Part 19 (1/2)

'Be still,' he said urgently, kneeling down beside him. 'Be still. I know a little about bone-setting.'

'What's all this noise?' A huge voice boomed out over the crowd and the square suddenly became silent. Even Uskal groaned more softly. Hawklan looked up to see a grey-headed old man standing at the top of the steps of the large building. Bright, penetrating eyes shone out of a stern and powerful face.

Chapter 27.

The first citizen of any Fyorlund community, be it village or town, was its Rede. It was an office that fell to many different types of people, though none were young, as all had had some experience of service with the Lords or the King. It was part of the Law of Fyorlund that no man should lead until he had served, though little leaders.h.i.+p was generally required of a Rede, the natural temperament of the Fyordyn being generally towards order and discipline. In practice, the office tended to be no more than a form of dignified retirement for some respected member of the community.

It was the intrusion into this retirement of a mounting hubbub that brought a scowl to Rede Berryn's stern face and sent him to a window, and thence to the outer door of his official residence to make his distinctly personal form of inquiry of the crowd.

He had been a senior training officer in the High Guard of a very traditionally minded Lord, and he could make his presence felt and his voice heard over disturbances far greater than that currently raising a dust in his village square.

'Well,' his voice boomed out again, 'what's going on?'

Gister stepped forward to the foot of the steps, his manner a mixture of deference and defiance. He waved an accusing hand towards Hawklan and Isloman.

'These men are spies, Rede. They've been sneaking around for days, they're armed to the teeth, and they've attacked Uskal just because he asked who they were.'

The old man fixed Gister with a look of suspicion and contempt, and then looked at the crowd. Under his gaze, the tiny seeds that Hawklan had sown began to germinate.

'Rubbish,' shouted someone. 'They weren't doing any harm.' Gister cast a furious eye over the crowd, but apparently could not see his denouncer.

Several others joined in. 'That's right, Rede. They've done nothing. Gister accused them of being spies and Uskal started the fight.'

'But the horse won,' came a delighted laugh, which again had Gister searching the crowd. Many of the others joined in, but several were still quiet and unsure.

'I know you all,' shouted Gister petulantly. 'Don't think I don't see you. You're all traitors, I'll repo . . .' 'Gister.'

The Rede's interruption stopped the man in mid-sentence. For a moment the two men locked gazes and, although it was Gister who turned away first, Hawklan noticed that the old man was uncomfortable in his authority. He felt again that Gister drew his confidence and power from others, presumably outside the village.

The Rede came down the steps and walked across to Hawklan; he had a slight limp. Hawklan had rendered Uskal unconscious in order to set the bones that Serian's hoof had so casually shattered and, laying the man down gently, he stood up and spoke to the watching Rede.

'I've set the damaged bones, but he'll have to be strapped up and properly nursed,' he said. 'He should be taken to your healer right away.' He looked down at the unconscious figure. 'I'm afraid that arm's never going to be quite right though,' he said.

The Rede grunted non-committally and then gestured in a direction over Hawklan's shoulder. Turning, Hawklan saw a pale-faced, lightly built man moving through the crowd. He wore what Hawklan took to be a robe of office although, from the stains and dust on it, it was obviously also a working robe.

Followed by a group of excited children who had obviously summoned him, the man moved straight to the fallen Uskal, confirming Hawklan's first impression that he was the local healer.

Hawklan bowed slightly to the Rede. 'Excuse me, sir,' he said and, kneeling down by the healer, he explained what he had done to ease Uskal's immediate distress. He took the man's hands and moved them over Uskal's arm and shoulder. The healer closed his eyes and then opened them with a start. They were wide with surprise. In an awed whisper he said, 'You must be Hawklan from . . .' But a look in Hawklan's green eyes silenced him.

'Shh, please,' said Hawklan under his breath. 'I gave your friends a false name. You can tell I mean no harm, but it may be difficult with the others. They're in a strange mood. Tend to your charge. I have to speak with your Rede.'

Like a humble acolyte at the feet of a great master, the man nodded and quickly gave orders to some of the men in the crowd for the removal of Uskal to his home. Then, turning to Hawklan, 'Your healing . . .

we must speak, sir. Before you leave the village. Please. There's so much I could learn from you.' Then, a little abashed at his forwardness, 'I'd consider it an honour.'

Hawklan smiled at the man. 'If I can,' he said. 'But . . .' He cast a quick glance at the watching people.

Standing, he found that the Rede had moved away and was contending with a now recovered Gister, who was hovering at his shoulder.

'They're spies, Rede. Look at them,' he said, his eyes flicking from the Rede to Hawklan.

The old man waved him to silence irritably but offered him no other rebuke.

'I apologize for your welcome to our village, sir,' he said to Hawklan. 'But times are troubled and there are many strange rumours in the air. I have to confess that your appearance is unusual, with your fine bow and sword, and . . .' He looked at Serian intently, and a note of considerable surprise came into his voice, 'and your Muster horse if I'm not mistaken.'

