In the Eye of Heaven Part 8

"How does it feel to lose what you have slaved for? To be betrayed?" He stopped, drawing a gust of air through flared nostrils. For a moment, his eyes shut. When they opened, the time for argument had ended.

"It is treason to steal from your sworn lord," said Radomor. 'Treason to violate a position of trust And you have confessed." He hesitated then a moment "These peasants of yours, do you think any of them will have starved on your account? Children. Women. Do you think it came to that?"

Durand glanced to the bailiff, and saw the man bent now, head sagging nearly to the road. They would take him to the duke's throne at Ferangore. They would summon a priest-arbiter, and he would be condemned before the law.

"Do you know what all this means?" Radomor pressed.

The thief began to look up, but Radomor had finished with him, and it was to Gol that Radomor spoke next "I am lord of this land. In my name he stole. In my name hang him."

WITHIN THE HOUR, a broad ring of peasants stood in the village green, wavering in the tunics they had slept in. They might have been specters. At the center of the green, Durand and the rest of Gol's men stood under a great tree. Some of the men were breathing hard.

The bailiff kicked over their heads, hanged without priest or law.

Finally, Gol set his hands on his hips and nodded. "Right," he said, his voice pitched to the crowd. "Your bailiff-miller's caught" Murmurs rose in the crowd.

"It's done. And Lord Radomor wants to make it right with the coin." The old soldier was pacing a circle. "Some of it's his by right, but he's ordered that every penny stays in Tormentil."

Now the villagers were waking up.

"But." Gol jabbed a finger in the air. "But! "But! Some b.a.s.t.a.r.d's sneaked off with it all. Now. His Lords.h.i.+p's no fool. He understands temptation as well as I do. And stealing from a thief hardly seems a crime, does it? So, I'm giving you fair warning. That coin winds up in my hands by dawn, and every man and child gets his share, no questions. If not, if some b.u.g.g.e.r's got it h.o.a.rded away somewhere, I'll have no choice. Right? I'll tell Lord Radomor you're in revolt" He nodded toward the bailiff. 'Treason against your rightful lord. And I'll torch this place. I will." Some b.a.s.t.a.r.d's sneaked off with it all. Now. His Lords.h.i.+p's no fool. He understands temptation as well as I do. And stealing from a thief hardly seems a crime, does it? So, I'm giving you fair warning. That coin winds up in my hands by dawn, and every man and child gets his share, no questions. If not, if some b.u.g.g.e.r's got it h.o.a.rded away somewhere, I'll have no choice. Right? I'll tell Lord Radomor you're in revolt" He nodded toward the bailiff. 'Treason against your rightful lord. And I'll torch this place. I will."

A murmur rose from the circle of peasants. Durand wondered how many there were-a hundred at least and not a few broad-shouldered. Gol had fifteen.

"I know know it's a bad time. Harvest hasn't been good - There's been rumbling among the wellborn. But it'll be a b.l.o.o.d.y long winter with your stores burnt up, won't it? Yes? So that's why His Lords.h.i.+p's made sure I'm giving you fair warning. He won't be stolen from. Dawn. I'll roust the priest and have him call the time. By my reckoning, it's midnight now. That leaves you the last six hours of night to come up with what's owed. Look close at your neighbors. You know their hidey-holes. You know who's got light fingers, and who's got debts to pay. it's a bad time. Harvest hasn't been good - There's been rumbling among the wellborn. But it'll be a b.l.o.o.d.y long winter with your stores burnt up, won't it? Yes? So that's why His Lords.h.i.+p's made sure I'm giving you fair warning. He won't be stolen from. Dawn. I'll roust the priest and have him call the time. By my reckoning, it's midnight now. That leaves you the last six hours of night to come up with what's owed. Look close at your neighbors. You know their hidey-holes. You know who's got light fingers, and who's got debts to pay.

"But if Heaven's Eye rises on this business without a b.l.o.o.d.y clear sign of contrition, you'll regret it"

There was not a soul on the green who doubted him; Gol had not covered the bailiff's head before hauling him up. In his features, the lesson was simple: A little man did not disgrace the name of a great lord.

