The Caller (44 page)

‘Done, then,’ he said. ‘For the length of the battle, and for as long as it takes your survivors to limp home, I will shield them.’

‘Thank you.’ I felt a great weight leave my shoulders.

‘I would wish you luck.’ He looked quite serious now, his strange eyes fixed on my face as if they would read what was in the deepest part of my mind. ‘But this is not a matter of luck. It’s courage, strength, resolve. And knowing the right moment to bring it to an end. Don’t forget that, Caller.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You wonder why I offered that fellow training,’ the Master said. ‘I did not seek him out. He came to me asking to be taught. I obliged, up to a point. Such a gift is best guided well, nurtured and shaped as, say, a fine apple tree might be. In some, such as yourself, the gift is strong, the mind is keen and the heart is sound. In others, flaws become quickly apparent; flaws that can never be remedied. Thus it was with this young man. I withdrew my support.’

‘And now he’s here at Summerfort with a powerful gift that he doesn’t know how to use wisely.’

‘That is for you to deal with,’ said the Master of Shadows.

‘Ellida?’ Brenn’s voice came from below the trapdoor. ‘Who are you talking to?’

‘Nobody,’ I said, glancing down. And when I looked back toward the place where the Master of Shadows had been standing, it was true. From one moment to the next, he had vanished.

Two days until midsummer, and the last of the chieftains arrived: Sconlan of Glenbuie, Ness of Corriedale, and the formidable northern leader, Lannan Long-Arm, a towering figure with a mane of red hair and a look of harnessed power that put me in mind of an eagle. Such a substantial force had come with Lannan that the level ground beyond the fortress walls was full from one side to the other with horses, men and women, and all the paraphernalia required to sustain them. The keep was bursting at the seams.

There were two guards stationed outside the infirmary door now, day and night – someone had put this arrangement in place straight after my night down in the cells. So close to the Gathering, I was especially glad of their presence. The small gifts and kindnesses continued; if Brenn had really been my husband, he might have had cause for jealousy. This all seemed somewhat odd, but I had no time to ponder it. Midsummer was looming, and I faced the test of my life.

The special forces ceased training. Instead of dealing with combat injuries, we were tending to folk with cuts and bruises, pains in the belly, chronic complaints of one kind or another. Our job was made easier by the presence of two other healers: one from the household of Sconlan of Glenbuie, a chieftain whose allegiance I did not know; the other from that of Erevan of Scourie, who had been behind that raid on the house of the wise women. They’d set up a makeshift infirmary out in the encampment and were looking after the folk housed there.

I had little news of Flint. The men were still saying the king planned to make an example of him at the Gathering. They talked about it often, and it seemed to me the anger among them was like a bed of coals that might flare high at any time. I felt a change spreading through the whole household. The punishment of Dai, the small son of Brand and Scia, had upset many people. Scia would not talk about it. Pale, red-eyed, composed, she went about her work in a tight silence as effective as any shield. Dai had recovered from the whipping; that much I knew. But I saw something new on Brand’s face as he stood in the great hall, watching the king and queen. The place felt like a spring wound close to snapping point.

At supper time, Devan and I stood up in our places with everyone else as the chieftains of Alban and their wives made their way to the high table: Erevan of Scourie; Gormal of Glenfalloch; Keenan of Wedderburn. Sconlan of Glenbuie and Ness of Corriedale. At the end walked Lannan Long-Arm, proud and tall in his princely robes. If the battle was won, he would play a key part in Alban’s future, most likely as co-regent. I watched him as I picked at my supper, wondering if he would be a better leader than Keldec, or whether power might turn him, too, into a tyrant. I wondered what would happen to Tali and the other rebels if we won. What would their place be in that future Alban?

Brenn was coming over to our table. Now that Stag Troop had been relieved of training duty, he and his comrades ate in the hall with the rest of us. He had another man with him, a sturdily built fellow in the green of Gormal’s household.

‘Ellida, you remember Macc, don’t you? Gormal’s master-at-arms?’

I rose to my feet. ‘Macc, it’s good to see you.’

‘And you, Ellida,’ said Macc, who had never met me in his life before. ‘Lord Gormal sent me to deliver an invitation, seeing as Morven here will be participating in some of the activities of the Gathering. You’re not a tall girl, and there’s always such a press of folk out there on the day, you’ll be lucky to see anything. Lord Gormal says you’re welcome to sit with us. Some of the men have their wives with them; you’ll have plenty of company. We’ll be well positioned in that raised area, you know the spot?’

‘That would be wonderful, Macc. Please pass on my thanks to Lord Gormal.’ Elation and terror fought within me. Yes, it would be an ideal place; I would have a clear view across the open area. It would also be close to the king and queen, and to Esten.

‘Back row, most likely,’ Macc said in apologetic tones. ‘Among the men-at-arms. But you’ll get a good view.’

‘I’m grateful. I mustn’t miss the chance to admire Morven in action.’ Someone had arranged this perfectly for what I must do. I did not ask questions, simply accepted the gift it was.

Brenn bent and kissed me on the cheek. ‘I hope to do you proud,’ he said.

Devan looked at me a little oddly as the two men made their way back to their own table. ‘I suppose it’s different when your man’s an Enforcer,’ she said quietly.

