Uther cc-7

by Jack Whyte

  The beast was checked by the violent impact of the hard-shot arrow, knocked off balance by the shocking force of it and stunned by the agonizing intensity of the pain it caused. It lurched and reeled sideways, then swayed and fell over backwards like a drunken man, but it rolled even as it fell and rose immediately to its feet again, and now there was a new note to its screaming.

  Uther was surprised to find a second arrow in his hand, the notched end of its shaft already hugging the bowstring. Now he swung the bow up again and fired in one smooth motion, seeing the missile's flight end this time in the great animal's throat, burying itself almost to the flights and jolting the mighty creature again as Uther pulled a third arrow into place. He could see blood—old blood—on the beast's coat, some of it already clotted, and the arrow Garreth had noticed earlier, a short, broken, blood-covered shaft protruding from the beast's left side below the ribs. Obviously it was the shot that infuriated the bear in the beginning. It must have been aimed badly or carelessly by the man on the cliff, who having failed to kill his quarry, had become the hunted one.

  The enraged behemoth rose to its full height, its arms extended and its enormous claws clearly visible, and Uther suddenly had a vision of the great silver bear emblazoned on his cousin Merlyn's black cloak. That emblem represented the monstrous bear that Merlyn had attacked and killed single-handedly from the back of a horse, and in his terror Uther wondered at his cousin's courage on that occasion. Merlyn had killed his bear; Uther had no confidence that he would kill this one.

  He raised his bow for his third shot as the bear rallied to charge him again, but even as it began to move, another arrow struck it from the side, smacking into its body with a solid, meaty sound and piercing deep beneath its shoulder. The great beast reared up and swung about with an outraged bellow, and Uther felt a stirring of pity, suddenly sure that they would kill the animal now and that this was a wretched fate for such a magnificent creature. Another arrow struck and then immediately after that another, which Uther guessed must have been fired by the man who had fallen from the cliff. His bow had been lying on the ground close to where he fell.

  The bear swung around again to face this new attack, and as it did so, Garreth Whistler's third arrow seemed to sprout from its eye, snapping the giant head backwards. For long moments the bear seemed to hang immobile, its entire body somehow hunched, as though straining away from the agony of the outrageous pain being thrust upon it, and then it turned once again and staggered a few steps towards Uther, who held his bow steady now, inexplicably unwilling to loose his third arrow, which was still nocked and drawn. The massive creature slowed almost to a halt as it approached, and its roaring dwindled quickly into silence. Watching it, Uther was reminded of a scene from his boyhood when a wild and deranged man in Camulod, after wreaking havoc among his neighbours and emerging victorious from fighting with half a score of opponents, some of them members of the Camulodian guard, had suddenly stopped and keeled over in the street, regaining consciousness later with no recollection of anything that had happened.

  Even as that thought occurred to him, the bear straightened up completely to stand erect on its hind legs, pawing at the arrow protruding from its head and mewling softly and incongruously in pain. Then it swayed and fell slowly sideways, toppling to the ground so close to Uther's feet that he had to skip away to keep clear of it, lowering his weapon yet keeping it at full draw. He knew the bear was dead as it fell, but even so, he watched it closely, staying warily out of reach of its fearsome claws. Only when it lay motionless did he release his pent-up breath and the tension in his bow.

  It was some time before any of the three men spoke or stirred, and Uther realized that he was trembling violently. He swallowed hard and forced himself to move, fighting to appear casual and relaxed although all three of them knew that was impossible. He stepped to the carcass and looked down on it. Even dead and supine, the creature's bulk reached to above his knee. The huge head was shattered, the point of Garreth's last arrow having passed completely through the eye, transfixing the brain and then emerging through the back of the skull.

  Uther glanced from the wound to Garreth. "Did you aim that shot?"

  Garreth shrugged. "Aye, I tried for the eye, but it was fortune that led it home, not judgment. I thought the whoreson had you."