Hawklan sensed this was a sop being thrown to Gister for some reason. 'But that's no reason for treating you as we have,' the Rede continued. 'Please join me for a meal then we can talk at our leisure and sort out any misunderstandings.'

Hawklan accepted the offer gratefully and with a conspicuous show of relief.

'Go back to your homes,' said the Rede to the crowd. 'I'll find out who these people are, make amends for our discourtesy and do what is necessary.' His remarks however were largely superfluous, as the people were already drifting away, some talking excitedly, some quietly, and others affecting amused tolerance of the children who had now appeared and were running among them mimicking Uskal's crouching advance with the sickle and Serian's mighty kick.

Gister stood alone, fists clenched, irresolute and lowering.

The Rede spoke to him with a barely contained anger. 'Gister, you know what I think of your ranting and your foolish ideas. I'll tolerate a lot, but you go too far. You should have more sense. Uskal's a half-mad dog at best, without you encouraging him.'

Gister burst out. 'Igo too far.I go too far. It'syou who go too far. Consorting with enemies of the King.

Helping them evade justice . . .'

'Enough,' said the Rede, his anger exploding. 'Or . . .'

'Or what?' said Gister in a tone that amounted to a sneer. 'You'll call a Pentadrol? Talk the enemies of the King to death?'

'The Pentadrol is for restrained and reasoned argument, Gister. If I thought you were amenable to that I'd call one without hesitation,' replied the Rede, but as the old man turned away and beckoned him to follow, Hawklan knew that he had lost his argument with Gister. He presumed that the Pentadrol was some form of village forum whose effectiveness Gister had somehow contrived to undermine. What was happening in this country?

The Rede walked carefully up the steps to his residence. He signalled to a young man standing nearby and asked him to attend to the newcomers' horses.

Hawklan intervened. 'Thank you, Rede,' he said. 'But we must attend to our own horses.'

The old man nodded and smiled knowingly. 'Of course,' he said after a moment. 'Tel-Mindor will show you to the stables.' He raised his hand and a well-built, loose-limbed figure appeared at the top of the steps. Although the man was probably middle-aged, Hawklan was reminded immediately of Jaldaric and the other High Guards. His carriage showed he was active and vigorous, but there was another quality about him which Hawklan could not readily identify. The man returned Hawklan's smile of greeting easily, but Hawklan was intrigued. The young man would have made a perfectly adequate guide to the stables, but the Rede obviously wanted someone of his own to accompany them. To eavesdrop? To restrain? The man's movements were unusually fluid and economical and something deep inside Hawklan began to whisper that he was not a man to be a.s.sailed lightly. Protection? Probably the most likely reason. Gister and his following did not look like the type of people who would refrain from ambush on moral grounds. Then again maybe the old man was just protecting his political flank from subsequent accusations. In any event, whatever the reason, it showed him to be a man of some discernment, and one worth cultivating. A little later the three of them joined the Rede in his private rooms where he offered them food and drink. The room was cluttered with papers, doc.u.ments and all manner of objects which indicated a full, active and acquisitive life. It needed no great powers of observation to see that no woman blessed the Rede's life and that he had once been a military man. The sheer disorder of the place demonstrated the first, while the second was apparent from the quant.i.ties of swords, knives, bows, axes, pieces of armour and countless other military relics that littered the place.

Hawklan noticed that those weapons which were obviously decorative and ceremonial were scattered about indiscriminately, lying on chairs, under tables, idling on shelves or standing sentinel-like in corners, while a handful of others, scarred and bruised in real earnest, were solicitously mounted in cabinets around the walls.

Pride of place seemed to go to a battered helm with a great leering dent spreading down from its crown to just over the left eye. Hawklan's gaze flickered to the Rede's forehead in search of a scar, but the man was sitting with his back to the window, and it was difficult to see his face.

'We ran into Mandrocs on one of the Watch Patrols into Narsindal,' said the old man, answering the unspoken question and rubbing his head ruefully. The remark seemed to bring back old memories and the rubbing became pensive. 'It was odd you know. Usually if we saw any at all they'd keep their distance disappear into the mist. But this lot came out of nowhere, went straight for us, and then vanished before we could recover fully. Like skirmishers almost . . . organized . . . as if they were practicing on us. I've always felt that very strange . . .' He fell silent.

Hawklan watched him for a moment before speaking. 'I thought perhaps you'd been in the Morlider War,' he said.

The Rede came out of his reverie abruptly. 'Oh, I was,' he said. 'Later on.' Then tapping his finger on the side of his nose, 'But I was older and wiser then. Never let anyone get that close again, I can a.s.sure you, Hawklan.'

Hawklan's eyes widened at the sound of his name and Isloman casually rested his hand on his club.

Tel-Mindor, sitting near the door, noted the movement and smiled briefly.

Rede Berryn leaned forward. 'I was a training officer in the High Guards, Hawklan. I can hear a smart-alec whisper from eight ranks back.'