Chapter 6: A Dance of Frost and Feathers
Luthedain, a town north of Chamberg in the kingdom of Lincolnshire. Four months after the Great Animal attack.
For the rest of his life, Derek would never remember plainly how they reached the garden outside the mine. Somehow, he and Bromley found their horses again and rode as hard as they could outside the town of Luthedain. Stealth was pointless now, knowing that their enemies had been onto them from the start. Speed was everything. He would remember the town bell though, its iron chimes following them like a clear and merciless judge. Wrong, wrong, always wrong, the gongs seemed to echo. Gone, gone. Took too long.
Bromley must have reined up his horse first; he knew where they were going, after all. And at some point they both had lit their lanterns after dismounting. But Derek didn't remember that either. His next lucid memory of the night was of kneeling on gravelly soil, staring at thirteen curved tomato cages. The town was nearly two miles behind them. It was cold for early October; he could see his breath leaving misty clouds in the dark.
A few of the plants had made a valiant effort to break through the soil. Around three or four of the cages, Derek saw green vines snaking listlessly up the first ring. But they seemed to decide, less than halfway up, that the climb was not worth the effort. These would have been planted sometime in August, most likely. Yet Derek knew even without the mineral-polluted soil so close to the mine, Luthedain was too far north for tomatoes to grow well in fall. This was not a serious effort to plant a tomato garden. Whoever created this was sending a message.
Inside the thirteenth cage, furthest to the right, the gardener had left a small trowel staked in the soil. The message was clear enough: Dig here.
While Bromley kept watch, Derek tore through the soil with the trowel. Roughly a foot and a half into the ground, he struck something hard. A few more minutes of digging and scraping revealed a small box made of cherry wood with the seal of House Cygnus: a swan crowned with seven stars, one for each of the islands of Cymdros…and one for the lost island of Loerenys.
Derek wrested the box out of the soil and unfastened the latch. Inside sat a small package wrapped in sealskin to protect it from water and tied with a leather thong. Derek quickly untied it and found a leather satchel with several sheets of paper inside.
He glanced over his shoulder at Bromley.
"Is anyone following us?" he asked.
"Not yet," Bromley said. "But the bell has stopped. I think they found the sorcerer. Luthedain has some good mages too, don't they?"
"If they don't, they know how to get them here fast," Derek said. "The kingdom of Lincolnshire has its own mages, and they have magical portals in every town."
"Good," Bromley said. "They'll be fine, right?"
Derek walked over to where Bromley stood looking down at the town. From two miles away, on a moonless night, he couldn't make out much. But he could see the flicker of lanterns or torches in the distance. After another half-minute, four blue flashes abruptly lit up the night, making dark silhouettes of the town.
"That would be the portals. Their mages are here," Derek told his friend. A sudden rush, like the beating of dozens of wings, troubled the air above. Derek glanced up and saw several dark shapes blotting out the stars. They were flying in the direction of the town. "We should get back on our horses," he said quietly.
Bromley didn't ask why. But once they had mounted, Bromley glanced back toward Luthedain.
"Couldn't we ride closer to the town? Just to make sure they're all right?" he asked.
"Of course we can," Derek said, spurring his horse downhill toward the town. He suffered another glance at the sky, but the dark shapes had vanished. The enchanter has many, many birds, he remembered.
They reined up about thirty feet above the town, where the road to the mine leveled off before sloping downhill again. From there, they could see beyond the rooftops into the street outside the Crimson Dragon tavern. Four mages in white tunics and chain mail had the sorcerer Matthias Windham cornered. His frost powers seemed to work only at close range, so the mages were wisely keeping their distance. They had managed to ensnare both his legs and one arm with magical ropes that glowed blue. But Matthias had stationed himself beside a water trough and was using his right arm to hurl ice projectiles at the fourth mage trying to create his own snare.
Without warning, a flurry of ravens descended on two of the mages, breaking their snares. A larger bird swooped down to land on the third mage, pecking at her neck and face. In the torchlight, Derek made out the form of a black swan.
