill her, Varrick! By all the gods, what are you doing?”
She ran like a madwoman to Argana, shoved her aside, and stood blocking Varrick, whose right arm was raised, the dagger ready to plunge downward.
“I don’t believe you would do this. Listen to me, Varrick. You won’t kill her, damn you. I won’t let you. You will have to kill me first to get to her.”
Athol shouted, “Kill her, Father. Kill them both. Save me from the witch and from a disloyal mother.”
Chessa said to Varrick, her voice low and calm as his, “You see what you fathered? He deserves to die. By all the gods, I wish Cleve hadn’t stopped me.
I would have plunged my knife into his black heart.
His years don’t matter. He will but become more of a bully, a tyrant, a dishonest fool, as he gains years.
And he is of your seed, yet you protect him.
You blame the mother. Rather blame yourself, you miserable bastard. ”
“Move aside, Chessa.”
“Ah, your soft, persuasive magician’s voice, Varrick. I won’t move. You won’t kill Argana. She has done nothing save call me a witch and what is wrong with that? You believe me a witch, indeed, you pray I am a witch. Place your blame where it deserves to be.”
“Move, Chessa.”
It was Argana, and she was trying to shove Chessa aside, but Chessa was strong, stronger than the woman who was taller and built more powerfully than she.
Chessa didn’t move at all. “Nay,” she said, still looking directly at Varrick who was staring down at her, his one golden eye as bright as the most brilliant sun, the one blue eye dark and turbulent as the stormy sea, his body utterly quiet, the knife still held in his hand.
“Be quiet, Argana, I won’t let him kill you and that’s that.
Just be quiet. You will not die for your son.
It isn’t right. I wondered where Cleve was, Varrick.
I realize now that you sent him away. You feared if he were here, he would protect his sister.
It’s true. He returned Athol to you for punishment, but you seek only to kill Athol’s mother. Why, Varrick?”
“Move aside, Chessa. Argana, wife or no, must pay for her betrayal. Death is her punishment.”
“Why, damn you, Varrick?” This from Merrik, who strode forward to stand beside Chessa. “You touch Argana and I will kill you here and now. Then I will kill that little beast that sprang from your seed.”
“You have nothing to say about anything, Merrik of Malverne. Move aside and take Chessa with you.”
“Tell us why, Varrick?” Chessa said, now grabbing Argana’s wrist to hold her in place.
“Think, Chessa, and you as well, Merrik. It’s because he no longer wants my sister as his wife.”
Chessa whirled again, still keeping her body between Varrick and Argana. “Cleve. You’re here, thank the gods.” She wanted to run to him, but she didn’t dare. She knew in her deepest soul that Varrick would strike the moment she moved.
“Aye, he told me that Kiri had run away from Igmal and I’ve been searching for her.
I see that she’s been here all the while, with Laren and Merrik.
It’s true, isn’t it, Lord Varrick? We’ve been here but two days and you decided you wanted Argana dead so you could have Chessa, my wife, the daughter of Hormuze the magician.
But then what was your plan? Athol could have easily killed Chessa as well as the rest of us.
He had a good two score bandits to do the job for him. ”
“It is Argana who wanted her dead, not I,” Varrick said. “Doesn’t that convince you, Cleve?”
“Nay,” Cleve said, slowly shaking his head. “I believe Athol went beyond what you wanted. Athol wants us all dead. You would have lost, Father, had Athol won. Who then would you have killed?”
“You’re wrong, Cleve, quite wrong.”
Cleve said, “Let us say that Chessa survived, that I survived. Then what was your plan after you killed Argana? To murder me, your son? Somehow force Chessa to wed you? By all the gods, Father, you don’t know Chessa.
She would have you slavering to be free of her within three days if you did that, if, that is, she’d allowed you to live that long. ”
Slowly Varrick lowered the knife. He slipped it back into his belt.
He said nothing for a very long time. Then he said in that calm deep voice, “Chessa is a woman, a woman just like any other woman. I don’t want her.
Why would I want her? She’s your wife. Aye, she’s naught but a simple woman.
She does as she’s told. Watch, Cleve.” He said to his wife, “Argana, fetch me a cup of mead. I’m thirsty. ”
Argana said nothing, merely turned and walked toward the huge barrel that held Kinloch’s mead. The men, women, and children parted for her, as would two parts of cloth rent apart.
He waited for her to return.
Cleve said, “You will answer me. What would you have done? Murdered me, your son?”
Varrick merely waved his hand, waiting until Argana handed him a silver cup of mead. Cleve wondered from whom he’d stolen it. He watched his father drink deep, then toss the silver cup to one of his men, who caught it deftly, then wiped his mouth with the back of his flawless white hand.
“Answer me,” Cleve said.