The Bitterbynde Trilogy (178 page)

‘If the maid lives she will seek the High King,' said Morragan to the first among his knights. ‘But ere she finds him, she shall come to me. And let it
not
be made known outside this circle why she is sought, for if there is a way back, that knowledge must be withheld from all who are not my steadfast allies!'

There, for a time, the situation remained. Morragan's knights of Faêrie and their servant wights and the Unseelie Attriod began a Vigil across Erith, watching for any sign of the Talith maiden. Meanwhile in Isse Tower a servant worked with his taltry tied over his ugly head, concealing the cropped stubble of his outlandish locks.

At the commencement of this Vigil, Morragan vowed to divert Angavar's attention to one place, in order to draw him from the knowledge of Ashalind's presence, as a cliff-swallow's aerial acrobatics draw the predator from its nest eggs. To this end, his wightish servants began allying themselves with the malcontents who were already arousing sedition in troubled Namarre. They stirred up unrest among the outlaws, furtively urging the chieftains of their bands to unite, to rise against the Empire. The wights made grandiose allusions to eldritch aid and the assistance of a powerful wizard, in return for the warm corpses and almost-corpses of their hewn enemies when battle was joined. The Namarrans were led to believe that their hordes might crush the Legions and pour down from the north to overrun all countries and unseat the King-Emperor. Enticed by visions of glory and wealth, the brigands joined together in a rough semblance of an army. Morragan-as-Wizard put forth the Call and the Mustering commenced.

It was a lengthy business, since its main purpose was not to hasten war but to prolong pre-war manoeuvres. By means of forays and raids, Morragan's eldritch côterie intended to keep Angavar-as-James occupied, to keep the Royal Attriod guessing, to ensure that the Empire's focus was directed towards affairs at the Namarran border. Besides, full-scale conflict was not the wightish way. Like cats, they excelled at skulking, sudden strikes, and ambush in the dark, rather than the direct assaults typical of hounds and men.

This temporising served its purpose. No suspicion entered Angavar's thought. The secret of the damsel from the Gate remained with Morragan and the foremost among his knights. Not even the Unseelie Attriod was given to know it. As for the two spriggan sentries who had recognised the scent of the hair, Morragan had them imprisoned in the lowest dungeon of Huntingtowers where, deep in compost, they enjoyed the finest worms and slothfulness, season after season.

The Vigil continued.

And this uneasy situation would not have altered, but for a day in Uvailmis of the following year—the same day as the freeing of the nygel. In the marketplace of Gilvaris Tarv, Gull, the Spriggan Chieftain, had been lurking, bent on causing mischief among merchants and cheats. He had spied the yellow hair of Imrhien—as she was then—spilling from under her hood. He summoned others and they gave chase, but the carlin Ethlinn Bruadair outwitted the spriggans.

Fearing to inform Huon and the Prince of their failure, the spriggans mounted their own search, keeping watch on the house of the carlin. Again the wights lost track of the yellow-hair—it seemed she somehow melted from under their long and sensitive noses and they could not locate her again in Gilvaris Tarv. She had eluded capture as before, but now Morragan knew for sure that she lived. By the colour of her hair he knew it, for the few Talith who remained in Erith could be accounted for, and would not be wandering the markets of Tarv. It only remained for the Raven Prince to claim her before she could be claimed by Angavar, should her existence come to the knowledge of the Faêran King.

Meanwhile, a mute girl and her Ertish friend languished in a
gilf
-house by the river, were rescued and began an ill-fated journey to Caermelor. Travelling in the wilderness under Thorn's protection, Ashalind remained, for a time, safe.

Ill-founded secrecy built a barrier that stood between the Faêran King and the girl with the clue to the Gate. His twofold identity was deliberately hidden, while hers had been forgotten—yet they became linked, in those Autumn days as they travelled the Road together, and that linking was a passion forged deep and strong.

In the last week of the year the Royal Wizard Sargoth had stolen by night into the forest near Caermelor. There he stood and called out seven words. Soon, a darkness folded about his eyes and he was rushed through the trees to a place where he was brought before the Spriggan Chieftain, Gull. The wizard had long been involved in dealings with unseelie wights, as a few daring mortalfolk were wont in order to gain the favour of the eldritch and thereby be granted power over their fellow Men. Sometimes this worked, usually it did not. Most mortals lived to regret their commerce with unseelie. Only the arrogant, the ruthless or the foolish ever assayed it.

