A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) (3 page)

Estarinel replied, ‘I can’t judge you on hearsay, Ashurek. The H’tebhmellians sent us here to find companions, and since it is you we have met, fate must bind us together. I trust the H’tebhmellians and I trust Eldor. We share an enemy in the Serpent, do we not?’ He sounded more hopeful than confident.

‘Yes,’ agreed Ashurek. ‘That is very true.’

‘What Estarinel says makes perfect sense,’ Eldor put in to reassure the stricken Forluinish. ‘If, Ashurek, you would explain to them what you told me earlier, they might view things in a different light.’

‘I doubt it, Eldor,’ he sighed. ‘I will explain, but only to Estarinel. Not his companions.’ And he reached across the table and clasped hands, unsmilingly, with the Forluinishman.

‘Good,’ said Eldor. ‘And now, my dear, will you introduce yourself?’ He indicated the small, slim woman who so far had not uttered a word. Now she looked up at last. She was young and yet it seemed she had experienced suffering far beyond her years. Her long ebony-coloured hair accentuated the extreme paleness of her face, and there was something in her large dark grey eyes that no one could look into them for long.

‘My Quest is also to destroy the Serpent M’gulfn, and I must seek a way to the Blue Plane,’ she said in a quiet, toneless voice. ‘I am Medrian of Alaak.’

Ashurek knew Alaak only too well. It was a small island belonging to the Gorethrian Empire, and the Alaakians were Gorethria’s bitterest enemies. He looked at her and said sharply, ‘Might we know your reason for joining this Quest?’

‘I have just told you,’ she said in the same flat voice, not meeting his gaze.

‘You’ve told us nothing,’ he said harshly.

‘Please,’ Eldor intervened. ‘There is time enough for the three of you to resolve your differences. Now, your meeting here may have led you to think that the Quest of the Serpent was in some way pre-ordained, but it is not so. There is no such thing as pre-ordination; it is merely that the time for the Quest is now ripe. It has become inevitable. Remember that you share an enemy, not just with each other but with all mankind; even with the world itself.’

‘You make it sound simple, Eldor,’ said Ashurek. ‘There is far more to it.’

‘There is a simple and a complex way of viewing most things,’ Eldor said with a rueful smile. ‘I have discovered the simplest view to be the wisest, in most cases. Begin with that, and it will guide you through the heaviest onslaught of complexities.’

‘I find you ambiguous,’ said the Gorethrian, glaring at him.

‘Whichever way you wish to take me,’ said the sage with a good-humoured shrug of his great shoulders. ‘Now to practical matters. The H’tebhmellian ship should arrive in some twelve hours’ time. I suggest that the three of you now be left alone to become better acquainted. Then you must take as much rest as you can before commencing your journey.’

Refusing to be drawn into any further discussion, Eldor rose and motioned Estarinel’s four friends to follow him from the room. They all looked at Estarinel anxiously as they left, and he continued to stare uneasily at the door after Eldor had shut it behind them. Now the three were alone at the table.

Ashurek stared broodingly across the kitchen. He was still not sure that he had been right to come to the House of Rede. There was the H’tebhmellian ship, it was true… but Eldor had said so little, and he was disconcerted by the two people with whom he was expected to travel. Instinctively he felt he would be stronger alone. Estarinel at least had a genuine motive for wanting to destroy the Serpent; but the Forluinish were a gentle, peaceful people with little knowledge of travel, and none at all of war. No amount of fervour could make up for inexperience or cowardice, he thought. As for Medrian, no one could have more reason for loathing him than an Alaakian. He did not trust her. His only choice was to confront her.

He turned to her and said, ‘How can you, an Alaakian, consider going on a Quest with any Gorethrian, let alone me?’

She looked up, her shadowy eyes meeting his. He resisted an impulse to avoid her gaze. ‘It was a long time ago,’ she said thinly. ‘Eight years; nearer nine.’

‘So time excises patriotism?’ he demanded sharply.

‘Apparently.’ The merest hint of a cold smile touched her face.

Ashurek let out a slow breath.

‘As I said, the Gorethrians are now my enemies also.’ The sardonic note in his voice gave way to regret. ‘I need to be sure that we can ignore enmities between our countries for the duration of the Quest.’

‘Then be assured. I no longer care about Gorethria. I don’t care about anything, except this Quest,’ Medrian said in the same faint, icy tone.

