Song of the Silvercades

by K S Nikakis

  ‘I’ll take her up front with me,’ he said to Marin.

  ‘Do you think that’s wise, Feailner?’

  ‘She’s under my protection.’

  ‘That’s not how the city will see it, not on top of the talk that’s run before us,’ said Marin, keeping his voice low.

  ‘And how will they see it, Commander?’ said Tierken, making no effort to quieten his voice.

  ‘That you bring a bride back to Sarnia.’

  ‘Let the city think that, if it gives them pleasure,’ said Tierken.

  The patrol watched in silence as Marin lifted Kira up onto Kalos. They went on at a gentle pace, a wash of tinkling music distracting her from the appalling nearness of the gate.

  ‘Why is there music?’ she asked after a while.

  ‘Sarnia uses bells to welcome the Feailner home. They’re also rung when a Feailner is born, marries and dies,’ said Tierken.

  There were people on the wall and an excited hubbub all but drowned out the bells.

  ‘Patrols usually return at night, so they’re enjoying the novelty,’ explained Tierken.

  Kira kept her eyes on Kalos’s ears until the patrol had passed through the gate, and Tierken had issued orders to Marin. The men turned their horses towards stables set in the wall’s shadow, Kalos tossing his head, keen to follow. Tierken kept him still. The crowd remained, too, quieter now, and gathered a respectful distance away. Kira saw a broad paved path running in a straight line up the slope to another wall and set of gates. The Domain, she presumed, from what Tierken and Marin had said earlier. The path was paved with rough stones, quite different to the smooth paving on either side. She could see nothing that resembled a Haelen.

  After a few moments the gates opened and two silver horses emerged and galloped down the path towards them, the crowd watching excitedly. The pace seemed too fast for the slope but neither horse slipped, the black-clad riders halting beside them.

  The men reminded Kira of the King’s Guard, having the same honed fighting quality, the same uncompromising faces – now examining her impassively – and the same glint of metal on their clothing.

  ‘These are the Domain Guard,’ said Tierken. ‘They are sworn to protect the Feailner and his family. They will accompany you wherever you go.

  ‘This is my guest – the Lady Kira of the Tremen,’ Tierken said loudly to the Guard, who bowed their heads towards her.

  He’d told the crowd who she was and given her a title he’d never used before. But Kira didn’t want to be ‘the Lady Kira’ here any more than in Maraschin.

  ‘This is Guard Leader Tharin and Guard Second Daril,’ continued Tierken, then gestured to the Guard who brought their horses behind, as Tierken at last turned Kalos up the path, keeping him to a walk. Kira would have been happy with a flat gallop at that moment, to escape the eyes of the gathering.

  The Domain wall was high and the gates solid, with blackclad Guards arrayed either side. Beyond lay a massive courtyard, and Kira shrank back into Tierken’s arms without realising it.

  ‘You’re safe here,’ he reiterated.

  A storm of whinnying broke out, further jangling her nerves, then Kalos responded, making Tierken laugh. He lifted Kira lightly down, then dismounted as a grey-haired man appeared.

  Tierken went forward to greet him, the older man looking towards Kira and nodding at regular intervals. At last Tierken handed him Kalos’s reins, and with a final clap on his horse’s neck, came back.

  ‘Horse Master Ryn’s in charge of the Domain Stables and will continue your riding lessons after you’ve settled and things are more familiar,’ he said.

  Tierken spoke as if she’d be here for moons, Kira thought anxiously, as she followed him towards an immense domed building many times bigger than the Crown Room at King’s Hall.

  ‘That’s the Meeting Hall and the rooms from where the city and the Terak lands are administered,’ said Tierken. ‘The left wing is Rehan, where the Marken stay during the Feailmark. The rooms where you will reside are in the right wing, the Lehan, where my family lives.’

  Kira barely listened, fixated by an immense fiery window set high in the building’s dome.

  ‘It’s coloured glass,’ said Tierken, noticing her gaze. ‘By all accounts, it took nearly two seasons to finish and cost a bag of gold traders. It looks well enough when the sun’s on it.’

  ‘It’s got the alwaysgreen and the running horse,’ gasped Kira.

  ‘The allogrenia and the galloping horse are the sign of my people,’ explained Tierken.

