Sword in the Storm

by David Gemmell

  He became aware of a thudding pain beneath his eye and reached up to find the skin swollen and tender where the knife hilt had struck him. Better not tell either the Big Man or Banouin about that part of the fight, he thought. Had the knife been better thrown the fox would now be tearing at his dead flesh.

  He wondered how Ruathain would react to his stupidity. Would he be angry? Probably. But he was a warrior himself and his anger would be muted by his pride at Conn's achievement. Or so Conn hoped.

  Just before dawn he heard horses moving through the woods. 'Over here!' he yelled.

  The first riders he saw were Banouin and Ruathain, then Arbon, Govannan and a score of others. Ruathain slid from his pony and advanced to the dying fire. 'What happened here?' he asked.

  'I found three of them,' said Conn. 'There is no sign of the fourth.'

  'I think we have him,' said Ruathain, pointing back to one of the riders, a slim man with a drooping blond moustache, who sat his horse silently, his hands tied behind him. 'We found him at the Blue Valley settlement buying supplies. He is a foreigner.' Ruathain moved to the corpses, pulling clear the blankets. Arbon dismounted and examined the bodies. 'These are they,' he told the riders. 'See, the fat man bears scratches upon his face. You did well, Conn.'

  Conn accepted the praise without comment, but glanced up at Banouin. The Foreigner looked angry, and said nothing. And Ruathain's expression was unreadable.

  'What will you do with the fourth man?' Conn asked Ruathain.

  'He claims to have been travelling alone. I will take him to the Long Laird for judgment. You can ride with me. You will need the Laird's permission to leave the land and travel with Banouin.'

  Some of the men dismounted and searched the camp, and the bodies. They found three small pouches full of silver coin, and this was distributed among the riders. Ruathain and Banouin took nothing. Following their lead, neither did Conn. Then they buried the three dead men and rode away, leaving the youngster with Ruathain and the prisoner. Only then did the Big Man allow his anger to show.

  'What were you thinking of, boy? Three grown men! They could have been skilled warriors.'

  'Maybe they were,' said Conn, defensively.

  Ruathain shook his head. 'I am not as accomplished as Arbon, but I can read signs. The fat man rushed at you like an idiot. The smaller man was running away when you bore him to the ground and cut his throat. Only the tall one had any skill - and he marked your face. What would I have said to your mother had you died here?'

  'You would have told her I did not run,' said Conn, his anger rising.

  Ruathain closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Your courage is not in question. For that matter, neither was your father's. But we are not talking of courage, we are talking of stupidity. What you did here was reckless. The fact that you won does not lessen it. I have known a lot of brave men, Conn. Many of them are dead now. Courage is meaningless unless it is allied to a keen mind.' Stepping forward he laid his hand on the youngster's shoulder. 'I love you, Conn, and I am proud of you. But learn from this.'

  'I had to do it,' said Conn, softly. 'It was the bear. I couldn't stand the fear any more.'

  'Ah, I understand. Are you clear of it now?'

  'Yes.'

  Ruathain put his arms around Conn and hugged him. Then let us not mention this idiocy again,' he said, kissing Conn's cheek.

  The prisoner kneed his pony forward. 'Would you mind freeing my hands?' he asked. 'I can no longer feel my fingers.'

  Ruathain released Conn and gave the man a cold look. 'Why should I care?' he asked.

  'Listen to me,' said the prisoner. 'I appreciate that you think me guilty of murder, but I am an innocent traveller, as I am sure will be decided at the court you speak of. Or is it your habit to accost and bind every foreigner who has the misfortune to ride through your lands?'

  Ruathain moved to the man, checking the bindings. They were indeed too tight and he loosened them. The man winced as blood flowed through to his fingers. 'Now let us ride,' said Ruathain.

  Brother Solstice was a druid, though those who saw him for the first time did not believe it. Druids were, in the main, older men, solemn and deadly serious, ascetic and disdainful of the world and its pleasures. There were, of course, younger druids, but since, to the average observer, they were men desperately trying before their time to become old, solemn and deadly serious, they were viewed in exactly the same way as their seniors. Brother Solstice was altogether different. Tall, wide shouldered, barrel chested, he was a man given to booming laughter and occasional practical jokes. He was also, unlike his brother priests, hugely popular. Curiously this popularity even extended among the ranks of his brothers. It was a rare event to see a druid laugh, but when such an event occurred the black-bearded Brother Solstice would be at the centre.

