Authors: Cherry Potts
Oran shushed her and pulled her away, still muttering indignantly about people with no talent for enjoyment. They turned sharply in at the doorway to their billet, and found Tegan and Eachan with their heads together. Ula giggled helplessly at the incongruity of what looked like an intimate embrace, and could not be – could it?
‘Hands off, Eachan,’ she said crisply. ‘Tegan’s spoken for.’
She reached out and patted Tegan’s arm, despite Oran’s best effort to intercept.
‘Maeve’s on her way back,’ she said, not entirely sure what motivated her to do it. She knew she was drunk, she knew she was half angry with Maeve, she knew that Tegan distracted was Tegan dangerous, but why she chose to stir in that particular melting pot she couldn’t say. Jealousy? But she was jealous of neither Maeve nor Tegan; and she certainly wasn’t jealous of Killan. She wagged an uncertain finger in Tegan’s face.
‘You’re a lucky woman, lucky to have Maeve, lucky Killan’s so fickle.’ Oran divined disaster in the look that shot between Tegan and Eachan. He pulled his hand-mate urgently away, towards their shared bed. She staggered ahead of him, Tegan forgotten. Tegan snaked a detaining hand after Oran and pulled him back.
‘Killan?’ she asked, Eachan’s report of his unexpected sighting foremost in her mind. Oran was nearly as drunk as Ula; he thought very carefully before saying uncertainly, ‘Inir?’
Tegan let him go. She turned back to Eachan.
‘What’s going on?’
Eachan shrugged.
‘Killan has a way of causing trouble, but it never seems to stick to him. He reminds me of Phelan when he was younger.’
‘Phelan?’ Tegan laughed in spite of herself.
‘Without the leadership skills.’
‘Just as well, Killan with a following is a frightening thought.’
Eachan refused to have his comparison laughed away.
‘Same single-mindedness, same decisiveness – same ability to change direction without losing step. He’s good with people, knows how to charm, and he’s a deadly enemy.’
‘Who are you talking about?’ Maeve asked, as she walked in, rubbing rain out of her hair.
‘Phelan,’ Eachan said quickly. Maeve frowned slightly, then shrugged and pulled Tegan into her arms.
‘What’s your duty for tonight?’
Tegan grinned and kissed her.
‘Whatever you choose to ask.’
Eachan cleared his throat and stepped away.
‘Goodnight, Tegan – Maeve.’
Tegan twisted out of Maeve’s embrace for a moment.
‘Should we be watching him?’ she asked Eachan.
‘I hardly know. Do we have any real cause?’
Tegan resisted a glance at Maeve.
‘No.’
‘Then, no, unless we find something more. Goodnight.’
‘Sleep well, Eachan,’ Tegan called softly, as she followed Maeve to the ladder that led up to their private quarters.
Chapter Twenty
Eachan listened to the hurried footsteps out in the stable yard. He did not care to hear urgency. His hand strayed to the hilt of his dagger, but then he heard his name called.
Riordan blinked in the darkness of the stable.
‘Eachan, there is a Plains woman at the gate asking to speak to you.’
Eachan put his head on one side considering what that might mean.
‘What did she actually say?’
Riordan thought about it.
‘
I hear that the Queen’s horse-master has been asking after Plains bred horses
.’
Eachan turned sharply into the light, and gestured Riordan away.
‘Good. Let us find what she has to say for herself.’
Once in view of the woman waiting beyond the pale, he slowed his walk, suppressing his excitement.
As Eachan reached the gate, he scanned the woman eagerly, taking in the good horse at her shoulder, the dark hair, the height, the hawk-like profile, and the age. Too young, surely? He hid his disappointment, and looked closer. A half-hidden bond-collar, and a tattoo on her right temple. Not entirely what he had hoped for.
The woman waited whilst he inspected her, seeing the disappointment, the assessment of her as a source of information.
‘You were asking after Wing Clan. I might know what you seek.’
Eachan listened to the hint of Plains accent.
‘You aren’t Wing Clan yourself?’
She shook her head.
‘I’m just unlucky. Do you want to hear?’
‘This isn’t for me – tell me the basics, then if it’s what I hope for, I’ll send for the one who’ll know for sure.’
‘The mark you were asking after, It’s Wing Clan. I assume you knew that? There was one in this city had a Wing Clan woman within his garth. She used that sign.’
‘What else do you know of her?’
‘Taken at the Gather. She had a child of an age for her to have been carrying her at the time.’
‘Did she have a name, this Plains woman?’
‘I never heard it. We don’t share names with your kind, and I never spoke to her myself.’
‘She’s dead then?’
The woman lifted her chin.
‘Four years at least.’
‘And the child?’
‘Sold. I don’t know where.’
Eachan gazed at the woman, wondering if so little was worth the telling. He shrugged, for all he knew the woman was holding back information that she might share with Brede.
‘Riordan, are you messenger today?’
Riordan detached himself from conversation with Inir.
‘Find Brede, and say to her – say that there may be news of her sister at the gate. Make sure she hears the
may
.’
Riordan nodded and turned away towards the tower.