  ‘I know, it’s on the ring,’ she replied, catching Tierken’s hands and staring at them. None of his fingers bore a ring of that design. ‘Didn’t Terak have another one made?’ she asked in mystification.

  ‘What?’

  ‘After Kasheron took the ring, didn’t –’

  ‘Tierken!’ came a cry of pure delight, and a young woman in a gown of brilliant red dashed from behind the colonnades, across the open paving, and threw herself into Tierken’s arms.

  43

  Kira couldn’t see the woman’s face, for it was buried in Tierken’s shoulder. Then a man hurried across the courtyard, smiling broadly.

  Tierken released the woman and embraced the man, who looked like a younger Marin, but with darker, wider-set eyes. The woman laughed, dark-eyed and dark-haired like the man, but with flawless creamy skin.

  Finally Tierken turned back to Kira. ‘Kira, this is my sister Laryia, and my friend Farid, who administers the city while I’m on patrol.’

  The man bowed but Kira lost sight of him as she was enfolded in Laryia’s arms, her sweet scent and glossy braids reminding Kira of her own unwashed state.

  ‘You are most welcome, Kira,’ said Laryia warmly. ‘And you’re so like to my brother! When the scouts said they were bringing a gold-eyed woman whose face was a looking-glass of the Feailner’s, I didn’t believe them!’ Laryia laughed, her eyes darting between Kira and Tierken.

  ‘I’ll be taken up with the Feailmark for the next few days,’ Tierken said to Kira, ‘so Laryia will look after your needs and show you the sights of Sarnia. Mid-market’s soon, and I know you’ll find that enjoyable. I’ll be free after that for us to speak again.’

  Kira said nothing, wondering what, if anything, she could do in the meantime that would gain Tierken’s acceptance of the kin-tie.

  A tense silence ensued and Laryia’s smile became less certain.

  ‘Come,’ she said at last, linking her arm through Kira’s. ‘You’ve had a long ride and men are not the most caring of creatures when it comes to washing and clean clothes. I’ll show you your rooms and you can bathe. Then we’ll eat.’

  Tierken moved off, his arm draped over Farid’s shoulders, his whole demeanour different to that of the plains. He was home and clearly well content with how he’d arranged things.

  Laryia shared little of her face with Tierken, except her smile, which was genuine and welcoming as she led Kira across the courtyard.

  ‘I’ve had a room prepared for you. You’ll be able to look out on the Silvercades,’ said Laryia, as they passed through colon-nades towards stone steps.

  ‘The rooms here belong to the Domain servers,’ she continued, gesturing at the doors they passed. ‘They prepare the Domain meals, clean the rooms and the courtyards and order the records. Mouras, the Room Master, will assign a server to look after your needs.’

  ‘My needs?’ asked Kira.

  ‘Keep your clothes, clean your rooms, dress your hair …’ said Laryia, avoiding looking at Kira’s hair.

  ‘I’m happy to do these things myself,’ said Kira.

  Laryia laughed, as they climbed the stairs. ‘That’s what I said when we first came from Kessom. In Kessom you do everything for yourself, but here servers are part of the dignity and respect of the Domain,’ she mocked.

  ‘So is Farid a server?’ asked Kira, as they turned along the balcony.

  ‘By Irid, no! He’s Tierken’s closest friend and Keeper of the Do
main, overseeing the city while Tierken’s on patrol. And he’s Rosham’s son, of all people.’

  Laryia clearly disliked Rosham, but Kira was too overwhelmed to ask for more information. The balcony gave a good view of the symmetrical pattern of paving and paths extending from the Domain gates, and of a circular pool set directly below. It was stone-edged, with a tree made from stone at its centre, water bubbling up through its trunk and cascading from its branches.

  ‘That’s the Owl Fountain, put there by Queen Kiraon,’ said Laryia. ‘The branches have little owls carved in them – for Queen Kiraon loved owls – but you can’t see them from here. These are Tierken’s rooms,’ she said, brushing her fingers over a heavily carved timber door, ‘but Tierken doesn’t use them much. He usually sleeps and eats in the Meeting Hall – when he’s here, that is. These are my rooms, and these will be yours.’

  The three sets of doors looked identical.

  Laryia turned the heavy metal key in Kira’s door, pushing it open to reveal a large room with an ornate table, carved chairs, chests of pale wood and shelves fixed to the walls holding lamps, and ornaments of wood and stone.

