A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) (29 page)

And now a wood sprang up around them – except that the trees, roots trailing, were flying upright in mid-air, slowly overtaking them. Earth and rocks pelted down.

Like a humming cloud of locusts, the foul monkeys were all around them. With difficulty, Ashurek began to pull Vixata to a halt. She fought, head shaking viciously, sending shards of dull light from her mane. At last he hauled her to a standstill. Shaell and the other, new horse cannoned into the back of her. Heads up, facing the wild wind and brown light, the horses stood sweating and trembling.

Ashurek drew his sword. The flying apes were pestering, attacking them in an endless swarm. ‘Why have you stopped?’ yelled Estarinel, beating at them with his arms.

‘We can’t get away from these things, we’ll have to fight them off.’

Fighting was of little use. A sword blow would send an ape thudding to the ground, only to gain its feet and run chattering to cling to the horses’ legs. And unless they kept pace with the bizarre flying forest, the trees threatened to collide with them.

And then a great tidal wave came careering towards them, made now of rock, now water, now glass. Flocks of screaming things came with it. At this the sweating horses, even the staid Shaell, left their riders no choice. As one they bolted, herd animals running like a whirlwind through the polluted, pulsing atmosphere.

As they galloped, the trees and the leech-like apes overtook them and vanished. The beats of aching light grew slower and heavier, paining the senses. The tidal wave burst over them with a hideous sensation; not fire, not pain, just a shudder of pure nightmare; and when it was gone, the turf had gone with it. The plain was a smooth, flat grey, and there was no sky.

All they could see, fleeing ahead of them, was a bird. It was dark in colour, feathers ragged from the buffeting of the Worm-wind; its song rose faintly above the roaring silence of the plain.

‘Look for me, look for me, I told you where.’

The horses careered on; and as they ran, a great split bisected the plain, and the two halves slowly tipped in towards the crack until they were vertical walls of greyness; and through the fissure horses and riders were falling.

Ashurek, leaning forward and grasping Vixata’s neck tightly, was aware only of the warmth of her sweat-creamed neck and her mane, like soft wire, pressing into the side of his face. He could not help wondering whether they would be killed when they hit the bottom, or whether they would fall forever.

Estarinel, holding his breath, forgot the descent for a minute as half-seen visions or premonitions clouded his brain: a flat expanse of snow; something silver with a dark, shifting heart; doorways, some frightening, some welcoming; a voice he loved saying,
Kill me, kill me…

Below them the bird also fell, spiralling down in an uncontrolled dive; yet she seemed to be leading them on and out of the darkness.

‘The world’s Hope was I,’ she called distantly. ‘Does no one remember?’

‘Yes, I remember,’ Ashurek murmured brokenly into Vixata’s mane. ‘I remember you, Miril.’

Then the bird was gone.

Gulla watched nervously as Arlenmia walked along the glass slabs from tower to tower, looking despondently at each one and touching it briefly.

Her illusion of metal had gone, ripped away by the unleashing of her powers. The Glass City had returned to its true state; the marble slabs had taken on their translucent greenness, and all the towers and buildings were shining with clear colours – red, amber, emerald, heliotrope.

Arlenmia was reluctant to return to her house, for all the walls were transparent. All her mirrors had become transparent also, and it made her deeply uncomfortable.

The City’s inhabitants were returning, as swiftly and dispassionately as they had left. They were spectral figures who acknowledged her with the merest nod and mocking smile as they floated past. They were not beings in a complete sense, rather entities concerned only with maintaining a balance of energy between the Earth and its three Planes. Although the balance had been disrupted by Arlenmia, they would work swiftly to correct the damage she had caused.

When she had first arrived, she had hoped to engage them in her cause – thus putting the Serpent in control of the Planes. But there had been no way of communicating with them or enslaving them. They had put up no fight, but had simply left.

Their return from exile in some other domain showed her that the City was no longer hers, and she must leave. The three enemies of M’gulfn had done this. Soon Belhadra and its neighbours would be out of her control as well.

Yet she felt no anger, only a calm joy. She beckoned her maid to her. ‘My dear Gulla,’ she said, ‘I want you to call all my servants and messengers together, and tell them that I will no longer need their services. Thank them for all their help, and send them home.’

‘Me as well?’ Gulla gasped.

‘You too, dear. You lived in Belhadra, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but, my Lady – you can't give up this easily, can you?’

‘Oh no, I am not giving up anything! If it were not for those three I would have stayed here for ever. I bear them no ill will. They’ve made me see what I must do – that one great action is all that’s needed to complete my work.’

‘I don’t understand, my Lady.’

‘I have to go on a journey.’ The Lady smiled.

‘Can I not come with you?’ Tears glistened in the maid’s eyes.

‘Look,’ Arlenmia pointed down the street and there, to her horror, Gulla saw three demons. ‘They are coming with me; they are all I need. Would you still want to come?’ Gulla shook her head fervently. ‘No. Go and do my bidding this last time, and you will receive your reward in a few months’ time – as will the whole world.’

