Exile (The Nandor Tales Book 1) Read online

  Aron knelt beside her and took the leaf, lifting it to his nose. “It reminds me of the ale they brew in Darien.”

  “I wouldn’t know about the ale, but we eat it in salads and leave bundles on our pillows.”

  She took the leaf from him and as their fingers touched there was a moment when Aron thought she might kiss him. Celaine smiled sweetly at him and the moment passed. She stood up with a toss of her curls, turning her shoulder to him.

  “Would you care to sit with me awhile?” she said. “There’s a bower down by the stream.”

  Without waiting for his reply she walked back down the path to the gate.

  The bower stood beside a willow tree on the bank of the stream where the water chattered most agreeably over a set of stepping stones.

  “This is my favourite place,” said Celaine as she made herself comfortable on the wooden seat.

  Aron sat at the other end of the seat so that their knees almost touched.

  There they sat as the afternoon passed and throughout Celaine kept up a barrage of questions about life at court. A lot of the questions concerned nobly born young (and not so young) men. Aron knew a few of those she mentioned and answered where he could; it occurred to him that these were possible husbands that the Earl and Countess might have tried to interest in Celaine of Nandor. Several were already married, and probably represented early disappointments for the pretty girl by his side. Others had dreadful reputations as seducers and wastrels, and certainly represented escapes. She carried her setbacks well as she chatted about one thing and another, and her eyes had a very definite sparkle when she looked at Aron, though there were no more moments when he thought a kiss was promised. Her hair held shades of chestnut where it caught the sun, Aron noticed, and her nose turned up ever so slightly at the end.

  “Who is Tancred?” Aron asked, remembering the name Thalon had dropped after the practice session. The sparkles vanished from the blue eyes.

  “He is a snake and I won't marry him.” The words were spat out.

  That's a little uninformative, my Lady. “I merely wished to know who he is. Captain Thalon implied he would be here soon.”

  “He is my cousin, and sees himself as Earl of Nandor if Maldwyn does not return. He thinks marriage to me would strengthen his hand.” Celaine said scornfully. “He tried to kiss me last midwinter. Actually put his tongue in my mouth. I was sick. Marry him? I'd sooner go to the priestesses.”

  That was what happened to daughters who refused the marriage their fathers chose for them, Aron thought. Celaine would be wasted in a temple. He struggled to think of something to say that would not sound either insensitive or stupid, but came up with nothing.

  Celaine slipped off the seat. “I must return. I feel a headache coming on.” Aron walked beside her, but she did not speak until she reached the gate.

  “Thank you for your company; no doubt I shall see you at dinner.” Then she was gone.

  Did I do what was expected of me? Aron thought as he climbed the stairs. When she’d talked about Tancred, he’d wanted to take her in his arms and tell her it wouldn’t happen, but he couldn’t do that. Not now, his life was already complicated enough. Though the way she’d looked at him suggested he would have been welcome.

  ***

  There was a new diner at the table that evening though Aron was not introduced to him. A few years older than Aron, he was tall and dressed in a dark tunic of fine cloth with a discreet embroidery of gold; his thick dark hair flowed over his broad shoulders and he seemed naturally at ease in his surroundings. He was placed at the far end of the table beside Baldwin and Thalon whilst Aron was surrounded by the ladies. It may have been the wine, which was a great improvement on the previous night's, or the sparkling eyes that watched his every move, but Aron began to relax and felt moved to tell one or two humorous stories. Lady Alice laughed gently and smiled a great deal. Celaine collapsed in a fit of giggles that had Edith laughing so much that she gave herself hiccups and had to leave the table. At the far end of the table the effect was different. The new diner glared down at Aron, his eyes sending a message that was precisely the opposite of the one that Edith and Celaine were sending. Aron suspected he knew who the newcomer was, but asked Lady Alice anyway.

  “That is Lord Tancred, my husband's nephew. Baldwin has been persuaded that someone else should command the expedition to liberate Maldwyn, and he has chosen Tancred.” Aron felt an icy inevitability descend upon him at these words. It must have shown on his face as Lady Alice said quietly. “We will not speak of it here. I will send for you later.”

