Song of the Silvercades

by K S Nikakis

  He probed and questioned, his brows drawn in concentration, challenging every seeming contradiction, demanding more and more detail.

  Kira’s pain and weariness were great by the time the light had mellowed and servers came in to set the fire and bring food for the evening meal. Tierken’s questioning had taken her back to the Sanctum, the rhythm of healing, the garden where she’d sat after Jesin’s death, and Caledon.

  ‘Did you like Maraschin?’ asked Tierken, relaxing back after their meal.

  ‘There’s a lot of stone there like here, and noise, and the smell of cooked flesh.’

  ‘What of Caledon? The Tallien who’s Prince Adris’s friend?’

  Kira gazed at the fire, thinking of Caledon playing the thumbelin on Shardos, and holding her close while the storm howled and raged about them. She recalled the sweet spice smell of him and the feel of his mouth.

  ‘Is he your lover?’ demanded Tierken, no longer lounging in his seat.

  ‘You asked me that before,’ said Kira, irritated by Tierken’s demand.

  ‘You didn’t give me an answer.’

  ‘Caledon loves the stars,’ said Kira, her heart quickening as Tierken rose and came to her. He scooped her up and carried her over to the soft rug in front of the fire. Then he undressed her slowly, so that the fire-warmth was as delicious on her skin as his touch. His caresses starved and sated her in turn, until her hunger for him coalesced into a surge of potent sweetness. Afterwards, Kira lay beside him watching his face, wanting to imprint his beauty into her memory, even as he’d imprinted her with the hot essence of himself.

  She felt as she had last night, at ease, safe and happy.

  Tierken’s eyes were shut as he caressed her breast, then his fingers touched the ring. Kira felt him tense, then he gathered his clothes and dressed quickly. Kira regretted the loss of him. She began to dress, slower, self-conscious suddenly, and aware again of her painful back.

  ‘You can tell me about the Tremen on the morrow,’ said Tierken, ‘but after that I’ll be taken up with preparation for the next patrol. When I return, I want to take you to Kessom.’

  He began to collect the records Farid had left on the table, his thoughts on Eris and Poerin, not noticing Kira’s dismay. He needed advice from both on Kira’s claim, though he knew it was unlikely to bring him peace of mind.

  ‘I can’t delay here,’ said Kira, coming to the table as she buttoned her shirt.

  ‘Is that how you see our time together? As a delay?’ he said.

  ‘No, I see it as short,’ said Kira. ‘But if you’re to go on patrol then it’s even shorter than I thought.’

  ‘Farid’s begun to order the Writings on our histories, as I pledged you. It will take some time so we’ll discuss anything of relevance he might find on my return.’

  ‘If he finds something that says Kasheron went south, will you accept the kin-link and grant my people aid?’ asked Kira.

  ‘Such a find would be highly unlikely,’ said Tierken, his attention on the records.

  As Kira watched him, the understanding that he wouldn’t aid her, no matter what the Writing Store held, settled over her. A sense of desperation woke. ‘I must go south to Maraschin, Tierken, to speak with my people.’

  She wondered whether he’d heard her, for he completed his ordering of the records before looking up. ‘It’s late, Kira. Your back needs rest to mend.’

  51

  Kira was at the stables before dawn the next day. It was increasingly clear that Tierken was content that she remain in the north. In contrast, she felt more and more agitated with every new day. The quickest and safest way of going south was by horse, but the plain was more hazardous than the flat surface of the yard. Her riding skills must be many times better than at present.

  Ryn only appeared some time after their lesson was due to have started and was surprised to see her.

  ‘The Feailner said you’d injured your back and wouldn’t ride for a time,’ he said.

  ‘I missed her,’ said Kira, as if her only concern were the mare’s beauty.

  ‘No name yet?’ asked Ryn.

  Kira shook her head. There seemed no point in naming something she must leave behind when she returned to Allogrenia.

  Ryn briskly listed the names of horses he’d known or owned, and common Kir and Illian horse names and their meanings. Kira nodded as if considering them, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

  ‘I’d like to ride outside the city,’ she said, keeping her attention on straightening the saddle rug. ‘Laryia says there are good rides to the north. Do you think my skills are good enough?’

