Path of Revenge (55 page)

He fell asleep that night to the sound of the rain and the inner vision of the world’s secrets falling into his hands.
All I need is time,
was his last thought.
Only time.

The Central Plains of Faltha measured over three hundred leagues east to west from the Aleinus Gates to the Wodhaitic Sea, and two hundred leagues from the northern Remparer Mountains to the Veridian Borders in the south. In all that distance there were few places one could ascend to see the way the land lay. Robal led them to the summit of one such place, an unremarkable grass-covered mound surrounded on all sides by flat, featureless plains. The Steppes of Austrau, he called them, with something approaching reverence in his voice.

Conal could see little to be reverent about. Leagues of brown grass lay all around, no sign of human
habitation save the narrow path they had been using, the occasional small stony stream running south to north. The constant, annoying susurration of the wind. None of the beauty Robal spoke of so fondly was evident from the little hill.

‘The simoom, ulcers to his soul, is an ugly wind.’

Conal tensed, then turned to identify the speaker, but no one was visible save Stella and Robal.

‘Kilfor, you rascal, you took ten years off my life,’ Robal said, striding forwards. He reached down into the grass and hauled up a thin, smiling man of middle age. This curious specimen wore a wide moustache below beetling eyebrows; his weatherbeaten skin looked as though it had been soaked in brine for years. He had a red kerchief around his neck, while a small brown skullcap—from under which projected a shock of spiky black hair—a silver-threaded waistcoat, ragged breeches and thick leather wrappings above hard-wearing boots completed the ensemble.

‘Happiness and luck to you, Robal, you crazy young maniac,’ the man said affectionately, cuffing the guardsman around the ears. ‘And these are your unfortunate friends?’ He turned to them and bowed extravagantly. ‘Welcome to Chardzou, the dyspeptic heart of Austrau. I apologise for your guide. You both must have done something very bad in a previous life to have ended up with this useless man. His head is full of dung, you know.’

‘Robal,’ Stella said out of the corner of her mouth, ‘you didn’t tell us you had arranged to meet a friend.’

‘Hah!’ the strange man said. ‘He didn’t know, that’s why. Not that he would have remembered. Too many years down in that walled town by the coast, ulcers rot its soul. Soft living makes you blind, Robal. You walked right into that inn last night, sat down, tossed off your beer and never saw me. I am highly offended, friend. You are not the boy I knew.’

‘I thought I could smell alcohol on you,’ Stella said primly. ‘You told us you would be in and out of the tavern as quickly as possible.’

Robal spread his hands. ‘No self-respecting man from these parts would pass up the chance to cut the phlegm, begging your pardon.’ He peered at the stranger. ‘Kilfor, was that you under the wide-brimmed hat? The one who snored the whole time I was there?’

The man nodded, a broad smile plastered over his gnarled face, and patted the hat, attached by a clip to his belt.

‘I am going deaf, if not blind,’ Robal went on. ‘Anyone in southern Austrau ought to recognise you from the sound of your snoring, since it is the only thing that outdoes the simoom. I have missed the place, I confess. Aspects of it, anyway.’

‘What is Chardzou?’ Stella asked, genuine puzzlement in her voice.

‘Ah now, Robal, will you not introduce me to this handsome young woman who, given her proximity to you, obviously lacks taste?’ Kilfor hitched up his belt and ran a hand across his forehead in an impossibly comical imitation of a man seeking favour.

‘No secrets?’ Robal asked Stella.

‘Well, maybe one. But you can introduce me accurately. Your…ah, friend may be more inclined to help if he knows whom he is helping.’

‘If you have a pretty face he will help you,’ said Robal. ‘Very well. Kilfor of Chardzou, be well met with Conal, one-time priest of the Halites but now on the run; and with Stella Pellwen, Queen of Faltha.’

At the first name the man’s brows lowered; but when Stella was introduced they flew up in shock. His hand froze in the act of shaking hers, and he sank to his knees.

‘I…ah…pardon me, my queen, I…have been misled by your beauty.’ Conal watched as the man
tried to recover his poise. ‘The last queen was an old woman, or at least so said Robal. You, now: no one could say that you were old.’

Robal couldn’t help laughing at his friend’s discomposure. ‘Good try, Kilfor, but your charm has failed you today.’

Stella smiled, pulling the man to his feet. ‘Actually, he has done remarkably well. Much better, in fact, than someone else I know, who tried to seduce his queen when first they met.’

