The Plains of Kallanash (52 page)

“What is it? Can you see something?” Gantor asked.

“I’m not sure…” She moved away and there it was again. She stepped closer and began to run her hands over the area. “Ah! There… an indentation. Can you feel it?”

“No, nothing. Wait – there it is! But it’s not a lock, is it?”

“No. Maybe it’s just a mark in the wood. But it’s very regular. It has straight edges
– six or eight, maybe.”

He thought for a moment, his craggy face creased in concentration, then said, “Wait here
– I have an idea.”

He dashed off into the bunk room, emerging not long after with a conspiratorial grin on his face.

“Remember this?” He held up the ring they had taken from Dondro. “It’s exactly the right size and shape for this little hole.” He rotated the ring a little so that it fitted into the indentation, and with a slight click the door popped open. “Clever, isn’t it? So only those with a ring can open this door. Excellent! I’m going to try the other door, behind the kitchens. Why don’t you go and see Tanist? He’s finished with Hurst, and now he’s asking for you.”

She nodded, and went through to the infirmary, Dethin trailing in her wake.

Tanist was looking much better. He was sitting up in bed, honeyed bread in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, animatedly issuing instructions to anyone who came near. Two doses of amber juice sat untouched on a table nearby.

“It’s the
kilicranji
leaves,” he shrugged, when Mia congratulated him. “It’s aimed at Mannigor, but it drifts everywhere. We’re all feeling better this morning. Mannigor’s still asleep, but he’s a much better colour, and see Trondior down there? Remember that nasty gash on his leg? He’s hardly limping at all today. Now, Warlord, don’t forget, when you get to the top of the tower, remind Hurst about the red sheet. It has to be in a west-facing window, remember, visible from the scholars’ hall.”

“He knows, but I’ll tell him anyway,” Dethin said, with a slight smile.

“Ah, here’s Gantor to fetch you. Good. It’s time you were off, you know. The sun’s up already, and you don’t really know what’s up there. Well – unless Keyramon is telling the truth. Go on – off you go. I expect a detailed report when you get back.”

