The Wildkin’s Curse (23 page)

‘Phew! What a relief,' Zed said. ‘I couldn't stand Zak's fussing a moment longer.'

‘Is it my imagination or is your vile cousin actually trying to woo Priscilla?' Merry asked, letting Tom-Tit-Tot curl up on his lap again. ‘Have you noticed how he fawns over her?'

‘Luckily Cilla is much too smart to take any notice,' Zed answered.

‘You hope,' Merry said. ‘Imagine having him as a brother-in-law.'

‘I'd rather not,' Zed said, revolted.

‘That may well be the real reason why your cousin inflicted his charming company upon us,' Merry said. ‘I have been racking my brains wondering why he came all the way to Estelliana just to bring you a summons from the king. A royal messenger would normally do that job. And he hates the country, he tells us so all the time. But if he has designs to marry Priscilla and so strengthen his claim on the throne . . .'

‘I'd tip him into the pig trough first!' Zed cried. ‘Just look at the get-up he's forced me to wear! I'm sure it's a malicious trick and we'll walk into court to have everyone laugh at us.'

‘My bet is he tried to weasel his way into Rozalina's affections first and she was too smart to be taken in,' Liliana said. ‘That's why she inflicted him with mumps.'

‘I must admit I like her style,' Zed said.

The hackney carriage made its way through the quiet city streets. It was so late only a few houses showed the gleam of candlelight through their shutters, though the bells still rung out relentlessly. The carriage came to a halt at the city wall, with a low murmur of voices and the clink of coins, as their coachmen paid the men to open the gates. The scrape of metal on stone, and then the coach made its way into the forest that pressed up close on either side of the road. Merry tried to peer out the window, but the lantern that swayed on the front of the coach only showed dark leaves, and vines hanging like snakes, and pale branches shaking in the wind.

Then the coach began to tilt at a very sharp angle as the two horses strained to pull it up the steep incline of the hill on which the palace was built. Merry had to brace his feet on the floor to stop himself from sliding off his seat.

Merry smelt smoke on the wind, and shuddered deep inside. ‘They'll be building the cremation fire now. To burn the prince's body. At least the bells will stop ringing then.'

‘There can't be too much left of him to burn, if he was killed by fusillier fire,' Zed said.

‘I'd like to know where your mother got the idea of blowing his own flame back into his face,' Liliana said. In the darkness, Merry could not see her face, but he could imagine her direct and challenging gaze.

‘From me,' he admitted. ‘I told her what you did at Stormlinn Castle.'

Both Zed and Liliana exclaimed in surprise. ‘You told her! You've seen her? But when?'

‘In Hespera,' Merry said. ‘She sent me a message in code. I saw her that time I went to buy lute strings.'

‘And you told her about the soldier I killed?'

Merry could not tell from Liliana's voice if she was angry or not. He nodded, then, knowing she could not see his face, said rather defiantly, ‘Yes I did. Of course I did. I tell her everything.'

‘It was very clever of her to use it against the prince,' Liliana said. ‘But so dangerous! What if it had not worked?'

‘She'd be dead now,' Merry said sombrely.

T
HE CARRIAGE TRUNDLED TO A HALT OUTSIDE THE GATEHOUSE
of the palace. All the window slits were dark, without a welcoming light shining anywhere. The only sound was the endless tolling of the city bells, clanging monotonously through the mist.

‘Looks like it's all shut up for the night,' Zed said. He jumped down and strode over to the other carriage, Merry and Liliana at his heels. ‘I told you so!' he said to Zakary. ‘What do we do now? Ring the bell and rouse the whole place?'

‘No, no, I don't think we want to do that,' Zakary replied in a high, shrill voice. ‘The court will all be at the funeral, you know. Besides, who could hear us over the cacophony of all those bells! Dear me, but they do shred the nerves, don't they? Oh dear, oh dear, what shall we do?'

