Читать книгу A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr - Страница 10

The cold autumn rains slashed down over the town of Cernmeton and sent water sheeting across the cobbles and pooling in the gutters. Wrapped in his heavy winter cloak of dark blue wool, Cinvan rode fast through the twisting streets and left it up to the few townsfolk abroad to get out of his horse’s way. He clattered through the gates of the tieryn’s dun, a walled compound centred round a stone broch, rode round to the back stables, and yelled for a groom. A stableboy came running.

‘So you’re back, are you? How was your visit home?’

‘As good as it needed to be. Did I miss any excitement?’

‘You didn’t, unless you count getting drunk in our lord’s hall as excitement.’ He sighed in a melancholy way. ‘We’ve got a Carnoic tournament going on. So far Edyl’s ahead by six games.’

‘I’ll see if I can give him a run for his coin, then.’

In the great hall smoke from the two huge hearths drifted in blue wisps across the round room. On one side the warband of thirty-five men was sitting and drinking at their tables. Up by the honour hearth, Tieryn Melaudd was slouched in his carved chair and drinking with his two sons, Waldyn and Dovyn. The tieryn was a florid-faced, raven-haired man, heavy with middle age but still capable of swinging steel. Of the sons, Waldyn, the elder, had the blond hair he’d inherited from his Deverry mother, but the younger looked much like a slender version of his father. Everyone knew that Dovyn was his father’s favourite son, too – a pity, since under the new laws he could never inherit a share of the demesne. Cinvan knelt before the tieryn, who gave him leave to speak with a wave of his hand.

‘I’ve returned to your service as I pledged you, my lord. A thousand humble thanks for giving me leave.’

‘Welcome, lad. And how fares your kin?’

‘They’re doing well, my lord.’ Cinvan was lying, but he saw no need to burden the tieryn with a problem he could do nothing about.

‘Good, good. Get yourself some ale and join your comrades.’

Cinvan rose, bowed, and made his escape from the awesome presence of the noble-born. He dipped himself a tankard of ale from the open barrel in the curve of the wall, then strolled over to join the warband. Most of the men were watching Edyl and Peddyc play Carnoic, a board game where the players moved black or white stones along a pattern of triangles in attempts to capture each other’s men. Every move the two of them made was slow, studied, and accomplished by either cheers or oaths from the rest of the warband. As Cinvan stood watching them, Garedd came over and laid a hand on his shoulder.

‘So our falcon’s flown back to the nest, has he? Pity – I was hoping you’d drown on the road.’

Cinvan threw a mock punch his way.

‘Bastard! Anything happen while I was gone?’

‘Naught. And how was Elrydd?’

‘As well as it needed to be.’

Garedd shot him a look of honest sympathy. They took their tankards and sat down at a table far from the crowd around the game.

‘And your sister?’ Garedd said.

‘That’s the cursed worst thing of all. By the hells, I was minded to beat her black-and-blue. First she has to go and get herself a bastard, and now she’s given it up.’

‘She what?’

‘Gave the babe up. To her rotten cat-eyed man. He rides in and wants the little lass – because she’ll be only a burden on our Dewigga, or so he says, and so she up and lets him take her away.’ Cinvan slammed the tankard down on the table. ‘And Da was too cursed drunk to know or care. Ah, horseshit!’

‘Now here, maybe it’s for the best. Your sister’s got a chance at a decent marriage someday now.’

‘Ah, that’s what she said, blast her! But the shame of it, my own niece, one of my blood kin, riding with the Westfolk! What’s her Da going to do, I says to Dewigga, teach her to steal? And she’s got the gall to slap me across the face and tell me to hold my tongue! Women!’

Garedd nodded in silent sympathy. Cinvan drew his dagger and began fiddling with it, just for comfort. On the hilt was graved his personal mark, the striking falcon that had earned him his nickname in the warband. He ran a heavily calloused thumb over the mark and had thoughts of slitting this Gaverenteriel’s throat for him one sweet day.

