“Conlan Baydon, you have agreed to face council judgement on behalf of the Avatar of Water?” Johan asked.
Conlan moved to Will’s side. “Yes, I have.” His voice was strong, firm and emotionless. Eleanor saw Will’s shoulders drop as he hung his head.
“Trey, of the family Melat, what do you demand in compensation for this crime against you?” Johan asked.
“I demand that Conlan Baydon swear a blood oath, that within a month of its birth, he will give his firstborn child to me to raise as my own,” Trey said slowly and clearly. Eleanor had expected furious whispering to follow this statement, but the crowd just stared in stunned silence.
“The council upholds this request as judgment. Do you accept it, Conlan Baydon?” Johan asked. There was a pause.
“Yes,” Conlan said finally. “However, I ask the council’s patience, as before I do this, I have some requests of my own.” Johan looked at Conlan, unsure, as this was not something they had discussed, but he nodded.
“What requests do you have?”
“When I hand my child over, I must officially disown it, thus removing any future claim it or its offspring may have to my crown. While humans may be able to accept Elves moving among them, they are very unlikely to accept one as a king, and I wish to protect Mydren from the possibility of further war. While officially the child will no longer be mine, this does not mean that I will have no interest in it. I require Trey to swear an oath to me that my child will be loved and cared for, that any gifts and assistance I may send will be given to it, that lines of communication will be kept open and if, in the future, the child wishes to approach me, it will not be discouraged. Are you willing to swear this, Trey, of the family Melat?”
His voice was strong and commanding, his words reminding everybody that while he planned to be a king first, he was also a man – a man who cared about the child he was reluctantly giving up. Eleanor felt her heart bursting with pride; this was someone fit to rule.
“I will so swear,” Trey said, sounding weak and pathetic after Conlan’s deep, powerful voice. He stepped forward, dropping to his knees at Conlan’s feet. Pulling a knife from his belt he dragged it hard across the palm of his hand, grunting at the pain. Making his hand a fist he held it out over the sand and allowed the blood to drip down, black in the firelight, and bowed his head.
“I, Trey, of the family Melat, do this day swear to Conlan Baydon, on my life blood, that the child he entrusts to my care will be loved, protected and cared for – treasured for its entire life. This child will know of and respect Conlan Baydon for the difficult decision he has made. Any gifts or assistance Conlan Baydon may send will be given to the child without reservation. Lines of communication will be kept open, and should the child ever express an interest in approaching Conlan Baydon, a meeting will be arranged.”
A heavy silence fell. Trey rose to his feet, handing the knife to Conlan. The significance of the move was not lost on Eleanor. He was giving Conlan the means to kill him, if he had wished to. In front of everyone present he was showing his trust in Conlan as a man of his word. Conlan looked at the knife for a moment, then dropped gracefully to his knees, pulling the blade deeply across his palm, making no sound. He held his fist out as Trey had done, allowing the blood to fall. Keeping his head raised, he stared Trey in the eye as he spoke his oath in a slow, steady voice that rang with authority.
“I, Conlan Baydon, do this day swear to Trey, of the family Melat, on my life blood, that within a month of the birth of my first child, I will entrust it to his care, giving up all claim upon it and allowing Trey, of the family Melat, to raise the child as his own.”
The silence became deafening. In one fluid movement, Conlan sprang back to his feet, handing the knife back to Trey. Eleanor watched the blood from his clenched fist continue to drip to the sand as he turned back to face the council. To anyone watching he looked strong, in control, regal, but Eleanor could see how stiff and uncomfortable his body was, she knew how much this was hurting him. This vow could end up preventing him from getting married – could mean he never had children – but Eleanor knew he had made the right choice, because his quiet acceptance of their judgement was why the Elf council had agreed to fight with him, not what he had promised in return. He had gained their loyalty from the moment he said yes to Trey’s demands.
