by Angus Wells
“We find Ellyn,” she said, still stroking the dogs, “and take her away.”
I think that it was then that the enormity of what we planned truly sank in. “Away from this camp, across the lines of warring clans, and—do we survive that—to your broch?”
Shara nodded. “Have you a better plan?”
I shook my head.
“Then best we get to it, eh?”
She rose, shedding panting dogs, and smiled at me. “We’ll learn to live together, Gailard. Perhaps you’ll even learn to trust me—after we’ve rescued Ellyn.”
“If we live,” I grumbled.
“There is that,” she allowed. “Shall we go?”
“With them?” I stabbed an irritable finger in the direction of the horses and the dogs. “What shall we do—walk into Eryk’s camp with three horses and a dog pack?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Let’s leave the horses here; the dogs might be useful.”
I grunted again, and she smiled and chuckled, and asked me: “Are you afraid of dying again?”
“I’d rescue Ellyn,” I said. “And for that, I need to live.”
“Then come here.”
She dabbled fingers in the beck and scooped up mud from the soft bottom. She smeared it over my face and through my hair. I started, backing away from her applications.
“By all the gods, woman, that’s how we dress our corpses!”
“And are you not a corpse?” she asked. “Have you not died?”
I nodded, beginning to understand; Shara daubed me thoroughly, but not so much that folk would not recognize my face. Then she smiled and said, “Shall we go, then?”
I looked at the dogs.
“They’ll come with us,” she said. “Do you Highlanders not believe that dogs carry your souls to the afterlife?”
That was true, so I shrugged and decided to follow her plan, whatever it was. Surely, I had none of my own that was better.
We left the horses amongst the pines and went down toward the camp with all the dogs around us. The clay was wet and sticky on my face, uncomfortable as it began to dry. I scrubbed at my eyes for fear they’d stick and cloud should I need to use my blade. Dogs nipped playfully at my breeches and my hands, as if this were all a great game, but none of them made a sound. I turned toward Shara and saw that she now wore the white robe again, and had daubed clay over her own face, so that she looked like a beautiful ghost.
She smiled a thin smile and murmured, “Trust me,” and walked boldly toward the nearest tents.
We walked in the grey hours of the morning, when night contests with the day and all is misty oblivion: the time when ghosts walk and old folk die. The grass beneath our feet was damp, the moon was gone away behind the clouds; it was too early for the birds to sing. We walked through an ethereal oblivion that wreathed us in mist. Before us stood the tents; I saw the clan banners of the Agador on this side of the stream, those of the Devyn limp in the mist to the other. The glow of banked fires cast faint light on the shapes of sleepy sentries, but even were they drowsy I could not believe we could pass unnoticed, and hesitated, motioning that Shara wait. She halted, still surrounded by the dogs, as I studied the panorama before us. The sentries were spaced at wide intervals, but save we crawled wormlike I could see no way we might pass them unobserved—and surely not with all those dogs milling about—but then Shara touched my elbow and smiled at me and walked confidently forward so that I was left no choice but to follow.
Did magic save us then? Was Shara’s power not so depleted as she had suggested? I did not know—only that we passed between the sentries as if we were ghosts. I anticipated a shout, a flung spear, but none spoke or turned or moved to halt us, and we walked on amongst the tents of the Agador to the stream. We splashed through the water and came to the tents of the Devyn.
It was all still and misty, the silence disturbed only by those sounds any sleeping camp makes and the soft padding of our feet, the small noises of the dogs that accompanied us. I let my memory guide me to that small tent I’d seen beside Eryk’s pavilion, where two men squatted before the entrance. They did not seem especially alert—I supposed they felt confident, surrounded by so many—but they still held swords rested across their knees, and there was sufficient distance between us that they’d have time to rise and give the alarm before I might reach them. I wished Shara had brought me my bow, and motioned her to the temporary refuge of a nearby tent. Eryk’s great billet was separated from the rest by a circle of open ground; only that small bivouac that I prayed held Ellyn was nearby. I studied the distance and put my mouth close to Shara’s ear.
