by Ian Irvine
“Is there news of Karan?” he burst out. “Snoat’s been hunting her. I can’t bear to think—”
“She’s safe. She’s with us.”
“Who’s us?”
“Me, Shand, Yggur, Nadiril and Lilis.”
Relief drained the strength from him and he slumped on the bed. “What – what’s your plan?”
Tallia lowered her voice. “Bring down Snoat any way we can. And destroy the summon stone.”
“Why did Karan send Sulien away with the Whelm? Or did they steal her?”
“You’re being silly. She volunteered to go with them.”
He could not hold back a cry. “Why?”
“Partly because of a stigma the magiz put on Karan when she went back to Cinnabar.”
The blood drained from Llian’s face. His head was spinning, his vision breaking up to whirling streaks. “What?” he said shrilly. “She went back again? When?”
Tallia told him what she knew.
His breath came in great shuddering gasps. “Are you saying the magiz is in Karan’s mind… and knows everything she does?” He felt so faint he had to lower his head onto the bed. She was doomed.
“Pull yourself together,” said Tallia. “The stigma is more like the lantern on the outside of a coach – it only reveals where Karan is, and only some of the time.”
Llian managed to sit up. “What was the other reason she sent Sulien away?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Karan couldn’t attempt a rescue while she had Sulien with her.”
Guilt fell on him like a collapsing wall. Karan had put herself in even more danger because of his stupidity, and Sulien had sacrificed herself to the hideous Whelm to give her mother the chance to save him.
He rose and staggered around the room. “This is a nightmare, and I’m to blame. I don’t deserve Karan’s love, much less Sulien’s.”
Tallia sighed. “Since you have it, deservedly or not, you’d be advised to draw comfort from it. Anyway, Sulien has linked to Karan a couple of times, and she’s safe. The Whelm are treating her like one of their own children.”
Llian let out a despairing cry.
“What is it now?” said Tallia.
“The Whelm are harsh, cold and emotionally dead. Their children get hard labour and daily punishment whether they’ve done anything wrong or not. Tallia, I’ve got to get out of here.”
“There’s no way out of Pem-Y-Rum. And you’ve got a job to do.” She opened one black eye and studied Llian. “You look well enough.”
“He’s fattening the pig,” Llian said bitterly.
“Beg your pardon?”
He explained his situation, then told her about Unick’s work and the devices he was making. “And it’s all connected to the summon stone,” he concluded. “Somehow.”
She did not speak for several minutes. “It’s no wonder he caught me so easily. The Identity device would have detected me the moment I tried to break in.”
“Did you come alone?”
“Yes. Karan kept on at us to rescue you. And I had to make up for… my utter failure as Magister.”
“You’ve been a great Magister.”
Tallia laughed hollowly. “I neglected to foster talented young leaders to replace old and tired ones. I failed to build strong alliances, and I couldn’t fill the power vacuum Yggur left when he had his mental breakdown. Because of my failures, Snoat had an easy road to power, and when the Merdrun come…”
In four weeks. Panic flared; Llian wrested it to the ground. “What happened to you?”
“The moment I sneaked into Pem-Y-Rum, a red-faced brute laid into me as though he wanted to batter me to death.”
“Gurgito Unick. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”
“You forget who I am, Llian. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
“I hope you hurt the bastard.”
“I broke his jaw with a kick that would have snapped any other man’s neck.”
“Good!” said Llian.
“Then the guards held me while Unick, broken jaw and all, attacked me.” She shivered. “I’ve never seen such hate in a man. He locked the mancery-blocking bracelet on me and that was that.”
“What do you know about Mendark’s extraordinary rise to power?” Llian asked, after a pause.
“Why do you ask?”
“There were rumours that he’d done an unsavoury deal to get there. Or incurred a debt that had to be repaid.”
She frowned. “Why does it matter now?”
