'Better them than us, Jaim.'
'We'll have to agree to differ. I have killed men. You know that. I carried rage in my heart and I slaughtered the enemy wherever I found him. I regret every one of those dead now. Even the bad ones. Had we killed Huntsekker and his man, we'd likely have had to go back into the undergrowth and kill the other three. Then we'd have been forced to bury them in unmarked graves, hoping no-one would ever stumble upon them. Dal Naydham and Vinton Gabious have children, who would never know what happened to their father. Bass and Boillard Seeton care for their elderly mother, who is blind now. Aye, maybe Huntsekker would be small loss to the world. I can't say for sure. But the day will never dawn again when I cut down defenceless men. Not ever, Maev.'
Maev walked to the window, staring out at the distant mountains. 'We must bring the plan forward,' she said. 'You and Kaelin will leave today for the north. Find him and take him to the cave. Send Banny back here. Tomorrow at dawn be at the fork in the Great North Road. I will be there with a wagon.'
'We don't need a wagon, Maev. It will slow us down.'
'The wagon will be carrying much of my wealth, Jaim. I need to get it away from here. You will take it to my farm in the north. Once there you will remove the gold and bury it in the woods behind the main house.'
'Gold? How much gold?'
'Two thousand pounds.'
‘Is there that much money in the world?' he asked, astonished.
'Why in heaven's name did you get drunk last night, when you knew I'd be worried sick?' she countered.
'I stopped off at the tavern for a quick one. My bones were cold through. While I was there I heard that an old friend of mine was hanged south of the border. Public execution, Maev. Hundreds of clansmen and women gathered to watch him dance on the rope. I wish I had known.'
'What difference would it have made?' she asked.
'I'd have taken my glave, and marched down the main street, and cut him free.'
'There are usually two squads of soldiers at every execution. Twenty men, Grymauch.'
'I know,' he said sadly.
'So what you are saying is you'd have thrown away your life.'
He suddenly grinned. 'Not at all. I'd have hacked a path through the soldiers and freed him anyway. After all, what are twenty Varlish to a man of the Rigante?'
'A pet bear would be less trouble,' she said.
'What?' he asked, mystified.
'Never mind. Find Kaelin and be at the fork at dawn.'
The black lacquered coach, bearing the crest of the Moidart, stood waiting, the matched black horses standing patiently. Behind the coach ten lancers also waited in lines of two. The driver, dressed in a heavy double-shouldered coat, sat hunched, the reins in his hands.
A white-wigged Gaise Macon, his long pale blue cloak flaring in the breeze, walked back and forth, occasionally staring towards the gates of the castle. It was nearing noon and there was no sign of Mulgrave. At last Gaise removed his cloak, opened the door of the coach and climbed inside. The seats were of polished hide, and embroidered cushions were scattered upon them. Gaise tapped twice on the front panel. The driver flicked the reins and the coach rumbled over the cobbles, and out onto the hill road above Eldacre.
Gaise was disappointed that he had not been able to say farewell to his mentor. Mulgrave had been a good friend these past few years. Lifting his booted heels to the seat opposite Gaise leaned back. It would be a long journey to Varingas, the capital. Eight days of mind-numbing boredom. It would have been so much more satisfying to ride the palomino, and to camp beside streams. But this was inappropriate for the son of the Moidart. No, his journey to the capital had to be made in style, with a ten-man escort, and not even a farewell wave from his closest friend.
Mulgrave had been much occupied during the last few weeks, trying to solve the riddle of the murders of Jek Bindoe and the kilted Varlish boy. Gaise guessed that the soldier had his suspicions as to the identity of the killer, but he would not voice them. Then had come the killing of Boillard Seeton. Like Bindoe he had also been shot before being stabbed. Mulgrave was convinced that the man who shot Boillard had also been responsible for the other murders.
'It is a highlander for sure,' he said. The killer did not ride from the old bridge. He walked. I followed the tracks for a while, but then they vanished in a stream. I rode that stream looking for an exit print. I found none. But there were many areas where either the ground was rocky alongside the water, or overhanging branches reached down. The man was canny - as they say in these parts. He was also not heavily built. The prints were not deep. Judging by the ground he covered I would also assume him to be young and strong.'
