The Caller (24 page)

‘Makes sense to me,’ said Frossach. ‘Whichever troop is given the task of making that mob in the courtyard into some kind of fighting force, they’re going to do a better job if they need not also concern themselves with an ongoing threat to the king’s household. Provided Esten can keep control – and it does sound as if he’ll need to be right there, alongside whoever’s doing the training, to achieve that – this has at least some chance of success.’ He paused, then added hastily, ‘No criticism intended, my lord King, my lady, learned councillors. It’s a worthwhile venture, new, bold, exciting. A challenge we all look forward to.’

They had become expert liars, every one of them, Flint thought. There were no enthralled men among the troop leaders. Enthralment rendered a man faultlessly loyal. It also reduced his capacity to think for himself. Every Enforcer in this chamber knew the king’s plan was a grand folly, a venture more likely to end in disaster than the brilliant display of might Keldec anticipated. But not one of them was prepared to say so.

‘I have a question, my lord King.’ Galany of Bull Troop spoke.

Keldec nodded for him to continue.

‘The Good Folk are afraid of iron. More than that, it’s a kind of poison to them. Weakens them, hurts them, can kill them. Seems the tales are true in that respect at least. We’ve used that weakness to keep them under control. But what about when they’re fighting
for
us? The first sniff of a knife and they’ll be falling like ninepins.’

‘I hope you are not suggesting the entire venture is misguided, Galany.’ The king’s tone was all frost.

‘No, my lord King. There must be an answer to this, of course, if we’re to believe the old stories. If an army of brollachans fought alongside an army of men and vanquished their enemy, those brollachans must have been resistant to iron. Unless men in those days carried weapons made of wood or bone.’

There was a ripple of amusement around the council table; not quite laughter.

‘I brought you here to provide solutions,’ said the king. ‘Not to raise further problems.’

‘The issue of iron is easily dealt with,’ said the queen. ‘Whichever troop is given responsibility for training these creatures must first test each of them for its ability to withstand iron. Those with good resistance will be retained. Those without such resistance will be culled.’

A brief silence. The appropriate response was simple agreement. None of the Enforcers present seemed quite prepared to give it.

‘May I speak?’ Abhan of Horse Troop rose to his considerable height. His hair fell in twisted locks to his shoulders; his beard was equally luxuriant. Abhan had been a king’s man since Flint was a boy. If anyone was going to offer the services of his troop to carry out such a cull, it would surely be this man.

Keldec waved a hand, making no attempt to conceal his impatience. ‘Go on, Abhan, we don’t have all day.’

‘A cull might not be required,’ Abhan said, to Flint’s great surprise. ‘The men we’ve got on guard down there will be able to tell you which of these folk have most resistance to iron; they’ll likely be able to tell you which are the best natural fighters and which are the likeliest to cooperate. The rest of them . . . Why bother with a cull, and the messy business of disposal? Why not simply take them out the gates and let them go? They’d be off back home before you could so much as snap your fingers, my lord King. In my opinion, that would be the quickest and easiest way to deal with this.’

‘Where would the stronger ones be taken for training?’ asked Frossach, leaving the issue of culling unresolved. ‘Could the young fellows from the south come back in here, and these folk be moved out to Seven Oaks?’

Rohan saved his troop leader from having to reply. ‘Seven Oaks is too close to Brightwater settlement; there would be issues with the safety of the local people. And while the place is well set up for ordinary training, it’s not secure enough for this.’

‘My lord King,’ Flint said, ‘you’ll be aware that Stag Troop is generally responsible for the training and preparation of fighters. I believe that in view of our experience, Rohan Death-Blade and I may be best equipped to advise you on this particular matter.’

‘Go on,’ said the king.

