Song of the Silvercades

by K S Nikakis

  ‘Slaughtered by the Shargh?’

  ‘It seems so,’ said Caledon, coming back to the table. ‘She knows how to cure Shargh wounds, Adris, which suggests she’s dealt with many. Her knowing would be useful to your physicks.’

  ‘If she deigns to give it,’ said Adris.

  ‘What do you make of Kashclan?’ asked Caledon, taking a handful of nuts and rolling them in his palm.

  ‘It’s a common enough Kir name,’ said Adris. ‘Markash, Bekash, Sorkash, Yankash, we have them all here, come Summer-end Fair. Most are metalwrights. The gates of King’s Hall are Kir work.’

  ‘And so where does that leave us?’ asked Caledon.

  ‘Perhaps she’s nothing more than a half-starved stranger forced from her lands by Shargh blades. The way things are unfolding, she won’t be the last.’

  ‘The stars tell me she’s far more than that,’ said Caledon.

  ‘I don’t believe in the speech of stars,’ said Adris with a smile. ‘But I do trust your judgement. Did the stars also tell you to bring her here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For what purpose?’ asked Adris, taken aback. ‘To aid us in some way through her physick skills?’

  ‘The stars are rarely so eloquent or exact.’

  Adris frowned. ‘So we keep her here?’

  ‘For the time being,’ said Caledon.

  10

  Kira stormed across the yard, threw open the door to her rooms, and thrust her clothing into her pack. She grabbed a drying-cloth, wrapped up the remains of the food on the platter and stored it away also, snapping the lacings taut. Her heart raced and her thoughts boiled, as she heaved on her pack and pulled open the door.

  A Guard awaited her outside. ‘The Prince commands I escort you where you would go,’ he said, his voice expressionless.

  ‘I go north,’ said Kira shortly.

  ‘The Prince commands I escort you where you would go in the city.’

  ‘Then escort me to the gates of Maraschin and I’ll go on alone from there,’ she said, pushing past him down the pathway and ignoring the blue-clad men engaged in swordplay.

  The ornate metal gates swung wide and Kira set off down the King’s Way, the broad path becoming more crowded as she descended. The city was much larger than she’d guessed in the last night. It looked to hold at least three or four times the number of people in all of Allogrenia. Passers-by fell silent and stared, and Kira continued with her head down, her anger spent and her eyes watering from the glare of sunlit stone.

  The day wasn’t warm but she began to sweat. The noise and closeness of the crowds, coupled with the harsh light, made her feel nauseous. She began to pant so that after a while she had to pause and lean against a wall.

  ‘Are you ill, Lady?’ said the Guard, more solicitous now.

  ‘No,’ she said, then began to slide, the wall slipping away into blackness.

  When Kira woke, there was a man bending over her, grey-haired, his cool hand on her forehead. ‘I’m Dumer, the Physick-General,’ he said, in slow but precise Onespeak.

  ‘Where –?’ began Kira, staring beyond him at a dark curtain.

  ‘You are in the Sanctum. You were brought here after you fainted on the King’s Way. I do not think you need more than rest and nourishing food, my Lady,’ he said. ‘The King’s Guard is waiting to help you back to King’s Hall, once you’re feeling more recovered. It would be best that you don’t exert yourself for the next few days.’

  The curtain flicked open and a young woman appeared. ‘I beg your pardon, Physick-General, but you’re wanted in the Receiving Room.’

  ‘Send for Major Physick Aranz, Speri,’ said Dumer, nodding to Kira and then disappearing through the curtain.

  Kira had sat up and was swinging her legs off the pallet when Aranz appeared. He was garbed in the same green and gold that the young woman, Speri, wore. He looked tired but cleaner than when she had last seen him.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you again, Lady,’ he said, pouring her a cup of water and adding what looked like beesblest to it. ‘Drink this,’ he ordered.

  Kira gulped it down. ‘The boy who was wounded by the Shargh, Aranz. Does he still live?’

  ‘Yes, he survived the journey back.’

  ‘Can I see him?’ asked Kira, relief flooding through her.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Only his close kin can see him. Peace and quiet make the passing of the ill less painful.’

  ‘But I must see him!’ she said, catching his arm.

