The Plains of Kallanash (64 page)

“Any time you like, Warlord,” Tanist called out, but Dethin turned and came running back to them.

“No good,” he said, and his eyes were wide with shock. “Better move out of range.”

“What do you mean, no good?” Tanist said.

“I’m not getting anything from it.” The creature shrieked again, flapped and took off, snapped another chain. “Whatever it is, it’s not something I can deal with. We’ll have to find another way.”

Another surge, nearer to the Silent Guard, and this time some of them jumped back. One chain caught on a claw, and as the dragon tried to wrestle its way free, it spun round and caught sight of the little group still standing on the plinth. It screamed and dived at them, breaking a third chain.

“Further back!” shouted Tanist. “Back, quickly! Archers, prepare to shoot!”

They scrambled to the edge of the plinth, and began jumping down, but Dethin caught Hurst’s arm.

“Trimon!” was all he said.

Hurst turned, horrified. Trimon was facing the dragon, walking slowly forwards to the edge of the plinth. Within a few steps he would be within range of its fearsome teeth.

“Trimon! Come on! Time to go!”

“Carry him,” Gantor said, and they dashed across to Trimon and grabbed his arms. Hurst was shocked by his face – he was almost dreamlike, gazing enchanted at the dragon as if it were the most beautiful sight in the world. And the dragon, his eye almost level with Trimon’s, gazed back at him.

“Wait, wait!” Dethin came running up beside them. “Trimon, what are you seeing?”

“Amazing!” he murmured. “Quite amazing! Unbelievable!”

“Trimon, talk to me!” Dethin took one arm and shook him, and Trimon tore his eyes away from the dragon and turned his head.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Trimon, tell me exactly what you can see.”

“Look for yourself.”

Another shake, harder this time. “
Describe
it.”

“Oh. Swirls of colour. Light, all blowing round, making shapes. A single shape
– not sure. The way it moves – just air moving, but so beautiful… Oh, look at that!“

The dragon flapped its wings again, stirring a tornado of dust.

“Can you make it go away?”

“Why would I do that? It’s glorious.”

He gazed at it, mesmerised. Dethin squeezed round to stand directly in front of him. Trimon ducked his head left and right to keep the dragon in view, but Dethin grabbed his head with both hands and forced his attention.

“Trimon! Concentrate. You have to force it to obey you.” Another great flap of wings set Dethin’s hair flying. “Focus your mind. Get control of it.”

For the first time, Trimon looked fully into Dethin’s face. “How? I don’t understand.”

“You have a connection to it.” The dragon stretched its neck skywards and screeched in anger. “We just see a dragon, you’re the only one who can see what it is underneath, its true nature. So reach out your mind to it, and bring it
—”

Another screech drowned his words, but this time Trimon nodded and lifted his face to the dragon. He closed his eyes and then gasped.

Whatever he did stirred the dragon to a frenzy of flapping. The chain held it. Landing awkwardly, it settled on the ground and pelted towards Trimon, screaming, rows of teeth bared.

The others all scrambled back, but Trimon was motionless, eyes shut, concentrating, oblivious.

Then his eyes shot open, mouth round in surprise. He raised one hand towards the dragon, lifted his head and gave a great, unearthly howl that echoed round the court. On and on, rising and falling, like nothing human.

The dragon took off again with a scream of dismay, wings flapping right above their heads now, sweeping them into a new dust storm. The final chain snapped and it shot up, then swirled round and round, screeching so loudly that Hurst’s ears hurt.

Circling in great sweeps, becoming bigger and less diffuse, filling the whole court, a howling gale tearing at them, catching loose gloves, someone’s bow, a helmet, tossed into the air like so many dry leaves. Then just as Hurst thought he would be blown away himself, it was gone, the dust settling, a rattle of debris falling, and finally silence.

A small cheer from somewhere behind them, and a burst of relieved chatter as people picked themselves up, shook off dust, looked for lost belongings. In front of them, the Silent Guards moved forward in unison, until the front line was directly below the plinth. As one, they unstrapped their weapons and laid them at their feet before kneeling, heads bent to the ground in submission.

“Well, looks like we’ve found the One after all,” Gantor murmured.

Mia could hardly believe the tale when she heard it.

“But it wasn’t real?” she kept saying.

“It was real enough, but not alive.” Dethin’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her bewilderment.

“And it was just wind? A tornado?”

“Something like that. It looked to us like a dragon, but Trimon could see through the illusion, and he saw it as air, moving air.”

“So he really has a connection.”

“Apparently so.”

“It must have been magic of some sort,” she said uncertainly.

“I suppose so. The Silent Guard conjured it up, but they don’t have the power to create such trickery themselves. I imagine they found the machinery, discovered what it could do and incorporated it into their beliefs.”

“But what was it for? Why would anyone make such things?”

Dethin shrugged. “Who knows? A defence mechanism, maybe? Or perhaps it was used for some obscure ritual. It must date back to before the Catastrophe, so we’ll never know for sure.”

Mia was glad to see Dethin safely back, one of the first to return to the tower. He led a small number of those injured by the fighting on the streets, where groups with different allegiances had clashed. Everyone else had stayed behind.

