by Martin Owton
CHAPTER SIX
Aron recognised the inn as soon as it came into view round a bend in the muddy track that was the main highway to Nandor. Up behind it was the paddock where, about a year ago, he had faced down half a dozen caravan guards intent on lynching Davo. This time tomorrow he would be in Nandor. A wave of anxiety swept through him as he contemplated the reception he would receive.
I’d rather face those caravan guards again than Lady Alice, Maldwyn and Edith - particularly Edith.
He sat for a moment chilled by the unhappy thought, then set his jaw grimly.
Remember what’s important here. This doesn’t matter measured against the danger Celaine is in. He had continued to dream of her every night, though with diminished intensity, and each time felt he had failed to deliver reassurance. At least that means she’s still alive.
The windows of the inn glowed with a comforting yellow gleam in the dusk. They had private rooms he recalled, mentally weighing his purse. Perhaps tonight he would sleep in a comfortable bed and have warm water to shave with tomorrow morning. Thanks to the generosity of Dirick, Barn and Orlis his money had lasted well. They had paid his basic board and lodging all the way to Sarazan, and he had bid farewell to them with genuine regret; even Orlis had melted somewhat and talked to him.
He put his heels to his mare, which had taken advantage of his inattention to graze a clump of grass and resented Aron’s attempts to move her along. You’ll soon be in a warm stable, getting fed and rubbed down, so you can trot for your supper these last few yards.
The stableyard was far busier than Aron had expected. It was quickly apparent that his mare would have to wait for her feed and rub down. Nevertheless Aron paid the ostler and, looking forward to a bath, went to buy a room.
“No rooms I’m afraid, Master,” said the innkeeper. “We’re full. I can give you a pallet in one of the dormitories.”
“Unusual for this time of year,” said Aron.
“Aye well. It’s all the landholders going up to Nandor to kiss hands with the Earl.”
“Why now?”
Aron knew instantly by the innkeeper’s expression that everyone save himself knew the answer. “I’ve been on the road a long time,” he said. “Just come in from Sarazan.”
The innkeeper’s expression softened. “You’re not to know,” he said. “Earl Baldwin was ambushed and slain nine days back on the road north of here. They burned him two nights ago, and now every man that held land of him has to go to pledge his allegiance to his son, Maldwyn.”
Nine days ago, thought Aron. Yes, that was right. That was when I first dreamed of Celaine.
“Who killed him?”
“No-one knows for sure. Bandits they say, but there never were such bold bandits in Nandor. And why would they take the Lady Celaine?” The innkeeper lowered his voice as if telling a secret. “’Tis my belief Lord Tancred was behind it.”
“Lord Tancred?” The idea had a terrible resonance about it. Tancred could very well be responsible for this.
“Earl Baldwin’s nephew. ‘Tis no secret to anyone that he fancied being Earl Tancred. Had him here once, ‘bout a year ago. Put his hand up my daughter’s skirt.”
That sounded like the Tancred Aron remembered. I should have killed him when I had the chance. “Has there been any word since about the Lady Celaine?” he asked, though he knew the answer.
“Nothing that I believe,” said the innkeeper. “They’re probably holding her for ransom, poor child.”
At that moment more travellers came in ending the conversation. Aron paid for a pallet in the dormitory, picked up his pack and headed for the taproom. Sitting in a corner by the fire with a bowl of mutton stew and a mug of ale, he thought about what he had learned.
So Celaine is indeed in the deepest danger. This isn’t a wasted journey then. Is she then being taken to Keshan? I see no reason to doubt it, the rest of the dreams seem true enough. He took a mouthful of ale. Maldwyn’s Earl of Nandor now. That’ll make this a bit easier. He’ll be glad to see me, I think. So will Lady Alice, though seeing Edith again will be difficult. He took another mouthful of ale and sat staring into the fire as he thought about seeing Lady Edith again. Eventually he turned away from the fire. This is taking me nowhere. He put down his mug and reaching for the cooling bowl of stew. I need to think about how to rescue Celaine.
