by Lucy Hounsom
Disquiet raised the hairs on the back of her neck. There was a reason relics of Acre were locked away. She wasn’t sure whether Gareth had taken the gauntlet to help Kyndra, or out of foolish curiosity, but it was clearly enchanted and the fact remained she knew next to nothing about its powers.
‘I’ve done a bit of research,’ she said, ‘but I couldn’t find any reference to it in the archives. It looks like we’ll have to figure out a way to remove it on our own.’
Gareth just nodded and pulled his bulky glove back on.
‘You will let me know if you feel at all strange?’ she asked sternly.
He nodded again, but Brégenne wasn’t sure she believed him. ‘I’ve arranged to pick up some extra supplies in Murta,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘And Myst is already stabled there. They’ve prepared a horse for you too.’
Gareth perked up at this. ‘Is it a Hrosst breed?’
‘Very likely. I told the trader we’d need the best she had.’
‘I’ve always wanted a horse,’ Gareth said with something of a child’s excitement at midwinterfest. ‘But in Ümvast we hadn’t a need for them.’
Taking Gareth with her had seemed like the perfect solution to both their problems. He could provide her with information on the north, acting as an ambassador of sorts, and on the way, she could work out how to remove the gauntlet.
‘I wonder what Shika and the others are doing right now,’ Gareth said and it was plain from his face that he wished he was with them.
‘Probably something more useful than us.’ Brégenne quashed her own speculations. She didn’t like to think about Nediah and Kait together. She turned back to her inventory and snatched up a pen. ‘Now, how much do you think horses eat?’ she asked.
Dusk was starting to soften the sky when Brégenne and Gareth, cloaked and carrying packs, left the citadel through the main gate. It was easy to use the Lunar power to wrap them both in shadows and they moved swiftly across the rough new bridge and into the outskirts of Murta.
Brégenne headed for the trader’s, where she’d stabled Myst and, when she saw the woman waiting there with a light, let her shadows fall away. The woman started violently and the lantern tumbled from her open hand, but Gareth caught it and held it out to her.
‘Apologies,’ Brégenne said politely with a snatched glance over her shoulder. ‘We’ve come for our horses. Could you supply us with this, too?’ She held out the list she’d made earlier.
The woman didn’t take it, her gaze fixed on Brégenne’s face.
Brégenne sighed. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ she said, ‘you know who I am. We spoke yesterday.’
‘Your eyes are glowing,’ Gareth said out of the corner of his mouth.
Chagrined, Brégenne dropped her Lunar vision, which had long been her only method of seeing. She’d barely noticed it, so instinctive had it become. Immediately, her surroundings changed. The light became warm and yellow, the basalt blocks of the stable pitted like the walls of Naris. So much detail in wood and stone, texture, colour – it was overwhelming.
‘Sorry, Lady,’ the woman said. ‘You gave me a fright.’
‘It’s my fault.’ Brégenne handed over her list.
‘I can supply you with most of this,’ the trader said, running a finger down the inked paper. ‘You’ll have to find horse blankets elsewhere, though. The airship is late with my usual deliveries.’
‘That’s fine. Did you find a suitable mount for my friend?’
The woman looked Gareth up and down, taking in his height, broad shoulders and barrel chest. ‘I’m sure Rain will do,’ she said as she turned and led them to a stall at the far end. Standing placidly inside was a horse with a flecked coat – Brégenne could see how he’d earned his name. The animal’s mane was like a dark fall of water and his eyes were liquid and large. ‘Oh he’s quiet now,’ the woman said, clearly more at ease among the horses, ‘but once he’s out in the open, even this lady’s mare will have trouble catching him.’ She gestured at the stall directly opposite and Brégenne moved to stroke Myst’s neck.
‘We doubt it,’ she whispered and Myst nickered softly into her palm.
‘Myst and Rain,’ Gareth said thoughtfully. He held out his left hand to Rain and the horse nipped him. Gareth cursed and snatched his hand back.
‘Yes, he has a bit of a temper on him,’ the woman said with a smile. ‘But I’m sure you’ll grow to love one another.’
Gareth looked at the horse darkly.
