Song of the Silvercades

by K S Nikakis

  ‘The Prince Adris requests your help especially,’ said the Guard to Kira. ‘The Lord Caledon says you’ve skills that will aid us.’

  ‘The Lord Caledon was attacked?’ gasped Kira.

  ‘No, a settlement in The Westlans,’ said the Guard wearily.

  ‘Which one?’ asked Aranz, paling.

  ‘Mendor.’

  After the conversation with the Guard, Aranz disappeared and Kira spent the rest of the day filling washbowls, boiling stitchweed, preparing bandages and helping shift pallets into the last healing room – the Garden Room. She was helped by Speri, who told her that Dumer had sent Aranz to the gatherers to trade for more herbal supplies. The list included stitchweed, silverseed, white oil, mesen and burmint, most of which Kira had never come across.

  All those herbs would be useless without fireweed, thought Kira. And she only had enough for about twenty wounded, less if their wounds were many. Once it was gone, the wounded would die. An added problem was that fireweed administered after a long delay brought ferocious pain, and she didn’t know how many times she could take pain, or how long she must rest between. The wounded boy she’d last treated had been almost at the end of the fiery tunnel Feseren had shown her. Her heart told her death lay at the very end, and that if she went too far, there’d be no returning.

  Aranz didn’t come back till evening. Despite her best efforts, he remained uncommunicative. In the end, he excused himself and left. Too restless to sleep, Kira went out into the cool dusk and down the King’s Way towards the wall. Windows were bright with lamps and people gathered at barrows and round fires set in metal buckets, preparing food for passers-by. Kira’s belly churned at the smell of cooked meat but the sight of it raw was worse, reminding her of sword wounds.

  Approaching a corner, she saw that a woman plucked a stringed instrument and a boy played something that sounded like a thumbelin. They traded their music for what passers-by chose to give, a bowl set before them glinting with metal.

  Kira wandered onto the wall, surprised at the number of people who were streaming up the steep stone steps, many clutching the hands of children. Kira joined the throng, half-expecting a challenge or a heavy hand on her shoulder, but no one gave her more than a cursory glance. The top of the wall was set with a broad walkway between chest-high sides and Kira felt none of the dizziness of Shardos.

  Guards were stationed at regular intervals, with bows and full quivers, but many conversed with their comrades rather than scanning the lands. Kira looked back towards the city. There were only about a thousand people in Allogrenia, but she guessed Maraschin held three to four thousand. King’s Hall glimmered above its collar of trees, and she wondered again, as she strolled along, about the queen who had brought the green and growing into the city.

  There were fewer people on this part of the wall, and most were courting couples. A young man’s hand drifted from a woman’s face to her breast, and Kira averted her gaze and turned back, her heart quickening as her thoughts went to Caledon. She yearned for his return, but he must be several seasons older than Kest, and she wondered suddenly how many women Caledon had kissed, made love to, and left.

  13

  Caledon looked beyond the fire to the night-shrouded trees and flexed his bruised shoulder. He’d been more fortunate than the Spursmen, the spear glancing off and leaving him with no more than a bruise. The Spursmen had been slaughtered and their houses burned, the Shargh attack merciless and on horseback. This was no opportunistic assault on an isolated settlement – the attack on the Guard had proven that, and it added to the star-thought about Kira that had been growing since he’d left Maraschin.

  Adris had brought down two horses with arrows and killed their riders in single combat. Caledon hadn’t seen Adris fight since he’d helped train him nearly five years before, augmenting his Tain skills with those practised in the north. Adris’s lightning reflexes were now enhanced by brutal strength and a bitter hatred of the Shargh.

  ‘Do you think they’ll be back?’ asked Adris, approaching the fire. ‘We’re less than a day from the wall.’

  ‘But slowed by injured, making us a tempting target,’ said Caledon.

  ‘Let them come then. None will return home to brag of their exploits,’ exclaimed Adris.

  ‘Our task is to get the wounded to the Sanctum,’ Caledon reminded him.

  ‘I’ll not run before such filth!’

  ‘This is a beginning, not an ending,’ warned Caledon, catching Adris’s arm. ‘You’re no use to your people dead.’

