‘Yes, blindfold,’ she stated with irony. ‘Although the other Guardians treat us as outcasts, and will not tell us what the great design is that they have set in motion, still they need us to help them!’
‘We are still Guardians,’ he reminded her gently, ‘and you know that while we are on the same Earth as the Serpent, even we cannot be allowed to know their plan, lest M’gulfn find out.’
‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘Beloved Eldor, I am not going.’ He started to protest but she silenced him. ‘Once you have that knowledge, you will not be allowed back on Earth – at least, not until the Worm is dead. Someone has to stay with the people at this House. I am only a Grey One, not even human – but I care.’
Eldor knew that once Dritha had made a decision she would not be swayed.
‘So be it,’ he said gravely. ‘I will go alone – but not totally without hope.’ They regarded each other sadly. For only a few evenings more would they sit together by the fireside. Eldor’s gaze moved to the tapestry of the bird. These days he looked at it more and more often.
‘Ah, always the blackbird,’ Dritha murmured. ‘The lost bird and the forgotten song.’
#
There were two figures in a low chamber like a mausoleum. One was bound by hands and ankles to a purpose-built stone post: a small, slender, upright figure who stood motionless, like wind-carved ice. The other was thin, grotesque, manically active.
‘I know all about you, little Medrian, and your foolish, wicked activities,’ Gastada whispered, his voice soft as mould.
‘I think you know nothing at all,’ she answered icily.
‘Wretched woman! I am now going to teach you something very important: justice.’ Sickly torchlight flickered on his sneering face and terrible eyes. ‘I would not torture Ashurek; just for him to know will never escape again is perfect justice. And the Forluinishman, for him to find that life is not all joy as he ends his days in darkness, that is perfect justice. But Medrian, what is perfect justice for you?’
He grasped a needle with a fine wire thread and held it up so it caught the faint light. Medrian thought, there is no escape, I am afraid; here it all ends, in darkness, as I knew it would.
‘Justice,’ Gastada whispered on. ‘I am going to close your mouth so that you may never speak of who you are, or ask for help in your wicked, evil intentions. You shall be silent and invisible, as you were meant to be.’ He sneered in triumph, but Medrian was smiling.
‘You laugh!’ he exclaimed thickly. ‘You have something to say, perhaps? Speak! It is your last chance!’ That she had made him suddenly uneasy was obvious. Her eyes were dark and fathomless in her frost-pale face, and her hair was a black flame. The sight of her, her cold, humourless laughter, filled him with disproportionate fury. He was trembling.
‘You are a damned fool,’ was all she said.
Then she closed her eyes and rested her head back against the post, waiting for the torture to commence.
#
Ashurek knew Gastada had lost interest in him when he felt the demonic force that had kept him alive waning. His wounds were not healing, and he was weak with loss of blood and hunger. Alone in a black, stinking corridor, he tried to analyse coolly how long be had to live.
Gastada’s power has kept me alive for – what? Three or four days? Time does not pass here. I have no fever. If I can find water, I might last two days more…
It seemed Medrian had foreseen this from the time in Beldaega-Hal; they had truly come to a dead end in their journey. They were doomed to rot away with the great black walls of the castle closing ever in on them.
Was there anyone, anything out there to fight the Serpent now that the Quest had failed? He thought of Silvren; her terrible sorrow for the world’s fate. For a moment she seemed to be hovering before him, her hands stretching out to him in despair, her mouth open in a silent cry. And he thought, I am not dead yet! Much can be done in two days…
Stiffly he stood up, and began to limp along the corridor.
He decided to find his way down to the cells where Estarinel and Medrian were held. Then he remembered the confusing network of lightless corridors that led there. He might never find his way through, but die in that black web; still, what did it matter?
He found his way down to the lower levels, seeing only one guard on his way. The creature sneered as he passed but did not stop him. Then before him was a small black archway. Ashurek plunged into the claustrophobic maze. He felt the slimy, rough stone of the walls, rank with some dark-loving algae. He made his way blindly forward; but as he took the first few steps, there seemed to be a faint green light glowing ahead. Was it his imagination, or was there really a hazy patch of luminescence on the wall, showing him the way?
