The Heirs Of Hammerfe

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

 

  well it was not really for her. Even so, she was sure Conn must have deserved it of them, and it spoke well for her son if these people, twenty years without a rightful lord, could even now be so loyal to the family of Hammerfell.

  And in Thendara I never thought of them. I am ashamed. Well, I must try and make it up to them. With King Aidan's help . . . She stopped there, drowsily wondering what after all these years she could, in fact, do.

  Then, with a sigh, she remembered; Conn was not their rightful duke either; that honor was reserved for her older son, though Conn still bore his father's sword. This welcome, really due to his brother, only prolonged the people's belief that they should follow him; and if it was personal loyalty to Conn, not loyalty to the house of Hammerfell, there could be trouble ahead. Her heart ached for both her sons; the one she had loved lifelong, and the one she had suffered for loss of.

  These heavy feelings were not suited to the moment; though, raising her eyes, she saw Conn's frown, and wondered if he followed her thoughts and was equally troubled. She raised her glass and said quietly, "A pleasure to see you again in your proper place, my dear son. I drink to the day when your father's house will be restored, and his Great Hall rebuilt for you and your brother."

  Copper, in Fiona's lap, wagged her tail as if to echo the sentiment. Erminie wondered where old Jewel was now.

  Conn lifted his glass, meeting his mother's eyes. "All my life, Mother, since First I knew who I was, and even when I thought you were dead, I have dreamed of seeing you here; this night is joyous

 

  indeed., for all the storm outside. May the Gods grant that it be only the first of many such occasions." He drank and set down the cup. "Too bad Alastair's not here to share it; it rightly belongs to him, but that day won't be long coming. Meanwhile- Markos, do you think we should send for Jerian's son-he's a fine hand to play the rryl, and the old man's four little daughters can give us a dance . . . Markos? Where's he off to now?" He looked round the room, searching for his foster-father.

  "Don't trouble the fellow, my dear," Erminie said. "I need no entertainment; I am glad to be in my own country, and need nothing more. Though I am sorry to put poor old Markos to such trouble; his house is hardly big enough to hold so many. Floria and I have had five days of hard travel and want no finer entertainment than a good featherbed. If we want music, Gavin is here to sing to us," she added with a kindly smile at the young musician.

  "But look, that man seems as if he wanted something with you-" she said uncertainly, seeing a tall burly man beckoning Conn from the shadowy far end of the room where she could just make out Markos as well.

  Conn rose from his chair. "Let me just go and see what it is that he's wanting."

  With his mug in his hand, he went off. Erminie followed him with her eyes, saw him approach the man, listen to him attentively for some moments, then spring backward spilling the contents of his cup. Then he scowled with an angry gesture, and after a moment he whirled, shouting.

  "Men of Hammerfell!"

  The cry at once drew all eyes to him; the men in

 

  the room looked up in expectation, and the others crowded round the outside door shoved into the room, crushing against the fireplace and squashing into the very edges of the narrow beds where the women sat.

  "They are on the march, those folk of Storn! Wouldn't you think they'd keep themselves within doors in this dreadful weather, but no such decency; Storn's bullies are out on the road in rain and snow, turning out old folk who've deserved better of him! Let's go and put a stop to it, lads!"

  He turned toward the door and led the men, who swarmed after him, pulling on cloaks and shouting with enthusiasm. After a few minutes Markos came toward the women and said, "M'ladies, my lord sends his humble apologies, but he is needed; he begs you to go to bed and he will wait on you tomorrow."

  "I heard him, Markos," said Erminie, and Markos' eyes glowed with pride.

  "See how they follow him! They'd die for their young duke."

  Erminie thought that Markos had assessed the situation very well, except that Conn was not their young duke . . . but this was not the time to bring up what this might be doing to Alastair's rights.

  "Let's hope they will not be required to die for him, not yet anyhow," she said. The men had gone except for Markos, the old servant and Gavin, who had been crushed against the hearth and unable to move; he got up and would have followed, but Markos shook his head.

