The Shadow of Malabron (26 page)

“You know why they’ve been searching for the Angel,” Will said.

Pendrake nodded.

“I know some of the tale,” he said, and closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering the story from within himself. Then he opened them again, and began.

He told them of the shining city of Eleel-upon-the-sea, and of Seelah, the weaver of wondrous tapestries, and her brother Ethain, the smith. He spoke of Lotan, the noble prince to whom Seelah was betrothed, and how he went away to war against the forces of the Night King, and how Seelah waited for him, and wove her greatest work, a tapestry that told the history of the long war. And how at long last Lotan returned, but as a betrayer, leading an army of Nightbane under concealing spellcraft to the unsuspecting city. Seelah rode out to meet him, and she discovered the truth, but before she could warn her people, Lotan changed her into a raven. She escaped from him and flew back to Eleel, but her voice came out in harsh croaks, and no one understood her warnings, except her brother Ethain.

“By then it was too late,” Pendrake said.

As the sun rose, Lotan led the enemy through the opened gates. The city’s last day began in fear and fire. Where there had been music and light, cries of horror rose to the sky. Blood stained the once-gleaming stones. The city itself was unshaped. The bright towers became jagged black spires of fear. When it was clear that Eleel was lost, Ethain and Seelah fled with the other survivors. And so they became the Shee n’ashoon, the Hidden Folk, and the Green Court began its long wandering. But while she was bound to Lotan by spellcraft, Seelah could not remain with her people. She went into exile. And Ethain went with her.”

A shadow filled the entrance to the bower. Moth stood there a moment, looking back, then ducked his head and entered.

“Lotan was once as I am,” he said, sitting beside Will. “I knew that a blade of fever iron could tear apart the spells that knit borrowed flesh over his nothingness. And so I forged one, and carried it with me wherever we went.”

“The two of you went searching for him,” Finn said.

“We took new names, darker names to hide our true origin. We searched for many years, but found no trace of Lotan. It was said he had perished in the fall of Eleel, but we knew he had lived on, because the spell upon Seelah was not broken. Then we began to hear rumours of the Angel, and we wondered if he was Lotan returned, though we could never find him. We searched, and many years went by, and wherever we went the curse of the
gaal
turned the hearts of good folk against us. At last we sought refuge and peace in the Bourne. I thought we would stay there for ever, Will, until you came.”

“But you could return to your people,” Rowen said. “Just for a short time, I mean. If we find them, maybe Will can get home…” She faltered when she saw the look of bitterness on Moth’s face.

“Over the years the
gaal
blinded us to our own people,” he said, “as if we too have become like Lotan. We cannot pierce the veils of enchantment that the Tain have woven round themselves. Morrigan and I would find the Green Court for you, Will, if we could, but we cannot even find it for ourselves.”

W
HEN THE RAIN
let up they set off to finish crossing the lake. Other than the occasional glimpse of birds, or small animals darting through the tussocks, nothing moved except themselves. They kept careful watch for the shrowde but saw no sign of it.

Shortly after noon they reached dry ground, and found a track that wound up through the stony hills they had glimpsed from the other side of the lake. The day was cold and sunless, and the raw air seemed to scrape at their faces.

Before long they caught the scent of a fire. Morrigan investigated and returned to report that a number of people, forty or so, men, women and children, were camped in the woods near by. Finn went to speak to these other travellers. As a knight-candidate of the Errantry, he was the most likely to be journeying alone in these lands. He was not gone long, and when he returned he told the others what he had learned. The people camped in the woods were folk who had once lived near Skald, farmers for the most part and their families. They were abandoning their homes and had banded together for protection as they searched for safer lands.

“There is no refuge any longer in Skald, they told me,” Finn said. “They would say no more about it. I could tell they wished me gone. Anyone who dares travel alone in this country is suspect.”

In the afternoon their path crossed a narrow, rising road. The companions decided to risk taking it, for the greater swiftness it would give their route to Skald. As they climbed, the hills on each side grew steeper, until they became sloping walls of bare rock.

They had not been on the road long when they heard the creak of wheels and the slow clop of hooves approaching from round a bend up ahead.

“I will meet these folk,” Pendrake said quickly. “An old man is less of a threat, and we may learn more.”

While the others concealed themselves in the undergrowth, Pendrake sat down on a fallen log by the side of the road. A cart piled with all manner of things came into view, pulled by a dispirited-looking horse. An equally glum-looking cow plodded after the cart on a lead. The driver of the cart, a young man with a dusty, careworn face, caught sight of Pendrake and brought the horse to a halt. Beside him sat a young woman with a child on her knee, and from the cart, hidden among chicken crates and furniture, two other small faces peeped out.

“Where are you bound, father?” the driver asked. “We have a little room left. Enough for one more, at least.”

“Much thanks for your kindness, but I am going the other way, towards Skald. Is it much further along this road?”

“Skald?” the man said sharply, and now he eyed the toymaker with mistrust. “Why would you want to go to there?”

“My errand takes me to that city.”

“Then it is a fool’s errand,” the man growled, and flicked the reins. The cart creaked away, raising dust in its wake.

As evening fell, the road led through a steeply descending ravine. On either side lay a deep, shadowy ditch filled with thorn bushes. They followed the road round a last rocky outcrop and before them, at the far end of a long narrow valley, rose the dark walls of Skald. Beyond the city loomed the black shapes of the hills, silhouetted by the setting sun. As the wind streamed across the valley towards them, Will caught a cold, familiar scent and realized it was snow.

