THE BITTERBYNDE TRILOGY

Book One: The Ill-Made Mute

(c) Cecilia Dart-Thornton.

"Of course it is important.  It is part of a network of Relay Stations and Interchange Turrets.  They are the crossroads for communications networks spanning the countries of the world, far above the perils of land roads."

The child digested these facts in silence.  Presently she said, "And Stormriders - they are the most important lords in all of Erith are they not? Aside from the King-Emperor, I mean."

"They are aristocrats, yes," replied the mother, caressing the child's hair, "But there are other nobles at the Court of the King Emperor who are considered to be equally as important.  Yet, hush now, for we must not talk so about our betters."

By now the foundling had learned that the Stormriders were indeed aristocrats - an exclusive caste born and trained to become masters of their profession. Without them, messages could not be Relayed.  Without them, valuable small cargoes could not be forwarded across the country, between cities, mining-towns and larger villages.  The Stormriders' trade was exacting, he knew, and it belonged exclusively to the Twelve Houses.

However, the fact that his masters traversed the skies of Erith meant very little to the new servant lad. Between the mortar of daily drudgery and the pestle of pain, life went grinding on. There was no shortage of provender in the Tower, but he did not receive a great deal of it. His ration, although insignificant, was often withheld or stolen. Emptiness always pinched at his insides, like tiny clockwork crabs.

Some of his fellow servitors shunned the nameless lad.  Most ignored him.  A few nursed a strong antipathy to him.  No matter how obedient he showed himself, no matter how hard he tried to please, they discovered fault.  These punished and bullied him continually; he feared them with every fibre of his being.  When they came near, he shrivelled and trembled to his bones.  There was no appeal against their abuse and the pain they inflicted; it had to be endured, that was all.  He became accustomed to the constant tenderness of flesh brought on by bruising and the cuts which occurred when he fell or was thrown against some unforgiving object. 

Because it seemed obvious that the newcomer was a half-wit, no effort was made to communicate with him, let alone teach him.  None offered kindness, save for the daughter of the Keeper of the Keys, who was powerless to help him substantially.

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