  "No, m'lord; my master meant you to stay here and guard the women; think what would happen if the folk of Storn knew that the duchess was con-

 

  cealed here. At the very least they'd burn this place over our heads."

  "As they did once before," Erminie said. She was not at all surprised that Conn had ridden off swiftly with the men he had known all his life, forgetting Gavin's existence; she, in fact, felt quite safe, and was grateful to the old man for saving Gavin's face.

  The little room was very quiet after the men left, with only the crackle of the fire, and the heavy splashing of rain outside against the cobbles of the village street. Erminie finished her wine-it was not very good wine, but she was not much of a drinker and it did not matter to her-troubled about Conn riding in such weather, about the men following him blindly and thinking him their rightful leader.

  "But of course he is," Floria said quietly, acknowledging her unspoken thoughts. "He has earned their loyalty and love and he will always have it, whatever Alastair may win in his own right."

  Erminie recognized the wisdom in Floria's words, but she couldn't shed her worry.

  "I love them both, too," Floria said, "and I am troubled for them both. Conn is even more troubled about Alastair than you are. Why do you think he rode off in such a hurry?" Erminie made no attempt to answer, so Floria answered her own question.

  "Until all this with Alastair is settled, he does not want to be in the same room with me. He loves his brother and doesn't want to betray him."

  At last it was in the open, and Erminie was glad; it seemed that she and Floria had been carefully walking around this topic almost since Conn had first come to Thendara. And since the night of the aborted

 

  handfasting, it had seemed to stand before every word she and Floria spoke to one another.

  "Do you want to betray him?"

  "No, of course not. I was brought up with him; I have always been fond of him. And so I was happy enough with the thought of him as my husband; I know he is fond of me and would be kind to me. But then Conn came to Thendara, and now everything has changed."

  Erminie did not know what to say. As always, she who had been denied this kind of love and fulfillment, was tongue-tied and felt helpless before a young woman who took it for granted.

  "I wish I could marry them both," Floria said, near to tears. "I cannot bear to hurt Alastair, yet without Conn, my life will be empty and meaningless."

  Gavin said, with his crooked good-natured smile, "A hundred years ago in these mountains, I have heard, that would indeed have been possible."

  Floria colored, and said, "Those were barbarian days; even here in the hills, such things are no longer allowed." Oh, how could she possibly choose between her old playmate, whom she had loved as a brother so long and well, and this his twin, who was so very like him-and so entirely unlike? It was not only that Conn shared the gift of laran and could enter into her heart in a way Alastair could never do-Floria knew it was more than that-she had never known passion, never known how to desire, until Conn swept so unexpectedly into her life and her heart. She was ashamed to admit it, but it seemed to her now that Conn was vivid and vital to her, Alastair only a dim and lesser reflection.

  "In either event," she continued, trying for a light-

 

  er tone, "you will have me as a daughter-so does it matter to you which one of them I marry?"

  "Only if you wish to be Duchess of Hammerfell," Erminie said softly.


  And Floria replied slowly, putting it into words for the first time, "I'd rather have Conn than be Duchess of Hammerfell."

  And now Conn had ridden out into the storm; she wished she could have ridden beside him, but it was expected of women that they should stay behind and wait for their men. . . . She wondered if the waiting and worrying weren't even more tiring than the doing itself.

  She knew it would do no good for her to fret for Conn; it was his work to go where his people needed him. She smiled at Gavin and said, "Give us a song, my friend, before we seek pur beds. We are certainly safe enough here, and I can see that the lady Erminie is weary." Conn, after all, had left his mother in her care; knowing him, she had no doubt that he thought it a post of honor.

  The rain had stopped; the sky was clear with stars overhead, and it was bitterly cold. Conn rode with his men around him, knowing he was racing to prevent a wrong he hardly understood. King Aidan took it for granted that the lord of all these people had a right to determine their destiny.

