Sword in the Storm (19 page)

He became aware of a thudding pain beneath his eye and reached up to find the skin swollen and tender where the knife hilt had struck him. Better not tell either the Big Man or Banouin about that part of the fight, he thought. If the knife had been better thrown, the fox would now be tearing at his dead flesh.

He wondered how Ruathain would react to his stupidity. Would he be angry? Probably. But he was a warrior himself, and his anger would be muted by his pride in Conn’s achievement. Or so Conn hoped.

Just before dawn he heard horses moving through the woods. “Over here!” he yelled.

The first riders he saw were Banouin and Ruathain, then Arbon, Govannan, and a score of others. Ruathain slid from his pony and advanced to the dying fire. “What happened here?” he asked.

“I found three of them,” said Conn. “There is no sign of the fourth.”

“I think we have him,” said Ruathain, pointing back to one of the riders, a slim man with a drooping blond mustache who sat his horse silently, his hands tied behind him. “We found him at the Blue Valley settlement buying supplies. He is a foreigner.” Ruathain moved to the corpses, pulling clear the blankets.

Arbon dismounted and examined the bodies. “These are they,” he told the riders. “See, the fat man bears scratches upon his face. You did well, Conn.”

Conn accepted the praise without comment but glanced up
at Banouin. The foreigner looked angry and said nothing. And Ruathain’s expression was unreadable.

“What will you do with the fourth man?” Conn asked Ruathain.

“He claims to have been traveling alone. I will take him to the Long Laird for judgment. You can ride with me. You will need the laird’s permission to leave the land and travel with Banouin.”

Some of the men dismounted and searched the camp and the bodies. They found three small pouches full of silver coin, and this was distributed among the riders. Ruathain and Banouin took nothing. Following their lead, neither did Conn. Then they buried the three dead men and rode away, leaving the youngster with Ruathain and the prisoner. Only then did the Big Man allow his anger to show.

“What were you thinking of, boy? Three grown men! They could have been skilled warriors.”

“Maybe they were,” Conn said, defensively.

Ruathain shook his head. “I am not as accomplished as Arbon, but I can read spoor. The fat man rushed at you like an idiot. The smaller man was running away when you bore him to the ground and cut his throat. Only the tall one had any skill, and he marked your face. What would I have said to your mother had you died here?”

“You would have told her I did not run,” said Conn, his anger rising.

Ruathain closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Your courage is not in question. For that matter, neither was your father’s. But we are not talking of courage; we are talking of stupidity. What you did here was reckless. The fact that you won does not lessen it. I have known a lot of brave men, Conn. Many of them are dead now. Courage is meaningless unless it is allied to a keen mind.” Stepping forward, he laid his hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “I love you, Conn, and I am proud of you. But learn from this.”

“I had to do it,” Conn said softly. “It was the bear. I couldn’t stand the fear anymore.”

“Ah, I understand. Are you clear of it now?”

“Yes.”

Ruathain put his arms around Conn and hugged him. “Then let us not mention this idiocy again,” he said, kissing Conn’s cheek.

The prisoner kneed his pony forward. “Would you mind freeing my hands?” he asked. “I can no longer feel my fingers.”

Ruathain released Conn and gave the man a cold look. “Why should I care?” he asked.

“Listen to me,” said the prisoner, “I appreciate that you think me guilty of murder, but I am an innocent traveler, as I am sure will be decided at the court you speak of. Or is it your habit to accost and bind every foreigner who has the misfortune to ride through your lands?”

Ruathain moved to the man, checking the bindings. They were indeed too tight, and he loosened them. The man winced as blood flowed through to his fingers. “Now let us ride,” said Ruathain.

Brother Solstice was a Druid, though those who saw him for the first time did not believe it. Druids were in the main older men, solemn and deadly serious, ascetic and disdainful of the world and its pleasures. There were, of course, younger Druids, but since to the average observer they were men desperately trying before their time to become old, solemn, and deadly serious, they were viewed in exactly the same way as their seniors. Brother Solstice was altogether different: tall, wide-shouldered, barrel-chested, a man given to booming laughter and occasional practical jokes. He was also, unlike his brother priests, hugely popular. Curiously, this popularity even extended among the ranks of his brothers. It was rare to see a Druid laugh, but when such an event occurred, the black-bearded Brother Solstice would be at the center.

