Nandor (The Nandor Tales Book 2)

by Martin Owton

  “Worse than here?”

  “Much worse. Here there are inns to stay in, merchants to sell you just about anything. If you have money, Keshan is not dangerous. If we had got her out then we could have hired a ship to take us home. Up there, it’s a war zone. Everything is under Caldon’s command. No inns, no merchants and the only ships belong to him. I think she’s going to be easy to find, but I can’t see how to get her back down here.”

  “Why do you think she’ll be easy to find?” Her frown deepened.

  “There’s only one place she’s likely to be.”

  “Where?”

  Aron paused again, wondering how to tell her. The wind blew the salt small of the sea into his face.

  “What’s the matter? Tell me.”

  A housewife carrying her morning’s shopping in a woven basket was puffing up the street. Aron waited until she was past before answering.

  “Some commanders, and I believe Caldon is one, keep a house of women for the troops. They use it as a reward for duties carried out well. I think that’s where Celaine will be.”

  Aron watched her face as she digested his words. The frown disappeared as her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

  “But she’s never...she doesn’t know. I mean she talks about getting married all the time, but she hasn’t been with a man. She’ll be terrified. She won’t do it.”

  “They’ll have ways of making her do it.”

  “We’ve got to get her out.” She fixed him with her blue eyes. “I don’t care how dangerous it is.”

  At that moment Aron loved her more than anything, and he knew that what he was going to say would set her on fire.

  “You and Maldwyn should go back to Nandor. I’ll go on alone. It’ll be too dangerous up there.”

  Her face dropped as if he had slapped her.

  “Dangerous? Just like it was dangerous when the pirates attacked us? I’m not going to be left behind, and neither is Maldwyn.”

  Aron could imagine exactly what Maldwyn would say and recognised the futility of persistence. “The only way I can see of getting there is to join one of the mercenary companies that are hired to Caldon,” he said. “That means basic soldiering, and that’s hard on anyone who hasn’t done it before.”

  “Harder than what Celaine is going through?”

  “Well no.”

  “Then I think I can stand it.”

  Aron knew the argument was over. “If you’re going then we’d better get you some gear. You won’t get hired if you aren’t properly equipped.”

  “A sword?”

  “A long knife and some armour.”

  “What sort of armour?”

  “I think a boiled leather cuirass and bracers would be the best option. That’s what archers usually wear.”

  “Not a mail shirt like yours?”

  “They do give more protection, but you pay for it. They’re really heavy to wear all day unless you’re used to it, and it’ll slow you down in a fight. And they’re expensive.”

  She looked at him with the expression of a child denied a sweetmeat. For a moment he was struck with cold horror at the thought of her being anywhere where she might need armour.

  “Try mine on when we get back to the tavern, then make the decision.”

  She smiled at him and the moment passed.

  ***

  They would not have found the temple of Iduna without Bridie’s detailed directions. A tiny street off a square led them to a path beside a potter’s workshop which opened out into a garden of fragrant shrubs. For a moment Aron thought they were in some private space, but then a stocky apple-cheeked woman stepped out of door almost beside them.

  “Welcome in the Lady’s name,” she said, brown eyes twinkling. “Have you come to seek her blessing on your marriage?”

  Edith glared at her and Aron.

  “The disguise isn’t working,” said Aron quietly.

  “You can’t fool me,” said the woman. “I see with the Lady’s eyes.”

  Aron wondered for a moment if she could tell of his personal attachment to Iduna, but there seemed no sign of it.

  “We’ve come to ask the Lady’s help in finding her sister,” said Aron.

  “The altar is this way, m’dear.” The woman pushed aside a shrub just coming into a haze of tiny red flowers to reveal an unexpected path. Aron and Edith followed her as the path led down into a grassy dell. On the far side facing them stood an ancient oak stump decorated with twisted garlands of green leaves and spring flowers.

  “Call me if you need anything,” said the woman before retreating up the path. When she had gone Edith caught Aron’s arm and moved close to him. “What do we do?” she whispered. “How should we pray to her?”

