The Circle of Stone (Darkest Age) (13 page)

Cluaran and Elspeth wrapped themselves in their blankets, and they walked the twenty paces with Elspeth between the two men, not stopping to see if anyone glanced at them. No one had challenged them when they reached the tent. Cathbar ripped up one of the pegs in a single movement, and they burst in, swords drawn.

Edmund looked up in astonishment. He was sitting on a stool with a wooden cup in his hand, dressed in unfamiliar clothes, and looking a great deal neater and cleaner than Elspeth had seen him since their arrival in the Snowlands. One of the men with him had just filled his own cup from a pewter jug of wine. The other was seated by Edmund, a tall, bearded man with fierce blue eyes and thick yellow hair.

The blond man leapt to his feet, his hand on his sword hilt. Edmund jumped up too, and stayed his arm. ‘There’s no danger, Father!’ he cried. ‘These are my friends!’ He turned to them, his eyes shining.

‘This is my father,’ he said. ‘Heored, King of Sussex.’

They were quickly made welcome, seated in the king’s tent and offered food and shelter as honoured guests while Cluaran fetched his mother and Wulf. Elspeth was given a seat by the entrance, apart from the others. After a courteous greeting, Heored had ignored her, addressing himself almost entirely to Cathbar.

Edmund came to sit by her. ‘I was going to send men to find you tomorrow. I should have known you’d get here first!’ he said. Elspeth was touched by his obvious pleasure at seeing her, as well as his pride in his father. But there was something else at the edge of his smile: an anxiety which she could not explain. He bent to fill her cup, and as his face came near to hers he whispered to her, quick and fierce.

‘Say nothing of Ripente!’

Elspeth stared at him, startled. Now the anxiety was plain in his face, and his eyes pleaded with her not to give him away. She nodded, and Edmund’s face cleared.

He told her how his father had come in pursuit of the raiders who had invaded his cousin’s lands; how Heored had learned of the attacks on the villages and tried to capture one of the attackers, and how Edmund had been captured by mistake.

‘I told him about the men whose tracks we saw: the ones who killed Menobert,’ he said. ‘He’s heard the same stories that we have: of a band of madmen who destroy everything in their path.’

‘They’re true!’ Elspeth cried, and told him of the devastated settlement they had passed, and their meeting with Wyn.

‘We must tell him that, too,’ said Edmund, looking at his father, who was still deep in conversation with Cathbar. ‘He held a war-council just before . . . before you arrived, and they’ve agreed to go in search of them, to defeat them once and for all.’

Listening to him, Elspeth felt a growing unease.

‘They’re a significant band of men, if the stories are true,’ Edmund went on, ‘but they’ve never faced swordsmen before, only unarmed villagers, and we know they have no discipline, and no leader. We’ll be more than a match for them. If my father is right, we’ll be rid of the threat to his cousin – and we’ll free this land of the marauders.’

Heored was having a similar conversation with Cathbar. ‘We expect to attack in no more than a day,’ the king said. ‘Our scouts are already finding the marauders’ location. We’d welcome another good man or two,’ he added invitingly.

‘You honour us,’ Cathbar said, ‘but I fear we must move on. We’re chasing a different quarry.

‘Yes,’ Heored said. ‘Edmund told me something of the sort.’ Every line of his face betrayed his displeasure. ‘Though I’d have thought that the men who’ve been wreaking havoc all
around us – and attacking our own shores – would be a better target for your sword than a single warrior, however powerful. Well, captain, you know your own business, of course – but Edmund will stay here and fight with me.’

‘Edmund?’ whispered Elspeth, and to her horror, she saw that her friend was nodding.

‘I’m sorry, Elspeth,’ he said. ‘My place is with my father now. This is the duty I was born to.’

Heored called an end to the meeting when he heard that one of his scouts had returned. Elspeth walked out of the tent not knowing where she was going.
Of course Edmund has a right to stay with his father!
But it felt like a betrayal, as though she had lost her only friend.

She heard rapid footsteps, and looked around to see Edmund pounding after her. He stopped when he saw her face.

‘Do you really mean to leave us?’ she asked him.

Edmund’s voice was not quite steady. ‘My father needs me here.’

