A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1)

by Freda Warrington

  She half-smiled through her discomfort when she saw she’d hit upon the exact truth. Estarinel turned away, could not bear to look at her. He wished that he had Ashurek’s cooI nerve.

  ‘Arlenmia, let us go!’ he implored. ‘You’d have to reduce us to mindless puppets before ever we’d work for you, and then what use would we be?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. It has been a fair fight,’ she said softly. ‘Go and ask your friends to unlock the door.’

  He hesitated. Then he said, ‘No. Not yet.’

  #

  ‘How long can she manage without her drug?’ Medrian asked Skord as they crossed a large, fountain-filled square.

  ‘Two – two hours or three,’ he muttered.

  ‘What then?’

  Skord shrugged. ‘She might die, I suppose.’

  ‘If you hate her so, why didn’t you try to deprive her of her herbs before?'

  ‘I never thought to… No, it would have been impossible. And if she died…’ he lifted spiritless eyes to Medrian’s face, ‘the powers in her mirrors would be unleashed. They’d destroy the Glass City and the connections with the three Planes would be broken.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘She told me,’ he said simply.

  Skord seemed to have been in such a state of fear that his mind had cut off, leaving him apathetic, witless, and easily manipulated. Medrian was silent with the thought that if Arlenmia died, they would never reach H’tebhmella.

  The horses were in an airy, marble-floored stable on the far side of the square. They had obviously been well looked after, though there were no grooms about. They saddled the beasts and started back towards the Lady’s house, Medrian leading Vixata and her own black animal, Skord with Shaell.

  As they walked, a knot of darkness formed in the air before them and from it a figure materialised. It was tall, naked and silver, the face broad and malevolently beautiful. Its red mouth spread in a smile as it looked at Skord. A demon, summoned once and in possession of a human, could appear whenever it pleased. So Siregh-Ma had come to torment the youth.

  Skord uttered a strangled whimper and dropped to his knees, edging backwards. The brown stallion reared and shied several yards away. Vixata went into a frenzy of remembered fear and dragged Medrian in circles. Luckily her own beast, although she had let it go, stood quietly.

  Skord was sobbing convulsively, paralysed with fright. But the figure had gone, as quickly as it had appeared.

  Medrian regained control of Vixata and picked up the reins of the other two horses. ‘It’s all right, Skord,’ she said. ‘It’s gone, it’s gone. Get up.’ But she had to lift his crumpled body herself and heft him over Shaell’s saddle. This last fright had so robbed him of reason that he couldn’t move. Riding her black horse, leading the other two, Medrian made for the house.

  ‘It’s gone,’ she repeated.

  Yet Skord was mumbling faintly, ‘It never goes. It’s always there…’ and Medrian’s face became cold as death, as she was reminded yet again of something she was forever struggling to forget.

  #

  ‘So… you can watch me dying, after all?’ Arlenmia hissed. She was standing rigid as if she might fall if she moved. Her skin was opalescent, almost transparent, and her eyes were glassy with pain. Estarinel could see that her discomfort was not feigned, and was increasing by the minute. It was torment to watch her, and only by a painful effort of will could he refrain from hammering on the door for Ashurek to open it. However, to do that before Arlenmia was weak enough not to make an escape would be to betray his companions.

  That knowledge did not make it any easier to witness Arlenmia’s agony, her pallid face now moist with sweat and her hands trembling convulsively. Groaning, he sat down on a high-backed chair and put his head in his hands.

  ‘I’m very sad to see you suffering as much as I,’ Arlenmia continued, her voice hoarse with pain. ‘Your concern moves me deeply. I only hope you can judge the precise moment at which you must open the door. But I fear you won’t find that easy; I may die very suddenly, and then it will be too late for you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You should have thought more carefully before depriving me of mircam. When I die, Estarinel, your Quest will be lost. You stand in the City of Glass, which maintains the Entrance Points to the Planes. The powers with which I have enmeshed this city will destroy it and you will never reach the Blue Plane – no one will ever reach it again. Do you understand?’

  He looked at her, horrified. ‘You’re trying to trick me.’