***
The next morning was bright and mild as Aron rode out from the inn in the company of at least a dozen other riders, all heading for Nandor Town. None of the other riders spoke to Aron, and several turned their eyes away when he looked towards them. They were, he observed, all rather better dressed then he was; in sober green and brown woollen tunics and cloaks. Compared to them, he was distinctly threadbare and travel-stained. He had shaved at the inn, but it was difficult to disguise the fact that he had been travelling for nine days in the same clothes.
Aron reached Nandor Town in the middle of the afternoon, still having not spoken to his fellow travellers. He rode past the Black Lamb and wondered if the tavernkeeper would remember him. He thought briefly about going in for a mug of ale to settle his nerves, but kept riding up the main street which was clotted with mud much as he remembered.
At the top of the street a crowd milled about with riders dismounting and looking for somewhere to tether their mounts, self-important landholders demanding fodder and water for their horses. Aron turned back down the street to where he knew there was an inn with a stableyard where he left his mare then returned on foot. Pushing his way through, he joined the line of people waiting to pass into the castle. The gatehouse was hung about with scaffolding, with workmen labouring to renew the pointing of the stonework. The guards were arguing with a portly man who wanted to tether his horse to one of the uprights and, as Aron watched, one of them gave the fellow a solid shove that toppled him into the mud. Everyone looked at their feet as the fellow picked himself up and led his horse slowly away muttering curses.
The line shuffled slowly through the gate under the gaze of a number of hard-eyed men in Nandor livery. Aron recognised some, but there was no hint of returned recognition. They must have hired some new guardsmen, he thought. I hope they’re better trained now.
Beyond the gate the reason for the slow progress became apparent. Each party had to pass a table where an grey-haired man sat with a scroll, inkpot and ledger. Aron recognised him as Tumas, steward to the Earl of Nandor. As Aron watched, a red-faced father and his two strapping sons stepped forward. The father spoke with Tumas who opened the ledger, ran his finger slowly down the page and carefully wrote something on the scroll. More words were exchanged then the father yelled, “How much?”
The guards reacted immediately moving to surround the three men and hustle them away.
“What’s this?” asked a craggy bearded man behind Aron. “Didn’t do this when we came to kiss hands with Earl Baldwin.”
“Looks like they’re checking you’ve paid your tithes,” said another man in the line.
The craggy man made a sharp intake of breath, which Aron took to mean that he had neglected his payment, possibly for a few years. Clever. I’ll wager Lady Alice is behind this. The line shuffled propelling Aron to the front.
“Next,” called Tumas and Aron stepped up to the table.
“What is your holding?” asked Tumas without looking up.
“I don’t have one,” said Aron.
“Then what are you doing here?” Tumas peered up at Aron, and Aron realised that the clerk was too short-sighted to recognise him.
“I’m Aron of Darien. I was the champion of Nandor last summer. I fought Mikael of Sarazan in the arena in the Holy City.”
Tumas craned his neck forward and squinted at Aron, shading his eyes against the spring sunshine with an ink-stained hand. “Ah right, yes. So you are. Didn’t recognise you. Good thing you’re here. You’d better go up and see young Maldwyn. He’s in the main hall. You know the way, don’t you?”
Aron stepped away from the ta
ble, drew a deep breath and headed for the steps that ascended the castle mound. At the top of the steps a liveried guard stopped him; Aron recognised him as Thomi, one of the soldiers who had accompanied him on the mission to rescue Maldwyn last year.
“Master Aron.” Thomi’s face lit up in recognition. “Thought it were you coming up the steps. Mighty glad to see you, times is bad ‘ere. You heard about Baldwin and Lady Celaine?”
“I did. That’s why I’m here.” Aron took his outstretched hand and grasped it firmly.
“First good news we’ve had in a while. Everyone’ll be glad you’re here.”
Everyone? “Don’t know what I can do to help, but it’s good to be here.”
“Hold on here just a moment. There’s someone in with Master Maldwyn.” Thomi looked away a moment and shook his head. “Can’t get used to calling him Earl.”
