Days of Blood and Fire

  “Oh, we’ll be safe enough.”

  Up on the high tower the wind hissed and whistled round them. Off to the west Rhodry could see the occasional flash, and tardy thunder rolled their way. Down below servants and warriors rushed back and forth, getting horses into the stables, dragging firewood under overhangs, dashing at last for shelter themselves as the first fat drops of rain hit. Rhodry felt one splash on his cheek, then nothing, even when it began to rain steadily all round. When Jill laughed at his surprise, he realized something that his memories of her and their love affair had kept him from seeing until this moment, that she had changed far beyond the woman he once had loved, so far that whether she was a beauty or a crone, or even whether she was male or female, simply no longer mattered. She stood beyond such things, a consciousness that used flesh for her own purposes rather than being bound by flesh, and one that held power over far more than her own flesh.

  In a wash of blue glare lightning struck close; thunder boomed and rolled round the dun; she laughed with a toss of her head. Rain poured down like a silver curtain, sheltering them from casual sight, leaving the spot where they stood bone-dry. All at once he was frightened of her. Against the hiss of rain she raised her voice to be heard.

  “Remember what I was telling you earlier?’

  He nodded yes.

  “Listen to me, then. This sound means naught, by the way. It’s just a sound, not a dweomer call.”

  He was glad that she’d told him. She breathed out a long “ah” sound, such as a bard will use to cover a word he’s forgotten, but the sound was neither spoken nor sung, more like a hum, perhaps, but strong and deep, resounding from her very soul, as she had said, quivering like a live thing, if indeed a sound can be said to live, vibrating like a harpful of strings. It took a long time to die away, even on the wet, heavy air.

  “Try it.”

  “Oh, here, I could never do that.”

  “I think you can, Rhodry. For reasons I can’t tell you, mind, but I think you can. There’s more music in your soul than you might know.”

  At first he felt embarrassed, as if he’d become some sort of half-wit, standing on a roof and bellowing. Yet for her sake he tried, over and over, making all sorts of yells and hisses and a couple of truly foul remarks as well until all of a sudden something came clear without his truly knowing how it did, just as when a child learns to whip a top, flailing away too lightly, then too forcefully, until suddenly the thing spins. He felt the sound well up deep, seemingly of its own accord, and flood through and out of him, shaking his entire body. Once learned, he knew he would never forget— again, just like that child.

  “Splendid!” Jill said, grinning. “You’ve got it. Now you’ve got to learn the name.”

  A syllable at a time she drilled him, over and over till he wanted to scream at her instead of the dragon. He remembered learning how to use a sword, and the endless drills. If she were right, his life depended on this practice more than it ever had on his skill with a blade. As he worked, vibrating each part of the name, he felt that he grew in height, towering up, yet made of nothing more substantial than the clouds round them, weightless, floating up from the stone, trembling yet charged with power stronger than the lightning. Finally, just as the night was growing so dark that he could barely see her face, she pronounced him good enough—for the time being.

  “We’ll have to do this again and again,” she said. “But I don’t want you going hoarse on me. Try the whole name, Rhodry. All of it together in one long breath.”

  He gathered as much air as he could and growled it out.

  “Ar Zo Sah Soth Ee Lor Ez O Haz.”

  For the briefest of moments he felt answered. It wasn’t a word, nothing so concrete, more of a touch of mind on mind, a living presence, a soul, hearing his call, turning his way. The feeling vanished, leaving him spent. He felt as if he were falling, shrinking as he fell, tumbling and swooping through clouds and a long way down to hit hard ground.

  “Rhodry, ye gods! I’m sorry!”

  In the gathering night Jill’s pale face swam before him. He realized that he was kneeling on the roof with her beside him. She flung one arm round his shoulders, or he would have fallen onto his face.

  “I’m truly sorry,” she repeated. “I forgot that you’ve never done this before.”

  He nodded, panting for breath.

  “It’s rather like some townsman who’s never ridden a horse,” she went on. “And then ends up spending a day in the saddle. You’ll feel this on the morrow.”

  “No doubt.” He managed to smile. “But will I pass muster?”

