Sword in the Storm (53 page)

By the autumn of that year Conn had begun organizing a
new force, horse archers. Lightly armored and mounted on swift ponies, they were trained to shoot at a full gallop. Conn arranged several archery tournaments, offering fine prizes to the best of the bowmen, and these men he drew into his service. Among them was his fifteen-year-old brother, the golden-haired Bendegit Bran, whose skills with horse and bow were unrivaled.

His inclusion in the force angered Meria, who on a visit to Old Oaks berated Conn. “He’s just a child,” she insisted.

“He’ll be a man in the spring,” Conn told her gently. “He’s not a babe any longer, however much you’d like him to be.” The sun was almost behind the mountains, and the room was growing darker. Meria moved to the fire and lit a taper and then two wall-hanging lanterns. For a while they sat in thoughtful silence, watching the sunset.

“It has all gone by so fast, Conn,” she said after a while. “It seems only a few months since you were all children. I miss those days. I miss having children around me. I look after little Banouin now and again. He is a joy! Always laughing, and he loves to be cuddled. You never did. You squirmed to get away. Unless it was Ruathain. Quite often you’d fall asleep in his arms.”

“How is the Big Man? I have not seen him for a while.”

She shrugged, then laughed. “He is fine now. He caught a chill and was coughing and sputtering about the house, losing his temper and complaining. He never was a man who could cope with illness. He’s still not fully recovered and needs to rest often.” She smiled. “But then, he’s past forty now and no longer the young bull.”

They talked for a while, each relaxed in the other’s company. Then she broached the subject closest to her heart. “You should wed again, Conn. I have not seen you laugh for what seems an age.”

Conn had been waiting for just such a conversation. He had intended to brush it aside or change the subject. But now,
sitting in the warmth of this room, with the setting sun turning the mountains to fire, he did neither. “I didn’t love her well enough, you know. It is a guilt I carry—with all the other guilt. She was beautiful and, as Vorna once told me, deserved better. I loved her. But when I saw Arian again …” His voice trailed away. He looked at Meria and gave a rueful smile. “I’ll not wed, Mam. Not yet. There is, I think, room in my heart for only one great love.”

“Foolish boy. There will be another love. You wait and see.”

“As there was for you when Varaconn died?”

“I wish you would say ‘Father.’ You speak of him as if he were a distant relative.”

“My father, then. Now answer the question.”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, lifting a plaid blanket from the floor and laying it over her legs. “It is getting cold now. Would you shut the window?”

“Aye, but I’ll still require an answer.” Rising, he pushed closed the shutters, dropping the narrow lock bar into place.

Then he sat down and looked into her green eyes. “No,” she admitted. “There was never another love like Varaconn. I do not want this to sound as if I am speaking ill of Ru. He is the finest of men, and I do love him dearly. More dearly than I ever expected. But Varaconn and I were twin souls.”

“Aye, I know the feeling.”

“Ah, Conn, it hurts me to see you so unhappy. You are the laird now, a great man, respected, admired, aye, and even feared. You are becoming a legend among the Rigante. Most young men would give ten years of their lives to be you.”

“I know that,” he said. “They see the man on the tall horse, and they hear tales of the bear and the evil king. That is not me, Mother. It is just a part of me. I grew up with the hurt of believing Vara—my father—was a coward. Then I saw you and the Big Man part because of something I had done.”

“It was not you—” she began.

He waved a hand to silence her. “I know, I know. But I didn’t understand that then. And as for the bear, well, he showed me my mortality, ripping my flesh from my bones. I have lost friends: Riamfada, though he is happy now, and Banouin. I have watched the rise of a great evil and even fought alongside it. Then, after betraying my wife to her death, I destroyed a village, killing men, women, and children. I am not the hero they believe me to be.”

“You were stricken by grief, Conn. It was not my beloved boy who did that. You were possessed. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

He laughed. “Ah, what it is to have a mother’s love. It
was
me, Mother. It was the beast inside, with the chains loosed. The responsibility was mine, and I will not make excuses for my actions. The Pannones call me the Demon Laird. Can you blame them? Every year at Samain I have sent offers of weregild, increasingly fabulous sums. But the Highland Laird refuses even to speak to my representatives.”