‘And you know what else Dewigga had the gall to say? She’s always known her man was going to take the babe when she was old enough. You’re cursed lucky you didn’t let me know, says I. Why do you think I held my tongue? says she. Cursed good thing, says I, and she slaps me again.’

‘Why didn’t you beat her black-and-blue?’ Garedd said.

Cinvan shrugged, laying the dagger down on the table and picking up his tankard. The truth was too bitter to tell: he’d seen too much of that already, with his father beating his mother half to death every time she looked at the old man wrong. Her sobs still echoed through his dreams.

‘Ah, wouldn’t be worth the trouble,’ Cinvan said. ‘I just tell her that if she has another bastard, don’t come running to me for coin for the midwife this time, and she flounces out of the room like a high-born lady with her nose in the air.’

‘Good for you. Women need to be kept in their place.’

‘Cursed right.’

They finished their ale in silence. At the far table, Edyl’s howl of rage – he always was a rotten loser – announced that Peddyc had won the game. Amid laughter and jests, coin changed hands all around the warband.

‘And here’s our falcon back,’ Ynryc called out, pocketing a silver piece from the defeated side. ‘Come on, Cinvan – give Peddyc here a game. You’ve got a good hand with the stones.’

‘Maybe I will, if he’ll take me on.’

‘Oh, I’m always game,’ Peddyc said, grinning. ‘Let’s see if I can keep my winnings.’

Edyl rose from his place at the board.

‘Welcome back, falcon. And has your sister given you a nephew yet? But with proper ears this time?’

The world went red. Cinvan stepped forward, hit Edyl hard in the stomach with his right and swung up to clip his jaw with his left. Edyl went down like a sack of grain as the hall exploded in shouting. Cinvan felt men grabbing his arms, heard Garedd yelling at him to calm down. Abruptly the red fog cleared. Cinvan knelt to his lord in a cold-shaking sweat.

‘And what’s all this? By the hells, you haven’t been back for one wretched hour, Cinvan.’

Cinvan nodded in dumb agreement. He was so sure that he was in for a flogging that he could already feel the whip on his back. Young Dovyn caught his father’s arm and whispered something to him.

‘Oh.’ Melaudd turned to Peddyc. ‘Did Edyl make remarks about Cinvan’s sister?’

‘He did, my lord.’

‘Well, then, he’s got what he deserved. Tell him I said so when you bring him round. But here, Cinvan, try to keep peace in my hall, will you? If you’d only ignore these stupid foul jests, they’d stop making them after a while.’

‘True spoken, my lord, and my apologies.’

Later that day, when Melaudd and Waldyn’s wives and their serving women came down from the women’s hall to sit with the noble lords at the table of honour, Dovyn came to drink with his father’s warband. Cinvan wondered if he felt more at home with the men, now that his brother had an infant son, another heir between him and Cernmeton.

‘Good to see you back, falcon.’

‘My thanks, my lord. For a lot of things.’

‘Most welcome, truly. I’ve got somewhat to ask you. I’ll be riding down to Aberwyn soon. My father’s given me leave to take some of his men along for an escort. I was thinking of you, Garedd, Peddyc, and Tauryn. Are you game for a wet ride?’

‘Gladly, my lord. Your father’s a generous man with his ale, but time hangs heavy in winter.’

‘Just that.’ Dovyn gave him a grin. ‘We might have a bit of sport in the spring though. Here, I’ll tell you the news. I’m riding to Aberwyn to lay claim to some of that empty land up by the Peddroloc. If I can gather the farmers and suchlike, by the gods, why shouldn’t I have land and a dun of my own?’

‘Why not?’ Cinvan pledged him with his tankard. ‘Good for you, my lord. I take it your father’s sponsoring you.’

‘Just that.’ Dovyn’s smile was full of boyish hopes and pride. ‘He says he’ll back me with the warband if any of the cursed Westfolk try to argue about it, too. I can fancy myself spreading the Bear clan’s name a little further west.’

