Shadowfell (26 page)

‘That part is true. My orders were to find you by whatever means I could, to keep you safe once I had you, and to bring you back to court. The first and the second I have done, or had done until you took it into your head to bolt. The third I will not do. I am an Enforcer, yes. I am a king’s man. But my true loyalty lies elsewhere.’

I found I was holding my breath.

‘Your unusual friends offered you a haven just now, a place where you would be protected for the rest of your life. I wish I could offer the same. I wish I could promise the kind of existence folk lived in these parts in earlier years, where the worst of their concerns was getting the harvest in or dealing with a malady among the sheep. These are testing times. They are times when each of us is called upon to show his true mettle, to find a . . . a spark within.’

I sat quiet, hearing the strength in his voice, and the pain.

‘I ask you to trust me, even though I cannot tell you everything you want to know,’ Flint said. ‘I swear to you that at some time in the future, a time when all is changed, you and I will speak openly together. But for now, I will not endanger you by saying too much. Neryn, there is a place in the mountains not so very far from here. It houses a . . . a force, a movement for change. Because of the exceptionally high risk of conducting such an enterprise, the location and other details are known to very few. The movement is in its infancy. It is small, but its goals are grand. You know its name, I think.’

I held my breath, waiting for more.

Flint glanced around the cavern, into the dark corners. His voice dropped to a murmur. ‘I believe you intend to travel to a place called Shadowfell. Should you reach that place, you might find yourself among friends, folk of like mind to your own. They call themselves Regan’s Rebels. The name started as a jest. Back then, they could count their number on the fingers of two hands.’

He paused, his gaze meeting mine over the fire. ‘There are more now, and among them are folk with special abilities, folk somewhat similar to you, Neryn. You are reluctant to tell me what your talent is. But I saw you use it, and I believe there is none at Shadowfell with an ability to match it. You disappeared before our eyes, halfway up the valley. Vanished as if by magic. And thank the gods you did so, for I would have been hard-pressed to explain to my companions on that day why you should not be immediately apprehended and conveyed to Summerfort. When you and I were travelling together, there often seemed to be other footsteps walking along beside us, other voices whispering around our campfire at night. And there was tonight. The only time I have heard of a man or woman being so close to . . . whatever they are . . . is in ancient tales, and those tales tell of wonders.’

I stared into the fire. He knew everything. Had known all the time. Almost everything.

‘If you were a leader,’ Flint said, his whisper blending with the crackle and hiss of the little fire, ‘and your adversary was at a distance, and his army was immeasurably greater than yours in both numbers and influence, what might be your most useful weapon?’

It took me a moment to realise he was not talking about me, but about himself.

‘A spy,’ I said. It was what I had been thinking for some time, of course. But, looking at Flint’s white face and shadowed eyes, it struck me anew how perilous such a life must be. He had said he was the king’s most trusted man. Keldec wielded immense power; he was feared throughout Alban. Should the king discover there was an enemy at his right hand, his vengeance would be terrible indeed. One wrong word, one wrong look and Flint would be facing all I had most feared in my years of flight and concealment. That set a chill deep in my bones. ‘A spy at the heart of his stronghold,’ I added, ‘someone who could win his trust, who could act and speak like a friend and supporter, someone who could convince everyone that he was loyal. And go on convincing them, no matter what happened.’

He gave a curt nod. Such was the sadness in his eyes, I turned my gaze back to the fire, for I could not bear to look at him.

‘You’re not lying, are you? You weren’t before and you aren’t now.’

Something in my voice must have told him how I felt, for he got up, moved around the fire and sat down next to me. He put his two hands around one of mine. His touch was warm and strong. ‘I’m not lying. If I have not told you the whole truth, it is for your own safety and mine. I know you understand that.’

We sat there awhile in silence. My thoughts were too big to put into words; a confusion of feelings welled up in me. In the end I said, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I, too,’ said Flint. ‘Sorry that I cannot offer you a safer world. Sorry we must still keep a rein on our words, even here in this strange hiding place. Sorry your destination is still some distance away, for if I could spirit you there right now, I surely would.’

