Finder: First Ordinance, Book One (3 page)

A clean face worked wonders for the hapless kitchen girl, who'd escaped notice until he'd conscripted her services and forced her before dozens of male eyes. Nevertheless, Timblor wouldn't do anything if he felt it would aggravate Amlis. At least not yet. Only time would tell if that would change.

* * *

"Boots fit well enough?" Amlis asked me as we strode toward the stables. I nodded. Nirok had dressed me in a young man's clothing, but it hung loosely at the waist and the shoulders were too wide. He promised the new clothing would fit properly before he'd left Amlis' suite the day before. The bootmaker had also brought several pairs of boots, the smallest of which he'd left with me. They were still a bit large and I had no socks so my feet slipped inside them.

I wasn't complaining; the boots kept my feet warm as Amlis, Rodrik and I walked a snowy path toward the stable door, which was closed against the unusual cold. One of Amlis' old cloaks (from when he was a boy) draped my shoulders and I wrapped it closer about me as the wind whipped around castle walls, viciously blowing loose snow into unsuspecting eyes.

"Ever been on a horse?" Amlis asked as Rodrik pushed back the heavy stable door far enough that we could enter. I shook my head at Amlis' query. The stablemaster, who'd seen me barely two days earlier, stared openmouthed now as Amlis wandered toward a large, reddish-brown horse with a white, uneven stripe down his face and white stockings above each hoof.

The horse liked Amlis very much, nosing the Prince's chest in affection. Amlis offered something to the horse from a pocket, which the animal accepted gratefully and crunched with relish, shaking his head in approval as he chewed.

"Runner loves carrots," Rodrik whispered at my ear and I realized I'd been gaping rudely. Runner, having finished his treat, was now staring at me as well. Pawing the straw-strewn floor inside his stall, he whickered softly at me, nodding his head a second time and offering an invitation.

I dared not go. What would the Prince and the others do if they learned that any animal would come to my hand if I beckoned? Visions of wild deer or boar or any other thing they'd failed to capture came to mind, all coming to me so waiting men could deliver their deaths. No. I would not betray that trust.

Not now
, I whispered mentally into Runner's mind and he turned away, agreeing to keep my secret.

"We'll need something slow and plodding for my new page," Amlis offered a grin to Garth, the stablemaster. They were allies; I could see it now, although I'd already guessed it.

"I have just the thing," Garth nodded respectfully. He was treating Amlis as a Prince today, since three stable boys were busy mucking out stalls farther down. "Old Broom will not like leaving his warm stall this morning, but he'll only grumble instead of tossing his rider into the street and trotting right back." Rodrik held back a snicker at Garth's words.

That's how it was decided; I would ride Old Broom. Old Broom turned out to be a fat, shaggy brown gelding that had never held hopes of reaching Runner's height. Rodrik saddled his horse—a black stallion that blinked a question at Rodrik when the saddle dropped onto his back.

Yes, I thought the same as Rodrik's Midnight—why were we going out in such terrible weather? What could be so important that it couldn't wait? Neither Midnight nor I could voice that question, so it went unanswered.

I was shown how to saddle Old Broom by a groom, whose eyes kept wandering across my face until the stablemaster whacked him with a riding crop. The boy turned back to his lesson quickly, showing me how to adjust the girth. Had he known it, Old Broom would have stood all day for me, until I'd gotten it right. He wouldn't have for anyone else, however. Maliciously, he swatted the boy with his tail when the boy thought to repeat his lesson.

Rodrik hefted me into Old Broom's saddle shortly after, adjusting the stirrups to a comfortable length. The stablemaster bade the boy open the door for us and Old Broom clopped away from the stable and into cruel, biting winds, obediently following Midnight, Runner and their riders.

My face was frozen by the time we reached our destination—an inn on the eastern edge of Lironis. Both times I'd been outside the palace walls, it hadn't been far beyond the thick stone barrier that stood three times the height of a tall man. I'd never traveled this far in my life. At least not in memory.

It made me wonder (again) about dead parents. Had they loved me? Were they farmers, perhaps? Or poor residents of Lironis? Whoever they were, they had no relatives willing to take in a small child, so I'd been handed off to the first place where a child could be put to work. That, as it turned out, was the palace kitchen.