‘And your clan’s glory.’ Cinvan had a swallow of ale. ‘May the Bear roam where he will.’

Two days later, when the storm eased, Lord Dovyn and his escort set out for Aberwyn. All along the way, Melaudd’s personal vassals and allies gave them a roof over their heads and ale to drink, which was all that mattered to Cinvan. Dovyn was full of his plans, chattering about them in a most unlordly manner. Since the Old Ones had already fled this part of the country, his new demesne would have to be tilled by free farmers, but there were plenty of younger sons among the Eldidd freemen. Among the commoners, a freeman could divide his property up among his heirs when he died, but who would settle for some part of a farm when he could win a whole one? With a noble lord and his warband to protect them against the Westfolk, they would be glad to move and break new land, which would become theirs in freehold in return for dues. (Back in the Homeland, the noble-born had always divided their property, too, but here in the new and hostile country, with empty land all around them, they preferred to keep holdings strong by passing them intact to one heir.) Lord Dovyn would be a poor lord at first, but his wealthy father was willing to tide him over with cattle and extra horses until the crops – and the taxes – began coming in.

About halfway through the trip, they stayed with Tieryn Braur of Belglaedd, who greeted Dovyn warmly and made sure his men had shelter in the barracks instead of the stables. At dinner that night, the four Bear riders were given decent seats at a table near the fire and all the meat and mead they wanted, though Cinvan drank little. Up at the table of honour, the young lord was talking with his host and a pretty young woman who seemed to be the tieryn’s daughter. From their long distance away, Garedd watched them with a sentimental smile.

‘I think our Dovyn’s picked out the lady of this new demesne.’

‘Huh?’ Cinvan said. ‘Who?’

‘The daughter, you dolt! Look.’

Obligingly Cinvan looked. Dovyn and the lass were smiling at each other’s every word.

‘Now, that warms a man’s heart.’ Garedd paused to belch. ‘What do you wager he had no chance of winning her before, but now he’ll have land to offer.’

‘You’re drunk.’

‘I am, but so what? It’s just like somewhat in a bard’s tale. He’ll win the land and all for her sake.’

Cinvan ignored him and had another swallow of mead.

Since the men of the Bear were direct personal vassals of the princes of Aberwyn, Dovyn and his escort sheltered in the royal dun itself, a vast many-towered broch in the middle of Aberwyn. At meals, the Bearsmen sat at one side of an enormous great hall that had room enough to seat two hundred and watched their lord, far away at the other near a hearth made of fine pale stone, all carved with the princely dragons of the rhan. During the day, they had leave to wander round the town, which with its twenty thousand inhabitants was the biggest place Cinvan had ever seen. Every morning he and Garedd walked down to the harbour, where the Prince’s four war galleys rode at anchor and merchant ships came and went. In the afternoon they would go to one of the taverns that the prince’s men recommended and pick up a couple of cheap whores, or sometimes only one to spare the extra cost. As Garedd remarked one day, life in Aberwyn was a cursed sight more amusing than playing Carnoic in Melaudd’s hall or badgering a kitchen maid into taking a tumble with them out in the hayloft.

Unfortunately, every earthly paradise comes to an end sooner or later. On their last day in Aberwyn, Cinvan and Garedd went down to their favourite tavern to say a sentimental farewell to the lasses there. As they were sitting over a couple of tankards, a stout grey-haired fellow in red and white checked brigga came into the room. Uneasily he threw his fur-lined cloak back from his shoulders and looked with disdain at the chipped tables, straw-strewn floor, and blowzy wenches.

‘Now what’s he doing in here?’ Garedd said.

‘Looking for us. See? Here he comes.’

The merchant strode over to their table with a friendly if somewhat fixed smile.

‘My name’s Namydd. I see you ride for the Bear clan.’

