“Gideon,” Allystaire said, “look at me.” He reached out and placed a hand against the Temple door, keeping the boy from opening it. He waited till the boy did as he asked, then took a quiet breath. “I do not know if it is because we have not spent more time together, and you are upset because of that. I do not know if you truly mean the words you have said, or if it is the sting of Renard’s death that causes you to disregard them, or if it is something else entirely. It does not matter, because it ends now.”
Allystaire kept his voice quiet to take some of the sting out of them. Gideon started to let his eyes slip to the floor and he cleared his throat. The boy’s gaze met his once more.
“Tibult guided them across the Barony at the end of winter with every one of them in constant pain,” Allystaire said. “Teague was half-mad from her burns; Mattar had hardly been able to lie down in three years; Tibult himself had once grown so desperate he was on the verge of throwing himself into Londray Bay. I healed him that night, but only just enough. On his own, he gathered the rest of them together and shepherded them across the Barony at the end of winter. No weight, no food, no arms. They set out with nothing but their faith and it got them here.”
“I am being unjust to them,” Gideon said, lowering his head. “I know. But it does not change the fact that trying to keep pace with you in the battles you may face will get them killed.”
“We five cannot fight every battle alone,” Allystaire replied. “And someone will have to fight them when we are gone. I have touched their very souls, Gideon. They are willing to do what I ask, willing to take the pains of the world into themselves if it means sparing another.” He put a hand out to Gideon’s shoulder. “If we are to save the world, son, we will do it with souls like theirs.”
“If we face armies, I can destroy them myself,” Gideon said quietly. “I think.”
“No, Gideon,” Allystaire said, shaking his head. “I do not mean no, you could not. But I will not let you.”
“Why? If it saves lives, why?”
“Because if the powers of the world were to learn that we had among us one who was capable of such a thing, no worshipper of the Mother would be safe anywhere. And because, Gideon, it is one thing to kill a man who is trying to kill you in the hot blood of battle. It is another to condemn a man to death for what he has done, and see him executed on your own word. It is still another to stand remotely and watch hundreds of men die on your commands. What you say would be some awful combination of all three, and there may be men who stand apart from us who are not our enemies. We will kill who we must, and save who we can; there may be those we could save even among an army raised against us. If you had simply destroyed the army Lionel brought against us in the winter, we would be without Harrys, without Landen. Would we be better off then?”
Gideon shook his head silently, taking in Allystaire’s words. Finally, Allystaire took his hand from the door and let the boy push it open, asking, “Have you given any thought to finding apprentices of your own? Is such a thing even possible?” He let his hand settle on the boy’s shoulder.
Gideon looked up as they walked into the Temple together. “One day,” he said, “it will be.”
Allystaire was taken aback by the answer, but by then he and Gideon had reached the altar, where Mol awaited them. She was staring at the smooth red stone, frowning faintly.
When the girl turned to face him, her head was tilted oddly, and her eyes had rolled back so only the whites were visible.
“To the north. Just entering the valley. Follow the track and look for them. They come to speak to you, paladin. And they bring answers.”
Mol’s voice was hardly recognizable, the words distant, soft.
“Come then,” he said to Gideon. “We can eat in the saddle.”
* * *
Though the entirety of the Order of the Arm, such as it was, had been horsed, few of them were rider enough to keep up with the experienced horsemen. Allystaire, Harrys, Tibult, and Armel, though Norbert and Gideon came closest, with the rest strung out in a line along the road.
Allystaire looked back over his shoulder and saw Mattar and Johonn bringing up the rear, both so wary of being mounted that their horses had picked up on their fear and gotten spooked.
“Johonn,” he called out, trying to put some levity into his voice. “You cannot wrestle the horse into minding you.”
The huge man didn’t seem to take Allystaire’s words to heart, tugging hard at the reins with his free right hand, a huge longaxe clutched in his left. Preposterous weapon for a man to carry in the saddle, Allystaire thought.
