Leaping Wolf, page 8
part #2 of Caledon Saga Series
‘You must grasp the sword.’
Despite the fire’s heat Rhia came close to shivering once again as she imagined the pain she was about to endure. She ground her teeth together and clenched her fists tight, and forced herself to take a deep breath through her nose. She let it out slowly. You can do this. But first things first. Rhia felt guilty for the deception but she knew she had to keep her prior knowledge hidden, and so she reached forward with her right hand. She was expecting it but nonetheless she felt relieved when Gawan appeared at her side and took hold of her wrist.
‘Use your left.’
It was odd to feel him touch her but she simply nodded without speaking. Now was the time. Rhia pictured Lucan’s face and drew strength from her love of him, and poured all the focus she could muster into the centre of her body. The ava, or Mabonac’s fire or whatever this magic was, felt warm in her belly, and after only a heartbeat’s hesitation she reached out her left hand and wrapped her fingers around the sword’s hilt.
The burning metal seared her flesh and Rhia almost screamed despite all her preparation. Every instinct in her body was begging her to let go of the hot iron and she desperately, desperately wanted to. It felt as if her skin was melting at the touch and she clenched and unclenched her right fist frantically. Owain had moved to stand in front of her and began to speak, his voice calm. Rhia fixed her eyes on his, focusing her mind harder than she ever had before. You are Caderyn. You are Caledon. You are Gadarim!
‘Will you defend your land and your people with all of your might?’
Her answer came through clenched teeth but she made sure to make it loud.
‘I shall.’
The pain was almost unbearable but she held on nonetheless. I am the leader of my people. I will defend them with my life. I can take a burned hand damn it all!
‘Will you balance fury with mercy as it pleases Taran and Mabonac?’
Some foolish part of her felt like saying that all she could feel right now was the fury part but she forced it away along with the pain and answered once again.
‘I shall.’
‘And will you honour all Gadarim as your brothers beneath the gods, and live your life proudly by their code?’
Rhia wanted to scream and felt sure her body would betray her will at any second; that she’d give in and let go and weep in pain at her ruined hand. She shut her eyes tight and thought of Lucan, then of her father and Marius and dear sweet Gwen. This was not just about her, this was a debt she owed to all of them to prove herself a worthy chieftain, and though her answer came out loud her voice did not break.
‘I shall!’
She opened her eyes as Owain’s voice bellowed out to all of them.
‘Then Rhianwyn daughter of Carradan, I say that you are Gadarim. May you live and die with honour!’
Rhia could think of nothing but the pain in her hand but she faintly heard the words being echoed by the warriors around them.
‘May you live and die with honour!’
Owain spoke again, his arm outstretched towards her.
‘Rise, sister.’
For a panicked second Rhia realised that her hand was stuck to the metal but with help from both Owain and Gawan she managed to let go of it. The pain didn’t recede but she did her best to keep her face from showing it. Beside the other First Men she saw Kyran holding a bandage that smelled strongly of honey, but the ritual was not over yet. From behind him Owain produced a sword that shone with reflected firelight, and he held the hilt of it out to her with a nod.
‘This sword is yours.’
Rhia took hold of Silverbite with her good hand. Her sword felt almost unbearably heavy but she somehow managed to hold it up. Many Gadarim were presented with a new sword when they passed their tests, but Silverbite was as much a part of her as her screaming left hand and the notion of setting it aside for a new blade was inconceivable. Besides the pain she felt relief and a swell of pride inside her chest as she realised she had done it. It was over. She’d been proud when Gawan had named her after Second Nantwyn, but the rawness of her grief and the knowledge that these tests were still to come had taken some of the shine from that feeling. But tonight was different. Tonight in the sight of all these warriors she was truly counted among the Gadarim, the warrior elite, the Mighty. She was a daughter of Mabonac the Dragon.
Owain spoke out again, a note of joy in his voice, and Rhia felt her spirit soar as she heard him speak her warrior name.
