The former Emperor walked to a cord that hung from the ceiling beside the bed. He pulled it, and said, ‘Right outside my door.’
Brann turned and left.
When he stepped back into Alam’s dusty chamber the next day, he was surprised to see a lady standing on the balcony beside the former Emperor. A slave in appearance, but the same weight of years, the same proud demeanour and, as they turned to regard him, the same calculating eyes.
‘Save me, there are two of you,’ he groaned. ‘A sister?’
‘Oh, gods, no,’ the pair said simultaneously. The woman spoke as softly as the man beside her, but hoarser, drier, as if the sand-suffused wind of the desert had a voice. There was not the same cruel harshness about her, though she gave Brann the impression that to underestimate her would be just as much a peril as to oppose the man.
She glanced at the man from the corner of her eye. ‘Is he always as rude as this?’
The whisper replied. ‘A consequence of his experiences, I presume.’
She nodded. ‘No doubt it is, and something you would know much about. What is your excuse for the same fault?’
‘Having to put up with you.’
‘I was not present at your birth. You are carnaptious by nature, to your bones. The boy is plainly brought to it by you.’
‘Enough, crone!’
She smiled calmly, and winked at Brann. ‘And so my case is proven.’
Brann was enjoying this. He smiled back. ‘I apologise for my discourtesy towards you, my lady. I do not know you and you deserved respect in that circumstance.’ He bowed in what he hoped was an appropriate manner and took her hand, laying a light kiss on the thin skin, feeling a tingle course through him at the contact. ‘I am Brann, a miller’s son, from what you know as The Green Islands.’
She looked at him, a long, cool look. ‘You are precisely that and so much more than that, Brann of The Green Islands.’ She gave a chuckling curtsey. ‘I am Cirtequine.’ She turned to the old man. ‘Despite your relative ages, I believe you could learn much from this boy about how to treat a lady.’
Alam had dropped heavily into his seat, however, staring at her, eyes wide, mouth working soundlessly. At last words emerged. ‘And so the veil is lifted. I knew your eyes. But I knew not from where the memory came.’ He sighed. ‘How could I not see? How could I not deduce it?’
There was a kindness in her voice, but an authority also. ‘Because it was not the time. And because I willed it so.’
He had recovered his composure. ‘No more secrets.’
She made a show of toying with the idea. ‘That works both ways.’
Brann interrupted. ‘That works three ways.’ He looked at Alam, once Emperor of much of the known world. ‘An old girlfriend?’
The old man almost spat. ‘It only works so far in your direction, boy.’
The lady put her hand on Brann’s arm and the same faint sensation ran through him at her touch. ‘In the terms of you young people, it was more a one-night stand.’ Brann spluttered almost as much as former Emperor Alam. ‘But not in the sense you young ones would mean it. Further than that is a truth for another time.’ She looked pointedly at the man.
He nodded. ‘There are other truths you should know now.’
A knock rapped at the door.
They looked at each other in surprise. The sound had been sharp, authoritative. Not the knock of a slave.
Alam’s head snapped to Brann and the boy moved at once for the privy, but the old man’s hiss stopped him. ‘Under the bed. Now.’
Brann looked at him. ‘You are joking. That is where illicit lovers hide. It is the most obvious place.’
The knock came again, and a glare from the former Emperor showed clearly his feelings at not being obeyed in the instant. ‘And that is why it is the perfect place. Just who would suspect me of having an affair? Why would anyone look anywhere? They might, however, visit the privy.’
He had to acknowledge the logic and dropped to his stomach, sliding under the bed just as the woman, head bowed in subservience, opened the door.
Boot heels rang across the floor as the visitor strode into the room, clearly having ignored the slave who had opened the door. Whatever her actual identity, she was clearly adept enough at passing as a slave to be accepted as such.
The footsteps moved with purpose towards the desk, where Alam must still be, and came into Brann’s view. Expensive boots, a man’s boots. Familiar boots.
