“Light Above!”
Falath stared in horror at the wall of ice crystals hurtling towards him. He cowered back against the rockface and braced himself for the crush of the snowblast. The wind punched into his thin frame and buried needles in his exposed flesh even as it tore sobs from his lips. “Lord of Light, preserve me!” he croaked.
The driving flurry subsided and Falath loosened his grip. Raw fingers ached as he kneaded the numbness from his side. Light, but he was weak! His desperation to escape the clamouring of disgruntled nobles had driven him to seek this respite in the wild but now, with darkness and the storm closing in around him, he bitterly regretted his folly. Why, why had he duped Ilin, the one sworn to protect him from such dangers? Because you craved some time alone, he reminded himself. Time to deal with the demons that haunt your dreams; time to consider how best to spend what little future remains to you. But the snowstorm had caught him out.
Falath sucked in more ice and stumbled on. Blinded by the sleet, he almost missed the thornbrake that signalled the edge of the track. He swerved, to avoid its barbs but, as he turned, his foot caught and he fell. The tumble robbed him of his breath and he lay in a sodden heap, cursing the weakness that pinned him there. Seventeen summers old? He felt more like seven hundred! Perhaps he should just let nature take its course - there were worse ways to die.
His left hand throbbed angrily and he looked at this new hurt. The stumble had crushed the small stone that he clutched into his palm. When he scaled the White Falls earlier, with the intention of never coming back, the stone had sparkled in a glint of winter sun and distracted him. Return. Go back. He is coming. The voice echoed within the recesses of his mind; compelling his obedience. Return. Go back. He is coming. Go back to the life that choked him? Back to the father that despised him? For what purpose? The doom you sense is not certain. You shall be needed. Go back.
Such was the majesty of those words that he had indeed turned back from the ledge but the thought of return was easier than the deed. The ridgeway was treacherous at the best of times and the squall made it doubly so. He stowed the stone, his promise of hope, in his belt-purse. As he straightened up, however, a rogue gust caught him off-balance and the sheer gully faces spiralled into view. Falath threw himself backwards but his boot slipped on more loose scree and he pitched downhill with a stricken yell.
The iced bracken was crystal-smooth. Falath slid freely along the steep incline, down towards the rocky crag that marked the cliff edge, fingers too numb to catch at ferny stems to slow his fall, sharp chippings rattling round his ears. He flung up his bladearm to shield his head then, a cry to the Light on his lips, he thundered…
- to a halt.
He lay a moment, stunned, until the slap of the rain upon his face revived him. Then Falath laughed and accepted the sleet’s embrace.
When common sense returned a few moments later he struggled to a sitting position and spluttered up the water from his nose and throat. He shook his head to clear it and breathed deeply to calm his pulse, just as his physician had taught him.
Satisfied that he was no longer drowning Falath attempted to stand but with a strangled "What the - ?" he was jerked back down.
He twisted round, mouthing vitriol, only to discover his saviour. His sleeve had snagged on a thorny sapling. He reached back to disentangle it, before the bush decided to uproot itself, but the plant refused to cooperate and he was forced to draw his knife and hack off the offending piece of cloth. Victorious, the sapling sprang upright, its trophy flapping wildly in the wind.
Falath hugged his battered arm to his chest, nursing the fresh scores made by the thornbush, then shuddered when he saw the cliff edge a few yards to his left. Another second or two and he would have joined the dozens of unwary travellers that plunged to their deaths each year. Even now his foot sent fresh scree scudding into darkness. It would be so easy to just…
The cut on his palm pulsated and he refused the offer of oblivion. A son of the House of Dorior, most ancient of the people on this world of Riom, did not put self before duty. And then, of course, there was the voice. Go back. Return. He is coming. At that darkest moment on the mountain, when the dreams and cares and fears so overwhelmed him that death was welcome, those words punctured his despair. Go back. Return. He is coming. Such hope blossomed in his heart that he gloried in the golden rays of Salix, setting in a crown of fire. The One Lord of Light had spoken. He had no choice but to obey.
So Falath clambered upright, swayed until his balance reasserted itself then gingerly started back to the top of the slope.
