‘Some say this proves we are a different race from the Dark Ones. Yet, those of us who were once of the moredhel, who have Returned, can take wives and father children.’
Gregory said, ‘It’s passing strange.’
‘There are mysteries even more difficult to plumb,’ said Tinuva. ‘Such as the heart of another.’ He paused. ‘I told you that even before we were married I suspected Bovai loved Anleah. At the wedding feast, I told him there was no shame in it, for who could know her and not love her?
‘Bovai was not the only one. Kavala hated me for the betrayal he saw as the cause of his clan’s destruction. But most of all, he hated me for wedding Anleah.’
‘He was the one you slew on the road,’ Gregory interjected.
Tinuva nodded.
They had heard the two approaching moredhel and had laid the ambush, and then at the very last second Tinuva had shifted aim, going for the one on the right, the same target Gregory was aiming at. It had thrown the ambush off and one had escaped, but now he understood why.
‘A moment I have dreamed of for centuries,’ Tinuva whispered.
‘I understand.’
‘Bovai hates me for what he sees as a betrayal of everything he holds sacred in his life: his clan’s honour, his blood, and his shame. Kavala hated me because of personal jealousy and envy as much as because I killed his brother. Kavala made a practice of hunting close to the boundaries of Elvandar, and when he could, he’d stalk our sentries. He killed four over the years, leaving his mark on them, so that I knew it was his doing, his way of reminding me he was out there, and more. It was he who left a message on the first corpse that Anleah had been wed to my brother.’
Gregory said nothing, waiting for Tinuva to continue, but the elf paused and sipped his tea before continuing.
‘I feel shame, and no little fear that my moredhel blood still lingers in my veins, for I will tell you what I will tell no other, Gregory: I enjoyed killing Kavala.’ He rose as he said it.
Gregory looked up at his friend, not certain how to respond. He would never have imagined his friend capable of taking pleasure in the death of another.
Tinuva kicked at the coals of the fire and then tossed another log on which crackled and hissed as the flames took. Then he squatted and held his hands out to the growing flames, warming the palms. ‘The madness of it all taints me. My father kidnapped Anleah to fulfil his own plans and my joy blinded me to the reality that my happiness was never a factor in my father’s choices. I ignored the pain my brother’s love for her must have caused him, distracted already by the call of the Returning. A clan destroyed and brothers hunting brothers in the name of honour. Madness, all of it madness.’
Another silence fell, but this one was shorter.
‘That realization came at the moment I knew I was no longer of the moredhel. I left my life behind and went on the journey to be reborn.’
‘And yet you slew Kavala without hesitation, taking the shot rather than letting me do it.’
Tinuva smiled. ‘I am of the eledhel, but that does not mean I am without flaw.’
Gregory shook his head. ‘No mortal being is without flaw.’
‘You know that my brother and I shall settle this thing soon,’ Tinuva said, looking up at the sky, which was darkening with the approach of night.
‘Is that why you tell me these things now? You feel fate closing in?’
Tinuva smiled. ‘So that someone will know. So that if I do not survive, you may tell Dennis what the truth of this hunt was, and some day tell those in Elvandar what has transpired. I was always better with the blade than my brother, but that is no guarantee of my success. Fate is bringing us together to finish this tragedy, but I may be the one to travel to the Blessed Isle, and not my brother.’
Gregory nodded, saying nothing.
‘Bovai’s honour demands it. I am an apostate; I have abandoned all that he is. The shame to my clan is all but unbearable in a way that it is hard for anyone not of the moredhel to understand.’
‘And of what he now has, that once was yours?’
‘Yes,’ Tinuva sighed. ‘I have never loved another as I once loved her. I know now that it is in the past, but still, at times I remember …’
His voice trailed off and again a silence lingered until darkness concealed the cold woods around them. Then the elf sighed and Gregory was startled beyond words to realize that Tinuva was silently weeping.
