by Andre Norton
Our laughter rang out as we moved to see if any of the outlaws had fallen to the queens’ warriors; if so, the bandit’s mounts and belongings would be our fair plunder. In the midst of strife we had found peace. So might it always be, yet, if it was not to be more than a temporary peace, still I had good friends and one who might be more to me perhaps in the days to come. I was Meive of Landale, also called Honeycoombe—and I was going home.
VII
Lorcan
It was many hours later when I awoke. My head ached from the wine I had drunk with Devol, I needed to make water, and everything was dark. I shifted, trying to stand. It was puzzling, I couldn’t move and my head was so bad I was unable to remember any reason why that should be so. At my side a voice spoke.
“Need to go, do you? Alright then. But don’t do anything stupid.” Bonds of which I’d been unaware were loosened and I was helped to my feet. I staggered around a tree, did what was necessary, and found myself led back to lie down again. I obeyed dully. I must have been scouting and been taken prisoner. I would wait until I felt better. Then I could escape.
I slept again and woke at dawn clear-headed. Keeping both facts to myself, I scanned the camp through slitted eyes. I could see twelve men asleep. Brush rustled and I guessed at a guard. Thirteen then? Several of the group had soldier’s gear. From that and other things I suspected they’d fled as a group. Devol had appeared to lead them yesterday, and he wore the remnants of a uniform. I saw him rise and walk towards me.
“Awake yet, boy?” His boot nudged me in the ribs. Instinctively, I allowed my body to stay limp, my eyes shut. If he was awake, others would be soon, and I might learn from their talk. Devol kicked me again. I stifled a groan and remained apparently unaware. He desisted then and moved to rake up the fire, placing water to heat. The guard came into camp, nodding to Devol.
“Nothing out there. Reckon the boy was telling the truth. He’s alone.”
Devol grunted. “Mebbe. But just because he’s alone don’t mean there’s no one out there. Wake Malen’n have him get up that rock spire. I want someone on guard all the time. Boy’s a prize.”
I felt the guard’s eyes on me. “Don’t look like no prize.”
“Leave thinking to one who can. Wake Malen’n tell him to git up that rock’n keep a sharp look-out.”
“All right, all right. Don’t get no bee in your britches.” The man I assumed to be Malen came grumblingly awake and wandered off to guard. The first man returned to the subject as he took himself a cup of something to drink from the pot on-the fire.
“Why d‘ya say the brat’s a prize? Lookit him. A few coppers in his pouch, his gear’s hardly better’n ours, and that horse’a his. Lowser kicked me. Temper like a mule and no looks. It ain’t even well-bred. What kind’a horse’s that fer a lord?” I smothered a grin. So Tas had taken toll. Good for him. I hoped he hadn’t been beaten for it. I strained to hear Devol’s reply. I was as interested to know my fate as was the unknown man who asked the questions.
Devol sounded irritated. “I have to do all your thinking for you, Laesen? Sure he doesn’t look like he’s got anything. You just don’t know his breed. Even when they’re poor they’ve got something tucked away.”
“He says his dale’s gone,” Laesen objected.
“That’s where knowing what’s what comes in.” Devol’s tone was patronizing. “I lived in his dale for years. Came in when I was in m‘late twenties and running after a bit of a scuffle where I’d been. I lived in Erondale a good five years before the lord drove me out. An’ I learned stuff. I didn’t just sit on my backside, see.”
“So what’ja learn?”
“All of these lords stick together. Sure his dale may have gone. An’ that’s if’n he was telling the truth about it. But his father was kin to th’ lord o’ a big dale to the South of Erondale. It’s a big rich dale and last time I heard it was still surviving.” I thought his news must be well out of date. It had been several years since Paltendale had fallen. Although, in some ways, he was still right. It was a large and fertile dale and even with the keep damaged it would be rebuilt now that peace was come. I must be wary of what I said to these men. It seemed they had been bandits longer than I could have guessed.
Laesen was eager. “How rich, and how do we get money out’ a them for the brat?”
