The Cry of the Marwing

by Unknown

  4

  South of the Azurcades, on the Shargh Grounds, shadows circled the ebis herds. Then howls sounded and Tarkenda shivered. The wolves had been made bold by the dearth of hunters, but Palansa and the young Chief wouldn’t hunger, nor those loyal to them, thanks to Erlken and his lesser kin Aronin and Irslin. But those whose blood-ties had followed Arkendrin bitterly rued the lack of spears to protect their animals.

  A panicked ebis cow would drop her ebi and see it devoured in its birth-bag, or have her young taken from behind while she drove off attackers afore. And if she must spend her time in agitated flight, her milk dwindled, leaving little for her ebi, and none for the cheese-maker. The warriors had been gone for over a moon, but it had taken less time than that for the wolves to sense that their long hunting by the warriors was over.

  Tarkenda wondered how many moons would pass before the surviving remnants of the warrior force straggled back. That they would be few in number she had no doubt, for the Last Telling uncurled like the fingers of a dead hand. The gold-eyed creature had seen a setting sun and dwelt with the gold-eyed Northern Chief – gold had met gold and two halves become one. The tesat that the warriors used on their flatswords to seed wounds with poison would fail now, and the victorious Northerners would come south, but not just to gloat.

  For what Tarkenda dreaded, and what kept her wakeful at night, was that they’d come south to ensure that the Shargh never again waged war upon them. And the only way the Northerners could do that was by slaughtering not just the remaining warriors, but every last one of those who dwelt at the Grounds.

  The Shargh warriors had set their camp north of the Braghans, close to ruined Tain buildings, and now sat around their fires feasting on Ashmiri food, enjoyment of the meats replacing any need for speech. As Orbdargan licked the juices from his fingers, he noted that even Arkendrin looked content. Arkendrin’s shadow, Irdodun, crouched at his Chief’s side as usual, but for once he didn’t irritate Orbdargan. The Tain burned their own settlements now, which saved the Shargh the trouble, and the Ashmiri Chief had sent horses as well as the food.

  ‘The Northerners hide behind the Southerners’ walls,’ said Yrshin, the Soushargh Chief, as he claimed more spiced sausage. ‘We’ll be at their grand northern city before they rouse from their beds.’

  ‘The scouts saw naught of them?’ asked Orbdargan.

  ‘No, Weshargh Chief. A few run back and forth across the plain, no doubt carrying their Chief’s words, but their warriors are south of us.’

  ‘They think we’re south too. They’ve seen my warriors there,’ grunted Arkendrin, chewing noisily. ‘The stinking Northerners forget these lands were ours; they think only they know where shelter grows and water rises.’

  ‘Thieves remember only their ownership,’ agreed Orbdargan, finding the Cashgar Chief’s vitriol reassuring.

  Arkendrin had kept to himself and his refusal to ride had strained the bonds of their shared enterprise. The Cashgar warriors had been caught more often as a result.

  ‘If the Northerners are in the southern walled city, we’re already two days ahead of them,’ said Orbdargan. ‘Their horses are swift, but if we strike north now, they will never catch us. The Ashmiri Chief says the northern city is fed by tree-fruit and crops from the valley before it. If we clear it out, they’ll starve.’

  ‘Uthlin’s knowing is useful,’ said Yrshin.

  ‘The creature’s there and I want it alive,’ broke in Arkendrin.

  ‘Uthlin’s supplied enough horses for us all to ride,’ said Orbdargan. ‘We can be north in seven or eight days, and the creature in your hands before the full moon.’

  ‘It takes longer than that to starve a people out,’ said Arkendrin, his eyes gleaming in the firelight.

  ‘But not to trade with the hungry,’ said Orbdargan. ‘Uthlin says the Northerners have no love for yellow eyes either, despite them being led by one.’

  ‘I’ll not ride, nor will my warriors,’ said Arkendrin. ‘The Sky Chiefs punish those who refuse them honour.’

  ‘You’ve lost more warriors than me,’ retorted Yrshin.

  ‘The fighting’s young, Soushargh Chief,’ growled Arkendrin.

