Goldenfire

by A. F. E. Smith

  ‘Every step from theory to practice involves a leap of faith,’ he answered. ‘The question is really whether you trust me.’

  In one smooth movement, he picked up the loaded pistol and cocked it. Ayla’s pulse speeded up, her senses heightening automatically in preparation for the Change. But nothing happened. He simply stood there, weapon in hand, patiently waiting.

  All right. If he was going to try and kill me, he could have done it already. She settled the collar around her neck. The latent warmth she’d detected in it seemed to flare into heat, then subside – but the warmth was still there, running through her veins. Something was happening.

  ‘When you are ready,’ Miles said. She nodded once, then summoned the Change.

  Once she’d settled into her other form, she snorted and tossed her head. The warmth in the collar was clearer now, spreading across her skin like a blanket. And yes, the collar had grown with her. Though it sat snugly around her neck, it didn’t choke or constrict her.

  Miles lifted his arm, pistol aimed at her chest, and instinctively she shied away.

  ‘No need to worry,’ he murmured. ‘It will not be a fatal shot. If the collar fails to work and the bullet hits you, the worst you will be left with is a bruise.’

  His arm swung round, finger tightening on the trigger, and Ayla braced herself against the deep-rooted urge to knock the weapon from his hand before running him through with her spiral horn. An instant later, the pistol fired. Her keen eyes saw the bullet approach her –

  And hit.

  She felt it, but it wasn’t the impact she was waiting for. It was a slap rather than a punch, before the spent bullet dropped to the floor. All the same, she was knocked off balance, feet tangling, lungs tightening with the impact. While she fought to steady herself, Miles set the pistol to one side and peered down at the bullet.

  ‘Well, now. That is interesting. It has flattened as though it hit a surface stronger than itself. The collar appears to have shielded you.’

  He turned away, beginning to fiddle with the pistol again, as she returned to human form. Once she’d flung her robe back on and belted it tightly round her waist, she took a deep breath. ‘What next?’

  ‘Are you sure you are feeling quite well?’ Miles still didn’t face her.

  ‘I think so.’ She lifted a hand to touch the collar at her throat. ‘This seems to work, at least in part. I didn’t –’

  Miles spun on his heel and shot her again.

  This time, the bullet hit her properly. She just had time to be surprised before pain flared across her upper arm, incinerating all rational thought. Instinctively she clapped her other hand to the spot, backing away, summoning the Change –

  ‘Lady Ayla.’ Miles looked distressed, which gave her pause. ‘Are you all right?’

  She froze, teetering on the boundary between human and creature. Of course I’m not all right! she wanted to snap. You shot me! But when she took her hand away from the wound, peering at it to assess the damage, there was no blood. Her fingers were clean.

  ‘It was a wooden bullet,’ Miles said. ‘I am terribly sorry. I just wanted to –’

  ‘What?’ she snapped. She might not be bleeding, but it still hurt. ‘You wanted to what?’

  ‘To be effective, the collar needs to work whatever form you are in.’ He sounded apologetic, as well he might. ‘It should have protected your human self from a bullet, just as it did your creature self. But it failed. And that is no good, Lady Ayla. We cannot neutralise this threat if all the assassin has to do is catch you in human form. If I were an assassin –’

  ‘Which you’re not,’ she cut in pointedly, ‘though I had my doubts there for a moment.’

  He nodded. ‘But if I were … that is what I would try anyway. Because I know that is when you are most vulnerable. With or without alchemy.’

  Ayla nodded; that was more or less exactly what she’d thought herself. Miles turned away to pick up something else from the table.

  ‘Now, try this one.’ He handed her another collar. This one was segmented, alternating dull grey metal, rich amber and pieces of clear glass. It looked more … dangerous than the first collar, somehow. As soon as Ayla touched it, her skin prickled with reluctance.

  ‘Wind, flame and steel,’ Miles said, and she frowned.

  ‘But surely, if my own elements strengthen me, these can only weaken me.’

  He gave her an approving smile, tutor to student. ‘That is one possibility, yes. But another is that they add what you lack. Knowing which possibility is correct will be key to any further work.’

