‘By no means!’ said Alais. ‘I will tell captain Ferlias to find quarters in the castle for you and your men. As, let it be said, our honoured guests.’
‘And in that,’ said Gille wryly, as he slumped down wearily at the waterside, ‘lies all the difference in the world.’ He stared down the lakeshore, where the screaming and shouting was swiftly dying down. ‘Well, Master, we seem to have won. But it’s not how I imagined victory, exactly.’
‘No,’ Kunrad agreed. ‘Nor I. It’s not how they sing about it, that’s for sure.’ There was a nasty snapping sound, and a groan, and he glanced over to where the healers and Alais were busying themselves over old Kermorvan. ‘It seems a sad and sorry thing. But of course I myself have not won. Not yet.’
‘You’ve done more than anyone else, boss!’ said Olvar, surprised. ‘And you’ve paid Merthian back the bloody nose he gave you, and more besides. Now you’ve thrown him out of his home, you’ve ruined the stratagems he’d staked his whole life and fortune upon, and left him a fugitive in his own land, far worse than ever you were.’
‘And you think that gives me any satisfaction? Look at the cost! And I still don’t have the armour.’ He signalled to one of the healers, as Kermorvan was lifted up and borne away towards the bridge. ‘How does his lordship fare?’
‘Ill, I fear, Mastersmith. He was more flung aside than trampled, and his helm shielded his head. His hip was thrown from its joint, that we have set aright. But he has also many broken ribs, and blows to the face and body, losing some teeth and a fair measure of blood. It may be inner cords have also parted. Naught to kill you or I outright, I guess; but he is an old man and infirm. We’ll do what we may.’
Kunrad nodded, and fell in beside Alais. ‘You are castellaine here now, my lady.’
She smiled wearily. ‘But you command, Mastersmith.’
‘I command what? That?’ He jerked his thumb at the skirmishing down the shore. ‘That needs no commander. That’s as simple as sweeping the ways clear of filth. It all happened without me.’
‘But it must have an end, and what then? Someone must give commands for what happens next, and I trust your vision as much as my own.’
‘Even with the armour?’
She turned to face him, and took his hands. ‘Kunrad, I had not seen it when I spoke so harshly. Now … really, truly I understand. Your inner flame shines out of it, and all that makes you the wonder-worker you are.’
He laughed, though his throat was painfully dry. ‘Lady, I am all but burned out, and little remains save the char. Yet you revive me. If in all the wide world only you understand me, then that is more than enough!’
He put an arm around her shoulders, and they followed Kermorvan’s bed in its slow progress across the bridge. When they came to the gate Ferlias awaited, who by virtue of his trust had not been able to leave the castle, with the small reserve of his garrison he had been able to keep. He bowed his head to Kermorvan, who saw him not; but to Alais he offered his keys, and she refused them. ‘By order of my father, the Mastersmith Kunrad commands here now! Obey him in all, as you would my father or myself!’
Ferlias blinked in surprise, but made no hesitation, and bowed deeply. ‘What then is your command, my lord?’
‘I’m no lord, Ferlias. If you need any title, master is enough. And my command is that you take your men out and set some order in that bloody butcher’s yard out there. The Dunmarhas fellow, Arin, has his horsemen in check; we should look to ours. Such of the outlaws as are left, you may offer their lives. Let them earn their pardon, we’ll have need of labour. When you’re done, return with Arin. There’s counsels to be taken.’
Ferlias saluted smartly. ‘At your command – Master!’ His stern face twitched in what might have been a smile; then, casting a glance after Kermorvan, he ordered his men out.
‘You said “we” and “ours”,’ remarked Alais, as they passed within. ‘Yet Arin and his men are your countrymen, are they not?’
‘Dunmarhas is about as far from my home as you can get, and still be in the North. I’ve never been there. And while I command here, these are my people. And while I love you.’
She rested her head on his shoulder as they came out into the courtyard. It looked bright and welcoming in the morning sun, with the lake wind stirring the trees, almost like a peaceful village square in its own right. ‘I always wanted this place to be my home. It feels like it now. It is yours, Kunrad, and all within it. So am I.’
