The Road to Bedlam cotf-2

by Mike Shevdon

  "Do you know what time it is?"

  "No more than two minutes. I'll wait."

  "What does he want?"

  "You. Now." Tate's eyebrows raised slightly as if he was surprised by the question.

  "Is this some sort of drill?"

  "No. One minute forty-five seconds."

  I closed the door. The light clicked on behind me.

  "What does he want?" asked Blackbird.

  "Search me. I have to go. I'll be back later."

  I pulled drawers open. Tate had said fighting clothes. That meant boots, heavy trousers, tight T-shirt. Nothing to encumber or snag. I dressed inside a minute and went back to the bed.

  "Try and get some sleep. I'll tell you what this was about later." I kissed her forehead.

  "I'm awake now."

  "Don't worry. Snuggle down. I'll be back in a bit."

  "Be careful."

  "It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

  I slipped through the door and found Tate leaning against the wall. He pushed himself forward and didn't break stride as he walked away.

  "Will you tell me what this is about?"

  "No."

  "Because you can't or because you won't?"

  "Both."

  I followed him downstairs to the practice room. All the Warders were there. Amber lounged against the wall alone while Slimgrin stood beside the weapons rack. Fionh stood with Garvin and Fellstamp in the centre of the room. Garvin had with him the long black staff that he carried as a weapon, the silver tip catching the light. I knew that with a twist of his wrist a long blade could be drawn from it. I wondered what had prompted him to carry it.

  He was speaking as I entered. "It's not my first choice, but the other options are worse. It's now or not at all."

  Fionh was angry. "He isn't ready."

  "No, but you know the situation. If we don't do this now, he never will be."

  "Ready for what?" I asked as Tate closed the doors behind me.

  "Slimgrin, weapons. Long-sword for Dogstar, broadsword for Fellstamp."

  "Me?" Fellstamp said.

  "Do you want me to do it?" Garvin asked.

  "Wouldn't Amber be better?"

  "Amber would kill him. Just don't let him kill you."

  "Then give me something better than a broadsword."

  "No. Trust me."

  Fellstamp shrugged, "As you wish, but it's not my fault if I break something."

  "He can heal later. Dogstar, come here. Clear some space."

  Fionh and Garvin walked to the edge of the room. Slimgrin held out a heavy blade, point down. It hung like a leaden pendulum from his outstretched hand. Fellstamp accepted it, hefting the weight, and swung the blade in low strokes to get the feel of it. I was handed a longer, lighter blade, much more to my taste, and I suspected more to Fellstamp's too.

  "What's going on, Garvin?"

  "You're fighting to first blood, open rules." Open rules meant no rules.

  "These are metal weapons," I pointed out. I had never been allowed to use real weapons other than for solo practice.

  "Yes, and they hurt if you get hit, so don't."

  "Why are we doing this?"

  "I don't have time to explain. Fellstamp won't be pulling his blows, so you shouldn't either. Begin." He backed away.

  I was about to protest, but Fellstamp lifted the blade in salute and then spun on the spot, using the falling momentum of the sword to sweep it in a wide open cut. I stepped back, allowing the blade to pass with a low whoosh. It wasn't a serious attack, but it got me moving. After that it got serious.

  A broadsword isn't really a cutting weapon. The edge is sharp, but it's the mass that does the damage. It will snap bones like twigs if you get in the way. The weight is the problem, though. It's slow to wield unless you have the raw power of someone like Tate behind it. Fellstamp was good, but he preferred lighter weapons. He usually favoured a pair of long curved knives with which he wove intricate patterns of defence and attack. There's no intricacy in a broadsword.

  It was relatively easy for me with a lighter weapon and longer reach to shift the attack on to Fellstamp and prevent him getting enough momentum to wield the bigger weapon. The trouble was that he could use it as a very effective shield with minimal movement, parrying my blows. My sword clanged off the edge of the broadsword, sparks flying but not penetrating his guard. I could drive him backwards, but I couldn't reach him.

  "If you don't cut him soon, Dogstar, I'll come in there and kill you myself," shouted Garvin.