Even in the twilight Will could see that this city was not at all like Fable. Its outer wall was high and seemed to have been carved out of the stony hillside. The final approach to its gates was a narrow, arching bridge across a dark chasm. The bridge was made of translucent stone and lined with torches burning yellow, red, green and blue, so that the stones themselves seemed to glow with a many-coloured light. What could be glimpsed of the city was not as welcoming. The battlements and towers looked huddled and lifeless. The only other illumination was a sullen, blueish-green flickering that rose here and there among the spires and rooftops.

“What is that, Grandfather?” Rowen asked. “It looks like fire, but…”

Pendrake seemed lost in thought, and did not answer.

“This is worse than I imagined,” he said finally, his voice weary and grave. “Yes, that is a kind of fire, Rowen, but it gives no warmth. I wonder what has happened to the mages who had the guarding of the city. A dangerous force has been let loose here.”

“Then we should stay away,” Finn said. “This city is as unsafe as the land that surrounds it.”

“The power of the sword has been growing as we neared the city,” Moth agreed. “If nightcrawlers and shadowfolk now roam free in these streets, they will be drawn to the
gaal
. And not only that, but the fire obscures my sight, and Morrigan’s, too. Evil could be near by and we might not sense it in time.”

“I have encountered such fire, and such creatures before,” Pendrake said. “If it came to a choice between Skald and the thing hunting us, I prefer our chances here. However, it is not my decision to make.”

He turned to Will, who gave the eerily glowing rooftops of the city another look. Did it really matter what he chose? So far they had run from one danger straight into another. He felt nothing inside but weariness and doubt.

“Skald,” he said, just to end the silence.

“Morrigan and I should remain outside the city, then,” Moth said, “at least for now. We came here once before and we were not welcome. Besides, we will be of better use to you out here. While you are in the city we can scout out the road ahead, and keep watch for any sign of Lotan or his minions.”

“Very well,” Pendrake said. “Should we choose a place and time to meet?”

“We will find you,” Moth said. “We have done it before, after all.”

Just then Finn raised a hand in warning, and a moment later from out of the ditches rose a group of cloaked figures. Naked steel flashed in the twilight. The companions quickly gathered into a circle and drew their weapons.

“Who are you?” a low, gruff voice demanded. “Why have you come to Skald? Speak.”

“We are travellers stopping here on our way to other parts,” Pendrake said in a calm, unhurried tone. “The last time I visited this city the reception was more welcoming.”

Will peered at the shadowy figures surrounding them. In the gloom he could not be sure how many there were, and the terrifying thought struck him that these were not living people but fetches.

“Have you not heard?” the voice said. “No one comes to this city now. No one with good intent, anyhow.”

“If we had known—” Finn began.

“Silence,” the voice commanded. “Where is the other? The tall one with the bird of the slain. He was here only a moment ago.”

Will looked around. Somehow Moth and Morrigan had melted into the evening shadows, although he felt sure they were near by, ready to strike if it came to that.

“They were companions of ours for a time, but they went their own way,” Pendrake said. “You needn’t be concerned about them.”

“Enough. You will turn round now and go back the way you came, or by the black dog you will regret it.”

To Will’s astonishment, Pendrake burst into laughter.

“The black dog,” he echoed, stepping forward. “Only one man I know swears by that animal. Is this your new occupation, Ragnar Harke, waylaying innocent travellers in the road?”

There was a brief silence, followed by a murmured consultation among several of the shadowy figures. Then a lantern appeared from underneath a cloak and lit the faces round it. One among these faces held Will’s gaze: it was half hidden by a bushy beard and so broad and ruddy that it was almost troll-like. The tangled hair that framed this strange face was coal-black but streaked with threads of silver. One of the eyes was murky and apparently sightless, while the other stared hard at the toymaker in apparent disbelief.

“Pendrake?” this man said cautiously, his strange face now going through a swift contortion that took it from deep suspicion to surprise and dawning delight. He drew back his hood and stepped forward. “Nicholas Pendrake of the Bourne, or hang me.”

“The first of the two, let us hope,” said the toymaker. “I take it hard that you didn’t know my voice, Ragnar. Has it been that many years?”

“Too many,” the bearded man said, coming forward to grasp the toymaker by the hand. Over his shoulder rested a huge, long-handled axe. His rough face beamed with pleasure, but in the next instant his good eye had taken in the rest of the companions, lingered on Shade, and a shadow passed over his features.

“What has happened here, Ragnar?” Pendrake asked. “The last time I was in Skald, you were working at your smithy crafting shoes and ploughshares, not standing guard outside the walls in the dark.”

“What has happened here indeed,” the man called Harke said bitterly. “Our own folly has much to do with it.”

Will thought Harke was about to say more, but the blacksmith broke off abruptly and seemed to be weighing something in his thoughts. He turned to his companions and in an undertone conversed with them. Will could not hear what was said, but there seemed to be some disagreement between them. Finally Harke turned back to the toymaker.

“For your own good I shouldn’t allow you to take another step nearer to this city,” he said. “But I know you well enough, Master Nicholas, to guess that it is for someone else’s good that you’re here at all. I don’t know what your errand is, and I don’t care to know, but if you wish to stop in Skald for a while, I won’t hinder you.”

“Is that wise, Ragnar?” one of his companions said in a whisper that was audible to everyone.

“Wiser than most of the choices we’ve made lately,” Harke muttered. “Yes, I will take you into the city myself.”

“But not the wolf,” said the man who had spoken before.

“The wolf is no threat to Skald,” Pendrake said. “He has been our faithful companion on the road.”