Stormrider (33 page)

Huntsekker’s heart sank again. Who was he to kill now?

“Yes, my lord.”

“There is a woman there named Maev Ring.”

“I do not kill women,” said Huntsekker, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“Kill women? What are you talking about?”

Huntsekker rubbed at his tired eyes. “Forgive me, my lord.” He sighed. “I am getting tired of death, and I misunderstood.”

“I want you to go to her with a letter from me. I want you to tell her of the situation here and impress upon her the need for unity of purpose. She could be vital, Huntsekker.”

“In what way, my lord?”

“She is rich and, as a highlander unable to bank her wealth, probably has a great deal of gold and silver hidden. My letter will request . . .” Suddenly the Moidart shook his head. “In days not so long gone by I would have confiscated her wealth and had her hanged. Still, no point harping on about long lost golden times. My letter will request a loan.”

“Why send me, my lord? Surely I am more vital here. There will still be those among the Pinancers who will wish to see their lord avenged.”

“I don’t doubt it. However, you are the man for this task, Huntsekker. She trusts you. You will assure her that my word is good and that every chailling will be repaid, with interest.”

But will it? wondered Huntsekker.

He noticed the Moidart’s hawk eyes staring at him intently. “Do you doubt my word, Harvester?”

“I have served you faithfully, my lord, and I have always been loyal. Do you doubt
me
?”

“Not so far,” the Moidart answered carefully.

“Then I shall be frank. I helped Maev Ring because of Grymauch. He was a good and heroic man. I promised him that no harm would come to her while I lived. That is not a promise I will break. I am not a forgiving man and will destroy any who seek to harm her.”

“You are getting soft in your old age, Huntsekker. Was a time when you would have had the wit to keep that information to yourself. It does not matter in this case. I, too, have a regard for Maev Ring, and you have my promise that I will not—now or ever—seek to cause her harm.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“You liked Grymauch?”

“I did, my lord. He was . . . colorful.”

“Which is why you lied to me about the escape of Chain Shada? You said you were attacked from behind, whereas the reality is that it was Jaim Grymauch who rescued the fighter. Your man, Boillard Seeton, was killed by you to prevent him from giving me their names.”

“So Mulgrave came to you after all. That surprises me, my lord.”

“Life is full of surprises, Huntsekker. It seems no one wanted Grymauch punished. No, it was not Mulgrave. It was a highlander arrested for stealing. He tried to barter for his life by telling a story about how on the night Chain Shada crossed the bridge, he was seen in the company of Grymauch.”

“How did you know about Seeton?” asked Huntsekker.

“I know
you
, Harvester. Had someone else killed your man, you would have moved mountains to find the killer. Since you did not, then you had to have killed him yourself.”

“You are a surprising man, my lord. Why did you not have me hanged?”

“Ah, well,” the Moidart said with a smile, “perhaps it was because—unlike you—I am a forgiving man.” The smile faded. “Which reminds me. Go and find the apothecary. He is in one of the dungeons. Get him out and tell him I need some more balms.”

The body of the great outlaw leader Call Jace was buried on a hillside overlooking the roundhouse. There were oaks growing there, and in the summer their leaves would shade the resting place.

More than two thousand Rigante gathered for the ceremony, which was led by the old warrior Arik Ironlatch. He spoke movingly of Call Jace’s achievements, holding the Rigante together through the darkest days of Varlish dominance. The southern clans around Eldacre had been forced to endure endless humiliations: No highlander could own a horse above fourteen hands, and only if it was a gelding. No highlander could lodge coin with a bank or borrow monies above five chaillings. Any highlander found in possession of a sword, longbow, or gun would be judged a rebel and hanged. Through Call Jace’s courage and cunning those laws were never fully enforced in the north.

Ironlatch spoke for some time, recalling anecdotes of Call Jace’s life, many of them amusing, and there was laughter in the crowd.

At the graveside stood Jace’s son, Bael, a tall, redheaded warrior, his handsome face set in an expression of grim sorrow. He did not weep, for that would have been unmanly, but he could not stop the tears that fell to his cheeks. Beside him was his sister Chara and her husband, Kaelin Ring. Chara took Bael’s hand as the Dweller stepped forward to speak the words of farewell.

“Seek the circle, find the light,

say farewell to flesh and bone.

Walk the gray path,

watch the swans’ flight,

let your heart light

bring you home.”

