Harald (5 page)

"Your Majesty can't maintain me as lord of the Northvales. I'm not. Isn't a lord of the Vales, never was."

"It's not what you call yourself, but you're the one the cats fight for. You spoke of sending troops over the pass. I can't afford an army. But a hundred, two hundred, good men, take orders, deal with problems without asking your people to fight their own kin. Maybe there isn't a lord of the Northvales. There could be."

The King fell silent, watching Harald.

"Your Majesty has interesting ideas. Two problems. First, I don't want to be lord of the Northvales; paramount suits fine. Second, I couldn't get it. I go where cats want, they follow. Try to make myself Lord of the Northvales, be at the wrong end of a lot of arrows."

"You understate your own power. Take time to consider my proposal. You gave two problems. Let me give two answers, and then let the matter be for now.

"You say the cats follow because you are going where they want. My men follow me from loyalty—they know they are mine to command. It could be that way for you. I could help make it that way.

"Second consider the consequences—not now, but in time. I need troops I can trust, not a host that fights for me if it's in a good mood, goes home if it isn't. In a year, two years, when my present troubles are solved and the Empire, gods willing, off fighting someone else. Your host is two thousand. Mine is ten. My father was content with your terms. I may not be."

"Your Majesty speaks frankly. Some day the road to the high pass, show you something along the way."

The King looked at him curiously.

"Valley. Downhill from where your grandfather tried to force the pass, year I was born. Full of bones. Two thousand I brought east to help Henry. Didn't empty the vales. Second time, while 'Nora and I played hide and seek with the Emperor's generals up and down the plains, wife's brother and his friends were busy west of the mountains. A legion and ten cacades of cavalry the Empire sent south. Not many came home again across the low pass. Hold the Gate with two thousand cats—need more, they're there."

Harald rose, stretched legs stiff with sitting, nodded to the silent King, left.

Later that afternoon, returning to the orchard, he found it no longer empty. The lady looked up at him startled, rubbing her eyes—a little older than Anne, a little less well dressed, a great deal less happy. He looked away, sat down on the tombstone of some king whose name could no longer be read in the worn letters, looked back at her. She was rising.

"Would have a tale, damsel, to while the time?"

"No. Yes." Voice as uncertain as the words.

"Time yet to dinner. A sad place to sit alone." He looked around at the trees, the stone paving, the stone he was sitting on.

When he looked up again she was sitting on the paving, looking down at the hands in her lap, still.

"Yes."

"The Vales, my grandfather's father's time. The full tale of Saemund Heavyhand is long; I tell only of the vengeance for his oathbrother Cuhal's slaying, and that one killing in which Saemund had no hand at all.

"Now Cuhal was out of the west, a man of Otter clan, but long living among our people for love of Saemund's sister, and she the fairest of all that kindred."

The tale wound on, two killers, one kin to Saemund and so untouched by the vengeance he took for his friend's death, the trick by which Cuhal's sons, though not yet of age, paid out their father's killer. Harald paused, then gave the ending.

"The younger stopped a moment, and answered.

" 'I do not know the cause of that yelling downhill, but it may be they are asking if Cuhal had only daughters, or sons too,' then turned and ran up the mountainside after his brother."

"A good story indeed and brave boys. Are there many such tales in your land?"

"Many and many, damsel. Winters are long in Northvales."

"You sit here often?"

"From time to time. A quiet place to think, the company peaceful."

She gave him a shy smile, gestured to the King's stone.

"I knew him, a little, when I was younger; we all did. When I am sad I sit here. It doesn't change things, but somehow . . ."

"A good and gentle man, our world dark by his loss. I too visit with him."

Their eyes met. Above them a deep note.

"Dinner. I must to my lady." She dropped him a quick curtsey, was off.

During the dinner one of the royal servants brought Harald, eating with friends at the far end of the hall, word that the Council had been postponed to the next day, two lords being still absent.

The next morning he again met the lady Elen in the orchard, this time accompanied by two younger ladies, and entertained them with Fox clan tales, clever tricks of their name beast.

