Fallowblade

by Cecilia Dart-Thornton

  ‘Even as a humble urisk you never lost your kingly disposition,’ said Asrăthiel. ‘Crowthistle commanded a swanmaiden, a spriggan and a brownie! You were still giving orders, though deprived of capabilities!’

  Zaravaz leaned lazily back against the parapet and stretched out his long legs. ‘As I told you, eldritch wights could detect the echoes of high gramarye lingering ineffectively about me. It served to make them offer me more than the usual esteem.’

  ‘Ah!’ exclaimed Asrăthiel. ‘I recall how our house brownie used to respect and fear you. You bullied him unconscionably.’

  ‘At the time I could not resist frightening the squeamish doormat, but I regret it now,’ her lover replied with the flicker of a wry grin. ‘Such behaviour was beneath me. In my defence I can only declare how bitter it was to me, that the creature hung about your house, living under the same roof with you, able to be privy to your most intimate moments and with access to your personal belongings. In my jealousy, I would have hounded any mannish thing—eldritch or human—who had wormed his way so close to you though not a member of your family.’

  ‘We had other servants.’

  ‘But none who could disappear in the twinkling of an eye, or lurk unseen.’

  ‘Of course!’ Asrăthiel said, suddenly understanding. ‘Knowing you now,’ she added, ‘I daresay it also enraged you to have been bundled into brotherhood with such a docile wight.’

  ‘Even so. My pride took a beating, I admit. My enforced shape thwarted me at every turn, and I vented my anger on the nearest manlike creature that was neither your blood relation nor mortal.’

  ‘Is that also why you threw out our belongings?’ Recalling the pile of goods outside the front door of the Maelstronnar house, the damsel could not help smiling. She turned aside, so that her companion should not see. In retrospect the event seemed quite hilarious.

  ‘Well,’ he said, and by his tone she could tell he was smiling too, ‘I was a vexing house sprite, was I not? A troublesome imp. Small wonder you tried to banish me.’

  ‘I never did!’ she retorted, laughing aloud now.

  ‘Some shirt you wished to give me,’ he said playfully, ‘or else my memory deals me tricks. You’ve made me crazy since I’ve known you, Witch.’

  Quite swiftly he put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her to the ground. Covering her body with his own, he lowered himself full length on her, and kissed her firmly on the mouth. His prosperous hair cascaded around them both, in a dark tumble, shutting out the stars. She laughed, as a diversion, and teasingly pushed him. They rolled over and over like gambolling children, perilously close to the brink of the shelf, before he separated from her and they came to rest at last. With her back hard against the paving stones she lay beside the goblin king, looking up at the sky. She was burning for him, but determined to hide it. The deception had taken all the strength of her will.

  ‘I understand now why you threw out some furnishings and not others,’ she said, continuing the deflection. ‘The library and kitchen disgusted you because the library accommodated parchments and vellum, while the kitchen contained dead flesh, organs, bones.’

  ‘I despised your stables also, for all their leather saddles and tack,’ he said. ‘I loathed your wardrobes for their furs and leathers, the plumed hats. The dressing tables with their artefacts of ivory, and bone, tortoiseshell and horn, coral and pearl were utterly contemptible, and I spurned the use of quill pens made from live-plucked feathers.’

  ‘So many articles of everyday use are derived from suffering,’ Asrăthiel said sorrowfully. ‘Dyes of cochineal and purple from mussels, beeswax candles, soap, lamp oil, eiderdowns, horsehair couches and bows, moleskins and glue; the list is appalling. In one respect,’ she added, ‘you and I could not be more alike. We share compassion for living things, and indignation at their persecution.’

  ‘Save for the single species that is not blameless.’

  ‘Having dwelled amongst us, do you still disdain us?’

  It was a long time before he answered. ‘Not quite as much.’

  ‘You vowed you would slay every man, woman and child if I left Sølvetårn.’

  ‘At the time, I meant it. The mood was on me. You understand, I am incapable of lying.’