It was a harrowing climb, though the sleet had slackened off somewhat and the slope was partially sheltered from the cutting wind. When he reached the top Falath paused a moment and tried to squeeze a last ounce of warmth from the motley woollen mantle, but it was no use. If he was to stave off the deadly cold he knew he must reach the shelter of Serpent’s Keep before moonrise. Even as he watched, snowspangles dissolved into his cloak and swelled the puddle by his feet. Time was running very short. He waited for a break in the cloud, took his bearings afresh then set off once more in the direction of the keep. By the time the gale began to whip up anew Falath had reached the bottom of the ridge and the safety of the ash groves.
The keep loomed up ahead, nestling atop its spur of grey rock. It was guarded but he was familiar with the patrol patterns of the watchmen. He had devised them after all. Clinging to the shadows, he scudded along the granite basewall towards a small culvert. Torches jutted out from brackets on the walls high above, though the sleet made them smoke until they were virtually useless. Falath waited until the sentries were at the furthest point of their pass then slipped into the dark hole.
Five paces in he pressed a particular stone and a section of wall rolled sidewards to reveal a tunnel. He entered and pushed back against the panel. It slid to silently but he paused, listening. Some thirty feet above his head mailed boots continued on unabated. Satisfied, Falath made his way through the passageway to a staircase at the back. The torch left there earlier that afternoon was almost gutted. He unhooked it from its bracket and his nose wrinkled. He had not expected to see it again.
The passageways riddled the outer walls of the keep but only intersected with the inner walls in a few places. Falath knew them all and made his way to a cramped chamber; an ancient trysting place for lovers. Several large chests lay around its edges, relics of that forgotten time. Falath slotted the torch into the handle of one and sat on another while he peeled off his outer tunic to join the soggy heap that was his cloak. He shivered as he pushed open the heavy lid, his breath forming misty clouds in the chill of the chamber.
He took out the rich garments abandoned within and laid them aside before he pulled out a drying sheet, a leftover from previous sorties, to rub some warmth back into his bones. Damned if it was not so much easier with a servant to help though. He sniffed. At least he needed no extra water to cleanse the dirt from the numerous cuts and grazes! These, along with the ugly weals on his forearms caused by the thorns, he laved with salve from a small jar. Only then did he put on his courtly clothes, relishing the touch of the clean linen, cloth-of-silver shirt and burgundy tunic. He buckled a silver swordbelt round his waist and tugged order into his hair with a copper comb. Finally, Falath placed a plain circlet on his head, to keep the raven-dark strands from his eyes.
When the transformation from beggar to noble was complete he bundled the ruined clothing into a bag, took up the torch and headed out along a corridor adjacent to the first. This coiled upwards until it levelled out to end at a wooden panel. Falath stubbed out the torch and unlatched the door, whose exit was concealed by a huge tapestry. He squinted round the edge, then pulled the door to behind him and darted across the gallery into the safety of his chambers.
Falath wallowed in a yawn and a stretch, pleased that he appeared to have gotten away with his escapade. He dropped the bag of sodden clothes behind a screen then stumbled across the anteroom into his private suite.
Light from the East Watchtower cascaded through the side window and dazzled his dark-accustomed eyes. He threw up his left arm to ward them and headed in the direction of the window to close the drapes.
"Where in Shadow’s name have you been?"
Falath’s heart leapt to his throat before reflex took over and he spun round, dagger in hand.
"Declare yourself," he hissed, poised for combat. How had anyone gotten in here? Where was Ilin, damn the man's eyes? Through the glare he watched a shadow detach itself from the wall behind the door and glide across to the offending window. A tall silhouette closed the shutters and slid the bar into place to restore the welcome darkness. In its hands a tallow candle flickered to life and illumined the fine-boned face and steel grey eyes of his cousin.
"Hell’s Teeth, Rollo! You scared the life out of me," he cried but he was unashamedly pleased to see his oldest friend. "By the Light, what are you doing here?" He crossed the space between them and grasped the other by the arms in a kinsman's embrace. "When did you return, you old fox?"
Rollo bowed to his overlord, Falath, Prince of Dinith.
"Earlier this afternoon, not long after you went to your private conference with Lady Feria," the knight replied. "Well, Fal, care to explain where you have been?"
Falath rewarded him with a vexed grin and slid his dagger back into its sheath with a click of defiance.
