Tamlyn (22 page)

Tamlyn had heard the steel in Miston's voice, too. He fixed his eyes on me but didn't come any closer.

‘Take his sword,' Miston commanded, and the Felan who Tamlyn had shoved aside only a minute before approached him cautiously.

‘No, Tamlyn,' I gasped, for it was difficult to speak with the tip of the knife jagging my flesh. ‘They can use that sword to kill you.'

He knew it better than I did, yet he handed over the weapon.

The tip of Miston's dagger immediately withdrew from my throat, although his hand still gripped the back of my shirt and the blade remained only an inch away.

My eye followed Tamlyn's sword, which he had crafted so carefully in order to kill his father. The silver at its tip was no danger to Tamlyn, but it was mounted on steel that he had honed himself to a razor's edge. The sword he had made was now in the hands of a mysterious enemy who might yet prove more dangerous than Coyle himself. And that sword could kill him.

M
iston sent Ryall across the cellar to join Tamlyn, and ordered them both to sit on the straw in the corner. They moved to the corner, but defied him by staying on their feet and he didn't press them any further.

I stared at them, trying to make sense of what had happened. In the space of an hour, my despair had turned to hope, but now that hope had been destroyed again in the most painful way. A man I had trusted, a man who had been like a grandfather to me since the day I'd met him, had held a knife to my throat.

And Geran — what was I to make of her? When I'd discovered she was a woman, I'd felt a special bond with her; it wasn't just the men of the world who fought the battles for what was right and good. That same
woman now ignored me, with eyes only for Lucien. She and her companions kept him in the chair using magic, and with every effort he made to free himself they leaned their heads together and whispered more treacheries I could only guess at.

Lucien gave up trying to break free and instead sat back and concentrated on one of the men who stood close by. The man recoiled for a moment, then joined with his companion to stare down their prisoner. Lucien put his hand to his throat and coughed, then shook his head as though he didn't understand what was happening.

‘What are you doing to him?' I demanded.

None of the three Felan responded, or so much as looked my way.

‘Isn't that much clear to you already, Silvermay,' said Miston, who kept the dagger menacingly close to me.

‘If you're in league with Coyle, why have you taken so long to betray us?' I asked.

‘Coyle! Don't be a fool, girl. He's our enemy even more than he is yours.'

It was true that Coyle didn't strike deals; he took what he wanted and shared with no one. I searched for another reason why they had turned on us.

‘You want Lucien for yourselves. You've seen the mosaics, Miston — you want to be the figure with
his face hidden behind the helmet who uses Lucien's powers to reign over the entire kingdom.'

‘Do you really think that of me, Silvermay?' asked Miston sadly, and if he hadn't pressed the tip of his dagger so deeply into my flesh I might have believed he still cared for me. ‘It makes me sick that you even suggest it.'

‘I'm right, though, aren't I? You
do
want Lucien for yourselves. That's the reason you helped us. Geran, too. You needed us to find him, so you could grab him away from Coyle. Well, it didn't work out quite the way you planned, but you got what you wanted in the end.'

Perhaps it was my harsh goading that drew Geran's attention at last. Leaving Lucien to her friends, she crossed the cellar to stand in front of me and held my gaze without a hint of apology.

‘Yes, Silvermay, we needed to find Lucien, and your brave little band was a gift sent by the gods to help us.'

‘Don't invoke the gods as though they are your allies. They've seen how you play your friends for fools.'

To my surprise, Geran lowered her eyes when I said this, as though she did feel shame, after all.

‘It was trickery from the beginning, wasn't it?' I went on. ‘You and Miston have been working together for this since long before we came to Vonne.'

Geran looked up, but at Miston rather than at me. At a nod from him, she made her reply. ‘You're wrong about everything, Silvermay. Miston and I hadn't laid eyes on each other before you turned up in the square outside Coyle's house and made yourself so conspicuous. We are allies now, yes, but only since I came to this house looking for you. It was then we discovered we both have the same aim.'

‘It's not just these two, either,' said Miston's colleague, Lathen, speaking for the first time. ‘All of us in the council of scholars fear the prophecy that was uncovered in the mountains.'

With a brief wave of her arm towards the men who kept Lucien in his seat, Geran said, ‘My companions have been sent from Erebis Felan, like I have, to ward off any dangers before they threaten our homeland. Your little Lucien is more than that, Silvermay, he's the greatest threat imaginable — for Athlane, for Erebis Felan, for every kingdom across the face of the earth. He must die before he grows into the powers foretold by our seers.'

