Song of the Silvercades

by K S Nikakis

  ‘Commander Marin is Illian, as are Farian, Ralin and Arnil on the right flank. Ayled and Serden are Kessomi, and the remainder are Terak,’ he added, warming a little and seeming keen to remove Kira’s confusion.

  So the Terak Kutan and the Terak Kirillian must be one and the same, realised Kira, pondering how and why the name had become altered. And the Terak had originally come from Kessom.

  ‘Where is Kessom?’ she asked, wishing she could dig out the map lying crumpled in the bottom of her pack. She knew she’d seen Kessom there.

  ‘In the mountains, a good day’s ride from Sarnia, if the weather’s fair,’ said Slivkash dourly. ‘And it usually isn’t,’ he added.

  They continued steadily till it was near sunset, Slivkash lowering her to the ground and Kira pulling the dried fruit and biscuit from her pack, and cramming it unceremoniously into her mouth.

  ‘We’ve only stopped for a moment, in case you’ve a need to be by yourself,’ said Slivkash.

  ‘To be by myself?’

  ‘We don’t usually have women travelling with us. The Feailner commands you be treated with courtesy.’

  Beyond Slivkash, many of the men had dismounted to relieve themselves.

  ‘I thank you, Slivkash, but I have no need to “be by myself”, though if you do, I can wait over there.’

  ‘No! You’re to stay with me. I’m charged with your protection.’

  The sun had slipped beneath the world’s shoulder and the sky was ablaze with stars before a horse whinnied and a fire could be seen glimmering ahead. Spicy smoke hung in the air. As they drew up, Marin shouted orders, and Slivkash set her down next to a man tending a pan of roasting meat. It was the Feailner.

  ‘Sit on the sleeping-sheet, Kira,’ he said in Onespeak.

  Kira sat, glad of the warmth of the fire.

  ‘There’s a spring in the trees where the horses must drink, then be settled before the men eat. We have another early start on the morrow,’ he explained.

  The sizzling meat reminded Kira of the cooking-stalls in Maraschin. If Caledon had returned he’d be frantic, whereas Adris would simply be furious that she’d evaded his prohibition. If only there was a way to send a message to Caledon that she was safe – if she were safe, she thought, shivering.

  ‘Have you got something warmer in your pack?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got a jacket you can wear, but it will be big on you.’

  ‘I have a jacket,’ said Kira, nonplussed by his courtesy. ‘I … I thank you, Feailner.’

  ‘You can call me Tierken,’ he said, intent on cooking.

  Kira stared at him and her heart raced. By the ’green! He looked like Kandor! She’d been so shocked by his gold eyes earlier, that she’d noticed nothing else. Her eyes devoured him, knowing that in a moment he’d look up and the illusion vanish. He repositioned the pan and glanced at her, and it was still Kandor’s face. Kira knew she should break her gaze, but her hunger was too great.

  ‘It’s strange to see your face on someone else, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘You look like my brother,’ she said in wonder.

  ‘Then your brother must look like you.’

  Kira remembered the looking-glass in King’s Hall, but that image had been cold and lifeless. This face belonged to a living man, a Terak Kutan. A Terak Kirillian, she corrected. Her heart beat so fast it was hard to breathe, and she was unsure whether seeing Kandor’s face on another person was comforting, or akin to having an old wound torn open.

  Tierken poured two mugs of cotzee and handed her one, and her hand trembled as she took it.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not cold?’ he asked.

  Kira shook her head dumbly.

  ‘Is your brother younger or older than you?’ asked Tierken, busy with a second pan.

  ‘He was younger.’

  Marin flapped his sleeping-sheet down, and settled on it, holding his hands to the fire.

  ‘A cold night, Feailner, and colder to come,’ he said cheerfully in Terak.

  Kira sipped her drink and kept her gaze on the fire as Tierken poured another mug of cotzee.

  ‘How was the journey, Commander?’ asked Tierken in Terak.

  ‘The usual complaints about lack of comfort, lack of ale and lack of women,’ replied Marin.

  ‘And our guest?’

  ‘No complaints from her.’

  ‘And the horses?’

  ‘No complaints from them either,’ said Marin.

  ‘We’ll make Shally Spring tomorrow,’ said Tierken switching back to Onespeak. ‘It’s a shorter trip.’

