In the Eye of Heaven Part 21

Guthred looked into his face, his expression cold."He nearly ran me down," said Durand. Guthred didn't blink.

"It's a dangerous place," Guthred said, finally, his tone laden with menace.

WHEN THEY GOT word of Lord Moryn and the absent Herald, the others laughed with relief. There would be no battle with Moryn until Moryn produced the Herald. They were late for nothing. word of Lord Moryn and the absent Herald, the others laughed with relief. There would be no battle with Moryn until Moryn produced the Herald. They were late for nothing.

As the others fell to brawling congratulations, Durand noted that Guthred slipped aside to say a few words in Coensar's ear. The captain, straightening to his full height, glanced up, searching the jagged skyline. Guthred took a moment to make certain that he caught Durand's eye.

The man had long since lost patience with his new shield-bearer. Durand, spotting one of the other shield-bearers carrying a pair of empty water buckets, stepped in the boy's path and held out his hands. The lad blinked up at Durand and handed over the buckets without question.

A string of men trudged back and forth toward the forest with buckets in their fists. Durand set off, putting the others behind him for a time. Against the forest, he saw folk bent round a well.

He thought of Ca.s.sonel somewhere among the tents. The man knew Durand had worked for Radomor. He likely knew about Alwen and might find it odd that Durand worked for the dead woman's brother. Durand had been there at Ferangore; he had said nothing to his new comrades. His career could be smothered in its cradle by a single word. And he would deserve it.

But Ca.s.sonel might have another thought in his mind: Durand was a witness. He had been in Ferangore with all the silent listeners.

In the midst of that alien field, Durand hesitated.

He had gone a long way to protect his hide and pride. But the troubles of one man did not have much weight against the kind of treason Ca.s.sonel's message portended. A word from a magnate like Yrlac or Beoran could throw hosts into battle- and slaughter the toiling people of the countryside by the thousand.

Although Durand had warned Duke Ailnor, it was hard to believe that Ailnor alone could stop the intrigue. He must remember that his own neck was not worth much compared to a kingdom. He must watch Ca.s.sonel.

The sidelong glances of pa.s.sing pages and shield-bearers goaded Durand back into motion, and he soon reached the black depths of the well. Two men were already there: a st.u.r.dy fellow in green and a tall, gangling youth.

The taller man reached the bucket windla.s.s first.

"Good day to you," he said, from under a fringe of rusty-brown hair. He looked too young to be a knight.

Durand nodded a fraction.

The more stocky man smiled. "Evening."

The youth gestured toward Durand's camp, using his chin while he worked the crank handle. "You're with this Knight in Red?"

"Aye," Durand replied, though he wondered how long this would be true.

"How long?" the youth asked, surprising a dry laugh from Durand. "Not long."

"G.o.d," the tall youth said. "I don't know how to speak in this place. Who's king in Eldinor?"

Durand scowled, suddenly on his guard. "Ragnal "Ragnal is king." The stocky man laughed. is king." The stocky man laughed.

"And we're under the Blood Moon?" ventured the tall youth.

"Aye...." said Durand.

The youth's teeth flashed, and he eyed the silhouettes among the tents. "Who knows with this land? A man might have been here a hundred winters. Or arrived from a hundred winters past. I was riding the verges with a patrol of my father's men. Then there were these hounds. I've never heard the like. Then the forest was tossing like a man with fever. I fetched up here."

The st.u.r.dier man laughed. "I was hunting, me. Riding. I saw a stag, the like of which I'd never seen. Fourteen points. And then there was the tournament." He shook his head.

The tall youth smiled. "It will be only my third time in the lists," he said. "Oh. I'm Sir Cerlac," he said, freeing his blade hand from the ch.o.r.e of cranking the windla.s.s and extending it across the well.

Durand was taken aback. The awkward figure was a belted knight. After a moment's hesitation, he took the man's hand.

The shorter man made a lopsided grin. "I've been in the lists a thousand times. Sir Abem, I'm called." He offered his hand as well.

"Only my second," Durand conceded. "And as shield-bearer."

"Aha," Cerlac said, finally hauling a full bucket from the chill darkness below Hesperand. He pa.s.sed the bucket first to Abern.

The squat fellow nodded thanks and tipped the bucket, drinking deep.

As Cerlac took the bucket and lifted it to his own lips, Durand saw something strange pa.s.s over Abern's face-a slithering of moonlight, it seemed. Durand lashed out, catching the bucket's rim in his fist. "Don't drink!"

Cerlac froze, holding the black water before him as though he'd found an adder. Coils of golden sunset slithered on its surface.

"Hesperand," Durand said, explaining. "Eating and drinking. Kingof Heaven, I'd forgotten." They both looked to Abern. The Eye of Heaven seemed not to touch him. His skin glowed with a pale light. Durand said, explaining. "Eating and drinking. Kingof Heaven, I'd forgotten." They both looked to Abern. The Eye of Heaven seemed not to touch him. His skin glowed with a pale light.

