Song of the Silvercades

by K S Nikakis

  It began to rain, a fine veil of chill droplets, the waning moon smothered by cloud. Both men and horses were tired, and Kira thinking of her gifan, when there was a cry ahead, the effect on the patrol immediate. Orders were bawled, and the King’s Guard spurred off into the gloom with Tierken and Caledon alongside. Fear surged through Kira as Kalos disappeared into the murk.

  The patrol rode on grim-faced, with arrows set. The screams in the night grew louder, making Kira want to run for the safety of the north.

  Tierken galloped beside Caledon, the attack ahead now plain. Shargh – against herders. A spear whistled past but he kept Kalos at a hard gallop as the Tains split. Caledon shouted orders in Tain and Onespeak, and in the confusion that followed Kalos’s mighty chest slammed into an Ashmiri horse. Tierken slashed down with his sword and spurred on, hacking a swathe through the mounted Shargh, before wrenching Kalos round. The Guard drove forward, slowed by the use of swords – arrows being too great a risk to the herders trapped in the centre of the mêlée.

  As the battle raged, the Shargh grew more intent on breaking out of the tightening ring of Tains than killing. Spears flew, and one of the Guard’s horses went down, the Shargh hacking at the rider. Tains surged to their comrade’s aid, breaking the circle and the Shargh stormed through. They were followed by a volley of Tain arrows, felling two, their riderless mounts disappearing into the night.

  Tierken and Caledon set off in pursuit, the Shargh stringing out, their Ashmiri ponies no match for the speed of Kalos and Caledon’s mount.

  Shargh favoured spears and flatswords, not bows, and Tierken suspected they’d spent their spear supply. He galloped parallel with the trailing Shargh in unspoken cooperation with Caledon, galloping on the other side. The Shargh could neither evade nor outpace them. Tierken dispatched him with a single stroke, then he and Caledon increased their pace, hemming in and killing two more Shargh and their horses, before halting.

  ‘They’ve had the wit to separate,’ said Caledon into the sudden quiet.

  ‘I counted seven, four remain,’ said Tierken.

  ‘They won’t have gone far,’ said Caledon. ‘They’ll be watching us.’

  ‘You’ve fought the Shargh often?’ asked Tierken.

  ‘Too many times lately. With your leave, Feailner, we should return to the herders. There might be some who can still be saved.’

  By the time they got back, fires had been set, and Marin and Kira were tending the wounded. Patrolmen piled up the dead Shargh, and the four dead herders were laid out respectfully. Tierken issued orders to Jonred, then made his way to where Marin stitched Remas, his chest and arms covered in blood. Another Guard lay next to him, apparently unconscious. Caledon spread a sheet for the third man. Tierken gasped when he saw it was Kanil, one of his own men, whose breath wheezed hoarsely, his back slashed.

  Kira turned him so he lay on the wound. Her shirt-sleeves and breeches were bloodstained, her face almost as pale as Remas’s as she unbuttoned Kanil’s jacket and shirt, shut her eyes and laid her hands on his chest. Even in the firelight, Tierken saw her blanch, turn her head and retch.

  ‘Kira. Are you ill?’

  ‘Bring my pack, will you,’ she said.

  Tierken hurriedly retrieved it from beside Marin.

  ‘Help me turn him,’ she said, her voice as dull as her eyes.

  Kanil’s eyes were open and he no longer panted.

  ‘You took his pain,’ said Tierken, remembering what she’d done for Thalli’s brother in Kessom, and what it meant.

  Kira didn’t reply, busy cutting Kanil’s jacket and shirt away from the wound and laving on a paste with a strange scent.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Tierken.

  ‘Fireweed. It burns away the filth the Shargh put on their swords. Without fireweed, men die.’

  Kira recapped the pot, wiped her hands on her breeches and pulled out a length of stitchweed. The second wounded Guard groaned and Kira glanced at him anxiously.

  ‘That’s what you searched for at Shally Spring?’ asked Tierken, nonplussed that Kira would trade the mare for a herb.

  Kira nodded. ‘I looked in Kessom but could find none. Laryia tells me there’s no dense leaf-fall and soaks around Sarnia, so it’s unlikely to be there. I fear it mightn’t be in the north at all,’ she said, ashen-faced. ‘I must have it, Tierken.’

