The Plains of Kallanash (44 page)

“That was different. Jonnor let me sleep with you, then took you away again. But sharing you? I’ve always been willing to share you. That was never the problem. And this way
—” He propped himself up on one elbow. “Mia, can you imagine what it was like for me, lying in my room at night listening to Jonnor with you, knowing that I could never have you myself? It was unbearable. But this… when we’re all together… it’s so different. Cosy. Comfortable. And the sex is amazing.”

She gurgled with laughter. “So it is. That’s settled, then.”

~~~

The prisoner had been interviewed every day, but no progress had been made. They had got a name out of him
– Dondro – and they had removed his gloves and determined from the tattoos that he was indeed one of Those who Serve the Gods, but nothing further. Now that they could read the signs in the tunnel, there was less urgency to resort to more aggressive forms of interrogation, so they spent an hour or so with him each afternoon, and otherwise left him alone. Tanist, Gantor and Hurst were the regulars but they often took one of the others in with them, in case it sparked any kind of reaction in Dondro. One day, Tanist asked Mia if she wanted to go with them, and to Hurst’s surprise she agreed.

The interviews took place in one of the less well-used storage rooms, still cluttered around the edges with boxes and bales of cloth. Its sole attraction was a large enough open space to swing a sword, should that become necessary, and a lockable barred metal gate to keep the prisoner secure while allowing guards to keep an eye on proceedings.

They sat round a battered old table, with a jug of wine to pacify the prisoner. The three Skirmishers were fully armed, and a couple more warriors stationed outside the door in case of trouble. The routine was well-established by now. One after another they asked the Servant a question, and he either sneered abusively at them or ignored them altogether. Mia sat quietly watching the man’s face, saying nothing. Hurst wondered what she was thinking, whether she still thought this man worthy of respect, but her face gave nothing away. If anything, she seemed puzzled.

When they began to flag, Hurst said, “Mia? Have you anything to say to the prisoner?”

“I do,” she said. Hurst saw Tanist’s eyebrows rise.

Dondro laughed inordinately. “Oh, she speaks!
Do
ask me something, little girl, something more interesting than the incessant whining I get from these peasants.”

“I should like to ask a favour of you,” she said, and she leaned forward a little, her eyes shining. “There is no temple here, there are no Slaves, no one to perform the proper rituals. But now
you
are here! Who better to say the chants? Would you mind? It would be a great comfort to me to hear the words direct from one of Those who Serve the Gods.”

Hurst almost laughed at the astonishment written on the man’s face. But Dondro controlled his features at once, and leaned his elbows on the table, lowering his voice conspiratori
ally.

“I am very pleased that not all of you here are heathens. I would love to oblige you, of course, but
—” There was a long pause. “It is forbidden.”

Was it his imagination, or did he have to dream up that excuse on the spot?

“Forbidden? Why so?”

“Because
—” Again a hesitation. “Because Those who Serve the Gods may only say the chants within the Tower of Reception. That is our function, to perform the proper rituals in the Tower, where we can be receptive to the Gods. We are too – too powerful to do so elsewhere, it might draw the Gods’ attention away, you see. That is why we stay secluded in the Tower and rarely leave, only for essential matters. Elsewhere, the Slaves have that role. I am so sorry.”

“That is a pity,” said Mia. “But perhaps
– would it be presumptuous of me to offer to read the chants to you? I have a Book of the Hours, and I could recite the correct incantation for the hour, if you wish? That would be almost as good, wouldn’t it, if you are here to listen?”

“Oh, by all means, be my guest,” he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair and emptying the last of the wine into his goblet.

Mia produced the book, which she had been holding on her lap, and opened it to the marker.

“We are in Pashinor just now, of course,” she said. “This is the twenty
