Days of Blood and Fire

  “I am sorry,” Jill thought to her. “I somehow thought you’d recognize me.”

  “You’re not the only master who flies in hawk form, you see. Alshandra’s been known to take the nighthawk at times.”

  “Indeed? Is one of her other forms a raven?”

  “It’s not, but a swan.”

  “That’s a strange thing, then, because I’ve just heard of a shape-changer in raven form. A lad from the far west claims he saw it but an eightnight ago.”

  “No one I know flies as a raven. Ye gods! Talk about ill-omened! That would be too grisly even for Alshandra.”

  “Judging from some of the things I’ve heard I wouldn’t have put it past her. But here’s an even stranger thing, and thrice ill-omened at that — It seems that our Alshandra’s been pretending to be a god, and she’s collected herself a band of worshipers, too, among the Horsekin.”

  The linnet opened and shut her beak a few times, just as if she were trying to speak with a physical voice.

  “She would.” Dallandra’s thought flowed on a wave of sheer bitterness. “She’s just the sort who would. Jill, let’s fly. I can’t bear it, perching here and listening to sour news all at the same time.”

  With a few hops and a jump they launched themselves into the air, flying till they were high enough to be invisible from the ground. Up this far from the anchoring earth, the etheric sight turned the night sky into a swirl of black, studded with enormous silver stars, flaring and gleaming so close that it seemed they might have felt heat. Down below the countryside receded to a dull red glow. Slowly they rode the air currents in long aimless loops centered round Cengarn, a black lump rising from the red.

  “What’s Alshandra been doing?” Dallandra thought to her. “Working magic in front of the Gel da’Thae?”

  “I suppose, but I don’t know for sure. My one witness doesn’t trust me in the least, and I can’t blame him, either, but he’s not going to bare his heart and soul to me. From what he has said, though, I’ve gathered that her worship is considered heresy, fit only for outlaws and suchlike.”

  “That’s somewhat to the good, then. Are you still convinced that the Horsekin are those demonic Hordes the old elven lore speaks of? The ones who destroyed our cities?”

  “More convinced the more I learn, though they’re most certainly not demons.”

  “Well, I never really thought they were. My teacher, Nannanna, always said that they were most likely flesh and blood the same as us, whether they had the manners of demons or not, and she’d heard the tales a good bit closer to the destruction than we have.”

  “Just so. Here, Dalla, you’d know this. Wasn’t there an elven king named Ranadar?”

  “He was the last of the Council of Seven Kings, as a matter of fact. After the cities were destroyed by the Hordes, and all the other six kings killed, Ranadar gathered a war-band from the survivors and lived in the mountains like a bandit, raiding and harrying the Hordes, taking what revenge he could. He’s the one who witnessed the horrible plagues that very nearly destroyed the Hordes. In fact, until you started talking about Gel da’Thae, I’d always assumed that the invaders had been completely wiped out.”

  “Most people did, and I gather, from what I’ve been able to piece together, that the tribes who’d conquered the southern part of the elven homeland did die, down to the last child. But in the north some remain, and now they seem to be coming east.”

  The linnet dipped and shuddered.

  “But this Ranadar,” Jill went on. “He was a real historical figure, then?”

  “Very much so. Eventually he joined the other refugees out in the grasslands, when he realized that he and his men weren’t going to be able to reclaim the dead cities and suchlike all on their own. Why?”

  “Meer—that’s the Gel da’Thae bard I’ve got in custody—Meer used his name, but he called him the Hound of Hell with thirteen pairs of jaws. Rhodry told me that he’s heard the bard pray, and that all of his gods have elven names, but odd and distorted ones, mostly fragments of the names of the old cities and palaces.”

  Jill felt the linnet’s mind shy briefly away, then return.

  “Rhodry’s here?” Dallandra thought to her.

  “Very much a part of this, truly. Why so surprised? You mentioned once that you’d met him.”

