Mellar. It was him.
The king raised a half-glass of rum to his lips with a shaking hand. His face was lined, the flesh below his troubled eyes dark. A crystal decanter balanced on the carpet, what was left of its contents a mere puddle in the base.
“He won’t hide forever,” said the woman in a soft, motherly voice. “Surely Bevn will miss his life here too much?”
“No, Maybelle, I don’t believe my boy is hiding, not from me, he wouldn’t do that. Someone must have captured him again, kept him against his will, but why don’t they announce themselves, for the love of the sun and the moon, just ask me for a ransom? You know what I’d be willing to pay! Anything to get the crown back.”
“And Bevn.”
“Yes of course, Bevn, my son.”
“He must have been shocked by his ordeal.”
“He did not know what he did!” the king exclaimed.
The fat lady smoothed the king’s creased brow. “I know, I know. And the Swords? Any news from Ravenscroft?”
“They searched there, and here, and Fendwarrow, and Levin, even Chink and Southwind! No one has seen him, nor heard of his passing. Aie!”
The king sat up quickly, and pressed his hands to his temples.
“The headache again?”
“Worse than ever,” he answered.
“Oh my love, is there no remedy for this cruelty?”
The king spun to face her with a snarl. “You know there isn’t! You have read the histories! Not one of my ancestors has beaten this curse. Not one!” He turned away from her again, and stared into the fire. “Sorry for that,” he muttered. “I become more and more what I fear to be.”
The fat lady reached for him. “I know who you really are,” she said.
He rocked backward and forward, watching the flames.
“I see the shapes and faces more now, faces in the air, faces in the fire. They move as my head moves. They are there when I close my eyes. Why does my father watch me, Ol’king Mellar, why?”
He jerked out of the fat lady’s hands and lurched to his feet.
“No, leave me be!”
He staggered back a step and knocked the crystal decanter over. Before the fat lady could stop it, a dark stain had spread into the carpet, as dark as blood. The fat lady covered her mouth with her hands.
King Mellar strode away from the fire and he struck the air as if slicing it with a sword. “I will not succumb to this! I will not!” he shouted. “Go and plague my son, if you would plague a Mellar! You gather round me like beggars, I will not give anything to you, my sleep and my life are my own!”
The king steadied himself on a bedpost. He was weak, Kirjath thought, tired, weak and troubled, but he was angry, and that might give him the strength to resist what Kirjath wanted to do to him.
He shouldn’t have hesitated when he had first entered. His initial rage was fading, and his strength with it.
The fat lady cried softly beneath Kirjath, at the fire. He contemplated using her. She must be influential, for she was not just a royal harlot. A harlot would have been dismissed as soon as the king had satisfied himself upon her. This woman was still in his chambers, offering comfort in a private affair. A relative then or a lady whom he was courting. Yes, she would have influence indeed, but Kirjath looked at her full rump. To take her, to use her as a host, Kirjath would have to be more than just inside her flesh. He would have to be part of her, as she would be a part of him. She was a woman, full of whimsy, weakening fluids and scents which had to be applied to mask the odours beneath. No, he could not bring himself to be a woman. She would not do at all.
“Go away, you badgers, get away from me!” exclaimed the king. “I’ll hang you! I’ll hang you all!”
The king’s words detonated his anger like a spark in a barrel of pitch. He was clenched so tightly in rage that the outline of his presence glistened with reflected light, as if he was solid. Kirjath rushed across the room. Anger pounded in him, as vital as a heartbeat. Those little singsong voices returned, from the village so long ago.
Father swings upon a rope.
He was going to take Mellar. He was going to reclaim his life from the king. He would not just fade away.
Face has gone as white as soap.
Kirjath leapt like a spring-spider upon its prey. His glistening form might be shattered by the king’s flesh, but he would live inside his mind as a Morgloth lived in its master. Ultimately, the demon could rule—he knew that better than anyone alive.
Father swings upon a rope.