"The story yesterday was from your own vales. How is it you know so many of these?"

"Fox clan? Parts of two years with them, learning horse, bow and lance. There are no riders like the Westkin."

"They welcome foreigners who come to learn the arts of war of them? It seems hardly prudent." That was the youngest and best dressed of the three.

"I helped them steal cattle, horses once, from their neighbors. Saved my oathbrother from a most shameful capture too. Vales, plains, we're all cousins west of the mountains."

"And between stealing horses and saving brothers, had you time for sisters too? What are the ladies of the plains folk like?"

Silence fell. At last Harald spoke slowly.

"Very fair, some of them. I was otherwise engaged at the time."

The youngest looked ready to ask another question. He spoke first.

"Have I told you what council the fox gave the raven, and how the snake died?"

Afterwards he excused himself to see how his horses were being cared for. The ladies remained behind. Looking back he saw the three of them, their heads together. One looked up at him, then away.

The lord of Estmount had come in during the afternoon, with apologies for his tardiness and his neighbor's absence. If the lady Anne felt neglected for lack of a father she showed no sign of it. Council was held, but dealt mostly with a tangled dispute over water and grazing rights in the southern provinces. At last it was agreed that the King's cousin would look into the matter and advise the King.

The next afternoon the three ladies came again, accompanied by Anne.

"Here my lady."

For a moment her mouth was half open, then she caught up her usual composure.

"It is good of Your Excellency to entertain my ladies. My sister too."

The three were frozen, staring at Harald.

"Rather they me, lady. I seldom see flowers here so early in the year. Will it then please you to sit and hear a tale?"

"It would." She gathered up her skirt, sat down on one of the flagstones. "Your own deeds. Surely the hero of half the battles of the past thirty years has one or two suited to our ears."

"As you will, lady. Will you have my first battle? It is a good tale, though I am not the hero of it."

She nodded, settled back against a tree trunk.

"You know that King Henry in his wisdom made peace with the Vales, abandoning his father's claim to lordship. It made him friends among the wiser of our people. Young men are not always wise, nor fond of peace; some had been dreaming of brave deeds, rich plunder, east of the mountains. But the next year was drought on the western slopes and beyond. The Westkin declared water peace on the clans, moved the herds west for grass. We had fields, houses.

"His Majesty, peace on him, sent herds of sheep, mules loaded with grain, all he could spare over the pass. Young men are no happier to starve to death than old.

"A gift for a gift, we say. We had our chance the next spring. Trouble on the Borderflood for years, getting worse. His Majesty had settled his western border. He called out the levies, every lance he could raise, marched north against the Empire. Five hundred of us came over the high pass to help him.

"Imperial cavalry from all over, some good—they hire Westkin off the plains when they can—some not. That year mostly mediums from the northwest provinces, heavies out of the client kingdoms east of here. Brave, but they'd never fought cats before. While His Majesty was keeping an eye on the main army, we had our own battle. Westkin tactics. They ran out of men before we ran out of arrows. First blood, light losses. We thought we were winning.

"So did His Majesty. He brought the Imperial army to battle. Four legions, as many more lights. He tried to break them with a cavalry charge."

Harald stopped a moment, his eyes blind to the orchard around him.

"Imperial heavies, the legions, best infantry in the world. We were out of it, watching, waiting to be sent in after the lines broke. The Order too; even then Henry had enough sense not to throw light lancers at legions. It was all his own people, heavies—six thousand men.

"The javelins brought down half the front rank, then the long spears came down. Horses don't like running into a hedge of steel. I wouldn't either. It was a bloody mess.

"We did our best to cover the retreat, we and the Order. The Third Prince—he's Emperor now—sent his lights to finish the business, while the legions dealt with what hadn't gotten away.

"Aiming one way while riding another looks very fine. Broken ground, low hills, big boulders, bad for cavalry, even ours—but it was my first war. I rolled when I hit, was lucky not to break anything.