‘Well, so we do,’ Garedd said, and he was the one who went on talking to the merchant while Cinvan sat and glowered. ‘And what can we do for you, good sir?’

Namydd brushed off the wooden bench with the side of his hand, then sat down and ordered ale all round. When the wench brought it, he inspected the rim of his tankard and wiped it on his sleeve before he drank.

‘Now, I’ve heard an interesting piece of news about your lord Dovyn. Some of my connections in the prince’s court tell me he’s filed a claim to land around the Four Lakes.’

‘He has. What’s it to you?’

‘A matter of great profit and one to your lord as well. I’m a merchant, you see, and I’d be willing to pay him for the rights to have a trading depot in his village.’

‘Well, he doesn’t have a village yet, good sir. But he’ll probably need the coin.’

‘Most lords in his position do. Now I’d like to approach him about this, but I wanted to have a word with one or two of his men first. Tell me, is your lord the approachable sort?’

‘He is. As decent a young man as you could ask for.’

‘Splendid! How soon will he be making his move on the land?’

‘Oh, some time in the summer. As far as I understand these things, anyway, they’ve got all sorts of legal matters to tend to first. Why don’t you ride to Cernmeton later in the winter? Doubtless he can tell you more then.’

‘I will, I will.’

Namydd smiled all round, but Cinvan kept on scowling. Although he couldn’t say why, he was sure this merchant had some game of his own afoot, and one that might not be to his lordship’s advantage.

For some weeks the elves drifted south, heading for the warmer sea coast and the winter camps. Although Aderyn slept in Halaberiel’s tent, he rode with Nananna and Dallandra, ate with them at meals, and spent most evenings, too, at the Wise One’s side. Starting at first principles, they compared their two systems of magic a piece at a time – or to be exact, Aderyn had a system of magic, while Nananna had a body of lore. Her dweomer was all of the greatest power, mind, and in line with the true principles of the universe, but there was no doubt that it was a thing of pieces and fragments. For instance, she knew nothing about astrology and only scraps of information about the levels of the universe beyond the astral. When it came to walking the secret paths, her lore was all jumbled, based only on the raw experience of her teacher and herself. He finally realized, in fact, that Nananna’s teacher had discovered the technique very late in her life and almost by accident. One evening, using every bit of tact he possessed, he asked Nananna if she realized that the fabric of her magic was a bit frayed. Rather than being offended, she laughed with an earthy good humour.

‘Frayed, young Aderyn? Shredded and full of holes, more like, I’d say. It’s because of the Great Burning, of course. We lost all our books then, and along with them such niceties as tracts on the motions of the stars and long tables of ritual correspondences.’

‘Burning? Did someone just burn all the magical books?’

‘A bit more than the books. Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know about that, would you?’ She paused for a long moment, and grief bit deep into her face. ‘Maybe my broken dweomer suits us, because the People, young Aderyn, are naught but a remnant themselves. Long, long ago we lived in cities, the seven cities of the far mountains, ruled over by a council of seven kings. There were paved streets and big houses, beautiful temples and libraries filled with books that everyone was allowed to read, or so I’ve been told – I’ve never seen such things myself, mind. Old as I am; it was before my time, a good eight hundred years ago now when the Hordes came. They were demons, some say, ugly squat hairy creatures with fangs and big noses. I suspect they were real flesh and blood, myself. Be that as it may, they came by the hundreds of thousands, fleeing south from the northern forests for some reason of their own, and as they came they burned and looted and killed. They destroyed the cities in a few short years, and all that’s left of the People is this remnant, wandering the grasslands. We’re the children of those who managed to get away in time, you see, and our families were all country people, farmers, most of them, or we never would have survived at all. Two women learned in magic managed to escape the burning of the cities and reach the grasslands, where the other refugees took them in, but they didn’t bring any books and so on with them. They were lucky to escape with their heads still on their shoulders, and they didn’t have time to pack properly, you might say, before they left.’