  ‘I’m no use to them anyway.’

  ‘Waiting’s always the hardest, Adris, as I’ve said before, but my heart tells me the time’s coming to an end.’

  ‘Your heart or a star?’ said Adris, his eyes flashing in the firelight.

  ‘As you believe in neither, it doesn’t matter.’

  Adris stood glaring at the fire. If he were to survive, thought Caledon, he’d have to temper his strength with wisdom. Caledon looked up at Aeris, bright with white fire, its pulse solidifying his star-thought.

  ‘Once the wounded are settled in the Sanctum, I’m going south,’ he said.

  ‘I thought you’d pledged Kira to go north with her,’ said Adris, surprised. ‘And whichever direction you travel will be dangerous. Is your need so urgent?’

  ‘The stars’ purpose has become clearer to me since I made that promise,’ said Caledon. ‘I must go south to find out what Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan actually means.’

  ‘It’s not like you to have your actions decided by a woman,’ said Adris irritably.

  ‘You may see a bedmate when you look at a woman, Adris, but not every man does,’ said Caledon icily.

  There was a strained silence.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ said Adris finally.

  ‘It’s hers you need to beg, as I’ve said before. If you have any faith at all in my judgement, Adris, believe me when I say that Kira is the key to what’s unfolding.’ Caledon lowered his voice. ‘I guess that the Shargh’s intention is to take back the northern lands, but they’ve already shown they won’t let those in the south live on in peace. They are now demonstrating ruthlessness in removing the threat to their back that your people pose, once they move north. My hope is to gain Tremen swords for your cause for, under your father’s rulership, we have little chance of gaining Terak swords. While I’m away Kira must remain within the safety of Maraschin.’

  ‘I’ll ensure she doesn’t go beyond the walls. Her skills will be needed in the Sanctum in any case,’ he said, and moved restlessly. ‘Bring them in for me, Caledon. At first light I ride to the King.’

  In the mid-morn Kira heard a horse pound up King’s Way, too late to see anything more than people scattering out of its path.

  ‘Prince Adris rides to King’s Hall,’ said Aranz, ‘which means the wounded are close. When they arrive, the most severely injured will go to the Garden Room. I ask that you work there, if you’re willing. I’ll work in the Big Room with Physick-General Dumer. Once the wounds are purified, stitched and bandaged, the lesser physicks will take over and we’ll rest.’

  It wasn’t long before the wounded arrived. Kira had no time to even greet Caledon, the Sanctum filling with weary carriers, some as blood-soaked as those they bore. There were two children on one bier, the red curls of a little boy nestled in his sister’s shoulder, their faces as pale as micklefungus. The carriers took them straight to the Garden Room, Kira rushing after them, the doors cutting off Dumer’s monotone. As the children were lifted onto separate pallets, the girl cried out for her brother, and Kira realised in dismay that she’d need someone to help who understood Tain. She summoned Speri to explain to the girl why her brother must be put on a different pallet, quickly unbuttoned his shirt, and froze.

  His ribs were crushed, a purple sack of blood filling the space of his belly. Somewhere far away, the little girl spoke.

  ‘She wants to know if Jesin will get better,’ said Speri.

  ‘
Tell her I can take away Jesin’s pain,’ said Kira slowly, her gaze on the boy’s belly.

  ‘She wants to know –’ began Speri.

  ‘I can’t save him, Speri, he’s going to die!’

  ‘I’ll tell her he’s going to live with Meros in the sky, then,’ said Speri.

  ‘Do you believe that?’ demanded Kira, glancing at her.

  ‘She’ll believe it and it will bring her comfort.’

  Kira placed her hands over Jesin’s heart. He was a long way ahead of her in the tunnel, a small silhouette running towards a rage of fire. Even as she watched, he reached it, turned and smiled, then stepped into the flames.

  Kira dragged her eyes open as Speri took hold of her arm.

  ‘I thought you were going to fall,’ she said.

  Kira forced herself over to the little girl’s pallet, feeling as though her legs belonged to someone else.

  ‘Her name’s Jesa,’ offered Speri.

  Jesa’s ribs were dark with bruising, but whatever had killed her brother had dealt her a lesser blow.

