The Black Hill

by Alison Adare

  Hold fast.

  Hold tight.

  Hold true.

  A scream, partly pain, mostly fear, tried to force its way up her throat. Janet ground her teeth together, strangled it down to no more than a whimper, held on to Tom with every ounce of her strength and every particle of her will.

  And then suddenly Tom stepped back, dragging her with him. A log rolled from the fire as he pulled her to the ground. He rose to his knees beside her, beating at the burning fabric with his bare hands, ripping away the smoldering wool and the charred cotton beneath.

  Then he looked down at her with relief, his eyes clear and unclouded. “It’s not bad.” His voice had lost its hollow tone, and held nothing but honest reassurance, not the false comfort Janet herself had more than once given as a mortally wounded man trembled and shivered his way into death. It’s not bad. You’ll be all right. It’s not that bad.

  “Oh, Tom,” Janet said, and could say no more.

  “Look at your lying steward, Lord Bryn Du,” Lady Modron said, and Janet thought her voice had picked up a new, urgent note. “See with your own eyes how you’ve been deceived.”

  Janet realized that she was barely clothed, only covered by the rags of her tunic and shirt, and that as Tom looked down at her he could be in no doubt of the truth of Modron’s words. She wrapped her arms around her body as Modron went on, “See how she looks at you. She wants you for herself. She would let your people die, for her own selfish lusts. She has nursed a secret passion for you, lying to your face, while all this time you have trusted Jack Cooper.”

  “Is this true?” Tom said.

  No, Janet wanted to say, no, no, of course not.

  But what Modron said was the truth. What had Glyn said? I should have remembered that the only weapon we have against truth is truth. The only way Janet could win against the truths of the dragon at the heart of the black hill was with truth in turn.

  She turned her face away from Tom. “Yes,” she said, and despite her determination her voice cracked humiliatingly on the word. “Yes, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but it’s not why I’m here, Tom, it’s not! I do love you, but she’s still lying, Tom. She’s still lying to you.”

  “You’re one to talk of lying,” Modron said. “You have lied with every breath you’ve taken since you came to Bryn Du.”

  “I have,” Janet admitted. “I have. And I’m sorry. There was never a time … she’s right, Tom, I’m a false man, but she’s wrong, I’ve been a true friend to you, whatever else I’ve held secret in my heart. God’s blood, I even picked flowers for you to woo her with!”

  And whatever she might have expected to happen next, it was not Tom Lynhurst throwing back his head with a shout of laughter. “You did, Jack, that you did,” he said, standing, and raising her to her feet with him. “I had forgotten. Coming back trying to hide a bouquet in your doublet and full of stories about a dragon in the hill. And wild roses in your hair. And again, it seems.” He plucked the stem of wild rose Lew had given her from the collar of what was left of her tunic, where it had somehow managed to cling through everything, and turned to Modron. “My lady wife,” he said. “I’m afraid we must take our leave of you now. Please, accept this flower. It’s all you’ll ever have of me.”

  “No!” Modron put her hands behind her back. “No, I will not take it, you can’t give it to me, no!” She took a step backward, face a mask of fear, then another, still staring at the white flower, then another —

  And her heel caught on the log scattered from the fire.

  She went over backward, straight into the heart of the flames.

  Her scream was high and awful as her hair crisped to ash in an instant, clothes catching as she tried to thrash away from the flames. Logs scattered, carrying tongues of flame with them as they rolled. Tom leapt forward, seizing Modron’s ankle to drag her out of the fire, lost his grip as she writhed, and tried again. He managed to yank her clear and tried to smother the flames with his hands, beating at them, rolling her over as she flailed and fought him and all the time the terrible screaming going on and on and on.

  And then Modron scrambled away from Tom. She rose to her feet and staggered forward, as if she could flee the flames she carried with her. Now no more now than a pillar of flame, she stumbled one more step, still screaming, still screaming as she reached the edge, still screaming as she fell.

  And then the screaming stopped.

