The Broken World (29 page)

The feast took Errol by surprise. Days had passed since Hammie's fall, and the injured man was responding well to the rather haphazard treatment he was getting from Shenander. Errol couldn't quite fathom the medicine
man. He clearly had a deep knowledge of the human body and could patch things up well if people hurt themselves. He knew something of herbs, too; more than Errol did of what was available in the region. His poultices kept the wounds from becoming infected, and the smoke he insisted on filling Hammie's front room with at least kept the flies away. And well-meaning visitors too. Errol knew from experience and his mother's many tales that it was quite often over-anxious relatives bothering the patient that hindered their recovery, so maybe Shenander's smoke was just a simple way of keeping folk away.

They took it in turns to watch over the injured man, even though most of the time he was kept in a drug-induced stupor. This, too, made a lot of sense. His wounds needed to heal, the bones begin to knit together again, before he could be allowed to move around. Errol could see that Hammie was both young and fit, so it was very likely he'd have been a bad patient had he been awake.

Murta was delighted to have someone to mother and kept Errol well fed, but she was evasive when he asked her questions about the village or the gods. After a while he stopped questioning her, happy just to gather his strength and let his own wounds heal. He would move on soon enough, once Hammie was well on the way to recovery.

Nellore was never far from his side these days, but she treated him differently, almost reverentially. She treated Shenander the same way, and Errol could only suppose she thought of him as similar to the old man, another healer. He tried to question her about the village, the gods, even her friend Hammie, but her answers made little sense, and if he pressed her for more, she would soon
grow tired of it, run off on some pretend errand or other. The rest of the villagers left him alone beyond giving a polite nod if they saw him passing. Even the curmudgeonly old Ben Sorrenson, who seemed to be the closest the place had to a leader, stopped scowling at him from his favoured spot in the rocking chair on his porch. Errol wasn't welcomed in with open arms, but he was tolerated.

Which was why the feast took him by surprise.

‘Ain't been a proper feast in a long time,' Nellore said as she gave Errol the news. ‘Not been much to celebrate. But Hammie's going to survive, and the fruit harvest's been good.'

‘When's it going to be? Where?'

‘Tonight, Ben said. In the big hall.'

Errol peered through the smoky air at the doorway. It was late evening, what little light that made it through the shutters and the rope curtain fading almost to black in contrast to the candles lit around the room. That was something he'd noticed about this village. Dawn rose fast, and night fell equally so. There was no lingering dusk here.

‘Who's going to look after Hammie?' They had set up a more comfortable bed for the injured man now, close to the back wall of the room. He'd been semi-lucid earlier, rambling as the drugs that dulled his pain also addled his mind. Now he slept, but Errol knew it wouldn't be wise to leave him unattended for too long.

‘It's my turn, ain't it?' Nellore said.

‘Yes, but don't you want to go to the feast?' Errol didn't really know what to expect of it. He'd never been to any feasts back home in Pwllpeiran until his mother's wedding, and that hadn't exactly gone well.

‘Course I do. But they won't let me drink the wine, so what's the point?'

Errol wanted to say that drinking wine was much overrated, but Murta pushed through the doorway then, interrupting him.

‘They've started already. You probably want to get over there.' She carried a basket filled with food. ‘I'll keep an eye on Hammie. Keep Nellore company too.'

‘You sure?' Errol asked.

‘Sure I'm sure.' Murta laughed, shooing him out of the cottage. ‘Ain't often old Ben changes his mind, but he's taken a liking to you. Best not get back on the wrong side of him, eh?'

‘My lady. Are you unwell?'

Beulah turned to see Clun standing in the doorway. He wore his cloak still, and mud clung to his boots. She envied him his freedom to come and go, even though she knew that was unfair. He must have come through the nursery or met Blodwyn on the way, as he cradled Ellyn in one arm, the tiny child staring up into his face with that rapt attention only very small children and hungry dogs can muster. She reached up to his golden blonde hair with her minuscule hands, and the smile on his face was almost enough to break through her dark mood.

‘Just frustrated, my love. Each day's delay entrenches Dafydd's hold on Candlehall. We need to march swiftly, set siege before the winter takes hold.'

‘We will leave just as soon as we can. But I think we should leave Candlehall well alone.'

‘You think what?' Beulah turned away from the fire to
fully face her husband. He had grown in stature in the year since their wedding, and in confidence too. Still it was unprecedented for him to question her this way.

‘Winter is fast approaching. Let Dafydd feed our people through the sparse months, run his supplies low. We can use the time to march on Abervenn. Root out the treason where it first flowered.'

‘Abervenn?' Beulah turned back to the flames as if an answer might lie there. Clun walked swiftly over to her side.

‘The city stands as a mockery to your power, my lady,' he said. ‘And worse, while it is in enemy hands no siege of Candlehall can hope to succeed. If our intelligence is to be believed, then Iolwen did not accompany her husband, so she is likely still there too, her child with her. Take back Abervenn and there is every chance we can capture them both.'

Beulah allowed herself a moment's idle fancy, watching as her hated sister was thrown from the tallest tower of the old castle. The image swirled in the flames, reaching out to her for mercy.

‘But Abervenn is well fortified. We could spend as long besieging it as Candlehall. And we don't have enough men for two sieges.'

