Shadowless: Book 1 of the Ilmaen Quartet

by Helen Bell

  ‘So the Federinese are very different people then?'

  'They are an experience not to be missed, for sure. I enjoyed their company, they are live-in-the-moment people like me: but their obsession with possessions and their willingness to take lives so lightly was very alien to me.'

  She was quiet for a while.

  'You've killed people, then?'

  'I have. I first took a life there: but it was in the heat of battle and I'd had to take another three to survive before I had a chance to dwell on it. In those circumstances, it's frighteningly easy to do.

  ‘I haven’t had to take a life in a duel yet. A duel’s much easier to control: there you focus the fight to a single point, and unless you get it very wrong it’s a point outside yourself. It doesn’t matter if a huge crowd watches you both, or no one; everything is concentrated on that point.

  ‘At first a battle feels like it has no focus. It is all around you. Then, as you try to follow it, you realize it is inside you. You feel and see and hear and smell everything that happens to those around you; you are them, and they are you. You may walk off a battlefield without a mark on you, but you carry all the damage it did around you for the rest of your life. Despite that, you’ll do it again if you have to; something compels you to fight despite the fear, and you don’t know if you rush into it in order to get it over, or to get better at fighting, or for darker reasons. Is that how you feel about your visions?’ he asked her suddenly.

  It was close enough. She gave him the smallest of nods.

  ‘Look,’ he continued, ‘I’m not going to lie and say it’s not dangerous; we are taking a great risk. We are challenging dangerous people. Know also that I will do what I think is the right thing for Jastur, whether it fits with your vision or not. But if you can live with that, well, I for one would be very glad of the company. And I promise…’ he caught her by the chin now, looking her in the eyes so she would see he was being truthful ‘…faithfully, I will take no unnecessary risks. Not with your life, not with my life, and most certainly not with Vel's life. Can you handle that?’

  She managed another tiny nod.

  ‘Then you are coming with us.’ He freed her chin and went to leave, then turned back. ‘But no more of those looks, agreed? They really bother me.’

  oOo

  That same evening, Melor pronounced Kerin well enough to travel. He also produced a small wooden trunk from which he took a considerable number of gold coins, packed into four small leather pouches. He emptied them out on the table; Renia and Vel were open-mouthed with wonder. They hadn’t realized there was that much money in the house.

  ‘I thought it might be wise to buy horses. I’m told if you look after them they make a good investment; when you don't need to travel, they are easily sold again.’

  ‘Where will you buy them?’ their guest asked.

  ‘Spetswll, day after tomorrow. It's not the biggest horse market around here, but it means we don’t have to pass the village, so there’s less chance of someone there seeing me with horses than if we went east to the proper horse fairs like Dorster or Waymes. We'll have a choice of second-hand or brand new tack, whichever you think best. But I should warn you, I’ve never ridden. I barely know the back end from the front on a horse. I’m relying on your advice when it comes to buying them, and you’ll have to teach these two to ride...’

  So two days later, Melor and Vel set off well before dawn on the long walk to Spetswll.

  Chapter 5 – Unwelcome News

  When they entered Spetswll, Melor had given Vel a surprise. The younger man had turned right, ready to go to the horse market, but Melor had tapped him on the shoulder and indicated that they were turning left instead. Vel followed, confused until they entered the street where the fine metalworkers had their shops. He stopped and turned to Vel.

  ‘Well, young man, which shop shall we try first? I've seen you gaze eagerly into the windows. Who does the best selection of swords?’

  ‘We're to have swords?’ Vel could not hide the excitement in his voice.

  ‘I wouldn't let you go without them. I know it’s a lot of money but it’s a lot of steel too, and you know how little of that there is since the Catastrophe. In fact I’d prefer that you had guns, but they’re well out of my price range, not to mention illegal for private citizens in Ilmaen. Seriously illegal, boy. Our guest says don’t even try it unless you want to prove your sister right. And I want Renia to have a knife. I don't suppose she would care to use it, but she’d have it if she needed to. Our guest says he will train you up. It seems he has some reputation as a swordsman.’

