Heartwood

by Freya Robertson

  “Oh, very. I cannot imagine myself to be anything else.”

  He considered her thoughtfully. “You would have made a good actress.”

  She laughed heartily at that, thinking of the absurdity of such a profession and how meaningless her life would have been had she trod the boards and not served the Arbor. “I do not think so,” she said, sipping her ale. “I was born to be a knight, and nothing else would have been right.”

  He cocked his head at her, studying her carefully. “Can you tell me about your vows?”

  She shrugged. “They are sacred. We are not supposed to discuss them outside Heartwood.”

  He chewed thoughtfully on a wooden toothpick. “I think I am a little envious.”

  “Envious?”

  “Yes, of your conviction, your dedication, your passion. I have none of those things.”

  She tried to think how her life would be without the qualities he had mentioned, and failed. “But then, you have had a difficult life. You have shown different qualities in order to come through the hard times – resolution, courage and the ability to depend on yourself where others learn only to depend on each other.”

  He smiled at her. “You are kind and thoughtful as well as brave. You have a beautiful spirit, as well as a beautiful face.”

  Against her wishes, Beata flushed. Beauty was not a quality considered important, or even desirable, at Heartwood, and it was not a word she would ever use to describe herself. Courageous, yes. Determined, yes. But beautiful?

  Still, there was some small part of her that was flattered by his compliment.

  “Shall we take a walk outside?” Teague asked suddenly, surprising her.

  “It is still raining,” she said wryly, comfortable and warm and unwilling to go out into the darkness and the wet.”

  “I know, but the arcade is covered, and there is a lovely view of the town from the gardens to the west. I am hot in here, and bored, and I want you to myself.”

  Beata smiled. Perhaps if she was alone with him, she might have another chance to persuade him to come with her.

  V

  As he passed under the huge gates of the Porta, Chonrad looked up at the Heartwood seal on the front wall and wondered whether he would ever see it again. He was not sure if he wanted to or not. He still did not feel comfortable within its walls. He glanced across at Fulco, who made the simple gesture: home. Chonrad smiled. Yes, it was nice to be going home again, and it would be good to see his children.

  He glanced across at Procella, stiff-backed on her horse. She raised her hand in a formal salute to Valens before kicking her heels into her horse and sending him over the wooden drawbridge towards Laxony. She did not look back. Of course, she would have spent more time on the Wall than in Heartwood itself, but still, he could tell from her rigidity that it was taking all her self control not to turn around and cast a longing glance at the place.

  The others with them, Nitesco, Solum, Terreo and Hora, all cast fleeting glances back before also setting their heels to their steeds, and Nitesco looked plainly terrified.

  Strangely, however, thought Chonrad, it was the last member of their party who seemed the most affected by their departing. Dolosus, late to Heartwood, misfit and outcast, had tears in his eyes as he grasped Valens’s right hand with his own. Valens’s jaw was set and he just nodded as the Dean mounted his horse and galloped past Chonrad, his face a strange mixture of fear, regret, anger and possibly even hatred, although of what Chonrad wasn’t sure.

  Following Nitesco’s announcement that he had finally discovered a way to change them into water elementals, Valens had called a meeting for that Quest party and there had followed a heated debate, during which people’s real feelings had become evident: none of them truly believed that Nitesco could do what he was claiming. In spite of the fact that they had all seen the Darkwater Lords emerge from the river, it all just seemed too fantastical. Their bodies were far too real for them to believe that they could magically transpose into water, just like that.

  To be fair to the young Libraris, Nitesco had been exceedingly patient with them. Time and again, he had stated he was certain he could do it, that he trusted the ancient texts and felt Animus had guided him to the place where he had found the answer.

  They had had a discussion about whether they should try the transforming spell before they left, but it was generally decided it was too dangerous.

