The Plains of Kallanash

by Pauline M. Ross

  ~~~

  For several days Hurst shut himself away in the little room where he used to sleep. It was small, holding no more than a bed, a wardrobe, now empty, a couple of bookshelves, likewise empty, a table and a couple of chairs. Adjoining it was a water room. It was dusty and bare, but it had a door which could be locked and no memories of Mia. He came out for meals, picked at his food and retreated again.

  One day at meat, Bernast said diffidently, “I don’t wish to disrupt your solitude, brother, but I think you should see Hemmond.”

  “Hemmond?”

  “One of the stable hands. He’s been trying to see you for days now. He says he knows something about Mia, about how she died.”

  “What does it matter now?” said Hurst. “Can he bring her back? If he can do that, I’ll see him.”

  But he realised that Hemmond might have been in the stable yard when Mia left on her fateful last journey, and curiosity got the better of him. Hemmond could not enter the high tower, so Hurst arranged to meet him in Gantor’s library, together with Walst, Trimon and Gantor himself. Hemmond began by telling him everything he had seen in the stable yard, which was very much what Hurst already knew – Mia had been preparing to ride with Henissa and a large group, had spoken to the Karninghold Slave and had then changed her mind and ridden off alone.

  “Did she speak to the Slave first, or did he initiate it?” Gantor asked, and Hurst was grateful to have his friend’s clear-sighted intelligence beside him.

  “Oh, it was him, Commander,” said Hemmond. “He called her across, and spoke to her in a very low voice, so no one would overhear. When she replied in her normal voice, he shushed her. And then she made an excuse to the others and rode north. Well, I was worried about her – in her condition and all – so I found myself a horse and rode after her.”

  “And did you catch her up?” Hurst said, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

  “Not on the road, Most High Commander, I was quite a way behind. But I saw her horse tethered on the far side of a grazing field beside some woods, so I stopped. I wasn’t sure what to do. I couldn’t see Most High Mia anywhere, but I thought she must be in the woods somewhere, and – well, whatever she was doing there, it was a private matter, I didn’t want to intrude. Higher business, nothing to do with me. So I stepped off the road into some bushes, where I could see her horse, but she wouldn’t see me, and I waited. And then— then—” He stopped, distressed, but Hurst, in an agony of suspense, waved him to continue.

  “Then she came running out of the trees, running full pelt for her horse. She tried to mount, but—” Again he stopped, his face ashen, rocking gently back and forth. Hurst couldn’t speak. They all waited for Hemmond to compose himself and continue.

  “This man came running out after her, he caught her. She put up such a struggle, you wouldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t help, I was too far away, even if I’d shouted…” He put his hands over his mouth, close to tears. “And then he got her pinned down and – I don’t know what happened then, but he just jumped up and ran back into the woods. And – and she just lay there…”

  He sobbed gently, and then with an effort, wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry, so sorry… Anyway, I rode across as fast as I could, and at first I thought she was just unconscious. She seemed – so peaceful, so normal-looking, not like she was dead at all. But there was no pulse, no breathing. And I could see the mark on her neck, just an outline but it was there. So I knew. So then I went after this man, the man who’d killed her. I didn’t have a bow or sword, but I had a couple of good knives,” he said grimly. “I followed his trail through the woods.”

  “He left a clear trail?” Walst asked.

  “Yes, he wasn’t trying to hide, he was racing along making the most appalling racket. I had no trouble following him. Almost caught him too, but he was just disappearing inside when I got there.”

  “Inside where?” Gantor said.

  “The Godstower. There was a door open and he was just going through it, and then the door closed. And I couldn’t find it after, couldn’t find any way in at all, no handle, no keyhole. I went over every inch of that stone, and there was nothing.”

  Hurst leapt up. “Can you find this place again?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, let’s go.”

  “It’s almost dark,” said Trimon.

  “Then we’d better take torches.”

  When they reached the field it was just about full dark, no more than a narrow band of light ribboning the horizon.

  “That’s where she was – over there,” said Hemmond sadly.

  They rode across and dismounted, and Trimon lit a torch. There was nothing to see, just some horse droppings, and trampled grass where many feet had stood around while her body was lifted.

  Hemmond led them on into the woods. Even in the dark with a single guttering torch, the trail was plain to see, where the killer had raced oblivious through undergrowth and Hemmond had chased him on horseback.

  And so they came to the Godstower, standing black and forbidding in the middle of the forest. There were hundreds of such structures scattered all over the plain, beside villages or surrounded by bog or deep in forests, with no visible way in and no obvious purpose, each just a single tower of stone, six sided, with open windows two or three stories above the ground. No one seemed to use them or to know why they had been built, so the farmers assumed they were for some higher purpose and called them Godstowers.

