Dark Mist Rising (29 page)

‘I ain't going any place, you furry bastard,' Tom said. ‘By damn, that piss pot is jittery today, Peter. I wish I could just run and run and run, but then he— What was
that
?'

A shout, a scream. Men erupted from the woods.

‘It's the rebellion!' Tom cried.

It's the rescue
, I thought.
My father—

It was neither. The men rushed forward, farmers armed with pitchforks and clubs and ancient family swords. ‘Our princess!' an old man screamed. ‘Give us our princess!'

‘No!' I called. ‘Don't! They'll shoot!'

‘
Haflug! Halflug!
' the guard said, pushing me towards the caravan. ‘Get in!'

‘Don't come any closer,' I cried to the farmers. The old man's gaze swivelled towards me. My eyes met his, fierce with anger, before a savage soldier fired and a
bullet
struck him in the chest.

The guard picked me up and threw me into the caravan. Tom swung a fist at him and missed. Before Tom could draw either of his knives I screamed, ‘Tom, if you let him kill you I'll never ever forgive you and neither will George!' There is apparently no limit to the stupidities that people in panic will say.

Or listen to. Tom paused, looked at the savage's
gun
, looked at me and jumped into the caravan. The guard slammed and locked the door. Tom bounded to the window. It was a measure of what he saw that he said nothing, just watched, his face contorting in hatred and grief.

It was all over in less than five minutes.

Into the silence I said softly, ‘How many dead?'

‘I can't tell.'

But I already knew. The death toll would be all of them – all the brave, stupid, loyal men pathetically trying to rescue their six-year-old sovereign.

Tom burst out, ‘Why them? Why not a real attack? Where's Lord what's-his-name, who's supposed to be ruling until the princess grows up? Where's the army The Queendom used to have?'

Lord Robert Hopewell might still be in the dungeon, or possibly dead. The army too was dead, and by my doing. Rumours must have reached even remote Almsbury about what had happened two and a half years ago. Had Tom disbelieved the rumours, or just ignored them in his preoccupation with girls and ale and fighting his pinchpenny father? I couldn't ask. He did not know who I was.

Jee, who did, stared at me from his corner.

That was the end of walking behind the caravan for Tom and me. We were now let out only at breakfast and dinner. Tom muttered and paced and cursed, filling the small space with his huge discontent until I could barely stand to look at him. Jee slept fourteen hours a day, like a small animal preparing for winter hibernation. This went on for another fortnight, with each day the caravan horses labouring more as we ascended into the mountains, until finally the road became no more than a narrow track and the caravans could go no further.

‘I think we've left The Queendom,' I said to Tom.

‘So what will happen now?'

‘I don't know. But I think we will have to walk over the mountains.'

‘Walk!' His eyes lit up as though he had just been promised a treasure chest. He pounded on the caravan door. Immediately it opened, but not for him.

‘
Klef, antek
,' said the guard, who hardly ever spoke to me, not even to address me by the mysterious title of
antek
. Until now. ‘
Ka mit. Bay Tarek.
'

‘He wants me to go with him,' I said to Tom, ‘but without you.'

‘I go too. I'm your what-d'ye-call-it, your
nel
. Your servant.'

‘
Ka mit! Ka mit!
' the guard said, raising his gun.

‘Don't irritate him,' I snapped at Tom. ‘You'll only get yourself killed.'

Jee said, ‘Don't ye go, Peter.'

‘Listen to the boy,' Tom said.

‘Both of you be quiet and stay still.' I descended the single step.

Tom called, ‘But where is he taking you?'

‘I don't know.'

I was lying.
Bay Tarek
, the guard had said. To Tarek. The Young Chieftain.

All over the meadow cook fires and torches burned. The six caravans huddled at one end with the exhausted horses. They had been pulling uphill for weeks now. Servants scuttled between the painted wagons. The rest of the meadow was filled with the savage army. Each cadre of twelve savages sat with its captain around its own fire, eating, singing and talking. Even to an outsider the voices sounded jubilant. These were soldiers going home. My guard and I wended our way among the fires, and for once no one paid us the slightest attention.

At the far end of the meadow, just before a steep descent into a small valley, were pitched four or five tents of animal hide. By the closed flap of the largest of these tents two guards stood at attention. Unlike the common soldiers we had just passed, these men eyed me with hostility, with fear, with awe. What did they think they knew about me? What did the Young Chieftain think he knew?

My chest tightened, squeezing my lungs. It was hard to breathe.

One of the soldiers broke attention to step forward and search me roughly. He showed none of my own guard's reluctance to touch me, and I was glad I had not brought one of Jee's stolen knives. The savage found my small shaving knife, shrugged contemptuously and let me keep it. He barked something I didn't catch. ‘
Klef klen
,' my guard said to me. The language used the same word for ‘come' and ‘go'. ‘Go now.' Hesitantly I approached the tent. When no one stopped me, I raised the flap and went in.

Coals glowed in a small fire pit in the centre of the tent. The back flap was open, giving a magnificent view of the sunset over the valley beyond. Thick furs made a pallet in one corner. Two men stood beside the fire pit. One was the Young Chieftain, his dark hair loose upon his shoulders, his powerful body in its sleeveless fur tunic giving off a strong smell of sweat and travel. At his marriage in the palace he had worn a many-coloured feather cape and gold-and-jewelled armbands, now both absent. The older man wore clothes like those of The Queendom, sturdy woven tunic and breeches, but his boots were metal-toed like the savages'. In the dimness I could see neither man's face.

