Song of the Silvercades

by K S Nikakis

  Ather directed they first reconnoitre from horseback, but Kira feared the horses would destroy any fireweed present and, ignoring Ather’s prohibition, slid from his horse.

  ‘Lady!’ he cried, wrenching his horse round but Kira put a tree between them.

  ‘Please let me gather as a gatherer should,’ demanded Kira. Ather bowed, but the muscles corded in his jaw and neck.

  The ground was dry, but lacked the leafy drifts of the Kenclan octad. Kira moved deeper into the trees, testing the air for the dusty smell of rot and feeling the earth’s hardness through her soles. Ather’s horse remained so close, its breath warmed the back of her neck.

  There were clumps of cinna, brenna and silvermint but no fireweed. Here and there she found thicker pockets of litter, but there were none of the tell-tale soaks that had dotted the slope below the Sarnia Cave.

  Finally Ather brought his mount level tersely telling her that they must eat and water the horses. Kira reluctantly put her hand in his proffered one, and was pulled up behind him. They came back towards the valley’s mouth, to a spring, its edges muddy with prints.

  ‘Sirsin Spring,’ said Ather, as his horse sucked up the water. ‘It’s never been known to run dry. Even the Ashmiri divert here sometimes.’

  ‘You let the Shargh use your water?’ said Kira.

  ‘The Ashmiri are kin of the Shargh, not the Shargh, and they’re treatied to us,’ said Adris.

  ‘Is this the only spring?’ asked Kira.

  ‘It’s the only one in the Pelaval. The Thanaval has many, as the stone’s softer there and lets the water seep up.’

  It sounded just like the land below the Sarnia Cave and she was annoyed with herself that she had not thought to ask him before. ‘Where is the Thanaval?’ asked Kira quickly.

  ‘It’s the next valley west.’

  ‘I need to look there,’ said Kira.

  ‘Too late in the day, Lady. As soon as we’ve eaten, we return to Maraschin.’

  ‘I need –’

  ‘You’re to be back within the city by dusk,’ said Ather, his face as hard as his voice. ‘We eat, then we leave.’

  When Caledon next woke, his head was clear enough for him to understand that he must get upright and start moving if he weren’t to die there. He began his careful preparations by sucking more sida sap, and wedging himself into a sitting position using his good hand. One eye was still glued shut, and a careful exploration told him it was dried blood, most probably from his head wound.

  His arm was swollen and black with bruising, and he judged there were at least two breaks. He knew Aeris had been kind though, in that no bones protruded from the skin, an injury that, this far from aid, could kill him. He peeled back the ciraq and revealed the reason for the throbbing in his leg – a sida branch protruding from his thigh. Not such a good sign.

  Dragging his pack closer, he laid two bandages and the kalix ready, then cut his breeches clear of the wound. The branch had gone in at right angles and was probably part of the tree that had broken his fall.

  The stars had granted him the chance to live, and Caledon knew that he must do whatever it took. Taking a deep breath, he grasped the branch embedded in his thigh and jerked it out, the pain causing him to retch and his vision to blotch. When his sight had cleared, he smeared kalix in and around the wound, then bandaged it.

  For a long time he dozed, resting but not letting sleep take him. Then, using the branches he’d sucked the sap from, he splinted his arm and, holding the remainder of the bandage taut with his teeth, fashioned a sling. And though he longed to sag back to the ground, he then arranged his pack to minimise the effort of accessing it.

  His spare clothing, torn waterskin and thumbelin he left on the ground. Caledon kept only his physick’s kit, cape, and enough food for the journey. His sword – still attached to his belt and about the only thing undamaged – he slid into his pack. Then he gathered all the broken sida branches he could reach, bundled and tied them to the back of his pack. He shuffled his backside off the ciraq and rolled it, then laid it loosely on the top. He knew that if he lost strength, he must be able to get to the ciraq quickly.

  Still sitting, he eased the pack on, gingerly passing the straps behind the sling of his broken arm. His injuries wouldn’t allow him to climb Shardos, even if he wanted to return to Maraschin. The only route was straight south, and with the Cashgar Shargh, Weshargh and Soushargh roaming beyond their usual bounds, his chances of being seen were the same whether he struck south from here, or from further west.

