The Seventh Daughter Read online

  “That were bravely said!” Eden responded. “But they will not find us. Go you all now into the house; I will follow shortly.”

  Tania saw faces appear at the windows as they approached the house. A plump woman stood at the door; her face breaking out into a smile as they came closer. Tania recognized her immediately—it was Mistress Mirrlees, the seamstress who had made the gown Tania had worn at her welcoming ball. But she was sadly transformed: her blue dress tattered and grimed, her hair unkempt and her eyes shadowed with lack of sleep.

  “I did not look for such joy to come at the end of such evil days!” Mistress Mirrlees cried, running out to meet them. “Your Grace—and my beloved princesses!”

  Zara threw her arms around the small woman’s neck. “I prayed that you had not fallen to evil,” she said.

  “Nay, not I, my lady, but many have,” Mistress Mirrlees said, patting Zara’s shoulders. “So many.”

  More people came out of the house now: waifs and strays from the palace who had fled here in hope of refuge. Tania was glad and relieved to see that at least some of the palace folk had escaped alive. She recognized many of the faces. They were mostly servants and retainers: women from Mistress Mirrlees’s work-rooms, some stable lads, people from the kitchens. And a maid that Tania remembered very well: a timid, sweet-faced girl who had once taken Tania to the King’s privy Dining Room. They all crowded around the Queen, a new light in their eyes as they curtsied and bowed to her. Titania stood among them, taking their hands, speaking to them, bringing them hope.

  Eden was still standing at the edge of the clearing. Her back was to the house and she held her arms spread wide, fingers splayed. Her thick white hair hung heavy as snowfall down her back. She was chanting in a slow lilt, and Tania could just about make out the words:

  I call upon you who dwelt in Faerie when Faerie was yet young

  I call upon you who drank the seas when the seas were sweet

  Who ate the fruit of ancient trees and breathed first the wholesome air

  You spirits of root and branch and blossom and leaf

  Aid me now and preserve me from my enemies.

  As Tania watched, a soft, pale green light began to glow all around her sister, as if she was a hollow figure carved from jade and lit by an inner flame. Moments later, light poured out from Eden’s fingers, sparkling with emerald points, like a filigree-fine spiderweb spinning out into the night, jeweled with green stars. The net rose and spread and curled upward and over and down in a smooth arc, forming a shimmering dome over the clearing. Tania felt the air ripple. A spicy smell tickled her nose. The forest beyond the dome went dark.

  Eden turned and walked toward the house. Her face was pale and drawn, but she was smiling as she came up to Tania. “I am weary beyond measure,” she said, resting her hand on Tania’s shoulder. “But it is done. The Emerald Shield is only a temporary enchantment, but neither hound nor horse nor undead thing shall find us here for the time being.” She sagged and Edric was quick to catch her arm and help her as they followed the others into the welcoming light of Rafe Hawthorne’s forest home.

  VIII

  Beyond Eden’s twinkling emerald dome, night had fallen over the land of Faerie. A couple of times through the evening Tania and Edric had gone to the perimeter of the enchanted force field, listening for any sounds of pursuit. The first time, they had heard only birdsong; the second, a single howl, definitely a Morrigan hound, but too far off to be of concern.

  Inside, the hunting lodge was large yet cozy, with long, low-beamed rooms and winding stairs to the upper level. Warm yellow candlelight banished shadows, and the scores of people who had come to Rafe Hawthorne’s home for refuge from the Sorcerer King tended to Queen Titania and the princesses and Edric with all the care they had shown in more peaceful times. The refugees had harrowing tales to tell of their own—of fleeing the palace in the night, of plunging in blind terror into the forest. Of losing friends and family in the chaos that followed the release of the Gray Knights. Of seeing companions being cut down, of flaming torches flung into rooms where people were trapped, of the doors being locked on them. Of the mad rampage of Lyonesse through the palace.

  Sancha was taken to an upstairs bedchamber, where several women tended her wounds, salving the burns on her hands and wrapping cooling bandages around them. Tania went to see her once she had been made comfortable but by then Sancha had fallen into an uneasy sleep. Tania didn’t like to think of the dreams that were disquieting her rest.