The king clawed against his invented tormentors and turned his face to the roof, as if looking beyond it for mercy from the gods. His eyes went wide.
Here’s your mercy! Kirjath drove himself into Mellar’s eyes.
There would be no return to the outside. Living flesh absorbed his essence.
“In the village square!” cried the king. “In the village square!”
Then he fell.
_____
The stairs to Stormhaven’s old dungeons were moist. The dank air was almost thick enough to smother the fitful light of his lamp. Ashley Logán steadied himself against the mossy wall at the base of the stairs.
Someone was babbling away in the darkness, but his tune changed as Ashley approached the cells.
“Bring the light! Bring the light! Bring it to me!”
A figure fluttered into the pool of light on the far side of the bars—tufts of hair protruding from his head in dirty clumps, his yellow robe soiled. The man knelt against the bars looking up at Ashley with tearful eyes.
“Bring it closer. Bring it, bring it, please good gifter, bring the light. Ah, the light, the light!”
A hand shot out between the bars. Ashley wasn’t quick enough to dance clear of the grasp; his leg was caught in a shaking grip, but the prisoner was weak, and Ashley twisted free, dancing away from the man’s reach.
“The light! The light! I want the light back!” Lethin Tarrok cried.
“I’ll blow the lamp out and leave again, if you misbehave,” Ashley threatened. He lifted the lid of the lamp threateningly.
“No! No! No, don’t take it, don’t leave me blind, I’ll be still, I’ll be quiet. Keep the light. Keep it here!”
Ashley set the lamp on a barrel, and approached the cell again. Tarrok had his face pressed against the bars now, as if to be as close to the dancing flame as possible. He didn’t seem to notice Ashley at all.
Tarrok should have been executed by now, but Ashley could understand that the king was reluctant to kill his nephew—there had been too much killing recently. True, the court official had betrayed too much trust. Nonetheless, Ashley felt some pity for the miserable wretch—he thought execution was a severe penalty for burning some boats, but it wasn’t for him to judge; he was only the one who had testified to the arson he had witnessed the man commit in the Stormhaven harbour. Tarrok’s fate was sealed, and Ashley had sealed that fate. He shouldn’t feel guilty about it, but he did.
For the corrupt Rector Shamgar, deeper within the cell, Ashley had less sympathy. Ashley could sense the Rector’s presence—he seethed in the darkness, his thoughts a boiling knot of resentment. The Rector would be watching him with a disdainful twist to his lips. To read his mind Ashley had to be nearer. There was a lack of hard evidence against the man, even though Ashley suspected the Rector was at the heart of the corruption in Eyri. He stood as close to the bars as he could while still avoiding Tarrok.
The Rector challenged him from the shadows at the back of the cell. “So, boy, you are here to gloat, what?” A lash of unsavoury thoughts struck Ashley and he used it to dart up the mental cord to its source. The Rector was arrogant; he had to unsettle him, to open up more cracks in his conceit.
“No, Shamgar, I am only here to ask questions. I want to understand.”
“Shamgar? Rector, to you. You mean you wish to trick me into admitting something incriminating, not so? You probably have some deceitful witness lurking in the darkness behind y
ou.”
“You’ll get nothing from me!” he shouted to the dim stairs. Then he dropped his voice. “You are a little boy, with a little wit. Do not try to better your betters.”
Ashley felt his own anger rising. The Rector was a villain—he had betrayed the trust of his followers and abused his power. He was falsely pious, a hypocrite. He deserved to be fed to the fish at the bottom of the Amberlake. Ashley drew himself up. “I may be young, but I stand on this side of the bars.”
“You forget yourself, Logán. You will regret your words when I am released, what. You shall have to serve me, you know, you are just a Lightgifter, you shall always be a Lightfgifter.”
“You have no sprites to compel me by my Vow,” Ashley retorted. “I would never serve you by choice.”
“Oh, you are so righteous, and such a fool, Logán. I do not need your consent to be able to influence you. Have you learnt nothing from your experience with the ways of the Dark?”
