The Highwayman sotfk-1, Page 6

  Similarly, when Dynard approached the sentry at Castle Ethelbert and introduced himself and stated his wishes for an audience, and the man responded, "You come bearing gifts, brother monk?" it almost escaped Dynard that the sentry was looking directly at SenWi.

  Several flights of stairs later, Dynard paused by a tower window to take in a wider view of the land. Only then could he comprehend how dramatically Ethelbert Holding had grown in the last decade. Out to the west of the city, the great forests had been felled to make room for many more houses-and even more striking-for tracks of land for farming.

  The sentry led the pair through a short corridor that took them into the smoky inner chambers of the complex, where stone walls were mostly covered by ancient tapestries of sailors and great battles, and sculptures of the line of Ethelbert lairds decorated every hallway. The couple soon found themselves before the present laird of the holding, a burly, sun-hardened man with curly black hair and eyes the color of the sea under a blanket of gray clouds. He was older than Dynard by a dozen years, but seemed fit enough to travel the world, battling goblins and powries every step of the way.

  "Greetings, Laird Ethelbert," Dynard began with a bow. "I doubt you remember me, but once have I come before you."

  "Yes, yes," the older man said. "From…Pryd, was it?"

  Brother Dynard looked up, smiling widely. "Indeed it was, my laird. I am Brother Bran Dynard of Chapel Pryd, returned from the desert of Behr."

  "With a fine trophy, I see," said Ethelbert, tilting his head to regard SenWi.

  "My wife, SenWi," Dynard said. He looked at SenWi as he spoke, so he didn't see Ethelbert widen his eyes at the declaration that the two were married.

  "Greetings, L-Lair…?" She looked at her husband for support.

  "Forgive her, Laird Ethelbert, for her command of our language is not yet complete." He draped his arm over SenWi's shoulders and pulled her close. "I am teaching her, but it was much more important for me to learn the southern languages during my years there."

  "I see," said Ethelbert, his tone a bit flatter. "Well, what might I do for you, good brother? I am sure that Father Destros would wish to speak with you. Do you know Destros?"

  "Was he Brother Destros when last I came through?"

  "Yes, that would be right. Only recently has he assumed leadership of our chapel. Poor Father Senizer was forced aside by issues of his health, I am sorry to say. You might speak with him, as well, but I fear that he will not comprehend your presence and will have no memory of your previous visit."

  "Your holding has grown greatly since my last journey through, Laird," Dynard remarked. "I congratulate you."

  "No less than has grown your Church, good brother. The teachings of the brothers of Abelle, and those marvelous stones you command, have put the Samhaists in retreat throughout the lands of Honce. Every holding has a chapel now, of course."

  Dynard couldn't contain his smile at that. He squeezed SenWi close again and grinned at her.

  "And now we are all hard at work on the roads," Laird Ethelbert went on. "You will find your traveling far easier on the trails just west and north of my holding, and though you will have to pass through lands still wild, you will again find solid roads awaiting you as you near Pryd, if that is where you plan to go."

  "It is indeed. My mission is ended, more successfully than I could ever have imagined. Have you word of Father Jerak and Pryd Holding?"

  "None of Jerak," said Ethelbert, "but Laird Pryd is well, and his son is making quite a name for himself in driving back the powrie threat."

  Dynard nodded and smiled, though the news did catch him a bit off his guard. Prydae had been a mere boy when Dynard had left the holding, after all, and the sudden realization that the boy was now a man came as a stark reminder to him that he had been gone a long, long time.

  "I will see to it that you are escorted to the borders of my holding when you are ready to go," Laird Ethelbert said. He came forward in his seat and motioned to the nearest sentry, indicating that the audience was at its end. "Is there anything more you would ask of me?"

  "No, Laird, you are most generous," Bran Dynard said with a bow. He started to walk away with SenWi and the guard, but Ethelbert waved him back suddenly.

  "Approach closer," the laird said, waving him right up to the throne.

  Brother Dynard glanced back at SenWi, who kept looking at him over her shoulder and at the guard, who kept pulling her along to the doors.

