Silvermay (24 page)

‘Words from another language. Master Dessar didn't know what they meant.'

Miston sat on the rocky perch where the hawk had rested so recently and, with a wave of his hand, suggested I sit on another close by. ‘My area of study is ancient languages, Silvermay. Those words come from a tongue no longer spoken in Athlane, no longer spoken anywhere we know of for certain, but we have writings in the strange dialect, enough for me to know what those words say. A perfect translation isn't possible, but in our language we would say perhaps “Into your care” or “Take care of this”.'

‘I don't understand. Why are those words so important?'

‘Because they are vital to anyone who wishes to wield the boy's magic. Do you recall who passed the baby into the hands of the helmeted warrior?'

I tried, but there was no face, no body, to remember. ‘It was just a pair of arms; a woman's arms, because they were slim and the sleeves belonged to a dress, not a man's shirt.'

He seemed impressed that I could remember so well.

‘My brother scholars studied that picture for many hours,' he said, ‘and pondered why those alien words were added so many years ago. In the end, we were unanimous. It means this child, possessed of such terrible power, must be surrendered willingly into the hands of any who seek to command him. He cannot simply be taken.'

‘If that's true, then Coyle certainly didn't know about it,' I protested. ‘He ordered his men to kill Nerigold and steal the baby. One of them told me so as he lay dying.'

Miston listened calmly to my arguments, like a father attacked by the fists of an angry child. ‘Coyle Strongbow is hardly a subtle man, Silvermay, and ruthless ambition can blind a villain to details. It's a failing among the Wyrdborn, and the strongest of them can be the most afflicted. It seems Coyle had a spy in my cousin's camp who showed him Arnou's sketches from the chamber, including those strange words. He must have seen those arms handing over the boy yet he couldn't read the words and so didn't heed their warning. But Ezeldi is a schemer herself and used to such traps. She would have recognised the teasing irony of magic in those docile arms. Perhaps she used magic to translate the words for herself. Who can know the odd powers of the Wyrdborn? What seems more certain is that she passed on the news to her son. Do you understand now, Silvermay? Tamlyn knew from
the beginning that to wield such overwhelming power, he must convince the mother to surrender the boy to him.'

I knew what Miston was suggesting and I wasn't going to let him have the smug satisfcation of saying it out loud.

‘You think he was helping Nerigold so she would give her baby to him so he would survive. You didn't know Nerigold, Master Dessar. She was braver than any of you realise.'

Again he treated my protests with a condescending shrug. ‘All Tamlyn had to do was win her confidence then wait until Nerigold feared for her life. No matter how brave she was, like any mother she would want her son cared for in case something happened to her.'

I saw myself once more in the chamber, Tamlyn beside me as we kneeled over Nerigold.
Leave him in my care
, Tamlyn had pleaded. At the time I had thought it was a way of asking forgiveness. He'd wanted it as much as I had. Now, Miston Dessar was suggesting something else … Was that why Tamlyn hadn't killed Lucien while I fled into the cave? Had it all been an act, his tenderness, his tears?

No, no, I couldn't let such a thought into my head.

‘That's not what happened,' I said. ‘Nerigold gave him to me, instead. I am his mother now!'

‘And so Tamlyn turned his charm onto you.'

His words hit me like a punch beneath my ribs.

‘I'm right, aren't I, Silvermay? He has won your heart as well as your trust, if I'm not mistaken.'

‘You don't know what you're talking about! Tamlyn won my heart long before Nerigold died.'

There was so much I could shout at him that made me sure: the nights outside my cottage when we'd first begun to talk; the playful sparring while we hunted; the words, the looks, the touches once I knew there was nothing between him and Nerigold. But these were like diamonds to me. They were far too precious to throw at a stranger to prove what he refused to believe. And since only I knew of them, he would dismiss them, anyway.

A voice called my name, interrupting my thoughts. It was Ryall, approaching tentatively with Lucien in his arms.

‘I thought I heard a horse,' he said. ‘I came to see that you were all right. Who's this man?'

What did names matter? I wished I'd never laid eyes on the man, no matter what he called himself. I snatched Lucien out of Ryall's hands and headed down the slope as fast as the treacherous path would allow. Let Miston Dessar introduce himself and repeat to Ryall the loathsome stories he'd told me about Tamlyn. I certainly didn't want to hear them again.

