Ravenheart (56 page)

The other soldiers rushed in. Some blows cracked against the giant hooded highlander, but his own staff whirled and thudded against skulls, arms, and legs. One by one the Beetlebacks fell. The crowd was cheering now. Other soldiers tried to aid their comrades, but people in the crowd grabbed their staffs or took hold of their cloaks. And not only highlanders; on the Varlish side soldiers were also held back.

Galliott drew his saber and ran in to help his men. Jaim downed the last of them and stepped across the sprawling, half-stunned men. Galliott lunged at him. Jaim parried the
blow with his staff, bringing it up and over the captain’s blade and rapping him hard against the temple. Galliott fell to his knees, dropping his sword.

Jaim Grymauch walked by him.

Sir Gayan Kay and the knights of the Sacrifice drew their broadswords as Jaim Grymauch bore down upon them. Gayan swung toward the cathedral guards. “Light the pyre!” he bellowed.

Neither of the men moved. Gayan ran toward them, wrenching a torch from the first guard and tossing it to the wood. Flames flickered immediately.

“That you should not have done,” said Jaim Grymauch, tossing aside his quarterstaff and ripping away his hooded cloak. Reaching up, he curled his hand around the massive hilt of the glave hanging between his shoulders. With one wrench he swept the fifty-two-inch blade from its scabbard. Two of the armored knights rushed him.

The glave swept up, then slashed down, striking the metal neck guard of the first knight. The plates parted. One snapped off and flew into the air. Beneath the plates the knight was wearing chain mail. It prevented the glave from cutting into his skin but not the terrible force of the blow from smashing his neck into shards. Even as the knight’s dead body was toppling toward the flagstones, Jaim’s giant sword hammered into the breastplate of the second knight. The man grunted as the metal collapsed inward, snapping three of his ribs. He fell to his knees and did not see the terrible stroke that burst through his helm, splitting his skull.

The third of the knights advanced more cautiously, followed in by Sir Gayan Kay.

Grymauch, in no mood for caution, charged them both. Blocking Gayan Kay’s sword, Grymauch spun and shoulder charged the other knight. The man fell heavily, then struggled to rise. Jaim’s sword hammered into his helm, ripping away the visor. The force of the blow hurled the knight to the ground unconscious. Gayan Kay hefted his broadsword and launched a murderous cut toward Grymauch’s head.

Grymauch ducked, then thrust his sword like a lance into Gayan Kay’s belly. Chain mail once more prevented the blade from piercing flesh, but the pain of the blow was indescribable. Gayan Kay screamed and dropped his sword. Grymauch let go of the glave and stepped in, grabbing the knight by his throat. “Burn my Maev, would you?” he said. Then he dragged the terrified knight toward the burning pyre, lifted him from his feet, and hurled him headfirst into the blaze. The force of the throw scattered burning kindling around the base and plunged Gayan Kay deep into the pyre.

Gathering his sword, Grymauch ran to the scaffold steps and climbed through the swirling smoke. Maev was almost unconscious as Jaim cut her free. Sheathing his sword, he lifted her into his arms and, flames licking at his boots, ran along the narrow platform and back to the steps.

The crowds were cheering at the top of their voices now.

Maev’s eyes opened, and she stared up into Grymauch’s ugly face. He grinned down at her. “You think I’d let them kill my woman?” he asked.

“I’m not your woman, you lummox!” she said.

The flames had really caught now, and the heat was intense. Jaim carried Maev to the cathedral steps, then faltered, looking around.

“Well?” asked Maev, “what is your plan?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Never expected to get this far.”

“Put me down, you idiot. I can walk. We should go through the cathedral. There are stables at the rear of the Holy Court.” Jaim lowered her to the ground.

Galliott had regained his senses and rose unsteadily. He saw the giant highlander holding Maev Ring, and deep down he was glad. His ten men were still on the ground, some holding their heads, others groggy from the beating. Jaim and Maev began to walk toward the cathedral doors.

Suddenly there was a commotion in the crowd, and some of his musketeers pushed through. Seeing the sprawled bodies and the highlander with the sword, they raised their
weapons. Time slowed in that instant. Galliott saw Jaim Grymauch turn his back on the musketeers, hauling Maev Ring into a protective embrace and shielding her with his body. Taybard Jaekel ran from the crowd, throwing himself at the musketeers, knocking aside one of the weapons, and cannoning into several of the other men. In the same moment Galliott shouted at the top of his voice: “Don’t shoot!” But it came too late. Five of the guns boomed, the sound crashing like thunder. Galliott ran at the musketeers. “No firing!” he bellowed. “Cease fire!” The men lowered the weapons. Taybard Jaekel struggled to his feet and swung to look at Jaim Grymauch.