“Ya’d better hope anythin’ means t’kill us gives those pair o’walkin’ hillocks the time t’fall out o’the saddle,” Harrys growled from his left. “More like t’kill themselves on horseback, maybe break a horse’s back.”
“There is a reason they are on dray horses, Harrys,” Allystaire said. “And they do not need to fight from the saddle, but the more practice they get at riding, the better.”
“I’ll work with them in the evenings,” Tibult said, from beyond Harrys. “Mattar was a pioneer and Johonn a footman, and both grew up poor in Londray. I doubt they’d been in a saddle till you put ‘em there. Going t’take time.”
“What about you, Tibult?” Allystaire shifted in his saddle to look at the man he’d addressed.
“Ah, I grew up with ‘em,” he said. “My da had a stable just outside Londray, and I did courier riding as a boy. Know horses well. Like ‘em better than most folk I’ve known. They don’t lie t’ya and they want nothin’ but feed, a combin’, and a clean command.”
Allystaire nodded, considering. “Had you ridden since your injury?”
He shook his head. “Couldn’t get in the saddle, with my hip. Wouldn’t have had any right anyway.”
“What do you mean by that? Cold, Delondeur had not made riding a noble privilege, had he?”
Tibult shook his blading head. “Not at all. It was that the mount that fell on me, ‘twas my fault. I didn’t need t’ride him into a river in the middle of a fight, could’ve held the bank and waited for the enemy t’cross. I wanted the blood, the glory. He paid for it. Good beast, deserved better.”
Conversation gave way to the clop of hooves on the track, to the creak and sway of harness. Tibult craned his neck around Harrys and snuck a glance at Ardent. Allystaire caught his look and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“How long’ve ya had that stallion?”
“Going on three years,” Allystaire said. “And his name is Ardent.”
The horse blew a huge breath through his nostrils at the sound of his name. Allystaire patted his muscled neck.
“Ought t’stud him,” Tibult said. “Somethin’ special about that animal.”
“Somethin’ not canny,” Harrys put in. “Tried t’take my fingers off, I went t’put a saddle on ‘im.”
“I should have warned you,” Allystaire said. “He is,” here he paused, searched for a word, “particular.”
“No,” Harrys said. “He’s some sorta demon taken the form of a horse. Won’t let anyone else near ‘im, smarter’n some men I’ve commanded, stronger’n a bullock and I’ve never seen the beast get lathered. He’s no reg’lar horse, I’ll tell ya true.”
Allystaire laughed faintly at Harrys’s words, but something in them rang true. “I think,” he said, “that it is possible that even if taken to stud, his traits would not pass on.”
“Cold,” Tibult said, “it couldn’t hurt t’try! I’ll see about pickin’ out a mare.”
The conversation was abruptly ended by a screech from the side of the road that drew the entire column out of their silence or their speech.
A man came careening down the dirt track, yelling, his clothes in tatters. In one hand he clutched a ragged scrap of felt, and even from the distance, Allystaire could see how wide and frightened his eyes were.
He pulled Ardent short and slid from the saddle, running forward to meet him.
The man was younger than him, though not by much, and he seemed mad with fear. Blood and grime streaked his face, with the former descending in dried brown rivulets from a wound across his scalp. Allystaire was already reaching his left hand out when the man fell against him, alternating between babbling and screaming. His wide, terrified, bloodshot eyes didn’t seem to see the world in front of him.
That changed as soon as Allystaire settled his left hand over the cut on his scalp and reached for the Goddess’s Gift; his senses bridged into the man, and he felt almost as if he was running back through his memories. Fire and fear and men with clawed gauntlets on their hands and another, less fierce man, blond and tall, forcing a skin to his lips and pouring salt-water down his throat.
Soon enough the cut that ascended into his hair was closing, and the man’s eyes suddenly found focus on Allystaire. His hands locked on Allystaire’s shoulders, his arms straightening and tensing.
A trickle of water leaked from the corner of the man’s mouth. Allystaire, and now Harrys and Gideon behind him, smelt the faint scent of the sea.
