Kaelin pondered this for a moment. 'Do you know Sergeant Bindoe?' he asked.
'I have heard the name,' answered Mulgrave, his voice suddenly non-committal.
'He was seen taking Chara away from the crowd.'
'I see. Where did you come by this information?'
'A Varlish named Taybard Jaekel told me. He was one of the boys I was fighting when you helped me. He was in love with Chara.'
'I will look into what you say.'
'Aye, but will there be justice?' said Kaelin, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
'Why should there not be?' countered Mulgrave.
'She was "kilted Varlish". Her family are poor, and she was seen walking with a highlander. Justice doesn't visit such people. Bindoe has twice raped highland women. Both times he has been declared innocent. I have no great expectation that this time will be any different.'
‘I’ll not be drawn into talking of a man's guilt before I have spoken to him, but let me tell you this, highlander: when I find the people responsible they will hang. You have my word on it.'
Kaelin thanked him and walked away. Mulgrave seemed a good man, but twice now Bindoe had escaped the noose. Who was to say it would not happen a third time?
The thought continued to occupy his mind as he left the Five Fields and began the long walk back to Old Hills. The numbness of shock began to wear away, leaving grief to rise in its stead. Kaelin saw again Chara Ward's bright smile, and heard her voice whispering in his mind. She had set off for a day of sunshine and laughter, and had her life ripped away in a lonely wood. Kaelin paused by a hedge, and wept for her.
He heard a murmuring voice and looked around. The road was empty. The voice came again, and he recognized it as the Wyrd's. It was as if he was listening to an echo from far away.
'Kaelin, can you hear me?'
'Aye,' he said, pushing aside the branches of the hedge, expecting to find her on the other side. The field was empty. 'Where are you?'
'I am in the Wishing Tree wood. I cannot hold this spell much longer. So do not talk - just listen. I saw the killing. I have tried to touch the spirit of the white-haired officer, but he is not of this land and my words whisper past him. Go to him. Urge him to find Bindoe. He is at the barracks, but not for long. He plans to take the Scardyke road. If he is not apprehended now, then by dawn he will have reached the old log bridge and crossed into the lands of the Finance. You understand me, Kaelin. Find the officer.' The words faded away.
Kaelin stood very still. Yes, he could run back to Eldacre and try to find Mulgrave. What then? Bindoe had been accused twice of rape, and both times had walked free. The second time his accuser had been birched for fabrication under oath. Would there be justice? Mulgrave seemed a fair man - but then so did Galliott the Borderer. Yet he had spoken up for Bindoe, telling the court that the sergeant was in his company when the second rape took place.
The choices seemed simple to the young clansman; trust in Varlish law - or find Bindoe and show him Rigante justice. A terrible stillness settled on Kaelin Ring. The night air seemed charged as he gazed at the stark outline of the distant mountains.
Do you have the nerve, he asked himself?
The old log bridge was nine miles east and south of Old Hills. If he moved swiftly he could make it home, and be at the bridge an hour before dawn.
Kaelin began to run, long easy strides that ate the miles between Five Fields and Old Hills. Just under an hour later he slipped through the rear door of Aunt Maev's house. He could hear Grymauch snoring, but apart from that the house was silent. He made his way to the old teak cabinet in the sitting room. Opening the lower door he carefully removed the bottles of elderflower wine Aunt Maev kept there. Behind them was a polished panel. Kaelin reached in and - with great care - eased it out. Hidden behind it was a dusty walnut box, some eighteen inches long. Kaelin lifted it and carried it to the table by the window. As he opened the lid moonlight fell on two ornate silver duelling pistols. Beside them, in cunningly crafted compartments, were a silver powder horn, a small phial of oil, a packet of gun cotton wadding, and a box of lead balls. Once, when Maev had been away on business in Eldacre, Grymauch had taken out these pistols. 'They belonged to your father,' he said. 'One day they will be yours.'
They had spent an hour loading and firing the pieces, before cleaning them and replacing them behind the hidden panel. For a highlander to be in possession of projectile weapons such as these was a hanging offence.
