‘So, with the tree, you were facing your fears?’ Mulgrave prompted.
‘Aye, even so.’ Gaise smiled. “He either fears his fate too much, or his desires are small, that dares not put it to the touch, to gain or lose it all.’
‘Fine words, sir, but I’d sooner have seen the poet make that jump than yourself. In my experience poets are like politicians . They talk like lions and live like weasels.’
‘Let us hope they are not all like that,’ said Gaise, ‘for I wrote the: words myself last night.’
Mulgrave saw the young man laughing at him. ‘Ah. Give me a moment, sir, while I prise my boot from my mouth.’
‘Do you still think me foolish for making the jump?’
‘I have to say that I do, sir, though I better understand the reasons. for it. You doubted yourself, but you did not have the confidence -or the patience – to wait for a better moment to test yourself. It was reckless and unnecessary. Had you asked me I would have told you that you have all the courage a young man could desire. And I would have set you tasks to prove it to you. You have a fine future ahead of you, sir. Yet, but for a stroke of fortune, I could have been kneeling beside your crippled body, your legs and arms useless, your life ruined. Within a day the Moidart would have had me hanged for failing in my duty. You think the risk was worth it?’
Gaise laughed. ‘One can only measure deeds by results. I made the jump and I feel free of fear, and strong, and young and happy. Therefore the risk was worth it. Now let us debate it no more. You will not lecture me – and I will jump no more fallen trees. Agreed?’
‘Agreed, sir,’ answered Mulgrave. But he remained troubled. He knew then that Gaise Macon was cursed with a reckless spirit, and such a vice could prove deadly. Given time, he thought, I can cure him of it.
The two riders moved on. ‘I wish I had killed the poor wretch,’ said Gaise suddenly.
Mulgrave remained silent. The screams from the captured assassin had been terrible, and had lasted for hours. There was no escaping them. At last there had been silence, and the Moidart had walked back from the cells, his clothing drenched in blood. Then he had written out a list and soldiers had ridden into Eldacre to arrest those named upon it. The assassins had killed three of the four guards. The fourth was missing, but a warrant for his arrest had been issued.
‘He should not have been tortured,’ said Gaise. ‘Hanged, yes, tortured no.’
‘The Moidart needed to know if others were involved in the plot,’ said Mulgrave.
‘You heard him, Mulgrave. By the end he would have named St Persis Albitane as a co-conspirator.’
‘The saint was arrested once, I understand,’ said Mulgrave, ‘and taken to Stone for execution. I think it was the time that Bane fought for the Veiled Lady.’
‘Not Bane,’ said Gaise. ‘It was a gladiator named Rage. And you are changing the subject.’
‘It is probably best we do not discuss the Moidart’s methods. Though I will say that I agree with you. I wish the man had died before he did.’
The grey stone schoolhouse could be seen now, and the cobbled streets leading into the village of Old Hills. As they approached, Mulgrave saw a crowd gathering. A fight was just starting.
A black-haired youth was being set upon by two – no three — larger men.
Taybard Jaekel had always disliked Kaelin Ring. If asked why he could come up with a number of reasons, though none of them were entirely convincing, even to himself. The powerful young Varlish would say that Ring was ‘too cocky for his own good’, or that the clansman ‘looked down on him’. Taybard knew that these statements did not convey anything like the real reason, and yet even he could not say exactly why the mere sight of Kaelin Ring would set his blood boiling. The easy, graceful way he moved infuriated Taybard. The fact that the local girls – even Varlish girls — smiled at him, and hung on his every word, was like salt upon an open wound. Now Chara Ward, the girl of Taybard’s dreams – who had never even given Taybard a second glance – had set her cap at Kaelin Ring. Everyone knew it. Taybard Jaekel would have walked through fire to see Chara look at him the way she gazed at the clan youth. And so his dislike had distilled into a cold hatred.