The Swans' War 1 - The One Kingdom (50 page)

"We've lost Baore!" Tarn called as Alaan came up.” No matter. String your bows." Alaan skidded to a stop on the dew-slick grass. He looked back, gauging the speed of their pursuers, perhaps counting their numbers, which Tarn did as well. Ten, he thought. And only four of us.

"Follow close behind me. We'll play blind men for a moment. Put a hand on the shoulder of the man before you." He grabbed Fynnol's hand and set off into the shadows of the trees. Cynddl took hold of Fynnol, and Tarn tagged on the end, glancing back once as they went. Black-clad men-at-arms trampled through the flower bed.

As Tarn stumbled into the darkness a wind suddenly arose, tunneling down the path they followed. It bent the trees back and tore leaves and branches free, sending them whirling down the path to batter against the companions. Tarn's long robe shook and snapped like a sheetless sail.

They leaned into the wind, protecting their eyes with upraised arms. For a moment Tarn thought the wind would blow them back, so fiercely did it howl, but then they seemed to pass through a narrow place and the wind dropped a little. They were stumbling down a moonlit slope among sparse trees. Tam could see suddenly. Before them appeared a great vista of jagged hills and high mountains.

Fynnol cursed and stopped so that Cynddl and Tam ran into him.” Where in the world ... ?""Don't stop!" Alaan shouted.” They are behind us." Tam pushed Fynnol on, and in a moment they came to a nearly flat cliff top that jutted out into the night like the prow of a great ship. Alaan was running again and they followed. All around them in the moonlight, the wind howled and screamed, rushing suddenly up the slope so that the trees waved their branches like crazed dancers. Alaan dropped over a small edge and turned to look back. The rock had stepped down so that their chests were at the level of the prow of stone. A dozen feet behind them a chasm fell away to nothing. Alaan bent down.” There are arrows here," he said, "many more than you've carried." He stood, stringing a bow of obvious Fael workmanship.” There is a steep, narrow gully there," he said, pointing off to their right.” If things go wrong for us, go that way and make your way down. Don't follow me! Do you understand?" Tam looked back toward the line of thin trees, thinking he saw movement.” But where is Pwyll?" he asked suddenly.” Pwyll?" Alaan said.” Don't worry about Pwyll. He knows this place." "Alaan!" Cynddl called over the wind.” Where have you brought us? Our bows will be nearly useless in this wind." "That's why I brought the two of you. Finer archers one cannot find. Watch, now! They're upon us." He nocked an arrow and let it fly. The dark-clad knights came sliding down the slope like shadows, and Tam felt the coldness of the place seep into him. The wind veered and shrilled, plucking their arrows from the air and sending them off in different directions. Tam shot one arrow after another, all of them going astray. But then the wind fell calm, just as the black-clad knights reached the base of the stone prow. Four archers let their arrows fly, and these found their mark. The knights fell back, trying to scramble up into the trees, but in that instant of calm that betrayed them, arrows found them out of the darkness. Tam heard only groaning and men crying out. One man crawled pitifully across the stone, a crimson river flowing behind. Alaan dropped his bow and yanked his blade free. He leapt over the edge that protected them and strode quickly across the stone, the others in his wake. It was eerily calm, though Tarn could hear the wind howling far off,Hafydd lay faceup, still as stone in the moonlight. Alaan hesitated over him for a moment, then suddenly reached down and tore off his mask. There lay a young knight, not more than thirty, a stain of blood around his mouth.

"I did not think it would be so easily done," Fynnol said.

"This is not Hafydd," Alaan said. He stood, still staring down at the dead man.

"Then he has played some trick on you," Cynddl said quickly.

Alaan's head shook.” No. I expected this, or something like it."There was a noise just then up the slope, and a figure could be seen moving. Tarn and Cynddl raised their bows, but Alaan stopped them.

"That is Pwyll," he said.

Pwyll came sliding down the slope, sword in hand. He was red faced and gasping.

