The Guardian (25 page)

“This would earn you easier coin,” she returned, “and swifter return on your investment. And you’d still have boats to send against Danant. Think on it—you escort the southbound vessels, and then sail north. Northbound, you can attack. It’s the best of both worlds, no?”

Kerid thought on it awhile, then ducked his head in agreement, and turned to Mother Hel. “But what’s in that for you?”

“A tithe on every boat that docks here,” she said, “and another from you for every boat you take south.”

Kerid laughed. “By the gods, lady, you still drive a hard bargain.”

“Should I not?” she asked. Then: “Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll lease you two boats for now; more does this enterprise succeed.”

Kerid smiled and began to laugh, and they clinched their bargain.

I
recognized the clan colors of the Dur even as Ellyn shouted. I could scarce believe our good fortune, and wondered if Shara’s magic played some part in this. Her expression, however, was surprised as mine, and I supposed it was only happenstance or, perhaps, the scrying talent that brought Mattich’s warriors at so fortuitous a moment. Even so, we were still a long way from safety—the Dur were heavily outnumbered, and did their bowmen rain havoc on the camp, still their riders were a long way off, and faced at both ends of the valley with far greater forces. I saw the riders on our tail turn back to face the Dur charge, but those ahead divided, the larger band moving out to meet the attack as a smaller group continued toward us. I feared that even now we should be taken, and shouted that the women speed their flight.

I rode a little way ahead, seeing that seven mounted men rode to intercept us and that our paths must meet in moments. The Dur were too far distant to aid us, and I doubted I could overcome seven warriors. The battle madness had left me now and I felt only a cold dread that at this last moment all should still be lost. I hefted my sword and wished my feet were set in stirrups, my buttocks in a saddle; I could fight better then. I shouted that Shara and Ellyn go up the
slope and endeavor to skirt around the attackers as I delayed them.

“No!” Shara called back. “There are too many, Gailard.”

“What else?” I demanded. “I’ll try to hold them long enough you can reach the Dur.”

Ellyn stared at me with eyes that seemed dismayed and full of hope at the same time. Shara pointed up the valley wall.

“Climb, as you say—but together! That shall slow them, no?”

I nodded, but I could see little gain in such a maneuver, for the climb would slow us, too.

Then Ellyn cried out, “Look!” and I turned to see a group of Dur break off after our pursuers.

Shara said, “Come, it’s our only chance,” and when I hesitated, “Do you not, than I shall remain with you.”

I saw determination in her grey eyes and knew that I did not want to see her die. I was still, despite all she’d told me, unsure of her motives—why she chose to aid me, or cared for Ellyn’s fate—but I wanted her to live. I asked, “Can you not use magic?”

“No.” She shook her head. “We can only flee—or fight.”

I cursed and motioned her away, up the slope. Ellyn followed, and I went after, aware of the arrows that sang toward us. It is, however, difficult to sight an accurate shot from the back of a running horse, and harder still when the target is above and the ground uneven, and none hit. But I could tell from their sound that our pursuers closed on us, and when I chanced a backward glance, I saw that the distance lessened and the group of Devyn and Agador should reach us before the Dur caught up.

To make matters worse, Ellyn was finding this headlong bareback ride difficult. She clung to the chestnut mare with grim determination, but it was an awkward ride and her clumsiness hampered the horse, slowing the beast as it
negotiated the root-strewn slope. I saw that we should be caught, and made a desperate decision.

I swung my buckler from my back and strapped the shield to my left forearm as I heeled my horse around. Then I slammed my heels against her flanks and sent her thundering back down the slope, directly at the seven men riding up. They were spaced out now, two to the fore, then three in line, and the last side by side at the rear. My attack took them by surprise—they’d not anticipated so suicidal a move. I swung my blade into the face of the man to my right and took his companion’s blow on my shield. The first went tumbling over his horse’s rump, the bow he held cut in two; the other swung at me and spun his mount as I went by, headlong at the next group. I smashed a man to the ground and heeled the bay to a dancing turn that allowed me a blow that took another from his saddle. Then I felt my horse lose her footing and slide, shrilling, from under me. I sprang clear and rolled across ground slickened with the blood of the men I’d cut. I came to my feet as an Agador heeled his mount at me. He swung a blade, but it was clearly his intention to ride me down. I thrust my buckler forward and leapt aside. His mount snorted and reared as my shield slammed against its soft muzzle, and I brought my sword around in a sweeping cut that carved a bloody line across its belly. A part of me asked forgiveness of the animal, but what other choice did I have? And surely my cruel blow was effective; the horse screamed and pitched its rider clear, sending him flying into the path of the remaining three, who trampled him underfoot.