6. A Tower in Ferangore

A rough night," said Mulcer. Durand had found a spot to roll out his blankets. Most of Gol's men were sleeping in the yard. "It's not every night you see a man hanged," he admitted. Mulcer winked. "You've led a sheltered life, then, eh?" Despite himself, Durand laughed.

"I'm afraid our Radomor's past trials and arbiters. I reckon there's been too much of this lately: peasants sharpening their billhooks, the wellborn grumbling. A man can run out of patience."

"Will Gol really burn the town?"

"I used to be a man like you. Just starting. I used to half-expect dragons and princesses. But I've yet to see either. Where you from, did you say?"

"I'm from the Col. My father's the baron.""You're what then, a b.a.s.t.a.r.d? A second son?""I think I'm more the latter," Durand said.

Mulcer smiled. "I'd say so. He couldn't find anything for you?"

"It's a small barony. He had a widower's land for me, but the old man's long-lost son turned up. He was supposed to be s.h.i.+pwrecked."

"d.a.m.n me" said Mulcer. "That's that Hearnan you're talking about, isn't it? Me and Gol served with him once or twice down toward the Inner Seas. Caravan guard, I think. There was a fight near Camberlee." He shook his head. "He was always mooning after some plot of land someplace, but it seemed a long way off. Seems he's found it at last Has to be ten years!" said Mulcer. "That's that Hearnan you're talking about, isn't it? Me and Gol served with him once or twice down toward the Inner Seas. Caravan guard, I think. There was a fight near Camberlee." He shook his head. "He was always mooning after some plot of land someplace, but it seemed a long way off. Seems he's found it at last Has to be ten years!"

Durand shook his head. "Fifteen, I'd guess."

"Well, there's him happy at last. Maybe there's hope for us all." "Maybe," said Durand.

Just then the Rook pa.s.sed by, leering Mulcer's way. After a taunting hesitation, he vanished into the alehouse. Heremund looked on.

IT WAS FULL dark when Durand woke up, hearing sounds among the horses. dark when Durand woke up, hearing sounds among the horses.

Someone was moving around the camp. He thought of how many villagers there were in Tormentil-of how many friends the dangling bailiff might have had. He was tired beyond reason, but he had taken Radomor's pay and wasn't going to let anyone slit their throats.

He made his way to the makes.h.i.+ft corral, but found no one. Still, the horses picketed in the yard were awake. One brute tossed its head as Durand peered in. A few others nodded or snorted in the dark beyond. Something had been among them.

Just then, he thought he heard the clop of hooves in the street, and he followed the sound around the building. Perhaps the man who had taken the money was slipping away. He had not heard enough to wake the camp, but was glad when a woodpile provided a convenient hatchet.

The sound lured him on through the black village. He tried not to remember the madness in the forest beyond the town, concentrating his senses on the road in front of him. As he heard the millstream ahead, he made out the calligraphy of leafless trees against the clouds. There was a pale shape moving.

Suddenly, he wished he had woken the others. He tested the balance of the hatchet.

A man stood at the flank of a big horse. He turned. Durand recognized the broad forehead of the giant Valduran, and Durand understood. The big man had been with them at the mill. He had seen the miller messing about in back. There had been time-while Durand was playing ape on the rooftop-to spot what the miller had been doing and stash the h.o.a.rd in the trees.

"It's you," Durand said. "You've got it, haven't you? ..."

In the gloom, the big outlander's face was as expressionless as the moon. He rugged the heavy saddlebags straighten "Did you not hear what Gol said? They're going to burn for this."

The giant squared with Durand. He was as big a man as Durand had ever seen. Small bones clicked in the knots of his hair. The pommel of an enormous sword projected beyond the slope of one of his mountainous shoulders.

Durand lifted the silly hatchet. He could not turn his back on an entire village. He could not slink off when he was challenged.

He wished he had his s.h.i.+eld.

"The money's in your bags. Gol might not have hung that miller," Durand said. The words were a low growl.

