The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Devin jumped. “What?”

  “You looked sad,” Obair replied, with a shrug. “No. Worse than that. You looked tormented. It might help to talk about it. I could use the practice anyway. I’ve not spent much time talking to anything that can talk back in recent years.”

  Devin gave him a quizzical look and the old man chuckled. “I used to talk to my animals. The goat, in particular, for some reason. Anyway, it might help, you know?”

  “I suppose,” Devin replied, in a non-committal way. “I’m not really sure how to start.”

  “It’s Khorin?” Obair guessed, waiting for Devin’s nod. “Well, why don’t you start by telling me about him. I never really had the chance to speak to him properly. What was he like?”

  Devin fiddled with the corner of his cloak, twisting it through his fingers as he thought. “He saw to the heart of things,” he said, finally. “There was no fooling him, not ever. If I was trying to shirk chores by blaming it on this tool or another, he’d always know without even looking at it. If I'd had an argument with Kainen or Erinn, or anyone else in the village, he could cut through it with two quick questions.”

  “He sounds like he was a wise man.”

  “Oh, he was. It could be bloody annoying at times,” Devin laughed. “He had a way of speaking that always let you know when you were being foolish or acting like a child. He never said anything, never rubbed your nose in it, but you just knew. For all that, I loved him. He’s my father. He was my father.” He fell silent, watching as the road slipped by them like a muddy river.

  He enjoyed the silence for a time, wrapping it around him like a comforting blanket, as he thought. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to go home?” He glanced back at the distant smoke.

  Obair followed his gaze. “I don’t know, Devin. I don’t think there would be much left to go back to.” Devin’s expression grew grim as Obair continued. “It’s an interesting concept for me, though, because I can’t say I ever had a place I could call a home. I lived in the glade, but it was never a home. Homes are safe and comforting, somewhere you want to return to.”

  Devin mulled that over for a while as the wagon rattled over the dusty road. “You think I’m being selfish then? Childish?” he said, finally.

  Obair chuckled. “No. That’s not how I meant it. I never had a home. Not that I can remember, anyway. My earliest memories are of working with my master at the stones, learning to feel the Wyrde.”

  “What was he like?” Devin asked, curiosity getting the better of his manners.

  “Severe,” Obair said, in a quiet voice. “He was a perfectionist. He used to drill me on the ritual for hours, until I had it absolutely perfect. I wouldn’t get to eat until I’d done it three times without a mistake.”

  “It doesn’t sound like much of a childhood,” Devin said.

  “No, I suppose it doesn't. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. But then I didn’t really get a choice.”

  “Did you never leave then? You spent your entire life in that cottage?”

  “Most of it,” Obair replied. “We travelled twice, as far as I can remember, although I was so young the first time that I don't really recall much of the journey.”

  Devin shifted on the seat and tucked a leg under him. “You must remember something, surely?”

  “Not really. I remember more of the second trip. We saw the sea, although I suppose it could have been a large lake. I remember being shocked at there being so much water in one place. My master was meeting with some others at a cabin in the woods. It was a bit like my own cottage, except for the lake. I was pushed outside so they could talk and even eavesdropping grows boring after a while, so I spent my time at the lake. I’d waste hours just looking at it, watching the sunlight play on the surface.”

  “Eavesdropping?” Devin grinned.

  Obair shrugged with a shamefaced smile and let out a chuckle.

  “Do you suppose the others were droos too?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t use that word, Devin. It brings a host of silly tales along with it wherever it goes.”

  “Droos...druids? What does it matter? They're just words.”

  Obair gave him an odd look and then sighed in defeat. “I suppose they must have been.”

  “Then they might still be around somewhere? Maybe they could help us?”

  “Devin, calm down,” the old druid began.“You need to understand this was all a very long time ago. I was barely half the age you are now. Those people will all be long gone by now.”

  “But if they were anything like your master…?” Devin persisted.

  Obair cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yes?”

  “Well, wouldn’t they have had someone like you? An apprentice?”