  The second Guard’s agonised groans interrupted further talk.

  ‘Can you stitch?’ asked Kira.

  Tierken nodded. Eris had insisted he and Laryia learn.

  ‘You’re not going to take pain again, are you?’ he asked, as Kira started on the second Guard.

  Kira ignored him, unbuttoning the Guard’s shirt and jacket, and placing her hands on his chest. Her face contorted and she swayed.

  ‘I’ll finish that, Feailner,’ said Marin, coming to Tierken’s side and taking the stitchweed from him.

  Tierken helped Kira away from the fire. ‘I told you in Kessom you’re not to take pain,’ he said, handing her his waterskin.

  ‘Tremen Healing doesn’t bow before Terak swords,’ replied Kira ironically.

  ‘I’ve never asked you to bow before me,’ said Tierken.

  ‘Not in so many words.’

  ‘Have you the fireweed, Lady?’ asked Marin.

  Kira nodded and went back to the fire and Tierken turned his attention to his men. For all Poerin’s training, until this night Tierken had never actually had to fight for his life. Caledon had, and for a Placidien who charted his life by the stars he’d done so with brutal efficiency. He was a man Tierken could learn much from, if he chose.

  62

  The Cashgar Shargh were scattered east of Slift’s Tor in The Westlans. They were well protected from the worsening weather, in the abandoned wooden sorchas, unlike the Weshargh and Soushargh who were further north. Warriors moved between the groups, and Arkendrin knew that one of the attacks on herders by Orbdargan’s and Yrshin’s warriors had been thwarted by the unexpected arrival of northern fighters. To Arkendrin, the ill chance of the meeting seemed a clear indication of the Sky Chiefs’ lack of favour.

  The Ashmiri, who missed nothing that moved on the plain, had reported that the party of Northerners contained no less than the Northern Chief, and the gold-eyed creature – to which the Ashmiri had granted protection.

  Whether the Ashmiri had granted it protection or not was of no concern to Arkendrin, for he knew that only the Sky Chiefs determined what lived or died. They had delivered the creature into his hands before, and he was confident they would do so again.

  *

  The group of Northerners occupying Arkendrin’s thoughts now moved with excruciating slowness, their progress impeded by the wounded they carried. Tierken knew they would be an easy target, but there was little he could do to speed their travel. The plain was open here, which made a surprise attack impossible, but it would be a different tale when night fell, and his anxiety over Kira grew.

  Herder children rode atop the horses, the surviving adults having gone in search of their scattered animals, despite the remonstrations of Belzen, the new Leader of the Guard. The herders risked death by the hands of the Shargh, or death by the loss of their herds – a cruel choice, thought Tierken, glancing at the grubby, bloodstained children.

  Slowing Kalos, Tierken waited for Caledon to come level as the patrol passed between the jut of Mendor Spur and Task Tor.

  ‘Twenty-eight to protect eight,’ said Caledon, as if picking up Tierken’s thoughts.

  ‘It will be enough,’ said Tierken.

  ‘If the Shargh haven’t increased their numbers by coming together into bigger groups of marauders, and if they’re unaware Kira’s with us,’ said Caledon. ‘The Tremen told me the Shargh attacks were marked by a desperation to take Kira, the honour of her death reserved for the Shargh Leader.’

  ‘If they know she’s with us, their attack will be very precise,’ said Tierken, watching the slide of shadow from Mendor Spur.

  ‘And ruthless. K
est – the Leader of the Tremen Protectors – said they drove straight through his men to capture Kira, with complete disregard for their own lives.’

  ‘We’ve got children and wounded.’

  ‘Yes. The Shargh know we won’t sacrifice them,’ said Caledon. ‘The Shargh’s intention might be to take, not kill, as before. If they do know she’s with us, with you, they’ll judge her more useful alive than dead.’ He paused. ‘After all, what would the Terak Feailner not give to get her back?’

  Tierken’s eyes fired, but his voice remained calm. ‘And what would the Placidien Caledon e Saridon e Talliel not give?’

  ‘Caledon e Saridon e Talliel would give everything, including the stars,’ he replied, meeting Tierken’s eyes.

