“Gabrielle!” said a gruff voice. “We are in enough trouble after what happened at the Dovecote.”
“And what happened there is her fault, this miserable brat!”
“Come aside!” the man urged. When his voice resumed, it was from further away, yet not far enough to evade Tabitha’s ears. The Ring brought great detail, including the glowing pain in her cheek.
“I heard the Master’s words as well as you. She must be released.”
“She cannot be released here,” answered Gabrielle. “By the balls of Krakus! She knows too much already. She should not be let free.”
“The Master has spoken.”
“Yet he will blame us if the secret of this way is breached! Be damned if he won’t. And they will be forewarned of our march as well, if this wretched girl speaks of it.”
“So be it. The Master must know these things; it is not our place to question his wisdom. We can have a dock-hand take her to the lower market, let her go in the crowd. She’ll not know how to follow.”
Tabitha didn’t hear Gabrielle’s answer to that, but footsteps soon approached. A strong hand gripped her at the nape of her neck.
Gabrielle’s voice was terribly calm.
“Never imagine that you are any more than a servant to the Master’s plans. When you find your legs, you little tart, you run. Run away, and do not try to find me or this place, or I shall have you killed! Greater crimes have been committed in the service of the Dark.”
Heavy sacking fell about her. She was sealed in a bag, of sorts, when it was tied beneath her feet. They set her upon a barrow, and someone wheeled her from the building into the open, through what she guessed were the alleys of Levin waterfront, with many twists and turns and double-backs. They could have let her free with no blindfold or restraints—Tabitha felt like a rabbit, about to be released from a fox hole. She would have run a long way before turning around to see where it was she had come from. Freedom was too great a prize to squander.
As the barrow bumped along, she wondered at her change in fortunes, but the more she considered it, the more unsettling it became. The Darkmaster wished her released, that much was plain from the Morrigáns missive. Yet he knew that she bore the Ring, and he had sent Kirjath Arkell after her, once to kill her, the second time to orb her with the Darkstone.
Every day since that awful moment in the Dovecote chapel, something like a disease had grown inside her, spreading in secrecy. The hunger to use the Dark, the lust for its spells, the anger at her own desire, and the compelling whispered presence from afar. She had learned to live with it all, and still find a place in her heart for hope. But she could not understand why the Darkmaster had released her.
They had spoken of a march upon Stormhaven. If that were true, it meant bringing the war to the heart of Eyri. If the Darkmaster came with his forces, closer to her, his presence would grow within her Darkstone.
He must be very sure of his power, to release me.
Sure that she would be turned. Sure that she would serve him, and with her, his old Ring would again be used by someone who was loyal to the Dark.
That thought alone chilled her blood. The Darkmaster might be many things, but she doubted that he was a fool.
The barrow tipped, and she slid to the ground. There was a hubbub of activity around her; the busy sounds of trade. The sacking which covered her was cut, and a knife worked at the rope on her bonded wrists. Just as suddenly, she was left alone.
By the time she had worked her hands free of the loosened rope, torn her way out of the sacking, and lifted her blindfold from her eyes, there was no barrow-man in sight. The sunlight was blinding, the colours of tents and traders’ clothes all too bright. She was seated in a muddy corner amongst broken pallets and discarded canvas, behind a line of stalls. The passers-by disregarded her, as if she were just another beggar, of which Levin had many. She attracted no attention when she loosened the gag and hobbled out to join the flow of people. In the hard trading of the Levin waterfront, folk knew not to take too close an interest in the affairs of others.
Tabitha found her way through the streets, south toward the Kingsbridge. She intended to run the length of the causeway, if she could not beg a ride of a carriage or cart. News of the planned march on Stormhaven would shake the King’s Isle to its roots.
There was a war coming upon Eyri.
40. ONE STRONG MAN
“How easily we see
that which we wish to see.”—Zarost
“They plan to march on Stormhaven,” announced Garyll Glavenor, over the heads in the throne room. A startled hush fell upon the audience as one after the other turned, and took his presence in with shocked recognition.
