The Guardian (38 page)

“We lost too many,” Mattich said when we were settled and seated before his tent. “Your brother took it hard that we rescued you, and worse that he could not find you or us after. When we came down from the Barrens, he was waiting …” He shrugged.

Shara said, “I’m sorry.”

Mattich said, “We made a choice, my lady,” and turned to me. “He’d have your head, Gailard. And”—he looked to Ellyn—“yours. He’s allied with Talan, who offers much for you.”

“How much?” Ellyn asked. And before I could stop her: “Enough?”

Mattich studied her awhile in silence. His face was
grave, and disappointed as he shook his head. “I do not trade in children, or queens. Do you understand what honor is?”

“Yes.” Ellyn had the grace to blush. “Gailard taught me that.”

“Then you should know,” Mattich said, “that you insult your mother’s clan.”

“Forgive me, Grandfather.” Ellyn ducked her head so low it touched the floor of the tent. “I am new to this.”

Mattich’s frown faded into a smile. “And you’ve fine tutors. So believe them and me, and know that the Dur stand with you.”

Ellyn said, “Thank you.”

I asked, “What of Eryk and Talan?”

“Your brother’s not a man for winter fighting,” Mattich said, “so we had a respite. But Talan sent emissaries with fat and fanciful promises. Can Eryk deliver Chaldor’s heir to the Danant bastard, he’ll have Talan’s troops to conquer the Highlands, and a place in Talan’s court. All the clans have that message.”

“And how,” I asked, “do they take it?”

“The ambassadors could not find us,” Mattich said, and laughed. “I heard that the Arran sent them back naked, tied backward on their horses.” Then his face grew grave again. “But the Quan listened—and the Devyn and the Agador are bonded under command of Eryk and Rytha. So …” He shrugged. “I do not know how safe you are. It might be better that you…”

“I go to Chaldor,” Ellyn said. Her voice was firm. “Talan stole my throne. He slew my father and my mother, and I’d avenge those murders. Must I go alone, I shall.
But I’ll go back, even do I die!”

We all stared at her. Shara was no less shocked than I, and Mattich spluttered tea. Only Clayre seemed calm, as if her talent had foreseen this.

“You’ll need an army,” Mattich said.

“I have an army,” Ellyn returned, “are the clans with me. What better army?”

Mattich looked to me. Doubtless, he wondered what power this girlish woman owned. I said, “What other choice? Save we unite the clans and all ride against Talan, he owns Chaldor. And he’ll give Eryk men to conquer all.”

Mattich glanced at Shara, who nodded her agreement. Then Clayre spoke for the first time.

“I dream strange things,” she said. “I dream of great boats that I’ve never seen before. I dream of them on a vast river—wider than any we know here—and that they fight with Talan. I think you’ve friends you do not know.” She looked at her husband and asked, “What choice do we have, save to lose our honor?”

Mattich grunted. “The Devyn and the Agador were always the greatest—and Eryk owns them. The Quan listen. So, what have we left? We Dur, and perhaps the Arran? Not enough against allied clans, supported by Talan’s army. And his Vachyn.”

“Gailard,” Ellyn said, taking me by surprise, “will slay Eryk. He shall claim rightful leadership of the Devyn. And as the Agador are sworn to alliance, they must acknowledge him. Then we’ll command three clans. Must we conquer the Quan, we shall; and the Arran will follow us.”

I stared at her. So simple? All I must do is face my brother in battle, slay him, and give the clans to her? I scratched my healing wounds—they still itched—and wondered at her … I was not sure of the word … Presumption? Arrogance? Trust?

Shara said, “There’s no other way, Gailard. I wish there were, but …”

She touched my cheek, like a moth’s landing with soft wings, fluttering gently—disturbingly. I wondered if Ellyn scowled.

Mattich said, “Could you … then perhaps …”

Clayre said, “The clans might unite. The gods know, none like what Eryk intends, or have much love for Talan.”

I turned my face around the circle of watching, waiting eyes, and knew that my fate was sealed. Andur had set that
geas on me, and I had given my sworn word to Ryadne. I could not deny what those eyes demanded.

So I said, “There are conditions,” and turned a finger to Ellyn. “Understand that I do this for Chaldor’s heir, and do I win, you follow her where she commands. Even to Chorym’s walls; even do you fight alone.”

Mattich ducked his head. “To Chorym’s walls, even alone, the Dur shall follow.”