  “Only very briefly and some years ago. But that’s a strange thing, truly, about the elven names. This whole situation’s getting too complex, and I’m beginning to worry that everything’s slipping out of control I doubt very much, I truly do, if Evandar knows what he’s doing with all his meddling. Foresight and understanding consequences are most definitely not talents of his.”

  “But other talents he has in good measure. Dalla, how much can I count on his aid?”

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. He cares about his daughter and her coming birth more than anything else in the three worlds, but there’s trouble in his own lands. I’ve been planning, you know, to come back to the physical plane and stay in the dun with you and Elessario’s mother, but now I’m afraid to.”

  In human form Jill would have sighed aloud, but as it was the falcon made a chirruping little sound.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I can’t say for sure. Bad blood between Evandar and his brother, bad blood between the Bright and the Dark Courts. Evil things are brewing, Jill. I can feel them—or no, not evil exactly, but malice and spite and old hatreds.”

  “That, my dear friend, sounds evil enough for me. And please, be careful! You’re in constant danger these days.”

  “I suppose so. I can’t even blame Alshandra for hating me so bitterly. After all, I did steal her husband away, didn’t I? And I’d best return to Evandar now. I’ll be back, as soon as I can. Trouble or no, my place is here.”

  Jill felt the wave of fear from Dallandra’s mind like a cold wind.

  “My thanks. And if I need you badly before then, I’ll send the Wildfolk as messengers.”

  “Do, please.”

  The linnet began to fly lower, dropping down toward the countryside and heading straight for the water veil rising up from the stream in the valley. Jill was just ready to shout a warning, because the currents of elemental force above moving water would tear an etheric form apart, when she remembered that not only was Dallandra very much in the physical, but that she was also a master of the strange dweomer of hidden roads. The linnet swooped, skittered, fluttering along the water veil, then suddenly spiraled up to disappear through one of the mysterious gates that led into the country where she lived with her beloved.

  Ye gods, Jill thought to herself, how she puts up with Evandar for two days together is beyond me! There’s all his riddling and wild talk, and besides, he’s neither human nor elven, not truly incarnate at all—it’s too perverse for the likes of me! Then she had to laugh at herself, that in the midst of all these strange events and mighty dweomers, she could still worry over a friend’s choice of men. She soared back to Cengarn, reaching the dun just as the first dawn touched the eastern sky.

  When Jahdo woke and found himself in their new chamber, high up in the main tower of the broch, he lay still for a long time and wished that he were dreaming, that he’d wake to find himself home, but the big wedge shape of a chamber stayed stubbornly real in the gray light of early dawn. Home or not, their new lodging was certainly better than the dungeon keep. Across the room, Meer lay snoring in a proper bed, surrounded by embroidered hangings, while Jahdo had a trundle bed with good blankets all to himself. In one corner of the room stood a bronze charcoal brazier in case some night turned chilly. Under the window lay a wooden chest, covered at the moment with bags and sacks. The night before, Rhodry had hunted round the dun and found most of their captured gear, although much to Jahdo’s sorrow, his grandfather’s knife had never turned up. Most likely it lay on the riverbank by the forest where Rhodry had made him drop it, back in what seemed like another life.

  Since he was hungry, he got up, pulli
ng on his trousers, and padded across the floor barefooted to find the chamber pot at the far end of the chamber. When he was done, he went to the window and began rummaging as quietly as he could in the sacks to see if there was any food left in them. All at once the entire pile shifted and slid, thumping onto the floor. Meer woke with a snort and a curse.

  “My apologies,” Jahdo said. “I was trying to be quiet. I just did drop some sacks and stuff.”

  Meer snorted again and yawned, rubbing the sides of his face with both hands.

  “It be dawn out and light in here,” Jahdo said. “Down in the ward there’s servants walking round and stuff. I was just wondering if we had any food in these sacks.”

  “A good wondering, that. Hand me my clothes, and I’ll get out of bed.”

