"Kermorvan?" croaked one of the men, and gaped. Kermorvan, who had made no move to draw his own blade, inclined his head slightly, as if acknowledging a salute.
"Now why do you suppose he was doing such a thing?" said Bryhon icily. "And at such a time? He might, of course, be risking breaking his banishment—"
"I was never banished, Bryhon," said Kermorvan evenly. "You cannot banish a man in his absence."
"Which is why you left so abruptly," smiled Bryhon. "How do you know the law has not been altered?"
"Because the people are not yet so foolish, Bryhon."
Bryhon shrugged. "I'll not bandy follies with you. In all but name you were banished, and the last we heard you'd fallen in with just such a pack of sea raiders as we find baying at our gates the now." He shook his head grimly. "And only this day were all the syndics wondering how a crew of savages could plumb our defenses so well. Now we know, I fear."
Kermorvan's whole face seemed to narrow, eyes and nostrils pinched tight with fury, and yet he still laid no hand to his sword, and spoke coldly. "At another hour you might regret that, Bryhon. But it was forgetting all old wrongs and enmities I came back, bringing a great help in our need—"
"An army, then? And did you lose it along the way? I see nothing about you but a pair of thralls as ragged as yourself—"
"I am no thrall!" growled Elof, straining to copy the swordsman's measured coldness. "My name is Elof, I am a journeyman smith out of the Northlands. And this is the lady Ils of the duergar. We serve no man save as friends!"
"How fortunate a man of his high station," said Bry-hon, without once appearing to notice Elof, "to count as his friends vagrant blacksmiths and vermin." He shook his head and smiled as in quiet satisfaction; good humor smoothed his voice. "No, my lord. Even if all you said was true, still we could not have you coming back at such a time, sowing discord among the weak-willed and undermining the authority of the syndics. In the people's interest, it cannot be tolerated—"
"You invoke the people so readily, Bryhon," said Ker-morvan, his voice still calm but taut beneath, as if he could barely believe what he heard. "Why not ask them?"
The dark man shook his head again, and there was now no mistaking the cool gloating in his tone. "Alas indeed, that we will not be able to do! But you might confuse enough of them, to begin with. Even the rumor of your coming would split the city in strife. Better that they hear no more of you, or blame the Ekwesh if you are found—"
Kermorvan's sword hissed from its scabbard, and Elof s came snarling in its wake; Ils hefted her axe for a cast. But the bows were already leveled, the distance too wide. Elof knew that however fast Kermorvan was, he could not outrun an arbalest bolt. Bitterness welled up in him as he tensed for the last useless spring. To have come this far, this hard, to lose all to some infantile squabble…
"Halt!"
The voice that echoed along the parapet had none of Bryhon's suavity, but it was commanding enough to match him. "Halt there! Put up those bows! First man looses is cannibal meat! What in all the pits of Hella's afoot here?"
Bryhon turned on the burly figure in mail and helm who came stumping round the gallery of the gatehouse above, then looked warily as the inner gates opened upon a cluster of men armored alike. "Who are you, to countermand my orders? Do you not know who I am?"
"Aye, syndic, I do," said the newcomer firmly. "Just a citizen like anyone else, as you're always telling us. Not even in command of this quarter. As to who I am, I'm a sergeant of the Guard. Mind telling me what you and your followers are doing up here at this hour? Not had enough fighting today that you must be about the ramparts all hours of the night?"
"As well that I was, with you guardsmen asleep!" said Bryhon venomously. "I caught these traitors sneaking up here—"
"Aye, so I saw, sir. And being a guard, like, and all wide-awake. Seemed a mite hasty, if you'll pardon me, sir…"
"Look you here, sergeant, we are besieged, we cannot waste time on trials! These creatures are our enemies—"
The sergeant shook his head. "Can't agree with you there, sir. See, it's like this—the long one and the plump lass I can't avouch, but there's one I know is no friend of the Ekwesh, 'cause he's a good mate of mine—eh, Alv?" And he turned to Elof and pulled off his helmet, spilling out a shaggy mass of red hair, a hot red face beneath. "Or what was it I heard you called yourself now? Ey-lof?"