  But today, Brother Solstice knew, there would be no laughter. He sat quietly in the Hall of the Long Laird as the prisoner was brought in. The many trestle tables upon which the nobles usually dined had been pushed back to the walls, and the hall was thronged with people waiting to see the murder trial. Before it could commence, defendants in other cases were brought forward, men accused of small crimes against their neighbours, fights and scuffles mostly. A woman charged with assault caught the imagination of the crowd and they hooted and jeered as she was brought in. She had, according to witnesses, hit her husband in the face with a lump of wood, breaking his nose and loosening his teeth. Three witnesses said that the husband had been seen in the company of an earth maiden earlier on the evening of the assault. The woman was acquitted, the assault deemed righteous. She was followed by a horse hunter said to have sold a lung-blown mount, and a tinker accused of robbing a widow. The horse hunter was fined twenty silver pieces and ordered to return the pony price to the buyer; the tinker was sentenced to a public flogging. These cases would not, alone, have attracted so many to the proceedings. Certainly the services of Brother Solstice would not have been requested. No, the populace of Old Oaks had come to see Brother Solstice question the man accused of rape and murder.

  The prisoner was tall, his clothes, though travel stained, expensive: a tunic shirt of fine blue wool, edged with silver thread, over leggings of soft black leather. Brother Solstice stared at the man's face. His eyes were pale blue, his hair blond, his mouth full under a drooping moustache. It was a good face, the kind of face you would trust, square jawed, fine boned.

  Brother Solstice glanced at the Long Laird, seated on the dais above him. The Laird raised a heavy hand to quell the rising, angry murmurs from the crowd that accompanied the arrival of the prisoner. 'We'll have silence, if you please,' said the Long Laird, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. Obedience was instantaneous. Brother Solstice smiled. The Long Laird had a manner most princes would give a limb for. Past sixty now, his left arm arthritic and useless, his back bent, the Long Laird remained a commanding figure. The Laird stroked his silver beard, then leaned forward to squint at the prisoner, who stood between two guards, back straight, his arms bound behind him. The Long Laird waved the guards back and the prisoner stood on his own at the centre of the hall, the crowd pressing in around him like a human horseshoe.

  The Long Laird leaned back in his chair and called Ruathain forward. Brother Solstice watched the man closely. He had met Ruathain on a number of occasions, and liked him. There would be no need to waste his power on seeking to ascertain whether the Three Streams man spoke the truth. Ruathain always spoke the truth. A butterfly wing of doubt touched him. Do not be complacent, Brother Solstice warned himself. A man's life is at stake here. Closing his eyes he reached within himself, opening the hidden door to his power. Warmth flowed through him and he opened his eyes.

  The scene before him was the same - save that the colours were infinitely brighter. Ruathain's green tunic shirt shone with the glory of spring, and around his exposed face and hands was an aura of pale, golden light. Everything about the man was revealed to Brother Solstice: his pride, his courage, his need for h
onesty, his fears - even his dreams. And under the light Brother Solstice could see the darkness that touched every soul, but, in this man, was held in check with chains stronger than iron.

  I like you, Ruathain, he thought.

  Under the questioning of the Long Laird Ruathain told of the discovery of the murdered man and the girl, the chase, and the eventual discovery of the defendant purchasing supplies. He also added that the other three men had been killed in combat by his son, Connavar.

  The Long Laird called the young man from the crowd. Brother Solstice leaned forward. Here too was the same golden light, but beneath it the darkness roiled like a caged lion, seeking a way to break free. The Druid gazed at Connavar, at the jagged red scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, and recalled the story of the boy and the bear. Then he saw the knife at the boy's belt. A shiver went through him.

  A Seidh blade!

  The druid's eyes narrowed, and he felt his skin tingle. What are you, boy, he wondered?