-third day, and it must be about the ninth hour.”

She began to read.
“In the eye of the sun, on the brow of the moon, above the caverns of the earth, below the arch of the sky, within the arms of the wind, we who are most humble see the greatness of the Nine. We see it in the mighty oak of the forest and in the glossy limmer vine of the riverbank. We see it in the feathers of the nettle and in the thorns of the rose. We see it in the golden yellow of the cowslip…”

Hurst felt himself begin to drift away. The temple always had that effect on him, with the incense and bells and rhythmic rise and fall of the Slaves’ voices. Sometimes, if he had just come back from a particularly energetic skirmish or a hard tournament match, he would fall into real sleep, but mostly he let his mind wander where it would. He’d always imagined that was part of the point of it all
– the repetition and the melodic tones were surely designed to encourage thoughtfulness. He had never wanted to learn true meditation, such as Mia practised, but it was pleasant to let his thoughts flit about like night insects. For a while, anyway, until his leg started to protest at sitting still for too long.

“
In the eye of the sun, on the brow of the moon…
” Mia went on, beginning the next cycle, only slightly different from the last. Hurst made the gesture, and began to bow his head again when he noticed Gantor, staring fixedly at Dondro. Gantor glanced across at him, and then back to the guide, with an almost imperceptible lift of one eyebrow. Hurst was instantly alert. What had he seen? He looked more closely at Dondro, but nothing struck him as odd. He was simply sitting, arms folded, watching Mia with a smirk on his face – but wait! Why was his head not bowed? He hadn’t even made the gesture, the simple touch of the fingers to the forehead which always accompanied certain phrases. He was a Servant, by the Gods, yet he showed no more attention to the ritual than Gantor – less, in fact, for at least Gantor didn’t have a stupid grin on his face.

“
We see it in the buttercup turning yellow eyes to the rising sun and in the secretive blackcap hiding from the moon. We see it…
” She stopped with a choking sound, then snapped the book shut, eyes narrowed. “You’re not really one of Those who Serve the Gods, are you?”

He laughed at her. “I certainly am, little girl.”

“No. If you were, you would have known at once that I was reading from the
first
day of Pashinor, and the first hour. You would have known that the blackcap mushroom is from Gaminor, not Pashinor at all. You would have shown proper reverence for the words. The Servants should be the most devout people on the Karningplain, and you are not devout in the slightest.”

He laughed even more. “Well, you got that right, at least.
Clever
little girl. But I assure you, I am a Servant.”

“But you don’t talk to the Gods,” said Gantor, “if there even
are
Gods.”

He leaned forward again, cradling his goblet of wine in cupped hands. He was still smiling insolently. “Oh, there are Gods, all right, and we do talk to them. But this…” He waved a hand towards Mia’s book. “This is all for the gullible and credulous. Like you, little girl. As if the Gods would ever be interested in peasants like you!” And he laughed again.

Mia stood up. “You’re a disgrace!” she said vehemently, resting her fists on the table so she could hiss in his face. “I don’t believe a single word you say!” She turned to Hurst. “I withdraw my objections. You can do whatever you like with him.”

“Well, congratulations,” said Hurst, smiling back at Dondro. “You’ve achieved without effort what we have been trying to accomplish with no success. You see, despite everything you people have done to her, Mia still trusted you. She believed everything was done for a good purpose. We tried to persuade her you were a lying, evil bastard, but she wouldn’t have it. And now
– you’ve convinced her, and that’s important. Do you know why? Because we need her for our plans. You see, Mia’s the only one who can read those devious signs down in your tunnel.”

Dondro looked less certain of himself, but the smirk wasn’t quite extinguished. “Well, that’s very nice. But it won’t help you unless you can open
all
the gates,” he said, looking from one to the other in increasing alarm.

They all laughed.

