The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [13]
“Here, lad.” The old man was right beside him. “All’s well now.”
“Can I have some water?”
“All you want.”
After Maddyn gulped down six cupfuls, the old man brought him bread and milk in a wooden bowl. Since his hands were shaking too badly to hold a spoon, the old man fed him too, a spoonful at a time. The best feast in the gwerbret of Cantrae’s hall had never tasted as good as that meal did.
“My thanks,” Maddyn said. “Truly, I owe you the humblest thanks I can give for saving my life.”
“Saving lives is somewhat of a habit of mine. I’m an herbman.”
“And wasn’t that the luck of my life, then!”
“Luck?” The old fellow smiled in a sly sort of way. “Well, truly, it may have been, at that. My name is Nevyn, by the by, and that’s not a jest; it truly is my name. I’m somewhat of a hermit, and this is my home.”
“My name is Maddyn, and I rode for Lord Brynoic. Here, do you realize that I’m an outlawed man? By every black-hearted demon in the hells, you should have let me bleed to death where I fell.”
“Oh, I heard me of Brynoic’s exile, sure enough, but the pronouncements of tieryns and suchlike mean little to me. Cursed if I’ll let a man die when I can save him just because his lord overstepped himself at court.”
With a sigh, Maddyn turned his head away. Nearby was his shield, leaning against the wall, and a tidy stack of his other gear, including his small ballad harp, wrapped safe in its leather sack. The sight of the fox device stamped on everything he owned made tears burn in Maddyn’s eyes. His whole warband, all his friends, men he’d ridden with for eight years now—all dead, because Lord Brynoic had coveted another man’s land and failed in his gamble to get it.
“Did the tieryn bury our dead?” he whispered.
“He did. I found the battlefield some days after I brought you home. From the sight of the slaughter, I’m surprised that even one man escaped.”
“I ran like a coward. I made the charge and got my wound. I knew I was dying, then, and I just wanted to die alone, somewhere quiet, like. Ah ye gods, I never dreamt that anyone would save me!”
“No doubt it was your Wyrd to live.”
“It was a harsh Wyrd, then. I’m still an outlawed man. I threw away the last bit of honor I had when I didn’t die with my lord and my band.”
Nevyn made a soothing remark, but Maddyn barely heard him. For all that his shame bit at him, deep in his heart he knew he was glad to be alive, and that very gladness was another shame.
It was two days before Maddyn could sit up, and then only by propping himself against the wall and fighting with his swimming head. As soon as he was a bit stronger, he began wondering about the strange room he was in. From the smell of damp in the air and the lack of windows, he seemed to be underground, but the fire in the enormous hearth drew cleanly. The room was the right size for that massive hearth too, a full fifty feet across, and the ceiling was lost above him in shadows. All along the wall by his bed was a carved bas-relief, about ten feet above the floor, that must have at one time run around the entire room. Now the severely geometric pattern of triangles and circles broke off abruptly, as if it had been defaced. Finally, on the day when he was strong enough to feed himself for the first time, it occurred to him to ask Nevyn where they were.
“Inside Brin Toraedic. The entire hill is riddled with chambers and tunnels.”
Maddyn almost dropped his spoon into his lap. Since Lord Brynoic’s dun was only about five miles away, he’d seen the hill many a time and heard all the tales about it too, how it was haunted, plagued by demons and spirits, who sent blue lights dancing through the night and strange howls whistling through the day. It certainly looked peculiar enough to be haunted, rising straight out of an otherwise flat meadow, like some old giant long ago turned to stone and overgrown with grass.
“Now, now.” Nevyn gave him a grin. “I’m real flesh and blood, not a prince of demons or suchlike.