The Second God

by Pauline M. Ross

  “They are still enjoying themselves,” Ly said. “I have already switched a few groups around – sent some home, and brought fresh people in. There is no need to worry about them.”

  “I thought you were on my side?” I thought to him.

  “Always, but this is for Yannassia to decide.” He reached across the table and took my hand, giving me that little fizz of magic. “You worry too much, sometimes, Drina.”

  I couldn’t be cross with him, feeling the affection in his mind, and he knew that as well as I did. There were disadvantages to being constantly mentally connected. Nothing could be hidden, and my innermost feelings and wishes were exposed for both my men to see.

  “There you are, then,” Yannassia said. “No reason not to continue, at least as long as the weather holds. Ly may be the judge of whether his people need to rest or not.”

  “Drina has a point, though,” Torthran said. “Undoubtedly this man-god has returned to Greenstone Ford to deal with the attacks on the supply trains. If we continue the raids, we give him the opening he needs, and we do not yet know the full extent of his capabilities. However, if we keep out of his way for a while, he may go back to Dellonar again.”

  Yannassia looked thoughtful. “That is very true. You are growing wise, Torthran, my love. I like to hear you express your opinions on these matters. You were too reticent for a long time. Now you are truly becoming my equal in all things, which is exactly as it should be. If only I had met you earlier, how different my life would have been.”

  Torthran flushed with pleasure, leaning closer to her. “I should have liked that, too, darling, but I was barely an adult when you first married, remember? I was only just learning my trade. You would never have looked at me in those times, when you were Bai-Drashonor and I was a very junior trainee member of the Elite.”

  For a moment, I wondered if they’d forgotten we were there altogether, but with the faintest hint of a blush, Yannassia turned back to the three of us, Ly spooning porridge, Arran stolidly working through a plate of fruit and me sipping my brew.

  “Very well, then. Suspend operations for now, but perhaps you can maintain a small number of your people nearby, Ly, so that we can resume quickly if need be?”

  “I will do that.”

  “Good. And Hethryn can come home for a while. I miss him. He is quite the cleverest of my own children.”

  “I think Torthrina will rival him when she grows up, but perhaps that is just a father’s fondness,” Torthran said, eyes twinkling. “But that reminds me, I am to take her to the temple this morning. I had better go. Later, my love.”

  He kissed Yannassia soundly, and then, as she blushed and giggled, kissed her a second time before disappearing.

  “He is such a treasure,” she said, with a sigh. “I am so thankful I met him. But how are you three getting on? You seem very well settled.”

  “We are,” I said. Arran nodded, and Ly smiled at us both.

  “It is a strange arrangement, but it seems to work.” Yannassia’s tone was questioning, but I couldn’t begin to explain it.

  “It works very well,” was all I could find to say.

  “Hmm. Let us hope it continues so.”