'What does it matter, my friend?' asked Gaise Macon. 'Bindoe was a rapist and a murderer. He deserved to die. Boillard Seeton was a hunter of men, and a man of poor reputation. Added to which I am glad Chain Shada escaped.'
'It matters, sir, because a highlander has killed three Varlish. It would not be a good precedent for him to escape justice.'
'It has not sparked a rebellion, Mulgrave.'
'No, sir, but it has planted a seed.'
The coach rumbled on. Gaise looked out of the window at the houses flowing by, and at the people walking the narrow streets of Eldacre. Most of the men were wearing white wigs and the high-collared black coats once so popular in the south. A dog ran alongside the coach, barking furiously. A lancer broke formation and clouted the animal with the haft of his lance. The dog yelped and ran away.
Gaise pulled off his own wig and scratched his head. Already he was sweating and the journey had scarcely begun. The coach rattled along, past the Five Fields, empty now. Gaise thought back to the night of the fight. He had been impressed by Jaim Grymauch.
Just for a moment, after he had downed Gorain for the last time, the man had seemed like a giant, his huge frame silhouetted against the mountains.
He recalled an old description of the clansmen. Men with mountains on their shoulders. It was certainly true of Grymauch. And yet we treat them in the same way the lancer treated the dog alongside the coach, he thought. At first sign of independent thought we come down on them with whips and guns and the hangman's noose. It was no way to govern a people.
But it was the way of the Moidart.
Gaise felt himself tensing as he thought of his father, and the man's last words as servants carried his trunks down to the coach.
'Do nothing to make me ashamed,' he had said.
Gaise wished he had found the courage to say: 'If only you could do as much.'
The senseless murder of Gorain had saddened the young noble. The fighter had given his best and been beaten. For this he had been dragged away in the dark of the night and hanged from a tree. Then, for a noble gesture that epitomized the greatness of the Varlish, Chain Shada had been hunted like an animal. It was monstrous.
Gaise was glad to be leaving the area. Perhaps in Varingas he would learn to feel pride in his race again. The Academy of Martial Thought was run by some of the finest soldiers ever to lead Varlish armies, and the books in its libraries were written by - or about -the greatest military geniuses of the last thousand years. All twelve of Jasaray's Campaign Memoirs were there. Gaise had also been told that the six books on cavalry warfare by the legendary Luden Macks were presented to every new student upon arrival.
The road curved sharply to the west for a while, and, glancing through the window, Gaise saw the towers of Eldacre Castle, sharp against the sky. He stared morosely at the grey fortress. Many of the great stories he had read talked of the joys of home. Gaise had never known such joys. Assassins had killed his mother while he was still a babe, and his father had always been a cold and vengeful figure. Eldacre Castle contained no fond memories. He could not recall one incident where his father had ever praised him, or hugged him. In fact he had rarely seen the man smile.
Maybe he will die in the four years I am at the academy, he thought. Perhaps when I return I will be the Moidart. The thought saddened him, though he
did not know why.
The road swung south, the castle disappearing from sight. Gaise stared out now over the snow-capped mountains, and found himself recalling the words of the woman in his dream. You have no soul-name. What difference could it possibly make?
For the next hour Gaise tried to read. It was a book about the capital and its sites of interest: the White Tower, and the Burning Bridge; the restored Stone amphitheatre, where plays were performed before the king; the Royal Park where red deer roamed; the gardens of Gavaras - twenty-five acres of plants brought from all corners of the known world. Gaise flicked through the pages, trying to concentrate. Every now and again he would look out of the window at the mountains. I shall miss you, he thought. I will miss the land.
The coach entered the woods, keeping to the old Scardyke road. Bored now, Gaise considered climbing to the seat beside the driver and engaging the man in conversation. As he prepared to do so he heard the driver call out, 'Whoa!' The coach came to a stop. A rider moved past the window. Curious, Gaise swung open the door and climbed out.
