by Roger Taylor
And there was, though it was not much.
‘Flock of crows kicking up a fuss not far from your place this morning,’ one of Heirn’s regular customers announced jauntily.
‘Crows?’ Heirn queried.
‘Crows. You know – the Brothers.’ He screwed up his face into a peevish mask. ‘Seems one of them popped his sandals in an alley just down from where you live.’
‘Kyrosdyn, you mean?’ Heirn said.
The man was scornful. ‘You’re getting particular in your old age, aren’t you? Crows is nearer the mark – “Kyrosdyn” makes them sound almost human.’
‘What happened?’ Heirn asked, carrying on with his work.
‘I’ve no idea,’ the man said, moving to watch Atlon who was stitching a leather purse. ‘I just saw a crowd of them carrying someone out of the alley when I was going past. Apparently it was an old man – really old, someone said. Seemed surprised they’d let someone so frail out on his own, but you know what they’re like.’
Heirn grunted indifferently.
‘Mind you, they seemed upset about it. Milling around like frightened hens, with a deal of arm-waving and shouting. They don’t normally do things like that in public. And the looks they were giving the crowd…’ He puffed his cheeks out. ‘You’d think one of us had seen the old beggar off.’
‘Maybe he was a respected Higher Brother,’ Heirn said. ‘Not everyone has your jaundiced view of them.’
‘Not everyone’s had my dealings with them,’ the retort bounced back. ‘And since when have you had a good word for them?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘I’ll wager they weren’t getting so excited because they loved him. He’d probably embezzled the funds and was spending them on a lady friend when time caught up with him.’ He made an obscene gesture.
Heirn laughed and threw him the belt buckle he had been working on. ‘Here, pay your money and clear off. It’s too nice a day for your cynicism.’
When he had gone, Heirn turned to Atlon. ‘Well, at least the body’s been taken care of.’
Atlon looked up at him sympathetically. ‘What do you think will happen next?’ he asked.
Heirn shrugged. ‘You tell me,’ he said. ‘Normally the Weartans would investigate an unexpected death, but I very much doubt the Kyrosdyn will even tell them about it. If they’re asked, they’ll probably say one of their older Brothers died of heart failure, or some such. Anything else would leave them with far too many bizarre questions to answer.’
The day drifted on, Heirn working at his forge, Atlon turning his hand to repairing tackle and various leather goods. ‘Not my favourite work,’ Heirn admitted shamefacedly as he pointed out the neglected items. ‘Been putting some of it off for a long time.’
‘I can see,’ Atlon retorted, blowing dust off a saddle.
They heard the tale about the dead Kyrosdyn a few times more but nothing was added to what they already knew. They also heard about the unexpected developments at the Jyolan.
‘They say Barran’s taken it over – from the Kyrosdyn, no less. He’ll liven it up.’
‘All the balconies were open. It’s a queer place that, I tell you. Tunnels and passages winding everywhere.’
‘A few people killed in the crush. Could’ve been more but for some young lad opening the gate.’
‘Never seen anything like that creature at the end. Sort of a dog of some kind, I suppose. Really fast and vicious when it got going. Bit this dog’s leg clean off… threw it out of the arena. And it was frightening somehow – even when it was just sitting there.’ The voice was lowered and the speaker leaned across Heirn’s anvil. ‘Tale is that it’s something the Kyrosdyn found down below.’ The last two words were mouthed rather than spoken, and a significant finger was pointed downwards.
Heirn seemed anxious to let the topic go, but Atlon intervened.
‘What did it look like?’
He listened to the description interestedly, but shook his head when it was finished. Dvolci, curled up in the shade near the back of the forge, stirred uneasily. When the two men were alone again, he joined them.
‘That was a Serwulf,’ he said urgently.
Heirn looked puzzled, and Atlon said unconvincingly, ‘It can’t be.’
‘Sounded like one to me. The description – the way it moved – and frightening even when it was just sitting there.’
‘It can’t be,’ Atlon insisted. ‘It’d be from the time of the First Coming. They were all destroyed…’ He faltered.
