The Guardian (47 page)

And gasped as he saw the vessels sitting the water to the north, and the golden-painted longboat that swept toward the
Andur.
The woman seated amidships unmistakable. Her hair shone like gold in the sun, and her face set his heart to beating faster. He hurried to the bulwarks that he be the first to hand Mother Hel over the rail.

“I …”he said.

“Had not expected me?” She smiled at him, and then took his face in both her hands and kissed him. Which set his head to swimming deeper, so that his already-unsteady legs threatened to give way beneath him. He put his arms around her, as much for support as for want of holding her. “I had not seen you for too long a time. So …” She gestured at the river, the craft floating there. “I thought I’d come avisiting.”

“And brought …” he said, staring at the navy that sat the Durrakym’s tide in terrible splendor.

“All my people; all my boats.” She pushed away from his arms. “I grew bored with waiting for you, so I thought I might end this affair as early as we can.”

“I thought,” Kerid said, “that you’d leave this fight to me.”

Mother Hel shrugged. “I break precedent, but …” For a moment, lashes closed over her eyes and Kerid wondered if she blushed. Then her face was stern again, and also hinting at a smile. “I missed you. I cannot understand it, but …”

Kerid drew himself up. “You missed me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be. Now show me your cabin.”

Kerid hesitated only a moment, that he might survey all the boats. The Durrakym was covered with a mosaic of vessels that set his head to spinning in amazement. Long, low-drafted warboats hung like waiting hounds around fat-bellied traders set with catapults and trebuchets. Three-masters anchored alongside brigs and lateen-rigged single-masters. And on all the decks stood men and women readied for war, armored and eager. It was more, and better, than he’d dared hope for, and he laughed and offered a courtier’s bow and took the Mother down to his cabin.

“So you come with me?” His fingers worked on the lacings of her gown; hers on his shirt.

“I shall.” Her hands dragged off the garment. “I’ll not wait alone, wondering what fate befalls you.”

“It will be hard.” Her dress fell away and he began to loose her undergarments. “Talan will not give up easily.”

“The gods take Talan.” Her hands found his breeches and dropped them. “I’ll fight Talan myself to keep you alive.”

“I thought,” he said, and gasped as she tugged off his boots.

“Don’t,” she said, hauling him down onto the narrow bunk.

He held her when they were done and wondered. He said, “I never thought …”

“Nor I,” she said, touching his lips to silence him. “I am Mother Hel, and I never thought …”

“That we’d … ?”

“Yes. Now be silent and listen to me.”

He stroked her hair as she spoke.

“I own Hel’s town—I am the Mother—and I have ears beyond the river. Thus I heard that the clans rise against Talan, and …”

“Gailard lives?” Kerid rose excitedly. “And Ellyn?”

“Perhaps both. I heard that a battle was fought where Chaldor ends and the Highlands begin.”

“The Geffyn Pass?”

She nodded, sending long tendrils of blond hair to stroking across his chest.

“I believe a Highlander army moves against Chorym. So I thought I’d aid you in your fight.”

Kerid smiled and kissed her. “If Gailard brings the clans to Chorym, I must help him.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.”

Kerid said, “I love you, Mother.”

Mother Hel said, “Show me, and then we’ll go to war.”

E
llyn held her mare to a canter that matched the pace of Roark’s little Highlander pony. The long-legged horse fretted somewhat, anxious to run and frustrated by the smaller steps of the lesser animal, but Ellyn would not quit Roark’s side. She could not understand it. She had believed she loved Gailard, for all he was her father’s age and uncouth; indeed, ofttimes horribly arrogant. But Roark … she had felt her heart flutter when first she saw him, and their eyes had met and she had seen the same reaction in him. And he had ridden with her in the fight and taken arrows in her defense, and she loved him. She had not told him yet, but he knew; and she knew that he loved her. Or—perhaps more accurately—adored her. She saw it in his eyes, and the attentions
he paid her, and liked it, as if he spread a warm blanket around her on cold nights, or wafted a fan to cool her in summer’s heat. When they ate, he offered her the finest cuts, and passed her brose and ale as if he were her servant. Yet he was no more a servant than Gailard. He fought well—she’d seen him in battle—and he was … Like Gailard, but younger. And so handsome.

