by Steven Poore
“What point, if the quarries were worked out?” Norrow said, sounding somewhat defensive. “The land is dry – not worth having. And dangerous too, for all the old workings.”
“Exactly so,” Baum nodded. He started moving again, and Cassia wished he would make his mind up. All this stop-and-start was tiring her faster than any amount of walking. “What happens when men over-reach themselves? They fall. And as with men, so with the towns of Gethista, Kennetta and Aelior. They were not content to have the glory that would come with Caenthell. They saw how others envied and desired the stone from their quarries, and they saw opportunities. Markets. They were taken in by avarice, and they began to sell the stone that was meant for Caenthell to places such as Trenis and Hellea, just as I have already said.”
He shrugged and made a throwaway gesture. “For a while that was not noticed. There was enough stone to satisfy everybody’s needs. But in time Gallemas found cause for concern over his son’s behaviour. Some said afterwards that Pyraete appeared to him and warned him that Caenthell would surely fall if he did not act. Others reckoned Gallemas had already seen the danger and that he tried to forestall the god’s wrath. In any event, he arrived in Gethista unannounced and in force. After publicly denouncing Gethis he forced the inhabitants of all three towns – man, woman and slave alike – to haul one last massive shipment of stone into the mountains. The exodus from the plains must have been incredible to witness.”
Cassia looked around and tried to imagine the lines of people that would have wound along the length of the road, all hauling at ropes, pushing at the rear of slowed wagons; their fine clothes ripped, their hands and feet torn and bleeding. Surrounded all the while by soldiers from their own homeland. It sounded all too believable.
“What happened to them?” she asked hesitantly, fearing she already knew the answer. “And what happened to the towns they left behind?”
“There even the ancient histories fail,” Baum said. “Gallemas returned to the mountains, and sealed Caenthell from the world while he finished his fortifications and built an army to conquer the North. Those tales are told even now. But of Gethis and his lords and merchants, and all those who were seized from the towns of Gethista, Aelior and Kennetta, nothing more is known.”
He reached out to an overhanging tree and snapped off the end of a branch as the horse carried him underneath. “One tale I have heard, regarding the fate of the towns themselves, is that Pyraete had grown angry that Gethis abused the god’s gifts of stone. After the town was emptied, Pyraete withdrew his blessings from the land, and the quarries became unworkable. The grand houses, pillars, colonnades and statues of the new towns cracked, crumbled and returned to the ground. Gone, as if they had never been raised at all, with not even memories to survive them.”
“Phah,” Norrow scoffed. “Rubbish. That’s just plain poor storytelling. If none escaped then who remained to pass on the stories, eh?”
Cassia ducked her head as Baum shifted in his saddle to give her father a sharp glare. Oh Ceresel, she prayed silently, strike my father silent, please!
Norrow said nothing more after that, but Meredith’s looming presence behind him surely had more to do with that than the goddess of fortune.
“Do you think the lords of Caenthell would be proud of such a story?” Baum said at length, his tone much darker than before. “Would they wish it spread throughout the North that they displeased Pyraete and enslaved their own people? Perhaps, perhaps not. Suffice it to say that when Caenthell died, all of its history was brought down and scattered with it.”
He smiled at Norrow for a brief moment. Cassia saw no humour in that smile, and she felt a chill run through her limbs. “Perhaps, my good friend, you are the first man of the North to hear this tale since Caenthell fell. Wouldn’t that be an occasion to celebrate?”
To Cassia’s immense relief, Norrow did not reply.
q
Thick clouds turned the late afternoon grey and cold, and the landscape was now rugged and stark. Cassia began to doubt there was any living beast out here. All this land, untouched by men for centuries, and yet they were less than a day from Keskor. Before today she would not have believed a land could be so empty.
The road had turned south again early in the afternoon, heading down to where Baum said Aelior had lain. The old soldier had paused to survey the eastern horizon for several minutes, before leading them down from the ridge and across a field of knee high grasses that whipped in the wind and stung Cassia’s legs as she struggled through them. She stumbled on loose chunks of earth and stone that were hidden underfoot, and she fell behind the others, tiring rapidly. Not once did her father look back or offer to ease her load.
“I’m afraid we’ve missed the southbound road,” the historian called back at one point. “But not by too much, I believe – we should still pick it up before nightfall.”
“Shouldn’t we have stayed upon the March?” Norrow asked, his voice almost a whine. “If you’d intended to go south—”
“And if I’d intended to let the Factor know exactly where to find me, I’d have done just that,” Baum interrupted. “Now, stay silent and let me find our road, storyteller.”
Cassia allowed herself a weary private smile, despite her fear of the old soldier and his silent, formidable companion. At least her father was being given the level of respect that he really deserved.
As daylight drained from the world and she began to think that she might have to pick her way across the treacherous slopes in darkness, Baum called out again. “Ah, better than I thought! Girl, lift your feet, we are here at last!”
She gritted her teeth and pushed forward as fast as she dared, until she joined the other three, who had dismounted at the bottom of a gentle but overgrown upward climb. Even in the gloom she saw the historian’s smile of satisfaction. Her father’s sullen scowl looked to have been set in clay and fired, while Meredith merely glanced about with the same detached curiosity with which he approached everything.
