Soulvine 03 A Bright and Terrible Sword (8 page)

It sat with blood on its muzzle, looking at me. Stifling my fear, I squatted beside it and looked into those green eyes. I saw nothing but dog. Pleased by the attention, it tried to lick my hand, and I snatched it away as if from a fire. ‘No!’

The dog looked puzzled and scratched at a flea.

Gently I covered Alysse’s face with the spare cloth from my pack. She had died trying to reach me to tell me something, of that I was sure. The web women knew where I was. But the web women were no danger to the Brotherhood of
hisafs
fighting Soulvine Moor. The two groups had different ideas about how to fight and so did not work together; both my father and Mother Chilton had told me that. But they did not kill each other.

‘
We could not get the dogs to you fast enough
,’ my father had once told me. The Brotherhood controlled the dogs. I did not know how, or why they had been able to find dogs in the Country of the Dead, where no animals lived. But only a
hisaf
could bring anything back from there, so the
hisafs
must control the dogs – although no
hisaf
ever accompanied them in their crossing. How was that possible?

None of it made sense. Only one thing was clear: this dog was no friend to web women, and so not to me either. No matter how it acted. If the Brotherhood could send dogs from the other side, then maybe the faithless
hisafs
, those working with Soulvine Moor, could do the same. And if this dog had not killed me, it was because the rogue
hisafs
wanted me alive.

They knew where I was.

That meant I could not, must not, lead them to Maggie and my unborn child.

Anguish flooded me, so strong that for a moment I could not even see. All I wanted was to go to Maggie, and now I could not.

Leo came from behind his tree, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He shrank from looking at Alysse, even with her head covered. He said, ‘Why did Hunter do that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you know this woman?’

‘I did once,’ I said.

‘She was a rabbit … then a woman … she must be a witch!’

‘She was …’ I looked up at him. ‘In Galtryf you never discussed the web women?’

‘The what?’

‘The Brotherhood never told you about them?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

I straightened. On my feet, I stood nearly a head taller than he. Leo shrank back a step. I said, ‘You were imprisoned in Galtryf – imprisoned there with my father – and the two of you never talked about the women of the soul arts? You were recruited by the Brotherhood and they never explained to you who fights on which side of this war? I no longer believe you, Leo.’

‘I can’t help what you do or do not believe.’

We faced each other across the clearing. Both of us drew our knives. I said, ‘Alysse came here to warn me about
you
, didn’t she?’

‘Hryffl grut!’ Leo cried, and the dog sprang at me. But I was no longer there. I crossed over.

Darkness—

Cold—

Dirt choking my mouth—

Worms in my eyes—

Earth imprisoning my fleshless arms and legs—

I stood in on the edge of a field in the Country of the Dead, not in the woods I had left behind, although a thick stand of trees grew to my right. Beside me sat Alysse.

She had already lapsed into the mindless quiescence of the Dead, her face not bloody and mangled but serene, the pale flesh smooth and unbroken. Some part of my mind was glad that my last sight of her would be like this, and not the horror on the other side. For I could not stay here. In a moment Leo would appear beside me – or would he? Overmatched in strength here as well as there, and with his hatred of traversing the grave, it was possible he would not follow me at all. If so, I had a chance to escape.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered to the unmoving figure in the unmoving landscape. Then I ran into the trees for better cover, thrashing and stumbling over roots and branches. The grove wasn’t large and on the other side was a long, gently sloping hill dotted with boulders, wildflowers, and the Dead. I ran down it to the shallow river at the bottom, waded across, and entered the forest of pines and birches bordering the far bank.

This was a more open wood than the one on the top of the hill, with wide spaces beneath the high branches of pine and a soft carpet of pine needles underfoot. Walking was easier here. I moved rapidly for nearly a mile, then sat down to rest.

Leo had not followed me. Nor had the dog. That dog – it had appeared right after I left the bearded
hisaf
tied up in the mill. So even then Leo’s allies had known where I was. Then – but not now. I was safe now, so I could –
I could do what? Could I still go to Maggie? I didn’t see why not. Once again, no one knew where I was. I could travel still farther here, cross back over, and make my way to Tanwell, to Maggie and the child.

