Gavius looked down at his old friend, and his heart twisted inside him. Hodie’s hands were a mass of blood and gore. It looked as if they had pulled all his fingernails out.
Slowly, the broken knight opened his eyes. He looked up and saw Gavius, and his eyes filled with tears. “I told them,” he whispered, shame making him look away. “I am sorry, Gavius; I could not hold it in. They… they were going to pull out my teeth.”
Gavius shuddered. “What knight would not do the same in that situation?” he said, but he knew his attempts to comfort Hodie were futile. The knight would not forgive himself for divulging any information. He wasn’t quite sure what the Komis wanted to know, but he sensed it was something to do with Heartwood. Were they planning another attack?
The cloth door shivered again, and a figure came out onto the platform. Gavius now recognised him as some kind of leader – the lord or king of Brant, maybe. His long black hair had been braided elaborately with brightly coloured fabric. He wore a finely woven shirt and dark breeches, and his clothing was covered in delicate embroidery. The guards who had brought them from the Giant called him Aukaneck. He strode across to the captives and looked them over. He kicked Brevis with his toe, but the Militis did not move. Gavius wondered if he were dead. He had heard of people who died from shock after an injury. Aukaneck turned his back on him and walked over to the two women.
Mellis looked up, saw him standing over her and screamed, scrabbling away to the edge of the platform. He grinned and walked towards her. “No!” she cried, her sobs heart-wrenchingly pleading. “Please… no…” Aukaneck reached down to take her by the hand. Gavius gritted his teeth. She was already broken; she would not stand another assault, he was sure. The Komis warrior pulled her to her feet, holding her by the top of her tunic. Mellis’s eyes were wide. She looked over at Gavius and in them he could read her thoughts: she knew she could not stand another assault; would beg and tell them everything they wanted to know if they promised not to rape her again, following which they would probably do it anyway.
With one last spark of the resilience she had shown throughout their journey, a decision flared in her eyes. He opened his mouth to protest, seeing what she was going to do, but it was already too late; she wrenched herself free of Aukaneck’s grasp and flung herself over the edge of the platform.
Gavius gasped and Niveus cried out. Aukaneck peered over the edge. There was no sound from below. Gavius closed his eyes briefly. She would not have been able to survive the fall from that height. He opened them again and saw Aukaneck shrug. Then the Komis turned to face Niveus and grinned.
“No!” yelled Gavius. But Aukaneck ignored him. Niveus met his gaze and shook her head slightly. Tears ran down his face. She looked away. The first time she had fought them, she had ended bloodied and beaten, and they had still raped her at the end. This time, she had obviously decided to let them do what they want. Her jaw set, she let the Komis king turn her over and, knuckles white where her hands were clenched tightly on the wooden bar before her, she let herself be violated. Gavius looked over to where the others had come out of the hut to watch and stared at them with hatred pooling in his stomach like acid. But their attention was focussed on the grunting, sweating Aukaneck.
Gavius wrestled with his shackles again. They were so tight; he could feel they had cut through his flesh. He wriggled until blood ran over his hands, but still he could not free them. Eventually he sank back, the pain from his wrists making him shake, and he turned away, unable to watch his friend being hurt in such a way.
Eventually, Aukaneck finished, and Gavius looked over to see Niveus curl up on her side, feebly pulling up her breeches to cover her naked form. She glanced at him, though, and he saw the spark of defiance in her eyes and was glad of it. Clearly, she was attempting to treat the defiling of her body as a physical thing only, and was determined to try and remain aloof from it. He wondered what good it would do her. Were they all doomed to die in this Animus-forsaken place?
Aukaneck turned, tightening up his own clothing, and stared at Gavius. The Militis met his gaze boldly, although his heartbeat grew faster. The king came over and unceremoniously grabbed him by his tunic and hauled him to his feet. They had removed all the knights’ mail – Gavius guessed that would be the last he’d see of that – and left them with only their tunic and breeches, which wasn’t really enough cover for the cool night.
