Days of Air and Darkness

by Katharine Kerr

  Evandar raised one hand and sang an incantation in the name of the Lords of Air. All at once, a marble bridge appeared under the horses’ hooves. With a clatter more deafening than thunder, the army galloped again, charging toward the isle.

  “They’re here, sure enough!” Evandar yelled over the din.

  Shaetano bit his lip as if to suppress a curse. Menw grinned and drew his sword with a flourish. At the signal, the rest of the army did the same with a flash like lightning as their horses clattered off the bridge and onto the dark gray sand of the island’s beach. When Evandar glanced up, he saw, drifting far overhead, the tiny shape of a bird.

  “Look there, brother,” Evandar said. “Think that’s Alshandra?”

  “What? I don’t see anything.”

  “You don’t, eh? No matter.”

  Ahead, a silver billow of hill rose, its flanks streaming pale mist. Perched at the summit a castle loomed, not the conjoined brochs of Deverry, round and towering inside a proper dun, but a strange edifice, built square, with sharp corners to its walls, and the only towers were peculiar skinny ones, perched on top of the big square palace inside or clinging to the edges of its pointed roofs.

  “Pitiful,” Evandar sighed. “Absolutely pitiful.”

  He waved his hand once in the air and summoned a gale. Slamming into the walls, pounding at the towers, it blew the castle into shreds and whirled the chunks away. Shrieking and screaming, tumbling out of the broken walls like dice shaken from a bag, Alshandra’s rebels plunged in an untidy mob. Thunder boomed and echoed as they rolled down the hill and plunged off the island, screaming as they fell into and through the foggy sea, down and down.

  “After them!”

  The falling rebels swirled down with the horsemen riding hard after, just as the wind will drop its tower of leaves in a long spiral onto the ground. Out on the battle plain, the rebels fell to earth, scrambling up and shrieking in a plume of copper dust. Their bronze armor and bronze swords glittered under the reddish light as they gathered into a milling mob, each fighting to squeeze into the center and safety.

  “Surrender!” Evandar called out.

  For an answer, they gabbled and swore. The horsemen charged. Here and there, some braver creature with an ax or sword made a stand; most fled, shamelessly throwing their weapons away as they scattered. Shields and breastplates, knives and helms, all littered the battle plain and gleamed, the pale gold of dead leaves.

  Although Evandar screamed orders to let them go and reform, there was no holding back the men of the Host. Bright or Dark, elven image or beast, they raced off after the rebels—except for the few who dismounted and ran to gather bronze trinkets. Only Menw and Shaetano answered his call. The three of them paused their snorting, blowing horses on the edge of the battle plain and watched the rout.

  “She escaped,” Menw said.

  “She was never there,” Shaetano growled. “Or the castle would have repelled my brother’s attack.”

  “Both wrong. I saw her flying round overhead, but there was no catching her. She deserted her pack. She has no more use for them, truly, with Elessario safe in Carra’s womb and about to be born.”

  The two of them goggled at him. Evandar grinned.

  “I didn’t want this wretched ragtag excuse for a rebel army prowling round my borders, working malice while my back was turned. One thing at a time. I learned that from Dallandra, truly: one thing at a time.”

  A few at a time, the men of the conjoined Host rode back, walking tired horses across the plain, where the dust swirled thick over the last of the rebel weapons and buried them. Far fewer warriors returned than had joined the chase; some had wandered away, others had fallen back into a shared existence, as flames will spring out of a fire when a wind rouses it, only to merge again into the general burning.

  “Now what?” Shaetano said.

  Evandar glanced at Menw.

  “We’ve chased her from the air and trounced her pack here in the land of fire,” the lieutenant said. “In the land of earth, your pavilion stands, and our women wait for us. She’ll not stay there long. I say we look for her in the sea.”

  “And I agree.” Evandar raised his horn. “Back through the forest, then. We’ll follow the silver river down to the shore.”

