The Heirs of Hammerfell (22 page)

as an excuse." She hesitated, "But if it is simply that you do not want my company. . . ."

"No, not at all," Erminie said. "I have no taste for long journeys alone; I would be more than glad of company. But―"

"Alastair is gone, and he is my promised husband," Floria said. "And Conn is gone―"

she stopped, unable to form the words, but Erminie knew what she would have said and motioned her to silence.

"Even the dogs are gone," she said, trying to make a joke of it. "Why should we stay here alone? But I do not know―have you ever ridden so far?"

"No," Floria confessed, "but I am a good rider; I will try not to hold you back. And Gavin has pledged to ride with us."

"By your leave―" Gavin Delleray came into the room and at the sight of him, Erminie had to laugh.

"You are welcome to escort me, my dear lad; but

not in that outfit! Go and borrow some sound, sensible riding clothes from Conn's room―"

"As you will," Gavin said lightly, "though I confess I had hoped to bring the latest fashions into the hills where no one knows anything of the proper cut of a coat." He went, and quickly came back attired in a leather tunic and riding breeches, a pair of Conn's boots laced halfway to his knee.

"I can only hope none of my court friends see me in this ridge-rider's getup," he grumbled. "I would never live it down."

"It is a long journey, and not an easy one unless you are mountain born," Erminie warned. But Floria and Gavin were undaunted, so she led the way to the stables. Floria had brought her best horse, and the women changed into riding skirts and heavy

cloaks― for, though it was warm in the city streets, Erminie knew it would be bitterly cold in the higher country to the north―and rode away toward the north gate of the city.

The first day's ride was mellow and sunny, and they slept at a quiet inn, supping well on cooked food to spare their dried journey bread and travel provisions. They were glad of Gavin's company; like any minstrel, he insisted on singing to them before they slept. The next morning was cold and gray and before they had ridden an hour it began to rain hard.

As they rode north in the rain they were silent, each woman wrapped in her own

thoughts; Floria thought sorrowfully of her promised husband, lying hurt or dead in Storn's castle, and guiltily longed for Conn; Erminie sadly relived the long-dormant memories of her marriage, and without really intending

it, found herself envying the young woman's intense love―something she, married so young to an older man, kind as he was, had never known. She had not really missed it till now when she witnessed―sadly secondhand―what young passion could be. She

was fond of Valentine, but she knew that a second marriage at her age was likely to bring companionship, even happiness―but hardly this kind of love.

Gavin rode with them, not really knowing why he had insisted on sharing this adventure.

Alastair was a kinsman and an old friend, and he had quickly become fond of Conn, but this was not reason enough to thrust himself uninvited into this kind of danger. He told himself that he might find material for a ballad in the story of the twin heirs to Hammerfell, and finally resolved that it must be simply the workings of fate. He had never believed in fate, but he felt inexplicably compelled to join this desperate mission and could think of no other explanation.

The rain grew heavier and colder as they crossed the mountain pass and went higher into the hills. By late afternoon of the third day it was mixed with snow, driving needles of sleet into their faces, and the horses found it heavy going on the trails that lay icy underfoot.

The paths were so slippery, and the narrow roads so confusing, that Erminie was hardly able to find ht-r way along the road she had traveled but once, and then in the opposite direction. Toward evening she began to fear that they were lost, and found herself reaching out telepathically for Conn, to verily which way he had gone, which of the confusing narrow trails was the road. But Conn was not alert for her touch and she had to reach through the

overworld, in search of some traveler who might be going the same way and knew the right road. This was not, strictly speaking, ethical for a trained telepath, but Erminie could think of no other way to avoid wholly losing herself, Gavin, and Floria in the unfamiliar woods.

Eventually they found themselves in a small mountain village; there was, she

discovered, no inn, but one of the villagers agreed to furnish them a bed and supper, at an extortionate price, and offered them a guide to the next village in the morning.

