Shadowless: Book 1 of the Ilmaen Quartet

by Helen Bell

  Renia had her arms folded on the rail of the verandah, her head resting on them, as she tried to settle herself. The last act had just ended and the musicians launched straight into the next song. Immediately two flashes of colour were in the centre of them: Jesral and Nina, encouraging the crowd to clap along to the music. Copper hair and fair skin, raven and dark; the brightness of their jewel-coloured skirts almost hurt the eyes and the loose white tops they wore bared a lot of shoulder as they danced. The music settled to a lower pitch as the two girls instructed the crowd on the words of the chorus and the steps of the dance, but when the music rose again for the first chorus Renia could see it must be a traditional piece, for the audience threw the words back first time:

  O, I'll dance for a rich man, I'll dance for a poor,

  I'll dance and I'll dance till I wear out the floor,

  I'll dance in the morning, I'll dance in the night,

  I'll dance till you manage to get these steps right,

  I'll dance till I'm tired and my shoe leather's gone,

  But if you're a working man, I'll dance one more song.

  Happy that the crowd knew their part, Jesral and Nina now used the next verse to call for any of the town's bakers to make themselves known. Two half-volunteered, half got themselves pushed forward by their friends, and the girls pulled them out to dance the chorus while the crowd sang it, putting in the men’s trade in the appropriate line. They received a kiss to make up for the embarrassment and were danced back to their friends. The next verse was a discussion on which trade to choose next, and it turned out to be tailors. A couple who appeared to be father and son came forward, and the father, despite his elderly looks, turned out a lively heel and toe with Jesral.

  More discussion, and the two women called for soldiers. They knew from Kerin that none would be off duty in the town; the system at Karn worked in such a way that the garrison would be on six weeks’ continuous duty and then transferred elsewhere in the province before being given leave. When no soldiers volunteered, Jesral and Nina enlisted the crowd's help in another verse that harried the men on duty up on the third wall and on the keep. The men on the wall bantered back but were not going to leave their posts, so Nina and Jesral abandoned the verse and tried to talk the men on the keep down with a variety of promises and insults which the crowd would never have risked, but which had soldiers and townspeople alike roaring with laughter. In the end they negotiated the 'release' of a couple of the fort's kitchen scullions as an alternative, and whirled the lads around for a chorus.

  They settled back into the pattern of taking traders from the crowd for a verse or two more. Renia finished the destruction of her fingernails as she watched the keep guards go back to their patrol. If anything went wrong it was likely to be now.

  Jesral and Nina finished, the next act started, ran through and ended; the guards on the keep continued to patrol normally. Either the rescue party was in, or it had been abandoned. Renia tried to relax and watch the rest of the show. It continued smoothly, barely disturbed by the arrival of a group of men on horses who drew up and dismounted by the stables. One of them, dark-haired, bearded and alert, stayed mounted and wheeled his horse round to stare across the heads in the crowd at the show. It was hard to put an age to him; his hair was black but with streaks of grey, and the beard was showing signs of grey too. Whether they faced him or not, the crowd in his line of sight seemed to move aside as if to avoid blocking his view, even though, from horseback, that view must be unobstructed.

  Some of the townsfolk in front of Atune’s wagon knew who he was; they nudged each other and murmured together, watching him. Renia leant over and asked one of them, ‘Who's that man on the horse?’

  ‘That? That's Lemno.’ The man almost spat the words out. Renia sat up and looked at him again in horror and fascination. The man was striking; as Kerin had said, his presence was unmistakable. To see him once would be to know him again anywhere. He could surely have only one reason for being here. He dismounted now and handed the reins to a stable hand, and she caught her breath.

  ‘Renia?’ Atune sensed that something was going on now, but Renia didn’t dare look away. He still stood there, casting a glance over the players once more; under her breath Renia pleaded, ‘Stay and watch, please stay and watch...’

  There was no way the others could have had time yet to free Jastur. If they were there and Lemno went in now then they were all done for. There had to be some way to make him stay, some diversion that could be caused!

