Fallowblade (59 page)

The wind veered. It began to blow hard from the north. High in the upper atmosphere miniscule ice crystals were borne along on an air stream, in ribbons so fine as to be almost invisible. The crystals passed southwards across Narngalis; over the foothills of the Northern Ramparts, the Harrowgate Fells, the town of Paper Mill, and the Wuthering Moors, until they reached King’s Winterbourne, where they descended, melted to become airborne droplets, and tamely mingled with the other atmospheric humidity.

One speck of moisture drifted through a cranny in a house called The Laurels. It was inhaled by a weathermage, and temporarily became part of her substance. Later it vaporised from her dewy skin and floated away to resume its innocent, ancient, elemental journey.

Asr
ă
thiel had not seen William for weeks, yet she was unconcerned about his absence. She knew he was away attending to important matters of state, and for her part, she was busy with her own tasks. Avalloc was staying at The Laurels, helping her train three prentices who were lodging there also. In addition her weathermaster skills were much in demand, for Autumn, the fruitful season, now stirred up storms aplenty.

Days were becoming shorter. Early on misty Ninember mornings the hedgerows of Narngalis would be silver-netted with the dew-spangled webs of orb-spiders. The first frosts froze the last of the butterflies and other winged insects. Wood pigeons pillaged the countryside in large flocks, feasting in fields of clover, gorging on the wild bounty of grass seeds, hedgerow berries and acorns. Along the margins of meadows the last lingering blossoms mingled with the bronze and gold coinage of fallen leaves; speedwell and wild pansy, mayweed and white deadnettle. The brilliant red domes of fly agaric toadstools studded woodland carpets.

On the final morning of Ninember Asr
ă
thiel had strolled with her grandfather through a beech wood just beyond the outskirts of King’s Winterbourne. Both wore their robes of weathermaster grey; they walked like two shadows side by side; one with hair like pourings of alabaster, the other with torrents of ebony, flowing from beneath embroidered caps. Early sunlight was shining through the foliage. Amongst the dark stems of the trees floated great drifts and bowers and spangled clouds of colour; points and splashes of rich bronze and cinnabar, poignant green, fabulous gold, shimmering in sun and air, fair as some enchanted realm.

‘Of all seasons,’ said Asr
ă
thiel, gazing up at the overhanging boughs, ‘I love Autumn best.’ But saying this she was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of sadness, for the beauties of the season, being ephemeral, would soon pass away, and reminded her of the transient nature of mortal lives.
To be immortal amongst mortals is to be doomed to sorrow
, she thought.
If I am always to lose those whom I love, fain would I love no more.

A flock of swallows winged slowly overhead like drifts of dark leaves, navigating southwards.

‘Tomorrow,’ said Avalloc, ‘will be the first day of Winter. Already, townsfolk and villagers are making ready for the year’s end celebrations.’

‘The first of Tenember?’ exclaimed Asr
ă
thiel. ‘So soon? The weeks have flown!’ She pondered. ‘It strikes me that William’s absence has been much prolonged.’

‘Where has he gone?’

‘I know not, for he would not say. But after my return from Minith Ariannath he was surpassingly attentive, writing to me almost every day and visiting frequently. The letters have ceased. It is unlike him to be away for so long, and to send no word. It seems odd. I wonder . . . ’ She broke off, pondering.

‘What are your thoughts, my dear?’

‘I wonder whether he has gone looking for the Inglefire. He spoke to me of such a mission but I declared I was against it.’

‘Then if he has gone to find it, doubtless he deliberately refrained from telling you so, to avoid distressing you. Will asked me for permission to wed you, you know.’

‘I guessed as much,’ the damsel admitted.

‘If you are anxious about him, petition Warwick for enlightenment. I am certain he will set your mind at ease.’

‘I will do that.’

That evening Asr
ă
thiel took her grandfather’s advice. Together they paid a visit to Wyverstone Castle, where the sovereign frankly informed her of the whereabouts of his son. ‘He has taken an expedition to seek the goblin prison and the Inglefire. His intention is to gather the gold that, according to legend, human slaves threw into the flames.’

‘I am dismayed that he would undertake such madness!’ Asr
ă
thiel exclaimed on hearing this. ‘The goblins may well have left guards. The fire itself is reputed to be dangerous—that is, if they ever find it in that labyrinth, with tricksy wights rolling boulders hither and thither to change the configuration of the tunnels. My liege, have you heard from William of late? Has he sent any message at all?’

‘Not since the expedition passed beneath the mountains,’ Warwick answered gravely. ‘I confess, I am troubled. William’s party had homing birds in their care, concealed from the watch, but so far, we have received no news.’

‘I, too, am troubled,’ said Asr
ă
thiel. ‘Did he take that knave Aonarán as guide?’

‘That he did.’

‘The fellow is not to be trusted, besides which the Northern Ramparts are riddled with the perils of chasm and slippery slope, not to mention being haunted by unseelie wights. The Companions of the Cup are brave fighters, yet there are some things in that region which cannot be combated by warrior’s sword, or charms of iron and rowan. I ask your permission to depart straightaway by sky-balloon to seek the expedition, that I may render them my assistance if they are in some straits.’

