Shadowkings (15 page)

Suviel was down there somewhere, ministering to the sick and the wounded. When they rode down from the ridge earlier, an old midwife had recognised the mage's herbwoman attire and begged her to go to the healer tents and help. Suviel had agreed immediately, told Keren and Gilly make camp near friendly people and wait for her return in the late afternoon. But dusk came and brought the evening in its wake with no sign of Suviel. Worried over the mage's safety, Keren decided that she would go and search for her. She had stood up, announced her intent and dashed off into the night before Gilly could do more than utter a string of colourful oaths.

She continued her westward progress along the ruined vestiges of the battlements, soon reaching a stairway that the ravages of time had reduced to a rocky incline. Descending, it met another wider downward slope flanked by rounded knubs of columns and etched with long branching grooves made by centuries of rainwater. People were everywhere, sitting listlessly by fires, arguing with each other, sleeping in mean tents, or begging as she passed, their hands outstretched. Keren ignored them and hurried on.

A short time later she came to a barrier of rubble and earthslide and was gingerly following a crude path up it when a figure rose up from behind a chunk of masonry.

"No further. Lay down any weapons you bear."

Someone nearby uncovered a lamp and Keren backed off, drawing her sword as quietly as she could.

"I mean to cause no trouble or offence," she said. "I seek a friend - "

"It's a woman," said an eager voice off to the side.

The man in front of her laughed, shifting a spear from one hand to the other and moving down towards her. "Risky for a woman to be out alone in this camp, day or night. Why don't you come along with me, now? I'll see no harm befalls you."

"Come any closer and you'll see how risky it is for a man," Keren snarled. "If that's what you are."

"Hey, bit of a she-cat, this one!"

"What about it, Barew? Watch out for those claws!..."

The man with the spear came into the light - a narrow face, a balding head, and eyes full of hate while his mouth grinned. "First," he said conversationally to her, "I'll cut you, then I'm going to gut you."

Whoops of approval came from the others as he went into a crouch with the spear held two-handed across his chest. Not good, Keren thought. The man had the look of an experienced staffman. Barew feinted at her feet with the haft, causing her to dodge, and was about to jab at her head when a voice rang out.

"Hold there! - what goes on?"

"Caught us a brigand, Major."

"Just questioning her, like."

"So I see. Barew, put up your spear."

The newcomer stepped up to Keren's opponent who ignored him, just staring at her for a moment before straightening to lean on his spear, face gone expressionless. A couple of torches were lit and when the major turned to her he uttered a surprised oath.

"So Byrnak didn't get you after all."

By the light she saw it was Domas.

"Well met, Domas," she said, sheathing her sword.

The former rider-captain nodded, then glanced Barew and the others. "Get back to your posts. Any other intruders are to be brought to me, is that clear?"

There were mutters of agreement, apart from Barew who pointed wordlessly at Keren with an outstretched arm before walking back to the barrier. Domas, now holding a torch, glared at him for a moment then beckoned Keren to follow him the same way. Warily, she did. Domas said nothing till they were on the other side and a score of paces down the slope.

"Barew is scum," he said. "But he's not the worst. At least he can keep his squad in line and doesn't rob everyone who comes within reach."

"He's certainly taken a liking to me," Keren said wryly.

Domas curled his lip in contempt. "He's just another Byrnak, only smaller and weaker." He glanced at her. "So how did you and that young priest escape our former lord and master? And what brings you here?"

She shrugged. "We were lucky enough to encounter someone willing to help, the same person I'm here looking for. Perhaps you've seen her? - a tall, grey-haired herbwoman who would have rode in on her own horse this morning."

Domas frowned. "I think I did see such a woman this afternoon, near the healer's tents."

"Will you take me there?"

"Once you've seen the General. It's a standing order - all visitors bearing arms are to be brought before him immediately. No exceptions."

* * *

The General was an imposing man, black-haired, tall and burly, not obese yet not in the prime of fitness. An eyepatch covered his right eye and twin parallel scars marred the flesh from above the same eye down the cheek. He had a bushy moustache and several days-worth of stubble. Seated behind a trestle covered with papers, he regarded her with level scrutiny while toying with an empty dagger sheath.

