The Shamer's Signet

by Lene Kaaberbøl

  Sometime in the afternoon, I heard voices, and I leaped up and went to stand next to the horses to keep them quiet. Mama was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her. They either found us, or they didn’t. We could not run any farther, and there was nothing to do except wait.

  The voices came closer, and there was the sound of hooves clip-clopping along the stony bank. Falk’s nostrils twitched, and I put a warning hand on his muzzle. The pony raised his head and snorted quietly, but otherwise stayed his usual unexcitable self. The hoofbeats never paused, and the voices eventually faded. I started to breathe again.

  We stayed in the willow place all day, and all night, too. I did not dare to leave our shelter as long as Ivain’s men might still be near. Once the dappled sunlight fled, the creek became cold and damp, and I lay down next to Mama and put my arms carefully around her, hoping to warm us both a bit. She breathed more easily after the willow-bark tea, but she was still frighteningly pale. And there had to be a limit to how long one could leave an arrow like that before infection set in.

  It was a very long night. I made the tea for Mama three more times, and once I woke at the sound of distant voices, but fortunately they never came close. Finally the morning sun came back, filtering through the curtain of leaves. I sat for a while watching the shimmer of sun spots and shadows, but I knew I couldn’t stay here. I knew that I had to leave Mama and go for help. We could not sit around together, waiting for the right people to find us before the wrong ones did, nor could Mama ride any farther. But taking the gray pony and leaving Falk would not do. Falk would become lonely and restless and might begin to whinny. No horse likes to be alone, but Falk was unusually sociable. It would probably be best to take both horses. I could ride Falk and lead the pony. Of the two, he was the one least likely to give trouble.

  “Mama?”

  She had been silent for a long time, and I was afraid she might be unconscious. But she opened her eyes when she heard my voice.

  “I have to go for help,” I said. “I’ve made two cups of willow-bark tea. Drink one of them while it’s hot.”

  It felt awkward to be saying things like that—as if I were the mother, and Mama the child. But she merely nodded.

  “Be careful, sweetie,” she said.

  I stayed until I was sure that she was able to drink the tea by herself. Then I set out the bread and the cheese next to the second cup of tea, saddled Falk and the pony, and led them out through the leafy curtain. I let them drink a bit from the creek, but not enough to bloat their bellies. We had some way to go, and I wanted them to be able to run if they had to. Then I got up on Falk and made for the ford, leading the gray behind me.

  DAVIN

  Two People in This World

  I had shot my first deer ever, a fine buck, and I felt all warm inside with happiness and pride. Black-Arse and Callan had come home with me—they had to, there was no way I could carry that buck by myself. But as soon as we entered the kitchen, I knew the house was empty. On the table was a bowl covered with a dishcloth; Mama had set aside some of the morning porridge for me, and I felt a pang of contrition mixed with all the pride and joy.

  There was a note written in Dina’s careful hand.

  “Mama and Dina have gone to Hebrach’s Mill with someone called Ivain Laclan,” I said, once I’d managed to spell my way through the message. Reading is not my strongest suit. Dina is much better at it, for all that she is four years younger than me. She has more patience. “A matter of some stolen sheep, it seems.”

  “Without me?” Callan said, looking ill at ease. He was very serious about guarding my mother.

  “They didn’t know where to find us. But Laclan has promised to see them home again.”

  Callan made a growling sound. He didn’t like it, that was obvious, but right now there was nothing he could do about it.

  “I had better go fetch Rose and Melli from Maudi’s,” I said. “That is, if they want to come home.”

  They didn’t. Rose was carving spoons for Maudi, and Melli was playing with the puppies.

  “I shot a deer today,” I told Rose, just to hear the sound of it. “A buck.”

  “That’s nice,” she muttered absentmindedly and kept carving. She would have said the same thing if I had brought home a grouse or a rabbit. Rose doesn’t know a whole lot about hunting. I watched her for a bit while she worked. For once, her flaxen braids hung totally still, and there was a frown of concentration on her face. Somehow, she had made the handle of the spoon into a dog, a hunting hound with a pointed nose and long floppy ears.

  “I think I’ll go see if Nico’s in,” I said.

  “Mmmh…” She was making a lot of little scratches now, giving the dog fur. She still used the old half-rusted knife she had brought with her from Dunark. If I was ever able to afford it, I would buy her a new one, I thought, a really good one. Although a knife that had once stabbed Drakan in the leg could not be half bad….

  Nico and Master Maunus had moved into one wing of Maudi Kensie’s farmhouse last autumn, when we first came here. In the beginning we lived there too, until we had the cottage roofed. Kensie would readily have helped Nico and Maunus build a cottage too, but although Master Maunus constantly complained about having to live under his mother’s roof—“A man my age!”—he showed no signs of wanting to move. Perhaps Maudi’s suited him, despite his complaints. Or maybe it was because he still dreamed of returning to Dunark someday.

  He and Nico were in the middle of a fight. Nothing unusual about that—as far as I could tell, that was their normal way of talking to each other. Dina said they cared for each other like father and son, but they could have fooled me.

  “Why do you always have to play the imbecile?” shouted Master Maunus. “You know I’m right!”