Kaelin loaded both pistols and tucked them into his belt. Then he replaced the panel, and lifted the wine bottles back into the cabinet. Rising, he slowly climbed the stairs to his room. From the back of a drawer he pulled clear his bone-handled skinning knife. The four-inch curved blade was as sharp as any razor. Placing knife and sheath into his coat pocket he descended the stairs to the kitchen, and stepped out into the night.
A cold breeze whipped against his face. What are you doing, he thought? You are a boy, for heaven's sake.
No, I am a man, he corrected himself.
I am Ravenheart.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LUSS CAMPION CLOSED HIS EYES TIGHTLY, BUT HE COULD STILL SEE THE dead face of Chara Ward, the eyes staring sightlessly up at him. The horse stumbled beneath him and he almost fell from the saddle. 'Hell's bells, boy,' said Jek Bindoe, 'get a grip.'
'I can't stop thinking about her, Uncle,' said Luss. 'We did a terrible thing.'
'She asked for it. Look at my face!'
Luss did not want to look at Bindoe, but he did, seeing the four angry gashes starting under his right eye, and slicing down across his lip. Luss had gashes of his own. But they were on his soul, and he feared they would never heal.
'I don't see why I have to come with you, Uncle Jek,' he said. 'Nobody saw me with . . . her.' He could not bear to say her name.
'No, but someone would have seen you when you fetched the rope. I told you to put it under your coat. Didn't I say that? Should have listened to your uncle Jek, boy. We'll get some coin in Scardyke, then head south. Maybe the capital. I've friends there. They'll find us a berth. Truth to tell I was getting tired of the highlands anyway.'
He seemed untouched by the horror of the night, and Luss Campion felt as if he'd wandered into a crazed nightmare. 'You shouldn't have done it,' he said, before he could stop the words.
Jek Bindoe drew rein. 'We shouldn't have done it. You stuck your meat in her too, boy.'
'I didn't kill her.'
'Oh, really?' answered Bindoe, with a cruel smile. 'You think she was dead before we hoisted her up?'
Luss remembered his hands on the rope. His eyes had been closed but he had felt the weight as they hauled her body up. Tears fell from his eyes. 'We are going to burn in hell,' he said, and felt Jek Bindoe's hand slash across his cheek.
'You can shut up with that,' he said harshly. 'There ain't no hell. She was just a tart. Now she's a dead tart. Not a great loss to the world. There's plenty of tarts. Always has been, always will be. One or two less don't make no difference to nothing.'
They rode on in silence, Luss remembering the walk to the feast, an
They rode slowly on through the darkness. Occasionally Bindoe would move up to higher ground and scan the back trail. It was unlikely, he said, that anyone would be following yet. Best to be sure, though, he told the despairing youth. Luss half hoped they would be followed. Aye, followed and caught. Then he could hang like poor Chara Ward, and maybe his death would cancel out his sin.
Towards dawn they angled down a steep slope
leading to the river. An old log bridge spanned the narrow crossing. 'Best dismount and lead your horse across,' said Bindoe. 'Them boards is pretty slippy this time of year.' The soldier stepped down and advanced onto the bridge. Luss followed him.
A dark shape moved into sight on the far side. 'Who's there?' called Bindoe.
'Kaelin Ring.'
'What do you want?'
'I want your heart in my hand, you murdering piece of filth.'
Luss saw that Kaelin was holding two pistols. His heart began to beat faster, and fear rose in him like a forest fire. A few moments ago he wanted to be caught and punished. Not now. Now he just wanted the chance to ride south with Uncle Jek.
Bindoe slowly drew his cavalry sabre. 'I hope you know how to use them beauties, boy,' he said. 'Because I'm going to rip out your bowels if you don't.' As he spoke he rushed forward.
Luss saw Kaelin raise one of the pistols and pull the trigger. The flash pan flared, but no shot followed. The second pistol came up - and fired. The ball smashed into Bindoe's face, shattering the teeth on the right side of his mouth and exiting in a bloody spray over his cheekbone. He staggered and almost fell, then righted himself. With an angry roar he charged at Kaelin Ring.
