The Bitterbynde Trilogy (94 page)

Within the Tower, all was in uproar. Rohain and Viviana were escorted to a kitchen in one of the lower stories. There they found crowds of house-carls and nobles mingling, making a tremendous hubbub, some chattering, others sobbing.

‘Wickedness! Oh, wickedness!'

‘'Tis an evil hour that brought these fell fiends upon the House.'

‘Lend me your kerchief, for I bleed.'

‘All fate be praised for bringing us our rescuer in time of need!'

‘I cannot yet grasp that
he
is among us!'

‘And more striking than the stories ever told!'

‘Cursed be this day that saw such evil fall on Isse. Yet bless'd it be also …'

Some were uncharacteristically shrieking and wringing their hands, and several, in a sorry state, lay prone upon the tables while their wounds were tended. Pet capuchins loped about, jabbering and hindering.

Rohain stared at the scene, sickened and appalled. Questions and offers of help surged at her and her companion as soon as they entered. Dolvach Trenchwhistle cleared a path for them with her elbows.

‘Make way for the fine ladies from Caermelor! Can't you see that they are hurt, you dolts? Get out of the way.'

She seated the fine ladies by the hearth, proffering glasses of brandy. Heligea shouldered her way through the press and stood before them.

‘My brother and Callidus! Are they with you?'

‘No,' said Rohain, sipping brandy to give her strength. ‘I do not know how they fare.'

‘Ill tidings, then.'

‘Yet I would vouch for their safety, encased as they are in all that iron.'

‘'Sbane! I see you are wounded, my friend. Blood runs from your hair. You, servant, bring oil.'

A young girl hastened away.

‘What has happened here?' asked Rohain.

‘The Tower was attacked at nightfall,' said Heligea. ‘Terrible ravagers they were. Powerful. They landed in at the top stories and coursed down through the Tower at speed, like rats down a drainpipe. We had no time to escape. Methinks they were hunting for something, or somebody. When they couldn't find their target, they turned on us like boars at bay, and took our people and began to torment them. Then he came.'

‘Who?'

‘Why, none other than the King-Emperor himself!'

‘His Imperial Majesty here?' cried Viviana. ‘I can scarce credit it!'

Heligea's eyes blazed as though with pride, or triumph, or battle-lust. ‘He came from the south, riding to our rescue, leading the Duke of Roxburgh and others of the Royal Attriod, and regiments of the Royal Legions and
thriesniuns
of the Dainnan, all mounted on Skyhorses. They'd got word that the Scourge was on its way here, and they came. Ah!' Dreamily, she clasped her hands at her throat. ‘The King-Emperor himself, here at Isse! I never thought to see this hour. Dainnan and men-at-arms swarm all over the Tower. I'll be honest, at first it seemed impossible that even such great fighting men could drive off the Wild Hunt, but victory has been won!'

‘Won?' echoed Rohain. ‘So the wights are all gone and the Tower is safe?'

Heligea waved her hand dismissively. ‘Yes, yes. Almost safe. A few of the lesser wights that rode with the Hunter remain scattered throughout the upper stories and must be flushed out. We are to remain locked up down here until all things unseelie have been ousted and the Tower thoroughly scoured. As yet I have not set eyes upon His Majesty, but as I am, for the moment, the Mistress of the House, I am sure to be summoned soon by his gentlemen. I confess to a little nervousness, but in good sooth, how I look forward to the moment I am presented!' Lowering her voice, she leaned forward confidentially. ‘You have seen him at Court. I never have. Is he as fine as they say? Do the images stamped on the coins of the realm do him justice?'

Rohain felt reluctant to admit she had never been in the King-Emperor's presence. She could not know whether the portraits hanging in gilt frames all over the palace were good representations, or the worn and blurred profiles in relief stamped into the coins. Besides, she had only ever seen older coins, depicting the D'Armancourt ancestors. Of the portraits, she recalled only cascades of velvet and brocade. She could barely remember them, not having paid much heed. In any event, she supposed he had aged greatly since those images had been created.

‘Via,' she said, ‘tell Heligea what he looks like.'