“Swordmaster!” exclaimed King Mellar. “We thought you were lost at Ravenscroft. We have all but mourned your death.”
“And I almost found that death,” he replied, striding through the parting people. All eight of the House Rulers were present, Garyll noted. The Sword Captains saluted him with right fists against their chests, surprised, but without displaying wariness. He trusted that his confident air would wash any doubts from their minds. It had worked thus far. People saw the Swordmaster, regardless of how heart-sore or damaged the man beneath that facade was. His left arm hung in a sling, secured at his neck. His ruined hand was hidden in the folds of that fabric, the bandages pressed snugly against his throat.
Garyll reached the foot of the throne, and dropped to one knee. King Mellar was already out of his seat though, and bade him rise. Mellar took his right arm in the double-handed grip of comradeship.
“It is good to have you back, Glavenor! How I have wished for your counsel. We have agonised over the little we know of our foe and his methods. But tell us of your escape! We heard a terrible treachery took place in Ravenscroft.”
Mellar’s eyes searched him. He would have to tread carefully if he hoped to lead the King astray. The subterfuge struck revulsion into his heart, but the Darkstone reminded him of his pact—there was a path away from Tabitha’s ruin, and a path towards it. He was already too far down the first path to back out, and he would not choose the second. Yet with every lie he spoke, he killed a part of the man who had been the Swordmaster of Eyri.
He would kill all of that man, rather than allow the Darkmaster a chance at Tabitha.
“There is nothing great to tell, your Highness. I was taken prisoner, along with my men. We spent days in their Keep. I worked a weakness into my chains, and tore my left arm through a shackle to win freedom. I found a way out of their stronghold, and stole down the river-course until Fendwarrow.”
“And the men?”
Garyll didn’t need to feign the bitter expression which came over him.
“Lost. To a man, they were either slain, or taken prisoner. The Shadowcasters worked them over in a torture chamber, driving their will from them until they succumbed to the Darkmaster. Few Swords remain alive. Many more of the Lightgifters chose life, and were turned. I was too late to save any of them.”
“Yet you escaped.”
Mellar held him with an unwavering gaze. The set of the King’s brows told him that this was the crucial moment. He would convince the King of his loyalty now, or he would die here in the throne room, upon the point of one of his Captain’s swords. They would not refuse a royal command, they must not.
He prayed it would not come to that, for his orders from the Darkmaster were terrible, in that instance. Nevertheless, he primed himself for a rapid draw of Felltang. He had loosened his sheath at the City Gates. He considered the cost of failure, and found the determination that he needed.
“I have a strong will, your Highness.”
King Mellar continued to regard him with a steady eye, but at last he nodded, and smiled broadly.
“Yes, indeed,” he said, returning to his throne. “So tell me, Swordmaster of Eyri, what must we do with these Shadowcasters?”
Garyll didn’t allow himself to sigh with relief, but he heard a few members of the a
udience do so nearby. “They plan to march on Stormhaven,” he stated.
“We know, that is why the Captains are assembled.”
“How does this news come ahead of me? I swear I rode harder than I have ever, and when I escaped, the rumours of the march had just begun.”
“Tabitha Serannon brought word. She was caught by the Shadowcasters in Levin. She heard words they didn’t expect her to hear.”
Every drop of blood in Garyll’s body went cold. “Tabitha! Is she taken?”
“Like you, she escaped. She arrived late yesterday, she’s here in Stormhaven.”
“Thank the Creator!” It was like the sun coming out in the dark sky. Realising he might have let his mask of strength slip, he turned away from the King for a moment, to speak to those in the audience.
“Might there be no more innocents risked in this conflict.” His words settled on the assembly, and he faced the King once more, with the calm expected of a Swordmaster. “What did she tell you of their march?”
“Little, in fact. Only that they intend to march, and that it would be soon.”
