The Caller

by Juliet Marillier

  Perhaps, he thought as he watched the owl-like being limping along with the others, one foot shod, one foot bare, perhaps some kind of bargain could be made. He imagined the little creature flying free, purest white, gliding across a night sky spangled with stars. There was such beauty in Alban; such wonder. Under Keldec’s rule, people had lost sight of that.

  His hand moved to touch the talisman that hung against his breast, under his shirt: the dream vial worn only by those who had learned the ancient craft of mind-mending. When he lost faith in himself, this token pulled him back. When he came close to despair, it whispered of hope. He had been cruel, violent, destructive; his conscience would be burdened until the day he died. But the talisman spoke of good things. Neryn’s love and courage; the wisdom of Ossan, his old mentor; Regan’s bright flame of hope, shining in this ruined realm. Until the vial is shattered forever, until the last drop of kindness drains from Alban, I must hold on to that.

  Two days after we left Callan Stanes we rode across a bridge and into Brightwater village, a substantial settlement among wooded hills. The river we had crossed flowed eastward to the sea; follow it the other way, and a traveller would come to the chain of lochs that ran across Alban like a bright girdle. The village looked prosperous, with many stone buildings alongside those of mud and wattles. On a hill a short distance to the west loomed a high fortress wall of weathered stone. Atop this massive barrier were watchtowers, and I glimpsed the roof of a keep. Winterfort: King Keldec’s main residence. We were almost there.

  ‘Best if we find somewhere in the settlement to spend the night, and I’ll make a few casual enquiries,’ said Brenn over his shoulder as we came into the settlement. ‘I dare say you could do with a good sleep.’

  ‘Mm.’ I had made sure I did not complain about my aches and pains, but my discomfort must have been obvious when we camped on the way here. Sometime in the future, I promised myself, I would learn to ride properly, so I need never again be jostled around on the back of someone else’s horse like a piece of baggage. The future . . . It was hard to imagine what Alban might be like if the rebellion succeeded. Regan had spoken of a place at peace; a realm without constant fear. I thought every rebel must have dreamed of that. But even if we did win, even if Keldec was deposed, Alban would not change overnight. When I tried to think about that future world it retreated into a haze, as insubstantial as a dream. What I felt most right now, apart from my bruises, was the chill of complete terror. So close. The king, the queen, the Enforcers, the Enthrallers, everything I feared most was no more than two miles away, and we were heading straight into the middle of it.

  ‘Not far now,’ said Brenn. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Fine.’ What a lie that was. But I had to be fine, I had to be brave and confident and stick to the story, no matter what happened. He was Morven. I was Ellida. Married three months. Previously both in the household of Gormal of Glenfalloch, he as a man-at-arms, I as an assistant healer and herbalist. Each of us from a different, obscure part of the far south; each of us without living kinsfolk, though Morven had had an older brother who had fallen in Gormal’s service. Now Gormal had given us his blessing to come here, so Morven could seek admission to the ranks of the king’s Enforcers. Neither of us with any sort of canny gift; neither of us with any knowledge of such things. The offering we brought, our key to acceptance, was Morven’s outstanding fighting skill.

  We reached an inn and clattered into the yard. Brenn lifted me down, spoke to a couple of grooms, ushered me inside. I was so stiff and sore I could barely walk; Brenn was as solicitous and tender as if I really were his new wife. His manner with the inn workers was easy and confident. This, along with his imposing physical presence – he was a tall, well-made man, his dark hair and beard helping draw the eye – meant folk provided for our needs swiftly and without question.

  There was space for us in the communal sleeping quarters; the innkeeper apologised for the lack of privacy. A few coppers changed hands. A meal was provided, with good ale. Brenn was reassured as to the welfare of his horse, Bolter. We sat on our own in the dining chamber, not wanting to be drawn into conversation unless we must. I made myself sit close to my husband and smile at him with what I hoped was convincing fondness, but all the while I was becoming aware of something odd, something I had not expected in this place full of humankind. A prickle of magic; a familiar sensation that told me Good Folk were somewhere near.

