Priest (Ratcatchers Book 1) (19 page)

“I do not recommend further contact with Sirs Idris, Cadwyr, and Dywel,” Sir Brys said to him once introductions had passed between them.

They stood away from the three knights as they used their horses and their own strength to slowly pull the corpse of the giant out from under the tent and into the forest. Aderyn had withdrawn into the priory so Heden and Sir Brys could talk. Brys had relieved Aderyn of the burden of moving the giant, and given it to Idris and his two cronies. Brys had some authority.

“You know Squire Aderyn calls them the three dastards.”

Sir Brys pursed his lips and looked out at Heden from under a dark brow. “A dastard is a coward,” Brys said. “No man can be a knight of the Green and a coward.”

Heden nodded. He took Brys’ meaning and did not dispute it. But refined it.

“Not in battle at least,” Heden said. Brys looked away. Did he nod? It was hard to tell. Brys was Heden’s size and his age. He had short, unkempt green hair and a sharp beard that traced the length of his jaw and ran up to a moustache, also green.

“Commander Kavalen did not think them cowards,” Sir Brys opined, giving Heden an opening.

“What did they think of him?”

Brys sighed. “That is of no matter now,” he said.

Heden scowled, frustrated.

“How do you know what he thought of them? Did he tell you?”

“I was his Lieutenant.”

Heden absorbed this.

“Where are you from?” Brys asked.

“Celkirk.”

Brys nodded.

“You know it?” Heden asked.

“Does that surprise you?” Brys asked.

“Ah…yeah,” Heden admitted. “Aderyn didn’t even know what Corwell was.”

Brys gave him a sharp look. “Squire Aderyn,” he corrected.

Heden adjusted the pack on his shoulder and threw Brys a skeptical look. “You people throw that stuff around pretty casually.”

Brys raised an eyebrow.

“The titles, the cant. I can’t tell if you take it all seriously or not.”

Brys looked for a moment at the grass, then up at Heden. “We used to,” he said. Heden felt suddenly sympathetic. Then, whatever weakness Brys was admitting, it vanished.

“Would it pleaseth thou should I affect our traditional mode of speech?”

“Do you want to get punched?” Heden asked without any real threat.

Brys smiled. Heden liked this knight.

Sir Nudd emerged from the priory and began helping the three dastards. The process started going much quicker and the spirits of the knights rose. Heden and Brys watched them.

“Looks like Sir Nudd,” Heden said, making sure to use his title, “decided those guys had enough punishment.”

“The Knight Silent is the strongest of us,” Brys said, watching the mammoth knight pulling on the ropes, dragging the giant’s corpse. “He is also the gentlest and most forgiving.”

“You knew he’d come out to help them,” Heden said.

“If I did,” Brys said turning back to face Heden’s questions, “it is because Commander Kavalen taught me.”

“You spent a lot of time with him?” Heden asked. Brys nodded.

“Ader…ah,
Squire
Aderyn said you might go a year between meeting another knight.”

Brys weighed this thought. “She exaggerates. She is Lady Isobel’s squire. They range for leagues alone. I would spend months at a time with Commander Kavalen. But then, months alone, ‘tis true.”

Heden nodded his understanding.

“Squire Aderyn said you were a priest of Cavall the Righteous,” Brys said.

“I was made a Prelate five years ago,” Heden said, carefully giving a non-answer to a non-question.

Brys shook his head. “She would not know what that means.” Heden accepted this.

“But you do,” Heden said.

“Cavall teaches that man cannot live where injustice thrives,” Brys said without answering. “He called the unjust society ‘the wasted land.’ Where men live false lives.”

Heden was impressed. “Yeah,” he said.

“That should one man die unjustly, it is the death of all,” Brys was meditating on something. Heden thought something was expected of him, but didn’t know what. Sir Brys reminded him of Duke Baede. It was a powerful memory and bought Sir Brys much with Heden.

“Do you believe that?” Sir Brys prompted.

