He surveyed the woman as he returned. She had learned enough about him not to run. That was good, she knew he would kill her, if she gave him reason to. She had a willowy build, not full-bodied enough to really enjoy. And her dark, arching glare would need some training.
“Have you ever felt such perfect fear, Gifter? You’ve lived in shelter for too long. I am your Lord now, and I shall teach you more of fear. Much, much more.” He moved close to her, close enough for her to smell the blood on the stained white robe. “Move,” he commanded, and pushed her roughly into the road, towards Fendwarrow.
It was some time before they came across the Lightgifters’ horses. The animals were well-trained, and had waited beside the road after running from their fright. They cropped the grass, and nickered when they saw the woman. The steed Kirjath took was skittish when he mounted it, but seemed to be pacified by the fact that its companion bore the woman, and it recognised her presence. They had forgotten the beast, and their fear. He didn’t think the woman had.
16. PURSUIT
“The faster the arrow,
the greater the miss.”—Zarost
The Kingfisher’s Breeze was a comfortable inn. The door to the common-room was thrown wide, and it overlooked the main street of Southwind. Ashley sat together with Father Keegan and Sister Grace at a low table, enjoying the afternoon meal set before him. Potatoes fried with sharp spices, ale the colour of sunlight, and fish which steamed through melting butter. To the regular patrons it was good fare, to the travel weary, it was a feast.
Captain Steed sat across the table from the Lightgifters. They had travelled hard since before the dawn, on their separate courses. Ashley had a lot to digest besides the food. Of the two, the food was far more palatable.
A soft leather parchment was spread upon the table. Ashley traced their passage idly over the Captain’s map. Yesterday, the village of First Light had yielded the awful news. The scourge of the Shadowcaster and the Morgloth would have been an unbelievable tale, had it not been for the stark honesty of the Captain, and the three coffins he tended. The Lightgifters’ mission changed in that instant. They would not return to the Dovecote to discuss their findings. First, they would see justice done.
This morning, the broken remains of the Serannon farm, and the two fresh graves above the homestead, had told them all they needed to know. Hosanna’s vision had been true. The blessing that Keegan had offered over the mounds had been spontaneous and heartfelt. They had pushed hard to reach Southwind, while their anger chafed against their slow passage through Meadowmoor. They would catch the man who had killed poor Gifter Trisha Serannon and her husband. Such a wicked murderer should not go free.
Captain Steed had travelled the direct route—through Brimstone, and Westmill. Three coffins lay in his carriage, destined for an honour burial at Stormhaven.
They ate mostly in silence.
The doorway darkened. A large Sword entered the common-room, and approached their table. His armour was streaked with the grime of hard travel. He smelled of sweat and leather. Ashley thought he should know the face.
“May I join your meal, Captain?” the newcomer boomed.
Captain Steed looked not a little surprised. “Master Glavenor! By all means join us, but why are you here, when you left a day before us?”
The big soldier dragged up a stool. “A frustrating tale, for I have run a loop!” He turned to the Lightgifters. “My apologies, all,” he said, rising again from his chair. “My urgency has ambushed my manners. I am Garyll Glavenor.” He extended a hand to Sister Grace, then to Father Keegan, and finally Ashley.
“Swordmaster Glavenor?” Ashley stammered, suddenly realising why the man had seemed familiar. A legend he, though seldom met by the likes of apprentice Gifters.
“Aye, but make no fuss of it. I have a big sword, but just now I wield it clumsily. The Shadowcaster—” He paused in mid-sentence, turned to the Captain. “They know?”
Captain Steed nodded. “They were sent from the Dovecote upon a premonition, though too late it seems. We do not dine together by chance.”
Father Keegan leant forward, looking past Ashley to where Glavenor sat. “We have a common goal,” he said. “This Shadowcaster must be found. We may be able to assist you, and you us.”
“You have horses?” Glavenor asked. At their nods he continued. “There is no need for you to expose yourself to such danger. This man is vicious.”
