The Caller (18 page)

‘What is it?’

‘The wee fellow isna alane wi’ his sore heid. There’s a . . . an odd feeling, a kind o’ pull in the air. Setting my ain heid all a-scramble.’

I felt nothing at all. ‘What do you think it is? Some kind of magic?’

‘I dinna ken. When we move on, mebbe it will fade.’

‘Without Ean,’ said Silva, ‘we don’t know the way to Callan Stanes.’

‘Once we’re over the border Whisper can fly ahead and find it for us.’

‘Leaving you wi’ nae guard?’ protested Whisper. ‘That wasna the arrangement we made, back at Shadowfell.’

‘Silva and I will manage. We’ll have to.’

Further south there were just as many folk on the roads, and once we had to dive into the bushes to avoid being seen by a group of Enforcers riding by. My heart did not slow until they were well out of sight. We skirted another village and saw, at a distance, a group of men being addressed by a fellow in Erevan’s colours.

Later in the day, as we passed by a farm, a woman feeding chickens in the yard offered us freshly baked bread. I accepted, giving her two coppers from my small supply.

‘Thank you,’ she said, slipping them into her pouch. ‘It’s hard with the lads gone. Every bit helps.’

‘The lads – your sons?’

‘Aye, three of them, all gone off with the chieftain’s men. An opportunity, the fellow said.’ She pursed her lips. ‘They’d need to come home with a full purse to make it worthwhile. Tending the place on my own isn’t easy.’

‘Maybe it’s not for long,’ I said, trying not to sound too inquisitive.

‘The fellows that came for them, they weren’t saying much. I’m hoping the boys will be back before summer. Special forces, that was what the fellow called it. Sounded like fighting.’

‘Do your sons have fighting skills, then?’ I asked the woman.

‘I raised them to be farmers, not fighters. But they’re strong, the three of them. Big sturdy lads. Nobody who knows them would dare speak to their mother the wrong way.’ There was a weary pride in her voice.

‘I hope they’ll be back soon, safe and sound. Now we’d best be moving on. Thank you again for the bread, it smells wonderful.’

‘I baked more than I can eat on my own.’ She gave a crooked smile. ‘I forget, sometimes, that they’re gone. Big boys, big appetites. Travel safe.’

We crossed the border onto Glenfalloch land. The terrain became hilly, with more vegetation and therefore better cover. From atop a rise I thought I glimpsed a fortress tower, perhaps the stronghold of the regional chieftain, Gormal, whom we knew to be a supporter of the rebel movement. Ean had said Callan Stanes was not far inland from that place.

With the goal in sight, we took even greater care, keeping right off any major tracks. Being over the border did not mean everyone we met would be a friend. The king’s men visited every part of Alban; they had eyes and ears everywhere. Besides, Silva and I were two young women travelling ostensibly alone, with no men to guard us. Neither of us was of strapping build. Whisper’s concern was justified. When he was not close by, we were vulnerable.

We had another problem: Piper. Since the day of Snow’s death and Ean’s departure, the little one had been restless. He was hardly sleeping, and he often clutched his head with both hands as if the pain were a monster threatening to eat its way out. Silva tended to him as best she could, but the need to keep on walking meant Piper was confined to her pouch for long periods of the day. We’d be going along quietly when he would suddenly shriek, making us both jump. Or he would break into plaintive squeaks that sounded like sobbing. This was perilous for all of us, for his voice was penetrating and strange. It could not be explained away as a mouse or a little bird or a strange insect.

Whenever we stopped to rest I spoke to him, using the drum, explaining how important it was that he keep quiet, asking him to show me again what was wrong. He tried, repeating the same sequence of gestures, but I could not understand. Something was making his head hurt; something that came from two directions at once. Beyond that, I could not make sense of it. Whisper, too, was disturbed. His head felt odd, he said; aching and confused. But he assured me he was well enough to get us safely to the rebel base.

We reached a place that offered good cover, on a hill forested with beech trees showing their first spring green. The only path forward was up over the top, where the terrain became open and rocky. Before we went on, Whisper said, he would fly ahead and search out a path all the way to Callan Stanes.

He left early. Silva and I refilled our water skins from a nearby stream, then rested in the shade of the trees, taking turns to stay alert for trouble. Piper dozed on Silva’s knee. The sun moved higher; the day warmed. I dreamed of the farmhouse Ean had spoken of, and how good it would be to eat a hot meal and sleep under proper shelter, even if it was only for a few nights. Once we’d delivered Silva and Piper safely there, Whisper and I would be moving on south, seeking out the Master of Shadows.

The Master was full of tricks. I knew that; I’d met him. Perhaps he did have the key to protection against cold iron. But perhaps he wouldn’t want to give it to me. Maybe he’d been lying all along, and there was no such charm.

Time passed. The sun came close to its midpoint. I’d expected Whisper back long ago. And something else was troubling me.

‘He should be here by now.’ Silva was feeding Piper, dipping her finger in honey water and letting him lick it.

‘Mm. I’m going to climb the hill and see if I can catch sight of him. You stay here with Piper.’

‘Neryn.’

‘Yes?’

‘Can you smell smoke?’

I had been able to smell it for a while. ‘I’ll go up and have a look,’ I said, keeping my voice calm. My mind was already racing ahead, and I did not like what it was telling me.

I made my way up the hill. Above the tree cover the air was full of floating ash, and there was a strange haze in the sky. After a challenging climb – Tali would have been proud of me – I reached a level area at the top and looked south.

