The Swans' War 3 - The Shadow Roads (37 page)

"Are you Alaan?" the captain asked.

"I am."

"Lady Beatrice and Lord Toren invite you to join them, if you would," the captain said. "They have pitched pavilions by the river." He gestured south. "They have also asked me to find the men who felled Hafydd, for they would give them their thanks."Alaan glanced over at Tarn and the others. "Maybe sleep will have to wait."The Renne guards had brought horses with them, and even though it was but a short walk, they all rode to the Renne camp. On the way they passed the spontaneous fair that had grown up beside the river. Men-at-arms were returning from the battlefield on the eastern shore, all of them welcomed and given drink and food. Women were searching anxiously among the men disem-barking from boats, and many an unself-conscious reunion took place.

They entered a narrow, tree-lined lane that ran along beside the river. Not far off, a flock of crows swarmed from tree to tree, and in a moment a solitary figure appeared. He'd lost his great hat, but Crowheart met them still wearing his leather coat festooned with the treasures his crows had brought him. He looked out at them from behind his inky beard, and smiled, deep crow's-feet appear-ing at the corners of his eyes.

"And where is it you go, Master Crowheart?" Alaan asked.

He gestured with a staff. "There is still much to be seen in this world. I have concentrated too much of my effort in one area, of late," he said.

"Beware," Alaan said, leaning upon his pommel and smiling down at the traveler. "If you are descended from Sainth, you might never settle.""And was Sainth unhappy with his lot?"The smile wavered on Alaan's face. "Sometimes.""But I suppose the same can be said of men who spend all their days in one place.""You can be sure of that," Fynnol joined in.

"Then I will take my chances. Fare well, Alaan," Crowheart said. Then he made bow to the others.

"Perhaps I will come to the north one day and visit the lakes.""You would be welcome," Tarn said.

He saluted them with his staff and set off, his company of crows crying and fluttering from tree to tree.

Tarn and his companions watched him go, until he stepped off the road, no doubt to avoid the festivities ahead.

"Well, we shall not meet another like that," Cynddl said.

"What will become of him?" Fynnol wondered. "He seems to belong nowhere.""I'm afraid you're right, Fynnol," Alaan said.

"Maybe he is like Cynddl's people," Baore said, "at home everywhere.""My people are at home because we carry our village with us," Cynddl responded. "Crowheart has no possessions and only his noisy crows for companions.""And yet, even a crow finds a mate and makes a nest one day," Alaan said. "We might hope the same for Rabal."They spurred their horses on. Across the river, the pyre still burned, a dark pillar of smoke rising into the sky. Tarn couldn't bear the sight of it, and thought how easily he could be there, among the silent dead,staring empty-eyed at the smoke stained sky.

The Renne camp was in a field behind a line of trees. Pavilions had been pitched in the shade, and guards formed an almost solid ring around the area. Over the pavilions, banners fluttered, black swans winging across the sky blue.

They were led past the guards and into the presence of Lady Beatrice, who rested beneath a spreading oak. Immediately, she rose from her chair to greet them, and Toren Renne joined her. His arm was in a sling, and his face was pasty-pale, but he seemed oth-erwise unharmed by his ordeal.

"So here is the mysterious Alaan," she said. "Toren tells me you have been the prime mover in this war—the enemy of Hafydd and his … allies.""I have been the enemy of Hafydd, but so have many others. Lord Toren, Lady Elise, Lady Llyn, my friends from the north. Cynddl,oftheFael.""Yes," she said, regarding Alaan's companions. "I understand that I've met them, though they were costumed at the time.""It was Tarn, I'm told, who brought down Hafydd, in the end," Toren said.

Lady Beatrice took Tarn by the hands. "My family owes you a great debt.""It was just a lucky arrow," Tam said. "And it would never have even reached him, if Alaan and Elise hadn't been taking up all his attention.""Modesty is a virtue," she said, and kissed Tam on the cheek, "but such deeds should not go unrecognized. We've been told that you began your journey to acquire horses…" She nodded to Toren, who waved his good hand at someone. From behind a pavilion came grooms leading four horses—and what horses they were!

