Exile (The Nandor Tales Book 1) Page 16

  “Good lad. You'll be fine,” Elthorn said and turned away towards the door of the inn.

  ***

  “Incompetent idiots,” shouted Lord Hercival. He hurled his drinking glass across the room where it shattered against the wood panelling.

  “My Lord?” Nicoras hurried into the room. He had seen the messenger heading for Hercival's chamber and some intuition had told him that the news was not good. That’s my wages for a month he’s just broken, he thought.

  “They got away.” Hercival raged. “Our men got themselves embroiled in a fight with a bunch of locals and let them get away.”

  “Have they gone after them?” asked Nicoras even though he feared the answer.

  “They have not. It seems they are retreating to Erkimar to lick their wounds. The commander says that he has resigned his post and placed some green lieutenant in command. I want him in chains, Nicoras. I want him flogged. He has disgraced the house of Sarazan.”

  “What is his name, my Lord?”

  “Elthorn.” Hercival spat out the name.

  “Very good, my Lord.” Nicoras remembered Elthorn as a quiet man, tough and competent. He wondered what had gone wrong at the Ferryboat Inn and what he would have done if he'd been in charge. “Is there anything else, my Lord?”

  “Yes there damn well is. Dig that wizard out from wherever he's hiding. Thanks to that cretin Elthorn we have to find Maldwyn again.”

  ***

  “I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation?” Lord Hercival said to the tousled Ezrin, his voice tight with frustration. “The prisoners have eluded our forces. I need you to find them again while our men are still close enough to catch them.”

  “I understand completely, my Lord,” muttered Ezrin sagging wearily before Lord Hercival’s anger, his eyes dull and red. “But I cannot do it. It is a simple matter of the nature of magic. The manipulation of the storm was an enormous effort, it drained my psychic powers and I can work no magics until I am recovered.”

  “I don't want to hear arguments. I need you to find Maldwyn of Nandor. Now!”

  “But, my Lord. You do not understand. You would not race your finest horse after a long day at the chase. Of course not, your riding master taught you this years ago. It is the same with magic. I must recover my strength before I can work the simplest spell.”

  “You are not a horse and this is not a day's hunting. I require you to find Maldwyn of Nandor.”

  Ezrin was about to dispute the point when Nicoras intervened to save the old sorcerer.

  “Let us go and see what the cooks can offer you. I'm sure your powers will be much repaired by a good meal. By your leave, my Lord.”

  Nicoras put his arm around Ezrin's shoulders and guided him to the door before turning back to face Hercival.

  “I did not ask for your opinion, Nicoras,” said Hercival, his mouth a thin slash of anger.

  “He is an old man, my Lord and we need him too much,” said Nicoras levelly. “And His Grace, your father, thinks highly of him.”

  Hercival’s eyes glittered dangerously and Nicoras thought for a moment that he was going to have to defend himself, but the moment passed.

  “Thank you, Nicoras, for reminding me,” said Hercival icily. “Very well. Take and feed him and get him back to work as soon as possible.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Lady Edith of Nandor kicked her feet in frustration against the side of the bed she shared with her sister.

  “Oh be quiet, Edith, and go to sleep,” said Celaine.

  “But I can't. It's too early and I'm too awake. Can't you hear the music downstairs? I want to go down and listen for a while.”

  “Well you can't. Papa said no, so go to sleep.” Celaine rolled over turning her back on her sister.

  It’s so unfair, thought Edith. They had been travelling for nine days now on the way to the Holy City and the Court of the High King, and she hadn't been allowed to do anything. For the first three nights they had stopped at manor houses within Nandor, but once they had passed out of her father's lands they had had to stay at inns just like any other travellers; though of course they only stayed at the better ones. And every night Edith and Celaine had been packed off to bed straight after supper. It wasn't as if they had been riding hard enough to tire the girls; on the contrary the Nandor caravan moved at a very sedate pace and Edith, who rode very well, was bursting with energy and curiosity. Celaine, by contrast, was quiet and listless; to Edith it seemed as if Celaine couldn't wait to get to bed each night, as if she had some tryst in the world of dreams.