‘Granted,’ the king said at once. ‘In hindsight I wish I had sent a weathermage with them, but William would insist on keeping it all secret. I hope I do not live to regret that omission.’ Earnestly he added, ‘Go with good speed, Asr
ă
thiel.’

O
n the morning of the very day that William’s expedition discovered the Inglefire, Asr
ă
thiel’s sky-balloon
Icemoon
arose from King’s Winterbourne. With her she took two prentices and the sword
Rehollys
—a wand of glimmering gaslight—its sheath buckled at her side. The brí-summoned wind was swift and strong. In a single day her aircraft made the journey, passing above the Wuthering Moors, over the remote township of Paper Mill and across the Harrowgate Fells to the foothills of the northern ranges. The landscape rushing past underneath the basket was still brushed by the fading flames of Autumn. Sere and shrivelling, the last leaves clung to black boughs as Winter began to set in. Rivers and lakes gleamed like new-minted pewter.

The aeronauts reached the northern ranges late in the afternoon, as the sun was beginning to sink and lines of birds were flying home to roost, calling to one another like echoes from a distance. Magnolia and fuchsia clouds straggled in elongated rows across the west. The mountains were partially submerged in a flood of mist, only their rugged peaks showing, snow-crowned and floating rootless on the pearly haze. Overhead, the clear skies deepened to indigo.

Asr
ă
thiel murmured words of power, sketching invisible signs with her hands. Her copilot tugged judiciously on a cord, allowing heated air to escape from the envelope. The weather-mage and her crew spied the cluster of carts, swathed in evening shadows, whose location indicated the cave mouth through which William’s party had entered under ground. As the balloon was commencing its descent towards the carts Asr
ă
thiel strained her eyes to see if she could pick out the shape of the fantastic bridge and the gates of Sølvetårn, further to the right. All at once she spied a band of horsemen clustered on the heights and, unexpectedly, her heart began to hammer. The sight of riders near the bridge reminded her of goblins, but it was impossible that the Argenkindë could still be in the mountains. All the same, she was puzzled as to how men on horseback could have escaped the attentions of the Kobold Watch, who were ever ferocious to persecute and prosecute mortals who made burdens of themselves upon living creatures. It was particularly unusual that riders should have ventured so far north, to the very doorstep of the kobolds’ erstwhile abode, placing themselves in extreme danger. With a whispered word she changed the aerostat’s course and headed for Sølvetårn’s gates.

As the balloon drifted down she suddenly clutched at the edge of the basket, giddy with hope and dread. The riders were not human at all. They were indeed goblin knights, mounted upon daemon horses. Eagerly she scanned their faces as they came into view. She recognised Zaillian and Zwist, and several other foremost lieutenants of the Argenkindë, but the one she sought was not amongst them. Nevertheless, she could hardly restrain her excitement.

‘My lady, those horsemen are of the unseelie horde,’ one of the prentices pointed out nervously. ‘Some still linger here! Perhaps all! If goblins are abroad, what mischief might they have worked upon Prince William?’

As the truth of his words sank in Asr
ă
thiel uttered an exclamation of horror.

‘We must be careful to choose a landing spot far away from them,’ said her crew member, ‘and take all precautions.’

‘No,’ Asr
ă
thiel said decisively. ‘I wish to speak with them. Fear not. As I am with you, they will not harm you.’

Alarm was plainly written upon the faces of the prentices, yet they respected Asr
ă
thiel too well to remonstrate with her, and said nothing more about their misgivings. With all haste the weathermage set the balloon down upon a rocky shelf. As the floor of the basket knocked against stone the goblin riders swiftly approached, sombre and splendid, arcane and hazardous, their black cloaks fluttering like wings on the wind. The hooves of the svelte trollhästen clapped against bare basalt.

The demeanour of the eldritch knights was grim, in contrast to their usual light-heartedness. On second glance Asr
ă
thiel noted some even more profound change in their manner since last she had seen them, but she was unable to define it. When she vaulted from the basket the goblin chivalry gathered around. Lieutenant Zwist called out urgently, and without preamble, ‘Come quickly, Lady Maelstronnar. Ride behind me.’

The prentices huddled close to the sun-crystal cradled in the centre of the basket. Above their heads the still-swollen envelope swayed and rippled, flapping in the evening breeze and reflecting the shifting colours of twilight. Gently the aerostat bobbed up and down, hovering close to the ground. The riders paid it no heed, their attention being bent upon Asr
ă
thiel. Clearly they were impatient.

‘What trouble is afoot?’ she asked. ‘Where is Prince William?’

‘No time for gossip. Be quick!’

‘I will come with you,’ said the damsel, ‘but my companions must wait for me here, and first you must swear not to harm them.’

‘On behalf of this company,’ Fourth Lieutenant Zande said peremptorily, ‘I swear it.’

To the prentices Asr
ă
thiel said, ‘If I fail to return by morning, depart without me, for I shall be beyond your aid,’ and they nodded mute acknowledgement, their faces drawn and their eyes glazed with terror.