  Ethelbert put his hand on Dynard's wide shoulder and pulled him close.

  "Have I offended you, Laird?" the confused monk asked.

  "Me? No, no. But I offer you now a word of advice. Call it my respect for the Church of Abelle, or perhaps it is merely that I am fond of a man such as yourself who dares travel the world. I traveled extensively in my own youth, you know."

  "Indeed, I had heard as much, Laird."

  "To the desert of Behr on several occasions," Ethelbert explained. "I would tell you then, with worldly knowledge and a better understanding than you possess, perhaps, of man's failings, that you would not be wise to so openly announce this dark-skinned creature as your wife."

  Brother Dynard reflexively pulled away, staring hard at the laird. "Am I to be embarrassed?"

  "Of course not. Her beauty cannot be denied. But you must understand that Ethelbert Holding is unique among the lands of Honce in our understanding and acceptance of the southern race of Behr. You'll not find…"

  The laird paused and smiled warmly, if a bit resignedly. "Well, take my advice as you will, good brother. I congratulate you on your safe return and on the knowledge and happiness you have seemingly discovered."

  "For so long, I feared my journey to Behr," Dynard admitted. "I had been taught that the people south of the mountains were animal-like, and so you can imagine my surprise when I witnessed the beauties of Jacintha, and when I…" He paused, seeing that Laird Ethelbert was holding up his hand.

  "Again I congratulate you, good brother, and take pleasure in welcoming you home. I pray that you will find your forthcoming journey through the lands of Honce as enlightening as your travels south seem to have been." He waved to the now-closest guard as he finished, and Brother Bran was escorted out of the room to rejoin SenWi.

  "What did he want?" SenWi asked, using the language of Behr.

  "Nothing important at all," Dynard assured her, and he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "A private welcome for a returning countryman."

  Dynard was not so blind as to expect that SenWi believed that explanation, but she did accept it.

  As she accepted the curious stares of those they had passed on the way up to the castle, he supposed.

  5

  Long Roots With great effort, his limbs wearier this night than usual, old Father Jerak pulled on the brown robes set with the red trim that marked his station in the Church of Abelle. The news had just come in to him that an adulteress had been caught, and now, predictably, old Bernivvigar was demanding his rite of justice. Father Jerak could well imagine the scene of eager onlookers, and he had personally witnessed the look upon the Samhaist Bernivvigar's face several times in the past: the satisfaction, a calm so profound that it reeked of savagery, as if this act of brutal retribution and the willingness of the laird and the people to go along with it somehow denied the changes sweeping through the land with the ascendant Church of Abelle.

  There came a soft knock on Jerak's door, and it creaked open. He turned to see brothers Bathelais and Reandu.

  "Are you ready to go, father?" Bathelais asked, his tone appropriately somber.

  "If anyone can ever be ready for such a journey as this," Jerak replied, and he started toward the door.

  "The legacy of Samhaist justice," Bathelais said with a shrug that made it clear to Jerak that the younger man was not so upset by the rite.

  "The woman is guilty," young Reandu declared rather bluntly, and both of the other monks turned their surprised gazes upon him. Reandu-a short man with close-cropped bl
ack hair and a solid, if diminutive, frame-shrank back beneath those looks.

  "There is always the question of proportion, brother," Father Jerak quietly offered. "In this case, the proportion of sin to punishment was determined long ago, and it has not been within our province to modify its balance. Someday, perhaps, we will see a different measure of things and convince the lairds of our enlightened position. For now, though, our duty is to acquiesce to the law humbly and to bear witness to its legitimacy."

  Jerak paused, as if considering his own words. "But it is a long journey."

  The three monks swept up four other brothers before they had exited Chapel Pryd. By the time they had gotten outside, they could see the bonfire marking the ancient Stone of Judgment already burning brightly. "Try not to reveal your enjoyment of the spectacle, if indeed you do find it amusing," Laird Pryd said to his son. Lying on his goose-down bed and wearing only a cotton nightshirt that reached to his ankles, the Laird of Pryd Holding didn't seem quite so formidable this particular evening. Laird Pryd had taken ill that very day, and now his eyes were sunken and darkly ringed, contrasting starkly to the chalky color of his face.