  ‘I could be; do you want to take that risk? Naturally I do not want to die, EstarineI. So I am trying to explain how foolish you would be to let me. Don’t wait too long!’ Her voice was becoming fainter and more strained. She seemed very near to collapse, but she was right in saying it would be impossible to judge the moment to open the door. He stood up, vacillating between the door and Arlenmia. Then he approached her, determined to see just how weak she was.

  At once her hands caught his arms like two steel bands and her eyes locked with his. ‘Now you are going to go out and bring me some mircam. I’ll tell you what to say to Ashurek.’ Her eyes were mesmeric, worse than the mirror. He could not fight. ‘Listen to me…’

  #

  Medrian approached the gallery with trepidation, but sighed with relief when she saw Ashurek waiting outside the locked door. Beside him were two figures, a dark-haired youth slumped unconscious, and Arlenmia’s maid, very much awake but sitting tied up and gagged. When Medrian let go of Skord’s arm he slid to the floor next to them, covering his head with his hands.

  ‘I locked Arlenmia in the gallery,’ the Gorethrian explained. ‘Unfortunately Estarinel’s in there too. I only hope she’s done him no harm. As for those two–’ he waved his hand at the servants, ‘I had to deal with them before they called for more help, or Arlenmia realised they were here.’ Gulla’s eyes rolled malevolently at him as he spoke. ‘What happened to the lad?’

  ‘His demon appeared on the way back. It only frightened him, then vanished – but it made me wonder why Arlenmia has not yet summoned any demons,’ said Medrian.

  ‘She told me that she only summons them through mirrors – that is how she can control them and avoid possession. It’s fortunate that I thought to destroy the mirror. The problem is that this damned door is all but soundproof – I’ve been shouting to Estarinel, but he doesn’t reply.’

  ‘But if you open the door, Arlenmia may be waiting just behind it.’

  ‘Precisely. Did you find the horses?’

  ‘Yes, but we can’t just rescue Estarinel and flee, because we need her to remove the barrier around the city. And there’s worse.’ She explained what Skord had told her about the Glass City and the Entrance Points.

  ‘I can believe that,’ said Ashurek. ‘It tallies with what Silvren told Estarinel.’

  ‘Silvren?’

  ‘I’ll explain later.’ Then he looked grimly at Medrian and added, ‘The Shanin that captured Silvren was sent after her by Arlenmia.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I see.’

  They waited a few minutes more. Medrian repeatedly asked Skord how weak Arlenmia was likely to have become, but the boy, empty-eyed, did not even seem to understand the question.

  ‘Try the maid,’ said Ashurek, standing with his ear pressed to the ornate door, one hand gripping the key. Medrian took out a knife and held it against the maid’s throat as she untied the piece of material gagging her.

  ‘One sound and I’ll slit your throat,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Just how long can Arlenmia be expected to live without the drug?’

  ‘My Lady was already in need of some,’ Gulla said, her voice a mixture of defiance and panic. ‘She didn’t take it because she was distracted by your antics. Oh, please, please go in – or let me go in with some mircam. If she dies–’

  ‘Calm yourself. You know her; you must tell us exactly how long it will be before she weakens. That’s the only way you’ll be permit
ted to save her. Tell us, or she’ll die.’

  ‘I believe she’ll collapse in perhaps ten minutes, fifteen, no more.' Gulla said miserably.

  ‘And how long before she dies?’

  ‘Only – only a few minutes more. She needed a great deal of mircam to sustain her powers.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’ Medrian asked Ashurek.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘She hasn’t the guile to lie. I am going in there to see what’s happening. Let me into the room, and lock the door behind me.’

  Medrian turned the heavy brass key and cautiously let the door swing open a space. Ashurek sidled in with his sword at the ready, and she quickly closed it behind him. Almost immediately she heard a faint call.

  ‘Medrian! Come in!’

  Leaving the maid, she entered and saw Estarinel. He was gazing wide-eyed into Arlenmia’s face and almost grey with the strain of resisting her will.

  ‘Make them open the door, make them open it,’ Arlenmia was whispering, her voice as frail as a frost-encrusted leaf. She was holding onto his arms as if she might fall if she let go. She looked ghastly, with sweat running from her forehead and her lips the same alabaster white as her face.

