The White Hart (The Book of Isle 1)

by Nancy Springer

  The mantled lord must have seen him also. He lunged past Cuin, but Hau Ferddas flew to prevent him as Cuin stumbled forward in desperate haste. Doggedly he beat back the nothingness that was Pel, taking hard blows in the process. His only concern now was to stay between Bevan and the foe. All thoughts of vengeance or victory had left him; he only hoped to stand his ground. Hau Ferddas darted constantly to defend him; as long as he could lift it in his tiring arms he would be well… From time to time he glimpsed Bevan. Though the Prince did not move, yet he trembled with exertion; utmost effort parted his lips and tightened his glistening face. Cuin took a blow on his sword-hilt that staggered him, then straightened to thrust at what should have been his enemy's throat. A cut, a parry, a response—

  A rending crash sounded through the place, fearful and sudden as doom. Stunned by the noise, Cuin dropped his guard. But it did not matter. His enemy had crumpled to the stone with a hoarse cry that echoed to the distances of inner earth; centuries of dying were in that cry. Cuin stared. For a flickering instant he thought he saw an ancient, ancient face and wizened hands. A wolf, or a carrion bird… He could not recall the face, he saw only bones—dust?—nay, a formless heap of cloth. Dazed, he turned to Bevan.

  But Bevan could not help him. The Prince lay as still as death. The mighty basin of Coradel Orre had shattered, and Bevan was sprawled among its shards of red gold studded with pearls. Cuin sank to his knees beside him and called his name, turned the limp body with his hands. Bevan did not stir; yet there was no wound that Cuin could see.

  Some breath of earth seemed to move through the place, an almost soundless stirring, and suddenly Cuin felt a need for greatest haste. He slung Bevan over his shoulders and snatched up the golden sword and silver crown. As quickly as he could, he toiled back the way they had come. In the great cavern the wyverns were barking and bounding about in wild agitation. From a directionless distance Cuin could hear an echo of rumbling, like the first mutterings of an underground storm.

  Up the long reaches of the sloping cavern he hurried. Panting under his burden, he scarcely noticed that the crimson pool no longer frightened him, though it still glowed bright as flame. As he reached the narrower corridor he felt the stone tremble under his feet, and he broke into a painful run. All around him the earth was filled with growling and grating noise. Cuin leaped up the steps with pounding heart and sped through the fire-blackened great hall to the gate. The horses were tethered nearby, his roan and Bevan's dapple-gray. Gasping with exertion, he slung Bevan over the roan and slashed the tethers of both horses.

  Even as he got up behind Bevan he could see the gray shale of Blagden's barren slopes come sliding gently to the bottom. The courtyard shook. The gray steed whinnied in fright and dashed away up the twisting road to the top. Cuin sent the roan after it as quickly as his burden would let him. Far above he could see Flessa circling like a speck of fire. Some few hundred feet above the ground she might be, but she was a mile and more above him.

  The roan ran valiantly, though he snorted in terror. Halfway up, the road suddenly dropped from before his hooves; he leaped the gap and galloped on. Cuin shut his eyes and begged as he had not begged in all his life: "Mothers, help us!" Far rather would he have faced a score of swords than be buried alive. But when he looked again they were near the rim; indeed, the rim slid to meet them. The roan scrambled over the moving ground and ran wildly amidst an army of gaping, frightened men, until at last it limped to an exhausted stop beside the lathered dapple-gray.

  Cuin sat and gazed open-mouthed at the abyss from which he had just come. The ruined fortress was gone, vanished into red depths like a vast gullet. As he watched, the stones drew closer like a purse, twisting to tightness. Then the rest of the Pit moved sickeningly before his eyes; the substance of it seemed to bubble and roil. Upward and upward it crept, like broth in a pot. The land shook; men fell to the ground and cried out in fear. Cuin got Bevan down from the roan, shielding him with his arms. But as suddenly as sunshine all was over. Flessa swooped down and serenely landed on Cuin's shoulder. Where the Pit had been was now a field of rubble, level with the surrounding plain. Earth had reclaimed her wounded breast and stolen bones.

  A hubbub of talk sprang up as men questioned and reassured each other. Dacaerin strode up to Cuin.

  "Is that one alive?" he demanded.

  It was a question Cuin had pushed far back in his thoughts. Bevan scarcely seemed to breathe; but his hands were warm. "I do not know," Cuin said numbly.