  “I do not understand this delay.” Cadmar spoke quietly, but the tendons in his jaw bulged from the effort to keep his voice down. “Jill, I’d expected a relieving army before this. I truly did think Drwmyc would have ridden to our aid straightaway. I’ve never stinted him when he’s called upon me, and if Cengarn falls, the whole north country’s in danger.”

  “We did see those two messengers approach, and your men told me they seemed to be wearing the gwerbret’s colors.”

  “True spoken, and we thought they’d got away safely, too. What if we were wrong? What if they ran into a Horsekin patrol?”

  “The enemy might have caught them on the road, sure enough.”

  “And if they did, my allies don’t even know our enemy’s strength, do they? Ah, ye gods! If only we could send them messages, but well, that’s the worst of being sieged, isn’t it?” The gwerbret managed a rueful sort of smile. “Ah, by all the ice in all the hells!”

  “Your Grace, I’ll think on it, but truly, I’m not sure what can be done.”

  Jill took her leave of the gwerbret and started back to her chamber. She was planning on scrying, though not for the gwerbret of Dun Trebyc and his men—since she’d never seen them in the flesh, she couldn’t scry them out. As she was stepping out of the great hall, she nearly ran into Yraen, lounging against the wall in the sun. He straightened up and made her a bow.

  “Is your lady about?” Jill said.

  “She’s in the women’s hall with Lady Labanna and the others, so she gave me leave to go.”

  “Well, truly, there’s no need for you to sit in front of the door like a dog or suchlike.”

  “So she said. Uh, well, just now?” Yraen glanced about, almost furtively. “Well, I was just coming into the great hall, you see, and so I overheard your talk with the gwerbret, about his allies and the delay and suchlike. And well, I’ve a thought or two about that.”

  “Then spit them out, if you please.”

  “It’s going to sound daft.”

  “I’m the best judge of that. Come along, tell me.”

  “Well, the first hire that Rhodry and I ever rode together, it was about three years ago, now, but it was a feud, and we rode for a certain Lord Erddyr. He’s one of Gwerbret Drwmyc’s vassals, you see.”

  “Hold a moment. Is this the hire where Rhodry had that wretched enchanted whistle?”

  Yraen gaped.

  “Enchanted?” he said at last.

  “Well, what else could it be? Certainly plenty of strange beings thought the thing worth fighting over. You see, Rhodry told me some of this before he left.”

  “Did he tell you what happened during the gwerbret’s adjudication? About the badger-headed creature, I mean, who tried to murder him, right in front of Drwmyc?”

  It was Jill’s turn for the gape.

  “He did not,” she said, and grimly. “Our Rhoddo has a rather poor way with a tale at times. He mentioned that a badger-headed thing was hunting the whistle, but he said naught about the gwerbret being right there.”

  “Not just the gwerbret. Every lord in that part of Pyrdon, because this feud had drawn a lot of lords in, and it’d killed a fair lot of them, too. They were all there in the pavilion, and the creature appeared practically at Drwmyc’s feet, you see, and tried to kill Rhodry. And Rhodry killed it instead with this bronze knife Dalla had given him. The creature had murdered this other rider, you see—I nearly forgot that bit—and stolen his clothes. That’s how it got into the pavilion and so close to the gwerbret. We found the rider’s body, and ye gods! Was there a panic!”

  “I see.” Jill felt profoundly weary. “And now the gwerbret’s faced with Cadmar’s tale of dweomer warriors and dweomer danger, and he’s got to c
onvince his vassals to ride north with him when he doesn’t have much stomach for it himself.”

  “I’d wager a good bit of coin that’s the case. And ye gods, they still must be short of men, too, the lords who rode that feud, I mean. It was a cursed bloody affair, because it all got out of hand, somehow, well beyond what the honor of the thing demanded.”

  “Feuds always do get out of hand—somehow. Here, Yraen, you have my profound thanks. If you remember anything more like this, do tell me straightaway? It’s not daft at all.”

  “I will, then. It just sounds so strange, when you tell it in cold blood, like.”

  Later that afternoon, with Yraen’s remembrance still very much on her mind, Jill received a visitor. She was working up in her tower room when Jahdo opened her door.

