by Peter Grant
Owain’s frown cleared. “Thank you, my lord. That will be very helpful. It’ll also allow you to speak with him tonight, once the poppy juice wears off. He’ll be glad of the opportunity.”
“Then that’s settled. You can do me a favor, though, if you will. Please send word about anything you learn from those scrolls that may affect my people. If the Graben are becoming more aggressive, we’ll need to do more to protect ourselves.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Garath’s the child of my second marriage,” the Baron said, glancing at his son. “He was born much later than the first two. My firstborn son’s a Major in the Border Guard, stationed on the far side of the Kingdom. His superiors are careful to keep him there, away from any dynastic dispute with the Earl of Elspeth. My daughter’s married to the son of the Baron of Ringill. I’ve warned her to stay there and keep her head down until this affair is resolved. Garath, though… he refused to be sent away when Elspeth invaded, and demanded to stay with me, to help defend me if necessary. He needs more seasoning than I can give him here, but if he gets it, he’ll grow into a fine man.” He looked at the Champion thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose I could prevail on you to take him with you for a while, for that purpose? I’d send one man-at-arms with him as well, to act as his orderly.”
“I don’t want to leave you, Father!” Garath objected at once.
“My son, if you’re to become all I know you can be, you need to be exposed to more than you’ll get here. I should have sent you as a squire to another noble house several years ago, but after Elspeth’s invasion that became impossible. No other lord would risk the Earl’s wrath by taking you. Besides,” and his face twisted in distaste, “far too many of them will seize any chance to benefit themselves at the expense of others. They’ll do anything they think they can get away with, regardless of whether it’s right or good.”
“Your father’s right,” Owain said soberly. “He’s one of the few lords I’ll trust to do the right thing, even at his own expense. There are precious few barons of whom I’d say that, and no earls or dukes, even those I’ll admit are competent.”
The Baron nodded. “Thank you for saying that.” He looked back at his son. “What Owain can teach you, better than anyone else I know, is the meaning of integrity, steadfastness and courage. He’s long been the standard-bearer for those values among the people of the Kingdom. The common folk may tolerate the nobles who rule over them, and even like some of us, but they regard him with awe. He’s one of their own who rose to the heights of fame.”
Owain flushed. “I think you’re being over-generous in your praise, my lord.”
“Not at all. When you stepped down, you stated publicly that you didn’t want to be a burden on the public purse during times of peace, when a Champion wasn’t needed. Almost anyone else would have gladly grabbed every benefit and privilege he could from the Crown, and held on to them with both hands. You gave it all up and walked away, content to live a simpler life. The more venal nobles sneered at you, but the late King publicly praised your integrity. That’s why he didn’t appoint a replacement for you, but declared you Champion Emeritus, retaining all the rights and authority of your position, and able to take it up again any time you choose. It was in part thanks to your example that my eldest son chose to enter the Border Guard, rather than one of the more fashionable regiments. He told me that if he was going to be a ‘burden on the public purse’ as an officer – yes, he quoted you word for word – he wanted to earn his keep, and render a real service to the people.”
Owain nodded slowly. “I’m glad to hear he took that view. It’s true that the Border Guard does useful work almost all the time, unlike most of the rest of the Army, which merely plays at soldiering until it’s needed to fight a war.”
“Yes.” The Baron turned back to Garath. “Besides, I can’t teach you everything else a nobleman should know – not in the absence of tutors, masters at arms, and all the other facilities we used to have at Brackley House, to say nothing of exposure at court.”
“But Owain can’t do that either – begging your pardon, Master Champion, of course.”
Owain waved his arm dismissively to show he’d taken no offense as the Baron replied, “It’s more important to me to see you grow into a true man, one of whom I can be proud. The rest we’ll worry about later. What say you, King’s Champion?”
“Very well, my lord. If Garath’s agreeable, he can accompany me for a time; but there’s one condition. I’m in charge. He takes my orders without hesitation or dissent. Any disobedience or dispute whatsoever, and I’ll send him back to you at once.”