“I can’t reach them in time—not without they give warning.”
She smiled, cracking the clay around her wide mouth, and whispered back, “Trust me, and stay silent. Come.”
And set out directly toward the sentries. The dogs went with her and I speeded my pace to catch up, raising my blade as I prepared to die.
Halfway across the open space the sentries saw us and rose, hefting swords and bucklers. Shara continued toward them, and in the mist, white-robed and daubed with clay, with the shapes of the dogs moving around her, she seemed entirely ghostly. The two guards stared at her transfixed. I saw her intent then. It is believed in the Highlands that when we die, our souls are escorted Beyond by the messenger, Helig, and her pack of soul-hunters, and to those two sleepy warriors it must have seemed that Helig came awandering with my shade in tow. Neither spoke—only stared wide-eyed and gape-mouthed—but I saw one’s lips move and read my name there. I grinned, and it likely seemed to them that my shade was risen from the tree and come seeking vengeance. One began to shudder, and Shara raised a hand, pointing. The man fell to his knees, letting go his blade that he might clutch his buckler across his chest. The other goggled, then turned his head as if seeking help from the sleeping camp, then took an unsteady pace backward.
I saw that he was about to flee and darted forward, hacking my blade deep into his neck, so that his burgeoning cry was stifled in the flow of blood. I smashed him down and spun to drive my point into the other’s back. It was not an honorable blow, and I felt guilty at the shedding of Devyn blood; but these were Eryk’s men, and I had sworn to protect Ellyn. I saw no other choice.
I withdrew my blade and turned toward the tent.
The entry was laced from the outside. I cut the strings and pushed the flap aside, ducking into the dark interior. There was no fire and all was shadowy, a single shape stretched on the floor, covered with a blanket. I set my sword down and plucked the blanket aside. Ellyn stirred, waking with an irritable grunt. Then opened her mouth to scream as she saw me.
“Quiet!” I slapped my right hand across her mouth and she bit me, hard. “It’s me—Gailard. Do you understand? It’s me!”
She stared at me, much as the guards had stared, and slowly nodded. I removed my hand. It hurt where she’d sunk her teeth, and I sucked at the cut.
“But …” Her eyes studied my face, filled with hope and disbelief. “Gailard? You’re dead. I saw you die—they made me watch.” She drew back as if afraid. “Am I dreaming? Are you a ghost?”
“You’re awake, and I’m not.” I showed my bitten hand; blood oozed across the palm. “See? Ghosts don’t bleed, eh? I’ll explain later, but hurry now.”
She went on studying me as if she could not believe what she saw. I said, “We’ve an ally, but we must be gone before the camp wakes—so quick now!”
I yanked the blanket away, grateful that she slept full-clothed, and took up my sword. Ellyn rose, shaking her head as if she’d dispel a dream, and touched my face.
“Why are you painted with mud?”
“In the name of all the gods!” I grunted. “I’ll tell you later. But for now, hurry!”
Ellyn nodded and at last went to the entry. I checked the tent for supplies, hoping there might be food—my belly now felt hollow—but there was none, only the blanket and a sorry mattress. I followed Ellyn outside.
Shara
stood there, still surrounded by the dogs. Ellyn studied her curiously. “I … know … you.”
“You summoned me,” Shara said. “I heard you calling.”
“How?” Ellyn asked, looking now from Shara to the milling dogs, to me, her face creased in confusion …
“We’ve no time now,” Shara replied. “Later—when we’re safe—you’ll understand.”
“Save we stand here debating,” I muttered.
The morning was still grey and misted, but that brume was thinner now, and to the east I could discern a brightening glow that heralded the sun’s rising. The camp would wake soon, and save we were long gone we’d be recaptured. I doubted I could survive a second execution.
Shara said, “Follow me,” and I said, “Stay close,” and we started back through the maze of tents.
As we reached the stream I heard a bird burst forth in song, and then the sound of a man coughing; a horse whickered, and I knew that our time ran short. Before us, an entry flap was thrown back and a woman emerged, carrying a bucket. She stretched and looked about—saw us and screamed.
