The Guardian (43 page)

“I’ll not,” she promised. “Do you defeat me, none shall halt you or oppose you.” She looked at us all. “Shall you swear by that?”

I did not like to do it, for I felt that any man who hurt Shara must answer to me, else I not be able to bear her death, but I ducked my head and made the promise. Then heard Ellyn and Mattich do the same.

“Even so,” Hain said, “I must think on this. I do not fight women.”

“You’d see women slain by Talan,” Shara said.

Hain shook his balding head. “That’s different.”

“How so?”

“Women do not fight in single combat.” Hain looked awhile around the circle of our waiting faces. “Single combat is for men.”

“Then fight me,” I said.

“Or me,” said Mattich.

Hain shrugged. “I must think on this. I shall go away and consider what you have suggested. I shall deliver my answer in a few days.”

We watched him depart disgruntled and I turned to Shara. “Are you mad?” I asked her.

“We need him,” she said. “And he needed to be pushed to decision. Let him sleep on it, and see what happens.”

I
t happened that night, and it earned Hain no respect.

I could not imagine what he thought to gain by it, for it was without honor, or much hope of success, and all I could think was that he had been tainted by contact with Talan and the Vachyn sorcerer. Surely, it was not a thing any Highlander—save perhaps Eryk—would have attempted.

Hain had come to parley and ridden away under banners of truce. By all customs we were at peace, and had he elected to ignore our offer of alliance, or chosen to go to war with us, then still he should have sent word to that effect.

Instead, he attacked by night.

It was an insane attempt. The Devyn, the Dur, and the Agador were camped together, the Arran settled only a little way off, and the Quan was not so great a clan that it might hope to defeat us all. I wondered, after, if it was Hain’s intention to slay the leaders and steal Ellyn away—a gift to Talan.

And he had seemingly forgotten the Dur talent for foreseeing.

We had set guards, for none of us entirely trusted Hain; but even so we none of us could truly believe he’d take such a chance. I settled to sleep with my head pleasantly abuzz with the aftereffects of the brose.

And woke to Mattich’s booming voice.

“Gird up, Gailard! We’re under attack!”

I rose, snatching up my sword and shield, and came out from the tent. Mattich laughed. He was full-dressed, kitted for battle, and I was naked save for my undergarments.

“So eager, eh?” He poked his blade in the direction of my groin. “Or do you boast?”

I squinted at him, torn between irritation and concern.

“Clayre dreamed it,” he said, serious now. “Hain brings the Quan against us.”

“He’s mad,” I said.

“Likely. But even so.” Mattich shrugged, then chuckled. “Shall you face them like that, or dress for battle?”

I grunted irritably and ducked back inside the tent, hurriedly donning my gear.

We were encamped in a wide valley cut through with a broad stream that ran deep at its center, the banks to either side steep and undercut. A wide swath of timber spread along the eastern side, and Hain no doubt thought that would conceal his stealthy approach.

He should have remembered the Dur’s talent, for we were in position on the west bank as he brought his warriors out from the trees. We stood afoot, our horses held back and bowmen to the fore. It was a dark night, with clouds blown up from the south, bringing a hint of rain and obscuring the moon and stars. We waited kneeling, hidden by thickets of gorse and heather. The Quan scouts emerged from the timber and saw no opposition. They hooted, and the full force came down to the water.

By some unspoken consensus, I found myself in command. I waited until all the riders were in the stream, then rose to my feet and shouted.

Suddenly the night was filled with arrow-song, and beneath the clouds’ overcast there spread a darker shadow as the barbed war-shafts lofted and fell.

The Quan toppled screaming from their horses; horses shrieked and bucked as they were pricked. I called for another volley, then led the charge into the stream. From farther along the valley came riders—Devyn and Agador, galloping to cut off the Quan’s retreat.