“There is every need,” said Father Keegan. “A fine member of our Dovecote was murdered, her husband was murdered, and her home was destroyed. I intend to see justice served on the man responsible.”
“Well spoken, Father. I hope your companions feel as strongly as you do about the quest.” Glavenor’s gaze ranged slowly over the Lightgifters. Their sincerity must have impressed him, for he nodded, and said, “We will make a good team, then.”
“Swordmaster, you said you ran a loop. How so?” asked Sister Grace.
“At first he used his strange art to trick my eyes, and with that he gained a lead. I soon learned to track the Shadowcaster’s horse, for its trail was true. But it seems the horse threw him, and ran wild. I found it after a long day in the saddle, far into the highlands. There was a madness in its eye, and it would not come close. It shied from my presence, I think that is why the chase was so lengthy and so misleading. I came here for news, for this murderer must have evaded me on foot.”
“He travelled by boat,” Captain Steed answered. “He tried for the King’s Isle.”
“Stormhaven?” Garyll looked vexed. “That is the last place I expected.”
“The Serannon girl was taken there. The Shadowcaster followed them.”
“Where does this tiding come from?”
“The local Swords,” Captain Steed answered. “They say a man fitting the description of the Riddler passed through here yesterday with the girl. They think that a fisherman delivered her to Stormhaven during the night, though they can’t be sure, for the man cannot speak, and I’m not sure we can trust him either, being who he is. But he was adamant that the Shadowcaster had followed them, and capsized in the lake. He was quite jolly about it.”
Glavenor looked stunned. “Is this Shadowcaster so mad, that he would brave Stormhaven to reach the girl?”
“Maybe the threat of Stormhaven was exactly why he tried so hard to reach her. He is also partial to jurrum, so does not see the world as others see it. We found leaves on him when we arrested him.”
“Who was the fisherman, to run such a risk for her?” Garyll asked. “He must be commended.”
“A man called Mulrano. You remember him.”
“Mulrano the—silenced one?” Garyll was suddenly alert.
“The same,” Captain Steed answered.
“Well there’s another turn I did not expect. Could the Shadowcaster have drowned?”
Captain Steed shook his head. “The fisherman didn’t say that. He doesn’t know. My guess is he can swim, and he’s slunk off somewhere, tail between his legs. Not even a madman would try to accost her on the King’s Isle.”
“Fendwarrow,” Garyll stated. “All roads of crime lead to Fendwarrow. That is where he must be headed.”
Gabrielle! somebody thought. Ashley hadn’t even tried to reach out with his mind; the thought had leapt into his head with its eagerness.
“Perfect!” shouted Father Keegan, rising to his feet. “Then to Fendwarrow we ride.”
Glavenor raised a restraining hand.
“Father, allow me to replenish my strength. I have not eaten for a day. I shall leave with all haste.”
Father Keegan looked surprised at his own outburst, and sat down abruptly. Glavenor beckoned to a serving girl. He ordered a large meal and some supplies for the road.
Ashley pored over the Captain’s map again. Fendwarrow was to their east, six or seven leagues along the lake shore, beyond Russel and Waxworth and the leper’s hideaway at Rotcotford. He kept his head down, trying to ignore Keegan’s eyes, though he cou
ld feel the Father’s regard.
Gabrielle. The image of the sultry woman lingered in his mind. Ashley had promised himself that he wouldn’t snoop. But that thought had been fired at him, rich with dread and delight. From Keegan? What could Keegan know of Ashley’s recurrent dream, why should Keegan know Gabrielle at all? Ashley tried to concentrate on the simple lines of the map, and force the other thoughts aside. It did no good to sneak into people’s minds.
Fendwarrow seemed to grow darker on the map, wedged tight into the cleft of the Black River, a secretive, forbidden place.
Dread and delight.
His stomach churned.
Father Keegan left the table, and the sensations subsided. Ashley watched the map a while longer. He couldn’t decide whether to be more worried about meeting the Shadowcaster at their destination, or the implications of what Keegan expected to find.
17. STORMHAVEN
“Which is stronger, the storm without,
or the storm within?”—Zarost
Tabitha was woken by a gentle shake.
