Arash-Felloren

by Roger Taylor

  ‘Get me my breakfast,’ Atlon demanded to conclude his tirade, then he sat down. ‘And be quick about it. I’ve paid enough for it.’

  Ghreel was in no mood to argue. The unceremonious rout of his best dog, and the intensity of Atlon’s sudden and righteous outburst had left him feeling exposed and foolish. He affected an indifference to what was said about him beyond the limits of The Wyndering, but he knew that he had just made a mistake, not least in underestimating Atlon and that stupid animal. He was known for dealing ‘firmly’ with troublesome customers, but news of his subjecting one of his guests to such unjustified violence could spread like a grass fire and do his business great harm. He let go of the dog, which scurried quickly to the far end of the room, then he aimed an angry blow at one of the passing boys. Apparently used to such treatment, the boy ducked and continued on his business, barely missing a step.

  The various travellers returned to their meals but now the atmosphere was alive with chatter as, in the wake of the tension, they became as familiar with each other as old friends, telling the tale of what they had just seen to one another over and over. There was a great deal of laughter and knowing head-nodding, and eyes turned repeatedly to examine Dvolci and Atlon.

  ‘Heading for the fighting pits, are you?’

  The question had to be repeated before Atlon realized it had been addressed to him. It came from the man sitting opposite. Atlon apologized awkwardly then, as the words impinged on him.

  ‘Fighting pits? What are they?’

  The man gave him an uncertain, half-amused, half-suspicious look. ‘The fighting pits,’ he echoed, almost as if he had been asked where the sky was. ‘Everyone’s heard of them.’

  Atlon shook his head. ‘Not me, I’m afraid. I come from far away.’

  The man nodded. ‘I suspected as much when you were so polite to Ghreel. You staying here long?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’m travelling south for… some friends, but I’ll need to find work locally to pay my way.’

  The man gave him another look then seemed to reach a decision. He rested his arms on the table and leaned forward confidentially. ‘It’s perhaps as well you bumped into me, then,’ he said. ‘You have to be careful around here, you know. There are plenty of people who’re only too willing to take advantage of a stranger such as yourself.’ He leaned further forward and lowered his voice. ‘But I think I can help you.’ He looked at Dvolci and touched the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘I know my fighting animals, and that… is a fighting animal. He’s not big, I’ll grant you, but he’s got it inside, you see. Heart. Guts. That quality only other animals can see.’

  ‘Other animals, and you.’

  Atlon, struggling to understand what the man was talking about, started slightly. It was his voice, but he had not spoken. Dvolci looked up at him innocently.

  ‘Exactly,’ the man replied, not realizing who had spoken and apparently not noting the sarcasm. ‘Experience, you see. Saw it as soon as your… what is it?… Felci?… looked at that dog. I saw what Ghreel didn’t… the muscles under that fur, those claws, the teeth.’ There was unfeigned admiration in his voice. ‘And the way it moved. It’s intelligent too – look at how it’s watching everything. You’ve got a fortune waiting for you in that animal, trust me.’

  Still bewildered and a little fearful that Dvolci might intercede on his behalf again, Atlon said, ‘I’m sorry if I seem foolish, but I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.’

  The man waved the remark aside airily. ‘Strange you’ve never heard of the fighting pits,’ he said. ‘But there’s nothing much to understand.’ He tapped his head. ‘Doesn’t tax the brain. Animals fight in the pit, and people bet on them.’

  Atlon’s breakfast appeared in front of him but he scarcely noticed it. He was having difficulty in believing what he had just heard. ‘You mean, people wager money on one animal killing another?’ he asked uncomfortably.

  The man shook his head reassuringly. ‘Oh no, there’s not always a killing.’ He smirked and returned to his meal. ‘Lot of money goes into training a good fighter. Can’t afford to risk losing them too easily, can you? No, people just bet on which will win.’ He tapped the table as he spoke. ‘People’ll bet a fortune on a good fight.’

  A sharp flick from Dvolci’s tail and a soft whistle told Atlon to restrain his incipient indignation and to listen and learn. In deference to the felci’s command, he managed not to speak, but his hands were shaking as he began to eat.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought the authorities would allow something like that,’ he said, after a while.