  ‘All right.’ She unfastened the first collar and replaced it with the second. This one didn’t feel warm against her skin; it sent a dizzy shiver deep into her bones. She pulled the collar of her shirt up around it, trying to block out the chill, and shook her head briskly as if she could rid herself of the sensation. ‘I don’t like it much.’

  ‘You will get used to it, after a little while.’ Miles was busy reloading the pistol, but he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Will you Change again, Lady Ayla? We will test it on your creature form first.’

  Ayla nodded slowly. She was tired, she realised. The energy required to Change, coupled with the stress of being shot at, had drained her. But they had to complete the experiment.

  ‘Be careful, won’t you?’ she said faintly. ‘If this collar weakens me in creature form, I’d hate you to kill me by mistake.’

  He turned, pistol in hand, and smiled. ‘No need to worry. I am a very good shot.’

  ‘That doesn’t really reassure me,’ Ayla muttered. Still, they’d come too far for her to mistrust him now.

  She summoned the Change – but something was wrong. The dizzying cold in her bones was getting stronger, swirling in her head. Her tiredness seemed to eat into the corners of her eyes, dissolving her surroundings in a wash of darkness.

  The last thing she saw before she blacked out was the floor coming up to meet her.

  Bryan rarely climbed up the hill to Darkhaven. Rarely went any higher than the fifth ring, in fact; temples weren’t his thing. If Caraway wanted to discuss some matter of training or Helm business, he came down. But there were at least two occasions every year when Bryan passed through the Gate of Death: the days at the end of each assessment period, when Caraway invited the recruits he was considering for the Helm to see where they might end up in a year’s time. On those days, it never failed to strike Bryan how bloody terrifying the tower must be to anyone who had never seen it up close before.

  Blackstone was rare, possibly because the entire country’s reserves had been depleted to build Darkhaven. He’d never seen any other building with more than a touch of it, and even then it was used in small pieces for decoration and enhancement, rather than great big chunks like it was here. And with good reason: Darkhaven loomed. It filled the sky like a vast, lightless tombstone. It probably wasn’t as tall as it looked, but only because that would have been an architectural impossibility. And the inside was equally daunting. Bryan had been into Darkhaven even less often than he’d visited the grounds, and it had mainly left him with a vague, uneasy memory of too many corners, as if the internal plan of the tower didn’t match its exterior.

  Yet Caraway never complained about it. Caraway lived there, and he didn’t come down to the fifth ring with stories of losing his way along what should have been a perfectly normal, straight corridor. So Bryan was willing to concede that the whole thing was most likely just his imagination. Either that, or the Helm were given some sort of special knowledge that no-one else was allowed to share – because there was no denying that Bryan had got spectacularly bloody lost the last time he’d set foot inside Darkhaven.

  ‘Amazing,’ Penn remarked, far more animated than usual. ‘It looks bigger, the closer you get to it.’ But at the resulting jibe from one of the other recruits, his usual scowl returned to his face. ‘I meant disproportionately bigger, Timo, obviously.’

  All the same, he seemed happier than Bryan
had seen him before. Maybe being accepted for Helm training had given him some kind of validation. Maybe he’d been a pain in the arse before because he was afraid of failure. Caraway must have seen past the attitude to something worthwhile, or the lad wouldn’t be here at all.

  When they reached the open ground in front of the tower, Bryan marshalled them into loose ranks to wait for Caraway. Once again, he found himself scanning their faces in search of … what? It wasn’t as if an assassin would wear the fact on his face like war paint. They’d all left their weapons at the Gate of Death, aside from Bryan himself, so no-one could possibly break out a pistol and go rampaging up to Darkhaven with it. Yet despite that, Bryan realised, he was on edge. He was waiting for … something.

  The postern gate creaked open, and he turned sharply, but it was only Marlon and his nurse on their usual afternoon walk. Bryan watched them disappear round the side of the hill, then glanced back at the recruits. They hadn’t moved. He allowed himself a small smile. They were a decent bunch. Lot of potential between them. No doubt some of them would make fine Helmsmen in a year or two’s time.

