Dawnspell

‘I don’t want to be mucking around in there when it’s dark,’ Aethan said.

‘You’re right enough. We’ll camp here. There’s plenty of water in the river.’

While Aethan tended the horses, Maddyn went to gather firewood at the forest edge. A crowd of Wildfolk went with him, darting around or skipping beside him, a gaggle of green, warty gnomes, three enormous yellow creatures with swollen stomachs and red fangs, and his faithful blue sprite, perching on his shoulder and running tiny hands through his hair.

‘I’ll have to play us a song tonight. It’s been a while since I felt like music, but maybe our luck is turning.’

Yet when it came time to play, Maddyn’s heart was still so troubled that he found it hard to settle down to one ballad or declamation. He got the harp in tune, then played scraps and bits of various songs or practised runs and chordings. Aethan soon fell asleep, lying on his stomach with his head pillowed on folded arms, but the Wildfolk stayed to the last note, a vast crowd of them stretching out beyond the pool of firelight across the meadow. Maddyn felt awed, as if he were playing in a king’s court, the great hall crowded with retainers. When he stopped, he felt more than heard a ripple of eerie applause; then suddenly, they were gone. Maddyn shuddered profoundly, then put the harp away.

After he had banked the campfire, Maddyn paced a little way into the meadow out of restlessness and nothing more. He could see the forest edge, looming dark not far from them, and even more, he could feel its presence, like an exhalation of wildness. He was sure that more than human fugitives lived there. It occurred to him that while the long wars were a tragedy for human beings, to the Wildfolk they were a blessing, giving them back land that men had once taken and tamed. As he stood there in the silent meadow, it seemed that he heard faint music, an echo of his own. Again he shuddered convulsively, then hurried back to his safe camp.

On the morrow the blue sprite woke him just at dawn by the expedient method of pulling his hair so hard that it hurt like fire. When he swatted at her, she laughed soundlessly, exposing her needle-sharp teeth. Nearby Aethan was still sleeping, but restlessly, turning and stretching like a man who’ll wake any moment.

‘Listen carefully, little sweet one,’ Maddyn said to the sprite. ‘Somewhere in that forest are a whole lot of men like me and Aethan, warriors with swords. They’ll have lots of horses, too, and they live in a stone house. Can you lead me there?’

She thought for a long moment, then nodded her agreement and promptly disappeared. Maddyn decided that either she’d misunderstood or had simply forgotten, but as soon as they were ready to ride, she reappeared, dancing and leaping on the riverbank and pointing to the north.

‘I don’t suppose that misbegotten tavernman gave you any directions to this place,’ Aethan said.

‘Well, he had a confused idea or two. I’ll try to lead us there, but don’t be surprised if it’s a bit roundabout.’

It was a good thing that Maddyn had put in his warning, because the Wildfolk’s idea of leading someone left much to be desired. As soon as the men started riding north, two grey gnomes appeared to join the sprite, but they kept pinching either her or each other and distracting her both ways from her task. Once they were all well into the forest, the Wildfolk disappeared, leaving the men to follow a rough deertrack for several miles. Just when Maddyn had given up on them, they flashed back into being, perching on his horse’s neck and saddle-peak and pointing off to the west down a narrow and rough track indeed. Although Aethan grumbled (and a welcome sign of returning life it was) Maddyn insisted on following it, and every time the path branched, he faithfully went the way the blue sprite pointed. By noon, Maddyn was hopelessly lost, with no choice but to follow where the Wildfolk led. Hopping from tree to tree, they grinned, giggled, and pointed in various directions, but Maddyn always followed the blue sprite, who threatened to bite the grey fellows whenever they contradicted her.

‘Maddo, I hope to every god and his horse that you know what you’re doing.’

‘So do I. I’ve got the ugly feeling I may have got us lost in here.’

Aethan groaned with a drama worthy of a bard. Just as Maddyn was thinking that he’d spoken the bitter truth, the sprite led them to a big clearing, ringed round with stumps of trees. Out in the middle was a hut built of logs, piled up whole to form a square structure – a house different from any that Maddyn had ever seen. The roof was neatly thatched with branches, and a wisp of smoke trailed lazily out of the smoke-hole in the roof.

‘What in the three hells have you found?’ Aethan sputtered. ‘That’s not big enough for a band of mercenaries.’

‘So it’s not. More likely it’s some of those runaway bondsmen the taverner mentioned.’

At the sound of their voices, a man came out. He was one of the shortest men Maddyn had ever seen, not more than five feet tall, but he had broad shoulders and heavy arms like a miniature blacksmith, and his legs were in perfect proportion to the rest of him. His long black beard trailed past the round collar of the wool tunic he wore over brigga. He carried a long woodsman’s axe like a weapon. When he spoke, his voice was rough with a heavy guttural accent. ‘And just who are you, lads?’

‘Naught but a pair of lost travellers,’ Maddyn said.

‘Thieves, more like.’ The fellow hefted the axe. ‘And what brought you into these wretched woods in the first place?’

‘We were looking for a mercenary troop,’ Aethan broke in. ‘A tavernman in Gaddmyr said there might be one quartered in this forest.’

‘All we want to do is see if they’ll take us on,’ Maddyn said. ‘I swear it, we’re not thieves, and I don’t know what a hermit like you would have that’s worth stealing, anyway.’

The man considered, his axe at the ready. When Maddyn noticed the blade, he nearly swore aloud in surprise. Although the metal gleamed exactly like silver, it had an edge as sharp as steel by the look of it, and it carried not one nick or bite.