‘No,' I snapped at her. ‘He doesn't have to die. There's another way.'

Across the cellar, Ryall spoke up. ‘Lucien is a Wyrdborn. He's not so easy to get rid of.'

‘We're well aware of Wyrdborn magic,' said Geran, unconcerned. ‘That is why my two friends have come to
join me. A Wyrdborn can be killed only by something he owns, and there is nothing more personal than the magic within him. That is what will end the boy's life: his own will to cause harm.'

She stood aside to let me see Lucien more clearly. There was anger in his face and a childish determination, but there was panic, too, and I could see that his chest had begun to heave as though he found it difficult to breathe.

‘You're turning his own magic back on him,' I said.

Geran didn't deny it. ‘He's too young to understand what is going on. He knows only that the power within him should brush us aside so he can go to you. No doubt that was the way he escaped from Coyle's stronghold. Unfortunately for him, the more he tries to free himself, the closer he will come to death.'

‘You won't stop there though, will you?' said Ryall. ‘You'll kill us, too, in case Coyle gets hold of us and makes us tell him who destroyed his prize.'

‘No,' said Miston, ‘we're not barbarians. Once we've …' He didn't seem able to voice aloud what had to be done. ‘Once the … the threat has passed, we'll get you out of the city as best we can. If you are sensible, you will go back to your family, Silvermay, and you, Ryall, will return to the mountains of Nan Tocha. With the child dead, Coyle will forget you both soon enough.'

‘What about Tamlyn?' I asked. ‘You didn't include him in your plan.'

‘Because there is no place for him,' said Geran, turning to look at Tamlyn where he sat silently in the corner. ‘He is a Wyrdborn, the enemy of my people. His kind are the reason our ancestors left Athlane and the reason spies like me must keep watch. Wyrdborn can't be trusted; they care only for themselves and whatever their whim of the moment may be. Tamlyn might be determined to kill his father now, but who's to say he won't change his mind and join forces with him? We can't take that risk. Tamlyn must die in this cellar along with the boy.'

‘No,' I said again. ‘You can't do this. Miston, tell them it doesn't have to be this way. You say you're not a barbarian — then show it. Tamlyn's done nothing wrong, nothing he deserves to die for. He and Lucien are both as innocent as I am.'

‘And I've told you already, Silvermay,' said Miston, ‘that is not enough to stay the knife. I would have killed you just now, be certain of it. If Tamlyn dares move from that corner, I will drive this knife into your neck and live with the damnation. The blood of the innocent will spill no matter what we do. Better to end it now, before the horror can spread across the entire kingdom.'

‘Stop them, Tamlyn,' I cried. ‘Take back your sword, save Lucien. I don't care what happens to me.'

‘Don't be a fool, Tamlyn,' said Miston, and he brought the tip of his dagger to my throat once more. I would be dead before the first drops of my blood stained the straw.

‘Either you will die or I will,' I called to Tamlyn. ‘But if you're the one who survives, there's a chance for Lucien. We made a pledge to Nerigold,' I reminded him.

‘Take your knife away, Miston,' said Tamlyn sounding resigned to his own death. ‘You have my sword. Use it if you must, but listen to Silvermay. Let her speak for the boy.'

I sensed Miston relax beside me and was relieved when he lowered the blade to where I could see its steel glinting in the light reflected from the stairwell.

‘Maymay,' Lucien called to me. He was becoming more and more distressed. How could I explain to him that his own anger at these men was what was hurting him? For all his powers, he was still only a little boy.

‘Geran, you're not like these others. There is no need to pretend, to behave like a man,' I said.

Both Tamlyn and Ryall stared at me in surprise. ‘What are you saying?' asked Ryall.

‘Only what she already knows,' said Geran. ‘Something that I saw no need to reveal to you.'

She spoke in her own voice and released her hair from the ponytail that had kept it confined. It wasn't as long as mine, but still settled around her face in the style of a young woman. It was to this truth of her womanhood that I spoke.

‘You are like me, Geran. One day you will have children of your own. You will love them like every mother does; you will give your life to protect them. More than that, the sight of any child will always touch your heart. How can you think of taking Lucien's life when all he is is a child?'

