The Dowry Blade (37 page)

Chapter Forty-One

Exhausted by days of riding without sleep, Brede was surprised that she could find the way to the city. It seemed centuries since she had first come here. There was still a sense of danger in the country immediately around the city; she flinched fearfully from any sound, watching for any sign of warriors.

So, the northern gate, and an area not overly familiar to her. She was not challenged at the gate, although the women on guard gave her a sharp look, before letting her through. Brede was glad she had made no attempt to hide the greatsword. Although most people were not armed, each knot of refugees had at least one blade amongst the bundles, goats and hens, and children; she would have been out of place, suspicious, without a blade readily to hand. Some soldiers still wore green, but with red badges on their sleeves, an attempt to create a link between the old enemies, but the tension and the heavy guard at the gate didn’t speak of reconciliation, and the red-coated warriors did not all wear corresponding green badges. She walked the horse towards the warriors’ quarter, and the barracks; disconcerted to find several of the bridges dismantled or barricaded. At last she crossed the main bridge, the only stone bridge, hoping for someone with answers for the questions that crowded her mind.

Brede sat her horse and, trying not to let her glance stray to the shuttered windows of the tower above her, watched the traffic through the gate; watching for someone she knew. She didn’t wait long. Several people she recognised, but who did not recognise her, came through the gate, and then Corla.

Corla was preoccupied, but she was well trained; she noticed the stillness amid the bustle. She pulled her horse to a stand; turning her head to stare curiously at the stranger waiting just far enough from the gate to be unobtrusive, just close enough to be noticed, if she wished to be noticed.

Corla walked the horse towards the stranger, drawn by her watching, her stillness. Closer now, she saw the face, and recognised it, but could give it no name.

‘Corla,’ the stranger said quietly, by way of greeting.

Corla recognised the voice, despite the effort it cost Brede to make her vocal cords work after nearly two years of silence, and realised that above all, it was that stillness that had confused her. She had never thought of Brede as still; and the horse was such poor quality –

‘You should not be here,’ Corla said, keeping her voice low.

She reached out and touched Brede’s shoulder, for the benefit of anyone watching, indicating that this was a welcomed chance meeting, although that was not the truth; and the touch was as much for her own benefit, to convince herself that she was not hallucinating.

‘How so?’ Brede asked, her voice rasping painfully.

‘Lorcan’s not forgotten you. He thinks you’re dead, but he hasn’t forgotten. If you’re seen here, you will be in danger.’

‘I have something of Lorcan’s that I wish to return.’

‘What?’

‘A sword. It has brought me nothing but trouble. I’d be glad for him to have it back.’

‘Are you out of your mind? Look, come with me; get away from here. If Maeve sees you –’

Brede turned her horse, allowing him to fall in step with Corla’s youthful roan.

‘Maeve is here then?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Tegan?’

Corla shook her head.

‘I’ll take you to Tegan. I was going in that direction in any case. She’ll know what to do with you.’

Corla surveyed Brede thoughtfully.

‘Is it only two years?’ she asked wonderingly. ‘I’d not have recognised you – but cover your head, shade those eyes, you still look like a Plains rider. That isn’t wise.’

Corla fished awkwardly in her saddlebag, and handed a battered broad-brimmed hat to Brede.

Brede pulled the hat well down, shading her eyes from view. She felt ridiculous; she had never worn a hat in her life.

‘So,’ Brede said. ‘Where is Tegan?’

‘Keeping an inn.’

Brede laughed.

‘She said she would, when she got sick of soldiering. Where?’

‘West Gate.’

Brede didn’t respond, a fleeting image of a splash of sunlight in darkness; lighting Sorcha’s shoulder and neck, her own hand, not quite touching Sorcha’s face –

‘Maeve wouldn’t let her go further, wanted to be able to keep an eye on her. I think Lorcan would like Tegan well away, out of his lands; or dead, of course, that would suit him well enough – but Maeve is valuable to him.’

‘Maeve is close with him?’ Brede asked.

‘Not so much close, more useful. He won’t argue with her over Tegan.’

‘I didn’t know Maeve was so ambitious,’ Brede said quietly.

‘Nor did any of us – although it kept her alive, and us too I don’t doubt. She is tolerated, and plays the consummate mercenary,’ Corla said. ‘Brede – you should not have come here.’

