by J. V. Jones
Emith smiled back. “Yes, miss. I believe I did.”
Seeing Emith smile made a lump form in Tessa’s throat. He had lost so much, yet here he was, encouraging and helping her. She didn’t deserve it.
“So,” Ravis said, pulling the reins on his horse and bringing it to a halt, “assuming you’re right and Ilfaylen did take some kind of copy of the pattern, what did he do then?”
“He traveled to Castle Bess, where he painted a proper copy from the outline on his shawl.”
Ravis whistled. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
Tessa inclined her head. “I try to.”
Inclining his own head in return, Ravis said, “Well, that would explain why Ilfaylen, sick and supposedly in need of care, sent his assistant into Bay’Zell every day to take notes. He didn’t want the man knowing he was painting a second pattern.”
Tessa nodded. “I think Ilfaylen made his entire illness up. Like you said, it gave him privacy, but it also gave him time. He knew he would never be able to paint a copy of the pattern on the Anointed Isle, so he gave himself an excuse to stay in Bay’Zell for a few extra days to complete it.”
“While the original was still fresh in his mind, miss.” Emith deftly pulled his own pony to a halt. “Working from an outline of a pattern is one thing, but unless you can recall the exact colors used in the original, you can expect to create an inexact copy at best.”
Hearing Emith speak, Tessa was reminded of Avaccus’ words: “Emith is a modest man, you must not forget that. If it wasn’t for his modesty, he would have become a brilliant scribe.” “Yes,” she said out loud. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Emith looked down. “You would have sooner or later, miss.”
Ravis swung down from his horse, landing with a small thud on the hard earth surrounding the wall. “So, where do you think this pattern is now? Did Ilfaylen carry it back to the Anointed Isle? Did he send it to someone for safekeeping, or simply dig a hole and bury it?”
Following Ravis’ lead, Tessa dismounted. Her legs betrayed her by buckling as she hit the ground. Cursing to herself, she worked quickly to lock her knees together before Ravis noticed. Taking a few light breaths to steady herself, she said, “I don’t think Ilfaylen would have taken the pattern to the Anointed Isle. If it was found there, the holy fathers would have destroyed it. No. I think he put the pattern somewhere for safekeeping.”
“Castle Bess?” Ravis took the pony’s reins from her, managing to brush his hand against her cheek as he did so. Their eyes met for a moment, and Tessa knew her weakness had not gone unseen.
“Perhaps,” she said, pulling away from him, conscious of Emith approaching her from behind. “If not, there may be some clue there, some record of Ilfaylen’s comings and goings; what visitors he received, what orders he gave to the servants. Something.”
Tessa felt another hand touch her shoulder from behind. It was Emith this time, pulling her cloak over her shoulders where it had fallen away during the ride. Could she conceal nothing from these two?
With two pairs of reins in hand, Ravis began to walk up the packed-earth incline to the wall. “Watch your footing,” he warned. “There’s all sorts of loose bricks and refuse ahead.”
Tessa was glad to have both hands free. The wall blocked off the moonlight, making it difficult to see anything except the dull shine of the horse’s tack and the handle of Ravis’ knife. The air smelled of damp and decay, and as they drew nearer the wall, the ground dipped into a dank trench, giving Tessa the feeling that she was walking through a giant hollow left by an overturned stone.
A gap in the wall appeared ahead. At first Tessa thought it was just a narrow strip, but as she drew closer and her eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, she realized an entire section of the wall was missing. Stone slabs formed jagged heaps to either side of the trench, and a sharp breeze cut through the opening in the wall. She noticed that the edges of the surrounding bricks were still sharp, the mortar barely discolored, and the exposed inner surface of the wall free of moss and damp.
Glancing over her shoulder, Tessa checked Emith’s position. Satisfied that he wasn’t close enough to overhear what she had to say, she touched Ravis’ arm and whispered, “This isn’t one of those tumbled-down weak points you mentioned earlier. The whole section’s been newly dismantled—all the inside edges of the bricks are clean. I doubt if it’s been like this since spring.”