“Hmm,” she answered, her eyes still closed. It was all right, her mother always shook her gently when she fell asleep at the fire instead of in her bed. She was in the living room, and father had been telling a story.
“Hmm,” she commented, tugging her blankets closer to her chin.
“Miss Serannon, Miss Serannon, it’s time for the evening meal. Lady Westerbrook said to wake you.”
Tabitha smiled groggily through the clouds of cosy dreams.
Where’s the brook? Westerbrook?
She sat up. A little girl dressed in blue stood beside her bed. In a room that was not her own, with polished wooden floors, tall drapes, and a wide stone windowsill framing the pale mauve of an evening sky. She had fallen asleep in her clothes. The last wisps of her dreams swirled out of sight, and were replaced by the reality of Stormhaven.
She was alone here. She was safe. Everything else about her life was upside down.
The young chaperone seemed like a little angel.
“Pia, isn’t it?”
The guideling nodded, and extended a small hand. Tabitha let the angel lead her down from the Boarding, out into the wide, paved street. Dusk was settling, and faint music could be heard. An armoured Sword passed them sedately, nodding in a friendly manner to the girls.
“Where are we going?” Tabitha asked.
“To eat, Miss Serannon. The evening meal for the Boarding is served at the Bee. It’s only five doors down.” She waved along the street in the direction they were walking.
“Why not at the boarding house,” Tabitha enquired, a little nervous at being out in the strange, grand city at night. “Surely they serve meals there too?”
“They say there used to be a kitchen, but it was closed before I was a guideling. All food in Stormhaven must be prepared by a member of the Guild of Cooks, and the Boarding never has lots of people in it. Besides, it’s more fun at the Bee,” Pia added gaily.
They soon came upon a squat stone building that was trimmed with dark wood. An oil lamp lit a sign which had become softened at the corners. The gilded mascot of the Bee flew through the letters. Beyond the sign, great stained-glass windows spilled colourful light into the street. Great swathes of dark ivy climbed the walls. As Pia pulled the door open, the music and babble of voices rushed over them.
It seemed to Tabitha that everyone in Stormhaven must have come to the Bee. The common-room was packed. A bard played a lute boisterously upon a small stage. Finely dressed patrons leant casually towards others seated on tall stools. Women in beautiful dresses, with the fashionable short outer bodices, bantered gaily at a long bar. Men carried tankards across the room, women returned with slender wine-glasses. Everywhere, people talked. Mouths wagged, and the words blended into a confusing hubbub that swallowed their meaning.
It really did sound as if she was inside a beehive.
Pia disappeared into the crowd, then darted back an instant later, offering Tabitha her hand again. The guideling wove between the bodies like a ferret through grass, finding a course where Tabitha saw none. Coals glowed in a hearth. They passed through an arched, open door into another room. Tabitha relaxed as the sound level dropped to a more mellow buzz.
Benches ran alongside large tables, the air was cooler, and kitchen scents drifted her way—she took a deep breath, and looked around the dining room. Some couples dined at separate tables, a few Swords occupied one nearby. They hunched over their meals, paying no attention to Tabitha and the guideling. Pia led her to the far side of the room, where a large group of adolescents bantered. They all wore the same blue guideling uniform, though in various fashions from rumpled to neat. A shapely girl who looked to be almost Tabitha’s age wore a tunic that seemed intentionally too tight.
Pia guided Tabitha to a space near the end of the table, beside the open window.
“All us guidelings sup here. Miss May says it’s a wonder we aren’t all twice the size, with the meals we eat, but she forgets how much we run around the city for her during the day.”
“Where is Miss Westerbrook, Pia? Does she eat with us?” It was unlikely that the Lady of Ceremony would dine with mere guidelings, but she could hope. Maybelle had seemed so gentle and comforting.
Pia pointed to a side door. A large figure was backing through the opening while talking to an equally well-proportioned man in an apron. Tabitha honed in on May’s voice before she realised she was drawing on the Ring to do so. The clarity arrived with a rush of warmth in her right hand. She couldn’t remember what she had done to trigger the Ring’s aid. It seemed to respond to her need.