Johan stepped forward again. “Will, Avatar of Water, Conlan Baydon has paid your debt to Trey, of the family Melat. You are no longer a ‘marked’ man. All oaths and judgements made here tonight will be recorded in the tribe’s history for all time. The council would remind all present that breaking these oaths will bring an immediate death sentence. Conlan Baydon, you are free to leave, although we extend our hospitality to you, should you wish to stay.”
“Thank you for your offer, Johan, but we must be moving on. We would prefer to leave now, to make the most of the cooler night air,” Conlan replied.
“Very well,” Johan said. He sounded sad. “Return to your tent and we shall bring your bags to you and a guide to ensure you leave the desert safely.”
Conlan nodded, and turning sharply marched back to their tent. Eleanor and the others moved quickly after him. Once inside, hidden from view, Conlan allowed his guard to drop slightly. He sat on Eleanor’s bed, staring at nothing with vacant eyes, body shaking, blood dripping from his still clenched fist. Instinctively respecting his silence, Eleanor took the jug of water from the table and gently inspected the damage to his hand. He did not resist, unclenching his fist when she carefully prised the fingers apart. She poured some of the water over the deep gash, flushing out the blood and cleaning it. He did not flinch. Eleanor heard the ripping of material as Will tore a strip off the bottom of his shirt, handing it to her. Carefully, Eleanor wrapped the strip around Conlan’s hand. She had just tied off the end as Johan and Sarina walked through the tent flaps, followed by Adra and Dal, who carried their bags. They collected their things quickly. Eleanor smiled as she watched the joyful way Freddie silently greeted his sword, tucking it safely back into the middle of his blanket roll. They said their goodbyes, Conlan saying the absolute minimum required to be considered polite, and they left, marching out in silence across the dark sand with Adra as their guide. Conlan set a hard pace; Eleanor got the impression that he would have preferred it if they had run. They left Adra as they joined the main road back to Drent a few hours after dawn, a sad look on his twisted face as he turned and headed back into the sand. They should have made faster time once they reached the main track, but Eleanor was exhausted, and from listening to Will’s panting she knew she was not the only one. They began to slow down, the gap between Conlan and the four of them getting longer and longer as he pounded on ahead, oblivious or maybe not caring. If she could have caught up with him, offered him comfort, she would have done so, but just putting one foot in front of the other was an effort, so she concentrated on that.
As they entered Drent’s town gate, Conlan sat waiting for them on the low wall. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were as empty as his voice when he spoke.
“I’ll get Rand. You go to the inn and get the rest of our baggage; I’ll meet you there.”
“We’re leaving straight away?” Amelia asked, disappointed.
“We can’t afford to stay here, we have to get back out to where foraging is possible,” Conlan said, sounding irritated that he was having to explain himself. Eleanor was grateful to hear any emotion in his voice. She reached into her bag and pulled out the large purse of money Remic had given her and handed it to Conlan.
“We’re staying,” she said flatly. She waited for the argument, waited for the explosion of irritation, waited for him to object in some way, but he nodded and led them back to the inn. They were able to get their old suite back. Conlan stalked across to the bedroom, slamming the doors shut behind him as soon as they got inside. The inn staff brought their bags back and Will ordered them food and baths, flashing the occasional guilty glance at Conlan’s closed bedroom doors
.
It was three days before Conlan answered one of their polite knocks on his door, asking him if he wanted to eat. He emerged looking haggard and spent; thick stubble added years to him. His face was gaunt and drawn and exhausted, bloodshot eyes stared at them with disinterest. He had pulled the bandage off his hand, and even from across the room Eleanor could see the deep purple and fiery red of infection. Will saw it too, and grabbing his medical bag manoeuvred Conlan into a chair so that he could inspect the injury. Conlan did not resist and said nothing as Will cleaned the wound as best he could, rubbing liberal amounts of his homemade antiseptic into it. Eleanor knew from experience that the stuff made any cut sting and burn. On Conlan’s hand it must have been agony, but he gave no outward indication of the pain.
“Promise me you won’t take this off,” Will said, patting the clean bandage.