But the cold was the last of his worries at that moment as he was pushed towards the hut. He baulked at the door, smelling blood, but hands grabbed him and he was pulled inside. He fell heavily onto the floor and lay for a moment, winded, then gradually struggled to a sitting position.
It was dark inside. As far as he was able to establish, candles were not used, presumably because of the fire hazard. However, the room was lit by half a dozen or so strange creatures the size of his finger, presumably some sort of worm, which glowed with a blue phosphorescent light. It gave the occupants an eerie cast to their faces, and Gavius had to concentrate hard to keep a tight hold on his fear.
He considered himself a brave knight; he had fought in several battles during his time in the Exercitus, and had thrown himself into the attacks fearlessly, with little thought to his own danger. But now, watching the curiously metallic eyes of Aukaneck lighting up at the thought of the torture to come, panic stirred within him like a coiled snake.
“What is it you want?” He asked the Question calmly, trying to give the impression he was not afraid. The more he could keep them talking, he figured, the longer it would be before they started to torture him.
“The other one told me everything I need to know about why you are here,” said Aukaneck. He spoke in the language of Heartwood, his accent strange but his words perfect. He pulled a small knife out of a sheath on his hip and examined the blade carefully. “He told me about the Darkwater attack, and Heartwood’s plan to activate the Nodes. He told me about the Virimage and Beata’s journey to find him. And he told me about the Quest to Darkwater to retrieve the Arbor’s Pectoris.”
Hodie had held nothing back, Gavius thought, but even though his friend had divulged information which could be dangerous to Heartwood, Gavius could not blame him. What knight was strong enough to withstand hours and hours of painful torture?
“What else do you need to know?” he asked coolly. “It sounds as if you have all the information you need.”
Aukaneck came towards him stealthily, like cat about to pounce. “I would torture you purely for the fun of it,” he admitted, turning Gavius’s blood cold. “But there is one thing your friend could not tell me. I want to know the secret entrance to Heartwood.”
Gavius’s mouth went dry. He had not been aware anyone knew of that. Before he had embarked on the Quest, he had not known about it, either. Valens had told him of it on the day they left so if Heartwood was under siege when they returned, they would still be able to get into the Castellum. The Imperator had made him swear not to tell anybody about the secret entrance, not even anyone who was on the Quest with him. Nor had he. So how did the Komis know about it?
It hardly mattered, he thought wearily. The fact was that they did know, and they were obviously sure he knew, and they would therefore do their utmost to get the information out of him.
Well, they weren’t going to get it easily, he told himself furiously. Every second he could withhold it from them meant another second of safety for Heartwood.
“What secret entrance?” he said.
Aukaneck smiled. “I was hoping you would say that,” he said silkily, and brought forward his knife.
II
By the time of the evening meal, Teague appeared to have sobered up. Beata studied him as she took her place at the high table as the guest of the Lord of Henton, sending Peritus an apologetic smile at the fact that he had to wait on her, but he just smiled back and shook his head slightly, saying he didn’t mind.
They had spoken for several hours after the earlier debacle in the Hall. Beata had been all for l
eaving then and there, convinced this Virimage or whatever he called himself was an idiot, and there was no hope in asking him to help. Peritus had managed to calm her down, however, suggesting when he sobered up he might be of a better disposition, and more inclined to accept their entreaty of help.
So far, she thought wryly, she had seen no evidence of that. True, he did not appear as drunk as he had earlier, and was conversing easily with a number of people around the Hall, but he still acted the fool, being very theatrical in his gestures and obviously keen to be the centre of attention.
She thought about the way rose petals had fluttered out of his mouth when he had belched. Had that been a trick? Or was that real, an indication – however small – of a power he might possess? She watched him now, talking animatedly to a small group of women, who giggled behind their hands and looked up at him under lowered eyelashes with false modesty. What did they find so attractive about him? She felt genuinely confused. He was surrounded by admirers, holding court as if he was the lord and not the fat, bumbling fellow who sat a little down the table, busy tucking into a whole chicken. She looked over her shoulder at Peritus, who shrugged. Clearly, he was as nonplussed as she was.
