Scarred Man (15 page)

‘Underground? In Vogel?'

Keshik's eyes widened. ‘How could you know that?'

‘We both have much to answer for, I fear.'

‘Answer for? I did not do this!' Keshik waved his arm to encompass the hideous display around them.

‘No, but you are responsible, as I am responsible for what happened to Vogel, and the Place of the Acolytes.'

‘You? Tell me what you did.'

‘Like you, I released an ancient evil from the labyrinth beneath that sad city. Like you, I bear the responsibility for what has come from that act and so, again like you, I came here seeking information.'

‘How do you know I came here to seek information?'

‘Why else come to Leserlang? Even I know that information is the only coin they have to trade.'

Keshik had nothing to say to this. His frustration at having killed Fraunhof, which in itself had resulted in his long imprisonment and his own near death, was still keen. That, coupled with the possibility that the Reader was the leading expert on the subject, left him seething. The stark horrors he had seen, and now, it appeared, was responsible for, made him pause. He had come into Leserlang to find Alberrich and kill him before heading after Maida, but perhaps the knowledge Slave sought might be important enough to delay his pursuit. The thought made him angrier. He stared again at the carnage around him before turning on his heel and stalking from the hall.

When back out into the main square, he stopped at a sound that broke through the heavy silence. He slowly swivelled around, trying to locate its source. When it came again, he identified it as a voice, possibly a child's, coming from the second level of the main building. He looked up to see a woman standing in one of the windows. She wailed as if in distress before stepping back, away from the window.

Keshik made his way back into the building and ran up the stairs. As he did so, more voices sounded. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, he was surrounded by dozens of voices, all wailing and crying incoherently. He pushed open the first door he came to, revealing personal chambers. Huddled in the corner farthest from the door was a man.

He was curled into a tight ball with his arms wrapped over his head as if to protect himself. When Keshik stepped into the room, his wailing cry shifted up into a scream as he tried to curl even tighter. The scream faltered and became a babble of nonsensical words as Keshik advanced. He stepped back and the torrent of nonsense stopped.

He left the room and closed the door behind him. The man inside went back to wailing. Keshik guessed he would see a similar sight behind every door. He jogged the length of the corridor and heard nothing to change his opinion. At the end, he looked along each way of the junction. It seemed quieter to the left, so he turned and made his way to the first door. He pushed it open and found himself in a large library. Books lined the walls
while chairs were arranged around several dark tables taking up most of the rest of the room. He was about to leave when it occurred to him that the knowledge he sought might yet be accessible.

Keshik did not hear Slave as he entered the library behind him. The first he knew of the other man being in the room was when Slave picked up a book and started to flick through it.

‘Can you read?' he asked Slave.

Slave grunted, a sound that Keshik took as assent.

‘What is that book about?'

‘Poetry.' Slave tossed the book onto the table and started looking around. Keshik watched as Slave rapidly selected book after book, tossing them either to the floor or onto the table with apparent random disregard. The moaning wails from outside the door continued while he waited and the noise was beginning to make him edgy. Were they going to keep this up all day?

‘What happened to all of them?' he asked, more to take his mind off the noises they were making than for any real desire to know the answer.

‘It sounds like their minds have been destroyed,' Slave said without looking up from the book he was considering.

‘Why would anyone, anything, do that?'

‘Knowledge. They probably knew something it didn't want them to know.'

Keshik shuddered as he remembered the final words of the vast black presence as it left him:
Kielevinenrohkimainen will not feed from you. I have others who need my attention.

Did it ‘feed' from these?

‘What could they know?'

Slave lowered the book and looked at Keshik. ‘These Readers pride themselves on their knowledge. They might know what that thing is, what it wants, how it plans to get it, its weaknesses, anything.' He tilted his head to one side, as if considering a thought that had just occurred to him. ‘It's intelligent — planning before it acts, moving against its enemies,' he said, as if talking to himself. ‘So why attack the Place of the Acolytes as well as here?'

‘There are two of them.'

Keshik was startled by the voice behind him. He spun around, drawing his blades to confront the man who had spoken.

