by Peter Grant
Owain took it from her, his hand trembling. “I… I do not know how to thank you, my lady. How should I employ it? What is the manner of its use?”
She shook her head, smiling. “If it is intended for you, when the time comes, you will know how to use it. If not, nothing of the little we are permitted to tell you will help you.”
The old man added, “There is more. It was written in our time that, if someone falls into sin that is not so grave as to condemn them to eternal fire, it is possible for another to make an offering for them, to aid their cleansing from whatever darkness may have clung to them. Has that teaching come down to your age, too?
“It has.”
“Good. The offering must involve self-sacrifice by the person making it, serving the Light, to compensate for what the other may have done to serve the darkness. It might be something small, like one who is already hungry giving his next meal to another. It might be a very great deed, like a warrior giving his life to save that of his comrades. No matter how great or how small, we were taught that such an offering can bring at least some comfort to another soul.”
His wife nodded. “Your friend’s sword shattered, meaning that his sin was great; but it may be that it was not so great as to condemn his soul to eternal fire. Therefore, consider whether you might make such an offering for him, if the opportunity arises. Who knows? It might help to free his soul from darkness.”
Owain nodded. “Again, I thank you. If… if my forebodings are correct, I may not be able to return this to you.” He hefted the leather pouch in his hand. “If I cannot, what should I do to safeguard it?”
The woman smiled at him. “If you use it as we intended, you will not need to return it. If not… by what name do you know the God of Light?”
“We name him Ahurael.”
“Arrange to have this delivered to your priests of Ahurael. See that they learn what you know about it, and how you received it, but not where – we do not wish our former home here to be disturbed. Ask the priests to place it in their inner sanctum, and protect it as an artifact of the Light from a bygone era. They will understand, I think; and if they should need it at some future date, we shall trust the Light to reveal that to them, and guide them in its use.”
“I shall do as you say. I told an Abbott and a priest-mage about our weapons. They wanted to know whether they could come here too, to speak with you. I promised them I would ask you.”
The old man shook his head. “We cannot share our lore with them. That is forbidden to us. Indeed, I should not have spoken with you at all, the first time you came here. Ordinarily, I would have ensured that you fell into a deep sleep, and woke remembering nothing. Your prayer for my son gave me pause. Something, I know not what, made me speak to you, and then give you the axe, sword and dagger. I think, now, that I may have been inspired to do so. Certainly, what you have told us tonight suggests that our first meeting was intended to happen, by forces greater than either of us suspected at the time. After all, it ensured your return, and all that has transpired tonight.”
His wife nodded firmly. “I agree. I believe this was intended. However, I do not think you will come here again.”
Owain slung the axe on his back once more, then sank to one knee. “If this is to be the last time we meet, may I ask for your blessing?”
The man and woman laid their hands gently upon his bowed head. They did not speak aloud, but Owain felt a tingle flow through him, warming him even as it seemed to fizz in his veins.
“This is the last time we shall meet in this life,” the old man agreed as he and his wife stepped back, and Owain stood. “Go in peace, and walk in Light, all the days that are left to you.”
Owain bowed, unable to find words to respond; then he turned, and walked away from the mound.
Near the edge of the woods, he looked back. The couple had vanished from sight. The music had not begun again… but a soft glow remained, all around the mound. He gazed at it for a long moment, before turning back towards the bedroll that awaited him, spread beneath a tree.
XIV
It was late afternoon before Owain topped the rise, and saw Brackley Castle ahead of him. Wearily, he urged his horse down the final slope, noting with approval that the drawbridge was raised. Sentries stood on the roof of the barbican, and in each corner tower of the castle. As they saw him, one turned and called a warning.
The drawbridge swung down as he drew near. The barbican’s outer doors opened, and an honor guard of soldiers ran out to form a single rank on each side of the road. A sergeant called them to attention, and saluted as Owain halted his horse.
“Welcome back, Sir Champion. I’ve sent word to the Baron that you’ve returned. He’s in his quarters, with his son and Major Achel.”
“Thank you, sergeant. I’m pleased to see your men so smartly turned out. I suppose most of those who came back here with Major Achel have now joined the Baron’s guard?”
“Yes, sir, seventy-two of them, and very welcome they are. We’ve forty-one of our own people, too; some who were in the forest, some with prior service who’ve re-enlisted, and some new recruits who’re under training. The Baron’s looking for more.”
“That means there’ll be more positions for corporals and sergeants opening up soon.”
The sergeant’s face split in a broad grin. “That there will, Sir Champion! All our experienced men are looking forward to it. He says he’ll promote from within our ranks, for preference.”
Owain nodded in approval. “That’s good to hear.” He swung down from the saddle, and handed the reins of his horse to the sergeant. “Please have one of your guards lead my horse to the stables, and ask him to tell the ostlers to give him a good rub-down and an oat feed. I’d better see the Baron before I do anything else.” He took his saddle-bags and bedroll from behind the saddle.
“Aye, Sir Champion. I’ll have one of my men take those to the guest quarters,” the sergeant offered.
