The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “That’s bad driving,” Kristabel said indignantly as the third one sped past, cloaked in a mild seclusion haze. “I recognize the crest; it belongs to the Ivesol family. I bet it’s Corille off to their pavilion on Korbal Mount. She’s started seeing Jamis on the sly, the third son of Upral, you know, the head of the Tarmorl family. And she’s the oldest daughter; there’s quite a dowry involved. I’ve heard her father say he wished his family copied ours, for she’d make a better District Mistress than her brother will ever do as Master.”

  “Really?”

  Kristabel’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. She rapped her knuckles on his arm. “Don’t be a beast. These things are important. Those two families haven’t been allied for over a century and a half.”

  “I’ll try and remember. Remind me, which district belongs to the Ivesols?”

  “Lisieux Park.”

  “Okay.” As he recalled, the Park’s Master was a waverer in Council, leaning toward the current Mayor. He wondered if a family alliance with the shipowning Tarmorls would tilt the Master toward Finitan.

  “It helps,” Kristabel said slyly.

  “What does?”

  “That the Tarmorls support Finitan.”

  “Ah.” Edeard grinned sheepishly. What would I do without her?

  He wondered yet again if it was the right time to propose. It had been weeks since their break at the beach lodge, and he’d done his utmost to make time for himself and Kristabel at every opportunity. Yet his terror was now that she’d just think his only concern was time. It wasn’t. There wasn’t a minute of the day that went past without him thinking of the life they could have together as man and wife.

  He sighed as he scooted around a cart piled dangerously high with cages of geese. There must be some event or action that would convince her of how genuine he was, how much he’d thought it over and still couldn’t see a life without her. Maybe if I just say that.

  But then, what if it’s not good enough? Oh, Lady, why do you do this to me?

  Not that her scriptures were any help. The closest she ever came on matters of the human heart was: “Look into each other’s souls and see yourself reflected; there is the true sign of a blessed union.”

  The only trouble was, with the Lady being so old, every time he recalled a scripture, he heard it in Mistress Florrel’s voice.

  Talk about a passion-killer.

  The pens along High Moat summoned a real wave of nostalgia. This was the first part of Makkathran that Edeard had ever experienced. He remembered being overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of people and animals sauntering along the tracks. The noise and dust were exactly the same as that day; if anything, the traffic was thicker now. Three caravans were on their way out of the North Gate, hustled along by the Travel Master’s apprentices, who were trying to keep everyone moving at a decent rate and avoid jams at junctions between the various tracks. Instructions were shouted and longtalked, adding to the good-natured commotion.

  Two caravans had arrived first thing that day. Stragglers were still lumbering along in big wagons drawn by bulky, stolid ge-horses. Edeard and Kristabel fell in behind one as they approached the pens. Assessors from several merchant houses were already walking alongside them, small ge-chimps curled up on their shoulders. Edeard remembered the little creatures with a fond smile. The caravan families hated them: Their job was to scamper up the crates and cages, examining produce with their oversize eyes and exceptionally sensitive noses, hunting for blemishes that had been strategically positioned out of sight.

  Edeard and Kristabel arrived at the three pens that Barkus had been allocated and stood for a moment looking at the wagons. Five were new, but Edeard recognized every one of the remainder. O’lrany’s cart, with pigs peering over the rear, was pungent as ever, though the O’lranys always claimed they could smell nothing. He saw the wagon of dark jarash with its intricate inlays of claret-colored wood that Golthor chiseled in each winter. Olcus was inspecting the axle of his wagon while his three young children ran about in gleeful pursuit of a whistling loop. Olcus gave Edeard a strange look, then craned forward as if not quite believing the tall young man in a jet-black constable’s uniform.

  “Edeard!” The man laughed joyfully and flung his arms wide. “You backward village boy. By the Lady, look at you!”