‘I thought you would be back, murderer,' the man went on. ‘It is a shame you weren't here when it attacked.'

‘What was it?'

‘The Revenant, or at least one of them. There were two sealed beneath the ground in a vast, magical labyrinth at the end of the Mertian–Scaren wars.'

‘Why?'

‘Why were they sealed away? They were too powerful to leave free. Unleashed, they would lay waste to the whole world.'

‘What do you know about them?' Slave asked.

The man regarded Slave with suspicion. ‘Who are you?'

‘Slave. Tell me what you know about them.'

‘They are powerful, mystical beings whose origins
are unknown. It is believed they were summoned to this world, the one in response to the other, during the Mertian–Scaren wars. Opinion is divided, but I think the Warrior Revenant was summoned first by the Scarens, and Kielevinenrohkimainen was called to battle it. During the struggle, most of both races were destroyed, but the two Revenants were greatly weakened, allowing the Sixth Waste to drive them into their imprisonment.'

‘The Sixth Waste?' asked Slave.

‘You might know it as Varuun.'

‘The Sixth Waste is a person?' Keshik asked.

‘No, the Varuun is the incarnation of the great northern wastelands. It was awakened by its Acolytes to battle the Revenants and with their imprisonments, it sleeps again. Now that they are abroad once more …' He shrugged. ‘Who knows what might happen.'

‘How did they get out?' Keshik was not sure he wanted to hear the answer, but had to ask.

‘Only by someone breaking into the labyrinth from the outside. It could not be penetrated from the inside.'

‘Do you know what they will want, now they are out?' Slave asked.

‘No. But eventually they will face each other and in that battle, the world will be destroyed.'

‘Why did Kielevinenrohkimainen come here?' asked Keshik.

‘To remove knowledge of it from the world. Which is probably why the Warrior Revenant destroyed the Place of the Acolytes: it would be after the Eyes.'

‘Why did it not destroy all this?' Slave gestured at the library with its thousands of books.

‘I don't think books existed when it was last above ground.'

Slave scowled. ‘That was a mistake. It's good to know it can make mistakes.'

A thought suddenly occurred to Keshik. ‘How did you survive?' he asked.

‘I was not here when it attacked. I was outside the Ruthia, attending to … another matter.' The man's hesitation was brief, but obviously significant.

‘Lucky for you,' Keshik could not help but comment.

‘Not really,' the Reader corrected him. ‘Who will now care for all my friends? I fear my pleasant life has come to just as abrupt an end as if I had been here.'

‘You have your life, and your freedom. What else matters?' Slave said.

‘A great deal, actually,' the Reader replied. ‘And I must now go and attend to it.'

He turned and walked away. Slave watched him for a moment, before returning to his examination of the library shelves. Keshik left him to the books and strode after the Reader. When he caught up, he grabbed the Reader by the arm and wrenched him around.

‘Tell me what you know about these Revenants,' he demanded.

‘I already have. My area of study was the sorcery that could allow a man to speak with animals. Not very useful now, I fear.'

‘But …'

‘Fraunhof was the one who studied the Revenants and the ancient wars, and you killed him, murderer. You may well have murdered the one man in all the world who knew how to defeat them.'

Keshik's hand slipped from the Reader's arm as all the strength seemed to flow out of him. The simple words made him suddenly afraid, suddenly deeply ashamed.
Is this what my life of violence has earned me?

The Reader stood, staring with ill-disguised contempt. ‘I hope you are satisfied with your actions. Remember that it was you, whenever you see what that thing does to the world. I hope every scream, every drooling mumble of those whose minds it eats cuts deep. I wish pain and torment on you in what I trust will be a long and lonely life.' He spat on the floor between Keshik's legs and stalked away.

Normally you would die where you stood for that. But not today.

Keshik tried not to listen to the moans, the drooling mumbles of the Readers shut in their rooms as he sheathed his swords and went back into the library. Slave had torn down a curtain from a window and was tying it into a bundle around a pile of books. He looked up as Keshik entered.

‘I have found their collection of books about Vogel, the Varuun and the Revenants.'

