'Have you been here long?' Banouin asked her.
'Two years, I think.'
'Where is the boy's father?'
'He went away,' she answered. 'Left one night. Never came back.'
'Where are you from?'
'Long Branch. It is a Perdii settlement.'
'I know it,' said Banouin. 'It is less than three days' walk from here. Why do you not go home?'
She did not reply. The toddler, his belly full, was asleep in her arms. She looked immensely weary. 'I am ready to pay you now,' she said.
'There is no need of payment, child. Take your son to bed. And if you wish to travel with us tomorrow I will take you to Long Branch.'
'There is nothing for me there,' she said. 'There is nothing for me anywhere. Except for my little one.' Kissing the toddler's head she pushed herself to her feet and walked away.
'She is no older than me,' said Conn.
'Old enough to know sorrow,' observed Banouin. 'I am going to get some sleep. Wake me in four hours, then I will stand watch. Wake me earlier if they come. Do not try to tackle them all alone.'
'They won't come for us,' said Conn. 'I read the fear in their eyes.'
'Confidence is to be applauded, arrogance avoided,' quoted Banouin, settling down under his blanket.
The lands of the Perdii were heavily wooded and increasingly mountainous, which pleased Conn, for it was more like home, and in truth his spirit was restless for sight of Caer Druagh and the home fires of the Rigante. Yet Banouin grew more tense once they had crossed the Perdii river, and, as he rode, constantly scanned the countryside.
'What are you looking for?' asked Conn.
'Trouble,' answered the Foreigner, tersely. He seemed in no mood for conversation, and the two riders journeyed on in silence for most of the morning. By dusk Conn was casting around for a place to rest the ponies and enjoy a meal. They had made a brief stop at noon, finishing the last of the bread. As the sun was sinking Conn saw a stand of oak trees, that dipped down into a valley. From where they rode Conn could see the distant, glittering ribbon of a stream, shining gold in the dying light. Moving alongside Banouin he pointed down to the valley. 'A good place to camp?' he asked.
The Foreigner shook his head. 'Talis woods,' he said. 'The Talis is what the Perdii call the Seidh. No-one goes there. They have a legend here that tells of a warrior who entered the Talis woods one morning, and emerged in the afternoon as an old man. We will move on. There is a farm close by. I know the farmer well. He will put us up for the night.'
They arrived at the wooden farmhouse within the hour, to find it cold and deserted, the door hanging on its leather hinges. Banouin dismounted and moved inside, pushing open the shutters. Finding several stubs of candles he lit one, holding it high and examining the main room. It had been stripped of furniture, the shelves cleared. Slowly he walked through the other three rooms. All had been emptied of any items that could be carried away with ease. There was a broken chair in the main room, and several chipped pots and pans were scattered in the wide kitchen area.
Conn joined him. 'Robbed, do you think?' asked the younger man. Banouin shook his head.
'No. He was always fearful of war coming to this part of the country. I think he just moved away. Sad, for he loved this parcel of land.'
There was a stone hearth against the northern wall and Banouin built a fire while Conn tended to the ponies. Later, after they had eaten, they sat on the dirt floor in front of the small blaze.
'Now will you tell me what is troubling you?' asked Conn.
Banouin removed his blue hat, running his fingers around the wooden rim. 'The Perdii are a difficult people, volatile, violent and terribly arrogant. They have dominated this section of the continent for hundreds of years. The Ostro and the Gath pay tribute, and that is why there are few raids now. I made a friend of Alea, the king, some years ago. But I am not popular with his family. Especially his brother, Carac. He bought some goods from me five years ago, then sent men to steal the price money back. They failed. After that he claimed I cheated him. He would have had me killed, but he knew Alea would punish him for it.'
'And now Alea is dead,' said Conn. 'Did he have sons to rule after him?'
'One son, a nice boy. He should be around seventeen now.'
'Should be?'
'I rather doubt he had the strength or the skill to defeat Carac. He's probably dead. Ritually strangled. It is the Perdii way.'
'He would strangle his own nephew? What kind of a man is this Carac?'
'The lives of princes are not like those of ordinary men, Conn. Perdii history is littered with tales of infanticide, patricide, incest and murder. Carac even married his sister, since it would give him a double claim to the throne.'