  I was hungry after the long ride and enjoyed my hot supper. It was only after I had finished eating that I noticed a little dog running about the dining chamber, getting under people’s feet as she hunted for scraps of bread or cheese or sausage on the floor. This creature was of striking appearance. All down one side, from nose to tail her hair was night black; all down the other, pure white. The colour might have been painted, so neat and exact was the division. Could there be more than one such animal? I did not think so. Last time I had seen this dog, she had been with the Master of Shadows.

  I must stay calm; not make it too obvious I was looking. There were several old men in the chamber. Some were silently nursing their ale cups. Two were talking to the innkeeper. One sat alone in a corner. Was it the Master? If so, should I approach him? My heart thumped; my palms were clammy. There had been a question nagging at me since I had seen the captive Good Folk driven north under duress. I knew they were not the White Lady’s folk; most likely they came from the Watch of the South, of which the Master was Guardian. He must know what had happened, surely. Had he done nothing to protect his own people?

  ‘Here, girl.’ I clicked my fingers as the dog came near, wishing I had left some of my mutton pie. ‘Here, little one.’

  The dog let me scratch behind her ears, but once she realised I had no food, she was off into the crowd. Brenn had gone out to use the privy. I looked across the room again, and the old man sitting by himself raised his head to look at me. Or not to look, exactly, since he had the milky eyes of a blind man. But he saw me. I was in no doubt of that. It was him: the Master of Shadows right here in Brightwater village.

  What now? Even if I hadn’t been playing the part of a shy young newlywed, I could hardly walk over and confront him in public. But what if this was the only chance I ever got?

  The old man’s mouth stretched in a slow, mocking smile. He had not taken his eyes off me. And now Brenn was back, seating himself beside me again.

  ‘One of the fellows said I should ask for Rohan Death-Blade when we get up there,’ he said. ‘But he said the troops are being shifted around, so they may not be taking on anyone new for a while. Hope that’s wrong.’

  Across the chamber, the Master of Shadows had risen to his feet and picked up his staff. He whistled, and the little dog came to stand by him.

  ‘I – what did you say?’ Rohan. Could there be more than one Enforcer by that name?

  ‘Rohan Death-Blade. In charge of training. He’s the one to ask for.’

  The Master was heading out, tapping his staff to find the way, with the little dog going in front. Curse it! He knew I was here, I was sure of it. Last time I’d met him, he’d only been blind when it suited him. He was playing games with me. I half-rose, then made myself sit down again.

  ‘What?’ murmured Brenn.

  ‘Nothing. I’ll tell you later.’ The Master was gone; I had missed my chance.

  The innkeeper’s wife came by with her tray, removed our platters, offered more ale. ‘Poor old man,’ she observed, glancing toward the doorway. Perhaps she had seen me watching him.

  ‘Unusual dog,’ I said.

  ‘Funny-looking creature,’ said the woman. ‘Goes everywhere with him. It’s his eyes.’

  I’d have liked to find out how long the old man had been in Brightwater. But Ellida would not ask that question. ‘That was a fine supper,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Good luck to you,’ she said. ‘Enjoy your sleep.’

  We were lucky
. While this inn did not run to such luxuries as private chambers, we were given our own little area at one end of the communal sleeping quarters, and because the place was not full, we were able to conduct a conversation without fear of being overheard. We lay close, as was appropriate for a couple not long wed, and spoke in whispers.

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you. You know there’s one of ours at court.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You mentioned a man called Rohan. An Enforcer by that name saw me at the last Gathering, when I was with Tali.’ I had given the Glenfalloch rebels a brief version of that story. ‘Chances are it’s the same person. I’ll have to hope he doesn’t recognise me.’

  ‘This Rohan’s not our man?’

  ‘No; but they’re comrades. Our man is the Stag Troop leader, a senior Enforcer.’

  ‘A troop leader,’ he whispered. ‘Black Crow save us. Are you sure?’