“Yes,” Heden said.

Brys watched Heden, watched how he responded. Heden’s simple answer seemed to satisfy him.

“And how did you conclude that we needed your aid? Did the baron enlist you?”

“No, the bishop sent me.”

This seemed to provoke some reaction, but Heden couldn’t read it.

“Ah,” Brys said, taking a long breath. “You bring the ritual.”

“Yeah,” Heden said. And like the three dastards, Brys frowned at the way he spoke.

“Have you read it?”

Heden nodded. “Someone has to ask Cavall for forgiveness. Someone outside the order,” he said. “Me.”

Brys betrayed no reaction.

“That means I have to know what happened. And I have to decide it’s worth asking Cavall to forgive you.”

“And how were you instructed to determine that?”

How did I end up being the one interrogated?
Heden wondered.

“They didn’t really tell me anything. I was told to use my judgment,” Heden countered.

“Then there is no matter here,” Brys said dismissively. “You knew nothing of us before Kavalen died. You have no authority here. You are not of the wode, so your instructions do not matter. You title does not matter. Cavall, the bishop. Your judgment. None of it.”

“Kavalen mattered,” Heden said. He wasn’t going to let Brys just run him over. Baede could talk to him like that, when Heden was a younger man and not a Prelate. This knight was not Baede, and Heden was older now.

Sir Brys looked like Heden had stabbed him. Heden felt like he was playing shere against him.

“To some of us more than others.”

“He didn’t matter enough to you to save him,” Heden guessed.

Brys did not deny this, nor deny that he knew how Kavalen died.

“Sir Idris called your commander a fool.”

Brys said nothing. He looked pained.

“What happened between them?” Heden asked. “I can tell Idris didn’t kill him. But something happened.”

Brys didn’t look at him. “Talk to Sir Taethan,” he said reflexively.

“You son of a bitch,” Heden said. Brys had given him nothing, his reaction betrayed nothing. Heden had no idea what was going on.

Brys grabbed Heden’s tunic and clenched the wool between his mailed gloves, but held Heden at arm’s length. “Do not speak to me thus,” Brys said. “Thou base and churlish knave.” He was really angry, Heden thought, and noticed that some of the knights reverted to the cant when they were angry, some to plain speech. Heden again thought that if he knew more about knights, he’d know what that meant. For the first time in years, Heden missed having a team he could talk to, work problems out with. He never thought that would be true.

He knew better than to react. Brys’ grabbing him was the knight’s way of controlling himself, not lashing out. The man had a bloody great axe on his hip; he wouldn’t use his fists in violence.

He released Heden.

“Why do you pretend that the order is important to you?” Brys asked. “You didn’t even know we existed two days ago.”

How does he know that?
Heden wondered. Lucky guess, maybe. He didn’t deny it.

“I didn’t care about any of this until I met Lady Isobel’s sister and watched her bet the lives of all her subjects on you people.”

“Ollghum Keep can still be saved,” Brys said, and Heden wondered if he was telling Heden, or convincing himself.

“Okay,” Heden said. “Sure. So what the fuck are you doing standing around here?”

Brys gave him an angry look again. “Talk to Sir Taethan,” he reiterated.

“Why?” Heden demanded. “What does he know? Why does everyone keep saying that?!”

Brys didn’t respond. Heden had no idea what was going on, he didn’t know how Kavalen died or why, and no one would tell him anything.

That’s not true
, he thought.
They’re telling me something
. He looked at Sir Brys brooding and then watched Idris and his thugs working together with Nudd. Then he looked at the priory, where Aderyn waited.

“’Talk to Taethan,’” Heden quoted. Brys looked at him out the corner of his eyes.

Heden started walking around Brys, stalking him. “Because Taethan killed Kavalen?” Heden asked, watching Brys for any reaction. Sir Brys stood his ground and ignored Heden. “No,” Heden said. His question had been rhetorical. “If he had, I’d know. I’d see it. From you maybe, but Aderyn definitely. If she thought Taethan killed Kavalen, I’d know.”