  Edeard grinned and foolishly stepped into the embrace, only to have the man’s powerful arms almost crush him in welcome. He’d been slightly apprehensive at how they’d greet him, but Olcus immediately dispelled all his apprehensions. The rest of the families were hurrying forward now, calling out salutations. He was hugged and kissed, had his hand shaken and his back slapped.

  “My boy!” Barkus exclaimed.

  Everyone cleared away, and Edeard put his arms around the old man. For once he was glad of the skill he’d acquired in the city at shielding his thoughts. Barkus had aged disturbingly. His white whiskers were thinner than before, and the thickset body appeared almost frail. He walked with the aid of a stick that was necessitated by a pronounced shaking in his knees. His waistcoat, however, was a colorful extravaganza of scarlet and topaz with thin silver piping.

  “Good to see you, sir,” Edeard said.

  “We have heard so much about you,” Barkus said. “I couldn’t believe it at first. Rumors of the Waterwalker traveled far and wide among the provinces, but we never connected them to you. And now look at you.” His hands plucked at Edeard’s jacket. “Wearing a corporal’s epaulets, no less. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, sir. And yourself, how fares the caravan?”

  “Pha!” Barkus raised his stick in disgust. “Look at this wretched thing. A stupid fall in the snow last winter, and my leg snaps like glass. Our doctor has forbidden me from riding; I must sit passively on the wagon while my sons lead us through the mountains. The Lady tests me sorely with so much indignity.”

  “You look well.”

  “Ha. Liar! But I forgive you. Now, then, there is someone with us who is eager to meet you.” The old man grinned mischievously as he turned toward his splendid covered wagon, calling eagerly with longtalk. Edeard took the moment to turn and beckon Kristabel forward. She walked timidly through the caravan families, unused to being completely ignored, but of course none of them knew who she was. Edeard had been waiting for this moment for a long time; for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, it was important to him that Barkus and Kristabel approve of each other. He held her hand and turned back to Barkus, not really seeing the blue-and-white-clad figure stepping out of the wagon. His smile was proud as he opened his mouth to begin the introductions.

  “Edeard!” Salrana cried, and sprinted past Barkus to fling her arms around him and land an effusive kiss on his mouth. “Oh, my darling, it’s been so long.”

  “Look who we found in Ufford,” Barkus said happily. “She’s the one who’s been busy telling us of all you’ve achieved.”

  “Take me to bed right now,” Salrana whispered in his ear with a hot breath. “I don’t want to wait another minute.”

  Every muscle in Edeard’s body had frozen in shock—and misery. Shame was inflicting a fair share of the terrible immobility as well.

  Salrana swayed back, puzzlement registering on her vibrant face and seeping into her mind. “Edeard?”

  “Uh,” he groaned. His gaze went automatically to Kristabel, who was also standing rigidly, her composure chilling down to an emotionless stare. He had never realized before how similar they were; tall, slim, bright, lovely … But then he hadn’t thought about Salrana for a long time now; his mind had conveniently pushed her aside.

  Everyone around them turned amazingly silent as they watched the reunion. They watched Salrana look at Kristabel, and no mental shield was strong enough to cover the dawning realization in her mind. Her shoulders straightened. For a moment the two girls simply stared at each other. Salrana put her hand out. “I’m Salrana; Edeard and I grew up together.”

  “Kristabel.” The hand was shaken gracefully. “He neglecte
d to mention that.”

  As one the caravan families turned to Edeard, except for Barkus, who sighed softly and raised his eyes to the clear blue sky above.

  Edeard’s farsight revealed a small city tunnel five yards below the pen. He really could make the ground open up and swallow him, as if he were some frightened drakken burrowing away from peril. It was hugely tempting. Yet such cowardice would alienate Kristabel forever.

  He dipped his head in penance to his love. “I’m sorry. I should have told you that Novice Salrana and I survived Ashwell together. Salrana, I should have sent word that I am about to become engaged. I apologize; my behavior is inexcusable.”

  Kristabel’s lips pouted as she gave him a curious look, but she said nothing. Her thoughts were none too steady.