"Abern?" said Cerlac."I've drunk from this well a thousand times," he said.

Like dun and ochre shadows, there were others coming. Not from the camp. Two or three dozen peasants appeared from the forest edge. St.u.r.dy, silent men, they surrounded Abern, who simply smiled. Durand felt a peculiar horror as the peasants came near.

Brown hands curled round Abern's arms. "A thousand times," he said, and the peasants withdrew with him, vanishing into the shadows of branches.

Cerlac set the bucket on the wall of the well."You must tell me your name," the shaken man said."Durand."

As the Eye of Heaven left the western sky, Sir Cerlac shook Durand's hand for the second time.

SUCH STORIES MULTIPLIED. Guthred, p.i.s.sing into the bushes at the forest edge, saw a pale hound the size of a colt staring back at him. One headstrong lordling tried to leave the Mead with his people. Only two of his men made it back, and both were torn as if by beasts and the wind. Guthred, p.i.s.sing into the bushes at the forest edge, saw a pale hound the size of a colt staring back at him. One headstrong lordling tried to leave the Mead with his people. Only two of his men made it back, and both were torn as if by beasts and the wind.

Trapped and under siege, the men preoccupied themselves.

Though someone had lit a campfire, Durand found a stump of firewood on his own and sat down to work the edge on his gift sword. The ill-fitting scabbard had let fingers of damp insinuate themselves into the s.p.a.ces around the blade. Already, webs of rust bled from the steel.

The others laughed; he polished.

Durand considered his strange place among these men. There were mistakes. There were small victories. But it was all built on rotten ground, and a word could destroy it all.

Under the circling pressure of his oily rag, the red webs seemed to give way, though it was hard to be sure in the dark. Little light escaped the ring of turned backs around the fire. He felt the nicks and scratches in the steel as he rubbed his way down the blade. His fingers found deep, puckered notches where edge had met edge on the battlefield. Long scores chased the blade where split chain links had screamed down its face. A great many men had likely wielded the thing, and many were likely dead.

Shouts erupted in the circle. Black shadows were wheeling.

Durand was halfway to his feet when the uproar collapsed into laughter and groaning. Two swordsmen swung and danced in the circle.

"Very good," Coensar's voice said, quiet but clear. The captain was circling, a wooden sword in his fist.

"You'd best shut up, Captain, or he'll have you," a brave soul jibed.

Frantic clattering leapt over the whoops of the crowd.

One-eyed Berchard glanced over his shoulder, and spotted Durand, waving him in.

Beyond the blaze, Coensar stood with Sir Agryn lying at his feet. The captain thrust his ashwood sword into the turf, and, bending, offered the man his hand. "I think you let me have that one, Agryn."

"You're wrong."

Coensar hauled the one-time knight of the Septarim to his feet "I forget how dangerous a man you are."Berchard shouted in: "For a priest."'Those old ghosts taught you a few things."

"Litde to do with the sword, if truth be told," said Agryn. "It has been a long time."

Coensar quirked a rare smile, and, as he stood back, spotted Durand's arrival. "Durand, shield-bearer," he said. The wary eyes of the others settled on him as well, shadows cutting deeply. Coensar stood for a moment, his hand idling on the b.u.t.t of the ash sword. "I hear there's a horse tried to take you from us."

"Aye," Durand said. Guthred had said at least that much. There was a snicker or two. Someone coughed. "But you are well enough now?" Coensar said. "Aye...."

Coensar held out a hand to Agryn who gave up his wooden sword to his captain.

"Everyone tries me one day," Coensar said and held out the sword, its handle suspended between them. Whatever the game was, Durand closed his hand around the hilt "Best of three touches, then," said Coensar.

The gang leapt on him. Grinning shield-bearers tugged and jostled him from all sides, and suddenly he faced one of the most infamous swordsmen in the Atthias.

Durand raised the hardwood blade, thinking that it didn't take much to drive thoughts of magnates and treason from a man's mind.

"Good," the captain concluded, and crouched, facing Durand over the fire. His eyes took in every hint of stance and style Durand betrayed. stance and style Durand betrayed.

Durand circled behind a borrowed shield. Practice swords were good for cracking heads and breaking elbows-teaching hard lessons. Coensar's cool, gla.s.s-splinter eyes flickered above the fire, while Durand waited.

"If he waits long enough," Berchard rumbled, "old Coensar may nod off."

The circle laughed.

The fire's heat tightened Durand's face. Striking first with an opponent like Coensar was charging blindly into a house of snares. Unfortunately for Durand and his sound strategy, Coensar would not attack, and the mockers were not on Durand's side.

