A Flame of Song

Chapter 2

2

By the time Frankle had washed and changed and tried to do something with his mop of hair, the sun had set and the sky outside his bedroom window was darkening into night.

He even changed his robe; Lodan had dropped off a pile of fresh clothing days before that looked close to his size, another prize discovered in the extended search of the castle apparently still going on. He picked a plain blue robe that didn’t have too many ostentatious trimmings and stood in front of the mirror, studying himself.

He looked like a servant. A well-dressed one, perhaps, but still a servant. Young and thin and lost inside the world of men. He sighed, pushed such thoughts from his mind, and stepped out of the room.

The recent upheaval in the castle hadn’t done anything to reduce the various activities going on within its walls. Servants scurried to and fro through the corridors Frankle passed down, none of them meeting his eyes, all focused on their duty and trying their best not to be noticed. He knew the feeling. In times of trouble and change, it was best to stay quiet and still, like a mouse peeking out of its hole, whiskers twitching, nose tasting the air.

The previous night, he had managed to chase down one of the young cleaners assigned to this wing of the castle and tried to wheedle out some information. The boy didn’t know much, and wanted to tell Frankle even less, but eventually he seemed to recognise something of a kindred spirit in the young wielder and let slip that the latest rumours were about the king himself, still bed-bound, spending his waking hours raving quietly to himself, his bed surrounded by officials all waiting for him to pass. Apparently, the entire court was in an uproar. Whispers about Redmondis and assassins and attempted military coups were gaining strength.

Still, best to leave such worries for Lodan and the others, like that guard captain Frankle had seen Lodan with a lot recently.

Captain Mont, that was his name. Better not to get involved at all. Once Daemi recovers, we can get out of here, back to Redmondis. Back to the safety of its high stone walls.

That thought brought his mind around to dinner and the special guest Heather had mentioned. Did she mean Daemi?

His question was answered as soon as he pushed open the heavy door to the dining room they had claimed as their own, a relatively sparse affair close to the kitchens and plain enough to afford some privacy. The table was set for six, and already sitting at one place was Daemi, her head bowed, her hands clasped in her lap.

‘Daemi!’ Frankle blurted, hurrying over to her. Without waiting for a reply, he wrapped her in a hug.

She returned the squeeze quickly, then pushed him back, looking him over. ‘Frankle. You look different.’

Frankle smiled, then realised he felt exactly the same way about her. She looked strange. Older. Damaged, somehow.

Daemi seemed to recognise the change in his expression, and a scowl twisted across her lips. ‘I’m fine. The scars have closed completely, thanks to you and Heather.’

‘Oh. I’m glad to hear that.’

Daemi’s eyes darted to the fireplace set in the back wall and the large black cat that was splayed out in front of it, watching them.

Frankle felt it immediately, the spark that flashed between Daemi and the cat. ‘Heather told me we had a special guest. I’m glad it’s you.’

Daemi smiled again and waved him into a seat. ‘Yes, well, that’s enough soppiness, don’t you think? Tell me what you’ve been up to these past few days.’

Frankle was just about to launch into an excited listing of all the treasures he’d discovered in the queen’s study when the door swung open again and Heather stepped in, grinning, followed quickly by both Lodan and Captain Mont, their heads bowed together in a whisper. They broke it off as soon as they entered, and Lodan strode over to Daemi, clapping her on the shoulder.

‘I’m pleased to see our patient has recovered! We could do with some good news around here.’

Frankle looked back and forth between Heather’s expectant grin and Daemi’s cold, slightly flushed demeanour. But there was something different now.

Her smile faded and her eyes slipped past Lodan to look to the cat again, as though in support. It lazily reared into a stretch in reply.

If Lodan noticed, he didn’t mention it, simply waved the guard captain to the head of the table and sat down next to Daemi. ‘You all know Captain Mont by now, I think. I wanted to invite him along tonight especially. To see Daemi upright for one, and … well, the rest can wait until after we’ve eaten. Rest assured, Captain, the food here is hearty and hot, and most important of all in these halls, safe.’

Captain Mont nodded to each of the others before taking his seat, then turned his full attention to Daemi, looking her over coolly, his practised eye noting the way she held herself even when sitting for dinner.

‘Daemi, I’m told you are a guard captain in Redmondis. Should I address you as such?’

‘Please don’t.’

Captain Mont bowed in recognition and grinned. ‘And that, Lodan, is what I was saying about the benefits of being a stranger in these parts. No formalities to tie you down.’

