by Sam Bowring
Find him!
The crows remained reticent, and he sensed their displeasure with him. They had taken umbrage with the last task he’d given them, the survivors not even allowed to eat properly for their troubles.
He had no time for their reluctance. Focusing in on one young male, he made himself big in its mind.
Into the sky with you.
The crow obeyed, lifting from the roof of a nearby house. Through its eyes he saw the town from above, saw people moving about trying to work out what had happened. Guards were inspecting the bodies on the main street, others setting out to patrol. Then he spied a figure with blue shirt flapping, sprinting through alleys on the edge of town.
‘He’s making for the southern road,’ he told Yalenna.
‘Hold!’
Two threaders stepped into their path.
‘Leave us alone!’ ordered Rostigan, and they nodded in agreement and turned away.
The break in concentration made him think he’d lost the crow, but a moment later he found it, still circling overhead. Despirrow was heading up the hill, and behind he saw himself and Yalenna from above, in pursuit through the town outskirts. As they emerged and reached the hill, Rostigan lost connection to his reluctant minion. A glance upward with his real eyes showed him a distant black dot spiralling downwards, losing feathers as it went. His spy, it seemed, had been noted. Meanwhile Despirrow disappeared around the bend of the top of the hill.
Rostigan gave a knowing grunt.
‘What?’ puffed Yalenna.
‘We’ll see.’
Up the hill they went, around the bend to the stony area. A couple of vague scuffs on the path led towards the bridge.
‘Looks like he tried to cover his tracks,’ said Yalenna.
‘Or he wants us to think he has,’ said Rostigan quietly. ‘Send us into the woods, where we could search for hours to no avail.’
He could feel the cave over his shoulder, as if it were watching him. An obvious hiding spot, too obvious for Despirrow to trust it, unless he really believed they would fall for his misdirection. Or it could be a trap – Despirrow could be standing just out of the light, waiting for them to approach, so he could stop time and come at them with his crossbow.
Rostigan spun about and seized the overhanging lip of the cave mouth. He wrenched it downwards, and rocks and roots cascaded to block up the entrance.
Yalenna raised an eyebrow. ‘You think he went in there?’
‘Could be. We’ll know more if we collapse the roof.’
Moving around the settling rubble, they clambered up the pinnacle of the hill, which was flat at the top.
‘Stand here, at the edge,’ said Rostigan. ‘We might be all right here.’
‘If he’s in there, he’ll just stop time.’
‘Yes, but what’s his next move?’
Yalenna shrugged. ‘Very well.’
Together they sent influence down into the roof of the cave, seeking out keystones and places where the earth was tightly packed.
‘We want to do it all of a sudden, together,’ Rostigan told her.
She nodded and tensed.
‘Now.’
They tore at the supporting structures, loosened earth that kept larger rocks in place. In answer the hilltop trembled, and began to collapse inwards at the centre.
Time stopped.
It made for an interesting tableau. Before them, beyond the remaining ledge of solid ground they stood on, the hilltop hung in a state of suspended half-collapse. Light shone through holes into the cave interior, where rocks hung at various levels.
‘Get down,’ warned Rostigan. ‘He may have sightlines to us.’
‘Are you in there, wretch?’ shouted Yalenna.
A bolt whizzed from the darkness and smacked into her shoulder. Rostigan pulled her down with him lest she stumble backwards off what remained of the hilltop. Once they found their balance, she glanced at her wound through watering eyes, and groaned.
‘By the Spell!’ she growled. ‘When I get hold of you, Despirrow …’
‘Steady,’ said Rostigan.
‘I am steady,’ she replied irritably.
Somewhere beneath, Despirrow chuckled.
‘I don’t know what you’re so happy about,’ called Rostigan. ‘What are you going to do now? You can’t start time again without being crushed, and if you clamber up a staircase of falling debris, we’ll be here to greet you.’
‘You’re right,’ came the answer. ‘I’m in a bit of a quandary. Or, maybe a better way to put it, a bit of a quarry!’