“I think the pumpkin pudding would be best, Kettle, and they can have the stew before. Oh, and there’ll be an extra portion at our table for a few days.” Maybelle Westerbrook emerged from what had to be the kitchens, and approached with a broad, motherly smile.
The guidelings calmed their banter as soon they saw her, and they all rose from their places, pressing their hands together to greet their mistress. Tabitha wasn’t sure if it was appropriate, but she copied the gesture and bowed.
“Good evening, Tabitha. I hear you sleep very soundly.” Maybelle winked, and came around to settle in a chair at the head of the table, close to Tabitha.
Two boys opposite Tabitha argued in loud whispers.
“Guidelings! Hush.” Maybelle commanded. The two boys fell instantly silent, but glared at each other under their eyebrows.
“I want you all to say hullo to Tabitha Serannon, who’s awaiting an audience with the King. She’s new to Stormhaven, so you’re to help her if she’s lost.”
A murmur of unsynchronised greetings rippled through the guidelings, as all eyes turned Tabitha’s way. A boy with sandy hair was blushing, and it looked as if he kicked his neighbour beneath the table. He caught Tabitha watching him, and became crimson.
Thankfully, the guidelings soon turned their attention elsewhere. Bread arrived from the kitchens, and was devoured before it touched the table. A chunky, rich stew followed, and suffered the same rapid fate.
Tabitha wanted to hide, but the Lady of Ceremony kept up a lively conversation with her. May asked her about the spring weather in First Light, and if the sheep were ready for shearing, and how one spun wool to get the best thread. She told of the way the city had been extended since the early days, what weddings and ceremonies were taking place, and her frustration at how the Houses of Rule seemed to work against each other in everything they did. Apparently, nothing happened in haste in Stormhaven, for the centuries of rule had allowed the refinement of precise laws and procedures.
Tabitha began to relax in Maybelle’s presence. The Lady of Ceremony had a natural gift for light conversation. Even so, a chance question broad-sided Tabitha.
“So how is your mother Trisha keeping?”
The colour leached from the room. The sights and sounds seemed to become a pale distraction, a desperately thin veneer of normality stretched over a deep, aching darkness.
<
br /> “She isn’t. She’s—dead.”
The nearest guidelings fell silent. May was appalled.
“When did this happen?”
“Three nights ago.”
“What are you doing here?”
“S-sanctuary. I was pursued.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
The Shadowcaster. Eyes like stained slate. Her father, at his feet.
“Can we talk about this some other time?” Tabitha pleaded softly. The thought of crying in front of the troop of youngsters was too much. Many of them were gawking at her.
May placed a hand over Tabitha’s.
“I’m so sorry. Forgive me, I—this is terrible. I’ll not pry where there’s so much pain. This is why you have requested the King’s audience? Good. He must know.”
Tabitha bowed her head for a moment.
“You wish to talk of something else?” May asked gently.
Tabitha nodded; anything to draw her back from the yawning chasm of grief. “Tell me about history, if you will, something really old.” As Stormhaven’s historian, May must have a wealth of information.
“Of the city, or the realm?”
The further from the present day the better. “Has there ever been a war in Eyri?”
“Why do you ask?”
The Riddler had referred to a war, when they’d been riding to Southwind. He had spoken of it presently, as if the chaos might return at any time.
“Someone—uh—mentioned it. I didn’t believe it at the time. Was there ever a war?”
“That takes us back a time,” May answered, looking distant. “There are few who know the legends that well. Most folk today are too caught up in modern things. There was a war, if the legends hold any truth to them. The war was tied to the formation of Eyri in ancient times, before the coming of the Seven Wizards and the crowning of the First King. That is one period I have not studied well. You want to visit the Stormhaven Library, down on Greentree Street, it has scrolls and books from the early days, templates and drawings, oh wonderful things!”
The Riddler's Gift: First Tale of the Lifesong (The Tale of the Lifesong) Page 25