A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) (17 page)

‘In the darkness, the castle of Gastada looked only to be a farm, but that was the vilest prison–’ Ashurek stopped short, then continued, ‘We do not know where in Tearn or the Empire we are. We cannot risk approaching the place.’

‘But we must find food and water; and what of clothes and weapons?'

Ashurek shook his dark head dubiously.

‘Estarinel is wounded,’ pointed out Medrian. ‘We must go up to the building. Let just Estarinel and I go, for he has an innocent face, and they may be less suspicious of a woman.’

Ashurek grinned at this. ‘Very well. See what you can gain by it. I will wait in the shadows among the trees.’

The two climbed the hill, leaving the horses with Ashurek. A small stone farmhouse surrounded by barns loomed in the rain-veiled night. Reaching the door beside the lighted window, Estarinel knocked gently.

The door opened a crack, letting out a sliver of yellow light. A middle-aged, grey-haired woman peered out, her face careworn.

‘Yes?’ she said, and her eyes widened as she saw Estarinel with his long black hair dripping around his white face. ‘What do you want?’ The accent in which she spoke the common tongue was mid-Tearnian, easy to understand.

‘I am sorry to disturb you. We are travellers, seeking food and water for ourselves and our horses.’

‘Wait a minute,’ the woman snapped, and closed the door in their faces. After a few moments it opened again. ‘Where do you come from?’

‘Forluin, originally…’

A new voice intruded, the arrogant voice of a young man. ‘Those of Forluin are completely harmless, mother,’ he said from within the house. ‘If he’s telling the truth.’

‘Who is with you?’ the woman insisted suspiciously. From her attitude it was obvious she had no intention of letting them in. Estarinel felt desperate. They might have to walk miles before they came upon another source of provisions, and they were all exhausted.

Before he could speak, Medrian fainted suddenly and theatrically against the door. The woman jumped back and Medrian collapsed across the threshold.

‘Goodness! A girl! Oh dear.’ The woman glanced back into the interior of the room.

‘Let them in, mother,’ said the arrogant voice.

‘Come in, then.’ The woman beckoned them, agitated.

Estarinel picked up Medrian’s rain-soaked frame and carried her into the room. As he did so, she opened one eye in a quick, conspiratorial glance.

It was a bare stone room that served as both kitchen and living room. A fire in the grate cast a warm yellow glow onto the stone walls and plain furniture. The woman was wearing the rough brown smock of a farming woman. By the fireside sat a boy of about eighteen, dressed up in ornate robes of brocaded purple and blue. His face was rosy and handsome, his brown eyes bold, insolent, and fox-bright. His straight brown hair was cut short. He was sitting lazily with his feet stretched out, looking most unlike a farmer’s son.

His mother seemed deferential, almost afraid of him.

This youth gestured Estarinel to lay Medrian down on a bench by the wall. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘what do you want here? You are strangely garbed for travellers – no cloaks or provisions?’

‘We fell into misfortune, and have been without food and water for days.’ Estarinel disliked the boy’s insolent manner and deliberately addressed his mother.

‘Without water? It’s been pouring with rain here for weeks,’ the boy interrupted.

‘To be honest, we are quite lost. We need food, clothing, and maps. Medrian is ill and I have a wound that needs dressing. Please, would you to help us? Truly, we offer you no harm.’

‘If you really are from Forluin, I am sure you do not,’ the boy said with a note of scorn that antagonised the normally peaceful Estarinel. ‘Is she your wife?’

‘No, we’re travelling companions.’

‘And where are you travelling to?’

‘Not much further, if we cannot get help.’ Estarinel stood shivering with cold from his wet clothes while the boy rested his chin in his hand in an affected gesture.

‘How many of you are there?’ he asked.

‘We have horses…’ Estarinel said evasively.

‘Mother.’ The boy beckoned to her and the two conferred in corner near Medrian. ‘Very well,’ the boy began after a minute or two, but his mother interrupted sharply.

‘Have you means of paying us?’

‘We have almost nothing, but…’

‘No!’ the boy broke in. ‘We will provide your needs, but there is no need to worry about payment as yet.’

‘I don’t wish to be in your debt,’ said Estarinel.

‘You won’t, you won’t. Mother, prepare food. I’ll find clothes for you.’

The woman dressed Estarinel’s wound, while Medrian made a pretence of coming round from her well-timed swoon. Soon they were re-clothed in rough brown tunics and leggings, then given a meal of sour cheese, bread and sausages, water and hot cider.

As they ate, they concealed what food they could for Ashurek, but Estarinel suspected the boy had noticed this. Afterwards, the lad said, ‘I’m sorry we cannot offer beds, but you can sleep in the stables.’

