Fire and Fantasy: A Limited Edition Collection of Urban and Epic Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  She hesitated. She needed to get back but what other secrets might the Hamalain have? Where had they found such a monstrous tekrak? How had a Taymalin patterner learnt to control it? How had it even occurred to him that it could be controlled? Perhaps these were important questions to be answered after all. The scholar she had served would have wanted to know. He did not like mysteries. “Knowledge is the beginning of wisdom” was one of his favourite sayings.

  “Where is the old mother? I would like to talk to her.”

  The small crowd parted and the half-breed beckoned for her to follow.

  He led the way between the smoking buildings. If any effort had been used to put the fire out, nothing was happening now. Most of the fishing boats were out on the water and she could see their dark shapes as the villagers fished.

  “What did they want?” she said. “The men who came?”

  “They took our food,” he said and then choked. “And they took our daughters.”

  Kantees sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Will you take word of our loss to Hamalain?” he said.

  “I will tell them what happened. They will take revenge on these people.”

  He stopped and turned. “We do not want revenge, mistress of the zirichak, just our daughters back.”

  If they have not been murdered after being raped, she thought, but did not say. There was no need, the people in the village knew why the girls had been taken. Kantees found her palms were itching. She wanted to be away, and she desperately wanted to find these raiders and let Sheesha tear out their throats one by one. There was nothing in them that was redeemable.

  She knew she could not take on every woe of the world and put it right but here the needs of these poor people coincide with her own. She could do what she could to help them.

  “How many girls?”

  “Five, including my Jakanda.”

  She did not ask how old. She did not want to know but that they had taken the daughters meant they wanted young ones who would be too scared and too weak to fight back. Those men were base cowards.

  They had left the village now and walked along the pebbled beach close to the waterline. There was a cave mouth and carved steps leading up to it. They were ancient and worn, with dips in the centre where uncounted feet had climbed through the uncounted years.

  Patterns were carved around the entrance. Kantees was not curious about them, for she did not want a patterner’s skills even if they could be useful. She supposed that, given the right patterns, she could control Sheesha’s magic just as the tekrak was controlled. But she did not want that. Sheesha’s power was his own. He was free to give it or not. She had no right to force it from him.

  A short tunnel, with a trickle of water running along it, led inside to a large room. It was lit by a couple of candles and as her eyes adjusted she could see there was not a single surface where a pattern had not been inscribed.

  The old mother was not that old. Kantees guessed her to be barely into her middle age and she got up without any difficulty when Kantees entered. She was Taymalin by her look.

  “What is your name, Kadralin?” barked the woman.

  “I am Kantees,” she responded instantly, unable to hold it in.

  “And you ride the ziri even though it is forbidden.”

  Kantees was not impressed. “If you know already everything about me then tell me what I want to know and I’ll be on my way.”

  The woman grinned and gestured to the chair. “I saw you fly over and it made me curious. What is a Kadralin girl doing riding such a fine beast that could only come from the towers of a Taymalin castle?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  “I do not.”

  The woman shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

  “I was told you said the Slissac had returned.”

  She shook her head. “What I said was that the Kisharuk stirs and the tools of the Slissac are abroad.”

  “The Kisharuk is a myth told to scare the children of the Taymalin.”

  “You think so?”

  “Even if it was real, it’s got nothing to do with us.”

  “If it was real,” said the old mother, “do you think it would make a distinction between Taymalin and Kadralin?”

  Kantees frowned and tried something else. “What tools of the Slissac?”

  “The giant tekrak.”

  “The Slissac made it?”

  The woman nodded and then drank from a cup she had at her side. “We are skilled with material things. But where we make machines, the Slissac moulded the patterns of living creatures to do their bidding.”

  Kantees shook her head again. “You can’t do that.”

  “And you are so wise in the ways of patterns you can say that?”

  “When Taymar escaped from the Slissac with his people, they would have known how to do it. But as you say, we make things, the Taymalin don’t mould patterns.”

  “Perhaps that was a skill they were not taught. Would you teach slaves how to defeat you?”

  Kantees looked away. This woman had an answer for everything, but none of it was satisfactory; after all, she was just a woman in a cave. What could she know?

  “Kantees, it does not matter whether you believe me,” she said. “I have answered your questions and, as you have said, you have things to do.”

  Kantees stood up and felt that she had been very selfish. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Just do what you have to do.”

  “I need to get to Hamalain,” she said. “Which way is it?”

  The woman pointed in a direction and then dropped her arm. Kantees desperately tried to determine which way that was in respect to the coast. She kept it in her head as she stepped back through the tunnel and into the light: to the northeast.

  “Sheesha!” she called as soon as she was on the beach and could see his wings poking up over the edge of the cliff. His long neck poked up. “Come on!”

  The zirichak launched himself over the cliff and snapped his wings out. In moments he was gliding over her head at speed. He whipped into a turn that also killed his speed and landed on the beach.

  She turned to the man. “What is your name?”

  “Welyn.”