They rode the rest of the way to West Gate in an uncomfortable silence, Corla restless to be out of Brede’s company, Brede unsettled and uncertain.

Tegan greeted Corla with pleased surprise, and was puzzled when her old comrade merely lifted a shoulder and grimaced.

‘What is it?’ she asked sharply.

‘Not what, but who,’ Corla responded, beckoning Brede from the shadows.

Tegan saw a woman who would have been tall, if she could have stood straight. Her dragging limp was painful to watch, and disguised a walk Tegan might otherwise have recognised.

Brede pulled the hat from her head, and ran a hand through her hair, as far as the tangled braid would allow. That gesture Tegan recognised, but couldn’t believe she had seen.

‘What is this?’ she asked, abruptly feeling unsafe. ‘What is this?’

Brede waited in silence, as Tegan stepped closer, peering at her face. She didn’t believe she had changed so much that Tegan would not recognise her.

Tegan did not doubt the identity of her visitor. It was the how and why that concerned her.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, keeping her voice low, pulling Brede back into the shadows, keeping her body between Brede and anyone who might glance in her direction. Tegan wasn’t pleased to see Brede, and yet for all that, she wanted to keep a hold on her, perhaps even embrace her. A strange feeling, after so long.

Tegan drew away, glancing at Corla. The warrior caught the look, shrugged.

‘I’ve places to be,’ Corla said. ‘Stay safe.’ She left swiftly. Tegan hoped she would keep silent about this meeting.

‘I’ve brought Lorcan his sword,’ Brede said at last, feeling as she spoke that this was not, after all, why she had come.

‘And how were you planing to deliver it? Between his ribs?’

‘I don’t much care. I don’t want it. If Maeve has access to him, perhaps she –’

‘No,’ Tegan said swiftly. ‘No, you aren’t going to deliver that sword, through Maeve, or any other way. Sell it, if you can, or lose it. It has been nothing but trouble, and there is enough of that already. Can you imagine what kind of furore there’d be if it turned up now?’

Tegan stared once more into Brede’s face, hardly able to trace anything she recognised there, save the dark watchful eyes.

‘I thought you were dead,’ she whispered, and hugged Brede fiercely, her arms loosening from Brede’s shoulders reluctantly, registering the uneven shoulder blade, the thinness –

‘So did I,’ Brede said, but her voice cracked, failing to make a joke of the pain in Tegan’s words. She shook her head abruptly, refusing to dwell on it. ‘I was told it isn’t safe for me here?’ she asked, afraid of the response.

‘We’ve things to say to one another,’ Tegan said. ‘Come and sit down.’

She led Brede through to her private quarters, issuing terse instructions to the boy in charge of the barrels. She tried not to watch Brede’s painful progress, resisting the temptation to take her arm, to assist her.

Brede lowered herself slowly into a chair, and glanced about, imagining she would recognise something; she did not. Tegan frowned, and took a bottle from a shelf, and a couple of mugs. She poured, and handed one mug to Brede.

‘You look as though this might help,’ she said.

Brede took the mug without comment, and took a small mouthful. The liquor was harsh, shocking to her mouth after so long, but welcome.

‘So,’ Tegan said. ‘Tell me where you’ve been, and why you look as though the Scavenger spat you back.’

‘I don’t know where I’ve been, exactly. I know I’m alive, and for now, that’s more than enough. I need something to do with my life, and none of the skills I’ve trained for are the least use to me. I thought I’d deliver the blade to its owner, then take my bearings from there. That sword has been an unreasonable burden, ever since I found it.’

‘You should’ve left it there.’

Brede didn’t answer. She couldn’t imagine what her world might have held, had she not taken the sword from its resting place.

‘Perhaps you should take it back?’ Tegan asked.

‘No.
She
didn’t want it. I doubt I’d find the place now. Tegan, there are things I would ask you. I don’t know – how the land lies, I don’t know who my friends are. Tell me what has been happening.’

‘Where have you been that you don’t know?’ Brede shook her head, having no answer. Tegan frowned at the continued silence, then said: ‘Well. Lorcan has taken the crown, you must know that at least?’

Brede nodded, and took another swallow of Tegan’s brew.

‘Lorcan made promises, far too many to be able to keep. Many who were loyal to him throughout the war are no longer so, feeling that they have been sold short. Others – not so loyal – have been found out, and are on the run, making common cause with anyone with a grievance – Madoc for one. They’re in revolt.’

