Esten rose to his feet. He stretched out his arms. ‘Come forth!’ he shouted. The words were for the crowd; I knew he could call the Good Folk silently, just as I could.
And it was too late. They surged from their shelter, the big warrior with rock-like features in the lead, and behind him a red-crested creature with human arms and clawed bird-legs. The place was alive with magic, tingling, vibrating, shimmering all about. In the crowd people screamed, shouted, crouched down, shielding their faces.
‘This man betrayed your trust!’ Esten yelled. ‘Take your vengeance now!’
I wanted to cover my eyes; to shrink down into a ball. I made myself stand strong. And something odd happened: instead of ripping Flint apart straight away, the two large beings halted three strides from the captive.
‘Ye gave us a promise and ye didna keep it!’ roared the rock-like one. ‘Ye didna hold your nerve, and ye lost the chance tae mak’ guid your vow!’
‘Oor friend died because ye couldna keep control o’ your ain men!’ snarled the red-crested one. ‘Scorch gave ye his trust. Ye repaid it by lettin’ ane o’ yours rip his guts oot. Why shouldna we dae the same tae ye reet noo?’
‘I won’t fight you,’ Flint said. ‘We are on the same side in this battle, you and I. We are on the side of justice, of peace, of hope for the future.’
‘Kill him!’ Esten’s command rang out loud and clear. ‘Make an end of him!’
Everything in me strained to countermand him. I fought the rising tide of the call. Why didn’t Tali declare herself?
The uncanny warriors moved in. And suddenly Brocc was in front of his prisoner, drawing his sword. Ardon reached down and did something to Flint’s shackles; the chains fell to the ground, and he was free. Then Ardon, too, moved forward and drew his weapon. Not restraining their captive; defending him. Enthralled men, the two of them. The crowd gasped.
A roar of annoyance from Rock-face; a shrieking cry from the other. Bird-claws struck the sword from Brocc’s hands, and Rock-face seized it. I had asked for all the Good Folk to be protected against iron, and they would use that to their advantage. Now, Tali! Now! Bird-claws slashed at Ardon’s legs with his talons, and Ardon fell. Flint had reached up and slipped the bandage off. He narrowed his eyes against the sunlight. Rock-face was grappling with Brocc, stopping him from reaching his knife. Ardon struggled to get up, his leg bloody.
The crowd shouted as Brocc went down. Still Flint did not move. Rock-face set a great hand around Flint’s neck, thrusting his face close. Bird-claws moved in behind. What was Tali waiting for? Why didn’t she speak?
Bird-claws hit Flint over the ear, hard. He swayed but kept his footing. Rock-face released a burst of steam from an aperture in his neck, missing Flint’s face by a hair’s breadth. They were playing with him as a cat toys with its prey before the final strike. Bird-claws lifted his foot and ran a talon across Flint’s back, slitting his tunic. Flint staggered, then steadied. He was sheet-white, with his lips pressed tight together. The two of them circled him. Rock-face slammed a fist into his other ear. The talon made another slicing move, and Flint could no longer hold his silence. A gasping cry of pain came from him, but he stood strong, his eyes on the king. Rock-face released a second jet of steam; Flint struggled to stay on his feet. A claw across his face, once, twice; blood streamed down, a red flow. I started to get up, I had to call, I could not let this go on –
‘Sit down.’ A familiar voice came from beside me, where one of Gormal’s men had been sitting a moment ago. The Master of Shadows. Nobody was looking at us; all eyes were on the spectacle. Besides, most likely only I could see him. ‘No grand gesture required, only a trick. But hurry.’
As Rock-face lifted Flint off the ground and shook him, a rabbit in the wolf’s grip, I used what the White Lady had taught me. A call for one individual only; a call strong enough to overwhelm Esten’s, but carefully shaped so it would neither expose me nor spark a mass attack before Tali was ready. I pictured Whisper, waiting in that screened area with the rest of the fey army. His soft white feathers; his big strange eyes; his feet in their little felt boots.
Whisper, I called, and in my call was the strength of stone, the bite of the cold, barren north from which Whisper had come, and in it was the living flame that was part of Alban, too, both destructive and life-giving, flame that could scourge and scar and ruin, flame that could warm and comfort and sustain. I laid my hand over the dream vial again. Whisper, heed my call. Be deaf to the other. Save Flint. And I pictured what I hoped he might do.
