Raven Flight Page 33

  “Of course not. Tali, he knows. Wherever he is now, he knows how you feel and he honors you for it.”

  “Honor,” she echoed. “Look at me. Hardly an image worthy of honor, is it? All right, let’s get down that wretched Ladder. This time, you’d better go first and hope I don’t fall.”

  Big Don was at the foot of the steps; he stayed there until we were safely down, then went away as we had arranged earlier. Tali and I went first to the privy, then to the women’s quarters, where the only occupant was Andra, resting on her pallet with a bandage around her shoulder.

  “How is it?” Tali asked, making a brave effort to stroll across and sit on the edge of Andra’s bed with her old assurance. “Much pain?”

  “It’s mending.” Andra too had been prepared in advance. “Aches at night, but the healer from Below put some kind of poultice on it, and it’s bearable. Be a while before I can use a sword again.”

  “Not too long, I hope,” Tali said in a wraith of her old voice. “I have work for you.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Andra with a smile. “You all right?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “To be brutally honest, you stink.”

  At that point Eva and Milla came in with the bathtub and two buckets of water.

  “It’s a conspiracy,” muttered Tali.

  “Guilty,” I said. “We have to share this bedchamber with you, don’t forget.”

  She submitted to a bath; Milla washed her hair for her, Eva helped her in and out, I held the towel ready for her to dry herself. She drank half a cup of mead and ate a bowl of porridge. She lay down on her bed and slept for the rest of the day. Beyond the bedchamber door, the household of Shadowfell crept about on soft feet, hardly daring to hope. She was still asleep at suppertime, so we left Andra watching over her and gathered in the dining chamber, none of us saying much. If anyone had noticed Tali’s swollen, reddened eyes when she came down the Ladder, nobody mentioned it. Nobody asked me what I had said to her. Instead, we spoke of other matters: the best way to prepare cheesy bannocks, which loch harbored the biggest trout, how soon the autumn storms would set in.

  We were sitting over our mead when she came in. She was wearing clothes borrowed from someone bigger; they emphasized how gaunt and pale she was, shrunken by grief. But she held herself tall, her shoulders square, her dark eyes daring any of us to pity her. Behind her came Andra.

  “I have something to say,” Tali began. “First, I regret my unfortunate loss of self-control when we first arrived here. It won’t happen again. I offer my brother a public apology.” She glanced at Fingal, who had said barely a word throughout the meal. “There’s no blame to be laid for what happened. We are warriors; we take risks; sometimes we misjudge the way things will fall out.” She cleared her throat and straightened her back. If anyone thought this was not costing her, they did not know her as I did. Andra moved in closer, ready to support her if she faltered.

  “I won’t waste words,” Tali went on. “Regan’s gone. Someone has to step up and take on the duties of leader. I’m offering myself as a replacement. Not that anyone can really take his place; he was himself, a beacon of hope, a shining light in the darkness.” Her voice was shaking. “But he’d want us to go on; he’d want us to see this through to the end, no matter how heavy our losses. I don’t forget the sacrifice of Killen, young Ban, and Little Don, who also fell at Wedderburn. Three fine men. Nor of all those we’ve lost over the years since Regan’s passion and vision brought us together and gave us the hope of a better future.” She swayed; Andra took her arm, steadying her.

  “Andra has agreed to take on my old job, training you and keeping you all in order,” Tali said. “And I’ll be leader for now, if you want me. When all the others get back, when winter sets in, we should give everyone the opportunity to volunteer, then put it to the vote. But Neryn says you need someone to take charge now, so I’ll do it. If you’ll have me.”

  A roar of approval gave her the answer.

  “Good,” she said, sounding surprised. “Good. I’ll hold a council the day after tomorrow, all of us and any of the Folk Below who want to be present. I’ll hear everyone’s report on their activities since Neryn and I went away. Neryn will provide ours. We need to start planning, and planning fast. We only have until midsummer to achieve this. We must work as we’ve never worked before.” She brushed a hand across her cheek. “We’re doing this for you, Regan,” she said. “We’re doing it for all our fallen. Maybe you’re gone from this world. But you’re always with us, here at Shadowfell.”

