As the season advanced, Flint began cautiously to hope that they might all survive until midsummer, when everything would change. That hope was ill-founded. One bright cloudless morning three men of Bull Troop rode up to the gates with an urgent message. It seemed Keldec had grown tired of waiting to see his special forces in training. The king and his court were on the way to Summerfort.
Chapter Eleven
With the king’s arrival, everything changed. The women’s quarters filled to capacity, with extra pallets laid on the floor and people sharing. Toleg offered me a bed in the stillroom – if we had patients overnight, we’d need to be close by anyway – and I accepted gratefully. He had a tiny chamber of his own, with barely enough room for a pallet and a little chest, reached through a low archway behind our work bench.
With Keldec and Varda had travelled a vast number of retainers: stable boys and grooms, scullions and cooks, seamstresses, personal maids, councillors and, of course, a large contingent of Enforcers. The stables were packed. There were dogs, too, some kennelled, some wandering about. The queen had a tiny white terrier. One of her waiting women carried it around for her.
And she had a son. I had forgotten, sometimes, about this child whom the king wanted to make his successor, against the ancient laws of Alban which determined that only sons of the royal women could contest the kingship. The old law meant the kingship usually passed from uncle to nephew, cousin to cousin or, sometimes, brother to brother. The true heir, the person Regan had considered had the strongest claim to succeed Keldec, was also a little boy. He was hidden away somewhere, so Keldec could not take steps to eliminate the child he saw as his son’s rival.
The king’s boy was called Ochi, and he was three years old. I first saw him crossing the courtyard one day as I was gathering herbs in the kitchen garden; he was attended by a pair of solicitous nursemaids, with a guard following at a short distance. From this group of attendants I would have guessed who the child was, even without the richness of his clothing. For all that, he looked like an ordinary little boy, dawdling to examine a beetle on the stones; running back to point out something to the guard, who squatted down to listen; staring over toward me in the garden. Who’s that? I imagined him asking, and one of the maids saying, Nobody.
Maybe that child would be his father all over again, and maybe he would not. Maybe Ochi would prove to have the same fears, the same streak of cruelty, the same weakness. Or he might become a quite different kind of person. One thing was sure: it was better that Keldec’s son never became king. Better for Alban, and better for himself.
With so many more folk at Summerfort, there was enough work to keep not only Toleg and me but also Scia busy all day. We had a constant flow of folk into the infirmary: fighters with combat injuries, cooks with burns, people with all manner of ailments for which they needed a draught or lotion or salve. I took to snatching meals when I could, as Toleg did, but he insisted I stop work in time to have supper in the hall.
Now all the tables were full. Keldec, Varda and their inner circle sat at a raised table, where they could look out over their household; Brydian and Esten were close to them, along with the man whom I had seen using fire at the last Gathering, another councillor. Men from Wolf Troop stood on guard by their table, and I soon realised the Enforcer who stood behind Keldec was acting as the king’s taster.
My table was occupied mostly by women – not only the queen’s attendants, who did not join her at the high table, but lesser members of her household, such as laundresses, seamstresses, embroiderers and so on. I usually sat beside a young woman named Devan, who had striking golden hair in a long plait down her back and a sweet, sad face. Devan was a spinner. When she told me that, it brought back a sharp memory of the Gathering, and the man who had won a gruelling contest of strength. His prize had been to protect his talented daughter from the Cull, but at a cost – the queen had wanted the fine spinner as a member of her circle, and when her father had explained that she was expecting a baby, he’d been told the child would have to go elsewhere, as Varda wanted no squalling infants in her household. I could not ask Devan if she was that young woman, whose father had tried to explain that her talent was not canny in nature, but had come down to her through generations of fine craftswomen. I had seen, at the Gathering, that this king and queen heard only what they wanted to hear.
Under different circumstances, Devan and I might have become friends. As it was, we were limited to exchanging a few pleasantries while we ate our meal. Folk’s conversation was even more guarded than before, as if there might be hostile ears everywhere.
