They discovered what the festival had been for the following afternoon.
The village was quiet and oddly strained, a strange hesitancy hanging over the place, as though the carnival of the previous night had been a beginning, not an end. ‘They are waiting for something,’ Alxine said thoughtfully. Thalia only shook her head. ‘Nothing like this is done in Sorlost,’ she said when Alxine suggested it must be some part of the festival. ‘It is like … It is like the moment of twilight. I don’t like it.’
It is like the moment before I kill a man, Thalia thought. It was not that the people were not about: they bustled in the main square, clearing away the rubbish, setting things straight, sweeping the ground clean. Children danced around, tired-eyed and still overexcited, running and shouting and getting underfoot. But there was a feeling in the air like a gathering storm, faces raised sometimes to the sky, muttering something only to be told to hush.
Tobias came in after a while, dusty from attending to the horses. The stable boy, Thalia gathered from his mutterings, had also enjoyed the festivities rather too much. Tobias stamped his hand down heavily on the table when he sat down, calling out loudly for more food. The noise woke Marith, who sat up groggily and almost fell off the bench.
‘Good morning, Tobias.’
‘It’s well after noon,’ said Tobias coldly.
Marith shrugged. ‘Ah, well. Nothing important happened this morning anyway.’
The innkeep’s wife came in with fresh tea, more drinking bowls, a plate of bread and curd cheese. Tobias ate hungrily. The woman smiled broadly at Marith, who smiled back at her, sighed, and poured himself a bowl of tea.
‘Today, is it, you’re leaving?’ the woman asked Marith. She glanced up at the brilliant blue sky. ‘Good day for it.’
‘Today, and as soon as possible,’ Tobias said shortly.
Marith winced.
Alxine came to join them again, having gone off for a wander around the village.
‘We’re going,’ Tobias told him as he sat down. ‘Get Rate while I sort out the supplies.’
They met a short while later outside the stables. Marith saddled up his horse then helped Thalia carefully into the covered back of the cart, arranging cushions and blankets for her. She yawned widely.
‘Oh, I’m so tired. I should be used to staying awake all night.’
He wrapped a light blanket carefully over her, even though it was hot. A caring thing, he thought vaguely. ‘Sleep for a while. I’d join you, if I could.’
‘You’ve been sleeping all morning.’
‘And I could sleep all afternoon, pillowed in your arms. I am not looking forward to several hours’ ride in the sun, either.’
‘That’s your own fault, Lord Prince.’ She looked longingly at the inn, with its beds and bathtub. ‘We could stay until tomorrow …’
‘No. I …’ He hesitated. ‘We need to get on. We shouldn’t stay here any longer. Maybe we shouldn’t have stopped at all. There’s something …’
‘Yes.’ She felt it too. Of course she did. But he couldn’t put it into words. Last night had been a bright, unlooked-for happiness, but there was something here that troubled him. Thalia curled up in the back of the cart, closing her eyes against the sun. ‘And I won’t have to put up with you snoring in my ear.’
He grinned his boy’s grin. ‘The Altrersyr do not snore. Not now I’m disappointingly sober again, anyway.’
The horses, at least, were well rested after the late start, and trotted forward eagerly enough. The land about quickly emptied, high desert with only a few stunted thorn trees clinging on desperately in the parched sand. It was hot as a furnace, a scalding wind blowing dust. After a while, the three riders took turns sitting beside Rate in the scant shade of the cart front, their horse led on a long rein. Thalia dozed in the back, tossing and turning in the heat. They had had a few days like this, finding no shade, no water, but this seemed the worst. A heavy, dead sense over everything.
The sun was beginning to sink in the sky when Alxine, who was sitting beside Rate, pointed suddenly out at something off to their left, on the top of a small incline. ‘A horse!’
Wild horses were not uncommon out here. Or horses grown wild after their owners had died of thirst. Marith, dozing miserably in the saddle, looked with little interest, then stared. Rate and Tobias were staring too. A very beautiful horse, with a strong slender neck and a glossy roan coat, liveried in fine green leather, its head decked with gold ornaments. Not a wild horse. Not a farm horse even. Expensive. Well cared for. Hobbled and saddled and abandoned in the middle of the desert. It whinnied pitifully when it saw them, tried to rear up despite the rope around its legs. Its eyes rolled, showing the whites all round.
