In the Eye of Heaven Part 34

Berchard, however, was drooling. "King of far Heaven, what are they doing up there?" he demanded.

Heremund shook his head. "Blood Moon."

"Ah right," said Berchard. "They'll be salting, smoking, and pickling, and stewing, and roasting everything they can't feed through winter."

"King of Heaven," groaned Badan. Some of the others, though, wore a more somber expression, suddenly thinking hard about surplus throats cut for winter. If Lamoric's trick failed, they would likely all be on the road.

"And they'll have beer and cider and-"

Durand stood up. It was no use. The others could talk about glory and food and death as long as they liked, but, like a steady wind, thoughts of Deorwen drove his mind. Had he done something? Was she ashamed? All his doubts were foolish, and worrying did no good. He must get her alone and settle things. If he asked, she would tell him.

One of the bunch said, "See, now you've driven Durand away." But Durand didn't respond. He marched over the shadowed pasture, skirting the wrestling match for the castle gates. He didn't plan to eat inside, but he would have to barge in if he were going to get near Deorwen. A single drawbridge spanned the ditch at the wall's foot.

He had just stepped out onto the boards when a throng of pages and serving men burst past him. He got a glimpse of the bottom, five fathoms down, then caught hold of the nearest boy.

"Here," said Durand carefully. "I've got a question for you. Can you tell me where I might find Lady Bertana?"

The boy had a platter in his hands, full of pies. He managed to stammer, "What?"

Durand glanced to Heaven. "A woman. Arrived with us. With the Red Knight. Past forty. Not large. She had a maidservant and bodyguard." He tried to think of things a boy might remember. 'The man would have had an axe."

"No, Sir. And I'd remember, Sir. We've been doing up rooms. I'd have been there."

That stood Durand up. If the boy were right, Bertana hadn't gone inside at all. He could not think why she should spurn the duke's hospitality.

Durand looked across the dusky fields, thinking that he might even have set up the woman's pavilion and not known it.

'Thank you, boy," he said, ready to let the child go, but then the smell of the pies a.s.serted itself.

"Who is all this for?" Durand asked.

"You. The Knight in Red's men. Duke's orders. We were to carry the feast out."

s.n.a.t.c.hing one of the little pies, Durand nodded. "Go on. And make sure your master knows we were grateful." She was somewhere out there. He could remember nothing of Bertana's tents, but now he knew to look.

The boy was already gone when he looked back.

He tramped back. Most of the company had gathered along the new watercourse, watching the river lay the gra.s.s flat and circle High Ashes in a moat of running water, but Durand steered clear of them. If he were to retain any dignity at all, he could not be asking every pa.s.sing s.h.i.+eld-bearer where his woman had gone. He would have to see what he could find on his own.

Between the stockade and the new moat, there were only two dozen tents. Unless Bertana had run off to live with the peasants, she and her maidservant must be there somewhere.

Durand walked through the camp, seeing no sign. On the far side, where the old river's elbow still curled, something was rising from the water, broad-backed and s.h.i.+ning in the sunset He thought of some dead leviathan, all scales and slime. This must be the river island where they would fight.

As he turned back, his eyes fell on a gray-bearded man with an axe in his fists. The axeman stood outside the flap of a good-sized pavilion.

Durand grinned.

"Evening," he said, slipping between the tents toward the man.

The guard only stared.

"You were with Lady Bertana in the forest, yes?" Blue eyes stared from among lines and creases. The beard was stiff as old thatch. "May I speak with her? Is she inside?" The axeman made no move.

Durand stepped forward, thinking to knock at the tent flap, but the guard intercepted him. He wore a byrnie of iron mail and carried his bearded axe in both hands.

"I only wish to speak with her," Durand said. He didn't like being treated like a stranger.

Then Lady Bertana ducked through the tent flap and stepped out.

"I am sorry, Coelgrim, but I thought I heard voices," she said. Looking up, she added, "Ah," as though, somehow, she had not known Durand's voice.

"Ladys.h.i.+p," Durand said.

The woman nodded acknowledgment, though she seemed uneasy. Looking closely, Durand decided that he should have told the boy that Bertana was past fifty, maybe sixty. Her skin was soft as a kid purse.

A smile twitched, and she looked toward the growing stream below the camp.

"The water is running on both sides?""Aye."

Avoiding his eyes, she added, "The Gla.s.s will soon ring us right around."

"I want to see her."

"She is not here," the old woman said, but Durand knew: Deorwen was inside, three paces from him, through a canvas wall. If he wanted, there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

The water was rising."You are certain," Durand said.

"I am certain, Sir Durand," Bertana breathed. "She is not here."

Durand nodded and turned his back.

He felt like taking something in his hands and breaking it. He made for open ground, tripping over guy ropes and tent stakes. He wanted to feed the old man his axe. He wanted to tear through that thin skin of canvas and pull Deorwen out. It was like the whole of Creation was laughing at him. How many times had he met the woman before they had kissed? How many times had he let her pa.s.s?

He heard someone draw steel, like a breath on his neck.

"I want the wh.o.r.eson! I'm calling him out," a voice shouted. It was Moryn's big retainer, Waer.

Lamoric's men were scrambling up from around their fire. Sparks boiled in the air with Waer standing practically in the flames. Durand darted through the tents.

"Now I've had the whole story," Waer snarled. "I've heard of the slipping and the dodging. Waiting on this and waiting on that." Waer jabbed the air with his fingers. "Riding men through Hesperand, swapping sides. I-"

Lamoric emerged from his pavilion, settling the red helm on his head.

"Here!" said Waer, stepping forward. "I'll twist your-"And Durand stepped into the man's path."What the h.e.l.l's this?" Waer said."You want to fight someone, try me."

