In the Earth Abides the Flame (37 page)

'You might be well advised to look to your manners, old man,' growled one of the king's guards. 'The king will be given respect.'

'When he earns it!' Kurr snapped. The courtesies had been nothing but an irritating distraction to him, exhausting his small store of patience. 'We have a task to perform, and He Who Seems to Know Everything ought to know what will happen should we fail. He will earn our respect when he guides us to his borders and gives us aid in the completion of our mission!'

Instantly two guards of the king's house stepped forward and drew their swords, levelling their tips at the old farmer's throat. 'He dies for those words, my king,' said one of the guards.

'If you raise your hand against me, you raise your hand against Faltha!' Kurr was past reason.

He had not spent weeks cooped up in Instruere, enduring the failure of their mission to the Council and the possible loss of the rest of the Company, just to listen to some clever wordsmith. 'Then whose enemy have you become? Shall Deruys be aligned with Bhrudwo?

Why has Deruys interfered with our mission?'

A low hiss echoed through the court.

'Forgive us, Haufuth,' the king said, ignoring both Kurr and his guard. For a moment his eyes lost their rheumy film, and Leith read in them the same startling lucidity demonstrated by the queen. 'I do indeed know the fate of your companions. They are locked in the gilded cage, but they sing still. A new man, a brown man, has the key, but does not yet know what he has captive. He has not discovered the entangled ones, but neither they nor the caged birds will be let out now.

'The man-mountain, the red man, has been displaced. He now hunts new quarry as a way of regaining favour with the keeper of the cage. Warden Protector, look to your laurels! The red man has a black heart.'

'I know,' Kurr said quietly. 'We've seen him.'

'So I sent my falcon out to gather up the stray birds, to protect them from the red man and to offer them whatever seed they require. As to flying south for the summer, members of a scattered flock far from their own land would do better to seek a guide who has flown those skies before.'

'So we're supposed to be grateful?' Kurr's anger had not been assuaged. 'Why capture us? Why not just offer us assistance?'

'Perhaps you haven't been listening,' Long-hair said. 'We know the importance of your mission ...'

'Just how do you know?'

Long-hair took a sidelong glance at his father the king. 'The Arkhos of Sarista managed to get a messenger out of Instruere two weeks ago, but another was intercepted and executed soon after. The story the successful messenger told alerted us, and we have been receiving reports from our own people in Instruere since then. The city is filled with rumour, but we think we can make out what has happened.'

'Your people? Who are they?'

'Really, my friend, do you expect that to be answered in an open court? We gather news in order to be of use to passing strangers; that is all you need to know.'

'So what happened?'

'Again, I must stress there is no guarantee that everyone within earshot has the best interests of Deruys, Faltha or your group at heart. It might be wiser to adjourn to private chambers if you mean to find out more.'

'And tomorrow?' Kurr was determined not to let go.

'We will do what we can for you tomorrow. More than that, we cannot promise.'

The Arkhimm sat with the king's son in a small chamber. They had taken a late lunch there, baked fish on a bed of lettuce, and were now ready to listen to the king's proposals. Except the king complained of a sudden headache (though in describing his discommoded condition he was by no means so direct), and left them with his son, Prince Wiusago, Long-hair.

'He's not the only one with a headache,' the Haufuth complained when the king and his entourage left the chamber. 'How can you stand the constant brainwork?'

'Don't forget I was brought up with it,' Wiusago said defensively, brushing his long locks back out of his eyes. 'The Witenagemot dynasty prides itself on brainwork.' His voice took on a rueful note. 'So what did they name me? I have best friends named after wild animals, great heroes of the past or particularly difficult feats of swordsmanship; but no, my parents decided

"wiseacre" would be a good name for their eldest son.' He laughed, and looked at the door.

'That's what my name means in Old Deruvian. I thank you, Father.'

With that the mood lightened somewhat, and the Arkhimm learned a little of the ways and customs of the Deruvians. Leith was puzzled by their habit of journeying to the coast to swim in the sea ('We consider it therapeutic,' Wiusago said in response to disbelieving stares from Leith and the others: no one would ever consider swimming in the wild, cold sea of Firanes).

