The White Hart

by Nancy Springer

  When at last it was over, Alan asked for volunteers to tend to the burial. Only when that was done did he walk deliberately to a copse of trees darkened by the approaching night. There he leaned against a tree and vomited, and wept in shame, knowing that the strength of his rage had been proportionate to the strength of his secret desire.

  Chapter Two

  By the time Rosemary reached Nemeton, Hal and his army had survived one day of war. Their shelter of pointed stakes lay splintered and buried in bodies. The troops were reeling with exhaustion. A full tithe of the foot soldiers lay dead, and more were terribly wounded. Hal and his warriors, Rafe, Craig and the outlaw-archers under his command, all stood dazed and stumbling, encrusted with drying sweat and drying blood. But they held their ground. Their enemy had engulfed them, broken on them like an ocean, and their flimsy line, formed along borrowed lumber, had withstood the tide.

  Yet, the army they faced the next morning scarcely seemed diminished. With sinking heart, Hal called his men into line of battle behind their shattered defenses.

  “Those posts are smashed to bits,” Craig grumbled.

  “I couldn't use the same ploy twice, anyway,” Hal sighed. “Today, we attack, and hope they aren't expecting it. Ready, Rafe?"

  The young captain only nodded. He looked strained and pale beneath his layer of grime. Hal himself was bleary-eyed after a sleepless night spent among the wounded. Now he would not be able to spare men to tend them.

  “All right. I must go to the horses.” Hal strode away, but turned back after only a few paces. “Luck, you two,” he added quietly, and went to find Robin and Arundel.

  He led his mounted warriors in charge after charge that day, and the next, and the next. Rafe hurtled along after them, shouting hoarsely, his soldiers close behind. And Craig's archers took a heavy toll of the lordsmen—but it seemed that the enemy ranks never thinned. Hal and his army were pushed back, back, through the grueling days, until he could have wept, until he was past weeping. He wouldn't have blamed the troops if they had broken ranks and fled, but their valor tore at his heart. They made the enemy pay dearly for every step gained, and they paid dearly in their turn. Wounded comrades had to be left at the mercy of those arrogant lords .... And Trigg, faithful Trigg, was among the missing.

  On the fourth day, only the coming of darkness saved Hal's army from being trapped against the river. “Cross the water,” he ordered when his dwindled forces regathered. “It's our only chance.” So, half swimming, half fording, exhausted beyond fear of drowning, they put the river between them and their enemy. Then each man collapsed to the damp ground, unmindful of food, fire or blankets. A deathly silence spread over the camp.

  “I'll take a spell at watch,” said Craig gruffly. “A few of my men are still standing .... Hal, you look like a wraith. Go get some rest!"

  “I'll try,” he mumbled. “Where, where, is Alan!” But Craig had no comfort to offer him.

  There was no fighting next day, for a blessing. Seeing Craig's hard-eyed archers stationed on the shore, the lordsmen chose not to risk themselves in crossing. The enemy soldiers set to knocking together covered rafts. Grateful for their caution, Hal wandered his camp, helping where he could, taking stock. He used the gift of the elves to bring relief to many of his men, curing weariness of body and spirit. His followers regarded him with wonder, and called him the Healer King. But he had no cure to offer for death, watching his men give into mortal wounds. And he had no cure, seemingly, for his own despair.

  A messenger from the north came early in the day. He left soon after, and Hal offered the men no hint of his news. But he spoke privately to Rafe and Craig. “Roran has failed. Gar of Whitewater marches on Nemeton.” They stared at him, stunned as if by a blow.

  “For my own part,” Hal added, anguished, “I am not reluctant to die in such loyal company. Still, I wish you were in safety."

  Rafe snorted. “This is unlucky talk, Hal. Help may yet come."

  “Ay, it may,” echoed Craig. But his face was bleak.

  At sundown, Hal and Craig rode the perimeter of the camp to make sure all was secure. At the outpost farthest from the river a beardless boy stood holding a fine sorrel mare. Craig was certain that Hal had gone mad, for he spurred toward this lad and hurled himself from the saddle. Trembling, Hal reached out and delicately removed the helm. As Rosemary's auburn hair tumbled about her shoulders, Hal dropped the helm and kissed her, deep and unashamed, in front of all who watched. When he released her at last, she saw that his eyes were moist.

