Bristling Wood (27 page)

“Let’s get that bridle off, my friend. If I die along the way, you’ll starve if you get those reins, wrapped around a bush or suchlike.”

Taking the bridle off with only one hand was a long agony of effort, but at last he got it done. Leaning against the gelding for support, he went through the saddlebags and found the horse’s previous owner’s spare shirt and a chunk of venison jerky. He managed to tear the shirt into strips by using his teeth and made himself a rough sling, then ate the jerky while he rode on, guiding the horse with his knees. All afternoon they rode slowly, dodging through the widely spaced trees, climbing up and down the hills, until by sunset they’d made another ten miles. When they found another meadow, he let the horse graze and envied him the grass with his stomach clenching in hunger. Although he was only intending to rest for a few moments, as soon as he sat down sleep took him.

When he woke, moonlight flooded the meadow. Nearby the chestnut stood, head down and asleep. The night was unnaturally silent. Not the cry of an owl, not the song of a cricket, nothing. As sat up, wondering at the silence, he saw something—someone—standing at the edge of the meadow. With a whispered oath, he rose, wishing for the sword he’d left behind on the battlefield. The figure took one step forward, tall, towering in the moonlight—or it moonlight? He seemed to drip pale light as palpable as water running down the strong naked arms, glittering on the gold torc around his neck, shimmering on the massive antlers that sprang from a head mostly cervine, though human eyes looked out of it. Perryn began to weep in a fierce, aching joy.

“Kerun,” he whispered. “My most holy lord.”

The great head swung his way. The liquid dark eyes considered him not unkindly, but merely distantly; the god raised his hands in blessing to the man who was perhaps his last true worshipper in all of Deverry. Then he vanished, leaving Perryn wrapped in a shuddering awe that wiped all his pain and exhaustion away. With tears running down his face, he went to the place where the god had appeared and knelt on the grass, now god-touched and holy. Eventually the chestnut raised its head with a drowsy nicker and broke the spell. Perryn mounted and rode on, guiding the horse instinctively through the dark forest. Although he rode for the rest of the night and on into the morning, he felt no hunger, no pain, his wound only a distant ache like a bee sting. About an hour after dawn, they came out of the trees just a mile from Nedd’s dun. He trotted up to the hill, then dismounted and led the tired horse up to the gates. He heard shouts and people running, but all at once, it was very hard to see. He concentrated on keeping his feet as Jill raced toward him.

“Lord Perryn! Are they all lost, then?”

“Cursed near. Besieged.” he fainted into a merciful darkness, where it seemed a stag came to meet him.

Between them Jill and a servant named Saebyn got Perryn up on a table in the great hall. As she soaked the blood-crusted shirt away from his wound, Jill found herself trying to remember everything Nevyn, had ever told her about herbcraft, but the memories did her little good, because she had no proper tools and precious few herbs. The only thing Saebyn could turn up for a vulnerary was rosemary from the kitchen garden. At least Nevyn had always said that any green herb was better than none. When she finally loosened the shirt from the wound, she sent Saebyn off for more hot water and some mead, then carefully peeled the crusted linen away. Her gray gnome popped into reality and hunkered down on the table for a look.

“It’s not as bad as I feared,” Jill said to him. “See? It just sliced the muscle and missed those big blood vessels in the armpit.”

With a solemn nod, the gnome tilted his head to one side and considered the unconscious man. All at once it leapt up and hissed like a cat, its skinny mouth gaping to show every fang, its arms extended and its hands curled like claws. Jill was so surprised at hearing it make a sound that she caught it barely in time when it launched itself at Perryn and tried to bite him.

“Stop that!” She gave the gnome a little shake. “What’s so wrong?”

Its face screwed up in hatred, the gnome went limp in her hands.

“You can’t bite Lord Perryn. He’s ill already, and he’s never done anything to you, either.”

The gnome shook its head yes as if to say he had.

“What? Here, little brother, why don’t you come back later, and try to explain.”

It vanished just as Saebyn returned with the stableboy behind him. Jill washed the wound with water, then had Saebyn hold Perryn’s arms down and the stableboy his feet. Gritting her teeth, she poured the mead directly into the open wound. With a howl of pain, Perryn roused from his faint and twisted round. It was all the two men could do to keep him lying there.

“My apologies, my lord,” Jill said firmly. “But we’ve got to disperse the foul humors in this wound.”

