The Guardian (11 page)

“I am outcast from my clan—by my father’s word. I have no family, no kin. I return to the Highlands on pain of death. Andur gave me a home, a place … respect … and I swore to serve him. I serve him now.”

“By going back to the Highlands?”

I grinned, though I felt not much amused, and took a stick from the fire. “What do you know of the Highlands? Of the lands beyond Chaldor’s valley?”

She shrugged. “Not much.”

“Look.” I blew the flames from the stick and turned around, using a smooth boulder for parchment. “This is the Durrakym, this Chaldor.” I marked the river and ringed the valley in smoking charcoal. “We are here; beyond are
the Highlands, then the Styge here. We ride north, into the lands of the clans.” I marked the boundaries.

The lines I drew were tenuous as the real boundaries between the clans, and the lands of my own were perilously close to where we headed, but beyond lay the Barrens, and I thought that if we could only reach that wasteland we must surely be safe until that day Ryadne had promised dawned.

Ellyn said, “Why not seek my grandfather? Surely he’d offer us sanctuary with the Dur.”

“Which Talan would doubtless guess, and send hunters.” I shook my head. “It’s as I’ve told you—best we leave no trail at all.”

“Then where do we go?”

“To the end of the road. There’s a town there; it’s called Cu-na’Lhair. It’s a barter town, where folk trade.”

“I thought,” she said, “that we were avoiding inhabited places.”

“We were,” I replied, “but we shall need food by then. I’d not take the time to hunt, so we shall need to replenish our supplies and buy ourselves winter gear.”

She looked a question at me and I could not help but chuckle.

“Did you think this was some summer outing? The summer ages and the Highlands are cold, and who knows where we shall be when the snows come.”

“The war might be ended by then.”

“Yes.” I nodded, my laughter abruptly quelled. “By Talan, who’ll then have all the time he needs to seek you out.”

Almost, I regretted my harsh words as I saw her pretty face blanch, her lips tighten. “Then we are truly fugitives,” she said, and her voice was forlorn.

I nodded again.

“But you’d chance this—what was it … Cu-na’Lhair? What if I’m recognized there? What if you’re recognized?”

“Likely your face is not known there,” I said. “And mine hasn’t been seen in a long time, so perhaps I can escape
unknown. Anyway, we shall need supplies, so we must take the chance.”

“But after …” She studied my charcoal map. “We must still enter the Highlands.”

“All well,” I said, “well cross them unnoticed.”

“To where?”

“The Barrens, if we must.”

She swallowed noisily. “There are savages in the Barrens, no? And worse things in the Styge?”

I said, “I don’t know. I’ve never been there.”

“But you’ve heard the stories.”

“Yes, but I can’t think of any safer place.”

“You’re my guardian,” she said, and I could not decide whether she spoke in confidence or accusation, for she turned away then and left me to pour our tea and set out our breakfast.

T
he forest ended on a wide, rocky ridge, the timber breaking against the foot like some vast dendroid sea. What few trees had succeeded in gaining a hold on the slope seemed like tidal pools, green against the grey-blue of the stone. The rimrock was bare, and from its long hogback we looked out across a grassy valley that stretched northward to the foothills of the Highlands. They shone all misty in the morning light, patterned with sunshine and cloud like a patchwork quilt, and I wondered if I caught the scent of heather on the wind. I suppose not, that it was only memory tricking my senses, but I could not help a pang of nostalgia. I halted and looked awhile, then brought my gaze down to the center of the valley, where Cu-na’Lhair stood.

The road continued on down the ridge’s farther side and ended at the town, which stood beside a broad river that ran away north and east into the hazy distance. It was larger than I remembered, walled with native stone and wood from the forest, its single gate opening on the road and a short jetty thrusting a little way into the river. Smoke rose lazy in
the morning air and I could see folk moving about the gate, boats moored along the jetty. I glanced at Ellyn, but before I could warn her to maintain her disguise, she tugged her feathered cap lower on her forehead and assumed a belligerent expression. I thought that she would do and wondered about myself. I had gained height and weight since I left this land, and my beard was thickened, patched in places with grey. I might go unrecognized; or not, but Cu-na’Lhair was traditionally peaceful, and I trusted the sheriff and his men still kept discipline within the walls. Was I recognized, then I thought any threat must come after we left—and I could think of nowhere else to go. So I heeled my bay onto the downslope, Ellyn following.