But then I stood alone against three angry men intent on slaying me. I saw that two held swords, the third a bow—that he nocked as he halted his mount, shouting that the others hold back and let him finish me. He was a Devyn, and I recognized him. We’d caught horses together, and fished, and once I’d have named him my friend.

“So, Aeyon, you’re Eryk’s dog now, eh?”

“He’s headman, Gailard, by your father’s choice.”

“And you obey him. No matter that he obeys Rytha?”

“He’ll make us great; he leads us to conquest.”

Aeyon drew his string, sighting down the shaft at my chest. I raised my buckler, knowing that at such short range the powerful horse bow would drive the shaft clear through the wood and leather and metal into my body. From somewhere up the slope I heard Ellyn scream; from down the incline I heard hoofbeats. The two Agador circled me, cutting off any chance of retreat.

“He’ll lead you to disaster.” I forced a careless laugh. “The gods know, he couldn’t even slay me. He had me dragged and whipped and hung on the tree. The crows picked out my eyes there, Aeyon, but I’m still alive. Do you truly believe you can slay me?”

My words had the desired effect. I saw doubt in Aeyon’s eyes, and the bowstring eased a fraction, the arrowhead trembling.

“I cannot understand that,” he said. “How can you live?”

I said, “Perhaps I don’t; perhaps I’m a ghost. Perhaps you should put down that bow and come with me.”

Aeyon said, “If you are a ghost, then this shaft cannot hurt you.”

I said, “No, but I might claim your soul.”

“Or I.”

Aeyon turned as Shara appeared. She was once again dressed in white, and afoot, and Aeyon stared at her aghast, and I heard him say, “Helig?” an instant before the arrows took him in the chest and throat and he fell from his horse. And then men came running to hack down the two Agador, and I saw that the Dur had caught up. I breathed a great gusty sigh of pure relief.

Shara said, “That was a stupid tiling to do, Gailard,” as we were surrounded by armed men who stared at us as if they were unsure whether to save us or slay us.

“B
ut it was very brave,” Mattich said. “It was the action I’d have taken, were I younger.”

He nodded approvingly, his dense beard brushing his shirt. He was old now—older than my dead father—and his hair was all gone grey, but there remained a vitality about him that belied his years and was echoed in the muscling of his body. His eyes twinkled as they studied me.

“He
is
brave,” Ellyn said, surprising me. “He’s saved my life more than once now.”

Mattich smiled fondly at his granddaughter. I said, “I couldn’t think of anything else.” And shrugged as I found Shara’s eyes accusing me of foolhardiness.

“You might have died,” she said. “Seven against one?”

“He’s a Highlander, Lady,” Mattich said, as if that explained it all.

“So’s his brother,” she answered curtly.

Mattich poured fresh cups of brose before he answered. “Eryk’s a different kind of man. He’s a weakling who dreams of strength, and his dreams are fed by that Agador bitch, Rytha. They’d turn the Highlands upside down to have their way.” He glanced at me, ducking an apology. “Colum was a fool to banish Gailard.”

I shrugged, embarrassed. For all my father and I had fallen out, I did not enjoy hearing him denigrated—even must I agree with Mattich’s judgment of Eryk. I said, “But how did you come to attack his camp just then?”

“The women told us.” Mattich laughed and gestured at his wife. “Always listen to the women, Gailard.”

I looked to Clayre. She was a small woman, her hair silver as snow bathed in moonlight, her face as dark and lined as old leather, but her eyes were bright and I could see Ryadne’s inheritance in her features. She smiled sadly. “The talent,” she said. “You know of that, of course. Ryadne owned it; and this one.” She looked fondly at her granddaughter. “Though she’s yet to understand it, she’ll learn, eh?”

This last was directed at Shara, who nodded solemnly.

“We … sensed … Eryk’s intention,” Clayre went on, “and knew that he planned some great move against us. Just
what, we were not sure—but we readied. And then”—she looked again at Ellyn and Shara—“there was a …
movement
… that troubled us, and our dreaming took us to the valley.”