"They are behind us!" Pwyll shouted.

And Tarn looked up the slope. In the faint moonlight he could see a red-clad jester bearing a blade, and then a lion with a bow, and behind them any number of others, all costumed and armed.

Alaan dropped the skull mask he'd torn off the dead man. He looked at Tarn, his face drawn and grim.” Run," he said.

A high, inhuman moan was heard beyond the hall, and then a cold gale of wind whipped in the doors, setting skirts and capes flapping wildly. The wind moaned and screamed, swelling within the massive room and swirling around the walls. All at once, the candles in the chandeliers flickered and died, and in the great hall there was complete darkness.

People lumbered into Elise, losing their balance in the darkness and the staggering wind. Unseen hands snatched at her, and she was pulled this way and that.

"Elise?" she heard someone call, but her shouted answer was lost in the din.

Someone very large suddenly took hold of her, sweeping others away. He found her hand in the darkness and a small box was pressed into her palm. She wrapped her fingers around it and pushed it inside her costume.

The wind was suddenly gone and Elise's eyes began to adjust to moonlight. Spirits and warriors and ghosts drifted by.

It is like a dream, she thought.

Then she saw shadow-black knights ranging about, searching. A woman tried to throw a dark cape over her, but Elise brushed it aside.” Flee," she said, grabbing the woman's hand.” Hafydd knows your plan." She pushed her away, but the woman stepped back into one of Hafydd's guards, who took hold of her roughly.

Others came forward, blades drawn.

"Baore!" she warned.

She saw the big Valeman tear off the false head of his costume, the vast shirt settling around his shoulders. He took up the staff he held, and she thought he would run at the guards, but instead he bolted for the doors. A woman screamed. And then a candle was lit, and then another.

Moonlight fell through the high windows and filtered past the doors. Shapes took on muted colors, and then they were humans, though in strange forms. Llyn pushed her way through the milling crowd, though she was jostled and shoved. Suddenly Elyse and Mwynfawr were before her, hand in hand, looking, about as if lost. Quickly she went to them, pulling off her robe.” Lady Elise," she said.” Take my ro—" But she was almost knocked to the floor by some enormous being, who pushed through to Lady Elise. At first Llyn thought he would harm her, but he only bent near for a moment.

Llyn gained her balance and forced her way forward again. Without a word she threw her executioner's robe over Elise, but the young woman brushed it aside, then reached out and grabbed Llyn's hand.

"Flee," she said grimly, and then something more that was lost in the general clamor. Elise pushed her ungently and she stumbled into someone who grabbed her arms. She thought this man had only meant to save her from falling, but he would not let her go.

A candle was lit, its light wavering, then growing. Then a second was lit from that. Then two from each of those. Everyone began talking at once.

She saw Lady Elise, the executioner's robe draped, unknowingly, over one shoulder.

Everything had gone horribly, horribly wrong. She had only the briefest glimpse of a hall in ruin. People doffing their masks, revealing faces drawn and pale.

Llyn struggled to have her arms free.” Will you let me go!" she protested.

A tall man dressed as a Knight of the Vow stopped before her. His mask had been removed and he was gray haired and grim.

"This woman tried to give Lady Elise a robe, Sir Eremon."The man gazed at her a moment, and before she could even try to turn away, reached forward and tore off her mask. Llyn saw Elise put her hands to her face in horror, then turn away and bury her face in Prince Michael's shoulder. All around there were gasps and cries of dismay. Llyn hung her head so that her hair might hide her.

"Let that woman go!" a voice said. And then, "I am Toren Renné . If you do not sheath that sword I shall cut you down where you stand." And her arms were suddenly free, and someone took hold of her gently and she was moving. The sea of gawking, appalled faces parted. Llyn shut her eyes and covered her face with her hands. In a moment they left the sounds of the hall behind, but she could still hear the gasp of horror from those who had seen. She was a monster. That was the truth. A monster who must be shut away.

