Darkling Fields of Arvon

by James G Anderson

  "Your father is unwell, you said?" Kal asked.

  The woman cast her gaze to the floor.

  "Is it serious? Is his affliction grave?"

  The woman nodded. She suddenly looked smaller to Kal, and fragile. When she spoke, her voice sounded distant.

  "His infirmity prevents him from receiving guests, be they welcomed or no. He remains confined to his chambers, his heart as blighted as his flesh, both diseases precipitated by the wound of my mother's death in my birth . . . . But why do I tell such things to you, who are foreign to my heart?" Bethsefra raised her eyes to look at Kal. For a fleeting moment, Kal recognized that something had melted and softened in the woman, that she had dropped her guard, but the moment passed in a breath, and she grew steely again. "This is nothing to you and none of your concern."

  "But I would offer a token—"

  "A token? A token of what?"

  "Of my goodwill and pure intent—of my friendship to the king and his house. Durro—" Kal addressed the lieutenant—"when you discovered my companion, Galligaskin, you discovered some of our possessions, my sword among them, and for that I offer you my thanks. Did you happen to also find a small cask?"

  The lieutenant made no answer, but looked to Bethsefra.

  "Answer him," she commanded.

  "When we took your companion, we found in his possession the sword you saw, with its scabbard and belt, another blade in its sheath, a bow and a quiver full of arrows, and a small sack of provisions all wrapped in a sodden wolf's pelt. There was no cask."

  A soldier stepped forward and said, "Sir . . . Excuse me, milady." Durro turned to look at him as the man nodded first to Bethsefra and then to him. "Beg pardon, sir, but what he said—we found in the wreck. We looked after you'd took him." The soldier fetched a glance at Galli. "I suppose he didn't get to taking it before we found him."

  "Was it broken? Or broached? Was it intact?" Kal's questions tripped one over the other.

  "N-no, sir" the same soldier replied, looking at Durro as though the lieutenant had asked the question. "It was sound."

  "Bring it to me," Kal demanded.

  "Sir?" The soldier still looked at Durro.

  The lieutenant looked to Bethsefra, then back at the soldier. "Go."

  As the soldier disappeared into the dark passageway, Bethsefra looked again at Kal.

  "The cask—what does it contain?"

  "Water."

  "Water?"

  "Yes, but it's water from the Well of Ruah, healing water. Have it taken to the king."

  Bethsefra's eyes hardened again. "Ruah, I know. Healing water, I know nothing about. How do I know that you do not deceive? And in so deceiving do intend the murder of the king's person by poisoning?" Again the prison fell into an uneasy silence until the approach of the soldier bearing the vessel attracted the attention of all in the chamber.

  "Remove the bung and bring the cask to me," Kal said. Bethsefra nodded, and the soldier drew a knife and pried the stopper from the small wooden barrel. Kal slid the tin plate he had used under the cell door. "Fill it."

  The soldier obeyed, and Kal withdrew the plate, gently lifted it to his lips, and drank. He then handed the plate to Gwyn, who gulped the water, emptying the plate.

  "How is this a ruse?" Kal asked, locking eyes with Bethsefra. "Upon my word, it is healing water from the Well of Ruah and will bring healing to the king. You must trust me."

  The woman stepped to the cell. "The plate," she demanded, picking it up from the floor when it was shoved under the bars of the door. She turned to the soldier, took the cask from him, and poured water into the tin plate. This she held out to the soldier. "Drink!"

  The soldier blinked in confusion, looking first at the tin plate, then at Bethsefra, then at the lieutenant, finally returning his gaze to the proffered water.

  "I said drink!"

  Tentatively, the soldier took the plate and lifted it to his lips, slowly tipping it.

  "Drink it all," the woman commanded.

  The soldier lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgment of the order and tilted the plate back farther, until he had drained it of its water. He lowered the plate, his eyes filled with fear and apprehension.

  "Well?"

  "Water, milady. It tastes like water."

  "And how do you feel?"

  "Uh, fine, milady." The soldier grinned sheepishly and nodded his head, then grinned wider still. "Aye, fine. I feel fine. Better than fine, milady. It's only water."

  "It's more than only water," Kal said, "It's the means of your father's restoration, if you will it."