  For the rest of the meal, Aron sat in the focus of the opposing sets of body language. Edith and Celaine were fully aware of the icy looks from Tancred and played up to them as much as possible. Aron had never before been the centre of so much female attention, and while he basked in it, he was certain it was not likely to help in his dealings with Tancred.

  After the meal, when Aron had retired to his room there came a knock at the door. He opened it to Glynis, who looked him up and down and sniffed loudly.

  “My Lady wishes to see you. Follow me.”

  She turned abruptly and set off up the corridor, not waiting to see if Aron followed. Who’s put grit in your slippers? thought Aron as he trailed after her.

  Glynis halted before a door, knocked once, then held it open for Aron to enter. He stepped into a small room hung with tapestries. Before a cheerful fire Lady Alice, clad in a long robe of rich blue wool, sat in an easy chair, her hair falling loose in a dark torrent down her back. Aron tried not to stare but failed miserably.

  “Thank you, Glynis. You may serve the wine now.”

  Glynis poured the wine from a silver jug and handed Aron a fine glass goblet.

  “So, Aron son of Eamon. I believe you are what you say you are,” said Lady Alice. “Master Robert, the wool buyer you travelled here with, gives a good account of you and tells me you performed a fine service for a merchant of Oxport, who is also known to me. It pleases me greatly that you are not a creature of Sarazan.”

  She took a sip of her wine and leaned forward a little, the loose neck of her robe offering a tantalising glimpse of the treasures within.

  “As I said at dinner,” she continued, “the Earl has been persuaded that the risk to his person is too great, and he has given command of our expedition to Tancred. No further plans have been laid, but I do not trust Tancred.”

  “What manner of man is Lord Tancred? Is he competent to command?” Aron asked, hoping without much cause that the unfavourable opinion he had formed of Tancred was inaccurate.

  “Tancred was a most objectionable child, spiteful and selfish, and has not improved with age.” The Countess wrinkled her pretty nose in displeasure. “He is a man entirely consumed by ambition.”

  “He is heir to the Earldom after Maldwyn.”

  “That is so,” she said slowly, her tone neutral and controlled.

  “He has much to gain if Maldwyn doesn’t survive the rescue attempt he is to command.”

  “My husband refuses to see any danger in this. Because Tancred is the most fearless horseman in the chase, he thinks he is to be trusted, and doesn’t believe that one of the blood of Nandor would harm another.”

  “So the fox is in charge of the hen coop.”

  “A cunning and determined fox. We are quite in your hands.” The blue eyes turned sharply on Aron and the warm, red lips opened slightly. “I would value any advice you could offer. You will find Nandor grateful. It is a quiet place, and we are not rich, I fear, but I’m sure we could find something for you that you would think a worthwhile reward.” Aron caught the hint of an amused smile as she looked at him, assessing his reaction.

  “As we said before, the main difficulty is to keep Sarazan from the throat of Nandor.” Aron said thoughtfully. “If we cannot go openly as an army we must go covertly as thieves. A few men only, better if they are not Nandoran. I know Sarazan a little, but there must b
e men in the garrison who know it better. It would also be useful to talk to the men captured with Maldwyn that Sarazan returned.”

  “There are a few outlanders among the guard. I will speak to Thalon. He is a good man; I trust him and I hope you will also. He holds the good of Nandor close to his heart.”

  Aron thought Thalon had already made up his mind about him, and did not think him a man who changed an opinion easily.

  “I can arrange passage of a small group into Sarazan. There will be wool merchants looking for guards for their pack trains. I'm sure Tancred will enjoy being a muleteer for a few days.”

  Lady Alice laughed warmly at her own joke and opened those blue eyes wide. Aron forgot to breathe for a while. He was aware of what she was trying to do. Being aware of it didn't stop it working. The blue robe had worked looser exposing an enticing amount of white bosom. Aron became aware of another pair of eyes watching him very closely. Glynis sat on a stool in the corner of the chamber glaring at him in a thoroughly disapproving manner.