  Down in the corner of one sack Jahdo did find a few slices of dried apple, and there was a flagon of fresh water and a wooden cup in the chamber, as well, so they had a bit of a meal to tide them over. When the sun was brightening on the dun wall, a servant unbarred the door to their chamber and came in with a loaf of bread, some fried bacon, and a pitcher of milk, brought specifically because Meer had asked for it the night before. The lass looked at Meer in such terror that she probably would have thrown the food onto the floor and run if Jill hadn’t been standing right behind her.

  “Jahdo, come take these things, will you?” the mazrak said. “I thought I’d come in for a bit of a chat.”

  Jahdo could think of nothing more likely to spoil one’s breakfast than a conversation with a sorcerer, but he smiled politely and did as he was told. Jill perched on the recently cleared chest at the window while Jahdo served Meer his food and got his own. The boy and the bard sat on the edge of the bed to eat.

  “Now,” Jill said. “Meer, I know that you’re a prisoner of wan For me to question you about your homeland goes contrary to all the laws of honor, but I’m desperate enough to try.”

  Meer merely grunted and fanged a rasher.

  “Consider the evil that your own people will suffer,” Jill went on. “This false goddess will lead them into great harm.”

  “My own people realize that very thing, mazrak,” Meer said with his mouth full. “With the exception of my ill-begotten foal of a brother, she has no followers there.”

  Jill hesitated, cocking her head to one side, honestly puzzled.

  “It’s the wild tribes,” Jahdo said. “The ones in the north, not Meer’s people in the west. That’s where all the prophets do come from.”

  “The what?” Jill turned to him with her icicle stare, stabbing into his very soul. “Where is this?”

  Jahdo felt suddenly sick. Deep in his mind a memory tried to rise, another pair of ice-blue eyes, another stare that had pinned him down. He whimpered and broke away, flinging up a hand as if to ward a blow. Meer turned toward him with a questioning sort of growl.

  “Here, lad!” Jill’s voice softened, and her eyes were normal again. “I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry if I frightened you. I never knew there was such a thing as wild tribes, you see, till this very moment, and it took me by surprise, like.”

  “All right.” He was surprised to find his voice steady. “Meer, may I tell her about the tribes? Or would that be dishonorable? I be worried about what’s going to happen to my own people if they get attacked and stuff. My father says we should always be scared of them, you know.”

  The bard considered, wiping his mouth on the back of one hairy hand, while Jill merely sat and waited for his decision. In the strong sunlight she seemed more frail than ever, as if her skin and flesh were translucent. Jahdo found himself thinking of bayberry candle wax.

  “I will speak for us both,” Meer said at last. “The tribes may be Horsekin, but they’re no allies of the Gel da’Thae. If they’ve gone over to the false goddess, then they be enemies indeed.”

  “My thanks, good bard.” Jill sounded profoundly relieved. “Is there a difference between Horsekin and Gel da’Thae?”

  “Of a sort. We were all the same people, though a people made up of warring tribes, in a past very long gone indeed. But now my people live in the ruined cities of the Children of the Gods, while the wild tribes still roam the untamed plains of the north with their horse herds. Ah, the plains! The treasure that we Gel da’Thae have lost! And cursed poor custodians the wild tribes have proved for it, too. Huh, they dare to wage war without any of the proper rituals and procedures. In war it behooves a man to be ruthless, but they’ve stooped to using any and every weapon at their disposal, including the four evil magicks and the seven cowards’ tricks. You wouldn’t be alone there, mazrak.”

  Jahdo flinched, hoping that Jill wasn’t about to blast Meer with lightning or suchlike, but she merely smiled.

  “I see,” she said. “And it’s those tribes who worship Alshandra?”

  “They do, indeed.”

  “Ah, things are beginning to fall into place. Now, when you say the wild tribes are to the north, do you mean due north or north and west?”

  “North and west. Not so far west for my folk, though far, far west from here.”

  “One last thing, Meer. What do you mean when you say ruined cities of the Children of the Gods?”

  “That I will not tell you.”

  “Very well. Let me guess. Long, long ago the Horsekin conquered seven rich cities, filled with marvels, and in their rage and ignorance destroyed them utterly. Jo this day the people known as Gel da’Thae eke out their lives near the remains of the beauty they destroyed.”

