The Guardian (14 page)

“That,” the officer said, “shall be decided by the Mother. Come with me.”

“And my crew?” Kerid asked.

“Have the freedom of Hel’s Town. But unarmed. And do any cause trouble …” Again, the sword indicated the cages.

Kerid nodded and ordered Nassim to keep the men in check. He gestured that the officer lead on, and the man smiled grimly and told him to remove his weapons. Reluctantly, Kerid obeyed, then he followed the officer into the barbican.

Beyond that, a tunnel through the deep wall, and then a steep flight of walled stairs led up to an avenue that ran like a gulley between the close-packed buildings. Narrow alleys intersected the climbing path, and Kerid thought there was
not a hand’s span of open ground anywhere in Hel’s Town. He climbed dutifully, legs grown long accustomed to a boat’s deck aching, and the air—after the open river—was thick with the mingled odors of densely packed humanity, food, and, he realized after a while, the multitude of cats he saw inhabiting the gutters and window ledges and balconies. He was grateful when the avenue gave way to a thin plateau, across which rose white walls; behind, the gold and brilliant blue he’d seen from the river.

The officer approached a gateway of polished wood and banded brass, and dropped a heavy golden knocker. The gate opened, words were exchanged, and Kerid was ushered through to find himself in a bailey where roses grew and fountains played, shedding rainbows over harlequin flagstones of marble and jet. The air was rich with the flowers’ scent, and small birds darted, singing shrilly. The officer was no longer with him, and he was now escorted by two tall men he guessed from their color to be of Nabanese stock. They wore white surcoats that could not quite conceal the mail shirts beneath, and each wore a sheathed blade. They did not speak, only beckoned him to follow and took him across the courtyard to an arched doorway, where he was given into the charge of two others dressed in scarlet slashed across with black and silver.

Past the arch lay a vast chamber floored with pale blue stone that seemed to ripple in the light entering from the high windows. Kerid had the impression that he walked through water, augmented by the murals decorating the walls: all river scenes of boats and fabulous fishes, waving weeds and merfolk. He saw that people watched him, and that they wore flowing robes in a multitude of colors that added to the submarine impressions, as if they were merfolk, drifting on the currents of the chamber. Eventually he was halted before a door of beaten gold that opened to admit him to a smaller chamber, plainly set, with wooden floors like a ship’s deck, and round windows that spilled light over the throne at the center.

It was a simple throne of old black wood that looked as if it had been dredged from the river after long ages underwater. Kerid was unsure whether the patterns he saw were carved, or merely the results of long immersion. He did not care—could not—for his gaze was fixed in awe on the woman who sat there.

He had assumed Mother Hel to be some crone, aged and wrinkled and ugly. But he saw a girl, golden-haired and laughing, and lovely as any woman he’d seen, playing with a black kitten. He halted, confused and bowed.

“Mother Hel?”

The girl set the kitten aside, and laughed as it fought its way back up her gown to curl in her lap. “I am she. Who are you?” She tickled the kitten as she spoke, playing slender fingers in its mouth, laughing as it bit her.

“Kerid of Chaldor,” he said.

“Yes, of course. I had word.”

He could not imagine how, but as he looked at her he saw old wisdom in her grey eyes. “I’d ask your favor.”

“Do you come to Hel’s Town, then you must. Tell me what you want here.”

“I took a Danant boat, and I’d trade it—and all its cargo—for a warboat.”

“To pursue your struggle with Danant?”

Kerid nodded. “Also, there are at least three Chaldor vessels at anchor. I am commander of Chaldor’s navy, and I’d claim them for further trade.”

“You’d
claim
them?” Steel entered the youthful voice. “What comes to Hel’s Town is mine.”

Kerid swallowed his instinctive protest, acted the diplomat. “I’d
ask
that you consider my request.”

“Better; much better. But why should I help you? You bring a boat here, and it is mine—such is our law. I might give it back to you; or not. But Talan of Danant hires himself a Vachyn sorcerer—and do I offend the Vachyn …” She let the sentence tail off, glancing around the room, where heads bowed in mute agreement.