"These are the finest saddle horses in our stables," Toren said. "Swift and of admirable temperament. Of course if you would rather horses for the tourney, I can offer you others.""We aren't men-at-arms," Tam said. "We're just travelers, too far from home." He bowed to Lady Beatrice and Lord Toren. "This is a generous gift.""Hardly a beginning," Lady Beatrice said. "You will each sit with me for a time and tell me what more we might do for you. And Prince Michael has something in mind for you as well. He said he traveled far with you and assures me that your part in all of this was great."She let go of Tarn's hands and took the hands of each in turn, kiss-ing them on both cheeks. "You I remember," she said to Baore. "You were a giant then, and your stature has only increased. Thank you."Her smile turned almost mischievous when she stood before Fynnol. "When last we met you were a highwayman, and now look what's become of you!""After what I've seen, ma'am, I shall be most happy to return to my former trade.""Stealing kisses, wasn't it?" Lady Beatrice laughed. "Well, I re-move my former ban. You may steal all the kisses you can bear. And you may have a place in my hall for all the rest of your days, if you wish. Your wit would be welcome.""I thank you, Lady Beatrice, though I fear I've lost my wit. I feel nothing but a terrible sorrow, and loss.""So we all feel, good Fynnol, but that will pass in time, and our laughter will return. I have not seen a winter yet that spring did not follow."She came next to Cynddl. "Ruadan? Of the magic pipes, I think."Cynddl gave a small bow of acknowledgment.

Lady Beatrice kissed his cheeks. "But it is not you who captured the heart of a lady, I'm told?"Cynddl glanced at Tarn.

Lady Beatrice pretended not to notice. "You are honored among your people," she said. "And we would be honored to have you ply your art beneath our roof. There is a great story to tell, now, and I've only heard parts of it.""It will take me some time to find, then order it all, but when I do, Lady Beatrice, I shall be most happy to come to Castle Renne and tell the tale of the Swans'War.""I look forward to it."More gifts were brought then. Mail and helms from Toren Renne, shields and swords from Fondor. Lord Kel sent them sad-dles and tack, all of the finest craftsmanship. Ladies gave them bolts of fabric and clothing fit for noblemen. Such riches were never seen in the Vale—not all in one place, anyway—and the Vale-men were overwhelmed.

Minstrels played, and a table was set beneath the branches so that the travelers could rest and eat and slake their thirst. The late afternoon wore on to evening, and the sun plunged into the west-ern hills, turning the sky into a pool of red. There was a murmur among the Renne by the river, where boats were still landing and departing, and then a ghostly form appeared in the last light. Tarn jumped up from the table, as everyone stared.

"Elise?" he said.

"Tarn," she answered, her voice so soft he could barely hear. Without seeming to notice the others, she came and buried her face against the Valeman, her hands gently on his chest. She seemed small and fragile to him as he took her in his arms, and she was cold as a winter stream.

"Are you… healed?" Tarn asked.

"As much as I can be," she said. And then she pulled gently away. "I have something I must do." She turned to the others, her eyes, like moons, unsettling everyone. "Alaan … if you would go with me."Alaan nodded immediately, not even asking where or why. They were on horses in a moment and riding off. Tarn stood watching them go, unable to hide his distress, then he realized that Baore stood beside him, looking just as unhappy. The big Valeman put a hand on Tarn's shoulder and tried to smile at him. For a moment the two friends regarded each other and turned back to the table. There was no animosity in the look Baore had given him, just a sense of loss and sadness. Tarn wondered if Baore understood that Wyrr had given his daughter this gift—that men would serve her out of love—but that it came with a price: she loved none in return. The heart didn't care much for truth, Tarn thought. Baore might harbor hopes despite what he knew.

"What will the Renne do now that the war is over?" Fynnol asked, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation.

"The war is never over here," Kel growled. "We have been fighting the Wills for generations—""And it is time we stopped," Toren interrupted. He hadn't said much their entire visit, and Tarn suspected he was in pain.

"You tried to put an end to it, cousin," Kel said, "but there was a war anyway. There is a lesson there.""Yes, and the lesson is that Menwyn was not the man we should have been dealing with, nor was the late Prince of Innes. Lord Car-ral and Prince Michael are men of great integrity.""I think you're right," Fondor said quietly, "but what of their sons? Their grandsons? This feud has skipped a generation before, but it is like a fire in the forest that goes underground. It smolders there, sometimes for years, then springs up again. We might have peace dur-ing our lifetimes, but the feud will not go away. It never has.""It is but an echo of an ancient feud," Cynddl said, "going back to a struggle between sorcerers who were born before the moun-tains formed. It's a story one can find in some form or other the en-tire length of the Wynnd."Toren's jaw stiffened. "I won't accept that this is some affliction of the Wynnd Valley—a pestilence that abides in the soil. We have to make an end to it.""And how do you propose to make a lasting peace?" Fondor asked.

