Song of the Silvercades

by K S Nikakis

  Ersalan hiccuped and she patted his bottom through the sling, as she headed towards the reedbeds. There was another woman there – Irdrin’s daughter Sansula – join-wife to Orsendron. Orsendron’s sorcha was only midway up the slope, but he and his father, and Sansula’s father, aligned themselves with the first-born chiefs – with Ersalan, and with Erboran before him.

  ‘I greet you, Chief and Chief-wife,’ said Sansula, touching her forehead and smiling, as Palansa approached.

  ‘And I you,’ said Palansa.

  ‘It’s a good day for our sons to see the rivers,’ said Sansula politely, looking down at her own babe. ‘I show Orsron the Thanawah first, as it’s the mightiest.’ Sansula touched Orsron’s feet in the water, making him squawk. Palansa smiled and dipped Ersalan’s feet in too, his squeals adding to Orsron’s. Both women laughed, and Palansa whirled Ersalan above her head, dodged the thread of spittle as he gurgled, then tucked him back in his sling.

  ‘We should –’ began Palansa, before catching sight of Erlken making his way down the bank.

  ‘I walk Orsron whenever it’s fine,’ said Sansula, then touched her hand to her forehead again and moved off before Erlken reached them.

  ‘Ormadon’s come back,’ said Erlken, keeping his voice low until Sansula was well along the bank. ‘He has news of Arkendrin, Chief-wife.’

  Palansa climbed the bank and walked along the path to her sorcha, Erlken following, as his father had trained him.

  A wolf might be forced to wear its eyes forward, Ormadon had once told Palansa, but it turns its ears back.

  Palansa wished she had the eyes and ears of a wolf, and their teeth and claws. It was too much to hope Ormadon bore news of Arkendrin’s death – a fall from the Ashmiri horse or a mortal wound from the treemen in the south-western forests – the Sky Chiefs had already shown themselves unlikely to grant such a boon.

  Ormadon was seated at the table with Tarkenda, but rose and palmed his forehead to Ersalan. He looked tired and, for the first time, old.

  ‘Arkendrin travels quickly now he has four legs, while I must use the two the Sky Chiefs granted me,’ said Ormadon, as if guessing her thoughts.

  ‘He insults the Sky Chiefs by leaving the earth,’ said Tarkenda.

  ‘And by crossing the Braghans,’ replied Ormadon.

  Tarkenda palmed skywards.

  ‘He’ll bring ruin to us all,’ whispered Palansa, before sitting down. Ersalan began to grizzle and, flicking open her shirt, Palansa guided his mouth to her nipple.

  ‘What do the Grounds say, Ormadon?’ asked Tarkenda, drawing Ormadon a bowl of sherat.

  Palansa had never seen Ormadon take sherat before, but he gulped it down and Tarkenda drew him a second.

  ‘Arkendrin’s contempt for the Sky Chiefs has seeded much argument, Chief-mother. Even those who shun the line of first-born chiefs still palm their foreheads to the Sky Chiefs.

  ‘Four nights ago, word came from the Weshargh that the gold-eyed creature dwelt with the Tain.’

  ‘How would they know?’ demanded Palansa.

  ‘Ashmiri,’ said Ormadon. ‘Arkendrin packed food and left, taking Irdodun, Orthaken and Ermashin with him, and two of the Weshargh to show the way. The Weshargh were reluctant, believing Orbdargan is their Chief, not Arkendrin.’

  ‘Yet they went,’ muttered Tarkenda.

  ‘As ebis do to escape the stick. But they won’t be risking their skins for him. Like ebis, they’ll be looking for the sweeter grass the moment he takes his eyes off them,’ predicted Ormadon.

  The King’s Way was crowded as usual and Kira kept her gaze on the paving as she waited outside the gatherer’s house, the fourth she’d visited with Speri. None of the gatherers so far had known of fireweed, or expressed any interest in finding out about it. Kira’s frustration had become so great that Speri had suggested she remain outside on this occasion. It wasn’t long before Speri reappeared to tell her that Jaitich had never heard of it either, and to dismay Kira with the news that he was the last of the gatherers.