‘Different?’

‘Just . . . well, I’ve heard some talk about what the Gathering’s like, and I think if I had the chance to spend the day in the infirmary, I’d be glad of it.’

‘Shh!’ The woman on her other side hissed a warning. ‘Don’t speak like that, someone might hear you.’

Devan applied her concentration to her plate.

‘I don’t suppose I’ll be out there long,’ I said lightly. ‘Toleg will be needing me.’

One day before the Gathering, and the place was strung still tighter. Toleg had gone grim and silent, and Scia kept dropping things. When Rohan Death-Blade took a turn on guard duty, I left my work and went out into the hallway to speak with him.

‘May I have a word privately, Rohan?’

He nodded and we retreated out of earshot of the other guard.

‘What is it? All well?’

‘I was wondering . . .’ I shouldn’t ask.

‘Wondering what?’

‘Rohan, what will they do to Owen? Is there no way he can be saved? He . . . he seems a good man.’ For that speech alone, to the wrong ears, I could find myself on the list for the king’s punishment.

‘I can’t answer that, Ellida.’

Of course he could not; we both knew the king intended Owen Swift-Sword to die, one way or another, before the Gathering was over. ‘I don’t suppose . . .’ I began, then stopped myself.

‘Owen told me nobody’s to go down there today.’ Rohan had guessed what it was I could not bring myself to put into words. ‘Brocc and Ardon are both on guard.’

Enthralled men, the two of them. The king was taking no chances, not with this prisoner to be paraded before the loyal people of Alban tomorrow.

‘What about you?’ I asked, blinking back tears. It had been a slim chance anyway; I could not think of a plausible reason to go down to the cells. For four nights after the mind-mending I had brewed a double supply of Oblivion and Rohan had collected it from me in the infirmary; for several days Toleg had gone down regularly to check on Ruarc’s progress and to treat Flint’s eyes. But Ruarc was no longer in the cells. And if Flint had said nobody was to go down there, it meant he did not want to see me. Not even to say farewell. Not even to say goodbye forever.

‘I’ll be there tonight,’ Rohan said, lowering his voice still further. ‘I may be acting troop leader, but Owen’s my leader, always. I’ll stay with him until we have to march out in the morning. He won’t be on his own.’

I nodded, unable to find words.

‘Want me to relay a message?’

I swallowed. ‘Only that I wish him well. That I wish him courage for tomorrow.’

‘I’ll tell him. You’d best go back in.’

‘Thank you, Rohan. I think you are a good friend.’

‘Thank me when tomorrow’s over,’ he said.

At supper time I couldn’t eat a single bite. Chances were that by tomorrow’s end all of us would be dead: me and Brenn, Ean and those young men, the captive Good Folk, Tali and her rebel band and everyone who stood up beside them. And Flint; if the king acted as everyone expected, he might be the first to go. Unless Tali declared herself before Keldec enacted whatever punishment he had in mind for the man who had once been his friend. I sipped at my ale in silence, my head full of dark thoughts.

‘Are you unwell, Ellida?’ Devan asked.

‘A little nervous about tomorrow. It is my first Gathering. But excited, too, for Morven’s sake.’ Oh, the lies.

Devan made no further comment. Despite the crowd, the mood in the dining hall was subdued – no buzz of anticipatory chatter, no making of wagers on likely events. Instead, a brooding quiet in which folk glanced at each other and looked away. Up at the high table, Keldec was in conversation with Lannan Long-Arm, who was seated beside him. Queen Varda had Esten next to her, with Brydian on his other side. If I succeeded tomorrow, if my call did prove stronger than Esten’s, what would become of him?

I would have left the table early, but the rules of the royal household meant I must stay until Keldec and Varda got up. When at last they did so, Rohan Death-Blade made his way over to me.

‘I’m heading up to have a word with Toleg. I’ll walk with you.’

Halfway there, he drew me into a little alcove at one side of the hallway, first checking to make sure nobody was close. ‘I hadn’t planned to be in the hall for supper, but I have something for you. Keep it hidden.’ He reached into his pouch and brought out a small item wrapped in a handkerchief. He laid it on my palm. Without unfolding the covering, I closed my hand around it and knew what it was. A terrible grief clutched at me; a sob threatened to burst out.

‘There was no message,’ Rohan added. He was watching me closely. Surely, after all this, I was not now being trapped into revealing the truth. ‘To me, he said,
Best if you forget me
. But he seems calm. Strangely calm, considering all.’

‘Thank you for bringing this,’ I managed, slipping the handkerchief bundle into my own pouch. ‘I should get back now.’

He walked with me to the infirmary, where Toleg was eating his own supper from a tray. Rohan settled on the bench to talk to him. I went through to the stillroom and shut the door behind me. Seated on the edge of my pallet, with my throat tight and my heart breaking, I took out the bundle, unfolded the handkerchief and revealed the talisman Flint wore always around his neck, the dream vial his mentor had given him when he’d completed the long training as a mind-mender. A shard from a particular cave in the isles; an ancient, precious symbol. Within its depths, something stirred and shifted, as nebulous as a dream. The crystal was set in a clawed silver fitting, and around the top was twisted a lock of my hair. In this small artefact, Flint had carried the memory of the two people he loved most in the world.