“Oh, we worked that out ages ago,” said Hurst. “We now have everything we need to go all the way to your precious tower.”

Dondro moved with the suddenness of a predator. One moment he was languidly pretending not to care, the next he had tossed his wine, goblet and all, in Hurst’s face and lunged for Mia. He managed to grab her sleeve but she leapt backwards with a loud ripping noise. Tanist was on his feet, but it was Gantor who grabbed the flailing arms and pinned Dondro face down on the table.

Hurst hustled Mia out of the room, past the two men, swords drawn now, who guarded it. Then, wiping wine off his face, he turned to the prisoner, still held in Gantor’s iron grip.

“Can I hurt him now?” Gantor said. “Please?”

“No,” said Hurst. “Release him.”

Gantor looked suspicious, but he obediently released the man’s arms, although so abruptly that his face banged into the table again. Gantor stood aside, and drew his sword with a flourish, but Dondro stood up and, astonishingly, smirked again, straightening his clothing.

Hurst hit him so hard with his mailed fist that he flew across the room and slammed into a pile of boxes in a corner.

“It’s
my
job to hurt him,” Hurst said smugly. Tanist chuckled.

From the corner came a tiny anguished mewing sound.

Mia was so angry she could barely speak. She retreated to Mallissa’s private sitting room, where there was little likelihood of being disturbed, and paced up and down, back and forth, sizzling with rage. It was not so much the lies that angered her, for in some way she had always known that the Word of the Gods was not quite the literal case. Any faith, after all, always arrived at hyperbole and rhetoric in the end. Besides, the Slaves had lied to her before, once or twice in small puzzling ways when she was a child, and more recently, when the Karninghold Slave had denied the existence of the tunnels. No, it was her own stupidity which upset her most. All this time she had defended them, had told herself that, however much she herself had suffered, it was all for some greater good. And yet the evidence was there in front of her, had she only opened her mind to the possibility.

Cristo was the biggest clue. She should have realised he was no Servant. He was too young, for one thing. It took decades to reach that level of eminence – nine years as an acolyte, as the very least, then five as a village Slave, another five training as a Karninghold Slave or Voice, followed by five years in that job. Twenty four years at the absolute minimum before there was the possibility of becoming a Servant. A few started as young as ten, it was true, so Dondro was perhaps just about old enough, but most began at fifteen or more. All the Voices she had ever met were well into middle age, and certainly Cristo, her own guide, could never have passed through all the requisite stages. His face was still vivid in her mind – that smile, the amusement so clear to see! How could anyone, least of all a devout Servant of the Gods, smile as he condemned her to this bizarre world beyond the border?

She wasn’t even upset that Hurst had hit Dondro. He deserved it, she thought. When she went down for supper and found them discussing what to do with him now, and eyeing her sideways, she said fiercely, “Don’t worry about me. You do whatever you want with him, and if it’s painful and long-drawn-out, so much the better.”

“Mia, I’m shocked!” said Tanist, but he grinned at her.

“Excellent!” said Gantor. “So now can we have some fun with him? Hurst?”

Hurst sighed. “It’s very tempting, but I don’t see that we’ll get any more out of him that way, and the screams will upset people.”

“Well, let’s execute him, then. Something nice and slow
– even Mia approves of the idea.”

“We’ll have to sooner or later,” said Tanist. “He’s clearly no use to us, we can’t send him back to blab about us, and keeping him locked up is a waste of food and guards, not to mention the risk if he happens to get free.”

“I agree,” said Hurst. “But we should have a trial first.”

“Whatever for?”

“We have to do everything in proper form,” said Hurst quietly. “We’re not savages, after all. But it can wait a while. Let him sweat, and then Dethin can hold it when he gets back.”

“The Warlord? Really?”

“He’s very good at this trial business,” Hurst said with a rueful grin. “Well, he scared me half to death, anyway.”