‘Seduce? Oh, that is rich!’ Kilfor laughed heartily, hands on hips. ‘Robal the playboy, unable to win the heart of a queen!’

‘And who said he failed?’ Stella said silkily. ‘Anyway, I am the previous queen; that is, I am Leith’s consort. There is no new queen as far as I am aware. I appear to have aged well, if your flattering reaction is anything to go by. Now, if the introductions are over, can we not go to this Chardzou, so I might have time to think what to do next in safety?’

‘She is too sharp for us country hicks,’ Robal said quietly to Kilfor as they made their way down the hill to their trap. ‘Best not to entangle yourself with her in a battle of words. I pitied her poor husband, actually.’

‘I heard that, guardsman.’ Stella’s voice drifted back from a few paces ahead.

Behind them all, Conal smiled. It would take more than a few coarse jests to woo this woman. He would wait until the glib guardsman had made a complete fool of himself before making his own move. Whatever form that move finally took, he was now determined to win her heart.

Risible,
said the small white voice at the back of his head.

Chardzou was a day’s journey southeast of the hill. Finally, the trap pulled up at a clearing in the pampas
grass that might equally have been sited anywhere else within a fifty-league radius. There, forming a rough circle, stood a few dozen ramshackle canvas structures, each anchored to its own wagon. ‘Blows here like forty thousand northmen with indigestion,’ Kilfor said by way of explanation. ‘Anything you build gets blown over a few times a year. Might as well build something easily replaceable. Besides, we move about. Can’t live too long on one piece of land.’

‘I see,’ Stella said, though to Conal’s ear she sounded uncertain.

‘Kilfor, you crapulent boy!’

Startled, the travellers turned towards the source of the screeched greeting. There was no one to be seen outside the tents, though a partly shaded birdcage hanging from one of the wagons contained a large green-and-yellow parrot, busy ruffling its feathers. ‘Wipe your shoes before you come in!’ the bird croaked at them.

Kilfor smiled, as did Robal. ‘Still haven’t got rid of the old bird?’ the guardsman said.

‘He’d get rid of his father before getting rid of the bird,’ said an old stooped man, emerging from the tent beside the cage.

Robal rushed over to the man and gave him a hug. ‘Sauxa! So good to see you again!’ He paused to wipe a tear from his eye.

‘Do I have a foster-son or do I have a girl?’ The man kissed Robal on both cheeks. ‘It is good to see you again, Robal,’ he said gruffly, then released him. ‘Well, are you going to invite these children in, Kilfor, or shall we leave them outside to wither in the sun? Ulcers to your soul, what kind of host are you?’

Once inside, the autumn heat of the steppes faded quickly, and the cool ale in the jug the old man passed around was welcomed by them all. Conal took a look around the tent: far from the simple furnishings the
plain exterior had led him to expect, the inside was adorned with rugs, tapestries, hangings and threads of every exotic colour and hue. Incense burned in a small brazier, enveloping them in a sweet-edged smell. Following the example of their host, they all sat cross-legged on the mat. Conal found the position extremely uncomfortable, and started fidgeting almost immediately.

Sauxa showed no obvious surprise when introduced to his guests. ‘We get all sorts here,’ he said dismissively, but Conal noticed him blow out a quick breath. For a time he avoided looking in the queen’s direction.

‘You will eat with us tonight,’ the old man said. ‘My son’s a good cook.’

‘We don’t want to be a burden,’ Robal said, evidently part of the courtesy.

Of course we will eat here,
Conal thought. Was their host going to turn them out?

‘No burden,’ Kilfor said, then lowered his voice. ‘The old man loves the noise his tongue makes. He’ll talk your legs off and make them walk on their own if you let him.’

‘Speaking of legs,’ his father said loudly, ‘shake yours and go down to the river, you ill-mannered boy. We need more water.’

In the end Kilfor took all three of his guests down to the river, an easy ten-minute walk that allowed them to ease the aches from their muscles. Down from the trap and amongst the shoulder-high grass, the world was reduced to the size of a tent. Only the cirrus-streaked sky stretched any distance.

