Gordath Wood

by Patrice Sarath

  Crae rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had a sudden image of himself riding from House to House, asking for a guardian. And behind him, the ground shaking apart as the gordath greedily consumed everything in its path. “Did he leave someone behind who had the knowledge?”

  She shook her head. “It didn’t seem important, Crae. We’re so far from Red Gold Bridge—we didn’t really know what Merikard was going on about, anyway.” She gave him a guilty look. “If it helps, I am beginning to see that was a shortsighted mistake, if these earth shakings are caused by the gordath.”

  “How bad have they been?”

  “They’ve rattled the panes in the windows,” she admitted. “The road is what worries me. I have not traveled far since Stavin left, but I’ve seen the broken road.”

  “You are right to be worried,” he said in a low voice.

  She pulled the kerchief off and refastened it with an impatient tsk. “I am not always a fool, if that’s what you mean. And Merikard—he was old, Crae, and I think his mind had begun to wander in the end. Even if he were still here, it would not have been a kindness to take him back to Red Gold Bridge with you.” She looked up at him, pushing the kerchief off her forehead again. “I don’t know what’s worse, earth shakings or the knowledge that there are crows on the road.”

  “Did Stavin leave you any men who can fight?”

  She sighed. “You know Stavin. We have only a small force of fighting men to begin with, and he dithered so much about what Lord Tharp would think that I finally told him to take them all and just go. He was driving me mad.”

  “Let me look to your defenses,” he said, already devising a system of lookouts in his head.

  “I suppose.” Her tone was sharp. “It’s the least you could do for Stavin. After all, you abandoned him in Red Gold Bridge.”

  “Stavin did what he had to do, as did I.”

  “You have taken your side against your lord and your oldest friend. And you did what you had to do?”

  He kept his voice even. “Stavin understood.”

  She crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at him. It struck him in the chest. “Don’t be so sure. He wrote to me and said you convinced him to speak out. All it did was turn Tharp against him. Against Trieve, and then you were gone.” She sighed. “Oh Crae. You’ve always been this way. You never can just do your duty. It always has to be so . . . complicated.” She threw up her the hands. He handed her the paper she had thrown at him, and she burst into tears. “I don’t know what is going to happen,” she said, taking her kerchief off and wiping her face. “Stavin’s letter says that all is going Lord Tharp’s way, and the weapons are holding off Lord Terrick and the army of the Council, but now Kenery has thrown in with them, and he has five thousand men. I haven’t heard anything else, and I never got to tell Stavin I was with child, because I wasn’t sure before he left, and now that I am sure, I don’t know if I should tell him. He’ll just fret.”

  Crae stared at her, openmouthed. “You’re pregnant?” he said.

  She laughed through her tears at the look on his face.

  “You should write him, Jessamy. He’ll want to know.”

  “I know. I should. I will. But Crae, you need to go back to Red Gold Bridge. You need to stand by him.”

  “Not without a guardian to close the gordath.”

  “I don’t understand this. He is your friend.”

  “He’ll understand, Jessamy.”

  “Oh I see.” Her voice turned to ice. “I can’t understand because of this bond between you that no one else can see or feel. Well, I know Stavin as well as you, and he would come to your aid. He wouldn’t leave you to fight alone.”

  He felt himself close off under her attack.

  She went on. “You don’t know anything about loyalty.” She began tying the damp kerchief over her hair. Her nose and eyes were red from crying.

  He knew that she was upset and frightened. Stavin said that when she was carrying Tevani, he learned to tread lightly around her, as anything was apt to set her off. Still, he had no interest in hearing more. Crae pushed himself off the table.

  “Thanks for looking through your accounts,” he said. “I’ll organize Trieve’s defense.”

  Jessamy rolled her eyes. “Crae, stop,” she said, as if he were the one being unreasonable.

  And because she was upset and frightened, he relented. “Jessamy, you know that I am not taking this lightly. If I can bring back a guardian to close the gordath, it could go a long way to ending this war. Lord Tharp won’t be able to bring more weapons through. He’ll have to sue for peace.”