But
I
need you!
Elspeth wanted to cry. How could she succeed in her task without him? She said nothing; only stared in silence at Edmund, who met her gaze defiantly. He had grown in the last weeks; he was taller than her now, and there was an authority in his face that she had never seen before. For so long now – throughout the long, uncertain journey – Edmund had been her loyal companion; the one who had
never doubted her no matter what she did. Her friend. Now, for the first time, she saw him as something entirely different: a prince, and Heored’s son.

‘I know you have to find Loki,’ he said. ‘But I will be fighting him as well by stopping these men from burning more villages. They’ll continue to kill more people if they’re not stopped.’

People like Wyn and her neighbours
, Elspeth thought, nodding in spite of herself.

‘My father says I must start to learn kingship,’ Edmund added. ‘And what should a king do, if not this?’

Elspeth nodded again, slowly. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘But if you’re going to fight with him, you should tell him about your skill. He needs to know you as you are.’

‘I’ll tell him, of course I will.’ Edmund dropped his gaze. ‘Just . . . not yet. He’s only just heard about Orgrim.’

‘You’re not your uncle!’ Elspeth burst out. ‘You have a gift, that’s all. If he thinks that makes you a traitor, he’s a fool!’

Edmund flinched as if she had slapped him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘But you told me your father has used Ripente before now. He must have trusted them.’

‘
Used
them,’ Edmund echoed, and there was a note of bitterness in his voice. ‘Not welcomed them to his court as his friends, or allies.’

They had reached the edge of the camp, passing a pile of empty barrels and a straw target on a stand. Elspeth stared across the fields. Edmund was right. Wasn’t it better to do
some immediate good than to go on wandering while all around them people burned along with their homes?

Until now, she had never doubted that she would find Loki – that he was only a little way ahead of them, growing closer all the time. The faint voice of the sword had come to her, enough to urge her forward; reassuring her that when the time came, she would find the means to defeat him. Now . . . she glanced at her right hand, feeling its emptiness. There was no voice in her head now: not so much as an echo. When had she last heard it? And how far could she go without the sword, and without Edmund?

Some of her despair must have shown on her face. ‘Stay with us, Elspeth!’ Edmund begged. ‘You and the others. You can help us in the fight. I’ll convince my father – he’ll soon see you’re a better fighter than I am. And you can search for Loki just as well from our camp.’

‘Thank you,’ Elspeth said. She could not imagine being able to continue her search from the camp, but she could see how much Edmund wanted her to stay. ‘I will think about it,’ she promised.

She let him take her back to the tent that had been set up for the visitors. Two or three men saluted him respectfully as they passed, while shooting looks of curiosity at Elspeth.

In the tent set up for the visitors, the others had already settled down for the night. Elspeth stepped over a snoring Cathbar and found a space between Eolande and Wulf, who grumbled sleepily as she squeezed in beside him. She lay very
still, trying not to disturb the others.
It would never work
, she told herself sadly. She must leave Edmund with his own people, and pursue her search without him. She was sure that Cluaran and Cathbar would go with her.

But where would she lead them?

Tired though she was, it was a long time before she could sleep.

Edmund did not sleep at all that night.

He walked back to his tent feeling uncomfortable, as if he had said something disloyal about his father to Elspeth. But he had only told her that Heored did not trust the Ripente – and why should he? He was a king: he knew the dangers of treachery better than others. Elspeth could not be expected to understand.

His father was poring over the campaign map, laid out on a chest. He looked up as Edmund entered the tent. ‘Your friends are all settled? Good. Come and look at this.’

The map was crudely sketched on a single sheet of vellum. ‘It’s not accurate,’ Heored warned. ‘Look – he’s drawn the road far too close to the hills. I should have brought a draughtsman with us. But it gives us a fair idea of the terrain.’

‘Where is the enemy’s camp?’ Edmund asked, bending over the map.

‘Our scout says it’s here, by the road.’ Heored jabbed at the vellum, leaning forward in the smoky yellow lamplight until
his head was next to Edmund’s. ‘Where the forest starts up again – see? So we wait for them here, in the trees, and send some men around behind them, to flush them towards us.’

Warmed by his father’s closeness and his confidence in him, Edmund nodded as Heored went on.

