Sword of Fire

by Katharine Kerr

  “I was hired by a bunch of scholars in Aberwyn to guard Alyssa vairc Sirra. She’s here to pick up an old book. They think it can help in their suits to change the gwerbretal courts.”

  “Title of this book?”

  “Dwvoryc’s Annals of the Dawntime.”

  Rommardda laughed in a peal of good humor. “Brilliant of them!” she said. “If the right people take it seriously, it will help indeed.”

  With that she let him go.

  Cavan saw very little of Alyssa during the rest of that day. At dinner she ate on one side of the cavernous, dimly lit great hall while he and Benoic ate at the other side. The servants seated with them mostly ignored them, silver daggers as they were. The food at least was good and plentiful.

  “No cockroaches in this stew,” Benoic remarked.

  “Indeed. And the bread’s fresh, not two days old.”

  They ate fast and left as soon as they were done. In the cool evening air they walked around the entire complex to see how easily a determined bounty hunter could sneak in during the night. The outer wall stood too low for Cavan’s liking, and Benoic agreed.

  “All that rough stonework in pretty patterns,” Benoic said. “Might as well lean a ladder up against it and be done with it.”

  The guesthouse itself presented more problems. They’d be up on the top floor while Alyssa was sleeping downstairs. If someone crept in to do her harm, they’d never hear even if she managed to cry out for help. They stopped their circuit at the lakeshore near the back of the guesthouse and looked it over in the scarlet sunset light. Behind them the lake rippled and gleamed with the reflection like streaks of blood and gold on the calm water.

  “All rough wood and unglazed windows.” Benoic waved at the guesthouse. “But maybe we’re overestimating the enemy. Those three young bucks would be glad to get hold of her if it was easy, but it’s you they’re really after. Money over revenge would be my wager.”

  “I tend to agree. I just don’t want to be proved wrong. It would be a bitter wager to lose.” Cavan glanced around and saw one of the pages heading for the guesthouse. “Lad! Come here a moment.”

  The lad did as he was bid and strolled over with a pleasant smile.

  “A question or two for you,” Cavan said. “When do they bar the gates in the outer wall? Midnight? Or an earlier watch?”

  “At sunset, usually. Later in the dead of winter, when the sun goes down so early. They open them again at dawn, or earlier in winter. There’s a bell outside that someone can ring if they need help. The night porter will open the gates for them if they’re ill or suchlike.”

  “Will he let just anyone in?” Cavan said.

  “If they need our aid, of course he will.”

  “What if they’re here to cause trouble? Like, say, they have a grudge against someone inside. Do you have a night watch?”

  “We don’t need one. The island protects its own.”

  Cavan could think of a number of scathing replies, but from the lad’s puzzled smile he could assume they’d be useless.

  “Are you afraid of someone like that?” the page said.

  “We are,” Benoic said. “Three silver daggers who have a quarrel with Cavan here.”

  “You’d best speak to the night porter, then. He’ll be having his breakfast about now in the kitchen hut.”

  The page turned and pointed to the far side of the guesthouse, then hurried on his way.

  Kitchen lads and cooks filled the kitchen hut with confusion, and the huge hearth filled it with smoke, but they did find the night porter eating bread and bacon as he sat on a little bench in one corner of the long rectangular room. Encouragingly enough, he was a tall burly fellow with a large knife in his belt. A quarterstaff leaned against the wall next to him. Cavan knelt down next to him and told him their tale while he went on eating. Eventually he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and nodded.

  “Not much I can do against three men,” he said, “but I can sound an alarm, and then Haen Marn will do the rest.”

  “People keep telling us that the place is going to keep us safe,” Cavan said. “I know it’s a sanctuary, but these lads won’t have any respect for that.”

  The man laughed, revealing a couple of missing teeth. “It’s a bit more than that, laddie. A fair bit more than that. If these troublemakers show up, you’ll see what I mean.” With that he picked up a chunk of bread and returned to sopping bacon grease.