  Janet fell to her hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the ledge. Far, far below she could see the orange glow of fire, Modron’s body burning still, surrounded by flickering spots where the logs scattered from the fire had fallen into the trees.

  “God have mercy on her soul,” Tom said soberly, behind her.

  “I doubt it,” Janet said. That’s the end she meant for you, and you wish her mercy. You’re a better man than me, Tom Lynhurst. She began to laugh, because of course he was a better man than she, every man in Christendom and beyond was a better man than she was. She pressed her hands to her mouth. He’ll think I’m laughing at the death of his wife. He’ll think I’m laughing because, as she said, I want him for myself.

  A warm hand on her shoulder. Tom’s hand. It was scorched pink with an ugly burn across the back of it, but it was strong and real and alive and Janet covered it with her own.

  He flinched from her touch and she let her hand drop. “Jack,” he said.

  “That’s not my name,” she said wearily.

  “I know. I’m used to it, though. We need to be going. Look.”

  She turned, and saw more spots of flame, growing, scattered across the side of the hill. Already the smoke was growing thicker. After the summer we’ve had, the trees will smolder rather than blaze, but that’ll only make the smoke worse.

  She used his arm to lever herself to her feet. “I hope you remember the way you came.”

  “I hope so too,” Tom said.

  “Christ’s cod, that’s reassuring. And what do we do with these three?” she asked, with a nod at the nearest unconscious man. “Leave them here?”

  Tom cast a glance out over the hillside. “That’s as good as murder.”

  “Yes, well, I did murder two of them.” Janet raked her fingers through her hair. “And I believe the sentence for devil-worship is burning, anyway.”

  Tom’s mouth set in a way Janet was well familiar with, Sir Thomas Lynhurst when his principles were pricked. “After a trial.”

  “I’m not saying light them on fire while we’re here, Tom!” Stooping, she took one of the unconscious men by the feet and began to tug him away from the edge of the ledge. The black hood caught on the rough stone as she did and came off, and she recognized Alan ap Derfel. “Just that the end will be the same. Drag them into the cave. That’s as good a chance as we can give them, unless you’re minded to carry all three of them up with us.”

  Tom bent over another of the prone figures. “This one’s dead,” he said, and crossed himself.

  Janet dropped her burden as Tom pulled the final of Modron’s co-conspirators into the cave as well. The man stirred a little, moaning, and Janet leaned down past Tom’s shoulder and punched him where she judged his jaw to be. Tom made a small noise of protest as the man went still and quiet again.

  Janet met Tom’s gaze steadily. “Did you want him wandering up behind us in the dark, then?”

  “No,” Tom said. “You’re right. I … didn’t expect to find such choices, here. That’s all.”

  Didn’t expect to see them made by a woman, was what that meant, Janet knew. She yanked up the man’s mask. The face revealed was familiar, but she couldn’t bring the name to mind. “Let’s go,” she said.

  Tom led the way to the dark alcove which, as Janet had guessed, was the entrance to the cave from above, a narrow crevice leading on and up. It had been roughly hewn, the steps at awkward, different heights, and worn smooth by many feet over many years. The way was so narrow they had to go single file, and so dark that Janet couldn’t see her hand in front
of her face. She concentrated on following the sound of Tom’s breathing, the pad of his bare feet on the stone steps, as they climbed until her knees trembled, until she was sure they had somehow missed the door out and were lost in some infinite maze beneath the black hill. The revenge of Modron’s old powers. We can defeat them, but never leave their dark.

  And then, with a little spurt of anger, let them do their worst. I bested their witch and I’ll best them too.

  The smell of smoke grew stronger and the air grew thick and hard to breathe. The staircase was acting as a chimney, Janet realized, drawing the smoke from the burning trees behind them up and up. She coughed, blinked streaming eyes. We have to get out. We’ll smother here if we don’t.

  Tom stopped so suddenly that she ran into his back. “It’s locked,” he said, and she heard him rattle a door. “They must have locked it behind them on the way down.”

  Modron must have locked it behind them. Janet very much doubted she would have let anyone else hold the key. She pushed in beside Tom, felt for the handle, shook the door, and then traced the edge of it with her fingertip. “No hinges,” she said. “It opens outward.”

