Kings of Clonmel (12 page)

As she hurried to the kitchen, they heard her calling, “Rafe! Another setting at table one!”

Alyss had risen as well and was beckoning to her mentor. Lady Pauline saw her and led the way through the crowded room to the table. She seemed to glide, Will thought. He noticed that all conversation had died away in the room as the other occupants stared expectantly at the two Rangers and their Courier companions. This gathering, they sensed, was something out of the ordinary.

The two newcomers joined Will and Alyss. Lady Pauline beamed at the young Ranger and leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek. Like Halt, she had come to look upon Will as a son.

“How lovely to see you here, Will. I’m so glad you decided to come home.”

He smiled at her.

“Someone has to keep Halt out of trouble, my lady.”

She nodded at him. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking. He’s not getting any younger, after all,” she replied.“And, Will, that’s enough of the ‘my lady,’ if you don’t mind. I think ‘Pauline’ will do quite nicely.”

“Very well, Pauline.” He tried the name out and found that he quite liked it. They smiled at each other across the table.

Crowley cleared his throat noisily. “I assume you
were
planning to greet your Corps Commandant, weren’t you, Will? I know I’m just another silver-haired dodderer like Halt, but you could say hello, at least. Alyss, you’re looking more beautiful by the moment,” he added before Will could respond.

“You’re a silver-tongued flatterer, Crowley,” Alyss replied easily. “Welcome to Redmont.”

Will finally had an opportunity to speak. “Yes. Welcome, Crowley. And, tell me, what brings you here?”

Crowley was about to reply when Rafe appeared beside him, a bundle of knives, forks and platters in his arms. He hesitated a moment, shifted the load to his left arm and mimed a sword stroke in the air. Crowley looked over his shoulder at the serving boy with some concern.

“Planning on beheading me, are you?” he asked.

Rafe smiled at him. “No sir, Ranger. Just getting the right side, like. Just shift yourself over while I put these down, before I forget which side is which, now.”

Crowley glanced a question at Will. The younger Ranger shrugged.

“Jenny’s training him as a headwaiter,” he explained. Crowley turned to watch the server, whose lips were moving, framing the words
knives on the right, forks on the left, platter in the middle.

“
She’s got a way to go, then,” he said. As Rafe finished and moved away, he replied to Will’s question.

“What brings me here is Halt,” he said. “He sent me a pigeon message from one of our West Coast stations two days ago. Asked me to meet him here. Asked for Horace to come as well—he’ll be following in a day or so. Had a few loose ends to tie up.”

Knowing the value of speedy communications, Crowley had recently set up a network of message stations around the kingdom. At each one, a station manager looked after a flock of homing pigeons trained to return to Crowley’s headquarters in Castle Araluen.

At the mention of Halt’s name, Will leaned forward eagerly.

“Did he say what it was all about?” he asked. But Crowley shook his head.

“Said he’d tell us when he got here. I actually expected he might get here before me.”

“I was delayed. I had a prisoner to drag along,” said a familiar voice behind him.

“Halt!” Will sprang to his feet in delight. None of them had noticed the Ranger’s entry into the room, nor his silent approach. Now Will hurried around the table, upsetting his chair as he went to embrace his teacher.

“So what’s this all about?” he asked. Then, before Halt could answer, he continued with a barrage of further questions. “Who’s this prisoner you mentioned? Where have you been? Why did you want Horace to come here as well? Have we got our first mission? Where are we going?”

Halt broke from his bear hug and rolled his eyes to heaven.

“Questions, questions, questions!” he said. “Now that I remember what you were like, I wonder if I haven’t made a horrible mistake. Would you mind terribly if I said hello to my wife before we go any further?”

But as he turned to embrace Pauline, he couldn’t keep up the pretense that he was displeased. A smile was lurking at the corner of his mouth, breaking through in spite of his best efforts to stop it.

Jenny, emerging from the kitchen, saw the extra person at the table and spun on her heel.

“Frances!” she called. “Fetch another lamb rack from the cool room. And, Rafe—”

“I know, I know, mistress! Another setting at table one!”

THE MEAL WAS EXCELLENT. HALT INSISTED THAT THEY SHOULD enjoy the food without being distracted by discussing business.