Rostigan gave an unamused snort.
‘And how are you, Yalenna?’ called Despirrow. ‘I hate to admit that I’d deliberately try to destroy such beauty, but really, it was your face I aimed for.’
Yalenna tried to leap to her feet, but Rostigan kept a firm hold on her.
‘Don’t let him rile you,’ he whispered. ‘He’s just trying to trick you into sticking your head up.’
She scowled at him, but nodded. ‘Well, if it’s taunting he wants.’ She raised her voice. ‘How many bolts have you left, Despirrow? Can’t be many, if any.’
‘No, not many, I admit. One, maybe two. Two would be convenient, don’t you think?’
There was a scuffling in the dark, and it sounded like he was moving about.
‘Is there a way out?’ said Rostigan.
‘Not that I can see. I’ll look a little longer, though, if you’ll forgive me.’
‘Take your time.’
‘Ha!’
More scuffling, then silence. Rostigan knew, having inspected the cave himself, that it did not extend into the greater hill beneath.
‘Let me ask you something, Karrak.’
‘That is not my name.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Oh, don’t get me wrong – I appreciate the use of a false name when anonymity is preferable. I haven’t been going about telling everyone that I am Despirrow, of course. But among those who know you, my friend, you will always be Karrak.’
Rostigan felt his brow grow heavy, as if it wanted to force his eyes closed. ‘Go on,’ he said. He had to hear Despirrow’s arguments, if he were to stand against them.
‘Why,’ continued Despirrow, ‘have you joined these e’er-do-wells? You were the worst of us all, and you want me to believe that you’ve turned good? You’re a murderer, a tyrant, a thief, a tormentor …’
Rostigan gritted his teeth, and Yalenna’s touch tightened on his arm.
‘Don’t let him,’ she said. ‘Don’t hear it.’
‘I need to.’
‘Do you remember that night in Sortree when we made the nobles dance like puppets? Their living flesh hooked on barbed chains that we fastened to the roof, screaming as we made them pour our drinks.’
Rostigan closed his eyes, as if that could shut out the images issuing up from the deep place.
‘And yet now you’ve taken up with Yalenna and Braston? You must be playing some trick, surely, taking some deceitful angle? Yalenna, do you really trust him? You should have seen him smile as he made Lord Bayflower mop his own blood from the tiles, jigging about as the fat of his arms worked loose. What has he told you, to secure your confidence?’
Rostigan saw himself, all those years ago, grinning at the suffering he caused, the fierce joy that his power had given him. And then he saw her face, hateful as she sat on the bed with her damp hair, waiting for him to come and take her.
‘Lord of Crows, they called you,’ said Despirrow. ‘And what else, I wonder? Oh, that’s right – Lord of Lies! What is your plan, Karrak? What is your true intent?’
‘He was more convincing,’ spoke up Yalenna, ‘than your desperate attempt to sow discord. Why don’t you come up and join us too, Despirrow, if you really believe Karrak so unchanged? We promise not to rip out your heart.’
‘So spirited, Yalenna,’ said Despirrow. ‘And beautiful too, always so beautiful and young. How old are you really, though you look no more than twenty? I always felt
sad that we never had our time together.’
‘I’d sooner let a worm crawl into me.’
Despirrow barked harsh laughter. ‘Well, at least I penetrated you with something – how is your shoulder feeling, anyway? Throbbing a little?’
All at once the cave was collapsing as time started again, but rocks blasted upwards rendered to grit and chunks, peppering Rostigan and Yalenna as they flung up their hands to protect their faces. A second blast sounded as the cave mouth unstoppered, the rubble that blocked it spinning clear.
Wiping his eyes to see Despirrow sprinting out of the cave towards the bridge, Rostigan took a running start along what remained of the hill, and leapt. As the rocky ground rushed up to meet him, he reached out to melt it for a kinder landing. Casually Despirrow gave a flick over his shoulder, undoing Rostigan’s spell, so he cracked down hard on the flats of his feet. He tried to continue onwards, but his body had other ideas. Apparently something in one of his ankles had given out, and it dragged behind the rest of him.