  “You will. Oh, that you will! I told you you had a streak of music in your soul, didn’t I? Now let’s get you down to the great hall, where it’s warm. It’s a bit damp up here. You need to eat, too. Food’s the best thing at a time like this.”

  Sure enough, after a plate of bread and cold meat, washed down with a couple of tankards of ale in the company of other men in the great hall, Rhodry felt his usual self. Screaming the name into the rain seemed like an odd dream he’d had and nothing more, even though he knew that knowledge was his now forever. As he mulled it over in memory, the entire day turned strange and dreamlike, yet menacing at the same time. Jill and her wretched questions, he thought. A lot of horseshit, thinking that a man might live more lives than one! Couldn’t be possible. And what if it was? Just what if? I could have asked her. She would have answered. When he found himself remembering the white mountains, the height at the edge of his view, his mind skipped and shied.

  “Somewhat wrong?” Yraen snapped. “You look like you’ve seen some evil spirit.”

  “Mayhap I have. Nah, nah, nah, I was just thinking of a shameful thing.”

  “Some wench, is it?”

  “I only wish, but I was thinking of the only time in my life that I’ve been a coward.”

  Yraen turned on the bench to consider him narrow-eyed and puzzled. Rhodry had a long swallow of ale.

  “And when was that?” Yraen said at last.

  “Today, as a matter of fact. This very day.” Rhodry slammed the tankard down on the table. “Say one word more about it, and I’ll kill you.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “So I am.” Somewhat unsteadily, Rhodry rose, swinging himself clear of the bench. “I’m going to bed.”

  But once he was lying in his bunk, the sound of rain kept him awake. He kept remembering Jill, sitting in the sunlight and laughing at him, as merry as a lass over forbidden secrets of the soul.

  The rain stopped just after dawn. The sudden silence woke Jahdo, and he lay in bed for a moment with his eyes shut tight, praying that when he opened them, he’d be home. Yet of course, once he succumbed and looked, he saw only the wedge-shaped chamber in the gwerbret’s broch, all gray and swimmy with shadows. He sat up, yawning, and realized that Meer’s bed was empty. All at once he was wide awake. Why hadn’t the bard woken him, if he’d needed to get to the privy or suchlike? The stairs outside would be slippery with damp. He grabbed his trousers, pulled them on, and ran barefoot out of the room.

  The dun was beginning to come alive. Yawning servants ambled down the halls or stood stretching and gossiping in the great hall. Jahdo saw old Darro at the main hearth, lifting sods from the coals underneath.

  “Have you seen Meer?”

  The old man sat back on his heels and considered.

  “Just a bit ago, lad, see him I did. Heading for the door, there.”

  “He shouldn’t have gone out without me along.”

  “Here, here, one of Lord Matyc’s riders was with him, talking all urgent like, so he’ll be safe enough.”

  Jahdo hesitated, then decided that he simply had to go see for himself. He dashed out of the great hall, stood looking around the muddy ward for a moment, then heard a smothered giggle from just behind him. He spun round, but not fast enough. A wet and smelly burlap sack flopped over his head, and boys burst out laughing.

  “Let me go!” Jahdo yelled. ??
?It’s needful that I find Meer.”

  Although he flailed about him with his hands and screamed in rage, they kept laughing and spinning him round. Later he would realize that with his voice muffled by the sack, they couldn’t even make out what he was saying. He could hear them, though, laughing as they began shoving him toward the kitchen hut as far as he could tell. All at once he was falling, hitting dirt hard. A slam and a clang sounded above him. He tore the sack off to find himself in the root cellar, sprawled among baskets of turnips. Above him the barred door, framed by cracks of light, hung closed, He leapt and shoved, but the big iron bar on the outside refused to give way.

  “Let me out!”

  He jumped again, scraped his hands, and screamed wordlessly, over and over for a good long while. No one seemed to hear. His tormentors, he supposed, were far away by now. He crouched for another spring, then caught himself. Shoving the door like an angry bull was going to do him no good at all. He was going to have to be clever like a ferret instead.

  In the light from the cracks round the door he could see reasonably well. He began inching his way along the wooden walls, shoving baskets and sacks out of his way as he went, feeling for weaknesses and cracks that might open into another part of the dun cellars. Finally, in the darkest corner of the back wall, he found a long slit of a hole, probably where two walls came together on the other side. By falling onto his knees he could work his shoulders through-He shoved and squeezed, wiggled and swore, caught his shirt on a nail, swore louder—and heard an answering voice.

