A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) (27 page)

‘All right, boy,’ the Gorethrian said, almost kindly. ‘Get up. We won’t harm you.’

Skord, after a pause, slowly began to pull himself to his feet until he was leaning against the wall, shoulders stooped and head hanging.

‘You’re in a sorry state.’ The boy made no cutting replies. He had been cast out by Arlenmia and left to the mercy of a demon – a demon that despised him as useless. Still he stayed in the house like a whipped dog trying to regain favour with its mistress. He had nowhere to go, was terrified to leave, and Arlenrnia was still the only one who had the power to redeem him.

Estarinel felt sick with himself when he saw Skord, for however much he disapproved of the boy’s past behaviour, he would never have attempted the hypnotism had he known it would bring him to this wretched state.

‘You tricked us into this place,’ Ashurek was saying. ‘Now you can help us escape.’ Skord shook his head miserably and muttered something. ‘Speak up!’

‘She’s put – put the barrier round the city. She’ll summon them – from the mirrors,’ he mumbled brokenly.

‘Listen to me,’ said Estarinel. ‘You can tell us two things. Do you know where Arlenmia keeps her supply of mircam?’ Skord looked confused. ‘The drugs she takes – her powders and herbs?’

‘Oh – yes.’

‘And do you know where our horses are?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you take us there? The herbs first.’

Skord lowered his head apathetically. He seemed in a daze. ‘I can’t.’

‘You’re not afraid of turning traitor to Arlenmia? She’s released you from service, after all,’ said Ashurek.

‘No.’

‘Yes; you know it. Now, come on,’ Ashurek urged, beginning to guide the boy gently along the corridor. For a moment Skord hesitated, the merest hint of suspicion and hatred entering his face. Then it was gone, and he was shuffling ahead of them with his head bowed.

#

Gulla paused, holding a glass of wine mixed with mircam.

‘My Lady, do you think you should take another dose so soon?’

‘I must,’ Arlenmia answered, sitting now before a different mirror. ‘I don’t feel well, and I must have the energy to summon all my forces. It is time to bind our three guests.’

As she spoke, the looking glass revealed what the three were doing at that moment.

‘By the Serpent’s eyes–’ she hissed. ‘Damn them!’ She leapt up, knocking the wineglass out of the maid’s hand, and flew from the room.

#

Skord led them to a long, light gallery with doors at each end and a large full-length gold-framed mirror in the centre of one long wall. Here he stopped, sketching signs and strokes across the mirror with one finger, ‘To bring it to this plane,’ he murmured. Absorbed in his task, he took on some of the bearing of the arrogant young messenger again. Presently he pushed the edge of the mirror-frame and it slid sideways, revealing a small room stocked with all kinds of herbs. This was where she concocted her various potions.

The three entered. Light poured down from a round aperture above. There was Brownblade growing in troughs of water, resembling mint but with long, bronze-coloured leaves; tied in dry bunches; beaten to a whitish powder. Estarinel pulled off his cloak and they swiftly bundled up all the Brownblade and phials of mircam they could find.

As they left the room and slid the mirror back across, Ashurek drew his sword on impulse and smashed the glass with the hilt. As the ringing shatter died away, they turned to see Medrian staring with horror at one of the doors. She seized Skord’s arm.

‘Take me to the horses,’ she said and dragged him at a run to the other door, disappearing just as Arlenmia entered.

She stared at the Forluinishman and the Gorethrian. Her presence was cold, overpowering.

‘Give that to me,’ she commanded, pointing to Estarinel’s bundled cloak. He took a step back and then, to his amazement, she attacked him. With great strength she pulled him violently to the floor, her face livid. Even as he fell, he threw the bundle to Ashurek, who caught it and made for the door.

Arlenmia was tremendously strong. Her skin was marble-cold and her nails sank into his arm, drawing blood. Again he thought of the cold green coils of a snake.

Seeing Ashurek escaping with her precious herb, she struggled to rise, but Estarinel held her down. He’d noticed a great brass key in the door.

‘Lock us in!’ he shouted after Ashurek.

