The Lady's Man (2 page)

“I have always been told your people are honourable. Do not disappoint me in that.”

The words came from the thin air directly in front of Avenall, but he knew the stranger was already leaving. He could hear the hoof beats as the horses trotted away. At a guess more magic had simply allowed him to cast his voice so that it sounded as though he was still where he had been.

“Go in peace friend.”

Finally realising he had no choice, Avenall called out the traditional parting cry after the retreating wild heart, or at least in the direction he thought he was heading. South west, towards Haldesfort, and the home of the Dark One. It wasn't just that he knew he had no choice – though they couldn't hope to fight the human without taking a lot of casualties – it was as the human said, a matter of honour. Had he or his soldiers attacked him, they would not have been able to hold their heads up among their people ever again.

Naturally he got no response; he hadn't expected one. What was the point in being invisible if you gave away your position with your words? But he was sure at least that the wild heart heard him. No matter his impatience he couldn't be that far away so quickly.

The wild heart having departed Avenall turned to meet with the wild heart's wards; the elves he had apparently saved from bandits. With a mixture of hand signals and commands he called his two dozen soldiers out from the surrounding forest where they had taken up positions, and made them set up a small camp while he went over to speak to the elven traders. It was time to get to the bottom of the matter.

They were typical traders’ wagons which the elves used to market their wares throughout the human and dwarven lands. Each highly polished wagon was drawn by a pair of dappled mares, exactly as an elf would use, and covered with a round canvas hoop tent to keep the rain out. The drivers too – all three of them – were elves of advancing years, their hands calloused from the long years of holding the reins and the plying of their trades, while short swords hung from their belts, exactly as elven traders would carry them. But there was something in their eyes that said all of that was a deception. They were not what they appeared, any more perhaps than the wild heart had been.

There was also injury and pain among them. As he approached Avenall realised that the drivers had all been beaten. He could see puffiness around their eyes and faces, bruises on their skin, and bandages on their arms and legs. The bandits had not been kind to them, but at least they were alive, which was a surprise. Bandits were not usually so kind. Then again if they truly had been slavers, a barbaric custom found only in a very few cities a long way hence, they would not have wanted them dead. Dead they were not worth anything. But live elves weren't worth much either. Not to slavers. They were a little weaker than their human counterparts and they did not do well in captivity.

“Hail and welcome to Hammeral friend elf.”

Avenall used the traditional greeting as he approached the nearest driver, unsure quite why. Normally no more than a simple ‘hail' would be required when meeting new elves. But there was still something strange about them, something that made him unsure. And they had been led or protected by a wild heart.

“And greetings to you friend elf, from the traders of family Brial Lon.”

The elf's response was equally traditional and yet the name gave Avenall pause. Brial Lon? It was an elven name for sure, but not one found in the Hammeral province. In fact if memory served, Brial Lon was one of the ruling houses of the Saravaile Forests far to the east. Hundreds of leagues in fact. If they were from there, then they had come a very long way to trade and be attacked by bandits.

“My wife, the Lady Ammelia would have words with you when you are ready.”

Ammelia Brial Lon? The name gave Avenall pause, as he recognised the name from somewhere. He just couldn't quite remember where. Instead of asking though – already the conversation was becoming too formal and he knew he had been politely dismissed until the leader was ready to speak with him – Avenall simply nodded and returned to his soldiers. They were busy setting up the camp, enlarging the wild heart's fire, which he had apparently only used to signal them, and placing a pot of water over it. Tea would be welcome. Others were arranging all the small boulders and flat stones which they could find nearby around the fire, and mats for the children to sit on as well. Helos was already busy preparing the stew, some rabbit and leek left over from the previous night. And with a few more potatoes and some good honey rye bread, Avenall knew there would be enough for them all. That was good. It was nearly midday, and lunch had been well earned.

In short order the camp site was ready and Avenall turned to see the newcomers stepping down from their wagons. The men were first, having tied up the horses and placed feed bags on their heads they were helping their women down, while behind them a small horde of children were clearly itching to follow. Probably they had been cooped up in the wagon for many hours, and the chance to stretch their legs and eat some lunch was pure heaven. He made sure his men paid them careful attention. They would have to be watched closely to make sure none wandered off into the woods and got lost. These woods weren't entirely safe. But it wasn't the children that truly grabbed his attention. It was the woman.

