The Sword, The Ring And The Chalice - The Sword Part 9

Time remained slow, while the fear in Dain swelled like a wineskin. He had to move, had to dodge, had to ...

The swelling inside him burst. Fear scalded the back of throat and burned through his chest like acid.

The paralysis holding him prisoner broke away, and at the last possible second he flinched aside. The javelin skimmed him harmlessly and thunked into the water near his foot. One end quivered in the air moment, then the entire javelin sank slowly beneath water. Dain gulped in relief along with air.

Gavril glared at him in even greater fury. "d.a.m.n you! The next shaft will come at you so hard none of your accursed spells will cast it aside." He reached for another javelin, but his quiver was empty. Dain could have bent and seized the weapon now settled into the mud at his feet, but he thought the chase must at last be over. He rose dripping to his feet and held his hands out to his sides in a silent plea for mercy.

Now that his panic had calmed somewhat, all he had to was push a little at Prince Gavril's mind-a man mind, and therefore hard to master, but not impossible-and there would be mercy. He could go free, go on to the village and get help for Thia there. . . .

Gavril's head jerked. Color flared into his face. "Go on! Run amok in the village? What spell are you casting on me? Begone! Begone, in the name of Tomias!"

As he spoke, half in fury and half in hysteria, his hand ral at his doublet, loosening it. He drew forth a shining, spiral circle of gold upon a fine chain and brandished it like a weapon. "Get back, demon!" There was no power in his amulet, but the emotion crackling through the prince was of such intensity Dain backed up a step. The naked fear in Gavril's face faded, to be replaced by a surge of new confidence.

He brandished the amulet again, his blue eyes alight with something unpleasant. "So you do fear some things, monster," he said in a voice of such hatred Dain backed up another step. Gavril pressed the sides of his horse, and the large, snorting creature sidled closer. Dain's nostrils were flooded with the strong scent of sweaty horse, stronger than Prince Gavril's man scent, stronger than the fishy stench of the mud.

"Bow to the Circle of Tomias, monster. Bow to it!" Dain had heard the name of Tomias spoken before, but he did not understand why a G.o.d should have a man-name. He had seen the man-G.o.d's name chiseled on the lintels of village churches. He had heard others call out to this man-G.o.d in fear or invoke the name as an oath. But Dain did not live under the power of Tomias. Jorb had taught him to beware the ways of Mandrians and their religion. They took insult quickly, especially from those they considered pagan. Dain had been warned long ago that if he ever spoke Tomias's name in the hearing of a Mandrian, chances were his tongue would be cut out for defilement.

Thus, he could not obey this angry boy's command, even had he wished to, which he did not. There were currents of falsehood and entrapment running through Gavril's voice.

"Bow to this emblem of our holy prophet," Gavril said, "and I shall let you live, though you be a wretched pagan and a miserable thief." Dain glared up at him, then laughed with harsh disbelief. "You lie." Pink stained Gavril's pale cheeks, clashing with the dark streaks of blood. He stared, his blue eyes bulging, as though he could not believe Dain's defiance. "Your prophet has naught to do with this day,"

Dain said, his tongue curling around the peculiar inflections of the Mandrian language. "You hunt with a full belly and own many horses. Why care you if I take what I need? You are not beggared by it." Gavril dropped his circle, letting it swing free by its gold chain. He said nothing, but reached for something off the opposite side of his saddle. Dain stepped back, but he was unprepared for the thin, black blur that came at him. He threw up his wounded arrn to protect his face, and the whip snapped across his wound so viciously he screamed.

"Pagan sp.a.w.n! Monster! I'll be done with you this day," Gavril shouted, whipping Dain's head and shoulders again and again. "I'll crush the life from you for daring to steal from me. There'll be one less pagan alive to taint the air I breathe!"

With every other word a blow cracked down. Dain reeled under burst after burst of agony. He tried to dodge the whip and couldn't. The horse snorted and trampled around him, cutting him off at every turn.