  "So did I." Uther subsided onto a rotten, moss-crusted log alongside the dead bear and wiped his free hand over his face before laying his bow carefully on the ground along with the arrow it still held. Then he looked at the stranger who stood silent, his gaze moving from Garreth to Uther and back while he held one hand pressed to his face. A sullen stream of blood flowed over the man's wrist and trickled downward towards the cuff of his sleeve.

  "Are you all right? How badly are you hurt?"

  The man looked at his hand covered in blood and shrugged. "I'll live. Slashed my hand and banged my face when I fell. It's not as bad as it looks." He covered his bleeding left hand with his right, squeezing together the edges of the wound on the side of his palm. Uther could see now that the cut on his face was no more than a gash on his left cheek below the cheekbone.

  "Who are you?"

  It was Garreth who answered, before the other had a chance. "Owain's his name. They call him Owain of the Caves."

  Surprised at the tone he heard in his friend's voice, Uther turned to look at Garreth, then switched his gaze back immediately to the stranger, who drew himself up until he was standing stiffly erect. Garreth spoke again, this time directly to the stranger. "That is your name, is it not?" The fellow nodded. "I thought so. I've seen you several times, although you never seem to come to our part of the world. You're one of Meradoc's men, one of his . . . captains, no? The newest of them all, if what I heard is true. You are . . . a Northerner, not even a Pendragon, am I right?"

  Owain of the Caves inclined his head slightly for a second time in what might have been dismissal or agreement, but Garreth paid no attention.

  "Came south with Meradoc last year, when he met last time with King Uric, but you kept yourself well removed from all that was going on. I noticed you, though, and wondered why you would be so unwilling to be seen. So I asked about you. Huw Strongarm said you were a newcomer, but already one of Meradoc's most trusted men . . . and he thought you might prefer to keep your face hidden, to keep you free for Meradoc's most important work, which demands faces that are not known . . ."

  "What was this all about?" Uther nodded towards the dead animal close by his feet, choosing, for the moment, to ignore what Garreth was saying.

  Owain of the Caves gazed back at him steadily for the space of several heartbeats and then shifted his gaze to the bear, shrugging slightly.

  "I don't know. I only know it happened too quickly for me to do anything except what I did. I must have surprised it. It might have been asleep. I don't even know where it came from. One moment I was alone, crossing this clearing, and the next, this thing came roaring at me. I managed to get an arrow out, but it was too close for me to get a clear shot—it was coming at me too quickly." He looked about him, examining the ground. "I was right about here, I think. Yes, right by that tree there." He indicated a large, solitary conifer about live paces from where he stood. "I ran behind the tree, trying to break the line of the thing's charge, and it swerved to catch me as I went around, but I doubled back and gained about ten paces on it. Then I turned to take my shot, and my foot must have landed on something unsteady. I almost fell, and I loosed too soon and hit the whoreson in the ribs. That was the only chance I got, and I didn't know how much damage I had done, but I couldn't wait to see. I might have had time to get off another shot before it recovered from the first—it was up on its hind legs, screaming and smashing at the arrow—but I didn't want to have to wager on that. So I ran for the cliff face and managed to haul myself up out of reach just before it hit the wall beneath me. One pace slower, and I'd have been its dinner then and there." He looked up now at the sky, glancing at the afternoon sun. "That was about
an hour ago."

  "At least that long," Uther answered, mildly. "It's been an hour since we heard the roaring. We were about half a mile from here, I'd guess, up on the trail from the ridge behind us. Lucky for you Garreth doesn't wear a helmet."

  "What?" It was clear Owain had not understood the comment.

  Uther tapped his finger against the heavy metal helmet he wore. "I would never have heard the noise through this. Garreth was the only one among us riding bareheaded."

  "Oh." Owain of the Caves looked at Garreth. "I owe you my hide then."

