The Heirs of Hammerfell (10 page)

"In a storm such as this? But why would he do so?"

"This is not the first time he has burned out tenants and thrust them homeless into the winter when they cannot fight, but must run to seek shelter from the elements," said Conn. "I hear he wishes to keep more beasts for wool and cloth on this land, since the beasts are of more profit to him than farming tenants growing their own food."

"Aye, that's true," said Farren, "he drove out my grandfather from a croft where he had lived fifty years, leaving the poor old man nothing to do but hobble to the lowland cities to find work as a warehouseman there, and lucky to get it. Now only woolies graze where my grandfather grew his crops."

"Storn is not the only one to follow that vicious practice," said Conn. "His own tenants―if they will put up with it―are not my affair. But I have sworn that

Hammerfell men shall not be used so. I did not know about your grandfather, Farren; should I be victor over Storn and reclaim my lands, he shall have his home back as well; men so old and feeble should not have to toil and sweat for their porridge."

"In his name, I thank you," said Farren, bending to kiss his lord's hand, but Conn colored and held out his hand for a friendly handclasp instead.

"And now let us ride; Storn's men will strike in the night and burn the old folk out of their houses. But

after tonight he shall know that Hammerfell lives and he shall not continue these crimes unchallenged."

One by one, they slipped out into the raging snowstorm, getting to their horses and mounting. It was Markos who led the way, Conn close behind him; the snow was

blinding, and it was almost impossible to see where he was going. But he trusted Markos implicitly, and he knew the old man recognized every rock and tree of these mountains; he need only keep close behind his old servant's horse. So he rode, half closing his eyes to keep out the blinding sleet, and letting the horse find his own way, one hand just touching, with secret pride, the hilt of his father's sword.

He had not expected this; it somehow seemed a more important rite of passage than this night's raid. He had gone with Markos more than once to harry the Storns―in fact, money and animals seized from them had kept him and Markos all these years. It would never have occurred to Conn to think of himself, or of Markos, as a thief; before his birth, the Storns had stolen most of his father's property and when he was a year old, they had burned the small remainder.

He and Markos believed quite reasonably that since Storn had all of Hammerfell's

property, a reasonable proportion of it should be diverted back to the support of its rightful owner.

But tonight Storn would learn who his enemy was and why he was being harassed.

The snow was so thick now that he could hardly hear the horse's hoofbeats; he gave the creature its head, knowing that if he tried to control it overmuch in this weather, the animal might lose its footing.

After a time Markos stopped, so abruptly that Conn almost rode his horse into the old man's.

Markos slid down and seized Conn's bridle.

"From here we walk," he whispered. "There may be some of his guards around, and they had better not see us."

"Oh. Right," he said, hearing what Markos did not say; the fewer he had to kill, the better for everyone. Storn's men were obeying orders and were not entirely responsible for what they must do―too much sympathy for the lordless Hammerfell tenants and

they would share their fate. Neither Conn nor Markos had much taste for needless

killing.

Silently, each man passed the whispered message to the one behind him, and the little party skirted the village, now leading their horses. Then the word ran to hold where they were, and be silent. Conn stood alone in the dark, feeling that his very breathing, the thumping of his heart must be audible to the people in the clustered cottages below.

But the cottages were almost all dark; only one of the ten or twelve had a light in the window. Conn wondered why―some oldster drowsing by the fire, a mother watching by a sick child, an elderly parent awaiting the return of a benighted traveler, a midwife at her work?

He waited, silent and motionless, the sword just loosened in its scabbard. Tonight I am truly Hammerfell, he thought. Father, wherever you are, I hope you know I am caring for your people.

Suddenly, from one of the cottages below, a wild yell rang out, and fire sprang up wildly through the storm-laden sky above the roofs; one of the buildings blazed up like a torch. There was screaming and confusion.