  The distraction was enough for Fellstamp. He parried my blow sideways then danced around his blade, punching his elbow back into my face, aiming for my eye. I dodged, but received a painful jab to the cheek, making my eyes water. I dropped backwards, rolling into a tight ball, feeling rather than seeing the blade sweep over me, then rising in a single motion into an upward cut which rang from his blade. I used a series of whirling upward cuts to drive him backwards, steering him towards the corner where he would have no room to wield the bigger weapon. He saw the danger and veered sideways, opening up the space again. We circled each other, both breathing hard.

  "You're holding back, Dogstar. You have the speed but not the killing instinct. If Fellstamp wasn't pussyfooting around with that thing you would be dead by now."

  This goaded Fellstamp into a renewed attack. He swept in with bold strokes, drawing figures of eight in the air, forcing me to deflect the blows or lose my head. He whirled it around for another blow, building speed and power as he pressed forward. I dropped to my knee and parried it upwards, letting the blow carry through before thrusting my own blade up at a forty-five degree angle. There was a jolt as the blade found his shoulder, piercing it full through. His eyes widened as he slid forward on to the blade, carried by his own impetus. His heavy blade slipped from his hand and clanged on to the floor. He sagged, dragging my blade down with him, the grating slide on bone travelling down the springy metal to my hand. Blood welled around the cut and then ran down the angled blade in a red rivulet.

  "Well, don't just sit there man! Pull the blade!" It was Garvin.

  I drew the blade back with a soft sucking sound then whipped it out. The blood sprayed out in a long line across the floor and up the wall. I rose, ready to hold the blade in ritual victory at Fellstamp's throat, but his knees gave way.

  "Yield," he coughed, and he collapsed forward on to his face.

  "Idiot! You were supposed to scratch him, not try and kill him! Fionh, Amber, attend to Fellstamp." Garvin's instructions were crisp.

  "Will he be OK?"

  "You missed the heart, though not through any skill on your part. Sword." He held his hand out to me.

  I gave him the sword.

  "Kneel and bare your forearm."

  I knelt carefully down, watching as Amber and Fionh lifted Fellstamp into a sitting position so that they could apply pads to the wound. His face was grey with pain and his shirt was soaked red all down the front. There was a lot of blood.

  I did as I was bid and the blade flashed down, the line of red droplets staining the floor anew. I didn't feel the touch of the blade, but I knew Garvin well enough to know that it had cut. The blood welled from the line across my wrist.

  "Your blood is mixed with the blood of the Warders. Do you accept it?"

  I looked up into his stony calm.

  "Do you?" he repeated.

  "Yes."

  "Taste it," said Garvin.

  I put my lips around the cut, the thick sticky taste cloying my mouth.

  "By your blood, will you serve the will of the council until released of your service?" he asked.

  "I will." The metallic taste got stronger.

  "By your heart, will you hold the life of any member of the council above your own?"

  "I will." The blood made my tongue slow. It felt swollen.

  "By your mind, will you seek to preserve and protect your fellow Warders even at risk of your own life?"

  "I will." My heartbeat thumped in my
chest.

  "By your power, will you keep the secrets of the council, even to your own death?"

  "I will." Red dripped from my wrist on to the floor.

  "Stand, Warder Alshirian, also called Dogstar, and bow to the other Warders."

  I stood, my knees unsteady, but bowed nevertheless. "What did we just do?"

  "You passed the test. You took the blood of a full Warder. From tonight you are on active service."

  "But I'm not ready." My protest echoed Fionh's.

  "No, you're not, especially after that performance. Tate, uniform, please."

  "You said we would accelerate the training, you didn't say anything about this."

  "I changed my mind."

  "Is this to keep me from Alex? Is that the reason?"

  "Alex is the least of my worries. We have other problems. Get dressed." He handed me the charcoal-grey uniform of the Warders, trousers, jacket, turtleneck shirt. The shirt was silk; you could feel it in the texture.

  He turned to Fellstamp. "Are you able to stand?" Fellstamp still looked grey.

