The Guardian Page 6

  The Danant man was protected by two sturdy rivermen, each with bucklers on their forearms and wide-bladed swords held ready. Kerid cut the first down with a savage sweep that took the man’s legs from under him, and kicked him away. The second blocked his cut and aimed a blow at Kerid’s midriff. The Danant captain danced back, shouting, then fell silent as a belaying pin struck him between the eyes, sending him staggering from the wheel to slump against the stern rail. Another pin bounced off the chest of the second riverman and, as he raised his buckler against further airborne attack, Kerid drove his blade into the exposed belly. The Danant man screamed and fell down. Kerid struck him across the back of his neck and swung around to pierce the other. Then he paced across the deck to the captain and drove his sword into the man’s chest.

  He spun as Nassim came grinning to join him.

  “They’d have stuck you like a pig if I hadn’t thrown that pin.”

  Kerid frowned and said, “Perhaps, but I think I’d have taken them. Even so, thank you.”

  Nassim bowed, still grinning. “A favor owed;” and they both went down onto the lower deck to finish the fight.

  It was soon won. Taken by surprise, the Danant men were swiftly defeated. None lived, and their bodies were tossed overboard. Fish rose to eat them, and from the shoreline and the sandbanks riparine mammals came to feast. The sun rose higher, waking birds that came winging in search of such bounty. Kerid beamed as he shouted for his crew to bring their gear over from the Blessing—and Chaldor’s colors, which he had set in place where the Danant pennants had hung.

  He checked the boat and knew it was sound. It would fetch a better price than his abandoned vessel.

  “Set sail! We go to Hel’s Town.”

  He paused as he saw his mate staring in naked amazement at the river. “What is it?”

  “By all the gods!” Nassim pointed at the water. “That I’ve never seen before.”

  “What?” Kerid asked.

  “Look.” His mate angled a finger at the V-shapes of disturbed water that came toward the boat. “Rats joining a sinking ship.”

  “We’re not sinking,” Kerid returned. “We’re sailing on to glory, and to revenge Chaldor.”

  Nassim stared at him awhile, then smiled. “By the gods, I think perhaps you’re right.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ellyn rode in sulky silence, or perhaps a contemplative mood; I could not tell for sure. Her mouth was a grim line and she spoke to me not at all. I tried awhile to make conversation, but I am not very good at that and soon gave up. I could not, truly, blame her. After all, she was but fifteen years of age and cast adrift in a world torn by war. Her father was slain and she knew her mother would likely die ere long. Did she not know for sure, then surely she must guess that we should soon be hunted; and she was accustomed to the luxuries of the palace, not the road. I was pleased to see that she was a good horsewoman, and considerably less pleased with her first display of arrogant temper.

  I had set a brisk pace, and Chorym lay a good few leagues behind us by the time the sun approached its zenith. We traveled the Great East Road that pierced the hills ringing Chaldor’s heart through a pass known as the Geffyn, but we should not reach that boundary for at least another day. The road was crowded with folk going in to the hoped-for sanctuary of the city, and we must often turn our mounts off the paved way onto the grass beside as herds of lowing cattle or flocks of bleating sheep blocked our path. There were numerous wagons, groups of riders, and more folk afoot. I pitied them all for what they faced, knowing their hopes were faint, and prayed none recognize Ellyn. I thought they would not, save on close inspection, for with her shorn hair and boyish gear, she looked, at least on brief examination, like some gangly, sulking youth.

  We came to the first way station as the sun climbed past its midpoint, and Ellyn spoke for the first time. “I know this place; they set a good table.”

  That was true; I had eaten there. I said, “We ride on.”

  She gave me as haughty a look as any fifteen-year-old can manage and said, “I’m hungry,” as if that settled all argument.

  “We’ve food.” I patted saddlebags. “We’ll eat beside the road.”

  “I’m hungry,” she repeated obstinately. “And I’d wash.”

  “We’ll find a stream,” I said.

