Drenai Saga 01 - Legend (6 page)

“What?”

“Short of food. It’s been a long winter, and we needed that damn caravan.”

“There will be others. First we will find Rek.”

“Is it worth it?” asked Grussin.

“Worth it? He helped some woman kill my brother. I want that woman staked out and enjoyed by all the men. I want the flesh cut from her body in tiny strips from her feet to her neck. And then the dogs can have her.”

“Whatever you say.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” said Reinard, hurling his now-empty plate across the fire.

“No? Well, maybe
I’m
getting old. When we came here, there seemed to be a reason for it all. I’m beginning to forget what it was.”

“We came here because Abalayn and his mangy crew had my farm sacked and my family killed. And
I
haven’t forgotten. You’re not turning soft, are you?”

Grussin noted the gleam in Reinard’s eyes.

“No, of course not. You’re the leader, and whatever you say is fine by me. We will find Rek and the woman. Why don’t you get some rest.”

“A curse on rest,” muttered Reinard. “You sleep if you have to. We leave as soon as the old man gives us directions.”

Grussin walked to his hut and hurled himself on his fern-filled bed.

“You are troubled?” his woman, Mella, asked him as she kneeled by his side, offering him wine.

“How would you like to leave?” he asked, placing a huge hand on her shoulder. She leaned forward and kissed him. “Wherever you go, I shall be with you,” she said.

“I’m tired of it,” he said. “Tired of the killing. It gets more senseless with every day. He must be mad.”

“Hush!” she whispered, wary now. She leaned into his bearded face and whispered in his ear. “Don’t voice your fears. We can leave quietly in the spring. Stay calm and do his bidding until then.”

He nodded, smiled, and kissed her hair. “You’re right,” he said. “Get some sleep.” She curled beside him, and he gathered the blanket around her. “I don’t deserve you,” he said as her eyes closed.

Where had it gone wrong? When they had been young and full of fire, Reinard’s cruelty had been an occasional thing, a device to create a legend. Or so he had said. They would be a thorn in Abalayn’s side until they achieved justice. Now it was ten years. Ten miserable bloody years.

And had the cause ever been just?

Grussin hoped so.

“Well, are you coming?” asked Reinard from the doorway. “They’re at the old cabin.”

The march had been a long one and bitterly cold, but Reinard had scarcely felt it. Anger filled him with warmth, and the prospect of revenge fed his muscles so that the miles sped by.

His mind filled with pictures of sweet violence and the music of screams. He would take the woman first and cut her with a heated knife. Arousal warmed his loins.

And as for Rek … He knew what Rek’s expression would be as he saw them arrive.

Terror! Mind-numbing, bowel-loosening terror!

But he was wrong.

Rek had stalked from the hut, furious and trembling. The scorn on Virae’s face was hard to bear. Only anger could blank it out. And even then, barely. He could not help what he was, could he? Some men were born to be heroes. Others to be cowards. What right had she to judge him?

“Regnak, my dear! Is it true you have a woman inside?”

Rek’s eyes scanned the group. More than twenty men stood in a half circle behind the tall, broad-shouldered outlaw leader. Beside him stood Grussin the axman, huge and powerful, his double-headed ax in his hand.

“Morning, Rein,” said Rek. “What brings you here?”

“I heard you had a warm bedmate, and I thought, Good old Rek, he won’t mind sharing. And I’d like to invite you to my camp. Where is she?”

“She’s not for you, Rein. But I’ll make a trade. There’s a caravan headed—”

“Never mind the caravan!” shouted Reinard. “Just bring out the woman.”

“Spices, jewels, furs. It’s a big one,” said Rek.

“You can tell us about it as we march. Now I’m losing patience. Bring her out!”

Rek’s anger blazed, and his sword snaked from its scabbard.

“Come and get her, then, you bastards!”

Virae stepped from the doorway to stand beside him, blade in hand, as the outlaws drew their weapons and advanced.

“Wait!” ordered Reinard, lifting his hand. He stepped forward, forcing a smile. “Now listen to me, Rek. This is senseless. We’ve nothing against you. You’ve been a friend. Now, what’s this woman to you? She killed my brother, so you see it’s a matter of personal honor. Put up your sword and you can ride away. But I want her alive.” And you, too, he thought.

