Knights Of Dark Renown (12 page)

Errin heard the door close behind him and opened his arms, but she just stood by the bed staring at him, her eyes wide, her lips trembling. He moved to her, drawing her to him.

‘They are going to burn me alive,’ she whispered. ‘Burn me!’

He could say nothing, except perhaps to tell her he would not be alive to see it - and that would bring her scant comfort. So he held her in silence.

After a while she pulled back from him. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘I have done so ever since I was small and you used to come to our palace with your father. You remember the games of hunt-and-find in the gardens?’

‘Yes. It was always easy to find you; you always moved.’

‘I always wanted to be found,’ she said. ‘By you.’

‘I wish I had come with you. I wish we had gone on the night of the Feast. I wish. . . .’

‘Is it true that you are going to champion me, Errin?’

‘Yes.’

‘Against the Red Knight?’

He nodded. ‘You would expect me not to?’

‘No, I have always known you were the bravest of men, but can you win? And even if you do, will they allow me to depart?’

‘I cannot answer either of these questions. Tomorrow we will know. But today, now, we have each other, and today may ... be all that we have. I don’t mind if we just sit quietly, saying nothing. I just want to be here with you.’

‘We will not be disturbed?’

‘No, the Duke has promised.’

She unfastened the laces of her doublet and said, ‘Then be with me, Errin, be part of me.’

At midnight Errin slid from the bed - leaving Dianu sleeping — and tapped on the door, which was opened by a burly guard. The man closed the door quietly and locked it. He would not meet Errin’s gaze and led the way silently to the upper levels.

As the guard turned to go, Errin touched him on the shoulder. ‘Treat her gently,’ he said. The man said nothing and glanced down at Errin’s outstretched hand; two gold Raq nestled in his palm. The guard took the money and walked away; then he stopped and spoke without turning. ‘I would have done so anyway,’ he said, ‘but I need the money.’

Errin smiled. ‘Let her sleep for as long as she will. Tomorrow will be a long, fearful day.’

He returned to his own apartments, where Boran had placed his battle armour on a wooden stand. Errin stood and gazed at the weapons laid out on the narrow table before the stand: longsword, battle-axe, mace and chain. He had worn the armour only once, at the coronation of the King seven years ago; he had never fought in it. The helm was cylindrical, with a broad slit across the face. Errin lifted it and placed it on his head; it was lined with cushioned velvet and sat snugly in place. He could hear his own breathing, like the sound of a wolf creeping forward in the darkness. His vision through the eye-slit was limited. Removing the helm, he tossed it to his bed. The sword was double-handed and he hefted it, trying to recall the advice of Sword-master Pleus more than a decade before. But all he could remember was the man shaking his head and telling him he was too clumsy, and that he had two left feet.

Errin sat at the northern window with the sword in his lap until the dawn streaked the sky, when Boran entered silently.

‘My Lord, will you eat breakfast?’

‘No. I have no appetite.’

‘If I may say so, respectfully, you are not being wise. To fight, a man must have strength — and this comes from the food we eat. I have prepared some honey-cakes. Please eat something.’

‘It ill becomes a man to die on a full stomach, Boran. I have seen dead men; their bowels open, you know, and they stink. I have no wish to stink.’

‘On the field today, sir, there will be two men with swords. Now swords have no brains, they go where they are directed. Sir Cairbre may be a wondrous warrior, but he might slip in the mud just as you strike. Best to be prepared. I shall fetch the honey-cakes.’

As Boran turned the door opened and Sir Cairbre entered. He was wearing his crimson armour and carrying his round, plumed helm under his arm. He approached Errin and bowed.

‘Good morning, my Lord,’ he said softly. ‘Have you reconsidered this unwise action?’

‘I have not, sir. Nor shall I!’

‘Leave us!’ ordered Cairbre, but Boran stood his ground.

‘I take no orders from you, sir,’ he said, reddening.

Errin rose. ‘Thank you, Boran. Fetch the honey-cakes if you please, and some fresh water for our guest.’

The servant departed and Errin, realizing he still held the longsword, hurled it to the bed where it clanged against his helmet.

‘I applaud your courage, Lord Errin,’ said Cairbre, ‘but it will avail you nothing. The Duke has explained to me that you are no swordsman, and I have no wish to walk on to the field for the purpose of simple butchery.’