‘Aye,’ murmured the Master of Shadows. ‘Aye. Let’s see what the king’s Caller makes of that.’
Rock-face threw Flint bodily into Bird-claws’ arms, then gathered himself, becoming taller, broader, more formidable. He sucked in a mighty breath. The crowd seemed to draw breath with him. The king, the queen, Esten and Brydian were all standing now, leaning forward to watch the climax to this uneven combat. Rock-face released a huge burst of steam; Bird-claws stepped forward with Flint in his grip, lifting him toward the scalding flow. Whisper, now!
Suddenly, from the screened area flew a white form, winging its way toward them, diving right through the hot jet still issuing from the rock being’s body. Screams from the crowd. And where there had been steam, now there was ice, splintering over Bird-claws and Flint then crashing in shards to the ground. Bird-claws dropped his burden. Flint lay motionless on the ground; I could not see if he had been burned.
Bird-claws was enraged, but the ice had slowed him. Rock-face roared in fury. He plunged a great hand into his own body, near the heart, and pulled out a stone the size of a man’s head. With a speed belying his ponderous build, the being hurled the missile straight at Whisper. My friend fell to the ground in a burst of white and crimson, his small form broken, his last flight over. My cry of anguish was drowned by the roar from the crowd.
Now Bird-claws raised one great foot above the prone form of Flint. ‘No,’ I breathed. ‘Oh, no, please.’
A new defender stepped forward. Where she had come from there was no telling; I had not called her, but suddenly there she stood between Flint and his giant attacker, a wee woman with a mop of grey-green curls, her staff in her hands, the weapon pointed at the two fey fighters. Her voice came to me with perfect clarity, despite the sounds of amazement from the onlookers. ‘Dinna meddle wi’ me, big lumpies! Touch this laddie again and I’ll make an end of you, I swear it! Hold back and hear me. Or do Southies lack the wits to tell friend from foe?’
The rock being stared at her. ‘What ye sayin’?’
‘I’m saying wait, you fool. This man’s a good man. Stand back before you do something that will haunt you the rest of your foolish life.’ Sage brandished her staff at him, and white light flashed from its tip. The two creatures took a step back. Was this the same staff Sage had used to rescue me, long ago in the attack at Brollachan Brig? That day it had been broken in two, and she’d said the only person who could mend it was the Hag of the Isles.
‘Esten!’ The king’s voice rang out. ‘Call out my fey army! Let us make an end to this ridiculous performance!’
Esten raised his arms again, and I rose to my feet. That was the man I loved out there in peril, and beside him my precious, brave little friend. That was Whisper lying by them, my stalwart guide and companion, killed by a single ill-considered blow because he’d answered my call. Never mind that Tali had not yet given the word. If the fey army was coming out, it would not come out under Esten’s guidance, but under mine.
Only a moment to do it, only an instant before Esten called. I conjured an image of Alban as it was in the old song, a wild, lovely place, a free, good place. Crags and islands, lochs and ocean, the sun and the wind and the wilds. Without a word, I reached out to every fey being at hand. Come forth. Come forth to my call, in the name of Alban and of all that is good. Be strong as earth, fluid as water, powerful as fire, free as air. The strength
of the Guardians is in you. From this moment on, your minds are closed to this man’s evil call. Your bodies are armoured against it; armoured with ancient wisdom. When we fight today, we will fight for a free Alban.
Esten was calling; I saw it in every part of his body. The fey army marched out of their enclosure, big folk, small folk, folk of many and wondrous kinds. They moved to the area before the king and stood there waiting, still and quiet. They were not looking at the king’s Caller. Every one of them had its eyes on me. I could no longer see Flint or Sage, but Rock-face elbowed his way to the front of the assembled throng and looked up at Esten.
‘We willna heed ye mair,’ the big creature said bluntly. ‘There’s a new voice tae follow, a voice o’ hope and goodness. That pleases us better than the voice o’ power and cruelty, I can tell ye.’
‘Oh, well done,’ murmured the Master of Shadows.