  ‘It’s a little plain,’ said Laryia apologetically. ‘I might have misunderstood, but the scout told me to take anything metal out. Unfortunately there’s still some in the bathing-room and in the lamps, but you’ll need the lamps at night. I can bring the bowls and candle holders back if you wish; they’re Kir work but enamelled, and will brighten things up.’

  ‘No, I thank you,’ said Kira.

  ‘Your sleeping-room’s through here,’ said Laryia, leading the way through more doors into a large airy room with three windows along the wall, and an enormous bed positioned under them. The bed was covered with a rich green cloth embroidered with dark swirling leaves, and the plush floor rug had the same design.

  ‘The scout said your home was in a forest so I tried to find things you might like,’ said Laryia.

  ‘They’re very beautiful,’ said Kira, touched by Laryia’s thoughtfulness.

  ‘You can see Helin Peak,’ said Laryia, peering out the window. ‘The smaller one to the left is Kalin, and the one to the right, Mintlin. Kessom is south of Mintlin but you can’t see it from here.’

  ‘Tierken told me you grew up there,’ said Kira.

  ‘Yes, with our grandmother Eris, who took us there after our mother died.’

  ‘Didn’t your father want you here?’

  ‘He drowned only a few moons later in snowmelt floods. I don’t remember either my mother or my father, but Tierken does. Perhaps that’s why …’ Laryia shrugged. ‘Anyway, after his death, the Feailner – my father’s elder brother, Darid – was more than happy for Tierken and me to go to Kessom. Darid didn’t want Tierken in the Domain, hoping for his own brown-eyed son,’ said Laryia.

  ‘But Terak had gold eyes,’ said Kira, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, I know – it makes no sense. Terak built Sarnia, and his mother, Queen Kiraon – who also had gold eyes – was greatly loved. But after Kasheron deserted, gold eyes took on the stain of faithlessness as well,’ she said, then coloured, as she looked at Kira’s eyes.

  ‘Even after Darid’s wife died, Darid refused to send for Tierken,’ Laryia rushed on. ‘But Eris made sure Tierken was trained for the feailnership even more rigorously than if he’d been raised as a Feailner’s son.’

  ‘Does Eris come to the Domain often?’ asked Kira.

  ‘Sleep in a city of stone?’ snorted Laryia. ‘Not Eris. She wouldn’t even come for Tierken’s rites of rulership, despite how much it meant to her.’

  ‘That must have been hard for Tierken,’ said Kira.

  ‘Not nearly as difficult as not being able to see Eris since we’ve been here.’

  ‘Why in the ’green not?’ asked Kira.

  ‘We had to … Tierken had to break from Kessom, because Kessom’s a place of healing and Kasheron was a Healer. The taint was doubled. Eris understands.’

  ‘But Tierken said he’d take me to Kessom,’ said Kira, wondering if the promise was no more than a bribe.

  ‘To Kessom?’ said Laryia in astonishment.

  ‘To meet your grandmother. I’m a Healer and Tierken said he understands that Healers exchange their knowing.’

  ‘You’re a Healer?’ said Laryia, staring at Kira wide-eyed, before collecting herself. ‘Forgive me. You’ve had a hard ride and have yet to bathe and eat. Come, I’ll show you to the bathing-room.’

  A deep bath of smooth, pink stone was the centrepiece of the bathing-room, and there was a large metal hand-washing bowl with different sorts of fish engraved on it. There was also a low seat with a lid, which Laryia explained was a latrine, with pipes that ran away beyond the city’s walls. Metal spouts above the bath delivered hot and cold water, which Laryia demonstrated to an awe-struck Kira.

  Catching sight of herself in a large looking-glass, Kira was taken aback by the sharp contrast between her shabby thinness and Laryia’s gleaming hair and bright gown.

  ‘I’ve chosen some gowns for you but I think they’ll be too large,’ said Laryia, eyeing Kira kindly.

  ‘I thank you for your trouble but I don’t wear gowns,’ said Kira.

  ‘But … Tierken asked for them especially. It’s the way Terak women dress in Sarnia.’

  ‘I’m not Terak,’ said Kira, eyes sparking.

