The Swans' War 1 - The One Kingdom (35 page)

"We have a purpose, as noble as we had in the past." He turned his head, looking at Arden from the corner of his eye.” But of that I can say nothing yet. Before you make your decision, tell me of this feud with the Wills: Do you support it?""Not willingly," Arden said quickly, "but they would destroy us if they could. That is the truth of it." Arden broke away from the man's gaze, shaking his head.” The Wills can never be trusted. We know that beyond a doubt. I wish I could believe peace was possible, but the hatred is too deep." He looked up at the Knight who still regarded him closely. Arden felt oddly close to tears.” In some families madness runs, Brother A'brgail. In the Renné and the Wills it is this blood feud that is the madness. Sometimes it skips a generation, but it always appears again in both families." He shook his head.” No, if we lower our shield the madness will take them and they will fall upon us. We cannot----We can never give it up, for they will not.” I like this feud no more than Toren. No more than any man. I despise what it does to us, to the Renné , for it consumes us, generation after generation. But it is unavoidable, as I have said. Some place in our minds and our hearts there is this madness, this darkness.” The feud should never have been started, for once begun there is no going back, no resolution but the destruction of one family or the other. We keep the Wills isolated, set their allies against one another, and there is a kind of peace, but it will not last. War will come again. And again. And again, until one side has triumphed utterly." "Until you have regained the throne—is that it?" Arden looked at the man in surprise.” Throne! We shall never see the throne again. Only fools dream of that. If Ayr is ever reunited it will not be by Renné or Wills, be sure of that. No, the feud has a life of its own. The cause is buried, almost forgotten." A'brgail shook his head.” But could you give it up, Lord Arden Renné ? Could you give up this petty feud for a larger purpose? I will tell you that I see a greater goodness in your heart, an honor and nobility that this feud will debase. Is this not so, Lord Toren?" "It is so." He turned to Arden then, putting a hand tenderly on his shoulder.” Do not take lightly what is being offered, Cousin. You could escape the family madness. Renounce it. Replace it with a greater purpose. Consider carefully, Arden. I would see you, at least, unsullied by this Renné obsession."Toren fixed him with such a look of compassion that Arden could hardly bear it. Here was a measure of the nobility of Toren, and of the love he bore Arden.

"Cousin—" Arden started, hearing his voice break.” It is too late for me." Arden wanted to drop to his knee and confess his betrayal. Beg his cousin's forgiveness.” It is too late."He turned away from the two men and placed both his hands upon the table, hearing the heavy silence behind him. Taking a long breath, he forced himself to face his cousin and this knight.” I shall await you outside, Toren." And he walked the length of the room, feeling every step of the way that these walls were a sanctuary offered to him—to him and what remained pure in his heart.

THE CIRCLE OF SILVEROAK LAY HIDDEN WITHIN A SHALLOW DRAW between two wooded hillsides. Gilbert A'brgail walked among the trees, lost in thought. His attending knights stayed beyond the ring of ancient oaks—four strong men with their great swords unsheathed—and gave their master time and silence in which to contemplate.

