The Dowry Blade (7 page)

‘Who got gate duty tonight then?’ she asked lightly.

‘Why guard the gate when the enemy is in here?’ Rhian said scornfully.

‘What enemy?’

‘This one.’ Adair stepped forward waving his club in Tegan’s direction. Brede stepped sideways, putting herself in the way once more. The branch grazed her thigh as Adair swung back to rest the rough-hewn end against the ground.

‘Are you neglecting your duty, Rhian? Keenan will be angry.’

Tegan braced her hand against the rooftree; ready to use it to push off from, but not sure she had enough strength in her legs.

‘Keenan won’t care.’ Rhian replied, a grin spreading slowly across his face.

Brede glanced at Adair, wondering whether she could still make an ally of him. She laughed, and reached out, touching Adair gently on his sleeve,

‘Adair, you should take your brother home, he’s very drunk if he thinks that.’

‘We’re all very drunk,’ Adair agreed, but it was not a compliant agreement. A tremor of anxiety ran down Brede’s arm and she withdrew her fingers from his wrist quickly, afraid he would notice.

‘You might have brought me some ale,’ she said sulkily, and then, as though it had only just occurred to her, ‘You could have come alone.’ She let her closed fist rest against her hip, suggesting irritation, disappointment, scorn – ‘But if you want to play with your friends, don’t come looking to me for –’

‘For what?’ Adair interrupted softly, and Brede wondered if he was not perhaps drunk at all.

‘Company. Or support when Keenan finds out Rhian isn’t where he should be, and that you got him drunk. You did get him drunk, didn’t you?’

Adair grinned.

‘Company?’

Brede edged closer to Adair.

‘Send them back to the party, Adair. You’re sober enough to guard a gate, so long as someone is there to keep you awake.’

‘And you’d do that?’

‘Done it before,’ she said softly, unfolding her fist. Adair watched that hand opening out of anger into potential pleasure; ‘If it will keep you all from getting in trouble with Keenan, I might do it again.’

Adair winked slowly.

‘Wouldn’t want to get in trouble.’ He turned slowly to his brother. ‘Go’n tell Keenan me and Brede are gate-keeping so’s you’n join the party.’

Rhian shook his head and giggled.

‘Gate-keeping,’ he said, and the giggle turned into a guffaw.

‘Keenan will understand,’ Brede said, ‘Don’t you think Darcie? Your father will understand that you wanted Rhian to enjoy the party, and that Adair and I agreed to cover for him?’

Darcie nodded, confused that what had started out as something deeply frightening was turning into a trick played on his father, and that Rhian seemed to be in trouble, and that Adair seemed to be finally getting somewhere with ice-maiden Brede. He pulled insistently at Rhian’s arm, dragging him out into the snow, not wanting Rhian in trouble with his father, wanting not to crowd Adair. He didn’t trust Rhian to fully understand how precarious the balance was between Adair and Brede; they couldn’t afford to spoil Adair’s chances.

Brede listened to their scuffling withdrawal. She looked curiously at Adair, wondering whether he believed what she had been saying. He was swaying. She pulled the club out of his hand. He barely resisted.

‘Thank you for bringing more firewood,’ she said, tossing it onto the fire.

Adair frowned at his empty hand, then found better use for it, clasping Brede to him, a tight embrace that sought to bring every inch of his body into contact with some part of her. Brede wrapped her arms about him, keeping her knife arm free of his engulfing hug, and let him kiss her – a deep, forceful kiss. Her heart pounded in panic, her whole body seemed to reverberate with the force of her blood. A wonder they couldn’t hear it above the row of partying. She wished someone would hear. Adair remembered to breathe and she pulled away slightly.

‘I meant it about the gate-keeping,’ she said lightly. Adair shuddered, and returned to kissing her, moving away from her mouth to run his tongue across her throat, and up around her ear. Brede laughed, trying to writhe out of his embrace, not quite managing it.

Tegan turned her head away, her eyes smarting with the hot firelight and the sight of the embrace silhouetted against the flames. Why in hell Brede didn’t just stick the knife in him and have done – she knew damn well why not. Protecting her. Tegan listened to the urgent scuffling of loosening clothes, flesh against flesh, Brede’s breath getting troubled, Adair grunting. Tegan caught her lip between her teeth, biting hard, to keep from intervening.
Goddess
. Tegan covered her eyes, trying to block her ears in the same movement.