  ‘Ask Jesa if she has pain other than in her chest,’ said Kira.

  The child shook her head at Speri’s question, her gaze on her brother.

  ‘Jesin said goodbye to her before he died. When you did – whatever you did – he opened his eyes, turned to his sister and said goodbye. And he smiled,’ said Speri, her eyes glistening.

  Kira salved Jesa’s chest with bruise-ease and wiped her hands. ‘Don’t let his body be taken, Speri. Jesa needs time to say her goodbyes, too.’

  ‘That’s also a Spursman tradition,’ said Speri, then pulled the curtains closed.

  The carriers were unloading many more wounded even as they spoke, and Kira moved from pallet to pallet, giving fireweed and taking pain. The burn of the tunnel was as familiar to her now as the Sanctum, but her returns were increasingly nauseating and bleak. She had no idea how much time had passed before she was able to go back to Jesa. The girl stretched her arms out to her brother, and Kira pulled the cover from his crushed body and rebuttoned his shirt. There were little silverjacks embroidered on the front.

  One button, up comes the sun.

  Two buttons, down goes the moon.

  Three buttons, up come the stars.

  Four buttons, down comes the dew.

  Kira used to chant this rhyme to Kandor, when he was a toddler to get him into his shirt in the morning, and out of it at night. She lifted Jesin and gently slid him into his sister’s arms. His hair was soft like Kandor’s, his skin cold. Closing the curtains, Kira staggered out into the garden and slumped onto the stone bench.

  The night was chill and she pulled her knees hard up against her chest and laid her head on them. She’d not held Kandor in death; walked with him as he’d journeyed to Shelter; sung at his lying to rest. She’d not grieved for him then, and she couldn’t grieve for Jesa and Jesin now. The taking of pain had burned everything away.

  14

  After delivering the wounded, Caledon went in search of Kira. But Physick-General Dumer was adamant that Kira wouldn’t be available to speak with Caledon until the initial salving, stitching and binding of wounds was complete. Reluctantly returning to King’s Hall, where he bathed and ate, Caledon readied himself to return to the Sanctum. But he was waylaid by a furious Adris and had to spend most of the night pacifying him, for King Beris still refused to acknowledge the Shargh as a threat, and wouldn’t authorise force against them.

  ‘The Shargh will be in Maraschin before he sees fit to act!’ Adris had fumed. ‘And even without them, the city can’t bear many more seasons of neglect. There are parts so poor now that I’m ashamed to go there.’

  ‘Your father’s illness is not of his body alone,’ Caledon had reminded him.

  ‘He forgets there is a city beyond his chamber doors, and that it needs dues and rents collected to ensure roads are paved, houses made weather-worthy and that those without trade do not go hungry,’ spat Adris. ‘And his advisers are no better, using this time to swell their own power.

  ‘My father remembers what suits him or what his “advisers” bring to his attention,’ continued Adris. ‘If he remembers me at all, it’s as a child. There’s no shortage of comfort in King’s Hall or in their apartments!’

  Such was Adris’s anger that it was close to dawn before Caledon was able to take his leave. When he arrived at the Sanctum, it was humming with tales of Kira’s ability to ease pain and save those even the Physick-General despaired of, but no one seemed to know where she was. Caledon searched frantically for her, before one of the lesser physicks told him she’d seen the Lady go into the garden.

  Caledon found Kira next to the pool, her hair and clothing drenched with dew, her skin icy. By the stars! She’d been there all night!

  ‘You need warmth,’ said Caledon, jerking her to her feet.

  ‘Why do the Shargh kill children?’ she asked, oblivious to the cold.

  Caledon scooped her up and strode through the Sanctum, the eyes of the lesser physicks following him. Ordering one of the women to fetch dry clothes, he swept into an alcove and deposited her on the pallet.

  ‘You don’t have the right to risk yourself like this!’ he said, wrenching off her boots. He’d told Adris many times that anger worked against reason, but his blood raged.

  ‘You sound just like our Protector Commander Kest,’ said Kira, rousing. ‘You don’t have the right to risk yourself, you hold all healing now. That gives you responsibilities! You owe the Tremen, Kira, you’re the Leader. Stay in the Warens, Kira. Stay safe!’