“Is this the road, sir?” she asked breathlessly. Even the climb up to it couldn’t be worse than those endless swathes of awful grass.
Baum shook his head. “Much better than that,” he said, stooping to sweep away the dirt at his feet. “Take a look, girl.”
She leaned forward and squinted, focusing on the dark patch he had cleared. Beneath the topsoil the ground was smooth and flat. It looked like stone, but somehow patterned. She realised, with a drawn-in gasp, that the pattern had to be man-made.
“Tiles,” Baum confirmed. “The remnants of a mosaic, if I am correct. We have come to Gethista.”
Chapter Four
As tired as Cassia was already, there was still much to do before she could rest. The familiar routines of setting a camp helped distract her from the strange truths of her surroundings.
Her first task, as always, was to secure the mule to a low branch and gather the packs together at the site Baum had picked as their camp. She heard him pointing out landmarks and long-buried features of the dead town to her father. Norrow grunted and muttered as he was drawn reluctantly along. She kept her head down, working fast despite her weariness, glad Baum was keeping him occupied. She was certain he had not forgotten his earlier anger toward her.
Next came the shelter, pegged out against the prevailing winds, the stretched hides propped up at their open end with a branch snapped from a nearby alder. She piled the packs around the shelter to act as a further windbreak.
Her stomach growled all the while, reminding her she had not eaten since early morning. One of the packs held three bundles, each of three stakes bound with twine. All the stakes were carved and notched, to fit together and make a series of small frames. Cassia took her stakes and walked away from the camp, peering at the ground intently.
She counted about fifty paces before she found the droppings she was looking for. Now she only had to build the traps. The rest would come with patience, and Ceresel’s grace.
Her skin prickled, as if t
ouched by a cold breeze, and she glanced nervously over her shoulder. If this town was dead, it might still have ghosts. She was suddenly aware that in the gathering gloom, she could no longer clearly see the camp.
She turned back – and Meredith was before her. She had no time to cry out before she lost her balance and fell backward, the breath knocked from her by the shock of his unexpected appearance.
He took a step closer and she shrunk back against the ground, her hands grasping for the bundle of stakes she had dropped. The darkening sky lent stone grey tones to his skin, and her mind raced away from all the horrors she could imagine. Her eyes fixed upon his arms as he bent and reached down -
Oh Ceresel, please, no -
A strong hand closed firmly on her arm and pulled her upright as though she weighed nothing at all. Cassia blinked and stared straight at Meredith’s chest. The fine golden chain looped around his neck, falling into the folds of his shirt. The links of the chain mesmerised her.
“Why have you left the camp?” Meredith’s voice broke into her scattered thoughts, dragging her back.
She ducked her head, anger battling with relief and embarrassment. Her limbs had started to shake, as they had done the previous night once the immediate danger was past. But this time it felt different. The lordling was uncomfortably close to her . . .
Cassia pulled her arm from his grasp and backed away. He seemed content to let her do that, but his passivity only served to unbalance her further.
“Sir, I need to set these snares.” Her voice sounded as unsteady as she felt.
Meredith glanced down at the bundles that lay behind her. “Why? There is no danger here.”
She swallowed, and stared up at him. Was he serious? There was no humour in his face, only the same guileless expression he had worn all day.
He really has no idea what these are for!
She took a slow, deliberate breath, rubbing her arm where he had gripped too tight. Shock was giving way to anger, and indignation.
“Do you have enough food back there to feed all four of us, sir?”
Meredith frowned and shook his head. “No, I do not think so.”
She snatched up the nearest bundle of stakes. “Then why don’t you let me get on with setting these snares, so we can all eat tonight?” She punctuated her words with angry jabs with the stakes. “Or do you want to starve us now?”
Meredith stepped back. His eyes widened and his hands rose in a defensive gesture, which served to inflame Cassia’s temper even further. She pressed home her attack before she considered the wisdom of doing so.
“Why are you following me, anyway? Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on people? Why don’t you lump off and make yourself useful somewhere else? Go on, go and . . . go and gather some firewood, will you? Make my life a bit easier!”
She paused to take a breath, and her gaze lit upon the short sword sheathed at his side. The realisation of what she was saying fell on her like the sea had fallen on Destrill, the great Galliarcan hero.
Oh, you stupid girl! She cursed herself as her anger was quenched by cold reason. What use was a bundle of sticks against a blade? The muscles of her outstretched arm trembled, betraying her nerves, and she lowered the stakes quickly. She bent to collect the other bundles to hide the rush of crimson she knew had burst into her cheeks.
Meredith had not moved, other than to lower his arms again. His expression was one of mystified amusement, as though he did not quite believe what he had heard.
Cassia’s embarrassed anger flared once more. “What are you waiting for?” she snapped, though the same aggression was much harder to maintain. “Firewood!”
Meredith’s head dipped in a slight bow, a movement that took her aback. “As you say,” he said, and turned away. Her embarrassment turned to open-mouthed disbelief as she watched him begin to collect the deadfall branches that lay under the nearby trees.