‘What about that postern gate?' Zed said impatiently. ‘Can't we just send someone round there to rouse the guard?'

‘I suppose we could,' Zakary said doubtfully.

Count Zygmunt called to Aubin the Fair. However, when he'd explained what he wanted, the constable bowed but said, ‘Respectfully speaking, my lord . . . I mean, Your Highness . . . should I leave you all here unguarded? For, what with one thing or another, I have very few men left.' He gave a low, deferential bow to Zakary, who glanced at him in surprise and then yawned behind his fan.

‘Yes,' Count Zygmunt said wearily. ‘We do seem to have lost our retinue, don't we? Lord Zakary seems to have found jobs for them all.'

‘I wouldn't like to leave you here on the road, Your Highness, not with all these murderous rebel attacks!' Aubin said earnestly, stroking his moustache.

Merry felt a familiar tide of angry words rush into his mouth.
My mother would never order an attack on Count Zygmunt!
he wanted to say.
The rebels only work in those counties where the hearthkin are enslaved and mistreated, and even then they do not murder, but simply sabotage the soldiers and steal the count's supplies. It is the starkin who murder!

But he said nothing, turning away so his face was in shadow.

‘Well, I don't need a guard,' Zed said. ‘But I've no desire to stay here in this cold and smelly carriage either. Why cannot we all walk around to the side gate? I personally am longing to stretch my legs after standing so long having stupid clothes pinned around me!'

‘You are so very vigorous!' Zakary sighed. ‘Walk around ourselves. What a very novel idea. One can tell you are a country boy.'

‘Yes, let's walk!' Priscilla cried. ‘I'm so cold! And I'm hungry too.'

‘My dearest, sweetest Priscilla, your wish is my command,' Zakary said, opening the carriage door and climbing out gingerly. ‘If you command me to walk, walk I will.'

‘Oh, you silly,' Priscilla laughed. ‘It'll do you good.' She allowed him to hand her out of the carriage, having to bend almost halfway over in order to get her tall conical headdress out through the door. ‘Oh, this stupid hat! My neck is aching already!'

‘I hope it's not far,' Count Zygmunt said. ‘I am very tired, and these new shoes of mine are most uncomfortable.'

‘Oh, it's not far,' Zakary assured him. ‘You know I vastly prefer not to walk if I can in any way avoid it. It is just around the corner and halfway round the wall.'

Aubin helped the count down, and then Annie jumped down from her coach, turning to scoop up all the parcels. There were so many of them that Aubin and all their remaining guards had to help carry them, much to their disgust.

‘Listen!' Merry said.

‘What? I can't hear anything,' Zed said.

‘Exactly. The bells have stopped ringing. The funeral must be over.' Merry could smell more clearly now the faint taint of smoke in the air. It made him feel uneasy. Thunder grumbled in the distance, and lightning flickered along the horizon.

The party of travellers set off to the right, following a narrow walkway around the base of the immense stone wall. Fog eddied and swirled about them. Aubin carried a lantern to show them the way, but its light did little to pierce the gloom. The path ran right at the edge of the precipice. Zed took Priscilla's arm to hold her steady. ‘I wouldn't like you to stumble in those silly shoes of yours,' he said. ‘It's a long way down.'

Merry heard a raven croak. He looked up and saw one perched on the great stone arch that supported the weight of the enormous wall soaring above them.

The raven called again, deep and hoarse. Merry, dawdling along behind the rest of the company, wished he had some meat to throw for it, to entice it down so he could pluck its feather. He wondered what it was saying, and imagined, in a kind of weary daze, that it called,
Beware! Beware!

At the front of the procession, Count Zygmunt limped slowly along, leaning heavily on his stick. ‘I am most displeased, Zakary. I should never have permitted you to delay us so much. This really is most irregular. I do hope the king—'

Suddenly bright light flared high against the fog. Masked men charged from behind the flying buttresses, carrying naked swords. Aubin dropped his armful of parcels and drew his sword, bellowing at his men. Priscilla screamed.

