Ravenheart (16 page)

“Have you heard about Grymauch?” asked fat Kammel Bard.

“What?” inquired Taybard.

“He’s entered the bouts.”

Luss laughed. “He obviously hasn’t heard about Gorain Wollam and Chain Shada. Either one will rip his bald head from his ugly shoulders.”

“Chain Shada is going to fight?” asked Taybard, astonished. The man was a legend.

“So my father says,” Kammel replied.

“Varlish against clansmen? Is it allowed?”

“Maybe our boys will fight with one hand tied behind their backs,” said Luss. “Make it more even.”

Taybard said nothing. Chara Ward had linked arms with Kaelin Ring. The sun was glinting on her golden hair, and Taybard felt as if someone were slowly twisting a knife in his gut.

“That shouldn’t be allowed,” said Kammel Bard. “It should be an offense for clan filth to match with Varlish girls. My father says it pollutes our bloodlines. Weaker races should be forbidden to wed outside their own kind.”

“Your grandmother was Pannone, for heaven’s sake!” snapped Taybard. “Everybody knows it. Does that make you polluted, Kammel?”

“That’s a stinking lie! You take that back.”

“That’s not a good thing to say to a friend,” put in Luss Campion.

The moment was broken by the sound of hoofbeats on the road. The column moved aside as four Beetlebacks cantered by. Taybard recognized Sergeant Bindoe in the lead. He slowed his horse as they neared Kaelin Ring and Jaim Grymauch, but he was not looking at them. He was staring at Chara Ward.

“There’s someone else who doesn’t like to see our Varlish blood tainted,” said Luss Campion. “Uncle Jek knows how to treat the bastards.”

“I do not like the man,” said Taybard.

“Maybe you’d like to tell him
he
has clan blood,” snapped Kammel Bard.

Taybard turned to his friend, seeing the hurt on his face. “I am sorry, Kammel. Friends should not cause each other pain.” He held out his hand.

Kammel ignored it. “Do you take it back?”

Taybard felt his anger rising. “I tell you what. Tomorrow you and I will go the church and look at the records of births. They go back two hundred years. We will find the entry for your grandmother and see what it says. If it says Varlish, I will drop to my knees and beg forgiveness.”

“A pox on you!” shouted Kammel Bard. “You are my friend no longer.” With that he stalked away.

“Why did you do that?” asked Luss Campion.

“By the Sacrifice, Luss, you
know
he has Pannone blood. So how stupid is it to talk of taint and pollution? Most of the Old Hills Varlish have some highland links. Everyone knows it. It’s why when we get to the feast, the town Varlish will look down their noses at us. It’s why they call us ‘the kilts.’ Do you feel you are a lesser man for it?”

“There’s no clan blood in my line,” said Luss Campion. “And I’ll kill anyone who says different. My blood is strong. My blood is Varlish.”

“Strong blood? These clansmen crossed the sea and sacked Stone hundreds of years ago. They crushed every army that came against them. We defeated them by burning their villages, destroying their crops, butchering their women and children. They are not weak, Luss. They are just conquered.”

“Which is what makes them weak. The Varlish are unconquered and invincible. However, it is obvious where your loyalties lie. But then, just like poor Kammel, you are also part clan. At least he has the strength to resist the call of his tainted blood and desires to be Varlish. What is it you desire, Tay? A clan wife and a little home carved from dirt?”

Taybard could think of nothing to say. Thoughts whirled in his mind, but he could find no voice for them. Yes, he was proud of being Varlish, but why did that fact need to be allied with contempt for others? And if the clans are so weak and spineless and lacking in ambition, why do we fear them? he thought.

Luss Campion walked away from him to join Kammel Bard.

Taybard was irritated with himself for alienating them. He had experienced no difficulty with traditional Varlish values before he had met the Wyrd. He had believed in his people with iron simplicity.

His trouble had begun when she had told him he was Rigante.

Her words had washed across his soul, and his heart had soared, though he knew not why.

*  *  *

The various entrance channels to the Five Fields were growing busy as the first of the arrivals from Old Hills approached them. Red-cloaked stewards stood at the entrances. The Varlish spectators produced small red disks stamped with their family tax numbers and were ushered to the right, while the clan folk waited patiently to be allowed through to the left.