  She gaped at me, then reined in her horse—and when I did not halt, heeled the beast back alongside mine. “I said”—her eyes narrowed in anger—“that I am hungry, and that I’d stop here awhile.”

  “We cannot always have what we want,” I returned. “You say you know this place? Then likely they’ll know you as Ellyn, daughter of Andur and Ryadne.”

  She said, “Of course they know me.”

  “And therefore would likely tell any hunters Talan sends out that you passed this way.”

  “But they’d not know to where.” Her brows furrowed into a scowl. “By all the gods, do you know where we’re going?”

  “Not yet.” I shook my head. “But I’d not leave any trail.”

  “You’re afraid?”

  I nodded. “Do you understand nothing? If Talan cannot have your mother, then he’ll have you—that he might claim Chaldor by marriage-right. That or slay you, and to that end he’ll seek us. Likely with the aid of his Vachyn sorcerer, who does frighten me. By the gods, girl, would you halt at every way station? As well remain in Chorym.”

  “I wish I had,” she snapped.

  “Save your mother commanded otherwise, and made me your guardian. Therefore, you will obey me.”

  “A Highlander hire-sword?” She favored me with a sly glance. “I’ll not!”

  I saw her intention even as she gathered up her reins. I brought my mare a little closer and reached across to seize the chestnut’s bridle. Ellyn struck at me and I turned my head, hauling my own mount’s reins over so that she danced aside, drawing the other animal with her. Ellyn mouthed a curse worthy of any soldier and sawed her reins, trying to break my grip. Almost, I was yanked from the saddle, but I kept my hold and fought the chestnut to a standstill. Curious folk watched us from the road.

  Then, my hand still firm on the bridle, I said, “Do you continue this, I’ll take you off that horse and set you across my knee and deliver you the drubbing you deserve.”

  I was angry. In the names of all the gods, did she not understand the gravity of our situation? Was she truly so willful as to jeopardize her own escape with childish tantrums? I suppose my ire must have shown on my face and echoed in my tone, for she paled and stared at me a moment out of wide eyes.

  “You’d lay hands on me?” Her voice was harsh with disbelief, then rose shrill. “You’d threaten Chaldor’s heir?”

  “Quiet!” I was aware of the traffic flowing by us, the looks we got. “Be silent, damn you!”

  Ellyn snarled and bristled like some cat cornered by a dog, and slammed her heels against the chestnut’s ribs so that the horse plunged forward. I let go my hold before I was dragged from my saddle and heeled the mare after the princess. I swung my reins over, driving across Ellyn’s path, blocking her moves so that she was herded at a gallop past the way station.

  Finally, she slowed the chestnut. Traffic was eased now and the road mostly ours, though we still gathered catcalls and looks. I shouted something about headstrong boys who’d taste ale before their time, and led her off the road, onto a pasture where the air smelled sweet with dung, for all no animals remained. A little way farther there was a small copse of alders growing beside a stream, and I brought us to the water.

  “We can eat now.”

  I held her horse until she dismounted, then walked both animals awhile as she paced the streamside and stood staring at the sun-dappled water with her hands fisted on her hips, her shoulders hunched in irritation. I could hear her muttering furiously. I let her wait, taking my time as I brought the horses to the stream and let them drink, then hobbled them and left them to graze. I opened my saddlebags and fetched out provisions. I was, I must admit, h
ungry myself, but I was a soldier and accustomed to an empty belly. I took out cold meat and bread and offered her a share. She stared at the food and turned away, so I stretched on the grass and began to eat. Ryadne had thought to include wine, for which I was most grateful—I felt in need of drink—and settled myself comfortably with one eye on the princess.

  I had thought she might make a run for her horse, but instead she came back along the stream’s bank and hunkered down where I had left her food.

  “You would have spanked me?” she asked.

  I nodded. “And might yet, do you continue to act like a spoiled child.”

  “I am Chaldor’s heir!” She stared at me, outraged. “I am a princess!”

