by Karen Miller
His callused hand moved from her shoulder to her cheek. Rested there. ‘You’re sure?’
She stood and moved away from the table. Towards the door. Hinting. ‘When have you ever known me not sure?’
He laughed, as she’d intended. Collected his coat from the arm of her dilapidated couch then paused in the open doorway. ‘I’ll stay around the stables and call the minute he gets back.’
‘Good,’ she said, and closed the door firmly behind him.
Blessedly alone, she stripped off her skirt and blouse and underthings and bathed in a basin of warm water. Then she fell into bed, too weary for even one page of a book. Blew out the candle. Sank into sleep.
And dreamed.
‘Look!’ said Gar, and lifted an unsteady hand to point. ‘Dorana.’
Anchored to his saddle by habit and exhaustion, Asher blinked groggily and squinted into the distance. Everything looked bleary and his head hurt. Ha! His head? His head, his back, his legs, his toenails … ‘Where?’
‘There! See it? That glittering beyond those far trees? It’s the sun setting on the palace windows. We’re nearly home, praise Barl. Just a few more miles.’
‘Aye,’ said Asher, and dragged a filthy sleeve across his dirty, unshaven face. ‘Good.’ For him, any road. Gar was nearly home. As for himself …
But it was the City, right enough. And about bloody time too. The muddy track they travelled now linked with the great City Road, and that would lead them all the way to the main gates. And through Dorana. And up to the palace, and the Tower, where he’d have to sleep tonight and tomorrow night and the next and—
His blistered fingers tightened on Cygnet’s reins; the horse half raised his head, grunting. Poor beast. He was exhausted too. Matt would be furious when he saw how much condition his precious animals had lost. They’d need a week at least of stable rest, and all the grain and mash they could eat, after the punishing ride from Westwailing.
Come to think of it, he could do with a bit of that himself.
‘Let’s trot a bit,’ said Gar, his pale voice humming with tension. He looked rough as guts too. Dark gold stubble sandpapered his cheeks and chin. His bloodshot eyes had sunk into their sockets and his dirty hair hung limp and lank. If Darran could see him now he’d most likely faint.
‘Trot?’ Asher groaned. ‘Barl bloody save me. Do we have to? My damn spine’s near to jolted through the top of my skull.’
‘And you think mine isn’t?’ snapped Gar, glaring. ‘Come on. We can try, at least. If we can I want to—’ He stopped, coughing like a man with lungrot. The fit passed eventually, leaving him milk-white and gasping. Waving away Asher’s concern he pressed his fingers to his eyes, hard, then let his hand drop. ‘I’m all right.’ Glancing at Asher, he frowned. ‘Which is more than I can say for you. You look worse than I feel, if that’s possible. You shouldn’t have come. I was mad to let you talk me into it.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Asher, then laughed, unamused, because it was such a lie, and he knew it, and Gar knew it, and truly, what was the point? ‘Don’t fret on it. Like you say, this mad ride were my decision, not yours. Besides, what good would not comin’ have done me? If I’d stayed behind I’d have killed that ole Darran by now. Or if not him, then def’nitely bloody Willer. And anyway, I’ve got nowhere else to go, have I?’
The words scalded, bitter as bile. Damn. He’d never meant to say that out loud. Gar’s expression was shocked. Hurt. Bewildered.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nowt. Nothing. Forget I said it,’ Asher replied, inwardly cursing. ‘I’m tired, is all. Not thinkin’ straight. And that bloody pother’s pills and potions ran out two days ago. You want to trot? We’ll trot.’
Gar bullied his horse forward, blocking the path. ‘I thought I made it clear to you, Asher, I wasn’t forcing you back here. I offered to fix—’
‘I know!’ said Asher, raising his voice. ‘It’s all right. I didn’t mean it. I don’t mind comin’ back to Dorana. If I can’t have the coast, it’s as good a place as any to—’
Gar wasn’t listening. ‘You saved my life, Asher! Do you think I’d repay that by making you do anything you didn’t want to? Is that the kind of man you think I am?’
‘Of course it ain’t, you bloody fool.’
‘You saved my life,’ Gar repeated, and this time it was a whisper. In his scratched and dirty face a memory of wild water, and drowning. ‘Barl forgive me. Can you believe I forgot …’
Asher heaved a sigh. ‘Don’t fret on it. Reckon you’ve had a bit on your mind this last little while.’