Marith dismounted and edged carefully towards it. The horse whinnied again, snorted and stamped. He held out his hand, began to talk quietly in a nonsense babble of languages. It flared its nostrils. Stamped.
‘It’s all right. It’s all right. Lovely horse. Fine horse.’ He caught the bridle. Stroked the lathered head and neck. It pulled and tried to buck, then settled a little and sniffed at him.
‘Good horse. Good horse. Calm down, then I can give you some water and grain.’ The horse flicked its ears at the word ‘water’. Snorted loud. He’d been speaking Pernish, so that told him almost nothing, except that it must have been out in the sun like this for a while. He led it back down to the track and gave it water. It drank gratefully, blowing through its nose. He stroked its neck lovingly.
Tobias and Rate came to look. ‘Allene,’ said Tobias. ‘That’s where its owner’s from. You see those buckles on the head straps? And the stirrups? Southern work, that. No saddlebag, though. Any sign of the rider, up there?’
Marith shook his head. ‘Not that I could see. Just the horse.’
‘Tracks?’
Marith shrugged. Still three parts hung-over. Had about three hours’ sleep. The wind blowing the sand around and the horse had been trampling and pissing up there. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
Tobias rolled his eyes at him, stomped off to look. Marith ordered Rate to fetch some grain and a few raisins, a cloth to rub the horse down. Thalia came up to him looking almost jealous. The horse snorted and tossed its head and she stepped back nervously.
‘It’s all right,’ he said again. ‘It will be fine in a moment. It’s just skittish.’ He fed it a handful of dried fruit and it nosed at his shoulder more comfortably.
Marith was rubbing the horse down when Tobias returned. ‘There’s tracks,’ Tobias said wearily. ‘Leading away to the east. One man, alone. Then something else.’
Oh gods. You know what’s coming, a voice whispered in Marith’s mind. You know. You’ve known since you came back into the desert. Tobias knew too, he could see it in the defeat in the man’s face. Three parts hung-over and three hours’ sleep and this. He rubbed his eyes painfully, the first time in days.
‘Stay here,’ Marith ordered Thalia. ‘Sit in the cart.’ He looked at Tobias’s face. ‘Alxine, stay with her. Keep your sword out.’
The incline fell away steeply into a flat plain. It was very hot, the air very close. No trees or grasses, just sand and jagged rocks that caught at the foot. But ahead of them, a few crows circled, cawing raggedly.
The body was sprawled on its back in a circle of blackened sand, arms thrown out to the sides. Ripped to pieces. The blood was clotted and black with flies. Crows had torn out its innards. A man, possibly dressed in a brown shirt and brown leggings. A few strands of hair and a greying beard.
A long wooden staff, as tall as the man himself and broader than his forearm, lay in the dust next to him. It was broken jaggedly in two.
A silence.
‘Oh fuck,’ Rate said at last.
Tobias frowned. ‘It’s the mage. The wonder worker. From the square in Sorlost. You remember, with the fire and the coloured lights?’
‘It’s missing half its face,’ said Rate. ‘How can you tell that?’
‘No, he�
�s right,’ Marith said slowly. ‘That’s a mage’s staff, anyway. And those marks in the dust are from mage fire.’
Rate whistled softly through his teeth. ‘We should probably leave here as quickly as bloody well possible, then?’
The blood drained from Marith’s face. He turned and looked back towards the cart and horses, hidden behind the incline.
‘Haven’t heard her scream, yet,’ said Tobias. ‘But you’re right, the pair of you. We should go. Now.’ He bent down, rifled quickly through the man’s pockets, retrieving a handful of coins and an ornately handled knife. ‘Wonder where his saddlebags went. He must have had water, food …’
‘There.’ Rate pointed to a dark heap in the sand away to the right. He went cautiously towards it. Returned carrying a large travel sack. ‘Looks like a camp. Gods know why he left his horse up there behind him.’
‘I don’t think he did,’ said Tobias. ‘I think the horse got up there on its own. Even hobbled. There are some odd marks in the sand back there.’
Another silence.
‘Oh fuck,’ said Rate.