  Bethsefra looked about the room distractedly, caught on the horns of a dilemma. She finally fixed her gaze on her lieutenant, but said nothing for a long moment. Then she stiffened, as if resolving something in her mind, and said, "Take the water to my lord, the king. Prepare some to be given him. I will attend you directly. He shall receive it from my hand, none other."

  The woman turned slowly to face Kal and stepped close to the iron bars, looking up at the Holdsman. "Know you this, Kalaquinn Wright," she said in a whisper. "My father is my greatest strength. And my greatest weakness. Despite myself, and perhaps despite my better judgment, I will place trust in your word. But know you this also. Should anything—and I mean anything—happen to my father, you shall die . . . slowly and unpleasantly."

  Twenty-One

  Kal was disappointed when the quick flurry of hurried steps approaching the prison turned out to belong not to Bethsefra but to a young page. The boy looked apprehensively around the chamber as he handed a folded note to the gaoler. The man read the message and grunted his acknowledgment to its bearer.

  "Wait here," he growled at the boy. Then, with paper in hand, he scowled at the Holdsmen in their cells. He was clearly disapproving of the missive's content.

  "Was it up to me . . . ," he said, leaving the empty threat dangle in the air, then shook his head and shrugged. "Well, it'd seem you'll live to die another day. Her ladyship's heart seems to have softened. You're to be released."

  The gaoler jangled his keys as he approached the long wall of iron bars. "You'll follow this here boy," he said, pointing with the key he held to the page, who stood torch in hand near the dark entrance, looking nervous and ready to bolt down the passage and up the stairs. "He'll show you to where you're to go."

  The boy greeted each of the Holdsmen with a deferential nod of his head. "Sirs, my lady, the princess Bethsefra, offers you each her gracious goodwill and bids you follow me. Your immediate comforts are to be attended to, so if you would please . . ." The boy dipped his head again, ushering the three Holdsmen out of the chamber.

  Before leaving the prison, Kal turned to the gaoler and sent the Gharssûlian groat spinning through the air with a flick of his thumb. "For your efforts at hospitality during our stay here," he said as the man caught the coin. "To my mind, it's payment fitting the service rendered." The gaoler glared at him as Kal chuckled to himself and fell in behind his two companions.

  The page led the three Holdsmen far up into the citadel, eventually directing them down a hallway and into a spacious room. Three windows opened onto the town of Swanskeld, recumbent below, quiet and grey in the muted predawn light. In the room, three baths had been drawn, and each stood steaming beside a dressing table on which sat towels, oils, and a neat pile of fresh clothes. Against one wall was a table laden with food—meats, fruits, bread and cheeses, and a large flagon of wine. On another, Kal saw Rhodangalas in its scabbard, the other weapons Durro had mentioned, Galli's codynnos and one of the waldscathe wolf-pelt cloaks. There was no sign of the cask of water from Ruah's Well. It was fair to assume, Kal thought, that the gift given would never be returned.

  "Sirs, my lady, the princess Bethsefra, bids you attend to your needs, as you so desire, in this room." The page indicated the baths and the tables. "Bathe, dress, and eat, but please remain here. Your soiled clothes may be left beneath the dressing tables. They will be dealt with. My lady, the princess Bethsefra, will ca
ll upon you in an hour. Please see that you are ready to receive her." With that, the boy walked to the doorway, turned, bowed, and, exiting backwards, closed the door to the room.

  Kal slowly stripped himself of his torn, salt-stained garments and gingerly lowered his naked body into the hot water, his aching muscles relaxing with the heat. He leaned back in the high metal tub and sighed deeply as a shiver of contentment ran through his body. To his left, Galli sat in his own bath, examining the extent of the damage to his face in a small hand-held looking glass he had found on his dressing table. Gwyn, for his part, had opted to eat prior to bathing and stood by the food happily gorging himself on a fat leg of chicken.

  "Pour us a cup of that wine, would you, Gwyn?" Kal bade his companion, who immediately put down the half-consumed leg, filled three goblets, and carried two of them across the room. Kal accepted the cup offered him gratefully, drank long, and sighed again, closing his eyes.

