“I’m going to make this easy for you, Rhenkin,” she said softly, casting a glance at the door. “I’m with child.”
He froze with the glass halfway to his lips, his usually stern features made soft by shock.
“For various reasons, the child has to be Freyton’s. I thought twice about telling you at all, I’ll admit. No, don’t speak.” She pressed a finger to his lips as he drew in a sharp breath.
“This isn’t ideal, I know that. It is, however, very necessary and it is the way things will be done. You can be as involved as much you wish or not,. The child will need advisers, after all. For now, just let it slide and let us deal with the matters at hand.”
He downed the brandy in one quick swallow and stood to move to the windows, looking out in silence for a time. When he turned back, his face was coldly professional. She felt a sharp stab of loss and searched his eyes for something more, but he may as well have been wearing a mask for all that they revealed.
She sat opposite him on the settee. “Take me through it all then, Rhenkin, before your companions join us.”
The old man and the others were escorted in by Evans before Rhenkin had managed to get halfway through his report. Fewer than five minutes after he had delivered it, however, they were all standing in the stable yard, as Selena stared at the creature. The satyr met her gaze as it lounged on the floor of the cage, leaning on one hand.
“What did you call it?” she asked.
“A satyr, your grace,” Obair said.
“And you say they’re dangerous? Do you think there would be any way to reach an accommodation with them against the Bjornmen?”
The woman, Selena had never caught her name, drew in a surprised breath with a sharp hiss.
“They are extremely dangerous, your grace.” Obair didn’t hide the shock in his voice.
“And?”
“And I think that might be the single most horrifying suggestion I’ve ever heard, your grace.”
She raised an eyebrow at him but he plunged on. “The fae are the single most deadly threat mankind will ever face. War? Disease? Famine? These are nothing when compared to the fae. They would grind us to dust beneath one foot, merely to provide themselves with passing amusement.”
“So that’s a no, then?”
“No, your grace, I do not believe they would consider an accommodation.” Obair shuddered visibly.
“Oh relax, man, I wasn’t seriously considering it anyway.” She turned to Rhenkin. “So you ride off to deal with one enemy and come back bringing me two.”
“So it would seem, your grace.”
“How do we deal with them then, Druid?” she said to Obair. “What is your plan?”
“Plan, your grace?”
“Well, yes. Rhenkin tells me you came out of the woods with a warning about these things. What do we know about them? What do you suggest?”
Obair sputtered, looking for all the world like a landed fish, as his mouth first gaped and then closed again.
“If I may, your grace?” Rhenkin put in.
“Oh, Rhenkin, these titles are starting to give me a headache. You know my name. Use it.”
“I suspect Hanris might suffer some manner of fit, were I to do that, your grace.”
“Well, that sounds like it could be rather entertaining. Shall we send for him?”
“I was about to suggest that perhaps we might adopt a stronger position in seeking aid from the king,” Rhenkin said, ignoring her.
“I can’t see what stronger steps could be taken, Rhenkin,” she replied, all business once again. “I’ve had message after message dispatched. Short of actually going to petition him in person...” She stopped mid-sentence. “Surely you’re not suggesting that?”
“It would at least ensure a dialogue, your grace.”
“It would take weeks to get to Celstwin, Rhenkin! By the time I have travelled there and sought an audience with him, there will be nothing left to come back to.”
“Frankly, your grace, if you don’t go, there will be nothing left anyway.”
She glared at him but he held her gaze with cool assurance. “Damn it, Rhenkin, I can’t just up and go like that!”
He started to speak but she stopped him with a raised finger before looking back at Obair. “You’ve told me about the need for iron weapons, but what of their motivations? What do these creatures actually want?”
He studied the satyr for a moment. “I’m not sure it’s as simple as that, your grace,” he replied.
“I know what it wants,” Hannah said, in a soft voice that skulked low by her feet. “What they all want.”
They looked at her expectantly, but she ignored them and muttered to herself before abruptly walking back towards the palace as they stared after her.
“Oh, come now, everything wants something,” Selena said, looking back at Obair. “Even a dog has wants and needs. Can you communicate with it?”
“Easily, your grace,” Obair said. “It’s understood every word we’ve said.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed in thought as she looked the satyr over again. “I will be leaving for the capital in two days. You have until then to get me some answers from the creature. Find out what it wants. You can get anything you require from my staff.” She turned on her heel and motioned for Rhenkin to follow her back inside.
Obair watched her go. “Two days.” He turned to Devin and spread his hands helplessly. Devin shrugged and stepped towards the cage, crouching down so he was level with the satyr.
“Careful,” Obair warned, but the young man was easily outside of the reach of the creature, even through the bars.
“They say you can understand my language,” Devin began. “Is there anything you need?” The satyr glanced up at him curiously for a moment and then let its gaze drop.
“Different food? Do you have enough water?” He glanced at the metal bowl of dried meat, which the satyr had left untouched. He had yet to see the creature eat anything at all, but it didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects. He gave Obair a questioning look, but the old man motioned for him to continue, an odd expression on his face.
“Are we so very different?” Devin persisted, feeling more than a little foolish as the grooms and stable hands stopped their work to watch him.
