The Bitterbynde Trilogy (116 page)

Toward midnight, the Black Dog was not there anymore.

She kept watch until dawn.

At first light, Tahquil-Rohain roused Viviana to take her turn at the watch. She did not mention their night visitor. No paw marks remained in the sifting ash layer to betray what had come and gone in the night. Tahquil-Rohain surmised there were two possibilities—that the Black Dog was seelie, and had guarded them against some unimaginable menace, or that it was one of the morthadu and had, hopefully, been warded off by one or more of the charms they carried. Either way, she and her friends were safe, for now. She warmed her stiff sinews with a sip of
nathrach deirge
, rolled herself in her cloak, and slept.

When she awoke a third possibility came to her—that the Dog had been unseelie, and had made sure they stayed put all night before going off to spread the news of their whereabouts to others who might be interested.

Quickly they departed from the ruin.

Daylight dribbled through clouds and fog. Breakfastless, the travellers climbed among the overgrown mullock heaps of the redundant mines that pocked the foot and heath-covered skirts of the mountain. All the while, the desire to hide pressed on them until it became almost overpowering. Eldritch gramarye seemed to crackle in the air, although nothing untoward could be seen or heard. Nothing was audible at all, in fact, save the wind soughing in their ears. Continually they glanced at the skies and to right and left, every nerve stretched, poised to dive for cover or run for their lives at the first sign of any living thing.

Over their heads, the rim of the caldera hung halfway up the sky. It blocked from view everything within its black walls, including the mysterious architecture of complex towers that, as legend had it, was the stronghold of Huon and his ghastly following. From here the Wild Hunt would put forth on the three nights of every full moon, to sweep out across the countryside and fall upon the unwary, doing to them what harm they chose.

Or not.

Messages received during the sojourn on Tamhania indicated that since the attack on Isse Tower, the Hunt had not been seen to ride …

Viviana said, ‘My la—Tahquil, there are too many of these slag-heaps—so many pitfalls and potholes. We must be wary. One false step might see one of us toppling down some hidden shaft. The very ground is treacherous. Many places have subsided, while others look to be in danger of collapsing.'

‘Wisely spoken, Via. You and Caitri must sit here in the shelter of this scrubby brake. I will wander alone awhile.'

‘It is so perilous, ma'am! What do you seek, exactly?'

‘I cannot say.'

‘Every bush and twig hides something that is ardent to harm us, I am certain. Can we not now go back?'

‘I have no choice. I am driven to wander here until I find some clue or key, or perish. There is no life for me in the world if I do not find an answer.'

‘And maybe if you do,' said Viviana.

‘My—' Caitri twisted her fingers together.

‘What is it, Caitri? If you have something of importance to impart to me, say it now.'

‘No. No, it is nothing.'

‘Stay here.'

‘Where are you going?'

‘To the very gates of Huntingtowers. I
forbid
you to follow. Wait for me. If I am not back by nightfall, leave with all speed.'

Tahquil left them sitting with their arms about each other; a pathetic picture, like a charcoal sketch of two orphaned waifs. She walked on, stumbling on clods, rocks, and freshly turned dirt, making sure she walked sunwise—for luck and protection—around the eroded mullock heaps. She recalled from descriptions given to her at Isse Tower that somewhere to the right lay a loop of the Ringroad; a section that was dreaded by road-caravans. But this did not concern her. It did not lie in her path. A low cliff did—she changed direction to walk parallel to it, under its briar-tangled overhang.

A creeper trailed across the ground. Its five-pointed leaves were glossy and dark green. Between them sprouted tiny inflorescences, pale green like the phosphorescence on rotting corpses. The plant attracted her attention. When her ankle brushed against it, fire ripped through her flesh. She jerked away.

Paradox ivy! You cursed leaf
.

She avoided it. In doing so, she missed seeing a mineshaft farther along, teetered on the edge of inviolate darkness, and overbalanced, but in the last instant she was able to throw herself backward. To break her fall she flung out her arms, but stones met her as she landed. She lay winded, her hands scrabbling at rubble and weeds.

Rising to her feet painfully, awkwardly, she noticed a scintilla of gold that winked, once, in the corner of her left eye. Where her hands had clutched the ground, something lay uncovered. She picked it up, brushing away the caked dirt.