‘Well fortified, true. But it is undermanned. All the Abervenn men loyal to the crown are here with us. Those who sided with Anwyn and took Llanwennog gold to betray us have gone to Candlehall. That is where they will expect us to strike.'

Beulah shook her head slowly, the image of her sister's death fading away. ‘It can still be defended easily. And it can be resupplied from the sea.'

‘There is a way in. A small force could have the main gates open before any guard realized what was happening.'

‘But Iolwen will flee as soon as she sees us coming.'

‘Not if the harbour is blockaded.'

Beulah looked sideways at Clun, seeing the ghost of a smile on his lips. He had been planning this for some time, she realized. No doubt while she was incapacitated by childbirth. ‘You have a plan already, my love.'

‘I do. I have sent word to Lord Beylin. He controls more ships than anyone. Coast-hugging barges mostly, but they're enough to make the journey. He has men to spare, Glas too.'

‘Glas? Is he not dead? I thought the dragon did for him.'

‘It would seem it takes more than a goring from a dragon to kill Duke Glas. He will likely never walk again, but he will recover enough. And he is very grateful to you for allowing your personal physician to tend to him.'

The fire was getting too warm now. Beulah crossed the room, sat herself down and held out her hands to be given her child. Clun made sure Ellyn was well wrapped before handing her over, but the infant was fast asleep, frowning a little but doing nothing more as Beulah nestled the bundle into her lap. She could see from the way Clun looked at his daughter that he was as smitten with her as he had been with his queen. A shame then that she could find no stirring of anything maternal in her at all. Was that what being sent away to Emmass Fawr at such a young age had done to her? Burned out her motherly instincts? Or would she have bonded more easily with a son? So many questions and no one she could turn to for answers.

‘How is it you know of Glas, anyway? And Beylin?'

‘It was all part of Melyn's plan, my lady. We stationed adepts at Beylinstown and Castell Glas on our grand tour. None of them is as skilled at the aethereal as the inquisitor. Or you, for that matter. But I've been practising, going into the trance at the agreed time every day. I can find places I've been to, contact people who know me.'

‘You can speak to Melyn?' Beulah almost leaped to her feet, all but forgetting that Ellyn lay in her arms. At the last moment some deep-buried instinct kicked in, stopping her.

‘Alas, I have no idea where he is. Well, I have not visited the place where he is. Otherwise I would have contacted him the moment Ellyn was born.'

‘How long has it been. Since last he made contact?'

‘Too long. Not since just before …' Clun nodded towards Ellyn. Without realizing it, she had cradled the infant closer to her head, rocking her gently back and forth.

‘I remember now,' she said. ‘When the dragons flew over. Before they flew over. He just appeared, but you weren't expecting him. You weren't even in the trance.'

‘No. He was different then, too. Much more powerful than I remember him being. He almost pulled me in. That's when I started trying harder to contact the others. Just in case something had happened.'

‘Something?' Ellyn let out a little cry, and Beulah realized she had been squeezing the child close to her. She relaxed her grip a little, hoping the cry wouldn't develop into a full-blown wail.

‘My lady, I am not skilled in the ways of the Grym. I do not have your years of experience, let alone Melyn's
decades. But when he contacted me last, it didn't feel exactly like him.' Clun paced back and forth in front of the fire as if trying to find words for concepts his mind could scarcely process. Beulah remembered her early days under Melyn's tutelage and could only have sympathy for him.

‘It felt like him, but with a larger shadow. Does that make sense? As if there were someone – no, something – else there with him.'

‘The dragon?'

‘Frecknock?' Clun stopped his pacing, looked up from the floor and considered a moment. ‘No. I know her well enough. It was something else.'

‘It helped us though, whatever it was. How else could Melyn have found you here, taken control of you the way he did?'

‘That's true. And whatever it was helping him helped me too. I've found the trance far easier to achieve ever since, and I can reach out to the other adepts in an instant. No need to travel the aethereal as if it were the same as the mundane.'

‘And that's how you've been in contact with Beylin and Glas.' Beulah nodded, even though she didn't truly understand. She couldn't help but feel a shudder of jealousy too, that her beloved had made this discovery on his own. She should have been at his side. They should have been exploring the higher realms together. And yet this creature, this child asleep in her arms, had denied her that chance.

‘Here, take her.' She stood up and handed the baby to her husband, no longer wanting anything to do with her.

Clun took her with gentle arms and smoothed her thin hair with one massive finger. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead, utterly absorbed.

‘Summon the maid,' she said. ‘It's time I went and inspected my troops. If we're to march on Abervenn we'll need to get going soon.'

Wind tugged at his ear tufts, rippled at his wing tips and yet made no sound at all. Benfro soared through the air, high above the undulating forest. He felt strong, the muscles in his back firm. Flexing his hands he could almost rip the sky apart as he hurtled towards the distant mountains. And then it hit him. His hands.

Holding them up to his face was as easy as plucking a flower from a bush. He studied them as if he had never seen them before, the palms leathery, the backs coated with the tiniest of scales that glistened in the sun. Both of them the same size, they reflected a rainbow of colours. With a thought, razor-sharp claws extended, ready to slice open anything that crossed him. He was all powerful, all seeing. He was whole.