  Laryia grinned. ‘I haven’t seen Tierken’s eyes do that in many seasons,’ she said. ‘I have clothes I brought with me from Kessom when I was younger, which might fit. Kessomi women wear a hip-length tunic with breeches underneath. I’m not sure Tierken will be happy, but … would you like that better?’

  ‘Yes, I thank you,’ said Kira, grateful. ‘There’s no need to stay, Laryia. I’m sure you miss Tierken when he’s gone, as he misses you.’

  ‘You’re our guest, I can’t just leave you. Besides, you haven’t eaten.’

  ‘If you bring some food, I’ll eat later. What I really need is some time alone to write, that is, if I can have some paper and ink,’ said Kira.

  ‘Write? Yes, of course I can get you paper and ink, but …’

  ‘Please go to Tierken, Laryia. Then on the morrow, I’d love to see Sarnia with you. I might have a bath now,’ said Kira, slipping off her pack.

  Laryia hovered, uncertain. ‘My rooms are next door, remember. If you need anything, even in the middle of the night, you are to come.’

  Kira waited till the door shut, then breathed a sigh of relief. She needed time without the gaze of others upon her. She shrugged off her jacket and shirt. There were angry red scrapes all over her belly from her slide into Ember Chasm, and the looking-glass revealed the bruise the Shargh blow had left. The injuries told the story of her journey, but her father’s ring lying between her breasts told a different tale, the scar under her cheekbone – where the ring had cut as her father had struck her – still visible.

  Kira stepped carefully into the water, for a long time simply luxuriating in it, then searched the wooden pots on the shelf above until she found a potion that smelt like Laryia’s hair, scrubbed it into her own, rinsed, and scrubbed again.

  When she was finished, she wrapped herself in one of the enormous drying cloths, and tossed all her dirty clothes into the water to soak. The clothes Laryia had brought were in neat piles on the bed, almost identical to those she’d worn in Allogrenia. Laryia had left a wooden comb, too, intricately carved with owls in flight. The clothes fitted well and, feeling happier than she had for many days, Kira began the painful task of untangling her hair.

  When she opened the door to the other room she was pleased to see paper and ink on the table, along with a beautifully arranged platter of nuts, fruit, fine maizen bread, and small crusty balls of what smelt like sweetfish. There was also a jug of water with rounds of orange and yellow fruit floating in it, the jug, cups and platter all of fine clay.

  Kira dipped her pen in the ink. She would write while she ate. If Sarnia shunned healing, as Laryia suggested, there would be great
need of her Healer knowing. There would be need of a Haelen too, but she could do nothing about that yet. She smiled suddenly, imagining that Kasheron had somehow slipped stealthily back into Terak’s city – bringing his Healer’s kit with him.

  Kira wrote steadily, engrossed in her task and oblivious to the sun blazing on the Silvercades, to the snow turning pink, and finally, to the slow slide of stars into the sky.

  44

  Tierken stretched his feet to the fire, comforted by Farid’s summation of Sarnia’s affairs in his absence. There shouldn’t be much to annoy or alarm the Marken, although Rosham would find some minute point, and infect Borsten and Gelf with his antagonism.

  ‘So tell me of our Tremen guest,’ said Farid.

  ‘I’m sure you know all there is to know already,’ said Tierken. ‘We rescued Lady Kira of the Tremen from the Shargh, and I intend to make her my bride.’

  ‘Her similarity to you is remarkable,’ said Farid, refusing to be drawn, ‘but I’ve not heard of the Tremen. Where do they dwell?’

  ‘In the southern forests beyond the Azurcades. I guess her people share Kessomi blood, and entered the forests when peoples were exeal.’

  ‘But you came across her on the Sarsalin, I understand. How came she so far from home?’

  ‘She’d been with the Tain after the Shargh attacked the Tremen. Apparently she left Maraschin to gather herbs – for she’s a Healer – when the Shargh took her.’

  ‘Do you think they intended to use her against you?’ asked Farid.

  ‘What mean you?’ asked Tierken, straightening.

  ‘Well, she looks every part your kin, and if the Shargh believed her to be so she’d be a precious prize indeed.’

  Tierken’s blood ran cold. The idea had a terrible logic, and provided yet another reason why Kira must remain safely in the north.

  ‘So, these Tremen are in Maraschin?’ asked Farid.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of,’ said Tierken, for Kira had spoken only of the Tallien and Beris’s son Adris.