“I didn’t have to,” said Fletch. “I rode to Cloverheart, found the Havenari there. A large band, at least. Forty men, or fifty. They’ve forsaken the Leaf. They call themselves the Knights of Tûr, and claim to be mercenaries. But I know what they really are.”
“They’re evading conscription,” Robyn said. “Clever.”
“They’re sworn to no vasily, either,” said Fletch. “It’s why they’ve settled near Cloverheart. As far as the soldiers from Haukmere know, they hail from Orrath. As far as the Legions stationed in Orrath know, they’re woodsmen from Haveïl. Their First Spear says it preserves their independence.”
“And who holds First Spear?”
“They call him Elwin, Lady. A big man, Oldborn, I think. Elwin Êtriel.”
“Êtriel,” Robyn said, turning the name over on her tongue. “Êtriel…fairy-maiden. that’s a man’s name?”
“Do you know him?” asked Fletch. She shook her head, but poured herself a mug of ale as well.
“He wasn’t in command when I swore my oath.”
“Well, he’s in command now. He’s united all the Havenari who weren’t conscripted. All except us, that is. Says there’s greater fights on the horizon than the massacre at the Danhorn.”
“In the East?”
“Aye, Lady. The Battle of the Danhorn was the start of a major offensive. Jordac’s raised an army of sorts. They slipped away into the lowlands when the fighting was done, and the Legions lost them under cover of night. It’s why they’re conscripting the Havenari, if you get me. They need men who know the Outlands, men who can track—and fight monsters, if it comes to that. Captain Elwin says it’s all petty politics.”
“Not to the thousands who died,” said Robyn. “But this changes things. Any sign of Hendec?”
“They haven’t seen him,” said Fletch. “Likely he made his way east. Whether he makes for the Capital or turns south toward Carmac and on to the Uprising, I’ve no guess.”
“I have my guesses,” said Robyn, “but I’d like to know for sure. He was a good man.”
Fletch nodded as if confused, as if his innocence and wisdom were fighting within him. He let out a troubled sigh.
“Then he is a good man still,” said Fletch, “and I wish him well.”
In the yard behind the small house, in the stillness of their uneasy silence, both heard the rhythmic slap of Aewyn’s arrows striking a soft target. In spite of Celithrand’s miraculous hands and a few weeks of bed rest, her leg was still too weak to put her to use raising the ramparts, but she could hobble about with a small cane, and had returned to her archery as best she could to curb the boredom. Robyn had no intention of putting her to work in full view of the soldiers: it was a stroke of some fortune that no one had identified her or connected her to the attack, and Robyn was content to keep her sheltered for now—though she knew she could not protect the girl forever.
Fletch followed his commander’s eyes to the shuttered window. “Is she coming with us?” he asked.
“It seems best for everyone,” said Robyn. “Celithrand spoke of a prophecy. He said it was her destiny to go south with him, to go become some kind of Chosen One and prepare herself for the coming Godswar, and such. That road is lost to her, now—if indeed it was ever really hers.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“He was just a man, in the end,” said Robyn. “A very wise man, and powerful, perhaps, in ways he did not show. But all men see what they wish to see.”
“In Khihana,” said Fletch, “we have a proverb.”
Malba mald’un, malba t’anhad’un,
Tsat’eba hãlzita ekt’elun.
“What does it mean?” asked Robyn.
“It means something like, ‘love your lover, and love your friend, but only trust the stars in the end.’ It means to say, the truth is always written in the stars. But it is only men, after all, who read them. And the stars are never wrong—but men are wrong about the stars all the time.”
Robyn nodded thoughtfully. “I do not think he meant her harm. He wanted, for all of us, what he thought was best. Perhaps he wanted it so badly he was willing to dance on a rope for it. But now that it comes to it, I am happy that fate has brought her to us instead.”
“If you can convince her to choose us, you mean.”
Robyn smiled. “Now you’re learning,” she said. “I’ll have to be on my guard.”
The regular sound of Aewyn’s arrows stopped as she slowly limped up to retrieve her shafts. Robyn moved toward the door.
