The SteelMaster of Indwallin, Book 2 of The Gods Within (14 page)

Morddon snarled, “To netherhell with you, halfbird!” But the effort started him coughing, rewarding him with a mouthful of blood. Between coughs he managed to shout, “If this fool thinks he can kill me, let him try.” Angrily Morddon reached for the hilt of his sword, drew it in a single motion, but unendurable pain shot through his side as he did so, and again he passed out.

~~~

Rhianne had trouble sleeping. She rolled out of bed, guessed sunrise was still several hours off, threw on a heavy robe and slippers, went for a walk through the castle. She found a high terrace letting off an upstairs sitting room, and there she found peace and calm in the stars above her and the darkness that surrounded her.

She stood there for quite some time, until the rustle of someone moving behind her startled her out of her thoughts. She flinched, thinking the old woman had come for her, but then she sensed the calm of AnnaRail and she relaxed.

“It is a lovely night,” AnnaRail said softly.

Rhianne nodded. “Yes. It’s quiet.”

“It’s more than quiet. It’s . . . It’s the kind of night when one can be at peace with everything and everyone.”

Rhianne thought of the old woman. “Not everyone.”

AnnaRail chuckled softly. “You know, Morgin had the same trouble with her. Oh, you and he are very different people, but both of you have the traits that entice the old woman’s avarice. You both have power, though for some reason we only saw hints of it until now. And you are both smart enough to learn to use it properly. But more than anything you are both willful enough to fight her, though you fight her more directly than Morgin, but less dangerously. But oddly enough she likes that in you both. She likes someone who’ll give her a good fight; someone whom she considers a worthy opponent.”

Rhianne considered the offhand compliment, but it didn’t help any and she could contain herself no longer. “I just . . .” She struggled to hold back the tears, but her chin betrayed her with a tremble. “All I want to do . . . I don’t know what I want to do . . . I just know what I have to do.” She started sobbing, felt stupid and foolish for doing so. “I just wish I knew how to do it.”

AnnaRail stepped toward her, wrapped her arms about her. “Only you can determine what your talents are, and how you can best use them.”

“But I don’t know how, especially when I’m pushed.”

“Ah!” AnnaRail nodded. “The old woman.”

Rhianne shook her head. “No. Yes, the old woman too. But that’s not what I meant. Something else is pushing me.”

AnnaRail nodded thoughtfully. “I begin to believe we are all pieces on a giant gaming board, and we all have a role to play in this. Some, like my son—your husband—and perhaps you yourself—have a greater role to play than the rest of us, and some have very minor roles. But we all have our place, and in the end only you can determine what your place will be. But you must be patient. Don’t push yourself beyond your limits, and don’t allow the old woman to push you either. When your time is at hand, you will know it. Believe me.”

Rhianne let her tears flow, and she held tightly to AnnaRail while the sun rose slowly over the mountains in the east. And she felt better for it, as if she had gained an ally in her husband’s mother, a friend and a source of knowledge, and for that she was infinitely grateful.

Chapter 8: The Seven Deeds

Morgin awoke as if from a nightmare, sitting on the floor where he’d slept twisted uncomfortably in a pile of blankets that had done a poor job of keeping him warm. He was alone in a dark, cramped and musty room in which bright slashes of sunlight cut past the edges of a shuttered window, telling him that morning was well advanced, though it took a moment to remember which morning. In his dreams he’d been haunting Morddon’s soul for several days, when in reality no more than a few hours had passed since he’d left the inn’s common room.

He untangled himself from the blankets, stood and crossed the room to the window, threw open the shutters to let the morning in. A washbasin rested on a stand in one corner, a pitcher of moderately clean water next to it. He filled the washbasin, leaned over and splashed water on his face. As he stood up with water dripping through his beard he caught a glimpse of his image in a polished brass mirror hanging on the wall. He ran wet hands through his hair in the hope of taming it somewhat, and looked at the young, bearded stranger staring back at him. He stepped closer, impressed with how much his new beard had changed his appearance, and then he noticed the scar.

The mark of the House of the Thane,
SheelThane had called it, a small scar, just below his left eye at the boundary between beard and skin, not a deep or well-defined scar. In fact, were it not for the beard it might not be visible, for no hair had grown within the line of the scar itself. It might have been there for years, and he might never have noticed it . . . were it not for the beard, and his dreams. Perhaps it had been there all this time, and perhaps his dreams were just that: dreams. He wanted so much to deny the reality of those damn dreams. So much indeed!

Down below in the common room he found Cort waiting for him at one of the tables. As he sat down she asked, “Did you sleep well? You needed the rest so we let you sleep in.”

He shrugged. “I slept adequately.”

She ordered breakfast for him: bread and meat and cheese and that black, foamy beer. Morgin ate more out of a sense of duty than any real appetite.

“You look tired,” she said. “Not like a man who’s slept the morning away. The dreams again?”

“Aye,” Morgin nodded. “Always the dreams. Where are the others?”

