‘You might give the laddie time tae explain,’ said Whisper. He seemed not in the least intimidated by the giant trio.
‘In return for the cooperation of your strongest folk, those capable of fighting well and of resisting iron, I will release your weaker ones. I will order my guards to let them slip away by night and find their own way home. We’d do it over the next few nights, so the drop in numbers is less obvious.’
A silence. They were surprised, at the very least.
‘The plan’s no’ sae bad, so far as it gaes,’ Fume said eventually. ‘But what aboot the rest o’ us? Dinna expect us tae believe this king o’ yours will watch oor wee display at this Gatherin’, then thank us kindly, toss us a few coppers for oor pains and bid us be off hame.’
Now it became perilous. ‘Would I expect you to believe that, when I myself know how unlikely it is?’ Flint said. ‘I’m asking for your cooperation only until midsummer day; until you are asked to step up and prove yourselves at the Gathering. We’ll rehearse the mock combat; we’ll all go into it with every move prepared. The human contingent, fighting alongside you, will be made up of young men who are still undergoing basic training; they will be at Summerfort within a turning of the moon and we’ll practise this together. When we step out before the king, at midsummer, the Caller will be there. I cannot control that. But . . .’
‘Spit it oot, laddie!’
Flint looked at Whisper.
‘What he tells you,’ Whisper said, ‘it’s no’ for sharing, understand? You’ve seen the fellow that watches ower the Caller; you’ve seen the look in his eyes. There’s folk willna be happy tae find the number o’ us reduced night by night, and no’ ane corpse tae show for it, aye?’ He glanced up at Flint, who nodded, stunned at the small being’s perception. ‘And the plan – there’s some parts o’ that better not spread abroad. I canna see that fellow lowering himself tae chat tae us, but if he does, we’re deaf and mute.’
‘What aboot the Caller, curse his evil heart? If he bids us talk, we talk whether we want tae or no’.’
‘As tae that,’ said Whisper, looking up at Scorch, ‘it’s possible you may find the Caller’s hold ower you weakening as time passes. You may find you can resist it a bittie mair.’
‘Oh, aye?’ Scorch glanced at the smaller being in plain disbelief.
‘Aye,’ said Whisper. ‘It’s the truth. Open yourself up tae a change; see if you can feel it. I canna explain further.’
Enough; this conversation was sailing into dangerous waters. ‘Do I have your word that you’ll keep this quiet, as far as you can?’ Flint asked. ‘Not only the plan, but the fact that it is my plan?’
‘A promise, wi’oot kennin’ what it is ye havena told us yet? Ye think we’re halfwits?’
Flint smiled. ‘Far from it. I think you are fine warriors, with excellent judgement; fighters whom, under different circumstances, I would be honoured to have as comrades. I believe you capable of passing on to the rest of your folk here what they need to know; and keeping to yourselves what is too risky to share. But I need an undertaking from you before I put the last of it into words.’
‘Aye,’ the three rumbled.
‘It’s my informed belief that midsummer will mark a great change in the affairs of Alban,’ he murmured. Even that seemed too loud. Every word was fraught with risk. His palms were clammy and his heart beat hard. ‘The pattern of events will not be as folk expect.’ He drew an unsteady breath.
‘Blood will be shed.’ Whisper, too, was keeping his voice low. ‘There’ll be risk, aye; risk o’ death or maiming. But we face that risk already, day by day as prisoners o’ the king. Take up the laddie’s offer and there’s a real chance o’ getting hame. I dinna mean the notion you scoffed at, the king patting us on the back and saying “Well done.” I’m speaking o’ gaeing hame and living in peace, wi’ nae chance o’ this happening again.’
The three stared at him in amazement.
‘Is that right?’ Blaze said, turning to Flint. ‘Is the Northie speakin’ true?’
‘He is,’ Flint said.
‘Ye’re lyin’,’ Fume said, scowling. ‘The Caller can order every move we make; he can play wi’ oor thoughts, mak’ us dae what we’d rightly be shrinkin’ frae. And ye said the Caller will be there, at the Gatherin’. Ye canna be tellin’ us the fellow will turn against the king?’