"Can’t I go anywhere without someone checking my every move?"
"You know not.”
As Rollo moved around the chamber to light the wall brands, Falath gave a tired laugh and rang the handbell that would summon Jano, his page. He sat himself by the fire to poke at the embers but they refused to flare up. Rollo knelt beside him and thrust a few pieces of kindling onto the glowing ashes. Face hidden in his work, Rollo said,
"Fal, I despair of you. I know it irks you to be confined to the citadel but, blazes, you must know how dangerous it is to go beyond the city bounds without an escort? As soon as I realised what you were up to I sent Dumal and some of my more discreet knights after you." He held up his hand. "No, don’t bother protesting. You were fortunate I did. I don’t suppose that you knew you were being followed? And not by Dumal," he added hastily.
The laughter faded from Falath's eyes.
"No, I didn’t think so! While you were busy watching the sunset a rebel scout was as busy watching you. Thankfully Dumal apprehended him before he could report back or, worse still, take matters into his own hands. He is in the West Tower now, relaying his information to Joreb instead."
Roll bridled his temper. Falath had paled as the relevance of his words sank in. A prisoner to his own duties, Rollo could empathise with the other’s desire for solitude but Ormbrand's oath, to rid Dinith of the usurping foreigners calling themselves its lords, made Falath a prime target for any so-called loyal Dinithian's blade.
"Perhaps now you understand my concern? You are my Lord Cousin and you are also my friend. I have no intention of seeing you spitted on some damn beggar's knife. Why do you court such danger? Are those strange dreams still plaguing you? What is this fear that haunts you?"
Before Falath could reply a knock sounded at the door. None too relieved at a diversion, the prince called out,
"Enter."
The door opened to admit a small, fair haired lad desperately trying to smooth creases from a very crumpled tabard.
"You wanted me, Lord Fal?" the boy asked and dipped a half nod.
"Yes, Jano. Could you fetch us some wine and a bite to eat? Maybe some almond cakes?" he added, knowing his cousin's weakness for sugared fancies. The page peered round for the ‘us’ then stared, wide-eyed, as the kneeling warrior, no longer hidden by Falath, rose to his feet. The boy gave a strangled cry and fled.
"What was that all about dare I ask?" inquired Falath tartly as the door slammed shut on the page's heels. Rollo seated himself on the settle next to his cousin.
"I saw Jano on the gallery as I arrived and asked him to announce me but he, very respectfully, declined to do so. He reeled off some story about you studying patent rolls and not wanting to be disturbed. I was about to question him further but I was distracted by another arrival. When I looked back Jano had gone and has kept out of my sight ever since."
"No doubt you scared him witless," laughed the prince, and with some fellow feeling after his cousin's unusual greeting earlier. Fal sank back into the chair, still smiling, and fixed his eyes upon the carved crossbeams. The light from the different angles distorted the sculptured animals and sent them cavorting across the ceiling in grotesque patterns. The flickering shapes swam before his eyes...
A sharp tap at the door broke his concentration. Rollo was watching him closely, a pensive look upon his face. Falath strove to ignore him then remembered the knock at the door.
"Come," he called drowsily, afraid of no enemy with the second most deadly swordsman in all Dinith seated beside him.
Jano entered and set a tray upon the table by Falath's elbow. He poured two goblets of wine and offered one to his lord after tasting it. Falath received it gratefully but waited, as courtesy demanded, until Rollo had accepted his before drinking. Jano stood to one side and was careful to avoid Rollo’s probing gaze.
"Do you require anything further, My Lord?" he asked. Falath shook his head.
"No, Jano, you may return to bed now. Oh, and Jano," he added, forestalling the page at the door, "you did well today, covering for my absence."
The young boy smiled then ducked out of sight, smothering further yawns.
Falath clamped a hand over his own mouth. Coupled with his ordeal the wine was lulling him to sleep.
"Did anyone else realise I was missing?"
"Joreb may have suspected something but I managed to cover for you. Did you have to choose today of all days to go romping off into the wilds though? Half the lords of Herlac arrived at supper and were none too pleased at being welcomed in the King's name by the upstart royal shieran. I confirmed your story of being occupied by urgent matters of state but that did not go down too well either! Fortunately Gavill breezed in fresh from your father’s side and escorted the whole bunch off to the South Tower, praise be for small mercies."
