The Bitterbynde Trilogy
Page 32
“I cannot bide here,” Muirne burst out, wringing her hands, “I must go back to my brother. Alone, he was, against them all.”
“Bide you must,” replied Roisin. “You are overwrought. Swallow this draft—it will make you sleep. Swallow it, I say.”
Fretfully, Muirne obeyed and was led upstairs, protesting, by one of the maids.
“Stay you, Imrhien, and keep vigil with me. I need company on this fell night,” said Roisin. She stared out of the window. Dark roofs reared in blunt wedges against a distillation of stars.
Minutes slowly dripped by, eroding night as water wears away the marble of an antique fountain. Imrhien sat with her head in her hands.
They guessed the truth at once when they spied the slow procession coming up the street. Roisin uttered a sudden cry of pain. She stood motionless. There was Ethlinn, leading the way, bent over like an old, defeated woman, her hair hanging about her face. The Wand had grown as tall and thick as a staff, and she was leaning on it. Next came Eochaid, bearing Liam’s broken body across his arms. At his back, Brinnegar and a score or so of other men, battle-grimed and grim-faced.
Eochaid, pale and drawn, laid his friend ever so gently on Roisin’s table, covered him with his cloak, and spoke to his comrades.
“Go home now, my friends,” he said. “Bravely have we fought this night. We meet again on the morrow.”
“Brinnegar, I pray you keep watch,” said Roisin to her coachman.
The men departed in silence. The four people who remained stood with bowed heads around the table where Liam lay, and Eochaid, in a flat monotone, said:
“Liam is gone. He follows Sianadh and the Sulibhain boys to the grave.”
Nobody moved.
Eochaid’s voice cracked. “Liam, my friend, be assured, those who slew you paid a high price for the deed. Five for one, we made them pay.” He turned to Ethlinn. “The morning of this very day, Liam came to me. His horse was in a lather—he himself looked half-gone, all covered with scratches and wounds. He came to me for help. It seems the great treasure-getting expedition was ill-fated and had come to a wretched end. He told me the story of its downfall. The company was but a day out of Tarv, he said, when a couple of travelers out of the city overtook them and, hailing Liam, drew him aside. Riversiders, they were. They showed him a brooch—a brooch of gold, shaped like a dragon, which belonged to Muirne.
“‘Ye caught our leader’s eye, Liam Bruadair,’ they said to him, ‘with your free spending and high living. Where does a poor lad like ye get such amounts? Our leader, he found out ye were planning a sortie, and he reckoned ye were going back for more. He wanted a share, too, and our three eastside boyos were going to get it for him, but ye betrayed our lads and stole away without giving them notice. Have ye seen your sister of late? We have. Do as we say and she will meet no harm. If we do not return to Tarv with the goods by the end of this month, she is doomed.’
“So, it appears the abductors were not the wizard’s men after all,” Roisin commented dully, “but some riverbank gang of thieves and slavers. Yet those watchers have an eldritch look.…” Her spoken thoughts petered out, overtaken by grief. Eochaid continued the story, his face showing the strain of effort.
“Liam protested that he did not know the way to the treasure’s hiding place, that he himself was being shown the route. They bade him secretly blaze marks on the tree trunks at intervals along the way, so that the rest of their riverside band, who followed stealthily, would be able to find the way.
“‘When your company reaches the destination,’ they said, ‘ye must steal the weapons of your comrades so that we may imprison them without unnecessary bloodshed. If we find them armed, we will kill them.’ They assured him that no one would be injured—that they would merely fetter his friends, load up a share of the treasure, and ride away.
“‘Do not try to return now to the city to find your sister,’ they warned, ‘for a greater part of our band rides behind, and will prevent ye. And if ye betray our purpose to your comrades, we will overpower ye all, for we have ye far outnumbered. ’Tis your choice—we be giving ye a chance to save the lives of your sister and your friends. Will ye take it?’
“And so, with the brooch as proof that Muirne was in their power, Liam had no option but to agree to their ploy. When these strangers galloped out of sight of Sianadh and the Sulibhains, Liam, in agony of mind, at first excused their visit by telling his four comrades that they had been after him for some money he owed, which he had lost at dice. But later that same day he bowed to his conscience and revealed the truth.
