To die by hanging, to be thrown into a ditch with a hundred men who’d met the same priest-cursed end, to lie far from Eldidd, unmarked, unmourned, nothing but a silver dagger who’d had the ill luck to take the wrong hire—that was his Wyrd, was it? Rhodry shook his head in sheer disbelief, that all his berserk battle glory, that strange dweomer prophecies and magical battles had led him to this, a thing so numbing that he felt no fear and very little grief, only a dark hiraedd that he’d never see Jill again. What if he’d only ridden east instead of west and been hired by Naddryc instead of Nedd? That would have been worse, he decided, to be party to this dishonorable scheme. He would die and Naddryc live, but at least, he would have his honor, while the lord had thrown his away for hatred’s sake.
Rhodry was so wrapped in his brooding that when something tweaked his sleeve, he spun around, his sword out of its scabbard before he was aware of drawing. Jill’s gray gnome stood on the rampart, grinning at him while it jigged up and down in excitement. Rhodry felt a flare of hope. If only he could make the little creature understand, if only it could tell Jill—but what was she supposed to do then? Run to some great lord and say that the Wildfolk had told her the tale? The hope died again.
“It’s cursed good to see you, little brother, but do you realize what kind of evil has befallen me?”
Much to his surprise it nodded yes, then held up one long finger as a sign to pay attention. Suddenly there were Wildfolk all around it, little blue sprites, fat yellow gnomes, strange gray fellows, and parti-colored ugly little lasses. Never had Rhodry seen so many, a vast crowd along the rampart.
“What is all this?”
When the gray gnome snapped his fingers, the Wildfolk lined up in pairs, then began to bob up and down with a rhythmic motion, each with one hand held out before it. The gray gnome stood at the head of the line with one hand out like the others, but the left raised as if holding a sword. Rhodry finally understood.
“An army! Oh, by great Bel himself, do you mean that someone’s riding to relieve this siege?”
The gnome leapt up and danced while it nodded yes. With a rushy sound the rest of the pack disappeared. When Rhodry’s eyes filled with tears, he wiped them away, swallowing hard before he could speak.
“Did you tell Jill I was trapped here?”
This time the answer was no. The gnome sucked one finger for a moment, then began to walk back and forth while it imitated a stiff, clumsy, bowlegged gait.
“Lord Perryn? He escaped the battle?”
Although the gnome nodded yes, its expression was peculiarly sour. It shrugged, as if dismissing something, then leapt to Rhodry’s shoulder and kissed him on the cheek before it vanished. Rhodry tossed his head back and laughed—until it occurred to him that now he had to convince the noble lords that rescue was on the way, that there was no need to surrender, without, of course, mentioning the Wildfolk.
“Oh, horsedung and a pile of it!”
All morning, while he watched the mounted patrols ride round and round the dun, he went over and over the problem, trying out phrases, rejecting them, trying some more. Eventually Lord Nedd climbed awkwardly up the ladder onto the catwalk and limped over.
“Just thought I’d have a look at the bastards.” Nedd leaned onto the wall and stared down, his red hair oddly dull in the sunlight, as if he were ill. “Ah well, at least we’ll hang soon and get it over with.”
“Er, well, my lord, I was just thinking about that, and …”
“At least I don’t have a widow to mourn me.” The lord went on as if he hadn’t heard Rhodry’s tentative words. “By the Lord of Hell’s balls, I’d always wanted my land to revert to Perryn if I died, and now he’s died before me.”
Nedd was close to tears over his cousin’s death, a surprising thing to Rhodry, who considered him no great loss. Or had considered him lost, until just a few hours ago.
“Here, my lord, what if he escaped from the field?”
“Oh, indeed! What if a crow sang like a little finch, too? Perryn wasn’t much of a swordsman, silver dagger, and Naddryc’s bastards were slaughtering the wounded after the battle.”
“True-spoken, but …”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Nedd snarled. “Why mourn poor Perryn? He’s better off dead.”