  ‘But ridgeland,’ pointed out Marin, his eyes on the pan. ‘You’ve done well with the silverjack,’ he said, as Tierken handed him a plate of meat.

  ‘The benefit of trees. Traps set and sprung before sunset, silverjack roasted before moonrise,’ said Tierken, pulling a second pan from the fire, and turning back to Kira.

  ‘And for our guest who doesn’t eat meat, we have roasted nuts,’ he said, and emptied them onto a plate.

  ‘Nuts aren’t forbidden too, are they?’ he asked, when she said nothing.

  ‘No, they’re most welcome. Kashclan thanks the Terak Kirillian,’ said Kira out of habit.

  Exhaustion gave her a deep, dreamless sleep and the next day the patrol had breakfasted and was ready to leave before the sun breached the horizon. It was icy, and Kira puffed on her hands and stamped her feet as Marin put coals from the fire into the metal box and presented it to Tierken. Both men used the same words as before and Kira realised it was a ritual. Again he rode ahead and the patrol followed at a slower pace.

  Slivkash had told her that ‘feailner’ was a herding word, and suddenly everything made sense. Herders moved constantly and it would be more convenient to have fire readily available than to have to constantly strike it from flints. Thus, as Feailner, Tierken literally ‘took’ the fire, whereas the Tremen used the word to mean the taking of pain, which felt like being burned. A sense of wonder flowed through her as she contemplated whether Caledon’s belief – that the stars intended particular things to happen – could possibly be true.

  Here she was on the Sarsalin Plain, with a man of her long-lost kin, the Terak Kirillian, who shared her eyes and face and who was also called Feailner. He outranked Marin but perhaps his position was akin to Kest’s. Kest served as a Protector Leader, when he was in sole command of a patrol, but he was also Protector Commander of all the Protectors and their Leaders.

  Then an even more startling thought occurred to her. If Tierken were a quarter Kir, as Slivkash had said, his resemblance to her and Kandor could be explained if the rest of his blood was of Terak’s line. If that were the case, he would actually be her kin, as much her blood as Tresen was. It seemed wildly improbable but she could think of no other explanation.

  Kira was so overwhelmed by what was unfolding that she had to make a conscious effort to calm herself by concentrating on the land they passed. She had imagined that the Sarsalin would be flat and treeless, but it was apt to dip suddenly, revealing dense groves of trees, springs, outcrops of stone, or lush bogs. From one rise she saw dark animals grazing off to the west, but the patrol didn’t deviate or slow.

  ‘Ebis,’ said Slivkash, over his shoulder. ‘Ashmiri herd animals.’

  The Shargh who had taken her had ridden Ashmiri horses, even though Ather had told her the Ashmiri were treatied to the Tain. If the Ashmiri aided the Shargh in their attacks, Kira couldn’t see any point in a treaty, unless treaties worked in some odd way she knew nothing about. Regardless, she was glad when they left the ebis far behind.

  They stopped for a short while around midday, to eat maizen bread and to give her some time to ‘be by herself’, for which she was grateful. Slivkash briefly turned his back but remained nearby, despite the land being clear for many lengths on either side.

  The smooth sweep of the plain gave way to a series of stony crests running east–west, and the plain’s grasses thinned, interspersed with herbs. Kira scanned the ground excitedly, s
eeing serewort and redwort, silversalve, icemint, cinna and stitchweed. But, much to her frustration, Slivkash told her the patrol wouldn’t be stopping till Shally Spring.

  It was fully dark by the time they reached the spring, the patrol setting two fires. Kira sat with Slivkash and the other Kirs at one, and the other men sat with Tierken at theirs. Slivkash made polite conversation in Onespeak, but Kira barely listened, her thoughts taken up with the fact that the surrounding lands had herbs, and that her herbal supplies were dangerously low. Finally, when she could bear it no longer, she scrambled to her feet. Slivkash rose hastily and grabbed his bow and quiver.

  ‘Do you wish time alone?’ he asked.

  Kira nodded, striding off towards the rise behind their camp.

  ‘The trees are better,’ said Slivkash, hurrying to keep pace.

  ‘I prefer this way,’ said Kira, puffing up the slope.

  ‘No further,’ ordered Slivkash, gripping her arm.

  ‘Just over the other side, or I’ll be seen. I’ll be quick,’ she added, disengaging herself.