They flew toward the gully Alaan had pointed to, not even looking back to see what Alaan himself would do. Arrows began sparking off the rock by their feet before they made the gully, and then they were going down, their way faintly lit by moonlight. It was a steep gully, with loose rock here and there and tufts of grasses, gray in the dull light. Tarn pulled his bow over his head and one shoulder, needing both hands to keep himself from falling. The gully twisted and turned, so they couldn't see who might be behind or how close they might be, but Tarn was comforted by the knowledge that their pursuers wouldn't have free hands to take up a bow. A boulder struck stone just above his head and shattered, a shard of it striking his shoulder. He cursed and pushed on. Pwyll was behind him. Just ahead was Cynddl, and Fynnol was in the lead, risking life and limb to make speed. Each of them had slipped more than once, skidding down a dozen feet, battering elbows and knees. But then they were up again, not slowing a bit, running for their lives. The gully began to open up, the sides curving away, and then trees appeared. Suddenly there was soft ground among the rocks and trees all around them. Cynddl brought them up behind a rock, bent double, gasping for breath.” Have you ... arrows still?" he panted.” Some," Tarn said.” Then let's stop them here for a while. They can't easily circle us, and we can drive them back and make them stop and think, while we catch our breath.""There!" Fynnol called. He sent an arrow up the slope, and Tam and Cynddl quickly joined him. The few dark shapes they saw scrambled back up into the rocks above.

"Go on," Pwyll hissed.” There are too many of them. They will mount a charge and we cannot resist it here."

On they went, Tam bent over with a pain in his side from running. In the shadows of the trees they tripped and fell hard, pulled themselves up, and ran on. An hour passed, and the wood became so thick and shadowed that they were forced to go slowly.

And then they came out of the wood into pale light, a soft summer night around them, a hayfield spreading out before. A moon-silvered river flowed among poplars, and a nightingale pealed its perfect song.

"That is the Westbrook," Cynddl said.

Pwyll nodded.

Tam turned and looked back. A low, wooded hill lay above them, its gentle curve visible against the stars. There were no mountains or high stone cliffs.

Pwyll had them take up a position behind a drystone wall, but no one emerged from the trees.

"They've found some other track," Pwyll said at last, and Tam saw the traveler's shoulders relax.

Tam replaced his arrow in his quiver and gazed up at the low hill again.” I've been on the secret river," he said, "but I don't know where I've been this night. Certainly not in the land between the mountains.""No," Pwyll said, "you've been in the land beneath the stars and moon. The place only Alaan can find the paths to, knowingly." He pointed off down the Westbrook.

"And where is Alaan?"

"Trying to separate Hafydd from his guard—all those who did not follow us. That is his only hope. If he survives we are to meet him near the town."Fynnol shook his head.” We've fulfilled our bargain with Alaan. We're looking for my cousin Baore. Pray nothing has befallen him." And Fynnol set off down the slope among the dark mows of new-mown hay. In the faint moonlight Tam thought the stacks stood out like gravestones.

THE STRANGE WIND THAT HAD DARKENED THE BALL CARRIED COLD air down from the hills and formed pockets of mist all along the Westbrook valley. Arden passed into one of these, slowing his horse, for there were still revelers coming from the ball and wandering drunkenly on the roads. A tree loomed before him, then sprang aside to be replaced by a lion walking upright and singing obnoxiously. His horse shied, but a steady hand and soothing words sent it on.” Damn this fog and these foolish people!" he muttered. He had to get to Westbrook immediately. Arden could still see the executioner standing before him. You shall regret what you do this night, Arden Renné . You shall regret it most deeply. He knew finally that he could not live with the guilt or the regret. Better to follow Toren and bring the Renné to ruin than take on this infamy. All he had to do was reach Toren before Dease and Beld.” Arden?" A voice sounded behind him, and then Samul loomed out of the mist, costumed revelers jumping out of his path. Samul rode up, the hood of his costume thrown back, his face flushed.” Ah, there you are. Where is it you go this night with such haste?"There were other boats on the river. Baore could see their lights looming in the blear. The sounds of hushed voices seemed to travel from great distances, and the dip and sweep of oars ranged along the riverbanks like running echoes.

