Midnight Falcon (27 page)

'Let us assume for a moment that we agree on this,' said Bran. 'What are you offering – in material terms – for this agreement, and what do you require?'

'Full access for our merchants, unhindered passage for our merchant ships, freedom to continue our settlements in the lands of the Cenii, constructing roads and towns and so forth. In return I will offer twenty thousand in gold to help with the costs of reducing the army, returning them to the land, or other skills and trades.'

'And we are to trust you?' snapped Fiallach.

'Trust your eyes,' replied Jasaray, with no hint of anger. 'I am a man approaching seventy. Do you truly believe I want to embark on another campaign, sleeping in tents, marching in rain and snow? If I was hungry for such activities, would I not, even now, be in the east, leading my armies against our enemies? People change as they grow older. Look at you, Fiallach. Do you still yearn for battlefields and cold beds?'

'I can still fight as well as ever.'

'That's not what I asked.'

Fiallach sighed. 'No, I don't. I want to watch my grandchildren grow.'

'Exactly. It is time for us all to do that. Connavar is preparing for an invasion that will not happen. Cogden Field was his great victory – and I take nothing away from that. Indeed I felt some pride in that I had a part in training him for warfare. But Cogden is now almost two decades in the past. I will have my clerics draw up provisional agreements for you to take to Connavar. I will then await your reply.' Jasaray rose. 'Come, let me show you my pets.'

Fiallach's heart sank as they entered the maze once more, but this time Jasaray moved swiftly through it, emerging from an entrance to the west. Here there were many large cages, containing animals from all over the empire, a giant black bear, two lions, three sleek panthers, and, set apart from the others, another lion, but this one bearing the most curious markings. Its tawny body was covered in dark stripes. Fiallach could not understand why anyone should wish to paint a lion in such a way, and said this to Jasaray.

'It is not paint, or dye,' said the emperor. 'It is a tiger, and these are its natural markings. Bigger and faster than a lion, it has prodigious strength. One blow from the paw can crush an ox skull. One bite would sever a man's leg.'

'Why do you have them here?' asked Bran.

'Once the war in the east is won I shall donate them to one of the circuses, and the crowds will watch them being hunted and slain.'

'How far has this creature travelled?' asked Bran.

'Over two thousand miles. It was quite a feat, keeping it alive.'

'I can imagine,' said Bran. 'The cost of getting it here alone must have been enormous.'

'Indeed it was.'

'And all so that people can watch it being killed? Now that seems wasteful, Majesty.'

'Perhaps,' agreed Jasaray. Then he smiled. 'But it would be an unwise ruler who did not spend a little money to keep his subjects happy. A contented people rarely see the need to overthrow their emperors.'

Regrets, Voltan would often say, were only for the weak. This was, he believed, an unarguable truth. Strong men achieved, lesser men failed, and in failing would blame external forces for their failure. Luck was against them, or they were the victims of malicious sabotage from those envious of their skills. Weaklings, all of them! Yet despite this iron belief Voltan had never been able to break free of the one great regret of his life.

Dressed now in a simple hooded toga and sandals he moved through the late-afternoon shadows to the entrance of the catacombs, and the rock tunnels that snaked under Agra, the Fourth Hill of the city. A young man was standing at the entrance, watching him as he approached.

'Good evening, friend,' said the man.

'Good evening to you,' said Voltan, drawing his hands together and making the sign of the Tree.

'Enter and be blessed,' said the man.

Voltan moved inside the darkness of the tunnel. Ahead he could see torches in rough-made brackets on the wall, as the tunnel widened into a high, arched chamber. It was cool here, and Voltan made his way past a series of jagged stalagmites, jutting up from the ground, to join the crowd waiting patiently in the torchlight.

Agents of the Temple had located the hiding place of the Veiled Lady, and she would be arrested tomorrow. Everything was coming together. By the week's end the fading emperor would be replaced by Nalademus, the Tree Cult would begin to wither, and Voltan would be placed in charge of the army. At thirty-seven his destiny waited, a golden prize mere inches from his grasp.

Curiously he felt no excitement, no sense of fulfilment or satisfaction. This was irritating in the extreme, yet it had always been this way. Contentment and happiness were always just a little way ahead. I will be happy when I am Gladiator One, he had thought. On the day he had attained this he had felt a surge of achievement and deep pleasure. It had passed within an hour.