Loku spoke, and Brann’s fingers curled around the hilt of his knife. He held his breath as he fought to keep himself from hurtling from under the bed. ‘Your Imperial Highness.’
The whispered voice replied, ‘Taraloku-Bana. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’
‘I would draw upon the vast knowledge of your past, if I may, Highness.’
‘Really? And what would I know that is a mystery to His Imperial Majesty’s Source of Information?’
‘Your grandson, His Imperial Majesty, has a niece. She is fond of you.’
‘I am aware of this.’ The former Emperor’s slippered feet moved into and out of Brann’s view, the noise of the shuffling steps receding towards the fireplace. ‘You will not mind if I rest tired legs for the remainder of our conversation?’
‘Of course not, Highness.’
The man breathed a sigh as the chair gave off the sound of a frail old body being lowered into it, dropping wearily the last part of the way. ‘You are kind. Now, we were talking about?’
‘Your dear niece.’
‘Yes, yes. Of course.’
‘There was a boy.’
‘Ah, yes. I heard word of a scandal. Remind me of the outcome, if you will, Taraloku-Bana.’ The change in the old man’s tone was fascinating. To listen to him, he was just that: an old man. Vague of thought, unsure and harmless.
‘He was supposed to die, broken in misery, as befits one who besmirched the name of the royal house and the honour of one of its number.’ Hatred forced out every word.
‘Oh.’ Alam sounded bewildered. ‘Supposed to? It did not transpire, then? How so?’
‘He had help. His former companions conspire against us. Three times he should have died.’
‘Should have, my good man? He still lives?’
‘I fear so. I now believe he was the assassin in the Northern delegation, intended for our Emperor.’
‘Really? A mere boy?’
‘I suspect they were relying on the benefits brought by surprise.’
The old man mused on this audibly. ‘You have thought it through well, Taraloku-Bana. It is fortunate for us all that you are capable of seeing through all surprises.’ Brann almost giggled. ‘But did you not wish to ask me something?’
‘Indeed, Highness. I believe your niece is fond of visiting you.’
‘That she is, though what pleasure she derives from an old man such as I is beyond me. Still, it brings me pleasure.’
‘I also believe that she retains a measure of fondness for the boy, misguided as it may be.’ Brann sucked in his breath as his chest constricted sharply.
‘Oh, surely not. Unfathomable even more than misguided, I would say, given that some say he treated her badly.’
Loku’s voice had an edge to it, as his impatience grew. ‘Indeed, Highness. Extremely badly. But I wondered if, in any of her conversations with you, she might have mentioned if a boy had attempted to be in communication with her?’
‘Oh, a boy, yes.’
The eagerness in Loku’s tone was instant. ‘Really? She has talked of him?’
‘Oh, many times. It is really very sweet. A young man from one of the Eastern families. She really is terribly smitten.’
‘Oh.’ Disappointment now. ‘I see. There were whispers that he had returned to the city, but all that there is to draw him here is her welcome. If her attentions are turned to another, I can only assume that he has fled. He will be headed north, and I must pursue him. I will not take such designs on His Imperial Majesty’s life li
ghtly, and will attend to this dog myself. The Northern ship has been seized, but no doubt they will have laid their hands on a smaller boat to slip away. I shall follow in a faster vessel and should I not overhaul them at sea, I shall hunt him down like the rabid cur that he has proved to be.’
‘Excellently deduced, Taraloku-Bana. I see why you have risen so high. I wish you the favour of the gods in your endeavours.’
‘I thank you for your time, Highness. Now, however, I shall make my preparations for my journey with haste. I bid you a good evening.’
‘A good evening to you also, Taraloku-Bana, and many thanks for your visit. It was most pleasant.’
The boots clicked across the tiles and the door shut. Brann slid from his hiding place.
‘Well,’ Alam said, his normal demeanour returned. ‘That was informative.’
