Silver May Tarnish Read online

  Some time around then, Devol left Erondale while I was away hunting for two days with Anla. No one would talk of it on our return. I missed his humor and jests but something took him from my mind soon thereafter, for my second sorrow came to Erondale. That third Winter in her life, Meera took a chill. In less than twenty-four hours her life went out as a candle blown in a breeze and dark closed in. We buried her beside our mother and I did not think it unmanly to weep.

  After her death, though, I needed no distraction. Word was of war and our father rode out often. Sometimes to Paltendale, or other dales, sometimes to the coast to talk with the Sulcar and learn what they might have heard. Oft he took me with him, teaching me the ways of a riding warrior: how to ride hard yet make the journey lighter on my mount; how to scout, to make smokeless fires or a cold camp. I was ten that year and believed myself almost a man.

  There was unease amongst the lords in the dales at this time. There had been word of spies during the past year. There were strangers riding the dales asking questions, and more disturbingly, some appeared to be studying keep defenses. Such a man came to Erondale claiming the hospitality due a man of good birth. My father feasted him with Ayneta at the high table, but before the meal was over the man’s head was in his plate. He snored mightily as my father and the wise woman smiled knowingly at each other. When the stranger rode on next morning he had a sour look. I think that his head ached and he had found out little.

  We harvested hard that Fall. My father had a store of food and weapons in a small cave high on the trail over the hills. An alternate way to Paltendale, it could be used only by those on foot or riding experienced horses or the hill ponies, sure of foot and slow to panic.

  Merrion returned to share Winter with us at Erondale. The Year of the Moss Wife ended. And the time of the third sorrow came upon us. Rishdale lay near to our own small dale. The keep lord was a grim man, impatient and hard. He had wed again recently and the gossip was that his new wife was only a girl, spoiled and lazy, and they did not do well together.

  But because both dales were smaller than many, the invaders split their forces. One machine of the kind the invaders used came to each; the one that would attack our dale appeared towards dusk as we were that much further from Rishdale. I was in the keep stables with Anla and Berond talking of my new pony. He was only five and of good blood. I had named him Drustan also, after my older mount, now relegated to bearing game when we hunted. Suddenly the keep shuddered, and I heard cries of alarm all about me. I could hear stones fall, as the shuddering came again. My father came running.

  “There is no hope. The machine they have will batter down the walls and have us out as a sea-dog takes a hermit crab from its shell. Berond, gather the guard. We will use the old escape tunnel. Let Harkon and one of his choosing go first. Then the women. The guard last.”

  Berond looked grave. “The tunnel is too small to let warhorses pass.”

  “I know. Take ponies. Let the larger horses flee through the postern gate once most of my people are gone. The beasts are valuable and may distract the invaders if they seek to capture them. It is close to dusk. If we have an hour or two we may escape notice in the hills and win safe to Paltendale.”

  Up the stairs I could hear old Talsa organizing the women. I wondered what had become of the village. Had Ayneta warned them? Faint cries came from outside the keep walls. I would be able to see from my mother’s tower room.

  I slipped away and climbed the stairs. The tower was to one side, while it was at the main gates the invaders labored to break through. In the last light I could see below. Great swathes of the land were blackened, the village burned. Directly below me a knot of the invaders swirled about a pale figure upon the ground. Flames shot up and I saw her face: Lisia, the weaver’s daughter, two years older than me and pretty. At first I did not understand what it was the invaders did. Then I heard her screams. I staggered back from the window. Blackness swirled around me as my father came running, bow in hand.

  “Come on, boy. We must hurry. They’ll be through the gate in a moment more.” I could only point. He looked, swore bitterly, snatched out an arrow and shot once. “The best I can do for the poor lass.” I had a final glimpse of the invaders turning away in anger. Behind them a small white body lay still, the arrow shaft jutting from her breast.

