12

Pan and Fire

"Not a step further," cried the archer, who was tall and dressed in dull brown fighting leathers. Candle lifted her arms warily. His eyes, were hard as slate as he looked at her. Two others stood beside him, a man and a woman, all three dressed in what she now realised were the colours of the Ancestors Own. The same clothing that had looked so barbaric in her parents garden, here on the fellside, looked perfectly natural. Sensible even.

"Human or shade?" called the archer.

"Human," said Candle, keeping her arms up as he moved towards her. She prayed to the Ancestors that he wouldn't rip off the blindfold.

"Wight's don't talk, Loc," said the woman, leaning casually on her staff. The archer did not lower his arrow.

"Human you say," he said circling her slowly. "Where did you come from and where are you headed?"

"I'm...I got lost in the fell-"

"We don't take in waifs and strays-"

"Yes, we do," called the woman, cheerfully. The archer poked Candle suspiciously with the tip of the iron arrow.

"Ow," she said, rubbing her arm.

"Give it a rest, Locryn," said the other man, scowling. He was older, short but heavily muscled with a neat beard and a deep voice that commanded authority. "Take her up to the keep to see the Lady."

"Yes, syr," said the archer, not taking his eyes off Candle, "But I think we should cuff her, just in case."

"I think you can manage," said the leader.

"We all saw what she did," said the archer, stubbornly, arrow lowered but still notched. Candle tensed. What did he mean? What had they seen her do? She hadn't done anything

"We did," said the leader shortly, "it is not for us to judge-"

"Come on, Locryn," said the woman. "It's nearly twilight and I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" she said to Candle, "you look hungry." Candle nodded. She swallowed, suddenly intensely embarrassed by her appearance. Her skirt was ripped and filthy, her hair was matted and dishevelled. Her arms were scraped and dirty, covered in dried blood where she had fallen on the path. At least, she thought, no one would recognise her as the runaway daughter of an aetheling lord and lady.

"And it looks like it's going to start raining at any moment," continued the woman.

"Why didn't she come through the moongate," said Locryn, not moving, "if she's a human." The other two exchanged meaningful glances.

"Delen," said the older man, "please take-" he turned to Candle, "-what's your name, dear?" She paused.

"Meraud." She felt like they could all see the lie in the flush of her cheeks. "My name is Meraud."

"-please take Meraud to the Mester-" Locryn tried to interrupt but the leader ploughed on "PLEASE TAKE MERAUD TO THE MESTER and make sure Locryn doesn't scare the girl too much. I'll be back at the watchtower with Pasco until supper."

"Yes, syr," said Delen.

"Now, please."

"Yes, syr," said Locryn finally putting his arrow away. He scowled down at Candle.

"Come on," said Delen and turned up the steep hill. Candle followed her up towards the great stone walls of the castle, Locryn bringing up the rear, his face like a thunder cloud. Delen chattered on about the weather. Locryn maintained a stony silence, watching Candle closely, as if he thought she might be about to spawn an ink trail. It was an uncomfortable and rather strange journey. Candle wasn't sure if she was guest or prisoner. Both her attendants appeared to be in their early twenties and were well muscled, with the look of those who got a lot of exercise and regularly went to sleep with a full stomach. They seemed to stride up the steep slope with no more effort than rolling out of bed. Candle had to work hard to keep up, drawing deep, ragged breaths, her calves cramping. Since they were members of the Ancestors Own they must have been sentenced for committing some serious crime, probably violent in nature. She wondered what they had done.

"Don't worry about Locryn," Delen said, after a few minutes. "He has a suspicious mind, and he's worse than usual at the moment because of Sterlester." Locryn snorted.

"Sterlester?" Candle asked, trying not to pant. She thought her lungs might burst.

"Oh, you hadn't heard? What?" She scowled at Locryn who was coughing and making meaningful gestures behind Candle's back. "Oh nonsense, Loc, if she was one of them how in the Night would she be able to speak Havi? Plus, I doubt they would send a little girl out as a spy."

"I'm sixteen," said Candle, stung. Delen looked at her in surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "You look...younger. Anyway," she winced, "about five days ago a group of men landed on the beach near Sterlester. We don't know who they are or where they came from but...but they killed all the people in Sterlester. So we're all on high alert, waiting to hear from the Kenning."

"They killed them?" asked Candle in horror. She thought of the smoke she had seen rising over the mountain and felt sick. Delen nodded, her face strained. "That's - that's awful..."

They all paused and looked back across the isthmus towards the west where Sterlester was hidden in the approaching cloud bank.

"Did these men... did they come in a flying ship?" asked Candle, remembering her vision. Perhaps it had been real after all, she thought with horror.

"Yes!" said Delen, "How did you know that?"

"I saw them," she said, "not two hours ago I saw a ship flying through the air. I thought I imagined it."

"You saw them?"

"Which way was it headed?" asked Locryn, sharply while Delen looked at her strangely.

"Back towards the peninsula." Candle blushed as she remembered her blindfold. "I can see a bit," she explained, touching it with one finger.

"We better hurry," said Delen. "The Mester will want to know."

They made the rest of the climb in silence, all three lost in their own thoughts, brows furrowed.