“They’re off looking for employment. We were thinking you and Val and France could hire on as guards in one of the caravans. And after we know which one, Tulellcoe and I can buy passage as husband and wife.” Cort smiled. “Female
twonames
are not at all common so it will be best if I travel as a clanswoman with her husband.”

Morgin ate lightly and in silence, washed a few bites of bread and meat down with some beer. He looked carefully at Cort, remembered that she too had spent some time with the Benesh’ere. “Val said you and he spent time with the Benesh’ere.”

“Yes we did. Why?”

Morgin shrugged. “I don’t know. Last night Val said something about SteelMasters, and SteelMistresses. Tell me about them.”

She considered that carefully, then said, “Well now. There isn’t much to tell. The whitefaces themselves can’t come to agreement about the SteelMasters. Some of them think they were some sort of kings and queens who ruled before the gods came. Others—and this is what I think bears the most fact—think they were just wise ones who disdained the actual leadership of the Benesh’ere, but were looked to for sage council. But they do agree on a few things, especially the fact that the Masters could do incredible things with steel. I mean the best steel we know of today is Benesh’ere steel, and yet the Benesh’ere smiths all agree the Masters made steel that puts their own efforts to shame. In fact . . .” Cort frowned and squinted speculatively, “. . . they apparently did something quite magical with steel, though no one seems to know what.”

Morgin thought of the sword he carried strapped to his side, old Benesh’ere steel. And with the knowledge of his dreams he now understood the true age of this steel.

“Something else those whitefaces can agree on is the Seven Deeds, which they sometimes call the Seven Wrongs.”

Morgin asked around a mouth full of food, “Seven Deeds?”

Cort nodded. “It’s one of their most important legends. Apparently the last SteelMaster is going to come back from the dead, or from hiding, or from somewhere, and perform the Seven Deeds, and in doing so he’ll right the Seven Wrongs. All Benesh’ere children can recite the Seven Deeds from memory almost as soon as they learn to talk.”

“Can you?” Morgin asked.

Cort looked at the ceiling of the inn thoughtfully. “Let me see now. I think I can. The first thing this SteelMaster is going to do is restore the House of the Thane.”

Morgin almost choked on a piece of bread, but he caught himself quickly and took a deep draught of the brown beer.

“Now no one knows what the House of the Thane is, but that’s what this SteelMaster’s going to do first. Second, he’ll free the hand of the thief. Your guess is as good as anyone’s on that one. Third, he’ll free the daughter of the wind. I can’t even speculate on that one. Fourth, he’ll free the Dane King. I’ve never heard of any Dane King, and I’ve done quite a bit of traveling. Fifth, he’ll free the spirit of the sands. That’s got to have something to do with the Munjarro, but no one has the least idea what. Sixth, he’ll free the soul of the Fallen One.”

Cort didn’t comment on the sixth deed, she just shrugged and shook her head, but Morgin remembered that Ellowyn had referred to Metadan as the Fallen One. “And seventh,” Cort continued, “he’ll free the heart of the Benesh’ere. Now that’s an easy one, and that’s the one the Benesh’ere are waiting for. Somehow he’s going to free them from their exile, and they believe he’ll do it at Gilguard’s Ford where the Gods Road crosses the river Ulbb. That’s why the whitefaces call it the Road of the Seventh Deed. But there’s a riddle here no one’s ever solved. It says the Benesh’ere will not be free until they stand north of the Ulbb, but the Benesh’ere will never cross the Ulbb until they are free. Now since their exile means they must live forever south of the Ulbb, solve that riddle, my friend, and you could live like a king among the Benesh’ere for the rest of your days.”

At that moment the front door of the inn opened and a shaft of sunlight splashed across the room through the sooty, smoky atmosphere. Everyone there turned suspiciously to watch Tulellcoe and France enter, close the door and cross the room to Cort and Morgin. When they pulled up stools and sat down, and everyone understood there would be no trouble, the inn’s patrons turned their attention elsewhere.

France spoke softly. “We’ve got work in a big caravan, but the guardmaster’s a
twoname
, real cautious sort, wants to meet you before he’ll commit himself. He ain’t a real pleasant fellow, but he’s got a good business guarding caravans so he’s probably honest.”

“When’s this caravan leaving?” Morgin asked.

“First light tomorrow,” France said. “Which is a good thing. There’s Penda armsmen in the city askin’ about us. And there’s more arriving each hour. By morning the city’ll be full of ‘em, and you’d best not be around.” France looked at Cort. “Or you either. They’re askin’ after the female
twoname
. You stand out easily.”

Cort nodded, looked at Tulellcoe. “Give me an hour and I won’t look like a
twoname
.”

Tulellcoe said, “That’s why Val is staying with the caravan until it leaves. He won’t be coming back into the city.” Tulellcoe looked at Morgin. “And you’d better join him as soon as possible. That beard won’t hide you for long.”

Morgin lifted his empty hands above the table. “I’ve got everything I own on me. I can leave right now. All I need is my horse.”

“We left orders with the stable master to saddle her.”

Morgin looked at France. The swordsman seemed to be enjoying this, as if danger made life worth the trouble. “Let’s go then, eh?”

“You won’t see Cort and me again,” Tulellcoe said. “Not until we join the caravan as passengers. And remember you don’t know us; you’ve never met us before.”

