Harald (6 page)

The world faded in and out on the way out of the wood, back down the road to the castle. It didn't seem to bother the horse.

Approaching the stable, he saw a familiar form.

"Henry."

"Harald. I heard you were here."

"Hurt myself riding; need your help."

The guard captain took in the bound arm, the color of Harald's face, reached up. Harald swung his right foot up and over the saddle, slid into his arms.

"I'll get a groom for the horse."

"Better deal with it yourself."

Henry gave him a puzzled look, followed Harald's glance down at the horse's forefoot.

"Yes. I'll get one of my men to help you back. Where have they put you?"

"Karl's old room, against the wall by the New Tower."

The arm resplinted with help of another friend from the barracks, Harald rested, trying to ignore the pain. Outside the unbarred door he heard Henry's voice. Another. He relaxed, called out: "Come in."

The lady Elen came through the door, eyes wide.

"I heard you were hurt, Excellency."

"Most folk call me Harald."

"My lady always . . ."

"Lady Anne calls me 'Excellency' because His Majesty does. His Majesty uses the title in hopes I'll forget who I am and where I come from, decide the North Vales are really a province of his kingdom and I'm their lord. His father got most things right, that included, not all."

"Can I get you anything?"

"You can get me a pitcher of beer and two mugs, then sit here and let me tell you the rest of Saemund's tale, help me forget what my arm feels like. If you would, leave word for the King I won't be at Council tonight and why."

When she returned, with pitcher, mugs, and a servant carrying a stool, he was asleep.

The next morning he was still light-headed and the arm had swollen. Elen having brought him breakfast, he let her help him retie the splints, then told her the first part of Saemund's tale. Later Stephen arrived with news of the previous evening's Council meeting. The King had again proposed calling out a part levy to deal with the Order. Stephen, backed by Brand, had pointed out that the more men were called to their month's service now, the fewer would be available later, when and if Imperial troops crossed the Borderflood into their provinces. He proposed instead that Harald, with friends in both camps, be asked to try to negotiate a settlement with the Order. The meeting had broken up with no decisions made. Harald gave Stephen a complete account of the previous day and sent him off to collect rumors.

It was most of a week before Harald felt well enough to consider the trip back over the mountains. He spent most of it in bed, gossiping with friends, entertaining a surprising diversity of visitors with stories from the Vales and beyond. The day he decided it was time to be up and about, the King came to visit.

"I hope my people have been taking good care of you."

"Concerning the hospitality in your castle I have no complaints, Majesty. I hope not to impose on it much longer."

"What do you mean? You can't leave now."

Harald looked at him curiously.

"I still need your counsel. Besides, you can't cross the width of the Kingdom and the high pass until your arm is healed."

"Your Majesty can have my counsel now; it is simple enough. So far as the Order, your choice is war or peace. War, lose or win. Lose, the matter is ended, at least for you. If a half levy suffices to win, you then have the Empire to deal with—no allies, half the provincial levy spent. Two thousand of your own men, fewer after dealings with the host. Three thousand from the provinces. Your lady cousin and fifteen of her ladies. Again, that ends the game for you. I invite such of my friends as can to come over the pass and help settle Newvale, garrison Northgate, learn to live with the Empire east as well as north.

"Peace is simpler still. Give back the holdings your men have seized. Pay the Order blood money for Ladies killed. Turn loose the Lady Commander—she can see over the Borderflood as well as I can. If Leonora is dead, put the matter to the Council of the Order, abide their judgment—and don't visit my side the mountains any year soon. Or after."

"I will consider your words. But you stay my guest until I decide you are well enough to travel. When you go home, it is with an escort of my men. I will not have it said that I sent you out alone to be killed by bandits between here and the pass."

"Your Majesty has odd ideas of hospitality."

The King made no answer, turned, walked out of the room.