"The bridge did not seem so far, before," Baore muttered.

He was at the oars, driving the boat with greater speed than prudence suggested. He had left his pursuers behind in the chaos of the ball. The Renné had aided him in this, for they had drawn weapons when they saw Hafydd's guards doing the same. Baore wondered if the ball had ended with bloodshed.

He twisted around to look ahead, but could barely see the bow in the fog and darkness, though when he raised his eyes he could still see, faintly, stars and the westering moon.

Something broke the surface a few feet away.

"Row on," a voice hissed.

Dease shouldered his bundle and looked over at his cousin. What a lump Beld was—twisted by his jealousies and hatreds. How had he become such a creature of malice? Dease wondered. Had he not been loved and cherished just as his own sisters and brothers were? And yet look at him.

Dease shook his head.” Let's get this over with," he said.

Beld could not help himself: he broke into a smile of great satisfaction.” Yes, Cousin," Beld said.” Let's put an end to Toren's foolishness before it is too late. You saw what the Prince of Innes did in our hall this night. Poor Llyn!"Dease knew Beld didn't care what happened to Llyn but thought only that this reminder would galvanize Dease and raise his ire. Bastard! Instead Dease took a calming breath and tried to master his rage. He would not commit this act in passion.

They set out through Castle Renné , which remained in tur-

moil after the events at the ball. If Dease had had doubts before, they had all been erased that evening. If not when the Prince of Innes arrived with his son and future daughter-in-law dressed as the parents of the kings of men or when Hafydd revealed himself, then when Hafydd's guards had drawn their weapons and gone after guests at the Renné ball. No, Toren had failed utterly, and now they must quickly try to repair the damage he'd done.

Samul was preparing to gather the troops needed to storm the Prince's compound. Hafydd would be hung by morning, and the Prince's plans for marrying his son to a Wills would also be thwarted. Before the day was out Prince Michael of Innes would be wed to a Renné , at sword point if needed. Menwyn Wills and his ferocious wife would be ensconced in a Renné villa—"guests" of the family for some time to come. And that would be the end of the Prince's war. If only Toren could have acted so boldly.

They made their way into a small stair, almost never used now. Samul had already been down it to chase out any lovers or servants hiding away with a bottle of wine. It would not do to be seen this night, Dease thought.

Beldor held aloft a small candlebranch which cast its anemic light down the stack of worn treads. In a moment they were outside and off down a narrow lane, lit only by moonlight.

"Pull up your mask," Dease said.

"No one will recognize us in the dark," Beld protested.

"Nonetheless, do as we all agreed or stay behind."Beld cursed softly and pulled up his mask. Dease did the same.

The world seemed suddenly far away, seen through the narrow eye slits—as though Dease were not part of it somehow, but watched from outside, like a spirit. It was an odd feeling, as if he were only vaguely attached to his body, which was animated by someone else. Dease suddenly remembered receiving his first sword from his father, and swearing: "By all of the Renné who have gone before and carried our feud to the enemy." Tonight they walk with me, Dease thought, and within me.

As they neared the river, a ghostly mist appeared, clinging to the trees, forcing them to feel their way forward.

"We shall look fools if we get lost this night," Beldor growled.

But Dease was almost relieved. Perhaps the mist would foil their plan. He regretted deeply putting himself forward to do this terrible thing. But he could not give Beldor the satisfaction—he respected Toren too much. He also didn't trust Beld to perform the act cleanly.

/ will do this thing, for I love him best.

But there was no going back, nor was there any way to erase the memory of what had happened that night in Castle Renné .

They came to the river, finally, and there found a small boat drawn up on the bank. They could not take the bridge, for fear of being recognized on the road.

