'That is exceedingly kind of him,' said Call. 'It would be an honour to meet the lord. Sadly my health has not been good in recent months and I fear such a journey could prove hazardous. However, I shall write to him with my thanks.'
Colonel Lockley proved almost as good a prophet as Call Jace himself. Outlaw raids ceased within the month, and less than a year later the complement of soldiers had once more been reduced to two hundred.
Lockley had survived his post for another seven years, before succumbing to a disease which stripped his body of flesh and left him dying in agony. Call Jace had attended the funeral. Lockley had been a career soldier, leaving little in the way of a legacy for his wife and two sons. Call Jace made them a gift of one hundred pounds in gold, in memory of 'a fine and honest soldier'.
There had been two replacements since that time, and neither had tried to alter the agreement. Call Jace's instincts and strategy had triumphed, and the Rigante had prospered.
But now, as he watched his son fighting for his life, Call Jace knew fear. His instincts had been wrong this time. He had thought Bael would defeat the boy easily, since the southern Rigante had no experience in sword skills. Call also knew that Bael would not try to kill him. He would seek to wound and scar him. In this way honour would be satisfied.
Not for a moment had Call considered the prospect of Bael's being slain. His son was a fine swordsman. Yet the southerner fought like a veteran, his moves fast, his attacks ferocious. Both fighters had taken cuts, Bael to the upper arms, the boy to the left wrist and forearm. Kaelin was also cut on his right cheek, and blood had drenched his shirt.
The swordsmen were fighting within a circle of watching Rigante warriors. More than two hundred had assembled for the duel, and it had begun with great cheers for Bael. The fight had lasted more than ten minutes so far, and the crowd had become silent, engrossed with the skills on display.
Call glanced around for sign of Chara. She was nowhere in sight. He looked back towards the great house, and saw her at an upper window. Call felt his stomach tighten. A few days ago he was a revered - aye, and feared - chieftain, with a doting son and a loving daughter. Now his son faced death, his daughter had told him she hated him, and the boy from the south was on the verge of damaging fatally the Rigante reputation.
A cry of pain sounded, jerking Call from his thoughts. Bael had taken a stab wound to the left shoulder, and had leapt back. Then he counter-attacked. Kaelin Ring stumbled, blocked a slashing blow and sent a riposte that Bael barely avoided.
Tiring now the two fighters circled, looking for an opening.
Call would have given ten years of his life to be able to turn back time, to accept the apology offered to him the night before, during the feast; to have embraced the young Rigante and made him a part of his clan. The apology had been gracefully offered, and Call had noted the approval on the faces of the men who heard it. What he had not noticed was the light of love in his daughter's eyes as she gazed on the black-haired youth. When Kaelin had concluded he turned to Bael. 'My apologies also to you,' he said. 'I am relieved that you have suffered no lasting hurt, and it is my hope that, as brothers of the Rigante, we can become friends. For it is the Varlish who should be our enemies, and it shames me that my recklessness endangered you.'
Bael had stood, and bowed to Kaelin Ring. 'As you say, we are both Rigante. The matter between us must be settled in the Rigante manner. I see you have no sword. Tomorrow I will see that several are presented to you. You may then choose a weapon that suits you and we will meet in the warrior's circle.'
Kaelin had stood silently for a moment. Call saw him glance at Chara. Then he returned his attention to Bael. 'I do not wish to fight you,' he said.
'You have no choice,' Bael told him.
'Then so be it,' responded the southerner. He swung to face Call Jace. 'I had hoped to ask for your daughter's hand this night. I fear it is now inappropriate. I doubt she will want to wed the man who kills her brother.'
With that he had left the table and walked from the long room. The silence that followed was intense. Bael looked shocked and was staring at his father. Call turned to Chara. 'What in the seven hells was he talking about?' he demanded.
'I will hate you for ever for this day,' she said. Then she too ran from the room.
The fight was entering its last stages now. One mistake would see a man fatally wounded or killed outright. Call could hardly bear to watch.