Avenall gasped as he recognised her, and his wasn't the only indrawn breath. Her son or son in law was helping her down from the wagon, even though she clearly didn't need or want his attention. But it was his duty and they both knew that. She was an elder, and a widely renown one at that; the prophetess Annalisse Brial Lon, or as she preferred to be known, just Annalisse. Even if he hadn't seen her when he was but a young child when she'd visited the province on one of her many pilgrimages, he would have known her. Her image was engraved on many temple walls and council chambers, as the truest foreteller of their generation.

Which meant he suddenly realised, that these traders with her, were not traders at all. They were in fact her family. Beside her stood the Lady Ammelia, her eldest daughter and speaker. The others he realised were probably the rest of her children and grandchildren. As a youth Avenall had heard stories of her strange ways and realised that she was no doubt travelling as she had liked to many years before; incognito. For some reason she apparently hated the concept of being treated with the respect she was due – even more so than the other elders – and she went to great lengths to avoid it. But that didn't explain everything.

For a start, why was she bringing her whole family with her on an arduous and dangerous journey, without even a proper guard? Why hadn't they been advised to expect her coming? And why was she even in Hammeral Province at all? The foreteller had given up her habit of making lengthy journeys through the elven regions nearly two decades before, as her health had begun to fade. Although truthfully she didn't look particularly infirm to him. In fact she looked remarkably sharp as she stared at him as if he were her prey.

“Look sharp and mind to your manners.”

It was all the chance he had to warn his soldiers before the prophetess – having shaken her way free of her son in law – marched directly over to the fire where he stood. But then his soldiers had already worked out that much. They surely recognised her as well.

“Honoured Lady.”

He bowed low, and watched out of the corner of his eyes as his soldiers did likewise.

“Piffle! Stop that immediately child. I'm just an old woman, not one of those pesky human lords. Now get me a seat, get these poor children a bowl of that stew before they begin eating us instead and let us talk.”

While she might have sounded like a grandmother addressing her youngest grandchild impatiently, she was also the one in charge and Avenall knew it was an order.

“Yes Lady.”

He even began to bow again before he saw the warning look in her eyes, and stopped himself. The elder, like all elders, was known for her contrariness, and he didn't want to cause offence, no matter how strange her instructions. Instead he and his soldiers began dishing out the barely warm stew into the small wooden bowls they carried, and gave one each to the children, with a little slab of bread, while the water boiled for tea for the adults.

Soon the children were all seated on the grass eating quietly while the rest were gathered around the fire sipping their herbal tea, waiting for the Lady to go through the formalities. But that he knew would take time. Nothing happened quickly when elders were involved.

Chapter Two.

“My Lady, how is it that you were travelling with, let alone had been rescued by a wild heart barbarian?”

It had taken a little while for all the children to be fed and the tea to be poured, but finally it was done, the ritual prayer of thanks to the Mother had been given, and the time for talking was upon them. Naturally, Avenall's curiosity was biting at him.

“Yorik is no wild heart. I suspect he simply dresses like one for the anonymity and safety it offers, though he wouldn't admit such a thing to any of us. But underneath I suspect you'll find, beats the heart of a true paladin. A human knight trained in religion, honour and justice. Also I suspect, underneath his hides you'll find the armour as well. There is a stiffness in the way he moves and in the way the fur moves over his body. And no wild heart ever born, no human or even for that matter no orc or ogre, has ever been so broad of shoulder or squat of neck.”

“My lady?”

Yet even as he asked he realised that her words made some sense. The wild heart's size had been beyond anything he'd ever seen before, and his language far superior to the guttural grunts he'd expected. Then too, human knights were also trained in magic and weapons, while wild hearts weren't trained at all.

“Even though he chose to say little and remained apart from us, we have spent three long days with him as he escorted us to safety, and our men folk have watched him closely all that time. His disguise is good, but not perfect. From the battle we know that his magic is strong and well practised, and his swordsmanship beyond compare. He also shows the trappings of the finest education with every word out of his mouth. Also, he is a human of great honour and courage, something we discovered from the first.”

“He could have crept up and killed the bandits who ambushed us as they feasted and got drunk on our rations while chaining us for sale as slaves. Or he could have shot them with his arrows from concealment. Though those were surely the safest options he did neither. Those are not the ways of an honourable paladin. Instead he approached them openly, weapons sheathed, and demanded their departure and our release. Naturally they just laughed, never understanding that he was simply letting them either retreat or come to him, not even wondering that a wild heart should talk to them.

