Tamlyn

by James Moloney

  Coyle marched to the doorway and called his orders along the corridor. Feet went scurrying and, soon after, Ezeldi’s maid appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Come in,’ he said.

  The girl trembled noticeably as she approached. He didn’t care how petrified she might be; all the better, in fact, to be sure she obeyed him.

  ‘You are to fetch something for me from your mistress’s bedroom — the silver chain she keeps in a casket on her dressing table. Do you know the one I mean?’

  The girl nodded.

  ‘Wait until she is in a different part of the house. Do not let her see you take it. When you have it, bring the chain to me.’

  He dismissed her and went back to the window and his view of the king’s palace. The chain was not a delicate piece of jewellery for holding a locket or pearl around a woman’s throat. It was heavy and the links strong — strong enough for his purpose. He had given it to Ezeldi on their wedding day twenty years before and has chosen it carefully, testing it first with his own hands. Ezeldi was not his first wife. Hallig’s mother had come before her, until she’d plotted against him and paid for her treachery with her life. When he married a second time, he’d thought it best to be prepared, in case he needed to be rid of her one day, too.

  Yes, the heavy silver chain had been the perfect gift. He congratulated himself on his foresight.

  9

  Stranger with a Familiar Name

  The days passed slowly after Ryall’s arm was cut away. I know because I counted them carefully, which is why I can tell you that exactly a week had gone by when the stranger appeared on the road.

  If Hespa had been with me, I would have reminded her of the day the two of us had watched a hooded figure approach from the same direction, leading a woman on horseback. That day had changed my life forever, for the hooded man had been Tamlyn and the weary young woman, Nerigold, carrying her newborn child.

  But this man came alone and on foot, and he was no youngster, as I could see clearly since he wore no hood to conceal his identity. His grey hair was long and untidy, yet the face framed by that hair held a quiet dignity that I took to even before he’d drawn close enough to speak to me.

  ‘Excuse me, young lady,’ he said brightly. ‘Is there an inn in your village that would welcome a tired traveller?’

  ‘There’s an inn,’ I told him. ‘Whether you’d call it welcoming is another matter. If you don’t like being overcharged, I’d advise you to keep going.’

  The stranger smiled sagely at my warning. ‘Ah, a typical innkeeper, then. I’ll keep my wits about me, but I don’t mind paying good money if the beds are soft and the beer is strong.’

  ‘Then Mr Nettlefield will suit you fine. Just keep on this road and you’ll see his sign around the next corner.’

  He inclined his head in thanks and set off, leaving me with the faintest sense that I’d seen him somewhere before. Once he had disappeared around the corner, I hurried to find Tamlyn. There was always the danger he would be recognised by travellers, especially any from the direction of Vonne, so it was best he stayed clear of the inn until the guest was on his way.

  A fine plan you would think, except this stranger did not leave the next morning. Instead, I discovered him sitting on a stool outside Nettlefield’s door, with his shoes off and his blisters exposed to the sun.

  ‘Are your feet too sore for walking today, sir?’ I asked.

  He recognised me from the previous evening. ‘Oh, hello. It seems my feet aren’t suited to walking, no, but that’s not why I’ve stopped. This village is as far as I intend to go. I’m looking for someone, you see — a young man who’s come recently into the area.’

  I was immediately alert. Had he already asked inside the inn? Even if he had, he wouldn’t have received much of an answer — Mr Nettlefield was a surly character at the best of times and sensible enough not to answer questions from strangers that might land the village in strife. It occurred to me that if this man was the king’s spy, he was a poor one. He’d come right out and told me his business, which gave me the advantage.

  ‘There are plenty of young men in Haywode and on the farms nearby, none of them much of a prospect as a husband,’ I said with a wink at the man, who grinned back. ‘Why are you looking for him?’

  The stranger sat up straighter on the stool, his grin quickly fading. ‘I have some news for him, not very pleasant news, I’m afraid. Also an item to give him from someone who loved him, or tried to, at least.’

