"And 'Apropos,' I take it?" Again the Keepless King chuckled. "Alas, poor Coreolis. To die confused about matters is a sad enough state . . . but to meet your demise knowing beyond question that you are right and everyone else is wrong . . . ah well. Your fortunes were clearly in ascendance over his. Although you managed to enlist a weaver who willingly swore a false oath on your behalf. Aside from still being alive, that may be the single greatest accomplishment of your life, squire. How did you do it? What hold do you have on her?"

"I've no idea," I said honestly.

"Her?" said Entipy.

"Well . . . whatever it might be, learn from it and learn how to exploit it, for it is a most formidable thing. And when you next see her, in this life or the next . . . do give her my best wishes."

"Her?" Entipy said again.

"Quiet," I said between gritted teeth.

And then Meander turned to Runcible. His sword was still unwavering. The amount of strength in his arms must have been considerable. "And you. Runcible the Crafty."

"Meander the Mad," replied Runcible. He wasn't looking at the sword at all; instead he was staring straight into Meander's eyes. I wondered what he saw there.

"An honor."

"The same."

"Did you craft this little strategy?"

"My response depends upon yours," Runcible said thoughtfully. "If you wish to kill the one who conceived it . . . yes. It was I."

Meander considered this for a moment, and then turned back to me. "A very clever plan, Apropos."

He said it with such flat conviction that I couldn't even bring myself to try and deny it . . . which, for me, was a h.e.l.l of an admission to make. "Thank you, Highness," I said. "Personally, I thought it was rather an insane proposition at best. So you flatter me."

"It takes no imagination to conceive a plan that everyone is expecting. You think outside of the box, Apropos. That may take you far . . ."

" 'May' meaning . . . if you don't kill me here and now."

He sighed heavily. "Such talk of killing. Is that all the world exists for? Killing?"

"I should like to think not," Runcible replied. "I would like to think that other, softer emotions and interests provide beauty and charm to us all."

I couldn't quite believe the conversation that was occurring. I scanned the area, looking for some indication of the rest of Meander's forces. Were they hiding? Had they doubled back and taken up positions in the fort? But no . . . such actions would have left tracks all over the snow, and the only ones I saw at this point were Meander's. So they had to be waiting in the forest nearby, arrows undoubtedly trained on us. Why, then, was Meander prolonging this business? He had us . . . appropriately enough . . . cold. What was his game?

"Softer emotions?" He seemed to consider that, then looked back to me. "Is that what motivated the weaver, Apropos? Softer emotions? Feelings for you?"

Entipy was looking extremely annoyed at repeated mentions of a female weaver who apparently felt something for me. Desiring to move on, I suggested, "I saved her life on one occasion. Perhaps she felt indebted to me."

Meander scoffed at that. "Weavers feel no debt to any except themselves," replied Meander. "Although, like all humans, they excel in self-deception. Much as you do, young squire. I was young once . . ."

"Highness, with all respect . . ."

But he wasn't listening to me. Instead he looked as if he was gazing into a time and place very, very far away. "Would you like to hear a tale? That I . . . heard in my youth?"

Entipy turned to me. "Give me a sword. I'm going to throw myself on it just to end this."

"Quiet, Entipy," Runcible said firmly.

"Once upon a time . . ." began Meander.

"Oh my G.o.ds," Entipy moaned. But Runcible fired her a severe look and she silenced herself.

" . . . there was a king," Meander continued. "He was not the wisest of kings, nor even the bravest of kings. But he was the coldest of kings, for he was of his land, and his land was a cold and barren place. It was a place that the sun had forgotten about.

"In this place was a great, cold castle and he lived there with his great, cold heart. And rarely did he smile, or frown, or give any indication that he had any interest in the frozen world around him. Entire days would pa.s.s and he would simply sit in his throne, like an ice statue, and stare at nothing. His courtiers would walk gingerly around him, wondering if he was even alive. Only the occasional blinking would inform them of such, because he was so cold within and without that even his breath would not mist up. That is how cold he was. He came to be known in some circles as Old King Cold, even though he was not all that old. And as Old King Cold would stare into nothingness, he would be looking for something. And the oddest thing was, he had no idea what he was looking for.