Voltan eased his way through the crowds and sat down on a rock, wondering yet again why he had come to this place. What do you expect to find? he asked himself. A group of fools, filled with death wish, listening to an idiot who would be burned within days. He sat quietly among the almost dead, thinking through the arrangements for the assassination of Jasaray. No plan was foolproof, but, satisfied he had considered all the potential hazards, he relaxed. He felt the crowd stir, and rose to his feet.

At the far end of the chamber a young woman, in a pale blue gown and a black veil, had entered, flanked by three white-haired men. The crowd raised their arms above their heads. Voltan copied the movement.

'May the Source guide you, and bless you, and receive you,' they chanted.

The woman also raised her hands, touching the palms, then opening her arms towards the crowd in a gesture of embrace. 'What do we see in this world around us?' she asked them. 'What do we see in tree and stream, in mountain and valley? What do we feel when we gaze upon the stars and the silver moon? What do we experience when the warmth of the sun touches our skin?'

'Joy!' chorused the crowd.

'And when a friend takes us into an embrace, or a child smiles, or we receive an act of unexpected kindness?'

'Joy!'

'From which deep well does that joy come, my friends?'

'From the Source!' they cried.

'From the Source of All Things,' she said. She fell silent for a moment, and stood head bowed. The crowd settled down, seating themselves upon the ground or jutting rocks and broken stalagmites.

'There is so much evil in this world,' she told them. 'It is governed by men whose spirits have been charred by the smoke and fire of their greed and their lust. We should pity these men for they are empty now, and upon their deaths will walk the Void, lost and frightened, never to see the bright and shining Light, never to know the joy of Paradise Found. Their momentary lives will flicker out as an eternity of regret beckons. They think themselves great men. They see their lives as full of glory and riches. Not so. The reality is that they are – as we all are – seeds in the soft earth. We cannot see the sun, nor the awesome beauty of the sky. We lie in the ground, and we yearn for what we cannot see. The men of evil believe the dirt is all there is, and they embrace it, drawing it around them like a blanket. For them a belief in a sun they cannot see is foolishness, so they wait under the earth until they rot. Those of us with faith have a desire to grow. And we do grow, my friends. We put out roots of love and kindness, and we move up through the dirt, and we will see the sun and the sky. The men of evil will not. So when they drag you from your homes pity them. When they tie you to the stakes forgive them. Their lives are as nothing, worthless and dead.'

She fell silent again. Then she began to move among the crowd, laying her hands upon their heads, whispering blessings. Voltan moved back to stand behind a tall stalagmite, but slowly she was moving towards him. He had a long dagger hidden in the folds of his toga, and glanced quickly back along the tunnel. If she exposed him he would kill her and run. He did not want it to happen. Nalademus would be furious if she was not taken alive.

Most of the crowd were on their knees, so Voltan crouched down, head bowed. He heard her approach, and felt her hand upon his head.

'I forgive you,' she whispered, then moved away, returning to stand before the crowd.

'I must leave you soon,' she told them. There were cries of 'No!' but she stilled them with a gentle gesture. 'I will be taken,' she said, 'and led out to face the jeering mobs and the stake of fire. I know this. I have seen the vision. But do not fear for me. It will happen because I allow it to happen. And if the Source decrees that it is my time to leave this earthly existence, then I welcome it.' An eerie silence settled upon the group. Some began to weep.

'There is a man here . . .' she began. Voltan tensed, and eased his hand inside his toga, curling it round the hilt of his dagger. '. . . a man who does not understand the mysteries of life, or the meaning of joy. For this man I have a message. Go from here to the marketplace of Stanos, and stand by the stall with the yellow canopy. You will not have to wait long, and you will learn a great truth. And now, my friends, I must say farewell. May the Source bless you and keep you.' She turned and walked slowly from the chamber.

Voltan stood very still. The crowd began to file past him and he joined them. There were several exits and soon he found himself wandering down through the narrow streets below the hill, and walking towards the Stanos district. He moved warily. It was surely a trap, and she would have agents ready to spring upon him as he reached the stall with the yellow canopy. He did not fear them. He was Voltan, and even with a dagger he could kill any who attacked him.