Although the Silent Guards had submitted to Trimon’s authority, and most of the opposing Skirmishers had surrendered without a fight, including Mia’s father, there were still a few clashes as they dispersed. Then it was a matter of plodding methodically through the maze of tunnels and halls below the temple complex, rooting out all the Trannatta. They found numerous bonded servants down there, too, still loyal to their masters.

The celebrations at the tower went on long into the evening, accompanied by a great deal of wine and ale. A few more Skirmishers drifted back through the tunnel in twos and threes, bringing news. Klemmast had led his Hundreds to the House of Revelations, to free all the prisoners there and escort them to healers at the Ring’s main infirmary. The worst affected would be brought to the tower in time. The cells would be called into use again, to house the Trannatta until it was decided what to do with them.

Hurst’s own Hundreds had turned up, and they were to help the Silent Guards who wished to leave, finding them transport to their homes. However, many of the Silent Guard wished to stay, having no memory of any life before the Temple. Trimon was their leader now, as much to his surprise as theirs, and they were willing to follow his wishes. Already he had plans to form an elite troop, although he was vague as to purpose.

Hurst was not amongst the returners, and eventually Mia gave up waiting for him.

“I suppose he’ll find somewhere to sleep over there. Do you have to go back tomorrow?” she asked Dethin as they undressed.

“I’ve been given no orders. Having failed abysmally to turn this particular worm, I don’t think Tanist has much use for me anymore.”

She laughed. “You can look after me, then.”

“Always happy to do that.” He bent his head to kiss her gently.

“And a whole night to do it in.” She caught a look in his eye. “What is it? Too tired? It’s been a difficult day for you.”

“No, it’s not that. It just seems odd that Hurst isn’t here.”

“It’s not the first time that’s happened.”

“But he was always nearby
– downstairs somewhere, talking to Tanist, checking on the watch. I knew he would turn up later. This is different.”

They slipped into bed, and he lifted an arm so she could curl up next to him.

“He wouldn’t mind, you know,” Mia said.

“Wouldn’t he? Are you sure about that?”

“He said he’s happy with things as they are, that was quite clear.”

He sighed. “I wonder if he really means it. I’m sure he still feels underneath that you belong to him. And who can blame him? You two have been lovers for years. I’m very much an interloper.”

Was that so? Did Hurst still see Dethin as a rival, someone to put up with, because she wanted it? Was he waiting patiently, hoping she would tire of him?

After a while she said, “It’s not true, actually
– that we’ve been lovers for years.”

“No? That’s what he told me. We talked a lot while you were unconscious.”

“For him – I think it is true, but not for me. I never thought of Hurst until a few months ago. He was just a friend, that was all. I was in love with Jonnor.”

“Jonnor? Your other husband?” Astonishment in his voice. “That bag of foul-mouthed unpleasantness?”

She giggled. “That’s the one. He was much more presentable as a Karningholder, you know. He deteriorated sadly when he became a barbarian.”

“I didn’t realise,” Dethin said. “But still
– even as a friend, you have a long history together. Whereas I—”

“Whereas you have always treated me kindly,” she said in a low voice. “Unlike Jonnor.”

“But I forced you…”

“Better you than Bulraney.”

“Gods, yes! But still…”

“Ssshh. You were the Warlord, it was expected of you. Don’t feel guilty for doing what you had to do. That’s all over.”

“I don’t know how you can bear to have me touch you. Why don’t you hate me?” And he shuddered, taking a heaving breath.

“I’ve never blamed you, never. And you never hurt me. Stop tormenting yourself. You’re here with me because I want you here. I like being with you, and that’s the truth.”

They lay for a long while in the dark, not speaking. Mia closed her eyes and opened her mind to him, allowing his love to flood over her. She sighed in contentment, wondering if she would ever convince him that he was a welcome bedmate. She thought about Hurst and his comfortable unquestioning adoration, and that was a marvellous thing to have. If she had never met Dethin, she would have been entirely content with Hurst alone.

But Dethin gave her something different, an intense passion that thrilled and excited her. He set her on fire, somehow. It didn’t feel like love, or at least, it was nothing like the deep affection she felt for Hurst, but it was a wonderful sensation to be with him, to see the way he looked at her, to feel his kisses washing through her body, or the warmth of his love inside her mind. It was lust, she supposed, a selfish desire fired by her connection, and perhaps one day it would diminish or she would learn to love him the way she loved Hurst, but for now she wanted him and she wasn’t going to give him up without a fight.

He stirred a little, shifting position. “I love you, Mia.”

