The Summer's King Read Online Free Page B

quiet; Redwing is waiting and the two hawkmasters, the brothers Réo, and their servants. A page hands the king his stirrup cup of apple wine once he is in the saddle.
    â€œGo ahead, Hawkmasters!” cries the king. “Carry their cradles down to the gate. We’ll try the Chernak road, what d-ye say? That valley I’ve been saving . . .”
    â€œMy King . . .”
    The swarthy elder Réo grins and bows. Four men bear out the long wooden cages, hitch them to their shoulders; two others handle the dogs, cheerful black pointers, waving their tails. They all set off through the palace grounds to a private gate out of the city.
    The king smiles down at the head groom. “Master Chiel,” he says, “we must have some decent mounts, some tall horses, I think. My sister Merilla is coming and Prince Carel.”
    â€œMy pleasure, Dan Sharn,” says Esher Am Chiel. “Does the princess ride in the manner of Lien?”
    â€œNot if she can help it,” says the king. “She hates the sidesaddle.”
    He laughs in fond irritation thinking of Merilla, riding so coolly out of Lien.
    â€œShe rides a great deal better than I do,” he says, “and young Carel has been known to ride at the ring. Goddess, they may even join the hunt . . .”
    He rides out of the stableyard and follows the hawkmasters down a broad path. The palace stands in a gentle landscape: grassy slopes, ponds, flowering groves. Apart from an orangery and a display of roses in stone urns, there are no formal gardens. The attempt to plant a garden in the manner of Lien was made at the palace of the Firn, and it was not a success. The king does not know it, but the lovely Chameln park that lies about him is a memorial to his mother, Aravel of Lien. The queen complained long over her exile in the barbarous Chameln lands, but before her mind clouded, she showed an instinctive appreciation of their beauty. The rare conifers, dwarf maples, ash trees and every sort of birch were brought at her command from the far corners of the realm to enhance this park of the Zor and its ancient oak trees.
    Now the king sees below him, by the old elm, a little knot of ladies and gentlemen . . . the “good company” hunted up by Denzil of Denwick. Indeed, Zilly, who knows his master’s habits well, might be accused of advance strategy. How else did Count Zerrah and the Countess Sabeth happen to be prepared to ride out in Athron hunting dress, following an invitation to dine at the Zor palace? There is of course a great deal of invitation and counterinvitation between the two palaces. On this day General Zabrandor sits at the left hand of Aidris in her banquet hall. Sharn notes the Zerrahs with approval and sees that dark Veldis of Wirth, Iliane’s waiting woman, is there, and the handsome widow, Lady Hargren, and Engist, the king’s master at arms. Zilly has done well. As Sharn rides down to join the company, which is well prepared with two packhorses, bearing food and drink, all that is necessary for a picnic, he sees that they are staring into the park.
    â€œSire!” exclaims Engist. “Your tree of doom . . . look there . . .”
    In an open space there stands a stockade and a shallow ditch; in the midst of the enclosed plot, on a hillock, there grows a solitary dark tree. It is gnarled and spiny, but not unshapely, and about fifteen feet in height. Its trunk is black and grey; the smooth black patches of bark seem to absorb the light. The leaves are of a papery texture, resembling just a little the leaves of a plum tree, and in color they vary from deep purple to midgreen. Queen Aravel’s call for rare trees had an unexpected success; the seedling that the gardeners thought was a wild flowering plum was instead the rarest of trees. Harts Bane is one name for it or Wanderers Bane or Blackthorn, Killing Thorn; in some tales it is the Morrichar, the tree under which unwanted children were exposed. Its