“I wasn’t, my lord. Naught of the sort!”
“My apologies. I forget you didn’t know him well. By the asses of the gods, I got so blasted sick of all the chatter. What’s wrong with your wretched cousin, how can you stand him in your dun, he’s daft, he’s a half-wit, he’s this or he’s that. He wasn’t daft at all, by the hells! A little … well, eccentric, maybe, but not daft.” He sighed heavily. “Well, it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ll see him in the Otherlands tomorrow morn.”
“My lord, he’s not dead.”
Nedd looked at him as if he were thinking that Rhodry was daft himself. Here was the crux, and Rhodry steadied himself with a deep breath before he went on.
“My lord, you must have heard the old saw, that Eldidd men often have a touch of the second sight? It’s true, and I’ll swear to you that I know deep in my heart that Perryn’s alive, and that he’s bringing an army back to relieve the siege.”
The lord’s eyes narrowed.
“Look at me, a misbegotten silver dagger. I’ve been in more battles and tavern brawls than most men even hear of. I’ve faced hanging before, too, for that matter. Am I the kind of man to turn to fancies because he can’t face death? Didn’t you praise me for my courage on the field?”
“So I did.” The lord looked away, thinking. “I’ve seen you go berserk, too. Why wouldn’t you have a touch of the sight as well, for all I know? But—”
“I know it sounds daft, but I beg you, believe me. I know it’s true. It comes to me in dreams, like. I know there’s a relieving army on the way.”
“But who—oh ye gods, my uncle!” Suddenly Nedd grinned. “Of course Perryn would ride straight to Benoic—well, if he’s truly alive.”
“I know he is, my lord. I’ll swear it to you on my silver dagger.”
“And that’s the holiest oath a man like you can swear. Ah, by the black hairy ass of the Lord of Hell, what does it matter if we hang tomorrow or in an eightnight, anyway? Come along, silver dagger. We’ve got to convince my allies of this, but I’ll wager they’ll grab at any shred of hope they can see.”
Four days after she left Nedd’s dun, Jill rode back with an army of two hundred twenty men, every last rider that Tieryn Benoic could scrape up, whether by calling in old alliances or by outright threats. As the warband filed into the ward, Saebyn ran out, clutched the tieryn’s stirrup as a sign of fealty, and began telling the lord everything that Perryn had told him over the past few days. Jill threw her reins to the stableboy and hurried into the great hall, where Perryn lay propped up on Nedd’s bed with a pair of boarhounds on either side of him and three of those sleek little hounds known as gwertraeion at his feet. She shoved a dog to one side and perched on the edge of the bed to look over her patient, whose eyes were clear and alert, and his cheeks unfevered.
“Is the wound healing well?” she said.
“It is. You must have brought my uncle with you from all the noise outside. I knew he’d come. If he didn’t have me and Nedd to complain about, his life would be cursed dull.”
At that, Benoic himself strode in, slapping his pair of gauntlets impatiently against his thigh.
“You dolt, Perro! And Nedd’s twice a dolt! But Naddryc’s a whoreson bastard, having the gall to besiege my kin. Well and good, we’ll wipe him off the battlefield for it. Are you riding with us?”
“I am. A wolf can run on three legs.”
“Now wait a moment, my lord,” Jill broke in. “If you ride, that cut could start bleeding again.”
“Let it. I’ve got to go with them. I can lead the army through the forest, you see. We’ll save twenty miles and a night that way.”
“Splendid,” Benoic said. “Glad to see you’re finally sho
wing some spirit, lad. Don’t worry, Jill. We’ll have your man out of that worm-riddled dun as fast as ever we can.”
“Your Grace is most honorable and gracious. If I were a bard, I’d praise your name for this.”
With a small bow she retired and left them alone. Out in the ward a pair of Benoic’s vassals were conferring with their captains while the men unsaddled and tethered their horses outside for want of room in the stables. She went out the gates and walked about halfway down the hill, then sat down where she could be alone and called to the gray gnome, who appeared promptly.