Then when they attacked as he knew they would, he let his sword speak for him. A dozen he killed or crippled in mere seconds, and the rest he sent running with his crossbow bolts in their shoulders. His skill with the blade is beyond anyone's I have ever seen, and he moves so fast it was as though the others were standing still against him. His skill with the crossbows can match the best longbow work of our finest archers. Those brigands will not return any time soon, and if and when they do they will not attack innocents again. Or at least not successfully without strong arms to wield their weapons.”

“Are not knights supposed to be civil?”

Not that he knew anything much about them, but for a knight the human had been most rude.

“You were not so civil to him either child, and he was as he said, in a hurry. There is a burden laid upon him. A weight of darkness and suffering that holds him down and chills our souls as he nears. Death rides at his shoulder, and even he doesn't seem to know or care what the price will be for dealing that death.”

“He seeks another, and when they meet, blood will be the only conversation that they will have. And while he hurries, fearing that his quarry may make it all the way to the great demon's prison, even if he does make it there he will not be safe. Despite his words Yorik will not stop at the gates to Haldesfort should they bar him. He will not permit his prey to go beyond his reach no matter where he is. His chance of victory may be minuscule and he knows it, but the weight of rage and pain at his back will push him forwards regardless.”

“But to enter Haldesfort is to lose one’s soul to the Dark One.”

Yet it didn't seem to stop some Avenall knew. The darkest of dark wizards when they found their time in the lands was at an end sometimes fled there, seeking a life in exile with other evil creatures in the other realm instead of certain death and eternity in the underworld. Although, how they thought that even as evil and powerful as they were, that they could live with a true demon and his kin, was beyond him.

“I think Yorik no longer cares about such things. He cares about very little at all other than vengeance. Nor I suspect, would he be easily controlled by the evil. His own demons ride him too hard to let another take their place. Then as well I'm certain he is also a paladin, one whose training gives him resistance to evil and magic. Some of the spells he uttered as we set camp each night had that spiritual feel about them, and he spent long hours meditating during the evenings instead of sleeping. Concentrating his spiritual energies. He would make a powerful foe for anyone.”

“It is ironic and sad. Though he is not a true wild heart, in some ways he has become one, on one of their blood rides no less. That much is beyond question. Yet in other ways he still holds true to his vows. He must rescue the innocent and bring them to safety, as he has done. He must act honourably, even in the midst of a fight against the most hated of enemies. It must be the most terrible of conflicts for him.”

“I only wonder who he has lost, that could cause him such pain. His parents? Family? Wife? Children? He did not say and we did not ask. The pain is fresh, the wound too powerful for him to bear, let alone speak of yet, and he trusted us no more than he would trust any strangers.”

“Do you know who his quarry is?”

“No. Only that he is a wizard of great power. One who also knows he is being pursued by him, and one who can strike at a great distance. He sent a pair of black griffins against Yorik on the first day after we had been rescued. They struck silently and with great stealth, but Yorik was completely unsurprised by them. They did not last more than a few seconds after they attacked, and Yorik spent no time at all examining their corpses for clues as to who sent them or taking mementoes of a great battle. He just bid us carry on as though nothing had happened.”

“Black griffins?” The Lady ignored his disbelief as he no doubt deserved.

“It was not a great battle for him and he knew their master. So, just as his enemy is a powerful and surely black hearted wizard, so too is Yorik a powerful paladin and weapon aimed directly at his heart. Yet another sign of a paladin, one who is immune to much spirit magic and is trained to combat dark magic with both sword and spells. It will be a major battle when they truly meet, and I would not want to be nearby.”

“Nor I honoured Lady.”

It was only the truth. The human had scared him in the flesh, and that was before he had learned of his defeating griffins. Black griffins at that, creatures magically poisoned and controlled by dark magics. They were among the most powerful summonings of any dark sorcerer. Anyone who could take two on at once was more than simply a soldier. He was a force to be reckoned with, while a wizard who could or would conjure such terrible beasts belonged in Haldesfort with the great demon.

“Good. See to it that when we reach Hammeral your other soldiers know the same. He is not an enemy, and he should not be treated as such, lest we find out how terrible a foe he might become. Besides, a debt of honour is owed, and I suspect we have not seen the last of Yorik.”

“Lady?” Avenall was already bowing his head in agreement when the second part registered on his ears.

