‘I hardly know what it is,’ he said. ‘Only that I was promised power, wealth, and recognition, and that I find myself trapped in a nightmare of my own making. Sometimes I think I would rather die than do what is required of me. But . . . I have been nothing in the past, insignificant, overlooked. And when I use this gift I feel powerful, I feel fully alive, I feel . . . I feel like a leader.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘I know what I do is wrong. I know it is cruel. But I cannot stop doing it, Ellida. It’s like what you said about the draught; the more of it you have, the more you want it. Even if it makes you do terrible things. Even if it sets a burden on you that you can hardly bear.’
Black Crow save me. I struggled to find words.
‘You wish now that you had not asked me to speak,’ he said.
‘No, though what you say is . . . disconcerting. Esten, when did you start using this gift? Folk with canny talents are born with them, I know. How old were you when you realised what you could do?’
‘I don’t remember. A child. But I didn’t know what it was, only that I heard strange voices calling me, out in the woods, and sometimes saw odd things I thought might be only tricks of the light. I never spoke of it to anyone. There were . . . reasons. Everyone knows that.’
I judged he was four or five years my senior. Esten’s early childhood would have been before Keldec came to the throne and outlawed the use of canny gifts outside his own court. ‘And later?’ I ventured. ‘It sounds as if your gift is very powerful. How did it develop?’
‘I hardly used it. Nobody knew about it. Once or twice, when I was out of doors on my own, one of them – the Good Folk – would appear and try to talk to me, and I would do my best to pretend I could not see it. They are trouble. The king’s law is wise, forbidding us to meet and mingle. What is happening to these folk now – they brought it on themselves. They should have left me alone.’
I could not tell him he was wrong; I must judge each question with utmost care. ‘I have heard the story – that you travelled to the south with the king’s expedition and brought them back. Many of them. So they followed you against your will?’
He shook his head. ‘I called them. I made them come. That was what the queen wanted. That’s what a Caller is: one who can compel and command these folk. Make them follow. Make them fight. Make them do whatever I want.’
Or whatever your masters want, I thought. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Didn’t you say they should have left you alone? But if you were the one who called them forth . . . ?’
‘It was one of them that started all this,’ Esten said in a whisper. ‘If not for that, nobody would ever have known what I could do. Even I would not have known. I was doing exactly as the law requires, not using my gift, not acknowledging it in any way. Then, one day when I was out in the woods, I met an old man with a dog.’
I went cold with horror. He’d been trained. He’d met the Master of Shadows. It meant . . . it meant – but the Master was a trickster. Perhaps this was not what it seemed. ‘Go on,’ I said, struggling to sound calm and encouraging.
‘I thought he was an ordinary man, of humankind. He was carrying firewood, too much for an old fellow to manage, and I offered to help him get it to his hut. And when we reached the place . . . he proved to be something other than human.’
‘You mean – he was one of them? How could you tell?’
‘He . . . changed. The dog, too. Now one thing, now another. And he told me about my . . . my gift, my ability . . . I didn’t want to speak of it, because of the law, but the old man seemed to know all about me, how I could see and hear those folk, how I had held back, tried to pretend it was nothing. And . . . and he told me what power I could wield. The magnificent things I could do. Stand at the king’s right hand. Command great armies. Make folk perform wonderful magic. Become . . . become someone.’ A wretched silence. ‘I told him I would not listen; that it was dangerous nonsense. I walked back home, ate my supper, went to bed. Spent the whole night thinking about it, about how it could change my life, how it could transform me into someone different, someone people looked up to, someone they feared. The next day I went back to the old man’s hut, and the next, and many times after that. He . . . he showed me things. Not as much as I wanted, but . . . enough for me to start. One day, when I went to find him, he was gone. The man, the dog, even the hut had vanished as if it had never been. But I knew what I could be and what I could do. I was . . . I was practising when Master Brydian came by and saw me.’
