The Book of Isle Page 11

  "See the proof," Cuin replied, and slipped off his tunic. Even hardened fighters gaped at the marks of torture on his young form. Bevan winced and moved from where he had stood silent all this time.

  "Speak further truth, Cuin," he remonstrated, "and say that they treated me even thus in Blagden, and that you leaped against a multitude to aid me." But Cuin's reply was lost in the gasp that went up all around.

  "Say you so?" the steward shouted above the din. "Then is your case lost, lord! We can have no blemished King!"

  "That is a saying of small men who would be easily rid of their liege." Bevan's melodious voice, though not raised, sounded through all the others; the great hall fell to silence at his words. "Who among us is not blemished in some way, my lords? But nevertheless, you shall have satisfaction. The son of Celonwy is not so easily marred." Bevan pulled off his pearly white shirt, and Cuin sank to his seat in amazement; on Bevan's graceful body the skin was as smooth as if it had never known sorrow.

  "I wrapped you up! You ran red with blood!" Cuin whispered.

  "Pel Blagden bloodied me, indeed," Bevan smiled at him, "but it was the Great Mother Duv who had the healing of me. Listen, you men of Isle!" Bevan rounded suddenly on the assembly. "For how many more ages of strife will you let the mantled terror stalk among you? Pel Blagden is a god, it is true, but he has spurned his right to reverence, and even an immortal can be slain. All that is needed is that you should stand together against him. Lend me but the numbers to hold off those heartless minions of his, and I will challenge him myself."

  They all stared at him wide-eyed, but no man laughed; such was the force of his straight, slender presence. "How can you say that?" a southland lord asked at last, though not harshly. "You who look not to be a warrior? Who do not even carry a sword?"

  "I also am a son of the immortals," Bevan replied, "and I have weapons you know little of." He lifted his fair-formed hands. White flames rose from his fingertips, bathing the dim hall in achingly bright light; men winced in wonder. "Yet though they are sword-bright of themselves, my hands are not swordless," Bevan continued with quiet intensity. "A mighty sword has come to me, a brand far ancienter in power than even our ancient adversary." He flicked the light from his hands and reached through the sudden shadows to the bundle Cuin tendered him.

  "Hau Ferddas!" Bevan cried, holding it aloft. The sword shone bright as his argent hand, but in color red-gold as the upward-striving sun. In its blood-red glow no one noted the flush of angry chagrin that surged to Pryce Dacaerin's face.

  "Hau Ferddas," Bevan repeated more softly. "The Mighty Protector; the Peace-Friend which renders the wielder invincible in battle. Look on it well, men of Isle." And indeed all men stared for long moments, at the sword and at the raven-haired youth who held it. Great smooth gems gleamed on the weapon's hilt, and above them the golden blade soared like a tower above a rock, high and massive. Yet Bevan held it easily.

  "The glory of Lyrdion comes to the heir of Eburacon," Bevan told the assembly, "in gift freely given by Cuin of that line. It must bode well, that the son of royal sisters should cleave to the son of a King of men. Old ways and new ways, clans and chieftains and lords of strongholds need not be ever at odds, it seems. But before there can be peace in Isle, we must rid ourselves of that cloaked gore-crow who casts his shadow to the south! And I tell you once more, men of Isle, that with sufficient force to drive him from his gloomy den I will beard him myself!" Bevan's gaze, like the flicker of fiery, dark coals, held all men rapt in the glow of his flame-bright sword. "Who will come with me to Blagden?" he challenged them.

  "I will," Kael of the north replied promptly, "though I stand little to gain and all to lose thereby."

  "And I," Clarric added quietly.

  "And I pledge myself and my people," the weathered King of Romany spoke for the first time. "Wars for land and crowns mean nothing to us, but there is the turning of an age at stake here. The great wheel moves, and choice is given to us, how we would spend the years after the reign of the Mothers gives way to the reign of the sons of men… What ails you southlanders? You stand the most to gain."

  "The gypsy speaks truly." A tall southern lord rose stiffly to his feet. "Moreover, we stand the least to lose; already we are brought to our knees. I would not be mean of spirit, to cling basely to what small power remains to me. I will throw in my lot with Bevan of Eburacon."

  "I had a brother once," a voice spoke bitterly. "Sweet will be my vengeance on his account, whatever the risk. A craven could do no less."