  Hemmond showed them exactly where the door had been, its approximate height and width, but although they could see a couple of scuff marks on the ground just as if a door had indeed been opened there, they could find no sign of an opening. For an hour or more they scraped at the stone with knives and fingernails, trying to find the gap that must surely be there, but without success. Eventually they hurled themselves onto the ground in disgust, and, as Skirmishers do, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and slept.

  Not Hurst, though. He sat, huddled in his cloak at the base of the tower, thinking. His mind had cleared and his grief was replaced with boiling anger. For all the Slave’s platitudes, this was not the work of the Gods. Mia had been killed by a man, a very obviously human man, who had chased her and wrestled her to the ground as she fled for her life, and then killed her.

  Or at least, she had seemed to be dead. What was it Hemmond had said? ‘So normal-looking’. And Mia had said something similar of Tella and Jonnor: ‘You could see they both died by the Gods’ grace – look how peaceful they were in death. They didn’t look dead at all, it was just as if they were asleep. The Gods kept them perfect, just as they were in life.’

  Hurst got up after a while to walk around and stretch his bad leg, which disliked holding a fixed position for too long. To his surprise, Hemmond got up and stood with him.

  “Not asleep?” Hurst said.

  “At my age, sleeping on the ground isn’t a great idea,” Hemmond said. “Bad for the joints. Commander Sir, I wanted to say…” Then he stopped, glancing at Hurst uncertainly.

  “You may speak freely, Hemmond.”

  “I hope I did the right thing, Sir, not telling this to anyone else, just you. I didn’t want to stir up trouble, and it wasn’t going to help poor Most High Mia.”

  “It was absolutely the right thing. Tell me, Hemmond, you’ve been in battle, haven’t you?”

  “Of course, Sir. With your father, many times, and then after I joined you, just the once, before we moved to less exciting parts. Always hoped I’d live long enough to see you at the border on your own account, Sir, if I may say so.”

  “I hoped that, too, although it seems less important now. But you must have seen a few dead on the field.”

  “Some, yes. More than I wanted to see.”

  “And you saw Mia as she lay dead.” Hemmond was silent, not sure where Hurst was leading him. “You said she looked different.”

  “Yes, not like she was dead at all. The dead – their skin goes a funny c
olour, somehow, grey and lifeless. But she wasn’t like that.”

  Hurst smiled.

  The moon came up not long after midnight, and although it was past full there was more than enough light for them to douse the torches and examine the tower properly. But still no sign of a door could be found.

  “Right,” Hurst said. “So how are we going to get into these tunnels – explosives? Or should I just hold a knife to the Slave’s throat and get him to open up the funeral tower for us?”

  Trimon and Walst exchanged glances, but Gantor laughed. “I’ll hold the bugger down while you torture him, if you like. Or should we take turns?”

  Hemmond looked shocked.

  “I hate to dampen your enthusiasm,” Walst said, “but is there really any point?”

  “In torturing the Slave?” Gantor said. “It would be amusing, don’t you think?”

  “In getting into the tunnels. I enjoy a good explosion as much as the next man, but what could possibly be achieved by it? Hurst, Mia’s dead, her killer is long gone and all this grubbing about for tunnels isn’t going to bring her back.”

  “Now that,” he said smugly, “is where you’re wrong.”

  They argued about it, of course, for how could it be possible? But he was absolutely convinced of it. Mia was not dead, and had not been incinerated in the funeral tower; instead someone had come and led her and the Companions down into the tunnels. Five people, that was what she had seen after Tella’s death, and five people they had both seen after Jonnor’s. A Karningholder, three Companions and – someone else. Five people. And the warm skin, pale but still showing the tinge of life. In vain Gantor pointed out that Mia had no pulse, had stopped breathing.

  “Some kind of poison,” Hurst shrugged. “There are all kinds of poisons, including some that give the appearance of death. But they wear off. Not every poison is lethal. Come on, you must remember the Siege of Hellimoor – they all took something or other and looked so convincingly dead that the enemy opened the gates and took them inside for proper funeral rites. Then they woke up in the night, slaughtered the priests standing vigil for them and opened the gates. Famous victory, that was, even if it was a bit of a cheat.”

  Hurst was determined, and they recognised that he was not going to be deterred.

  “Look,” said Gantor to the others, “it’s better than him skulking in that room of his all the time. And he does have a point about the poison at Hellimoor.”

  “Right then, that’s agreed,” said Hurst. “Tunnels – ideas, anyone? Shall we just blow up the tower?”

  Walst sighed. “It would be fun… but I think we could get in through those windows, with a grappling hook and ropes. Trimon could, anyway. Then he could open the door from the inside.”

