The Lady Quill Chronicles - The Promise

The Lady Quill Chronicles - The Promise - Chapter Fourteen

He remembered everything, so clear, so stark and completely unsoftened by the sixteen years that separated that day  from this. He remembered the mud that had seeped slowly through his clothes as he had sat beside Evoric, the fear that bound him to his side, the horror of knowing that soon he would be gone and that never again would they laugh together, never again would they lay on the grassy bank of the river at Valrek enjoying a companionable silence.

He remembered the agony of Finan’s despair, the hurt and anger that had filled him with misery. If he had been presented at that moment with Evoric’s killer, if that man had then excused himself and said that Evoric had fallen upon his sword, that he had not wished him any harm….would he have listened, would he have cared for anything that the man might have said?

“You think I care ought for your explanations?” asked Daegmund. “My honour is at stake and you think I could care anything for your penitence?”   

Rafe set his jaw, his fingers curling into fists.

“I meant your brother no harm and had he not been so full of drink he could hardly stand upright, no harm would have come to him.”

“So now you think to shirk the blame?”

“I shirk nothing!” replied Rafe sharply. “I know the part I played and I know that it was in innocence that I played it. I beg off from nothing, not from punishment or culpability, but the fault was not all my own and you are wrong if you suppose that any revenge that you could devise for me would be more keen than the promptings of conscience that I have suffered.”

Gradock laughed softly, his voice mocking and filled with genuine amusement. Rafe heard the sound of someone clapping and turned to see the youth he had spoken to earlier sitting in the shadows down one end of the hall.

“He seems a little naive, brother.” The youth strolled lazily forward to stand next to the fire. “Not a quality I had expected to find in the great Rafe of Valrek!”

“Not naive, Anlaf.” replied Daegmund, “Merely uncomprehending.”

Daegmund’s eyes returned to Rafe and he made a little gesture of introduction.

“You do not know my younger brother, Anlaf, I think?”

Anlaf inclined his head a little and Rafe wondered at the incongruity of such a polite introduction in such circumstances as these.

“And so now we come to the crux of the matter,” continued Daegmund of Gradock, “What do I do with you?”

Rafe looked from one to the other of their matter of fact faces, he felt angry and sick at their gloating. Their grief over their brother’s death he could understand, he even understood their wish to punish him for the accident that had taken Bertolf away from them. What he could not understand was the way they wished to torment him, it was something he had no craving to comprehend and it was certainly not an activity he intended to participate in.

Daegmund saw him fall silent, saw his attitude change and an expression enter his eyes that, for some reason that Daegmund could not fathom, caused him to experience a sudden sensation of wariness.

It irritated him.

“As I have explained, for the sake of family honour there is only one thing to be done; I must avenge my brother and you must die.” Daegmund paused and spread his hands. “However…as you have stated such a course of action would not be without its consequences. I have no desire for a wergild on my head for I have heard, and here I must bow to your superior knowledge, that they are an unpleasant burden.”

“They are…very unpleasant.” replied Rafe stiffly.

“But you have to say that to convince me to spare you!” reasoned Daegmund.