“Don’t tell her she has a place with us,” said Fletch hastily. “Tell her instead that we have a place for her, if she wants it.”
Robyn nodded. “I had always hoped, ever since she taught us to wattle our storm shelters, that she might one day join us. We have much to teach her, but she is wise in the ways of the deep wood already. And if the conscription of the Havenari reaches this far from the Capital, that’s where we’re going, to keep clear of them. We’ll have more need of her than ever, now.”
Fletch beamed at that. “You mean not to fight with the Army.”
“The Havenari were raised to keep the Vigil. We were not bred for civil war.”
“Then should we not go south to join the Knights of Tûr?”
“Our home is here in Haveïl,” said Robyn. “Though you seem awfully taken with the south company.”
“Elwin is an inspiring man,” said Fletch. “I think he will do great things for the Havenari, whether they hold to their old name or not.”
“Time will tell,” said Robyn, though her mind was already elsewhere.
The target Aewyn had brought in from the butts was a disc of coiled straw, unpainted and heavily worn. For four days, now, Aewyn had been shooting to exhaustion against the side of the little house; the ground was littered with broken shafts where she had missed the target altogether near the end of the day, loosing wild shots with her spindly arms shaking. She shot until her muscles and shoulders ached from the strain. It was a nice break from the monotony of her recovery for something else to hurt, for a change.
It was yet early in the day, and there was a stillness to her that Robyn found comforting as she made her way down the little field. The girl had stepped back almost into the river today, and while it was no great distance by Robyn’s standards, her arrows were hitting their mark.
“Relax your hold on it,” Robyn offered as she approached. “No need to grip it as tightly as it seems to have gripped you.”
Aewyn nocked and loosed another arrow. Her form was good, especially shooting on a bad leg, but she clutched the bow hard and her jaw was set tight.
Robyn turned back to the target. “You’re a natural talent,” she said. “Better than I was, at your age.”
“Not good enough,” said Aewyn, as she nocked another.
Robyn put a hand over the girl’s clenched fist, pushed the bow down until Aewyn had no choice but to meet her gaze.
“I can’t tell you that you did the right thing,” said Robyn. “Nor can I tell you that you did the wrong one. All I can say is that it wasn’t time, perhaps, for you to hold a grown man’s bow. And not only because you’re small.”
“I see the Censor,” said Aewyn. “Wandering about the town. I see what I did to him. I’m walking again. I’ll get better. He won’t ever get better, will he?”
“But he won’t get any worse, either, now that he’s on the mend,” said Robyn. “Even a forty-pound bow would have killed him dead, with an aim that sharp. You did what I couldn’t, Aewyn. Gods know I wanted to. But I couldn’t, for reasons you’ll understand when you’re older. The way I see it, you saved a man’s life without taking one in its place, and that is always worth something. There are many other ways it could have gone. Most of them are far worse than what came to pass.”
“But if I’d only hit the rope—” the girl began.
“Come inside with me,” said Robyn.
“I’m practicing.”
“First rule,” said the
older woman. “Never shoot angry.”
Fletch was already hard asleep in Robyn’s bed by the time they came in, nearly as exhausted as the horse he had ridden into town. The air inside was hotter and drier than usual; a roaring fire burned in the pit, and the crucks and timbers above it were dressed with river-fish and Darmod Pick’s salted mutton. To Aewyn, the house smelled like the changing of the seasons, and it was no longer altogether pleasant to her. The longer she dwelt in Widowvale, the more she could feel the slow march of time—not around in circles, as time passed in the deep wood, but onward in a straight line to an unknown destination. She sat close to the fire, savouring its dry heat as the older woman thought of where to begin.
“When I was a little girl,” Robyn said at last, “from the time I could crawl till my fifteenth summer, I had the best library of any little girl in the whole of Creslyn Wood. I grew up with the old legends. I passed my days surrounded by storybooks, among the heroes of the Age of Sun. At eight or nine summers old, I was reading the lays of Ithuriel the Fair and her many suitors. I never cared for the princess or her trappings, though. From the first, I admired the minstrel Llor, who was cunning and brave, and shot golden arrows from the strings of his magical harp. The Lay of Ygilemë and the Bandits, which Bram can still recite—at least, he could last year—was where I first saw it written that a man could shoot out a hangman’s rope at a hundred yards.”