"And then, one very cold day-as they all were-he found it.

"Her name was Tia. She was a jewel of the North, but where the cold king was frozen ice, she was a frozen diamond. She had many facets, and when Old King Cold would look at her, he would see small flames jumping about within her. It was the first time that Old King Cold was able to approach flames while feeling some measure of safety in doing so.

"And the people of the frozen land loved their Tia, who became the brightest star in their cold northern sky. And they loved the effect she had on Old King Cold, whose great ice face cracked with a newly etched permanent smile. And even though it remained cold in the frozen lands, still there was newly discovered warmth. For the king had finally found what he had had no idea he was looking for. He gave her his love. He gave her his kingdom to share. And he gave her a beautiful dagger that had been in his family for generations, made of a metal so fine it could almost be seen through, and yet cut purely and cleanly. It was called 'Icicle,' and she accepted it proudly and kept it with her always.

"And Old King Cold stepped out onto the balcony of his ice palace, and he said, 'I have everything! I am all-powerful! I am the ultimate ruler of the Frozen North, for I no longer have any weaknesses!'

"Well . . . one should never say such things within hearing of the G.o.ds of the North, for they are sorely jealous creatures and dislike others claiming superiority. So they decided to put Old King Cold in his place. To remind him of who, precisely, truly ruled the Frozen North.

"And Old King Cold and his beloved Tia embarked on a journey. The skies were clear, the weather calm. So Old King Cold, in his confidence, believed that there would be no danger from the elements. It was exactly this att.i.tude that the G.o.ds chose to punish.

"They sent a fearsome storm, the likes of which no one had ever seen. It snowed and it snowed and it snowed, a mighty blizzard, and the G.o.ds laughed, with laughter that sounded like the howling of the wind. And Tia and Old King Cold were separated from the rest of their group, driven in different directions, until even the king-who had lived his entire life in the frozen climes and knew every glacier and every bit of frozen tundra as if it was his own body-even he had no idea which way was east or west, or even up or down.

"They were driven away, away, and eventually they found shelter inside a cave. But the G.o.ds were angry that the king had escaped, and so they maintained the fearsome storm until the small entrance to the cave was literally buried behind snow and ice. Air filtered through a small frozen hole, but so little light as to be insignificant. Darkness settled in, a darkness like unto a grave.

"They had no idea how long they lay within there. They had no food to sustain them. They were able to obtain water, of a sort, by consuming the snow and sucking on the ice, but as day pa.s.sed into night and into the next day, and as the wind and storm continued to howl mercilessly, they grew weaker and weaker.

"They spoke to each other at length during their entombment. They spoke of times past, and times to come. They spoke of their love for each other. They spoke of the children that Tia would bear him. Sons, big strapping boys, heirs to the Frozen North. And all during that time, they continued to grow weaker still. Old King Cold thought of trying to push through the snow and ice that entombed them, but to what end? The terrible storm was still out there, and they would not survive long at all.

"Finally, after more days and nights had pa.s.sed than he could count, the king said, 'We have no choice. We must brave the storm.'

" 'I am too weak to move,' she said, and what she said was indeed true. Her face was wan, her body shrunken beneath the furs. 'I would not last. Nor would you. You must at least wait for this storm to abate.'

" 'I cannot wait,' spake he. 'We are famished. If we do not find nourishment, we are finished.'

" 'Not quite, my love. If I do not find nourishment, I am finished. But that is a small thing, husband.' The only part of her that still had that cold fire in her was her eyes, which seemed to dance with light even more so in the confines of the cave. 'If you do not find nourishment, however, that will be most tragic. You have a great destiny, husband. Your people need you. My loss is a minor matter . . . '

" 'Not to me. To me, it would be everything. I could not go on without you,' he said.

"And the famished queen actually seemed to grow stronger when she heard this. She drew herself up to a half-sitting position and said, 'Stuff and nonsense. Do not insult me with that which I know is just pretty words. You would go on without me. You would be a great leader, a great king, of a great place. A place others call Wasteland. But what do they know of it? Of us? What do they know of . . . ' Her voice seemed to catch a moment. 'Of the glory of a sunrise reflected from ice canyons? Of the perfect formation of a snowflake? Of the blissful stillness of a frozen tundra? They do not know of these things. They do not know of us. But you, my king, will tell them. You will let everyone understand us.'

