The Riddler's Gift: First Tale of the Lifesong (The Tale of the Lifesong)

by Greg Hamerton

  “However, our present dilemma is the Sword, not the Dovecote.”

  The King’s observation brought Ashley up short. He had not considered how priorities would differ in Mellar’s eyes. But there was something that might change his mind.

  “They plan to assault the Dovecote, your Highness. We have the Source, the crystal which creates Light essence. They wish to turn that to their way, and I believe they can. I have seen one of these,” he lifted his Lightstone on its short chain, “turned as black as midnight. Once they have the Source, they will have a constant supply of essence, and no Gifters to oppose them. Then they plan to come to Stormhaven.”

  The Shadowcasters had the means to achieve their goal. If they could capture the Swords and the Gifters who had been sent to Ravenscroft, they were halfway there already.

  “How do you know so much of their plans?” King Mellar asked.

  “I heard it spoken by a Shadowcaster.”

  “Hearsay! And heresy!” Tarrok declared. “One Shadowcaster speaks out, and you take that as fact. Your Highness, we know how they lie.”

  “Enough, nephew,” King Mellar chided. “Keep your observations until we hold council, or you will lose your value in my court today.”

  Tarrok looked partially humbled. King Mellar steepled his fingers.

  “How many of these traitorous Swords did you see?” King Mellar asked.

  “Fifteen acted as escort to us. There may be more.”

  “Is it possible to do such a thing, to turn a man’s mind against his own King?” Mellar asked the question of the air.

  It was Sister Grace who took the opportunity to answer. “Your Highness, you know that the Shadowcaster who was killed on the Kingsbridge left a woman in his wake. She was used by Arkell as a decoy, on the last day, and—for other things—before. I have been trying to heal her. She was of a strong mind. The Shadowcaster has left her a wreck. She does not remember her own name, she just repeats his. It may be different with those captured in Ravenscroft, but I believe the effect of some Dark spells can be devastating.”

  There was a pause, in which the King held his hand up to forestall any further comment.

  “To act with prudence, I must fear the worst. I will take your word on what you report, young Logán. We shall know of the truth of it soon enough. If the Darkmaster plans to take the Dovecote, then he shall have to move through Fendwarrow, and we shall meet him there with steel. Summon the Sword Captains!” He sent another page from the throne room at a run. King Mellar covered his eyes briefly with his hand.

  “Would that Glavenor were here. Oh, my friend! You are a most grievous loss.”

  When Mellar looked up again, he had regained his composure.

  “Maps!” he commanded, selecting another pageboy. “But first, take Logán that he might eat and wash, and regain some strength.”

  “I can stand,” said Ashley, swaying on his feet, but the comment of bathing warmed his cheeks. He was a dishevelled beggar in the presence of the King.

  “And I can see the toll your speed has taken. I would have you strong, for your retelling. I want every Captain to know what they shall be up against. I shall convene the council in half an hour.”

  Ashley bowed, and was thankful for the page’s hand, which steadied him suddenly. He allowed the page to lead him away. He needed food desperately. Besides, they had to wait for both Tabitha and the Captains to make their way to the palace before any decisions would be taken. He caught Sister Grace watching him as he left, an approving look in her eye. He gave her a wan smile, though he meant it to be more.

  Mercy, I am tired.

  Ashley caught a final wisp of conversation from within the throne room.

  “What of the Houses of Rule, my lord?”

  “This is a war council, Tarrok, not governance. War!”

  Ashley wondered why the King used such a toad in his Court. Maybe there was some benefit to the man he could not see. There was surely more to being a King than being a Lightgifter.

  The page led him along a corridor that never seemed to end, but finally there was a wash-room, with hot water and towels and soap. It took him much longer than he’d expected to clear the grime from his body. The page found a clean white robe for him in the meantime, and a servant brought a tray from the kitchens. It was more food than he could possibly eat in the time he had left, but he did his best.

