“Why two needles?” Hurst wondered. “One in reserve?”
“No, they’re different sizes,” Gantor said. “Most likely one is the poison that produces the death state, and the other – maybe just a sleeping potion? Useful in the tunnel, I imagine, if the prisoners are frisky. Or an antidote to the poison.”
But nothing could be determined about the other six positions of the stone.
When Mia came back after the stillness, Hurst took her to see the prisoner, in case she recognised him, but he wasn’t surprised when she shook her head.
“That’s not Cristo,” she said. “Although – there is a resemblance. The hair, the face – kin, maybe?”
Hurst spotted a flash of interest in the guide’s eyes when he heard the name.
“Ah – you know Cristo, I think?” he said.
The man hesitated, clearly torn between anger at his treatment and fear of further violence. That was very much as Hurst expected, and he hoped the man would see the value in co-operating. But then he caught sight of the uncovered tattoos on their hands, and his eyes flickered from Mia to Hurst and back again. Now he showed clear signs of interest.
“You’re both from Turs Kan-forst,” he said in a surprised tone, with a hint of a smile. “One of the wives and one of the husbands.”
“I am Hurst Arrakas, yes. This is my wife Mia l’Amontis.”
“The missing one.” He looked at Hurst as he spoke, then turned to Mia. “And the nosy one. Are you all here then?”
“No more questions,” Hurst said sharply, feeling his blood rushing, and breathing deeply in an attempt to stay calm. He found his fists were clenched, and he forced himself to uncurl them. There was nothing to be gained by losing his temper, and he had the upper hand, after all. “You made a mistake, Servant. Sending Mia here was a huge mistake, and you and all your kind will pay dearly for it.”
“Fine words,” the guide sneered.
Hurst turned and stomped outside into the rain, where Walst and Gantor were waiting.
“Shall we question him a little this afternoon?” Gantor asked, innocently pretending to scrape dirt from under his fingernails with a long, curved knife. “I’ll stand around looking menacing, and you play on his sympathies. You never know, he might bump into Walst’s fist again. Or something sharper.”
Mia emerged, pulling her hood over her head, and drawing her cloak closer. She clucked in disapproval at Gantor’s words, but Hurst laughed, his mood lightened at once.
“No, leave him to stew for a while. Besides, Dethin might want to be part of it. But – I forgot we weren’t wearing gloves. He knows who we are, now.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Gantor shrugged. “All the better, actually, he can wonder how we got here, if he likes. And it’s not as if he’s going to take that information anywhere, is it? But did you notice – he thinks we just got lucky with the gate. He doesn’t know we’ve worked out the code.” And he grinned. “This is turning out very satisfactorily. Is there any wine, do you think?”
~~~
It was not yet mid-afternoon, but the canteen was almost full. Outside it was raining quite steadily, so everyone had taken shelter. The new recruits were scattered about at different tables, with ale and food in front of them, each with a warrior either side to discourage any escape attempts. They seemed docile enough, as they sat listening to a description of their new life, asking few questions. Occasionally they showed some enthusiasm, such as when they learned the arrangement with the women, but otherwise they nodded and drank and watched. A number of people had taken advantage of the early release of ale to start games of bones, and were beginning to get rowdy.
Tanist and his group were still clustered around the maps, so Hurst brought them up to date with developments.
“And is he definitely a Servant?”
“We won’t know until we can get his gloves away from him, but he knew Mia’s guide, and he looks the same as she described. I don’t doubt it.”
“He looks the same? Family resemblance?”
Before Hurst could answer, Gantor said, “Cultural resemblance. He looks Trannatta to me.”
“Trannatta!” Tanist said. “No, impossible! Not here, surely?”
Hurst was mystified.
“Gods, why did we bother sending you to the scholars?” Tanist said, exasperated. “Mia will know. Tell your ignorant husband about the Trannatta.”
Mia laughed. “I don’t know much about them. I don’t know who does – they’re very secretive. They live all along the far northern coast. I would have thought it was too cold for them here.”