~~~

Mia was enjoying a quiet stillness with Hurst one afternoon. They were in what she continued to think of as Mallissa’s sitting room, chatting companionably. Hurst was stretched out on a tattered sofa, while Mia was on the window seat. She had some sewing on her knee, but was not making much progress. They had attempted a game of crowns and given it up. It was far more restful to look out of the window at the storm gathering to the west, while Hurst talked about the preparations for their trip through the tunnel.

There was a burst of noise outside the room and the door flew open to reveal an excited Trimon.

“Dethin’s back! And you’ll never guess who he’s brought with him this time!”

He took off again at speed.

“Any ideas?” Hurst said.

“I’m not even going to try to guess. Shall we go and find out?”

They went downstairs without haste to the canteen, where all the important business of the compound went on. The room was almost empty, for most people were off in their rooms or in quiet corners for the stillness, but there was a cluster of people chattering noisily near the doors, some wearing mud-spattered cloaks and travel-stained boots. Mia recognised Dethin to one side, alone and silent, and edged around the group to reach him. His face lit up when he saw her.

“What surprises have you brought us today?” she said, smiling back at him.

“Some faces you’ll recognise, I hope,” he said.

Mia looked more closely at the travellers. There were two men, familiar despite heavy beards, but she couldn’t name them until one saw her and waved cheerily. Jonnor’s Companions!

“Zanikor? Cole?” They were beside her in a moment, and Cole swept her up into his arms and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Where’s Jonnor? Does he know you’re here?”

“Someone’s looking for him,” Zanikor said. “No one knows where he is.”

“What about Torman?” she asked, but they roared with laughter.

“The Warlord said that would be the first thing anyone would say. ‘I got two out of three,’ he said, ‘but they’ll all ask about the third.’
I just hope Jonnor appreciates seeing us again. How is he? He was pretty bad last we saw him.”

“He’s fine physically,” Mia said, “but still upset with Hurst. But he’ll be glad to see you again. It’s hard to be separated from your Companions.”

“Hard for us too,” said Cole. He laughed then, tipping his head towards the rest of the group. “Look at them – touching, isn’t it?”

And Mia noticed the woman wrapped in Walst’s arms and gasped in recognition. “Tenya? Is it really…?”

The woman turned then, beaming through tears and tore herself from Walst’s grasp. “Mia!” she shrieked. “Oh, Mia!”

For an instant Mia was too stunned to move. Then they were crying on each other’s shoulders, like sisters parted for decades. Mia was astonished at the delight that flooded through her. Tella’s Companions had been friends, of course, and they had shared many of the chores, had ridden together, and gossiped while counting the linen, but it was not the same closeness she felt with her own Companions. But there was no denying the pleasure in a familiar face, a friendly face, someone who shared her past and understood her a little.

Walst reclaimed Tenya before long, and Mia dried her tears and moved back to Dethin’s side. He was still standing a little apart from the group, like the outsider at a festival. He smiled at her but said nothing. Impulsively, she reached up and kissed him, with a whispered, “Thank you!” and then, one arm round his waist, rested her head on his chest. Dethin put an arm around her shoulder, holding her tightly. She caught a glimpse of Hurst across the room, and for a moment he looked bereft, but then he smiled at her and edged his way round the group to her side.

“It’s lovely to see Tenya again, of course,” he said in a low voice, “but I don’t quite see how it’s going to work out.”

Dethin loosened his grip on Mia a little, but didn’t let go of her. “I had some thoughts on that,” he said. “If you make Walst Deputy Commander, he’d have the same privileges as a Commander, including his own woman.”

“Deputy? Can I do that?”

“Of course. It’s not uncommon.”

Hurst nodded. “Good. That would work. You know, I didn’t expect this. I thought you were just going to supervise some light harassment at the wall.”

“I did that too, but I thought I’d ask at each Section I passed, just in case. I’m sorry I couldn’t get them all, but the others – they must have gone further afield.”

“But even these three
– it must have been expensive,” Hurst said.

Dethin’s lips twitched, and although his expression barely changed, Mia thought she heard amusement in his tone. “Actually, I made a very good trade. Kestimar, the Sixth Section Commander, is going to find the rest of your people for me, and in return he’ll become Warlord.”

Mia pulled away from him in surprise, but Hurst laughed.

“You gave away your job to bring our Companions back?”

“I can’t be Warlord if I go through the tunnels with you, can I? I merely turned that to my advantage.”

“Lucky we’re still here then. You’d look pretty stupid if we left without you, after that.”

“Oh, I took that into account. Kestimar has to wait until I send the Warlord’s tabard and helmet to him. If you’d already left, I would have stayed as Warlord. Although I would have been disappointed. I’d hate to miss the fun.”

Hurst laughed at that, and slapped him on one arm, forgetting he was still wearing his protective leathers under his cloak. “Ouch! Come on, let’s find your gear and get you settled upstairs. Coming, Mia?”