  “An apprentice?” Obair said, softly. “Do you know, I never thought of myself like that before? But you’re right. That's exactly what I was.”

  “Well, wouldn’t they have?”

  “I suppose they might have done. Oh, look, if I’m honest with you, Devin, I know they did. Well, one did, at least. I haven’t heard anything from her in many years though. For all I know, she’s dead and gone.”

  “You can’t just leave it at that,” Devin burst out. “I mean, if there’s even a chance that we could discover something, we have a duty to, don’t we?”

  Obair’s head shot round at that, his eyes dark and angry. “Don’t presume to lecture me. I know my duty, boy.”

  Devin recoiled as he realised what he’d said. The old man, usually so passive, looked furious as he glared back at him. “I’m sorry, Sir,” Devin stuttered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Obair took a deep breath, then puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. “It’s alright, Devin. I overreacted, is all. It's just something my master used to lecture me about for hours. I got very tired of hearing it over the years.”

  “Tell me about her? The apprentice, I mean.” Devin asked, speaking quickly before the silence could fall and smother the conversation.

  “There isn’t much to tell.” Obair smiled. “Her name was Lillith. After my master died, she was someone I used to ask advice from. That’s how it started, anyway. We were in touch a couple of times a year, sending messages back and forth by bird.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Advice turned into conversation. It was a lonely life, performing the ritual, and our messages soon became just chatter. It was frivolous, I suppose, and we both knew it. She drew a halt to it.”

  “Why? I mean, this was the only contact either of you had with anyone, wasn’t it? Why would anyone choose to end that?”

  “Because it was dangerous, Devin.” Obair sighed and stared blankly at the horse’s back. “The druids were hunted almost to extinction, our records and histories burned. Those of us that were left couldn’t risk being found. It’s more than just that, though. To perform the ritual, you need to be in a certain state of mind. One way of describing it is that you need to concentrate, but that still doesn't really explain it. It’s more a state of emptiness. Lillith decided that exchanging messages with me was making it too hard for her to focus and she was also terrified that someone would follow the birds.”

  “What did you think?”

  “It doesn’t really matter what I thought, does it? I didn’t have any choice at the time. Her messages grew further and further apart, and then eventually they just stopped. I wrote to her a couple of times, but the birds just came back with the message unopened. I haven’t heard from her in fifteen years now. She was a good bit older than me, so I expect she’s gone now too.”

  Devin picked at his sleeve, avoiding the old man’s eyes. The pain came without warning and he gasped, as his hands flew to his head.

  “Headache again?” Obair guessed, with a wince.

  “Feels like somebody’s driving a spike through my eyes,” Devin managed through clenched teeth.

  “Chew this,” Obair said, as he pressed something into Devin’s hand.
“It’ll taste dreadful, but it will help after a bit.”

  Devin chewed for a moment and spat at the bitter taste. “What is this? It feels like a piece of wood.”

  “It is,” laughed Obair. “It’s a bit of willow bark. I used to get headaches too. The Wyrde takes it out of you.”

  They fell silent as Devin nursed the pain away with equal parts willow bark and water. The first elements of Rhenkin’s forces had caught up with them by mid-afternoon, their horses barely slowing as they passed them. The wagon made slow progress, thanks to the weight of the cage and, by the first signs of evening, the infantry had caught up too.

  Devin roused himself as another horse approached and Rhenkin drew level with their cart. The man’s uniform was covered in ash and a bloodstained bandage was bound tightly around his upper arm, mute testament to his own part in the fighting.

  “Is this as far as you've got?” he said.

  Obair waved vaguely at the horse and the cage. “We’re not exactly loaded for speed here, Rhenkin.”

  He received a grunt in response that could have been a grudging acceptance but which probably wouldn’t admit it in public. “Well, they don’t seem to be pursuing us anyway. I half expected a harrying force, but the last word was they were making camp.”

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Obair said.