The others who worked in the kitchen drew a wage, as poor as it was for some of them. Orphans were never offered money for their efforts; they were supposed to be grateful that someone took them in at all, and then expected to work for their upkeep and a small space to sleep. In all my life, I'd never had a coin to spend—nobody had ever given one to me.

A groom took our horses once we arrived at the inn's stable, and he bowed properly to Amlis, taking Runner's reins first. Amlis straightened the gloves on his hands and I watched in envy. I had no gloves and on our journey, I'd let Old Broom have his head, dropping the reins in favor of using my frozen fingers to wrap the cloak tightly around my body while we rode.

My horse knew to follow the others, and he wouldn't have hurt me anyway. None of them would. I slid from the saddle before Rodrik was forced to lift me off Old Broom's back, and we huddled farther into our cloaks as the wind bit into any flesh bared to it on our walk toward the inn's front door.

"I almost expected you to cancel," the innkeeper accepted Amlis' cloak. Rodrik jerked his head and coming to myself, lifted his from his shoulders and took Amlis' heavy blue wool from the innkeeper, moving toward pegs lining a board on the wall. Two cloaks already hung there, nearly as fine as the Prince's. Dutifully I hung both cloaks I held before shedding mine and hanging it away from the others—it had no business being anywhere near them.

The innkeeper was elderly and balding; I focused on the back of his head as he led us toward a room in the back. White hair dipped in a horseshoe shape at the back of his head and wisped over his ears, stopping there to leave his forehead and the top of his skull completely bare. Washed-out blue eyes studied me as he stood aside to allow us inside the room, after which he promised to bring food and drink before shutting the door.

"Amlis, it's good to see you again," one of two men rose and greeted the Prince. I'd never seen this one before, in or out of the Palace. The other I recognized easily enough. Hirill stood and dipped his head to Amlis. Was I surprised? No. Worried? Most certainly.

"Good to see you as well, Uncle Rath," Amlis embraced the first man, thumping him on the back affectionately.

"Father," Rodrik's embrace was more subdued than Amlis', but then he was older and had likely seen Rath of Vhoorth more regularly than the Prince.

Rath was Queen Omina's elder brother; everyone in Fyris knew that. Rath's fault lay in his inability to get along with the King. Also a well-known fact. If King Tamblin knew Rath was in Lironis, he would likely show his brother-in-law to the gates himself, with an invitation never to return.

In my dreams, I could never have envisioned this meeting—Hirill, a member of Tamblin's inner circle, sitting beside Rath as if they were the best of friends. Perhaps Amlis believed that they were. I had my doubts, and my talent supported them in every way. I had no way to pass this information to Amlis, however, or Rodrik, even, so I stood back and waited for the innkeeper to bring food and wine, prepared to serve it if it were required of me.

Rath looked to be an older version of Rodrik, and much like Amlis, since he favored his mother, Rath's sister. Vhoorth was two days' ride south of Vhrist, where she lived.

In my geography and history books, not much was given on the population of either city, or what their holdings were or how they were governed. All I knew was dry information, garnered from a book with many pages ripped away, which said Ridik, Rath and Omina's father, had once ruled both principalities before dividing them between his two children. Then Omina had married Tamblin, followed by many more missing pages.

"Have you any idea how to draft the message?" Hirill hefted a satchel onto the polished, oak plank table. It had seen much use, that table, bearing dents and rings from countless tankards of ale slapped onto its surface. I watched as Hirill withdrew a sealed inkpot and parchment from the satchel, leaning over to search for quills at the bottom.

Hirill would have been handsome to me—if I trusted him. I didn't. The chambermaids discussed him nearly as much as they did Timblor, and with good reason. Hirill had close-cropped blond hair, blue eyes and an easy smile, but to me that smile held a cruel twist at the corners.

"No records exist on how to address the king, or even if there is a king, since we've had no communication with them since," Rath began. He didn't finish the sentence. I'd held my breath for a moment, hoping that he would. What king? Where? Again, I was left adrift, like a rudderless boat upon the sea.

