A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) (34 page)

Now they were pressed on all sides by fiercely struggling warriors. Noise and confusion reigned. Ashurek felt anger blaze in him, and gathering his strength he began to cut a path through the Dead Army. Skord followed him, so close on Vixata’s heels that the cob was kicked several times.

Meanwhile, Estarinel had become entangled in a mass of fighting soldiers. Shaell sidestepped as a sword nicked his flank, put a hind foot into a tangle of creeper, and was suddenly pushed off balance. He fell to the ground with a crash that winded Estarinel and knocked him out for a second. His leg was trapped under Shaell’s great bulk. The stallion got up immediately, unharmed. Estarinel, blinking away red and black stars, dragged himself to his hands and knees and managed to crawl through the bushes until he found a clear spot to stand and force his way back to Shaell.

Medrian saw Ashurek, eyes blazing, teeth bared, blood running down his face from a sword cut on his forehead, forcing his way through the battle. It was beginning to thin in places. She saw her opportunity. There was a small clearing. She made Taery gallop across it and jumped him clean over the heads of a clump of warriors. Estarinel, breathing hard from being winded, followed her. The live warriors scattered before the powerful, snorting stallion, and the dead ones, staring from rotting, blind eyes, were unceremoniously barged out of the way.

Ashurek turned in the saddle. The battle was moving further down below the treeline. Corpses littered the woods, lying still – for the time being. He saw that the other three were following him. They were making good progress, leaving the battle well behind them. As soon as they were clear of it he slowed down to wait for the others. Skord could not stop the hard-mouthed cob and it cannoned into Vixata’s hocks. The mare jumped forward irritably, kicking.

Ashurek turned her round. Panting like a wolf, with blood streaming down his face, he looked ready to tear Skord apart. But all he said was, ‘Let the horses cool down. An hour’s steady riding, and we’ll be in the yew forest.’

Well clear of the battle now, they walked the horses on a loose rein until they were cool and rested, then they cantered on across fields and past villages. All of them were wounded, but none so seriously that they could not go on.

The old yew forest was a gloomy place of gnarled, low trees forming a thick roof of dark green and black. The floor was clear of undergrowth. It was stuffy, light-starved and claustrophobic. Branches hung with dark needles and poisonous, cup-shaped red berries drooped low over the paths.

They went a long way into the oppressive place as Ashurek fastidiously sought the most suitable place for his work. At last he chose a clear space with a roof of tangled branches and they dismounted. He found himself trembling. He would never admit it, but he was afraid.

‘Now,’ he said, his voice level, ‘we begin.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Skord in a fearful tone verging on panic.

‘You’d better tie him to a tree,’ sighed Ashurek with grim humour. ‘We’re going to release you from your demon.’

‘But you’ll have to summon it!’

‘Look – I’ll not have this plan set awry by you panicking. Go and stand with Medrian and Estarinel. Put your arms round Shaell’s neck; there’s nothing like a horse to comfort you if you’re afraid.’

Ashurek spoke distantly and his eyes looked strange. Fearful of the Gorethrian, Skord fell back to where the others waited.

‘When the demon appears, don’t look at it or listen to it. Ignore it, think of something else. It can possess an unguarded mind in an instant.’ To himself he whispered, ‘In your name and for your sake, Silvren, I pray this plan will work.’

He began the incantation. Words of an old, long-dead language fell from his lips. Too fast, they tumbled over each other as if someone else were speaking them. As when the storm had dragged them into the White Plane, and when Arlenmia’s forces had carried them to the gorge, he had the feeling of being dragged into fell darkness.

The others watched him; a thin, dark figure standing motionless, his back to them, speaking in a low monotone alien words, words that should never have to be spoken. At first it seemed nothing was going to happen. The forest seemed very stuffy and dim, as if all air and light were being sucked from it. Skord was huddled against a tree trunk, alone and shaking with dread.

Suddenly the forest became quite black. The darkness clung round their faces like cobwebs, or old, rotting velvet. For a moment Estarinel thought he was not in a forest, but in a place of cold, wet stone that was always lightless, and there was something in that darkness, begging, begging to die… but now a silver figure appeared in front of Ashurek, slipping through the dark gate as an egg slips from its shell. It was not a lovely silver but the colour of a blazing acid flame, and its face was broad and leering.