  “Who’s that?” It was Cook. “Who’s scrabbling in there like a rat?”

  “Me, Jahdo. Please, Cook, the other boys did shut me in the root cellar, and it’s needful that I do get out. Meer’s walking somewhere without a guide.”

  “Ye gods! They’ll get a smack for that, they will.” Massive hands came through the crack and pried, splitting old boards. “It’s a cursed good thing that I was down here, isn’t it now? Try this.”

  Jahdo squeezed through and found himself in the little cellar of the kitchen hut proper. With a bowl in one hand Cook stood beside an open barrel of salt; across from her a ladder led up to the light. Shouting thanks Jahdo ran, climbed, raced past startled serving lasses in the kitchen, and rushed, out of breath but too frightened to stop, across the ward. Panting and gasping, he headed for the dangerous wall behind the main broch, where Meer could easily take the wrong set of stairs and end up on the ramparts.

  “Here, where’s your hurry?”

  Rhodry was strolling toward him. Jahdo dodged him and kept running.

  “Trouble,” he gasped out.

  Sure enough, as he rounded the corner of a shed, he saw Meer way up above him on the main wall of the dun and standing next to a broken rail on a catwalk. Behind him stood Lord Matyc. For the briefest of moments Jahdo could have sworn that the lord had his hands raised to shove the bard over.

  “Meer!” he screamed with the last of his breath. “Ware!”

  The lord suddenly grabbed Meer’s shirt just as the bard stepped back.

  “Careful!” Matyc sang out. “Ye gods, man, you nearly fell.”

  Jahdo stopped running, too breathless to do anything but pant as Lord Matyc guided Meer round to the safe direction and led him down to the stairs. Rhodry strolled up and watched the pair with narrow eyes.

  “How come you weren’t with Meer?”

  “The other boys,” Jahdo panted, “did shut me in the cellar.”

  “Oh, did they now? Did you recognize Alli’s voice?”

  Jahdo nodded yes.

  The silver dagger walked over to the wall, just underneath the dangerous part of the broken catwalk, and picked up Meer’s staff.

  “He must have dropped this. Careless of him.”

  “Not like him at all,” Jahdo said, gulping air. “He knows he needs it.”

  Jahdo took the staff and trotted over to meet Meer, who was just gaining the solid ground of the ward.

  “Here we are, Meer.”

  “Jahdo, is that you? Good, good.” He grabbed the staff in both hands and raised it to his lips to kiss it.

  “How did you go and lose it?”

  “I was very foolish. I could have sworn that some creature yanked it out of my hand, but I must have merely let it slip — I grow old, Jahdo lad, old. A lax grip is one of the thirteen signs of approaching age. Where’s Matyc?”

  “Just behind you.”

  “Ah.” Meer turned and made a bow. “Your lordship, I shall consider what you told me very carefully indeed.”

  “My thanks, good bard.” But rather than pleased, Ma-tyc looked as sour as a Bardek citron.

  His lordship trotted off one way as Jahdo led Meer another, but Rhodry came along with the pair of them. He waited until Matyc was out of earshot before speaking.

  “Meer, it’s Rhodry. What was all that about?”

  “I’m not sure, silver dagger. He fed me some strange story about a man who hated the gwerbret because of old judgments that his grace had handed down in malover. Said he was sure that this fellow was planning treachery of some sort. Now, what I want to know is this: why was our Matyc telling me such a peculiar thing, and with all this secrecy and privacy abounding, too? He insisted that he had to speak to me as soon as soon, but there’s naught that I can do about some ancient court ruling.”

  “Of course there isn’t. Why didn’t you take Jahdo with you?”

  “Well, I thought of it, but the lad slept so soundly I hated to wake him. One of his lordship’s men came into the chamber, you see, to fetch me, and so I thought I was safe enough.”

  “How could I have slept through all that?” Jahdo burst out. “Him coming in, and you getting up, and the door opening and stuff.”

  “I wondered, lad, I wondered, but sleep you did.”

