'Fine words, sir, but I'd sooner have seen the poet make that jump than yourself. In my experience poets are like politicians . They talk like lions and live like weasels.'
'Let us hope they are not all like that,' said Gaise, 'for I wrote the: words myself last night.'
Mulgrave saw the young man laughing at him. 'Ah. Give me a moment, sir, while I prise my boot from my mouth.'
'Do you still think me foolish for making the jump?'
'I have to say that I do, sir, though I better understand the reasons. for it. You doubted yourself, but you did not have the confidence -or the patience - to wait for a better moment to test yourself. It was reckless and unnecessary. Had you asked me I would have told you that you have all the courage a young man could desire. And I would have set you tasks to prove it to you. You have a fine future ahead of you, sir. Yet, but for a stroke of fortune, I could have been kneeling beside your crippled body, your legs and arms useless, your life ruined. Within a day the Moidart would have had me hanged for failing in my duty. You think the risk was worth it?'
Gaise laughed. 'One can only measure deeds by results. I made the jump and I feel free of fear, and strong, and young and happy. Therefore the risk was worth it. Now let us debate it no more. You will not lecture me - and I will jump no more fallen trees. Agreed?'
'Agreed, sir,' answered Mulgrave. But he remained troubled. He knew then that Gaise Macon was cursed with a reckless spirit, and such a vice could prove deadly. Given time, he thought, I can cure him of it.
The two riders moved on. 'I wish I had killed the poor wretch,' said Gaise suddenly.
Mulgrave remained silent. The screams from the captured assassin had been terrible, and had lasted for hours. There was no escaping them. At last there had been silence, and the Moidart had walked back from the cells, his clothing drenched in blood. Then he had written out a list and soldiers had ridden into Eldacre to arrest those named upon it. The assassins had killed three of the four guards. The fourth was missing, but a warrant for his arrest had been issued.
'He should not have been tortured,' said Gaise. 'Hanged, yes, tortured no.'
'The Moidart needed to know if others were involved in the plot,' said Mulgrave.
'You heard him, Mulgrave. By the end he would have named St Persis Albitane as a co-conspirator.'
'The saint was arrested once, I understand,' said Mulgrave, 'and taken to Stone for execution. I think it was the time that Bane fought for the Veiled Lady.'
'Not Bane,' said Gaise. 'It was a gladiator named Rage. And you are changing the subject.'
'It is probably best we do not discuss the Moidart's methods. Though I will say that I agree with you. I wish the man had died before he did.'
The grey stone schoolhouse could be seen now, and the cobbled streets leading into the village of Old Hills. As they approached, Mulgrave saw a crowd gathering. A fight was just starting.
A black-haired youth was being set upon by two - no three — larger men.
Taybard Jaekel had always disliked Kaelin Ring. If asked why he could come up with a number of reasons, though none of them were entirely convincing, even to himself. The powerful young Varlish would say that Ring was 'too cocky for his own good', or that the clansman 'looked down on him'. Taybard knew that these statements did not convey anything like the real reason, and yet even he could not say exactly why the mere sight of Kaelin Ring would set his blood boiling. The easy, graceful way he moved infuriated Taybard. The fact that the local girls - even Varlish girls — smiled at him, and hung on his every word, was like salt upon an open wound. Now Chara Ward, the girl of Taybard's dreams - who had never even given Taybard a second glance - had set her cap at Kaelin Ring. Everyone knew it. Taybard Jaekel would have walked through fire to see Chara look at him the way she gazed at the clan youth. And so his dislike had distilled into a cold hatred.
Taybard and his friends had been earning coppers in the market, fetching and carrying for the shoppers, when news came in of the assassination attempt on the Moidart. All business had stopped momentarily as people paused to discuss the dreadful incident. Most of the residents of Old Hills were Varlish, and many could remember the last clan uprising fourteen years before. Those had been bloody times, days of rape, pillage and murder, ending only when the beetlebacks had crushed the last of the Rigante. An attack upon the Moidart might be the herald of a new uprising.
Kaelin Ring had come walking along Market Lane, a canvas bag hanging from his shoulder. He had not seen Taybard and his friends. Nor did he seem to notice the gathering crowd. It looked, to Taybard, as if Ring felt the worries of the townsfolk were somehow beneath him.