“You want her, you take her!” said Rek. “And me, too. Come on, Rein. You still remember what a sword’s for, don’t you? Or will you do what you normally do and scuttle back into the trees while other men do your dying for you? Run, you dung worm!” Rek leapt forward, and Reinard backed away at speed and stumbled into Grussin.

“Kill him—but not the woman,” he said. “I want that woman.”

Grussin walked forward, his ax swinging at his side. Virae advanced to stand beside Rek. The axman stopped ten paces short of the pair, and his eyes met Rek’s: there was no give there. He turned his gaze to the woman. Young, spirited—not beautiful but a handsome lass.

“What are you waiting for, you ox!” screamed Reinard. “Take her!”

Grussin turned and walked back to the group. A sense of unreality gripped him. He saw himself again as a young man, saving for his first holding; he had a plow that was his father’s, and the neighbors were ready to help him build his home near the elm grove. What had he done with the years?

“You traitor!” shouted Reinard, dragging his sword into the air.

Grussin parried the blow with ease. “Forget it, Rein. Let’s go home.”

“Kill him!” Reinard ordered. The men looked at one another, some starting forward while others hesitated. “You bastard! You treacherous filth!” Reinard screamed, raising his sword once more. Grussin took a deep breath, gripped his ax in both hands, and smashed the sword into shards, the ax blade glancing from the shattered hilt and hammering into the outlaw leader’s side. He fell to his knees, doubled over. Then Grussin stepped forward; the ax lifted and chopped, and Reinard’s head rolled to the snow. Grussin let the weapon fall, then walked back to Rek.

“He wasn’t always as you knew him,” he said.

“Why?” asked Rek, lowering his blade. “Why did you do it?”

“Who knows? It wasn’t just for you—or her. Maybe something inside me had just had enough. Where was this caravan?”

“I was lying,” lied Rek.

“Good. We will not meet again. I’m leaving Graven. Is she your woman?”

“No.”

“You could do worse.”

“Yes.”

Grussin turned and walked to the body, retrieving his ax. “We were friends for a long time,” he said. “Too long.”

Without a backward glance he led the group back into the forest.

“I simply don’t believe it,” said Rek. “That was an absolute miracle.”

“Let’s finish breakfast now,” said Virae. “I’ll brew some tea.”

Inside the hut Rek began to tremble. He sat down, his sword clattering to the floor.

“What’s the matter?” asked Virae.

“It’s just the cold,” he said, teeth chattering. She knelt beside him, massaging his hands, saying nothing.

“The tea will help,” she said. “Did you bring any sugar?”

“It’s in my pack, wrapped in red paper. Horeb knows I’ve a sweet tooth. Cold doesn’t usually get to me like this—sorry!”

“It’s all right. My father always says sweet tea is wonderful for … cold.”

“I wonder how they found us,” he said. “Last night’s snow must have covered our tracks. It’s strange.”

“I don’t know. Here, drink this.”

He sipped the tea, holding the leather-covered mug in both hands. Hot liquid splashed over his fingers. Virae busied herself clearing away and repacking his saddlebags. Then she raked the ashes in the hearth and laid a fire ready for the next traveler to use the hut.

“What are you doing at Dros Delnoch?” Rek asked, the warm sweet tea soothing him.

“I am Earl Delnar’s daughter,” she said. “I live there.”

“Did he send you away because of the coming war?”

“No. I brought a message to Abalayn, and now I’ve got a message for someone else. When I’ve delivered it, I’m going home. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” said Rek. “Much better.” He hesitated, holding her gaze. “It wasn’t just the cold,” he said.

“I know: it doesn’t matter. Everybody trembles after an action. It’s what happens during it that counts. My father told me that after Skeln Pass he couldn’t sleep without nightmares for a month.”

“You’re not shaking,” he said.

“That’s because I’m keeping busy. Would you like some more tea?”

“Yes. Thanks. I thought we were going to die. And just for a moment I didn’t care—it was a wonderful feeling.” He wanted to tell her how good it was to have her standing beside him, but he could not. He wanted to walk across the room and hold her—and knew he would not. He merely looked at her while she refilled his mug, stirring in the sugar.

“Where did you serve?” she asked, conscious of his gaze and uncertain of its meaning.

“Dros Corteswain. Under Gan Javi.”

“He’s dead now,” she said.

