The Guardian (16 page)

“Many shall,” Eryk said, “for we’ll command the Dur soon, and then all three clans will ride against the Quan and the Arran, and we shall own all the Highlands. And we shall cede treaties with Talan and rule here, and our kingdom shall be greater than Chaldor ever was, and folk shall sing the praises of King Eryk and Queen Rytha.”

He clambered from his padded chair and raised his arms, and the guard that ringed us lifted up their spears and swords and beat their shields in accolade, and I felt all hope die. I thought that I had failed Andur, failed Ryadne, delivered Ellyn to mutilation and—perhaps worst of all—to Talan. I had betrayed my king, his queen, and my charge as guardian. I was close to weeping then, filled with chagrin and hatred.

Then I heard Ellyn ask, “When shall this foul execution take place?”

“Tomorrow,” Eryk said, “at dawn, when the crows are hungry.”

We were taken back to our tent and flung inside. As the flaps closed I saw a ring of steel placed around the lodge. A dozen men at least, and far more beyond, ready to halt us and slay us. And dogs to baric, and we without weapons or horses. I could see no hope at all.

“What shall we do?” Ellyn asked me.

I could not help laughing as I answered, “Die. Me, at least. And you be traded like some Serian whore.”

“I’m no whore,” she whispered.

I crossed the tent to crouch beside her. Her face was very pale and she chewed on a thumb. I placed a hand upon her shoulder and felt her body trembling beneath my touch.
I thought that she would pull away and vent her anger on me, but she did not; instead, she curled against me, as if I might still protect her. I felt a terrible guilt that I had brought her to this. “Listen,” I said, “do as they ask. Go willing and avoid their wrath.”

“Would they really do that? Would they butcher me?”

“I think they might, but also that they’d sooner not. I think that such savagery would offend too many. Why do you not write Mattich a letter—I think they’d allow you that. At least, play their game and, as best you can, keep in their good graces.”

“So they can sell me to Talan?”

“That’s surely better than …” I shrugged.

“And you?” She turned eyes that I now saw were filled with tears toward my face. “What of you?”

“What they promised.”

“No!”
She flung her arms around me, holding close against me. “I could not bear that.”

“I thought,” I said, “that you did not care so much for me.”

She buried her face in my chest. “You’re my guardian, Gailard. What shall I do if they slay you?”

“Live on,” I said, confused by this sudden display of emotion. “Does it come to it, marry Talan.”

“No! Never!”

“And some night, put a knife in his heart.”

“I could do that. But …” She looked up at me all tearful. “There must be some other way.”

“What?” I asked. I felt resigned to my fate, and wanted only to give her comfort, but could not think of how, or what more I could say. “Only do as I ask, eh?”

Ellyn shook her head and curled on the furs.

I curled apart from her and contemplated my impending death.

T
heir negotiations completed, Kerid rose from Mother Hel’s bed and splashed cold water on his face and chest. He felt weary, and pleased with himself, and turned to smile at the woman lounging carelessly against the crumpled pillows. Sunlight from the high windows lit her blond hair and her answering smile was the beam of a satiated cat. She beckoned him and he went to her, settling beside her on the bed.

“So, we are agreed?”

Long nails traced a path down his chest, and Kerid nodded. “The Danant boat I captured in exchange for one fully stocked warboat. Those three Chaldor craft in harbor for two more. You drive a hard bargain, Mother.”

Mother Hel laughed. “And others, remember, do you return my tithe. It seems fair to me. After all, I risk Danant’s wrath for this.”

“Talan would not dare attack you.” Kerid shifted as her hand scratched lower. “Save he first conquer Chaldor, and have I those warboats …”

“You’ll become a great river pirate and defeat him.”

Kerid wondered if she mocked him. It was hard to tell, and hard to concentrate as her hand continued its investigation. He nodded again, and said, “I’ll pay your
tithe and trade you every ship I take that does not sink, and soon I’ll have a navy that shall defeat Talan on the river.”

“And does Chorym fall? Does Talan claim the throne?”

“Then still I shall fight him.”

“You’re brave.”

Kerid shrugged modestly. “I do only my duty, Mother.”

“And well.” She drew him closer. “Now shall we seal our bargain?”

Kerid sighed, torn between the desire to inspect the warboats and what he felt for this demanding woman.
Best please her
, he thought for
she rules Hel’s Town, and without her agreement I can achieve nothing.
Besides, it was a pleasant way to negotiate.

