The Plains of Kallanash (58 page)

His hands were still tied with slender rope, intricately knotted, as he was brought in, half dragged and half carried. The warriors escorting him dumped him onto a wooden chair, and tied each leg to one leg of the chair, and then wrapped more rope around his waist and behind the chair back. He had a vivid bruise on one cheek, and a long cut across it, with a jagged trail of blood down his fine shirt. His head drooped, and Mia detected nothing but dull resentment in him. When he caught sight of her, there was a flare of fear which amused her, but it quickly died away.

Tanist had told her exactly how he intended to manage the interview. “You play the warrior girl to perfection,” he had said with a grin, “so I’ll be gentle with him. Between the two of us, we may get some response.”

“Well, Cristo,” he said in a genial tone, “how are you today? That cut has been seen to, I take it? Are you in pain? Some amber juice, perhaps?”

An almost imperceptible nod. There was something in his eyes
– relief or perhaps hope, Mia thought, mingled with suspicion, of course. Tanist got up and unstoppered the bottle sitting on a low shelf, pouring the golden liquid into a measure and then into a small cup. He pushed it into Cristo’s bound hands. After a moment’s hesitation – Mia supposed he was weighing up the likelihood of poison, and perhaps deciding that he didn’t care – he lifted it to his lips, awkwardly with his hands tied, and drank it in one swift movement. A little spilled out of the cup and dribbled down his chin, which Tanist gently wiped away.

“There, you’ll feel better soon,” he murmured, removing the cup. “Are you hungry? Would you like a seed cake? Some wine?”

Without waiting for an answer he bustled about arranging three cakes on a plate, and pouring a generous goblet of wine. He held them out towards Cristo, who made no move to take either plate or goblet. Tanist grunted and put them down, hopping about the room on his good leg until he found a suitable table to set at Cristo’s elbow, so that the food and drink were within reach. Cristo eyed them, and Mia felt a burst of desire in him, but he sat unmoving.

For a while, Tanist asked him questions, gentle probing questions, which he either ignored or answered monosyllabically. She felt his anger building
– dulled by pain before, she guessed, but now rekindled as the amber juice took effect. She wasn’t consciously opening her mind to him, but she could detect his feelings in little staccato bursts, without effort. And all of a sudden, like a shape coalescing out of a fog, she was aware of the jagged irregularity of it in her mind, just as Dethin had described. Without a thought, she reached out to smooth away the erratic peaks, and was astonished when his anger began to reduce a little. It was easy! She was ecstatic, and repeatedly teased at the anger until it was dulled again, as it had been before.

“Well, then, Cristo,” Tanist began, “if you won’t answer my questions, is there anything you would like to ask us?”

A silence, but his head was raised now, looking from one to the other, still suspicious of a trick. He licked his lips.

“What happened to Dondro?” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. That was a surprise. Was Dondro a friend, then?

“I’ll tell him, shall I?” Mia said, playing her part. Tanist shook his head, but his version of the tale was almost as bald as hers would have been. He held nothing back. Cristo’s eyes widened, and again she felt his fear. Almost she felt sorry for him. Almost.

A longer silence.

“Are you going to do that to me?” Straight to the point.

“Only if you oppose us,” Tanist said quietly. “We
–
I
didn’t want to hurt Dondro, but I wasn’t in charge out there. Here, I have more say. It won’t be entirely my decision, but I will propose that those in government here be sent away, not harmed. Those that co-operate.”

“Sent where?”

“Away from the Karningplain. Your people come from the northern coast, don’t they? So you have somewhere to go.”

A sharp spasm of fear. That was interesting
– more fear of exile than torture and death? Strange.

He was silent again, thinking. Weighing up his options, perhaps.

“What about those
not
in government?”

“What?”

“You said those in government would be sent away, but what about everyone else?”

“Ah. True, we only want to remove those in power, the real decision-makers. When we can find out who they are, that is. We always thought that Those who Serve the Gods were in charge. They lived in this tower, we were told, communing with the Gods, and handing down edicts to the Slaves. But when we arrived
– no Servants. So we have to assume that everyone – all those with the tattoo on their palm – are involved.”

Cristo made no answer. Abruptly he seemed to remember the cakes and wine beside him, and reached for the goblet, taking a long draught. Then a cake
– a more difficult manoeuvre with bound hands, leaving a scattering of crumbs. Then more wine. He seemed to relax, somehow. Maybe it was the amber juice, for his eyes seemed brighter and he held his head more upright. He took a deep breath.

