Shadowkings (34 page)

"Mogaun homes," Suviel said bitterly. "Mogaun farms."

"I care not," said Nerek, surveying the open stretches of land between them and the high, wide open gates of Trevada. "There is no time for this. We must continue - now."

With a jerk on the reins of Suviel' mount, she urged both horses into a gallop. On the other side of the bridge they followed a muddy track across uneven, waterlogged land. As the two women approached the city, Suviel saw riders and wagons coming and going at the high, wide gateway which had been divided in two by a thick wall of stakes, one side for entrance, the other for exit.

Nerek had by this time returned the reins to Suviel, and as they came up to the gates she said: "There will be an Acolyte watching all who enter, so I have placed a spell over us to conceal our true natures. Just remember - we are hunters from the south, from Honjir, here to find work as foragers or spies."

Suviel nodded morosely, and they rode into the long dark entrance. There was a stench of horse manure and rotting garbage, mingled with the odours of human and horse sweat, and a constant hubbub of conversation, the creak of wheels and the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones. Most of those that they queued with were Yularians or Anghatanis on foot carrying great bundles or pushing carts, while the few riders were fur-clad Mogaun warriors. At the other end of the tunnel, a group of guards - mercenaries with company badges on their chests - gave their weapons and belongings a cursory inspection and waved them on. They were there, Suviel realised, to prevent disorder and catch any obvious troublemakers while relying on unseen help to pinpoint genuine threats.

Like us
, she thought. Then she smiled thinly.
No, like Nerek. I hardly count next to the magnitude of her powers
.

Now dismounted, they led their horses away from the guard post and into a busy crowd of travellers and city dwellers on the edge of a square. Instinctively Suviel looked to the right and up at the balconies of the building immediately next to the gateway. But no students sat at the Five Moons anymore, sharing drinks and stories and singing songs. Now, only semi-naked prostitutes leaned on the rail, leering and beckoning to the men below.

Everywhere someone had something for sale. Sallow-faced traders sold weapons, clothes or food from the backs of wagons while footsore new arrivals offered what looked like loot from private houses, a pair of fine leather shoes, or a bronze figurine, or a handful of ornamented hairclips and pins.

This place was once called Journeyman Square and although the fountain with its back-to-back statues was still there at the centre, its limbs and heads were missing and blue paint was daubed on the marble. The four ancient agathons which once stood at the corners of the square were gone, some of the buildings were burnt-out shells, and filth marred every surface. But in addition to all this degradation, there was something else wrong with the entire busy scene, some small detail which nagged away at the back of Suviel's mind without revealing itself.

Dodging the attentions of pickpockets and drunks, they made their way round the square past a succession of squalid taverns and grimy stalls selling boiled shellfish or dubious-looking sweetmeats. As they came to an alleyway between buildings, Nerek paused to make sure no-one was close enough to overhear.

"My master's allies here have posted only one of their number in this part of Trevada, and since his attention is solely occupied by incomers I have let the veiling spell fade and lessened the strength of your constant companion..." There was a small smile. "We must press on. The higher part of the city is walled off and my enemy is already there - "

"Suvi? Little Suvi? Is that really you?..."

An old, grey-haired man in ragged garments, tottered towards them up the alley, one hand grasping a walking stick. Suviel stared at his face in amazement and joy.

"Master Babrel?"

But before another word could be spoken, Nerek had thrust her horse's reins into Suviel' hands and was moving towards the old man called Babrel with dagger drawn. Few eyes turned their way as she grabbed a handful of his grubby coat and dragged him back into the alley darkness. In horror, Suviel wound the horse reins about her hand and led them quickly in pursuit.

"Don't hurt him, Nerek. Please, I beg you! - "

"He recognised you," Nerek muttered, pressing the old man against the alley wall with an arm at his throat and the dagger at his chest. "He spoke your name aloud - "

"He was a porter at one of the academies during my student days," Suviel said hurriedly, reaching out to lay a hand on Nerek's shoulder. Nerek flinched, glancing sharply at her. "Babrel will not endanger us, I swear. Look at him - how could he?"