In a while, Mother Hel rose and pulled on a robe of saffron silk, indicated a luxurious dressing gown that prompted Kerid to wonder how many such negotiations she had conducted, and tugged a bell cord.

“We shall take breakfast, and then I’ll come with you to the harbor. We’ll take a guard.”

“A guard, why?” Kerid belted the dressing gown, feeling oddly foolish.

Mother Hel laughed. “Why, think on it, my love. You’ve your crew and three others; with them, three other captains. But only three warboats. You’ve more men than you need, and surely too many captains. Do you think they’ll calmly agree to your choosing who mans your boats?”

“Andur …” Kerid began.

“Is dead,” Mother Hel interrupted. “His army is defeated and, by all accounts, his greatest commander is fled. Talan brings all his might and a Vachyn sorcerer against Chorym, which shall likely fall. There are already Chaldor men here who look to join my pirates. Why, one of your captains has already offered his services.”

“I’ll slay him,” Kerid snarled. “By the gods, I’ll hang him as a traitor.”

“No!” Mother Hel lost her smile, her lovely face
suddenly stern. “Here, you do not make such decisions; those are my province.”

Kerid opened his mouth to argue, but then thought better of it. “Forgive me,” he asked, “I forget myself.”

“Yes; do not do it again.” The smile returned. “I’d not lose you so soon.”

There was such threat implicit in her sentence as prompted Kerid to remember the men hanging in the baskets. He bowed. “As you wish, Mother.”

“Exactly.”

There was a tapping at the door then, and Mother Hel motioned with careless imperiousness that Kerid open it. He obeyed, hiding his embarrassment behind a smile.

Breakfast was brought in by liveried servants, silver platters redolent of eggs and kidneys, warm bread, fruit and cheeses set down. Kerid filled two cups with tea and brought them to the bed where Mother Hel still reclined.

“We shall take my carriage,” she declared, “and I shall explain the situation to your fellows.”

Kerid nodded, smiling his agreement.

It was close on noon before Mother Hel had bathed and dressed, and then awhile longer before a two-wheeled cart was brought to the palace gates. Kerid was startled to see the vehicle was hauled not by horses, but six burly men.

“Where could I stable horses on these islands?” Mother Hel asked. “I use convicted men instead. Drawing a carriage is easier than manning a galley’s oars, no?”

“Yes,” Kerid said, wondering at this strange and apparently omnipotent woman.

Around them formed an escort of some fifty men, half-armored, with bucklers and short swords. Scarlet plumes fluttered atop their helmets, and Kerid saw that most wore scars. He thought they looked battle-hardened. Mother Hel clapped her hands and the cart and its entourage started forward.

They reached the harbor and Kerid sprang from the cart, offering a gallant hand to Mother Hel as Nassim came
forward. His mate turned aside to spit out a stream of filthy tobacco and effected a deep bow.

“Mother Hel, it is an honor to meet you. I had not expected such a privilege.”

Mother Hel beamed, extending a hand that Nassim dutifully kissed.

“This,” Kerid said, “is Nassim, my first mate.”

“And knows his manners,” the Mother returned. “Welcome to Hel’s Town, Nassim.”

She clapped her hands and a man Kerid had not previously noticed came forward, opening a wooden box to extract numerous documents. He was short and bald, and panting from the journey.

“The Danant vessel
Talan’s Pride,”
he intoned when he’d caught his breath. “Captured by Kerid of Chaldor, and therefore fair bounty. Of the other Chaldor vessels there are three—a triple-master, a barque, and a brig. The crews number some three hundred and fifty men. I calculate their value at …”

He quoted figures Kerid did not understand, only that the promised warboats would take perhaps fifty men apiece, which meant he’d have to leave some two hundred Chaldor men stranded in Hel’s Town. He caught Nassim’s eyes speculative on him, shifting to Mother Hel. His first mate smiled lasciviously.

“You drove a hard bargain, eh?” he whispered.

Kerid felt his cheeks grow warm. “I did what I had to do.”

Nassim chuckled.

“So, shall we inspect your new boats?” asked Mother Hel.

Kerid nodded dutifully and offered his arm as they walked along the wharf.

