Silver May Tarnish (12 page)

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Authors: Andre Norton

BOOK: Silver May Tarnish
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“Not yet. They've had me tied too long.”
“Say me when” was all she replied, settling in the brush to wait that time. I flexed my hands and feet frantically. At least she had given me a chance. If I could be fit enough to run before the camp woke I might yet live. I massaged my ankles and prayed fervently to Cup and Flame that I might live and escape. The girl hissed a question, using my name.
“Lorcan? Can you walk yet?”
“How—never mind. I think maybe so.” How had she known my name I would have asked before the answer came to me. Of course. She had heard it used by Devol. Nor was there time to sit about asking foolish questions. How she knew didn't matter, getting free of this camp did. Something came sliding across the earth to me and I gripped it eagerly.
“Then you can use this?” came her whisper.
I gripped the sword hilt and swore beneath my breath. Oh Gods. A sword. Good clean steel. Live or die, I could go down fighting. I heard the wild note in my voice as I answered her.
“Indeed I can, Lady. Live or die, I shall not forget you gave me freedom and a way to die fighting.”
She said nothing, so I believed she did not understand
how great my danger had been. Instead, she bade me remain still until it was time. Better live and see them die, she said, and I agreed with that thought. We waited. Minute by minute I could feel strength flow back into my hands and feet. I examined the sword carefully. It was a fair weapon, made for a boy, perhaps, since it was not of great length or weight. Yet the blade was fine steel and the hilt was good quality. Made for a lord's son, I guessed, then outgrown. Whence could the girl have obtained it? Was she a lord's daughter cast adrift by the loss of her dale and kin?
I saw her rise suddenly, on her face an intent look. I rose to my feet quickly and stared at the camp. From men who lay nearby there came thrashing movements and an occasional gasp or cry. Some lay still after a convulsive shudder or two as others staggered to their feet. By the Flames, the girl must be a woman of Power. But this was no time to stand in awe. From the bedding where he slept Devol rose roaring in pain and fury. He saw me standing and charged, sword already reaching for me. He snarled as he came.
“Bastard brat. I knew I should have tossed you to the men earlier. Cursed lordlings, hell be upon all of you. Let your family rot while I send you to join them.”
He would have done better to save his breath. Berond and Faslane had taught me never to fight in anger. In silence, I settled my feet firmly. Then I began. Devol had never been the fighter I was now, even with a shorter, lighter blade, with hands and feet still slightly numb from my bonds.
When he brought me down before, I had been taken by surprise, by my own folly. This time I was not mazed with drugged wine. From the comers of my eyes I could see that several of the men had escaped whatever doom the witch had cast, but they did not come to their leader's aid. Something kept them back, but I was too busy to see what that might be. It seemed they, too, feared the outcome. I saw them seize saddlebags and flee for the place where the horses grazed.
Devol saw, too, and gave a bellow of fury. Then he came at me, his sword lashing out with all his strength. I slipped the blow, deflecting his blade to one side. It left him open to mine. I felt my sword go home, twisted automatically, then drew it free. Devol reeled. His eyes, still hating me, went slowly blank as he crumpled. I stepped back and glanced about. The girl was coming towards us, lifting her hand in the way of a fighter acknowledging a clean strike.
I lifted my blade in salute. I owed her my life and honor, I must acknowledge her gifts.
“How shall I name my rescuer, Lady?”
And so I met Meive of Landale, which men oft named Honeycoombe. I would have given back the sword but she bade me keep it. To my astonishment great bees, the like of which I have never seen, came to settle upon her shoulders. One larger one seemed to whisper in her ear. I hailed her as Mistress of Power and she smiled, her face lighting so that I saw beauty.
“You lied to them?” Her hand gestured towards those who had not escaped.
“I lied,” I admitted. I spoke briefly of Erondale and how it had died. Of how Paltendale had taken Berond and me within its walls and died in turn. “Yet I could not tell them so. The ransom they expected was my only hope.” She nodded, understanding. “And you, Meive. What of your dale?”
