Soulvine 03 A Bright and Terrible Sword (35 page)

Did Maggie believe me? Perhaps, with her native scepticism, not all of it. But she listened without a single word. When I finally finished, she kissed me softly and said nothing.

‘Maggie—’

‘No, not now. No more talk now. We must sleep.’

We returned to the fire. Everyone else except the guards slept. When Maggie, too, gave way to exhaustion, I left her and made my way back to the outcropping of rock. To the guard I signalled a need for privacy behind a clump of gorse, and he nodded.

Alone in the shadows I bit my tongue and crossed over.

Night in the land of the living, an endless grey and tranquil day in the Country of the Dead. I began walking. All was as it should be in that quiet place, and the few Dead that I passed were as they should be, waiting for whatever it was that came next for them. If the sword
had a part to play in that, I knew I would never witness it until, one far distant day, my own time came.

The walk back to Hygryll, unburdened by packs or ponies or Rawnie, did not take long. The round stone huts had all vanished, but the large flat rock was there. Upon it sat Harbinger.

I approached him warily, but why should that be? He was now just another of the Dead, this old man who had aspired to live for ever by destroying the souls of others. None of the Brotherhood, if that band still was in existence, surrounded him now. He was of no use to them. He sat calmly, his green eyes open and unseeing, and I passed him by as if he were just another boulder or tree.

What had I expected when I reached the circle of Dead that had surrounded my mother? What I feared was that she was still gone, another of Soulvine Moor’s victims. She was not. The huge circle of fifty Dead, however, had vanished, and my mother sat beside one other Dead on the tranquil moor. Without the fog, even from a distance I could see the lavender of her gown. No – not another Dead. The figure rose. My heart clutched – an assassin from the Brotherhood?

It was my father.

‘Roger,’ he said tonelessly.

‘What are you doing here?’ I heard the harshness of my tone, and did not regret it.

‘Are you surprised that I would come?’

‘Very surprised.’

Anger broke from him, his usual defence. ‘You understand nothing.’

‘I understand that you abandoned her. And me.’

‘I explained to you once, but I will do so again since you are acting like a sulky boy and boys need repetition: I left you both for your own safety. I did not know that
would make her less safe, nor that you would be taken by your Aunt Jo before I could find you.’

It must have been Rawley who’d removed my mother before, when I could not find her. He must have carried her to some place of safety. The realization didn’t lessen my anger (and why had I not thought to do the same thing?). We faced each other on the desolate moor like two fighting dogs, two moor curs. He was stronger than I, with two good hands. If this came to blows—

It did not. My father broke. He put his hand in front of his face, but not before I saw the tears he immediately tried to blink back. He said quietly, ‘I loved her, you great fool. I always will.’

And even though I saw that it was the truth, a lifetime of anger cannot be released that quickly. I wanted to hurt him, still. So I said, ‘Really? And does Charlotte know that?’

The tears vanished. Rawley glared at me, but he had himself in control. ‘There are so many things about love that you do not yet understand, Roger. I hope that someday you will.’

‘Yes, with luck I may yet turn out like
you
.’

A faint smile, which reduced me to a child. Fresh fury rose in me. But his next words disarmed it entirely – as perhaps he intended.

‘I have told everyone that it was I that brought an end to the war with Soulvine, that the victory was mine. I did so because there may be some of the Brotherhood, or of Soulvine Moor, who are not yet ready to give up. Now they will seek revenge on me, not you, and you and Maggie can live safely with my grandchild.’

I gasped, ‘How … how did you know ….’

‘It doesn’t matter how I know. No one else does. Be well, Roger.’ And he vanished, crossing back over.

My anger at him was replaced with a hollowness at my
heart. All these meetings in bitterness and anger, and I still did not know what Rawley Kilbourne truly was. Ruthless warrior, burning with vengeance. Tender husband to two women. Abandoner, betrayer, rescuer, protector.

Kneeling, I touched my mother’s face. She looked just as I remembered from childhood. I could almost feel her arms around me, hear her voice singing to me. That could not come again. But she looked peaceful and calm, and there was no longer fresh blood on her gown. Whatever she waited for, she waited in peace. I kissed her tranquil cheek. ‘Good-bye, Mother. Be well.’

I crossed back over, knowing I had seen both my parents for the last time.