  "No," Garreth Whistler responded, shaking his head slightly, his face empty of expression. "You don't. Up to me, I'd have left you here to die the moment I saw you were a stranger. Had I known who you were, in fact, I would have done the same, because I would have judged you no friend of ours." He reached into his scrip and pulled out a ragged piece of clean white cloth. "Here, wrap that around the cut on your hand." As he did so, Garreth continued. "Why risk my arse against a crazed beast like that for someone I don't know? Only a fool would do anything that stupid." He nodded towards Uther. "He's the fool, although I'd not say that to his face normally. He decided he wouldn't leave you here to die, and so we came running, and he almost ended up dead. You owe him your hide. Here, hold your hand still. I'll tie that."

  Uther watched in silence as Garreth used the cloth to bind up Owain's injured hand, ripping off narrow strips from the edges with his teeth to use as bindings for the makeshift bandage. As the final knots were being tied, Owain looked over Garreth's shoulder to his rescuer and nodded a wordless acknowledgment.

  Uther stood up, picking up his bow as he did so, and slipped the unused arrow back into his quiver. "What were you doing here in the first place?"

  Owain drew a deep breath, pursing his lips tightly. He looked once more at the dead bear and then up towards the spot where he had been trapped on the cliff face. When he spoke, his words were more of a question than an answer.

  "Uther Pendragon."

  Uther kept his face expressionless. "What about him?"

  "That's you. You're him."

  "What makes you think that?"

  Something that might have been the barest hint of a smile flickered briefly at one corner of the stranger's wide-lipped mouth. "Garreth Whistler went away more than a month ago to bring Uther Pendragon back for the Chiefs' Gathering. Garreth Whistler has come back. You came with him."

  Garreth spoke before Uther could respond. "Pity it would be to have saved your life only to discover a need to spill your blood myself, Cave Man."

  The other man nodded, unperturbed. "Aye, I can see that, but you'll find no need. Owain of the Caves is a man who pays his debts." His eyes flicked back to Uther. "This time, the debt is a life. It is paid."

  Uther tilted his head to one side, a tiny smile of incredulity appearing on his face. "What? I'm not sure I understood you there. Are you saying you are now saving my life in return for your own?"

  "Aye." A plain, bald statement of fact.

  Uther's smile grew to a broad grin, and he looked to Garreth for a reaction. Garreth Whistler, however, was staring hard at Owain of the Caves.

  "You were sent here to kill him?"

  "I was sent here to make sure that Uther Pendragon would come late, if he came at all, to the Chiefs' Gathering. I'd have done it, too, if it hadn't been for the bear."

  "How? You're a long way from where we crossed the ridge."

  "Aye, but I was there when you approached it, and I watched you coming. Your scouts missed me completely, because they were looking for people and movement. I was one man, hiding until they passed me by. I picked out the one who must be Uther Pendragon and then fell back towards the place I had picked for my attack. The bear interrupted me. Had it not done so, you would have reached the spot by now, and I would have completed my task."

  "And you yourself would be dead."

  The tall man shrugged. "Mayhap, but I doubt it. I chose the place with care—and not for its beauty. It was a trap for you, not for me. Four ways out for me, all of them safe." Owain looked at Uther now for the first time since he had started speaking. "But you would have been dead with my first arrow."

  "No, Garreth!"

  Whistler's sword had slithered from its sheath with a quick, sibilant hiss as he dropped into a fighter's crouch. Now he hovered, glaring at the tall Northerner who stared back at him unconcernedly, making no attempt to defend himself. Slowly, visibly, the tension seeped away from Garreth and he straightened up, still holding his sword ready, to look at Uther. Uther, in turn, was gazing at Owain of the Caves, a peculiar expression on his face.

  "So, you give me back my life." He nodded slowly. "I accept it, and I am grateful. What will you do now? Meradoc won't thank you for your scruples. He is the one who sent you, isn't he?"

  The other shrugged. "Aye, so I'll move on. Meradoc has no patience when it comes to failure, and he'll take this as a failure. If I go back to him. he'll have me killed. He's a great one for rewarding treachery with death, is Meradoc."

  "So am I. . . but you did nothing treacherous here."

  Owain's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Leaving you alive to cross him? He might see that otherwise."

