Myrren's Gift (44 page)

“Good day, Myrt.”

He did little more than grunt but at least he paused.

She wiped her palms nervously on her skirt. “Um…would you know where I might find Lothryn? He, er…he went to check on his wife’s progress.”

The man mumbled directions that she hoped she could remember. According to Myrt, Lothryn had private lodgings among the fortress buildings. She had already gathered Lothryn was far more than a foot soldier for Cailech—it was obvious now that he was some sort of deputy. On her way she picked a bunch of wildflowers, hoping to please the new mother.

She lost her way several times but worked up the courage to ask directions of other souls even less communicative than Myrt and retraced her steps. Finally she found the alleyway they spoke of that opened into a small central courtyard with several stone houses built around it. At one doorway a group of people had gathered and she presumed this might well be the welcoming party for the new babe. As Elspyth approached she sensed, however, that the atmosphere was far from celebratory. If anything it was grim. The small gathering noticed her standing back and she was embarrassed by their stares and mutterings.

Elspyth called out carefully, introducing herself and asking after the family, having decided it was probably best not to trespass on what might be a private assembly.

An older woman, perhaps she was family—Elspyth could not tell—looked angrily at her and yelled. “Go away, Morgravian scum!” Then she spat toward Elspyth, who was too stunned to avoid the spittle that landed on her skirt. “You’ve brought the barshi!”

Barshi
? She had no idea what it meant but found the mettle to ask where Lothryn was.

The old woman hurled a string of words at her in a language Elspyth could not follow. So she turned away from her and addressed a girl with red eyes, sore from her tears.

“I have a message for Lothryn,” she lied.

“The Mourning Stone,” the girl answered.

Elspyth began moving away. “Where is it?” She did not wish to antagonize the group any further.

Someone pointed toward a hill. She fled; her own fears • and anguish welled as she ran. She found him finally after falling twice and grazing her palms and elbows in her efforts to climb the steep incline.

He was kneeling on a flat boulder of granite facing out to sea. He keened and the sound of his anguish cut through her. His cries intensified with the wind and were carried seaward.

Elspyth felt herself trembling for his pain and it was only after a few minutes that she noticed a tiny bundle in his arms. The shock of realizing the baby was present forced her to her feet and she stumbled forward again, risking his wrath, wanting to share his grief. It mattered not to her suddenly whether he acknowledged her presence or chose otherwise but Elspyth moved onto the Mourning Stone and put her arms about him and cried. She so badly wanted family of her own that she could more than empathize with this family’s loss.

He did not recoil at her touch. Instead he rocked all three of them in his keening, clutching the bundle so close that Elspyth could not even see the baby’s face. She assumed the worst, that new life had been snatched away by Haldor, the god in whom Lothryn had placed his faith. She lost track of time, realizing the flood of tears she herself had cried were not just for this Mountain Dweller’s loss but for her aunt.

Also for Romen and the horrible death of his family.

The wind gradually died down and she caught the unmistakable sound of a gentle whimpering of an infant.

She pushed back on her heels.
The baby lived
! Fresh tears.
Don’t let him see them
. Elspyth stepped around Lothryn and reached tentatively toward the baby.

“Lothryn, it’s Elspyth. I mean no harm. May I?”

He turned eyes of such intense sorrow on her that her courage almost failed and she would have left him if not for the gentle way in which the huge man held out his newborn baby. She took the child, feeling a fresh wave of grief. Holding this precious infant highlighted her own plight, her own lack of family and belonging. Elspyth cradled the softly moaning baby and without thinking put the tip of her small finger in the child’s mouth. It immediately began to suck.

“Your baby needs feeding,” she said.

His words came back hard. “His mother is dead. She fought hard to stay with us but she bled so much.

They couldn’t stop it.”

Elspyth swallowed. “I’m so sorry.” She said no more, fearful of using the wrong words. Instead she simply laid her hand on his arm. Perhaps through touch she could convey her despair at his loss.

He surprised her by covering her small hand with his own. “Thank you.” He reclaimed his newborn son and strode away, leaving Elspyth empty an‘ d shattered on the Mourning Stone where he had cast his wife’s spirit to the seas.