"It is all a matter of what we are willing to give up," Toren said.

Dease woke just after dusk, and went unsteadily out of his tent, into the cooling air of evening. A faint wash of color still hung in the western sky, and the brighter stars appeared overhead. Dease tried to shake off the sleep that clung to him, his mind fuzzy and his temper foul. He had washed and changed out of his smoking clothes, eaten a little, and fallen asleep. The whole journey on the river seemed like a nightmare to him now. He remembered the monster in the chamber. How could that have been real? But it was. Dease had seen too much that was strange and would be unbeliev-able to anyone who did not see it themselves. It made him feel a lit-tle mad—like Toren's father, afraid of the darkness because of the visions he saw.

"Dease?" His cousin emerged from the shadow of a tree.

"Fondor! Are you well?"

"Unharmed, but for a mass of bruises. Hardly worth a men-tion." He looked off across the river to the still-burning pyre. Dark smoke twisted up, then bent south like a dark river among the stars.

"The casualties were many?" Dease asked.

"Yes, though we lost few among our own family. Menwyn Wills was killed, and Vast seems to have escaped. I don't know how. Many among the dead were burned beyond recognition, but Vast's armor was distinctive.""We'll find him soon enough.""Yes, I suppose." Fondor still stared at the fire. "Dease, when Samul thought he was being taken to his execution he asked for you. When he learned that you had gone off he told me that you were part of the plot to kill Toren. He said that you had realized it was Arden in the window, and wouldn't shoot, which was when Beld knocked you senseless, then killed Arden, believing it was Toren."Dease took a deep breath.

"Don't say anything," Fondor interrupted. "I have only one question for you. Are you a threat to Toren or any other Renne?"Dease closed his eyes. He wanted to weep though he didn't un-derstand why. "No," he said with difficulty. "I'm not.""Not even if Toren seeks peace with the Wills?""He has my blessing to do whatever he thinks is right. I will not oppose him in word or deed." Dease did feel tears on his cheeks then.

"That's all the answer I need," Fondor said.

"Who else knows of Samul's accusation?" Dease asked.

"Lady Beatrice. No one else. Toren has asked for our presence within the hour. A council of some sort." Fondor turned and started to walk away.

"Fondor?" Dease said, stopping his cousin. "What will you tell Lady Beatrice?""That I confronted you with Samul's accusation and that you denied it. I will say I believed you.""But that isn't the truth.""She has had enough pain, Dease. Enough disappointment. Within the hour, Cousin. Don't be late." And he walked off into the gathering dark. For a long while Dease stood looking at the flames on the distant shore. Later he would say that the smoke stung his eyes, though that was not the truth either.

Lord Carral wondered if he would ever hear music in the night sounds again. The frogs sang. The insects hummed. Wind stirred and murmured sleepily in the trees. None of these things en-chanted him as they once had. He had heard music in everything— once.

Darkness had fallen. He could tell by the cooling air. Carral walked alone in Llyn's garden, his thoughts a jumble. He had lost his heart, there was no doubt of that. But the woman he had lost it to was less certain. Oh, she loved him, that was certain, but there was another. She had never said it, but Carral wasn't utterly fool-ish with love. She loved Toren Renne as much as she loved him. Perhaps more.

Lord Carral had so many different reactions to this that he could not keep them straight. He loved Llyn utterly and could un-

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derstand why anyone would feel the same—even someone young and imposing, like Toren. Of course Toren had never seen Llyn. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she had never al-lowed Toren to see her and likely never would. To Carral, who had never seen another human being, this obsession with another's ap-pearance was incomprehensible. He had spent his life among the sighted, and had often been surprised to find men attentive to the most tedious women, only to be told that they were beautiful. But this refusal actually to be in the same room with someone did seem a rather large impediment to a marriage. Toren might feel the same way.

But then Llyn might have been waiting for Toren to declare himself, to tell her that the burns that had forced her into exile within Castle Renne meant nothing to him. And perhaps that was the truth.