The tears of an elf were said to be the rarest of all things, and that but a single drop could restore the life of a dying man. Gregory knew the later was but an old wives’ tale, but in all the years he had known elves, he had never seen one weep. He remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe and the darkness of night closed in, the fire flickering down and dying before Tinuva spoke again.
‘My brother and I shall soon meet again,’ and his voice was a shadow moving on the night wind, ‘and it will come to a bloody end.’ He looked at his friend. ‘For the only thing that will keep me from killing him is my own death.’
Gregory remained silent. He listened to the wind, and silently thanked the gods that he was spared the burden that was crushing his friend.
• Chapter Thirteen •
Accord
THE WOODS WERE SILENT.
Asayaga, bow raised and partially drawn, waited. The stag was half-concealed behind a fallen log, only its antlers and the upper arc of its back visible. It had been there for some minutes, peeling bark from a low-hanging branch, head down.
Asayaga remained motionless, barely daring to breathe, a slight trickle of sweat creasing down his forehead.
The stag raised its head, seemed to look straight at him. Don’t look in its eyes, Asayaga remembered, they can sense that. He let his gaze drift away. A moment later the stag stepped out from behind the overturned log. With a steady, fluid motion, as relaxed as if he were a branch stirring in the breeze, Asayaga drew back, sighted down the shaft and let his fingers slip off the string.
The arrow winged in, the stag leapt into the air and then collapsed.
Asayaga started forward.
‘Don’t move.’
Asayaga froze and looked over his shoulder. Dennis was leaning against the tree beside him, bow in one hand.
‘Remember, I told you this before. The sound of your shooting, the impact of the arrow, the death struggle of the animal –’ and as he spoke he nodded to the stag which was feebly thrashing on the ground, ‘– if anyone else is near, it will draw them. I told you, if you are in hostile woods, after you shoot you should draw back in to your cover and wait a moment.’
‘But the animal?’
‘If you didn’t make a clean kill, that is your own damn fault. But you must wait. Look around you, listen carefully. Usually if someone who is unskilled hears the shot he’ll immediately start towards you, expecting to catch you off-guard butchering your kill, and you get an arrow in the back.’
He smiled, a smile that held no warmth.
‘I know, I’ve done it more than once.’
‘To Tsurani?’
‘Do you want to know?’
Asayaga did not reply, his gaze going past Dennis to the snow-covered glade and the stag struggling in its death agony. It was something he had never quite understood about himself. He had seen thousands of men die in nearly ten years of war and could look on it at times with a near-total detachment, but an animal suffering – be it a horse or needra injured in battle, or the stag now dying – moved him deeply. He tried to shut out the look in the animal’s eyes.
So strange to be out here like this with Hartraft, he thought. They had taken to the habit of going for a walk together each morning. For the first few days the walks had clearly been defined as a meeting to discuss what had to be done that day.
Dennis always went forth with his bow and more often than not returned with something for the pot, and finally Asayaga had borrowed a bow from Wolfgar.
Dennis had first met Asayaga’s efforts with barely-concealed disdain, but after sev
eral days, he announced that if Asayaga was to hunt by his side he had to learn to do it right or leave the bow behind.
Now, at last, Asayaga had made his first kill and he felt a touch of bitterness. The Tsurani had accepted Dennis’s lessons and admonishments in silence. He was willing to defer to Hartraft’s superior skills, and besides, he was learning, how Hartraft worked in the woods: a valuable lesson worth the humiliations. At this moment, however, he half-expected a nod, an acknowledgment of a difficult shot through the woods on game they had stalked for nearly an hour.
The mere fact that he expected some sort of praise from Hartraft made him angry with himself. He now did as ordered, carefully scanning the woods, watching as the branches slowly swayed in the afternoon breeze, trying to catch a movement that was not in rhythm, listening for a sound that was out of the ordinary. He caught the distant sound of a horse, and looked back to Dennis, who had heard it as well and simply shook his head. Of course it was all an exercise, for they were still safe in the valley, but he played out the game.