  Assuming there’s still a Nightshade overlord to guard, his doubts replied, but he shook them off. Ayla was in the tower. The trainees were unarmed outside the tower. The gate was guarded. He and Caraway were on the lookout for anything unusual. Nothing was going to go wrong.

  The postern creaked again, and this time it was Caraway. He was wearing his full uniform for once, striped coat and all, with the captain’s insignia on his shoulder and on the hilt of his sword. Out of the corner of his eye, Bryan saw several of the trainees straighten up in response.

  ‘Welcome to Darkhaven,’ Caraway greeted them. ‘You’re here because Weaponmaster Bryan and I believe that each and every one of you has the potential to become a member of the Helm. The year ahead of you won’t be easy. The seven weeks you’ve just been through will seem like a summer picnic in comparison. But if you succeed, you’ll win the right to walk through that gate in a Helmsman’s coat. You’ll win the right to do the most important job Mirrorvale has to offer, and protect those who protect us. There is no greater honour. There is no greater privilege.’

  He’d given the same speech, or a variant of it, several times before; yet he always managed to sound sincere. One thing you could say about Tomas Caraway: he’d never stopped believing in the Helm, even when he wasn’t a part of it. Bryan watched the bright, excited faces of the young people in front of him and wondered how many of them shared that belief. Most of them, presumably, or they wouldn’t be here. Yet if his and Caraway’s suspicions came to anything, one of those young people concealed a purpose that was the exact opposite of everything the Helm stood for.

  It seemed that Caraway had been thinking along similar lines. When he’d finished his speech, he paused, then spoke again: slower, more hesitantly, but with even greater intensity.

  ‘Usually this would be the point at which Lady Ayla came out to greet you. She needs to know your faces, after all, if some of you are to be her protectors one day. Yet given the ongoing threat of assassination, she thought it safer not to do that today.’

  ‘But Zander –’ Farleigh began, and Caraway shook his head.

  ‘We have reason to believe that Zander may be innocent. And if that’s the case, someone framed him. Someone who knew him. Someone who had access to his room. That –’ his voice sharpened – ‘is almost certainly one of you. So with that in mind, I would invite you all to look around you.’

  Obediently, the trainees glanced at each other. Bryan searched each of them for a tell-tale sign, a hint of knowledge, but found only confusion.

  ‘If you are standing here with murder in your heart,’ Caraway said, ‘I want you to know that everyone else on this hill is against you. These other men and women, whom you’ve trained with and eaten with and lived with – they’re here because they want to join the Helm. They’re here because they want to protect the Nightshade line from people like you. And so it’s my prediction that I won’t even have to lift a finger to stop you. Because I believe in your colleagues. I believe in their skill and their courage. They know you even better than I do, and I believe they will find you out.’

  Dead silence. The recruits looked serious and uneasy. Bryan studied them again, feeling the tension rise in the air, feeling something about to happen –

  And then, from her place in the middle of the group, Saydi screamed.

  It was a harsh, ragged scream – a scream of intense pain. The trainees separated, moving away from her like a frightened flock of birds, turning to see what had happened. Bryan caught a glimpse of blood, shockingly bright.

  ‘Out of the way!’ he bellowed. The group scattered further, allowing him and Caraway to converge on Saydi. By now she was on the ground, rocking and moaning, clutching her side. Blood stained her fingers like a warning flag.

  ‘Saydi.’ Caraway crouched down beside her. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I – I –’ She was hysterical. He gripped her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t panic. You’ll be fine. Just breathe.’

  Long moments passed, filled with nothing but her gasps as she fought for air. At one point Caraway appeared to make an attempt to examine the wound, but she flailed at him as if she thought he was trying to attack her. Finally she calmed down enough to force out a few broken words.

  ‘S-sorry. I’m all r-right.’

  ‘What happened?’ Caraway asked again.

  ‘I don’t know. Someone – someone –’ She took a deep, shuddering breath, then blinked at him with tearstained eyes. ‘I think I was stabbed.’