  The audience had obviously ended. Cavan and Benoic retreated before the cook threw them out.

  “I’ll have a word with Alyssa,” Cavan said. “I’ll tell her to stay in her chamber no matter what she hears outside.”

  Cavan eventually found Alyssa in the entrance way of the guesthouse, where she was chatting with another young woman in the lantern light. At Cavan’s approach the other lass made some excuse and frankly fled. Alyssa smiled with a shake of her head.

  “Everyone seems to think you’re as dangerous as a dwarven fire arrow,” she said.

  “Not dangerous, just scum that might spread plague.” Cavan tried to smile at his sour jest but failed. “Be that as it may, I’m thinking of keeping a watch tonight. They shut the gates to this place, but if our three friends decide to cause a little trouble, they can climb that wall easily enough.”

  “Do you think they will?”

  “I don’t know. They might. It’s not just the coin they’re after now. They’ll want to get a bit of their own back after those merchants chased them all over town.”

  In the lantern light he could see her turn a little pale. Good, he thought, she knows it’s serious.

  “So please,” Cavan continued, “stay in your chamber tonight. Until well after dawn, say, and no matter what you may hear outside.”

  “Well and good, then, I will. By the by, I was just finding out how to turn Dovina’s draft into the coins to pay you and Benoic with. I’ll do that on the morrow.”

  “My thanks, but there’s no hurry. We’ve got a long way to go to reach Cerrmor.”

  * * *

  Alyssa went straight to her chamber. She set her lit candle down on a little table at the foot of the bed, then returned to the window and gazed out at the lake and the island. In the dim blue gloaming she could barely tell water from land except for the little stripes of clarity where the windows of the distant manse glowed with the flickering yellow of candlelight and firelight. Even more than during the day the manse seemed to move, twitching like a dreaming cat. At other times it seemed to grow just a bit larger, then smaller again. The apple trees, however, stayed where they’d been planted.

  “Maybe I’m going daft!” she said aloud.

  She turned to look in another direction. She could see some of the small cottages. Their windows glowed with candlelight, but they stayed solid and motionless. Among them she saw someone walking. What were they? Two people, she thought at first, vaguely human in shape, more like shadows than persons. They traveled along the length of one cottage and through the spill of light from a window—except they disappeared in the light. They emerged on the other side of the patch, then slowly rose into the air. Birds? Much too large for birds, and they lacked wings. They merely drifted over the roofs of the cottages like dandelion seeds blown into summer air—huge, though, and as they came toward the manse, she could see that while they had heads and a torso, and two appendages that might have been arms, they lacked legs. Billows of darkness hung where legs might have been.

  Alyssa took a sharp step back from the window. One of the creatures—if that’s what they were—drifted closer. Words formed in her mind.

  Be not afraid. We are here on watch. We are not evil.

  “I meant no insult. You startled me, is all. You weren’t here before.”

  True. The gardener called us forth.

  With the words came a feeling of peace like the sound of a lullaby. The sha
pes drifted away and out of her sight. Alyssa closed the shutters over the window to keep out the damp night air. Dwimmer! she thought. Lady Tay’s modern teachings, all their student talk about “old wives’ tales” and nonsense, were tearing apart and fraying in her mind like a piece of old, moth-ridden cloth.

  Later, as she was getting into bed, she remembered their remark about “the gardener.” Another of Haen Marn’s puzzles, she supposed, and let it lie.

  * * *

  “No sign of anything amiss,” Benoic said. “They’re more likely to come once it’s light, anyway. I’ve been thinking, Cavvo. If they climb in here in the middle of the night, how are they going to find us?”

  “That’s true. They can’t go barging into every cottage, and the guesthouse has a porter of its own.”

  “The pages have to be in bed, too. The lads told me that the woman in charge of them is strict about that. I doubt any of the patients or healers know who we are. So there won’t be anyone about they can ask.”

