The Guardian (30 page)

“We’d best be on our way,” Shara said, and took us northward, toward the Styge.

T
hat night we camped beside a stream of clear water in which trout basked. I caught us three and cooked them over a fire of hickory. We ate well, if silently, for Ellyn’s mood had not changed, and no sooner had she picked the last flesh from the bones than she retired to her tent.

I looked to Shara for help, for explanation. The night was clear and a near-full moon shone from a sky all filled with stars. The night breeze was soft and scented with the aroma of our fire and the wood in which we rested, with the sweet grass and the little flowers. The Barrens seemed far behind; our problems seemed imminent.

“She loves you,” Shara said. “Or thinks she does.” Then laughed at my expression. “Why not? You’re not so bad-looking, and you’ve proven your worth. The gods know, but you were gallant when you rode out against those creatures, and doubtless you’ve proved your courage before.”

“I could be her father,” I protested. “She’s a child.”

“She’s a young woman,” Shara returned me. “She’s neither child or woman yet, but poised betwixt the two, and thus confused.”

I shook my head helplessly. Ellyn was confused? I felt no less certain.

“Listen to me,” Shara said. “Her parents are slain and she’s alone—save for you …”

“And you,” I interrupted.

“Her rival now,” Shara said, smiling. “Can you not see it, Gailard? Andur set his geas on you and Ryadne charged you with Ellyn’s care—you’re the only fixed point in her world. What else has she? To ride with the Dur as Mattich hides from Eryk? Then on into clan wars? To go into a world she knows nothing about, knowing Nestor’s set his hunters on her trail? No! The only sure, fixed thing she knows is you, so she looks to you for all that certainty she’s lost. And she becomes a woman, and so she decides she loves you.”

I worried a bone from between my teeth and took our plates to the stream. As I scrubbed them clean I said, over my shoulder, “But she’s so young, and I’m so old.”

“Not so old,” Shara said, “and a great hero.”

I shook the plates and turned. She stood behind me, looking down with solemn eyes.

“A great hero?” I must admit that I liked that appellation.

“Yes. I think so.”

I rose. Her face was a little way below mine, and we stood very close. I could smell her hair and the musky scent she carried on her skin.

“And all the rest she said?”

Shara shrugged. “The angry voice of a young woman.”

I looked into her eyes and said, “Perhaps she spoke the truth.”

“Did she?”

I put my hands on her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

The night was warm, but even so I felt a greater warmth emanating from Shara’s body. I felt myself stiffen. I pulled her toward me, and she pulled back.

“No!” She set hands against my chest and pushed me away. “This is complicated enough, no?”

I let her go. But still I must ask: “Why can it not be simple?”

“Because it’s not,” she said. “Because we must consider Ellyn, and all she means.”

I groaned. It had been a long time since I’d had a woman, and in that instant I wanted Shara more than any woman I’d known.

“We must reach my broch,” she said, “and see Ellyn safe. I must teach her. You understand that, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“And is that not more important?” she asked. “That Ellyn comes into her power and defeats Talan and Nestor?”

I ducked my head again; but I wanted her then, so much.

“W
e found him crawling away from the harbor,” the guardsman said, “and recognized him as one of your captains, so we patched him up as best we could and brought him here.”

He indicated Nassim, who stood—barely—dripping water and blood onto the tiles of the palace floor. Kerid sprang forward, putting arms around his friend that Nassim not fall down.

“Come, sit.” He brought the staggering man to a wide bench and laid him down. “A healer, for the gods’ sakes! Will you send for a healer?”

Mother Hel nodded and barked orders that sent startled servants running.

Nassim said, “Forgive me. They took me by surprise.” Pain and river water made his voice harsh.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Kerid answered. “What happened?”

“It was Tyron,” Nassim explained. He shivered as he spoke, and gritted his teeth against the hurt of the knife wounds. “I killed him, but there were three more. I cut them, but I think they live still.”