With all the snares broken, Matthias bolted across the street. It looked like he was seeking refuge inside the Crimson Dragon again. But before he had even touched the threshold, three enormous birds of prey latched their talons onto his jacket. They bore him into the sky, while he kicked and shrieked and batted at them pointlessly with his hat.
Bromley let out a low whistle. "You'd almost think he didn't want to be rescued," he said.
"He probably didn't," Derek said. "I'd imagine his friends aren't too happy with him. He was supposed to be more discreet."
With the frost sorcerer beyond reach, the mages turned their attention to the birds. The first two had blown away the ravens with magical gusts of wind. One of them aimed an enchanted snare at the black swan, but it danced outside her aim and landed on a nearby roof. As Derek and Bromley continued to watch, the black swan let out a trumpeting cry that sounded like triumph and launched itself into the air. The ravens followed the swan into the sky. Without warning, the swarm of black birds veered toward the mountain road where Derek and Bromley sat on their horses.
Can they see us? Derek thought. He barely had time to pull an arrow from his quiver when another bird pelted into the black swan. A white swan? It was difficult to tell, but in the torchlight from the town square he saw the two swans battling in flight like some kind of macabre dance. The ravens, meanwhile, had become a chaotic horde flying in all directions. They need the black swan to lead them, Derek realized.
The white swan had its beak around the black swan's neck, while the black swan pecked ferociously at the white swan's wings. The black swan was ripping out clumps of feathers. But the white swan was tenacious. Derek nocked an arrow out of pure instinct, but he didn't expect to loose it. With the erratic way the swans were twisting in the sky, he'd only make that shot by pure luck. And he didn't even know for certain was he was looking at.
For a brief moment, the black swan ceased tearing into the white swan's wings and let out another cry. But by then, the ravens had flown away. There was no one to summon. Realizing the ravens were gone—as though that had been the main objective—the white swan released its opponent. The two swans hovered in the air, staring each other down. Finally the black swan made one final lunge. The white swan veered off, but not before the black swan's beak clipped its wing one final time. Then the black swan flew in the direction Matthias Windham had been unwillingly carried off.
Derek watched the white swan fly away in the opposite direction. Its wings looked shaky and battered, but they were still working.
"We need to ride," Derek told his friend. "Now."
Bromley didn't need telling twice. Derek dug his heels into his horse's side, urging him into a swift gallop. The drumming of hooves filled his ears so loudly it would be impossible to hear whether any birds were still following them. But there was nothing he could do about it either way. They rode in silence down the dirt road, leaving Luthedain with its riddles and lies behind them.
After another hour and a half of riding, they found shelter in a two-story barn, with a hayloft on the second floor. At Derek's request, Bromley offered the family a handful of silver coins to let them stay there for what little remained of the night.
"The scariest part about that was waking them up. Do you have any idea how terrifying a farmer robbed of his sleep is?" Bromley asked when he returned.
"Thanks for handling that, Brom," Derek said. "It would have been worse if they'd found us here in the morning and mistaken us for intruders."
"Don't worry, your cover is safe. They agreed not to ask about my shy companion," Bromley said. "I told them my friend fell into a vat of pink dye a month ago and you don't like people staring at your beard."
"My beard?" Derek repeated. "Even if I had a beard, why wouldn't I just shave it off and cover my head?" He found himself laughing despite the nightmare they'd left behind—or, perhaps, laughing because of it. Bromley scowled.
"Make up your own story next time," Bromley said. "Until then, don't complain about how your underlings carry out your wishes, Your Highness."
They spent the next several minutes surveying the first floor of the barn with their lanterns lit, making sure the doors locked from the inside and that all the windows were covered. After combing their horses and settling them in for the night, they climbed the ladder to the second floor and did the same survey. Derek was relieved to find there wasn't a single bird in the shelter, not even a stray pigeon. Finally, he felt safe enough to remove the cherrywood box from his riding sack and flip open the latch.