The real reason behind the trader’s good humour became apparent when it was time to pay. Brégenne spotted Gareth’s eyes watering at the number of gold pieces she counted into the woman’s hand and she made a show of crumpling her near-empty purse. Once they’d readied the saddlebags, they led the horses out of the stable and onto the neat Murtan side street.
Their horses’ hooves were loud on the stone and Brégenne winced as she swung into her saddle. The trader began to look a bit nervous the second time Rain shied away from Gareth, but then the novice placed his gauntleted hand on the horse’s neck and the animal froze. Gareth climbed into the saddle. Rain shivered once and stood quietly, stiff-legged, head erect. Brégenne found her eyes straying to the gauntlet hidden under Gareth’s glove and vowed to keep a close watch on him.
They took the streets at a walk, unwilling to make more noise than they had to. ‘Did you just spend all of your gold at once?’ Gareth asked, looking a little pained. ‘I had no idea horses cost so much.’
‘Most don’t. Your Rain there is indeed Hrosst bred. Here.’ Brégenne tossed him a purse and Gareth gave a grunt of surprise at its weight. ‘You should hold on to some of our coin.’
He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Just how much gold are you carrying, Lady Brégenne?’
‘Brégenne. And as much as I could get my hands on at short notice.’
‘Did you steal it?’
‘Who do you think I am?’
‘You stole it.’ Gareth’s face was alight.
Brégenne allowed a flicker of a smile. ‘From the Council’s private coffer. Did you know they were sitting on a good ten thousand?’
‘You didn’t—’
‘Of course not. I’d need several large chests to cart it away. I took just enough to make us comfortable … and not to raise suspicion.’
Gareth’s expression was slightly stunned. ‘I don’t think I know you very well, La—Brégenne.’
‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I don’t think I know myself.’
They travelled east.
It was strange, Brégenne thought, her eyes on the moonlit trail beyond Myst’s ears. She’d taken this route dozens of times and always it had been Nediah who rode beside her. She had only to turn her head to see him there, or – in daylight – to listen for Uncle’s hoof beats just in front. When evening fell and they began searching for a place to spend the night, she’d draw on the Lunar power and his tall silhouette would flicker into view, all greyscale, his face turned towards her, smiling at the glow in her eyes.
She clenched her fists.
‘Are you all right?’
Brégenne looked across, almost startled to see Gareth there instead. ‘Of course,’ she said coolly, hating herself for daydreaming. But the swaying of the horse combined with the shadowy landscape was good for little else.
They reached the top of the pine-covered ridge just as the sky was lightening. ‘Right,’ Brégenne said decisively, and she kicked Myst into a gallop. Gareth let out an exclamation as Myst’s stride lengthened and his own horse leapt forward in response. The wind rushed at Brégenne, sweeping the plait of her hair out behind her. She leaned low over Myst’s neck, relishing the breeze against her cheeks and the way it made her eyes water. Beside her, Gareth gave a whoop of excitement and she heard him shouting encouragement to Rain. The gelding drew apace.
‘Show him, girl,’ Brégenne called and Myst responded with another burst of speed. Gareth and Rain fell back. She heard him curse and grinned to herself. He’d have to do bet
ter than that to catch her. She raced for the dawn and the wind unravelled her plait so that her hair streamed like a banner behind her. But Myst couldn’t run forever and reluctantly Brégenne let the horse slow.
She looked over her shoulder and was surprised to see Gareth so far behind. When he caught up with her, the novice’s face was as wind-reddened as her own and he was muttering to his horse. ‘… let yourself be beaten by a girl,’ she caught and smiled.
Her hair probably resembled a chaotic halo. Brégenne removed a stray lock from her mouth and, while Myst settled into a more sedate pace, she re-plaited it, letting the reins rest in her lap.
‘You’re not at all like I thought you were,’ Gareth said abruptly.
She looked over at him. ‘What did you think I was?’
He shifted awkwardly in his saddle. ‘Like … I don’t know. Like Master Alandred or Master Hebrin. The ones who only talk to you to tell you off for something.’
Like Alandred. Brégenne repressed a shudder. ‘Maybe I was,’ she conceded after a moment, surprising herself.
Gareth didn’t reply and she was grateful he’d dropped the subject.