“Not for long,” Mother Hel declared, and turned to the guardsman. “Find them! I want them brought to me. Alive.”

The guardsman looked confused and Kerid said, “Speak with my other captains. Ask them who’s looked for berths these past days—strangers, likely claiming to be refugees from Chaldor.”

“And bring them here, to me,” Mother Hel said. “Alive.”

The guardsman saluted and ran from the hall: the Mother’s tone brooked no delay.

The healer came and servants carried Nassim to a bed, where the healer began to perform her rituals. Nassim fell into a deep sleep.

“Shall he live?” Kerid stared at the supine body.

“Likely.” The healer washed blood from her hands. “He’s strong, and filled with purpose. But, also, he’s bad cut and swallowed much water. I’ll tend him again when he wakes.”

Mother Hel ordered a second bed brought to the room, where the healer would sleep, and beckoned Kerid to accompany her.

“Your war comes home to me,” she said when they were alone, “and I do not like it.”

“No more than I.” Kerid filled a glass, pacing anxiously. “These must be the assassins Nassim spoke of.”

“Perhaps.” Mother Hel nodded, her young face stormy “Or was it just some dockside brawl?”

“I told you what Nassim told me.” Kerid spun around, spilling wine that fell unnoticed on the floor. “Who else would attempt this?”

“You command a pirate crew,” the Mother said, “and pirate crews are wont to fight.”

“Not mine.” Kerid set his glass down lest he shatter it in his anger. “And that by your orders. My crews do not fight in Hel’s Town.”

“No, that’s true. So what do you think?”

“That it’s as Nassim believed—Talan sends assassins against us.”

“We’ll find out,” she said, “when they’re brought in. I’ll
have answers of them, then …” She left the rest hanging, full of ominous promise.

I
t took a day to find them all, but they were dragged to the palace by Mother Hel’s fish-mailed guards and delivered to a section Kerid had not seen before, nor—save for his anger—wished to see now.

There was a door of dark wood that opened on a winding stairway, leading down through gloom lit by lonely lanterns to darker quarters that were surely below the level of the river. Braziers glowed, heating metal instruments, and other apparatus stood menacingly about the central chamber.

The three surviving men were strapped to benches, naked. Kerid could not tell if they sweated from the heat of the braziers or from fear, but he shivered. He watched as Mother Hel approached the closest. She held a cat in her arms, half-grown, and dropped the animal onto the man’s body. He winced as the claws dug into his flesh, bucking against the restraining leather. The cat mewed and sprang away, darting from the dungeon. Its claws left bloody tracks down the man’s belly, and Kerid, for all his desire to punish them, could not help but wince in sympathy.

He watched as Mother Hel leaned close over the man. She wore a gown of black that hugged her body tight, and was cut low across her breasts. In other circumstances it would have been seductive. She said, “Who sent you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Who sent you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Who sent you?”

“No one! I don’t understand.” The prisoner stared at her with wide and fearful eyes. “I came to join Kerid in his fight.”

She gestured, and a huge man clad in leather stepped forward, carrying a metal rod that glowed red at its tip.

“Shall I tell him to put this to your eyes? Or to your manhood? Tell me who sent you. Tell me that and I’ll only
have you branded. Your choice: to go free with the world knowing you wronged Mother Hel, or to die in pain. You’ll tell me, either way.”

The man said, “No one sent me.”

Kerid turned away as the rod was applied to the man’s flesh. He could not block out the screams.

“Useless,” he heard the Mother say. “Try the next.”

There was a rack, and a wheel, a tub of water that might boil lobsters, but all the prisoners did was scream and die.

“They’ve been magicked,” the Mother said when the last man was consigned to the river. “There’s a geas on them that only a Vachyn might set. Ordinary men would have spoken.”

Kerid wondered how she could talk so calmly. The gods knew, he’d slain men without thought, but in battle, not like that. He stared at this woman he slept with—perhaps loved—and wondered what he did. Then set aside the wonder, for he needed her to defeat Talan and … he was not sure.