  It was so unfair; Edith could still hear the music in the common room downstairs, she even recognised some of the songs the singer had massacred. She just wanted to see a little of life beyond the castle and town of Nandor. The Holy City wouldn't be any fun at all if she was going to be kept in and sent to bed all the time. Resolution hardened in her mind. She sat up in the bed and slipped out from beneath the covers.

  “You’re going to get into so much trouble,” murmured Celaine sleepily, but Edith was undaunted. She stepped into her gown and, after a moment’s scrabbling in the gloom, found her shoes.

  The tavern was substantial and catered to large travelling parties such as merchants' caravans. Its upper floors contained several suites of rooms for the use of rich travellers who wished for peace and distance from the poorer customers. The Nandor party occupied one such suite; their small entourage of servants and soldiers had a dormitory across the yard.

  Edith crept silently down from the second floor drawn by the swirl of the music that rose up the stairs. The ground floor common room was spacious, with a stage at one end for performers, and was packed with people, but Edith barely noticed; her eyes were on the stage. A slim man in a bright yellow shirt with shoulder-length dark curls was singing a rousing hunting song accompanied by pipe and drum. The crowd were stamping along to the drum beat and shouting out the choruses. Edith blushed when she heard the words which made it clear that the huntsman's quarry was a maid rather than the usual game, but she still pushed her way through the throng towards the stage. The song finished, the singer drained his tankard and then asked what they wanted to hear next. A dozen different voices called out suggestions, some of which Edith recognised, some sounded utterly obscene, still more insulted the singer and his apparently unmarried parents.

  The singer began another song, one which Glynis had taught Edith so she sang along as she gazed, wide-eyed, at the singer. Behind her though, the catcalls had not died down and she noticed that the singer was slightly offkey. He looked around the room with a nervous air between the verses until their eyes met. Then with a broad grin he stepped down from the stage in front of Edith and caught her by the hand.

  “Here's a maid who loves a song,” he called to the crowd as he pulled Edith onto the stage. Edith thought of pulling away, but the crowd cheered the singer's words and the noise lifted her.

  “What do you know, little lady?” asked the singer; Edith's mind whirled for a moment as she feared she had forgotten all the songs she'd ever sung.

  “How about Bringing in the May?” said the piper with a sympathetic smile.

  Edith relaxed instantly. She'd learned that song in the nursery and sung it a hundred times. “Yes. I know that one,” she said.

  “After four then,” said the piper nodding to the drummer.

  The music began; the singer took Edith's hand and quietly counted her in to the start of the vocal part. Edith felt the rhythm of the song pick up and the words flowed into her mind, she forgot about where she was as the melody lifted her and carried her away.

  “That's lovely, but sing up, girl. They'll not hear you at the back,” the singer whispered in the space after the chorus.

  Edith began the next verse with greater volume as her confidence grew, and by the end of the song the crowd were joining in the choruses with gusto. The applause washed over her along with a few ribald suggestions which Edith
chose to ignore.

  “I think they like you. Would you like to sing one more?” whispered the singer. A voice from the crowd called out for a song Edith knew, and she nodded quickly to the piper who struck up the melody straight away. The familiar tune flowed through her and she rode it with her voice until it delivered her to the end breathless and exhilarated. She would happily have sung all night and certainly the crowd wanted to hear and see more, but the singer took her hand and, with exaggerated ceremony, kissed it then led her off the stage.

  Hands reached out to her and voices called asking her to come and have a drink with them, but she ignored them all as she walked on air through the hall. One great hairy fellow stood swaying in her path, demanding a kiss and she received another great cheer when she pushed him away and he fell sprawling over a stool. She paused and gave a theatrical curtsey before pushing open the door and walking out into the cool night.

  Outside the sky was clear, Edith lifted her face to the breeze and looked at the stars which seemed brighter than she ever seen. Softly she sang the chorus of Bringing in the May to herself; she felt more alive then she ever remembered, and wished Aron had been there to see her sing. She heard the noise of movement behind her and turned to see a tall figure step through the door.