Mulgrave was tethering his chestnut gelding to the rear of the coach. Gaise smiled as he saw him.
'I thought you had forgotten I was leaving.'
'Hardly,' replied the officer. 'May I travel with you a while, sir?'
'Of course.' Gaise returned to the coach. Mulgrave, removing his sword belt, joined him. 'Why were you not at the castle?'
'Your father dismissed me from his service late yesterday. Since my main role was as your tutor, and you were leaving for Varingas, he said he had no further use for me. To be honest I had anticipated this. So I wrote to an old friend who had once offered me a position to enquire whether the offer was still good. He wrote back to say that the post was mine whenever I wanted it. So here I am, sir, on my way to Varingas.'
'That is marvellous news,' said Gaise happily. 'We will be able to see each other in the capital.'
'Indeed so, sir.'
'Have you been there before?'
‘I served there for two years.'
'Then you can be my guide. You can show me the wall on the White Tower from which Kaverly dived to freedom.'
'He dived from the west tower, sir, but, yes, I will be glad to show you the sights.'
'Ah, but this is excellent, Mulgrave. My day is complete. So, tell me, did you identify the murderer?'
'Only to my own satisfaction, sir.'
'Will you share the secret?'
Mulgrave shook his head. 'Only this far, sir. On the night of the murders a young highlander spoke to me concerning Bindoe. He doubted that Varlish justice would prevail. When I saw that the word justice had been carved into the brows of the murdered men I guessed that this highlander had a part to play in the killings. Just before your father dismissed me I rode out to see Huntsekker.'
Gaise grinned. 'My father was angry with the old man for failing.'
'Aye, he was. Huntsekker claimed he was struck from behind and did not see his attackers. This was not true. I rode to the scene and read the tracks. Huntsekker stood for a while talking to the men. The one who died - Seeton - had run to the spot where he died. Several other footprints were close by, three sets made by large men, one by a smaller foot. Huntsekker wears moccasins with no heel. His track was easy to read. The second of the large men wore riding boots. This I took to be Chain Shada. There is no question in my mind that Huntsekker saw the men who killed Seeton.'
'Why then would he refuse to name them?' asked Gaise.
'More importantly, sir, why did they not kill him? Seeton was stabbed through the back, possibly as he was running. Having murdered one man, why not two? Indeed, why not the others, who were merely stunned?'
'Did you put this to Huntsekker?'
'Yes.'
'What did he say?'
'He said that life was always more interesting while mystery prevailed. He then asked me if I intended to report my suspicions to the Moidart. In turn I asked him what his thoughts were on the subject. He walked across the room and returned with a curious weapon, a hand scythe, with a heavy crescent blade. He laid it on the table. Then he said: "Do you believe in magic, captain?" I told him I didn't know whether supernatural powers existed, but that it would not surprise me if they did. He sat down and hefted the weapon. The man is large, his hands are huge. He said: "I believe in magic. This scythe has killed men. It has taken the heads of murderers and thieves. It has - only once - claimed the life of the innocent. And even then the man wasn't so innocent." "You believe the scythe is magical?" I asked him. "No, not the scythe," he told me. "This is an old land, with old magic. I have studied it. There are certain men who feed the land, men unaware of their own greatness. I will not kill such men, regardless of who orders it. I thought I could. I thought my own strength was such that I could overpower the will of the land. I was wrong. Chain Shada deserved to walk free. There is no doubt of that. The men who helped him deserved to walk free. I know this too." I sat silently for a moment. Then I said: "Despite the fact that they killed your man Seeton?" "They killed no-one," he said. "Seeton died because he was an oath-breaker. A man should stand by his promises." It was then that I realized Seeton had been killed by the scythe. Huntsekker had slain him.'
'By the Sacrifice!' said Gaise Macon. 'Why? What else did he say?'
'He said nothing, sir. He replaced the scythe in a black sheath and asked me if I would join him for dinner. After that we spoke of many things, but did not again touch upon the events by the river. After the meal he walked me to my horse and asked me what my report would say. I told him there would be no report, since it was likely I would be leaving Eldacre for the capital in the next few days. He wished me well on my journey.'