  Rhenkin looked back over his shoulder at the distant plume of smoke. “They are the most damnable people. I half-think they’d have let us all leave without even drawing a sword if we’d just burnt the place down ourselves. Who conquers a nation like this?” He glanced at Obair, then shrugged as he realised what he’d said, but didn't have the energy left to care.

  “The others are all headed to Carik’s Fort, but I’d like you two to accompany me to Duchess Freyton,” Rhenkin said, after a moment. “She’s going to want a full report on what’s going on.” He fixed his gaze on Obair. “I think it would be best if she hears about the fae from someone with more answers than I have.”

  Obair nodded, though the expression on his face was far from happy.

  “Why me?” Devin asked.

  “It was your idea to fight back. Besides, from what I’ve heard, there’s a connection with you too.”

  Devin slowly turned his head to fix Obair with a cold look. The old man had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “I won’t go without my mother,” Devin said, looking back at the captain. “She can’t be on her own right now.”

  “This is hardly a family outing, lad,” Rhenkin protested.

  “She was the first one to see a satyr. The first to fight one too and, in truth, she was the first to think about fighting back, not me.” Devin’s voice was firm, leaving little room for argument.

  “Fine,” Rhenkin gave in. “She won’t be far behind you, anyway. Stop and wait for a bit until she catches up.”

  Darkness fell as they waited. Hannah seemed confused as Devin waved at the wagon driver to stop and then coaxed her out of the cart. He led her up onto the middle of the bench seat, so she sat between himself and Obair. They carried on through the night, stopping only to switch horses. The moon peered fitfully through the clouds, painting the road ahead of them in shades of grey, but most of the time they were driving only by the light of a single lantern.

  “Why don’t you try and see if you can sleep for a bit?” Obair said, in the soft tones people seem to use in the darkness. Hannah had dozed off almost as soon as night fell and was slumped against Obair’s arm, wheezing a soft snore.

  Devin nodded. “Wake me when you’ve had enough and I’ll take over.” He climbed into the back of the wagon and pressed himself into the corner, close to the seat. The satyr was silent, its eyes shining faintly as it lay, curled up, on the floor of the cage. Devin's mind churned as he thought of the events of the past week, but true exhaustion is a tenacious force and, despite it all, he slept.

  He was woken by Obair shaking him gently. “I’m sorry, Devin, but I don’t think I can drive any longer. I’m likely to put us into the trees.”

  Devin sat up and rubbed his eyes. His neck was stiff from the angle he’d slept at and it felt like several people had spent the last few hours walking across his back.

  “It’s alright.” He yawned. “Get some rest. I’ll take over.” Obair had pulled the cart in at the side of the road and Devin noticed there were few, if any, people still walking in the glow of the lantern. A glance behind them showed a sparse trail of lanterns from other wagons still trundling along in the darkness.

  “What time is it?” he asked, as Obair settled into the space he had left.

  “A few hours past midnight, if I’m any judge,” Obair replied.

  Devin was about to climb into the front of the cart, when the moon came out from behind the clouds and shone brightly onto the wagon. There was a flash of blue light and a faint clang from the cage, and he whipped his head around. The satyr crouched, bathed in the moonlight, with blue fire flaring from its hooves as it scrabbled around for something on the base of the cage. Tiny green sparks flickered under the surface of its skin on its shoulders and back where the light touched it.

  “Obair!” he said, in alarm, as the satyr glanced up at him, its eyes glowing brightly.

  Obair stood and pulled his cloak off his shoulders. In a smooth motion, he flipped it up over the top of cage, blocking the light. The creature hissed and screamed at him in its own language, its face a mask of fury. Through it all, Hannah slept on.

  “Well, that seemed to work,” Devin muttered, recoiling from the creature’s rage.

  “It was just a guess, really,” Obair replied, “but it does seem to have worked.”

  “What has it got there?” Devin pointed at the satyr’s clenched fist, ignoring the stream of incomprehensible abuse flowing from its mouth. Blue sparks still flew from the creature’s hooves but also, now that they looked, from its fist, where it gripped something tightly.