  I was intrigued by the way he said this, in a wistful tone that hinted at regret and confusion. ‘Does this young man have a name?’ I asked.

  ‘He is most likely using another, because he doesn’t want to be found. But I’ve known him since he was a boy growing up in Vonne, and he will know me.’

  ‘You’re from Vonne, then?’

  ‘Yes, and it’s taken me three days to walk so far. No wonder I’m more blister than skin,’ he said, looking down at his red and weeping feet. ‘But I must complete my mission and I’m hoping you will help.’

  Who else could he be looking for but Tamlyn?

  ‘I wish I could, but all the young men I know have lived here for years,’ I said, trying desperately to force an innocent look onto my face — without success. I could feel the blood flushing my cheeks, but if I rushed away now because of my blushes, it would look as though I had something to hide. ‘Besides, I don’t even know your name,’ I said grandly, hoping this would give me back the advantage.

  ‘Ah, forgive my bad manners.’ He stood up in his bare feet, gave a little bow and said, ‘My name is Miston Dessar.’

  He could have said he was the first devil of the underworld and I would have been less stunned. Miston Dessar — the name Coyle had used to trick me into passing Lucien into his care.

  Quickly, Silvermay, think this through, I urged myself. What was this man up to? If Coyle had sent him, the last name he’d have told him to use was Miston Dessar. Besides, if Coyle already knew Tamlyn was in Haywode, then he wouldn’t send a lone grey-haired man who carried no weapon; he would send a small army.

  There was something else, too: the sense I’d felt the day before that I already knew this man. The shape of his body, the features of his face, even the gentle way he spoke to me with eyes that never wavered — all these things reminded me too much of Arnou Dessar for his name to be a lie.

  Silence lay awkwardly between us while my mind threw up these ideas. The stranger — for I still couldn’t think of him by the name he’d given me — filled the void.

  ‘The man I am looking for also knew my cousin, Arnou, who is now dead I’m sad to say.’ He spoke gently, but at the same time he was inspecting me for every flicker of hesitation. I’d already given myself away. ‘I can tell by your honest face, young lady, that you know who I am talking about,’ he said. ‘I have come to find Tamlyn, the son of Coyle Strongbow, Wyrdborn guardian of King Chatiny. Will you take me to him?’

  When I couldn’t answer immediately, torn between fear of Coyle’s tricks and my instinct to trust this man, he added, ‘I haven’t come to harm Tamlyn, although he may not agree when he hears the news from Vonne.’

  Unpleasant news, he had said earlier. The first spider of dread crawled across my skin. Whatever his message, Tamlyn would have to hear it.

  ‘He’s working in the fields,’ I said. ‘I’ll take you to him.’

  Haywode sits in the crook of a small river, more a stream really, with willows along the bank below the village, where the water floods in the spring. The village is on higher ground so it stays dry. To the open side, away from the stream, lie fields stretching to the woods in the distance. I could see Tamlyn, with three others, just short of the trees in a field they were stripping of the corn stalks left after harvest.

  If I was leading this man to the man I loved, then I had accepted his story, I realised, and that meant his name really was Miston Dessar.

  ‘I met your cousin, too,’ I said. ‘He was good at heart and very bra
ve.’

  ‘Brave, indeed,’ said Miston, who eyed me with special interest now. ‘Forgive me, I have not asked your name.’

  I told him, knowing it would mean nothing to him. Lady Ezeldi had not heard my name, thanks to Tamlyn’s caution.

  ‘Well then, Silvermay, I’m fortunate that it was you who welcomed me to Haywode. I had a feeling the innkeeper was going to slit my throat last night when I asked him the questions I asked you.’

  I couldn’t help smiling and, seeing this, he tried to put me more at ease. ‘What I’ve told you is true. I’m no assassin. Like Arnou, I am a scholar.’

  Coyle had stolen the identity of a man he knew, I realised. How much easier it must have made his impersonation. ‘You know Coyle Strongbow, don’t you, and he knows you?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not an acquaintance that gives me pleasure,’ he replied.