For a moment he merely gasped for breath; then he turned his head to look at her.

“Forgot where I was,” he mumbled. “Go ahead.”

Jill wadded up a bit of rag and made him bite on it, then washed the wound again. He trembled once, then lay so still that she thought he’d fainted again, but his eyes were open in a stubborn resistance to pain that she had to admire. Mercifully, the worst was over. She made a poultice of the rosemary leaves, laid it in the wound, then bound it up with clean linen.

“Benoic,” he said at last. “I’ve got to ride to Benoic.”

“You can’t. You could bleed to death if you try. Tell me the message, and I’ll take it on.”

“Ride to my uncle. Tell him Nedd’s trapped in Graemyn’s dun.” His voice fell into a whisper. “Your Rhodry was still alive, last I saw of him.”

“My thanks.” Although she nearly broke, she forced her voice steady. “I’ll pray that he still is.”

While Saebyn told her who Benoic was and what road to take to Pren Cludan, Jill cut one of the embroidered wolves from Perryn’s bloody shirt to take as a token. When she rode out, she took two horses. By switching her weight back and forth, she would be able to ride at close to a courier’s speed. As soon as she was well away from the dun, she called to her gnome, which promptly appeared on the saddle peak.

“Can you find Rhodry? Can you tell me if he’s still alive?”

It nodded yes, patted her hand, then disappeared. Out on the road, where no one could see her, Jill allowed herself to cry.

A little after dawn on the next day Rhodry climbed the ramparts and looked out over the dun wall. In the misty morning the enemy camp was coming awake; cooking fires blossomed among the dirty canvas tents, and men strolled around, yawning as they tended their horses. Just beyond the camp was the beginning of a circle of earthworks, about twenty feet, so far, of packed mound edged with a ditch that would soon close them round and block any attempts at escape. It was also an unnecessary effort on Naddryc’s part. The decision had been made. Soon the lords would surrender and hang to spare the women and children. All that Rhodry wanted was for it to be very soon to end the waiting. When he was fourteen years old, he’d begun learning how to live prepared to die; at twenty-three, he was a master at that part of the warrior’s craft. Now the day was upon him, but his Wyrd would come at the end of a rope.

To die by hanging, to be thrown into a ditch with a hundred men who’d met the same priest-cursed end, to lie far from Eldidd, unmarked, unmourned, nothing but a silver dagger who’d had the ill luck to take the wrong hire—that was his Wyrd, was it? Rhodry his head in sheer disbelief, that all his berserk battle glory, strange dweomer prophecies and magical battles had led him to this, a thing so numbing that he felt no fear and very little grief, only a dark hiraedd that he’d never see Jill again. What if he’d only ridden east instead of west and been hired by Naddryc instead of Nedd? That would have been worse, he decided, to be party to this dishonorable scheme. He would die and Naddryc live, but at least he would have his honor, while the lord had thrown his away for hatred’s sake.

Rhodry was so wrapped in his brooding that when something tweaked his sleeve, he spun around, his sword out of its scabbard before he was aware of drawing. Jill’s gray gnome stood on the rampart, grinning at him while it jigged up and down in excitement. Rhodry felt a flare of hope. If only he could make the little creature understand, if only it could tell Jill—but what was she supposed to do then? Run to some great lord and say that the Wildfolk had told her the tale? The hope died again.

“It’s cursed good to see you, little brother, but do you realize what kind of evil has befallen me?”

Much to his surprise it nodded yes, then held up one long finger as a sign, to pay attention. Suddenly there were Wildfolk all around it, little blue sprites, fat yellow gnomes, strange gray fellows, and parti-colored ugly little lasses. Never had Rhodry seen so many, a vast crowd, along the rampart.

“What is all this?’”

When the gray gnome snapped his fingers, the Wildfolk lined up in pairs, then began to bob up and down with a rhythmic motion, each with one hand held out before it. The gray gnome stood at the head of the line with one hand out like the others, but the left raised as if holding a sword. Rhodry finally understood.

“An army! Oh, by great Bel himself, do you mean that someone’s riding to relieve this siege?”

The gnome leapt up and danced, while it nodded yes. With a rushy sound, the rest of the pack disappeared. When Rhodry’s eyes filled with tears he wiped them away, swallowing hard before he could speak.

“Did you tell Jill I was trapped here?

This time the answer was no. The gnome sucked one finger for a moment, then began to walk back, and forth, while it imitated a stiff, clumsy, bowlegged gait.