Tears of relief came to my eyes. But not only of relief, not while I remembered Alysse. She had died trying to warn me about Leo. Although Leo made no sense, either – if he was indeed one of the rogue
hisafs
rather than one of my father’s, then why had they sent someone so weak and cowardly to follow me? But Leo did not stay in my mind. Alysse did, dying for me.

As had so many more. I could not believe I was worth it.

The baying came an hour or so later.

It was not the sound of someone, or even many someones, crashing through the forest. That would have been preferable. This was a noise I had heard only once before, when I had been briefly in the Country of the Dead with my father. It sounded like the royal hunt, and now that I knew the grey dogs could belong to the rogue
hisafs
as well as to those protecting me, I didn’t hesitate. Even as the baying rose in both volume and pitch I crossed back over—

—to find myself in a circle of men with
guns
pointed at my chest.

Not savages. Men of The Queendom. ‘Hello, Roger Kilbourne,’ one of them said, and another was on me before I could so much as blink. Something hard and cold clasped my one good arm. Biting down again on my still bleeding tongue, I crossed back over.

Darkness—

Cold—

Dirt choking my mouth—

Worms in my eyes—

Earth imprisoning my fleshless arms and legs—

In the Country of the Dead the baying had ceased, but the man who had spoken had crossed over with me.

He said nothing. The cold on my arm was an iron cuff, chained closely to one on his. He yanked it hard, did something with his left hand that I did not see, and once again we were in the barrier between life and death, fighting our way through the grave. He was a
hisaf
.

In the land of the living, the men had lowered their
guns
. The man who had said my name laughed. ‘You, Roger, of all people – you should know that what is fastened onto you, crosses over with you. Wherever you go, Kelif goes with you. And contrary-wise. We have you at last.’

‘Who … how …’

‘How did we find you? Oh, that was easy.’ His free hand reached across his body and fingered the hem of my wool tunic. He stretched out his palm before my face. On the calloused flesh lay a small burr, so tiny I had never noticed it to pull it off. He said, ‘Did you not know that markers could be so small? Consider it part of your education, lad. Yes, you’re right … I can see it from your face. Our Leo put it there.’

Our Leo
.

‘But you’re hungry, am I right? All this running and escaping and hiding – surely it tires a man out. Come and eat. I am Straik, by the way. Your servant, sir.’ He made a little mocking bow and laughed again.

My captor dragged me under a tall pine, where the other three men were opening packs and building a fire. They were large men, but Kelif towered over them all, a giant with hands like sides of pork and a broad, blank face. Straik, in contrast, had the thin sharp face of an intelligent stoat. His eyes seemed never to be still, darting constantly about, missing nothing. All wore tunics and
breeches of rough brown wool, knee-high boots, and thick short beards. Only Straik seemed to be clean. As soon as I heard the others speak, their accents told me they came from the Unclaimed Lands or even Soulvine Moor. But Straik spoke like a man of The Queendom. All four, excepting only the silent Kelif, laughed and joked among themselves as if I were not there. I stayed mute with terror.

What did they know? They clearly came from Soulvine Moor. Did they know about Maggie and our son? I could think of no other reason that they might want me – unless it was something to do with my father, supposedly their prisoner in Galtryf. Unless Leo had lied about that, too.

Oh, let my capture be due to my father and not Maggie!

One of the men under the trees turned full face towards me, and I recognized him. He was the
hisaf
who had stolen the children in Stonegreen, the stranger with black beard and green eyes. I had last found him in the Country of the Dead, moaning and barely able to move, beside the circle of the Dead that disappeared into a vortex. He was the man I could not bring myself to kill and so had left bound hand and foot. Obviously he had wriggled free, or had been rescued.

He smiled at me, a smile so full of nasty promise that I had to look away. I should have killed him when I had the chance. My compassion, or squeamishness, would cost me now.

Mother Chilton’s words echoed in my head: ‘
Everything has a cost, Roger Kilbourne – when will you learn that?
’

Another man, younger than the rest, brought Kelif and me bread, cheese, and a goatskin bag of sour ale. I could not eat; my stomach churned too much. But I drank some ale, lifting the tankard with the hand chained to Kelif.