“Thank you.”
Owain found the Baron in his office, sitting behind a desk covered with piles of paperwork. The nobleman looked tired and harassed, but a smile dawned on his face as he saw Owain. He jumped to his feet. “Welcome back, Owain!” His son and Major Achel rose from their chairs on the other side of the desk, smiling as well.
“It’s good to be back, my lord.” He gestured at the desk. “Looking at all that, I can’t help but wonder whether you wouldn’t prefer to be back in the forest, where you didn’t have to worry about such things.”
Brackley grimaced as the others laughed. “I’ve had the same thought, several times every day! What news?” He waved a hand at an empty chair, and they all sat down.
“There’s a lot to tell. Let’s start with Kingsholme.” He gave them a brief account of his meetings there. “The Duke of Gehlen says the Council will act as soon as the threat seems real enough; but what we have at present isn’t enough to persuade them. Too many of the nobles will lose money if the Kingdom goes on a war footing, so they’re doing all they can to delay that, if not prevent it altogether.”
The Baron snorted. “Are you telling me fourteen dead gruefells and thirty-five dead Graben raiders weren’t convincing enough evidence?”
“They say they want more information. You’ll probably have a Royal Commission here before the autumn, to look into the matter.”
“And what good will that do them? The dead raiders have long since been buried, and the gruefells’ bodies will have decayed by then!”
Owain shook his head. “You don’t need to convince me, my lord. The Duke thinks it’s folly, too, but he doesn’t have enough influence to override the naysayers. I didn’t tell him in so many words, but he knows I’m going to look for more evidence, and he tacitly approves.”
“What happened to those spy rings you learned about from those Graben scrolls?”
“The Duke came up with an idea to scare them into running for cover, and it worked. He arrested seven people in Kingsholme, and another five in Seahaven, alt
hough several managed to escape in each place. The prisoners were being put to the question when I left to return here. Priest-mages from the Mother House in Kingsholme were assisting, to ensure they answered truthfully. Oh, speaking of that; two priest-mages, one from the Mother House and one from Atheldorn, will be coming with us.”
Achel grimaced. “Will they be able to keep up with us?”
“They’ve assigned two younger men to our mission, fitter and stronger than most of their brethren. The Duke helped me find and hire four experienced, trustworthy men-at-arms. I had them take both priest-mages out into the hills around Kingsholme, to train them while I journeyed to Seahaven and beyond. When I got back, they told me both had struggled at first, but they learned fast, and toughened up. We pushed hard on the journey back to Atheldorn, to test their stamina, and they held up all right. The men-at-arms have taught them patrol routine, how to care for their horses, and how the Border Guard moves through rough country unobserved. I’ve assigned two of them to travel with each priest-mage and keep them safe, so I think they’ll be all right.”
“If the Duke helped you find them, I’m willing to bet those four men-at-arms will report everything you do to him,” the Baron observed sourly. “He’s not a trusting man.”
“I’m sure they will, my lord, but that hardly matters right now. He needs to know what we find, anyway. If he hears the same thing from them as he does from me, he’ll believe it more readily.”
“Why do we need priest-mages with us?” Garath asked.
“They can use their spells to send messages back and forth almost at once, so we can keep in touch with the monasteries at Atheldorn and Kingsholme, and tell them of anything we find.” Owain forbore to add that, if the patrol was discovered and trapped, the priest-mages could convey what they’d learned, even if no-one survived. “What’s more, the Abbott tells me that if we run into any sorcerers, the priest-mages can act as a nexus for the others in their monasteries to concentrate their powers, and use them to aid us. I hope we won’t need that, but after what I saw in the forest, it’s comforting to know such support will be available.”
“I can see that,” the Major agreed. “We’ve found seventeen men-at-arms who measure up to the standards you set for us, King’s Champion. I tested all of them on patrols through the hills. I’ve divided them into four squads of four, each led by a Sergeant or a Corporal, with one arbalestier and at least one more bowman. The spare man is Troop Sergeant Maran.”
“I’m glad you found that many good men-at-arms. We’ll form the two priest-mages and their four escorts into a separate squad, because they won’t have scouting duties like the rest of us. I bought horses, weapons and equipment for them in Kingsholme, so they won’t need anything from Brackley except food.”
“That’s good,” the Baron observed. “Major Achel’s taken most of my best horses to equip his patrol. I’d hate to part with more! Oh, I know you’re paying for them, and very generously, too, but so many replacements of the same quality will be hard to find quickly. Still, enough of that. What else did you learn?”
“The Duke of Gehlen granted my request for appointments to the Border Guard. I have blank commissions for a Captain and a Lieutenant, and warrants for the enlistment of up to twenty-three men-at-arms, Corporals and Sergeants. Major, you have a choice. You can stay on with the Baron in your present rank, as he’s already offered, or take a Captain’s commission in the Border Guard.”
Achel made a face. “I’ve enjoyed working with the Baron. He’s a far better organizer and commander than the Earl of Elspeth. Even so, the Border Guard position is tempting. Do I have to decide at once?”