Every lash of the whip was a white-hot brand that choked off the breath in his lungs. Staggering to one side, he slipped and fell into the water. The horse's hooves splashed down just a finger's thickness from his skull. Dain floundered, trying to get away. His feet slipped in the mud, giving him no purchase. In the distance he could hear a voice shouting in protest. "Stop it!" one of the men was saying. "My lord prince, that's enough!" But Gavril either did not hear or he ignored the man. He wheeled his horse around so sharply it reared, and tried to make it trample Dain. Frantically Dain rolled to one side, swallowing muddy water as he did so, and floundered out of the way as the horse swung around again. Dain groped through the mud for the javelin. Half-stumbling, half on his knees, he scrabbled and searched in desperation. If he could find the javelin, he could defend himself. The whip caught Dain across the back of his neck, directly on bare skin, with such force his mind went sheet-white, then black. He toppled forward, no more than half-conscious. Dimly he thought that his head must have been severed from his body, which he could not feel.

He hit the water, facedown, and sank like a stone. But the cold water on his cuts awakened a fire so brutal it revived him. He jerked and pushed himself from the water, and his hand found the javelin in the mud. Slinging back his dripping hair and dragging in a deep breath, he coughed up some of the water he'd swallowed.

Somewhere to his left came another shout and the sound of splashing, but Dain paid that no heed. He rose to his feet, his gaze locked with Gavril's. "Leave me be!" he shouted, or tried to, but his voice was choked from the water he'd swallowed and came out with little force.

Gavril glared at him. "Why won't you die, d.a.m.n you? Why do you fight me? You're dead already.

Surrender to it!"

As he spoke, Gavril drew his dagger, and the blade was thin and well honed and deadly. Dain recognized in a single, trained glance how tempered it was, how beautifully balanced. He could smell the strength of the metal, and the intent in Gavril's eyes was just as deadly.

Dain shook his head. Inside him came an explosion of rage so hot it charred away his intestines and seared his very bones.

He lifted the javelin.

Alarm replaced the mad fervor in Gavril's dark blue eyes. On the bank, the protector shouted, "Your highness! Come away!"

"I can handle him!" Gavril shouted with a brave gesture. But Dain could see his fright. It wasn't enough. Dain wanted Gavril to choke on fear, to feel it in his own bile, to scream with it, to have his liver melt to a puddle and all his strength flow out of his body. He wanted Gavril to beg for mercy, to feel his breath come short, to fall off that brute horse and grovel in the mud. But most of all, Dain wanted to ram this spear into the soft part of Gavril's belly, to grind it in until steel grated on spine bone and caught there.

"You dare not strike me," Gavril said. He held up his wrist to make his sleeve fall back and reveal the gold bracelet. "Do you know what this means, monster? To strike at me is to strike at the king, and that is treason punishable by ..." Dain stopped listening. In a flash of cunning he realized he must first attack the horse to unseat Gavril. Then he would have Gavril at his mercy. "Your turn," he said, and lunged.

A whip lashed out from behind him, catching the upraised javelin and flicking it from his grasp. In dismay, Dain watched it go spinning over the reeds and into the water, truly lost now. He whirled. This time he faced not one of Gavril's companions, but instead a man with lines carved deep in his weathered face and eyes as dark as night. A man in a fur cloak and silver chain, a sword hilt angled beside his hip and rings glittering on his lean fingers. "Hold this action!" the man said in a voice like thunder. "Both of you stay where you are."

The murderous rage faded from Dain so swiftly he felt hollow and dizzy. For a moment he saw two of this harsh-faced man in his splendid fur cloak. Dain blinked, and there was one again. But the old shortness of breath was back, like a hand constricting his throat. He felt his blood oozing down his arm again, making rapid drips into the water.

Gavril's pale cheeks had turned bright scarlet. "Chevard Odfrey!" he said shrilly. "My lord, you saw!

You saw what this creature attempted against my person. You came just in time-" "Silence, if you please, your highness," the chevard said curtly. His voice was harsh and flat in tone, as though he had no music in him. "I saw a great many things, most of them which you must account for."