‘No,’ Flint said. ‘But I must ask you to take this on trust. To tell you more would be to take one risk too many.’ He was prepared to risk his own safety in order to win these folk’s trust, but not Neryn’s. Without her, the plan he was putting in place could not succeed. All depended on her ability to override Esten’s call; to take control not only of the forces Tali would bring to the Gathering, but of those he was preparing. Let her be strong enough, he prayed. Let my plan not destroy both her and the rebellion.
‘Aye, weel,’ said Scorch, ‘we’d be needin’ tae put it tae the other folk here. Escape for some at the price o’ cooperation frae the others.’
‘Of course. You’ll need time. But not too much time, I hope, because we have work to do, and I want the weaker folk safely away before I challenge you further.’
‘Ane question,’ said Fume, whose craggy brow bore wrinkles of perplexity.
‘I’ll answer it if I can.’
‘Why would ye care? Ye’re a hard man, a king’s man, a leader among your ain kind. You’ll hae done what a’ king’s men dae. What changed ye? What softened your hairt, so ye care aboot the wee folk here? Or are ye only usin’ that tae win us ower?’
‘I don’t deny I’m using it to bargain with you. It seemed to me I was in a particularly weak position to ask you any favours. As to why I care, I won’t go into the reasons. I will tell you only that I am loyal to the great, free kingdom of Alban, and that every decision I make is based on that loyalty.’
‘Dinna make the laddie tell mair.’ Whisper spoke with calm authority. ‘Push him too hard and the whole thing falls in pieces. And dinna take all night tae make up your minds. Why dinna you gather the others together now, while he steps back oot o’ earshot? I’ll wager you willna get much argument frae them, if they ken the alternative is mair o’ the same.’
‘Wha put ye in charge, ye wee scribbet?’ challenged Blaze.
‘The king’s man here’s in charge. I’m only speaking common sense. I hope Southies are no’ deaf tae that.’
Fume released a stream of vapour in Whisper’s direction; the owl-being stepped swiftly to one side.
‘Will you speak to them now?’ Flint asked.
‘Aye, we will,’ said Scorch. ‘Move awa’, so ye dinna frighten them off.’
Flint went up to have a word with the guards, who had been watching with a certain amazement. To approach these folk without the protection of an iron weapon, to sit down with them and hold a long conversation without the Caller present to maintain control – they were amazed and impressed that Owen Swift-Sword was able to do these things, and they told him so.
He turned the talk to ordinary matters – the new weapons being made from bone and wood, and how effective they might be; a suggestion that Stag Troop might take a share of the guard duties. How soon the king and queen would arrive at Summerfort with the rest of their court, and whether the rations would improve.
Down by the campfire, the three fey warriors had called in all of their fellow captives. A great circle of folk sat around them, folk of many kinds, from those who looked almost human to the odd wispy beings and the ones that seemed to wink in and out of their shape. All were intent on Blaze as he spoke. Whisper had placed himself at the back of the crowd, perched on a stump, making himself only one among many.
Twilight turned to full dark, and eventually the meeting by the fire broke up. Blaze beckoned; Flint went back down.
‘They agree wi’ the proposition,’ the big warrior said. ‘Ye’ll be wantin’ a b
ittie time tae explain this tae your men, aye? Say we hae the first group ready tae slip awa’ tomorrow night? Dae it ower three nights?’
The flood of elation within him was tempered by fear. ‘Thank you. Releasing them in three groups will work well. And yes, I will ensure whoever is on duty down here tomorrow night knows the plan, and that they’ll keep it quiet. You understand, I imagine, that if word gets out about this we cannot go ahead with it.’
‘Aye. Ye better be sure ye get this right, king’s man, or your heid will be the first tae be staved in.’
As he’d anticipated, at a certain point there was a cold, furious argument with the queen’s councillor. They met behind a closed door, just the two of them.
‘We set out from Winterfort with over a hundred.’ Brydian’s voice was all frost. ‘I’m not blind, Owen. The number has been reduced by as many as thirty. Yet I haven’t seen one of them killed in the practice yard.’