"So, Keren Asherol," he said. His voice was deep and husky, with a harsh undertone that suggested either strength or threat. "Major Domas tells me that you were formerly a lieutenant in the Imperial Army," he went on. "Fought at the Battle of Wolf's Gate, escaped and worked as a sellsword ever since. That is a lot of experience, and all clearly well-learned. I could use another veteran in the company, Keren. It would mean a captain's commission were you to accept."

She thought for a moment. In these uncertain times, with Mogaun chieftains, merchants and even cities hiring mercenaries, it was a tempting offer. But she knew she could not break the promise she had given to the Lord Commander to protect
Shin
Hantika. It was a duty, a path of honour she was suddenly determined to follow.

"It is a generous proposal, General, but I have other obligations to fulfill. Sadly, I must decline."

The General looked thoughtful, fingers rubbing the plain, use-darkened leather of the dagger scabbard. "We live in a dangerous age, Keren. This would be your chance to ensure that you're always on the winning side."

"My thanks, sir, but my decision stands."

"As you wish. Domas will guide you to the healers' tents."

* * *

Once Domas and the woman were gone, a short man in a long tattered townsman's cloak stepped from behind a flap at the rear of the tent and moved to stand beside the General. "Well?"

The General said nothing as he reached down into a knapsack at his feet and pulled out a notched, rusty dagger. He slid it into the sheath and held it out. Smiling, the tattered man took it from his hand, replacing it with a small bag that chinked softly. As he hid the sheathed dagger within his cloak, there was a flash of red cloth from beneath the sleeve at his wrist. Then it was gone and he left without another word. The General turned back to the table, took up a quill pen and began to write out a set of orders..

* * *

The healers' tents were pitched well away from the mass of refugees, among trees by a stream which originated somewhere in the mountainside ravines north of Alvergost. As Domas escorted her there, he related something of his own experiences since the night she had escaped with Tauric. It seemed that her harsh words to him away from the camp that night had forced him to reconsider any plan of deposing Byrnak. Then later, when the guards discovered what she had done, he was spurred into decisive action.

"I told my rider sergeants I was leaving, and asked who was with me?" He laughed. "All three voted to join me, and a handful of the men, the most trustworthy ones. Once Byrnak and his company left in pursuit of you, we deserters mounted up and rode off, 'hunting boar' we told the rest."

"Then?"

"We thought of riding north to Casall or Rauthaz, but we were low on provisions so we headed east through one of the mountain passes, thinking to try our luck in Tobrosa. On the other side we met the General and his men - they were part of a host of refugees fleeing the sack of Tobrosa, and when he invited us to join the company we accepted. That was a week ago and we've been here these last five days."

He paused. "The General is a canny soldier, Keren. You could do a lot worse than take him up on his offer."

"I can't, Domas. I have other tasks to carry out."

"Know what I think? I think that you've joined one of those rebel bands we've been hearing about. There's supposedly a big one holed up in the Bachruz Mountains." He stroked his chin. "Would it take about a week to travel there, then turn around and ride here, do you reckon?"

Keren's felt unease at his speculation and the shadowy dimness of the trees where they stood, away from the light of campfires and torches, took on an air of menace. She loosened her sabre in its scabbard and forced a quiet laugh.

"I think that you're building castles out of grass, Domas," she said. "You've been listening to too much refugee ragtalk."

Domas regarded her calmly for a brief moment, then shook his head, grinning.

"Ah, Keren, Keren - whatever your secret is, it's safe with me." He pointed out a long, low tent through the trees. "That's were the sick are tended so your friend should be thereabouts. When you're ready to leave, seek me out near the General's tent, but I recommend you wait till morning."

She nodded, letting herself relax a little. "Thankyou, Domas."

He made a batting motion with his hand. "Nothing." He turned to leave, then said; "And Keren - try to come up with a convincingly detailed story next time, eh?"

Chuckling, he strode off back the way they had come.

