Moving to the nearest shelf the Wyrd reached out and picked up an old cloth, heavily stained with dried blood.
‘Oh, Jaim,’ she said, ‘you were the best of them.’
The cloth had been used by Maev Ring to wipe the blood from Jaim’s face after his epic fight with the Varlish fistfighting champion, Gorain. The one-eyed Jaim Grymauch had stood toe to toe with the champion, and – incredibly – had defeated him. ‘You had a heart as big as the mountains,’ said the Wyrd, a tear in her eye.
The greatest regret of her long life had come the day she had told Jaim Grymauch of the arrest of Maev Ring. Jaim had loved Maev, and had been determined to rescue her. The Wyrd had asked him to wait. He could have gone to the cathedral, where she was imprisoned for the trial, dealt with the guards and freed her. He would have lived then, and known happiness. But the Wyrd told him that the future well-being of the Rigante depended on his delaying the rescue.
So Jaim Grymauch had waited. They had brought Maev out to burn her at the stake, and Grymauch had marched through the crowds like a giant of old. He had scattered the guards, and killed three Knights of the Sacrifice. Then, having rescued Maev, and seen her free, he had been shot down by the muskets of the Moidart’s soldiers.
Even now his death felt like an open wound to the Wyrd. Everything she had told him had come to pass. His heroism had forever altered the relationship between the northern Varlish and the Rigante. Before Jaim’s death the highlanders were treated like an inferior race, and viewed with ill concealed contempt. A fog of hatred and fear blinded the Varlish. Jaim Grymauch had been the cleansing storm.
Now it seemed his death might be for nothing after all. War, destruction, plague and death were rampant in the southern lands. Malice hung in the air, touching all living things, disrupting the harmony of nature and poisoning the nature of all earth magic. It even affected the Wyrd. Normally tranquil of nature she found herself more swift to anger. Man had always feared spellcasters. Almost all societies had at one time or another burned witches. Yet, ironically, man himself could cast the most destructive spell of all. With his endless lust for war he could pollute the very magic that fed his world.
The Wyrd took a deep breath, then relaxed. She could feel the spirits of two Redeemers hovering near her. They hungered for her death, their minds overflowing with images of inflicted pain and suffering.
‘You will not make me hate you,’ she said aloud. However, even thinking of them brought anger to her heart. Best to think of nobler men, she told herself, turning her thoughts to Kaelin Ring.
The years since the death of Grymauch had been kind to him. Still in his early twenties he was admired by the Black Rigante, holding a position of honour in the council of their leader, Call Jace, and married to his daughter, Chara. Kaelin’s first child had been born two years previously – a boy they had named Jaim. Life was good, and yet the black-haired young Rigante would often wander the lonely hills around Ironlatch Farm, camping out at nights in the woods, sometimes for days.
His need for solitude hurt his young wife, but she did not doubt his love for her. Had he not fought his way into the heart of an enemy castle to rescue her? Chara had spoken to the Wyrd about Kaelin’s wanderings, on the day they had taken baby Jaim to Sorrow Bird Lake for the Blessing. While Kaelin sat holding the sleeping babe Chara and the Wyrd had strolled to Shrine Hollow and sat in the shafts of spring sunshine lancing through the trees.
‘Sometimes he is so distant,’ said Chara. ‘His eyes get a faraway look, and then I know he will be gone. When he returns he is fine for a little while. I don’t know what is wrong with him.’
The Wyrd had gazed affectionately at the slim, red-haired young woman. Even now she looked scarcely old enough to be a mother. Slight of build, and delicate of feature, she seemed almost childlike. ‘His soul was pierced when Jaim died,’ said the Wyrd. ‘Grymauch was everything to him as a boy – a father, an older brother, a friend. He was the one constant in Kaelin’s life. He was like a mountain. You could not imagine a day when he would not be there, filling the horizon.’