Song of the Silvercades

by K S Nikakis

  The Tain glanced up and exclaimed, jerking Aranz from his sleep. There was a smell of burnt food and Aranz said something to the red-haired man, who muttered a reply and stirred whatever was in the pot vigorously. The man then dolloped it into bowls and Aranz added honey to Kira’s and passed it to her.

  ‘You’ll need to eat all the sacrash you can, as we’ll be marching all day,’ he said in Onespeak. ‘Troopleader Selvet is keen to get back to his new lady-love in Maraschin,’ he added in a low tone, to the guffaws of the red-haired man.

  Kira’s attention was on the bowl of fragrant mash and her mouth watered, but the bowl and spoon were metal. She wondered if Aranz would think her uncouth if she ate the mash with her fingers.

  ‘Eat it,’ repeated Aranz impatiently.

  Gingerly she began to eat, trying to avoid touching the metal with her lips. The sacrash was delicious.

  She’d barely finished when the troopleader gave orders in a quiet, almost mocking, manner and the bivouac broke quickly, the men forming up with Kira and Aranz in the centre. They set off at a steady pace, her headache gradually dulling, despite the movement. Scouts moved in and out from the sides and the air warmed as the sun rose higher, birds skittering in the canopy.

  ‘You have a liking for birds,’ said Aranz.

  Kira nodded as she watched one with a brilliant red breast.

  ‘That’s an akai, and that one an aspri,’ said Aranz, as a snowy bird fluttered along a branch, pecking at the bark.

  ‘Aspri eat the barklice,’ he went on, ‘while akai favour perl-wood seeds.’

  ‘Are there owls?’ asked Kira, wondering if the mira kiraon flew in these forests as well.

  ‘There are brindle-owls,’ said Aranz. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Kira was silent, regretting her question. Memories of the mira kiraon brought too much sadness.

  ‘Brindle-owls are common around Mendor where Somer and I am from,’ said the physick, nodding towards the red-haired man in front.

  ‘I thought the Tain city was called Maraschin,’ said Kira.

  ‘It is, but Tain lands contain many smaller settlements like Mendor beyond the city’s wall.’

  Aranz passed Kira his waterskin as they walked, but they didn’t stop and they didn’t eat. Nausea stirred and the ache in her head strengthened again as she tired.

  It was close to dusk when a scout sprinted back, shouting a warning: ‘Shargh!’ Men threw themselves behind trees, and Aranz thrust her into a scratchy patch of undergrowth. Fitting an arrow, he sheltered behind the tree as he aimed ahead. Others in the troop edged forward from tree to tree until their greenish jackets merged with the forest.

  Kira huddled lower, expecting Shargh to come screaming and slashing towards them, but the forest remained silent. After a while, one of the troop reappeared, and jerked his thumb towards Aranz who rose and went with the man, with Somer coming to her side instead. The remaining men’s hands moved, silently messaging. Kira didn’t understand their gestures any more than their words, but if a physick had been summoned, it meant wounded.

  ‘If there’s wounded –’ she whispered to Somer, but he silenced her with a violent cutting motion.

  Frustration added to the pain in her head and she cursed the loss of her pack. Finally Selvet reappeared and the troop came back into formation. Somer wrenched her into line, and she glared at him, but everyone’s attention was on the trees ahead.

  They marched on, coming to an area of smashed undergrowth. There was a dead man there, his back hacked open in several places. Some distance away, another man lay, face contorted in terror, eyes wide in death. Next to him, Aranz was busy stitching a third, whose boyish sobs cut her to the core. If Aranz closed the wound without fireweed, he’d trap the rot inside!

  Kira started forward but Somer jerked her back.

  ‘Tell your leader I can help. I’m a Healer … a physick,’ she said urgently.

  Somer called to Selvet, who was supervising the shifting of the dead, and Selvet called back, without shifting his attention from his task.

  ‘We already have a physick,’ said Somer.

  A scout appeared and began his report to Selvet. Somer’s attention shifted to his leader and, with a sudden twist, Kira broke his grip and rushed to Aranz’s side. The wounded was a boy, no more than thirteen or fourteen seasons.

  ‘You need to use fireweed or he’ll die.’

  Somer caught her arm, but Kira shrugged herself free again.