‘Mine for a little while, maybe. But I cannot see myself being allowed to keep it, for the very good reasons you gave. My kingdom might soon be a smoky Northern smithy once again. And you—’
‘I will be at home there too. Provided you let the smoke out, now and again.’
They kept watch all that morning, while the healers cared for Lord Kermorvan. The castle’s own healer seemed more than anxious to please now that his lord had fled. They found no worse wounding; the old man’s head was whole, his jaw fast save where the teeth had been lost, and it was clear the ribs had not pierced his lungs. His side and head were bound up, his leg was splinted and compressed, and his lesser wounds bandaged, till he looked like a great swaddled baby. Around this time he began to awaken, and put the point more forcibly; but the healers’ infusions of herbs and bark seemed to relieve him greatly. By the afternoon, when Ferlias and Arin returned, he was propped up on a huge oaken settle under the afternoon sun, drifting in and out of a fitful sleep. But though Ferlias knelt to him, much moved, it was Kunrad they saluted, and Alais, and to them they delivered their report.
It was short in the telling; how they had some two hundred outlaws under guard, mostly wounded, and another thousand, maybe, fled, wounded and disarmed and in total disarray. Some sought the ships on the river, but most the margins of the Marshes; and when Ferlias guessed that not one in five would survive the week, Kunrad shuddered his agreement. For the rest, some thousand and more lay dead along the lakestrand, and all their leaders save Merthian among them. The defenders had more than three hundred of their own to bury, nearly another hundred gravely wounded; but Arin’s men, though eight horses had fallen, had no man dead and few in any danger.
‘And that’s better than we dared hope!’ said Kunrad decisively. ‘The men must eat, from the drawn stores, and then take the corsair dead to the hilltop, where the furnace should still serve. Their comrades can be made to help.’
‘Being done, Mastersmith,’ said Arin. ‘They’re portioning out the food now.’
‘Then we can eat, also, and talk. Find ways we can relieve the families of the slain, from Merthian’s coffers, or by forgoing rent, some such thing. Alais, you understand how these things are managed here. First, though, we must consider Merthian.’
‘He is not taken,’ said Alais coldly, ‘or you would have told me.’
Arin shrugged. ‘My men came within sight of him. He has maybe fifteen riders with him, no more, and he rides like one possessed, along these wide dusty roads of yours. Southward, as far as they could tell. They must needs turn back when they came to a town. I am sorry, lady, but they could do no more. Why not let him go, for now? A fugitive can do little harm.’
‘But will he stay a fugitive?’ They turned in surprise, for the voice, faint and rasping, was Kermorvan’s. ‘Think, man!’ he urged, with a shred of his former vigour, and tried to thump the flat arm of the settle. ‘Why does he ride south so fast? He has a purpose. He goes somewhere. Where, but to Ker Bryhaine itself?’
‘Father, calm yourself!’ urged Alais. ‘Why there, of all places? When they hear what he’s done, they’ll hang him from the walls … Oh.’
Kunrad nodded grimly. ‘You lend words to my fears, my lord. They’ll hear from him first. And who knows what tale he’ll tell?’
‘Driven from his castle by corsairs and Northerners, no doubt!’ Kermorvan half laughed, coughed suddenly and clutched his side, his face glistening with sudden sweat. He lay back in his chair, ‘In alliance with his rascally old castellan, who ha
s royal ambitions!’
‘But the warnings you sent!’ protested Ferlias.
‘Part of the scheme, he’ll say!’ croaked Kermorvan. ‘Aye, he’ll be there, all his old plausible self, with Bryheren, who loves him and is ever swift to believe the worst of me!’
‘We have to go after him,’ said Kunrad. ‘And soon. He has the start of us, that cannot be helped. We should be able to lessen it. We will have fresh horses and better supply, though I don’t doubt a great lord can find all he needs along the way. I will go. I must, for he still has the armour. Olvar and Gille will no doubt wish to come with me. But your sothran lords will surely be slow to take any Northerner’s word over his. We will need some voice that carries weight, one of their own; and Alais, I think—’
‘They’ll have one!’ wheezed Kermorvan. ‘Mine! Order up my horses and my housetroops! Somebody help me out of this mantrap of a settle!’