  “My husband will be here soon. Best you leave now. I shall send for you tomorrow evening that we may further discuss this.” The Countess's eyes held the promise of far more than mere discussions.

  “As it pleases you, my Lady.”

  Aron stood up and headed for the door, his head swimming.

  In his bed that night Aron thought about the enterprise laid before him. It was undoubtedly a most risky undertaking, but he owed his life to the nursing skill of the Countess and her ladies; of that he felt sure. The debt had to be paid, so it had to be chanced. Tancred could well be an obstacle; but surely Aron had endured worse, and if he became too awkward, well then there were ways of dealing with that too. His honour demanded that he give the undertaking every effort. But what then? Return to the quest to see Darien free, to seek revenge against all who had brought it down?

  Looked at realistically, the recovery of Darien was further away than ever, and the land was already much changed from the home he knew. From the tales the steady stream of refugees had carried, Caldon had spared little effort in tightening his grip over the last five years; driving out the native folk with fire and sword, bringing in settlers to displace them, building new fortresses and filling them which his soldiers. Among the great houses, with the honourable exception of the Duke of Kyria, there was no appetite for a confrontation with Caldon. Even Kyria’s support for the exiles was uncertain; the Duke was an old man, in poor health, and his heir much less disposed to the cause of Darien. When the Duke died they would be friendless and his own future that of a sell-sword or worse. He remembered the crossbow bolt that had snuffed out the life of his friend as he walked beside him in the Holy City. I lived because the assassin made a mistake. I may not be so lucky the next time. And if he carried on living the way he had been then there certainly would be a next time. Am I wasting my life on an impossible dream?

  He wondered about his reward, if he lived to collect it. The gratitude of Nandor? Not in gold, that was evident. What then? A wife from the house of Nandor and a position in the household? That had its attractions and better prospects than the life he’d been leading for the last four years. Looked at that way, the position of Blademaster of Nandor, married to the pretty daughter of the Earl, had a lot to recommend it. If the House of Nandor is true to its word. He'd heard too many tales of daring rescues where the rescuers became inconvenient when they came to collect their promised lavish rewards. Some he'd heard first-hand from survivors. Though it was possible that Baldwin, obsessed as he was with the honour of Nandor, would keep the promise. And even if he wouldn’t Lady Alice would. That I should live long enough to collect. The most likely outcome is failure in Sarazan that leaves me free of any obligation to Nandor, so worry about the reward when it’s been earned.

  Sleep eluded him for a long time, and when it finally came he dreamed of blue eyes.

  CHAPTER 6

  Captain Thalon found Aron immediately after breakfast. “You come with me, lad. Her Ladyship favours you, it seems, and has given me a list of duties that all revolve around you.” The old soldier looked hard at Aron, but with less hostility than before. “Lord Tancred was asking about you too.”

  I'll bet he was, thought Aron.

  “You'd better watch yourself around that one,” Thalon continued. “He has a nasty temper. I'll take you now to see the fellows who were with young Maldwyn that Sarazan sent back, and then get together the men that'll be going with you. Few years ago an I’d a bin first in line, but I'm getting too old for those sort of high jinks.”

  “And you are too obviously Nandoran,” said Aron, not unkindly.

  “Forty years, man and boy, in the service of Nandor. Thirty years I served the old Earl. Now there was a man you could follow to the end of the world.”

  The old man puffed out his chest. The two of them marched towards the soldiers’ barrack. When they reached it Thalon went into the mess hall and called out two names. Two men, both short and dark-haired, appeared quickly and Thalon handed them over to Aron. They both eyed him cautiously, no doubt remembering the sessions in the practice yard, but relaxed when he sat them down at a table in the mess hall and asked them to tell him everything they knew about Maldwyn and the circumstances of his captivity. Maldwyn seemed popular with his men-at-arms, and the two men were genuinely eager to produce any titbit that might be of use. Aron spent over an hour with them trying to extract the last drop of information, and he had dragged the bottom of the well several times when Thalon returned.

  “I have the crew that'll be going with you, if you've finished here.”