“Do you think your Servant looked Trannatta?” Tanist asked.
Mia frowned, considering. “Hmm. The eyes are right, and the hair. The skin – I don’t really know, it’s a long time since I’ve seen images of them. They looked very light skinned in the pictures, but the books described it as the colour of honey, and that would fit Cristo, certainly.”
“So, if he is one of these Trannatta—” Hurst stumbled over the word. “What is he doing here?”
No one had an answer.
~~~
The afternoon grew dreary and two of the stores men went round refilling and lighting the lamps. Moundrat oil made a poor fuel, and each lamp was a small sphere of reluctant light, casting deep pools of shadow below tables and in corners. Tanist commandeered several to hang over the map table, leaving even more gloom elsewhere.
An outer door banged as the wind caught it, then the inner door opened and two figures dripped into view. It took Hurst a moment to recognise Dethin, and he clearly had the same problem, standing gazing round the room until his eyes adjusted and he could make out Hurst across the room.
“There you are!” he called, hanging his sodden cloak carefully over the back of a chair. “What happened to all the lights? It’s darker than the tunnel in here.”
“Tanist filched all the lamps. Have a good ride?”
“Very wet. I’ve brought you a present.” And he stood aside to reveal his companion. At first Hurst was mystified. The man stood, gazing round at the hunched backs curved over the maps, and then, in the other direction, at the noisy bones players, who had been drinking ale steadily for some time. His lips curled in a sneer. Then he saw Hurst, and at once his eyes narrowed and he glowered, cheeks reddening. And Hurst knew him.
Beside him, Mia gave a cry and launched herself across the room.
“Jonnor! Oh, Jonnor!” She hurled herself onto him, oblivious of his wet clothes, and flung her arms around his neck. But he made no move to embrace her, simply standing motionless while she sobbed on his shoulder. Dethin watched the two impassively.
Hurst made his way more sedately to the trio.
“How are you, brother?” he said, not feeling up to any expression of pleasure, for he could see it wouldn’t be reciprocated.
“How d’you think I am?” Jonnor hissed, as Mia finally noticed his lack of warmth and began to peel herself away from him.
Now that he was closer, Hurst could answer his own question, for this was a very different Jonnor from the man who had stood shrieking his defiance in the training grounds at the Karning, waiting for the Blue Arrow to strike him down. His hair was plastered to his head by the rain, but even so, it was clear that it was inexpertly cut short. His face was puffy, and there was a thin red scar on one cheek. His beard was bushy and untrimmed. He wore no battle gear, just rough homespun trousers and tunic, in a strange greeny-brown colour.
The room quietened down as everyone turned to look at the newcomer. Jonnor noticed Walst nearby, who was still wearing his Captain’s sash, and spat at his feet.
“Ha! So clever, all of you! Captain Walst and Commander Hurst… Everyone else has to suffer, but not you, oh no. I’ve been treated like dirt, you’ve no idea what I’ve been through, I could have died for all anyone cared, but you’re all fine, prancing around giving your orders just like you did back home. Even out here in the wilds, there’s no escape from you lording it over everyone. Set
ting up your own Petty Kingdom, are you? King Hurst! And Queen Mia! Pa!”
“By the Gods, Jonnor, there’s no need for that attitude,” Hurst said impatiently. Then, to Dethin, “What did you have to trade for him? Because, honestly, I’m not sure you got much of a bargain.”
“No trade. As Warlord, I’m allowed to ask for anyone I want for my own men. Shall I send him straight back to Supplies? He seems pretty wild. Or I can keep him, if you don’t want him. I’ll sort him out.”