I waved her alongside and said, “We shall be questioned here, and likely about the war. Do you stay silent. Please?”

“You ask me with a pretty
please?
No orders?” She stared at me, as if she could not believe I requested her silence.

I said, “Yes, I
ask you.
Please.”

She smiled a little and ducked her head in agreement.

We crossed the stone bridge that led to the gate and halted in the shadow of the great portal as armed men blocked our way. There were five of them, bearing swords and bucklers, javelins in their hands. Their leader faced me, seeming neither hostile or friendly, but mostly curious. I thought he did not know me, and surely I did not know him.

“Hail, strangers. Where are you from?” His eyes scanned us with professional interest.

“Chaldor,” I said.

“Few have come from the Bright Kingdom these past weeks.” He moved a little aside, studying our mounts and our captured horses. I saw that his men shifted to either side, where they might take us from our saddles with four swift throws. “What news of the war?”

“Poor news,” I replied. “You know that Andur took his army across the Durrakym?”

He nodded. “And took that bastard Talan’s head, I hope.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Andur’s slain, and Talan comes across the river.”

“To Chorym?” His eyes were a very bright blue and they widened as he spoke. “How fares the queen?”

“She readies for siege.”

“Chorym must be a hard place to take.”

“Surely; but Talan employs a Vachyn sorcerer.”

He mouthed a foul curse. “May all the gods damn the Vachyn.”

I said, fervently, “Amen to that.”

“And what brings you here? You’ve a soldierly look about you. Why are you not on Chorym’s walls?”

“I lost my hire when Andur died. I took a wound”—I patted my knee—“and I’ve no wish to face Vachyn magic again.” That at least was the truth. “So I took my pay and rode away.”

“To come home? You’re a Highlander, no?”

I shrugged. “A hire-sword now. Are there clansmen here?”

“Some.” He accepted my dissembling, which was not so unusual in this town, and turned his attention to Ellyn. “And who’s this?”

“My son,” I lied. “He’s never seen the Highlands.”

“And these horses?”

“Bandits attacked us and I slew them. I’d trade their horses for food and winter gear.”

He grunted as if this were no unusual announcement. “The forest’s thick with brigands these days. Enter and be welcome.”

I smiled my thanks. “Can you recommend an inn? And a trustworthy horse dealer?”

“The Lonely Traveler. It’s five streets down and leftward; ask there for directions to Jerym Connach. He’ll give you a fair price.”

I thanked him and he stood aside, waving us through.
As we rode slowly up the wide street Ellyn asked me, “Should you not have given him small coin for that information?”

I grinned. “That’s not the way here. Besides, he likely receives some stipend from the inn and the horse dealer both. But thank you for staying silent.”

She offered no response to that, but stared about, her eyes wide under the peak of her cap. I supposed she had never seen a town built all from wood before. Chorym and those few towns that dotted the Bright Kingdom’s valley were all of stone and brick and tile, with wood an ornamentation. Cu-na’Lhair—save for its walls—was only timber. The street was, given the summer’s heat, hard-packed earth, flanked to either side by pavements of planed wood polished by myriad feet, the buildings that rose two and three stories high were solid timber, with balconies on the upper floors and shutters and doors of ornately carved wood, all painted with bright colors depicting flowers and animals and birds. Folk milled about us, on horseback and in carts and afoot. They wore mostly the breeches and skirts and shirts of Highlanders, with the patterned cloaks that denoted their clans folded and pinned over their shoulders. The men were all armed, swords at their waists and shields slung on their backs, and most of the women carried daggers on their belts. No few stout staffs were tipped with metal, and it came to me that in Chorym only soldiers bore weapons and that it must seem strange to Ellyn to see every passerby armed in some way. I watched her carefully, afraid that she give herself away in some manner. But she did not, and we found the Lonely Traveler without incident.

It was a tall, wide building, the first and second levels both balconied, with its broadest front facing the street and a timbered wall containing a yard behind. I dismounted and tethered the horses to the hitching rail and with Ellyn, all wide-eyed and agog, on my heels, went inside.