  “Oh, Love,” he choked, “you should not have come."

  “Why not?” She stood smiling and breathless from his greeting. “I believe you are not entirely sorry to see me."

  “I love you. The sight of you is like wine in my veins. But oh. Love —” The words were torn from him. “I would not have you see me die."

  She caught her breath as the cold grip of fear closed in her heart, but her eyes remained steady. “Why?” she challenged him.

  “The past two days we have fought against a force three times our size. We have done well.” Hal spoke ironically. “They are now only twice our number. My men are weakened by wounds and exhaustion. If we fight tomorrow, that day will be our last. If we retreat, we shall be hounded like rats at the haying, for Gar of Whitewater marches on a handful of men at Nemeton. My fighters are great of spirit. They will follow me to the end, whatever that may be. For myself I do not grieve, but it grieves me that I can find no hope for them —” Hal stopped short, suddenly recognizing his grief for Rosemary.

  “Have better hope. Liege.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Alan has taken Laueroc, and no doubt is speeding to your aid. Moreover, Gar of White-water is not marching on Nemeton. The siege of Firth was quickly overthrown, but Roran was very low on supplies; it took him a few days to stock his ships and set sail. Then he sped before the wind, and came to White-water only hours after Gar had left, after the Gypsies had harried that lord as much as they could. And news travels quickly these days. Ket heard of Gar's march, and since his business at Lee was done, he cut swiftly across the Forest to stop him. I have not heard the end of it, but I think there can be small doubt of the outcome. With Ket at his fore and Roran and the Gypsies on his heels. Gar is doomed."

  “Craig!” Hal shouted. “Do you hear that? Gar ambushed, and Alan riding to our aid!"

  “I hear.” He rode over, struggling to conceal the doubt in his face. “Good news, if it is true. But what are we to do until Alan gets here, if indeed he is coming?"

  Hal turned on him with blazing eyes, but Rosemary touched his arm and lightly mounted Asfala. “Follow me,” she ordered. “I have something to show you."

  Not a word more would she say. After a few minutes they topped a rise and found themselves facing a silent mass of men, at least a thousand in number. Hal recognized prisoners he had released, peasants he had offered shelter in Nemeton, townsfolk he had left behind. Indeed, they comprised a motley crowd, but with a uniform determination of mien which made their random ranks seem as formidable as the battle lines of trained armies. At their fore, scowling, stood Derek.

  “He guessed my secret when I came to Nemeton,” Rosemary explained. “He, too, was anxious to go to you, but he feared your wrath. He asked me to intercede for him."

  “He needs no intercession,” Hal muttered. “I could kiss the fellow!” Suddenly dismounting, he strode to Derek and hugged him like a bear, thumping him on the back. Derek's lean face broke into a smile, perhaps a smile of love such as he had never known.

  Before dawn the next day, Hal's army was roused and ready. They eagerly took their positions behind the slight rise Hal had ridden the night before. The enemy could have no knowledge of the fresh men who had come with the previous twilight. When the lords’ armies crossed the river after their apparently fleeing quarry, they would find themselves trapped between water and Hal's warriors.

  Hal rode with Rosemary until the army was in place. Then he sent he
r well to the rear of the lines, with Robin and some others to guard her. “Now, as you love me,” he charged her earnestly, “keep yourself far from the battle, for this day will come to no good for me if I must be worrying about you. Promise me.” She silently agreed, with a kiss for good luck. “Robin, stay by her, and if I fare badly, take her toward the guards at Nemeton. But I do not doubt that I shall see you both later. Take care."

  So it was that Robin was not with Hal when Hal needed him most.

  Arundel was not with him either; he was also with Robin. The horse had been wounded several times, and was too stiff to defend himself properly. But Rafe would not see Hal mounted on anything less than the best steed available. So Rafe rode a hack, and Hal took the black charger. Night Storm.