  I laughed, which pleased her not at all. “Here,” I told her, gesturing at our bucolic surroundings, “you are not a princess. You are my charge—I am sworn to defend you to my death; to protect and guard you. And I shall do that, even does it offend you.”

  She chewed the meat and spat a piece of gristle into the stream, where small fishes rose to nibble. I tossed her the wineskin.

  “This is not easy,” she said.

  “No.” I watched as she drank.

  “I am not used to this.”

  I said again, “No, but these are strange times and we must adapt to them if we are to survive.”

  She looked at me then and asked, “Shall we?”

  “Whilst I live,” I said, “no harm shall come you.”

  “And Chorym; my mother?” Her pretty face grew troubled. “Chaldor?”

  I felt suddenly awkward. “Did Ryadne … your mother … not explain?”

  Ellyn nodded. “But I’d hear it from you.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because you’re a soldier. Because my mother trusts you—as did my father.”

  Her voice had grown small, and when I looked at her, I saw tears slowly traverse her cheeks. Bereft of her arrogance, her haughtiness, she seemed very young. I said, “Talan brings all the might of Danant against us. He defeated us—thanks to his Vachyn sorcerer—on the plain before the Darach Pass. He slew your father and is bent on conquering the Bright Kingdom. He’ll land his army and bring it against Chorym, and I think the city shall fall.”

  I might have put it softer, smoother, but such tact is not the Devyn way, and in my clan we believe that a child is best taught the hard lessons early. Also, I’d no wish that Ellyn perceive this journey of ours as some casual pleasure trip, an outing on which she might behave as she chose. I had sooner she know and accept the reality early, that our journeying be easier.

  Even so, I regretted the flood of tears my words elicited.

  “And Mother shall die, no?”

  “She’ll not wed Talan,” I said.

  “Mother said he’d have her; or me.”

  “He’ll have neither.”

  She swung her head to face me. Her eyes were red now, her cheeks all silvery with tears. “Because Mother will die before he can?”

  I nodded.

  “And me?”

  “Not while I live,” I said.

  Ellyn’s laughter came strange and shrill. Both horses started at the sound.

  “Why not? You don’t even like me.”

  “I gave my word,” I said. “Andur was my sworn liege lord, and I gave my word to Ryadne.”

  “And so you’d die for me?”

  “For you and Chaldor.”

  “But you’re a mercenary. You’re a Devyn clansman. A …”

  “Hire-sword?” I finished for her. “Yes; I am. But I hired my blade to Andur, and swore then to defend Chaldor—and I do not break my word, Ellyn.”

  “Even though it might cost you your life? Even though Talan shall hunt us? And you might win great wealth by handing me to him?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I’m trying to.”

  “Then know this: Yes, I could give you to Talan and ride away with sacks of gold, or find some high office in his army. But then I should be less than I expect myself to be. Do I break my word, I am nothing.”

  “You’d be alive and free.”

  Now I laughed. “I am alive and free now, no?”

  “Hardly free.” She tapped her chest. “You’ve me to think of.”

  “There’s that,” I allowed.

  She stared at me awhile, then slowly, almost shyly, smiled. “No easy duty, eh?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’ll do my best,” she promised.

  “Good,” I said. “So, eat and we’ll be on our way.”

  We finished our simple meal in silence then mounted our horses and continued along the Great Road.

  The way stretched out before us, straight as an arrow to the slash in the hills that was the Geffyn Pass. There was little traffic now, and the majority of the farms we passed were tenanted, the meadows filled with cattle and sheep, folk working in the fields. To the east, the sky darkened, the great disk of the moon we Devyn name the Huntsman suspended like some indifferent eye above the blue line of the hills. Lights began to show in distant buildings, and Ellyn began to speak of finding lodgings for the night.

