Sword in the Storm (26 page)

Banouin shook his head. “No. He was always fearful of war coming to this part of the land. I think he just moved away. Sad, for he loved this parcel of land.”

There was a stone hearth against the northern wall, and Banouin built a fire while Conn tended to the ponies. Later, after they had eaten, they sat on the dirt floor in front of the small blaze.

“Now will you tell me what is troubling you?” asked Conn.

Banouin removed his blue hat, running his fingers around the wooden rim. “The Perdii are a difficult people: volatile, violent, and terribly arrogant. They have dominated this section of the continent for hundreds of years. The Ostro and the Gath pay tribute, and that is why there are few raids now. I made a friend of Alea, the king, some years ago. But I am not popular with his family, especially his brother, Carac. He bought some goods from me five years ago, then sent men to steal the price money back. They failed. After that he claimed
I cheated him. He would have had me killed, but he knew Alea would punish him for it.”

“And now Alea is dead,” said Conn. “Did he have sons to rule after him?”

“One son, a nice boy. He should be around seventeen now.”

“Should be?”

“I rather doubt he had the strength or the skill to defeat Carac. He’s probably dead. Ritually strangled. It is the Perdii way.”

“He would strangle his own nephew? What kind of a man is this Carac?”

“The lives of princes are not like those of ordinary men, Conn. Perdii history is littered with tales of infanticide, patricide, incest, and murder. Carac even married his sister, since it would give him a double claim to the throne.”

“I take it we will not be trading at his capital.”

“No, we will not trade. However, I will have to go in, for I have business to conclude. A merchant there holds capital for me, and I will need that for my new life with Vorna. I shall go in at dusk and leave with the dawn. It is a large town, almost the size of Goriasa. I should pass unnoticed.”

“Not wearing that blue hat,” observed Conn.

Banouin chuckled. “I will leave it with you.”

“How soon will we reach the town?”

“Late tomorrow. Then it is a further four days ride east to the border and the first roads of stone. We will travel more swiftly then.”

The following morning a storm blew in from the north, and heavy rain prevented their departure. They stayed in the farmhouse and talked of the journey ahead. Banouin was anxious for Conn to see the wonders of Stone and better understand the threat posed by the people of that city. In the afternoon Conn wandered out onto the porch. There was a roughly cut bench there, protected by an overhanging slanted roof, and he sat watching the rain and listening to the howling
wind. He felt a strange sense of unease he could not pin down. He found himself thinking of Riamfada and their days together before the coming of the bear. It seemed to him that the period had been golden, though he had not appreciated it at the time. On the day of the last swim Riamfada had had but weeks to live, though no one knew it. Would the swim, he wondered, have been more or less joyous if they had known?

The rain began to ease, and in the west the sun shone through a break in the clouds. The sudden light was magical. The dull, matte green and brown of the distant rain-swept forest shone now with vibrant color, the murky grassland becoming a glittering emerald sea. And, as the clouds parted further, the golden light swept across the farmhouse, and Conn saw for the first time a host of bright blue flowers at the edge of the trees. Banouin joined him. The little merchant took a deep breath. “Doesn’t the air smell good?” he said. “I love the aftermath of a storm.” Perching his old blue hat upon his head, he clapped Conn on the shoulder. “Time to be moving,” he said.

Two days later Conn sat by a small fire in the darkness of a sheltered hollow, waiting for Banouin’s return from the town of Alin. It was close to dawn, and the young warrior was growing increasingly anxious. He had urged his friend to allow him to travel with him, but Banouin had been adamant. “If I am to be in danger, my young friend, I can best deal with it alone. Believe me. Anyway, who would look after the ponies? If we left them here alone, any stray thief could find them. Or indeed wolves could kill them. No. You wait here and learn patience.”

“Who is it that you are going to see?”

“A merchant named Diatka. He holds more than two hundred gold pieces for me.”

“And you trust this man?”

“We merchants need to trust one another, Conn. We cannot
travel the world with bulging chests of coin. Wait here for me. I will see you as the first light of the sun clears the peaks.”