“I’ve sworn enough oaths for you,” Conlan snapped, bitter resentment pouring from him. Eleanor saw Will’s body flinch as if struck.
“That’s not fair… ” Amelia started, coming to an abrupt halt as Conlan stood and turned his eyes on her with a look so malevolent that Amelia began to shake. Eleanor knew she was right – this was not Will’s fault, not really anybody’s fault – but Conlan was not ready to hear that yet.
“Is there anything else I should be sacrificing to make me a better king?” he asked them. His question met with uncomfortable silence. Turning, he stalked back to his room, slamming the door again.
“Will, I need you to make up some sedative, enough to give him twenty-four hours of oblivion,” Eleanor ordered. She picked up a plate and began putting food on it, realising she had no idea what he liked. By the time she finished, Will had prepared a glass of the medication and handed it to her. She took a deep breath, opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. The closed blinds made it gloomy. Eleanor stood for a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust. The bed had not been slept in, but from Conlan’s condition that did not surprise her.
“What do you want?” He sat in the corner of the room, scowling.
“I want you to eat something, then I want you to drink this sedative and then I want you to sleep,” Eleanor said quietly.
“And if I don’t want to?” The fight was back in his tone.
“There are four of us, if I have to get Will and Freddie to sit on you while I pour this stuff down your throat, I will do,” she said, sounding a lot calmer than she felt. When he did not make any more threatening responses, Eleanor walked over to him. Sitting down she handed him the plate of food and watched him eat. When he had done, she gave him the sedative; he looked at it suspiciously but swallowed the entire glass in three large gulps.
“Happy now?” he muttered.
“No. You need to lie down, Will’s sedatives are strong and you’re too heavy for me to lift, so get up and get yourself into bed,” Eleanor ordered.
Sighing with annoyance, Conlan lumbered to his feet and moved towards the bed, stumbling as the sedative began to take effect. Eleanor put a shoulder under his arm, helping him. He made it – just – and collapsed back into the pillows, dragging Eleanor with him. She untangled herself and pulled his boots off, lifting his legs onto the bed. He gazed at her, his eyes glassy, eyelids trying to drop as he fought the drug.
“I hated him for doing that to me,” he said thickly. Hated who? Does he mean Will?
“Hated who for what?” Eleanor asked.
“My father. I hated him for disowning me, and now I’ve done it to a child I’ve not even met.”
Eleanor sat next to him on the edge of the bed, her heart aching at the pain and misery in his voice.
“Your child won’t hate you, Conlan, your child will understand,” she said softly. She saw the doubt in his eyes, but he stopped fighting and allowed the sedative to drag him away. She watched his peaceful sleep for a while, wondering if she was right, if his child would forgive him, would understand. She leaned forward and gave his forehead a soothing kiss, feeling a little guilty, knowing he would have objected if he had been conscious.
The Chalice
They stayed in Drent for several weeks. Eleanor welcomed the time to recover, as her wrist itched and throbbed and she still felt sick if she overtaxed herself or strained the muscles in her stomach. Conlan retreated into brooding silence, rarely leaving his room, but he ate and drank what they brought him with little more than an irritated glance. Sleep and decent meals had a positive effect and he began to look better, even if his mood did not improve. The evening before they left, Eleanor had insisted that Conlan leave his room, have a bath, shave and change his clothes. Will had redressed his hand. Eleanor had been relieved to see that the infection had died down, leaving just a raw, ugly wound. Instead of retreating back to his room, they had been surprised when he had chosen to sit and eat with them. He said nothing, but it was not an unpleasant, distancing silence; he looked comfortable, relaxed in their presence as they laughed and talked around him, content to just be there without having to engage.
As they packed up the next morning, it occurred to Eleanor that Conlan would not get to enjoy his new saddle, because they were going to turn Rand into a pack mule again. This seemed a little unfair, so she gave him Remic’s coin bag again and asked him to buy them all horses, pointing out it was time she learnt to ride and that it would make travel far quicker. He nodded, taking the money from her and asking Will to accompany him to the stables to help.
