Year of the Unicorn Read Free Page B

go-"
     
    "She will go-they shall see to that. But she will die-such a draught is not for her drinking."
     
    I glanced across to Marimme. Her face was flushed, she made quick graceful gestures with her hands. There was a feverish gaiety about her I did not like. Though what was all this to me, who was an outsider and none of their blood or company?
     
    "She will die," again that statement delivered with emphasis.
     
    I turned to Sussia. "If the Lord Imgry is set on this and the others agree, then she can not escape-"
     
    "No? Oftentimes have men agreed upon a thing and women changed their thinking."
     
    "But even if another were offered in her place, would they agree to the choice, seeing as how it is her beauty which made her it in the first place?"
     
    "Just so." Sussia continued to watch me with that strange, knowing look, almost as if she sensed in me something so closely kindred that we thought with one thought and had no need for words between us. And I was thinking of Norstead, of the dust of changeless years, of my own place and part in this my world. And as many thoughts, some less than half formed, sped thus through my mind, the Lady Sussia retired a little, dropped her hand from my arm. Once again there was a curtain between us and matters were as they had always been.
     
    I knew a spark of anger then, thinking-"she has used me!" But that lasted only for the space of an eye-wink. For it did not matter what tool of That Which Abides is used to open the future. To let some small resentment cloud one's mind is the action of a fool. Twelve brides would guest here tonight, twelve and one would ride out in the morning. Twelve and-one!
     
    As to planning, I knew much about the Abbey and its inhabitants. Much I could learn through eyes and ears in the hours to come. And proudly I set my wit and will against any of High Hallack, be they Dame, lady, or lords of the host!
     
    Brides-Twelve and One
     
    THE HALLS of the Abbey were dim with the winter twilight. Here and there a wall lamp gave off faint light, which did not draw back the arras of shadows. To leave the fireside and the company in the great hall was to step into another world, but it was one I knew well. I passed the chamber of convocation. No light showed beneath its ponderous but time warped door. The Dames must all have turned to their cells in the wing forbidden to their guests.
     
    Their guests-as I sped along that dark and chilly corridor I thought of those guests. Not those who had been so long housed at Norstead that they had become a part of its life, but rather the party which had ridden in before the last close down of night, who had shared our board and fare about the long table.
     
    Lord Imgry, very much in charge of that company-his brown beard cut short to the jaw line for the better wearing of battle helm, its wiry strength shot here and there with silver, which showed again above his ears. His was a strong face, but with determination and will in every line of it, deep graven. This was man to yield not to any plaint, save when it pleased his own plan to do so, when that yielding meant advantage.
     
    With him two others, lesser men, and one who had little liking for their present task. Soldiers used to the ordering of their coming and going, never looking beyond those orders to what prompted their giving-now ill at ease and more centred upon that unease than upon the surroundings which gave it cause. As for the troop of men-at-arms-they had retired to quarters in the village.
     
    Last of all-the brides. Yes-the brides! My acquaintance with weddings had been limited to those of village maids, when I had accompanied the Dame delegated to represent the Abbey at such festivities. Then there had been smiles, and if tears, happy ones, and singing-a festival, in truth.
     
    Tonight I had faced across the board a new kind of bride. They wore the formal travel garb, robes well padded against winter blasts, skirts divided for the saddle, and,