Black Kath's Daughter

by Richard Parks

  CHAPTER 6

  "Anyone fool enough to hunt for a dragon deserves to find one."

  —Bruga the Deliberate

  Bone Tapper was the first to go.

  He snapped to attention on Black Kath's shoulder like a soldier receiving an order, then lifted its wings and flapped away into the quickening woods, sounding a cry too much like a human voice.

  "Done! Done! Done!"

  Kath took a firmer grip on the reins and stopped her small wagon. The horse was already getting restless. Kath had seen the signs clearly, hoped that she might yet outrun the shadows one last time. Apparently, that was not to be. "Bone Tapper, you return this instant!"

  Of course it did no such thing. Its cries turned to echoes that quickly faded. Black Kath listened to the silence and realized there was no chance of getting home now. She was out of time. She slapped the reins once and pulled the wagon off into a small clearing. The bushes lining the cart trail closed in behind her just in time. Another moment and the cart-horse's outline grew indistinct, then shimmered, then changed. Something that was no longer a horse slipped out of the harness that no longer fit and slithered off into the woods. Black Kath did not bother to call after it. Yssara already had his instructions, such that they were. Since they only required him to do as he was inclined anyway, only more so, she had no doubt he would obey her. Even though, right now, it did not have to obey her in anything.

  What Power holds Weakness frees. The first of the Laws of Power. Black Kath had long thought it a paradox, but it actually made perfect sense. Here was the proof.

  Sodded prince fouled up everything.

  The queen’s second pregnancy was nearly as troubled as the first, which was no more than Kath expected. Mistress Thornap probably could have handled it herself, but a deal had been made and so Kath had come, for all that her time was short. There was no arguing with kings, and babes who would be king. Poor Mysona nearly bled dry from the womb twice and all the royal oaf could think to ask was "Is it a boy?" Yes, Majesty, it sodding well is. A fine fat suckling boy and yes, if you ever get around to asking your lady will live, thank you exceedingly but I really must run off and die now.

  Well, it hadn't gone exactly like that. Alian had shown more than a little concern for his lady, and angry as Kath was, many things went well thought but equally well unsaid, which is the way of most of life. Not a Law of Power but true enough as such things went, right up to the end.

  Which is almost here.

  She had hoped for more time, but that wasn't to be. The witch gingerly lowered herself from the cart before the first spasm hit. She managed to collapse with her back to a nearby oak before the second wave of pain nearly washed her away. She sank to a sitting position on the soft grass as the covered cart began to hum like a choir preparing for song. The cart, with its red and gold markings did not change; it was one of the few things that served Black Kath in its own nature. It was just a cart. Unlike the horse that had pulled it, or the one who remained within. Black Kath thought it very fortunate that she had been driving now and not Treedle. There was a good chance the cart would have been left on the road. At least here her death would have a little privacy. Kath wasn't alone yet, but she knew she soon would be.

  Enjoy it while you may, Darlings. You're still not free...

  "Your servants have departed, Mistress."

  A squat little man stood before Black Kath. His features were broad and ugly, his back stooped, his arms thick and long.

  "All except you, Treedle. Well, don't hang about. You won't have much time."

  "I know," he said, and began to change. His back straightened, his legs lengthened, his features refined and reformed into that of a tall, broad man with curly red hair. He was still young, despite the years he had spent in Kath's service. Kath wondered if that was because his time belonged to her for so long, and he only retained what had belonged to him? Possible, but there was no leisure to sort it out now. He looked exactly as she remembered, so many years ago.

  Black Kath smiled. "You understand even this? Well, I'm not surprised. You always were a clever sort. Far more so than I was. I should never have answered the summons, deal or no."

  "A servant knows a command when he hears one, Mistress."

  Black Kath laughed, but not for long. She hadn't the strength left for it. "Impertinent, too. Well, it's true enough in its way. And close to a Law of Power," Black Kath said, wincing at a new pain. "Not quite, but close. Off with you, then. Be free as long as you can."

  The man who had been a hob for so many years still hesitated. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mistress?"

  Black Kath didn't answer for several long moments. "My death frees all who have obligation to me until Marta claims her birthright. I thought you understood that. You are your own man until Marta finds you. Go."

  Treedle drew himself to his full height, considerably more than it had been as a hob. "I'm my own man now, as you say. And as my own man I repeat—is there anything I can do for you?"

  She smiled at him. "Treedle, even now you manage... to astonish me."

  Black Kath felt the black tide rising within her, fought it back as she turned over the spark of a notion in her mind. Death waited while Treedle waited. Finally Black Kath smiled again. "Marta is young. There is much she doesn't understand... Yssara has agreed to help me just a bit, but what I ask of you will be much greater. Lean close, Treedle. If it suits your whim, perhaps there is something you can do for Marta, if not for me."

  Treedle listened and Black Kath Spoke quickly before the tide of pain rose again and would not wait for either of them.

  *

  Marta woke from a very dark dream. She sat up suddenly in her bed, pushing the blankets aside. Her mouth opened and closed several times. She could not form words, or do anything except sit there and shiver. It was some time before the fear ebbed enough to let her senses return to her. She tried to remember what had happened, what had frightened her so, but she could not.