They followed him outside, and by the light of an oil lamp he showed them to a dark wooden barn. ‘You can feed your horses here. There’s the water pump, and steps up to the hayloft; you’ll find it quite comfortable. Where are your horses?’ He swung the lamp around, and raindrops danced like fireflies in its glow.

‘Er… tied up, a few yards away.’ Estarinel muttered uncomfortably.

‘I take your word for it,’ said the boy with a knowing smile. He handed them the lamp and said, ‘Good night. Sleep well.’

Estarinel waited until he had walked languidly back to the house, then whispered, ‘What do you make of him?’

‘Something fairly unpleasant,’ Medrian answered. ‘I think Ashurek was right, we should not have come here.’

They found Ashurek sheltering beneath the trees just to the right of the stables, holding the peacefully grazing horses. ‘You took long enough,’ he said, grimacing.

Once they had stabled and fed the horses, they climbed a wooden ladder to the hayloft. It was a warm-smelling, musty place, with soft mounds of hay glowing beige under the swinging disc of light from the oil lamp. Paradise after Hrannekh Ol. They settled themselves on the hay and gave Ashurek the food they had secreted for him. As he ate, they related what had happened.

‘It’s a strange situation,’ Medrian said. ‘A small, poor farmhouse, and in it a lad with the clothes and manners of an arrogant young lord.’

Ashurek shrugged. ‘I expect he has found himself a position with some squire or lady, and is overcome with his own importance.’

Medrian went on darkly, ‘You are more right than you know. He is certainly in someone’s pay, but no mere squire. When they were whispering near me, his mother asked him what he was going to do with us. He replied that he was sure we were hiding someone.’ She smiled coolly at Ashurek. ‘The mother gasped, but he told her not to be alarmed, and that “She To Whom We Pay Tribute” would be very interested in us.’

‘Who?’

‘“She To Whom We Pay Tribute”,’ Medrian repeated with a shrug.

‘A wordy title,’ scoffed Ashurek. ‘Some little game of power he is playing, I expect… but we have nothing to fear from a young boy and his work-worn mother. We’ll sleep a few hours and be gone before he knows it.’

He cast himself down on the hay and turned on his side. Estarinel dimmed the lamp and lay staring at the dark. At last sleep came to all of them, and they forgot Hrannekh Ol and their doubts and pains. Even the spectre of the Serpent dissolved in the darkness for a while.

The boy stood in the half-darkness, staring down at Ashurek. The faint glow of the lamp caught the unmistakable features, the purple-brown colour of the skin, the handsome, cruel face. Black hair curled over his shoulders.

A Gorethrian. The boy was shaking. No wonder they had been so evasive. He looked across at the other two strangers, sleeping quietly on the hay. They all had black hair, he noticed, three vipers…

Fear and hatred of Gorethrians, always present in Tearn, had been made acute by the invasion of the Eastern coast in recent years. Yet there was something else that moved the boy’s hand to the dagger in his belt, an hysterical loathing of something so far in his past he did not now remember what it was.

A Gorethrian! His careful plans were swept aside as he experienced a complete loss of will to blind panic. His fingers had seized the knife and his arm was moving independently, sweeping down towards the accursed being.

Ashurek, by some sixth sense, awoke to find a dagger flashing down towards his throat. Automatically he twisted to one side and the blade stuck quivering in the floor beneath the hay. He grabbed the wrist that had held it.

‘What have we here?’

‘What’s the matter?’ came Estarinel’s voice as he stirred from sleep and turned up the lamp. Warm light flooded the loft, illuminating Ashurek holding the attacker’s arm in a steel grip.

It was the arrogant boy from the farmhouse.

‘Accursed Gorethrian,’ he muttered through clenched teeth, struggling uselessly in Ashurek’s grasp. Ashurek jumped to his feet and twisted the boy’s arm, forcing him to the floor. With one arm he held him, while with the other he reached and tugged the dagger from the floor.

He held the point at the boy’s throat.

‘Ah – a further extension of your hospitality, is this?’ he growled, his eyes green flame. ‘Would you die now, or after you have told us what you are doing?’

‘Ashurek! He’s only a child!’ Estarinel exclaimed. There had been no fear in the boy’s face, only malignant hatred. But the sound of Estarinel’s voice seemed to break the spelI, and he began to breathe quickly, going limp with terror.

Ashurek pulled the youth violently to his feet, then threw him down onto a mound of hay. He handed the dagger back, and the boy took it, humiliated because they all knew he would not dare to use it again.

‘I don’t blame you for trying to kill me,’ said the Gorethrian prince, ‘but you do understand my instinct to preserve my own life?’

The boy, now sulkily silent, sat up and began picking bits of hay from his clothes, trying to regain his dignity. Estarinel and Medrian looked on curiously as Ashurek sat beside him, and asked, ‘Well? What is it you want?’

The young man, realising he was no longer in imminent danger of death, took on some of his arrogance again. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’

‘A common human problem,’ said Ashurek.