‘No connections either, Captain, and rest assured my people are doing their best to cut any needless red tape that may be holding you back.’

‘Oh, they are, it’s just there’s such an awful lot of it in this place.’

Captain Mont grimaced and shook his head. ‘Almost makes me miss those days in the Tangle. Almost.’

‘Were you stationed there for long, Captain?’ Heather flapped her napkin open and lay it across her lap. Frankle copied her instantly.

‘Long enough, young lady. Long enough. Still, it proved interesting in its own way.’

His attention was caught then by the cat, which had scurried over and climbed into Daemi’s lap. It stared at the captain, its black eyes locked onto his.

Captain Mont shook his head suddenly, as if waking up. ‘I’m sorry, what was I saying?’

‘The Tangle …’ Heather prompted.

‘Oh yes. Dark days, even darker nights. Strange creatures haunting the shadows—’

‘Gloomclaws.’ Daemi cut him off.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The creatures, the … things that attacked you. Attacked us here. They’re called gloomclaws.’

Frankle nodded quickly in confirmation. ‘The queen left notes in her study calling them the same thing.’

Lodan leaned forward, his eyes suddenly keen. ‘And what other titbits of knowledge have you two been keeping from the rest of us?’

Frankle flushed. ‘The queen left a lot of information in her study, not all of it very organised. There’s a lot to get through.’

‘But I take it you’re enjoying the task?’ Lodan grinned.

‘Oh yes! Just this morning, Heather and I—’

‘Lodan doesn’t want to hear about every little thing we discover, Frankle,’ Heather cut him off abruptly and turned back to Captain Mont, wrenching the conversation back to him. ‘I’m told you met our friend in the Tangle, Captain. Wilt.’

‘Yes. Yes, I brought Wilt here into Sontair. Unfortunately, I lost track of him almost as soon as we got here.’

The captain stared at the cat then, his lips moving slowly, as though he had forgotten what he had been trying to say. A moment later, the spell seemed to pass, and he snapped back to full awareness.

‘I’ve been pecking at Lodan here like an old maid, trying to get him to tell me where Wilt has gotten to now. I’m worried for him.’

‘Rest assured, Captain, he is not in any danger here,’ Daemi answered calmly, absently stroking the cat in her lap.

‘So, he is here, then? Still?’

Daemi’s mouth twisted into a frown and Heather stepped in. ‘It’s not that simple, I’m afraid, Captain. You see, Wilt has some … special powers. He saved us when we stumbled into the creature—’

‘Gloomclaw,’ Daemi corrected.

‘—the gloomclaw we found in the dungeons here. Apparently, the queen had been keeping it as some sort of pet, or experiment, or something. It would have killed us if it wasn’t for Wilt’s intervention.’

‘These powers you mention, Heather. They wouldn’t have anything to do with what became of one of the queen’s advisers in front of the entirety of the king’s court, would they?’

The room became very quiet then. The captain looked at his hands, gently rearranging the place setting in front of him.

‘Um—’ Frankle began, and Heather instantly kicked him under the table.

‘It’s not something any of us fully understand yet, Captain. We’re working on it.’

The silence stretched out, filling the room. Then the door to the chamber swung open, and the first of a retinue of servants stepped in, each carrying a large steaming tray of food. In moments, the room was filled with the rich scents of roasted meats and vegetables.

‘Well,’ Lodan finally spoke after the servants had breezed back out of the room, ‘I say we put off any further questions until after our meal. I for one am starving.’

For the next half an hour or so, conversation was minimal as they each dived into their food. Even Daemi seemed to step back into herself as she ate, her shoulders settling and her spine straightening. Every now and then, she slipped a morsel of meat to the cat waiting in her lap. By the time they had each eaten their fill, the table looked like a battle zone.

As soon as Lodan slid his chair back from the table, the door swung open again and the team of servants cleared the table in moments, the final one placing a large pot of steaming coffee in the centre of the table and bowing his way out of the door.

Captain Mont clapped his belly appreciatively and sighed. ‘You weren’t wrong about the service here, Lodan. Your people could teach even the court servants a thing or two.’

‘When jobs are at a premium, Captain, those who hold them grip them tightly.’

‘Too true.’

‘Now,’ Lodan turned to each of them, ‘I mentioned we were expecting a special guest tonight. Not to detract from your good selves,’ he nodded in turn to Captain Mont and Daemi, ‘but there was someone else I thought we should meet.’

