Sword in the Storm (22 page)

Banouin appeared alongside him. The little merchant was wearing a heavy coat of sheepskin and carrying a baked loaf of cheese bread. Ripping off a chunk, he offered it to Conn. The youngster shook his head.

“Best to eat. Otherwise you’ll be spilling your guts over the side,” said Banouin. Reluctantly Conn grabbed the bread and took a bite. It tasted of ash and bile. Slowly he chewed and swallowed. The white cliffs were smaller now, the gulls wheeling away to return to the land. Conn wished he had wings so that he could join them. “Keep eating,” ordered Banouin. Conn finished the bread and was surprised to find that his stomach was settling. He glanced at the sky. It was the color of iron, and in the distance he could see storm clouds

“How long before we reach Goriasa?” he asked.

“Four, five hours.”

Conn shivered. Banouin walked across the flat deck to where the twenty pack ponies and two mounts were tethered and pulled Conn’s pale blue cloak clear of the ties at the back of his saddle. Returning to the youngster, he lifted it over his shoulders. Conn smiled his thanks and clipped it in place with the fawn in brambles brooch Riamfada had made for him. Behind them Conn’s steeldust gelding whinnied in fear as the ship lurched once more. Releasing the rail, Conn staggered over to where the pony was tied and stroked its long nose. “You are just like me,” whispered Conn. “Neither of us has been on a ship before, and neither of us likes it.” Feeling the confident touch of its rider, the gelding calmed down. Conn patted its neck and moved back to where Banouin was sitting on the deck, out of the wind. Crouching down, Conn joined him.

“Will the Stone army be at Goriasa?” he asked.

“No. They have not yet advanced into the lands of the Ostro or the Gath. The last war was against the Aiddui, about eighty miles to the east. The general Jasaray won two great victories on the coast there. He will now be solidifying his gains. I would not expect a war against the Gath for at least another two years, maybe three. No, I think the Perdii will be the next tribe to face the Stone Panthers. Jasaray was probably planning the Perdii war even before he marched against the Aiddui.”

“What kind of plans?” asked Conn.

Banouin smiled. “War for the Rigante is like a lightning storm: fast, furious, and swiftly completed. Not so for the people of Stone. They seek to conquer and hold the territories they win. What is the most important consideration for a general?”

“Courageous fighters,” Conn answered instantly.

“No,” said Banouin, “it is food and forage. It does not matter how courageous your soldiers are if they are starving. An army of twenty thousand men needs an immense amount
of grain, dried fruit, meat. Every day. Five thousand horses need hundreds of acres of grazing. Every day. When Jasaray advances into enemy lands, he will need to be supplied. Therefore, he will now be wooing various tribal chieftains—the Gath among them—who are hostile to the Perdii. These chieftains will supply his army when he marches.”

A light rain began to fall. Moving once more to the ponies, Banouin untied a canvas sheet, which he carried back to the bow rail. Stretching it out, he lifted it over his head. Conn took the other end, and together they sat under the sheet as the rain began to increase. The constant pattering against the canvas made conversation impossible, and both men sat silently, each lost in his own thoughts.

Connavar was thinking of Riamfada and wondering, not for the first time, whether the crippled youth would still have been alive if he had carried him home when he first had complained of tiredness. There was no way he would ever know, and the guilt hung over him like a dark mantle. They had buried Riamfada on the edge of the Wishing Tree Woods, which was highly unusual, but Vorna had insisted that the burial site was fitting. She had sat quietly with Gariapha and Wiocca, out of earshot of the other mourners, discussing it. When they came out, Riamfada’s parents seemed comforted by Vorna’s words. Riamfada, his frail body wrapped in blankets, had been carried on a two-wheeled cart to the edge of the woods. There Gariapha, Connavar, and Govannan had dug a deep grave. Vorna had given a short oration commending Riamfada’s spirit to the gods, then the mourners had poured wine over the grave, re-covered it with turf, and moved back down to the settlement.

As they walked back, Govannan had come alongside Conn. “Do you regret saving him?” he had asked.

Conn had found the question astonishing. “What do you mean?”

“Look at what you suffered. And it only brought him a few weeks of life. Was it worth it?”

“What do you think?”