  Hal's men waited, bright-eyed with anticipation, until the signal; then they topped the rise and struck. The slope of the land favored them, and the momentum of the battle was theirs from the start. First the archers showered the enemy with a deadly rain of arrows; then the mounted men charged, hewing like woodcutters. In their wake followed a swarm of foot soldiers and variously armed peasants, chopping like butchers. Within minutes the ranks of the enemy were decimated and forced back toward the river. But their scattered horsemen rallied, banding together at the center of their line. Into this group Hal plunged, for it was essential that they be split apart.

  In a moment he was at the vortex of a seething, tumbling caldron of men and horses. Behind him and to the sides, Hal saw, his men were picking off the enemy warriors that had turned their attention his way. Still, he always faced several foes, and Night Storm turned to each threat, scarcely needing Hal's guidance. "Bec wilndas," Hal murmured to him, “Good friend!” Though surrounded on all sides, they were hardly scratched, and through their concentration and teamwork they had stalled an enemy charge.

  But suddenly Night Storm reared so high that Hal was catapulted off the steed. Dazed, Hal realized that an upraised enemy sword had an instant before been aimed at his own neck. Stormy feinted at the wielder with lightning forehooves. But the blade sank into the horse's throat, and Stormy crashed to the ground.

  Not the first time he has saved my life, Hal thought hazily. I'm sorry, Rafe.... But there was no time for grief; hooves were bearing down on him from all directions. Hal struggled to his feet and looked wildly about him for some refuge. In this extremity Robin should have come to him; but it was Derek who appeared by his side. “Your back to mine, my King,” Derek urged, and Hal obeyed him gratefully.

  Derek stood almost a head taller than Hal, and protected him admirably. But Derek was not skilled with the sword; he had spent most of his life working with even grimmer implements. Hal was able to fend off his opponents with his long reach, to pink them in the belly or the thigh. But he was painfully aware that, behind his back, Derek was taking hard blows. He told him what nothing had ever made him say before.

  “Kill the horses under them, Derek!” Hal shouted.

  Derek scarcely heard the words, lost in the battle din around him. A red curtain swam in front of his eyes; he dimly realized that it was his own blood. He swung his sword at random. He cared little for his own life, but urgency pounded in him like a pulse: “My King—my King—my King —” Then pain pierced him to the vitals, and blackness blotted out the blood-red tide.

  Hal felt him fall, and bit his lip in helplessness. But at that moment, like a fog being swept away by the wind, the struggling mass of men and horses disappeared from around him. Panting, Hal found himself staring at Alan's anxious face.

  “Are you hurt!” Alan demanded.

  “Hardly a scratch. Alan, finish it for me, pray....” As Alan cantered off, Hal sank to his knees beside Derek, feeling for life. The mangled form stirred under his hands, and Derek opened his eyes, whispering, “Good my lord, you are well?"

  Hal nodded, scarcely able to speak. He forced words out against the tightness of his chest. “Derek, the debt is paid in full, and over. For my life I thank you."

  But Derek's eyes stared peaceful and unseeing at the blue sky. Hal closed the lids. Beyond him, the battle was nearing an end. Hal rose and trudged heavily off to find Rafe.

  “The news travels across the land almost faster than mortals can convey it,” Alan said. “It is as if there is a power in the air. Everyone in Isle knows that something wonderful is happening."

  “The end of the Age is approaching,” Hal quietly agreed, “and all things are spinning quickly to a close. The people feel it, though perhaps they do not understand."

  Hal and Alan, with Rosemary, Rafe and Craig, sat together in council the day after the battle.

  “The people of Welas understand,” Alan replied. “Legends have come to life for them, and they accept it with fierce joy. I believe there is not a man or boy of Welandais birth who has failed to turn his hand against the oppressors. The companies of Torre and Adaoun swept across the countryside like fire in a field of dry grass. Before I left Laueroc, I heard they were already in Welden. Folk told of a giant white horse, gold-winged, that flew above the armies, directing their movements to best advantage. They spoke also of a tall, fair race of mountain warriors who struck terror into the hearts of their adversaries, and of their horses, lovelier than dreams, who fought as fiercely as their masters. And these things were said fearlessly, with admiration and joy."