  ~~~

  They rode back for the necessary equipment shortly after dawn. None of them had slept much, and Hurst not at all, but after the misery of the last few days they were all energised.

  “What shall we take in the way of weaponry?” Trimon asked.

  “Everything,” Hurst said. “We’ve no idea what we’ll find if we get down there, so we’ll go prepared for battle. Plus torches, food, the usual stuff.”

  “And if we can’t get in?”

  “We fall back on the torture option.”

  They were in the stable yard preparing to mount up, watched with alarm by a growing crowd of guards, Skirmishers and servants, when the Karninghold Slave came into the yard at a run, followed by a long trail of lesser Slaves and acolytes. The Slave skidded to a halt beside Hurst.

  “Yes?” Hurst said icily, turning to face him.

  The Slave bowed. “Most High, is there a problem? It is most irregular for you to be taking up arms during this sad month. Are we under attack?”

  “You tell me. While you’re at it, you can tell me what you said to my wife to convince her to ride off alone. You can tell me who it was who waited for her, by prior arrangement with you. You can tell me why you sent her off to be murdered by that coward. And you can tell me the truth, by the Gods. Are you going to answer me, Most Humble? Thought not.”

  The Slave’s mouth flapped open and closed, and he was so white-faced, Hurst thought he was going to faint.

  “Most High…” he whispered. “What are you going to do?”

  Hurst took a step nearer, and was amused to see the man flinch, and cower back. Hurst had the muscular build of a trained Skirmisher, and fully arrayed in mail and armoured leather, with his sword on his back and knives and axe at his belt, he knew he was a formidable sight.

  “I’ll tell you what I am going to do, Most Humble. I am going to find out what happened to my wife at that field on the north road, and you had better hope that I succeed, because if I don’t, I will be coming to you for answers and I have some very creative ways of ensuring your compliance. Now stand aside.”

  The Slave was shaking like a leaf, but he straightened himself and looked Hurst in the eye. “I have to warn you, Most High, that the Gods will look most unfavourably on such irrational behaviour as this. Allowance will be made for your grief, but I must beg you to consider your position! I cannot ignore this.”

  Hurst laughed. He hadn’t intended to, but the man was unbelievable. He stepped forward so that his nose practically touched the Slave’s.

  “I’ll take my chances with the Gods. And you had my wife killed. I cannot ignore that. Stand aside.”

  With that, they mounted up and rode in a great cloud of dust out of the yard.