  As Ashurek and Medrian entered, she turned to glare at them, her eyes glinting with a terrible liquid fire as if the last of her power was concentrated there. As she released Estarinel from her grip he stumbled back against the wall and leaned there with his eyes closed.

  She looked at the open door. They heard Gulla crying, ‘My Lady! My Lady!’

  Arlenmia turned the hypnotic power of her eyes on to Ashurek. ‘Drop your sword. Let me pass.’

  Wisely, he avoided looking straight at her. She took a step forward, but then it was too late; her strength failed, and she dropped to the floor.

  Medrian had gone to Estarinel’s side. He was trembling and breathing fast, but opened his eyes when she touched his arm. ‘Oh, by the Serpent,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘I’m all right, I’ll be all right, Medrian.’

  Arlenmia, lying on the floor and trying to rise by levering her hands underneath her, was glaring at them. Her power was gone. Only her anger remained, and that was but a shadow of itself. Her weakness had made her surrender to panic and the desperate need to survive.

  ‘This battle seems to be yours, I concede,’ she whispered. ‘Give me my herbs.’

  ‘You can have them,’ said Ashurek, ‘if you will let us leave the city and be on our way in peace.’

  ‘Yes, anything – my herbs, I am dying!’ she gasped.

  ‘Very well,’ said Ashurek. He signalled to Medrian, who began to help Estarinel to the doorway. Arlenmia cried out in horror behind as the three went out and Ashurek re-locked the door behind them.

  ‘That was cruel,’ Medrian commented. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Merely being cautious.’ Ashurek untied Gulla and pulled her to her feet. He reached into the bundled cloak and gave her a phial of powder. ‘Now, you are going to mix your mistress a dose of mircam, just strong enough for her to regain a little strength, no more. Do you understand?’ The maid nodded mutely. Medrian followed to make sure she did just that, and did not try to alert any other servants.

  Meanwhile Estarinel leaned against the wall and sank into a sitting position next to the prostrate Skord. Ashurek began to laugh.

  ‘You’re all falling like flies. What did she do to you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Estarinel. ‘She was only talking, trying to mesmerise me, but the words… it was like having something awful crawling about in my brain… I feel terrible.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘If she hadn’t stopped just then, I wouldn’t have survived much longer.’ His memory returned in a painful jumble of glass splinters. ‘Oh – Ashurek, she mustn’t die! The Glass City–’

  ‘I already know. People like her never die easily, anyway.’

  Gulla returned, holding a glass of water carefully in both hands as if it were some precious elixir. Medrian took charge of the rest of the mircam, tying the cloak into a neat bundle. Ashurek opened the door and ushered Gulla in, but at the last moment stayed her hand and took the glass from her.

  Arlenmia was lying motionless, but she was not dead. Ashurek took the glass to her. It was all she could do to lift her head and take a sip of the water. Weakly she reached out to grasp the glass, but Ashurek withdrew it, allowing her no more. He was right to suspect that Gulla had mixed a strong dose, and he wanted Arlenmia just able to walk, not restored to her full energy.

  From her look of frustration as she began to revive, Arlenmia was well aware of this. ‘You’re very clever,’ she hissed, staggering to her feet and leaning on her maid’s shoulder. Then she turned on Gulla, ‘As for you – what the hell have you been doing?’

  ‘She’s not been disloyal,’ Ashurek interrupted, ‘merely incapacitated. Now, shall we go?’

  ‘I need more mircam.’

  ‘Yes; when you’ve allowed us to leave.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said, her eyes blazing with anger in her opalescent face. ‘I’ll take you to the city’s edge and set you free – but your escape won’t be easy. You’ll regret what you have done today!’

  She walked through the door ahead of Gulla, not even looking at Medrian, Estarinel, or the unconscious dark-haired servant. Then she noticed Skord, and stopped. He looked up at her, blinking through a haze of fear.

  ‘Haven’t you betrayed me enough, without this final insult? By the Serpent, it is a miserable day for you.’

  ‘Let him be!’ broke in Ashurek unexpectedly. ‘He’s coming with us.’ He did not stop to analyse why he suddenly felt protective towards the wretch.

