Silvermay (7 page)

That bow had been his most prized possession and he was giving it to me. I kissed him and followed the others to the high road. There, my father took the sword from his belt and passed it into Tamlyn's hands. ‘Take this, it's yours.'

‘No, not mine,' said Tamlyn and he wouldn't even reach out for the scabbard.

Father insisted. ‘A bow isn't much use at close quarters.'

I could see Tamlyn wanted the sword but something about it held him back. After a moment, he said, ‘I'm honoured to carry your sword, Ossin. One day I will return it to you. The same goes for Silvermay. Until then, I'll take good care of them both.'

There was nothing more to say and so, three weeks after they had led their horse into Haywode, Tamlyn and Nerigold finally departed; and I went with them, carrying their baby in my arms.

W
e were barely out of sight of the village when Nerigold spoke up brightly from the horse's back. ‘We don't have to call you by that ugly name any more.'

Tamlyn turned and walked backwards for a moment to answer. ‘I've spent three weeks wishing I'd invented a better one. But we have to keep it for a while yet. We can't let my real name slip free.'

He winked at me as he said this but that didn't stop me wondering. Why hide his name and leave Nerigold's unchanged?

We passed through Whittlefinch, a hamlet barely longer than its name, and put another mile behind us before Lucien announced he was hungry. Tamlyn helped Nerigold down from the horse and settled her in the shade of an oak tree where she took the bawling bundle from my arms.

‘Silvermay,' Tamlyn called, motioning with his hand to draw me away from Nerigold and continuing on another dozen paces until he was staring into the trees. ‘You told me once how you'd been hunting with your father. Did he take you into these woods to the north?'

‘Yes, many times,' I answered. ‘Once we camped overnight and continued further the next day. After that, the ground rises steadily and not much game ventures up the slopes.'

‘There are tracks through the woods, then; tracks you could find your way along?'

‘Yes,' I said again. It wasn't hard to guess why he was asking. ‘I could lead us for two days' journey, if that's what you want.'

‘I've been counting on it,' he said and then, dropping his head a little, he went on more sheepishly than I'd ever heard him speak. ‘I must admit, it's why I didn't argue more strongly that you stay behind.'

‘You're taking Nerigold north, then?'

‘To Nan Tocha. That's another reason you make such a good guide for us. You know a little of the mountains.'

‘As long as you don't ask me to go down a mine.'

I didn't know whether I should be grateful for his honesty or disappointed that he hadn't let me come for some other reason, one that best went without a name. I distracted myself by thinking of the distant mountains
I'd visited with my mother years ago. What refuge would Tamlyn and Nerigold find there, especially with winter not far away? Nan Tocha could get very cold.

Nerigold needed to rest after Lucien was finished with her, but by mid-afternoon we were well into the trees, with Silvermay Hawker leading the way as confidently as I could and proud that I was able to help in such an important way. Mother was right when she'd said I needed the skills of a boy and this meant knowing my way around the woods, as well. I felt a twinge of guilt that I hadn't always been a willing pupil.

I had a chance to test at least one of my boyish skills the following day. We'd camped by a stream overnight and made good progress through the morning. While Nerigold rested after Lucien's noonday feed, I saw something move among the trees a hundred paces away. My heart jumped. Had they caught us already?

‘A deer,' Tamlyn whispered.

My heart sank back from the base of my throat and my eyes focused more keenly on the movement. I spotted the deer, half hidden among the narrow birch trunks. ‘It's upwind. Hasn't seen us yet.'

Every morsel of food was precious. The longer we could preserve what we'd brought with us from Haywode, the further we could go without looking for fresh supplies. Moving cautiously, I unhooked the bow
from the horse's flank, took a single arrow from the quiver and crept towards the little deer.

Tamlyn followed, which doubled the chance that we'd be detected. Deer have the sharpest ears in the forest. How many times had my father told me that? I turned and shook my head, hoping Tamlyn would take the hint, but he came on after me undeterred.