A'brgail paced back and forth across the grass, barely aware of the guards. It was his habit to walk beneath the silveroaks when troubles beset him, but usually he attained peace and clarity. This night it escaped him. A bird lit in the branches overhead, the leaves bobbing and shivering where it moved. And then a soft whispered whist, whist. A'brgail almost lost his footing. For a moment he didn't even dare to look up, and when he did, the bird seemed to be gone. He looked about quickly, gazing into the shadowed wood where the moon and starlight could not penetrate.” I am here, Brother," said a voice, and the guards were in motion, swords raised. But A'brgail lifted a hand and ordered them to be at peace.” Alaan?" A silhouette appeared between the gnarled trunks of two silveroaks.” Who else?" "Yes, who else's arrival is proclaimed by the harbinger of death." A'brgail pressed the fingertips of his hands together and took a long breath to calm himself.” Why have you come, Alaan?" "Did you not promise our mother that you would watch over me and protect me from harm? You have not been doing your duty, Gilbert, not for one who takes his vows so seriously." Alaan crouched down between the trees, and the moving moonlight touched him lightly. He took up some small object from the ground, turning it in his fingers.” I have done what I could to keep my word, but you would thwart me at every turn. None of my warnings would you take." "Ah yes, your constant warnings. Worse than Jac by half, I would say." "I will ask you again what you want," A'brgail said, embarrassed by the emotion in his voice. His half brother always brought out such passions in him, such anger.” It is odd, for I have come to warn you this time." Alaan paused, taking a quick breath.” Your worst fears have come to pass. Hafydd hadn't the strength to resist, just as you feared. Caibre is among us. Hafydd is become a monster."A'brgail shook his head numbly.” Yes," he said.” Yes. I know." He looked down at his hands, rubbing his fingers over the badly healed joints. He looked up at Alaan suddenly.” And what of you, Brother? What have you become?"Alaan didn't answer for a moment. He still toyed with whatever it was he had retrieved from the ground. But then he too looked up at his half brother.” What I've done was necessary, Gilbert. You couldn't have done it.""No! No, even if I could have broken my vow, I would not. You are not even Alaan. Why do you come to visit me?" "Because I am still Alaan, only changed, as though I had been away for twenty years and only just now returned. I am that different—perhaps more so—but I am Alaan, all the same.""So you would say, but I know more of this than most. What you have done is utterly wrong, and it will not be just you who pays the price for this." A'brgail could see the cold look come over Alaan's face—that, at least, was familiar.

"What choice had I after your blunder with Hafydd?""Hafydd was a great knight," A'brgail said quickly.

"He was a great liar. And look what has become of him now....""Hafydd was my mistake, and I will set things aright. I swear it."Alaan shook his head.” You swear to too many things, Gilbert. It is a strange weakness.""It is not a time for jests, Alaan, as you well know." "No, it isn't. And you're right; Hafydd was your mistake, but you can't set that aright now. Only I can do that. You see, Brother, I am Alaan yet, for I will not stand by and watch Hafydd bring ruin to the land between the mountains. I will trap him if I can, and do what must be done."A'brgail gazed at the dark form of his half brother, too much like the father, he thought. Reckless and insolent— incapable of hard discipline. These traits remained, no matter what he'd become.” If you were a Knight of the Vow you would be burned," A'brgail said, his voice coming out like a hiss. Alaan fumbled the object he held—a small stone—and then retrieved it, dropping it from one hand into the other, over and over.” I did not take your vows, Brother," he said softly.” No, you took other things." "As much mine as yours." He looked up, his face shadowed but appearing sad in the pale light.” I came hoping there might be peace between us, that I might forewarn you. Hafydd's knowledge has grown. He might even be able to find you, to find this place. Guard yourself, Brother. Death's gate is a frightening place." "I shall welcome my end when it comes, Alaan, but what of you? What of you, whose herald is the foreteller of death?" "No one seems to understand my bird," Alaan said softly.” It foretells nothing. The whist is a bird of warning. But Jac will not sing my name for a good while yet. You should know me, Gilbert—I made a shrewder bargain than that." Alaan stood and turned back into the dark wood. When he was almost lost to shadow A'brgail spoke quickly.” There can be no water, either running or standing—not even a trickle. And you must burn the corpse. Burn it immediately and spread the ashes to the wind, not over water. Do you hear?" Alaan nodded once and was gone.

THE RIVER SWEPT THEM SOUTH WITHOUT REST OR HESITATION. IF the men they'd met the previous day had been telling the truth, the Wold of Kerns was falling astern, and every hour that passed added many, many strokes of the oars to the return journey.

"If we stay near to the bank where the current is slower, and there are eddies to aid us, it won't be quite so hard," Cynddl said. It had been the story finder who'd broached the subject. Baore had said nothing the entire day and lounged in the boat, eyes closed—pretending to sleep, Tam suspected. Fynnol's silence was of a different character—it was aimed at Baore.

"I'll go back, if that is what Baore wants to do," Tam offered, earning him a quick, sullen glance from Fynnol.

