by Unknown
Palansa had managed to communicate to the Healer that Arkendrin knew of her presence, and that a meeting of the Shargh had been called. The Healer’s terror had been plain, and Tarkenda felt scarcely better, her visions and the last part of the Telling sitting like a stone on her heart.
But whatever Palansa’s feelings, she looked authoritative and calm as she settled on the hide and stared down Arkendrin’s cronies. The sorcha was already crowded, the air soured by too many breaths in too small a space, but Arkendrin and Irdodun had yet to arrive. No doubt they were intent on making the Speak wait for their grand entrance, thought Tarkenda in disgust.
On the spur above, Arkendrin and Irdodun worked their way around from the back of the highest sorcha, murdering each guard in turn. Too quick to be satisfying, thought Irdodun, as he clamped his hand over a young Shargh’s mouth, slashed his dagger across his throat, and lowered his body to the ground.
Inside the sorcha, Ersalan stirred, and Kira was about to pick him up when she heard a soft thump from outside. She froze, heart pounding. There were other sounds, too – furtive shufflings and a suppressed grunt, and Kira crept to the sorcha wall and listened. But then Ersalan grizzled and she went back to the bed and scooped him up. There were guards around the hut, she reassured herself, as Ersalan snuggled against her.
Erlken heard a thump too and spun in time to see Irdodun appear around the sorcha’s side. He lunged towards Irdodun just as Arkendrin attacked from behind. The slash intended to cut Erlken’s throat went awry, the flatsword embedding in Erlken’s shoulder instead. In a flash, Arkendrin pulled the dagger from his belt and thrust it into Erlken’s chest. Erlken crashed to the ground and then Arkendrin plunged through the door flap into the sorcha.
Kira spun, holding Ersalan close. Arkendrin stood before her, blood dripping from his hands and jacket, and Kira’s heart all but failed her.
‘Take the everest!’ the voice in her head screamed, but she couldn’t. It would kill her babe and leave Ersalan unprotected. Then a second Shargh appeared, his lips curling in a smile, and Kira thrust Ersalan under the bed.
Arkendrin reached her in a stride, smashed her to the floor, then fell upon her, gouging at her eyes with his bloodied hands. Ersalan shrieked in terror and Kira pulled up her knees to protect her belly, sobbing with pain and effort as she struggled to fend off Arkendrin.
Irdodun didn’t join the attack, but hovered at Arkendrin’s shoulder, on his blind side. Arkendrin had the creature by the hair now, and was using it to slam its head into the floor. Irdodun tensed, then, as the creature lay lifeless and Arkendrin fumbled at his belt for his missing dagger, Irdodun took careful aim and plunged his blade into Arkendrin’s back.
For a moment nothing happened and then Arkendrin turned his head and stared balefully at Irdodun with his sighted eye. Irdodun scrabbled backwards, fearing Arkendrin would attack, but instead he crashed sideways and lay still.
Pausing only to wrench his dagger free, Irdodun reached under the bed and dragged out the screaming child. Then a blur of movement made him spin, dropping the child as he thrust aside the clumsily held sword of the Chief-wife, and clamped his hand around her wrist. It was turning out to be a good day’s work, he thought, as he brought his dagger tip up under her jaw. In one sweet moment he would have destroyed all claimants to the chiefship.
But then, incomprehensibly, an agony of white fire exploded in his belly and he lost his grip on her. The last thing he saw, as blackness stole his sight, was the Chief-wife sweep up her child and hold him close.
Caledon wasn’t surprised by Tierken’s arrival in Allogrenia, nor Miken’s not very subtle suggestion that he avoid the northern ruler.
Laryia’s brother is understandably upset that Kira has delivered herself into the Shargh’s hands, and needs time to understand the reasons for her actions, Miken had said. The best way for him to do so is to spend time with his sister and Tresen at the Bough – undisturbed.
The Kashclan leader feared that Tierken would kill his rival for having been with Kira, then failing to keep her safe. But it was a risk Caledon was going to have to take. Kira’s absence had given him time to remember that he was a Placidien, and how a Placidien must act.