And something like a memory spun before her eyes.

The ground emptied from beneath its feet. It hurtled downward, to be brought up on a spear-point of agony. A band around its arm had snagged on a projection. The scrawny thing dangled against the cliff face, slowly swinging like bait on a hook
.

Then slowly, with great effort, it lifted its other arm. Bird-boned fingers found the catch and released it. The band sprang open and the creature fell
.

The band. A bracelet, gold, with a white bird enameled on it. This she held in her hand.

And knew it belonged to her
.

The world faded.

Another took its place.

8

AVLANTIA

Quest and Questions

'Tis rumored that the Piper will come soon

And lead us all to Reason with his tune
.

New day shall dawn for those who wait, no doubt
—

And through the forests, laughter will ring out
.

T
RADITIONAL FOLK SONG

In ancient times, when the Ways between the Fair Realm and Erith were still open, of all the races of Men the Talith were most favoured by the Faêran—or so it was said. The people of that northern race were tall and golden-haired, eloquent, ardent in scholarship, delighting in poetry, music, and theater, skilled in the sports of field and track, valorous in war. Avlantia was their country, and this sun-beloved land was split into two regions—in the west, Auralonde of the Red Leaves; in the east, Ysteris of the Flowers.

The eringl trees of Auralonde grew nowhere else in Erith. Unlike the thorn bushes shipped from the cooler south to be planted in rows for hedges, their boughs were never bare, for they could not know the touch of snow in these warm climes. Their newly budded leaves glowed briefly green-gold. Unfurling, they swiftly deepened to red-gold, bronze, amber, and scarlet. The roofs of the eringl forests burned deep wine-crimson, and the glossy brown pillars supporting them were wound about with trails of a yellow-leaved vine. Fallen leaves mingled in a bright embroidery on the forest floors, buttoned with fire-bright hemispheres of mushrooms, forming a richly patterned carpet fit for royalty.

Branwyddan, King of the Talith, kept court in Auralonde at Hythe Mellyn, a mighty city built of the golden stone called mellil, which gleamed in the sunlight like pale honey. Tier upon tier, the city's shining roofs, spires, and belfries rose upon the hillside, crowned by the King's palace. Neat shops and taverns bordered the side-streets. Tall and imposing houses flanked the city square, which was overlooked also by the domed Law Courts and the gracious columns of the Council Chambers. In stone horse-troughs, white doves flurried on the water like fallen blossoms.

Below the city sprawled a green and fertile river valley, well-tilled, festooned with orchards, and on the other side of this valley the land climbed suddenly to the steep hills of the Dardenon Ranges, well-clad with the flame-coloured eringls of Auralonde. Hythe Mellyn prospered, as did all of Avlantia.

A plague of rats came to Hythe Mellyn, but though they poured into the city like liquid shadow in a nightmare, it was not their predations that emptied it. The rats were merely the heralds of its doom; many other matters were to come into play before the fate of Hythe Mellyn would be sealed.

At first, when they were few, the needle-eyed, yellow-fanged visitors seemed to be no more than a nuisance. After all, Hythe Mellyn until then had endured no plagues and few vermin. A squeaking and rustling in the night, a chewing of the corners of flour sacks and a depositing of filth in the pantries—these offenses were annoying but could be borne. Traps and baits were laid. It was thought these would eradicate the pests, but the rats' numbers grew steadily despite the efforts of the citizens to destroy them, and they grew bolder. In the hours of darkness they ran across the bedcovers of the citizens. With their septic teeth, they bit people's faces as they lay sleeping, the pain waking them to stare into a mask of horror.

Soon, not only at night were the rats abroad, but also during the hours of daylight. They were to be seen in the street-gutters and on the roofs of houses, scuttling across courtyards, poisoning the carved fountains with their waste. From every cleft and shadow stabbed the knife-point glint of their eyes, and the cold, thin whistling of their squeaks shrilled like spiteful giggling. Never was a pantry door opened without a rain of wriggling black bodies falling from the shelves and scurrying into the corners. Never was the once-sweet air free of the stench of decay and foulness. With sudden bustles of teeth, tails, and spines, the rodents clustered in the cellars like bunches of fat pears. They killed the songbirds in their cages and gnawed unwatched babes in their cradles.