‘And brought you to court, just as you had hoped.’ By all that was holy. The Master of Shadows had not only shown himself to this Caller, he had trained him. Had Esten, too, demonstrated the seven virtues? When could he have done that? And what about the other Guardians? Why would the Master do this?
‘Just as I had hoped,’ he said on a sigh. ‘Only . . . I have proven weaker than I should be. Inadequate to the task the king needs done. The headaches, the nightmares, they were not so bad at first. The queen had faith in me. Master Brydian was kind to me, took time for me. But here . . . I get so tired. I can still do it, but the call I use to quell unrest . . . it drains my strength and I cannot go on. They have stopped asking me to call. For some time now, the fellow in charge of the fighters, Owen Swift-Sword, has said that he doesn’t need me there. He says he can keep the Good Folk in order without me.’
‘Really?’ How could that be possible?
‘Queen Varda will be disappointed in me. That is what Master Brydian says. He wants me cured. He wants Master Toleg to restore my strength before the king and queen come to Summerfort.’ He turned anguished eyes on me. ‘If I could have the sleeping draught at night, perhaps I could perform as I should by day.’
I pitied him despite myself. ‘I explained to you why that is not possible. Any healer would tell you the same thing. But we’ll talk to Toleg and ask him for advice –’
‘No!’ he said sharply. ‘You promised! What I told you is secret –’
Gods, he was strung tight as a harp string. ‘Of course I will not tell him anything without your permission,’ I said. ‘I won’t tell anyone, I gave you my word. But we must at least explain to Master Toleg about the headaches and the lack of sleep, since that was the reason you came to see us. You should lie down and rest again until he comes. Practise breathing slowly and making your body limp. Try to think of good things.’
‘Good things,’ he echoed. ‘I have forgotten what they are, if indeed I ever knew.’
And I wanted to tell him he had brought that on himself, with his desire for power, but I held back. Esten had wandered into perilous clutches: first the Master of Shadows, then Brydian, dark representatives of Alban’s two races. Not to mention Queen Varda. If I had been in his shoes, I hoped I would have had the strength to say no. But I could not be sure.
He lay back as I had suggested and closed his eyes. I busied myself with various tasks, all the while struggling to come to terms with what Esten had revealed. I had believed the Master of Shadows supported me, in his own peculiar way. He had warned me to expect tricks; he had told me to practise playing games before our next encounter. Was that what this was, an elaborate game whose purpose I had failed to understand? Or had he decided Esten made a more promising Caller than me, more powerful perhaps, less cautious about what damage he might do along the way? This was like trying to walk across shifting ground where at any moment a solid surface might turn to sucking bog. There were no rules; there was no map. A Caller who both feared his own gift and loved what it might deliver him was truly a dangerous weapon. Dangerous not only to his enemies, but to his friends as well. Most dangerous of all to himself. I gazed at his still form on the pallet and considered that if our positions had been reversed, Esten would not have hesitated to ensure his draught rendered me not peacefully asleep but dead and cold, a threat no more. His craving to be a different, more powerful person had delivered the king exactly what he needed – a C
aller prepared to set aside his scruples. How much damage could Esten do before his gift destroyed him?
‘Up here,’ Osgar said. ‘Take care, it’s steep.’
We had come to the end of a long hallway on the upper level of the fortress. Ahead was an odd half-wall, and behind it a hidden stairway, ladder-steep, leading up into total darkness.
Osgar climbed; I followed, feeling my way. He took the steps with apparent ease. My legs were soon aching.
My companion reached up, pushing aside a trapdoor and admitting a sudden shaft of light. He climbed out; I clambered up behind him and found that we were on a narrow ledge, at most one stride from back to front, with just room enough for the two of us to stand side by side next to the opening. The low barrier, not even knee high, would do little to protect us from a long, long fall to the courtyard below. I pressed my back against the stone wall of the keep and told myself to be calm.
‘All right?’
‘Yes, fine. It is very high.’