  He struggled to his feet, and when the world had stilled and his dizziness eased, he found a straight, slender branch – another victim of his plunge through the sida – and tested its strength. When he was satisfied it would bear his weight, he used it to help him limp off down the slope.

  Caledon’s pain and weakness were so great that he could only reach the edge of the trees before his legs gave out. He crawled into his ciraq and slept till dawn. When he woke, he collected an armful of dew-soaked foliage and licked the moisture from it as he went, resting when he could go no further, and walking again when he was able. All of his effort went into conserving his strength for the methodical carrying out of the actions he’d devised to keep himself alive.

  The sun rose and set, and stars wheeled overhead. He had no idea of the passing of time, simply thanking Aeris each night for another day lived, and for another length he crept closer to his destination.

  19

  Kira slapped the square of paper on top of the stack, tossed down her pen and stretched. Caledon would have been with Miken and Kest for four or five days now – if all had gone well – and she had to believe it had, or the wait was unbearable. What would Miken and Kest make of Caledon, and what would Caledon make of Allogrenia?

  If Caledon didn’t return in the meantime, she had another seventeen days to wait before she’d remind Adris of his pledge. Kira had been to King’s Hall twice since the failed gathering expedition, but had got no further than the gates, Adris being away at Mendor Spur with the King’s Guard. Nor could the Guard, Belzen, tell her when Adris would return.

  She was beginning to feel the same dull weariness that had afflicted her in the Warens, a frustration born of inaction. At least that could be mended, she thought, picking up the pen again.

  Kira worked in the Sanctum, and at her recording, as the new moon came and went and the fifth day after it dawned, grew old and ended. That night the nightmare of Kandor’s death returned to Kira’s sleep, leaving her staring wide-eyed into the darkness, drenched in sweat. She hadn’t dreamed of Kandor’s slaying since the storm on Shardos and wondered whether the dream’s return was caused by Aranz’s refusal to use fireweed on the newly arrived wounded. He now rejected the ‘Tremen’ herb in favour of a Tain one.

  Knowing sleep had fled, she rose and went to the Big Room to check on one of the wounded, a woodcutter with a reddish beard, and was surprised to discover Aranz there.

  ‘He needs fireweed,’ said Kira, as the man tossed on the pallet.

  ‘Concentrated mesen will suffice,’ countered Aranz, using wet cloths to cool his patient.

  ‘His fever worsens. Let me fetch the fireweed,’ said Kira urgently.

  ‘The mesen’s a little old, that’s all, but we’ll have fresh soon.’

  ‘The King’s opening the gates?’ asked Kira.

  ‘At dawn. It will take the gatherers most of the day to reach Pelaval and they’ll not be back till late in the night,’ said Aranz, drying his hands and moving away towards the Small Room.

  Kira’s heart pounded. ‘Will the King –’ she started, then remembered something Caledon had told her. Adris did as much as he could to protect his people, but always at the risk of his father’s wrath.

  ‘Will the King, what?’ asked Aranz.

  ‘Will the King send his Guard?’ asked Kira, her thoughts whirring.

  ‘Troopsmen will accompany the gatherers; the King doesn’t send the Guard beyond the wall.’


  The King might not, but Adris did, in spite of his father’s prohibitions. He’d sent the Guard to bring her to Maraschin, and to take her to the Pelaval Valley. It was Adris who ensured she kept her pledge to Caledon, most probably because he had pledged to Caledon that she remain here. The King probably didn’t even know she was in Maraschin. And now Adris was away at Mendor Spur.

  Dawn was some way off, but Kira was too excited to sleep. After preparing her pack, she put the pile of completed Writings on the shelf next to the Physick Chronicle. They didn’t include all her Healer knowing, just descriptions of fireweed and its preparation, the birthing of twins, and salves and potions for ageing joints and deep-seated coughs, which the Tain physicks ministered to so poorly.

  It was still dark, the houses shuttered, as Kira made her way down to the gate. Lamps set along the wall’s rim curved away like miniature suns, illuminating an untidy group of gatherers and the orderly lines of a troop. Unexpectedly, King’s Guard capes showed, garish in the lamplight, and Kira’s heart sank, knowing they’d be aware of Adris’s command to keep her confined to Maraschin.