Every countermeasure was tried. More traps and baits were laid, cats were brought in—but for every rodent that was destroyed, two more took its place. In desperation the Lord Mayor posted a reward to whomsoever should rid the city of this scourge—five bags of gold. As the news travelled, it brought in many adventurers from other countries eager to win their fortunes in such an easy way. But it was not easy—in fact, it proved impossible, and the reward grew from five bags to ten, and then to fifteen, as the plague intensified. Rogues and ruffians, itinerants, wizards and conjurers; all turned up with their bags of tricks, each more bizarre than the last, which they claimed would dispel this curse. None succeeded. The citizens now lived in a state of siege, with every cranny in every house sealed. Many people were too frightened to venture abroad at all, and the city was seized by paralysis, juddering to a standstill.

On the day the Lord Mayor officially increased the reward to twenty bags of, gold, a stranger arrived in Hythe Mellyn. Foreigners in outlandish garb being by now a common sight, this one caused no more than the raising of an eyebrow among the few who caught sight of him as he passed through the rat-infested streets toward the Chambers of the City Council in his gaily striped doublet, parti-coloured hose, and versicolour cloak, and his cap like a rainbow with three horns.

But as he entered into the stately oak-paneled halls of the Council Chambers and bowed before the Lord Mayor and councilors of Hythe Mellyn, his remarkable comeliness suddenly became apparent. Dark eyes, upswept at the outer corners, glittered beneath long lashes. Wavy hair rippled down his back; it was the colour of a blackbird's plumage, with a gleam of chestnut. The clinging fabric of his doublet showed his person to be muscular and lithe, slight but well-proportioned. A faint smile played along his lips, revealing flawless white teeth. His raiment glowed like the Southern Lights—a phenomenon never witnessed in Avlantia but spoken of with awe by travellers who had journeyed to the low, freezing latitudes of the deep south. They said they had seen these lights spread across the skies in luminous mantles of living, shifting colour—fire red, dawn amber, daffodil yellow, leaf green, ocean blue, twilight indigo, and violet. Such was the appearance of the stranger's exotic garb.

Stern-faced, the statesmen of Hythe Mellyn regarded him as he stood before them. Boldly he returned their gaze as if noting their blue eyes and noble features. The ice-white hair of the elders and the corn-yellow locks of the younger men fell across broad Talith shoulders richly cloaked in velvet.

‘I shall rid you of the plague, my lords,' the entrancing stranger said cheerfully, ‘for the price of twenty-one bags of gold.'

Among themselves the Lord Mayor and the aldermen saw no reason why this ‘colourful fellow', as they called him in murmured asides, should succeed where others had failed; and if by some miracle he did, why then they would be glad to shower him with twenty-one bags of gold, the freedom of the city, and more! Thus it was that they readily agreed to his price.

After he heard this, instead of departing to set up traps or wizardly devices, the handsome youth reached into his pocket, took out a set of pipes, and began to play a queer, wild tune. Immediately, the flesh of the listeners crepitated. Astonished and insulted by this odd behaviour, the councilors were about to order the sentries to cast out this offender when they were stayed by an even odder sight.

Down from the wall-hangings and across the floor of the Council Chambers came a thin, dark tide, its edges reaching out like crawling tentacles or threads, directed toward the Piper where he stood. Silently, as one organism, rats gathered at his feet. He turned and skipped away, still playing, and they followed him. In sudden fear, the sentries flung wide the brass-bound, oaken doors.

Outdoors and down the street danced the musician, trailed by his invidious entourage. Behind them, the officers of the Council burst out through the doorway. Their shouts and exclamations mingled with the eerie sound of the piping, which, it seemed, could be heard over the entire city. Above the city square, shutters banged open and faces peered out. Rats were gathering—thousands upon thousands of them. From every storehouse and granary, from every wainscot and pantry, attic, cellar, and gutter, from drain, cesspit, cistern, and crevice they came scurrying soundlessly, climbing on one another's backs, crushing their fellows in their haste to join the living spate that grew and overflowed the streets in pursuit of the Piper down King's Avenue, through the East Gate, and out of town.