‘Rhianwyn daughter of Carradan, we the Gadarim lend our voices to that of Leaping Wolf: You are Gadarim. You are the Fearless Wildcat!’
Once more the crowd echoed the First Man’s words, and the night sky was filled with the sound of their voices.
‘The Fearless Wildcat!’
Chapter 6. News of Treachery
Bryngarth’s longhall was full to bursting with men and women of all tribes as they celebrated the last day of their all being there together. The Gorvicae warriors would be leaving the next day and the Dariniae shortly after them. Gawan couldn’t say he’d be sorry to leave. He’d been glad to have taken part in the rituals for Rhianwyn, but the north was where he belonged and he was eager to get back there. He took a pull at his applewine. He had to admit, it went well with the flavour of the pork in his trencher and he supposed he was as contented as he was likely to be in this hall of his former enemies.
With many of the Caderyn chiefs having returned to their homes there was space for Gawan and Emeryn at one end of the high table, where the best of the food would always be brought first. Already Gawan had eaten half a chicken and a handful of sausages that he grudgingly acknowledged were probably the equals of those that were made back home. They were thick and just slightly blackened with no breadcrumbs to pad them out, just tender meat and a few choice herbs, and the Gorvic had wolfed them down quite happily.
Beside him, Emeryn was hunched over a trencher of roasted chicken, and from the way she went at it he suspected she too approved of the cooking. Gawan was well aware that only a fool would interrupt her during a meal at any time but tonight she seemed particularly ravenous. Though for all her enjoyment of the hospitality he had no doubt she too would be keen to be on the road. Alliance or not she was surely as uneasy as he was in the Caderyn town. She had trained here with the legion but beyond that this was her first time staying at Bryngarth, and even Gawan still had the vague feeling of being on foreign soil. It must have been worse for her and for the others. Or maybe not? Plenty of other Gorvicae seem relaxed enough in our enemy’s capital. Maybe it’s just me who still feels like a stranger here?
He looked around the packed hall. The smoke from the fires meant a subtle grey haze was forever hanging in the air, and the whole place smelt strongly of burning wood. Mixed in with it were the smells of roasting meats and sweating bodies, and the air was filled with sounds of chatter and merry music. The local bards were writing a new song to celebrate their victory, and men cheered and dogs barked as they experimented with the tune. A couple of the drunker tribesmen were even dancing between the tables, a Caderyn harpist capering along with them.
He saw Tarwyn and Gwydion further up the tables matching horns with Elfed and Bran; Gorvicae and Caderyn drinking and laughing together. The other warriors of his cohort were doing much the same, and he even saw a Gorvic girl on the lap of a Caderyn man; both old enough to have fought against each other before the Gaians had come, and now kissing fit to make a pair of new-wed youngsters blush. Perhaps this Caledon notion is less of a foolish dream than you had thought? He knew some people saw it as some kind of new summer after the bleak winter that had been Gaian occupation, but he had always put that hope down to mere post-war relief. But what if you are wrong? What if this is something that will last, and it is just you who still feels the tension?
He drained his horn of applewine. Few brewers in the north had given much thought to this type of drink and if nothing else, Gawan felt this was something he could get used to. Unprompted, Owain reached across and refilled his cup from a pitcher. Gawan nodded his thanks and the stocky Caderyn smiled back. In all fairness, Gawan had grown to like some of the local Gadarim, at least as much as he generally liked anyone. Owain especially was open and friendly without being a grinning fool about it, and Gawan knew from experience that the man was a solid fighter. They’d spoken together a fair bit after Rhianwyn’s ritual, when the Gadarim of all three tribes had drunk until Belenos returned. He took a sip at his fresh-poured wine. His brethren here he could at least get along with.
