In the Shadow of the Bear
Page 38
Sorrel had seen it too. “What does that mean, Clovermead?” he asked nervously. “Are we told that trespassers will be nibbled?”
“It’s just roaring,” said Clovermead. “It doesn’t always mean something.” She cast her mind out into the night. Mallow? she asked.
Join me in Kite Hall, said Mallow. I have sent these bears to escort you.
Bears? asked Clovermead, and then she could smell them and hear them everywhere around them, bounding closer, growling and roaring. They came out of the woods by the dozens—brown bears and black bears, white bears and russet bears, circling them all around. Sorrel drew his sword and Clovermead drew hers, too. They stepped to either side of Saraband and Brown Barley.
“Mallow’s sent them to take us to Kite Hall,” said Clovermead. She looked at all the bears around her, saw the white tendrils digging into their heads, and she swallowed hard. “I don’t think they mean to hurt us.”
You are invited, whispered a great brown bear. The others are not.
Lord Kite has left them to us, said a leering black bear who was missing two fangs.
You can’t have them! said Clovermead indignantly, but now it was just Sorrel she cared about. Dust swirled in her and brought her the pleasing vision of Saraband torn apart, limb from limb. I’m still responsible for her, Clovermead told herself, told the tempting dust. It doesn’t matter if she’s kissing Sorrel now. That doesn’t change anything. But the words scrambled for purchase in her emptiness. The black bear laughed at her contemptuously and stepped forward into the path.
Saraband brought Brown Barley back a step. “If they don’t mean to hurt us, Clovermead, what are they doing?” she asked. Sorrel moved between her and the bear.
“I got the message a little wrong, dancer.” Clovermead raised her sword up high. “Mallow wants me in Kite Hall, but not the two of you. We have to fight them off.”
Her sword flared in the moonlight, and the bears stopped where they were. The plaques gleamed and the metal of the sword shone like molten silver. Clovermead waggled her sword at the bears, and they stumbled away from its light.
Sorrel kept his sword at the ready, but he took a quick glance at Clovermead and smiled unsteadily. “Now you are a firefly! You show no end of talents. How does your sword come to glow?”
“I don’t know,” said Clovermead. “It shone once before. It just happens.” She took a step forward, and the sword’s light moved with her. The bears ahead of her fell back while the bears behind her came forward, crowding at the edges of the sphere of swordlight. “They don’t seem to like the light. The two of you had better stay close to me.” She took another step forward, Saraband and Sorrel hurried after her, and now she saw the path divide again. “Which way to Kite Hall?” she asked Saraband.
Saraband pointed to a path ahead and to the left. “That way.” Clovermead nodded, and started up the narrow road.
Twilight ended, night fell, and the stars appeared. Sorrel walked just ahead of her and Saraband rode right behind on Brown Barley. They went ever deeper into a grove of giant oaks, the thinnest tree four feet across and the thickest seven. The ground was still covered with brown oak leaves from the last fall. Owls hooted from the branches above and sometimes dove after small, squeaking animals dashing among the leaves. Clovermead saw a raccoon trot confidently through the night. The silent sphere of bears followed them steadily, like great moths hovering around a lantern.
At last they emerged into a hollow where a round pool stood. Forests rose around the three nearest sides of the pool, but a greensward lay on its far side. Beyond the pool the land fell away. Leagues away and far below, Clovermead saw the lights of Silverfalls Abbey pierce the endless darkness of the Reliquaries. The pond spilled over a stone lip to form a small waterfall that spattered down rocks with a constant roar. Two narrow white stones lay by the water’s edge.
The travelers came closer to the grass, Clovermead’s sword still held high, and now Clovermead saw that the stones were gravestones. They were marble and they glowed in the swordlight. The words MALLOW KITE were graven on one and ATHANOR SCONCE on the other.
Mallow Kite straightened up. He had been lounging against his tombstone. He was no longer a voice in Clovermead’s head, but solid and visible; no longer wore a bear-priest’s furs, but the golden raiment of a lord of Chandlefort.