Brede made a face. Madoc
again
– she couldn’t pretend she was surprised.

‘The Horse Clans are in turmoil,’ Tegan said, trying to sort through the chaos to find the issues that would matter to Brede. ‘There are factions within factions, and confusion on all sides. The war isn’t over; perhaps it will never be, now. There are still those loyal to Grainne’s memory, or at least to the principle of female rule, who don’t accept Lorcan’s claim to the throne – the loss of that sword hasn’t helped him there – although who else has the right?’

‘That’s where you stand is it? No other choices, so accept the inevitable?’

‘Why not?’ Tegan asked, surprised that Brede hadn’t reacted to mention of the Dowry blade.

Brede shrugged. It didn’t seem to matter as it once did.

‘I’ve hung up my sword,’ Tegan said softly. ‘My concern now is to make a living here.’

‘And Maeve?’

‘We’re no longer close. I do not ask.’

‘Corla told me.’

Tegan shrugged, determined to turn the conversation away from Maeve.

‘Well, and have you been in contact with your Clan kin?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘I have no kin in Wing Clan, save Neala. They cast me out.’

Brede cast her eyes down. Tegan turned away, on the pretext of refilling her mug.

‘You and Sorcha have been blamed for Grainne’s death. You had, to all intents, stolen the sword, and run for your lives. Lorcan needed someone to blame. You were conveniently expendable. No one much cared what happened to you, it wouldn’t have jeopardised any future treaty to put the blame on you.’

Brede handed Tegan her mug to be filled once more. The alcohol was beginning to deaden the pain in her leg, but more was needed to deal with the ugly images her mind insisted on conjuring.

‘And rumour takes hold so swiftly, doesn’t it, when no one says it’s false. You knew, Tegan, yet you said nothing?’

‘Who would want to hear that Grainne died by her own hand?’

Brede shook her head.

‘Corla said that you and Lorcan don’t see eye to eye?’

‘How could we? But Lorcan knows me for a mercenary, so for him, that is the role I play.
What do I care who pays me?
I told him. And when that viper Doran came back with your horse on a lead, and said you were dead; what point was there in saying the rumours were untrue? It would only have drawn Lorcan’s attention. Besides, it was the sword he was concerned about, not Grainne, and you did have the sword.’

Tegan shook her head, shifted her gaze elsewhere. Brede tried not to think about that silence, but she had to know.

‘And who told Lorcan that?’

Tegan continued to look away.

‘So,’ Brede asked. ‘Was it you? Or Maeve?’

Tegan drew in an unsteady breath. ‘I was asked. Lorcan can be – persuasive. Riordan knew I’d been in Grainne’s quarters, perhaps he even saw you take the sword. There was nothing to be gained from silence, once you were safe away.’

Brede drained her mug again.

‘Safe?’ she asked softly.

‘How could I know?’ Tegan asked.

‘Sorcha –’ Brede couldn’t find the words.

Tegan winced. She hadn’t even begun to think about Sorcha, but now a vivid memory of Doran, and the horse, and exactly what he had said on his return burnt with acid clarity.

‘Lorcan hunted us –’ Brede’s voice faded in the face of saying that aloud.

‘She’s dead.’ Tegan said for her.

‘Did you imagine I’d be here if she were not?’

Tegan shook her head.

‘They said she was dead but – there was no word from the witches, no complaint – I thought she would have found a way to get herself out of trouble .’

‘Not at my expense,’ Brede said sharply.

Tegan winced. ‘I bought you time, girl. What did you do with it? I kept silent for days in the face of Lorcan’s ways with persuasion. If you want someone to blame, look elsewhere.’

Brede forced her legs to work, and stepped close to Tegan, too close. Tegan put a hand up, fending her off.

‘I no longer owe you a life, Brede,’ Tegan said fiercely. Brede caught something in her tone that puzzled her. Fear. More fear than she had ever heard in Tegan’s voice before.

‘No.’ Brede struggled with memories and emotions that she had long forgotten. One sharp image fixed itself behind her eyes, snow on the ground, Tegan asking –
What are you willing to die for?
She laid a hand against Tegan’s face and listened to the intense silence. At last Tegan’s hand met hers, acknowledging all that remained unsaid between them.