The Starthorn Tree

by Kate Forsyth

‘Milord!’ Briony cried and dropped to her knees beside him. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Ruefully Count Zygmunt rubbed his elbow. ‘Only my dignity,’ he answered with a grin. Feathers drifted down like a flurry of snowflakes. Coughing a little, Zygmunt waved his hand to clear the air. The feathers whirled and scudded, tickling their noses, but at last wafted down so that they could see. The old servant came running forward, wringing his hands and exclaiming in horror at the sight of Lisandre’s limp, bloodied form. Close on his heels were Durrik and Mags, with Sedgely hobbling behind, his shaggy hair and beard wilder than ever.

  ‘Durrik!’ Suddenly Pedrin could not breathe. Sobs were tearing at his ribcage. ‘You’re too late!’ he accused. ‘She’s dead, she’s dead!’

  Their grins of welcome faltered. ‘Milady?’ Durrik cried. ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘We could’ve saved her, we could’ve saved her,’ Pedrin said and laid his head down on Lisandre’s body, shuddering with dry, hot sobs that seemed to shake him to his very foundations. He was weeping for Lisandre, for Snowflake, for his lost innocence, for all that had been ruined and changed.

  Suddenly he sprang up, his eyes alight. ‘She breathed!’

  Briony was beside him in an instant, groping for a pulse, her hand on Lisandre’s chest as she felt for any alteration in her ribcage. She looked up too, the dark stormy grey of her eyes changing in an instant to a bright, summery green. ‘She’s alive! Quick, Pedrin! The dagger.’

  Pedrin seized the silver dagger that the Erlrune had given to Lisandre, and grabbed Durrik by the wrist, dragging him forward.

  ‘What? What?’ Durrik cried, not exactly fighting his friend but not exactly going willingly.

  ‘Blood! I need your blood,’ Pedrin cried.

  ‘The riddle, the second riddle,’ Briony cried.

  Pedrin forced his friend’s hand open and down came the knife with a quick slash across Durrik’s palm. He screamed, as much in shock as pain, then watched uncomprehendingly as Pedrin pressed his bloody palm over Lisandre’s gaping wound.

  ‘Our blood will heal her,’ Briony said, hanging close. ‘’Tis the Erlrune’s riddle, remember? “To make whole what was torn, kith must be as kin. For kith to be as kin, what is whole must be torn.”’

  ‘To heal Lisandre, we must cut ourselves,’ Pedrin said, lifting Durrik’s hand away and then holding out his own gory hand imperatively to Mags. She came willingly, holding out her hand like a child asking for cake. The silver knife slashed down and Mags pressed her bleeding palm over the wound. Lisandre stirred and moaned. Then Sedgely stepped forward, shaking his shaggy white head mournfully, his hand stretched out. ‘The last cut was only just beginning to heal,’ he sighed. ‘But if blood is the answer . . .’

  ‘Blood is the answer,’ Pedrin grinned, giddy with joy and relief.

  As Sedgely closed his huge, hairy hand over Lisandre’s arm, she sighed and opened her eyes, looking about her blankly. Then, unexpectedly, she began to laugh.

  Pedrin and Briony hurried to soothe her, afraid she was still hysterical with fever, but she waved them away with an impatient flap of her free hand, saying with a catch of laughter in her voice, ‘Oh, look!’

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  They all looked.

  Lady Donella was lying on her back, a pair of black, curving horns only inches from her face. Her silk skirts were all scrunched up, showing a pair of very white and skinny legs ending in ridiculously high-heeled shoes. The knife lay half-concealed by feathers only a few inches from her hand but she dared not reach out for it with Thundercloud’s slitted yellow eyes glaring at her so menacingly.

  ‘Would . . . someone . . . call off . . . the goat?’ she said through stiff lips.

  Zygmunt turned to Pedrin with a smile and a courtly bow. ‘Your goat, I presume? I must say, I have never been so glad to see a billy-goat in my life!’

  ‘Me either,’ Pedrin said. ‘And I’m always glad to see him!’

  ‘You would not care to call him off?’

  Pedrin eyed the lady-in-waiting, lying rigid on the floor, staring with trepidation at Thundercloud’s horns which he was swinging back and forth, less than an inch from her fair, soft skin.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said with a grin. ‘He seems to be enjoying himself.’

  He sat down rather limply on the bed. Lisandre sat up next to him, rubbing her arm. Nothing was left of the wound but an ugly, red, jagged scar. ‘I’m healed?’ she asked incredulously. ‘I’m not going to die?’