Once on level ground, I ran to the meagre camp
we'd set up for ourselves these last few days, but there was no comfort there, either. I kept walking until a fallen log offered a seat in deep shadow, and here I finally let the misery catch up with me, the misery that had chased me down the hill and along the forest tracks, knowing I could not out-distance it, knowing it would soon get its chance to torment my poor heart. I cried bitter tears that wouldn't stop. Lucien was my only comfort, but he was so little and I hugged him to myself so tightly that he wriggled and complained until I had to set him down at my feet.

He immediately began to giggle.
Free
,
free
, he seemed to be saying. He pushed himself up on his arms and tried the same with his legs, seeming aware suddenly that his knees would support him if he could only work out how. What was I to make of him? Not even eight weeks old and about to crawl!

At least watching his extraordinary efforts slowed my tears, and then the cracking of twigs underfoot broke my solitude. Poor Ryall, I doubted he'd ever seen a girl dissolve into tears like this, and he didn't know how to respond when he found me such a watery mess. He had a good heart inside that skinny chest of his, though, and somehow it told him to sit beside me and say nothing.

Miston Dessar followed behind him. ‘I'm sorry to bring you such painful news, Silvermay. And you, too, Ryall. You were in Tamlyn's thrall, as well.'

I'd forgotten that. Ryall had grown to trust Tamlyn as much as I did. I turned to him and threw my arms around his neck. A few days ago he'd retreated, blushing, into the darkened forest when all I'd done was utter a few friendly words of thanks. But he was growing up quickly, as I'd told him in Ledaris. He stayed on the log beside me now, let my arms and my face weigh heavily on his neck, and put his arms around me.

‘Tamlyn is a Wyrdborn,' Miston went on. ‘It's in his nature to cheat and betray, no less than it's natural for a cat to play cruel games with a mouse. A Wyrdborn cannot live any other way no matter how much he pretends.'

Ryall released me and straightened up to face him. ‘You're right, and we were too quick to forget it, despite everything we'd heard about the Wyrdborn. Look at Theron — I thought he wanted to help us back there in Ledaris. I was taken in by his tricks. What you're saying about Tamlyn … I don't want to believe it, but maybe he tricked us even more.'

‘No!' I turned on him savagely. ‘He fought desperately to keep us all from Hallig and those dogs, when all you did was run away.'

Who was being cruel now? I might as well have slashed Ryall across the face with Theron's dagger. He looked away in shame, when the real shame was mine.
But I had to make them understand. Tamlyn wouldn't betray us like this; he wouldn't betray me!

‘He made Hallig's dogs chase him. Have you forgotten that, Ryall? He led them away from Lucien so we could reach Ledaris.'

Miston looked surprised. ‘I haven't heard of this battle, but if he fought off his brother, as you say, Silvermay, there's an obvious reason. He's locked in a deadly struggle to possess this little boy.' He nodded at Lucien, who continued to experiment with his unruly limbs at my feet, quite unconcerned with what we were arguing about. ‘Hallig may be his brother but he's an enemy, too. There is no love or loyalty in Wyrdborn families as there is among the commonfolk. Tamlyn wants your little Lucien's power for himself; he wants the unbridled command it will bring. If he gets it, you'll soon see what savagery he's capable of.'

‘He's not like that,' I said. ‘He fought against his father's cruelty, he didn't want to be like him. In return, Coyle blinded his dogs and turned them against him.'

Miston's eyebrows darted upwards. ‘Who told you it was Coyle who mutilated the dogs?'

I could see he didn't expect me to answer. His gaze felt like leaden chains upon me, and knowing he would tell me himself was more than I could bear. Would it do any good to block up my ears?

‘Tamlyn blinded those poor beasts for sport,' he went on. ‘Everyone in Vonne knew about it. These are the ways by which the Wyrdborn create fear among the commonfolk.'

My treacherous mind dredged up a scene: not of tormented dogs, but of a hawk perched on Tamlyn's arm. Once again, my ears heard the crack of its neck breaking.

‘No wonder those dogs attacked him so savagely,' I muttered.

