The King's Peace (4 page)

"Do you think Apple would come to you?" I asked, pulling on Darien's leathers over the woollen smock one of the farmers had lent me to sleep in. The breeches were still unpleasantly slimy. The girl whispered a quick assent. I took up Darien's sword and led the way down the ladder. I put my hand on Morien's shoulder as I passed him. I felt him tense under my touch, but he did not speak. I moved on. He was only thirteen and had seen terrible things that day; it is no shame to the half-trained to want to avoid danger.

The farm girl followed me, leaving the other children burrowed under the hay. At the foot of the ladder I paused among the warm bodies and fresh dung scent of the cows.

"I go out first. I am armed and armored. If there is fighting I want you to close the gates and come back inside here and make as much noise as you can to wake Duncan and your parents and mine in the house."

"Yes," she agreed, definitely.

"In case something happens—you know my name. What is yours?" I asked.

I could not see her expression as she answered, but her voice was steady. "My name is Garah."

"I will remember."

The shadows made the yard very dark. I made my way carefully in what light the stars gave.

Garah followed me towards the gate. I opened it slowly, drawing up the bolts one by one. Then came the most dangerous moment as I pushed it open away from me. I stood ready, sword in hand. No attack came. I could hear the ring and creak of horse
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harness moving a little. At a single glance Garah was beside me. She stepped towards the horse, murmuring something soothing under her breath. It may have been a prayer to the Horse Mother or a charm, or just the way she always approached horses. Certainly it worked. Apple came towards her, harness chinking a little. He allowed Garah to take hold of his bridle and lead him past me into the yard. I closed the gate carefully and drew down the heavy bolts.

Starlight glinted on the iron of the harness. I could see Garah's teeth showing in a grin, and I grinned back. We had a horse, a proper war-trained horse. I tried to make out details about his condition, but it was too dark. He was six years old, fully trained.

Rudwen ap Duncan had ridden him to the skirmish last year. Such a horse was worth more than gold. This was a loss to the raiders and a great gain to us. It would have almost made my journey to Caer Tanaga sensible, if only there had been help waiting there.

We took Apple into the barn. The cows shifted aside. Apple seemed glad to be among them. I went up to the loft and reassured the children in whispers that all was well, and we had caught a horse. Morien lay as still as stone, and Aurien was breathing clearly and serenely as a child does who is deeply asleep. The younger farm children settled themselves down as I went back down the ladder. Garah stood soothing Apple. She helped me to take off the harness.

She had much skill with animals but no idea how the complicated gear fit together. It was not an easy task in the darkness, but at last we had all the tack and harness safely off. Apple shied and kicked out when I touched his mouth, but let Garah remove the bit.

"I think his mouth is cut," Garah whispered.

"Perhaps he managed to pull free of a Jarnsman holding his bridle," I suggested. This suited me better than the other likely possibility, that he had managed to shake him off somewhere.

Jarnsmen in general were poor riders. I did not want to think that the woods might be full of Jarnsmen. But now I had a sword and a horse the odds were much more on my side in any fight, and I was not afraid. I leaned my head a moment against Apple's warm and comfortable flank and deliberately did not think of Banner, the bay Darien and I had helped to train, whom I had ridden all this last year. I fetched my blanket from the loft, rubbed Apple down, and stayed with him until he seemed comfortable with me.

When I went back up to the loft dawn was beginning, and even Garah was deeply asleep.

Everyone had good advice to give me before I left. Duncan gave me good clear directions to Caer Tanaga. He could not go himself. Not only was he still weak from blood loss, but he was needed in case of any further attack.

"I think they will have fled to sell what booty they have collected," he said. "They were sea-raiders—in strength indeed, but no more than pirates for all that. In the east these men are coming to settle, driving the people off the land, but not here." The word he would not speak in front of my mother hung heavy in the air between us: not here yet.

"All the same I think it would be safer for you to head north through the hills aiming for the road north from Magor, and crossing the river at the fords near Caer Gloran."

"There is a ferry across the wide mouth of the Havren at Aberhavren," put in Veniva, frowning a little. I did not think she had slept, or left my father's side all night. He had still shown no signs of waking. My mother's hair still hung unbound all around her face. "It cuts more than a day off the journey's length."

"The ferry may not be there, or may not be safe. And I do not think the coasts will be safe."

Veniva set her lips, as if she would insist. I wondered for a moment if my mother was truly sending me for help or if she hoped I would die on the way. Then she shook her head.

"Very well, Duncan, you are war-leader, and you know the land."

It was midmorning before I got away. From the farmers I took a blanket and a bundle of food. I embraced Veniva formally and Duncan gratefully. Then in front of everyone I knelt to Morien and made him my formal homage as my father's heir. I agreed with
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Duncan that it was wise to have this done now and openly in front of as many witnesses as possible. If Gwien died there might be those who said they needed an adult to lead them.

I had little desire for such a thing, but if it was necessary I would do it in Morien's name for a year or two. It was best to make that plain. I wished to be the cause of no dissension.

Morien had dark shadows around his eyes. His hair hung loose about his face. He said the formal words by rote. He looked a little stunned and did not at any time look me in the eye.

Still, he was the heir, and would be a man grown soon enough. In any case, Gwien might yet recover. I prayed so. I embraced Aurien and then on impulse embraced Garah who stood beside her. Garah had spirit enough to hug me back. I rode out inland into a fine rain just beginning, not looking back.

Apart from the pain in my thighs the next two days passed much as any ride through broken country passes—I saw trees on the hills and farms in the valleys. I avoided people for I had no desire for conversation. The peace and the silence did me good. As I rode along my head was full of daydreams of revenge and glory and of a noble death in battle.