  I said no more. Yannassia couldn’t imagine what we shared, and it was impossible to describe what it felt like, the intimacy, the oneness of the three of us. It might vary in nature, but would never be broken. Only death could tear us apart.

  ~~~~~

  Most of the war-beasts were dispersed, Hethryn came home and Kingswell drifted back into its usual slumber. The only significant change to my life was that the Nobles’ Council approved Hethryn as Yannassia’s heir. He became Drashonor, and I, to my intense delight, was demoted to the rank of second heir, Bai-Drashonor. In time, I hoped even that title would be passed elsewhere.

  The social round went on as usual, Yannassia held assemblies and welcomed new ambassadors and resolved disputes, and no one would know that the golden army controlled the whole of the southern Plains of Kallanash, from the Karningplain to the sea. Messages flew back and forth between Bennamore and the remaining Port Holdings, but although they were braced for invasion, the golden army stayed at Dellonar, and nothing untoward happened. We all watched and waited and hoped.

  And then, the disaster.

  We were attending a formal banquet to honour the new Speaker of the Port Holdings. He had been appointed two years before, but a visit to Bennamore had not been high on his priorities then. Now it was, so he had come in state to be paraded before the nobles and wealthy residents, and fed more bizarre dishes than he could have imagined, no doubt. Although the coastal folk ate some very strange sea creatures, it is said, so perhaps our food was not so outlandish to him. Of course, the real reason for his visit was hidden away behind closed doors – the secret meetings with Yannassia and her advisors to try to find something, anything, that could be done to halt the advance of the golden army.

  As we sat through the interminable speeches and elaborate dishes and entertainments, Ly popped into my mind. “I am feeling some distress from Flenn’s eagle. Have you noticed it too?”

  I stretched out my mind, trying to spot Flenn’s eagle in particular out of all the other eagles my mind could detect. There it was! And yes, definite signs of distress – not pain, but extreme anxiety, and exhaustion. Even as I was assessing him, I was aware of Ly soothing the beast, encouraging it onward. For it was heading right towards us, to Kingswell.

  “He is almost here,” Ly thought.

  We made some excuse to leave the feast, and ran for the stairs to the Keep roof, Arran leading the way, Ly not far behind and me puffing in the rear. We emerged into the observation room, and Arran grabbed cloaks from the array hanging near the outer door. Then we tore out onto the roof.

  Gods, but it was beautiful! My breath steamed into clouds, and above us a million stars shimmered. I pulled the cloak around me to cover my silk azai, an elegant outfit for a formal occasion but not warm. Yet the cold was not as penetrating as I’d feared, and I let the cloak slide open. Our own eagles were restless, no doubt having picked up the distress from their fellow. Kalmander glided silently above us, to land on the observation room roof, his favoured perch. A guard enjoying a quiet break from duty behind a set of chimneys sprang to attention, relaxing again when he saw who it was.

  Then we waited. I paced about restlessly, but Ly and Arran stood immobile. Ly concentrated, eyes closed, guiding the eagle in so that he would land near us, and still encouraging it, for the poor beast was close to collapse. There was no way to communicate with the rider, for Flenn was a mage who flew his eagle using his magic to compel the beast, rather than the Clan way of bonding. So although the eagle’s mind was open to us, Flenn’s was not.

  The eagle came closer and closer, and then he was there, almost on top of us, in a storm of beating wings and claws. We jumped, but the bird was too big to evade, and he was so exhausted he had no energy left to avoid crashing into us. Arran hurled me to the ground, shielding me with his body. At the last minute, Ly’s mind control forced the bird aside, so that he landed almost sideways, and slithered along the roof. Flenn rolled clear, then scrambled up and raced across to where we crouched.

  “Gods, are you hurt?” he yelled. “So sorry, I did not see you until the very last moment.”

  “It’s quite all right,” I said, jumping up and dusting myself down. “You couldn’t harm us anyway, so all our leaping about was quite unnecessary.”

  “Oh. Sorry,” Arran muttered. “Instinct took over.”

  “So sorry,” Flenn said again. “I did not expect—”

  I waved my hands in his face. “Yes, yes, but what is it? What news do you bring?”

  His face fell. “Very bad news. The Gurshmontas… not sure what happened, exactly. I need to tell the Drashona.”

  “Let’s do that, then,” I said crisply.

  We left Ly tending the eagle, and went to drag Yannassia out of the feast. “And Honoured Shallack Gurshmonta,” I
told the steward. “This concerns him, too.”

