Silent Hall

by NS Dolkart

  “Bandu,” he said. “I love you. I love you so much, I – I don’t want anything to change. I never want us to change.”

  He hoped she understood. He gave her a quick kiss, and unbarred the door. “What are you doing?” Father Sephas cried out, but by then it was too late. Criton slipped outside, and the door shut quietly behind him.

  It was terribly bright outside, but Criton did not give his eyes time to adjust. He had to get away from the temple door before anyone noticed him there. He backed along the temple’s wall away from the square, reaching out his arm to steady himself. When he could see a little better, he was relieved to find that nobody was looking. He stepped a few paces to the left and then strode back toward the square, trying to look natural.

  When the pounding in his ears subsided a little, he finally heard the great commotion that was all around him. People were yelling, crying, cheering and laughing, and a few steps later, Criton could see why. The army of Ardis had just reached the city center, and their front rows were congregating around the palace gate, banging their spears against their shields and cheering. The anguished cries were coming from the citizenry, and as Criton neared the inn, the reason became clear. The palace gate had been torn down. Soon their king would be dragged out and punished, bringing shame on the entire city.

  The Ardisian soldiers hollered and whooped, shaking the whole world with their commotion. A number of them were holding back the horrified crowd, which surged against them in a combination of anger and despair. For the time being, Criton went unnoticed.

  He reached the inn, and found no one guarding the stable. There were some six horses there, including the packhorse. As quickly as he could, Criton went about the business of putting saddles on three of the riding horses. He transferred the islanders’ saddlebags to one of these, leaving the packhorse to chew its oats contentedly. If they were to make a getaway, they would need horses bred for speed.

  Nobody had given him any trouble yet, thank the Gods – no! No. If God Most High still lived in the heavens, then He was the one Criton wanted to thank. The men who had killed Ma’s family were just outside the door, cheering on the humiliation of their neighboring city. Criton wanted to make fools of them all, and when he did, it would be as a worshipper of God Most High.

  As casually as he could, Criton led the three horses out of the stable. The crowd had quieted, to his dismay. Everyone was standing still, watching the two men who stood at the palace gate. The one in king’s garments was kneeling, a circlet of gold gleaming from his bowed head. Then there was the other one, the one whose robes were red as blood, whose spear was barbed and whose voice rose above the silence of the crowd to assert the king’s guilt. Bestillos, High Priest of Magor.

  “Behold your king!” this man cried. His gray hair blew in the light breeze, and his eyes pierced his audience. “Behold the man whose arrogance has brought your city to its knees. Until today, we demanded only a small tribute from Anardis. It was not so much to ask. But this foolish man bade you rise up against us, to build a wall, as if any wall could hinder the power of the great city of Ardis. This man led, and you followed. You, who are so weak that your gates could not withstand a single man’s voice. Kneel, all of you, as your king must kneel.”

  To Criton’s horror, the crowd began to follow the priest’s orders. If everyone knelt, how would he ever reach the temple without being noticed? Criton was still far enough from the door that he could never get there in time if he made a break for it. To blend into the crowd, he too would have to kneel.

  With the reins still in one hand, Criton sank to his knees. The king was shaking, he noticed. The king was weeping.

  The red priest continued his speech. “The king bears the guilt of a city,” he said. “Let the guilt of Anardis be purged!”

  With that, High Priest Bestillos lifted his barbed spear above his head and plunged its point down into the king’s back. The king screamed in agony and the crowd gasped, some women and children covering their ears. The king’s screams seemed to go on and on, and they only got worse when the priest wrenched his spear back. But even when the king’s cries had died out, Bestillos did not stop there.

  “Bring forward his wives and children,” he ordered his men.

  A man in the crowd near Criton jumped up and tried to run away from the sight, his eyes filled with tears. He had not taken a single step before the butt of an Ardisian spear struck him in the back and sent him crashing down again. The crowd was forced to watch in horror as, one by one, the High Priest of Magor executed the king’s two wives, three concubines and fourteen children. By the time he reached the youngest, the gathered citizens of Anardis were all weeping. So was Criton.