“Paladin,” the man said, his voice an eerie croak, the words seeming to emanate from him without truly being formed in his own throat. “North of here, the town built on the bridge over the river, Braech judges others for your heresy. Have you the courage to face his wrath? The man before you did. Now watch him die.”
As the man spoke, the trickle of salt water turned into a stream, bringing a bloody froth with it, cascading over his clothing. Allystaire, his left hand still pressed to the man’s forehead, searched frantically for the spark of his life as he convulsed and twitched, his throat working as if he was trying, and failing, to breathe.
The tide rolled on, and Allystaire knew he could not stop it. He felt the man pulled away from him as if carried by a wave, felt the panic rise and rise until suddenly it snapped clean away and the man dropped into Allystaire’s arms, limp, dead. The paladin slowly lowered him the body to the ground, too stunned to speak.
“What was that?” Tibult said, looking over him, sword half drawn from his scabbard as he scanned the road.
Gideon, coming up on Allystaire’s other side, laid a hand on the paladin’s shoulder and looked at the body. His other hand, he lifted into the air, peering down at the corpse.
“That,” the boy said quietly but firmly, “was Braech trying to lure you into a trap.”
“It is not the first time the servants of the Sea Dragon have done so,” Allystaire said, lifting his head, his voice as cold and clean as Gideon had ever heard it.
And, the boy knew, as furious.
“It will be the last time I leave any of them alive in the wake of it,” he said as he stood, the limp form of the drowned man in his arms.
CHAPTER 34
The Order and the Islandmen
“If you know it’s a trap, you can’t just go sticking your head in it to see what happens.” Idgen Marte was aiming a sharp eye at Allystaire as Torvul helped him get his armor on. Tugging first the left and then the right vambrace firmly into place, he shook his head.
“That is precisely what I can do.”
“What’s your plan? Ride in and be a target?”
“Well,” Allystaire said, “yes. Then kill everyone who tries to take advantage of my being a target.”
“It’s got a certain simple charm,” Torvul said from behind Allystaire as his long and nimble fingers pulled straps taut and buckled them in place. “Not unlike the man himself.”
“Dammit, Allystaire,” Idgen Marte breathed. “Fine. But I’m comin’ with ya.”
“I was counting on it,” Allystaire said. “You, me, the Order.” His eyes flitted to Torvul as he pulled his gauntlets on. “Can you and Gideon manage here?”
“Oh, no,” Torvul said, deadpan, his face flat as he stepped in front of Allystaire. “Whatever will we do? However will we defend against any attacker without swords and armor?”
“People have died, dwarf. It is not the time for jokes.”
“I know that very well,” Torvul shot back. “Between me, the lad, and Mol, we’ll have the number of anyone who comes near Thornhurst with ill will on his mind. I’ll have a talk with Keegan, too.”
“Damn,” Allystaire said. “I keep meaning to do that very thing.”
“I know,” Torvul said. “Ya can’t be everywhere. And I think his lot’ll do anything if they think Gideon is asking it of them.”
“They ought to,” Idgen Marte muttered. “Are you sure your, ah, ‘squires’ are ready?”
“No,” Allystaire said, “but if we wait till I am, we will all be dead.” He looked from Idgen Marte to Torvul and said, “If you mean to come, best see to your mount. I mean to leave in less than half a turn.”
Muttering softly under her breath, she turned on a heel and walked out of the room, rather than disappearing into a shadow. As soon as he felt she was out of earshot, Allystaire looked to Torvul.
“If something does happen, Torvul, watch the boy. Make sure he does not…” Allystaire paused, took a deep breath. “Be certain he does not kill unless it is at utmost need.”
Torvul eyed Allystaire from beneath a raised brow. “Can’t protect the boy forever.”
“It is not about protecting him,” Allystaire said. “It is about making sure he becomes the man could be.”
“What’s him pullin’ his blows got t’do with that?”
“Like unto the dawn, Torvul. Her words, at my vigil. And that it was my greatest task to see that he was not a false dawn.” He shook his head. “I do not know what it means either. Yet I know that if he learns to value life too cheaply, to take it too swiftly, I would be failing at the charge She set me.”