Kilfor wielded a forked stick. ‘Snakes,’ he said. ‘It’s a good idea to ride in a wagon. We have fifty types of snake here on the steppes. Vipers, whipsnakes, arrow snakes. Venomous, most of them. See the leather wrappings around my ankles? Thick enough to keep me safe. This stick will keep all but the worst of them
away, but if you go walking on the steppes again, wrap your ankles in leather if you can get it, cloth if you can’t—and don’t go exploring in the long grass.’

Conal picked his feet up off the ground as quickly as possible, as though walking on hot coals. He was somewhat mollified to see Stella adopt a similar ridiculous gait. Robal and Kilfor, at ease in this environment, refrained from passing comment, though an occasional smile twisted their lips. The priest wondered what would happen to Stella should she be bitten by a poisonous snake.
More to the point, what would happen to the snake?

‘Here’s a beauty,’ Robal said, pointing to a dark, curled shape lying amongst rocks at the edge of the tallest grass. Doubled and tripled back on itself, the black-and-white serpent must have been ten feet long. It wore a white star above its eyes. ‘A young one. Adults get up to twice this size.’

Conal edged to the far side of the path and feigned an interested look over at the monster.

‘Good for the crops we grow,’ Kilfor said. ‘They eat the karakurt spider, deadliest thing I know. Paralyses its victims and lays its eggs in their mouths. The young feast on the tongue first, then work their way…No matter. No defence against something that can drop down your neck. We lose someone every now and again to the cursed spiders.’ He stood still for a moment, lost in thought.

Conal moved back to the centre of the path, equally distant from both walls of grass.

The river water was cold and pure, and the weary travellers soaked their limbs for a few minutes before returning to the camp.

‘It’s a beautiful landscape,’ Stella said to the old man.

‘Beautiful?’ Sauxa replied, his grin so wide Conal felt sure he could count every black tooth in the man’s
mouth. ‘The place is an abomination, a portal into the Destroyer’s arse. One day I’m going to leave these fools and move back to the city. What’s beautiful about wind that blows your treasures all the way to your neighbour? Or snakes that compete to see who gets to nibble on your leg? Did Kilfor tell you about the spiders? They paralyse their victims, then lay their eggs—’

‘He told us,’ Stella said, laughing.

Kilfor leaned towards her. ‘My father has cursed the grasslands for fifty years, every year louder and longer than the last. He always reminisces about the few months he spent in Ehrenmal a while back; but the way my uncle tells it, he couldn’t get back here fast enough. Now, be patient and listen to my father’s stories. All you have to do is nod in the right places and he’ll carry on all day. I have to go and cook the pilaf.’

Rather than talking, the old man asked genuine questions about events in the wider world. They, in turn, asked him about life on the steppes. From time to time Kilfor would join them, inserting himself into the conversation with ease, then returning to his meal preparations.

After a while the most delicious aroma began to waft through the tent, making it difficult for Conal to concentrate on the discussion. He found himself half-asleep, as comfortable as the dull ache in his arm allowed him to be, his eyes resting on Stella’s throat, watching it move as she spoke. The scar was faintly visible, but only to one who knew it had been a gaping wound through which her lifeblood had flowed.

Had she died and come back to life, or had her immortal blood kept her from dying? Was the answer merely semantics, as so many of his scholarly debates tended to be, or was there an important truth at stake? How could one find out? Would Stella herself know?

Her porcelain skin was so perfect. The scars from where the Destroyer had struck her had, after all these
years, faded into virtual nothingness. How could such a beautiful vessel feel such pain? Such
alleged
pain. Had she really suffered, or was this a manifestation of the weaker sex? It was well known that men could bear much more pain than women. Had she sincerely overstated the price of immortality, or was she trying to keep it from others, to hoard it for herself?

A thousand questions. He put them aside when the meal was served: wheat grains mixed with carrots, and pieces of mutton dripping with fat. ‘You are a genius,’ he said to Kilfor.

The man smiled at him. ‘My father thinks so too. He praises my cooking to everyone he meets.’

‘Aye. Good for lining the stomach so one can drink the foul brew he makes,’ Sauxa said. ‘So bad it is that even the snakes won’t bite anyone who’s had more than a sip of it.’

‘Clean the dishes, boy!’ the parrot squawked, sending Robal and Kilfor into paroxysms of laughter. Some joke from their shared childhood, no doubt.

Eventually the drink was passed around, a smooth but potent spirit, too strong for Conal’s palate but remarked on favourably by Stella. ‘He’ll make a good wife for someone,’ Sauxa said of his son.