The red in Gavril's face paled. "A mere game of hunt and-"

"Game, was it? I saw a defenseless lad hounded and cornered like a water rat for your sport. I saw him thrashed till he fell and heard you screaming like a fiend instead of a prince of the realm. How far did you mean to go with this game?" The contempt in the man's voice amazed Dain. He realized he was being championed, for reasons he could not understand. His gaze flicked from one angry face to the other, and he wondered if he dared try to break away. "Chevard, do you criticize me?" Gavril said angrily. "I warned him of my ident.i.ty and yet he meant to strike me. That's treason, and he must answer for it."

The chevard gestured impatiently, but Gavril stood up in his stirrups.

"It is!" he said shrilly. "Treason most clear! The law is firm." "Do you expect an uneducated wretch like this to understand the law?" Odfrey countered.

"Ignorance is no excuse for transgression. Furthermore, he is a pagan and would not kneel to the Circle-" The chevard held up his hand in a gesture that silenced Gavril in mid-sentence. Amazed at his power, Dain stared up at the man sitting so straight in his saddle. Lord Odfrey was in his middle years, with no gray showing yet in his straight brown hair, but plenty of it in his thick mustache. The rest of his face was cleanshaven, with a hint of bristle to be seen on his lean jaws this late in the afternoon. His nose was long and straight, except for a slight b.u.mp where it seemed to have once been broken. His mouth was uncompromising. He wore no mail, and his long doublet and leggings were dark green wool, the cloth woven tight and hard. His boots reached to his knees, and were made of good leather, much scuffed and worn. His mud-splattered spurs were plain bra.s.s. Only the crest embroidered on the leftbreast of his striped fur cloak proclaimed his rank. Even his rings were not fancy; just a plain signet and a dull cabochon set in gold that was his marriage ring. His horse, heavy-boned and strong, stood in the cold water patiently, unlike Gavril's flashy mount, which shied and pawed and pranced constantly.

Lord Odfrey turned his frowning gaze on Dain and studied him for a long moment. Beneath the fierce, unsmiling facade of this man, Dain sensed kindness and a true heart. Some flicker of mercy or compa.s.sion lit in the depths of the man's eyes. It surprised Dain, but he immediately tried to take advantage of it. "I have offended the prince," he said, although no one had given him leave to speak. "But not enough to be killed for it."

"Silence!" Gavril shouted before he glanced back at Lord Odfrey. "Take care, my lord chevard," he warned nervously. "Do not let his gaze enspell you." Lord Odfrey frowned.

"He is clearly pagan," Gavril said. "Look at his eyes, how colorless and strange they are. Look at his pale blood. He is a monster. He deserves no fairness-" "The lad is eldin," Odfrey said impatiently. "Or partly so, perhaps, if his black hair is anything to go by. That hardly makes him a monster. As for fairness, honor is not a quality to be shed or worn depending on the circ.u.mstances. If this wretch stole from you and you had your servants catch him and beat him for it, that would be justice."

"He did steal!" Gavril said hotly. "My horse, he would have taken-" "Your horse?" Lord Odfrey echoed in quiet amazement. "It's war-trained, or so you have boasted."

Again Gavril's cheeks turned pink. "It is," he said, clearly taking offense.

"Trained by my father's own-"

"Then this lad could not steal it," Odfrey said. "Impossible."

"But-"

"Did he steal anything else?"

"He meant to! My saddle and accouterments. My coat of arms on the saddlecloth is embroidered of real gold. He-" "Yet he actually took none of these things?"

"Intent is the same as action," Gavril said in a sullen voice. "Even worse, he insulted the Circle and would not-" "If you coursed him for sport, let your hounds bay for his blood, and whipped him to a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp because he did not recognize your Circle, it would seem you ask too much of this young pagan."

"He's a thief!" Gavril said furiously. "When I sought to punish him, he defied me. Worse, he insulted me, calling me a liar, and then he tried to harm my person."

Dain glared at Gavril, who was twisting the truth to support his charge. He was a vicious, deceitful worm. Dain despised him for his lies even more than for his cruelty.

Lord Odfrey's stony expression did not change. Solemn and unruffled, he showed little emotion.

"He tried to kill me," Gavril repeated. "You have my word for it, and I am the king's-" "-son. Yes, I know, your highness. You have reminded everyone in my hold of that fact at least twice a day since you arrived." "Then you might trouble to remember the fact, instead of mocking and insulting me," Gavril said haughtily.

