Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
“Not in seven years, not in seven times seven, tyrant,” Bard cried, leaping to his feet, and flung down at the king’s feet the red cord the king had given him in battle. “All the gods grant that we meet in battle when you are guarded only by your son there and his trustworthy catamite! You speak of lawbreaking?
What law is stronger than that which binds a man to his wife, and you, sir, are flouting that!” He turned away from the king and strode toward where Carlina stood among the women.
“What do you say, my wife? Will you, at least, show justice within the law, and follow me into exile as a wife should do?”
She raised her eyes to him, cold and tearless.
“No, Bard, I will not. An outlaw has no claim, and no protection in law. I would have done my father’s will and married you; but I begged him once to spare me this marriage, and now I rejoice that he has changed his mind; and you know why.”
“There was a time when you said you could love—”
“No,” she interrupted him. “I call Avarra to witness; I thought, perhaps, when I had grown older and you, perhaps, wiser, if the Goddess was merciful to us, we might one day come to love each other as it was suitable for married people. It would have been even more truthful to say that I hoped for it, not that I believed it would come to pass. There was a time when I loved you well as foster brother and friend. But you have forfeited that.”
His face twisted in a gesture of contempt. “So you are like all the other women, bitch! And I thought you something different and above them!”
Carlina said, “No, Bard, I—” but King Ardrin gestured her to silence.
“No more, girl. You need hold no more parley with him. Henceforth he is nothing to you. Bard mac Fianna,” he said, “I give you three days to quit my realm. After that time I lay on you the doom of an outlaw; no man, woman or child in this realm may give you roof or shelter, food or drink, fire or fuel, aid or counsel. And for the space of seven years, if you are found within the borders of this realm, you shall be slain like a wolf at any man’s hand, and your body given to wild beasts without public
mourning or burial. Now go.”
Custom demanded that the outlaw should bend the knee to his king in token that he accepted his doom.
Perhaps, if King Ardrin had given him the customary sentence, Bard would have done so; but he was young and proud, and raging with frustration.
“I will go, since you leave me no remedy,” he snarled. “You have named me wolf; wolf I shall be from this day forth! I leave you to the mercy of those two you have chosen over me; and I shall return when you cannot forbid me. And as for you, Carlina—” his eyes sought her out, and the girl cringed. “I swear that I will have you, one day, whether you will or no; and that I vow to you, I, Bard mac Fianna, I, the wolf!”
He spun on his heel and went forth from the great hall, and the doors swung shut behind him.
Chapter Six
But where will you go?” Dom Rafael of Asturias asked his son. “What are your plans, Bard? You are over-young to set forth outside the realms of your own kingdom, alone and outlawed!” Bard’s father all but wrung his hands. “Lord of Light, what folly and what misfortune!”
Bard shook his head impatiently. “What’s done is done, Father,” he said, “and bewailing will not better it. I was ill-done-by; the king your brother showed me small justice and no mercy, for a quarrel I never wanted. All I can do is to set my back to the court of Asturias and seek better fortune elsewhere.”
They were standing in the room that had been Bard’s own since his father had brought him to his own house, to rear with his own legitimate son; out of kindness or sentiment, Dom Rafael had kept the room ready for Bard, though he had not set foot in it since he was twelve years old. It was a boy’s room, not a man’s, and there was not much in it that Bard cared to take with him into exile.
“Come, Father,” he said, almost affectionately, laying his hand on the older man’s shoulder, “it’s not worth grieving. Even if the king had showed me leniency, and had only sent me from court for that damnable midwinter folly, I could hardly have stayed here; Lady Jerana loves me as little as ever. And now she can hardly conceal her rejoicing that I am well out of her way, for good and all.” His grin was fierce. “I wonder if she thinks I would try to seize Alaric’s heritage, as the king came to think I coveted Beltran’s? After all, in days past, the elder son was often shown preference over the legitimate son.
Come, Father, has it never crossed your mind, that perhaps I would not be content to see Alaric
preferred before me, and try to take what is lawfully his?”
Dom Rafael di Asturien looked up at his tall son seriously. He was a man a little past the prime of age, broad-shouldered, with the look of a muscular and active man who has let himself go soft in retirement.
He said, “Would you so, Bard?”
Bard said, “No,” and turned over in his fingers a hawk hood he had made when he was eight years old.