“I am a historian, really,” he said, his voice stronger, the accent muted a little, so that he was easier to understand. “Most days I do research
– reading old documents, legal papers, mainly. Some of them date back to the Petty Kingdoms – border treaties, trade agreements, marriage contracts, that sort of thing. I am supposed to be looking for signs of magic – that is what we are here for – but I pursue my own interests as well. But occasionally I am called upon to do – other things.” A quick flick of the eyes towards Mia. “I do not ask why, I just do what I am told. Those who question orders get sent back to Dunallan West pretty quickly, and it suits me to be here.”

“Dunallan West? Is that your craft town?”

“Yes. I am not supposed to mention it by name, but you will find it out before long. The place itself is not secret, only what is below the ground.”

“So who gives you your orders?”

“Someone different every time. Always another
Tre’annatha
, but never the same one twice. They give me a written message. I read it, memorise it and destroy it while they watch. Then I have to do whatever it is. Twice I have been asked to give a message to someone myself. I do not enjoy what I have to do—” Again a quick glance at Mia. “—but I have to obey.”

“You enjoyed it well enough, as I recall,” Mia said sharply. “You
smiled
at me, you
bastard
.”

“That is just
– how I deal with it. And you were – are – a criminal, after all. I was removing you from society. The others – your Companions – I could pity them. But not you.”

Mia felt her stomach twist with rage, but Tanist waved a warning hand at her.

“I was sorry about your baby, though,” Cristo went on, oblivious. “That was quite wrong – to kill a child like that. It nearly killed you, too. I regret that.”

And to her shock and horror, Mia found tears streaming down her face uncontrollably. Surely she was past this by now, this terrible grief? Hadn’t she come to terms with that particular loss long ago?

Tanist came and rested a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

“This is too upsetting for you,” he said gently. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. Go now, compose yourself, rest and read one of your books for a while. I’ll get someone else to take the notes.”

She went.

She found herself in her bedroom, but there were no books to read, no window to look out of, nothing but the bed, covers neatly folded, as Dethin always left it. The room felt empty without one or other of her two men there, filling it with their strong masculine presence, comforting and secure. After a while, she dried her tears and went down to the kitchens to help with whatever chores needed extra hands. At least there were other people there, and easy chatter, and activity to distract her. From time to time there would come that niggle of fear for Hurst, out there in the midst of Skirmishers and the uncertain temper of the tournament crowds. She pushed the worry firmly to the back of her mind and concentrated on slicing meat.

Hurst relaxed once they were back in the tunnel. He hadn’t realised just how tightly wound up he was. Chasing off the two Trannatta had released just a little of his pent-up tension and he felt they had almost reached safety. They passed through the Hall of Light, unlocked one of the gates with practised efficiency and went on up the stairs to the Hall of Magic, so named by some of those who had experienced the strangeness of it. As they reached the entrance archway, Klemmast would have stepped heedlessly into the chamber but Hurst caught his arm and pulled him back.

“No! This part is tricky, so listen carefully.” He explained it briefly, but to his annoyance Klemmast burst out laughing.

“You’re joking, right? Magical men with sticks who just pop up
– poof! Come on, Hurst, let’s get on, shall we?”

“It’s not a joke!” Hurst hissed. “Mannigor nearly died in here, Tanist broke his leg, the Gods alone know how many other injuries we took. I’ve survived month
-long skirmishes with less trouble than we had in half an hour here. This isn’t a
game
, Klemmast! We’re in the middle of a
war
, by all the Gods, and this tower has caused us more grief than anything else so far, so treat it with respect.”

Klemmast held his hands up in surrender. “Fine. You’re in charge, brother.” But his eyes still twinkled.

“Why does no one ever listen to me,” Hurst muttered. “Follow me
exactly
, all right? And if you get into trouble,
I’m
not coming back to rescue you.”

“All right, all right. Stay on the black bits. I get it.”

Even so, Hurst insisted that Gantor take the rear, telling him to shout if Klemmast ventured anywhere close to the grey parts of the floor.

Back in the tower, they were instantly surrounded by a crowd as everyone gathered to hear their tale. Hurst left Gantor and Klemmast to embellish it as they saw fit, while he went in search of Mia. He saw her almost at once, sitting on the floor with Dethin near the ramp surrounded by books. He felt a surge of affection for both of them
– Mia for her addiction to books, even in the midst of a tricky rebellion, and Dethin for remembering to bring some for her from his expedition up the tower.

Mia was looking anxiously down the hall. As soon as she spotted him, she scrambled up and ran across to hurl herself into his arms.

“Thanks the Gods! You’re back safely!” He winced at the sudden stab of pain that lanced through him. “Oh – you’re hurt! What happened?”

“Some broken glass. It’s nothing, really. No, honestly, it’s only a scratch…”

She pulled back from him and smiled. “The beard’s gone! Now that’s much better!”