Dease set his bundle on the thwart, and ordered Beld into the stern. The boat clung to the bank a moment and then slid into the river, sinking down, then bobbing upon the surface. Dease shipped the oars and in a moment took them out into the stream.

"I'm lost already," Beld whispered.

"Look," Dease said.” There is the moon. Overhead the mist is thinner. We can navigate by the moon.""I don't like this fog," Beld said.” It came with that foul wind that darkened our hall. That was no accident, nor was it natural."Dease dug his oars into the black water, pressing them forward, just as a dark apparition slipped past in the moonlit haze—a boat, its oarsman as silent as a ghost.

When they met the mist, Hafydd gave curt orders to one of his guards, who took hold of her horse's bridle. Elise went on thus, wedged between Prince Michael and Hafydd's black-clad guard.

What a terrible disaster the night had been, every plan seeming to go awry. And that poor woman! She was a Renné , someone had said. So all along Alaan had been allied with the Renné t Elise shook her head. The man hadn't really been interested in the cause of peace at all.

But she was lost now. There was only one course left and Elise was not sure she could take it. It was too desperate and she hadn't the nerve. Ahead, in the fog, she could just make out the black form of Hafydd. He had fooled them all, sending one of his guards as "the ghost of Hafydd" and then wearing another costume himself.

The night had ended in chaos. From where she'd stood on the dance floor she'd missed almost everything. Swords had been drawn, someone said, and blood spilled. Hafydd and the Prince's men-at-arms had gone after Baore. And that was all her fault! She had not been brave and resolute, but weak and traitorous. What kind of heroine was she? None at all, it seemed. But she had so little power in this world.

The woman's hideous face appeared before her, and she shut her eyes. Poor, poor woman.

But there was little room in Elise's heart that night for pity for others. Her own situation was black enough. And there was only one way to escape it. She looked up at Hafydd riding before her, and felt her hatred and fear kindle.

Perhaps she had nerve enough, after all.

It was with difficulty that Dease found their landing place, running the boat up onto a small beach. No one had camped in this place, they knew, and from here they could find their way into the village, keeping to the shadows of hedgerows that bordered fields. Beld took the lead, hurrying along in the filtered light of an obscured moon. Dease thought his cousin looked like an evil dwarf, abroad on some errand of malice. But he followed along, trying not to think of what he must do, hoping that his hand would be steady when the time came.

The mist hung in patches here and there across the valley, and they went in and out of these like bandits slipping from bush to bush. Houses loomed up, sooner than Dease expected, and he felt his heart race and his mouth go suddenly dry. The village was still alive, but the back lanes were hardly the places for celebration, and they went unnoticed but for the barking of dogs.

It was no time before they had come to the garden wall behind Toren's house, and here again Samul and Arden had been at work, leaving two barrels for Dease and field to stand upon.

They scrambled up and peered toward the house. As Dease had expected, they found candles burning and both sets of double doors opened to the terrace. It was Toren's custom to sit out on his terrace for a time each night before retiring. Toren called this his contemplation hour, and Dease thought this night there would be more than usual to contemplate. It even occurred to him as he stood there that Toren might finally be coming to his senses, and it would be both ironic and tragic that Dease would take his life this night.

He has had two years to come to his senses, Dease thought. There is no reason to believe it will ever happen, let alone this night.

Against the light within a silhouette appeared, walking slowly across the space between the doors. They heard hushed voices—Toren was not alone—but words echoed off the stone walls and were reduced to a jumble.

"There is your target, Cousin," Beld whispered as the silhouette appeared again.

"I am not so sure. That does not seem to be Toren.""Of course it is Toren!" Beldor growled.” Take aim and do as you have pledged."Dease drew his arrow back, but hesitated still.

"Look, Beldor... can you not see? That is some other.""It is Toren and he'll be gone to bed if you don't perform your agreed duty—now!"Dease took aim once again, but the silhouette moved a little and Dease was almost sure it was not Toren. He lowered the arrow.