Silence – and not the silence of muffled hearing. An incoherent gasp, a soft, heavy thud. Brede, against the light, her hands tangled in Adair’s clothing, bent over as she let his body gently down to the floor. A huddle of fallen limbs, her face unreadable, her breathing uneven.

‘Tie him up. I’m going for Faine.’

‘It’s her son’s hand-fasting.’

‘That’s right, and I’m her apprentice.’

‘What did you do to him?’

Brede shrugged her clothes into order, pulling her belt unnecessarily tight.

‘Clan secret. For dealing with horses that won’t be told. I’ve never tried it on a person. Check I haven’t killed him?’

And then she was gone – out into the snow. Tegan crawled over to Adair, still not trusting her legs. He was breathing. There was nothing obvious to tie him with, so she made use of his already loosened belt, binding his hands as tightly as she could. She thought about kicking him while she was about it, but she hadn’t the strength, and she wasn’t sure how Brede’s choice of explanation would sit with broken ribs.

Brede’s choice was to be light-hearted until she had Faine on her own. Then she told her mistress everything.

Faine pulled her round so that her face was in the light.

‘Are you all right?’

Brede nodded, letting her hair fall back over her face.

‘How far did you let him get?’

Brede pushed her fingers through her tangled hair, dragging braid and binding apart.

‘Not far.’

Faine shook her head.

‘Come.’ She glanced about the gathering, looking for someone halfway sober. Her eye fell on Edra, who was watching with undisguised curiosity. Faine lifted her hand slightly in invitation. Edra rose and came quietly to join them.

‘Adair has had far too much to drink and got beyond himself. I need help to put him to bed, or to guard the gate. Are you willing?’

Edra glanced at Brede’s dishevelled appearance.

‘I’ll mind the gate, but find someone to relieve me soon; I’m ready for my bed too.’

Faine nodded, and taking Brede by the elbow waved to her son and headed off to the forge.

‘Are you really all right?’ she asked again.

‘Yes.’

‘And Tegan?’

‘Upset.’

‘Do you want to take this to Keenan?’

‘No. They were very drunk. I doubt they will remember in the morning, and I burnt most of the evidence. If we make something of this, it can only mean more trouble.’

‘And the other?’

‘Adair believes I invited him. I hope he will think he imagined the whole thing in the morning. I don’t want him trying to build on false foundations.’

Faine pushed through the leather curtain at the forge doorway. She glanced from Adair, beginning to stir, but not yet aware of his bindings, to Tegan, sitting with her back to the rooftree, knife in hand.

‘I hope you will forgive my kin’s behaviour. It seems they can’t hold their drink.’

Tegan stared up at Faine and said nothing.

‘Well,’ Faine said, ‘let’s get this idiot to his bed.’

Between them, she and Brede got Adair to his feet. Faine made a grab for his breeches just in time. He swayed between them, muttering incoherently.

‘You could help us by holding up your own trews,’ Faine said irritably. Brede pivoted him about and almost dragged him through the doorway.

‘Where we going?’ Adair asked as the cold air stirred him to greater sense.

‘Bed.’ Brede said, and then wished she hadn’t. ‘You, your bed, alone.’

Adair kept silent, concentrating on his feet. Faine toppled him in at his door and rolled him into his bedding, only then loosening the belt about his hands.

‘Where you going?’ Adair asked, sensing the movement about and above him.

‘To gate-keep.’ Brede said angrily, yanking his wolfskin off the peg it always hung on.

‘You don’t have to,’ Faine said.

‘It’s what Rhian and Darcie think I’m doing. Let’s not muddy the water any more than we have to.’

Faine walked with Brede to the gate, and watched her up the ladder. Edra was down the rungs swiftly. She turned as she reached Faine, and looked up at Brede, hunched against the palisade.

‘She’s crying,’ she said quietly.

‘Adair’s a bastard when he’s drunk,’ Faine said savagely. Edra raised an eyebrow.

‘I didn’t think she cared.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Faine sighed. ‘I can’t work her out at all.’

Edra nodded and waved vaguely as she headed for home.

Faine stood in the darkness, but the gathering held no charm now, it was deteriorating into a younger person’s evening. She retraced her steps to the forge.

Tegan looked up as Faine entered, and laid the knife on the floor. Faine stood above her unwelcome guest.

‘What are you trying to do to Brede?’ she asked at last.

Tegan frowned.

‘Get her to trust me.’

‘How are you going to do that?’

