Dog and Dragon-ARC (17 page)

So he made a few changes.

Their mages were not going to enjoy that.

CHAPTER 12

Earl Alois and his men watched from the headland. Of course the water was warmer down here, and it must be taking the Fomoire ice tongue more time to reach here than it would in the colder waters near Dun Tagoll.

That was scant comfort. Well, the ice would spill Fomoire onto the land and those ill-formed giants would fight their way south—if there was anything to fight against—once they’d overwhelmed Dun Tagoll. If they did, which considering history seemed likely.

In the meanwhile they had to be stopped here. Straining his eyes, Earl Alois could only make out the outlines of their banners. His engineers were busy building siege engines, and he would add his art to their strength and accuracy shortly. But he wanted a better view. “I am going up there to have a look, Gwalach,” he said to his second-in-command, pointing at the rock spike above the bay. There was nowhere up on it flat enough for the catapults, or they’d have been building them there.

“Supposed to be a spriggan up there, my liege.”

A few months ago, Alois would have laughed. No one had seen a spriggan—outside their imaginations—for many a year.

The last while…it had been different.

“I’ve a mail shirt and a good steel sword, Gwalach.”

He scrambled up the rocks and was staring at the ice on the sea, at the banners, when someone said, “One standard with the eye. I make it seventeen of the one-eyes under it.”

“You’ve better eyes than I have,” said the earl, still staring. “With any luck we’ll land a rock on them.”

“If the catapult doesn’t break and drop it on you,” said the the other observer with morbid satisfaction. “Mind you, I’d throw a sheep or two. Fomoire haven’t seen fresh mutton or decent fleece for a long time. And they’re loot hungry. They’ll fight each other for it.”

Alois turned to look at just who was telling him how to wage war, and nearly fell off the rock he was sharing with a spriggan. Its skin was the same color as the etched limestone he stood on. He reached for his sword. And it stepped back into a crack and…vanished.

Alois stood staring at the rock for a long time. And then swore. Long and hard.

At himself.

Drawing his sword! That was nearly as stupid as trying to kill the Defender because she stood between him and Medraut.

Since she’d come, the land’s fay had been waking. Scarcely a day passed without some neyf being piskie-led. Other creatures too had been reported—including the spriggans. He should have realized. Worked out the connection. The spriggan hadn’t been there to kill him. It had been watching the Fomoire. Advising on what could be done.

Well, they’d have to drive some sheep up here. Slaughter a few ready for flinging. And drive the rest into the Fomoire horde, when they came ashore. Hopefully without their seventeen evil eyes.

***

Further north, the siege of Dun Tagoll dragged on. Meb was the only one unfortunate enough to be tasting and seeing just what the feasts consisted of. It was curious that no one starved on the food. It was real enough though, just not the rich fare it appeared to be. Meb decided that somehow Aberinn must multiply from some little stock he kept somewhere, rather than making it out of nothing or summonsing it from elsewhere. That had puzzled her at first: if all the blood of the House of Lyon were skilled in magic, well, why then did they not use it? Finn had said it was a poor idea because it distorted the other energies, but firstly she wasn’t too sure what that meant, and secondly, she couldn’t honestly see the castle people caring unless it hurt them. But it seemed that was Aberinn’s price for the magic he guarded the castle with. Other magic was suppressed, only barely possible to the most powerful with great effort. And it seemed their magics were very different to hers, all tied up with long complex rituals and symbols and appeals to Gods. Well, at least they knew what they were doing.

She didn’t. And she really didn’t have anyone she dared ask about it.

Neve was still pale, weak, barely able to swallow gruel, and very inclined to weep whenever Meb was there. She didn’t seem be able to speak anymore. That left Meb with Lady Vivien, as no one else in the bower was even speaking to her. It appeared there had been considerable trouble about precious mirrors being used without their owners’ permission. Mirrors were valued and expensive items in this society.

On the other hand, she’d found that the kitchen servants, the stable hands, and the common men-at-arms all were, to varying degrees, her partisans. They would bow, and give her a smile and a greeting.