  ‘You talked to him about this?’ Vel was a little put out. Melor laid hold of Vel’s arm, to draw attention to the importance of his next words.

  ‘Yes, I talked to him. We have spoken about a number of things, including his background. Remember, he may be younger than you, but he has spent his life being trained to fight, trained to lead. He must be in command; your lives may depend on reacting quickly to an order from him – not just his life and yours, but Renia's too.’ He relaxed his stern attitude a little as Vel's belligerent expression turned to one of concern for his sister.

  ‘Lesson one for a prospective general, boy: before you can give orders, you must learn how to take them! Now, which shop should we look in?’

  Vel virtually dragged Melor to his chosen shop. He knew precisely the sword he wanted. It was at the back of a display in the window, not given the prominence of some more eye-catching weapons, but it had simple, solid lines and Vel had admired it on their last trip to Spetswll, months ago.

  Yes, it was still there! He was in the shop and had it down off the rack, giving it a few practice swings, before Melor had a chance to explain to the owner what they had come for; but the man's pique quickly faded on discovering that, despite appearances, they were serious buyers. There was space in his shop for his discerning customers to establish the weight and balance of a blade. Vel knew nothing of weights and balances; he only knew as he flourished it that it felt heavier than he had expected, but otherwise it felt entirely right.

  Getting a sword for their guest took a little longer. They did not know his tastes, only what he had asked Melor to tell the swordsmith, but they eventually picked one out of three shown to them. It was a little more ornate than Vel's, but then, that seemed only proper. Vel quickly picked a pretty yet sturdy knife for Renia; they paid and were out of the shop again. Melor let Vel gaze at his new possession briefly before urging him to put it out of sight in his pack, and they went back over their steps towards the cobblers’ street.

  They had brought their guest's remaining sea-ruined boot with them to match against a new pair. They hadn’t hoped to match the fit, let alone the quality, of the original – but it turned out near-perfect ones were just coming off the last. With a price agreed and a time set to return for the finished boots, they went on to the horse market. Here they would make no snap decisions. They looked around for some time. Again their guest had told Melor what to look out for, and there seemed a good choice for such a small town.

  In the end they opted for two bays, a mare and a gelding, and for Renia a smaller blue roan gelding with a sweet temperament. Vel spent some time talking to the mare they had decided should be his mount, trying to accustom himself to being close to such a fine animal and getting her used to him. However, Melor wanted to haggle with the seller, which inevitably involved some colourful language on both sides, and he still disliked doing that kind of thing in front of Vel even now he was full-grown. Melor solved the problem by pointing out the lateness of the hour, and that they still needed to pick up maps and saddles yet. The saddles he hoped to include in his price with the horse dealer, since the man sold both. So Melor dispatched Vel to the printers’ enclave, four or five streets up.

  This was an easy purchase to make, as he had very precise instructions. Three maps were needed: one that covered their area and the roads to the east, while the other two covered the south-west. He made more
fuss about getting the latest editions of those, so if anyone did come snooping, it would seem they had gone south-west. He had found it a little unnerving, the way all these details aimed at covering their tracks had come pouring from their guest as if they were second nature to him. At first Vel had been inclined to think him paranoid. But then he saw Renia actually relaxing for the first time in weeks, and Melor noting the instructions down approvingly. It had made Vel rethink his decision to go; but in the end he had reached the same conclusion – if with more misgivings than before.

  He was pondering all this when a bill-seller passed him. He was crying the news as usual, but due to his busy thoughts Vel walked on some way before he registered what the man was saying.

  ‘Read a bill! Read a bill! Crisis for Ilmaen. Crown-Designate and his brother dead in double tragedy. Read a bill!’

  Vel waved the man over and tendered the money for a broadsheet, which was duly presented. He read it through as he walked.

  Melor met him on the fringes of the horse market. Vel said nothing, just handed the bill over. Melor read it; they stared at each other wordlessly. Both of them knew what this would mean to their guest. Vel gazed bleakly at his bay mare, who returned the look with a sympathetic eye.