  The light dwindled and they struck camp soon after sunset, reasoning that it would be easier to defend a well-planned camp lit by firelight than a strung-out group, including children and wounded, in darkness. The fires were set close to each other, with just enough room between for those not guarding to warm themselves.

  Tierken placed Kira, the wounded and the children round the central fire, knowing that the Shargh would have to fight through the mounted guard and the rest of the men to reach her. But Caledon had warned him that the Shargh had used fire as a weapon in Allogrenia.

  Although it went against all his instincts to protect her, Tierken knew Kira would be safer away from him, and he took Jonred, Vardrin and Anvorn aside, issuing orders in a low voice. If things went ill, they were to abandon the camp and take Kira straight to Maraschin, the Terak horses having the speed and stamina to outrun anything the Shargh rode. But his plans could still go awry if Kira argued and delayed his men.

  Tierken waited until she’d finished changing Remas’s bandages and had washed her hands, before taking her as far as he dared from the fires.

  ‘Do you think the Shargh know I’m here?’ she asked, after he repeated what he’d said to his men.

  ‘I don’t know whether they do now, but if they attack, they will. And if they do seek you, we can expect attacks all the way to Maraschin.’

  ‘I’ve often wondered why I, a Healer, cause so much death,’ said Kira, looking back towards the camp.

  ‘The Shargh are a brutal people. The fault’s not yours,’ said Tierken. He wanted to take her in his arms, but was mindful of the closeness of his men.

  ‘So I’ve been told,’ said Kira, ‘yet still death follows me.’

  ‘Kira, I want your pledge that you’ll obey Jonred, Vardrin or Anvorn’s orders exactly and immediately if we’re attacked.’

  ‘My pledge? Something I can break if the whim takes me? I didn’t think that was good enough for you.’

  ‘I need your pledge, Kira,’ repeated Tierken, ignoring her allusion to bonding.

  Kira sighed. ‘Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan pledges the Feailner of the Terak Kirillian that, should we come under attack, she’ll not risk his men’s lives by arguing with them.’

  Her tone was both formal and ironic, but Tierken had what he wanted.

  ‘The Terak Feailner thanks the Tremen Feailner,’ he said with a bow.

  The night passed uneventfully, and by dawn most of the men were breakfasting. Kira still slept and Tierken was glad. He glanced at her as he drank cotzee with Caledon, having forgotten how beautiful her hands were, and how bare. No rings or bracelets, nothing to show she was his.

  ‘There was much I didn’t understand about Kira until I went to the southern forests,’ said Caledon, keeping his voice low so it didn’t carry to the next fire. ‘I didn’t understand why she had so little regard for her own safety.’

  ‘The young don’t look beyond the moment,’ said Tierken with a shrug, resenting the intrusion to his thoughts.

  ‘She grew without a mother.’

  ‘Hardly unusual,’ said Tierken. ‘My own mother died when I was less than five seasons.’

  ‘I understand you and your sister were raised by your grandmother,’ acknowledged Caledon. ‘Forgive me, Feailner, if I intrude, but I understand you were raised with love. From what the Leader of Kira’s clan told me, this wasn’t the case with her. Kira was left to her own devices, her father only taking an interest when her healing rivalled his, then seeking to suppress it. Kira poured her affection into her younger brother, Kandor. When he was killed, there was nothing to hold her to Allogrenia.’

  ‘Why tell me this?’

  ‘To help keep her safe.’

  ‘I need no help keeping her safe,’ said Tierken. He rose, tossed his cotzee dregs into the fire and strode away.

  They pushed on, the rain starting again after midday and increasing as the light faded to a thick dusk, low cloud preventing them from seeing more than fifteen lengths in any direction. Kira was wet despite her cape and her misery was exacerbated by her anxiety for the wounded, especially Remas. If the rain didn’t ease, there’d be no fires tonight to help her tending.

  She was absorbed in her thoughts when suddenly Kira’s mare flung up her head and danced sideways, and a Guard screamed warning. Before she knew at least twenty horses pounded out of the murk, coming from every side. The herder children shrieked as orders were shouted, and horses surged around Kira. Then Tierken’s voice rang out.

  ‘We go!’ screamed Jonred.

  Kira threw herself down as a spear arced over her head, and urged her mare to a gallop. Jonred raced beside her, Vardrin and Anvorn thundering behind. Gradually the screams of battle faded, replaced with the pound and snort of their horses. They went on and on at the same relentless pace, the acrid odour of horse sweat mixing with the smell of wet earth.