  As Kira drew closer she saw the Troop Commander was the same man who’d taken her and Caledon prisoner in the Azurcades. Between him and the King’s Guard, Kira had a horrible feeling she wasn’t going anywhere. She slipped in beside the gatherers as they shuffled forward and there was a dull creak as the gates opened.

  ‘My Lady. You’re not permitted to leave the city,’ came Ather’s voice, causing the Troop Commander to order the small procession to a halt.

  ‘I was unaware that the King had issued such command,’ said Kira loudly, holding Ather’s gaze despite her nervousness.

  Ather was nonplussed, conferring with a second Guard, whose shirt flashed and sparkled in the lamps. The second Guard beckoned her but Kira didn’t move, determined to ensure that any discussion about the King’s commands was conducted publicly.

  ‘It’s safer you remain in Maraschin,’ the second Guard called over the heads of the waiting men.

  ‘I am a physick and need to gather. Has the King forbidden me to do so?’ asked Kira.

  Ather whispered urgently to the second Guard, but the Guard shook his head. ‘You may pass,’ the second Guard said. Kira resisted the urge to smile, as her guess was proved correct. It was Adris who tried to keep her in Maraschin, not the King, and both Ather and the second Guard knew it.

  Ather’s eyes were hard upon Kira, but he could do nothing. As the Commander bellowed again and the troop marched out the gate, Kira went with them.

  20

  Tresen journeyed slowly north through the forest towards the Renclan Sentinel. Brem had said it would be another moon before he was well enough to return to the Warens to continue his Protector training, so Tresen had decided to build his strength by retracing the route Kira would have taken to leave Allogrenia. If she had been killed, he’d surely find some sign of it, and he thought even that terrible possibility was better than never knowing. There had still been no Shargh attack since she had left but he moved silently in case.

  Tresen looked about as he walked, the red fallowood reminding him of how he, Kira and Kandor had competed to find the brightest leaves, and how they’d brought them to Mikini to judge. His sister had invariably chosen the half-rotted offerings of Kandor, but he and Kira hadn’t minded, preferring the small injustice to a grizzling child.

  It was evening when Tresen reached the place where he’d nearly died, and he set his sleeping-sling high off the ground and out of sight. But he found it hard to sleep, his head full of the nightmarish happenings of nearly two moons ago. He’d endured a desperate, exhausting flight from the Shargh before the excruciating pain of the sword sliced through him.

  Tresen rose early the next day and searched the ancient castellas to either side of the derelict fire-circle Kest had set, but found only chips from the burning-wood the Protectors had cut. He enlarged the search circle and at mid-morning saw bone glimmering through bitterberry. He raked at it with a stick and grimaced as he uncovered a coarse tangle of black hair.

  It wasn’t Kira, obviously, but his sense of bleakness intensified as he continued his search and uncovered two more sets of bones, or perhaps one set that had been scattered. There was leather there, and that saved him from probing further. Tresen didn’t know how many Shargh had been killed in the attack when he’d been wounded, nor in the later attack that had taken Jonkesh and Saresh’s lives. The dead Protectors had been laid to rest beneath a Renclan alwaysgreen, but the Shargh had been left to rot, Kest having to use all his strength to ensure the survival of his men.

  For the first time, Tresen understood Kest’s dilemma: either let Kira go and save his men, or force Kira to stay with the patrol and lose many men. The latter decision would certainly have cost Tresen his life. The understanding shafted like sunlight through the fog of resentment that had clouded his thoughts since that time.

  He left the empty fire-circle and rotted bodies behind, and gradually the canopy thinned and the air brightened, encouraging thick stands of bitterberry and tangles of strange vines. There was birdsong he didn’t recognise and the occasional flitter of blue birds, which he stared at in fascination.

  But by the time Tresen reached the Sentinel at dusk, his fascination had given way to exhaustion and a longing for the safety and comfort of his bed. He rested, panting, against the gnarled trunk of the Renclan Sentinel and started as he noticed that gold eyes stared down at him. Then the mira kiraon broke from the branches and winged away north. Its flight seemed significant, as if it followed the route his clanmate had taken.