When I returned to camp, it was past dawn. Maggie still slept, but the others ate breakfast or watered ponies, and someone was singing.

It was Rawnie. I had never heard her sing before. The voice from that scrawny, freckled throat was surprisingly full and sweet. Someone played upon a lute, and to its accompaniment Rawnie sang Leo’s plaintive tune:

Although you to the hills do flee,

My love you can’t escape.

Your heart, my sweet, belongs to me

Though you may change its shape.

Never, never will I cease

To follow where you go,

And ever, ever will I be

The hound upon your doe.

Do what you will and what you can,

Employ the arts you know—

Ever, ever will I be

The hound upon your doe.

The words struck me differently than they had when Leo had sung them. I squatted beside Maggie and put my good hand on her shoulder. She woke and smiled at me. I smiled back, not wanting to escape, nor to cease following her, nor to seek anything except her loyal heart and my infant son. And never let either of them go again.

28

There was still the gnawing fear for Stephanie. No vision had come from her since the sword had righted balance in the Country of the Dead. Was she ill from such great effort in the soul arts? She was but seven years old. Nell had been a woman grown, and her exertions had cost her life. Nor did Mother Chilton dream to me.

I had lost an entire night’s sleep and during the next day’s travel I stumbled along, half awake. Fortunately we halted early, just over the border between Soulvine Moor and the Unclaimed Lands. I fell asleep immediately, and I dreamed. It was, however, a dream so faint that when I woke, I could not be sure if I had only imagined it from the desperation of my desire – a dream of a dream:

A wavering swirl of grey, without place or colour. A figure, which I took to be a woman only by the high-pitched voice, although even about that I could not be sure. A single word: ‘Wait
.’ I woke.

Wait! What was I doing except waiting – and how often had I been doing it before? Wait for Lord Robert, wait to recover from inhabiting the moor cur, wait to get to Hygryll, wait to see my son, wait for the sword to right the Country of the Dead! My life consisted of waiting, broken only by bursts of desperate, terrified action.

I waited. I did so with relief: the dream had undoubtedly come through little Tom, which meant he was alive. But my relief was mixed with yet more fear: Was it so faint because Tom, like the web women whose visions he passed on, was exhausted and ill from his efforts? They
were not even really ‘efforts’; he was like an aqueduct through which water passed with no exertion on its part – or so I hoped. But even so, an aqueduct can give way under a torrential flood.

Maggie knew none of this. And yet she never forgot anything, a trait I had cursed before and now had cause to be uneasy about again.

‘Roger,’ she said as we began the day’s travel north, ‘you look very tired. Are you worried about Tom?’

‘Why would I be worried about Tom?’

She said slowly, ‘You asked me something once. You asked if I had seen him “vanishing and reappearing”. You would only ask that if you thought he was … was like you. But he never vanished. He is not a
hisaf
, is he?’

‘No.’ I was glad to be able to answer her honestly, and I hoped she would ask no further. But then she would not have been Maggie.

‘He cannot cross over to … you know?’

‘No. He cannot.’

‘Can he do what Mother Chilton can? And those other women? Oh, Roger … is he a witch?’

I heard the dread in her voice. ‘No,’ I said, again honestly, ‘he is not as the web women are.’

‘So
where is he
?’

‘They’ll tell us soon.’

‘But how can you know that? Have you received word?’

‘Only to wait. But I’m sure Mother Chilton will send word soon.’ I was not sure.

By late afternoon even Rawnie was tired. Someone put her on one of the pack ponies, where she appeared to fall asleep. But not so, because from the greater height atop the pony she was the first to see the horsemen.

‘Soldiers! Soldiers in the valley, coming on horses!’

The men looked at each other and drew their weapons:
knives, swords, a few
guns
. I strained my ears to hear shots, simultaneously looking around for a place to hide Maggie. That proved unnecessary. The horsemen wore the purple of Lord Robert’s army and even before his horse had fully halted, the captain was swinging down from the saddle. ‘Roger Kilbourne?’

‘I am Roger Kilbourne.’

‘You are summoned to the palace at Glory.’

We gazed at each other: I ragged, weary, scrawny, uncombed, without a bath in far too long. He, well-fed and clean-shaven, wore a new purple tunic and high boots. His breastplate and helmet shone in the sun. But his face held wariness and even fear. This captain was here under unwelcome orders, and he did not like dealing with whatever preternatural thing he considered me to be.

