Nothing but Tombs

by Tim Stead

  “The missed chance of glory.” Tamarak sighed. “Ah, well, I’ll just have to put up with staying alive. Perhaps I’ve had enough of fighting gods and legends.”

  “You’ve done right by me,” Perrick said. “So it’s only fair that I say this. They’ll come after you. You’d best watch for it.”

  “Oh, I know that, Perrick. I’ll do my best to see that nobody’s killed, but if it comes to my men or the town…”

  “Bad times,” the barkeep said. “Well, I wish you luck.”

  He left the tavern. His escort was waiting outside – six men of his own company.

  “So we’re staying, sir?” one of them asked.

  “I told you we would,” Tamarak said. “You’ve got everything ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, then let’s get to it.”

  33 The Duke’s Camp

  Sithmaree knew why Jidian was unhappy. The Eagle was the simplest of men. She wouldn’t have said that he was stupid, but if Narak rated five fingers then she saw herself as three and Jidian as two. He lacked art, diplomacy, whatever you chose to call it. He spoke his mind almost without exception. While this was, in many ways, an admirable quality, it could become tiresome. Sithmaree herself was hardly a mistress of subtlety, but she had learned to appreciate it when she saw it.

  Duke Kenton had it in abundance, and so Jidian didn’t like him.

  “The man’s slippery,” he said. “You can’t pin him down.”

  “He doesn’t want to offend anyone, Jidian,” Sithmaree replied. “He doesn’t know us, so he’s being careful.”

  “I don’t get offended.”

  It was true, after a fashion. Jidian didn’t really take offence. He just got angry.

  “He probably doesn’t want you to kill him,” she said, and that made The Eagle smile.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “We’re here to observe, that’s what we agreed with Pascha. Killing him would be taking sides, and anyway, I don’t go around killing people because they make me angry. That would be wrong.”

  They were preparing for their evening meal with Duke Kenton, and it was an important occasion. Tonight, they would meet Duke Anjasari for the first time. For Sithmaree preparing for an event was a long process. She wanted to appear striking, but not so much that she distracted the dukes, and the wardrobe she had brought with her was limited. It had occurred to her that dining with two gods would be distraction enough.

  Jidian, on the other hand, prepared by shaving his chin and putting on a clean jacket. He only did that much because she insisted.

  She settled on a blue dress, a plain and modest thing by her standards. The neckline was high, and the only ornament was a snake of silver thread that had its tail down her left arm, its head down her right and a single coil thrown around her neck. She spent a few minutes pinning her hair back and she was ready.

  They left their tent together and walked the hundred or so paces to Kenton’s rather fine campaign tent. It had taken them two weeks to wander south from Kenton’s home, and they had finally come to within a spit of Afael City, though Sithmaree hadn’t seen it yet. It lay beyond a substantial wood to the south, and though it was out of sight the wind announced the city’s proximity every time it blew from the sea.

  A gorgeously dressed officer opened the tent flap for them as they approached, and they ducked inside.

  Sithmaree knew most of the men gathered around the table. They were Kenton’s staff, so Duke Anjasari was easy to spot. He was younger than she expected, perhaps forty or forty-five, but his face was hard, cold, unsmiling, and she took an instant dislike to him. Anjasari stared back at her. Clearly the feeling was mutual.

  Kenton crossed the tent to greet them warmly, as polite as always. They took their seats, and Sithmaree was pleased that both of them were several places distant from Anjasari.

  She enjoyed the meal. Kenton had put her next to one of his young captains, and the man was polite, well-educated and exceptionally good looking. She was almost able to forget Anjasari and his cold eyes altogether until the plates were cleared away.

  That was when it started.

  Anjasari pushed his way across the tent until he stood before her.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Drinking brandy, Duke Anjasari.”

  “Don’t play games,” Anjasari said. “What’s Col Boran’s business here?”

  Sithmaree was astonished at his lack of grace. The man was simply rude. Perhaps if she answered his questions he would go away.