‘But that is the law, Sir Cairbre - the King’s law. I have the right to champion my lady — is that not so?’

‘Indeed it is, sir. But even if you win - you lose. As the Lord Seer Okessa has pointed out, even if you defeat me you will only establish the Lady Dianu’s innocence of the charge of treason. She will still be a Nomad and thus required to travel to Gar-aden. And at that point you will be arrested for treason.’

‘How so? I have never spoken against the King.’

‘But, sir,’ said Cairbre, smiling softly, ‘you are about to fight the King’s champion. Therefore you are setting yourself against the King, and that makes you a traitor.’

‘That is logic of the most dubious kind, Sir Cairbre. The right of the accused to be championed has been with us for a thousand years. In one stroke you remove that right for men - or women - deemed the King’s enemies?’

‘Traitors should have no rights,’ Cairbre declared.

‘And how then are we to decide who is a traitor?’

‘The facts should judge, not the skills of swordsmen.’

‘And who decides the facts?’

‘The King, or the King’s judges.’

‘I see,’ said Errin. ‘An interesting hypothesis. Let us say that a farmer has a complaint against his liege lord. Is it fair that the liege lord decides his case?’

‘We are not talking of farmers, but of the King. His word is the law - and his wishes are above the laws of men,’ said Cairbre. ‘Despite knowing the Lady Dianu is of Nomad blood, you have decided to champion her. Thus you are championing the cause of all Nomads -regardless of their rank. Can you not see that you are defying your King?’

Boran returned with the honey-cakes and then left. Errin poured Cairbre a goblet of water. ‘Can you not see, sir Knight,’ he said persuasively, ‘that in history there have been bad kings as well as good?’

‘What point is there in such a question? Are you saying the King is bad?’

‘No, no. Do not put words in my mouth, sir. I am saying that the past shows us that a bad king, or an evil king, or a foolish king can make appalling decisions which are not good for the realm. If we say now that the King is above the law, then in a hundred years a bad king may abuse such a position.’

Cairbre smiled and sipped his water. He sat down on the edge of the bed. That will not happen in this case, Lord Errin, for we will have the same King in a hundred years. Indeed, in a thousand years. For he is now immortal. . . even as I am.’

Errin said nothing, scanning the Knight’s eyes for any sign of madness. Cairbre chuckled. ‘I know how this sounds, Lord Errin. Truly I do. But look at me. How old am I? Twenty-five. Thirty? I am nearly fifty.’

Errin could not believe it. He stared into the warrior’s face, seeking the tell-tale lines, but the Knight’s skin was pale and smooth, his dark eyes glowing with health.

Cairbre finished his drink and stood looking down at the silver goblet. His slender fingers contracted suddenly and the goblet crumpled in his hand. ‘Youth and strength is mine,’ said Cairbre, ‘and the King’s. Do you see now what I was trying to tell the Council? We are going to build an empire - the greatest empire of all time. Faithful friends of the King will become immortal; they will never taste death. This is what you are throwing away. We need you, Errin. Your blood is pure, your line without blemish. Give up this foolishness - and join us in our crusade.’

Errin’s eyes grew cold and he stepped back from the Knight. ‘I will meet you, sir, on the field at noon. When I am dead I ask - as one Knight to another -that you allow me to be buried alongside Dianu. I think it is inappropriate for us to talk further.’

Cairbre sighed and stood. He drew his sword and tossed it to Errin; it was wondrously light and razor-sharp.

‘The blade has magic properties,’ he said. ‘It will enhance your skill and cut through anything - ultimately even this armour I wear. Use it today and I will take your blade.’

‘It is not necessary,’ said Errin.

‘No, it is not,’ Cairbre agreed. ‘But at least your lady will see a battle for her life and not a meaningless slaughter. Until noon, then.’

The jousting field, hemmed by stakes and fenced by purple ribbons tied between them, held two thousand people. It seemed that the entire town of Mactha had emptied for the occasion and Errin was distressed to see fires burning and steaks being fried. Vendors were selling food and drink, and children were playing at knights, fighting each other with wooden swords. Errin stood alone at the centre of the field, his helm tucked under his arm. He could scarcely believe that people could turn an event of life and death into such a festive occasion. The sky was clear and blue and despite the presence of autumn it was like a summer’s day, bright and warm. His armour felt heavy and, even though Boran had greased the joints, it was difficult to move.