Phemanderac probed the prince about the uniformity of the architecture ('The Deruvians like order,' was his short answer, 'but you might like to ask my father about architecture, he's the authority. He built the palace wall himself when he was younger'). Eventually after a glass of wine and an easing of the tension that accompanied their capture, talk came back to the quest of the Arkhimm.

'We understand the seriousness of the situation,' Long-hair said. 'Most of the kingdoms either dismiss the rumour of war as paranoia, or are themselves in league with Bhrudwo. We know of the betrayal of the Council of Faltha, though we have not heard from our ambassador - the Arkhos of Deruys, the king's own brother and my uncle - for nearly a fourweek. Let me assure you, by good fortune you have found the only court of any of the Sixteen Kingdoms which would bodi believe your story and be willing and able to lend you aid.'

'What sort of aid might you lend, and how are we to pay it back?' the Haufuth wanted to know. 'Most of all, how do you know of our quest when we ourselves are unsure of what it is we are trying to achieve?'

'You have not spoken openly of your quest, so we may not be able to suit aid to the specifics of your situation. However, we can guess the nature of your mission. You headed south when the danger comes from the east, so either you are running away - not a likely possibility, I might add,' he said, looking sideways as Kurr bristled, 'or you seek something or someone.

Behind you comes the Arkhos of Nemohaim, until recently the man with the heart of Faltha in his hand. He is accompanied by the Captain of the Guard, said to have perished in the great flood, though obviously it is not so, and by a curious man whom we discover is the Archivist of Instruere. Now, the Captain of the Guard I can understand, if the Arkhos's purpose is to raise an army to retake Instruere for himself. But no, he travels south with all speed, making contact with none of his servants in Westrau, seeking someone if we read the signs right, and talking constantly to this Archivist. So we make inquiries about your party, and learn one among you spent much time with this Archivist, and is himself a Loremaster. In fact, some among us remember a man like him travelling north through Deruys two years ago, asking questions such as a master of lore might ask. So we reason that both your party and the Arkhos's band come south in search of some great heirloom.'

Phemanderac pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, tacit acknowledgement of the shrewdness of the prince's logic.

'Now I do not believe in heirlooms. Every kingdom has their legends of heirlooms lost, and from time to time various dreamers have made journeys in search of them, their adventures and their deaths adding to the legend. Legends are slippery things, difficult to grasp, always changing shape. I believe in solid things, the sky, the earth, man's evil and the necessity for bright steel, treaties, lies and international boundaries. However, my father sets little store by such things, and when presented with the evidence he suggested you might be pursuing a particular heirloom of legendary fame. Not in our kingdom, but in one further south. Do I aim my arrow accurately?'

'You have strung your bow with the correct heirloom,' the Haufuth acknowledged. 'Though, like you, I do not believe in such

things. Yet there seems nothing else to be done. We are, after all, just a few northern peasants.'

'Who, if the tales have not already assumed the status of legend, have defeated a band of Bhrudwan masters — I would give my inheritance to meet even one on the field of battle! —

and liberated The Pinion of its prisoners. How wise that was I do not know, but it certainly was brave. Whatever you are, you cannot be simply a few northern peasants.'

'Yet that is what we are,' Kurr insisted. 'Peasants with a past, perhaps, but peasants nonetheless. We tried to warn the Council of danger, only to find we were months too late. So now we seek the one thing that might convince the kingdoms of their danger. With it we could rid ourselves of this internal plague and then resist the Bhrudwan locusts.'

'I still do not believe in the existence of this thing you seek,' Long-hair said. 'However, my father does. So will the Fathers of the Sixteen Kingdoms, even those who have asked the locusts to come and devour their lands. As far as I can see, it is the idea of this thing, the unity it embodies and its symbolism as the weapon of the Most High, used to defeat the Destroyer, that is the real power. It has no power inherent in itself. Is that true, Loremaster?'

Phemanderac nodded his head and smiled. 'Writers of history make much of the unusual, and would undoubtedly have recorded - and embellished - any instances of miraculous or supernatural power resident in the thing itself. There are none.'