The room was the full width of the building across, and almost as deep. The floor was of polished planks that
gleamed despite the scouring of the boots that crossed it. Against one wall stood a stone hearth where a fire burned and the carcass of a pig turned slowly on a spit rotated by a child half Ellyn’s age. On the farther side was a long counter behind which stood racked barrels and shelves of wine bottles, gleaming glasses and sturdier clay mugs. Numerous tables, chairs, and benches made the navigation of the floor a labyrinth, and the place was loud with laughter and hearty conversation. Serving women in flounced skirts and low-cut blouses traversed the maze with practiced ease and ready smiles, trays of ale mugs and bottles of wine carried aloft past the clutching hands and ribald comments. The air smelled of roasting pork and woodsmoke, alcohol and sweat and tobacco. I noticed Ellyn frown, her nostrils pinching, and nudged her, whispering.

“You’re a hire-sword’s son, remember? You’ve been in such places before—you’re at home here.”

She grunted and hitched up her belt, affecting an expression midway between a scowl and a smile, and came with me to the counter.

A man wide as he was tall stood there, busily wiping his hands on a once-clean apron. He was bald, but the lower part of his face was decorated with a luxuriant red beard, and from amongst its many hairs came a gleaming smile.

“Well met, strangers!” His voice was deep as his beard. “What’ll it be?”

“A mug of your best ale,” I said, “and a cup for the boy. After that, a room, and stabling for our animals.”

He pulled a tankard for me and filled a half measure for Ellyn, named me prices and advised me that we might have a chamber on the upper floor. Food would be paid for as we took it.

I gave him coin and asked, “Do you know Jerym Connach, the horse dealer?”

“I do,” he said solemnly, then beamed again. “He’s my brother. You’ve animals to trade?”

I told him my story and he commiserated with me on
the dangers of the road in such troubled times, then asked about the war. When I told him, he said, echoing the gate-man: “The gods’ curse on Talan of Danant and all the Vachyn, and their blessings on the queen. But it’s not likely those whoreson bastards’ll bother us, eh? Now, as for those horses, why don’t you stable them with me—I’ll give you a special price—and I’ll send word to Jerym that he take a look.”

I thanked him and drank my ale. It was good, that dark yellow hue that comes only from Highland hops. I drained the mug and called for a second. Then I heard Ellyn coughing, and turned to see her spluttering over her cup. It had not occurred to me that she was not used to ale, and I cursed myself for that lack of forethought.

“The lad’s something of a fever,” I said, and complimented myself on my quick thinking: I thought that if Ellyn remained in the room it should enhance our chances of passing unnoticed. “But a night’s sleep in a decent bed shall cure him.”

Ellyn wiped her mouth and favored me with a glare. “It’s that I’m not used to such fine ale,” she muttered throatily. “It’s weaker stuff in the Bright Kingdom.”

Our landlord chuckled. “The lad’s got it right there, friend. Poor, prissy ale they brew down there. Not like our good, strong stuff. But you’re familiar with it, no? What are you, a Highlander come home? I didn’t get your name, by the way. Mine’s Jach.”

Almost, I told him my true name, but in the nick remembered and so said, “Gavin, and the lad’s Elward.”

Jach beamed some more and asked if I’d have a fire in our chamber for “Elward’s” sake—which should cost a little extra. I told him no, but I’d see our horses safely stabled, and likely take dinner in our room.

“The lad’s not much accustomed to the road,” I said, “nor to bandits. He grew up in the south.”

“The south, eh?” Jach nodded his bald head as if that explained all. “Soft there, no?”

I said, “Yes,” and trod on Ellyn’s foot as I saw her about to argue.

She gasped and spilled her cup over my boot. “My pardon, Father. But this
is
strong ale.”

“No matter, you’ll get used to it.” I smiled and shook my foot. “Such ale, and the Highlands, shall make a man of you, eh?”

She smiled, as does a cat about to pounce on a cowering mouse. I swiftly drained my mug and asked that we stable our horses and find our chamber.

“And a bath?” Ellyn said gruffly. “Hot water?”

“That shall be extra,” Jach said.

I passed him another coin and roughly took Ellyn’s elbow. I thought that no one had much noticed us as I led her out and took the horses around the inn to the yard.

“A bath? Hot water? This is not Chorym. Folk live harder here.”