The Swans' War 1 - The One Kingdom (22 page)

The fog lay all around him, feathers of gray falling and swirling. Baore sat in the boat's stern, facing forward, oars in hand. He made his slow way through the murk, only the squeak of the oars moving between tholepins breaking the silence. The surface of the water was flat, opaque, as though he were afloat on a sea of unmoving mercury. Along the oars gray pearls of water formed, sliding up and down the shafts as he rowed. His shoulder pained him and he felt weak, almost unable to work the sweeps.

"Where am I?" he whispered. Where were the others? And then a face broke the surface nearby, silver-gray drops rolling off pale cheeks. It was a woman's face, white as wax, eyes like moons, hair a tangle of kelp.

"Who are you?" Baore asked, his voice sounding unnaturally hollow in this place.

"Sianon," the water spirit answered.” How have I come to this place?" "You do not know?" Baore shook his head.

"You have been pierced by an arrow, and now the wound spreads its poisons toward your heart."Something loomed ahead, half hidden by mist, and then stone stairs appeared so close that Baore could not back the oars in time. The boat thudded heavily against them, throwing Baore to the floorboards.

"Here is your destination," the water spirit said. She was standing up to the neck in the water, moving neither hands nor legs.

Baore crawled forward, not sure why, and stumbled out onto the stone quay, falling to his knees. But even this he could not sustain, and toppled, rolling onto his back, too weak to rise. A woman knelt by him now, not a water spirit, but a woman dressed like a warrior. She wore a sword. Baore pressed his eyes tightly closed and then opened them again.” Who are you?" "Sianon." "What is this place?" "You are at Death's gate, Baore Talon, and it is about to open and you will pass inside, into that lightless place where all men's stories are lost. Once you have passed through that gate there is no way back to the world of life. Do you understand?" Baore's eyes clouded, as though fog had drifted across them. He felt a cold hand take his own. Sianon bent over him, gazing at him, eyes as beautiful and dark as the night.” Look at me, Baore Talon----Do you not feel love for me? Do you not?" Baore thought he'd never seen such unworldly beauty. To look at her was to feel a blade in one's heart.” I feel cold," he said. A scraping sound seemed to emanate from the rocks. Sianon's eyes darted up, then back to Baore.” Death's gate opens," she said quickly.” But I will save you. I will carry you back to the world of life, if you will do as I ask." *'What... what is it you want?" "Part of that life I give you will be mine." The scraping was louder now, as though the earth were being wrenched open.” No . . ." Baore forced himself to say.” No. Better death than to give one's life to a ghoul. Better death." He shook his hand from hers and squirmed away. The scraping stopped and darkness was cast down on the stone like light spilling from a doorway.

He closed his eyes. He felt cold hands take hold of him and lift him up, and then he fell into darkness.

Late in the night Tarn woke to find the fire burned down to coals and Cynddl, whose watch it was, slumped against a tree, snoring softly. Fynnol, too, was asleep, exhausted by worry.

Tarn began to rise, but the smallest movement caught his eye. Something crouched over Baore: a woman, it seemed to Tarn, lithe, with long, copper-gold hair. But she was dressed as a man. And then he realized he could see the moonlit river through her! She wavered like air shimmering above rocks on a hot summer's day. She had risen and was moving, his eyes not quite able to follow, as though she flickered in and out of existence with each step. For an instant he could see her at the river's edge, and then she was gone.

Tam lay very still for a short time, then rose gingerly, his eyes jumping from shadow to shadow. He wondered if some sprite had come to bear poor Baore's spirit away. But Baore slept quietly, neither muttering nor tossing as he'd done all day. Gently Tam put a hand to the big man's forehead, and found it neither warm nor cool.

Cynddl woke with a start.” How is Baore?" he whispered.

"Better. I think his fever has broken."Cynddl let out a long sigh.” The waterwillow," he whispered.” Let's hope the bloodwood works as well."Tam looked out over the river, where a low mist lay, lit by moon and starlight.” I woke a moment ago and saw a—an apparition. A ghostly woman bent over Baore. I couldn't see what she was doing. And then she went into the river, I think, though it was difficult for the eye to follow.""Our apparition," Cynddl said, turning to look out over the river.