‘Do not harm the girls!' someone shouted. ‘It's the men we want to kill!'

Zed had pushed Priscilla and Annie behind him and was fighting off three men at once with nothing more than his dagger, his cloak wrapped round his left arm. Merry swung his lute bag off his shoulders and laid it down against the wall, and then drew his own dagger, his heart pounding so hard it hurt his ribs. Someone slashed at him, and he fought back automatically, glad of the long hours spent practising war craft at the Erlrune's. He wished he had a sword. His little knife seemed puny compared to the great broadswords their attackers carried. He wondered who they were. Few hearthkin were permitted to carry swords.

A blow whistled past his head, and he ducked and spun, kicking someone behind the knee, and then sidestepped away, a sword stroke missing him by a finger length.

He heard shrill screaming, the clang of metal on metal, grunts, curses, shouts, and groans, and looked about him desperately. Zakary had fallen, slumped back against the stone wall. Priscilla was shrieking in rage, and causing considerable pain by kicking with her sharp-pointed shoes and stabbing with her red silk parasol at the two men trying to hold her down. Annie crouched down with Priscilla's muff held over her head, while Count Zygmunt was hard-pressed, flailing his walking stick in increasingly feeble strokes and parries. Zed seized the sword of one of his fallen attackers and, with it in his right hand and his dagger in his left hand, he cut and thrust and parried, blood spraying with every swift strike. Tom-Tit-Tot had changed shape to his familiar orange-furred, black-winged, sharp-fanged form, and was biting and clawing at the head of one of the masked men.

An arrow whizzed past Merry's ear, and one of his attackers fell back, gurgling horribly, an owl-fletched arrow through his throat. Merry cast a look at Liliana. She had leapt up onto the flying buttress and was calmly shooting arrow after arrow into the struggling, seething melee, each one finding its mark in a masked attacker.

Someone called and pointed, and three men charged her, swords held at a deadly angle. She shot one mid-step, but then the other two grabbed her legs and dragged her down, another seizing her bow and arrows and flinging them away.

‘Lili!' Merry screamed. He tried to fight his way towards her, pushing and shoving. Then someone caught him a blow across the head, and Merry fell down. Light fizzled in his eyes, then he was lost to all sensation.

He did not know how long he was unconscious. When he swam back to life, and blearily opened his eyes, he could at first see nothing. All was dark. There was a familiar weight and pain in his chest. He felt as if he could hardly breathe. Then lightning flashed. Merry shrieked and flinched.

A raven was perched on his chest, its sharp, curved beak only inches from his eye. At the sound of Merry's cry, it spread its wings and flapped away. Merry had just enough sense to reach out and tear a feather from its wing.

His cry had attracted some attention. Some distance away, a dark shape was bending down over a figure sprawled on the ground. Merry could just see the quick rise and fall of a white hand in the darkness, stabbing the fallen man. He turned and came towards Merry, something long and pale in his hand. Merry shrank back, his fingers clutched about the raven feather. He felt with his other hand over the ground, looking for his dagger, or a rock, or his satchel, but found nothing.

The dark shape bent over him. Merry drew in his breath in terror, and smelt something sweet and sickly on the night breeze. ‘Best make sure,' a soft voice whispered, then there was that quick motion of something being raised high in the air. The hand flashed down, and Merry felt a sharp pain in his breast.

A hoarse shout came from beyond the pale arch of the flying buttress. A golden light sprang up, illuminating the stone but casting the place where Merry lay in even deeper shadow. His assailant hesitated, but then, as the light moved towards them, slunk away, disappearing into the shadow again.

Merry could not move. Painfully he turned his gaze towards the light. It was Zed, staggering around the stone buttress, Liliana in his arms. He held his night-light clutched in one hand, golden light swaying before him. Liliana clung to him, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

‘Thank you, thank you,' she sobbed.

Merry closed his eyes.