  His hair fanned out across the flagstones like the rays of a black sun. The damsel was aware her companion knew she was deceiving him, but was indulging her, allowing her to play the game. Such is his pride, she thought, that he nonchalantly waits, assured that I will return to his embrace, confident that no one can defy him. Probably, also, he knew she was aware he knew. A small, hard object was digging into her left shoulderblade. She realised that her mother’s jewel on its chain had swung around behind her back, and she was lying on it. Shifting her weight she reached over her shoulder and retrieved the ornament. Holding it aloft she watched the starlight seem to pour into its unwinking eye.

  Her thoughts strayed to her relatives at Rowan Green and the companions she missed, and as she stared at the jewel she fell into a gloomy reverie, feeling as if she had betrayed them all with her misplaced passion. Presently she became aware that Zaravaz was watching her.

  ‘You are unhappy here,’ he observed.

  Tucking away the scintillant inside the front of her bodice she made no reply. The silence lengthened. Eventually she said, ‘How long will you keep me with you?’

  ‘Until I tire of you.’

  ‘You are impetuous. In your current disposition, would you take such total vengeance on humanity if I departed?’

  ‘Weatherwitch,’ said he, one moment lying down, the next seated upright, ‘I have told you before—you ask too many questions.’

  ‘And I shall continue to do so. Why do I receive no letters?’

  ‘If it is letters you crave, I can write them aplenty.’

  ‘From my friends and family!’

  Zaravaz sighed and gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘Well there it is,’ he said. ‘Your princely William has been encamped outside the gates of my halls almost since the night you arrived. Every hour he demands your release, but my knights, while assuring him that you’re unharmed, tell him that you will not come forth, so he must go away. If it is traffic with him you want, you need only go to my front door and wave your hand.’

  ‘William keeps vigil on your doorstep?’ Asrăthiel started up, outraged. ‘Why did you not advise me!’

  ‘I am advising you now,’ Zaravaz said formally.

  Equally aloof the damsel said, ‘Why was this information not conveyed in my grandfather’s letters?’

  ‘The wightish couriers might have been careless and dropped a line or two inadvertently as they carried the messages.’

  ‘Oh yes, they might have been, but they were not, for how else can a line or two or an entire passage disappear except by deliberate trickery?’

  The light-heartedness between them had vanished like morning mist. They both rose to their feet. Asrăthiel knew that her letters must have been tampered with, so that she had received no hint of William’s proximity.

  ‘One final question,’ said Asrăthiel. ‘As Crowthistle you always despised William. Why have you not killed him, if he vexes you so?’

  ‘Perhaps you should run to save him,’ Zaravaz said mockingly, and the steel in his voice was so sharp that a passing owl shrieked, and wheeled away in terror. ‘Run away and save your poor little prince from the nasty goblins.’

  10

  BANQUET

  A cruel chain, this mighty spell

  That tames my strength with fetters fell

  And warps the shape, and binds the tongue,

  So secret sagas bide unsung.

  Enchantment vile deceives the eyes

  And tricks the brain with quaint disguise.

  Fain would I crush this abject sham,

  And trumpet who I really am!

  LAMENT OF THE ACCURSED

  Straight away Asrăthiel hastened to the battlement walks overlooking the bridge of vitreous slenderness tha
t crossed the crevasse at the front gate of Sølvetårn. On the far side of the span a burnished host was encamped on the terrace and up and down the nearby slopes, armour and weapons gleaming like pewter tableware in the starlight. It was not a large assembly—perhaps half a battalion. The damsel was sharp-eyed, yet the men were too distant for her to be able to make out individual faces. She descried, however, the flying banners of Narngalis and the Companions of the Cup, streaks of vivid colour on the wind, and amongst them the royal standard of Wyverstone.

  William was down there.

  What was he thinking? This was a rash move, which could easily incite the ire of the goblins. Conceivably the prince was counting, somewhat recklessly, on the battlefield promise of Zauberin, which could not possibly be false, but which might be worded equivocally, moulded by cunning subtlety. ‘The Argenkindë will withdraw and leave the Four Kingdoms of Tir in peace,’ the malevolent knight had said, ‘if you’ll comply.’ That statement had been entirely open-ended, with no set time limit, and on close inspection, might have implied anything.