Brackley nodded firmly. “I’d expect nothing less. If it makes it easier, I commissioned him as a Lieutenant in my Baronial Guard. As King’s Champion, even Emeritus, you’re the titular Colonel-in-Chief of the Royal Bodyguard. You don’t exercise that authority at present, but it’s nevertheless perfectly real, and puts you in the military chain of command of the Kingdom. Garath, the Champion is your superior officer, and you’ll take his orders. Clear?”
“Quite clear.” He looked at Owain. “I’m not happy to leave my father like this, but I see his point. If you’ll have me, King’s Champion, I’ll travel with you until you tire of me.”
“Very well. Remember, though, I may be in great danger. I don’t know whether I’ll live long enough to provide the seasoning your father thinks you need. You may well be at mortal hazard, just through being in my presence. My lord, are you prepared to risk his life like that?”
The Baron snorted. “Elspeth would kill us all in a heartbeat, if he could find us. The only reason he hasn’t is that our people won’t tell him where we are. Every time he sends out patrols to look for us, they tell us where they’re going, so we can ambush or avoid them as we see fit. Then, there are the Graben raiders. Their town of Durgan is only twenty leagues from us as the gruefell flies, and they’ve raided this area off and on for several years. Garath’s as likely to die a violent death here as he is with you.”
“Not quite as likely, perhaps, but I understand. Very well, I’ll do my best for him and for you, my lord – and my best to keep him alive, so he can benefit from what he learns.”
“That’s good enough for me. Thank you, Owain. How much will you need to support him?”
“Nothing, my lord. Those Graben raiders gave me the richest booty I’ve ever won. Let them pay for his needs. I’ll buy anything he lacks in Atheldorn, and give him a small stipend.”
“That’s very generous of you – and I must admit, it appeals to my sense of the fitness of things to have our enemies pay for his upkeep.” They smiled at each other, then the Baron turned to his son. “Who do you want as your orderly?”
“I’ll take Maran, if you can spare him.”
“Aye, he’ll serve you well.” Glancing at Owain, he explained, “He was a corporal when Elspeth invaded. He’d be a troop sergeant by now, if we had a troop of horse. He’s a good man.” He looked back at his son. “Go and get him, then pack what you’ll need.”
“We travel light,” Owain warned. “Bring only what you each can fit into a backpack and a pair of saddlebags, and your favorite weapons, too. You’re likely to need them.”
As Garath walked towards the hut, he turned to the Baron. “Speaking of weapons, how do you intend to hold off raiders on gruefells if they should pay you a visit?”
The other shrugged. “It takes an arbalest with a steel prod to do any real damage to them. Composite horse bows aren’t powerful enough to penetrate their scales except at close range, and crossbows aren’t much better. I have only four arbalests – the rest were seized in the castle armory by Elspeth’s men. The arbalestiers will have to do what they can, and we’ve got caltrops ready to strew across the ground where gruefells might land if we get sufficient warning. We’ll take our stand at the edge of the clearing, where the brush and trees are too thick for gruefells, forcing the raiders to dismount and fight us on foot.”
“I think I c
an help a little.” Owain took the quiver from his belt and emptied it onto the table. “Let me count… yes, there are fifteen bolts here. The raider from whom I took this arbalest started with eighteen, all coated with Graben poison. Take these, my lord. Give three each to your four arbalestiers, and the last three to Diava for use with his crossbow, in case he should need them on his journey to rejoin me. Warn them all to be very, very careful in handling them, and never to touch the heads if they have an open wound on their hands. If they get the poison on their skin, they must wash it off at once. They must reserve these bolts for use against gruefells alone, and store them separately from their others to make sure the poison doesn’t contaminate them.”
“Won’t you need them yourself?”
“Not while walking back to our wagons – the brush and trees on either side of the footpath grow far too thickly to use any sort of bow. The raider had more bolts in his baggage, plus a jar of poison. I’ll prepare replacements when we get back.”
“Very well. Thank you. I’ll distribute them at the evening muster.”