  Meer tossed back his head and howled, a thin keen of rage and mourning mingled. She be dweomer indeed! Jahdo thought, to ken such things and them as old as old. Jill smiled, sitting calm and easy, until Meer at last fell silent. For a moment he turned his head this way and that, focused at last on the sound of her breathing, and swung his head toward her.

  “It’s true,” he whispered. “You’ve seen our ancient shame, mazrak. How? In a scrying crystal? Did the spirits come to you and bring you visions? How?”

  “Not magic at all, but memory, the story passed down and down the long years by bards, or even written in books. I have a book, Meer, that tells the story whole and speaks of your people as well, but as they were that thousand years or more ago. Not all the folk who lived in those cities died. Some escaped to find a refuge and remember the harsh Wyrd that had fallen upon their people. Some live west of here. Others sailed in boats far, far to the south across the sea, and there they live to this day.”

  For a long time Meer sat with his head turned as it would have been if he’d had eyes to stare at her. At last he turned away with a long sigh.

  “I will speak no more to you, mazrak. I am, however, going to think about what you say.”

  “My thanks, and that’s all I’d ask of you.” She turned to Jahdo. “So, lad. You come from the Rhiddaer, do you?”

  “I do. I mean, uh, I didn’t know you’d know about that. Or be that writ down in one of them books, too?”

  “It is, indeed. But I’m probably the only person in all of Deverry who’s both heard of the Rhiddaer and cares one whit about it, so don’t let it trouble your heart. I can understand why you don’t want the Slavers to come meddling with your country.”

  “Good, ‘cause we don’t.” Jahdo summoned every shred of courage he had. “We be free now, and free we’ll stay.”

  “And I promise you somewhat, lad. I’d die myself before I’d let anyone enslave your folk again. I mean that from the very bottom of my heart. It was a wrong thing that Deverry men did when they stole your people’s land and freedom, and those of us who serve the dweomer have condemned it from the very beginning.”

  The quiet way she spoke convinced Jahdo that she meant every word of it. His eyes filled with tears again, and he found he couldn’t speak.

  “Tell me somewhat, mazrak,” Meer broke in. Apparently he could no longer stand his self-imposed silence, not when there was lore to be had. “May I ask you a question in, turn for those you’ve been asking me?”


  “Of course, though I may not answer, since at times you won’t answer me.”

  “Fair enough. You know about Jahdo’s people, and your name sounds as if it came from his country. Have you lived there, then?”

  “I haven’t, but I’ve heard tales from the Westfolk, the horseherders who live out on the grasslands between our two peoples.”

  “Horseherders!” Jahdo blurted. “See, Meer, I were right.”

  “Just so. Now hush.”

  “There are some of them in the dun right now, Jahdo.” Jill smiled, attempting to be kind. “You’ll see them sooner or later. I’ve made it my affair to gather as much information as I can, you see, about both the Rhiddaer and the Gel da’Thae—not that it’s been much of a harvest.”

  “Indeed? But what about your name?”

  “Just a nickname my father gave me, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find it goes back to some ancestor of mine who was a bondwoman. Jahdo, from what I’ve been able to learn, while your people may have adopted the Deverry language, your names spring from the old tongues of your ancestors, not from ours, because people cling to their names and pass them down. And not all your ancestors escaped Deverry entirely. Many years ago, when we were having some horrible wars, a lot of bondfolk found themselves without masters. Some claimed their land as freedmen and stayed where they were; others went to other provinces to settle down and farm there.”

  “No one made them go back?” Jahdo asked.

  “They were too valuable where they were. The noble-born learned an interesting lesson, back in those days of civil war. If there weren’t any farmers to give them food in taxes, they’d have to farm themselves if they were going to eat, and well, now, they wouldn’t have been very noble, then, would they?”

  Jahdo laughed.

  “Now we come to my case,” Jill went on. “I was as aminheddic as a lass can be. Do you know that word? You look puzzled.”

  “I don’t, my apologies.”