“Ya don’t hesitate t’swing a hammer or a sword,” Torvul pointed out. “Or hang a man. Ya just spoke of killin’ maybe a lot of men, and y’did it rather casually.”
“I want Gideon to be a better man than I am,” Allystaire said. “And if he comes with me to Ashmill Bridge, and a Braechsworn war party has descended on the place, then yes, I will kill them. And I do not want Gideon with me, not because I do not want him to witness the horror that may await us, but because I do not want to be tempted by his presence. In anger, I do not know what I might ask of him. I am certain, whatever it is, he would do it.”
“He would,” Torvul said. “And I think you’re makin’ a mistake, showin’ the boy a double set o’rules. But,” the dwarf said, raising a hand, palm out, and lowering his eyes. “He’s your charge, and I’ll not interfere. ‘Sides, while you’re off riding ‘round the country on a chase for raiders who’ve already left, he and I’ll be kicking back and having a drink. Well,” the dwarf added, “I’ll drink. He’ll work on his lute playing.”
“We will see. Guard the place well, Torvul,” Allystaire said. “I mislike the timing of all this. It bodes ill.”
“Boy,” Torvul said, “you could see ill omens and bad tidings and danger in a naked woman with a bottle o’brandy in either hand. I’m not sayin’ it’s not serious. Folk have died and those responsible’ll answer for it, and I trust you t’do that. Trust me to guard our home while ya do. Now go,” the dwarf said, beckoning for the door.
Allystaire nodded, clapped the dwarf on the shoulder with one mailed hand and headed down the stairs and out of the Inn. Just outside, the Order were drawn up in a row: Tibult, Armel, and Harrys in the front, standing by horses with lances standing in boots next to the saddle. Norbert was fussing with his tack, next to Teague, who once more wore a mask over half of her face. Gaston, Miklas, Mattar, and Johonn all looked more prepared to march than to ride, the former two with their long spears, the pioneer with his broadaxes and the axeman all more comfortable on foot than in the saddle.
Mismatched armor, mostly chainmail only recently scoured clean, didn’t gl
eam in the afternoon sunlight so much as it dully promised violence. Allystaire took a moment, as they all stopped what they were doing as he approached, to marvel at the change of a few weeks. All still bore their scars, body and soul, and yet they were healthy once more, moving with purpose and the reassuring competence of soldiers who knew their lives depended largely on their own preparation. Their transformations were often as much inward as outward, but Johonn, for example, had found his arm as strong as it had ever been only a few weeks after Allystaire’s healing.
Allystaire found Ardent at the head of the line, saddled, lance in place, but was surprised to find Gideon holding the bridle, or at least, that the destrier was allowing someone to hold his bridle.
“Gideon,” Allystaire said, as he put a hand on the pommel of his saddle and placed one foot in a stirrup.
“I know,” the lad said, stepping back. “You don’t want me to come with you. And in truth, I am probably more valuable here. I can relay what I see to you from the Temple, along with Mol. But it feels wrong, as if I am hiding from danger.”
“Knowledge of the enemy and clear communication wins more battles than any amount of iron and steel ever will,” Allystaire said as he swung up and onto Ardent’s back. “Working this way, Gideon, you will save lives. That will always be a greater feat than taking them.”
The boy nodded and stepped away. Allystaire cleared his throat, and felt the weight of the Order’s eyes on him as he turned in the saddle to face them. “We do not know what we are riding into, who is waiting for us, or what they mean to do. There are folk within Ashmill Bridge who worship the Mother, and that makes them our brothers and sisters, our children, our cousins. Remember what the Mother asks of us: any burden.”
The response rolled from nine other throats all at once. “Any burden.”
* * *
Kormaukr Dragon Scale lay low upon the ground, his sea-green cloak settling over his skin and hiding him in the shadows of the trees. Nearby, he knew that Onundr and Gauk, his brothers in glorious service to Braech, similarly waited.
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