The Silver Sun (7 page)

“How so?"

“Afraid that you would hate me,” admitted Hal, with lowered eyes.

“And why would I hate you?” asked Alan dryly.

“For two reasons. First, because the blood runs in my veins of the vilest man, the greatest ill-doer, in all of Isle. Second, because I could have saved your father's life, and did not."

Alan snorted. “Even supposing that the King kept his word, what sort of life would he have given my father? The width of a cell for pacing? He would have pined like a caged eagle. He felt pent even in Laueroc, roaming oftener than he was home.... And as for your tainted blood,” Alan continued warmly, “I tell you what I have often wished in the past weeks, and still do: I wish that Ket and the others were right, and that you were my brother in truth. For I tell you, I love you well, and I would be proud if your blood, of which you speak so poorly, ran in my veins."

Hal ducked his head, unable to speak for emotion. Finally, softly, he asked, “Is this truly your wish, or but a manner of speaking?"

“This is my wish."

“Then,” Hal said slowly, “there is a way."

“How?” Alan demanded.

“My mother, as you know, was Welandais. She taught me the language and customs of the west land. Indeed, Welas is the home of my heart, though I have never been there. It is the law there that, if two men wish to become brothers, they settle this between themselves through a ceremony they perform. They are then forever afterward considered to be brothers, in law and in love."

“What is this ceremony?” asked Alan eagerly.

Hal took a deep breath. “Each man takes a sharp knife, and nicks the vein of his comrade's left wrist, here, where the heart's blood flows nearest the surface. It must be skillfully done, or one might die; therefore great trust is required of those who undertake this ceremony. Then the wrists are pressed tightly together, so that the two bloods mingle and are one, and oaths are taken, such as are seen fit. Thus the two men are made brothers. The word for it in Welandais is
belledas
, meaning ‘blood brother,’ whereas the word for ‘natural brother’ is
mollendas
. Blood brothers are held not only in equality to natural brothers, but in an honor of their own."

Alan read the longing in Hal's eyes, and he knew that the same desire brightened his own. “Let us do it, Hal,” he said.

In a few minutes they knelt on the bank of the stream, with bandages and hunting knives at hand. They bared their left arms to the elbow and laid the wrists side by side as Hal directed. Each grasped his knife with his right hand, and faced the other in the moonlight.

“I am loath to hurt you,” whispered Alan.

“Of all my wounds, I shall have one that I cherish,” answered Hal. “Fear not for me. Are you ready?"

Alan nodded. In one moment each tapped the stream of the other's life, and at once they pressed their two wrists tightly together, so that their blood ran down and dripped from their elbows.

Hal spoke huskily, reciting words dimly remembered from his study of Welandais lore. “As our blood mingles in our veins and becomes as one, so let our thoughts and our lives mingle and become as one."

“Let us be brothers,” responded Alan quietly, “in blood and in love and in law."

“So let it be written,” Hal said as if speaking to himself, “in
Dol Solden
. Even unto the closing of the Age."

“So let it be written,” said Alan firmly, “in our hearts. Is there any more need of words between us, brother?"

Hal looked into those brave blue eyes which gazed at him in joyous affection, and suddenly he knew that seventeen years of loneliness were at last over. He wept, and as Alan held him in a one-armed hug, his tears moistened the drying blood on their clasped arms.

Later, they bandaged each other in matching white wristlets, smiling, aware of their absurdity but not embarrassed between themselves. They talked for hours, lazily, of Alan's loss and Hal's burden. It no longer hurt to speak of these things.

Dawn was breaking before they unrolled their blankets and lay down. Hal fell asleep at once, like an exhausted and happy child, but Alan lay for a while looking at him. Much of the mystery of Hal was unfolding to him. So his comrade was a Prince! Hal's moodiness, his air of command, his self-possession and sense of purpose were all understandable in light of that fact. Moreover, he was of the royal Welandais blood! Even to Alan, pragmatist that he was, the name of Welas rang with a mystic summons. The Blessed Kings of Welas spoke with elves, folk said. Alan smiled, as he always did, at the ignorant superstitions of the peasantry. Still, he knew that the rulers of Welas were credited with a kind of second sight, an almost eerie wisdom. And their folk were something of a marvel. The Welandais were peaceloving, tuneful people; yet when war was forced upon them there were no fiercer fighters. Only by treachery, and by the use of armies ten times their force, did Iscovar at last succeed in subduing them.

