The Caller (43 page)

Osgar was busy with training now, along with the rest of Wolf Troop. And the Stag Troop men were on guard duties in the keep, though I had heard that some of the Wolves had the job of guarding the king’s special prisoner. So much for the remarkable work Flint had done in drawing Ruarc back from the nightmare of his head injury. That miracle had won him no favours from the king, and I wondered if I had imagined that look in Keldec’s eye when he’d spoken to me, a look that suggested a deep and genuine affection for his once-trusted friend.

On a day when the infirmary was reasonably quiet, I got Toleg’s approval to take my midday meal with Brenn, who along with the rest of Stag Troop was now part of the household guard. Instead of heading down to the hall, we made our way to the secret lookout.

‘I’ll open the trapdoor for you, then I’ll stand guard down here,’ Brenn said at the foot of the steps. ‘Don’t stay up there too long. If any of those men in the yard happened to look in the right direction he’d see you, and it could be hard to find a credible explanation. It’s hardly the spot for a tryst with your husband.’

‘I’ll keep it as brief as I can.’

We climbed; he opened the trapdoor; I clambered through it and out onto the narrow ledge, making myself breathe slowly. It was so high. The wind caught at my garments, doing its best to unbalance me. Not unlike the cliffs of Far Isle, I told myself, and felt steadier.

‘All right?’

‘Fine. You go back down.’

‘If I see anyone coming, I’ll whistle.’

Nobody in the practice yard save a couple of men sweeping with heavy brooms. I guessed they were levelling the ground after the disturbance of combat training. Both inner and outer gates were closed; the place was not in public view. I practised the patterns of breathing the Hag had taught me, trying to imagine how it would be down there on the first day of the Gathering. By nightfall on midsummer day, if everything went to plan, Keldec’s rule would be over. In future years the Gathering could be restored to what it had once been, a celebration, a coming together of the clans, an opportunity for bonds to be strengthened and difficulties solved amicably. That future Alban was hard to picture.

My careful breathing failed to quiet the churning feelings in my heart. So much hung on my call; what if I got it wrong on the day? Beneath that terror, I was full of sadness for the evils of the past, and for the losses we’d endure in the winning of this battle. For our rebels would fall in their blood down there, both humankind and Good Folk. Nothing was surer than that. Even if my call was the very best I could manage, even if I used absolutely everything I had learned, I could not prevent that: the Guardians had made it quite clear. And Flint, still immured in the cells . . . what dire punishment did Keldec plan for him? Would I have to stand by in silence, waiting for the right time to call, while he was humiliated, tormented and killed out there? Would I have the strength to hold back? I could not use my gift until Tali stood up and declared herself. That was the plan we’d agreed on, and I must follow it. No matter what.

Tears filled my eyes and spilled hot down my cheeks. I’d been told often enough why Regan’s rebels had a rule against letting love develop between comrades, and I’d seen the wisdom of that rule even though Flint and I had broken it. But I had not really understood what it meant until now. ‘The cause,’ I muttered to myself. ‘The cause comes first. Alban. Peace. Justice.’ In only a few days, we could change our country’s future. We could begin to right the wrongs and heal the wounds of fifteen years of tyranny. We could achieve the dream that had sustained Regan and his comrades through their long struggle; we might see humankind and Good Folk share the realm of Alban in a new spirit of amity and goodwill. ‘I’ll be strong enough,’ I told myself. ‘Even if . . . I will be, I have to be.’

Something was happening down there. The annexe had been opened up, and so had the screened area. And now, out onto the practice yard, came two teams of combatants. As in the bout I’d seen the first time I came up here, one team wore tokens of green, the other blue. Each team was made up of both fey and human folk, the human fighters being the young men from the south. As the two teams moved to take up positions opposite one another, Enforcers armed with swords or spears moved to encircle the entire area. The human combatants had weapons: thrusting spears too pale to be of iron, one or two clubs, something that looked like a whip. The Good Folk were unarmed. As the opposing teams arranged themselves in rough formations, I glimpsed two men moving up into the area of raised seating from which the king’s party had watched last year’s Gathering. Brydian and Esten. They seated themselves side by side in the front row. Now I felt cold inside. This was what I had climbed up here to see. But I would have given much not to have to watch it.