  Perhaps Lord Storn should not hold all this property, perhaps it was the system that was at fault; maybe all this land should be owned by the smallholders who farmed it; then they could decide how best to use it. But as long as this system was in fact the law of the land, who was he to keep the con-

 

  science of Lord Storn and say how he should deal with his own?

  4 He had never questioned this before; he had always accepted that what Markos called wrong was actually wrong; now he was questioning everything. He did not know what was right, but he was beginning to feel more strongly that the land should be turned over to the farmers.

  And he knew--and hardly knew how he knew, only that it must be through his mysterious bond with his brother's mind-that Alastair did not share his convictions, but took it for granted as something divinely ordained that he should have power over all these people who had been born his subjects. On this, he suspected, he and Alastair might never agree; but until this very night he had taken it for granted that he should submit to Alastair because of the foolish accident that Alastair had been born twenty minutes his elder.

  In fact what difference did that make? If he was more fit to rule than Alastair. . . .

  At this he shut off this line of thinking, quite honestly appalled by the treasonous twist his thoughts were taking. Since he had turned his eyes unlawfully on Alastair's promised wife, he was questioning everything-law, decency, the very foundations of the ordered universe he relied on.

  He forced himself to think of nothing except the hoofbeats of their horses on the frozen stone of the roadway. A cry from Markos broke into his reverie.

  "We're too late! See, they've burned them out- Storn's bullies. The place is afire."

  "Steady on," Conn said, "some of them may still be

 

  there. And if they've been turned out on a night like this, they'll need our help more than ever."

  Even before he saw them, then, they could hear the sounds from the side of the road; soldiers in Storn's household livery, pushing and shoving a mixed group of men, women and children, half-dressed, a young woman in a nightrobe with two babies in her arms, other barefoot children clinging to the women; an old man striding up and down fuming and raging.

  "I swear I deserved better o' my lord than this, after forty years!" An elderly woman with gray hair, obviously his wife, was trying to calm him.

  "There, there, it'll all be settled when daylight comes an" you can talk-"

  "But his lordship promised me-"

  And Conn's eyes were drawn to another little man in a patched nightshirt, boots drawn on over bare feet, pounding his fists and yelling incoherently. Conn , listened; one of the men was trying to get a coherent account of what had happened from the old man.

  "They came while we were asleep an' turned us out in the rain an' fired the house. I told them-I demanded they stop and let it be, I told them-I ordered them to stop, told them who I was but they wouldn'a listen-"

  The little old man's face was red as an apple; Conn wondered if he were about to have a stroke.

  "And who are you, old grandfather?" one of Markos's men asked respectfully.

  "Ardrin of Storn!" he shouted, red-faced.

  One of Storn's soldiers failed to conceal a grin. "Oh, aye, an' I'm the Keeper o' the Arilinn Tower, but we have to dispense with protocol tonight; ye' can just call me 'yer grace.' "

 

  "Damn it," the old man shouted. "I tell you I'm Ardrin, Lord Storn. I took shelter here-" ". "Oh, shut yer flap, old man, you try my patience! D'ye think I wouldn't know me own lord?" the soldier demanded.

  Conn watched the old man's face. It would otherwise never have occurred to Conn to believe what he said-but a telepath can tell when he hears the truth, and Conn was hearing it now. The old man really was Lord Storn-and what perfect irony, that Storn himself should be turned out in the rain by his own soldiers, and the very house where he sheltered burned over his head by his own orders. Conn did not blame the soldier at all-who would believe this ragged old man in a faded flannel nightshirt to be the most powerful man between here and Aldaran?

  Conn went to him, bowed slightly, and said quietly, "Lord Storn, I see you finally feel the burden of your own proclamations!" He added to the soldier, "One old man's like another, without his fine clothes and wig."

  The soldier looked closer. "Zandru's hells!" he swore. "Sir, I didn't know; I was only following your own orders-Geredd's family out-"

  Storn snorted and seemed about to explode. "My orders?" he said tightly. "And did my orders say to put Geredd's family out in the middle of the night-in this storm?"

