Banished (17 page)

Scotia – Rook’s Keep

Ioric Brightwing flung himself down in his favourite wing-backed chair with a groan. He was tired to the bone. Everything that could ache, ached, even things he didn’t
know could. The room was small and cosy, a fire blazing in the brazier, in complete contrast to the bastard weather raging across Scotia. Being warm and dry was a relief and he relished it for a
few moments before turning to the task at hand. He reached for his writing set and began the painstaking coded missive to his father in the Frontier.

Thorn was still missing and Blackhart Manor was utterly destroyed, with no vestige left of it in either world. The trackers could find no trace of the young prince or any survivors. There were
signs of a dragon attack, with the energies of both worlds pulled out of kilter. The weather was worsening in the Frontier, and Alba lay sweltering in unseasonably warm weather. Even the Sun
King’s Court had registered their discomfort before leaving the realm.

Ioric struggled with the wording. King Aelfric had to be told that his son was feared lost, but the person to do that should have been Ioric’s father, the Rook Master. Even so, Ioric felt
the responsibility to tell Thorn’s father weigh heavily on his shoulders. He had known Thorn all his life. They’d grown up together, been schooled together and learned to fight together
against the bigger Sidhe boys in the palace. Just because they were high born hadn’t meant they were exempt from being bullied.

Ioric heard a movement behind him and gestured with his hand without looking up.

‘Bethany. Can you ask Iko to prepare one of the ravens to send to my father?’

‘I have never yet been mistaken for a girl,’ an unexpected male voice said, startling the young Sidhe warrior.

Ioric looked up and relaxed back into his chair, smiling in welcome. ‘Lord Istvan, what a surprise. No one told me you’d come to visit the Rookery. Is everything well with the king?
I am just sending my father a message to let him know . . .’

‘Be calm, boy. The king is well, or is as well as a man can be with no kingdom to rule.’ Istvan pulled a chair closer and sat down opposite the young noble. ‘I have come to ask
you a favour. It is a matter of some delicacy and I know no one else I can entrust this task to.’

Ioric flushed with pleasure. ‘You flatter me, Istvan, but my men and I are stretched thin as it is, searching for Prince Thorn.’

‘Ah, that is unfortunate.’ Istvan pursed his lips and leaned forward towards Ioric. ‘I really would have liked to keep things amenable between us. I must ask you to take a look
at this.’ Istvan fanned his fingers open, revealing a small powder compact. He flicked it open and showed Ioric the small mirror.

‘I don’t understand,’ Ioric said in confusion, looking from Istvan to the compact. ‘Is it a trick?’

‘All will be clear. Look into the mirror.’

A frown drew Ioric’s brows together and he bent over the mirror. ‘I see nothing except my face, Istvan.’

‘Watch.’

Istvan drew his hand across the mirror and it momentarily went dark before clearing. Ioric sucked in his breath in shock when the image came into focus. His hand went to the curved blade at his
side and he lurched at his guest. Istvan raised a hand and a band of black shadow unfurled lightning fast, punching Ioric in the chest, pressing him back into his chair.

‘What kind of coward are you?’ Ioric ground out, his face flushed in anger. ‘That is my mother and sisters. Let them go immediately.’

‘I’ll let them go if you do what I ask you.’ Istvan stood, forcing Ioric to look up at him. ‘Stop struggling, boy. You won’t get free.’

The black band of darkness tightened across Ioric’s arms and chest, pinning him to his chair. No matter how much he writhed, he couldn’t get free. He sat back, breathing heavily.

‘You will pay for this,’ Ioric promised. ‘Know that I will come for you . . .’

Istvan shook his head, smiling unpleasantly. ‘I have heard so many threats these past weeks, my boy, one more does not frighten me. Now, are you ready to listen or do I tell my men to have
some sport with your mother and sisters? They tell me the sluagh is hungry.’

‘Yes, damn your maggot-filled heart, I will listen.’

‘Outstanding. I’ve always liked you, Ioric. You seem such a sensible chap.’

