The Guardian (10 page)

“Go back?” She looked up, her eyes wide and blank. “To our camp, where the bodies are?”

“Where else?” I asked. “Your own horse is there, and all our gear.”

She said, “To the way station! Then back to Chorym.”

“No,” I said, gentle as I could, “that’s not a possibility. We must go on—as your mother asked.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I must bind you again, and take you; but I’ll not renege my promise.”

“You would, no? You’d tie me up like he did.” She glanced quickly at the dead man. “You’d treat me like he did.”

“Not like that,” I said. “But yes, must I.”

She looked at me; her eyes were forlorn. “I’ve no say in this, have I? I’m just some
thing
, some
package.”

“You’re Chaldor’s heir,” I said. “Your mother’s daughter, and I must see you safe.”

“No matter what I want?”

I shook my head.

She began to weep then. She fell to her knees and pressed her hands to her face. I went to her and knelt before her. I touched her shoulder and murmured soft words, such as I’d use to gentle a horse or a dog—I knew none others. She looked up at me and suddenly flung her arms about me. I held her, feeling her body shudder, hearing her sobs. I wondered if this was what it was like to have a child. I stroked her short hair, voicing platitudes, and she clung to me as if I were a rock and she some boatless riverman lost in a storm.

Then, abruptly, she shook off my grip and pushed away,
rubbing at her tear-stained face. I left her, and walked the dead brigand’s horse over. I picked her up and set her on the saddle. She did not struggle or argue; she was listless as a sack.

I led the horses out of the woods back to the road. My bay waited for me and I mounted her, and took Ellyn back to our camp. Those insects that inhabit the night were already on the bodies. I deemed it best we not linger. I thought Ellyn should not like it, and I also thought that perhaps the brigands’ fellows—had they companions—might come searching. So I stowed our gear as the princess slumped silent beside the stream, then thought that the three dead men there must have owned animals.

I found them tethered a little way off. They were not very good horses, but they’d make for trade. I also searched the dead men, which afforded me little save a few coins; I supposed they were not very successful bandits. Neither their weapons nor their armor were worth the taking.

“You plunder the dead?”

I looked up from a corpse and shrugged. I was a soldier; I was accustomed to plundering the dead. They’d no more use for what they had owned in life; nor these deserved it. I thought this child had lessons to learn.

I said, “We’ve now four horses we can sell.”

“My mother gave you coin.”

“Aplenty,” I agreed. “And useful, do we truly need it. But the Bright Kingdom ends here. Folk hereafter trade in kind, and only fat merchants carry gold coin. We’re not merchants, but a hire-sword and his brat; better that we trade horses than pay in Chorym’s gold.”

“And how explain the horses?” she demanded.

I could not help but chuckle at her innocence. “The truth,” I said. “That we were attacked by brigands, slew them, and took their animals.”

She said, “You’re a Devyn savage.”

I said, “Yes, if you will. But also your guardian. Now
mount that pretty chestnut and we’ll be on our way. Do you behave yourself, we’ll even stop for breakfast.”

She climbed obediently astride her horse. She seemed too shocked, too numbed, to argue more. I mounted my bay and took up the ropes I’d set on the bandits’ animals. And we rode toward the dawn.

E
llyn said nothing. There seemed nothing to say, for all felt like screaming. It was as if she were trapped inside a nightmare, powerless in the hands of the unkind fate that carried her away from all she knew, all that was familiar, to a world of violence and bloody death. Gailard’s dispatch of the bandits had been so abrupt, so mercilessly efficient, it took her breath away, and in a way she admired him for his soldierly skills. In another, however, it changed him in her eyes, rendering him suddenly dangerous, like some great wildcat that was untamed and deadly for all its lazy purring. She stared morosely at his back, telling herself that he was the guardian chosen by her father and her mother, and therefore to be trusted. But she had seen his face as he struck, and there was nothing tame in that. She clenched her teeth, quelling the sigh that threatened to erupt into weeping. Her country was at war, and she Chaldor’s heir—she must be strong, and she must go with Gailard. That was her geas.