Without really thinking he looked across at their newest sister and the fresh battle-marks tattooed along her arm. He’d watched Elfed, the Caderyn’s best tattooist, putting them on after the ritual was done, spreading the whirls and spirals almost all the way to her neck. It had taken a while but he knew full well that she wouldn’t have cared. No Gadarim ever did. The scar on her hand, now gesturing casually to Merwyn, was still ugly but healing fast, courtesy of Bael’s impressive healing skills. Druids might not use their powers all that much but they were always happy to assist an injured warrior. For a moment the image of the Wildcat’s naked body came back to him, but he quickly pushed it away from his thoughts. She was nothing next to Emeryn. Or Bronwen for that matter. He shoved that thought away even harder, determined not to think about his wife. She and Tegwen are part of the past, and if today is about anything, it is about the future.
He returned to his meal but was soon distracted by Emeryn beside him. She was holding her chicken up in front of his face, trying to keep it out of reach of one of the snuffling dogs that prowled the hall for scraps. She held the meat up high and moved it around a lot before finally giving in and tearing a morsel free, throwing it into the middle of the hall with the beast bounding happily after it. She turned back to the table and grumbled at her lover.
‘That’s four times now he’s come here and robbed me of my food. Bloody Caderyn dogs!’
Gawan remembered when he’d used those words to describe the people around him but he didn’t mention it. Instead he took another bite of his pork.
‘Well just think, soon enough you’ll have Gorvicae dogs begging for food and you can complain about them instead.’
Emeryn threw a tiny bone at him.
‘If I have to listen to your damned snoring at night then you can bloody well listen to me complain about thieving dogs.’
As if hearing her, the brown hound came trotting back up, tongue lolling and tail wagging, and she threw another piece of chicken for him. He scampered after it, loving the game.
‘You do know that he’ll keep coming back here now?’
Emeryn shrugged, and Gawan suspected that she didn’t really mind. She loved dogs almost as much as she loved food and she probably managed to strike some kind of balance.
‘It’s alright. Next time I’ll throw your food.’
He nudged shoulders with her but then looked up as Alraig spoke from across the table.
‘Do you think you will make it back to Graigarw for your own chieftain’s moot?’
Gawan nodded to the older man. He and Merwyn had been named as Rhianwyn’s chief advisors, along with Bael, and as such enjoyed a high place at the chieftain’s table. The young druid was not with them tonight, having left the town on some errand, and only Owain, some other druid, and Rhianwyn’s mother were seated higher. Gawan jerked his head towards the lone Gorvicae chief.
‘Likely they will delay it until Boryn and I get back.’
The white-haired Merwyn nodded sagely.
‘As they should. Boryn is a good fellow and the voice of a First Man is always to be valued.’
Boryn, Owain and Kyran all bowed their heads to him, suitably humble, and Gawan gave a little nod as well. At a glance it looked like Alraig didn’t exactly agree but he didn’t contradict him either. Rhianwyn turned towards them and spoke.
‘I assume your moot would be between Karadoc and Taliesyn? They’re both senior men and most experienced in ruling large numbers of people.’
Gawan’s instinct was to say that this was none of their concern but he decided he should be content to talk about it, at least a little. We’re not enemies anymore, remember?
‘Most likely,’ he turned to Boryn, ‘though you might put your name forward as well?’
The Gorvic smiled through his heavy moustache.
‘If it were best for the tribe I might, but I’d say more of our headmen will want one of those other two.’ He raised a cup towards Rhianwyn. ‘I do not envy the High Chieftains their greater care.’
The Caderyn chieftain tilted her own horn back at him.
‘I am still new to it as yet, who knows what I may later live to regret?’
There were some polite chuckles as the two drank but Alraig’s voice remained serious.
‘A strange thing that neither man is married. I understand that Karadoc once had a wife some years ago but that Taliesyn is a lifelong bachelor?’
Once again Gawan felt the urge to tell these people to keep their noses out of Gorvicae affairs but he managed to hold it back. He guessed that Alraig was bringing it up in the hopes of reviving discussion about Rhianwyn’s marrying again but Emeryn’s voice sounded out before anyone could comment.
‘Bachelor he may be, but Taliesyn’s bed is rarely a cold one!’
She’d not spoken loudly and Gawan suspected it had been meant only for him, but she had said it during a brief lull in the music and half the table had heard her as a result. A few awkward looks went around the chiefs but it seemed that Rhianwyn’s mother was the least embarrassed of them all. She raised an eyebrow at Emeryn and half-smiled.