Elof stumbled forward in utter confusion and delight. "Roc! Roc, you son of a smith—"
The former forgeboy gave him a polite but dignified salute, and turned to Bryhon. "Anyhow, sir, this comes under the hand of the syndics captaining this quarter. I've sent for one, and he'll be along any time. You can take the matter up with him if you care to—no? Then I'd be obliged if you and yours'd clear the ramparts before the reivers hear the row and loose off a catapult, just for laughs—eh?"
Bryhon looked at him a moment with blank resentful eyes. "I'll remember this," he said quietly, gestured to his men and stalked past the guardsmen into the gate. The sound of boots on stairs rang away into distance and depth.
"Ach, go shake your ears," muttered Roc, and held up a hand to check Elof's eager questions. "Better wait a moment, wait for the syndic. I'll handle this!"
After the tension of the wall and the meeting with Bryhon, the delay was agony. The travelers fidgeted in silence under the eyes of the guards, though it was mostly at Ker-morvan they stared, with, it seemed to Elof, a strange mixture of fear and reverence. His, kinship here was obvious; many had his cast of features, though less fine, even those with hair that was red or black or that strange golden shade that reminded Elof uncomfortably of Louhi.
It was perhaps half an hour before they heard more feet approaching, among them a noticeably lumbering step. More guardsmen came crowding out of the gate, and in their wake a burly man of some height, dressed in a rich but rumpled fur-lined robe, who glared sleepily at the travelers. "Now then, Roc, what River-spawn are these that cannot wait till morning for me to look them over?" Then he peered closer, and his jaw dropped till his red beard blended with the fur of his collar. "Kerys' Gate! It's Kermorvan!" Then he turned, peered at Elof and roared with laughter. "And by the black arse of Amicac, he's got the Causeway smith in tow! And we thought the bogeys had carried you off!"
Roc grinned. "The look of him now, sir, he'd scare the bogeys!"
"Well, be thankful he's on our side, then! Bring them up, lad! Bring them up!"
Kermorvan smiled wryly down at Elof, as they were ushered up into the tower guardroom. "It seems you are as well known in my homeland as I! And better liked, it may be…"
Elof chuckled. "Lucky, at all events, that I fell upon the only two friends I have here!"
"Lucky?" rasped Roc. "Still don't credit me with a brain in my skull, do you? Had your description posted with the City Marshals for two years now, on the off chance you might wander in! Price on your head, attached only. Not that large but they remembered. Lucky I wasn't far!"
Elof whistled. "Yes, or Bryhon might've wasted our coming!"
"Oh, they'd Ve stopped him. I think. Anyway, you're here, and Kathel's a powerful friend to have, as I've found."
Kathel grinned toothily at Elof. "You need money to be a syndic, lad! Some inherit it, like Bryhon, but I made it on that last trip; I'll not be forgetting them who helped me then, him or you." He looked at Ils, subsiding wearily into a chair, and at Kermorvan. It was a look of wary disapproval, but not outright hostility. "But then there's this… lady. And there's you. Why do you come back? Come to crow that you were right all along? To turn out us syndics, in the middle of all this? What is it brought you?"
"The need of my city," said Kermorvan gravely. "And Elof. He had better explain."
The tale took less time in the telling than Elof had feared, for Kathel had already heard much from Roc. "He's my armorer now, y'know? Has his own little forge, but keeps my housecarls in tinplate. When he isn't too busy mending the kitchenmaid's kettles!" He laughed uproariously for a
moment, then grew serious. "So you're telling me it's this misbegotten Mylio's the one we see stirring the savages up?"
"They are more than savages," said Kermorvan grimly. "They have a great realm, after their fashion, and it grows crowded. They would have come here anyway, at first to raid, later to settle. Mylio has merely brought them sooner, before they are truly ready."
"If you say so. And with that sword-thing, eh? From Vayde's Tower, too, the bastard get of a sea hag!"
"It is not where I would choose," agreed Kermorvan, looking at his friends. "I heard many tales about that place when I was young, and some were very dark. It was a small palace once, and is still rich inside. The Mariner's Guild maintained it when I was a boy, and in days of peace still burn a beacon on its roof to guide ships. But no man has lived there for many generations; it is not a favored place to sleep."
"We've seen lights there after dark," said Kathel. "So it looks like he doesn't mind!"
Kermorvan smiled thinly. "Perhaps the Ekwesh like to brave such things, or Mylio feels at home among them. But if Vayde walks there yet, they will find him restless company! Let them beware!"