Even in the shadowy darkness close to the wall, Tessa clearly saw Ravis’ tooth come down on his scar. “Quite the one for noticing details, aren’t you?”
Tessa blinked. She was surprised by Ravis’ sharpness, but then as she looked into his eyes, saw just how black they were, she began to understand. “You did this?”
Ravis shot a quick glance at Emith. Bringing his mouth close to Tessa’s ear, he said, “Yes. I ordered this section and others like it to be destroyed.” Before she could react, he took a breath and spoke again. “Never forget I am a mercenary, Tessa. I was in Izgard’s pay for three years. My job was to do what was needed. When Izgard wanted extra troops to swell his numbers, I came to Bay’Zell to recruit men in his name. Later, when Izgard hinted at his plans to invade the city, I took the necessary steps to guarantee him ease of entry.”
Tessa opened her mouth but found she couldn’t speak. Unable to meet Ravis’ eye any longer, she looked down at the angry red flesh of his scar.
Ravis laid a hand on her throat, forcing her to look up. “I make no pretenses about what I do, I never have. A man pays me to do a job—any man—and I do it. There’s no right or wrong for me, just orders and missions and gold.” Seeing Emith approach with his pony, he released his grip and let Tessa go. “Never forget that.”
Tessa made no move to step away. To her left, she was aware of Emith stopping to check his pony’s bit. Bringing her hand up to touch her throat, she said to Ravis, “What else have you done in Bay’Zell on Izgard’s behalf?”
Ravis shrugged. “A few things. I saw to it that all fortification and defense plans fell into Izgard’s hands, ordered the key bridges to be weakened to the point where a direct hit with a missile will collapse them, encouraged drinking habits in those whose job it is to watch the city walls, and ensured that any armaments Bay’Zell has purchased in the past year have been of poor quality: the bow staves brittle, the arrows made of elm, not birch or ash.” Ravis made a small gesture with his hand. “Would you like me to go on?”
Tessa shook her head. Emith was still tending his pony, and she got the impression he was doing so only because he did not want to disturb their conversation. Suddenly feeling tired, and not really understanding why Ravis was so intent on making her hear the worst about him, she inclined her head in the direction of Castle Bess. “So this is just another job to you? Another payment in gold?”
All Ravis’ old bitterness stretched across his face in a smile. “I’m a born fighter, so I fight. This is just one battle more.” He held Tessa’s gaze for a moment, then turned and led the horses through the gap.
After a minute or so Tessa followed him. Just like earlier, when he had told Emith they would be safe in Castle Bess, she didn’t believe what he said. It sounded like the truth, but it wasn’t. Ravis just didn’t know that yet.
In the salt marshes to the southeast of Castle Bess, where the ground was fed by a thousand narrow channels that ran from the sea at high tide, where sandpipers came each spring to feed on tiger moths and ghost crabs, and where nothing but salt grass and sandwort grew, forty men rode their horses at full gallop.
It was dark, but the terrain was flat and featureless, so they feared no damage to the horses. The horses themselves might have been skittish for other, more instinctive reasons, but snuffle caps dowsed in pine oil had been fitted around their nosebands, and the changing smell of their riders bothered them less than their shifting weight.
The riders gained mass as they rode. They gathered the night to them like blotting paper soaking up ink. Muscles swell
ed, skin stretched, bone thickened and compacted into plates. Teeth grew large in their mouths, tongues plumped, and jawbones reset themselves with a series of dull clicks. Blood ran from one man’s nose. Clear liquid wept from another man’s ear. All bodies shifted, fluid as shadows lengthening at sunset one moment, jarring as dogs tearing themselves from sacks the next.
Eyes dimmed. Colors drained from irises like wine from a glass. Blinking patterns changed. The glaze wetting the riders’ corneas stung as it thickened and saltened. The saliva between their teeth smacked as they worked their jaws. Swallowing often, they tried to rid themselves of the excess.