At nineteen, Bael had been a fighting man of the Rigante for four years. In that time he had led one of his father's outlaw bands, and taken part in seven skirmishes with beetlebacks. He had fought sword to sword eleven times, and knew that he was as skilful as any man with the blade. But this southerner was like no-one else he had ever faced. His speed and aggression were inhuman. Only lack of experience had so far prevented him from finishing the fight. Bael parried and side-stepped, saw his counter-attacks brushed aside. Twice Bael had come close, once cutting the youngster's left arm. A lightning thrust, partly parried, had also opened a long cut on the boy's cheek. Bael himself was bleeding from several cuts and gashes to both arms, and a fierce blow had split his tunic shirt, slashing the skin of his shoulder.
Bael's sword arm was tiring now, as indeed was that of his opponent. They circled warily. Bael leapt forward. Their swords sang together, the sound of clashing blades ringing out. Bael hacked and thrust. Kaelin parried and countered. Then Kaelin launched an attack. Bael blocked, spun on his heel and hit Kaelin in the face with the back of his left fist. The youngster stumbled, righted himself, and swiftly brought up his sword to parry what would have been a death thrust to the neck. His own riposte was sudden. Bael threw himself to his right. Kaelin's sword sliced the skin above his left hip, bouncing off the bone. They circled again.
Bael was oblivious of the silent circle of watching warriors. He locked gazes with the young Rigante, seeing no fear in the other's dark eyes. The left side of Kaelin's face was drenched with blood from the cut to his cheek, his oiled doeskin shirt heavily stained with crimson.
Despite his initial outburst about killing the southerner Bael had always intended merely to wound his opponent, then spare him. He had been impressed by Kaelin's acceptance of the invitation, and doubly impressed by the gracious apology he had offered at the feast. He had believed it would be easy to defeat an untrained youngster. A swift lesson in swordplay, a few cuts for good measure, and the matter would be resolved.
Not so now. This man, he knew, would fight on with any but the most mortal of wounds. Their swords clashed again as Kaelin moved in. He left no opening for a counter-attack, and Bael battled furiously, always on his back foot, to prevent Kaelin's sword from breaching his defences. His arm was beginning to burn with fatigue, the sword seeming to have magically gained twice its weight. It was no different for the southerner, he noted, as they pulled away and circled once more.
'Finish him, Bael!' came a cry from the crowd. He recognized the voice of Wullis Swainham. It created a discordant moment, and Bael could feel the unease in the warriors forming the circle.
Ignoring the cry Bael tried to gather his strength for another assault. With luck he might be able to roll his blade and make a cut to Kaelin's bicep, forcing him to drop his weapon. But Bael hesitated. Such a cut would surely cripple him for life! You can no longer afford to think of such niceties, he warned himself. One mistake and he will kill you.
Sweat dripped into his eyes. He wiped it away with his sleeve, smearing blood to his face.
In that moment Kaelin attacked. Bael's sword came up, but he was off balance, and barely deflected the sudden lunge. Kaelin's sword thrust past his defences, hammering into his bronze belt buckle. It did not penetrate, but the force of the blow sent Bael staggering back. Kaelin stumbled. Bael struck him in the head with the fist guard of his sword. The southerner fell heavily. Bael tried to follow in, but Kaelin rolled to his knees, then surged up to meet him.
Once more their swords crashed together, and Kaelin's blade broke
, shearing off just above the hilt.
A gasp went up from the crowd. Defenceless now, Kaelin stood his ground. Bael glanced down at the shattered blade on the churned ground. Then he looked into Kaelin's eyes. Even now there was no fear. Bael smiled. Kaelin was waiting for Bael to attack, and would try to bury the jagged remains of his broken blade into Bael's belly.
'Your apology is accepted,' he told the southerner. 'Or would you prefer another blade?'
Before Kaelin Ring could answer the gathered warriors began to applaud and cheer. Call Jace moved into the circle. 'You both fought well,' he said, relief evident in his voice. 'Like true Rigante warriors. Let this be an end to it.'
Bael continued to watch the southerner. He had not relaxed, and Bael realized with sick horror that he was considering requesting another sword.