‘Two? That’s all?’

‘That’s all, out of all the grand schools and the temples. They did their best to pass on what they knew, but among us as among you, talented sorcerers aren’t exactly as common as sheep in a fold. One of them was old, too, and died soon, worn out by the horrors she’d seen. My teacher studied with the other.’

‘But these Hordes – why? Why did they just destroy everything?’

‘I only wish I knew. No one does.’

‘Uh, you said somewhat about these Hordes taking heads. I, er, well, wonder, er, does anyone remember what they looked like, exactly?’

Nananna laughed, a bitter mutter under her breath.

‘They may not have been actual demons, but they weren’t your people, young Aderyn, so rest your heart about that. All the old tales agree that they only had three fingers on each hand, for one thing, and that their faces, especially round the jaws, were all swollen and deformed, for another. Now, when I was a lass I heard one of the elders talk about those deformed faces, and he said it looked to him like they were actually covered with scar tissue in some kind of ritual pattern, maybe with some charcoal powder added in, like, to make the scars more prominent. I’ve never heard of a Deverry man doing such a thing.’

‘And we all have five fingers, too. I can’t tell you how happy I am – for a moment I was sure that we were all somehow to blame.’

‘Indeed? Why? Your folk’s general nature?’

‘Well, that, too, but when I had my vision, I heard a voice telling me to go west. And it said, “make restitution”. So I thought, well, maybe we owed you somewhat.’

‘Eldidd men owe us a great deal, but not because of the Burning, not as far as I know, anyway.’ Nananna paused abruptly. ‘What’s all that noise out there?’

Aderyn heard urgent voices and footsteps. Just as Dallandra rose to go to look, Halaberiel pushed open the tent-flap.

‘Wise One, my apologies for disturbing you, but Namydd the merchant is here with talk of trouble.’

When Dallandra spoke in Elvish, Nananna made an impatient wave in her direction.

‘Aderyn has to understand this, too. Speak in his tongue. If you would, banadar, bring Namydd to me.’

In a few minutes Halaberiel returned with a paunchy greying man in the checked brigga and elaborate shirt of a merchant. He was obviously exhausted, his eyes dazed, his movements stiff as he bowed to Nananna.

‘My thanks for seeing me, Wise One,’ Namydd said. ‘I’ve brought you some gifts, just tokens of my respect, but my son is still unloading our horses. We’ve ridden night and day to reach you.’

‘Then sit down and rest. Dalla, fetch the poor man some mead. Banadar, stay with us. Now, what brings you here in such a hurry?’

‘Great trouble, O Wise One,’ Namydd said. ‘One of the northern lords, Dovyn of the Bear by name, is laying a formal claim to the lands by Loc Cyrtaer – the very place where we meet to trade every autumn.’

‘Oh, is he now?’ Halaberiel broke in. ‘And does he think he’s going to cut the trees on our death-ground, too?’

‘I know these lands are sacred to your people.’ Namydd paused to take a wooden bowl of mead from Dallandra. ‘The merchant guild of Aberwyn is totally on your side. We tried to intervene with the prince, but all he’d say is that you’ll have to come to his court and file a legal counterclaim.’

When Halaberiel swore in Elvish, Nananna scowled him into silence.

‘Then we shall do just that,’ Nananna said. ‘I’m sure the prince will agree when he sees the justice of the thing. Now here, Namydd, has this lord chosen the death-ground?’

‘Land that’s very close, but I think – I hope and pray – that the prince will listen to reason about such a sacred thing. Now, the guild sent me here with offers of aid. Your people can shelter with us if you come to Aberwyn. We have a man trained in our laws to act as your counsel – all at our expense, of course.’

‘My thanks,’ Nananna said with one of her wry smiles. ‘I forget sometimes how rich trading with us has made you.’

Namydd winced.

‘Well, so it has. The Wise One is wise enough to know that when a man’s self-interest is at stake, he’s most trustworthy. If the banadar agrees, I think he’d be the best one to ride to Aberwyn. Our people have a great respect for those of high standing.’