  There was only a limited amount of food to go around with so many people, but enough was found to give the seven newcomers something fresh to eat: apples and pears, grapes and damsons and strawberries and blackberries from the forest. Mushrooms, eggs, and venison, too, were cooked and set before the Queen and her daughters, along with springwater and a glass or two of the rich red cordial of Faerie.

  The people were eager to hear Titania speak of what had happened to her after she had gone through the Oriole Glass five hundred years ago. Until only a few days ago, they had all thought her dead—and now, to find her alive and well and back in Faerie, was like a miracle. They listened in rapt silence, sitting on the floor and on every table and chair, others on the stairs, more standing at the walls, as she stood with the green-lit window at her back and spoke to them at length of the Mortal World.

  As the evening progressed people began to drift off to sleep—some in the beds, others on makeshift palliasses, and a few hardy young lads and lasses content to curl up in warm corners with blankets thrown over them. Tania learned from Rafe Hawthorne that the Royal Hunting Lodge had many fine bedchambers under the eaves of its long, stooping thatched roof, though not enough for all its guests now. He told her that the house had not been used by the Royal Family since the Great Twilight began—those bleak centuries when Oberon had brooded upon the loss of his wife and youngest daughter and time had stopped throughout the Realm.

  At last, when the night was fully come, only Edric and the Queen and the princesses still remained awake with Rafe Hawthorne.

  “Many of your folk escaped the palace, Your Grace,” he explained as they sat around a long oak-wood table in flickering candlelight. “From what I have been able to find out, some fled south across the river into Udwold Forest. One ship at least managed to set sail from Fortrenn Quay before the Knights descended, but I do not know where she fared nor what became of those aboard.”

  “And the Cloud Scudder?” Zara asked. “Is she safe?”

  “Nay, my lady. She was burned by those devils, rig and rigging.”

  Tania felt a terrible pang of loss; the Royal Galleon, Cloud Scudder, had been a beautiful, wonderful ship. Tania had sailed on her just once on an enchanted voyage to the island of Ynis Logris to celebrate the festival of the Traveler’s Moon. It made her heart ache to think she had been destroyed.

  “A few followed the line of the Tamesis west, meaning to make for the fortress of Caer Marisoc, but most came north over the heaths and through Esgarth,” Rafe Hawthorne went on. “I scoured the forest for lost souls; those you have met were all that I found. I was told that a good many folk were heading north to Ravensare and some others to the east coast to find refuge in Caer Gaidheal. Lord Gaidheal was leading them, so I was told, but his lady was not among them. It is hoped she found another way out of the palace.”

  “She didn’t,” Tania said softly. “I saw her in the Great Hall. The Sorcerer King wanted her to dance for him…he did something horrible to her…he made red wings grow out of her back.” She put her hands to her face as the memories came flooding into her mind. Edric’s hand rested on her shoulder and she leaned against him.

  “Lady Gaidheal was killed for the sport of the Sorcerer King,” Eden said. “I fear for anyone left alive in that place.”

  “Can we not mount a rescue?” Cordelia asked. “I do not say we go there to do battle, but is there no way we can save our people from this scourge?”

  “The hunt is up now that the Sorcerer King know
s we are here,” Edric said. “I don’t think we’d even get out of the forest now. And what if one of us was captured?” He looked around the table. “We might wish ourselves dead rather than meet such a fate.”

  “Master Chanticleer speaks truth,” Eden said. “Bravely endured pain will not save us if one is taken alive. The Sorcerer King will shred our very minds to learn where the Queen may be found.”

  “Our only hope is that word is spreading quickly enough through the Realm,” said Titania. “There are people who will be able to rally armies. Earl Marshal Cornelius for one, and Hopie and Lord Brython will gather more troops in the west.”

  “My husband will not be slow to heed the call to arms if asked,” Eden put in quietly. “The men of Mynwy Clun are fierce and loyal—they will follow Earl Valentyne and come to our aid if anyone can be spared from here to make the journey west to Caer Mynwy.”

  Tania had forgotten that Eden was married; all she could recall being told was that Earl Valentyne had quit the palace when the Great Twilight had come down. Eden had not spoken of him before, and seemed reluctant to mention him now, judging by the tone of her voice and the pensive expression on her face.