  “Ah, the little songbird,” he said, silhouetted by the lantern that hung over the door. Edith looked around hurriedly, there was no-one else in sight.

  “And pretty too.”

  He moved toward her. Edith stood her ground unsure of what to do. The musicians had just started another song in the hall, another hunting song. The crowd was stamping and singing along; more than enough noise to cover any cries for assistance. Edith reminded herself she was an earl's daughter and stood up straight, looking the man squarely in the eye. He took two long strides towards her and seized her in his powerful arms. Edith squealed in surprise as his lips pressed down on hers. His unshaven cheek scratched her face, she could taste the ale on his tongue and the sweat on his body. She lashed out and felt her knee connect with something solid. Her assailant grunted in pain and loosened his grip. Edith twisted from his arms and ran across the cobbled yard, but her soft shoes were not made for running and within a few paces he had caught her again. Strong arms swept her off her feet and pinned her arms. She shrieked in fear and defiance, but another chorus of the song drowned her cries. She could see he was making for the stable block and was two paces from the door when Edith heard boots on the cobbles behind her. A voice rang out in challenge.

  “Release her.”

  The abductor turned to face his challenger and Edith saw Captain Thalon advancing across the yard, his sword in his hand.

  “This is none of your business, old man.”

  “Oh, but it is,” said Thalon levelly. “Now take your hands off her.”

  The stranger released Edith, pushing her to the ground, and drew his own blade. Edith crawled out of the way of the two men as they circled each other and then watched in terror-stricken fascination as the fight began. The stranger swept into the attack and Thalon was forced back in desperate defence as blow after blow rained in on him giving him no opportunity to carry the fight to his attacker. Thalon was a competent swordsman, but his reflexes were slower than his opponent and each attack was barely parried as he gave ground before the younger man.

  Inside the hall the song finished in a storm of applause. In the quiet before the music started up again, Edith screamed for all she was worth; no-one seemed to notice.

  With every breath the end of the fight seemed imminent; Thalon was tiring and the stranger seemed as fresh as ever. Edith looked about for some weapon she could use to help Thalon, but the courtyard was bare. She resolved to throw herself at the stranger's legs to trip him the next time he came within reach, but before she had the chance the fight was over. The stranger thrust then changed direction. Thalon tried to respond but stumbled, and his blade was knocked from his hand. In the blink of an eye the stranger's point was at the old man's throat as he scrabbled desperately at the cobbles.

  “Still think it's your business, old man?” The stranger sneered.

  “Hold!” The voice of command rolled across the yard. “That is enough.”

  Two crossbowmen scuttled into the yard and took up position with their weapons trained on the stranger. Behind them, the speaker rode into the light cast by the hall windows. He halted before the combatants and calmly took off his riding gloves. The stranger kept his point at Thalon's throat as he waited for the newcomer to speak.

  In the hall the song finished, and the horseman waited for the applause to die away before speaking.

  “You, girl.” He pointed at Edith. “Come forward into the light.”

  Edith stood up and walked slowly forward, her head held high.

  “You are no tavern wench. What happens here?”

  “What business is this of yours?” The swordsman sneered, his point never wavering from Thalon.

  “I do not like your tone of voice, soldier. You will have more respect in the presence of your betters.”

  The horseman slid fluidly off his mount and stepped forward. He was half a hand's width shorter than the man he faced, but it seemed to Edith that he was somehow taller and more commanding. The swordsman stood uncertain of his next move. He withdrew his blade from Thalon and slowly turned it towards the newcomer.

  “Do not raise your blade to me, sir,” the newcomer said, his voice chill and even. “It will be the last thing you do.”

  The swordsman stood still staring at him, his eyes narrow and glittering with hatred. The horseman stood calmly before him and it seemed to Edith that everyone held their breath. The swordsman's blade lifted slightly as his muscles regrouped. In that instant the horseman clicked his fingers and the two crossbows sang as one. The swordsman began to move forward and was then jerked backwards as the two bolts struck him in the chest tumbling him like a skittle. Edith screamed as his body sprawled bloodily on the cobbles in front of her. The horseman leapt forward nimbly and took her hand.