I did not go far that first day. I was still tired, and riding was painful. I was still getting used to Apple and he to me. He was still a little nervous of me. I had to argue with him a little before he was happy to consider me an appropriate person to ride him. His torn mouth did not help in this, but he grew calmer as the ride continued. We stopped for the night in some woodland.

One cannot hide a warhorse, and horses must eat. I did as Duncan said, and I had practiced. I tethered him where he could graze, and slept in a tree, with Darien's sword near at hand. I slept just as well as one always does in such situations and was glad of the dawn and a good reason to move and stretch and set off.

The second day was much the same, though drier, and the pain in my thighs was somewhat better. The birds sang, and the trees were in leaf, I saw only occasional distant farmers. The land was strange to me now, but I had little difficulty. With starting so early I made good time and struck the highroad towards sunset on the second day as Duncan had said I should. What he had not said was that I should strike it just as a battle was about to begin.

I thought it was a battle then. I should not in honesty call it more than a skirmish. The road there runs north—south through a narrow valley. I came towards it over the hill from the west. The Jarnish forces were coming across country from the east. It seemed clear they had rowed up the Havren and landed nearby. They were not more than three full ships' companies, about two hundred men, armed with spears and shields. Where the other force in full array had come from was less clear. I thought they must have been

heading south down the road from Caer Gloran. They were all cavalry, about sixty of them, armed and armored, bearing long lances and long swords. As I crested the hill they were just about to charge the massed ranks of the Jarnsmen.

I had hardly taken in what I was seeing when they charged straight at the massed Jarnish shield wall. They seemed to be holding their lances in a way I'd never seen before, and to move them with a strange degree of speed and coordination. What I did then has often afterwards been called heroic, and equally often foolish. I will only say that I did not think at all.

Apple smelled the scent of the excited horses, coming towards us on the breeze. He threw back his head in a loud whinny. He did not seem at all frightened. He had been trained for war, and here were other horses and something he understood. I did not stop and consider any more than he did. It was his decision and not mine to charge, but I did not even try to stop him.

Once he began to move it felt like a good idea.

The cavalry hit with a great cry, and the shield wall broke. Some ran, others were fighting.

As Apple bore me down upon them I drew my sword. Darien's sword. I remember thinking that my wrists were strapped, as anyone's would be who was riding all day across rough country, not as tightly as one would do it for battle, and then that it would just
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have to do. Then I was on them, striking as I could. It is hard to remember the blur of battle or to distinguish one skirmish from so many others in those years.

Sometimes the sweat of someone who has been riding hard will bring it all back to me now, excited horses and excited people, the chafing of the thighs, the force of impact, the delicate dance of the moving weight and edge that is the sword, round helms and pot helms and leather helms and the forest of spears and axes and the occasional sword coming up at an angle that must be avoided.

Apple responded to me as if we were one being, moving to put all his weight behind my thrusts.

That was only my second real fight. I was still a little surprised at both how like and how unlike it was from practice, how I struck at the spot under and to the right of a man's collarbone and an instant later he slid off my sword no longer a man whose snarling face and weighted club were a threat but only another obstacle on the ground. I remember laughing at the expression on one Jarnsman's face as Apple bit and worried off the man's nose and he dropped his spear, clapping his hands over his face in surprise. I fought as well and as hard as I could, going from instincts bred from long training, remembering always what Duncan had told me, that cavalry must always keep moving and never hesitate.

Although their line had broken as the lances hit them there was some hard fighting before they fled. They rallied to their leaders and made solid stands in small clumps. I found myself in a bad corner at one point, parrying two axmen at once. A horseman rode up to help me, a broad-shouldered man with a white cloak, so light-skinned I would have taken him for a Jarn were he afoot. Our swords fell together, aiming and striking. Blood sprayed up. He grinned across the dead foes at me as Apple wheeled away, then frowned, realizing he did not know me. I laughed again, and just then Apple reared up and lashed out at a Jarnsman. He went down, but I was struggling for a moment to keep my seat and when I was steady again they were all fleeing and we were pursuing, keeping them running until they were flinging themselves down on the ground panting and puking in the mud. Most of them were dropping their weapons and pulling off their helmets in the

Jarnish sign of surrender. I killed a few stragglers who were disinclined to stop running.

The river was in sight by the time those of us following took out the last of these, a silver glimmer ahead in the twilight. I could see the dreaded dragon-prowed shapes of pirate ships, two large ones and three smaller ones looming among the willows on the bank. This was a raiding party, then; they were not coming to settle but for loot. The ships were a sign that they did mean to leave.

As I rode back a woman rode up to me. She had just sent a small group of a dozen or so riders off in the direction of the ships. I drew up Apple beside her. She was clearly a leader among the cavalry and was wearing a white cloak embroidered with gold oak leaves on the shoulders. I had seen her in the very forefront of the charge. She was broad-shouldered and long-nosed, and her skin was as pale as a Jarn's. Her eyes, however, were dark and human. Apart from the one man I had seen in the battle I had never before seen anyone who was not clearly of one race or the other, although I had of course heard of diplomatic marriages made with barbarians. She slid down from her horse, holding on to the reins, and politeness compelled me to do the same. My legs were rubbery as I hit the ground, but it felt very good to be standing and not astride.

"I am Marchel ap Thurrig," she said, bowing. As she straightened, I saw that she was not tall, perhaps a span shorter than me. "I am praefecto of the ala of Caer Gloran. And who in the White God's name are you? And how did you come here to fight so fortuitously?"

Behind her the man in the white cloak walked away from the prisoners.

They were being roped together. He came towards us.

"I am the eldest daughter of Gwien of Derwen." The polite incomprehension on Marchel's face was a revelation to me. Lords must give their names, and I had never thought my father's name would be unknown. "I am traveling to Caer Tanaga to see the High King." She snorted. There was a faint smile on the face of the pale-skinned man who was standing listening.