  “We’re next,” he heard a woman in the crowd whisper.

  When the youngest of the city’s royal line was dead and still, High Priest Bestillos turned to one of his captains. He whispered something to the man, who turned and gave orders to his lieutenants, as the word was passed along through each rank of soldiers.

  Criton did not want to see where this was headed. He rocked back from his knees to the balls of his feet, and began inching toward the temple. Yet he had not traveled more than a foot before the red priest’s gaze suddenly fixed on him. Bestillos’ eyes widened, then narrowed again. The priest did not only see Criton; he saw him. The pale skin, the soft hands, everything that was fake about Criton fell away before the priest of Magor’s gaze.

  “That one!” the priest shouted, pointing. “Kill him!”

  To Criton’s great luck, it seemed as if half the men in the crowd thought Bestillos had pointed at them. Men rose everywhere and tried to escape through the crowd, many of them finding themselves impaled upon spears within moments. Criton jumped to his feet and sprinted toward the temple, dragging the horses along behind him.

  “Monster!” one of the Ardismen cried, leaping toward him through the crowd. Criton looked down at his hands for a split second and found that they were claws again. The priest had not only seen through his disguise – he had torn it clear off.

  Criton had nearly reached the temple by the time any soldiers caught up with him. Forgive me, he prayed to his people’s God, and when the soldiers barred his way, he roasted them. The living ones scattered then, and ran burning through the crowded tumult and confusion.

  Criton arrived at the temple door just as it opened and his friends rushed out. Then it was onto the horses, faster than seemed possible, with Criton clinging to Bandu’s back and the others helping Phaedra onto her horse before practically leaping onto theirs. Hunter swiped a few spear points aside as they all wheeled around and made for the city gate.

  “Dragon spawn!” Criton heard the priest’s voice shouting from behind him, and he turned his head to see the barbed spear flying toward him through the air. As far as the priest had thrown it, still its aim would be true.

  Criton never knew how she did it. Even in retrospect, he didn’t see how it made sense. But somehow, Bandu’s arm shot out and she slapped the spear out of the air. One moment it was about to pierce Criton’s heart, and the next moment it was falling to the ground, harmless. They sped away.

  When they reached the city gate, some twenty soldiers were waiting there. Hunter only spurred his horse, and Bandu and Phaedra followed his lead. Criton raised his head and sent a burst of flame heavenward. Hunter’s sword beat aside a pair of spears and sliced through one of the soldiers’ necks. The rest scattered.

  Then the city walls were behind them, and they were riding away southward as swift as the wind. Criton held tightly onto Bandu as the ground flew by underneath them. Even with the horror behind them, they could not ride fast enough. Smoke was rising now: the city was burning. Criton prayed that the Temple of Elkinar, at least, would be free of smoke and slaughter. It was hard to imagine that it would.

  When they came to a rest, Criton climbed off his horse and collapsed to the ground. Bandu dismounted too, whispering in their horse’s ear and wiping off its foamy mane with her hand. The sa
ddlebags on Hunter’s horse turned out to have a brush inside, and he gave the horses a more thorough grooming.

  “I can’t believe we made it,” Narky said.

  Criton just shook his head. He couldn’t believe…

  “Bandu,” he said, “how did you do that, with the spear?”

  Bandu turned to him. “Do what? What you say?”

  “I saw you reach out and knock Bestillos’ spear away. It would have killed me otherwise.”

  “My hands are on the how-you-call-them all the time,” Bandu said, indicating the reins.

  “I saw the spear fall,” Phaedra put in helpfully, “but nobody touched it. I thought it got blown aside by a sudden wind.”

  “Yes,” Bandu said. “Wind. Not my hand.”