  Kael pushed up and held his burnished breastplate to Bevan's face. Breath moistened it. "He lives," Kael declared. "Indeed, I see no mark on him. What has hurt him?"

  Cuin could not say; sorrow and weariness had fogged his mind. They got Bevan to the tents of the healers, where they put him in a bed, but they could think of nothing more to do for him. Sunset came, and dark, but Bevan did not stir. Cuin sat by him through the night, his mind frozen in despair. The young lord of Wallyn waited on them both.

  In the darkness before dawn one of Dacaerin's men came.

  "Something flits white above the place that was the Pit," he told Cuin in a low, shaky voice. "I do not dare awaken my lord Dacaerin for such a ghost; he is full of spleen. But we are frightened, lord. Will you come?"

  Only the terror in the man's voice moved Cuin to sluggish response. Leaving Bevan in Dene's care, he trudged out to the lines of guard and beyond, not much caring what he might meet. But as the white form took shape in the night, new warmth surged through Cuin. It was the hart.

  "Wait but a moment!" he told it absurdly, and ran to get the dapple-gray.

  He gathered up Bevan, blankets and all, and cradled him in his arms as he rode into the dark. The horse faded from the sight of the guards like a cloud in the night, following a dim white star. The stag ran before Cuin and the steed, stopping and circling impatiently at their slowness. Westward over the sky-broad land it led them, until in the dusk of dawn it came to a place where a single silver tree pierced the plain to court the sky. Here Cuin laid Bevan down, and the creatures nestled nearby. Cuin sat and waited. Yet he could not tell, so deep was his sleepless despair, whether he had brought his liege here to live or to die.

  Dawn turned to paler gray and pearly white and gold. When it had grown to bright gold, Bevan stirred and sat up. "What am I doing here?" he muttered, poking his blankets.

  Cuin knelt before him dazedly. "How do you feel?" he whispered.

  "How should I feel?" Bevan's mouth twisted in gentle jest. "Well enough."

  "Sweet Prince, I thought I had lost you too!" Cuin choked, and he clenched himself against his store of unspent tears. But Bevan touched him, and he wept like a child. There was no mystic power of healing in the hands that held him, no argent glow, but only the comfort of mortal friendship. It was enough. Cuin softened into quietude and settled into sleep. Bevan leaned against the pearly tree and pillowed Cuin's head on his arm. Flessa brooded above them, and nearby the white hart dozed.

  Thus it was that Ellid found them, when she walked that way in the morning.

  4

  "So I have failed," Bevan told Ellid later that day. "Coradel Orre is destroyed."

  She regarded him quizzically, scarcely understanding. "The news I hear is that you have won a great victory! Pel Blagden is destroyed, he and all his works. The son of the immortals has triumphed over an immortal enemy."

  "A god of dust. He would have been but a mortal did not the power of Coradel Orre sustain him. As it would have sustained me." Bevan sighed. "Now that it is gone, I must truly accustom myself to a mortal fate."

  She stared at him. "A mortal and a King! Your lot could be worse, Prince of Eburacon!"

  "Ay, Eburacon indeed is left to me." Bevan's gaze softened. "The fair fountains and golden orchards of Eburacon! Let us go there after we are wed, Ellid—just the two of us for a few days, as we were before. But then I will bring rest to the guardian shades, and let in my people to make it my court city." He stopped, his smile fading to a frown. "If
my strength returns, I can do that! Right now I am but a plodder on the earth, like other men. It is strange and terrible to be made so lightless. I feel like an empty shell."

  "Surely you will soon be better," Ellid comforted him. "Everyone is spent after such a struggle. Look at Cuin."

  For Cuin still slept, sprawled with childlike abandon beneath the silver tree. Bevan winced with pity for him.

  "He has sorrowed," he said, "and he has bled, and at the last he saved me, so men say, together with the sword and the Argent Crown, no less! Any one of the three would have been wonder enough. Your cousin is a marvel among men, Ellid."

  "A marvel of stupidity!" Cuin stood up and shook himself, then ambled over to join them. "That very night I should have had you to the holy grove, Bevan."

  "What, and my lady here?" Bevan smiled at him. "The hart led you aright, Cuin. Have you slept well?"

