'Are you bored, young Ravenheart?' he asked.
Kaelin shook his head. The truth was that he loved to roam the mountains with Jaim Grymauch. It made him forget for a while that, as a highlander, he had no real future in a world ruled by the Varlish. He could not even admit publicly to being a Rigante. The clan had been outlawed twenty years before. The wearing of the pale blue and green Rigante plaid was an act punishable by death. All Rigante males in the area had been forced to change clans - most becoming Pannone. Those who refused and took to the hills were ruthlessly hunted down and murdered by the beetlebacks. A few hundred had fled into the bleak northern mountains, where they survived by raiding and stealing. They were known now as Black Rigante, and every few years strong forces of beetlebacks and musketeers would enter the mountains seeking them out. Ten years ago a small settlement of Black Rigante clansmen had been surrounded and slaughtered, though almost eighty beetlebacks had been killed in the raid, and two hundred injured. They lived now in an uneasy truce.
No, Kaelin Ring was never bored while with Jaim. 'Do you have a poem for the bull yet?' he asked.
'I thought I had,' replied Jaim, 'but now I've seen him I realize it's inadequate. I shall work on another.'
Kaelin grinned. There were some who thought Grymauch's bull-stealing verses were simply indications of the man's vanity. The one-eyed warrior was as well known for his rhymes as for his raiding. Many of his songs were sung at festival feasts, and Kaelin knew at least twenty bull-songs by heart. He also knew that vanity had little to do with Grymauch's poems. Aunt Maev reckoned it was merely Grymauch's deep, hypnotic voice and confident movement that mesmerized the animals. But Kaelin believed the verses'were the links in a magical chain between Grymauch and the bull. He had twice seen the big man walk into starlit fields, take the chosen bull by the nose ring, and gently lead him away from all he knew.
Tell me the soul-name story again, Grymauch,' he urged.
'By the Sacrifice, boy, do you never tire of it?'
'No. It brings me closer to my father somehow.'
Jaim reached out and ruffled Kaelin's black hair. 'Where would you like me to start it? The fight with the Moidart, the flight to the mountain, the coming of the stag?'
'The stag. Tell it from the stag.'
The sky was lightening as Jairn began his tale. 'We were sitting on a ledge of glistening grey rock. Your father was mortally wounded and knew it. He had few regrets, he said, for he was a man who always did what he thought was right. In terms of the clan he led he had lived true. Yet he was filled with sorrow that he would not see you grow, and that he had found no soul-name for you.'
Kaelin closed his eyes, picturing the scene.
'We sat quietly, him and me, and then we heard the howling of the wolves. They were hunting. Canny creatures, wolves. They know they cannot outrun a stag. It has far more stamina than any wolf. So they hunt as a team. Four or five of them will harry the stag, chasing it for a mile or two. The forest lord is not, at first, concerned. He knows the wolves cannot outlast him. What he does not know is that the wolves have formed a circle of death. And that others of the pack are waiting further down the trail. As the first wolves begin to tire the second group takes up the chase, driving the stag towards a third in a great circle. The killing run goes on and on, the wolves tightening the circle, until, at last, the exhausted forest lord turns at bay. By now all the wolves have come together for the kill. This, Kaelin, is what your father and I saw. A proud and massive stag, a right royal beast if ever there was one, upon the hill opposite where we sat. He had a wonderful spread of horn and he stood weary, yet defiant, as a dozen wolves closed in on him. Ah, but it was a sight to see. The bravest of the wolves darted forward, and was tossed high into the air, his body dashed against a tree, his back broken. Then the other wolves charged. There was no way for the stag to win. No way. It was finished.'
'And then came Raven,' prompted Kaelin, excitement in his voice.
'Hush, boy! 'Tis I who am telling this tale.'
'I am sorry, Grymauch. Go on, please!'