Then Chara pushed her way through the gathering, moving alongside Kaelin. 'Let me see to your wounds,' she said, gently prising the ruined sword from his hands. He glanced at her, his expression softening, but then he looked back at Bael. The Black Rigante warrior could see him struggling with his emotions. Chara took his arm. 'Come,' she said, 'we need to clean away that blood and seal the cuts.'
Call Jace stood close, his tension rising. Then the young man let out a sigh and relaxed. Without a word to Call or Bael he allowed himself to be led back to the great house.
Bael plunged his sword into the ground, relieved to be free of its weight. Warriors gathered around him. 'Man, that was some fight,' said one. Others clapped him on the back. A great weariness descended on the young man.
Call Jace came alongside. 'You fought well, my son,' he said. ‘I am proud of you. Now let us staunch those wounds.'
'In a moment, Father. I need to sit.' Together father and son moved away from the crowd, and sat on the wall of the well. 'How could he have been so skilled?' asked Bael.
'Grymauch,' answered Call Jace. 'I should have thought of it. He trained him.'
Bael let out a soft curse. 'Trained him too damned well.'
'I made a mistake, son,' said Call, sadly. 'It almost cost you your life.'
'Aye, but it didn't. You were not wrong. Had we allowed him merely to apologize word would have leaked out, and others would have begun to question the tributes. As you have always said, fear is our most potent weapon. It has ended well, Father. He will go back scarred. People will hear of his fight. The Rigante will lose nothing by it.'
'Aye, it has ended well, but it might have been otherwise. Had you killed him Grymauch would have come. He would have wanted to challenge me.'
'And you would have had to kill him,' said Bael. ‘I know that would have saddened you.'
Call laughed suddenly. 'Kill Grymauch? I am a good swordsman, and, though I say it myself, a bonny fighter. However, in any battle anywhere, against anyone, I'd bet my fortune on Grymauch being the last man standing. No, Bael, had you killed the boy I would have had Grymauch cut down in ambush on his way here. But you are right. It would have saddened me. Now let me fetch my needle-and close those cuts.'
Kaelin sat silently by the window. Chara was standing beside him , gently wiping away the blood from the deep cut on his cheek . Taking a curved needle she threaded it with thin black twine, and leaned in close. He felt the first prick of the point, but did not wince. Closing his eyes he saw again the fight; the bright, shimmering steel of the blades, the deadly dance within the circle of warriors. Move by move he replayed them all. Three times Bael had engineered opportunities for killing blows, and not taken any of them. In the passion of the fight Kaelin had believed Bael to be too slow to see the openings. Now he was not sure.
The long cut to his face required ten stitches, but at the end the blood had stopped flowing.
'It will not look so bad,' said Chara. 'You will still be handsome.'
He opened his eyes. Her face was but inches from his own. It seemed to him then to be the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Her eyes were leaf green, and flecked with gold. She was examining her handiwork. He leaned towards her, kissing her cheek. Chara pulled back. This is not the time,' she said, her words stern. But she smiled as she said them. 'Let us see to your arm.'
He sat and watched as she expertly drew the skin together, drawing in the stitches, tying them neatly before snipping them with a tiny pair of scissors. When she had finished he slowly clenched his fist. The wound felt tight as the muscles of his forearm rippled under the stitches. 'How do you feel?' she asked, dabbing away the last of the blood from his arm.
'Tired.'
She sat quietly for a moment. 'I want to thank you for not killing Bael,' she said at last, not meeting his eyes.
Kaelin was lost for words. She thought he had held back, which was not true. He had tried with all his might to slay his opponent. The truth burned in him, and he longed to tell her. He wanted no deceit to corrode his relationship with this Black Rigante woman. And yet deep down he knew that this was a critical moment. The truth itself could damage what was, as yet, a delicate friendship.
'I am glad he is still alive,' he said.
'Bael was not to blame for the duel,' she told him. 'It was my father. He put the Rigante reputation above the life of his own son. He thought that if you were not punished then the people of Black Mountain, and other lands near by, would cease their tributes.'
'Aye, there is sense in that,' he said.