Jonnor grew redder and redder listening to them, until Hurst thought he would surely explode. But abruptly he subsided and seemed almost on the verge of tears. “Bastards,” he murmured, half to himself. “Bastards, bastards, bastards…”
“Let’s see how he feels in the morning,” Hurst said. “Life’s always better after a good night’s sleep. Come on, brother, let’s find you a bunk.” He put a hand on Jonnor’s shoulder, no more than a friendly pat, but Jonnor shoved him away so hard he almost lost his balance. Mia gasped, her face shocked. Hurst signalled for Ainsley to take charge of Jonnor. As they disappeared into the rain, Dethin raised a rueful eyebrow.
“I’m really sorry about that. I thought everyone would be happy about it.”
“A reasonable assumption. But Jonnor’s always been – difficult.”
Tanist loomed up beside them, his face creased with amusement.
“Well, you young people are so adventurous. I hope you have a very large bed.”
The men roared with laughter, but Mia’s brows snapped together.
“Don’t be absurd!” she hissed. “He wouldn’t share before, he certainly doesn’t get to share now. I’m sorry he’s had a bad time, but honestly, he wouldn’t even be here if he’d been more sensible.” She swung round and swept out of the room, leaving the men staring open-mouthed at her back.
“Did Mia just flounce?” Walst said in a loud whisper. “That looked like a flounce to me.”
“Oh, shut up, Walst,” Hurst said, suddenly exhausted. It had been a very strange day, and he wished it were over. “I need some wine.”
41: Choosing (Mia)
Mia wished there were a temple at Third Section as there was at the Warlord’s House. Probably there was, somewhere, for clearly all the compounds were built to the same pattern, but most likely it was filled with hay or barrels of ale or feed for the horses, or some such.
She went instead to the women’s quarters, out of reach of the men. She sat by one of the windows gazing out at the rain and listening to the wind howling round. It was not yet dark outside, but the rain-heavy clouds cloaked the sky, a match for her gloomy mood.
No one spoke to her. The women were rather nervous around her, she thought, as if unsure quite what to make of her. Or perhaps they felt it wasn’t worth getting to know her well since they didn’t know whether she was staying. She didn’t know herself, as it happened. She loved Hurst, she knew that now, but he had been very reckless in following her and throwing away his own position. She’d always felt safe with him, but this new volatile Hurst was disturbing. For all Dethin’s oddities, he was at least a known quantity.
The canteen was emptier than usual when she went down for supper. A surprising number of men were required to attend to the new recruits, some officially looking after them and others shadowing them and loitering near at hand just in case of trouble. The newcomers had been taken away for baths and clean clothes, and then their ceremonial first visit to the women, the only time they would be allowed to jump the queue. She supposed it helped to reconcile them to their future lives, and for those without attachments it must be an attraction, but she wondered what sort of compensation it offered men who had been torn away from wives and families.
As she entered, Hurst detached himself from the big group at the map table, now bare of everything except jugs of wine and two baskets filled with an assortment of fruit.
“Are you all right?” he murmured, watching her with anxious eyes and taking her hand to walk her across the room. She smiled and nodded. The others eyed her warily or greeted her with forced cheerfulness, as if she might explode at any moment, but Dethin surprised her with a warm smile. He juggled chairs so that she could sit between Hurst and himself, and fetched her some wine.
“We caught a couple of young kishorn on the way back, and a few moundrats, so there’ll be some decent meat tonight. Oh, and these are from Supplies.” He pulled the fruit baskets closer and smiled again. “I wasn’t sure what you liked best, so I brought a few of everything.”
“Thank you, that was kind.” She took a peach and bit into it, savouring the juicy ripeness.
“Peaches… Is that your favourite?”
“Mia will eat any fruit she can get,” Hurst said. Dethin’s face fell a little, before he recovered himself. Was that a touch of rivalry, she wondered? She didn’t want the two of them squabbling over her again.
“That’s true enough,” she said, “but I do like peaches. I grew up in the north, which has the tastiest, most luscious fruit on the Karningplain, and the most abundant. This reminds me of home.”
“Do you miss it? The north?”
“I miss the heat!” she laughed. “It’s just too cold here, and the winter… I will never get used to winter.”