‘You are no Belhadrians – coming out of the night, complaining of thirst in this rain, and hiding a Gorethrian among you…’

So, we’re in Belhadra, Ashurek thought. He said, ‘We are only three travellers, and I did not wish to startle you by my presence.’

‘Travellers? A Forluinishman and a Gorethrian travelling together, and through Belhadra? Come now!’

‘It must appear strange, but there’s a simple explanation,’ Estarinel put in. ‘We were stranded on the White Plane, and when we escaped to Earth, the Exit Point happened to leave us near your farm.’

‘I see,’ said the boy, his mind working briskly. ‘That still does not explain who you are or what–’

‘And that is none of your business,’ the Gorethrian said softly. The boy glanced nervously at his dark face, remembering that the Forluinishman had calIed him Ashurek. That was a royal name… the name, in fact, of the Emperor’s notorious brother, who was reputed to be wandering alone across Tearn after his mysterious disappearance.

If I delivered him, Prince Ashurek, to Her – his face heated with excitement at the idea.

‘When I came up here,’ he continued, affecting an arrogant drawl to mask the tremor in his voice, ‘it was not with the intention of killing anyone, Prince Ashurek.’

‘Ah, you know who I am suddenly.’

‘An educated guess… but when I saw you, I let my emotions get the better of me. It was foolish of me and I apologise.’ Ashurek said nothing in reply, only went on staring at him. ‘I, er – I came in fact to help you.’

‘The only help we need from you is somewhere to sleep, and the chance, perhaps,’ broke in Medrian.

‘Presumably you want to continue your journey,’ the boy went on, ‘and you will need provisions, maps, weapons, and so on.’ He waited for agreement, but they only watched him, not reacting. Hate stirred again in him and his foxy eyes hardened. ‘It would be my pleasure to escort you to Beldaega-Hal, the nearest town, there to conduct you to the finest merchants, so that you may travel on swiftly and fully equipped.’

‘And how will you profit from this venture?’ Ashurek enquired.

‘I’m going there anyway, but perhaps it will make up in some degree for my foolishness,’ he replied with what he hoped was impressive coolness.

‘What a touching change of heart.’ Ashurek grinned dangerously.

‘Just let me know,’ the youth said, affecting imperious indifference as he moved towards the hatch. ‘I will be riding out first thing in the morning.’

‘Very well. Now let us rest.’

The young man began to descend the ladder. He felt he had, albeit clumsily, got them in his control, and dared not risk outstaying his welcome. ‘I’ll bid you good night then. Oh – my name is Skord,’ he added as he disappeared from view.

Ashurek closed the hatch. ‘He was spying on us, that’s for sure,’ he said. ‘We may as well ride to the town with him, though.’

‘He tried to kill you,’ said Estarinel.

‘That was unpremeditated, I’m sure. As he said, just a foolish loss of control. Not that I trust the devious wretch.’

‘Why go with him, then?’

‘We need weapons and maps for our journey. Think; how can we now reach the Blue Plane?’

‘Return to Forluin, and ask for help again, I suppose,’ Estarinel sighed.

‘Exactly. So we need to find our way to the river-mouth in Excarith, find a ship, and sail for the open sea. The boy can help us in that; I will see to it. And if he has other plans for us, I’d be interested to know what they are.’

‘Very well,’ said Estarinel, extinguishing the lamp. ‘I suppose you are right, he is probably harmless enough.’

Medrian knew Ashurek was wrong, but she felt cold and could not seem to speak.

The next morning, dawn came pale and misty, falling on a turfed hill crowned by a tangle of farm buildings, with a copse falling away on its western flank. Behind it, fields stretched away for miles to a soft horizon.

Estarinel emerged from the stables and went to the door of the small farmhouse. He knocked. There was a long pause and the grey-haired woman answered, looking distraught.

‘Good lady, excuse me,’ began Estarinel, ‘may I speak with your son?’

The woman looked upset. There were dark circles beneath her watery eyes. ‘Skord? I’ve not seen him since midnight. Ridden out on one of his accursed errands, and his father returned with the sickness of Her anger upon him–’

‘Are you in need of help?’ Estarinel asked in concern.

‘Help? No, no.’ The woman collected herself, pushing back strands of hair from her tired face. ‘Just let me give you this warning: stay no longer in Belhadra, but make due east for the border. To work for Her or against Her is certain ruin. What treachery my husband worked I know not, but her plague is upon him.’

Estarinel was beginning to think the woman was mad. But he looked into her eyes and saw simple fear, not madness. ‘Go,’ she urged. ‘Go before my son returns. He works for Her.’

‘Who is “She”?’

‘Do you not know? Then it is better you are not told.’ She broke off and stared past him down the hill. Estarinel turned and there was the arrogant boy in purple and blue, mounted on a showy chestnut that pranced towards the farmhouse.

