“Do I like it? There are – perks, of course.” He glanced at her and paused for an instant. “And I enjoy being able to run things my own way. But I don’t have a lot of power. The Section Commanders are more or less autonomous, I just organise the combined activities.”
“Battles.”
“That, yes, but other things too. Making sure things are distributed fairly, that the Sections with access to the tunnels don’t hog the best of everything. Keeping things moving. Judging the serious offences. But it’s a solitary life, being the man at the top.”
“You have friends, though, don’t you? Men you’ve chosen. And – women.”
“Friends? I suppose my men are friends of a sort, but they come and go. I choose them for their ability, not because I like them. As for women—” He looked at her again. “That’s one of the best things about being outside rather than in the Karnings, there are always women. When I was sixteen, I thought that was wonderful, queueing up to get laid every night if I wanted and for free. And the Captains and Commanders have their own women, to sleep with, not just a quick fuck. But the first one who came to my bed, I went to kiss her and she slapped my face. ‘You don’t get me,’ she said, ‘just the use of my body for a few minutes. Do what you must and then leave me alone.’ So that’s what I’ve always done. Women are for sex, nothing more. But you’re different, aren’t you, Mia? You’re the first who’s ever suggested we might be friends, the first to kiss me.”
She could find no words to answer him, this strange, lonely man who owned her. Still, it was good that he was being more open with her, so she took his hand. He put his other hand over hers and drew it to his chest, but his face as he looked at her was oddly impassive.
“You see, I don’t understand you,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “You don’t even like me, but you kiss me, you do – that thing that you do…” And he sighed. At such moments he seemed almost human. She was almost tempted to smile, except that he was so serious. “I don’t know what you want of me, Mia.”
How could he not understand? She was his prisoner, with no hope of freedom, and she did whatever might appease him, stop him from sending her back to Bulraney. And she was learning not to spit fire at him. He was easier to deal with when he was calm like this.
“Nothing you don’t wish to give,” she said. “But I’m used to being married, where sex is just part of something more, something comforting.”
“Friendship?”
“Yes, but more than that. Working together with a common purpose. My husbands had their own duties, of course, and I had mine, but there were many shared responsibilities too. It made us very close.”
“Ah. Intimacy.”
“Yes, exactly! I know things are different here, but that’s what I miss most. Plenty to do, and people to share it with.”
“Well, I’m not sure what else there is for you to do,” he said. “Kitchen work is very low status, almost as bad as sewing in the basement with the old woman. Work around the compound – that’s for the men. We’re very rigid here. And most of the women don’t want to do more than they do already – the evening work with the men, and a bit of tidying and laundry. For many of them it’s easier than where they came from. They wouldn’t thank you for changing things.”
“No, I suppose not,” she said.
While they sat, they saw a group of people leading a line of horses through the long grass off to the north. They pulled onto the main track and turned east. One man at the front rode, but the rest walked beside the horses, which were strung about with sacks. They saw Mia and Dethin sitting and waved, but didn’t stop. Unlike the dull brown clothes all the warriors wore, they were dressed in garish colours, with bright scarves on their heads. They all wore trousers, but Mia thought one or two of them were women.
“Are they from Supplies?”
“Yes. They’re collecting the grain for the bread you dislike so much. This tall grass isn’t much use for anything, but some grasses have seeds that can be ground for flour. But when the resupply comes in from the Karnings, we’ll get some decent grains.”
After that, they turned back towards the compound, but the sun was already dropping down the sky. Mia began to be afraid they would not be back before dark. The open plain was not exactly safe during the day, but at night it was terrifying for anyone without campfires and enough company for constant vigilance, and there would be no moon for hours yet.
They were perhaps half way back to the compound, and the clouds had cleared to promise a wonderful evening, when they became aware of dust ahead of them, and a deep rumble in the ground.
“Kishorn!” muttered Dethin. “They’re a little east of us, but let’s head for that cayshorn island over there just in case.”
They tied the horses securely to the trees, and waited. It was a small group of kishorn, no more than a hundred or so adults and calves, ambling along slowly about half a mile away, grazing as they went. Around the outside, a pack of scruffy fallan dogs watched for an unwary calf or a sick adult trailing behind, but the herd moved constantly to deter them. The matriarchs led the way, while adult males patrolled the sides and rear, protecting the younger females and calves in the centre. Gradually they moved out of range, leaving a broad swathe of flattened grass, but still Dethin waited.
“Shall we move on?” Mia asked, but he said nothing. He almost looked as if he were listened, concentrating on something.
“Mia,” he said in a whisper, “I want you to do exactly what I say, do you understand?” She nodded. “Go and stand by the horses, and keep them calm. Whatever you do, don’t scream, don’t run, don’t panic. There is a lion very close, but he won’t hurt us. Walk slowly. Go now.”
She went. She was very frightened, but he spoke with such confidence, and she was so used to obedience, that it never occurred to her to argue. For long minutes she stood, soothing the horses by stroking their noses.