The three of them collected Dethin’s travel roll and saddle bags, and began the climb up the stairs. At the first landing, Dethin turned right but Hurst stopped and said, “No, this way.”

“My room is that way.”

“But ours is up here. Unless you’d rather sleep alone?”

For a moment Dethin hesitated. His back was to the guttering lamp, leaving his face in deep shade, so Mia couldn’t read his expression. “Are you sure?” he said after a long pause. “I
– don’t want to impose. I mean – I didn’t expect…”

“We’d like you to,” Mia said, taking his hand. “We’ve talked about it, and we’re both happy with it.”

He abandoned his protest, and meekly followed them up the stairs to Hurst’s room.

“Right,” said Hurst briskly. “I have things to do, so I’ll leave Mia to entertain you.”

“But—” Dethin began, but Hurst cut him off with a wave of the hand.

“Don’t. I’ve had her to myself for a while, so you have some catching up to do. I don’t expect to see you two again before supper.” He grinned and dashed off.

Dethin stood watching her as she fussed around with his gear, stowing things tidily in corners. Again his face was unreadable when she turned back to him.

“Are you comfortable with this?” she asked, wondering if he felt rushed or pressured. He nodded, and when she moved closer to him and tentatively rested one hand on his chest, he drew her towards him and kissed her with an energy which left no room for doubt, crushing her against his solidly armoured front.

“Can we get rid of the battle gear?” she said, as soon as he released her and she had breath enough to speak. “It’s not exactly comfortable.”

He was happy to comply, hurling bits and pieces of equipment around the room, and then scooping her up before she had done more than wriggle out of her tunic. He kissed her again and then laughed, brushing his hands over her hair.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, and put a finger on her lips before she could reply. “It’s all right, I know you haven’t missed me, you’ve had Hurst to keep you warm, but I’ve
really
missed you.”

And then he was fumbling with his trousers and scrabbling at hers and pushing into her with desperate urgency. She liked it, she decided, that overwhelming need that must be assuaged at once, a degree of roughness in his movements and the way he pulled her buttocks tightly to him. It was exciting, arousing even, although to her regret it was soon over.

Afterwards, they lay curled up in the centre of the big bed, snuggled under the heavy winter blankets and a thick layer of furs to keep the cold out, for there was no brazier in the room. The wind was howling round outside, and later, as night came early, rain lashed the windows. Somewhere in the compound they heard crashing sounds, as loose pieces of equipment were hurled about in the storm. Neither of them wanted to venture out of the covers to light the lamp, so they lay in darkness. They didn’t talk much, and for a while she wondered if he’d fallen asleep, but then he murmured, “Hurst says you’re going through the tunnels too.”

“Yes. I can read the signs, or at least help to read them.”

“It will be dangerous.”

“Maybe, but I’ll be surrounded by warriors and experienced Skirmishers. I’m not afraid. Well
– not much.”

He laughed a little, an affectionate little chuckle, accompanied by a squeeze and a soft kiss on the top of her head.

“Brave Mia,” was all he said. And after that his hands started exploring again, and they stopped talking altogether.

Hurst found them fast asleep hours later.

“Well,” he said, lamp bobbing in his hand as they squinted at the sudden brightness, “I take it you’ve caught up a little then?” And he grinned widely, teeth gleaming in the lamplight. “But you might want to shift your asses, or there’ll be nothing but moundrat tails left to eat.”

~~~

The trial was held the next day, immediately after the noon meal. No one had felt confident enough of the prisoner’s co-operation to offer him clean clothes, so he still wore his own, dusty, torn and streaked with blood. His face had been washed, so the half-healed cuts and violently coloured bruises were clear to see. Someone had brushed his hair for him. There was no sign of a beard, not even the beginnings of stubble, although he had been without the chance to shave for close to two weeks.

The canteen was pressed into service as a court again. Mia wondered what Hurst must be feeling. His face seemed calm, but it must bring back unpleasant memories. She had heard quite a bit about the trial, one way or another, for it had been a matter of some interest to Tanist and he had asked Hurst many questions about the process. So she was prepared for accusations and witnesses and a tedious amount of repetition. But it was not like that at all.