Eachan and the Plains woman waited in silence, measuring one another. Eachan’s eye strayed to the horse, sure that he had seen it before.
‘Whose ...
garth
are you within?’ he asked, deliberately mirroring the woman’s euphemism.
‘Doran.’
Eachan’s eye flicked back to the tattoo. She saw that glance and pulled her hair back allowing him to see the mark clearly. Eachan shook his head.
‘I saw a man within Doran’s garth, when I came asking, who I didn’t expect to see there –’ he hesitated, not sure whether he should ask this. ‘Do you know a man called Killan?’ She shook her head, frowning.
‘Should I?’
‘He seemed to have business with a lady of the house.’
Her expression cleared, and something close to a sneer twisted her lip.
‘Emer, probably. Doran’s next-kin. A younger sister; she has an eye for a handsome man. I assume he’s handsome?’
Eachan shrugged, embarrassed, and aware suddenly of his own lack of anyone to call him handsome. He turned to see what had become of Riordan, and saw Brede standing at the entrance to the tower, motionless and silent.
Brede came towards the gate and the Plains woman stepped forward. Immediately Corla and Cei were between her and the entrance. She stepped back again at once. And since they would not allow her in, Brede went out. They stood in cautious silence for a second, and then Brede gestured for them to walk away from the listening sentries.
The Plains woman watched her furtively, taking in the green badge on her sleeve, the knives at her belt, the absence of collar.
Brede headed down to the water meadow beside the river, the plains’’ woman at her elbow, the horse following obediently after. At last, at the waterside, Brede spoke.
‘Wing Clan, my blood.’
‘Storm Clan, my birth,’ the woman replied.
‘I am Brede, daughter of Ahern of Wing Clan.’
The woman hesitated, frowning at Brede’s readiness to give her name.
‘Jodis, daughter of Ute and Sulien of Storm Clan.’
‘So Jodis. You may have news of my sister.’
‘There was a woman of your Clan, within the garth of Madoc.’
‘Madoc? The general?’
‘That one.’
Brede watched the slow moving water, the turning of weed in the current;
Madoc
.
‘My sister was called Falda.’ Brede said, making a question of it.
‘I didn’t know her name.’
‘She’s no longer there?’
‘She is dead.’
Brede pretended an interest in the roots of the willows along the far side of the river.
‘Which do you want?’ Jodis asked. ‘A niece, and a sister found but dead, or a sister not found?’
‘A daughter?’
‘Sold. I don’t know where. Her horses were sold too.’
Jodis waited for Brede to make the connection.
Brede looked at her, then the horse. Jodis nodded.
‘That’s why I brought him with me. Take a look.’
Brede offered the horse a hand to nuzzle. She ran her other hand along his neck, feeling under the mane for a tattoo. Her fingers grazed the raised skin, and she bit her lip, closing her eyes.
She parted the mane and studied the breeder’s mark.
‘Falda,’ she said at last, when she could control her voice.
‘The mark is hers?’ Jodis asked. Brede nodded, rubbing her hand up and down the horse’s neck, as though she could erase the strange mixture of relief and sorrow by making patterns in the animal’s coat. At last she forced herself away from the horse, and turned to Jodis.
‘Tell me as much as you can. This beast is too young to have been taken at the Gather, why does he bear Falda’s mark?’
Jodis settled onto the ground, cross-legged, the traditional storyteller at a Gather fire. Brede half smiled, accepting the role Jodis had taken, and settled beside her, cooled by the shadow of the tower wall.
Jodis pulled her bond-collar out from the scarf she used to conceal it.
‘By the rules of this, I am not a slave. If I can earn enough to buy my way free, then free I am. They have to give you a percentage of every penny they make from your labour. But it reverts to your owner should you die. You’ll not be surprised if I tell you how many bondservants have fatal accidents just as they’ve earned a chain. Your sister marked every beast she bred from her own mares, but I doubt that Madoc honoured his bond in her case, for her animals would’ve bought her free in no time. For the child it would be more complicated. If she was born after the time your sister was chained, then the child is a chattel, not a bondservant. She can’t buy herself free, and the master is not obliged to sell. If I’d been your sister I’d have worked up enough to buy the child free.’
‘Are you saying that Madoc had my sister killed?’
‘No. I think not, she was far too useful. But the few times I saw her, she seemed ill.’
‘How long?’
‘At least four years. I didn’t see her for a long time, and then I was sent to the market to buy as many of her horses as I could get for my master. That’s how I knew, but she could have been dead a long time before they sold up. Madoc must have needed a lot of money quickly to sell all those beasts at once.’
‘And my niece was sold then too?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you don’t know to whom.’
‘My master did not need servants. I didn’t go to that market.’
Jodis shuddered, breaking out of her storyteller pose to hug a knee to her.
‘Your niece was named Neala, I heard her mother call after her once.’
Brede covered her face. She took a steadying breath.
‘Is there only the one child?’
Jodis hesitated, blinking.
‘I never saw another.’ She ducked her head, puzzling it over. ‘I never saw her pregnant – I can’t be sure. The first time I saw her with the child, the girl would have been four or five years old, there may have been others.’ She risked a look at Brede’s face. ‘She was ill, perhaps she couldn’t –’ she tried again. ‘Madoc isn’t known for keeping women that way. He does no great dealings in that market.’ Her voice trailed off.