There were now so many Enforcers in residence that they took their meals in shifts. I heard from Osgar, who dropped in to have a word whenever his duties brought him near the infirmary, that three troops were sharing the annexe, which was bursting at the seams thanks to the need to accommodate the young lads from the south as well. Another three troops were housed within the keep – the men’s quarters were far more capacious than the women’s. Part of Eagle Troop had stayed behind as security for Winterfort; the rest of that troop had been sent on an unspecified mission. They would all ride to Summerfort in time for the Gathering.
Soon after the king arrived, the training took a turn for the worse. We began tending to many more injuries than before, and those injuries included some unlikely to have been inflicted during a practice fight such as the one I’d seen from the secret lookout, conducted under the watchful eye of senior Enforcers. Strange burns. Peculiar cuts. Bites. When we had Enforcers as patients, they tended to be short on explanations, but I heard, ‘That creature did it, the one with the teeth like a saw’ and, ‘He burned me, the poxy wretch, lit up that pelt of his and scorched my skin right off.’
The Good Folk were being injured, too. An Enforcer would come to the door and motion to Toleg, and after a consultation in lowered voices, Toleg would pack some items into a bag and go off, promising not to be long. But sometimes it was long. Sometimes he came back pale and silent, and responded to our expressions of concern by shaking his head, turning his back, and finding work for his hands. At those times, he chopped his healing herbs with unnecessary violence.
If Summerfort had been a place of caution before, now its inhabitants watched every step. I was lucky Osgar had befriended me earlier, and luckier still that his duties gave him an excuse to speak to me so often. He’d taken me up to the secret lookout twice more in those earlier days, but now we were all too busy, and I did not ask to go. But I wanted to see. What had happened to disrupt that orderly training? Why would anyone want to change things when they had been going so well?
I could climb up to the lookout by myself, supposing I could get to the steps without being seen and then manage to lift up the trapdoor. I was fairly sure Osgar had broken a rule by showing me the place, but possibly it was known only to Wolf Troop, whose job had long been household security. I resolved to seize the first opportunity that came my way.
But when an opportunity did come, it was of another kind. We were running low on herbs, not the common ones that grew in the garden, but the kind that must be wild-gathered to use while fresh. And we had a very sick man in the infirmary, Ruarc from Bull Troop, who had taken a mighty blow to the head and needed not only Toleg’s experience in the management of such injuries, but the presence of two fellow Enforcers to restrain the patient when his pain and confusion sent him into a raving frenzy, which was often. Toleg could not go anywhere. Scia and I were busy handling the other work of the infirmary. But we could not do without the herbs, and nobody else had the knowledge to find and gather them.
‘You’d better go, Ellida,’ Toleg said, during a spell of blessed quiet while Ruarc was sleeping. ‘Once you’re across the river, you’ll find a path up the hill. Stick to the main track until you reach a stream, and then head westward along the bank. Most of what we need can be found within an easy walk from that point.’ He glanced at Ruarc’s two comrades, who
had taken the opportunity to sit down on a bench and drink the ale Scia had fetched for them earlier. Both were white-faced, sombre and silent. ‘You should take a guard,’ Toleg added. ‘Ask Brand to find someone to go with you.’
‘Mm-hm.’ My heart was beating fast. At last, a chance to get out of this place and speak to the Good Folk of the forest without drawing them too close to Esten’s influence. I could not be away long; I must use this opportunity wisely.
‘And, Ellida?’ Toleg spoke as I fetched my basket, my cloth-wrapped knife, my staff.
‘Yes?’
‘Take care crossing the encampment out there. At this time of day, our visitors will probably be in the practice area. But go cautiously, all the same.’
‘I will.’
If Summerfort had not been so full and everyone so busy, I’d never have managed to get away on my own – someone would have insisted I take an escort, even if it was only the most junior of stable hands. As it was, the gate guards were Wolf Troop men and knew me. They accepted the perfectly true explanation that Toleg could not leave the infirmary while Ruarc was so ill – the news of his grave injury was known to every Enforcer I had met since it happened, and seemed to overshadow everything else for them. One guard said he was sorry he could not offer to go with me; the other warned me to walk around the very edge of the practice area, as there was a mock combat in progress.