The uncertainty in Gar’s face hardened into resolve. Reaching out he clasped Asher’s shoulder, his fingers like a vice. ‘I can never fully repay you. But if ever you’re in need, come to me. Ask, and no matter the favour it will be granted. My word as a prince.’
Embarrassed, Asher looked away. ‘Aye, well …’
Gar’s fingers tightened to the point of pain. ‘I mean it.’
Asher looked back again. Nodded. ‘I know. I’ll remember. Now if it’s all the same to you, can we get on? I’m halfway desperate for a beer and a bath. And Her Majesty must be lookin’ out every window for you by now.’
Gar released his grip. Backed Ballodair up a pace and dragged the horse’s head round till they were facing the City again. ‘Yes,’ he said flatly. ‘You’re right. The queen will be waiting.’
They stirred the reluctant horses with their spurs and jogged along in silence, too tired to talk further, too full of separate griefs that couldn’t be eased with sharing. Rounding a bend in the track they joined the City Road. It crossed open countryside, and the great storm’s passage was less evident here. In the distance ahead was the City itself, somnolent in the sinking sunshine.
On they jogged, bringing Dorana closer stride by stride. They travelled the road alone.
After a time they could make out the City walls. They looked intact. So did the enormous City gates, standing wide in welcome. ‘Reckon the storm left Dorana alone?’ asked Asher, shading his eyes and staring. Cygnet dropped into an ambling walk. He didn’t have the heart to spur the horse again. Beside him, Gar loosened his reins and let Ballodair follow suit.
‘Unlikely. Durm would have organised a Working. Teams of mages to repair the damage. However bad it was in there, I expect it’s all back to normal by now.’
The City, maybe, but nothing else. With the poor king dead there’d be a new WeatherWorker. Queen Fane. And that was like to make life very, very interesting indeed …
Asher scowled at Cygnet’s ears. He’d never asked for interesting. He’d never asked for much at all, really. Just some money, and a boat, and a little peace and quiet. And yet it seemed as though he’d asked for more than fate thought right to give him.
It wasn’t bloody fair.
Gar said, ‘Without wishing for another argument, I want to say this. Once we know how things stand in Dorana, once … the new order has been established, I think you should take some time to consider your future. I don’t want you to feel obliged to continue in my service. You’ve come a long way from the fisherman turned stable hand I hired a year ago, Asher. I should think you could do anything you wanted now.’
Oh, aye. Of course he could. Anything except the only thing that had ever truly mattered. He glanced at Gar sideways. ‘What did you have in mind?’
Gar’s lips quirked in the smallest of smiles. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps Dathne needs an errand boy in her bookshop.’
Asher’s stomach clenched. Dathne. Damn Gar. He’d been working so hard at not thinking about Dathne.
‘I wasn’t imagining things, was I?’ Gar continued. ‘You and she—’
‘We’re friends,’ he said flatly. ‘At least we were. Then I left. I ain’t sure what we are now.’
‘You parted badly?’
Asher sighed. ‘We parted.’
‘I like Dathne,’ Gar said thoughtfully. ‘She’s an uncommon woman. Too good for you really. Take my advice
, Asher, and as soon as you can seek her out and ask her – hold on. What’s that?’
It was a carriage, flying recklessly towards them. The sound of hooves pounding the hard road carried clearly on the cooling evening air, and the snap of the whip as the driver cracked it over the backs of the galloping horses.
Despite their bone-deep weariness Cygnet and Ballodair broke into a sidling, head-tossing jog. Exchanging looks, Asher and Gar urged them on. The carriage came closer, closer, and they could see it was an open touring model, and that there were two people in the back behind the reinsman. Closer still and the carriage’s passengers were on their feet, standing, a dangerous thing to do in a speeding vehicle, holding each other tight and waving. Shouting. Closer again, and they could see that one of the passengers was the queen, was Dana, her long blonde hair streaming behind her, and the other – the other –
‘In Barl’s blessed name …’ Gar whispered. He dropped his reins, forgetting entirely to kiss his holyring, and swayed in the saddle. Trained to a hair’s-breadth Ballodair skidded to a halt. Asher stopped beside him and stretched out a steadying hand. Heedless, Gar sat and stared as though turned to stone.
