Questions cascaded into her mind again as the boy scurried off. Hawklan had gone off with Andawyr and a small party according to Eldric. But what was he doing now, without his horse? And where was he? She looked at Serian carefully. Though untidy and obviously hungry, the horse bore no signs of injury, nor did he seem to be distressed. Indeed his eyes were calm and watchful. For an instant she felt a surge of driving purposefulness that she knew must be the horse’s will.
‘You’ve come over the mountains, haven’t you?’ she said. ‘You’re looking for him! No. You’re going to meet him!’ She clenched her fists in frustration. If only she could talk to the animal as Hawklan used to.
She reached up to take Serian’s reins, then withdrew her hand. ‘Come with me,’ she said, walking away. ‘The big stable has wide doors and I’ll leave them open, have no fear.’ She smiled as she looked back over her shoulder. Even in his present condition, Serian was a splendid horse. Have no fear, she thought, mocking herself. You’d smash those doors with a single kick, wouldn’t you?
Serian lowered his head and walked after her. Sylvriss spoke again as they walked. ‘I’ll clean you up and sort out your harness-if you wish-and when you’ve eaten, you can return to your… quest… unhindered.’ Serian pushed her gently in the back, making her laugh.
Some while later, the cadet dismissed, she was put-ting the finishing touches to Serian and he was starting to toss his head restlessly.
‘All right, all right, don’t be impatient,’ she said, slapping him with the brush. ‘I know you feel better for it, but you’ll feel better still if you’ll let me finish.’
Serian looked at her reproachfully. Sylvriss laughed. ‘Don’t you make cow’s eyes at me, horse,’ she said. ‘I’m a Muster woman, not some soft-hearted healer you can twist around your hoof. There. You’re done.’
Serian bent forward and nuzzled her affectionately. Sylvriss stroked him. ‘Oh, you’re a wicked horse,’ she said, laughing again, her lilting Riddin accent suddenly full and rich. Then, more seriously. ‘On with your journey, Serian. Find Hawklan. And thank you for letting me help you.’
She patted him once more and then walked through the wide stable doors into the courtyard. She did not look back, though she paused slightly and inclined her head when she heard his hooves slowly clattering after her.
Coming to a small flight of steps, she ran up them and turned as she reached the top to watch the horse leave.
Serian however, did not move. Instead he walked to the bottom of the steps and stood looking up at her. She stared at him, puzzled.
‘What do you want?’ she said after a moment. Serian shifted his feet and kept looking at her; there was a strange look in his eyes, almost as if he were annoyed at being kept waiting.
Sylvriss looked at him intently. ‘You are looking for Hawklan, aren’t you?’ she said uncertainly, beginning to doubt the promptings that had given her the idea. But they were still there. The horse was journeying, he had stopped here simply for food and attention, she was sure, and now he wanted to be away again.
Sylvriss held out her hands. ‘Serian, you can go. You’re free, you can… ’
Her voice faded as an unexpected and not totally welcome thought came to her. She moved down the steps and took hold of the horse’s head. ‘You want me to come with you, don’t you?’ she said, a little fearfully. Serian bowed and nudged her gently.
‘But… ’
Sylvriss looked around. Odd patches of snow lin-gered on the lawns and on the roofs of some of the outbuildings. The familiar walls of the palace towered over her protectively, grey and fatherly against the watery sunlit sky. There was much she had to do here in the Palace, in Vakloss… yet she was a Muster woman and the Muster were riding to war… and she was Commander of the entire allied army.
But her son…
Serian shifted his feet again and Sylvriss felt some call within her that would not be denied.
‘Wait,’ she said, then she turned and ran back up the steps.
Minutes later, Hylland was bobbing in her wake as she swept through her rooms.
‘No,’ she said, casting a critical eye over her racks of clothes. ‘You were right before, but now I must go.’
‘Majesty… ’ Hylland protested.
Sylvriss looked at him, brown eyes unmanning him. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘We’re both of us growing stronger daily.’
‘Majesty, you can’t take a baby to war!’ Hylland managed at last. ‘You could be killed. He could be killed. There’ll be all manner of hardship; disease, even.’
Sylvriss paused and looked from her packing to her child, still sleeping, despite the argument.
‘Damn you, Hylland,’ she said. ‘I know that. But it makes no difference. If the war is lost then we could all be killed.’ She went over to the crib, adding, distantly, ‘Or worse. He could be turned into some poisoned puppet like his father, and who would there be to save him? I’d rather see him dead than that.’
Her voice cracked a little and tears sprang to her eyes though she did not weep.
She turned back to her work, easing Hylland aside as she moved towards a cupboard.
‘Hawklan needs that horse, wherever he is, and the horse needs me-probably only to tend him-but he needs me nevertheless,’ she said. ‘Such few tasks as I’ve taken on here can easily be performed by Dilrap and his staff as before, but no one else can help Serian.’ The memory of their tumultuous first meeting came to her, he carrying Isloman and the unconscious Hawklan from Oklar’s wrath, she riding at Rgoric’s bidding to rouse the Lords in the east. ‘He and I have been one before, albeit briefly,’ she said.
The two antagonists looked at one another.
‘Very well, Majesty,’ Hylland said inclining his head resignedly. ‘If you will allow me a few moments.’
Sylvriss’s eyes narrowed. ‘What for?’ she said suspi-ciously.
‘I too must prepare my travelling kit for the jour-ney,’ Hylland replied blandly.
Sylvriss’s expression became both concerned and exasperated.
‘You won’t be needed,’ she said hastily after an un-certain pause.
Hylland inclined his head again. ‘As your Majesty wishes,’ he said. ‘In that case I must return to my Lord.’
Sylvriss drew in a noisy breath but Hylland went on formally before she could speak. ‘I am Lord Eldric’s Healer General, Majesty,’ he said. ‘An officer in his High Guard. Officially I’m on secondment to Palace duty to attend to you and the prince, but if that secondment has now been ended then I must… ’
Sylvriss levelled a grim finger at him. ‘Ten minutes, soldier. And I’ll check your travelling kit-and pick your horses. You ride under Muster discipline if you ride with me.’
Gavor rose into the air, his flapping wings throwing dancing black shadows through the dust-filled torch-light.
The sound of swords being drawn hissed up after him.
Hawklan made to step forward towards the Man-droc, but Dacu and Isloman moved in front of him, flanked by Jaldaric and Tirke. Athyr, Tybek, Yrain and Jenna moved to protect Andawyr. Dar-volci chattered his teeth menacingly.
The Mandroc let out a surprised yelp and then drew a sword and dropped into a menacing crouch. The figures behind it moved forward out of the haze and stood by it. There were three of them in Mathidrin livery and they too were wielding their swords purposefully.
Hawklan felt his stomach go cold at what he knew he had to do next. He pushed forward between Dacu and Isloman. ‘No prisoners,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Wait!’ Isloman said urgently, seizing his arm. Hawklan glanced at him quickly. His eyes were nar-rowed and his face was creased with uncertainty.
The Mathidrin stopped at the same command, then one of them reached up and removed his helmet. The other two copied his example.
A gasp of disbelief burst out from Dacu and the other Fyordyn.
‘Yatsu?’ Isloman said, stepping forward. ‘Lorac? Tel-Odrel? What…?’
But his question disappeared under a sudden tor-rent of mutual welcomings as the Fyordyn began to greet their countrymen.