“Any news, Pedmond?” she asked, stepping over the fountain rail and falling into step next to him. She was a little queasy from the journey, but knew from experience her stomach would probably settle within the hour.
He shrugged. “There is always news. I’m sure Duke Owen will apprise you of any he wishes you to know about.”
“You are always so courteous, but rarely very helpful,” Trynne complained, giving him an arch look. “I want gossip. Give me a morsel at the very least.”
“There is a Gauntlet coming up in Brugia’s capital,” Pedmond said. “The second time this year. They like to change theirs up regularly, making it more and more difficult. The bets are all in favor that Prince Elwis will remain the champion, though my money is on an upstart from Legault.”
Trynne raised her eyebrows. “What’s his name?”
“No one knows. People are calling him Bowman . An archer and they say he’s quite good if a bit cocksure. Maybe even Fountain-blessed. My money is on him, but the odds are in favor of the prince keeping his title.”
“That is much better, Pedmond. Thank you.”
“You are quite welcome, my lady. Captain Staeli wouldn’t approve of me speaking so freely with you, but you did insist.”
“I shall not tell him,” Trynne promised.
In due course, they reached the solar, where Owen was in conference with Lord Amrein. The spymaster’s hair was graying rapidly, but he still spoke with the energy and enthusiasm of a younger man. Her father’s hand was on his shoulder and they were both poring over a map on the table.
As she sidled up to her father, Trynne glanced down at the map, but she didn’t recognize the borders or the land shapes on it.
Her father looked up and brightened when he saw her. She gave him a hug, and he stooped to kiss her hair. “How is your mother?”
“Well enough,” she said, still feeling the guilt wriggling inside as a result of their last conversation.
Owen’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”
“We can speak of it later,” Trynne said, then looked down at the map again. “What is this?” She looked closer, squinting, but could not decipher any of the wording. The script was long and slanting, very elegant, with little curlicues and embellishments. It was a different alphabet than any she had seen.
“A map . . . well, an attempt at a map, of Chandigarl.”
“One of the eastern kingdoms?” Trynne asked.
“The most prominent one at the moment,” Owen answered. “There has been some blood-feuding over there in recent years, but it seems to be at an end. The region is ancient, and there have been . . . hostilities between our peoples over the centuries. In the past, Argentine kings have sent soldiers to fight in the borderlands far to the east to keep them from encroaching farther.” He looked up at Lord Amrein. “Tell her the recent news.”
Trynne gave the spymaster a fearful look. She loved talking politics with her father, but ever since Myrddin’s prediction and her mother’s vision, any news filled her with dread.
“Chandigarl has not had a single king for several generations. But there’s a man who has shown some promise. He’s young, according to the reports—not even thirty yet. He was driven from his capital as a boy, but after living in exile for many years, he retook his father’s city and proclaimed himself king. Instead of destroying his enemies, he has been getting them to serve him . . . Many are his distant kin. There are ancient palaces and fortresses in these lands, along with vast deserts that separate us.” Lord Amrein glanced at her father and he nodded. “They call him Gahalatine. And rumor is that he’s Fountain-blessed. If all of Chandigarl unites under him, it may be that he’ll turn his eye on us.”
A queer, dark feeling blotted Trynne’s soul like a shadow. “You think this is the threat, don’t you?” She was looking at her father.
“In the subtle details I’ve been able to pry from your mother’s vision,” Owen said solemnly, “we were attacked by a vast host that was not dressed in our manner. These are warriors, but their culture is different from ours. We know so little about them. This map, for example, is likely very inaccurate.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From a Genevese merchant,” Lord Amrein answered. “It cost a fortune, and it might well be a complete fabrication. We have no way of ascertaining its accuracy, yet it and other maps like it are our only window into that part of the world.”