  The three Holdsmen passed the time in quiet snippets of conversation, each savouring the comforts of clean body, clean clothes, and full belly. Outside the windows, dawn broke, gilding the white-stoned town in soft sunlight starkly punctuated by the blue shadows that filled narrow alleyways and clung to the westward faces of building or wall.

  When the knock came on the door, the three men were dressed and ready. Kal wore Rhodangalas at his side, the pios clasped to his tunic, below his throat. The door swung open, and Bethsefra stepped into the room, followed closely by Durro and three other men-at-arms. The Holdsmen bowed as one to the woman, and, as he straightened, Kal hazarded a glance at the green eyes and delicate features of her oval face, framed by her neatly clipped black hair.

  "My lady Bethsefra."

  "Master Kalaquinn." She locked eyes with Kal and smiled demurely. "It would seem that I find myself in your debt." Kal bowed his head in obeisance. "My father has regained a decade of his life in these past two hours and steadily improves, becoming stronger by the minute."

  "I am pleased to have been able to assist King Uferian in his plight. Would that I might be able to remedy the troubles that plague his court and his daughter as easily."

  "Yes, and to that . . ." Bethsefra's expression grew hard again, and she looked away. "While I stand in your debt in the matter of the king's well-being, it is in the other that I still have reservations. Uferian hails you all as friends to his court and bids you all welcome in his domain. I will not countermand the express desire of my father; however, I must act in obedience to the dictates of conscience and good sense, especially in these days of increasing uncertainty and danger. So, it is to you, friends of Uferian, friends of the Oakapple Isles, that I offer passage to the destination of your choice. A ship and crew stands provisioned and ready to sail. Durro will see you to the harbour. You will depart within the hour."

  Kal was speechless as Bethsefra looked at him again, bowed her head almost imperceptibly, then turned and left the room.

  Durro stepped forward. "This way, my lords, if you please." He waited for the three Holdsmen to gather their few belongings before he led them out of the room and down the hallway, his men following close behind.

  * * *

  The small boat scraped the bottom of the beach.

  "There you go, lads. Looks all clear. Safe home, now," said the sailor, swinging his oars to rest and remaining seated. He had rowed Kal, Gwyn, and Galli from the ketch that lay at anchor in the offing, its lines and rigging set, ready to depart back to Swanskeld with the return of the ship's boat. The three men thanked the sailor and scrambled overboard into the lapping waves. Knee-deep in seawater, Galli turned and gripped the bow of the small boat, giving it a shove back off the beach, allowing the boatman to strike back out towards his ship.

  It had been a good journey and uneventful, their first time on a larger seafaring vessel. They had left Swanskeld and beat up along the isolated western shores of the seaholdings. Rounding the northern tip of Melderenys, a following wind rose and drove them across the Arvonian Sea towards the lonely coastland of the Keverang of Pelogran, where they searched for a decent landing spot, ever on the watch for Gawmage's warships. The journey had taken but the space of a day and a night.

  Now they hurried along the open expanse of sand and mounted a small rise on the very edge of the Asgarth Forest, its shadowy depths slowly filling with the soft glow of dawn. They stopped beneath the spreading tree limbs for a moment and turned to look out to sea. On the waves, the bobbing rowboat crabbed its way back to the Tern. The boatman lifted his arm briefly in a gesture of parting. They waved in reply and turned north along the edge of the forest until they passed out of view of the ship behind a grassy dune.

  "We'll wait here for a while, 'til they're farther offshore," said Kal, lowering himself to sit on the ground, picking up a stick, and making patterns in the sand at his feet. "We must be careful not to chance being seen by them. Otherwise they'll wonder why we head south rather than north, towards Cor'gwella. We'll follow the coastline south"—he pointed with the stick—"until we come within shadow of the Sheerness Spur. It's simplest that way, I think—lessens the chance of getting lost—and then we'll push east."

  "Heading where?" asked Galli.

  "To what may be left of Hoël's Dyke in these reaches. It'll take us into the marshlands and, with some luck, allow us to meet up with Broq and our folk."

  "And Aelward," Galli added.

  "Aye, and Aelward."