‘Well, ma'am, no artist has ever been able to featly capture his likeness,' said Viviana. ‘Just barely do the portraits represent His Majesty. I look forward to seeing him again with all my heart, if only from a distance, for upon my word he is a gentleman any maid or wife would sigh to look upon—a gentleman after every lady's heart. All the ladies at Court are in love with him, I doubt not—every one; and I'd warrant that every woman throughout Erith who has ever set eyes on him would share that passion.' Her eyes sparkled. ‘So handsome is he and so kingly. Just to think of him causes the strangest thrill, as if the shang were passing over.' She balked, blushing suddenly. ‘
Sain
me—I hope you'll not think me impertinent for speaking thus of His Imperial Majesty.'

‘You
are
impertinent,' interrupted Heligea impatiently, ‘and should be thrashed for presuming to such familiarity, insolent girl. Ah, here comes a servant with the oil.'

A girl approached, carrying a stoneware jar. She was young, almost a child, thin and pale-cheeked but vigorous-looking, with large, deep-lidded eyes and a neat, bow-shaped mouth. Rohain recognised that triangular face, surrounded by its abundant cloud of wavy brown locks. The daughter of the Keeper of the Keys, the girl's name was Caitri Lendoon, and long ago she had shown kindness to the deformed, yellow-haired lad.

Before Rohain could acknowledge her former friend, the smell of the oil assaulted her, closing in on her like a dark jail. Her throat and back were on fire. She gagged.

‘What is in that jar?' she said hoarsely, holding the folds of her skirts to her nose. ‘Whatever it is, I beg you to take it away from me. I wonder you don't all expire from the stench.'

‘'Tis only siedo-pod oil,' said Heligea in astonishment. ‘A pungent scent, aye, but tolerable enough.'

‘I will not have it near me!'

‘It will soothe your hurts, my lady,' protested the little girl, backing away.

‘Mayhap. But I cannot stand the stink of it. I would rather endure the pain of my hurts and take another drop of brandy. You may anoint Viviana, if she is willing, and I will move from her side. Heligea, I must be brought into the King-Emperor's presence as soon as possible.'

‘None but His Imperial Majesty's gentlemen may attend him now. That is how I am informed.'

‘Yes, but as soon as the Tower has been secured—'

‘Of course. Come, my lady, let these servants bathe you with lavender water if you will not have the oil. And take another sip of the spirit.'

There was to be no sleep that night. The moans of the wounded filled the lower halls. Those who had escaped harm spoke of nothing but the disastrous attack, and the unprecedented presence of royalty at the Tower. Occasional noises of belligerence echoed down the stairwells and the lift-shafts as malevolent presences were flushed out of oblique crannies. These became more infrequent, and eventually ceased altogether. Alone in a quiet room of the servants' quarters, Rohain sat by a window embrasure. It was forbidden to open the shutters until the danger had passed, but a cold night breeze crept in through the cracks and this she inhaled with relish.

Viviana approached.

‘My lady—'

‘Come no closer, Via. I cannot endure the stench of the oil in your hair.'

‘It is strong, I'll concede, but not truly offensive, surely? Some might consider it pleasant.'

‘I have ill recollections of the stuff,' said Rohain. Her face closed in on itself.

Sensing some inner perturbation, Viviana nodded silently. She curtsied and withdrew.

Rohain remembered:
Here in Isse Tower they use siedo-pod oil for many purposes, including the assuaging of every hurt from cuts and scratches to bellyaches and warts. Grethet used the stuff for the cuts on my back—yet I detested it well before then. I fought against her but I was too weak. She smeared it on, and as soon as I could I rubbed it off, rolling on rough bags, which opened the wounds afresh; but the stench—the stench clings for ages
.

Restlessly, she stood up and walked to the next window. Along the hairline crack between the shutters, a glimpse of starry sky ran like a black thread stitched with, seed pearls. The brandy had warmed her, had taken the edge off the pain of her tortured scalp, but she ached with the longing to go straight away to the King-Emperor and plead for Sianadh's life. And she blazed with a desire to see which of the Dainnan had accompanied him to the Tower.

All of that lay outside the barred doors.

Around midnight, a hammering on those doors announced the end of the waiting period—the Tower had been cleared of eldritch incarnations.

Chaos resumed. As the Stormriders and their ladies returned to the upper floors, all able-bodied servants were ordered into action preparing billets and provender for the King-Emperor and his attendants and men-at-arms. Heligea disappeared precipitately, in a clanging lift-cage.

