The Guardian (44 page)

“I accept your pledge and thank you for it,” she said. “I am glad you are with us, and when we have taken back Chorym from the invaders I shall feast you.”

She was not entirely sure what went on between them. Only that her knees felt weak and her heart seemed to beat too fast beneath her ribs.

S
hara eased her mount closer to Gailard’s and whispered, “I suspect there’s more than pledges of loyalty here.”

“What do you mean?” Gailard watched as Roark gazed at Ellyn. He looked like some dog besotted with its master. Surely his eyes were wide and somewhat glazed, and he seemed suddenly at a loss for words. Gailard began to wonder if Roark’s tongue should loll and he begin to pant, or roll onto his back that Ellyn might tickle his belly.

“I think,” Shara murmured, “that we see love blossoming.”

“Ellyn and Roark?” Gailard shook his head.

“Why not?” she asked. “There are unlikelier matchings.”

Gailard looked at her eyes, her face, and Shara saw that he knew it was so.

She heard Ellyn say, “You’d best stand up, no? The chieftain of the Quan should not kneel too long.”

Roark stood, still staring at her. Then he smiled and ducked his head, “Shall I feast you first?” he asked. “I’ve readied for it.”

“I should be grateful,” Ellyn said.

She turned toward her bay. Roark went with her.

“Let me help you.”

She needed no help. The gods knew, but she could ride well enough before she set out on this unlikely adventure, and Gailard had taught her better since. She could certainly mount a horse unaided. But she dimpled a smile and let Roark set her foot in the stirrup and lift her astride, and after she was mounted beamed her thanks.

“A love match, I suspect,” Shara whispered.

Gailard nodded, obviously confused by the vagaries of women, or perhaps just by the thought of the war they must soon fight.

“So? Shall we go on?” he said.

Ellyn turned toward them as if his voice interrupted a dream. Roark looked startled—smiled and shrugged and blushed all at the same time—and sprang limber astride his mount. “I welcome you all as my guests,” he cried. “Do you follow me?”

T
hey ate well that night. There was fine venison roasting in the Quan camp, and good beef, and fresh-baked bread. Ale and brose were supplied in plenty, and sweet puddings of honey and oatmeal. All ate their fill, thinking that in the days to come there would be scarcer fare, and harder won. And all the time Ellyn and Roark gazed at one another, and
seemed like dumbstruck lovers touched by some godly finger that selected them from amongst all the folk they might have known and picked them out to find each other. Shara watched Gailard as Ellyn passed Roark food and he filled her cup, and they exchanged soft words she could not hear over the clamor, and wondered at his feelings.

Ellyn was his ward, his geas in human form. Was he jealous, or only protective? Shara was at his side (careful of what she drank, and both as close and as distant as those vague promises she’d made him) but she knew that he must first see Ellyn set safely on Chaldor’s throne.

She watched as Mattich pounded Gailard’s shoulder, chortling.

“The gods know, Gailard, but there’s a match, eh? Does this go on, there’ll be only one clan.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice thickened by the brose.

“Think on it,” Mattich said with drunken solemnity. “Ryadne wedded Andur and bound the Dur to Chaldor. Eryk wed Rytha and bonded the Devyn and the Agador. You slew Eryk, and that little girl who stares so fondly into Roark’s eyes slew Rytha—the Devyn and the Agador are thus bonded again—and the Arran are with us.” He paused to slap Jaime so hard on the shoulder that the Arran chieftain spilled brose over his breeches. “And now the Quan—in a love match, it seems. Does this go on, there’ll be only a single clan—following Ellyn.”

Then he fell over, tumbling against Gailard’s shoulder and sliding to the tent’s floor. Clayre sighed and smiled, and rose to lift her husband to his unsteady feet and called for help to take him away to their tent.

Which left a gap between Gailard and Shara.

He looked at her and she knew he wanted her. She smiled at him and said, “Shall we find our beds?”

“Yours?” He took her hand. “Or mine?”

“Ours,”
she replied.

He looked drunkenly at Ellyn and Roark. “Why not together?”

“Not yet,” she answered.

“Then when?” he asked. “The gods know, but I want you.”

She studied his face, aware that he spoke only the truth—for both of them. But no less aware that did she submit to her own feelings it could only complicate this curious situation. Ellyn had seen her as a rival for Gailard’s affections, and even now, for all the younger woman appeared quite smitten with Roark, she might well take offense did Shara allow her own emotions to govern her actions. She’d not make an enemy of Ellyn, and so … She stifled a sigh and smiled at Gailard.