The morning brightened into what promised to be a glorious day. Now that the ridgeline lay between her and Naris, Brégenne breathed more easily and began to enjoy the warmth on her skin. A haze softened the desolate expanse, which was empty save for the great elevated chain that anchored the airships. Posts supported it at regular intervals and it hung heavily over their heads, clanking in the breeze. According to Captain Argat, the Trade Assembly still wouldn’t permit the ships to fly solo. They claimed it wasn’t safe, but Brégenne suspected the real reason: as long as the airships were tethered to the great chain, permitted to fly only where it went, they and their cargoes remained under Assembly control.
She and Argat hadn’t parted on friendly terms and she wondered whether he was still upset about losing the red earth. If he only knew Kyndra had used it to restore a whole world …
They stopped early that night, primarily to catch up on the sleep they’d missed, but also because an idea had come to Brégenne as they rode. She sat Gareth down and asked him to roll up his sleeve to expose the gauntlet to the moon. Just looking at it made her shiver. There was something almost sentient in the coil of the sigils; she had the fleeting impression that they’d come alive if she stared at them too long.
When she’d tried to remove the gauntlet before, she’d found nothing for her power to latch on to. ‘I’m going to look at your arm instead,’ she told Gareth. ‘It won’t hurt – it’s just healing energy.’
Gareth fidgeted nervously. ‘Why?’
‘Because we might need to change you, rather than the gauntlet.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that.’
‘When I first examined it, the gauntlet didn’t respond to the Lunar, but your body will,’ Brégenne explained. ‘I know it sounds strange, but there’s a possibility we can … heal it off, I suppose you’d say.’
‘It’s worth a try,’ Gareth muttered. He bit his lip, as if preparing to endure pain.
‘I won’t hurt you.’
He nodded, but didn’t seem reassured. Brégenne took a deep breath, drew the Lunar into her veins and then, careful not to touch the gauntlet itself, laid her hands on Gareth’s upper arm. The novice stiffened, but said nothing.
She closed her eyes, the better to concentrate, and sent her awareness into Gareth’s body.
It was all wrong. The moment she saw what the gauntlet was doing to him, she wanted to flee, to run from the dark tendrils crawling through Gareth’s wrist. They coiled up his arm like black ivy, offshoots branching out into his flesh. They were thickest on the back of his hand, under the sigils, and Brégenne felt a wave of nausea that almost broke her concentration.
Slowly, carefully, she reached out with the Lunar and touched one.
Gareth shrieked. Brégenne’s eyes snapped open; she tried to pull her power back, but the black tendrils had hold of her, welding her hands to Gareth’s arm. Inexorable as a spider, they drew her in, closer to their heart, and she struggled desperately against them.
Amidst Gareth’s curdling screams, disjointed images assaulted Brégenne: a rearing horse; armoured men; a ruined city, its topless towers smoking against a forest backdrop; a trampled banner; a crater in the earth as if from a fallen sky-rock. Then she was elsewhere, in a dark place under the earth, and the pitch of Gareth’s screaming changed. Entombed by the silence of death, a skeletal figure sat on a throne. As if it sensed her, its head snapped up, fire blooming in wasted eye sockets—
Brégenne gave a scream of her own and, summoning all her strength, hurled herself away from Gareth. Her breath came ragged, her hands were burning. ‘Gareth!’ she gasped as the novice toppled sideways. The gauntlet steamed cold in the mild night. Instead of removing it, she’d caused it to tighten further, so that it was beginning to look like a part of Gareth’s arm. She drew a deep breath and almost gagged on the dank odour that lingered in the air.
‘Gareth,’ she said urgently, frightened by his rolling eyes, ‘can you hear me? Are you all right?’
After a few moments, the novice recovered enough to nod. Brégenne could hear the breath rasping over his vocal cords, sore from screaming. A sheen of sweat glimmered on his face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘I should have been more cautious. Are you hurt?’
‘Think … fine now,’ he whispered. ‘But it … I was freezing. I’m cold.’ He was shivering, despite the sweat on his face. Once he could sit unsupported, Brégenne passed him a water skin.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated as he sipped weakly. ‘I won’t try that again.’