‘Now here,’ Aethan said. ‘We’ll be more than glad to leave you alone if you’ll only show us the way out of these blasted woods.’

‘Go back the way you came, of course.’

‘Good sir, we’re lost,’ Maddyn said, and quickly, because he didn’t like the black look on Aethan’s face.

‘Indeed? You found me easily enough.’

‘Well, I was following one of the …’ Maddyn broke off just in time.

As if she knew he was thinking of her, the blue sprite popped into existence, settling on his shoulder and kissing his hair. The fellow frankly stared, and lowered his axe to lean on it like a walking-stick. Quickly he darted a conspiratorial glance at Aethan, who of course had seen nothing, and then gave Maddyn a grudging smile.

‘Well, perhaps I could take you to the old lodge after all, but your horses look worn out from all these wretched trees. There’s a spring over there, by that bit of stump. Give them a drink first. My name’s Otho, by the by.’

‘And I’m Maddyn, and this is Aethan. My thanks for your help. Do you know this troop?’

‘Somewhat. I did a bit of work for them this winter, fixing buckles and suchlike. I’m a smith, you see.’

It was Maddyn’s turn to stare. What was a smith doing out in the middle of a wilderness? Then it occurred to him that Otho might have some dishonour of his own behind him.

‘Now, Caradoc – that’s their leader – isn’t a bad man, considering what he is,’ Otho went on. ‘He wants me to ride south with him when they go. I’ve been thinking it over.’

While Aethan watered the horses, Otho went into his cabin, then reappeared wearing a leather vest over his tunic and carrying a different axe, one with a long handle banded with metal and obviously made as a weapon, which he used to good advantage for clearing brush and overhanging branches. The trail was so narrow and twisty that the men had to lead their horses. It was about the middle of the afternoon when they came into a vast clearing of some five acres and saw the high stone walls of what once had been a noble’s hunting-lodge. The wooden gates were long since rotted away, letting them see the broch, still in reasonable repair, and a collection of tumbledown sheds inside.

As they walked up, Caradoc himself came out to meet them. Otho introduced him, a tall, slender man with the long, ropy arms of a born swordsman and the high cheek-bones and pale hair of a southern man. He seemed about Aethan’s age, in his mid-thirties, and for all that he was a dishonoured man, there was something impressive about Caradoc, the proud way he stood, the shrewd way he looked men over with eyes that seemed to have seen a lot of life.

‘Since you’re looking for bodies to sell,’ Otho said, ‘I brought you a couple.’

‘Interesting.’ Caradoc gave them each a pleasant smile. ‘Here’s Aethan with a Cantrae boar on his shirt, and Maddyn dressed like a farmer but carrying a sword. I looked like the pair of you, once. Left a warband down in Cerrmor a bit … well, sudden, like. Never did bid a proper farewell to my lord. I’ll wager, Aethan, that there’s scars on your back, judging from the stains on your shirt.’

‘More than a few. Cursed if I’ll tell you why.’

‘I’d never ask. Now, here’s the terms, lads. I’ll take anyone on for a summer. If you can’t fight, then you’ll die in a scrap, and we’ll be rid of you. If you can fight, then you get an equal share of the coin. And remember: I’m the leader of this pack of dogs. You give me one bit of trouble, and I’ll beat the shit out of you. Scribe that deep into your ugly hearts: you ride at orders, or you don’t ride at all.’

It was obvious that Caradoc meant what he said as soon as they went into the dun. Instead of the bandit-like pile of filth that Maddyn had been dreading, the camp was as clean as a great lord’s barracks. There were thirty-six men in the troop, and their gear was well-tended, their horses good, healthy stock, and their discipline tighter, in fact, than that of Maddyn’s old warband. As Caradoc introduced the new recruits around, the other members of the band paid him such strict and respectful attention that Maddyn began to wonder if he were noble-born. Otho came along with them, listening to Caradoc and stroking his beard in thought, but he said naught a word until they all went outside again so that Maddyn and Aethan could unsaddle their horses and unload their gear.

‘Well, Otho,’ Caradoc said. ‘We’ll be pulling out soon. Coming with us to Eldidd?’

‘I might, at that. I’ve got used to a bit of company, especially company that can pay a smith better than the stinking bondsmen in this forest.’

‘So we can, and you’ll like Eldidd well enough once we get there.’

‘Hah! I’ve got my doubts about that. They always say that there’s elven blood in Eldidd veins.’

‘Not that again!’ Caradoc mugged a doleful expression. ‘As much as I admire your craft, good smith, I have to say that your wits are a bit thin in places. Elves, indeed!’

‘Mock all you want, but elven blood makes a man unreliable.’

‘It’d make any man unreliable to have a myth in his clan’s quarterings.’ Caradoc ran one finger down the silvery blade of Otho’s axe. ‘But talk about elves all you want, just so long as you keep working your witchcraft on metals. When we’re all as rich as lords and the most famous free troop in all of Deverry, you’re going to make us swords out of that warlock’s metal of yours.’

‘Hah! You’d have to be a king to afford that, my friend. You’ll be blasted lucky if you ever get rich enough to have so much as a dagger out of it.’

After Maddyn and Aethan had their horses settled and fed in the stables, one of the men, Stevyc by name, came to help them carry their gear into the broch. When he picked up the big leather bag that held Maddyn’s harp, he broke into a grin.