Ravenheart (26 page)

But it was the way of the Moidart.

Gaise felt himself tensing as he thought of his father and the man’s last words as servants had carried his trunks down to the coach.

“Do nothing to make me ashamed,” he had said.

Gaise wished he had found the courage to say: “If only you could do the same.”

The senseless murder of Gorain had saddened the young noble. The fighter had given his best and been beaten. For that he had been dragged away in the dark of the night and hanged from a tree. Then, for a noble gesture that epitomized the greatness of the Varlish, Chain Shada had been hunted like an animal. It was monstrous.

Gaise was glad to be leaving the area. Perhaps in Varingas he would learn to feel pride in his race again. The Academy of Martial Thought was run by some of the finest soldiers ever to lead Varlish armies, and the books in its libraries were written by or about the greatest military geniuses of the last thousand years. All twelve of Jasaray’s campaign memoirs were there. Gaise had also been told that the six books on cavalry warfare by the legendary Luden Macks were presented to every new student upon arrival.

The road curved sharply to the west for a while, and, glancing through the window, Gaise saw the towers of Eldacre Castle sharp against the sky. He stared morosely at the gray fortress.

Many of the great stories he had read talked of the joys of home. Gaise had never known such joys. Assassins had killed his mother while he was still a babe, and his father had always been a cold and vengeful figure. Eldacre Castle contained no fond memories. He could not recall one incident where his father had ever praised him or hugged him. In fact he had rarely seen the man smile.

Maybe he will die in the four years I am at the academy, he thought. Perhaps when I return, I will be the Moidart.

The thought saddened him, though he did not know why.

The road swung south, the castle disappearing from sight.

Gaise stared out now over the snowcapped mountains and found himself recalling the words of the woman in his dream:
You have no soul-name
.

What difference could it possibly make?

For the next hour Gaise tried to read. It was a book about the capital and its sites of interest: the White Tower, the Burning Bridge, the restored stone amphitheater, where plays were performed before the king, the Royal Park where red deer roamed, the gardens of Gavaras—twenty-five acres of plants brought from all corners of the known world. Gaise flicked through the pages, trying to concentrate. Every now and again he would look out the window at the mountains.

I shall miss you, he thought. I will miss the land.

The coach entered the woods, keeping to the old Scardyke Road.

Bored now, Gaise considered climbing to the seat beside the driver and engaging the man in conversation. As he prepared to do so, he heard the driver call out, “Whoa!” The coach came to a stop. A rider moved past the window. Curious now, Gaise swung open the door and climbed out.

Mulgrave was tethering his chestnut gelding to the rear of the coach. Gaise smiled as he saw him.

“I thought you had forgotten I was leaving.”

“Hardly,” replied the officer. “May I travel with you a while, sir?”

“Of course.” Gaise returned to the coach. Mulgrave, removing his sword belt, joined him.

“Why were you not at the castle?” asked Gaise.

“Your father dismissed me from his service late yesterday. Since my main role was as your tutor and you were leaving for Varingas, he said he had no further use for me. To be honest, I had anticipated this. So I wrote to an old friend who had once offered me a position to inquire as to whether the offer was still good. He wrote back to say that the post was mine whenever I required it. So here I am, sir, on my way to Varingas.”

“That is marvelous news,” Gaise said happily. “We will be able to see each other in the capital.”

“Indeed, so, sir.”

“Have you been there before?”

“I served there for two years.”

“Then you can be my guide. You can show me the wall on the White Tower from which Kaverly dived to freedom.”

“He dived from the west tower, sir, but yes, I will be glad to show you the sites.”

“Ah, but this is most fine, Mulgrave. My day is complete. So tell me, did you identify the murderer?”

“Only to my own satisfaction, sir.”

“Will you share the secret?”

Mulgrave shook his head. “Only this far, sir. On the night of the murders a young highlander spoke to me concerning Bindoe. He doubted that Varlish justice would prevail. When I saw that the word “justice” had been carved into the brows of the murdered men, I guessed that this highlander had played a part in the killings. Just before your father dismissed me I rode out to see Huntsekker.”

Gaise grinned. “My father was angry with the old man for failing.”

“Aye, he was. Huntsekker claimed he was struck from behind and did not see his attackers. This was not true. I rode to the scene and read the tracks. Huntsekker stood for a while talking to the men. The one who died—Seeton—had run to the spot where he died. Several other footprints were close by, three of them made by large men. The last of them was a smaller foot. Huntsekker wears moccasins with no heel. His track was easy to read. The second of the large men wore riding boots. This I took to be Chain Shada. There is no question in my mind that Huntsekker saw the men who killed Seeton.”

“Why, then, would he refuse to name them?” asked Gaise.

“More important, sir, why did they not kill him? Seeton was stabbed through the back, possibly as he was running. Having murdered one man, why not two? Indeed, why not the others, who were merely stunned?”