Govannan shrugged. “Do not misunderstand me, Conn. I miss him already. And I feel heart-struck by his death. It is just … I don’t know. It all seems so pointless. He lived in constant pain, couldn’t walk, couldn’t even control his bladder and his bowels. Now he’s dead at seventeen. It feels … unfair.”

Vorna, who was walking behind them, stepped forward. “You cannot judge the quality of Riamfada’s human life. You did not live it. He died happy. Not many do. Believe me.”

“Why do you say ‘human’ life?” asked Conn.

“I saw him run across the grass,” answered Vorna, but when Conn made to question her further, she merely smiled and touched her finger to her lips. “All things in their own season,” she said. “We will talk of this again.” She moved away to where Banouin was waiting at the foot of the hill.

“Can you believe it?” whispered Govannan. “Vorna. Married!”

“I am pleased for her,” said Conn. “And for Banouin. He has been lonely for too long.”

On the day they left Vorna embraced Banouin publicly and gave him a cloak brooch of bronze inset with a blue opal. “This brooch carries a charm,” she said softly. “It will always find a way to return to me. Keep it with you always.”

“I shall,” he said, tucking the brooch into his saddlebag.

The journey south to the sea took two months, crossing many tribal lands and visiting scores of settlements. Banouin traded at many of them, buying cloth, jewelry, ornately carved weapons, daggers, and hunting knives. By the time they reached the coast, the original eleven pack ponies were heavily burdened and Banouin had leased nine more. As they rode, Banouin pointed out landmarks during the day and on several occasions urged Conn to study their backtrail. “You’ll
be surprised how different the land will look on the return journey, when autumn strips the trees or the rivers swell. Always look back and fix in your mind the changing landscapes.” He taught Conn about the different tribes: their beliefs and their codes. But rarely did he speak of Vorna. Conn began to wonder if the merchant was regretting his decision to wed.

On the last night, as they camped in a small wood overlooking the chalk cliffs, he broached the subject. Banouin smiled. “Regrets? No, I have none, Conn. I have lived too long alone.”

“Your decision to wed was rather sudden,” Conn pointed out.

“Aye, it was. I am a careful man. Too cautious, perhaps. But on the night of the feast she released in me a need for joy that I had forgotten. This will be my last journey, Conn. I have decided to settle down and live the rest of my days among the Rigante.”

“What will you do?”

“Do? I will teach, and I will learn. Oh, I will still trade, but no more long journeys. I will walk the mountains with Vorna. She can teach me about herbs and Rigante lore.”

“Will you not miss the traveling?”

“I would—if the world had remained as it was when I began. But it is changing, Conn. And not, I fear, for the better.”

The following morning they led the ponies down to the harbor. Conn’s heart sank when he saw the little ship with its flat, open deck and its two sails. It seemed to him to be flimsy, and when he gazed out at the gray, forbidding sea, he was filled with a sense of foreboding.

He felt it now even more strongly as he sat beneath the canvas sheet, the rain hissing down, the wind howling about him. The storm continued steadily for three long hours, then began to ease away as a bright shaft of sunlight bathed the rear deck. Banouin pushed back the canvas and stood. Conn
rose beside him, shaking the surplus water from the sheet. “I do not like ships,” he said.

“If you can think of a better way to cross the sea, I’d like to hear it,” said Banouin, stretching his back. He groaned. “I am getting too old to sit under canvas. Tonight we will rest in a wonderful tavern where the food is glorious, the entertainment divine, and the beds soft. It will be a great experience for you.” Reaching into the pouch at his side, Banouin produced four silver coins, which he passed to Conn.

“What are these for?”

“You may find use for them,” Banouin said with a wide smile. “Pleasure in Goriasa is never free.”

Goriasa proved an unpleasant surprise to Conn. Banouin had told him it was a large settlement, and Conn had pictured a village perhaps twice the size of Three Streams. The reality was vastly different. Goriasa was a city that flowed in a huge, ugly crescent around a sheltered bay. Thousands of wooden houses, storage buildings, stables, and paddocks were crushed together, separated only by narrow strips of muddy, foul-smelling earth. The few areas of open ground were covered by market stalls and thronged with crowds.