  Pedrin shook his head. ‘Our blood healed you,’ he said rather blankly.

  ‘Is it all over?’ she asked. ‘Are we safe?’

  ‘I think so,’ he replied.

  Lisandre sighed. ‘I am glad!’

  The servant was kneeling on the floor by Zygmunt, kissing his hand fervently. ‘I should never have left you, milord,’ he said brokenly. ‘I knew she warn’t to be trusted, with her sweet smile and sly ways. But when she ordered me to go and attend to your mother, I could not refuse else she would have had me head.’

  ‘How did you happen to come back just then?’ the young count asked, sitting down in the armchair with a sigh. ‘Another minute and I would have drunk her apple-ale, and I’d be dancing and singing my way to death.’

  ‘When I saw the goat a-flying past the door, a-heading towards your room, I thought I’d best come and see all was well. I’ve never seen a flying goat before!’

  ‘I do not think any of us have,’ the count replied with a faint smile.

  ‘I hope you will forgive me, milord, but when I found your door locked and the goat so agitated outside, I put me ear to the keyhole. Just to ascertain if all was well, milord.’

  ‘So did you hear everything Lady Donella said?’

  ‘Yeah, milord, and me blood ran cold. Who could believe milady’s own cousin capable of such wickedness?’

  ‘We may need you to testify at the king’s court, Iven. Would you be willing?’

  ‘If you so desire it, milord, of course.’

  The count gave a weary smile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You think the king will listen to a doddering old man and a handful of grubby hearthkin brats?’ Lady Donella sneered.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Zygmunt replied simply.

  While the count and his faithful old servant had been talking, the hearthkin had been crowding around outside, not willing to interrupt those inside. At the sight of a dirty little face peering around the doorjamb, Pedrin was galvanised into sudden action. He raced across the room, calling, ‘Mina! Mina!’

  Brother and sister embraced enthusiastically just inside the door, words spilling out from both but muffled in each other’s filthy rags. ‘I’m so glad to see you!’ Pedrin managed to say at last, breaking his little sister’s clinging hold so he could see her pale, peaked face, all streaked with dirt and tears. ‘When did you get so skinny? Any skinnier and we’ll be a-sweeping the floor with you! All that hair would come in mighty useful as a broom.’

  She laughed and pressed herself closer to him, and he rocked her in his arms, saying in a very thick voice, ‘Where’s Ma? Where’s me ma?’

  ‘Here I am, boyo,’ Maegeth said, her own voice almost suspended in tears. She knelt beside him and enfolded both her children in her arms, and Pedrin embraced her so hard he felt every narrow rib and bony protuberance of her spine. ‘Talk about skinny!’ he said. ‘Haven’t they been a-feeding you?’

  ‘Not much,’ she answered, sitting back on her heels and grinding her fists into her eyes. ‘And what they did give us, I made sure Mina had. A growing girl needs her tucker. Oh, Pedrin! I’m mighty glad to see you. I thought you must be dead.’ Her voice broke in a wail, and she covered her face again, rocking a little as she wept.

  ‘I almost was, about a hundred times,’ Pedrin answered. ‘Oh, Ma! Wait till you hear what we’ve been a-doing! You’ll never believe it. We’ve fought off ghouls and gibgoblins, and got enchanted by the Erlrune, and a grogoyle saved us from the soldiers, and—’

  ‘Nah, you�
��re tomfooling!’ Mina cried.

  ‘You’re a tale-teller now, are you, me boy?’ Maegeth said, wiping her eyes and smiling. ‘I might believe you fought off a ghoul, but that a grogoyle saved you? I don’t think so!’

  ‘Oh, but ’tis true,’ Durrik said, dropping down on his haunches beside them and grinning. ‘Every word of it.’

  ‘And I’ll believe you too, me little joke-teller,’ Maegeth said.

  ‘Just wait till we tell you the whole tale. There’s much more for you to disbelieve,’ Durrik grinned. He yawned and stretched. ‘Liah’s eyes, I’m a-weary!’

  ‘Durrik was a-telling us that Snowflake was killed,’ Maegeth said, giving Pedrin’s arm a little rub. ‘I’m so very sorry, me boy. I know how much you loved her.’

  Pedrin nodded, his face shadowing.

  ‘Is that Thundercloud, a-holding that starkin lady down?’ Maegeth said. ‘Pedrin, she looks mighty angry. Don’t you think you’d best call him off?’

