Blood Song: The First Book of Lharmell Page 9

  My shrieks of pain ricocheted around the bare trunks of the forest, only falling silent in the blessed moments when I lost consciousness.

  ––

  Renata looked up from the sofa as soon as I entered our apartment.

  ‘Did you practise?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, going straight through to my room before she could see my white face and shaking hands. It had taken hours to make the return journey, whereas outward it had been merely minutes. Somewhere close to the castle walls the pain had dimmed. I had leaned gratefully against the cool, white walls for several minutes and composed my streaky face and sweat-soaked figure.

  As far as Renata knew, I had practised for many hours.

  ––

  Despite the wedding of his only son being just days away, King Askar pulled out all the stops for the tournament. In a grassy field within the palace grounds a temporary range had been set up. Two dozen targets were at one end of the field. There were to be more contestants than just Rodden and me, I found out. A royal decree had been issued the very evening of the challenge, inviting all archers within fifty miles to enter the competition. Amis told me this when I had come down to the field and found it full of people stringing bows.

  ‘They’re not all being offered my hand in marriage, are they?’

  ‘No,’ he assured me. ‘If somebody else wins, they get a coin prize. But no one else is going to win.’

  ‘You mean you think Rodden’s going to win.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, giving me a sidelong glance. ‘Lilith’s been telling me just how good her little sister is. This should be interesting.’ He grinned.

  Interesting. Yes, like a trip to the tooth-surgeon.

  Lilith gave me a kiss and a hasty ‘Good luck!’ before Amis took her hand and they went to their places in the royal marquee. Multi-coloured tents had been erected around the field, a-flutter with little flags. Spectators from the city were filing in through the front gates. They sat on the rows and rows of benches that had been carried down from the great hall. Stalls were selling cups of pink lemonade and honey biscuits. Children ran all over the gardens with toy bows and rubber-tipped arrows. A group of girls in party dresses threw a red ball between them. A coconut shy had been set up. The atmosphere was that of a carnival. The whole of Xallentaria was treating this event as little more than a diversion.

  Everywhere I went, people pointed at me and gawked openly. I overheard snippets of their conversations: I was the proud princess from the south who’d bitten off more than she could chew; Rodden was their champion, the kingdom’s saviour. He was tipped to win and take this arrogant foreigner down a peg or two, and then marry her to boot. He was the darling of the masses, a man who could show them that no matter how low-born you were, you could still end up gentry by a twist of fate. I, on the other hand, represented the misplaced pride of a spoilt royal. I would have found their ignorance amusing if I wasn’t so nervous about my own fate.

  Bets were being placed and the odds were fifty-to-one in Rodden’s favour. No one thought I was going to win.

  I stood outside my warm-up tent, Leap at my feet and Griffin perched on the back of a chair. They watched the proceedings with interest; a bow in my hands usually meant quiet, solitude, a chance to hunt; but they seemed to be enjoying the crowd. I rolled my sleeves up past my elbows so I didn’t get too hot and took my gauntlet off, buckling my arm guards on in its place. All I could do now was wait. I glanced towards the royal tent. The king and queen sat on their thrones, laughing and talking to a few lords and ladies, and supping from silver goblets and little platters. Amis and Lilith were engrossed with each other, talking intently and holding hands. Rodden stood confidently nearby, chatting with a baron’s daughter or two and leaning casually on his bow, clearly at ease. The girls pulled ribbons from their hair and knelt down to tie them to the butt of his bow for luck. More girls saw this and went over to him, and soon there was a rainbow of ribbons fluttering from his bow. One girl leaned in to kiss his cheek.

  The people’s favourite, I thought with scorn.

  Renata sat next to the queen, the only one apart from me not enjoying the festivities. She must have heard what people were saying. Either that or she was still livid that I had gotten myself into this mess. But when I caught her eye she gave me a small smile and jutted her jaw: chin up, Zeraphina. Family pride to the last. I was glad for her support, but she must have heard that pride always comes before a fall.