  Lemno turned and began to walk on towards the gate to the third wall. Desperately Renia speeded up her murmured incantation.

  And Lemno stopped. He seemed to pause in thought for a moment then swung back to watch the show, exactly as she had wanted.

  So why was she suddenly even more frightened than before?

  She kept her eyes on him. After a moment of watching the act, he began to look at the crowd. No, through the crowd, as if he was searching for something. Her sensation of panic went up a notch.

  Atune reached across and touched her bare arm and Renia felt the panic surge out to her, making the old woman exclaim in alarm. Renia tried to pull away to spare her but Atune held on. At last she let Renia’s arm go.

  ‘Inside, now,’ she ordered. ‘And remember what I taught you.’

  Renia stumbled into the wagon, putting too much stress on her ankle and feeling a jolt of pain. It cleared her head a little.

  What was it she had to do? Nursery rhymes? Couldn't think of any. List the stars in the constellations? Oh, brain, wake up! Two times table. Two twos are four, three fours… no, three twos are six, four twos are eight...

  She calculated on blindly until Atune called out to her.

  ‘You can stop now.’

  Renia was breathing as heavily as if she had been running. She felt sick and dizzy, and slumped down on the nearest bunk and rested her head against the frame. With an effort Atune had managed to turn herself around. She looked through the doorway to the grey-faced girl.

  ‘What happened?’ Renia asked.

  ‘What you wanted. You asked him to stop, and he heard you.’

  ‘But I was whispering!’

  ‘No, no, dear. He heard your mind; you were sending. Didn't know you were doing it, did you?’

  Renia looked at her aghast. ‘You mean, he's like us?’

  ‘Almost certainly. And I'd say he was looking for you when I sent you in, and a bit of you half knew that. Good reason to panic. All that reciting business is to shut down the sending he could find and know you by.’

  Renia saw the truth of this. The real panic had not started at the thought of Lemno going in, but when he began looking around the crowd. Looking for her.

  ‘What if he finds me?’

  ‘I don't think you could keep him out – when I touch you, I get all you think and feel. And if he got in, he would know everything you know. Everything.’ Renia went from grey to white. ‘It's all right, he's given up looking. He's gone into the fort now.’

  ‘But the others,’ Renia reminded her.

  ‘There's nothing more to be done. But if he comes back this way, I don't want you here. He looked to have other business, couldn’t be bothered to hunt you out now. In an hour's time, who knows? So you go back into town, make your way round to Naylan's wagon, get in it and stay in it. No excuses; you're going. See that paper there? Fold it up like a letter. Tell Wosagh down by the green wagon that I'm sending you with a message for Cedas and he's to find me a driver in case those two girls don't get back here.’

  Renia helped the old woman to her bunk, shut up the van and limped away from the show.

  Chapter 21 – Captive

  Kerin arrived at the guardroom first and waited impatiently. It was a busy spot, with guards coming and going either on duty or off. Ironically it was also one of the safest places they could wait. He remembered of old how people tended to hang around here; he knew he’d not look out of place.

  It did not stop everyone tho
ugh. A passing guard sensed the tension Kerin could not hide.

  ‘You after anyone in particular?’ he enquired. Kerin couldn’t tell if the enquiry was from helpfulness or suspicion. He used the answer he had primed the others with.

  ‘I've been told to wait here for the Provost.’

  ‘The Provost! He doesn't venture down this way often. You been a naughty boy?’ The man thought his fidgeting stemmed from youthful inexperience. Kerin forced a nervous smile.

  ‘I don't know. He's never wanted to see me before.’ The note of concern he injected into his voice convinced the guard, who gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

  ‘Don't you worry. He's not much of a chap, this new one, he's hardly going to take your head off. I'm surprised at the Tekai appointing him; he usually goes for much tougher men. I don't suppose he'll last long though. Only got the one prisoner at the moment and he's a raving madman; as soon as we get a few more, this Provost'll be put off. The damned fool's had the same people guarding this lunatic pretender since they brought him in. That's all right by me so long as I'm not one of them, but damned if I'll be stuck on dungeon duty for months at a time if they get any more in. And it's been unnaturally quiet here for months now. We're sure to get some more in soon.’

