Song of the Silvercades

by K S Nikakis

  As they got closer, Kira saw that men patrolled the top of the wall. Here and there, dark slots pierced its side.

  Remas’s voice rang out and the horses slowed to a jerking gait, then to a walk as they approached massive wooden gates that creaked open for them to pass through.

  All at once, Kira was surrounded by a cacophany of voices and a suffocating sensation of too many others too close. The smell of burnt fat reminded her of when Kest had burned the dead Shargh after the first attack, and she buried her face in Ather’s cape.

  The horses made their way up between the buildings, the way full of people despite darkness fast closing in. They drew back to let the Guard pass, then closed in again behind, shouting to be heard above the conversation of others. Kira kept her head down as the crowds and noise beat at her. She felt very, very tired.

  ‘The Sanctum,’ said Ather, nodding to the right as they climbed.

  It was a long, single-storey stone building set in its own yard, every window ablaze. Most of the surrounding buildings were two-storeyed wooden structures.

  ‘We follow King’s Way. Not far now,’ Ather added.

  The houses dwindled, taking their lamplight with them, and the path darkened. The noise and the people had gone. Early stars glittered then disappeared as the riders passed into a dense grove. Kira gazed around in delighted wonder. The trees seemed incongruous after the cramped streets of the lower city.

  ‘King’s Grove,’ said Ather. ‘Queen Alitha had a liking for trees.’

  Kira felt a surge of affection for whoever Queen Alitha was. The sheltering branches were like a balm and she let it flow over her. But soon the trees gave way and another wall appeared. It was smaller than the city wall and capped with intricate carvings. A wall within a wall, thought Kira glumly, although this one looked more decorative than protective. The gate was metal, twisted and scrolled, and the Guard in their lamplit shelters were dressed in the same manner as her escorts.

  The gates swung open then clanged behind them, making Kira jump. The buildings inside the wall were so brightly lit it seemed like day. Lamps were set in metal sconces on walls, in latticed pillars and in deep bowls glittering through foliage-swathed arches.

  The buildings were grand too, the stone carved as artfully as wood but two-storeyed, like those beyond the gate. There was a storm of whinnies and the Guards’ mounts responded. Then orders were shouted, and most of the Guard peeled off towards a building housing horses, leaving Kira, Ather and Remas.

  Remas dismounted and came to Kira’s side, his hand clasping her arm.

  She wedged her foot awkwardly past Ather’s back, apologising as it scuffed his cape, and Remas gently lifted her down. Kira’s legs barely supported her and her back was so stiff it ached.

  ‘It takes time to steady yourself if you’ve not ridden before,’ said Remas, continuing to hold her up.

  Kira finally straightened, but Remas’s hand remained on her arm as he escorted her up a patterned path, leaving no doubt as to her status.

  ‘The wing to your left houses the kitchens and the apartments of those who serve in King’s Hall. Those,’ said Remas, nodding opposite, ‘are reserved for guests. My orders are to take you to the Crown Rooms where Prince Adris waits with the Lord Caledon to welcome you.’

  Kira tensed, part of her yearning to be with Caledon and part of her wishing never to see him again. They went up a series of shallow stone steps, under stone archways, and then through two guarded, immense wooden doors. They were inside now, in a space many times larger than the Bough’s hall had been, their footsteps echoing over a floor of polished, patterned stone.

  Remas halted at a second set of doors, and knocked once. There was a curt response, then Remas opened the door.

  ‘I leave you now, Lady,’ he said with a bow.

  ‘I thank you, Guard Leader Remas,’ said Kira, before taking a deep breath and stepping inside.

  9

  The first thing Kira saw was her pack propped against the wall. She was so relieved to have her herbal stores back that she snatched it up and put it straight on. Then she became aware of the wash of colours in the room, the glistening fabrics and gleaming metal. And Caledon hastening towards her, his hair shining, his clothes clean and unstained, the strange mixture of youth and age in his face more striking than she remembered.

  ‘Did they hurt you?’ he asked gently, looking at her forehead.

  ‘It was an accident,’ she said, tensing as a second man approached.

  ‘Prince Adris, may I present Kira to you,’ said Caledon.