  She was in a foul humor. The previous night we had slept beside the road, our tents sheltered by tall beech trees, a stream nearby. I had built a fire and roasted meat, we had fresh water and wine to drink, and I had thought it as fine a bivouac as any I’d known. But I suppose that Ellyn was accustomed to the luxury of royal hunting trips—all canopied pavilions and soft beds set up by servants, such food as the palace cooks prepared. Her earlier gentleness had evaporated, and she had complained then and since, until I grew weary of her carping and rode in grim silence with her complaints battering my tired ears. There was a way station ahead, at the entrance to the pass, and she spoke of spending the night there. I had no more intention of halting there than any other place she might be recognized, and told her so.

  She looked at me sidelong then, her eyes hooded, her mouth a line thinned by disgruntlement. By, I supposed, the lack of those comforts she knew.

  Like a vicious dog sensing weakness, she pounced. “How shall I be recognized?” She snatched off her feathered cap, ducking her shorn head at me, slapping the cap against her boyish tunic. “I am near bald—thanks to you! And I am dressed like some … some …”

  “Mercenary’s child?” I supplied.

  “Yes, like some hire-sword’s offspring! Who’d know me now, like this?”

  “There’s your face,” I said, “and your manner.”

  “What manner?”

  I could not help grinning. “You do not behave like some ‘hire-sword’s offspring,’ but rather like an arrogant princess.”

  “You’ve known princesses, eh?”

  Whatever faults she had—and the gods knew, I could name them in abundance—her wits were not slow. I shook my head. “Only you.” And added, “Which is quite enough for me.”

  I could not tell if she laughed, but surely she turned her face away and studied the road awhile.

  I looked ahead. The sun lost its battle with the night now and the way grew dark. The pass rose before us like a sword’s cut in the stone of the hills. Lights twinkled where the way station stood and the road was walled in by the surrounding stone. It occurred to me that Ellyn need only cry out and men would likely come to investigate the disturbance, allowing her to spin whatever yarn came to mind, and doubtless not to my good. I reined in and dismounted.

  “Why are you stopping?”

  “She’s lame.”

  My bay turned her head at that, as if questioning my lie, but Ellyn halted and came back to where I waited.

  “How so? She was sound a moment since.”

  I said, “Look,” and when Ellyn leaned from her saddle, I grabbed her and dragged her free. She opened her mouth to scream, but I clapped a hand over the sound and flung her down. I’d cord ready in my hand and looped it swift over her wrists; then gagged her. Her eyes bulged in fear and fury, and I said, “I intend you no harm, but neither shall you g
ive us away.”

  Then I lifted her astride her saddle and lashed her ankles to the stirrups, mounted my bay again, and took up the chestnut’s reins.

  Thus did I bring Chaldor’s heir, the princess Ellyn, up into the Geffyn Pass, past the way station, like some olden-time captive carried off by my Highlander ancestors.

  The pass climbed, lined along its top by pines, to its egress, where it fed out onto a great swath of woodland. This was an area mostly given over to forestry and hunting. What pastures there were were located within the great spread of forest that stretched out like some moon-washed sea to the far horizons. Beyond lay the high moors and mountains of the clans, but those should take us long days to reach, and now it was deepening night. I deemed it safe to remove Ellyn’s gag and set her free.

  She kicked me in the chest when I loosed her bonds and sprang from her horse to pummel fists against my chest and face, accompanied by as foul a flood of curses as any I’d heard.

  I fended her off until her anger was spent and she stood gasping, her face flushed in the moonlight.

  “I’ll have you hanged! By the gods, no! I’ll have you stretched and drawn through the streets and then quartered! I’ll have you …”

  “You must live to do all that,” I said. “You must become the queen first.”

  “I shall.” She glowered at me. “I shall become queen and condemn you to the most horrible death I can imagine.”

  “Worse than Talan would deliver me? Worse than his Vachyn sorcerer might imagine?”

  “Yes!” she shrieked. Then, “Why did you tie me?”

  “Because you’d have run to that way station, no?”

  “Yes,” she said again, but in a softer tone.

  “And perhaps given Talan’s hunters a sign.”

  She nodded—a brief lowering of her head, reluctant—and rubbed at her wrists.