“If you want to amuse yourself while we’re gone,” Gantor said, “see if you can find out why the outer doors are locked on this side, and only the Servants’ keys open them. It’s as if they want to keep these people prisoner, isn’t it?”

~~~

Twelve of them set out to climb the tower. There was no logical reason for the number, but Hurst shrugged and said that he liked to have at least a Ten at his back, and Mia was there, to her amusement, as their expert in locks and languages. That left enough down below to watch the prisoners and tend the injured.

They walked in file up the ramp, passing the two floors Hurst had already examined, with their infirmary rooms eerie and empty, and then on upwards. None of them had any idea how many floors there were altogether, and the signs in fiery symbols on the walls were unreadable. They tried counting as they went, but they soon lost track.

After the first two levels, mirrors of the ground floor, there was a change. Each floor after that had the same layout. Around the outside of the ramp was a wide landing with doors off it, hiding suites of rooms that looked like living quarters, each with water and hot pool rooms, the water running perpetually as in the tunnel room. Every third floor had larger communal rooms and kitchens. None of the doors were locked, so Mia’s skills were not called upon. Some of the rooms were even furnished, although with an odd collection of mismatched pieces. One room had a rug and an upright storage cupboard, another several bare wooden beds with no mattresses, and one was filled with chairs of various designs, but there was no sign of people at all. After a while all the rooms were empty, but still the ramp wound upwards, spiralling out of sight above them, in the unchanging soft glow emanating somehow from the walls. The centre of the ramp was open, so that if they leaned cautiously over the low wall edging it, they could see clear down to the ground floor far below them.

It became a tedious chore to check every single floor for signs of habitation or threat, and made their progress very slow. But gradually, as they looked out of the windows across the lake, they saw that they were rising steadily, and were now well above the height of any other building in the Ring. Beyond the gleaming domes and spires of the pavilions and older buildings fringing the lake, the squat brickwork of newer constructions was now visible, and the orchards and estates outside the sky ship circle. Only the mountains still loomed above them.

“It’s a fine view, isn’t it?” Mia said to Hurst as they gazed out at the lake, its water ruffled and shimmering.

“Yes, but these windows shouldn’t even be here. You can’t see them from the shore.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. The windows were the least of the oddities in the tower. “Magic?”

“This place is weird,” he muttered.

Around mid-morning there was a change, and they began to come across books in the rooms, not neatly arranged on rows of hooks, but heaped on the floor or simply scattered about, as if someone had dropped a pile of them and then walked away. As they climbed, there were more and more of them, in great mounds so that some rooms were impossible to walk around.

“Any idea what this is about?” Hurst asked Mia, but she shook her head.

“I don’t know why anyone would do this,” she added, “but perhaps this is where all the missing books from the library ended up. And have you noticed
– there’s no dust on them, no decay or mould. They look pristine, don’t they? And see this one? It obviously got mouldy and crumbled around this side, but the damaged edges are clean now. No mould at all.”

“Magic tower,” said Walst, grinning.

“Either that or
morodaim
,” Gantor said.

Mia laughed, seeing a sudden image in her mind of the strange creatures from the tunnels dusting all the books. “They must be invisible, then,” she said.

“This place
is
magic,” Trimon said. “Hurst is barely limping, and we’ve been going uphill for hours.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s uphill,” Hurst said thoughtfully. “There’s no extra strain walking up the ramp, as you might expect.”

They stopped for a rest, but none of them were tired so they soon carried on. Mia felt strangely invigorated. Watching Hurst, she realised that Trimon was right about him, for the limp was scarcely noticeable, and certainly wasn’t bothering him. Everyone was relaxed, too, although it should have been a tense journey, constantly on the alert for surprises. From time to time, Mia practised opening her mind to the emotions in the warriors, but she found little fear, only a strange sense of well-being. The tower seemed to have a positive effect on them all.

They went on, searching floor after floor, and finding more and more books but no people. But then Mia began to feel something ahead of them, other minds besides their own, other emotions. She had no need to tell Hurst, though. From his position at the front he stopped and turned back.

“The ramp ends just ahead. There’s a door – I can’t see anyone, but we should be prepared.”

Walst drew his sword, and Trimon primed an arrow.

“Remember what we discussed – let them make the first move. Dethin – keep Mia safe.”

The warriors lowered their visors, and drew their swords. Slowly, carefully, Hurst led them up the last stretch of ramp. Mia held back, Dethin beside her, and the others disappeared out of sight around the bend. Then there was silence.

