Heden’s face softened a little. Everything visible, everything on the surface about Gwiddon was tailor-made to annoy and upset Heden. But then he’d say something that reminded Heden why they were friends.
“How did things go with the girl?” Gwiddon asked, no smile on his face, not looking at Heden.
“Fine,” Heden lied.
“The bishop didn’t think you would, ah…”
“Is that why he sent you?”
“I volunteered. First I volunteered you, then I volunteered to tell you.”
Heden didn’t say anything.
“He was surprised,” Gwiddon said, meaning the bishop. “I think he’d written you off.”
“Understandable.”
“So now, of course, he thinks you’re ready for something else.”
Heden shook his head. It wasn’t clear what he was rejecting.
“I told him the girl was a special case. I don’t think he remembered the boy last year.”
“No reason for him to,” Heden said, drinking. Only someone who’d known Heden for a long time would hear the implied criticism.
“I didn’t think the girl meant anything was different.”
“But you didn’t tell the bishop that.”
“I couldn’t think of how to explain it to him. Besides, I don’t mind coming here.” Gwiddon smiled again. “I’m used to rejection.”
Gwiddon glanced at Heden for a moment, gauging his mood. Afraid to study him too closely for fear of scaring him off.
“How long has it been since, ah,” Gwiddon began, and then paused and started over. Heden noticed it. “When was the last time you left the city?”
Heden leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“Why?” he asked. “Where do you want me to go?”
A sad smile, pity, flashed across Gwiddon’s face. “You can’t stay in here forever,” he said.
Heden shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”
“It’s not much of a life, Heden,” Gwiddon said.
“Well,” Heden thought about this as he leaned forward to pick at a splinter of wood sticking out of the surface of the table, “maybe life’s overrated.”
Gwiddon ignored this. “Have you left Celkirk in the last year?”
Heden took a deep breath.
“Three years ago,” he said. “I went and saw my father.”
Gwiddon nodded. “When you,” he waved a hand, encompassing the tavern and everything it represented, “retired. I remember.”
Heden shrugged against any possible accusation.
Gwiddon placed both his hands on his knees, and sat up straight. Preparing.
“We need someone to go into the Wode,” he said. As with ‘the church,’ everyone knew which of the elf-haunted forests people meant when they referred to ‘the Wode.’
Heden stared across the table, and waited until he recovered a little from Gwiddon’s statement.
“And you have some reason to think I might say yes.” The sentence came out slow and ragged, like Heden was emerging from a deep sleep.
Now it was Gwiddon’s turn to shrug.
“You went in with your team eight years ago. You came out unscathed.”
“That’s debatable,” Heden said. “And there were six of us. I’m alone now.” Heden restrained himself and didn’t spit out the word ‘alone.’ But he was getting angrier. “And we went in a year before that and lost half our company, so you coming in here,” Heden gestured to the door, “sitting down and saying ‘wode’ like it’s just a fucking word people say, like that thing doesn’t grow old on the bones of people like me, you need to have a good reason.”
Gwiddon’s face pinched a little in response to Heden’s minor onslaught.
Heden shook his head, didn’t give Gwiddon a chance to respond. “That’s not it. You didn’t come here because I’ve been up there before. You’re just trying to flatter me. Which is…I don’t even know why you bother. Give me the real reason.”
“Heden, what is it you want?” Gwiddon asked, ignoring him. “And don’t say ‘to be left alone.’ You tell me what you want, and I’ll help you. Lots of people will help you. And then you can help me. You’ve got this idea of what everyone out there thinks of you, but you’re wrong. It’s been three years man. I want to help you.”
“Horseshit,” Heden said. He wasn’t disputing what Gwiddon was saying, he was rejecting Gwiddon’s presence entirely.
Gwiddon leaned back and the two of them stared at each other. Impasse.
“So I’m going to keep coming down here and giving you whatever I think you can handle until sooner or later you react in some way, any way, and come back to life.”
Heden thought about the girl upstairs. Sleeping. Not a whore in that moment, not in jail, not having a seizure. Just a little girl asleep. The way the world was supposed to be. He didn’t know why Gwiddon’s words made him think of her.
Heden didn’t reject what he said and Gwiddon took it as permission to continue. He extracted what looked like a small sprig of holly from his vest. It had nine berries on it. Eight a pale green, one a milky white.
“You know the procession hall?”
Heden nodded.
“This is one of the knightly crests that hang on the walls.”
Heden frowned and reached out for the holly. It wasn’t any kind of crest.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do either,” Gwiddon confessed. “You’ll have to talk to the bishop. It’s hung above the door to the audience hall since the church was built. We all thought it was a decoration. An acolyte brought it to us when he noticed that one of the berries had turned white. That’s when we started looking into it. It’s magic, obviously.”
“What else?” Heden asked, thinking.
“Each berry represents a knight. A member of the Green Order.”
“Never heard of them.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. We hoped that you having been in the Iron Forest…”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“That’s where the knights are. Their order lives in the forest, all along the border with Corwell, and protects…well, we don’t know what they protect. Something important.”