  ‘Do you think he will still want to go, Melor?’

  ‘I don’t know. And you?’

  Vel nodded firmly. ‘If he still wants to. This was no accident, not the Crown-Designate and his brother. This is Lemno getting rid of the claimants on Maregh’s behalf, like our guest said he would. Since he thought this might happen, I’m guessing he’s got a backup plan.’

  Melor heaved a sigh.

  ‘Well, we'd best pick those boots up. Then we must get back and break the news.’

  oOo

  It was deep into the evening when the sound of horses’ hooves rang down the cliffside path. Kerin heard them first and called Renia out; they had lamps to light the way, and blankets for the horses, and indoors a hot meal to welcome the travellers.

  Kerin took the bridles; he used the chance to check out the horses and was satisfied with their choice. Renia had instantly gone to the roan horse, guessing it to be hers. He noticed how she caught its great head lightly despite having little experience with horses, rubbing its nose and showing no fear of it.

  They stabled the horses and tidied away their tack; Melor and Renia had gone inside to serve up supper. But when they got in out of the chill, Melor did not seem to have got much done; he was poking at the fire, but Kerin knew Renia had banked it just a little while before. She meanwhile was swinging out the cooking pot and lifting it off its hook when Vel went to help her. He saw her look at her brother questioningly; he knew full well she could manage it on her own, so why was he helping her? He saw Vel glance at her briefly, then avoid her eyes. Something was wrong. Kerin hated the thought of questioning them after all they had done for him, and doubted he would like the answer anyway; a check of the swords they had bought seemed a good way to avoid any awkwardness.

  First he drew the more ornate blade and hefted it, checking it for balance, then he took some practice swings, parrying and thrusting at an imaginary opponent. He did not put much force into it, there being little room in the parlour; even so, he hoped they were impressed. It took a long time to get a sword wrist as flexible and strong as his. This was what he was good at, and he was proud of his skill; it might help to allay some of their fears if they saw he was way ahead of any swordsman they were ever likely to have seen. He put down that weapon and took up the second, plainer one, repeating the practice strokes, but he was more intrigued by this one. Vel mentioned, as if in passing, ‘I thought I'd have the plain one, and you the other.’ Kerin looked at Vel, whose face reddened just a shade.

  ‘What made you choose this one?’ he enquired. Vel shrugged in answer.

  ‘I don't know. I just liked the look of it. I chose it on impulse, I suppose.’ He seemed to be steeling himself for a lecture on his poor choice.

  ‘Good impulse. It’s a better sword by far than the other. You’ve paid for pure craftsmanship here, not ornamentation.’

  ‘Oh! Then I suppose you'd better have it.’ The reluctance in Vel's voice was not well disguised. Kerin smiled and held the pommel out to him.

  ‘Such a choice augurs well for your swordsmanship. “The best sword ends up in the hands of the best swordsman,” they say. I look forward to some rigorous practice sessions. Take it, look after it. I will show you how.’

  Finally Kerin took up the knife, which was just a little too small for his hand; a glance at Melor confirmed that this was for Renia. It had come in its own sheath, the simple chased design on the handle repeated on its cover.

  Resheathing it, Kerin handed it to her without comment.

  Melor stepped forward now, and actually put a hand on his shoulder. The old man had never ventured to touch Kerin before, outside of tending him in his illness. Kerin looked at him, surprised but not offended by the gesture.

  ‘A few words with you in private, sir?’ Kerin glanced briefly at the other two, and acquiesced. Melor led him off towards a sleeping alcove.

  ‘A cup of tea with supper, eh, Renia?’ he suggested as he drew the curtain shut behind him.

  Plans must have changed then, Kerin concluded; maybe they would not all be going. From the looks that had passed between them, Melor and Vel were in the know and Renia was not, so doubtless she was out of the trip. She would be upset, from what she had said earlier; and he would be the reason they changed the plan – her slowing him down or some such. He felt angry with them for leaving it so late to decide; it was not his fault, but she would resent it and he would be the obvious target for that resentment. Her good opinion had come to matter to him.