  ‘Kest sounds like a very sensible person,’ said Caledon, pulling off her wet jerkin.

  A lesser physick hovered with dry clothes but Caledon barely noticed.

  ‘Oh, you’d get along very well with Kest,’ retorted Kira. ‘You’d find so much to agree on!’

  Caledon had started undoing Kira’s shirt, partly exposing her breasts, before the physick hissed and he recollected himself.

  ‘I’ll get food,’ he said, striding out of the alcove towards where the physicks prepared meals. He waited till his seething emotions had settled a little, then made a cup of metz and loaded it onto a plate with biscuit and fruit.

  Caledon rarely cast control to the winds and he needed to know why he’d done so now. He’d had little sleep over the last few days and twice been forced to fight for his life, factors hardly conducive to rational thought, but there was still no excuse. He’d been in similar predicaments before.

  Was his outburst star-driven then, intended to gift him some new understanding? His feelings for Kira were certainly stronger than he’d acknowledged. Finding her chilled and sodden had roused an anger born of fear, and not just for the risk posed to her part in the emerging star-pattern, but because he might lose her to an illness.

  The exchange had also granted him the name of someone important: Protector Commander Kest. Useful, considering his need to deal with the Tremen. Then there was the finely carved bird and the man’s ring she wore around her neck. Considering her abhorrence of metal, the ring interested him. Was it a keepsake of her father’s – who Caledon presumed was dead – or of a lover? He needed to have a closer look at it.

  The bird had been wood and of beautiful workmanship, but he hadn’t recognised the style from any fair he’d been to, or from any trader he’d seen.

  A physick went past with Kira’s wet clothing, and Caledon picked up the food and went back in to her. She was sitting on the pallet, head resting against the wall, with eyes shut, though she opened them at his entrance. Setting the plate on the bed, he felt her hand. Thank Aeris it was warm.

  ‘Food and drink, Kira.’

  ‘I thank you, Caledon, but whatever metz is, I’ve never actually considered it a drink,’ she said with a smile.

  He perched on the side of the pallet. ‘In Talliel we call it cotzee, and it has more madris in it. The Bishali have a version that’s almost pure honey called mela.’

  ‘Tresen would like mela,�
� said Kira.

  ‘Tresen?’

  ‘My clanmate.’

  Caledon picked up the plate and winced. ‘Eat, Kira.’

  ‘You’re hurt!’

  ‘Just a bruise. A badly thrown spear – fortunately.’

  ‘Let me see,’ said Kira, shuffling along the pallet until she faced him.

  ‘There’s no need,’ he said, but she was already unbuttoning his shirt. He was acutely aware of her touch and his blood fired as he looked at the place where the curve of her throat disappeared beneath her clothing. He turned his face away, but her hand came to his cheek and gently turned it back.

  ‘I don’t think –’ he began, but she interrupted by bringing her mouth to his.

  The taste of her stirred the earlier storm of feeling and Caledon pulled her to him, kissing her hungrily then, with an immense effort, he drew back.

  ‘I hadn’t intended that to happen,’ said Caledon, regretting his loss of control. The second time in one night!

  Dawn edged round the shutters and he wondered whether he should leave and let Kira sleep, then speak with her later. Perhaps he should sleep, and let his feelings settle.

  ‘What is it you came to say, Caledon?’ said Kira.

  ‘Earlier you asked me why the Shargh kill children,’ began Caledon. ‘I know it seems like a meaningless act of hate, but hate is rarely meaningless. In Talliel we have scrolls, or Writings as some call them, that tell of a time when the Sarsalin was mainly empty. Peoples came from over the seas, and lived by herding, moving their animals across the lands as the seasons dictated.

  ‘The herders in the north traded with a travelling people from the far west, receiving metal and horses in return for animal hides, meats and cheese. These western horses were swift, unlike the ponies the Ashmiri still ride, and the metal could be made into swords and knives and arrowheads.

  ‘The northern peoples joined, finding strength and power in numbers, and building mighty cities, such as Sarnia, as monuments to their achievements. They drove those who opposed them, or who wouldn’t treaty with them, from the lands.