  They tethered the horses in a line under the trees. Hemmond was to take care of them while they were inside the tower. While Gantor tried to attach the grappling hook to one of the lower windows, Hurst said to him, “I don’t want any heroics from you, Hemmond. Keep a horse saddled at all times, and if anyone comes, anyone at all, get the Nine Vortices out of here, understood?”

  “Understood, Sir. I brought this, thought you might find it useful.” He proffered a small wooden box. Hurst lifted the lid and peered inside.

  “Chalks?”

  “Thought the tunnels might be confusing, Sir. You can mark your route with these.”

  “Oh – very clever!”

  “I had a friend once who grew up at the Ring, Sir. Used to play in the old dragon caves in the mountains there as a boy. From time to time a child would just – disappear. It’s easy to lose your bearings underground.”

  “Thank you, Hemmond. Now – oh, finally!” he said, as a cheer went up from the others. Trimon could be seen swiftly climbing the rope. They watched as he nimbly slithered over the sill and inside, vanishing from view.

  “Now, Hemmond,” Hurst continued, “if we manage to get inside and connect up with these tunnels, we’ll want to explore, so we may be gone for some time – days, perhaps, could be longer. Don’t wait longer than a day. If we’re not back by noon tomorrow, take all the horses back to the Karninghold. Tell everyone we rode almost to the northern boundary following a trail, and then hit swamp so we set off on foot, clear? And if we don’t come back at all…” he paused, feeling the enormity of what he was saying. “If we don’t come back, my father will be here shortly. Tell him everything – everything, mind.”

  “I understand, Sir. I thought—” He chewed his lip, but Hurst waved him to continue. “I have a friend, a craftsman, outside the walls, whose wife’s father lives with them. He’s a scholar – or was, before he retired – so he can read and write. I thought it might be wise to have a written record of events, Sir. In case anything happens to me, Sir.”

  Hurst was silent, wondering perhaps for the first time just what he was getting into. It was true that Hemmond would be vulnerable, just for being with them. Hurst had insisted he wore no visible weapons or battle gear, just his usual uniform, in the hope that everyone would think he was no more than a servant following his Karningholder’s orders, but if the Slave got hold of him… A man who could calmly send a pregnant Higher to her death would certainly not hesitate over a lowly stable hand.

  “That’s a go
od idea, Hemmond. So long as he knows to get it to my father.”

  Trimon’s head appeared at the window again.

  “Can’t open the door,” he called down. “You’ll have to climb.”

  “I’ll go next,” said Walst, reaching for the rope.

  “No, no, Gantor next. If he can fit through there, we won’t have any bother.”

  Gantor climbed more steadily than Trimon, and it took some manoeuvring and a bit of pulling by Trimon for him to squeeze through the window frame. After him, Walst went up, and then some bags of equipment, and finally, with a wave to Hemmond, Hurst.

  “Careful!” said Trimon, as he slid feet first through the opening. “No floor.”

  He was right. There was only a stone staircase spiralling round the inside of the tower wall. Hurst gingerly set his feet on adjoining steps, and hauled the rope up behind him, coiling it neatly.

  They made their way down and down, seeing no sign of a door at all. There was enough light to see their way right to the bottom.

  “Tunnel!” said Gantor with satisfaction. And so it was. The stairs from the tower deposited them in an alcove off the main tunnel which led away in two directions. However, their way was barred by closed metal gates.

  “Well, that didn’t last long,” said Trimon moodily, rattling them. There was no handle or latch, and the bars were too close together to put a hand through to the other side, but Gantor pointed to an alcove in the wall.

  “That looks like a lever to me. Do you think it opens the gate?”

  “Or tells someone we’re here,” Trimon said.

  “Oh, let’s give it a go,” Hurst said cheerfully. “What have we got to lose?” He slowly heaved the lever upwards. As it moved, the two halves of the gate opened wide.

  “There you are,” Hurst said, striding into the tunnel. “That was easy. Gantor, what are these marks on the wall? Do they mean anything to you?”

  One side of the tunnel bore a whole series of engraved markings, a little like letters but not in any script Hurst recognised. They all gathered round them, Trimon holding the torch aloft.