  Yannassia’s face was grave when she joined us in a small ante-room away from the celebrations. “This must be serious,” she said. “Tell me all.”

  “We will wait for Shallack Gurshmonta,” I said.

  Her eyebrows rose, but she made no comment. Torthran pulled forward a chair for her. The room was a waiting area for important guests, decorated in elaborate style with expensive ornamentation, so the chair was heavy, gilt-painted and carved on every available space with fruits and ivy leaves. It looked rather like a throne. The rest of us stood, Arran and I with the patched cloaks from the observation room over our arms, while Flenn dripped mud onto the pastel-coloured rug.

  Shallack Gurshmonta crept round the door, his face ashen. I guessed that even for him, an urgent summons to attend the Drashona in the midst of a formal occasion was something to worry about. He saw me and sneered, but then his eye fell on Flenn, and the shock that crossed his face was unmistakable.

  “Now, Lord Mage Flenn, please tell us what this is about.” Yannassia was outwardly as calm as if she were asking what would be served at the next meal, but I knew her well enough to recognise the tremor in her voice.

  “I do not quite know where to start,” Flenn said.

  “Take your time,” she said. “Tell us every detail, however insignificant it might seem.”

  He took a deep breath. “Very well, Most Powerful. The trouble started this morning. There has been nothing untoward at Greenstone Ford for moons now, everything goes on as usual, so we had no intimation of anything wrong. There was a market due, and the caravans started collecting outside the gate shortly after dawn. The gates opened, the wagons were inspected and let in, one at a time. Everything was checked very carefully, as always. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”

  He threw a glance at Shallack Gurshmonta, then looked down at his feet for a moment, as if gathering his courage.

  Lifting his head, he went on, “There was a House Gurshmonta caravan amongst those entering. Eight wagons, I believe.” Shallack nodded. “Yes, eight. They were checked, they went in. Everyone was checked, a few wagons were turned away, but most were allowed in. An hour or two passed. And then…”

  He paused, heaving a breath.

  “We do not know what happened inside, since we cannot see the market square from the watch point. But something happened. We heard shouts, first of all, and then the alarm bells started, and there was a lot of commotion amongst the soldiers. And then it went quiet. For an hour, two hours, nothing else happened, except that the soldiers who had left their posts never went back to them. Then, a little before noon, all the wagons began to stream out, and that was all wrong, because usually they stayed until dusk, to take advantage of all the trading hours they could get. They poured out, and dispersed quickly, no lingering. But not the Gurshmonta wagons.”

  Shallack Gurshmonta had his head in his hands. I’d never liked the man, and at one time I’d regarded him as an enemy, but I felt sorry for him now. Something had gone badly wrong, and I think he had some idea what it was, and what the consequences might be.

  “May I… may I have some wine?” Flenn said, and Torthran rushed to find some. He came back with two glasses, pushing one into Shallack’s hand.

  Flenn took a sip, and it seemed to steady him. “After all the other wagons had gone, the soldiers pulled the Gurshmonta wagons out through the gates. Then they poured oil on them, and set them on fire.”

  “Were there…” Yannassia swallowed hard. “Were there any people in the wagons?”

  “We could not see any,” Flenn said. “There was no sign of that. As far as we could tell, the wagons were all empty. But then the soldiers went back inside, and the gates closed. And I flew straight here to tell you of it. I hope I did right.”

  “Yes, absolutely right,” Yannassia said. “Although I am not sure what to make of it. Shallack, what do you say? Can you add anything to our understanding of this matter?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. He nodded, then seemed to notice the wine in his hand. Taking a convulsive gulp, he said, “This is my fault. I thought… I hoped… but…”

  His head fell again, and he ran a hand over his face.

  “Take as much time as you need,” Yannassia said gently. “Yes, what is it?”

  The steward’s head apologetically poked round the door. “It is the Very Honourable Speaker, Most Powerful. He is concerned by your abrupt withdrawal from the feast, and wishes to enquire if there is anything he can do to help.”

  “He is outside? Then by all means bring him in. This is a matter he should know, anyway.”

  The Speaker of the Port Holdings was a good-looking man in his forties, less flamboyantly dressed than many of his compatriots, although the coastal folk’s fondness for beards was odd, to my Bennamorian eyes. He had been Holder at Shannamar for some years before becoming Speaker, so we knew him well as a sensible man.