Later, exhausted and back in her chamber, Elspyth glanced out of her window toward the meadows. She saw two riders. One was Lothryn. The other, unmistakably, was his King. Elspyth hoped Cailech would offer more comfort to his friend than she had.

“She gave a son to our people, Loth. We must celebrate her contribution rather than mourn her death,” Cailech said, staring out across the pastures he loved. “You have good reason to celebrate the boy’s birth,” Lothryn replied more pointedly than he had intended.

Cailech now looked towards his closest friend and companion, the man he trusted above all others and remained silent. The look exchanged carried much weight. Both knew that whatever stood between them on this subject best remained unsaid. The King nodded in deference to his deputy before they walked their horses on.

“She didn’t love me at the end, Cailech, it’s all right.” Lothryn finally said with a sigh. “I grieve for the unhappiness I gave her and the fact that the boy has no mother.”

“We will care for him better than any other.”

“I know.”

The men guided their horses toward the lake. Cailech liked to skirt the water’s edge. It was peaceful here…and especially private.

In his typical way he changed subjects. “I want to talk to you about the Morgravian prisoners we captured.”

“Oh? I’ve been waiting to hear your decision on them.”

“I’ve waited. Loth. Waited for my wrath to calm.”

The big man spoke gently. “Cailech, our people should not have been there.”

“That is as may be. But they were lost. I’m sure they explained this to their murderers before they died.”

“If we overreact it could mean war between us and Morgravia.”

“Overreact? A dozen innocents were mindlessly slaughtered, mostly our young.” Lothryn stayed quiet. He recognized the dangerous sign of his King’s anger stoking. He appreciated how Cailech admired and encouraged the young members of their race. It was through his efforts that so many now lived into older age and did not kill each other in pointless tribal war. It was Cailech who had turned the young’s energies to animal husbandry and farming on a more intensive scale. His people now fed themselves easily. Their harvests were plentiful and storage for less bountiful times more concerted and well-organized. It was Cailech who had insisted from the moment he had pronounced himself King that the young would now be taught letters and the history of their people rather than how to kill a man.

Cailech encouraged music, singing, dance. He always had time for the youngsters. It hurt his very soul when one died from natural causes, let alone a dozen or so in brutal slaughter.

Lothryn knew, better than any, that Cailech would exact a price for their lives. He held little hope, in truth, for the unfortunate Morgravians they had captured but still he would try.

Cailech pointed towards a small stand of trees. “Race me. Loth.” Their horses, especially bred to be fast and hardy in this terrain and climate, were spurred into a flat-out gallop. Predictably, the King won on his beautiful mare.

“Isn’t she spectacular?” he said, laughing, breathing hard from the exhilaration of the ride.

“She’s magnificent.” Lothryn answered just as breathlessly, stroking his own mount, who had chased well. “What is your decision, my King?” he added, determined not to let the subject be left.

His friend became serious again. “I’m going to make an example of them.”

“Please. Cailech. think it through.”

“I have. While you were capturing Koreldy, I gave my attention to nothing else but this topic. I do not reach this decision lightly.”

“These prisoners in our dungeons are innocents too. They have suffered enough. Must we react in the same fashion as our southern foe?”

“They are soldiers, not innocents!”

“Only one is a hardened soldier, my King. The others strike me as peasants who wouldn’t know anything about killing, other than their beasts for meat.”

“What would you have me do?” the King suddenly roared.

Lothryn took his time answering, waiting for his friend’s anger to die.

“Release them. Be lenient, be better than the Morgravian King.” Cailech shook his head angrily. “It is his doing! His father would never have condoned such killing of our people. The son is a madman. You know all our spies report that even the Morgravians increasingly despise him. No, I cannot turn away from this. Loth. I want vengeance this time. Celimus will know my fury, he will know not to sleep too deeply. One day I will come for his lands.” His deputy sighed. This was the old mantra. For all his brilliance as a philanthropic ruler, Cailech still possessed the spirit of the conqueror. He remained a warrior and his desire to broaden the scope of his rule and his people’s lands burned bright and deep within their mercurial King. It would be his undoing one day, Lothryn feared; had said as much on previous occasions. This was not the time to repeat it.