  “My lady?” the lad said. “There’s a dwarven gentleman down in the great hall. He says it’s needful that he see you. What shall I tell him?”

  “What’s his name?” Jill said.

  “It’s Jorn, my lady, the one you did send me to, about the omens and suchlike.”

  “Then bring him up straightaway.”

  In some minutes, Jorn came hurrying in, leaving Jahdo puffing on the stairs behind him. The dwarf bowed to her, then shut the door.

  “I’ve come to see if there’s more that me and the lads can do to help out,” Jorn said. “There’s six of us caught here in town, you see, not counting our innkeep.”

  “Here, sit down. You’ve helped a fair bit already, what with the dweomer stone you laid in behind the east gate.”

  “Wasn’t dweomer.” Jorn snorted profoundly. “A secret, it is, but dweomer it is not.”

  He sat down in the chair and leaned back, cocking one ankle over the opposite knee, while Jill took her usual perch in the window.

  “We’ve been thinking,” Jorn said, “and we’ve come up with two ideas, like. You know the stream that flows through town?”

  “Of course. I worry about the wretched thing every day. Or about the place where it goes out through the walls, I mean. A portcullis is all very well, but—”

  “It might not be much protection when our ugly friends out there start ramming the walls? Just so, just so. Well, we’ve been thinking about turning that weak point into a weapon. We could do a little digging and building to make a basin and a dam. I won’t bore you with the details, but when it looks like the big attack’s on its way, we could back the stream up for a bit, half a day, say, then let the water flood out all at once.”

  “Aha! That would give the attackers somewhat to think about, eh?”

  “Especially if they were standing right round that little arch in the wall.” Jorn smiled briefly. “The ground on the other side of the wall would stay muddy, too. It would make for some bad footing.”

  “So it would. FU take you to the equerry. He can detail some men to help with the actual digging.”

  “Good, good. Now, here’s the second idea. Cengarn’s built on hard stone, a proper foundation, like, but there’s one spot to the north where our lads have been thumping on the dirt and heard what sounds like an old fissure. It’s likely that we might have easier digging there.”

  “Aha! A sally port?”

  “Not too likely. I doubt if we can make it wide enough to get more than one man out a time, you see. But we might be able to dig you a back door for sneaking out a messenger. We’re all wondering what’s happened to Cadmar’s allies.”

  “You’re not alone in that.”

  “No doubt.” Jorn allowed himself a thin smile. “If a messenger’s going to get out of here, it’s got to be soon. They’re doing a right good job on those ditches round their camp. Once that ring closes, no one’s going to get out without them knowing.”

  “True spoken. Unless maybe to the north. They’re never going to be able to enclose those hills.”

  “Which is why we were poking round the north wall.”

  “Of course. This is a splendid offer, Jorn, but it strikes me as dangerous. Cave-ins and suchlike happen.”

  “Well, they do, they do, but it’ll be dangerous for the messenger most of all, if we can get one out.” He paused for a wry smile. “But another danger’s to the north wall. You never know what weakness you’ll find, when you start poking round like this. We don’t want to sap our own walls.”

  “Ye gods! If it came down—even if it caused the barest breach—”

  “Disaster, truly. That’s why I came to you first. I wanted to ask your opinion, like, before we go talking to the gwerbret.”

  “Well, let me think about it. But you do have my thanks for the offer.”

  Better yet, he’d given her an idea that might well prove more valuable than a risky mine. There was more than one kind of tunnel in the world. Jill escorted the dwarf downstairs, found the equerry, and left them happily discussing plans for the stream, then went to find Dallandra, who was, it turned out, sitting on the roof of one of the secondary brochs. Jill closed the trapdoor in the middle of the roof behind her, then joined Dalla near the edge among the heaps of stones.

  “Was that one of the dwarves I saw come in?” Dallandra said.

  “It was, and he started me thinking. Could you open a road through Evandar’s country and get a messenger out to Cadmar’s allies?”

  “Easily, but what if Alshandra were waiting for us?”