"Now!" Markos gave a terse command, and Conn's party hurled themselves onto their mounts and raced down the hill, screaming their outrage. Conn notched his how at the dark armed figures slipping round the houses with other torches in their hands. An arrow flew; one of the torchbearers fell without a cry. Conn filled another arrow. Now women and children and a few elderly and feeble men were coming out of the cottages,

staggering, half asleep, crying out in confusion and in pain. Another of the cottages blazed up, and then Conn's party rode into the melee, yelling like wild beasts and shooting arrows at the men of Storn who were burning out the village.

Conn bellowed at the top of his lungs, "Lord Storn! Are you here, or did you send your minions to do your dirty work and sit safe home by your own fireside this night? What do you say, Lord Storn?"

A long delay, with only the crackling of flames and the wailing of terrified children; then a stern voice called out.

"I am Rupert of Storn; who dares take me to task for what 1 must do? These wretched folk have been told again and again to vacate their houses; I do not do this unprovoked.

Who challenges my right to do as I will on my own lands?"

"These are not Storn lands," yelled Conn, "they are the rightful lands of Hammerfell! I am Conn, Duke of Hammerfell, and you may do your dirty work all you will at Storn, if your folk will allow it, but touch my tenants at your peril! Fine work this for a man―waning on women and little children still unbreched! Aye, and a few old gaffers!

How brave

are the men of Storn, when there are no menfolk to say them nay or protect the women and babes!"

A long silence. Then a reply came.

"I had heard that the wolf cubs of Hammerfell died in the fire that wiped out that accursed line. What upstart makes this lying claim?"

Markos whispered in Conn's ear, "Rupert is Storn's nephew and heir."

"Come forth if you dare," retorted Conn, "and I will prove to you that I am Hammerfell, prove it on your worthless carcass!"

"I do not fight with imposters and unknown bandits," replied Rupert's voice from the darkness. "Ride away as you came and cease to meddle with my people. These lands are mine and no nameless bandit shall inter―" The words choked off in a yell of pain and ended in a horrible spluttering sound; it was followed by a horrified screech of despair and rage. Farren's arrow, winging noiselessly out of the dark, had torn out Rupert's throat.

Markos shouted, "Now will ye come out and fight like men?"

There was a terse low-voiced command and Conn's men rushed at the Storn party in the shadows; the fight was bloody and brief. Conn cut down someone who rushed at him

with a pike, fought briefly with a second man who seemed to melt away in front of him, then Markos gripped his arm in a grasp of iron and dragged him away.

"On to your horse; they've had enough, and no more heart for their dirty work this night.

See, they're loading Rupert, or what's left of him, on the horse ... no more; they're gone,"

Markos said. And as' Conn, breathing hard and feeling faintly sick, let

Markos urge him into his saddle, the women and children, wearing the nightgear in which they had turned out of their beds, crowded round his horse in the snow.

"Is it really the young duke?"

"Hammerfell's come back to us!"

"Our own young prince."

They crowded close, kissing his hands, weeping, pleading.

"Now those bandits of Storn won't be able to turn us away . . ." one old lady said, holding up a torch she had snatched from one of Storn's vanished men. "You're the image of your father, dear lad―my lord," she amended quickly.

Conn stammered, "My people―I thank you for your welcome. I pledge to you―from this day there'll be no more burnings if I can prevent it. And no more war on women and babies."

"Aye," Markos muttered when at least they rode away silently into the night, "the hawk's loosed now from the block. From this day, lad―" he broke off, "No, you're no lad now―my lord, from this night they'll know there's a Hammerfell in these woods. I'd say you'd blooded your father's sword wi' honor this night."

And Conn knew he had taken up a challenge in a just cause. It was for this that he had lived in hiding all these years with Markos; it was for this that he had been born.

7

On the night of the full moons, Edric Elhalyn celebrated the eighteenth birthday of his youngest daughter Floria, at the Thendara palace of the Elhalyns. Among the guests were King Aidan and Queen Antonella, and as Edric had promised, during a break in the dancing, he came to where Floria and young Alastair of Hammerfell were seated

together, talking and quietly sipping a cold drink.

"I trust you are enjoying yourself, my dear," he said to his daughter.

"Oh, yes, Father! It is the most beautiful party ever. . . ."