“Unick’s Origin device is connected to the summon stone. And we know Mendark started working on the secret of mancery hundreds of years ago. Plus, Snoat mentioned finding an incomplete device in the Council’s secret archives, that—”
Tallia groaned.
“What is it?” said Llian.
“A few weeks ago I made a disastrous mistake, and already it’s come back to haunt me.”
She told him about entrusting the code to the spell vault to Hingis, despite his and Esea’s protests, and how he had been forced to reveal it within days.
“That’s how Snoat and Unick have made such brilliant progress,” she said bitterly. “They had Mendark’s prototype for inspiration.”
Llian said nothing. Given that he had lost the precious dirt book within days, he could hardly blame her.
They sat in silence for several minutes, then she added: “No one knows anything about how he came to power. It was a very long time ago, and he was a secretive man.”
“I’ve got to find out, but all his papers burned with the citadel library.”
“Maybe not all,” said Tallia, leaning towards him and lowering her voice. “He had a number of secret caches, where he kept copies of secrets that must never be lost. One was at the salt lake megaliths north of Chanthed.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Inner base of the tall squared-off stone in the outer line of stones.”
Llian heard the door open and leaped up as Snoat appeared with Ifoli.
“Go with Ifoli, Llian,” said Snoat. “You’ve got to prepare for my private telling – tonight.”
“And then?” said Llian.
Snoat smiled. “Your death will make the Great Tale even more exquisite, because you will never tell it again.”
It was like a hammer blow to the heart. It seemed to stop beating. “Damn you!’” Llian cried, gasping for air. “I’ll spoil the tale! I’ll ruin it!”
“Your pride wouldn’t let you, teller. If you are to die tonight, and you are, you would have to make your last telling your very best.”
52
I’M THE SENIOR MEMBER
Karan’s heart was beating so rapidly that it was painful. She leaned forward, staring at the little leather model of a mouse’s snout on the table. It was linked to a tiny mouse ear hidden behind Tallia’s right ear. Nadiril made the silly little devices for spying. He took a wry amusement from their absurdity.
The leather snout opened.
“Go with Ifoli, Llian,” it said in a cool drawl that had to be Snoat’s voice. “You’ve got to prepare for my private telling – tonight.”
“And then?” said Llian.
Karan could hear the fear in his voice, and she could tell that Snoat was smiling. “Your death will make the Great Tale even more exquisite, because you will never tell it again.”
“Damn you! I’ll spoil the tale! I’ll ruin it!”
“Your pride wouldn’t let you, Teller. If you are to die tonight, and you are, you would have to make your last telling your very best.”
The connection broke and there was silence. Everyone was avoiding Karan’s eye. Damn them! Shand had made it clear that rescuing Llian was low priority. She leapt up, shoved her chair under the table with a crash and stalked out.
“Karan!” said Shand.
“Go to hell!”
She stood there for a few seconds, vainly trying to hold in her tears, then ran to the stables and raced out of town, taking the road to Pem-Y-Rum. There was no plan; s
he just had to get as close to Llian as possible.
In the forest she made her way to a point opposite Pem-Y-Rum and climbed the same tree as before. It was mid-afternoon and he was to tell his tale tonight. And Snoat would kill him when it was done.
How long did he have?
That would depend on how Llian told the tale. The original draft, written in his notebooks, took ninety-three hours to read aloud, though to the best of Karan’s knowledge he had only done this once and it had utterly exhausted him. The final version, the Great Tale, took thirteen hours, and at the college he had told it over four nights. Llian had told it many times since, though usually a condensed version four to five hours long that made a far better story. It had to be the one – Snoat had said Llian was to die tonight.
Assuming he began the tale after dinner, say at nine, and it took five hours, since Llian was hardly likely to accelerate his demise, she had until two in the morning, at the very latest, to save him.
She had no idea how. But what if her assumption was wrong? If Snoat made Llian begin at six and only took a short break for dinner, the tale could be done by midnight.