  ‘I am honoured to meet the Lord Caledon’s friend. Please accept my regrets for the manner of your arrival in my lands,’ said Adris, with a bow, the darkness of his eyes shockingly reminiscent of the Shargh’s.

  Kira bowed awkwardly. The Prince of the Tains shared the same powerful build, honed features and short hair as Remas, but his body flashed and sparkled with metal, silver even forming part of his sky-blue shirt.

  ‘I know you’re tired, but I wanted to see you before you went to your rooms,’ said Caledon, his face tender.

  Kira blinked, feeling almost as if she’d slept while standing, then heard the door open behind her.

  A woman appeared in a long black gown, her greying hair pulled back severely from her pale face.

  ‘The Hall’s Mistress will show you to your rooms and ensure you have all you need,’ said Adris. ‘I’d be pleased if you’d join me and Lord Caledon for breakfast, when we can talk further.’

  Kira nodded uncertainly and, with a last look at Caledon, followed the woman out.

  The room the woman took her to was luxurious, but Kira didn’t sleep well, despite the deep bath of warm water, a huge platter of nuts and dried fruit, and a soft bed. By the time dawn had penetrated the window, she was pacing about the room, struggling with the too-large sleeping gown, her spare clothes too grimy and ragged to change into. When she’d been alone with Caledon it hadn’t mattered how dirty she was, but it did now, she realised, as she gazed at the glittering bowls and other precious things filling the room.

  Even Adris seemed to gleam in a hard sort of way, and she wondered how, as he was so unlike Caledon, he had come to be Caledon’s friend. Perhaps his hardness came from having to fight off Shargh attacks. When Kira had left Allogrenia, she’d thought the Shargh only hunted her, but since then she’d seen the result of Shargh attacks on Caledon, as well as the slain Tains that Selvet’s troop had found.

  Adris had many men as strong and powerful as himself to defend the Tain and their settlements, unlike the Tremen. She needed to continue her journey north to the Terak Kutan, not waste her time here, unless …

  She paused, staring at the crimson bed-cover, head whirring with possibilities. The Tain were under attack as the Tremen were, and might be willing to join the Tremen in a fight against their common enemy. But the Tain weren’t kin-linked like the Terak Kutan, and would surely expect the Tremen Protectors to leave Allogrenia to fight alongside them in the Tain lands. Kira winced at the thought of Protectors lying dead and dying out on the Sarsalin Plain, or under strange trees in the Azurcades.

  No, it would be better to continue north to the Terak Kutan, who would have fighters aplenty, and who were obligated by kin-link to drive the Shargh from Allogrenia.

  A knock sounded and she started, but the Hall’s Mistress was in the room before Kira had a chance to summon up the Onespeak word for ‘enter’. The woman laid some gowns she carried on the bed. They were deeply scoop-necked in beautiful colours, with glittering stones or intricately shaped metal beads sewn around the neck and cuffs.

  There were also two pairs of black leather ankle boots that, like the gowns, looked to be her size. Had Adris sent such things for the sake of his friendship with Caledon, or to make amends for what was, in reality, her imprisonment? Whatever the reason, the gowns would be useless in her journey north. What she needed were new shirts and breeches to replace her torn and stained ones.

  Kira tried O
nespeak but the woman seemed not to comprehend. Kira shook her head, pulled her crumpled clothes from her pack and pointed to them, then to herself.

  The woman said something in Tain, indicating the gowns again as if Kira were slow-witted. But Kira repeated her gestures until the woman gathered up the gowns and disappeared through the door again, leaving Kira wondering whether she’d be forced to meet Adris and Caledon at breakfast dressed in dirty, crumpled clothes.

  She wandered over to the platter of nuts, fruit and tachil, guessing that Caledon was responsible for the absence of meat and cheese. She was considering whether to slip the remainder into her pack for her journey, when there was another knock on the door, the woman again entering before Kira could respond, this time carrying a pile of more suitable-looking garments. Depositing her burden unceremoniously on the bed, she delivered a blur of words – Kira only recognising ‘Adris’ – and was gone. It seemed Kira would have to make her own way to breakfast, after she’d dressed.