" 'We will do this thing. Get up,' said he with a voice so firm that it was clear that he would not brook stubbornness. But it was also clear, at least to her, that he had no means of enforcing his will. He himself could not rise and, within moments, he would likely fall over.

"The queen refused to allow that to happen. As gently as an early evening snowfall, she said to him, 'You are fading, my love. You do not realize it quite yet . . . but you are starving to death. Fading from life. I will last longer than you, I believe, but not by much. I cannot allow that to happen. Too many people need you.' She gave a smile . . . her last . . . and said, 'Have I ever told you how much I love you?'

" 'In a hundred ways.'

" 'Then here is the hundred and first. Women's bodies are designed to give life to infants. But I shall use mine to give life . . . to you . . . '

"And the weakened Old King Cold cried out as his beloved wife pulled out the blade called Icicle and slit her own throat with it. The movement was quick and efficient, and Old King Cold shouted at Tia, and called her all manner of foul names (for which he later repented) followed by a string of loving ones (which he never recanted). A warm vapor rose from where she had exposed the inside of her throat to the open air. And as he watched that fire die from her eyes, he said to her, 'I know what you want me to do to survive. But I will not do this thing. I will never do this thing.'

"She mouthed her reply: 'If you love me . . . live.'

"He did love her, more than anything else.

"For so long, she had given him emotional nourishment. Now she provided him physical nourishment in response.

"He stared at her body lying there, unmoving. He stayed that way for another full day to the point where he was ravenous beyond any hunger he had ever known. He felt so weak he could barely lift his arms. The knife remained there, next to her body. A knife that could be used for stabbing, or killing . . .

" . . . or cutting . . .

" . . . not unlike a slab of beef.

" 'No!' spake the king. 'I would rather die!'

"But in the end . . . in the end . . . he did not die.

"And as he cut into her, he told himself it was because it was her final words and final desires. As he peeled the flesh from her, he told himself it was because she wanted him to live, and that it was of such importance to her that she had made this sacrifice. As he consumed her flesh, still warm even though her inner fire was extinguished, he told himself he was doing it in order to honor her. But he knew in his heart, in the place wherein all truth dwells, that he did it because he was afraid to cross over into the abyss and join her. He wanted to live, and in the final extremity, would do anything-did do anything-rather than stop living.

"At the last, he consumed her heart. One would have thought such an emotional organ to be soft and delicate, but it was tough and hard-muscled. And from that grisly dessert, all of his previously lost strength, and more besides, was in his limbs. The storm was abating, but still fierce, but Old King Cold did not care at that point. He hammered his way through the obstruction, faced the storm. As he stood there in the cold and the ferocity of the hostile clime, he heard the G.o.ds in the wind saying, 'Such arrogance as yours, King, left you with no doubts as to your superiority. That is not right. That is not the way of mortals. All mortals must possess doubts, and be aware of their frailties and limitations. You endeavored to leave them behind. We could not permit that. And so you will carry the knowledge of your basic fears in your belly-along with the heart of your true love-forever.'

"The king found his way back to his great ice castle, and his people concluded that his beloved Tia had simply perished. There was great sadness in the land. As for the king . . .

"At night, he could feel her stirring within him. Staying with him. Haunting him.

"He wanted to run away. It is impossible, of course, to run away from yourself. But Old King Cold decided to attempt to do that very thing. For the king, you see, had crossed a great line in order to survive and, in doing so, lost the belief in any lines, in any restraints. Borderlines of any sort became meaningless to him. And so he declared to all his people that he would be a king without borderlines. A king who would go anywhere, do whatever he wished, wherever he wished, as the mood struck him. Those who wished to accompany him could do so. Most of them chose to come with him.

"He left behind the place that had been his palace, destroying it in his wake, for he had no need of it.

"He left behind the great Frozen North, and the G.o.ds of that forbidding place, for he had no need of it.

"He left behind his sanity, for he had no need of it.