  “I see,” Salrana said, sounding as though she’d expected it all along. “Congratulations to you both.”

  “Come along, my dear,” Barkus said, putting his free arm around Salrana’s shoulders. “I’ll see you later, Edeard. That’s if you can spare us an ounce of your valuable time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Edeard mumbled meekly.

  The rest of the families abruptly discovered something else that they had to be getting on with. Olcus gave Edeard a scolding glance as he turned away, propelling his children ahead of him. The eldest O’lrany lad produced a mischievous thumbs-up before his mother shoved him along.

  “I’d like to go home now,” Kristabel said with fragile dignity.

  “Of course.”

  They walked out of the pens together, receiving curious looks from the assessors who were still arriving. Edeard didn’t dare say anything to her. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed such a mess to happen. Putting off dealing with Salrana was probably the single most stupid thing he’d ever done, aside from not telling Kristabel about her, of course.

  When they passed the end of a stable block, he suddenly grabbed Kristabel’s hand and pulled her off the track. She was too surprised to complain. Edeard conjured up his concealment around the pair of them as he stopped in the shadow of the stable’s rear wall. A seclusion haze simply wasn’t good enough for this. He wanted absolute privacy.

  Kristabel frowned as her farsight probed the psychic baffle. “You’re not supposed to know how to use that.” Then she drew a sharp breath as Edeard dropped to one knee.

  “Mistress Kristabel, I love you more than I know how to say, and I cannot imagine a life without you. Would you please consent to marrying me? I know this isn’t the correct way, but I don’t care. I just want you. I will fight the Skylords themselves if that’s what it takes to prove my love.”

  “Edeard?”

  “I know I always mess up, but I don’t mean to, really, I don’t.”

  “Yes.”

  “I just didn’t know what to do about Salrana, so I kept on ignoring the problem.”

  “I said yes.”

  “I don’t know what I was … What?”

  Kristabel knelt down beside him, grasping his hands in hers, and smiling. “I said yes, I’ll marry you.”

  Edeard’s concealment faltered as he stared at her beautiful face. “Oh, Lady. You did, didn’t you?”

  She inclined her head slightly, proffering herself for a kiss. He touched his lips to hers, and nothing else mattered anymore. After the kiss, they just grinned at each other. Edeard slowly realized that a couple of giggling stable hands were peering around the corner, goggling at them. Longtalk calls were pouring out to their friends as they gifted everyone the sight of the Waterwalker and the future Mistress of Haxpen kneeling in the mud while snogging.

  “Er, yes,” Edeard said, hurriedly rising to his feet. He held out a hand to Kristabel. She stood and gave the dark dripping stain down the front of her skirt a peevish look. Now that Edeard was concentrating on his surroundings, there was quite a pungent smell of manure. A horrified examination of the ground revealed that it wasn’t just mud they were standing in. A mortified groan started up at the back of his throat.

  Kristabel giggled wildly.

  “Get about your business,” Edeard snapped at the youngsters, and put on a fierce expression. They fled, laughing all the way.

  Kristabel hugged him delightedly. “You are going to be the one who explains to our children how you proposed.”

  “Yes,” he said meekly.

  She kissed him properly. “There’s no need to fight a Skylord. You know how I feel about you.”

  “Yes.” He glanced at the worn gray planks that made up the back of the stable. “Can we, er …?”

  “Yes.” She held out her arm, and Edeard led her away from the stable back to the path.

  “I appreciate the sentiment, though,” Kristabel said. “Actually, I’m quite intrigued how you would fight a Skylord.”

  Edeard blushed. “Me, too. Do I ask your father now?”

  “Yes.” She gathered her composure and looked straight ahead. “And if he approves, he will put the motion before the Upper Council for a vote.”

  “Right … What?”