  “I’ve no idea,” said Aron.

  “But you’re…,” she paused, as if the words gave her difficulty. “You’re her beloved.”

  “Yes. But I’d don’t know how to pray to her.”

  “The priestesses in the Holy City sang songs to her, but I can’t remember the words. Should we kneel?”

  Aron thought for a moment, it didn’t seem right for Iduna. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Perhaps we should just sit down and think about Celaine then.”

  Aron smiled; that seemed much more appropriate. He chose a flat-looking spot and sat down. Edith sat beside him and took his hand. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on an image of Celaine as he had last seen her and failed. All he could construct was a blurred outline lacking in detail. He opened his eyes to look at Edith and build the image from her face, but the worries over what lay before them crowded into his mind. As hired soldiers in a war zone, keeping the group together would likely prove very difficult. Edith’s disguise had not fooled many people so far, and in the close quarters of a soldiers’ camp she was certain to be discovered. If she were assigned duty away from him and Maldwyn, she could easily find herself in deep trouble and far from help.

  “Do you think she heard us?” asked Edith.

  “She heard you when you prayed for me last summer in the Holy City. That’s why she allowed me to come back.”

  Edith stared at him, her blue eyes wide, and Aron could almost hear her questions lining up one by one. Some of them would be difficult to answer.

  Abruptly she seemed to change her mind and got to her feet.

  “Should we leave an offering of some kind?”

  “A few coins with the priestess, I suppose.” Aron shrugged. “And we should ask if she knows where we could buy more mushrooms for the mist-walking.”

  He stood up and Edith looked up at him.

  “You looked so worried when you were praying. You were thinking of Celaine, weren’t you?” She stood up. “Maybe she wasn’t on that ship.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t,” said Aron without conviction. He wanted to hold her, and try to forget for a while what lay before them. Instead he followed her out of the dell in search of the priestess.

  ***

  Aron stifled a yawn with his free hand and looked down at Edith lying in the bed. She was frowning as he had come to expect when she walked the mist. They had waited until deep into the night before she took the potion to ensure that Celaine was asleep, wherever she was.

  “Should we bring the other lads if we have to go north?” asked Maldwyn in a whisper.

  “Give them the choice,” said Aron. “It’s more than we told them they’d be doing. I don’t think any of them will want to leave though.”

  “Will we need them?”

  “Who knows?”

  “How easy will it be to join a company?”

  “If Barty is right then some of them will take any man that can hold a sword. I don’t think we should go with one of them though; they’ll have more casualties. We should find the best one we can get into. There’s more chance of staying alive.”

  “So they’ll test us?”

  “I expect so. I would. You want to go into battle with people who know what they’re about, don�
�t you?”

  “Have you ever been in a battle?”

  “No. Don’t want to be either.” Aron shuddered at the thought; practice melees at the Academy had been bad enough. “Thing about being in a battle is most people get killed by an enemy they didn’t see. That’s why you need to be with good people, you need someone to watch your back. If you get isolated you’re dead.”

  Edith stirred and her eyelids flickered.

  Now we find out

  She opened her eyes and sat up.

  “She’s on the ship,” she said. “She’s sick and frightened. I spent some time with her then went to mother to tell her.”

  “That was well done,” said Aron.

  “What did she say?” asked Maldwyn.

  “That we should do everything we can to bring her back,” said Edith.

  “Then tomorrow we join a company,” said Aron.

  ***

  “We don’t care who you are, where you come from or what you’ve left behind. You leave all that at the gate when you join the Company. You may have heard that we’re paying good money and it’s true. The Company is serving with the Duke of Caldon in the north, and we’re paying twelve silvers a month for the right men. But first you’ve got to get by me. I’m Lorcan, and I’m one of the blademasters. It’s my job to find out if you’re fit to join.”

  It sounded to Aron like a speech that he given many times and his last words were delivered with a feral smile. That’s good money; must be costing Caldon an absolute fortune.