They rode the horses hard, pressing on as late as they could into the night. You know what’s coming, a voice whispered in Marith’s mind. You know. You’ve known since you came back into the desert. They were fleeing, but they could just as easily be fleeing towards it.
I will not burn, he thought bitterly. He traced his hand over the hilt of the black sword.
On the next morning, riding into the rising sun. The Fire Star burned beside it. The desert shimmered like liquid gold: Marith looked back and saw Thalia’s face glowing as she sat next to Rate in the cart. Her hair and eyes blazed, reflecting the sun. As beautiful as the dawn. I don’t want to die, he thought. It grew hotter than ever, the sun remorseless, still no running water and no shade. They sat for lunch in the small shadow of the cart, dried meat warm and rancid in the heat, drinking warm rancid water from their water-skins.
Thalia pointed, shielding her eyes against the bright sun. ‘There’s something flying up there. Circling us.’
Alxine looked up too. The sun was right in his face, blazing. He squinted. ‘There’s something … a bird, I think. No, wait … it’s too big. Too big …’
Thalia screamed then, for a great dark shape came down out of the sky, blotting out the light. A stink of hot iron. The beating of vast wings.
The dragon was grey, a deep, storm-cloud grey in which all the colours of the world flickered. Its eyes were green, the green of trees and leaves. Eyes that knew things men could never know. The other dragon, the little dragon, had been an animal. A creature. This dragon was something else.
It settled in the road in front of them. Perfect and beautiful. A wonder. Utterly real. Everything else around it ceased and fell to nothing beside it. It sat and watched them, perfectly still, only its eyes moving, and the flames beating and smoking in its nostrils as it breathed.
Its eyes flickered as it looked at Marith. Something that might have been a frown or a smile came across its face. Its black tongue came out, twitching in the air. It lashed its tail twice.
Ah gods. Amrath and Eltheia. Be kind. Be kind. I don’t want … I don’t want to die.
Marith stepped forward. The dragon hissed, showing white teeth as long as a man’s arm, cruel and sharp. It beat its tail, sending up a cloud of dust. Another step. Another. He stopped perhaps ten paces from the cavernous mouth. He drew his sword and raised it aloft, staring back at the dragon with great dark eyes. Blue fire crackled down the length of the blade. When he spoke his voice shook.
‘I am of your blood, and the blood of she that loosed you. I am of your blood, and the blood of He that slew you. You will not attack me, or my companions. I command it. By my name and my blood and my sword, I command it. Else I will kill you.’
The dragon looked down at him. For a long moment the two stood facing each other, eyes locked. There was absolute silence. Tobias, Thalia, Alxine and Rate crouched in the dust, trembling. The horses rolled their eyes but stood still.
The dragon could snap a man in two, grind him into nothing, burn him to ashes. Not a human thing. Like bidding a rock to move, or water to flow uphill. Like bidding the sun not to set.
But slowly it bowed its head, and blinked its vast green eyes.
Marith laughed then, a wild laugh that was barely human. The same sound he had made that night in Sorlost when he had killed Emit and drunk firewine and laughed like something rotted and dead.
The dragon hissed long and angry, and then it spoke, its voice clear and ringing, the deep music of a great old bell. Its breath was hot like a furnace, flame riding on its words. Its voice seemed to echo beyond language, deep into the mind. Itheralik, the Old Tongue, the tongue of Amrath, the tongue of the Godkings of Caltath. What other language would dragons speak, save that spoken by dead gods?
Studied it. Struggled over it. Hated it. And now it came clear in Marith’s thoughts, the words and the answers, like he was born to it.
‘Amrath Tiameneke emnek geklam. Kel Altrersnanet kel imrahnei Amrathek?’ Amrath died fighting a dragon. Do you think you are greater than Amrath, little Altrersyr boy? It shifted itself up, beating open its great wings. The skin of them was deep red. Dried blood red. Firewine red. Almost the same black-red as Marith’s hair. ‘Ren nanel ykelesti Altrersnanet. Ren se kel memrak. Kekelmen enoheles arelasivs. Keneken na ylik nekast. Kekelmen bek malis.’ You are far from home, little Altrersyr boy. Very far. And you have weakness in you. I can taste it, when I look at you. You run from your own shadow.
Marith said quietly, ‘Kekeme hast i kane, Tiamenekil?’ I am not running from you though, am I, dragon?