‘My other two scouts are going in closer to see what preparations they’re making – but the word is that they’ve already been attacking and plundering villages. There are two at least that they could reach from there.’ He stabbed at the map again. ‘If they’re like most bandits, they’ll make a foray, then retreat to their camp. And if we can catch them as they return...’

‘No!’ Edmund cried. ‘We can’t just stand by while they’re killing more people!’

Heored frowned, plainly unused to being interrupted.

‘Please, Father,’ Edmund insisted. ‘If we come on them when they’re attacking a settlement, we’ll defend it, won’t we?’

‘You’ve a sense of responsibility, boy,’ Heored said. ‘That’s good: a king should protect the innocent. If we can help the villagers without foolish risk, we will. One way or another, we’ll have battle before too long.’ He looked down at the new sword which Edmund now wore at his side. ‘How does the blade handle?’

‘Very well,’ Edmund said quickly. In fact it felt heavy and unwieldy to him after Cluaran’s bow, but he put his hand to the hilt and tried to look confident.

‘Show me what you can do with it!’ Heored ordered. He strode outside the tent, and Edmund followed, dreading that
he would disappoint his father so soon after he had shown his trust in him.

Most of the king’s men were in their tents by now, but the embers of a dozen cooking fires gave enough light to see by, and the men on guard watched curiously as Edmund drew his new sword and showed his father the moves he recalled from his old life in Sussex. It seemed impossibly long ago, like a life recalled in a dream, but Edmund remembered the thrusts and slashes well enough, and managed to parry when Heored drew his own sword to fence with him.

‘Not too bad,’ his father said at length. ‘You need not have been so cautious, Edmund: I’d not have let you hurt me. Still, that last blow was well returned. Remember to step sideways, not back, when your enemy thrusts at you – and keep your guard up!’

Edmund nodded gratefully, leaning on his sword for a moment.

Heored looked at him with a flicker of concern. ‘Go in and sleep now. I’ll join you as soon as those two laggards return with their news.’

Edmund felt as taut as a bow-string and could not imagine sleeping, but he followed his father’s instructions. It was a relief to unbuckle the sword-belt and shrug off the heavy cloak. He had only just lain down when there was a hubbub outside the tent.

‘About time!’ came his father’s voice. ‘Both scouts, or just one?’

‘Both, we think, but the guard could not tell for sure, my lord,’ a man replied. ‘He says they’re approaching very slowly.’

‘I’ll give them slowly!’ snapped Heored. ‘Send them to me as soon as they get here. We’ve waited long enough for them.’

Why would the scouts be so slow? On an impulse, Edmund sent his sight out to the field below the camp. He found a man’s eyes almost at once: moving slowly, as the guard had said; seeing the lights of the camp through bushes. And there was his companion: Edmund made out a second figure close by. Neither seemed to be wounded: their movements were slow and deliberate, and he could feel nothing but stealth behind the eyes.

Then the man turned to look behind him – and there were more shadowy figures: five of them; a dozen . . . clad not in woollen cloaks but in rough, bulky furs.

These were no returning scouts! Edmund found himself on his feet, heading for the opening of the tent to shout a warning – but he checked himself. How could he make his father believe him, without revealing his Ripente skill?

Heored was standing in a little knot of his men. ‘Our scouts are returned at last,’ he said as Edmund came up to them.

Edmund took a deep breath. ‘How do we know they’re our scouts, and not some of our enemy?’

Heored stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded and gave a bark of laughter. ‘Hark at my son, reminding me of the rules of caution!’ he said. ‘You, captain,’ he ordered, ‘have someone go to the edge of the camp and give them the signal.’

The man ran off, and a few moments later Edmund heard a low whistle. After a pause, the whistle was repeated – and then there was a flurry of talk, growing louder as the speakers approached the tent.

‘They’re not answering, my lord,’ the captain reported, his face suddenly tight.

Heored flashed a look at Edmund which he could not decipher. Suspicion? Or was his father proud of his alertness?

Then the king was on his feet and issuing orders. ‘Wake the camp. Each man is to be outside his tent and armed by the time of my call. The guests . . .’ he shot another glance at Edmund before he continued. ‘Arm the men if they need it, and escort the women and the child to the north side of the camp.’