There were few people in the marketplace, and many of the stallholders were packing up their wares. Ahead he could see the yellow covering above a stall selling jewellery items, mainly of green jade. Scanning the people close by Voltan approached the stall. None of the men he could see were armed, and most were strolling with wives or lovers. He stood at the stall, looking down at the items on display.

A young woman, her hair blonde, her eyes pale blue, approached and began examining a tray of pendant earrings. There was something about her that touched a chord in the former gladiator, and he wondered if he had met her before.

'Excuse me,' he said. She looked up at him, and his mind slipped back through the years, to a moment in a courtyard, when he said farewell to a tearful girl.

'Yes?'

'Have we met?' he managed to say.

'I do not believe so, sir.'

'My name is Voltan, and I . . . sense that I should know you.'

'I am Cara,' she said, with a smile, 'and, believe me, sir, I would remember.'

'Where are you from, Cara?'

'I live with my grandfather.'

'Perhaps I know him,' he said. 'Perhaps I saw you when you were a child.'

'Perhaps you did,' she agreed. 'My grandfather is a famous man. He was Gladiator One, and he now trains the fighters of Circus Occian.'

Voltan felt as if he had been struck above the heart. 'Your grandfather is Rage?'

'Yes. Do you know him?'

'We have . . . met.'

'Then you should come and see us. We live in a large villa now. But we have few guests.'

'Perhaps I will,' he said, unable to take his gaze from her blue eyes. She gave him another smile.

'And I have seen you before, sir. An hour ago.' Lifting her hands she drew the outline of a tree in the air. Then she smiled again and swung away. He watched her walk from the marketplace.

Swiftly he returned to the temple, and sent a servant to fetch the file on the man Rage. In the fading light he read through it, then pushed the papers across the desk. Rising he walked to the window, and watched the dying sun fall behind the hills.

He had been nineteen when he left Stone, to join the eastern campaign with Panther Nineteen. Palia had wept and begged him to stay, but thoughts of warfare and glory had filled him. Once on campaign he found himself thinking of her often, and the times they had shared. Not just the carnal times, but the moments holding hands beneath the trees, or sitting arm in arm on the bench beneath the rose bower. He still held the memory of the scent of her hair.

Voltan had been away a year, and on his return had rushed to the house of Rage, praying that Palia had taken no other lover. He had been greeted by strangers, who told him that Rage no longer dwelt in Stone, but had moved to a distant part of the empire following the suicide of his daughter. Voltan had stumbled away, bereft and lost.

He stood now in the darkness, remembering the girl by the stall, her bright smile, her blue eyes. Voltan's throat felt tight, and there was a weight in his chest.

'I have a daughter,' he whispered.

He remembered the sign she had made, and, for the first time in his life, fear touched his heart.

Tomorrow would see the greatest cull in the city's history. Close to a thousand names had been gathered from agents, spies and informers. The lists had already been despatched to the hunt teams, and Voltan had no way of knowing whether Cara had been named. He heard a tap at the door, and a figure slipped into the darkness.

'All is ready, lord,' said the man. 'So do we kill the emperor tonight?'

'Aye, tonight,' said Voltan.

The acquisition of power, Jasaray had always said, was not without risk. This thought came to him as he opened his eyes and felt pain at his temple. Lifting his hand he found a lump there, the skin split. He was lying beside the marble bench at the centre of his maze. He struggled to sit, remembering the man who had stepped from the shadows and struck him. I should be dead, he thought. Dragging himself up he groaned as fresh pain throbbed from his skull. Perhaps he believed he had killed me, he thought, sitting down on the bench. It made no sense.

As he sat down he saw that his pale toga was drenched with blood. I have been stabbed! Wrenching the garment open he examined his chest and belly. In the moonlight he could see no wound, and there was certainly no pain, save from the pounding in his head.

Think, man!