'I take it we will not be trading at his capital.'
'No, we will not trade. However I will have to go in, for I have business to conclude. A merchant there holds capital for me, and I will need that for my new life with Vorna. I shall go in at dusk, and leave with the dawn. It is a large town - almost the size of Goriasa. I should pass unnoticed.'
'Not wearing that blue hat,'observed Conn.
Banouin chuckled. 'I will leave it with you.'
'How soon will we reach the town?'
'Late tomorrow. Then it is a further four days' ride east to the border, and the first roads of stone. We will travel more swiftly then.'
The following morning a storm blew in from the north, and heavy rain prevented their departure. They stayed in the farmhouse, and talked of the journey ahead. Banouin was anxious for Conn to see the wonders of Stone, and better understand the threat posed by the people of that city. In the afternoon Conn wandered out onto the porch. There was a rough-cut bench there, protected by an overhanging, slanted roof, and he sat watching the rain and listening to the howling wind. He felt a strange sense of unease he could not pin down. He found himself thinking of Riamfada, and their days together before the coming of the bear. It seemed to him that the period had been golden, though he had not appreciated it at the time. On the day of the last swim Riamfada had but weeks to live, though no-one knew it. Would the swim, he wondered, have been more or less joyous had they known?
The rain began to ease, and in the west the sun shone through a break in the clouds. The sudden light was magical. The dull, matt green and brown of the distant, rainswept forest shone now with vibrant colour, the murky grassland becoming a glittering emerald sea. As the clouds parted further, the golden light swept across the farmhouse and Conn saw, for the first time, a host of bright blue flowers at the edge of the trees. Banouin joined him. The little merchant took a deep breath. 'Doesn't the air smell good?' he said. 'I love the aftermath of a storm.' He clapped Conn on the shoulder. 'Time to be moving,' he said.
Two days later Conn sat by a small fire in the darkness of a sheltered hollow, waiting for Banouin's return from the town of Alin. It was close to dawn, and the young warrior was growing increasingly anxious. He had urged his friend to allow him to travel with him, but Banouin had been adamant. 'If I am to be in danger, my young friend, I can best deal with it alone. Believe me. Anyway, who would look after the ponies? If we left them here alone any stray thief could find them. Or indeed wolves could kill them. No. You wait here and learn patience.'
'Who is it that you are going to see?'
'A merchant named Diatka. He holds more than two hundred gold pieces for me.'
'And you trust this man?'
'We merchants need to trust one another, Conn. We cannot travel the world with bulging chests of coin. Wait here for me. I will see you as the first light of the sun clears the peaks.'
The hours had passed by with agonizing lack of speed. Conn held his hands out to the blaze and glanced to the east. The sky was lightening with the promise of dawn. Rising, he climbed to the edge of the trees and looked down upon the walled town a half-mile below. The gates were closed. Two sentries were walking the wooden ramparts.
He stood for some while, then returned to the
fire. Hungry, he ate the last of the dried meat. The sun rose, the snow-capped peaks to the east turning to coral. Still there was no sign of Banouin. Conn could feel his heart hammering in his chest. In some strange way he knew Banouin would not come. 'That is fear talking,' he told himself. Another hour passed.
Conn walked to a trickling stream and washed his face, then shaved with the Seidh blade. For two more hours he waited, unsure of what action to take. If Banouin had merely been delayed it would do more harm than good to ride down into the town. Yet what if he had not? What if he had been captured?
Conn decided to wait until noon. Covering the fire with earth he walked up to the tree line and sat down on a fallen log. From here he could see over the wooden ramparts. There were hundreds of buildings, all clustered together. People were moving now, crowds gathering in the open square of land at the centre of town.
The gates opened, and several wagons moved out. Conn shielded his eyes from the sun and sought out Banouin. He was not there.
The wait now became interminable. 'Learn patience,' Banouin had told him, with a smile. He might just as well have asked him to learn to fly like a bird.
A half-hour before noon Conn saddled his pony and, leading Banouin's mount and the six pack ponies, rode down towards Alin.