  * * *

  Tabitha stared at the marbled floor. The clamour of arguing voices filled the throne room. The page had been in a hurry to fetch her, but now they all seemed to be waiting. The Sword Captains were using the time to pore over a large map of Eyri. They argued about military tactics. The King was among them. She didn’t care enough to listen. The world was crumbling in around her.

  There was a momentary dip in the volume. Some of the Sword Captains turned towards the door, and the King paused in mid-sentence to announce the newcomer.

  “Ah, welcome Logán. People! Behold the only one to escape from the treachery of Ravenscroft.”

  The news had been cruel enough, without that reminder. Tabitha wished to be locked in her room again, yet here she was, amongst the war council, where those in armour only reminded her more painfully of the man who was missing. Garyll Glavenor had not returned from Ravenscroft. She had suspected part of that truth, but these men seemed to accept it as a fact. The Swords had fallen into a trap, and the Lightgifters had followed. The Swordmaster would not be coming back. She wished for the world to end.

  She realised Ashley had greeted her some moments past. She nodded, woodenly; her mind had been vacant. Ashley looked gaunt. She wondered if she looked any better in his eyes. Not that it mattered.

  Why didn’t you save Garyll?

  But she didn’t give voice to the thought. It was unfair. She knew she was hopelessly depressed. The King urged them to be seated, and she took a place in the semicircle around the throne, because she had to.

  “The news is most dire, and I’ll not waste a moment,” said King Mellar, “but I’d like you all to hear the full reports, and then I shall take council on how to best respond. First, let me introduce Miss Serannon. You all know her, the singer on the Kingsbridge who faced down the Morgloth with Glavenor.” The mention of the last name cut Tabitha like a harvester’s scythe, right through her heart. “She knows something of the beginning of this treachery, learned when she was serving as apprentice Lightgifter.”

  At least the black scarf hid both the stones at her neck. She didn’t wish to answer one more question than was absolutely necessary.

  King Mellar faced her.

  “Tabitha, we need to know why you suspected the Rector.”

  It was a question she had expected, for the page had told her as much. She had already decided what she would say, and what she would not. Her voice came from far away.

  “When the Gifters were sent to Ravenscroft, he turned me over to a Shadowcaster.”

  Sister Grace was incredulous. “There was a Shadowcaster? In the Dovecote?”

  “The same one we faced on the Kingsbridge. Kirjath Arkell. He lives still.” A murmur passed through the gathered Captains.

  “I can confirm that,” said Ashley. “I saw him as well.”

  “And you are certain that the Rector knew this?” the King enquired, turning back to Tabitha.

  “He closed the door on us. He guarded the door so the Shadowcaster could have his way with me.”

  That stung them to silence; even the King. His gaze was full of sympathy, and outrage.

  Let them think what they will. It was as bad.

  “Then it is settled. He shall be arrested, and brought for questioning.”

  “What of the Source, your Highness?” Ashley asked, his voice somewhat tremulous. “The Dovecote must be protected.”

  King Mellar nodded, slowly. “Captains, a squadron must be sent to Levin. Our Swords may have fallen in the trap of Ravenscroft, but we can surely hold our own ground against these Shadowcasters, and we can cut out the rot before
it fails us. Sister Grace, could you advise them where to look, should the Rector choose to hide in the Dovecote?”

  “I’ll do better, I shall go with the Swords to Levin. You may well need someone who can defend against a malignant spell of Light. The Rector Shamgar shall not get away with this.” Sister Grace had a cold fire in her eyes.

  They were missing the point. Garyll Glavenor had not returned from Ravenscroft. That was all that really mattered. She would learn nothing by remaining in Stormhaven, she would only strengthen the clutches of her spiralling depression by living in doubt. Levin would be a step closer to the truth, a step closer to Ravenscroft.

  “I wish to accompany them as well,” Tabitha declared.

  “That is very brave,” King Mellar said, “but you have surely exposed yourself to enough danger, Miss Serannon. You do not need to do so again.”