Then she saw it – a large male lion with a long scar down one flank walking out of the long grass and onto the track not twenty yards from them. It stopped and almost it seemed to be staring directly at Dethin. He stood motionless on the edge of the island, looking down at the lion. Mia could hardly breathe. How long did they stand there eye to eye, man and lion? Impossible to say. But at last the lion turned and moved off to the north, following the kishorn.
Mia felt her legs had turned to water, but Dethin turned and strode across to the horses as if nothing had happened.
“We will have to make some speed now,” he said calmly. “We have been delayed too long.”
And he mounted his horse and rode off at a fast canter before she could ask any questions.
It was full dark before they reached the compound, and Mia was exhausted from the fast ride back. As soon as they were inside the gate two of Dethin’s men were there, speaking with urgent voices. He gave some terse instructions and they dashed off again.
“There goes my evening,” he said to Mia with a grimace. “The resupply has started, and I have to go straight up to Sixth to take charge.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. Once the carts start coming through the tunnels, I need to be there to make sure Kestimar doesn’t take all the best stuff. This is the only tunnel to get a resupply, so it has to serve the needs of all my Sections.”
They had reached the stables, and he dismounted. His men had brought his gear for him, and another horse stood waiting, already saddled and bearing his travel kit.
“Is there anything you want particularly?” he said to her, his voice softening a little. “We should get fruit this time.”
“That would be very nice.”
“Anything else? Clothes – or anything?”
“Books,” she said, and then laughed at herself. “I don’t suppose they send many books, do they?”
“No, there aren’t many readers here, but I’ll see what I can find. I’ll be back in four or five days.”
Having lamented her lack of real work, now Mia found herself almo
st too busy. By the next evening, wagons began to arrive back at the compound laden with goods from the resupply, materials from the Karnings as their reward for the battle just past. It seemed a bizarre system to Mia, as she helped the kitchen workers fill the stores with sacks of potatoes and grains, barrels of apples and wine, boxes of dried fruits and salt and spices. Some wagons were full of swords and bows, daggers and spears, mail and helmets and armoured leather. There were bales of cloth, boots and cloaks and gloves, blankets and rugs and bandages and medicines. One wagon was full of panes of glass, and lengths of wood, a rare commodity. All of it would be stored and doled out to the Sections as it was needed.
Dethin returned with the last wagon.
“I’ve brought you some presents,” he said, smiling at Mia as he jumped off his horse and strode across to her where she waited near the tower door. He had brought her a whole bag full of little things he thought she might like – a hairbrush, a small hand mirror, some fine linen for undergarments and a good quality riding scarf, a bottle of plums, some candied sweets and many more small items. He carried the bag into the canteen and insisted on unpacking it at once, pulling everything out one by one and watching her carefully to see if she approved. And to her great delight there were books. “They send some every time, it seems, but no one ever wanted them, so they got left up at Sixth. They had more, but I didn’t know what you like to read, so I just grabbed a few. I’ll take you up there to choose some more, if you like. Do you like them? Are you pleased?”
She had never seen him so animated, and she saw his men looking curiously at them as they passed by.
“Thank you, these are lovely,” she said with genuine pleasure. “They will keep me quiet for quite a while, I think. There’s no need for you to start rushing about again just yet. You must be tired.”
Nevertheless, Dethin was not fated to sit quietly at home for long, for he had not been back an hour when riders arrived from Third Section bearing an urgent message. He was subdued all evening, but she thought he was preoccupied more than anything else. She felt she was beginning to understand his moods a little and there was no anger in him now. It was more like sadness. She didn’t dare to ask about it, but after the supper was cleared away and most of the men had drifted off to find ale or women or their beds, he told her himself.
“I have to go to Third tomorrow. There’s been an incident, and I have to be judge at the trial.”
“An incident? A trial? It must be serious then?”
“Yes.” He looked sideways at her, and for a moment her heart lurched. Was it something to do with her? Mista, perhaps? But she was unprepared for the truth. “Bulraney’s been killed.”
“What! How? Whatever happened?” Despite her shock, there was relief too – one man less for her to fear.
“Someone spitted him with a knife, apparently.”
“But why? And what will happen to whoever did it?”
“Why doesn’t really matter. Killing your Commander is one of the few crimes here punishable by death, always.”
“But he might have had a good reason…”
“There’s never a good reason. A Commander is the law in his own Section; everyone has to respect that, otherwise we have anarchy.”
They went to bed early, but Dethin had retreated into his shell again and took her without a word or a kiss. She didn’t mind. She knew it would take a long time to release the affectionate man she suspected lay hidden inside his reserve, and it seemed that she would have all the time in the world to do it. Perhaps she might even grow to like him, if she stayed there long enough. At least he didn’t turn away from her afterwards, instead drifting off to sleep facing her, one arm casually resting on her belly. But she lay awake for a long time wondering who had dared to take a knife to Bulraney, and why.
34: Trial (Hurst)
Hurst’s cell was twelve paces by ten; he had had plenty of time to measure it carefully. Against one wall was a low wooden bench that also served as a bed, there was a jug of water in one corner and in another an archway led to a tiny alcove with a latrine opening directly to running water below. The floor was beaten earth, the walls solid stone and the door thick metal bars. Two narrow slits let in air and light from the outside. He had blankets, his cloak and even a pillow of sorts, so he was not uncomfortable.