He was not uncomely, she thought. He had changed into a bright green tunic and had braided his black hair with golden cord that matched his eyes. But still, the memory of their first conversation rankled, and she knew that would stay with her, however charming he now appeared.
The meal was pleasant enough, but seemed to go on forever. Course followed course, and she was soon too full to eat any more. The plates of fish, meat, vegetables, bread and fruit passed her by, making her wonder if the people in the town had anything to eat at all – weren’t they on the cusp of a famine? She wished desperately she had a bedchamber she could retire to. As a guest, however, and not a very well-known one at that, she would be sleeping in the Hall that night on the floor, and although she was not bothered by the discomfort, it did mean she would have to wait until the tables were cleared and everyone else was ready for bed. She began to wish again she had not listened to Peritus’s advice and had decided to return to Heartwood. But then the Arbor would be lost, she thought sadly, and what would happen to them all?
“Virimage! It is time for some entertainment,” called the lord, waving a half-eaten toffee apple in the air. “What will you sing for us tonight?”
“Whatever my generous lord desires,” said Teague, coming forwards into the space in front of the lord’s table and giving him a bow. “Would you like a tale you have heard before? Or something new?”
“Something new, something new!” chanted the diners.
Teague nodded. “I have been working on a new tale. It is about a fair princess who has been locked in a tower in a castle, and a brave and handsome knight who has to rescue her. Would you like to hear that?”
The crowd cried that they would. Teague laughed and took a small lute that had been leaning against the table, and began to strum a tune.
The story was not a particularly innovative one; how many tales have been sung about fair princesses and handsome knights? But nevertheless, Beata sat entranced. She would not have guessed the idiot who had discoursed with her so drunkenly earlier that day could be the same person who was singing now. His voice was not deep, but it was rich and mellow, and sent shivers down her spine.
However, it was not his voice that made her catch her breath and watch too scared to blink in case she missed something. It was the magic he performed with his hands.
He illustrated his tale with clever movements and tricks which he carried out in between strums of the lute. When he sang of the beauty of the princess’s golden hair, he waved his hand palm down over the ground and up rose a tall sheaf of yellow corn that seemed to sway in the wind as if it was still in the field. When he told of the storm the knight had to ride through to get to the castle, he swirled his hand gently in the air and tiny silver petals fluttered down on the crowd to their cries of delight. As the knight reached a dark and dangerous forest, the crowd screamed to find green vines climbing up their legs and lacing themselves around the table. And when he spoke of the joy the knight felt when finally seeing the maiden lying in her chamber, blue and yellow flowers bloomed in front of all the ladies, causing several to swoon.
Walking among the guests, he finished his song with a verse about the knight singing to the princess about how much he had longed to be with her, and how glad he was that he had found her. The knight produced a rose for his beautiful lady, which he gave to her as he kissed her.
Teague was standing almost directly behind Beata as he sang the last words. She had to turn slightly in her chair to see him, but was close enough to him to see that, as he produced the rose in his hands, there was nothing up his sleeve, and no secret hiding place for him to produce it. The flower grew from his palm, as if an invisible hand had quickly drawn it there with red and green ink. He looked at her, and she felt a shock go through her at the warmth in his beautiful golden eyes. “I am sorry,” he mouthed, and then before she could react, bent forward and pressed his lips briefly to hers.
The crowd cheered. Teague turned away, strumming his lute and laughing as they all cheered for him to play more, but waved his hand, complaining his throat was dry and he needed a drink.
Beata sat still as a rock, her cheeks scorching, her fingers resting on her mouth where he had kissed her. Had he apologised for being rude to her earlier? Or had he apologised for the fact that he was about to kiss her? She looked over at Peritus, who just raised an eyebrow, and she looked away again, her head spinning. Why had Teague chosen her as his princess? And why had he kissed her?
