“Because, perhaps there are worse things than riding into an unknown future.”
“Worse things?” prompted Kildas.
“Facing a future too well known.”
Solfinna drew back a little. “You have done that which—”
“Which makes this the lesser choice of ill fate?” I laughed. “No, I leave no crimes behind me. But neither do I have any chance of life outside the Abbey-stead, and I am not of a nature to take veil and coif and be content with such a round, one day so like unto another, so that during the years they become just one endless series of hours none differing from its fore or following companion.”
Kildas nodded. “Yes, I think that could be so. But what will chance when he,” she nodded towards Lord Imgry, “discovers the truth? He was set upon Marimme because of some project of his own. And he is not a man to be lightly baulked.”
“That I know. But there is this drive he has shown, a fear of passing time. He will not be able to return to Norstead and he is honour bound to furnish the full toll of brides.”
Again Kildas laughed. “You have a good way of thinking to a purpose, Gillan. I believe that both your weapons against him will serve.”
“You—you do not fear the—the wild men? You chose for yourself alone?” Solfinna asked.
“I do not know about future fears. It is best not to see shadows on mountain crests while you still ride the valleys at their feet.” I replied. Yet I thought that I could not claim unusual courage in this. Perhaps I had turned my back on a lesser trouble to embrace a greater. Still I would not admit that now, even to myself.
“A good philosophy.” Kildas commented, but there was more a note or raillery than approval in that. “May it continue to guide and preserve you, sister-bride. Ah, it appears that we shall be granted a rest within after all—”
For at word from Lord Imgry the men of the escort came forward to help us dismount and lead us into the post. In the guardroom we crowded to the fire, holding out our hands, moving about to drive the stiffness from our legs and backs. As always I kept as far from our leader as I might. Perhaps he would believe that my avoidance of him was only natural, that Marimme’s fear and hatred would keep her from the man solely responsible for her being here. If he believed so, he meant to leave well enough alone, for he did not approach me where I stood with Kildas and Solfinna, sipping now at the mugs of hot stew-soup dipped out of a common kettle.
We were not yet finished with this meal, if meal it might be named, when Lord Imgry spoke out, addressing us as a company:
“The snow has stopped in the heights. Though it is uncomfortable, yet we must press on to the Croffkeep before night. Time grows short and we must be at the Throat of the Hawk in another day’s time.”
There was some under-the-berth complaining at his words, but none of them spoke out loud. He was not a man to be fronted on a matter of comfort alone. Throat of the Hawk—the name meant nothing to me. Perhaps it was our ordained meeting place.
My luck still held. When we reached the Croffkeep, a mountain fort now only a quarter manned, we were given a long room to ourselves, with pallets laid on the floor, reducing us to the “comforts” of those who had fought from this rocky perch in years past
Fatigue pushed me into sleep, deep and dreamless. But I awoke from that suddenly, alert of mind, as if I had been summoned. Almost I could hear the echo of some well known voice—Dame Alousan’s?—calling me to a necessary task. And so strong was that feeling that I blinked at the dim lamp at the far end of the room, found it hard for the moment to recognize the sounds of heavy breathing from the pallets around mine and realize where I lay and for what purpose.
My weariness was gone. Instead I was filled with a restlessness, the kind of anticipatory unease which haunts one before some momentous and life changing event. And also my old talent, which had been stirring in me since I first thought of this, was as awake as I.
There was that reaching out in me which I did not exactly fear, which some inner part below the level of my day-mind knew and welcomed, as one drinking a cordial for the first time might know the refreshment of a herb the body craved but which hitherto had been denied it. It was a brave excitement and it worked in me so that I found it impossible to lie still.
With what stealth I could summon, I put on my outer clothing. The divided skirt of my riding robe was still damp and the chill unpleasant but that did not matter to the thing forcing me into the night and the open, as if I must have freedom in which to breathe.
Kildas stirred in her sleep as I rounded the end of her pallet, next to mine, and murmured—a name perhaps. But she did not wake, and then I laid hand on the door latch. I could hear the tread of a sentry in the corridor. Yet my need for the open drove me on at the end of his beat. I had taken but a step or two.
When I edged open the door he was back towards me without when he began to turn. And in that moment I was possessed by that which I had known only dimly—a will which was as much of the body as it was of the mind. I looked upon that man who in a moment would see me, and I willed, fiercely and with all the force in me, that he would not do so—not for the seconds which would see me gone.
And he did not! Though, as I reached the side corridor, I leaned limply against the cold stone of the wall, spent with the effort of that willing. And the excitement in me was augmented by another emotion—that of wonder and triumph mixed. For a period out of real time I stood so, savouring what I believed I had done—but one cool portion of me doubted, acted as a brake. Then I went up the stairs facing me and out on to a terrace or lookout walk. The snow gave a certain lightness, but the bulk of the dark heights were only slightly silvered by the moon veiled by drifting clouds.
There was a wind, fresh, as if it blew from yet higher peaks—free lands where the dust of the Dales could never linger. Only, now that I had reached this place, that urge which had brought me here was fast dying, and I could find no reason for it. In spite of my cloak I shivered in the wind, drew back to the doorway for protection.
“What do you do here?”
There was no mistaking that voice. Why or how Lord Imgry shared my need for deep night wandering, I did not know. But our meeting I could not escape.
“I wished the fresh air—” My reply was stupid, meaningless. But to seek delays was useless.
As I turned I held my hand to my eyes for he swept me with the dazzling light of a hand lamp. He must first have read the device on Marimme’s borrowed tabard, for his hand flashed out and gripped my shoulder with punishing force, dragging me closer to him.
“Fool! Little fool!” Passion stirred under that adamant tone, not one soft—turned to Marimme, but rather one concerned with his good or ill. And somehow that thought armoured me and I dropped my masking hand to meet him eye to eye.
“You are not Marimme.” He kept grip on my shoulder, swung the lamp still closer to me. “Nor are you any other rightful of this company. Who are you?” And his fingers were five sword points in my flesh, so that I could have cried out under their torment but did not.
“I am of this company, my lord. I am Gillan, out of Norstead—”
“So! They would dare, those mouse-squeak women, to do this—”
“Not so.” I did not strive to throw off his hold, since I knew that I could not, but I stood straight-shouldered under it. And I think my denial of his accusation broke the surface of his anger and made him listen. “This was of my own planning—”
“You? And what have you to do with decisions beyond your making? You shall rue this—”
Passion curbed, but perhaps all the more deadly for that curbing. But to meet his anger I summoned will. Somehow I knew that I could not impress upon this man my desire as I had upon the sentry—if I had—still will gave me a shield to arm-sling for my own protection.