The riders cumulated and densened. They became.
Thoughts and desires left them as soundlessly and unobtrusively as sweat evaporating from an upper lip. Their names fell away like shedding skin. If they were aware of anything, it was the golden warmth pulsing up from their bellies. If they retained memories, they were all of the womb.
Slowly, as their horses bore them west and northward, shape and meaning formed from the shifting pulp of thoughts, flesh, and bone. Gristle hardened. Purpose sparked. Eyes devoid of color borrowed a cast of purest gold.
The Barbed Coil sang to them. It shaped and created, fixing motive and mind-set and might. As the riders followed the tide channels to the gates of Castle Bess, they stopped being men and became other instead. They were creatures of the Coil now. And even as their smell and bulk finally spooked the horses, forcing them to abandon the creatures and proceed on foot, the Barbed Coil took them farther and deeper. Its barbs shredded what was left of them and created something new.
The horses screamed and reared and galloped back the way they came. Ghost crabs scuttled back to their pools, and tiger moths settled flat against rocks. The moon disappeared behind a bank of cloud, yet it made no difference to the creatures of the Coil. Through their eyes the darkness looked like the clear light of day.
T H I R T Y - T W O
A nd this scribe Ilfaylen stayed here, in Castle Bess?” Camron leaned forward in his chair as he waited for Tessa to reply.
“Yes,” Tessa said. “According to Moldercay, Ilfaylen spent a week here while he recovered from his illness.”
Camron made a soft sound and then stood. As he walked across the kitchen, light from the hearthstone caught his face, giving Ravis his first real chance to study him since they had arrived at Castle Bess.
Camron looked ten years older than when he’d seen him last. A scar ran down his cheek, and a second intercepted it along his jawline, creating a knot of white-and-yellow flesh. His skin was dark beneath his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. Lines had formed on his brow and alongside his mouth. His eyes were still bright, but it was a different type of brightness from before. The underlying core of arrogance had gone, and while Ravis couldn’t tell what burned in its place, he decided that whatever it was gave Camron the look of a starved man.
Ravis wasted no time wondering how and why Camron had changed. War did all sorts of things to men.
Having reached the hearth, Camron turned and faced Tessa. The only sound in the room was the snapping of logs on the fire. The only light came from the flames. Tessa had just finished telling both Camron and Emith about her trip to the Anointed Isle. She spoke of her ring and its connection to the Barbed Coil, about what they were and where they had come from, and what the Coil had been forged to do. She told them how the Coil had been bound to the earth for centuries and how, two days from now, it would have been here for five hundred years. Both Emith and Camron drew breath at the mention of five hundred years. Like everyone else on the continent, they knew that bad things were always counted in fives.
Strangely, both men had accepted Tessa’s explanation about other worlds and how they had shed from the first one like old skin. Perhaps they were tired, thought Ravis. Or perhaps, in their separate griefs, talk of other worlds, other places, and other lives gave them hope. Shrugging, Ravis turned his attention to his surroundings. Such speculation was not for him.
From the general tidiness of the kitchen, Ravis guessed that Camron and his men had been in Castle Bess perhaps a day or two at most. Soldiers set little store by neatness, and given half a chance they would have turned the room into a mess hall. Chicken bones would litter the floor, the pine refectory table would be scattered with herbs a fighting man could find no use for, and several days of sloppy eating would have drawn a summer fair’s worth of flies.
In the corner of the kitchen, close to the inner courtyard door, lay several unopened crates and sacks of grain. Seeing them, Ravis nodded. Supplies had been brought in from the city. That was good.
“A famous scribe did stay here once,” Camron said, breaking into Ravis’ thoughts. “Many centuries ago, I think. As to whether his name was Ilfaylen or not, I couldn’t tell you.”
Tessa nodded slightly, gathering her hands into loose fists. “Do you have records that go back that far? Account ledgers? Diaries?”
Camron thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No. I don’t think there’s anything here dating back from that long ago. Certainly nothing written.”