She blinked back tears, conjuring images of the palace, of happier times. Or trying, for mostly she found herself remembering the statuary and the tapestries, the mosaics that depicted battles, glorious victories, and Chaldor’s enemies kneeling in obeisance. None showed the blood that flowed, nor did the fallen bear such expressions as the man she had
seen killed. The gods knew, but she wanted so badly to go home, and knew she could not. She must go on with this … What was he, savage or champion? Her father had trusted him, named him friend, and her mother clearly believed her daughter safe in the guardian’s hands. But Ellyn was not so sure. She relived those recent moments—the shock of the bandits’ approach, her outrage giving way to naked terror, the desperate flight and the horrid threats, Gailard’s arrival and its bloody aftermath. Surely her father would have offered the last brigand honorable quarter, certainly he would not have looted the dead. Yet after, Gailard had been gentle, and she had clung to him gratefully, aware of his solid body, his strength. In those brief moments he had seemed no savage, but kind as her father, as caring. Then she had grown conscious of the blood-smell, the stench of the dead man’s death-opened bowels, and pushed away. And then Gailard had picked her up and set her astride the dead man’s horse as if she were a possession, his prize.

She felt anger stir. He had no right to handle her like that. She might be his charge, but she was still a princess of Chaldor, heir to Chorym’s throne, and deserving of far greater respect. But she could do nothing. She was, she thought, as helpless in his hands as she had been in the bandits’, and did he treat her gentler, still he had threatened to strike her and lash her to her mount. And that sop he’d thrown her—“do you behave yourself, we’ll even stop for breakfast.” How dare he patronize her so! She ground her teeth as ire mounted, replacing despondency. When she came into her own power she would repay these insults. Were she crowned, she’d repay him; did she find her talent, she’d lash him with magic.

But when would that be? Her mother had assured her she owned the magical talent, but Ellyn could find no sign of it. The far-seeing of the Dur was, Ryadne had explained, a whimsical thing, stronger in some than in others, and never truly reliable. She did not think, she had told her daughter, that Ellyn owned that kind of magic, for it became apparent
as a girl became a woman, and her first bleedings had brought no evidence. However, Ryadne had assured her, the talent
was
in her, likely closer to those powers the Vachyn wielded, and consequently later to develop. She recalled the conversation, before her world was turned upside down.

A warm summer breeze had swept swallows about Chorym’s battlements, soft as a caress, gentle as the ordered fields that spread about the city. The war had seemed far away then, and Ryadne had as yet kept her grim foreknowledge of Andur’s death to herself—Ellyn anticipated her father’s triumphant return, and wondered why her mother seemed so withdrawn, so intense.

“I have spoken of this with those who own some little knowledge,” Ryadne had said, “and read what little there is to read on the subject. But only the Vachyn truly know, and I cannot speak with them.”

“Perhaps I have no talent,” Ellyn had suggested. “Perhaps the blood of Chaldor dilutes the Dur gift.”

“No.” Ryadne had shaken her head. “I sense it in you, like a smoldering fire.”

“Then when shall it kindle?”

Ryadne shrugged at that, her brow creased in puzzled frown. “I know not. Perhaps it shall manifest itself suddenly; pehaps you must be taught to use it.”

“By whom?” Ellyn had felt an odd chill then, as if some cold wind from the future blew back to touch her with ominous promise.

“I cannot say.” Ryadne shrugged again. “Not the Vachyn.” Then, almost too soft for Ellyn to hear, “But I pray you do learn. I pray you learn in time.”

“Perhaps when Father comes home,” Ellyn said. “Perhaps he’ll know.”

“Perhaps,” Ryadne allowed, and changed the subject.

Now Ellyn longed for the talent, and wondered if her mother had been wrong. She had willed it to the fore when the bandits came, seeking to send fire, thunderous blasts to sweep them from their horses, but nothing had happened.
She exhaled irritably, thinking that if only she commanded magic, she would scourge Gailard for his impertinence, force him to his knees before her, his head bowed in due respect.

Then she felt guilt stir. After all, he
had
saved her from rape and slavery and likely death, all those things the brigand had promised. And he was, she must admit, a brave and skillful warrior who risked his life on her behalf. Indeed, were he only dressed suitably—in good armor, her colors—he would make a most admirable champion. He was, she thought, a handsome man—in a rough way. But were his long hair trimmed, and that Highlander beard … She shook her head, dismissing such thoughts even as she felt her cheeks grow warm. The gods knew, the last thing she needed now was to form some childish liking for the man. She was Chaldor’s heir, she reminded herself, representative of the high bloodline of the Bright Kingdom, and he no more than she had named him—a Devyn savage.