  ‘Would I tell you if I wasn’t sure? I know him well. And . . . if you see an old man with a black and white dog, be careful.’

  ‘Old man. Black and white dog. Uh-huh. Going to explain why?’

  ‘That’s not something you need to know. This Rohan Death-Blade – he may be an ally, but it’s far from certain. Don’t take any risks with him.’

  He was silent for a while, then murmured, ‘A troop leader. I can hardly believe it. The man must have some bollocks.’

  ‘Mm.’

  We slept close to maintain our story, I with my head on Brenn’s chest, he with his arm around me. It brought back memories of the night on the island, when I had slept in Flint’s arms. I expected disturbing dreams, dreams of Flint in trouble, but I was so tired I fell asleep quickly, and if I did have dreams, when I woke next morning I had forgotten them.

  It was early. We washed, dressed, repacked our bags. After a quick breakfast, we fetched Bolter from the stable and were on our way up to the daunting wall and high towers of Winterfort.

  The way was broad and well maintained. Of course, it would need to accommodate troops of horsemen going to and fro, not to mention the carts that would take in supplies for the king’s household. The tingle of the uncanny was strong here too; did that mean the southern Good Folk had passed this way? Were they in there, just on the other side of that wall? What if I came face to face with Whisper? What if those folk felt what I was and responded to it, as Sage and her clan had done when I first met them?

  We came up to a guard post and were halted by Enforcers with spears. We got down. I felt cold sweat breaking out on my body; my heart was thumping.

  In response to a series of curt questions, Brenn gave our names and explained where we had come from and why. He mentioned Rohan Death-Blade. ‘I was told he’s the man I need to speak to. I’m hoping he’ll give me a trial, at least.’

  ‘A married man?’ The Enforcer who was doing the talking lifted his brows.

  ‘My wife’s an experienced healer. She’d be an asset to any household.’

  The man spared me a glance. ‘Go on, then. Small door to the left of the main entry; tell the guard there that Sark of Seal Troop said to let you in. Good luck. Don’t like your chances; your timing’s unfortunate.’

  ‘Oh? Why is that?’

  ‘Let me give you some advice. The fewer questions you ask the better.’

  We moved on, and after another check, passed through the smaller entry to one side of a set of massive closed gates. The arched opening was just high enough to admit a horse; Brenn led Bolter through and I followed.

  We found ourselves in a broad courtyard. It was full of activity, folk sweeping, scrubbing, busy with whitewash. There was a faint sensation of magic even here within the walls. I tried to fix my mind on anything but that. Ellida was accustomed to living in a chieftain’s household and would therefore not be intimidated in a place like this. She had no trace of a canny gift. Never mind that the southern Good Folk might be somewhere nearby; never mind what my instincts were telling me. I must think as Ellida would.

  We were questioned again, standing in the yard while people busied themselves around us. Whatever had happened here, it had done a great deal of damage. Burned timbers were being replaced; vigorous scrubbing was failing to remove certain dark stains from the paving stones. The Enforcer in charge took away Brenn’s weapons; he surrendered them without argument. The man did not ask for my weapons, and I did not tell him about the knife that was wrapped up at the bottom of my bag. Brenn mentioned Rohan Death-Blade again. Whether the name meant anything to the Enforcer who was questioning him, there was no telling. Even here within the fortress he was wearing the half-mask that was part of the uniform, and all we could see of his face were the eyes. He summoned an underling, who took us to the stables and showed us a stall where Bolter could be left. Brenn unsaddled the horse and rubbed him down.

  I had seen this place in a dream; it felt strange to realise how accurate that dream had been. Flint had been here, tending to his horse and looking as if the burdens he carried were becoming too heavy to bear. There was nobody here now but Brenn and me, with the serving man hovering not far off. The place was huge, with room for a great number of animals, though many of the stalls were empty. Down at the other end were some long-legged black horses, Enforcer mounts. The stalls at Bolter’s end housed more ordinary-looking creatures.