“They live in the wode?” Heden said, half to himself. He had a hard time imagining how any man could do that.
He prodded the sprig of holly.
“Why is this one white?” he asked, talking about the discolored berry.
“It’s dead,” Gwiddon said.
“Meaning one of the knights is dead?”
“Something like that.”
“How did he die?” Heden asked.
Gwiddon sat up. “We don’t know,” he said with some import.
“Are they some kind of…” Heden thought. “Are they immortal? So what if a knight dies?”
“They’re not immortal,” Gwiddon said. “We think the white berry symbolizes not the death of a knight, which must be a common occurrence up there, but the,” he searched for words. “The permanent reduction of the order. Nine knights to eight. Eight forever more.”
Heden nodded. “So something bad happened up there.”
Gwiddon didn’t say anything. He knew his friend.
“Who’s their patron?”
“I, ah…” Gwiddon thought for a moment. “I forget. You’d recognize the name if I told you. I’m not good with saints.”
“You picked a good job,” Heden said.
“We need someone to go up there and find out what happened. We found an old ritual, very old. Maybe three thousand years. Meant to absolve the Green Order of an unrighteous death.”
“The Green Order specifically?” Heden doubted that.
“This is more than just a dead knight, Heden.”
“But three thousand years? How can there be an order of knights older than the council of Aberdanon?”
“I don’t understand it all. The bishop has an idea, he’ll tell you about it.”
“Not if I tell
you to go fuck a pig, he won’t.”
“There is that,” Gwiddon conceded.
Thinking of the wode, Heden found his heart was racing. He was having trouble breathing. Finally he spoke.
“No.”
Gwiddon looked at his friend, sensing the turmoil Heden was holding back. He stayed silent for a moment, said “Okay,” and leaned back in his chair.
“I’m not going back into that meat grinder.”
Gwiddon nodded and fingered his drink. “I understand,” he said.
“Find someone else,” Heden said.
“Who would you recommend?” Gwiddon asked, looking around the empty tavern.
Heden seemed to shrink over the course of the conversation. He was hunched over now and looking down at the table. He wouldn’t make eye contact with his friend. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. Gwiddon turned away.
They both sat there, Heden looking down at nothing. Gwiddon, relaxed, looking out the window. Neither of them said anything.
“Why did you think I might say yes?” Heden finally asked, risking a glance at his friend.
Gwiddon leaned back. “I’ll tell you. The bishop, ah, and I,” he added as an aside, aware that what he thought was inconsequential, “are afraid this order is important. Out there in the forest handing down a tradition for a hundred generations. Not much of that kind of discipline left in the world.”
Heden nodded.
“We need someone who can manage a delicate situation. Someone we can trust to do the right thing, even when that means doing something awful.” Gwiddon chose his words carefully. He knew his audience.
“You were the natural solution.”
“The only solution,” Heden said, a touch of bitterness.
Gwiddon smiled and spread his hands. “As you say.”
Heden sat there looking at the holly.
“I don’t like knights,” Heden said to himself.
“I know,” Gwiddon said, pursing his lips in a thin, affectionate smile. “But you don’t like them for all the right reasons.”
Heden grunted and twirled the holly around. After a moment’s silence, Gwiddon prodded.
“Where’s the girl now?” he asked quietly.
“What?” Heden was sharp in response.
“The girl from the jail,” Gwiddon asked. “I heard from the Captain.”
Heden was impressed that Domnal had told anyone. But Gwiddon was discreet.
Heden didn’t answer. Gwiddon wasn’t really looking for an answer, he knew. He was just making a point.
“What if we gave you help?” he asked, with sympathy.
“Help?” Heden asked, unsure how Gwiddon could help.
“With the forest,” his friend said.
“I don't need any help, dammit.” Heden said, tossing the holly on the table and looking out the window. Gwiddon didn’t understand, and Heden didn’t feel obligated to explain. It wasn’t the forest, terrible as it was, that presented the problem, it was Heden.
“We could give you a coach. Make the journey easier for you.”
“Nothing would make the journey easy for me. Where’s the order now?”
“They've decamped at a priory in the forest. Near a place called Ollghum Keep.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Well, the order doesn't like to make its presence known in towns or cities. People react badly to seeing them.”
“And why is that?”
“They’re some kind of feral fanatics. You'll see when you meet them.”
Heden absorbed this. For reasons he didn’t understand and didn’t want to think about, the idea of facing Vanora again having turned down Gwiddon upset him. Maybe because Gwiddon’s request brought him to Vanora in the first place. Maybe because he didn’t want to seem a coward in front of her. Even if she ever knew he’d turned the bishop down.
“What are you working on?” Heden tried some small talk to distract himself.
“What am I working on?” Gwiddon asked, surprised.
“Coming here and telling me about a bunch of knights who live in the forest is a diversion for you.”
Gwiddon smiled and arched an eyebrow. “That’s true.
“Well, we just got word that Feoc was met with all manner of positive response, which is good, but when he tried to leave he found his ship had been impounded, searched for contraband, and he couldn’t get it released for twelve days.”
“Twelve days? Who impounded it?”