Meb also found she was desperate for space. Dreaming space, if nothing else. Space away from the cold fetid breath of the Fomoire host would have been good. Her room felt too…watched. Too small. She took to walking in among the buildings and along the inside of the outer wall. It was a much older wall than the main keep, built of precisely fitted dry stones that had later been plastered over with mortar. It had cracked in places, and, because it was sheltered from the wind and caught the morning sun, the inside of the west wall had some tiny plants growing in those cracks. Periodically they were scrubbed off, except down by the fountain and the rock-bowl. For some reason the neyfs left that area alone, and Meb liked to go and sit there, on the edge of the basin. No one had told her not to, and it seemed that when she was there, they ignored her, and left her in peace. It was the one place the reek of the Fomoire invaders didn’t seem too noticeable. The water was sweet and she’d taken to having a drink there, and dribbling some off her fingertips onto the ferns. Even in the cold Fomoire winds, they’d put out some little curled green shoots.

She had a drink and washed her face. It had been another restless night. She sat and thought about happier times. Before she’d known too much. When she’d had a dog and Finn to follow. And had slept rough and been nearly killed…and had been happy.

At last she decided there was no use moping, and she needed to go and do something. Anything.

She got up. Bent down, had a last drink, washed her face, and walked away, away from the little oasis next to the wall.

She was passing next to the washhouse when an uneven stone made her stumble, and fall headlong into the muck. It saved her life. The arrow would have spitted her otherwise. She sat up and saw it quivering in the wooden washhouse wall. For a second she stayed still. And then she scrambled on hands and knees behind the nearest wall. And another arrow hit that.

Someone was trying to kill her. And it wasn’t one of the crudely fletched big Fomoire arrows either. Those, she’d seen, had long multibarbed points. This was a normal arrow, with the single barb of the Lyonesse arrows.

Meb wondered just what she should do now…besides get out of there. “What’s wrong, Lady Anghared?” Anxious voice, male…it was the elderly steward who had changed her wine from the one Aberinn had bespelled that first night. Was that why she saw and tasted what food really was? She didn’t care. He was help.

“Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling next to her.

“Someone shot at me. Someone tried to kill me.”

“Are you hit?” he asked.

“No. I tripped over a stone. It saved me,” she replied.

“The Fomoire have not managed to get many shots over the wall. Come, my lady. Let me help you…”

“It wasn’t the Fomoire. It was someone in the castle. Look.” Meb pointed at the arrow in the washhouse wall.

Only it wasn’t there anymore. There was just a narrow hole where it had struck.

Having someone try to kill her was bad enough. That had her on her feet and sprinting for the shelter of the main keep, with the elderly steward running behind. She didn’t stop until she had barred herself into her own room.

Panting, she sat on her bed. If magic was that difficult inside the castle—unless one was Aberinn—it could only be the castle mage who had had a hand in trying to kill her.

***

It took her quite some time to settle her nerves. She had to get out of here. She would have to wait until the siege was over, unless…well, she had no idea how to get herself magically anywhere else. And if mere wishing would do it, well she knew where she would have been now…except it would kill Fionn. And she’d rather die herself. She took a deep breath. Stood up. Well, she’d brave the bower. At least there, if anything happened, she had some kind of ally.

Walking down the passage towards it she met that smiling ally.
 

“Good news! I’ve just heard that the Mage Aberinn has nearly enough power for the Changer. We’ll be able to escape the Fomoire, months before anyone could have expected it.”

Several other women came down the passage. Now was no time to tell Vivien that she was going to flee this castle just as soon as the siege was lifted. Instead she made her best effort to smile and said: “I must talk to you later, but first I will go and see poor Neve.”

She made her way down to the sickroom. The news had plainly got there too by the looks on the faces of the injured. She made her way to Neve’s bedside. The poor girl looked, if anything, worse. Meb had heard that others—those who had not died—recovered. The only thing holding her here in this castle was this faithful girl.

Holding her hand, she said. “Neve. Someone tried to kill me. I…”

Neve squeezed her with a clawlike little hand. And then spoke in a little dried-up whisper. It was the first thing she’d said for two weeks. “I didn’t want to do it, m’lady. They said I’d be turned out. Left to starve and be raped.” She sobbed convulsively, wracking her little body. “So I told them. I…hate myself.”

