Casting In Stone Book One of the Averraine Cycle Page 7

  Ullien had never named a permanent champion, preferring to give the nod to this fighter or that on the rare occasions when he needed to seem above the fray. Otherwise, well, he’d been a man grown by the time he wrested control from the Reverend Mother who had acted as Warder after his aunt died, and it had meant a lot to him to fight his own fights.

  For Einon it was different. Even later, when he gained his full height and filled out, becoming the equal of any warrior in the field, he preferred to leave the lesser battles to me. It allowed him some leeway, after, and he accrued less of the blame, allowing people to come to the conclusion that the new ways weren’t so very bad, after all, and to pretend to loyalty until that loyalty became their own in truth.

  But because of that, because the role of ducal champion had become by the second year, a permanent thing, and one of prestige and curious honour, it began to be contested on its own.

  It was seen that Einon trusted me, and that despite Penliath’s relative unimportance, my opinion carried weight with him, both in and out of the council chambers. I sat close to him at table, I accompanied him almost everywhere, and when he was exhausted or irritable, I was the wall between Einon and the rest of the world, ensuring he was not troubled by annoying sycophants looking for favours.

  Some people, especially those who hadn’t been in the courtyard at Dungarrow that day, took one look at me and decided I’d just been lucky and that an open challenge was an easy road to fame and fortune.

  And so I had battles to fight simply for myself, and the place I occupied. There were always young fighters, and even some older ones, eager to earn their reputation by killing me, and it’s easy enough to throw some points of honour around to force things to a head.

  Usually, I brushed through these brawls without a scratch, because most people have a wildly over-inflated estimation of their own abilities, and they weren’t very often anything near the warrior they thought themselves.

  Once or twice, some petty lordling would attempt an ambush instead, thinking that a couple of hired bravos on a deserted stretch of road could do the job.

  I didn’t always come through those unscathed, but I came through, nonetheless.

  My boredom in battle increased. Every experience made the next one that much easier, every bout taught me more about how others fought. The rest of it became a game for me: watching and listening and being able to predict who would be my next opponent, and Feargal and I started making hilarious bets about the who, how and when.

  We’d always been friends of sorts, Feargal and I, even from the start. He’d been the only one to never mock me about my lack of swordsmanship when I’d first stepped onto the practice ground, and his inheritance made him generous, never having had to think twice about where the money was to be found. He liked the people around him to be happy, and if he thought some trinket or some adventure would do the trick, he arranged its existence in your life in some way that could not be argued with or resented.

  Our friendship grew stronger, because we were devoted to Einon back when almost everyone else was sorrowfully rationalizing why being close to the boy was not worth the risk. In the first year, the long evenings sitting in the hall outside the ducal bedchamber, drinking and dicing and waiting for the slightest suggestion that our presence might be needed, those nights only reinforced and strengthened our bond.

  We became a bit of a team, and occasionally, as the need for constant attendance on the young duke’s pleasure lessened, we wound up in Feargal’s rooms, making love in a companionable sort of way. It was part of our friendship, and to be honest, neither one of us was ever touched by the slightest of heart-aches or even any serious desire for the other. It was just an entertaining way to pass the time when nothing better was on offer.

  I was just back from Emlyn Glais, where I’d been at pains to negotiate with a band of minor gentry who resented a proposed tax on mill-rights. Outnumbered, they had decided to fight, as if it wasn’t two years on and we didn’t have a string of hard-won victories behind us. An arrow had glanced off someone’s shield and into my sword arm - the wound wasn’t deep, but it felt achy and bruised, and had made me irritable. Einon had at first been sympathetic, then frustrated with my grunting responses to his questions about the battle, and finally he ordered Feargal to take me away and get me drunk.

  It wasn’t so much a marriage proposal as a business arrangement. I wasn’t rich, and my position in Einon’s court was not easy to maintain, in terms of suitable clothing, weapons, horses and so on. I hadn’t the aptitude, or even the time to spend overseeing Penliath, and the income there had to be split with Merryn, anyway.