Aewyn nodded sagely. “How is it done?” she asked. Her earnestness brought a smile to Robyn’s face, but the older woman shook her head.
“Gods and fishes, how I tried to do it,” she said. “Years, I tried. They cut me my first bow at nine. I remember my father would have no peace from me until they did. I tried to do everything you hear of in the old legends. And in all my days as an archer, from that day to this, I have never seen it done—least of all in the heat of battle. And that, after a fashion, is where you were.”
“Celithrand said I’m destined to be a mighty champion of the people,” she said. “I thought my time might have come early.”
Robyn sighed. “He has believed in you a long time,” she said. “He almost died for that belief. But—how do I say this—he has believed it so long, now, that in his mind it can only be very real.”
“It must be real!” said Aewyn. “Celithrand is a great and wise man. All of the aerils are, and he most of all.”
“Wisdom, I’ve found, comes as often from simple folk as from great folk,” said Robyn. “More often, maybe.”
“Poe doesn’t believe in prophecies either,” said Aewyn.
Robyn hesitated. “Prophecies,” she said at last, “have a habit of coming true in ways even the prophets don’t expect. That doesn’t mean they’re untrue. But neither are they the sagas of the future, telling us word for word who is bound for what destination, or meant for what end, as if it’s already come to pass.”
“Celithrand seemed so certain.”
Robyn lifted another log onto the fire. “Are you?”
“I was,” she said. “That all ended when I…when I hurt the poor censor.”
“There is a man in the South,” said Robyn. “Fletch said the Havenari have a new First Spear there. They call him Êtriel.”
“Fairy-born,” said Aewyn. “Daughter of a fairy-maiden. That’s a man’s name?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’s born of a dryad, like me? Are there more like me?”
Robyn smiled. “There is no one like you, Aewyn. As to his parentage, I cannot say. I know only the news Fletch brought back. He’s rallying the Havenari. Some have been called to the Grand Army, but he seems to be keeping them to their purpose.”
“To fight the old monsters?” asked Aewyn.
“Yes. Until what happened at the Fair, I thought it was a ceremonial duty. Someday I’ll tell you the history of the Havenari—the history of that duty. All I can tell you today is that we’ve fallen far from it. We’re a town militia, Aewyn. We hunt poachers, keep a sort of tribal justice in the Outlands, those parts that’ll have us. We haven’t trained hard to fight the Horrors since the days of the Siege. Until this new man, a veteran with the cognomen of a fairy-child.”
“You think he’s Celithrand’s true champion,” said Aewyn.
“Perhaps,” said Robyn. “Perhaps not. I think he’s now the second person I know of who could be—and I don’t know that many people. I think if you wanted him to be, wanted it with all your heart, you could twist the words of the prophecy until he seemed to be exactly what they meant. But if there’s a second possible reading, there could be a third. If a third, why not a fourth? Countless others, maybe. Perhaps he’s a hero destined for legend—or just a fool destined to die for defying an order of Travalaithi conscription. Maybe he’ll get all the Havenari south of the Iron Road killed for deserting the call of the Grand Army.”
“You think he will?”
“Time will tell. But it’s possible. That’s why I’m in no great rush to join him. His actions could be the saving grace of this world, if you believe in prophecies. Or they could be absolute folly that destroys our whole order. More likely, like most people, he’s something in between the extremes. But committing to absolute folly is a rare thing in wise men. It’s something they most often do when they believe too hard in destiny.”
“I’d like to meet him,” said Aewyn. “I’d like to see if he’s truly my own kind.”
“Fletch describes him as Oldborn, aeril-blooded from the days they lived among us…closer to Celithrand than what you are. Our roads will cross with his, in time. But I’m in no hurry. I mean to go north.”
“North?”
“The Êtriel is right about one thing. We’ve fallen from our purpose. If that beast we encountered is a true Horror of Tamnor, we have to find it, and do what we can to keep it away from the villages. I’d like…we’d like you to come with us. Soon as you can walk and ride without pain.”