  ‘They’re good enough.’

  ‘Laryia said that her mare Chime, Tierken’s mount Kalos, and this mare are faster and stronger than the horses the Domain Guard ride. I know little of horses, is that true?’

  ‘It is,’ said Ryn. Kira bent and stroked the mare’s muzzle. Ryn took a cape from a hook and handed it to her. ‘It’ll rain before the sun clears the Sarsalin. You know how to rub the mare down when you’ve finished.’

  Ryn’s prediction about the weather proved true, and Kira was wet and her back spasming by the time she trudged back up the steps to the balcony. At the far end, she could see Farid talking to somebody loaded with sheafs, and Kira hobbled as quickly as she could along the balcony. She intended to ask Farid about the Writings, but by the time she got to the door he’d disappeared.

  The Writing Store was as large as the Storage Cavern in the Warens and she scanned the shelves excitedly, forgetting the pain in her back. There were two servers seated at a table, flicking through Writings and placing them in piles, the untouched Writings so disordered it looked as though the shelves had been upended.

  ‘Is there ought we can help you with, Lady?’ asked one, looking up. He was completely bald, reminding Kira of a Drink-water pebble.

  She wanted to sit and read all the Writings, but her most immediate need was a map. It was suddenly useful that Farid had disappeared.

  ‘I’m a stranger to Sarnia,’ said Kira hurriedly, glancing nervously around for Farid. ‘Do you have any maps of the lands all about? Of the Sarsalin?’

  The server nodded, then sorted through the Writings with maddening slowness, and finally pulled out a sheaf.

  ‘May I take it?’ asked Kira. ‘I’ll bring it back by nightfall.’

  ‘Of course, Lady,’ he said, presenting it to her with a bow.

  Kira tucked it under her cape and made her way to her room, locking the door behind her. The first few maps in the sheaf were of the lands north of the Silvercades, the city of Talliel prominent, then there were smaller papers showing the forested tracts of the Silvercade foothills. Flicking to the next sheet, she saw it showed the lands between the southern Silvercades and the northern Azurcades. She crouched over it, searching for the springs of their journey north, so absorbed she barely heard Laryia’s call at the door.

  The door handle rattled.

  ‘Kira?’ said Laryia again.

  Kira sprang up and thrust the map under her clothes in the storage chest.

  ‘You’re soaked,’ said Laryia, as she came into the room. ‘Surely you haven’t ridden in this?’

  ‘It wasn’t as heavy when I started,’ said Kira.

  ‘And there’s no need to lock your door,’ said Laryia, staring at the uneaten breakfast. ‘The Domain’s quite safe, with plenty of Guard and servers about.’

  Kira nodded, and pulled off the cape, shivering as drips ran down her neck.

  ‘I’ll run a hot bath for you,’ said Laryia. ‘We don’t want you ill.’

  Steam billowed as water gushed from the taps, and perfume filled the air as Laryia emptied a handful of pink crystals into the water.

  ‘Tierken waits for you in the Meeting Hall,’ she said, looking up. ‘He’s told me who you claim to be.’

  ‘He doesn’t believe me.’

  ‘Tierken doesn’t believe your histories. There’s a difference,’ said Laryia, swirling her hand through
the water to mix the crystals. ‘Tierken’s happiness is the most important thing in the world to me, Kira. I think he could be happy with you.’

  ‘I have to go south again, Laryia.’

  ‘Tierken believes he’s very different to Darid, the last Feailner,’ continued Laryia, as if Kira hadn’t spoken. ‘In many ways he is, but Darid only loved once, and even after Seren died, didn’t take another wife. Darid could have fathered an heir to supplant Tierken, but Seren was too precious to him. I think Tierken will only love once too.’

  ‘I have to go south again, Laryia, to speak with my people. I don’t have any choice,’ repeated Kira.

  ‘There are always choices, Kira,’ said Laryia, and smiled. ‘I think Tierken’s chosen well,’ she added, enclosing Kira in a hug.

