The Swans' War 1 - The One Kingdom (7 page)

TOREN RENNé READ BY CANDLELIGHT ON THE STONE TERRACE OF his Westbrook house. Early-blossoming chestnut trees filled the air with their faint fragrance, and leaves trembled like lute strings in the soft night breeze. A moth fluttered into one of the candles at Toren's elbow, and both moth and candle flickered out.

Toren closed the book on his finger and, taking another candle, relit the flame that had expired. He opened his book again, finding the line he had last read, or could last remember, and went back to his reading. In the doorway, a servant cleared his throat.

"Gilbert A'brgail is here, your grace," the old man said.” Had we a meeting that I've forgotten?" "He has come without warning." Toren looked back at his book, sighed, and set it on the table, well clear of candle drippings.” Bring him to me."A'brgail was a dealer in old and rare weapons and armor—a passion of Toren's, who possessed a collection second to none. He'd known him for perhaps seven years, and grown to like him immensely, for A'brgail was a deeply thoughtful man. In fact, "rigorous" was the word Toren would use to describe A'brgail's thinking, and he could say that of very few.

The impressive figure of Gilbert A'brgail appeared in the doorway. He hesitated there, silhouetted by the lights within.

"Sir," Toren said, rising to his feet. A'brgail crossed the terrace and the two clasped hands.

"I hope you will forgive this intrusion, your grace.""It is a welcome surprise," Toren said.” Will you take some wine?"A'brgail nodded, and lowered himself into the chair opposite Toren's. Toren had always found Gilbert A'brgail something of a contradiction. Certainly he had the bearing and appearance of a knight—and clearly he'd had the training—but he was modest and humble in demeanor. There was nowhere about the man a hint of pride. His dress was impeccable but unassuming, and he went about his business efficiently and without fanfare.

Toren gazed at A'brgail a moment. A knight of sixty upon whom the years lay lightly—that is what he would guess, to see the man. He showed no signs of frailty or excess, no paunch or thinning of the shoulders. Beneath a neatly trimmed beard of white he was strong jawed, and the high forehead indicated the intellect that so impressed Toren. He bore a scar upon his lip that made his mouth turn down a little at the corner, so that it always seemed to be near a frown, and this suited his seriousness admirably. When he spoke his mouth moved crookedly, and Toren had the impression that he enunciated every word with particular care, as though speech required an uncommon concentration.” And what have you to show me this night?" Toren asked as his servant delivered wine.” I will tell you, everyone who's seen the helm you brought me last visit has tried to buy it." A'brgail nodded, a crooked smile appearing.” I'm not sure why I sold you that. I'll never find another like it." He shifted in his chair, which was almost too small for him.” But I've something even more rare to show you tonight, though this I will not part with." "As you said about the helm." Toren laughed. ' ; "Nevertheless, there is no coin that will buy this." He took up a package he had laid on a side table. It folded as he raised it, surprising Toren—A'brgail's wares were commonly both solid and sharp edged. Yet this was not a shirt of mail, for Toren could see it had little weight. Carefully A'brgail unwrapped the cloth. Toren had not noticed before how large and very knuckled his hands were. They exhibited the lumps and swellings and the crooked fingers of hands that had received many a break and blow. As his appearance suggested, Gilbert A'brgail had not always been a dealer in arms and armor. From within the folds the older man took a garment of gray—ancient and fraying, Toren could see. Gently he spread it over the back of a third chair and then stood aside, saying nothing.” Well, it is an old surcoat," Toren said, "but I assume something makes it rare and valuable. Did it belong to a celebrated knight?" It was an ancient garment, Toren guessed, darkened and threadbare, its original color faded and lost.” Celebrated? No, but look more closely." Toren rose from his chair, taking up the candlebranch and casting light on the old garment. There was a strange, scattered glitter in its fabric.” I see no devices. Who was its owner?""There is a device, but small and difficult to discern by this light." A'brgail gestured to the left breast, and Toren leaned closer with his candles.