“Talan hires one Vachyn,” Kerid agreed, “but has not yet won his war. He’s yet to take Chorym; and the clans, as yet, take no part.”

“Shall they?” Mother Hel asked. “Or shall they stand apart and let Chorym fall?”

“That should be a hard thing,” Kerid said, unsure where this conversation went. “The city shall be hard to take, and there’s …”

The girl raised an imperious hand, halting his words. “There’s a beaten army crawling home. Andur is dead, and his greatest commander fled.”

“What?”

“You did not know? Then let me tell you. Gailard quit Antium and left the town to Talan. He went to Chorym and has not been seen since.”

“Then he’s behind the walls,” Kerid said, “organizing the defense.”

“He’s not been seen. In Chaldor,” Mother Hel announced, “folk say that Gailard is a coward who ran from battle.”

“No!”

“You dispute me?”

Kerid bit back his instinctive response. “I find it hard to believe Gailard is a coward. I knew the man, and thought him brave. But be it so, there must be a reason. And even is there not, and he has run, I shall not.”

“But drag Hel’s Town into your war? Against Vachyn magicks?”

“Not that—only what you’ve always done: trade. Take that boat I captured and give me a warboat. Are you agreeable, then acknowledge that I’ve some right to those other Chaldor boats, and give me more warboats in return.”

“To continue your fight against Talan?”

Kerid nodded.

“And shall I risk bringing Vachyn magic against Hel’s Town?”

“Are you afraid of Vachyn magic?”

Now Mother Hel nodded. “Anyone who says they are not is a fool.”

“Talan’s but the one sorcerer,” Kerid said, “and I doubt he can afford more.”

“Even so.”

“Think on it,” Kerid asked. “Does Talan conquer Chaldor, where shall he turn next? Here? Should he own both shores—Danant’s and Chaldor’s—then he owns the southward river. Might he not—and remember, with the wealth of two lands, he’ll own much—hire more Vachyn and look northward? Might he not employ more Vachyn and turn against you?” He thought fast, seeking to persuade her. “And if not you, then Naban and Serian. I think he’d own all the Durrakym—and you’d be in his way. How should you stand then?”

“There’s that, yes.” Mother Hel stroked the kitten in her lap. Then picked the little cat up and tossed it aside; it squealed piteously as it hit the floor. “I must think on this. And you shall help me. Come.”

Kerid frowned as she rose from her ancient throne. “I don’t understand.”

“You shall,” she promised, beckoning that he follow her.

W
e finished our meal with Jach’s watchful eyes on us, and the sheriff’s men lingering to ensure our departure. I settled our account, and our landlord had the grace to blush beneath his beard and offer an apology of a kind.

“I can’t afford trouble,” he explained, “and are you who they say …”

His shrug was eloquent. I asked, “Are there many Devyn in Cu-na’Lhair?”

“A good few.”

“And Eryk is truly clan chief now?”

Jach nodded. Ellyn fidgeted at my side and I motioned her to be still; there was information I’d have before we departed, and little time to glean it. “What happened to the old chief?”

I think that Jach guessed my identity by now, but the rules that allowed Cu-na’Lhair to exist and prosper denied him open declaration or profit therefrom. I thanked the gods for those rules and could only pray he did not recognize Ellyn. He said, “Colum? He fell off his horse and cracked his skull. Before he died, he named Eryk his successor.” He sighed, scrubbing busily at a pot, averting his eyes. “Eryk wed Rytha of the Agador, and announced a bounty on Gailard’s head.”

I endeavored to conceal my discomfort.

Jach looked up from his scrubbing and I wondered if I saw pity in his eye. “I’ve heard it said,” he murmured, “that it was Rytha persuaded Eryk to set the bounty It would seem that Gailard deserted Rytha, and she’d have her revenge for that slight. Were I you, my friend, I’d not risk the Highlands but go back to Chaldor. I think you should be safer there.”

I nodded. “See our animals saddled, eh? We’ll go now.”