He remembered a day such as this in Cithaeron, when a champion had stood for the life of a noble. He himself had not bothered to watch. He had caught the eye of an attractive lady and they had repaired to her apartments for a lazy afternoon of exquisite pleasure; he had not even troubled to enquire as to the outcome of the battle.

Now he stood alone at the centre of the grass-covered field. There should have been two friends beside him, but none had come forward. Considering Cairbre’s talk of treason, he was not surprised.

Dianu was brought into the field on a wagon, and the crowd began to boo and jeer. A tremendous sense of anger engulfed Errin, but his eyes remained fixed on her. She stood with head held high, ignoring the taunts from the crowd. The wagon was followed by the Duke and the Lord Seer, and behind them came the Lords and Knights of the Council.

A herald blew a single blast on a silver bugle and the crowd fell silent.

The wagon was brought to the centre of the field and Errin approached it. Bowing to Dianu, he took her hand and kissed it. He could think of nothing to say, but answered her nervous smile with one of his own.

Sir Cairbre rode into sight and dismounted at the far end of the field. Then he walked slowly to the centre and bowed to Errin. Once more he was wearing the red helm and his eyes were hidden in shadow. He drew his sword - Errin’s sword — and pushed it into the earth.

‘Do you still wish this affair to continue?’ asked Cairbre, his voice muffled and metallic.

‘I do.’

‘Then let us begin.’ He dragged the sword clear and raised it two-handed, dropping the point until it covered half the distance between them. Errin put on his helm, drew his sword and touched the blade to Cairbre’s.

Both men looked towards the Duke, who raised his hand. ‘Begin!’ he bellowed and immediately their swords clashed together, sweeping and blocking, cutting and parrying. Errin had never handled such a blade as Cairbre had given him; it seemed almost to have a mind of its own, saving him three times from deadly slashes.

The screams of the crowd grew louder as the battle continued, but Errin heard nothing above the harsh sounds of his own breathing inside the cushioned helm. Cairbre stumbled, his sword dropping down to expose his left side, and instantly Errin’s borrowed blade hammered home into the red armour, smashing several plates from it. He heard Cairbre grunt in pain, and the Red Knight backed away. Storming after him, Errin lost his footing and at once Cairbre crashed a blow to his helm, tearing it from his head. Errin staggered back, blocking cut after cut. Cairbre’s speed was dazzling and he felt panic welling within him. He saw Cairbre’s sword flash for his head and his own blade leapt to block, but at the last second Cairbre rolled his wrists and sent the blade crashing into Errin’s side. He felt his ribs crack, though his armour held. A second blow to the calf broke the bone and Errin fell to his knees, his neck exposed.

He glanced up at the upraised sword . . .

‘No!’ screamed Dianu. ‘Stop it! I am guilty! Guilty!’

The blade swept down, halting just as it touched Errin’s neck. He did not feel it; his vision swam and he fainted.

He awoke in the fading light of dusk, in his own room. Boran^was beside him, bathing a wound in his temple. Errin struggled to rise, but Boran pushed him back. ‘Be still, my Lord. You have broken ribs, and they may pierce your lung if you struggle.’

‘Why am I alive?’

‘The Lady Dianu shouted her guilt and that ended the battle. She saved you, my Lord. Now there is someone to see you.’

‘I wish to see no one.’

‘I think you will wish to see this man; he is in great danger.’

‘Who?’

Boran moved aside and there, sitting beside the bed, was Ubadai.

‘You fought pretty good,’ said the Nomad. ‘He was pretty much better.’

‘You must help me,’ Errin whispered. ‘We must save Dianu. We must!’

‘First we save you. Your new man here — good man — he hear they come for you tomorrow. You, me, we go, yes? We run. Get to Cithaeron.’

‘Not without Dianu. Now help me up.’

‘Gently,’ ordered Boran, lifting Errin to a sitting position. A sharp pain lanced his side.

‘We help the lady,’ said Ubadai, ‘but first we get you out of castle. There are horses — you can ride?’

‘I can ride,’ said Errin. ‘Get me some clothes, Boran.’

‘It is already done, my Lord. The dark brown leather with the sheepskin cape. I have also packed food, and some coin. You only had three hundred Raq, but it should pay for the passage to Cithaeron.’

Errin looked down at the tightly-bound splint on his left leg. ‘Will it support me?’ he asked.