  “Stranger and stranger,” Rhodry said. “I think we’d best go find Jill.”

  “Jill?” Meer rumbled. “What does the mazrak have to do with this?”

  Rhodry never answered. Jahdo noticed the silver dagger staring up at the broch, and when he looked in the same direction, he saw a leather curtain fall back over one of the windows above, just as if someone had been watching them.

  Rhodry found a maidservant who told him that Jill was attending upon the princess in the women’s hall. He sent the lass in with an urgent request while he, Meer, and Jahdo waited outside on the landing by the spiral staircase. Meer glowered, clasping his staff tight, while Jahdo examined his bruised and bleeding hands.

  “Well have to have Jill take a look at those cuts,” Rhodry remarked.

  “I certainly will.” Jill came out at that moment. “Jahdo, what happened?”

  “Nah nah nah!” Rhodry hissed. “Hell tell you when we’ve got a bit more privacy.”

  “Then come up to my chamber. I’ll make up some herbwater, and he can give those hands a good soak.”

  They all went down and crossed over to the side broch, then panted up the winding stairs to the very top floor, where Jill ushered them into her quarters. Jahdo helped Meer sit on a carved chest near the door, then at her order took the one chair by the rickety round table. Rhodry perched on the windowsill, but he kept himself from looking out and down.

  “Nevyn always used to lodge on the top floor of brochs, too,” he remarked. “What is it about you dweomermasters and heights?”

  “He mostly enjoyed having a view. For me it comes in handy.”

  Meer shuddered and growled, just softly under his breath.

  A charcoal brazier stood near the stone portion of the wail. When Jill snapped her fingers in its direction, pale flames sprang up and lighted the sticks and coals. Jahdo yelped.

  “Haven’t you ever seen that before?” she said.

  The boy shook his head no.

  “It’s the elemental spirits of fire who do the actual lighting,” she said, smiling. “I just show them what I want lit. Now, how did you hurt your hands, and why is Rhodry being so secretive about it?”

  While
Jahdo told her, Jill kept working, pouring water from a pitcher into a metal pot, stirring in herbs and suchlike, but Rhodry knew her well enough to see that she was paying strict attention to the boy’s tale. When Lord Matyc’s name was mentioned, Meer interrupted and took over, repeating the conversation they’d had up on the wall. Jill poured the steaming, mint-scented herbwater into a pottery bowl and made Jahdo put his hands into it, even when the lad yelped and whined.

  “All sorts of molds and dusts collect in root cellars,” she said. “I know it stings, but we’ve got to get those cuts clean. Meer, I wonder if you’re thinking the same thing I am, that the disgruntled man Matyc was talking about was actually himself.”

  “The thought did cross my mind. Just a feeling, like. Huh. But what was he doing, then? Sounding me out to see if I felt like coming over to his side?”

  “Actually,” Rhodry broke in, “he was trying to kill you.”

  Meer swore in his own language.

  “He needed to distract you so he could push you over the edge,” Rhodry went on. “I’ll wager every coin I have that he’s the one who pulled your stick away, too. But our Matyc’s not a man of much imagination. I doubt me if he could invent an interesting long story, like, so he had to tell you his own. Didn’t matter, since he was planning on murdering you.”

  “A good guess, and mine as well,” Jill said. “Jahdo, I suspect that Alli was only following orders when he shoved you into the cellar.”

  “I saw Matyc giving the lad a coin last night,” Rhodry put in.

  “But the pages do tease me all die time.” Jahdo looked up, his eyes brimming tears.

  “True spoken,” Rhodry said. “But why did they choose this particular morning, and it so early and all, to play a prank that they must have known was dangerous, stealing the guide of a blind man away? What if someone put them up to it, knowing that they were the noble-born sons of powerful men and beyond hard questioning in the death of a stranger? And what if that someone lured Meer up to a rain-slick wall and tripped him? Easily enough done, easily enough indeed.”

  “I agree,” Jill said. “If you’d been the usual sort of lad, Jahdo, you would have stood there yelling and banging on the door for a long, long time. They weren’t counting on you being so clever, to think of a faster way out.” She glanced at Rhodry. “But we don’t have any evidence for any of this. Naught that would sway the gwerbret’s mind in full malover, anyway.”