They opened the inner gate. As I stepped through the noise hit me. Groans, cries, shouting. The mock combat had gone terribly wrong. Injured fighters, both human and uncanny, staggered about or lay on the earth, with folk clustering around trying to help them. A big creature, the one with the pelt like flickering flames, was bellowing defiance while crouched down with both hands clutched over what looked like a gaping wound in his belly. His fiery pelt was dulling, turning to ash-grey even as I looked. I saw Flint go over and reach out to lay a hand on the wounded being’s shoulder. One of the other big fighters, a creature with a head like a rough stone, moved in and shoved him aside, snarling.
Flint turned to face Brydian, who sat at the front of the raised seating with Esten beside him. ‘I specifically ordered that the Caller not exert his control without my consent!’ he shouted. ‘This is the work of warriors, and I am still in charge here! Take your Caller and get out of my sight. Your interference has done more than enough damage!’
All my instincts called me to rush in and help. There were folk out there bleeding, suffering, dying. Why else had I come to court early, but to try to undo some of the evil caused by Esten’s call? But I couldn’t. Not here; not now. To run out there and try to aid the wounded Good Folk with Brydian and his Caller looking on would be to risk everything. Already one or two of them had lifted their heads to look in my direction. In my mind I offered an apology to my grandmother, who had taught me the healer’s craft, and another to Toleg. I lowered my gaze and headed for the outer gate.
‘Can I believe my ears?’ Brydian’s voice; it was under better control than Flint’s. ‘You’re countermanding the king’s direct orders?’
A sudden clamour drowned the rest of Brydian’s speech. And I was at the gate. The guard on duty – a man whose twisted ankle I had tended to not long ago – came over to speak to me. While I explained my business to him, I risked a quick look over my shoulder. The injured being had risen to his feet; a stream of fluid was issuing from his wound. He took two staggering steps, then fell to lie motionless, face down. A deep, sobbing sigh arose from all the Good Folk, a recognition not only of this loss, I thought, but of wrong heaped upon wrong.
I caught a glimpse of Flint’s face. The tight guard he kept on his expression was gone; he was incandescent with rage. ‘The orders that led to this,’ he said, and now his voice was cold and clear, ‘are orders I can no longer follow.’
‘I don’t think I will be long,’ I said to the guard. My voice shook like a willow in an autumn gale.
‘Sure you’re all right to go on your own?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘We’ll be looking out for you.’ He glanced over toward the scene in the practice area, his face grim, but made no comment. He opened the gate, and I went out.
I crossed the encampment, forded the river and made my way up into the woods almost without noticing. My mind was full of what had just happened. Flint had ordered Brydian and Esten off the field. He’d said he would no longer obey the king’s orders. He had just condemned himself to death.
Up on the hill, under the shelter of trees now resplendent in their summer finery, I sat down on a stone and allowed myself to shed tears: tears for Flint, tears for that fallen being and all the others, and a few tears of sheer panic. But not for long; I had to call Sage, and for that I wanted to be further away from the fortress and that scene of carnage. Besides, it would not help anyone if I was late back. Whatever happened to Flint’s part of the mission, and surely that must be at an end now, I had my own part to play and I must keep to it.
I found the stream and followed it westward, making sure I gathered all the herbs Toleg had asked for. I was nearly far enough from the path to try calling Sage. As I cut a last supply of woodruff I heard a dry little cough behind me, and whirled to see a familiar figure there, her beady eyes fixed on me, her hair a wild green-grey fuzz around her wise face. There was no need to call; Sage was here.
I dropped my basket, scattering the herbs, and knelt to embrace her. ‘Sage! I’ve missed you!’
‘Aye, lassie, aye.’ She patted my arm. ‘Dry those tears now, we dinna have much time. There are weighty matters to consider.’