  Looking through the clothes, Kira found three shirts, two jerkins, two jackets, three pairs of breeches and a soft pile of underclothes, all in the greens, creams and browns the troopsmen wore. Once Kira had donned a set, she felt happier than she had for many days – the clothes were comfortable and fitted well. Now all she needed was a comb. She’d left hers in the Warens, and her hair was a mass of tangles.

  There’s no excuse for slovenliness, Kiraon, her father would have rebuked her.

  There had to be a comb here somewhere – there was everything else! She scanned the ornate, wooden shelves in the bathing-room: scented soaps, oils, creams, sumptuous drying cloths …

  Stinking heartrot! There was someone there!

  The figure behind the door froze too. Then, with an oozing feeling of relief, Kira realised it was no stranger intent on harm, but her reflection in one of the looking-glasses spoken of in the Writings. It was partly obscured by the door, which was why she hadn’t noticed it before.

  She’d never seen her own face clearly before, but Kandor’s was graven on her heart, and she saw how alike they’d been. Tears slid down her cheeks as she reached out trembling fingers and traced his face, as wet as her own. It was Kandor’s straight brows and choppy fair hair, unkempt as usual, only the eyes were hers, almost green now, whereas his had been a soft brown.

  There was a rap on the door and she wiped her face. It was a Guard, his bulk filling the doorway, his head lowering in a polite bow as he summoned her to breakfast.

  ‘The King’s Hall is very beautiful,’ she said, making an effort to fill the uncomfortable silence as they walked. And indeed it was. The stone was the colour of winter sunshine, as was the paving. Flat pieces had been laid to make smaller paths that formed intricate networks between the buildings. The daylight also revealed scarlet blooms on the shrubbery between the walkways, and circles and squares of short grass studded with white flowers.

  ‘Kershtain the Great was a man of mighty vision. It was he who built King’s Hall, bringing masons and metalwrights from beyond the Silvercades. It was also he who formed the councils, who treatied with the Torsmen and Spursmen, and forged the alliance with the Terak,’ said the Guard, his gaze remaining on the imposing building ahead.

  ‘I haven’t met your King,’ said Kira.

  ‘Nor are you likely to, Lady, for King Beris has been ill these past few seasons and remains in his chambers,’ he replied, his face darkening.

  They stepped into the shade of the colonnades and through the first of the wooden doors, even more imposing in the light, and continued to the second.

  The Guard knocked and Kira found herself back in the room she’d visited briefly the previous night, the blues and silvers of its furniture, drapes and ornamentation extraordinary. But Kira was oblivious to their splendour as she realised that Adris was alone.

  ‘You slept well, I trust?’ he said, smiling graciously, his clothes the same colours as those that decorated the room.

  ‘Yes, I thank you,’ she replied.

  Adris ushered her towards a table laden with food. There were platters of fruit and nuts, a loaf of steaming bread that smelt like sacrash, and jugs of water with slivers of strange fruits floating in them.

  He drew back a chair for her, his breath touching her neck as he pushed the chair back in, and filled her cup with water.

  ‘Lord Caledon is with the King and will soon join us,’ he said, sitting opposite her. ‘He speaks with him of the growing number of Shargh attacks. You saw proof of them on your journey here with the troop, I believe.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kira.

  ‘They are just a small part of what my people suffer, and a small part of what Lord Caledon tells me might be unfolding. As a traveller, he has the benefit of much broader knowledge than I,’ said Adris.

  Kira sipped the water as Adris cut the bread using a knife as sharp as a sword, the light catching the blade as it sliced to and fro.

  ‘So, you don’t like the gowns I sent?’ he said, giving her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘No, the gowns you sent were beautiful. I … I thank you for thinking about such things,’ she replied, feeling the frustration of knowing too little Onespeak.

  ‘The gowns were beautiful but you’ve chosen to dress like a troopsman,’ he said slowly, his eyes hard upon her. ‘Do Tremen women not wear gowns or is it that a Feailner doesn’t wear gowns?’ He noticed her start of surprise but continued. ‘It’s many seasons since we’ve had ought to do with our northern neighbours, in spite of the alliance. But then your friend Lord Caledon says you’re from the south, despite having the look of a Kessomi, and using the Terak tongue. There’s not very much about you that makes sense, Kiraon of Kashclan, yet I must have sense.’

