Ravenheart (46 page)

Crowds gathered in Old Hills to watch Maev Ring as she passed. They noted the way she sat, head high and proud, as she steered the pony. There was no fear showing. In Eldacre itself more crowds lined the streets, many just anxious to catch a glimpse of the “rich clanswoman.”

Maev rode her buggy through the great gates of the castle and followed Galliott to the steps leading into the castle proper. Galliott dismounted, passed the reins of his horse to a servant, then helped Maev from the buggy.

He walked with her through the great doors, then led her up a flight of stairs to the first level. There he bade her sit on a velvet-covered couch in a red-carpeted corridor. Galliott sat beside her. “Answer all questions truthfully, Maev,” he said. “Do not make him angry. You have broken no law. Hold to that.”

“I have waited for this moment for some years,” she said with a sigh. “I am prepared for it.”

“Wait here. I will see if the lord is ready to see you.”

Galliott strolled away. He returned some twenty minutes later, leading Maev along the corridor and up a further flight of stairs. Tapping on a door, he opened it. Maev found herself in a circular room with white-plastered brickwork. The floor was fitted with a thick gray carpet. At the center the fawn in brambles motif had been skillfully embroidered.

The Moidart was sitting at a desk beneath a tall window. Maev had never been this close to the lord. His white hair was
drawn back in a tight ponytail, his hawklike features were tanned, and his dark eyes radiated power. He was dressed in black, though his tunic was edged in silver and white lace cuffs showed at the wrist.

Galliott walked Maev to the desk. There were no other seats in the room, and she stood silently waiting.

“You know why you are here?” asked the Moidart.

“Parsis Feld died, and his children are greedy,” said Maev.

“Very succinct,” the Moidart said softly. “Since you are a highlander and as ill bred as the rest of your mangy clan, I shall ignore your lack of respect. But only this once, Ring. The next time you speak, you will call me ‘lord’ or I shall have you flogged for discourtesy. Is this clear to you?”

“It is, lord,” she replied.

“Good. Now tell me how you became … embroiled with Parsis Feld.”

“He had pinned his company’s fortune on supplying your soldiers with weapons, lord, and had no other outlets. Also, his pistols were cheaply made with poor materials. He was close to bankruptcy. I went to him with a proposition, which he accepted. From that moment we were partners.”

“Tell me of the proposition.”

“A student of the gunsmith Emburley was seeking employment. I hired him, lord, and I organized shipments of high-quality iron to Feld’s armory.”

“And how, pray, did you find the money to hire a gunsmith?”

“From the profits I made from Gillam Pearce.”

The Moidart leaned back in his chair. “You have an interest in Pearce’s business?”

“I do, lord.”

“Let me guess. You went to Gillam Pearce and suggested he make a pair of fine boots for me, which were then delivered as a present?”

“Yes, lord.”

“How many other business interests do you have, Ring?”

“A little over twenty, lord.”

“Twenty-seven,” he said. “The profits must be very high now.”

“Yes, lord.”

The Moidart fell silent. Then he gave a bleak smile. “You are an interesting woman, Maev Ring.” He glanced up at Galliott. “Fetch her a chair,” he ordered.

Galliott did so, and Maev sat down. “Let me run over the facts again,” said the Moidart. “You acquired minority interests in twenty-seven failing businesses, and now each one turns a profit?”

“Yes, lord.”

The Moidart lifted a heavy sheet of paper and scanned it. “Parsis Feld paid three hundred and twenty pounds in tax this year. Five years ago he supplied eleven pounds, eight chaillings. That is a handsome turnaround. My congratulations to you.”

“Thank you, lord,” said Maev, surprised by this turn of events.

“The law specifically states that no clansman—or woman, for that matter—can own a Varlish business. You, however, do not own the businesses. Jorain Feld understands this. He has, therefore, laid another charge against you. No clansman can own a pistol.”

“I own no pistol, lord.”

“Jorain claims that since the forge currently has one hundred pistols stored and forty percent of the business is yours, you currently own forty pistols.”

Maev felt cold inside.

“However,” continued the Moidart, “I find this to be a specious argument. As you said so aptly upon your arrival, Parsis Feld has greedy children. That will be all, Madam Ring.”

Maev sat stunned for a moment. “You mean I can go … lord?”

“Of course you may go. You are guilty of no crime.”

Maev struggled to rise. Her legs felt weak. Galliott, seeing her distress, took her arm. “Thank you, lord,” she said. “I am most grateful.”

“Thank you for the boots,” said the Moidart.

Galliott led her out of the room and back down the stairs. “This is good news, Maev,” he said. “The best. Congratulations.”

“I still cannot quite believe it. I am free?”

“You are free,” said Galliott.

The freedom lasted two days.

Unable to convince the Moidart that Maev Ring had broken Varlish law, Jorain Feld took his case to the bishop of Eldacre and invoked church law. He also made a payment of five hundred pounds to the cathedral.

Maev Ring was arrested again and this time was taken before the bishop.

She was charged with witchcraft and taken in chains to the cells below the cathedral.

16

T
HAT NIGHT
K
AELIN
and Chara made a cold camp in a shallow cave. They could not risk a fire, and even though the night air was chilly, Chara sat apart from Kaelin, huddled against the rear wall, her cloak drawn tightly around her.

