Two were big men. The one with the horn helm, on the paint. Tain recognized as the Torfin he had seen before. The second was much larger than the first. The third, riding between them, was a slight, small figure in black.
The Witch. Tain knew that before she entered his vision. He had sensed her raw, untrained strength minutes earlier. Now he could feel the dread of her companions.
The wild adept needed to be feared. She was like an untrained elephant, ignorant of her own strength. And in her potential for misuse of the Power she was more dangerous to herself than to anyone she threatened.
Tain didn't doubt that fear was her primary control over the Baron and his men. She would cajole, pout, and hurt, like a spoiled child....
She was very young. Tain could sense no maturity in her at all.
The man with the horns dismounted and pounded the Kosku door with the butt of a dagger. "Kosku.
Open in the name of Baron Caydar."
"Go to Hell."
Tain almost laughed.
The reply, spoken almost gently, came from the mouth of a man beyond fear. The Caydarmen sensed it too, and seemed bewildered. That was what amused Tain so.
"Kosku, you've been fined three sheep, three goats, and five geese for talking sedition. We've come to collect."
"The thieves bargain now? You were demanding five, five, and ten the other day."
"Five sheep, five goats, and ten geese, then," Torfin replied, chagrined.
"Get the hell off my land." "Kosku...."
Assessing the voice, Tain identified Torfin as a decent man trapped by circumstance. Torfin didn't want trouble.
"Produce the animals, Kosku," said the second man. "Or I'll come after them."
This one wasn't a decent sort. His tone shrieked bully and sadist. This one wanted Kosku to resist.
"Come ahead, Grimnir. Come ahead." The cabin door flung open. An older man appeared. He leaned on a long, heavy quarterstaff. "Come to me, you Trolledyngjan dog puke. You sniffer at the skirts of whores."
Kosku, Tain decided, was no ex-clerk. He was old, but the hardness of a man of action glimmered through the grey. His muscles were taut and strong. He would know how to handle his staff.
Grimnir wasn't inclined to test him immediately. The witch urged her mount forward.
"You don't frighten me, little slut. I know you. I won't appease your greed."
Her hands rose before her, black-gloved fingers writhing like snakes. Sudden emerald sparks leapt from tip to tip. Kosku laughed.
His staff darted too swiftly for the eye to follow. Its iron-shod tip struck the Witch's horse between the nostrils.
It shrieked, reared. The woman tumbled into the mud. Green sparks zig-zagged over her dark clothing. She spewed curses like a broken oath-sack.
Torfin swung his torch at the old man.
The staff's tip caught him squarely in the forehead. He sagged.
"Kosku, you shouldn't have done that," Grimnir snarled. He dismounted, drew his sword. The old man fled, slammed his door. Grimnir recovered Torfin's torch, tossed it onto the thatch of Kosku's home. He helped the Witch and Torfin mount, then tossed his own torch.
Tain was inclined to aid the old man, but didn't move. He had left his weapons behind in case he encountered this urge.
He didn't need weapons to fight and kill, but he suspected, considering Kosku's reaction, that Grimnir was good with a sword. It didn't seem likely that an unarmed man could take him.
And there was the Witch, whose self-taught skill he couldn't estimate.
She had had enough. Despite Grimnir's protests, she started back the way they had come.
Tain watched them pass. The Witch's eyes jerked his way, as if she were startled, but she saw nothing. She relaxed. Tain listened them over the ridge before moving.
The wet thatch didn't burn well, but it burned. Tain strode down, filled a bucket from a sheep trough, tossed water onto the blaze. A half dozen throws finished it.
The rainfall was picking up. Tain returned to the roan conscious that eyes were watching him go.
He swung onto the gelding, whispered. The horse began stalking the Caydarmen.
They weren't hurrying. It was two hours before Tain discerned the deeper darkness of the Tower through the rain. His quarry passed inside without his having learned anything. He circled the structure once.
The squat, square tower was only slightly taller than it was wide. It was very old, antedating Iwa Skolovda. Tain assumed that it had been erected by Imperial engineers when llkazar had ruled Shara. A watchtower to support patrols in the borderlands.
Shara had always been a frontier.
Similar structures dotted the west. Ilkazar's advance could be chronicled by their architectural styles.
IX
Toma was in a foul mood next morning. Tain avoided him, concentrating on the windmill while Kleckla worked on the house.
Toma was suffering from more than a hangover. Come midmorning he abandoned his tools, donned a jacket and collected is staff. He strode off toward the village.
He had hardly vanished when Rula joined Tain. "Thanks for last night," she said.
Tain spread his hands in a "it was nothing" gesture. "I don't think you had to worry."
"What?"
"Nothing." He averted his gaze shyly.
"He's gone to find out what happened."
"I know. He feels responsible."
"He's not responsible for Kosku's sins."
"We're all responsible to one another, Rula. His feelings are genuine. My opinion is, he wants to do the right thing for the wrong reasons."
"What reasons?"
"I think he wants to prove something. I'm not sure why. Or to whom. Maybe to himself."
"Just because they blame him. ..." Her gaze snapped up and away, toward the spring. Tain turned slowly.
A Caydarman on a painted horse was descending the slope. Torfin?" Today he wore no helmet.
"Oh!" Rula gasped. "Toma must have said something yesterday."
Tain could sense the unreasoning fear in her. It refused to let he Caydarman be anything but evil.
"You go inside. I'll handle him."
She ran.
Tain set his tools aside, wiped his hands, ambled toward the spring. The Caydarman had entered the grove. He was watering his mount.
"Good morning."
The Caydarman looked up. "Good morning."
He's young. Tain thought. Nineteen or twenty. But he has scars.
The youth took in Tain's size and catlike movements.
Tain noted the Caydarman's pale blue eyes and long blond hair, and the strength pent in his rather average-appearing body. He was tall, but not massive like Grimnir.
"Torfin Hakesson," the youth offered. "The Baron's man."
"Tain. My father's name I don't know."
A slight smile crossed Torfin's lips. "You're new here."
"Just passing through. Kleckla needed help with his house. I have the skills. He asked me to stay on for a while."
Torfin nodded. "You're the man with the big roan? I saw you the other day."
Tain smiled. "And I you. Several times. Why're you so far from home?"
"My father chose a losing cause. I drifted. The Baron offered me work. I came to the Zemstvi."
"I've heard that Trolledyngjans are terse. Never have I heard a life so simply sketched."
"And you?"
"Much the same. Leaving unhappiness behind, pursuing something that probably doesn't exist."
"The Baron might take you on."
"No. Our thinking diverges on too many things."
"I thought so myself, once. I still do, in a way. But you don't have many choices when your only talent is swordwork."
"A sad truth. Did you want something in particular?"
"No. Just patrolling. Watering the horse. Them." He jerked his head toward the house. "They're well?"
"Yes."
"Good." The youth eyed the stead. "Looks like you've gotten things moving."
"Some. Toma needed help."
"Yes. He hasn't made much headway since Mikla left. Well, good-day, Tain. Till we meet again."
"Good-day, Torfin. And may the grace of heaven guide you."
Torfin regarded him with one raised eyebrow as he mounted. "You have an odd way of putting things," he replied. He wheeled and angled off across the hillside. Tain watched till the youth crossed the low ridge.