  Rodden and I were the last event of the day. First would be the children’s contest; the ladies’; the soldiers’, which would give the king an opportunity to exhibit his army’s prowess; several opens; and then, finally, the main event: Rodden and I and the winners from the opens.

  For the children’s round, the targets were set at ten paces. Boys and girls lined up, mostly soldiers’ children. More than a few gangly girls had entered, and they cast shy smiles at me. It seemed I was popular with one group at least.

  I was too keyed up to pay close attention to the heats. Row after row of archers lined up, and as the events progressed the targets moved further and further away. The soldiers drew the most cheers as they took the opportunity to show off with some fancy shots. One drew a circle of arrows around the rim of the target. A group of nine lined up and fired at once, their arrows spelling out a capital ‘A’ in honour of the king. To them, it was more of a display than a competition. Hoggit was there and he was particularly vocal, calling out to the crowd and strutting around between shots. I had to admit that as a group they were quite proficient. But I was better.

  It was the opens that I paid close attention to. Among their ranks might be a maverick, a lone-wolf archer who was going to steal the day; someone better even than Rodden and me. I prayed for such a thing. If neither Rodden nor I won, all bets would be off: I wouldn’t get my ring back and he wouldn’t get my hand. This, I decided, was the second-best outcome. I didn’t need to get my ring back from Rodden. As he’d said, it was useless to him now. I was already here.

  None of this was going to change my game-plan, however. If I slackened off to allow someone else to win and Rodden beat them, I would be lost. I was going to compete to the best of my ability and just hope that if I wasn’t as good as Rodden, another would be better than both of us.

  Someone in the last open caught my attention. It was a tall man, cloaked in black. Without emotion, he fired shot after perfect shot and ended up winning the heat. Rodden noticed him too, consternation on his features. I saw him lean across to say something in Amis’s ear. The prince frowned and looked at the man, and then called Hoggit over. The captain listened, nodded, and went back to his archers. There were already a handful of guards on the field, but those who had competed suddenly snapped to attention and posted themselves around the range as well, their eyes on the cloaked figure.

  What was Rodden up to? Was this stranger too good, and he was going to stoop to murder rather than lose the tournament? But surely if this was the plan he wouldn’t have involved the prince. I studied Rodden’s face, but instead of fierce competitiveness, I saw unease. I looked back at the stranger but couldn’t detect anything dangerous about him. Besides, he was one man against a hundred, so what could happen?

  I didn’t have much time to consider this as the final event was being called. Stomach lurching, I stepped forward. As the main attraction, Rodden and I were given pride of place at the centre of the range. The other contestants fell in beside us. The man in the black cloak took his place next to Rodden. I saw Rodden’s shoulders bunch, and a ripple of distaste go through him. Good. He was worried. As my rival’s confidence waned, I found mine grew, and I plucked at my string in a cheerful manner. Renata and Lilith were on their feet, the only ones cheering for me. Two sharp-eyed girls aged around eighteen or so had made it to the final round. They looked like soldiers’ daughters and were long-legged and tanned. One of them must have been Hoggit’s as he hollered and applauded like crazy when she took her place. Two soldiers
and one other civilian took their marks.

  The rules were simple: six sets of three arrows were to be fired, and at the end of the round all but the top three archers were to be eliminated. The remaining three would go through to the final round. Before any shots had been fired I was certain that the final round would consist of Rodden, me, and the stranger in black. The judges cautioned the audience to remain silent throughout to allow the competitors complete concentration.

  The targets were set at fifty paces, which gave those with heavier bows like myself and the men an advantage. Smaller bows would not fire with enough force to be unaffected by the cross-wind that had started blowing.

  Lilith stepped forward to start the tournament. I could see from her face that she thought the whole affair was amusing. She held aloft a fluttering hanky which she released with the words, ‘Let the tournament begin!’

  We took our marks, notched our arrows, drew back and, as one, fired. Arrows whistled through the air and hit the targets with a dull thunk. A murmur went through the crowd. I let out the breath I’d been holding: from my target sprouted a perfect bullseye. I had told myself that I wouldn’t look at anyone’s board but my own, but despite myself I snuck a glance at Rodden’s and the stranger’s. Theirs showed perfects shots as well.