  Kira stopped a short way down the southern slope, waited until Slivkash turned his back, then scanned rapidly. The sheen of starlight revealed blotches of dark growth among the stones, the slope more kindly to herbs than the northward one. If she came before dawn, she could gather and return before she was missed.

  Kira clambered back up to Slivkash, pausing as if to neaten her clothing, but using her vantage point to check the run of ridges. Then she heard voices.

  ‘Men,’ she hissed, clutching Slivkash without realising it.

  ‘Herders, singing. Come.’

  The swell of music ebbed, but before it died away, song broke out from close by, Slivkash’s rich voice joining the melody. Kira listened enthralled as singers slipped in and out, their voices weaving a song as pure as the starry air, until one by one each singer fell silent, Slivkash’s resonant voice stretching out in a last, haunting note. Faint in the east, other voices began.

  ‘The song lives on,’ murmured Kira, in wonder.

  ‘It’s a good place for lay-links – the valleys carry the music like river-wash,’ said Slivkash, helping her down the last of the way.

  ‘You sing so beautifully,’ said Kira, and saw the flash of Slivkash’s teeth as he smiled.

  31

  It was pitch black and bitterly cold when Kira slipped from her sleeping-sheet close to dawn, pulled on her jacket and gathering-sling – which she’d laid ready – and crept away. Kira had no idea if Tierken set guards, but if he did, she’d pretend she needed some ‘time alone’.

  She made her way up the first ridge, down the other side, and up the next. If she went to the fourth or fifth ridge, she could gather her way back along the southern faces as dawn approached.

  After the fifth rise Kira turned west, straining into the darkness and sifting the air for scents. She gathered annin, silver-salve and icemint, then recrossed the ridge as the darkness began to fade. Sickleseed and a great patch of morning-bright loomed ahead, and sorren! Kira harvested quickly, relieved to have replenished her supply of the purifier.

  Dawn was close, but further west she could see a stand of bruise-ease. Kira’s sickle flashed swiftly, but by the time she’d harvested it was too late to slip back unseen. She’d just have to put up with Slivkash’s reprimand, she thought, turning back to camp.

  Kira went quickly, feet imprinting the hoarfrost, the sky streaked with fiery cloud, surprised to see the men already mounted, as if about to leave. They weren’t in formation, but shouting to each other and riding this way and that – searching for her, Kira realised in mortification.

  One of the men saw her, raised his fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly. Hoofs clashed on stone as a horse sped down the ridge to her right, rearing as it slewed to a halt in front of her.

  The horse was massive, the sun reducing the rider to a silhouette, but there was no disguising his voice, or his anger.

  ‘Where in Irid’s name have you been?’

  ‘I’m sorry to have caused you trouble, Feailner,’ said Kira, bowing as his men did.

  ‘Where … have … you … been?’

  Each word punched the air like a fist through ice and any thought of lying fled.

  ‘I’ve been gathering.’

  ‘Gathering?’

  ‘I’m a Healer. I need to gather herbs to heal,’ said Kira.

  The troop had formed a loose circle round her and Kira took a couple of steps towards the camp, but Tierken spurred his mount forward, blocking her way.

  ‘I gave you no leave to gather. You will stay within the fire-circle unless I give you permission to leave.’

  Permission! A Terak telling her she’d need his permission to gather.

  Kira’s head came up. ‘I’m a Tremen Healer, not a Terak patrolman. I don’t need your permission to gather!’

  The men were absolutely silent as Tierken dismounted, his face furious and his eyes blazing. Catching hold of her arm, he dragged her to one side, releasing her with a savage shake.

  ‘While you’re under my protection, you will obey my orders,’ he hissed.

  ‘I’m not “under your protection”, I’m your prisoner!’

  ‘You’re under my protection and will obey my orders!’ shouted Tierken, stepping forward.

  ‘Tremen healing doesn’t bow before Terak swords!’ retorted Kira, refusing to yield ground.

  ‘What –’ he began, but at that moment a patrolman appeared with the container of coals and Tierken’s mount.

  ‘Almost ready to leave, Feailner,’ said the man, presenting the container with the usual words.

  Beyond the mounted men, Kira saw Slivkash and Marin walk towards the trees, Marin carrying a stick with a thong at one end.

