The Second God (8 page)

The streets were jammed with people, waving and cheering and throwing ribbons. People climbed on lamp-poles or leaned out of upper windows to get a better view of us as we went by. Some of them toasted our health with tankards of ale, and not their first of the morning, either. The town would be a pretty rowdy place before the sun went down.

We waved back to the crowd, or at least Arran and I did. Ly sat rigidly, a fixed smile on his face. Poor Ly! He was used to the Keep now, with its hushed corridors and respectful courtiers speaking in low whispers, but the noise and crowds on the streets terrified him. The army kept the spectators away from us, but even so, it was overwhelming. I took Ly’s hand and held it firmly. He smiled at me wanly, but I don’t think it helped much.

From the Keep, we’d rolled through the main commercial district, with its shops and taverns and little craft houses. Then we turned into one of the merchants’ districts, with high warehouses mingling with rows of fine houses. The height of the buildings was oppressive even to me, so tall that we were shaded. We’d been supplied with a rug to ward off the chill wind, and now I pulled it closer over Ly and me. Arran sat opposite us, seemingly not noticing the cooler air. The crowds were just as thick here, so we smiled and waved, smiled and waved, until my arm and face ached.

We turned a corner to find ourselves in blessed sunshine at last. I closed my eyes for a moment, turning my face to the warmth.

Then chaos broke out.

A slight whooshing noise, then a thud. Ly screamed. The carriage jolted to a halt. Something heavy fell on me and somehow, I’m not sure how, I was on the floor of the carriage, squashed like a bug and having trouble breathing.

More screams and shouts, booted feet running, the creak of armoured leather and metallic clink of mail. Hooves clattered on the cobbles, and all round came the ominous sound of swords rasping out of scabbards.

Our pleasant drive through the town had become a pitched battle.

Out of the pandemonium, Arran’s voice sounded just above my head. “There! Up there!”

“He’s gone!” someone else shouted.

Then, thank all the gods, the heavy weight shifted and I could breathe again, although I was face down on the bottom of the carriage, my nose pushed against the side. The carriage jerked into motion again, and even above the uproar around us, the crack of the driver’s whip echoed menacingly as we careered off.

I dared to raise my head to see what was going on, only to be pushed down again instantly.

“Stay low!” That was my bodyguard’s voice.

We raced onwards at a terrifying pace, the carriage rocking, the driver urging his horses on with whip and voice. More horses clattered alongside, and voices shouted instructions from time to time: “Left! No, not this one. That way.” I couldn’t move, couldn’t see. My ears strained for familiar voices – Arran or Ly. Were they safe? Were they still in the carriage? Were they even alive? And even if they were safe, who else might be hurt? Maybe Yannassia was at that moment bleeding in Torthran’s arms. It was unbearable, not knowing.

The streets around us grew quieter, and our pace slowed. Then a cool, echoing passageway – the entrance to the Keep, I guessed. More shouted orders, guards running, the clanking of the machinery to lower the gates.

Then, at last, we slowed to walking pace and halted altogether. A mailed hand on my arm hauled me upright. My bodyguard, but behind him, Arran, grim-faced. Thank the gods! But Ly? Where was Ly? The rug had fallen to the carriage floor, and Ly’s huge eyes emerged from beneath it. Relief washed over me.

“When I give the word, run inside as fast as you can,” my bodyguard said.

I nodded, still too shocked to speak. He unfastened the carriage door, hopped out himself and lifted me bodily to the ground.

“Now run!”

With my bodyguard on one side and Arran on the other, I took the steps two at a time, tore past the massive wooden doors, already being pushed shut, and didn’t stop until I’d reached the far side of the entrance hall. Yannassia and Torthran were there, breathless. Ly and his bodyguard came up behind me, then Hethryn. In a steady stream, the rest of the procession arrived, rushing in through the small side door, all that remained open. Everyone was there. Everyone was unscathed.

The door thumped shut. We were safe inside the Keep.

“Whatever happened?” I wailed, tears pricking my eyelids.

“Someone fired an arrow at you, Drina,” Arran said, hugging me fiercely. “Someone tried to
kill
you.”