  Tresen settled wearily on the ground facing Allogrenia, using the Sentinel’s bole to shelter him from the looming emptiness behind. He would have liked to set a fire and brew thornyflower tea – he’d even brought honey for the purpose – but he knew it would be foolish to risk drawing Shargh. Instead, he comforted himself with the familiarity of his mother’s nutbread and riddleberry spread.

  Caledon could see the green line of forest proper that edged the Dendora soon after dawn, but it seemed to grow no closer. His head told him to maintain the steady pace that had brought him from the Azurcades, to continue to suck on the sida before the burn of thirst sent his surroundings into mist, and to rest before the danger of falling overtook the risk of stopping. Yet his heart told him to run.

  He kept his eyes on a single tree, larger and darker than the others. It was most likely an alwaysgreen and, as he’d come directly south, probably what Kira had called the Sentinel. Then the tree began to smudge and Caledon cursed and came to a reluctant stop. Sliding his pack-strap past his sling, he dropped the pack from his good shoulder. Then, kneeling carefully, he pulled a branch of sida from his wilted bundle, pivoted till he was propped against the pack, and slid down so his head and shoulders rested on it. After bringing the sida to his mouth, he punctured it with his teeth, and sucked.

  Once the sida had given the last of its moisture, he let it fall, and visualised the soar of fisher-birds over Talliel to send the calmness necessary for sleep. Early on his trek he’d pictured waves foaming up and down on the Tallien shore, but the image of water, even salt water, had reminded him too keenly of his thirst.

  The sun had all but set when he woke, shuffled backwards, slipped his pack-strap behind his sling, the other over his uninjured shoulder, wedged his stick into the grass, and levered himself upright. The world swayed as it always did, and pain and nausea surged. Usually he waited for them to ebb, but not this time, the quiet of the coming night amplifying his gasps as he pushed himself on. Slowly the alwaysgreen grew closer, until it was only a few lengths ahead.

  Suddenly a man stepped from its shadows, his face freezing in astonishment when he saw Caledon, then flashing to fear. He drew his sword, the blade gleaming as he dropped into a crouch.

  Caledon stopped. He wasn’t wearing his cape, so the other man, the Tremen, would see he was unarmed. The trees began to blur and Caledon tottered forward to be close enough
to speak.

  ‘Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan sends greetings,’ he croaked in Terak; then the trees dissolved into blackness.

  The Tain troop and gatherers marched westward, their shadows spidering before them as the sun rose warming their backs. The light revealed the presence of Somer and Selvet, but the rest of the troop were strangers. Mist still held the Scharn Woodlands to their left, the trees floating between earth and sky, and the troop kept well out from them.

  The men spoke among themselves, as did the gatherers, but no one spoke to Kira. Jaitich didn’t know Onespeak, so it was unlikely the other gatherers did, but some of the troopsmen certainly knew it. Kira wondered if they ignored her because she was a ‘Lady’, or because she’d imposed herself on them.

  They reached the mouth of the Pelaval after midday, and the gatherers and the troopsmen who weren’t guarding settled on the ground to eat. But Kira sought out the Commander, who was still on his feet morosely considering the treeline.

  ‘Commander,’ she said, giving a small bow. ‘What I seek doesn’t grow in the Pelaval Valley, so I go on to the Thanaval Valley. I’ll return for the journey back to Maraschin.’

  ‘I can’t split my troop to guard you,’ the Commander barked.

  ‘I don’t ask you to.’

  Troopsmen nearby made no effort to hide their eavesdropping or their translations to the gatherers, and Jaitich rose and spoke. The Commander’s disgruntled expression deepened. He clicked his fingers and Somer and another troopsman scrambled to their feet.

  ‘This is Troopsman Derz,’ mumbled Somer, cramming the last of his meal into his mouth. ‘We’re to guard and translate … Lady.’

  ‘I’d prefer to gather alone,’ said Kira. The last thing she wanted was to risk others.

  ‘We’re under orders.’

  The small group set off towards the valley mouth, finally leaving the sunlit grasses and stepping into the cool shade. It was pleasant under the trees, the air heavy with scent. Somer and Derz spoke quietly together in Tain as they pushed on through the small bushes and leaf-fall, deep into the valley.