But today, Brother Solstice knew, there would be no laughter. He sat quietly in the hall of the Long Laird as the prisoner was brought in. The many trestle tables upon which the nobles usually dined had been pushed back to the walls, and the hall thronged with people waiting to see the murder trial. Before it could commence defendants in other cases were brought forward, men accused of small crimes against their neighbors, fights and scuffles mostly. A woman charged with assault caught the imagination of the crowd, and they hooted and jeered as she was brought in. She had, according to witnesses, hit her husband in the face with a lump of wood, breaking his nose and loosening his teeth. According to three witnesses, the husband had been seen in the company of an Earth Maiden earlier on the evening of the assault. The woman was acquitted, the assault deemed righteous. She was followed by a horse hunter said to have sold a lung-blown mount and a tinker accused of robbing a widow. The horse hunter was fined twenty silver pieces and ordered to return the pony price to the buyer, and the tinker was sentenced to a public flogging. Those cases would not alone have brought so many to witness the proceedings. Certainly the services of Brother Solstice would not have been requested. No, the populace of Old Oaks had come to see Brother Solstice question the man accused of rape and murder.

The prisoner was tall, his clothes, though travel-stained, expensive: a tunic shirt of fine blue wool edged with silver thread over leggings of soft black leather. Brother Solstice stared at the man’s face. His eyes were pale blue, his hair blond, his mouth full under a drooping mustache. It was a good face, the kind of face one would trust, square-jawed and fine-boned.

Brother Solstice glanced at the Long Laird seated on the dais above him. The laird raised a heavy hand to quell the rising, angry murmurs from the crowd that had accompanied
the arrival of the prisoner. “We’ll have silence, if you please,” said the Long Laird, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. Obedience was instantaneous. Brother Solstice smiled. The Long Laird had a manner most princes would have given a limb for. Past sixty now, his left arm arthritic and useless, his back bent, the Long Laird remained a commanding figure. The laird stroked his silver beard, then leaned forward to squint at the prisoner, who stood between two guards, back straight, arms bound behind him. The Long Laird waved the guards back, and the prisoner stood on his own at the center of the hall, the crowd pressing in around him like a human horseshoe.

The Long Laird leaned back in his chair and called Ruathain forward. Brother Solstice watched the man closely. He had met Ruathain on a number of occasions and liked him. There would be no need to waste his power seeking to ascertain whether the Three Streams man spoke the truth. Ruathain always spoke the truth. A butterfly wing of doubt touched him. Do not be complacent, Brother Solstice warned himself. A man’s life is at stake here. Closing his eyes, he reached within himself, opening the hidden door to his power. Warmth flowed through him, and he opened his eyes.

The scene before him was the same except that the colors were infinitely brighter. Ruathain’s green tunic shirt shone with the glory of spring, and around his exposed face and hands was an aura of pale golden light. Everything about the man was revealed to Brother Solstice: his pride, his courage, his need for honesty, his fears—even his dreams. And under the light Brother Solstice could see the darkness that touched every soul but in this man was held in check with chains stronger than iron.

I like you, Ruathain, he thought.

Under the questioning of the Long Laird, Ruathain told of the discovery of the murdered man and the girl, the chase,
and the eventual discovery of the defendant purchasing supplies. He also added that the other three men had been killed in combat by his son, Connavar.

The Long Laird called the young man from the crowd. Brother Solstice leaned forward. Here, too, was the same golden light, but beneath it the darkness roiled like a caged lion, seeking a way to break free. The Druid gazed at Connavar, at the jagged red scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, and recalled the story of the boy and the bear. Then he saw the knife at the boy’s belt. A shiver went through him.

A Seidh blade!

The Druid’s eyes narrowed, and he felt his skin tingle. What are you, boy? he wondered.

The Long Laird questioned the youngster, who told of his fight with the three hunted men. The story was outlined without embellishment and became the more dramatic for it. At the conclusion the audience clapped their hands and cheered. Connavar reddened.