  Much of that night is still a blur to me. The invaders did not lose us as we had hoped. They had strange lights which shone out in the dark. With these they followed. My father dropped back with the guard time and time again to hold the enemy back. But always they come on our trail again. Each time they did so more of those I had known all my life fell, and the bodies had to be left behind. At some time during the running battle my father fell. Merrion, trying to save him, died also. So beset were we that their bodies were left behind as they lay. An hour, two, past moonhigh, then towards dawn, Anla died in the next attack and we rode on, praying to lose those who followed like winter-starved wolves.

  They found us again. We were a small band now: only Talsa, Harkon of the ax, Berond, and myself. Most of us were mounted on work ponies, though the beast I bestrode was my new Drustan. I knew not what had happened to some few of those who had fled with us. Of many I knew all too well. I had seen them die: my family, guards who had been my friends, maids who had served my mother. I blinked back tears and rode. I was keep lord now. I must be strong. Behind us I heard shouting. Berond slowed, despair in his voice.

  “They’re devils. They’ve found the trail again.”

  Harkon was dour. “Aye. So we fight again.”

  Talsa shook her head. “I’m old and tired. I can ride no further. I’ll stay back. If they find me it may be they’ll delay enough for the rest of you to get to safety.” I remembered Lisia.

  “I forbid it.” My voice trembled but I forced it to a steady tone. “I am keep lord. We throw no friend to the wolves.”

  How it would have been settled, I do not know. I am thankful I never had to find out for it was then that a handful of the invaders came howling at us out of the dark. Talsa fell to a sword as Harkon fought. One of the invaders fell, too, but four remained. Then three. In my mind’s eye I can still see Hakon’s ax carving arcs in the moonlight, steel gleaming dully as he kept them back. But one must have been cannier than his fellows. He had a bow and used it.

  The first arrow took me in the shoulder, so that I yelped in pain and surprise. Berond spurred to my side. With one hand he snapped the shaft at my clothing. With his swordhand he struck a deadly blow at the man who rode up alongside. The invader fell and our ponies trampled him. A third arrow glanced off Berond’s mail. He wasted no more time. In a leap he was behind me in the saddle and, with his own pony running at our knees, he held me upright as he raced our mount for the sheltering dark.

  I was near fainting, but as we fled I heard Harkon giving tongue to the hunting call, the notes with which one wishes good hunting to those who go forth. Then it broke off and I knew where the next arrow had gone. I mustered strength to ask.

  “Will they pursue?”

  Berond was letting the over-burdened pony slow. “I think not. One is wounded.” I must have made a sound, “You saw not? Old Talsa. He slew her, but she fleshed her dagger in his thigh as she fell, and she’d know where to strike. He’s like to bleed out before he can be got back. I think the archer will not follow. He never closed with us hand to hand.” I thought the man a coward but was grateful if it was so.

  Perhaps the archer was too busy getting his comrade back, or perhaps he was indeed less eager to fight with steel against steel. For whatever reason it was, none followed. Berond was able to remove the shaft in a cold camp later that day. The point had come through my clothing at the front and he had only to draw it out. After that, he tied me down and poured grain-spirit from a flask through the wound. I screamed, fighting my bonds before I fainted. Once I came around again, he gave me a few mouthfuls of the spirit. That was the soldier’s way.

  We made for Paltendale. I had
kin-right and they would take us in. It took several weeks to reach them, since the hills were filled with bands of the invader who shot at anything they saw. I was young and healthy and thanks to the grain spirit the wound did not fester. It even healed a little as I rode. Each night I worked on sword drill with Berond until I was exhausted enough to sleep. Many nights I dreamed: of how some in the village must have died. At least my father had given Lisia a clean death. I dreamed of Talsa and Harkon. Of my father and brothers, and when I woke to remember they were no more I wept silently into my bedding.

  But at length we came to sanctuary and they opened the keep gates to us. I was now the Keep Lord of Erondale in title, ten years of age, but everything I cared about was gone. I came as a beggar to Paltendale, riding in bitter sorrow.