Jasaray calmed himself. He had known for some months of the peril he faced, as Nalademus and his Knights grew in power. Yet with his armies in the east he had been unable to confront his old friend and force the issue. So he had waited patiently, allowing Nalademus more and more power, while at the same time organizing subtle troop movements, bringing several loyal Panthers closer to the city. The first of them was camped only five miles from Stone, ready to march upon his order. At this moment Jasaray wished he had given that order, but he had decided to risk another few days. Then he could march nine thousand soldiers into Stone, arrest Nalademus and Voltan, and disband the Stone Knights.

'It could prove a costly delay,' he said, aloud.

Why am I alive? And where is the assassin? Why had he been struck, but not killed? And from whence had come this blood?

Jasaray had been walking alone in the maze. His attacker had been waiting there, armed with a cudgel. Not a knife or a sword. Was the man merely a fool? Or would he return and bludgeon Jasaray to death?

At the far edge of the maze the tiger roared. Did that signal the return of the killer? Jasaray pushed himself to his feet and left the open centre of the maze, moving into one of the darker lanes. The assassin would have to be very good to find his way to Jasaray now.

The tiger roared again. This time the sound was closer. It must be a trick of the maze, thought Jasaray, the sound distorted by the tall, thick bushes. He walked on a little way, but the blow to his head had left him dizzy and weak, and he sat down on a small wooden bench, set in an arch cut into a hedge.

He should have brought the soldiers in and taken a chance on surprising Nalademus, he thought. Foolish man! Timing is always the key to success. You waited too long, Jasaray, he told himself grimly. But I am not dead yet. If I can get to my guards, and send a message to the Panther commander . . .

He heard the tiger growl again. This time the beast was definitely close. Jasaray froze as the sound of padding paws and heavy breath came to him from the other side of the hedge.

Realization came instantly. The blood on the toga! It was not his. It had been smeared there to attract the tiger.

Swiftly, his pain forgotten, Jasaray wrenched the robe from him and threw it to one side. Then he ran down the lane, cutting left and right.

Never before in his life had the Scholar known panic, and even now, in the midst of terrible fear, he had to acknowledge the sheer genius of this plan. The emperor killed by a wild beast while walking in his maze. Nalademus, as First Minister, would naturally take power, and swiftly appoint his own men to command the Panthers. Little risk of civil war, and no-one to blame, save perhaps some poor animal handler who failed to lock the cage properly.

Oh, it was sweet.

From somewhere behind he heard the tiger roar again. This was followed by the sound of rending cloth. Jasaray ran on, heading for the eastern exit. He forced himself to slow as he neared the archway, and, dropping to his belly, inched himself forward to peer round the hedge. The archway was blocked by a wooden frame, and he could just see the shadows of waiting men beyond it. Rising to his feet Jasaray moved back into the lane. All four exits would be blocked.

Jasaray smiled suddenly and shook his head. So this is how it ends, he thought. The man who created the Panthers is butchered by a tiger. 'It is almost droll,' he whispered.

Bane's eyes flared open, and he surged upright. The bedroom, in the west wing of the palace, was moonlit and silent. Bane glanced across at the bed in which Rage slept, close to the balcony. The big man was sleeping soundly on his stomach, one arm hanging over the edge of the mattress, the other curled around a pillow.

It had been a long evening, sitting at the farewell dinner with Jasaray, Bendegit Bran, Fiallach and Rage. The talk was mostly of politics and treaties, and even when it veered away from such mind-numbing topics Bane remained uncomfortable, wishing he was somewhere else. Anywhere else, in fact. For they spoke of Connavar, of his life and legend and greatness. Bane had swallowed his anger. At one point the elderly emperor had turned to him.

'Have you met the king?' he asked.

'Briefly,' answered Bane. 'I won a race. He presented the prize.'

Jasaray looked closely at him, then turned his attention back to Bendegit Bran. 'My agents tell me that King Shard is once more building a great fleet,' he said. 'Is Connavar aware of this?'

'We are all aware of the threat,' said Bran. 'Shard hates Connavar, and has promised to cut off his head.'

'What is the source of this hatred?' asked Jasaray.

Bran glanced at Fiallach. 'You were there, my friend. Perhaps you should tell the story.'