  Despite the butterflies in my stomach, I steeled myself to focus. We fired shot after shot and soon I was in my stride. Notch, draw, aim, fire. After each set of three, squires ran forward to clear our boards. The stranger’s arrows were embedded so deeply that the boy had to brace himself with his foot in order to yank them out.

  At the end of the round the scorers totted up the points. The contestants shuffled from foot to foot. I bit my thumbnail. The stranger stared straight ahead, motionless.

  The announcer called the names of those elimin- ated. As I had predicted, the last ones standing were the stranger, Rodden and myself.

  Rodden turned to me and bowed. ‘Congratulations, Your Highness.’ To the crowd he looked gracious, but I could see the sardonic glint in his eyes. As he congratulated me he pulled my ring out from beneath his shirt where I could see it. Odious man.

  The final round consisted of sets of two shots. At the end of each set a competitor could be elimin- ated. If no one slipped, the sets would continue until someone misfired from fatigue. The crowd was spellbound; the only noise was the wind. We had all fired equally well so far, so no one was sure which way it was going to go.

  I forced myself to concentrate. I imagined that I was in Amentia and a long, chilly afternoon of perfect shots stretched before me. As if to lend authenticity to this, Leap padded to my side and sat blinking in the sun. My mascot caught the crowd’s attention and they oohed and ahhed over him.

  We drew back; fired. And again: draw; fire. The wind was blowing harder, gusting erratically. I began to be careful when I loosed my shots; a stray gust could blow an arrow off course. I waited until a particularly vicious wind had just begun to subside and fired before a fresh one could get up to speed. The others noticed my technique and adjusted their shots as well.

  After four sets Rodden and I were still as steady as rocks, but the stranger had begun to wheeze. Fatigue was getting to him. For the first time I noticed his hands. They were gnarled and withered and a grim shade of grey. Puffy blue veins stood out over his tendons.

  On the second shot of the sixth set the stranger misfired. The crowd let out a collective gasp. Holding my breath, I looked to the scorers as they deliberated. At last one looked away from the board and drew his arm in a sharp, horizontal line: the stranger was out.

  I let out my breath, but in dismay rather than relief: the hardest part was yet to come. Neither Rodden nor I had shown signs of tiring. I had a feeling that many more sets stretched before us.

  The scorers moved our targets back five paces, upping the stakes.

  By the sixteenth set, the first two fingers of my left hand were red raw. By the twenty-first, my shoulders were beginning to cramp. The gusts were blowing harder and more haphazardly. It was getting more difficult to correct for the wind and predict when it was safe to fire.

  I loosed the second arrow of the twenty-second set and my hopes plummeted. Before the arrow even sank into the board I knew it had been blown off course. I’d fired too soon. It was inside the bullseye but it was off-centre. Rodden’s arrow bit into his board a split-second later. Feeling like everything was moving in slow motion, I turned to look at his target. He’d caught the tail-end of the gust; he’d fired too soon as well, as he’d been taking his cue from me. I looked from his arrow to mine, hoping to see a difference, but I couldn’t. The murmur from the crowd became a rumble as the scorers stepped forward with measuring tapes, trying to discern any difference in the shots that the naked eye couldn’t perceive.

  I knew it was down to this. One of us had been unluckier with that wind. The scorers deliberated in whispers, measuring and remeasuring. Finally, one of them tapped Rodden’s board and drew his arm in a sharp, horizontal line: Rodden was out.

  The crowd erupted wildly. Renata and Lilith were jumping up and down.

  I had won.

  Rodden turned to me, a wry smile on his face. He took my hand, bowed, and kissed it. Then he turned to face the crowd and held up my arm, signifying my victory. Everyone cheered and stamped their feet. Their favourite had lost, but he was still heroic in their eyes, taking his defeat with grace and good humour.