Kammel Bard, one of Taybard's companions, an overweight redheaded youth, saw him staring at Ring. 'He can't be bothered with the likes of us, Tay,' he said.
'He will today,' snapped Taybard. He ran across the lane, catching up to Kaelin Ring just as he reached the gates of the school. 'Heard the news, Ring?' shouted Taybard. The black-haired youth stopped and turned.
'I've heard. What do you want, Jaekel?'
'Stinking clansmen attacked our Moidart.'
Ring said nothing, and swung away to continue his walk. 'Don't you turn your back on me, you bastard!' shouted Taybard, rushing forward. Ring side-stepped as Taybard grabbed at him. Taybard felt himself falling, and landed hard upon the cobbles, bruising his knees. Kammel Bard and Luss Campion came running over. 'He's attacked Tay!' shouted Kammel.
Taybard pushed himself to his feet. The crowd moved out, forming a half circle around the two young men. Kaelin Ring still had his canvas bag upon his shoulder. Taybard advanced more warily. At least a head taller than his quarry, and twenty pounds heavier, he was known for his street-fighting skills. His heart pounded and a savage exultation filled him. He would make Ring beg for mercy. Taybard darted forward. Ring ducked, moved to his left, and hooked his foot over Taybard's instep. Taybard stumbled and fell once more. A sharp stone slashed his leggings and cut a shallow wound into his leg. Taybard cried out, more in anger than in pain. He looked up. Kaelin Ring was still holding to his bag. Twice now Taybard had hit the ground. He scrambled to his feet, aware of laughter in the crowd. It stung him worse than a whiplash. He advanced on his opponent. The black-haired clansman laid his sack upon the floor. Taybard moved in and let fly with a straight left. Ring swayed aside from it and delivered a right uppercut to Taybard's belly. Air whooshed from his lungs and he sagged forward - into a powerful head butt that smashed his nose. Taybard fell back, blood streaming. Fat Kammel ran at Ring and grabbed him. Ring slammed an elbow into Kammel's face. As he did so Luss Campion ran in and thundered a punch to Ring's cheek. The skin split and blood sprayed out. Kaelin Ring lashed out with his foot, kicking Luss Campion's feet from under him, then he hit Kammel twice more with his elbow. Kammel let go and threw a clumsy punch. Ring blocked it and hit the fat youth in the jaw with a straight left, followed by a right cross. Luss Campion had regained his feet and ran in behind Ring, grabbing him in a bear hug and pinning his arms. The clansman leaned forward, then threw his head back. His skull struck Campion full in the face.
Taybard watched Luss fall back. Blind rage - and pain from his-own smashed nose - overcame his reason and he drew a small knife from a sheath at his belt. Kammel had grabbed Ring again, and. Luss ran in hurling blow after blow at the clansman. Taybard-moved in, ready to grab Ring's hair, pull back his head and rip open his throat.
Just as he reached the struggling trio a shadow moved across him. He glanced to his left. A golden horse surged forward, its shoulder slamming into Taybard, knocking him once more to the cobbles. Two officers of the Watch, one of them the famed Sergeant Bindoe, moved through the crowd and pinned the arms of Kaelin Ring. Luss Campion smashed two blows to the clansman's fac while he was being held. The officers holding him did nothing prevent the attack.
'That is enough!' shouted Gaise Macon. 'Release that man.'
The Watch officers let go of Kaelin Ring, who half stumbled, then righted himself.
'Sir, this man attacked a Varlish citizen,' said Bindoe. 'It was witnessed by most people here.'
'I also witnessed it,' said Gaise Macon, coldly. 'Three men against one. And he almost had the beating of them.' He turned his palomino towards Taybard Jaekel. 'And you, sir, let me inform you that had you used that knife I would have seen you hang for murder. Now begone from here.'
In that moment all anger drained away from Taybard Jaekel. It was not the threat that caused it, but the realization that he had come close to killing an unarmed man. Shame swept over him and he swung away.