“It is just a feeling young one. No more and no less. But this bitter young man's path and our own will cross again in due time. His journey, like our own, will be difficult and long, and for the most part in the same direction. I believe we also may share an enemy, perhaps even some friends. We should be allies. Best we learn to accept each other before the final battle arrives. We should not then be still divided.”

Just a feeling? Avenall would have pointed out that she was a foreteller. Her feelings were the most reliable indicators of the future to come, and the basis of much elven policy. But she already knew that. If she had a feeling, it was almost certain to happen.

Then there was the idea that they shared an enemy. The third class of friends. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Except, that the elves had no enemies, least of all from human wizards. Barbarians of course were the enemies of anybody who entered their forest realms, and paladins if the elder was correct about him, were only the enemies of evil. By and large most adversaries would know better than to mess with elven magics, and he had to assume the same of those who might wish harm to either paladins or wild hearts. And yet apparently some did not.

“Enemy your Lady?”

“Best you don't ask what none of our people will ever want to hear. My daughter will speak to the Council before I make home in Hammeral, and they can decide the actions to take. For now I would prefer to eat and reflect upon happier times.”

“I thank you for your wise words Lady.”

It was a dismissal Avenall knew, and he would learn no more from her. It would be rude to even ask. Instead he gestured to one of his soldiers, Guylen who was already busy washing the bowls from the children's meals, and who immediately went and filled one up with some more of the rabbit stew, and brought it to her.

It was time for lunch not talk. Time to think about all she'd said and the fact that she herself, the elder and not her daughter as he'd expected, had said it. There was something important in that, though right then he didn't know quite what. Though admittedly he wasn't a member of the Council, she surely knew he would have to report all that had transpired directly to them. So surely it should have been her daughter who spoke to him, given that he was acting as the Council's eyes and ears?

Then there was the fact that she'd said she was to make home in Hammeral. That would raise a few eyebrows upon their return. No one he guessed even knew she was coming. After all, if they had an honour guard would have been sent out to meet them. And she’d said she was to stay with them? Not that she was unwelcome. But while it would be a great honour to have the prophetess among them for however long she chose to stay, it was still a surprise.

It also smacked of something important happening in the world. Something so important that it would shake the elven world. The Prophetess did not lightly leave her home in a major elven city and risk her life to come to a small elven province. Probably it had something to do with the enemy she had mentioned. But the elves had no enemies, and she hadn't chosen to explain her words with him and his soldiers.

He noticed as they ate that the Prophetess' thoughts were on something much further away than the stew in her bowl. This new enemy he assumed, and the battle, for surely there was a battle to come if they had an enemy. He would have been surprised to learn that the object of her thoughts wasn't quite so distant as he thought.

***************

Annalisse ate her stew in silence as was her custom. But as she ate her thoughts were far away from the food. They had also for once turned away from the troubles ahead, and instead were back with the wild heart paladin Yorik, as they had been many times during the previous days. It was more than just the obvious sorrow and fascination she had for the child. It was a feeling that he was important to the troubles coming. That they had not met by chance.

It was strange. When she had foreseen her trip to Hammeral, she had seen no hint of troubles on the journey; only a successful journey and the many tasks ahead to follow. But when the bandits had attacked without warning, all of that had been placed in jeopardy. Especially when the men had been beaten so badly, and the women told they were to be raped in the evening when they set camp for the night, before being branded and sold as slaves. Yet she had still seen no danger even then, and had started to worry her talent was passing.

Then the wild heart Yorik had turned up, less than an hour after their capture, and while others had worried about a possible new nightmare, she herself had quickly realised that he was to be their rescuer. They would be saved. That was his purpose in being there, and moreover the reason that she had not foreseen trouble as she knew he would succeed no matter how impossible the odds or unlikely their rescuer. Had she seen the danger she would have avoided it, and in the process would have avoided meeting their saviour. So the vision had not been given her. And that singular lack of vision had proven prophetic.

One man – a wild heart – against more than two dozen bandits, all armed, and all watching as he approached with suspicion. They, like the elven captain here, had been wary of attacking a wild heart, knowing the likely cost, and so they had let him approach, hoping to persuade him to leave peacefully. But then he had spoken and they had realised the battle was certain. But by then it was far too late. They should never have let him approach. Although mayhap that would have made no difference? They would still have lost and she would still have watched their humiliation.