  Kira knew from the Writings that Kasheron had known of fireweed before he’d entered the forests, and she tried to recall what the northern Azurcades had been like. But she had been a prisoner then, her thoughts taken up with death not herbs.

  ‘Shall I take you to the clothing houses now?’ asked Speri.

  ‘No, I thank you. But could you trade this for me, for paper and ink,’ said Kira, taking out the gold bracelet.

  ‘But physick Aranz said you wanted clothing and a comb,’ said Speri, doing her best not to look at Kira’s hair.

  ‘I’ll be journeying north again soon and fine clothes will be of no use to me, but before I go I’ll need to record some of my Heal … physick-knowing, so you can use it after I’ve gone.’

  ‘We have our own knowing in the Physick Chronicle.’

  ‘Not for curing Shargh wounds,’ murmured Kira. ‘Please keep my Writings safe, Speri. It’s Physick-General Dumer’s judgement whether they’re of use to you.’

  ‘The bracelet is more valuable than paper and ink,’ said Speri, turning it over in her hands. ‘What do you want in back-trade?’

  ‘Just whatever you think,’ said Kira, having no idea what back-trade was. ‘I’m going to King’s Hall, but I’ll be back in the Sanctum this evening.’

  Speri set off and Kira turned up King’s Way, having no intention of visiting Adris, but happy to let Speri think she was. The houses came to an end and Kira turned into the muted light of the grove, caressing the foliage and scanning with Healer habit. There was little. Only silvermint, cinna and annin, and she wondered whether the gatherers came here for their herbs.

  Coming to an enormous bole, Kira swung herself into the branches and climbed until the trunk tapered, then pushed aside the foliage, her vantage point affording a good view. The Azurcade foothills were to the south, and to the north the plain ran away, a circular expanse, almost enclosed by juts of land to either side. The Terak Kutan lay many days beyond and she would be there now if Caledon hadn’t delayed her here, one way or the other.

  He carried news to Miken and Kest that she lived, but would also ask that Tremen volunteers came to fight with the Tain. If she’d gone straight to the Terak Kutan, she could have gained their help without risking her people. But Caledon didn’t want her to go north because it was too dangerous to travel alone. She wondered abruptly whether there was another reason, that Caledon saw something in his star-visions concerning her and the Terak Kutan that he didn’t want to happen. Talliel was far closer to Sarnia than Maraschin, and Caledon had been there many times. He would know a lot about the Northerners, while she knew virtually nothing.

  Movement at the gate distracted her and her heart raced. Horses with biers: there’d been another attack.

  In the sida groves on the southern slopes of Shardos, a broken shadow lay. Ilala called and breezes lifted Caledon’s hair, drifting it gently across his bloodied skull. A silverjack grazed the weergrass, hopping past him without fear. The day faded and the moon rose, dew settling in his hair and in his open palms, then stars blazed, clothing him in their milky sheen. He didn’t move.

  17

  By the time Kira reached the Sanctum, the injured had been distributed among the rooms. Breathless from her sprint down the mount, she rushed past physicks treating badly injured troops and skidded to a halt in the Garden Room, where Aranz was.

  ‘Do you have more fireweed? I’ve just finished the last pot,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve one more. Are they Shargh wounds?’

  ‘What else?’

  There were two other pallets occupied, lesser physicks already in attendance.

  ‘You’ve missed the worst of it,’ said Aranz.

  ‘I went with Speri to gatherer Jaitich seeking fireweed,’ said Kira.

  ‘Jaitich wouldn’t know of fireweed; we’ve never traded the root.’

  ‘It’s more like a fungus than a root.’

  ‘Mesen’s a powerful purifier and can be distilled
to increase its potency,’ said Aranz, tying off the bandage and washing his hands in the bowl. ‘If the watch-walk physicks carried distilled mesen, the wounded wouldn’t be so ill by the time they reached us.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s just a matter of using a purifier,’ said Kira carefully, knowing Aranz wouldn’t like her contradicting him. ‘We had powerful purifiers, too, but they didn’t stop the rot.’

  ‘Speri left the paper and ink you requested next to your pallet with the back-trade,’ he said, as he made his way to the alcove where they ate.

  ‘I need to go to the Azurcades to search for fireweed,’ said Kira.

