Ravenheart

by David Gemmell

  Sergeant Packard climbed the steps, and stood staring down at Grymauch. Packard had a lump on his brow, and the skin was split and bleeding. 'You want us to go after the woman, sir?' he asked.

  'No, sergeant. That is a Church matter. We are here only for crowd control.'

  Packard swung to stare at the burning pyre. 'That knight didn't get out,' he said. 'Proper fried he was, and good riddance.'

  'I told him not to tackle Grymauch. Some men don't listen.'

  'Grymauch damn near cracked my skull, but I'm glad I was here to see this,' said Packard. 'Something to tell the grandchildren, eh?'

  'Yes,' said Galliott, wearily pushing himself to his feet.

  A group of highlanders, flanked by soldiers, came walking up the stairs. 'Can we take his body, captain?' asked the first.

  'Of course,' said Galliott. Six men moved around the corpse, lifting it gently. One of the highlanders pulled Jaim's huge glave clear of its scabbard and offered it to Galliott. No highlander was allowed to own a sword, not even in death.

  Galliott shook his head. 'Bury it with him,' he said, laying it on the body.

  The crowd parted once more for Jaim Grymauch. Highlanders and Varlish pulled off their hats and caps as the bearers of the body passed by, and bowed their heads in silent tribute.

  'So, the villains won today, eh, captain?' said Sergeant Packard, genuine regret in his voice.

  Galliott shook his head. 'He came to rescue the woman he loved - and he did that. He won, sergeant. We lost. We all lost.'

  'Aye, and I'm glad we did,' said Packard. Tonight I'm going to raise a tankard to the big bastard, and wish him well on his journey.'

  Sixty miles to the south, at the centre of the Wishing Tree woods the Wyrd waited. She could have used her power to see Jaim Grymauch's last moments, but she could not bear it. She sat in the shadow of the great stone, at the centre of the old circle, and waited, her spirit in harmony with the land. She heard the creaking of the ancient oaks, the gentle rustle of the breeze across the grass, and felt the power of the sun bathing the land. Beneath these indications of life she also held to the magic, tiny and insubstantial now, but still pulsing in the soft earth.

  These woods had once known the Seidh, the old gods of Fire and Water. The Morrigu had walked here, the storm crow Babdh upon her shoulders. Riamfada had dwelt in the wood, and here had made the magical sword carried by Connavar the King. It was here still, awaiting the Stag.

  He had come to her in a dream the night before, as she had hoped he would. Once more she conjured the image of a camp fire in the woods, and his spirit had taken form alongside it. 'Welcome to my fire, Gaise Macon,' she said.

  'Why do I wear this cloak in my dreams?' he asked her. 'It is badly patched and old.'

  'It is the cloak of Connavar. Each patch represents a different clan, stitched to the blue and the green of the Rigante. It was a cloak of unity. It told the world that Connavar was Keltoi, and above clan rivalry.'

  'Why do I wear it?'

  The Wyrd thought for a moment, then smiled. 'Ask yourself this: do you feel it belongs around your shoulders?'

  'Aye, I do.'

  'Then that is why you wear it. Why have you come to me, child of the Varlish?'

  'I have a commission in the King's Cavalry. Tomorrow I join my regiment. A war has begun.'

  'I know all this. Why are you here?'

  'I have never been able to push from my mind our last meeting. I miss the mountains of my home. I miss the land. In my dreams I walk the slopes of Caer Druagh. I am drawn to it. And yet ... I feel the land does not know me. It cannot feel my presence, nor my love.'

  'It knows you, Gaise. It is part of your blood,' she told him.

  'I want a soul-name.'

  'You have always had one. You are the Stormrider.'' He had sighed then, and smiled.

  'I like that. It feels like a cool breeze on my soul.' His green and gold gaze locked to her eyes. 'Will we meet again, lady?'

  'Oh, yes. In triumph and sorrow, Rigante.'

  The Wyrd shivered at the memory, then glanced up at the sky. It was nearing noon and - at this moment - Jaim Grymauch was still alive. Regret touched the Wyrd, soft and sad and of infinite weight. He had been on his way north, and had camped in a cluster of rocks. The Wyrd's spirit had found him there. He had been humming a song, and drinking from a flagon of uisge when she appeared at his fire. Jaim had stared blearily at the apparition, then rubbed his eye. 'A powerful brew,' he said, sniffing the neck of the flagon.