Hain was unseated, his mount screaming and kicking as he sought the saddle. He wore full battle kit, his eyes glowering furiously through the helm’s slits. He swung his blade at me and I took it on my buckler, smashing him back against his prancing, panicked mount. The horse swung round, kicking, and Hain was flung away. He stumbled, flailing wildly, and splashed onto his back. As he fell I hacked
down against his head. Then I broke his shield arm and set a foot against his sword arm, and knelt astride his chest, holding him down, under the water.

He struggled awhile, but my first blow had stunned him, and he was no hard opponent. I watched bubbles burst from his mouth and then slow, and then felt him still, and saw the bubbles cease. I rose, dragging him up.

“Hain’s dead!” I roared. “Shall the Quan surrender now? Or shall they die?”

In the hubbub no one at first heard me. I shouted again, and around me men stared, lowering their blades. Jaime came to me and helped me lift the body higher, adding his voice to mine.

“Hain’s dead. Killed in fair fight. Surrender or die!”

The clamor eased, individual combats ending as our shouts were heard, and then ceased altogether. The Quan began to lay down their swords. Mattich came splashing up the stream, trailing his blade to wash off the blood, adding his voice to ours.

I cried out, “Do we speak of peace now?”

There was a murmur of agreement, and a young man waded toward me. He was dressed in fine armor, and beneath his half helm, I saw that he bore Hain’s features. He carried his sword in his left hand, beneath his buckler: indication of surrender.

“I am Roark,” he said. “Hain’s son. You have beaten us, and I acknowledge our defeat.” He offered me his sword. “Slay only me, eh? But let the clan go.”

“Why should I slay you?” I asked.

“Because I fought you,” he said. “And because I am my father’s son.”

“Do you share your father’s intentions?” I asked him. “Must I fight you, too?”

“I don’t understand.” He unlatched his helm and stared at me. He looked confused. “My father would have slain you and taken Ellyn to Talan. I fought beside him, so I am no less guilty.”

“What
would
you have done?” I asked. “Had you not followed your father?”

He hesitated awhile, then shrugged and said, “I’d fight with you, against the Danant.”

“But I slew your father,” I said.

He looked at me. He was a handsome youngster, about Ellyn’s age I thought, with none of his dead father’s fat, nor those shifting eyes. He seemed to me honest, and genuinely regretful.

“Must I,” he said, “I’ll face you in single combat.”

“But?”

“I do not think I could defeat you. I think you should slay me, and claim the Quan for your own.”

“And so bind them to our cause.”

He nodded. “Then I must fight you?”

I said, “No.”

He stared at me. “What then?”

“Swear fealty to Ellyn of Chaldor,” I said. “Join this alliance, so that all the clans fight our true enemy—all of us, together.”

He watched me awhile longer, then ducked his head and offered me his sword and shield. I saw that his blade was bloodied and his buckler dented: he had fought.

“I swear that the Quan are with you, Gailard. I shall follow you, and my clan with me. You command us now.”

I said, “No. You are chieftain of the Quan still, and you follow Ellyn, not me.”

“As you wish.” He knelt. I feared he’d drown like his father, and took his shoulders, lifting him.

“Stand up.” I put an arm around his shoulders and raised my sword, and shouted, “The Quan are with us now!”

There was a great uproar then, swords rattling against shields and men shouting. Warriors who had not long ago traded blows and sought to slay one another embracing. I suppose that we Highlanders are sometimes emotional, and our ways are both quicker and slower than those of other
lands. But I knew that Roark was with me, because he had pledged his blade, and I could trust him.

I held him to me, Mattich and Jaime with me, and shouted, “Now the clans are one, and we go to Chaldor!”

There was a great bellowing at that, and I heard men roar my name as if I led them all, as if I were lord of all the Highlands. I felt proud, and embarrassed, and shouted Ellyn’s name, gesturing that Mattich and the other chieftains join me, and after a while I heard her name taken up until the valley rang with it, and I knew they’d follow her. Perhaps only because I was with her—but still they’d follow because they were pledged now, by word and blood, and I knew we had the army we needed to overthrow Talan and take Chorym back. It would not be easy, for even with five clans at our command we were still outnumbered. But Talan’s forces must be spread across all Chaldor, whilst we were massed in a single force that I planned to bring against Chorym in a preemptive attack. All hinged on that, but I knew now that I could avenge Andur and give Ellyn her rightful throne.