“You are not a demon. You are my son, and you have a good heart. Why is it that you dwell only on the bad? You are working tirelessly to protect your people. And you did save Riamfada from the bear. And you did avenge Banouin. The Big Man is so proud of you. Does that not warm you, Conn?”

“Aye, it does.”

“And as for your friend Banouin, yes, he died terribly, but he had a good life, Conn, and good friends. And a part of that life lives on in his son. He’s almost four now, a bonny boy. He misses Bran, though. As do I. Are you going to keep him here with you all winter?”

“No, he can go home. I’ll be with you myself at Samain.” There was a tap at the door, and Maccus called out to him. Conn rose. “And now I must bid you farewell, Mam. Maccus and I are to discuss the heady joys of revenue collection.”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his bearded cheek. “You are my dear heart,” she told him, tears in her eyes. “I love you more than life.” Running her fingers through his long red-gold hair, she forced a smile. “Mothers can be so embarrassing,” she said.

“Och, there’s no embarrassment, Mam,” he lied. He walked to the door, but she called out to him.

“There is one other matter you should know about, Conn, if you are coming home for Samain.”

He paused. “What?”

“Arian has left Casta. She is back home with Nanncumal.”

“Why did they part?”

“She had a child, Conn. Did you not know? A boy. The child has oddly colored eyes, one green and one brown. I thought you should know.”

Conn did not make the trip to Three Streams for the Feast of Samain, spending it instead with Brother Solstice at Old Oaks. Throughout the winter the Druid taught Conn, Braefar, Maccus, and Govannan to read script. Conn had decided on this course after the ordering of the census, having become increasingly frustrated by the need to have scribes and clerics decipher the results. Braefar took to the tuition with remarkable ease, learning faster than any of them. He was the prize pupil, and he gloried in the praise of the teacher. Govannan stuck to the task doggedly and by spring had a tentative grasp on the subject. Conn was little interested in the nuances of language. He needed to understand script, and he forced himself to learn at least enough of the bizarre little symbols to make sense of the census scrolls.

As the weather cleared and Conn drew close to his twenty-second birthday, merchants began to arrive at Old Oaks with news from across the water.

The army of Stone had advanced into Gath territory. There had been three major battles, one inconclusive, followed by
two terrible defeats for the Gath. First reports claimed that more than thirty thousand Gath warriors had perished.

The Stone army was marching on the port city of Goriasa, the last Gath stronghold.

To the east the king of the Sea Raiders had been killed in a skirmish, with his son Shard replacing him. Conn knew nothing of Shard and spoke to Brother Solstice regarding him. “Do the Druids still walk the lands of the Sea Wolves?”

“No. The Vars worship the blood gods, and any Druid caught would be murdered.”

“Have you heard anything regarding this Shard?”

“Very little. But you can be assured he will not be a peace-loving man.”

Conn saw to it that all the merchants knew of his interest in the new Vars king, and within weeks an elderly hide merchant from the Ostro tribe sought an audience with him. They met in the former apartments of the Long Laird. Conn had stripped it of much of its furniture, leaving only a long oval table and ten chairs. The merchant entered, bowed, and was offered a seat. The man was tall and slim, round-shouldered and bald. His face was lined with age, but his dark eyes were button bright.

Conn, seated at the head of the table, with Maccus on his left and Braefar to his right, gauged the man as he entered, thinking him cold and calculating.

“I thank you for this audience, lord,” said the Ostro, his voice as smooth as olive oil. “My understanding is that you wish to know of King Shard.”

“He interests me,” admitted Conn.

“I do have some information that might be of assistance. And I could gather more. If, that is, I could obtain a greater supply of hides. The Vars are partial to tunics and boots made from your black and white cattle.”

Maccus leaned in to Connavar and whispered to him. Conn nodded.

“I already have agreements with two traders for the distribution and sale of these hides, but I will increase the amount available to you—should your information prove useful.”

“You are a kind and understanding man, lord.” The old man smiled. “It does not surprise me that you should have an interest in the Vars king. He certainly has an interest in you.”

“How so?”

“It seems, sir, that you killed his brother during a raid on Seven Willows some years ago. He has sworn a blood oath to bring your head back to his brother’s house and place it on a lance there.”