  Melor was ready to speak now. ‘I'd sit down if I were you, sir,’ were his first words. How strange! This decision was late, but not entirely unexpected and not one he needed to sit down for. ‘I would prefer to stand, thank you,’ he replied.

  Melor shrugged and continued, ‘We’d bought all the gear and the horses before we came across this.’ He drew a paper from his pocket, and Kerin saw now that this was something else entirely. Melor unfolded it, carefully flattened out the creases and held it out to him.

  ‘It’s news about the Crown. It's… not good.’

  Kerin took the broadsheet and read it through, quickly the first time then more slowly. The first reading confirmed what had sprung so horribly to mind, the second was to get the details; but on seeing the news in print he felt as if a cord was tightening round his heart. The second reading was a struggle against the prick of tears behind his eyes.

  He handed back the bill.

  ‘Thank you for letting me know.’

  ‘There’s no right time with this kind of news. I'm sorry for your loss.’

  Kerin nodded his thanks, still trying to compose himself. Too slow! He had been too slow. He managed to look at Melor, keeping his face expressionless, but the glistening in his eyes must surely give him away.

  ‘Umm, I need some time to myself now. I can’t say how long I’ll be. Excuse me.’

  oOo

  He was gone a long time. They ate without him. After a couple more hours Vel became concerned and wanted to go out looking lest their guest had hurt himself, but Melor would not let him. One of the lamps was gone from the lobby; Melor reasoned that if the young man had had the presence of mind to take a lamp to light his way, he did not intend to stumble over the cliff edge. Instead Melor packed them off to bed, so that when their guest got back in he would not have to face any of them till morning.

  But Renia could not settle. Melor had shown her the broadsheet after their guest rushed out, and myriad thoughts had flown round her head. Trying to work out how he had taken the news; judging the implications of this for them all; even picturing how she would feel if she were to receive this kind of news about Vel – a thought she had to shut down quickly. Lying in bed only set her head spinning until she felt dizzy and sick.

 
; Jastur dead, already. Always her thoughts came back to that. The level of fear the vision had raised in her, tying Vel in with their guest and Jastur, could not be blanked out. She’d read it wrong somehow, they weren’t all going to be in danger together. One of them was gone already, and she doubted that it was from a fever as the broadsheet had said. It must have been a violent death. If they went to Ilmaen now, what would they be going for? How long would it be before someone handed her such a broadsheet with Vel’s name on it? If only she could convince herself that her vision was wrong, if only she could make her brother stay here, and let their guest go to his fate without them. But even wishing it, even knowing of Jastur’s end, the path ahead of them was unavoidable: their guest and Vel would still go, and she would go with them, in dread.

  There was no prospect of sleep for her. She rose quietly and went back into the parlour. The dying fire still gave a little light, though not enough heat now for a clear spring night. If she was cold indoors, it must be bitter chill outside. So she raked over the embers and added more wood, fanning it back into life. While it picked up she went to the larder to pour and spice a cup of wine for their guest’s return, not watering it down as they normally did. She went to put the wine away; then she unstoppered the bottle again, and poured herself one too. Once the fire had retaken she made up a warming pan for their guest’s bed, mulled her cup of wine, and settled down on the fireside bench to drink it.

  It was perhaps quarter of an hour later that he came in, putting the lantern out while he was still in the lobby and shutting the doors as quietly as he could. He started in surprise when she rose from the bench and bent over the fire.

  ‘What, are you not gone to bed yet?’ he asked. She turned from the range towards him, a cup in her hands.

  ‘I went, but I couldn't sleep. You're shaking with cold! Here, come sit by the fire and drink this, I’ve mulled it for you.’

  He hesitated a moment, but the thought of the fire and wine was too tempting for him. He sank down into the seat. As the cup passed between them, they both spoke at once.