  ‘Nah,’ Pedrin said. ‘Thundercloud can keep a-butting her back down as many times as he likes. She’s a mighty bad lady, that one, Ma.’

  The billy-goat had looked up at the sound of his name and bleated in response. Suddenly Sedgely bounded forward, quick as any colt, and stamped his big bare foot down hard on Lady Donella’s wrist, just as her fingers closed upon her knife. ‘Not a good idea, milady,’ he said respectfully. ‘A few too many angry fellers here. Would hate to see such a pretty lady hurt.’

  Lady Donella spat a foul curse at him and Sedgely shook his head regretfully. ‘Now, now, no need for language like that. Dear me, I have to wonder about the way the starkin raise their children. No respect, no respect at all.’

  Over the rumble of the hearthkin’s deep voices came a shrill, angry voice. ‘This is an outrage! Unhand me, you oaf! I will have the skin flayed from your back for this impudence. Prison must have addled your brains. Do you not know I am the Count of Estelliana?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Zygmunt said.

  Lord Zavion had just been pushed into the room, trying without success to smooth his disordered curls and straighten his rumpled robe. At Zygmunt’s words, he looked up sharply. The angry colour drained from his face, leaving him ashen.

  ‘My dear Ziggy!’ Lord Zavion said, his composure regained in an instant. ‘You have awoken at last.’

  ‘Yes, no thanks to you,’ Zygmunt said coldly.

  Lord Zavion straightened his sleeve. ‘But whatever do you mean, my lord? I did everything within my powers to arouse you from your enchanted sleep. I even had them raise a crystal tower, at great trouble and expense—’

  ‘Great trouble and expense for the people of my land,’ Zygmunt said scornfully. ‘I have heard what you did while I was asleep, my lord, and believe me, I shall make sure the king hears of it also.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Lord Zavion said smoothly. ‘Indeed, I have worked hard on your behalf, my lord. I have had to put down a most unruly insurrection, which could well have seen you lose your vacant throne, and I have gathered many unpaid taxes, so that your coffers are well filled again.’ He looked about him haughtily. ‘But I see the leaders of the late, unsuccessful insurgency are here, in your very room, with starkin weapons in their illegal possession. My lord! Do you speak under restraint? You need not fear to tell me the truth. They may have us at an impasse now but as soon as the king hears of their vile effrontery, troops will be dispatched and these impudent hearthkin shall die a traitor’s death.’

  Count Zygmunt made an effort to bear himself with as much cold composure as the Regent. ‘If anyone is to die a traitor’s death it shall be you, Lord Zavion . . .’

  ‘Oh, I doubt that, my dear boy,’ he replied, smiling urbanely.

  ‘. . . and your paramour, Lady Donella, who has admitted her guilt in the hearing of a number of witnesses.’

  For the first time Lord Zavion noticed Lady Donella, lying on the ground still, trying without success to smooth down her skirts with one hand. Sedgely’s enormous foot was still clamped upon her other wrist, the knife dropped from her nerveless fingers.

  His pupils dilated. For the first time he looked truly shaken. ‘My lady! What in heavens has happened? What is all this about?’

  ‘Lady Donella poisoned my father and all his men, and tried to poison me,’ Zygmunt said coldly. ‘Are you trying to tell me you knew nothing of this?’

  All the blood had drained from Lord Zavion’s face, leaving him the colour of skim milk.

  ‘My lord, I assure you I had no idea, no idea at all,’ he cried. ‘I can hardly believe . . . surely there is some mistake . . .’

  ‘Lady Donella has admitted her guilt in the hearing of my man Iven, and all my sister’s friends,’ Zygmunt said. ‘I assure you there is no mistake. She has told us she murdered my father so that you could inherit the throne and make her countess. You expect me to believe you were not a party to her evil schemes?’

  Lord Zavion stood motionless, colour fluctuating in his face. Then he cast a look of acute dislike at Lady Donella. ‘Make her countess?’ he said in a voice dripping with malice. ‘My dear Ziggy, I am of the Ziv, related in blood to the king himself. Do you think I would lower myself to marry a mere lady-in-waiting, born of one of the lowliest starkin families? I think not! She is not even in the first flush of her beauty. The king would never believe me capable of such romantic folly. She may well have committed all sorts of heinous crimes in the hope of ensnaring me, but that does not make me guilty by association.’