The star-sendings that had brought about the astounding symmetry of Tierken and Kira’s union were rare, Caledon having experienced them only one time previously. He’d been high in the western Silvercades when a storm had swept in and he’d taken refuge in a fissure. As he’d waited for the squall to pass, he’d struggled to the far end and peered out of the opening, astonished to see a small mountain lake directly below him. And as he’d looked, the sun and rain had created a rainbow.
Caledon had never seen a rainbow of such intensity, and although the wind raged behind him, the lake remained still, gifting Caledon the rainbow’s other half. The revelation of the circle was both fleeting and profound, giving form to what Caledon had long sensed: that earthly things were but fragments of a wholeness that the stars strove to re-establish. The stars had gifted such a possibility once before, when they’d allowed the birthing of the twin princes, Kasheron and Terak.
Had the twins ruled harmoniously together, the entire north would have been made whole. But they’d warred instead. Then, with their Healer part lost, the Terak tendency to brutality had stayed dormant only because the Shargh had remained meek. But now that savagery had well and truly woken.
Meanwhile, by hiding deep in the forests, Kasheron’s people had condemned their healing to a slow dwindling. Even though their isolation had thrown up instances of extraordinary prowess – three women who could take pain – cutting themselves off from alternative ways of doing atrophied other skills. Their isolation had also prevented new blood from entering, and despite the strictures forbidding first-generation bonding within parental clans, the generations that followed had no choice but to bond with kin-links.
There were other dangers inherent in Kasheron’s choice too. Caledon knew that even had the Shargh or some other human enemy not penetrated the trees, it was inevitable that a catastrophe, such as the sickness he had once seen devastate a people called the Ashkali, would one day befall the Tremen. And like the Ashkali, the Tremens’ small numbers and limited resources would make recovery impossible.
And so the stars, in their generosity, had again offered the possibility of wholeness. In the north, where a barren ruler held sway, a nephew had been born, and in the south, a female Healer with the courage to leave the trees. And to ensure that the significance of these events was clear, the stars had marked both with gold eyes. But the potential for wholeness was again one that held the seeds of greater disintegration – an outcome Caledon was determined to prevent.
If Kira lived to return, she must be reconciled with Tierken and must return north with him. That was the surest way of curtailing the Terak’s warlike behaviour, of revitalising the Tremen, and of ensuring healing flourished as a counterbalance to killing. If Kira didn’t live to return, then the task became Laryia’s and Tresen’s, and Caledon’s fulfilment of his responsibilities to the stars would be far more difficult.
Laryia shared her brother’s strength of will, but Tresen was no Kira. Even had he not been terribly damaged by the fighting, he lacked Kira’s fire and determination. He’d certainly be against further bloodshed, but his opposition would put Laryia in the invidious position of denying her northern upbringing, and of having to balance her intense love for her brother with that for Tresen. Any fracturing that followed would be very personal and very painful indeed.
And if Laryia did leave the south, with or without her bondmate, there would be little, if any, contact between Sarnia and Allogrenia. The Tremen would slip back into the shadows, but Terak swords would shine bright with the blood of any who stood against them, as well as any they counted enemies.
55
Miken was aghast when Caledon told him of his intention to visit the Bough, and spent considerable time trying to dissuade him.
‘You know Tierken
better than I, for you fought with him in the north,’ Miken said. ‘You would also know, better than I, whether you fought together as friends or simply as those with a shared enemy. But what I do know is that Tierken holds you responsible for Kira’s leaving, despite the attempts of Laryia and myself to convince him otherwise, and that he sees you as a rival for Kira’s affections. For these reasons, I don’t believe he’d hesitate to kill you.’
‘While I love Kira, we’ve never shared a bed,’ said Caledon bluntly. ‘But I don’t think Kira ever denied it to him, most likely because she wanted his trust without doing so. And I’ve never denied it because I was unsure of what the stars intended.’
‘But you’re sure now?’ said Miken.
‘Very sure.’
Miken looked so grave that Caledon lightened his voice. ‘If Tierken does kill me, Clanleader, burn my remains,’ he said. ‘Placidiens believe their essence rejoins the stars at death, and that’s harder to do if it must first struggle out from beneath the earth.’
