The Guardian (52 page)

“The fate of soldiers under Danant’s rule.” He barked a bitter laugh. “Swear fealty and live—are you willing to lose your sword arm.”

“And if not?” I asked.

“Execution.” He motioned with his stump and all the other men held up their losses. “Talan and his accursed Vachyn saw to that.”

“I’d wondered,” I said, “what happened to the army.”

“Hung,” Haldur said, “or crucified; or slain where they stood, did they fight.” He shrugged. “I was captured after Antium, and I was offered the choice. I chose to live. I thought … perhaps …”

I said, “Haldur, I’m sorry.”

He said, “So am I,” and held up his right arm. “For this, and for doubting you.” He grinned. “Does Ellyn live?”

“She lives,” I said. “She waits now, beyond the Vachyn’s fog, with the clans.”

Shara set a warning hand upon mine. I said, “He gave his hand in Chaldor’s cause.”

“And you can trust me,” Haldur said. “You can trust us all.” He smashed his stump against the table. The sound made the dogs whimper. “We can still fight. Perhaps not so well as before, but even so …” He locked me with his eyes. “We’ve waited for some chance to strike back. And when we heard the rumors of an army coming against the usurper …”

I heard hooves clatter past, the muffled voices of Talan’s cavalrymen, but the shutters were closed and none came to
the door. They passed and went away, and Haldur said, “You can trust us.”

There was a murmur of agreement. I looked about the room, which was dank and dirty as the men who sat there, save their eyes burned with enthusiasm, as if I brought them hope. I studied Haldur. He seemed old beyond his years. His face was scarred now and he looked not to have washed in a while. He smiled and rose to bring us each a cup that he filled with thin, sour wine.

“The best we have,” he apologized. “We old soldiers live mostly on charity, but there are advantages to being beggars.” He chuckled cynically. “We can go unseen where others folk’s faces would be recognized, and there are plenty of us.”

“And are you all with Ellyn?” I asked.

Haldur nodded. “To the death.”

“What of your vow?”

“What vow?”

“You swore fealty to Talan.”

Haldur, remember, was Devyn; a vow of fealty was no easy thing to ignore.

He frowned, as if I asked an imponderable question. Then: “You’ve not lived in Chaldor for a while, Gailard. What other choice had we? We could live—and hope, and lose our right hands—or die. We chose to live. We hoped … Oh, the gods know, when the rumors began, we
hoped
… and now. And now …”

He embraced me, and I felt a terrible guilt.

“Now you’ve come back, and with an army. And we can help you. We can help you overthrow Talan! Tell us what to do, eh?”

I glanced at Shara, and she nodded. “We can use allies.”

I explained our strategy.

“We are with you,” Haldur said, when I was done. “You’ve a small army inside the city.”

Sometimes, I thought, the gods, however capricious,
do
favor us.

W
e were kitted in the robes of mendicants. We rubbed ashes and grease into our hair, and smeared our faces with dirt, and Haldur took us out into the city. Dogs followed us—or, rather, they followed Shara, for she owned that strange communion with animals that had aided us before. Filthy and shambling, we went ignored by the soldiers who filled the streets, and those who’d question us were put off by our appearance and the growling hounds.

We visited numerous hovels where old, one-handed soldiers lived, and it was to our advantage that these poorer quarters were all situated in the lower part of Chorym, where the gates were. Haldur would bring us in and speak at first of two more defeated ones, then sound out the occupants until he was sure of their loyalty—which did not take long. All hated Talan and his Vachyn sorcerer for what they’d done to Andur and Ryadne, and when they learned that Ellyn lived they swore to aid us.

It was clear that Nestor suspected some subterfuge. Likely, even, had sensed the magic that brought us into the city. But he could not find us, for Shara used no magic now, and we passed unnoticed by the patrols and watchmen, and within the space of two days had organized our interior army. It was small—not so many had survived the war—but I hoped it should be enough. And that we had time enough; my strategem depended on coincidences of timing and attack.

“S
hall it work?” Shara asked.

Haldur had brought us to what he confidently declared was a safe house. He had consigned us a single room, with but the one bed. He supposed us lovers—and had I my way, we should have been. But there were still those understandings, and so we lay chastely together on a narrow bed in a filthy house. The sheets were not clean and beetles climbed the walls and traversed the floor in busy lines. I had slept in worse places, but I doubted she had. I felt embarrassed that I
had brought her to such a location, and scratched at a biting bug.

“I think it can. And what else have we?”

“My magic,” she said.

“And let Nestor find you? No!”

“It might be easier. Could I slay him …”

“No.” I closed her mouth with my lips. For a while she fought me, but then I felt her respond, and drew her close. For an ecstatic moment I held her to me, her mouth eager as mine.

Then she pushed me away, and as I sighed out my frustrated desire said, “Remember our promise, eh? Not until Chorym’s taken and Ellyn has back her parents’ throne. Then, eh?”

I groaned. This was a geas I found mightily hard to accept, and I wondered how women could be so strong. I said, “You might defeat him, but even then there’d be Talan’s army. We
must
open the gates. We must grant the clans entry, and for that …”

“Yes,” she said, “I know. But when the time comes … The gods know, Gailard, but I’m afraid for Ellyn. Is she truly strong enough?”

“You’ve tutored her,” I said. “And she’d avenge her parents.”

“But this shall be more than swordwork.”

She rose on her elbows that she might look down into my eyes. I stared into hers and thought that I could drown there and not care. It was one of those nights that grow hot and sticky as high summer. Dry lightning flashed across the sky, forks striking the farmlands silent as a knife blade, and we neither of us wore any clothing more than scanty undergarments. I wanted her, and knew that she had set that geas on me that could not be broken until we had won. I felt greatly disturbed, and moved apart that I might sit, head in hands, on the edge of our sorry bed.

