Dark Mist Rising (26 page)

‘Light,' said Lord Robert's groom. A faint glow through the cell bars, growing stronger. A key scraped in the lock. More light, as a soldier of the Purple held up a flaming torch. Two savages strode into the cell, studied us all and hauled me to my feet.

But not before I had, when there was just enough light to see, flung to Lord Robert the knife I had taken from the dead soldier on the other side. My father had not seen me take it then, and he did not see me give it now. It was a small stupid act of defiance towards the man who had abandoned me, come back to me, promised me a rescue that I wanted desperately to believe in. Yet why should I trust him, or his counsel, especially since it conflicted with Mother Chilton's? ‘
You must never cross
over again, and you must go home.
' ‘
You may cross over as you
choose, and you must go with the Young Chieftain and teach
him
.' Who was right?

I didn't know. But at least Lord Robert could use the stolen knife to defend himself, perhaps even to escape. Or, failing that, to choose for himself the time of his death. ‘
You must think of others as well as yourself.'

The savage soldiers shoved me from the cell and locked the door behind us. The other prisoners were left behind. I was marched along the dank stone-and-earth corridor, up the steps, through the massive door and into the coach house. I gulped huge draughts of fresh air. The smells of horses and wheel oil seemed to me the sweetest I had ever known. I was still alive.

And now I knew my mother's name.

Katharine.

What was happening to my father in the Country of the Dead? What had that baying been, moving closer to us, and had he escaped it? Or joined it?

I believed now that he had left my mother and me for my own safety – and yet that was not the whole truth. I had seen the quickening on his features as he faced whatever was coming at him in that other realm. I had seen the sudden sharp light in his green eyes. He was a
hisaf
, with a larger destiny to fulfil than merely living with a wife and child, and some part of him welcomed that destiny. Despite the real danger, despite the real anguish, despite the separation from loved ones. My father had left us with reluctance, but also with a heightening of his senses that was almost desire.

I recognized all that because it was what I had felt about leaving Maggie and Jee.

Lying upon the straw in the wagon bed, I thought about Maggie. I remembered so many small things: the way her fair curls fell over her forehead as she stirred a savoury stew in the big pot over the hearth fire. Her strong arms kneading bread. Her laugh as we sat at day's end over tankards of ale at the trestle table in the inn. And her body moving under mine on the sunlit hillside, the last day I had seen her. Somehow, my father's story had brought Maggie sharp again into my mind. It made no sense, but there it was.

‘
Ven tek fraghir! Klen
!'

A horse neighed. The wagon jolted as the traces were put on. More shouting in the savages' tongue. Then we were moving, the iron wheels rolling noisily across the cobbled stableyard and not stopping. The wagon sides were high enough that I could not see over the sides unless I stood. The length of my chain permitted that, but I was not about to do so. Already more people than I'd expected had recognized me, and many in the city had reason to hate me. So I lay flat in the wagon, and again all I saw of the palace as we rolled through it were sky and the single grey thrust of the stone tower flying its meaningless banner of purple. Stephanie may have been crowned, but she did not rule here.

A halt to open the palace gates, and then the wagon moved through Glory, a city gone curiously silent. Eventually the sound of the horses' hooves changed to a steady ringing clop. We were crossing one of the great stone bridges spanning the River Thymar. On the other bank, all silence was gone. Cautiously I stood and peered over the side of the wagon.

Three great groups spread across the plain by the river. Furthest from me was the bulk of the savage army, in perfect formation twelve abreast, armoured and ready to march. The land was dense with them, as with a plague of furry locusts. Next came a convoy such as The Queendom had never witnessed. Six brightly painted caravans were being hitched to draught horses. Each caravan had been constructed on a long wagon bed, with walls and roofs and curtained windows. They were garish colours – apple red, glaring yellow, the poisonous green of a haft-snake. The workmen of the palace, who had painted and tiled its subtle courtyards in soft blues and delicate purples, must have hated using the flat lurid colours. In each caravan closed curtains matched the paint. Iron wheels shone brightly, and the horses stamped in their leather-and-wood harnesses.

The savages did not ride. I had never seen a savage soldier on a horse. Beside each caravan stood soldiers, six on each side. But mounted soldiers of the Purple, some so young and slight that they must have been couriers or scouts, rode before and after the caravans. Other palace folk milled through the noisy chaos, amid the flocks of sheep that would be slaughtered to feed the army on its march home, the supply wagons holding crates of squawking chickens, casks of ale, bags of flour, and me.

The plain rang with cackles, bleats and shouts in the guttural savage tongue. A drum sounded, and then, from the third group, the rearguard of soldiers, the voice of a savage singer, powerful and strong.

Everything began to move. The Young Chieftain's army was leaving The Queendom.

Why would he go after invading and conquering us? A moment's thought brought the answer. The savages did not have a large enough army in The Queendom to hold it indefinitely. This was but a very large raiding party, sent to capture the princess and me. But after I had taught the Young Chieftain to become a ‘witch', as my father had said was the savage leader's intention, all would be altered. The Young Chieftain could then return over the mountains in a year or two at the head of an army of the Dead, invincible and infinitely renewable. There were always more Dead. Tarek could retake The Queendom with no losses to his own men, and rule through his child wife. Or so he thought.

And the entire insane plan depended on me.