  The Long Laird questioned the youngster, who told of his fight with the three hunted men. The story was outlined without embellishment, and became the more dramatic for it. At the conclusion the audience clapped their hands and cheered. Connavar reddened.

  'How old are you, lad?' asked the Long Laird.

  'Two months from sixteen, Lord,' answered Connavar.

  'We have heard of you, and your battle with the beast. You are a fine Rigante, and a youngster we can be proud of. As your laird I name you a man before your time. From this moment forward you have a man's rights in council and in life. You may ask a gift from me - and I shall grant it.'

  Connavar stood silently for a moment. 'I need no gift, Lord, but I did come here to seek your permission to travel with Banouin the Foreigner to his home across the southern sea.'

  The Long Laird was surprised, the druid knew. Most men would have asked for a tract of land, or a string of ponies. The boy asked for nothing, for, even without his heroics, it was unlikely his request for travel would have been denied. The old man smiled. 'You seek too little from me, tribesman. I grant your wish to travel south -and more than that I shall supply a fine horse and a sword. Come to my house after the trials are concluded.' Connavar bowed and returned to the crowd.

  The Long Laird levered himself painfully to his feet. He was a tall man, and had once been the most powerful warrior in the north. Even now he was a formidable figure. Tucking his useless arm into his wide belt he approached the prisoner. 'You are accused of a crime most dreadful, the penalty for which is death by drowning. There is no physical evidence with which to convict you, which is why Brother Solstice is here. He is, as you can see from his white robes, a druid. Of his many skills the one which should concern you most is his ability to detect lies. He will question you. I urge that you speak the truth.'

  'I will speak the truth, Lord,' said the man. 'For I have nothing to fear.'

  'Tell us then your name and your tribe,' said the Long Laird.

  'I am Lexac of the Ostro tribe. My father is a merchant and sent me here to acquire exclusive rights to ship and sell the oiled woollen coats crafted in the Isles.'

  The Long Laird turned to Brother Solstice. The druid rose and walked forward to stand before the prisoner. Dipping his hand into the pocket of his robe Brother Solstice produced a small black rat which he held high, gently stroking the fur of its back.

  'Let us be clear, Lexac of the Ostro, about what is to take place here. I shall ask you questions, and you will answer them. If you speak the truth no harm will befall you in this place. If you lie, great will be your pain. Do you understand what I have said?'

  'Yes,' said Lexac, his eyes watching the rat.

  'Good. This is my little helper. He is the Truth-seeker.' Brother Solstice raised his arm high above his head. The sleeve of his robe slid down, revealing the powerful muscles of his forearm and biceps. The black rat sat up in his hand. Then vanished. The prisoner blinked. 'The Truth-seeker has gone,' he said. 'But he will return. Now, you say you were sent here to buy rights to the oiled wool.'

  'Yes,' answered Lexac.

  'Think carefully before you answer the next question. Three killers met their deaths two days ago. Did you know them?'

  'Yes I did.'

  'How so?'

  'I saw them on the ship, and spoke to them. Two of them were known to me before that.'

  'Did you ride with them after you landed?'

  'Yes, for a time.'

  'But you were not with them when they came across the victim and his daughter?'

  'No, I—' The prisoner suddenly convulsed, his back arching. Blood sprayed from his mouth. The crowd gasped as something black pushed itself from inside the prisoner's mouth. The black rat scrabbled clear of the man's lips and leapt to the waiting hand of Brother Solstice. Lexac fell to his knees and vomited. Two guards came forward and hauled the prisoner to his feet. He was trembling uncontrollably, his eyes wide and staring at the small creature in the druid's outstretched hand. Once more Brother Solstice raised his arm. Once more the rat disappeared. The prisoner screamed.

  'Be calm!' ordered the druid. 'Speak the truth and you will not suffer. But lie once more and the Truth-seeker will appear deep in your belly. Then with fang and claw he will tear himself a way to freedom. Do you understand?' Lexac nodded dumbly, blood dribbling from his torn lips.

  'You were with them when the deed was done?'

  'Yes.'

  'You took part in it?'

  'Yes.'