He did not go back to the market, but instead ran down to the lake, where he sat upon a fallen tree and offered up a prayer of thanks to the blessed St Persis Albitane for preserving him from murder. Kammel Bard and Luss Campion found him there. Luss had a lump on his cheekbone, and Kammel was sporting a swollen, blackened eye. Taybard's broken nose was deeply painful and a headache was pounding at his temples.
'We'll get him another time,' said Luss Campion.
Taybard did not respond.
'We'd better be getting back to the market,' put in Kammel. 'You coming, Tay?'
'No. I'll sit here awhile.' His friends strolled away. Taybard moved to the water's edge and gently washed the blood from his face. His head felt as if it could burst at any moment. He sat down heavily, dizziness swamping him.
A white-haired woman came alongside him. 'Drink this,' she said, offering him a small copper cup, brimming with a murky liquid. 'It will take away the pain.'
'What is it?' he asked.
'Drink,' she ordered him.
Taybard did so. The taste was bitter upon the tongue, but within moments the sharp, jagged pain receded, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache.
'Thank you,' he said.
'How did you hurt your nose?'
'It was ... a fight.'
'Did you win?'
'No.'
'And that saddens you?'
'No. I didn't. . .' He paused and took a deep breath. 'I didn't deserve to win. I almost killed a man. I would never have forgiven myself.'
'Then be glad, for you learned a lesson that some men never learn. It will change you, and change you for the better. This has been a good day for you, Taybard Jaekel.'
He turned towards her, his gaze taking in her ragged clothing. 'Who are you, and how do you know my name?' he asked, looking into her green eyes.
'I am the Wyrd of the Wishing Tree woods,' she told him, 'and I know all the children of the Rigante.'
A heavy weariness flowed over him and he lay down on the soft earth. 'I am Varlish,' he said, sleepily.
'You are Taybard Jaekel, and your line goes back to the days of greatness and beyond. In you flows the blood of Fiallach, Connavar's iron general. He too was a man of uncertain rages. Yet he was loyal unto death.'
He wanted to reply, but his eyes closed, and he slipped into a velvet sleep.
Kaelin Ring could feel the blood on his face, and his head was pounding. Taybard and his cronies had left the scene, but the hatchet-faced Sergeant Bindoe was standing close by, staring at him malevolently. Kaelin ignored him and reached for his shoulder bag. The golden-haired young nobleman dismounted. 'You are bleeding,' he said. 'Let us check the wound.'
'It is nothing,' answered Kaelin, pressing his fingers to the cut on his cheekbone. 'It will seal itself.' He wanted to be away from here, away, indeed, from all things Varlish.
'I expect that it will,' said Gaise Macon. 'I am sorry I did not arrive more swiftly.'
'You were swift enough,' said Kaelin. He paused, aware of how ungrateful he sounded. 'I thank you,' he managed to say, having to force the words out. A second man approached them, tall and lean with prematurely white hair.
'You fought well, lad. Fine balance. Who taught you those moves?'
'My uncle Jaim. No-one can fight like him.'
'He is a good teacher.' The soldier put out his hand, and Kaelin put down his sack and shook it. The grip was firm, and, despite himself, Kaelin warmed to the man. Then he spoke again: 'My name is Mulgrave. The gentleman who saved you is Gaise Macon.'
'The Moidart's son,' said Kaelin, stiffening.
'That is so,' said Gaise, his friendliness fading as he saw the cold look in Kaelin's eyes. 'You know my father?'
'No. He knew mine,' said Kaelin. With that he stepped back, swept up his sack and walked away, his heart beating fast. He was angry now. Just for a moment he had found himself relaxing in the company of the Varlish. One moment that now felt like a betrayal of his blood. This man's father had treacherously killed Lanovar and hundreds of other Rigante men, women and children. Now the son had saved his life. It was galling.
Kaelin trudged on, past the school and up into the hills. The blood dried on his face, the bruises to his flesh throbbing in the cool wind. He had known fear - real fear - for the first time in his life when he saw Taybard Jaekel advancing on him, the knife glittering in his hand. He saw the scene again, and shivered. It was not the knife that frightened him, nor even the prospect of death. It was that he had been helpless, his arms pinned. He would have been slaughtered like a feast bull.