"Cool your wrath, boy. It's most unseemly in one of your station."

Gavril stared at him, openmouthed and sputtering.

Lord Odfrey met his look of wild astonishment and dawning rage with a grim lack of deference. "If you expect me to believe a tale such as this, you are much mistaken. You sit on a war-trained horse, armed with dagger, whip, and javelins. Do you really expect me to believe an unarmed, half-starved, wounded, and frozen wretch like this eld boy could bring the slightest harm to your royal person? I think not."

Gavril's blue eyes grew very dark and still. "Do you also call me a liar, my lord?"

"I call you a spoiled lowland brat," Odfrey replied. "You flight around my lands with courtier airs and too much conceit in yourself. The king sent you to me for training, and by the blood of Tomias I do not see that task as one of providing you with more flattery and spoiling. You've been here a month, and by now you should know my rules. Did I not expressly forbid you and the others to enter the Nold forest?

There is a war in that land, a war that is no concern of ours except in avoiding its dangers. Your safety cannot be guaranteed in such a place."

"I will hunt where I please," Gavril replied. "We were coursing a stag. Would you have us let it go free because of a mere boundary?" "A stag," Lord Odfrey said. His dark eyes narrowed. "What became of it?" "We brought it down," Gavril boasted. "Kaltienne took the first shot with his bow and wounded it.

My dogs are superb coursers, and we caught up with it as soon as it fell. My arrow finished it. We wear its blood, as you can see." "Who is packing out the meat?"

Gavril blinked as though puzzled. "The meat is of no importance." It was Lord Odfrey's turn to redden.

His mouth opened, but although a small muscle leaped in his jaw he did not speak. After a moment he snapped his jaws shut and wheeled his horse around so fast he nearly knocked Dain over. "Huntsman!"

he shouted with enough volume that his voice echoed across the marsh. "Take those men and go back for the meat."

"But, m'lord, it's to be dark soon," the man protested.

"You know I will not abide waste," Odfrey said.

"But the dark, m'lord. In Nold, m'lord."

Lord Odfrey growled to himself. "Sir Alard," he said to one of the knights. "Did you leave the arrows in the beast?"

The man had been slouching in his saddle when Lord Odfrey spoke to him, then quickly sat erect. "I'm sorry, m'lord," he said slowly. "In the race after-I didn't think of it-it seemed less important than-"

"Mandrian arrows left bold as day in a carca.s.s not even skinned and butchered. What insult will be taken? What clan owns the land where you brought down the stag?"

All of them, Gavril especially, looked blank. Dain comprehended the reason for Lord Odfrey's disquiet.

It was an insult to trespa.s.s when hunting game, and a bigger insult to hunt game for sport, not food. It spoke of an arrogant disregard for ownership of land and property. If any dwarf found the stag on landclaimed by a clan, great offense would be taken. Dwarves could and did start wars with far less provocation. Would they attack a Mandrian hold for such a reason? Unlikely, especially with the war against the Bnen now raging. But Lord Odfrey understood dwarf ways, and that was unusual for a Mandrian n.o.ble. Dain's respect for the man went up a notch.

"Were there clan markings that anyone noticed?" Odfrey asked.

Again, no one answered.

In a quiet voice, Dain said, "Yes, the Clan Nega."

Lord Odfrey whipped around so fast Dain was startled. His dark eyes bored into Dain, piercing hard.

"Nega? Not Rieg?"

"Rieg lands are here, near the edge of the forest," Dain replied. "The marsh is your land, yes?"

But Lord Odfrey wasn't listening. "Nega," he repeated. His face grew thunderous and he glared so furiously at Gavril that the prince looked momentarily alarmed, then more defiant and arrogant than ever.

"You went that deep into the Dark Forest? Against my orders?"

Gavril pulled on his gauntlets of fine blue velvet st.i.tched to leather palms. He shrugged. "When I hunt, I do not let my quarry go. Willingly." "There has been fighting reported on Nega lands," Lord Odfrey said, ignoring Gavril's last remark. "You take too many foolish risks. There will be no more of it. What if this eld had gone deeper into the Dark Forest? Would you have coursed him to its very center?"