'So why did Huntsekker kill the man - Seeton?'
Mulgrave shrugged. 'My guess would be that Huntsekker promised the highlanders he would not reveal their identities. Seeton must have made the same promise. Huntsekker did not believe he would keep it.'
Gaise was mystified. 'Why would the highlanders trust Huntsekker?'
'Why indeed? And yet they could.'
'So how did all this lead you to the identity of the man who killed Bindoe?'
'Bear in mind, sir, that I already had my suspicions, based on the conversation the night the girl was killed. I followed the tracks from the river. The younger, smaller man headed off back towards Old Hills. The larger man cut away north. His tracks led to a small settlement, and an unsavoury tavern. I spoke to the tavern keeper, asking him who had been drinking there the night before. I told him I was interested only in one person, a large man standing over six feet tall. He said he couldn't remember. I offered him two choices, a silver chailling or a visit from Captain Galliott. He accepted the chailling, and gave me the name. Once I had the name I knew the identity of the young man who had been with him.'
'And you chose not to divulge it to the Moidart. Why?'
'I truly cannot say, sir. There is little doubt in my mind that Bindoe was warned to run, probably by Galliott. The young man was, in all likelihood, correct in his assumption that Varlish justice would not have prevailed. As to Chain Shada, I have to agree with Huntsekker. The man deserved to escape. All in all nothing would be served by seeing two more highlanders swinging from the gibbet.'
'My father would not agree with you, my friend.'
'Indeed he would not. He is not an agreeable man. It pleases me that he will be irritated when he learns of my new post.'
'Why should he be irritated?'
'I am to be the fencing instructor at the Academy of Martial Thought, and therefore one of your new teachers. Are you aware that you will be obliged to call me sir?'
CHAPTER TEN
AS KAELIN RING SWIFTLY DISCOVERED, THE WORLD WAS VERY DIFFERENT two hundred miles north-west of Eldacre. In these high, forbidding, snow-capped mountains highlanders massively outnumbered the Varlish and a mere two hundred beetlebacks and musketeers patrolled an area of almost eighteen hundred square miles. The towns were small, the Varlish business
es almost totally reliant on the custom of clansmen. Kaelin found people less friendly than in Old Hills, viewing him with a degree of suspicion. In some ways it was amusing. For most of his life Kaelin had thought of southerners with contempt, for they were almost all Varlish. To the townspeople of Black Mountain Kaelin himself was a southerner, and Varlish-tainted.
Maev's farm was two miles from the town of Black Mountain, nestling in the mighty shadows of a range of towering mountains. It was cooler here than in Old Hills, and Jaim explained that they were now many thousands of feet above sea level. The air was thinner, which was why Kaelin had, at first, felt breathless when joining with Jaim and the other five workers in felling trees for winter fuel.
The farm boasted two herds, each numbering some six hundred short-horned, shaggy animals. The first herd was kept in the high pastures to the west, the second in a series of fields between the farm and Black Mountain. There were also thirty milk cows, pastured within a half mile of the main house.
The numerous farm buildings were old and much repaired over the years. The main house was more than two hundred years old, two-storeyed, built of grey stone and roofed with timber and black slate. It was a cold house, grim and unwelcoming. Fifty paces to the west was a long, low building housing the cookhouse and a living area for the workers, and beyond that the churning hall, where women from Black Mountain made butter, clotted cream and cheese. A little way from this was the high barn, a shambling structure containing an old wagon, two swaybacked ponies, ten abandoned stalls for riding horses, and a loft for storing hay. A little further on was a rough-built stone abattoir and a salt storehouse.
Kaelin missed Old Hills and his friend Banny. He felt out of place here among strangers. Jaim had only stayed a month, and in that time they had re-established - at least in part - their easy-going relationship. Kaelin loved the fighter, but it was hard to overcome his disappointment at the man's softness when dealing with Huntsekker and his crew. Had they killed the man Kaelin would not now be labouring in a foreign land where men treated him with cold courtesy.