A burly guard at the gate, armed with sword and spear, stepped out to meet him. 'I don't recognize your colours,' he said, pointing to Conn's blue and green chequered cloak.
'Rigante, from across the water,' said Conn.
'You are a long way from home, boy.'
'Aye, it feels like it. I am seeking the merchant, Diatka. I have goods for him.'
The man stepped forward, looking closely at Conn's scarred face. 'You've been through the wars, looks like.'
'An argument with a bear,' Conn told him, forcing a smile. 'And one I didn't win.'
'You survived: that is victory enough,' said the sentry. Swinging round he pointed down the main street. 'Take that road until you come to Merin's forge. You can't miss it - he has an old ox skull hanging from the gate. Bear left until you see a row of storehouses ahead of you, then turn right. You will see a small orchard of apple trees, and a long building with a storehouse attached. The building carries Diatka's sign, a circle of gold surrounding an oak leaf.'
'Thank you,' said Conn. As he urged his mount forward, the sentry spoke again. 'It may take you some time. The crowds will be coming back from the execution.'
Conn's stomach turned. 'Who was killed?' he asked.
'A Stone spy, by all accounts. Didn't see it myself. Been on watch since dawn.'
Conn rode on. He did not turn left at the forge, but headed towards the town square, where he had seen the crowds gather. People were streaming past him as he rode, but he ignored them and at last came to a gibbet erected on a wooden platform.
Banouin's body was hanging from a bronze hook that had been plunged between his shoulders. The face was savagely beaten, and one eye had been put out. Blood had drenched the little merchant's clothes, and - incongruously - Conn saw that one of his shoes was missing. A rock flew past Conn's shoulder, striking Banouin's dead face. Conn turned to see several small boys, giggling and laughing.
Fighting for control, Conn turned away from the corpse and rode back down the main street, swinging right at the forge and seeking out the house of Diatka. He had, at that moment, no plan, no thought of action.
As he rode he glanced at the people. In the main they were a tall race, fair haired and handsome. Some of the men were wearing Perdii cloaks of sky blue, stained with a red stripe down the centre. A woman ran across the path of his pony and into a side street. She was lean, her dark hair streaked with silver. The image of Vorna came into his mind. Conn sighed as he thought of riding back to Three Streams and telling her of her new husband's death. She had come to him on the night before the journey, tapping at his door, and walking with him out into the meadow.
'My powers are gone now,' she had said. 'But I remember, when first I saw the Foreigner, seeing his geasa. Watch out, Connavar, for a lion with eyes of blood. It may be a crest, or a statue. It may even be real.'
'I will watch out for him,' he had promised. Now he had broken that promise, and it meant nothing that Banouin had insisted he remain behind. Guilt fell like rain on his soul.
Coming to the orchard he located the sign of gold and oak and dismounted. Tying the ponies to a rail he approached the house, and rapped upon the door. It was opened by a middle-aged man, stoop shouldered and bald, wearing a long robe of blue wool.
'What is it?' he asked, peering shortsightedly at Conn's face.
'You are the merchant, Diatka?'
'I am,' snapped the man. 'What do you want?'
'I have been sent with goods to trade,' said Conn.
'Who sent you?' asked Diatka, his voice becoming more friendly.
'Garshon of Goriasa,' said Conn, instantly.
Diatka stepped out into the sunlight. 'And what are you carrying?'
'Hides from the black and white cattle of the Rigante, brooches cast by Riamfada the Grafter, and twenty jugs of uisge.'
Diatka said nothing for a moment, then he smiled and invited Conn inside the house. The floor was covered with fine rugs, the main room filled with boxes and chests, piled one on top of the other. Diatka threaded his way through them, coming at last to a small space near the fire, in which were two chairs with a small table between them. Offering Conn a seat he said: 'As you can see I am having difficulty moving the goods I already have. It is the coming war. The eastern trade routes are largely closed to me. My storehouse is overflowing with merchandise. I am sorry I cannot help you. However, let me offer you a goblet of wine.'