“Liam wanted to leave the expedition straightaway, to go back and search for Muirne—I can tell ye, he suffered something dreadful, wondering what had befallen her. Knowing that any turning back would be prevented, the company decided to keep going and to pretend to fall in with what the blackguards had demanded. Sianadh led them upstream for eleven days. Some unseelie things troubled the company from time to time—they were but minor wights, and the lads were able to deal with them using iron and salt and charms. Liam blazed marks on the trees along the way, but did it falsely, trying to mislead the followers. In fact, the company believed they had succeeded in this, for eventually the signs of pursuit disappeared. Then Sianadh turned their steps to the place he called Waterstair, but Liam prepared to return alone to rescue Muirne.
“On the night they camped before the doors of Waterstair, the brigands crept up and set upon them. Our boys fought hard, but they had little chance against so many. Of course, the manscathas were treacherous. Two of them pressed blades to Sianadh’s throat. ‘Tell us who else knows the way to this place,’ they said, ‘and we will spare your life.’ But he would not tell, and they threw him down with the dagger in him. One or two of the Sulibhain brothers got away into the forest, but Liam never saw them after. He slew one of the attackers with a skian, but four came after him. Wounded, he had to flee. Eleven days it had taken to ride upriver, for the way is pathless—ten it took him to ride back, even through the wilderness, and injured. In his haste he gained a day, for he scarcely rested.
“If ever I saw a man in torment, it was Liam after that clahmor ride. He blamed himself for the loss of those good men, and the single thought that burned in him like a flame was to rescue Muirne.”
Eochaid fell to his knees and wept. “Ah, but if I had been at his side, this would never have happened! Before he left, Liam gave me a bag of gold to keep my family. He was always generous. But my stepmother is lame, a cripple, and ’tis not only gold my family needs, but my strong arms. I could not leave them. I could not go with him.”
Ethlinn gestured.
“She says the guilt of it is not with you,” Roisin said quietly. “Pray tell, how were you and Liam able to find Muirne?”
Swallowing his tears, the young man replied, “Liam knew … certain men. He never caused trouble, you understand, but he drank and diced with some who did—some whom Diarmid would never mix with. As soon as Liam told me what had happened, we went straight to them. Rumor spreads quickly among the dregs. The gossipmongers had it that two midcity damsels were being kept by Scalzo’s men in an unshielded house near the river, a house with a gilf-room on the top floor. An unstorm was hitting the city when we reached the house, so we went straight to the top room, with the idea of covering our entrance in the confusion of ghost-shows. And we found them there. Ye know the rest.”
Ethlinn raised her head. Her face was milk-gray, deeply graven. She signed to Roisin, who translated to Eochaid.
“Ethlinn wishes to know if Liam informed anyone else about the existence of the treasure cache in the cliff, this ‘Waterstair.’”
“I can assure ye, my dame, he told me only, and the Sulibhain brothers who went with them to Waterstair. They are slain now and will never speak—and I have passed the knowledge on to no one.”
“Did he describe how to reach the place?”
“Nay.”
“So, the secret of the treasure’s house resides with Imr
hien and with this band of racketeers and their leader, this Scalzo. I doubt they’ll broadcast the information any farther, if they can help it.”
Again, Ethlinn’s hands flew into motion.
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Lightly she brushed her son’s cold brow with her fingertips.
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Beyond the window, darkness was beginning to seep from the city. Above walls and roofs emerging in glimmering gray, the stars were fading. Far off, a rooster crowed. Another answered. The carlin turned her gaze upon Imrhien.
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The carlin’s hands fell to her lap like dying leaves. Her dark pools of eyes gazed out beyond the walls, beyond the city, to a green hill where peppercorn trees let down the veils of their soft and dusty tresses.
It was there they brought Liam at the dawning of the day.
7
THE ROAD
Thicket and Thorn
The sea’s a road—a waterway that’s rolling
To ev’ry far-flung country of the world.
Scant landmarks grid its restless, billow’d surface—
Chaste, lonely isles and jutting rocks, shell-pearl’d,
Sly reefs and green-tress’d banks at ebb of tide
Where sirens sing and armor’d fishes hide.
The sky’s a road—an airy course unfathom’d,
And overlooking ev’ry other track.
Below, great lakes and mountains stand as signposts
For birds, and those who ride on sildron’s back.
The cloud-wreath’d paths, the highway of the swan,
Are routes that boots can never tread upon.
All land-bound paths, from thoroughfares to byways,
All winding strips of rutted soil unsow’d,
All avenues and Seaship routes and skyways
Are intertwined. The universal Road—
One line to draw you under hill and o’er,
One fare to bear you homeward to your door.