Then he remembered.
Silvren, even when you are not with me, you help me! he thought. There had been clumps of luminous green fungus growing in the wall, and when she had rescued him she had used it to mark the way through the labyrinth so that they could find their way out again.
He reached the patch and touched it, wondering if it still held some of her sorcery. And he could see the next glowing marker, leading him surely through Gastada’s hellish maze.
There were two guards at the entrance to the dungeons. Behind them was a corridor lit by guttering torches, with many black iron doors leading off it.
Ashurek approached them and said, ‘I wish to visit my two companions.’
‘Very funny!’ one guard spluttered. ‘Get lost, before I lose this sword in your guts.’
‘Gastada would not be pleased at that. I am his guest. You are supposed to obey and honour me, remember?’
They looked at him, a thin, dark figure with bright cruel eyes and long, tangled hair. Ashurek looked as wild as a wolf about to attack.
‘That’s as may be. But you’ve no business here,’ retorted the guard with less certainty.
His companion said, ‘I don’t see why he shouldn’t come in.’ The words were guttural and distorted through mouths unsuited to human speech. ‘The woman’s not here anyway, he took her to the Great Hall. And the other one’s dead, as good as.’
The ape-like guards stood aside, laughing and giving mocking salutes as he passed. Then one followed him and unlocked an iron door, letting him through with sneering politeness.
In the cell the young knight was lying on the floor against the wall. Wires twisted around his wrists suggested that he had been strung up on the wall for some time. The wires had bitten into the flesh, left it bruised and bloodied. His face was pale and hollow, moist with a fevered sweat, and his eyes were sunken. The only sign that Estarinel was alive was his rapid and shallow breathing. The talon wounds in his side were festering.
Ashurek slowly unwound the wire from his wrists and raised him into a sitting position.
‘Estarinel, it’s me; are you awake?’
His eyes flickered but it was hard to tell whether he was aware of Ashurek’s presence. We’re both dying, Ashurek thought; the Worm wins. On the edge of his vision, he seemed to see a flash of blue light through the open cell door. He dismissed it, but Estarinel stirred and said, ‘Did she hear me?’ Ashurek supported him, realising he was delirious.
There followed a commotion in the corridor; a clash of swords, the guards uttering shouts and then deep, throat-tearing screams. There was a sound of running feet.
Ashurek lay Estarinel back against the wall and got to his feet, looking out into the corridor. There was only one guard there, silhouetted against flickering torchlight.
Ashurek approached him, calling, ‘Is something wrong?’
The remaining guard turned, holding his sword threateningly. ‘Get back!’ His pale eyes were wild with terror. ‘There’s been a terrible attack. They are in the castle!’
‘Where’s your comrade?’ Ashurek asked coolly.
‘Gone to raise the alarm – to fight them!’
‘Hadn’t you better go too?’
‘Have to stand by my post,’ the guard st
ammered in fear.
‘Very brave. Very commendable. But look, you go; I will take your sword and stand guard in your place.’ When the crimson-faced guard hesitated, Ashurek pointed to himself and added, ‘Gastada’s guest. He told you to obey me, did he not? Because he trusts me.’
The guard, confused and made even more stupid by fear, handed his sword in relief to the Gorethrian. Immediately Ashurek gathered his waning strength and plunged the blade into the creature’s stomach. The guard collapsed, spilling blood, and died.
Ashurek staggered back against the wall, fighting exhaustion and the sharp, aching pain of unhealing wounds. Then he returned to Estarinel and helped him to his feet.
‘Something’s happening,’ he said. ‘We must go; try to walk.’ Estarinel was barely conscious, but with Ashurek’s support, they progressed slowly down the corridor. The Gorethrian knew it could take hours to find Medrian, and there would still be no way to escape. But now curiosity drove him on. Something was in the castle, and although it was probably just a trick the demons were playing on Gastada, there might be some hope in it.
It was an arduous trek through the web of passageways. At last they reached broader corridors, but when they eventually gained the stairs leading to the upper level, Estarinel collapsed and could not go on.