“Not here,” she told him, with an exasperated sigh. “I’m setting the snares here. You’ll scare off the game. Go over to the other side of the camp.”
The lordling bowed again and stepped back into the colourless evening without another word. Cassia stared after him for a moment, the bundled stakes still clutched tight in her hands, while her temper bubbled and drained away. Then, at last, she sank back to the ground with a ragged exhalation.
The knots that tied her snare stakes together were too tight for her trembling fingers to manage, so she had to sit there until she felt calm enough to continue. While she waited her gaze roamed over the rough ground, seeking suitable spots for her traps. All she needed were a few good-sized rocks and somewhere that looked like a run between warrens. Once she had these it was simple enough to prop up each rock with a set of snare-stakes so it would fall on any small beast that passed underneath.
She felt a sudden empathy with the unsuspecting rabbits. In many ways, she was walking underneath rocks herself. She hoped that if she triggered her own trap one day she would be lucky enough to never know it. Some rabbits she had caught in the past were not so lucky, and the squeals of pain had been distressing, at first.
She made her way back to camp slowly, alert for any sound of her father arguing with Baum. But there was nothing other than the deep, low tones of the old man, humming a song she did not recognise as he erected his own shelter. He looked up as she came closer, and were it not for the poor light she would have sworn he smiled at her.
“You’ve set traps, I hear? Good, though it may be rather late in the day to start cooking.”
She shrugged a reply. Her father’s wild temper and varying levels of sobriety made meals unpredictable at the best of times. It was something she thought Baum, as a former soldier, would have been used to. If her snares worked tonight they would have food to carry in the morning.
In the meantime there was little to do but wait. Wait for something to trigger one of those traps, wait for Meredith to return with fuel for the fire. Force of habit drove her back to where the mule was tethered, to check the knots held firm.
She passed her father’s shelter, wondering if he had retreated inside to nurse his sour mood. It was an easy decision not to duck her head inside to find out. Until a fire was lit and something – anything – was cooking over it, Norrow would not be pleasant company for anyone.
Not even with dinner served, she thought. In fact, not even a full roasted haunch served on silver plates, with the Factor’s own wines -
She sensed him behind her, much too late. He pulled her around, twisting her arm with a savage jerk. She had time to glimpse his face, sharp and ugly, lips curled into a snarl, before the back of his other hand connected with her cheek.
White pain bloomed behind her eyes as her head snapped to the side. Norrow shoved her to the ground with a push that took her breath away. She landed as she had learned to, without a single cry or whimper, curling instinctively into a ball to protect her stomach.
Eyes screwed tight against the pain, she could not tell exactly where he was until he hissed venomously into her ear, his spittle moist against her cheek.
“What do you think you’re doing? Making me look a damned fool? Trying to get us both killed? Idiot girl!”
He gripped her chin and dragged her face toward his. She didn’t want to look at him, but she knew if she did not the beating would be far worse.
“If he wants you,” her father ground out the words, “he has you. Whatever he says, you do. You don’t argue, you don’t refuse. Understood?”
She nodded, the only movement he would allow her to make. Yes, I understand. I am a shield for your safety. My body to be traded for your life.
She felt sick. This was the second successive night Norrow had shown how he intended to use her to save himself. Yet it was he who had spent the whole day needling and picking arguments with Baum, not her.
Norrow released her and withdrew, as suddenly as he had caught her. Back to the shelter to await his meal. She would not be released from that duty.
Sh
e rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up onto her knees. She was brushing dirt from her dress when she realised she was being watched. Meredith stood a short distance away, branches piled in his arms. She wondered how long he had been there. Had her father spotted him and made his retreat? If the lordling had seen anything, what must he have thought? Had he thought to intervene?
As ever, Meredith’s face held no indication of his thoughts. She held his gaze a long moment as she raised one hand to massage her jaw, and then drew herself unsteadily upright with a muttered curse.
He strode down into camp as though nothing had happened. “This wood will suffice for now,” he said as he passed.
“Thank you, sir.” She fell in behind him, making sure she gave her father’s lean-to a wide berth. Baum seemed to have settled into his own shelter – at any rate, he was nowhere to be seen. How much of her father’s attack had he witnessed?
Meredith dropped his load with a clatter, midway between the two shelters. “Light the fire,” he said to her, as a lord might order a slave. “I have my own tent to erect.”
He paused for a moment, and Cassia wondered if he was waiting for her to reply. “I will stand watch on this camp tonight,” he added, at last.
It may have been for her father’s benefit as much as her own, but she appreciated it all the same.
“Thank you,” she said again, turning away quickly as she heard the catch in her voice. She sat with her back to Norrow’s shelter and began sorting through the firewood.
q
Cassia snapped awake at the faint sound of leather scuffed on loose stone. Her hand closed on one of the fist-sized rocks she had gathered and laid out by her bedroll, and she tensed her legs to spring out from her blanket. The sound came again. Behind her, on the other side of the fire. Where she had set her father’s lean-to.
With one swift motion she rolled, flung the blanket aside, and landed in a crouch with her hand drawn back to make the throw.