‘Good morning!’ called Skord. His mother pushed past Estarinel and ran to meet him.

‘Skord!’ she cried. ‘Your father returned in the night; he is ill!’

The boy looked unsurprised. He jumped off his mount and pushed the reins at Estarinel.

‘Hold the mare,’ he said, and went into the house. Estarinel left the chestnut to graze and followed them into the house, across the living room and through an oak door into a tiny bedroom. There a man lay on a low wooden bed, deathly faced, sweating, with jaundiced eyes. Sores were on his neck and arms.

‘A fever, Skord.’ the woman began, but he interrupted with no emotion in his voice.

‘Mother, you know as well as I that it is Her plague. Do you think I didn’t know of his treachery? Well, now her fair punishment is upon him.’

His mother stared at him as if seeing a blinding truth.

‘You betrayed him to Her! You! His very son!’ she screamed. She staggered back against the wall, weeping.

‘Someone’s son,’ muttered Skord to himself, putting a hand over his forehead. Then he saw Estarinel. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.

‘Perhaps I can help your father. I have some knowledge of herbs.’

Skord laughed without humour. ‘No herbs will touch his affliction. The Dark Regions for him!’ He put his face close to his mother’s ear and whispered, ‘That’s the penalty, eh mother?’

She turned and tugged pathetically at his robes. ‘Skord! Make Her leave him be! Don’t let Her harm us.’ Her desperate weeping wrenched Estarinel’s heart.

For a moment there was a note of genuine regret in Skord’s voice. ‘If only I could…’ He glanced at Estarinel. ‘Saddle your horses. We ride in half an hour’s time.’

‘You can’t leave your parents in this state!’ Estarinel exclaimed. ‘Ye gods, what are you thinking?’

‘It is no business of yours. Mother! Pull yourself together. Find some more riding clothes and prepare us provisions. And don’t try to poison me again; I showed you mercy the first time, but not again.’

The woman stood up and walked wordlessly into the kitchen, scrubbing at her face in a wretched manner that was terrible to see.

‘Come on,’ said Skord to the Forluinishman, following her.

Estarinel bent down to the sick man. ‘What is wrong with you? Who is this “She” they speak of?’

The man groaned and foam drooled from his lips. Estarinel sighed, wishing desperately that he knew what to do. Straightening up, he murmured, ‘Was it misfortune that brought us here, or the Worm itself?’

#

‘It’s unbelievable – the callousness of the boy to leave his mother in a state of hysteria and his father dying,’ Estarinel told Ashurek and Medrian as they readied the horses. ‘She seems to think the father’s illness is Skord’s fault as well. I can’t believe it.’

‘The truth is, everyone outside Forluin is mad,’ said Ashurek, not altogether pleasantly. Estarinel glared at him, genuinely angry. ‘Estarinel, let them be,’ Ashurek said more gently. ‘It’s none of our business; they must sort out their own problems.’

‘How can you say that? They need our help.’

‘There’s nothing we can do! They are doomed – I know the Worm’s work,’ the Gorethrian said. Medrian glanced oddly at him, then busied herself with her horse’s halter. ‘These are but symptoms of the underlying disease.’

‘But–’ Estarinel persisted.

‘We leave this place behind, forget it, and ride with Skord. Don’t argue!' Ashurek said, sharp but good-natured.

Estarinel looked round at Medrian, but she seemed cold again, closed to him. ‘We must go,’ she said shortly.

‘Very well.’ Estarinel took a slow breath. ‘I am forced to trust your judgment. I only hope you are right.’

Morning activity on the farm was growing. A herd of dun cows ambled past to be milked. The voices of farmhands could be heard, with no hint in their cheerful banter that they knew anything was wrong. The door of the farmhouse was open and Estarinel saw, as he led Shaell out, three women entering.

Skord, already mounted on his fine chestnut mare, appeared round the corner of the house and hailed him. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I know that you, for some obscure reason, are worried about my parents. You think I’m irresponsibly leaving them? You need not worry; I’m leaving our good neighbours to look after them. Does this satisfy you?’

The mocking tone in Skord’s voice antagonised Estarinel. ‘You’re a heartless child,’ he replied in a low voice. ‘No doubt your parents will be better off with you gone.’

Skord ignored this remark as his mother came to the doorway. She appeared calm; her face was expressionless but her eyes were red and her mouth sagged.

‘Here; a saddlebag with provisions for four,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Take it and get you gone. Go to Her, then; and if you wish you can tell Her that I condone your father’s treachery. You need not come back here, for you are no son of ours.’

‘No, that’s true,’ Skord said cryptically.

Anger flashed on his face as she turned to Estarinel and said, ‘I tried to warn you, and I am truly sorry for you.’