The dragon snorted fire, growling and flexing its wings again, vast and gleaming, like a wave breaking on the shore. ‘You killed one of my sons, little Altrersyr boy.’
‘I killed my best friend, dragon. Do you think I care about your son?’ Marith gripped his sword more tightly, trying to keep his gaze fixed on the dragon’s eyes. He could control it. He could perhaps even kill it. He held it bound to him on a thin tight leash of his will.
So much power, he thought. In it. In him.
The dragon moved its head a little, surveying the four figures behind him.
‘Curious company you keep, little Altrersyr boy. Your woman, is she? And your servants?’
‘You do not look at her!’ He raised his sword again and the dragon jerked and hissed and laughed.
‘I see her, too, little Altrersyr boy. An interesting choice of woman for you. For the path you take.’
‘Leave here. Leave us in peace. Go back into the wilds and do not follow us. Swear it.’ The blue fire on the sword flickered. ‘Ahmeniket!’ Swear it!
The great green eyes stared down. ‘But I am hungry and angry, little Altrersyr boy. I long to kill. I hunger to kill. The men of the desert offered up prayers and chants and dances to me, then sent out a fool man to kill me. But all it did was stir up my desire. The man burnt me, little Altrersyr boy.’ It spread open its wings again, and Marith saw a jagged dark tear in the skin of the left wingspan. The wings closed, like a fan closing, the body lowered, like a dog coming into a crouch or a horse kneeling to be ridden. ‘Ahmenieken ekliket Ansikanderakesis. Ansikanderakesis Amrakane.’ Marith jerked his head and the dragon snorted. ‘If I was stronger, I would kill you now. Better that I did. You know that as well as I, little Altrersyr boy.’ Another laugh. ‘Ahmenieken ekliket. I swear it. But I must be revenged on something. For what the little mage thing did. For what you will do. And then I will leave you be.’ The great head twisted, the long neck sinuous, snaking round to view the four figures crouching defenceless in the sand. ‘Not your woman, no. Though it would be kindness to her, perhaps. But—’
Fire burst from the dragon’s throat. It roared and leapt forward, knocking Marith to one side. He stumbled, dropping the sword. The blue flames died. The dragon mounted into the sky, wings blocking the light. It shone in the sun like heat haze. Clouds of dust stirred up and f
alling, sand grains sparkling gold. Like broken glass falling. Like coloured stars.
Thalia screamed. Rate screamed. Tobias cursed.
Alxine lay in the dust, torn to pieces, his head ripped from his body, limbs crushed and bent.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The next weeks were … interesting. Orhan was effectively the ruler of the Sekemleth Empire. It was almost enjoyable.
When he awoke the morning after the morning after he’d failed to assassinate the Emperor, the light was bright and he must have been asleep for a long time. He felt groggy and headachy, but slightly less weary. And he seemed to still be alive, and not under arrest, so things were likely to have remained somewhat under his control. Or his sister’s, rather. He’d commandeered a room in the palace (one of the surviving servants, with grim inevitability, had tried to put him in Tam’s old room). The air was fresh under the smoke stink, the walls were soothing cool pale peaceful green.
Hope!
He bathed and dressed, his mind busy with all the tasks he had still to do. The High Priestess. That was the next big thing. Find a way of ensuring she was confirmed dead. Which meant he’d have to produce a body. Then there was Tam’s family, that he somehow had to save from the fire. Others would have to die in their place, of course. Couldn’t tip his scales too far towards the good. Too late to try for redemption. Just expediency, and saving the life of a crippled girl and a woman he’d known since he was born.
It suddenly occurred to him that he was being dressed in his own clothes. Some of his best, too, a fine shirt of blue silk, dark grey leggings, a belt with an ornate gold buckle, a richly embroidered green jacket, a silver cloak. Celyse. She must have had them sent for while he slept. God’s knives, she was efficient. Thought of all the details.
The door opened and Darath walked in, smiling broadly at him. Orhan’s heart jolted.
‘They said you were awake. Looking rather better than the last time I saw you, too.’ Darath put his arms around Orhan’s neck and kissed him, then began tugging at the fastenings on his clothes. ‘I very much like your new titles. Perhaps you can recite them to me.’
The Court of Broken Knives Page 29