  "Mother...?"

  She remembered. There was no sense in calling out; Kath had not returned from Karsan. For one terrible moment Marta imagined Laras ambushing her mother unawares at any one of a number of places along the road to Karsan, and her act of foolish charity—if such it was, Marta wasn't convinced of that—had led to her mother's doom. Yet the more she thought of the idea the more ridiculous it seemed. Laras? He wouldn't have been able to get near Black Kath of Lythos, even if he were fool enough to try. Bone Tapper would have spied him and Treedle, if need be, could rip Laras limb from limb, if her mother didn't turn him into a pile of ash first. He was no threat.

  So why hasn't my mother returned? It's been weeks!

  It was the first time she let herself admit that her mother was overdue. Marta didn't think for a moment that Mistress Thornap could have misjudged the time so badly. Had something gone wrong, and the king taken vengeance on Kath? Marta dismissed that. He wouldn't dare...or if he had, Marta would have heard.

  "Would you? When was the last time you were anywhere you would hear?" Marta asked herself. The answer wasn't very satisfactory. A week or more since she'd gone in to Molbrook to sell Laras' horse. She'd thought of keeping it, but for some reason she wasn't sure if she would be ready to talk to her mother about the First Law, considering the foolish risk she'd taken soon after. Explaining the strange horse in their stable would have taken the matter out of Marta's hands. Marta knew all that, though true enough, was just an excuse. The real reason was that the wretched beast reminded her of Laras, and she wanted no part of it. Koman Tol had offered her a fair enough price—for Kath's daughter he wouldn't have dared otherwise—but if need be she would have given it away.

  Marta shivered again. She thought of pulling the blankets up again and trying to go back to sleep, but she was afraid the dream was still there, waiting for her. She waited as long as she could stand it, then got up and got dressed.

  The embers in the kitchen grate were well banked; it only took a few minutes to get the
fire back to life. There was still a faint scent of apples in the air; Marta had finished preparing the last batch for storage only a few days before, and she'd sent the rest to Molbrook for pressing. Marta opened the accounts book, then closed it again. She'd read it through twice already; she didn't understand everything that was in it, but she understood more than she ever had before. She hoped the rest would come in time. More than that, she hoped her mother would soon return to answer all the questions she had about the Debt; especially that bit about how she might win free of it. There was nothing more to do but wait, and Marta had been doing that. Now she was done with waiting, too.

  "I can't wait any more," she said.

  Marta took her cloak from its peg by the door and went outside. The air was crisp and cold and all the stars sparkled brightly; it wasn't quite winter yet, but close enough. The first snowfall could come any time now. Marta looked to the east and judged dawn to be an hour away, at most. She went back inside and by the time dawn came she was ready to leave. She quenched the fire and made sure all the lamps and candles had been properly snuffed out. She locked the doors behind her; not that she expected anyone would be foolish enough to rob them. It was just sense. You locked your house when you weren't going to be there and, if someone was missing, you looked for them. Simple.

  It wasn't a short walk to Molbrook, but Marta arrived there just before noon.

  There's not much to the place.

  That hadn't been true all of Marta's life; she was so used to her home with just her mother and Bone Tapper and Treedle for company that Molbrook, with its one road and no fewer than twelve buildings had seemed quite amazing. Now Marta knew it for what it was: one small market town barely existing to serve the farms around it. Many people came to Molbrook for business but few lived there, and now that the harvest was in it was even quieter than usual. Marta went into the Black Ox for a bite of lunch and mostly had the place to herself.

  Old Nath was sitting before the fire as usual; he glanced at her when she came through the door but otherwise took little notice. That was only slightly less true for the brewmistress herself. Mistress Pala came out with the same fixed smile she might have used for any customer. She brought Marta what she asked for, a bit of bread and soup. She glanced at Marta's pack but said nothing about it, nor asked after her mother except to note that she hadn't seen her in a bit.

  "She's been away on business. I'm going to meet her," Marta said, as if it were all arranged and nothing out of the ordinary. She found that she didn't want to talk about her mother to Pala or anyone else in Molbrook, and she felt distinctly uncomfortable about even being there. She wasn't sure why, at first. She'd been coming to Molbrook most of her life, and knew most everyone there. Except...

  Except there's not a single one I would call my friend.

  Marta had never thought about it before. Molbrook was just there. She went to the town now and then with her mother, and almost never alone. She'd never played with the children who lived there when she was growing up, nor spoken to anyone except on business, hers or her mothers. She'd never questioned this, never really thought about it at all. It just was, as her mother and Treedle and Bone Tapper just were. Everything in its place and as it should be. Only now it wasn't as it should be. Her mother was gone and she realized there wasn't a single person in Molbrook she could turn to for help. Her mother had no friends, and this she had no friends either.

  Best not to need help then, Marta thought, and tried to feel that this, too was just the way things were and not some flaw that needed mending, if it could be mended. There wasn't time to think about that now.

  "Is Koman Tol about?" Marta asked after she'd finished her soup.