  “Well enough,” she said. “Then that is where it will stand, although I still think you are being disloyal.”

  Couldn’t she just let the argument go? As if in answer, she added, “Besides, if this were all about peace, why did you bring the lostling woman?”

  He couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “Stavin wrote me about her. And you. This isn’t like you, Crae. If you aren’t careful, you will lose any chance of gaining property. You’ve turned from your lord, your friend. A bad attachment can change everything. Think, Crae.”

  He waited for his anger to settle. When he could speak, he bit off the words, “Thanks. I will.”

  He walked off, wanting nothing more than to ride off from all of them, Stavin, Jessamy, and Lynn included, and never be found again, the whole world be damned.

  Crae stepped outside the huge house, hoping to clear his head in the winter wind. The day was clear, but clouds clustered on the horizon, dark and blue, the kind that brought snow. It was too cold to brood outside, so he hurried over to the barn, pulling the heavy doors closed behind him, surrounding himself in the warm, close odors of horses, sheep, and hay.

  A small figure came running down the aisle when she saw him. “Captain Crae!” said Tevani, and barreled full tilt into his arms for a hug. He scooped her up, her thick jacket swallowing her. She had only one mitten. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her sandy hair had come unbraided from under her thick hat.

  "Greetings, Tev.”

  "Hi! Okay!”

  He stared at her, puzzled. She giggled.

  “I got new words from Lynna.”

  He laughed ruefully. So, she had already left her mark. Tevani wriggled down. “Come see my pony.”

  She had shown him her pony every day that they had been at Trieve. Crae admired the small pony in a little stall with a goat. Both animals were curled up together, the pony not much bigger than the goat.

  “Will he grow big like the white horse?”

  Crae shook his head. “He’ll stay small for you. Then when you get bigger, you can ride the big horses.”

  “But I want to ride the big horse now.” She stared down at the little scene with a wrinkled brow.

  “Well, Tev, that’s up to Lord Stavin. When your father comes home, he can decide if you are ready to ride his horse.” Crae heard his own words and frowned. When had Stavin gotten a white horse? He had brought his usual string to Red Gold Bridge. “Tevani, what white horse?”

  “He lives with the sheep. Sometimes I see him in the morning from my window. But when the dogs go out to bring in the sheep, he flies over the fence and gallops away.”

  Lynn slipped her vest over her borrowed shirt, trying to avoid moving her broken arm. Underneath the wrappings and the splint, her arm was bruised and swollen but not infected, and the rigid support of the rustic splint kept the pain bearable. She zipped up her vest to her chin. The House of Trieve was cold. A constant draft blew from every corner. On the little chair in the corner lay her white riding shirt, unwearable now that she had a bulky splint. One of the ladies had washed and mended it yet again, the tiny stitching along the seam almost machine perfect. She had replaced a plastic button with a small white one that Lynn, inspecting, identified as a bit of wood, polished and carved. She swept her hand over it. The shirt had lost its crispness, the collar limp and the cuffs frayed. Lynn couldn’t wait until sh
e could wear it again.

  Still, her borrowed clothes were warmer, she had to admit. Her thick skirt and leggings and heavy overblouse with its placket that fastened on her shoulder were designed for this weather. She brushed her hair back with a brush left on the mantel over the fireplace, working through it awkwardly with one hand. She was the only woman without a kerchief, as she noticed at breakfast. Tevani, Jessamy’s little girl, had stared at her the whole time, her eyes wide as she looked from her mother to Lynn and back again. Lynn had tried to talk to her but gave up after it was clear that Jessamy—Lady Trieve, thank you—did not approve.

  Lady Trieve had not approved of Lynn at all.

  Just the thought of it, that she was accused of being . . . lesser. Like I didn’t get enough of that with Mrs. Hunt and Howie Fleming, she thought, wincing as the brush caught on a snarl. Maybe that’s why it bothered her so much.

  Joe used to say, “Just let it slide. You can’t stop them, and they don’t have the truth of the matter anyway.”