“You will get nothing from me, human.” The voice was barely more than a whisper, but it held such venom and contempt that Devin took a step back from the cage.
“I just want to know what is it that you want,” he said.
“Ask the defiler,” it spat, glaring at Obair. “He can tell you of the vengeance that is owed to your kind.”
Devin cast a confused glance at Obair, but the old man simply shrugged. He looked down at the iron bars of the cage floor, remembering the blue sparks. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
The satyr followed his gaze. “Like a thousand tiny thorns twisting in my flesh,” it hissed, “but my pain is nothing to what will be done with you. Once I am free, my brothers and I will pen you as you would a pig and keep you for our pleasure. For every hurt you have visited upon me, I will grace you with a thousand torments. I will rend your flesh, manling, and starve you until you beg to eat the strips I slice from your body.”
“Come away, Devin,” Obair said, his voice steady as he pulled him away. “We’ll try again in the morning.” He grimaced in sympathy, as the young man's face contorted with pain and he pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Again?”
Devin nodded as Obair waved a stable hand over to them. Through the fog of pain, he heard the druid giving instructions about the satyr. “…not been eating or drinking anything anyway, so far as I can tell. Throw a tarpaulin over it and stake it tight. Don’t let it get into the moonlight. It’s supposed to be a full moo…” He trailed off and turned to Devin with his eyes full of wonder.
“Full moon,” he finished, in an awed voice. “Devin, when did your headaches start?”
“What?” Devin replied, as he walked away from the cage and massaged his
temples.
“When did they start?”
“Does it matter? A few days before Erinn found you at the tower, I suppose.”
“That was a new moon,” Obair muttered. “But this doesn’t make any sense! It's not possible!”
“Fine,” Devin gasped, in a pained voice. “Then let it not be possible more quietly.”
“Sorry,” Obair said, reaching out to steady him. “Let’s get you back inside.”
The kitchens were a massive four-roomed affair, joined together by wide archways. Obair pushed him through the crowd of cooks and assistants, and guided him into an empty corner at the end of a long table. The old man clambered around the table and sat, before asking a brown-haired girl with huge eyes to bring tea and honey.
“How are you feeling now? Has it eased any?”
“Some,” Devin said, sitting up more and blinking at the light from the window.
The mugs of tea arrived and Obair pushed one across the table to him. “Drink this,” he said. “The sugar in the honey ought to help.” He looked at the boy appraisingly for a minute. “Are you up to listening to me talk at you for a while? There are some things I need to explain.”
Devin sipped cautiously at the tea and nodded.
“I don’t remember being chosen by my master. I told you my earliest memories are of learning the ritual with him. That was the way it was done. A master would seek out someone young enough to learn from him or her. We’re not anything special. We get sick, we grow old and we die. The Wyrde was too important for us to allow it to fail though, so each of us was supposed to find someone to carry on the work.”
“So why didn’t you ever take an apprentice?” Devin asked.
“Because there would be nobody left to perform the ritual while I was looking,” Obair replied. “Don’t interrupt.”
“Sorry,” Devin said quickly.
Obair flashed him a small smile. “Anyway, they would search out a child young and sensitive enough to learn to maintain the Wyrde. The first step was to learn how to feel the cycles of the moon.”
“Feel the moon?” Devin failed to keep the scathing tone from his voice.
“Feel the moon through the power of the Wyrde,” Obair repeated, with a serious look. “My point is that this took many years to perfect and the first signs of progress started with headaches.”
“Headaches?” Devin repeated, dumbly.
“Headaches, like yours, which came and went with the phases of the moon.”
Devin pushed himself back from the table, his pain forgotten as he looked at the old man. “So what? You’re saying I’m some kind of druid?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I don’t know what you are. It doesn’t make sense. I felt the Wyrde fail, felt it wither and die. There is nothing there for you to feel. That's why this doesn’t make sense. I can’t even feel it myself now.”
“Then how could I feel it?”
“I don’t know. It might be that you’re not feeling it at all. It’s too much of a coincidence to dismiss though. There are a few things I want you to try once your head is better. If you’re willing, that is.”
Devin nodded. His head was throbbing so badly, he’d try anything at this point.
***
“Focus on the moon, Devin,” Obair whispered, as the candle flickered. “Look at every shape and shadow. See how the light surrounds it as well as shining from it. Look at the moonlight, how it’s unchanging, constant, unwavering. Feel it, know the shape of it until you can see it without using your eyes.”
The two of them sat cross-legged in Obair’s room, beside the windowed doors that led out to his balcony. The candle between them was the only light source in the room, and it guttered and danced in the evening breeze.
“Use the pain in your head,” Obair instructed, “as it throbs in time with your heartbeat. Make it your own. Reach out with it.”
“I feel stupid, Obair,” Devin muttered.
“This is serious, Devin,” Obair growled.
“I don’t know what I’m feeling for.”
“Concentrate.” Obair reached over and brushed Devin's eyes closed. “Combine the pain you’re feeling with the image of the moon. Once you have that, you’re halfway there.”
