‘You do,’ said Einar. ‘No argument about it.’
They carried on through the gates.
Vorfgan had arrived but she was not allowed to speak to anyone. As Einar told of the evening’s events to her husband, she was rushed to the hall’s small hospital where the two
resident sisters of Meriel started to fuss over her. She had been sick over her dress and was shaking with the shock. The pain in her shoulder was less sharp than it was, but more intense; her
whole shoulder seemed to be throbbing like a pig’s heart freshly cut from the body. Her hand, the palm especially, stung like she had nettle rash after she had used it vainly to try and break
her fall. The sisters partly undressed her and started to bathe her with ice-cold water. Gingerly she turned to look at what they were doing and immediately regretted it. Her shoulder was
black.
She closed her eyes to help control her nausea but was not allowed to do so for long. The door of the hospital was pushed open violently and Wulfthram stood there, his face red with anger.
‘What in the name of the thousand demons do you think you were playing at? Riding on the moors? In this weather?’ His voice was like thunder; she had never heard him so ferocious, so
unrestrained before.
‘Thank you for your concern for my welfare,’ she said weakly. ‘I went out because I fancied being thrown off a rearing horse, smashing up my shoulder, ruining my dress and
angering you, of course. What other reason could there be?’
A little of the anger went from his voice, but only a little.
‘I thought you would ride down to the harbour, somewhere safe, not through bandit country. And now I have to decorate the walls of my home with four severed heads.’
She had no strength to argue. ‘Please don’t shout at me.’ She sounded pathetic; a sob caught in her throat.
He looked skywards, then at the sisters. ‘How is she?’
‘No breaks, but a lot of bruising. She needs to rest up for a few days and be bathed regularly.’
‘And the child?’
‘Fine at the moment, but the shock or trauma could cause her to lose it. We need to watch her carefully; this is why rest is so important for her.’
He shook his head before saying softly, ‘You silly girl’
The sob escaped her then, and the tears flowed immediately afterwards.
‘I am so sorry.’
He came towards her. She wondered what he was going to do and looked up at him with her large teary brown eyes. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
‘Do as the sisters say and rest yourself. I will be along to see you properly afterwards.’
She choked slightly. ‘Thank you, my love.’
He stopped, a little surprised, then kissed her again. ‘As I said, I will see you later.’ Then turned and left the room.
She let the sisters continue the ministrations, but this time she felt no pain at all.
The slow plodding dray horse clopped leisurely along the path pulling its covered wagon behind it. Night was nearly upon them and it knew it would be stopping soon, which
pleased it as it was hungry and could smell the hay its new owners had brought with them. At the front of the wagon holding the reins with little conviction was Haelward. He had left Willem and
Alys together to get on with ... well, whatever they wanted to get on with and had spent the last few hours trotting gently along this interminable road. They all lead to Tanaren City, so the
saying went, and in the case of this one, it was the truth.
The three of them had disembarked at Eltlo, a small harbour town that would probably have looked picturesque in the summer with the early-evening sun dappling the benign water and the brightly
coloured fishing boats bobbing at rest close to the harbour walls. This time of year, however, with the sea grey and threatening and the wind sweeping spray on to the deserted cobbles, it was a
bleak, Gods-forsaken place. The locals, too, had been surly and suspicious, especially after the influx of refugees from Oxhagen. They had spent one night in the tiny, draughty inn enquiring about
ships to the capital, only to be told the last one due to go there that year had sailed but two days ago. Not wanting to spend any more time than was necessary in the town, they instead bought
passage the following day on a small vessel bound for Thetta, a larger town at the southern end of the western peninsula. From there it was a case of buying a wagon and an old nag and taking the
long road to Tanaren City, where they would hope to arrive in about ten days, conditions permitting. It was Haelward’s intention first to take the two lovebirds back to St Philig’s and
then carry on himself back to either the front lines or Zerannon, whichever was the easiest to get to. He could sell the wagon and the horse and buy a younger, faster steed, although a hard ride
through wintry conditions and across hundreds of miles was not something he was particularly relishing.