‘It’s close enough. And I’m stronger than I was. I can get there.’

‘Not on your own. It’s a testing walk.’ He hesitated. ‘Were you planning to go on in the company of these friends of yours?’

‘They can’t,’ I said. ‘You didn’t hear that part of the discussion. There’s a sort of territorial dispute, a boundary they aren’t allowed to cross.’

‘I will take you,’ Flint said. ‘There should be time, provided we leave at first light.’ A pause. He still had his hands wrapped around mine. ‘There are dangers on the way, Neryn. Perils I cannot explain to you, save to assure you they are real and that I can protect you. Please let me do this for you.’

‘Not for me, surely. For Alban.’

‘For both,’ Flint said.

CHAPTER TWELVE

W
E MOVED ON AT
dawn, Flint and I together. The Good Folk did not come out to bid me farewell, and not only, I suspected, because they feared my
companion’s iron weaponry. Now that I had committed the utter folly of deciding to trust him after all, they would doubtless wash their hands of me.

I’d have liked more answers from him. In particular, I wanted to know about Regan’s Rebels, who they were, how they operated, whether he maintained contact with them somehow, what their plans were for the near-impossible task of challenging Keldec. And I wanted to know where that party of Enforcers was now, and why they had come along this valley as if tracking me. Flint had implied that his purpose in meeting with them had nothing to do with me. What was his purpose, then? Why had he led them this way? Concern for my safety did not seem quite enough to explain his grim mood, his haunted look.

I did not ask about that, or about any of it. Flint was right, the more a person knew, the more someone could find out from them, by threats, intimidation or torture. I was not safely at Shadowfell yet. And he, with his double existence, was surely never safe.

When we had travelled together before, up over the pass, I had been feverish and confused; I remembered little of it save the endless, jolting motion of the horse. Now, walking along by Flint’s side, following him through narrow mountain ways, holding his hand as we traversed fields of sliding stones, relying on his support as we balanced over a makeshift bridge high above a mountain stream, I was reminded of how patient he was and how tireless. He chose our way with skill, shaping it to my current ability. He found safe places to rest. He found spots to make a fire and be unseen. When rain fell, he found cover. At nightfall, he made camp with the efficiency of a skilled woodsman. I was weary beyond belief, my body longing for sleep. Flint bid me wrap myself in his blanket and sit down while he gathered wood, kindled a fire, fetched water and prepared a meal. He would not let me help. ‘I’ll do it, Neryn,’ was all he said. ‘You need your strength for tomorrow.’

So we went on, through a sequence of tomorrows. Each day saw us further from Corbie’s Wood and nearer, I hoped, to the sanctuary of Shadowfell. We left Lone Tarn behind us. Walking past the expanse of grey water, the great rocks like crouching beasts, I could not find a single happy memory, though I had often come here with Farral in the old days. The place was empty, bleak, beyond even sorrow. I headed on, walking in Flint’s footsteps.

We must now be in the Watch of the North, according to what the Good Folk had told me. I would not see Daw and Gentle, Silver and Blackthorn again on this journey, but I kept my eyes and ears open in case others of their kind might shadow our steps in this new Watch. The iron Flint carried had not been sufficient to keep the Good Folk away completely; they had come close to the hut despite his presence. But now there were no pattering footsteps, no half-glimpsed stirrings in the undergrowth. There was no whisper of wing beats or hooting of something that was not quite an owl. There was nothing at all. Nothing save, one night, a sound from the valley below us like a group of horses moving fast. My heart turned over in dread. Hearing the drumming hooves, I was back in the defile, pressed against the stones with the Enforcers closing in. Flint’s hand fastened around mine, and at the same time he laid a finger across his lips, warning me to be silent. We sat immobile by our little fire, which he had made in a hollow between rocks, and after a while the sound passed on, and all was quiet.

‘They are closer than I expected,’ Flint murmured, his warm hand still clasped around my cold one. ‘I must . . .’ He broke off to sit in brooding silence.

No need to ask who
they
were. A shiver ran through me. Flint got up, releasing my hand, took off his cloak and put it around my shoulders over the one I already wore. But the chill I felt had nothing to do with the season; it was bone deep. It was a mistake to imagine, even for a moment, that we were safe.