  "You are the eyes of Pryd this night," the laird went on. "Your presence sanctions the event under the laws of the holding."

  Prydae, dressed in his full military regalia, bronze breastplate and all, bowed.

  "You need do nothing but bid Bernivvigar to commence," Laird Pryd explained. "Take your seat and bear witness; the old Samhaist will preside over the course of events. He takes great pleasure in these things, you see."

  Prydae felt a bit of hesitance, leading to an expression that his perceptive father did not miss. "This will not be a crime paid for with coin," Pryd said.

  Prydae looked at his father directly and nodded.

  "Bernivvigar is not to allow that in these times," Pryd went on. "The Samhaists feel the press of the Church of Abelle, you see, and what have they to offer the peasants but the surety of order contained within their codes of strict justice?" Pryd raised a hand and dropped it on Prydae's forearm. "You are prepared for this?"

  Prydae shook his head at the whole question. "I will not disappoint you, father," he said, and he gave a low bow.

  Laird Pryd waved him away.

  As he exited the room, castle guardsmen sweeping up in his wake, Prydae considered the events. There could be little doubt of how the evening would proceed, given the claim of the wronged husband that he had actually caught his wife in the arms of another man. And, as his father had said, Prydae's role was minimal; he was just there to give the weight of law to the proceedings.

  Prydae hardly even realized that he was rubbing his hands with anticipation as he moved out into the warm summer night.

  Whatever he might feel while witnessing this particular form of punishment, it would surely be exciting.

  He noted that the brothers of Abelle were already at the clearing. Old Father Jerak and the others stood and sat off to one side, many with their heads bowed and hands folded in prayer. Not far from them stood Rennarq. Prydae knew that the man had come out here, though Rennarq was not acting as an official of the laird this night. Prydae's father wouldn't allow that, for where the Samhaists were concerned, he didn't consider Rennarq to be possessed of objectivity.

  Most of the townsfolk were in attendance as well, even many of the children. That surprised Prydae for a moment, but then he realized the point of it all. Harsh justice demonstrated civilization, of course, and reinforced societal expectations of behavior. Let the children learn these lessons young, and learn them well, and perhaps fewer of them would find themselves in the same situation as the guilty woman.

  The guardsmen set the chairs they had brought from the castle in the proper place at the left side of the large, flat stone that old Bernivvigar would use as his dais, the customary spot for the Laird of Pryd to bear witness. When Prydae took the chair center and forward of the others, the customary seat of his father, the gathering predictably began to murmur and whisper among themselves.

  Prydae stood up and stepped forward. "Laird Pryd is taken ill this night," he said loudly, silencing them all, then he offered a reassuring smile and patted his hands in the air to calm the gasps and fearful exclamations. "A minor case of the gripe, and nothing more. Laird Pryd has bidden me to serve as the voice, the eyes, and the ears of Castle Pryd this evening."

  Nods of assent and even some scant cheering came back at Prydae, and he took his seat once more. He recognized the importance of this night then, all of a sudden. He was the obvious heir to Pryd Holding, as his two older siblings were female. There were rumors of half brothers, but they were all by women Laird Pryd had never formally recognized as wives, and so had no claim to the throne. No, it was Prydae's to hold, and soon, too, he believed. Often of late he had seen the weariness in his father's face when the formalities of the day had ended. Prydae's exploits in battle were helping to smooth the way to his ascent but presiding over so important an event as this, he realized, was no less vital. The people of the holding had to believe in him as their protector and as their adjudicator.

  Only then did Prydae understand the significance of his father's advice to not reveal his amusement at the spectacle.

  The crowd stirred and went quiet as the minutes turned to an hour. The bonfire marking the clearing before the stone-the signal from Bernivvigar of the significance of this night-burned low, casting them all in dim shadows.