  Tom thumped it. “Solid.” He shouted, “Hello, hello, help!” and then broke into a fit of coughing.

  Janet knelt and found the keyhole by touch. “Give me that bracelet you’re wearing.”

  “Why?” he asked, but she felt him move as he did so, and a second later he groped for her shoulder in the dark, then felt down her arm to put the arm-band in her hand.

  As she’d half-remembered, it was not a loop, but a slim copper coil. She pulled on it and it yielded, little by little, until she had two long thin prongs at each end of it. “Well,” she said, easing one into the lock, “you’ll remember that I am a locksmith’s son.”

  “Daughter,” Tom corrected, and Janet felt a hot lump in her throat.

  She swallowed hard. Tom didn’t have time for her to give way to the grief of her knowing he’d look at her, from now on, with contempt. That he knew her to be a liar, knew she’d done nothing but deceive him since the day they’d met. She put that thought away from her, put away her shame and the awful knowledge that after tonight, she’d likely never see Tom again. All she allowed herself to feel, all she allowed herself to think, was the thin copper strands teasing the unseen lock in front of her.

  Something caught, and held, and when she twisted gently, oh so very gently …

  “Try it now,” she said, and Tom pushed on the door, and it opened.

  Cool night air swept over them and for a moment Janet could only kneel where she was and gasp great lungfuls of it. Then Tom stepped forward, and she hauled herself to her feet and followed. She tripped over a fragment of rubble and reeled against the wall, hanging on to it.

  Tom was shouting. Not at her, though, so Janet leaned wearily against the wall and looked up at the bright moon and let him shout.

  Running footsteps, a babble of voices. Tom’s arm around her shoulders, urging her to move. She limped forward, her leg starting to sting fiercely now she had time to think about it. Glyn’s face swam into view, only it couldn’t be Glyn, because Janet was sure that dour man had never smiled so widely in his life. He took her arm. “I’ve got her, m’lord. Let them see you, now. Stand out and let them see you.”

  Tom’s arm slipped from her shoulders and Janet sagged against Glyn. “Two of them might be alive down there. Alan ap Derfel is one. I didn’t recognize the other, I’m sorry.” She paused. “And I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry!” Glyn said. “Idiot.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. She could hear Father Donnic’s voice, praising God for casting down the devil and delivering the young lord. The courtyard was full of people now, torches and moonlight mazing her vision. Did they wake to the screaming? Or were they waiting for it? She could still smell smoke. “The woods…?” she said to Glyn.

  “Well alight.”

  “Buckets,” Janet said. “On the walls.”

  “Done,” he said, and Janet remembered that the safety of Bryn Du was no longer her responsibility, was no longer her right to be concerned about, let alone give orders to secure. “Come on now, girl. You’re all in.”

  She let him half-carry her around the edge of the crowd in the courtyard to the tower stairs, the voices about her washing over her. Someone was singing, and she recognized the tune. Davith’s song. It wasn’t sad this time, though, it held a high, sweet joy. “I held fast,” Janet said to Glyn.

  “You did that,” he agreed.

  The stairs loomed ahead and she stopped. “I’m sorry, Glyn,” she said. “I don’t think I can.” Her knees were trembling so much that even with his support she dipped and drooped towards the ground. “I’m sorry.”

  “What is it with you foreigners and the I’m sorry,” he asked.

  “Not all of us,” Tom said from behind them. “Some of us could say it more often. Has someone sent for Braelyn?”

  “Yes. And Caris is waiting for her upstairs.”

  Arms around her, lifting her up and off her feet. A bare shoulder, hard with muscle, smelling of smoke and sweat, beneath her cheek. “Turn the key on m’lady’s women,” Tom said, voice startlingly close. “I don’t know what part they played, but I don’t want them wandering loose until it’s settled.”

  “I’ll see to it myself,” Glyn said. “Paul is standing guard at your door — he was with me when the commotion started, I’m sure of him.”