Honeycoombe lay dead, she told me. I questioned the name. Had she not called her home Landale? It was then she spoke of her bees, and how her home had come to be named. She asked of my own plans. I had thought of that as I wandered. Now I spoke, thinking as my words came slowly.
“There are dales left without a lord. Some are dead, others have a few people seeking to survive, but without leadership. I thought perhaps to find one such and build a keep there. I could find some girl, sensible and of courage to aid me as keep's lady in that.”
“And now?”
I spoke without thinking but my words were right to me. “Now? I took my life from you. When I took sword from your hand I became leige-man. The path you would choose shall be mine also. What would you wish us to do? Although,” I gazed about, “there are good horses and gear here yet. And in other places we could find good men to use them. Women and children who would accept any honest refuge.”
She smiled at me. “Then let us find what those wolfsheads may have left and plunder them. After that,” her smile widened, “I have a dale you might consider.”
I bowed over her hand. “Lead on, Meive. I think I shall be happy to follow you. So long as,” I looked up at the circling bees, “so long as your friends have no objection.”
She laughed and I laughed with her. The future looked to be interesting and Ayneta's prophesy came to my mind. I would wander, she had said, before I found treasure unlooked for. I knew not if this dale was the treasure. But of a certainty I had not looked for it.
I followed Meive as she moved through the undergrowth. One by one we found those who had fled. It puzzled me that each was dead and Meive found them without appearing to search, though she seemed distressed by the sight. At length, as we despoiled each outlaw, I spoke of it. Meive glanced up from where she wrestled loose a sword-belt, her hands determined despite the sickened look on her face.
“My wing-friends tell me. Who else should know where bandits fell save those who slew them. I told them not to kill once the bandits fled, but the queens overruled me.”
I gazed with still more respect at her bees. “They are larger than I have ever seen. And darker in color. Whence came they?”
Her answer left me deeper in awe. “From a shrine of the Old Ones. They were a gift of she who dwells there. They came of their own will: they stay because they wish, and they are my friends.” She must have seen my nervousness.
“Do not fear. They would never harm one who does not wish ill to me. They are friends, guards at need, watchers and protectors. Now, let us seek out where these men grazed their horses. I would know what number of beasts we have to deal with.”
I caught up a chunk of stale bread as I passed the campfire. Then I led the way. When I whistled, Tas came nickering to me on over-tight hobbles. I fed him the bread, stroking his neck and muzzle as he munched. Meive looked him over.
“A good beast. But it looks as if he has not eaten well of late.” I had seen that myself. I suspected that the man Tas had kicked when I was taken had revenged himself by starving my poor beast with hobbles so tight the poor animal was hard put to it to walk.
“That can be remedied.” I freed Tas from his hobbles and let him move freely. He finished his bread and at once went to a place in the tiny valley where the grass grew lushly. His head went down eagerly as his teeth tore at the grass. Meive was counting the beasts that grazed with him.
“Counting those we have secured at the camp, there are sixteen. I would say none are of great quality, but all appear healthy enough.” I nodded as she continued. “In my dale there are other bandit mounts and a full team of workhorses. The bandits who came there brought them. Later, when the outlaws lay dead, I returned to secure the team.”
“Will not they have escaped?” She had said it was several years since she had been back to her dale. Horses wandered. Meive shook her head.
“No, I think they will not. At the far end of the dale there is another. Only a small valley, perhaps fifty acres, no more. The path lies around a great rock so that the bandits did not notice it.” She sighed. “If my people had seen death coming they might have escaped to hide there. I know not how they were taken by surprise. But afterwards I took the horses there. The cattle belonging to my family, and the
goats belonging to Granny Warsten were already there. I blocked the trail out and, save for some mischance, all are like to be there yet.”
I was surprised. “Cows? How many? That is …” I shut my mouth hastily. I was about to say for a small dale to have cows was riches. Usually the smaller dales had only goats. Meive had an odd look on her face and I feared I had offended.