The carriage was slowing, Coachman Matcher leaning back and hauling on his lines, shouting at the horses to whoa, whoa. Before it stopped scant feet away the passenger door flew open.
‘Papa?’ Gar cried, and slithered to the ground. ‘Papa! Papa!’
They ran to each other, father and son. The king was staggering; not strong, but desperate. They collided. Embraced with abandon, laughing, weeping. They pounded each other’s shoulders and touched each other’s cheeks with trembling fingers. Their joy was incandescent.
Silent as death, Asher watched the ecstatic reunion.
‘Where’s Da, Zeth? I want to see him.’
‘Why, he’s right where you put ’im, Asher dear. Deep in the cold dark ground.’
Stumbling in her haste, the queen joined her husband and their son. Three people tangled into one, and they all cried togther.
Time passed. At length the king, the queen and the prince disentangled themselves and, still exclaiming, walked to the carriage. Climbed inside. Closed the passenger door. Matcher clicked his tongue and picked up his whip. The carriage turned around and the horses, encouraged, broke into a spanking trot. Its passengers continued to hug and hold and never once looked back.
Asher watched them go. Leaned over and picked up Ballodair’s abandoned reins. ‘Come up then, boys,’ he said, and nudged Cygnet into a reluctant walk. Ears pinned flat to his head, eyes rolling and mouth agape as he leaned against his bridle, rebellious, Ballodair followed.
Together they travelled in the carriage’s wake all the way back to the City.
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
By the time Asher finally made it back to the Tower stable yard, it was dark.
The royal carriage had swiftly left him and the horses behind. Suddenly unable to face the City and the welcome he knew he’d receive from its citizens, he decided to ride the long way round to the Tower. Even though he was tired almost beyond bearing and his body hurt so badly the thought of one jolting step more than strictly necessary was a torment. Even though he was freezing cold and dripping sweat at the same time.
Halfway around the City wall’s fat circumference he stumbled across Pellen Orrick, who was inspecting the joins between the huge blocks of stone with a lamp strung on the end of a long pole. Dorana’s Captain of the City Guard looked immaculate, as usual, but grim and tired around the eyes. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheek and half-healed scrapes on his knuckles.
‘Meister Assistant Administrator,’ Orrick said, and raised his eyebrows. ‘Welcome back. You look somewhat the worse for wear, if I may say so.’
‘Only ’cause I am, Captain. What’re you doin’?’
‘Looking for cracks. The wall’s been mended thrice over and passed sound by the Master Magician and Lord Jarralt, but I like to be thorough. So, if you’re back, and leading Ballodair, can I take it the prince has also returned?’
Asher nodded. ‘Aye.’ He stared at the City’s stone wall, because it was better than meeting Pellen Orrick’s sharp, considering gaze. ‘The storm do much damage here, then?’
‘Enough.’
‘Any deaths? Injuries?’
‘Too many.’
‘And are the people behaving ’emselves? Namin’ no names, I can think of one or two as might see in all this woe and wail a chance to line their own pockets with somebody else’s misfortune. Certain tradesfolk, for instance.’
‘The same thought had occurred to me,’ said Orrick, an appreciative glimmer in his dark eyes. ‘Don’t fret. I’ve my eye on one or two … opportunists. Naming no names, of course.’
‘Good,’ said Asher. ‘So there be nowt I need to take care of straightaway?’
Orrick shook his head. ‘Not straightaway. I’ve a report on its way to the Tower for you, as it happens. It can wait a day or two, before we meet on it.’
‘Can it wait a week?’ said Asher hopefully.
‘Perhaps,’ said Orrick, smiling. ‘Now ride on, Meister Assistant. It’s an offence to interfere with a guardsman doing his duty, you know.’
‘Y’don’t say,’ said Asher. ‘Fancy that.’ With a gentle kick and a tug on the reins he urged Cygnet and Ballodair into a shambling walk and kept on riding. After three strides he turned his head, just a little, and added over his shoulder, ‘Glad to see you’re all right, Captain.’
Orrick’s laughter was soft in the descending dusk. ‘And the same to you, Asher. The same to you.’
