by Ian Irvine
Rannilt looked up at Tobry, expecting him to bolt from the physical contact, as he had so often done over the past days, but he did not move. She sat on the floor, legs crossed, trying to ignore the empty feeling in her belly and the bitter taste of failure in her mouth.
“That’s why you came all this way, isn’t it?” she said dully. “You came to find the wyverin.”
He did not move or speak. His whole body had gone rigid.
“Do you think it can undo the shifter curse? Or do you… just want to be… eaten?” She could scarcely bear to think it, much less say it aloud. “To put an end to the pain.”
Rannilt reached out and laid a hand on his arm. He did not flinch or draw back.
“Tali’s waitin’,” she reminded him. “She’ll be there when we get back.”
When he did not react in any way, fear touched her more deeply than it ever had on this interminable journey. She laid her hands on his head, closed her eyes and reached out to him as she had done the first time. He did not try to block her; nor did he howl or show pain.
“You’re letting me try,” said Rannilt, “but it’s not workin’; I can’t reach you. You can’t think of anythin’ but the wyverin, can you?” She caught an upwelling sob, tried to choke it back, but it burst forth. “You’re goin’ to give yourself to the beast. You’re goin’ to leave me all alone, a failed healer.”
Tobry took her in his arms, as if for the last time, and rocked her back and forth. A day ago she would have been overjoyed; she would have felt that she had made the breakthrough she had been working towards all this time.
She knew better now. He wasn’t afraid to be near her any more because he had conquered his fear of the shifter beast inside him. He and the shifter were both in pain, and they were going to go gladly down to the wyverin.
And dissolution.
CHAPTER 55
Rix stopped and looked back the way he had come. His army would be fighting to hold the second pass by now, or at worst, the third, and his men would be dying by the score to give him a chance to find the circlet.
Though he had ridden his two horses to the point of exhaustion, he had not come close to catching the rider he’d been tracking all this time. How could Grandys, a much heavier man, outdistance him when he had no remount? Not even magery could drive a horse beyond its strength—it would simply fall down dead.
But if the tracks weren’t Grandys’, why were they heading straight for Garramide? Rix was at the bottom of the escarpment now and the hoofprints continued up the track to the plateau, four thousand feet above.
He had only gone fifty yards, though, when he noticed footprints in the mud beside the hoof marks—three sets of small footprints. All this time he had been following children, or a small woman with two children. But at least he was here first, and with luck he would have a few days to look for the circlet. Anything could happen in that time.
Rix rubbed the back of his neck where the wet coat had chafed it and led his horses up the track. The higher he went, the heavier the rain became. After a four-hour climb he reached the top and had to sit down in the pouring rain. He was bone-weary but could not relax; if things had gone badly Grandys could have taken the third pass and might be close behind.
“I’m worn to rags,” he said to the horses. “And I dare say you’re looking forward to a big bag of oats and a rubdown in a nice dry barn. Come on, then.”
The rain had grown ever colder as he’d climbed the escarpment; it was icy at this altitude and he was soaked through. He hauled himself to his feet, wincing, and climbed into the cold saddle. There was no sign of spring up here. He turned onto the road to Garramide.
The plateau was a steep, fertile oval four miles by two, bounded by cliffs or escarpments on the east and south and by rearing mountains to the north and west. It looked as though it had not stopped raining in a month and every low point was a lake, every rivulet a torrent.
He rocked in the saddle as his horse splashed along the winding road to Fortress Garramide. In the distance, behind the thirty-foot-high outer wall, he could see the golden walls of the great stepped castle, with its four corner towers each topped with a copper-clad dome tarnished to green, and the larger central tower whose massive dome rose high above everything else. It was topped with a circular platform that overlooked the whole of the plateau.
There were other towers further back, large and small, massive and pencil thin, and dozens of other smaller buildings, though he could not see most of them from here.
Within the hour he reached the front gates which, Rix was pleased to see, were in good repair. There were guards on the walls, but were they his guards? Months had passed since he’d left with Tali, Tobry and Glynnie for the peace conference at Glimmering, and anything could have happened in that time. The place could have been taken over by bandits again.
“Hello?” he said as he approached the gate, enveloped in cloak and hood.
“Name?” said a familiar voice from the high war platform behind the gates. “And yer business?”
“Sergeant Nuddell!” said Rix, pushing back his hood.
“Deadhand!” said Nuddell. He barked, “Open the gates. Lord Deadhand has come home at last.”
Rix rode through, swung down, gave his horses a weary pat, then turned to Nuddell and put out his left hand.
“Welcome home,” said Nuddell. “We were worried. Especially after Tali and Glynnie turned up and told us all the tales of the war.”
“Tali’s here? And Glynnie?”
“And a young lad, Benn. Skinny little runt. They got in yesterday morning.”
The breath rushed out of him, as if he had been holding it for the weeks since Glynnie had left. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all year. Are they in their old rooms? Quick, man!”
“Wouldn’t know where they’re sleeping, Deadhand. But Tali’s not here.”
“Why not?”
“She went out this morning, searching for something. Don’t know what.”