“Why did you betray us?” Ashley demanded. “Why did you sell the essence to the Darkmaster?”
“Ah-ah, not so easy! You’ll not compel false admissions from me. You have no proof of your scandalous assumption, except for the Serannon girl’s wild tales about me. We both know she has claimed all the power for herself, but you and I, we are left to struggle on without any essence. Consider that. Consider who has ended the gift of the Light.”
The flame guttered for a while then burned bright. The Rector was revealed where he sat on the raised stone bed, arrayed upon a cushion with a thick blanket covering the bed. Beside him lay three unfinished plates of food.
The Rector was being well cared for. Ashley guessed he had already found a way to convince the jailors that it would be wise to look after him. He was planning on being released, that much was clear—he had not abandoned himself to his fate, as Tarrok had. Ashley could not believe anyone would think Shamgar was innocent. Yet to convict him, Ashley needed evidence, and the Rector was wording his answers carefully. He was thinking carefully too. Ashley guessed he would have to provoke Shamgar more openly to get any results.
“You’ll never see the light of day, you two-faced porker!” Ashley declared. He turned half away from the cell, pretending to be readying himself to leave, but at the same time he listened very, very carefully. The private thoughts were there, barely discernible under a hot layer of fury.
The boy is desperate to believe I’m wrong, but he’s uncertain. Maybe I can use him yet.
“Come, come, Logán. I will pretend I didn’t hear that insult, and I’ll humour you a while to show you my good faith. What proof do you think you have against me?”
Ashley didn’t turn. He considered his answer carefully. “You were working with the Darkmaster. You sent us to Ravenscroft, into his trap.”
“Yet this was in response to a Sword’s message that proclaimed the vale conquered!” Shamgar insisted. And Sword Harrisson was paid well for his talented tongue, the Rector thought.
“You handed Tabitha Serannon over to a Shadowcaster,” Ashley accused.
“Did you see that, halfknot? Did anyone see that?”
“No.”
That’s a relief, thought the Rector.
“I fear she has concocted a wild story to cover the fact that she traded for that Darkstone with all of her gold. She yearned for power.” I should have silenced that girl when I had the chance. I shall have to see that an accident happens to her. She could still expose me if she decides to search the Dovecote for her belongings. She has an unnerving way of uncovering secrets.
Ashley turned to face the bars again. “But she told me that her gold had been stolen.”
“And you can surely see how that is just another fabrication to cover her true actions.” That gold will still be there when I am released, the gold and all the rest.
“What about that day in the Dovecote, when we came to defend the Source. You let the Shadowcasters into the Hall.”
“Oh my avowed apprentice, so little do you know! I was trying to convert them to serve our holy Light! Their Turning spell was too weak to change the mighty Source. I was deceiving them. They would have been turned to Lightgifters had their spell matured. I was trying to fight back, for the Light. Instead, the traitorous Serannon girl destroyed the holiest artefact in the realm. She desecrated our most high temple. She has taken your power, Logán! She is the villain, not I.”
Ashley wouldn’t give up. “You sold our essence to the Shadowcasters.”
“Oh bosh, boy! The only essence to leave the Dovecote went on missions of mercy with trusted Gifters.” Straight to Fendwarrow. What a good middleman Mukwallis proved to be. He still owes me money, too, a lot of it.
Shamgar rose from his shadowed bed, and came slowly closer. He dropped his voice low as he neared Ashley. “Do you long for the essence, boy? Do you wish you could be a Lightgifter again, feel the sprites in your hand?”
“What are you saying?” Ashley stammered, backing a few steps away. The Rector’s thoughts were loud and clear now, as if their minds were joined by a wide open corridor; he was suddenly worried that Shamgar would reach into his mind. “There is no Light essence any more. The Source is shattered.”
“I can make one anew,” the Rector whispered. There’s a damn mountain of crystal at the end of the third lode in Respite. Those miners are also paid well to keep it hidden.