His voice was hard as his eyes, and I knew that he’d take his clan in support of Ellyn, even did it mean they be annihilated. I could ask no more of any man, nor wished to.

“So be it,” I said. “I’ll fight my brother.”

“And I mine,” Shara whispered, which set a chill in my heart.

“S
ail ho!”

Kerid shaded his eyes as he followed the lookout’s pointing hand, seeing the distant shape of a two-master in the morning’s early light. The sun sparkled on the water of the Durrakym, reflected in shimmering patterns of brilliance that dazzled his eyes, and the vessel rode too low, and too far off, that he could see her clearly. But he knew that no boats out of Naban or Serian plied the river without the Mother’s permission in the years since Hel’s Town went to war, so he assumed it must be an enemy craft.

“What’s her flag?” he shouted.

“Danant’s,” came the answer.

“Battle stations!” Kerid barked the order, then shouted for more canvas, that the oarsmen speed the
Andur’s
passage. He saw the
Ryadne
and the
Ellyn
draw alongside, matching pace.

“She runs,” the lookout called.

“Then we catch her,” Kerid muttered.

“Catch what?”

Mother Hel joined him on the steering deck. She wore a silk robe over what little she had worn in their pleasantly cramped cabin, and the wind blew it taut over her body. Her hair streamed unfettered about her face, and Kerid felt a
flush of excitement as she touched his shoulder. He saw the eyes of those men not yet concerned with the possibility of combat turn toward him, and saw them grin. He was not sure whether he felt proud or embarrassed. “A Danant boat,” he said.

The Mother turned from him, raising her own hand to squint into the brightness. “She’s far off.”

“We can take her.” Kerid heard the drum-master speed his beat; felt the
Andur
surge under him like an eager hunting dog. To either side the
Ryadne
and the
Ellyn
took up the beat. “We can run her down and sink her.”

Mother Hel glanced back at the flotilla that came behind them. Fat-bellied caravels and wide, three-masted merchantmen, with cutters like patrolling sharks to the flanks, larger vessels with Hel’s Town folk aboard secure in the center. “Is that wise?” she asked.

“She’s a Danant boat,” Kerid said, as if that were all the answer needed.

“It might be better that we let her go.”

He stared at her, surprised. “And let them tell Talan of the armada we bring against him?”

“It might well frighten him,” she said. “Does he know how large a Hel’s Town fleet comes down the river, might he not fear us? He’ll know he faces more than mere river raiders. Your friend, Gailard, on the one side—us on the other.”

“And then ready his defenses, and we find the shoreline armed against us?”

The Mother laughed. “Do you not understand what you’ve done?” Kerid shook his head, and she laughed again, her arms around his waist now. “You’ve done what no other man ever has—you’ve taken Hel’s Town to war. That alone should frighten Talan. Does Gailard raise the Highlanders as you hope, then we shall hold Talan like a nut between our fists.”

Her hands descended in explicit demonstration; Kerid blushed.

“Even so, surely it’s best we arrive unannounced.”

“Can we?” She held him tighter. He heard his men’s laughter. “Do you truly believe we can bring so great an armada down the river without we’re noticed? Talan will have word of our coming long before we arrive.”

“She’s a Danant boat,” he said, “and I vowed I’d not see any of them sail the river.”

“Then take her,” she answered, easing her hold. “But let some of them live, so that they take word back to Talan.”

Kerid frowned his incomprehension.

“Let him know fear. He’s his Vachyn sorcerer, and his army, but now he faces more foes than he anticipated. Let him sweat.”

“And ready his defenses? Send his Vachyn to the river-bank to meet us?”

“I doubt,” she said, “that he’ll do that. I think he’ll hold his Vachyn close—against any attack on Chorym. Yes, he might send men to the shoreline, but if he does we can sail past and land elsewhere. So take that boat, but let some of the crew live to frighten Talan.”

“I’d thought,” Kerid said, “that you were reluctant to face him.”

“I was.” The Mother loosed her grip and went to stand by the taffrail. She stared awhile across the sparkling water, then her lovely face hardened. “But he sent assassins to Hel’s Town—
my
town—and I’d see him pay for that, and now I am committed. So show me how you fight. But let some live to take word back, and fear—and, all well, Talan shall divide his forces betwixt us and Gailard’s clansmen.”

Kerid chuckled and shouted again for more speed.