Instead of running Kaelin dropped both pistols and reached into his pocket, coming up with a small knife. Flinging the sheath aside he darted in to meet Bindoe. The sabre slashed through the air. Kaelin Ring ducked under it. The knife slid into Bindoe's belly and ripped upwards. A scream of mortal agony came from the dying soldier as his entrails spilled over the hands of his killer. Kaelin wrenched the knife up further, then slammed it deep into Bindoe's chest. Pushing the soldier away Kaelin kicked him in the ribs, hurling him to the boards. His guts splayed around him, Bindoe began to shake and scream. Kaelin Ring knelt beside him. Grabbing his hair he hefted the skinning knife and carved seven letters into his brow. As he reached the seventh Bindoe gave out one last juddering sigh, and died.
Luss Campion saw Kaelin Ring rise up from beside the body and walk towards him. His hands and arms were covered in blood, and in his eyes there was a fury that Luss found almost inhuman.
'I'm so sorry,' he said. 'So sorry. I didn't want. . .' Something cold swept across his throat. There was little pain. He tried to speak, but only a garbled noise came out. His vision swam, and he pitched to his knees. Blood was pumping from his neck. He tried to reach up and stem the flow, but Kaelin Ring pushed him to his back. The knife cut into his brow. There was no pain.
Kaelin knelt by the water's edge, in the shadow of the old log bridge. The dawn sun shone down on him, and by its light he stared at his blood-covered hands and arms, at the gore-drenched white shirt, and the red streaks and splashes to his leggings.
The frenzy had passed now, and he felt weak and disorientated, his mind numb. He found himself looking at the reflections in the water, the glints of light sparkling on a jutting white rock, and the newly opening yellow flowers on the river bank. He wondered what made the flowers open in sunlight and close in darkness. On the far bank he saw two rabbits emerge from their burrow. Birdsong filled the trees, and the land seemed to sigh with awakening.
Kaelin's hands were sticky and he plunged them into the water. The movement caused the rabbits to flee back to their burrow. Kae^in watched the blood swirl on the surface. Not so long ago this same blood was flowing in the veins of living men, now headless corpses sprawled on the bridge above. The water was cold, but Kaelin waded out into it, ducking down and scrubbing at his shirt, trying to remove the stains. He was shivering as he emerged some minutes later. The front of his shirt was still pale pink. He stripped it off and scrubbed it again, beating it against a rock until no sign of his excesses could be seen upon the garment.
He had not known what to expect, nor what he would feel if he avenged Chara's murder. But there ought to have been at least a sense of satisfaction, of balance. There was none. A sweet girl was dead, and no amount of vengeance could alter that. 'The blame is mine,' he whispered, remembering her words in the lane outside her home.
'I don't care what people say, Kaelin.'
'It is not about what they say.'
'I'm not frightened of them either. You are my friend, Kaelin. I value that friendship, and I'll not hide it to please bigots.'
I should have refused, he thought.
And there was a deeper guilt. Grymauch had asked him if he was in love with Chara Ward. The truth was that Chara was a dear friend. No more than that. Her beauty touched his body, but not his soul. He was not in love with her. It felt like betrayal of her memory to even acknowledge it. Would love have grown had she lived? He would never know now. What he did know was that a sweet and loving person had been murdered. She would never experience the joy of watching her children playing at her feet. Nor hold the hand of her husband as they watched a sunset. Chara Ward was gone, her life torn from her in a dark wood by evil men. Tears fell from Kaelin's eyes. A racking sob burst from him, and he wept again for all that Chara Ward would never know.
Cold and trembling, Kaelin at last wiped away his tears. As he did so he smeared congealing blood to his face. He looked at his hands, picturing the deaths of Jek Bindoe and Luss Campion, recalling the awful sounds Bindoe made as his guts spilled out and his lungs were ripped apart. Kaelin's hands began to shake, and he felt his stomach heave. For a moment he thought he would vomit, but he did not.
Rising from the river's edge he draped his wet shirt over his shoulder and climbed to the bridge. He did not look at the mutilated corpses. Instead he gathered the silver pistols, Bindoe's sabre, the skinning knife and the discarded sheath. Pushing the pistols into his belt, he walked to Bindoe's horse and tried to mount. The horse backed away and Kaelin half fell.
Leaving the horses where they were he walked out across the hills, heading for home.