  ‘Prince Adris won’t agree to that,’ said Aranz.

  ‘Speri told me that if the Sanctum’s stores run low, the King or Prince Adris would provide an escort for gatherers.’

  ‘That’s true, but we have enough herbs for the moment,’ said Aranz, handing her a cup of metz.

  ‘But we need fireweed!’

  ‘Mesen is plentiful and will suffice,’ said Aranz, nodding briefly before moving away.

  Kira took the metz back to her alcove. The paper sat in a neat pile next to the pallet, with two glass pots of ink, three pens and two silver bracelets. So that was back-trade! The notion that everything was traded remained repellent to Kira, and reinforced her anxiety over the lack of fireweed. She considered how to gain Adris’s permission for her to seek it. Caledon had told her that Adris loved his people. She chewed on her lip as she contemplated how she might use this knowing. Her best chance of being allowed beyond the gates would be to give Adris the opportunity to show his love for his people, without breaking his pledge to Caledon.

  She retraced her steps up the King’s Way and through the grove, the massive blue-clad Guard opening the gate to King’s Hall before Kira had summoned up the carefully rehearsed Onespeak words.

  ‘Who do you seek, Lady?’ asked a second Guard.

  ‘I request speech with Prince Adris, Guard … Ather,’ said Kira, pleased she’d remembered his name.

  ‘I will escort you.’

  ‘I thank you, Guard Ather,’ said Kira.

  They came to the door Kira remembered from her first visit and Ather called out something. Adris responded curtly and then she was shown into the sumptuous room.

  Adris pushed aside the pile of scrolls he’d been perusing and rose. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure,’ he said, gesturing her to a seat. ‘Have you eaten?’

  Kira shook her head and Adris shouted an order for food through the open door.

  ‘I hear you’ve given valuable aid to our physicks,’ he said, coming back and settling opposite. ‘For this I thank you.’

  ‘It is the way of Heal … physicks to share what they know,’ said Kira.

  There was a knock and the House Master placed a tray of food on the table. Adris offered her the plate of dried fruit and Kira took a piece.

  ‘The Sanctum is well resourced and well run. It is a great thing that the Tain King provides for his people,’ she said.

  ‘Yet you’ve left it to visit a place which, I suspect, you find far less appealing,’ said Adris.

  ‘I need to search for a herb in the foothills of the Azurcades,’ said Kira, taking his lead in directness.

  ‘You pledged Caledon to remain here until his return. Are you so careless with your pledges?’

  ‘I do not intend to break my pledge to Caledon, Prince Adris. I ask leave only to find this herb and return to Maraschin.’

  ‘The Physick-General’s said nothing about herbal supplies being low,’ said Adris, relaxing back in his seat.

  ‘The Sanctum is well stocked, thanks to the gatherers, and to the kindness of the King, except for one herb that I brought with me from the south. It cures the rot Shargh blades inflict,’ said Kira.

  ‘The Physick-General’s expressed no concern to me about this matter either.’

  ‘The Physick-General and Major Physick Aranz believe there are herbs within the Sanctum that will serve the same purpose when prepared differently. If that’s true, allowing me on your next watch-walk to the Azurcades will be an unnecessary nuisance. If it isn’t true, the next group of your people injured by Shargh blades will die.’

  ‘The gates haven’t been closed on a whim, Lady,’ said Adris, straightening.

  ‘Nor do I ask that they be opened on a whim, but I’ve seen what Shargh blades do, Prince Adris. It only takes a scratch, and your wounded will rot with a stench worse than carrion in summer heat. It’s a slow, painful death.’

  ‘Do you know for certain this herb grows in the Azurcade foothills?’ demanded Adris.

  ‘It needs deep, dry leaf litter, with pockets of moisture. Which parts of the Azurcades are driest?’

  ‘The Thanaval and Pelaval valleys in the west,’ he said. ‘What makes you think the salves we have will fail against this rot? Do you doubt the skill of our physicks?’

  ‘I’ve tried to heal those dying from Shargh poison without fireweed. It’s not a chance I want to take,’ said Kira.

  There was a brief silence then Adris said, ‘Be at the gates at dawn. The King’s Guard will take you to the Pelaval. Given your description, Pelaval or the Thanaval are most likely, but whether you find it or not, the Guard will return you to the city by dusk.’