The sea had come to my mind, unbidden. I'd heard tales that one might view the shores of the Southern Sea if one climbed to the topmost turret in Tamblin's palace on a clear day, but I hadn't had any opportunity to go there and rumor had it that it was closed off and locked anyway.

"So, girl, you're the mute one?" Rath pulled me away from my thoughts as a sheet of parchment was handed to him. He accepted the offered quill and inkpot from Hirill as he asked the question. His dark-blue eyes searched my face while I surveyed the many strands of gray in his dark-brown hair. I nodded my answer.

"Are you stupid as well?" I offered a noncommittal shrug.

"Good enough. Let's begin the message this way, then," he scraped quill across parchment with practiced ease. "My Lord," he wrote and spoke aloud, "we are in dire need of your assistance."

Chapter 3
 

By the end of the evening, I was left with a larger mystery than when it had begun. Somewhere past the northern shores of Fyris, a Lord dwelt that might offer assistance with a poison slowly consuming Fyris. Somehow, I had the feeling that the Lord might not cooperate, even with Lord Rath's abasement and carefully chosen words.

No mention was made as to what the poison might be, and the letter made it sound as if this mysterious Lord would have complete knowledge of it, anyway. Why was there need to hide this from King Tamblin? After all, if there were a way to save Fyris and its people as the letter implied, why wouldn't he be writing the thing himself and swiftly?

Dead and dying children came to mind and I wanted to shake my head over the entire thing, but I was kept busy filling wine cups and fashioning sandwiches from slices of thick, fresh bread supplied by the innkeeper—Amlis and the others were quite hungry. After a while, Amlis allowed me to take bread, cheese and a cup of wine to a corner and consume it there.

Leaning back against shaved and sanded logs that made up the walls of the inn, I listened while the debate went on over what to include in the letter. That Lord Rath debased himself so much told me something—the one for whom the letter was intended must be powerful indeed.

None of the history accounts I'd read, nor the geographical treatises, indicated a country or island to the north inhabited by a powerful Lord. In the maps I'd seen, there was only one continent to the north, filled with barbarians. According to the book, anyway.

Was this Lord a barbarian? If so, could he even read the letter and understand it? A third continent, far to the east of Fyris, was essentially unpopulated, according to the books, and a fourth to the west had never been explored. But the books I'd read were quite old. Who knows how things now stood, or if the missing pages might explain things more clearly?

I had much to ponder as I listened on that snowy evening, devoting half my mind to the ongoing debate while the unanswered questions aggravated the other.

"This is the best we can do," Rath sighed eventually, folding the final draft carefully and sealing it much the same way that Amlis had sealed the message to his brother, with wax and an imprint from a heavy ring he wore.

The wax in this case was green—the color of the major nobles. Yellow was for minor nobles, but I'd only had the opportunity to see that once before, when a message had come to Wolter in the kitchens.

"I will carry this with me and find someone to take it past our northern shore," Rath said. "Beginning tomorrow. Son, shall you and the Prince stay as my guests this evening? The inn has comfortable rooms."

"We must return to the palace, Uncle," Amlis answered in Rodrik's stead. "My brother thinks we're at the brothel."

"Celebrating your majority a few moon-turns early?" Rath grinned mischievously.

"Of course, Uncle. How else would it be?" Amlis grinned back. The discarded drafts of the letter were taken up by Rodrik, who tossed them into the fire. I watched the edges curl and then burn. Rodrik watched, too, until all were consumed.

I helped the innkeeper clear away plates and cups while Amlis and Rodrik made small conversation with Rath and Hirill. Afterward, I pulled cloaks from pegs and assisted Amlis and Rodrik as they dressed for the cold.

Wrapping myself in Amlis' castoff, I followed my two into the bitter cold, with Hirill not far behind. The Prince's party was served first, our horses saddled and brought out as was proper, and we were away while Hirill searched for hat and gloves in his saddlebag.

The night had not improved the weather's disposition, the bitter winds howling around shuttered homes and businesses as we made our way toward the castle. There was little light, but the road was easy enough to see in the snow. Our horses had their heads down; the return trip was forcing us into the wind instead of away from it, as it had on our journey to the inn.