“Forgive me,” she asked. “But until …”

My temper flashed. The gods knew, it was unfair to
share a bed and not grant both our desires. I swear that I cannot—and I suspect never shall—understand women.

“You and Ellyn; the clans,” I said into my hands. “The Hel’s Town pirates; Haldur and his people—we
can
win!”

“The gods willing”

“Perhaps now” I said, “they are.”

“I pray it be so.” She put her arms around me and I wondered if I had ever felt so happy; or so frustrated. But I did not turn. “For I doubt I could live without you now.”

“You must,” I said, “whatever happens.”

She smiled at me, and said, “We’ll see.” And then her smile grew sad, and she said, “But never understimate Vachyn magic.”

I wondered at that, and would have spoken, but she turned my head and kissed me again and made me forget my fears for a while, so I said nothing more and only chose to hope.

But I slept alone on the floor, for fear my desire should overcome the geas. And I could, almost, have hated her for that; save I could not: I loved her too well, and must abide with my frustration.

T
he storm had rolled away across the sky and it was a cool, dry morning. Even the hovel smelled cleaner. Sun filled our room and we rose and dressed and went down to where Haldur and his men waited. It was a little after dawn.

We ate a breakfast of thin porridge washed down with watery tea and donned our armor. I was surprised that Haldur’s beggars had been able to retain so much, but every man wore something: mail, like Haldur, or a breastplate; and there were shields and helmets. And none were without those secret swords. Some even had small bucklers somehow affixed to the stumps of their wrists.

“The Vachyn’s fog has lifted,” Haldur said. “I got word not long ago. And Egor Dival sends out his men.”

“Then it’s time,” I said.

We donned our mendicants’ robes and went out into the
alley. The dogs came with us in a great pack, and as we reached the opening of the sorry street, Shara paused and spoke softly, sending the dogs racing before us. Then she halted in the mess of the alley and raised her hands and spoke words I could not understand or hear, save that amongst them was Ellyn’s name.

This was the part I was most afraid of, for it must surely alert Nestor to her presence. I waited for lightning to strike. My hair stood on end for all its greases, but for a while no response came and we ran toward the gates.

The salvation of Chorym had begun.

N
estor tensed as he felt the magic in the aethyr. There were two sources, one outside the walls and one within. Shara and Ellyn—he had no doubt of that—but which was where he could not tell as Egor Dival went clattering out toward the clansmen. He felt a sudden doubt, wondering if some trap were sprung. He cursed and spun toward Talan.

“Quick! One of them’s inside the city.”

Talan started, his face pale. “Which one? What do they do?”

“I don’t know.” Nestor scowled. “But I’ll find her, soon enough. Meanwhile, however, have your men search the streets for strangers.”

“Strangers?” Talan husked a dismal laugh. “They’re all strangers here. Who do they look for?”

“What they’ve been seeking!” Nestor turned impatiently, staring across the plain. “I told you, no? One’s likely here already, and they’ve some strategem in mind.”

Talan licked his fleshy lips. “Shall I call Dival back?”

“No!” Nestor shook his head irritably. “Let him strike the clans—perhaps he can defeat them. If so, our task is easier.”

T
alan nodded and watched the chariots roll out. A cool breeze blew over the ramparts, but he felt sweat bead his face and fear curdle in his belly. The gods willing, Dival would break the Highlanders with his charge. But if he failed …

“S
hara summons us.
Go now!”

Ellyn smiled at Roark as he lifted his horn and blew the clarion call. He leaned down from his saddle and kissed her, then touched her hair and heeled his pony to a gallop. The Quan followed him, thundering out to meet the chariots and mounted archers emerging from Chorym’s East Gate.

All around the city horns blew and clansmen rose to the fight, trusting in Gailard and his Lady of the Mountains to open the way. Mattich brought his Dur against the West Gate; Jaime led the Arran against the North Gate; and Kerid looked to Mother Hel, who nodded, and directed the Hel’s Town pirates against the South Gate.

Ellyn, lonely now, and wanting to go with her love, turned back to the pots Shara had left with her. She stirred the earth in the one, and the water in the other; fanned the burning candle in the third, stirring its flame, and blew into the empty fourth. It was hard to stand aside, but Shara had explained what she must do, and she knew now that she must obey and follow the instructions—else all be lost. She prayed that Shara and Gailard survive. And Roark.

E
gor Dival held his shield strapped hard against his broken arm, and wondered why the healers had failed to mend his bones. They ached, and he wondered if he grew too old. He wondered how he might cast a javelin or nock an arrow when he must use his one good hand to clutch the rail of the bucking chariot as howling clansmen came toward him.

They were not such soldiers as he’d fought before—save at the Geffyn Pass, and they seemed careless of their lives—intent only on victory. They rode small horses and
wore little armor. Mostly he saw bucklers and clan colors that fluttered wildly in the rush of their attack. His force outnumbered them, but they charged as if their lives were nothing, and more came afoot. He saw that not all were clansmen, but Chaldor folk and others, as if all the land rose against him. He let go the rail and cast a useless javelin that went by some handsome young Highlander who laughed as if battle were a great joy and swept his sword up and around to cut the traces of the chariot’s team even as his followers hacked at the charioteer and Dival felt the vehicle lurch and swerve, and was swept from the deck and sent tumbling—oh, the gods knew, but he was too old for this—onto the trampled ground.