  “Information,” she said. “Eran Pascha likes to know what’s going on.”

  “Why? What’s she going to do?”

  “Nothing, I imagine.”

  “You’re lying. She sent you here to spy. What’s she going to do?”

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see Kenton edging towards her, excusing himself past his officers with a worried frown. But it was Jidian who arrived first. He was a clear head taller than Anjasari and much, much stronger. He spun the man around and lifted him from the ground by the front of his jacket.

  “Did you just call the God of Snakes a liar?” he demanded.

  Anjasari, to give him credit, didn’t seem afraid. His face turned red and he tried to knock Jidian’s hand aside.

  “Let go of me, you great oaf!”

  Stupid, Sithmaree thought. The Eagle was already angry. Calling him an oaf would make things worse. The scene reminded her of something Narak was fond of saying – people forgot who and what they were. Jidian could break Anjasari in two as easily as he would a dried twig. He didn’t, though. He threw him instead.

  The Duke flew across the tent and landed on the table scattering glasses and candelabra. He slid over the end and crashed to the ground.

  Jidian smiled.

  Anjasari, however, wasn’t finished. He jumped to his feet and drew his sword. He was almost immediately surrounded by Kenton’s guards. Kenton himself pushed his way past the last few people and stood before his fellow duke.

  “Stop this at once!” he said. He was speaking as though to a child, but Anjasari didn’t seem to hear him and tried to force his way past the guards.

  “Let him come,” Jidian said. The Eagle looked relaxed, but Sithmaree could see he was balanced, a hand placed casually on the hilt of his blade.

  “Not helpful, my love,” she said to him. “You don’t really want to kill the duke.”

  “Actually, I do,” Jidian replied.

  By now Kenton’s men had seized Anjasari by the arms and were dragging him backwards towards the entrance. He was fighting every inch, trying to break free.

  “The man’s an idiot,” Sithmaree said. “But killing him would be impolite, and Kenton’s men seem to have the matter in hand.”

  Kenton followed the men outside, and slowly the buzz of conversation in the tent resumed. Kenton returned after a few minutes and came over to Sithmaree.

  “I apologise, Deus,” he said. “Anjasari should not have spoken to you – or anybody – like that.”

  “No matter,” Sithmaree said. “But you’d best warn him to steer clear of Jidian. He would be unwise to cross the Eagle’s path again.”

  “Of course, but he’s had a poor couple of months. Falini beat him badly in the city and he’s lost all his holdings there to the populists. That’s made him an angry man. I think he’s frightened you’re going to take away what he has left.”

  “We won’t,” Sithmaree said. “Will you?”

  Kenton smiled. “I’ll honour my pledge to him if he honours his.”

  “You don’t think he will?”

  “I need his men to help take the city. He needs me more. After we’ve won…” Kenton shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “So the populists haven’t collapsed into chaos,” Jidian said.

  “No,” Kenton smiled again. “It seems I was over optimistic. They have the city regiments and my spies tell me they’re being commanded by General Delarsi.”

  “Yo
u know him?” Sithmaree asked.

  “Yes. He was retired, but he’s no fool. It looks like we have a real fight on our hands.”

  “If you know the man, why don’t you talk to him?” Jidian asked.

  “It might give them the idea we’re not confident of victory,” Kenton said.

  “And are you?”

  “We outnumber them two to one and there’s a breach in the city wall. They’ve thrown up a temporary structure behind it, but it’s one of those wire basket things that General Arbak invented. I think we can pull it down with grapples, so yes, I’m confident.”

  “I think you should talk to them,” the Eagle said. “What happened to Falini could happen to you.”

  “An assassin? Falini was a bastard, a mad dog. The people hated him almost as much as they hate Anjasari. I expect to be a better ruler than either of them could have been.”

  “Yes, but Anjasari is your mad dog. If you don’t keep him and his men on a short leash you’ll be tainted by his deeds.”