Eleanor stood outside the inn with Amelia and Freddie, waiting in the mid-morning heat, when they heard hooves approaching down the street. Rand came towards them. The animal was so ecstatic to be back with Conlan that he was almost skipping, his beautiful grey coat and silvery mane shining and his new saddle and bridle standing out against his muscular body, silver studs reflecting dazzling flashes of sunlight. Rand’s steps were precise and fluid and sat proudly on his back Conlan moved with him, as if they were one, the animal’s movements an extension of his own. Eleanor knew she was staring at him, but she did not feel so bad when she realised that Amelia stood next to her doing the same thing.
“Wow,” she breathed. “He really can look the part when he wants to.”
Eleanor nodded, awestruck.
As they got closer, they saw Will behind him on a large, black, grumpy-looking horse of his own, holding the reins to three others. Eleanor did not waste much time looking at the other animals, as she had eyes only for Conlan; he gently halted Rand at her side and looked at her, a genuine, happy, stunning smile spreading across his face, lighting up his bright green eyes. This is why women in those silly romantic novels swoon, Eleanor thought as her heart pounded nosily in her chest and the dusty street spun around her. She returned the smile, grinning stupidly at him because suddenly there were no thoughts in her head, not a single one. His smile, after so many weeks of misery, was like finding flowers in the desert; an unexpected miracle that she was struggling to appreciate fully.
“Thank you for the new saddle, Rand looks very handsome in it,” he said. She nodded dumbly, still smiling like a moron and profoundly grateful when Amelia dragged her away under the pretence of helping her mount her horse.
“You cheered him up, well done, but unless you want to take this moment to declare undying love for him, I suggest you pull yourself together,” Amelia whispered in her ear as she pulled her towards the small caramel-coloured horse that Will had indicated was Eleanor’s. Eleanor froze and stared at the taller woman. Amelia smiled at her.
“Oh sweetie, how could I not know? We all know, it’s so obvious; how Conlan’s missing it is beyond me. Why don’t you just tell him?”
Eleanor’s panicked mind flooded her with answers to this question and they all came tumbling out in a whispered, breathless rush. “Because he’ll laugh at me, because he needs a queen, because he wants children and I can’t have them, because his rejection will destroy me.”
Amelia stared at her. “OK, you have reasons, but not especially valid ones. Have you thought that he might actually l
ove you back?”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow at Amelia and the woman shrugged.
“Well maybe not,” she agreed. “But he might want to, if you tell him how you feel.”
Eleanor shook her head violently and Amelia sighed. Saying nothing more on the matter, she showed Eleanor how to mount her horse, giving her quick instruction on how to hold the reins and guide the animal. What she was saying was familiar to Eleanor, as she had ridden Rand, but this would be the first time she would be fully in control and it gave her a thrill of fear and excitement, helping distract her mind from Conlan. She pushed into the animal’s head and was pleased with what she found – it might be a small horse, but the mare was brave and dependable. Eleanor sent her feelings of affection, liking the way the animal’s body relaxed as she did so. She gently sent a question, asking the animal for her name. The reply was the Dwarfish word for ‘horse’. Eleanor smiled, as a horse called ‘Horse’ seemed very appropriate. They headed out of town and Eleanor felt a pang of loss. She had liked Drent, but with every mile they travelled Conlan’s mood improved, so she found it hard to miss the place. Eleanor had studied the map of Mydren in Gregor’s book and had been surprised when Conlan had told them they needed to go north along the central mountain range, before they could turn west across the mountains to where the five rivers met. Eleanor had questioned this, earning herself a look of supreme irritation as Conlan had explained that if they moved directly west from Drent they would have to negotiate volcanoes active enough to spit fire, which had confirmed her suspicions about Mydren’s underlying plate tectonics. So they headed north for three weeks and then turned west.
Eleanor Page 32