Panic exploded and she almost fell out of the tree. As she steadied herself she saw the gangly youth from the other day, trudging between the trees. A pair of leather buckets was suspended from a pole across his shoulders, though clearly they were empty. He disappeared into a clump of bushes.
What was he doing? The sun was low, the light in the forest starting to fade. He reappeared, heading back the way he had come. The ends of the pole were bent now, which meant the buckets were full, but what was he carrying?
Several minutes later he returned and went into the bushes. A minute after that he came out with the girl and they walked off together. Karan waited a few minutes in case they came back, though she did not think they would.
The sun went down; it would soon be dark. She headed across to where she had seen the youth and discovered a path that had been trodden hundreds of times recently. It ended at a quarry with a mound of fresh earth at the bottom, partly covered by dead branches. It could only have come from a tunnel.
She hurried back. The entrance was concealed, but she knew it was there. She eased the dry scrub aside and found a small black opening, half a yard across, heading towards Pem-Y-Rum. The youth and girl must be thieves, probably working for a master thief. It made any rescue attempt doubly dangerous; if the tunnel was finished the thieves could come back tonight, and no doubt they would be armed.
There were few things more unstable than an unsupported tunnel through soil, and it was highly unlikely that it went far enough, but the time for hesitation was past. Karan crawled in, cracking her knee on a little handcart. She pushed it to one side and went on into the impenetrable darkness.
Though she had inches of space all around, the earth seemed to close in on her. If the roof fell in it would be a most unpleasant way to die. But not as unpleasant as Llian’s death would be! This thought drove her on, and she counted her arm movements as she went, trying to make each one a foot long so she could estimate the distance.
At one hundred and sixty feet – as near as she could judge – she reached the end. Karan thought back to the view of the estate she’d had from the tree. She had to be at least five yards inside the wall.
And well below ground level. After several hours of unpleasant vertical tunnelling she could be inside the grounds. She sat there for a moment, thinking things through, then scurried out and raced back to Chanthed. She had to convince her allies to mount an extremely risky attack. It would not be easy and there was no time to waste.
“How do you know Snoat’s guards haven’t discovered the tunnel already?” said Shand when she finished. “You could be walking into a trap.”
“Not to mention the risk of the thieves coming back,” said Nadiril.
“I know the risks!” snarled Karan. “But Llian will be killed once he finishes his telling, and probably Tallia. I know you couldn’t give a damn about Llian, but surely Tallia means something to you.”
“We can do without the emotional blackmail, Karan.”
“It’s seven-thirty,” she said hoarsely, stalking back and forth in front of them. “By two in the morning – at the very latest – Llian will be dead.” Her voice became shrill. “If we’re going to save him we’ve got to be in the grounds of Pem-Y-Rum by one. It’ll take an hour to ride to the tunnel and three more to dig up into the grounds. We’ve got to be mounted with all our gear by nine o’clock, so if you’re going to do anything it’s time to pull your damned fingers out!”
They were staring at her, mouths open. Tears formed in her eyes. She dashed them away.
“Damn the lot of you!” she cried. “I’ll go by myself.”
“You won’t!” said Shand, climbing to his feet. “You’re not jeopardising—”
“Jeopardising what? You haven’t done anything but whine since you got here.”
“I’m with Karan,” said Esea, standing up. “We’ve spent a week debating things and what have we got to show for it? Sod all!”
Ussarine rose, towering over them all, even Nadiril, who was the height of a bean stake and not much wider. “Since I’m Esea’s bodyguard I have to go with her. But if I wasn’t I’d go anyway. It’s time to stand up and be counted.”
Lilis was moving forward when Nadiril stretched out his withered arm and took her by the shoulder. “We all have our work to do and this is not yours. You’re a librarian now.”
“Snoat’s already plundered the college library. How long before he moves on ours?”
“You’re not a fighter, Lilis.”
“I lived on the streets for seven years after Father was taken by a press gang. I’m a good spy.”