  Uther looked about him, coming to a decision. "Sheathe your sword, Garreth. Owain, will you ride with us for a way? I want to talk more with you, but we have a party of men up there on the path, as you know, and they will start fretting if we don't soon return."

  Owain of the Caves shrugged his wide shoulders. "I don't ride, but I'll walk with you awhile if you'll feed me at the end of it. The devil there destroyed my pack, and with it all my food. After that, we can talk if you like, and then come morning I'll be on my way to wherever I end up."

  Uther glanced down one last time at the carcass of the bear. The blood-filled eye socket was already filled with a heaving, crawling mass of metallic-looking flies, and the buzzing of hundreds more was growing stronger as he looked. He counted quickly, estimating that six of the arrows that had killed the animal were salvageable. He nodded his head.

  "Good. Then let's retrieve these arrows and get started."

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  It was late in the afternoon before they found a suitable spot in which to build a camp for the night. Uther had had no opportunity to talk further with Owain of the Caves since rejoining the main party that afternoon, but he had really not sought one. After introducing him briefly on their return to the curious troopers, he left the stranger to his own devices.

  Owain had walked silently ever since, keeping close to Garreth's side. Garreth, for his part, showed no hostility to the man walking beside him, but neither did he go out of his way to make him feel welcome.

  Some time after that, Uther's scouts reported finding some strange tracks, and he decided to ride out himself to look at them. Rather than risk wasting time, however, he checked first with Owain to determine whether the tracks might have been made by others in his party, but Owain assured him that he had travelled alone.

  Less than two hours later when Uther returned, he smelled the appetizing aroma of roasting pork even before he reached the camp. Early in the afternoon, while Uther and Garreth had been dealing with the bear, one of the troopers had found and killed a young wild pig, a yearling, and now the entire squadron was hovering close to the fire, salivating over the sight of it turning on the spit. Bear meat was all very well, and few of the men doubted that some people might think it a delicacy, but for sheer delight in the mouth, nothing could compete with young pig.

  After he unsaddled his horse and rubbed it down for the night, Uther shouldered his bedroll and made his way to where Garreth and Owain sat together beside a fire of their own, their backs against a long, mossy log. They shifted to make room for him between them, and Owain grunted a question.

  "Did you find out who made the tracks?"

  Uther straightened up in the act of stooping to lay his bedroll down. He could not decide whether Owain was interested or merely making con
versation. He nodded.

  "Aye. They were all made by one man, coming and going."

  Owain's eyebrows went up. "One man? And your scouts had to take you out there to tell them that? Could they not work it out for themselves?"

  "They had by the time I arrived, but they had to find a soft spot in the earth in order to do it. Mountainous terrain shows tracks, but not in great detail. They had to look for more than a mile in both directions before they found a watercourse with soft ground. Must have been some hermit or anchorite or madman living up here alone and walking each day to water. He wore a track eventually, and that's what my scouts found. They're not trackers, you understand, but they are the best at what they do."

  "And what is that?"

  "Fighting on horseback with disciplined tactics."

  "Ah!" Owain nodded and returned his gaze to the fire.

  Garreth met Uther's gaze and rolled his eyes, saying nothing.

  Uther grinned and lowered himself to sit between them, stretching out his hands to the fire and thankful that in summer there was no need to pitch a tent. He had barely settled, it seemed, when a shout went up from the cooking fires, and it was time to eat.

  Afterwards, sated with the delicious, fatty meat of the young pig, Uther sat gazing at Owain of the Caves, who in turn sat staring into the fire. Nemo Hard-Nose had shared their fire for the duration of the meal but was now gone, seeing to the first guard watch of the night. Garreth sat with his head back against the log behind him, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the fire, breathing deeply, perhaps asleep.

  Owain turned from the fire and looked away into the darkness beyond. "Fire blind," he said without looking at Uther. "You can see wondrous things in the depths of a fire, but nothing at all when you move your eyes away. You said you wanted to talk to me. Ask your questions, then. But know I might not answer them."