~~~

Outside the street was full of people going about their business, and not a few children playing in the gutters. There were some clouds high overhead, but they didn’t have the look of rain, and the sky was otherwise clear.

France led Morgin to the stable and their horses, and once mounted they followed a well-traveled road out the southwest side of the city. They found Val waiting by a large staging area near the river where several small merchant caravans had joined a much larger one.

“Guardmaster wants to meet you,” Val said to Morgin.

“What’s his name?” Morgin asked.

“He goes by the name Chiren Tesha.”

Morgin shrugged. “Let’s get this over with.”

The Tesha was a big man, tall, broad shouldered, and trim of waist. But he wasn’t the type of man to show off his build or his talents. He wore a simple, leather doublet over a plain linen blouse, and loose fitting breeches tucked into knee high boots, the kind of attire Morgin himself found most comfortable.

“You’re a swordsman?” the Tesha asked Morgin. He was seated on a stump of wood sewing up a hole in an old cloak.

“Not for dueling,” Morgin said. “But I can fight.”

“How well.”

“Well enough to keep myself alive.”

The Tesha considered him carefully. The staging area for the caravans was a noisy hive of activity swirling about them. Morgin tried to ignore the distraction.

“You’re hiding something,” the Tesha said flatly. He stood up and towered over Morgin. “You’ve got a chip on your shoulder, you’re hiding something, and I’m not sure if I can trust you.”

