The Caller Read Free

fears realised: he was giving up his hard-won position of trust at court, turning his back on the king and bringing Regan home. He’d barely begun to explain why when two Enforcers had appeared and Sage had been forced to go to ground. That was what Daw had told us; and that the next morning, Flint had headed off toward Summerfort with his comrades.
    It was unsettling news. Flint had long been the rebels’ powerful secret weapon, Regan’s eyes at court, a source of vital inside information about Keldec’s strategic plans. He’d been there for several years, since he’d completed his training in the ancient craft of mind-mending and gone to offer his expert services to Keldec. He had risen high; to do so, he had been required to demonstrate flawless loyalty to the king. I knew how much it had cost him, for under Keldec’s rule a mind-mender must act as an Enthraller, using his craft to turn rebellious folk to the king’s will. When I’d seen Flint last spring in the isles, he’d been strung tight; he loathed what he was required to do. But I had not for a moment expected him to walk away before our battle was won.
    After the burial, we sat awhile before our hearth fire, drinking mulled ale and enjoying the warmth. We tried to remember Regan the way we should, with tales of our lost leader’s courage and vision, and shared memories of the good times. But the shadow of Flint’s action hung over us all.
    I knew how momentous the decision would have been for him – he would not have taken such a step unless he’d been close to breaking point. Selfishly, I wished he had indeed come on up the valley, leaving that old life behind, for here at Shadowfell he would have been safe, for now at least. I could have spent time with him. The others debated what it all meant and whether we could progress with our plans unchanged. Winter was closing in, and any movements out from the safe base here on the mountain would be limited. My own difficult decision was looming.
    Tali was restless. Regan’s death had not only made her our leader – it had unleashed in her a furious drive to get things done, preferably as fast as possible. She let us have a night to rest and grieve. Then she called us to a council.

    It was an inner circle that met: Tali, her brother Fingal, myself, Andra, Brasal, Gort and Big Don. That was the human contingent. But councils had changed at Shadowfell since we’d won the wary support of the Folk Below, the clan of fey beings who lived in the chambers underneath our stronghold in the mountain. So we were joined by their elders Woodrush and Hawkbit, and the warrior Bearberry, who looked something like a short-statured man and something like a badger. In addition there was Whisper, the owl-like being who had accompanied Tali and me when we returned in haste from the north. If not for Whisper’s magic, it would have taken us at least a turning of the moon to travel home; he had brought us back in a single night. Daw, the bird-friend and messenger from Sage’s clan, had already flown out from Shadowfell, back to the forests of the west.
    With Good Folk in attendance at our council, all iron weaponry and implements within our dwelling were shielded and set away. I had hoped my training with the Guardians would teach me how to protect our fey allies from the destructive influence of cold iron, for this was likely to prove a great obstacle when we stood up together in battle, but neither the Hag of the Isles nor the Lord of the North had possessed the secret. Some of the Good Folk had a resistance to iron and some did not; that was all I had learned so far. I’d been told the secret might lie with the most unreliable of the Guardians, the Master of Shadows.
    We gathered in a small chamber with the doors closed. Tali welcomed us, her manner brisk.
    ‘Thank you for being here. This has been a sad time for all of us, and I’m sorry there’s the need to talk strategy so soon. But Regan would have wanted us to