She started as he turned toward her.

“What?”

“Nothing.’

Ellyn blushed, and turned her eyes—reluctantly—from his face.

They rode the Great East Road now, passing farmhouses and fields where cattle lowed. Folk fled before them, frightened by the advent of a Highlander army after Danant’s depredations. Those folk she’d had the chance to speak with before they fled had told her of taxes and tithes that bled them dry; of Danant’s soldiers taking what they would, as if Chaldor were only some great purse that Talan looted. Some houses were burned down, and there cattle lowed mournfully for want of milking; and sometimes withered bodies hung from trees, pecked by crows. More sat on dead animals, and the warm air carried the stench of death.

“They’ve ravaged your land,” Roark said.

“And shall pay for it,” Ellyn replied.

“You’ll be queen.”

She nodded, and almost said, “And you my consort.” But that was for later—after Talan was defeated, so she only said aloud, “Yes—do we take Chorym back.”

“We shall,” Roark said gallantly. “How can we not?”

“Talan sits there,” Ellyn said, “with his Vachyn sorcerer. It shall not be easy.”

“We shall take the city,” he said, “and give you your rightful throne. My word on it, and my life.”

“I’d not see you slain,” she said.

“I’d die for you,” he said. “Do you not understand?”

“Yes.” Ellyn nodded. “But I’d sooner you lived.”

And stay with me
, she thought,
and be consort to my queen, like my mother and my father, and the gods grant it be so.

And then she sat her horse in silence as the Highlander army continued down the Great East Road toward Chorym and the settling of scores and restitution, and wondered if the battle would be won and she see Talan paid back and suffer her revenge.

Or …

She chose not to think about the alternatives. Gailard would take Chorym and she would claim back her parents’ throne. She would wed Roark and bind the Highlands to Chaldor. And then … She must speak with Shara about this, but why not pursue the war? Into Danant, and take what Talan had stolen from her parents? Go on to destroy the Vachyn? The gods knew, but Shara had explained their intentions, and it would be a gift to the world to end the Vachyn ambitions.

But first, Chorym. One step at a time, as Gailard had taught her. Learn to use the sword first. Learn to hold it and swing it, learn to defend yourself, learn to shield yourself—then attack.

She looked back to where her guardian rode alongside Shara, and felt a pang of … regret? Jealousy? She was not sure, save that her feelings changed, and she gave up her dreams of Gailard and loved Roark.

But mostly she dreamed of defeating Talan and taking Chorym from him, and sending him running homeward … could she not slay him first.

W
e met with little resistance as we rode west, and collected a ragged army of dispossessed folk who joined our cause in hatred and defiance of Danant’s rule. Most of Talan’s men were already fled, and more scurried like panicked rats at our approach. What few remained to face us, we crushed easily, so that the clansmen spoke of Danant’s cowardice and assumed an easy victory. I knew it could not be so, not while Talan still held Chorym. I knew it should be long, and prayed the clans remain. Siege warfare was not their style of fighting, and I feared they might grow bored and desert Ellyn’s cause. Mattich and the others assured me they’d not, but I wondered how their men would take the long weeks encamped around the city, with Vachyn magic likely abroad and no swift victory in sight.

And then our goal loomed before us, and I deployed my army. It felt strange to face those walls as an enemy. I remembered Chorym as my home, where Andur had raised a simple clansman, and I had found kindness and learned of the world beyond the Highlands. Now I must attack and wreak destruction on that place that meant so much to me. I supposed it must be worse for Ellyn.

I had prepared for this, remembering those books I’d read in Shara’s castle, and I set our men to unusual work. We
gathered wood for the construction of ladders and battering rams, siege towers and crude catapults. There was plenty available—the detritus of Danant’s siege—and the folk still inhabiting the surrounding farms and villages came out to help us, hailing Ellyn as their rightful queen, so that before long all was in place and we stood ready to commence what I hoped would be the final battle. I was surprised—and therefore worried—that Talan made no attempt to halt us. I had anticipated forays, Vachyn magic—some effort to delay us—but none came. And as I watched the engines built I saw Danant’s men observing us from the ramparts. There was a figure I recognized from the Geffyn Pass, and I supposed the man beside him, resplendent in golden armor, was Talan himself. They were joined by another, robed in black, and I knew he must be Nestor, for even at this distance there seemed to be a dark and evil aura about him. I studied the walls, seeing where fresh stone was set like scars on the body of an old friend, and wondered where Ryadne had fallen, and vowed anew to avenge my friends.