Dvolci was shaking his head. ‘Most of His creatures were destroyed, but some fled into the deeps. We know that for a fact, don’t we?’ He turned to Heirn. ‘Tell us about down below,’ he said, mimicking the last customer, with a downward thrust of his paw.
‘What’s the matter?’ Heirn said to Atlon, ignoring Dvolci.
‘I’m fine,’ Atlon said, though his expression said otherwise. ‘Tell us about where this creature’s supposed to have come from – the caves.’
‘Not much to tell, really,’ Heirn said, eyeing Atlon anxiously. ‘There are tunnels beneath the city – man-made tunnels – very old. Supposed to be more of them down there than streets up here. Probably used for storage or as escape routes from the time of the founding of the city – no one knows.’
‘People live down there?’
Heirn grimaced unhappily. ‘The poor, the stupid, the vicious. “Tunnellers”, we call them. Anyone who for various reasons can’t or won’t live up here. It’s a bad, sad place.’
‘And below these are caves?’
Affected by Atlon’s sudden seriousness, Heirn strove for accuracy. ‘Yes, well, everyone believes there are. But, to be honest, I can’t say I know anyone who’s actually been down there. Most people don’t even go into the tunnels if they can avoid it, let alone any deeper.’
‘Someone told me that the Kyrosdyn go to the caves to capture animals – strange animals – for the Pits.’
‘So the tales go – the gossip. But that’s all it is – gossip. I’m no lover of the Pits. As far as I’m concerned, they’re an obscenity. I’d as soon see people fighting in them, as animals – at least they’d be there by choice. I don’t know what goes on in them, especially the Loose Pits.’
‘But some strange things appear from time to time?’ Atlon pressed.
‘So I’ve heard,’ Heirn replied hastily, waving his hand as if to be free of the subject. ‘I’ve also heard that the Kyrosdyn breed their own fighting animals; perhaps this thing was one of them. What’s a Serwulf anyway?’
‘Until now I’d thought it was just a memory,’ Atlon replied grimly. He glanced at Dvolci. ‘But we know there are creatures in the depths that have been long gone from the daylight.’ He stared out at the sunlit square. ‘At the time of the First Coming, when His true nature was revealed and the wars started, He had all manner of creatures fighting with His armies – creatures that he had created. The Serwulf was supposed to be one of the worst, the peak of His achievement as it were. Part wild dog, part boar, part human, part who can say what – the whole made into something unique and terrifying, totally His – an abomination. Apart from strength and speed and cunning, it’s said they sent terror before them, and fed on that of their victims – tormenting them. They ran in great packs and were supposed to have scattered entire armies – broken infantry that had held firm against the finest cavalry.’
Atlon’s tone seemed to darken the forge. Heirn clung to the practical.
‘Surely nothing could have stayed alive down there in the darkness – breeding, hunting – not after all this time?’
‘We have,’ Dvolci said simply. ‘My people live in the depths – there are many things that thrive there – and there are regions far deeper than we venture.’
Heirn made no reply. The noise of the square filled the forge.
When Atlon spoke, his voice was low, as if he were reluctant to hear his own words. ‘If this is a Serwulf, then it confirms what I said earlier. The Kyrosdyn are a bigger danger to the c
ity than any outside enemy, or any other power group within it.’
‘It’s a lot to assume on the strength of one freak animal in a Loose Pit,’ Heirn said.
‘I hope I’m wrong,’ Atlon said. ‘But we’ll have to find out.’ He stood up. ‘Have you anything else that you want me to do today? I need to go to the Jyolan to find out about this creature. And I might find something out about the Kyrosdyn as well.’
Heirn stammered, ‘No, no, there’s nothing urgent. And what you’ve done is splendid – you’ve saved my reputation with some of my best customers.’ He ran his hand admiringly down a saddle hanging nearby. ‘Are you sure you want to go to the Jyolan? Whether it’s being run by the Kyrosdyn or Barran’s men, they won’t like you prying around, asking questions.’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.’
Heirn looked doubtful. ‘Shall I come with you?’ he asked, adding hastily, ‘You might get lost. Besides, if the Kyrosdyn are as dangerous as you say, it’s a city matter, isn’t it? It shouldn’t be up to you to sort it out.’