‘Teach her to use her knives.’

Faine hissed air through her teeth.

‘Obviously you trust her already.’

Tegan hesitated, then slowly nodded.

‘I think so.’

Rhian struggled out into the dawn, nursing a split boulder for a head. He had a confused idea that he and Adair had split their shifts to allow them both to spend time at the gather, but there was a nervous anxiety that there would be no one at the gate. He was relieved to see Adair, wrapped in his treasured wolf skin, staring out at the brightening horizon.

‘Quiet night?’ he asked genially.

Adair turned, and was not Adair after all.

Brede unwrapped herself from the wolf skin and held it out to Rhian.

‘Eventually,’ she said.

Rhian took the fur and stood wordless as she slid down the ladder, landing with a soft explosion of loose snow. He watched her stride away, her shoulders hunched against the cold, and a confusion of memories from the night ambushed him. His heart sank.

Brede went home.

Leal met her, hope warring with an urge to scold.

‘Adair was here looking for you.’ She left an expectant silence. Brede did not answer. She shrugged out of her tunic and dragged on a warmer garment then huddled beside the fire, her fingers knit tight about her knees.

Leal gazed at her daughter, silent and withdrawn, and reflected that Adair had not looked like an eager nor triumphant suitor. He had seemed uneasy.

‘Brede?’

Brede shook her head. Leal sighed and sat beside her, reaching to stroke hair out of her eyes.

‘He’s a good lad, really.’ Leal said.

Brede pulled away from her mother’s touch.

‘He’s a violent, drunken, lecherous idiot.’

‘Ah.’

Brede looked at her mother; hand still raised to caress, if she would allow it. She smiled wearily, and leant into the offered embrace.

‘Is there any mending it?’ Leal asked softly. Brede shook her head. Leal put her arms about her daughter, pulling her close.

‘Was there anything to break?’ she asked.

Brede sighed.

‘A friendship, nothing more. A friendship. I don’t want to speak to him, not yet. Not if he were to crawl naked through the snow to beg for forgiveness.’

Leal’s breath jerked between laughter and disapproval. Brede grinned.

‘I might enjoy him doing that, though.’

‘I’ll mention it when he comes back.’

‘When?’

‘He’s only gone to the forge to look for you.’

‘He forgot I was gate-keeping then?’

‘Gate-keeping?’

‘I told you, he was drunk.’

Leal shook her head in disgusted despair.

‘I thought better of him. Rhian said he’d offered to relieve him, but that is irresponsible.’

‘I dealt with it.’

‘But –’

‘Leave the poor sot alone, mother. I plan to punish him quite sufficiently. He doesn’t need Keenan as well.’

‘So he hasn’t lost your favour completely?’

‘Despising his weakness and pitying his folly isn’t what I call favour.’

‘You are a harsh judge.’

Brede pulled away from her mother and stood up.

‘You don’t know the crime.’ She groaned, stretched the last of cold-cramp from her back. ‘I’ve work to do.’

Leal watched her daughter go in silence, wondering what Adair had done or said to wreck his chances so thoroughly.

Chapter Seven

Tegan’s reach had become limited, her speed slowed, her reactions dulled. She couldn’t bear the weight of her newly mended mail, and knew that she wasn’t pushing Brede as she should. She was afraid that she would not be able to do that pushing, that she could no longer use her own sword with sufficient skill.

She exercised relentlessly, trying to force the speed and suppleness back into her reluctant body; but she still accommodated her lack of reach, the lack of power behind her blow, and saw those adjustments mirrored in Brede’s movements. She shouted her frustration at Brede, who was bewildered to be told that she was wrong, when her actions seemed identical to Tegan’s.

They had been working within the confines of the forge, but now Tegan came to a decision. If Brede wanted to learn to use the knives properly she needed space to work and a variety of blades to work against.

Tegan bundled up her swords and knives, including Brede’s ridiculously long greatsword, and carried them to the ox stall. The weight of the metal tired her. She laboured over Guida’s saddle and reins, wearily tightening the last buckle. She heaved the bundle of weapons onto the horse’s back and was trying to balance them when Leal appeared beside her.

‘Leaving us?’ Leal asked hopefully.

Tegan tried to hide her breathlessness, wondering suddenly whether Faine had really kept what she knew to herself.

‘No. I need to practise my trade, to get fit again. I can’t do that here, so I must find somewhere with space to swing a greatsword. Your daughter has agreed to partner me.’