Shara and Ellyn stood with me, and I turned to the sorceress I loved.

“Why does he not act?”

As if in answer to my question, I saw the dark-robed mage raise his hands. They pointed toward us.

Shara paled and raised hers, mouthing words I could not understand as lightning flashed across the sky. Not in honest verticality, but slanting horizontal from the city walls. I saw a moment of brilliant light, as if I gazed upon a mirror that reflected back the full brightness of the sun, blinding me. Then there was a clap of thunder that seemed to shake the ground and drum deafeningly against my ears. Light burst all around us, and I smelled scorched grass. I saw Ellyn copying Shara’s movements, voicing the same incantations. I felt my sword hilt grow warm against my palm, and my hair prickle as if I stood exposed in the center of a storm. Then silence—perhaps because I was deafened—perhaps because I stood within the aegis of Shara’s protective
spell. My hearing returned, and I saw men fall to either side in screaming torches.

“He’s strong,” Shara said softly. “He’ll send more such magicks against us.”

I had no need to name her brother. She said, “I think perhaps he tests me; perhaps waits on me. He’ll sense my presence by now.” She hesitated, shuddering. “The gods know, but I sense his, and I suspect he waits to test my strength. Or …” She stared at the distant figure, a frown creasing her brow.“… he organizes some vaster magic that takes him time.”

We watched the shapes quit the ramparts. I felt that the first blow in a long battle had been delivered—that Nestor tested Shara’s strength, and Ellyn’s. And wondered what should come next.

Ellyn stared at the walls of her home and sighed. “When it begins,” she said softly, “it shall hurt Chorym, no?”

“As little as possible,” I promised uselessly.

“As little as possible?” She barked a laugh and gestured at the engines we’d built, the piles of stones, the waiting men. “I was born here, Gailard. Save for my time with you, I lived my life here. Now we come to ravage the walls my ancestors built, the place my father built. Doubtless there are still servants there.” She flung an accusatory finger in the direction of the walls. “Folk I knew, who served me and helped me. I remember a maid—Tyli—who set a compress on my knee when I fell in the gardens. I was … five? … and Tyli picked me up and dried my eyes and tended my hurt. Her hair was grey when last I saw her, but likely she’s still there. And Daryk, who shod my pretty white mare. Is he still alive behind those walls? And shall our attack kill him? And Tyli, and all the others?”

“We’ve no other choice,” I said. “Save to leave.”

“Perhaps we should.” She looked away across the fertile plain. “Perhaps we should go back.”

“We’ve come too far,” I said. “The gods know, but we’ve done what none other has achieved—we’ve united
the clans in your cause, and do you now say ‘up and go,’ all that is lost.”

“And more,” Shara said. “Do we quit now, then Talan owns your kingdom and will bleed it dry. And Nestor will whisper in his ear and lead him on to greater ambitions. And where would you go?”

I watched as Ellyn’s shoulders trembled. I heard her stifle a sob, and would have touched her, held her, had she not needed to make this decision alone.

“This is not easy,” she sniffed. “Folk I knew shall likely die because of me.”

“War is not easy,” I said. “Think you that I shall enjoy sending men to their deaths?”

“You slew your brother,” she returned me. “Was that easy?”

“I’d no love for Eryk, and he gave me no choice,” I answered her. “But these?” In turn, I indicated the circle of warriors ringing Chorym. “These men follow me in your name, and I shall not enjoy seeing them die.”

“Did my father face such decisions?” she asked.

“Yes.” I nodded. “And such doubts. But he swerved from them no more than your mother when she faced Talan from those walls. She had a choice then. She might have surrendered and held Chorym intact, save she knew her duty.”

Ellyn coughed out a choking sound that might have been another sob. “I do not like this,” she said.

“War slays the innocent,” I said. “How many died when Talan seized Chorym? How many farmers died? You saw the burned houses, and the bodies on the trees as we came here. Would you allow that to continue?”