"No," Baore said, rousing up and looking at the passing riverbank.” The river takes us south. It'll never let us go back now." Without looking at anyone, he lay back, draping an arm over his eyes.

Fynnol sat up, trying to suppress a smile of satisfaction, but Cynddl met Tarn's eye, his look troubled and full of questions.

Two hours before dusk they drew their boat up to the riverbank, and Tam and Cynddl took their yaka bows and went quietly out beneath the trees.

"I didn't expect Baore to change his mind," Cynddl said as they walked.” He's been swearing for days that he'd not go beyond the Wold of Kerns, and I believed him.""So did I," said Tam. They walked through a sparse underwood beneath ancient hornbeams and maples, shafts of sunlight angling like arrows through the leaves. Cynddl stopped, listening to some faint rustling in the bush. He took a soft step forward and a hare leapt out of the ferns. It hadn't gone a yard before an arrow pinned it to the ground. Quickly Cynddl put the poor beast from its misery.” Perhaps what he said is true, though," Tam said.” We can't go back. The river won't let us." "You talk as though the river possessed reason," Cynddl said.” I suspect the times we've found ourselves on the secret river were as random as raindrops. It was just luck—or ill luck—nothing more." He stopped again to listen, his narrow face fixed in concentration, the cloud of gray hair illuminated by a ray of the day's last light.” But even if the river possesses no reason, it does seem unlikely to me that we would reach the Wold of Kerns." "The nagar ... ?" Tam said, pitching his voice low. Cynddl stopped to listen again, drawing his arrow back, his yaka wood bow resisting. The story finder nodded.” That is my fear." "Then we should keep Baore in view, and stand watches at night." Cynddl looked down his arrow, nocked and ready.” We should, though I'm not sure such precautions will matter."Something broke from the bush and took to the sky. Two arrows pierced the air, and the flight ended in a fluttering of wings and floating feathers. Within the hour they returned with a brace of rabbits and a cock pheasant. Fynnol had taken over Baore's post of chief fire maker, and the aroma of Fael cooking soon spread along the riverbank. Dinner was served just as the sun cast its last light over the river. For a few moments no one spoke but to make appreciative sounds in the direction of the cook.

"Tell us about this fair at Westbrook, Cynddl," Fynnol said, gesturing south with a leg of pheasant.

Cynddl's attention lifted from his food for a moment and he looked off down the river.” Westbrook is the seat of the Renn￡ family, who are the patrons of the tournament. Traditionally, it has been one of the two great contests of the season, the other being at Dallynhoe, the capital of . Dallynhoe has only ruins that indicate its former glory, and the tournament has been reduced to insignificance. Westbrook is preeminent now, and is really a great country fair as much as a contest of courtesy. The best minstrels in the land will gather, as will acrobats and conjurers, pickpockets and thieves. There will be plays and puppetry, singing contests, and everyone shall bring their wares to sell. Even the Fael come, both to play music and offer their crafts. There will be country dances in the evenings, and the night of the last day of the tournament, a costume ball the likes of which you have never seen. As the nobles arrive for the ball, all of the people gather to see the costumes, many of which are labored upon for an entire year.

"The tournament itself will draw the strongest knights, the finest archers, and the most skilled swordsmen. There is a contest of horsemanship, a judging of armor, and if all that is not enough, there will even be a running of sheepdogs." Cynddl laughed.” There is something at the Westbrook Fair for one and all.""As long as Alaan is there," Fynnol said between mouth-fuls.

Tarn laughed, and cast his gaze out over the waters. He was on his feet, a curse dying on his lips.

A boat crossed the stream, its bow aimed unmistakably for their camp. Cynddl, never far from his weapons, had bow in hand and an arrow nocked before the others had put down their food.

