by Jo Walton
I do not know how long I stood there like that, tears on my face, unable to find words, not knowing what to do next nor how to go on. At last I lowered my arms and drew Ulf’s swords out from their wrappings. The rising sun should have shone onto them, but the trees were in the way. “I have brought them as I promised,” I said to my absent brother. “Your killer’s weapons.”
There was a sound from behind me, a rustle and a gasp. I spun round, readying the sword. Veniva was standing there, alone. Her hair was held up by her gold comb. The hem of her overdress was soaked by dew. She was staring at me. “Oh Sulien!” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I lowered the sword slowly and straightened. Even now I couldn’t tell her about Ulf and what had happened, either in that clearing or on top of Foreth. We had never talked about it. I might had told Gwien, if he had lived, but even with him my lips might not have obeyed me. “I don’t know,” I said, at last. “Why didn’t you tell me—” I gestured to the stone and the offering place.
She shook her head sorrowfully. “Let us try to do better in future,” was all she said. She took the swords from me and looked at them, turning them over in her hands. Then she took a breath and sang a hymn to the Dark Lady, a hymn of grave goods brought late to the pyre and revenge completed. Then together we buried the swords and burned over them the incense and sweet wood Veniva had brought. It was full daylight when we walked back together.
“I shall tell Morien that Darien is avenged,” Veniva said when we parted inside the gates. “He should know that, but that will be enough to content him.” I embraced her, and she went off into the house with the mattock in her hand, smiling a little. I went to the barracks to find Emlin.
I set off midmorning for Caer Gloran. I took with me two pennons’ worth of volunteers. I could have had more if I had wanted to take them. Many of them I had come to know in the ride down, and quite a few of them I remembered from when Galba and I had brought two pennons down to Derwen after Caer Lind. I breakfasted in the barracks with Emlin while we talked over their skills. Then we set off over the hills, the way I had gone so long ago when I first left Derwen. There was a visible track to follow now, very muddy after all the rain. We stopped for the night at the new little settlement by the mines. They called it Nant Gefalion, the blacksmith’s stream, because there were so many forges there. There was even a rough wall around it and a wooden watchtower, making it a safe place for an ala to stop for the night. As we rode toward the stables, Marchel’s husband, ap Wyn the Smith, came out of one of them and greeted me, asking news of his wife and his brother.
“When I last saw ap Thurrig she was well and in Caer Gloran,” I said, leaning down. He was sweating and covered in black dust; even his face had black streaks where he had wiped his hair back. Even though it was twilight, he still had his forge fire burning hot inside. Half a dozen of his helpers were looking on from inside the forge door. “She did very well in the battle at Foreth,” I added, in case he had not heard.
“I am proud of her,” he said. “I will go back to Caer Gloran to see her soon if she is staying there. And how is my brother?”
“I do not think I know him,” I said.
“I thought you had come from Derwen? He is steward there.”
It took me longer than it should have. “Daldaf ap Wyn? Of course. You do not look at all alike,” I said. That explained why Daldaf seemed to think himself one of the family, if his brother was married to Marchel whose brother had been married to Kerys’s sister. It was neither the first time nor the last time I considered how much more complicated kinship ties made the world. “He is very well and took no hurt in the siege.”
I declined invitations to drink with ap Wyn when he had finished his forging. I went straight to my tent and slept well that night. When Nant Gefalion was out of sight we were out of Derwen land and into the northern corner of Magor. Although there was nothing to mark the boundary, I could tell when we crossed it. Beauty’s hooves seemed to fall differently on the mud.
Our messenger had caught Marchel on her way, and she waited for us where the track joined the road, where I had first joined the ala in battle. The highroad stretched out in both directions. Across it I could see the silver glimmer of the River Havren. It had been raining a little, and now in late afternoon the sun had pushed its way through the clouds, and everything was steaming gently. The horses called greetings and challenges to each other as we came up. Marchel came forward to greet us.
“We may as well camp here tonight and decide what we’re doing,” she said. “If we go back to Caer Gloran the armigers will make themselves comfortable at home and be hard to start on time, or start out more tired. They’ve said good-bye; I think it’s better not to do it again. And your troops look as if they need the rest.”
“We’ve been doing some hard riding,” I agreed, though I would have liked to go the few hours farther to Caer Gloran to have a bath and see Amala. I passed on her husband’s greetings and then gave the order to my pennons to camp and rest with the others.
Marchel and I went on to her tent. “Have you heard from Urdo?” I asked as soon as we were inside. She shook her head. We sat down on her blankets.
“It’s just too far,” she said, picking up a leather cup and pulling it into shape. “That’s the worst of it. I wish we knew what he was doing. Even with the highroad going all the way from the gates of Caer Gloran and assuming the messenger changes horses and rides flat out it’s a good three days, and another three back of course. I sent as soon as your messenger reached me and again today. I can’t expect to hear back from the first message for another two or three days. And even by now it will be completely out-of-date and useless.” She sighed.
“I sent when I sent to you, from Magor. He’ll have that first message yesterday or today, I think. Then I sent again when they were settled, which message he should have tomorrow or the day after.” She poured ale from a full skin into the leather cup and handed it to me. I turned it in my hand as she filled her own cup. “We probably shouldn’t wait to hear,” I added.