I pass Thorn his sword, take out mine and hastily buckle it on before following him. We pass the little girl as we head into the tunnel leading into the riverbank. I realize
that by now things like this should feel normal, but I can’t help it. It still gives me a thrill but mostly it freaks me out. I am on my way to meet a bunch of trolls living under Tower
Bridge and my companion is a Fae prince. Not even during the wildest fever I had as a small child did I dream anything as insane.

‘You may call me Amy,’ the girl says as she moves past us down the narrow tunnel. ‘I’ll look after anything you may need. Please, follow me.’

I’m not sure how long we walk for, but Amy leads us deeper and deeper along the tunnel, seeming to choose random passages leading off the main tunnel. I notice entrances marked
‘Elizabeth I’ and ‘Dickens’ and ‘Edinburgh 1885’ and a few more with either names or dates on them. I wonder if these relate to the urban myths of London that
Megan’s told me about: hidden pockets of time that you can fall into if you take the wrong set of stairs or lonely road when travelling around the city. It seems likely, bizarrely, but I
don’t want to stop and ask our little guide as she scoots us along.

We walk for several minutes before the current passage levels out again. I notice a difference in the ground I’m walking on and peer down at my feet. Previously we walked along compacted
earth and rock, now we are treading on something else, something that looks like compressed dark crystal. Shortly after that the tunnel opens up, and I gape unashamedly.

The cavern that spreads before us is massive. You could probably lay five rugby fields side by side or have enough space for three jumbo jets to land. But it’s not just the scale of the
cave that’s impressive. There is a lake, trees, birds. It looks like a terrarium. In the centre of the chamber a shaft of light from above illuminates an inky-black pool from which a small
island has sprouted. The island itself has a sandy beach and on its shore lies the ruin of a wooden boat with a high prow.

Amy’s been talking softly to Thorn while I gawk at the magnificent cave with its underground forest and crystal ceiling. I wonder if we are still beneath London or somewhere altogether
different.

‘I have tribute,’ Thorn assures her in a quiet voice. ‘I would not dream to insult the Watchers and not follow etiquette.’

Amy doesn’t really sigh in relief but she gives a brief nod that is both acknowledgement and apology. Then she walks over to a small intricately carved table set to one side. A delicate
crystal bell the size of my palm rests on a silver platter. She picks this up and rings it. The sound is sharp, high and crystal clear, and as Amy keeps ringing, the sound changes and becomes
sonorous and deep. I feel my bones ache at its tone. I hold on to Thorn’s arm and lean against him because it feels as if my knees are going to give in. The sound changes once more, becoming
so high I can’t hear it at all but I can feel it vibrating in the air all around me. Ice crawls down my spine and I’m horrified to find that I can’t stop shivering.

From nowhere, three rather large trolls stand before us. Two of them are so tall my neck hurts staring up at them. The other is less tall, maybe only seven feet, and I think he must be the
youngest of the three. They are human in shape, with two arms and two legs and a head. But everything else about them is richly earth coloured and they look as if they are fused from earth and rock
and marbled stone. One troll has a small tree growing from his shoulder but seems oblivious to its presence. Their features are rough, with prominent brows, large jaws and bulging eyes. Some things
I’ve met in the past year were big but have little presence. These creatures have a presence about them that makes me feel small and insignificant. I resist the urge to step further back,
into the shadows. I draw my courage together and stand my ground next to Thorn.

Amy is talking to them in a rapid language that sounds like Greek. She gestures to Thorn and to me, giving our names and, with introductions over, she moves aside to come and stand next to
me.

Thorn moves towards them, seemingly unfazed by their impassive gazes. It feels an eternity that they just stand there, the silence only broken by the soft drip, drip of water somewhere in the
cave.

Amy gives my hand a little squeeze, before rummaging in her pocket and coming up with a wrapped sweet. ‘You’re doing really well,’ she says, her voice encouraging. ‘The
first time I met them I fainted. I was sure they were going to eat me.’ Her smile is teasing. ‘But of course trolls don’t often eat people. Only ogres do that.’ She made a
face, sticking her tongue out, showing me how gross the thought of eating humans was to her.