Atlon shook his head. ‘No, you stay here. I can remember the way.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘And if I get into my kind of difficulty there you won’t be able to help.’ The remark came out harsher than he had intended. He became conciliatory. ‘Besides, if that happens it’ll be as well if you’re not associated with me. That way, they won’t come after you as well.’
Heirn was not totally convinced. ‘It’s still a city matter.’
‘True,’ Atlon conceded, ‘but…’ He counted off the points of his argument with his fingers. ‘The crystals are my affair – they’ve already affected my people. If the Kyrosdyn seize Arash-Felloren they’ll not stop there. And I’m the only person who knows what to look for.’ He took Heirn’s arm. ‘Nothing would delight me more than to ride away from here, but I can’t. And you’ll help me best by being here if I need you.’
Heirn straightened up and looked at him paternally. ‘Very well, young man,’ he said. ‘But if you’re not back by an hour to sunset, I’ll come looking for you. I’ve never started a quarrel in my life, though I’ve finished one or two.’
‘Thank you,’ Dvolci said before Atlon could remonstrate further with him.
A few minutes later, Heirn was standing at the front of his forge, watching Atlon, mounted, wend his way across the busy square. He had left his long coat at the forge, but after a glance at the high sun he had donned his wide-brimmed hat. It provided a focal point for Heirn when all other details had merged into the crowd. When finally the hat had disappeared from view, Heirn turned back into the forge. It seemed very empty.
* * * *
Even allowing for two or three acrimonious exchanges at certain busy junctions – all of which Dvolci both won and subsequently gloated over – the journey back to the Jyolan did not seem as long as when they had travelled the other way on the previous day.
When they arrived, a confusing swirl of activity in front of the building was spilling across the street, blocking much of it, to the noisy irritation of the general traffic. There was a constant stream of people bustling in and out, while others were generally milling around, or standing in groups, talking urgently. Still more were dragging things out and dumping them into carts with a reckless disregard for anyone standing in the way. Everyone seemed to be shouting at everyone else, not least the men precariously perched on the several ladders that were leaning against the front wall. An atmosphere of both confusion and urgency pervaded the scene.
Atlon reined his horse to a halt and stared at the building for a long time.
‘Nervous?’ Dvolci asked eventually.
Atlon took a deep breath. ‘Scared stiff,’ he replied. ‘So much has happened these last two days. Things coming to light I’d not even dared imagine. Our simple search for the source of a few troublesome crystals is turning into a nightmare. I’d give anything to be away from here – back at the caves, studying, riding, talking… anything.’ Reaching up, he touched the felci hesitantly. ‘If anything happens to me, don’t take any risks. Go back on your own. Tell the others about whatever’s happened. Theymust know.’
‘I will if I have to,’ Dvolci said quietly. ‘Don’t worry. But let’s deal with the present first. Have you any idea where to start?’
Atlon dismounted. ‘Not really. But for what it’s worth, this place feels worse than it did yesterday -and that face on the archway is really disturbing.’
Dvolci gave a low, thoughtful whistle. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘It’s an ill-rooted place.’ He began to whisper. ‘Listen, if there are any of these Kyrosdyn in there, be very careful. That one last night was as taut as a bowstring. They might smell you out even if you don’t use the Power. Whatever happens, whatever you see or feel, stay very calm, completely in control. You understand, don’t you? You’re back on the battlefield here, so be alert. I’ll be watching, and if it looks as though you’re slipping, I’ll try to remind you, or distract matters somehow – but I won’t be able to do much.’
Atlon nodded then closed his eyes and took another slow, deep breath. ‘Don’t be afraid to be afraid,’ he said softly to himself. ‘You’ve been in worse places.’ It was only slightly convincing – he still wanted to be somewhere else.
Dvolci dropped into Atlon’s pack and pulled the flap down so that only his muzzle protruded. Atlon tethered his horse loosely to a rail in front of the building next to the Jyolan, speaking to it as he did so, then, carefully keeping his gaze away from the face carved on the archway, he began pushing his way through the activity in the entrance hall.