“Welcome to Kite Hall,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
Kite Hall
Mallow glanced at Saraband and Sorrel with mild surprise, then at the glowing sword and the circle of bears. “I didn’t invite your friends, Demoiselle. They aren’t welcome here.”
“Uncle,” whispered Saraband. “It really is you. How can you be here?”
“I don’t quite know how it happened, Niece,” said Mallow thoughtfully. “The sword of a soldier of Low Branding came toward me, there was pain and darkness—and then I heard a piper play. Her instrument was very cold and very far away. Her tune grew louder, and then it melted into the roar of a bear that tore me from my sleep.
“Wake, he said. I have need of you. ‘Let me sleep,’ I said. ‘I had enough of doing and loving before; no more of that.’ But I can offer you something very sweet, he said. Wake and you can take revenge against Lady Cindertallow. That caught my attention somehow, even in my sleep. I had forgotten a great deal under the earth, but I remembered how Melisande had let me come to love her and then spurned me for the craftsman’s son. That still gnawed at my heart. ‘Wake me, My Lord,’ I said.
“I stood on the ground once more, by this gravestone. ‘How much time has passed?’ I asked him. Eleven years, he said. ‘So long asleep?’ I cried. ‘I must be very active for the next eleven to make up for lost time. How may I serve you, My Lord?’ I have an army that needs a commander, he said. Will you lead them? ‘Gladly,’ said I. And here I am.” He bowed low to Saraband.
Saraband shuddered and made the sign of the crescent.
Mallow lifted up a bear-tooth that hung on a leather cord around his neck. “I am immune to such conjurations, Niece.” He rubbed his hands briskly and turned back to Clovermead. “Put away your sword and come with me.”
“I’m not an idiot,” said Clovermead. She kept her sword up. “I’m not going to leave my friends to die.”
Mallow tried to enter the sphere of light. He winced in sudden pain and drew back into the darkness. “It appears that we’re at an impasse.” He smiled. “I surrender, Demoiselle. Put down your sword. I won’t harm the Tansyard or my niece.”
Clovermead laughed harshly. “You think I’ll believe anything you say?”
Mallow hissed impatiently, then raised his right hand and said out loud, “I swear by my fear of Lord Ursus’ vengeance that I will not harm your friends while they remain on the grounds of Kite Hall.” He made a gesture and the bears fell away from the light. Slowly, growling softly, they melted back into the woods. Very hesitantly Clovermead lowered her sword. Its light went out as she sheathed it. She looked warily at Mallow.
“I am no oath-breaker,” said Mallow. He strode from his grave and beckoned them to follow. “Come with me to Kite Hall. Quickly, now! Your friends have delayed our business here long enough.”
A stone path led from the greensward through more woods. Great roots stretched under the path and tore its stones apart. In a few hundred yards they came to a great lawn of grass thick with sprouting saplings. Ahead a long timber house stood half-collapsed. The tiles had fallen from its roof, and its shattered windows were dark. Sorrel helped Saraband dismount from Brown Barley and tied the horse to a sapling on the front lawn.
Mallow strode through the sagging front door and into the dining room of Kite Hall. He led them past a table long enough to hold thirty guests, covered with leaves that had blown in through the broken windows, then back through cold, dark rooms to a kitchen thick with ancient dust and grease. A partridge that had made a nest in an abandoned pot fled out the broken back door as they came in. Through the door Clovermead saw a very ordinary stone w
ell in the middle of a rectangle of grass.
“You want to cure Melisande with a cup of water from my well? There it is.” Mallow pointed to a row of dusty metal flasks on a shelf. “Take one,” he said. “Keep it away from me. Only living flesh should touch the flask until the water is poured in.”
Clovermead reached out her hand toward the flask, then looked at Mallow suspiciously. “You’ll just let us take the water and go?”
“Of course not.” Mallow stared at Clovermead with glittering eyes. “You and I will make a bargain for this favor.”
“That does not sound like a good idea, Clovermead,” said Sorrel hastily. “Please do not decide too quickly to accept his offer.”
“Wise words,” said Mallow. “Prudent words. Be judicious while Melisande dies.” His laughter was colder and more joyful than ever.