Alan felt sure that something of the peculiar Welandais temperament was involved in a portion of his conversation with Hal—a tiny detail, yet it was often on his mind. He had asked Hal the meaning of that strange phrase,
Dol Solden
, that he had used in his oath of blood brotherhood.

“
The Book of Suns
,” Hal had explained. “It is a concept, like that of fate. In it are supposed to be written the events of men's days, their lifetimes, the ages of their history. One could call it the book of life."

Alan had always been impatient with the esoteric, and this bordered on the nonsensical. “Well, if it is the book of life,” he had retorted scornfully, “then why is it called
The Book of Suns?
” A slightly pained look had washed across Hal's face, and Alan had said at once, “Never mind; forget it.” But Hal had stared with knit brows, eyes puzzled and distant, like someone trying to recall a dream lost with morning's rising. “I don't know,” he had muttered at last, more to himself than Alan. “I don't know.” It had taken minutes to bring him out of his trance. Remembering the incident, Alan sighed, thinking of the strangeness that flickered behind the misty veil of Hal's eyes.

Indeed, he should have guessed before now that the blood of Welas ran in Hal's veins. And now in his own, Alan reflected with sober joy. He, like Hal, was an only child, and though his youth had been filled with family and companions there had been something missing. Now he had a friend and a brother such as come to few men in a lifetime, and he was glad. He knew that he loved Hal even more than he had loved his father. Still, even now he did not entirely know who it was that he loved. Was it a warlock, whose spells froze enemies and bent prison bars? If it was, Hal himself did not know his own power, Alan believed. But he felt that Hal was something more than sorcerer, something more than Prince, comrade or brother, and that something made him sigh. Something in those cloudy gray eyes saddened him. Hal had said that he would hold no secrets from his brother; but there was a secret in him, nevertheless.

Chapter Five

It was early afternoon when they awoke and eyed each other with half-humorous smiles. “I have not yet thanked you for saving my life,” Hal remarked.

“Forget that.” Alan was surprised to find himself reddening. “There is no need of such words between us, brother."

“There never was, even before yesterday.” Hal knelt, fussing with the fire. “But nevertheless, Alan, I am ashamed. You freed me from a stronghold at great risk to yourself, and all I could find to say was, where is my sword."

Alan had to laugh, hearing his own sentiments so neatly mirrored. “Well, you have need of a noble weapon,” he conceded. “How were you taken, Hal?"

“Dreaming,” Hal admitted with a grimace. “Or thinking more of Corin than of the road.... Arundel tried to warn me, but I blundered right into the lordsmen. They knocked me down before I had a chance to draw a weapon. Then they tied me up and knelt to cast lots for my horse and gear. I had told Arundel not to fight; the odds were too great. But one of them held him slackly, like a palfrey, and I shouted at him to go. He broke away easily. And that,” Hal added, grinning, “is when they started beating me."

“I thought as much,” Alan said. “I thought you could not be taken knowingly. Well, I suppose we shall have to be off after your sword."

“Not today. I am exhausted, and the day is half spent."

Alan felt the same, utterly fatigued, though more from emotion than from exertion. So they tended their horses and hung their blankets up to air, and ate the meat that Corin had left them.

“What is the lineage of the sword?” Alan asked. He was still trying to understand Hal's recklessness in taking them onto the Waste.

“I don't know. Trigg gave it to me.” Hal smiled sheepishly. “I am loath to lose his gift."

“And also,” Alan ventured, “you had some plan in coming north?"