Mia waited in an agony of impatience. Six Silent Guards – that was what the healer had said. If they were truly waiting above, then how could it end but in bloodshed? Ten warriors against six – that was too close a match to provide her with much hope. Hurst had seemed quite confident about it, but no one knew very much about the Silent Guards, except that they were selected at the age of five, and taken off to the Ring to be trained in secret. Once adult, they were seen only in the temples or on ceremonial occasions. They were always tall and well-built, wearing metal armour that covered much of their bodies, and armed with spears and short stabbing swords. Whatever training they did was carried out in secret. They modelled themselves on the plains lion, fierce and brave, wearing the symbol on their armour and dressing always in gold.

It was the silence that made them so unnerving. It was said that they couldn’t speak because their tongues had been cut out, but that was too horrible to contemplate. Certainly they never spoke, and were obedient only to the Slaves. There were many theories about them, but no one knew their real purpose. Were they there to protect the Slaves from violence, or to defend the temples, or were they some relic of a past era, once functional but now reduced to no more than an adjunct to ritual?

The continued silence from above began to shred Mia’s nerves. Why was there no sound? If the Silent Guards were there, surely she would hear the sounds of fighting by now. If they were not, Hurst would have called down for her to join him. She was conscious of uncomfortably strong emotions washing down from the floor above, but she automatically closed her mind to them, to avoid sharing the distress. She was reluctant to eavesdrop on warriors in the midst of battle, for surely it would be humiliating for them to know that she was aware of all their fears and misgivings.

After a while, Dethin leaned closer and whispered, “Can you feel anything? Maybe you can work out what’s going on up there.”

She nodded and, with some hesitation, allowed her mind to open to the warriors. If she focused, she could see just one at a time, which was easier for her to cope with. She found fear, certainly, and aggression, the desire for a fight. Not anger, exactly, but impatience only loosely held in check. To her surprise, the strangers were easy to detect, for their emotions were quite different – there was no fear in them, or perhaps it was swamped by stronger feelings, but she could identify respect, a warm emotion which perhaps was a sense of brotherhood, and strong curiosity. There was something else, too – hope, perhaps, which was odd. Not only was there no hostility, they felt positively friendly towards the warriors.

“I have to go up there,” she said.

“You can’t,” he said flatly. “It’s far too dangerous.”

“I must. The warriors are spoiling for a fight, but whoever’s up there, they’re friendly. I have to convince Hurst of that. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try.”

He was silent, and she could see the indecision in his eyes. “If anything happens to you, Hurst will kill me.”

“I know,” she smiled. “But you must trust me on this, the same way I trusted you with the lion, remember? Back me up, and we can resolve this without blood being spilt.”

He lowered his sword and stood aside to allow her to go first. “Move very slowly,” he said. “And whatever you do, don’t startle Walst.”

She crept up the ramp, step by cautious step, and still no sound came from above. As she reached the top, she found herself behind the warriors who were frozen in position, ready to attack or defend on an instant. The tension clung to them like fog, and even without any special skill it was easy to see that the slightest provocation would trigger a fight. Hurst stood directly in front of her, with Gantor and Walst protectively in front of him, the standard formation for Companions defending a Karningholder. Trimon, bow primed, stood to one side. The others were on either side forming a loose semicircle.

Beyond them were six Silent Guards standing in front of huge arched doors, but they looked nothing like the armoured, anonymous specimens from the temples. They were just ordinary men, she saw, tall and muscular, but no more threatening than the average Skirmisher. They wore something very like the traditional formal dress of the Karningers, thin, floating silk trousers and tunics, although a little more draped and fitted, and without the headband with its long tendrils. They all wore gold, their traditional colour, with the lion symbol embroidered on the breast. Their heads were shaved. They reminded her of the baton-wielding figures. Curved ceremonial daggers, still sheathed, hung from each hip. One of them, perhaps the leader, stood a little forward of the rest, looking at Hurst, hands held up in appeal.

For a moment, Mia dithered. How to break into this tableau without causing alarm and provoking the very battle she was trying to prevent? But she had no need to do anything. The leader of the Silent Guards was facing her, and saw her at once. His gaze flicked from Hurst to her and back again, and then, unmistakably, he pointed to her, and Hurst turned his head and saw her.

“Hold position! Commander Gantor, you have the lead,” he barked, and then stormed back to Mia, face like thunder. His eye lit on Dethin, and he seemed about to explode.

“It’s all right,” Mia said quickly. “They’re friendly, I came to tell you. They mean no harm to any of us.”

“We’ll see about that…” Hurst began, but Dethin held up a hand. Mia had seen how effectively he could control even pugnacious men like Bulraney, but to her astonishment, his authority worked on Hurst, too, for he was silenced at once.

“It’s true,” Dethin said quietly. “Mia can tell, in the same way that I could with the
keelarim
. She knows they’re not hostile towards us. Look, he agrees.”

The leader of the Silent Guards was nodding and almost smiling as he heard this. Hurst looked suspiciously from one to the other, and then marched around Gantor to stand in front of the warriors, only feet away from the lead Silent Guard.