“Or Ly,” Hethryn said. “It could have been either of you.”

~~~~~

“We were lucky this time,” Rythmarri said, her face sober. “Not just because the assassin missed his mark, but that he chose a vantage point with only one exit. Once Highness Arran had pointed him out at the upper window, one of the High Commander’s honour guard knew just where to wait for him as he crept out. He will not have another opportunity to fire arrows at the Drashona’s family.”

“You have him imprisoned?” Hethryn said. My heart turned over for him, still so innocent. Rythmarri shook her head, and Hethryn’s eyes widened.

“Surely we could have questioned him?” Hethryn said. “Got some information from him. Perhaps found out if he was alone, or whether we should expect another attempt.”

We were in one of the private rooms in Yannassia’s apartment. Three separate fireplaces in a line down the centre of the room and an array of heavy furniture made it anything but a cosy, intimate place. We all clustered in the window bay at one end, while Yannassia’s youngest child, Torthrina, absorbed in a game with her nurses at the other end, was so far away we could barely hear her high-pitched shrieks.

Rythmarri raised an eyebrow. “We
could
have questioned him, but he would not have told us the truth.”

“The mages—” Hethryn began.

Rythmarri interrupted him quickly. “—have no power to compel the truth. They can judge what they hear, and identify a lie, but they cannot force a prisoner to speak.”

“But Ly and Drina can see into minds,” Hethryn objected.

“Only through the eagles,” I said. “And only with others who are bonded to beasts.”

His face fell, but he nodded.

“So have we any idea who this person is?” Yannassia said.

“None at all,” said Rythmarri. “He is not known to us, or to the army, or any of the guards. His clothes were an ordinary Bennamorian type, although quite new. But he was
not
Bennamorian. He had no status tattoos on either arm.”

“Icthari?” I suggested. It wouldn’t be the first time the Icthari had tried to kill me.

Rythmarri shook her head. “I do not think so. They have a very distinctive appearance – the skin, the nose. Nor did this fellow have the yellow hair common in our coastal cousins. Brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin – he could be from anywhere on the plains or the sun-blessed lands.”

“Or the Clanlands,” Ly said. He’d been sunk in gloom in the two suns since the failed assassination attempt, but now his head lifted abruptly. “Did this man have
any
tattoos? On the back of his neck, perhaps?”

“Ah.” Rythmarri eyed him thoughtfully. “That means something to you? Would you – it is an imposition, I know – but would you look at him, Most Powerful? Perhaps you may know him.”

Ly nodded. “And perhaps Drina should see him, too. She has met some of my kin, and she might recognise this man.”

Arran came too, of course, and I was glad of his support. I’d seen many dead bodies in recent years, more than anyone should have to see, but they’d been some distance away, no more than shapes on the ground. It was very different to gaze into the face of a man lying dead only a handspan away.

The body of the assassin was in a cool corner of the cellars. We walked past barrels of ale and stacks of cheeses and racks of aromatic herbs hung up to dry, and into a tiny room that might have stored buckets or empty oil flasks. Instead, there were several marble-topped tables, a large sink, and not much else. Only one table was occupied, a sheet draped over the still form. Rythmarri flicked a corner of the sheet aside, and there he was, the man who had tried to kill me. Or Ly.

Young, so young, that was my first thought. He looked to be no more than fifteen or so, although perhaps that was just an illusion and death had smoothed away any sign of maturity. He was skinny, with softly curling brown hair, reminding me forcibly of Ly when I’d first known him. But the face was different. The nose was thinner and the lips fuller.

“I do not know him,” Ly said. He was remarkably composed.

Unlike me, clinging to Arran’s hand. “I don’t know him either,” I managed to say. I felt sick.

“Will someone help me turn him over?” Rythmarri said. Arran stepped forward, and between them they rolled the body over onto his front. He wore rough-woven, undyed woollen trousers and tunic, the traditional clothes for the burning. Rythmarri pushed aside the hair that fell over the man’s neck. There, well hidden, was a row of tiny tattoos.

Ly peered closely at them. For a long time he was motionless, intent, as we waited. When he raised his head, he was frowning. “Do you have his bow?”

“On the shelf over there, under his clothes.”

Ly rummaged, and then produced the bow and a small quiver, still well filled. He ran his hands up and down the bow, flexed it, tested the string, then pulled it back hard.

He set the bow down again. “The marks say that this man is fisher Clan born, hunter Clan raised, tracker Clan adopted. Hunters and trackers have formidable skill with the bow, and this is a Clan bow, more powerful and accurate than anything made in Bennamore. He also has the symbol of an archery hero – so we call those who win a contest.” Ly looked round at us, face serious. “This man did not miss his mark. If he had wanted to kill either of us – or both of us – he could have done it easily.”

“Then what was the purpose?” I said.

“It was a message,” Ly said. “A plea.”

“A plea? What does he want you to do?”

“The plea is not to me, but to the gods. I am
byan shar
, the chosen one of the gods, gifted with god-like powers so that I might lead my people to good fortune. This man asks the gods to determine if I am worthy of that honour.”

“And how will they do that?”

He looked at me, unsmiling. “That remains to be seen.”