The hours had passed by with an agonizing lack of speed. Conn held his hands out to the blaze and glanced to the east. The sky was lightening with the promise of dawn. Rising, he climbed to the edge of the trees and looked down on the walled town a half mile below. The gates were closed. Two sentries were walking the wooden ramparts.

He stood for some time, then returned to the fire. Hungry, he ate the last of the dried meat. The sun rose, the snowcapped peaks to the east turning to coral. Still there was no sign of Banouin. Conn could feel his heart hammering in his chest. In some strange way he knew Banouin would not come. That is fear talking, he told himself. Another hour passed.

Conn walked to a trickling stream and washed his face, then shaved with the Seidh blade. For two more hours he waited, unsure of what action to take. If Banouin had been merely delayed, it would do more harm than good to ride down into the town. Yet what if he had not? What if he had been captured?

Conn decided to wait until noon. Covering the fire with earth, he walked up to the tree line and sat down on a fallen log. From there he could see over the wooden ramparts. There were hundreds of buildings, all clustered together. People were moving now, crowds gathering in the open square of land at the center of town.

The gates opened, and several wagons moved out. Conn shielded his eyes from the sun and sought out Banouin. He was not there.

The wait became interminable.
“Learn patience,”
Banouin had told him with a smile.

He might just as well have asked him to learn to fly like a bird.

A half hour before noon Conn saddled his pony and,
leading Banouin’s mount and the six pack ponies, rode down toward Alin.

A burly guard at the gate, armed with sword and spear, stepped out to meet him. “I don’t recognize your colors,” he said, pointing to Conn’s blue and green checkered cloak.

“Rigante, from across the water,” said Conn.

“You are a long way from home, boy.”

“Aye, it feels like it. I am seeking the merchant Diatka. I have goods for him.”

The man stepped forward, looking closely at Conn’s scarred face. “You’ve been through the wars, looks like.”

“An argument with a bear,” Conn told him, forcing a smile. “And one I didn’t win.”

“You survived; that is victory enough,” said the sentry. Swinging around, he pointed down the main street. “Take that road until you come to Merin’s forge. You can’t miss it. He has an old ox skull hanging from the gate. Bear left until you see a row of storehouses ahead of you, then turn right. You will see a small orchard of apple trees and a long building with a storehouse attached. The building carries Diatka’s sign, a circle of gold surrounding an oak leaf.”

“Thank you,” said Conn. As he urged his mount forward, the sentry spoke again. “It may take you some time. The crowds will be coming back from the execution.”

Conn’s stomach turned. “Who was killed?” he asked.

“A Stone spy by all accounts. Didn’t see it myself. Been on watch since dawn.”

Conn rode on. He did not turn left at the forge but headed toward the town square, where he had seen the crowds gather. People were streaming past him as he rode, but he ignored them, coming at last to a gibbet erected on a wooden platform.

Banouin’s body was hanging from a bronze hook that had been plunged between his shoulders. The face had been savagely beaten, and one eye had been put out. Blood had drenched the little merchant’s clothes, and incongruously,
Conn saw that one of his shoes was missing. A rock flew past Conn’s shoulder, striking Banouin’s dead face. Conn turned to see several small boys giggling and laughing.

Fighting for control, Conn turned away from the corpse and rode back down the main street, swinging right at the forge and seeking out the house of Diatka. He had at that moment no plan, no thought of action.

As he rode, he glanced at the people. In the main they were a tall race, fair-haired and handsome. Some of the men were wearing Perdii cloaks of sky blue stained with a red stripe down the center. A woman ran across the path of his pony and into a side street. She was lean, her dark hair streaked with silver. The image of Vorna came into his mind. Conn sighed as he thought of riding back to Three Streams and telling her of her new husband’s death. She had come to him on the night before the journey, tapping at his door and walking with him out into the meadow.

“My powers are gone now,” she had said. “But I remember, when first I saw the foreigner, seeing his
geasa
. Watch out, Connavar, for a lion with eyes of blood. It may be a crest or a statue. It may even be real.”

“I will watch out for him,” he had promised. Now he had broken that promise, and it meant nothing that Banouin had insisted that he remain behind. Guilt fell like rain on his soul.