Gwiddon shrugged. “The city watch. It doesn’t matter who did it.”
“So now you’re trying to figure out why a foreign government kidnapped your ambassador for twelve days.”
Gwiddon nodded. “Just so.”
“Probably checking to see if he had any other business in Capital. Take his ship, but don’t arrest him. Leaves him free to walk the city. They follow and see who he makes contact with. Those are your spies.”
Gwiddon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t ever talk like that to the bishop, he might dismiss me.”
“No he wouldn’t.”
A door closed at the top of the stairs behind him and Vanora walked delicately downstairs clad in a simple blue dress he’d left for her.
“Heden?” she asked.
Gwiddon looked at the teenage girl, then turned his head slowly to Heden, a huge, wide grin on his face.
Heden looked at his friend and frowned.
“It’s time for you to leave,” Heden said, getting up.
“I imagine it is!” Gwiddon said, smiling riotously. He stood.
As Heden escorted him the short distance to the door, Gwiddon turned back to the girl again, looked over Heden’s shoulder. Realization dawned.
“Wait a moment. Heden…”
Heden opened the door. “Out,” he said. Gwiddon now turned a serious face to his friend bordering on a scowl.
“Oh Heden, please tell me you….”
“I’m not telling you anything, you’re leaving.”
“Okay,” Gwiddon said, and he stepped out onto the porch. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He looked at his friend for a moment.
“You’re going to accept the assignment,” Gwiddon predicted.
Heden shrugged.
“I’ll talk to the bishop,” he said.
“You should see the abbot before you leave,” Gwiddon offered, extending his hand.
Heden took his friend’s hand. “I'll see the abbot when I get back. I'll see the dwarf before I leave.”
Chapter Seven
Vanora wandered around the ground floor of the Hammer & Tongs. The floor had been varnished several times in the last three years and never walked on, so her feet stuck to the floor a little when she walked, making little sucking noises when she lifted them.
Heden didn’t make eye contact with her. He closed the door, went back to the table, picked up the glasses from Gwiddon’s visit and walked behind the bar. The heavy sound of his boots seemed very loud to him.
One wall of the T-shaped common room was covered by bookshelves Heden had installed himself, holding several hundred books collecting dust. Vanora stared at them, sometimes reaching out to touch one.
Heden went into the kitchen and a few moments later emerged with a large plate, a hunk of mutton, some vegetables and some fruit. He put the plate on the bar and began slicing the mutton.
“You read all these books?” Vanora asked.
Heden did not reply. He continued preparing his lunch. Vanora gave no indication that she expected a reply.
“Where’d you learn to read?” Vanora asked, her voice light, curious.
Heden took a deep breath. “My father was friends with the prior the next town over. When I was thirteen, he sent me to an abbey as my apprenticeship.”
Heden threw some of the fruit and vegetables on a plate with the mutton, poured himself a beer, and carried the whole thing to a table and sat down. He waited a moment to see if Vanora would probe.
“Did it…” she began, and then tried a different s
trategy. “Did you mind leaving home?”
Heden thought about it. “I don’t think so. Both my brothers had gone away at the same age, my sisters were both married off at fourteen. I knew the prior and liked him. No, I didn’t mind. I missed my parents but I got over that.”
Heden waited to see if she was going to ask anything else, and then continued.
“The prior was very learned; he’d studied at the university here. He taught me everything he knew. Well,” Heden corrected himself as he grabbed an apple and prepared to bite. “Not everything.” He took a large bite of the apple and finished chewing before he spoke again. “Not most things, now that I think about it. But he taught me to read and write, spoke the teachings of Cavall to me. Set me on the path to being a priest.” At the time, it seemed like everything he knew.
Vanora gave every appearance of not listening. She didn’t look at Heden. With some effort, she pulled one of the larger books out and opened it. She had to cradle it in both of her arms. She frowned at the text.
“That’s a good book,” Heden said, and Vanora glanced at him. She couldn’t tell he’d been watching her. “It’s about a girl who finds out she’s the daughter of a god. It’s got a lot of pictures. Inlaid with real gold on the page.” At this, Vanora appeared to express interest, trying to hold the book and leaf through the pages at the same time. Her brown hair fell over her face. She seemed thin to Heden and he got the impression as he often did with women from the Rose that she needed to eat more.
“I’ll teach you to read it,” Heden said, matter-of-factly. Not an offer, a decision.
Vanora stopped struggling with the book, and just stared at the letters, absorbing what Heden had said. She shrugged and put the book back on the shelf.
Seeming very much at home in this strange inn, she crossed the floor, pulled a chair out, and sat across from Heden. She watched him eat. She raised an eyebrow at what he was eating and the way he ate, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He seemed entirely unselfconscious. As if having a barefoot teenaged whore walking around his inn was normal for him. Something about that bothered her.
“We get priests at the Rose,” she said, crossing her arms. It was cold in the large common room. “They’re just like everyone else. Good priests, bad priests. They can be a lot of fun. Some of them act bothered....” she stopped. She wouldn’t look at Heden. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she didn’t want to talk about the jail.
Priest (Ratcatchers Book 1) Page 4