  Vel and Naylan had arrived, approaching cautiously when they saw Kerin talking to the guard. He looked at them in surprise.

  ‘What, more new boys?’ This despite Naylan's forty-plus years. ‘You here to meet the Provost too? Hell's knives, he must want to do his guided tour. Good luck with that. I can't waste any more of my break. Don't let him scare you!’

  ‘Where's Cedas?’ Vel asked once the guard had gone far enough away.

  ‘He was sent on an errand.’ There was still no sign of him, and the guard's words had lent urgent hope to Kerin. He beckoned the others.

  ‘We'll have to leave him to follow on. I’m not waiting any longer. He knows the way.’

  He led them past the guardroom, down the well-rehearsed route along stairs and labyrinthine passages until it felt as though they must be in the heart of the earth. Beyond a certain point they passed no one, and no natural light entered the corridors: feeble rushlights gave a faint glow to light their way, with brighter lamps at intervals.

  Finally they paused near the end of a wider corridor. A stairwell – their escape route – rose halfway along this passage, and a solid-looking door barred the far end. Beside this door another stood part open, with lamplight pouring out. The lower dungeon warders would be there; the last human obstacle. Kerin looked at the others, and Naylan nodded and walked up the corridor hurriedly.

  He went through the open door; the other two listened to the conversation that followed.

  ‘Byorin,’ burst out Naylan, ‘is he here?’ They had chosen a common name to ask about, in the hope that it would strike a chord.

  ‘Which Byorin?’

  ‘Oh, I don't know his Hed. Medium height, dark-haired...’

  ‘That describes them both.’

  Great. Well, do you know where either of them is? At least I can eliminate the wrong one.’

  ‘Hed Bergen's gone home on leave. I think Hedlewen's on second wall duty.’

  Naylan did an appropriate amount of cursing and left the room. As he came up to the others he could not risk speaking but gave an astonished grin and lifted one finger. Only one warder! He clattered a little further down the corridor for effect.

  Vel drew out the letter and checked the cosh he had ready in his jacket. He would have started along the corridor, but Kerin grabbed him and counted down ninety seconds before letting him go. Too eager and the warder would suspect.

  Vel followed Naylan's path and disappeared into the warder's room. Kerin hoped Vel would remember to stand with the warder between himself and the light before handing him the letter.

  ‘From the Provost, sir!’ his voice echoed. The warder grunted.

  ‘What does he want?’

  Kerin pictured the warder leaning down with the letter towards the light, his back to Vel, and sure enough heard a scuffle and a crash, and saw the light go out. Instantly he and Naylan were off along the corridor, but Vel's voice reached them before they got there.

  ‘Hell and blast, he’s broken the lamp! Bring a light, will you?’

  They searched both warder and room carefully, but found just one key. Possibly Lemno had taken the rest with him, having no reason to wish the one prisoner free in any way during his absence. They trussed and gagged the warder and tried the key in the heavy door that blocked the passage; it opened. Despite its age and weight, it swung silently.

  Confident of the bonds and gag on the warder, they piled him into a cupboard. Vel stayed by the door while Kerin and Naylan continued down the passage until it opened out. There were no lights now but those they carried. The place had a forsaken, disused look – Kerin could not picture a rat living here, let alone any human soul.

  They searched the chamber walls for a set of keys to the cells; the hooks were bare. All they could do was peer into each of the cells that materialized from the gloom as they moved on. But they could see nothing, even with the rushlights held to the grille: Kerin could only speak his brother's name at each one.

  And in vain. Silence met him at each door. Naylan followed on; Kerin hid the anguish and doubt as he moved on to each cell but he couldn’t help looking back, in case the last one did hold his brother and he had failed to catch a weak call, a movement within.

  Seven doors. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. If ever he was going to let another man see him cry, it might be now.

  ‘Go away,’ a voice from the eleventh cell ordered Kerin as he was about to do so. He was back at the grille in an instant.