"And there I was, light archer's shield, sword at my belt, five or six wild men with swords and shields coming my way, one with a two-hander taller than he was, and he a big man. Not a friendly face in sight. Backed up between bank and a big boulder, where they couldn't all come at me at once, hoped to have one or two for company.

"The first was careless. I was fighting the second, wondering how long my shield would last, when he suddenly got the most surprised look I've ever seen on a man's face and dropped. Hand-to-hand is a muddle—given the choice I do my killing at range—but I was sure I hadn't touched him, too busy staying alive."

The orchard was still, the four ladies hardly breathing.

"Looked behind for the next one. He was lying on his face. Head of a line of corpses. Then I saw her.

"Rock on her left, bush on her right, picked them off, starting at the back, till she ran out. If anyone had seen her—you don't fight sword and shield with a longbow, not at close quarters. Order aren't trained to shoot from the saddle. Longbows not much use on horseback anyway.

"She called her horse; it came. Carried both of us till we got to camp, my remount."

He fell silent. At last Anne spoke.

"And afterwards? What happened to the brave Lady? Did you see her again?"

"As to the fate of the Lady Leonora, you must put that question to His Majesty. He has seen the Lady Commander more recently than I."

Anne's face went white. Harald stood up, stumbled a little on stiff legs, and in the silence walked out of the orchard.

The next morning he woke late and heavy headed, both due to a late evening of drink and gossip in the guard barracks. While helping himself to what was left of breakfast in the great hall, he heard the King's voice and looked up.

"Your Excellency. Today my lords and I hunt in the woods and meadows south of here. Will you join us? I have heard tales of your skill with the bow."

"What does Your Majesty hunt?"

"Deer."

"Hard to miss; rabbits are a better test. But I'll come."

Returned to his room he considered the matter, stripped to his under tunic, pulled on the mail shirt he commonly wore under his war coat, a second tunic over that. In the stable he saddled his mare, slid bowcase and quiver over their hooks and tied them down, pulled sword and belt from the middle of one long bundle, wrapped the belt around his waist—despite some days of the King's hospitality it still fit—drew the blade out a few inches, slid it back, and rode out to join the gathering company. With the lords were several ladies also mounted, Anne not among them, and a small crowd of servants.

Two miles south the woods were open, the land mostly level. The King planted his banner in a meadow; the servants set to putting up tables, building fires, while lords and ladies went in search of game. Some followed the dogs and their keepers, others, Harald among them, in other directions.

He was sitting his horse in solitude, watching the bushes for movement, when a stag came out of the woods at a full run. It vanished into the woods ahead. Harald reached for his bow, urged his horse ahead with voice and knees, leaned forward.

He was out of the saddle, the world spinning around him, hit the ground rolling, a sharp pain in his right arm, up again, back to a tree. Out of the corner of his eye, movement. He put his right hand on his sword hilt, ignoring the pain, turned. A man was coming out of the woods, a long staff in his hand, a second man behind him.

"My damn horse threw me and ran. A silver penny if you find him for me."

The man looked at him, hesitated, turned, spoke to his companion. The two turned and disappeared back into the woods.

He put two fingers of his left hand in his mouth, whistled. Again. A moment later the horse came out of the trees, reins trailing; Harald saw that she was favoring her left forefoot. He steadied himself against the horse, looked down. Six inches above the hoof a red line, sharp as if drawn by a ruler. He reached down with his good hand, felt the leg; no break. At least one of them had been lucky. He mounted.

In the middle of the clearing was a dead pine tree. Harald walked the horse over, reached up, broke off a short length of branch with his left hand. Right arm across his lap, he laid the stick along it, reached under the saddle skirt for a leather thong.

It took ten uncomfortable minutes to roughly splint the broken arm with lengths of branch. He reached behind him, drew out the dagger that rested crossways in the small of his back, cut a long strip from the lower edge of his tunic. He wrapped it around sticks and arm, drew it tight, cut a slit in the front of his tunic, slid in the right arm, tied it to his body with another thong, using hand and teeth to make the knot. Gerda would be unhappy at the state of his clothing, but that was nothing new. More unhappy if he didn't come back to her.