An Armory of Swords

by Fred Saberhagen

  Derina caught at his sleeve as he turned. “It’s not your task. This isn’t your family.”

  His odd little smile stopped her. “But it is my family now,” he said.

  Burley returned to the bed, leaving Derina standing stiff with surprise.

  He had his work cut out, she thought, if he thought himself a part of this family.

  And, she reminded herself, he probably wouldn’t survive it.

  Nelly was hidden away in the servants’ loft, and Norward ordered one of the older maidservants to nurse her. When her strength returned she’d have a job in the stables, where Kendra wouldn’t encounter her.

  Landry gave Reeve a ruby ring and a pair of silver spurs—“for his loyalty.” Reeve preened as he strutted about wearing them, the spurs clanking on the flags or catching on the carpet. At dinner Landry sent his wife down the table, and sat with Reeve on one side and the girl Medora on the other. Landry had given her a gold chain belt. She was a frail little blonde thing, giggly when drunk. Derina didn’t think she’d last. She didn’t have brains enough to follow Landry’s moods.

  Kendra chatted away at dinner and pretended nothing was wrong, but next day, while Derina was helping her mother at carding wool, Kendra began to weep. Derina searched through her mother’s basket for a strand of wool, pretending that she didn’t see the fat tears rolling down Kendra’s cheeks.

  Sometimes, when Kendra was weak, Derina hated her.

  “If only I’d given him the sons he wanted,” Kendra moaned. “Then everything would be all right.”

  “You gave him sons,” Derina said.

  “Not the sons he wished for,” Kendra said. “I should have given him more.”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Derina said. “He’d have despised them, too. Unless they were stronger, and then he would have hated and feared them.”

  Kendra’s eyes opened wide in anger. “How dare you say that about your father!”

  Derina shrugged. Kendra’s mouth closed in a firm line. “Is it Burley putting these notions in your head?”

  Derina wanted to laugh. “I’ve lived here all my life,” she said. “Do you expect me not to know how things are?”

  “I expect you to show your father respect, and not to go tattling to Burley or his kin.”

  Derina threw down the wool. “They have eyes, Mother. They can see as well as anyone.”

  “Be careful.” A touch of fear entered Kendra’s face as Derina stood and moved toward the door.

  “Don’t tell!” Don’t tell what? Derina wondered.

  Everything. That’s what Kendra meant.

  “I’ll say what I like,” Derina said, and left the room.

  But doubted if she’d ever say a word.

  Derina and Burley had slept in the huge marriage bed for almost a week. After tonight the bed would be taken down, and Derina and Burley moved into her small room in the family quarters. The huge canopied feather bed was much too large for the room, and Derina and Burley would share Derina’s old narrow bed, their breath frosting in the cold that the smoky fire never seemed to relieve.

  Before sleep he turned to her. The dying firelight glinted in his pupils. “Derina,” he said. “I hope you like marriage a little better than when we met.”

  “I never disliked it.”

  “But you didn’t know me. Perhaps you know me a little better now.”

  “I hope so.” Marriage, she considered, seemed to suit Burley at any rate. He stood straighter now, and seemed better-formed; his skin had cleared, his breath carried the scent of spiced wine. His warmth in the narrow bed would be welcome.

  Burley fumbled under the covers, took her hand. “What I meant to say,” he began, “is that I hope you like me a little. Because it will be powerful hard to lie here next to you in that narrow bed, night after night, and not want to touch you.”

  Derina’s heart lurched, and she felt the blood rush to her face. “I never said you couldn’t touch me,” she said.

  He hesitated for a moment, then began to kiss her. Pleasantly enough, she decided. After a while of this she felt some action on her part was necessary, and she put her arms around him.

  What followed was not bad, she thought later, for all they both needed practice.

  A few nights later Derina forgot the leather jack of wine she’d put by the fire to warm, and so she left Burley in their bed, put on a heavy wool cloak, and went down the main stair to fetch it. She heard angry voices booming up, and moved cautiously from stair to stair.

  “Who has the spurs?” Reeve’s voice. “Who has Father’s eye?”