  It was only then that Chonrad began to realise how dangerous their Quest was. Even if Nitesco was successful in transforming them, they had no idea what would happen in that instance. Nitesco insisted that they would be in control of the water spirits inside them, but Chonrad knew he could not be a hundred percent certain. There was a great chance that they might be engulfed by the water spirits and either killed immediately or lose their identities forever. Or if that didn’t happen, and they managed to control the water elementals, the very spell that Nitesco would cast could alert the Darkwater Lords to their plan, meaning that they would be dead the moment they arrived at Darkwater.

  Chonrad’s knuckles were white where his hands were clenched so tightly on the reins, and he loosened his grip, taking deep breaths. One thing at a time, he promised himself. It was no good getting ahead of himself and worrying about things yet to come. Concentrate on the problem in hand, he thought.

  He lifted his hood a little and looked around him. They were travelling on the eastbound road that ran a few miles south of the Wall. It was good to be back in Laxony, he decided, looking south towards the hills. It was also good to be riding towards his home town. He had spent a lot of time away from home, travelling the Seven Lands, but he never tired of returning to his castle and his family. He glanced at Fulco, who gave a wry smile. Chonrad knew he would be glad to be going home, too. Though he couldn’t voice his feelings, his companion had a deep love of his homeland, and would be relieved to see his wife and five children.

  They rode all day, passing the occasional traffic on the road, and by nightfall had reached Lothgar’s Fort, a small settlement that served as part trading post, part army camp for those travelling from one side of the Wall to the other.

  As the majority of the Exercitus in this region had been withdrawn to Heartwood, most of the barracks were empty, save for the small group of Laxonians who had been sent from Setbourg to try to protect the area from raiders in Heartwood’s absence. The Quest party rubbed down their horses and fed them, and then retired to their lodgings. There were no hot baths, but there were cauldrons of hot water and plenty of food, and they went to bed with full stomachs and clean bodies.

  Chonrad lay on his back on his pallet and stared up at the rafters as the others gradually sank into sleep. His brain would not seem to stop, and although he repeatedly shut his eyes, they kept floating open as thoughts and images filtered through his mind.

  What was to be their fate, he pondered, in spite of his oath to himself that he would not worry about the future? He found himself contemplating the fact that Nitesco could do as he said, and turn them into water elementals. What would that actually involve? Nitesco had been miserly with the details, saying he thought it best to keep the spell to himself in case the Darkwater Lords somehow got wind of it, but Chonrad was not so sure. He had a sneaky feeling it was going to be painful and horrific, and the Libraris just didn’t want to panic them.

  Irritable with himself for not being able to sleep, he turned over on his pallet. As he did so, there came a muffled clonk. His whole body tensed. The noise had sounded at the exact moment he turned over. Had his movement caused it? Or had it come from outside? He held his breath, and slowly his hand moved to the hilt of his sword. For a moment there was nothing.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door open slowly.

  Chonrad tightened his grip around the hilt. Sweat beaded on his brow. Was it someone returning to the room after slipping outside to relieve themselves? Or was it a foe?

  Outside, the light shone through briefly, illuminating the figu
re in the doorway. Chonrad saw clearly the wild hair, the blade of the raised axe, and the other figures crowded behind him.

  “Raid!” he yelled and, thrusting his covers back, swung his sword across his body.

  Trained from an early age to be ready to fight from the moment they opened their eyes, the knights in the room awakened instantly and reached for their own weapons. Dashing sleep from their eyes, they kicked aside their beds and fanned out to meet the marauders who were bursting through the doors now their surprise attack had been thwarted.

  Back-to-back with Procella, Fulco only feet away, Chonrad swung and parried with his blade against the Wulfian raiders, cursing loudly at the lack of space. All around him came the grunts and gasps of battle. At one point he glanced over and saw with shock that Dolosus had been cornered by two raiders and was currently struggling to defend himself against their repeated blows, his one arm a blur of movement, feet plantly widely apart to keep the balance that his other arm would have afforded him. He was clearly a strong and able fighter, but Chonrad could see instantly that he was struggling. Still, he could not help until he had beaten his own opponent. So he focussed on his assailant, and tried to think of nothing else as he concentrated on finding a weakness in his foe’s guard.