Alais ran to do the opposite. ‘Father, don’t be ridiculous! There is no way you could ride, and if you did, it’s three weeks’ journey at the least! It would kill you!’
He glared at her. ‘What if it does? My duty, ain’t it, as much as getting stiffened in battle? There’s hundreds of my lads lying out there in worse fettle than I am. What’ll folk say of them an’ what they died for, if Merthian gets his lies in first? And what’ll he do to the living who know the truth?’
‘He wouldn’t surely!’ she protested. ‘Even he—’
‘Think not? A year or two back I’d never have thought he’d flee and leave his men! Why’d he do it now? Had to! What else might he do – ’cause he has to?’ Kermorvan scowled. ‘He’s on the slippery slope down, and slidin’ too fast to stop. At best he’ll needs cow and muzzle the folk here. Even then – well, he can’t afford to have naysayers hangin’ around, can he? Doesn’t leave me much choice. Die in harness, or helpless in a chair. And seein’ that little prick with ears sendin’ you and all else I care for skimmin’ down the River? No, daughter. The Kermorvannen will face their foes once again, as they’re supposed to. Master Kunrad, I await your marchin’ orders.’
Kunrad stood up. He wore his smith’s garb once again, and the battered sheepskin jacket as before, but his face was weary and stern. ‘Ferlias, you command the Castle of the Winds, while we are gone. Take every measure to preserve the truth of what happened here, the more so if we do not return. Captain Arin, I’d be grateful if you would remain to help him – as our guest. And see that Nordeney, at least, is left in no doubt of the truth. Have horses made ready, then, and the best horse-litter that can be contrived, and a healer to accompany it. An escort of Lord Kermorvan’s housetroops, as many as you can spare, with full arms, supplies and all else for a long journey. We leave this night!’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Armour of Proof
KUNRAD REINED IN HIS HORSE atop the ridge, and waited as the dawn light grew. So it had been, all the way southward. Kermorvan, slung in his litter between two horses, was forever chafing at their slowness, always urging them to a trot, a gallop even. Then the effort would leave him so drained that they would have to ride slow again, often losing all the advantage. Kermorvan would recover in some degree, and demand with lurid oaths that he be put into a saddle like a man; but this the Dunmarhas healer who rode with them sternly forbade. ‘If you ride, you will fall, old man,’ he said, nodding his bald head with grim satisfaction, ‘and if you fall you will surely die, and your cause be lost. And that’s all there is to be said about it, so you may spare your insults. Aye, imphm!’
Kermorvan would subside, muttering about Nordeney vultures. Then an hour later he would be roaring himself red-faced for more speed, and the arguments would begin all over again. ‘Am I red in the face?’ demanded Alais after such a shouting contest.
‘No,’ said Kunrad mildly. ‘Purple, as befits a princess. You never look like him normally, but …’
‘Be serious, Kunrad! He’ll kill himself. Can’t we leave him somewhere, a day or two at least, to follow when …’
Kunrad put an arm around her shoulders. ‘He would work himself into such a fury he’d undo any good rest could do him. Or come after us on horseback. At least here we can keep him under our eye.’
So it was that Kunrad waited, watching the road ahead become a faint pale line as the sky lightened. Somewhere on the slope below, untouched by the light, Kermorvan was growling, ‘Take your hands off me, girl! I want to sit up! I want to see!’
‘See what, my lord?’ asked Gille.
‘Hah! You wait, my lad! Just from the crest here – if we’re ever allowed to get up it! The bastard March-warden’s probably a week ahead of us by now!’
They knew, though, that that was unlikely. Merthian’s horses had already been weary before the battle, tired by the long trek overland, his ill-judged cast of the dice. It had been some five days, they found out, before he could get any fresh ones, and by then the beasts had been barely able to walk. Kunrad’s party, on much fresher mounts, found they were less than a day behind. And while Merthian’s name and office could commandeer fresh mounts at any castle or garrison along the road, it could not for his corsair officers, some of whom were all too obviously outlaws. His name had shielded them, but suspicions were aroused, and when Kunrad arrived with Kermorvan they grew stronger. The pursuers were given every help, and sometimes guides and escorts to speed them over shorter ways. Merthian, held to high roads and the pace of his lamest horse, might have made up another day’s lead, but little more.