  Norward’s answer was cutting. “Medora, it would seem.”

  “Ha! She won’t have the land and house when he dies! And neither will you, you useless gawk.”

  Derina slid silently down the stairs on bare feet, saw Norward moving close to Reeve in front of the fire. Norward seemed so much more impressive than he’d been, his once-lanky form filled with power. Reeve looked uneasy, took a step back.

  “Are you planning on Father dying soon?” Norward asked. “I wouldn’t wager that way, were I you.”

  “If he lives to a hundred, he won’t favor you!” Reeve shouted “Never in life, blind man!”

  “My eyes have improved,” Norward said. “A pity yours have not.”

  “Fool! Go to the priesthood, and spend your days in prayer!” Reeve swung a fist, hitting Norward a surprise blow under the eye, and then Norward thrust out a longer arm and struck Reeve on the breast, just as he had at Derina’s wedding, and Reeve lurched backward. One silver spur caught on a crack in the flags and he tumbled down. Norward gave a brief laugh. When Reeve rose, his neck had reddened and murder glowed in his eyes.

  “I’ll kill you!” he shouted, and leaped toward the fireplace, his hands reaching for Lord Landry’s sword. Norward tried to seize him and hold him still, but Reeve was too fast—the long straight blade sang from the scabbard and Reeve hacked two-handed at Norward’s head. Norward leaped back, the sword-point whirring scant inches from his face.

  Derina cried in alarm and started to run back up the stair, hoping she could somehow fetch Burley and bring an end to it—but one of her feet slipped on the flags and she fell on the stair with a stunning jolt.

  Norward leaped to the woodpile to seize a piece of wood to use for a shield, and Reeve screamed and swung the sword again. There was the sound of a sigh, or sob, and Derina wanted to shriek, afraid it was Norward’s last. Dazed on the stair, she couldn’t be certain what happened—but somehow Norward must have dodged the blow, though to Derina’s dazzled eyes it looked, impossibly enough, as if the sword passed clean through his body without doing any hurt. But then Norward lunged forward and smashed Reeve in the face with his log—Reeve shouted, dropped the sword, staggered back. Norward grabbed him by the collar, wrenched him off his feet, and ran him head-first into the fireplace.

  Derina screamed and came running down the stairs. Norward was grinding the side of Reeve’s head against the fire’s dying embers. “Take my place, puppy?” he snarled. “Draw sword against me? Have a taste of the hell that awaits kin-slayers, Reeve of the Silver Spurs!”

  “Stop!” Derina cried, and seized Norward’s arms. The scent of burning hair and flesh filled her nostrils. The strength of the knotted muscle in Norward’s arms astonished her—she couldn’t budge him. Reeve screamed in terror. “Don’t kill him!” Derina begged.

  Norward flung Reeve up and away from the fire, then down to the flags. Reeve wept and screamed as Norward took the long patterned blade and hacked off his spurs, then kicked him toward the stair. Reeve rose to his feet, his hands clutching his burns, and fled. Derina stared in amazement at the transformed Norward, the tall young man, half a stranger, standing in the hall with drawn blade... Tears unexpectedly filled her eyes and she sat down sobbing.

  Norward put the sword away and was suddenly her brother again, his eyes mild, his expression a little embarrassed. He reached out a hand and helped her to her feet.


  “Come now,” he said, “it was a lesson Reeve had to learn.”

  She clung to him. “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Truthfully,” her brother said, “I am a bit puzzled myself.”

  Next day Reeve kept to his room. At dinner, Lord Landry looked at the bruise on Norward’s cheek and said nothing, but there was a pitiless, amused glint in his eye, as if he’d just watched a pleasing dogfight; and he sat Norward down at his left hand, where he’d had Reeve before.

  Six weeks later, after Yule, Burley and Derina left for Burley’s home, where a new wing had been built for them. To Derina, the three small rooms and their whitewashed stone walls seemed more space than she’d had ever in life. It was not until spring that she and Burley journeyed back to the great flint-walled house perched above the switchback mountain road, and then it was not on a mission that concerned pleasantries.