  “I promise I will search for your daughter and try to bring her back to you.”

  If I don’t, I’ll be dead.

  She climbed on to Sheesha’s back and settled herself between his wings. “When the giant tekrak left, which direction did it go?”

  The man pointed in the other direction to Hamalain, which made sense because if they knew where they were they would not want to go that way. They would probably make their way along the coast raiding as they went. Until they were stopped.

  She launched Sheesha into the air and set him on the course along the coast, encouraging him to make the best speed he could—without using the magic.

  Once more she was heading into trouble to try to do the impossible. That appeared to be the entire story of her life, now. So perhaps she had better learn to enjoy it.

  The chances of her ending up dead were increasing all the time.

  Twenty-Six

  The Ziri Tower at Hamalain came into sight like a finger pointing accusingly at the sky. And she had no plan. The sky was overcast, but the clouds were high and visibility was good, which meant she could be seen easily as she approached. It was not close to evening, so if she wanted to enter when it was dark she would have to wait. She did not think she could afford the time.

  Trying desperately to think of how best to get into the castle, she put Sheesha into a climbing spiral. There was no way she could use the magical speed that he could achieve; he would simply overshoot. And besides, she did not want to reveal that—assuming the Hamalain did not know already.

  Then she heard the strange, deep hoot of a zirichak. It came from the far distance but was unmistakable. She knew it must be Shingul or one of the others, because she had never hear
d a ziri utter that sound until this journey. Any zirichasa that lived in a tower did not use it.

  She peered towards the tower itself but could not make out anything. Sheesha, however, was not looking that way. He had pulled out of the spiral and his neck was pointing inland at Kurvin Port. There was no dust trail but she could see three wagons on the road, carrying ziri—one in each. Sheesha immediately headed that way but Kantees leaned back and pulled on his neck feathers.

  “No, Sheesha, wait.”

  She stared down and saw armsmen surrounding the carriages, and men who might be Yenteel, Gally, and Daybian. Riding horses, not kichesa, was a group out in front that she did not recognise.

  They must be heading for the ley-circle of Kurvin Port, intending to walk the patterner’s path to somewhere—and it would not be to Jakalain, of that she was certain. Despite it being the place of her slavery, right at this moment, even Kantees would be happy to be back there. As long as they weren’t planning to string her up.

  She looked along the roadway they were following. It ended at a circle—except the circle was a hole in the ground. She had heard of this. Ley-circles were often not on the surface. They might be below it, and many were underwater. The capital city of Canvor in Faerholme, far to the south on the mainland, was famous for having a powerful ley-circle that lay below the level of the lake by which it stood, which meant the city could only be approached by land and thus never be surprised.

  This one was below the ground. She could see the road led to a ramp and down.

  Sheesha was becoming more insistent. He wanted to go but she managed to hold him in check. The group would reach the ramp quite soon. She had arrived with no time to spare. She urged Sheesha to turn and fly around to approach the circle from the other side.

  The best moment for attack would be just before the pattern for the path was woven. She had travelled enough times by the path she knew it would take a little while to complete the pattern but beyond knowing it would be “soon” she had no real idea.

  The riders at the front of the group dismounted and walked down into the tunnel. The ziri, however, were taken down on the carriages. It was unlikely they would transport the wagons as well, so there would be a short time while the zirichasa were unloaded.

  The ziri would not have their saddles or reins, so everyone would have to ride the way she had learnt, but it was not so difficult. Daybian would be fine once he had finished complaining. Gally would not like it but would do as she said, and Yenteel—well, he would just have to put up with it.

  Kantees counted to fifty, slowly, after the wagons disappeared to give them a chance to get down to the ley-circle proper. She leaned forwards and Sheesha, no longer restrained, went into a dive.

  The angle was not sharp so his speed did not reach the point at which the magic became active. She did not know how deep the circle was and she wanted to arrive with as little warning as possible. The nature of the ley-circles made them indefensible close up. It was only possible to build walls at some distance out from them, and it seemed the Hamalain had not even bothered to do that.

  She remembered one city they had gone to on Esternes that had created massive fortifications around their circle. The circle itself was not large but the city was the centre of mining. Metals were constantly being shipped out and luxuries brought in. The family that owned the place, the Garbalain, were richer even than the Hamalain and clearly they feared attack.

  Sheesha arrived over the hole driven through the rock by the Mother’s feeding. It was deeper than she expected, perhaps almost half the height of the Ziri Tower. And that meant she had arrived too soon.

  From off to one side, in the direction of the road, came shouting—and it was not friendly. Armsmen were already hurrying her way. She groaned. This time she really could get them all killed.

  “Down, Sheesha, quick.”

  The ziri turned into one of his descending spirals. He seemed to understand the need for speed and was descending at a tight angle. One of the armsmen had a bow and he was drawing an arrow as Sheesha and Kantees went below the level of the ground.

  She looked down to where dozens of candles, mounted on massive candelabra, lit the space. Three men, patterners by their robes, were talking and pointing at the ground. Discussing their magic, no doubt.