"The only thing he did not leave behind-could not leave behind-was the voice of his beautiful Tia, residing forever within him. He could feel her warmth, feel her soul, trapped forever within him, trying to console him, but serving instead to give him only guilt no matter how far he wandered. That . . . and this . . ."

King Meander reached into the folds of his cape and pulled out a dagger made of a metal so sheer that, at certain angles, we could barely see it. "The dagger . . . Icicle . . . that he knew he would use one day, under the right circ.u.mstance, when he finally had sufficient bravery . . . bravery on par with his beloved Tia . . . to end his miserable existence and join her in the afterlife. Beautiful Tia. And poor Old King Cold . . . the most unmerry of souls."

There was a long silence then. Runcible, Entipy, Odclay, and I looked at each other, our faces pallid, our souls shriveled within us. Finally it was Entipy who spoke: "Are you . . . are you going to kill yourself now?"

"Me?" Meander seemed confused for a moment, and then he chuckled. "Ah. I see. You thought I was speaking of myself. You thought the narrative genuine. I will take that as a compliment, girl, to my storytelling. No, it was . . . it was . . . it was quite fabricated. After all, if such a thing had truly occurred, the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d to whom it happened would be the most wretched creature who ever strode the earth, would he not? Certainly not fit to live . . ." He stared at the dagger point. "Not fit to live at all."

Again he was silent for a time and then replaced the dagger in his cloak. In a distracted voice, he said, "Your escorts and retainers should be back before too long, I think. Coreolis was quite clever in his maneuvers. In the night he came to his own troops and told them you had ordered night maneuvers, and he sent them in one direction . . . and then went to the permanently stationed garrison, told them the same thing, and sent them in the other. But they will figure out the trick sooner rather than later, and be along. Once they've returned, they will escort you home."

"Home?" Runcible couldn't contain his surprise.

"Yes. Home. You still believe in such quaint things, do you not?"

"But . . . I thought you . . ." Entipy couldn't even get the words out. "It doesn't make sense."

Meander shrugged. "That, child, is one of the glorious advantages to being a madman. I don't have to make sense. It's very liberating. You should try it sometime. You might find you have a taste for it. You would be amazed what people discover, in this lifetime, they have a taste for." His attention swiveled to me, and his voice was singsong and chilling as the north wind. "Young love. What the weaver has for you, what the princess has for you . . . and what you have for you . . . and perhaps for them. I'm not certain of that quite yet, young Apropos. I will probably never know the outcome . . . but I'd rather there be an outcome. And besides . . . no one knows, better than I, what it takes to survive in this world. You have that same sort of knowledge. I can see it in your eyes . . . just as I see it in mine. In any event . . . I wish you better luck in this world than Old King Cold had. And in the final a.n.a.lysis . . . I'm not entirely coldhearted."

He rose and started to walk away from us. And despite my better judgment, I suddenly said, "The scratches on your face. How did you come by them?"

He stopped, turned, and looked at me coolly. "I do not recall."

"You don't recall."

He shook his head. "Each day . . . I do not recall much of what happened the previous. Each day is a blankness for me . . . a sheet of snow, a blizzard, coming down and cutting me off, leaving me to wander. I have not remembered much, you see, since I . . . heard . . . the story of Old King Cold. Instead, every night, I work to expunge my brain of all memories, so that I can leave that particular story behind. In telling it to you, I hope that that might have cleansed it from my thoughts and recollections. But somehow . . . I suspect it won't. There are some things, you see, that you carry with you . . . no matter how far you wander."

And with that, the man who might or might not have murdered my mother sheathed his long sword and walked away into the forest. And somehow, although it might have been in my imaginings, I could swear I heard the voices of G.o.ds laughing in the distant howl of the winds.

Chapter 28.

It all happened precisely as Meander had foretold. The confused soldiers who had been sent hither and yon by the scheming Coreolis returned, in fairly short order, to the fort. Upon learning of Coreolis's treachery and their unwitting partic.i.p.ation in it, ohhh, there was breast-beating, and ohhh, there was second-guessing, and ohhh, there was groveling. And I have to admit: I was loving every moment of it.

