The Dame

FOURTEEN

A dejected Master Reandu walked into the small village of Eskald three days’ north of Pryd Town. An inconsequential place, Eskald had no chapel and only a tiny keep, barely more than a stone house atop a cleared hill, to serve as the castle for its laird.

The day was young, and Reandu thought to travel right through Eskald and continue on his way home. There was another community, Chud, a cluster of huntsmen’s houses several hours farther to the south. As he passed along the main road through the bulk of the houses, though, the monk saw that the people were all astir, and he knew that their agitation was not on account of his arrival.

He turned a questioning gaze on one young woman whose response was a chin nod toward the laird’s house on the hill. Following that look, Reandu noted a familiar sight: the chariot of Bannagran.

With a sigh of relief-perhaps he could ride south with the man-Reandu moved up the hill. He didn’t even have to tell the lone guard to announce him to the laird, for Bannagran was coming out the door even as he approached.

Reandu thought that a good thing, for the Laird of Eskald, a man of great mouth and little repute by the name of Mackwok Boln, was one of the most insufferable and self-absorbed men Reandu had ever met. A visit with him would involve hours of time, listening to the man recount the exploits of his long-lost youth, how he rode with Prydae in the powrie war (which wasn’t true, though the pompous laird had probably claimed as much to Bannagran, who had led Prydae’s forces in that very conflict), and how Laird Ethelbert had not come to attack Eskald out of respect, nay fear, of the heroic Mackwok Boln. Reandu had heard it all before and on several occasions, including the first steps of his journey north to Chapel Abelle.

The look on Bannagran’s face, like it was locked in a permanent sigh, told Reandu that his friend had not been spared the recounting.

“Has he saved the world this day?” he greeted.

Bannagran laughed at that. “Twice, methinks.”

“I did not expect to see you here,” said Reandu. “I’ve been told that the fighting has moved south.”

“All the way to Ethelbert dos Entel.”

“And you are north of Pryd. On the hunt for the Highwayman?”

“I’ve been tasked with that,” Bannagran reminded. “King Yeslnik has determined that his finest general should don the mantle of bounty hunter, and this at a time when his greatest enemy might soon be pushed into the sea.” His voice trailed off as he noted that Reandu was smirking at him. “What do you know?”

“His finest general?” Reandu echoed with a wide grin.

Bannagran snorted at him, waved his hand and walked past, heading for the chariot.

“I am just unused to such aggrandizement from you, about you,” Reandu explained, hounding him every step.

“Be at ease, monk,” said the warrior. “Else I will show you the truth of the claim.”

Reandu laughed at the empty threat.

“What news of our masked friend?” Bannagran asked.

“He was seen on the road to Chapel Abelle,” said Reandu. “He passed through Palmaristown but did not arrive at Chapel Abelle.”

“One of the villages to the west of that place, then? Or did he pass to the east by the chapel and move along Felidan Bay? If that is the case, then he is likely dead. Milwellis offered little quarter to the people of the holdings who joined with Laird Ethelbert’s cause.”

Reandu blew a deep sigh, certain that Bannagran would not be pleased with his information. “The whispers claim that our friend Bransen went to Vanguard before the winter.”

“The whispers are wrong, then,” Bannagran said, and he nodded his chin to the spear bucket set on the chariot, in which stood the broken half of the sword blade that had been taken from the chest of King Delaval.

“Or that is not Bransen’s sword,” Reandu replied. “He went to Vanguard before the winter, they claim, and claim with some confidence. It is rumored that Bransen joined with Dame Gwydre in her struggles against the Samhaists. We both know that Bransen had no love for that cult.”

Bannagran suddenly appeared more tired, and he rubbed his face.

“You believe that King Yeslnik will send you there in pursuit?”

“If the Highwayman is there, then he will,” Bannagran replied. “Without doubt. He wants our friend dead. More than anything in the world, he wants the Highwayman slaughtered.”

“If Bransen is in Vanguard, then he couldn’t have killed King Delaval,” Reandu said plainly. “The distance is too great, and the seas and land impassible through the winter months. Surely King Yeslnik will understand this and will rethink the best course for his finest general.”

Bannagran shook his head through every word. “It would hardly matter. Yeslnik’s hatred of this one was strong before the evidence of the Highwayman’s complicity in King Delaval’s death, before King Delaval had even been killed. Twice now has our little friend robbed him, and both times shaming him in front of his insuffera… his wife. To a man like Yeslnik, that is a more egregious crime than murder.”

“A vain man like Yeslnik, you mean, and with an insufferable wife.”

“Your words, not mine, and words to get you slain.”

Reandu just shrugged. “King Yeslnik has invited great strife within the Order of Abelle. Father Artolivan cannot do what he has demanded of us.”

Bannagran looked at him curiously.

“To free all prisoners loyal to Delaval who were sent to the keeping of the brothers,” Reandu explained. Bannagran nodded as if he did not think that so egregious. Reandu let that notion sink in just a bit more before adding, “And to kill all loyal to Ethelbert.”

Bannagran’s face screwed up for a moment, but then he just shook his head and snorted, as if hardly surprised, as if nothing Yeslnik did would ever surprise him.

“He will send you to Vanguard?” Reandu asked, and Bannagran nodded.

“To the edge of the world and over it,” he replied. “Our young king is not in good humor. He is wounded by the death of Delaval.”

“And he is afraid,” Reandu dared to say, and again Bannagran nodded.

“And he is frustrated by Ethelbert’s stubbornness and fight,” the warrior added. “Yeslnik is focusing all of those emotions on the Highwayman now, as if he is the source of all the prince’s ills. He will not rest until he has the head of Bransen Garibond.”

“So you are certain and will head straightaway to Vanguard?”

“No, and I hope that I am wrong!”

“You are returning to Pryd, then?”

Bannagran nodded. “Though I fear my rest will be short.”

“And you will offer a brother a ride in your fine chariot?”

“No, but I am sure that Reandu is so forward that he will take one anyway.” He moved up to his driver post. Grinning, Reandu stepped up behind him.

They made Pryd Town the next day, just as the first advance scouts of King Yeslnik’s army were arriving with news of the stinging reversal at the gates of the southern city. The news that the war was still on in full, that Ethelbert had stayed the seemingly inevitable conclusion, was not as unwelcome to Bannagran as it was to Reandu. At least for Bannagran, it offered some hope that he wouldn’t be sent to the cold north of Vanguard.