  ‘You’re stitching the Shargh filth in!’ she cried.

  Aranz’s furious eyes flicked up, then strong arms seized her and rope was looped round her wrists, cutting into her skin as she struggled.

  ‘You’ll kill him!’ she screamed, before being hauled away and dumped unceremoniously on the ground. She lay there, unable to get up without the use of her hands, sobbing in frustration.

  It was fully dark and Kira shivered uncontrollably before Aranz helped her to the fire, set her down and unbound her hands. She refused to look at him or acknowledge his help, her anger and misery having solidified into something hard and unforgiving. It wiped away the pain in her head, her hunger and thirst, and any hope for the future.

  It was quite possible that the same Shargh had attacked the troop that held Caledon and that he was now dead. And the boy Aranz had stitched was Kandor’s age and would die too, killed by Aranz’s ignorance as surely as the Shargh blade.

  Somer was busy cooking and she could smell the sweet mash she’d breakfasted on. But even the prospect of food didn’t pierce her resentment.

  ‘Here,’ said Aranz, handing her a bowl. ‘Eat.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘We have another day’s march to Maraschin. I don’t have time to look after two patients,’ he snapped.

  ‘You won’t need to. The boy will die soon.’

  Aranz slammed down the bowl, the spoon bouncing into the leaves, and strode off. Somer remained, on Selvet’s orders no doubt.

  ‘How many of those with Shargh wounds has Aranz saved?’ she demanded.

  ‘Aranz is but one of the physicks,’ said Somer.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘The goatherds and woodcutters know little of such wounds. The injured are half-dead before they reach the Sanctum,’ muttered Somer.

  ‘Tell Aranz the Shargh use poison on their blades. Tell him I can help him save lives.’

  Somer gestured another troopsman over and got to his feet. ‘Anything else I should tell him?’

  Kira shook her head. If Somer expected her to apologise for her earlier outburst, he would be disappointed. A Healer must be open to anything that might cure the injured.

  Somer’s replacement cleaned the spoon and placed it back in the mash, then poured her a cup of water and set both by her side, smiling encouragingly.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked in Onespeak.

  ‘Tardich. What’s your name?’

  ‘Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan,’ said Kira, wanting to assert not just who she was, but what she was for the first time since leaving Allogrenia. But Tardich simply looked bemused, and she sighed and tried again.

  ‘My name’s Kira.’

  ‘You’re Terak?

  ‘Tremen.’

  Tardich’s brow wrinkled. ‘I’ve not heard of Tremen, but it is my honour to meet you.’ He glanced at the men clustered round the other fires, and softened his voice. ‘I give you Tain sorrow that you’re a prisoner. This is not the Tain way. It’s the Shargh way.’

  Because of the Shargh, deduced Kira, mustering a smile to soothe Tardich’s embarrassment. She regretted speaking of the Tremen already. How would she make it to her destination if she allowed her pride to get the better of her at every provocation?

  ‘Eat your sacrash,’ said Tardich. ‘Selvet goes quickly and it’s hard to go on empty legs.’

  She picked up the spoon with the tips of her fingers. Empty legs and an empty heart, she thought, but it was no longer true. Her resentment had been undone by Tard
ich’s gentle kindness.

  8

  Caledon sat with his back against a tree and his face to the white light of dawn. Two nights and a day of forced march with few rests and little sleep had left him bruised, aching and beyond weariness. At least they’d be free of the Scharn Woodlands soon, making attack less likely, the Shargh favouring flatswords and spears, weapons that were less effective than Tain arrows in the open.

  The mutterings of the troop as they’d marched told Caledon that the men were uneasy. As well as the risk of Shargh attack, the troop was troubled by the breach in their long tradition of courtesy to strangers. This change in their behaviour added to Caledon’s star-thought that the old ways were unweaving.

  It was the same star-thought that had caused him to take Kira west towards Maraschin, rather than north as he’d led her to believe. He’d lied to her, but as a Placidien he was bound by a greater trust, and accepted that the pattern in the stars sometimes smudged over the smaller lives of those on the ground. Still, this knowledge did nothing to assuage his sense of guilt at his deceit.