“What if I said, disobey me in this matter and I won’t take you back?” said Nadiril.
Lilis’s thin face twisted in the most terrible anguish. She stood there for a few seconds, staring at the ancient Librarian, then said, “Llian was very kind to me. I have to stand by my friends, no matter what.”
“I thought as much,” said Nadiril with a ghostly smile. “Then go and save our friend, with my blessing.” He looked around the stunned group. “Karan’s right. It’s time we stopped jawboning and actually did something.” He tottered forward. “Karan, Esea, Ussarine and Lilis. Where are the men?”
“We don’t need men to do the job for us,” snapped Karan.
“I’m sending one with you anyway. Off you trot, Shand.”
Such a look of outrage passed across Shand’s weathered face that Karan burst out laughing.
“Who the hell do you think you are,” he cried, “telling me what to do?”
“In Tallia’s absence I’m the senior member of this council,” said Nadiril. “And when other leaders fail, as is manifestly the case, it’s my job to take command.”
“You’ve no experience,” sneered Yggur. “You couldn’t lead a chicken to a bowl of wheat.”
“And you’re still in your pyjamas at dinnertime. Rescue team, it’s eight o’clock and here are your orders,” Nadiril said crisply. “Dress in dark clothing, arm yourselves, fill your water bottles and grab something to eat. We’ll provide you with trowels, a hand pick, a small shovel, a handful of lightglasses and bootblack for your faces.”
“Except mine,” grinned Ussarine.
“Lilis, put your hair up and wear a cap. Shand, you’ll need something to make a diversion with – a smoke-maker or two. You know how to make such things, I assume?”
“Before you were born,” Shand said sourly.
“You’ve got twenty minutes.”
“Lucky I made some the other day, then.”
“Get going!”
To Karan’s astonishment, Shand went. The rest of the team followed him.
“Been wanting to do that for a good fifty years.” Nadiril chuckled. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” said Karan. “Thank you, Nadiril.”
“Giving orders is the easy part,” he said gr
uffly. “I’ll be sweating every minute you and Lilis are gone.”
“And Shand too,” she said cheekily.
“He’s a good man, but he has the most ridiculous ideas.”
“Do you think we can do it?”
“I think you can.”
She considered that. “But do you think we will?”
53
CAN YOU PICK THE LOCK?
“Karan?” yelled Lilis. “Wait!”
Karan reined in, swearing under her breath, then rode back. What with one delay and another it had been nine-twenty by the time they’d left Chanthed, and her nerves were as taut as fiddle strings. “What now?”
“Horse has gone lame,” said Ussarine, who had dismounted and was holding its front right hoof up in one hand while shining a lightglass on it with the other. “It’s picked up a spike.”
“Can you get it out?”
“I expect so, but it won’t be galloping on it for the next week or two.”
Shand swung down, inspected the injury and nodded. “It’s in deep. You’ll have to go without Ussarine.”
Karan swore. “No, I’ll ride back and get another horse. The stable boy can take hers back.”
She scrambled into the saddle and raced back through the darkness, calculating times and distances. She had planned on reaching the tunnel by ten, but at this rate they would be lucky to be there by eleven. Then they had to tunnel up and be in the grounds by one in the morning. Any later and they ran the risk of only finding Llian – assuming they could – in time to see him executed.
She galloped up the drive and roused the sleepy stable boy. “Sumey,” she yelled. “Ussarine’s stallion’s gone lame. We need another horse right away.”
He rolled out of his straw bed, rubbing his eyes. They heaved a saddle onto a strong, stocky grey mare and Karan tightened the straps.
“Come with us, lad. You’ll have to bring the stallion home.”
He mounted the mare, barefoot, and they galloped back, Karan compulsively checking the stars every minute or two. When they arrived, somewhat after ten, Ussarine had worked the spike out and Shand was rubbing horse liniment into the wound.