When the vision hit, I knew Amlis and Rodrik would be cut to pieces if we kept our current pace. I shouted into Runner and Midnight's minds to run as fast as they could to save their lives and the lives of the men they carried.

* * *

"Something spooked their horses, my Lord." Yevil stood before the King's massive desk. Carved of walnut, it was stained as black as Yevil's soul.

No books graced the shelves in King Tamblin's library—they'd been emptied when he took it for his own. Most of the tomes had been burned in the fireplace opposite his desk, as he'd had no use for them.

"My men did not pursue; that many horses racing through the streets on such a wintry night would arouse suspicion."

"You did right, of course," the King toyed with the ring he wore on his smallest finger. Tandelis had worn it on the proper finger, but then his hands had been smaller than Tamblin's.
Weak
, Tamblin thought as he twisted the ring. Tamblin snorted—Yevil had failed to kill Rodrik and the boy.

How many times had he suspected that Amlis was not his son, though he'd tortured Omina's maid, attempting to force a confession from her of his wife's dalliance. The woman had breathed her last, professing Omina's continued fidelity. Either way, the boy had too much of his uncle in him for his own good and his death would ensure a smooth transition when Timblor took the throne.

"What about the girl—the page?"

"She was left behind on that plodding old pony. We let her pass—after all, what can she tell any of them?" Yevil replied. A slow smile spread across the King's face.

* * *

I will never forget the look of relief that crossed Rodrik's face as Old Broom and I clopped into the stable that night. It was three hours before dawn, an hour after I was normally up and cleaning hearths. Exhausted, I nearly stumbled as I slid from Old Broom's back, offering him a grateful pat that shot chill pains through my fingers and palm.

"I'll make sure he's fed proper. Those other two didn't stop running until they reached the stable," Garth observed. He'd waited with Rodrik, likely hoping that the horse would come back even if I didn't.

As far as Midnight and Runner racing toward the stables—that's what I'd meant for them to do when I'd instructed them to run. They'd followed my command perfectly. Amlis and Rodrik were both experienced riders, and I'm sure they were shocked that their mounts had run away with them, as much as they'd tried to stop the reckless gallop through the streets of Lironis. Ten would-be assassins had been left empty-handed—there would be no terrible news to cry through the streets come daybreak.

As frozen as I was, I went to Runner and Midnight both, stroking foreheads gently before going with Rodrik to the palace. Both horses knew of my gratitude before I left them, and both were willing to do it again if I asked.

* * *

Amlis was just as bleary-eyed when he rose as if he'd done what his older brother believed—spent the night in a brothel. Timblor teased him over it, too, at breakfast. Brin poured tea for Timblor and cut his meat, tasting it before serving it to the Heir.

Amlis had to resort to asking a servant to do the same—I would not touch the ham that lay on his plate for anything. I, too, felt the effects of a long night and short sleep, but I forced myself to pay attention as Timblor made his brother the butt of his jokes.

"We were to hunt today, brother. You should be thankful the snow is preventing it. I fear you would have made a poor showing; Runner would have left you behind, I think."

Rodrik grimaced at Timblor's words as he cut into his own breakfast, but as Amlis' man-at-arms, Timblor paid him little mind. In truth, I worried that Timblor's remark was a dig at Amlis for Runner's apparent waywardness the night before, and Amlis' failure to keep the horse in hand.

Was Timblor having his brother watched? I suspected several of being behind the thwarted ambush, but Timblor didn't have the sense to be so devious. Amlis wisely kept his silence and continued to eat.

A knock came on Amlis' door later in the day, while Amlis was sleeping extra hours and Rodrik was at blade practice with some of the twelve men who'd traveled with the Prince from Vhrist. Schooling my face to hide my reluctance to allow Yevil into the Prince's suite, I motioned for him to make himself comfortable and offered wine from a carafe before knocking on the Prince's bedroom door. Yevil refused wine but studied me beneath hooded eyes as I went through the motions.

"What is it, Finder?" Amlis muttered as I peered timidly inside his bedroom door. The window drapes shut out most of the light, leaving the room in near darkness. I pointed behind me, hoping that Amlis would determine that he had a guest. There was no way I'd send Yevil Orklis away; the man held too much power, and I'd seen him kill in the past.