The giant yellow-haired warrior nodded, and Bane saw a look of sorrow touch Fiallach's grim features. 'A raiding party of Vars – led by Shard – sacked my settlement. It was a ransom raid, and they were seeking to capture a young woman named Tae. She was the daughter of a powerful laird, and Shard believed he could extract a great amount of gold for her. He was probably right. Most of the warriors of the settlement had been lured away before the raid. We were in the woods some fifteen miles away hunting a lion. But Connavar was close by, and he trailed the raiders, and freed Tae.'

'He did this alone?' said Jasaray.

'Aye, alone,' agreed Fiallach. 'It is a source of great shame to me that I was not there.'

'How did he accomplish this feat?'

'The raiders had split up, to confuse any chasing force. Connavar killed the men with Tae, then led her deeper into the woods. One of the men he killed was Shard's brother. Shard made a Blood Pledge that day to avenge the death.'

'Great men always make enemies,' said Jasaray. 'I was saddened to hear of the death of Tae, which, as I recall, was also the result of a blood feud. Why has Connavar never remarried?'

The tribesmen had looked uncomfortable at the question, and it was Bran who finally answered it. 'He is wedded to the cause of the Keltoi, Majesty, and has no time for personal pursuits. Much like yourself.'

'Indeed so,' said Jasaray, and the talk had returned to treaties and closer ties between races and cultures.

By the time the emperor ended the evening Bane had almost lost the will to live. He and Rage had returned to their quarters. The older man had taken to his bed immediately. Bane had drunk a little wine and had sat on the balcony, gazing at the stars. Then he too had slept.

The nightmare had been violent and terrifying.

Bane's heart was still hammering, but the nightmare was receding now, falling through his memory. He recalled that Banouin had been in his dream. His friend was trying to tell him something. Bane couldn't remember what it was. Something about a vision! A vision of demons, hunting him? Then he remembered the night, back in the house of Barus in Accia, when Banouin's screams had wakened him. He had run to his friend. 'The walls are alive!' Banouin had shouted, his face gleaming with sweat. 'And there is a demon hunting you, Bane. Ah! I see him. Talon and claw. He is coming for you.'

What else had he said? In the quiet of the room Bane pictured again that scene. 'You were walking through . . . through corridors, but the walls were alive and writhing. You were carrying a short sword, and there was a man with you, an older man. And a demon was stalking you. A terrible beast of incredible speed and strength.'

Rising from the bed Bane walked to the balcony. It was cool now, a fresh breeze blowing in from the sea. He glanced down, at the emperor's private gardens, and the moonlit maze. He saw a movement. It was the emperor. He was naked, and moving swiftly along one of the lanes. Bane smiled. It was an oddly comical sight. Still, he thought, if a man ruled an empire as mighty as that of Stone, he could behave as he liked. Bane yawned, and cast his gaze around the gardens. Then he saw another movement. He blinked. It had been so swift that he could not quite believe what his eyes registered.

A striped beast had padded across the clearing in the centre, then disappeared from view. Bane focused his gaze on the spot. Lanterns had been lit throughout the maze, and he wondered if what he had seen was actually a trick of light and shadow. Then he saw the beast again. It was massive – and it was hunting.

Bane ran back into the room and roused Rage from sleep. 'The emperor is in danger,' he said.

'What?'

'There is a beast hunting him in the maze.'

Bane moved out onto the balcony, glancing down at the fifteen-foot drop to the grass below. Then he climbed over the top, hung from his arms, and fell to the grass, rolling as he struck. He came to his feet just as Rage dropped alongside him. The older man landed with a grunt. Neither man had any weapon. Only the royal guards were allowed to walk armed within the palace.

They ran around the western perimeter of the maze – straight into four armed men. Two of the assassins carried short swords, the others knives. The first swordsman ran at Bane, lunging his sword towards the other man's chest. Bane side-stepped, grabbed the man's wrist, and headbutted him full in the face. Holding to the wrist Bane twisted it savagely. The man cried out, the sword spinning from his grasp. Rage caught it, leapt forward and killed the second swordsman, slicing the gladius through the man's throat. A knifeman ran at Bane, who ducked, then threw himself at the man. They fell together. Bane sent a right hook into the knifeman's jaw. The last of the assassins turned to run. Rage hurled the gladius, which plunged into the man's back. Bane hit his own assailant twice more, then rose. The man he had disarmed was running back into the palace.

A wooden barrier had been placed across the maze entrance. Rage pulled it clear.