Kathel pulled his robe tight about him. "That's no fit jest! I wish Vayde would return, alive or… otherwise. He'd settle this whole filthy crew, mindsword or no. But you seem to think you've a parry to it?"
When that was answered Kathel looked at Elof, and glanced uneasily at Ils, dozing in her chair. "From duer-gar teaching… And you'd trust such uncanny stuff as that?" Ils opened an eye and glared at him. "This place is a madhouse! We come to help them, and they call us vermin, treat us like foes or worse—"
Kathel shook his head. "These are hard times… lady. And confusing ones, for a man who's just trying to do what's best for his city. An hour ago I wasn't even sure there were such folk as you! And the last I saw young Keryn Kermorvan, he and his factions were mobbing the Syndicacy steps against Bryhon's bunch, breaking every pate they could reach and calling down curses on the rest. Can't help but leave scars, that, on more than pates. Though I'll admit he was younger then, and that the times have proved him more than half right. Question is, what in the fires of Hella do I do now?" He stood up and walked over to the window, though it was boarded over. "By rights I should hold you for the Marshals of the city to examine, and refer what you've told me to the Syndicacy. All of which, with things as they are, would take another day, at least—"
"Do you think you've got another damned day?" demanded Ils.
Kathel looked at her. "No. No, in truth I do not. My heart misgives me; another wall down and there will be panic, for who can fight the storm?"
"We can!" said Ils, and her face was as proud and hard as the stone of the city. "We three!"
"We four!" rumbled Roc. "By your leave, syndic, these wild folk need looking after. And I've a word or two to say to my late master. We four!" Kermorvan smiled coldly, but he nodded.
Kathel looked long and narrowly at Ils, at Roc, at the smith and the swordsman, and tugged at his beard. The eyes of a merchant weighed them up, but the spirit of the rover burned behind them. "By the Sun Ascending, I believe you. You folk, if anybody! Out of the olden times you are come, it seems, and the hero-lays. Men of prowess and power and wizardry, such as I had never hoped to see. Such as I doubted could exist! Old and fat and fond of my life, me, but if I could in duty come, even to bear your spears, then into the open jaws of Amicac I would!" He sighed. "But I am sworn here, where folk depend on me. And war brooks no delaying. So, this I will venture and take upon myself, to set you free, and to give you rest, food, arms, any help you need." He drew a deep breath, as one who has crossed a threshold he fears. "Use it well!"
Kermorvan rose swiftly. "I thank you, syndic! The food we will take, but no rest; it is now fast upon midnight, and we must make our move soon. Nor do we need arms; Ils wears mail, Elof will wear none save that gauntlet, and I have carried my own mail over land and sea for this hour." He tore at his ragged pack, and a heavy parcel of oil leather spilled onto the table. He unfolded the dully gleaming mail and helm, and took from inside it a smaller package, equally well wrapped. "Now let us eat."
It was a hasty meal, and a quiet one. Elof and Roc tried to chaff each other as befitted old friends at last free to talk, but what lay ahead stood as a barrier between them, deadening merriment. Ils seemed disturbed by this city of men, gazing uneasily around the walls, sniffing suspiciously at the food, taking only what others tasted, though it was common fare enough. Kermorvan, already clad in his mail, ate in silence that was not his usual calm, fingering over the small package, and when Kathel's summons came he sprang up at once and left his plate half full.
Fresh clothes awaited them, chosen in dark colors, and black cloaks to go over them. Ils found some dark wax to rub on her bright mailshirt, but Elof left his gauntlet as it was, wrapping a fold of his cloak round it. Roc had a long knife in his belt, and swung a heavy mace from his wrist. "Better than a sword for a man of sound figure such as me. Powers, what a fearsome crew we look! Any Ekwesh that see us'll die of fright!"
"Or laughter, my lad, if he sees you first," said Kathel, as he led them out of the guardroom. "As well there'll not be too many people about at this hour, or the sight of you'd lower their spirits."
But there were folk about, for when Kathel led the little party out onto the bridge again a murmur went up from the inner walls around, and arose from the streets beneath, where many lanterns and torches ate away shadow. It was a rushing, rustling sound, like the wind running among reeds, a word repeated from one to another among a great crowd, a name. Kermorvan.
"News travels fast!" growled Roc, in an undertone. "But then, that is what half the city's been praying for since the black sails first showed on the horizon."