Aewyn looked confused. “Of course,” she said. “But I thought you didn’t want me on the trail with you. Just before the soldiers came…you sent me back to the village.”
“The village isn’t safe for you now,” said Robyn. “Not with Stannon’s men about. There’s a queerness about you that’s hard to miss. Sooner or later, one of them’s bound to take notice of you, and he’ll start asking the wrong questions. It seems prudent to take you away with me, as long as you know you’re not protected from on high. Destiny means almost nothing in the world, Aewyn. We’ll all end up somewhere different than we are now, no matter what you call it.”
“I have felt different for so long,” said Aewyn. “I thought I was…special.”
Robyn smiled. “There are no prophecies about me,” she said. “Am I not special?”
“Of course you’re—”
“I’m practically a princess, you know. The young lads at Draden Castle, in my day, thought I was dainty as shit.” She spat into the fire for emphasis. “At least, I’m as close to a princess as anyone has been, ever since the Baron-Kings replaced the true royal line in Travost. Whether that makes me special—”
Aewyn smiled. “You are special. That’s not what I meant.”
“You are a marvellous girl,” said Robyn, “with a destiny and a purpose. And that purpose need not be foretold, and it need not be understood, nor play out in the way you expect. Carry your little prophecy, recite it every night if you like, but this one thing I will tell you: do not live your life according to the will of men who call themselves great. Remember what Poe told us at the house. There are no Chosen Ones, Aewyn…only the ones who choose.”
“Then I am certain of only one thing,” said the girl. “I choose to come with you… if you’ll have me on this ride.”
“Of course we’ll have you,” said Robyn. “So you should get some rest. We ride as soon as your leg will suffer it.”
“I…don’t have a horse,” Aewyn said.
“Neither does Fletch,” said Robyn. “His is done with the road for now. Maybe for a long time. Bu
t we’ll put you and Fletch on Hendec’s horse, and leave while the soldiers are deep in their cups.”
“Is Hendec not coming?”
Robyn frowned. “We had words,” she said at last. “The Havenari are not free enough of Imperial influence for his tastes. He’s gone east to fight in the wars of men. He, too, has chosen his own destiny.”
With some excitement, Aewyn waited some days in absolute impatience. She set about stretching and strengthening her leg as it healed, and gathered what few possessions she could. She wondered whether it was too late, now, to fetch the rest of them from Grimstead—if, indeed, she had need of them. She thought of her carved bird-whistles, nestled along the top edge of the children’s loft, and wondered what use they would be against the horror that awaited them.
When next she came to Robyn’s door, her leg was ready enough, though her eyes betrayed that the rest of her was not.
“If there’s no room,” she said, “if there aren’t enough horses…I’d be content to wait until you ride out in the spring.”
“You’re wise to be afraid,” said Robyn. “All the more reason I want you on this ride. If it’s a Horror of Tamnor we face, we’ll need every lucky charm we can get.”
Aewyn stepped gently through her bow and began to unstring it for travel, as she had been taught. In the distance, over the crackling of the fire, she could hear the approach of the other men, who had passed the evening in the company of townsfolk they saw too seldom, and might not see again until the next ride was over. When she had done away with the cane, they knew their time was short.
“I thought you didn’t believe in such things,” she said. “Lucky charms and prophecies.”
“I believe the people who are too sure of anything in this world are most likely to be wrong about it,” said Robyn. “That includes myself, most of all.”
On the morning after Fletch’s return, Marin woke early and made love to his wife, who was not half so shrewish and humourless in the quiet of their home as she liked to affect in public. When their passions had turned to sweet words, she counselled him on the matter of the manhunt for Poe, for he had a great facility with people and a bold presence in the hall, but she was wiser than he and of sounder judgment, in the end. He could do little to change the mind of the Grand Army, but the Havenari were another matter and might, with his guidance, be persuaded to lay the matter to rest. He had not forgotten that the karach had found his beloved nephew and namesake in the woods before something more terrible did. For that reason alone, he resolved to put an end to the matter, or at least to alter the severity of its terms as best he could.
The Season of the Plough Page 26