‘So they do,’ Aderyn put in. ‘And even greater respect for those of royal blood. Hal, you wouldn’t happen to be descended from the kings of the seven cities, would you?’ He glanced at Nananna. ‘There were seven, didn’t you say?’

‘There were.’ Halaberiel forgot himself enough to interrupt the Wise One. ‘Ye gods, you must have a grand sort of magic if you could see that in me! For what it’s worth, I am indeed – a pitiful sort of inheritance, but mine.’

‘Then if you’ll listen to my humble counsel, I think you’d best travel as a prince – in the fullest sense of the word.’

Halaberiel looked briefly puzzled, then grinned.

‘It might be amusing to try a bit of the pomp and mincing that pleases the Blue Eyes,’ Halaberiel said. ‘What does the Wise One think?’

‘Oh, I agree. Banadar? Take poor Namydd to your tent so he can get some sleep. Then return to me so we can plan things out. Namydd, you and your guild have my deep and heartfelt thanks.’

Namydd bowed, nearly fell from weariness, then let Halaberiel lead him away. Once they were gone, Nananna turned to Aderyn.

‘Will you ride with the banadar?’ Nananna said. ‘I’d be grateful if you would. I can give you a scrying stone so you can send me news, and I think it would be wise to have a man who understands the Light along on this little matter.’

‘Gladly, Wise One.’

‘But let me give you a warning. You can never truly desert your own kind, no matter how much loyalty you give to us. You must be scrupulously fair, not partisan. Do you understand? If the Lords of Light had wanted you to be an elf, you would have been born in an elven body.’

‘I do understand that, O Wise One, and I’ll think well about what you say.’

Almost against his will, Aderyn glanced at Dallandra. Her storm-grey eyes were distant, cool, judging him, as if she were wondering if he could truly live up to his fine words. Aderyn vowed to do the best he could, and all for her sake.

By morning, the news was all over the camp. Young men and women hefted weapons and swore bloody vengeance if the Round-ears so much as touched the death-ground. The older members of the group flocked round Halaberiel and offered advice, warnings, and general opinions. Every man or woman who owned horses had a right to speak out about such an important matter, but finally, by nightfall, they reached a decision. The camp went through its material goods and donated twenty-one matched golden horses, twenty-one fancy saddles and bridles, a heap of new clothes and all the jewellery they owned to make Prince Halaberiel and his escort look as rich as the Dragon Throne itself. Halaberiel himself owned a gem that impressed even Aderyn, an enormous sapphire as blue as the winter sea, set in a pendant of reddish gold, some three inches across and ornamented with golden roses in bas-relief. When the warband saw him wearing it, they fell silent; Jezryaladar even held up his hands and nodded to the pendant in a sign of respect.

‘It belonged to my grandfather, Ranadar of the High Mountain,’ Halaberiel said to Aderyn. ‘For all the good it ever did him.’

As a last touch, Aderyn took the warband aside and instructed them in the courtesies that a Round-ear warband would show a man of royal blood. Finally they chose some packhorses – duns and roans, these –and a couple of young men to come along and pretend to be servants. Since Aderyn himself would be the prince’s counsellor, he too got fancy clothes but a silvery-grey horse to ride.

On his last night in camp, Aderyn and Dallandra wrapped themselves in heavy cloaks and walked a little way away through the silent grasslands. The night was clear, streaked with moonlight, and so cold that their breath puffed as they walked.

‘Be careful, won’t you, Aderyn?’ Dallandra said abruptly. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this.’

‘A dweomer warning?’

‘I don’t know if I’d call it that. Just a bad feeling. I’m sorry, but I just don’t trust your people.’

‘I can’t say I blame you. Ye gods, it makes me sick, thinking about how much you’ve all lost already, and now my folk come riding in, trying to take away what little you’ve got left.’