  Dorchen shouted and Caledon got to his feet, his guard muttering an apology as he re-bound Caledon’s hands. The light was warming, heralding a gentle day, the sky cloudless and the grass flashing with silverjacks. It would have been a pleasant journey, with Kira.

  It was close to midday when Caledon heard an excited murmur among the men, and looked up to see horsemen approaching. He immediately recognised their azure capes as those of the King’s Guard, and the lead rider as Adris.

  The Tain prince kept his horse at a gallop until he was almost upon Dorchen, the beast rearing and spattering Dorchen with foam as Adris wrenched it to a halt. The other horses came level, but Caledon’s entire attention was on Adris.

  A man now, not the boy Caledon had last seen, Adris wore his hair close-cropped, accentuating the angles of his face and the power of his neck and shoulders. But his eyes were the same, almost black.

  ‘Your men look half dead,’ boomed Adris, glancing at the troop as he dismounted. ‘An exhausted man’s like one already speared, remember that, Commander!’

  Dorchen coloured but, before he could respond, Adris continued. ‘Where are the prisoners?’

  Dorchen shouted an order and Caledon was marched forward.

  ‘My Lord Caledon!’ exclaimed Adris, his eyes wide in astonishment. ‘By the storms of Shardos, it’s good to see you! Dorchen! Haven’t you the wit to recognise the King’s friend? Release him!’

  Dorchen’s face went a deeper shade of crimson and he gestured to Caledon’s guard to unbind him.

  ‘My Lord Caledon, please accept the King’s apologies!’ said Adris.

  ‘I’ve had worse welcomes in other lands, Prince Adris,’ said Caledon, rubbing his hands to restore circulation. ‘It’s easily mended. Your Commander’s actions, I believe, were under orders. Given the Shargh attacks, they were understandable.’

  Adris’s face cleared and, signalling Caledon to walk with him, he moved away from the troop and lowered his voice. ‘It’s timely that you’ve come now, Caledon. There’s much to discuss.’

  Turning around, he called, ‘Archorn, I’ll need your horse for the Lord Caledon. Dorchen, the scouts spoke of two prisoners. Where’s the second?’

  ‘With the other part of the troop, my Lord,’ said Dorchen.

  ‘Splitting a troop’s dangerous,’ snapped Adris.

  ‘It was done on the advice of the physick, after my companion was injured,’ said Caledon.

  ‘It’s unlike you to travel with a companion,’ said Adris in surprise. ‘What is his injury?’

  ‘Her injury,’ corrected Caledon.

  ‘I’ll send horses for her then,’ said Adris, struggling to hide his astonishment. Then, clapping Caledon on the back and smiling the boyish smile Caledon remembered from almost five years earlier, he leapt back on his horse and Caledon mounted also.

  ‘Let us go, my Lord,’ said Adris. ‘A deep bath, a good meal and the best ale await us.’

  The troop escorting Kira was slowed by the wounded boy. The easier pace had eased her headache again but increased her anxiety for him. She was keen to get to Maraschin to retrieve her pack and help tend him, but wondered if Aranz would allow it. He’d not spoken to her since their argument. Tardich guarded her, and made a pleasant companion, speaking of the nature of the Tain settlements and the beautiful things that could be traded at the Maraschin fairs. But is was hard to concentrate. In truth, Caledon had lied and she was a prisoner of his ‘friends’.

  It was past midday when there was a commotion ahead, and Tardich swivelled to face her, his eyes glittering with excitement.

  ‘King’s Guard,’ he said. ‘They’re stationed at King’s Hall. I wonder what brings them here.’

  The troop came to a halt and Kira peered past the men in front, excited to see her first real horse. But the panting, sweating, heaving masses of flesh and hide that stomped around the troops-men were nothing like the horse on the ring of rulership. Their smell was overpowering, the depths of their nostrils crimson, their eyes luminous. They were ridden by big men clad in shirts and jerkins and cloaks the colour of a summer sky.

  All Kira wanted to do was to slide away among the trees and lie there until the world of greens and browns restored her to calmness. But one of the Guard was talking to Troop leader Selvet, and both looked over at her.

  Selvet gestured and Tardich gently caught Kira’s arm and took her forward. Up close, the man in blue was even more imposing, his close-cut hair accentuating his chiselled features, and the roping muscles of his neck rippling along his shoulders.