"We must wait. That's not him." He glanced at Beld, who was staring at him, mouth raggedly open.

"Dease," he hissed, but Dease ignored him, returning his attention to the lit doors.

All at once there was an explosion of light and pain, and Dease felt himself slipping from his perch, though he never seemed to strike the ground.

Not a breath of air disturbed the mist, which clung to the branches and drifted over the road, concealing everything beyond a small circle. Elise looked over at Prince Michael, whose gaze had barely met hers at all this entire ride. He feels that he has failed me, though the failure was not his. The sharp rap of iron-shod hooves on stone rattled back between the trees. Elise took a long breath and quickly slipped her shoes off. She took hold of her pommel. She wanted to reach over and touch Michael's arm but knew she should do nothing to catch the guard's attention. The guard's horse reached the bridge, and a step later her own horse found the stone deck. The bridge arched up, the balustrade appearing in the mist, then she was looking out over the river, fogbound and moonlit. The instant drew near and yet she did nothing. In a second it would be past.” Think of your child in Hafydd's care," she whispered, and took a quick breath. She pushed herself up and placed one stockinged foot just behind the guard's saddle. She grasped the man's shoulder to pull and steady herself, and though he spun around he turned only toward where she'd been. Elise was already behind.

A quick step and she was on the parapet; only a second's pause and she flung herself off into the moon mist. Elise felt a tug as a hand grabbed the skirt of her gown. A tearing sound and she fell into the slow-swirling white, and then into the cold, welcoming river.

Baore heard the splash but saw nothing. He pushed even harder on the oars, twisting about. There! There was the stone of the bridge. He wanted to call out Elise's name but was afraid arrows would find him. Instead he spun the boat slowly around.

Men were shouting on the bridge now. And some others came splashing along the shore. Men-at-arms, Baore thought, wearing heavy coats of mail—not that any of them could likely swim.

He remained still, letting the mist hide him. He felt light, sitting there without the whetstone he had carried so far. And he felt a terrible guilt as well that he had passed it to some other. He feared Elise didn't really understand the bargain she would enter into.

Elise felt the cold waters envelop her. She opened her eyes and found herself floating through liquid moonlight. And then the panic took hold. She began to flail, searching about. Where was the surface? Where? A pressure seemed to build in her chest. Breathe.

She had to breathe. She felt a darkness pressing in at the edge of her vision and a strange ringing sounded.

And then she saw, floating a few yards off, the nagar, hair wafting like kelp, a terrible sadness on the pale features.

Baore held his position near the bridge, the mist licking around him. It seemed to him that half an hour had passed, though it could not have been so long. And then there was a terrible gasping for breath. He was up in a flash, reaching over the side to pull Elise from the grasp of the river. She came up, pale as the moon.

Water seemed to run out of her pores when he laid her in the boat. It streamed out of her hair and eyes and mouth. She gasped for breath and sobbed, adding salt tears to the streaming water.

She looked up at Baore as if noticing him for the first time.” I'm alive," she sobbed.” Alive again.""Dease?" He heard the word, but for a moment it seemed to have no meaning. There was such excruciating pain in his temple, and his ears rang as though he'd put his head inside a bell.” Dease? Can you hear me?" His eyes opened and the light pained them so he shut them again.” Toren?" "Yes." "I'm going to be ill." "Here ... turn on your side. There. You'll be all right." Dease wretched terribly, and then lay back. Someone pressed a glass of brandy to his lips and it burned in his already scorched throat. But it did not matter. The pain in his head made everything else insignificant.” Dease? What happened?" What had happened? Dease felt as though the world would not be still. It tilted this way, then that. His nausea persisted, and the pain in his head seemed to scatter his thoughts and memories like windblown leaves.” Was it Beld?" Toren said.” What?""Was it Beldor who shot Arden?"Dease shook his head.” I can't quite remember. Toren? What of Arden?"There was no answer to this. Dease dared open his eyes just a crack, and he saw the sorrow on Toren's face.