‘We should leave,' Keshik said.

‘And go where?'

‘The land of the Blindfolded Queen.'

‘Why there?'

‘She took Maida.'

‘And Myrrhini as well. That's interesting. Is Maida Mertian?'

Keshik shook his head. ‘No, she's Tusemon.'

Slave swung the large makeshift bag of books over his shoulder and started towards the door. ‘Which way is the Blindfolded Queen?' he asked.

‘South, and east.'

‘Far?'

‘Very far.'

‘Get in there, be quiet and stay out of trouble!'

Maida stumbled as she was shoved hard into the room. She felt an extra stab in her throbbing shoulder from the push, her ankles were rubbed bloody from the manacles and her back was stiff from the days of forced inactivity in the wagon. She regained her balance and looked around.

She was in a room, not a cell as she had expected, a room with two beds, a window — barred but with curtains — a closet, two chairs, a rug on the floor and food set out on a table. The aromas of roasted meat, fresh bread, ripe fruit and red wine wafted across the room and filled her nostrils. Her mouth started watering and she was seated at the table eating before she could think about things like poisons or soporifics.

She was also too hungry to stop even when she did think of them. If they had truly wanted her dead she would have been before now, and if she were drugged … she shrugged. It had been a long time since she had slept in a bed and she might as well make the most of the opportunity. In fact, now
that she looked at the big comfortable bed, she did feel sleepy. Maybe after a meal and a wash, some sleep might be a good idea. She smiled and walked to the door.

‘Hey,' she bellowed, hammering on the wood. ‘Where can a girl get a bath around here?'

There was no response, so she waited for a suitable length of time before hammering again. And shouting again. This time she was rewarded by the sound of hurrying feet approaching her door.

It opened to show a young man, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a most pleasing muscularity to his stance. He glared at her with undisguised irritation.

‘Your door is not locked, Lady,' he said in a tone more even and relaxed than his expression would suggest. ‘If you want a bath, there is a room just down the hall.' He gestured to his left.

‘I am not having a bath with all these soldiers around, expecting them all to troop in at any moment.'

‘Two things, Lady,' the man said. ‘First, we are not soldiers, we are Agents of the Blindfolded Queen. And secondly, that is the women's baths; the men's are in a different building. And to answer your next question, at present you are the only woman here.'

‘Oh.' She was slightly disappointed. It was all too easy. She wanted a fight, something to be angry about, something that might mollify her need to escape and her guilt at the fact she would be comfortable tonight. Comfortable when Keshik might be suffering in a dungeon somewhere, awaiting the evil pleasures of the perverted Readers.

The chill that ran through her shook her to the bone. She had tried to keep such thoughts away during her time of captivity so far. It was why she had to escape, why she could not just relax and enjoy a new experience — why she could not let these Agents take her so far away.

Suddenly, a bath did not seem so important.

She realised the young man was still standing in front of her, watching her with impatience.

‘Was that all?' he asked.

‘No,' she said. ‘Are you expecting any more women to arrive?'

‘One. Soon, I hope.' He gave her an exasperated look. ‘Is that all, now?'

‘Yes. For now,' she replied.

‘Good, because, just between you and me, a bath would be a very good idea.'

Maida's eyes widened in surprise.

‘You mean …?'

‘You stink, Lady. Believe me, you stink.' With that, he turned on his heels and stalked away, muttering to himself.

Maida raised her arm and sniffed her armpit. She winced. ‘I stink.' She looked down at her dress. Torn, bloody and filthy, it hung off her like the rag it had become. ‘Have they provided some more clothes for a “Lady”, I wonder?' She walked back to the closet and pulled it open. ‘That's better,' she said as she considered the clothes hanging inside.

The bath was impressive, even better than the one in Leserlang, and so remembering that, she did not even consider bathing until she had carried out a thorough examination of the walls, just in case.
To her pleasure, she found no little peepholes and so she bathed and then put on one of the dresses that had been hanging in the closet. Her old dress, together with her underclothes, she tossed into the fire that kept the water warm. The new dress was lighter and finer than any she had worn, more suitable to the warmer climes into which she had travelled, she reasoned. She was clean, fed and comfortable. Sleep now, escape tomorrow.