She glanced up, looking around the room for him, but to her surprise, he had vanished. And for the rest of the evening, he did not appear. Eventually, the tables were cleared and pushed back against the walls, the blankets and pillows were brought down into the Hall, everyone began to prepare for bed, and still he did not appear. Beata found a place not far from the door and curled up on her little pallet, wondering about where he had gone, and what he was doing.
She thought about the tricks he had done there that evening, and knew in her heart he had some form of the Veriditas within him, some ability to control nature that maybe existed in all of them, but he clearly knew how to use his. And eventually she fell asleep, thinking about him, and remembering the soft touch of his lips on hers.
When she opened her eyes in the morning, at first she thought she was still dreaming, because the first thing she saw was those golden eyes fixed on her, watching her. Then she blinked and realised it really was Teague, and he was sitting beside her, cross-legged on the floor, waiting for her to wake up.
She sat up, the knight’s natural ability to wake immediately springing into life. “You!” she said, half-alarmed, half-intrigued.
“Me,” he replied, amused. He studied her carefully. “Who are you?”
She said nothing for a moment but was aware she would eventually have to tell him if she wanted him to go to Heartwood, but for the moment decided she would keep things simple. “My name is Beata,” was all she said. “Why?”
He frowned at her name and she realised she should have given herself a Laxonian pseudonym, but he did not comment on it. Instead he said, “Because I had a very strange dream about you last night.”
“You did?” Now it was her turn to be amused. “Dare I ask?”
He did not smile but continued to frown. “It was actually about a Heartwood knight. I saw his tattoo. He had light brown hair that curled on his forehead, like this.” He drew the shape above his eyebrows.
“Oh?” She kept her voice neutral, but inside her heart was beating quickly. It sounded like one of the twins. “What happened?”
He blinked, his unnerving gold eyes fixed on her. “He was being tortured. I saw a knife carving patterns on his skin. But he did not cry out. Instead he looked up at me and said, ‘Follow her’. And then I saw you.”
His words made her heart miss
a beat. Was it Gravis or Gavius he had seen? And was it actually a vision of something that was happening, or just a glimpse of a possible future? “Which arm was his tattoo on?” she asked.
Teague tipped his head, studying her curiously. His eyes looked above her as he pictured the knight in his head, trying to remember. “His left, since you ask. Why should that matter?”
Beata said nothing. So it was Gavius. What was happening to him? Was he really being tortured? “Did he say anything else?” she whispered. She fought back the tears at the image of poor young Gavius being cut with a knife.
“No. I woke up.”
“Do you get these visions often?”
He watched her, suddenly wary. “Maybe.”
She realised he was afraid of acknowledging his true gift. He had obviously spent so long marketing his magic as tricks that he was reluctant to admit he really could control nature. “I know what you can do,” she said simply. “The Veriditas. The Greening.”
He went still at those words. His gold eyes looked suddenly beyond her again, as if he was seeing something in another time. Eventually, however, they dropped back to her. “Sometimes Anguis speaks to me,” he said. “She sends me glimpses of things that have happened, or are yet to pass.”
She nodded. For a moment, they were both quiet.
Eventually, however, Teague spoke. “So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
Beata smiled at him. “How would you like to come with me and save the world?”
III
The baby was crying again.
The high, painful wail followed Fionnghuala across the Snout Range, all the way to the Portal. It wasn’t always there; when they were riding, she didn’t hear it, and it was more obvious during the night than the day. But – and here was the strangest thing – she and Bearrach were the only ones aware of it; the others didn’t seem to hear it at all.
That fact puzzled her more than the actual noise itself. She still wasn’t sure why she was hearing the noise – well, she knew why, it was more the how she was confused about. And, if it was indeed a slip through time or a message from the otherworld, she understood why the others couldn’t hear it. But that didn’t explain why Bearrach could. But she knew he was aware of it. At night, when she covered herself with blankets and lay in the half-dark, and the crying began, she would look over at him and he would be watching her, his green eyes dark with pity, and she knew he could hear it, too.
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