'No more interruptions, if you please. As I said, the stag could not win. Yet he fought magnificently, giving no ground. As the wolves closed in something dark came rushing from the undergrowth. At first I could not see what it was, but it charged into the wolves, scattering them. Your father had better eyesight than mine and I had both my eyes then! He said: "By heaven, it is Raven." We had both thought the hound slain in the fight with the treacherous Moidart, but there he was, ripping into the startled wolves. There was blood on his muzzle and two more wolves dead when the others panicked and ran.' Grymauch paused, lost in the memory. Kaelin did not prompt him. The warrior sighed. 'And - for the merest heartbeat -I saw Raven and the stag standing together, looking at one another. Both were bloodied. The forest lord dipped its head towards Raven as if in thanks, though I doubt it was. Then it bounded away into the trees and the hound continued across the hills towards us. He had followed the scent, you see, and wanted to be reunited with Lanovar. I saw him stumble twice, but he carried on, more slowly than before. Aye, he was a brave hound, right enough. I swung round to see that your father was in his last moments. My heart was pierced as I watched him then. It has never mended. I held him close. We said nothing. Then the hound reached us, and I saw that he, too, would not survive the night. Musket balls had pierced him deep and he was bleeding badly. He settled down alongside Lanovar, his head on his master's lap. I think they died together. If not, there were only a few heartbeats between.' Jaim fell silent.
'What about my soul-name?' asked Kaelin.
'Oh, yes. Forgive me, boy. I was lost in moments past. As we watched the hound attack the wolves Lanovar whispered something. I didn't hear it quite, so I moved alongside him. "Ravenheart," he said. I didn't understand at first. Then he drew in a breath and said: "My son . . . Ravenheart." I knew then, and I promised him I would see that your mother was told that this was to be your soul-name.'
'Most of my friends don't have soul-names,' said Kaelin.
'The Varlish fear them. The names hold us to the land and give us pride. The Varlish need to see that pride eaten away, so they claim soul-names are a sign of heresy and paganism. Few parents want to risk a visit by the Knights of the Sacrifice, and then being staked above the fire.'
'Why do you think Raven rescued the stag?' asked the youth.
'I don't believe that he did intend to rescue the creature. Raven was a wolfhound. He was born to fight wolves and protect cattle. I think he was just trying to reach Lanovar and the wolves were in his way. Once he came upon them instinct took over. The stag was irrelevant.'
'I think it was a magical stag,' said Kaelin.
'Magical? Why would you think that?'
'Because it brought me my soul-name, and because the Wyrd told me.'
'Be careful, Kaelin. The Wyrd knows some ancient spells, and she's dangerous to know.'
Kaelin smiled. 'We are sitting on a hillside waiting to steal the Moidart's prize bull and you tell me the Wyrd is dangerous to know. You are dangerous to know, Uncle.'
'Aye, well I guess that's true, right enough.'
Jaim fell silent as a group of men emerged from a thatched building to the north of the paddock. They walked to the fence, and stopped to gaze at the bull. The animal swung its shaggy head and stared at them, then pawed at the ground. Jaim chuckled. 'Settle back, Kaelin. Now we'll see how skilled they are.'
Three of the men clambered up to sit on the fence. A fourth ducked through between the posts and approached the bull, hand extended. Wind noise, whistling through the heather, prevented Kaelin from hearing what the man was saying, but he knew he would be speaking softly, making soothing, friendly noises to calm the beast. Jaim was watching the scene intently. 'That's good. That's good,' he said softly, as the unknown man below moved alongside the animal. The bull was a little calmer now. 'Ah, you have a talent, man,' said Jaim. 'But don't get cocky now. He's still not sure of you. Just stay away from his head.'
Kaelin smiled. Jaim was probably not even aware he was speaking aloud. The man below was stroking and patting the bull's flanks. The animal ceased to paw at the ground and was standing quietly. The man eased himself around the huge horns and reached for the bull's heavy nose ring. 'Too soon!' whispered Jaim. The bull lunged forward. The man was hit hard by the bull's forehead. Instinctively he grabbed the horns. The head dropped, then flicked upwards. The cattleman was hurled up. One hand lost its grip on the horns, the other clung tight. The man came down across the bull's back, the impact causing him to let go of the horn. Half stunned, he fell to the earth. His comrades on the fence shouted at the bull, seeking to divert its attention. They succeeded better than they hoped. The beast charged, its massive head thundering against the fence post, which split down the middle. Two of the men managed to jump clear just as the bull connected. The third fell headfirst into the paddock. The bull swung on him. Kaelin saw a streak of crimson smear the air. The man was flung some ten feet across the paddock. He landed heavily and did not move.