‘I suggest we shift the uncanny folk to Summerfort now, rather than waiting until the court makes its annual move.’ He lifted a hand for quiet as objections broke out among the listening Enforcers. ‘Hear me out, please. Esten would need to travel with them, and he’d have to stay there while they were trained. I know the Caller is tired. He has made a long journey; so have the Good Folk. But Summerfort has all the facilities required, including a large practice area that is safely walled without having the . . . the intimidating sense of enclosure that Winterfort may convey to our captives.’ He hated the whole thing; it was a cruel, misbegotten venture. But the king wanted answers. And this made a kind of sense. There was some chance at least that the presence of the captive Good Folk at Summerfort would be noticed and reported up the valley to Tali. A warning, allowing the rebels to prepare for a darker and more deadly encounter than anyone had anticipated. It would get the captives away from the queen, at least for a while. And it might provide what he needed: Esten away from Brydian, without his magical defence, a clear target. ‘I believe, given a strong escort and due consideration for their welfare on the way, these folk could reach Summerfort in good condition, my lord King,’ he added, holding his voice calm over the thunderous beating of his heart. This plan would lead to his own death. Of that he had no doubt whatever. ‘And I am convinced moving them there is the best solution to our current difficulty. The young men from the south could remain at Seven Oaks until the rest of your court moves later in the season; that would allow the basic training Rohan mentioned to be completed before they were challenged further.’

Keldec had been listening intently. His eyes were bright with enthusiasm. ‘An excellent idea, Owen. Well considered. What contingent of guards would you recommend to accompany these folk on the way?’

‘My lord –’ Brydian made to protest, but the king gestured him silent.

‘Half of Wolf Troop is in residence at Summerfort already. I would suggest the remainder of the troop be deployed there, if Gill concurs.’ He glanced at the Wolf Troop leader. ‘I’d recommend sending another full troop with them. I believe that number would be sufficient to keep control on the way and to provide the necessary training, my lord King.’ There was one more question that had to be asked. ‘The task ahead of us is complex, as I’m sure you all realise. Training the Good Folk, whose capacity and limitations are as yet largely unknown; training the young men at Seven Oaks, some of whom have almost no combat skills; combining the two forces and drilling them as a single army. Is there a requirement that this fighting force be battle-ready by a certain time, my lord King?’ He kept his voice coolly detached.

‘Let us be realistic about this,’ Keldec said. ‘This is only the first stage; we haven’t the numbers yet for the kind of force I have in mind, and as you say, training these folk fully will take time. But I need the capacity to demonstrate what is coming; to ensure that my chieftains – the loyal, the not quite so loyal – are fully aware of how potent this new weapon will one day be. What I need is a display. A spectacle of harnessed power. We’ll do that, obviously, at the next Gathering.’

Flint’s heart jolted; was there an unspoken message here? Could the king possibly have learned of the rebellion? The troop leaders exchanged glances, but nobody said a word.

‘Brydian, bring out the letter,’ said the king.

Brydian drew out a rolled parchment; unfastened it and laid it flat on the table before him, his long fingers holding it in place.

‘The letter is from Lannan Long-Arm, chieftain of the North,’ Keldec said. ‘I will not ask Brydian to read it to you; it’s somewhat wordy. But the message is clear enough. Next midsummer, Lannan plans to favour us with his presence at the Gathering. He will no doubt be bringing an entourage.
An expression of amity
, I believe those were his words. Amity from that man? Pah! As for why he’s doing this now, after so many years of shunning our hospitality, I can only guess that it’s a gesture of some kind, a show of power. The fellow is kin to the rulers of the Northern Isles; he has strong ties there. Who knows what he’s up to? When he gets here, I want to give him an emphatic reminder that I am the ruler of Alban, and that he’d be an utter fool if he ever thought to challenge that. It won’t hurt the rest of my chieftains to receive the same message.’

If he had believed in gods, Flint would have thanked them; it seemed the timing was only coincidence. ‘My lord King, do I have this correct? For the Gathering, you require a . . . a mock battle of some kind, demonstrating the Caller’s capacity to maintain control when Good Folk and human fighters work as a team?’

‘Correct, Owen. I require a public display of the might we can wield with the assistance of uncanny magic.’

The timing was ridiculous; impossible. But at least Keldec was not suggesting this new force be ready to march out to battle somewhere; at least it was only a demonstration. Flint tried to balance the arguments quickly, before someone else offered to do it and the whole mad enterprise lurched onward like an ill-balanced cart. If he wanted a chance to eliminate the Caller, he’d have to volunteer Stag Troop for this job. Could he bring himself to do that, even if it meant culling some of the Good Folk? Or should he let someone else go, stay close to the king, keep out of trouble? That way he would survive until midsummer. There was a great longing in him to stand up beside the rebels in the final confrontation; to show the king his true colours. Still, after everything, Regan’s flame burned bright.
You have the king’s trust, despite all
, his inner voice told him.
Make him believe in you. This is your most powerful weapon.