  II

  Yes, they took us in. Berond, because he was a seasoned and canny warrior. Me, they took reluctantly, yet I was kin, and Lord Hogar’s pride would not allow him to turn me from the door. I ate the bitter bread of charity there for the next few years. Perhaps in recompense to my pride, I worked with all my will at learning the sword. At first with Berond still. Then, when he left to ride scout, Faslane, Lord Hogar’s own master-at-arms took me in hand. He had not noticed me until that time and I think he was surprised.

  “Come at me, boy.” I obeyed, using all I had been taught, and because he was not wary of a child I almost managed to pass his guard. His eyebrows went up.

  “Ho, someone has taught you well, it seems. Who was your master?”

  “Berond,” I said proudly. “Master-at-Arms of the House of Erondale.”

  “Berond.” He nodded thoughtfully. “A good fighter. A good teacher as well, it would appear. “What other weapons can you use?”

  I hesitated. I was expert with the sling but I had only used it at small game. Did that count? I had a child’s bow but it had been lost in our flight. I had used none since, though I’d done well enough with it. Faslane saw that I was uncertain. He turned to more direct questions then, and discovered soon enough that I could use both bow and sling. He vanished to return with a child’s bow and quiver of arrows.

  “Show me, boy.” I satisfied him that I knew the use of a bow and had a good eye, though as yet my muscles would not drive a shaft any great distance. Faslane dropped a stone in the sling, giving it to me then pointing at a target. “See if you can hit that.” Boy-like, I grinned. It was well within my capabilities and I hit home. Faslane nodded approval. Silently he pointed out another target and another. I hit them all. He took back the sling and his eyes on me were kind.

  “Walk with me, boy, and listen.” I obeyed, wondering what he would say. I did not expect his words but Faslane was ever a man who saw well.

  “You chafe at being here.” It was a statement and I made no reply. “You think it charity which takes you in. Yet a man must care for his kin, else when the cold winds blow who shall come to his aid? It is not charity but a trade, though men do not name it as such. And you could earn your place. I think this war will not end quickly.”

  I nodded. I had heard enough talk around the keep to believe this was likely. Then his words caught my understanding. I was yet a child. I would not always be so, and if the war continued trained fighters would still be needed. I looked at Faslane.

  “You would train me?”

  “I would. If you will always do your best, I will teach you. But there is something else you can do, boy.” I waited attentively. “The larger game around Paltendale is killed or driven away since so many people came to shelter here.” I knew that for truth. A number of masterless fighters or fleeing kin and their retinues had come to safety behind the walls of Paltendale.

  “Meat is scarce and becomes scarcer. Many fighters are not hunters. Others disdain to take smaller game, thinking it beneath them.” He did not say so but I knew he thought of Lord Hogar and his sons. “Yet still a fighter must eat, nor does a hungry man disdain a plump pheasant or perhaps a well-roasted rabbit or hare. You could help there. You came with a good pony. Take him, go beyond the wall, and hunt. Let the meat you provide pay for the food you eat while you learn to be a warrior.”

  I felt joy at the thought. None would remark my going. I was just another boy Lord Hogar had no time to train. I would feel less beholden. I could be free with my thoughts to roam outside Paltendale’s walls. Free to remember, and if while I was alone my eyes filled, there were none to see and make mock of me. I looked up at Faslane.

  “I will do so. When will you teach me?” If I were to learn from Faslane I must know, else I might leave to hunt when he would have looked for me.

  “I have my own work. Yet you yourself may learn. Each night find some quiet place. Drill with your sword, teach your muscles to move smoothly and without tiring. Do this even when you are weary. A fighter must not let his body rule him. He must rule his body.” I knew that. It was something my father and Berond had often said.

  “I will see you here in the exercise yard at this time every fifth day unless there is other work I must be doing. Between-times, let you hunt and practice what I shall show you. Hunt well, boy.” He looked down thoughtfully, his eyes assessing me.

  “Your father was a good fighter. Your brother Merrion looked likely to be so as well. But you have the fighter’s eye and greater speed. I think you have it in you to best them both.” Before I could reply he had walked away, leaving with me the weapons he had brought me to try. I gathered them up. They were good arms, the sling well made. The bow and arrows and the sword I believed likely to have belonged to one of the lord’s sons when they were younger. I would use them well, as Faslane had said.