"Ah, Lord Orklis," Amlis didn't pretend that he'd not been sleeping, letting the King's right hand know immediately by politely covering a yawn. "What might I do for you?" Amlis added carelessly, as if Yevil held no importance at all.

"Your father requests your presence at the table tonight," Yevil replied stiffly, the same vein I'd witnessed before throbbing in his neck. He was angry—no doubt about that. I wondered briefly if Yevil thought to have the same importance he now held when Timblor took the throne, but squelched that thought quickly before my talent kicked in and let me know exactly how things could be. A two-edged sword, my talent sometimes was, often revealing things I'd rather not know.

"Of course I will come," Amlis nodded to Yevil, never once taking his eyes away from the King's assassin. I imagined that Yevil had been somewhere in the mix the night before, whether he'd planned the ambush or not.

"I will inform the King." Yevil couldn't get away from Amlis fast enough, leaving the door to the suite open behind him. I closed it quietly after listening for Yevil's fading footsteps down the lengthy hall.

"Have you wondered about the suite across the hall?" Amlis stifled another yawn as he lifted an egg-shaped sculpture from a delicate table just inside his door. The egg looked to be made of green marble, a precious commodity in Fyris. Little of it was found on the small continent—I'd read that in one of my books. I shrugged slightly at Amlis' question.

"You make me want to laugh, your reactions are so neutral," Amlis actually smiled and set the egg down again. "Come. We'll visit my mother's old suite. Nirok will return later today; he has two of your uniforms ready—one regular and one dress, with a few other necessities. In the meantime, we'll explore a little, eh?"

I followed Amlis as he left his suite, crossing to the door directly opposite. "I've not been here since I was five turns old," Amlis mused as he walked toward the back of a massive, darkened suite. Dust was raised as he jerked window coverings back, revealing a huge window. "I'll instruct the maids to clean," he said after his sneezing fit was over.

Light now filled the suite and we found ourselves inside what was once a well-appointed receiving room, with settees and chairs scattered about, along with tables and other necessities required for entertaining. Most of it was sheet-draped, and I might have given anything in my earlier life to have those sheets to lie on at night, instead of patched and worn castoffs. As aged as they were, none bore a hole or stain anywhere.

"My mother used to sit here, and I would crawl onto her lap while she was drinking tea and entertaining her friends," Amlis rambled, his eyes unfocused with memory as he touched the top of a sheet-draped chair. "They're all dead, now, those friends." He sounded troubled over that. "Timblor and I would tussle on her bed, too, but we'll explore that on another day." Amlis was done with his memory trip and heading for the door while I fell in behind him. "I'll have the maids come," he repeated and shut the door once we were both out.

* * *

"Serve the wine on the left, and if Amlis desires anything, you will get it promptly, do you hear?" I was getting a lesson from the King's personal servant. I nodded vigorously; Etlund, a tall and exceedingly thin man, seemed to demand that reaction to his instruction. "Otherwise, you will stand at his left elbow and keep your eyes straight ahead, do you hear?" Of course I heard. He spoke loudly, too, as if my mute condition indicated poor hearing as well. Vigorous nodding followed his question.

"Very well. Perform poorly and you will be beaten, do you hear?"

* * *

"That mouth has never been kissed, brother," Timblor drew back his bow and let loose the arrow. It thwacked into the target forcefully, very near the center. Timblor, restless after the cancelled hunt, had dragged Amlis to the practice range inside the single-story guards' quarters below the gate.

"Why are you speaking of my page in this manner?" Amlis drew back his own bow, prudently aiming just to the left of Timblor's arrow before releasing the bowstring.

"Is that all she is? A page?" Timblor's voice held disbelief.

"You know Father and Mother have someone selected for me already. I am not the heir and an alliance with Firith will ensure that Lironis never wants for wine or fine cheeses. Father is most enthusiastic over the match, as you recall."

"So, you'd rather ride to a brothel in the freezing cold when you have something readily at hand?"

"Yes. Why is this so hard for you, brother?" Amlis glanced at Timblor. "She is inexperienced—you said so yourself. Why waste time in the teaching, when the well-taught is not far away?"