  Lorcan was a handswidth taller than Maldwyn, with broad shoulders and a deep barrel chest. His nose had been broken and badly set and an intricate tracery of scars and tattoos wove across his meaty forearms.

  “You first.” Lorcan pointed with his practice sword at a big blond fellow who stood beside Aron and Maldwyn in the courtyard of the Company’s villa. He had been waiting when the Nandor group had arrived to ask about joining. The straw in his pale hair suggested he had spent the night in someone’s barn.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Thorold.”

  “Pick up one of those practice woods and show me what you can do.”

  Thorold took a practice sword from the pile and stood awkwardly holding it before him.

  “Make your move,” Lorcan said. He raised his own practice sword and slipped into a relaxed defensive stance; legs apart, weight slightly on his front foot.

  Thorold hesitated.

  “Come on, lad. We haven’t got all day.”

  Thorold shuffled forward and then swung the sword as if taking an axe to a tree. Lorcan blocked double-handed turning into the blow, his angled wood forcing Thorold’s downwards. Thorold overbalanced slightly. Lorcan flicked his wood upwards catching Thorold between the legs. Thorold mouth fell open; he dropped his wood and slumped to the ground like a sack of grain tossed from a cart.

  “Hopeless,” said Aron quietly to Maldwyn.

  “Get up,” said Lorcan to the groaning Thorold. “The gate’s over there.” He looked at Aron and Maldwyn. “Next.” He pointed to Haas.

  “Just like we practised,” said Aron. He had spent half the morning working on basic bladework with Maldwyn and the guardsmen.

  Haas unbuckled his swordbelt, picked up the practice sword Thorold had dropped and advanced cautiously on Lorcan.

  “Good stance,” said Aron to Maldwyn.

  Haas probed forward with a series of thrusts. Lorcan blocked and circled to Haas’s left. Abruptly Lorcan blocked Haas’s latest thrust with greater force knocking his wood aside and lunged forward rapping Haas on the knuckles. Haas dropped his wood. Lorcan stepped in and struck him across the head. Haas yelled out in pain and collapsed holding his head. Aron could see blood between his fingers. He didn’t need to do that

  “You’ll do,” said Lorcan. “Give your details to the clerk.”

  He jerked a thumb in the direction of a bored-looking scribe who sat, stylus raised, at a small table holding a scroll.

  “Next.” Lorcan pointed at Maldwyn.

  “Watch him,” said Aron. “He’s vicious, and his wood is longer than the others.”

  Maldwyn stepped forward and attacked immediately with a series of well-controlled cuts. Lorcan blocked and circled just as he had with Haas.

  I hope Maldwyn can see what he is trying to do.

  Lorcan smacked Maldwyn’s wood aside and darted in with his own, Maldwyn danced backwards out of reach. Aron felt a small glow of satisfaction as Lorcan struck air.

  Lorcan frowned and grunted, then moved onto the attack cutting at Maldwyn with short powerful strokes. Aron could see the feint from the beginning of the stroke, but if Maldwyn saw it at all he was too late. Lorcan slashed at Maldwyn’s shoulder then changed direction. His wood thudded into Maldwyn’s left knee. The leg buckled under him and Maldwyn went down with a yell. Lorcan’s wood caught him on the ear as he went down.

  “Name to the clerk,” said Lorcan.

  “He likes hitting people,” said Edith softly. Haas, still holding his head, said something that Aron didn’t catch, but was clearly not complimentary.

  “You next.” Lorcan pointed at Edith.

  Aron stepped forward and bent to pick up a practice wood.

  “Not you, him,” said Lorcan.

  “Thought you were pointing at me,” said Aron. “He’s an archer, doesn’t know bladework.”

  “Everybody gets tested.”

  “Well now I’m here.” Aron gripped his wood double-handed, and faced Lorcan. A hungry smile played across the blademaster’s battered features.

  He thinks he’s won already. Aron circled, watching for the first sign of his attack.

  Lorcan thrust forward, Aron danced back following in with a thrust of his own. Lorcan blocked and Aron felt the power of those big forearms as he pushed Aron’s wood aside. Lorcan attacked again with short fast cuts. Aron blocked and pulled backwards out of reach, watching for the feint. He’ll try to finish this quickly.