There was a rustling of canvas behind him and Willem came out to join him, Haelward moved over slightly to give him room.
‘Will we be stopping soon?’ the younger man enquired.
‘Fancy snuggling up somewhere warm, do we?’ Haelward sniggered.
‘N...no,’ the younger man stammered. ‘I am just a little hungry, if truth be told.’
The warrior nodded. ‘Well, I am not going to be the one to deny your stomach its gratification. We will stop as soon as we find a decent spot to light a fire.’
‘Good,’ said Willem. ‘Haelward?’ He sounded hesitant.
‘Yes?’
‘Did you ever marry?’
Haelward laughed. ‘A strange question, but no. I never did. In my home village there was a girl, Althea; we were the same age and had grown up together. People assumed we were bound to get
wed as soon as we were of age.’
‘What happened then?’
‘The War of the Six Barons happened; you would have been a young boy at the time but I was just old enough to serve in Baron Hartwig’s army and so, after kissing Althea goodbye with
a promise I would return shortly, I signed up.’
‘I take it you didn’t return shortly.’
‘No,’ Haelward mused quietly. ‘It was not a long war as you know, but just as I was expecting to be sent home to Skonnetha a muster was called in Tanaren City. The city guard
was increasing in size and the Baron was obliged to send a dozen men. As I was the newest recruit in his army, I was despatched there without a second thought. Anyway, to cut this short, by the
time I could get some leave to return home, she had given up on me and married someone else. At the time I couldn’t read or write, so sending a letter for the priest to read to them was
impossible. I returned to Tanaren City rather chastened by the whole experience. First thing I did was learn my letters and the second thing was to sign up for five years in the guard, and I have
been living off my ability with the blade ever since.’
‘That is a sad tale, Haelward, and there has been no one since?’
‘No, nothing long term. I have moved around rather a lot. As far as I am aware, I could have several bastards dotted around the country, but I don’t think I have. I have always said
I would do right by any child I fathered, but none of the ladies involved have ever got in touch with me.’
They rode on in silence for a while, then Haelward spoke again.
‘When will you be marrying Alys anyway?’
‘It depends,’ said Willem. ‘Master Cedric has said he will take over my scholarship from the church, buy them out as it were. Then the only obstacle for us would be
money.’
‘But you will have lodgings in the university and I am sure Cedric will not leave you unprovided for. Listen to what happened to me – there is no point in delaying such matters. Say
you wait until you have some money behind you and one of you gets cholera, or succumbs to a bout of plague. Artorus only gives us one chance of life in this world. I advise you to take your
opportunities while you can. Althea did and I do not blame her in the slightest for doing so. I can never go back to Skonnetha, though; I fear it would be too painful.’
Shortly afterwards they stopped for the night. After some effort they got a fire going and ate a meal of hard biscuits and dried fruit. Haelward made a mental note to find time to do some
hunting tomorrow.
Alys sat close to Willem throughout and as the evening drew on Haelward told them tales of his battles with pirates and some of the stranger customs of the Sea Elves. Realising he was probably
boring the two of them to tears, he shut up after a while and let the two of them talk instead.
‘I wonder what will happen to Lady Hartfield now?’ Alys mused aloud.
‘As long as she wears that amulet she will be fine,’ Willem replied.
‘Can you imagine never being able to take the thing off, ever. She could live for decades and decades with that curse hanging over her.’ Alys sounded gloomy.
‘Maybe the tooth with the inscription back at the university has the answer. When Cedric returns I know he will try to decipher what it says. Perhaps there lies an answer somewhere in its
writings.’
Haelward spoke up. ‘The spirit ... creature, whatever it was, seemed quite emphatic about there being nothing we could do. She had a gift or something, some Elvish ability against which
she has no defence.’
‘Yes,’ said Willem, ‘but these writings are much older than the spirit you encountered; who is to say that it knew everything about her situation?’
‘You know some Elvish, don’t you, Will’ Alys asked hopefully.