“Why have you kept that a secret?”
“I have always found demand increases the price for a commodity. A little more time to allow the Gifters and Shadowcasters to feel the bind of being powerless can only serve to increase the price of essence. No doubt someone will see the value of freeing me, given the time.” The Rector waited long enough for the words to sink in.
“Not so, apprentice?”
Ashley felt strange. The Rector had drawn him in, offered him this in confidence. He was being bribed with an offer of unlimited Light essence. It should not affect him; he would not be corrupted by the man on the other side of the bars. The problem was he missed the magic, desperately. Without sprites, he had no special talent. The Rector knew how to prepare the mined crystal. He could re-establish the Lightgifters’ power.
Shamgar smiled. “I can offer your power back. You could be a full Gifter, at my side. You could lead the return of the Light to Eyri. Now that we are free of the threat of the Shadowcasters, we could do great work.” Behind the veil of his bright eyes, the Rector turned another thought over in his mind. The Shadowcasters will pay even more for the chance to turn that essence. The price will be higher than ever.
“Without you dictating to me?” asked Ashley. “I would be free to do as I pleased?”
“Yes, you could be free,” the Rector said.
You won’t know the difference. You don’t realise your Lightstone is a shackle that keeps you tame, and I have the Keystone. They have been taught so well to believe they need the source I control, and they’ll never be free of their stones, because the seal is made by their hunger for magic, and we all know, nobody ever is ready to give it up, once they’ve tasted the smallest bit of it.
“Freedom,” said Ashley. “What else?”
“A three-score of gold, in exchange for your testimony of my innocence.”
“And to save your friend here?”
“Tarrok? He is no friend of mine,” answered the Rector. Tarrok didn’t react—he gripped the bars and stared at the flickering flame. “He will die, and why should I save his neck?” Such a useful spy, lost to us now. “Tell me Logán, how did you know to follow him? You must be commended for bringing such a criminal in. How did you find out what he was up to?”
“I could hear what he was thinking. I knew his thoughts ... ”
Nonsense!
“… just as I know yours.”
Rector Shamgar looked at him without moving. The kid’s bluffing, Rector Shamgar thought.
“I’m not bluffing, and you’d be wrong to think I’m a kid,” Ashley replied.
No, it’s impossible!
Nobody has such a skill! I would have known if Logán was gifted. He must be bluffing.
“I’ve always wondered if the Lightstone was a shackle to keep me tame. Now I know.”
By the balls of Krakus, it can’t be! What have I been thinking while he was here?
“You’ve been thinking about a great many things,” Ashley replied. Truth be told, he had more than enough to go on now, enough to convict the Rector for good. He left the cell and turned to lift the lamp from the barrel.
“No! Oh! Oh! Keep the light! Keep the light, I’ll tell you things to keep the light!” Tarrok blurted. Ashley ignored him—he doubted the wretch had anything new to offer. He had used up all his revelations in the first day of captivity, trying in vain to earn his release.
“Sword Harrison, Mukwallis and the third lode in Respite,” Ashley called out to the Rector. “It has been great talking to you.” He still hadn’t found out where the Rector’s secret trove of stolen goods was—it was worth a try. “The things you try the hardest to hide are the easiest to sense,” he called out as he paced slowly away towards the stairs. “You think about them all the time. Like your special little vault.”
The bloody treasury in the north wall of the chapel! thought Rector Shamgar. If he finds out about that, he’ll have all the evidence he needs.
“Like his brothel of little boys in Levin’s Mallard Street!” Lethin Tarrok called out. “Funded by the Rector. I know about that! Ask them! Bring the light back. I’ll tell—”
“Shut up, you stupid bastard! Shut up!”
There was a frantic scuffling, and a few muffled thumps. Ashley walked away. You couldn’t save a man from his own stupidity.
“Bring the light! The light! bring back—”
“You little wanker!”
Second Sight: Second Tale of the Lifesong Page 7