‘Come on,’ Ashurek urged him. ‘A few more steps–’ he broke off.
There was someone coming towards them. It was the figure of a woman, tall and astoundingly beautiful. She had very long hair and it seemed she was dressed in white silk that was bathed in a soft and shining blue light. She appeared to glide rather than walk. She passed very close to them, so close that she brushed against Estarinel, yet she did not seem to notice them. She left sparkling trails of the lovely blue light behind her.
As soon as she had passed, Estarinel got straight to his feet as if suddenly recovered. ‘Tell me I’m dreaming!’ he exclaimed, beginning to smile. ‘I just saw a H’tebhmellian!’
‘Do you feel better?’
‘Yes – yes, I feel stronger… I thought I was dying. What’s happening?’
‘You tell me,’ said Ashurek.
‘If H’tebhmellians have come into the castle, they must be able to leave again. There must be an Entrance Point to the Blue Plane on orbit through the castle.’
Ashurek looked at him with amazement and growing hope. ‘Would it be visible?’
‘Yes, they say so – like a cloud of blue light.’
‘Then let us seek it!’
‘You go,’ said Estarinel. ‘I must find Medrian.’
‘Very well, though let us not raise our hopes too high. Can you manage alone?’ Estarinel was swaying on his feet and looked feverish, though Ashurek was no better.
‘I can now.’ Estarinel could still taste that soft blue light like fresh, lovely air, and felt suddenly clear-headed.
‘The guard said she was in the Great Hall. That’s where Gastada prefers to torture – I’m sorry, Estarinel, she may be in a bad state when you find her.’ Ashurek explained, as best he could remember, where the Great Hall was. Sighing, he turned to make his way to the higher levels of the castle.
‘Wait,’ said Estarinel, fumbling with numb fingers in a pouch on his belt. He drew out the lodestone from Hrannekh Ol. It was glowing pale blue. ‘It might help,’ he said, pressing it into Ashurek’s hand. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Wait with Medrian,’ said Ashurek. ‘I’ll find you.’
#
Estarinel, stumbling along and supporting himself with one hand against the wall, managed to follow Ashurek’s directions. At last he found Medrian in the long, damp stone hall.
She was no longer chained up. By the guttering, sickly flame of the torches he saw her, crumpled in a dark heap on the flagstones. There were no guards in sight. He went to her and gently touched her shoulder.
She was conscious. She jumped violently.
‘Medrian,’ he whispered. ‘It’s me, Estarinel. We must try to escape.’
She raised her white, dirt-streaked face and looked at him with desperation. She half-sat up, wincing with pain, and keeping one hand pressed to her ribs. Her mouth was torn and bloodied and tightly closed. The look in her reddened eyes was so hopeless and agonised that he could not meet it.
‘Medrian, what has he done to you?’ She shook her head slightly, not opening her mouth.
‘Can you not speak?’ he asked anxiously. Again she made a slight painful movement of her head. He caught a tiny gleam of black thread at the corner of her lips and he realised what was wrong. Gastada had sewn her lips together. He looked more closely at her mouth and saw a criss-cross of tiny black wire stitches, plastered with crusted blood, with many flesh-tears where she had tried to open her mouth to scream.
Anger and horror raged in him. He supported Medrian with an arm about her shoulders.
‘I’m going to unpick the stitches. Don’t worry,’ he said, as gently as he could. She shook her head again, almost frantic, and stared downwards in misery. ‘I won’t cause you any more pain. I have herbs to make you sleep. Wait.’
He laid her gently down on the flagstones and cast a nervous eye round the doorways. Setrel had given him a good supply of herbs, including ones from which he could make a sleeping vapour. Luckily Gastada had not taken them away. He found a discarded goblet and began to fill it with herbs from his pouch, crushing the leaves between his fingers until the sap oozed from them. His hands were bluish-white and numb from the wire round his wrists. At last he had crushed the herbs to a liquid pulp in the bottom of the goblet. He only hoped they would work...
Estarinel set the goblet down on the floor and sought Gastada’s instruments of torture. They were lying on an oak table like a maiden’s embroidery set: rolls of various wires and threads, a selection of steel needles, and the object of his search – a small pair of scissors.