The food began to arrive – the usual soups and stews, with hard bread and pungent cheese, slices of fried moundrat, dripping with juices, cuts of tender spit-roasted kishorn, hare boiled in pots with tiny plains fruits and nuts and grains, and bowls of unidentifiable grey bottled fruits. Only the Commander’s table had the fresh fruit from Supplies.
She kept watch for Jonnor, but he chose to sit as far from them as possible. Ainsley had found him some better clothes and someone had trimmed his hair and beard a little, but he scowled at everyone who came close to him. Hurst sent him a couple of jugs of Hilligor’s wine and then they let him be.
By the middle of the evening, the room had become rowdy. The newcomers had been plied with ale, and were well on the way to being drunk. Heddizan and Hurst had been whispering about them for some time, Hurst checking that they were settling in without difficulty and Heddizan instructing Hurst on the usual procedures for dealing with them. The objective for the first day, it seemed, was to keep them occupied and contented, watch them at all times, and keep them apart. Tomorrow they would formally meet their Commander and be given their new names. The men were allowed to choose a name for themselves, which might even be their own name, but women were always given one by the Commander. Heddizan wasn’t able to explain that, when Mia asked, but she suspected that the women were more ‘owned’ than the men were, and so had less freedom to define themselves.
She was suddenly aware that Dethin’s chair had been empty for some time.
“When did he leave?” she asked Hurst, but he shrugged.
“I didn’t notice him go. Maybe he’s gone to the stables. He likes to check his horse.”
“No, he went there straight after supper, but he came back again. I wonder if he’s all right?” A buzz of fear; was he angry with her? Or with Hurst? Perhaps he was annoyed with Jonnor’s ingratitude, after going to so much trouble for him.
“I’m sure he’s fine. Just wanted to get away from this riot, I expect.”
“I don’t blame him. They’re getting very noisy, aren’t they? And look, I think Jonnor enjoyed the wine.”
She pointed across the room, where Jonnor was standing on a chair, goblet in hand, declaiming with some animation. A large audience shrieked with laughter, and cheered periodically.
“What am I going to do with him?” Hurst said despondently.
“Nothing, for the moment. Let him find his own place here. I think I’ll see if I can find Dethin. Coming?”
“No, you go on. I’d better check on the prisoner first.”
Mia found Dethin in his small sitting room, perched on the window ledge, arms round his knees, gazing out at the darkness. A single lamp cast a dull glow over one side of the room.
“There you are!” she s
aid. “I wondered where you’d gone to. Everything all right?” She perched on the other end of the ledge, beside his feet.
“Oh… yes. Just… too many people.” A pause. “Your – other husband…?”
“Jonnor.”
“Yes. He seemed to be settling in a little when I left.”
Mia laughed. “He’s always more relaxed with a bellyful of wine. Crannor – thank you for rescuing him from Supplies. He will appreciate it in time, I’m sure.”
He tipped his head to one side, and smiled. “I don’t care whether he appreciates it or not. I thought it would please you. But the others – if you want the rest of your people back, that will be more difficult.”
“The Companions, you mean? I suppose you don’t know where they are?”
“No. They all arrived here, but Bulraney sent them off elsewhere. He hated Skirmishers so he always got rid of them quickly, and the women – they never stay long anywhere. The men like variety.”
“He didn’t send Hurst’s group away.”
“No, because he suspected they were spies. He intended to kill them all, eventually. He was just waiting to prove what they were. Or until they provoked him, and gave him an excuse. But that’s old history. Mia—” He glanced at her quickly, then looked away. “There is one of your people I could track down, but…”
“Which one?” she said eagerly.
“The other wife.”
“Tella?”
“Was that her name? I knew her as Yunya.”
“Tall, beautiful, very curvy, dark hair? The exact opposite of me!”
“She wasn’t like you, true. She – she was with me for a while.” His expression was blank, but she detected anxiety in his eyes. Perhaps he was worried that she would be upset. Or did something bad happen to her, as with Jonnor?
The Plains of Kallanash Page 43