"But these are silveroak leaves...!" A'brgail nodded.

"It is the robe of a Knight of the Vow!" The older man nodded again.

Toren stepped quickly back.” But this is bad luck to even have in my home! Why have you brought this to me?" "This one bears no ill luck, for it is mine by right." Toren had taken several steps back, and realized he was glaring at the older man, who registered no insult but remained courteous, even deferential.

"Perhaps you will allow me to tell you a story," he said softly, "and to assure you again that I would never knowingly bring an object of ill luck into the house of Toren Renné ." A'brgail took his seat again, putting the fingers of his battered hands together. He touched these to his lip, gently tracing the old wound.” I am a descendant of the man who wore this surcoat," he said quietly.” I swear this to be true by the vow of my ancestor. It has been passed from father to son for generations, hidden and kept from harm, though it has aged, all the same.""But my ancestors destroyed the Knights of the Vow," Toren said.” Destroyed them to a man on the Isle of Battle and at Cooling Keep."A'brgail looked up, opening his clasped hands.” Not to a man. No. There were Knights not present at either battle. The A'brgail who wore this surcoat was recovering from a wound suffered earlier. And he, like several others, managed to escape the Renné . The land between the mountains was in chaos then, and refugees choked the roads—roads no longer protected by the Knights of the Vow. He found his place among the people fleeing the wars. Beyond the border of the old kingdom my family made their home. All the years since, we've kept this secret." He placed both his battle-broken hands upon the arms of his chair.” And now I'm here telling this to you, the heir to the family who betrayed the Knights of the Vow." Toren had shifted in his chair, moving so that he could come easily to his feet.” And this is why you have befriended me, so that you might have your revenge...." Gilbert A'brgail laughed and reached for his wineglass.” Revenge? How like a Renné you sound, Lord Toren. The Renné who destroyed the Knights of the Vow have been dead for a century and more. How would I take my revenge upon them? No, you have done me no harm." He looked at Toren over the rim of his glass, a small, crooked smile appearing.” You need not worry. I've not sold you some article once owned by a Knight to bring you ill luck. No, I swear to you, revenge is not my purpose." "Then why have you befriended me? It is an odd choice of acquaintance, it seems to me." "So it would appear, but we're alike in some ways. We both wish to redress wrongs done in the past—not to our people but by them. Your first thought was that I had come for revenge, but the Knights of the Vow were not destroyed by the Renné . They were brought to ruin by the breaking of their vow." "A broken vow cannot be remade, Gilbert. Nor can King Thynne's curse be withdrawn. The Knights were destroyed, and, though you tell me some few escaped, the power and authority of the order was lost." "Yes, it was. But it could be regained. As to the curse of Thynne . . ." He swirled the wine in his glass.” It fell upon those who broke their vow. I believe I am free of it.""But you are not a Knight of the Vow," Toren said. A'brgail lowered his glass a little and met Toren's eye.” Am I not?" he said.

Toren took up his own glass and emptied it, glad of the liquid in a dry throat. He was about to ask A'brgail to state more clearly what he meant, but did not: it was clear enough, Instead he said, "What have you come to ask of me, A’brgail' The older man reached out and took the ancient surcoat in his hand, rubbing it between finger and thumb.” I have come to ask that, when the time is right, you give your blessing to the rebirth of my ancestor's order."Toren set his empty goblet down, almost upsetting it as he did so.” Why would I do that? My family would think I'd lost my reason. 'They will join our enemies and have revenge upon us,' they will say. And how will I answer them?"A'brgail released the folds of the old surcoat.” I don't know. I know only that we will not break our vow twice. And certainly there will be need of the Knights again. At the moment, something like peace reigns over the land between the mountains, but we have both made a study of history—peace will not last. Let the noble families war if they wish—it is their right, I'm told, and certainly it is their passion—but have peace beyond the battlefield. Peace ensured as it was in the past—by the Knights of the Vow."Toren heard himself laugh, though it was short and without pleasure.” If I didn't know you for a sober man, A'brgail, a man of character, I would think you moonstruck. Do you really believe you can revive the Knights of the Vow? I will tell you, this is a corpse long dead."A'brgail gazed for a moment at the ancient surcoat, then back to Toren.” It has already been done, your grace. The order exists. We have only waited for a propitious time to make ourselves known. Unfortunately, other matters have forced me to reveal this to you before such a time arrived." Toren reached for the bottle and too quickly poured him-