‘Sleep now,’ Straik said, even as Kelif stretched out wordlessly on the pine needles. The iron chain pulled on my wrist. ‘We all need sleep, probably especially you, Roger. No, I will not answer any questions now, so do not bother to ask any.’

I thought that fear would keep me awake. I was wrong. The ale, my exhaustion, the warm summer sun filtering through pine branches all sent me to sleep before I even knew it was on the way. And I dreamed.

I stood in Queen Caroline’s privy chamber in the palace, where I had not been for years. A bright fire burned in the hearth, and goblets of wine stood on an ornately carved table. Mother Chilton sat on a small stool, her simple grey gown puddling on the stone floor, her back bent with age. She threw something powdery onto the fire. Beside her stood little Princess Stephanie – no, Queen Stephanie now – her six-year-old eyes wide and solemn. ‘Breathe,’ Mother Chilton said, and the child breathed deeply. Then she turned and her grey eyes seemed to look directly into mine. ‘Say it,’ Mother Chilton urged
.

Stephanie said, ‘Roger! Run!
’

The dream woke me. It seemed so real – because it
was
real. Once before, my mad half-sister had used Stephanie’s inherited gift for the soul arts in order to kill. Now Mother Chilton used them to warn me. But Stephanie’s warnings, like Alysse’s, came too late. I could not run.

Kelif slept on. I sat up, which stretched the iron chain between us to its limit. The setting sun shone redly between the trees. Meat roasted on the fire, where one of the men slept and the others talked and laughed softly. It looked like any hunting camp where jovial moods rose from a successful hunt. The youngest man, scarcely more than a boy, whittled on a willow whistle. He brought it to his lips and blew softly and a high, sweet note sounded on the warm air.

From somewhere came an answering note.

The camp changed instantly. Kelif and the other sleeper woke. The three men by the fire jumped to their feet, but not in alarm. If anything, they looked happier than before. I heard the rumble of a wagon in the distance, then shouts.

‘By damn – they’re early!’ Straik said. ‘That can only be good!’

Kelif pulled me to my feet and dragged me forward through the trees, followed by the others. The pine woods thinned and ended very close to the camp, giving way to gentle hills covered with clover and buttercups and scrub bushes. Lurching over the trackless ground were two wagons, each drawn by a broad-backed, hard-working horse and driven by a man in rough brown clothing. More such walked beside the horses. Each wagon carried supplies and riders. In one were a woman and a girl of about ten or eleven, both bound. In the other rode Leo.

When the wagons reached the edge of the wood, Leo jumped down and came over to me. I stared, my fear momentarily drowned in astonishment. For he was utterly, completely changed.

7

‘Good morrow, Roger,’ Leo said mockingly and made me a comic bow. He seemed to have grown two inches and five years. No, of course he wasn’t taller – but surely he was broader? He stood with such confident swagger that his chest no longer seemed concave. His dark eyes sparkled. In a single fluid motion he reached up and pulled at his face, and the scar from his badger fight came away with a ripping noise and a smear of adhesive and grease paint.

‘You’re … you’re an
actor
.’

‘At your service.’ He grinned, enjoying my outrage. All the pity I had expended on him, all the protectiveness for his craven timidity …

‘I recognized you at Stonegreen,’ he said. ‘A good piece of luck, since we had of course been looking for you. We were in the ale tent, touring the provinces. Stupid audiences in those villages, but one must eat.’

I remembered the one noisy group at the spring faire, laughing and talking when everyone else wandered in dazed anger at seven tranced infants neither dead nor alive. I blurted, ‘But when—’

‘—did I see you first? At court, of course, when you were Queen Caroline’s fool. We played before you one winter night. We did “The Hero of Carday”. I gave you my Prince Channing, and it played very well indeed. Your whorish queen could not take her eyes off me.’

I vaguely remembered a troupe of actors presenting a play to which I had paid little attention. I’d had eyes only
for Lady Cecilia. But that had been over three years ago, and—