Last Sword of Power Page 6

  Cormac joined him, struggling to match the man’s long stride as they walked out of the forested hills and across the dales of the South Saxon. At midnight Revelation stopped in a sheltered hollow and lit a fire, using an ornate tinderbox that fascinated Cormac. Of silver, it was embossed with a fire-breathing dragon. Revelation tossed it to the boy, then added twigs to the tiny blaze, feeding it to greater strength.

  “It was made in Tingis, in the north of Africa, by an old Greek named Melchiades. He loves to create works of art around items we use every day. It is an obsession with him, but I love his work.” Cormac opened the box carefully. Inside was a sprung lever in the shape of a dragon’s head; in the mouth was a sharp-edged flint. When the lever was depressed, the flint ran along a serrated iron grille, causing a shower of sparks.

  “It is beautiful.”

  “Yes. Now make yourself useful and gather some wood.” Cormac handed back the box and moved among the trees, gathering windfall fuel. When he returned, Revelation had spread ferns on the ground by the fire for a soft bed. The tall traveler built up the blaze and then lay down under his blanket; he was asleep within seconds. Cormac sat beside him for a while, listening to the sounds of the night.

  Then he, too, slept.

  Soon after dawn the travelers set off once more, having finished a breakfast of fresh bread and cheese. How the bread could be fresh worried Cormac not at all now that he knew his companion was a man of magic. Anyone who could alter another man’s face and hair would have no difficulty creating a tasty loaf!

  The riders came into sight just before noon, behind a dog handler with six leashed wolfhounds. As the dogs spotted the two travelers, they bounded forward, baying furiously. Their strength dragged the handler from his feet, and he was forced to release the ropes as they sped onward.

  “Stand still,” ordered Revelation. He raised his staff and waited as the hounds closed with ferocious speed, fangs bared for the attack.

  “Down!” he bellowed, and the hounds ceased their growling and halted before him. “Down, I said!” Obediently the dogs dropped to their haunches as the five horsemen cantered forward. They were led by Agwaine, his brother Lennox behind him. The other three were carles from Calder’s hall, grim-eyed men bearing hand axes.

  The red-faced, mud-spattered dog handler gathered the trailing leashes and pulled the dogs back into line.

  “Good day,” said Revelation, leaning forward on his staff. “Hunting?”

  Agwaine touched his heels to his horse and rode close to Cormac. “We are seeking a boy around this lad’s age, wearing a similar tunic.”

  “A red-haired lad?”

  “You have seen him?”

  “Yes. Is he a runaway?”

  “What he is is no business of yours,” snapped Agwaine.

  “Come, boy,” Revelation told Cormac, and walked on, threading his way through the riders. Cormac followed swiftly.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” shouted Agwaine as he hauled on the reins, turning his horse and cantering to block Revelation’s path.

  “You are beginning to irritate me, young puppy. Move aside.”

  “Where is the boy?”

  Revelation raised his hand suddenly, and Agwaine’s horse shied, tipping the youth to the grass. Revelation walked on.

  “Take him!” yelled Agwaine, and the three Saxon carles dismounted and ran forward.

  Revelation swung to face them, once more leaning on his staff.

  The men approached warily. The staff lanced upward to connect with the nearest man’s groin, and with a strangled scream he dropped his ax and fell to his knees. Revelation blocked a wild ax blow, and his staff thundered against a bearded chin, poleaxing a second warrior. The third looked to Agwaine for orders.

  “I would think twice before hunting the boy,” said Revelation. “From what I have seen here, you would have trouble tackling a wounded fawn.”

  “Ten gold pieces,” said Agwaine, lifting a leather pouch from his saddlebag and tipping the coins into his hand.

  “Ah, now that is a different matter, young sir. The boy told me he was heading for Dubris. I last saw him yesterday on the high path.”

  Agwaine dropped the money back into his pouch and rode away.

  “No more than I would expect from a Saxon,” said Revelation, smiling. He gathered up his pack and strolled toward the west with Cormac running alongside him.