Nerek shifted her glare to her captive and after a moment or two of unwavering scrutiny suddenly stepped away from him and snapped her dagger back in its waist sheath. "You know this part of the city well, old man? Is there somewhere we can safely stable the horses?"

Breath wheezing in his bruised throat, Babrel nodded, braced his weight on his stick and began to hobble down the alley. Suviel flashed an angry glance at Nerek, tossed her horse traces to her, then went to Babrel's side, a helping arm about his shoulders. He felt shockingly bony.

"Master Babrel, why are you still here?"

Babrel gave her a sideways look with one eyebrow arched, a facial gesture she remembered so well.

"Why did I not abandon and flee with the others, you mean?" He gave a disapproving snort. "Someone had to remain to bear witness, young Hantika, to keep watch and perhaps even save a little. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Good. And I hope you and your two accomplices have not been idle all these years. What were their names, again?..."

Suviel sighed. "Pelorn and Cavaxes." They had been her closest friends during her time at Trevada, Pelorn with her waistlong hair and mock-haughtiness, and Cavaxes of the deadly wit. The three of them had stayed together long after attaining magehood, and for a time it had seemed that their friendship would remain unbroken. There was a sad ache as she realised that she had not thought of them for years.

Babrel seemed to notice her silence. "Do they still live?"

"They both died at the fall of Besh-Darok."

For a moment he was silent. "Many good people gave their lives in those final days. Too many. Now only the brutal and the powerful survive," he said, adding, "'As must I'."

Suviel smiled briefly, recalling the couplet of verse he had quoted from -

It was from the Black Saga Of Culri Moal, a long storysong full of obscure allusions and grotesque imagery. She could imagine its unknown writer living through a period as calamitous as this one.

She eyed the lightless black hulks of buildings to either side as Babrel led them on. The grey afternoon light exposed the broken chimneys and collapsed eaves of the rooftops, but scarcely filtered down to narrow alleys littered with refuse and muddy from blocked drains. Before the invasion these buildings were student inns, and quarters for carpenters, papermakers, bookbinders and glassblowers as well as a bewildering variety of artisans producing everything from shoes and candles to kites and sail-driven carts.

"They're all empty, these houses," Babrel said. "Most are too dangerous to even just step in through the front door, what with rotten floors and crumbling walls. All the mercenary scum and their parasites live around Journeyman Square and a few of the grander buildings along the Great Wynd, so they're the only places that get any kind of repairs." They had rounded a corner and Babrel indicated a three-storey building which had been constructed against one of the many rocky crags which confined Trevada. "Except for one or two others."

As he started towards it Nerek paused, a hard suspicious expression on her face. "We're being watched," she said.

Babrel shrugged. "Scavengers, beggars, drunks...outcasts," he told Suviel. "You have not said anything about your companion, and I know better than to ask. But anyone can see how dangerous she is." He resumed his hobbling progress "No-one would interfere. Come."

He led them down an alley to where a huge sheet of sailcloth, grey and stained from years of rain and mould, hung across a wide gap in the side of the building. The sharp rankness of damp, decrepit cloth filled Suviel' nostrils as Babrel pushed the sheet aside and gestured the women and their horses through. Suviel' mount jerked his head, reluctant to pass from dimness into pitch darkness, but while she calmed him Babrel went within and lit a lamp from a tinderbox.

The weak glow revealed a high-ceilinged room with a counter along one side and a dilapidated staircase leading up. Broken furniture was heaped in one corner but the floor appeared freshly swept. Suviel looked around with a growing sense of familiarity as she hitched her horse to a wooden pillar.

"This is the Steward's Tabard, isn't it?" There was a long empty recess behind the counter where the kegs had been, and vacant shelves and niches in the wall above where tankards and bottles had sat. This had been the taphouse set aside for the rod-serjeants and wardens of the various academies and libraries of Trevada. A refuge forbidden to students and masters alike, the Tabard had also played host to many famous poets and minstrels: it was a popular rumour back then that Avalti had written the bulk of his
Song of The Queen's Regard
within its walls.