“We had one cow for milk. And we had kept her bullcalf since he was not yet old enough to sell or exchange with another dale. She is a good cow and only six summers in age. Long ago my family was given blood-price. It paid for a cow and we have kept a cow ever since.”
“A bullcalf?” My mind had gone in a different direction. I grinned at her. “I think it likely your hidden vale holds more than one cow and her calf by now. You have been gone three years.” I was working out the times. If the calf had been too young to sell he must have been still sucking, perhaps two or three months old. He would have been old enough to breed at ten months. So it was possible by now the vale held his mother, the bullcalf and two other calves. Riches indeed to those who would rebuild a dale and feed the people.
“I must go to the shrine,” Meive said abruptly. “I am called.”
“Does your lady wish me to come, or should remain here?” I was agreeable to either, although I would wish to see the shrine—from a safe distance at least. I had always loved the tales of the Old Ones.
“Come with me. If my lady doesn't want you to enter I'm sure she'll make that known.”
I was sure, too. That was what bothered me. Yet I followed Meive. I had named myself leige-man and it was my duty. We entered the valley, and once I came in sight of the place I halted to stare. It was beautiful, yet it was not the beauty which called to me, but the peace. The sense that
here was sanctuary. I walked forward, leaving Meive behind on the edge of the pavement. I paced slowly through the door and entered a room. I cannot say all that I saw or what was said. I moved in a dream and all around me was the scent of flowers.
I only know questions were asked of me and I made answer. And in the end I bowed low over a hand out-stretched in acceptance. I left with the taste of heather-honey in my mouth and such serenity in my heart it was as if I had come home. Meive smiled at me as I returned to her side.
“The winged-ones accept,” she said softly. “Come to Honeycoombe and be welcome there.”
We returned to make camp where the horses grazed. I slept quietly that night. My pains from the rough treatment Devol and his men had given me were eased, my nightmares banished. I woke calmly to work beside Meive. I knew that other things would intrude, I could be injured, or ill, we could be attacked by other outlaws. But for a brief time the peace of the shrine would hold. It was a healing time and freely given.
We two worked hard the next five days. I found the bodies of the bandits who had attempted to flee; not one had succeeded. Meive found it a sorrowful sight, so that I alone disposed of the bandits, thinking no less of her. She had been strong when strength was required of her, now she had me and could take time to grieve at what had had to be done.
It was not as if there was no work for her. As well as my disposal of the bodies, the beasts all had to be cared for and Meive's hives readied for departure to Honeycoombe once more. We set out at last, the wooden sledges sliding smoothly, bearing their loads of humming hives. We reached Meive's cave and I asked her to remain.
“Whyfor? Honeycoombe is my home, too. Do you not think I would fight for it as well?”
Of course I did. I'd seen her mettle already. “I spoke wrongly. Come then. But let us not walk together. Thus, if we are attacked, the enemy will find us harder to strike
down.” We set out, I riding Tas and Meive astride Drustan. Ahorse it took only a few hours to reach her dale, but once we were near I dismounted us, tethering the beasts and approaching on foot.
“Circle to the right. I will go to the left as far as I can travel. If we find nothing amiss we can perhaps descend, though I would rather we waited the night to be sure.” Meive nodded, seeing the sense in that, and moved away without speaking. Her bees paused, then divided, one half remaining with the girl and the others rising to circle above me. I was unsure, but the Lady of the Shrine had spoken me fair and Meive had named me acceptable to her wing-friends. I looked up at them.
“Of your courtesy-guard I thank you, winged-ones.” The soft humming seemed to deepen. I made myself take care as I circled, though in truth I felt alive and joyful as I had not for many weeks. Best not to be so joyous over recent events that I was fallen on by outlaws again. Once had been enough. But there were none, and after a night sleeping Meive and I rode down into what had once been a small fair dale.

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