  “Yeah, but—” she’d say, and he’d shush her, taking her face in his hands so he could kiss her. Lynn could almost feel that kiss. She closed her eyes for a moment and raised her face, pretending with all her heart that Joe kissed her softly on the mouth, so softly she ached for a real kiss. Instead, a cold draft drizzled in through the shuttered windows, making the lamps gutter.

  “I miss you,” she said into the little room. “I’m trying to get back. I’m just so lost.”

  Lost and at Crae’s mercy. She liked to think she wasn’t, liked to fool herself that she was a valued member of his team, riding with him on his mission to find the guardians. But she knew that she was a charge, not a partner. Her success with the crossbow was pure luck, nothing else. He had brought her here so he could dump her safely and go off on his own. Lynn had a sudden, panicked thought of being in this cold place for years, not quite guest, not quite servant, never going home, the crazy auntie in the spare bedroom.

  The gordath closed against her forever.

  Her hair was as smooth as she could make it. She let it drape over her shoulder, wishing she could braid it or pin it with her barrette.

  A knock came on the door. Calyne, she thought hopefully. Maybe the woman could help. She twisted the ornate doorknob and pulled it open. Crae stood there.

  For an instant they stared at each other. He had cleaned up, too, and shaved. He wore a pale brown shirt, a thick vest of dark green, and dark trousers that bloused over his boots. Ohhhh, she thought.

  “I think we found your horse.”

  Over Crae’s protests, Lynn rode out alone to bring in Dungiven. She wondered if the horse would remember her. He probably would, but whether that would bring him in after so many weeks of running alone, she couldn’t say. They had had what she would call a professional relationship; she made his life routine and comfortable, and he sprang over fences and won ribbons. She couldn’t say that they had ever bonded.

  Well, we’ll see, she thought, hunkered down in the saddle, her broken arm tucked under her heavy borrowed jacket, half cloak, half coat, that hung down over her knees. Calyne had found thick leggings for her, and a wool hat and gloves. She was so bundled up she could barely get into the saddle, but she was thankful for the gear when she got out into the wind. Silk walked with her head down against the weather, her mane blowing back. Tiny snowflakes pricked at her cheeks.

  The broad, rocky field sloped first down into a valley and then up the other side, scattered with rocks and covered with brown and gray grass. She turned with difficulty to look back at the house. It rose above her, a dark structure blocking out the sky.

  God, it felt good to ride out alone. She had been so constrained by her position of dependence, and she had to face it, Crae himself was a distraction. He had wanted to come with her, but she had argued that he would only scare Dungiven away.

  Lynn urged Silk into the small valley, and they wound around to the fence Tevani had talked about. The fence followed the hillside down into the ravine and then made its crooked way up the other side, disappearing over the knob. A simple gate, about four feet high, buckled the two sides. The terrain was flat and the approach clear. Lynn knew that was where Dungiven was jumping. Sure enough, his big hoofprints marked the ground. Lynn clucked to Silk and pushed the mare toward the gate. She bent and unlatched it one-handed, and urged Silk through, then turned the mare and closed it behind her, slipping the cord over the top of the post.

  “Where to now?” she said into the wind. It was snowing harder and her feet, as wrapped as they were, had begun to freeze. Of her own accord Silk began plodding around the base of the knob. The wind faltered a bit as they got out of the ravine and behind the small hill, and the trail they had been following led downward. Silk got her haunches under her and slid; Lynn rode it easily. The terrain spread out again into another field. Lynn halted Silk and scanned the area. The day was getting dark; the snow and late afternoon made it hard to see.

  Silk suddenly lifted her nose and neighed, her sides quivering with effort. From out of the gathering twilight came another clear, bell-like neigh and the sound of hoofbeats.

  Dungiven came trotting out of the darkening day, his ghostly gray color looming in the twilight and the snow. He floated in the high carrying trot that horses in the wild have, his head and tail held high. He stopped when he saw them, and snorted. He breathed in, scenting them, and his ears and eyes fixed on Lynn.

  He was huge. His winter coat had come in. Usually he’d be clipped and rugged up at Hunter’s Chase. Here he looked enormous, his coat a dirty, yellowish gray. He had lost weight, but he was still enormous—seventeen hands and bulky despite his sunken flanks. His eyes and nostrils were dark, and his tail brushed the ground.