“You like Squire Aderyn,” Brys said.

Heden nodded. “I do. She can tell when I’m being stupid, and ignores me.” Heden thought for a moment. “Plus, she’s not a knight yet. So she’s not an insufferable self-obsessed maniac yet.”

Brys took the assault without comment.

“Taethan knows what happened,” Heden said.

Heden took Brys’ silence for affirmation. He thought some more.

“He’s your brother in the order,” Heden was working through it, watching Brys for some reaction. “If you just tell me what happened, you’re betraying him. You all are. So you point me in the right direction, and hope I figure it out.”

Brys, eyes cast down, frowned and took a deep breath. He was questioning his own motivation, something Heden recognized. He was on the right track.

“He did something awful, did something terrible so you wouldn’t have to. I can understand that.
Believe me
,” Heden said with import. “Whatever it was, you hate him for it, and respect him for it. That’s why I can’t read any of you.

“Kavalen was going to do something, or had done something, and Sir Taethan took it on himself to stop him. Or punish him. Said he was doing it for the good of the order. And maybe you believed it. So you let him do it. You let him do some awful thing, and hoped that would be the end of it. But Halcyon doesn’t accept it. You think I didn’t notice Aderyn’s hair?”

Brys was shocked, had been shocked as soon as Heden had forwarded the idea that Sir Taethan had done something awful. He took a step away from Heden as though in horror. As though Heden had stabbed him. The knight couldn’t know how much his face betrayed him.

“She’s not a knight yet,” Heden said. Brys turned away. “Because Halcyon won’t allow it. Not until I perform the ritual. You thought ‘let Taethan deal with Kavalen and everything will be back to normal,’ but it didn’t work out that way. Halcyon rejected it. So here I come, ritual in hand, prepared to deal with everything. So everyone gives me this ‘Talk to Taethan’ horseshit hoping you can all close ranks and let me get on with the dirty work you wouldn’t do. That’s fine. Listen to me,” he said, grabbing Brys, turning him around. Brys wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m telling you; that’s fine. It’s why I’m here. It’s what I do. Just give me one thing: look at me and tell me I’m wrong,” Heden said.

Brys looked at him, eyes red on the verge of tears, and Heden didn’t know what to believe. When Sir Brys finally spoke, it was like the words were being torn from him.

“Sir Taethan was the best of us,” was all he said, his voice rough. “He is beyond your judgment.”

Heden released him. Heden could tell when someone was lying to him, which was why Brys was making him so angry. He wouldn’t say yes or no, he evaded, evaded, evaded. It was a strange talent for a knight who spent his life alone to have.

“What are you saying?” Was Taethan dead? No, that didn’t make sense.

Brys refused to respond.

Heden gave up. Brys had obviously given up, and he felt bad pressing the man.

“You’re not like them,” Heden admitted, by way of apology. “That’s the only reason I…” Heden stopped, lamely. “It’s just that…you’re the first one of these people I can talk to.” Brys shot him a look. Heden regretted the ‘these people.’

“I’m sorry,” Heden said finally. “I’ll talk to Sir Taethan.”

Brys bent down and hefted his horn-studded helmet. He seemed to have recovered himself from Heden’s onslaught.

“Make no mistake, brother Heden,” he said, helmet under his arm. “You and I, we can talk to each other, yes. I think we understand each other. But as sure as green leaves in spring, we are enemies.”

He said it so casually, Heden had to replay it in his mind.

“You’re just going to say that?” Heden asked.

“You are wrong about a great many things. Not least of which: I am like them,” he said. “Do not judge our outward bearing and appearance,” Brys said, and fitted his helmet on. He looked far more imposing with the massive helm, its bloodied antlers projecting forward menacingly. His eyes barely glinting out from under the visor.

“We are all more alike than we are different. And we will all oppose you,” he said without malice.