Keren was self-reproachful as she threaded a way through the trees. Domas was right. She should have thought of a plausible explanation, some string of falsehoods to counter any scrutiny. She sighed. For some, like Gilly, concocting deceits and petty tales out of nothing was an effortless, natural ability. Had he been in her shoes, he would doubtless have fabricated a heart-rending story of destitute refugees, complete with names, ages and family histories, looking to him for succour, ending with Domas and the General drying tears from their eyes and sending him on his way with gold and food. The image amused her as she approached the tent.

Her smile faded when she saw a woman sitting weeping by the tent entrance. With a shock she realised it was Suviel. Keren hurried over, crouched beside the mage and murmured her name. Suviel raised her head and Keren saw utter exhaustion etched in her features, her eyes red-rimmed, her face pale, almost grey in the light from a nearby campfire.

"They die and I can't save them," she said hoarsely. "Some don't want to live, they're so weak and sick and empty...Empty of hope." She coughed. "I've spent myself, Keren, and I'm all used up. Raal sent me out here to rest."

Keren reached out to steady her but Suviel caught her hand in a trembling grip and stared at her.

"Listen, this Raal Haidar is a sorcerer. He uses a power I've not seen before, like ghostly braids and nets - "

"You should rest, try and sleep."

Suviel went on. "He says he is from an island kingdom far to the west of Keremenchool. If only we can persuade him to join us. I've asked him but he insists he cannot...I must go back inside and help."

She tried to stand but fell to her knees and began to weep again. Appalled and shaken, Keren half-carried her over to the fire and made her lie down, ignoring her protestations as she wrapped the mage in blankets and folded one for her head. In a short while, she was sleeping deeply. Keren gently brushed strands of grey and brown hair away from Suviel' face, then rose to go to the tent. But she stopped, startled to see a tall man in a dark green robe standing a few feet away, methodically wiping long-fingered hands on a blood-stained cloth.

"Are you - " she began.

"I am Raal Haidar." His voice was deep, melodious, and rang with authority. "You are Keren Asherol, the swordswoman. Where is your companion, the trader?"

He had a narrow face and a high forehead, an imperious blade of a nose and eyes that were dark and powerful and cold.

"He is with our horses, camped on the topmost level."

"That is unfortunate. There is much danger abroad tonight." He turned back to the tent. "Come - I require your assistance."

"You require?..." She bit back on the angry retort that rose to her lips and followed. Inside, small hanging lamps cast light on three rows of cots. Iron burners on pedestals filled the air with incense, an attempt to keep away insects and mask the smells of illness. But beneath the perfume she could still detect a fetid bitterness and the pungency of stale sweat. There were another two people ministering to the sick, a man and a woman, both of whom appeared weighed down by weariness.

The man called Raal Haidar indicated a crude table crowded with bowls, sacks and torn cloth.

"Wash your hands then bring me bandages," he said, then walked up one of the rows and stopped by one cot. Keren glanced back out at the slumbering form by the fire, sighed and went over to the table. Some of the sacks there she recognised as Suviel', most lying open, their contents laid out in neat groups around a mortar and pestle and other scholarly implements. Hands washed, she sorted through the scraps of cloth for long strips, tore up some clean-looking rags into more and took a good bundle over to Raal Haidar.

The tall man was examining a young boy whose arm, bare of its dressings, was a mass of sores. As Keren saw him, a panicky tremor passed through her.

"That's...that's the black yaws," she said.

"Hmm. It is usually completely fatal."

"Usually? But there's no cure! By the Mother, we're all at risk - "

He straightened and fixed her with a withering look. "The dressings, if you please."

Wordlessly, she gave him a handful of bandages and watched him take a small blueglass jar from his robe which he uncorked to reveal a rosy paste. Three bandages were smeared with the paste, then more were wound on to hold them in place. When he was finished, Raal Haidar washed his hands and went on to the next patient, gesturing Keren to attend him.

They worked on for at least an hour by Keren's reckoning, and throughout the tall sorcerer - which was how she thought of him - never once showed a glimmering of sympathy or pity for those he tended. His gaze was cold, his every motion efficient and full of certainty and Keren began to wonder if he saw the sick and injured as people at all. Only once had she attempted conversation with him and that he had cut short with a small gesture without even looking her way. Yet when he finally straightened and said - "Enough." - she wanted to continue.