"No wise man gives guarantees, Father," she said consolingly. "That is one sign of wisdom."
He turned away from her. "You spend too much time in books."
"Every day we hear of another village burned by the Slayers," she said. "We must do something. This alliance can only strengthen us. I know it. All the signs say so."
"You and your damned signs," he muttered. Strange woman, he mused. Daughter and stranger all at once.
"Father," she said calmly, "the past is a luxury, and past hatreds the most expendable luxury of all. Now we have only one enemy we must concern ourselves with: these Slayers who are enemy to us all. We must stop them somehow or they will make slaves of us all. 1 make this alliance with Turold's son for all Krull, for all the people. The common folk must know that against these invaders, the kingdoms stand united."
Eirig leaned on the cool stone, his fingers working against each other. "If only it were anyone but Turold's son!"
"It must be Turold's son." There was no uncertainty in her voice. "It is right. You know that this is so."
"Yes, yes, I know," Eirig rumbled. He'd given his approval to this match with the utmost reluctance.
"It will work, Father. It has to work, for all our sakes. I do not know what to expect from this marriage, but I will do what I must to make it work."
Seeing that her musings were having little effect on him, she added, "Colwyn is said to be a great fighter."
"I worry for my daughter as well as for my people and for Krull," Eirig responded, a little less testily. "I am allowed that much, surely."
She smiled, put a hand on his arm. "Of course you are, Father, and I love you for that."
"Good fighters make bad husbands."
"I respect your opinion, Father." She moved to kiss him before he could move out of the way. "But there is no need for you to worry for me on that account. 1 am quite capable of taking care of myself."
"I hardly need to be reminded of that," he fondly muttered.
"Perhaps you are right. If so, then it will be I who owes you the apologies."
"I do not want your apologies," he said. "I want your happiness."
"There is but one way to know for certain if that is to be obtained." She returned to scouring the plain beneath the castle walls, her eyes traveling as far as the marshland that bordered the river.
"Perhaps," he admitted reluctantly. "In any case, there's no need to exhaust yourself with these daily vigils. Go and rest; I will call you if by chance they should arrive this day."
"Now, that is the common sense King Eirig is famed for." She left him with a smile as she strode from the wall.
Eirig followed her with his eyes. Strange girl. No, strange woman, he reminded himself. Her mother would have been proud of her. She was cast from the same unswerving mold.
In spite of all the good reasons she'd advanced, in his heart he still opposed this arranged marriage. But his mind concurred. His advisers were divided on the benefits the match might bring, being their usual quarrelsome selves, more a hindrance to his decision-making than a help. He'd been left to his own judgment. Heart say yea, mind say nay, and the two had warred within him many times these past difficult months.
Eventually his mind had barely won out, though even at this late date there were moments when he thought of calling the whole business off. He never reached that point. There was too much sense in his daughter's words. With them clung the nagging suspicion that she might be just the slightest bit smarter than her father.
The walls probed skyward above the exhausted horsemen as they urged their mounts over the last hundred yards. It was difficult to tell whether rider or beast was the more fatigued. Certainly both were in need of a long rest.
Colwyn leaned back in his saddle and shouted as they approached the parapet. "Mark the gate! Let us in!"
"Let who in?" an argumentative voice from above demanded to know. Another quickly shouted it down.
"By the serpents of the river, 'tis Prince Colwyn! And King Turold himself with him. Let them in!"
The massive gate swung inward. Colwyn led his companions forward into the courtyard. Light came from wall-mounted torches, adding to the haggard look presented by the riders. They were mobbed by a cluster of anxious attendants and men-at-arms.
"All the way from Turold… How did you slip through the Slayers? Did you come all that way, only the four of you…?" The questions came too fast for ready reply, even had the riders been inclined to answer them.
The soldiers moved aside as their own lord approached with his royal escort. They would have to sit on their curiositv for a while lonser.
Turold dismounted, concealing from the party of newcomers the ache in his numbed legs. Exhausted he might be, but he would not ask for assistance from his son's future father-in-law. Colwyn remained on his horse, mindful of procedure, though he thought it foolish.
The two kings regarded each other without affection. Turold was in no mood to bandy protocol. "We sent to you for help. More than one messenger departed and did not return with that aid. Though we have arrived in good health, it is through no thanks to you."
Eirig did not back down, though his daughter's accusation stuck in the back of his mind. "Your messengers never reached us. The Slayers spread a tight net, especially at night. Even so, twenty men were dispatched in hopes they might find you."
"We lost three hundred reaching here!" Turold replied angrily. "One hopeless rearguard action followed upon another so that we might make the 'safety' of these walls. The land between here and Turold is marked by too many graves. And you sent twenty men to help us."
"The Slayers are everywhere and this time of year the army of Eirig is more fiction than reality! Most of my fighting men are away bringing in the year's harvest, so that if the Slayers attack they cannot starve us out. 1 have my own people within these walls to worry about. Women and children. I did what I could." He took a belligerent step forward. "I did not choose this marriage, Turold."
"Nor did I, Eirig."
Colwyn had had about enough. Royal precedent be damned! He slid off his horse, stepped between them.
"I chose it," he said quietly.
Colwyn was not a big man. He had cousins who stood taller, marshaled more raw strength. But none were as quick. He had a tendency to brood, especially in the presence of persistent stupidity. There were those at the Turoldian court who thought him reckless and a bit too wild to wear the crown.
But none questioned his honesty or courage, and though no scholar, he had a way of penetrating obfuscation that allowed him to go straight to the heart of a problem, a talent most disconcerting to those schooled in the arts of argument and debate. Unlike his relatives, he attracted no crowd of fawning sycophants. Put a query to Colwyn, it was said in Turold, and you will have a straight answer right off, but for your sake it had best be a worthwhile question.
"Your daughter chose it," he went on, speaking to Eirig. He looked back to his own father, then again at the king who had welcomed them with something less than open arms. "It will be done. Argue all you wish, fight if it pleases you, but nothing will prevent this marriage. This alliance must be made.
"Now if you will excuse me, I would like to greet my bride." He turned from them both and inspected the courtyard. After a moment's study he started for the doorway leading into the keep, walking as though the way were well known to him.
Eirig couid not find words to stop him, but neither was he willing to let a mere boy depart their confrontation having the last word. He gestured back at Turold and the two surviving members of the escort.
"And is this the great army you will join with Eirig to lead against the Slayers?"
Colwyn paused partway up the stairs. His voice was firm, assured as he replied. "Whatever army I have I will lead against them. I brought two warriors with me. If Eirig can provide two as good, then I will have an army of five.
"This I do know. I will not squat cowering behind castle walls, neither here nor in Turold. and wait for the Slavers to come for me the way a pig waits for its butcher. The Slayers are used to being the attackers. Perhaps it will surprise them to be the defenders for a change, no matter what size the force that goes against them. I will fight them, King Eirig, with whatever army I can raise from your land and mine and whichever other might choose to join me." He resumed his climb, hesitating again at the top of the staircase.
"I will fight them until I have won, or am dead." He disappeared into the castle.
Eirig stared after him, then turned back to his royal counterpart. "I do not know if he has your skill at arms, Turold, but the boy surely has inherited your tongue."
Turold looked past his host, toward the portal that had swallowed up his son. "There is more to the youth than that, Eirig. Sometimes I do not understand him. Sometimes 1 think he sees with other than his eyes. Even the wise men of my court are in awe of him and not a few are afraid. A most unusual son. On balance I know he is more blessing than curse, but there are moments that give me pause. In truth, there are."