'Then does the real heirloom have to be discovered? Would not some similar weapon serve the same purpose? After all, it is a common article. Why expose yourself to the risk, the delay and, in my view, the inevitable failure? We have arrows aplenty in our armoury, even gold-plated ones, should you desire. I'm sure we could spare you one.'

The Haufuth's eyes widened, but Phemanderac shook his head. 'A nice idea, but it wouldn't work, for two reasons. First, the Arrow was fletched with mariswan feathers. Unless you have seen one of those legendary beasts recently, we might be hard pressed to make our arrow look convincing.'

'Would people have to get that close to it?' Prince Wiusago was reluctant to let go of his idea.

'Undoubtedly many, including our enemies, would seek to verify our claim, should we find it.

But there is a second and more powerful reason. We ourselves would not believe in the authenticity of the arrow.'

'Why should we? We would know it was a hoax.' The prince looked a little puzzled.

'So much of this depends on faith,' Phemanderac answered him. 'If we ourselves were not convinced, how could we expect to convince others? And how could we lead an army of ordinary Falthans into battle against Bhrudwan soldiers while we knew we had deceived them? All the power of the Arrow lies in the fact of it being the Arrow.'

'So are you saying your quest is more than a search for something to bring unity? Do you agree with my father that the Arrow is a symbol of the Most High returning to have dealings with the First Men?'

'We'll have to see what happens. But we can't wait for the miraculous Arrow to turn up in the Hall of Meeting in the fat hand of the Arkhos of Nemohaim. It sometimes falls to the hands of humans to fulfil the wishes of the Most High.'

'Or to perpetuate the myth of his existence,' Long-hair said, but he softened the words by smiling. 'I remain unconvinced about the heirloom itself, but I understand the reasons for your rejection of my little scheme. I suspect my father would also have rejected it. Never mind, it kept the mind occupied for a space of time.' The young man sighed.

Leith received a sudden insight into this man. Intelligent, skilful in battle, yet witli no challenge against which to measure himself in a kingdom that prided itself on order and predictability. With a sense of awe he knew what the prince was about to say. Not magical foreknowledge, but foreknowledge nonetheless. Was all magic like this?

'Let me come with you,' said Prince Wiusago. 'I would like the chance to pursue a legend.

That is, if unbelief does not disqualify one from the pursuit.'

Kurr glanced at the Haufuth, his eyes narrowing. The village headman leaned forward.

'I suspect your father was going to compel you to come anyway, and that is why he feigned a headache - so his compulsion would not be necessary. I thank you for your offer of assistance, and I accept it. Would you convey that message to your father? Tell him also that in spite of his watering, we're still not that wet.'

The Haufuth sat back in his couch, aware of the eyes on him. He smiled, and said: 'Well, it's about time I earned my keep as leader of this noble quest.'

Kurr laughed, and so did Leith, a shared sound that did much to ease their hearts.

Later Prince Wiusago returned to tell them the king had indeed offered his own son as guide for their journey, and recommended one other, whom they were to meet at the evening meal.

They also learned the fate of the Company trapped in Instruere. 'Apparently in the confusion caused by the flood they escaped the guard and made it back into the city, where they are hidden from both Escaigne and Instruere,' Long-hair told them. 'We know they are alive, but have no clue as to their whereabouts or purpose. The city is shut up tight now, and we will not be able to get information in or out. There is no way your friends will be able to follow you south.'

'That's a pity,' said Phemanderac. 'One of them in particular ought to accompany us,' and Leith knew he referred to Stella and the five-fingered Hand. Leith wished she was here, but for his own reasons.

'A pity, certainly,' echoed the prince. 'For I was given to understand there were swordsmen among you, and - forgive me — I do not see them.'

'Forgive you?' the Haufuth stormed playfully. 'Forgive you? I declare to you I wield a powerful knife and fork, and were you a lamb or a boar you would have been devoured long since!' He smiled, then sighed. 'No swordsmen, I'm afraid. Perhaps Farr, but even he would be no match for your highness, if we are to believe the minstrels out in the hall. They've been singing your praises all afternoon. Quite tiresome, actually. Did you really do all those things?'