‘Secret lookout. Comes in handy occasionally. Look that way.’
Our vantage point provided a clear view into the practice yard, where Enforcers in uniform were working with two groups of fighters, each group wearing tokens in either green or blue – a scarf, a ribbon, a kerchief tied around the neck or arm. The scene looked strangely ordinary, as if the Enforcers were conducting standard combat training. Yet at the same time it was the opposite of ordinary, for Good Folk were down there mingling with the warriors in training. Big folk, smaller folk, folk of many different forms and kinds, including some that seemed to be alight or smoking, and some with wings. There were onlookers, too, seated in the raised area to one side, the place from which the royal party had watched the Gathering. Not Brydian, and not Esten, whom I knew to be resting on Toleg’s orders. A group of young men sat there. A big group. And there alongside them was a small winged being with feathers of snowy white. Whisper. Not fighting; only watching. As relief flooded through me, he turned his head and looked straight up at us.
Don’t look at him, Neryn. Don’t think about him, don’t reach out to him. Now is not the time.
‘Morven’s over there near the main gates,’ Osgar said, pointing. ‘Sparring with one of those big brutes, the fellow with a head like a rock.’
‘Oh.’ I did not have to pretend concern. The being Brenn was grappling with was both tall and broad, and seemed to be spurting steam from various parts of its body. Surely it could topple Brenn in an instant if it chose to. But as the bout progressed, I realised that this was indeed only practice; the two combatants would reach a certain point in the fight, then an Enforcer – Rohan – would step in and separate them, speak to them awhile, then watch as they set to again.
I had seen Flint the moment I looked down there; I would always recognise him, even at such a distance. He was not fighting, but stood to one side with his legs apart and his arms folded, keeping an eye on things. Another king’s man stood by him, but this one I did not know.
‘Orderly work,’ Osgar observed. ‘Not like the early days. Those folk were all spit and defiance then, needed the Caller to make them comply, and a ring of iron to stop them from bolting. And they didn’t seem to know how to fight. Odd, really, seeing as they’ve got magical powers, throwing flame and that kind of thing.’
‘What has changed, then, to make it so well controlled now?’
‘Owen Swift-Sword’s doing. The troop leader, down there at the side. I know he had the armourers make some special weapons, not your usual iron, but wood, bone, other materials these folk can handle. Not sure what else he did, but he’s got them cooperating quite well. Which is fortunate, seeing the Caller’s out of action for now. Did Master Toleg have any answers?’
It was no more Osgar’s business than the training of Good Folk was mine, but I would provide an answer in the hope of getting one from him in return. ‘He’s given Esten a different sleeping draught, one that he can use every night. And another potion for his headaches. But what Esten really needs is a proper rest; he needs to stop calling for a while.’
Osgar looked at me sideways. ‘Just as well, then, that Owen’s got these folk eating out of his hand. So to speak.’
‘Mm.’ I did not think Brydian would be interested in giving his Caller a long rest. Esten himself would only agree to it while his exhaustion overcame his drive for power. I guessed that within a day or two, he and his minder would be back out there again. ‘Osgar, I thought nobody was allowed to watch while these folk were being trained. Who are those people there?’
‘The young fellows? New recruits. They just got in today from Winterfort, with some men from Hound Troop. Owen’s going to have his work cut out.’
It was as I had suspected. Those were the young men from the south, the other part of the king’s special forces. It was all falling into place. I could not see if Ean was among them. ‘Work cut out doing what?’ I hoped this question was artless enough. ‘How long will it be before I can see Morven again, do you think? See him properly, I mean, to talk to.’
‘Can’t answer that. I have heard, just quietly, that there are plans for the Gathering; some sort of show the king wants put on, using these folk. After that, who knows?’
‘You mean I might not see him until after midsummer? That is a long time.’