‘If Brede wishes to learn from you, I’ve no objection; there’s no need for half-truths. If I’d known how to use a sword, her father might still be alive.’

Tegan smiled. Leal did not.

Meeting her daughter on the way back to her hut, Leal gave her a piercing look, which stopped Brede in her tracks.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

Leal shook her head slightly.

‘Your lesson is to take place somewhere with room to swing a greatsword, according to your tutor. There’s a good clearing up by the cress stream where you won’t get an audience.’

Brede gave Leal a careless hug, and went in search of Tegan.

Leal was right about the clearing by the stream. The snow was unbroken except where a fox had been through.

Brede slipped from the horse’s back, and took the heavy bundle of weaponry from Tegan.

The older woman dismounted stiffly, it was the first time she had ridden her horse since the rebel sword had found its way under her ribs. Tegan felt the scarring pull as she reached for the ground.

Brede watched Tegan’s awkward descent from the horse and frowned. She had already noticed the pallor of Tegan’s face, even the sharp wind failing to bring colour to her cheeks. Now she looked almost grey. Brede’s fierce gaze penetrated Tegan’s weakness, but she did not know how to stop Tegan from pushing herself on. Tegan turned to meet that gaze. Now that she was here, she did not feel able to provide Brede with the opponent she needed. She cleared a fallen tree of snow and sat.

‘Pick a blade,’ she told Brede. The younger woman unrolled the heavy bundle, and immediately reached for the greatsword. Tegan frowned impatiently, but bit back her comment. Let her learn by her mistakes. In this snow, the sword would overbalance her in no time.

‘Take your time,’ she said, ‘find its balance, and use the weight if you can.’

Tegan watched Brede’s first tentative passes, swinging the sword two-handed, stiffly. Unable to make much use of her wrists because of the weight, she slashed from the elbow, swung from the shoulder, drove with her whole body; all wrong, but there was no other way to use such a heavy sword. The weight pulled against her so that she was using some of her strength to hold it back, leaving her less able to follow each move through, and there was that persistent imbalance that Tegan couldn’t account for.

Tegan shifted impatiently, waiting for Brede to realise the sword was useless to her. Despite herself, she had to acknowledge that given the limitations, Brede was making a reasonable pass at it.

‘Stop now,’ she suggested. Brede let the point drop into the snow, breathing hard.

‘Do you see why it is no use to you? That sword was built for someone like Balin, with the strength and height and reach to master it. By all means dance with your sword, but it should be an extension of you, not a partner that you have to balance.’

Brede laughed.

‘It wouldn’t be my first choice, but if I had no choices, I’d want to know how to make the best of it.’

She wiped sweat out of her eyes, and flung the sword beside the rest. Tegan nodded as Brede picked out a lighter sword, one that she could use one-handed if she had to. Brede made a face; there was no hiding the poor quality of the metal, nor of its forging. Tegan relented.

‘It is a pity you can’t make use of that monstrous blade, it’s beautifully made. If you were in a position where that was the only sword to hand and you were attacked, how would you use it?’

Brede hesitated, and picked up the longer weapon again. She swung it, letting it carry her body in a slow arc. She rested the point in the snow again.

‘I’d end up scything my friends as well as my enemies.’

‘That, and leave your guard wide open. It’s not practical. The idea is to stay alive with the least amount of effort on your part. You have only to put your enemy out of action, no need to slice them in half.’

Brede nodded reluctantly, and picked up a more practical weapon, but as she straightened her eyes narrowed.

Tegan waited, recognising this now.

‘And putting the enemy out of action includes enslaving children does it?’

Tegan ran her hand across her face, gauging the space between them, and the slipperiness of the snow. If she needed to get to a sword, she would have to move fast and she was sure of neither her strength nor the footing.

‘I’m talking about my rules of combat.’

‘And those include ambush?’

‘Sometimes,’ Tegan admitted, ‘but I was not in charge of that raid. And it didn’t go according to plan.’

‘It seemed pretty successful to me.’

Tegan stood abruptly, testing Brede’s mood.

‘Do you want to talk about this rationally or do you want to fight?’

‘I want to fight – I’ll try rationality – for a while.’ Tegan listened to the jerky way Brede’s words came out, chopped and fierce. Definitely fighting. She walked towards her, as steadily as she could manage.

‘Put the sword down.’

‘No.’