The sealskin pouch with the mysterious papers was still inside. As he untied the leather strap, his fingers shook. What if water had leaked in and smudged the ink, rendering the messages unreadable? What if there was nothing important inside at all, and this entire endeavor had been a giant misunderstanding? Or—an even more terrifying possibility—what if it contained all the answers he'd been searching for, and the knowledge forced him to make a choice he wasn't ready to make?
She wanted you to have this, a voice in his head reminded him. And who knew what risks Odette had taken to get it into his hands? Moving the satchel closer to his lantern, he pulled out the papers. Scanning the letter on top, he knew immediately by the handwriting who had written it. The letter was dated August 11th.
Dear Derek,
If by some miracle you are reading this, then one of my clues must have made it through. By now I suspect you know that both you and your kingdom are cursed. There is an aura of madness around you and your family that prevents anyone with useful information about my disappearance from sharing it. If someone tries to tell you directly, they first begin speaking nonsense and, if they persist too long, lose their mind entirely. There is a similar aura around your kingdom's borders, which prevents anyone from delivering a written message with such knowledge—including myself, as I learned last July. Even in this note, I cannot write as clearly as I wish. I cannot even write my own name.
For all your kingdom's suffering, I am deeply sorry. You have been a true friend to Cymdros, especially in our last year of famine and blight. This past spring I finally found the origin of our kingdom's troubles. The answers are in the second note. But here I must apologize for my own blindness. I never imagined the forces rallying against Cymdros would turn their eyes on Chamberg. Had I suspected, I would have warned you the moment my father and I arrived on your castle grounds last June.
I hope, after you read the next note, you can piece together why I could not say yes to your proposal. It caught me off guard, but my attempt to find an escape was cowardly and deplorable. For the embarrassment I caused you in front of half your court, I am sorry. If you wished to sever ties with me for nothing more than that, I would understand. But if we can both forgive each other, perhaps we can finally end these troubles for good. And if we cannot ultimately forge a path together, I hope we can at least part as friends.
My time is running out. If I am able to write clearly, look for me in the mirror of white featherson the forbidden canvas painted in tearswhere lunatics fly when the moon disappears
Do you remember our argument two winters ago, when the eldritch mine detonated on Nefynmor? What I told you Cymdros would never allow has come to pass. Take my hand. Find my pen and you'll find me.
I cannot write any more clearly; believe me, I have been trying for the last half hour. Is it enough? Do you know where to look next?
I hope to see you again and give you the explanation you deserve. But if not: Please do not give up on Cymdros, even if neither of us are destined to lead it. There is willful blindness and bigotry, but beneath it there is unspeakable pain.
With love and friendship always,
Your summer adversary and winter ally. Find my pen and you'll find me.
Derek closed his eyes. A dozen emotions were competing for space in his brain, but one annoying inconsistency was blocking them all.
Nefynmor, he thought. The eldritch mine didn't go off on Nefynmor. It went off on Serenys. Odette wouldn't have forgotten that…
He made up his mind to ponder that later. If it was another hidden clue, he would remember it. That was enough for now. If he'd still harbored any doubts about who the letter was from, her signoff silenced them for good. He and Odette had been at each other's throats every summer, until the winter in Cymdros when they finally found common ground. If we can both forgive each other…Was she trying to encourage him or trying to bid him farewell? Could neither of them escape Cymdros' penchant for secrecy and suspicion?
Setting aside Odette's letter, Derek found the second, longer note below. The handwriting looked vaguely like King William's, but the words were rushed and uneven, like notes written in haste or great agitation. On the top, Odette had folded a small slip of paper that read The Cob King. Derek paused a moment to shuffle through his own papers, where Odette had written another riddle mentioning a Cob King. Then he turned back to the king's note.
The note was dated April 27th of the current year—six weeks before the king's death. Taking another deep breath, Derek began to read the pages beneath the amber glow of his lantern.
Author's Note: For any who want a refresher on what "The Cob King" clue referred to, see the very end of Chapter 2.