“At first I rode north to put more distance between myself and Nemeton.... Now I am worried about Corin. And I need to explore, to find friends and learn to know my land.... But my plans are more like dreams, Alan."

“Tell me."

“I thought to circle Isle from east to west ... and of course I must go to Welas,” Hal added with a faraway look in his eyes. “I have kinsfolk there, whom I have never known."

“And Iscovar?"

Hal sighed. “Well, I shall not have to be a father-slayer, Alan. The One be praised, that nightmare at least is kept from me. Within four years, the King should be dead of the disease that feeds upon lust. When I was not yet sixteen I knew this from my mother, who knew it from the royal physician. He told her then, five years, and one of those has gone by while I lived with Craig the Grim. So if I am to be King—and make my people some amends for the horrors of my forebears—I must have my bid ready in time.

“I have two great advantages over my enemies. One, that they do not know of this illness of the King. The secret is well kept, as you can imagine, or already the great lords would be worrying at Iscovar's throat instead of fawning at his feet. The second advantage is that they do not know I am out of the Tower. If they realized how far I am from the throne and the royal armies, they would have already moved to the kill and commenced quarreling over the spoils. So the King keeps that secret as well, though you may be sure he searches for me diligently.

“You saved me from a more horrible fate than you knew, Alan, when you spirited me out of that smelly tower of Gar's. Like all the great lords, he came to court often; Iscovar insists on such attentions. So he knows me, and if he had once seen me I would have become his pawn and prisoner, eternally dishonored."

Alan listened intently. “Then it is not the King you must fight, but the host of quarreling lords who will try to seize the throne upon his death."

“Ay. They who are now his liegemen will turn against him in his sickness, like the wolf who rends his wounded brother. Just as he would do to them.... Most of the ambitious lords are clustered in the fertile south, as you know. Daronwy of Bridgewater, Mordri of the Havens, Kai Oakmaster, and of course Iscovar's puppet at Laueroc. But more are scattered all over Isle. Nabon of Lee, Guy of Gaunt—and we have had a taste of Whitewater's power."

“Far too much power for my taste,” Alan complained. “How can you ever fight them all, Hal?"

“With help,” answered Hal earnestly. “I have said I am a dreamer, Alan.... But all over Isle are people who ache to be rid of the oppressors, if only they can be brought together, and given hope.” He gazed into the treetops. “I see a signal in the night. And at that signal, folk rising up silently, taking their lord's horses, his cattle and sheep, the grain in his storehouse, the gold in his treasure room, the weapons in his armory. Any of these things, if done with stealth, would greatly cripple his garrison when he awoke to hear the brazen trumpets roaring the news of the King's death. And the peasants safely away, and the lords far too busy to retaliate.” He sighed and turned his eyes back to Alan. “If only I needed no more force than that."

“Proud lords are not likely to yield without bloodshed,” Alan stated wryly.

“I know it. Craig the Grim has great store of weapons, and the influence to muster over a thousand men, all skilled archers. I spoke with him before I left him, and surprised him little, for he, too, has his spies, and had long since guessed. Ket the Red is another one who will fight for me, I think. And if I am not mistaken, Margerie can be a powerful friend to us in Whitewater. The time has not yet come to tell them my need—so far, only you and Craig know of me—but they will be there when I have need of them. And others, Alan; I have heard that there are strange folk in the north. Perhaps the roving warlords of the Barrens will see fit to aid me, or I may find even better friends, fearsome friends to bring a swift peace, if my dreams lead me truly....” His eyes glittered as be spoke, and Alan was reminded once again of his Welandais blood.

They did not turn at once to the north, however. First they backtracked to look for Corin and the sword. After their day of rest they left the Forest toward White water and cast about on the Waste, searching the occasional small thickets they had been forced to speed past before. They found an old campsite, perhaps Corin's, but they found no other traces. Several times they sighted lordsmen in the far distance and fled northward, still on the open Waste. They spent two nervous nights on the bare, stony ground, sleeping restlessly in spite of the watchfulness of their horses. Finally, Hal admitted temporary defeat.