‘Nothing.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Why? Is this still a drill or do you have someone hidden in the woods waiting to kill me?’
Dennis’s features clouded. ‘Some day soon it will again be real between us, but until then, you are safe in my company. But while marching with my command in the woods I expect you to be of some help, at least.’
‘Who held the centre of the trail in our final retreat, Hartraft?’
‘The next fight might be different – a running battle through the forest – and there it’s archery and stealth that counts.’
Asayaga held up his hand motioning Dennis to silence. ‘This argument is ridiculous,’ he hissed. Drawing his blade, he turned and went to the stag, which was still kicking weakly, and knelt by its side.
He lowered his head, whispered a prayer and then drew the blade across the dying beast’s throat. Its kicking weakened and then finally stopped.
‘A dumb beast suffering needlessly tends to divert me,’ Asayaga said coldly, looking up at Dennis.
Dennis knelt beside Asayaga without comment, and started to gut the animal.
‘Why have you taught me this?’ Asayaga asked.
‘What?’
‘How to hunt.’
‘We need food, and also, when we face the Dark Brotherhood again, I need you to understand our tactics.’
‘No. I see it as foolish of you.’
‘Why?’
‘I am your enemy, Hartraft. In the month that we’ve been here I’ve observed you. You have taught me skills I never knew before. It makes me even more dangerous to you now.’
Dennis leaned back, his hands covered in blood, and laughed. ‘You, dangerous? I’ll give you a half hour to go hide, then we can have our fight. You’ll be dead before the hour is finished.’
‘When we fight it will be in challenge, as you agreed, in the open, before our men.’
‘Why? That gives you the advantage. Let’s do it in the woods instead.’
‘And give you the advantage?’ Asayaga replied with a laugh. ‘We agreed to an open challenge, blade on blade.’
‘I don’t quite remember it that way.’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ Asayaga barked, and he stood up, reaching to his side, but his sword was back in the long house, with all the rest.
Dennis shook his head. ‘No, I am not calling you a liar, Asayaga.’ He motioned for the Tsurani to sit back down. ‘We have to settle how this will be fought.’
‘Our pledge is binding, it is to be a duel in the open.’
‘All right then,’ Dennis replied wearily, ‘let it be swords, in the open, witnessed by all our men.’
Asayaga, gave an angry grunt. He watched as Dennis effortlessly gutted the animal. ‘You’ve lived all your life in the woods, haven’t you?’ he asked at last.
Dennis nodded, saying nothing.
Asayaga leaned back, looking past him. It had been clear for over a week and there was even a hint of warmth in the afternoon air, sunlight sparkling though the trees, catching the snow still clinging to the branches so that it seemed as if the trees were garlanded with baskets of diamonds. ‘Where I lived the woods were dank jungle. I always hated them, they seemed so dangerous, foreboding. The sunlight never shone there, and deadly serpents and stalkers lurked within.’
‘Stalkers lurk here too,’ said Dennis.
‘Such as you.’
‘Yes.’
Asayaga nodded. ‘Yes, but it’s different. If there was no war, this would be a good place. Sheltered in winter, the fields look fertile, the game is rich. It could be a good life here.’
‘If there was no war …’ Dennis hesitated. ‘Yes, it could be.’
‘Was your home like this before the war?’
‘Don’t ask me about my home, Asayaga.’
‘Sorry. I did not mean to bring the return of unpleasant memories.’
There was silence for several minutes as Dennis finished his job, putting the heart and liver back inside the hollowed-out carcass, then washed his blade and hands with snow. ‘It was like this place,’ he said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. ‘Our valley had good land, by midsummer the grain stood waist-high and there was more than enough for all: even the poorest of my father’s tenants ate well, had a dry roof over his head, and a warm fire in the winter.’ He sat back, absently wiping his hands on his stained trousers. ‘The great forest was thick with game. My father – and when he still was able, my grandfather as well – we would go hunting together and when we returned there would be a feast and all in the keep joined us. The feasting would last for days, especially the great Midwinter festival like the one we celebrated two weeks ago. My grandfather had an old retainer named Jocomo who would dress up as Father Winter and come riding into the courtyard with a bag of sweets for the children.’ With a faint smile Dennis added, ‘He always said that the wolves who pulled his sleigh were ill, which is why he had to borrow one of grandfather’s horses and each year when I was a child I would believe him. Anyone who came to our door was given a place at our table and my grandfather would insist that before we of title ate, those who served or were visitors must eat first.’