  “I don’t know. Something iron, if the sparks are anything to go by.” Obair shrugged. “Whatever it is, I can’t see it being much use to the beast. Let it have it. This cage doesn’t even have a lock now. I watched Harlen hammer the pins in. It’s not going to get out.”

  Devin climbed over the seat into the front, keeping his eyes on what was visible of the creature under the cloak. One cloven hoof sparked faintly where the moonlight touched it. He glanced at Obair, who gave him a reassuring smile and settled down to sleep. Devin gathered up the reins and clucked the horses on.

  Behind him, the satyr muttered softly as its fingertip traced the tiny design it had managed to scratch into the iron bar on the base of the cage. Its eyes dimmed slightly and it shuddered as a faint wisp of green light passed from its fingertips into the etched symbols. The row of markings began to glow gently in the darkness and the satyr's face broke into a grim smile of satisfaction, as it covered them with its hand and settled in to wait.

  ***

  Selena stood on the small balcony that overlooked the grounds and watched them approach. Rhenkin was accompanied by a small number of troops and followed by what appeared to be a circus wagon.

  “You never fail to surprise,” she murmured to herself, as she turned to the doors. Selena swept through the halls, excitement mounting at the thought of seeing him again. She noted, with satisfaction, that the garish wall hangings had been removed. It might take a while, but she was determined to inject some class into this stuffy mansion, even if it killed her.

  She paused halfway down the staircase, taking a moment to compose herself. It wouldn’t do to appear overeager now, would it? She fought down a girlish smile and made her way sedately to the foot of the stairs as the voices carried through from the entrance hall.

  “Rhenkin,” she said, with a warm smile, as Evans, the footman, escorted him in. “You’re back a lot sooner than I expected. Clearly I’m either not paying you enough or not giving you enough to do.”

  “Your grace.” He gave a stiff bow. “The news I bring is not good, I’m afraid.�
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  Her smile wilted like a flower in a summer drought. She looked past him and his soldiers to the old man and young peasant standing at the door. The young man was supporting a frail woman and all three looked as if they might bolt at any moment.

  “Go on,” she ordered.

  “The Bjornmen have even greater numbers than we were led to expect. I would estimate they put an army of more than sixty thousand into the field. Despite our efforts, we were forced to abandon Widdengate and fall back to Carik’s Fort.”

  She nodded silently and chewed her bottom lip in thought. “Losses?” she asked, finally.

  “Moderate, your grace,” he replied. “We fought a retreating line from the outset. I would imagine somewhere in the region of two to three thousand, but I’ll have a better figure for you once I’ve been able to speak to my officers again.”

  “And the peasants?” she prompted.

  “Successfully withdrawn, your grace. Most of them have travelled to Carik’s Fort, although some have dispersed to other villages.”

  “Very well, Major.” She nodded. “Now, why don’t you explain to me why you’ve brought me a circus wagon?”

  “Captain, your grace,” he corrected with a cough.

  “You held against a vastly superior force, managed to successfully evacuate the residents of half a dozen villages and lost only two thousand men in the process?” She shook her head. “No, these do not sound like the actions of a captain. Besides,” she added, with a wicked smile, “Major Rhenkin sounds so much more impressive, wouldn’t you say?”

  Rhenkin coughed again. “I’m flattered, your grace.”

  “Don’t be, Rhenkin.” Her voice had a hard edge to it. “You'll have earned it twice over by the time we’re through this.” She glanced past him at old man again. “Let’s move this into the parlour, shall we? I want a full report.” She looked at Evans, “Have Rhenkin’s guests settled into suitable rooms and then ask them to join Rhenkin and I in an hour.”

  “Very good, your grace,” the silver-haired footman replied, as he bowed.

  She led the way to the parlour and poured Rhenkin a brandy before motioning to him to sit down on the divan. He wore a perplexed expression at the treatment.