“I wasn’t going to charge the man with the ax,” said Ren. “I think we’ve all got the same plan in our heads.”
Ren had passed through the market once before, but he had no memory of the pyramid. He guessed the underground bazaar was vast and he had not glimpsed this portion of it. The place he recalled was packed with stalls and poorly lit. Now there was light and a bit of space, and instead of running from his foes he was leading a band of soldiers. Ren decided it was a small but decided improvement in his status.
Old jars and broken ladles rattled as he pushed his way through the warren of dimly lit tents. Stalls of frayed linen flanked him on all sides, the dirt-faced hawkers crying out their sundry wares. One sold rusty knives; a second offered nothing but entrails. Not far from where they stood, a moldering pig’s head sat atop a barrel, and heaps of intestines oozed from an oilskin sack. The earth was wet with bile. There were plenty of stalls, but all of them were selling entrails, discards from the city butchers or the knacker’s yard. It seemed as though there was nothing but offal in these tents, but when they climbed to a higher level, up above the ground, along the spiraling path that wound about the pyramid, they found stalls hung with exotic herbs, blue lotus, and red poppies. In hopes of finding even better wares, they climbed higher, up the winding path, past the hawkers selling everyday goods: homespun fabrics and siltware of every sort. Nothing they needed, so they went a bit farther, moving this way and that, scurrying between the stalls as they scaled the ramp. Higher up, near the top of the spiraling path, the smell of salt saturated the air and Ren at last laid eyes on what he sought. Well-preserved hocks of ham hung from iron hooks, and salted racks of lamb dangled in nets.
Ren retreated, nearly colliding with Edric, who was standing in a space concealed by a pair of oddly juxtaposed stalls, conferring with his men. “I think we’ve found our spot,” said Ren, but Edric shook his head. “If we start the fight here, we’ll have to battle our way down the whole damn pyramid.”
“Got that,” said Ren. “Wasn’t planning on a fight. There’re too many swords in this market.”
“Well?” asked Edric. “You have some suggestion?”
After a brief pause, Ren spied an unattended torch. It had nearly guttered out, but the coals were still hot. Perhaps the owner had forgotten about it. Ren slipped the shaft from its mooring and carefully laid it alongside the threadbare linen of an adjacent stall. The cloth burst into flame. The kingsguard retreated from sight, but Kollen found a lamp and flung it down onto the next lower level of the pyramid. It struck a small black tent, bounced, then hit a large stall with a roof sewn from a patchwork oil-stained silk. Both took to flame.
“Time to knock some heads,” said Ren. Indeed, the services of the kingsguard were at last required. Several armed men had spied what Ren and Kollen were doing. They drew blades, but they were few in number, and there were twelve men from the kingsguard. A couple of bloody swings left the sentries prone and unable to fight, most likely dead. Ren didn’t know. The kingsguard had already set about plundering the little stall, taking everything they could hold before the flames snatched it away from them.
“I found another torch,” said Kollen. He appeared out of nowhere and nearly collided with Ren. He carried an oil lamp in his other hand.
“I suppose that’s for me,” said Ren. He took the lamp and lobbed it down onto an even lower level, where it struck a tent, bounced twice just like the last one, then landed atop a large stall, which immediately burst into flame. They tossed one torch after another and before long they didn’t need to light the fires. The flames had taken on a life of their own, jumping from tent to tent.
“Take this.” Edric tossed Ren what appeared to be the butchered hind leg of a wild boar. It had a briny odor that made his eyes water. Most of the kingsguard had sheathed their swords and taken hold of whatever they could lay their hands on. Of the dozen soldiers, only two kept their blades in hand. The others carried great jars, wooden kegs, or sacks of wheat. Some held casks of lamp oil or barrels of amber, all of them stumbling as they made their way down the path. Around them, a general panic had ensued. Everyone was trying to protect their tent or their sundry wares, pulling at the already-burning fabric of their stall or dousing the fires with whatever liquid they had at hand. Ren had never seen a man try to soak a fire with an urn full of blood, and he guessed he’d never see it again.
“Thief!” a hawker cried. “Bandit!” howled another and another, but they weren’t looking at the kingsguard. When the fires struck, more than one man had joined in the turmoil, stealing from this tent or that one.