“What has been done?” As military commander, it was not out of place to expect the King to brief him on the decisions made in his absence.
“I have sent word to withdraw the men from Fendwarrow,” replied Mellar. “If they have bypassed our guard there once, to strike at the Dovecote in Levin, they can do so again, with more Shadowcasters. I thought to bring the men back within the walls of Stormhaven, and the Captains agree –”
“Your Highness –”
“- though not without some argument,” the King added, raising his hand to forestall the protest from behind Garyll. “I have always felt Stormhaven to be impregnable. Let them come to our Gate, and we can sweep them from the Isle with a hail of arrows. I see you disagree as well, Swordmaster. What would you advise?”
“We cannot give so much ground, with no cost to them. They will use the Morgloth, sire, that much I know from what I overheard in Ravenscroft. No man can stand on the battlements, for they are exposed to the sky. Arrows will have little effect against the Morgloth, only against the men on the ground. And arrows last only so long, after which we have to release men to engage the besiegers with blades. Which means opening the City Gate, and endangering all of the folk of Stormhaven to a counter-attack. No, we must weaken their charge before they reach the Isle. We must meet their assault with all of our force, at the head of the Kingsbridge. With a tight front to the battle, we can face the Morgloth as well, for we have the whistles Yzell devised, and if we have a narrow target, we have a chance.”
“What of the castle defences?” a Captain cut in. “With respect, Swordmaster,” the Captain added hastily, when Garyll turned upon him.
“We shall have little need to defend the castle, if we have good enough men on the Kingsbridge.”
The Captain stepped back a pace, without appearing to do so.
“Swordmaster, when do you think they will strike?” another Captain asked.
“Very soon,” answered Garyll. “By the look of the preparations they were amassing in the vale, they were ready to march. It seemed as if the Darkmaster was waiting for something.”
“The fall of the Dovecote, no doubt?” said the King.
Garyll had not stopped for news on the way to the palace. “The Dovecote, highness?”
The King shook his head, his expression bemused. “How hard did you ride, Glavenor? Too fast to hear the talk on everyone’s lips in the entire city? The Shadowcasters attacked the Dovecote yesterday. They attempted to claim the giant crystal that is the Lightgifters’ source of essence. Were it not for three brave Gifters, they would have achieved that. As it is, the Source is a shattered relic, of use to neither.”
“This is grave news,” Garyll said. “The Dark will be marching then, if that was the event for which the Darkmaster waited. Which brave Gifters stood up to the assault?”
“You know them well. Sister Grace, Ashley Logán, and the young woman who is woven into everything, it seems. Tabitha Serannon.”
They had said she was orbed with the Darkstone, and he had believed it. For the first time he felt true hope for her. Maybe she hadn’t been tainted at all. His pact would ensure that things remained that way.
“Where can I find them?”
King Mellar looked puzzled. It was a strange question for the King to answer, Garyll supposed. His calm shield had slipped once more. He had to be more careful. It was one of the House Rulers, the Lady of Ceremony, who answered.
“They have a room in the Boarding.”
“I must talk to them. There is something I must know, on which our strategy depends. Your Highness, with your leave, I need to brief and dispatch a squadron to hold the head of the Kingsbridge, while I ready the others for the construction of what we shall need to hold the Dark at bay.”
“Heaven’s sake, man, rest awhile!” said the King. “Find a mirror, and look in it, Glavenor. You are as haggard as a wayworn crone, the agony of Ravenscroft is etched on your face. Rest, and let your Captains set things in motion.”
The King’s words struck dangerously close to the truth. It would do no good for anyone to think any further on his experience in Ravenscroft. Garyll shook his head. “The man who rests in the path of the war must surely lose. I must prepare the defence of Stormhaven, and I must do it well.”
The King gave him a hard stare. “It is good to see you haven’t changed, my friend. Very well, you may go. I know you shall only sleep when you fall down, and nothing I can say shall change your diligence.”