Banouin and Conn threaded their mounts through the mass, coming at last to a tall storehouse. A grizzled old man with only one ear stepped out to meet them. He and Banouin spoke, then the man led the ponies into the building. On foot now, Banouin and Conn moved out into the crowd. Conn was uncomfortable. His experience of large numbers of people was limited to feast days, when everyone was happy or drunk and there was dancing and joy. Here there was no joy. The people all seemed in a hurry, their faces strained. People did not greet one another or make eye contact.

Banouin cut to the left into a narrow alley, picking his way across wooden boards laid down over the mud. Conn followed him, and they emerged onto a wider, less crowded path. “It is
not always this busy,” said Banouin. “It is the start of the trading season, and thousands of merchants descend on Goriasa.”

“Where are we going?”

“To travelers hall. I need to speak to Garshon. He is the senior councillor in Goriasa and will take—or so I hope—two-thirds of all my trade goods. We will travel on with only six ponies.”

The travelers hall was an impressive structure some two hundred feet long and sixty feet wide built on the northern edge of Goriasa. It was a wooden building, two stories high, with no windows but more than a dozen doors on each side. It was the largest building Conn had ever seen. It seemed to him to be both magnificent and supremely ugly. Inside it was split into many areas. At the far end, to the left, there were bench tables where men sat eating and drinking. In the center was a large sand circle surrounded by tiered seats. These were full, and Conn could see a tall horse being led around the sand. The auctioneer was taking bids for the beast. Conn paused. The horse was a chestnut stallion at least sixteen hands high. It would dwarf the ponies of the Rigante. He listened to the bidding. The horse went for 110 silver pieces. A fabulous sum!

Banouin tapped his arm, and Conn followed him around the circle to another dining area with tables set around a raised dais. Most of the tables were full, but Banouin found a clear area by the western wall and sat down.

“We will eat here,” he said. “The food is beyond compare.” Conn looked around but could see no cook fires. Several women were moving among the diners, collecting plates. Then others came in from outside, bearing trays carrying plates laden with meats and vegetables and pottery jugs filled with ale. Banouin raised his arm and caught the eye of one of the girls. Blond and slender, she moved through the throng to halt beside the table. Banouin asked her what dishes were available. Conn sat quietly as she listed the meals: roasted
duck, breast of pheasant, tender loin of beef, spiced swan, cold ham, pigeon pie, ox tongue, brain of sheep, larks’ tongues. The food on offer seemed to be endless. Banouin ordered for them both, and the girl moved away. Conn’s gaze followed her.

“Very pretty,” said Banouin.

Conn blushed. “Did you see the horse?” he asked, determined to change the subject.

“Yes. Thassilian. Good mounts, fast and strong. Good for racing, bad for war.”

“Why bad?” asked Conn. “Are they high-spirited?”

“I told you that food is the most important aspect in a campaign. Think of the horses. They need to survive on forage alone, and sometimes not much of that. They will be ridden hard every day, sometimes for weeks. Thassilian horses need grain feeding to remain at their best. Also, they have delicate constitutions and are prone to lung blight and worm.”

“I have much to learn,” said Conn. “But I will.”

Banouin smiled. “Aye, you will. You have a quick mind.”

The ale arrived first, and with it a loaf of brown bread dusted with poppy seeds. It was good bread, Conn decided, though not as fine as that produced by the late Borga. But the meat dish was a delight: roasted lamb with a sauce of shredded mint and wine vinegar. Conn devoured it with relish. They finished the meal with a pie filled with red fruit. Conn leaned back in his chair. “That was excellent,” he said. “Just as you promised.”

“There are many delights in Goriasa,” said Banouin. “Do not judge the city merely by the ugliness of its exterior. Now, I must find Garshon. You wander the hall. There are many chambers and much to see and enjoy. I will meet you by the sand circle in a couple of hours.” Summoning the serving girl, Banouin paid her, then rose and left the table.

The girl lingered. “Are you new here?” she asked Conn.

“Yes. We arrived this afternoon. By ship.”

Reaching forward, she stroked his face. “How did you come by the scar?” she asked him. Her touch made him feel awkward.

“A bear’s claw,” he said.

“You have other scars?” She was leaning in really close now.

“Yes.”

“I would like to see them.”

“You like to see scars?” he replied, astonished.

“I would like to see yours. I will be finished here in an hour. You could come to my room. It will be the best silver piece you have ever spent.” At the mention of coin Conn relaxed, remembering Eriatha.