  "Let no one name me craven or strait-hearted, long to suffer this tyranny of Pel!" another shouted. "My men and swords go with the son of Byve!"

  The tide was started then. Within moments the great hall rang with cheers as each lord stood and shouted his pledge of support. Bevan did not fail to note that Pryce Dacaerin kept his silence until many others had broken theirs. But Cuin had no such consideration; his eyes shone with joy.

  "Behold your King!" he shouted at last, and others took up the cry. "Hail, Bevan High King! A crown!" They turned to their host. "Among your many treasures, Pryce Dacaerin, surely there is a crown for him?"

  "My crown awaits me." Men fell silent, hearkening to Bevan's words. "The Argent Crown of Eburacon awaits me at Blagden, where the mantled lord bore it after the sack of my fair city. Once I have regained it, then I will call myself King. You who have given me your word: I ask you for no oath of fealty until that day. For now you must be bound to me by your own goodliness."

  "Greed, glory or goodliness; whatever binds us will serve," Pryce Dacaerin growled. "When do we march?"

  "After planting. But let the kerns stay home; I will drive no quailing peasants to Blagden. Let only men of valor dare this task, the most trusted warriors of your retinues."

  "Even so," the chieftains agreed, and whatever their goodliness, a faint light of hope dawned in all their eyes.

  After the assembly had gone chattering to courtyards and chambers, Bevan came to Ellid. Sitting beside her he soberly told her all that had passed.

  "So that if I live," he finished, "it seems you will be a Queen, sweet lady."

  "Then have I all to gain and all to lose," Ellid replied worriedly, "and the crown is the least of it. But it comforts me that Cuin will go with you."

  "Well it might! He is the second marvel of my life, that one. You had some small cause to love me, Ellid, but he had greatest cause to hate me, and yet he cleaves to me. His is a heart generous as the sun. Small wonder you cherish his friendship."

  Ellid flushed and hung her head. "It was not my thought to be unfaithful to you," she muttered.

  "Nay, I did not say that at all!" Bevan hastened to reassure her. "You are much like him, Ellid; I cannot doubt that you will be as steadfast to me as he. Thus am I doubly blest."

  They kissed then, and it was a while before they spoke again. "Have you asked my father?" Ellid murmured at last.

  "Nay. With his silence he gives his consent, I dare say, but yet I have feared to risk his spleen… What do you make of him. Ellid?"

  "He is grown a stranger to me," Ellid replied heavily. "Of course, he was ever one to keep his own counsel—but it seems to me that my mother is saddened of late, though she says no word of complaint. The matter of Cuin must grieve her, but perhaps it is more than that… If you wait for my father to mellow, Bevan, you will wait long. Since last summer I have scarcely seen his smile."

  "I will go now," Bevan said, and kissed her, and left. He found Pryce Dacaerin alone in his counting room, scowling over his gold. In a few courteous words Bevan requested Ellid's hand to be his wife, and curtly Dacaerin gave his consent. There was more to be said, plans to be laid, strategy prepared. They did not speak of Cuin. When Bevan left he could not fault the answers he had received; but like Ellid he had received no fatherly smile.

  2

  Within a day most of the lords and chieftains had scattered toward their homes, for it strained the resources of even Pryce Dacaerin to feed so many for long.
Within two days Bevan and Cuin also took to the wilds again, riding southward with Kael and his retinue. The Firtholan and the King of Romany had sped toward their holdings in the east, but Kael could not hope to reach his tribes in the far north in time to send a force to Blagden. Moreover, the dozen retainers who accompanied him were as worthy as a hundred lesser men.

  And within the month such picked bands of warriors could be seen marching on every track in Isle. In glittering gold armbands and broad gold belts they came; their spears and bucklers shone like silver. Eagerly their sandaled feet plied the Forest ways. Bevan's challenge and his legendary sword had fired his vassals with a crusading fervor such as they had never known. The tale spread quickly, and throughout the realm youthful candidates vied to be allowed to accompany their lords to Pel's Pit. Some looked for glory and others for revenge, but every mortal who marched to that battle did so willingly.

  In the warm days of early June, Bevan and Cuin came to the broad plains north and west of Blagden. There they stopped to gather force and lay their final plans. Soon Clarric joined them with a small troop and with his own sister-son and heir, an ardent youth scarcely fifteen years of age. And the lords of the dark river and the western hills came with the finest fighters of their demesnes. Enemy camped by enemy, and yet the word of black-haired Bevan constrained them to keep their peace.