Then the body of Call Jace, shrouded in a Rigante banner, was lowered into the grave. Rayster stood just back from the main group, his heart heavy. The slender young clansman Fada Talis leaned in to him. “Will you attend the Gathering?” he whispered. Rayster shrugged and said nothing.

After the Battle of the Pass four years before, Call Jace and Kaelin Ring had changed the nature of the Rigante fighting machine. Before that the highlanders merely gathered at the place of battle and charged the enemy. This system had worked well through the centuries, when the enemy’s tactics had been largely similar. Modern warfare with cannon and shell, musket and rifle, pike and lance required greater tactical awareness. Jace and Kaelin had reorganized the militia army, creating captains and officers and specialist units working together with discipline. Rayster was one such officer, in command of three hundred men. As such, he had attended all the meetings held to discuss martial business. The Gathering, however, was a different matter. Clan chieftains and underchieftains would select the new leader. Was he now to be regarded as a clan chieftain? Rayster doubted it. He had no name.

Truth be told, he did not greatly care. The choice would be between Bael and Kaelin Ring. Both were good, strong men. As a peacetime leader Bael, with his fine mind and keen eye for detail, would ensure that the Rigante prospered. If war was coming, as the Dweller believed, Bael would be less effective than Kaelin Ring, though not by much. Bael was his father’s son. He had courage and intelligence, and he had fought well at the Battle of the Pass. Rayster would not be unduly troubled should either man be elected leader.

As the immediate family members began to fill the grave, Rayster found himself watching the Dweller. She seemed more frail than before, her face pale, her eyes dark-rimmed. He saw her walk over to Chara Jace, who was crying openly. They spoke for a moment, and Chara nodded, then leaned in and kissed the Dweller on the cheek. Rayster stepped forward. Chara looked up at him.

“I can’t believe it,” she said.

Rayster hugged her close and kissed her brow. “A good man gone,” he said.

Later, as the crowd streamed back toward the roundhouse and the settlement, the Dweller came alongside Rayster and Fada Talis. Fada moved away from them, allowing them privacy.

“You will be at the Gathering, Rayster,” said the Dweller.

“I’ve not been invited,” he said.

“I need you there. No one will stop you.”

He looked into her eyes. “You seem . . . different,” he said softly. “Are you ill?”

“Aye, I am sick—sick with terror. And I am angry and hurt and confused. I feel lost, Rayster. As never before.”

Rayster took her hand. “You are not lost, Dweller. You are among your own people. You are loved here.”

She tugged on his hand and led him away from the departing crowd, back up the hill. On the brow there were two standing stones and other fallen, broken columns. Some of the stones were carved with symbols no clansman could now decipher. The Wyrd sat down on a fallen stone. Rayster joined her. “Can one evil ever cancel out another?” she asked him.

“I don’t know, Dweller. I do not think of these things.”

“Do you believe the Rigante should ally with the Moidart?”

“There has been much talk of this,” said Rayster. “Kaelin Ring believes the enemy to come are evil men. He says they have sought your death. We should resist evil men.”

“The Moidart is an evil man.”

“Yes.”

“So the Rigante should partner with evil to defeat evil?”

“I am not the man to debate this with. I keep to myself, Dweller, and I live my life by my own lights. I am Rigante. I am proud to be Rigante. Yet not all that we have done has been good. When Call Jace began to exert his authority over the Black Mountains, people were killed. Some of them were good people. Call said that he regretted their deaths but that the future of the clan was paramount. I suppose he would have said that the small evil of his deeds led to a greater good for the Rigante.”

“He did say that,” admitted the Dweller. “He was wrong.”

“I cannot judge that, Dweller. If the clan decides to fight alongside the Moidart, I will fight, for I am a clansman. It seems to me, though, that evil in men is never a constant. If it was, then there would be no hope of redemption, no opportunity to change. Draig Cochland’s deeds would see him branded as evil, yet he defended Chara and the children.”

“Draig’s sins are as nothing compared to the Moidart’s,” said the Dweller. “The man murdered his own wife. He has tortured and killed without mercy for thirty years. He is fighting now only because the enemy tried to have him killed. Given the opportunity, he would ally with them in a heartbeat and betray us all.”

“Then you believe Kaelin is wrong? That we should not be drawn into this war?”