  Fellstamp nodded, Fionh and Amber helping him up. "Nothing that a week of rest and good sex won't cure."

  Fionh assessed him. "If you have sex tonight it will kill you."

  "Yeah, but I'd die smiling." His grin was infectious, at least with Fionh. Amber didn't appear to find it funny.

  "Get him a clean shirt. Have you stopped the bleeding?"

  Fionh lifted the pad and inspected the wound. "Mostly. The puncture's clean, so it won't scar. We'll keep a pad on it for a few days."

  "Good. Help him dress. Slimgrin, clean the blade and find the scabbard for it."

  He turned to me. Tate was helping me into the dark grey jacket, grinning at me all the while.

  "As a Warder, you take orders, understand?"

  "I understand, but you can't order me to leave her there." He knew I meant Alex.

  "I said I would help you and I will, but you have to help yourself. Get yourself killed and you're no help to me or her. You have to learn to keep your feelings to yourself. You wear them like a badge of honour but your enemies will see them as a weakness and exploit them for all they're worth."

  "I can't help the way I feel."

  "You can hide the way you feel if you want to live long enough to help her. You need to learn quickly if you're going to survive as a Warder. We need to present you to the full council. Put your sword on." He took the scabbarded sword and belt from Slimgrin and handed it to me. "You don't draw that again tonight, whatever happens. Do you understand?"

  "I think I've had enough blood for one night, don't you?" I nodded to the sweep of spatters across the floor and up the wall before buckling the belt around my waist. The weight of the unfamiliar blade rested against my thigh.

  "Just do as you're told for once." He turned and addressed the Warders. "Get your weapons, people, we're on in three minutes. Dogstar, you're with me. The rest of you, stay close."

  Garvin swept out of the room, me in close pursuit. I fell in beside him. The others followed so that our steps fell into time, a dull tattoo on the carpeted floor echoed by the rhythm of the sword slapping against my leg. I glanced backwards. The Warders followed, close enough to leave no exploitable space between them but each in their own space, unhampered by the others. Following their lead I let a little distance grow between Garvin and me. He reacted by catching my arm and pulling me back.

  "Stay close. I mean it."

  I nodded, acknowledging his order. This was getting stranger and stranger. I had seen Garvin fight four Warders at once and not look stressed. I had seen him stay calm when everyone else was anxious. I had never doubted his capability in any situation. Tonight he looked nervous. What would make Garvin nervous?

  We arrived at the door to the main chamber. I knew the council were meeting tonight; Garvin had told me. I knew that beyond these doors there would be seven huge wooden thrones carved from bog oak and heavy as iron. I knew that the room would be dimly lit but for the figure in each of the chairs. On the left would be the empty chair, the chair reserved for the Seventh Court and held against the return of their lost brother, Altair, Lord of the Untainted. In the next would be pale Yonna, Lady of the Fey'ree and ruler of Blackbird's court. Next to Yonna would be Barthia, her huge bulk and ham-like forearms a complete contrast to Yonna's tiny slender frame, her upturned tusks no less strange than Yonna's pointed ears or over-wide mouth.

  In the centre would be Krane, the most human-looking of the leaders of the Feyre, though the feline grace with which he moved would set him apart as much as Barthia's size. Mellion would be next, his smooth dark fur beautifully groomed as always, the heavy silver chain of office draped around his neck. Against Mellion's lithe grace, Teoth would look short and dumpy, his flat nose and square features so similar to Fellstamp's that I knew at once that he must be the leader of the Luchorpan. Finally, Kimlesh, Lady of the Nymphine court, would be on the right. Her hair, like Fionh's, was never quite still, the blonde curls moving with a will of their own, winding around the finials on the chair as if they were tasting it.

  I had been presented to them before, but not as a full Warder. Up until now I had been protected by Garvin's tutelage and, though I had been counted as a Warder since I first swore the oath I had repeated tonight, I had not been on active service, and so not at their disposal. Tonight that had changed. Now the council could send me anywhere they wished, for any reason they wanted, and I had sworn to obey with an oath that bound my heart. That oath protected me. It meant that others could not use their magic to extract the secrets of the council from me. It had allowed me to live under the council's protection. But it meant I had to obey.