At the top of the steps Maev Ring hugged Grymauch. His body had jerked when the muskets had fired, but he was still standing. She felt the strength of his arms around her and the warmth of his chest against her face. She wanted the moment to last forever. The smell of woodsmoke and sweat was on his clothes.
“You think I’d let them kill my woman?”
he had said. Deep down she had always known he would come for her, if only to die trying to save her. “We must go now, you foolish, wonderful man,” she said. He did not answer, nor did he move. She pulled back gently and looked up into his face. “We must go, Jaim,” she said again.

There was blood on his lips, and she felt the desperation in his embrace. He was clinging to her now. “Oh, no, Jaim,” she cried. He sagged against her, and she could scarcely hold the weight. A huge man appeared alongside them. Huntsekker grabbed Jaim and lowered him to his knees. Blood gushed to Grymauch’s beard, and he held to Maev’s gaze. Maev took hold of his hand, squeezing his fingers. “Don’t go, Jaim,” she pleaded. “I love you. Don’t leave me. Not now!”

“Never … will,” he said, his voice breaking. He fell against Huntsekker, who threw his arm around Jaim’s shoulder, holding him.

“I’ll get her safe from here, big man,” said Huntsekker.
“You have my pledge on it. No harm will come to her while I live.”

“Go … now,” whispered Jaim, his body convulsing.

“No,” said Maev. “I’ll not leave you!”

But Grymauch could not hear her. Huntsekker laid his body on the steps, then took Maev by the arm. She clung to Jaim’s hand, staring at his still face. “His death will be for nothing if they take you now,” said Huntsekker. “Let him go.” Huntsekker gently laid his hand over hers, loosening her fingers. Then he drew her up and led her into the cathedral, pausing only to push shut the great arched doors.

Maev Ring stood silently. Brilliant sunlight was spearing through the smoke outside, and Jaim Grymauch was bathed in gold.

Then the doors swung shut, the light disappearing from view.

Galliott walked slowly up the steps and knelt beside Grymauch’s body. Placing his hand on the dead man’s chest, he said: “I knew you’d come.” Galliott looked out over the crowd. They were standing quietly now, not a ripple of movement to be seen. His own sadness was mirrored on every face, yet there was something more.

They had witnessed something majestic, and it had touched all their hearts. No one wanted to move. In all of them was a desire to hold to this moment, let it soak into their souls. Even the musketeers made no move to arrest Taybard Jaekel. He stood alongside them, tears in his eyes.

Sergeant Packard climbed the steps and stood staring down at Grymauch. Packard had a lump on his brow, and the skin was split and bleeding. “You want us to go after the woman, sir?” he asked.

“No, Sergeant. That is a church matter. We are here only for crowd control.”

Packard swung to stare at the burning pyre. “That knight didn’t get out,” he said. “Proper fried he was, and good riddance.”

“I told him not to tackle Grymauch. Some men don’t listen.”

“Grymauch damn near cracked my skull, but I’m glad I was here to see this,” said Packard. “Something to tell the grandchildren, eh?”

“Yes,” said Galliott, wearily pushing himself to his feet.

A group of highlanders, flanked by soldiers, came walking up the stairs. “Can we take his body, Captain?” asked the first.

“Of course,” said Galliott. Six men moved around the corpse, lifting it gently. One of the highlanders pulled Jaim’s huge glave clear of its scabbard and offered it to Galliott. No highlander was allowed to own a sword, not even in death.

Galliott shook his head. “Bury it with him,” he said, laying it on the body.

The crowd parted once more for Jaim Grymauch. Highlanders and Varlish pulled off their hats and caps as the bearers of the body passed by and bowed their heads in silent tribute.

“So, the villains won today, eh, Captain?” said Sergeant Packard, genuine regret in his voice.

Galliott shook his head. “He came to rescue the woman he loved, and he did that. He won, Sergeant. We lost. We all lost.”

“Aye, and I’m glad we did,” said Packard. “Tonight I’m going to raise a tankard to the big bastard and wish him well on his journey.”