"But this was something else. I saw her shape. A woman,without doubt, though she appeared to wear the clothing of a man." "Yes, the apparition is taking form. I've seen her twice since that first night. In the stone forest she broke the surface by our boat—we thought it was a fish, remember? The second time was at the north bridge. I glimpsed her beneath the span as we floated by. Each time she's been more substantial." "But who is she?" Tam said, rather plaintively.” What is she?" Cynddl shook his head, looking out over the river.” I don't know, and I'm afraid to guess. I hope she doesn't mean us harm." "I'd rather have men-at-arms following us than ghosts," Tam said.” That might not be as foolish as it sounds," Cynddl said quickly.” Though I don't think this is a ghost at all. She's of the river, somehow, and like water, transparent, only reflecting the colors of the surroundings—the sky and shore." "But what did she want with Baore?" "To heal him, I would guess." "But why?" Cynddl crouched down by Baore and pulled the blankets up over his wounded shoulder, pausing to listen to him breathe.” I don't know, Tam. You ask me questions as though I know something about the Greensprings. I know almost nothing. I haven't found a story that explains our apparition. And somehow I don't think I will." Cynddl, too, felt Baore's forehead, then stood, staring down at the peacefully sleeping figure.” Why did we find our way onto the secret river? Why did we run aground on Speaking Stone in the dark and not go through the rapids where the current certainly should have taken us? There have always been strange stories of the Greensprings, Tam. We're not the first men to have seen a specter rise out of the river." "But have you ever heard of a river spirit rising up and healing a man's wound?"Cynddl looked at Tarn, his eyes impenetrable shadows.” No, I haven't."Tarn looked down at Baore.” Perhaps we should merely count ourselves lucky and not worry." He looked at Cynddl again.” But you don't think so, do you?""We'll see where the river takes us," Cynddl said.

"That's one thing we can be sure of. There's no getting off the river now until we reach the Wold of Kerns. I don't think I should tell Baore or Fynnol what I saw tonight. Baore needs to recover and not worry, and Fynnol's world has been shaken enough.""Fynnol's world ... ?" the story finder said.” He needs to learn that the world isn't defined by what he mocks and what he doesn't. But as you say—Baore doesn't need the worry— and Fynnol... The world will impose itself upon him soon enough."Baore rolled over then and muttered softly, pushing his blankets aside. Tarn bent down near him, pulling the coverings up over his shoulders.

Baore's eyes opened.” Where am I?" he asked in a dry whisper.

"You're here with us, on the bank of the River Wynnd," Tarn said.” Your fever has broken. Do you feel it?""But I was at Death's gate," Baore moaned.” A ghostly maiden bargained with me but I refused her. The gate ground open and I felt cold hands take me up."Tam wondered if the fever had truly broken. Poor Baore was raving.” You're not at Death's gate, Baore. You're healing, in fact. Bloodwood and waterwillow do their work. But sleep, and dream of home. Dream of sailing on the lakes. We'll watch over you and keep all ghosts away."Baore nodded, his eyes closing of their own will. His breathing became deep and even, and his head rolled a little to one side.

Tam looked up at Cynddl, who made a quick warding sign toward the river. The story finder drew his sword fromhis baggage and knelt down by Baore.” I'll do my penance for falling asleep on my watch. You sleep, Tam; I will keep Baore safe. Death will not take him," he said, and shifted his grip on his sword, as though such a weapon might keep death at bay.