“Wait until he’s woken. He’ll tell us who to go to and what message to give them.”
“What if this dale has gone?” Laesen sounded doubtful. “’S a long way back. Who goes?”
Devol’s reply chilled me to the very bones. “If there isn’t a ransom, then the men can have him. Pretty boy like that they’ll be happy enough. We can sell his horses and gear. But you remember good, Laesen. No one lays a hand on him until I say. I know these lords. They don’t forget that kind of injury. If we done that then he got ransomed he’d come back with an army. I want the money he’ll bring us and no trouble.” From the sounds he was getting himself another drink.
“As fer who goes. I reckon Belo and Todon. Likely they’ll send three or four guards back with them to watch the ransom coin.” His voice sounded confident. He’d probably done this before, but he badly misjudged the Paltendale that had been. If his creatures had come asking a ransom for me before Paltendale fell, Faslane would have seen to it that they were wrung dry. I’d have been freed, the bandits given a quick rope and no coin wasted on them.
I judged it wise to show signs of returning life now, before they wondered why I slept so long. I groaned softly, stirring as I opened my eyes to stare about Devol tramped over to me.
“Awake are you, my Lord? Want your lordly breakfast, I daresay. Laesen, fetch his lordship something to drink.” Laesen fetched a brimming cup and flung it in my face, guffawing as he did so. The other men, waking to see the jest, bellowed with laughter and called out various comments. I shook the water from my eyes and looked up.
“Paltendale won’t pay gold for a man dead of thirst or for a man crippled by over-tight ropes.” I heard the soft hissing whisper of that word go around them. Bandits like these would see a lot of coppers, some silver. But gold was a word to fire even such meager imaginations as they had. Devol was quick to take it up.
“Aye, gold. He’s a lord and kin to Paltendale. Which of you fools would have known that? No, you’d have killed him and wasted the chance. That’s why you listen to me.” He stared around, establishing dominance like some old tomcat in his barn.
“So you don’t touch the boy, but you guard him, see. Lords are tricky. You don’t ever take risks with him or you won’t never see any of the gold. But you don’t lay hands on him neither. You hear me?” His gaze traveled from face to face until all had bowed to the order. Devol relaxed and I saw that he was uncertain of his complete authority.
I knew enough about bandits to see why. These were evil men, all used to doing as they wished. They could only be led by one more evil or far stronger, and Devol was neither. Somewhere along his life he’d been better taught. They were slightly in awe of his speech, which lacked most of the country slur. But it was possible his position had been growing insecure as they started to resent his assumption of leadership.
I was his chance to prove they did best by following him. His reaction, if he discovered that Paltendale had been impoverished or, in any case, there was no ransom forthcoming, would be terrible. He would blame me for his loss of power. I knew what bandits could do to those in their hands. I’d seen the results often enough when I rode with those who hunted down the last of the invaders after the final battle. I had to play for time to escape. If Devol needed my ransom so badly, that wasn’t going to be easily accomplished.
Nor was it. Two men returned, from tending to the horses, by what they said. Devol spoke loud enough for me to hear some of what he ordered.
“Go first to Erondale. Boy says it was ruined by the invaders. I want to be sure he don’t lie. If it’s truth then go on to Paltendale.” I stared under an arm at the two who might hold my life
in their hands. Todon, I thought to have been an ordinary farmer once. There was no look of evil about him. The other, a tall shabby man with missing front teeth and furtive eyes, whined about the journey.
“’S gonna take forever.”
“No, it isn’t,” Devol snapped. “You take two horses each. You don’t sleep in and you hustle. Belo, the boy says you talk to …” They moved away and I heard no more.
Belo and Todon set off an hour later. They knew where lay Erondale and Paltendale and it was possible they could fall into the hands of some daleslord. If so they would babble about me in an attempt to survive his justice. If the lord owed any debt to Paltendale I might look for rescue still. But best I find my own escape if I could. I watched for days and found no way. The band moved. I supposed their men would know where to find them on their return. Each time they shifted I looked for a way to flee and was thwarted.