My answering smile is weak. ‘What are they doing?’ I ask her. ‘They’re just standing there, staring at Thorn.’

‘They are talking. Watch.’

I don’t see a thing. Nothing. But then I try a trick I learned when I was very little and I could just catch glimpses of the tiny faeries flitting about my room. I was desperate to see
them for real and eventually I figured it out. If you narrow your eyes, concentrate and then peer steadily from the corner of your eyes, you tend to see things.

At first I don’t see anything really, but I sense colours and I become aware of almost imperceptible movements of their faces. Then suddenly, Thorn turns to me and beckons me forward.

Amy’s hand slips from mine and we walk forward together.

‘This is Kit Blackhart. She is my companion in this quest.’

I don’t like the sound of that but I put a smile on my face and, as I stare at the faces of the three trolls, I have
a feeling that they know exactly who I am and aren’t too impressed.

‘We know you rescued the prince, Blackhart. For that brave act we name you troll friend and pledge our honesty and wisdom to your cause.’ Their mouths don’t move but I hear
them speaking in unison in my head. It is an oddly soothing feeling and not at all as intrusive as I thought it would be.

‘I have done what any would have done in my place,’ I say carefully. ‘I accept your friendship and pledge and return it with friendship of my own.’ I get the impression
they approve of my words and I put on a smile that I hope is charming and sweet, and not at all frightened.

‘You have brought us something?’

Thorn looks towards them, facing the largest so probably the eldest. ‘I have indeed. A token of our esteem and thanks for seeing us on such short notice. We hope it finds favour with the
Watchers.’

Thorn holds out his hand to me and I pass him half the baggie of diamonds Aiden had given me. Amy moves forward and takes the velvet pouch from Thorn. Without looking inside, she juggles it in
her hand, feeling the weight of the stones, and gives a brief nod to the trolls.

‘You do us a great honour, Prince of Alba.’ The voice is different now, female and younger. It also conveys far more emotion and I watch the trolls, wondering which one of them is
speaking.

I get the impression that our gift has more than impressed them and they are suddenly more attentive and focused on us. I suspect we’ve passed some kind of test. Previously their regard
has been intense but disinterested; now, however, we are the centre of their attention.

‘We have prepared a small repast. Please follow the human child and we will join you shortly. There is much to discuss.’

The larger of the three trolls starts moving off and the scent of fresh-cut grass fills the air in his wake. From above a shadow passes over the gap in the ceiling and the cave darkens and the
temperature drops. I shiver and turn to look towards the gap. I rest my hand on the knife tucked into the small of my back and wonder what bad news is coming our way.

Amy disappears the velvet pouch among the folds of her pretty sundress and beckons us to follow her. I fall in beside Thorn.

‘That went well,’ I say. ‘I still have all my limbs.’

He pulls a face. ‘My formal manners are rusty,’ he says. ‘With the old races, like the trolls, you can’t ever be sure how things are going to play out until you are at least three days’ ride away from their caves.’

‘Oh great. I’m nervous all over again.’

‘Don’t be,’ he says. ‘You’re doing well. They know who you are. As a Blackhart and my friend you’re far more than the average supplicant.’

‘You make these trolls sound far more . . .’ I wave my hand. ‘Just more. Who are they really?’

Thorn slows his pace so we drop further behind Amy.

‘They are our Watchers, our chroniclers. They write our histories and watch over our past, anticipating the future.’

My eyebrows shoot up. ‘So they don’t just live in caves, eat goats and humans and worry bridges.’

‘No. Not all of them are like that, only the ones that feel up to the task. Most trolls live quiet lives. They’ve become vilified in various stories and it’s hard to convince
the world otherwise.’

‘Okay. So noted.’ I can’t help but bristle a bit under the censure in his voice. I also wonder how much of what he said pertains to him and the Fae in general.

I shake my head. I’m starting to feel a bit out of my league here and I find myself wishing dearly for a decent fight. Those I can handle; dangerous subtleties make me feel uncertain and
trapped.