  I briefly told him Flenn’s story, and he nodded, making sympathetic noises. “This is unsettling, but it will be a local dispute, surely. Some infringement of the rules, a tax unpaid, perhaps. The wagons and goods are forfeit, but the merchants will be held in prison, safe and sound, if a little uncomfortable, I dare say. There is no reason to suspect any more serious implications.”

  Yannassia’s face lightened. “Do you think so? If you are correct, Zand, then our people there may still be safely hidden away, and we need not expect any retaliation.”

  For a heartbeat, perhaps two, I was reassured. But then Shallack made a strangled sound in his throat.

  We all turned to him, and my heart sank, seeing the grief and terror mingled on his face.

  “Shallack?” Yannassia said softly.

  “Not safe,” he whispered. “Tried to get them out. Must have been discovered. All lost, for certain.”

  Yannassia squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment, with a sound almost like a sob. “Oh, Shallack. What have you done?”

  28: The Gates

  Gradually, with long pauses when he was incapable of speech, Shallack told the story. Trading with Greenstone Ford was close to impossible, and there was no profit in it any longer, but they continued, knowing there were Bennamorians trapped inside, hoping there would be a chance to rescue them. There were eight of them, but they had friends amongst the local population, and they had managed to make contact with the Gurshmonta wagoners several moons ago. Shallack had devised an ingenious plan – eight wagons with false bottoms. In the crowded chaos of the market, the eight could make their way one by one to the Gurshmonta wagons, and hide away in the secret compartments. That way, even if the wagons were searched as they left, nothing untoward would be seen.

  “But we must have been betrayed!” he cried. “Someone must have told the authorities, and now all is lost. They must be dead by now. Or worse,” he added in a whisper. “These people are barbaric. And the gods alone know what retribution they will take on us now, and it is all my fault.”

  “I warned you not to interfere!” I hissed at him. “Now look what you’ve done. We will have war and destruction, no doubt. They will march on Bennamore, and perhaps we will all be destroyed.”

  “I know.” His voice was barely audible. “I meant it for the best, truly.” He knelt before Yannassia, head bowed. “There is no punishment sufficient for my failure. I accept my fate, Most Powerful. All I ask is a few suns to arrange my affairs.”

  I’d never seen him so abject before, and for an instant my mind conjured a different image, of the celebrations if this plan had worked. What a hero he would have been! Such an audacious rescue plan, and it could easily have worked. And then I remembered that it was Arran’s mistake which had revealed the secret of our spies to Shallack. How could I condemn Shallack for trying to do some good with that knowledge? If it had worked, it would have been a tremendous relief to everyone, a quiet victory over the Dragon God.

  Before Yannassia could speak, I said, “I do not th
ink this merits such a punishment.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “No?”

  “The intention was good, the scheme was an excellent one, and had it worked as planned, it would have been greatly to the benefit of Bennamore. It was a brave and patriotic attempt to rescue our people from an uncertain fate, and I do not think it has worsened our position.”

  “What happened to war and destruction you were talking about only moments earlier?”

  “They may turn their eyes on Bennamore whatever we do. Their aims and motives are unknown to us, and it is pointless to speculate.”

  “Very well,” Yannassia said crisply, standing and shaking out her skirts. “Shallack, we will set this down to patriotic fervour gone astray, and consider the matter closed. However, it is imperative that you attempt nothing more, is that understood?” He nodded vigorously. “It is not for the nobles to interfere in disputes of this nature. But I would give a great deal to know more. Whether Shallack’s plot was uncovered, for instance, or, as Zand suggests, this is just a local dispute. And what is the fate of our people, are they dead or just languishing in prison? If the latter, we might be able to do some kind of deal – pay a ransom to recover them, perhaps. These people may be barbaric, but they are not fools. They have never agreed to proposals to open talks or even responded to my messages, but they have always avoided direct confrontation. This is the perfect opening for us to meet with them more directly, and find out what is behind all this hostile expansion. We need to know what they want. So we may yet be able to salvage something from this.”

  “They also know now what Ly’s war-beasts are capable of,” I said. “They may want their revenge for all that harassment.”

  “Or it may be that they will want to deal with us more circumspectly as a result,” she said. “But we must know exactly what happened and what has become of our people, so it is a risk we must take, I think. Drina, how soon can you get there to have a look?”