Devol used the word I myself had given him to see no one became slack in their guard of my person. After a week of seeing no way of escape I was worried, after three weeks I was terrified. The band had shifted further and further to the South-east and were almost into territory where no established dales lay. Even if I could get away I would be hunted, and here, where there were few dales, I would have little chance of finding one and asking help from any daleslord.
If there was no other choice, I would seek the final gate and die before they used me as Devol had suggested. I would die afterwards anyway. Better to die early—and a clean death. There was yet no sign of Belo and Todon, and it had been almost five weeks, so that increasingly the bandits cast dark looks at me and muttered amongst themselves. Devol kept a cheerful face, talking of gold and what a man could do with it, but I knew he, too, feared lest I was not the prize he had claimed. Once he believed that, he would toss me to his men as a sop to keep their loyalty, what loyalty such men ever had.
I lay bound, late one evening, on the outer edge of the camp, a day over six weeks since I had first fallen into Devol’s hands, and for almost an hour I had been conscious that someone stalked the camp. I could hear the faint rustle of brush. That was all, but I knew eyes watched us. The sounds were never great but they circled, pausing as now and again the stalker listened to what was said in the camp. It could not be other bandits, I thought. Whoever stalked us was too good for that. These were the steps of one at home in the land.
My heart leaped. Could it be that Belo and Todon had been taken by some daleslord? Could it be a scout who watched and waited? If so, I must be ready. All Devol had allowed me had been my oldest shirt and trews and the over-small threadbare tabard. The wind still struck cold after dusk despite the time of year. I shivered as I saw Devol coming towards me in the firelight, and he laughed threateningly.
“Aye, shiver, Lorcan. If your ransom comes not with morning you’ll have better cause to shiver then. We’ve waited long enough, and I owe your noble father an ill deed or two. He had me whipped for stealing and I do not forget.” He kicked me viciously before walking back again towards the campfire.
So that had been the reason Devol had gone from Erondale. Whatever he did, it could not have been theft alone. My father hated to whip a man and would not have done so easily. It had to have been more, something besides theft, so bad it was not spoken of to me when I asked.
I despaired then, turning my face away so none at the fire should see my fear. I would die here and none would know how the last heir to Erondale had died. That I would die I accepted. But I was determined it would not be at the filthy hands of Devol’s bandits. I must win a weapon and slay myself, quickly.
I lay awake all that night planning, considering, turning over in my mind how I might accomplish my death. At dawn I heard movement again and allowed myself to appear asleep. The one who had stalked the camp was closing in. Yet I might be worse off in his hands. I would give no alarm but would wait to see what manner of man he was.
I was astounded in what I saw. This figure was no scout, no man. Something, which moved too swiftly in the dawn light for me to see, seemed to have attacked Laesen, who was on guard. He grasped silently at his throat, choked, and seemed to gasp for breath. From the brush darted a slight figure. It reached him, struck home with well-honed dagger, then propped him against the tree so that he seemed to be only drowsing.
Then it vanished into the brush again and I could hear it circling. I watched through half-closed eyelids. It moved up behind me in cover and hissed. I rolled over quietly, opened my eyes, and studied the face which showed between branches. I knew I must be gaping like a yokel at a fair magician. The stalker was a girl some two years short of my own age, I would guess. Her long plaits glinted honey and fire in the growing light Her eyes were a greenish tint and her face a soft oval. She was not pretty, but there was strength and character in the bones, pride and courage in the wide eyes that calmly met mine.
She held up her dagger and mimed sawing through my bonds. I nodded, beginning to wriggle cautiously towards her. I knew not how she had slain Laesen so silently, but if we roused the camp I doubted she could slay Devol and his men. Finally, I could thrust my hands within her reach, and felt the blade slide against my skin.
Her voice was a thread of sound. “Can you walk?” I knew I could not. Each night I was well tied and each morn it took some time before I could rise once Devol allowed that. I kept my voice low.
“Not yet. They’ve had me tied too long.”