Erminie agreed, for want of any available alternative, though she was troubled; she lay awake half the night, while Floria slept beside her, fearing that the "hospitable" villagers might be thieves who would attack and rob them, or worse, during the night. But she finally succumbed to sleep and woke at the first light, untouched, with all her

possessions intact, and more than a little ashamed of her suspicions. She remembered that her husband and her son had both lived all their lives among mountain people, and that while there were doubtless villains among them―Lord Storn for instance―most of them were certainly decent, honorable people.

Another weary day of riding, with the village guide who set them on their path with instructions as to how to reach both Hammerfell and Castle Storn, brought them within one or two long days' travel to Hammerfell. At twilight of the fifth day, they came to a fork in the road marked by a cluster of trees which Erminie recognized as a landmark; the left path led upward to Hammerfell, the right-hand fork to the castle of Storn Heights, which could actually

he seen, a little horn of stone, over the crest of the mountain beyond.

Here Erminie hesitated; she was not certain whether she ought to travel to her own place at Hammerfell (which she had last seen in ruins) and seek out allies, or whether she should go directly to Storn and demand to nurse her injured son.

She broached her confusion to Floria, who said, "Conn did say that he had been living with Markos, Lady Erminie; I think you would do better to seek shelter there."

"But with Alastair in Storn's hands―" Erminie protested, "He may not be safe―"

"Have we not always been told that fire-truce is sacred to the mountain people?" Floria protested, "and Alastair was injured on Storn lands, during the fire; Storn could not do other than care for him honorably."

"I have no reason to trust in the honor of Lord Storn," Erminie said.

"All the more reason, then, not to trust yourself to him unannounced," said Floria.

Erminie could see the good sense of that, and they turned toward Hammerfell. They had ridden only a little way when the sound of approaching riders fell on their ears. Without the slightest notion of who might be approaching, Erminie and Floria guided their horses off the road and into the thicket of bushes. Then Erminie heard a familiar bark, and then a human voice she knew, although she had not heard it in half a lifetime.

"My lady Duchess?"

"dan it possibly be you, Markos, my old friend?"

"Yes, and I myself, Mother," Conn called, and

with an audible sigh of relief, Erminie rode onto the road, and fell almost fainting into Markos's arms. Having ascertained that his mother was safe, Conn gave Gavin a friendly hug, then hesitantly embraced Floria, too.

"You really should not have come," he scolded. "You would have been safer in Thendara, what with Alastair in Storn's hands, and seriously injured. . . ."

Breathing in the bracing mountain air, Erminie could not help remembering her old playfellow Alaric in Storn's castle, a captive, dying there. "How badly hurt is he? Has Storn made any threats?"

"Not yet," said Markos. "I dare say they will come later. My lady, I rejoice to see you alive and well. All these years I believed you dead―"

"And I you, old friend," said Erminie, taking her husband's old retainer's hand warmly.

Then, impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed the old man's cheek. "I owe you much gratitude for caring for my son all these years, Markos."

"The gratitude is mine, lady; he has been the son I never had," Markos said. "But now we must find shelter for you. It is late, and the night's rain will soon turn into snow―I wish I could show you Hammerfell rebuilt as it should be, but I fear that day is yet to come. If we rebuilt it under Storn's very eyes, he would have known there were still Hammerfells in these hills. In the meantime, there is a blizzard coming and I have a home which is at my lady's service, and folk to look after you and the young leronis."

"What of the fire, and Alastair?"

"I think the fire is out," said Conn, slowly. "There has been so much rain, and I saw an airship which

might have brought them help. There are leroni in Tramontana, Mother, and I think one of Storn's projects was to wheedle himself into their good graces, as if he were Comyn himself."

Erminie closed her eyes, focused on her starstone and extended her senses as far as she could. Silently calling on Floria to shield her, she scanned the countryside around as far as she could.

"The fire is out," she said at last, "the ground wet and steaming, a small patrol watching to make sure it does not blaze up again, and the men in the fire-camp bedded down for the night, to disperse to their homes in the morning, I suppose. But I see no sign of Alastair."