Gulla did not wait to hear her mistress’s conversation with the three silver figures. She fled back to the house, blind with tears.

Arlenmia turned to the demons, Siregh-Ma, Diheg-El, and Meheg-Ba, returning their sardonic smiles. ‘It is not usual to summon three of the Shana together,’ said Meheg-Ba.

‘These are not usual times,’ she answered. ‘I am not afraid to summon three of you, for I can dismiss you as easily. Not that I would. We are old friends, are we not?’

‘What do you want?’ asked Siregh-Ma.

‘Something was lost which must be found again, and I believe it is not beyond your abilities to delve in a volcano for something very tiny.’

‘You speak, of course, of the Egg-Stone,’ hissed Meheg-Ba.

‘Of course!’ Arlenmia answered. ‘Would it be easier if I drew a picture?’

‘No need for your amusing insults,’ Meheg-Ba said. The three demons joined hands. ‘We will do it – for the good of the world.’

They were too subtle to show their thoughts: that Arlenmia had had a brilliant inspiration to do something they had not even considered.

‘Good. You can go now – I need some time to prepare. I will call when I’m ready to go.’ She smiled. ‘To Gorethria, of course.’

She returned with slow steps to the now eerily transparent house.

Along the halls the grey figures went about their obscure tasks with, she thought, insulting disregard for all the paintings and books she had so painstakingly collected over the years in Tearn. Yet she felt no resentment; there was no more knowledge to be had from them.

In her room, she crushed herbal roots to make a large dose of a tranquillizing drug. Having taken it, she lay on her bed to calm and ready herself.

‘I must forsake all beautiful things of the Earth in pursuit of eternal beauty,’ she whispered. ‘Material things have been useful to me, but from now on the supernatural will provide all my knowledge and purpose.’ Sleep was coming to her. ‘Oh Silvren, you little knew what you were starting when you told me about your world, all those years ago… if only you’d had the sense to share it with me! And now your beloved Ashurek and his friends are on their way to my loathsome comrade Gastada… I wish him joy of them.’

#

Just as it seemed they would fall forever, faint silver light glowed on the edge of their vision. Daylight. Ashurek realised that they were standing motionless on firm ground. He raised his head to look.

It seemed the Serpent-driven powers had allowed their victims a respite. The walls had become the plain granite walls of a gorge. They were on the gravelly bank of a small stream trickling over a mica bed. A clean, cold wind blew steadily into their faces, and a few drops of drizzle fell from an overcast but normal sky. All was grey, but for the sparks of colour that were the riders.

The horses were trembling with exhaustion. The riders dismounted, looking about them, too drained even to speak. Ashurek carried Skord over his shoulder, in order to give Shaell a rest, and they began to walk along the gorge.

The ground sloped upwards and the rough granite walls grew lower. The horses’ hooves made a companionable crunch on the stones. There was something in the air – the touch of it on their skin and in their nostrils – that suggested they were much further north than they had been. Just how far had they fallen?

They came out of the gorge, and after a scramble up a steep scree of rock, they reached a thin, paved road curving round the side of a hill. Suddenly the nightmare pursuit by Arlenmia’s forces seemed a long way behind them. With the sheer relief of being alive and in one piece, with the freshness of the air, their spirits began to lighten.

‘If she meant to send us into another trap, I don’t think she’s succeeded,’ said Ashurek. ‘Perhaps her power gave out… or perhaps an opposing power took us from her grasp.’

‘Can you be sure?’ Estarinel asked. ‘That we’re safe, I mean?’

‘Safe? I didn’t say that.’ Ashurek laughed. ‘But the air has an innocent feel to it.’

They were walking along the road now. Above them, on their right, the peak of the hill rose into a knoll of brown earth and granite, while on their left it fell away in a steep, grassy slope to a wooded fold. Beyond, they could see for miles; a vast landscape in tints of misty green, blue and lavender, with the horizon blurred and melting into the sky. They were high up, overlooking a wide, flat valley. Directly ahead of them the road cut straight into a forest of dark green, gnarled trees that shadowed the road and spilled down the hill’s flank. As they entered the trees, they cut to the left and started down the hillside, feet crunching on the rich floor of peat and pine needles.

It was only when they had hunted some small game, made a fire, eaten and rested, that they began to recover. Skord had regained consciousness but refused to eat, and sat apart from the others, miserable and unspeaking.

There was a calm and pleasant atmosphere about the country that took away their fear and sense of urgency. This made them speculate they were out of Belhadra, that when they had ‘fallen’ through the bisected plain, they had deliberately been swept miles away from that country – although what Arlenmia had intended for them, they could not guess.

They had settled in an area with grass and undergrowth, so the horses could graze. Estarinel and Ashurek were looking over the palfrey they had taken from Arlenmia, while Medrian added more wood to the fire, apparently uninterested.

The unearthly turquoise horse stood about fifteen hands high with a long mane and tail of glassy gold. It was a beauty, with delicate head and light, athletic conformation. Although a stallion, its temperament was gentle and friendly.

Ashurek ran a hand down the silky, warm neck.