The deer was grazing among the trees, pausing briefly to chew at a lush tussock of grass, but moving on before I could find a clear line for the arrow. Three times I had the bowstring drawn back to my cheek, only to see the target shift before I could send the deadly arrow on its way.

My frustration escaped in a sigh that made the deer's ears twitch. I'd brought only one arrow because I would get only one chance. If I missed or a poor shot saw the arrow glance off its hide, the skittish thing would be off into the woods like a bolt of lightning.

I was waiting patiently for another chance when the bow was plucked from my hands. What was Tamlyn doing? I didn't dare say a word out loud in case I alerted the prey. To my dismay, he fitted the arrow into place and sighted as I had done. There was no gap through the trees from where he was standing, but, before I could stop him, he released the arrow. It managed to miss the bark and overhanging leaves and for that I was grateful,
but he hadn't aimed high enough and I could only watch as the arrow fell short and disappeared.

The twang of bowstring was enough to frighten the deer. It was gone before I could blink.

‘What did you do that for?' I said. ‘A bit more patience and I had him.'

Tamlyn offered no apology. Without so much as a word he went off to retrieve the wasted arrow.

‘Not much use now!' I shouted after him. ‘That arrow should be stuck in the side of tonight's dinner.'

The woods echoed with my anger. It was a sensation I liked and I found myself following behind him, more fury spilling from my reckless mouth.

He had found the arrow and bent low to pick it up off the ground. When I came up behind him, he turned and I gasped. Skewered on the shaft of the arrow was a startled-looking rabbit, its eyes still open as they'd been when the arrow passed through its tiny heart.

‘You weren't aiming at the deer at all,' I said, trying to make sense of what I'd seen.

‘No, it was more than we needed,' he agreed as though he had planned the appearance of both the deer and the rabbit just to make his point. ‘We'd end up leaving most of the carcass rotting here in the woods as a signpost. The rabbit will suit us better and we can bury the bones.'

‘But to kill a rabbit at that distance. And you struck its heart,' I said.

The scene repeated itself in my mind. I saw again the easy way he held the bow, the practised drawback of the string.

‘You've been trained by skilled archers.' My words sounded like an accusation. They were in a way. Back in Haywode, he'd let me boast of my skill. Oh, and hadn't I gone on about how good I was. The words came gushing out of me now, mortified and foolish. ‘You let me boast about how good I was, and all the time you … you knew you could do better and you didn't say a thing!'

He stayed silent yet couldn't keep the hint of a smirk from creasing his face.

‘I hate you,' I snapped, and, on impulse, lunged towards him, pushing at his shoulder.

He let the force of my hand twist his body but didn't take a step backwards. The smirk became a smile. He knew I wasn't serious, and he knew my lunge had been as playful as my claim to hate him.

‘Three in five is very good. Your father must be a fine teacher,' he said, teasing me mercilessly. Then he added, ‘I'm sorry, Silvermay. The less you learned about me, the safer you'd stay.'

An apology at last, sincere and freely offered. I basked in its warmth and wished I could push at his
shoulder again. But I knew it would be too much. Once was understandable, considering how he'd tricked me, but a second time would be something else.

‘Actually, my best is three out of five,' I said. ‘Usually, it's two.'

He laughed out loud, a new first for him, and, as a final comic insult, handed me the rabbit to carry back through the birch trees.

‘Save the arrow,' he said more seriously. ‘You may need it.'

 

We returned to Nerigold, helped her onto the horse and, with the rabbit tied to the saddle behind her, set off again with me leading the way. As the light began to fade, so did my memory of the tracks I'd travelled with my father.

‘Yes, I can see how the ground's beginning to rise,' said Tamlyn when I told him. ‘I guess we'll have to blaze our own path from here.'

Our own path
. Did he include me in those words? I hadn't thought of turning back for a moment, and as we climbed steadily tomorrow and into the mountains of Nan Tocha after that, Nerigold and little Smiler would need me more than ever. I wasn't a guide now. I didn't feel like a nurse, either. I was a fugitive, as they were, and happy to be one if it meant spending my days like these last two.