  The weathermage watched the platoons for a while, the glint and stir of men moving amongst the tents. They had no horses with them. It would have been construed as an insulting gesture to bring beasts, caparisoned and tethered, before the halls of the Mountain King; besides, the Kobold Watch would have prevented it. This challenge, a confrontation by human men, was insult enough. Dread dried out Asrăthiel’s throat like astringent, and sapped her vitality. There could only be one outcome, if William were to provoke the anger of Zaravaz. She longed to go down to the encampment on the slope beyond the bridge; to see her dear friend again would make her glad. Yet the jealousy of Zaravaz would be lethal. Even as an urisk he had proclaimed his resentment of the prince. Crowthistle had disparaged William, apparently envious of his place in Asrăthiel’s affections.

  I counted Crowthistle amongst my comrades, mused the damsel. I believed he was fond of me. More likely, he only cultivated my acquaintance because I was the wielder of Fallowblade, his key to freedom. He charmed me for his own insidious purposes, not because he genuinely held me in high regard. She told herself she was stung by this sudden hurtful insight, although in her heart she knew such a sting was nonexistent, even if the conjecture were true. She was making an attempt to tarnish the love she could never realise. Thus deceiving herself, she vowed that she would shun Zaravaz whenever possible; that she would make every effort to excise him from her heart.

  There was nothing further she could do but bide in discontent, pacing up and down the promenades overlooking the bridge and the bivouac, with fleets of clouds racing past above and below like sailing ships made of steam. The wind battered her garments and hair. Temperamentally the alpine gale increased in velocity, gusting to such magnitude that it threatened to push her over the side. Thereupon she returned to her suite, to lounge sullenly upon her window seat and brood.

  Towards morning the trow-wife Hulda came and told her that Lieutenant Zwist was in the anteroom, waiting to conduct the damsel to a banquet.

  ‘Oh, a banquet,’ Asrăthiel said caustically. ‘How delightful. Prithee tell him I will not attend.’

  Dolefully the trow-wife trailed off. She returned a moment later saying, ‘If tha pleases, ma’am, da chiarn, he say tha must. He bide ootside.’

  Asrăthiel flounced to the door and flung it open. Zwist loitered there; elegant, erudite in ebony and silver, begemmed with black opals and jet. He bowed and offered his arm.

  The damsel ignored the invitation. ‘Regrettably your journey is wasted, sir,’ she said. ‘Convey to your liege, I do not wish to favour any more of his banquets.’

  ‘That is a pity,’ said Zwist, ‘for I am sure Prince William will look for you.’

  ‘William?’ the damsel was astounded. ‘Surely you do not mean he is to be present?’

  ‘Indeed, he is to be our guest,’ said the knight, smiling slightly, ‘along with many of his officers.’

  Asrăthiel’s blood chilled. What new chicanery was this? What horrors had the goblin king inflicted upon William Wyverstone and his men? She must find out at once. ‘Very well, I will come with you,’ she said hurriedly, her pulse thundering.

  Zwist responded, half laughing, ‘I will wait for Lady Sioctíne to attire herself.’

  Catching a glimpse of herself in a glass, Asrăthiel saw a wild-maned damsel in a torn dress. ‘No, no, my appearance matters not.’

  ‘Unkemptness can be interpreted as incivility,’ admonished svelte Zwist, and she perceived she would not be able to cajole him.

  With all speed Asrăthiel ran back to her dressing table, calling for her handmaidens.

  Soon afterwards Zwist accompanied Asrăthiel along gorgeously carved and ornamented galleries to a dining hall she had not seen before. As they walked, the knight was obligingly regaling his companion with arbitrary facts in which she took no interest whatsoever, being overcome with anxiety and preoccupied with what she might soon discover.

  ‘Although we call ourselves the Silver Goblins,’ said Zwist, ‘all the clans of the Glashtinsluight have an intrinsic relationship with silver. It runs in our blood. Pure silver is our most favoured metal; nonetheless, we appreciate other metals with similar colour and lustre. Titanium, for example, and zirconium.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Asrăthiel distractedly. ‘How has your lord treated William?’

  ‘With all courtesy due to a guest.’

  This conveyed nothing. It was a matter of conjecture, what kind of courtesy, or lack thereof, goblinkind considered to be owing to a human visitor. ‘Are we nearly there?’ she asked.