Still, Caledon felt anything but light-hearted as the distance between him and the Bough narrowed. He may have just witnessed his last dawn, he realised, and his farewells from Talliel, over a year ago, may have been final. Then voices sounded ahead, and Caledon slowed. He couldn’t see anyone, which wasn’t unusual, for the forest dyes allowed the Protectors to blend with the trees. But when men finally came into view, they were Terak, and Tierken was with them.
Tierken’s hand went to his sword, and Caledon stopped as Tierken barked orders and the Terak disappeared into the trees. Clearly Tierken didn’t want any witnesses, thought Caledon, considering whether this was a good or bad sign. He continued on slowly, stopping less than a length from Tierken and bowing.
‘I greet you, northern Feailner,’ he said, ‘and beg speech with you.’
Tierken’s knuckles whitened on his sword hilt, and anger sloughed off him like fire heat. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ he snarled.
‘Futures built on lies are apt to fail,’ said Caledon. ‘And although I can’t alter the past, it’s important the truth be known.’
Tierken didn’t reply, but nor did he stride away, and Caledon took that as a sign he was willing to listen, though it would have been preferable to sit somewhere rather than stand in confrontation.
‘The first fact I would speak of involves my dealings with Kira,’ began Caledon, ‘who I met while I was under Shargh attack. Kira killed to save me, and agreed to travel with me, but she trusted me with nothing more than her name.’
‘A wise decision.’
‘Yes, for I lied to her. I took her west towards the Tain, not north, as I pledged. Her eyes suggested she was kin to you, and I wanted your fighters to help the Tain, not be drawn by kin obligation to the Tremen.
‘Once in Maraschin, her healing skills were needed, and that delayed her journey north. It also gave time for trust and affection to grow between us. I used that trust to persuade her that – given the bitterness of the Sundering – she must seek aid from the Tain instead of the Terak, and convinced her that the Tain would aid her people only if the Tremen sent fighters. And I used it to carry message from her back to Allogrenia, requesting those fighters.’
‘And how did you use her affection, Lord Caledon?’
‘I used it to delay her in Maraschin. I didn’t want her reaching the north, but most of all, I didn’t want her in danger. On my return, I intended to bond with or marry her, whichever she chose.’
Tierken had shifted into a fighting stance and Caledon had to force himself not to search the skies for one last glimpse of Aeris.
‘The next part of Kira’s story is known to you,’ he managed to continue. ‘When I first came to Sarnia, Kira let it be known that her heart now lay in your keeping. I wasn’t content with this – as a man – but as a Placidien, it seemed to fit the stars’ intent. When I returned for your sister’s wedding, though, I was troubled by your apparent lack of commitment to the bonding.’
‘Troubled as a man or as a Placidien?’ demanded Tierken.
‘Both. Kira told me that she was content to abide by northern ways and didn’t want to create difficulties for your feailnership. But I feared that if the bonding failed, she’d blame herself, and I knew from my earlier time here that this would be dangerous for her. After I returned to Allogrenia with the Tremen volunteers, the stars troubled my thoughts sufficiently for me to go back to Maraschin. I arrived shortly after Terak Commander Marin.
‘King Adris and I set out on search immediately, and found Kira journeying under Ashmiri protection, but even so, her mare had been slaughtered by a spear clearly intended for her. The Shargh’s continued hunting of Kira worried me enormously, as did her illness.’
‘Kira was ill?’ For the first time, Tierken’s voice held something other than anger or contempt.
‘Yes, on and off from the Azurcades. And increasingly she spoke of the Shargh’s suffering, believing it would breed enough hate for the fighting to erupt again. Coming across a Shargh woman with a sick child strengthened her belief.
‘But this is where I failed the stars. I didn’t see the danger, despite knowing Kandor’s death had caused Kira to risk herself in the past. I was too busy congratulating myself on having taken Kira away from you. I thought her feelings for you would fade along with her distress over the broken bonding.
‘It was only after Miken explained how Kashclan view bonding that I realised Kira would never have bonded with you unless she had intended to remain with you until death. But by then she’d gone to the Shargh.’