self more wine, splashing a little on the table. A'brgail had barely touched his own.” This is a dangerous thing you've done—and more dangerous to come here and tell me. I would advise you to reveal this to no one else. If my family or the Wills and their allies were to learn this ... Well, they don't want to see other powers come into being. Powers with uncertain alliances." A'brgail put his crooked fingers together again, bowed his head, and pressed the first fingers to the inside corners of his eyes.” What you counsel is wise, I know, but we'll not be able to keep our existence secret. I'm afraid the Wills know of us already." "And how did this come about?" A'brgail stared for a moment at his half-mended hands, turning them to gaze at the hardened palms.” You see, Lord Toren, we made a terrible mistake, a terrible mistake." He sat back in his chair and took up his goblet, but did not drink.” Let me tell you the story of a man named Hafydd. Hafydd who was once an ally of the Renné ." "Hafydd is dead. My father dealt with him long ago. Cut him down in the field ... at Quarryston, I seem to remember." "Harrowdown, to be exact, but Hafydd was not killed. Oh, he was at Death's gate, certainly, but he was alive still when the battle ended. You see, I was one of the watchers on the hill: a student of war even then. Of the knights who took the field that day, Hafydd was the most skilled, the strongest, as he was on many another field on many another day, I imagine. But his force was greatly outnumbered by the Renné and were slaughtered. All were left for dead—and only a few were not—though by the next morning only Hafydd remained among the living. We tended him and brought him back to strength.”

"Changed, he was, for he had been haughty and arrogant before. Now he was humble and thoughtful, spending much time in contemplation. Not everyone trusted this transfermation, but I was not one of them." A'brgail made a knotted fist as though he would strike the arm of his chair, but the fist hesitated in the air and then opened and came slowly to rest as light as a bird.” I believed in his transformation, believed Hafydd might become great among my order, even be grand marshal one day. I told him all that I knew of the Knights and their history—much of it unknown to any outside the Order. But he betrayed us in the end, and slipped away with knowledge he should never have been given-knowledge that has made him dangerous. More than dangerous." A'brgail reached over and tugged gently on the surcoat so that it slid slowly off the back of the chair and crumpled onto the seat. He gazed at this a moment and then looked up at Toren.” And now he is returned, calling himself Eremon and serving as a counselor to the Prince of Innes— who is about to make an alliance with Menwyn Wills.""Menwyn Wills would not dare do such a thing!" Toren said.” We are in the process of returning the Isle of Battle to the Wills. He would never endanger this by making an alliance with the Prince of Innes!""Oh, I think he will. It is being done in secret, and Menwyn Wills thinks you will not learn of it until it is too late. I'm afraid his opinion of you is not high, your grace. As for the Prince, he is under the influence of Hafydd, and you should not underestimate Hafydd's hatred of the Renné . No, his hatred would impress even your family, who may make their own claims in this area.

"Do you know the word 'eremon'?" A'brgail asked suddenly.” No? It is the name of a thorny bush that grows in the clearings where fire has destroyed the forest. It is said its seed will lie dormant in the earth for hundreds of years, until the heat of the blaze breaks open its case and brings it back to life. . . . Eremon. And this is the name Hafydd has chosen for his return. He is allied with your enemies, and you will not defeat him without the assistance of the Knights of the Vow. I'll be perfectly truthful with you, your grace ... even with our help I'm not confident of his defeat."