“Be merciful, Uncle,” said Saraband. “Let Milady live without conditions. Haven’t you had your fill of revenge yet?”
“No!” blazed Mallow. Red spots rose on his bloodless cheeks. “She tore out my heart. She showed me no mercy and I will show none to her.”
“She has been kind to me, Uncle,” said Saraband. “She has—”
“I don’t care how she’s cosseted you, Niece.” His raging eyes whipped across Saraband’s face, and she whimpered and fell back toward Sorrel. He opened his arm to embrace her and she huddled by his chest. Prudent Sorrel, cautious Sorrel, frightened Sorrel unhesitatingly stepped between Saraband and the dead man’s rage.
They’re good for each other, thought Clovermead. She needs someone to be brave for her, and he needs someone to make him brave. She sighed, cold and empty. Sorrel doesn’t need me.
I have been very lonely, Demoiselle, said Mallow silently. She could feel his solitude etched in every grain of dust that flowed through her veins. I would be glad to have a companion. He looked at her wistfully. Give me more of your heart, and I will give you water enough from my well to cure your mother.
Anyone would do for you, said Clovermead. You don’t need me either.
I know what your heart is like. I’ve felt it beat in me these last few days, and I like it very much. I would not make this offer to my niece or the Tansyard. Only to you.
I wish Sorrel had said that to me, thought Clovermead, but at least someone had. He was a dead man eaten up with hatred and revenge, but he wanted her. Clovermead felt blood rush through her, she was all fire and ice, and the words darted out of her mouth: “I accept your bargain, Lord Kite.” Saraband and Sorrel gasped, but Clovermead didn’t regret what she’d said. She walked briskly over to the shelf, picked up a flask, and brushed the grime off it. “What do we do now?”
“Draw up the water,” said Mallow. He led them through the broken back door into the grassy courtyard, then stood aside as they approached the well. A sturdy bucket attached by a rope to a winch sat on the well. “I trust you know how?”
“We had a well at Ladyrest,” said Clovermead. “Drawing up the water was one of my chores, but I was always forgetting, and Father had to remind me just about every day of my life.” She gave the flask to Saraband and began to lower the bucket down the well shaft. When the bucket hit water, far down, she turned the winch to bring it back up.
The bucket was extraordinarily heavy. “This isn’t water,” said Clovermead. “You’ve put lead weights into the well. I know it.” Her arms ached as she turned the winch, and she found herself panting. I want to turn into a bear, she thought.
“Don’t, Demoiselle,” said Mallow. He leaned comfortably against a windowsill outlined in climbing ivy. “You must stay human while you bring the water up.” Clovermead obeyed and kept on turning the winch.
Her entire upper body was in agony by the time the bucket was halfway up. “I can’t go on,” she gasped. “Please, Sorrel, take the winch.”
“Lady, give me strength,” Sorrel murmured. He took the winch from Clovermead’s hands and wheeled it around while Clovermead massaged her aching arms and the chafed skin of her hands. It was no easier for him than it had been for Clovermead. The bucket came nearer and nearer to the surface, and sweat glistened on Sorrel’s forehead. He twisted it once more—and his fingers came loose! Sorrel cried out in despair as the winch began to slip backward, and Clovermead grabbed the handle. The bucket had fallen only a few feet. Some water must have spilled out, but the bucket was as heavy as ever. Clovermead and Sorrel held the handle together and kept the bucket from falling, but neither of them had the strength to lift it the rest of the way.
“Let me do the rest,” said Saraband.
“You?” asked Clovermead. “You’re not strong enough.”
“It only needs to come a few more feet,” said Saraband. “I can do that much.” She put the flask down on the grass and set her hands next to Clovermead’s on the handle. “I owe your mother for her kindness to me,” she said quietly. “Let me pull.”
“I don’t need your help,” said Clovermead, but she felt her arms buckling. Unwillingly she stepped aside and let Saraband take her place. “Don’t let the bucket drop,” she growled. “I can’t pull it up a second time.”