On cue, the doors opened again, and two armed men entered leading a third, bent over and covered with a blanket, shackles clinking as he was led to a seat at the table and pushed down into it. At a nod from Lodan, the two soldiers backed out of the room, their hands never straying too far from their blades.

‘And what sort of special guest comes so garbed, Lodan?’ Captain Mont sat forward, all his attention on the prisoner.

‘One I think we will all be keen to question,’ Lodan replied, and reached out to rip the blanket free.

Huddled in the chair was a thin, red-robed man, hands and feet locked into what looked like slightly greenish stone chains, face bent down and away from them, as though even the dim firelight that lit the room was too much for him.

‘Raise your face.’ Lodan’s voice was one of command, very different from his timbre only moments earlier.

The man obeyed, his thin, sunken cheeks and pale, almost silvery skin shining in the light.

‘Open your eyes, wielder.’

Frankle let out a gasp of recognition as the man’s lids opened to reveal his glowing, golden eyes. ‘Cortis.’

‘What’s that?’ Lodan turned to Frankle.

‘Cantor Cortis. In Redmondis. The prefect we told you about, who tried to overthrow the Sisters. His eyes were just like that.’

‘You see, Captain? Already we are making progress.’

‘But what is the significance, Frankle? Why would this man’s eyes be so—’

‘It’s something Cortis did to his followers—the ones closest to him, anyway. They became wolves, part of his pack. Their eyes were the first thing to turn. Others, the ones who resisted him …’

Frankle shuddered at the memory of the pile of writhing half human forms at the base of the wielder’s tower, the result of failed transformations that Cortis had abandoned.

Frankle’s words seemed to encourage the prisoner, and a grin of triumph twisted across his face.

‘They were weak. Too weak to face the truth they were offered. Just as you are.’ The man’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it twined about the room, slithering into their ears.

The cat on Daemi’s lap leapt up onto the table and crept slowly toward the prisoner, its black eyes never leaving his face.

‘Leave us,’ Daemi spoke, her eyes also locked onto the prisoner. ‘Frankle, you stay. You can assist.’

Heather was the first to react, pushing her chair back and gesturing Lodan and Captain Mont to do the same. ‘It’s okay. I think I know what they’re going to do. Let them have the room.’

Captain Mont looked like he was about to argue the point, but at a glance from Lodan, he nodded and followed them both out of the chamber, shutting the door behind them.

The prisoner’s brash confidence seemed to drain away as he stared into the cat’s eyes.

Frankle sat very still, watching Daemi’s face. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Frankle.’ Daemi reached out and took his hand in hers. ‘Come. Like this.’

Frankle closed his eyes and dived into the chaos of the depths.

That’s right, like this.

The voice was Delco’s, just as it had been before, but Frankle knew that Wilt was the one calling him on, through the swirling currents that sang to him, down into the strange peace of the space beneath the depths, onto the ice barrier that stretched out below them, marked only by a single black spot. He sunk helplessly toward it, trying to swallow the panic that surged into his throat.

It’s okay, Frankle. We won’t let you fall.

Frankle trusted him, trusted Daemi, trusted his memory of Delco and the strange connection he could still feel between the cat before his eyes and the man he once knew.

Come. Walk with me.

Frankle felt his feet touch onto the ice. He looked down at them, and thought he caught a flash of movement somewhere beneath, through the blurred lens of the frozen surface.

Don’t look down.

Instantly, his eyes flicked forward, obeying the command.

You have grown in strength, Frankle. Even so, those sights are not for your eyes. Not yet.

He felt his feet begin to move over the ice, slowly at first, testing each footfall to ensure it held his weight. The cat trotted slowly beside him, much surer on his four feet.

We will break into his mind together, but you must leave me there once the task is complete. Fear not, I will return easily enough. You must take Daemi with you. I do not want either of you to feel responsible for what must be done.

Frankle saw a flash of vision, a drained face, cadaverous, black skin sunk against bone, dead eyes staring. He shook his head, and the image faded.

Come. Take me with you.

Frankle bent down and the cat jumped easily into his arms.

Now. Let us begin.

A surging vortex, a black snake twisting out from its centre, striking down onto the helpless mind of their victim, then a chaos of memory crashing over them.

He stood in the circle, one of the chosen, each strong enough on their own to be named wielder. He felt the triumph of it, the glow of power inside his mind. Burning and bright and too much to hold, so that it leaked out through his golden flecked eyes.

Interlinked, their minds joined together in the way the queen had instructed them. A chain far stronger than the sum of its parts.