There was even greater confusion inside than outside. The leaves of the gate that Pinnatte had unbolted the previous night had been removed from their hinges and were occupying much of the entrance hall while they were being repaired. When it had burst open, the gate had crashed back so violently that its hinges had been damaged and parts of it had buckled. Pinnatte was fortunate to have been flung clear or he would certainly have been badly injured. Braziers were crackling and throwing up sparks, adding their own heat and fumes to those of the day and the city, and several large men were levering and hammering in an attempt to straighten the buckled frames. The noise was deafening. It was not helped by everyone shouting to make themselves heard over it.
Atlon was gazing around for someone to speak to when a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. He turned to face Fiarn. The big man was not a welcoming sight. His battered face was creased with frustration and his posture was decidedly menacing. ‘You one of the painters?’ he shouted.
Atlon leaned forward to catch the words. ‘No,’ he shouted back. Fiarn swore irritably and looked around as if searching for a place where this intruder might be placed in the confusion. ‘Who the hell are you, then?’ he demanded.
Atlon pulled off his hat and tried to hold Fiarn’s restless gaze. He ignored the man’s unpleasant tone. ‘My name’s Atlon,’ he shouted. ‘I’m looking for a man call Rinter – Irgon Rinter, I think. I was supposed to meet…’
There was a burst of frantic hammering from the men repairing the gate which made everyone in the entrance hall put their hands to their ears.
‘What!’ Atlon could see Fiarn’s mouth saying.
‘Rinter. I’m looking for a man called Rinter,’ he bellowed back into what proved to be an equally sudden silence. All eyes turned to him. It was this that took the brunt of Fiarn’s response. He looked around, eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Get on with your work!’ he roared. ‘What d’you think this is – Prefect’s Holiday?’ The clamour returned, with increased vigour. Fiarn returned to Atlon. ‘For crying out… I’m not Rinter’s keeper, you know. I’ve got enough to do today without chasing after him.’ He turned and walked away, waving vaguely in the direction of the interior of the building. ‘He’s knocking about somewhere. With the new one – Pinnatte. Go find him yourself.’
‘Scarce commodity in this city, charm,’ Dvolci muttered into Atlon’s ear. Atlon looked at the archways which opene
d off the entrance hall. ‘I don’t like the look of those,’ Dvolci said.
‘I don’t like the whole place,’ Atlon retorted. He blew out a heavy breath. ‘Still, he invited us in, so let’s go and see what we can find.’
It took them a little time to decide which of the arches they should try, there being no indication on any of them as to where they led. In the end they chose the one that seemed to be the busiest. It opened into a wide passageway, but they had not gone far along it when Atlon stopped.
‘What’s the matter?’ Dvolci asked.
‘Bad feelings, bad feelings, that’s all,’ Atlon replied. ‘Like a weight on me. Somehow this place is like a travesty of the caves back home, as if it were designed to gather darkness rather than light.’
Dvolci gave a non-committal grunt. He was staring around. ‘Bad feelings are appropriate, I think,’ he said. ‘It probably is the opposite of our caves. It’s not been built for any good purpose, that’s for sure. All these openings look wrong. It’s almost as if they were Song Ways, but… wait a minute!’
Before Atlon could do anything, Dvolci had slithered out of the pack and disappeared down one of the holes. Self-consciously, and more than a little concerned, Atlon squatted down next to the opening, his back against the wall. He resisted the temptation to bend down and shout along the small tunnel.
‘Don’t let Fiarn catch you sitting around,’ said a red-faced passer-by pushing a hand-cart. Atlon gave him an acknowledging wave.
Then the passage was alive with eerie, grating sounds. They set Atlon’s teeth on edge and his skin started to crawl. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to flee. Everyone else in the passage seemed to be similarly affected – all of them stopping suddenly and covering their ears. Abandoned rubbish clattered to the floor and untended carts tumbled over.
Dvolci emerged from the opening at great speed and disappeared into Atlon’s pack with such force that he almost knocked Atlon over.