  ‘I thank you, Prince Adris,’ said Kira.

  Deep in the sida grove, Caledon stirred. All was dark. Was this death? No, death was nothingness and this was something. Maybe it was a moonless, starless night. Maybe he was blind. He drifted.

  It was the cold, as hard as pain, that roused him again. He was shuddering and still blind, but it didn’t matter. Only warmth mattered. It was a long time before he realised his pack was on his back, and longer still until he’d struggled out of it. He rested awhile, then, with clumsy slowness, pulled out the ciraq. Somehow he managed to get most of it over him, but the effort cost him everything and he slid back into blackness.

  When he woke again it was raining, and water was trickling down his face and pooling in the depression under his cheek. He let it seep into his mouth. It tasted of sida and the waterproofing oil of the ciraq. The rain thickened, sluicing off his face and adding the taste of blood. He was able to open one eye and watch the silvery light limning each droplet as it fell. He could go now, if he chose, into the mesh of liquid starlight. Then something else moved, an owl, ruffling its plumage against the rain, its golden eyes peering down at him. Caledon turned his head and brought all his strength to sucking the water from the ciraq.

  It was not cold or rain that roused him next time, but pain spearing in his head, throbbing in his joints, burning the flesh of his belly and back. Caledon groaned and forced one eye open; the other eye was matted shut with something. He fumbled in his pack and found a piece of broken biscuit. His jaws still worked, but they hurt; everything hurt. When the biscuit was sufficiently moist, he swallowed. Encouraged, he repeated the process.

  He must have slept, because when he opened his eye next it was dusk. Caledon’s awareness was greater now. The arm that lay under him was broken and the pain in his leg was from a wound. The injuries wouldn’t kill him, but hunger, thirst and lying in the damp and cold might.

  He must get off the ground and into the ciraq, and he needed to find his waterskin. Caledon had strength for only one of these things, and shelter was the most pressing. He flicked off the ciraq so that it lay flat and open between him and his pack, and when the pain from that movement had subsided, wedged himself up on his good arm and inched across. Blackness blotched his vision, but Caledon forced himself on until the ciraq was under him, then, with the last of his strength, heaved it over himself.

  It was almost night when Caledon came to his senses again. His broken arm ached and the wound in his leg throbbed mercilessly. Maybe it would rain again, although he smelt no rain in the air. He must drink, and he couldn’t afford to wait for another cloudburst.

  He searched in his pack with his functioning arm. Everything his hand passed over was smashed
: biscuit, malede, wraps of cheese, figs, tachil, pots of kalix, revivor – even the thumbelin. He pushed deeper, grunting with effort, and his fumbling fingers closed over his ruptured and empty waterskin.

  What else was there? His food was dry, the juice of the figs extracted to preserve them, nor could he hear the bubble of a stream. To have survived the fall and landed next to a spring was asking a little too much of the stars! Darkness dragged at him but he resisted its pull, prodding his reluctant brain to keep thinking. His broken possessions suggested his pack had taken the brunt of his plummet through the sida, and he groped around, feeling twigs of sida. Then joyously, his hand closed over a branch.

  He hauled the prize to his chest, pinned it there, and very carefully punctured the bark with his teeth and sucked. The sap was like the scent of the leaves distilled, but cool and sweet, and he sucked greedily, then moved his mouth along, bit and sucked again. The liquid eased his intense thirst and he felt himself drift, this time letting the darkness come.

  18

  Kira clung onto the saddle-strap behind Ather’s flapping cape as they galloped west over the Scharn Grasslands. Out of the fifteen Guard assigned, Ather was the only Guard Kira knew. He had told her they’d be at the Pelaval Valley by mid-morning and had also told her what to do if they came under attack, and which of the Guard would look after her if he were killed.

  The Guard kept well clear of the trees, and Kira was grateful, her fear of the Shargh having grown as they’d left the safety of Maraschin behind. As they neared the Azurcades, steep narrow valleys became visible, and the Guard halted. Ather asked Kira whether she preferred to eat, or search first, and Kira chose to search, keen to discover any fireweed that might be there.