  Pryce Dacaerin came at last with a troop of nearly two hundred men drawn from all his holdings. Ellid and Eitha accompanied him in a closely guarded horse-litter; many men looked askance at the red-haired lord, wondering why he had brought his women to war. Ellid gave Bevan a banner in the device of a silver-crowned stag, white on a field of midnight-blue. He raised it over the camp, and men wondered at it, also, for few of them had seen the white hart.

  Good guard was kept day and night, for the Pit yawned only a few miles away. But Pel kept to his demesne, waiting, it seemed, and spies sent at twilight could see nothing to report. By the time of the full moon all of Bevan's forces had gathered, except for the Firtholas from the great cove far to the north. So early on a bright morning of mid-June he ranged them into line of war and prepared to attack.

  Though Bevan lacked no strength of command, he knew little of the strategies of warfare. He relied much on Kael and on Cuin to advise him, but necessarily Pryce Dacaerin had entered into their counsels. That morning it was Pryce Dacaerin who rode the lines, and Cuin went with him on Bevan's account, though he and his uncle scarcely spoke. Silently they came to the place where Ellid and Eitha stood by their bodyguard and their heavily curtained horse-litter.

  "Have you said your farewells?" Pryce asked Ellid mockingly. Ellid flushed angrily but gave no reply. Cuin knew that she had; Bevan had gone this way not long before. He believed that Pryce knew it as well as himself. Ellid held her head high, but there was anguish behind the mask of her face. Cuin caught her eye and gifted her with a quick smile. But Pryce Dacaerin noted the look.

  "Sister-son," he said abruptly, "we have had discord of late, but there is a thing I know you will not refuse me. Go with these women and guard them. There is no one I trust for the task as well as you."

  For a moment the words seemed fair. But then Cuin felt the shock of Ellid's glance and knew that he must serve her better.

  "My aunt and my lady are well guarded by trusty men," he replied quietly. "My place is by my lord."

  "But I have bade you go from me!" Dacaerin faced him with perilous patience, as if correcting a balky child. "Obey me in this, Cuin, and you may yet hope for my reward."

  "Nay, Uncle," Cuin told him gently. "I spoke of my liege lord, Prince Bevan."

  Dacaerin went scarlet with angry mortification. For a moment he glared at Cuin speechlessly; then he turned on the guard. "Take these sluts well to the westward," he grated. "And you, sirrah Cuin, keep from my presence!" He galloped furiously away without another word. Eitha stared after him sorrowfully.

  "Thank you, Cuin," Ellid whispered.

  "Fear not so much for Bevan," Cuin remonstrated. "He is mighty, though his might is not might of arms, and the blessing of the Otherworld is on him."

  "I know it," Ellid replied. "Yet will you stay by him?"

  "I go to him now. Farewell, Aunt; farewell, Cousin." He embraced them both and went with Ellid's brief kiss burning on his lips.

  An hour later he sat his horse and looked into the depths of Pel's Pit. Bevan was beside him, and a thousand high-mettled warriors stood ranged at their backs. At the gates and on the crooked road nothing stirred; on the deep and distant battlements nothing. In the courtyard close to the keep the mighty oak brooded in solitude. Its leaves were as shadowy as a thousand dark, concealing cloaks. But no minion of the mantled lord was in sight except the gore-crows flapping and cawing above, waiting for food of battle.

  "It is a strange chance," Cuin remarked, "if Pel waits to be taken like a knave in a closet."

  "I doubt not he has many a surprise in store for us," Bevan replied wryly. "Where in torment is Dacaerin?" His eyes searched the long rim of the Pit for the tall figure of the red-headed lord.

  "Duv knows," Cuin answered wearily. "He is as furious as a singed stallion. He wanted me to go with the women."

  "So he was trying to part us again." Bevan glanced quizzically. "What may be his game, I wonder?—There he is."

  Dacaerin stood at the fore of his men on the opposite rim, and the emblem of the red dragon fluttered over his head. Cuin and Bevan met each other's eyes; it was time. Eerily silent, the Pit gaped below.

  "At the very worst," Cuin said shakily, "it will make a fine song."

  "May the Mothers grant us life to hear it," Bevan muttered.