~~~~~

I felt sorry for Ly, trying to explain it all to Yannassia. Half a dozen times she asked, “Yes, but what does it
mean
?” in increasingly petulant tones. Each time Ly gave her some variation of the same answer: that he didn’t know and couldn’t guess.

“Who can say what the gods might do?” he said patiently. “That is a matter for them to decide.”

“Has this happened before?” I asked.

“A plea over a
byan shar
? I do not think so. It is not uncommon with the Clan elders – one of the young men becomes impatient of an older one clinging to a leadership role long past his time. There might even be a public plea, the arrow set at the feet of the elder and a formal speech laying out the reasons for the gods to intervene. But more usually it is secret, like this – an arrow out of nowhere. That happens when some of the Clan disagree with a policy matter.”

“And how do the gods answer pleas of that type?” Hethryn said. That was a good question.

Ly pursed his lips, lost in thought. “An elder might twist his ankle in a rodent hole. Another might become ill. Or the bonded beast might suffer misfortune. All of those would be clear signs. Sometimes misfortune befalls the one who makes the plea. But sometimes – nothing obvious happens.”

Yannassia huffed in impatience. “This is all too vague and insubstantial. Might, might, might. So your gods
might
do something against you, or they
might
do something to support you, or they
might
do nothing at all.”

“I am very sorry,” Ly said, hanging his head. “I cannot give you any better answer.”

“You have not given me an answer at all,” Yannassia snapped.

“It seems to me,” Hethryn said, “that the man who made the plea has already suffered misfortune. He is dead, after all. So perhaps the gods have responded to the plea.”

That brought a smile to Yannassia’s face. “You may be right, Hethryn. Well, we can do no more for now. But Ly, how does this affect your plan to attend your people’s ceremony this summer? Shall you abandon the idea now?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “After this, it is more important than ever that I show myself and demonstrate my power.”

“Will you be at risk?” I said. “Might someone else decide to take a pop at you, someone who wouldn’t shoot wide?”

“No risk. Clanfolk do not kill each other. That is not how we do things. It will be quite safe for me.”

“Hmm. That sounds a little idealistic, to me,” Yannassia said with a smile. “I never heard of a society yet where murder is unknown. There are always grievances, temptations, benefits, and out in the wilder parts of the world, it is easy enough for such crimes to go undetected.”

Ly raised his hands with a little smile to acknowledge the point. “It is not unknown, that is true enough, but it is more difficult without stone walls to hide secrets behind. Clanfolk live their lives in the open, all grievances and temptations known by all, and the elders will take measures to deal with any problems. Anyone who transgresses may be made clanless, which is a serious penalty. A murderer would himself be killed by his clan. It is very, very rare. I assure you, I will not be in danger.”

“Very well,” Yannassia said. “You may go with my blessing. But I do not want you to go alone, not when it seems that someone does not like you very much. Rythmarri, do you have anyone you can send with Ly?”

“None of my people speak the language, Highness.”

Ly’s face was filled with anxiety. “Even knowing the language – it would be very difficult to mix with Clanfolk without being detected.”

Rythmarri smiled. “I assure you, Highness, with a little training, a skilled specialist can mingle anywhere. You would not even notice him, I assure you.”

“Him?” Yannassia said. “You have someone in mind?”

“An old friend of Highness Axandrina’s – Lathran. He is perfect for such operations. If perhaps Highness Ly-haam would be so obliging as to teach him the Blood Clans’ language—?”

Ly hesitated.

“I should like to learn, too,” Arran said.

Ly turned to him with a sudden smile. “Really? It would be a privilege to share my language with you. And Lathran. If Drina permits.”

“We will all learn,” I said. “It will be fun.”

~~~~~

As it turned out, learning Ly’s language was no fun at all. Not for me, anyway. I’d thought it would be easy, given my ability with languages which allowed me to understand what was said, even in a language I’d never heard before. It was a trick that had served me well in the past, and had even saved my life once. Now it made it impossible for me to learn to speak Ly’s language. Whatever he said, I understood the meaning perfectly. Once, I had also been able to hear the words themselves, but now my mind was so closely attuned to his that the sounds were lost to me. Only when Arran or Lathran repeated them could I hear the words. So in the end I left them to it.