  Rain sheeted down and it was so dark Kira could barely see a length in front. She was terrified one of the horses would fall, and then, horrifyingly, there was a sickening crash and Jonred was no longer beside her. Vardrin shouted but Kira wrenched her mare round. The abrupt change in direction caused the mare to pitch forward and Kira hit the ground, pain exploding through her ribs. The sound of Shargh battle chants was all around and the clash of metal. Vardrin shouted again, close now, then Anvorn, and a horse stomped near her face.

  Kira struggled to her knees, and rough hands seized her and hauled her upwards.

  ‘I have you, Lady,’ panted Anvorn, then Kira was forced to clutch at the saddle-strap as Anvorn abruptly released her. He fended off a flatsword, then spurred away and they were at a flat gallop again. Kira clung on as best she could, the pain in her chest roaring. But behind her she could hear the pound of another horse drawing closer. Then the pursuers shouted, and she was almost sick with relief. It was Vardrin, with Jonred mounted behind. They were still galloping hard when mounted men appeared from the gloom, coming towards them at speed.

  63

  The Shargh screamed their war cries, the attack relentless. There were well over twenty in the group and Tierken parried and thrust, feeling curiously calm, Poerin’s gruff voice directing his hand, almost as if the old Terak fighter stood at his shoulder instead of Caledon. Tierken was aware of the solid circle of men to his left and right, though he had no sense of how long they fought. After a while, he became aware that the night was empty of everything except the harsh pants of his men, and the sobs of the herder children.

  His chest heaved, and spit scalded his throat. Five Shargh lay unmoving, another two dragged themselves further into the darkness. One of his men was on his knees, Marin beside him. The others were cleaning their swords on the grass.

  Tierken sucked in a deep breath and ordered the guard back into position.

  ‘We need … to keep … moving,’ panted Caledon, sleeving the rain from his eyes. ‘There’ll be no … safety in making … camp.’

  ‘No, you’re right. I thank you for your help, Lord Caledon.’

  ‘There’s no need of thanks … Feailner. We fight … for the same things.’

  They moved off as quickly as possible, everybody tense.

  The rain slowly eased and dawn was close when there was the unmistakable sound of hoof
s once more. Tierken yelled orders and the men formed a protective ring. No one moved, then Kalos raised his head and gave voice. A lone horse cantered towards them, reins trailing. There was a shocked silence and the patrolmen looked to Tierken as they realised it was Kira’s mare.

  Marin strode forward and caught her. ‘She’s been down, Feailner.’

  The mare’s shoulder and knees were covered in mud and Tierken found his gaze drawn unwillingly to Caledon, the Tallien looking as grim as he felt. But there was nothing to do but go on, the growing light revealing the tracks of Jonred’s party. The prints were full of muddy water and deep cut, a sign of swift travel.

  The patrol stopped briefly to eat, but there was little conversation, Tierken unable to choke down any food at all.

  ‘What’s done is done, Feailner,’ said Marin, handing him cotzee. ‘If she’d stayed with us, we’d have had a far bloodier battle, and they might have breached our defences.’

  ‘They still might,’ said Tierken.

  Further south, Anvorn cursed, and he and Vardrin jerked their horses to a halt. The other horsemen stopped too, and set arrows.

  King’s Guard, Kira saw in relief. ‘I greet you … Guard Ather,’ she called, from behind Anvorn’s back.

  ‘My Lady. I didn’t recognise you,’ said Ather, in astonishment.

  ‘We’ve had a hard trip … and request your aid,’ Kira struggled on, finding speaking harder than breathing. ‘May I present … Terak Kirillian patrolmen Anvorn, Vardrin and Jonred … without whom I would now … be dead. The Lord Caledon and your men … are behind us, escorting wounded. With them … are more Terak, and … the Terak Feailner.’

  The King’s Guard broke into excited speech and Ather called for quiet, conferring with the lead rider before turning back to Kira.

  ‘Archorn will give you escort to Maraschin, and my men will seek the rest of your troop, Lady,’ said Ather. Nodding to Anvorn and Vardrin, Ather shouted an order and the Guard galloped onward.