‘Flint – I have to tell you about Flint!’ The words burst out of me. ‘He’s done something terrible, something that means he will be – when I left, he was – he spoke out against the king’s orders, he –’
‘Take a deep breath, Neryn. Sit down here. Aye, that’s it, lassie. Now then.’
She was not alone. From under the trees others of her clan came forward: delicate Silver; the wizened elder, Blackthorn; Gentle, the little healer in her blue cloak. No sign of Red Cap.
Sage guessed who I was looking for. ‘Red Cap is safe,’ she said. ‘I bid the wee fellow go to ground until this is all over. He took his bairnie and went off into the deep parts of the forest.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. Sage, Flint has put himself in terrible danger –’
‘One step at a time. Take it slowly.’
I made myself breathe steadily. I tried to assemble my story in a way that made sense, though I thought maybe my heart was breaking. ‘Sage, Silver, everyone – you know there is another Caller at Summerfort?’
‘We know it.’ Silver managed to speak in a tone like little chiming bells, and still sound dour. She was a lovely creature, all flowing hair and graceful floating garments, but she had been slowest of all Sage’s clan to accept me. ‘We feel it; we see it.’
‘Whisper, who was with me before – a Northie – he was caught up in it. Swept along by Esten’s call in the south, even though I was close by. And now he’s in there with that band of captive Good Folk, and Flint and his troop were supposed to prepare an army for the king, your kind and humankind, just the same as we are trying to do, only –’
‘Slow down, lassie,’ Sage said. ‘We know of the captive Southies, aye. Their camp’s plain enough to see from up here. And we feel the call of that other fellow, but not so strong that we canna hold out against it. If we were closer, or if he reached out straight to us, it might be different. We willna put that to the test before we must.’
‘The other Caller, Esten – he seems to hate what he does, but he can’t stop himself. He craves power. And he’s under the control of the queen’s councillor.’
‘Aye, we’ve seen what the fellow can do. His call is crushing. Shrivels up hope. Sets despair in the bones.’
‘Just as I went out from the fortress, I saw one of the Southies die. Flint was blaming E
sten and the man who controls him, Brydian. And he – Flint – said he wouldn’t obey the king’s orders anymore. He was so angry, I think the words just came out. They’ll kill him, Sage.’ My chest ached; I felt as if I had a knife in my heart.
‘Why now?’ Blackthorn asked, turning his dark eyes on me. ‘After keeping up his pretence so long?’
Sage answered, her voice very quiet. ‘He was ready to walk away from court before the winter. I told him he should stay. Then, of course, his comrades came and took him back. Maybe I should have bid him follow his heart. Even the strongest man has his breaking point.’
I swallowed my tears. We had little time, and I must get some answers from them. ‘I had a chance to watch what Flint and his troop were doing before the king came to Summerfort. From a secret lookout. That day the Caller was not present and Flint’s troop was working with the captive Southies quite amicably, going through practice bouts – I’ve heard they are preparing for some kind of display at midsummer. Doesn’t it say in the lore that humankind and Good Folk can’t work for a shared purpose without a Caller to lead them? That’s the reason I have done all my training – so I can rally this combined force at the Gathering. But Flint was getting them to work together without a Caller – at the time, Esten was sick. No Caller and no iron. And one of the other Enforcers spoke of it too, how when these folk first arrived it was chaos, and how Flint somehow managed to make that chaos into order.’
‘There was no sign of the Caller,’ said Silver, ‘when Flint went out to the camp to meet with the Southies, night by night, earlier in the season.’
‘He did that?’
‘He did; we saw it.’
‘So it is possible for our kind and yours to work for a shared purpose without a Caller. How can the lore be wrong?’
‘It isna wrong, Neryn,’ said Sage. ‘There’s no grand purpose here, only a practical bargain. Your man let a goodly few of the Southies go early on, after those meetings in the camp. The smaller ones. The weaker ones. My guess is, the rest of them offered their cooperation in return for that.’
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