  Einon, it seemed, was concerned that I would be distracted by these mundane problems. He wanted a solution that ensured my financial position while costing him nothing.

  The trouble was two-fold: Ullien, despite appearances, had not been such a good steward of his lands as we had all assumed, and his use of bribery to bolster any flagging loyalties had depleted things further. Einon had far less ready cash or future income to work with than he’d imagined he would have.

  In addition, he was concerned with appearances.

  He had to be. Asking all those lords and ladies to give up even some of their rapacious ways and let those lower down the ladder become more prosperous wouldn’t look quite so fair if he then handed someone as lowly as Penliath’s holder some appropriated spoils that made me rich. I’d had a few small gifts, such as a very finely-made mail shirt and a new horse, as well as a pair of farms that abutted Penliath, but those had been in dispute as to ownership since my grandfather had been a lad, and no one regarded them as ill-gotten gains.

  More than that might seem like hypocrisy. In fact, I had been the one to point it out to him, when he’d suggested I take over Mael’s acres of grazing lands, a few weeks after the duel in the courtyard. Disinheriting his vanquished opponent’s two sons wasn’t a good way to win friends, either, and I had argued for generosity there. I didn’t need any new reasons to watch Einon’s back or my own.

  But Feargal laid out a solution that he claimed would benefit us both. He was under pressure from his many cousins to marry, since his position demanded direct and attested blood- heirs whenever possible, and he was damned sure that marrying anyone who might reasonably expect a claim on his affections would be the road to unhappiness.

  Better a friend he trusted, he said, than some clingy girl with dreams of fidelity and heart-to-heart hearthside chats about grain storage or pig farming. Better a strong sword arm at his side, he said, and as to heirs, well, we were young yet. If I was willing, in a few years, to give up the time to it, he’d be grateful. If not, his relatives would have to lump it.

  The clincher was, of course, that Einon approved of it. Nay, he had suggested it. What could be more reassuring for him than two of his closest friends united by the strongest of ties? Nothing need change, Feargal said. We’d just go on as we were, but he could, through generous bride-gifts, make sure that neither Merryn nor I need want for anything, ever.

  And in among those gifts, along with some excellent jewels, a lucrative river crossing and three large grain fields complete with a mill, were the fealties, fees and messuages of the Vale of Rhwyn.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the end, Eardith and I ate our fish supper alone, frying up two of the trout over the fire as Guerin and Arlais rode on for richer fare and warmer beds up at Rhwyn Keep.

  Arlais had spent a fruitless hour, questioning me about the wolves, but Eardith had spoken truly in her letters and there was little I could add. I saw why they’d sent Arlais out from Braide, though.

  Young as she was, she appeared to have a profound and encompassing knowledge of ancient and arcane lore: nothing I said seemed to surprise her. She took it all in with equanimity, exchanging knowing glances and occasional nods of comprehension with Eardith, and while I built up the hearth fire and got out the iron griddle, Guerin saddled their horses and she and Eardith stood on the grassy verge of t
he path and held a worried, low-voiced conversation.

  But once we’d cleared away the dishes, and set the last trout in a pot of water to simmer for tomorrow’s porridge, Eardith said,

  “She’ll want to go up into the mountains, you know.”

  “She’s welcome to the journey.”

  But her tone alerted me. I sat back down on the bench and waited.

  “Well, she can’t go alone,” Eardith said, her voice pitched sweetly reasonable. “And Joss is far too busy, this time of year. I doubt Owain can spare him.”

  I was trapped. I didn’t even bother to rack my brains to come up with an excuse, and just muttered that I wasn’t keen on this.

  “Nonsense,” she said. “There have been no more wolves - you and Joss managed things well enough. But she feels she must see the place.”

  I caught the uncertainty beneath her cheery tone. She didn’t like this either. Our eyes met.

  “Oh, I’ll come as well,” she said, finally, unwillingly, I thought. “But you’ll be perfectly safe.”