THE NEXT DAY BAORE WAS WEAK AND STILL TROUBLED BY PAIN, but the wound had begun to bind and looked less corrupt. Fynnol thanked their Fael companion over and over for his bloodwood and waterwillow bark, but Cynddl only shrugged and took no credit. On the fourth day Baore rolled out of his blanket and sat up, blinking.” Can we not have some cooked fish, at least?" he said.” And, Cynddl, where are the greens and wild mushrooms the Fael are famous for? I shall die of privation soon if we go on like this." The companions looked at Baore, then at one another, and smiled for the first time in days. A fire was kindled and fish lured from the river. Cynddl prowled through the wood and came back with fiddleheads, thimbleberries, fairy-caps, and the largest springmoon the Valemen had ever seen.” I see the moon is full—at least beneath the trees!" Fynnol said when he saw the fungus. A feast was held there on the bank of the River Wynnd to celebrate Baore's deliverance. His arm wouldn't be useful for some days, but that was a small price to pay. Fynnol was almost recovered from his own injury and could take a short turn at the oars if needed. They'd lost two pairs of oars over the last few days, and under Baore's tutelage Tam took up their axe and hewed a pair from a newly fallen spruce.

On the sixth day they took to the river, Baore with a mild glow on his face again, the wounded arm tied across his chest. The pain was not gone, but was near to bearable, at least for Baore, whom Tam thought could stand more pain than most. But despite his apparent return to health, Baore's spirits remained downcast, or perhaps merely subdued. Tam was sure that standing before the gate of Death would have such an effect on anyone.

"I'll never look at a river the same way again," Fynnol said.” Imagine if the path from my house to Baore's suddenly began leading elsewhere—to Tarn's, for instance, or out of the Vale in a short walk, though it isn't a short walk out of the Vale." Fynnol was trailing a fishing line over the side as they went, though he did it rather halfheartedly.” What kind of world is this that can't be relied on to be the same from one day to the next? Where roads could lead one morning to Dingle Shale and the next to Parth? We might be going north now, rather than south, and never know it." "Once we reach the Wold of Kerns, Fynnol," Baore said, "we'll be off this cursed river and on a road that I've never heard of leading anywhere but north—to the Vale."Fynnol looked up from his fishing, a quick motion like a startled crow.” Perhaps there are worse things than untrustworthy rivers," he muttered.

Cynddl had spread, over the sailcloth that covered their belongings, a number of leaves and flowers. He was comparing them carefully but looked up.” Did your parents tell you the story of the girl named Glass? No? Lucky you. No Fael boy or girl was thought able to reach adult years without it.” She was born with a crooked foot and a short leg and went unnoticed by the boys, and later by the young men. In bitterness she took to calling herself Glass, for the way that everyone looked through her. One spring morning she gazed out her window and found that the swallows had returned and were gliding and turning in the sunlight. 'How I wish I could be one of them,' she said, 'and be free of this burdensome form!' And, of course, as such stories go, she awoke the next day and found she had wings and feathers, and her crooked foot was gone. Glass was perfect, but she was no longer Glass. Immediately she took to the air, gliding and soaring with the grace and freedom she'd only known in dreams. But within the hour a falcon had her. Glass was unwary and new to the dangers of the air, for she had never been noticed before." Cynddl shrugged.” It's a good lesson for young children, I guess." He nodded toward the north.” Do you think the men at the north bridge believe we're dead? Or will they build a raft and come after us as the others did?""If they were going to come after us they would have passed us where we camped while Baore was ill," Tam said.” It can't take a day to build a raft, and we were only a few hours downriver from the bridge.""They'd have passed us if they were on the same branch of the river," Cynddl said. He looked back to his leaves and flowers.” But I think they believe we're dead. At least that's my hope. Even so, we should keep our watches." Cynddl held up a twig bearing leaves and a small, white flower.” This is stoneberry and I'm beginning to suspect it grows only on the known branch of the river." Cynddl stood up suddenly, rocking the boat. He shaded his eyes and gazed at a large island in the distance.