“How old are you, lad?” asked the Long Laird.

“Two months from sixteen, lord,” answered Connavar.

“We have heard of you and your battle with the beast. You are a fine Rigante and a youngster we can be proud of. As your laird I name you a man before your time. From this moment forward you have a man’s rights in council and in life. You may ask a gift from me and I shall grant it.”

Connavar stood silently for a moment. “I need no gift, lord, but I did come here to seek your permission to travel with Banouin the Foreigner to his home across the southern sea.”

The Long Laird was surprised, the Druid knew. Most men would have asked for a tract of land or a string of ponies. The boy asked for nothing, for even without his heroics, it was unlikely his request for travel would have been denied. The old man smiled. “You seek too little from me, tribesman. I grant your wish to travel south, and more than that I shall supply a
fine horse and a sword. Come to my house after the trials are concluded.” Connavar bowed and returned to the crowd.

The Long Laird levered himself painfully to his feet. He was a tall man and had once been the most powerful warrior in the north. Even now he was a formidable figure. Tucking his useless arm into his wide belt, he approached the prisoner. “You are accused of a crime most dreadful, the penalty for which is death by drowning. There is no physical evidence with which to convict you, which is why Brother Solstice is here. He is, as you can see from his white robes, a Druid. Of his many skills, the one which should concern you most is his ability to detect lies. He will question you. I urge that you speak the truth.”

“I will speak the truth, lord,” said the man, “for I have nothing to fear.”

“Tell us your name and your tribe,” said the Long Laird.

“I am Lexac of the Ostro tribe. My father is a merchant and sent me here to acquire exclusive rights to ship and sell the oiled woolen coats crafted in the isles.”

The Long Laird turned to Brother Solstice. The Druid rose and walked forward to stand before the prisoner. Dipping his hand into the pocket of his robe, Brother Solstice produced a small black rat, which he held high, gently stroking the fur of its back.

“Let us be clear, Lexac of the Ostro, about what is to take place here. I shall ask you questions, and you will answer them. If you speak the truth, no harm will befall you in this place. If you lie, great will be your pain. Do you understand what I have said?”

“Yes,” said Lexac, his eyes watching the rat.

“Good. This is my little helper. He is the truth seeker.” Brother Solstice raised his arm high above his head. The sleeve of his robe slid down, revealing the powerful muscles of his forearm and biceps. The black rat sat up in his hand, then vanished. The prisoner blinked. “The truth seeker has
gone,” he said. “But he will return. Now, you say you were sent here to buy rights to the oiled wool.”

“Yes,” answered Lexac.

“Think carefully before you answer the next question. Three killers met their deaths two days ago. Did you know them?”

“Yes, I did.”

“How so?”

“I saw them on the ship and spoke to them. Two of them were known to me before that.”

“Did you ride with them after you landed?”

“Yes, for a time.”

“But you were not with them when they came across the victim and his daughter?”

“No, I—” The prisoner suddenly convulsed, his back arching. Blood sprayed from his mouth. The crowd gasped as something black pushed itself from inside the prisoner’s mouth. The black rat scrabbled clear of the man’s lips and leapt to the waiting hand of Brother Solstice. Lexac fell to his knees and vomited. Two guards came forward, hauling the prisoner to his feet. He was trembling uncontrollably, his eyes wide and staring at the small creature in the Druid’s outstretched hand. Once more Brother Solstice raised his arm. Once more the rat disappeared. The prisoner screamed.

“Be calm!” ordered the Druid. “Speak the truth and you will not suffer. But lie once more and the truth seeker will appear deep in your belly. Then with fang and claw he will tear himself a way to freedom. Do you understand?”

Lexac nodded dumbly, blood dribbling from his torn lips.

“You were with them when the deed was done?”

“Yes.”

“You took part in it?”

“Yes.”

“Was the dead man known to you?”

“Yes. He was a rival of my father’s.”

“Also seeking the rights to the oiled wool?”

“Yes.”

“So the murder was done for greed? The rape was merely an afterthought?”

“Yes. I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

Brother Solstice held up his hand. The rat appeared there, and the Druid turned away from the prisoner.