  ‘Wolves hunt alone as well as in packs,’ interceded Orbdargan. ‘Horses will take us swiftly, even before the northern robbers know we’ve gone, but a spear’s best thrown from the ground. Both will win back what’s ours.’

  Arkendrin still glowered and Orbdargan gripped his arm. ‘We fight together as Shargh to take back Shargh lands,’ he hissed. ‘Who cares the manner of the fight as long as it’s the Northerners’ blood that flows?’

  ‘The Sky Chiefs care,’ said Arkendrin, but his expression eased.

  5

  Kira pushed her damp hair from her face and grimaced. In the misting rains, the Wastes were a bleak and discouraging sight. Piles of discarded food putrefied and the weeds were so rank they were almost impossible to push through. The distaste of the Guard was plain too, but Kira ignored them, concentrating on keeping her footing. The ground was slick and the last thing she needed was to reinjure her mending ribs.

  Finally she reached the bottom of the dip and lowered herself gingerly onto the stone seat. Any sort of exertion made her ribs ache, and they were now pounding away in time with her heart. The greenery reminded her of Allogrenia and an intense longing woke. She’d traded away her place in the trees for a life here with Tierken, but he was absent and all that lay ahead was fighting.

  Then the Guard drew their swords, and Kira jerked from her reverie. A man was coming down the steps towards them, his hood drawn against the rain, a sword and knife at his belt. Kira tensed, but then he raised his head and she saw that it was Farid.

  ‘Guard Second Daril and Guard Farsrin, wait on the second step,’ he ordered.

  The Guard bowed and moved away, and Farid sat beside her. ‘The Lady Laryia’s distressed you’ve come here,’ he said curtly.

  ‘My intention wasn’t to upset Laryia.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you’ve done so, Lady.’

  ‘There’s no need to call me “Lady”, Farid. We don’t have that title in my lands and I know from your father that I’m not known as a Lady in Sarnia.’

  ‘I call you Lady out of courtesy for you and respect for the Feailner,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t need courtesy; I need herbs and a Haelen to minister from.’

  ‘I’m bound to obey the Feailner – like everyone else in Sarnia,’ he said.

  ‘Not everyone, Farid. By the Feailner’s own pronouncement, I’m no kin of his, so he has no authority over me,’ said Kira.

  There was a short silence broken only by the rustle of wind in the lush grasses. This place might be heavy with the odour of the city’s refuse, thought Kira, but it was the only place she could go that wasn’t covered with stone.

  Farid’s handsome face was still heavy with disapproval and Kira softened her voice. ‘It’s one of my many failings that I don’t often ask for help,’ she said. ‘But I’m asking now. If Sarnia doesn’t have a Haelen, men hurt in the fighting will die.’

  ‘As Keeper of the Domain, I will aid you in whatever way I can. But I’m bound by the Feailner’s orders.’

  ‘Tierken’s orders to you didn’t specifically forbid a Haelen, did they Farid?’ asked Kira, confirming her understanding.

  Farid looked uncomfortable but shook his head.

  ‘So, if I can find something to trade, establishing a Haelen wouldn’t be contrary to the Feailner’s commands?’

  ‘No,’ confirmed Farid.

  But a Haelen would be useless without herbs, she realised.

  ‘Tell me what you know of the Wastes, Farid.’

  ‘It was originally a quarry, then a garden,’ began Farid, looking relieved at the change of subject. ‘Stone for the city’s building and paving was taken from here and, as it was quarried, Queen Kiraon had soil brought in and terraces moulded. She used them as beds for the plantings she brought from Kessom.’

  ‘Wha
t plantings?’ asked Kira sharply.

  ‘I’m not sure, but there’s a list of them in the Writing Store.’

  ‘Can I look there?’

  ‘Of course. But this rain’s not getting any lighter. With your leave, we should return, Lady,’ he said, helping Kira up. He kept one hand on her arm and the other on his sword hilt until they reached the Guard.

  ‘Are there any Writings that tell how Queen Kiraon’s garden came to be destroyed?’ asked Kira as they walked. They still had to make their way slowly, for the rain had made the stone slick.

  ‘I think it’s been neglected rather than destroyed,’ said Farid. ‘But in answer to your question, I’ve found no Writings on the garden other than the planting list, even after the recent ordering of the Store.’