T
hey caught the Danant boat as it approached a riverside town named Vashti. It was a fishing village, and a port for river traders, with two moles thrusting into the Durrakym that vessels might find safe anchor. There was a Danant garrison there now, and Talan’s soldiers saw the fight.

The Danant boat ran for the cover of the moles, but was
caught before it could reach safety. The wind was in the wrong quarter, favoring the attackers, and it had only sails. The three pursuing warboats were propelled by the blood-lust of their oarsmen, and they caught their quarry as she turned toward the promise of safety.

Catapults flung balls of flaming tar across the Durrakym; arbalests hurled massive shafts. The Danant vessel lost her foremast and took water where missiles pierced her starboard flank. She lost speed and the three warboats closed, their crews readying to board.

Kerid was again surprised to find Mother Hel at his side. She wore fish-mail armor that fit as snug as any gown. She carried a viciously bladed sword, as much finned as it was edged; and her lovely face was hidden beneath a helmet that was shaped in the contours of a fish.

“This is man’s work,” he said, after he recognized her.

And was met with a scornful laugh as she elbowed him aside and took hold of a grappling line to swing herself across to the Danant boat.

Kerid gasped, then followed her, so that they landed together on the deck. He took a blow to his head as he turned, needlessly protective, to see Mother Hel slash her blade across a man’s belly, sending him tumbling away with his entrails falling in sticky streamers around his feet. Kerid tumbled, and felt a sword land heavy across his back. He fell onto his face. Scrabbled away, trying to find his feet and deflect the next blow that he knew must break his spine and kill him. And then the Mother was there, riposting the descending blow and thrusting her blade into the riverman’s heart.

“Man’s work?”

She lent him a hand, and he rose apologetic.

Then they both laughed and set to clearing the deck, aided now by the other boarders from the
Ryadne
and the
Ellyn.

Only three Danant sailors were left at the end of it. And
Mother Hel sent them ashore, naked and stripped of all they owned.

“Tell your master,” she said, “that Kerid brings a fleet against Talan. Tell him that he had better quit Chaldor and run home to Danant, else he dies.”

The sailors were grateful for their lives, and swam to the shore, where Talan’s men waited and watched their king’s boat sunk.

“I shall go back now,” Mother Hel said.

“Why?” Kerid frowned. “I thought you’d be with me all the way.”

“I’d find you more boats.” She smiled at his crestfallen expression. “That we win this war you’ve talked me into.”

“Only that?”

“Hel’s Town does not take sides,” she said. Then added, “Until now. And even now … This worries me, Kerid.”

He shrugged. “Do as you will. I go on fighting.”

“I know,” she said, and beckoned men to take her away. “I’ll see you later. Somewhere down the river.”

Kerid watched her go, wondering if he’d lost her or if she’d come back. No matter—he was determined to go on.

“I
’ve still none of Talan’s soldiers to support me,” Eryk said sulkily, and turned to his wife.

Rytha said, “There were promises made.”

“Indeed there were,” said Pawl, “but those were contingent on your delivering—or destroying—Ellyn, and you’ve not done that.”

“She escaped into the Barrens with the Dur.” Eryk scowled. “My brother took her off—with …” He hesitated.

“I’ve heard the stories,” Pawl said wearily. The gods knew, he’d spent far longer than he enjoyed in these dismal Highlands. “You crucified Gailard, and he was rescued by some Highlander goddess. They took Ellyn away—with the aid of the Dur—into the Barrens.”

“And have not been seen since,” Eryk said, scowling.

“Nor have you found them. Nor been able to conquer your fellow tribes.”

“Give me men and gold,” Eryk said, “and I’ll give you everything you want. Give me some squadrons and I’ll beat the Quan and the Arran into submission.”

“It’s not so easy.” Pawl smiled: the diplomat—be careful of these uncouth barbarian clansmen. “Gold was spent conquering Chaldor, and on men—my king’s not so many soldiers he can afford to waste them on useless ventures.”

“Not useless,” Eryk argued. “I can give you Ellyn and Gailard. Only give me men, or gold to buy them.”

“Surely,” Pawl said. “Only first, give me Ellyn. Save for that, you’ve nothing to bargain with.”

Eryk stared at the emissary. “I could take your head,” he grumbled. “I could send your body back to your king across your horse in shame.”

Pawl smiled, his face implying threat.