Rohain, eluding Viviana to escape the siedo-pod fumes, took another lift-cage up to Floor Thirty-seven. Lords and ladies moved to and fro shouting orders. Overworked servants hurried to obey.

‘Where is the King-Emperor?' Rohain asked.

‘His Majesty is at the topmost floor, my lady,' was the reply. ‘He may be in conference or at meat. Is there anything you require? A repast is being set out on the tables in the dining halls.'

‘Thank you—no.'

A passing Dainnan knight started at the sight of her face. Simultaneously she jumped, taken by surprise at the sight of his uniform. Recovering his composure, he bowed.

‘May I be of assistance, lady? I am Sir Flint.'

His unbound hair fountained in bronze filaments to the small of his back.

‘The King-Emperor's quarters on the top floor—do you know where they are?'

‘His Majesty holds conference there with the Royal Attriod. The while, the Stormriders of the Tower are gathering in the dining halls to take refreshment. May I conduct you there instead? Allow me to call your servants.'

Seeing herself suddenly as he must see her, it struck Rohain that she could not kneel at the feet of the King-Emperor dressed in a torn and inside-out riding habit, with her hair tousled. To beg for a man's life, she must appear sleek and well-groomed, as etiquette demanded. She sighed.

‘You are kind, Sir Flint. I wish only to retire.'

‘Your name, my lady?'

Already she was walking away, not wishing to delay.

He bowed again and watched her go.

When she was out of his sight, she ran to her suite. On reaching it, she checked abruptly with her hand on the door-jamb and stared in.

The rooms had been ransacked.

Furniture lay splintered. Chests had been forced open and turned out, then apparently picked up and thrown across the chamber by some agency far stronger than any man, to crash and sprawl open, lids twisted awry, spilling out the remains of their contents. Garments had been strewn, torn to shreds. The looking-glasses lay in splinters on the floor—even their backings had been punched through. Only the frames of their obliterated faces remained. The bed had been reduced to no more than a welter of kindling and rags, scattered with dead leaves and a couple of live loam-worms, dusk pink and jointed. Rohain's jewellery was unrecognisable—misshapen as though melted in a hot fire. Every item she owned had been broken or corrupted. An odour of compost hung over the whole scene.

Softly, she left the scene of the shambles. There was no sign of a door—save for buckled hinges half torn off the door-frame—or she would have closed it.

The hour had grown very late. Made aimless with shock she wandered, dazed. The torchlit halls were empty now that the nobles had gone to their supper. Dry leaves eddied along the floors, whispering, blown by a bitterly cold breeze from the gargoyle-wreathed balcony overlooking Isse Harbour. It was there she had stood on the night of the unstorms, watching a ghostly galleon being wrecked off the heads, and wrecked again, over and over.

One of the balcony doors stood open, Beyond it, stars dripped thick radiance down the sky. The sight attracted her. Thomas's words came back:
‘Go into the wilderness on a clear night and look up. Look long. Then you will have seen something of Faêrie.'

Heedless of the slap and sting of the cold, she stepped out. A wide vista opened across gray water. The moon and the Greayte Southern Star had wheeled out of sight on their inevitable courses and only the fantastic splendor of the other starry realms remained, to draw heart and mind out through the eyes and send them spinning into the void.

Someone else was already on the balcony. A Dainnan leaned on the parapet. Ribbons of black hair rained across his wide shoulders and down his tapered back, reaching to his belt. A sea-draft driving up the walls of the Tower lifted fibers of darkness across the winking stars—the weft from which night itself was woven.

He straightened, turning. He was looking down at Rohain.

Instantly, all her thought was swept away by intense emotion. Speech and movement became impossible under that pierching gaze. Every wish, every hope, had come true in front of her eyes. The sight of him, so often imagined, was hard to invest with reality. For so long had his image existed only in intangible form that she had become accustomed to knowing him as a dream, and could not at first believe what she saw.

As from a distance, a dark, strong voice said,

‘So, you came at last to Court, Gold-Hair.'

A response was required. Rohain's numbed mind could prepare none. Mechanically, she murmured, ‘Yes.' Her eyes remained wide, fastened on him steadily, drinking him in. The action of speech released her paralyzed thoughts.