‘What … happened?’
Brégenne swallowed. She didn’t want to lie, but the thought of the black tendrils and what they meant would terrify him. And the other images … Brégenne hugged herself against the vision of the man on the throne, dead hands curled around its armrests. She could still see the flames in his eyes as they met hers. ‘The gauntlet … it’s attached to you, Gareth, on the inside. It tried to catch me too.’
When they met hers, Gareth’s eyes were fearful. ‘You mean it’s alive?’
‘It’s sentient,’ Brégenne said. ‘And hostile.’
‘But you’ll try again. Won’t you?’
It was the last thing she wanted to do. ‘I’ll think of something,’ Brégenne said, putting a hand on his shoulder. She hoped he couldn’t feel how much it trembled.
They refreshed their supplies in Jarra and briefly rested the horses. Summer was well underway now and the few stunted trees that dotted the outpost had all the leaves they were going to grow.
There was an airship docked for repair in one of the berths and Brégenne was grateful: the sight of it lifted Gareth’s spirits for the first time since the night she’d tried to remove the gauntlet. He watched with fascinated eyes as workmen scurried over the half-dismantled deck, nails held between teeth, tools in hand. Several lounged against the deckhouse wall, wreathed in smoke from their pipes. Brégenne saw women too, dressed similarly in stained overalls. One with familiar dark skin and braided hair reminded Brégenne of Yara, Argat’s first mate. She watched as the woman scurried up the mast that held the ship’s braziers in position. The balloons themselves were absent, evidently down for patching. The woman shouted something to her colleague below and he tossed her up a small wrench which she caught deftly before applying it to one of the bolts.
Brégenne left Gareth to watch while she went in search of news. Jarra had only one tavern and the paint on its door was peeling. She pushed it open and stepped inside. In the hour after lunch, the place was empty save for the barman, uninterestedly polishing a glass with a dish rag that had seen better days. ‘What’s a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?’ he asked, but Brégenne could tell his heart wasn’t in it. The glass he was supposed to be cleaning grew dirtier by the second.
‘Seeking news,’ she replied.
‘Not much reac
hes us here,’ the man said laconically, putting the smeared glass aside and picking up another.
‘What about the airships?’
‘The one out there docked a month ago. Only news it brought was bad. The damn Breaking hit the capital.’
Brégenne caught her breath. ‘What?’
‘You hadn’t heard?’ The barman frowned. ‘Where you been?’
‘Away. How much damage did the storm do?’
The man’s ineffectual polishing slowed and stopped. ‘Enough,’ he grunted. ‘The city was already full of refugees from towns got hit before.’
‘And the Trade Assembly?’
‘Recalled all ships. Trade’s ground to a halt, I hear. And the dead number in the hundreds. City Guard’ll have their work cut out – there’s people sleeping in the streets.’
This was not good. She’d been counting on the Trade Assembly to spearhead Mariar’s mobilization, but it looked as if they had enough to deal with without being told about the threat of Acre. Well, there was nothing for it. If it came to war, Acre wasn’t likely to wait graciously for them to recover from the Breaking. Brégenne wished Nediah would send another message – she’d had nothing in the nine days since she’d left Naris.
‘Thank you for telling me,’ she said politely and turned to leave.
‘Lady,’ the man said just as she reached the door, and Brégenne glanced over her shoulder. ‘If you’re thinking of going to Market Primus, don’t. Between the dead and the squatters, there’ll be plague in the city ‘fore long.’ He gestured with the rag. ‘Wait until the trouble passes.’
‘I wish I could,’ she replied fervently, ‘but I fear the trouble’s just beginning.’
7
Baior, Acre
Kyndra
They held a funeral for Shika in a wooded clearing, where the soil wasn’t red and sunlight coaxed up little green shoots between the roots of dead trees.
There was no body to bury, or to mourn, but they built a cairn and laid Shika’s few possessions among the stones. Irilin took his scarf, the one he’d always worn in Naris, and wound it about her neck. She’d stopped crying and her eyes were dry when Nediah spoke the words they used to lay a Wielder to rest. Nothing showed on her face but a terrible bleakness. Irilin looked exactly like Kyndra felt.