‘In spite of its strange colour, it seems a normal horse. Let’s hope it’s not some sinister messenger of Arlenmia’s.’

Estarinel let the horse take some grass from his palm with its soft lips.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said, stroking its fine-boned head. ‘Skord! What’s this horse’s name?’

‘She called him Taery Jasmena,’ Skord muttered in reply.

They went to sit by the fire, watching the darts of white and yellow flame dancing on the logs. There was a new camaraderie between them now that they had worked together to escape Arlenmia. Estarinel no longer felt awed by the Gorethrian Prince, while Ashurek had revised his opinion of the courage and capabilities of the Forluinishman.

Ashurek even seemed markedly less hostile to Medrian. Although still withdrawn and emotionless, she was at least slightly more approachable than she had been.

The conversation turned inevitably to Arlenmia. Estarinel looked across at Skord, who did not seem to be listening. He wished he knew what to do to ease the boy’s wretchedness, and his sorrow for him was made infinitely worse by the guilt he felt.

‘It’s a shame we had to leave Arlenmia alive,’ said Ashurek, casually brutal, ‘but it could be a long time before she regains her powers in full.’

‘You don’t think the Glass City was damaged in any way?’ said Estarinel.

‘No – I think that would only have happened if she’d died.’

Estarinel shuddered. Now that the initial relief of escape was fading, he began to feel troubled. He sensed Medrian looking at him, as though she knew exactly what was in his mind. ‘When I think how close I came to betraying Forluin…’ he murmured.

‘You did not,’ Ashurek reminded him firmly. ‘What else is worrying you?’

‘We may have escaped, but we haven’t won. I told you how she threatened me; that unless I worked for her, she could have the Serpent attack Forluin again and destroy it completely. And we left her angry enough to do her worst.’

‘Likewise, I am very fearful for Silvren,’ Ashurek said bitterly. His anxiety was no less painful for being deeply ingrained, something he had suffered day and night for months. ‘But there is nothing, nothing we can do at present.’

‘There must have been something I could have done or said!’ Estarinel exclaimed, his distress worsened by exhaustion. ‘Now it’s too late, and if Forluin is lost it will be my fault. My fault! The very opposite of what I set out to do.’

Heavy silence followed his words, compounding his fears. They were all in desperate need of rest, but even that would not erase their anxieties. Estarinel was right to be worried. Ashurek felt there was nothing to be said.

Then Medrian spoke. She sounded profoundly tired, like one surfacing with difficulty from deep sleep. ‘There is no possibility of the Serpent attacking Forluin again.’

‘What? Are you sure?’ Estarinel was startled.

‘Yes, I am.’ In her distant way, she sounded adamant. ‘Arlenmia could never persuade M’gulfn to do so, even if she was in communication with it. It would not yet have the energy for a second attack.’

‘How do you know?’ Ashurek demanded.

‘I just know,’ she stated, apparently unaffected by the fierce intensity of his visage. Abruptly she got to her feet and went over to the horses, obviously to avoid any further questions.

Ashurek decided to let her be and poked aimlessly at the fire, sending bitter whorls of smoke into the crisp air. Estarinel stood up and followed Medrian.

‘I believe you,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t know why, but I do. You’ve helped set my mind at rest, at least for now. Thank you.’

She busied herself checking the palfrey’s feet, and said nothing.

‘Medrian… when Arlenmia was trying to entrance me with her mirror, I saw a scene in which you had a conversation with her. I didn’t understand it.’

‘You saw–’ She straightened up and faced him. She looked very grim, as if fighting an inward battle that she was only winning through a supreme effort of self-will. ‘You weren’t meant to understand.’

‘Why did she try to kill you?’ he asked, hoping she would finally communicate the cause of her unhappiness to him. ‘And your horse dying…’

‘Estarinel, will you do as I ask and stop questioning me?’ she said with a hint of desperation. ‘It matters. Believe me.’

‘If that’s what you wish… I respect that,’ he said softly. ‘But you cannot hide the despair you are in, for all you try so hard. What makes you so certain that no one can help? Can you not trust even me?’

She met his eyes, and her own dark ones widened for a brief moment with tenuous hope. Then the look transformed into one of stark anger and pain, while her face became as bleak as an ice-carved mask. And she turned on him, her voice very quiet but echoing with a suppressed rage that shook him.

‘Are all your race like this, or is it just you? I’ve watched you agonising over Skord’s parents, and over Skord as if his misfortunes were entirely your fault, sympathising with Ashurek despite the terrible things he has done, even feeling sorrow for Arlenmia, hating to watch her suffer without her drug. That almost killed you, didn’t it, as if nothing she did would ever be evil enough to make you truly hate her. After what happened to Forluin and all your friends, how can you possibly care about anything else? Why should you, anyway?’ He stared at her, stunned. ‘And you even care about me, as if – as if–’ she faltered, distinct self-loathing in her voice. ‘I’ve warned you already, but still you persist in caring about me. No one has ever – I don’t understand you. No one can have that much compassion or love to spare!’