  The old soldier's attitude was almost respectful, and Aron wondered what the Countess had said to him. Thalon led them into another room where Davo and four other soldiers waited.

  “Right, you men,” said Thalon. “You are here because you have been selected for a signal honour. You are to rescue the Lord Maldwyn. Aron here will be going with you and the Lord Tancred is in command. Are there any questions?”

  The four soldiers said nothing, but shuffled their feet and looked away to hide their frowns. Davo, though, was distraught. The little man backed up against the wall, fell to his knees wailing.

  “No, you can't send me back there. You don't understand, they'll hang me. I can't go back.”

  Thalon was unmoved

  “You can and you will. You know why? First, because you're the only man we've got who is from Sarazan and secondly, because it's the one place in the world that I can be sure you won't get yourself into trouble. Now stop snivelling and listen.”

  Surprisingly enough Davo did shut up. Thalon continued with his briefing

  “You've been chosen, not because you’re the finest soldiers in the garrison, but because you're not Nandoran. If this goes wrong, you're nothing to do with Nandor or Earl Baldwin. If you make it back with young Maldwyn, you'll each receive a farm of land to hold for yourselves and your heirs.”

  There were more frowns and shuffling of feet in response to this promise. One of the soldiers turned his head and spat on the floor. Thalon ignored him.

  “You'll be going out as caravan guards just as soon as we can find you a caravan, so have your gear ready to go on one hour's notice. That's all.”

  Thalon dismissed the men and then turned to Aron.

  “Lord Tancred wishes to see you.”

  Aron felt he almost added sir, but changed his mind at the last moment. Thalon led the way out of the barracks into the main keep with Aron a stride behind. Got to get it over with sometime, Aron thought as they climbed the narrow spiral stair to Tancred's quarters. Just keep your mouth shut and hold your temper. Thalon rapped on the door, a voice called “enter” and they went in.

  Lord Tancred was sitting back in a chair with his feet on the table and a goblet in his hand. His gaze took in Thalon briefly then settled on Aron. Close to, Aron could see there was a softness around his jawline and he looked slightly overweight.

  “So you'r
e the murderous upstart I've been saddled with thanks to Baldwin's weakness.” Tancred’s voice had a similar whining edge to Earl Baldwin’s. “Well, let me tell you. I'd have had your skin for killing one of my men. There's a story going round that you're some kind of gentleman, but that cuts no ice with me. You'll do exactly what you're told, when you're told, and if you cross me, I'll flog you myself.” His tone left Aron in no doubt that he expected nothing more than a; “Very good, my Lord”. Aron supplied one, concentrating hard on not letting his anger show.

  “Good,” said Tancred, taking a drink from his goblet. “My uncle directs me that I should lean on your advice in the matter of this expedition. Do not imagine that this gives you any status in my eyes. I shall ask for your advice when I want it and not before. Have you anything to say?”

  “No, my Lord,” said Aron, keeping his eyes on the table.

  “And one more thing.” Tancred got up and walked around the table to stand face to face with Aron. “You'll stay away from my cousins, is that clear? Now get out.”

  Aron needed no encouragement to leave. Thalon clattered down the stairs behind him. They stepped out into the courtyard in silence. Not completely sure of Thalon's view of Tancred, Aron said nothing of their interview.

  “I would like to take an hour or two in the practice yard with the men going with me. Would that be possible?”

  “Excellent idea. I'll chase them out,” Thalon said and walked off in the direction of the barrack block.

  Aron headed for the practice yard, needing to work off the anger that boiled in him. It had been a long time since someone had spoken to him like that, and he’d killed that man. React to him and the whole scheme is ruined, he thought. Think of Maldwyn and the reward. Time enough to deal with Tancred afterwards.

  He worked for the best part of three hours trying to kick the soldiers out of the sloppy techniques they had picked up. The main problem was that, as the previous day had shown, they had never been taught from the beginning, and under pressure they always reverted to their old ways and mistakes. Thalon watched silently, shaking his grizzled head when one of the outlanders looked to him for support.