  “I know nothing of the sort,” said Nico more quietly, but with just as much passion.

  “Fine! Excellent! Play the simple shepherd, then—for however long Drakan will let you.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a shepherd!”

  “No. If that is what one was born to do, one may be well content with that. But you have an obligation, Mesire, to the town and the castle of Dunark.”

  “A town that doesn’t care two hoots about me! If Drakan is what they want for a lord, they can have him—as long as they leave me in peace!”

  I stood uncertainly on the doorstep. Should I clear my throat, greet them, or just quietly leave? I had just decided on the latter when they both caught sight of me at the same time.

  “Oh, it’s you, Davin,” said Master Maunus. “How are you?”

  “Fine, thank you. I just shot a deer.” But coming on top of all that stuff about Drakan and Dunark, my triumph sounded small and childish.

  “Good, good,” muttered Maunus, almost as absently as Rose. Nico was the one who asked the right question.

  “A clean shot?”

  “Straight through the heart.” Callan hadn’t even had to use his hunting knife. The buck was dead when we reached it.

  Nico said nothing more. He just nodded. And that was better than a lot of grand praise. There are a lot of things I don’t understand about Nico. And sometimes I think he interferes in things that are none of his business. But there are times when he gets it just right. Times that make me wish he and I were better friends.

  “Is your mother back yet?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not yet.”

  “I wish I could have gone with her myself, but…”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but I could figure the rest out for myself. For Nico to set himself up as my mother’s guard would have been just plain stupid. If there was one thing that kept Drakan sleepless at night, it must be the thought that Nico was alive and might one day return to Dunark. Drakan had offered a reward—a hundred gold marks, a colossal fortune—to the man who brought him Nico’s head, and not necessarily attached to his body. As a bodyguard, Nico would be inviting trouble rather than preventing it.

  “Why did she go wi
thout Callan?” asked Master Maunus.

  “We were out hunting,” I said, feeling a little guilty even though it wasn’t really my fault. I had had nothing to do with planning the hunt; Callan had just allowed me to tag along.

  “She really shouldn’t go anywhere without Callan,” said Nico. “Drakan is unlikely to have forgotten her yet.”

  “Ivain Laclan is reputed to be a capable man,” said Master Maunus. “His protection may be quite as good as Callan’s, particularly in Laclan territory.”

  “I’ll let you know when she gets back,” I said.

  All afternoon I was hard at work putting a better fence around my mother’s herb garden; maybe this one would keep the goats out. She had put her garden in a spot that was as sheltered and sunny as possible, but even I could see that her herbs did not do nearly as well up here as they had in Birches. Starting over the way we had had taken a lot of effort and hard work. I knew I should help out more than I did, but learning the sword was important too, I felt. What was the use of slaving away to build a cottage and sheep pens and herb gardens if Drakan came to burn the whole thing down again and no one could stop him?

  Dusk fell, and Mama and Dina still weren’t back. I went down to Maudi’s to have supper with her and the girls.

  “When is Mama coming home?” Melli asked, her lap full of puppy. “She promised to be home before dark, and it’s dark now!”

  “Maybe they’ve decided to stay the night in Hebrach’s Mill,” I said, trying not to notice the small worm of unease gnawing away at my innards. Melli was always upset when Mama had to stay out overnight, and after Dunark it had become even worse. Mama usually did everything she could not to stay away a moment longer than necessary.

  Melli clutched the puppy so tightly that it began to whine and wiggle, trying to get down.

  “Melli, be careful. Don’t hurt it.”

  Melli looked as if she didn’t even hear me. Tears were streaming down her tanned and chubby cheeks.

  “What if Mama never comes back?” she said.

  I calmed her as best I could and told three of her favorite bedtime stories. “Of course Mama will come home,” I said. Of course she will.

  Shortly past noon the next day, Dina came riding over the hill on Falk, leading Debbi Herb’s gray pony. Her face was chalky pale with fear and weariness, and it hurt to even glance at her.

  “Mama has been shot,” she said in a voice flat and hoarse with exhaustion. “Hurry. I’m so afraid she’ll die.”

  Nine days went by before we knew that Mama would live. Sitting by her bed those nine days, just waiting… there are no words for how I felt. But as I sat there, watching over her, I knew that there were now two people in the world that I wanted to kill: Drakan—and Ivain Laclan.

  DAVIN

  The White Doe

  “Ivain Laclan,” I said.

  Callan didn’t even look at me. He just swung the ax in a precise and practiced arc, and the log split and sprang apart in two neat pieces. Callan bent, took a new log, and set it on the block.

  “What about him?” he asked.

  “He led my mother into an ambush. He tried to kill her.”

  The afternoon sun flashed briefly along the edge of Callan’s ax. Clack! Two more pieces fell to the ground. I looked at Callan’s bent back in irritation. Couldn’t he put down that ax for a moment and talk to me? What I had to say was important. A matter of life and death, in fact.

  “Callan. We have to do something!”

  Clack! The ax flashed yet again.

  “We’ve sent a message to Helena Laclan.”