Tam fetched his bow and climbed quickly up onto a rock. The last light of the evening cast long shadows out over the river, but as the boat emerged from one band of darkness, Tam could see it sat low in the water and two of three occupants sent regular arcs of spray out over the rail. Tam relaxed a little.” They don't appear to be men-at-arms," he called down to his companions.” If I'm not mistaken, two of them are women, and they are bailing to save their lives." The four companions emerged from the trees onto the shadowed riverbank, watching the boat approach; and indeed the two bailing were women, with a large, gray-haired man madly pumping the oars. He ran the boat up on the shingle beach and collapsed, none of them with enough breath to utter a word. Water sloshed about beneath the thwarts, and even as the people sat recovering, the stern of the boat settled until it rested on the bottom. Tam and Cynddl helped one of the women out onto the bank, where she collapsed, and then the other did the same. The man managed to make it on his own, though he was red faced and all but breathless. He made to retrieve their instruments from the encroaching water but Cynddl was ahead of him.” Minstrels," Fynnol mouthed to Tam, who nodded. The companions quickly had the boat emptied of its belongings and with some effort dragged it around and tipped the water out. Baore, who'd been silent and listless for days, bent over it, rapping on planks with a knuckle, tearing up the floorboards.” My cousin Baore is a skilled shipwright," Fynnol said to the strangers, though this was really an attempt to bridge the silence that flowed between him and Baore—now that they were going south to Westbrook. Baore turned the boat over and continued his inspection.” She'll need to be recaulked," Baore said, standing and running a hand back into his mow of hair.” You've a soft plank or two and some cracked frames. You can't sail her hard, which I guess you've been doing. She's too old and weakened in her structure. You're lucky she didn't sink from under you.""Can you mend her?" the man asked.” We've not much money but we might pay you something...."Baore gazed at the boat a moment more.” She needs rebuilding, is what she needs. New frames, new planks. You can't do that out here on the riverbank without proper tools and seasoned wood. I can try to recaulk her. That might take you some distance if you go easily. But don't sail her at all, just let the current take you.""We'd be grateful for any help," the man said.” What would be your price for such a job?"Baore shook his head.” Keep your coins. We won't leave you stranded." He looked up at the sky.” Too late to do anything tonight. We've a fire and some supper. Join us and we'll see better how things stand in the morning."The man offered his hand to Baore.” It is luck to meet with kindly strangers. The river brought us to you, it seems. I'm Gartnn," he said.” Let me introduce Angeline A'drent. And Elffen N'Orr. We are minstrels, as you've likely guessed, traveling south to Westbrook for the fair.""As do we," said Fynnol, stepping to the fore. He had a weakness for pretty young women, which these two certainly were. He made a graceful bow, and introduced himself and then the others, though Tam thought he was rather perfunctory in naming his companions.

It had been too long since they'd enjoyed the company of women, Tam was certain of that, and suddenly the river had cast these up on the shore. Although Tam had a feeling that one should beware the gifts of the river, he was willing to ignore this feeling for the moment.

The two women sat and dried their skirts by the fire, while Fynnol and Cynddl served food. Darkness coaxed the stars out, their reflections wavering on the smooth surface of the river. To Tam the river had the depths of the night sky. A watery world of infinite darkness.

Elise had never heard of the Vale of Lakes and wondered if these young men teased her—but that didn't seem to be their nature. At least it didn't seem to be the nature of two of them: Tam and Baore. Fynnol had a silver tongue and she guessed would tell any lie if it served his purpose. He was a rogue in the making, that one.” What takes you to Westbrook?" Gartnn asked. He was partaking of the offered food with great relish, but Elise knew him a little now. She knew how shrewd he was. It was the Fael who was traveling with these young men that interested Gartnn. Black wanderers didn't commonly mingle with any but their own kind, yet here was one traveling the length of the river with three young men from the wildlands. Peculiar, to say the least. Elise examined these strangers surreptitiously. The leader was the one named Tam—the good-looking one. He didn't say much, glad to let others talk and answer questions, but when he did speak, his words were chosen with great care. He was a smart one, she thought, and a little wary. The shipwright was a veritable giant. After his pronouncements on their boat, he had lapsed into silence and seemed often to be unaware of the conversation, his mind elsewhere. He also didn't seem to care much that two comely young women had been cast ashore by the river. He was unlike the other two in this. Elise thought Baore looked like a man in mourning, and perhaps he was. Perhaps he'd lost someone dear to him and had come on this journey in hopes of forgetting—of escaping his grief. Fynnol was the charmer. She had met him before, though he was usually better dressed and groomed, and often better looking as well. They were not nearly so coarse as she expected, these Valemen, which made her wonder if they were really from this place they'd named in the wildlands. Certainly men from the wildlands would hardly be so fair-spoken.