‘Don’t let him get away!’ Yalenna was clutching her dribbling shoulder and coming down the hill.
Despirrow reached the bridge. If he made it to the other side, he could dart into the wood, and it would quickly become much harder to find him. Hauling along his injured foot, Rostigan made up his mind not to let that happen. The pain was there, but he forced it away, and tried to quicken his step.
It was no good. Pain and willpower had nothing to do with it. His foot simply wasn’t working properly.
He sensed Yalenna threading past him, towards a tree on the opposite side of the ravine. No doubt she hoped to crash it down and snap the bridge apart, but Despirrow saw what she attempted, and with a wave undid it. Yalenna gave an exclamation of frustration.
When Rostigan reached the bridge Despirrow was already halfway across, the gap between them growing ever wider. He put his hand on the rope, forgetful of the hole through his palm, though the rough surface quickly reminded him. Despairingly he knew there was no chance of keeping chase.
As though it had been shocked into him, he had a sudden thought.
Stealer.
Multiple throbbings stole his concentration as he tried desperately to think of a rhyme …
The swaying bridge
From ridge to ridge
As he spoke the last word, the bridge vanished.
Despirrow gave a yelp as he hurtled downwards to the gurgling river. He would be swept away, to safety, if Rostigan did not follow … so Rostigan stepped off the edge and plummeted after. Below the whistle of the wind in his ears, he heard his own voice whispering the words he had just spoken.
Below, Despirrow hit the river with a splash, his shirt ballooning around him as he bobbed in the current. He blinked water from his eyes to see Rostigan falling after him, and Rostigan guessed what might happen next. He did all he could to prepare himself for it, making sure he led with his good foot … and a moment later, crunched against the hard surface of the river, sprawling roughly along little waves and pockets of froth. A few paces away Despirrow’s head stuck out of the motionless water, looking at him.
‘I’d say that hurt,’ he said. ‘Hmm. I’ve never stopped time in a river before. I thought it might keep running, since I’m in it, but evidently not. Actually, I’m quite encased!’ He waggled some fingertips that broke the surface, through which he could not raise his hand.
If he could find the strength, Rostigan could lop his fool head off.
Despirrow’s eyes went up to where the bridge had been. ‘It just disappeared,’ he said. ‘Only Stealer could do that, and I daresay I heard your voice just now, speaking some snatch of poetry.’
Rostigan wheezed, trying to elbow himself up onto his knees.
‘You killed her, didn’t you? Salarkis told me about it.’
‘I will … kill you too … Despirrow.’
‘I don’t think so. Look at you – you’re all cracked and broken.’
Rostigan made it to kneeling, his quavering hand reaching to his back, for his sword.
‘So you killed her,’ frowned Despirrow, ‘and now, apparently, you have her power. That is very interesting.’
Rostigan grunted as he swung the sword, and instantly icy water swallowed him. He plunged, thrashing for purchase, though it was difficult with most of his limbs damaged. Water flowed through the hole in his hand as he tried to swim, and the current dragged on his leaden foot. It was all he could do to stay afloat as they were carried through the ravine, out into woodland. The river gurgled and frothed in his nostrils, choking him as Despirrow swam ahead easily. With a great effort, Rostigan raised his sword from the water and flung it after him. It hit the water behind Despirrow with a dull slap, and sank.
‘See you soon, Karrak!’ Despirrow hooted.
Rostigan struggled towards the shore, grabbing at reeds he found there to haul himself along. He was too badly hurt for further pursuit, his lungs too full of water. At the bank he clawed through the mud until he was clear of the water. Downstream, Despirrow was a bright-blue speck swirling in the crystal flow, racing past curious spectators on boats. The river bent, and he was carried out of view.
‘Damn you,’ Rostigan muttered, and let his head fall.
A GOOD MAN
Tarzi jigged about the semicircle of recruits, who sat on the grass watching her perform. Cedris was there too, tapping his foot in time and beaming. Others off amongst the tents paused in their work to cast curious looks towards the music and song.
