Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

She was running out of oxygen. Spots were beginning to appear before her eyes. She struggled to get an arm free, anything to make release the hand clamped over her mouth and nose. Suddenly it released and air rushed out of her. She took another huge breath and the hand clamped back over her mouth and nose.

“We can carry on like this or you can be quiet,” whispered the voice. Alex made some small, whimpering noises. “Can I trust you not to scream?” She nodded again. The hand was gradually removed and she spent a moment just breathing, drawing big gulps of air into her as the luminous dots floating in front of her vision receded.

In the darkness, she gradually became aware of the person still holding her. The size of the hand held ready to silence her was clue enough. “Tate?” she said.

“Shhhh,” he warned. “Just breathe.”

She gradually caught her breath and relaxed against him. In a strange way it was comforting to be held like that. As she relaxed he eased his grasp until she simply leaned against him, encircled within his arms. “What are you doing here?” His question was whispered close to her ear.

“I saw you sneaking out and I followed you,” she admitted.

“Why?” he asked her.

“Why not?” she asked. “I thought you were up to something.”

“I’m on Warder business,” he said. “You could have got yourself killed.”

“I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself,” she said, the lie in that obvious to both of them.

“You can’t stay here,” he said. “Go back to the courts. Wait for me there.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I’m lost. I’ve been trying to find my way back for the last hour.” Tate made a noise like a distant steam train. “It’s not funny!” she whispered harshly.

“No, unfortunately it’s not.” They stayed there in the dark. She found herself warming slowly, and he showed no inclination to release her.

“You’ll have to guide me back,” she said, eventually.

“Shhh,” he whispered softly.

“I mean it, people will begin to wonder where I’ve gone.”

“Listen,” he whispered.

She listened then, and caught voices carried on the breeze. Someone — no, more than one person, were moving through the wood.

“Who is it?” she whispered softly.

“You don’t want to know,” he breathed close to her ear.

She pressed herself back in against him, and in response he curled his arms around her tighter. The voices were low and she couldn’t make out the words. They passed a little distance away. Gradually the sound receded and they were left alone in the shadow of the tree-trunk again.

“Stay here,” whispered Tate, releasing her. “I’ll come back for you.”

“No!” said Alex.

“I mean it, Alex. We’re not playing games.” There was urgency in his tone.

She looked up at him in the dark. “What if you don’t come back?” Alex tried not to think about the long hours in the dark, but the thought of being left here alone again made her eyes well up.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” he said. “Look, it’s dangerous. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

“An hour! I’ll freeze to death in an hour!”

He hushed her again.

“I’ll come with you,” she volunteered. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

She felt his eyes on her in the dark, and had the sudden impression that he could see her much better than she could see him.

“I’m going to regret this,” he said. “I just know.”

He beckoned her to follow and mounted the small bank he had dragged her down, offering her a hand when she struggled to climb even that small incline. He moved quickly and silently through the woods, and she followed after, snapping twigs and occasionally exclaiming when a wet branch hit her in the face or bramble caught her hands.

He stopped. “This isn’t working,” he whispered.

“I’m not hanging round in the dark waiting,” she said, determined not to be consigned to the hollow beneath the trunk in the dark for an hour. “I’ll make my own way back.”

This was clearly so preposterous that it made him smile. She found herself grinning back in the dark. “What?” she said.

“You are your father’s daughter,” he said.

“What does that mean,” she asked, offended.

“Never mind. Climb onto my back,” he said. “Like a piggy-back.”

“I’m too old for piggy-backs,” she said, looking at him sceptically.

“It’s either that, or I tie you to a tree and gag you,” he said.

“You wouldn’t dare!” she said, but something in his stance said that he would dare, if that was the only way. “I’m not liking this,” she said.

He knelt down, and she climbed on his back the way she used to climb on her Dad’s when she was little. Somehow the sheer size of him made her feel small again, as she wrapped her arms round his neck and he gathered her legs under his arms. He rose up, and she clung on tight, wary of being dropped backwards.

“Hold on tight,” he said. Instead of the walking pace he’d set before, he immediately broke into a long-legged trot, swerving round bushes and ducking under branches so that her hair brushed through them as they passed. They made surprisingly little noise. There was the rush of the breeze and the whisper of branches as they passed and she found herself on a wild silent ride through the dark, which left her breathless.

They slowed and halted on one side of a high bank, crested with young trees. Tate let her down and she rubbed her legs where he had held her. She was sure she would have bruises tomorrow.

He held his finger to his lips and then slowly and carefully climbed the bank. She found her way up slowly behind him until she reached the crest, where she joined him lying on the damp earth.

Beyond the rise was a clearing, sheltered within an arc of trees that formed a natural barrier. In the clearing was a camp. Now that she could see it, she recognised the scent of wood smoke as it drifted like the thread of a ghost on the breeze. A fire glowed low, without much flame or smoke, inside a ring of stones in the centre of the clearing. Nearby, something between a tent and a shelter was erected around an arch of bendy sticks and covered with a heavy tarpaulin that concealed everything within. They watched in silence for some while, until Alex whispered to Tate. “What are we looking for?”

In answer, Tate hushed her and pointed towards the edge of the clearing. After a while there was the sound of an approach, and four people walked out of the trees. They moved quietly but without stealth. Alex immediately recognised two of them as Lord Krane and Lord Teoth, but the other two were unknown to her. Each appeared to be associated with one of the Feyre Lords — an escort, perhaps. They entered the clearing and a stubby little man emerged from the shelter. He had the look of Teoth’s court about him in the same way as Fellstamp did, but he didn’t especially acknowledge the Nixine Lord any more than he did Lord Krane. He reminded Alex of an undertaker, and he appeared to be treating the two Lords more like equals, although he greeted both of them courteously, nodded to the escorts, and then returned to the fire to warm his hands. Lord Krane approached the fire, and an animated discussion began.

Though they were too far away to hear what was going on, it appeared to be some sort of exchange — the man appeared to be haggling with Krane over something. Offer and counter-offer was refused until Lord Teoth showed his impatience and demanded whatever it was they were arguing about to be handed over. The man demurred, but then produced a small white cloth, which was stained with something brown. It was passed between Krane and Teoth, and the man questioned about it.