"I am afraid I must interrupt you for the space of a dance or two. Alastair, as I promised you, I spoke to King Aidan―His Grace is eager to meet you. Please come with me."

Alastair made his apologies to Floria, then rose and followed Lord Elhalyn across the room through

the dancing couples and into an adjacent chamber, elegantly fitted with dark woods and hung with silken panels.

Seated in one of the elaborately upholstered chairs was a surprisingly small white-haired man; he was richly dressed and seemed bent with age, but the eyes he raised to them were focused and keen. He said, in a voice unexpectedly deep and strong, "Young Hammerfell?"

"Majesty," said Alastair, bowing low.

"Never mind that," said King Aidan Hastur, holding out his hand and waving Alastair to take a seat, "I know your mother; a charming lady; I have heard much about her from my cousin Valentine. He is, I think, eager to be your stepfather, young man, but he could not tell me what it is I really wish to know― about this blood feud which has all but wiped out both of these two mountain kingdoms. What can you tell me? How and when did it begin?"

"I do not know, sir," Alastair said. It was hot in the room, and he began to feel sweat trickling down inside his silken tunic. "My mother speaks of it but little; she said my father himself was not sure of its true cause and origin. I know only that my father and brother died when the armies of Storn burned Hammerfell over our heads."

"And even the street-singers in Thendara know that much," King Aidan said. "Some of these mountain lords have grown too arrogant for their own good; this challenges the peace we have won at such a price beyond the Kadarin. They think the Aldarans their overlords, and we are still at war with the Aldarans."

He scowled and considered, "Tell me, young man;

if I should help you to recover Hammerfell, would you be willing to be faithful vassal and lord under the Hasturs and fight for me if need came against the Aldarans?" As Alastair was about to speak, King Aidan interrupted, "No, don't answer at once; go home and think about it." He added: "Then come and tell me what you have decided. I need loyal men in the Hellers; otherwise, the Domains will be torn with war as they were in Varzil's day. And that would not be good for any of us. So go back to the party now, and in two days or three, when you have thought this through, come back and see me." He nodded and smiled to him pleasantly, then averted his eyes, an obvious indication that the audience had come to an end.

Lord Edric touched his shoulder; Alastair backed away, turned, and followed the older man out of the room. Go away and think, the king had said, but could there be any question what he should do? His first and only duty was the recovery and rebuilding of his home and his clan. If the price of that was loyalty to the Hastur kings, surely he could pledge that much.

Or could he? Was he giving up power which rightfully belonged to Hammerfell and to the mountain lords of the Hellers? Could he truly trust Aidan or any Hastur king? Or would the price paid be too high for royal favor and King Aidan's help in recovering his lands?

When he returned to where he had been talking with Floria, she was gone; across the room he could see the flash of the glittering gems in her pale hair. She was dancing a ring-dance with a dozen other girls and young men; absurdly he felt angry and jealous.

She could have waited for him.

It was not long before she came back, rosy and flushed from the exercise, and he could hardly keep himself from pulling her into his arms. Being a telepath, of course, she caught the impulse to which he did not give way, and blushed, smiling a smile so radiant that he might as well have kissed her. She whispered, "What happened, Alastair?"

He said, almost whispering, "I spoke with the king, and he has promised me his aid to recover Hammer-fell." He did not mention his part of the bargain.

She cried out, sharing his joy, "Oh, how wonderful!" And all through the room heads turned to look at her. She blushed again, and laughed a little.

"Well, whatever may come of it, we have made ourselves conspicuous; thanks be to Evanda we are under my own father's roof," she said practically. "Or there would be a scandal from here to―to Hammerfell."

"Floria," he said, "surely you know that when I am restored, the first thing I shall do is to speak to your father―"

"I know it," she said, almost in a whisper, "and I am as eager for that day as you." And for just a few seconds she was in his arms, kissing his lips so lightly that a minute afterward he hardly knew if it had happened or if he had dreamed it.

She let him go and reluctantly he came back to the ordinary world.

"We had better dance," she said. "Quite enough people are looking at us already."