Durand stared over the rim of his shield. Knowing better rarely did a man much good.

"Have we time to fetch a bench?" someone said.

With a muttered curse, Durand changed his grip and darted. He used speed and reach to dodge the fire in one careering lunge. As the wooden bat whisded down, Coensar wrenched his shield high. The whole crowd flinched at the shock of the impact.

Durand had hardly started his grin, when he felt a punishing jab under his ribs. It might have been a horse kicking him.

"One," was all Coensar said, stepping so that the fire was already between them once more.

Durand sucked a lung full of air and forced his attention back to his opponent, only to catch a subtle wavering of Coensar's shield. Durand might be winded, but the captain looked to be working a set of jarred fingers.

Coensar circled backward to keep the fire between them, and Durand waited, taking a lesson from Lamoric's fight at Red Winding. Suddenly, he saw a misstep. In an instant, the captain's shield boomed yet again. This time, the wily swordsman's hissing counter clapped Durand's jaw shut. Lamoric's fight at Red Winding. Suddenly, he saw a misstep. In an instant, the captain's shield boomed yet again. This time, the wily swordsman's hissing counter clapped Durand's jaw shut.

Durand staggered through real sparks and the ones behind his eyes. His tongue felt thick as dead fingers in his mouth.

Coensar, however, had stood up. "Hmm. I think I see it." Durand fought to stay upright, watching the other man warily.

"You're a sight quicker than I'd have guessed, but you're missing something." His voice was quiet.

Durand couldn't muster his thoughts to make any sort of reply.

"Long ago, I learned that when you must attack, the first swing rarely scores. A good swordsman shows you two faces. Get on him. There's no harm swinging first, but you're not going to reach past a shield-lest your man's drunk or asleep. Every peasant knows to plow before he plants.

"Here." The captain dropped into his fighting crouch once more. "I ask you: try my head."

Durand had heard hard-jawed sergeants say the same in a thousand bruising lessons, but he hefted the sword regardless.

Coensar said, "Do it now."

Durand steeled himself to make a good show of it. Tugging a sharp breath, he hauled the wooden bat high and yanked it whistling down to clop the captain's skull shut.

The shield's edge caught it.The captain nodded coolly.

"You knew what I must do. Yes? The ground is poor. We're in a tight spot There's hardly room to dodge a cut like that. I had no choice but to take it on my shield. You forced my hand. With my shield up there, I'm half blind. If it's a feint, you've got my ribs. My knee. If it's not; my eyes?" He inclined his head.

"If you know what I've got to do," continued the captain, "you've got me. Force and antic.i.p.ate. Show the man an opening, but be waiting for him when he tries to take it"

Durand nodded."Now," Coensar said. "It is best of five touches." Durand raised his shield.

And, though he managed to make Coensar work for each of his bruising "touches," he lost.

The captain shook his head. "You're quick for the size of you." Durand grunted.

Coensar raised an eyebrow. "Call me a liar, ox, and it's real blades next."

"Now that's an idea." Lamoric grinned from the circle, and Durand took a prudent step into the background. "Sharps might add a thrill to the proceedings." He slipped his sword from its sheath and held it, his palm inverted, high over the rest. Durand wondered if the man were drunk.

"Any takers? Agryn?" The blade seemed to flicker, now pointing at its prospective victim. "I have hired the best. I'd like to see what I've bought. Come along, Agryn. Let's see what those ghosts of yours have taught you."

Agryn blinked once. He seemed to eye all the others for the briefest instant, as though deciding whether any of the others might be better suited. There was Badan, Berchard, Coensar. Instead, Agryn hauled his own blade from its scabbard. Lamoric's face split in a smile, and both men raised shields.

"Right then," said Lamoric. "On your guard!" He started his sword into a series of wheeling lunges, drawing flame into the glittering eddies of the blade. Agryn skipped backward, scattering the crowd. This was a thing that got every man's heart pounding. Agryn's sober demeanor belied great agility.

Lamoric put more and more behind each leaping swing of his blade until he could hardly stop himself. Then Agryn struck, hopping inside one fiery arc, his shield high, and, in an instant, Lamoric's weight poised on the tip of Agryn's sword. Everyone watched for blood to well from the neat slit in the man's surcoat.

None came.

'Two swings too many, Lordship," Agryn said. Lamoric grimaced and made a great show of extricating himself from the sword's point.

Coensar nodded, his manner serious. "You must be as quick to abandon a trick as you were to try it."

The young lord's fingertips found the split weave of his surcoat for the first time, and the wild glint left his eyes. He was panting. "Yes," he wavered. "I do see. These mock combats.

I'm not sure I can trust myself these last few days. A man dares too much." With a sharp intake of breath, he bared his teeth in good humor.

Durand caught Guthred staring at him from among the men standing across the fire. The man did not look away.