"After the fall of Trevada," the old man said, "and after the sack and all the slaughter, I hid in this ruin for months, hating it yet having nowhere safer to go. But it eventually became my home." He glanced upwards. "I have a room up on the next floor, quite a comfortable one, too. There are other rooms you and your companion can use, if you so wish, and the only way up is by a concealed ladder. Those stairs are an impassable death trap."

"Useful if you need to be warned of intruders," Suviel said.

"But only if you have an escape route," added Nerek.

She was standing at the bar, fingering the deep scores and gashes in the countertop while studying the empty pegs and ledges once adorned with tapestries, paintings and figurines. "Do you have any treasure hidden away, old man? Any baubles and pennies?"

To Suviel' surprise, Babrel smiled. "No, only worthless things. A few wooden carvings, poorly made by my own hands, and a meagre flower or two." He looked at Suviel. "Would you care to see?"

She turned to Nerek. "By your leave?"

The sorceress gave a half-shrug. "We must stay here till nightfall, so gawp over trinkets as you will. But keep out of sight, and have a care."

It was an oblique reminder of Nerek's invisible watcher, and Suviel was silent as she followed Babrel out of the back of the taproom. A low passage led past doorless pantries and servant rooms to a larger room strewn with smashed barrels and crates. Babrel had lit a candle from the lamp in the taproom and by its light Suviel could make out dark stains on the dusty floorboards, old blood stains. But Babrel was already at one end of the barrelroom, clearing some rubbish away from a door which creaked as he opened it. Hurrying after him, she stepped through and found herself outside.

Except that it was outside in the narrowest sense. From where she stood on the threshold she could reach out and lay her palm flat on a sheer wall of rock, the jutting crag against which the Tabard had been built. Yet the original builders had contrived to create a tiny plot of ground, a secret garden that was the length of a four-wheeled cart and which widened from an arm's width near the door to no more than a couple of paces. Perhaps those long-gone, nameless founders had meant from the start for it to be a secret, since Suviel had never heard of such a thing in all her time in Trevada.

"The Tabard's walls do block off a lot of daylight," Babrel said. "But my little sprigs seem to gain nourishment despite the gloom."

He was standing next to three sturdy-looking saplings which gazed at in frowning puzzlement for a moment till she recognised the leaves.

"Agathons," she said in amazement, going over to take a closer look.

Babrel nodded, pleased. "During the sack, the Acolytes' beastmen cut down the four ancient ones in Journeyman Square, but afterwards I dug some seeds from the upper branches and this is the result."

Gently, she stroked one of the small, bifurcated leaves between finger and thumb. The upper surface was dark and shiny, the lower paler and covered with a fine fuzz. "I've never seen very young agathons before..."

She stopped, revelation striking home with a sudden force as the vague wrongness she had felt before revealed itself to her. Eyes wide and troubled, she turned to look at the old man.

"The children, Babrel. After sixteen years, why aren't there any children in Trevada?"

He met her gaze levelly. "Before I answer, Suviel, I want to know why you are keeping the company of such malice."

Black despair welled up in her on hearing his question but even as she contemplated telling him everything, she felt the presence of Nerek's watcher at her shoulder, felt the numbing tendrils of it touch the fringes of her mind.

"I cannot tell you," she said. "All I can do is ask you to trust me. I'm no danger to anyone at the moment, and certainly not to you."

"It is not myself I'm worried about." For a moment he said nothing. Then he seemed to make up his mind, crooked a beckoning finger at her and went over to the grey, weathered wall of the tavern. Following, she watched him bend down and rap out a series of knocks on a low wooden panel. A second later, a waist-high section of the wall moved in a little, then with a scraping sound slid to one side.

"It's only me," Babrel said. With some difficulty he kneeled beside the opening and gestured Suviel to do the same. "And I've brought a friend."

She sat next to him and saw beyond the dark gap the pale, ragclad forms of almost a dozen small children. None appeared older than perhaps nine or ten, and nearly all regarded her out of faces that were hard with hunger and mistrust. There was also a little girl, perhaps two or three years of age, that she found herself playing the smile-and-look-away-and-back game with as the others looked on silently.