  She said it with finality, and Criton took that to mean that he should close his eyes and breathe slowly and try to stop feeling so dizzy. He had been breathing too fast, and riding too fast, and – no, it was none of that. It was the screaming of the children.

  27

  Narky

  In his mind he had apologized to Criton a thousand times. Whether he had meant to or not, Narky had suggested that Criton’s ancestors were monstrous beings that deserved their enemies’ hatred. How could he have thought that Criton would not take such a thing to heart? Narky, of all people, should have understood what it was like to have one’s sires maligned. Everyone he knew from childhood was dead and gone now, and he was still trying to escape his identity as Narky the Coward’s Son.

  How could he even face Criton now? The plan Narky had asked him to carry out had been more than dangerous; it had been absolutely suicidal. Any man in Criton’s position who had a single shred of selfishness would have run for his life the minute he had stepped out the temple door. If Narky had been in the same position, he was sure he would have given up on the others and fled the city as quickly and quietly as he could. It was a horrible thought, but it was true.

  Yet Criton had followed the plan through, even when his disguise had been compromised, even when the man who had killed his family was pointing straight at him and ordering his death. Criton’s loyalty and bravery were staggering.

  How could Narky look him in the eye, after what he had said and after what Criton had done? Apologizing would only remind Criton of their earlier argument. Perhaps it would be better to let those words die a quiet death, foolish and forgotten. Yet how could he know that they would even be forgotten? Maybe Criton would never forget. Maybe bringing it up and apologizing was Narky’s only way to be forgiven.

  He wished he could be sure. He wished he knew what to do. He wished there was a way to find out what Criton would think if he apologized, short of actually apologizing and learning the answer the hard way. The closest thing he could think of was to ask Phaedra.

  “Apologize for what?” Phaedra asked, when he brought his question to her. It was nighttime, and he had stayed up after his watch was over to talk to Phaedra during hers. “What did you say to him that requires an apology?”

  Narky had forgotten that Phaedra had not been present for that particular quarrel. He squirmed now, as he was forced to explain. Phaedra looked horrified when he told her what he had said, and though she listened to him explain his internal conflicts on the matter, her mind was clearly made up long before he had finished.

  “You have to apologize,” she said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Even if Criton has forgotten, that’s the kind of thing you should apologize for anyway. Criton hardly knew anything about his ancestors until he read that scroll. It filled him with self-doubt, and then while he was trying to make sense of it, you hit him where he was most vulnerable. You have to apologize, Narky. There’s just – you have to.”

  Narky sighed. “I thought so. Thanks, Phaedra.”

  For what must have been the first time, Phaedra smiled at him. “I’m glad that you’re trying. I didn’t like you at first, but I think you’ve really changed. For the better.”

  “Really?” Narky beamed back at her. He had wanted so badly to become a new person after Ravennis had forced him to examine himself, and had not felt that he was living up to his hopes. But Phaedra had noticed a difference. Gods bless her, Phaedra had noticed a difference.

  There was not much time to rest. As soon as the sun rose, they broke camp and continued southward. Narky doubted that the High Priest of Magor would abandon his victorious conquest just to chase Criton across the continent, but Criton clearly thought otherwise and for once, Narky did not argue. He was still trying to find the right time, the right way, the right context in which to say he was sorry. The thought of apologizing while everyone else was present made him want to beat his head against a rock.

  He would have to do the same thing he did with Phaedra, and speak to Criton during his night watch. Narky yawned. If he kept staying up in order to talk to people one-on-one, when would he ever sleep? No, that was selfish. He could always sleep later.

  Criton opted for the final watch that night, and because he was too unfocused during the discussion, Narky ended up with the second. Second watch was the worst. His sleep would be interrupted before he could derive any benefit from it, and he knew he would have to wake up a second time in order to speak to Criton and, if he fell asleep after their talk, a third time only an hour or two later.