  "Well," the soldier said uneasily, "I thought this might save us having to evict the rest of them this way. Make an example, like-"

  "You thought?" Storn said. He looked pointedly at the shivering, crying children. "I must say that this gives me grave doubts about your ability to think."

 

  Conn said, "Never mind that now. The important thing is to get these children to shelter." Storn seemed about to speak, but Conn turned his back and walked away, toward the woman with the swaddled children in her arms.

  Lord Storn said roughly to the soldier, "Another time, listen when someone tells you something, man! Get back to barracks; you've caused enough trouble for one night."

  The soldier opened his mouth to speak, looked at Lord Storn's angry face, and silently saluted, gave a sharp command to his men and they went away. Meanwhile Conn spoke to the woman.

  "Twins," he said. "My own mother had just such an experience as this-and also by the courtesy of Lord Storn if I mistake it not-when my brother and I were not much more than a year old. Have you a place to go?"

  She said shyly, "My sister married a man who works at the woolen mills in Neskaya; she an' her husband can take us in for a time at least."

  "Good; then you shall go there. Markos-" he beckoned to the old man, "put this woman and the babies on my horse, and get one of your men-or two-to carry the smaller children. Take them to Hammerfell and give them shelter with one of our tenants; when it's daylight, get a farm cart and take them to Neskaya or wherever they wish; one of our men can drive them there and bring back the cart and donkey."

  "But your horse, sir?"

  "Never mind; do as I say, I'll make shift to get back somehow; I've got two good legs," Conn said, then asked the woman, "and when you get there?"

 

  "My husband's a sheep-shearer, sir; he's always in work, but we were turned out a few weeks ago with the babies coming-"

  A rough-looking young man with sandy-red hair all awry in the wind, and dark eyes, came up beside the woman, and said to Conn, "I've always worked, all me life; but with four-no-six little mouths to feed, you can't tramp the roads. I kep' my house all my working days-and to be turned out-I never done nothin' to deserve it, sir, indeed I didn't. An' I'd stand up before the old lord himself and ask him what I done to deserve it."

  Conn jerked his head
sidewise and said, "There he stands. Ask him."

  The young man scowled and lowered his eyes, but finally turned to Lord Storn and said, "Sir, why? What did we ever do to you that you'd have us put out by the roads this way? Twice now."

  Storn stood very straight; Conn, watching, thought that he was trying hard to be dignified. It was hard indeed to be dignified by the road in a patched nightshirt that hardly covered his skinny old buttocks, though from somewhere he had found a horse blanket and was clutching it about his shoulders and shivering.

  "Why, man-what's your name? Geredd didn't tell me, just that you were married to his older daughter."

  The man touched his rough forelock.

  "Ewen, m'lord." &

  "Well, Ewen, all that land's played out; no use for farming, an' it won't keep dairy animals; all it's good for is sheep. But sheep need space to run-acres an' acres. Why, you're a shearer, there'll be work in plenty for you, but we've got to get rid of all these

 

  small-holdings and run the land together, can't you .see? It's good sense-only a fool 'ud try to run thirty small farms on that played-out land up in the side hills. Tin truly sorry for all you people, but what can I do? If I starve because none of you can make a living, then none of us is any better off."

  "But I'm not starving an' I've always paid my rents proper an' right up to the day," insisted Ewen. "I don't live by farming; why turn me out?"

  Storn flushed red again and looked angry. "Yes, it may seem unfair to you. But my manager tells me I can't make any exceptions. If I let one small-holder stay, no matter how worthy-and no doubt you're one o' the worthy ones-then every one of them all will talk as if he had a special right to stay; and some of 'em have gotten so far behind I've had no rent for ten years, and some fifteen or twenty-before the big droughts began. I'm no tyrant-I've forgiven everybody here rent in at least one bad year. But enough's enough; there's got to be an end somewhere. My lands are no good for farming and I won't keep farmers on them any more. No profit in it-and it does you folk no good if I go bankrupt."