“I think I can guess. Thanks, Nuddell. Come up for a mug of ale this evening and you can fill me in.” Rix turned away, his knees shaky. He had to see Glynnie now.
“Yes, Lord Deadhand. Er…”
Rix swung back, suppressing his impatience. “What?”
“What’s happened to your army? You’re not… It’s not…?”
“It’s coming. They stayed behind to hold the passes and give me time for… for the search.”
“Ah,” Nuddell said wisely.
“They’ll be here in a day or two.” Rix crossed his fingers behind his back.
“What about Grandys?”
“He’s coming too, with a bigger army than mine. But not soon, I pray.”
“We all hope that, Deadhand.”
Rix shook hands with the guards at the gate, greeting each of them by name. He took off his saddlebags, led his two horses to the stables and handed them over to the chief ostler, then headed across the yard towards the front door of the great castle.
The place was in good order, he noted, and the work he had ordered months ago, to strengthen the gate and several weak points in the outer wall, had been completed. There was some new damage, though. One side of a small tower had collapsed and several walls had cracks in them. He assumed the damage was due to the great quake.
There was always more to do. He went in and up the eastern stairs into the main tower, to the chambers he had occupied previously. Everything looked freshly dusted and the fire had been set, ready to light. He sighed. Oh to be warm and dry, to sit beside a blazing fire with a goblet of wine and nothing to do or worry about—
That wasn’t even a dream right now. Rix dumped his saddlebags on the floor and sat down to heave off his sodden boots. The walls and ceiling seemed to close in on him for a moment—he had not slept inside a building in over a week.
He shook his head and the feeling was gone. He heaved off his boots, stood them on the hearth, stripped off his filthy socks and washed his face and hands and fe
et in the water basin. Rix trudged to his bedchamber, leaving wet footprints on the carpet, trying to remember when he had last slept here.
He stopped in mid-stride. He had not gone to bed the night of the mutiny and that had saved them—that and Tali’s folly in trying to heal Tobry with her healing blood.
How much blood had flowed under the bridge since then.
He looked down at a small stain on the carpet. Blathy had struck him down here, temporarily paralysing him, and she had been about to cut his throat when Glynnie had sprung to his defence—
“Ahh!” came a cry from the doorway.
He spun around. Glynnie was standing there, staring at him. She had flint and tinder in her hand; a green scarf was wrapped tightly around her head and pinned on the left side. She must have heard the news and come in to light the fire, not realising he was already up here.
Rix swallowed and a flush spread up his face as if he were an errant schoolboy. Her own face was drawn; she looked as if she hadn’t slept all night. Her fingers plucked at her ragged sleeve, rose to the scarf then plucked at her sleeve again. His heart was racing. She must be furious with him, and rightly so, and he had to make it right. He sank to his knees before her.
“I’m desperately sorry,” he said. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but if you can find it in your heart—”
Two red spots appeared on her cheeks. She was breathing heavily. “What are you talking about?” she said harshly. “Get up! Get up this minute.”
He rose awkwardly, for his overworked muscles had stiffened. He swayed and clutched at the end of the bed for support.
“You told me a dozen times,” she said bitterly. “Over and over you told me that it was the wrong time to go looking for Benn, and that I’d get caught as soon as I started asking questions.”
“And I was a fool. A selfish, bloody fool.”
“Will you shut up!”
Rix shut up.
“I wouldn’t listen,” said Glynnie. “You were carrying the fate of thousands of people on your shoulders, all alone—the fate of Hightspall itself. But did I help you?”
Rix made a movement towards her, as if to interrupt.
“Sit down,” she said softly. “Keep your gob shut!”
He sat.
“No, I didn’t,” she went on.
“You saved my life when Libbens had me court martialled—”
“If you interrupt again,” said Glynnie icily, “you’re going to be really, really sorry. I kept pestering you about Benn when you couldn’t do anything to help him; I undermined you when you were already close to breaking point. And then… and then I walked out in the middle of the night without having the courage to tell you I was going… though I knew in my deepest heart you’d be frantic when you discovered I was gone. And… I got caught the second I went through the wall into Caulderon—just as you’d said I would.”
“You were caught?” Rix’s heart lurched.
“Caught, interrogated, condemned… and sent for execution.”
“Execution?” His head was spinning. He jumped up and reached out to her but she sprang backwards, holding up her hands to block him. “But… I heard Benn was here. You found him.”
“No, I didn’t!” she cried. “Tali rescued me, at the very moment when they were putting the noose around my neck.”
“Noose?” he croaked. It was all he could do to get the word out. A sentence was beyond him.
“Another minute and I would have been dead. Tali saved me at great risk to herself; and great pain, too; and when we were taken by the Resistance, it was her bargain that found Benn.”
“But Benn’s here—you saved him in the end.”
She shook her head violently, dislodging one end of the green scarf. She hastily tucked it back in place. “Benn saved us—he got us out only moments ahead of Lyf’s troops, after the rebellion failed. I didn’t do anything. I’m useless. I don’t deserve—”
“If you hadn’t gone to Caulderon would Benn be free now?”