Coming to the orchard, he located the sign of gold and oak and dismounted. Tying the ponies to a rail, he approached the house and rapped on the door. It was opened by a middle-aged man, stoop-shouldered and bald, wearing a long robe of blue wool.

“What is it?” he asked, peering shortsightedly at Conn’s face.

“You are the merchant Diatka?”

“I am,” snapped the man. “What do you want?”

“I have been sent with goods to trade,” said Conn.

“Who sent you?” asked Diatka, his voice becoming more friendly.

“Garshon of Goriasa,” Conn said instantly.

Diatka stepped out into the sunlight. “And what are you carrying?”

“Hides from the black and white cattle of the Rigante, brooches cast by Riamfada the Crafter, and twenty jugs of Uisge.”

Diatka said nothing for a moment, then smiled and invited Conn inside the house. The floor was covered with fine rugs, and the main room was filled with boxes and chests piled one on top of the other. Diatka threaded his way through them, coming at last to a small space near the fire in which were two chairs with a small table between them. Offering Conn a seat, he said: “As you can see, I am having difficulty moving the goods I already have. It is the coming war. The eastern trade routes are largely closed to me. My storehouse is overflowing with merchandise. I am sorry I cannot help you. However, let me offer you a goblet of wine.”

Moving back through the boxes, he disappeared for several minutes. Conn stared around the room. The walls were covered with ornaments, paintings, rugs, and weapons. But his eyes were drawn to a round shield of bronze emblazoned with the head of a lion. Conn clenched his fists and fought for calm. When Diatka returned, he was carrying two silver goblets. One of them he passed to Conn, and the other he placed on the table before him. Then he sat down and leaned back in his chair. “These are not good days for merchants,” he said. “So how is Garshon?”

The youngster put his goblet on the table. “He was well when last I saw him.” Conn was amazed that his voice remained soft and friendly.

“You are very young to be trusted by Garshon.”

“I did him a service.” Conn glanced again at the wall behind Diatka. “You have some very unusual ornaments. Where does that come from?” he asked, pointing to the bronze shield. Diatka turned.

“The lion shield? It is a nice piece. It came from a burial mound in the east. I had thought to sell it in Stone. The eyes of the lion are rubies. Very valuable gems.” He turned back. “You are not drinking your wine. Is it not to your taste.”

“I was taught to wait for my elders to drink,” said Conn.

“Ah, a good upbringing. These days so few people seem to care about such courtesies.” Diatka lifted his goblet and drank deeply. Conn followed him. The wine was rich and red, full of flavor.

“It is very good,” said Conn. “Perhaps the best I have tasted.”

“It is from the south,” said Diatka. “So tell me, young man, why are you telling me lies?”

“Lies?”

“Rigante hides are always sold by Banouin, as indeed are the trinkets made by Riamfada. You were not sent by Garshon.”

“No, I was not,” admitted Conn. “I traveled here with my friend. He came to see you last night. Now he is dead. How did that happen? How did they catch him so quickly?”

“I drugged his wine,” said Diatka. “Then, while he was sleeping, I sent a servant to Carac. It saddened me to treat poor Banouin in that fashion, but as I said, trade has been difficult and I had been forced to use most of his gold to remain in business. In short, I could not pay him.”

“You had him killed for
money
,” said Conn. “What kind of a man are you?”

“I am a merchant. I deal in trade. And I made a trade with Carac. Needs must, young man, when poverty beckons.”

“I shall avenge him,” said Conn. “I will kill you very slowly and with great pain. As you are dying, perhaps the thought of the money you made will bring you relief.”

Diatka chuckled. “I do not think so, young man. I am long in the tooth and knew instantly you posed a danger to me. Your wine was also drugged. Try to move your legs. You will find you cannot. The legs are the first affected, then the hands.
Lastly you will fall unconscious. Unlike Banouin, you will not wake up, for I gave you a very large dose. There will be no pain.”

Conn took a deep breath, then rose from his chair. Diatka was startled. His eyes widened, and he also tried to rise. His hands gripped the arms of the chair, but he did not move. “I switched the goblets,” said Conn, “when you were telling me about the shield. A lion with eyes of blood. Did you know that a witch told Banouin not to accept wine if he saw such a beast?”