  Arlenmia, Skord, and the three companions reached the city’s edge and the recently-conjured glass membrane that encased the city like a bubble. The Lady was looking stronger and more composed, though she frequently eyed the bundle of precious herbs and powders that Ashurek was guarding. Riding her sea-green and gold palfrey, she seemed a statue of mother-of-pearl and blue jade. Vixata was giving Ashurek some trouble, and even Shaell, carrying Estarinel and the half-conscious Skord, was skittish.

  At the glass wall, Arlenmia ordered them to dismount. She did so herself, and stepped forward and touched the hard, transparent shell.

  ‘Leave the herbs just there,’ she said, indicating the marble pavement a few yards from her. The air was very still, silent, oppressive under the glass dome. ‘I must soften the barrier. It will let you through if you go slowly and one at a time.’

  She ran her fingertips over the glass. It became soapy-looking, glistening with rainbow ripples. At last her fingers passed through it, as they would through a soap bubble.

  Ashurek shook the herbs into a heap on the ground, and returned the cloak to Estarinel.

  ‘Now you may walk through,’ she said, smiling, and moving a little towards Medrian as if to make way for them. Ashurek hesitantly stepped forward to the wall, which allowed him and Vixata to pass through and then closed elastically behind him.

  ‘You next,’ Estarinel said to Medrian. Arlenmia was behind Medrian, appearing too waxen-pale and weak to do more than watch them leave. Medrian looked as tense and poised as a cat with fur on end. As she took a step forward, with a lightning movement out of nowhere Arlenmia’s arm swept down, and she sank a knife into the side of Medrian’s neck.

  Medrian, choking, staggered towards the wall and fell straight through it. Her horse went with her, shying sideways.

  The air above the metal towers shimmered and the glass melted and disappeared completely. Estarinel and Ashurek both started towards Medrian, but stopped in mid-stride.

  Although the blade must have passed clean through her throat, she regained her feet, and, showing no sign of pain, wrenched the knife out. It left only a small, white-lipped mark. Instead it was her sullen black horse that stumbled to its knees, a fluid like colourless blood pouring from its jugular vein. It subsided onto its flank and died.

  The blood ran into Arlenmia’s face, lacing the vessels w
ith a ghastly greenish hue. Medrian’s eyes were black lakes in her ivory-pale face. The two women faced each other across the body of Medrian’s dead familiar.

  Medrian flung the knife at Arlenmia and it clattered to the ground by the hem of her silken skirts.

  ‘There,’ she hissed. ‘Try again!’

  Estarinel was pulling at the reins of the blue-green palfrey. ‘Medrian! Take Arlenmia's horse!’

  Arlenmia and Medrian looked long at each other, not moving. The jewels atop each tower throbbed and pulsed; a low humming filled the air.

  ‘Go! And when you reach your destination with nothing but cold creeping misery to greet you, remember what I offered you!’ Arlenmia cried, pointing savagely at Medrian. On the plain beyond the city a wind was moving, filled with strange sobbing and booming sounds such as whales make beneath the sea.

  ‘Time we left,’ shouted Ashurek. The air was turning thick and brownish, like bromine. Medrian vaulted onto the beautiful turquoise-coated horse. Estarinel on Shaell began to trot after Ashurek, but Medrian was still looking at Arlenmia. And the Lady tossed back her heavy skeins of hair and her voice rose clearly above the growing storm.

  ‘You cannot destroy the Serpent, because it is everywhere. Every blow you make to defeat others, it is a little of the Serpent in you. Can you run your sword into the earth, thinking to slay the world? You are M'gulfn’s instruments – this world will realise my dream, while you go to your deaths!’

  Medrian was riding northwards after the others now. The air above the plain was throbbing with great, slow, sickening pulses of mustard light. Arlenmia, head back, eyes wide, silently invoked the forces of her mirrors, ensuring that the four would be hounded from one trap to another, although she knew it would break her hold on the Glass City.

  The booming of the brown air, the slow collective heartbeat of all Arlenmia’s forces, throbbed painfully through the heads of the riders. And although an unhealthy current, like that which had sent them into Hrannekh Ol, carried them fast over the plain, the pedestrian rhythm seemed to slow all movement almost to a standstill.