  Derina rode the whole way with her insides tying themselves in knots. Burley marched a captive before them, a man bound with leather thongs, and Derina was terrified that the captive—or the news she herself bore—would mean Burley’s death.

  But Burley’s family had decided this course between them, and brushed her objections aside. If they had known her father as well as she, they would have been much more afraid.

  When she arrived the old flint-walled house seemed different, though she could see nothing overtly changed. But the people moved cheerily, not with the half-furtive look they’d had before; and there was an atmosphere of gaiety unlike anything she remembered.

  But Burley was not cheered: grim in his buff coat, he marched his captive into the hall and asked for Lord Landry. The servants caught Burley’s mood, and edged warily about the room.

  Landry, when he came, was half-drunk; and Norward was at his elbow, a tall man, deep-chested and powerful, that Derina barely recognized.

  “Daughter!” Landry said, one of his cold smiles on his lips, and then he saw Burley’s captive, the shivering shepherd, and he stopped dead, looking from the shepherd to Burley and back again. “What’s this?” he growled. The shepherd fell to his knees.

  “First,” Burley said, “I bring proper and respectful greetings from my father and my family to Lord Landry. This other matter is secondary—we found this fool grazing his flock on the upland meadow that was ours by marriage contract, and he had the temerity to say he was there on your order, so we had him whipped and now we bring him to you, to punish as you will for this misuse of your name.”

  Landry turned red, his neck swelling; his hand half-drew the dagger at his belt. Norward put a restraining hand on Landry’s arm. “Now’s not the time to make new enemies,” Norward said, and Landry forced down his rage, snicked the dagger back in its sheath, then strode briskly to where the captive cowered on his knees and kicked the shepherd savagely in the ribs. “That’s for you, witless!” he said.

  “My lord—” the shepherd gasped.

  “Silence!” Landry shouted, before the man could say something all might regret. He looked up at Burley, staring blue eyes masking his calculation. “You’ve handled this matter well,” he admitted grudgingly. “I thank you.”

  “I bring other news that will please you, I think,” Burley said. He took Derina’s hand. “Derina is with child, we believe, these two months.”

  For a moment Derina was petrified—with a child on the way, what more use was the father? But then an unfeigned smile wreathed Landry’s features. He embraced Derina and kissed her cheek. “There, my pet,” he said, “have I not always said you were my favorite?”

  Even though she knew perfectly well it was Landry’s style to play one family member off against another, still Derina’s nerves twisted into a kind of sick happiness, the assurance of her father’s favor.

  “You’ll give me the boy I need,” Landry said. “These others—” He looked at Norward. “—they league and conspire against me, but I have the mastery of ’em.”

  He turned to the shepherd, drew his knife again, and sliced the captive’s bonds. “In celebration, we’ll give this simpleton his freedom.”

  The shepherd rose, bowed, and fled.

  Nicely done, Derina thought. Not a single regrettable word spilled.

  Norward advanced to clasp Burley’s hand. “Welcome to our house,” he said. “Your advice, and that of your family, will be valued in the days to come.”

  Burley smiled, but his eyes glanced to Derina, who looked back in purest misery. There was something happening here, and it was nothing good.

  Dinner found Landry at the head of the table, with his wife on one side and Norward at the other. The big sword still hung in its sheath behind her father’s head. Reeve—burlier than ever, and full of smiling good humor despite the burnscars on the side of his head, sat beside his brother, and Edlyn played happily with her daughter at his elbow. There was no sign of Medora or any other plaything.

  Derina watched it all in silent, wide-eyed surprise. Her father was smiling and complimentary, and praised her in front of the others. She found herself casting looks at Edlyn to see how her older sister reacted; but Edlyn’s attention was all on her daughter, and the anticipated looks of hatred never came.

  They all looked so well. Happy, strong, their skins glowing with health. Derina felt like a shambling dwarf by comparison.

  Then, offhand, Landry changed the subject. “There’s an army marching in the lowlands,” he said, “one of the Princes. He’s got three thousand men, and his proclaimed ambition is to invade the highlands and tame our mountain folk.” He barked a laugh. “If so, he’ll find us a hard piece of flint to break his teeth on.”