Morgin shrugged. “What man here does not have something to hide? I have my own private thoughts and I will keep them. You need swordsmen. Well I am a swordsman, and an honest one.”

“I sense the truth in you, swordsman, but I sense you are close to a lie. Very close. Speak your name.”

“Morddon.”

The Tesha’s eyes narrowed. “My magic tells me if someone speaks the truth or not, and it tells me that name is a lie.”

Morgin got angry. “Then listen to the truth in these words,” he growled. “I have no intention of harming anyone in this caravan or stealing its goods. I’m a decent swordsman in a fight and I will do my best to live up to the terms of any contract I make. But if I have to defend myself I will do so against anyone, contract or not.” Morgin then looked the
twoname
in the eyes. “Beyond that, any secrets I have are mine to keep, unless of course the Tesha would like to try to pry them from me with the point of his sword. But then one of us will die . . . needlessly.”

The Tesha stared at him for a long moment without moving. Then he nodded and said, “Very well. I’ll pay you two coppers a month like the rest, plus meals and beer. I don’t pay more to a first hire. You’ll take orders from me and stay with the caravan until we reach Aud. After that, if I’m happy with you, and you want to stay, I’ll pay more, though not much.”

“Fair enough,” Morgin said, and they shook hands.

The Tesha split up Morgin and France and Val, gave them separate assignments, probably a precaution until he knew them better. He assigned Morgin to a group of twelve men who were responsible for scouting the road ahead of the caravan, which suited him nicely. Better that than eating dust all day long.

The leader of the scouts was a small, wiry man named Katha. He had a distrustful nature about him, and that first day before the caravan left he and Morgin and the scouts rode several leagues down the road. That close to Anistigh there were no real dangers to be concerned with. Morgin knew Katha was watching him closely, testing him, so he paid close attention to everything Katha told him, kept his mouth shut, and resolved to merely do his job and stay out of trouble, which was apparently just what Katha wanted.

“The road to Aud is too well traveled,” Katha told him, “for us to do much worryin’ about bandits. But keep yer eyes open. It happens every now and then, though most bandits ain’t stupid enough to attack a caravan this well manned. And the Tesha’s been known to go out of his way to hunt down those that do. He likes to bring ‘em back alive, so he can hang ‘em in front of everyone.”

“Well then what are we out here for?” Morgin asked.

“Chiren just likes to know what’s up ahead. There might be a river swollen, or a tree down over the road, or a wash-out somewheres. And now there’s that outlaw wizard out there too.”

Morgin looked sideways at Katha, tried to detect any underlying suspicion in his last statement, but apparently the scout was merely making conversation.

Katha scanned the horizon. “I don’t like wizards. Makes me skin crawl.”

“But the Tesha’s a wizard,” Morgin said.

“Ya,” Katha said with a long sigh. “Poor fella. It’s a shame too, ‘cause he’s a good man. But every man’s got his own problems, eh?”

That night Morgin slept peacefully, and awoke the next morning without strong memories of Kathbeyanne, though he had dreamt of the ancient city, and of Morddon and angels and griffins, but those memories were vague and indistinct, as memories of dreams should be.

The caravan left Anistigh at daybreak. Morgin had learned over beer and dinner the night before that the Tesha was an independent contractor who hired his men out to protect traveling merchants. He had a good reputation, and Katha warned Morgin to help him keep it. Morgin also learned that because of the “outlaw wizard” three smaller merchants had banded with a larger one for their mutual protection.

It took half the morning for the caravan to stretch out and get up to speed, but once under way they made good time. Katha kept Morgin close by because Morgin was an unknown. He divided the twelve scouts into six groups of two, and they rode well ahead of the caravan investigating just about anything and everything. Katha was thorough; he or one of his scouts stopped at every farm and manor and chatted politely with the head of the household. Clearly, he’d made this trip many times before. When they found a few peasants camped near the road they investigated. Katha was kind, never pushy or arrogant, but he spoke to the peasants until he was satisfied they were just that.