  “And what of Weir?” Titania asked. “Will Lord Aldritch send help?”

  Tania looked up sharply at the mention of Gabriel Drake’s father.

  “The northern borderlands have ever been debatable territory,” Eden said.

  “But surely they are loyal?” said Zara.

  “Lord Aldrich is an honorable man,” Edric said thoughtfully. “He won’t ally himself with Lyonesse, but Weir is a long way from here. He may decide to use his army to defend his own borders rather than risk sending a force south to help us.”

  “And will he not take it ill that our father banished his only son?” Cordelia pointed out. “That news will have reached him by now, surely.”

  “Gabriel Drake’s crimes were great beyond measure,” Eden said. “Even a father could not excuse them.”

  Titania shook her head. “He may not be able to excuse them, but he will still love his son, no matter what terrible things he has done. Edric is right: We should not rely on Weir’s aid.”

  Tania looked around at her mother and her sisters. “Exactly how powerful is the Sorcerer King?” she asked. “He’s only a got a few hundred knights with him right now. If everyone you’re talking about gets together and helps us attack him, won’t we be able to beat him?”

  “Only Oberon and Titania together have the power to defeat the Sorcerer King,” Eden replied. “Lyonesse has rule over the Four Elements—over earth, water, fire, and air. Only the strength of the Sun King and the Moon Queen in unison can stand against such fearsome might. And as for his army—it is true that they number only in the low hundreds now, but the Sorcerer will have sent word to Lyonesse. An armada will come and an army thousands strong will sweep across Faerie like a dark plague.”

  “The people of Faerie are far flung,” Rafe Hawthorne added. “It will take time for our forces to gather.”

  “And even then the Sorcerer may prove too deadly to assail,” Zara said. “We have seen how the land withers around him.”

  “Yet his power has its limits,” said a new voice from the far end of the room. They all turned. Sancha was standing at the foot of the stairs. She looked tired and haggard, but there was a fierce light in her eyes.

  Zara ran to help her, but Sancha gently pushed her sister’s hands away. “I can walk,” she said. She seemed stiff and Tania could see the pain in her face as she came over to the table. Rafe found her a chair and she sat with a sigh.

  “How are you?” Titania asked, looking anxiously at her daughter’s bandaged hands. “Are you in a lot of pain still?”

  “It is somewhat better,” Sancha said.

  “Would that Hopie were here.” Cordelia sighed. “She would ease your suffering.”

  Sancha frowned. “Ease my suffering?” she murmured, lifting her hands and looking at them. “No, I do not think she would be able to do that.” Her eyes welled with tears. “My Library is burned. What ease is there for that loss?”

  “And yet we live,” Cordelia reminded her. “And while we live, we have the hope of revenge.”

  “Tania, show Sancha the pages you tore from Oberon’s book,” Titania said.

  Tania took out the few pages and pushed them across to her sister. Sancha spread them out, leaning over them, her fingertips on the blank ivory-colored paper.

  “Sun, moon, and stars,” she murmured. “This goes beyond luck.” She lifted her head and looked at Tania. “This is the spirits of fortune working for our aid—it can be nothing other.”

  “You can read them, then?” Tania asked.

  “Indeed I can,” Sancha said. “Listen, and learn of the fate of our dear father.” She began to read, her fingers following the lines of script that only she could see.

  “In his slumber was King Oberon taken and overthrown by the Sorcerer King of Lyonesse. And bound he was in the unbreakable circle of an Amber Prison, yet fearful still was the Serpent of Lyonesse that Oberon’s power would see him burst forth from his entrapment. And so the Sorcerer King wove evil enchantments about the Amber Prison, bending to his will the Isenmort sword which the Princess Rathina had used to free him, and forging from it straps and bonds of Isenmort to enwrap the Amber Prison so that all the strength of the sun could not break the seal that lay upon Oberon’s jail.”

  Sancha’s voice shook as she read. No one spoke as her fingers turned the page over. Tania was hardly even breathing.