“I’ll be damned,” said Kollen. “I do believe this is actually working. We might just get out of here alive.”
“Alive,” said Edric. “Yes, we beat back the guards, but we might just be roasted by that fire if we don’t hurry.” Momentarily, a tendril of flame wound its way across the trail and the black shields ground their sandals against the stones. Armed men leapt onto the path. They’d come from behind a burning tent, jumping from what seemed like nowhere and slaying one of the kingsguard, a man who carried a great barrel and had sheathed his sword. Defenseless, he fell to the cobblestones, the barrel tumbling from his hands and rolling downhill.
“What in Horu,” cried Kollen, who stood next to the fallen man. He must have feared he was next because he nearly stumbled, but the kingsguard dispatched these new attackers with precision, coming at their flanks, cutting down both with a pair of stabs and a thrust to the gut. In a heartbeat and a half, two men fell to the cobblestones and Edric was already leaping over their bodies.
The flames parted and they made their way down the ramp and into the fleeing crowd, trying to look as though they were a part of it, which did not take much effort. Almost everyone had something in their hands. Those who didn’t were ripping open tents or overturning pots and taking what they could carry while the vendors did their best to beat back the flames or the thieves, whichever they could manage. The path was choked with men wrangling over stolen goods, with hawkers struggling to put out the flames or to take hold of their wares and run before the fires overwhelmed their stalls. Half the sentries had stowed their swords and were carrying pots. Greed overtook the rest. One seller stole from the next, and by the time Ren and the others reached the base of the spiral, no one could tell a thief from a hawker. No one cared.
“Through the columns,” said Ren. “Back the way we came.”
They did their best to look as if they were not hurrying too much or trying to hide where they were going. When they reached the place where they first spied the pyramid, they stopped to watch the flames, acting as if they might be hawkers lamenting their lost inventory or thieves who were just glad to be free of the flames. They retreated into the narrow passage that led back to the temple, the path between the walls. Ren let the others pass him.
“What’re you waiting for, Hark-Wadi?” Kollen asked.
“Just an idea,” said Ren. “We’ve done well. Why not leave our mark on this thing?”
“Don’t,” said Kollen. “No, don’t be a fool, Ren!” he cried out feebly, but Ren was already running and he could scarcely hear what Kollen said. He went a good distance away from the passage, out into the open, where he stood among the people who were fleeing the market. He did not want to reveal their escape route, but he did have something he needed to share. He’d been simmering with resentment ever since he escaped the priory. This city, its soldiers, and its highborn men had caused him to endure more suffering than an average man accumulated in a lifetime, and there seemed to be no end to it. Mered hounded his every move, as did the city guard. Thus, it was only natural for Ren to feel some small stab of joy when he at last struck a blow against his foes. He decided to tell the people of Solus who had done this work. “I am Rennon Hark-Wadi and—”
Kollen slapped a hand over Ren’s mouth, and before he could say another word the older boy was dragging Ren back toward the hidden passage.
28
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sp; The kite wheeled through the mist, soaring at an elevation that might have escaped a less keen pair of eyes, but Kepi saw it, darting through the clouds. She felt the wind flutter across its wings. For days the kite had circled, sketching arcs and ovals in the clouds while below it the queen of the Ferens made camp at the Rift valley.
“Three days, that’s how long I’ve stood here.” Kepi plunged the tip of her sword into a blackthorn stump. “Does the man think I will simply wait for him?”
Ferris Mawr cleared his throat. “That question seems to have answered itself.” As a matter of fact, they had waited three days.
“Are you trying to insult me?” She enjoyed his honesty. In fact, she found it refreshing, but everyone had their limits.
“Just stating the obvious,” said Ferris. “Mered’s put us in a bit of fix. It’s five days’ ride to Rifka, five days back—you know as much. Our reinforcements are seven days out. If he’s got an army in those woods, we can’t fight it, not if he’s brought the Protector’s soldiers.”
“What do your scouts say?”
Ferris dipped his head. “Apologies, my queen, dead men offer scant details. I’ve lost seven scouts in the last three days. I haven’t a clue what’s out there.”