“Run!” I shouted.
The woman went on screaming and a man dressed only in his undergarments came out, holding a sword. He gaped at us, turned toward his wife, and then bellowed in alarm.
We broke into stride as the camp woke behind us.
We raced for the perimeter and I sped my steps to get ahead; surely there could be no chance of passing the sentries unnoticed now. I hefted my sword and held my buckler across my chest, intent on carving a way through so that at least Ellyn and Shara have some chance of escape.
I saw men gathering—four or five sentries, alerted by the shouting behind us—and then heard Shara call out in a strange, high-pitched tone. I glanced back, fearing she was caught, or pricked by an arrow, but saw that she only cried out as she ran. Then all the dogs that had accompanied us raced by me and fell on the sentries, so that they were overwhelmed and fell down screaming as we went by. I heard more shouts, men and women calling to one another. Some screamed that the Dur attacked, others that Helig walked amongst the tents with her pack of soul-hunters; some that dead Gailard was come seeking vengeance.
Even so, I could not see how we might now hope to escape. The camp was awake and warriors came afoot after us. I heard the song of arrows join the chorus of the wakening birds, and javelins whistled through the air. I turned, thinking to buy the two women a little time.
“Take the horses and run! I’ll find you if I can.”
“No need.” Shara called out again and the horses emerged from the trees, trotting toward us.
Shara sprang nimbly astride the black; I hoisted Ellyn onto her chestnut, then slung my shield on my back and leapt onto my bay. We dug in our heels and set off along the valley at a gallop. I felt an arrow thud into my buckler, and looked back to see men flighting shafts at us, more racing bareback in pursuit. I crouched along my horse’s neck, holding back behind the two women until I saw a group of warriors come running to block our forward path. Shara turned her mount up the slope, Ellyn following, but I knew that that height could afford us little advantage. It slowed us, and the dozen horsemen chasing us were trailed by more, and closing fast, and those warriors ahead were climbing the slope to cut us off. I cursed, and urged my willing mare onward, charging the climbers.
There were ten or so of them, mostly Agador, but Devyn amongst them, and I recognized Rurrid at the van. It seemed his hurts were mended, for he carried a buckler and a blade and was shouting furiously. I saw Athol at his side, clutching a spear. I had no time to unship my shield—which was by now pricked with several arrows that would otherwise have pierced my back—so I raised my sword and shouted a battle cry and galloped headlong at them.
The slope was grassy, dotted with little pines whose shed needles softened the going. I’d sooner have had firm ground under my horse’s hooves for such a charge, but I had no choice in the matter. Indeed, it seemed to me that choices were removed from my hands and I was entirely in the lap of the gods now, so I screamed and attacked.
Rurrid swung his blade as I charged him, and I turned my mare a little aside and cut down at his head. He darted back, lifting his shield. Athol flung his spear, and I leaned sideways, momentarily forgetting that I’d no saddle or stirrups to hold me firm. Almost, I fell; but the spear went harmlessly past me and I swung the bay around and rode him down. I was maddened then—it had been Athol who flayed my back, and even was it on Eryk’s command, he’d been overly willing. And were it not for him and Rurrid, Ellyn and I might have gone peacefully into the Highlands.
I became awhile lost in the battle madness, like some berserker.
He fell away from the horse and I spun her around, so that as he rose I brought my sword down onto the dome of his skull. I noticed as the blade fell that he was balding. Then the circle of shiny pate was lost in a welter of blood as his head split under my blow. If he screamed, I could not hear him for the clamor, but I saw him die, and that gave me much satisfaction.
Then my mare shrilled and bucked, and I was again almost unseated as she kicked out. I turned, seeing Rurrid about to deliver her a second cut, and hauled back on her mane so that she flung her hind hooves at his chest and he was sent tumbling. I spun her around again, so lost in dreams of revenge that I forgot Ellyn and Shara, and the other warriors awhile. I was only intent on slaying him.