"Cooling Keep," the story finder said, "the last stronghold of the Knights of the Vow. I want to stop there and spend a few days. Have a care with the oars, Tam. If we're carried past, we'll have to fight back against the current, and the River Dyrr adds its waters to the Wynnd just below the island, so the flow is sped."Tam gazed up at the ruined fortress perched high atop a rugged island.” It seems strange that the Knights of the Vow had a keep here," he said.” Aren't we still leagues from the borders of ?""Many, many leagues," Cynddl said.” Cooling Keep was said to be unassailable—perhaps that's why they built it here. This was the home of the grand master of the order. From here he would direct his marshals and grand marshals, and a constant stream of boats would go to and fro carrying orders and reports. At their zenith the Knights were as powerful as any prince or duke—second only to the King, perhaps. But in the end the Renné trapped them here and collapsed a wall of their 'impregnable' fortress. No Knights were spared, and the great towers of the keep were toppled and what was left put to the torch." He lowered his hand but still stared off at the island, which now boasted trees for towers.” The Knights recorded that when they first came here they found the foundations of a more ancient fortress, which makes this a place of interest to me."Tarn stood up so that he could see past their Fael companion. A tall island, carved out by the relentless river, stood at the joining of the two waters, the Wynnd and the River Dyrr. It was not unlike the island of Eber, but larger and more imposing.

"Ceile A'gnnel was the grand master of the Knights," Cynddl said, "and with him stood many of the great warriors of that time: Hallen Gann and Bregan of Dirrth. They thought their position unassailable, but they'd underestimated the cunning of the Renné . When the wall fell, a great battle was fought, the Knights terribly outnumbered. It's said that Gann and Ceile A'gnnel stood in the breach and sang 'Bloodwing' as they fought, until all their men took up the terrible song, throwing back assault after assault until at last they fell. After the final Knight had been slain there was an awful silence. No shouts of joy or triumph, only the knowledge that the Renné had never met such foes before. Men they would never have defeated without vastly greater numbers. The Renné , it is said, were ashamed of their victory. Something I'm sure they had never felt before—or since."

"Wasn't Ceile A'gnnel known as the 'Oath Breaker'?" "He came to be known as that, but he was still one of the great knights of his day. Breaking his oath didn't make him weak."

"But there was a curse, wasn't there?" Fynnol said.” The King who gave the Knights their charter said the order would be lost if they broke their vow.""King Thynne, it was. And, yes, that's the story, though I don't know if it's true. Certainly A'gnnel came to a terrible end here, and all the last Knights with him."Fynnol looked up at their Fael companion.” How do you know so much history of our people?"Cynddl laughed.” How is it you know so little?"Fynnol's head snapped up.” Our families never spoke of it," he said with great precision, "even when asked. People came north escaping their pasts. And there isn't some great storehouse of books in the Vale set aside for the curious.""No. No, I'm sure that's true," Cynddl said softly.” I'm a story finder, Fynnol. Without history, much of what I'd find would seem even more fragmentary than it already does. History is like ... well, it is like Cooling Keep: a fortress collapsed. My stories are the stones that once made it. As I find them I search for their place in the larger structure. Without the ruin of the keep I'd be collecting stones but building nothing. So I study history."At a crumbling stone quay they landed before the ancient gate. For a moment they stood in awe of the massive opening cut into the cliff. The gates were gone and the iron of the hinges rusted away, but the sheer scale of it was beyond the experience of the Valemen.

Around the gate the stone had been carved with the devices of the Knights—the swan and the lion, the leaves of the silveroak. Clinging vines overran the gate now, creeping among the heraldic devices. The shadows beyond gave the place an ominous feel and no one stepped forward to lead the way.

Beyond, Tarn could see a stairway, as wide as the gate, climbing up into the stone heart of the island. It turned to the right where a soft, filtered light fell in ghostly shafts. Here the roots of trees and the waving fronds of ferns could be seen clinging to the rock.

"I don't like the feel of this place," Baore said. He stood with his large frame slightly bent, the injured arm still hanging in its sling, tucked tight against his chest like a broken wing. Tam hadn't realized how much flesh had been stripped off Baore's frame while he lay shivering with fever and infection. All of the soft roundness of his face had been pared away and he was almost gaunt, his face all hard surfaces and sharp angles.

"I don't much like the feel of it either," Cynddl said.” Too many battles fought here. Too many men lost. But I will spend a few days here, all the same." He fetched his sword and bow from the boat, and the others took up their weapons as well—they went nowhere without them now— and they mounted the stair. Cynddl, Tam, and Fynnol went up three abreast, but Baore lingered, following only reluctantly.