The morning brought fresh drama to the people of Eldacre, as word spread of astonishing events during the night. People gathered on street corners to discuss the shocking news. The fighter Gorain had hanged himself, leaving behind a scrawled note expressing unbearable shame and explaining that he had placed bets against himself and had thrown the fight against the highlander. Incredibly it seemed that Chain Shada had been party to the crime, and when officers of the Watch had gone to question him he had attacked them without reason. Three officers had been seriously injured and were now under the care of the surgeon. A fourth had been thrown through a window and rendered unconscious. Chain Shada had then fled, and a warrant had been issued for his arrest.
Eldacre was in uproar. Some who had seen the fight with the one-eyed clansman remained silent, but most agreed that a fixed fight was the only possible explanation. It all made sense. How else could an untrained and clumsy highlander defeat the pride of the Varlish? The fact that Chain Shada might be involved was surprising, but his attack on the innocent officers surely proved his guilt beyond doubt. Some even began to raise questions about Shada's right to be considered Varlish. 'I heard his mother was a tribeswoman from south of the old city of Stone,' said one. Others recalled hearing that Chain Shada's father was a mercenary soldier from Bersantum, a non-Varlish city state far to the east.
Such talk was even heard among the ten soldiers who rode behind Mulgrave as he set out on the Scardyke road. Galliott the Borderer was alongside him as they departed the town. Mulgrave was still angry. He had not slept that night, but had continued seeking witnesses who might have seen the killers of Chara Ward. It was painstaking work. Galliott's officers were moving through the crowds, so Mulgrave had visited every stall with a view of the woods, talking to stallholders and servers. After four hours he had learned nothing of importance. Then a young woman had approached him, as he sat on a fence rail eating a slice of pie. She had been helping her sister and brother-in-law earlier that evening, on a stall selling riding accoutrements. Business had been good, and she had returned to the main premises to fetch more items. That's why she had missed Mulgrave's visit to the stall. She told him that around dusk she ha
d seen a young man carrying a rope into the wood, and soon after she had seen him in the company of a soldier. Both men had walked past the stall. The soldier had blood on his face.
'Do you know the soldier?'
'Yes, sir. It was Sergeant Bindoe.'
Mulgrave had gone immediately to Galliott, requesting men to arrest Bindoe. 'I need to question her myself,' said Galliott. 'It could be that she is mistaken.'
This further questioning had taken an inordinate time, as Galliott took her through her story half a dozen times. 'Have you ever had dealings with Sergeant Bindoe?'
'No, sir.'
'Has he ever arrested any member of your family?'
'No, sir,' she said indignantly.
'Friends, perhaps?'
'He once cautioned my husband's brother for being drunk.'
'Ah, I see.'
'What do you see?' demanded the woman. 'I'm telling you the man came from the woods and he had blood on his face. What is it you think you see? My husband is an Eldacre councillor, and if you are implying that I would lie I'll seek redress from the Moidart himself.'
'I am not implying anything of the kind,' said Galliott smoothly. 'But we must be sure that any evidence we receive is properly examined.'
'Indeed we must,' said Mulgrave. 'We must also ensure that the suspects are not given time to escape the jurisdiction of the court. It is my belief that the balance between the two objectives is now seriously in jeopardy. Do you concur, Galliott?'
The Borderer looked into Mulgrave's grey eyes. 'We will go to the barracks and question Sergeant Bindoe,' he said. 'I believe the man is about to take compassionate leave. I would imagine he is packing.'
Bindoe had packed and gone by the time Mulgrave and Galliott arrived.
Now, with a squad of beetlebacks in tow, Mulgrave rode from Eldacre and out onto the Scardyke road. He had no wish to speak to Galliott, nor indeed was he happy to have the man's company.
They pushed the horses hard for several miles, and it was during a pause to rest them with a slow walk that Mulgrave heard the soldiers talking of the 'fixed' fight. Some were recalling how Chain Shada had stormed down to the circle, forcing the Keeper of the Sands to allow the highlander extra time to recover from a blow. Mulgrave's anger grew. He was tempted to point out to them that the extra time was given because Gorain had thundered an illegal punch to Grymauch's head. Hardly the act of a man trying to throw a fight. He stayed silent. Men would believe what they wanted to believe. Mulgrave did not believe for a moment that Gorain had hanged himself. The Moidart had been coldly furious at the outcome of the fight. That alone had told Mulgrave that someone would have to die.