Meb looked at the weeping woman in puzzlement. “But you’ve been here in the infirmary for weeks.”

“I…I told them about the donkey. That you couldn’t ride. So they put you on the killer. I tried to run and warn you, but Methgin, he held me, put his hand across my mouth when I screamed.”

Methgin was one of Prince Medraut’s bodyguards. And some of the comments about the horse now made sense. “I didn’t get killed. The horse liked me, and I liked it. So all their plans came to nothing. Stop worrying about it, and get better.”

“I never told them about the magic. I told them things I thought would make you seem safe. They’d be scared by the magic, and want to kill you. But it didn’t work. They told me I’d have to poison your wine. Prince Medraut sent the order…I couldn’t. So…so I went and looked at the evil eye. You must flee, m’lady. You must go.”

Meb hugged her. “I am not leaving you here, you silly goose. You didn’t have to do this to yourself.”

“I’m dying, m’lady,” said Neve. “You’ve got to go, as soon as you can. As soon as the Changer takes us from the Fomoire.”

“Firstly, you’re not dying. If you were going to die, you’d have been dead within hours. You’ve just been wishing yourself dead and starving yourself to death. That stops right now. I am going to need you to help me get out of this place,” said Meb firmly. “I’ll talk to Vivien…”

“She reports to the mage.”

“What?”

“She’s scared for her place and her children. Besides, her family are old queen’s men. Aberinn is too,” said Neve.

Meb swallowed. Friendship? All she’d had was spies. And Aberinn had to be behind the latest attempt, surely. And then she got a grip on herself. One of those spies had tried to kill herself, rather than go through with murdering her.

She hauled Neve upright, sitting her against the wall. “Let’s get some food into you, dear. You’ll need your strength, because we are going as far as possible from this nasty little nest of vipers.”

“Me?” asked Neve, puzzled.

“Well, unless you’d rather stay here and starve yourself to death, while we could go and take a chance on just starving to death.”

“You…forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, and everything to be grateful to you for,” said Meb, kissing her. “And I probably would have done the same if it had been the other way around. Now, let’s get you some food.”

Neve ate, very little, but she ate. But one-handed, as the one skinny little claw hand held onto Meb. And Meb knew that the mending had started.

Now all she had to do was get the two of them out of here, which was going to be more complicated than just going missing during a hunting ride, which had been her half-formed plan up to now.

It did have one positive effect. Meb was so absorbed in thinking about it that she forgot to be afraid. She decided there was no point in trying to go through the motions with the bower—they knew who she was, and what she was, by now. Instead she went to the stables, something ladies did not do. The expression of the stable hands would have told her that, if she hadn’t known already. “The horse I rode.”

“Yes, Lady Anghared,” said the chief groom, who had hastily swept up to see what she wanted. He had looked very wary before the mare was mentioned. “Leia. Um. a good bloodline.”

“Can I see her?” asked Meb.

“Um. Yes…she’s got an unchancy temper.” The groom looked as if his own entrails might melt out of pure terror.

“She was lovely to ride,” said Meb. “Who was kind enough to suggest her for me?”

“The…the p-p-prince’s groom.”

But you all knew, thought Meb. They’d arrived at the stall. And the mare rolled a liquid eye at her, and whickered softly and pushed her nose at Meb. Meb stroked it instinctively. “I wish I had an apple for you,” she said, putting her cheek against the side of the nose, horsey whiskers tickling her neck.

And of course, she then had one. She just wished, earnestly, that she really understood this and could do it with intent—but that wish was not granted. And it was only right that she took a bite of the apple first. It was real food, not old castle food. The mare thought so too.

The chief groom shook his head in amazement. “They said you were a good rider, lady. Not that you were the Horse Goddess herself.” Obviously she had stepped up several leagues in his esteem. “If you need anything of us, my lady, you just say.”

There was a murmur of assent from around the stable. “Just look after her,” said Meb. She couldn’t ask them for what she’d need. Horses, and a way out of here. But…step by step. “You could show me how you put the tack on properly. I have never learned.”