  Cavan turned slowly in a circle to look over the complex around them. They’d made a circuit of the entire place from dungheaps to stables to guesthouse and now stood near the gates. The night porter had already closed and barred them, and he was sitting in a little wooden booth nearby. By the light of his lantern they could see him industriously picking his teeth.

  “Doesn’t look like he’s expecting trouble,” Benoic said.

  “It doesn’t at that. Tell you what. Let’s go back and get some sleep. We can get up with the dawn.”

  With a wave to the night porter, they left the gates and headed toward the guesthouse. They were about halfway across the long lawn when Benoic happened to glance up at the sky.

  “Mother of all the gods!” He sounded as if he were choking. “What’s that?”

  Two black creatures, partially human in shape, drifted above them. The hair on the back of Cavan’s neck and on his arms stood up in sudden chill like winter frost. The creatures sank lower. The darkness hanging from them like draped cloaks swirled and shifted.

  Be not afraid. We are here on watch, just as you are.

  Benoic yelped and bolted for the guesthouse. Cavan managed to choke out a mangled version of “my thanks,” then followed his lead. They rushed inside and saw the house porter laughing at them.

  “I take it you’ve met the night watch,” he said.

  Benoic growled like the leopard and strode off for the back stairs.

  “So we have,” Cavan said. “Here, what would happen to someone if one of those—whatever they are—sat on him, like?”

  “I’ve no idea, but I’ll wager it wouldn’t be pretty.”

  “I wouldn’t bet against you.” He collected his wits with a shudder and a shake of his head. “Well, good night to you, then.”

  Cavan and Benoic had a pair of cots at one end of a long row of them, in a chamber where the various menservants slept. When Cavan came in, Benoic had already taken off his boots and sword belt and was lying half-asleep on top of his blankets. The chamber was hot from all the rising heat of the house below. In winter, Cavan supposed, it would be murderously cold, just as most barracks were. He lay down and fell asleep before he was quite aware of doing it.

  He woke to see gray light outside the tiny window. Dawn, he supposed. Snores and the occasional sigh told him that the other men still slept. He hauled himself out of bed and looked around for chamber pots. He found several, but all of them brimmed full. He’d have to find a privy. He picked up his boots and sword belt and carried them out of the chamber for silence’s sake.

  Just outside the door he stopped to strap on the belt. Should he go out alone? If the gates were open, and the day porter had taken over, would the night porter have warned him about the bounty hunters? Cavan went back into the sleeping chamber and woke Benoic. He murmured an explanation.

  “Wise of you,” Benoic whispered. “Let me just get belt and boots.”

  At the foot of the stairs they pulled on their boots, then headed out to the row of privies that stood behind the stables. In the east the light brightened and turned a few streaky clouds pink. Cavan kept looking up at the sky, but he saw no sign of the guard creatures.

  “Not going to rain,” Cavan said. “No doubt it won’t while we’re here and sheltered.”

  “It’ll pour as soon as we get back on the road.”

  Once they’d run the errand they’d come for, they started back toward the guesthouse. To avoid the maze of cottages, they kept to the lakeshore. Not far from the stable area a long gray pier poked out into the still water. A matching pier jutted out from the island.

  “Huh!” Benoic said. “Who’s that? One of our lads, I think.”

  Cavan looked toward the guesthouse, where Benoic was pointing. A tall fellow with a thick thatch of red hair walked toward them with cautious steps. At his belt a silver point winked in the rising light. Only one man it could be—Renno paused, drew his sword, and whistled three sharp notes. A signal, Cavan assumed. He and Benoic both drew. Benoic stepped around to stand back to back with Cavan.

  “Here comes another of them,” Benoic said. “But it’s only Wilyn. We’ve got a chance this time.”

  Renno stopped some ten feet away from them and smiled over his raised blade. “A share for you, Benno,” he said, “if you’ll just walk away. Silver dagger’s honor. A full third. Our former friend decided he wasn’t man enough to stick with the hire.”

  “Shove it up your arse,” Benoic said. “One coin at a time.”

  “Well and good, then. I—” He stopped, cursed, and then yelped aloud.