  “I thought you said you were no warrior.”

  “That was yesterday. Who was that young man?”

  “Agwaine, son of Calder.”

  “I dislike him intensely.”

  “So do I. Had it not been for him, Grysstha would still be alive.”

  “How so?”

  “He has a sister, Alftruda. She put her arms around me, so Agwaine and his brothers attacked me. That’s why.”

  “A childish squabble? How can that cause a man’s death?”

  “It is the law. I am not allowed to strike any villager, not even to protect myself.”

  “A strange law, Cormac. Does it apply only to you?”

  “Yes. How far is Noviomagus?”

  “Three days away. Have you ever seen a Roman town?”

  “No. Are there palaces?”

  “I think for you there will be. And once there, I can purchase some clothes for you and a scabbard for your father’s sword.”

  Cormac looked up at the gray-haired traveler. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

  Revelation grinned. “Perhaps it is because I dislike Agwaine. Then again, perhaps I like you. You choose.”

  “Will you use me for sorcery? Will you betray me?”

  Revelation stopped and laid his hand on Cormac’s shoulder.

  “In my life there are deeds never to be forgotten or forgiven. I have killed. I have lied. I have cheated. Once I even killed a friend. My word used to be a thing of iron, but I have broken even that. So how can I convince you I mean you no harm?”

  “Just tell me,” said Cormac simply.

  Revelation offered his hand, and Cormac took it. “I shall not betray you, for I am your friend.”

  “Then that is good enough,” said the boy. “When can I look like myself again?”

  “As soon as we reach Noviomagus.”

  “Is that your home?”

  “No, but I am meeting someone there. I think you will like her.”

  “A girl!” exclaimed Cormac, crestfallen.

  “I am afraid so. But curb your disappointment until you have met her.”

  4

  NOVIOMAGUS WAS a thriving estuary town that was growing rich on trade with the Sicambrians in Gaul, the Berbers of Africa, and the merchants of Italia, Graecia, Thrace, and Cappadocia. A mixture of older well-constructed Roman dwellings and inferior copies built of sandstone blocks and timber, Noviomagus contained more than six thousand inhabitants.

  Cormac had never seen so many people gathered in one place as there were when he and Revelation threaded their way through cramped, choked streets, past bazaars and markets, shops, and trading centers. To the lad the people were as splendid as kings in their cloaks of red, green, blue, orange, and yellow. Glorious patterns of checks, stripes, and swirls or pictures of hunting scenes were woven into tunics, shirts, and capes. Cormac was dazzled by the opulence around him.

  A full-breasted woman with dyed red hair approached Revelation. “Come and relax with Helcia,” she whispered. “Only ten denarii.”

  “Thank you, I have no time.”

  “A real man always has time,” she said, her smile fading.

  “Then find a real man,” he told her, moving on.

  Three more young women propositioned the travelers, and one even ran her hand down Cormac’s tunic, causing him to leap back, red-faced and ashamed.

  “Ignore them, Cormac,” said Revelation, stepping from the street into an alley so narrow that the two of them could not walk side by side.

  “Where are we going?” asked the youth.

  “We are here,”
answered Revelation, pushing open a door and stepping into a long room furnished with a dozen bench tables and chairs.

  The air was close, and there were no windows. The two travelers sat down at a corner table, ignoring the other five customers. A thin hatchet-faced man approached, wiping his hands on a greasy rag.

  “You want food?”

  “Ale,” said Revelation, “and some fruit for the boy.”

  “There are oranges just in, but they are expensive,” said the innkeeper. Revelation opened his hand to show a shining silver half piece. “Will that be all? I’ve got some steak ready.”

  “Some for my companion, then,”

  “What about a woman? We’ve three here better than anything you’ve ever seen; they’ll make you feel like a king.”

  “Perhaps later. Now bring the ale and the fruit.”

  The man returned with a leather-covered tankard and a bowl bearing three fist-sized spheres of yellow gold.

  “Rip off the skin and eat the segments inside,” advised Revelation.