Sargoth had been acting the spy, reporting the deeds of Angavar to Morragan, for of course Morragan knew the role his brother was playing, and the ire of the Crown Prince had waxed the greater that Faêran Royalty should play at being mortal, concerning himself with human affairs. In return for his efforts Sargoth received from Gull various rewards—the setting of spriggans to ambush his enemies, the lending of trinkets fortified with gramarye to shore up the wizard's trick-shows, the promise of safe passage to wealthy travellers who bore tilhals ‘spelled' by the Royal Wizard.

Primed by Gull, the venal wizard had also been on the watch for an unknown Talith damsel. When he heard from Dianella the news concerning the true hair colour of the Court's latest guest, he came straight to the Spriggan Chieftain.

‘I have found the one your lords seek,' said Sargoth. ‘But abduct her not from Caermelor, for I want no attention drawn to my part in this. I would be of no further use to you should my doings be discovered. Moreover, I require extra payment for this work.'

‘It shall be so,' agreed Gull, eager to ensure that there were no mistakes this time. In any event, Caermelor Palace was ringed with subtle, strong wards that had been placed by Angavar to safeguard Edward. From the palace, the Talith girl might not be abducted at all. Dianella, and subsequently Sargoth, had suggested that the yellow-hair should be sent, unknowing, to Isse Tower; there to be seized by the Hunt.

‘Who else knows of the wench?' asked the Spriggan Chieftain.

‘Only Maeve One-Eye the Carlin, and her errand boy.'

The Royal Wizard returned to Caermelor, but Gull commanded that those of his folk who escorted the wizard on his way back should pinch and thump the man until he was black all over, in payment for his insolence in daring to demand additional remuneration.

The Spriggan Chieftain sent his wights after Maeve. She and Tom Coppins were forced to flee, seeking shelter down a dry well. Unable to reach them, the spriggans lidded the well and imprisoned them therein. Word was sent to Huon at Huntingtowers: ‘
Make ready.'

At the pre-arranged hour the Wild Hunt descended on the stronghold of the Seventh House of the Stormriders. Had Huon arrived a day sooner, he would have been successful. Unfortunately for the Antlered One and for Gull, their plans again went awry. By then, the wizard's treachery had been revealed. Angavar-as-James had all along been aware of Sargoth's spying, and by supplying worthless information had hitherto used it to advantage. Now he came riding sky in fury, and routed the Hunt.

Thus the quarry eluded the Hunt at Isse Tower. The news travelled swiftly to Morragan: Ashalind had returned to reside at Court. It was then, for a time, that the Raven Prince believed all was lost, for surely the identity of the Talith damsel would be revealed to Angavar. Surely she would relate her strange history and Angavar would be first to find the Gate. But the Raven Prince had not reckoned on the geas of the Gate of Oblivion's Kiss. Into this tale of disguise and false identity, so complex as to border on farce, there had entered another factor—forgetfulness. And so, while Ashalind believed Angavar to be James, Angavar, in turn, had no reason to suppose Rohain of the Sorrows was otherwise than she claimed. True to his Faêran nature he lived for the moment and scarcely bothered to explore the past. He knew no fear. The past held no terrors for him. Furthermore, his sovereignty over the very elements, his knowledge of the tongues of all creatures, these and other powers made arrogance inevitable in the High King of the Faêran. Omniscience needs not probe and question. Its only flaw lies in not recognising its own provisionality.

Gradually, Morragan came to ascertain the true situation. Understanding, he marvelled at his fortune.

When the King-Emperor voyaged north with his armies, Ashalind was taken to the protection of the Isle of Tamhania. Morragan gathered his strength to himself again, and put it forth, directing it at the island. He triumphed—the gates of the Seelie Isle were breached and Tavaal-Tamhania was drowned. But she who they hunted so desperately had vanished once more.

In the turmoil of aftermath, the Attriod sought Ashalind. Morragan guessed that Angavar would have set some device on his betrothed to keep her from harm, and guessing this he tried the harder, yet she outfoxed her pursuers, slipping from their net a fourth and final time. Instead of choosing a path back to civilised lands as they expected, she turned north. In the wide leagues of the wilderness she became lost to them. They searched for her in vain.

