Gweniver notice the barely visible blazons on their muddy shirts: stags.
“Dead,” Abryn said, his voice cold and flat. “And Lord Maer with them. A cursed big band of Cantrae riders struck us hard some five days ago. The dun’s razed, and may the gods blast me if I know what’s happened to our lord’s lady, and the children, too.”
“We were trying to get to the Wolf, you see,” Draudd broke in. He paused for a bitter, twisted smile. “I take it that it wouldn’t have done us one cursed jot of good.”
“None,” Gweniver said. “Our dun’s razed, too. Here, are you hungry? We’ve got food.”
While Abryn and Draudd wolfed down hardtack and cheese as if they were a feast, they told their story. Some hundred fifty of the false king’s own men fell upon the Stag just as they were leaving their dun to start for Cerrmor. Just as Avoic had done, Lord Maer ordered his men to scatter, but Abryn and Draudd had both had their horses killed as they tried to fight free. The Cantrae men hadn’t pursued them; they’d headed straight for the dun and swept in without warning before the gates could be shut.
“Or so they must have,” Abryn finished up. “It was taken, anyway, when we made our way back there.”
Gweniver nodded, considering.
“Well,” she said at last. “It sounds to me like they’dplanned this raid in conjunction with the one on us. I can see what the piss-proud little weasels have in mind: isolating the Wolf lands so it’ll be easier for the wretched Boars to keep them.”
“It’s going to be hard for the swine to take the Stag lands,” Abryn said. “Lord Maer’s got two brothers in the true king’s service.”
“No doubt they won’t risk trying to hold your clan’s lands,” Gweniver said. “They’re too far south. But by razing the dun and killing your lord, they’ve taken our closest ally away. Now they’ll try to establish a strong point on the Wolf demesne and nibble at the Stag later.”
“True spoken.” Abryn looked at her in sincere admiration. “My lady understands matters of war, sure enough.”
“And when have I ever known anything else but this war? Now, here, we’ve got extra horses. Join up with us if you like, but I warn you, the Goddess I serve is a goddess of darkness and blood. That’s what I meant about Her blessing. Think well before you take it.”
They did think on the matter, staring at her all the while until at last Abryn spoke for them both.
“What else have we got, my lady? We’re naught but a pair of dishonored men without a lord to ride for or a clan to take us in.”
“Done, then. You ride at my orders, and I promise you, you’ll have your chance for vengeance.”
In sincere gratitude they grinned. In those days a warrior who lived through a battle in which his lord died was a shamed man, turned away from everyone’s shelter and mocked wherever he went.
As the warband made its way south to Cerrmor, they picked up other men like Abryn and Draudd—some, other survivors from the Stag’s warband; some, stubbornly close-mouthed about their past, but all of them desperate enough to lay aside their amazement at finding a priestess at the head of a warband. Eventually Gweniver had thirty-seven men, just three short of the number that Avoic had pledged to bring. In fact, they pledged to her so gladly and accepted her so easily that she was surprised. Their lastnight on the road, she shared a campfire with Ricyn, who waited upon her like an orderly.
“Tell me somewhat,” she said to him. “Do you think these lads will still follow my orders once we’re down in Cerrmor?”
“Of course, my lady.” He seemed surprised that she would ask. “You’re the one who took them off the roads and gave them the right to feel like men again. Besides, you’re a priestess.”
“Does that matter to them?”
“Oh, twice over. Come, now, we’ve all heard those tales about Moon-sworn warriors, haven’t we? But it’s twice a marvel to
“Dead,” Abryn said, his voice cold and flat. “And Lord Maer with them. A cursed big band of Cantrae riders struck us hard some five days ago. The dun’s razed, and may the gods blast me if I know what’s happened to our lord’s lady, and the children, too.”
“We were trying to get to the Wolf, you see,” Draudd broke in. He paused for a bitter, twisted smile. “I take it that it wouldn’t have done us one cursed jot of good.”
“None,” Gweniver said. “Our dun’s razed, too. Here, are you hungry? We’ve got food.”
While Abryn and Draudd wolfed down hardtack and cheese as if they were a feast, they told their story. Some hundred fifty of the false king’s own men fell upon the Stag just as they were leaving their dun to start for Cerrmor. Just as Avoic had done, Lord Maer ordered his men to scatter, but Abryn and Draudd had both had their horses killed as they tried to fight free. The Cantrae men hadn’t pursued them; they’d headed straight for the dun and swept in without warning before the gates could be shut.
“Or so they must have,” Abryn finished up. “It was taken, anyway, when we made our way back there.”
Gweniver nodded, considering.
“Well,” she said at last. “It sounds to me like they’dplanned this raid in conjunction with the one on us. I can see what the piss-proud little weasels have in mind: isolating the Wolf lands so it’ll be easier for the wretched Boars to keep them.”
“It’s going to be hard for the swine to take the Stag lands,” Abryn said. “Lord Maer’s got two brothers in the true king’s service.”
“No doubt they won’t risk trying to hold your clan’s lands,” Gweniver said. “They’re too far south. But by razing the dun and killing your lord, they’ve taken our closest ally away. Now they’ll try to establish a strong point on the Wolf demesne and nibble at the Stag later.”
“True spoken.” Abryn looked at her in sincere admiration. “My lady understands matters of war, sure enough.”
“And when have I ever known anything else but this war? Now, here, we’ve got extra horses. Join up with us if you like, but I warn you, the Goddess I serve is a goddess of darkness and blood. That’s what I meant about Her blessing. Think well before you take it.”
They did think on the matter, staring at her all the while until at last Abryn spoke for them both.
“What else have we got, my lady? We’re naught but a pair of dishonored men without a lord to ride for or a clan to take us in.”
“Done, then. You ride at my orders, and I promise you, you’ll have your chance for vengeance.”
In sincere gratitude they grinned. In those days a warrior who lived through a battle in which his lord died was a shamed man, turned away from everyone’s shelter and mocked wherever he went.
As the warband made its way south to Cerrmor, they picked up other men like Abryn and Draudd—some, other survivors from the Stag’s warband; some, stubbornly close-mouthed about their past, but all of them desperate enough to lay aside their amazement at finding a priestess at the head of a warband. Eventually Gweniver had thirty-seven men, just three short of the number that Avoic had pledged to bring. In fact, they pledged to her so gladly and accepted her so easily that she was surprised. Their lastnight on the road, she shared a campfire with Ricyn, who waited upon her like an orderly.
“Tell me somewhat,” she said to him. “Do you think these lads will still follow my orders once we’re down in Cerrmor?”
“Of course, my lady.” He seemed surprised that she would ask. “You’re the one who took them off the roads and gave them the right to feel like men again. Besides, you’re a priestess.”
“Does that matter to them?”
“Oh, twice over. Come, now, we’ve all heard those tales about Moon-sworn warriors, haven’t we? But it’s twice a marvel to
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