Cheered, Asher continued the long way round and entered Dorana through the private royal gate high up behind the palace. The startled guards waved him through; he lifted a hand to them, nodding, but didn’t dawdle. The horses picked their way along the bridlepaths and in between the flowerbeds by starlight and the Wall’s golden glow, heads drooping almost to their knees. Ballodair still dragged sullenly against his bridle, so that Asher thought his arm must soon pull free from his shoulder.
An energetic chorus of whinnies greeted their plodding entrance into the Tower stable yard. A few of the lads tumbled downstairs from their dormitory to see what all the fuss was about. Matt, who was sitting on an upturned bucket mending a head collar by lamplight, leapt to his feet. Leather, needle and waxed thread fell unheeded to the ground.
‘Barl save us,’ he breathed, coming forward to stare at the filthy, overwrought horses. ‘Asher, what have you done to them?’ A wave of his hand brought a gaping lad over. ‘Duffy, take Ballodair. Into his stable with him, quick, and mind you handle him gently. You know what to do.’
As Duffy obeyed, still gaping, Asher wriggled his fingers in greeting. ‘Hey, Matt.’
Matt swore. His hand rested on Cygnet’s trembling shoulder, soothing, stroking. ‘Damn it, Asher. Get off that bloody horse now, before you fall off.’
It was an enticing notion. He’d had enough of saddles and horses to last a lifetime. But the ground looked a long way down. He wasn’t sure he could reach it safely. The last of his strength had drained away; the stables, the whispering lads, the pools of lamplight and Matt’s frowning face all blurred together. The world faded.
‘Asher!’
He dragged his eyelids open. ‘I’m right here,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t shout.’
‘Where’s the prince?’
‘Up at the palace, I s’pose.’ Asher’s eyes drifted shut again. ‘King and queen met us in a carriage, on the road. He went with them.’
Matt snapped his fingers at the nearest lad. ‘Mikel! Off to the Goose with you and bring back a jug of strong cider. On my chit, tell Derrig. Now! Run!’ The lad bolted, and Matt came closer. Punched Asher’s knee with a light fist. ‘Reckon the horses aren’t the only ones pushed over the line. Can you get down all right?’
The rough, kind voice was almost his undoing. ‘Course I can!’ he growled. ‘What d’you take me for, some namby-pamby Cit
y Doranen?’ Leaning forward, swallowing a groan, he half slithered, half fell out of the saddle. Only Matt’s strong arm saved him from humiliation.
‘Steady now,’ his friend said. ‘I’ve got you.’
On a shuddering, indrawn breath, he managed to straighten. Stared after poor footsore Cygnet as Jim’l led him away. ‘Sorry about the horses, Matt. We thought the king was dead.’
Matt pulled a face. ‘You weren’t the only ones.’
‘We rode back as fast as we could. Cross-country nearly all the way.’
‘The storm reached all the way down to the coast?’
‘Damn near flattened Westwailing. We were out on the harbour when it hit. Gar almost—’ He shook his head. Flaming thunderbolts. Scarlet lightning. Waves towering overhead and the boat standing on end. Gar smashed over the side into the raging ocean. Another memory he wanted no truck with. Not for a good long while, any road.
Matt’s fingers tightened on his shoulder. ‘What is it? What happened?’
‘Nothing. It don’t matter. Matt …’ He could feel his knees shake, threatening to buckle. ‘Reckon I need to sit down.’
‘Lie down, more like,’ said Matt, snorting. He slid his arm around Asher’s back. ‘Let’s get you—’
No, no, no. That wasn’t going to work. Pain streaked his vision blood red. ‘I can walk,’ he gasped and managed, just, to pull free.
‘There’s a cot in the yard office,’ said Matt, one hand hovering. ‘We had a horse or two hurt in the worst of it.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Nursemaid Matt. Horses all right?’
‘They will be. Are you walking or talking?’
He took a tentative step forward. ‘I can do both.’
‘Maybe, but do you have to?’
The short distance to the office felt almost as long as the ride from Westwailing. Matt shadowed him every inch. Sent the remaining lads back about their business with a barked command. Opened the office door for him and guided him to the cot.
‘You had it bad up here too?’ he asked as he lowered his abused and shrieking body to the rough bed. Laid his head on a pillow for the first time in days, and closed his eyes. The glory of it stole his breath.