  From some distance behind, Cavan heard Wilyn scream full throat. He thought their alarm might be a ruse until Renno spun around and broke into a run, slipping and stumbling in the dew-wet grass. Cavan looked up and saw a creature of darkness moving after Renno in a streak of black cloud. Wilyn kept screaming. Grooms came racing out of the stables. Pages rushed out of the guesthouse. As he ran after Renno, Cavan yelled, “We were attacked!”

  We know. We are not blind.

  A second creature appeared, and a third. The grooms were bellowing, “Stop, stop!” The pages were calling out, “Just stop, and they won’t hurt you!” Renno in blind panic reached the pier, ran onto it, and raced to the end. The creatures drifted after him but made no move to sink lower. Their skirts of darkness spread out, then held motionless. Renno took a step back and teetered on the edge.

  The pages began yelling “Nah, nah, don’t jump, don’t!” Their high boys’ voices rang with sincere terror. “Give up! Just give up!”

  For a brief moment Renno wavered, then flung his useless sword straight at one of the creatures. The metal flashed in the sun, missed the billowing darkness, and clattered onto the pier below. A bluish light flashed. Instead of the creatures, three unusually large ravens began to circle, drifting lower as they did so. Renno stooped, grabbed the hilt of his sword, and swore at the touch. He let the weapon drop and threw himself into the water. He floundered, flopped, managed to get himself onto his stomach, and started swimming for the island. The pages screamed.

  Near the opposite pier on the island stood a boathouse. The doors snapped open, and a long narrowboat with a fancy prow like a dragon’s head pulled out. The six rowers bent to their oars. In the stern a young lad banged incessantly on a big bronze gong. A short, stocky man with a boathook stood in the prow, ready to pull Renno free of the water, Cavan assumed. He sheathed his sword and watched as the boat headed for Renno—too late.

  Something was rising from the water, a great gray shape, the back of a beast, as smooth and solid as polished stone. The rowers began to yell and curse at the top of their lungs. A long neck snaked up, a small oval head appeared, a mouth opened. Teeth, ye gods, fangs! The neck whipped like a snake and sank the fangs into Renno. The bounty hunter had time for just one twisted scream of agony before head, neck, and Renno all disappeared under
the water. A spreading red stain floated on the surface for a few moments before the ripples from the approaching boat broke it up and washed it away.

  “Haen Marn protects its own, indeed,” Benoic said. “Or the Lord of Hell does.”

  Cavan spun around and saw Benoic standing nearby. His face had gone dead-pale. Cavan figured that his own probably had, too. Some of the pages were frankly weeping.

  “Where’s Wilyn?” Cavan said.

  “The grooms got him. He’s the lucky one, eh? They’ll haul him up before the Lord and Lady of the Isle, they told me. You’re not allowed to disrupt the peace of Haen Marn.” Benoic tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a giggle. “It’s bad for the patients, they say.”

  “No doubt.” Cavan distrusted his own voice so much that he said nothing more.

  Cavan walked out on the pier to retrieve Renno’s sword. If one of the pages took it, he figured, the lad would try to play warrior with it and hurt himself or one of his fellows. He squatted down and reached for the hilt, but cautiously. An unnatural warmth still radiated from the leather wrapping. It must have been extremely hot when Renno touched it. Cavan shuddered. He took off his waistcoat and wrapped it around the hilt before he picked it up. By the time he got back to Benoic, the dwimmer heat had cooled.

  CHAPTER 6

  ALYSSA HAD WOKEN WHEN she heard the first screams. She flung the blanket back and got up, rushed to the window, and leaned out dangerously far to watch the entire confrontation, including Renno’s death. She stepped away from the window and realized that she was shaking and cold from sheer revulsion. She reminded herself that Renno would have gladly killed Cavan for the bounty and probably raped her, too, if he’d had a chance at it.

  “But the way he screamed. And those ravens!”

  And the blood staining the water—she could see it so clearly in her mind that she wondered if she’d ever be free of the memory.