He took a small swallow of his wine then said,
"Gavill also asked me to inform you that, saving your approval, the arrangements for the Winter Masque are now complete but can he have your comments as soon as possible, given that there are only two days left? I assured him that you would."
"Light, I had all but forgotten the Masque," admitted Falath. "I wonder who he will appoint as Lord Sunstealer this year? Avarin perhaps?" he added wickedly.
"Very likely," said Rollo and even he seemed amused at the thought of the keep’s grim old healer capering about the Great Hall in the traditional red robe and gaiters. "Which reminds me," the knight continued, "Did you see Avarin up in the hills by any chance, collecting herbs or suchlike?"
"No, ‘fraid not."
"Pity, he was needed earlier but couldn’t be found. By the way, Fal, Dumal says you fair froze his balls off when you slipped from the ridge path. He and his men were still wrestling with the rebel and were too far behind to save you at that point." Falath grinned at his cousin's rendering of the brash warrior's words.
"He's not the only one. When I saw how close the cliff edge was I nearly slipped off in sheer fright!"
"Light Above, Fal! Whatever possessed you to climb the ridgeway in the first place? We had the dangers bashed into our heads often enough!"
"I was in a hurry," Falath replied, his tone petulant, "and I am too tired to argue the point further." He was not ready to share his epiphany just yet. Not even with Rollo.
"So I see," said Rollo, when the prince stifled yet another yawn. He sipped his own wine and stretched out his long legs, easing off his courtly slippers with a sigh of relief. Then, twisting the stem of the goblet idly with one hand, he said, with sudden sharpness,
"Tonight on hearing my voice you were damned sluggish in your response, dangerously slow should I have proven an enemy."
"Like I said, I am very tired after this evening's little adventure."
"I grant you that, however," and the knight raised disconcertingly clear eyes upon his cousin, "I have been hearing some very disturbing reports concerning your recent behaviour. Ilin, for example, told me that it’s several months since you last had any weapons practice and I have seen myself how torpid your reactions are. Have you an explanation?"
The amusement died on Falath's face. He turned towards the jug, to avoid Rollo’s questing gaze. He reached clumsily for the flagon, spilling much of the choice wine in his haste, and cursed his ineptitude as he shook the drippings off his hand. He proffered the wine to Rollo, who refused with a shake of his head, so he refilled his own goblet and then shoved the vessel back onto the table.
For a moment Falath peered into the depths of the liquid, as if to divine some answer there, then drained it in one long quaff.
Light, what should he say? Should he even speak?
Avarin had stressed the need for absolute secrecy, for fear of it reaching his father's ears, but the silence was eating him up. Jano knew the truth but he was just a boy when all was said and done. Should he take the risk and speak of it to another? Fal flicked a glance at his cousin. The knight radiated steadfastness and loyalty. Falath knew that he could rely on the other's discretion yet it was hard to contemplate lowering his façade. He took yet another swallow, for courage, and breathed out. Better to share the burden with some other- before he grew much worse.
"Yes, I have an explanation. I might’ve known that it would come to your ears sooner or later anyway!" He poured yet more wine for himself then looked directly at his cousin. "I have been ailing for some months now and I am getting worse. There have been rumours of course, but few know the truth. I’ve tried to keep it from everyone. Especially from my father. Avarin agrees that it could prove too much for his heart to know just how ill I am so soon after Anser’s death."
He stared down at the rushes on the floor, fist clenched around the goblet stem till the knuckles showed white.
"I am reliably informed that, at my present rate of decline, the chances of my gaining my majority in four months time are decidedly slender!"
He gave a short nervous laugh and crushed back the tears that threatened to break through at last. Rollo’s eyes betrayed not a whit of feeling. The knight had masked his emotions completely, a trait he had inherited from his late, unlamented father.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No!" Falath spat, then immediately rued the outburst. He shook his head and relaxed back into the settle. Light, how could he have forgotten Rollo’s damned insouciance?
"No," he repeated, more gently this time, and sought refuge in a mask of his own. "Everything that can be done Avarin is doing I assure you. He has given me these," and he fiddled with his belt-purse to remove and rattle a blue enamelled box, "but they do little save to deaden the pain and to leave me tired."