“Thank you, your Highness.” He bowed by way of leave. “My apology for my brisk manner—I will admit to being strained, but it is a taut bow that shoots the farthest.”
“And a sharp blade that cuts the quickest,” answered the King. “Be sure you keep your blade sharp, Glavenor. I can’t use a Swordmaster who draws a blunted blade on our foes.”
Garyll left the throne room as fast as he could whilst still walking, but he couldn’t outpace the echoes of King Mellar’s final words. Drawing a blunted blade on Eyri’s foes. It was exactly what he had to do, to keep Tabitha alive.
Revulsion at his duplicity seethed in his chest. He had to find her, if only to remind himself why he had made the pact. He could never allow her to love him, not the way he was, not ever, for he was a traitor to everything that was good and true. He didn’t expect her to ever understand, and he hoped she never found out what he had sacrificed. All he wanted was to know that she would be kept from what he had endured, and to see her once more, before the end.
* * *
When he found the Lightgifters in the Boarding, Tabitha Serannon was there, tending Sister Grace on a bed. She wasn’t seated for long.
“Garyll! You’re back!” she cried with delight. Her soft arms encircled him, and the warmth of her spirit penetrated his heart. He returned her embrace as strongly as he could with his one free hand, wishing he could forget what he was for only a moment, wishing he could accept her love. It was heavenly, to hold Tabitha after believing that he would never see her again.
“Sister Grace, Ashley,” Garyll acknowledged the other Lightgifters over the head pressed close to his chest. Sister Grace looked too weary to talk. Ashley looked none too strong himself.
“I feared you were lost with the rest of the Sword at Ravenscroft,” said Ashley.
“I almost was,” Garyll replied, running a hand over Tabitha’s hair. It felt good, so clean and pure beneath his fingers. He drew the purity into the great thirst of his soul. “It is not an easy place to escape from unscathed.”
Tabitha pulled away slightly, her face a joy to behold, but Garyll noticed a wide bruise on her cheek. On her neck, a white orb glistened on a fine chain, all the more dramatic because of the dark neckerchief it lay upon. His relief at seeing the lone Lightstone overwhelmed him for an instant, and left a chink in his armour. Her question flew true as an arrow.
“What scars do you bear from that place?�
� she asked.
Garyll choked off his reply. He had forgotten the compelling honesty Tabitha wore like a robe. He had almost damned himself with his answer. He had been away from her too long, forgotten her touch. He could not lie, not now, not so close—he knew that she would know it. But there were many ways of phrasing the truth.
“I watched my comrades fall. I watched men and women tortured. That has left a heaviness upon my heart that I’ll not forget.”
“What happened to your hand?”
“I damaged it, just before I escaped. I had to pull it free of a shackle.”
Once the lie was out, he knew it would not endure inspection. If Tabitha ever saw his ruined fingers, she would know it. The bones were shattered at impossible angles by the nails they tortured him with. The only reason it had not driven him to madness in its current state, was the deep Freeze that had been cast into the flesh before his departure from Ravenscroft. They had told him it would last two days.
“Let me heal it for you,” she said. She looked suddenly forlorn. “I can’t promise much though—we haven’t found many sprites on the Isle.”
He couldn’t risk any of the questions that would come with healing. He intended another solution to that problem, and Felltang would be his only witness.
“It is a small thing, and I’ve had it seen to already. Save your Light for more important healing to come.” Tabitha nodded, though her eyes were reluctant to leave his bandaged hand, tucked up in the sling beneath his chin. He had to get away, before she began to peel the layers of armour from his heart. He had received what he had come for.
“You have heard of the fall of the Dovecote?” asked Ashley.
Garyll nodded. “The King told me, and I came to congratulate you all on your strength, to stand up to the Dark. There are so many who haven’t.”
“It was mostly Tabitha,” said Ashley. “We were so glad to see her here in Stormhaven, when we came back. We thought she’d been taken to Ravenscroft.”
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