  The man laughed outright, in genuine amusement, spraying food. ‘Authorities! What authorities? No one has authority over Arash-Felloren. Quite a few think they do – the Prefect, the Council, the noble families and the like.’ He gave the word noble a scornful emphasis. ‘And a lot more would like to – the trading houses, the Weartans, the Kyrosdyn, the Guilds – all looking after themselves. But it’s everyone for himself, really. Always has been, always will be. Arash-Felloren’s too big for one man to control – even one man and an army.’ He became avuncular and set aside this digression. ‘I can see it’svery fortunate you’ve met me. You must’ve come from far away indeed, by the sound of it. Don’t you worry. No one could stop the pit fights even if they wanted to.’ He rubbed his thumb and first two fingers together knowingly. ‘There’s far too much money to be made at it.’

  Atlon chewed his food energetically to hide his increasing agitation. He tried to deflect the conversation. ‘Who are the Kyrosdyn?’ he asked.

  The man’s face twisted into an expression of distaste. ‘Crystal-workers,’ he replied. ‘Why?’

  ‘Crystals I know a little about,’ Atlon said brightly, surprised at his good fortune in encountering this information, and more than a little relieved to have found something that would take him away from the fighting pits. ‘Perhaps there would be work for me with them.’

  The man cast an anxious glance at Dvolci then leaned forward again, urgent now. ‘Listen to me. Don’t you have anything to do with them. I’ve heard tell that working with crystals can do strange things to a man, and looking at the Kyrosdyn, I can believe it. They’re a weird bunch. Humourless, scheming devils. Meddling with things they ought to leave alone.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, they have a finger in every part of the political squabbling that goes on. Eternally playing one side off against the other for whatever suits them, though no one seems to see it except us ordinary folk.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  The man looked surprised. ‘I don’t know – power, influence, control over the city like I said… who knows? They call themselves artists and craftsmen but they’re no better than all the others really. Worse, in fact. Rumour has it there’s a vast hoard of tints under the Vaskyros – they certainly employ enough guards to protect the place. But they’re always looking to make more money. They’re involved in all sorts of things that have nothing to do with the crystal trade, but always secretly – behind the scenes. If you ask me, they wouldn’t be happy even if they did manage to take over the entire city. They’d want all the Lowe Towns, probably, even the Thlosgaral and the Wilde Ports.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And there’s other things, too. They have… powers.’

  He seemed to regret this last remark almost immediately and glanced quickly from side to side, as if even the mention of the Kyrosdyn had brought a malign influence into The Wyndering.

  ‘Find out more,’ Dvolci’s whistled instruction was urgent.

  ‘What do you mean, powers?’ Atlon asked bluntly.

  The man gave him a startled look.

  ‘It’s not important,’ Atlon added hastily. ‘I was just curious. I’ve seen all sorts of strange things in my travels, and heard some odd tales, but they all usually come down to trickery and craft in the end. Are you all right? I didn’t mean to alarm you.’

  The man bridled slightly. ‘You
didn’t alarm me,’ he said, a touch too loudly. ‘But it’s not something that’s talked about a lot. The Kyrosdyn certainly don’t like it. They always deny everything, play the innocent, the injured party. But everyone knows they meddle in things they shouldn’t. They’re queer things, crystals.’

  The man fell silent. Though anxious to pursue the topic, Atlon sensed that nothing was to be gained by pressing him. Reluctantly he drew the man back to his original topic.

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Hypocrites. You can find them anywhere. The kind that wouldn’t be seen at your fighting pits, but who’d have someone there making money for them.’ He winked significantly.

  The man nodded a confirmation but still seemed to be unsettled by the talk about the Kyrosdyn. The general hubbub of the room came into the awkward silence between them. Atlon was loath to lose this first tenuous contact with the crystal trade. ‘Tell me more about these pits,’ he said, setting aside his distaste and affecting enthusiasm. ‘What kind of animals fight there? Not felcis, surely.’

  ‘No,’ the man replied, looking relieved. ‘Never seen anything like him before.’ His confidence began to seep back. ‘Mainly it’s like on like – cocks, dogs, cats, horses – fads come and go. But there’re no rules – it’s whatever the owners agree. In fact, a good mixed fight usually attracts a lot of attention.’