“Is Rhodry still all right?”
It nodded yes, then hunkered down in front of her and began picking its teeth with one fingernail.
“You still haven’t told me why you hate Lord Perryn.”
It paused to screw its face up in irritation, then went on picking until it’d finally gotten its fangs clean enough to suit it.
“Come on now, little brother. You could at least tell me why. Or is it too hard to explain?”
Rather reluctantly, he nodded his agreement to this last.
“Well, let’s see. Did he hurt you or some other Wildfolk?”
No, he hadn’t done that.
“Can he even see you?”
Apparently not, since it nodded a no.
“Is he an evil man?”
Frowning in concentration, the gnome waggled its hands as if to say: not exactly that, either.
“You know, I’m having a hard time thinking up more questions.”
It smiled, pressed its hands to its temples as if it had a headache, then disappeared. Jill supposed that she’d never find out the reason, but as long as the gnome behaved itself and didn’t pinch the lord or tie knots in his hair, it didn’t particularly matter at the moment, not when she had Rhodry’s safety to worry about. She decided that she couldn’t bear to sit here in Nedd’s moldering dun and wait for news.
Since she had a mail shirt and a shield of her own, on the morrow Jill rose and armed when the warband did. Once the army was mustered outside the gates, she led her horse into line at the very rear. Since these men had been hastily assembled from Benoic’s various allies and vassals, everyone who noticed her at all seemed to assume that she was a silver dagger hired by some other lord. All that counted to them, truly, was that she was another sword.
By keeping strictly to herself and speaking to no one, Jill escaped discovery all that day, because Perryn led the army off the road into the forest on a track so narrow that they had to ride single file. All day they wound around hills and through the trees by such confusing paths that she prayed Perryn actually knew what he was doing. She also understood why all the provisions were on pack mules, not in carts; apparently Benoic knew his nephew’s daft ways very well. That night, however, they made camp in a mountain meadow, and there Jill was caught out. Like the excellent commander he was, Benoic made a point of walking through the camp and speaking to his men personally. When he came to Jill, he stared for a moment, then roared with laughter.
“Have all my men gone blind? Mail or no, Jill, you don’t look like a lad to me. What are you doing with the army?”
“Well, Your Grace, my man’s all I have in the world. I’ve got to see him with my own eyes as soon as ever I can.”
“Huh. Well, we can’t be sending you back now. You’d only get lost trying to follow Perro’s wretched deer trails. You’d best come camp with me. You can keep your eye on Perryn’s wound, and everyone will know you’re under my protection.”
When Jill shifted her gear over to the tieryn’s campfire, she found Perryn there, slumped against his saddle. Although he was pale with exhaustion, he looked up and smiled at her.
“I thought you’d find a way to come along,” he said.
“Why, my lord?”
“Oh, er, ah, just rather thought you were that sort of lass. I hope Rhodry’s worthy of you.”
“I hold him so, my lord.”
Nodding absently, he stared into the fire. She was struck by how sad he looked, a perpetual melancholy that was beginning to wear lines in a face too young to have them, rather as if he were in exile from some far country rather than among his kin. A puzzle, that one, she thought to herself.
On the morrow, Jill saw yet another puzzling thing about the lord. Since she was riding right behind him, she could watch how he managed his leading. When they came to a spot where two trails joined or one petered out, he would wave the army to a halt, then ride a few steps ahead to sit on his horse and stare blankly around him, his head tilted as if sniffing the wind. For a moment he would look profoundly uncomfortable, then suddenly smile and lead the men on with perfect confidence. She was also impressed with his riding. Most of the time he left the reins wrapped around the saddle peak and guided the horse with his knees, while he swayed in a perfect balance in spite of having one arm in a sling. On horseback he looked much more graceful, as if his peculiar proportions had been designed to make him and a horse fit together in an artistic whole.