  ‘Almost. Platinum,’ continued Zwist, blasé, ‘when mixed with iridium gives a silver-white metal, but when alloyed with osmium it takes on a bluish tinge, not unpleasant. White ruthenium hardens platinum and palladium jewellery. Rhenium, rhodium and nickel are silvery in colour. We are quite fond of pewter, niobium and osmium. Electrum gleams like frost and would be a great favourite with us, but unfortunately, as you know, it contains gold. Ah, here we are!’ He released Asrăthiel’s elbow and bowed once more. ‘Conversation passes the time pleasantly, especially when one is apprehensive.’

  And she knew then that he had kindly tried to distract her with his eloquence, and wondered afresh how one so wicked could be so considerate.

  They entered a rib-vaulted chamber as large as a museum, its marble floor like sheer ice.

  This new feast hall was bright with candles, lamps and bright green firelight from flames of burning barium nitrate and copper salts cavorting on cavernous hearths. Naturally formed silver ores with structures of extraordinary beauty could be glimpsed about this space up and down the walls, having perhaps evolved there. Numinous of hue were they, and wonderful of form; surpassingly lovely treasures of the deeps; delicately branching argent ferns with miniature lobes as fine as misty rain; coralline structures exquisitely formed; tiny jewelled fans and crystal lyres; gemmy birds and lizards of bijouterie; the jewelled silvers of the underground. The skeleton of a tiny raptor crouched in an alcove, fossilised by pure opal; a little rainbow-hued work of art. Crossed swords, axes and other weapons of eldritch make were displayed on the walls, between fantastic tapestries, many yards long.

  To Asrăthiel’s surprise the Narngalish were indeed present in the hall; perhaps forty men; a handful of equerries and other retainers, eighteen noncommissioned officers, six captains, two majors, King Warwick’s lieutenant-general, Sir Gilead Torrington, and William himself.

  William! When the damsel caught sight of him moving amongst the long tables, she paused in the doorway. Almost at the same instant he spied her, and stopped in his tracks. But only for a mayfly’s wing-beat; then he pushed his way through the crowd of men, goblins, trollhästen and trows, and they approached each another. As they met, she curtseyed.

  Here in this place, under the sharp scrutiny of this assemblage of knights both eldritch and human, the proper decorum must be shown. Though the damsel longed to greet William effusive
ly she held back, behaving as propriety dictated.

  The prince let his gaze rest upon Asrăthiel. She saw herself mirrored in his eyes; his expression clearly showed that he was recalling every detail. It had always entranced him, she knew, that even when she was in a solemn mood, the outer corners of her mouth curled upward, so that it almost seemed as if her lips curved in a faint, enigmatic smile. His glance took in her gown, fashioned of a web like sea foam and decorated with crystals of transparent tourmaline. Against the pallor of her raiment and jewels, her hair contrasted startlingly black, and her own eyes—it was as though two lucent panes of lapis lazuli had been set in ivory. Her lips were the crimson petals of a rose, her waist pliant as a whip, and slim as a reed.

  For her part Asrăthiel beheld a statuesque nobleman, dark-haired, slender and able-bodied, with a grave mien. She noticed a few freckles across the bridge of his nose, and a trifling asymmetry in the set of his shoulders. It was almost imperceptible, but ever since she had dwelled in the company of eldritch flawlessness the slightest disproportion leaped out conspicuously. He had cultivated a moustache, since last they met, and a close-cropped beard sprouted on his chin. Beneath his woollen doublet and trousers he wore a shirt of linen. No sword hung at his side, only a small dagger.

  ‘Are you hale?’ William murmured, gazing searchingly at the damsel.

  ‘I am.’ Her throat felt constricted. She wanted to shout with joy at this meeting, but must swallow the exclamations that threatened to spill from her tongue. Nonetheless he read her delight in her face, she could tell. ‘And you?’

  ‘I too. I am jubilant to see you.’

  It was obvious he ached to embrace her, but not here in this eldritch hall, in full view of the assembly, who watched them covertly, casually.

  ‘How came you here?’ Asrăthiel asked uncertainly. ‘Are you all prisoners?’