Frowning, Tessa sat back in her chair. Her hands were now fully formed fists, and from the look on her face Ravis could tell she was deep in thought. While her attention was elsewhere, he took the opportunity to check the rise and fall of her chest, assuring himself that her breathing had settled down following the ride.
The journey to Castle Bess had taken three hours. At first Ravis had been worried for both Tessa and Emith, but seeing how well Emith handled his horse and how unaffected he was by the cold and the wind, Ravis had given all his attention to Tessa. Not wanting to let her know he was looking out for her, he had ridden most of the way at her flank, positioning his horse to act as a windbreaker, ready to steady and guide her pony as it picked its way through the sand dunes, sand grass, and rocks that overran the path to Castle Bess.
By the time they approached the castle, Tessa was slumped forward in the saddle, and Ravis could hear each breath she took. She appeared to improve once they arrived at the fortress, but Ravis still worried about her. He had no way of knowing what the next day would bring.
Ravis glanced at Camron. Soon he would need to talk with him alone. From the moment they had presented themselves at the castle’s outer gate, Ravis could tell Camron had a limited number of men: the battlements weren’t manned; it had taken minutes to raise the gate, not seconds, which meant that only one pair of hands was on the block; the entire north wing of the castle was unlit; and although their small party had been challenged twice—once at the main gate and then again as they crossed the outer courtyard—both times it had been by individual guards, not pairs. Ravis needed to find out just how many men there were, what weapons and specialties they had.
He also needed to know when Izgard and his army were likely to arrive in Bay’Zell.
All these thoughts he put to one side for the time being. Tessa had cautioned him earlier about speaking of such matters in front of Emith, and although holding his tongue wasn’t the sort of thing Ravis normally did, he would do it this time. For Tessa.
As if aware she was in his thoughts, Tessa raised her head and looked at him. Her eyes were red from lack of sleep, her skin pale, yet Ravis thought she looked beautiful. She didn’t have Violante of Arazzo’s perfect features or glossy hair, but she had an irresistible softness to her cheeks that made him want to reach out and touch them.
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Ravis said to her, “You need to sleep.” And then to Emith: “Both of you.”
Tessa’s head started shaking before Ravis had finished speaking. “I can’t sleep. There’s no time. I have to find out what Ilfaylen did with his copy of the pattern.” She looked from Ravis to Camron. “I think the ring brought me to Bay’Zell because the answer is here, somewhere in this city, this fortress, or the surrounding area. We know Ilfaylen planted a marker in his assistant’s journey book, so I think it’s a fair assumption that he left ot
her indicators either here in Bay’Zell or on the Anointed Isle. He wanted the copy to be found. Not in his lifetime, probably not even in his century or the next, but at some point in the future he hoped someone would come along, discover what the Barbed Coil was and what it did, and get rid of it. He planned on them reading his assistant’s journey book and then heading south to Bay’Zell.”
“According to Moldercay, the journey book was badly damaged,” Ravis said, his hand ringing his empty cup. “What if it contained other markers that have been destroyed?”
Tessa jumped on his point in a way that made Ravis smile. “Yes,” she said. “In all likelihood it did. But I don’t think Ilfaylen would have left all his clues in one source. He was too meticulous a man for that. He must have realized there was a chance that his assistant’s book would be lost or damaged.” She leaned across the table. “A man who spent his days planning and painting minute patterns would surely have taken the time to think through the details of his plan.”
Emith nodded while Tessa spoke. Of all of them sitting around the scarred pine table in the one-sided light from the fire, he was the palest and most withdrawn. He had not said a word while Tessa told her story, and although she had omitted the part about Avaccus’ death, Ravis had a hunch that Emith already knew the truth. He was a quiet man, attentive to other people’s feelings. And when Tessa skipped over the events in the cheese cave with a quick “Something happened and we had to leave,” he would have noticed the forced smile on her face. Certainly he saw her shiver, as a moment later he was beside her, offering his cloak.