 

Tomorrow came, and despite her door not being locked, every other door except the bathroom was. She stalked the length of the corridor exploring, but finding nothing. There were only three interruptions during the day. The first was just after she woke up. She was still lying in the bed, pondering her day, when the door opened without a knock. An Agent walked in carrying a tray of food.

‘Hey!' she shouted.

‘Breakfast,' he said.

After he had put the tray on the table, he turned and left. At no stage had he looked at her. Maida rolled out of bed with none of the headache or stiffness she had come to associate with having been drugged, so she assumed the food was unviolated. She sat at the table and ate hungrily, starting to plan her escape.

Obviously, the first task was to find the way out of this comfortable two-roomed prison cell. That done, she would have to evade the other Agents who would be guarding her, then out of the compound and into Usterust. Once in a city, she was gone. Even if the magic they had used to track
her before was still on her — which she doubted — no one could catch her when she was free to move. She would outrun them in the city and lose them in the labyrinth that was the poor quarter. It was one of the many skills Keshik had taught her. If any of the guards tried to stop her, he would feel the force of one of the other skills.

Once she found a weapon.

So much to do, and so few resources to start with. Maida sighed. No point sitting around waiting for it to all do itself. Time to act. She rose from her table and walked to the door. It was still unlocked and she pushed it open. Outside, the corridor was unoccupied. She made her way towards the main exit and tried it hopefully. Of course it was locked, but through the small, barred grate she could see the rest of the compound.

There was an open area, maybe twenty paces across, with a wall containing a gate opposite her, a large warehouse to the right and a low building, presumably a barracks, to the left. She saw three Agents practising archery and two others wrestling. No one looked towards her. It was as if she had been forgotten, but then she saw the Agent at the main gate rub at the bandage on his upper arm.

Not totally forgotten
. She smiled.

A door in the warehouse opened and the Agent who had answered her pounding the previous day came out. He stopped in the doorway and spoke to someone behind him before shaking his head and making his way across the open area towards her door. His face showed unhappiness, even disgust, as he approached. Maida watched as he walked. He
was athletic, his carriage confident and muscular; his tattoo did not bear the black line under the crown. She had at first surmised that line meant rank within the Agents, but she was not sure. Watching this man come towards her, she was even less sure. He did not walk like a lowly member of the organisation, yet he clearly was obeying orders he did not like.

I should get to know this one
, she thought. A plan was forming. A plan she did not really like, but one that might work.

Planning. Need more planning.

Maida ran quickly back to her bedroom, leaving the door open, and pulled off her dress. Wearing just the clean underclothes provided by the Agents, she hung it up and waited until she heard the door of her prison opening. The underclothes were designed for warm weather and for show, unlike the thick, warm garments she was used to. She knew about showing off her body, knowing it looked better when scantily clad like this than when actually naked. Her heart pounded within her chest as the footsteps approached her room. She stood back from the closet and stared in as if contemplating its contents, painfully aware of the scars and the bandages that marred the pale smoothness of her northern skin.

The footsteps stopped and a voice started to speak.

‘Lady, you are … um …' The voice tailed away, stuttering into silence.

Maida squealed and grabbed the first dress that came to hand, holding it in front of her as she spun around to face the intruder. To her surprise, she did
not need to pretend her embarrassment and her face glowed with a hot blush as the blood rushed to her cheeks.

Why am I embarrassed? It's not like I haven't used this ruse before.
The Agent stood in her door, staring at her, clearly as embarrassed as she, but unwilling to take his eyes off her, equally hoping for another look at more of her unclad flesh.

Later, young man. Be patient. It will come, but at a cost.

‘What are you doing in here?' she shrieked. ‘How dare you come barging in! Has a woman no privacy in your society?'

‘My apologies, Lady Maida,' he stammered. ‘I was sent to ask you to join my achulti, I did not mean to … um …' He gave an ineffectual wave in her general direction.