#

Estarinel, meanwhile, witnessed this exchange with increasing foreboding. He did not know what he had expected to find at the House of Rede; certainly not these two cold strangers, who apparently hated each other on sight. He longed for the warm companionship of his friends. He was acutely aware that in some twelve hours’ time he would be truly severed from them, perhaps never to see them again. Had he been rash in agreeing to travel with Ashurek? Perhaps his Forluinish instinct to trust and befriend strangers had betrayed him already. He began to feel less and less fitted for the Quest, more and more uncertain of himself.

‘Listen,’ he began. ‘We three are now committed to undertake a journey together. We must learn something of each other, understand each other’s motives so that…’ he trailed off as he saw the dangerous narrowing of Ashurek’s eyes and the even bleaker cold of Medrian’s.

‘Very well,’ said the Gorethrian. ‘You are right, of course. I said I would explain myself to you. But tell us of Forluin first; then I will relate my story, and then it will be Medrian’s turn.’

So Estarinel repeated the sad story in full to the two, who had previously heard of his country only as a distant and fabulous green land, of no importance in world affairs. And as he spoke he saw not the dark and the pale faces before him, or the recesses of Eldor’s kitchen, but the land he had recently left and perhaps lost forever.

Forluin, Maerna and Ohn were lands of legend, half-forgotten by the rest of the world. Few foreigners ever went there, and those who did tended not to return. Forluin was indeed a place of beauty and peace, and so remote from any other land that even the voracious Gorethrians had never made the long sea-voyage to conquer it. Tearnians regarded it with awe and longing, whereas those of the Gorethrian Empire dismissed it as a country of cowardly farmers and peasants, barely worth invasion. Yet there was more, which none would admit: that Forluin and its neighbours were somehow protected by enchantment. Their very names seemed to induce a dream-like apathy that washed away any idea of making war upon the lands, or even of visiting them. And this, it was whispered, was because of their enigmatic connection with the Blue Plane H’tebhmella.

The Forluinish themselves rarely ventured from their country, except for the occasional horse-trading expedition to An’raaga, the nearest tip of the Gorethrian continent, or visits to the more hospitable parts of Tearn. Those that met the Forluinish spoke warmly of their beauty and gentleness of character; too warmly, the listeners might think. So it was that these gentle people were regarded with a mixture of jealousy, awe, fear and scorn by the rest of the world. Of these opinions the Forluinish knew next to nothing.

So Estarinel, as he recounted the dreadful day of the Serpent, was innocent of what preconceived ideas Medrian and Ashurek might have of him. He was thinking only of the long green curve of the hill on which he had sat, watching the distant river that led to the sea, on the morning of that day.

Before him, miles of green fell away; fields, woods, hills and vales, until at last there was a thin streak of silver that was the river. Behind him, the hill sloped gently into a wildflower meadow where horses grazed. The meadow was fringed by trees in the fresh, green raiment of summer. A few yards away grazed his own horse, Shaell, a heavy, powerful stallion, whose coat looked grey in some lights and rich brown in others; but in the early sunlight that flooded everything, he shone cobweb silver.

A young man with long, brown hair, also dressed in a white linen shirt and blue breeches, was walking up the hill to where Estarinel sat.

‘Morning, E’rinel. We thought we’d have breakfast and then ride home.’ The previous day, they and two companions had brought a herd of twenty young horses to this farm, half a day’s ride west of their own lands. ‘What are you looking at?’

‘The river. Don’t you know there’s a ship due from An’raaga any day?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Falin, ‘and if you can see it from here you must have the eyes of an eagle!’

‘Just a vivid imagination. I had half a mind to ride down and wait for it. We asked them to bring us a Gorethrian war-horse, if they could.’

‘That will be popular,’ said Falin. He lay down on his stomach, propping his head in his hands, and commented on the beauty of the view.

Perhaps once a year a Forluinish crew would make the long voyage to An’raaga, a small country semi-independent of Gorethria, and exchange some of their indigenous heavy-horses for other breeds. Many disapproved of this practice, saying that even such a tenuous connection with Gorethria was dangerous. Others were afraid that their great, gentle silver-brown destriers would be used in battle in the Empire. But the trading went on. Aside from the farming of sheep and crops necessary for survival, horse-breeding was their passion.

‘We could eat breakfast up here,’ Falin suggested. ‘Do you think they really will bring a Gorethrian horse? It’ll be the first one.’