  Tierken’s questioning about the Tremen was as methodical and unrelenting as his questioning about the Tain: the relative authority of the Tremen Leader, the Protector Commander, the Clan-council and the Clanleaders, the nature and frequency of patrols, the training and discipline of the Protectors, the relationship of each clan to the others, gathering and trading rights, the seasonal variation in food and forage.

  He was particularly interested in the lack of metal, for it seemed so odd to him.

  ‘So only swords and herbing sickles. Does that mean Tremen men are bearded?’ asked Tierken.

  ‘No, they use clear-root, a plant that takes off hair.’

  ‘No jewellery either. Laryia would be most displeased,’ said Tierken with a smile.

  ‘There’s wooden jewellery and beads made from tree sap.’

  ‘Tell me of your growing,’ continued Tierken.

  ‘I lived in the Bough, as I’ve said. My mother died after my younger brother Kandor was born. Helpers came in to clean, cook and sew cloth for us.’ Kira shrugged. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘How did you occupy your days?’ asked Tierken.

  ‘I gathered, foraged with Tresen and Kandor, played at the Kashclan longhouse.’

  ‘Who’s Tresen?’

  ‘My clanmate,’ replied Kira, her eyes darkening.

  ‘Did the Shargh kill him, too?’ asked Tierken, wondering at the change.

  ‘Nearly, and it was my fault.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Tierken sharply.

  ‘When … I realised that the bloodshed in Allogrenia was because the Shargh hunted me, I decided to leave. I knew Kest wouldn’t agree … so I went secretly, but Tresen knew me too well, catching up with me just as I had stumbled into Shargh. Tresen drew them away, but they caught him before Kest’s patrol arrived. He was terribly wounded.’

  ‘Why do the Shargh hunt you?’ asked Tierken, fearing that Farid’s guess was correct.

  ‘They hate my eyes. When they had me –’ she started, then stopped, the colour draining from her face.

  Tierken took her in his arms. ‘They’re never going to have you again, Kira. You’re here now, safe.’

  ‘I’m the Tremen Leader. I need go south.’

  ‘If this Tallien – Caledon – does bring Tremen from the forests, they’ll be led by Kest, not by you. You are a Healer, not a Protector. And if the Shargh capture you again, they’ll use you against your people, trading your life for their acquiescence. Then, once they’ve destroyed Allogrenia, they’ll kill you. You’ll stay here.’

  ‘You don’t have the right to keep me here,’ cried Kira in frustration, breaking from his arms. ‘You’ve told me the Terak Kirillian have no obligation to the Tremen. That means what happens to them, or me, is nothing to do with you!’

  ‘Is that how you see our time together? Something to be dispensed with, like this!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I’m beginning to think Tremen women are as faithless as those in the Caru Quarter!’

  Kira flushed crimson and stepped back.

  ‘I didn’t mean –’ he began.

  ‘In the forest, love is a gift given without thought of reward,’ she choked out. ‘I realise that things are different in the north, that here, everything’s traded. You’ve given me love, and sleep without dreams, for that, I thank you, Feailner. If you’ve also found pleasure in the moment, I consider the trade fair.’

  ‘Kira!’

  She was already at the door. ‘I don’t have anything to trade for your rescue of me, or for my food and clothes. I can only thank you for them. I hope that’s sufficient!’

  The door slammed and Tierken cursed.

  A short time later, there was a tentative knock.

  ‘Enter!’ bawled Tierken.

  Farid came in, carrying a Writing. ‘I’ve been ordering the Writing Store as you asked and I’ve found something of interest.’

  ‘What? That Kasheron had a daughter, who had a daughter, who had a daughter, who had a daughter, who had a daughter called Kira?’

  ‘Is that what she’s claimed? That she’s Kasheron’s seed?’ asked Farid in amazement. ‘But it’s not possible, is it?’

  ‘It contradicts everything we know, but it’s not impossible. Our histories could be completely wrong and Kira’s completely right. Your father may even think me the best Feailner since Terak himself. What have you found?’

  ‘When Kasheron and his followers left, they took Kessomi horses,’ said Farid.

