Jack Whyte - Uther

Uther watched in silence as Garreth used the cloth to bind up Owain's injured hand, ripping off narrow strips from the edges with his teeth to use as bindings for the makeshift bandage. As the final knots were being tied, Owain looked over Garreth's shoulder to his rescuer and nodded a wordless acknowledgment.

Uther stood up, picking up his bow as he did so, and slipped the unused arrow back into his quiver. "What were you doing here in the first place?"

Owain drew a deep breath, pursing his lips tightly. He looked once more at the dead bear and then up towards the spot where he had been trapped on the cliff face. When he spoke, his words were more of a question than an answer.

"Uther Pendragon."

Uther kept his face expressionless. "What about him?"

"That's you. You're him."

"What makes you think that?"

Something that might have been the barest hint of a smile flickered briefly at one corner of the stranger's wide-lipped mouth. "Garreth Whistler went away more than a month ago to bring Uther Pendragon back for the Chiefs' Gathering. Garreth Whistler has come back. You came with him."

Garreth spoke before Uther could respond. "Pity it would be to have saved your life only to discover a need to spill your blood myself, Cave Man."

The other man nodded, unperturbed. "Aye, I can see that, but you'll find no need. Owain of the Caves is a man who pays his debts." His eyes flicked back to Uther. "This time, the debt is a life. It is paid."

Uther tilted his head to one side, a tiny smile of incredulity appearing on his face. "What? I'm not sure I understood you there. Are you saying you are now saving my life in return for your own?"

"Aye." A plain, bald statement of fact.

Uther's smile grew to a broad grin, and he looked to Garreth for a reaction. Garreth Whistler, however, was staring hard at Owain of the Caves.

"You were sent here to kill him?"

"I was sent here to make sure that Uther Pendragon would come late, if he came at all, to the Chiefs' Gathering. I'd have done it, too, if it hadn't been for the bear."

"How? You're a long way from where we crossed the ridge."

"Aye, but I was there when you approached it, and I watched you coming. Your scouts missed me completely, because they were looking for people and movement. I was one man, hiding until they passed me by. I picked out the one who must be Uther Pendragon and then fell back towards the place I had picked for my attack. The bear interrupted me. Had it not done so, you would have reached the spot by now, and I would have completed my task."

"And you yourself would be dead."

The tall man shrugged. "Mayhap, but I doubt it. I chose the place with care—and not for its beauty. It was a trap for you, not for me. Four ways out for me, all of them safe." Owain looked at Uther now for the first time since he had started speaking. "But you would have been dead with my first arrow."

"No, Garreth!"

Whistler's sword had slithered from its sheath with a quick, sibilant hiss as he dropped into a fighter's crouch. Now he hovered, glaring at the tall Northerner who stared back at him unconcernedly, making no attempt to defend himself. Slowly, visibly, the tension seeped away from Garreth and he straightened up, still holding his sword ready, to look at Uther. Uther, in turn, was gazing at Owain of the Caves, a peculiar expression on his face.

"So, you give me back my life." He nodded slowly. "I accept it, and I am grateful. What will you do now? Meradoc won't thank you for your scruples. He is the one who sent you, isn't he?"

The other shrugged. "Aye, so I'll move on. Meradoc has no patience when it comes to failure, and he'll take this as a failure. If I go back to him. he'll have me killed. He's a great one for rewarding treachery with death, is Meradoc."

"So am I. . . but you did nothing treacherous here."

Owain's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Leaving you alive to cross him? He might see that otherwise."

Uther looked about him, coming to a decision. "Sheathe your sword, Garreth. Owain, will you ride with us for a way? I want to talk more with you, but we have a party of men up there on the path, as you know, and they will start fretting if we don't soon return."

Owain of the Caves shrugged his wide shoulders. "I don't ride, but I'll walk with you awhile if you'll feed me at the end of it. The devil there destroyed my pack, and with it all my food. After that, we can talk if you like, and then come morning I'll be on my way to wherever I end up."

Uther glanced down one last time at the carcass of the bear. The blood-filled eye socket was already filled with a heaving, crawling mass of metallic-looking flies, and the buzzing of hundreds more was growing stronger as he looked. He counted quickly, estimating that six of the arrows that had killed the animal were salvageable. He nodded his head.

"Good. Then let's retrieve these arrows and get started."

Chapter FIFTEEN

It was late in the afternoon before they found a suitable spot in which to build a camp for the night. Uther had had no opportunity to talk further with Owain of the Caves since rejoining the main party that afternoon, but he had really not sought one. After introducing him briefly on their return to the curious troopers, he left the stranger to his own devices.

Owain had walked silently ever since, keeping close to Garreth's side. Garreth, for his part, showed no hostility to the man walking beside him, but neither did he go out of his way to make him feel welcome.

Some time after that, Uther's scouts reported finding some strange tracks, and he decided to ride out himself to look at them. Rather than risk wasting time, however, he checked first with Owain to determine whether the tracks might have been made by others in his party, but Owain assured him that he had travelled alone.

Less than two hours later when Uther returned, he smelled the appetizing aroma of roasting pork even before he reached the camp. Early in the afternoon, while Uther and Garreth had been dealing with the bear, one of the troopers had found and killed a young wild pig, a yearling, and now the entire squadron was hovering close to the fire, salivating over the sight of it turning on the spit. Bear meat was all very well, and few of the men doubted that some people might think it a delicacy, but for sheer delight in the mouth, nothing could compete with young pig.

After he unsaddled his horse and rubbed it down for the night, Uther shouldered his bedroll and made his way to where Garreth and Owain sat together beside a fire of their own, their backs against a long, mossy log. They shifted to make room for him between them, and Owain grunted a question.

"Did you find out who made the tracks?"

Uther straightened up in the act of stooping to lay his bedroll down. He could not decide whether Owain was interested or merely making conversation. He nodded.

"Aye. They were all made by one man, coming and going."

Owain's eyebrows went up. "One man? And your scouts had to take you out there to tell them that? Could they not work it out for themselves?"

"They had by the time I arrived, but they had to find a soft spot in the earth in order to do it. Mountainous terrain shows tracks, but not in great detail. They had to look for more than a mile in both directions before they found a watercourse with soft ground. Must have been some hermit or anchorite or madman living up here alone and walking each day to water. He wore a track eventually, and that's what my scouts found. They're not trackers, you understand, but they are the best at what they do."

"And what is that?"

"Fighting on horseback with disciplined tactics."

"Ah!" Owain nodded and returned his gaze to the fire.

Garreth met Uther's gaze and rolled his eyes, saying nothing.