“Tell your arbalestiers to let the gruefells get close enough that they can aim at major blood vessels – the heart and lungs, in the hollow behind the foreleg, or the neck. That way the poison will take effect quickly. Anywhere else will slow the beast and cause it great pain, but won’t kill it as fast. It might still be dangerous as it thrashes around.”
“I’ll tell them.”
Owain reached into his belt pouch and counted out ten gold coins. “I don’t have more with me, my lord, but your son said something about levying toll from travelers crossing your former domains. I hope this will help buy the supplies you need from the monastery.”
“I can’t take your gold, man!”
“It’s not my gold. It’s Graben loot. I’ve plenty more where that came from.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, thank you very much.” The Baron scooped the coins into his purse. “They’ll be very useful to us. We normally get no more than a couple of silver pieces from a group like yours.”
Owain squinted up at the bright sky. “There’s one other thing, my lord. Your camp can easily be observed by gruefells far away – their eyesight is very sharp. I’m sure that’s how they found Sigurd’s cairn, by following me so far away that I couldn’t see them. If they want to raid you, they’ll know where to find you.”
“That’s why we stand to at dawn and dusk, just as we used to do in the Army. The Graben have preferred to raid at those times in the past, so we prepare for it as best we can.”
“A good idea.”
Garath came up, accompanied by Maran, both wearing backpack, sword and dagger, with saddlebags slung over their shoulders. Garath had a composite bow and quiver of arrows tied to his pack. He carried a quarterstaff, while Maram used the butt of a spear as his walking staff.
“We’re ready, Father,” the young man announced. There was a slight tremor in his voice.
The Baron rose and embraced him. “Owain will take good care of you,” he assured his son. “I think you’ll learn a lot from him, and come out of this a far better man.” He transferred his gaze to the man-at-arms. “Maran, I entrust my son to your care. You’re not just his orderly, but his bodyguard as well. Try to keep him alive and safe for me, will you?”
The soldier grinned. “I’ll do my best, my lord, provided I can stop him chasing every nubile young thing in sight. I can only handle so many outraged fathers and brothers!”
The Baron laughed. “I’d best be careful what I say to that. I sowed my share of wild oats when I was his age.”
“There, you see, Father? I’m merely following your good example,” Garath observed cheekily.
“Be off with you, you scamp! Write to me in care of the monastery when you can, and let me know where I can send letters to you.”
As they crossed the clearing once more, heading for the forest trail, Garath asked, “Will we travel further today?”
“Yes.” Owain glanced up at the sky. “It’ll be mid-afternoon by the time we reach the wagons. We’ll eat quickly, and I’ll prepare more bolts for my arbalest; then we’ll push on till dark, making a cold camp along the trail. With luck, we’ll reach the monastery by noon tomorrow.”
VI
“So he continues to evade us?”
The speaker was one of five black-clad figures, faces hidden beneath the cowls of their robes. It was pitch black inside the stone circle, despite the twilight outside.
“I fear so. I am most dissatisfied with the performance of young Karikan. He allowed himself to be misled by the presence of the Champion’s favorite horse in his stable. Even though he did not see Owain for two full days, he did not think anything might be amiss, because he assumed that he would be where his horse was. By the time he realized something was wrong, Owain was gone. We have no idea where he may be. Scrying spells cannot locate him on the main roads to Kingsholme or Atheldorn, which are his most likely destinations. I ordered Karikan to set up a watch on the approaches to both places, so we may be warned if Owain draws near to them. If he is found, we are holding at instant readiness a patrol of four gruefells and their riders, to kill him before he can reach safety. They will bring us anything he is carrying.”
“And the patrol you sent to investigate at the inn?”