Brann nodded. ‘We know that he is chasing me north.’
The look was withering. ‘Fool. We know he is heading north. You are merely his excuse to his masters here. He will be heading north to further his designs.’
Brann frowned. ‘I am quite sure he wants to kill me.’
The old man snorted. ‘I am certain he wants to kill you. But his personal pleasure is subservient to the wishes of his masters in this scheme he follows and enacts. Killing you would be a bonus he would indulge in if, and only if, it did not interfere with his duty.’
The lady walked quietly over and poured water for three, setting one on the small table beside Alam’s seat and giving another to Brann. ‘There is more, young man, and it is more you may not like.’ She paused and looked at the man in the chair, who nodded. ‘The hunter must become the hunted.’
Brann smiled, but he felt no humour. ‘Why would I not like that? You think that the chance to send that man to the hell he deserves would not appeal to me?’
A groan escaped the old man. ‘Obedience and wit, that is all I ask from those who serve me. You do not serve, so I cannot command, but only persuade, bargain and explain. The wit, though, I need from you, else you are useless.’ He leant forward intently. ‘Think on it, boy: were you to kill him, he would be gone but the problem would not. You think he has engineered all of this alone? Devising a conspiracy to topple one order while roving bands unleash atrocities in a country that lies a sea away? With who-knows-what happening in the lands you sailed past on your journey here? While he also runs the largest spy network in the known world? You must think he has abilities akin to those of a god.’
Cirtequine moved to Brann and laid a hand on his shoulder. Her voice was earnest. ‘We believe there is a group of men such as Taraloku-Bana. He is at least one level, maybe several, from the one who controls it all, who plots it, who moves the pieces as on a gaming board. That one is the one we need. Should you meet him, you are welcome to bring death his way, unless you find there is knowledge we would have from him.’
He looked from one old face to the other. ‘So you need me to follow Loku and find who he works for. And who they work for. And who they work for until I find the master of them all?’
They nodded.
‘Why me?’
Alam rose and shuffled to the fire, picking up the poker to prod absently at the glowing logs and raise sparks to dance in the rising heat. ‘Because we are about twenty years too old for that sort of thing.’ She coughed and raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe more than twenty. But it leaves it to you, in any case.’
There was humour behind Brann’s smile this time. ‘I meant that you have many you could call upon. Why choose me?’
The man straightened, the poker still in his hand. ‘One of my greatest strengths in gaining and keeping power was in reading the use of people. I would not send a hunting hound to carry a man across a desert when I had a camel saddled and ready, but nor would I ask the camel to seek prey in the sky when I had a hawk on my wrist. You have the incentive, your companions have the knowledge of the lands and you all despise the man you seek.’ He paused, and looked at Cirtequine. ‘And then there is…’
Brann’s eyes narrowed. ‘There is what?’
Alam stared into the deep red between the logs. ‘There is a prophecy.’
‘You know of that? How can that be?’
The man’s head snapped up sharply. ‘You know of it?’
‘It may be,’ the lady’s voice whispered, ‘that you both know of words different.’
Brann closed his eyes. He could hear the voice of another old lady, this one in the dim bowels of a ship, as if he were beside her now.
‘Paths you will travel, in many a realm,
You’ll be blind to the journey, trust to Fate at the helm,
But you’ll know you are standing in Destiny’s hall
When heroes and kings come to call.’
He opened his eyes. Both were staring at him, the man with heightened interest, the woman intently.
‘From whom did you hear these words?’
‘From a lady older than you, in a ship on the sea.’ His voice was soft, tender. ‘All she did was touch my tear.’
She smiled gently. ‘We all have our ways.’ She looked at Brann. ‘I would like to have met this lady.’
He shrugged. ‘You still could. She is in the house we lived in, down in the city.’
A small intake of breath was all the emotion she showed, then her calm descended once more. ‘That is of interest.’ She looked at Alam. ‘It is only polite that you reciprocate.’