‘Don't waste your words, Silvermay. I told you that Felan women can be spies and agents for our country. The price of that privilege is that we set aside such maternal feelings when we take up arms.'

I didn't believe her. ‘You must let me speak for Lucien, at least, and for Tamlyn, too.'

‘No, the time for talk is done,' said Lathen. ‘Hold the knife at the girl's throat again, Miston. The more the boy sees her threatened, the more distressed he becomes the more he chokes himself.'

Miston was reluctant. He looked to Geran and her companions, who conferred in whispers. Then Geran spoke for them.

‘What has to be done will be done, but every condemned person is entitled to an advocate. Let Silvermay speak.'

The cellar became silent. Miston stepped away a little, but not so far that a swift thrust of his blade couldn't finish me in a moment. Tamlyn watched me with a face lined by defeat. He knew what was coming and he would not intervene. His killers were caught up in a strange mission: they were prepared to take life in order to preserve it, even though to me the evil of one action seemed to cancel out the good of another. They would not change their minds, no matter what I said, and that made it easier for me. This was no time to beg for their lives because my pleas would not be granted. They had invited me to speak and what I must offer them was the truth, even if it became the epitaph of two people I loved.

‘A precious thing lies inside us commonfolk,' I began, my eyes singling out Miston and Lathen. ‘It is a gift at our births: our care for other humans like ourselves.' I switched my gaze to Geran and her companions. ‘The Felan are born with the same gift — it is what makes us all humans together.' I raised my right arm to point to Lucien confined to his chair, and with my left found Tamlyn in the half-dark of the corner. ‘These two are Wyrdborn and so they were denied that gift. That is
what we tell ourselves, isn't it? The Wyrdborn have no humanity in their souls. For men like Coyle, I can only agree. But is it true of these two?'

I was surprised that my voice sounded so calm when my body trembled with emotion. I let my arms drop and settled my eyes on Lucien alone. ‘This child is too young still to know right from wrong, yet today he decided that the brutality of his father wasn't for him. He came here instead, for the comfort of my hugs, for games, for laughter. He came seeking love. Does that sound like the Wyrdborn we all despise?'

I turned towards Tamlyn. ‘In the mines, Tamlyn betrayed me and left me for dead. He doesn't deny it, but there has been shame in his face ever since. I know that he regrets it, because that betrayal has hurt what has been growing between us since we first met. Tamlyn uses muscles in his face that other Wyrdborn never do. Those muscles let him smile when happiness bubbles up inside him, and they let him show remorse. Such emotions
do
live inside Tamlyn, and the stronger they grow, the more they weaken the hold his Wyrdborn nature has over his heart. He owes this to Lady Ezeldi, who wanted to free her son from the deadening curse of her kind. You know that better than anyone, Miston — she came to you for help. And, at least in part, she succeeded.'

‘Not enough,' said Geran. ‘He left you to die because of his lust for revenge. The Wyrdborn in him is too strong. He can't be trusted.'

‘Not enough?' I replied quickly, for a new thought had come to me out of her words. ‘You say you cannot trust him, yet you have trusted him, in this very cellar.' I searched out Miston's grim face. ‘You still trust him to defeat the Wyrdborn in him, or why else do you threaten me with that knife?'

Miston glanced at the weapon in his hand and then at me, confusion clouding his eyes. Around the room, I saw the same response.

‘What do you mean?' Geran asked. ‘This talk of trust makes no sense.'

But it did and I had my answer ready. It had been there for them all to see from the beginning.

‘You've used me to make Tamlyn your prisoner. It has worked handsomely for you, because he won't leave that corner as long as you hold a knife at my throat. But what use is a hostage if her life means nothing to the man you want to command? Don't you see! You threaten me because you
know
what lies in his heart, you
know
he won't make you hurt me. If he was the heartless creature you claim he is, then he would care nothing for me. But Tamlyn is not like other Wyrdborn and you proved that today, when you held a knife to my throat.'

I lifted my chin to let them all see the specks of blood on my neck. Beside me, I sensed Miston drop his head in shame. I went on, aware that I had made at least one of them uneasy.

‘What did he do just now when he had to decide between my life and his own? He let you take his sword so that I would be unharmed. He made that sword himself; he knows it can kill him. Is that the action of a man with nothing in his soul? He acted out of love. Tamlyn loves me as much as any man can care for the special person in his life.'