We roasted the rabbit over a fire and set about devouring every shred of its flesh. Between mouthfuls, I told Nerigold of the hunt and had her laughing at Tamlyn's tricks.

‘Be careful of him, Silvermay,' she warned in a mocking tone, while Tamlyn sat there enjoying our attention. ‘That pretty face of his makes people trust him before they really know him.'

‘It's true, I'm afraid,' he said, with a devilish wink.

He could say what he liked, and so could Nerigold, but I'd been fooled once and I wouldn't be again. I didn't believe a word either of them said and let the look on my face show it.

Nerigold went to check on her son, asleep on the other side of the fire. My hands were greasy from the rabbit so I dug a rag out from the pocket of my dress to wipe them clean. When I was done, Tamlyn took the rag from me.

‘You have a smear on your chin, as well,' he said and, before I quite knew what was happening, his right hand was holding my jaw still and his left was dabbing with the rag at the corner of my mouth and beneath my bottom lip.

I could have turned away. I could have taken the cloth from his hand and finished the job myself. But I didn't.

‘That's better. All gone now,' he said, and his face lit with a brief grin that melted the heart clean out of my chest.

It was over in moments, and his eyes had barely met mine since it was my mouth and chin that needed his attention. But the imprint of his fingers on my jaw lingered long after he had joined Nerigold and the baby.

I watched them together. For weeks I'd observed them secretly like this, searching for accidental touches, for the fleeting opportunities when one could remind the other of the affection they couldn't display openly. And in all those days, I hadn't seen any.

Now, the touches of affection I'd looked for had finally appeared, but not between Tamlyn and Nerigold. They'd passed between Tamlyn and me.

Near Haywode

T
here had been five riders in the party when they'd left the coast, but only three were halted now in the middle of the road, blocking the way. It would be a brave traveller who asked them to move aside.

One of the three was having trouble with a skittish horse and his cursing alone would have been a warning of sorts. The man to his left scowled from above a shaggy beard, although a stranger's eye was more likely to focus on his shaven head. The third held the reins in his right hand only for the simple reason there were no fingers on his left to grip with.

A fourth rider could be seen skirting the woodland
further along the road. He sat upright in his saddle, a sullen look spoiling a handsome face. His aloof manner suggested he was not part of the group, but he was dusted with the same film of pale brown grit from days on the road.

‘How much longer do we keep up this wild-goose chase?' said the shaven-headed man to no one in particular.

It was the man on the unruly horse who answered. ‘Has there ever been an easier way to earn a sack of gold? Find a young mother and steal away her baby. You won't even have to draw your sword,' he said contemptuously.

The other man grunted. ‘What does Coyle want with the brat, anyway?'

‘Do you care, as long as you're paid?' answered the third man. He grinned, revealing gums that lacked as many teeth as his hand lacked fingers.

‘We dare not cross Coyle now we've taken on this task,' warned Queasel, still battling his horse. ‘He pays well for deeds properly done, but he's cruel to those who fail him. He'd think it a great joke to hack off the rest of your fingers and watch how you feed yourself.'

The fingerless man went pale beneath his weathered skin. ‘Aye, he would, too,' he muttered.

‘We were too soft on those villagers back there,' said Shaven-Head. ‘That girl was with them for three weeks.
Surely they knew where she was headed. We should have put a knife to a few throats and seen what they had to say then.'

Queasel gestured towards the man who paced his horse back and forth among the trees. ‘Our Wyrdborn friend sensed there was no more to tell,' he said. ‘To dally longer in that village would have been a waste of time.'

Before any more complaints could fester into words, the thudding of hooves echoed along the road. The men didn't draw their swords but they didn't hail the approaching rider, either.

‘He's lucky to have one of Coyle's horses,' said Shaven-Head to Queasel. ‘I wish you'd sent me to Vonne with your report.'

‘If he's coming at that speed, then he has news from the next village,' said the fingerless man.

‘Well, have they been seen?' called Queasel when the rider was close enough.