‘Then I’ll have one too.’ Tegan snatched up the longsword, and winced at the weight, heavier than she remembered. She glanced at Brede and leant on the sword, using it for support. ‘It was a disaster from the start. We were late starting out, we got lost, we were nearly too late for the Gather.’

Brede nodded.

‘That’s why it was only us left.’

‘Yes. We caught up with Cloud –’

‘We were waiting for them.’

‘Yes, once we knew that, we played on it. We hoped you’d think we were them.’

‘We did –’ Brede raised her free hand to stop Tegan from continuing, struggling for the rationality she had promised; ‘– even after the first few horses. Cloud were coming for a hand-fasting, there’s a tradition that the woman’s Clan drive off a few horses to state their intentions, a game – you let them –’ Brede’s breath deserted her, ‘– and the man goes after to get them back, and brings the rustler back with him – Ivo – he was hand-fasting with Luce of Cloud. We thought that it was Luce – until you killed Ivo.’

Tegan dragged together what she thought was safe to say, wondering whether she should stop, hardly daring to.

‘We were expecting the horses to all be together, we thought we could get them all in one go: fast, clean.’

‘We drive them together, but it’s not like that at a Gather. We’re trading then, as individuals. We keep our own string close at hand.’

‘So, little pockets of horses, lots of people, plan gone wrong.’

‘And that’s your justification?’

‘What do you want? For me to say the intention was to wipe out two Clans and fill our coffers with slave-silver? Because it wasn’t, Brede.’

Brede glared at the sword in her hand.

‘I can’t do this.’ She let it drop into the snow. ‘Not now.’

Tegan let the longsword fall.

They had stayed out in the cold too long. By the time they returned through the gate under Adair’s scowling regard, Brede was exhausted, and Tegan was shivering with cold. Brede thought of the work waiting for her in the forge with distaste, feeling the strain in her shoulder muscles from the greatsword. She had hoped to stand up to it better given her work at the anvil. Tegan stumbled dismounting from the horse; Brede raised an arm and caught her without thinking. Tegan leant into Brede’s encircling arm, grateful, but afraid to need that support. She looked Brede in the eye, making a question of that glance. Brede returned her gaze and Tegan turned her head away fighting to recover her poise. This close, Brede could see that Tegan’s hair wasn’t the light brown she had imagined, but a darker brown, well threaded with grey.

What does that change?
she asked herself severely, but still, it changed something. Brede withdrew her hand from Tegan’s elbow and stepped away.

‘I’ll see to your horse,’ Brede said, ‘then I’ll bring the swords. Go and rest.’

Tegan walked away almost blind with weariness. Brede turned to the horse, fire burning in her cheeks. She told herself it was anger, but it was not. She wondered if Tegan noticed the
your
horse. Probably not.

As she reached for brush and cloth her eye caught movement outside. Brede put the brush back, and made a long stretch for the leather curtain. Adair stepped back sharply. Brede held the curtain wider open, and tilted her head in question. Adair ducked under the low lintel to join her. Brede picked up the brush and gave a slow, steady swipe to Guida’s coat.

‘Swords, now?’ Adair asked.

Brede nodded. Another steady sweep along Guida’s mane.

Adair said nothing for a long time, watching her hands moving in the semi-darkness. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

‘Brede, tell me what is happening.’

Brede stopped to worry a snarl from Guida’s coat.

‘I don’t know myself.’ She looked up finally. ‘I can’t tell you.’

‘You’ll leave with her when she goes?’ Brede rubbed dust off her face, and frowned.

‘Will I?’ she asked. Adair frowned in turn, puzzled at the tone of Brede’s question.

‘I think so.’

Brede went back to the snarl in the horse’s mane.

‘If you say so. I hadn’t thought of it.’

Adair snorted in disbelief. ‘No Brede, don’t play games.’

Brede shook her head slowly.

‘You know I can’t stay. Not now.’

‘What has changed?’

‘Everything.’

Adair, watching her doubtfully, saw her fight tears. He reached, and when she did not step away, brushed the dampness from her face. Brede wrapped her arms about herself, protective, restraining, stopping herself from weakening into his concern. She bit hard on her lip, and blinked quickly.

‘If I’m to be a warrior, I have to learn to stand without comfort.’

‘Are your wings strong enough?’

Brede laughed a damp, doubt-drenched laugh.

‘I don’t know how strong they need to be.’

Adair shook his head, rubbing her tears into his fingers. He walked away, head down, fingers still tracing the touch of her.