At a shout from one of the Enforcers – Gill, the Wolf Troop leader, I thought – the teams rushed forward to join battle. For a short while it looked orderly, or as orderly as any fight can be, with small groups of combatants engaging one another and exchanging blows that looked almost rehearsed. But then, suddenly, it became chaotic and bloody, no practice combat but a real one. Gill and his assistants began yelling instructions, but nobody seemed to be listening.

A call welled up in me. I should stop this. I should bid the Good Folk hold back. Then surely Gill would order the human fighters to do the same, and this would end before more damage was inflicted. But I could not call. If I did, chances were at least some of those folk would look up toward me, acknowledge me. It was only one step from there to finding myself immured in the cells alongside Flint, robbed of the chance to make any difference at midsummer.

A surge forward by the blue team; screams of challenge. Several men fell, and the tide rushed over them. The green team retaliated, pushing the assailants back. Esten raised his arm, and the big creature I had seen earlier, the one with rock-like features, sprayed out a plume of smoke or steam, moving his head as he did to catch three young men from the opposing team right in their faces. They fell to their knees, screaming. Gill gestured toward Esten, and the king’s Caller cried out, ‘Stop!’

The Good Folk stood still as if turned to stone. The young men lowered their weapons; I could hear someone moaning in pain. Then Gill yelled something at Brydian, and Brydian responded, and suddenly everyone was shouting. The rock-headed being waved a monstrous fist. A chorus of fey voices rang out in fury. They had complied with Esten’s call because they had no choice. He had forced their instant obedience. But despite that, they were making their anger known. Despite the Caller, despite the iron, they were making their voices heard. If Esten could stop the battle so abruptly, surely he could also calm the angry crowd. I considered what I would do if I were in his shoes right now; imagined a call drawn from the depths of earth, quiet and still, solid and unchanging. A strong, steady call. I felt it deep within me, and made myself hold it back.

Wolf Troop men ran to fetch stretchers from the annexe; with the aid of the young men who had survived the bout, they laid the remains of the fallen on these and bore them away. Others stumbled off the field, propped up by their friends. There was Ean, helping an injured man to safety; it was a relief to see him apparently fit and well. I could not see Whisper. Had my friend already fallen victim to one of these ill-conceived performances?

The Good Folk were making their fury plain, and not only by shouting. Flames licked the wooden benches and a cloud of grey-green vapour began to drift up toward Esten and Brydian. The voice of Gill came to me clearly now, above the racket. ‘Keep on like this and we’ll have no men left!’

Brydian turned to Esten and said something. Esten lifted both arms.

No question of what was coming. The urge to call was like a flame burning inside me. Oh, how I longed to bid these folk rise up against their captors, to run or fly or travel by magic away from the stone walls of Summerfort and back to their homes in forest or lake or mountain, where they need never be subject to such evil again. I wrapped my arms around myself, stifling the burning will to act. Perhaps I did have the power to set this captive army free, even when cold iron hemmed them in. But there was another army to command, Tali’s fey army, our allies at the Gathering. Without me, they would not fight alongside Tali and her rebels, because that was simply the way the Good Folk were made. I could hear Tali’s voice in my mind, strong and clear.
You are our secret weapon, Neryn. Hold back until it’s time.

So I looked on as Esten used his destructive call again, and the fey folk down there fell to their knees, wailing. Quelled; powerless; hurting. Those of the young men who remained out on the field simply stood there, as if beyond feeling anything. I had no words for this; all I could think was how sad, how horrified, how disappointed Flint would be if he could see it.

‘Not a pretty sight.’

I started violently, losing my footing, and teetered on the brink. A strong hand came out and grabbed my arm, steadying me. ‘Careful, now. We wouldn’t be wanting you to fall. Not so close to midsummer day.’

The Master of Shadows. He was right beside me, today no old man but a prince in his prime, his features hawk-like, his midnight hair long and flowing, his eyes a flickering blend of black and red. He wore a swirling dark cloak over a deep red robe. No sign of the dog. Perhaps it didn’t like heights.