‘My lord King, I volunteer Stag Troop for this mission.’ There was, at least, the satisfaction of seeing he had astonished both the queen and Brydian. ‘As I have said, my men are highly experienced in combat training, though this would be a new challenge for them. The decision is yours alone, of course. If you choose to honour us with this responsibility, I’ll leave my capable second-in-command at Seven Oaks for a short while to assist with the transfer of responsibility for the young men from the south. We also have a group of aspiring Enforcers in training. They’ll come to Summerfort with the troop; the experience will only sharpen their skills.’ Black Crow have mercy; he hoped he would not regret this the moment the king said yes.

Keldec smiled. Briefly, there was nothing but simple pleasure on his narrow features, and Flint caught a glimpse of the man he might have been, if he had not been born to rule. If he had not wed as he had. If he had been blessed with wiser councillors. ‘Thank you, Owen,’ the king said. ‘That is exactly what I wanted to hear. This enterprise could not be in more capable hands.’ It was quite plain the queen wanted to interject, but the king was captured by his own enthusiasm and went on, not noticing. ‘Berrian, Hound Troop will take over the work at Seven Oaks – an easier duty, without any doubt. Think of it as a reward for the leadership you showed on the expedition south. Bull Troop will be similarly recognised.’ He rose to his feet; everyone else did the same. ‘We will leave you now. You’ll have many practical arrangements to put in place. Get it done quickly. The sooner these folk are out of here, the better. Brydian, you will travel with Esten, of course. You will ensure his safety. And we will rely on you to send frequent reports. Midsummer is not so very far away. But I am confident none of you will disappoint me.’

Chapter Nine

T
he uncanny army left Winterfort in the same manner as it had arrived there: surrounded by men with naked blades. Once well clear of the fortress, Flint called a halt and ordered his men not to intimidate their captives with iron. Unless their leaders gave a specific instruction, the men of Stag and Wolf troops were to keep their weapons sheathed and rely on the Caller to maintain control.

Brydian protested. While Esten was capable of doing what was required, it was foolish to travel without the additional precaution of iron. Hadn’t Owen seen what happened in the courtyard at Winterfort? Flint heard him out. Then he told Brydian to stick to his own job, which was to look after the Caller’s welfare, and let him deal with matters of security.

They proceeded with their iron shielded. Esten had not said a word. He rode beside Brydian, just behind the last of the Good Folk. The Caller looked frail, like a man with a mortal illness. Would Neryn, too, in time, become a wraith with haunted eyes, shrunken by the practice of her craft? Or would her innate goodness keep her strong?

This, with the iron, was less of a risk than it seemed, since the men could reach their concealed weapons quickly enough if Flint gave the order. It had seemed important to establish some small element of goodwill with these folk as early as possible. He had yet to decide what approach he and his men would take once they reached Summerfort. Unless he laid down his arms and walked away, inviting a knife in the back, he’d have to go through the motions of training Keldec’s uncanny army in conventional fighting. They were unlikely to cooperate of their own free will. The only way to secure their obedience thus far had been to compel it, using the Caller. Do that, and Brydian would have control. Nobody spoke to Esten without Brydian; nobody got close enough to have a conversation with the man, let alone take action to remove him. So much for the hope that Esten would travel with them and leave his minder back at Winterfort with the king – he’d been a fool to believe that might happen. It had been all very well to overrule Brydian today, out on the road, on a mission with his troop around him. At Summerfort it would be different. Flint wondered, not for the first time, if he had dug a grave, not only for the hapless beings from the south, but for his comrades and himself. One official complaint to Keldec, one personal note to the queen, and he’d be relieved of his responsibility immediately. And, disastrous as the current situation was, with little prospect of his eliminating the Caller, at least if he was nominally in charge he had some chance of altering the course of events before the Gathering.