The most glorious aspect was the look on Mace Morningstar's face. Too long had I had to bask in the reflected lack-of-glory of Sir Umbrage. Now it was Morningstar's turn. And for him, it was much worse. After all, I was simply the landless b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of no one remotely n.o.ble, attached to a knight who had been perceived as once great, now incompetent (at least until the joust). But here was Morningstar, t.i.tled, proud, even arrogant, suddenly discovering his lord and master knight was a traitor to the crown. It immediately made Morningstar suspect. After all, if one is being trained by a knight who sought to usurp the king, doesn't that likewise make the squire a possible co-conspirator?

That, at least, was the question that King Runcible raised as the returning knights presented themselves for inspection and groveling at Fort Terracote. In the case of most of them, Runcible accepted their apologies and oaths of fealty with aplomb. But when it came Morningstar's turn, the jester suddenly started to jump around and chant, "The squire of a traitor, does he betray sooner? Or later?" Morningstar looked like he'd been poleaxed when Odclay said that. I'd never really been fond of the jester's j.a.pes until that moment, but suddenly I was starting to like him a lot.

Runcible frowned, as he often did. "There is something to be said for that," he said slowly.

"Highness, no!" Mace debased himself, looking very little like the swaggering, posturing peac.o.c.k he normally was. "No, I swear! I knew nothing of Sir Coreolis's hidden intentions! If I had known, I would have informed Your Highness immediately! Please, sire! Do not tar me with that same brush!"

And then Runcible-G.o.ds bless him-after giving the matter some thought, said the best five words I could possibly have heard: "Apropos . . . what do you you think?" think?"

I've never seen someone's clothes turn pale. But that seemed to be what happened with Mace. Certainly there was no more blood left to vanish from his skin.

It was as if Mace was running the sentence through his head several times before he could actually dare to accept that it had been spoken. He was aware that I was standing off to the side; after all, the king had looked right at me when he'd asked my opinion. But he obviously couldn't bring himself to look at me. Perhaps the sight of a triumphant grin on my face would have been too much for his t.i.tled heart to take.

I carefully weighed my responses. Truthfully, I was fairly certain that Morningstar in fact knew nothing about Coreolis's duplicity. Traitors' stock-in-trade is untrustworthiness, so their inclination is to trust as few people as possible. Coreolis's plan would have been strictly on a need-to-know basis, and Morningstar simply wouldn't have been in on it. If nothing else, Coreolis would have been concerned that Mace would have gone straight to the king in hopes of getting something out of halting a treasonous plan. And he might very well have.

But truth did not necessarily have to have anything to do with my response. For I had not forgotten Morningstar's taunting of me, his high-handedness. There was the entire debacle with the joust, and his leading the others into the intended pounding of me that only Umbrage's last-minute intercession managed to stop. Indeed, one could make an argument that Morningstar was responsible for Umbrage's death. If Mace hadn't taunted me and pushed me into that misbegotten bet, I never would have arranged for Umbrage to win the joust and none of this would have happened.

Shut up. It was your fault and you know it.

I was surprised. My inner voice usually came up with ways for me to avoid responsibility, not force me to own up to it. Perhaps even that nonexistent conscience of mine was impressed by the fact that Runcible had turned to me and inquired what I thought should be Morningstar's fate.

I dwelt on it a moment more. The bottom line was, Mace had made me suffer. There should be equity for that, a quid pro quo. If I said that I thought Mace was a part of Coreolis's schemes, Runcible would likely exile him, or perhaps even execute him. If it was the former, I wouldn't have the opportunity to see Mace suffer. If the latter, then his suffering would end too quickly. Where was the fun in that? Where was the satisfaction for me?

If, on the other hand, he became indebted to me in some fashion, why . . . that would be the greatest suffering that could possibly be inflicted upon him. Better still, that annoying sense of n.o.bility to which he aspired would hold him in its iron grip, affecting all his subsequent dealings with me.

And so, reasoning that the truth would be of benefit to me, I said, "I firmly believe, Highness, that Morningstar . . ." I paused, watching with delicious pleasure as Morningstar involuntarily trembled in antic.i.p.ation of the worst. " . . . had no idea whatsoever of what Sir Coreolis was up to."