“We don’t even know if Mered is here. Might be an emissary, could be the army,” said Kepi, her voice filling up with frustration, hands hot, sweat beading on her forehead. She pulled the sword from the blackthorn stump. “We should retreat. It’s the sensible option. We join your soldiers with the men from Caer Rifka. Then we talk.”
“Sounds reasonable,” said Ferris. “I wanted to regroup with the army as soon as I saw that messenger. You were the one who wanted to wait it out.”
“Well, I’ve done that,” said Kepi. “We sent Deccan to Rifka, and I think it’s time we join him.” The older man had gone north to rally the army at Caer Rifka and march them south to the rift. Mawr, whose keep lay less than a day’s ride from their camp, had stayed with Kepi, preferring to remain at his queen’s side while his sworn men had ridden with haste to marshal his soldiers. The main body of his army gathered in the wooded hills just north of the rift while small bands of soldiers huddled among the tall stones that lined the rocky edge of the valley.
Kepi sheathed her blade and was about to turn north and join Ferris when she caught sight of some small bit of movement. “Hold,” she called out. “Someone’s come.” Kepi drew her blade and raised it, indicating a patch of trees at the far side of the rift.
“Can’t see a thing,” said Ferris.
“Wait.”
A man in red leather broke through the tree line, emerging from the shadows, his armor seeming to turn from deep crimson to a lighter shade of red as the sun fell upon it. He did not speak, and neither did he gesture to them.
“Did they send us a mute?” asked Ferris, a smile creeping over his face.
The man in red walked to the edge of the rift, turned, then strode off without even looking at them.
“Imperial folk,” Ferris said, and spat. “That bastard’s toying with us.” Ferris stumbled over the rocky terrain as he made his way to the jagged edge of the escarpment. “You there!” he cried. “Got something to declare? Speak.”
The man said nothing.
“Do we play their game?” Ferris asked, his big blue eyes bearing down on the queen. It felt strange to have a man of such obvious experience and strength, however young, look to her for instruction, but she was the queen. She ought to get used to that.
“We waited for three days, so we might as well see who’s come to meet us,” said Kepi. She’d taken a bit of time to answer, which made her once more feel somewhat self-conscious, but he only grinned.
“Oh, I figured you’d say that,” said Ferris. “But people in charge like to feel important, so sometimes you just have to ask them to state the obvious so they can feel like they’re in command.”
“Well, you can skip that business with me,” said Kepi, annoyance in her voice. “We haven’t had time to set Dagrun’s crown on my head. I’m new to all this, but I’m not a fool. Don’t treat me like one. Walk.” She indicated the trail that ran along the north side of the rift. The man in red followed the southern rim and was a good ten or twelve paces ahead of them.
Ferris whistled, and a pair of soldiers came running out of the forest. He whispered some order and they took off at a sprint, vanishing into the deep shade of the blackthorns.
“Scouts?” she asked.
Ferris winked, a gesture she thought to be almost as annoying as his last comment. “I don’t like surprises,” he said, “or secrets. And men who don’t speak tend to have both. We’ll find out what’s up ahead.”
“Perhaps we should start by asking the man’s name,” said Kepi. The cloaked man intrigued the queen, and they’d nearly caught up to him.
Ferris called out to the man. “You there! Have a name?”
“I am Quintus, servant of Mered.”
“Oh, wonderful, Quintus, glad you’re speaking. Care to tell us your purpose?”
Quintus gave no reply. He simply went back to walking, and they were once more forced to follow him.
Kepi looked to Ferris. “What do you suppose this is all about?” They’d left behind her camp, but Ferris’s soldiers were still with them, their numbers concealed by the forest.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Ferris. “Maybe they guessed I have a whole army stashed away in these trees, so perhaps they are looking for another place to talk. Somewhere a bit safer for their folk?”
“You can hardly blame them. There are more swords than trees in that forest.”
“And there is a bridge across the rift,” said Ferris.
Kepi’s head spun around.
It was true. In the distance, a slender bridge straddled the gap. It was an odd sort of contraption. It looked like a hundred trestle tables, one set beside the next. At one end, a great counterweight hung from a network of cogs and winches, and the whole apparatus sat upon wheels.