The new arrival was panting heavily as he pulled up amongst them. Through gasps of air, he managed to say, ‘No, there's been no family, no woman, no baby, along the road for days.'

‘I thought as much,' said Queasel as the rider who'd been scouting the edge of the woods rejoined them.

‘I've sensed something,' he said. ‘A horse entered the woods here, I'm sure of it, and there were at least two
people walking alongside it. There'll be woodcutters' paths, and tracks made by villagers when they go hunting.'

It was clear he expected no one to doubt him. None did. He turned his horse back to where he'd been scouting, as though he didn't care whether the others followed him.

They did.

Queasel urged his fractious mount forward, muttering, ‘Wyrdborn powers chill my spine, but if it helps us find this woman and her little brat I don't care how unholy the magic.'

 

Two days had passed since I'd gone hunting a deer only to come back with a rabbit and the warm touch of Tamlyn's chest on my palm. We'd spent those two days steadily climbing, not so steeply that the horse buffeted Nerigold too roughly in the saddle, but enough to have me puffing every now and then, especially with Lucien to carry. It didn't seem to matter whether I put him over my shoulder or carried him in my arms, no position was comfortable for long.

We had more to worry about than the rising ground, however. Nerigold was becoming weaker, and by mid-afternoon couldn't sit upright in the saddle for a minute longer.

‘We have to stop,' I insisted when I saw Tamlyn looking at the track ahead. ‘Do you want her to fall out of the saddle again?'

‘I'm sorry. I should show more concern. It's just that …'

‘You're worried they'll catch us,' I said. ‘Whoever these people are you think are chasing you.'

‘Oh, they're chasing us, Silvermay. Don't doubt it. We'll stay ahead of them as long as we keep going.'

‘Not today, though,' I said, and it surprised me how much I sounded like my mother.

Nerigold was asleep as soon as her body lay full length on the ground. I covered her with a blanket, painfully aware of what a slim shape she made under the wool.

‘Look, she's shivering in her sleep,' I said. ‘The strength she built up under Birdie's care is disappearing more each day. If she gets any thinner …' I didn't want to say it out loud. Instead, my fear showed itself in a single pair of tears I couldn't quite hold back.

Tamlyn watched me silently. No, more than that, he watched me
intently
, as though he had never seen such a thing before and found it intriguing.

‘What?' I said slapping the tears away quickly.

‘You're upset for Nerigold. Because you can't bear to think of what will happen if she grows weaker,' he said.

I nodded, wondering what was going on inside his head. ‘Of course,' I said. ‘Sometimes, a couple of tears help me bear the sorrow.'

‘I'm sorry, Silvermay. You said it yourself: my family are harsh people — that was the word you used. My father especially, but I've never seen tears in my mother's eyes, either. You show me ways to feel things that I never expected to feel.'

I was confused. Was he talking about Nerigold? But surely he felt even more for her than I did. I looked down at her lying so deeply asleep. My mind flew back to that day in the woods when I'd seen him kill the hawk so callously. He had shown no remorse, yet he was a gentle man, I was sure of it.

Tamlyn seemed to read my thoughts. ‘That morning, when the hawk came to me … it was a strange moment for me. I had to kill it — and no, I still can't tell you why — but when you called out and I realised you'd seen me do it, when I saw the horror in your face and heard such anger in your voice, that's when I felt regret for what I'd done.' He spoke as though he had never felt regret before in his whole life.

‘What a strange man you are,' I said, and this time I took hold of his forearm as he'd touched mine that night outside my home.

‘I wish I could tell you more,' he said.

‘You've told me more than you think already. More than you've ever said to anyone, I'll bet.'

He held my gaze solemnly until I let go of his arm. There was more I could have said: that I felt honoured to be the one he spoke to of such things, possibly for the first time and with an intimacy that I'd never shared with anyone, not Birdie, not Hespa. I was more in love with him than ever after this brief glimpse of a vulnerability I had never imagined. I was certain he'd never let anyone see it before, and he might never show it again to anyone, not even me.