  Garvin turned before the door to the chamber, facing the rest of the Warders.

  "School your faces, still your hearts. We are the Warders."

  "We are the Warders!" The others echoed his words, putting their hands over their hearts in salute.

  Garvin turned and paused for a second before using the end of his staff to rap three times on the door. He pushed the double doors open before us and we marched forward into the chamber, keeping formation. We approached the seven thrones in step and stopped where the light grew bolder and the seven-pointed star in the floor marked the space before the High Court of the Feyre.

  There was a stillness in the Warders around me, a tension unreleased. Garvin didn't glance my way or give any indication that anything was out of the ordinary, but standing beside him I could feel that he was wound tight.

  The reason was before us.

  The seventh throne was occupied.

  FIVE

  The seventh throne was supposed to be unoccupied, the ruler of the Seventh Court and the rest of the Untainted banished to another world and kept out of ours by the barrier that I had helped to repair nine months ago. How could he be here? I glanced sideways at Garvin, who looked stonily ahead.

  Altair spoke. I expected his voice to be deep and rough, but it wasn't. It had warmth and timbre like a finely tuned instrument, meant to sway hearts and invite confidences.

  "What, no word of greeting, Garvin? No welcome home?"

  "Your place has been kept for you, Lord Altair, as you would expect." said Garvin.

  "Still, I had thought that you might have some welcome for me, returning after so long an absence."

  "Forgive me. The circumstances of your departure make me cautious, as well you might imagine."

  Kimlesh spoke. "Altair is here at our invitation, Garvin. Your duty is his protection, as with all of us."

  "You do not need to remind me of my duty, Lady. I know it well."

  "And yet I detect a hesitation," said Altair.

  "When last we saw each other, Altair, I lost five Warders. That's not a night I'll soon forget. I have no wish to lose any more."

  "An error of judgement put you between my purpose and the mongrels, Garvin. Had you not stood in my way, you would not have lost anyone."

  "I do not regard it as an error." />
  "And yet you lost five Warders."

  "Two of them were Tainted, as you would have it. The Warders protect each other. We stand together and die together. I would not abandon my people."

  "Your duty should come before your people," said Altair.

  "I fulfilled my duty. You were unharmed. The High Court survived intact."

  "May I remind you that Altair is our brother," said Krane, leaning forward in his chair, "and that he has never offered harm to any of us. His quarrel is with the Tainted, not with the Courts or with the Feyre."

  "Are you calling the half-breeds Tainted now too, my Lord?" asked Garvin.

  "A slip of the tongue." He dismissed it with a wave. "We have to call them something."

  "I call them people," said Garvin.

  "And Mishla, it is good to see you looking well," Altair said, changing the direction of the conversation.

  I wondered who he was referring to until Tate rumbled behind me, "Lord Altair." Since when was Tate called Mishla?

  "Do you have no word of welcome either?"

  Tate answered, "No."

  "Am I safe here?" Altair appealed to the other members of the court. "Will I be protected if some renegade tries to kill me?"

  "The Warders will do their job, Altair," said Barthia, her tusks gleaming in the dim light. "We can ask no more of them."

  "Even though the Tainted are among their ranks?" asked Altair. "I would have thought that the conflict of interest is apparent even to Garvin."

  "There is no conflict of interest, Lord Altair," said Garvin. "Lady Barthia is right. We are the Warders and we'll do our job."

  "Very well," said Altair. "I see that I must trust you and your Warders as I always have. Better than that, I will make a gesture. You may assign your new Warder, the wraithkin, to me as a bodyguard while I'm here."

  "He's already on assignment," said Garvin, without missing a beat.

  "He's here, isn't he?"

  "He leaves tonight. He already has a mission. You may have another Warder to guard you. Mishla, perhaps?"

  "Do you refuse me protection from my own kind, Garvin?"