I leaned down to cut at him, and he took my blow on his shield, kicking himself backward as he prodded his blade at the mare’s belly. I smashed his sword aside and set my angry horse to pirouetting over his body. I heard her hooves clatter against his shield, and then he was scrabbling away like some great insect. I was, then, quite unaware of the thunder of approaching hooves, or the arrows that flew negligent of friend or enemy toward me.
Rurrid backed against a pine and found he could crawl no farther. Only stand up and face me.
His face was pale, and his eyes wide with the knowledge of his impending death. A thread of blood ran from his mouth, and a distant part of me wondered if my mare had broken more ribs or only opened the wounds I’d delivered him. Even so, he faced me as a Highlander, and I allowed him some honor for that. He raised his buckler and his blade, and coughed out a blood-spittled shout as I came at him.
I turned his blow and hacked down against his shield. Then my mare screamed and rose up as if she’d return him hooves against his cut, and he ducked, exposing his naked neck. I slashed him there, and he fell down, and I sprang from the horse to drive my blade across his face. As he fell sideways, I cut again across his belly, so that he squealed and dropped his sword, clamping a hand across the wound. I saw blood squirt from between his fingers. I hacked him again and he was still; I snatched his hair and took off his head in single cut. I threw the head away. It went bouncing down the slope, and I was abruptly aware that I stood afoot, with armed warriors around me and more riding up.
Sanity returned, and with it the realization that I had lost this war for the satisfaction of personal revenge. I was surrounded, and more warriors approached. All they’d need do was flight their arrows, fling their javelins, and I’d be dead.
I raised my sword and prepared to charge; to die like a true Highlander.
The mist was lifting now, the sky no longer grey, but blue, with the sun lofting over the valley wall, and birds singing. A soft wind blew through the trees. I thought that it was not such a bad day to die.
Then I heard that high-pitched calling again, and dogs ran barking amongst the men readying to kill me, others snapping at the heels of the pursuing horses so that the animals kicked and bucked and shed their riders.
And then Shara and Ellyn came down the slope and rode through the men surrounding me. Shara reached out for the bay mare’s mane and brought her to me that I might mount.
“That was foolish,” she said.
I shrugged. “Perhaps; but I’m not sorry.”
“You might be.” She indicated the camp, which was now all awake, with more
men coming after us. “Are we not gone soon, we’ll be caught. Even now …”
I mounted the bay. I saw, off in the distance as the sun rose and filled the valley with light, Eryk mounting a horse all trapped with silver; and riders flinging out to either end of the valley, moving to cut off all our avenues of escape.
“We’ve lost too much time,” Shara said. And I did not need her to add: because of you.
I nodded, shamed. I could not see how we might escape all those riders. They were, for all the attentions of the dogs, too close—too many came toward us, from behind and ahead, that we might escape. I felt a terrible guilt for my betrayal of trust.
Then, from either end of the valley came war shouts, and from the farther rim a volley of arrows.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ellyn could not, even now, quite believe it. She could not comprehend how Gailard still lived, nor properly understand who—or what—Shara was. It seemed, from the few words they’d exchanged as they fled, that Shara had restored Gailard to life, and would take them all to some safe stronghold—which seemed to Ellyn no more likely than Gailard’s resurrection. Yet if the one was possible, then perhaps so was the other—and surely the one was true, for she had felt Gailard’s hands on her and they were not the hands of a ghost, but fleshed and warm, smelling of leather and sweat and metal. And now he fought their pursuers with a terrible fury. She experienced an almost guilty joy as she saw him take Rurrid’s head, and had she been able, she’d have ridden down to spit on the sundered skull. But Shara held her back, and only rode in when it seemed that Gailard must be overwhelmed.
“He’s headstrong,” the strange woman had said.
Ellyn had spoken without thinking then, concerned only for Gailard’s safety. “He’s brave!”
Shara had laughed and nodded and loosed that odd, high-pitched call again, that set the camp’s dogs to attacking. “So shall we go rescue him from his bravery?”
