The Catswold Portal

When the calico cat did not appear after a long time, Olive thought it must be hunting under the bushes. Maybe it was a stray and really hungry. She thought of taking some food down to it. But gooseflesh touched her because it was a calico, and she changed her mind.

Annoyed with herself, she went into the kitchen to brew herself a cup of tea, thinking that she made too much of things, let her imagination run away with her.

Strange, though, that a stray calico cat would appear in the garden, going directly to the tool shed, as if it knew the place.

Chapter 25

Riding fast, Siddonie and her two companions galloped along the Mathe-Wexten border followed by the queen’s small entourage and by two dozen warriors belonging to King Ridgen. The three monarchs had been in the saddle since dawn, inspecting caches of arms and food laid ready in spell-hidden caves. Siddonie watched King Ridgen proprietarily. She liked the way he rode, with an easy elegance. He was dark haired, sleek, with a knowing body and knowing hands, whether handling a horse or a woman. By contrast, the older king, Moriethsten, was altogether sloppy. He rode like a bag of oats. His excess weight shifted with the gelding’s movement, and his pale hair, bound in gold filigree, bounced unbecomingly in time to the horse’s canter. His face was too soft featured, matching his soft, undisciplined thoughts.

Still, he kept the record books well enough. Since daybreak they had examined twenty caves, checking over and counting barrels of crackers and dried meat and water, and blankets and weapons and upperworld medical supplies. Other caches waited farther on where Wexten spanned beneath upperworld waters. But now, though the stores must be inspected, her mind was only half on the preparations for war.

She was unable to dismiss her uneasiness about Melissa. She knew Vrech had set the cat adrift in the upperworld, and that should be the end of it. With luck, the cat was already conveniently dead, rotting in some field. A natural death, for which she could not by the Primal Law be blamed. Yet now when she remembered Melissa as a small child, a certain remorse touched her.

She wondered if Melissa had already been pregnant with Efil’s child when she caught them in bed. Rage at Efil made her boot the stallion and jerk his reins. Efil had been far too bold to bed that girl. He had ruined a good many plans, and he would pay for it.

Melissa’s death was particularly bad timing. She must be replaced now, quickly, and the chosen Catswold girl must be trained to lead a Catswold army. They would have to quickly find among the upperworld Catswold they had captured some likely half-breed girl. A girl who had inherited some latent talent for magic and could be trained to the task. The result would not be as satisfying as having Melissa, but at least an upperworld Catswold girl would be easier to handle than Melissa.

The upperworld Catswold, strays from San Francisco’s streets, had not yet been allowed to take human form. They must first be committed totally to the Catswold queen before they learned the changing spell and learned what they really were. They must be willing to fight for, and die for, that queen.

She moved her stallion up beside Ridgen as the trail widened. Soon, too, there would be the changeling boy to train, to teach how to behave like Prince Wylles. A boy to be turned into Prince Wylles, a healthy boy to insure her title to the throne.

The land around them was bare here, and craggy. It would grow nothing. There was no village, not one cottage. Even the most skilled growing spells would hardly bring a green spear. When she glanced at Ridgen, the dark king gave her a slow, promising smile. Beside him, Moriethsten noticed nothing; the man was as dull as a turnip. She was pleased that the pretty young queen of Chillings would not be joining them. She hadn’t liked her, though she had thought her loyal until the girl was caught sending supplies to Zzadarray. Under the acts of war, the Primal Law against killing didn’t hold. Likely the young queen’s people were busy this day burying her. Siddonie considered the choices for a new ruler. Chillings should have a king—men were easier to handle.

Ahead, the stone sky rose abruptly, layered and ragged. Slivers of stone lay in their path where the sky had flaked and crumbled. She could see ahead, down the sloping, stony hills, the isolated inn: a dark, sprawling group of rock buildings forming the tri-border where Mathe, Wexten, and Saurthen joined. The horses began to fuss, sensing food and shelter ahead. As they came down the last expanse of stone, a dozen grooms ran out to take their reins.

Siddonie’s soldiers dismounted and helped with the animals. They would join the grooms for ale in the inn’s cellar, to glean whatever intelligence they could.