“Fruitless. The scrolls, money, ashes and sword are not there. They confirmed that Prince Ilvan was among the dead, through a half-melted signet ring on his finger. Looters had not noticed it, or decided it was too damaged to be worth taking. What is much worse, from our point of view, is that his torc was not on his body. All the remaining Graben princes had been ordered most strictly never to wear their torcs in any situation where they might be captured or killed, for fear that an enemy might obtain them and learn their secrets. His torc was missing from his rooms, so we had hoped against hope we would find it at the inn. Now we must assume that Owain has it. He will not know of its powers, of course, but if he should find out…”
The other four figures shook their heads in dismayed unison. One said sourly, “So Prince Ilvan disobeyed a direct order to avoid habitations, and disobeyed another concerning his torc. What of the other Graben Princes? Are they, perhaps, equally disobedient whenever the fancy takes them?”
“It may be time to make another example of an unworthy servant – perhaps even one of our own – to demonstrate to them once more the dire consequences of disobedience or failure.”
“Karikan comes to mind.”
“I am not sure.” The speaker’s voice was pensive. “Very few Graben have demonstrated an aptitude for sorcery, so we have all too few trained followers. Can we afford to lose Karikan? He has failed us, to be sure, but that was partly due to inexperience. We may have been premature in allowing him to operate unsupervised. I have already reprimanded him most severely, and imposed additional disciplinary measures upon him.”
Another spoke. “What if we find a difficult and dangerous task for him, one that will test him to the utmost? If he succeeds, let us excuse his past errors. If he fails, let him pay with his life, in the utmost extremity of agony, as a punishment and an example to the Graben princes. What say you, fellow Masters?”
There was a murmur of agreement among his colleagues.
“Very well,” the first agreed. “I –”
He was interrupted by the rapid crunch of running feet approaching along the graveled path. Karikan burst into the circle, skidded to a halt, and made a hasty, perfunctory obeisance.
“Owain has been sighted, Master! A gruefell and its rider were keeping watch over the approaches to Atheldorn, as you instructed. It made a pass near the encampment of the former Baron of Brackley, and recognized the Champion seated with him, eating and talking. Its rider did not try to get any closer, for fear that he and his mount would be seen. Instead, he returned to his base at Durgan to report. He arrived there not ten minutes ago. Upon hearing his news, Margash immediately spellcast it to me.”
A buzz of anticipation ran
through his five superiors. “At last! Now we have him!” one exclaimed.
“Not so fast,” their leader demurred. “We know the Baron has up to two score men-at-arms still in his service. We cannot send just one patrol to attack his camp. We shall have to gather several patrols from different bases, and use them as a combined force. Also, that encampment is spread out around a large clearing in the forest. That will make it difficult to find Owain if he is not in plain sight. On the other hand, it will also help us, because it will be hard for the Baron’s men to come together quickly to resist our attack. Our forces will have to kill everyone they meet, to ensure the Champion does not escape. When the killing is over they can look for his body, and seek what he took from Prince Ilvan and his bodyguards.”
“Then let us do that!” another exclaimed impatiently. “Owain must have traveled through the Wald to avoid detection. That would have slowed his progress. Considering when he must have left his home, he probably arrived at the Baron’s camp this very day. He will almost certainly leave tomorrow for the last leg of his journey to the monastery. We have no time to lose!”
The other considered, then nodded reluctantly. “I do not like to move in such haste, but you are right. If we attack at dawn he will probably be outside, getting ready to leave. That is his usual practice when traveling. It will make it easier to locate and identify him.” He turned to Karikan. “This is your chance to atone for your previous errors. Order the gruefell patrols from all nearby bases to report to Durgan. It will take the furthest of them several hours to cover the distance, but they should all be assembled by the second hour after midnight. Use a gruefell to get to Durgan yourself, take command of the force, and head for Brackley’s camp. It will take the gruefells three hours to fly there. Time your arrival to attack at dawn tomorrow. Locate the Champion, kill him and bring his body back here, along with everything he was carrying and everything on his horse or in his wagon, whatever he is using. Safeguard your gruefells at all costs! With two already killed, we cannot afford to lose any more mature animals. The younger ones, even those whose training is furthest advanced, will not be ready until next winter. It takes years to develop the mental bond between beast and rider.”