‘Forget about that wee show your kingie there wanted for the crowd,’ put in Bird-claws, coming up beside his comrade. ‘We willna be cooperatin’ wi’ that foolishness. But if it’s a fight ye want, we’ll gie ye a battle ye’ll no’ soon forget. Think ye’ve seen the best we can dae? Think again, Caller.’
‘What in the name of the gods is this?’ Keldec’s tone was harsh with fury. Around him, the chieftains of Alban and their supporters were talking in excited undertones; the crowd was riveted by the spectacle. ‘Esten, take control of these folk immediately!’
Esten was wordless; he looked unsteady on his feet. Beside him, Varda gesticulated, trying to explain something, while Brydian, quickest of the king’s party to understand, had begun to look about, clearly seeking the source of the dissent. And now others, too, were following the Good Folk’s gaze to me where I stood among the tall men of Gormal’s household, exposed to view by the gap that had been left in front of me so I could do my work.
‘It’s her!’ shouted Esten. ‘That woman from the infirmary, she’s doing it, she’s blocking my call! I knew she was up to no good!’
Gormal’s men-at-arms were quick. They closed up around me, a wall of warriors with weapons drawn. No arrow could reach me; no spear could touch me. I glanced at the Master of Shadows; he wore a wide grin. ‘As tricks go,’ he murmured, ‘that one wasn’t at all bad.’
I could see very little, but there was a lot of shouting, and in it I heard the king’s voice, roaring in outrage: ‘Gormal of Glenfalloch! Have your men taken leave of their senses? Order them to lay down their weapons at once! Deliver that woman to my custody!’ And, a moment later, ‘Stag Troop leader, get your men up here to restore order! Wolf Troop, draw your weapons and form a barrier around those uncanny folk!’
A new voice spoke, a deep, resonant voice I recognised as that of Lannan Long-Arm. ‘Hold, all of you! Before this so-called celebration descends into outright slaughter, let us pause for thought. Keldec, we heard a voice of protest today, the powerful and honest voice of a man who, I gather, was formerly one of your strongest supporters and a personal friend. Before we proceed, let us hear a still more powerful voice: the voice of your people. The true voice of Alban.’
‘Let us hear Alban’s voice!’ another man shouted, and all the warriors around me raised their right arms with fists clenched, yelling, ‘Alban’s voice!’ Gormal’s retainers had been prepared for this.
The king could not dismiss Lannan as he might a lesser person, for Lannan was here with an army, enough of them to do serious damage even when pitted against the might of the Enforcers. Gormal, too, had brought a sizeable force of men-at-arms.
‘Be seated, people of Alban!’ Lannan called. ‘Draw breath. Men, sheathe your blades.’
The men around me did no such thing, but those in front did step aside sufficiently to let me see again. One of Gormal’s men-at-arms had an arrow in his shoulder; comrades were tending to him. The chieftains were arguing, but all were in their seats. Lannan had spoken with the voice of authority. Out in the open area, the Good Folk stood quiet – they were waiting for my next call. As for the Wolves, they had moved out behind the captive army as ordered, but none of them had drawn his weapon.
‘People of Alban!’ A clear female voice; a voice like a high, strong trumpet. She stood at the far side of the circle near the outer gates, a straight-backed figure in her plain trousers and tunic, cropped hair raven-dark over her sharp, pale features, her sleeves rolled up to show the clan tattoos with their spirals and flying birds. Fingal was on her left, Andra on her right, and behind her stood Brasal, Gort and Big Don. In plain view, because all around them the crowd had shrunk away. The reason was plain: behind the rebels stood a monstrous figure, huge, dark, shadowy, a being with fists as big as platters and a grinning mouth with rather a lot of teeth. Hollow. Hollow had left his bridge and come to stand up with us today. My heart began a wild exultant dance.
‘I am Tali of the ancient line of Ravensburn!’ Tali called out. I thought I could hear the distant skirl of ghostly pipes, the beating of ancient drums; my flesh went into goose bumps. ‘My brother and I are descended from Ultan, the last true chieftain of that great holding.’ Fingal, too, had his clan markings on proud display. ‘I speak for the rebels of Shadowfell!’
A murmuring rippled through the crowd as she spoke this name. While Shadowfell was a place often thought to be mythical rather than real, everyone knew what the word signified.