The former Emperor looked at her, stared at her, the firelight dancing on his face as he drew himself straight, his eyes those of the man he once had been. His voice was measured.
‘One will come
Thought nothing by all,
A seed there will be
In a breast thought so small.
From one who is nothing,
Greatness will spring,
Of the deeds of that one
Great songs will they sing.
But the seed must be nurtured
And the shoot must be fed,
For the flower to blossom,
For the man to be bred.
And nations will stand
Or nations will fall,
When heroes and kings
On the One come to call,
On one they once thought
So small.’
The lady’s lips moved soundlessly with each word. Brann said softly, ‘You have heard this before?’
The old man spoke. ‘She told me it.’ He stared at the woman. ‘Did you not?’
She smiled softly. ‘I did, you know. Many years before you were born, young one.’
Alam shuffled to a bowl of dried fruit on a table near to his desk. ‘So now we know.’ He looked at Brann. ‘Fate can carry a heavy weight. Think you that you can bear it, boy?’
Brann shrugged. ‘A man told me I should think not of the entirety of the journey, but only as far as I can see at the time.’
The former Emperor grunted. ‘A fine strategy if you are incapable of forward planning.’
Brann stared defiantly. ‘You can plan according to what you know and what you need. To look further takes attention from what is necessary.’
‘If your capacity to look both near and far is limited. The right action for now may place you in a worse position later.’
Her hoarse voice cut across them. ‘You are both correct.’ She stepped to the fire, breathing in the heat. ‘There is a third prophecy,’ she said at last.
They stared at her. Brann started to speak, but the old man raised a hand to stop him.
She breathed slow and deep, her eyes distant. When she at last spoke, her voice was low, their concentration grasped by every word.
‘Three seeds planted, but grow intertwined,
They spring forth as two stems, though not two of a kind.
Each brings strength to the other, adds power to the one,
Threads twisted together when their fate has been spun.
And evil will grow, as a cloud it will spread,
De
ath its desire, world enveloped in dread.
Despair o’er nations and empires will fall
And heroes and kings will send out their call.
Their only hope is that Hope births a son:
Three seeds in two souls become one.’
The heat of the fire warmed their faces as a cool breeze slipped from the balcony to prickle the back of their necks. Brann and Alam stared at each other. The boy broke the silence.
‘It seems we are linked.’
The old eyes bore into him, and there was a strength in the whisper. ‘It seems we are.’
Brann frowned. ‘Three seeds?’
‘Three prophecies. This third one links not only us to each other, but also itself to the other two. The woman is right: thought needs strength to act, might needs design to guide it.’ He turned to the lady. ‘These words: they were uttered by whom?’
She shrugged. ‘I know not.’
‘Then how do you know them?’ His patience, ever thin, was starting to wear.
‘They are written. Cut from stone, deep in a cave. My mistress showed me, as her mistress showed her, as her mistress showed her.’
‘Written by your order, then?’
She smiled. ‘Written before my order was ever an order. Written by those who came before, who crafted the gods in the black rock, who worked the Star Stone, who walked these lands in the world before ours.’
‘And you saw these words before you uttered those of your own to me?’
The head shook slightly. ‘When you came to me, that one time, I held office, but not yet the highest office. Only on that final ascension are the most secret of secrets passed on, this among them.’
Brann was puzzled. ‘So there are three prophecies, from three people who never knew of the other words, years and centuries apart, yet they all share words and speak of the same thing?’ He looked at the lady, the fire still burning bright to silhouette her. ‘How can this be so?’
Her smile was gentle. ‘Destiny has no regard for time or circumstance. Destiny is and will be.’
‘So we must win, for it is foretold?’
Alam was terse, his desire to move beyond explanation to consideration of action filling his voice with tension. ‘Think again on the words. The outcome is not foretold. They only set the pieces in their places on the board. They tell of a time, so we may be ready for that time when it arises.’
Hero Grown Page 42
