“What if he says no?”
“Then we will think of something else.” And then she was gone. The pain of climbing ebbed as I struggled into my armour, and when she returned she carried a letter from Daana ap Dhyrrin allowing us to leave.
“That was easier than I expected,” she said. At first she had to help me limp along the corridors of Castle Maniyadoc but walking helped bring the feeling back into my hands and feet. Then we ran. As we left the keep I glanced back over my shoulder and, just for a moment, thought I saw a figure at the lit window of Daana ap Dhyrrin’s window, watching as we ran for the gate. I banged on the door of the guardroom. The guards were in no hurry and I hammered on the door again. The guard who eventually answered seemed annoyed and puzzled to see us, a squire and Death’s Jester rushing through the night demanding he open his doors and dragging him away from his warm brazier, but let us through.
We skirted Festival, which was full of light and noise, and ran as fast as we could for the dark stables. Even armoured and with my club foot I outran my master, or maybe, judging Drusl my business, she let me go ahead.
I skidded to a stop at the open stable doors. The sun had dipped below the walls and flickering torches lit the interior in gold and red. Light caught the antlers of the mounts, their heads swayed restlessly, as if they were aware something was wrong and antlers threw a forest of needle shadows over the walls. At the edge of the torchlight I was held, as if the dome of light were some impassable barrier—I saw a mountbiter, tiny as a jewel, float through the air, the high whine of its wings pulsing in my ear as it flew into the stable, but I could not follow. My body refused to listen to instruction. I willed my legs to move but they would not. I begged my mouth to open but I made no sound. Instead I was forced to stand and watch, a mute, helpless audience to a tragedy.
Heamus stood in front of Xus’s stall, too intent on what he was saying to notice me. He spoke gently, using the same voice one would use on a frightened animal.
“There is no time for this, no time. Come.” Something was said in return, something so quiet all I could make out was fear in the voice. Heamus shook his head. “No, not that, never that again.” A muffled reply. The air in the stable felt like it had thickened, as if it wished to stop me hearing what was said. I could hear no words, discern no meaning; only that terrible fear came through, and the mounts picked up on it, starting to hiss and cough. “You must forget him, forget this place, forget it all. It is no longer safe for any of you.” A shuddering through the stable, as if a wave of sadness passed along it, blowing around loose straw and slamming shutters. Xus remained almost entirely still, except for his great head, which swayed as if he were hypnotised. The other mounts began to rear and strike out. The thunder of clawed feet beating against wooden stalls filled the stable, the forest of antler shadows on the walls twisted and bucked as if caught in strong winds.
Then Heamus raised his voice. Breaking the spell. His shout brought a crushing, heavy silence down on the stable that stilled the mounts, deadened all feeling. Heamus’s voice was the only sound. The stable around him became a blur. He became the focus.
“Dead gods’ sake, girl, will you come out!” His hand went to the blade at his waist—not, I think, because he wished to use it, but because it was a habitual gesture when he lost his temper.
A scream.
Everything changed, moved.
The air bowed and became a great lens, thick as honey and filled with the scent of spices. It spoke out with a deep voice, like the paralysing bark of an impossibly huge dog. The stall which housed Xus seemed to breathe in and Heamus raised his arms in a futile attempt to shield himself. A woman screamed, as if giving birth and dying at the same time, and Xus, my beautiful, powerful Xus, crumpled as if he were made of wet paper, his massive body shrinking, muscle falling away until his bones became stark against his skin and he was dragged down by his own weight. Darkness exploded from the stall. A plug of ink-black air throwing itself against the Landsman, peeling back his armour, shedding spears of black like water crashing against rock. It slammed Heamus back against the door of the empty stall behind him and he screamed as his bones were shattered along with the wood.
The darkness vanished as quickly as it had come. The moment felt like a dream, but the smashed door and Heamus’s broken body showed it to be all too real, horrifically real. The front of the Landsman’s armour and the flesh of his face had been flensed from him. After hitting the stall door he had fallen forward, dead, his face turned towards me and his wet red skull grinned mockingly from his bent helmet.
“No!” The word that came from within Xus’s stall was a howl of anguish. It sounded as if all the pain and worry I had felt over the past days was bundled up into one forlorn, sour syllable, and though I knew what I would find I still refused to accept it. Slowly, dreading and knowing what I would see, I advanced on Xus’s stall through hazy air and over ground which felt like it was made of sponge. Each step brought me closer, each pace brought me nearer to knowing that, in my life, there were to be no surprise escapes, no happy endings. There was only one explanation for what I had seen and heard.
“Drusl,” I said.
She stood with her hands held away from her body as if they were animals that would bite her. Her eyes were wide with horror at what she had done. Next to her was Xus. The once-mighty mount had fallen to his knees, his muzzle prematurely greyed and his fur hanging loosely from a starved and skeletal body. The animal looked a thousand years old. How could this be him? He was strong. He had carried me across the land with the wind whipping my hair. Xus was indomitable, the only thing stronger and more constant than my master. His warmth had sheltered me through long nights, his fur had been my comforter, and the smell of him was the nearest thing I had ever known to home. Mounts could live for hundreds of years; mounts should live for hundreds of years.
But Xus would not; he was broken. Breath wheezed in and out of his lungs in painful gasps. The great antlers he had always been so proud of were now too heavy for his head and had pulled it to the floor, tilting it to one side and painfully twisting his scrawny neck. Saliva ran from his mouth, around gums that had receded from black and rotten teeth, to pool on the floor of the stable. His small black eyes were empty of life, the great spirit that had animated him horribly, permanently reduced.
“Xus,” I said.