  She dismounted and left Silk standing with one rein trailing on the ground. She didn’t want to spook him by bringing a strange horse over to him, but she also wanted to leave Silk as bait. He watched her come, and his nostrils flared over and over as if he were remembering her by scent.

  He let her approach, and she reached out and touched his neck. He quivered, but he bent his head until they were eye to eye. Lynn rested her head against his strong, thick neck, and they stayed like that for a long time, her forehead touching his rough mane. Finally he nudged her with his massive head. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of this wind.” One-handed, she slipped the halter over his big head and clucked to him. He walked beside her as if they had never been apart.

  It was full dark by the time they made it back to the barn, Lynn riding Silk and leading Dungiven, following the beacon of a lantern hanging over the barn doorway. At their approach someone pushed the door open and shut it behind them once they were inside. The dim light and warmth made Lynn sigh with comfort and weariness. The small crowd of grooms murmured at the sight of the big horse. Crae came forward from the aisle between stalls. He looked astonished, his mouth open in a little O of surprise. He touched Dungiven on the neck, as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. Lynn watched with a tired smile. She knew the effect the horse had.

  “Welcome to Trieve,” Crae said. He looked at Lynn. “I heard the stories. I know what you told me. But seeing him—”

  “I know.” She nodded. “He took me that way when I first saw him. And he’s not even at his best right now.” You should see him at a show.

  Crae just nodded.

  The head stableman said, “We have a box for him with good forage. He’ll be warm.”

  “Thanks.” Lynn handed him the lead rope. Another groom took Silk, and she watched the horses go off to warm stalls and hay. She glanced up at Crae and half laughed, suddenly full of joy. “That idiot. Staying out there in that weather. Why on earth didn’t he invite himself in?”

  “He was waiting for you.”

  His simple statement took her by surprise, and she felt heat creep up her cheeks. Crae cocked his head at the door.

  “Let’s go in. The evening meal will be soon.”

  “No, I think I’m g
oing to stay here for a bit. I’ll be in soon though.”

  She shivered in the blast of cold air that Crae let in when he slipped out of the barn, but was soon absorbed in the peaceful sight of Dungiven eating hay, his jaw moving steadily under his thick white fur, one black hoof pushed forward by his nose.

  The warmth of the barn and the peacefulness of the horses, their steady noises, their calm presence, gave Lynn a sense of warmth and peace herself. She leaned on the low wall of the stall and watched him eat.

  She had told Crae that Dungiven wasn’t at his best, but she thought she might have been wrong about that. Seeing him out there in the snow and the wind, his tail sweeping the ground . . .

  Something wild had been captured that night and put away safe.

  Lynn sighed and pushed herself away from the wall. He was only a horse, after all, a creature of simple requirements and no regrets. She could do well to adopt his attitude and forget the sense of freedom she had felt by riding alone.

  Sixteen

  The night of the first raid on the smithies, Tiurlin had her baby. Kate heard about it afterwards—all the women talked about it, their voices full of “Poor thing” and “Who’s the father, can you tell?”

  “That’s women’s work,” Talios told her when she asked him why he hadn’t attended the birth. “They wouldn’t want me there.” Kate, who had heard her mother’s story about her experience—high-risk pregnancy, toxemia, and emergency C-section—shuddered. She resolutely stayed away from the women’s tents, but in the end, they found her anyway.

  The door flap to the surgeon’s tent swung open, and Kate looked up from one of Talios’s books that she had been struggling to decode. Oriani, the armorer’s wife, ducked inside. The older woman looked tired and stressed. She pushed back graying strands of hair under her tattered kerchief. “Oh, Kett. There you are. If Talios can spare you, can you sit with Tiurlin and the baby for awhile? We’re all at our wits’ end. She can’t be left alone, poor thing, and I’ve got a cooking pot to tend.”

  Kate hesitated. “Umm, I don’t know.” She looked at Talios over the surgery table, where he was cooking up drafts.