“That’s beside the point,” she said feebly. Her shoulders slumped; she looked like a prisoner awaiting her fate.
“Actually, it’s the whole point,” he said softly. “You held to your promise to look after your little brother, and because you did, you’ve got him back.”
“But it wasn’t—”
“I think you’ve been talking long enough,” said Rix.
“I haven’t—”
“Don’t interrupt. I did go after you, as it happens.”
“You—what?” said Glynnie.
“Holm told me you’d gone, and Jackery and I went after you. We found the spy you killed, but—”
“It was an accident. He whacked me and I struck back at him, instinctively.”
“We found his body but you were long gone. To Caulderon, I assumed, after discovering that you’d stolen a skiff and… not seeing it floating upside-down anywhere.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That must have been terrible.”
“It was certainly reckless, since you can barely swim and you’ve never sailed before.”
She did not reply.
He went on. “I was preparing to sail after you—”
“And you call me reckless!” she flashed. “Anyone in Caulderon would have recognised you on sight.”
“I made you a promise,” said Rix. “And I didn’t keep it.”
He told her about Holm’s abduction while he, Rix, was looking for her. And Hork’s strike on Rufuss’s army that would have ended in disaster had he not counterattacked at the last second.
“I had to choose between you—the woman I loved—and our army,” said Rix.
Glynnie jerked at the woman I loved.
“And I chose the army,” said Rix. “That’s the kind of man I am. I’m sorry—it was unforgivable.”
“Unforgivable to hold to your sworn word?” said Glynnie in a cracked voice.
“You know what I mean. I promised to help you, and I didn’t.”
““When it’s over,” you said. ‘When you were free.’ I can’t criticise you for that. Anyway, I have to go now—”
“How’s Benn?” said Rix.
“Got work to do, Lord,” she mumbled, curtsied and fled for the door.
“Stop!” he bellowed.
She turned and stood there, head downcast, trembling. “Yes, Lord Rixium?”
It was like a knife in the belly. “Don’t call me that! We were friends—no, far more than friends. After you rescued me from Grandys that time, we swore to each other, forever. Do you think I’m the kind of man who swears such an oath lightly?” Now his voice cracked.
“I deserted you when you needed me most. And I know what the penalty is for… for desertion in the face of the enemy.”
Finally, finally Rix understood what this was all about. And he’d thought he’d let her down.
“How’s Benn?” he said. “And don’t tell me I’m not allowed to ask. I’ve been worried about him.”
“He’s… all right.”
“For months now, I’ve blamed myself for losing him. I want to see him, right away.”
She went out. Rix slumped on a chair. Though he was only twenty, he was too old for this life.
After a quarter of an hour he heard rustling outside. Benn was in the doorway, staring at his feet. Glynnie hovered a few yards back.
“I’m sorry, Lord Rixium,” said Benn.
He had been scrubbed until his skin was pink and was dressed in worn but freshly pressed clothes. The battered splint on his left arm looked as though it had been made from the rungs of a black chair. His eyes had a shine and his cheeks a flush that suggested a touch of fever, and he was exceedingly thin. But he was alive and safe and that was all that mattered.
“What for?” said Rix.
“When you and Glynnie and me were trying to escape that time, I disobeyed orders. I didn’t wait at the bottom of the drain like you told me to. I went back up and got caught by the enemy.”
Rix frowned. “I thought you must have. I came back to get you and you were gone. Glynnie was frantic.”
“I’m really, really sorry.”
“Say it to your sister, not to me.”
Benn turned to Glynnie. “Sorry, Sis.”
“So you should be,” she said furiously. “Just look at all the trouble you caused.”
“Is that the only bad thing you’ve done lately?” said Rix.
“Yes,” said Benn, though his face went as red as a boil.
“But you freed Glynnie and Tali, and saved them from the enemy.”
“Yes, but…”
“Who’s in charge around here, Benn?”
“You are, Lord Rixium.”
“And what I say goes. No argument, right.”
“Yes, Lord Rixium.”
Rix held out his left hand. “You’re one of my bravest young soldiers, so we’ll say no more about it.”
“But—”
“Are you questioning my orders, soldier?”
“No, Lord Rixium.”
“I didn’t think so.” They shook hands. “Stand over there for a while. I need to talk to Glynnie.”
“She’s really sad. See you talk nicely—”
“Benn!” cried Glynnie. “If you say another word I’ll wallop you good.”
“Go on, lad,” said Rix. “Spit it out.”
Benn looked from Rix to Glynnie as if uncertain who was liable to give him the more dire punishment, then moved closer to Rix.
“Sis was awake all last night, sobbing her heart out for you. She thinks you won’t want her with her hair gone.”
“Benn!” Glynnie shrieked, her face crimson.
“Gotta go,” said Benn, and bolted.
“What happened to your hair?” Rix said carefully.
Glynnie tore off the green scarf and hurled it across the room. Her scalp was covered in red fuzz an eighth of an inch long. “Tali shaved it off so we could disguise ourselves as boys—and it’s horrible!”
She glared at him, a mixture of defiance and despair.
“It didn’t work,” said Rix.