The warboats sat low in the water, sleek as sharks, each with a single central mast and fifty oarlocks. Rowing benches angled like ribs from the gunwales to the central deck, and at the sterns there were wide rudders controlled
by the tillers. To the prow of each boat was a small forrard deck on which was mounted a small arbalest, storage lockers for the metal-tipped shafts beside. They were not deep-water craft, but superbly designed for swift strikes—to run from shoreward cover and hit hard, then run back. Kerid thought they’d serve his purpose well.

He watched as Nassim sprang down onto the first deck.

“Shall you not inspect them?” asked Mother Hel.

“Nassim knows his business,” Kerid said, patting her hand. “And I’d sooner stay here with you.”

The Mother smiled and waited until Nassim was done.

“They’re fine boats,” he announced, “but our lads are more used to ropes than oars. I wonder how they’ll like sitting on those benches.”

“They’ll learn,” Kerid declared. “And now we’ve a means of fighting Danant.”

“Can we crew them.” Nassim opened his pouch, extracting a wad of tobacco, then glanced at Mother Hel and thought better of it.

She said, “You shall. Trust me.”

They went along the harbor to where the other Chaldor craft were anchored. Soldiers fell in about them, more than Kerid remembered coming with them, and then others, herding grumbling rivermen from the taverns and whorehouses until a great crowd, augmented by curious onlookers, watched as the three captains appeared.

Kerid was about to speak, but Mother Hel motioned him silent and stepped forward. She was flanked by her guard, six to either side, the rest watchful behind.

“You know who I am.” For one so young and seemingly delicate, her voice rang loud, carrying through the noonday air so that it seemed even the squalling gulls fell silent. “I rule here; it is
my
word that decides your fate.”

One captain—Julyan was his name, Kerid recalled—stepped a pace forward and offered a curt bow. “Madam, I am captain of the
Justice
, which is a Chaldor vessel. How shall you decide my fate?”

“Do you dispute my right?” Mother Hel’s voice was mild; Kerid felt suddenly nervous. “You come running to Hel’s Town seeking refuge from your war, asking my protection, and then wonder what right I have?”

Julyan said, “Madam, I do. The
Justice
is mine, and I decide her fate.”

“And did you buy this vessel? Or did Andur give it you to command?”

Julyan shook his head. “You know I did not buy her, madam, but Andur is dead and Chaldor broken. I claim the craft as my own.”

Mother Hel smiled and nodded and raised a hand, and two men stepped forward and plunged their swords into Julyan’s belly. He screamed and fell down onto the cobbles.

“Now, who else disputes my right to judge?” asked Mother Hel in the same mild voice as the corpse was kicked into the river.

None answered, and she clapped her hands like a delighted child. “This is my judgment and decree—that all those Chaldor craft come into my domain are forfeit to me, and I give them to Kerid of Chaldor, who in return shall receive warboats, and men to crew them. Those men he cannot take with him shall receive the hospitality of these islands until such time as Kerid can repay his debt and purchase more boats. How say the rest of you?”

The two remaining captains ducked their heads; their crews shouted approval.

Nassim whispered, “Was it a
very
hard bargain?”

Kerid said, “You command one boat. Pick your own crew and mine.”

Nassim chuckled and asked, “And the third?”

Kerid studied the two remaining captains. Roburt he knew for a sound riverman; Yvor he knew only a little. But Yvor’s craft was battle-marked, the thwarts were scorched by fire and one mast stood splintered: Yvor had fought. So he said, “I’ll take Yvor.”

And so it was decided. Kerid had three warboats under
his command, and—the gods willing—more to come. He felt ready to fight.

He turned to Mother Hel and bowed deep. “Thank you, Mother, I appreciate your judgment.”

“You shall show me how much,” she returned, and beckoned him to her cart.

“Select the crews, Nassim,” he called back. “I’ll see you …”

“No sooner than tomorrow,” Mother Hel declared. “Or perhaps the next day.”

Kerid climbed into the cart. He wondered which he’d sooner do: see the warboats fit and the crews chosen, or spend another night with Mother Hel. But he had no choice, and so he decided to enjoy his lack of opportunity. He turned to the blond woman and smiled.

“I trust, Mother, that you remember I have a war to fight?”

“Indeed, but first some lesser battles, eh?”

Kerid wanted to agree, but he could not speak because her lips locked tight to his and he was pressed for breath as the cart rattled back toward the palace.