  Tamlyn saw us coming and left his companions to meet us. I knew he had recognised the man at my side when he stopped suddenly.

  ‘I should speak with Tamlyn alone,’ Miston said to me, but he was forgetting that Tamlyn had the ears of a Wyrdborn.

  ‘Silvermay has been with me through all that’s happened, and all that will happen, most likely,’ he called. ‘What I know, she should know.’

  Miston bowed graciously and invited me to continue at his side. He offered his hand to Tamlyn, who took it in a show of friendship that put my last fears to rest. And yet now that he had reached the end of his journey, Miston showed the first reluctance I’d seen in him. Bad news is never easy to deliver, any more than it is easy to receive, I suppose.

  ‘I bring a message from Vonne, from your mother, Ezeldi,’ he said finally.

  ‘You’ve spoken to her?’ Tamlyn was eager to hear more. ‘I sent her news, but we’ve heard nothing from her.’

  Miston nodded as though this news did not surprise him. ‘I think you know, Tamlyn, that Lady Ezeldi has spoken to me many times over the years. She first sought me out to learn more about the Wyrdborn: where they came from, and why they are the way they are. She came to rely on my word, even to trust me, which is unusual among the Wyrdborn.’

  ‘Unheard of,’ said Tamlyn.

  ‘Yes, that’s the truth of it, I suppose. Your mother seemed different from the others of her kind.’

  ‘She is different,’ said Tamlyn, ‘and she wants me to be the same as her.’

  ‘So she told me, and that was why I helped all I could. In recent weeks, though, after you disappeared from Vonne, she seemed deeply concerned about matters she would not explain. Those worries led her to give me this.’

  He took a small pouch from his pocket, loosened the drawstring and tipped something out onto Tamlyn’s palm. It was a ring, made of silver and heavy in design; a man’s ring, not a woman’s. I was surprised because I’d expected it to be something of Ezeldi’s.

  ‘Along with the ring came instructions,’ Miston said. ‘If she were to die, no matter what the reason given for her death, I was to find you and deliver this ring. She said you would know what to do with it. That was all. I can tell you no more.’

  ‘If she were to die?’ Tamlyn repeated.

  ‘I’m sorry. I would not have come searching for you, otherwise. She told me where you were, on the morning before …’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Five days ago. No cause was announced, but rumours were quickly rife on the streets, coming from the household servants, most likely. Murder. How else would a Wyrdborn woman of her age meet her end?’

  Tamlyn’s features contorted in grief. ‘Who would dare murder a Wyrdborn?’

  ‘Another Wyrdborn, it seems. Suspicion has fallen on her husband.’

  ‘Coyle! You mean my father has returned to Vonne?’

  ‘Yes, and barely two days before the crime took place. The news must be a double blow for you, Tamlyn, for it seems your father has murdered your mother.’

  I had been right to dread Miston’s news, but not even my wild imagination had prepared me for this. I had never met Lady Ezeldi, never so much as heard of her until Nerigold had told me of her unexpected kindness only weeks before. I couldn’t help wondering whether I would have liked her and whether she would have warmed to me. After all, commonfolk often grow close to one another when they share the love of the same young man, one as mother and the other as … Well, that was getting ahead of myself by a long way. Right now, my concern was for poor Tamlyn, not only for the grief and pain he must feel at the death of his mother, but because of how it had happened.

  I didn’t care if a handful of my neighbours were watching from only twenty paces away. I stepped forward and put my arms around him, resting my head upon his chest. He put his arms around me in turn, but his entire body had stiffened and there was no exchange of feeling in our embrace. He didn’t seem able to accept the sympathy I offered, and I couldn’t feel him sharing his grief with me so that it might lessen within himself. Wasn’t that why human beings hugged one another at times of tragedy?

  I broke away to look at his face. What a shock that was. It was filled with a darkness and hatred I had seen in the faces of other Wyrdborn, but never Tamlyn’s.

  Did he see his own grim visage in my eyes, or simply guess what was happening to him from my worried expression? Whatever the reason, he turned away from me and began to walk briskly towards the woods.