"If necessary," Gavril answered coolly. His eyes met Lord Odfrey's. "I do not fear the dwarves.

Besides, we knew he would try to go east, and we kept him from it. I am not the fool you think me, my lord chevard."

"Then obey the orders you are given."

"It is your responsibility to keep me safe," Gavril said. "I shall do as I please. Your orders offend me."

"Learn to be offended," Lord Odfrey snapped. "There will be no more adventures in the Dark Forest.

There will be no hunting of people on my land. If my huntsman has not told you this before, you know it now." "Is this wretch your serf?" Gavril said icily, pointing at Dain with his whip. "We jumped him in the forest, beyond your boundaries, sir. If he is a monster of Nold, then he belongs to no one and should be fair game." "He's not an animal. He is not to be hunted," Odfrey said. "He's a thief and a nuisance. If the villagers see an eld lurking about their fields, they'll be-" "The villagers and their superst.i.tions are my responsibility, not yours," the chevard said with a snap. "The day's hunt is over for you. Call in your dogs and take yourself back to the hold."

Gavril stared at him as though he could not believe what had been said. "You dismiss me?" he said, and his voice was almost a squeak. "The hunt is for my pleasure. You cannot-" "I can and I will," Odfrey broke in. "My word is law here. Take care you remember that."

"I never forget any slight done me," Gavril said, and his blue eyes were hot with resentment. He cast Dain a glare as though to blame him for this disgrace. "You," he said in a voice that cut. "If I ever see you on Chevard Odfrey's lands, I shall feed you to my dogs."

"If you set your dogs on another person, I will have them killed," Odfrey said. The iron in his voice held heat now. His dark eyes burned in his weathered face. "You would not dare,"

Gavril said, then faltered. His gaze shifted to his clenched hands. "They are my property. Am I to blame if they prefer to take pagan scent? One animal is very like another."

"That is the worst sign of your character yet shown to me." Gavril blinked. "When I came to Thirst Hold, you admired my dogs. No one in this region owns their equal. Their bloodlines are the best in-"

"There are many handsome things in this world," the chevard said, "but not all of them are good. I have said what I will do if you misuse your animals again in this fashion. You have lived under my roof long enough by now, Prince Gavril, to know that I keep my word. Do not force me to order them destroyed."

Gavril sat his horse as though he'd been clouted hard but had not yet fallen. His gaze never left the chevard's face, but Dain watched his hands clench and unclench the reins. "Well?" Odfrey asked. "Am I clearly understood?" Gavril drew a sharp breath. Dain expected him to insult the chevard and gallop away, for that intent burned bright in Gavril's mind. But Gavril said, "Your words are most clear to me, sir."

"Good."

"I hope, sir, that you will not find displeasure when I write to my father the king and tell him of this day's events."

The chevard did not flinch. "I have never feared the truth, or King Verence's sense of justice. He is always interested in hearing both sides of a matter. By all means write to him, but take care that you present the full truth. I am sure he will find your actions, and your motivations for them, greatly enlightening. Your letter can go in my next dispatch pouch."

Gavril's gaze dropped. He wheeled his horse about and kicked it into a gallop.

As he rode away, he splashed water over Dain, who was too cold to care. Grateful to be free of the prince, Dain edged away a couple of steps, but the chevard's gaze swung to him and he stopped.

Now that it was just the two of them alone, some deep sadness appeared in Lord Odfrey's face. "You are just his size," he muttered as though to himself. "That same way of standing. That same fearless turn of the head. What is your name, lad?"

"Dain."

"You are far from the mountains of the eld folk."

"I come from Nold. I am-was apprenticed to Jorb maker." The chevard smiled, and his face transformed from a stern, stony countenance into one gentle and warm. The deep lines that bracketed his mouth were smoothed away. Crinkles fanned at the corners of his eyes. He looked younger when he smiled, far less formidable. "Jorb, the old rascal. I carry one of his swords," he said, indicating the weapon that hung from his belt. "Yes, lord," Dain said awkwardly. "I saw."

Odfrey's smile faded. "But you say you were his apprentice. Not now? Has the trouble reached him too?"