Candle was shocked to her core. Surely it couldn't be true, it must be some sort of misunderstanding, a sick joke. Things like that weren't supposed to happen in Havi, not in this age of enlightenment. Candle had been to Sterlester a few times with her parents, when she was younger. It was a small city, a hub of culture and art, with a population much bigger than Hanternos, a beacon of civilisation. How could anyone have killed all those people? How was it physically possible? She shuddered. But she had seen the smoke herself and what had Jotham said? I smell death...

They were almost at the enormous keep of Gwavas now, in the shadow of its walls. It was an impressive building. Candle had had no idea the place was so huge. It looked like it could easily accommodate a thousand people. Her father had always lead her to believe it was a tiny, inconsequential place.

"What's wrong with your eyes?" asked Delen, as they climbed. "Why cover them if you are not blind?"

Candle tensed, hunching her shoulderblades. She didn't doubt that Locryn would have slapped her in chains the moment he saw her eyes. Or worse. She needed to get used to lying if she was to make this work.

"Don't worry," said Delen, easily, "you don't have to tell us if you don't want too."

The clouds descended on them just as they reached the safety of the Keep turning everything a muffled grey. Two guards opened the great iron gates to let them through and shut them booming clang once they had passed through.

"Thank the Ancestors," said Delen. "I was worried we'd have to shelter in one of the outbuildings and miss supper."

"The rain won't kill you," muttered Locryn.

"It feels like it might," said Delen, grinning at Candle, who smiled back shyly.

"This way," said Locryn, and stamped off, Candle and Delen trailing after him. The interior of Gwavas was not grand, as Candle had imagined, but cold and utilitarian. It was hewn from the rock with very little regard for art or comfort. The only artwork she could see on display was a stone carving over the door. Stone carving was considered a artisan skill, rather than an art, as the only way to gift a piece to the Ancestors was to burn it. Some rather eccentric acquaintances of her parents had taken it up - the sort of people who enjoyed learning folk dances and reciting poetry they had no intention of burning. Wood carving was a much more popular skill among the aetheling set, and much more acceptable to Lord and Lady Enys. Candle had never seen such a fine carving and examined it with interest.

A great dragon was intertwined with a jackal, a lightning bird, an auroch and a quagga. The creatures were arranged around a beautifully carved triskelion.

"The Ancestor's Own takes inmates from all five nations," said Delen, noticing her interest. "I think it's supposed to represent all of some coming together to defend the land or some such twaddle."

"What country is the dragon?" asked Candle, her eye drawn to the beautiful detail of sinuous coils.

"Havi, of course," said Delen, laughing. "Although the aethelings would have us forget our violent past."

"Come on," said Locryn, impatiently, and Delen rolled her eyes and strode after him, Candle scurrying in their wake.

Apart from the solitary carving the hallways of the castle were plain in the extreme. However the people that filled it were loud and energetic. Locryn stalked past a rowdy dining room filled with shouting and laughing people. Candle stared curiously as they passed by.

"Soon," said Delen, aside to Candle. "The grubs not bad," she said. "At least when Locryn's not on kitchen duty."

Locryn ignored her and hurried on, coming to a stop in front of a plain iron door, which he rapped with his knuckles. An old man poked his head around the door.

"Can't it wait?" he said. "The Mester is very busy! No? Oh, alright, but make it quick."

Candle followed Delen and Locryn into the office. Once again Candle was struck by the lack of grandeur. Her parents wouldn't be caught dead in a room so plain, so simple and so utterly utilitarian. It contained a desk stacked high with parchment and several rough, beaten up old chairs. The walls were covered in maps that had seen better days.

Seated behind the desk was the infamous Lady Dantalion, Commander of the Ancestor's Own, the Defender of the Reaches and Warden of the South. She was known colloquially as the 'Mester', or the boss in the Havian dialect of the Eastern Reaches. The woman whose mere mention was enough to make Lord Enys turn red in anger. The woman before them hardly looked old or interesting enough to bear so much infamy.

Simply dressed in a the same quilted uniform that all the members of the Ancestors Own wore, she was tall and indeterminately youthful, with the unusually pale skin usually seen of those who resided in the distant west, along the Teurek border. Her face was stern as she looked up at them with weary brown eyes.

"What can I do for you?" she asked them, rubbing her forehead. Her elderly assistant glowered at them from her side.

"This is Meraud, Lady Dantalion," said Delen, formally. "We found her in the approach. She got lost in the fell."

"Refugees to the processing centre," said old man. "At store block A. No need to bother the Mester-"

"I'm not entirely sure she's human," said Locryn.

"Oh?" said the Mester, raising one eyebrow. "Why would you say that?"

"She came up the Serpent Stairs," said Locryn, "while we were on watch duty in the southern tower."

"Arriving on foot isn't a crime," said the Mester, settling back in her chair. "Especially with the situation in Sterlester..."

"She walked around all the traps," said Locryn. "Like she knew they were there."

"All of them?" Locryn and Delen nodded. "Even "sticky feet"?" They nodded again.

"Well, that is interesting." The Mester looked at Candle with renewed curiosity. "To be fair, Locryn, I've never seen a shade do that." Delen suppressed a giggle while Locryn glowered. The Mester turned to Candle. "Meraud, was it? How did you know the traps were there?"

Candle swallowed and opened her mouth but had to shut it again, for her throat had gone as dry as paper. She was almost paralyzed with fear. All four members of the Ancestors Own were staring at her, which ordinarily would be enough to make her sweat. But they were not alone in the room.

Looming behind the Mester was the distinct presence of a demon.