Peter Morwood - The Clan Wars 01

by Greylady

  “The first lord to lay hand to the shore,” ar’Diskan protested, and he was trying hard to keep his voice and his temper under control. “I was that lord.”

  “The hand was not yours.”

  “I would have… My Bannerman made a gesture of great honour and service to his lord. My Bannerman. Who acts for me. Therefore the hand represents me. Therefore…” His face darkened and the dam broke. “He knew this would happen! He tricked me! I am the first lord to set hand on the shore! I am! Not this cheat, this—”

  “Be careful, my Lord ar’Diskan,” Keo ar’Lerutz said in a stern voice. “I said ‘the first man’. I did not say ‘the first lord’. Had you done this yourself as you…claim…you intended—” that hesitation was damning “—then it would have been as much a cheat as now you accuse Talvalin of performing. But it would have been a splendid cheat, a valiant one worthy of securing victory. As it is,” ar’Lerutz indicated Bayrd’s bloodied sleeve, “you must see why we cannot award you the prize.”

  “But, but, but…” Gerin ar’Diskan was absolutely stammering with fury. “But it cost him nothing! Look – the hand is restored, as good as ever it was!”

  “The rewards of virtue are many,” said Albanak. “He is a generous young man, more generous than many I know with more wealth.” The Overlord put no special intonation into his words, but both Bayrd and Gerin stared hard at him. “He is also most fortunate, because I doubt that he knew—”

  “I did know, Lord.” Bayrd’s voice was still weak and shaky from his ordeal, and the startling developments afterwards were making him feel no better. “At least, I hoped the Lady Eskra might find it possible…”

  “There! A confession! There, you hear him?” shouted ar’Diskan in triumph. “Out of his own mouth! He confessed to the trick!”

  “Not a trick, Gerin-eir ar’Diskan.” The anger in Albanak’s voice was growing. “Though he keeps his hand, yet he gave you the use of his losing it.”

  “He knew what you would do when it wasn’t my hand!”

  “Ar’Diskan, be silent!” roared Albanak, surging to his feet in a passion. “Do not presume to tell your Overlord and these worthy judges that any man is privy to their thoughts. The judgment remains. That is all.”

  “If the hand was no use, Gerin-eir, remember that you had the use of his pain. You suffered nothing. Remember the pain.”

  “I will remember,” said Clan-Lord Gerin ar’Diskan. He inclined his head in a bow as curt as he dared, then swung round on Bayrd. “Rest assured, ar’Talvlyn or Talvalin or whatever you call yourself. I will remember it well.”

  “I am truly sorry, my lord,” said Bayrd, and meant it. “All this…it wasn’t what I intended. I had hoped only to serve my lord to the utmost of my ability. And…”

  “And?”

  “And you were afraid of the pain.”

  It was the truth, and it was the wrong thing to say. Gerin’s face went as white as it had been on the boat, but there were two patches just over his cheekbones that flushed as red as wounds. “You were my Bannerman and my Companion,” he said softly, all roaring past and done. “No longer. You are my enemy. And that I will remember most of all.”

  “My lord…” Bayrd began to say to Gerin’s back as the clan-lord stalked away from Albanak’s pavilion to where his horse was tethered. Then he shrugged painfully and gave up the thankless task. Nothing he would say could change matters now, and he was disinclined to waste further breath in trying. There was just one thing left incomplete.

  “My lord!” His voice was courteous enough, but it still brought Gerin to a stop with his horse’s reins hanging loose between his hands. The man did not turn around to face him, but there was no need of it. “My lord, I was your banner-bearer and your Companion and your conscience. You choose to dismiss me without just or reasoned cause. Therefore, my lord, I defy you, and renounce my faith and fealty, freely given and freely taken. I speak it for my name and for my clan…and for those who are my family, now and tomorrow.”

  Gerin still did not turn, but he looked back over his shoulder, and he was smiling. “A fine speech, my lord,” he said, swinging up into his saddle. “Brave words from a man who makes so light of fear and pain. I advise you to enjoy the lands you gained, my lord. Enjoy them quickly. Enjoy them today. Because I swear that from this day onward, you will never be sure of tomorrow.”

  Though Bayrd said nothing as ar’Diskan rode away, Marc ar’Dru stalked forward and spat on the ground in formal disgust. “Just words,” he said disdainfully. “Boasting. Threats. Nothing more than empty air.”

  “Are they?” said Bayrd. “I hope so.”

  As Eskra made her way towards him through the crowd, he held out his hand – both his hands – towards her. As she took them gently he looked down at her, then gazed out across the lake to the outline of Dunrath-hold along the crest of the distant hill. The sun would be setting behind it in a few hours, a glow of red against the jagged blackness of the tumbled ruin. Black fangs in a glowing red mouth, open to devour…what?

  “I truly hope so,” he said again. “Because he was right. We can never be sure. Not until the day beyond every tomorrow…”