  She half-expected arrows to rain down on her and Sheesha as she looked up to see the armsmen’s heads silhouetted against the grey sky. But they did not shoot.

  Instead she heard them calling down, warning the men below of the descending zirichak. The patterners looked up when she was almost halfway down. The width of the circle was barely sufficient to accommodate the breadth of Sheesha’s wings.

  The words “take cover” floated past her as a warning to those below. The armsmen were not firing for fear they might hit the patterners. Kantees urged Sheesha to descend faster and he did something she had never seen.

  He stopped circling and put out his wings, bent upwards. Together they almost fell towards the ground. Small wing beats and adjustments to the angles kept their motion under control but they were going down vertically. Moments later they hit the bottom.

  An arrow splintered on the ground next to them.

  There was a single large arch which was an entrance to a tunnel. It was very rough and the edges looked melted. She leapt from Sheesha’s back. “Come on!” she yelled as two more arrows barely missed them. Just one through a wing could prevent him flying.

  In his ungainly way, he followed as she jumped through the opening—it was easily big enough for the ziri but the ground was uneven. She wondered how often they had to remake the entrance after a feeding had distorted the rock. There were clear marks of chisels in the stone further in. Once inside, it was impossible for the archers above to hit them. And they would not be coming down in a hurry. In the tunnel she noticed an acrid and unpleasant smell that bit into her nose and throat.

  The tunnel, and its rising floor level, was well lit with lanterns fixed to the walls. This far in, the magic would not touch them so permanent features could be placed safely. The stone of the tunnel here was rough and leaked water, but it looked natural. The scholar had a collection of rocks and found the different forms to be fascinating. So she had, too. The stone in the well of the ley-circle was smooth and seamless where it had the look of being melted but this was quite different.

  This form of rock came from places where there were caves, which gave her a clue to what was coming, as she raced up the slope with Sheesha rattling along behind her—ziri might be ungainly on land, but they could still move fast. And she knew she needed to move quickly, otherwise the patterners would give too much warning and she would be captured. Moments later there was a bend in the tunnel and beyond it she emerged into an open space. A staging area. The carts were being unloaded at the other side.

  But the panting patterners were already shouting a warning, their voices echoing round the stone walls of the chamber.

  “Daybian! Yenteel! Gally!” she yelled. “Shingul! Looesa! Jintan!”

  And Sheesha roared deafeningly. Kantees felt as if the noise shook the very stones around her. She would not have been surprised if the daggers of rock hanging from the ceiling dislodged and fell.

  But they remained firm. Across the middle of the space, the towers of stone one expected to see had been destroyed and removed, leaving only lumps. But around the walls it was like a construction of some mad architect with multi-coloured columns—some ribbed, some smooth—reaching up from the floor to the ceiling.

  Sheesha’s roar did have one effect. The air was filled with the screechings of thousands upon thousands of sikechasa—which explained the smell—that exploded into the air like a storm, wheeling and turning, filling the whole space with their noise and fluttering. Yet not a single one of them touched her as she ran across the stone floor.

  Men were shouting, some in fear, others in anger. She could hear someone trying to give orders to get things under control. There was a sharp crack f
rom one of the carts: the shattering of wood. She glanced round to see Daybian smashing his forehead into the nose of a guard who seemed more fearful of the wheeling sikechasa than of the prince until the pain made him lose interest in everything else.

  Yenteel and Gally were on the ground. Gally lay face down, whimpering in terror while Yenteel tore at the cords around his wrists with his teeth. The sikechasa were escaping through both tunnels and the air was clearing of them.

  One of the carts collapsed as its axle snapped. Looesa stretched upwards and the binding ropes slipped from him. Behind Kantees, someone screamed and then went silent with a cracking of breaking bones. She chose not to look but focused on Daybian.

  He was trying to get the knife from his prone assailant.

  She pushed him out of the way. “Let me!”

  Since her hands were free she was able grab the fellow’s blade from his belt in a trice. She turned and grabbed one of Daybian’s wrists to keep him still while she sawed through the leather thongs. One went, and then another, and then the cords fell away from him.

  “Help Yenteel and Gally,” she said into his ear. “I’ll get the ziri.”

  He didn’t argue. He didn’t even pause but grabbed the armsman’s sword and went. Looesa’s jaws were clamped around the arm of one of the soldiers, who was whimpering in terror. Kantees looked away, she did not want to see.

  Shingul was struggling in the cords that bound her wings to her body, the feathers protecting the flesh beneath from the coarseness of the ropes. Kantees could not imagine how much power Looesa had been able to bring to bear to snap his cart. That power now made the poor armsman scream as an accompaniment to sounds of bones crunching and flesh ripping.

  “Lay still, Shingul,” Kantees said quietly and the beast stopped struggling immediately. Kantees began with the cords binding her neck. One at a time she hacked through them until they were loose enough for Shingul to raise her head.