Ferris’s scouts came rushing up to them. One of them, a young Feren, unarmored, hair long and hanging over his eyes, spoke. “I swear, I walked this patch of dirt just an hour ago, and none of this was here.” A tent sat beside the bridge.
“I believe you,” said Ferris. “Now, make yourself scarce. We needn’t reveal ourselves, not yet.” Ferris was looking at the wheels on the bridge, at the freshly trampled grass. He scratched at his scruffy chin. “It’s old,” he said, eyes on the bridge. “The way the wood is weathered and white. Blackthorn turns pale with age. The oldest is stark white, and that wood is paler than an old pile of bones.”
“Some toy of the Soleri, something left over from the birth of the New Kingdom?”
“No doubt,” said Ferris. He was looking at the complexity of the trestlework, and the machinery connected to it. “Looks like it can extend and withdraw. And the length of the thing, its thinness…”
“I know. It’s as slender as a needle,” said Kepi.
“And as deadly. With this device, they can cross the rift at any point, and we burned our bridges. What a bunch of—”
“Fools,” said Kepi. It was true enough.
“Too late for regrets. Where do you suppose they found that thing?”
“Mered is quite wealthy and influential—an old family, right? Who knows what machines of war he’s unearthed, or what tools the Protectors of old squirreled away within their vaults.”
“Well, hopefully they stashed only one of those things.”
“With my luck,” said Kepi, “they’ve got a hundred of them, each one wider and longer than the last. They’re probably swarming the rift—”
Ferris raised a cautioning hand.
A man emerged from the tent, a sentry of some sort.
“Looks like someone’s ready to meet the queen,” said Ferris.
“Not quite,” said Kepi. “I still haven’t seen the man himself, Mered. We’ve met only soldiers and servants. I’m tired of waiting.” She set out at a
brisk pace, hurrying right up to the lip of the bridge, Ferris following, eight of his sworn men hurrying to his side, more soldiers coming out of the trees, shadowing their queen.
From the far side of the rift, the sentry approached. She recognized him; it was the man who’d delivered the parchment three days prior. “Only the queen may pass,” he said. “We guarantee her safety under the empire’s conventions. She meets on neutral ground and treats with a sovereign of equal standing. No soldiers need be present.”
“Don’t,” Ferris whispered, but she pretended as if she didn’t hear him. Kepi was not alone. The kite circled, far above and out of sight.
“I have all the help I need,” said Kepi. She raised a finger to the sky, and Ferris grinned.
The bridge was sturdier than she guessed. It did not flex, nor did it sway as she crossed it.
At the far side, the sentry led her toward the red tent. The man, Quintus, stood at the flap. She tried not to appear wary or nervous, to be calm, but her eyes went this way and that, expecting betrayal at every step.
The tent flap flew open. A boy emerged, limping slightly, his arm in a sling.
Kepi quickly retreated. “This is treachery,” she said. Mered was an elderly man, not some skinny child with an awkward walk.
“Who are you?” she asked, still withdrawing, nearly at the bridge. If Mered had not come, there was no sense in any of this. She intended to leave, and to do it now. Kepi was nearly halfway across the bridge when the boy spoke.
“I’m Adin Fahran, son of Barrin, and rightful ruler of the Gray Wood.” He was dressed in the gray woolens of Feren royalty, though she did not know where he’d gotten them.
“Are you the heir of Feren?” she asked. There was skepticism in her voice, maybe even a bit of mockery. For all she knew he was a stable boy dressed up in the king’s raiment. Aside from his attire, he didn’t look like the sort of man who could command a kingdom or earn the respect of the kite. He had a sickly appearance, and the gaunt eyes and yellowy-white skin of a malnourished child. “Is that your true name?” she asked. “Adin Fahran? Perhaps you weren’t told, but my late husband deposed your father. Dagrun ended his line, and no one in Feren gave a care. The former king of the Ferens, your father, was not exactly the toast of the Feren court. Even his own men turned on him when Dagrun took the crown, and the people were glad to see it done.” Until recently, thought Kepi. Dagrun’s reign hadn’t lasted very long. Still, he’d deposed the previous king and the empire recognized Dagrun’s rule. It was obviously news to the boy. His face paled, turning almost as white as the bridge she stood upon.
Silence of the Soleri Page 21