She stroked his smooth cheek, and then reached up to kiss him, to scattered applause from the warriors nearby.

“Do you want me to shave too?” he heard Dethin say. Hurst was aware of some anxiety in his voice, although his face was impassive.

“No, I like your beard,” she laughed, raising a gleam of amusement in Dethin’s eyes.

“Oh, so you like his beard but not mine, eh?” Hurst said. Should he be jealous? No, surely not. He had nothing to fear from Dethin.

“Yours was always a bit rough, even when you kept it trimmed, but Dethin’s
– it’s so soft and silky.”

She ran her fingers over it, pulling his head down so she could kiss him, too. Hurst shook his head and smiled indulgently. The warriors cheered openly this time, and when Hurst caught sight of Klemmast, his mouth was open in astonishment.

He shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

Klemmast’s eyebrows rose even more, but before he could respond, Tanist was pushing through the crowd, nudging people aside with his crutches and then it was all back-slapping and good-natured ribbing and comparisons of their various injuries.

“Come on, let’s have a look at that scratch of yours,” Mia said, taking his hand and pulling him determinedly to the infirmary.

~~~

The big table in the kitchen was packed that evening. Another big group of scholars had arrived during the day, and with the Nine and the kitchen women the warriors were actually outnumbered now. Apart from the handful on watch, everyone crowded into the room, some bringing extra chairs through, others laying out bowls and goblets and spoons, while Hurst, Gantor and Klemmast sat in a noisy group at one end retelling the afternoon’s adventures. The Skirmishers also wanted to hear the tournament results, and many of the other warriors, having acquired a little experience in battle, were interested in the detailed combat descriptions. Several of the Nine, meanwhile, listened avidly to everything, interrupting often with questions.

The Nine looked almost normal now. Sensible clothes had been found for them, the two women had bound their hair with scarves and several of the men had cut theirs. They had no beards. They had taken to freedom with enthusiasm, and although they were unused to loud noises and winced if the chatter grew too raucous or pans clattered, and several of them preferred the solitude of their rooms, whenever anything was going on two or three of them would materialise, eyes sparkling. Four hundred years! Hurst could scarcely imagine such confinement. No wonder they were so glad of company now.

From time to time, Hurst caught sight of Mia at the far end of the table. Dethin was with her, their heads bent together in some animated conversation, so he knew she was being looked after. But when Walst began a long and colourful account of one of his tournament victories, he nudged Klemmast’s arm.

“Come on, let’s go and say hello to Mia.”

Klemmast picked up a jug of wine and his goblet, and followed him to the other end of the table.

“Mia, you remember my brother Klemmast?”

She smiled politely, but he could see that she didn’t. Klemmast had visited them once, shortly after they married, but he had married and got his own Karninghold not long after that, so there had been no further visits, and separation of men and women at the Ring was absolute.

“And this is Dethin
– cousin Crannor, I should say. He was the eastern Warlord, before we came through the tunnel.”

Again, there was no sign of recognition on either side. The nine year age gap was too great, perhaps. The two men nodded in acknowledgement, and eyed each other with interest, as if assessing an opponent.

Dethin was silent. His animation was gone, and he had retreated into his expressionless shell. Klemmast’s eyes slid across to him from time to time, but he said nothing directly to him. After a while, when the conversation paused, Dethin stood up.

“I’ll go and check on the watch. Hurst…” An odd hesitation. “You might want to talk to Trimon later.”

He nodded, and with a quick glance at Mia, Dethin left.

“What was that about?” he asked Mia. “Anything urgent?” But she shook her head.

Klemmast shifted to a more comfortable position, and stretched his legs out. He was mellow now that his tournament injuries had been tended and his belly was full. He refilled his goblet, and lifted it in a silent toast to Hurst.

“So, brother, are you going to explain this complicated business of yours?” he said, with a sly glance at Mia.

Hurst laughed, and pulled at one ear. “Well…” Then he stopped.

“It’s not really complicated,” Mia said. “When I became a barbarian, I belonged to Dethin. Then Hurst turned up, so to avoid any squabbling, the three of us came to an arrangement.”

“Sharing?” She nodded. “So – how does that work exactly? Is it alternate nights? A week at a time? Or what?”

“No, we all share a bed. We find that works very well.”

This time Klemmast’s jaw was practically on his chest. “So you—? When one of you is—? And you—?” He ground to a halt.

“My little brother, speechless,” Hurst said. “I never thought I’d live to see that day.”