  ‘How many times do I have to say it? He has seen a physick. There is nothing you can do.’

  ‘A King’s Guard waits for me,’ she said desperately. ‘If you don’t let me see the boy, I’ll send news of your discourtesy to Prince Adris.’

  Aranz glared at her for a moment, then said, ‘Come,’ before striding off. Kira hurried behind him through two sets of double doors to a room that was shrouded in dimness. ‘He’s in there,’ said Aranz, stopping and gesturing at the last alcove.

  ‘I need you to help me.’

  ‘I won’t add to his suffering any further!’

  ‘The Shargh killed my brother, Aranz. They’re the same age. I’m begging you!’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ he repeated, but he turned back to the alcove, the two men sitting by the pallet moving out of the way.

  Kira threw off her pack and raked through the contents. ‘Unbind the wound.’

  ‘It’s pointless …’

  ‘Unbind it!’

  Taking a knife from the physick’s tools on the side table, Aranz slit the bandages, the stench making the two men retch.

  ‘Cut the stitches. I need the wound open,’ said Kira, washing her hands in the water bowl.

  Aranz gritted his teeth and nicked each of the stitches, leaving the wound gaping. Kira picked up an open pot of pink salve and gently smeared it on.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Aranz, curious in spite of himself.

  ‘Fireweed.’

  ‘What does it do?’ he asked.

  ‘Burns the rot from the wound.’

  ‘Burns the rot? But surely that brings pain?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kira, making sure she’d covered every last piece of rancid flesh with the salve.

  ‘But … I can’t give him anything for the pain. He’s too close to death!’

  Even as he watched, the boy groaned, his pallor replaced with a seeping flush. ‘By Shardos, I’ve been a fool to listen to you! I’ve traded him a peaceful death for an agonising one!’ said Aranz.

  ‘You’ve given him a chance at life!’ replied Kira fiercely.

  ‘But I can’t stop the pain!’ he said.

  The boy was now deep crimson and starting to sweat, causing consternation in the two men who’d been attending him.

  Aranz watched, mouth agape, as Kira put her hands over the boy’s heart, the colour draining from her face until she was as white as winter and her skin as wet as the boy’s. Slowly the boy stilled and his breathing slipped into the rhythm of sleep. It couldn’t be!

  Kira swayed and Aranz grabbed her, her head lolling against his shoulder. Aranz looked round wildly, caught between her needs and the boy’s.

  ‘I … I’m sorry, Aranz. He was at the end of the path,’ gasped Kira.

  Aranz hooked a chair closer with his leg and lowered Kira onto it. ‘Sit there,’ he ordered, then went to the herb store and mixed a restorative. He hastened back to where she sat, flicking her hands in an odd way, but with more colour in her face.

  ‘Drink all of it,’ he said, then watched to make sure she complied. He checked the boy again, shaking his head in amazement, then said, ‘Come. There’s a pleasant place to sit at the back.’

  Aranz took her arm and guided her through the pallets, pushing open yet another set of doors to reveal grass and trees.

  Kira stared about in amazement.

  ‘We made this a garden to help the ill recover,’ said Aranz, leading her to a stone seat
next to a pool. The air was full of scent and the ground aflutter with dapples of sunlight and shadow. Birds called and a stream tinkled.

  ‘The Spursmen and Torsmen find the city oppressive and mend more quickly if they spend time here. We’ve found it’s good for physicks, too.’

  After he’d lowered her, Aranz settled beside her, and for a while they sat in silence, watching the water. Leaves drifted across its surface and small winged creatures in an array of colours hovered.

  ‘I need to beg your pardon,’ said Aranz. ‘I’ve been wrong and it almost cost that boy’s life.’

  ‘I’m not good at making myself understood,’ said Kira wearily, feeling completely drained, as she always did after taking pain.

  ‘Your Onespeak is sparse,’ acknowledged Aranz. ‘Are you Terak?’

  ‘Tremen.’

  ‘I’ve not heard of the Tremen.’

  Kira watched the sun’s spangles shift on the water. No one had heard of the Tremen. The obscurity that had kept them safe had turned out to be a danger as well. Why help a people you had no knowing of?