I said, ‘Who summons me?’

‘Lord Regent and High Commander Robert Hopewell, acting for Her Grace Queen Stephanie.’

‘And why does Lord Robert wish to bring me to Glory?’

‘I carry out Lord Robert’s orders,’ he said stiffly. I would get no more information from him, even if he possessed it. ‘His orders are to bring you to Glory with all possible haste. Mount now.’

They had brought an extra horse, a great high beast of deep brown. A soldier dismounted, led the horse to me, and cupped his hands for my foot.

I backed away. ‘I cannot ride.’

‘You cannot
ride
?’ the captain said, as if I had just announced that I did not know how to breathe.

‘No, I cannot ride!’ I repeated, at the same moment that Maggie said, ‘If Roger goes, I go with him.’

The captain gazed down at her with profound distaste. ‘Who are you?’

I said, ‘She is my wife.’

A small, pleased sound from Maggie.

The captain said, ‘I have no orders concerning your wife. Mount, Roger Kilbourne. You must be able to ride a little!’

‘No,’ I said. I had ridden donkeys, slow ambling beasts, and once I had ridden pillion behind a royal courier. But to sit alone on this huge horse … and if Maggie rode behind me, I would only tumble her off, too, when I fell. As I surely would.

The captain sighed. He said to the soldier still cupping his hands, ‘Throw him up behind Starkington.’

Another soldier, presumably Starkington, looked startled and unhappy. I said, ‘And my wife? I will not go without her.’

Faced with the choice of wrestling with and binding one who had been summoned by the queen or of not carrying out his orders, the captain snarled, ‘She may ride behind Everett.’

Two horses were walked up to the hand-cupper, who threw first me and then Maggie up behind soldiers. My horse shied and I gripped Starkington tightly around the waist. Maggie insisted on bringing her pack, which was fastened to the saddle. Rawnie leaped off her pony and tore over to us.

‘I want to come, too!’

The captain did not deign even to notice her. He wheeled his mount and signalled to the others to follow. We moved off.

‘I want to go too!’ Rawnie screamed, the last thing I heard before the horses moved off. ‘Roger, I hate you again!’

Two days later we reached Glory.

Again, just as it had three years earlier, the sight of the capital city filled me with trepidation. It rose on its river
island as a high wall of stone, above which soared the one palace tower. I had stood in or on that tower with Queen Caroline, or with Mother Chilton, or with nothing for company but my own pain and fear. Then the tower had flown Caroline’s green banner; now Stephanie’s purple flag furled and unfurled in the wind.

Our horses rode over the wide east bridge, hooves clattering on stone. Through the narrow, noisy ring of the city to the palace gates. They opened and we stood, as I had before so long ago, in a courtyard quiet, clean, and deserted.

Maggie dismounted first. ‘We do not see the queen until we have bathed!’

The captain began, ‘My orders are—’

‘Forget your orders! Do you think the queen wishes to see us travel-soiled and stinking? I—’

‘She does not wish you to appear before her at all, Mistress Kilbourne. She sent only for your husband.’

‘—know my way to the servants’ baths, and so does Roger,’ Maggie finished, exactly as if the captain had not spoken. ‘Both of us will need clean clothing.’

Everett, the soldier behind whom Maggie had ridden pillion, dismounted and seized her arm. He looked as if he would be glad to stop her, or imprison her, or just be shed of her. But the captain made a weary gesture, Everett released her, and Maggie started towards the women’s baths. She said to me, ‘We will meet back here shortly, Roger.’

Everett could not resist a jibe at me. ‘Does she make all your decisions for you, Kilbourne?’

I smiled. ‘Only when I deal with rabble.’ For I could afford to be cocky with him: We had reached the palace, and I had the protection of the queen, whose queendom I had saved. Stephanie knew that, even if this oaf did not.

I bathed, shaved, and combed my too long hair. A page
brought me a crisp purple tunic, leggings, and boots of such a high polish that I could see myself in them. The feel of clean garments against clean flesh was almost startling – it had been so long! As I waited for Maggie, back in the soldiers’ courtyard, servants came and went. None gave me a second look. Even if they remembered Roger the Queen’s Fool, I no longer resembled him. Which was fitting, because I was not him.