‘Because you failed to protect her!’
Tierken’s eyes were as bright as the sun, but Caledon forced himself on. ‘If she’s dead, will you honour the Tremen kin-link?’
Tierken’s sword was at Caledon’s throat in an instant. ‘You dare accuse me of dishonour?’
‘It was a question, not an accusation.’
‘The insinuation was plain!’
‘Allogrenia can’t survive on its own. Will you care for your kin or cast them adrift, as you cast Kira adrift by refusing to accept what she was?’
It was a terrible gamble, but Caledon had to force Tierken to confront the full implications of any break from the Tremen. Tierken’s sword arm was so tense that the blade vibrated against Caledon’s neck. Then there was a rush of air and the flash of yellow eyes as a bird beat past.
‘The mira kiraon,’ murmured Caledon, expecting the words to be his last, but then he saw the extraordinary sight of the gold draining from Tierken’s eyes. He’d seen it happen with Kira’s, and the sight reinforced the potency of their star-link. Caledon was considering how he might use it to persuade Tierken of the veracity of his words – if he lived that long – when the Feailner stepped back. And before Caledon could speak again, Tierken had turned and was striding off through the trees.
56
The sorcha looked different bare of pelts, thought Tarkenda, like one fresh-built, empty of the sins of the past, but yet to gather to itself the promise of the future.
Fanciful thoughts spawned by too much sherat, she thought dourly, pushing the bowl aside. The only thing different was that the blood-drenched pelts had been dragged outside. Well, that was not the only difference. The pall of threat and fear that had hung over them for so long had gone too. Arkendrin and Irdodun were dead, but the bloodied events had swept away others as well, including Erlken. And Erlken’s death had torn out Ormadon’s heart.
Palansa was with him now, at the head of Erlken’s pyre, honouring the man who’d lost his life protecting Ersalan’s. Further out on the grasslands, Arkendrin and Irdodun burned too, but no one honoured them. By pre-empting the Speak, Arkendrin had insulted those highest on the spur in the grossest possible way; the fact that he’d also murdered was of lesser consequence than the insult to those with Voices.
Tarkenda’s mouth twisted in disgust, and she forced her aching joints to the bed. The Healer still lay as if dead, her face so swollen she was scarcely reco
gnisable, and her arms black and blue where she’d fought off Arkendrin’s blows. Whether the Healer had managed to save her sight, Tarkenda didn’t know, but she’d certainly saved Ersalan.
When Ersalan’s terrified screams had penetrated Arkendrin’s sorcha, Palansa had snatched up Erboran’s flatsword and run as only a mother can, reaching the sorcha in time to see Irdodun drag Ersalan from under the bed. It was the safest place in the sorcha, but not a place so young a child would have the wit to go.
Ersalan slept now, snuggled against the Healer, and Tarkenda nudged him aside, and lifted the Healer’s shift to reassure herself that she didn’t bleed. Then Tarkenda laid her palm over the Healer’s belly, and smiled as she felt the babe squirm.
The shock of discovering that the Healer carried had been yet another layer of horror amongst the carnage. The guard lay drenched in blood, and Ormadon had cradled Erlken’s body and howled out his rage and grief. It had been Urgasen who had taken charge, ordering the removal of Arkendrin and Irdodun, and the pelts, and setting guards. Guards didn’t seem necessary any longer, thought Tarkenda, for Arkendrin’s betrayal of Shargh ways had lost him the loyalty of even his most fervent supporters.
Once Palansa had assured herself Ersalan had suffered no injury, she’d been remarkably calm, despite having killed, and come close to death herself. The storm of sobbing had not overtaken her till late that night, and by then they had stripped the blood-spattered clothes from the Healer and discovered she carried.
‘How could she have risked her babe so?’ Palansa had whispered, aghast.
‘To save yours,’ Tarkenda had replied, understanding flooding her. ‘To save Ersalan, and all the other babes here, to save our sick. And to stop the hatred, to stop the killing.’ The thing that draws no breath . . . It was the babe, curled within the warm liquid of the Healer’s belly. The revelation had left Tarkenda as dizzy as a vision.