Arlenmia fought free. By the time she ran to the door, however, Ashurek had indeed locked it. She raced the length of the gallery to the other door to find that it was also now locked.

‘You have broken the mirror!’ she hissed at Estarinel. ‘I am no sorceress, I can only work through an unbroken mirror! You have trapped me. I congratulate you, it was beautifully done.’ Her face was so full of fury that she seemed likely to tear him apart barehanded. With a visible effort she regained her composure and bit back any more heated words. She paced the gallery, her whole frame so tense that she looked like a tomb effigy brought to life. Her shimmering blue-green dress was the exact colour of her hair.

‘I wish… I wish,’ she said, pushing at the shards of glass with a silk-slippered foot, ‘that I had guessed you have the ability to control the mirror. I should have known, from the ease with which you mesmerised Skord. We have both been foolish in our way, it would seem.’ He stood watching her as she walked slowly towards him. Her large, liquid eyes were shining with suppressed frustration. ‘Estarinel, did you listen to nothing I told you? You began to listen, oh you began… Now you look at me as if I were not even human. But I am. I don’t give my affection easily, it’s true, but I loved Silvren. I could have loved you. You could have had Forluin whole and perfect forever, lovelier than you can imagine. But in resisting me you have condemned your land.’ She came close to him and put her hands on his shoulders. Her touch made him shudder. ‘Yes, I could have loved you. You could have used your gifts to help me. But I won’t let anything stand between myself and my dream – not anything!’

‘That’s obvious. I’ve seen how you treat people you claim to love. Why can’t you see the Serpent for the evil it is?’ Estarinel exclaimed, raising his hands to hold her wrists. Her look of exasperation made her appear at once more human and more beautiful.

‘Did I not explain to you that what seems “evil” on a petty human scale is but a dispassionate act of cleansing on a cosmic one?’

‘Yes, you did. And to me that dispassion of great forces is an even greater evil. Do you think the Serpent even cares that you exist? Your vision is false! What happened to Forluin is real – and it is evil.’

She stepped backwards as if he had struck her, her hands falling from his shoulders. A look of wretchedness came to her eyes, and he thought for a moment that what he said had reached her.

‘I’ve given you every chance. But I’ve been too honest with you. I should have told you what you wanted to hear, instead of the truth,’ she stated.

He stared at her, incredulous at these words. There was no convincing her that she was wrong. She seemed to realise at the same moment as he did that it was futile to continue the argument. All her passion drained away and she turned and wandered listlessly the length of the gallery.

When she turned towards him again her face was very pale and her graceful hands were shaking slightly. He saw that she was beginning to feel the lack of mircam already.

‘So now you are going to stand there and watch me die?’ The touch of humour in Arlenmia’s voice more chilling than outright malice. ‘Can you do it? You have the instincts of a healer. I don’t believe you can even bear to watch me become ill.’

She half-smiled through her discomfort when she saw she’d hit upon the exact truth. Estarinel turned away, could not bear to look at her. He wished that he had Ashurek’s cooI nerve.

‘Arlenmia, let us go!’ he implored. ‘You’d have to reduce us to mindless puppets before ever we’d work for you, and then what use would we be?’

‘Perhaps you’re right. It has been a fair fight,’ she said softly. ‘Go and ask your friends to unlock the door.’

He hesitated. Then he said, ‘No. Not yet.’

#

‘How long can she manage without her drug?’ Medrian asked Skord as they crossed a large, fountain-filled square.

‘Two – two hours or three,’ he muttered.

‘What then?’

Skord shrugged. ‘She might die, I suppose.’

‘If you hate her so, why didn’t you try to deprive her of her herbs before?'

‘I never thought to… No, it would have been impossible. And if she died…’ he lifted spiritless eyes to Medrian’s face, ‘the powers in her mirrors would be unleashed. They’d destroy the Glass City and the connections with the three Planes would be broken.’

‘How do you know?’

‘She told me,’ he said simply.

Skord seemed to have been in such a state of fear that his mind had cut off, leaving him apathetic, witless, and easily manipulated. Medrian was silent with the thought that if Arlenmia died, they would never reach H’tebhmella.