“No, that can wait until we get back. In fact, we can do that for everyone on the patrol. I’ll leave the commissions and warrants with the Baron, after counter-signing them all in case anything goes wrong. Those who want to accept them can fill in their names after we return, and any unused appointments can be burned.”
The Baron sighed. “I hope you’ll choose to stay, Major, but I can’t pretend that a baronial guard offers anything like the same prestige as the Border Guard. I suppose the Lieutenant’s commission is for Garath?”
“Aye, if he wants it,” Owain agreed. “A few years’ service with the Border Guard will give him a lot more of the seasoning you want him to have. The Guard are sometimes asked to do things I’d find unsavory. That’s inevitable, I suppose, when their commander is the Duke of Gehlen. Still, as a junior officer, he won’t run into a lot of that sort of thing. It’s usually entrusted to more senior officers. In time, he can decide whether to stay in the Army, or resign his commission. Still, let’s get this mission over with before we start making plans. We’re not out of danger yet.”
“Thank you, King’s Champion,” Garath acknowledged gratefully.
“So, what’s the next step?” his father asked, sitting back.
“The priest-mages and their escort will join us tomorrow, bringing with them all the anti-scrying amulets I ordered before we left, and a few other things. The Abbott will come with them, to give us his blessing before we leave, which will be the following evening. We’ll travel at night at first, to make it as difficult as possible for Graben gruefell patrols to detect us.”
The Baron nodded slowly. “You’re not going to take a few more days to rest, after all the hard riding you’ve done over the past weeks?”
“We can’t afford the time. Whatever’s out there is still preparing, still dangerous. The sooner we know what it is, the sooner we can start preparing our defenses against it. Delay might be deadly.”
“Deliberately putting your head into a gruefell’s beak might be deadly, too,” the nobleman pointed out with a wry smile.
“Yes, but we don’t have a choice. We’ve no other way of finding out what they’re up to. As for our safety, I doubt they know exactly where I’ve been, they probably don’t yet know I’m here now, and they can’t know for sure what I’m planning.”
“They may guess, though.”
“Then we’ll just have to keep them guessing as long as we can.”
—————
In the circle of standing stones, the darkness was impenetrable to the un-ensorcelled eye. The four sorcerers stood in silence, waiting, until their leader joined them, striding up the paved path that entered between two standing stones.
He did not waste time on greetings. “What news?” he demanded of the nearest as he came up.
“There is still no sign of Owain. We know he returned to Kingsholme after visiting Seahaven, where he disappeared for about a week. We have no idea where he went. He then vanished from Kingsholme again. Our scrying spells cannot detect him anywhere, and the gruefell patrols we have sent out could not locate him.”
The leader hissed in displeasure. “He is not with the priest-mages from Atheldorn?”
“We do not know,” a second replied. “We cannot use scrying-spells against them, because they would detect them, and might deduce who was using them. Two of our gruefell patrols saw them on the road from Atheldorn to Kingsholme, and one saw them on their return journey; but they had to keep at a safe distance to avoid being detected. They were too far away to recognize faces.”
“Were the same number in the party every time?”
“There were more going back to Atheldorn than left it.”
“They have probably obtained help from their Mother House in Kingsholme. We must be even more cautious. They cannot be sure of our existence, despite the battle in the forest, where we were forced to reveal something of ourselves in retrieving the bodies of Karikan and Margash. They will be looking for more evidence. We must make sure they do not find it.” The others nodded emphatic agreement.
“What news from Kingsholme and Seahaven?” one of the sorcerers asked.
“Very little, and all of it disastrous. Our spy rings in both cities have been completely disrupted. The leaders of each left messages that were later retrieved by our gruefell patrols. They claimed they had discovered, fr
om sources they had always believed to be reliable, that the King’s Champion questioned Prince Ilvan and his men before killing them. He was said to have learned enough to identify some of our spies in each city.”
“But that is impossible!” another objected. “None of the Prince’s party knew anyone in those spy rings!”
“You know that, and I know that, but our spies did not. It was no more than a clever ruse, probably conceived by the Duke of Gehlen – may his soul roast in fire for all eternity! – to scare our people. In their fear of being unmasked, many tried to flee. According to our leaders’ messages, more than half the Kingsholme ring was arrested, and are being interrogated. Almost half the Seahaven ring were also caught. Our leaders left word that they, too, were now running for their lives, because their subordinates were bound to crack eventually, and betray them. Our spy rings effectively no longer exist.”
Muttered curses greeted his news, followed by a long silence as they considered its implications.
“So, we have no idea what they plan to do,” one observed at last. “They must surely be looking for more evidence, but how, we cannot tell.”
“We have detected an increase in their scrying-spells over our territory,” another noted. “They appear to be looking at random, not focusing on anywhere in particular. Their spells cannot detect this place, of course.”
“No,” the leader agreed, “but that might itself speak volumes. If they can see the countryside all around us, but only an impenetrable dark cloud over this hill, that will tell them as clearly as a signal beacon that something here has been hidden from their sight by spellcraft.”