Waer looked Durand up and down. Though Durand had a few inches on the man, Waer looked like he could wring a bull's neck.

"I suggest you not speak to His Lords.h.i.+p that way," Durand said. Waer just nodded. "You'll do to start." Durand sucked a big breath and began to haul out his blade.

"The King's Peace!" Berchard said. 'The King's Peace! No private duels outside the lists!" Both men hesitated.

The faces of Lamoric's retainers were frozen in alarm."This is no royal tournament," Waer growled, not moving.

"Then we're here as guests of Duke Severin," declared Berchard. "Your master's master's guests." Waer would call the wrath of the Traveler down on his lord, drawing blood from an invited guest. guests." Waer would call the wrath of the Traveler down on his lord, drawing blood from an invited guest.

Durand noticed a couple of the men glance up the bank toward the wrestlers.

Waer caught this as well. The mob watching the wrestling was all watching him now.

He nodded. "Right. Come on then."They walked up.

Wrestling in the Atthias was an ancient thing, and they used the Errest style in Mornaway. Men wore their fighting gambesons and didn't scramble on the ground. There were dozens of trips and throws, and Durand had fought a hundred tiltyard bouts. He was soon surrounded by urgent hands, s.n.a.t.c.hing orf his sword belt and surcoat, then helping him into a stinking gambeson coat of stuffed canvas. Lamoric's men murmured advice, telling him to use his reach or watch his legs.

In an airless moment, he was thrust out in front of the furious Mornaway man. It suited Durand well.

'Take hold then," Waer said, and Durand did, one fist in the man's collar, the other in the man's belt. He felt Waer's knuckles turn against his hip and ear as the big man took hold as well, breathing garlic and sour wine into Durand's face.

They jostled while some village reeve or bailiff waited to shout the word.

Then it began.

The Host Below had made Waer of s.h.i.+p's cables and bridge timbers. Durand's first heaves left the man rooted to Creation.

"Moryn's told me the games you've been playing," Waer growled.

Even as the man spoke, he was twisting.

Durand crooked his leg to hold him, and they staggered together. "b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," Waer grunted.

Suddenly, he pivoted, and Durand found himself whipped against the earth. Only a desperate twist saved him from the kind of flat fall, hips and shoulders, which would lose him the match.

As it was, he had lost a point. The bailiff told them, "go."

Now, it was all straining. Durand tried to wrench the Mornaway man one way and then the other, but the man might have been an oak.

They bridged against each other, straining.

Waer shot kicks at Durand's legs.Each boot gave Durand a bruise and a chance to throw.

Somehow, Waer reversed him. Durand could hardly breathe as he got to his feet.

The bailiff was shaking his head, "Just shoulders. Just shoulders."

Now, rage had hold of Durand. There was nothing like coming to a fight in a blind fury and getting tossed around like a fool.

He opened his hands and beckoned Waer in.

Now, Durand scrambled for any advantage, breathing in the knot of the man's jaw like a forge and bellows. For an instant, Durand felt he had his man.

Then Waer dropped: a tricky maneuver.

Like a pickaxe, the man's shoulder chopped Durand in the guts. Waer drove harder, lifting. With sheer main strength, he wrenched Durand free of the ground.

In that reeling instant, with the air rammed from his lungs, Durand decided that he would not go easy. He locked himself onto Waer's shoulders. He drove his knee into the man's ribs. He pitched Waer off balance.

Together, they went down-Durand first-Durand losing.

But, as the ground knocked the wind through Durand's teeth, he held on to Waer's neck, whipping the big man over.

It was an awkward fall: head and neck and shoulder caught.As Durand opened his hands, Waer did not move.

Durand struggled loose amidst the suddenly silent ring of onlookers. He got up. Waer was still.

In the hush, the bailiff stepped into the circle, bending low over the sprawl of knees and elbows.

Durand wavered, slapping at the dirt marring the old coat. He could feel whatever impetus that rage had given him dying as his friends closed in, silently helping him from the stinking coat.

The man lying in the dirt was a lord's companion and liegeman to the duke.

19 Ashes

Waer did not move. No one looked from the wellborn wrestler-maybe corpse-face down and arms sprawled. No one spoke.

Finally, mere was the smallest motion: His arm s.h.i.+fted, crooking at its elbow. The whole gathered crowd took their first breath.

Then Lamoric's lads were slapping Durand's back.

Ouen squeezed his shoulder. "Lad, I thought the lot of us were going to have to run for it."

"Hard head and stiff neck," Badan muttered, clucking his tongue.

The others either cursed the downed man or thanked Heaven he hadn't snapped his neck. Durand strained to find Lamoric where he stood with Coensar beyond the circle. A great deal depended on how Lamoric reacted.

But, as Durand looked, every face was turning toward the castle gates.

It was Lord Moryn.

He and many of the duke's liegemen were rumbling over the drawbridge. The lean lord's mantle flapped after him. At the edge of the circle, Moryn stopped, surveying the spectacle. His man, Waer, was awake, if not on his feet. Some of the crowd glanced to Durand; Moryn gave him a hard look.

Then the Knight in Red stepped forward. "You have interrupted your feast?" Lamoric asked. "My man, Waer, had no business interfering." "I am surprised to hear you you say it." Moryn closed his eyes for an instant. "Waer is rash. He left without a word. I came when I learned." "Not in time, however," Lamoric said. "What do you say?" said Moryn. say it." Moryn closed his eyes for an instant. "Waer is rash. He left without a word. I came when I learned." "Not in time, however," Lamoric said. "What do you say?" said Moryn.

"You have chosen your moment well, my Lord. This fellow of yours had ample opportunity to reach me before you could arrive. If Sir Durand here had not been so quick, he would have done."