  'It is not the uisge,' the Wyrd told him. 'I have been searching for you.'

  'And you have found me. Would you care for a drop of the Water of Life?'

  'In this spirit form I cannot drink, Jaim Grymauch.'

  'Aye, you do seem somewhat insubstantial, woman. Are you here to cast some spell upon me?'

  The Wyrd had smiled. 'I cast few spells now, Grymauch. The magic is almost gone from the land.'

  'Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?'

  'The woman you love is in danger, Jaim,' she said. Grymauch lurched to his feet. 'No, no, it is not immediate. Sit yourself down and listen to me.' He slumped back by the fire, dropping the flagon. Then she told him of Maev's arrest. He had listened in silence, then, when she had finished, moved to the stream and drunk a copious amount of water. When he returned his eye was no longer bleary.

  'I shall go back, and take her from the cathedral. There won't be enough guards to stop me.'

  'Aye, that might work,' she said.

  'I hear a doubt in your voice. I can do it, Wyrd.'

  'I know you can. But it is important that the trial take place, Jaim. That it is concluded.'

  'They'll burn her.'

  'Yes, she will be sentenced to burn. The injustice of the sentence will sway the crowd - both Varlish and highlander. It will change hearts and minds, Jaim. And from it will come a greater understanding between the races.'

  'I'll not let her die, Wyrd, even if it means the Varlish and the clan hate each other for a thousand years. Maev is the love of my life. Can you understand what I'm saying?'

  'I do understand, Jaim. But even as we speak the schoolteacher, Alterith Shaddler, is preparing to defend her. He is no warrior. Yet he will stand against the Knights of the Sacrifice, and risk his own life for Maev. We cannot go on as two peoples filled with hate, Jaim. It is draining the magic from the land, and without the magic there will be nothing. The land will die, little by little. I do not ask that you leave Maev to her fate. I ask that you wait until the trial is over.'

  ' 'Tis the same thing,' he argued. 'There will be scores of soldiers at the execution, pikemen and musketeers.'

  'And against them will be Jaim Grymauch, the greatest of the Rigante. You know me, Jaim. You know I have pledged my life for the clan. You know I would not lie to you. Trust me when I tell you that the future of the Rigante rests now in your hands.'

  He stared into the fire. 'I don't know what to do,' he said.

  'Then trust your heart.'

  ‘I can save Maev and help end the hatred?' he asked.

  'Yes.'

  'A long time ago I failed to save a friend. I have lived with that regret as a wound on my soul which has never healed. It would kill me to fail my Maev. You understand? I'd sooner be dead.'

  'You will reach her, Jaim. I promise you that. You will hold her. Maev will live, though you will not.'

  He had said nothing for a while. 'I am destined to die there?'

  'Yes. If that is the path you choose.'

  'But Maev will be safe?'

  'She will go north, Jaim, and dwell among the Black Rigante.'

  ‘I’d die willingly for Maev. But tell me this. If I take her from the cathedral before the trial is over, would she Walk the Tree with me?'

  'Yes, Jaim, she would. You would have some years together. Happy years. I'll not deny it. But then the Rigante would be wiped out, the clan destroyed. Hatred and violence would swamp the highlands.'

  'Tell me what to do
, Wyrd.'

  'I cannot do that, Jaim. You will know when the time comes. Go to Eldacre. Stay low, and watch over the schoolteacher. He is staying at a lodging house in Peartree Lane. The knights will try to kill him. You must keep him safe.'

  The Wyrd's spirit had faded away, and she had opened her eyes back in the Wishing Tree woods. Her fire had burned low - almost as low as the flames of her soul. Her words had doomed Jaim Grymauch.

  Now she waited. The sun drifted past noon. The air suddenly freshened, and a cool breeze blew. Closing her eyes she felt the first rippling wave of magic flow across her. She cried out with the joy of it, forgetting for an instant what had caused it. Here, sixty miles from the cathedral, the wave was gentle. Yet even so the magic seeped into the earth and the trees, the rocks and the water. Those closest to the centre would have felt it most strongly. It was the kind of magic which changed hearts, and opened minds.