He returned to the goblet and took three leaves from his pouch, bruising them between his fingers: He dropped them into the juice. After a few seconds, wisps of vapour began to drift from the goblet.
Taking it to Medrian, he lifted her up and made her breathe the vapour. She moaned. After a few seconds her sore eyelids dropped shut and she went limp in his arms. He lowered her tenderly to the floor, leaving the goblet beside her head.
He set to work with the scissors, inserting the point under the first thread and snipping it as delicately as if clipping the wing of a moth. There were many tight stitches of wire through her lips, and some he could barely cut without ripping her mouth. Blood ran from the scraps of torn flesh round her bruised lips. It took what seemed hours; only a few terrible minutes. Medrian sighed through torn lips in her sleep. His fingers became soaked with her blood, and as he worked, he wept.
At last he drew the last fragment of wire from her tortured flesh. When it was finished he sat back on his heels and with a damp hand pushed his plastered hair back from his forehead. His throat ached. He wished he had water to bathe her wounds.
It would have been better to have let her sleep on, but they could not stay in the Hall. He took the goblet away from her head and shook her gently. After a minute she began to stir. Then her eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright as if awakening from a nightmare. She let out several long, shuddering sighs and stared past Estarinel with dark, pain-dazed eyes.
He held her in his arms until she had recovered enough to move.
Leaning on him, she pulled herself to her feet, keeping a hand close-pressed to her side over her unhealing talon wounds. He stood up with her, supporting her, just as Ashurek entered.
‘Thank goodness you’ve found her,’ Ashurek said, wielding a flickering torch that he had pulled from its wall-bracket. ‘I’ve seen the Entrance Point, as you said. It’s moving slowly but there’s a commotion. I don’t know if we will reach it. By the way – the lodestone works.’
Need gave them energy and, with Estarinel helping Medrian, they stumbled after Ashurek as he led them down a dim passage. And as they struggled on in pain throug
h the evil-smelling darkness, an extraordinary sight met their eyes.
There were Gastada’s guards, some twenty of the un-human creatures, their red-raw faces deformed with fury. A pale sickly light streamed from their eyes and their swords glowed with supernatural electricity. They were enmeshed in a blue cloud. Two H’tebhmellian women stood before them, repelling their sword blows with shafts of azure light. The battle was unspeakably weird, unworldly, bathed in the light of another Plane, and ringing with strange sounds, hideous and beautiful.
The three watched, spellbound, as one by one the guards fell to the ground, stunned or overwhelmed by fear. When the last of them fell, the H’tebhmellians vanished, but the blue light drifted slowly on.
‘That’s it!’ Ashurek cried hoarsely. ‘We must reach it, before it leaves the castle.’
They started forward again, Ashurek realising vaguely that they were outside the room where the body of Gastada’s unfortunate wife lay. They had only gone a few paces before Gastada himself stepped out in front of them. There was an expression of disgust and annoyance on his small, banal features.
‘Where are you going?’ he intoned thickly. ‘Those damned people of the Blue Plane – how dare they come here? It’s your doing, I know – curse Arlenmia! Where are my guards, where are my demons?’
‘They have deserted you, as all creatures of the Worm desert each other,’ Ashurek hissed, and plunged his sword through the little man’s belly.
Gastada staggered backwards and sank to the floor, his pink eyes glaring insanely at them.
‘That was most unfair!’ he gasped in his thick voice.
‘Yes, unfair!’ Ashurek shouted. ‘You should have taken a week to die!’ He twisted the sword cruelly and wrenched it out.
‘I – I cannot die,’ Gastada moaned in fear. ‘The demons said I couldn’t…’ but he did, and his grotesque body was still.
‘Would that that blow had been mine,’ said Estarinel.
Ashurek was staring with revulsion at the body as if he had just trodden on some loathsome insect. ‘Would that it had,’ he said bitterly. ‘I will perform one kindness for the vile creature.’ Ashurek lifted Gastada’s thin frame and took him into the room. There he laid him on the bed beside his long-dead wife, and placed the sword between them.
A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) Page 33