  The raider he was fighting was skilled enough with the sword, but he was no match for the powerful and experienced Lord of Barle. Chonrad spotted that the Wulfian was favouring his left side and concentrated there until the raider dropped his guard, leaving his upper torso exposed, and in went the blade, cutting him under the armpit and severing muscle and sinew so the raider screamed, dropping his blade and clutching his cut shoulder with his other hand. Leaving nothing to chance, Chonrad pulled out his dagger, put the point to the gap in the raider’s armour at the neck and leaned his weight onto the hilt until the blade slid slowly in. The raider jerked, blood bubbled out of his mouth and he collapsed onto the floor.

  Chonrad turned to aid Procella, smiling briefly to see she quite clearly needed no help, judging by the ashen shade of her assailant’s face as he fell to one knee, driven there by the sheer force of her blows.

  Turning, Chonrad saw they were gaining predominance in the battle. Several of the raiders were already on the floor, unmoving, and the others would not survive much longer. Even Nitesco stood victorious over his victim, blood dripping from his sword.

  Only Dolosus was still struggling. He crouched in the corner; one raider was dead, but the other sensed victory, and this had given him added strength. Dolosus’s sword was now only being used in defence, trying to shield his body from repeated blows. Chonrad had seen enough battle to realise his defeat was imminent. He strode over and, grasping the Wulfian by the collar of his mail shirt, hauled him off the cowering Militis. Throwing him to the floor, he finished him off quickly.

  Dolosus struggled to his feet. Chonrad put a hand under his armpit to help him up, but the knight threw him off. His face was screwed in a ball of anger, fury and shame. He pushed past Chonrad and went out into the night.

  Chonrad shrugged and, cleaning his sword on some straw, turned to survey the damage. The raiders were all dead. There didn’t seem to be many injuries among his party; Nitesco had a graze on his cheek and Hora had blood on her right forearm, but it clearly wasn’t bothering her and seemed to be superficial. Fulco was unharmed, and Procella didn’t look as if she had even broken into a sweat.

  The Dux now walked quickly to the door, making sure that there weren’t more raiders waiting outside, and came back in shaking her head. “The Laxonians have finished off the others,” she said. “The raid is over.” She looked at Chonrad. “Where did Dolosus go?”

  “Out” was all he could offer. He walked closer to her so that only she could hear his soft words. “He was nearly bested in that fight. I helped him out, and I do not think he will thank me for it.”

  “Better pride wounded than body,” said Procella matter-of-factly, but as she walked away to check on the dead raiders, her words echoed in Chonrad’s head, and something inside him knew that, in Dolosus’s case, her statement simply might not be true.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I

  Beata pushed herself to her feet. She held onto the table for a moment, slightly unsteady, then accepted Teague’s hand and let him hold it tightly as he guided her along the tables past the guests. She was aware of the women watching her curiously, and saw many envious looks. It was so strange and foreign, this world of court and manners and correct procedures and lords and ladies, and she didn’t understand it at all. Suddenly, she missed Heartwood desperately, her emotions bobbing to the surface like a piece of wood on the river, and she stumbled as tears flooded her eyes.

  “Careful,” said Teague, steadying her before leading her out through the large oak door to the courtyard. “Are you all right?”

  “Better now,” she admitted, taking deep breaths in the fresh air. She was out of her depth, she thought, in such company; give her an army and a sword in her hand any day!

  He pulled her arm through his as they walked, and looked down at her dress curiously. “I suppose you do not ordinarily go around dressed like that? What is your normal attire?”

  “Padded tunic and leggings, and a coat of mail on most occasions,” she admitted.

  He laughed. “I cannot imagine you dressed so – you are such a lady.”