  Against her better judgement the Wyrd opened her spirit eyes, and floated back along the wave, peeling back the curtain of time. She saw the giant Grymauch standing at the top of the cathedral steps, Maev Ring in his arms. She heard the muskets roar. Saw him stiffen as the lead shot ripped into his back.

  A choking sob came, and she fled back to her body. For a long while the tears flowed. When they faded away the Wyrd was exhausted, and the sun was setting. With trembling hands she lit her fire.

  The magic of Jaim Grymauch was strong in the Wishing Tree woods, and tomorrow she would resume her life's work. The perils were still great, but the Rigante were about to be reborn. There would be battles ahead, and triumphs and tragedies.

  But now there was a glimmer of hope.

  EPILOGUE

  FOUR VARLISH ATTENDED THE FUNERAL OF JAIM GRYMAUCH: ALTERITH Shaddler, Huntsekker, Taybard Jaekel and Shula Achbain. More than fifteen hundred highlanders gathered to see him laid to rest in a small plot behind Maev Ring's house. Maev herself placed the first shovel of earth upon the coffin.

  The following morning she harnessed a wagon, and prepared to set off for the north.

  Huntsekker offered to go with her, but she refused. She lifted the reins, then glanced down at the powerful Varlish. 'I thank you, but you have a farm to run,' she said. 'People rely on you.' Then she had paused. 'I am glad Jaim did not kill you,' she added.

  'He was a good man, Mistress Ring.'

  For a moment she did not answer, and Huntsekker saw she was fighting for control. 'He was . . .' She faltered then took a deep breath, her eyes full of tears. 'He was a rogue, you know. A drunkard who stole bulls for enjoyment. But he was always true, Master Huntsekker. Always. I think ... I think that I shall miss him greatly.' Unable to say more she flicked the reins and the wagon moved away.

  There were fires in Eldacre that night. The Feld forge went up in flames, with all the stock destroyed in the process. Jorain Feld and his brothers were ruined. Several other businesses owned by witnesses against Maev Ring were also destroyed.

  The most shocking news to surface after the death of Jaim Grymauch explained the absence of the bishop from the execution. His body was found stretched out upon the Judgement Table of the Holy Court. His neck had been crushed. There were no witnesses to the murder, though a priest talked of seeing a large man with a twin-spiked silver beard walking away from the building.

  The King's Regiment withdrew from the north, as did half of the Moidart's soldiers, and an uneasy truce developed between the beetlebacks and the Black Rigante.

  When news of Grymauch's death, and the manner of it, reached the north Call Jace had walked away alone to Shrine Hollow, carrying with him a jug of uisge. He had sat there drinking it as the sun set over Sorrow Bird Lake. He had grown to manhood in the company of Jaim Grymauch, and many was the jug they had shared. He recalled the sound of the big man's laughter, and remembered the many escapades of their youth.

  Call bowed his head, and realized that tears were dropping from his eyes. He wiped them away, cursing himself for a soft fool. Then a sob broke clear of his control, and he wept for a while. Only then did he remember the words of the Dweller.

  'For the clans in the south will rediscover their pride and their manhood . . . One spark will ignite them, one glorious spark, one moment of true Rigante greatness. It will break my heart to see it, and at the same time gladden my soul.'

  'What are you speaking of?'

  'You will know when the moment comes. You will hear of it. You will even weep, Call Jace.'

  'I have not shed tears since I was a wee lad and my father died.'

  'I know. Too much of your Rigante heritage is locked away, buried deep. But remember my words when the day comes.'

  Kaelin Ring found him there. Call knew that the young man was suffering, and the two sat in companionable silence as the moon rose.

  'I cannot believe he has gone,' said Kaelin at last. 'A part of me won't accept it.'

  'He hasn't gone,' said Call. 'You carry him here,' he added, tapping Kaelin's chest. 'In your heart, as I will carry him in mine. The clan will do the same, boy. Mark my words. You don't forget a man like Grymauch. They'll be talking about him in a hundred years.'

  'What will they say, do you think?'

  'They'll say he was a hero. They'll say he was a legend. But, best of all, boy, they'll say he was Rigante!'

  THE END