  Kira swallowed dryly.

  ‘I am Guard Leader Remas,’ he said in perfect Onespeak, before bowing to her. ‘Prince Adris sends welcome and greetings, my Lady, and has asked us to bring you to the city. The Lord Caledon also sends message that you have nothing to fear from the Tain.’

  Every man’s eye fixed on Kira and her face fired.

  ‘I’ve not been on a horse before,’ said Kira shakily.

  ‘You can sit up behind Ather, if you will, Lady,’ said Remas, gesturing towards a rider, who urged his massive horse forward, thrust out his foot and offered his hand.

  Kira knew the words King, Queen, Prince, Lord and Lady from the Writings, for Kasheron and Terak had been princes, their father a king and their mother the Lady or Queen Kiraon. This man called her Lady despite his gaze drifting to her ragged cape and dirt-encrusted breeches. She guessed he erred on the side of caution in his search for a word to describe the companion of Lord Caledon. Caledon hadn’t mentioned any titles before and Kira wondered why.

  ‘You put your foot on the Guard’s foot and use it as a step,’ said Tardich helpfully. ‘I can steady you if you wish … Lady.’

  Kira gritted her teeth as the Guard flicked her upward, but she had barely settled behind him when the horse swung round, making her belly churn with fear.

  ‘You hold onto the saddle-strap,’ said Tardich. Kira gripped the strap at the back of the harness.

  She could see Remas in conversation with Selvet. Kira dried her sweaty hands on her breeches, then carefully, for fear of falling, turned her head round to see what was happening. Remas was now speaking with Aranz and Somer.

  Kira glanced at the other mounted Guard, who looked bored, then Remas came back, Tardich hurrying by his side, clearly honoured by the Guard’s attention. With a final nod, Remas vaulted onto his horse, and Ather’s mount swung round, causing Kira’s heart to race and she clung more tightly. Aranz and Somer waited by the bearer, and their gaze was on her.

  ‘We need to take the wounded boy,’ said Kira to Ather’s back.

  ‘Our orders are to bring you,’ said Ather.

  ‘But –’ began Kira.

  Remas issued a command and the other horses were suddenly horrifyingly close, their hot breath on her legs, and their white-ringed eyes flashing near her elbows. The Guard moved off through the trees, maintaining their arrow-shaped formation desp
ite the slope of the land and the interruption of bole and branch.

  After a time Kira’s fear eased enough for her to loosen her grip a little, and relax the rod-like stiffness of her arms and shoulders. The saddle-strap was firm and kept her steady. The movement of the horse had taken on a rhythm and it seemed sure-footed and not inclined to stumble.

  She sneaked glances at the other men as they went, fascinated by their similarity. They wore their hair very short and were dressed alike. Some of the men wore metal, too, in the form of rings. Kira stared at their hands in horrified fascination. The rings were gold and silver metal, and black metal too. How could they bear to have it against their skin?

  ‘Our pace will quicken once we clear the trees, Lady,’ said Ather apologetically.

  ‘I … I don’t mind going slowly,’ said Kira.

  ‘Prince Adris orders you be brought to the city swiftly.’

  Remas called something and she glimpsed grasslands ahead. Then the horse changed pace. Kira jerked up and down, her head filled with visions of herself sprawled among the tree-roots. Eventually the jerking gave way to a smoother, rolling motion as the horses began their run across the open land.

  Kira clung to the saddle-strap, breathless with fear and with her eyes tightly shut. The sound of the horses was like a thousand storms and when she finally opened her eyes, she saw the extraordinary sight of galloping horses all around, like the chimes in Kest’s rooms come to life.

  The plain they crossed was clad with the same scattered, spindly trees as the Dendora, the dark edge of the Azurcade forest now far behind. Then the snort and heave of the horses increased and they wheeled in a smooth arc, giving Kira a new view. She gaped at an immense sweep of yellow stone cutting the lands, too even to be natural, and beyond it, a crowd of buildings scrambled towards the sky.

  The wall must have taken season upon season to build, and the houses too. They were like longhouses, but tall, as if piled on top of each other. She had never even heard tell of such a thing.

  ‘Maraschin, built by Kershtain the Great,’ said Ather. ‘The Tains welcome you. May your rest be easy within our walls.’