The strange thing was that he had never hated Taybard. He didn't much like Luss Campion or Kammel Bard, but Taybard, he had always felt, was essentially good-hearted. He had once, so Banny told Kaelin one day, stepped in to prevent Banny's taking a beating. He had also been heavily involved in the rescue of little Jassie Wirrall, when she had fallen into the weir and almost drowned. Taybard had hurled himself into the rushing torrent, grabbing the child and holding her head above the water until Galliott had thrown a rope and dragged them both to the bank.
He found it hard to understand the youth's hatred of him. Yes, Taybard was Varlish, but only nominally. Everyone knew there was clan blood in his line. Kaelin walked on, keeping a wary eye out for Taybard and his companions, in case they had decided to waylay him further from town.
Up ahead was a cluster of dwellings, used by the families of timber yard workers. Several women were hanging clothes out to dry on rope lines strung across the open ground. The houses had been built more than a hundred years before, the outer shells constructed of grey granite slabs, the sloping roofs of black slate. Freezing in winter, cold in summer, they stood colourless and drab against the bright green wooded hills. One of the younger women saw Kaelin and called out. He glanced up to see Chara Ward moving towards him.
Kaelin paused, his mood lifting. Chara was tall for a girl, and she walked in a way that caused Kaelin's pulse to race, and his mind to focus on thoughts that were entirely inappropriate. She was dressed now in a pale blue blouse, and a flowing grey skirt that hugged her body as she walked. As she neared him she smiled, her hand moving up to sweep back the long blond wisps of hair that had fallen clear of her bright blue headband. The lifting of the hand caused the blouse to press against her body. Kaelin could not keep his eyes from the plump, perfect outline of her breasts. Guiltily he looked away. As she came closer Chara saw the blood on Kaelin's face.
'What has happened to you?' she asked, suddenly concerned.
'A scrap. Nothing serious,' he answered.
'Who did that to you?'
'It's not important.' He shuffled from foot to foot as she came closer, her hand reaching out to touch his face.
'It is very swollen. You should come inside and let me bathe the cut.'
'It's nothing, Chara. You look beautiful today,' he said, catching hold of her hand and kissing the fingers. She smiled and a faint blush touched her cheeks.
'You shouldn't do that,' she whispered. 'Mother is watching.'
Kaelin recalled that Chara's mother had recently been sick with yellow-blight, a fever that caused the skin to pale. Yellow-blight was rarely fatal, but sufferers lost great amounts of weight and were liable to bouts of weakness that might last for some months. 'Is she better now?' he asked.
'She is still a little weak, but she is improving. Thank you for asking. Will you come in and sit with us for a whil
e?'
'I would like to,' he told her, 'but I must be getting home. I have medicine for Banny and his mother.'
'I heard about the attack,' said Chara. 'It was shameful. I sometimes think Morain has a streak of wickedness in her. Will Shula be all right?'
'I don't know. She is very ill.'
For a few moments they stood together in comfortable silence. Then Chara spoke again. 'Will you be attending the feast come Sacrifice Day?'
'I thought that I might,' he said.
'Would you like to walk there together?' she asked.
'You know I would. But it might be best if we did not.'
'I don't care what people say, Kaelin.'
'It is not about what they say.'
'I'm not frightened of them either. You are my friend, Kaelin. I value that friendship, and I'll not hide it to please bigots.'
An older woman called out: 'There is work still to be done, child.'
Chara laughed. 'I must be going. Will I see you at midday then, or will you want to be walking there sooner?'
'Midday is good,' he said. She smiled and swung away.
Kaelin watched her, and found himself imagining her without the skirt and blue blouse. Then he caught the older woman staring at him. It was as if she could read his thoughts. He blushed and continued on his way along the lane.
Cutting across the fields he was within sight of his home when he saw the Wyrd sitting at the edge of the trees. He had not seen her in some months, and waved at her. She gestured for him to join her. Kaelin strolled over, laid down his bag and sat beside her on a fallen tree.
'My, but you have been busy today, Ravenheart,' she said. 'So much of import in so little time.'
'I have merely been to town and had a scrap,' he told her.
'You have seen the Stag and set in motion events that will shape the future of the Rigante.'
He shook his head and looked into her green eyes. 'I have seen no stag.'
'What did you think of Gaise Macon?'
'What was there to think? He is a Varlish nobleman.'
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