Kaelin Ring was feeling uncomfortable. Once again Chara Ward had linked arms with him and showed no desire to separate and follow her Varlish neighbors through. Luss Campion and Kammel Bard had already passed the entrance, and Taybard Jaekel was presenting his disk to a steward. A Beetleback moved through the throng. Kaelin glanced at him. It was Sergeant Bindoe, his thin hatchet face wearing a scowl. He approached Chara Ward.

“This way, miss,” he said, beckoning her to follow him. Chara seemed uncertain. “The Varlish area is to the right,” he told her. “You are standing in the wrong line.”

“I know where I am standing, Sergeant,” she replied. “It is not unlawful to enter the clan area.”

“That’s right, miss. Once the festivities are under way, there is freedom of movement for all Varlish. But the festivities are not under way, and you have not yet presented your disk to the steward. Once you have done so and entered the correct area, you can do as you please.” People were staring now, and Chara reddened.

“Best go, lass,” said Jaim Grymauch. “We’ll see you later.”

Chara stood for a moment, then disengaged her arm from Kaelin’s and crossed to stand behind Taybard Jaekel. Sergeant Bindoe followed her, then leaned in and whispered something that Kaelin did not hear. Taybard Jaekel did, however, and Kaelin saw the young man’s face go white with anger. He swung around, but Bindoe had walked on.

Chara seemed close to tears. Kaelin heard Taybard say: “Ignore him, Chara. I’d be proud for you to walk with me, and I’ll escort you back to the clan area once we’re through.”

The clan line began to move. Kaelin glanced back, but
Chara and Taybard had vanished into the throng. Jaim laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I have to register my presence for the tourney. I’ll see you by the pieman’s stall in a while.” Kaelin nodded, still distracted by the events at the entrance.

Aunt Maev hooked her arm in his. “Don’t let Bindoe get to you, Kaelin. The man is scum. Put it from your mind. Look!” she said, pointing across the field. “There are jugglers. I have always loved to watch their skills.”

Banny tapped his friend on the arm. “Shall we explore?” he asked.

“Why not?” answered Kaelin.

For some while the two young men wandered the area. Already there were thousands of spectators, and fresh columns of new arrivals could be seen on the hill roads leading from Eldacre. The Five Fields were filling fast. To the north was the equestrian area, largely a Varlish entertainment, since most highlanders owned no horses. Special collapsible fences had been erected to reduce the risk to the horses and riders, while at the far end straw dummies had been fastened to several rails for the martial events. Kaelin enjoyed those events, watching the horsemen thunder across the field, their sabers shining in the sunlight as they slashed at the heads of the dummies. The skill of the horsemen was high; as the straw men were attached to ropes and hidden, men would tug and sway them as the riders approached. The object was to lop the heads from as many straw men as possible in four passes.

Most of the stalls in the large clan area had already been set up; crafts such as pottery, jewelry, clothing, and cutlery had been placed around the eastern perimeter. Cattle dealers and merchants selling agricultural merchandise were in the south. Here there was much activity. Clansmen loved to engage in barter. A man could sit happily for several hours arguing the merits—if he owned it—of a particular plow or work ox or the demerits of a pony or a wolfhound if he did not.

Kaelin and Banny moved through the throng, heading for
the cluster of food stalls and the rough benches set close by. Kaelin kept glancing across to the Varlish area, seeking sign of Chara Ward.

The smell of roasting meats from cooking pits made him realize how hungry he was, and the slab of dark bread and fresh butter at breakfast seemed insubstantial after the two-hour walk. He fingered the few coins in his pocket and decided to wait until dusk.

At the center of the field three circles had been marked out with ropes, and already two men were fighting within one of them. As the blows rained in, the crowd moved closer. Kaelin recognized one of the fighters, a herdsman from the High Pines settlement, half a day south of Old Hills. The fight was brutal and short, the herdsman catching his opponent with a high right cross that hurled him from his feet.

“I didn’t think the fights were due to start yet,” said Banny.

A tall clansman standing close by turned and said: “This is not the tournament proper. There were thirty-three entrants, so two had to scrap to decide which of them would be allowed to take part.” The man suddenly swore. Kaelin saw he was staring at a big dark-haired man who was strolling away from the bout. Despite the heavily muscled upper frame, he moved with easy grace.

“Who is he?” asked Kaelin.