“Say me when” was all she replied, settling in the brush to wait that time. I flexed my hands and feet frantically. At least she had given me a chance. If I could be fit enough to run before the camp woke I might yet live. I massaged my ankles and prayed fervently to Cup and Flame that I might live and escape. The girl hissed a question, using my name.
“Lorcan? Can you walk yet?”
“How—never mind. I think maybe so.” How had she known my name I would have asked before the answer came to me. Of course. She had heard it used by Devol. Nor was there time to sit about asking foolish questions. How she knew didn’t matter, getting free of this camp did. Something came sliding across the earth to me and I gripped it eagerly.
“Then you can use this?” came her whisper.
I gripped the sword hilt and swore beneath my breath. Oh Gods. A sword. Good clean steel. Live or die, I could go down fighting. I heard the wild note in my voice as I answered her.
“Indeed I can, Lady. Live or die, I shall not forget you gave me freedom and a way to die fighting.”
She said nothing, so I believed she did not understand how great my danger had been. Instead, she bade me remain still until it was time. Better live and see them die, she said, and I agreed with that thought. We waited. Minute by minute I could feel strength flow back into my hands and feet. I examined the sword carefully. It was a fair weapon, made for a boy, perhaps, since it was not of great length or weight. Yet the blade was fine steel and the hilt was good quality. Made for a lord’s son, I guessed, then outgrown. Whence could the girl have obtained it? Was she a lord’s daughter cast adrift by the loss of her dale and kin?
I saw her rise suddenly, on her face an intent look. I rose to my feet quickly and stared at the camp. From men who lay nearby there came thrashing movements and an occasional gasp or cry. Some lay still after a convulsive shudder or two as others staggered to their feet. By the Flames, the girl must be a woman of Power. But this was no time to stand in awe. From the bedding where he slept Devol rose roaring in pain and fury. He saw me standing and charged, sword already reaching for me. He snarled as he came.
“Bastard brat. I knew I should have tossed you to the men earlier. Cursed lordlings, hell be upon all of you. Let your family rot while I send you to join them.”
He would have done better to save his breath. Berond and Faslane had taught me never to fight in anger. In silence, I settled my feet firmly. Then I began. Devol had never been the fighter I was now, even with a shorter, lighter blade, with hands and feet still slightly numb from my bonds.
When he brought me down before, I had been taken by surprise, by my own folly. This time I was not mazed with drugged wine. From the comers of my eyes I could see that several of the men had escaped whatever doom the witch had cast, but they did not come to their leader’s aid. Something kept them back, but I was too busy to see what that might be. It seemed they, too, feared the outcome. I saw them seize saddlebags and flee for the place where the horses grazed.
Devol saw, too, and gave a bellow of fury. Then he came at me, his sword lashing out with all his strength. I slipped the blow, deflecting his blade to one side. It left him open to mine. I felt my sword go home, twisted automatically, then drew it free. Devol reeled. His eyes, still hating me, went slowly blank as he crumpled. I stepped back and glanced about. The girl was coming towards us, lifting her hand in the way of a fighter acknowledging a clean strike.
I lifted my blade in salute. I owed her my life and honor, I must acknowledge her gifts.
“How shall I name my rescuer, Lady?”
And so I met Meive of Landale, which men oft named Honeycoombe. I would have given back the sword but she bade me keep it. To my astonishment great bees, the like of which I have never seen, came to settle upon her shoulders. One larger one seemed to whisper in her ear. I hailed her as Mistress of Power and she smiled, her face lighting so that I saw beauty.
“You lied to them?” Her hand gestured towards those who had not escaped.
“I lied,” I admitted. I spoke briefly of Erondale and how it had died. Of how Paltendale had taken Berond and me within its walls and died in turn. “Yet I could not tell them so. The ransom they expected was my only hope.” She nodded, understanding. “And you, Meive. What of your dale?”
Honeycoombe lay dead, she told me. I questioned the name. Had she not called her home Landale? It was then she spoke of her bees, and how her home had come to be named. She asked of my own plans. I had thought of that as I wandered. Now I spoke, thinking as my words came slowly.