Harald considered the matter for a long hour before he rose, found his cloak, set out for the kitchen and storerooms behind and then, somewhat burdened, to the stable. Having apologized suitably for neglecting the two horses he returned to his room carrying a smaller bundle. An hour's rest preceded a visit to the barracks to chat with friends. Not surprisingly, two planned to ride over to the city later that day. Harald entrusted one with a list of gifts for various of the castle ladies—his one-handed state making the ride imprudent—money to pay for them, a message for a friend. He left, ignoring diverse comments centering on good fortune, a busy convalescence and things a broken arm did not bar. Back in his room he rested for another hour before making his preparations.

His bundle included a dagger blade, a mail coif, two short lengths of ash, a long strip of woolen cloth, another of linen. He resplinted the arm, taking the opportunity to feel out the break, only partly healed. The wool wrapped over the bandage. Over that the dagger blade lying flat along the back of his forearm, the wooden pieces at either side. He wrapped the whole forearm in the mail coif, over that the linen. The arm being now bulkier as well as heavier, he retied his sling, taking care with the knot.

After another hour's rest a servant arrived with food for his dinner. Harald thanked the man, sent him off with a message for the King. The answer came as he finished eating.

Half an hour later he gave a last look around the room, pulled on his cloak, went out into the fading light. Up the steps to the ramparts, along them to the door of the north tower. Men had been working on repairing a worn part of the wall. With his left hand he clumsily lifted a block of stone, heaved it up to the top of the wall, steadied it.

The guard at the door opened it for him; Harald went in. The King was waiting.

"You said you required speech with me here. On what matter?"

"Whether I am your guest or your prisoner. I purpose to leave. Will you let me?"

"I cannot."

"I am not your man to command. Would you be at war with both your father's allies together?"

"It is just that I do not wish. If you leave and do not reach home, I will be blamed. If you leave and reach home angry as you now are, you may come back with an army. You have spoken bluntly; I do so now. I grant that holding you is poor hospitality, but I have no choice. You do not have my leave to go, and I have given orders to the guards at the gate. You will not have my leave until your arm is healed and our dispute settled—peace with the Order or war, as I choose. It may be I will take your counsel, it may be not."

"If you hold me here, do you think that gets you peace? I am not the only man in the Vales. When my kin come in force to fetch me home, what then?"

"Why should they? They do not know why you remain here or for how long."

Harald looked at him in frank astonishment.

"Your Majesty's castle is an hour ride from a town full of busy tongues. What happens here is told there, and much that does not as well."

"Rumor. Your friends are two weeks ride west of here. Will they come over the mountain and across the plain, sift out the truth, ride home, collect an army, return? By then the matter is settled between us. They know you came here, that is all they know. If need be I can close the pass westbound—the traders will be mostly through by now. I do not think it will come to that."

"As to my broken arm, how I came by it, Your Majesty's policy and my judgment thereon—save Your Majesty has falcons enough to kill every pigeon in Eston, that news reached Haraldholt three days ago. Today's is already on the wing, and nothing on four legs will catch it. This time tomorrow half Mainvale knows I am held here."

The King was silent, staring at Harald.

"When the Empire crossed the border six years back, do you think I waited two weeks for a rider to reach me before calling out the host? His Imperial Majesty would be sitting here, not you. We trained the first birds twenty years ago."

The King spoke slowly.

"It seems all choices go ill. If I must have war with the Vales, better you here than leading the host."

"Have I Your Majesty's leave to depart?"

"No."

"Then I go without it." Harald stepped towards the door, his left hand pulling at the knot in the sling.

"Stop him."

The guard stepped from the doorway into the room, his spear held crosswise to block. Harald caught the spear in his left hand, pulled. His right forearm, freed from its sling, swung like a mace, wrapping around to strike the back of the guard's head.

The King stepped forward, reaching for his dagger, mouth open. Harald, his left hand holding the spear by its middle, rested his right arm against the shaft and pushed. The swinging butt caught the King just over his left ear; he crumpled to the ground.