Fulk only reached back, his hand moving for the hilt of the outsized sword. Durand planned to say more. The Sons of Atthi must speak a challenge, but, the instant Fulk's fingers touched the hilt, the razor wing of his blade whipped from its scabbard and through Durand's face.

But Durand had flinched away.

The foreigner blinked slow. He stood in some outlandish swordsman's pose. The long sword hovered overhand, and they stared at each other down the winking length of the blade, Fulk's dark eyes flat and pitiless.

Durand felt his heart beat, and then the pause was finished.

The big man caught his breath, then threw himself into motion, las.h.i.+ng, stamping, and wheeling, bowlegged in his baggy breeches. Each stroke sheared off another region of Creation, leaving no earth to stand upon and nowhere to run. Every instant flickered with death.

On a downswing, Durand found himself reeling closer to the monster, face-to-face. He jabbed the axe for Fulk's jaws, but, with a twist of hilt and blade, the axe was caught.

For a heartbeat, Durand hung from the axe handle.

Then a huge fist drove into his ribs, and, in a staggering moment, the moon flashed down to stab sick blackness into his skull.

The trees burst like clouds of soot.He must be falling. Soft boots stalked very close.

He squinted against pain to see a sword glitter high among the treetops.

A voice said, "Enough!"

Durand could hear the giant's breathing, labored in the silence. He tried to focus his attention.

"Lemme guess." It was the captain ... Gol. "You're not a man who'd go very far just out of rage, Fulk An'Tinan. You've got all the spark of a millpond carp."

Breathing answered, and a slow grind of gravel: Fulk's weight s.h.i.+fting in his soft boots.

"All this for a sack of pennies? If you'd stayed with us, you could have had a hall somewhere. Land. You would have made this miller's takings a hundred times over before you died."

Fulk grunted.

"Was it worth your life?" asked Gol.

Finally, Fulk spoke. "Is it worth yours to stop me, Lazar Gol?" His voice was thick and full of lips. The Valduran had a point, though. Gol had caught him, but any fisherman could hook a shark.

"Clever, Fulk. Put that sword down and we'll hang you nice and tidy. With your weight, it'll be over in no time."

"He is lost, this master you've chosen.""It's not your business, friend, to judge your betters."

"I have seen it. The shadows are hard to read in these knotted lowlands, but my eyes follow them. He was lost on that field with his men. This is a cheat, all of it"

"And now you're running off."The big man caught his breath. Durand knew the sound.

Grunts and scrabbling boots flurried. Then Durand heard a sound like a pitchfork biting straw-once, twice, three times, and a body fell. There was hardly any gasping-hardly any scrabbling at the earth and choking.

Hands seized Durand's head with enough of a jerk to make his guts lurch. Thumbs pressed, near to crus.h.i.+ng.

"King of Heaven," Durand grunted.

"No such luck," said Gol's voice. A slap flashed sparks through Durand's head, and Gol grinned down.

"Your skull's in one piece. No soft spots. b.l.o.o.d.y amazing. You'll live. And when you get up? Bury this gloomy b.u.g.g.e.r, right?"

Durand's head flopped back, and he heard someone smack a horse into motion.

Fulk was dead and steaming like a downed ox, and Gol had no mark on him.

DURAND WOVE HIS way back through the berms and fences of Tormentil, sick. On the fringes, among sheds and apple boughs, a black wind stirred. Durand felt the grip of eyes on him. In a moment, the wind had curled away into nothing, like a serpent of ashes. It was so dark. way back through the berms and fences of Tormentil, sick. On the fringes, among sheds and apple boughs, a black wind stirred. Durand felt the grip of eyes on him. In a moment, the wind had curled away into nothing, like a serpent of ashes. It was so dark.

"Durand," said a voice. 'This way." said a voice. 'This way."

With relief, he recognized the whisper for Heremund's. The blot of Heremund's silhouette stooped against the blank page of a wall. Durand must have reached the tavern.

"While you were gone-""What?" Durand breathed, exhausted. "What is it?""Another one."

"Host Below, Heremund." He didn't even have the hatchet "Another what?"

"That man in the black gardecorps. The counselor or physic? On my oath, the devils must be twins. He just rode in from Ferangore. Caught like a black rag on the back of a wild horse." Durand saw Heremund's black shape twitch low. "Here. At the window."