  Well-rested and well-provisioned, the three made good progress through the margin of the Asgarth Forest along the coast, always aware of the sea to their right, skirting beaches and headlands and even the odd fishing village that broke the stark emptiness of the coastline. Late in the morning their path had mounted a stretch of crags and soaring cliffs, wave-washed and desolate. At the highest point, they stopped. Before them stretched the vastness of the blue-grey Cerulean Ocean, flecked with whitecaps and broken by the snaking line of rock and sand running off to their left and to their right. Along the shoreline, the sea met the forest, itself spreading like a dense green ocean, rolling away far behind them until it came to lap against the immovable flanks of the Radolan Mountains to the east.

  "Look. Mountains there, too." Galli had turned to the south and pointed to a hazy line of jagged peaks that obscured the horizon.

  "Aye, the Sheerness Spur. Look, Gwyn," Kal said, his arm outstretched, sweeping along the line of mountains that cut inland from the coast. "See how the mountains of the Spur run from the Radolans all the way to the sea? That's why it's called the Sheerness Spur. It's a spur off the Radolan range." Glancing up at the sky, Kal quickly gauged the angle of the sun. "We've walked a fair piece. It's time to make our way inland, I think. We don't want to get too near the foothills of the Spur. The terrain there is like to be steep and rough. The Spur is not called Sheerness without reason. And getting too close will make cutting east across land all the more difficult."

  The three Holdsmen climbed down from their vantage point and plunged into Asgarth Forest, picking their way through the undergrowth over ground that rose and fell gently. They followed game trails wherever they could, often marking their bearings by the sun to make certain they had not strayed. They sweated from the exertion. It was hotter work than it had been along the coast, for there were no cool sea breezes to refresh them. In the forest, however, they found streams and springs with clear, ground-chilled water flowing pristine from unsullied rocks and mosses.

  "Ah, but I needed that," Galli said and sighed, his mouth and chin still dribbling water. He eased himself from the lip of a broad, flat, moss-covered stone on the edge of a small stream. "A nice spot, this."

  "Aye, it is beautiful." Kal pushed himself to a crouch by the stream's edge and cast an eye upstream to where the brook gathered itself into a still pool against a low hillside. He followed its course with his eye as the crystal water tumbled sparkling down a rocky outcrop then reformed itself as a stream near where he and his companions rested. Beside him, Gwyn poked and prodded at the moss cover
ing the stone and brushed away leaf mould and forest litter with a stick. Kal saw Galli's eyes widen as he snatched the stick from Gwyn and began hurriedly scraping at the rock on which they stood. He raised his head and took two steps to another broad, flat stone that lay slightly higher that the first. Beyond it another stone lay, as wide and smooth and as high again.

  "Re'm ena . . ." Galli turned around. "Kal, these are steps, hand-hewn steps, well-worn and overgrown, but still intact, each about two paces deep. Look here—"

  "In the middle of the forest?"

  "Aye, come here. I'll show you." Galli cleared away leaves and moss with his foot, then stepped onto the next stone and stooped to pick up a fallen branch,which he tossed aside. More than a dozen of the broad stones lay evenly tiered, forming a long, gentle flight of steps, and Kal and Gwyn followed Galli, who bounded up them to a level area thick with bushes. Suddenly, Galli stopped, his hand raised and his body stiffening.

  "Quiet!" he hissed as he cocked an ear to listen. "Do you hear that?"

  Gwyn nodded. Kal could make out a voice, too, low and indistinct.

  "Someone's there," Galli whispered. "Other side of the bushes. Wait here." He crept forward to a gap in the undergrowth, then motioned to his companions again. Silently, they slipped to his side. Galli pointed with a nod of his head. In a clearing, now visible from where they crouched, hidden, not even a stone's throw away, stood a thin rail of a man, white-bearded and wizened, with rounded shoulders and a noticeable stoop, carrying a staff in one hand and a wicker basket in the other. The old man scanned the ground at his feet, muttering to himself, seemingly not heedful of the three Holdsmen, although he was shambling his way closer and closer.

  "Ah, Slippery Jacks for Old Jock's table." The undertones of the old man's voice came to them more clearly. He chortled and bent to gather a clump of yellow-brown mushrooms, which he placed in his basket. Then he put his basket down and straightened his frame. Leaning on his staff, he spoke again more meaningfully, gazing in their direction, but vacantly, as if looking past them, or through them.