‘Brydian. I am a war-leader and have been for some years. I’m expert in strategy and in the training of warriors. The king has requested that these folk be ready to display their fighting skills by the time of the Gathering. He has given me the responsibility of making that happen. You are a councillor; my equal, but not my superior. It would be unfortunate if your interference made it impossible for me to meet the king’s request. Most unfortunate.’
‘You cannot be threatening me.’ Brydian was white with rage.
‘You’ll interpret my words as you choose, of course.’
‘You’ve let them go. The smaller ones, the weaker ones. Haven’t you? You weren’t prepared to cull them. When? When did you do this?’
‘Did you not understand me? The king asked me to prepare this fighting force for him. He entrusted the mission to Stag Troop, under my leadership. I make every decision with that in mind. What do you imagine the king wants, a force of sixty beings all capable of resisting iron, of learning to fight as a disciplined unit, of obeying orders and meeting challenges, or a hundred-strong assembly in which almost half are incapable of doing the job? We’re wasting time even discussing this.’
‘You forget the one most important element, Owen: the Caller. Esten is not under your command, he’s –’ Brydian fell short of saying: he’s under mine. ‘He’s the king’s Caller. He reports to me. And without Esten, you have no control over these folk at all.’
‘Esten will continue to be present, of course, while we conduct training,’ Flint said. ‘And yourself, if that’s what you wish. But no more interference without consulting me first. No exercise of Esten’s more . . . destructive abilities unless you get my agreement that it’s required. Folk don’t fight well when they’re forced into it. I want to win their cooperation.’
‘Cooperation, pah!’ Brydian made a sound of utter disdain. ‘You’ve gone soft, Owen.’
‘Another thing.’ Flint kept his tone calm and controlled. ‘You should ensure your Caller is getting enough sleep at night if you want him at his best during the day. Toleg could give him a sleeping draught. It’d need to be something relatively mild, since Esten has to be up bright and early each morning, ready to do his work. But it would help him. He looks unwell.’
Brydian’s hands were balled into furious fists; for a moment, Flint wondered if the councillor would strike him. ‘How dare you?’ No angry shout; the chilly undertone, barely more than a whisper, was far more threatening. ‘How dare you meddle with this, when you’ve long been under suspicion of –’
‘Watch your words.’ Flint had his own quiet voice for such moments. There were only the two of them in the chamber; Brydian knew, surely, that Flint could kill him in an instant. ‘A king’s councillor does not accuse a man without evidence. Stay out of my way, let me get on with my job, and the king should be pleased with both of us. The Caller is your responsibility, yes. All the rest of this is mine, and I’ve no intention of allowing you to make a shambles of it. This conversation is finished. I have work to do.’
The morning after that conversation, Brydian sent a despatch to the king. Flint had his sources of information within each of the royal households, and word of this reached him soon after the messenger told the stable master he’d be needing a horse. Flint held a quick and covert meeting with his senior men, pointing out how much harder it would be for them to meet the goal the king had set them if Brydian were given the control he so clearly wanted. His men knew his plan; they understood that to achieve the impossible, it was necessary to go beyond the conventional methods. A party was sent to ensure the message never reached its destination.
The king’s return to Summerfort drew ever closer. Every day I showed Toleg how reliable I was, how hard I could work, how little supervision I required. Sometimes he was called down to the practice yard to tend to an injured man who, for one reason or another, could not be brought to the infirmary. I waited for a chance to go with him, so I might get a glimpse, at least, of the captives. But Toleg did not ask me to come.
He did leave me in charge, on my own, when he was absent during the day. Where once he would have called in Scia to supervise me, now he gave me a list of tasks to get on with, and trusted me to tend to anyone who might come seeking help while he was gone. This was a big step, and made me glad I had not rushed things. But time was passing swiftly. I’d had no chance to see if Whisper was with the captives, or to speak with Flint, whom I had not seen since that first day.