He reached his arms up as one with the others in the circle, and the net began to form. Surrounding the shadow in the centre of the circle, trapping it, holding it on the surface plane. Not allowing it to sink back into the depths.

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead as the net surged and warped, the blackness in its centre pulsing back at it, a tickle of darkness scratching over the surface of his mind. He could feel it staining him, leaking into him through the barriers he had put in place. It was too much for them to hold.

Back, Frankle. Away from that. Go forward.

The silver blade cut through the air in front of his face, so close he could feel the whisper of its passing.

‘Moonsteel.’

Vargul frowned. ‘A weld blade. Use its proper name.’

He nodded and kept his eyes on the treasure as Vargul swept the blade through the air again. ‘How?’

‘The assassin from Redmondis was carrying it.’

‘But how did it find its way into his hands? Surely they haven’t mastered—’

‘No, this came from the east, beyond the Spine, across the Eternal Sea. Look here.’ Vargul pointed at the top of the hilt, where a small flame motif was etched into the base of the silver blade. ‘The queen has others like it. The flame marks this as a blade forged in the fires of Pankesh, where all true wielders hope one day to serve.’

He nodded, hoping his ignorance of the topic wasn’t showing on his face. He had heard about the strange folk of the Eastern Dales, but talk of an Eternal Sea and Pankesh were mysteries to his sheltered mind.

‘I think this blade was owned by none other than Cantor Cortis himself,’ Vargul continued, his eyes shining.

‘So, the assassin?’

‘Do not fear. I have him under control. Come, let us show our brothers what we have found.’

There, Frankle. That is what we need. Come now, I do not think we can hold this mind open any longer.

A crack and a shift and another vision opened.

He sat in the dark, huddled in the corner of the room, waiting for the sound of his door swinging open. It came every night; it would come again tonight.

A silence, a coldness, a blackness too deep to breathe in, so thick it choked him and clawed its way into his eyes, wiping the world away. Then the pain.

Frankle. Enough, you must go.

Oh, the pain. Like he was impaled on a spear of flames, licking his insides, burning up and out through his eyes.

Now Frankle, leave this nightmare where it belongs.

The door swung slowly open, and he looked up.

A sudden wrench and Frankle was out, back above the swirling chaos of the welds, surging out and breaking back into the surface world, the deep coldness that had found him dripping away.

‘Breathe, Frankle.’

He opened his eyes to see Daemi leaning over him, her eyes edged with concern.

‘Are you okay?’

He thought about that for a second before nodding and sitting up. ‘I’m fine. That was—’

‘Dangerous,’ Daemi finished for him. ‘I hope you found out what we wanted to know.’

Frankle gasped as he saw the shrunken figure of the prisoner slumped in the chair across from them. His skin was blackened and drawn, like something had sucked the years out of him.

‘We’re not going to get anything else out of that one.’ Daemi clapped him on the back and pulled him to his feet. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

Frankle nodded, his eyes not leaving the husk in front of them. ‘Did I—’

‘No.’ Daemi looked over at the cat crouched on the edge of the table, its black eyes staring through them. ‘That wasn’t you.’

‘Were you there with me? Did you see?’

‘I saw. Come now, you need to rest.’

Frankle was about to protest again when he almost collapsed as a wave of exhaustion seemed to pull his legs out from under him. ‘Um, perhaps you’re right.’

‘Leave this for the others. We’ll worry about what to do later.’

He slumped gratefully against Daemi’s shoulder as she led him from the room.

‘And the others?’ Captain Mont sat forward, his eyes never leaving Daemi’s face.

‘I don’t know. There was only one other there. Vargul.’

‘He’s—’ Lodan began.

‘Already accounted for,’ Captain Mont finished for him. ‘But there were others here, other advisers.’

‘None that have popped their heads up,’ Lodan continued. ‘As soon as one does, we will know about it.’

‘We should have waited.’ Captain Mont sat back and slapped his thigh in irritation. ‘Let the dungeons do their work on him. Now there’s nothing left.’

Daemi shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t have got anywhere. He had been trained by a Sister.’

‘The queen?’

‘That’s where we need to focus. Frankle has been working through her study. Apparently, she left a lot of information there, for those with the wits to understand it. I say we contact Petron in Redmondis and get him to send a team here to study it, find out what we can.’

Lodan frowned. ‘That’s all very well, but how long will it take them to get here? We need to act now, not in a month’s time.’

‘There are ways.’ Daemi replied, and glanced across at the ever-present cat watching their exchange.

Old ways. Silent ways.