“Fortunately for you,” Mattich concluded. “The gods know, if we’d come later …”

“We’d be dead,” I said. “I stand indebted.”

“No.” Mattich shook his hairy head. “you guard my granddaughter, no? You risk your life for her—it’s I owe debt, not you. I stand in your debt; and yours, Lady.”

Shara inclined her head graciously, and I wondered what Mattich knew of her—for it surely seemed he knew something. He deferred to her as if she were … I was not sure. His attitude reminded me of my own, when first I found favor in Andur’s eyes, and how I dealt with Ryadne. It was as if he saw her as some great lady and also a friend, awed but not afraid.

“What shall you do now?” she asked—of Clayre rather than Mattich.

Husband and wife exchanged glances, but it was Mattich who answered. “We’ve not the numbers to defeat Eryk, so we’ll go away awhile until things are settled. Perhaps if he can’t find us, he’ll give up. We’ll go into the Barrens and let him hunt us. With winter coming on, I think he’ll tire of that and turn back—it’s hard to fight when the snow falls deep. Let him hunt the Quan and the Arran awhile, and perhaps he’ll give up his dreams.”

I saw Clayre frown at that, exchanging a look with Shara, and knew that Mattich was wrong. But I said nothing, feeling that in this company of talented women Mattich and I were out of our depth, and best advised to keep our mouths shut.

Shara said, “To the Barrens, eh? Then might we come a ways with you, for I’d take these two home.”

“But you’ll return her?” Clayre asked.

“All well,” Shara said, “in glory.”

Clayre nodded, as if that settled it. Mattich shrugged; Ellyn and I frowned our confusion.

W
e talked late into the night, moving from the tent to the ground outside so that all might hear, and Mattich’s most trusted folk give their opinions. As many women as men sat in council, and I saw the great advantage the scrying talent gave the Dur. This was the smallest of the Highland clans, but they had never been defeated. When aggressors moved against the Dur, either they were ambushed as Eryk’s force had been, or the Dur were simply gone—thanks to that ability to foresee events.

“And what do you see now?” Shara asked Clayre. We had already explained our presence in the hills, and told of events in Chaldor, told them why I brought Ellyn north.

“Little enough,” the old woman answered. “It’s as if some fog invests our dreams.”

“That’s Nestor’s presence,” Shara said, “Vachyn magic at work.”

The Dur seemed to have no trouble accepting that, nor that Shara was Vachyn. It was as if the scrying talent made the women kin with the sorceress, colleagues even.

“But what shall you do?” I asked. “Eryk’s bent on destroying you, and Shara says that Nestor’s set hunters on our trail. Surely Talan will look to conquer you—with his own forces if Eryk cannot do it. Winter might hide you for a while, but come the spring …”

“Hide,” Clayre said, glancing at Ellyn. “Hide in the Barrens until …” She looked to Shara, who nodded as confirming some unspoken communication. She turned back to me. “Our talent’s not so dimmed we cannot see immediate danger, so we shall go into the Barrens until … matters … are sorted.”

I frowned, not quite understanding. The new moon shone above us, and the fire flickered, layering faces with patterns of light and shade. I felt I sat amongst some coven,
albeit of benign witches, but still mysterious to me, their conversation as much a matter of looks and glances as words. I encountered a strangeness that made me uneasy. I had sooner that Mattich ordered his warriors gird for battle and we ride against Eryk; but so direct a response was not to be, and I recognized that I must accept and go with Shara.

“And us?” I asked.

Clayre and Mattich laughed together, as if I questioned some foregone conclusion. “Why, you shall take our granddaughter to the Lady’s broch,” Mattich said.

“And see her safe,” Clayre added, “until she comes into her own power.”

“Then call on us,” Mattich said, “and we’re hers to command.”

I looked to Ellyn, but she appeared oblivious of our talk. She yawned prodigiously, her lids drooping over her eyes, her head nodding toward her chest. I understood her weariness, for I was mightily tired, too. I had eaten well, and drunk my fill of brose and ale, and the fighting had taken its toll of me. I had as soon found a tent and crawled beneath blankets as sat talking. But the future seemed to me all strange and diffused behind mists of magic, so I rubbed at my weary eyes and forced myself to concentrate.