  ‘Do they –’ he began, then stopped, his gaze over her shoulder. ‘Your friend is here. Maybe he comes to take you back to King’s Hall.’

  ‘I’ll not go back,’ said Kira, beyond exhaustion now. ‘With Dumer’s permission, I’ll stay here where I can be useful to the physicks.’

  ‘We’d be grateful for your help, but it isn’t a very … grand place to stay. Not for a Lord’s friend,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve slept in trees and caves and holes in the ground,’ said Kira. ‘Anything warm and dry is grand indeed.’

  Aranz rose and bowed, but Kira’s gaze remained on the water. She heard Aranz take his leave and smelt the peculiar sweet spice scent of Caledon as he settled beside her.

  But she kept her head down, anger at his betrayal warring with her want to trust him.

  The leaves whispered and the water rippled, fragmenting the reflections. ‘We need to speak,’ he said. ‘Can we speak Terak?’

  ‘Use it if you wish,’ retorted Kira.

  ‘I can understand your feelings,’ he said. ‘You trusted me and I took you to Maraschin when I said we went north. I told you the Tain were friends, but they took you prisoner, bound your hands, injured you. I told you Adris was my friend, yet he showed you no kindness. If I wore your skin, I’d be angry too.’

  ‘Yet you’ve come to ask me to trust you,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve come to tell you why these things happened. I’m not asking you to trust me. You must trust me only if you see fit.’

  Caledon began to speak, and by the time he had fallen silent, the garden was bathed in the ripe sunlight of midday and Kira’s head was full of the strange things he’d spoken of. He’d told her of long journeys sung by the voice of stars; of people in many lands whose hearts strove for good; of his belief in patterns unfolding, and his certainty that he and she had been meant to come together in the Azurcade foothills at the precise moment of the Shargh attack.

  While some of what he said was incomprehensible, Kira now understood their ‘welcome’ by the Tain, and Adris’s behaviour.

  The Tain had been under sustained Shargh attack yet the Tain King refused to act, neither leaving his chambers nor bequeathing authority to his son, Prince Adris.

  Most of what Adris did risked his father’s wrath, for the King still ruled. But Adris sent out troopsmen to protect his people under the pretence of ‘surveying’ the quality of grazing or the state of wood supplies. He took travellers by force, because they ‘trespassed’, not because they might be in league with the Shargh.

  Adris is in a very difficult situation. He cannot openly thwart the King, or the King’s advisers. But as the Commander of the Tain forces, he can send troopsmen where he wishes. He’s certainly matured in the time since I was last here, but he is impatient by nature, Caledon had said, quick to anger and quick to forgive, but above all, Adris loves his people.

  As for Caledon, he’d made clear his passion for peace. He’d also told her of his love for his sister Roshai and her daughters. Pisa is the youngest, he’d said, a smile lighting his face. Just seven years, she’s never still, singing and dancing and making tales of sea creatures and cloud creatures and creatures of the wind and stars. Roshai predicts she’ll be a Placidien like me when she grows up.

  There was a pause after Caledon finished speaking. His face was quiet but Kira sensed the power of him. If Adris were the roar of flames, then Caledon was the glow of coals, less obvious but more intense.

  ‘I’ll teach the Tain physicks how to treat Shargh wounds, for they have great need of that knowing, but then I’ll continue north,’ said Kira, rising and going to the water.

  ‘What’s started is not just about the Tremen, or the Tain, or about the peoples in between,’ said Caledon. ‘The Shargh went far into the south to attack your people and now they come round the western spur of the Azurcades to attack the Tain. Nor will this be the end of their greed for blood. Their hunger for war will grow, and you and I have a part to play in what is to come. This the stars tell me. That’s why I wanted to come here to rest and build our strength and prepare,’ he said, going to her.

  Kira stood her ground but the sweet spice smell of Caledon roused her need of him. She was in a strange city, among those who’d taken her prisoner, and Caledon was the only thing here familiar to her.

  ‘At the base of the Azurcades you gifted me – a stranger – with my life,’ he said. ‘You followed me into the mountains and opened yourself to take my pain.

  ‘I know your heart wants to trust me, Kira, but your head warns against it,’ he said softly, smoothing the knotty hair from her eyes. ‘Listen to your heart, for it knows best.’