“When this is over,” she said, her eyes encompassing the adoring couple. “When all’s settled—all debts and geases paid off—when Ellyn’s on her throne and both Talan and Nestor are slain or banished. Then we can talk of that.”

“That,” he muttered, “might take awhile. Talan will send an army against us. He’ll meet us at the Geffyn Pass, and …”

“We’ll meet him there,” she said. “We’ve the clans with us now, and the chance to defeat him.”

“And then go on to Chorym?” His voice was slurred, and she realized that he was drunker than she’d realized. He took her hands and let her help him to his feet. “And what if we can’t? Or if we do, and then we go on to Chorym? What then? Shall you then … ?”

They walked through the camp. She could smell his scent—sweat and leather—and it aroused her. But she fought down her desire, and when he sought to touch her, evaded his exploring hands.

“When it’s done. Eh, Gailard?”

“Your word?”

He faced her with drunken gravity, setting his hands on her shoulders. She was unsure whether he sought to impress his words on her, or only looked to support himself, but she nodded, and brought him grinning to his tent.

“My word on it.”

He beamed as if that were answer enough, and she saw him safely to his bed and left him there, returning to her own bivouac. It felt suddenly lonely.

“T
his is bad news.” Talan flourished the despatches with a scowl. “Our Highlander ally is slain and the clans join. They move toward us—all of them!”

“They must come through the Geffyn Pass.” Egor Dival set down his cup, crossing to the table where the great map was spread. “We can halt them there.”

“Let me face them,” Nestor said. “I can bring the whole pass down on them.”

“And if you fail?” Talan shook his head. “No, I want you here with me.”

“I’d not fail,” Nestor said confidently.

Talan favored the Vachyn with a troubled glare. “You claimed your hunters would slay Ellyn—but she’s disappeared. You promised your assassins would end the threat of the Hel’s Town pirates—but now a navy comes against me. No, you remain here with me.”

“The assassins were mortal men.” Nestor’s swarthy face darkened angrily. “They failed, yes; but I’ll vouch my life they did not say who sent them.”

“Does it matter?” Egor Dival enjoyed the sorcerer’s discomfort. “Obviously, they were apprehended and Mother Hel has guessed their source.” He glanced sidelong at Talan. “I advised against that move, no?”

“You did,” grunted the king of Danant and Chaldor irritably, “but what matter now? The Hel’s Town pirates are on the river. The gods know, they’ve put my craft to flight, and they seize town after town. How long before they land at Antium and move inland?”

Dival shrugged, continuing his study of the map.

Talan spun to face Nestor again. “And what of Ellyn? Does she ride with the barbarians?”

“I cannot tell,” the Vachyn admitted. “Save she uses magic, I cannot sense her.”

“She used magic to destroy your hunters.” Talan beckoned a servant to fill his cup. Drained it in one long swallow and added,
“Someone
used magic.”

“But not since,” Nestor murmured, “and save the talent is employed, I simply cannot find her.”

“But you knew where she was!” Talan shouted, prompting the waiting servants to start back. “You sensed magic then, you said. So tell me why she lives still.”

“If she does.” Nestor affected a calm mien. “Have I not explained this to you? That the magic that destroyed my hunters came from a long way off—likely from the Styge. And that place is masked by the magic inherent in the Barrens. I sensed the hunters’ deaths, but I cannot pinpoint the location of the mage who slew them. And save that mage uses magic again, I cannot know where he, or she, is.”

“Do you tell me there’s more than Ellyn ranged against me?” Talan stared aghast at his hired Vachyn.

“Perhaps.” Nestor shrugged. “But save there’s some further disruption of the aethyr, I am blind. Any sorcerer would be blind.”

“Then what use are you?” Talan snapped.

“I defeated Andur’s army, and the bulk of his fleet.” Nestor remained irritatingly calm. “I broke Chorym’s gates for you. Now, do you send me to the Geffyn Pass I shall destroy whoever comes against you.”

“I’d have you here with me. The gods know, do the Hel’s Town pirates come up the Great Road …” Talan snorted, shaking his head vigorously. “And a clansman army through the pass … No, you remain in Chorym. Egor, do you see to the disposition of our forces?”