Gartnn was suspicious of them, too, she could tell. He was using all his guile to coax their story from them, but there were things that they weren't telling. Elise hoped she hadn't fallen in with dangerous company.

The last of the four was the Fael. Fynnol had let it slip that he was a story finder—which hadn't pleased Cynddl, she'd noticed. Story finders, she knew, were greatly revered among the wanderers. Perhaps it was not so odd that he traveled down the river seeking the stories of the ancient kingdoms. The Fael were little understood, though if there were any among her people who could claim some kinship with the black wanderers it was the minstrels. They too were wanderers, and lovers of music. Minstrels coveted the Fael-made instruments, and the most famous of them owned nothing else. Her father had three Faellutes, all of them gifts from admirers. But even minstrels were not entirely welcomed into the world of the Fael. Yet these three young men from some unheard of village in the north traveled with this story finder—a person of some consequence in his own world— and he treated them as friends.

Cynddl was older—in his thirties, she guessed—and gray before his time. He had the manner she expected of a story finder, remote and thoughtful. Not near as silent as Baore, but like Tarn, he wasn't forthcoming nor was he willingly talking about their journey. He was watching the strangers, weighing everything they said, just as Gartnn watched him.” We'd only planned to go as far as the Wold of Kerns," Fynnol said, "but the river had its own ideas.""What do you mean?" Gartnn asked innocently, but Elise saw his eyes narrow a little.

"We never laid eyes on the Wold," Fynnol said.” No, we were lost on some other branch of the river and never passed the Wold at all."Gartnn's fork paused in its regular journeys to his mouth.” Some other branch of the river ... ?" Cynddl laughed.” If you listen to Fynnol you'll hear tales of three-eyed men and the elusive white hart. I only wish I had so many stories to tell." The story finder laughed again, and Fynnol glanced over at him, suddenly uncomfortable. There was an awkward silence for a moment.” Did you stop in the Wold of Kerns yourselves?" Tarn asked. Gartnn shook his head.” No, we were never so far north. Never beyond the borders of the old kingdom. We've come down the Sweetwater and then into the Wynnd." "The Sweetwater ..." Cynddl said.” Yes," Gartnn said, and then, "You look surprised." Cynddl blew out through his lips and speared a piece of pheasant from his plate.” None of us have been down the river before. We thought we were farther north, yet." "Ah." Gartnn glanced at Elffen, his bushy brows rising just perceptibly. The two women made up beds to one side of the fire— more comfortable with this than Tam expected—and Gartnn laid his own blankets between Fynnol and the women.” We stand watches, yet," Cynddl said to Gartnn.” Not far back we had some trouble with thieves." Gartnn reached over and drew his lute near, which earned him a look of wrath from Elffen.” I'll be happy to stand a watch," the minstrel said.” We've our routine established," Tam said.” Perhaps tomorrow night, if we're still camped together." Elise lay by the dying fire, trying to sleep, but her eyes kept opening of their own accord. And there, in the ruddy glow of the embers, she would see the one called Tam sitting with his back to a tree, his sword laid near to hand. He didn't seem a bad man—none of them did—but then her experience of the world beyond the walls of Braidon Castle was small. She was trusting Gartnn, and he didn't look overly pleased with their company. She would wager the minstrel was awake yet.

If this giant could mend their boat, the next day they could be on their way. Perhaps they would find a village with an inn. They were traveling minstrels, after all; didn't someone want their services?

Sleep found her before moonrise, and she lay breathing softly beneath a coverlet of starlight.

Elise wasn't sure what woke her. A strange sense that something was wrong, that someone near her woke or moved. She lay utterly still, only her eyes flicking open. The fire had died away to ashes, and the moon had drifted too far into the west to offer light.