  “And then did the Sorcerer King taunt Oberon with foul words and curses, lamenting that he could not entirely destroy his prisoner, but speaking of the joy he would take in the slaughter of Oberon’s children. And were this not enough to fill Oberon’s heart with darkness, the Sorcerer spoke of his plan to overwhelm Faerie with the armies of Lyonesse, and of how his Queen, the lady Lamia, had long returned to Bale Fole, to the great fortress of Lyonesse, and how she had been amassing in secret a mighty armada which would fall upon Faerie as an ocean wave falls upon a child’s castle of sand.”

  “Then the armada already exists,” said Titania. “That is bad news. I had hoped we would have a few weeks or even months before reinforcements arrived from Lyonesse.”

  “Even if the hag Queen of Lyonesse let loose her ships upon the same eve as the Sorcerer was freed, still we have several days ere the red sails will come into sight,” Eden pointed out.

  “’Tis too short a time,” Cordelia said. “Days? Is that sufficient time to put a ring of bright Faerie swords around the Sorcerer King?”

  “’Twill need to suffice,” Zara said. “’Tis that or surrender our land to the blight of Lyonesse.”

  “There are people here who can be sent to all the corners of Faerie,” Rafe Hawthorne added. “They will tell of our plight and ask for aid as swift as may be.”

  Their debate was interrupted by a low cry from Sancha, who was still reading the pages from Oberon’s Soul Book. “I know where father has been taken,” she said. “Listen.

  “Thus spake the Sorcerer King to downfallen Oberon: ‘Know you that my first desire when my armies conquer Faerie will be to seek the mine of Tasha Dhul, for I would have the black amber to my hand, and with it will I furnish an army of tens of thousands that I will send into the Mortal World. And lest you deceive yourself with the false hope of rescue or escape, know this: You shall I banish to the uttermost margins of your Realm. To Ynis Maw shall I send you, Oberon Aurealis that once were King, to the Island of No Return!’ And thus speaking, the Sorcerer King summoned up a great enchantment of storm and hurricane and upon the breast of a tornado was Oberon swept away to the Island of Banishment.”

  Ynis Maw! Tania had never been to the desolate island, but she had seen it many times in dreams sent to her by Gabriel Drake. It was a bleak fist of rock jutting from stormy seas off the northern coast of Faerie, a place where only the worst traitors were sent.

  Tania looked around the t
able. “So, how do we get him back from there?”

  “We don’t,” Edric said bleakly. “There’s no way.”

  “There has to be,” Tania insisted. “Eden, you’ve got all that Mystic Arts stuff going for you. You must know a way of getting him back.”

  Eden shook her head. “That were an enchantment far beyond my skill, Tania. You’d as well ask me to draw down the moon for a royal chariot.”

  “There is only one way,” said Titania, and her voice was firm and steady. “We will have to go to Ynis Maw.”

  “How far is it?” Tania asked.

  “Nearly two hundred leagues,” said Cordelia. “We would need horses—and the fortune to outwit Lyonesse’s guards. Nonetheless, ’tis not an impossible journey. But even should we reach the island and find our father, how would we break the bonds of Isenmort set around his prison?”

  “Black amber will sever the Isenmort bonds,” Eden said. “Were we able to lay stones of black amber upon them, the Isenmort bands would be burned away to nothing.”

  “You mean black amber can dissolve metal?” Tania asked. “I didn’t know that.”

  “In the Mortal World it is not so,” Sancha said. “But here in Faerie, Isenmort cannot endure the touch of black amber.”

  “So, how much black amber have we got between us right now?” asked Tania.

  They all still had the black amber stones that they had been wearing to protect themselves in the Mortal World: There were five jewels in all.

  “That may be enough to sever the bonds of Isenmort,” Eden said. “But only Isenmort itself can break the Amber Prison that holds our father.”

  “Can’t the bands themselves be used?” Edric asked.

  “No, they will be turned to vapor by the touch of black amber.”

  “Then I’ll have to go back into the Mortal World,” Tania said. “I’ll bring something metal through into Faerie.”

  “Even if the black amber we have here were enough to allow you to cut your way into the Mortal World, how would you return?” Eden asked. “Experience shows us that any weapon that breaches the Sorcerer King’s barrier is destroyed. Even if you gathered a mountain of Isenmort, you would be unable to return to us with it.”