  'Was the dead man known to you?'

  'Yes. He was a rival of my father's.'

  'Also seeking the rights to the oiled wool?'

  'Yes.'

  'So the murder was done for greed? The rape was merely an afterthought?'

  'Yes. I am sorry. I am so sorry.'

  Brother Solstice held up his hand. The rat appeared there, and the druid turned away from the prisoner.

  The Long Laird stepped forward. 'Tonight Brother Solstice will come to you. He will write your account of the deed. This account will be sent to your father, as will mine of how you met your death.' Two guards moved in and took hold of the prisoner's arms. Lexac began to weep piteously. The crowd, still stunned by the druid's magic, was silent as the prisoner was led away.

  Brother Solstice strode from the hall into the bright sunlight beyond. The rat in his hand began to shrink, until it was no more than it had always been, a piece of black fur, two inches square. The blood had come when Lexac in his panic had bitten his own lips. Only the Long Laird knew the secret, and even he could not quite comprehend at first why Brother Solstice used such magic.

  'We all know your skills, Brother,' the Long Laird had said. 'If you just tell us a man is guilty we will execute him.'

  'That is not safe, my friend. You are right. I always tell the truth in these matters. But evil can strike anywhere: in a peasant, in a laird, in a druid. In days to come - when I am long dead - another druid might come, a liar and a cheat. It would be dangerous to establish a precedent that says his word alone can bring about the death of an accused man. As it is, my little Truth-seeker ensures that the guilty man himself confesses his sin.'

  In the bright sunshine outside the hall Brother Solstice drew in a deep, cleansing breath, and let the power pass from him. His heart was heavy, for the condemned man had not been wholly evil. Indeed there was much good in him. Now the good, as well as the evil, would be confined to the murky waters of the peat marsh.

  Brother Solstice was not anticipating with any pleasure the evening he would spend with the prisoner.

  Connavar left the hall and wandered towards the high palisade. Wooden walls, crafted from sharpened tree trunks, circled the hill fortress, creating the image of a crown high above Old Oaks. Climbing a set of wooden steps, Connavar reached the battlements and stared out over the settlement far below. Hundreds of small round houses stretched south for over a mile to the river, with larger homes decorating the eastern hills. The fortress of the Long Laird was an impressive structure
, which, three times during the last fifty years, had withstood sieges from Sea Raiders. The hill upon which it was set was steep, and attackers, with no cover, were prey to a hail of missiles raining down upon them from the defenders.

  Connavar strode along the battlements, gazing across to the woodlands far to the south. Thoughts of Arian filled his mind. How could she wed another? Especially after that night of passion by the stream. It had been the most perfect time of his young life, and he felt that their spirits had bonded together in a manner so wonderful as to be unique. No-one in the world, he believed, could ever have known such magic, such harmony. And yet she had betrayed him.

  Now that passion, those anguished moans, were for Casta. He felt the anger building within him, and pictured his blade plunging into Casta's belly, ripping free his soul. Guilt followed instantly. Casta was not to blame. He did not force her to wed him. She had done so willingly, as Conn lay close to death. It was all so confusing. She had said she loved him. And it had been a terrible lie. Why then had she said it? What was there to gain?

  Hearing the rampart steps creak behind him Conn turned to see Brother Solstice climbing to the battlements. The man was powerfully built, looking every inch a fighter, which, to Conn, made a nonsense of the ankle-length white druid robe he wore. He had never seen anyone look less like a priest. As he came closer Conn saw a scar similar to his own showing beneath the druid's black beard.

  'I fought in three battles,' said Brother Solstice, touching the scar. 'But that was before I heard the call.'

  'You read minds,' said Conn, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

  'Yes, but that would be discourteous. I merely noticed you staring.' Brother Solstice wandered to the wall and gazed out over the land. 'It is beautiful from here, high above the sorry troubles of the world. Look at the homes. Do they not seem tranquil and uniform? Yet each of them houses a host of emotions - love, lust, anger, greed, envy and hatred. And, to a sadly lesser degree, kindness, compassion, caring, selflessness. The view may be beautiful, but it is unreal.'