  Mistress Pala, wiping out a mug, didn't even look up. "I believe he took a string of horses out two days ago. Heading to Karsan, I imagine."

  Marta thanked Pala for the information and placed two bronze coins on the table. She picked up her pack and left without another word, though her heart was sinking. If Koman Tol had gone to the market in Karsan, then there was no chance she'd be able to buy back Laras' mount, or any other. It only took a few minutes for Marta to find Koman Tol's wife at the stables and confirm what Mistress Pala had told her; the only horses left were two pregnant mares, neither in any condition to travel. Marta started to leave, but Koman's wife stopped her.

  "Mistress..."

  Marta blinked. It took her a moment or two to realize the woman was talking to her. No one had ever called her that before. When she was with her mother it had always been “Marta,” if anyone needed to refer to her at all.

  "Yes?" Marta asked.

  The woman hesitated. Marta knew she was afraid, and couldn't think why. Then she realized that the woman was afraid of her. Marta just stared, dumbfounded, but the woman was too caught up in her own conflict to even notice.

  "This mare," she said, pointing at the smaller of the two, a gray with a black streak on her nose, "she got out yesterday and ate something that looked like catweed. I'm afraid for the foal."

  With good reason, Marta thought. Catweed had many beneficial properties when used correctly, and its effect on pregnant women could sometimes be one of those benefits, but that surely wasn't the case here.

  Marta shook her head. "If it was catweed, the foal will drop in a day or so, ready or not. I don't even think my mother could prevent that, and she won't be back for a while."

  "I know, but it would be worth it to me to know if the foal is poisoned. If you'd name your price I would know if I could afford it."

  "I'm not—" Marta started to say that she was not her mother, and there was nothing she could do. Then she realized that, perhaps, there was. A pregnant mare was not much different from a pregnant queen, in at least one very important respect. Yet if Marta did this, what would be the price? Her mother said she would know, but how?

  Marta tried to recall her mother's meeting with King Alian, when the price was named. Kath had gone into a sort of trance then, but Marta hadn't a clue what it meant. She closed her own eyes, but didn't know if would make any difference.

  If I do this, what if the price is more than the poor woman can pay? I can't just name one if I don't know —

  Marta blinked. She did know. Beyond doubt or question. It couldn't have been that easy, yet it was. As if...well, as if she couldn't avoid knowing, once the question was asked. It was only after the fact that she remembered what her mother had said about a very similar situation. If she didn't use power directly, then there would be no fee for simply reporting what her understanding of the First Law told her. It was exactly the same as Kath's first examination when she knew Mysona's child was dead.

  "I'll tell you if I can," Marta said. "That will not cost you anything, except I would wish that you watch her closer from now on."

  The woman agreed at once and Marta, since there was no help for it, walked over to the mare. It snorted once, but otherwise didn't protest when Marta laid her hands gently on its rounded girth. It even seemed to be enjoying the contact. After a few moments Marta straightened up and then patted the mare on her shoulder.

  "It seems that it wasn't catweed after all. The foal is healthy and should drop in its own good time," Marta said.

  The woman thanked her profusely, her relief evident, but Marta barely noticed. A little while later Marta was back in the street, alone, with the road to Karsan stretching before her in all its vastness. Marta wasn't sure she was ready for what was coming next, but she was certain about the mare. She wasn't quite sure how she knew that the foal was all right, any more than she knew how she'd understood that something was deeply wrong with Queen Mysona's child, or that the cost for the understanding that came with the First Law was not the same as using Power. She realized that she could have named a price of her own to the horse trader's wife, if she chose, but that was a separate thing. Not that any of it really mattered to her at the moment, but it was something to think about later.

  I still have to walk, Marta thought, and shrugged. "Then
I'll walk," Marta said aloud to no one in particular, and set out by herself on the road to Karsan. As much as she dreaded the trip, she was still happy to be out of Molbrook, and she didn't look back at the place once she'd left it behind.

  Marta walked for three days. She rested or slept when she was tired, ate when she was hungry. When a cold rain came she walked through that too, grateful that she'd had sense enough to bring her oilskin cloak even though the one lined with rabbit fur was warmer. When she heard someone coming on the road ahead or behind her Marta ducked into the trees or whatever cover was available to her until she was certain of who it was. Sense, again, to Marta's way of thinking. She was alone on the road and not everyone would know or believe she was Black Kath's daughter. There might even be those who did not care. Once she stopped an old peddler driving his cart on the road from Karsan, but he had not seen her mother, or heard of any unusual happenings at the palace since the birth of the King's son.

  Marta blinked. "The King's son is born? Is the queen well?"

  The man smiled, showing three missing teeth. "Oh, yes. A fine healthy boy and the queen right as rain. Had a bit of trouble, poor thing, but Black Kath pulled her through it fine, as I heard it told."

  Marta thanked the man and hurried on her way. The child was fine, the queen was fine. There would be celebrations, probably still going on. Perhaps her mother remained behind...?

  Marta shook her head. This was Black Kath of Lythos. She wouldn't have remained behind for a party, king or no king. At least poor Mysona’s second child had fared better than the first; that was something. Marta tried to take some comfort from that, but all she could think about was her mother.