  ‘A sore point,’ snapped Tierken. ‘Kasheron abandoned the horses when he sailed away and Terak had to trade every single one of them back. It cost him dearly. But this is well known.’

  ‘Terak traded them back from the Ashmiri, I believe.’

  ‘Yes,’ confirmed Tierken. ‘The Ashmiri mounts are poor and Terak knew they’d be a lot more dangerous on Kessomi horses.’

  ‘When did Kasheron and his followers leave?’

  ‘At the beginning of summer. The desertion of Kasheron weakened Terak’s defences, and the dry earth advantaged the Shargh, who fought on foot. Despite the desperation of his predicament, Terak recovered all of the horses by the end of summer.’

  ‘That’s my understanding too,’ said Farid, laying the Writing on the table, ‘but it’s not what this says.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Basically the same thing, except that Kasheron left at the start of winter, and that Terak had his precious horses back by the end of winter.’

  Tierken shrugged. ‘It’s a small difference.’

  ‘Where do the Ashmiri graze in winter?’

  Tierken stared at him, then leapt to his feet and strode up and down, turned to Farid as if to speak, strode on and stopped again.

  ‘It’s not possible,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘You’ve just told me that it’s not impossible,’ said Farid. ‘And this is written by Terak. Terak was a meticulous record-keeper. If this Writing is true, Terak had all his horses back, traded from the Ashmiri, by the end of winter. As the Ashmiri graze their animals east of the Azurcades in winter, the horses must have been traded from the south, not the north.’

  ‘One Writing that contradicts everything,’ breathed Tierken. ‘It could be wrong or our histories could be wrong.’

  ‘It’s hard to judge, without going through everything else in the Writing Store,’ said Farid.

  ‘Do that, Farid, and get more servers to help you.’

  52

  Horses stamped and harness jingled behind Caledon, as dawn light ate the last of the stars. There were ten riders in all, chosen from the most experienced of the King’s Guard. The Guard murmured among themselves, but fell silent at the sound of a horse on King’s Way, the recklessness of its descent meaning it could only be Adris.

  The horse appeared at full gallop, not wrenched to a stop until it was almost on them. Adris jumped to the paving and strode forward carrying a leather cylinder.

  ‘I will deliver greetings from the Tain Prince to the Terak Feailner,’ said Caledon, taking it with a bow.

  ‘My father died this night,’ said Adris, his face weary. ‘You may deliver greetings from the Tain King to the Terak Feailner.’

  Caledon dropped to his knee. ‘Then I honour the Tain K
ing. May his reign be long and wise.’

  ‘There will be no bending of knees between us,’ said Adris, raising him. ‘Our friendship is one of equals. I will send Guard over the Azurcades to wait for the Tremen, even as the Guard waited for you. Billets have been prepared.’

  ‘I thank you,’ said Caledon.

  ‘May Meros guide your way,’ said Adris, embracing Caledon.

  ‘I prefer the stars,’ said Caledon, smiling.

  Further south, in the shadow of the Cashgars, the rising sun lit a scene so extraordinary that Tarkenda had to remind herself that she wasn’t experiencing a vision. The whole lower slope was completely covered with sorchas. The Weshargh and Soushargh warriors had begun arriving in the night, and their singing and shouting had kept both her and Palansa wakeful. They were quieter now – the bravery the sherat had gifted them had given way to snores.

  Tarkenda wondered how much food they carried. No Shargh in the Grounds went hungry, even those on the lower slope, but there was little left over for storage.

  What they had brought with them was too much hot blood and too much wild talk, the stench of what was to come hanging in the air like a summer storm. The only small comfort Tarkenda could draw was that the struggle to protect Ersalan would be less once the hatred of Arkendrin and his followers went north with them.

  Kira started upright from her chair as the door to her room was flung open and the silhouette in the doorway resolved into Laryia. She wore breeches and a jerkin, rather than her usual gown.

  ‘You haven’t slept,’ said Laryia, ‘and we’ve a long day ahead.’

  ‘What?’ said Kira, wondering if she dreamed.

  ‘We’re going to Kessom, we’re going to see Eris,’ said Laryia, dancing across the room.