  Now why, I wondered, had she said that as if she were convincing herself of it?

  The morning sky did nothing to improve my outlook. I’d spent a restless night, with odd but instantly forgotten dreams, and rose in a dark mood that was matched by the thick grey clouds drifting westward over the mountains.

  Eardith’s prediction had been accurate. Not long after sunrise, Guerin and Arlais were back, and dressed for more than civilized chat. Guerin caught my eye and shook his head just ever so slightly. He didn’t like this any more than I did, but the warning not to argue was clear enough.

  Arlais was quite perky today, I saw. I suspected that, onerous responsibilities and worrisome portents notwithstanding, this was as far and away as close to an adventure as she had ever been allowed, and she was enjoying her illusions of freedom.

  I eyed the pair of them with the same disfavor I’d given the clouds. They’d brought along a spare mount for Eardith, so I reluctantly saddled Balefire as well.

  “We won’t be able to get far on horseback,” I warned. “Maybe a couple of miles or so past the crossroads, and then it will have to be on foot.”

  I was rewarded with a slight frown from Arlais, who apparently wasn’t used to long walks in the hills. Guerin merely smiled.

  “The exercise will no doubt do me good,” he said, falsely cheerful. Yesterday’s odd tales hadn’t gone unheeded and he had come prepared. In addition to his sword and long knives, he’d borrowed one of Owain’s hunting spears, and they had brought bread, cheese and a packet of last year’s dried apples.

  It was as I’d imagined it would be. Long before we reached the deeper forest, Arlais was visibly flagging, and Eardith was leaning heavily on her walking stick. I murmured a hint to Guerin that a rest might be prudent, but he shook his head.

  “The sooner there, the sooner away again,” he muttered, but we slowed the pace a little, at least, and kept on, reaching the place where the trees began once again to thin out into rocky scrabble, only a little past noon.

  We stopped there, finally, because it was plain that neither Eardith nor Arlais would manage the last steep climb without a rest and some refreshment. Our meal was a hasty one: the snow might be gone, but the oppressive gloom that had overtaken Joss and I had not altered in the days after.

  You could feel the chill and the unnatural stillness, and I shivered in spite of myself. Was it only because it had been so long uninhabited by anything human, or was it merely my imagination? I could see that the others felt it, too, though. Arlais was frowning, Guerin’s shoulders looked tense, and Eardith’s face had that same bleak look that she’d had during the wolf attacks on the village.

  We walked on to the place where the wolves had made that final assault. I hadn’t been able to pinpoint the spot where they’d first charged at us - either I was even more useless a tracker than I’d thought, or we had come through the forest a little differently. In the ravine, though, I felt confident the signs would be obvious to anyone.

  But the tumble of rocks, although instantly familiar, showed not the slightest sign of disturbance. There were no wolf corpses, no trace of blood, bones or battle. I swallowed. That sense of strangeness, of lingering evil, that was all that remained, and that might well be my imagination, even so.

  Nothing else marked anything here to tell the tale, and that - that unnerved me more than anything else might have.

  “It was here,” I said. “It was. There, that’s where Joss killed the other wolf.”

  Arlais said, turning to Eardith, “If she speaks aright, there is some great force at work. And something is wrong here. I can feel it.”

  Eardith merely shrugged. She had remained at the edge of the trees, seemingly reluctant to walk further into the open place bounded by tumbles of moss-covered rocks. I thought again that there was something odd about those stones, so unlike the random jumble that normally appears after a hillside gives way.

  It seemed as if Arlais thought so, too. She started towards one of the farther piles of boulders, but then her steps faltered. Her pace slowed and then stopped, and she stood, shaking her head as if to clear it, and she looked confused.

  It was only because of where I was standing. I had a clear view of both of them, and I had seen Eardith’s hands make a sort of pushing motion, and her lips move soundlessly as Arlais had gotten closer to those stones. I was, momentarily, actually quite surprised.