  She smiled wryly. How strange, when she felt anything but.

  The oak door opened and shut again, and she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. She saw a glimpse of red tunic as someone slid behind a tree, and knew it was Peritus. He would shadow them quietly, and she felt comforted by his presence.

  The covered walkway from the courtyard towards the gardens was relatively free from the misty rain that continued to fall, and she enjoyed the freshness of the sea air as they walked slowly along. Teague didn’t release her hand, and Beata didn’t ask for it back, content to continue the pleasant atmosphere while it lasted, hoping it would make him congenial to her demands.

  Eventually, they came to the gardens, and he led her along the narrow walkways meandering through the herbs and flowers which filled the air with an intoxicating aroma. At the end of the gardens, a sheltered viewing platform with a long bench looked across the city, a pearl that nestled in the oyster shell of the bay. Through the rain, she could see the lights that glowed from hundreds of houses and inns like fireflies, roads linking them in an intricate latticework of threads strung from one side of the bay to the other.

  In spite of the beauty of the scene, however, to the east the waves tumbled and turned on the long line of the shore, like great grey creatures rolling onto the sand. The thought made her shiver as the memory of the Darkwater Lords rising from the channel in the Curia filled her head.

  “Are you cold?” Teague asked, offering her his coat.

  “No,” she said truthfully. But she appreciated his gesture. “Why do you not live with your own people?”

  He turned to look at her, the circles of his eyes like gold torches in the night. He shrugged. “In Komis I am just ordinary. In the Twelve Lands, I am a curiosity. I like that.”

  She smiled. “I know that is not why you left.”

  He looked away. “No. But I would rather not talk about that.”

  “Okay. But can we talk about your gift?”

  “I would rather not.”

  She sighed with frustration. “I do not understand your reluctance. It is such an amazing gift. I wish I could do it!”

  He smiled. “Actually, I believe anyone can; it is just a matter of knowing how.”

  “That is what Silva says; she tried to get us all to grow this daisy before we left for the Quests, but I could not manage anything.”

  “But it is so easy,” he protested.

  “Show me,” she asked breathlessly.

  For a moment, she thought he would refuse. His eyes dropped to the ground. But then he leaned forward and picked up a seed lying on the path. He lifted his hand, palm upward, and held
it out towards her, the seed in the middle. He closed his eyes. She watched the seed, holding her breath, feeling a jolt inside her as it sprouted green shoots and swiftly grew into a seedling, then a plant, and finally flowered into a beautiful yellow bloom, which he handed to her with a smile.

  “How do you do it?” she asked wondrously, turning the flower around in her hands.

  “Our energy and Anguis’s is the same,” he shrugged. “I cannot explain it. It is just a natural thing to me. Anyway,” – he made a flicking movement with his hand – “I am bored with talking about myself. Tell me about Heartwood.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I know nearly nothing about it. What it is like?”

  So for a while, she talked about Heartwood and her life as a Militis. She talked enthusiastically, and it was only when she saw him smiling that she realised she must have been talking too long. “I am sorry,” she said, “I have said too much.”

  “Not at all. I am just so impressed with your passion. You make it sound very attractive.”

  “Are you tempted?” she teased.

  “Not in the least,” he said vehemently. “I do not think I could be celibate all my life.”

  She shrugged. “I am so busy, there is little time to think about copulating.”

  He grinned. “That very description shows how little you know about it. You make it sound so bland and functional.”

  “Sex is required for the making of children, is it not? That seems pretty functional to me.” She knew she was goading him but could not help herself.

  He just smiled, his gold eyes studying her. “You are so beautiful. I cannot believe you remove yourself from this world. It is a sin to deny us all your beauty.”

  She laughed. “Now I know you are teasing me.”

  His smile gradually faded and his hand came up to touch her face gently. “You really do not know how beautiful you are, do you?” he whispered.

  “I…” She was suddenly speechless.