I was weakening, no matter how much I wanted to hold out against Miston's relentless stories. I had to hold out, because my heart would die inside my chest if I didn't. It would wither into a foul and hideous corpse, like the unfortunate thief who whispered a silent warning above the gates of Ledaris. Left to die in a cage like that, my desiccated heart would warn of trust betrayed and love painfully surrendered.

‘We promised Nerigold to save Lucien from his fate,' I said. ‘Or at least I did. That's why Ryall and I were in Ledaris, to find a talisman he'd need to be released from his powers.'

‘We found it, too,' said Ryall, looking pleased to be able to boast of success rather than wallow in our betrayal. ‘Show him the tattoo, Silvermay.'

‘Tattoo?' asked Miston, his interest piqued.

I stuffed my hand into the pocket of my dress, more
to please Ryall than because I shared his pride. ‘There was no talisman, just this symbol tattooed onto Theron's skin.' I pulled my hand free and opened my palm.

Miston inspected it for a moment. ‘That
is
Theron's skin, I take it?'

‘He doesn't need it any more,' said Ryall with a smirk.

His words were callous, but I didn't feel the slightest remorse for the dead Wyrdborn, either, or how I'd come to be carrying this macabre token of what I'd done to him.

‘What sorcerers can take away a Wyrdborn's powers?' asked Miston. ‘I've never heard of this before.'

‘There are none in Athlane,' I explained. ‘We must take Lucien to Erebis Felan.'

‘Erebis Felan,' Miston repeated thoughtfully. ‘An ambitious plan, since there's no proof that the land even exists.'

‘Your cousin was sure it did,' I told him. ‘I'm surprised you never discussed it.'

He shrugged. ‘Scholars have their special interests. Arnou knew more of the ancient legends than I do. Tell me about the pledge you made.'

There was no need to keep my promise a secret. In a way, hearing myself repeat it out loud made me even more determined to stand by the oath, despite the painful memory of who had pledged himself alongside
me. As I spoke of Nerigold's last breaths, Miston met my eyes, but when I moved on to his cousin's part and the story of Haylan Redwing that Master Dessar had read to us, he looked away.
He is still grieving
, I told myself at first, but when his hands fidgeted I began to think there was more to his nervousness.

‘There's something you haven't told us, Master Dessar,' I said.

‘Oh, but I have. It's just that you don't understand its significance. King Chatiny knows of little Lucien and that means your chances of saving him are ten times more difficult. He's as desperate to get hold of the boy as Coyle and Tamlyn are. I told you: he even sent scholars like me into the countryside to search. By now every soldier under his command will be doing the same.'

‘The king,' I muttered. ‘But isn't that a good thing? If Lucien is under his protection —'

Miston wouldn't let me finish. ‘No, Silvermay, you don't understand. The king has plans of his own.'

My heart was still beating, despite my mental image of it as a shrivelled captive. At this interruption, it cringed and cowered in a corner of my chest.

‘The king wants to command Lucien's powers as well?' I asked.

To my surprise — or was it relief? — Miston shook his head. ‘Chatiny doesn't want the baby's powers. He
rules Athlane already without them. What worries him is any threat to his rule. No, Silvermay, he wants the boy dead.'

I hadn't guessed such a thing, not even for a moment, and I gaped at Miston in shock. It was Ryall who came up with an even greater fear.

‘That's why you're here, isn't it, Master Dessar? You're going to kill Lucien yourself.'

As he spoke, he stood up quickly to confront Miston. This gave me time to sweep Lucien into my arms and slide backwards off the log, ready to flee.

‘There's no need to run, Silvermay,' he called to me over Ryall's shoulder. ‘I don't have the stomach to kill an innocent child, even if there were a way. He's Wyrdborn, remember, and not easy to kill.'

‘What will you do then?' Ryall said. ‘Hand him over to the first patrol you find on the road? I'm sure Chatiny will find a way to kill him. Well, not while there's breath in my body.' And he advanced on Miston, determined to throttle him with his bare hands.

‘Hold!' cried Miston. He'd taken a step backwards to stay clear of Ryall's grasp, but at the same time a dagger had appeared in his hand with remarkable speed. ‘Don't mistake me for a lumbering grey-hair. I might spend my days among books, but I was a young blade like you once and I can still hold my own in a fight.'