  Caraway looked up at Bryan, urgency in his face. ‘Art – don’t let any of them leave –’

  It took some time for Bryan to get the shocked trainees into any semblance of order, and even then he wasn’t immediately sure if anyone was missing. Yet before he could gather his scattered wits enough to run through the list, Farleigh piped up.

  ‘Sir? Penn has gone.’

  Penn walked away from the rest of the group as fast as he could without running. He risked one glance back over his shoulder, but no-one was watching him; they were all gathered around Saydi. He was impressed. When she’d offered to cause a distraction that would allow him to sneak away, he hadn’t expected anything that dramatic. Still, she’d certainly captured their attention. Now he just had to find Marlon – and since he’d seen the boy leave Darkhaven with his nurse, that shouldn’t be too difficult.

  Hurry, he told himself. As soon as they notice you’re gone, they’ll be after you.

  He was a little way round the hill, now, and he could see the two figures ahead: Marlon, crouching down to examine something on the ground, with the woman a short distance behind him. All right. You don’t want to hurt her. And since Saydi’s provided the perfect excuse …

  He broke into a jog, putting a panicked expression on his face – which wasn’t hard. His heart was already pumping like a piston.

  ‘Excuse me?’ he gasped as soon as he was close enough. The nurse had already seen him coming; she’d stepped between him and Marlon, a small knife in her hand. Penn hadn’t expected her to be armed. He concentrated on making himself as unthreatening as possible.

  ‘Excuse me?’ he said again. ‘Captain Caraway sent me. You need to come quickly. Someone’s wounded.’

  Her expression changed from defiance to alarm. ‘Wounded?’

  ‘Yes. One of the other trainees.’

  ‘You’re here with the captain?’ Her stance relaxed a little, and she lowered the knife. ‘How on earth did someone get hurt with the captain around?’

  ‘I don’t know. An accident, I think. But please – he said you’d know what to do, and to come quickly –’

  ‘What about the physician?’

  It clearly hadn’t occurred to her that both Caraway and Bryan would have plenty of experience at dealing with wounds. ‘You were closer. Please hurry!’

  She nodded, then glanced down at Marlon. ‘What about –’ />
  ‘I’ll bring him after you,’ Penn said. ‘Please. She looked really bad.’

  ‘She?’ the nurse echoed, then shook her head as if to clear it. ‘Never mind. I’ll go. You’re sure you’re all right with –’

  ‘I have little brothers of my own,’ Penn said truthfully. He managed something close to a sob. ‘Please – don’t let her die.’

  ‘It’s that bad?’ The alarm returned to the nurse’s face, and she nodded briskly. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do what I can.’

  She took off at a run, and Penn let out a long breath. Right. He’d done it. He’d got Marlon. So now what?

  He looked down at the child by his feet, and the boy returned the gaze with a trembling lip. Renewed panic surged through Penn, because he hadn’t planned beyond this point. And if Marlon started crying –

  Ice and shattered steel, Penn. You really are useless at this. Why didn’t you think it through before you had the boy within your grasp?

  He fought back his sudden confusion and made himself consider the situation rationally. As soon as Caraway and Bryan had sorted out Lori’s story, they’d be after him. Probably the Helmsmen from the gate, too, and maybe even more from inside the tower. That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to be forced to threaten Marlon’s life in front of a whole group of armed men, only to end up being cut down by them before he ever had a chance to confront Caraway. Which meant ideally he’d get Marlon as far away from Darkhaven as possible, forcing Caraway to come after him. If he could get himself and Marlon into a position where they could only be reached by one person at a time, meaning that Caraway had to approach them alone –

  A memory dropped into his mind with the force of a lightning strike, and he grinned. Of course. He should have thought of it before. It had, after all, been Caraway’s own idea.

  ‘Come on, Marlon,’ he said, bending to scoop the boy into his arms. ‘We’re going on a little trip.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Penn has gone. Crouched on the ground beside the injured girl, Caraway heard the words, yet somehow he couldn’t quite grasp what they meant.