  ‘And thus money,’ Atlon added.

  ‘Exactly,’ the man replied, fully himself again. He pointed at Dvolci. ‘You see, an animal like that – not big, not fierce-looking and, if I’m any judge after seeing him with that dog, not keen on fighting more than he has to – can do well for his owner. You’d be able to take him from pit to pit and make a lot of money before his reputation got widely known.’

  Atlon could not think how to continue the conversation. The man misunderstood his silence. When he spoke again, his tone was almost reverential. ‘Of course, if you’re interested in real fighting – and real betting – you have to go to one of the Loose Pits.’

  Atlon looked at him blandly.

  ‘There’s everything there,’ the man went on, taking Atlon’s continued silence as a question. ‘All the animals that no one will challenge in the ordinary pits.’ His voice fell. ‘And some things the like of which you’d be hard-pressed to dream about. Terrible things. Things that might have been wolves or bears or worse once, but certainly aren’t now.’

  Atlon did not need Dvolci’s softly whistled urging. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  Once again, the man looked about him. When he spoke, it was in a whisper. ‘You need to see them to understand. Some say that the Kyrosdyn have actually made these things, but I’ve heard it said that they’re bred from creatures which have been found in the lower depths.’ He pointed a curled finger downwards. ‘You know… in the caves.’ He almost mouthed the words. ‘Lower even than the old tunnels.’

  Atlon leaned back. Suddenly he felt very cold. He had countless questions that he wanted to ask, but knew that this man could not answer them even if he had been willing to. ‘This city sounds very interesting,’ he managed to say. ‘Lots of opportunities for an enterprising man.’ He laid his hand on Dvolci.

  ‘With the right kind of guide,’ the man suggested.

  ‘Indeed.’ Atlon pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. ‘As I said, I’m on a journey for some friends – travelling south. But it’s not urgent, while my need for work is.’

  The man smiled broadly. ‘Work’s the refuge of a desperate man.’ He flicked a thumb at Dvolci. ‘My name’s not Irgon Rinter if good money isn’t to be made by putting that in the pits.’

  Atlon shook his head and pushed his plate to one side. ‘I’d need to think about that. I’ve been a long time alone and he’s been good company. I’m very fond of him. I couldn’t throw him into a pit full of those creatures you were talking about.’

  The man held up his hands in denial. ‘There’s no question of that,’ he said quickly. ‘To make money in the ordinary pits you try to remain unknown. But to get into the Loose Pits it’s just the opposite. You have to make yourself well known – fight your way up – get a reputation. There’s no money to be made betting on what happens when you just throw a cat to the wolves, is there? And fighter though he might be, he wouldn’t stand a chance against some of the things in the Loose Pits.’

  He looked at Atlon narrowly for a moment, then held out his hand. ‘Your name, stranger?’

  Atlon took the hand and introduced both himself and Dvolci.

  Rinter reached across as if to stroke the felci, then catching Dvolci’s eye, changed his mind. ‘Odd kind of a name,’ he said, with a nervous laugh. ‘But then he’s an odd kind of a creature, isn’t he?’

  * * * *

  ‘Odd kind of a creature!’

  Atlon winced as Dvolci ground his teeth violently and repeated the phrase yet again.

  ‘You told me to find out about him,’ Atlon protested. ‘And he’s pointed us to the crystal trade. He could be useful.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes. I know,’ Dvolci replied irritably. He ground his teeth again and returned to his diatribe. ‘What kind of a creature is it that makes other animals fight just for the spectacle? A human, that’s what. I should’ve torn his blathering head off.’

  Atlon knew from experience that there was little point in attempting to stem Dvolci’s onslaught on the character of Rinter and, consequently, humanity in general, but he could not resist a jibe. ‘I thought you didn’t approve of fighting.’

  The felci glowered at him, then raised a paw to strike an arbitrary blow at the end of the bed. ‘Don’t damage the furniture,’ Atlon cried hastily. ‘We’re hardly in favour with Ghreel as it is and I’ve no desire to be thrown out of here until we’ve got some more money from somewhere.’

  Dvolci blew a violent raspberry, then for no apparent reason ran round the room five times, recklessly bounding over anything that got in his way.