“Of course not.” She raised her cup to me, then drained it. I did the same. “Look, are you sure the Isarnagans down there are going to stay peaceful?”
“No,” I admitted. “If I really felt sure I’d have brought Galba’s ala. As it is I left it with my brother Morien. I don’t think they’ll break their oaths, and they’ll be busy, but I didn’t want to leave the town undefended and leave them the temptation.”
“Is Morien up to command?” Marchel asked, refilling the cups.
I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. “He’s got Emlin ap Trivan as tribuno, and he’s very good.” She grunted agreement; she had worked with Emlin before. “He’s been a decurio under Galba, and he’s the lord down there. Urdo wanted me to bring him to Caer Tanaga so he could see if he was good enough, but there just isn’t time really. I’ve never fought with him and you have—do you think he isn’t up to it?”
Marchel drained her cup and passed the aleskin to me. “No, I don’t think that. I’d just prefer to have someone more experienced there. He’s very young, and he hasn’t fought in the war, just against raiders. It’s an old argument about who gets promoted, I suppose. But he’s had good training and no doubt he’ll do. I think you were right to leave them, and it’s good you’ve settled the Isarnagans, too. If only we could deal with the others so easily.”
“Have you news of the others?” I refilled my cup, and hers again.
“A messenger from Cadraith ap Mardol and his father, of course. They were at Caer Asgor when they sent it, it reached me as I was setting out. That means it was sent four, no, five days ago now. They were asking for help. The ala had defeated one band. Duke Mardol said he was concerned as to how many others there might be inland in Wenlad. He thought it would take them four days to reach the coast unopposed—they sent me a map of their route. It’s no farther from Caer Asgor than from here to Derwen, as the crow flies, but whatever they call him, Mardol can’t fly l
ike a crow, or use crows for messengers either. That would be useful! But Wenlad’s all mountains, and there aren’t any good roads. There aren’t even any good tracks past Cothan.”
“I’ve never been up there,” I said. “You think you should go and help?” I sipped my ale slowly. I wished there was some way to set the cup down, or that there was some food to go with it.
“If Derwen’s safe, then yes, unless we hear differently from Urdo, and I really don’t think we should wait. The Good Lord alone knows what’s happening in Demedia, but if we go up to Caer Asgor, we’re bound to be nearer to where we’re needed.”
“Poor Angas,” I said. “He hates the Isarnagans, and he’s been worrying this would happen for years. I think you’re right, for your ala certainly, but the sensible thing for me to do would be to get to my ala, whatever Urdo’s doing with it. So maybe I ought to go east towards Caer Tanaga and hope to meet him on the way?”
“I wish you’d come to Wenlad and help get that sorted out,” Marchel said, turning her cup in her hand so the ale almost slopped over the rim.
“Without my ala I’m just one more lance,” I said, “I’d like to get them and talk to Urdo and then probably bring them up to Wenlad. Do you know where the other alae are?”
“Mine’s here,” she began, counting on her fingers. “Galba’s is in Derwen, of course. Urdo was going with yours and Gwair’s to Caer Tanaga, he should be there by now unless he’s left again already. Cadraith was in Caer Asgor when he sent to me, and he was heading west. Luth was going from Foreth to Caer Lind with Alfwin. Angas is somewhere in Demedia. That leaves ap Meneth who is almost certainly in Caer Rangor still, though he might have had a message from Wenlad and gone there.”
“So might Luth,” I said. “I expect Urdo’s frantic.”
“Not to mention Raul,” Marchel said, “This is a most disorganized invasion.” She laughed, and drained her ale again. “Look, I know you want to see Urdo, but I’m sure he’s bringing your ala north, or will be once he gets the messages.”
Anger stirred in me at this. “It is not that I want to see Urdo,” I said, “Or at least, not any more than you do. I want my ala, and I want to know what’s going on and what Urdo wants done first.” I drew out a map from my pouch. “You are going northwest from here, into Wenlad.” I traced the line with my finger. Marchel raised her chin, frowning. “Is that a river or a road?” I asked.
“River,” she said. “Not very clear though. That’s the Dee. The road crosses it.”
“Urdo keeps saying we need new maps drawn,” I agreed absently. “Well, it will take you four or five days to get there, I think, away from good roads. If I go northeast, along the highroad towards Caer Rangor, the way we came down, then if Urdo has set out from Caer Tanaga for the north, I should meet him somewhere along there. Then, if he wants me to come to Wenlad, I can come west along this highroad here and be only a few days behind you, and with my whole ala.”
“And if he’s not?” Marchel asked. She was looking at the map and not at me.
“Then I’ll hear that on the road and go south. I’ll at least know where my troops are. As it is I’m not much help to you really, two pennons.”
“Better than nothing.” Marchel scowled and counted miles with her thumb and days aloud. “So small and well-defined it looks on the map. So big and out of control down here. I’d prefer it if you came with me, but I suppose that will work. Keep sending messengers as often as you can. If all goes well, it won’t take too long anyway.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about what we’re going to do with ourselves without any fighting,” I said, trying to make a joke of it. Marchel glared at me. I had no idea what I had said wrong.
