Stormrider by David Gemmell Page A

do not see why Kaelin cannot let him go. He has his own family now.”
    “Love carries burdens, Chara, my dear. And great love understands pain beyond bearing. As time passes, Kaelin’s grief will ease. It is not made easier by the presence of Maev. She, I fear, will never recover from the loss.”
    “Sometimes they sit in the evenings and talk about Grymauch,” said Chara. “I can’t contribute anything. I did not really know him. All I remember is that he was a big man who wore a strip of cloth over a blind eye. Why did Maev not wed him?”
    “She
was
wedded to him,” said the Wyrd, “only she did not know it. They shared everything except a bed. And, you know, that is not so important.”
    As the two women talked, the black-garbed Kaelin Ring came walking into the hollow, baby Jaim crying in his arms. “If you two are finished gossiping,” he said, “there’s a little fellow here who needs his mother.” Chara took Jaim, opened her shirt, and held him to her breast. The crying ceased immediately. Kaelin stood by, gazing fondly at his wife and son.
    The Wyrd watched him and felt pride swell in her. Kaelin Ring was all that a Rigante should be.
    Taking his arm, the Wyrd led him back to the shores of Sorrow Bird Lake, and they stood together in the sunlight, gazing out over the mountains. “You have done well, Ravenheart,” she told him. “Jaim would be proud of you.”
    “That is a good thought, Wyrd. Thank you for sharing it.”
    “How is Maev?”
    “Growing richer by the day. She deals now with the Moidart, sending cattle south to feed the Varlish armies.”
    “I know she is rich, Kaelin, and you know that is not what I meant.”
    Kaelin shrugged. “What can I tell you, Wyrd? She talks of Grymauch endlessly.” He gave a wry smile. “She seems to have forgotten all the times she lost her temper with him. He has become a golden man, almost a saint.”
    “Understandable,” said the Wyrd. “The man died for her.”
    She saw a momentary spasm of pain cross his handsome features. “Aye, he did that. Sometimes I dream of him, you know. We’ll be talking and laughing. Then I’ll wake and—just for a heartbeat—I think he’s still here with us. It’s like a wound that won’t heal.”
    “It
will
, Ravenheart. Trust me. Have you heard from Banny?”
    Kaelin shook his head. “There are few post riders now bringing mail from the south. I don’t know what possessed him to join the army. He should have come here.”
    “The war will come to the north, Ravenheart. When it does, you must be ready for it.”
    “We have had this conversation before, Wyrd. I listened then, and I am listening now. Call Jace has built new forges, making cannons, muskets, and swords. We can do no more. If the Moidart comes north, the Rigante will face him.”
    A log in the fire cracked suddenly, jerking her mind back to the present. A burning cinder was smoldering on the old rug. The Wyrd knelt down, pinched the cinder between her fingers, and swiftly threw it back into the flames. Sitting upon the rug, she stretched and yawned.
    When would the Moidart and his army invade the north? she wondered. It had surprised her that the cruel and vengeful lord of the north had not already joined the enemy. They were made for one another. They had approached him. She knew this. The Moidart had requested time to consider their offer. The Wyrd shivered. He would be seeking a position of power among them. And he would get it.
    Another face loomed in her mind, a handsome young man with golden hair and curious eyes, one gold and one green. The Moidart’s son, Gaise Macon, the Stormrider. So much depended on him and his survival. She wished with all her heart that she could know
just
how much. It seemed sometimes that the power had a mind of its own. On occasions, as with Jaim Grymauch, she had seen the future clear and bright. She had
known
what to do. The coming days of dread were like an awesome tapestry, ten thousand threads weaving in