“Chain Shada. He is the Varlish champion. One hundred bouts, they say, and never defeated. He gets to crush the winner of the tourney.” The anger and contempt in the man’s voice surprised Kaelin.

“Why do you say ‘crush’?”

“Think on it, lad. Thirty-two fighters. The man who faces Chain Shada will have fought five times in a single day, while Shada himself will be untouched by pain and exhaustion. Indeed, look at it the other way. If Chain Shada had to suffer five tough fights,
I’d
probably be able to take him in the sixth. Still, it won’t be so bad,” the man added with a rueful smile. “The other Varlish fighter is said to be almost as good as
Shada, so I guess they’ll fight each other in the final. It will be good to see one Varlish pound upon another.”

“My uncle Jaim will beat them all,” Kaelin said loyally.

“Grymauch is fighting?”

“Aye.”

“I’m not sure I’ll stay to see that,” the man said sadly.

“He is a great fighter.”

“I know that, lad. He is also one-eyed.” He held up his hand. “How far is my hand from your face?”

“Just over two feet.”

“Do you know how you estimated that?”

“Of course. I can see it.”

“Yes. Both your eyes focused on the hand. It is why we have two eyes, so that we can estimate depth and distance. A one-eyed man has no true perception of depth. Added to which his field of vision is restricted. Grymauch is tough, and by heaven, he’s a highlander to walk the mountains with, but I don’t want to see him step into the circle with either of those bastards. He’ll be lucky if he isn’t blinded.”

Aunt Maev had raised a similar objection, and Kaelin felt suddenly fearful. He had goaded Grymauch into fighting, and if anything happened to the big man, it would be his fault. He moved away from the circle, scanning the crowd. Banny came alongside.

“You think he was right?”

“Can you see Grymauch?”

“No.”

Together they made their way back across to the food area. Eventually they found Jaim sitting beneath a dead tree. He was drinking from a clay cup. “I hope that is not Uisge or ale,” said Kaelin, dropping down to sit beside him. “Aunt Maev will cut off your ears and give them back to you as a necklace.”

Jaim grinned. “It is water, Ravenheart.”

“I don’t want you to fight, Grymauch,” said Kaelin.

Jaim looked surprised. “You don’t want to see me pound on those Varlish? Why?”

“You could be hurt by them.”

“I
will
be hurt by them. No one steps into the circle without knowing there will be pain. Now, what is really troubling you?”

Kaelin sat silently for a moment. “They are circle warriors. They do this all the time. It is their craft. Chain Shada has fought a hundred times and never lost.”

“I know. I saw him fight once. He moves like a dancer. Every time his opponent hit him, he rolled and swayed. It must have been like trying to punch a leaf in the wind. It was beautiful to see.”

“And you think you can beat him?”

“It is not about beating him, Kaelin,” said Grymauch. “It is about being willing to face him. We are a conquered race. I cannot argue with that; it is a sad fact of history. But I am not conquered. I am Rigante. There is no man on earth I am frightened to face.”

“You have only one eye. You could lose it.”

“Aye, and a tree could fall on me. Now, you two lads go off and enjoy yourselves. I have a bout in a short while, and I need to focus my mind. Off with you.” Grymauch leaned back against the tree and closed his eye. Kaelin wanted to say more, but Banny tapped his shoulder, and the two youths walked away.

“I wish I had never mentioned the tourney,” said Banny.

Chain Shada watched Gorain’s first two bouts and felt a sense of embarrassment. All the Varlish fighter’s bouts had been scheduled to take place on the raised wooden circle so that he would not have to suffer the indignity of crossing into the clan area and fighting on mud surrounded by rope.

Gorain’s first fight had lasted no more than three or four heartbeats: a heavy straight left followed by a crushing right cross. The big highlander had hit the wooden floor face first, where he lay unmoving. The Varlish crowd had roared its approval. The second bout had been longer but only because
Gorain had toyed with the man, a bearded cattle herder with ten times more guts than skill. He had kept coming, walking into Gorain’s lefts, which had snapped back his head. Gorain was pulling his punches, picking the man apart with ease. When he finally went to work in the fourth period, he all but tore him apart, keeping him on his feet with wicked uppercuts before sending him sprawling to the canvas with a clubbing left. The man’s face was cut to pieces, and attendants had to carry him away before wiping the blood from the boards.