  “My lord king.”

  “Close the door, Owen. Come close, sit down. We are alone; no need for formality.”

  He sat. Accepted a goblet of mead poured by Keldec’s own hand. Waited.

  “I have news. Momentous news. Or so it seems.”

  “My lord?” It was a long time since he had seen such a look in Keldec’s eye, or such animation on his features. What was coming?

  The king leaned forward across the table. His voice fell to a conspiratorial murmur. “Word has it that a Caller has been found.”

  His heart went cold. “A Caller? I had thought such a phenomenon did not exist in today’s Alban, my lord.” He managed to keep his tone cool, his manner calm. “After our lengthy search throughout your lands, our exhaustive questioning of your people, if a Caller were there to be found, I believe we would already have found her.”

  “Him,” said Keldec.

  He drew in a slow breath, then released it. “My lord?”

  “A young man. In the south. The queen received a message to that effect earlier today; this fellow was discovered by some of her people. He’s on his way here for questioning.” Keldec’s eyes were bright. “If it’s true, what the old tales tell us about the powers of such a person, this may prove a weapon of inestimable power, Owen. Think what we could achieve with the Good Folk at our disposal. We could create a powerful army indeed. We could spread our authority far beyond the borders of Alban. Our line might become foremost in the known world.” He paused. “Provided the Caller is loyal, of course. Such power, wielded by a person of rebellious nature, would be deadly to us and to all we hold dear. Once this man is brought to Summerfort, I may have a particular need for your services.”

  “I understand, my lord king.”

  “You seem very calm in the face of such news,” Keldec observed.

  “My lord, I am … I am taken aback, I confess. I hardly know what to say. A Caller … I had begun to think the notion nothing but an old wives’ tale. How soon will this young man be here?”

  “That I cannot tell you. Six days, maybe seven. Be ready when the time comes.”

  His mind raced. How could he get this news to Shadowfell, how could he warn Regan, warn Neryn, that the whole balance was about to change? “I’d planned to ride to Wedderburn in the morning, my lord,” he said. “There’s been word of a problem there, incursions across the border by parties unknown. Keenan requested our advice.”

  “Send Rohan.”

  “I had intended that we both go, my lord, with a party of four or five men. I believe a troop leader’s presence is called for in this situation. We must ensure all of your chieftains remain steadfast in their loyalty. Offering assistance on such occasions helps to strengthen that loyalty. I can be back by the time you require me.”

  “Go, then, if you wish. Six days. No more.”

  “Yes, my lord king.”

  By night, while Keenan’s household slept, he climbed the wall above the gates to Wedderburn’s stronghold and cut down the rotting, crow-pecked remnant Keenan had nailed up as a warning. The russet hair, the ring in the left ear, confirmed what his instincts had already told him. With the head in a bag over his shoulder, he slipped away to the place in the woods where he’d left a horse hobbled, waiting. The creature jittered and trembled when he tied the bag behind the saddle. With quiet words he settled the animal, though his heart was beating hard, like a drum sounding a call to battle.
In his dark clothing, under a waning moon, he could stay unseen until he was well across the border. There was nothing on his person to identify him: no heavy Enforcer cloak, no stag brooch, no silver to the harness, no rich garments or wax-sealed dispatches. No longer a king’s man. Only a man.

  He mounted and rode steadily away from Wedderburn, across the hills, carrying Regan home to Shadowfell.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks go to Gaye Godfrey-Nicholls and Tamara Lampard for their wise advice on elemental magic and ritual. Gaye also crafted another great map from my sketchy instructions. Michelle Frey at Knopf USA and Brianne Tunnicliffe at Pan Macmillan Australia exercised tact and professionalism throughout the process of polishing the rather raw initial manuscript into its final form. I thank Claire Craig, Jo Lyons, and all at both publishing houses who played a role in the development of the book. To my family, thanks for being prepared to brainstorm at short notice. And to my agent, Russell Galen, the usual appreciation for his support along the way.