  “Saving the Source is important to me, your Highness. Without Light, there will be no more hope.”

  “Yet you would be safe, here in Stormhaven.”

  “Safe from the dark, but not from despair.”

  “You are wise beyond your years, Truthsayer.” King Mellar nodded to her. “Very well.”

  He turned to face Ashley. “Time for our second report, then. Do not spare the detail, young Logán, the Captains shall need every scrap to prepare our defence.”

  Ashley began his recount with the Gifters’ departure from the Dovecote. As his tale progressed through the Black River mists, across the fearsome bridge of ice, to the possessed Swords and the trapping of the Lightgifters, Tabitha wondered if her despair would indeed be any less at the Dovecote. The distraction of a purpose, even a dangerous one, might not be enough to escape the cruel fingers of doubt. She might have to go further than Levin to discover the truth about Garyll.

  Her intuition would not reveal his present fate. She wanted him to be alive so badly that her inner voice whispered only that he would return, be it truth, or lie.

  * * *

  Ashley was glad for the open carriage. The Swords set a pace which would have unsaddled him had he been expected to ride. Their driver kept the pair of horses at a gallop, and the Kingsbridge flew by under the wheels. The thunder of hooves discouraged conversation. Overhead, high clouds scurried across the afternoon sky. It was a fine day for the month of Furrow, but it was fast paling.

  He returned his attention to the new member of their party—the bald man who had introduced himself as Tsoraz. The bard’s fire-coloured cloak whipped around his square shoulders. Something about the man made Ashley wary. But if Tabitha Serannon accepted his friendship, Tsoraz must be on their side.

  Yet the uncertainty lingered. The man was odd, somehow. Ashley considered snooping in his mind, despite his promises to the contrary. Just a moment, to see what the man was thinking behind those shifting golden-brown eyes.

  He had regained some of his strength during the second meal at the palace, enough to concentrate for the task. He had a sense that his own ability to reach out in thought had grown. He had gained something from his extended link with Father Keegan’s mind. He probed gently into the thoughts of the strange bard Tsoraz.

  He encountered something altogether terrifying, complex and vast. He understood nothing of what he heard or saw in that instant. If each thought was a star, he was looking at a galaxy.

  The bard’s eyes widened, then went stony-cold. Ashley recoiled from a sting that originated in his own mind. It was as brief as a slap as one would give a midge, yet it took his breath away.

  He didn’t know what to say. He had never considered what would happen if someone became aware of his snooping. He knew his cheeks had reddened.

  “Ah. Sorry,” he said, too quiet to be heard, but Tsoraz nodded, a smile already on his lips. The man’s swift mood change just added to Ashley’s distress. Tsoraz beckoned to him, and hunched forwards on his knees so that they might exchange words in the space between their seats. Ashley didn’t want to get any closer to the man, but he couldn’t refuse. He had begun the trouble.

  “Talent demands to be used,” said Tsoraz, his raised voice barely audible over the thunder of their escort. It would be too faint for Tabitha and Sister Grace to hear, even though the women were in the carriage beside them.

  “I didn’t mean to—that is—I don’t know you very well, and –”

  “You do well to be suspicious, in these times.”

  “I wasn’t going to –”

  “Be very careful who you watch. When you stare so hard, you are easy to sense, and easy to capture. Those with a dark nature might decide to use you.”

  Tsoraz sat back, but he continued to watch Ashley with those glittering eyes, as if considering what use he could be put to.

  Those with a dark nature? He’s not talking about himself, is he?

  Tsoraz smiled again, and Ashley decided his statement had been a clever way of referring to the Darkmaster. Tsoraz was strange, but he was on their side. He was no Shadowcaster.

  When they began to climb through the winding streets of Levin, the horses slackened their pace enough for those in the carriage to talk over the clatter of hooves. Ashley turned to Tabitha, if only to avoid the bard’s intense attention. He could still feel the man’s gaze on him. Tsoraz had made his point well. If you stared too hard, even an idiot would become aware of being watched. Likewise with the mind’s eye.