  ‘Have you finished?’ Atlon asked unnecessarily when he finally came to a halt.

  Dvolci shook his head violently, sat on his haunches and began to scratch himself.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, after a moment. He looked straight at Atlon. ‘I don’t think you’ve any idea what a difficult species you are to live with.’ His voice was calm and assured now.

  Atlon did not argue the point.

  ‘Bad taste in your mouth again?’ he asked gently.

  ‘My own fault. I shouldn’t get so angry. Especially about humans. And it’s not as if I didn’t know what you’re like at your worst, is it?’

  ‘It’s not as if both of us didn’t know,’ Atlon added.

  Dvolci jumped up on to the stone sink and began working the handle energetically. When the water started to flow he took several large mouthfuls, gargled noisily and then spat them out. He shook himself vigorously, sending a fine spray of water in all directions.

  ‘We go with him, though?’ Atlon asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Dvolci replied without hesitation. ‘If the reality of his life matches his gossip, we should learn some interesting things, moving in his circles.’

  Atlon voiced his reservations. ‘Not such a small town, after all, by the sound of it. And alarming as well.’

  ‘You afraid?’

  ‘Nervous,’ Atlon conceded, pulling a wry face. ‘There are times when I’d much rather be back at the Caves, studying in peace and quiet.’

  ‘But…?’ Dvolci caught the doubt.

  Atlon blew out a long breath and picked up his pack. ‘But the only way to get back to that is to go forwards, isn’t it?’

  Dvolci gave a mocking whistle. ‘Very philosophical. You must write that one down.’ Then he was serious again. ‘We must find out all we can about these Kyrosdyn. Some of the things Rinter was saying about them were very alarming. Powers, for pity’s sake. If that means what I think it means… if these people are using crystals to meddle with…’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Atlon cut across Dvolci’s concern. ‘But if they are, they are. And they
’ll have been doing it for a long time. I’m sure we’ll have no trouble in finding that out. We’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘And caves beneath the city – and strange creatures?’

  Atlon wiped his hand across his mouth nervously. ‘I don’t even want to think about what that might mean.’

  ‘We’ll have to find out.’ Dvolci’s tone held no enthusiasm at the prospect.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Atlon acknowledged grimly. He fluttered his hands as if to dispel an image in the air in front of him. ‘In the meantime we have more pressing problems – like finding a source of income around here.’ He slung his pack on to his back.

  A trail of fine dust eddied about his feet as he opened the door. Stepping on to the long balcony, he looked up at the hazy sky and the low bright sun just breaking through the dust that hung permanently over the Thlosgaral. There was an unhealthy, almost feverish quality about it. The promise of a heat that would drain rather than sustain.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, answering Dvolci’s earlier question. ‘I am afraid.’

  Chapter 7

  Though not normally concerned by dirt about his person, Pinnatte nevertheless tried to remove the stain from the back of his hand. His first instinct was to lift it to his mouth, as an injured animal might, but something stopped him. At least he could see the mark where it was. If he sucked it into his body, who knew what it might spread through his system. Perhaps that was what the Kyrosdyn had intended – perhaps the mark contained some subtle poison. Pinnatte felt more pleased than unnerved by this conclusion. It confirmed his own assessment of himself: he knew how to survive on the streets; he was not one to be so easily trapped.

  He was less pleased a few minutes later when a vigorous washing in the cold water of the fountain failed to make any impression on the stain. A chill slowly formed in the pit of his stomach. What had that freak done to him? He felt sick at the random chance of it all. Like most of the Guild of Thieves, he was meticulous in avoiding stealing not just crystals, but anything from the Kyrosdyn. Though an elaborate system of statutes announced otherwise, punishments in Arash-Felloren were usually dependent on the whim of the injured party. Weartans, typically, could be bribed, unless there were several of them, in which case a beating was more likely. The private guards who looked after noble houses were more immediately inclined to violence, but, incongruously, often hesitated to create a disturbance that might distress their masters. Those employed by the traders, by contrast, would often call on their master to join in, which they invariably did, and with relish. But no one really knew what the Kyrosdyn did. There were only vague and frightening rumours – mysterious disappearances and people returned who were silent and haunted – ‘never the same again’.