  Kira looked away, her heart racing. There was no mistaking Adris’s anger.

  ‘My people are being murdered,’ he said, tightly. ‘Tell me who you are, Kiraon, and what you intend.’

  ‘You seem to know already,’ she choked out.

  Adris pushed back his chair and came back to her side of the table, still holding the knife. ‘You’ve told Caledon none of these things. Not the behaviour, I’d have thought, of a friend.’

  ‘I’ve told no lies,’ said Kira, jumping up and putting the chair between them.

  ‘Except by omission,’ retorted Adris harshly.

  ‘There are things I can’t speak of.’

  ‘There are things you must speak of,’ hissed Adris. ‘Seven of my people have been killed so far this moon, ten last, four the moon before. And for every woodcutter or goatherd who bleeds out their life in the forests or on the plain, another three die in the Sanctum. Tell me why you go north!’

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘You will!’ he shouted, seizing her arm. ‘I won’t bandy words with a ragged stranger while my people are slaughtered!’

  Adris still held the knife, the blade pressed against her arm, the metal burning like chill fire through her shirt. Memories of Kandor’s death stormed back and she jerked away so violently that Adris’s grip was broken. Terrified, she fled to the door, straight into the arms of Caledon.

  ‘I’ll not stay here,’ she cried, then broke from his arms, wrenched the door open and fled.

  Adris went to the door and shouted an order, then turned back to Caledon. ‘I’ve assigned a Guard to take her where she chooses within the city. She’ll come to no harm.’

  ‘She’s already come to harm!’ said Caledon, striding to the window to see if Kira was in view, then swinging back. ‘What possessed you to confront her after everything we discussed? Didn’t we agree to give her time to heal? To build trust with me? To build trust with the Tain? Have you forgotten everything I’ve told you since you were fifteen years old? By the stars, Adris, there are things beyond your bounds which cast their shadow wider than you’ll ever know! Things I thought I’d given you a sense of! Have I failed so miserably that you’ve not the patience to wait even a single day?’

  There was a strained silence, then Ad
ris said, ‘You’re right to be angered, and until Remas’s report, I’d resolved to do as we agreed.’

  ‘Remas?’ Caledon countered.

  ‘The Guard Leader. When he fetched Kira, I asked him to speak with those she’d travelled with.’

  ‘So, what did you discover to make you break your undertakings to me?’ said Caledon.

  ‘Only one thing, and it’s in Remas’s report,’ said Adris, going to a side chest, retrieving a scroll and handing it to Caledon.

  ‘By the stars!’ exclaimed Caledon, after he’d read it.

  ‘More or less my sentiments.’

  ‘Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan. It tells us everything and nothing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Adris.

  Caledon poured himself a cup of fruited water. ‘Kira told me she was from the southern forests, one of the few places I’ve not been to, given their impenetrability and distance from the north. Yet she speaks Terak or Kessomi.’

  ‘Feailner is a Terak word, or at least northern,’ said Adris.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Caledon, ‘and there’s only ever been one Kiraon, in the north. Did you check her pack?’

  ‘Dried herbs and their concoctions, a gathering sling and sickle such as those used in the north, a map, some very worn clothes, a waterskin made of waterproofed material, a little nutmeat.’

  ‘What sort of nuts?’ asked Caledon.

  ‘Not a type I’ve seen before,’ acknowledged Adris. ‘Yet everything we know of her says she’s Terak.’

  ‘Or Kessomi.’

  ‘Same thing,’ said Adris with a shrug.

  ‘Not quite,’ said Caledon. ‘The Kessomi have remained largely separate, whereas the Terak have mixed their blood with the Kirs and Illians. But we both know she can’t be Terak or Kessomi, for no child could grow to womanhood in the north with eyes like that and remain unknown.’

  ‘Unknown to you, perhaps,’ said Adris. ‘Everything’s unknown to me, confined here.’

  ‘The time of waiting will end, Adris,’ said Caledon, rising and wandering round the room. ‘Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan. I guess from her dreams that her family’s dead.’