‘I’d say, count yourself lucky Morven’s doing so well. I’d guess he’ll be posted to Stag Troop in due course. Maybe even before midsummer. But it’s not for me to say. And best not discussed openly in the household. You’re new here; you probably don’t quite understand.’
‘Thank you for warning me. I won’t say a thing. And thank you for bringing me up here; it’s wonderful to see my husband, even if only for a moment or two.’
‘Might do it again. Some other day. We should go back down now.’
The most astonishing thing my trip to the lookout had shown me was that Flint was not only safe thus far, but was somehow managing to train his uncanny charges without need of either iron as a deterrent or the Caller’s presence. How he was achieving this I had no idea. As far as I knew he possessed no particular affinity with the Good Folk, and I could not understand their compliance. If he could do this, if he could keep it up, then all we needed at midsummer was to make sure Esten was out of action, perhaps with a judiciously administered sleeping draught, something that would fell him without killing him. That part seemed almost too easy. Once we dealt with Esten, I could use my own gift to rally those folk down there to fight, not for the king, but against him.
Not only was Flint unharmed and working miracles, but Brenn was still safe as well, and so was Whisper. Perhaps Ean, too, among those hapless lads. That gave me four allies at court. My spirits lifted; I went back to my duties in the infirmary with a smile, and had to explain my mood to Toleg by saying I’d had word my husband was acquitting himself splendidly at training.
‘You fancy life as an Enforcer’s wife,’ Toleg remarked, not turning from where he was working at the bench.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, watching my words. He would be quick to see through my lies. ‘But it is what Morven wants. It’s what he has wanted for years. And I love him. If this is the life he has chosen then it will be mine too.’
‘You’ll be spending a lot of your time waiting for him while he’s away on one mission or another. You know that, I suppose.’
‘I do. And I think it is just as well I have my own work to keep me busy.’
‘Well, you’ve proven useful enough, I’ll say that. It can’t have been easy dealing with young Esten on your own. I’m not sure I’d have risked what you did. Too much of that particular draught can kill a man.’
‘I was careful with the dose. He wanted more; I gave him only what I knew was safe.’
‘You judged it well, yes. I’ll show you another draught, the one they use for enthralments – if it happens again, that would be safer. The Enthrallers call
it Oblivion. Sends folk to sleep almost immediately, and there’s a quick-working antidote if required. The components are in the locked cupboard; when I’m finished here I’ll go through it with you.’
‘Thank you.’ The idea turned me cold. Twice I had seen a person enthralled, though with Tali it had been pretence. The draught forced down the throat, the rapid descent into deep sleep, and later, the sudden, terrified waking. I was not sure I could bring myself to use such a potion, even for a different purpose.
‘Don’t thank me, just learn,’ Toleg said, and although he still did not turn, I heard a smile in his voice. ‘Since it sounds as if you’re going to be underfoot here even when that husband of yours has finished his training, you need to develop your skills as fast as you can. How about sweeping the floor while I’m finishing this?’
He had thought the safeguards he’d set in place would be sufficient to keep things in balance. Brydian could not insist his Caller intimidate the Good Folk when there was no need for it. He could not insist on the use of iron when the captive army made no attempt to run riot, bolt from the practice area or attack those who fought alongside them. The truce, the arrangement Whisper had helped him set in place, had held thus far. And with luck they had still as much as a turning of the moon before Keldec brought his court to Summerfort.
Esten’s illness made things even easier. Nobody wanted him and Brydian there all the time, watching every move, stepping in to exercise control whenever they chose to. Brydian was no warrior. Esten had a gift of fearsome power, but he only used it on the councillor’s orders, and the men did not respect him for that. They were happier working with their own kind, fighting men, and so, it became apparent, were the Good Folk. As for the despatches Brydian sent at regular intervals to the king at Winterfort, Flint had had one or two intercepted, and had found they contained nothing dangerous. It seemed even Brydian realised the value of Flint’s approach, though he did not say so in his despatches, only that the exercise was progressing well.
The Caller Page 25