  Cormac did so and almost choked on the sweet, acid juice. He devoured the fruit and licked his fingers.

  “Good?”

  “Wonderful. Oranges! When I am a man, I shall plant my own and eat them every day.”

  “Then you will have to live in Africa, across the sea, where the sun burns a man’s skin blacker than darkness.”

  “Would they not grow here?”

  “The winter is too cold for them. What do you think of Noviomagus?”

  “It’s very noisy. I wouldn’t like to live here. People keep touching me, and that is rude. And those women—if they are so hungry for love, why don’t they marry?”

  “A good question, Cormac. Many of them are married—and they are not hungry for love; they are hungry for money. In towns like this money is the only god. Without it you are nothing.”

  The steak was thin and tough, but to Cormac it tasted magnificent, and he finished it at a speed that surprised the innkeeper.

  “Was it all right, sir?”

  “Wonderful!” Cormac replied.

  “Good,” said the man, studying Cormac’s face for any sign of sarcasm. “Would you like some more fruit?”

  “Oranges,” Cormac said, nodding.

  A second bowl of fruit followed the first. The inn began to fill with customers, and the two travelers sat in silence, listening to the babble of voices around them.

  Most conversations concerned the wars and their subsequent—or imagined—effect on trade. Cormac learned that the Northern Trinovantes had rebelled against the high king. In the southeast a force of Jutes had sailed to Londinium, sacking the town before being crushed by Uther’s fleet in the Gallic waters. Three ships had been sunk, and two more set ablaze.

  “They don’t seem to fear an attack here,” said Cormac, leaning forward.

  Revelation nodded. “That is because of the dark side of business, Cormac. Noviomagus, as I said, treats money like a god. Therefore, they trade with anyone who will pay. They send iron goods from the Anderida mines, swords, axes, spears, and arrowheads to the Goths, the Jutes, and the Angles. The weapons of war are purchased here.”

  “And the king allows this?”

  “There is little he can do to stop it, and they also supply him with weapons and armor. The finest leather breastplates are made in Noviomagus, as well as swords of quality and bronze shields.”

  “It is not right to trade with your enemies.”

  “Life is very simple when one is young.”

  “How does the king survive if even his own people support his enemies?”

  “He survives because he is great. But think on this: these merchants supply the Jutes and earn great wealth. The king taxes them, which brings gold to his treasury. With this gold he buys weapons to fight the Jutes. So without the Jutes, Uther would have less gold with which to oppose them.”

  “But if the Jutes—and the others—didn’t attack him, he would not need so much gold,” Cormac pointed out.

  “Good! There is the seed of a debater within you. But if there were no enemies, he would not need an army, and without an army we would not need a king. So without the Jutes Uther would have no crown.”

  “You are making my head spin. Can we go now? The air in here is beginning to smell.”

  “A little while longer. We are meeting someone. You go outside—but do not wander far.”

  Cormac eased his way out into the alley to see a young girl struggling with a burly warrior wearing a horned helm. On the ground beside them lay an elderly man with blood seeping from a wound to his head. The warrior pulled the struggling girl from her feet, his right hand clamped across her mouth.

  “Stop!” shouted Cormac, dragging his sword from his belt. The warrior cursed, flinging the girl to the ground. Cormac rushed forward, and to his surprise and relief, the attacker turned and fled. The lad approached the girl, helping her to her feet. She was slim and dark-haired, her face oval, her skin ivory pale. Cormac swallowed hard and knelt beside the old man; he was clean-shaven and wearing a long blue toga. The boy lifted his wrist, feeling for a pulse.

  “I am sorry, my lady, but he is dead.”

  “Poor Cotta,” she whispered.

  “Why were you attacked?”

  “Is there an inn near here called the Sign of the Bull?” she asked, turning her head toward him. He looked then into her pale gray eyes and saw that she was blind.

  “Yes, I will take you there,” he said, reaching out his hand. She did not move, so he took her arm.

  “We cannot leave him like this,” she said. “It is not right.”