  “Imph, now I hadn’t thought of that. But if I renewed our seals right before you began, it’s not likely that Alshandra and her tame shape-changer would even know.”

  “Not likely, but possible.”

  “And the messenger and his horse both will have bits of iron all over them.”

  “Now that is true.”

  “We’d need a man who’s seen dweomer of this sort before.”

  They looked at each other for a moment.

  “Yraen,” Dallandra said at last.

  “Just so. Ye gods, I hate this! For all we know, we’re sending him to his death!”

  “Death’s waiting for all of us right here, isn’t it? If we don’t get this siege lifted soon. What were you telling me about the second planting?”

  “That’s true. If the farmers don’t get that crop in the ground soon, this entire city’s going to starve, sieged or no.”

  They left the roof, and on their way down, Jill found a page and sent him hunting for Yraen. In some minutes, the silver dagger joined them in Jill’s chamber. He stood uneasily in the center of the room and looked back and forth between the two dweomermasters.

  “Yraen, I’ve somewhat to ask you,” Jill said. “If you don’t want to do this, by every god in the sky, tell me so, and I’ll find another man. There won’t be the slightest bit of shame on your head for turning a task like this down.”

  He merely smiled.

  “We’re going to try to get a messenger out of the dun with dweomer.” Jill saw no reason to mince her words. “The kind Evandar uses when he opens roads through another world.”

  “I’ve ridden one of those before.”

  “So Rhodry said. It occurs to me that you know the land and the lords round Dun Trebyc, too. Do you think Erddyr will remember you?”

  “He should. I saved his life in that wretched feud.”

  “Did you now? That’s a handy thing. Are you sure you want to do this, though? You could be riding right to your death.”

  “There’s worse things than that, for a man like me.”

  “Like the duty you have now?”

  He shrugged and looked away. It was as much of an admission as he could ever make, Jill supposed, and more of one than she’d ever expected.

  “Done, then,” she said. “I’ll need to get sealed letters from the gwerbret and suchlike for you to carry. Dalla, when’s the best time for this little ride?”

  “Broad daylight,” Dalla said in Deverrian, then switched to Elvish. “Before sunset, on the full astral tide of Fire.”

  “Then we’d best hurry. I’ve got to find Carra another guard, too, though this time, I think I’ll rota
te the duty among a whole squad.” Jill returned to Deverrian and Yraen. “Get your gear together and a horse. You’d best wear your mail and a helm, too. Meet us—” She glanced at Dalla. “Where?”

  “Now that’s a good question. Are there ten feet together in this wretched dun or town where we won’t be seen leaving?” Dallandra frowned for a long moment, then grinned. “Well, why even leave the stables? There’s a long aisle twixt wall and stalls, isn’t there?”

  “So there is,” Yraen said. “And no doubt the grooms will run like mice when they see a sorcerer coming.”

  Yraen would have preferred to have left the dun without saying farewell to Carra, or failing that, to have had a private word with her, but as it was, they said the worst of all possible good-byes. With the womenfolk round her, she came down into the great hall and stood some ten feet away, watched without saying a word as Gwerbret Cadmar handed over the silver message tubes, and personally thanked Yraen for attempting this risky delivery. When Yraen rose from his kneel, he allowed himself a glance at Carra and found her on the edge of tears. With Jill muttering at him to hurry, he bowed in the princess’s direction, then started to follow the dweomermaster out of the great hall.

  “Yraen!” Carra came running after him. “Yraen! Wait!”

  He hesitated, glancing at Jill, who pointedly looked away. He stopped, turning just as the princess caught up to them, her golden hair wisping round her face.

  “Be careful.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Do be careful, Yraen.”

  It was a fatuous thing, but what else could she say? Already the other women were bustling up, Labanna glowering at her royal charge’s improprieties, that Carra would speak to, much less touch, a silver dagger in the middle of the great hall.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said. “And you do the same.”

  “I will.”

  A squad of old women, as determined as warriors, surrounded her and marched her away. Yraen turned on his heel and strode out of the great hall.