Brede made an effort.
‘I am in your debt.’
Jodis shrugged, and turned slightly away, in so doing pulling her hair away from the tattoo. Brede winced at the sight of it.
‘Why are you tattooed?’
‘My master’s idea of a jest.’
Jodis pulled her hair forward to hide the lightning strike that ran down her temple.
‘He treats you as though you were a horse.’ Brede said, husky with rage.
Jodis watched Brede through the curtain of her hair.
‘He calls me his storm-mare, sometimes his nightmare. He is full of jests is Doran. He breeds from me the same as he breeds from his other mares. Doran does a fine trade in slaves. And my children are chattels because of this,’ she yanked at the chain about her neck and narrowed her eyes against tears that threatened to fall. ‘I want no more children.’
Brede waited in silence.
‘The children are the strongest chain. You should find your sister’s daughter, and buy her free if you can, before she is old enough to be caught this way.’
Brede shook her head, bewildered. Jodis cleared her throat and pulled her hair tidy.
‘So, Brede, daughter of Wing Clan, how did you come to be here without a bond collar?’
Brede raised a shoulder slightly.
‘I was in the Marshes, with my mother’s kin. A chance encounter with mercenaries – a stolen horse, Falda’s horse – I followed them, joined them, came here searching for her – and now I have found.’
Jodis waited for Brede to fill the flesh of her tale, but she did not.
‘What will keep you here now?’ she asked.
‘Falda’s daughter,’ Brede answered.
‘And beyond that finding? If she can be found?’
Brede’s eyes strayed to the tower behind Jodis’ shoulder.
‘A contract, but I will break that when I’m ready.’
‘Something else then.’ Jodis said firmly. Brede nodded.
‘Hand-fast?’ Jodis asked, thinking of Eachan.
‘No,’ Brede said, half surprised at the idea.
‘Heart-fast?’ Jodis asked, not really knowing why she went on probing.
Brede ran a finger across her cheekbone, thinking.
‘Enough to keep me here?’ She met Jodis’ gaze, frowning. ‘I don’t know.’
Jodis jerked her head sharply, embarrassed at having asked something so personal, and stood briskly.
‘I should not stay any longer.’ But Brede was in no mood to let her go so swiftly.
‘You are Storm Clan. How did you end up here?’
Jodis mounted her horse.
‘An unscrupulous horse trader took advantage of an inexperienced and ambitious young woman who wouldn’t listen to the advice of her kin. A young woman who thought Wing and Cloud Clans had somehow earned their destruction, and that she could tempt fate. Most of the Plains people taken at the Gather are dead now, captivity doesn’t suit Wing Clan. But I don’t understand how you’ve not found the few left, they are easy to spot, they all wear a collar – unlike you.’
Brede squinted up at the woman.
‘Unlike me.’ She agreed. Jodis gathered up her reins and turned away.
‘Which ways does the wind blow?’ Brede asked her, seeing the wary distance in her eyes. Jodis smiled stiffly.
‘Towards the future,’ she said. ‘But ultimately it is a cold wind, Brede, blowing us all towards death.’
Brede watched her leave, then stood beside the water, stripping the bark from a willow switch, tying the soft wood into knots. At last she threw the mangled mess into the river and walked heavy-footed back to the tower.
Eachan caught sight of her, as she crossed the courtyard, and called out to her. Brede changed direction and went to his side, reaching up to touch the neck of the huge war-horse he was leading.
‘Well?’ he asked.
‘My sister is dead. Madoc had her. He sold her daughter.’
The horse responded to Brede’s encouragement, leaning his huge head against her, pushing with his considerable weight, forcing her to step back as he searched her clothing for treats.
‘Stay away from Madoc,’ Eachan warned. ‘He is a first rate sword, and he has powerful friends.’
‘Who is Doran?’
‘One of Madoc’s friends.’
‘One of the powerful ones?’
‘I doubt it. He is a captain, an archer I think; not someone with much influence.’
‘The Plains woman said that Madoc had to sell all his horses suddenly, I got the impression that it was common gossip. Are you telling me that as the Queen’s master of horse you did not know the quality of his horses, and didn’t buy any?’
‘I was not the Queen’s horse-master then. I couldn’t afford the prices. Nor could my then mistress. I never thought about a woman dead years, when I thought of where you might look. I am sorry for it, I could have saved you a lot of long searching.’
Brede shook her head.
‘How much does it cost to buy a slave-child?’ she asked.
‘More than you have.’
‘Well.’ Brede looked about her, as though unsure of where she was. ‘I should be gone.’
Eachan reached around the bulk of the horse and took her hand. Brede returned the pressure then let go, slapping the horse on the shoulder.
‘Well,’ she said again, uneasy with the responsibility that turned her feet towards the tower, when her mind turned towards the plains.
At the tower door she collided with Tegan. She stepped back, avoiding contact.
‘Brede –’ Tegan called after her, but Brede didn’t respond. Tegan glanced around for what had caused that withdrawal and found Eachan.