The screams of Wullis Swainham had followed them, occasionally dying off, only to come again just when they thought his agony was over. Kaelin sat at the mouth of the cave, staring out over the moonlit forest. He wished Grymauch were close and half hoped—as had happened once before—that he would see a small campfire and the giant clansman would be sitting there waiting for him. The Wyrd was right. Jaim was a magical man. No matter how difficult the situation, the presence of Grymauch always brought hope. Kaelin had a feeling that the one-eyed clansman might even be able to break through the wall around Chara Jace.

He glanced back at her. She was gazing at the rock face, but he knew her mind was far away.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. She shook her head. “Perhaps you should eat, anyway. It will give you strength.”

“All right,” she said.

Kaelin moved back into the cave and searched through the canvas sack, coming up with some strips of salted beef. Chara ate in silence. Kaelin felt there was a chasm between them and did not know how to cross it.

“Why did you stop me from taking my vengeance?” she asked suddenly.

“He was dying, anyway,” he replied. “And in great pain.”

“I hope that his pain lasts for an eternity,” she said.

“Why did he betray you? Do you know?”

She shook her head and lapsed once more into silence.

“You said it was for revenge,” he prompted.

Chara sighed. “He wanted to marry me. My father laughed at him. I knew nothing of this. He told me as he …” Her face reddened. “He told me that everything I was suffering was the fault of my father. I should not have let you stop me. I should have cut his eyes out.”

“It would not have brought you peace,” he said.

“Peace? You think I will ever have peace? How would you know? You are a man, just like those stinking men back in the keep.” The force of her anger shocked him, yet it did not spark his own. Instead it saddened him.

“I am not like those men,” he said at last. “I would never harm a woman. No true Rigante ever would. Get some rest.”

Returning to the mouth of the cave, he sat in despair. Wullis Swainham was dead, yet his evil lived on. Kaelin was powerless to change that. The night grew colder. He saw that Chara was sleeping, and once more he covered her with his greatcoat. It began to rain, and he drew back from the mouth of the cave. Chara suddenly screamed and sat bolt upright, scrabbling for a pistol.

“It is all right!” shouted Kaelin. “You are safe. I am with you.”

“They are coming for me again,” she cried.

“I will not let them harm you.”

She blinked, and her breathing slowed. “You will not let them take me?”

“I promise.”

“You will kill me?”

“I will not let them take you.”

“I need more than that, Kaelin. Promise you will shoot me.”

“It will not come to that. But if it does, then yes, I will kill you. You have my promise.”

By late afternoon of the following day they had reached the western flanks of the mountains. Kaelin climbed a high
tree to look out over the valley and the road to the pass. Hundreds of soldiers were garrisoned there. Kaelin could see men pitching rows of tents. A line of twenty cannon had also been drawn up. Horses were being picketed to the east.

Climbing back to the ground, he told Chara what he had seen.

“Can we slip by them?” she asked.

“No.”

“What do we do? We cannot just sit in the forest until we starve to death.”

“I need time to think,” he replied. Moving away from her, he approached the towering cliff face and stared up. They were already high, and the cliffs soared for at least another six hundred feet. Wispy clouds prevented him from seeing the very top. He walked along the base of the rock face. It was not the soft sandstone of the southern hills. There were many cracks and juts that would make fine handholds and footholds. This would not be the problem, though, he knew. Grymauch had taught him to climb, and he had learned that the greatest danger to a climber came not from the rock face but from within. A handhold that was merely ten feet above the ground felt solid and large. The same handhold a hundred feet up seemed tiny. The higher one climbed, the more dangerous it felt. Fatigue would seep into the muscles; the wind would tug at the climber’s clothing. Fear sometimes led to a dizzy feeling where it seemed the mountain was swaying back and forth, seeking to dislodge the arrogant human clinging to it.

In perfect conditions Kaelin knew he could make this climb, then angle along the highest ridge, coming down into Rigante territory beyond the pass. These were not perfect conditions. It had been raining in the night, and the granite was greasy and slick. Added to which Chara was in no fit state to tackle such a task.

Yet what were the alternatives?

They could cut away to the south and hope to survive. He had coin, and if they reached distant settlements, he could
purchase food and supplies. Always supposing they could stay clear of Beetleback patrols. And what would happen here if Chara did not return home? Call Jace might lead his Rigante out against the cannon. They would then be massacred.

At last Kaelin returned to Chara. “We need to scale the cliffs and move along the ridge of the mountain,” he said.

Chara looked aghast. “No one can climb the cliffs, Kaelin. They are hundreds of feet high, and there is no knowing what lies at the peaks.”

“If we stay here, they will find us eventually or we will die of hunger and cold. There is no going back, and there is no going forward. All that is left is up. I have climbed cliffs. It is not so difficult as long as you keep your head and keep a firm grip on your imagination. Do not look down. Concentrate only on handholds and footholds.”

Chara stared up at the towering cliff face. “It is madness,” she said. “We will fall and be dashed to pieces.”

“As I said, you need to keep a firm grip on your imagination.”

“I can’t do it,” she said, backing away from the face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I do not want to do this, either.” He told her of his fears concerning a Rigante attack on the cannon and how Rayster had warned him that Call Jace would risk everything to save her. “I can think of no other way to bring you home,” he admitted.

She sat in silence for a few moments. “Have you ever climbed a cliff as high as this?” she asked him.