It was worse than Estarinel had remembered. He thought he had never seen anything at once so beautiful and so hideous. Beside him, Skord crawled forward, as if unable to stop himself.

The demon ignored Ashurek and moved towards the boy. Ashurek stepped between them.

‘Siregh-Ma!’ he said. The demon ignored him still and, floating as if it were not on that plane, moved around him to reach Skord.

‘Siregh-Ma!’ Ashurek cried again, keeping himself in front of the boy, who, paralysed and trembling with fear, was prostrate on the forest floor. ‘Siregh-Ma!’ Ashurek shrieked. ‘At the third invocation you must answer your summoner!’

The demon stared at Ashurek. It opened its mouth, which gleamed wetly as if full of fresh blood. ‘Ah,’ it began sibilantly, ‘I know you. You are the one that Meheg-Ba wants.’

‘I am your summoner,’ said Ashurek through clenched teeth. The summoning was worse than he recalled; he felt the lobes of his brain being pulled apart, probed by spidery fingers.

‘Why have you summoned me, me in particular? Still, as you have, I might as well take the boy.’

‘Forget the boy and listen to me. I offer a bargain.’ He cringed inwardly as he said the words, words he had sworn he would never say.

‘How very interesting,’ the demon hissed, and its voice seemed to echo from an abyss. ‘Nothing, I hope, to do with the little witch Silvren.’

‘Be silent!’ Ashurek commanded, and the demon stopped in mid-sentence. Skord began to look up, amazed. How could Ashurek have such courage as to give orders to a demon? ‘The Shana have mocked and tormented me for the last time. We’ll do our business and you can go.’

‘You were never renowned for your manners,’ smiled Siregh-Ma. ‘What do you want?’

‘Release the boy and leave him free.’

‘Him! What do you want that wretch for?’ the demon exclaimed. ‘What can you pay me?’

‘An army of the dead that have invaded this country. You may take them all in exchange.’

The demon grinned. ‘Oh come, Ashurek. Do you think the Shana had nothing to do with their existence? To offer them to me is a ridiculous bluff.’

‘But most are Gorethrian soldiers. I was their High Commander, therefore they are mine to offer.’

‘Ah, nicely said. It seems to me, though, that I’d be doing you a double favour.’

Their hearts sank. It seemed the demon had seen through the bargain. However, Ashurek knew something of the primitive psychology of demons, and he said, ‘Think of it. The energy of the fighting corpses, created by many Shana, all pouring into you alone. You’d gain power by it. Or is your love and loyalty to Gastada such that you wouldn’t betray him?’

‘I loathe Gastada,’ Siregh-Ma answered with feeling. ‘You have a point. The boy is useless to me, and it would be a grand joke to foil Gastada’s plans.’

All creatures of the Worm loathe each other, Ashurek thought sourly.

‘What Gastada is doing,’ the demon continued, ‘is ineffective anyway, compared to what Arlenmia has undertaken.’

Ashurek did not reveal his curiosity at this statement, for to do so would lay himself open to possession. ‘So, the bargain is made,’ he said sharply.

‘Yes,’ said the demon. ‘Why not? It matters little. Gastada, however, will be furious, unfortunately for you!’ Siregh-Ma began to float slowly about the murky forest, bestowing a taunting smile upon Skord.

Ashurek began the words to dismiss the demon but it seemed oblivious to him. It looked at Medrian and, to his surprise, she looked fearlessly back, standing still and quiet as stone. The silver figure stared at her, hesitated, and then retreated, now floating before Estarinel.

‘The bargain is made. Go!’ Ashurek cried. The demon’s intention to possess the Forluinishman was obvious.

‘How sad for Forluin…’ it hissed, and Estarinel sensed the appalling magnetic power of it. He had been so careful to look down at the forest floor, yet now he was staring directly into its terrible argent eyes, seeing ghastly forms and patterns in them. The eyes seemed to fill his whole field of vision; the atmosphere became a dark silver-rust membrane shot with iridescent veins of dull green. And the membrane vibrated, softly, like an eardrum. He could hear screams, not realising that they were his own.