'Sense? You take his side?'
'I'm not taking anyone's side,' he said swiftly, seeing her anger. 'To understand an action does not mean that I necessarily agree with it. I don't know much about the politics of these northern lands, but I know your father has maintained a Rigante culture despite living in a land ruled by the Varlish. That cannot have been easy. You should see how it is in the south. We have few rights. We cannot own a sword or a pistol, nor a horse above fourteen and a half hands. We have no right to vote for the councils, and come feast days are penned in and not allowed to walk through Varlish areas. Beetlebacks rape our women, and the courts acquit them, often ordering birchings for any woman who complains. You don't suffer that here, Chara. I would guess that is because your father has worked hard to maintain what you call the Rigante reputation.'
'You could have been killed for that reputation,' she pointed out.
'Aye, but I wasn't. Are you angry with me?'
'Yes.'
'You'll not want to kiss me again, then?'
'No.' She grinned at him, then became suddenly serious. 'Do you think I have too many freckles?'
'I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.'
'That doesn't answer my question. Would I be more beautiful with fewer freckles?'
'No,' he said instantly. 'Without the freckles I'd have no interest in you whatever.'
'Are you making fun of me?'
'Yes.'
'Well, don't. I don't like it.'
'I shall remember that.'
Chara moved to the hearth. The fire was mostly dead, though there were a few glowing embers among the ashes. Squatting down, she added some kindling and blew gently upon the coals. A tiny flame flickered, then another. She added more wood, then sat down before the fire. Kaelin joined her.
'You should have asked me before you spoke so in front of my father,' she said. 'What made you think I would want to Walk the Tree with you?'
'Because you love me,' he said.
'You do not know that to be true. Perhaps I kiss all the handsome boys I meet.'
'Do you?' he asked, suddenly uncertain.
'No - but you did not know that. Anyway, it was discourteous of you.'
'For that I apologize,' he said. 'Will you marry me?'
'I need time to think on it,' she said. 'You have not even said why I should.'
Reflected firelight shone on her red hair. He found himself staring at the curve of her neck, and remembering her naked by the lake. There were many aspects of life that still confused Kaelin Ring, but here and now there was only certainty. This was the woman he was meant to be with. This was
the partner of his heart. Emotion welled within him, but no words could be found to express it. He knew she was waiting for him to speak, but he could find nothing to say. The uneasy silence grew. Finally Chara rose. 'I will find you something to wear while I clean the blood from your shirt,' she said.
'Thank you.'
After she had left the room he cursed himself for a fool. When she came back he would tell her that he loved her, and would make every effort to make her happy.
But she didn't come back. Instead an older woman appeared, carrying a dark green tunic shirt. Kaelin thanked her and donned it. Strapping his belt around his waist, he walked out into the sunlight. The warriors had gone now, but there were several women standing by the well. None of them was Chara. The sky was clouding, and rain could be seen falling on the mountains. The wind was cool, and growing stronger. A storm was coming. Kaelin approached the women by the well. 'Have you seen Chara?' he asked. They had not.
Kaelin wandered back to the great house and climbed the stairs to the room he had been allocated the night before. He did not know what to do now. It would be impolite to wander the house of Call Jace seeking out his daughter. Yet was it not also impolite to leave a guest alone, not even offering him breakfast?
He found himself becoming angry, and tried to quell it. His sword arm was still aching from the unaccustomed use, and his face was sore and pinched from the stitches. He lay down on the narrow bed. Thunder rolled across the sky, and rain began to pelt down against the window.
Kaelin slept for a little while, and when he woke it was dusk, and he was hungry. Rolling from the bed he left the room and walked downstairs to the long room, where last night's feast had been held. It was empty, with no fires burning. Moving through to the kitchen he found three men sitting and talking to several women. Two toddlers were playing on the floor, alongside an old grey warhound, who was watching the children with a wary eye. No cookfires had yet been lit. Kaelin felt he could not ask for Chara, so instead he enquired after Call Jace.
'The chief has gone to the West Hills,' a man told him. 'He'll be back in a day or two.'