“Did you put this to Huntsekker?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that life was always more interesting while mystery prevailed. He then asked me if I intended to report my suspicions to the Moidart. In turn I asked him what his thoughts were on the subject. He walked across the room and returned with a curious weapon, a hand scythe with a heavy crescent blade. He laid it on the table. Then he said: ‘Do you believe in magic, Captain?’ I told him that I didn’t know whether supernatural powers existed but that it would not surprise me if they did. He sat down and hefted the weapon. The man is large; his hands are huge. He said: ‘I believe in magic. This scythe has killed men. It has taken the heads of murderers and thieves. It has—only once—claimed the life of the innocent. And even then the man wasn’t
so
innocent.’ ‘You believe the scythe is magical?’ I asked him. ‘No, not the scythe,’ he told me. ‘This is an old land with old magic. I have studied it. There are certain men who feed the land, men unaware of their own greatness. I will not kill such men regardless of who orders it. I thought I could. I thought my own strength was such that I could overpower the will of the land. I was wrong. Chain Shada deserved to walk free. There is no doubt of that. The men who helped him deserved to walk free. I know this, too.’ I sat silently for a moment. Then I said: ‘Despite the fact that they killed your man, Seeton?’ ‘They killed no one,’ he said. ‘Seeton died because he was an oath breaker. A man should stand by his promises.’ It was then that I realized Seeton had been killed by the scythe. Huntsekker had slain him.”

“By the Sacrifice!” said Gaise Macon. “Why? What else did he say?”

“He said nothing, sir. He replaced the scythe in a black sheath and asked me if I would join him for dinner. After that we spoke of many things but did not again touch upon the events by the river. After the meal he walked me to my horse and asked me what my report would say. I told him there
would be no report, since it was likely I would be leaving Eldacre for the capital in the next few days. He wished me well on my journey.”

“So why did Huntsekker kill the man?”

Mulgrave shrugged. “My guess would be that Huntsekker promised the highlanders he would not reveal their identities. Seeton must have made the same promise. Huntsekker did not believe he would keep it.”

Gaise was mystified. “Why would the highlanders trust Huntsekker?”

“Why indeed? And yet they could.”

“So how did all this lead you to the identity of the man who killed Bindoe?”

“Bear in mind, sir, that I already had my suspicions, based on that conversation the night the girl was killed. I followed the tracks from the river. The younger, smaller man headed back toward Old Hills. The larger man cut away north. His tracks led to a small settlement and an unsavory tavern. I spoke to the tavern keeper, asking him who had been drinking there the night before. I told him I was interested only in one person, a large man standing over six feet tall. He said he couldn’t remember. I offered him two choices: a silver chailling or a visit from Captain Galliott. He accepted the chailling and gave me the name. Once I had the name, I knew the identity of the young man who had been with him.”

“And you chose not to divulge it to the Moidart. Why?”

“I truly cannot say, sir. There is little doubt in my mind that Bindoe was warned to run, probably by Galliott. The young man was in all likelihood correct in his assumption that Varlish justice would not have prevailed. As to Chain Shada, I have to agree with Huntsekker. The man deserved to escape. All in all, nothing would be served by seeing two more highlanders swinging from the gibbet.”

“My father would not agree with you, my friend.”

“Indeed he would not. He is not an agreeable man. It pleases me that he will be irritated when he learns of my new post.”

“Why should he be irritated?”

“I am to be the fencing instructor at the Academy of Martial Thought and therefore one of your new teachers. Are you aware that you will be obliged to call me ‘sir’?”

10

A
S
K
AELIN
R
ING
swiftly discovered, the world was very different two hundred miles northwest of Eldacre. In those high, forbidding snowcapped mountains highlanders massively outnumbered the Varlish and a mere two hundred Beetlebacks and musketeers patrolled an area of almost eighteen hundred square miles. The towns were small, and the Varlish businesses were almost totally reliant on the custom of clansmen. Kaelin found people less friendly than in Old Hills, viewing him with a degree of suspicion. In some ways it was amusing. For most of his life Kaelin had thought of southerners with contempt, for they were almost all Varlish. To the townspeople of Black Mountain Kaelin himself was a southerner and Varlish-tainted.

Maev’s farm was two miles from the town of Black Mountain, nestling in the mighty shadows of a range of towering peaks. It was cooler there than in Old Hills, and Jaim explained that they were now many thousands of feet above sea level. The air was thinner, which was why Kaelin had at first felt breathless when joining Jaim and the other five workers in felling trees for winter fuel.

The farm boasted two herds, each numbering some six hundred short-horned shaggy animals. The first herd was kept in the high pastures to the west, the second in a series of fields between the farm and Black Mountain. There were also thirty milk cows pastured within a half mile of the main house.

The numerous farm buildings were old and much repaired
over the years. The main house was more than two hundred years old, two-storied, built of gray stone, and roofed with timber and black slate. It was a cold house, grim and unwelcoming. Fifty paces to the west was a long, low building housing the cook house and a living area for the workers, and beyond that was the churning hall, where women from Black Mountain made butter, clotted cream, and cheese. A little way from that was the high barn, a shambling structure containing an old wagon, two swaybacked ponies, ten abandoned stalls for riding horses, and a loft for storing hay. A little farther on was a roughly built stone abbatoir and a salt storehouse.

Kaelin missed Old Hills and his friend Banny. He felt out of place there among strangers.

Jaim had stayed only a month, and in that time they had reestablished—at least in part—their easygoing relationship. Kaelin loved the fighter, but it was hard to overcome his disappointment at the man’s softness when dealing with Huntsekker and his crew. Had they killed the man, Kaelin would not now be laboring in a foreign land where men treated him with cold courtesy.