  When Bolter was settled, our guide took us to an outhouse near the stables and told us to wait. We sat side by side on a bench. Nobody came to offer us food and drink or to tell us how long we might be here. Any conversation seemed fraught with peril.

  It was a test, of sorts. A test of patience and a test of nerves. After a long time, we heard voices in the yard outside, and an Enforcer appeared in the doorway. It was not the man I knew as Rohan; I unclenched my tight fists.

  ‘He’ll see you now,’ the Enforcer said, and I was tense with unease again. Brenn and I got up, and the man said, ‘Not you. Only him.’

  I sat. Brenn went out. He left the door ajar, and I heard someone speak outside.

  ‘Morven. I’m Rohan Death-Blade, second-in-command of Stag Troop. I don’t have much time. You’re from Lord Gormal’s household, yes?’

  Brenn set out his credentials: he had skills in armed and unarmed combat, a good record in Gormal’s service, a heroic dead brother. His tone was a convincing blend of quiet pride and modesty.

  ‘We don’t take men who just wander in and ask for a place,’ Rohan said. ‘You’d be naïve if you believed that.’

  ‘I’m prepared to go through any testing required. I expect no less. This is a lifetime dream for me; something I’ve worked toward since I was a lad.’

  ‘Why leave it so long, then? What are you, five-and- twenty?’

  ‘Close to that. Seemed to me I’d have more to offer if I proved myself first. I’ve given ten years of loyal service to Gormal. He knew I wanted this; gave me his blessing.’

  ‘And he’ll take you back if we don’t accept you.’

  A pause. ‘I hope that won’t be necessary.’

  ‘We do need experienced men, there’s no doubt of that, and at any other time I’d give you a trial. But I’m not taking on any more recruits at present. My troop is at Summerfort, and I’m riding to join them today. Besides, the men we have in training have been with us for some time; you’d be well behind.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Go home to Glenfalloch, Morven. Next spring, if you still have a burning desire to be an Enforcer, come back and talk to me again.’ A short silence, then in a different tone, ‘I’m sorry. You’ve had a long ride. You and your wife.’

  Brenn sounded as if he was choking back tears. ‘They told you I’m newly married, then?’

  ‘It is another reason why I am not offering you a trial. While there’s no rule stating a king’s man should be single, we do prefer that. Your mind needs to be on the job and only on the job. Besides, I doubt very much
that your new bride will be wanting to get back on a horse and ride off to Summerfort this morning.’

  ‘This was partly for her,’ Brenn said. ‘For Ellida. I want to provide for her properly and as a king’s man I could do that. She has something to offer too. My wife is a talented healer.’

  ‘We have healers already, both here and at Summerfort. You should rest overnight, then take your Ellida home. I’m sorry.’

  He’d be gone in a moment. No time to weigh this fully. The captives and the Caller might be here at Winterfort. Or they might have gone on to Summerfort. One thing was clear: unless Rohan could be persuaded to change his mind, Brenn and I would not be staying at either place. With my heart threatening to leap from my chest, I got up and walked outside. Rohan Death-Blade was clad for riding, from the black boots to the travelling cloak. He was not wearing an Enforcer mask. He looked at me and his amiable blue eyes narrowed.

  ‘My lord,’ I said, ‘I am Morven’s wife, Ellida. I’m sorry, I could not avoid overhearing what you were saying. May I add my voice to my husband’s? He’s a fine warrior and deserves a chance. You’re right, I am not especially keen to ride out again today, but I will do whatever is required to allow Morven that chance. As for being behind the others, you might give him the opportunity to prove he can catch up.’ I clasped my hands together behind my back, lest he see how badly they were shaking. Had he recognised me, or did that assessing look mean only that he was wondering where he’d seen me before?

  Rohan gestured the serving man over. ‘Tell Doman I’ll be a little longer. He can check the supplies again.’ The servant left; Rohan turned back toward me. ‘What’s your background?’ The question was crisp.