His sorrow at the King’s decision was evident in the weary way he spoke. “What do you have in mind, my lord?”

And the King told him. There was no joy in it. Cailech spoke briefly, grimly, and refused to justify his planned actions. Lothryn had never felt more hollow, could not have imagined that Cailech would take his people to such a low place.

He could not help himself. “This is insane!” he said, risking offense.

“I will—”

“Cailech! It’s madness, I say. Do you want to give our enemies the right to retaliate?”

“We are ready!” the King growled.

“For more of our people to die? Are you sure? If you do this war will come here, my King. Have you lost your mind?”

“Be careful. Loth.”

The King’s friend heeded the soft warning. “Cailech, we’ve known each other since the cradle. I have followed you through all the trials to becoming King and I have never once shirked my duty to you. There is no one more loyal to you.”

“I know this.” the King snapped.

“But I don’t support this idea. In my estimation it lessens you,” he risked saying. Then his voice became beseeching. “My King, this is not at all like you. You are so much better than this.” Cailech’s expression twisted in discomfort. “I want to teach them a lesson they won’t forget. The Morgravians murdered our children. Loth. Now I will respond in the only way they’ll understand. It’s horrific, I agree, but I am not going to let my people be bullied by this new and arrogant southern King. If I don’t retaliate now and in equal measure, he will think me soft—vulnerable even.”

“What does it matter if he does? He is nothing to us.”

“It matters!”

“Will you be able to live with yourself after this?”

“You know me well enough.”

And then it dawned on Lothryn. “This wasn’t your idea, was it? Your mind doesn’t work this way.” Cailech gave a small shrug. “What does it matter if Rashlyn devised it—he is right!” Lothryn grimaced. Rashlyn was the King’s barshi. People of the Mountains had always embraced the notion of magic. For a sovereign to have his own barshi. or sorcerer, was considered a blessing, for these practitioners were rare. But Lothryn had disliked Rashlyn since he had first come to the Razors and ingratiated himself into Cailech’s inner sanctum.

Rashlyn had shown patience too. Years of quiet counsel and waiting, playing on the King’s superstitious tendencies until he had won Cailech’s trust. Now he considered himself untouchable; he knew Lothryn despised him but was confident of the King’s protection. His sway with Cailech was becoming more pronounced with each year; this latest idea was an abomination.

Lothryn pressed the point, running his hand through his thick hair, the color of wet sand. “They will brand us barbarians.”

The King gave a bitter bark of a laugh. “Morgravians and Briavellians, you mean? They already do! I no longer care.”

“And this will give them good reason to believe it, my lord. You belittle your people in this and still you will do it, knowing they will blindly follow like sheep… as you do Rashlyn?” He had well and truly overstepped his mark. Lothryn anticipated an explosion of wrath.

Instead the gaze was as cold as a mountain spring in winter. Cailech’s words splintered like ice through the heat of Lothryn’s despair. “Leave me, Loth, before you say something else we’ll both regret. Fret not for our people’s reaction either. Rashlyn will doctor tonight’s wine and our people will feverishly celebrate with me.”

Lothryn did not utter another word, did not trust himself to speak further to his sovereign. He would die for Cailech without hesitation but he had never been more horrified at a plan or more disappointed in his friend than at that moment. Something would have to be done about Rashlyn. Lothryn had never trusted the man’s intentions. Now Lothryn had good reason to wish the man of dark magics dead.

“Make sure Koreldy and the girl are present at the feast tonight,” the King’s voice carried to his turned back. Lothryn’s cheeks burned with his own anger as he heard the words and the threat couched within.

Chapter 27

They gathered in the mountain hall, a vast cave over which the fortress itself had been built and which save it its name. This was the heart of the stronghold and right now it was in a festive mood. Flaming torches lit the path down to the main arena where many dozens of trestle-style tables had been set up.