‘Your people loved him, then?’
‘Who could not?’ Dennis said wistfully. ‘He always distrusted the high nobles in the great halls to the east, far away in Rillanon and Salador, where it was safe, saying that they had forgotten why we existed, that our duty was first and foremost to protect those in our charge, and not the other way around.’
Asayaga sat silent, saying nothing, and after a while Dennis went on.
‘Yes, he was loved. I remember when I was a boy, maybe eight summers old. I told a stable boy to polish the silver trim on my saddle and came out to find him asleep, the silver still unpolished and in my childlike rage I struck him.’ Dennis shook his head. ‘My grandfather saw this.’
‘And he beat you?’
‘No,’ and Dennis. ‘He said nothing, but the following morning, hours before dawn, he dragged me out of my bed, pushed me down the stairs and threw me into the stable and told me to muck it out.
‘How I cried bitter tears, with him standing there glaring at me, not saying a word. After I mucked out the stables, I fed all the horses, then had to walk them, then oil the harnesses, before I could eat breakfast. Then I had to groom every horse, help the blacksmith with shodding, then help to bring in the hay; and thus I worked the whole day, and every day like that for a week. I ate in the stables and collapsed into exhausted sleep in the stables. The humiliation was the hardest part to bear, for all in the keep knew, and all treated me no longer as if I was the grandson of the Baron, but was just a common stable boy.’ He smiled. ‘The boy I struck secretly helped me in spite of my grandfather’s orders for him to take the time off and go hunting and use my horse. Lars was his name and he became one of my closest friends after that.’
Dennis sighed and looked over at Asayaga. ‘Lars was k
illed the night the keep fell, standing by my grandfather’s side.’
He turned away from Asayaga, not wanting the Tsurani to see his emotion. ‘There was a story how a new man-at-arms –’ he whispered, his voice distant and haunting, ‘– just a boy, fell asleep on watch one night. He awoke to find my grandfather standing above him, in the driving snow, having taken his place in the sentry-box.’
‘Did he hang him?’ Asayaga asked. ‘That is our punishment.’
‘It is ours as well, but not that night. The terrified boy begged forgiveness and my grandfather raised him to his feet. “You not only failed me,” my grandfather said, “you failed your family whom I nevertheless protected while you slept. You were all that stood between your mother and danger this night and you failed her far more than you failed me. Now go back to your mother and when you are finally man enough to take the responsibilities of a man you may return to the service of our people. I will serve out the remainder of your watch.”’
Asayaga smiled.
‘That boy, years later, was my trainer and the sergeant of this company.’
‘Jurgen?’
Dennis simply nodded and looked away. ‘It was a good place, our valley. The border marches were quiet: sometimes a year or more would pass without a single clash with renegades. At times we would see an eledhel or even a dwarf come to our keep for a night’s shelter and a place by the fire.’ There was a long pause. Then: ‘Old Wolfgar,’ and Dennis smiled, chuckling softly, ‘before he had his run-in with the king, was often at our table. He favoured my grandfather more than any other duke or baron though they would pay him more for a song in their honour than grandfather would. ‘You see a bit of my grandfather in Wolfgar.’
Asayaga looked at him surprise.
‘Beneath that obscene tongue there’s his zest for life, his joy in watching a sunrise after a stormy night, his trading of a jest between friends, and his love of a good song: all things he shared with my family.’ Dennis looked off as if Asayaga was not even there. ‘The night my grandfather died, there was not a man among us who would not have died in his place. I wish I had …’