“Lord Perryn? He escaped the battle?”

Although the gnome nodded yes, its expression was peculiarly sour. It shrugged, as if dismissing something, then leapt to Rhodry’s shoulder and kissed him on the cheek before it vanished. Rhodry tossed his head back and laughed—until it occurred to that now he had to convince the noble lords that rescue was on the way, that there was no need to surrender, without, of course, mentioning the Wildfolk.

“Oh, horsedung and a pile of it!”

All morning, while he watched the mounted patrols ride round and round the dun, he went over and over the problem, trying out phrases, rejecting them, trying some more. Eventually Lord Nedd climbed awkwardly up the ladder onto the catwalk and limped over.

“Just thought I’d have a look at the bastards.” Nedd leaned onto the wall and stared down, his red hair oddly dull in the sunlight, as if he were ill. “Ah well, at least we’ll hang soon and get it over with.”

“Er, well, my lord, I was just thinking about that, and . . . ”

“At least I don’t have a widow to mourn me.” The lord went on as if he hadn’t heard Rhodry’s tentative words. “By the Lord of Hell’s balls, I’d always wanted my land to revert to Perryn if I died, and now he’s died before me.”

Nedd was close to tears over his cousin’s death, a surprising thing to Rhodry, who considered him no great loss. Or had considered him lost, until just a few hours ago.

“Here, my lord, what if he escaped from the field?”

“Oh, indeed! What if a crow sang like a little finch, too? Perryn wasn’t much of a swordsman, silver dagger, and Naddryc’s bastards were slaughtering the wounded after the battle.”

“True-spoken, but . . . ”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nedd snarled. “Why mourn poor Perryn? He’s better off dead.”

“I wasn’t, my lord. Naught of the sort!”

“My apologies. I forget you didn’t know him well. By the asses of the gods, I got so blasted sick of all the chatter. What’s wrong with your wretched cousin, how can you stand him in your dun, he’s daft, he’s a half-wit, he’s this or he’s that. He wasn’t daft at all, by the hells! A little . . . well, eccentric, maybe, but not daft.” He sighed heavily. “Well, it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ll see him in the Otherlands tomorrow morn.”

“My lord, he’s not dead.”

Nedd looked at him as if he were thinking that Rhodry was daft. Here was the crux, and Rhodry steadied himself with a breath before he went on.

“My lord, you must have heard the old saw, that Eldidd men often have a touch of the second sight? It’s true, and I’ll swear to you that I know deep in my heart that Perryn’s alive, and that he’s bringing an army back to relieve the siege.”

The lord’s eyes narrowed.

“Look at me, a misbegotten silver dagger. I’ve been in more battles and tavern brawls than most men even hear of. I’ve faced hanging before, too, for that matter. Am I the kind of man to turn to fancies because he can’t face death? Didn’t you praise me for my courage on the field?”

“So I did.” The lord looked away, thinking. “I’ve seen you go berserk, too. Why wouldn’t you have a touch of the sight as well, for all I know? But—”

“I know it sounds daft, but I beg you, believe me. I know it’s true. It comes to me in dreams, like. I know there’s a relieving army on the way.”

“But who—oh ye gods, my uncle!” Suddenly Nedd grinned. “Of course Perryn would ride straight to Benoic—well, if he’s truly alive.”

“I know he is, my lord. I’ll swear it to you on my silver dagger.”

“And that’s the holiest oath a man, like you can swear. Ah, by the black hairy ass of the Lord of Hell, what does it matter if we hang tomorrow or in an eight night, anyway? Come along, silver dagger. We’ve got to convince my allies of this, but I’ll wager they’ll grab at any shred of hope they can see.”

Four days after she left Nedd’s dun, Jill rode back with an army of two hundred twenty men, every last rider that Tieryn Benoic could scrape up, whether by calling in old alliances or by outright threats. As the warband filed into the ward, Saebyn ran out, clutched the tieryn’s stirrup as a sign of fealty, and began telling the lord everything that Perryn had told him, over the past few days. Jill threw her reins to the stableboy and hurried into the great hall, where Perryn lay propped up on Nedd’s bed with a pair of boarhounds on either side of him and, three of those sleek little hounds known as gwertraeion at his feet. She shoved a dog to one side and perched on the edge of the bed to look over her patient, whose eyes were clear and alert, and his cheeks unfevered.