  Kenton shrugged. He didn’t seem at all bothered, which to Sithmaree’s mind meant he had a plan for dealing with his fellow duke, and that, she supposed, was a good thing.

  “So, would you like to see the city? There’s a wooded ridge to the west that overlooks it. I could arrange for you to go with one of my patrols tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” Sithmaree answered before Jidian could. She wanted him out of the camp, out of Anjasari’s way for a day to give them both time to cool off. Besides, it had been more than two hundred years since she’d seen it. “It would be interesting to see what these populists have done to the city.”

  Jidian looked at her, then nodded. “All right,” he said. His eyes told her that he knew exactly what she was doing, and that he didn’t mind.

  34 Novice

  Pascha sat on her terrace and watched the girl below practicing with her bow. Narak’s sense of character had not failed him. Enali Canterissa was special. Apart from her uncanny resemblance to Perlaine she was strong willed, intelligent and possessed of exceptional powers of concentration. She was also a quick learner. As a scion of Avilian’s nobility she had been taught the basics of fencing and archery – even young girls were taught so much – but not enough to be dangerous.

  Enali was learning the difference.

  Young ladies tended to prefer the bow – Pascha preferred it herself – and Enali was rapidly becoming a proficient archer. As one of Narak’s chosen she had no extraordinary strength, but her fingers were toughening up and now she was shooting from fifty paces and hitting the dummy every time. Pascha insisted on a target that looked like a man. It helped to convince Enali that this wasn’t a game.

  A knock sounded on her door, and she left her seat by the terrace edge and walked into the shade of her day room. It was cool, a little too cool, and she drew power from the substance of the wood in the fireplace to light it. She stared at the burgeoning flame for a moment.

  “What is it?”

  The guard who kept her door opened it and stepped inside.

  “You have visitors, Eran,” he said.

  More Duranders, she thought, but the guard looked impressed, and he had seen herds of lesser mages queue up to speak with her.

  “Who is it?”

  “Lord Skal and Lady Hestia, Eran.”

  It was a surprise. She had only seen the pair of them once since their forced retirement from their reign over Telas. It had been decades. Technically they were both still her Farheim and owed her allegiance, but Hestia in particular had been reluctant to let go of the reins of power. It had put a distance between them.

  “Show them in,” Pascha said. Perhaps this would add some interest to Col Boran. It had become quite dull since the others had left.

  Skal stepped through the door first. He was as tall and fair as she remembered, and the faintly cruel cast to his face had not been diminished by time. In spite of his intimidating appearance she liked him. His face was a lie of sorts. He had been a nasty child by all accounts, but adversity and good company had changed him. He was a good man.

  Hestia followed her husband into the room. She, too, still wore the face of youth, and yet her warm beauty was also a lie of sorts. Hestia was raven haired, her brown eyes pools of compassion, her lips generous. But Pascha knew that she had sacrificed almost everything for her country – almost including the man she loved. She burned with the certainty that she, and no other, could steer the right course for Telas.

  Skal bowed politely. “Eran Pascha. You are well, of course.”

  “Of course. But I am glad to see you both. Come and sit with me.”

  They walked out onto the terrace and settled into comfortable chairs. Hestia peered over the edge and looked down at the Enali.

  “Who is she?”

  “Enali Canterissa. She is one of Narak’s protégés.”

  Hestia raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind him taking other lovers?”

  Skal looked at his shoes. Pascha didn’t know whether to laugh of be angry. She chose mirth.

  “The girl is sixteen,” she said. “She impressed Kelcotel enough that the dragon let her ride on his back and, if you remember, it’s not necessary to bed someone to grant them favour.” She looked pointedly at Skal, who had been in Pascha’s favour at one time.

  “Yet Narak does seem to favour pretty girls,” Hestia said.

  Skal peered over the edge and watched her shoot a couple of arrows.

  “Sixteen, you say? She’s not bad with that bow.”