"He is not in the camp," said Conn. "He recovered consciousness a while ago―I felt his pain. He is sorely hurt, but not, I feel, in any immediate danger of death."

"Where is he, then?"

"He is within Storn Heights and, as far as I can tell, an honored guest," Conn said.

Both Floria and Erminie looked unsatisfied by this, but Conn said, "What alternative have we except to trust him, Mother? We cannot ride up to the castle and demand that Storn release him at once. That would indeed insult Storn's honor, and how do we know that. Alastair is in any condition to be released?"

With that, Erminie had to be content.

"Very well," she said at last. "You said there is room in Markos's home to shelter us all for the night? Take us there, then; anything will be an improvement over the roads of the Hellers."

14

When Alastair first woke, he was sure that his nightmare of hell had finally claimed him.

His body was bound in lines of burning pain; but after a few minutes of helpless struggle he slowly began to realize that he was wrapped in bandages, slick with smooth, strange-smelling ointments. He opened his eyes, and looked into Lenisa's troubled face.

Slowly, memory returned; the burning tree, his attempts to sweep her from its path . ..

her face was reddened and flushed, one arm heavily bandaged, her hair burned away at the temples.

She saw his eyes rest on the unsightly burned patch, and said irritably, "Yes, it's ugly, but the leronis says it will grow back soon, that singeing is good for hair―that sometimes a hairdresser will singe hair-ends to make them grow faster."

"I don't care about that," Alastair interrupted, "just tell me you are not seriously injured."

"No, not seriously," she said. "I have a burn on my arm that will keep me from kneading bread or baking pies for a tenday, perhaps. So if you want a greenberry pie, you will have to wait till my arm heals."

She giggled at him then, and he felt an enormous tenderness.

"Would you bake me a pie some day, then?"

"Why, yes," she said. "I think you've deserved it, since you did not share in the feast we give our folk when a fire is safely out. I saved you some cold meats and some cakes, if you are hungry, though."

Alastair considered; he was desperately thirsty, but not at all hungry. "I don't think I could eat. But I could drink a whole rain-barrel of cold water!"

"That is because of your burns; but hot drinks are better for you just now than cold water," she said, and held a cup to his lips. It contained the same sharp-tasting herb tea she had brought round on the fire-lines. It relieved his thirst very well and he began to feel sleepy so soon after drinking it that he wondered if she had put some drug into it to make him sleep.

"You must rest," she said. "It took a long time to lift the burning tree off you. Luckily, you were only under one branch. It was the leroni who came at last and lifted it with their starstones, and they were desperate. At first we thought you were dead and

Grandfather was upset because I would not stop crying so that, they could bandage my own burns―" Suddenly she blushed and turned away. "But I must be tiling you with talk. You must sleep now," she said. "I will come back and bring your dinner later."

Thus admonished, Alastair drifted toward sleep

with a curious picture in his mind of the girl weeping―for his burns! He wondered if she had yet had time to inform her grandfather about the identity of his guest; did Lord Storn know that he was entertaining his oldest enemy under his roof―for Alastair was certain he was actually within the walls of Storn Heights. Well, he was helpless to do anything except trust to fire-truce, and with this thought he drifted off.

When he woke again―he did not think it was too much later―Lenisa had come back

with a serving-woman carrying a tray. The woman helped hoist Alastair up in his bed, propped him against cushions and pillows, and Lenisa sat beside the bed and fed him spoonfuls of stew and pudding. When he had eaten several mouthfuls (he was surprised to discover how little he was able to swallow, for he had felt half starved), she tucked him carefully in. Then, over her shoulder he saw the lined face of Lord Storn.

"I owe you my gratitude, young Hammerfell, for the life of my grandniece," he said in a formal tone. "She is dearer to me than a dozen daughters, my only living descendant―"

He paused, and his tone became more personal, "And believe me I am far from

ungrateful. Though there have been many causes of controversy between us, possibly, now that you are my guest―though not by choice, we can speak about mending our

differences."

He paused; and Alastair, who had spent much of his life in Thendara in formal training in protocol, recognized the pause as his cue to say something courteous.