  “I wanted to thank you, for the warning,” Ashley said.

  Tabitha’s wooden expression didn’t change. She was in a place far away. “I am sorry it came too late,” she said. “I sent it as soon as—I knew.”

  “It came in time,” he said, remembering the little dove which had tracked him from Fendwarrow. “Only, your Courier was too much a bird. It was frightened to land.”

  Tabitha nodded. She made no effort to keep the conversation alive. He tried again.

  “Where were you, the day we left for Ravenscroft? I thought you would have joined us.”

  “The Rector already had me isolated.”

  “Isolated? When were you isolated?” asked Ashley.

  “The night we were—out. I was caught. I believed it was my punishment to be locked away, to atone. In truth, it was so the Rector could keep me for the Shadowcaster, when the cote had been cleared.”

  And I was angry with her for holding out on me.

  She had been punished, and he had escaped. It had been his idea in the first place, to seek out the inner sanctum, and Tabitha had been made to pay for it.

  He reached out a hand. “Sorry, Tabitha. I didn’t know. I should have checked that you made it back.”

  “It’s all right. I knew the consequences before we began.”

  It was a brave thing to say, but she had surely not expected the Shadowcaster. While she had been isolated, the Rector must have questioned her, yet she hadn’t told him much, or Ashley would have been snared as well.

  He had nothing to give her, besides a hug.

  “Thank you for keeping silent,” he said, holding her close. “I hope I can repay your friendship.”

  When he pulled away, he noticed the scarf tied high on her neck. He had seen it at the King’s council. The question still begged asking.

  “Why do you hide your Lightstone?”

  Her hand flew to her throat. Her alarm was the first expression she had displayed in their journey.

  “The Rector had planned to banish me. I was never going to be a Lightgifter. I should not pretend to be one.”

  “Nonsense!” Sister Grace cut in. She had not intruded before, though she had been close enough to hear most of it. “We now know the Rector is not true to the Light. I think he would not raise you because you would be too great a Lightgifter, not too poor. You should wear the Lightstone with pride. That you cast a Courier spell for Ashley with the Light is proof enough that you have the talent for gifting.”

  Tabitha did not seem to be comforted by Grace’s praise. If anything, she appeared more panicked.

  “I wish to follow the traditi
ons of the Lightgifters. I’ll only be of age at Yearsend.”

  “The traditions of the Lightgifters won’t mean a thing if they succeed in taking the Source,” Grace said. “We shall have little to gift.”

  “That is why I come to fight beside you.”

  It was Grace’s turn to look alarmed. “I pray it does not come to that. What do you hope to do, if you’ll not use the Light?”

  “I have other ways of fighting than with sprites.”

  She had a solid-looking lyre with her, and he supposed that was what she meant. Ashley remembered the shrill power of her voice, the sheer volume which had crippled the Morgloth. Other ways indeed. The more Ashley considered what he knew of her, the more unique she seemed.

  “It is good to have you with us,” he said, bringing to an end a conversation that was obviously troubling her. Tabitha dipped her head. He didn’t try to coax her into conversation after that.

  The bald bard was still watching him. Ashley twisted slowly in his seat, but even when his back was to Tsoraz, his ears still burned with an awareness of the bard’s attention. He pretended to take interest in the tall buildings of Levin. Townsfolk peered down from high balconies and windows, merchants and customers alike gathered in doorways to watch them pass. The squadron drew much interest, especially the higher they rode through the narrow streets. The Swords seldom had any business in the higher quarters of Levin. It was unheard of for Swords to be needed at the high Lightgifter’s monastery.

  Ashley’s stomach churned as they neared the Dovecote grounds. It was one thing to agree that the Rector was a traitor. It was quite another thing to stand up to him. They had a full squadron of fifty Swords with them, but it was small comfort. Ravenscroft had swallowed more than twice that number.

  They won’t be here yet. They can’t be here yet. Just the Rector.