  ‘That may be true,’ Count Zygmunt said, ‘but you have abused your powers here in Estelliana and the king will be made aware of it. I have heard what state my lands are in, with the hearthkin starving and the fields all untilled, all because you imprisoned the men of the land on an egotistical whim.’

  ‘My dear boy—’

  ‘Please address me by my title,’ Count Zygmunt said coldly. ‘I am the Count of Estelliana.’

  Lord Zavion ground his teeth. ‘My lord,’ he said coldly. ‘I do not know what foul lies these hearthkin serfs have been telling you but I—’

  ‘I can see the truth of their tale in their very dress and bearing,’ Zygmunt cried, indicating the filthy, bruised, emaciated figures crowding close about, their faces set in grim lines. ‘And believe me, the king shall hear the truth also, if I have to go to Zarissa and convince him myself! These are not animals, to be beaten and starved and locked up in pens! These are people, Lord Zavion. I would condemn you for treating a goat like this, let alone the people of my land who have worked hard and faithfully all their lives. Oh, I am sickened to my stomach at the very thought of what you have been doing while I have been asleep.’

  ‘My lord, I protest vociferously! I am of the Ziv. How dare you believe a pack of mangy, filthy, rebellious peasants over your own flesh and blood! I shall have you declared insane and these impudent dogs put to death!’

  ‘The king will ascertain the truth.’ Zygmunt waved his hand. ‘Please, somebody, take him away! Take them both away! They weary me.’

  The bell-crier stepped forward and bowed deeply. ‘Milord, I am glad to see you awake and well!’

  Zygmunt nodded rather warily. ‘I thank you.’

  ‘I’m afraid we had to rough up a few of your soldiers to get here,’ the bell-crier said.

  Zygmunt grinned, suddenly looking like a boy of only seventeen instead of a tired and grief-stricken count. ‘Think nothing of it, my dear fellow. I’m sure they were in need of the practice.’

  ‘I am sure all of us here would be glad to rid you of these pus-filled pustules. The question is, what do you wish us to do with them? They’re as dangerous as vipers in the grass, milord.’

  ‘Much as I would like to make her drink her own poison, I think we had best have Lady Donella sent to the city for the king’s judgement,’ Zygmunt replied, his face sobering. ‘Lord Zavion too. Until then, I suppose the dungeon is the best place for them.’

  ‘Are there lots of rats and cockroaches there?’ Lisandre said hopefully.
r />   ‘Hundreds,’ the bell-crier answered with a twisted smile.

  ‘Good,’ Lisandre smiled.

  Lady Donella was hauled roughly to her feet and marched out of the count’s bedroom by an escort of angry-faced hearthkin, Lord Zavion haughtily stalking along behind, fastidiously releasing his sleeve from the grasp of his hearthkin escort and dusting it clean. ‘You will be sorry for this, my lord,’ he hissed. ‘I am not without influence at court!’

  ‘Which is why you were sent to Estelliana in disgrace,’ Zygmunt responded in a bored tone.

  ‘How dare you touch me, you imbecilic peasants!’ Lady Donella was screaming. ‘Take your filthy hands off me, I say. I will have you all flayed for this . . .’ Her shrill voice faded away.

  ‘Supercilious beast,’ Lisandre said. ‘Who does she think she is, talking like that?’

  The others all laughed at her. She blushed and gave a rueful smile.

  ‘What I want more than anything else on earth is a hot bath,’ Lisandre said, looking down at her blood-encrusted hands. ‘And some clean clothes. And maybe a nice bowl of hot bouillabaisse, because I’m starving. Then I want to see my mother! Oh, has anyone seen her? Is she very ill?’

  The old servant Iven smiled at her reassuringly. ‘She is well, milady. Or at least she will be now that Lady Donella won’t be a-forcing her foul drugs down her throat anymore. I did my best to protect her, milady, but that viper was a-slithering everywhere, a-watching us all with her sly eyes and keeping us a-starting at shadows. I’m mighty glad to have you home again, and the count awoken, and everything right with the world.’

  ‘Me too,’ Lisandre sighed. ‘Though everything’s not right in the world, Iven. I’ve seen a lot while I’ve been gone and I never knew . . .’ She drew a deep, sighing breath. ‘Well, I know now and I’ll make sure Ziggy knows too. There’s a long way to go before we can even begin to think the world’s a good place to be.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the truth, milady,’ Iven said, nodding his silver head. ‘But having you home is enough to begin with.’

  Lisandre smiled rather mistily. ‘I’m glad to be home too,’ she said simply.