  “So? She is his grandmother. Do you really think she will punish him as he deserves? I want that… that traitor dead, Callan!”

  Finally, he straightened his back and looked at me. “Whatever Ivain Laclan has done, and whatever punishment he deserves, it is a Laclan matter.” His eyes were granite gray under the red brows. “Ye have to understand that, lad.”

  What he meant was that clan rights were sacred. Under clan law, only Laclan judges could condemn a Laclan man. But back home in our new cottage my mother lay on her bed, still so weak that Dina had to hold the cup for her every time she needed to drink. And Ivain Laclan was the cause of that.

  I slowly shook my head. “No, Callan. I don’t understand it at all.”

  I turned abruptly and left him there. I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck all the way up the hill. But just as I reached the ridge, there was another sharp clack! from below. I bit my lip. So what? I thought furiously. So what if he doesn’t care? Let him go on splitting stupid logs. I would simply have to take care of the business myself.

  It was very early, and the sun had barely touched the sky. The huge stones of the Dance looked like sleeping giants, tall and black, with just a faint gilding at the top, as if dawn wanted to crown them. In the cottage they were all still asleep, Mama, Melli, Dina, and Rose. Beastie had risen from his wicker basket by the door as I slipped through the kitchen, stretching himself and wagging his tail, but I made him lie down again. It would have been nice to have him with me, but someone needed to stay and look after Mama and the girls.

  I crossed the yard. The dew was heavy on the grass, and my ankles were soaked in seconds. There was no gravel and cobbling here the way there had been at Cherry Tree Cottage. The yard was really just the dirt and grass that happened to be between the cottage and stable.

  Falk put his head over the edge of his stall and nickered sleepily. Bits of straw were caught in his forelock, and he had obviously been snoozing cozily in his bedding until I came in to disturb him. I gave him a few fistfuls of oats, and he ate them greedily while I brushed him and picked his hooves. Luckily he was used to being saddled at odd hours and made no fuss about it. I left him in his stall for a moment and went to get my sword.

  Hearing me outside the shed, the sheep bleated, wanting to be let out, but I pretended not to hear. The sword was in its usual hiding place, buried in the thatch an arm’s length from the south gable. I drew it. For a moment, doubts seized me. It was as if Nico were standing right next to me, making his down-putting remark once more: That thing is little more than a bar of pig iron. You’ll never get a proper blade from that. But I had spent hours and hours this week sharpening it and polishing it, and the edge was now keen enough to break the skin if one didn’t handle it carefully. It might not be the handsomest sword in the world, but it would do. It had to. I had no other weapon.

  Falk’s hooves made a clear track in the dewy grass as I rode him up the hill. But when I looked back, the cottage was still wrapped in sleep, with shuttered windows and closed doors.

  It took me nearly two days to get to Baur Laclan, mostly because I got lost three times. I spent the night in a lean-to, surrounded by timid sheep. Every time Falk twitched his tail, they scattered in terror, bleating loudly, and I did not get much sleep. For breakfast I had the last of the bread I had brought. Falk had to make do with grass.

  On the afternoon of the second day I finally reached the crest of the last hill. Below me lay the town, its rooftops a mixture of turf and slate, some walls stone gray, others a reddish ocher. It was so much bigger than I had expected—totally different from Baur Kensie, which was really just a village, and an unusually scattered village at that. Baur Laclan resembled the Lowland towns, with streets and squares, some of them even cobbled; a lot of the houses still looked like Highland crofts, low and wide, with turfed roofs, but here and there a clansman or a settler had built in the Lowland manner, with two floors and a gallery. And whereas Maudi’s farmhouse looked much like everybody else’s, Helena Laclan’s home was much more impressive: tall granite walls and towers with archers’ slits protected her against unwelcome visitors.

  Falk was tired, and so was I. I stared at the town, feeling my heart sink. I had thought it would be… not easy, exactly, but… well, simple. In my imagination, it had looked like this: I would ride into town, cast my challenge in Ivain Laclan’s face, and we would fight. And if I was as good a
s Callan said I was, then I would probably win. I might get hurt, and that was all right with me, as long as it left me uncrippled once the wounds healed. That I might also be killed had occurred to me, but I didn’t think about it much. It was well worth the risk, I thought. At least everyone would know that one did not just shoot my mother and walk away unpunished.

  That was how I had imagined it.

  The thought that I might have trouble finding Ivain had not entered my mind.

  Falk deserved a nice stall and a good feed, but I had no money. I couldn’t just tie him to a tree and collect him later. There were wolves in the Highlands, even though they did not often come this close to human habitation; or someone might steal him—he had the brand of the Kensie clan on his haunch, and no clansman would touch him, but Baur Laclan was on the caravan road, and not all travelers were as law-abiding as the Highlanders. Besides, my own belly rumbled with hunger, and I was so tired my eyes stung. It might not be the brightest idea in the world to go into one’s first serious sword fight in that condition.

  Falk sighed deeply and shook his head, making bits of foam fly from his mouth. I had to make up my mind. Why was everything suddenly so complicated? In the sagas the hero simply rode up to the dragon and chopped off its head, and that was that. Nothing was said about how he got fodder for his horse.