I raised my blade high and bellowed with the rest.

N
either Ellyn nor Shara had taken part in the skirmish. Shara had persuaded her pupil that it were better they leave this fight to the warriors, that there be no possibility of any accusing them of using magic, lest the hoped-for victory be later questioned. They waited nervously until riders came ahead of the main force and the two women went to meet the victors as they returned, both their faces alight with joy that they were safe and the battle won.

“Shall Roark hold to his promise?” Ellyn asked Gailard as they sat celebrating. “Or shall he take the Quan away?”

“He’ll hold,” Gailard answered. “He gave me his word.”

“And you trust him?” She sipped her brose thoughtfully—the gods knew, but she’d found a taste for the liquor—and fixed her guardian with an inquiring stare. “After all, you slew his father.”

“He gave his word,” Gailard repeated.

“But you slew his
father,”
she repeated. “How can he forgive that, or forget it?”

“He’s now chieftain of the Quan,” Gailard said, and chuckled (perhaps cynically), “and that likely assuages his hurt. But—more important!—he knows I slew his father in fair fight, and by Highlander custom that denies him any
right to vengeance or blood feud. And he acknowledged that—and swore to support your claim. I trust his word.”

She frowned as he smiled fondly, knowing she had things to learn about the Highlanders. They were both a little drunk on the brose and victory and thoughts of what was surely to come. “And I trust you,” she said, “for you’re my champion and my guardian.” Then frowned anew and said, “What if you’re wrong? What if he takes the Quan to Talan, or away into the Highlands?”

“He won’t,” Gailard said. “Wait and see.”

And sure enough, as they traveled westward, Ellyn’s head aching from the celebrations, Roark brought the Quan to meet them.

They moved in a great mass now, as if, Gailard told her, in the days of old when the clans came raiding into Chaldor, joining to attack the rich valley lands. In time many would turn back, leaving only the warriors to proceed, but for now women and old men and children came with them, baggage stowed on the sturdy little Highland horses that seemed like ponies beside the mounts Ellyn and Shara and Gailard rode, and the Quan stood across their path.

The scouts had brought word of course, but that was only of a Quan camp where fires burned peacefully and meat roasted as if they readied for a feast—which is exactly what they did. Roark came to meet them, flanked by only two warriors, and none armored, bearing only those weapons every clansman carries out of habit.

He held the peace pole himself, a length of pine wrapped round with white cloth and tufted at its top with white goose feathers. He halted his horse as they approached and bowed from his saddle.

“Well met, Gailard.”

“Well met, Roark.”

Ellyn saw his eyes shift from her guardian to herself and Shara. Saw them hesitate a moment on Shara and then fix on her, and widen. She gasped involuntarily, amazed at
what that look made her feel. She had thought Gailard handsome—in a rough way—and felt those confused emotions, unsure whether she loved him or merely depended on him. But Roark … there was something magical in that look.

“He’s beautiful,” she murmured, unthinking. Then blushed as Gailard chuckled and Shara favored her with a quizzical glance.

And before she had time to gather herself, Roark was down from his saddle and kneeling before her.

He offered his sword and shield, and said, “Queen of Chaldor, I pledge you my loyalty and the loyalty of my clan. The Quan shall follow you to Chorym’s walls, and can we not give you back your rightful throne, then I shall fight unto my death in that purpose.”

Ellyn licked her lips, and felt her cheeks grow warm, and wondered if her companions saw it. She slid gracefully from her saddle and set a hand on Roark’s proffered shield. He stared at her across the scarred surface of the buckler, and for a moment she was tempted to giggle—his gaze reminded her of an adoring dog. Then Gailard cleared his throat and she realized she stared back, no less entranced.