Harald bent over him; the King was still breathing. He walked over to the guard, dropped the spear by him, stood a moment catching his breath. Then he stepped out the door and yelled.

"Help! Assassin! To the King!"

With his left hand he shoved the block of stone off the wall; it fell into the moat with a loud splash. When the first guard reached him he was looking over the wall.

"He went into the moat. Call out the guard. After him!"

Men shouting, horns blowing. Harald ran through the dark for the stable, reached it in a crowd of men. He pulled a panicked groom out of the pack, got his help saddling the mare, bowcase, quiver, saddlebags, a thick bundle behind the saddle.

The bridge down, the gate open, men streaming out. Harald joined them. Once over the moat and into the dark he brought the mare to a gallop, trusting her footing, found the turn to the west road, took it.

With no hoofbeats behind he slowed to a walk, retied the sling for his aching arm. Two hours west, where a stream flowed across the road to join the river running down the valley, he stopped, dismounted, led his mare up a path to the right. A short way in he stopped, broke off a pine bough. Leaving the horse he went back and did what he could, one-handed by moonlight, to wipe out the prints of her passage.

Somehow he made it back onto the horse. The path left the stream, climbing along the side of a little valley. Again the stream on his right, now broad and shallow. Where it was bordered by rocks he swung the mare into the water, followed the stream uphill, away from the path. Dawn found him among trees, the stream to his left, the path well out of sight beyond it. Past the brush to his right he found a small meadow. With the last of his strength he unsaddled the mare, rubbed her down with handfuls of dry grass. The grass was soft, cloak warm, the bundle of bedding . . .

It was past noon before the sun shifted far enough to come out from behind the oak tree and shine into his eyes. He kept them closed while he followed step by step what he could remember of the night's journey, opened them at last to the feel of a velvet muzzle against his cheek.

"You've had your breakfast, heart's delight, and yes I'm sorry we had to leave him behind. Now I've to find mine. And more." He fed the mare handfuls of grass, walking around the meadow's edge while she nuzzled at his shoulder, stopped where an old tree had fallen a little back into the woods, one end supported by a massive boulder. An hour's work dragging dead branches and the shelter, not yet weatherproof, was at least sight proof. Saddle, saddlebags, useless bow and quiver went into it. Over the pile his rain cloak.

The next step was pine branches cut a safe way off to thatch the shelter, or snares, or . . . He found himself lying in the piled pine needles by his shelter, the sun a considerable way down the sky, considering that perhaps, at his age, a broken arm deserved more respect than he was giving it.

Over the next few days, working with long breaks, Harald succeeded in thatching his shelter, locating a small swamp well supplied with cattails, and snaring one rabbit. He also spent several frustrating hours discovering his inability to tickle trout left-handed—the fish kept escaping at the last moment just as he was about to flip it onto the bank—and fell back, with better success, on hook and line.

That morning he was fishing, back to a rock, trying not to think about cattail roots. A bundle of string in wet starch. But letting his arm heal and the hunt die down would take longer than his supplies were going to last; best save the remaining travel food for travel. He resolutely turned his mind to the more entertaining topic of his recent host, with aching head, trying to explain what had become of his guest and why.

"Hullo."

Harald looked up. The boy was standing on the other side of the creek, barefoot. He called across.

"Any luck? The big pool downstream is better."

Harald reached down, held up the largest of his catch. The stranger appearing unlikely to act on his advice at once, the boy walked a little downstream, waded across, came back up the bank. Harald looked up at him.

"Hungry? Should be enough for two."

The boy was staring down at Harald's splinted right arm, eyes wide. He stepped back.

"You're the one they're hunting for."

Harald gave him an enquiring look.

"Two men. Staying at our farm, eating our food. Scaring Mother. There's enough for the two of us, but they eat more. Now they want us to slaughter something for them. This time of year!"

Harald, a farmer himself most of the time, gave a sympathetic nod.

"They said a rider with one arm broken. Where's your horse?"