The first cattleman, still dazed, staggered across the paddock towards the fence. The bull ignored him, as it ignored the fallen man. Kaelin saw blood dripping from one of the horns. He transferred his gaze to the fallen herdsman. 'Is that man dead?' he asked Jaim.
'He most certainly is.'
'Are we still going to steal the bull?'
Jaim nodded. 'Aye, but I'll need a stronger bull-song, by heaven!'
CHAPTER TWO
FOR SEVERAL HOURS JAIM SAT UNMOVING, WATCHING THE BULL. FOR part of the time Kaelin dozed. He felt safe here, hidden at the centre of a gorse bush, the giant Grymauch close to him. Jaim was a ferocious fighter, and even though he had not brought his mighty glave - clansmen were forbidden, under pain of death, to own swords -he was carrying two broad-bladed hunting knives, held in horizontal sheaths stitched at the back of his wide belt. Kaelin doubted if even a black bear would have the nerve to face Jaim Grymauch in battle.
The youngster yawned and stretched. He moved alongside Jaim and, looking through the parted gorse branches, saw that the body in the paddock had been removed. Several men were repairing the fence, and Kaelin could just hear the distant sound of hammering.
'They'll not try to move the bull today,' said Jaim suddenly. Time to stretch our legs and see the country.'
'Will we go back to the shack?'
'No. We'll grace the town with a visit. I've a hankering to taste smoked fish soup and fire-black bread. Aye, and a pint or two of brandy-barrel ale.'
'You'll get into a fight, Grymauch! Then we'll be in trouble,' warned Kaelin.
Jaim chuckled. 'You listen too much to your aunt Maev. Women exaggerate matters. It's in their natures. Anyway, it will be an education for you, Ravenheart. Moon Lake boasts one of the last of the timber castles. You'll not see their like again.'
He eased himself back across the hide and pushed aside the interlaced branches. Staying low, he moved back through the gorse and the heavy undergrowth until he could no longer be seen from the outbuildings. Kaelin followed him, and they were soon walking across the low hills towards the woods above and behind the Moidart's western estate.
'Why do we steal cattle?' Kaelin asked as they entered the trees.
'It is an honourable tradition, my boy. A man should always treat with respect the traditions of his elders.'
'If it is that honourable, why do you not steal from clan herds?'
Jaim laughed. 'Balance, Kaelin. The Varlish have stolen our lands, our cattle, our homes, even our traditions. My stealing of their cattle - and on occasion horses - brings me a sense of harmony. Of balance.'
'Do you hate them, then?'
'Hate them? A man might as well hate the sea for the friends that have drowned in it. No, boy, I don't hate them. I don't know them all - and it is a principle of mine never to hate a man I do not know. It just so happens that I have come to dislike all the Varlish I do know. Their arrogance works into my skin like a thorn.'
'I hate Mr Shaddler,' said Kaelin. 'One day I'll show him!'
'I fear you won't,' said Jaim. 'Teachers are never shown, for they are never wrong. If you rise up to be a great man, respected and admired by all who know you, Mr Shaddler will swell out his bony chest and say: "I taught him all he knows." If you become a brigand and a terrible killer he will say: "I always knew he was bad. I told him so to his face every day."
'Perhaps I'll just kill him,' snapped Kaelin.
'Whoa now!' said Jaim, pausing in his walk and turning to face the black-haired youth. 'No, Kaelin, that you must never do. The man may be Varlish, and misguided in all that he teaches - though I doubt he is in all that he teaches - but he has still chosen a profession of service. He is a poor man, this Shaddler. There are rats where he lodges. He owns no house and has no private income. His topcoat is threadbare, and his shoes have soles like paper. He could earn far more chaillings in Eldacre, in commerce or in the law. He teaches because he wants to serve, to pass on knowledge to the young. And he suffers poverty for his dedication. Hate him, by all means, for the stick across your hands, or the corrupting of our history, but never ever consider killing him. You understand, boy?'