“No, Father, do you think me wholly without honor, because of this quarrel I have had with my foster brothers? That was folly, drunken folly and something akin to madness, and if I could mend it—but not even the Lord of Light can turn back time, or undo what has been done. And as for Alaric and his heritage—Father, there are many bastard sons who grow up as outcastes, with no name but the name of a dishonored mother, and no man’s hand to guide them, and no more fortune than they can wrest from the world by the toil of their hands, or by banditry. But you reared me in your own house, and from childhood I had good companions, and was well taught, and was fostered in the king’s house when it was time for me to learn the skills of manhood.” With a shyness surprising in the arrogant young warrior, he reached out and embraced his father. “You could have had peace in your bed and at your fireside, had you been willing to send me away to be prentice to a smith or a farmer or some tradesman.
Instead I had horses and hawks and was raised as a nobleman’s son, and you endured strife with your lawfully wedded lady for this. Do you think I can forget that, or try to have more than this generous portion, from the brother who has always called me brother, and never
bastard
? Alaric is my brother, and I love him; I would be worse than ingrate, I would be wholly without honor, if I laid a hand on what is rightfully his. And if I have any regret for my quarrel with that damnable sandal wearer Beltran, it is that I might somehow have harmed you or Alaric.”
“You have not harmed me, my son,” Dom Rafael said, “though I shall find it hard to forgive Ardrin for what he has done to you. When he cast a slight upon your loyalty, he cast a slight upon mine, causing me to question what I have never questioned before, that he was rightfully king of this land. And as for harming Alaric—” he broke off, laughed and said, “You may ask him that for yourself. I think he is glad enough to see you home that he would welcome whatever sent you here.”
As he spoke the door opened, and a very small boy, about eight years old, came into the room. Bard turned away from the saddlebags he was packing.
“Well, Alaric, you were only a little boy when I went away to the king’s court, and now you are nearly old enough for your own spurs and honor!” He hugged the child and swung him up in his arms.
“Let me go with you into exile, my brother,” the child said fiercely. “Father wants me to go and be fostered in the house of that old king! I don’t want to serve a king who would exile my brother!” He saw Bard laugh and shake his head, and he insisted, “I can ride; I can serve as your page, even your squire, take care of your horse and carry your arms—”
“No, now, my lad,” Bard said, setting the boy on his feet, “I shall have no need for page or squire on the roads I must ride now; you must stay and be a good son to our father while I am in outlawry, and that means learning to be a good man. As for the king, if you are quiet and reasonable and speak low, he will like that better than being brave and speaking your mind; he is a fool, but he is the king and he must be obeyed, were he as stupid as Durraman’s donkey.”
“But where will you go, Bard?” the child insisted. “I heard the men crying the doom of outlawry on you at the crossroads, and they said that no one could give you food or fire or help—”
Bard laughed. “I shall carry food for three days,” he said, “and before that time is over I shall be well out of Asturias, into lands where no one gives heed to King Ardrin’s dooms and justices. I have money with me and a good horse.”
“Will you go and be a bandit, Bard?” the boy asked, his eyes wide in wonder, and Bard shook his head.
“No; only a soldier. There are many overlords who can used a skilled man.”
“But
where
? Will we know?” the boy asked, and Bard chuckled, answering only with a snatch of an old ballad:
I shall fare forth to the setting sun
Where it sinks beyond the sea;
An outlaw’s doom shall be my fate
And all men flee from me.
“I wish I were going with you,” the boy said, but Bard shook his head.
“Each man rides with his own fate, brother, and your road is to the king’s house. His own son is grown, but he has a new fosterling, Garris of Hammerfell, who is your own age, and no doubt you’ll be foster brothers and
bredin;
which, no doubt, is why he sent for you.”
“That,” Dom Rafael said with a sardonic curl of his lip, “and to make it certain I understood that his quarrel was with you, and not with me. Well, if he wishes to think me so quickly forgetful, be it so. And as for you, Bard, you could ride to the border and take service with The MacAran. He holds El Haleine against strife on all sides, and there are bandits, and cat-things coming down out of the Venza hills; he will be glad enough of a good sword.”