The horses were in an airy, marble-floored stable on the far side of the square. They had obviously been well looked after, though there were no grooms about. They saddled the beasts and started back towards the Lady’s house, Medrian leading Vixata and her own black animal, Skord with Shaell.

As they walked, a knot of darkness formed in the air before them and from it a figure materialised. It was tall, naked and silver, the face broad and malevolently beautiful. Its red mouth spread in a smile as it looked at Skord. A demon, summoned once and in possession of a human, could appear whenever it pleased. So Siregh-Ma had come to torment the youth.

Skord uttered a strangled whimper and dropped to his knees, edging backwards. The brown stallion reared and shied several yards away. Vixata went into a frenzy of remembered fear and dragged Medrian in circles. Luckily her own beast, although she had let it go, stood quietly.

Skord was sobbing convulsively, paralysed with fright. But the figure had gone, as quickly as it had appeared.

Medrian regained control of Vixata and picked up the reins of the other two horses. ‘It’s all right, Skord,’ she said. ‘It’s gone, it’s gone. Get up.’ But she had to lift his crumpled body herself and heft him over Shaell’s saddle. This last fright had so robbed him of reason that he couldn’t move. Riding her black horse, leading the other two, Medrian made for the house.

‘It’s gone,’ she repeated.

Yet Skord was mumbling faintly, ‘It never goes. It’s always there…’ and Medrian’s face became cold as death, as she was reminded yet again of something she was forever struggling to forget.

#

‘So… you can watch me dying, after all?’ Arlenmia hissed. She was standing rigid as if she might fall if she moved. Her skin was opalescent, almost transparent, and her eyes were glassy with pain. Estarinel could see that her discomfort was not feigned, and was increasing by the minute. It was torment to watch her, and only by a painful effort of will could he refrain from hammering on the door for Ashurek to open it. However, to do that before Arlenmia was weak enough not to make an escape would be to betray his companions.

That knowledge did not make it any easier to witness Arlenmia’s agony, her pallid face now moist with sweat and her hands trembling convulsively. Groaning, he sat down on a high-backed chair and put his head in his hands.

‘I’m very sad to see you suffering as much as I,’ Arlenmia continued, her voice hoarse with pain. ‘Your concern moves me deeply. I only hope you can judge the precise moment at which you must open the door. But I fear you won’t find that easy; I may die very suddenly, and then it will be too late for you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You should have thought more carefully before depriving me of mircam. When I die, Estarinel, your Quest will be lost. You stand in the City of Glass, which maintains the Entrance Points to the Planes. The powers with which I have enmeshed this city will destroy it and you will never reach the Blue Plane – no one will ever reach it again. Do you understand?’

He looked at her, horrified. ‘You’re trying to trick me.’

‘I could be; do you want to take that risk? Naturally I do not want to die, EstarineI. So I am trying to explain how foolish you would be to let me. Don’t wait too long!’ Her voice was becoming fainter and more strained. She seemed very near to collapse, but she was right in saying it would be impossible to judge the moment to open the door. He stood up, vacillating between the door and Arlenmia. Then he approached her, determined to see just how weak she was.

At once her hands caught his arms like two steel bands and her eyes locked with his. ‘Now you are going to go out and bring me some mircam. I’ll tell you what to say to Ashurek.’ Her eyes were mesmeric, worse than the mirror. He could not fight. ‘Listen to me…’

#

Medrian approached the gallery with trepidation, but sighed with relief when she saw Ashurek waiting outside the locked door. Beside him were two figures, a dark-haired youth slumped unconscious, and Arlenmia’s maid, very much awake but sitting tied up and gagged. When Medrian let go of Skord’s arm he slid to the floor next to them, covering his head with his hands.

‘I locked Arlenmia in the gallery,’ the Gorethrian explained. ‘Unfortunately Estarinel’s in there too. I only hope she’s done him no harm. As for those two–’ he waved his hand at the servants, ‘I had to deal with them before they called for more help, or Arlenmia realised they were here.’ Gulla’s eyes rolled malevolently at him as he spoke. ‘What happened to the lad?’