‘Yes, I was wondering if there might be some prejudice against them, as if they were not innocent of the actions of their masters.’ Estarinel grinned. ‘Mother would like a pair, she’s got ideas of breeding them.’ He rolled up his sleeves as the sun grew warmer. ‘I dreamed we had one last night, but it was blue with a golden mane and tail!’ They both laughed. Estarinel closed his eyes, trying to remember the dream. ‘There was a woman…’

‘Dreaming about them! That sounds serious! What was she like?’

‘Not Forluinish… what race would have icy pale faces and jet black hair?’

‘No idea. You could look it up in a book, along with where blue horses come from.’ Falin suddenly stopped teasing and said, ‘I don’t trust your dreams – remember you dreamed that your mother bred a black destrier foal, and that spring, one was born?'

‘To be honest, the dream last night was more a nightmare and I wish I hadn’t thought of it. Too much of our good host Taer’nel’s wine.’

Falin grinned, shaking his head. He plucked aimlessly at a few blades of grass and after a minute said quietly ‘When’s your sister going to agree to marry me?’

Estarinel looked round at him. ‘Which one?’ he said.

‘Oh, very funny. The one who wants to gallivant off to Ohn to learn book-binding. Arlena, remember her?’

‘I really think you’d better ask her, not me,’ Estarinel said, laughing.

‘Yes, but – sometimes I can’t be sure how she really feels. I thought perhaps she might confide in you…’

‘If you want the truth…’ he paused and Falin began to look anxious. ‘She’s more fond of you than you know. She loves you, but hides it. She won’t admit she’s afraid you’ll find someone else while she’s away.’

‘I wouldn’t, but she might,’ Falin groaned. ‘If only I could go with her!’

‘Why don’t you? If you neither of you ever says anything, you’ve only yourselves to blame.’ Estarinel grinned. ‘Falin, ask her. She’d like nothing better, I know.’

Falin’s eyes brightened. ‘If only my parents can spare me on the farm for a few months.’

‘That can be arranged. I can always help them out.’

Delighted, Falin thanked his friend profusely. ‘I still can’t see the attraction of book-binding to someone who spends most of her time careering about on horseback,’ he added with a wry smile.

‘Oh, Arlena’s always loved books. She has plans for a library in the village. She says she’s sure to receive loose manuscripts, or ancient books falling out of their covers – so all good librarians must know how to bind.’

‘If I go with her, I suppose I’ll learn as well,’ Falin mused. ‘But once we’re home, I think I’ll stick to farming… and horse-breeding for you, eh?’

‘It seems to be what I’m best at,’ Estarinel agreed.

‘Do you think you’ll continue your mother’s tradition of experimenting with other breeds?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Estarinel said, looking across at his fine stallion, Shaell. ‘Forest ponies and Gorethrian horses are all very well… but I’ll always like the heavies best of all.’

‘You’ll need someone to help you,’ said Falin pointedly.

‘What’s this – a hint that I should be handfasted as well?’

‘You and Lilithea seem so close.’ Falin smiled. ‘I only wondered…’

‘No, no. We’ve been like that since childhood – like brother and sister, really.’

‘Oh, sure of that, are you?’ Falin began, then abruptly thought better of what he was about to say. If Estarinel knew that Lilithea saw him as rather more than a brother – he didn’t want to be responsible for the shattering of her hopes. ‘Here comes breakfast,’ he said, pointing to three figures approaching them up the hill. Bright hair flowing, lithe figures all energy.

Estarinel laughed. ‘Good. By the way, about your trip with Arlena – while you’re there you might bring us one of those bay Forest ponies the Ohnians have. Mother needs a good, sound mare.’

‘Of course,’ Falin answered cheerfully. ‘What else are friends for?’

Estarinel remembered every detail of the morning, the last normal morning there had been. Simple, benign plans to keep the wheel of life turning. He could not have conceived that Arlena would never go to Ohn to learn a craft, or that she and Falin would never marry; or that his other sister Lothwyn, the little dark one, would never teach her weaving skills to the village children, that his mother would never raise another crop of foals, nor his father lambs.

The two women who made up their party – Falin’s sister, Sinmiel, and Lilithea, who was Estarinel’s neighbour – and the farmer, Taer'nel, who had traded some fifty sheep for the horses, joined them on the flower-laden hill. There they sat as the sun climbed, eating a leisurely breakfast as they appreciated the beauty of the land, and discussed the good and bad points of the horses they had brought.