The temptation to use my gift was always there, though I kept it in check. I could try to call Whisper to me; I could learn if this was possible while Esten was close at hand and exerting his own influence over the captives. I could call one of our fey allies, Sage or Daw perhaps, and seek their advice. By now, the news that Good Folk were being held at Summerfort and trained to fight must have made its way up the valley to Shadowfell; Sage’s folk would be able to see what was happening from the wooded hill. Unless the iron kept them away. Unless fear of being drawn in by Esten’s call had driven them far from their home forest. That was all too believable.
There came a day when Toleg had headed out early with his herb basket and knives, leaving me with two infusions and a salve to prepare before he returned. Should I be faced with anything beyond my abilities, he said, I was to send for Scia. I suggested, in modest fashion, that next time he might allow me to do the herb gathering in his place, since I had younger legs.
‘We’ll see, Ellida,’ he said. ‘That husband of yours might not be well pleased if I let you wander about in the forest on your own, not to speak of the need to cross the encampment out there twice over.’
‘I did it regularly at Glenfalloch, Master Toleg, and Morven raised no objection.’
‘Then the man’s a fool. If I had a pretty young wife I wouldn’t be letting her tramp around hither and thither all alone, not with Alban the way it is these days. Now you’d best get started on that salve, it takes a while. And I’ll be off.’
I worked for some time uninterrupted. I completed the first infusion and was fetching beeswax for the salve when there was a knock on the infirmary door. I opened it, and there was the Caller, with Brydian like a dark shadow behind him.
‘You,’ Brydian said, plainly far from pleased. ‘Where is Master Toleg?’
‘He’s gone out to gather herbs, Master Brydian. Please enter. I will help you if I can.’
‘When is Toleg due back? This is most unfortunate.’ He made no move to come in. One look at Esten told me he was in severe pain, most likely from a headache.
‘You should sit down,’ I said directly to Esten. I put my hand under his arm and led him to a bench. ‘Sit here. I can help you.’ I looked toward Brydian, who was still in the doorway. ‘Master Toleg will be away until late afternoon.’
‘We’ll return later,’ Brydian said. ‘Esten, come.’
The healer in me wanted to tell him that was both foolish and cruel. The strategist in me might have pointed out that keeping his Caller fi
t and well would surely be the king’s priority. But I remembered Scia’s warning and said nothing. It was Esten who spoke, raising his head to look up at the councillor. His face was a death mask, the eyes bright with pain.
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘My head . . .’ He bent and put his hands to his temples.
I crouched down beside him, ignoring Brydian. ‘How long have you had this pain?’
‘A long time,’ Esten murmured. ‘Since . . . since before I came here. But . . . much worse now. I . . .’
I recognised the look on his face and dived for a bowl before he could be sick all over the infirmary floor. He retched helplessly while I held it in place. As soon as the spasm was over, Brydian came forward.
‘Thank you for your assistance. Send word as soon as Toleg returns. Come, Esten.’
The healer won out over the spy. ‘Master Brydian,’ I said, ‘your friend is not well enough to be moved. By all means wait for Master Toleg, who is much more experienced than I am. But let Esten wait here on a bed, in comfort. He’s in severe pain. I’m able to make an infusion to relieve that, and I can also give him something to help him sleep. Master Toleg left me in charge.’
‘Where is Scia?’
‘She’s helping Brand prepare for King Keldec’s arrival. Master Toleg is not expecting her in the infirmary today.’
Brydian replied by stalking back to the door and rapping out an order to someone outside. Had they brought guards with them? ‘Fetch Scia here!’
We waited in awkward silence. Esten was on the verge of fainting from the pain. I struggled to hold back a protest.
When Scia arrived, looking flustered, Brydian said, ‘When Toleg’s away, you should be available when needed. I have a sick man here. What were you doing?’
‘Now that Master Toleg has Ellida to assist him, I don’t work here every day, Master Brydian.’ Scia managed to sound calm and capable; I was impressed. ‘Brand has me in charge of ensuring the king’s and queen’s apartments are perfectly prepared for them.’ She glanced at me; took in the wilting Esten. ‘Ellida is a skilled herbalist and capable of dealing with all but the most difficult situations. Everything I can do, she can do. If she needed help in Master Toleg’s absence, she would call me.’
The Caller Page 23