“Time enough for that when we have coffee,” he said firmly. He successfully dodged the subject of what he had been doing by asking for details of the Gathering. He smiled quietly as Will described his effort with the three first-year apprentices, and nodded in satisfaction when he heard of Gilan’s promotion to Whitby Fief—and the fact that he would be available to take over Redmont if Halt and Will were sent on a mission.

“I wondered how you’d manage that,” he said to Crowley. “Good thinking.”

Crowley smiled, in a self-satisfied way. “As I told Will, I’m a genius when it comes to organization,” he said. Halt raised an eyebrow at that but made no further comment.

Then, at Halt’s prompting, Lady Pauline brought him up to date on events at Castle Redmont. His eyes widened when she related how Sir Rodney, head of the Battleschool, had recently been keeping company with Lady Margaret, a rather attractive widow.

“Rodney?” he asked incredulously. “But he’s a dyed-in-the-wool, cranky old bachelor!”

“Just what they used to say about you,” Pauline replied calmly, and he nodded, conceding the point.

“So, Rodney ready to settle down, eh? Who would have thought it? I suppose you’ll be next, Crowley?”

Crowley shook his head. “Married to the job, Halt. And never found the right woman.”

In truth, Crowley had long harbored a deeply felt admiration for Lady Pauline. But, being one of the few people in the Kingdom who had been aware of how things were, he had never let the fact be known.

Eventually, the meal was finished, and Rafe set the coffeepot and cups out on the table, fortunately without having to resort to any phantom sword brandishing.

Pauline watched with a tolerant smile as Halt took a long sip of his coffee, smacking his lips in appreciation. Then he set his cup down and leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“Right!” he said. “Let’s get to it. The Outsiders are back in business, and they’re planning on returning to Araluen. Just as soon as they’ve got Hibernia under their thumbs.”

“Hibernia?” Lady Pauline said in surprise. “What are they doing there?”

“Basically, taking control of the country,” Halt told her. “When we chased them out of Araluen, some of them made it to Hibernia. They’ve been waiting there, gathering strength and numbers and gradually undermining the six kingdoms. They’ve almost completed that task. They’ve got control of five of the kingdoms. Only Clonmel is left—and that’s due to go soon.”

“Clonmel?” said Crowley. “That’s where you originally came from, isn’t it, Halt?”

Will looked up in interest as Halt nodded. He’d always had a vague idea that Halt had originally come from Hibernia, but this was the first time he’d heard it confirmed.

“Yes,” he said. “King Ferris of Clonmel is weak. And like all the Hibernian kings, he’s so busy worrying that one of the other kings is about to betray him or usurp his throne, he’s missed the real threat.”

“These Outsiders are getting ambitious, aren’t they?” Lady Pauline said. “They used to be thieves and criminals, which was bad enough. But now you say they’re actually seizing power in Hibernia?”

Halt nodded. “ They create chaos and fear throughout the countryside. When the king is too weak or self-centered to protect his people, they step in and offer to solve the problem.”

“Easy for them to do, of course,” Crowley put in, “since they’re the ones causing it.”

“That’s right,” Halt replied. “Pretty soon, they’re seen as the only people who can keep the peace. They gain power and influence. More and more converts join their band, and from there it’s a short step to taking control.”

Will frowned. “But why do the Hibernian kings stand for it? Surely they can see they’re being undermined?”

“The leader of the Outsiders is a man called Tennyson,” Halt told him.“And he’s been clever enough not to oppose any of the kings directly. He lets them stay on the throne—but he effectively takes control of the kingdom. He assumes all the real power and influence and money.”

“While the king retains the appearance of being in charge?” Pauline asked.

“That’s right. And for most of them so far, that’s enough.”

“They can’t be much use as kings, then,” Will said in disgust.

Halt nodded, a look of sadness in his eyes. “ They’re not. They’re weak and self-interested. And that’s created an opportunity for a strong, charismatic leader like this Tennyson to step in and provide leadership and a sense of stability. He’s already managed it in five of the kingdoms. Now it looks as if Clonmel will be next.”