'Be careful,' said Bane. 'The beast was a lion of some kind. And big!'

Rage dragged the gladius from the back of the dead assassin and tossed it to Bane. Then he scooped up the second sword and the two men entered the maze.

'How in heaven's name will we know where we're going?' asked Rage. 'All the lanes look the same.'

'Just follow me,' said Bane.

'You are bleeding, boy,' said Rage. 'Did he cut you?'

Bane glanced down at his pale tunic. Blood was seeping through the cloth. 'No. My stitches broke. It is nothing.'

He began to lope along the lane, Rage close behind him. He turned left, then right, picturing in his mind the maze as he had seen it from the balcony. Vorna's magic had been unable to help him with his reading and writing, but she had told him that nature always finds a balance. 'You have a wonderful memory, Bane, much keener than most men's. You will find it far more useful than the ability to decipher script.'

His side was hurting as he ran, the tunic sticking to the inflamed flesh. Suddenly a growl came from close by. Bane swerved away from the sound, which was emanating from the far side of the hedge. The tiger roared, and began lashing at the hedge with its great paws. Bane stood very still. The hedge was at least three feet thick, and though the branches were thin there were hundreds of them. It would take even a creature such as this a little time to tear a way through.

In the bright moonlight Bane could not yet see the beast. Then a massive paw slashed into view, splintering wood. As the branches parted Bane saw – for a moment only – the face of the tiger, and found himself staring into baleful, golden eyes. Raised on its hind legs the beast paused in its furious assault upon the hedge, and stared back at the man. Time froze as Bane's gaze locked to those terrible eyes, and he felt the power of the beast, the strength, the energy and the terrible hunger. Then the moment passed. The tiger let out a ferocious roar and crashed its huge frame at the hedge, which bent inwards.

'Time to leave,' said Rage.

Bane nodded. 'In a moment,' he replied. Then he called out: 'Jasaray! It is Bane. Make for the centre! We will meet you there.'

The two men ran on. From behind them came the sound of wood splintering as the tiger crashed through.

Two more turns to the left, and one to the right, and the two warriors emerged into the centre of the maze. The naked Jasaray was there, standing very still, his hands clasped behind his back. He seemed very calm. Bane ran up to him. Jasaray took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

'We are here to help you, Majesty,' said Rage. 'Not kill you.'

Jasaray opened his eyes and gave a thin smile. 'That is gratifying to hear,' he said, his voice showing no fear.

The tiger emerged from the lane entrance, its huge head swaying as it walked. Bane looked into its yellow eyes, then he and Rage moved a little apart. The tiger watched them as it padded closer. The tail suddenly twitched. And it charged at Bane.

The Rigante stood his ground. As the tiger leapt he dropped to one knee, ramming the gladius into the beast's belly. The tiger struck him, smashing him to the ground. Bane could smell the tiger's fetid breath, and the fangs were inches from his face. Throwing up his left arm he struggled to hold the beast at bay. Rage ran in, hurling himself to the beast's back and circling his arm round the throat, hauling the head back. Then he stabbed the tiger in the side, plunging his blade deep.

The tiger reared up and swung on Rage. Bane, weaponless now, surged to his feet and cast around for a weapon of any kind. His own gladius was wedged deep in the body of the tiger. The creature's tail twitched again, and it leapt at Rage. The old gladiator stood his ground. Bane threw himself at the tiger, his shoulder hammering into the beast's side. Rage darted forward, lancing his sword into the creature's neck. It twisted and lashed out at Bane. The Rigante hurled himself to one side, but not swiftly enough. Talons raked his shoulder, spraying blood into the air. The tiger was unbelievably fast. Even as Bane fell it was upon him. Rolling to his back Bane smashed his fist into the tiger's head. It was like striking rock. Fangs lunged for his face. Once more he threw up his arm, and his elbow lodged against the beast's throat, holding back the attack. Rage stabbed it again. The tiger's body spasmed. It gave a coughing roar and blood pumped from its mouth. Yet still it bore down on Bane. The Rigante struggled to hold it back. With his right hand he reached down. His fingers curled round the hilt of the gladius jutting from the tiger's body. With all of his strength he rammed the blade deeper.