  Rodden walked off, unfastening his arm guards as he went, but the crowd was still cheering and I realised the cheers were for me, not him. The underdog had snatched victory in the face of extreme odds and they loved it.

  Despite the tears of relief that were accumulating behind my eyelids, I smiled and waved to the crowd. It was over. I wasn’t going to marry Rodden. Before anyone could come over and congratulate me I ran from the range and hid behind a tent, needing a moment to collect myself. Angrily, I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to grind out the tears.

  When I looked up my vision was blurred and there was a black shape standing in front of me. As I was furiously blinking to clear my eyes, it reached for me. It was the stranger in black. I felt a jolt of fear: we were out of sight of the archers and something about the cloaked figure screamed danger. I wanted to run but my feet were rooted to the spot. I felt the hand close over my wrist –

  From behind, someone grabbed a fistful of my dress and yanked me backwards.

  ‘Hey!’ My vision finally cleared and I saw Rodden, holding me behind him, a hand pressed against my shoulder. He leaned forward and said something to the man that I couldn’t make out. The figure looked from Rodden to me, as if weighing up the situation. Then he turned and left.

  Rodden turned and shook my shoulder angrily, his eyes blazing. ‘Be more careful, will you?’

  ‘What? I was just standing here.’ But he was already stalking away.

  Now I really did want to cry. Nothing was making any sense. I felt none of the happiness I should have for winning the tournament. Rodden was still acting like he was in charge. I didn’t feel like a winner. I felt like a stupid child.

  I drew in a ragged breath. Spots danced before my eyes and I staggered. I was suddenly breathless. I doubled over, the hunger blooming in my chest and rippling like wildfire down my limbs. No, not here. There was nowhere to hide.

  ‘Zeraphina!’ The cry seemed to come from a long way off. It sounded like Renata. I didn’t want her to see me like this so I tried to run. My legs gave out and I dropped to the ground. I curled my body around the pain. It could be fatigue, the sleepless nights and strain of the tournament overcoming me. But I was fooling myself. It was the hunger. I heard a roaring in my ears, felt hands on me, then nothing.

  NINE

  I opened my eyes to utter blackness. I sat up, flailing around, and immediately got tangled in netting. I panicked, claustrophobia setting in. Why was it so dark? It was like the dungeon in my dream. The darkness. The blood. Lilith’s dead body. I fought my way out of the bed and
felt for the balcony door. It had been closed and the curtains were drawn across it, but my frantic fingers soon located the handle and I flung myself outside. I discovered the reason for the darkness: it was night. I had slept the day away. I felt groggy and weak and slumped onto a bench.

  Through my fogginess, a sound on the wind came to me, softly at first, but then it pierced through my sleep-haze. It was the eerie, wordless chanting, louder than ever. The sound filled my ears and I searched the sky.

  The moon was waxing full. A dark shape passed over it and I thought I saw the flap of wings. It was either small and very close, or huge and far away. My impression was the latter. I couldn’t see much of the sky from there so I ran out of the apartment and along the deserted passages.

  I found the stairs to the parapet and flew up them. I was dimly aware of Leap and Griffin at my side. We went up and up in the darkness, my hands clawing at the walls in my desperation to reach the top. I burst out into the night and searched the sky. In the dim moonlight I saw shapes moving overhead, blotting out the stars. There must have been hundreds of them. I ran to the edge of the parapet, straining to see what they were.

  A voice spoke over the keening wind. ‘Feeling better?’

  In my haste I hadn’t seen that Rodden was standing on the parapet. The sky began to clear.

  ‘Where are they going?’ I wailed. As the stars reappeared I felt a terrible sense of loss.

  ‘Where do you think?’

  I watched as the shapes receded. To the north. Where else? I slumped against the battlements. ‘No,’ I whispered.

  ‘No what?’

  ‘No, I’m not feeling better. I feel worse. What were those things? Lharmellins?’

  He didn’t answer me.

  ‘Did you make the singing stop?’ I asked.

  He turned to leave, but I grabbed his arm. ‘Not so fast.’ I held out my hand. ‘My ring.’