“I know,” she said.

~~~

It was several days before Hurst returned. Walst was sent back first, to reassure the women, he said, but Mia suspected he was too fidgety for the delicate business of calming the Ring and mopping up the last of the opposition. He was very cross to be denied a full scale battle and likely his twitchy sword hand would cause trouble before too long if he were out on the streets. But he reported that all was well, apart from a few troublemakers reluctant to concede defeat.

Tanist and the new Council had taken over one of the main administrative buildings for their meetings, and had issued a series of edicts, outlawing all Trannatta but allowing their bonded servants and Slaves the option to stay. They formally freed the Silent Guards and offered an amnesty to all those with criminal pasts sent across the border. A few former barbarians had already crossed back into the Karningplain, and the border Karningholds had begun organising wagons to transport them to their homes, while a committee had started registering them as full Karningers. Another committee, this time of Karningholders, had been set up to devise the best way to deal with the vast number of Skirmishers no longer needed now that the barbarians were returning. The border would still need to be protected from outside threats, but for a while there would be peace.

The tower seemed disconnected from all these momentous events, hearing them second or third hand, but it was not without its own developments. Two of the Nine had ventured outside the walls onto the boat dock, enjoying a moment of winter sunshine. Although they had not crumbled to dust, they reported extreme fatigue within a very short time, so it seemed likely they would have to stay within the tower itself and the short stretches of tunnel with glowing walls. Beyond that, the fatigue returned. They also found, quite by accident, when one of them tripped over, that they could walk about the Hall of Magic without raising the men with batons.

“Perhaps you created them,” Dethin suggested. “They remember you.”

“Well, that would be ironic indeed,” Sylinor said, “since we recall nothing of them. But it may be so.”

Strangely, the effect held even when others were there, so one or other of the Nine would be called upon whenever large groups or injured men needed to pass through.

Sylinor was thrilled. “At last! Something useful we can do.”

There were many injuries from the clashes before the encounter at the Great Temple, and the occasional outbreaks after that, and the Ring’s main infirmary sent the worst of them to the tower. The infirmary was on the lake shore directly opposite the tower’s great doors, only a short distance away by boat.

Most of the Trannatta had left the tower, but Cristo was not one of them. He and a small number of healers had apartments on an otherwise unoccupied floor, and mostly he kept out of the way, but occasionally Mia would catch sight of him. One day she was helping to change sheets in the infirmary room when he appeared with a pile of fresh linen. When he saw her, he avoided her gaze and lowered his head, setting his burden down quickly and turning away. But then he turned back to her.

“I wonder… if I might talk to you,” he said in diffident tones. His voice was low, the accent more pronounced, and all the ebullience gone, so that Mia would hardly have known him. But still, however subdued, he was Cristo, and she ignored him. After a moment he made her a little bow and withdrew.

“It might help to talk to him,” said the healer Keyramon, who was working with Mia.

“Who would it help?”

“Him, a little. He wants to apologise to you, I think. But it might help you, too.”

“Can he give me back my dead child? No? Then I don’t think we have much to say to each other, do you? Will you smooth that corner a little more?”

When Mia thought about it, however, she realised that it might be a good idea to hear him out. It was irrational to blame him for following orders, and he had been very helpful to Tanist, giving him what little information he knew. She arranged to see him in the tower’s wide entrance hall, public enough for her to feel safe, yet large enough to provide a private corner. She sat on a scarred wooden bench under the great doors, hands resting in her lap. Dethin, fully armed, stood nearby and Killin and Cristamond, his two Captains, lurked across the hall.

Cristo appeared from the upper floors, walking down the ramp instead of jumping. Diffidently he settled himself with plenty of space between himself and Mia, head down.

“I
– thank you for seeing me,” he said quietly. When she said nothing, he continued, “I know you can never forgive me for what you have suffered – I do not blame you. I could make excuses, but – what is the point? It is done, and though I deeply regret my part in it, nothing can make you recompense. I have done what little I can to help your people, and First Councillor Tanist dos Arrakas has generously given me permission to stay here – in the Ring.”

He lifted his head to look at her, but still she was silent. What was there to say? He was her enemy. Yet without the arrogance, he was different. Younger, somehow. Perhaps he was no older than her, a young man caught up in affairs without fully understanding them, just as she had been when she started asking about the tunnel.

He was speaking again, more rapidly. “I should like to stay, of course. Finish my research. The scholars – I have been told they can find a place for me. But…” A long pause, chewing his lip. He shifted a little on the bench. “If it would upset you, I will leave. Go back to my people. It would be fitting, would it not? I sent you into exile, and now you can do the same to me. I will do whatever you wish.”

He lowered his head again, but even without opening her mind, she could hardly miss the roiling emotions within him. Fear, mostly.

“What will happen to you, if you go back to them?” she said.

His head lifted sharply, eyes flashing. “Nothing good! I am a traitor now, I suppose, and I have no breeding value. But
– but I will leave if my presence still distresses you.”

“Why are you so afraid of them? They’re your own people, it’s your home
– isn’t it?”

He looked at her, his mouth working, as if debating how much to say. “They treat us the way we treated you. The rules, the fear, the interviews
– all of that. They come here every year to check up on us, and give us their instructions. If we go back now, having failed in our mission—”

“Your mission?”

“They want to find the secret of magic. Once there were immensely powerful mages, powerful enough to build this tower, to change the world. They are gone now, but we still have these – connections, you call them. Little puffs of magic in the world, but if they could be combined, used in harmony, amplified…” He looked down again, hands twisting, so that the tattoos on his palm slid in and out of view. “That is what my people want, above all things. With such power, they could rule the world.”