"Does he know what the cause is?"
"Hmmm, I do not pretend to understand the medical ramifications but it appears that I’m losing control over my muscles."
"That is not what I meant," replied Rollo curtly.
"I realise that."
Falath made a bridge of his fingers then reached out a third time for the wine. As he sloshed some into his goblet he said,
"Avarin soon ascertained that this is no natural illness but malice, the result of poison.” His fingers shook and he placed the emptied cup, none too steadily, on the table. "There, I have said it. I have finally acknowledged that I am going to die!"
He grabbed at his goblet again but it slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor. He bent towards it but Rollo swept it up first.
"I think that you have had enough.”
Falath frowned in protest then hiccoughed loudly and giggled.
"And I think that perhaps you are right," he conceded.
Rollo began to speak but, unheeding, Falath clambered awkwardly to his feet and ambled over to the window-seat. The draught through the shutter slats was cool on his feverish skin. He leaned back against the side panel and hugged one knee, lost in thought, then pushed up one of the slats and peered through the gap, blinking away fresh tears stung from his eyes by the biting air. The beacons no longer blazed as fiercely and he could see down over the outer walls, to the slopes of houses beyond the keep. The sleet that had herded him down the mountain had turned finally to snow.
"You never said what had brought you back to Syranym after all this time," said Falath a few moments later. His father always seemed to ensure that Rollo’s many duties detained him in the far province to which he was all but exiled.
"I received a letter recalling me," replied the other, though he did not mention that he was already four days on the road when it reached him. Falath furrowed his brow.
"From my father? I don’t remember sealing such a letter for him. When was this?"
"It was dated the twelfth of this month and commanded me to return to Syranym immediately upon receipt of it. It contained the correct code words so I did not dispute it."
Falath shrugged. "Ah well, I suppose any one of the other Councillors could have sealed it. Did it say why he wanted you back so quickly?"
Rollo leaned onto his calves and stretched until the joints cracked. Falath grimaced at the sound.
"No," the other replied. He dropped his arms down with a slap. "I was rather surprised at the abrupt and uninformative nature of its contents. I hoped you might enlighten me but you say you’ve heard nothing?"
Falath shook his head and resumed his humming, until his mood reversed again.
"What shall I do, Rollo? Avarin was good enough to inform me that there is no possibility of him finding an antidote. By the Light, he does not even know how it was administered!"
Before Rollo could answer Falath heaved himself away from the window and fell upon his sleeping couch. Through the muffle of furs he said,
"I tried to kill myself out on the Mountain today. I fully intended to throw myself off the White Falls and, for one solitary moment, I did not try to save myself when I slipped. But I was too cowardly and clung to my life, for what its worth!"
He raised fever-darkened eyes from the couch, to search his cousin for a reaction, but Rollo returned his gaze unmoved. With a sob of anguish Falath collapsed onto the furs in exhausted sleep.
Rollo surveyed his kinsman's prostrate form then tightened his lips and methodically undressed him. He slipped the shoes from Falath’s feet, loosened his tunic, unclipped the silver belt and covered him over with the sleeping furs. He doused all the torches save one, which he took to light the passage to his own suite, then replaced his own slippers and closed the door behind him.
Across the landing Ilin, the prince's personal bodythane, stirred in the shadows. Rollo beckoned him over. The knight bowed to him and took up position outside the prince's door.
"Guard him well," commanded the Lord of Chanon and Ilin nodded. He had already felt the edge of Rollo’s tongue for allowing Falath to elude him although, the other conceded, Ilin could not have known the prince would abscond from Lady Feria's chamber. "And Ilin, you were right to send for me." The bodythane's eyes fell and he nodded once more.
Rollo strode swiftly down the empty corridors towards the Chanon suite. When he reached them the doors were opened by his second, Dumal. The knight began to speak but a look at his lord's face silenced him. Only when Rollo reached the dark sanctuary of his own rooms did he crumple back against the door.
"Dammit, Fal," he groaned to his soul's depth, "how much more must I bear?" How much more? His parents, Anser, Fal. Everyone that he dared to care for was snatched from him. He was cursed. There could be no doubt now.