  You know how it is. If you see someone daily, if you see them forever doing ordinary things, you forget that they might not be so ordinary.

  My experience of Eardith was completely one of the everyday: she cooked, she tended her vegetable patch, she visited the latrines. She snored gently in her sleep, and at intervals, she performed whichever standard rituals the villagers needed, for fertility, for protection or for common piety, and one thought little past these simple facts.

  But I knew that Eardith had trained at Braide, and that is an education that always comes with the possibility of greater talents and powerful gifts. The fact that I had never seen her exercise them or that she lived without renown in a tiny, unimportant backwater did not preclude their existence.

  Arlais was from Braide as well, of course.

  She looked around, still a little bemused, but then she started for the stones again, and Eardith drew a breath, and I don’t know why, exactly, I did as I did, because surely, what did I care if Arlais was prevented from looking at a few random lumps of ancient rock?

  I moved forward, in front of Eardith, and blocked her view of the girl, as nonchalantly as I could, as if I were examining the open ground for signs of the dead wolves.

  A lot of things happened, all at once.

  Arlais reached her goal and touched the rocks and cried out in surprise.

  Whatever Eardith had been aiming at Arlais hit me instead, and I found myself momentarily blank, confused and completely at a loss as to what I had been doing or why.

  And there was a crackling sound, and the air grew suddenly icy, and Guerin was turning back towards us with a red-faced rage that was utterly unlike him, there was the not-quite-sound of someone laughing and then I heard Eardith’s voice, loud and commanding, speaking a language I had never heard before.

  There was a kind of flash of light, or perhaps it was that, for a tiny moment, there was no light at all.

  And then…nothing.

  It was silent and calm. A moment later, I could hear Guerin’s breathing, gasping and strained. When I looked at Arlais, she seemed to be both terror-stricken and on the point of a furious outburst or an attack, but she said nothing, just stood there, looking at Eardith.

  Eardith, well, she looked resigned. Defeated, almost. But then something in her reasserted itself, and she squared her shoulders and met Arlais’ gaze head on.

  Something passed between them - what, I could not say. Understanding? Acceptance? I only knew that after a moment, Arlais relaxed, and gave Eardith the tiniest of acknowledging nods.
>
  It was Guerin who spoke first, and he ignored both of them and looked directly at me.

  “What in all the Nine Hells just happened?”

  He didn’t expect an answer, of course. It was just one warrior to another, the creation of a kind of alliance based on the certain knowledge that another fighter could be trusted, whereas the priestly could not.

  “I think,” said Eardith, unbelievably matter-of-fact, “we had better go. We don’t want to waste what daylight is left.”

  For a moment I was almost elated. I hadn’t wanted to come here to begin with, after all. But then, something in me rebelled.

  “No, “ I said. I caught Arlais’ eye. “We came for something. Let’s find it.”

  Arlais shook her head. “Eardith is right. We should go.”

  “Really? Almost a whole day given for a moment’s worth of a look-see? You must be far more observant than I, to gather so much out of so little.”

  “Caoimhe. Leave it,” said Eardith sharply.

  “No,” I said. “No. You dragged me up here. I want to know what happened. I want to know how three wolf carcasses can just disappear without a trace. I want to know why three children died to no purpose. If there are answers here, I want them.”

  “You won’t find them poking around here,” she said, “and you wouldn’t understand the answers if you had them, anyway. But we would do better to be home before dark - I promise you, this place is not one that you should linger in.”

  “Oh, I’ll grant you all of that and more,” I said, drily. “But you are the one throwing magic about like poultry feed. I’d like some kind of explanation. Hells, I’d settle for a decent lie.”

  She flinched.

  “Caoimhe,” said Arlais, and now there was just the slightest thread of urgency in her voice, “We will tell all we can. But not here. Not now. Please.”

  I looked at Guerin, who shrugged.

  “Whatever they will say can be said as easily in Rhwyn as here,” he said, after a moment. “And, truthfully, are you so eager to stay?”