SUNG BY A TRAVELING MINSTREL
The Caermelor Road had threaded its way through farmlands, past garths and granges, crofts and byres, alongside hedged meadows where cattle pondered or shepherds with crosiers in hand followed their flocks, past pitch-roofed haystacks, ponds teeming with ducks, tilled patches of worts in leafy rows, and burgeoning fields of einkorn, emmer, and spelt where hoop-backed reapers toiled, by vineyards glutted with overflow of clammy juice and moss-trunked orchards already ravished, the last windfalls rotting on the ground, their sweet decay choired by sucking insects. It had passed from these tamed lands to rolling country, where trees stood in lines or clustered in holts and spinneys. Stained copper, auburn, xanthe, crimson, and bronze, their leaves fled down lightly in glimmering showers, to form deep-piled carpets.
Serrure’s Caravan having departed long since, Chambord’s now wound its way along this road: a score of covered wagons, some tarpaulin-shrouded carts piled with merchandise, a few coaches, horsemen, and patrolling outriders. Archers perched on the tailboards of wagons and on the box seats of coaches. Everything bristled with protective accoutrements—bells, red ribbons, rowan, horseshoes, ash, iron.
Across bridges the column went jingling, following the Road over little brooks bubbling like apple-cider, skirting the shoulders of hills. The pale grasses by the wayside nodded with ripe seed-heads the color of rose-wine; the meadows were hazed with their pink. Filbert thickets burst with rich bounties of nuts. Overhead, the soft hue of the sky paled into mist at the margins. Dandelion-puff clouds raced past, their fleet shadows rolling like ocean waves across the land. The sun glowed as warm and golden as a ripe pumpkin. From the south, a crisp wind brought the high and lonely cries of dark birds riding the thermals effortlessly, their wings stretched to full span.
Imrhien sat beneath a wagon’s canopy, wearing a widow’s veil of mourning for concealment. As the wagon jolted along, rocking her with sudden lurches from side to side, she toyed with the new stone tilhal Ethlinn had given her, strung on a thong of leather about her neck. Her thoughts turned to reflections on all that had passed. Of her original quest, begun when she had left the Tower, what had she achieved? Now that her facial features had been rendered irredeemable, how could she hope that any who had known her before her amnesiac days would recognize her again? Of all the goals for which she had set out in search—a less uncomely face, her birth-name, memories—she had gained none. Yet the world was no longer such a mystery, now that its delights and terrors had been tasted. She had found true friendship. And lost it. That did not bear thinking of, and she quickly turned her thoughts elsewhere, lest the ache of despair overwhelm her.
On that morning, that terrible morn after the night of disaster, Ethlinn had taken her aside. Her hands had trembled, faltering often.
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Gone were the plans for the coach-and-four and the servants. Their departure must be made as unapparent as possible. Thus, on the following day, the three of them—Imrhien, Muirne, and Diarmid—had taken the next road-caravan ou
t of Gilvaris Tarv, Diarmid riding patrol with the guards while Muirne traveled in the wagon with Imrhien and a few women and children. The Ertish lass sat silent, brooding, now and then fingering the wooden, sparrow-shaped buckle carved by Eochaid, which he had given her as a parting gift.
It was more than eight hundred miles in a straight line across the breadth of Eldaraigne from Gilvaris Tarv to Caermelor, but farther by the winding Caermelor Road. Usually caravans took four weeks to complete the journey. Northward, another road led west out of Gilvaris Tarv toward Rigspindle, there to join the King’s High Way running along the coast to the Royal City. The Rigspindle Road was said to he safer than its southern counterpart but was avoided by many merchants—that coastal road, with its convolutions, added too many miles.
Among the caravaners, talk was widespread concerning the steady stream of unseelie creatures that, according to report, were passing through the countryside, heading north and east, toward the Nenian Landbridge joining Eldaraigne with Namarre—creatures that, when crossing the Caermelor Road, worked wickedness upon any travelers they encountered. Only hours before their departure, news had reached Gilvaris Tarv of a caravan making its way out of Caermelor that had been totally destroyed upon the Road. Its guards and passengers had vanished or been slain, its vehicles cracked apart like ripe filberts, its merchandise and belongings strewn unheeded across the highway—wights had no use for them. Then many folk doubted the wisdom of Chambord’s decision to use this Road, and some would-be travelers had turned back, but Chambord had ordered the guard to be doubled and pressed on. He had deadlines to meet.
Every night there were sounds, sometimes lights, glimpsed ahead of the caravan or behind, Occasionally figures dwarfish or grotesque, manlike or formed like beasts, alone or in troupes, fled furtively out of the trees and across the Road. So far, none had troubled the cavalcade—the charms they carried were protection against wights of the weaker sort, although it was whispered that such petty wards had negligible effect on the mighty.