Ashurek knew then that the summoning, as he had feared, had gone terrifyingly wrong. All the strength left his body and he crumpled onto the ground, the words of dismissal refusing to leave his lips.

Then Medrian began to walk towards the demon. Her hands were outstretched like white claws and she seemed engaged in a painful, intimate struggle with herself. She put herself between Estarinel and Siregh-Ma and looked into the demon’s terrible eyes.

‘You are disobedient, you are breaking the bargain,’ she uttered in a strained yet commanding voice. ‘Get you gone!’ Her blanched skin reflected the demonic glow as if the awful pale light was streaming from her own face.

The demon’s mocking smile was gone. For an instant it actually looked frightened. Then it was sucked into the knot of shadow behind it. The ground heaved and the wind tore like a roaring beast through the trees. A moment later the forest grew light again. Ashurek stood up and saw Estarinel helping Skord to his feet.

The Forluinishman’s face was drained and his hands were shaking visibly. Medrian was leaning against a tree, her hair falling across her face, breathing hard. Ashurek stared at her with both intense relief and suspicion. How had she dismissed the thing?

He went to fetch the horses, which were shying nervously away through the trees. Estarinel took the palfrey from him and led the animal over to Medrian.

‘Are you all right?’ Estarinel asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned to him like a terrified child seeking comfort, and he held her, stroking her hair. Trembling convulsively, she hid her face against his shoulder. She had done something – only she knew – for which she would pay dearly later.

‘You saved me from that thing,’ he said with awe and gratitude. ‘Did it harm you? Tell me.’

Abruptly she pulled away from him and took the palfrey’s reins. She swept her hair back from her face with a hand that was now perfectly steady. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, her voice cold. ‘And you, are you all right?’

‘Yes. I don’t really remember what happened.’

‘Just as well,’ said Ashurek. ‘It seems I must thank you, Medrian.’

‘No, forget it,’ she replied curtly.

Skord seemed dazed as Ashurek helped him onto the roan cob, muttering, ‘It’s gone, it’s left me…’

‘Yes, lad, even a demon must keep a bargain,’ said the Gorethrian. ‘So, Setrel will have his miracle… but at what cost? Come, let us not brood on this event. We’ll ride back to Morthemcote and see how they have fared.’

As they rode back through the yew trees, there was a hoarse croaking as of crows flying above the forest. The trees seemed to close in around them, and they felt no light-heartedness at the success of their mission, only an increasing depression and fear.

‘We still have Setrel’s phial, if anything attacks us that cannot be fought by sword,’ said Estarinel.

‘If it works,’ replied Ashurek. He noticed that Medrian had pulled Taery to a standstill. ‘Why have you stopped?’

She did not answer. She had turned the palfrey to face the way they had come and was looking intently into the trees. They saw that she was looking at a horse, a black, long-bodied, plain horse, standing riderless in the forest. It stared at her with baleful eyes. It looked distinctly similar to her protective familiar, Nameless.

She began to trot towards it as if to chase it away.

‘Go!’ she shouted. ‘I don’t need your services now.’

The creature did not move.

‘Good grief, where’s she going?’ said Ashurek. The black horse turned and cantered away, with Medrian chasing it. In only a few seconds she was out of sight in the trees. ‘I’d better bring her back,’ Ashurek said, and cantered after her.

‘Wait!’ Estarinel shouted, but his companions had disappeared into the darkness of the yew forest. He waited fruitlessly for them to reappear, overcome by a terrible sense of foreboding and an irresistible urge to follow them. He looked at Skord. ‘I must go after them. But I think it’s safest for you if you carry on straight back to Setrel’s house. Will you do that?’ Skord looked blank, but did not argue. ‘Here, take the map. Be careful, won’t you? I expect we’ll catch you up in a few minutes, but if not, we’ll see you later.’

‘All right,’ Skord said dully. He opened his mouth as if there were something more he needed to say, but all that emerged, ominously, was, ‘Goodbye.’ He turned the cob and trotted away through the trees.