  “I have a friend nearby. He will know what to do.”

  He led her into the inn, steering her carefully around the tables. The sudden noise of the interior alarmed her, and she gripped his arm, but he patted her hand and led her to Revelation, who stood swiftly.

  “Anduine, where is Cotta?”

  “Someone killed him, my lord.”

  Revelation cursed, flicked the silver coin to the waiting innkeeper, and then took the girl by the hand and led her outside. Cormac followed, a curious feeling of emptiness within him now that his charge was no longer in his care.

  Outside, Revelation was kneeling by the old man. He closed the dead eyes and then stood. “We must leave him here. Swiftly.”

  “But Cotta …”

  “If he could speak, he would insist on it. What did you see, Cormac?”

  “A foreign man with a horned helm was pulling her away. I ran at him, and he fled.”

  “Bravely done, lad,” said Revelation. “Thank the Source you had a need for fresh air.” Dipping into the pocket of his coarse woolen habit, Revelation produced a small golden stone, which he held over the girl. Her dark hair lightened to corn yellow, and her simple dress of pale green wool became a tunic and trews of rust-brown and beige.

  Three men entered the alley. Two wore bronze helms decorated with ravens’ wings; the third was clothed all in black and carried no weapons.

  “She’s gone,” said one of the men, running past Cormac. The other two entered the inn. Revelation led Anduine back along the alley as the two Vikings emerged from the building.

  “You there! Wait!” came the shout.

  Revelation turned. “Put you arms about her and treat her like your lover,” he whispered to Cormac. Then he said, “Can I assist you, brothers? I have no money.”

  “The boy was seen with a girl in a green dress. Where is she?”

  “The blind wench? A man came for her. He seemed greatly agitated; I think that is his friend lying dead back there.”

  Behind them Cormac leaned in to Anduine, resting his arms on her shoulders. He did not know what to do but had seen the village boys with the maidens. Softly he kissed her cheek, shielding her face from the three armed men.

  “We are dead men!” hissed one of the warriors.

  “Be silent, Atha! Girl, come here,” ordered the leader.

  Just then a group of militiamen ro
unded the alley, led by a middle-aged officer.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked, sending two of his men to check the body.

  “The old man was robbed,” said Revelation. “A terrible thing in such a civilized town.”

  “Did you see the attack?”

  “No,” said Revelation, “I was at the inn having a meal with my son and his wife. Perhaps these fine fellows can help you.”

  “Are you carrying money?” the officer asked.

  “No,” said Revelation with a sad smile, opening his arms for the search, which was swift and thorough.

  “Do you have friends in Noviomagus?”

  “I fear not.”

  “Work?”

  “Not at present, but I am hopeful.”

  “Melvar!” called the officer, and a young soldier ran up. “Escort these … travelers from the town. I am sorry, but no one may stay who does not have means of support.”

  “I understand,” said Revelation, taking Anduine by the arm and leading her from the alley. She stumbled and almost fell, and the black-clad Viking leader cursed loudly.

  “Blind! It’s her!” He tried to follow, but the officer barred his way.

  “Just a moment, sir. There are a few questions.”

  “We are merchants from Raetia. I have documents.”

  “Then let me see them, sir.”

  Beyond the alley the soldier Melvar led the trio to the western edge of Noviomagus. “You might be able to get work on some of the farms north of here,” he said. “Otherwise I’d suggest Venta.”

  “Thank you,” said Revelation. “You have been most kind.”

  “What is happening?” asked Cormac when the officer had gone. “Who were those warriors?”

  “Wotan’s hunters, and they are seeking Anduine.”

  “Why?”

  “She is his bride, and he wants her.”

  “But he is a god … isn’t he?”

  “He is a devil, Cormac, and he must not have her. Now let us begone, for the hunt has just begun.”

  “Can you not work more magic?”

  Revelation smiled. “Yes, but now is not the time. There is a circle of standing stones near here. We must reach them by nightfall and then … then you will need more courage than most men possess.”