Conn laughed, but Maccus looked uneasy. “What else do you trade with them, my friend?” asked Conn.

“They have a great love for Uisge.”

“I shall give you thirty barrels for your next voyage. I need to know his plans. Is he gathering men, building ships? Anything to do with the mustering of fighting men. You understand?”

“Indeed, lord. It will be a pleasure to be of service.”

Conn thanked the man, who bowed once more and left the room. “You do know,” said Maccus, “that the slimy whoreson will also sell information about us to Shard?”

“Of course,” said Conn. “He lives for profit and will make it where he can. Where does he ship from?”

“The Queen of the Rocks. Most of the merchants traveling east use that port,” Maccus told him.

“Do you have friends there?”

“Aye, a goodly number.”

“Set off tomorrow and see if you can find someone who will sign on for his next voyage. It would be good to have a man of our own among his crew.”

“You should tell Meria,” Vorna said, sternly. Ruathain shrugged and looked uncomfortable. Little Banouin ran in, cried out with joy when he saw the Big Man, and climbed up to sit on his lap.

“I found a diamond,” said the four-year-old, pushing out his mud-smeared hand and showing Ruathain a bright and worthless stone.

“You’re a clever lad,” said Ruathain. “But were I you, I’d wash my hands before you get dirt on your mother’s furniture. Go on with you. I’ll look after the diamond.” Banouin ran from the room. “A fine boy,” he said.

Vorna was not to be swayed. “Your heart is weakening, Ruathain. The foxglove powders will help, as will the other herbs. But you must slow down. You cannot afford to become exhausted or to strain that heart.”

“Can I not strengthen it?”

“Had you come to me sooner, it would have been better. As it is … No, you cannot strengthen it. You can only slow down the deterioration. You should tell Meria. She has a right to know.”

“A right to worry herself sick? I don’t think so. How long will this treacherous heart continue to beat?”

“Do not speak of it in that way,” she told him. “It is not treacherous. Think of it as an ailing friend who has aided you over the years and now needs your help. You must reduce the pressure on it. Drink more water and less Uisge. Eat more oats—without salt.”

“I asked how long, Vorna.”

“If you are careful, you could have ten years. No more than that, I think.”

“That will bring me to fifty. Good enough.”

“It will bring you to fifty-three, you vain man,” she said with a smile. “Now, I want you take the powders exactly as I have described. Be very careful with the foxglove. Remember that more is not better. Too much can kill. Do not be tempted to add a pinch.”

Banouin ran back inside, holding up his hands for Ruathain to inspect. “Ah, you cleaned them well, little man,” he
said, hoisting the boy high. Banouin squealed with delight as Ruathain tossed him into the air, catching him expertly.

Vorna shook her head and suppressed a laugh. “Two children,” she said, “one big and one small.”

“Can I come with you today?” asked the boy. “Can we ride?”

“Today I am chopping wood,” said Ruathain, “but you can help me roll the rounds. I need a strong lad, mind.”

“I’m strong, aren’t I, Mam?”

Vorna nodded, then glanced sternly at Ruathain. “Chopping wood, is it? You stop and rest often.” She called Banouin to her. “If you see the Big Man growing red in the face, you tell him to sit down.”

“I will, Mam.”

“Then let’s be off,” said Ruathain, pocketing the medicine pouch and stepping out into the sunlight. Banouin ran to him, grabbing his hand. The Big Man hoisted him high, setting the child on his shoulders.

“Look how tall I am!” shouted Banouin. “Look, Mam!”

“I can see you,” Vorna said from the doorway. She watched as they marched away and listened to Banouin’s laughter as they walked across the meadow. The sun was shining brightly on them both, and Vorna felt her heart would burst.

The winter was mild, and once again Conn spent Samain away from Three Streams, remaining at Old Oaks. He did not attend the feast night but stayed instead at the hall with Maccus, Braefar, Govannan, and Fiallach.

The huge warrior had ridden from Seven Willows with news that a fleet of two hundred long ships had been sighted, heading north along the coastline. Fiallach had gathered his five hundred fighting men, but the ships had not beached.

The news was both alarming and mystifying. Two hundred ships meant ten thousand fighting men. No raid had ever been conducted in winter, when food supplies were limited. How,
then, would ten thousand men be fed? And where were they heading?