On the rock walls they could see the lists of the brethren of the Knights of the Vow—column upon column of names, many famous, cut into the stained white stone. As they went they read, and, though most of the names meant nothing to them, there was a certain majesty to the roll, all the same.

"It's like reading a poem," Fynnol said.” A long, sad poem in a forgotten language: halbert a'dair, gildon d'or, abril wills, tor'on norr. The names themselves seem almost to be the words of a story—the tale of the Knights of the Vow and their tragedy of betrayal."Tam stopped to look at his cousin, who was not commonly so solemn or philosophical.” I know what you mean," Tam said.” I can almost see the Knights riding beneath their banners, silhouetted by failing light. It must have been a time of great glory." Fynnol laughed.” How glorious to have been slaughtered at Cooling Keep! Don't you wish it had been us?" Tam laughed as well. He should have known better than to have taken Fynnol seriously—not that he wasn't, but one wasn't allowed to notice it. In a few moments they left the ghostly roll behind, reached the stair head, and found themselves among the fallen stones of the ancient citadel. Some of the walls still stood. The massive outer curtain wall was largely intact but for the eastern side that had plunged into the river where it had been undermined by the Renné . Moss and vines covered the crumbling walls, flowers nodding in the breeze. Even trees had taken root on the battlements.” It puts the tower at Telanon Bridge to shame," Baore muttered. He shuffled where he stood, still looking as though he might retreat to the boat at any moment.” Yes, and this was not their greatest fortress by any means," Cynddl said.” In the south they built two of the greatest fortresses of their time: Cloudloft and Eagle Crag. Cloudloft still stands, as formidable as it was centuries ago. I've walked its walls and looked out over the plain. You feel there as though you could never be harmed. What arrow could even reach the top of such walls? But history has taught us that any stronghold can fall. Cooling Keep fell, and it sits high atop an island deep in the wildlands. The Renné couldn't even carry their siege engines here." They found themselves at the crest of a slope, looking down at the rubble of the fallen walls that lay in the river below.” A'gnnel and Gann stood here, holding the gap against the Renné . The rocks below were said to be slick with blood, the crimson cliff, though it is hardly a cliff. A great part of the citadel must have plunged into the river." The day was waning when they climbed back down to their boat. They hauled it up into a stand of shrubs that would hide it from any men who happened to pass by on the river, took what they needed to make a camp, and climbed back up to the gap where the wall had fallen away. Here they built a fire and watched the shadows lengthen across the still forest. They could see the River Wynnd wending south, the waters of the Dyrr swelling and hastening it. In the south and east, a dark band of cloud charcoaled the horizon.

Tarn thought Baore surprisingly still. True, his injury left him with only one arm at the moment, but even so Tam would have expected him to gather wood and take over the feeding of the fire—to do whatever could be done one-handed. But instead Baore remained idle. Tam had thought the river more likely to halt in its course.

"What made the Renné " so treacherous, do you think?" Fynnol asked Cynddl.

The story finder was turning a pair of spitted hare over the coals.” What made them so? Indifference toward anyone who wasn't Renné ." Cynddl rescued a rabbit leg that was about to fall away and be lost in the coals.” And even that isn't true. The Renné fought among themselves as often as they fought the Wills, I think. Perhaps it was indifference to ideals like honor. Somehow being born Renné made you above such things. You could do as you pleased. Laws and codes were for lesser men." Cynddl passed the cooked leg to Baore.” In the south they say, 'He'd trust a Renné .' Which means either a fool or someone far too innocent. Of course, the Wills were no better, but somehow they escaped the reputation of the Renné .

"The current heir to the Renné name, Toren Renné , seeks to keep the peace. There is even talk that he'll return the Isle of Battle to the Wills, though I can't imagine his family will allow that. We'll see what this Renné does over the years. He's young yet, and the idealism of youth usually doesn't survive into the middle years."Their supper was cooked, and they sat with their backs against walls or fallen rocks and watched the first stars ap-