  Aron read the feint from the slight change in the set of Lorcan’s shoulders. The cut started chest high then swiftly dropped towards his knees. Instead of meeting it with a vertical blade, Aron smashed down as hard as he could, driving the wood into the hard-packed earth. He trapped it beneath his boot then swung his own wood backhanded and felt it make a solid contact. It was a move that had been used against him at the Academy to show him that he had become over reliant on feinting.

  Lorcan let go of his wood. Aron turned to face him. A livid bruise flowered across Lorcan’s cheek and his left eye was closing fast.

  “Good enough?” asked Aron, holding his wood before him in case Lorcan felt like continuing the fight.

  Lorcan raised a hand to his face, felt the swelling and then smiled lop-sidedly. “Good enough. Let’s see your archer shoot.”

  Edith opened her bowcase and quickly strung her bow.

  “Hit the trunk of that tree,” said Lorcan pointing across the courtyard to an oak about thirty paces away.

  Not very far, they must need archers. Aron looked at Edith. She smiled briefly at him, selected an arrow, bent the bow and let fly. The arrow stuck in the centre of the trunk a man’s height from the ground.

  “Again,” said Lorcan.

  Edith selected another arrow, bent the bow and placed the arrow beside the first.

  Lorcan looked at her long and hard.

  He’s suspicious. The disguise isn’t good enough and he’s going turn her down.

  “You’ll do,” said Lorcan. “We need archers up north.” He turned to Aron. “What about these lads?” He pointed to Thomi and Yirg. “Do I need to look at them?”

  “No,” said Aron. “They’re about as good as him.” Aron jerked his thumb in the direction of Haas who sat holding a grubby cloth to his head.

  “Good enough then,” said Lorcan, his eye now swollen shut. “Walter.” He called to the clerk. “Get these lads signed up and find ‘em space in the barracks.” He turned back to the group. “There’ll be a ship in a few days t
o take you up north, but until then I’ll be training you, so I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

  Walter beckoned them over as Lorcan turned and stumped off across the courtyard towards the main building.

  “I’ve been here three years and I’ve never seen him beaten before,” said Walter. “What’s your name?”

  “Aron. Aron of….Nandor.” It was strange to say it, but it had a rung of rightness.

  “Nandor? Where’s that then? Never heard of it. Make your mark here.” Walter held out the scroll and stylus. Aron took them and signed his name carefully. Walter inspected the signature and stared at him then offered the scroll to Maldwyn. Maldwyn signed his name with equal care.

  “Can everybody in Nandor write?” asked Walter.

  “Just most of us,” said Maldwyn as he passed the scroll to Edith.

  She hesitated, stylus in hand.

  We never discussed a man’s name for her. I should have thought of that.

  “I’m Aron too,” she said. “Aron the archer.” She signed and handed the scroll back to Walter. “It’s a common name in Nandor.”

  Thomi, Yirg and Haas came forward. Thomi signed his name slowly with wobbly letters, but Yirg and Haas just made a mark where Walter showed them.

  Walter rolled up the scroll and put it with the stylus in his scrip. “Welcome to the Company. Follow me,” he said. He led them across the courtyard, up a short flight of steps to an archway in the white stone façade of the east wing of the villa.

  “Mess hall there.” Walter pointed at a door on the right and started up the wide stone spiral staircase.

  “This is the Company’s barracks,” he said over his shoulder. “Empty at the moment because the Company are all deployed. Can hold as many as two hundred men.”

  They reached a landing with three doors off it. Walter opened one.

  “You’ll lodge here. There’s breakfast just after dawn in the mess hall downstairs. The food’s good so don’t miss it. If you want to go into the city you can, but stick to The Three Fishes or the Pelican if you’re drinking. The Company owns them, so there’ll be no bother. We don’t want any fighting, so steer clear of soldiers from other companies, not that there are many around. You’ll be paid the day after full moon. Any questions?”