Willem practically choked. ‘Nowhere near enough, Alys; this is also such an ancient dialect, even Cedric struggles with it. The elves themselves have a habit of chopping and changing
words, joining two or three together, or even altering them to make them more aesthetically pleasing. One word therefore can be spelled or pronounced in over a dozen different ways. Add to that,
they tend to have several words for the same thing, especially when it comes to animals. So you can see what a challenge it presents. Hopefully Cedric will learn enough from the elves to assist him
on his return.’
‘Then maybe sometime in the future we can return to her Ladyship with some good advice. I shall pray that it will be the case. Now, gentlemen, as the cold is beginning to deepen somewhat,
I shall retire to the wagon and wrap myself up in a blanket. I advise you both to do the same shortly.’
Both men wished her a goodnight and Willem assisted her on to the wagon. He returned to the fire just as a distant wolf howled forlornly, its sound barely reaching their ears.
‘I do not know this country,’ said Haelward, a touch of concern in his voice. ‘The fire has been started to drive away the cold and the attentions of any unwelcome creatures,
but, as I said, I do not know this country, how well it is ordered or run. We should keep a watch, but as there are only two of us that will be difficult. You go join your lady for now; I will be
along to interrupt you later. I cannot stay outside all night, not in this weather.’
Willem left him shortly afterwards, leaving Haelward alone by the fire. He stayed up as long as he possibly could but finally felt too weary to remain outside. He went to the wagon to call
Willem, only to stop when he heard the sound of contented male and female snoring inside. Laughing softly to himself, he threw some dirt on the fire and, with the light extinguished and only the
faintest starlight and moonlight to guide him, clambered into the wagon himself where his snores soon joined that of the other two.
Little did he know that, almost as if to confirm his reservations about this place, other eyes were indeed watching him from a distance, and that, once the fire went out, men started moving in
the dark.
Morgan Felmere, Baron Protector and Chief Prosecutor of the War in the North sat back in the elegant high wooden throne and frustratedly threw his knife into one of the
crossbeams above his head. That done, he stood, climbed on to a chair underneath it and pulled it free, leaving a mark in the wood – one of several fresh ones in that area. He returned to his
throne and made ready to repeat the process when the widow of the man whose chair he felt he was fraudulently occupying entered the room. Instinctively, he got to his feet and gave her a slight but
deferential bow.
Lady Mathilde Felmere was a good ten to fifteen years younger than her late husband, a tall thin-faced woman with high cheekbones and long dark hair held high behind her head with a series of
combs. She wore an expensive lemon dress of silk, giving some substance to her slight frame. Morgan noticed that it rustled as she walked. Behind her was someone who seldom left her side. Kraven,
the Baron-in-waiting, unable to take on the responsibilities of such a position until his sixteenth year, was a fresh-faced young lad as shy and withdrawn as his father was outgoing. It was
something that Morgan was going to have to make him overcome; so many people saw a quiet, thoughtful nature as a weakness. And the Gods only knew how many enemies he would have once he reached his
majority.
‘My Lady, Kraven, I hope you are both well.’
‘As well as can be expected, considering all that has happened. It is you I am more concerned about; I am sure you have aged years in the short time you have been with us.’
‘Well, there has been a lot to deal with and there is still much more left to do. And I am so ill qualified to deal with so much of it.’
It was unsaid between them, but Morgan knew Mathilde harboured something of a torch for him. It was partly due to this that he felt obligated to bring the news of her husband’s death
personally. She had wept, though not as much as her adopted son, but had regained her composure as soon as a sense of decorum had allowed. With her husband spending so long in the field, the
day-to-day running of both the baronetcy and the castle had been her domain for a while, something that Morgan was happy to let continue while he dealt with the weightier matter of the fallout from
the battle.
‘Dinner is almost prepared and Dominic wishes to speak to you. More people are flooding into the city every day, including many soldiers scattered from the battle or deserters from Baron
Fenchard’s army whose consciences have finally proven too much for them. If it was up to me, I would hang them from the castle walls but...’