  All that they would have said of love and thanks was unlucky to be spoken. So they only clasped hands; then Bevan lifted the great golden sword. Its gems flashed like fire, and like such a fiery gem Flessa soared from Cuin's shoulder and circled above. The trumpet sounded; the banner of the white hart floated high. From all sides bright-helmed warriors moved on the Pit as Cuin and Bevan sent their horses down the treacherous road.

  While the foot-folk were still struggling on the barren slopes, a black cloud of Pel's making billowed up to meet them. In a moment it might as well have been night. The creeping substance of gloom all but obscured the bright daylight, and its thickness dragged on motion like a clutching grasp. But it was its strangeness that chilled men's hearts and stopped them where they stood. Then the cloaked riders rushed like substance of silent terror out of the shadow.

  Strong warriors quailed and forgot their swords. But a shape of wonder spurred to meet the enemy. Bevan blazed with white light that burned a vault in the gloom, and Hau Ferddas in his hand shone fiery bright. Quicker than flight it moved, seeming of itself to leap to each hooded throat; even Cuin's skilled thrusts by Bevan's side could not match it. Pryce Dacaerin, not to be so outdone, forged afoot to the fray. The warriors shouted and hurled their spears as a dark tide of cloaked figures engulfed the vanguard and surged up the slopes to meet them.

  Bevan's warriors faced plentiful foes afoot and on horseback. Yet they soon found that the steep walls of the Pit gave them an advantage of height and force. Many fell, but the rest cheered as they pressed forward. They fought to behead, as they had been told to do. At their fore the dazzle of the black-haired Prince lighted their way. Close behind him followed the banner of the white hart.

  Presently the ground leveled and dim shapes of battlements could be discerned in the settled darkness. Kael's dozen black-braided warriors mounted captured steeds and slashed their way to Bevan's side. Cuin paused for breath.

  "How goes it?" he asked Bevan obliquely.

  Bevan grimaced at the query. "Well enough," he replied. "But this is only our first taste of Pel's power."

  "How in suffering are we to take those walls?" Pryce Dacaerin grumbled.

  "If there is no spell in the stone, they will yield to my touch." Bevan straightened on his dapple-gray steed. "Trumpeter, ho!"

  The fellow blew the rally
and the attack. Kael's retinue formed a wedge to help Bevan force his way to the walls. Others joined them; Pryce Dacaerin and Cuin fought mightily. Bevan wielded Hau Ferddas with more than manly might. But the going was hard. Bevan's warriors numbered many more than the cloaked denizens of Blagden, but their longer encircling line gave them only equal advantage on the level ground. Then the van faltered as the emblem of the white hart tumbled to the ground. Someone lifted it high again. Glancing, Cuin saw that it was Clarric who held the staff. Dene, the young sister-son, strode by his side.

  "Let the lad carry it, Father!" Cuin shouted.

  "Even the lad thrusts a sword better than I!" Clarric shouted back, grinning. "Let the fighters fight; I will carry this stick!" The battle forced them apart then, and Cuin could look for him no more. More fiercely on his behalf he sent his blade against the priests of Pel.

  Duv's curse on the unmade men! Cool, passionless and unspeaking, they were harder than serpents to kill; their bloodless tenacity chilled the heart. But at long last the van came under the deeper shadow of the wall. As Cuin and Kael's men held off the enemy, Bevan laid his shimmering hands upon the stone. Nothing happened, and he frowned.

  "It is strongly wrought with the words of the ancient art," he muttered. "But the gates can only be worse. By fair Celonwy's love—" Suddenly Bevan's white glow vanished. Utter gloom filled the Pit, and many men froze in despair; even Cuin was taken aback. But instantly a rumble and a splitting clamor of stone sounded through the darkness. Then Bevan sat his horse once again ablaze with fiery light. The shattered wall lay heaped before him. The priests of Pel scurried away over it, disappearing like bats into the shadows. The warriors cheered and crowded after them.

  "Keep your lines!" Bevan shouted.

  He leaped his steed over the rubble with Cuin at his side. Kael and his retainers joined them; ten was their number now. They rode at the slow trot into the darkness, hearkening intently. A soft hissing sound arose about them. Bevan lifted his sword to its fullest height. Golden light flared from the tip, brighter than any fire; all the courtyard showed plain in its gleam. House-tall squatting shapes loomed between the riders and the keep. At the sudden light they woofed and sprang back on bulky haunches, snatching at the air with their dangling claws. Pinpoints of sultry light flickered from their nostrils.