  ‘Jastur? It's Kerin.’

  ‘Your humour grows ever more puerile. Go away.’

  ‘It is me! It’s Kerin!’ He spoke louder and held the rushlight to his face. There was a slight scraping noise in the cell. Fingers appeared at the grille, a face was pressed to it and then it flinched away.

  ‘Wait, wait. Let me get accustomed to the light,’ said the voice calmly. Kerin smiled elatedly, recognizing those reasonable tones. He composed himself and peered through the grille. After a moment, the eyes on the other side met his.

  ‘Kerin? He told me you were dead.’

  ‘Wishful thinking. I don’t die so easily. I have friends here: we’ll get you out. Be patient a little longer.’

  oOo

  After a lot longer Naylan mopped at his brow.

  ‘This is some lock. I haven't seen one so complicated for a long time. Some foreign make. This isn’t going to be a quick job.’ Kerin squatted down next to him. ‘Make it as fast as you can, Naylan, because we have very little time.’

  Jastur leant against the grille.

  ‘There may be more than you think. The guard changes at eight-hour intervals. They check I am still breathing and leave food and water at every change. By my reckoning, it will be dead here for another three hours at the least.’ Kerin took this in and bent again to Naylan.

  ‘How noisy would it be if we forced the lock?’

  Naylan left off manipulating the tumblers momentarily, ran his hand over the casing and the outer frame and peered at it.

  ‘I don't think that’s going to happen. It’s too solidly made.’

  He carried on. The two of them hunched around the lock, Kerin directing as much light as he had and Naylan doing the best he could; he laboured delicately and Kerin watched with rapt attention.

  They both started up at the sound of running steps in the corridor. Kerin had whipped round with his sword unsheathed before Vel had slewed to a halt in front of them.

  ‘Someone’s coming. At least three people, by the footfalls. No way past them. We’ve got nowhere to go!’

  ‘The cells are all locked. We’ll make a stand here,’ Kerin ordered instantly. Vel drew his sword: Naylan muttered something and fumbled his out too. ‘Remember the training we have done,’ Kerin reminded Vel. ‘We’re n
ot lost yet. If we aren’t outnumbered, then we’re more than their match in a fight.’

  Lights approached and two men entered. They squared up to fight them – but almost immediately lowered their swords. The other men held rifles.

  ‘I told you,’ Vel muttered angrily.

  ‘Guns shouldn’t be issued,’ Kerin countered. ‘Not unless…’

  A tall, dark but greying man with a neatly trimmed beard had entered behind the gunmen and was staring at them by the glow of his lantern.

  ‘You… still alive? Good God, boy, you have the Devil’s own luck.’

  Kerin hesitated only a moment. Then he relaxed and, ignoring the astonished looks it brought from Vel and Naylan, sheathed his blade, folded his arms and settled back against the wall with a smile.

  ‘Surprised to see me, Lemno? You’re looking well. And I’m fine. I considered washing up dead on some Mhrydaineg beach, but knew you’d miss my company.’

  Lemno’s outrage only increased. He was used to his gaze annihilating such arrogance but Kerin stared back at him, with every intention of giving offence.

  Lemno's glare flicked briefly over Vel and Naylan, and Vel shuddered involuntarily. The bearded face now looked calmly towards Kerin again.

  ‘You’ve lived a charmed life, young man.’ Now Lemno had mastered his anger, his voice was melodious, rich-toned, as striking as the rest of him. ‘But this is the day you have pressed your luck too far. Had you any sense, you would have left your brother to his fate and aimed for the Crown yourself. Today I would have aided you in that; I came to put an end to him. Instead I have you both, and this time I shall be sure of an end to you both.’

  ‘What, you and these two?’ Kerin looked Lemno’s men up and down with a contemptuous smile as though goading some hopeless drunks in a bar brawl. Vel and Naylan were not doing so well though. Vel, whose courage he well knew, looked as if his soul was trying to back out through his spine. No one was better at inflicting mental terror by his mere presence than Lemno; yet once again the man had no such effect on him.