‘It is time to strike for freedom,’ Tali went on, ‘to stand up against oppression, to win back our fair land and to make it once more a place of justice and peace! For some time a movement for change has been growing in Alban. We have seen how King Keldec rules by fear and intimidation. We have seen the cruel punishments he inflicts on all who disobey his laws.’
‘I won’t listen to this!’ the king yelled. ‘It’s preposterous! Seize those miscreants!’
‘Silence that woman!’ screamed the queen.
Enforcers moved in on the rebels, elbowing a way through the crowd, climbing over the barrier, all steady purpose. Hollow roared a challenge, and they halted.
‘Troopers, hold back!’ called Lannan, his voice iron-strong. ‘Keldec, you will listen to your people’s voice! Is not this the true purpose of the Gathering, to allow grievances to be heard and dealt with under the ancient laws of Alban? Open your ears to the truth!’
They’d planned this, I realised. Tali and Lannan Long-Arm. They must have done. It explained why she had not declared herself until now. Because Lannan, a respected chieftain, had challenged the king in the protected setting of a Gathering, whose traditional purpose was to bring disputes into the open and settle them, Keldec and his supporters were obliged to listen, for now at least. So Tali had her opportunity to be heard before the king could call his Enforcers in to destroy her and her supporters. But Keldec would not give her long. He must realise now that the tide was turning.
‘Keldec must go!’ cried Tali. ‘We have allowed him to silence us! We have allowed fear to stifle our knowledge of what is right! This is no king! This is a tyrant, a bully, a travesty. He must be deposed!’
‘The king must go!’ shouted the rebels standing around her.
Alban’s folk had long ago learned the perils of speaking their minds under Keldec’s rule. But now a murmuring arose, and then one or two people called out support, and then the chant began, at first soft, but gradually building to a full-throated cry: ‘The king must go! The king must go!’
Tali raised a hand and the crowd fell silent again. Out in the open area, the Good Folk and the men of Wolf Troop stood quiet, watching her. One of the men close to me murmured to his companion, ‘That’s the woman who was enthralled last midsummer. Has to be the same one, look at those tattoos.’
‘Wasn’t she turned into a half-wit?’
‘Seems not.’
‘We have come here with an army of our own,’ Tali went on. ‘And if we must fight to remove this monster, we will fight until every last one of us is cut down. We
have made sacrifices aplenty; all Alban has endured losses. It is time to make an end of that. It is time to say, enough, no more, and to set our dear country to rights again. There is no man of the royal line who could become king now, only a lad of nine summers, the son of Liana of Scourie. But we have able chieftains. A strong regency could be established until the heir is a man and ready to lead. There are proper processes for that, but under this king’s rule, those processes have been set aside. Keldec has been a law unto himself.’ She looked directly across the open area to the royal party. ‘If the king would step down,’ she said, ‘this could be achieved without more bloodshed. If he would cede his authority to the chieftains, we might restore Alban without further loss of life. Keldec, there are those of your chieftains who support our cause. Will you take the honourable path and stand aside for the sake of your people?’
‘This is outrageous!’ the king shouted. ‘Who do you think you are? Eagle Troop, apprehend this woman immediately! Horse Troop, Hound Troop, clear these folk from the area!’
‘Stay calm,’ said the Master of Shadows. ‘Keep your focus. And remember what I told you.’
‘Free Alban! The thistle!’ screamed Tali, lifting her sword above her head as three troops of Enforcers advanced grimly on the area where she stood.
I closed my mind to doubt. I thought of fire, raging, burning, scorching. I thought of a flame of truth; a light in the darkness. The comforting glow of a hearth fire. The raging terror of a wildfire. I thought of the upheavals Alban had endured. I thought of a little candle, guttering, flickering, struggling to stay alight.
‘Good Folk of Alban!’ I called, and sent the flame of my call out to kindle the heart of every fey being here, not only those hidden among the crowd as part of Tali’s rebel army, but those who still stood before the king, with the men of Wolf Troop behind them. ‘Fight for freedom and justice! Fight for the future! The thistle!’ And I sent my call far beyond Summerfort, over the mountains to the hall of the Lord of the North, for it seemed to me those uncanny warriors would travel here by their own paths. ‘Scar! Stack! We need your help! Bring us your army!’
The Caller Page 34