‘Neryn, I may need to leave you at some point. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the next day. I’ll make sure I’m not gone overnight.’

I did not trust myself to speak, though my heart sank at the prospect of being on my own again.

‘Don’t look like that. You will be safe, I promise. I’ll find you a place where they cannot reach you. Believe me, I wouldn’t do this if there were any choice. You heard them; you heard how close they passed. I did not anticipate – the timing is –’ He fell silent once more.

I tried to interpret this and could not. Was he saying he’d expected the troop to come along the valley, but earlier? Later? ‘Why are they –’ My voice came out as a nervous squeak. I swallowed, took a breath and tried again. ‘Are you sure they’re not looking for me? Why are they so close? It’s nearly winter; the Cull should be long over.’

Flint was gazing into the flames of our little campfire, his face a carving in stone. The silence drew out.

‘Flint?’

He shook his head. ‘With me you are as safe as you can be. At least until we reach our destination. Once there, you will no longer need me.’ There was a bitter twist to his mouth, and I wondered what was going through his mind.

I thought of various things to say and discarded each in its turn. If he planned to leave me on my own again, there was nothing I could do about it. Here in the Watch of the North I could not count on Good Folk to emerge and keep me company, to walk on with me and shield me from harm. I’d have to do as Flint bid me and wait for him in some bolthole among the rocks. If he did not return this time, I really would have to go on alone. When would we catch a glimpse of Giant’s Fist? How many days to Shadowfell?

‘I’m sorry,’ Flint murmured, poking the fire with a stick. The embers glowed, casting a rose-gold light on his blunt features, but his eyes were full of shadows. ‘What I do . . . the path I tread . . . it brings some choices that test me hard.’ His lips tightened as if to hold back more words. I guessed he had already said more than he’d intended.

It seemed to me an Enforcer would not have many choices. His job was to carry out the king’s will with perfect obedience. I could hardly say this. I could not ask Flint how it felt to do that work, the burnings, the beatings, the summary executions. I knew he was not a bad man. He could be gentle, kind, thoughtful. I had heard him speak with stirring sincerity of the fight for freedom. But if he was accepted as an Enforcer – more than that, as the king’s most trusted man – his conscience must be heavy with the deeds he was required to perform. I wondered how long he had been maintaining his double life.

‘Can you tell me a little more about the rebels?’ I asked. ‘Who is Regan?’ I had given some thought to the way Flint had told me of Shadowfell. Without quite saying it, he had implied that he himself had been to that place. Perhaps he had been involved with Regan’s Rebels from early days.
They could count their number on the fingers of two hands.

‘A leader.’ He spoke under his breath, as if even here, to say this aloud might be perilous.

‘Young? Old?’

‘Young in years. Old in experience. His name is a password to . . . certain opportunities. On the wrong lips, it could be a betrayal. This is perilous ground, Neryn. Best that we speak no more of it.’

A silence. Flickering light played around us as Flint stirred the fire. We had eaten well, for Flint had snared a rabbit, which we’d jointed and boiled with wild greens.

‘Where did you grow up?’ I asked him, remembering suddenly that vivid dream of the solitary child on the seashore. ‘Here in the mountains, or somewhere else?’

In all things, Flint was measured. He took his time in replying, though I could see the question had surprised him.

‘Why would you ask such a thing?’

‘I had a dream about you, when you were a child. I recognised you by your eyes, and by your stillness. You were on the seashore. All alone.’

Flint grimaced. ‘And I dreamed of you, Neryn. You and your brother, skipping stones across the water at Lone Tarn. You looked content. There was sunshine on the hills that day.’

‘That is . . . very strange. That each of us would dream of what we could not possibly know.’

He made no comment.

‘That has never happened to me before,’ I said. ‘Not even with my brother.’

‘The place you saw,’ Flint murmured. His arms were draped across his drawn-up knees, his big, capable hands loosely clasped together. He gazed into the flames. ‘It’s in the western isles. That was the place of my . . . learning. I don’t speak of my family. There’s nobody left.’