  Use them I did. At first I stayed close enough to Hold walls until I knew the land. Then I roamed out further afield. At first I brought back rabbits, the occasional hillhare, and a few times I brought back fine plump birds. The cook became my friend, always eager to see with what prey I had returned.

  Faslane had been right. The game I found helped feed us all but some there were who laughed, saying it was fit work for a child. Hogeth was not the slowest of those who mocked my hunting. Once, when I was lucky in the hunt, I returned with three pheasants. The cook made of them a fantasy, setting them at the high table as if they crouched in cover from a dog, the undergrowth being made from pastry and the pheasants roasted with their feathers carefully replaced. The dog was pastry also and colored to look like a hound.

  It was at a time when meat was scarce and we had visitors on behalf of two of the other Keep lords. I think the cook had feared lest his master’s table look poor before them. So he did his best with what he had, but was mightily happy when I returned from my hunting bearing the birds in triumph. It may be that his master, too, had feared a poor table, since Lord Hogar came later to the kitchens to speak to the cook while I was there.

  “That was well done, Leerin. But whence came the birds, I knew not any were left nearby?”

  The cook bowed. “Lord, this lad brings much game to the kitchens, saying it is his kin-duty to do as he can, being not yet old enough to ride as a fighter. Instead often he rides deep into the hills and it is rare for him to return to my kitchen empty-handed.” He spoke thus as a friend and wishing his Lord know I did my duty.

  “Who are you, boy?” I stood forward at that and spoke clearly.

  “Lorcan of Erondale, Lord Hogar. Keep’s Heir, son of Joros, and kin of that branch of your House.”

  From the lord’s side where he lounged I heard Hogeth snort. “A cock crows loud on his own dunghill, let him crow quieter on another’s. Erondale is gone.” Lord Hogar was a hard man, as I knew, but that day he showed also that he was fair, for he turned to look at Hogeth and his face was grim.

  “The boy is kin and does his duty as custom demands. I see nothing in that at which a man might sneer. Let you be silent, my son, until your lord bids you speak.” Aye, he was fair was Lord Hogar, but I saw Hogeth’s eyes on me and knew he had made me an enemy.

  Now and again Berond was at the keep. The war h
ad slowed. Men had found swiftly enough that the invader machines were not indestructible. But the invaders poured in from the coast and those defenders who could fight were hard-pressed.

  Berond was often leading one of the Paltendale scouting parties in the hills near the coast. Sometimes it was many weeks before he returned to call for me. Each time I listened eagerly to all he could tell. He had struck up a friendship with Faslane, too, so that I think he went first there to hear of how I did. Near three years after we had ridden to Paltendale, Berond sought me out, meeting me in private in my room with a small leather bag, which he handed me as soon as he had barred the door.

  “Berond, it’s good to see you. Where have you been this time and what’s this?” As I spoke I was opening the bag. I upended it upon my bedding and a small trickle of wealth showered down. I gaped at the small gold disks and the sprinkling of uncut gems. “Berond? Have you taken up gambling or have you been robbing the invaders?”

  He smiled. “Neither, lad. Keep it hid and tell none what you have.” He gathered the contents up again in one large hand, pouring them back into the bag and handing that to me. “Keep it safe. Time enough for spending. When that time comes you’ll know it.”

  “But Berond, where did this wealth come from?”

  “Erondale.” The word struck me like a blow so that I could only sit and gape at him. He nodded. “Listen, lad. I had business for Lord Hogar over by the ruins of Rishdale. I had time owing to me and he granted me leave thinking only that I wished to look again upon what had once been my home. Therefore I rode there alone. Erondale fell, yes. But it had secrets the invaders never found. The land is ruined. They came with fire and destroyed it, all the village, the lower pastures. I think it will be many years before that land will bloom again. Maybe generations to come, for the land is poisoned.” He saw me wince.