  Finally, a tall, lean figure made its way down the forest path and out onto the flat stone. The Samhaist did not bend with age, as did Father Jerak and even Laird Pryd. And Bernivvigar was taller than almost any other man in Pryd, standing above six and a half feet. He had wild, almost shaggy, gray hair and a long, thin beard that reached halfway down his chest. He wore his simple light green robe, the Samhaist habit, and sandals that revealed his dirty feet and his red-painted toenails. He carried an oaken staff that was nearly as tall as he, with a knobbed end that made it look more akin to a weapon than a walking stick. A necklace of canine teeth framed his beard and clacked when he walked or when he turned quickly to settle his sharp gaze on one or another of the onlookers.

  He looked at Prydae only once, gave a slight nod, then squared up to face the general gathering and lifted his arms high.

  "Who claims grievance?" he called. The crowd went completely silent, all eyes turning to the left of the stone, near where the monks were sitting.

  A young man, his face covered in snot, his cheeks streaked with tears, stepped forth from that area and staggered up before the stone and the Samhaist, which put his head about level with Bernivvigar's feet. "I do," he said. "I seen them." He brought his arm up and wiped it across his dirty face.

  "Bring forth the accused woman," Bernivvigar commanded.

  The crowd parted and a group of men-soldiers of the Laird all-forced a young man and woman forward, prodding them with spears and slapping them with the flat sides of bronze swords. Another man, a commoner, bearing a sack in one hand and a pole ending in a small noose in the other, came out after them and moved toward the low-burning fire.

  Prydae gave a profound sigh at the sight of the accused. He knew them, the woman at least, and understood that they were young-younger than he at eighteen by two or three years. Callen Duwornay was her name; he knew her family. Startled, Prydae realized that Callen was the daughter of one of Castle Pryd's stablemen.

  She was quite a pretty young thing, and Prydae had many times thought of taking her for a night of his pleasure, as the laird and his offspring were wont and legally entitled to do. Her soft hair was the color of straw, and it hung below her shoulders, cascading from her face in silken layers. Her eyes were not the customary blue of the folk but a rich brown hue-not dark, but true brown. Her smile was bright and even, and often flashed-there was a life and lustiness about her, a scent of womanhood and enthusiasm that all fit together, in light of these charges, to Prydae.

  Such a waste, he thought, and he worked earnestly to keep h
is expression impassive. He was bearing witness and not passing judgment. Some traditions overruled even the desires of the son of the laird.

  As soon as her hands were untied, Callen brought them up to brush back the hair from her face, but since she was looking down, it fell right back.

  "And the other?" Bernivvigar instructed.

  A young man, barely Prydae's age, his blue eyes darting about like those of a terrified animal, stumbled through, jabbed hard by a spear and off balance because his hands were tightly tied behind his back. He seemed as if he could hardly draw breath or as if he were about to burst into tears at any moment.

  "Are these the two?" Bernivvigar asked the cuckold.

  "Aye, that's the one," said the wronged husband. "Oh, I seen him. Right on top o' her! And I paid good money for her. Silver coin and three sheep."

  "Which will be repaid in full-nay, thrice-of course," Bernivvigar said, aiming his words and his glare at the cheating young man. "Thrice!" he repeated strongly.

  "Y-yes, yes, me lord," the man stammered and he tried to bow, but tumbled against the hard facing of the stone that served as the Samhaist's platform, then fell. The crowd began to laugh and taunt, but the monks kept praying, and Prydae did well to keep his composure.

  "You will be working for years to pay off the debt, you understand," Bernivvigar said.

  "All me life, if need be!"

  "Then you admit your crime?"

  The man, up on his knees now, chewed his bottom lip, then looked from the old Samhaist back to Callen.

  Prydae watched him with great interest, noting the emotions tearing at him. The man obviously loved that young woman, and he knew of course what his admission would do to her. He would be branded and indebted, but that paled beside Callen's fate.

  A long minute passed.

  "We will need two sacks this evening," Bernivvigar said loudly, and the crowd cheered.