“I won’t fail Milady,” said Saraband. Then she began to pull. Sorrel tried to help her, but he, too, was limp with weariness, and Saraband’s slender arms had to bear the weight of the bucket. She began to tremble at once, and Clovermead could tell that her cousin didn’t have half Clovermead’s strength. Weak as she was, she didn’t falter, didn’t cry out, didn’t say a word of complaint. Inch by inch she raised the bucket until it was even with the top of the well, then held the winch steady while Clovermead and Sorrel grabbed the full bucket and set it gently on the grass by the well. When Saraband let go of the handle at last, Clovermead saw she had rubbed half the skin off her palms. Without fuss she bled in the darkness.
Clovermead dipped the flask into the bucket. When it was full, she drew the cap tight. The flask was still as heavy as lead, as heavy as gold.
Mallow gazed at the flask. “I drew another bucket a fortnight ago,” he said. “I spilled the water through my fingers upon my sword. With the touch of my flesh it became the water of death, and I opened Melisande’s veins with it. The water you have drawn up will counteract that other flask, heal any wound I have caused. If you reach her.” He smiled at Clovermead. “That is not so certain.”
“Ah,” said Clovermead. “I hear the catch coming on.”
Mallow turned to Saraband and Sorrel. “Niece, Tansyard, it is time for you to go. Take the flask and leave my home. You will not be attacked by bear or bear-priest until you come in sight of the fields of Chandlefort. If you dare that, I will not be held accountable for what happens to you. Chandlefort is under siege, and Melisande is answerable to my vengeance. My armies will fight against you if you attempt to bring that flask to her.” He turned to Clovermead with glittering eyes. “You and I have made a bargain. You will stay to fulfill your part of it.”
Clovermead nodded, eager and fearful at once. Then she picked up the flask and thrust it into Sorrel’s hands. “Go,” she whispered.
“Clovermead,” Sorrel began, and there was fear and tenderness and affection in his face.
“I know what I’m doing. Hurry to Milady!”
“We will ride like the wind, Clovermead,” said Sorrel reluctantly. “I promise you, you will not have bargained in vain.” Then he and Saraband turned and ran from the courtyard back through abandoned Kite Hall and toward the front lawn where Brown Barley stood waiting. In a minute Clovermead heard Brown Barley neigh, and then she heard hoofbeats sound, dwindle, and disappear.
Clovermead and Mallow stood alone in the cold courtyard, and Clovermead shivered. “You’re only offering my mother a chance of survival. That means you’ll only get a part of me. Is that understood?”
“That seems fair,” said Mallow. He smiled. “What do you offer?”
“Will you take another third of my heart, Mallow?” Clovermead was trembling worse than ever, with cold, with fear, with anticipation.
“I don’t mind, you know,” said Clovermead as her teeth chattered. “I want Milady to live, and I don’t want to hurt, and this way I get both.” She made herself think of Sorrel and Saraband embracing, but it didn’t hurt at all now. The dust was thick and soothing; the ache in her blood very thin. She tried to make herself smile. “It won’t be so bad if I bargain the rest of my heart away? If we become companions forever?”
“Once I was reputed to be a witty man. I dance well. I was pleasant to look upon, before I grew so pale and cold.” Mallow bowed and kissed Clovermead’s hand with his lips that were not cold to her any longer. “And you will be an agreeable companion to me. You are brave, kind, and pleasant to look upon.”
Clovermead colored, and anger and embarrassment stirred in her chilled heart. She drew away from him. “Don’t lie. I know I’m not pretty.”
“Then you are a fool,” said Mallow roughly. He seized her hand in his and he held up her scar. The mishealed flesh tingled hot in his grip. “This is nothing. You will be a beautiful woman.” There was a sad look in his eyes. “As beautiful as Melisande.”
Clovermead jerked her arm away from Mallow, though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. She liked the way his palm had warmed her scar. “I want Sorrel to like me. Maybe he does, some ways, but he likes Saraband better. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You didn’t—why should I?”
Mallow smiled crookedly. “I cannot argue with that,” he said. “Ah, Demoiselle, we will provide good solace for each other when I have had my revenge.”
Anger flared in Clovermead, and it melted some of the ice in her. “I want to like you, but then you talk about revenge and I know you’re as hateful as ever. I won’t stop fighting to save Milady.”