“Gods’ bollocks, Hurst, you old dog!”

“Not everyone approves,” Mia said, with a lift of her eyebrows towards Tanist.

“But fuck me,” Klemmast said, “it sounds like fun! Is this a barbarian tradition?”

“It’s a plains tradition, from a long time ago.”

“Fuck me! I’ll have to tell Jallinast about this, and see if we can’t get one of the wives… Maybe not Seelya or Hanni, but Shanya might.”

“If you ever see them again,” Hurst said soberly.

Klemmast grunted, and reached for the wine jug again. Not long afterwards, Tanist came to claim Klemmast. Hurst would have followed them, but Mia put a hand on his arm.

“What is it?”

“I need to tell you about Trimon.”

“But you said…? Oh, not in front of Klemmast, eh? Big secret?”

“Not exactly, but – a bit weird, that’s all. Sylinor said… Let me start at the beginning. I came in with something or other from the cooking ranges – a platter of meat, I think – and while I was looking for somewhere to put it down, I was standing behind Sylinor. Without looking at me, he said, ‘Come on in, sword-maiden, and find yourself a seat.’ They all laughed – Pashinor was there too, and Gullinor, I think. They do love their little jokes, don’t they? They
knew
, you see, they knew it was me, without looking. Well, of course, I asked them how they knew, and they said they can see – no, not see. Hmm, they are
aware
, I think that was it, aware of those with a connection. Sylinor said it was like looking at the sun with your eyes closed. But the odd thing – they could see it in me, and they identified Dethin, as well, but they said that
Trimon
has a connection too. He was – a bit upset.”

Hurst found Trimon in the bunk room, oiling his bow with fierce energy. He glanced once at Hurst, then bent again to his task with renewed vigour.

“It can’t be true, can it?” Hurst said.

“Of course it isn’t true! I can’t do magic. It’s nonsense!”

“You’d know, surely? Maybe not before you came here, but Dethin says everything is amplified by the tower. So you’d know if you could see into minds – people or animals?”

Trimon looked up then. “They said
– there are other kinds of connections. Metals. Growing things. Air. They said I must have a connection to air, because of the archery. That I make the air move apart, somehow, so the arrow flies true. But it’s a
lie
. I can’t do anything like that. It’s impossible. I
trained
myself to be this good, I
practised
every day, for hour after hour. I
still
practise. It’s not some weird form of magic, it’s hard work, that’s all. They’ve been shut up in this tower for far too long. They’re all
crazy
, these so-called Gods. They smile at us and say this and that, and everyone believes every word. Well, maybe they’re
liars
. ”

He tossed the bow onto his bunk and got up, thrusting the chair backwards with a loud bang that turned heads, and stomped off.

Hurst lifted an eyebrow at Gantor, who had followed him into the bunk room. He remembered Gantor’s suspicions of the Nine. “Are they crazy?”

“A little. I’d be crazy, too, if I’d been locked up in that tower for four hundred years. But Mia would know if they were lying.”

“Well, if Trimon has any ability like that, it was never obvious,” Hurst said, shaking his head. “What he does – it’s not impossible, he’s just very, very accurate in his bow-work.”

Gantor grunted. “It’s interesting, though. If he can affect the flight of his arrows, even a minute little nudge here or there, it would make all the difference. He is incredibly good, you know. I’ve never seen anything like him.”

“Nor have I,” Hurst said, “but still, it’s not beyond the bounds of the possible, is it?”

“Isn’t it? Those fire arrows
– that was astonishing. And he might not even be aware that he’s doing it, you know. Dethin didn’t know for years, and Mia’s only just found out about her connection. Maybe if you have one, you’re naturally drawn to some relevant occupation. Dethin says he was always drawn to horses, and he can ride anything, never been thrown.”

“Never?” Hurst said.

“So he says. And Mia – I can imagine that Mia always had a way with people, always managed to calm things down in a crisis.”

“Well, that’s true enough, but
—” Hurst stopped. “It’s impossible to say for sure, isn’t it?”

They had just made their way back to the kitchen, and Hurst’s thoughts were beginning to turn towards bed, when Dethin put his head round the door and shouted above the noise.

“Bell ringing! By the kitchen lifting device!”

He vanished again. Chairs scraped on the floor, boots thumped, metal chinked as swords and vambraces were strapped on. Suddenly the atmosphere was sober and urgent. Hurst pushed through the melee to grab his own gear from the heaps near the door, pushing arms into sleeves, fumbling with buckles and straps, tightening and adjusting, then tearing down the corridor to the back of the kitchens. There was a crowd milling about there already, silent and anxious, Tanist barking orders from somewhere at the front. Then Dethin’s voice, measured, calm. Then silence, disturbed only by creaking leather and the clink of scabbards.