‘My lord,’ I said in shaking tones. ‘This is . . . unexpected.’

‘Surprises keep life interesting. What do you think?’ He waved an elegant hand toward the practice area, where the Enforcers were now herding the Good Folk back toward their temporary accommodation.

I must choose my words with care. He might disappear at any moment. He might decide to push me over the edge simply to amuse himself. I must make sure I asked the right questions. ‘You speak of surprises,’ I said. ‘There is one surprising thing here, and it is that you apparently trained that man, the one we just saw using what you taught him to harm your own folk. When we last met, you tested me and recognised me as a Caller. You seemed to understand what it was I intended to do. Why would you train a second Caller and allow him to be brought here?’

He gave a slow smile. ‘What, you don’t have the ability to override that fellow’s call?’

‘I’m only asking why.’

‘And if I said it was for my own amusement, would you accept that answer?’

He had once told me he loved playing games. He’d said that before we met again, I would need to get better at it. I did not understand this game at all. ‘You are a Guardian,’ I said. ‘I suppose you can do as you please. But I thought the Guardians were . . . wise in ancient ways. I thought they were forces for good.’

That smile again, knowing and mischievous. He turned his gaze back to the practice yard, where Gill was still in dispute with Brydian as the last of the Good Folk were moved out of our view. Esten was slumped on a seat in the raised area, his head in his hands. ‘Your king is a human king,’ the Master said. ‘Your queen is a human queen. Their Caller is an ordinary man. I did not summon those folk into captivity; I did not herd them like cattle or subject them to pain and terror. It was your kind that did those things.’

‘But you trained him,’ I said. ‘He spoke of you, an old man with a little dog, a man carrying a bundle of sticks. Just the same as when I first met you.’

‘You’re wasting time,’ he said. ‘He is here, and you are here, and midsummer is only days away. Choose your questions more wisely.’

‘Very well.’ I drew a deep breath. ‘How can I protect my fey allies against cold iron?’

He threw back his head and laughed, a wholehearted sound of genuine amusement. I waited for Brenn to come rushing up the steps, but he did not. Perhaps only I could hear it. ‘That is quite a question, Neryn.’

‘Now you are wasting time,’ I said. ‘I sought the answer with three Guardians, and in the end I was told that if anyone knew, it would be you. There will be a battle at midsummer; there’s no avoiding that. I cannot call our allies in unless they can resist iron. Otherwise they will suffer a worse fate than those poor folk that Esten dominates with his call.’

‘What answer are you expecting? If it were a matter of hanging a charm around the neck, or putting a clove of garlic in the pouch, or saying a spell before a body went into battle, what could you do about it now? You cannot pass the word to your allies out beyond the walls before midsummer.’

And when I said nothing, feeling the weight of bitter disappointment, he said, ‘The answer’s right before your eyes, lassie. Fleeting as a shadow, maybe, but you’re quick enough. That’s if you’re still the woman you were last autumn.’

Fleeting as a shadow . . . Could it be as simple as that? When we had met, I had captured his profile on the wall with a piece of charcoal, when the fire had thrown it there in shadow. The old lore said that when a person did such a thing, the one whose true image was caught had to grant a favour. I had told him, then, that I would not claim my reward straight away, but would wait until a time of need.

‘Quick now,’ he said. ‘I’ve my wee dog waiting.’

‘You owe me a reward,’ I said.

‘Aye, I do.’

‘Then protect all the fey folk against cold iron, at the Gathering.’

‘A big reward, that. Almost too big.’

I said nothing. If he could play games, so could I.

‘All the Good Folk? Even those ranged against your rebel forces?’

‘If my call is strong enough they will all fight for us. Even those who have been imprisoned here; even those so hurt and damaged that they have good reason never to trust human folk again.’

‘You’re sure that’s the favour you want? Quite sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ I knew enough from the old tales to understand the peril of magical gifts. Ask too much – for instance, that the Master of Shadows should ensure my call was stronger than Esten’s on the day, or that we would win without any losses, or that somehow peace could be restored without the need for any fight at all – and what seemed a boon would turn out to be a bane. There would be a trick in it designed to teach the wisher not to overreach herself.