About two hours before sunset, Perryn found the army a large meadow in which to camp and announced that they were a scant six miles from Graemyn’s dun. After the horses were tended, Jill put a clean bandage on Perryn’s wound, which was oozing blood and lymph, and tied up his sling again. Although he pleaded that he was too weary to eat, she badgered him into downing some cheese.
“We’ll reach the dun tomorrow,” he remarked. “I can rest then, after the battle, I mean.”
“Now listen, my lord. You can’t fight. Trying to swing a sword would open that wound up again.”
“Oh, don’t trouble your heart about that. I’ll just trot around the edge of things. See what I can see.”
It was such a daft remark that Jill couldn’t answer.
“Oh, er, ah, well, I heard my uncle talking with the other lords, and they’re thinking of riding right into battle.” He looked sincerely distressed. “There’s bound to be wounded horses, and maybe I can get them to safety.”
“Oh. I keep forgetting how valuable horses are up here.”
He nodded, staring into the fire, as if he were working out some elaborate line of thought. It was some minutes before he spoke again.
“I cursed well hope that Nedd and Rhodry are still alive.”
Although she knew that they were, she had no way of telling him.
“So do I,” she said instead. “You seem to honor your cousin highly, my lord.”
“I don’t, because he’s not truly honorable. But I love him. We were pages together in Benoic’s dun. I think I would have gone mad if it weren’t for Nedd.”
“Was the tieryn as harsh as all that?”
“He wasn’t, not truly. It was me, you see. I just … well, oh, ah, er.”
As she waited for him to finish, Jill wondered if Nedd’s efforts to keep him sane had all gone for naught. Finally he got up and went to his blankets without another word.
“You’re certain it will be today?” Graemyn said.
“As certain as the sun is shining,” Rhodry said. “Your Grace, I know it sounds daft, but I swear to you that the relief army’s close by. We’d best be ready to arm and sally. If they don’t come, then Your Grace will know I’m daft, and we can all surrender and be done with it.”
For a long moment Graemyn considered him with an expression that wavered between doubt and awe. Perched on Rhodry’s shoulder, the gray gnome squirmed impatiently until at last the tieryn nodded his agreement.
“True enough, silver dagger.” He turned to his captain. “Have the men arm. One way or another, today sees the end of this.”
The gnome grabbed Rhodry’s hair and gave it a tug, then vanished.
The warband drew up behind the gates; watchmen climbed to the ramparts. As the waiting dragged on in the hot sun, the men ended up sitting down on the cobbles. No one spoke; every now and then someone would look Rhodry’s way with a puzzled frown, as if thinking they were daft to trust this silver dagger’s words. All at once, a watchman yel
led with a whoop of joy.
“Horsemen coming out of the forest! I see the Wolf blazon! It’s Benoic, by the gods!”
Laughing, cheering, the men leapt to their feet. Nedd threw an arm around Rhodry’s shoulders and hugged him; half a dozen men slapped him on the back. At the tieryn’s order, two servants lifted down the latch beam at the gates and rushed to man the winches. From outside, the battle noise broke over them; men yelling, horns blowing, horses neighing in panic, and through it all was the strike of sword on shield and mail. Rhodry started to laugh, a little cold mutter under his breath; he felt so light on his feet that it seemed he hovered over the cobbles.
“Remember!” Nedd hissed. “We’re going after Naddryc.”
Although he nodded agreement, Rhodry went on laughing.
With a groan and creak the gates swung back. Screaming and jostling, the warband rushed out, just as when leaves and sticks dam a stream, which worries at them, nudges them, and at last breaks free in a churn of white water. Down the hill, the enemy camp was a screaming, shoving, bloody madness. Half of Naddryc’s men had had no time to arm; those wearing mail were trying to hold the breach in the earthworks against a full cavalry charge, and they were doing it with swords, not pikes. Horses went down; others screamed and reared; but for every horse lost, three or four of the enemy were trampled. All at once the cry went up: the sally to our rear! the sally to our rear! Rhodry’s laugh rose like a wail as the horsemen drove through. The defenders broke, swirling and running to face the new threat as Graemyn led his men downhill.