“I had thought of that,” Bard said, “though it is over near Thendara and there are Hasturs there. Some of Geremy’s kin might declare blood-feud on me, and I would need to guard my back night and day. I would rather be out of Hastur country for a few years.” He bit his lip and stared at the floor. A picture of Geremy was before his eyes, white and wasted from illness, halting on the lame leg. Damn Beltran who had drawn Geremy into their quarrel! If he must have maimed a foster brother, why could it not have been the one with whom he truly had a quarrel? A foolish quarrel, but still a quarrel; he and Geremy had seldom exchanged a cross word; and by his hand Geremy had been lamed for life. He set his teeth and mentally turned his back on the memory. What was done was done. It was all too late for regrets. But he felt he would give the best ten years of his life to see Geremy whole again, and feel his foster brother’s hand in his. He swallowed fiercely and clenched his jaw.
“I had thought of riding to the east and taking service with Edric of Serrais. It would feed my soul to make war on King Ardrin! It would teach him, perhaps, that I am better as friend than foe!”
Dom Rafael said, “I cannot advise you, my son. Far less can I lay a command on you. You are of age, and soon you will be far beyond the reach of my word; and you have your own way to make in the
world for seven years. But I beg of you; spend the years of your exile far from Asturias, and make no war upon our kinsmen.”
“I had not thought of that,” Bard said. “If I join the ranks of King Ardrin’s enemies, he will consider you his enemy as well; in a sense, Alaric is hostage for my good behavior. I cannot face him in battle while he is foster father to the brother I love.”
“Not only that,” Dom Rafael said. “Seven years, at your age, will but bring you well into manhood.
When you return—and after seven years have come and gone you will be free to return—you can make your peace with Ardrin, and make for yourself an honorable career in the land of your birth.”
Bard snorted amusement. “Ardrin of Asturias will make his peace with me when the she-wolf of Alar leaves off gnawing at her victim’s heart, and when the
kyorebni
in winter bring food to the starving rabbithorns! Father, while Beltran and Geremy live, I will never find peace here, even if Ardrin no longer lives.”
“You cannot be sure of that,” Dom Rafael said. “One day Geremy will return to his own country; and Prince Beltran may die in battle. And Ardrin has no other son. Should Beltran die sonless, Alaric is the king’s next heir, and I think he knows it; and that is why Alaric is being fostered in his house, for the proper education of a possible prince.”
“Queen Ariel is not yet past childbearing,” Bard said. “She might yet give the king another son.”
“Still, if it came to that, the new king could have no quarrel with you, and might well be glad of a kinsman, even
nedestro
, with your skill at war.”
Bard shrugged. “Be it so,” he said. “For your sake, and my brother’s, and for the sake of that claim to the throne, I will make no war on King Ardrin; though it would do my heart good to ride against him in war, or to storm Asturias and take Carlina by force of arms.”
Alaric asked, wide-eyed, “Is the Princess Carlina so beautiful?”
“Why, as to that,” Bard said, “I suppose all women are much the same when the lamp is out. But
Carlina was the king’s daughter, and she was reared as my foster sister, and I loved her well; and she was promised to me, and by all the laws she is my handfasted wife. It goes against all the laws and against all justice that some other man shall take my promised wife to bed!” And again the bitterness surged in him, rage against Carlina who had refused to follow him into exile as a promised wife should do, rage against Beltran and Geremy who had come between them, rage against Melora who had driven him to Carlina in such frustration that he had lost his self-control and drunk too much and laid rough hands on her…
“Perhaps,” said little Alaric, “you will do some foreign king a great service, and he will give you his daughter—”
Bard laughed. “And half his kingdom, as the old tales have it? Stranger things have happened, I
suppose, little brother.”
“Have you everything you need?” his father asked.
“King Ardrin, damn him, paid me off well,” Bard said. “I rode away in a fury, too angry to claim what he had given me, and here comes a flunkey after me, hot-foot, with all the things the king had promised me, a golden gelding from the plains of Valeron, and a sword and dagger which might well have been heirlooms among the Hastur kin, and the suit of leather armor I wore on the fields of Snow Glen, and a purse of four hundred silver royals, and when I came to count it I found he had added fifty copper
reis
too. So I cannot say I was ill-paid for my years of service to him; he could hardly have been more generous to one of his captains of twenty years going home to retirement! He bought me off, Zandru lash him with scorpion whips! I would like to send it all back to him, saying that since he had