"And the other half has been blaming me for it, no doubt, as Bryhon did." Kermorvan looked around anxiously. The noise was growing louder, threatening to become a shout.
"Is it Kermorvan? Is it? Is it?"
"Save us, lord!" shouted an old woman. "Down with the syndics!"
"No, up!" shouted a coarse voice. "A rope for their necks, a rope for the fat syndics!"
"A rope!"
"It's their doing—"
"Save us, lord! Scatter the savages—"
Kathel, pale with fury, was trying to bellow above the row, futilely. More and more people were gathering along the ramparts, sorry creatures many of them in flame-scarred clothes and soiled bandages. They did not look poor or underfed, but all the more desperate for that, sudden orphans from a secure daily life. Elof heard Kermorvan curse, saw him swiftly unroll the package and strap something between the shoulder plates of his mail. Kath-el's breath hissed between his teeth.
"Hold up a lantern!" Kermorvan barked at the guardsmen, and stepped forward into the pool of light. The warm glow gilded his bronze hair, his pale proud face with its hollow cheeks under high cheekbones, and set a chilly flame in his shadowed eyes. A gasp went up from the crowd on the wall, and then a rising rumble of excitement. He flung up his arms suddenly, with greater effect than if he had shouted, for the lantern light glistened upon the breastplate he had added to his mail. Dull black it was, darker than the rest, but damasked in gold upon its surface was a strange pattern. An image it was in an intricate style, of a blazing sun, and before it, rising with open beak, a great raven with the eyes of a man. The silence was so immediate that Elof could hear the ripple of his mailshirt; then came a long sigh from the crowd. Ker-morvan looked around him, unsmiling, and spoke in that quiet voice of his which was yet like distant trumpets. "Save your acclaim! Make no noise, none at all, or you will alert the enemy! But as you see, I am lord Keryn Kermorvan of Morvan. I have come back as I said I would, and I will do what I can in the defense of Bryhaine. All of Bryhaine! For never did we need to stand together more than now! So, no more of this talk of ropes; the syndics never sought my life, whatever others may have wished. For now, follow them, follow this man Kathel! And any whom he names in his turn! For there is virtue yet
among the syndics, like gold—since one must often delve deep for it!" Laughter rippled, and the mood was turned. He drew his cloak over the emblem. "Now go, and my blessing with you! Go in peace!"
As quickly as it had gathered, the crowd began to disperse. He turned to Kathel. "What little peace yet remains to them, poor wretches! Are you content?"
Kathel nodded soberly. "It seems gold is commoner than I thought it. Yes, I am."
"Then do you take it upon yourself to make ready sortie and assault! Give me a horn such as the guardsmen use, and when you hear it from the tower… And perhaps the Raven should fly also from the fortress."
Kathel opened his mouth to protest, and then said nothing. "All right!" he managed at last. "No small favors you ask, you heroes! I'll risk this. But afterward?"
Kermorvan shrugged quickly. "There will be more voices in that than yours and mine. Come, we waste time!"
The doors of the outer gatehouse were opened for them, and at once shut softly behind. They were where they had sought to come, on the last stretch of the outer, wall, that led straight to the harbor and the Tower of Vayde. Roc looked uneasily at Elof. "Don't like this! Our dear mas-ter's bad enough, but what else's in that tower—well, my blood runs icy just thinking!"
"But I thought Vayde was one of your great heroes!" said Ils. "Wouldn't he be on our side?"
"A hero, of a sort," grunted Roc. "But they say he built that tower beyond the city walls, as was then, 'cause-well, he kept odd company…"
The tower loomed ahead of them, immense in girth and height, featureless, lightless, darker than the darkness and as inescapable. There was no feeling of emptiness about that grim silhouette, none at all; rather, its fullness seemed to spill over, mingle with the dark, tinge it with menace. It drew the eyes, that tower; to look away from it too long was to fill the mind with strange fears of what might have appeared there meanwhile, some watching, questing apparition. But looking too long served only to people it with the flickering phantoms tired eyes create, and to risk breaking your neck on the shattered and rubble-strewn rampart into the bargain. It was hard going, worst for Ils with her short limbs, having to clamber where Kermorvan could bound; Roc was in little better ease, and weighed down by full mail. But when Elof, balancing a moment on tilting stone blocks, was tipped over by the gauntlet's weight and almost fell, it was their strong hands that bore him up. Roc and Ils…
The Anvil of Ice Page 34