  ‘I can’t stay here more than a few days,’ said Kira thickly. ‘The longer I delay, the more death I might bequeath my people!’

  ‘On the morrow I accompany Adris to The Westlans, to meet with the Tor and Spursmen there. We must put in place plans and strategies of how they’re to defend themselves. It’s a trek of ten nights. Stay here until my return, Kira. My way lies northward too, and I would like to journey with you.’

  His fingers caressed her face, and she clung to him, then he raised her chin so that she looked at him.

  ‘Give me ten days, Kira,’ he murmured. ‘Then we’ll speak again.’

  11

  Orbdargan had spent nearly a moon quarter on the Shargh Grounds, but he’d had Arkendrin’s measure after the first night, and what he’d learned pleased him. Arkendrin wasn’t Chief in name, but he could call on enough blood-ties to serve their purposes. And, like Orbdargan, he was eager to avenge the long injustice of land theft by the northern robbers.

  Orbdargan also understood Arkendrin’s frustration, his own sire having been content to eke out life on the patch of Dendora they’d been left with. It had been many long seasons before Orbdargan had been able to seize the circlet of chiefship and rouse the Weshargh from their apathy.

  Orbdargan saw the same servitude to the prattlings of Tellers and the slithery twists of chance among the Cashgar Shargh, but was confident he could turn Arkendrin and his people to the path they must follow to reclaim what was rightfully theirs.

  As he’d told Arkendrin over a bowl of sherat, chance could be made a more obliging blood-tie to those the Sky Chiefs smiled on, and clearly the Sky Chiefs smiled on Arkendrin, for why else had they called Arkendrin’s elder brother home early, leaving behind no heir but a squalling babe of no import. It was to Arkendrin that the Sky Chiefs had bequeathed the task of restoring the northern grazing lands of the Shargh’s forefathers. The only impediments to Arkendrin joining him and the Soushargh Chief, Yrshin, in leading their warriors to victory over the northern thieves, were Arkendrin’s obsession with a gold-eyed girl from the south, and the suppurating wound on the back of his leg. But both obstacles could be overcome.

  Orbdargan waited until evening, when they shared sherat outside Arkendrin’s sorcha, to broach the subj
ect.

  ‘All this should be mine,’ muttered Arkendrin, gazing over the Grounds.

  ‘It is yours, Chief Arkendrin,’ said Orbdargan, smiling at him. ‘You can take it any time you wish, but it would be better to take the northern grazing lands as well, just as a snake waits to strike flesh, not air.’

  Arkendrin’s attention was distracted by warriors returning from a hunt. His leg injury prevented Arkendrin from running, bringing back wolf-skins or fanchon, or moorhens from their nest-sites, but it didn’t matter. Arkendrin’s power didn’t lie in his body, but in his ability to bind warriors to his will.

  ‘The stinking gold-eyed creature watches the sunset even as we do and stops the wound from healing,’ said Arkendrin.

  ‘The wound’s deep but will mend. Till it does, we can use the legs of beasts.’

  ‘Shargh keep the earth under their feet,’ snapped Arkendrin.

  ‘The Sky Chiefs gifted the Ashmiri horses and they prosper,’ said Orbdargan, having anticipated this objection.

  ‘The Ashmiri trade themselves to the filthy Northerners,’ countered Arkendrin.

  ‘Uthlin’s bound by his forefather’s oath not to attack them, but he’s tied to us,’ said Orbdargan.

  ‘You’ve spoken with him?’

  ‘My warriors have. There’s much he can do to help our cause without sending arrows north.’

  Arkendrin was silent, his skin shiny with sweat despite the cooling air.

  ‘We’ve crossed the Braghans,’ said Orbdargan softly.

  ‘The Sky Chiefs forbid it,’ hissed Arkendrin, palming his forehead in an automatic gesture.

  ‘We cross the Braghans in the low places where they join the plain, and do not offend the Sky Chiefs,’ said Orbdargan. ‘We’ve attacked woodcutters and herders and lost no warriors.’

  Orbdargan’s people grazed a range that overlapped the Ashmiri’s and their occasional meetings had brought an understanding of other places, other ways of doing, and other gods. Arkendrin had no knowing of such things.