The door started to open, Aron and Thomi stepped back as two ruddy-cheeked men dressed in similar dark woollen tunics came out and silently climbed down the steps.
“In you go now,” said Thomi.
His anxieties soothed a little by Thomi’s welcome, Aron stepped through the doorway. The hall was lit more brightly than he ever remembered; clusters of candles filled the room with golden light. The floor was strewn with fresh straw and the worst of the old tapestries had been removed.
Lady Alice’s hand again, no doubt, thought Aron. The place looks quite grand and smells much better.
The new Earl of Nandor sat at the far end of the hall on a fine carved chair of dark wood; Lady Alice stood beside the chair. There was a moment’s pause as they both looked at Aron then Maldwyn sprang from his seat and galloped down the hall, arms outstretched.
“Aron! Thank the Gods.” He flung his arms around Aron and lifted him off his feet.
When Aron’s feet were back on the floor he was facing Lady Alice. Her greeting was more restrained but just as heartfelt. She took his hands in hers and looked him squarely in the face, her blue eyes rimmed with red.
“You’re the first good thing that has happened in ten days,” she said hoarsely, gripping his hands so firmly that Aron thought it must have been hurting her. “We are so very glad to see you.”
“You’ve heard all that has happened?” asked Maldwyn.
“Some,” replied Aron. “But I’m missing some details for certain.”
“I must finish greeting my people,” said Maldwyn. “We can talk later when I’m done.”
“Have you eaten recently?” asked Lady Alice. “I can send to the kitchen for something for you.”
“Breakfast was a long time ago,” admitted Aron. He suddenly felt weary as the tension drained out of him.
“Come upstairs,” said Lady Alice. “I’ll have a guest room made ready for you.” Aron was very conscious that she retained her hold on his hand as she moved towards the staircase that led to the upper floors of the keep. On the lowest step she turned and smiled. “I think there’s someone upstairs who has been waiting to see you.”
Aron felt suddenly as if the sun had risen in his heart as she released his hand and he followed her up the stairs.
Lady Alice paused before a half-open door and knocked firmly. “Edith. You have a visitor.”
“If it’s cousin Arnulf again, tell him I don’t want to see him,” came the reply. “Better still tell him I’ve got the plague.”
Aron smiled; Edith did not seem to have lost much of her spirit.
“I know better than to let Arnulf in here again,” said Lady Alice pushing the door open. “This is not Arnulf.”
Aron slipped past Lady Alice into the parlour. Edith, wearing a woollen dress of faded blue, sat on a stool beside the fire, an embroidery frame on her knees. She looked up as Aron stepped into the room. For one moment her mouth dropped open with surprise, then in the next she hurled the frame at his head. Aron ducked as it whizzed past his ear to clatter against the wall. Edith sprang at him, her hands outstretched. She aimed a wild blow at his face, Aron caught her by the wrists, but a slippered foot caught him hard just below the knee. He gasped in pain and another kick landed beside the first. He tried to turn her to pin her against the wall, but slipped on a cushion and they tumbled to the floor with Edith on top of him.
“Stop! Milady!” The horrified voice brought Edith’s assault to an end.
Aron looked up to see a maidservant holding a jug, behind her was a second with a cloth-covered tray. Edith climbed off him as the maids laid their burdens on the table. They kept their eyes lowered, but Aron knew that it would be the talk of the servant’s hall. He stood up, his leg throbbing. I deserved that.
“Let them talk,” said Edith as the servants closed the door. He looked at her but she would not meet his gaze. Her cheeks, previously rosy, seemed pale and she was certainly thinner than last year.
“How is it you’re here, now?” she said.
“Ten days ago I dreamed of Celaine. She was in the deepest peril. A truedream it seems. I set out immediately and have been riding ever since.”
“Have you dreamed of her since?”
“Every night, though none as strong as the first.”
“She is alive then. Thanks be to Iduna.”
“I believe so, if my dreaming of her means anything.”