“As you wish.”

I turned away, beckoning Ellyn after me. She was in a most curious mood. I could not decide whether she was exhilarated by our clandestine departure, or infuriated that she must leave her comfortable bed and take again to the road. She seemed to dart between the two, like a swallow plucking insects from the summer air. She sought at first to argue.

“So fat Jach has thrown us out, but why can we not find another inn?”

“Because,” I told her, “Rurrid and Athol will be seeking every Devyn clansman they can find, and likely Agador, too, telling them I’m here.”

“So? Is this not Cu-na’Lhair? What can they do here?”

“Here, little enough. But have they the time, then they can mount an ambush—meet us on the road and bring us to my brother.”

I packed my saddlebags as I spoke, and noticed that even as she argued, she did the same.

“Is your brother so terrible?”

“There’s little love between us; and our father
did
banish me.”

“So perhaps your brother will forgive you.”

I laughed. “You heard what they said, no? That Eryk would pay them well to bring me home. And Jach confirmed that.”

“Perhaps because he’d see you again—reconcile your differences.”

“I doubt that.” My laughter grew bitter. “I think that Eryk would sooner take my head.”

“Your own brother?”

“And our father’s son. Eryk’s little pity in him, nor much fondness for me.”

“Because of this woman?”

“Rytha? My father betrothed me to her that he might forge alliance between the Devyn and the Agador, but I never loved her.”

“Was she not pretty?”

“She was beautiful. Eryk always wanted her, but I was the elder son.”

“So why did you not wed her?”

“I didn’t like her.”

“Even though she was pretty?”

“Even though. She had a temper, and such pride as I’ve never seen—not even in princesses.”

Ellyn snorted then, muttering something about Highlanders and their ways as she buckled on her new sword. I finished our packing and ushered her out of the room. I must admit that I, too, was reluctant to depart these comfortable quarters, but I’d have us abroad and running before Rurrid and Athol got chance to raise a hunt.

“Listen,” I said, “We cannot risk encounter with either the Devyn or the Agador, so we must ride hard now, and live awhile off the land and what we carry with us.”

“The Dur are to the north,” she said.

“I know. And does Talan take Chorym, he’ll look for us there. Better that we avoid everyone.”

“Can we?”

I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring at the moon-silvered rooftops across the street. It should be hard to cross the Highlands unnoticed, and harder still to find sanctuary. I knew only that we must run like hunted animals. I said, “Trust me.”

Ellyn snorted again.

S
o it was we left the Lonely Traveler as the waning moon rose overhead. I loaded our horses and disturbed a drowsy gateman, who opened the gates so that we might ride out into the streets of Cu-na’Lhair, and then through the city gates into the hills beyond.

They shone bright under the moon, patchworked by drifting cloud and silvery light. Gorse and heather scented the air, and I saw owls winging silently in search of prey. I wondered if they were omens of death or wisdom, and hoped we had escaped unnoticed; but then all my hopes were dashed.

We rounded a curve where a shoulder of moorland thrust out to block the view ahead and past it found Rurrid and Athol waiting for us. They sat their horses at the center of the trail, both with drawn swords. A score or so clansmen wearing the colors of the Devyn and the Agador waited to either side. Some held strung bows, and I knew we had no chance to run.

I tried to bluff them. “What is this?” I cried, feigning outrage. “Do you pursue this foolish argument?”

“You are Gailard,” Rurrid said, “and we shall bring you to Eryk.”

“I am Gavin!”

Rurrid laughed. “And I am the peddler’s dog.”

Athol said, “Are we right, then Eryk shall reward us well. Are we wrong, then we’ll apologize, and you shall enjoy Devyn hospitality for a while. But Eryk shall know, eh?”

From my side, a little way behind, I heard Ellyn ask, “Do we fight?” And heard the scrape of her sword loosened.

“No!” I prayed she not be so foolish. “There are too many of them.”

“Even for the mighty Gailard?”

“Yes; and too many to run from. They’ll shoot us down.”