Sixty miles to the south, at the center of the Wishing Tree woods, the Wyrd waited. She could have used her power to see Jaim Grymauch’s last moments, but she could not bear it. She sat in the shadow of the great stone at the center of the old circle and waited, her spirit in harmony with the land.

The Wyrd heard the creaking of the ancient oaks and the gentle rustle of the breeze across the grass and felt the power of the sun bathing the land. Beneath these indications of life she also held to the magic, tiny and insubstantial now but still pulsing in the soft earth.

These woods had once known the Seidh, the old gods of
fire and water. The Morrigu had walked here with the storm crow, Babdh, upon her shoulders. Riamfada had dwelled in the wood and here had made the magical sword carried by Connavar the king. It was here still, awaiting the stag.

He had come to her in a dream the night before, as she had hoped he would. Once more she had conjured the image of a campfire in the woods, and his spirit had taken form alongside it. “Welcome to my fire, Gaise Macon,” she said.

“Why do I wear this cloak in my dreams?” he asked her. “It is badly patched and old.”

“It is the cloak of Connavar. Each patch represents a different clan, stitched to the blue and the green of the Rigante. It was a cloak of unity. It told the world that Connavar was Keltoi and above clan rivalry.”

“Why do I wear it?”

The Wyrd thought for a moment, then smiled. “Ask yourself this: Do you feel it belongs around your shoulders?”

“Aye, I do.”

“Then that is why you wear it. Why have you come to me, child of the Varlish?”

“I have a commission in the king’s cavalry. Tomorrow I join my regiment. A war has begun.”

“I know all this. Why are you here?”

“I have never been able to push from my mind our last meeting. I miss the mountains of my home. I miss the land. In my dreams I walk the slopes of Caer Druagh. I am drawn to it. And yet … I feel the land does not know me. It cannot feel my presence or my love.”

“It knows you, Gaise. It is part of your blood,” she told him.

“I want a soul-name.”

“You have always had one. You are the Storm Rider.”

He sighed then and smiled. “I like that. It feels like a cool breeze on my soul.” His green and gold gaze locked to her eyes. “Will we meet again, lady?”

“Oh, yes. In triumph and sorrow, Rigante.”

The Wyrd shivered at the memory, then glanced up at the
sky. It was nearing noon, and at this moment Jaim Grymauch was still alive.

Regret touched the Wyrd, soft and sad and of infinite weight.

He had been on his way north and had camped in a cluster of rocks. The Wyrd’s spirit had found him there. He had been humming a song and drinking from a flagon of Uisge when she had appeared at his fire. Jaim had stared blearily at the apparition, then rubbed his eye. “A powerful brew,” he said, sniffing the neck of the flagon.

“It is not the Uisge,” the Wyrd told him. “I have been searching for you.”

“And you have found me. Would you care for a drop of the water of life?”

“In this spirit form I cannot drink, Jaim Grymauch.”

“Aye, you do seem somewhat insubstantial, woman. Are you here to cast some spell upon me?”

The Wyrd smiled. “I cast few spells now, Grymauch. The magic is almost gone from the land.”

“Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“The woman you love is in danger, Jaim,” she said. Grymauch lurched to his feet. “No, no, it is not immediate. Sit yourself down and listen to me.” He slumped back by the fire, dropping the flagon. Then she told him of Maev’s arrest. He listened in silence and then, when she had finished, moved to the stream and drank a copious amount of water. When he returned, his eye was no longer bleary.

“I shall go back and take her from the cathedral. There won’t be enough guards to stop me.”

“Aye, that might work,” she said.

“I hear a doubt in your voice. I can do it, Wyrd.”

“I know you can. But it is important that the trial take place, Jaim. That it is concluded.”

“They’ll burn her.”

“Yes, she will be sentenced to burn. The injustice of the sentence will sway the crowd, both Varlish and Highlander. It
will change hearts and minds, Jaim. And from it will come a greater understanding between the races.”

“I’ll not let her die, Wyrd, even if it means the Varlish and the clan hate each other for a thousand years. Maev is the love of my life. Can you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do understand, Jaim. But even as we speak the schoolteacher Alterith Shaddler is preparing to defend her. He is no warrior, yet he will stand against the knights of the Sacrifice and risk his own life for Maev. We cannot go on as two peoples filled with hate, Jaim. It is draining the magic from the land, and without the magic there will be nothing. The land will die little by little. I do not ask that you leave Maev to her fate. I ask that you wait until the trial is over.”