  ‘Patrolman Slivkash has failed in his duties,’ said Tierken, following her gaze. ‘You’ll ride with Patrol Leader Jonred on Storm.’

  Kira stood fixated on Slivkash, who now rested his arms on a bole as Marin swung the stick back.

  ‘You can’t …’ began Kira, horrified. ‘You can’t …’

  The stick descended on Slivkash’s back with a sickening thud. ‘It was my fault,’ said Kira. ‘You can’t beat Slivkash for something that was my fault!’

  Tierken had mounted and sat looking down at her. ‘Patrolman Slivkash was charged with your protection. He accepts his punishment, as all my men do.’

  There was another thud and Kira remembered every brutal and barbaric thing she’d ever read, heard or thought about the Terak.

  ‘Get on the horse, Kira,’ ordered Tierken. ‘The patrol waits.’ There was no anger now, just confident authority.

  The Patrol Leader, Jonred, offered his hand, but Kira didn’t move, her attention still on Slivkash, whose face was pale as he stumbled back and swung himself onto his horse. Welts of blood were seeping through his shirt.

  Kira stepped backwards. ‘I’ve made a mistake. I thought … I thought there was nothing worse than death, but I was wrong. I won’t betray everything the Tremen have fought for. I won’t embrace your swords and filthy metal. I won’t go north. I’d rather die at the Shargh’s stinking hands than live by yours.’

  With that, she turned and fled back towards the ridgelands, reaching them, and beginning a swift ascent. Tierken’s horse followed but she was in such turmoil that she kept going. When she reached the sixth ridge she was forced to stop though, to catch her breath. Tierken sat on his horse watching her, and she turned on him angrily.

  ‘Why do you follow me south when your city lies to the north?’ she demanded.

  ‘Five days by horse but at least eight on foot, to be precise,’ said Tierken, almost conversationally. ‘Whereas Maraschin is two days by horse and almost four on foot. But you’re not from Maraschin are you? How far is it to your lands, Kira?’

  ‘By horse or foot?’ she asked sarcastically.

  ‘You’re on foot.’

  ‘Many days,’ she said, suddenly cautious.

  ‘Many day
s? And you have barely any food.’

  ‘I’ll get some in Maraschin,’ snapped Kira.

  ‘Which is almost four days away on foot,’ he replied, his voice calm.

  Kira said nothing.

  ‘You’ve had no breakfast. Nor have I. We can eat here, it’s a pleasant enough place,’ said Tierken, dismounting, and pulling small bundles out of his pack. ‘Maizen bread, cheese, russetnuts,’ he said, setting them down on the stone.

  ‘I know you eat maizen bread and russetnuts. Do you eat cheese?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is that forbidden too?’ he said, then smiled a smile that was achingly like Kandor’s.

  ‘We keep no animals, so it’s not eaten,’ replied Kira.

  Tierken broke the small loaf and offered it to her. She took it reluctantly, nodding her thanks.

  ‘I can see why you wanted to gather,’ said Tierken, peering down the slope. ‘Icemint, annin, bluemint and bruise-ease.’

  ‘You know herbs?’ asked Kira, surprised.

  ‘My grandmother, Eris, is a Healer in Kessom. We’ll visit her after we reach Sarnia, if you wish. I know Healers like to exchange their knowing. The wind’s changed,’ he added abruptly.

  He quickly packed away the food and mounted Kalos. ‘Come,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  Kira didn’t move and Tierken urged Kalos forward. ‘No one travels the Sarsalin alone. If you were a Kir herder, or an Illian, or a Terak, or even an Ashmiri, I’d take you with me. There are fanchon and wolves and storms that kill, even in summer, and you’ve only seen the pleasant face of the plain so far. There’s also the matter of protection.

  ‘When Marin took you from the Shargh, you came under ours. I am obliged to take you to a place of safety. You can come willingly, or unwillingly, but you will come.’

  Kira had no choice, both her mission and Tierken demanding she mount the horse. Feeling resentful, she put her hand in Tierken’s and he pulled her up behind him. The stallion felt different to Slivkash’s horse, as if its strength were barely contained by its hide, and she’d hardly settled before they were galloping at full tilt down the slope. Kira clamped her eyes shut, expecting the horse to crash to the ground and fling them to their deaths, but it reached the bottom safely, its powerful haunches driving it up the next slope and down again.