  “The direct heir of a District Master or Mistress has to get Council approval for the marriage. It’s a formality. It dates back to the Nighthouse inheritance crisis eleven hundred years ago, when the Master forbade his eldest son to marry a woman from Myco. He’d fallen out with her father; some dispute about unpaid cargo. He threatened to disinherit him, which the son challenged in court, so the Master had the law changed. After that the families used it to make sure the ‘right people’ produced heirs. Nobody bothers with that anymore; the really important marriages are quietly arranged between houses. Law simply becomes tradition. But it actually is still law.”

  “Oh, dear Lady. When I am Mayor, I’m going to repeal every stupid law this city has and replace them all with something simple.”

  “When you’re Mayor?”

  Edeard cleared his throat. “If.”

  “You’re serious about that, aren’t you?”

  “Do you really think in this day and age I should have to ask Bise or even Owain’s permission to marry you?”

  “I suppose it is unpleasant if you think about it closely. But I’ve grown up with all this, so I just know the way things work. It hasn’t bothered me before.”

  “So, was your father arranging a fiancé for you?”

  “No. Daddy wouldn’t do that. Not that it stopped other families from petitioning him, mind you. There were a lot of suitors.”

  “Oh.” The idea of someone as beautiful and spirited as Kristabel being married off to some dismal second son for the sake of dynastic status quo was repulsive. It sent him thinking about everything Ranalee had said about bloodlines. Yes, that law will definitely have to be removed. He suspected it would take more than that to loosen the nobility’s’ stranglehold on Makkathran’s society.

  “Why now?” Kristabel asked softly as they neared the North Curve Canal.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why did you propose now? I mean, I know Salrana made it happen, but I’m curious why she did.”

  “It wasn’t guilt,” he said quickly. “Salrana and I were so comfortable with each other. We’d been through so much together. I’ve known her all my life. We were going to be lovers when she got back from Ufford, which would have led to us getting married, I suppose; at least I always thought it would. Then I met you.”

  “You agreed you were going to be lovers?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “Sounds like the country town version of our family arrangements.”

  “I’m not explaining this well. The point is, when I saw her today, I felt just terrible at what I was doing to her. I really have broken her heart, which is about as unpleasant as you can get. She doesn’t deserve that; she’s such a nice person, the best our village ever produced. But despite that, there was no choice. I was never torn between the two of you. It was you and only you.”

  She stopped and kissed him again. “That’s lovely and very flattering. I think.”

  “I love you, Kristabel,” he sa
id simply.

  “And I love you, too. So the first thing we have to do is go and tell Daddy the good news.”

  And dear old Uncle Lorin the bad. “Right!” He straightened his shoulders and took a breath. “I can do that. We’ll go and do it now.”

  “You understand, don’t you, that after he says yes, we have absolutely no say in anything. If you thought you’d encountered tradition in this city before, it’s nothing compared to what’s about to happen. The formalities of marriage for the direct heir of a District Master were scripted a thousand years ago, and it does not change, not even for Haxpen and the odd Mistress like me.”

  “Er, okay,” he said apprehensively.

  “Ah, you say that now …”

  “As long as you and I are together at the end of it, the city can do its worst. I mean, how bad can it be?”

  Edeard arrived at the base of the Blue Tower in midafternoon and looked up at the tall structure looming over the Tosella district. Its azure walls almost matched the bright cloudless sky above, as if it were attempting its own variant of concealment. As he walked forward, the shadows thrown by its huge buttresses fell across him. There was something about the Eggshaper Guild headquarters that always slightly intimidated him, and he was never sure why.

  He walked into the grand entrance hall with its dark red flooring, standing in the angled grid of thick sunbeams shining down through the lancet windows far above. A guild guard approached, wearing his plain white tunic under a pale drosilk jacket. Edeard gave him a wary glance. It was the same sergeant who had intercepted him on his first visit there.

  “Waterwalker,” the sergeant said.

  “Sergeant Eachal. Grand Master Finitan asked to see me.”

  A reserved smile crept onto the sergeant’s face. “I know. It’s always best to turn up here with an appointment.”