For a moment, caravans, soldiers, sheep, wagons all blurred as vertigo took me. When my vision cleared, I saw that people had begun to appear on the ramparts of the city. They were too far away for me to see their faces, but I knew they would be weeping. For their dead lost to the savages, for their six-year-old princess being taken away from her heritage, for the traitors among them who had chosen to throw in their lot with the conquerors and so made conquest possible. And then, my eyes practically leaping from my head, I saw something I had never expected to see again.

Tom Jenkins.

Impossible, yet there he was, dodging lumbering wagons and marching cooks and stray sheep, one of which he nearly tripped over. A soldier of the Purple grabbed for him, but he knocked the man down and kept weaving and shouting, frantically searching for something. For me?

‘Tom!' I called, but there was no way he could hear me over the din. All at once the back of my wagon, which had started forward, was jerked open and a soldier leaped in. I braced myself for a blow, which did not come. The savage muttered something I did not catch, unlocked the chain that held me to the wagon and leaped back to the ground. Urgently he motioned me to get out. No savage had motioned to me before; they had grabbed and shoved and pulled. I stared at him, uncertain, and then, even as the wagon pulled away from him, he bent his head and knelt.

I swivelled my head, looking for the Young Chieftain. He was not there. The soldier was kneeling to
me
.

When I gazed at him in stupefaction, all the while being borne away on the moving wagon, he jumped to his feet, ran after me and again gestured for me to get out. He did not touch me. His face creased in anxiety. He was young, blue-eyed as were all of them, heavily armed, and I would have sworn he was embarrassed. None of this made sense.

Tom saw me standing in the open wagon bed and ran towards me, shouting something I could not distinguish over the noise.

I climbed down from the wagon, which kept on moving. Relief flooded the young savage's face. He pointed in the direction I was to go. Tom was seized by a savage soldier, with whom he immediately began to fight.

‘Tom! No!' I ran towards them, expecting to be grabbed in turn. But my guard – captor, guide, whatever he was – did not touch me. Tom was bigger than the savage, but the savage was not only superbly trained but also armed. If Tom pulled a knife—

He did. The savage leaped backward, graceful as a court dancer, and pulled his own wickedly curved blade. I screamed, ‘
Ka! Ka! Aleyk ka flul! Ka!'

Nobody paid me the least attention. Tom and the savage circled each other, the soldier faintly smiling. Then another voice cut through the din, repeating what I had said in a commanding tone that would have made wild boars obey. ‘
Ka. Alyek ka flul
.' ‘No. Do not attack.'

The soldier circling Tom did not look up but immediately shifted his stance to one that even I could recognize as defence only. Tom whooped and dived forward. His knife was expertly parried and a moment later he was disarmed and lying flat on his back, blinking up at the sky.

I tried to say to the captain in his own language, ‘Please do not hurt him,' and hoped I hadn't said something entirely different.

‘He is yours,
antek
?'

I didn't know what
antek
meant, and Tom was most certainly not mine, but I nodded. Tom tried to get up. The soldier put a boot on his chest and pointed his
gun
at him.

The captain scowled and had a rapid exchange with the soldier. I understood none of it except one word:
nel
. Again Tom began to get up.

I said, ‘Don't move. They'll kill you, you stupid oaf! They think you're my servant. Just lie still!' And for a wonder, he actually did.

The captain stared at me, hatred in his blue eyes. They all hated me, of course they did, these soldiers whose high lord I had defeated two and a half years ago. But the captain, like the rest, was too disciplined to disobey Tarek's orders. He spoke curtly to his men. Both savages, the one who had released me from the wagon and the one with his boot on Tom's chest, gave their clenched-fist salute. The captain strode off. The boot was removed. Tom scrambled up.

I said, ‘Don't move quickly, don't do anything stupid, don't say
anything
, just follow me!'

He nodded. My guide gestured me forward. I went and Tom followed, although I had no idea to what.

We were led towards a yellow caravan. One of the savages opened the door in the back and pointed. I peered in, desperately trying to make out whatever or whoever was inside. As far as my sun-blinded eyes could see, the caravan was empty of people, and of almost everything else. Knowing I had no real choice, I climbed the one step to the open door.

‘Wait!' Tom cried. ‘We can't go in there!'

‘
Tom—'

‘No, wait, we can't! She can't find us in there!'

‘Who?' Both savages frowned, and the gestures of my guide grew stronger.
Get in, get in
. The other five caravans began to move forward. ‘Tom, if you don't get in now—'

‘I can't! You can't! She won't be able to find us!'

‘
Who?'

Tom glared at me. ‘Maggie. She's here.'

Both Tom and my savage guide trotted forward, the savage trying to get me into the yellow caravan so he could close the door, Tom trying to – what? Make me understand. I could not understand, not anything.

‘Maggie? Here? But how—'

‘I told her not to come!' Tom said furiously. ‘But have you ever tried to argue with that woman? By damn, make this stupid caravan
stop
!'

But it did not stop; it picked up speed. The horses trotted over the level plain, following the marching army. The savage still did not dare touch me, yet another thing I did not understand. Tom had no such scruples. He grabbed my good arm and yanked me off the caravan steps. We both tumbled into the dust. The savage howled and drew his knife.

‘
Nel!
' I screamed. ‘
Nel, nel!
He's my piss-pot damn
nel
!
Ka!'

The soldier, his short supply of patience evidently used up, picked me up, trotted after the caravan and shoved me inside. Then he looked around fearfully to see who had observed him. Tom sped after us and jumped in. A second later the door slammed and I heard a key turn in the lock. Instantly Tom threw himself against the door and bawled, ‘Let us out! Damn you!'