  When Bandu woke him up for his own watch, he sat staring bleary-eyed into the fire, wondering how he would ever wake up once he lay down again. Without anyone shaking him as Bandu had done, he would have to rely on his body to awaken on its own. He sighed and picked up his water skin, draining it in one long string of gulps. If that didn’t wake him up later tonight, nothing would.

  The water performed its task admirably. When he had finished emptying his bladder, Narky shambled over to where Criton was sitting, looking tensely out into the night.

  “I can’t help but feel like he’s coming after me,” Criton said, out of nowhere. “He wouldn’t, right? He’ll stay in Anardis until he’s done making his point. I know that’s what he’s doing, but I feel him chasing me.”

  “Do you think that comes from magic?”

  Criton considered this. “Bandu says the wind told her Tarphae would drown, so I guess premonitions like that are possible. But do you think he’d follow us without dealing with Anardis first?”

  “I doubt it,” Narky said. “I actually meant, do you think it comes from his magic? If everyone is so afraid of him that the whole city of Anardis surrendered without a fight, maybe some of that is magical.”

  “Huh,” said Criton, looking thoughtful. “You could be right. I feel so… hunted.”

  They were silent for a time. Criton kept opening his mouth to say something, then closing it again. Narky stood uncertainly, not sure whether to move on with his business or wait for Criton to speak.

  “Um,” Narky said, finally sitting down with a thud next to Criton. “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about the things I said earlier. Your ancestors in Ardis, and all of that. If they were anything like you, they were good people. The best people. That scroll was full of lies, just like you said.”

  Criton nodded, his expression blank. It took him some time to speak. “You were right though, I can never know for sure.”

  Narky squirmed. “But the scroll said you were all pure evil by nature. That’s just obviously not true. You could have left us. You could have run away when you had the chance, instead of risking your life to come back for us, with horses and everything.”

  Criton looked sick at the very suggestion. “You think I could have betrayed you all like that? Betrayed Bandu? I could never. Never.”

  “You didn’t even think about it, did you?” Narky asked enviously.

  “Who would have?”

  “Most normal people would’ve at least considered it,” Narky said. “We were so scared back there. I thought for sure we’d all die. I think if I’d been in your place… I think I would have left.”

  Criton loo
ked disgusted. “You really would have, wouldn’t you?”

  That look of disgust made Narky want to stand up for himself. He might be a coward, but thinking of saving oneself from mortal danger by abandoning one’s friends was not uniquely cowardly! Surely it wasn’t! Criton was the unusual one. Why couldn’t he just take the compliment?

  “I don’t know,” Narky said. “I never got the opportunity, so I’ll never really know if I’d have taken it. But it wouldn’t be crazy for someone to do that. It was crazy not to. What was the chance we’d all make it? More likely we’d all have died and you’d have died with us. Look, what I was trying to say was, you’re a good person. Brave and loyal and all that. And I’m sorry about the scroll. I didn’t really think it was true, but I thought it might be, and I said so. I’m sorry.”

  Criton did not say anything for a minute. Then, finally, he nodded. “Thank you,” he said.

  It seemed like that was all Narky was going to get out of him. If he’d hoped to be forgiven or absolved, that would have to wait for another time. It didn’t matter. At least he had said what he wanted to say, and he wouldn’t have to say any more about it. Narky returned to the tent, and fell asleep almost as soon as he had laid his head down.

  Waking up was exactly as unpleasant as he had expected. The next day dragged by dreadfully, and the only part of it that Narky enjoyed was lying back down again that night. The plainsfolk on the way south were still closing their doors to the islanders, so they relied on Criton to disguise himself and buy their supplies on his own. Bandu often wandered away while they were waiting for Criton, eventually rejoining them with no explanation. Though Narky had seen more of Criton’s magic, he knew that Bandu’s must be progressing just as rapidly. Criton claimed that she had power over the wind now, a possibility that she did not exactly deny.

  “Power is wrong,” she would say. “Is not power.”

  She did not, however, supply any alternative explanation.