Moving back through the boxes he disappeared for several minutes. Conn stared around the room. The walls were covered with ornaments, paintings, rugs, weapons. But his eyes were drawn to a round shield of bronze, emblazoned with the head of a lion. Conn clenched his fists and fought for calm. When Diatka returned he was carrying two silver goblets, one of which he passed to Conn; the other he placed on the table before him. Then he sat down and leaned back in his chair. 'These are not good days for merchants,' he said. 'So, how is Garshon?' The youngster put his goblet on the table.
'He was well when last I saw him.' Conn was amazed that his voice remained soft and friendly.
'You are very young to be trusted by Garshon.'
'I did him a service.' Conn glanced again at the wall behind Diatka. 'You have some very unusual ornaments. Where does that come from?' asked Conn, pointing to the bronze shield. Diatka turned.
'The lion shield? It is a nice piece. It came from a burial mound in the east. I had thought to sell it in Stone. The eyes of the lion are rubies. Very valuable gems.' He turned back. 'You are not drinking your wine. Is it not to your taste?'
'I was taught to wait for my elders to drink,' said Conn.
'Ah, a good upbringing. These days so few people seem to care about such courtesies.' Diatka lifted his goblet and drank deeply. Conn followed him. The wine was rich and red, full of flavour.
'It is very good,' said Conn. 'Perhaps the best I have tasted.'
'It is from the south,' said Diatka. 'So, tell me, young man, why are you telling me lies?'
'Lies?'
'Rigante hides are always sold by Banouin, as indeed are the trinkets made by Riamfada. You were not sent by Garshon.'
'No, I was not,' admitted Conn. 'I travelled here with my friend. He came to see you last night. Now he is dead. How did that happen? How did they catch him so quickly?'
'I drugged his wine,' said Diatka. 'Then, while he was sleeping I sent a servant to Carac. It saddened me to treat poor Banouin in that fashion, but, as I said, trade has been difficult and I had been forced to use most of his gold to remain in business. In short, I could not pay him.'
'You had him killed for money,' said Conn. 'What kind of a man are you?'
'I am a merchant. I deal in trade. And I made a trade with Carac. Needs must, young man, w
hen poverty beckons.'
'I shall avenge him,' said Conn. 'I will kill you very slowly, and with great pain. As you are dying perhaps the thought of the money you made will bring you relief.'
Diatka chuckled. 'I do not think so, young man. I am long in the tooth, and knew instantly you posed a danger to me. Your wine was also drugged. Try to move your legs. You will find you cannot. The legs are the first affected, then the hands. Lastly you will fall unconscious. Unlike Banouin you will not wake up, for I gave you a very large dose. There will be no pain.'
Conn took a deep breath, then rose from his chair. Diatka was startled. His eyes widened and he also tried to rise. His hands gripped the arms of the chair, but he did not move. 'I switched the goblets,' said Conn, 'when you were telling me about the shield. A lion with eyes of blood. Did you know that a witch told Banouin not to accept wine if he saw such a beast?'
'No, no, no,' whimpered Diatka. 'I cannot die!' Conn moved to a shelf and pulled clear a long, linen scarf. Approaching Diatka he slapped down the man's flailing arms and swiftly gagged him.
Then he moved to the fire, lifting a poker and thrusting it deep into the flames. 'Oh you will die,' he said, his voice cold. 'I saw my friend, hanging from a hook. They had put out one of his eyes. With a hot iron, I think. Soon you will know how he felt.' From outside came the sound of children's laughter, and the patter of feet as the group ran by. Conn turned the poker in the flames. 'You hear that sound, merchant? I promise you that the days of laughter for the Perdii are close to an end. I will do all in my power to wipe your tribe from the face of the earth. I will hunt them and kill them as if they were vermin. Know this as you die!'
Pulling the red-hot poker from the coals he advanced on the stricken man.
Ruathain was close to death when Arbon and two other herdsmen found him. He was sitting propped against a tree on the edge of the woods at High Pasture, unconscious, a bloody knife in his hand. Four dead Pannone warriors lay nearby. Arbon ran to his lord, and knelt by his side. Ruathain's green tunic was drenched with blood. Ripping it open Arbon found four stab wounds, two high in the left shoulder, a third under the right collarbone, the fourth low down above Ruathain's left hip. Ruathain's eyes flickered open. His face was grey and drawn, his eyes fever bright.
Sword in the Storm Page 19