  “Fear, not my Lady, he is past being any danger to anyone.” He turned his attention to Thalon who was sitting with his head between his knees, and still breathing heavily.

  “Are you hurt, good sir? It was a fine fight you put up.”

  “I was overmatched,” said Thalon gruffly. “But I couldn't let him harm the girl.”

  “There speaks a true knight. Allow me to assist you, sir.”

  The horseman reached out his hand to Thalon who took it and, with some effort, rose to his feet.

  “Your arrival was most timely, good sir,” said Thalon. “May I know to whom I owe my life?”

  “But of course.” He smiled, flashing brilliant white teeth framed by a close-cropped beard. “I am Petter, Lord Tirellan, at your service.”

  “I thank you from the bottom of my heart. my Lord. I am Thalon, captain of Nandor and this is my Lady Edith of Nandor, daughter of Earl Baldwin.”

  Edith curtsied as Thalon introduced her. Lord Tirellan reached out, took her hand in his, and with an elegant bow, gently kissed it.

  “'Delighted to make your acquaintance, my Lady,” he said, his blue eyes shining in the lantern light.

  CHAPTER 23

  Araiminta's cottage lay tucked in a fold of the hills that hid it from prying eyes. A clear stream flowed through the neat garden which was planted with orderly rows of vegetables. The cottage itself was a sturdy construction of roughcut logs and mud-covered wattle with a reed-thatched roof. Araiminta led them around to the back of the cottage, where a dozen chickens scratched in the dirt around the woodpile.

  “Leave the horses here,” she said, indicating an open-sided barn whose roof looked in need of repair. “Choose whichever of the sheds takes your fancy. There isn't room in the house for all of you, and he needs the bed.” Araiminta gestured at Aron who looked up sharply.

  “I feel fine,” said Aron.

  “Don't argue, young man. You've just
woken up from a fever sleep and I know how weak that leaves a body,” said Araiminta, her tone indicating that she expected no argument. “You need a few days of rest and good food. Fetch your gear in and I'll stoke up the fire.”

  Aron had to admit that it sounded an enticing prospect as he climbed off his horse; even the short ride had tired him.

  “What should we do?” asked Davo.

  “Put your gear down then make yourselves useful,” said Araiminta briskly. “There's plenty to be done in the garden, and the chicken house needs mucking out.” Davo looked at Maldwyn in dismay.

  “You can't have him working in the garden, he's an Earl's son,” said Davo.

  “Is he really? No doubt he eats the same as other men,” said Araiminta. “Then if he wishes to eat, he has to work the same as other men.”

  There was no argument after that. Araiminta hustled Aron into the interior of her cottage, dusty and aromatic with drying herbs. He was wrapped in a patchwork blanket and laid on a pallet with soft pillows beside the fire where Araiminta's stewpot simmered on an iron trivet. Davo and Maldwyn were banished to the vegetable garden after a few minutes instruction on what were weeds and what were not. Araiminta busied herself with preparing vegetables, humming a little tune as she peeled and chopped.

  ***

  Ezrin the sorcerer bent over his crystal and tried to clear his mind. He had slept less than he needed, but Lord Hercival's demands rang in his ears. He grasped a single hair culled from Maldwyn's comb, rolling it between his fingers. He began the deep breathing pattern that initiated the focusing and gazed deep into the crystal. The familiar surge of vertigo heralded the beginning of the trance, but the crystal did not clear to give him the view through Maldwyn's eyes. Instead thick clouds of fog swirled all around him and he knew that he was not with Maldwyn.

  A little knot of frustration tightened on Ezrin's brow; he had never experienced such a complication to this unsophisticated piece of magic. He drew a deep breath and pushed more of his reserves of mental strength into the crystal imagining a beam of sunlight piercing the fog. The beam reached forward perhaps two or three paces and illuminated nothing but cloud which seemed to grow thicker. Ezrin relaxed and then threw his mind into imagining a wind sweeping the clouds aside; a gale, a veritable tempest. The fog swirled but did not break, and Ezrin felt as if he was trying to sweep aside sand rather than moist air. He strained for a moment longer and then, defeated, dissolved the focus.