  "Ay," Cuin answered slowly, "except that still Pel's vile mockery of my father troubles my inward sight. The thing in the bloody pool."

  "It was not Clarric, only a semblance of Pel's making," Bevan told him softly. "You know that, do you not? I grieve that I have no better help to give you…

  Cuin shrugged. "Time will take the sting from it. But may I never forget the glory of Hau Ferddas!" His brown eyes lighted with wonder. "That is a weapon men would die for. What were the strange words it tore from me?"

  "To nessa laif Elwestrand," Bevan murmured. "For the sake of sweet Elwestrand. I do not know what it means, but it went through me like a sword."

  "Even so should I be skewered for folly!" Cuin struck himself. "I left the golden sword—and the crown—with mine uncle Pryce Dacaerin!"

  "Why, what is the harm in that?" Ellid stared in puzzlement. "My father is no thief."

  "Nay, but you have not laid hands on Hau Ferddas, Ellid." Cuin faced her squarely. "It cozens the will to power. I was a fool and thrice a fool to let it out of my sight."

  "You were sunk in sorrow and weary to the bone," Bevan said to him. "Moreover, do not think so badly of your uncle. He has done valiant service; I can find no fault with him this day."

  "Still, I would return forthwith," Cuin muttered.

  "Eat and we shall go."

  So they rode back to what had been Blagden in the golden light of late afternoon, with Cuin on a borrowed horse and Ellid on the dapple-gray before Bevan. Cuin and Bevan gaped as they drew near, but Ellid only smiled; she had not sent messengers for naught. To a man the warriors stood ranked upon the plain awaiting them, and at a signal they raised their gold-decked sword-arms with a mighty shout.

  Ellid dropped lightly to the ground and went aside with Cuin. Bevan stood alone in the clearing, still and arrow-straight. Pryce Dacaerin strode up and bowed before him ceremoniously. "My lord of Eburacon," he addressed him. "there are those here who would swear their fealty to you this day."

  "The crown!" Kael shouted. "Let us swear to him whom we have crowned our High King!"

  Dacaerin turned and tried to frown him into silence, but Kael met his stare, grinning happily. "Though none of us is worthy of such noble office, to crown him, indeed," he added roguishly.

  "All of you are worthy," Bevan said in his soft, melodious voice, which was heard by all.

  "Then let us all have a hand in it!" Kael cried. "Page, ho!"

  Young Dene of Wallyn came forward with the silver crown on a cushion; men strained and shoved to touch it as it passed. "Now, my lords!" Kael directed. "Nay, my liege, you need not kneel…" With many hands they placed on Bevan the Argent Crown of Eburacon; their arms encircled him. Dacaerin glowered as Cuin stood watching in delight. "Poor Uncle!" he whispered to Ellid. "He had hoped to have this honor to himself."

  "The sword!" exclaimed the King of Romany. "Where is his sword?"

  "Boy!" Pryce ordered harshly.

  Dene brought Hau Ferddas wrapped in a cloth. Bevan reached for it and raised it high; it flashed like a flame in the light of the setting sun. The warriors murmured in awe, then burst into a cheer. Kael helped Bevan gird on the sword, and kissed him. Then he knelt before him.

  "Liege, let me be the first to pledge you my faith."

  "You are dear to me," Bevan told him tenderly. "But let Cuin come to me as well."

  "What?" Cuin smiled at Bevan from his place aside. "I am no lord."

  "You will be, when we have found a holding worthy of you." Bevan stretched out his hand. "Come."

  Dazedly, Cuin obeyed him. Kneeling with hands cupped within his King's he huskily recited the ancient oath of fealty: "… to honor and defend… support and uphold… in steadfast loyalty…" When he had done he stood at Bevan's side while the other lords swore in their turn, binding themselves by whatever gods they held dear. Pryce Dacaerin was among the last, and he swore by blood.

  When the last lord stood, Cuin raised his blade. "Long live Bevan High King!" he shouted, and the others took up the cry. The men broke ranks and surged forward to see and touch, but Ellid was ahead of them. She kissed Bevan on the lips, there under the golden sky, and the warriors cheered them riotously. Dene raised the standard of the white hart as high as his young arms could hold it. Ellid looked where it floated, and her face went white as death.

  "What is that stain?" she whispered.