How much damage he could do in two days remained to be seen.
Kermorvan arrived just as the first faint sun-gleam stained the clouds beyond the mountains. Kunrad shifted uneasily in his mail, feeling the sweat stirring already. He had not thought the Southlands could get any hotter, but they had. Even his cherished jacket had been relegated to his saddle-roll. ‘What is it you want to see, my lord?’ he asked. ‘You must be able to see some ten leagues or more from this height.’
‘More, if I remember aright!’ rumbled Kermorvan painfully. ‘It was always here I used to stand. You wait. You’ll see.’
Kunrad had seen a great deal of the Southlands already; and, like Northerners before and after, he had been impressed against his will. He had thought Nordeney a fair and fruitful place; and so it was, where generations of men had laboured, and ground their bones against the land till at last they were laid in it. Elsewhere, though, it seemed harsh and stony and unyielding, compared to this rich and generous country. All the way southward the mountains loomed purple at his left hand, a high fountain from which a thousand rivers and myriad smaller streams ran down rich burdens of soil into sheltered vale and spreading plain below. On the valley flanks grew vines and orchards, and sheep were pastured. Over the plains spread great fields of corn and other crops. Castles on eminence and outcrop loomed with sunlit majesty over village and cornfield, visions of authority and order, established and unchanging. To the Northern eye they looked oppressive, but the peasants who served them welcomed the strength and security the towers represented, and the binding core of custom and law.
Even Kunrad had to admit that the lesser nobles who dwelt there were no great oppressors. They lived at hardly any remove from their folk, and shared their country language, livelihoods and concerns as a farmer might with his labourers, keeping only a rustic kind of state that was small burden to support. Together lord and man watched the seasons turn, and asked little more from them than that their flocks should increase and granaries swell, and that a man should live as his fathers had. That in part was the doing of the Syndicacy, and their restraining hand. If a lord should exceed his rights, or neglect his folk, or turn unduly cruel, his produce failed, taxes were not paid, and complaints would flow to their high courts in the city of Ker Bryhaine. Then inquisition would be done, as it had been by the kings of old, and in extreme case the land and title given to another lord. That the peace should be kept, the taxes flow and each man know his place was the ideal of the Syndicacy, as if the Powers, whom
they often invoked, had commanded it. And that was natural; for the place of the Syndics, the great lords and wealthiest men of Ker Bryhaine, was at the summit.
So the peasants toiled in their little patchwork fields, and gave day-labour in their lords’ wide lands, and grudged it only a little and for the sake of grumbling. They grew ample food and a rough sufficiency of comforts, but it left them little leisure to grow in themselves. That was for the lords; a breadth of crafts and arts flourished in their castles that the North could rarely afford to maintain. If a peasant showed some unusual talent, he might well find a patron to pay his way to freedom, whereas a Northerner, as Kunrad was only too aware, must fend for himself. ‘If I can no longer help you,’ he told Olvar and Gille, ‘you must stay, and live well here at some lord’s expense. Sooner that, than waste your talents sweeping your father’s stables or gutting your brothers’ catches.’
‘Maybe, Mastersmith,’ Gille had said. ‘And yourself?’
Kunrad stared into the distance. ‘I am a leaf in the wind, blown towards I know not what.’ He would say no more.
Now he strained his eyes, watching for what Kermorvan wished to see. Fingers of light reached between the peaks in brief sharp contrast with the blackness of the land they shadowed. The long beams showed him why this height was so important; it was the last of the tall ridges, the roots of the mountains thrust out across the land. From here on they grew lower and wider, becoming lines of rolling hills that sank at last to wide plains, stretching out in blue haze to the distant sea coasts. As dawn brought colour back to the world, he saw that their slopes were clear, for the most part, save where a dull shadow spread outward from the mountains along a deep vale.
‘Aithennec!’ said Kermorvan grimly. ‘The last arm of the Great Forest beyond the mountains, that once covered all these hills in the days before the coming of men. Our ancestors had had enough of the Forest and its perils. They cleared it all, save that one deep glen, and that is kept well clear of the roads. But if war and division return, I doubt not Tapiau’s gloomy hand will stretch forth again.’
The Castle of the Winds Page 40