  “There is not enough wealth in the highlands to pay a Prince’s army,” Norward said. “If he comes, he will find the pickings poor indeed.”

  “Likely he intends somewhere else, and the story is a mere diversion,” Landry said, “but there’s no reason in taking it lightly. I’m bringing in supplies, and preparing the place for a siege. They can’t drag any engines up the mountains big enough to hurt our walls.” His eyes flicked to Burley. “I’ll trust your kin to support us, and raise up their strength against any invaders.”

  “We have no love for lowland princes,” Burley said.

  Landry laughed. “Let ’em lie outside our walls till the cold eats their bones!”

  Landry snatched up a cup and offered a toast to the defeat of the Prince—and his sons and Burley drank with him. They were mountain men pledging against their ancestral enemies of the lowlands, and in a matter as fundamental as this their views were united.

  Derina felt cold as ice as she saw Burley pledge himself to Landry’s war, and remembered Edlyn’s husband doing likewise, three years ago.

  The Prince’s messenger came the next day with a small party and blew his trumpet from the path below the gatehouse. Lord Landry knew of their presence—he’d had scouts out, which showed he took the threat of invasion seriously. Perhaps he’d even known they were coming before he’d brought up the matter, so casually, at dinner. When the trumpet was blown Landry was ready, standing above the gatehouse with his family—all but Reeve, who had particular business elsewhere.

  Derina wrapped herself in a cloak to hide her trembling. She had seen the preparations Landry made, and knew what he intended.

  “His Highness bids you return that which you took last summer, when you attacked his camp,” the messenger said. “If not, there will be war between you that will not end until your hold is burnt up, your valleys laid waste, and your children scattered over the hills with stones their only playthings. His Highness offers you this, if you heed not our command—or, if you choose wisely, he offers his hand in friendship.”

  A vast grin broke across Landry’s face at the sound of the messenger’s words—but Derina, who knew the smile, felt herself shudder. “What’s mine is mine!” Landry called. “If this Prince wants what is his, let him look for it in a place closer to home.”

  “The Prince’s friendship is not so lightly to be brushed
aside,” the messenger said.

  “When was the friendship of a lowland man ever worth a pinch of salt?” Landry asked. He plucked up a crossbow from where it sat waiting, aimed briefly, and planted the missile a foot deep in the messenger’s heart. Other missiles whirred down from Landry’s soldiers. Then the gates swung open to let a group of riders under Reeve sally out. The Prince’s party were killed to the last man, so that none could return to their prince with any of the intelligence they’d doubtless gathered.

  Burley watched the massacre from the gatehouse, fists clenched on his belt. He turned to Landry. “Let me head homeward, and tell my kinfolk to prepare,” he said. “And let me take Derina to where she’ll be safe.”

  Landry shook his head, and seeing it Derina felt a cold chill of fear. “Send a letter instead,” he said.

  “Sir—”

  “No,” Landry said. “A letter. Your father will be more likely to help us if his son and grandson—” A nod to Derina. “—are guests here with us.”

  Derina’s head swam under Landry’s cold blue gaze. She was in her father’s house again, under his power, and her husband was a pawn in her father’s war—a pawn set ready for sacrifice.

  The burning arrow was sent from door to door along the valleys, and as men armed the great house was readied for siege. The spring lambs were killed, and their flesh salted for the cellars or dried in the pure mountain air. The herds and flocks were driven up to the highland pastures by secret ways, where an enemy would never find them unless he first knew where to look. The people of the valleys were prepared for evacuation, either to the great houses or to the high meadows with the flocks.

  The Prince’s army paused in the lowlands for a week or so, perhaps awaiting the messenger’s return, and then began its toilsome march into the hills. Lord Landry arranged for the heads of the messenger’s party to await them on stakes, one every few kilometers along the road.

  Lord Landry was in his element—boasting, boozing, swaggering among his old veterans or the country gentlefolk. Parties of warriors arrived under their local chiefs, were added to the defense of the great house or sent out to harry the enemy column with ambushes and raids.