  "Noble blood." Bevan had an arm around her, gazing at her from under his crown that was like a silver sun. "Clarric's crimson can but do it honor."

  "It is like an omen! I cannot bear to look at it!" Ellid hid her face, shivering, "Take it away."

  "Put it hence, lad," Bevan said gently to Dene, and turned toward the setting sun. The warriors were scattering toward their campfires, rejoicing and looking for ale. A few lords lingered near.

  "Will you go north now, Kael?" Bevan asked.

  "Not until you are wed!" the black-braided King exclaimed. "I would not fail to honor you at that feast."

  "Let them be wed at Caer Eitha," Pryce put in, "and thus your travel will be shortened."

  "Nay," Bevan said flatly. "I will lodge that night within no walls of man. It is the fairest of seasons; let our bed be where the blessing of earth can reach us."

  "You cannot mean to take her to the Forest!" Dacaerin objected. "There is no place for feasting beneath that shade."

  "There is room and reason for feasting on the Downs," Cuin remarked dreamily. "In all this realm which I have seen, no place is so fair as where the grassland looks down upon Welas. Everything there is sunlit green and golden, and the meadowlarks sing through the day."

  "Then you should build a fair city there, Cuin," Bevan charged him, "and call it Laveroc, the city of larksong. May we wed on your domain, Cuin?"

  "I believe my cousin would be well pleased by it," Cuin answered softly, and Ellid smiled at him.

  So the company traveled gently westward. It was Kael and his diminished band, the gypsies and the Firtholas, Bevan and Cuin and Pryce Dacaerin with his retinue, including Ellid and Eitha in their closely-curtained horse-litter. A few other lords rode with them, but most of the southern lords pressed quickly home, to return to the wedding feast with wives and gifts. Though the warm weather was nearing its height, there was no raiding in the land. For the first summer in living memory crops went untrampled, cottages unburned. The peasants thanked their gods for the prosperity that seemed assured, now that their lords had turned their attention to feasting rather than fighting. Folk deemed that this was the decree of the new-crowned King, but they were only partly right. A spirit of peace hung over Isle, for friendships had been formed beside the dreadful Pit of Blagden.

  Always beside the High King rode Cuin; Cuin Falconer men called him because of the bird that was ever on his shoulder or circling above his steed. Many lords looked on him with favor, for he was quiet, courteous and valiant, and a right way of seeing shone in his deep-set brown eyes. But for Bevan the King his comrade they felt nothing less than awe: for they saw that he had leveled the Pit by the power of his mystic will, and had brought all of Pel's works to ruin with his shining hands
and sword.

  In a score of easy days the company reached the place of laverocs and set up their encampment. Tents were pitched; Ellid and Eitha embellished them with bright pennons and ribbons. Cooking pits were dug and lined with stones. Many of the men departed to the Forest, half a day's journey away, to bring in game for the feast. Cuin went, but Bevan stayed with Ellid.

  The sunny vistas of the Downs pleased Ellid anew each day. She never tired of gazing about her. "Cuin was right," she told Bevan. "This place is a delight to me."

  "He knows you well," Bevan said softly.

  Soon the other chieftains arrived, and the soft billows of the Downs became brightly decked with pavilions and fluttering flags. Glossy steeds grazed round about; sleek-haired women strolled in groups and chattered around the fires at night. The hunters returned, and Cuin kept Bevan company, for Ellid was busy with private preparations. Bevan was restive, for the attentions of the assembly galled him. "Praise Duv this will soon be over," he muttered.

  "And what of your court?" Cuin teased him. "You are King now for your life's span! Would you spend it in a cave, then?"

  "Ay, well," Bevan said heavily, "the night at least is left to me." And when dusk brought the fires to full glow he would be gone, a wanderer in the dark where no one followed him.

  The wedding was set for the time of the new moon: a propitious season, the priests said. Priests of every sort were present to nod and be wise before the wedded pair. Bevan ignored them, giving them his assent only by his silence. But on an eve of the dark of the moon came messengers he could not ignore. Three dark, stocky men on scarecrow ponies forded the Gleaming River from Welas. Pryce Dacaerin spoke something of their foreign tongue, and he named their request to Bevan.

  "They come from Owen of Twyth, he who is chieftain by the first mountain of the sea," Pryce said. "He wishes certain assurances of your intent these years to come, and he desires an emissary to set the terms of mutual peace."