“Yes, a stroke. He was a fine leader. He predicted the coming war. I’m sure Abalayn wishes he had listened to him.”

“It wasn’t only Javi who warned him,” said Virae. “All the northern commanders sent reports. My father has had spies among the Nadir for years. It was obvious that they intended to attack us. Abalayn’s a fool; even now he’s sending messages to Ulric with new treaties. He won’t accept that war’s inevitable. Do you know we’ve only ten thousand men at Delnoch?”

“I had heard it was less,” said Rek.

“There are six walls and a town to defend. The complement in wartime should be four times as strong. And the discipline is not what it was.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re all waiting to die,” she said, anger in her voice. “Because my father’s ill—dying. And because Gan Orrin has the heart of a ripe tomato.”

“Orrin? I’ve not heard of him.”

“Abalayn’s nephew. He commands the troops, but he’s useless. If I’d been a man …”

“I’m glad you’re not,” he said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he said lamely. “Just something to say … I’m glad you’re not, that’s all.”

“Anyway, if I had been a man, I would have commanded the troops. I would have done a damned sight better than Orrin. Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not staring. I’m listening, dammit! Why do you keep pressing me?”

“Do you want the fire lit?” she asked.

“What? Are we staying that long?”

“If you want to.”

“I’ll leave it to you,” he said.

“Let’s stay for today. That’s all. It might give us time to … get to know each other better. We’ve made a pretty bad start, after all. And you have saved my life three times.”

“Once,” he said. “I don’t think you would have died of the cold; you’re too tough. And Grussin saved us both. But yes, I would like to stay just for today. Mind you, I don’t fancy sleeping on the floor again.”

“You won’t have to,” she said.

The abbot smiled at the young albino’s embarrassment. He released his hands from the mind hold and walked back to his desk. “Join me, Serbitar,” he said aloud. “Do you regret your oath of celibacy?”

“Sometimes,” said the young man, rising from his knees. He brushed dust from his white cassock and seated himself opposite the abbot.

“The girl is worthy,” Serbitar replied. “The man is an enigma. Will their force be lessened by their lovemaking?”

“Strengthened,” said the abbot. “They need each other. Together they are complete, as in the Sacred Book. Tell me of her.”

“What can I tell?”

“You entered her mind. Tell me of her.”

“She is an earl’s daughter. She lacks confidence in herself as a woman, and she is a victim of mixed desires.”

“Why?”

“She doesn’t know why,” he hedged.

“Of that I am aware. Do
you
know why?”

“No.”

“What of the man?”

“I did not enter his mind.”

“No. But what of the man?”

“He has great fears. He fears to die.”

“Is this a weakness?” asked the abbot.

“It will be at Dros Delnoch. Death is almost certain there.”

“Yes. Can it be a strength?”

“I do not see how,” said Serbitar.

“What does the philosopher say of cowards and heroes?”

“The prophet says, ‘By nature of definition only the coward is capable of the highest heroism.’”

“You must convene the Thirty, Serbitar.”

“I am to lead?”

“Yes. You shall be the voice of the Thirty.”

“But who shall my brothers be?”

The abbot leaned back in his chair. “Arbedark will be the heart. He is strong, fearless, and true; there could be none other. Menahem shall be the eyes, for he is gifted. I shall be the soul.”

“No!” said the albino. “It cannot be, master. I cannot lead you.”

“But you must. You will decide the other numbers. I shall await your decision.”

“Why me? Why must I lead? I should be the eyes. Arbedark should lead.”

“Trust me. All will be revealed.”

“I was raised at Dros Delnoch,” Virae told Rek as they lay before the blazing fire. His head rested on his rolled cloak, her head nestled on his chest. He stroked her hair, saying nothing. “It’s a majestic place. Have you ever been there?”

“No. Tell me about it.” He did not really want to hear, but neither did he wish to speak.

“It has six outer walls, each of them twenty feet thick. The first three were built by Egel, the Earl of Bronze. But then the town expanded, and gradually they built three more. The whole fortress spans the Delnoch Pass. With the exception of Dros Purdol to the west and Corteswain to the east, it is the only route for an army to pass through the mountains. My father converted the old keep and made it his home. The view is beautiful from the upper turrets. To the south in summer the whole of the Sentran Plain is golden with corn. And to the north you can see forever. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes. Golden views. You can see forever,” he said softly.