About mid-day the party of four riders bade farewell to the farmer and wound their way home through the bewitching fields of Forluin, herding sheep before them. By late afternoon they came in sight of the Estarinel’s family farm. Set in a bowl-shaped green valley, the farmhouse was built of ancient stone, so encrusted with climbing plants it appeared to have erupted from the earth on which it stood. Vegetable gardens surrounded it, and then meadows in which mares grazed, tails flicking lazily.

He saw his father – a dark-haired man who looked not much older than Estarinel himself – look up from his cabbage hoeing and wave to them. He returned the greeting. As they rode up to the house, his mother Filmorwen came out to meet them.

She was lovely, her fair hair tied loosely in a long skein, amber eyes full of warm delight at seeing them. She wore a rough muslin shirt over brown riding breeches – Forluinish clothes being usually more practical than decorative.

‘You can leave the sheep in the home paddock for now, my dears,’ she said. ‘Can you all stay for supper?’

‘It’s very kind, Filmorwen,’ smiled Falin’s fair sister, Sinmiel, ‘but we promised father we’d take our share of the sheep home as soon as we got back.’

‘Oh, doesn’t he trust you?’ Filmorwen laughed.

‘No. He’s a very wise man,’ said Falin: ‘But look, why don’t you all come to our house, say an hour before sunset? Arlena and Lothwyn too?’

They agreed to this, the sheep were shared out, and Falin and Sinmiel set off along the long wooded path to their own farm.

‘I must go home too,’ said Lilithea. ‘Gellyn from the village is bringing me some seedlings and I’m afraid I’ll miss him.’

‘I’ll walk up with you,’ said Estarinel. Lilithea lived in a tiny cottage on the rim of the valley, where she had a vast herb garden. She was a quiet and sweet-natured girl, small, pretty and slim with an abundance of long, rich bronze-brown hair. She had lived there all her life. Four years ago her parents had moved to the south of Forluin but she had stayed on alone, having become the village’s most valued healer. She had a secretive quality about her that Estarinel thought was almost mystical, as if no one could ever really say they knew her well. Still, as he had said to Falin, she was like a sister to him.

As they walked up the valley – both on foot, she leading her horse – Estarinel's sister, Arlena, came cantering down towards them on her brown cob.

Seeing them, she called out a greeting. She jumped off her mount, her bright silver hair flying, and embraced them both. ‘The strangest thing happened today – I was in the village when a messenger dove came from the north. It said they’ve seen something in the sky. Some
thing
.’

The other two looked blankly at her. ‘What does that mean?’ Estarinel asked.

‘I don’t know. I didn’t see the message myself, there were too many others trying to read it. It sounded like some huge sea-bird or eagle. Why that was worth sending a message, I can’t understand!’ She shook her head, laughing.

‘Danger to lambs?’ said Lilithea.

Arlena shrugged. ‘They’re too big to eat by now.’

They reached the cottage at the top of the valley and got their breath back. As they stood there, Lilithea looked to the north, shielding her eyes from the bright sky.

‘You won’t believe this,’ she said, ‘but I can see something too.’ The others followed her gaze. A little above the horizon was a grey speck, seeming barely to move. They were on high ground with a clear view for miles.

‘It’s coming this way,’ said Estarinel, ‘but it must be miles away – and if we can see it from this distance, it must be huge.’

‘How fascinating,’ exclaimed Arlena. ‘Oh, it’s disappeared – has it landed?’

‘I have a Book of Creatures,’ said Lilithea. ‘Shall I fetch it, so we can identify it?’ While she fetched the book, Estarinel and his sister continued to watch with all the patient curiosity of those observing an unusual wild bird. Presently it reappeared, closer now. Grey in silhouette, winged and elongated, it undulated strangely and made a faint whirring noise as it flew.

‘I can’t see any bird of such great size in here.’ Lilithea had put the heavy tome on the ground and was flicking through the pages, crouching down and pushing back her heavy hair as she did so. ‘Nor any flying reptile. Some of these creatures only exist in the author’s imagination, I think.’

She turned to a page on which a hideous dragon was portrayed, undoubtedly stylised and inaccurate, but horribly realistic for all that. It was headed, ‘Ye Serpente Mugulf’. Lilithea left the book open at that page and stood up to look.

Out of nowhere, a flock of little blue-grey dunnocks – the sort that hopped around Estarinel’s father’s feet looking for insects as he dug – flew overhead, shrieking alarm calls. More followed, then other birds, calling loudly. All around them a barely perceptible rustling began – the panic of small, wild animals.

‘Oh!’ Arlena gasped. ‘What’s the matter with them?’