Free The Fatal Child by John Dickinson Page A

time?
    The door opened. The silence at the table was sothick Padry was sure that the helmeted man must have felt it as he came in. He was carrying a keg under one arm, and a leather bottle. From the bottle he poured wine for Raymonde, Padry and Lex. From the keg he poured ale for the men-at-arms.
    ‘Thank you,’ said Padry, tasting the wine and finding it surprisingly good. He looked up curiously.
    The blank eye-slit stared down on him, expressionless.
    Nothing more was said until the meal was finished. The men-at-arms were dismissed to sleep in the room below. They went hurriedly, looking over their shoulders.
    Once again Talifer poured wine for Raymonde, Padry and Lex. The fire cracked and spat. The wavering light played on the men’s faces. The air droned in the high slit windows. Far off some beast (a dog? a wolf?) was giving tongue. The floor creaked as Talifer came to stand behind Raymonde’s chair.
    Raymonde was looking into his bowl, swilling the wine slowly round and round. Then he sipped it and spoke. ‘You wish to find the Prince Under the Sky.’
    Padry cleared his throat. ‘As swiftly as possible.’
    ‘At this moment I believe he is back in Tarceny.’
    ‘Tarceny!’ groaned Lex. ‘It is too far.’
    ‘Not too far,’ said Padry. But his heart was sinking. (Tarceny? The wasteland that had once been the March of Tarceny was huge. They might spend a month combing it without finding the one they looked for!) ‘However, we must hurry. We must reach him as soon as we can.’
    ‘I see.’ Raymonde frowned into his bowl. ‘This is important?’
    ‘An innocent life depends on it. And much else.’
    ‘I think I understand why you were sent to me,’ said Raymonde. ‘Well, yes, I may be able to help you. I suppose I should warn you that there is a price, of a sort.’
    ‘Name it,’ said Padry wearily.
    ‘Only that you are willing to accept my help.’ He looked at Padry and smiled wickedly. ‘Which you may not be.’
    Padry swallowed. He thought of the burned roofs of Develin. And he thought of a child, in a dull novice’s habit, walking in pursuit of a phantom king.
    ‘I am willing,’ he said.
    ‘Well done,’ said Raymonde, and went back to studying his bowl. Without looking up, he said: ‘Highness, you should sit with us.’
    Wordlessly, the cloaked and helmeted figure of Talifer settled on the bench a little way down the table. He sat with his head bowed.
    ‘You have heard what these men need?’ said Raymonde.
    ‘Yes,’ said voice within the helmet.
    ‘You will take them to him?’
    The figure hesitated. Then ‘Yes,’ it said again.
    ‘Why is it not—?’ began Padry. Raymonde stilled him with a lifted finger.
    ‘It is a week’s journey to the man you are looking for. To where I suppose him to be. Talifer could take you there in a day and find him more surely than I – if you are willing to go with him.’
    ‘How?’ said Padry sharply.
    ‘He has a way. I should warn you that it is not a comfortable way. In fact men like you and me should not take it at all, unless we are desperate.’
    ‘Men like …? In the Angels’ name – then what is he?’
    The bowed figure did not answer.
    ‘Highness, I think you should remove your helm,’ said Raymonde.
    ‘I do not wish to,’ said the voice.
    ‘I know that you do not. But you are bidden to serve and these men need your service. Before they accept your service they must see you as you are.’
    For a moment the figure gave no sign. There was no sound but the hiss of the fire. Then, slowly, the figure put its hands to the helm and lifted it.
    ‘Angels!’ gasped Lex.
    The face that turned towards them was a mask – a living mask, for the eyes that blinked from it were alive and human. And yet…
    It was long, impossibly long, from crown to chin. And pale, and wrinkled like skin that has been exposed to water. High on either side of the head were great bumps that looked like the wounds left on a cow’s head when the horns had been