Devin sighed. He could certainly focus on the pain, that was no problem. It throbbed, pounding in his temples and behind his eyes. As he ignored Obair, the man's endless droning fading into the background, he fancied he could hear it too, a faint, rushing screech, like tortured metal in the wind. He opened his eyes a crack and looked up at the moon again, embracing the pain, reaching out with it. There was something there, something indefinable, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He pushed the feelings towards it - the pain, the throbbing, the sound filling his ears and then…
He gasped and sat back, staring at Obair in shock.
“What?” the old man demanded, his face lighting up with excitement. “What did you feel?”
“I don’t know. Something cold. Lords and Ladies, I can’t explain it.” Devin felt a chill run through him. “I could feel it as though it were almost passing through me. A cold wind almost, bitterly cold, and all over me. At the same time though, it felt like I was just brushing the edges of it, as if I’d barely touched it.”
Obair wore a grim smile. “And the phase? The need for it to move on?”
“Yes, that too. It felt like the tide was about to turn. More than that, though. I felt it reaching out. It was like part of it was trailing off, stretching out. Does that make any sense?” Obair nodded but looked confused, rather than pleased.
Devin felt his face relax as he looked at the old man. “I thought you said this couldn’t happen? Didn’t you say you can’t do this without the Wyrde?”
“I did and you’re right. I don’t know how you are able to do this. You shouldn’t even have these headaches. It took me three months of focusing on the moon to get the headaches and another six before I could really feel it. I was always taught that it’s the Wyrde that lets us feel the moon. If that’s true, what you’re doing is impossible. I didn't ever feel anything like a wind, so maybe it's something else you're feeling. Maybe this is nothing more than a coincidence. We need answers.”
Devin was silent for a long time before he spoke again. “Maybe the satyr?”
“I’m not sure it would tell us or that it would even know. The satyrs are a race apart from the true fae and not terribly bright.”
Devin grunted, rising to his feet and flexing his stiff legs. “That leaves Lillith then, I suppose. If she's still alive.”
“I doubt it,” Obair murmured. “We were little more than children when we met. Seasons seem to last forever at that age. By the time you've noticed that they’re flying past like the autumn leaves, most of them have already gone.” He stared into space.
“Do you think you could find her?” Devin asked. “It was a long time ago.”
“I think so. I might need to look at some of the duchess’s maps, but I think I can work out where she was.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“A goodly while I expect and I really think you ought to come along. If, by some miracle, Lillith is still alive, she might be able to answer some questions. She will certainly want to speak to you.”
“I’ll talk to my mother,” Devin replied. “I don’t know where we were going to go from here. Carik’s Fort, I suppose. That's where everyone else went. To be honest, I haven’t really caught up with everything that’s happened.”
Obair pulled himself to his feet. “It can’t have been easy for you, these last few weeks. Try to get some sleep. We can talk to Hannah and the others in the morning.”
Chapter Eleven
The palace stilled, like a great machine with cogs whirring slowly and grinding to a halt. Horses were settled, fires banked in the kitchens and lamps snuffed. The servants eased out of the halls and slipped into their own realm below stairs. Two guards were all that remained on duty, standing post at the m
ain gates with only the guttering torches for company.
The moon rose over the horizon, a silvery eye peering down at the world with few taking note of its gaze. The satyr sat alone in the stable yard. A large tarpaulin had been draped over the cage and staked tightly at each corner to prevent the creature from pulling it down.
The creature couldn’t see the moon, but the silvery light on the ground below the edge of the tarpaulin was sign enough. Its eyes glowed faintly in the darkness and a smile curved its lips. It had waited in silence for the last three hours, listening to the sounds from the mansion as the activity taking place within it slowed. As the moon rose higher and the palace grew quieter, it crouched to examine the gently glowing glyphs it had scratched into the bar at the base of the cage.
It traced the symbols with a gnarled fingertip, bringing them to life. It was a crude work and one which a fae would have sneered at, but satyrs were not known for being gifted at crafting. It touched the final sigil and moved back across the cage, pressing itself against the hated iron. The metal burned where it touched him but he had none of the Lady’s grace that might result in sparks and flames.
The satyr watched eagerly as the runes began to release the heat. The cage had been bathed in sunlight for days, both on the trip to this place and once they had arrived. The hated defiler had insisted that he should be exposed to the light as much as possible. The man had thought himself so clever, allowing the sunlight to rob him of any of the Lady’s gift he might have absorbed, but now his foolishness would be shown.
The cage had been absorbing heat for days, transferring it into the glyphs. The cage had grown so cold, it had frost on it. It was a wonder the manlings hadn't noticed it, but then they were merely prey.
The heat waited, lurking inside the glyphs, with only one command needed to release it. Runeplates were constructed and designed to release the heat under careful control. These glyphs had none of that and the heat poured out of them and into two vertical bars at the side of the cage. It came like a lightning strike, flooding into the iron and heating it almost instantly. A dull ruddy glow bloomed within the metal, growing brighter until the iron was almost white and began to sag under its own weight. With just two swift kicks from the satyr's hooves, the bars flew outwards and the creature managed to force itself through the gap, ignoring the pain of the metal, and the stench of seared flesh and fur. It was free.
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