  The courtyard moved and rocked and began to fall away. Janet realized Tom was carrying her up the stairs. “Send someone down for the two below,” he said. “There’s one dead, too, I want all their names. I want to know who helped them, who knew.”

  “Tom,” Janet said. She raised her head from his shoulder.

  “You’re all right,” he said, a little grimly.

  “God’s blood, Tom, put me down! You’ll strain something!”

  It won her a twitch of his lips. “There’s gratitude,” he said. “For that language, I should drop you on your head.”

  But he didn’t. He carried her up the winding stairs of the tower to his chamber. Paul opened the door for him, and Caris was inside. She burst into tears at the sight of him, and fluttered around him as he carried Janet to the bed and laid her down. Janet winced as the back of her leg came into contact with the coverlet and rolled over to her side. “Braelyn comes,” Tom said to Caris in the local language.

  Caris nodded. She touched Janet’s leg gently, and her back, and burst out into fresh sobs. “It’s not bad,” Janet said.

  “You’ll be all right,” Tom agreed. “Jack, I have to see to things below. The whole wood’s burning, and we’ve likely got men loose who shouldn’t be.”

  “I know.” And you’re short-handed, with your bailiff dead and no steward. She had to offer, even though she knew he’d reject it. “Clothes — people don’t know yet, I can still —”

  “No,” Tom said, as she’d known he would.

  At least he said it gently. Janet closed her eyes so as not to have to watch him leave.

  Chapter 21

  Janet drifted slowly up from the depths of sleep, gradually becoming aware that something was not right. She lay face down on a deep, soft mattress, not her own straw ticking or the pallet on Tom’s floor. The sheets beneath her were far finer than she was used to. She was warm, but felt no weight of blankets on her.

  She moved a little and the stinging pain from her leg brought her fully awake.

  Opening her eyes, she saw that she was in Tom’s chamber, and the bed she lay on was, in fact, Tom’s. Some sort of basket-work frame covered her, keeping the sheet and blankets off her leg and back. The shutters were open and sunlight washed across the floor.

  She was naked, and she was not alone.

  Very much not alone.

  Caris nodded in a chair by the fire. Braelyn sat opposite her, head bent over a pile of cloth in her lap, needle glinting in the sunlight as it wove in and out. Glyn le
aned against the door, arms folded, gaze steady on the patch of sunlight as if fascinated by the dancing motes of dust caught in its rays.

  And there was a warm weight beside her that she knew, without looking, to be Tom.

  She looked anyway. He lay on top of the covers, wearing tunic and trousers, fast asleep. On the wrist of the arm flung above his head, Janet could see the faded traces of the paint he’d been marked with, and there was a pink burn on the back of that hand, but apart from that, the events of the night before might never have happened. In sleep, his face was unlined and soft, his limbs loose and his breathing deep and even.

  Aware she would likely never see him again, let alone see him like this, Janet held her breath. The sun moved a little further across the sky and slipped up the edge of the bed. It fired his hair to gold, limned his cheek and traced his lips. Crept further, touched the hollow of his throat, outlined the long, clean lines of his out-flung arm —

  His eyes opened.

  Janet rolled out of bed, sending the frame flying. Tom tumbled off the other side of the mattress as she dragged the sheets with her, wrapping the linen around herself like a cloak. She backed away as he sat up.

  “Jack?” Tom said, and Janet felt someone behind her, spun to see Glyn coming towards her. She clutched the sheet more tightly about her body and shuffled sideways, away from him.

  “It’s all right, girl, you’re safe now,” Glyn said, and Caris was on her feet making wordless soothing noises and Braelyn was on her feet as well —

  “Out,” Tom said quietly. “Now.” Glyn hesitated, nodded, and opened the door. Janet took a step toward it. “Not you, Jack!”

  She stopped, stood still as Braelyn and Caris left. Caris closed the door as she went, leaving Janet and Tom alone. And now it comes. He’s had time to think on what he found out last night, and …

  “Will you sit down?” Tom said.

  Janet shook her head, not daring to look at him, knowing what she’d see in his face. “I must go.”