  “She’s improving,” Pascha said. “She gets better every day.” She glanced across at Hestia. “Since you’re here, Lord Skal, and Caster isn’t, perhaps you’d like to tutor her in the elements of fencing?”

  “Surely any one of your guards would do?” Hestia said.

  Skal smiled a faintly conspiratorial smile. “I’d like to,” he said. “If she’s one of Narak’s she likely has some talent.”

  That wasn’t strictly true, of course. Cain Arbak was, in Narak’s own words, something of a donkey when it came to swordplay. But Cain had his own unique skills, and Skal loved him like a brother.

  “But I impose on you,” Pascha said. “You must have come to Col Boran for a reason.”

  “Of course,” Skal said. “I would like to offer my help. If I can be of service in any way…?”

  Caster, Narak, Cain and now Skal – these men of action were all the same. But Skal was a particular problem. Though he was Avilian born he had renounced his titles there when he had married Hestia and become King of Telas.

  “I cannot send you to Bas Erinor, Skal. Your ties with Telas make it politically unwise.”

  “I’m no longer King of Telas,” Skal said. “Not for decades.”

  “But you were, you still live there and you have the ear of the king.”

  Skal leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I understand what you’re saying, and Hestia agrees with you, but what’s the point of so long a life if our deeds are judged by the same rules as a normal human span?”

  Pascha frowned. “I said I couldn’t send you, and that I think it’s unwise, but I won’t stop you. What would you do? Where would you go?”

  Skal shrugged. “Bas Erinor? I’m sure Cain can find a use for me.”

  “Perhaps you should think about it for a while. I’m not sure that one blade would make that much difference, no matter how skilled.” Pascha reached into the air and produced a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Let us drink,” she smiled at Hestia. “It’s Telan, of course. Let me tell you what everyone’s up to and then perhaps you can make a decision.”

  “I confess I’m thirsty,” Hestia said. “It was a long ride.” She eyed the bottle. “What year is that?”

  *

  Enali was pleased with herself. Her skill with the bow had grown immeasurably since Eran Pascha had been teaching her. She couldn’t believe the things that the god mage could do with a bow and arrow. She could hit anything that Enali’s eyes could see, though it was apparent that
Pascha could see things that she could not.

  Now her fingers had developed calluses and her right arm had stopped aching. Now she could draw again and again with little degradation in accuracy and her target, a distastefully lifelike straw man, was beginning to resemble a hedgehog.

  She shot her last arrow, and in a surge of bravado aimed at the figure’s head. The point struck between the eyes and she couldn’t help but give a cry of triumph and look up towards the terrace.

  Pascha wasn’t watching any more, and she could hear a murmur of conversation coming from up there. It annoyed her a little that the god mage hadn’t seen her final shot, but she pushed the feeling away. She might wear a wolf’s head ring, but at Col Boran that was nothing.

  “Have you finished, My Lady?”

  The squire whose task it was to retrieve her arrows was waiting.

  “Yes. Thank you. I don’t think I’ll shoot any more today.” It worried her that she couldn’t remember his name. Narak would have expected her to. He’d told her and she’d forgotten and now she didn’t want to ask. She surrendered her bow to the squire and walked back along the side of the palace and into the great hall. She paused here and looked up at the windows. They were beautiful – a pantheon of noble figures in stained glass – but she didn’t know what they were and Pascha had changed the subject when she’d asked.

  She heard a noise behind her and turned to see an elegant woman, perhaps a few years older than her, walking across the hall. She didn’t know who she was, so she bowed just to be on the safe side. The woman stopped. She said something, but Enali didn’t understand. She recognised the language as Afalel, though.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t speak Afalel.”

  The woman smiled.

  “You’re Avilian,” she said, switching languages. “You’re from Bas Erinor?”

  “Golt,” Enali said. The woman had an accent, but she spoke the language well enough. That suggested a good education. Most people spoke a smattering of Avilian because it was the largest, most populous and powerful nation, but this woman’s grasp of the language went beyond that.