“Vachyn magic,” she said when they reached her chambers. “Only the Vachyn can seal men’s tongues like that.”

“So?” Kerid filled a glass. He felt a need to wash his mouth clean.

“So?” Mother Hel turned toward him, her face older in its ire. “Do you not understand? Hel’s Town stands inviolate of politics or Vachyn magicks—that’s the understanding. That’s always been the understanding! But now …” She took a kitten from her shoulder and tossed it onto the bed. “That agreement has been broken. And who would break it but Talan?”

She stared at Kerid.

“How many boats do you need?”

He stared back at her. “For what?”

“To defeat Talan, you idiot! To invade Danant and destroy this presumptuous upstart who assumes to send assassins into
my
realm.”

Kerid topped his glass and began to calculate numbers.

T
he hunter wiped Jach’s blood from its mouth and curled into the straw. The human thing had told it more than it knew, and now there was a clear direction, information confirmed by aetheric instinct: the Highlands. Tomorrow it and its fellows would go there; tonight it would sleep, sated. Come first light, they would continue the hunt.

It felt no doubt that they would find their quarry.

“I
am bored.” Talan set down his cup. “I have conquered this sorry country, and now I’d go home to Danant” He looked to Egor Dival. “How say you?”

“We own it,” Dival replied. “We’ve our soldiers at all the borders, and there’s no more resistance.”

“There’s still Ellyn,” Nestor said.

“I’ve patrols on all the roads.” Dival addressed himself to Talan, not looking at the sorcerer. “And her likeness posted on trees, in taverns—everywhere—with a reward that must tempt the loyalest of Andur’s folk.”

“And there’s still the pirates,” Nestor said.

“Are your assassins not dealing with them?” asked Dival.

“Yes.” The Vachyn smiled at the general. It was a smile that held no humor or friendship, only the promise of scores to be settled later. He turned toward Talan. “But until they are dealt with, I think it unwise you cross the river. They might, even now, wait for that.”

“I can take a fleet,” Talan said, “and you. Surely that would be protection enough?”

“Of course,” Nestor agreed, “but do you return to Danant, shall folk not say you fled?”

“I flee from nothing!” Talan glared at the sorcerer.

“I know that.” Nestor’s voice was oily, his smile unctuous. “But with Ellyn—Chaldor’s heir—abroad, folk might think you fear her.”

Talan looked to Dival, who said, “Danant prospers, all
despatches report that the land fares well. The harvest is in, and …”

“I know all that!” Talan snapped. “And I’d go home. What do you think, Egor?”

Dival hated to agree with the Vachyn, but in this he felt no choice, so he said: “It might be as he says. I think you should remain here, at least until spring. Rebuild Chorym, and let all Chaldor—all the world—know that you are now the Lord of Chaldor and Danant, both.”

Talan grunted irritably. “And Ellyn?”

“I’ll send embassies to the Highland clans,” Dival said, “offering reward do they bring her to us.”

“Save my hunters shall find her first,” Nestor said, “and slay her. Her and Gailard.”

Egor Dival shrugged. “Either way, I deem it wise you remain. You must let Chaldor know that you rule now, and fear nothing.”

“I agree,” said Nestor.

“By all the gods!” Talan began to laugh. “ I’d never thought to see you two in agreement.”

Nestor beamed; Dival scowled.

Talan said, “Very well, I shall remain until winter’s ending. But is Ellyn not found by then, or dead, I go home.”

Dival said, “She’ll be found by then, I’m sure.”

Nestor said, “She’ll be dead by then, my word on it.”

“I
am Pawl of Danant, sent by my lord Talan, who now commands all of Chaldor.” The emissary bowed deep for all he felt scant respect of this Highlander savage. “My lord holds Chorym and all the lands around, and he would make alliance with you.”

Eryk smiled, glancing sidelong at Rytha. “So Talan would make us his friends, eh?”