As Durand lowered himself against the wall, there was a voice. "It is so, Milord." The speaker might have been in the yard with them; Durand hunkered lower. Heremund held a finger over his lips.

"Stop!" The word throbbed in the darkness of the tavern, deeper than cellars. Radomor was inside. "I have told you what it will mean if you repeat these things."

"Yes, Lord. Without proof."

"You know not what you say." The voice ebbed; there were footfalls. "My son. My wife."

"There is proof now, Lord. We cannot hold our tongues.""I have known Aldoin of Warrendel since we were children."

"They have been seen together. She sits in her window high above your father's city."

"That she may do. She may do as she pleases."

'There is a sign."

"Oh no," said Heremund.

"A sign ..." Radomor's voice was weary, but then it hardened: "I will see it, this sign. I'll see it with my own eyes, or you'll pay with yours! No matter what you've done in the past, all my debts to you will be canceled and you both will pay!" He paused. Durand imagined the man jabbing forked fingers at the Rooks' bulging eyes. If the Rooks were calling Radomor's wife an adulteress, it was the least they deserved.

Right above Durand's head, the shutters burst open. Plaster and splinters rained down his neck.

"Gol!" said the duke. "Rouse the men. We ride for Ferangore!"

Durand dredged his memory for the dark-haired daughter of the Duke of Gireth. She was practically kin. He had been at her wedding. The Rooks were lying.

BY DUSK, A city bristled like a mountain in the midst of the plain before them. Lord Radomor raised a gauntleted fist, and the party jingled to a halt. Durand was alone on a borrowed packhorse, beyond his homeland, and riding to catch the daughter of the Duke of Gireth in adultery, riding to prove the Rooks had lied. Gol had set a firm hand on Heremund's chest, saying, "Whatever happens, there's no place for skalds where we're going. You can see that." It sounded bad. city bristled like a mountain in the midst of the plain before them. Lord Radomor raised a gauntleted fist, and the party jingled to a halt. Durand was alone on a borrowed packhorse, beyond his homeland, and riding to catch the daughter of the Duke of Gireth in adultery, riding to prove the Rooks had lied. Gol had set a firm hand on Heremund's chest, saying, "Whatever happens, there's no place for skalds where we're going. You can see that." It sounded bad.

Mulcer ducked close. "That's Ferangore," he said. Durand reckoned that whoever had thrown up the first walls knew his business. Caught in a fork of rivers, the city hulked atop a good steep hill: as natural a fortress as a man would ever find in the plains of Yrlac. And you could see it was old. You could see the hill fort under it, all banks and ditches. Now, though, that hill fort was girded in stone walls and ramparts. Roofs bristled in tiers, and the spire of the high sanctuary jutted like a lance-head where that first old chieftain must have sat his throne.

Durand sucked a sharp breath through his nostrils, eyes wide despite the bruises Fulk had left him. Night was coming on. "There will be blood before morning," said Mulcer. "Alwen did nothing," Durand said. "You hope."

To the Nine Sleepers, and the Maiden, and the Mother, Durand had prayed that Alwen was blameless.

"My family's served the dukes of Gireth since Gunderic's day. I lived in his hall fourteen b.l.o.o.d.y years. There are always stories about wellborn women."

"Not every marriage contract brings love with the land and t.i.tles."

"It's lies," Durand declared.

Ahead, Radomor pulled off a fine green traveling cloak, his breath catching as he swung the thing from his shoulders. The twist in the man's back and shoulder had Durand wincing. "Ever since the Downs," explained Mulcer. "They say it should have killed him." Grimly, the duke traded his cloak for a hairy rag Gol hauled from his packs.

"What's this?" Mulcer said. Some order rippled down the line. Mulcer listened, then explained. "We're to march in incognito. You're all right." Rough hands twisted emblems from bridles and stuffed them away. Hoods were pulled over scarred faces. A man blacked the white blaze on the nose of Radomor's rouncy. It bode ill. The road ahead swung over muddy fields toward the lowest gate.