“Halt.” Crowley leaned forward in his turn now, his eyes seeking out those of his old friend. “All of this is tragic for Hibernia, of course. But how does it concern Araluen? I’m sorry if I sound a little cold-blooded there, but I’m sure you take my meaning.”

Will looked quickly between the two senior Rangers.

“I do indeed, Crowley,” Halt was saying. “No need to apologize. It affects us because once Tennyson has taken control in Clonmel, the last of the six Hibernian kingdoms, he’s planning to use it as a base to return to Araluen.”

“You know this for a fact?” Crowley asked.

Halt nodded. “I have a prisoner who’ll swear to it,” he said. “His name is Farrell, and he was sent to prepare a foothold in Araluen—at the port of Selsey. That’s where I’ve been,” he added. “It’s a safe harbor, and it’s out of the way. Just the place Tennyson would choose to bring his damned cult back here.”

“And you’re suggesting that we should stop him before he does so,” Lady Pauline said. Halt glanced at her.

“You don’t wait for a snake to bite you before you kill it,” he told her. “I’d rather stop them now before they gather any more momentum.”

“Do you think that you’re up to the task? Just you and Will?” Crowley asked.

“And Horace,” Halt added.

The Commandant nodded, conceding the point.

“And Horace. You don’t think you need a larger force?”

“We can hardly invade Hibernia. King Ferris hasn’t asked for our help. Nor is he likely to. I think we’re better suited fighting trickery and superstition with more trickery and superstition. There’s an old Hibernian legend about a master swordsman from the East that I thought I could make use of.”

“Horace,” Will put in, and his old teacher smiled at him.

“Exactly. I feel we can approach King Ferris and convince him to resist the Outsiders. If we can break their power in Clonmel, we can roll them back through the other kingdoms.”

“And keep them out of Araluen,” Alyss said.

“It’s a matter of momentum. If we can stop theirs, people will have time to see that they’re being tricked.

“A movement like this either keeps rolling or collapses. It can’t stay still.”

“What makes you think you can get this King Ferris to listen to you? Does he know you?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, he knows me, all right,” Halt said. “He’s my brother.”

“I CAN’T GET OVER THE FACT THAT KING FERRIS IS YOUR BROTHER,�� Horace said.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. Since he and the two Rangers had left Redmont and headed for the coast, he kept coming back to the fact, each time with a wondering shake of his head.

“So you keep saying,” Halt said. There was a warning tone in his voice that Will recognized. Horace, however, seemed oblivious to it.

“Well, it’s a bit of a surprise, Halt. I’d never have thought of you as . . . well, being royalty, I suppose.”

Halt’s baleful gaze turned to focus on the tall young knight riding beside him.

“Oh, really?” he said.“I suppose I’m just so unroyal in my bearing, is that it? Too coarse and common altogether?”

Will turned away to hide a smile. Horace seemed to have a real knack for getting under Halt’s skin with his attitude of innocence.

“No, no, not at all,” Horace said, realizing that he’d annoyed the Ranger but not sure how it had happened. “It’s just you don’t have the . . .” He hesitated, not quite sure what it was that Halt didn’t have.

“The haircut,” Will put in.

Halt’s glare swung toward him. “ The haircut.” It was not a question. It was a statement.

Will nodded easily. “That’s right. Royalty has a certain sense of fashion to it. It has to do with bearing and behavior and . . . haircuts.”

“You don’t like my haircut?” Halt said. Will spread his hands innocently.

“Halt, I love it! It’s just that it’s a little Rufus the Roughnut for the brother of a king. It’s not what I would call . . .”

He paused, leaning across in his saddle to study Halt’s salt-and-pepper hair more closely, ignoring the drawn-together brows and the dangerous look in Halt’s eyes. Then he found the word he was looking for.

“. . . sleek.”

Horace had been watching this exchange with interest, grateful that Halt’s ill temper had been channeled away from him for the time being. Now, however, he couldn’t help buying back in.

“Sleek! That’s the word. That’s it. Your haircut isn’t sleek enough. Royalty is sleek, above all other things.”

“Do you find King Duncan . . . sleek?” Halt asked.

Horace nodded emphatically. “When he wishes to be. On state occasions. There’s a definite sleekness to the man. Wouldn’t you agree, Will?”