“She is alive.”
She turned away from him and reached for the door.
“I’m glad you’re here. We need you,” she said, still not looking at him and left the room closing the door with a bang.
Aron removed the cloth from the tray to reveal a loaf of fresh bread, sheepsmilk cheese, thick slices of boiled ham and a jug of strong ale. He reached for the jug; his appetite had vanished.
What did you expect? That she would fall into your arms? After you left with just a note? This is all your own doing. He poured a mug of ale and sat down to rub his bruised leg.
***
“It is a long road from Laranda,” said Lady Alice.
“It is,” Aron said. He was still in the parlour with Edith, Lady Alice and Maldwyn. Edith sat as far away from him as possible in the small room. Outside the twilight was deepening into night. “But the dream was so clear, so urgent that it could only be a truedream.”
“Did you learn anything more from the dreams?” asked Maldwyn.
“One thing only. They are taking her to Keshan.”
“Iduna save her,” said Lady Alice, her face suddenly pale in the lamplight.
“That place has a bad name,” said Maldwyn. “Is it truly as evil as I’ve heard?”
“I’ve never been there,” said Aron. “But I’ve heard many tales of it from people who have. No city could be as bad as the tales make it, but it is a not a good place. There is no law there, and you can buy just about anything. If you want a band of mercenaries, a dozen concubines or a renegade mage than Keshan is the place.”
“How did it get to be like that?” asked Maldwyn.
Aron looked at him in surprise; he thought the story of Keshan was well known.
“It goes back to the civil war,” he said. “The Duke of Keshan was a powerful player in the great game. He hired mercenaries to create an army strong enough to put him on the throne. When he and his sons were slain at Tanten field, there was no-one to pay the mercenary captains so they took his lands.”
“Why didn’t the High King stop them?”
“He hadn’t the strength of arms then, nor has anyone since. So Keshan is ruled by the captains of the company’s”
“How are we to rescue Celaine then?” asked Lady Alice.
“It depends on who holds her,” said Aron. “We may have to buy her freedom. It’ll not be by force of arms, so there’s no point in taking more than a small party.”
“How many?” asked Maldwyn.
“If we ride as a group of sellswords looking to joining a mercenary company in Keshan, then no more than a handful. Enough that we aren’t easy prey for robbers, and not so many that we look like a threat to the nobles whose lands we pass through.”
“And that’s as many fit horses as we have,” said Maldwyn.
“This will be hard travelling,” said Aron. “We can ill afford any weak horses.”
There was a long pause before Maldwyn spoke. “It’s a long journey to make on the strength of a dream.”
“It is, but I have come to trust such dreams. Do you have any other information?”
“We sent out scouts and offered rewards,” said Maldwyn. “The scouts trailed the attackers to a farmhouse in the hills, but they were long since gone and scattered. Their tracks led many different ways.”
“The reward will produce information, but we cannot wait,” said Lady Alice. “They already have many days lead on us.”
“There is one way that may give more information,” said Aron. He picked a piece of dried mud of his boot and threw it into the fire. “You could walk the mist and see if you can reach her.”
All three of them looked at him, incomprehension in their faces.
“You, at least, should know what I’m talking about.” He looked at Edith who sat with eyes downcast. “Do you remember last year how you dreamed of exploring Castle Sarazan with me? I was mist walking then.”
“I remember,” said Edith, she at least looked at him. “You woke me up in the middle of the night and took me through a wall of mist to Maldwyn’s room. It was like a dream only clearer and brighter.”
“What do you need for this?” said Lady Alice.
“There’s a small mushroom that grows in open pasture in the autumn,” said Aron. “They open the doors of sight to those that have the gift.”
“Do you mean for us all to try?” said Maldwyn.
“Anyone who has a strong connection to Celaine should try,” said Aron. “There’s no telling who might have the talent.”
“I have not heard of this,” said Lady Alice to Aron’s surprise. He had assumed that a follower of Iduna would know of the technique. “But I will try anything that could help Celaine.”