'Yes, Grymauch,' Kaelin lied, unable to comprehend how killing a worm like Shaddler could be considered wrong.
They walked on, pushing up a long rise until they crested a hill and gazed down on the town of Moon Lake. Along the shores were the fat-bellied fishing boats and the tall net huts, while the town itself was draped like a necklace around a steep hill upon which stood a circular keep. The hill was deeply terraced and Kaelin could see a broken line of crumbling ramparts.
'It doesn't look like timber,' he said, staring hard at the white-walled keep.
'Looks can be deceiving. The keep was crafted from timber, then covered in plaster and faced with pebblestone. When it was first built the rampart walls would have extended around the town, as protection. Back then the Varlish who constructed it were on hostile soil. Clansmen would attack them at regular intervals. Back around five hundred years ago a Pannone uprising saw every Varlish male within the castle and its baileys put to the sword.'
'Did they build a new castle?'
'What do you mean, a new castle?'
'After the Pannone destroyed it.'
'Ah, I see. No, Kaelin, they didn't. They didn't have to. The Pannone killed all the men then went away. They left the castle standing. The Varlish just reoccupied it, then, using it as a base, brought up an army. It was led by the Knights of the Sacrifice and they all but annihilated the clan.'
'They were powerful then, these knights?'
'Aye, they were. Still are. They become squires when they are your age, almost fifteen. Then they spend five years training with sword, mace, pistol and musket. At least half of them fail the stringent tests conducted every year. I was told that of a hundred men seeking to become knights, only fifteen receive the white cloak. Tough men. A long time ago a hundred knights bested a thousand rebels. There is no give in them. Aye, and no mercy either.'
'The Pannone should have burned the castle,' said Kaelin.
'Aye, they should. That, however, is the downfall of the Keltoi peoples. We win great battles and lose all wars.'
'Why should that be?'
Jaim shrugged. 'We were never besotted with the idea of conquering lands. If an enemy comes we fight and defeat him. Then we go home. If the enemy keeps coming then eventually he is going to win. The only way to thoroughly destroy your enemy is to follow the example of the knights. Go to his home and burn it. Kill him, kill his wife, kill his bairns. Those you allow to survive you enslave, and you hold them in thrall with harsh laws. When they transgress you flog, burn or hang them. We just never developed a taste for that kind of butchery.'
'But Bane fought against Stone and captured it,' argued Kaelin. 'He took his army across the sea and all the way to the heart of the empire.'
'Yes, he did. Then he brought the army home again. He sacked Stone, but he did not dest
roy it. He was a great warrior king. No doubt of it. Yet within twenty years of his death the armies of Stone had conquered all the southlands. Within fifty they had hill forts at the Rigante borders.'
The two travellers moved on down the hill towards Moon Lake. As they came closer Kaelin caught the smell of fish in the air, thick and acrid. 'It stinks,' he said.
'You'll adjust to it faster when you have some fish inside you,' said Jaim. 'There's a market close to the shoreline, and within it a food hall. I've eaten there a few times. They know me.'
'If they know you will they still serve you?' asked Kaelin with a grin.
'They'll serve anyone with a copper coin in his pocket, you cheeky rascal.'
Their good humour faded as they entered the town and saw the four-rope gibbet in the square. A ten-man squad of beetlebacks was guarding the structure. Four bodies dangled from the gibbet. Kaelin saw that there were two men, a woman and a youth of around his own age hanging there. The oldest of the men had suffered the agony of having his eyes burned out and his hands cut off.
The crowd moving through the square did not pause by the gibbet, but moved on, eyes downcast. Kaelin could not take his eyes from the scene and slowed. A man behind walked into him and cursed loudly. Jaim grabbed Kaelin's arm and drew him on.
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