There was a broad valley before me, lying east to west across our intended path. Smoke lay over that place; down there, something was burning. Some distance beyond the valley, the fortress tower that was our marker came in and out of sight through the haze, like something from a half-remembered dream. My skin prickled; I felt the familiar touch of magic. There was no fire in the valley, but something else, something moving, something out of place. I could not make sense of it. I only knew it terrified me.

I made myself breathe slowly, though my heart was thudding. I called upon the Lady’s teaching.
See with the clarity of air.
What was that? It moved like a great river; but it was not water. As it passed, trees fell, rocks crumbled, birds flew up screaming in fright.
Breathe, Neryn.
Make sense of this.

‘By the Lady,’ I murmured to myself. ‘By the powers of good. By freedom and justice.’ It was not quite a prayer, not quite a charm. But it steadied me, and I looked with new eyes.

The dark tide was a crowd of folk moving along the valley floor. Marching along, at least a hundred strong. An army. An army, not of men, but of Good Folk. A trio of imposing warriors led them, beings in form almost human, but far taller than any man could be. Behind them smaller folk moved. Their voices came to me, not raised in the kind of song warriors might use to give them heart on a long march, but moaning, gasping, muttering, wailing as they passed. What was this?

A whip cracked; a chain rattled; a staff thumped on unprotected flesh. My heart turned cold. There were Enforcers riding on the margins of the dark uncanny throng, their horses wild-eyed and sweating. The king’s men had their blades unsheathed; they were using iron to keep the great flow of beings in order. Even the strangest of the Good Folk, the creatures of smoke and fire, the tiny winged ones and the lumbering stony ones, were held by it. And there, along with the uncanny army marched young men, row on row of them, their faces white with terror. They were not clad as warriors; there was a leather cap here, a breast-piece or set of gauntlets there, but most had no protection against flame, steam and the carelessly carried weapons of their uncanny companions. Some of the lads were limping; some wore makeshift bandages. Some were supporting flagging comrades as they walked. A young man fell as I watched, and the tide of beings simply flowed over him.

I stood rooted to the spot as the throng moved eastward along the valley. My mind refused to accept what this must mean. I stayed there until the end of the procession passed below me. Last in line was a group of human folk riding together, with a guard of Enforcers all around them. Not prisoners; I did not think so anyway, for at least one of them I recognised. He was surely the confidant I had seen sitting beside Queen Varda at the last midsummer Gathering, whispering in her ear, laughing with her as act after depraved act of cruelty unfolded before us. The other men with him I did not know, but they were clad like courtiers, not common folk. At the very end of the line rode a pair of Enforcers, and . . . oh gods! Between them, dwarfed by the king’s men on their horses, I glimpsed a familiar friend. His big eyes blank, his snowy feathers dappled with red, his feet in their little felt boots moving him forward with the rest, there marched Whisper.

My throat ached with sorrow. My heart bled. I watched until they were out of sight. Where they had marched the ground was scorched, blackened, ruined. Their passing left a wasteland where surely nothing would ever grow again. Still I stood motionless, stunned with shock. Good folk and humankind together. Good folk and humankind, Good Folk and
Enforcers
, marching side by side as one army. Even Whisper, so strong, so stalwart, had been drawn away from his true purpose. This could mean one thing only. There was another Caller, and he was doing the king’s bidding.

Chapter Seven

‘O
wen?’

Rohan Death-Blade’s voice was held low; at Winterfort, a word incautiously spoken could mean death.

They were in the stables. With Lightning and Fleet in adjacent stalls, the routine of tending to their mounts allowed brief opportunities for private conversation. There was an understanding between them these days, never put into words, but strong for all their reticence.

‘Mm?’

Rohan’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘You’re being watched. I don’t mean right now, but generally.’ He glanced over his shoulder. They were the only two men in the stables, save for a couple of grooms over the far side, out of earshot. ‘Brydian’s folk. Perhaps the queen’s orders.’

‘I know.’

‘Just wanted to warn you. Be careful. We’ll keep an eye out.’

The brush went still in Flint’s hand. ‘We?’

‘Couple of us. It’s safe.’

Flint turned to meet his companion’s eyes. ‘No, it’s not,’ he said. ‘You and who else?’

‘I won’t name names.’

He could not press it further. It had come to him over a period of many moons, the realisation that Rohan had guessed what he was. It had taken a long time for him to accept that Rohan was sympathetic to the cause, not on a mission to trick him into revealing that he was a spy. The implication that others might be involved shocked him. The more people who knew he was less than perfectly loyal to the king, the more likely it was that someone would be coerced into betraying him.

‘It’s since the prisoners were released,’ Rohan said. ‘No witnesses to what happened afterwards, out in the forest. Questions being asked in certain quarters. Be on your guard, that’s all I’m saying.’

He drew a breath; composed himself. ‘I’m always on my guard,’ he said. ‘As for you, you put yourself at risk every time you warn me.’

‘I know,’ said Rohan simply.

Flint’s memory showed him the men of Boar Troop, lying in their blood after the ambush near Shadowfell. Chests staved in; bodies hacked; heads crushed into a pulpy mess unrecognisable as part of a man. ‘You should step back,’ he murmured.

‘Step back,’ said Rohan, ‘and it keeps on going.’ And when Flint, shocked that his comrade would speak out thus, made no reply, Rohan added, ‘Just know you’re not quite on your own.’