Through the flowery meads, the gloomy forest, Appleton Thorn and the wet fells, Ashalind and her companions were glimpsed only by wights who rarely strayed from their haunts, who were so mild or lawless or solitary as to remain beneath the contempt of Morragan's Summons; wights who had heard no news from the greater world or cared little for it if they had. Until, in Cinnarine, a ganconer who was making his way eastwards happened upon three likely victims. Originating from populous haunts, Young Vallentyne had not failed to mark that the Unseelie Princes kept watch for a damsel journeying in secret. Having sated, with one of them, the inclination of his species, he sent a message to Annath Gothallamor.

‘And the rest ye ken,' concluded Tully. Putting the syrinx to his mouth, he resumed piping.

The eldritch music soared like falcons in flight. Evocative, it freed Ashalind from thoughts of her capture, reviving earlier memories. From down on the High Plain, the flourish of a wightish horn came blaring through the library windows. Coarse and brazen though it was, it brought to mind the purer note of another such instrument, a Faêran horn, sounding the last Call to Faêrie on the Day of Closing. At that time, Ashalind had stood beside her father in the Watchtower while, beyond the Gate, Angavar and Morragan clashed in bitter feud …

… many fled the Watchtower; soon a flood of Faêran, wights, birds and animals poured through the Geata Poeg na Déanainn to aid the King's return. There was scant chance that they would reach him before the Closing—the combatants fought, in fact, more than a mile from the Gate.

Silently, Ashalind battled an agony of indecision. She lifted her gaze once more towards the knights beyond the Window, staring at the melee. And all at once she forgot to breathe. In that instant her spirit fled out of her eyes and into Frith.

In their reckless sparring the melee of knights parted for an instant, revealing a rider who faced the Gate, although his gaze was not directed at it. Noble of bearing, he moved with the power and grace of the sea. So dark was his hair that it seemed fashioned from the night, glimmering with the polish of water seen by starlight. The force and wonder, the sensual beauty of him knocked commonsense out of the watcher's head like coins from a flung purse.

‘
Father, forgive me,' she cried suddenly, ‘I must try to return …'

Aghast, Leodogran cried, ‘But why?'

‘
Only that—' His daughter struggled to find words. ‘My future lies in Erith, I think. If the High King does not return in time …'

This newly recalled memory came as a revelation to Ashalind. Through the Gate, she had glimpsed a face—the face of Angavar, seen for the first time, and distantly. It dawned on her that the sight of him, and only this, had demanded her last-moment return, against ridiculous odds, to Erith.

‘Of course. He is Faêran,' she murmured to herself, ‘and all mortals fall at least half in love with that race as soon as they clap eyes on them. How much more potent must be the attraction of their sovereign? I have been allured, as a moth flies towards the lantern-flame. Yet it pleases me to recall this, that my reason for being here in Erith is Thorn. My love for him is confirmed, albeit not reciprocated. In any case, there would have been no future in such a union.' And her heart seemed to be suddenly squeezed in a vice.

Into her reverie there broke an interruption.

From the stencilled ceiling high above, a snowflake fluttered down, landing on the lectern. Tully snatched the reed-pipe from his lips. Unfolding the scrap of snow-white parchment Ashalind saw words glimmering there, scribed in ink of argentum which flowed like a living current. Puzzled, she read them aloud:

I have no arms but I reach across the horizon.

My feet for seven years do not walk.

Water is my table, the wind is my bed.

I have no ship but I sail the ocean.

I have no eotaur, though I ride the sky.

The chains of Erith do not bind me.

I, the navigator, overlook them.

A frisson of terror and delight chilled the reader.

‘It is a riddle,' she concluded, nervously scanning the library, which gave the appearance of being empty save for Caitri and Tully.

‘Gie me a wee moment,' said the urisk. ‘I shall get the answer o' it.'

Strong wings beat at the casement. A huge raven alighted on the sill, its claws digging into the wood. Frightened, Caitri ran from her chair and crouched at Ashalind's feet. The raven's round eye fixed them with a frigid stare.

‘I s'll be finding the solution forthwith,' said Tully briskly. He scratched his curly head.