The Dweller closed her eyes. “No. That is why I am lost, Rayster. The enemy
must
be overcome. He is a destroyer the like of which the world has not seen in almost two thousand years. If he succeeds . . .” Her words tailed away.

“A destroyer?” queried Rayster. “This Winter Kay?”

“No, he is merely a servant. You will hear of the true evil at the Gathering.”

They sat in silence for a while. Then the Dweller took a deep breath. Turning toward him, she reached up and touched the oval brass cloak brooch he wore. It was unadorned except for an empty circle at the center. All other clansmen had their family name engraved within the circle. “Why did you not accept Ironlatch’s offer of adoption, Rayster? You would have had a name. You could have stood for the leadership.”

“I am content with who I am, Dweller. Rayster No-Name.” He grinned at her. “When I was a child, I wanted a name. I wanted the name to be mine, though. My true name. Not something gifted to me. Ironlatch has sons and daughters. They carry his name and his blood. That is as it should be. I have long since ceased to stare into the faces of the older men of the clan, wondering which of them fathered me. It is enough that I am Rigante.”

“You are the
best
of the Rigante,” she told him. “You make me proud.”

He smiled. “When I was young, I used to think that you were my mother. You always seemed to care for me so. You always visited and spoke to me when you were in the north. I wish that it were so.”

Her eyes misted, and she took hold of his hand. “I wish that, too. If ever I had a son, I would want him to be just like you.” She brushed away the tears and stood. “Now we must attend the Gathering.”

The thirty chieftains and subchieftains of the Black Rigante filed into the long room, moving to their places at the massive oval table. Arik Ironlatch stood behind the empty chieftain’s chair at the head of the table. Bael took his traditional seat to the right. Potter Highstone sat beside him. Arik called out to Kaelin Ring to take the seat to the left.

When all were seated, Arik Ironlatch tilted the chieftain’s chair forward against the table and remained standing. Just as he was about to speak, the door opened and the tall figure of Rayster entered, followed by the Dweller by the Lake. For a moment only Arik looked embarrassed. But he said nothing.

Rayster strolled over to the far wall and stood quietly, seemingly at ease.

“You wish to address the gathering, Dweller?” asked Ironlatch.

“Aye, clansman, I do,” said the white-haired Wycca woman. “You need to know the enemy you face.”

“I think we do,” said Ironlatch. “Kaelin Ring tells us that Varlish from the south will soon invade our lands.”

“Would that were the only truth,” she told him. “Sit yourself, man. Your arthritic knee will not tolerate standing for so long. I saw you favoring it at the funeral.”

“It would not be seemly to sit in Call’s chair. Not today,” he said. “I’ll stand.”

“Very well. I have invited Rayster to attend this Gathering. The clan denies a vote to a man with no name, but he needs to hear what is said and offer his advice to the chieftains. Are there any here who wish to dispute my invitation?”

“Rayster is welcome anywhere,” said Korrin Talis. “He is my friend and a true clansman.” Others murmured agreement.

“That is good,” said the Dweller. “They are, I fear, the only good words you will hear tonight. It is true that a southern Varlish army will be marching on the highlands. This in itself is grim news, for there are more attackers by far than defenders to face them. Even so, if this was merely an extension of the Varlish war, I would advise the Rigante to stand back from it. Wars among the Varlish are not our concern.”

“I agree with that,” muttered Potter Highstone, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m with you on that, Badger,” agreed Korrin Talis.

“Yet this is no longer a war among the Varlish,” said the Dweller. “Something infinitely more powerful—more evil—is at work. Before I explain it further, we need to look back on our own history. Our legends tell us that we are the children of the Seidh, that the Rigante were blessed by the Old Ones and named as guardians of the land. Older legends talk of wars among the Seidh. Some among the gods believed that mankind would prove the salvation of the universe in that they alone of all the animals could create earth magic, which is at the heart of all life. Others believed that men were a plague, that they devoured the magic faster than it could be created and would ultimately destroy life itself. These opposing views led to conflict. The oldest and strongest of the Seidh, the great lord Cernunnos, was chosen to test mankind. He took human form and became a king. A mighty king. A dread lord. The world was plunged into terrible wars, and vast numbers of people perished. The excesses of Cernunnos were colossal. Human sacrifice, mass murder, the creation of were creatures, part man, part wolf or bear. You know the legends.”