‘And who gave you permission to use my name?' she snapped. ‘Are you so ignorant of decent behaviour? Don't they teach you how to treat a woman in your society?' Maida had no idea what she was talking about. Certainly she had never been called ‘Lady' before and had never heard of a society where a name could not be used, but from his response, nor had he. Cultural ignorance had its uses. She decided to press her advantage. ‘Now get out and wait for me to dress properly!' She allowed her hold on the dress to slip slightly, revealing the upper curve of her shoulder. ‘Unless your ignorant society allows you to stand there gawking at a naked woman.'

‘Of course not, Lady. I will wait out here.' He bowed, still blushing furiously, and stepped back, out of sight.

A very good start.
Maida allowed herself a tiny grin as she continued to dress. She took her time, allowing the images the arrogant young Agent had seen to build in his mind. Now that it was firmly established that he had seen something forbidden in her society — whatever society that might be — her body was even more attractive. Already, he was most likely imagining her to look better than she really did. And that would not hurt her plans, not at all.

After a suitably long interval, during which she changed her underwear, tossing the discarded garments onto the bed, as well as pulling on another dress, she called out to him.

‘You may now enter and bring me your message.'

He stepped in hesitantly and stood at the doorway. His eyes darted around, resting briefly on the apparently carelessly strewn underclothes on the bed before snapping back to her face.
Good, now I have linked my body with my bed in his mind.

‘I am sorry for shouting,' she said softly. ‘You startled me. I have become used to being alone; I wasn't expecting anyone.'

‘The fault is entirely mine, Lady,' he said stiffly.

‘Please, call me Maida. That noble nonsense doesn't suit me, as you know already. I am hardly noble.' She gave him her best shy smile. ‘I think you have heard what they call me.'

He shook his head.

‘They call me a tough little slag. Hardly a friendly name, I will admit, but not entirely inappropriate.'

‘If you like, I will have them stop that,' the Agent said.

‘Could you? I mean, you are not the achulti, are you?'

‘No, Maida. But they are all just mayehqueh. They will listen to me.'

‘Mayehqueh?'

The Agent touched his tattoo. ‘They are not free men. They are owned by their achulti — they do not serve willingly.'

‘Slaves?'

‘Not exactly slaves, no. They are mayehqueh,' he said as if repeating the word would explain it all.

‘Of course, I see,' Maida lied. ‘But their achulti, Huitzilin, is he mayehqueh?'

‘No, Maida. He is free like me, but he owns his xuauhtli, they have no choice but to obey. It means he does not have to earn their respect. It lessens his —' He stopped abruptly. ‘I should not speak like this of a fellow free man. Forgive me, Maida.'

He is using my name often. He thinks it is also forbidden. A shared intimacy.

A very good start.

‘
Xahnatl yatl
,' Maida said.

‘You are welc —' He paused. ‘You know our language?'

‘Only a little.' Maida smiled. ‘You know my name, but I do not know yours, Agent.'

‘Patecoatl.'

‘Then, Patecoatl, let us go and meet your achulti.'

 

Achulti Mixcoatl was a big, fat man who looked like he had been stuck behind his large messy desk
for too many Crossings, too far from home. His jowly face was red and unhealthy, and his watery blue eyes were bloodshot. The blue uniform of the Agent was tight around his heavy chest and the collar cut into the folds of flesh on his neck.

‘So you're the troublemaker,' he growled as Maida entered his office.

‘Yar,' she said. ‘I'm the troublemaker.'

‘You know, Chimalli's arm might go septic.'

Maida shrugged. ‘If I knew Chimalli that might mean something.'

‘Chimalli is the Agent you injured with that nasty jagged knife at the gate.'

‘Oh, him. I didn't like being insulted.'

‘From what he told me, he paid you a compliment.'

‘You people have no idea how to treat a lady, if what he called me was supposed to be a compliment.'

Mixcoatl grunted. ‘I just wanted to welcome you to the embassy of the Blindfolded Queen and to assure you that you are a welcome guest, not a prisoner.'

Maida snorted. ‘Locked inside a prison. Some sort of guest.'

‘You are being kept in your rooms for your protection while we wait for another guest's arrival.'