Should I kneel? I would not –
could
not. Not to this man, who had seized my queendom and Queen Caroline's daughter, whose father's death I had caused.

Tarek son of Solek son of Taryn did not seem to expect kneeling. He turned his head slightly to inspect me, and his blue eyes caught the firelight. Only savages had eyes that blue, like the sea under bright sun. But his gaze held no savagery. No anger, no vengeance, not even the cold brutality of the men of Soulvine Moor. Tarek watched me with cool, intelligent curiosity. He looked at me as Queen Caroline had once done, as one might look at a hammer or an awl or a fire flint: a useful tool that might aid in accomplishing one's own ends.

The older man said in a strong, strange accent, ‘I am Perb. A translator. The Young Chieftain welcomes you,
antek
.'

I said nothing, afraid that whatever I said would be wrong. In the silence a log in the fire pit popped. I jumped at the sudden sound. The Young Chieftain smiled coldly, never taking his eyes off me, and said something too quickly for me to catch more than a few words.

‘He says to not be afraid,
antek
,' Perb said. ‘Tarek means you no harm.'

Why not? I had killed his father, brought back from the Country of the Dead enough soldiers to defeat the savages' first army, maimed one of his singer-soldiers and had – as far as he knew – commanded dogs to tear out the throats of three more. How could Tarek
not
mean me harm? I realized that until now I had not fully believed my father's words: ‘The savages do not torture. They consider it beneath them.' And that other, more devastating statement: ‘He wants the “magic illusions” that he believes you created in order to defeat his father. He believes you are a witch, and that you can teach him to become one too.'

Underneath Tarek's control of himself must lie resentment of me, even rage. I must be careful not to wake it.

Perb said, ‘You should be asking questions now,
antek
.'

I
should be asking questions? I blurted, ‘What's an
antek
?'

‘A term of respect for the third of the three human states.'

‘What are those?'

Tarek spoke sharply, and this time I caught his words:
What does the antek say
?

Perb translated. Perb's accent was actually harder for me to follow than Tarek's, provided the Young Chieftain did not speak too quickly. I had heard Tarek's accent from his father, when I was Roger the queen's fool. Perb was neither savage nor Queendom. And so our three-way conversation lurched forward, with neither man knowing I could follow some of what Tarek said before Perb translated it. But the more I heard, the more confused I became.

‘The three states of being human are, first, soldier; second, mother; third,
antek
. And all are the same state.'

Which explained nothing, including what made an
antek
, or why I was one. Nor why I was supposed to ask the questions here. I said, ‘What is everyone else? All the people who are not soldiers or mothers or
anteks
?'

‘They are slaves,' Perb said. Tarek spoke and Perb added, ‘And they deserve to be slaves.'

‘Why?'

‘Because they have not attained the three human states.'

This was not helping. I tried a different approach. ‘Who in The Queendom is an
antek
?'

‘Only you. Else The Queendom would have
guns
.'

That made no sense. I did not have a
gun
. I said, ‘Then is ... is everyone in The Queendom a slave?'

‘Of course. And you deserve to be slaves, because you let that happen.'

‘But we have soldiers. And we have mothers—'

‘You have no mothers of savage soldiers. Your Queendom is conquered. Defeated soldiers are slaves.'

My temper rose. ‘Two years ago the Blue army defeated yours. Did that make Lord Solek a slave?'

For the first time Perb showed emotion. He looked appalled. ‘I cannot translate that!'

Tarek said something to him and Perb replied. Listening intently, I followed most of what Perb said. It was not what I had said. Perb explained that I did not want my mother to be considered a slave.

My mother. All at once she was sharp in my mind's eye, and now there were two of her: the woman in the lavender dress cuddling me on her lap, and the tranced, quiescent body in the Country of the Dead with blood on her gown. Both images were hard-edged enough to cut glass, unnaturally clear, and both sliced into my brain.

Perb said, ‘Are you ill,
antek
?'

‘N-no.'

‘Tarek agrees that your mother is not a slave. And you have asked your six questions. Now you will answer.'

Six questions. Six caravans travelling beside the army., cadres of twelve soldiers each. Evidently six was an important number to the savages. And I still did not know what an
antek
was.

Tarek said, ‘Ask him where Witchland lies.' Perb translated.

What would they believe? My father had said to go along with the Young Chieftain's belief that I could teach him witchcraft until such time as my father's
hisafs
would rescue me. No rescue had come yet. My life, as well as Tom's and Jee's, depended on convincing Tarek that I could do the impossible.

I said, ‘Witchland lies beyond the moon, below the sun.' And I held my breath.

Tarek nodded as if this actually made sense, but his blue eyes were speculative. I would not get away with too many such fanciful answers.

‘He asks how long you studied to learn your art.'

‘Since I was a small child.'

‘How long did you study to bring soldiers back from Witchland?'

So my father had been correct about what Tarek wanted. Lord Robert Hopewell had wanted the same thing from me. Tarek had his father's direct, simple practicality. He would accept even his father's murderer if that would give him a second army to conquer the world, and he would believe that his father would approve.

‘
Antek
, I asked how long you required to learn—'

‘A long time. Years.'

Perb translated, and disappointment crossed the Young Chieftain's face. It was gone in an instant.

Perb said, ‘How long to teach him this art? Since he is not a small child.'

I could not say years. That would not be an acceptable answer. I didn't know what answer might serve me best. I waffled. ‘It depends.'

‘Depends upon what?'