“We will praise the Lord and none of us will stand for you trying to stir trouble up to stop us!” she said, furiously.
I just stared at her for a moment. “Do you think I invited the Isarnagans in?” I asked.
“You’re a heathen, and you want more fighting, and they’re all heathens who fled from their homes rather than accept the White God!” she said, looking suspicious.
“I was joking about more fighting!” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “The ale’s gone to your head, Marchel. If anyone’s to blame for this invasion it’s your brother Chanerig stirring up trouble in Tir Isarnagiri.”
“Chanerig brought a whole island under the banner of the White God,” she shouted. “His name will be remembered forever among the Fathers of the Church!” She took another swallow of ale, and added, more quietly “Nobody could have expected so many to be willful, or for them to decide to invade us.” She looked at me suspiciously. “Though you were very well placed to be there at the right time to settle them without fighting,” she added.
I sprang to my feet, spilling my ale on the fleece I had been sitting on. My hand moved of its own accord to my sword hilt. “You are entirely wrong,” I said, coldly. “Are you calling me a traitor?”
Marchel rubbed her hand across her eyes and stared up at me. “No,” she said. “No, Sulien, I didn’t mean that. But you have to decide who you serve, Urdo or your family.”
This was nonsense. I was almost too confused to be angry. “What do you mean? You know I serve Urdo—before this I hadn’t even been home since the beginning of the war! You’re the one who didn’t want to be sent to Dun Idyn because you wanted to be near your family; I’ve always gone where Urdo wanted without complaint. I can’t even see what you’re accusing me of.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” she said. “Sit down for goodness sake. You misunderstood me. I know you’re not a traitor to Urdo, even if you are a godless heathen. But how can you serve Urdo’s Peace and your gods?”
I stared down at her, and wondered if she was drunk or if she had gone quite mad like her brother Chanerig. “There has never been a need to make such a choice,” I said, slowly and clearly. “Urdo does not force any faith on his followers; not even the conquered were asked to give up their gods. Urdo keeps to the old ways as well as the new. Your god may be splendid in himself, but how can you expect people to serve only one god and ignore all the others? How can you consider forcing them to, if they will not choose to? Where is your loyalty, if it came to it, between Urdo and your god?”
“Urdo is making the Peace where we may praise the White God,” Marchel said. “I think we must both be tired and a little drunk, and we are saying things we don’t mean. I am sorry if I have insulted you.”
“And I you,” I said, and bowed, and left her tent. I ate and slept in my own tent, and we parted company the next morning, with formal politeness. I hoped that by the next time I saw her she’d have calmed down.
On the evening of the third day out from the crossroads near Caer Gloran a messenger from Urdo reached me. I was congratulated on solving the problem in Derwen and instructed to go at speed to Thansethan, where my ala was waiting. The messenger was going on to Wenlad so I added a message for Marchel and Cadraith ap Mardol saying that I had received the orders and would be heading for Thansethan. It took another day and a half to reach there. We could have done it more quickly, but not without risk to the horses. As it was I made sure to walk them for a mile or so in the morning before mounting. They were all very tired, and one was lame from a loose stone when we arrived. We came up to Thansethan in a fine rain just as the bell was ringing for noon worship. I led the way to the stable door, afraid we would have to wait until the worship was over before we were let in.
I dismounted and scratched for admittance and found to my surprise the door flung open immediately by the dark and smiling face of Masarn. “Sulien!” he said, and hugged me. Then Elidir pushed past and also hugged me. I had to swing myself back into the saddle to avoid being trampled by what seemed like half my ala all eager to express their delight in seeing me.
“All right!” I said. “I’m very pleased to see all of you, too, but it’s only been half a month or so since you saw me!” I tried to count the days in my head but stopped myself, some o
f them blurred together and there was no need. “Where’s ap Erbin?”
They all spoke at once. Eventually Masarn got them quiet. “He’s gone with the High King to Caer Lind. He’s praefecto of Gwair Aderyn’s ala now.”
“So who’s in charge of you?” I asked.
Masarn grinned. “I was, until I opened the door.” he said. “Though I was told to take Raul’s advice.”
“And has he advised you?”
“Not a word,” said Masarn, cheerfully. “It would have been very awkward if he did, him not being an armiger. But he knows better.”
“Good. I’ve brought two more pennons as you can see, volunteers from Galba’s ala. They’ll be staying with us for a while. Get them settled and their horses seen to. Do you say the High King’s gone on?” I couldn’t think why he would have gone to Caer Lind, of all places.
“Yes,” Masarn said. “He told us to wait here for you. I don’t have any orders. But Raul’s here, he wants to see you as soon as possible. He knows what’s going on.”
“Look after my horses then,” I said, dismounting. Beauty had his ears back. I patted him and gave the rein to Masarn.
“Shall I come with you?” Elidir asked. As signaler she sometimes accompanied me to make notes and carry papers.
“Not this time,” I said. “I’ll find out what we’re going to do and let you know.”