  So Tierken had kept his pledge to her, realised Kira in relief. She recalled the violent argument with him that had resulted in her fleeing to the Wastes. Tierken had pursued her and she’d only agreed to return to the Domain when he’d promised to have the Store searched for proof of her kinship claim.

  ‘Did you find anything about Kasheron’s ring or the Sundering?’ she asked.

  ‘I can’t tell you. There’s much the Feailner and I discuss which is known throughout the Domain and much that isn’t – nor ever will be,’ he added.

  Farid’s answer suggested he had found something, thought Kira.

  ‘Has Tierken told you who I am?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s told me who you claim to be.’

  Kira bit back her next question, resisting the urge to pester Farid with questions he wasn’t allowed to answer. He’d given her permission to look through the Writing Store, so whatever he’d found, she should find too.

  Kira pushed the hair from her eyes and eased her aching shoulders. Her excitement about what the Writing Store might hold had ebbed soon after she’d opened the first sheaf. The Writings exhibited the same meticulous detail as those kept in the Warens, and for every useful fact there seemed to be dozens of pages of trivia. She had found nothing of interest by the time the sun had set, and was considering where she could locate a lamp in the Store when Laryia appeared in the doorway.

  Her eyes were dark against her pale face and Kira scrambled to her feet. ‘I must beg your pardon for upsetting you, Laryia. You’re not to blame for Tierken’s decisions on the Haelen.’

  ‘It’s cold in here,’ said Laryia, shivering. ‘Come to my rooms.’

  Laryia’s rooms were deliciously warm, the fire dancing high in the grate, making her collection of chimes wink and flash. Kira hadn’t realised how hungry she was till she saw the fruit, fresh maizen bread and balls of spicy fish arrayed on the table.

  ‘Woodwrights will meet you at the stables at dawn. Tell them what you want and they’ll begin,’ said Laryia, loading a platter with food and passing it to Kira.

  Kira gaped at her. ‘What did you trade for the services of woodwrights?’

  ‘I’ve a generous brother, Kira. He’s given me many beautiful things from Mid-market over the seasons we’ve been here.’

  ‘But . . . but they were gifts,’ said Kira.

  ‘And so mine to trade,’ responded Laryia, echoing Kira’s words from days before.

  Kira rose and embraced her. ‘I thank you,’ she said, all but undone by Laryia’s kindness.

  ‘I’m the grand-daughter of a Healer,’ said Laryia, ‘and understand your need. There’s no cause for thanks.’

  6

  It turned out that the woodwrights were Illian and only one of them knew Onespeak. Thus, he had to translate Kira’s instructions to the others, who then discussed them at length in Illian before passing their questions back to the man to be translated into Onespeak for Kira. It was a long and tedious process, and tested Kira’s patience to the limit, but it was essential that the Haelen be correctly constructed.

  It was late by the time Kira struggled back up the path to the Domain, and by then a chill northern wind flapped her cape about her. Above the stone domes of Sarnia, the crests of the Silvercades had been obliterated by cloud, and she wondered if they were in for more foul weather.

  Laryia confirmed her fears. ‘In spring, Irid tends to remind us what we should be grateful to leave behind,’ she said, as they ate together, snug in Laryia’s rooms. Ryn had predicted ten days of rain and snow, and according to Laryia, the Terak Horse Master was as weather-wise as any Kir.

  ‘It will be hard for the men out on the plain,’ said Kira, hating to think of them without warmth and shelter. The canopy of the southern forests protected Allogrenia from extremes of weather and the Tremen never had to endure such conditions.

  ‘Tierken knows where the shelters are,’ said Laryia.

  Ryn’s prediction proved accurate, with rain gusting across the courtyard followed by sleet, then snow, then more rain. It went on day and night, the wind howling like the wolves of Ember Keep. Stuck indoors yet again, Kira used the time to search for the list of Queen Kiraon’s plantings. As the Writing Store had no fireplace, she took armfuls of Writings to her rooms and spread them on the rug in front of the fire.