The old general nodded. “I’ll reinforce Antium—I believe our men can stand off a pirate crew. And I’ll go to the Geffyn Pass myself. I’ll defeat the Highlanders and return here. Then, is it necessary, I’ll move against the pirates.”

“Excellent.” Talan held out his cup that it be refilled. “Give me a victory, eh?”

“I shall do my best,” Dival promised.

W
e came to Cu-na’Lhair as the Highlands’ summer ended. It was a pretty day, for all the nights now grew chill, and the sky stood blue as polished steel above us, billowed to the north with folds of white and grey that threatened rain. The air was edged with autumn’s promise. We had held council the nights before, and decided that this was where the women and children and old folk should leave us. Winter comes swift in the Highlands and the animals left behind would need tending, the brochs and homesteads mending, the crops gathering. I had feared that some warriors would desert us in face of a winter campaign, and spoken long of Chaldor’s soft winters, but none did. It seemed as if all were fascinated by this great adventure, nor less that those pledges made to Ellyn were held steadfast. I wondered how many would return here.

We camped outside the town—which had already sealed its gates against us and manned its walls—and I went with Shara and Ellyn, Mattich and Jaime and Roark to persuade the authorities that we intended no harm, but would go by peacefully to the Geffyn Pass.

It seemed the sheriff was appointed spokesman, for it was he answered my shout from the walls, kitted in full armor
and escorted by bowmen. I was aware of their unblinking eyes and the barbed arrowheads as we spoke.

“I am Gailard of the Devyn, also guardian of Chaldor’s Queen …”

“The Queen is dead,” he interrupted. “Ryadne slew herself.”

“Her daughter is alive.” I gestured at Ellyn, resplendent in her armor. “Ellyn is queen now, and would take back her throne.”

“That child? I’d heard Talan slew her, and that Gailard betrayed Chaldor.”

Ellyn snorted, setting her horse to dancing. I motioned her silent, but I heard Roark mutter a curse and say, “That child? One word and I’ll have his head.”

“Easy, easy.” I rode my bay a little closer to the walls and raised my voice again. Bows were adjusted to sight on my chest. “We come in peace. The clans have no quarrel with Cu-na’Lhair. We’d only trade and go on.”

“And shall we let you in, all you clansmen? We’ve received ambassadors from Chorym …”

“Talan’s!” Ellyn shouted. “Doubtless with soft words and easy promises. Trade with Chaldor, perhaps? Gold coins to fill your pockets? And in return—what? Danant’s soldiers stationed here?”

The sheriff was slow to answer. “There were … promises … made,” he allowed.

“I’d thought,” Ellyn replied, “that Cu-na’Lhair was neutral.”

Roark said, “We could take this place easily.”

I was proud of Ellyn’s response. “No! I’d not disrupt old ways, and we cannot afford to destroy this place.” Softer, so that only Shara and I might hear, she murmured, “But we could.” Then, louder to the sheriff, “I am Ellyn of Chaldor, daughter of Andur and Ryadne, and I go home to reclaim my parents’ throne and free Chaldor of Talan’s domination. Now shall you open your gates and let us in?”

“And do we not?” came the answer.

“Then we’ll go by,” Ellyn replied. “But know that if we do, Chaldor shall no longer trade with Cu-na’Lhair. I’ll build another town—far greater—and extend the Great Road, that all trade goes past this place, and you’ll become a backwater, shamed by your cowardice.”

She sounded to me like a true queen then, and I glanced at Shara, thinking that we’d taught her well. Shara met my eyes and smiled, not saying anything. The sheriff huffed and waved that we wait awhile, disappearing behind the ramparts.

He returned with several folk about him—the city fathers and burghers, I supposed. They all stared down at us and went away again, and then came back to announce that we six might enter to discuss our needs.

They were nervous. Danant’s ambassadors had assured them that Chaldor was firmly in Talan’s hands; that Ellyn was slain; that their best interests lay with Danant.

But all the clans stood camped in sight of the walls, and that army was a more immediate force than anything Talan might send—so they conceded that we might trade with them, and that Cu-na’Lhair would remain neutral. I breathed a sigh of relief when it was done, and was grateful to return to our camp. I’d not have a hostile town at our back as we entered the Geffyn Pass.

W
e remained six days outside Cu-na’Lhair—it was something of a festival, what with the trading and bartering—and when we left we took numerous folk with us: those who’d join our purpose and see Talan thrown back across the Durrakym.