The Warlord had been sent word of events, he was told, so now he must await his arrival and judgment. He was a stern man, they said, but fair and he would listen to all the evidence. Hurst would be able to speak on his own behalf. Nevertheless, no one had any doubt of the outcome. The penalty for killing was execution, and while two equals could argue self-defence or accident, and a Captain or Commander could claim the death of a junior was a matter of overenthusiastic discipline, there could be no justification for killing your own Commander. Bulraney had exercised his right to punish a subordinate, and Hurst was not entitled to do anything beyond submit. His only comfort was that as a warrior who had fought in battle, he had the right to die by the sword.
Gantor, Walst and Trimon were allowed to bring his food to him, although only one of them at a time. They sat with him while he ate it, and he gave them long rambling messages to be conveyed back to his father or Bernast or various of his brothers or Mia or Jonnor, in the unlikely event that they should see any of them again. “I wish I had paper and pen,” he said repeatedly, sighing. “This would be so much easier if I could write everything down.” When they were with him, they tried to keep him hopeful, but he could see the anger in them.
Hurst himself was resigned to his fate. He was aware that he had, in some sense, been looking for death ever since Mia had gone, and he was not disturbed now it seemed to have found him. It clarified things. It had always been a wild hope, that he could follow Mia and find her again, and even though he now knew that she had been here, he was no nearer finding her. She was not here now, she had a different name and it would be almost impossible to find her without some help from these people. He could hardly search for her through every single barbarian camp, it just wasn’t feasible. Besides, they were perfectly capable of moving her on deliberately, just to keep her out of reach. Tella, Jonnor, Mia… three Karningholders must have passed through here, each with three Companions, twelve people in all, yet only Mista was still here, and she knew nothing. It was hopeless.
Beyond his cell, the life of the Third Section went on. He heard voices passing his windows sometimes, or the distant clash of swords. Once or twice a wagon rolled past. Heddizan had assumed the role of Commander, but was eyeing Hurst’s three friends rather warily, as if he thought killing Commanders might be standard practice amongst them. Walst found to his astonishment that within a matter of hours of his successful challenge, he was abruptly promoted from Third Sword Captain to Second. He had moved into the Commander’s House with Trimon, but they reported that Mista had disappeared and the other women were tight-lipped when asked about her.
The Warlord arrived, unheralded, one day just before noon. Hurst was brought hot water to wash in and clean clothes, but no blade to trim his now bushy beard. The trial started after the noon meal had been cleared away, for the canteen was the only room above ground large enough for the purpose. Apart from a few guards on the outer walls, everyone from Third Section crowded in to listen, packing onto benches at the front, tables further back, and standing around the edges.
Hurst was not shackled in any way, but six wary looking warriors carrying unsheathed battle swords stood around him. He sat with the crowds behind him, and the Warlord facing him not three yards away. Hurst remembered him well from the battle, and without his helmet he looked even more harsh and unforgiving. This was not a man given to leniency, he suspected, and not a man inclined to be tolerant towards him in particular, given that he had allowed two men to go free during the battle.
It was strange to be so close to the man who perhaps had Mia in his keeping even now. Had he slept with her? Or allowed his Captains to do so? He seemed like an ascetic man himself, cold and d
istant, aloof from the excitement swilling round the room, so perhaps he disliked women altogether. And even if he knew Mia, had she talked about her husbands, would he even know who Hurst was? Somehow it didn’t pain him to think of such things. The Mia he loved belonged to her Karning, with her books and her delicate ways and her dainty birdlike movements, bobbing about fetching him wine or cooking the meat each evening. But that Mia was a dream to him now, just an empty ache in his heart and a shadowy memory, a mirage belonging to the grey stone towers and marble fountains of the Karning. She had no reality in this vast emptiness, this world of lawless warriors where women were no more than vessels for men’s pleasure.
The Warlord raised his hand and the room fell silent. One by one, men came forward to tell variations of the same tale. All the Captains spoke, even Walst and Trimon, although both said at once that Hurst was a friend. Bulraney’s sword was brought out and the Warlord examined it closely, looking piercingly at Hurst.
“This was your sword originally?”
“It was.”
“How came Bulraney to have it?”
“He took it when I first arrived here.”
After that, the Warlord kept the sword across his knees. He examined Hurst’s knives with interest, but made no comment. He listened gravely to all the testimonies, occasionally asking questions.
It was interesting, Hurst thought, to hear these men, most of them loyal to Bulraney, telling simple unvarnished facts, repeating his own provocative words exactly, and yet in the way they expressed themselves you could hear, clear as a gong, their anger and shock and outrage at Bulraney’s behaviour.
“It was his battle sword,” they said, over and over. Or “He had no mail, no helmet.” “He had nothing but his practice sword.” “He yielded but he picked up his sword again.”
It was not going to help him, Hurst knew that, nothing could help him, but still it was interesting. Even here, where the law was whatever the man in charge said it was, men still had a strong sense of injustice.
The Plains of Kallanash Page 35