  Kira worked through each stack methodically, learning a great deal about the early days of Sarnia and the Sundering. There had been enormous relief at the ending of the fighting, tempered by grief for those lost. And there had been fury at the desertion of Kasheron and the fighting men he’d taken with him. Kira understood why Kasheron had chosen to leave, but she also began to understand the anger of those who’d remained. And she pondered again the odd chance of Tierken’s patrol finding her as a captive of the Shargh on the plain. After so many seasons apart, the seed of Kasheron had finally been reunited with the seed of Terak – and fallen in love with him.

  Word came that the woodwrights had finished, but Kira didn’t go to the stables, for the streets were icy and Laryia had asked her to stay in. So, despite her eagerness to see the Haelen, Kira remained in the Domain, not wanting to upset Laryia a third time.

  The night before they had argued over the bracelet once more. Kira had offered it to help with the trade for the mattresses and covers the newly constructed pallets must have, but Laryia had again refused on the basis that Tierken had gifted it to Kira.

  ‘ You’ve traded his gifts,’ Kira had protested. ‘It’s no different.’

  Laryia had turned on her impatiently. ‘By putting the bracelet on your left wrist at Mid-market, Tierken pledged to you in the Kessomi way. You can’t trade a pledge-bracelet.’

  ‘He didn’t have the right to do that!’ said Kira, mortified.

  Laryia’s response had been short and to the point. ‘Tierken’s not afraid to show his love – unlike you.’

  Kira’s face burned at the memory, and she put down the Writing she’d been perusing. She didn’t fear showing love, though she did fear what must be traded for it. To have Tierken’s love, he demanded she give up the Tremen leadership, Allogrenia and all the people she loved and cared about. And that was just the start. He also wanted her to wear metal and tie herself to him come what may.

  As Feailner, he must remain in the north, and Kira understood that to be together, she must also be in the north. She’d never wanted the leadership, so the idea of relinquishing it caused her no distress. But to relinquish those she loved in Allogrenia – that was a far more difficult prospect.

  A log settled in a shower of sparks, rousing her from her thoughts. None of it was relevant at this moment, she reminded herself, taking up the Writing again. For somewhere, still buried in the pile of sheafs she’d yet to sort, was a list that might just save lives.

  On the tenth night the wind dropped, so abruptly that Kira woke. How could anyone predict weather so accurately, she wondered, as she curled into a ball and tried to recapture sleep. But sleep remained elusive as her mind turned to Tierken, out on the frigid plain. He and Caledon and Tresen might all be dead, for it was seven days before even the fleetest messenger reached Sarnia – and much longer if the weather were bad.

  Finally she decid
ed that it was pointless lying there worrying, and that she might as well go down and check on the state of the Haelen. She rose and dressed, grabbed her pack and made her way stealthily along the balcony. Despite the lack of wind the air was icy, and Kira had to stop to don her cape.

  The Guard at the Domain gate swivelled as she passed. ‘One moment, Lady,’ he called.

  Kira ignored him, relieved to be outside on her own, if only for a moment. The moon was close to new, and no glow of lamplight escaped through the shuttered windows she passed, but the city wasn’t entirely asleep – there was a commotion at the stables. It was a patrol, newly arrived and still mounted.

  ‘Gently there, Barid. That’s it. Now Ralin, the bone-setter you know is in the south-west Illian Quarter?’

  It was Jonred’s voice and Kira hurried over in time to see a limp patrolman being passed from the back of a horse.

  ‘Patrol Leader Jonred. Let me see him,’ she said.

  Jonred spun. ‘You had news of our arrival, Lady?’

  ‘No. Bring him this way and get a lamp from the stables,’ ordered Kira.

  The Haelen, which smelled of new-cut wood, was pitch-black inside and freezing. Kira fumbled forward, skinning her knuckles on an empty pallet, hoping that the traded bedding was actually here.

  As a patrolman arrived with a lamp a shaft of light illuminated rows of austere pallets, the furthest one piled high with mattresses and covers. Kira grasped a mattress, hardly aware of a Domain Guard helping her, and pulled it onto a pallet so the injured man could be laid on it. His arm was heavily bound and splinted.

  ‘Shargh?’ Kira asked Jonred, gently unbinding it.