Did you ever hear the tale
Of the man who thought up ale?
Everyone who heard him thought him mad.
‘You’re going to make a drink
With the ingredients from bread?’
Is what they shook their heads at him and said.
But he laboured on a hunch
That to liquefy his lunch
Would produce the most amazing of results.
And he waited and he watched
His barrel of strange broth
Until his greedy mouth began to froth.
‘Time to try some!’ he declared
And his friends, they came and stared
As he scooped up his creation in a mug.
He let it touch his lips
Just the tiniest of sips
That’s how it starts, as we all know, of course!
For soon he was a-guzzling
And his head was fizz-and-buzzing
‘By the Spell, it’s the most wonderful a thing!’
‘It makes me want to dance!
And to seek out wild romance!
I have never felt this good before today!’
And his friends they could not help
But be curious to try
So up they lined to quaff at his supply.
Soon they laughed and slapped their knees
All as drunken as you please
And cried ‘This man’s a clever man, it’s true!’
Into the night they drank
’Til the barrel was a drought
And all began to vomit and pass out.
And when the morning sun
Came to touch them one by one
They woke with groans and sorely pounding brows.
‘You poisoned us!’ they cried.
‘There’s no other explanation
For this rotten ruddy ill-feeling’s causation!’
And the man had to agree
For it seemed to him that he
Had a flock of sparrows living in his skull.
All crawled home to their beds
With their aching sodden heads
And each and every thought that they would die.
Said ‘we shan’t do that again!’
And rose many times and peed
And felt very sorry for themselves indeed!
Until the day went by
And the evening did arrive –
The people, they were sound and still alive.
‘Let us celebrate!�
� they called.
From his house the man they hauled.
‘What’s this?’ he said. ‘I thought you swore no more?’
‘That was yesterday!’ they said.
‘But here and now it seems quite plain
You must mix up that poison once again!’
She strummed the final notes, and the soldiers laughed and jostled each other. It seemed the silliness had taken their minds off the grim tasks of the previous day. For herself, she was glad to have an audience, for sitting around waiting for Rostigan to return made her restless. She had said she’d be the army’s minstrel and, as it turned out, she meant it.
‘Storm and sleet, that song made me feel like a drink!’ said Cedris, and a fellow next to him slapped him on the shoulder.
‘You’ll have to wait ’til dinnertime, and then it will be just one mug!’
Cedris screwed up his face in mock disgust. ‘Best you take our minds off this sad fact, minstrel – sing us another!’
‘Another?’ said Tarzi, raising her eyebrows as she ran her fingers over the lute strings. ‘Another, you say?’
‘Another!’ came the happy chorus of voices.
‘Very well – how about the old lady who could not understand why her cow gave no milk?’
There was some hooting from those who already knew the answer, and everyone egged her on. Tarzi adopted an air of grave seriousness as she began the nonsense song, as if it were a dramatic ballad indeed.
After she finished that one, there were requests for another song, and another after that. Eventually she held up her hands and protested she could sing no more, a proclamation met with good-natured disappointment. In truth, Tarzi could have kept going for hours, but she had noticed that the sun was low in the sky, and Rostigan had expected to be back before dark. Waving goodbye, she promised that she would return soon – a fairly vague and nonbinding claim as far as she was concerned – and slung her lute over her shoulder to head towards the edge of camp.
Rostigan. Her feet quickened at the thought of him. She felt a bit silly, and a tinge showed on her cheeks, not that anyone noticed, or could know what put it there. How long would he do that to her? It was not as if he even tried very hard – certainly he did not fawn over her, or pay her many compliments. Yet, still and stoic as he was, his thoughts ever withheld and mysterious, he brooked no threat to her person or honour, and his embrace always felt warm and safe. It used to be her fear such moments were only borrowed, that one day he would turn around and say, ‘That’s enough, be off with you’, but that day had never come, and she had gotten out of the habit of worrying about it.