  ‘Wait! Let me come with you,’ I cried after him.

  He didn’t respond, didn’t slow down.

  ‘Silvermay!’ Miston called.

  I hesitated, then turned back reluctantly to listen, knowing that Tamlyn was striding further and further ahead as I waited.

  ‘Leave him, girl. To follow him now would put your life at risk.’

  Ridiculous! Tamlyn would never harm me.

  I spun around to find that he had already disappeared into the trees. When I entered the shadows after him, I had no idea which way to go. Fortunately, I knew the trails through these woods as though a map had been etched behind my eyes and I quickly found one that led away from the bright light of the fields.

  Ten minutes of walking hadn’t yielded any sign of him and I was beginning to think I should turn back, when a noise bounced its way from tree trunk to tree trunk and finally to my ears. I set out towards it, off the path this time, which slowed me down.

  The noise continued, then came a sharp crack that could only be wood splintering, something thick being broken off. The sounds became louder and more violent, like nothing I had heard in the woods before, and this disturbed me because I prided myself on my knowledge of its ways.

  Finally, I made out the unmistakable sound of a tree crashing to the ground and a picture of what I was hearing quickly formed in my mind. A gang of axemen from another village must be felling trees for lumber. But this part of the forest belonged to Haywode.

  I ducked my head and shoulders immediately, making myself harder to see, I imagined, although in the yellow dress given to me by the Widow Wenn I couldn’t easily sneak about. I crept on towards the sounds — the sharp cracks and splintering of wood in torment. There was movement high in the treetops ahead — the leafy crown of a tree began to tilt, then straightened, then tilted again. Very odd. The tree fell at last, cutting its way between other trunks to hammer the ground so hard the vibration almost threw me off my feet.

  Closer still and I should have been able to see the axemen. But no one had come to steal our trees. It was Tamlyn, alone.

  As I watched in awe from behind a thick bush, he rushed with arms outstretched at a tree that towered thirty feet over his head. An ordinary man would have come to a painful halt against something so immovable. Not Tamlyn. The tree shuddered all the way into the green canopy above. Some of its roots ripped up through the soil, throwing the tree off balance. Tamlyn backed away to take another run at it and let out a cry like an elk enraged by a rival. This time, the rest of the roots couldn’t resist. The tree began to topple, gathering speed as it fell, until not even a hawk could have kept pac
e with its upper branches.

  The whole forest seemed to tremble, before a creature capable of such destruction. My awe turned to fear. There was no purpose to what Tamlyn was doing, not like there had been when he’d toppled a tree to make a bridge across the Great River for Nerigold and me. His actions here were fuelled by rage; he cared nothing for the damage he was causing to the living forest. I had seen birds, badgers and even a small deer fleeing from the mayhem. Some squirrels weren’t so fortunate: caught high in the tree, they had ridden its vanquished trunk to their deaths.

  With the tree gone, a wider view of the forest opened up, revealing a hut that woodgetters used as shelter during the winter and where children came on summer nights to test themselves away from their parents and the comforts of home. Tamlyn saw it, too, and headed straight for it. He kicked in the door and tore at the sides until the roof collapsed. Even after the building had fallen on top of him, he simply shook himself free of the rubble and began to strip the planks into kindling.

  I was watching a Wyrdborn take out his anger on the world, and even though I knew Tamlyn to be tender and caring at other times I was shocked by what I saw and frightened, too.

  Miston had warned me to stay clear, but I couldn’t remain a secret observer any longer. I stepped out from my hiding place and waited until the bright colours of my dress caught his eye. When he spotted me, he halted, but his body was tense with emotion.

  ‘This must stop,’ I called to him. ‘You’re hurting yourself.’

  ‘I’m a Wyrdborn,’ he snapped. ‘Nothing can harm me.’

  ‘Can’t it? All I see in you right now is hurt. This isn’t how commonfolk deal with grief.’

  He advanced towards me, then. Had I misjudged his love for me? I couldn’t let the thought take hold, for then I would run from him and what damage would that do to us both?