  Rosemary was puzzled, for she knew nothing of the elves, but Rafe's eyes sparkled.

  Alan continued more slowly. “Hal, I also heard that Torre and Galin both died at the taking of Welden."

  Hal bowed his head in pain for a moment, and Rosemary reached out to inquiringly touch his hand. “My grandfather,” he explained, “and my uncle, my mother's only living brother. I had so wished to see them again ...."

  “Torre was ready,” Alan said. “They say he was splendid. They say he fought with greater force than strong young men, that his face shone as he struck down the foes that had dishonored him. He shouted your name as his battle cry, Hal, and his army took it up. He received his death blow in the heat of the struggle, but he lasted long enough to see the battle won. Somehow he knew that Galin had been killed, and he named you as his heir. You are now the last of that line, Hal,” Alan added gently, “and I know Galin would not begrudge you that crown."

  Hal kept silence. After a pause Rafe inquired, “Any other news, Alan?"

  “Pelys still had not taken Gaunt, when last I heard,” he answered, “but it was said it must soon fall to him. All of the peasants and half the soldiers had made away with arms and supplies, later to join with your father, my lady. I heard also that the warlords fight against Arrok as one body, for a wonder. His doom will not be long in coming."

  “Lord Roran has defeated Gar of Whitewater,” said Rosemary softly, “and he will soon be here, and very glad, I am sure, to find Robin safe. And Ket had no difficulty taking Lee, with Nabon's garrison weakened by his raid. Why, Hal, it sounds as if it is all settled. You have nothing to worry you anymore."

  “Nay,” said Hal somberly, “nothing to do but bury the dead."

  Chapter Three

  Alan badly wanted to talk to Hal. But the time was never right. For days after the battle, Hal was silent and moody, taking shovel alongside his men to rid the battlefield of its grisly load. Only when he was with Rosemary did his face brighten, so Alan was careful to leave them alone.

  By the time they departed for Nemeton, Hal was in better spirits. Swift messengers had come to him from all parts of Isle, each one bringing news of victory. Hal sent the couriers back to their masters with news of his conquest, and other news of which Alan knew nothing. There was a gleam in Hal's eye as he and Rosemary rode side by side into Nemeton.

  The greeting he received there took away his breath, and replaced the gleam with a tremble of wonder. The streets were lined ten deep with people smiling and calling his name, each bearing the bounty of summer's flowers. Rosemary wore only a borrowed frock, and Hal was tattered and stained with weeks in the field. But before they re
ached the first crossroad they shone brighter than the gods of legend, laden with as many blossoms as they could carry. Wreath upon wreath decked the horses’ necks, and trumpet vines entwined their ears. Rosemary held a huge bundle of roses in her arms, and daisy crowns adorned her head and Hal's. Petals sprinkled them from head to foot. Alan had fallen back a few paces, grinning; great chains of flowers draped his neck and Alfie's. Rafe and his soldiers, Robin and Cory, Craig and his men—all Were beset by swarms of happy folk, and those who could not reach them threw their bouquets into their path or pelted them with the blossoms. Hal and Alan were amazed to see many whom they knew, peasants and cottagers whom they had aided or who bad aided them. In the center of town they met Roran and his company. He embraced Robin, and the crowd cheered them; the noise was deafening.

  At last they all came to the castle. The courtyard was filled with servitors and guards, and hundreds of townspeople thronged in as well. The air trembled with their happy chatter. But when Hal ascended to the platform and turned to greet his people, one voice cut through them all, clear as a trumpet call. “See where he stands, the King of Isle!” Alan knelt with hand raised in salute. Rosemary, and all of Hal's men, and hundreds more knelt before him and joined Alan's salute with a great shout. Hal was speechless.

  Rosemary gazed at him with smiling, adoring eyes. Alan faced him tenderly but almost defiantly. “I told you once,” he said, “that I would kneel before you someday, and you would know why. Do you?"