‘Would you ever trust a man who sought a cold bed?’
The widow’s comment eased the tension somewhat and most of those seated there smiled. Emeryn nodded politely.
‘Probably not, mother.’
It was a remarkable courtesy for an outsider to the tribe and was greeted by several looks of approval. Gawan wasn’t quite sure what he thought of it himself but the matronly woman had a wise feeling to her and he supposed he didn’t object to her being treated with such respect. She and Emeryn shared a smile as the brown dog returned and began snuffling for more food. Sitting beside his own mother, the boy Lucan piped up in his high voice.
‘Do dryads sleep in beds?’
The question came out of nowhere and, likely by blind chance, the boy was looking his way. Gawan wasn’t sure if he ought to respond. He was spared from having to by Boryn, who leaned forward and spoke softly.
‘In a manner my boy, yes they do. My da always told me that they slept on the softest leaves.’
Lucan seemed uncertain for a moment and looked up at his mother. Rhianwyn smiled down at him.
‘It’s true.’
The boy seemed satisfied with that and went back to picking at some food, curiosity sated. Rhianwyn was looking at him with adoration and Gawan wondered despite himself how it might feel to be a father again. He’d placed so little value on it last time and before he’d known it had been and gone but perhaps now… perhaps now it might be different. For half a heartbeat he found himself thinking again of how Rhianwyn had looked the night of her testing, naked, wide-eyed and fearless, but he brushed it aside with a grunt under his breath. Sitting next to him was a fine woman, a good Gorvicae woman who he could see himself kissing palms with someday. Men could father sons at any age and Emeryn was young and strong; it could happen. I could be a father again with her help.
He was staring into his drink as he contemplated that notion, but then the banging of doors from the far end of the hall caused him to look up. There were a few people in the way but they moved aside quickly and the chatter and music died down within moments. A little group of men, two of them supporting what looked like a half-mobile corpse, had entered the Caderyn longhall. They made their slow way up to the highest table, the supported man barely moving his feet and being carried more than assisted by his fellows. It was hard to tell but he seemed to be of middling size and was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches. His hair was dark and he had trimmed his beard so that most of the chin was shaved but for one small patch; the moustache above seeming to grow across his face like whiskers. There was stubble hiding it now but the styling made Gawan sure he was Dariniae, and the battle-marks on his lower arms showed that he was Gadarim.
The Gorvic looked to Kyran and sure enough the Darin was already standing up. A pair of Caderyn appeared from a bench with a straw mattress held between them, and they lowered the grey-faced man onto it as Hywel and the Caderyn druid rushed forwards. Gawan and every other Gadarim in the place stood up as well, eager to help, but Hywel waved an arm for them to stay.
‘Do not crowd around him.’
The holy man leaned down and partly obscured him from view, but not before Gawan saw the rust-red stains that covered the Darin’s tunic. He was hurt, and hurt badly, and he doubted if even a druid’s skills might be of much help him now. He resumed his seat along with the others as an older newcomer with a long blonde braid addressed the high table.
‘Forgive our barging in comrades, but this man bears ill tidings that cannot wait.’
Rhianwyn made her way around the table as Hywel examined the Dariniae Gadarim. She seemed both angry and slightly awkward as she spoke to the blonde man.
‘Bradan? What has happened?’
He bowed his head.
‘I was heading back to Mobryn after the moot when I ran into some of my men coming the other way.’ He indicated his fellows. ‘When I heard what they had to say I knew I had to come straight back here.’
Rhianwyn opened her mouth but Kyran had moved around the table by now and was speaking to the injured man.
‘Fearghal? Fearghal can you hear me?’
He grunted out a few words that mostly sounded like pained curses, and a disapproving look from Hywel caused Kyran to back off a little. Gawan saw Rhianwyn tip a nod to her mother, who took young Lucan by the hand and led him outside without a word. The blonde man, Bradan, spoke again.