But still, she could not help but notice his broad shoulders, his straight back, the easy way he sat his horse. Perhaps she would not, even were she able, punish him, but only demand an apology. And meanwhile, she could do nothing but follow him and obey him, for the alternative was to return and he would not allow that. With which thought her anger flared anew, so that when he turned in his saddle and smiled at her, she scowled in reply.

Though she noticed for the first time how white his teeth were and how warm his smile.

I
rode wary, studying the road before us and the surrounding trees, my head turning from side to side, listening for any sounds other than the steady clatter of our horses’ hooves. Ellyn rode in silence, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, and I was grateful for that, no matter the cause. Likely the bandits had been some solitary group, but I could not help fearing that they were part of some larger gathering of outlaws that might, in time, miss their felonious brethren and come seeking them. Were that the case, we’d have little chance. The forest was a lonely place, and in these troubled times there were no patrols or caravans abroad to offer us shelter. Indeed, save things had greatly changed since last I traveled these parts, there was no major habitation until the woods ended and the Highlands began. There, where also the Great Road terminated, was a town of sorts, a meeting place for merchants and peddlers where Highlanders would come in to trade with the foresters and the caravans come out from the Bright Kingdom’s heartland. It was my reluctant intention to halt there, for before I ventured back into my homeland, I’d glean news of events—who allied with whom, which clans fought. It was a chancy undertaking—there might well be folk who knew me and would carry
word back to my father—but I could think of no other course save to go blind into the Highlands.

I mused on all this even as I watched the forest, and the moon faded into a dull grey sky that slowly brightened as dawn came knocking. Birds began to sing, and from amongst the trees came the sounds of wakened animals. A plump rabbit crossed our path, halted a moment to stare at us, then lolloped away. A stag came out from the timber, antlers high as he tested the air. He caught our scent and belled a warning that brought a harem of seven does trotting swift across the road. Then the first rays of the sun lofted above the trees and I felt the promise of warmth. The grey faded like a curtain drawn back to reveal the pristine blue behind, and a sudden breeze skirled through the leaves, setting them all to rustling in harmony with the swelling bird-song. I could not help smiling, for a new day dawned and we had survived ambush and kidnap, and it seemed that perhaps the gods favored us now.

From ahead, I heard the sound of water tumbling over rocks, and in a while we came to a bridge that spanned a fast-flowing river. It was an arch of dark blue stone, walled on either side and supported by three buttresses, rising above the old ford. I decided to halt and make us some breakfast.

We went down to the water’s edge and I built a small fire. Ellyn knelt, vigorously bathing her face and hands, as if she’d wash away the blood I’d spilled. I set a pot to boiling and brought food from our supplies, and soon had a decent enough meal readying.

Ellyn returned from her ablutions and settled on the shingled bench beside the fire. She stared moodily at the flames, ignoring me, then took up a pebble and flung it. Abruptly, she turned toward me and began to speak.

“Shall it all be like that, like last night?”

I shrugged, not knowing the answer she wanted to hear.

“Shall there be more killing?”

“Likely. These are … troubled times. What law your father imposed is gone.”

“With his death?”

“With the war. That took the soldiers away, so the out-lands grow more lawless than ever.”

“Soldiers kept the law?”

“Who else? Andur’s men patrolled these roads and made them safe.”

“Men like you?”

I shrugged again. “I suppose so.”

“But what if …” She hesitated, frowning. “What if
Highlanders
came a-raiding?”

“Men like me would fight them.”

“Even your own kin?”

“Yes. I swore allegiance to Andur, to Chaldor. So even were it my own kin I’d fight them.”

“Because you gave your word?”

“Yes.”

She stared at me, and her eyes seemed to penetrate me, looking deep inside me, as if she plumbed the depths of my soul and judged me. She seemed in that moment no spoiled child but ageless and timeless as the stone that flanked the river. I felt a sudden need to explain.