That wiped the amusement from his face. “No. It’s always been you. Come on, you lazy sod, time you were up.”
Tossing the bed covers aside, Hurst looked surreptitiously at his leg. It was true that he’d had no pain from it for a while, but he’d assumed that was because he was tower-bound and less active.
“Do you really think it’s straighter than it was?” he asked Dethin.
He smiled. “I do. You probably don’t notice it, but I honestly think the tower has improved it. Maybe it will never be completely right, but I’m sure it’s better than it was.”
“D’you suppose it will improve my face, too?”
Dethin laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with your face. Ask Mia.” And he bent again to the box, pulling out a neatly folded shirt with a cry of triumph.
Hurst froze. “Brother, your back!”
“What about it?”
“Your scars – they’re almost gone.”
“Seriously?”
They stared at each other. “This tower – it’s weird,” Hurst said, uncomfortably.
~~~
Hurst had never much thought how Dethin would fit in to Karning life. He’d assumed rather vaguely that he would be a more compatible version of Jonnor – helping with whatever replaced the skirmishes by day, sharing Mia by night, something more than a Companion if not quite a husband.
It was Tanist who pointed out the obvious flaws. “You and Mia can go back to your Karning, you’re still Karningholders, after all – well, a bit more paperwork to do, but soon. But the Warlord has no place there, no role to play and – this bed-sharing won’t work. There are rules.”
“The rules are changing—” Hurst began, but Tanist waved him to silence.
“They’re not changing as much as all that, Hurst. Only Karningholders are allowed in the high tower. He’s not part of the marriage, and no amount of rule-bending is going to make him so.”
Hurst was forced to acknowledge that he was right – Dethin wouldn’t be allowed in the high tower, so how was it going to work? He was thrust into gloom.
Mia was more optimistic. “We’ll find a way. We run our own Karning, so we can make what arrangements we like. Henissa and Bernast won’t object.”
“But what about the guards? It’s their job to protect the high tower to keep everyone out but us. Dethin won’t be able to get in.”
“Then we’ll all sleep in the family wing,” she said impatiently. “We’ll sort something out. The most important thing is to stay together, isn’t it? Hurst? Dethin?”
She took one hand from each of them, and they both nodded.
“But if it gets difficult,” Dethin said, his voice low, “if ever I’m in the way… You know, don’t you, that you only have to say the word, and I’ll be gone?”
“You’ll never be in the way,” she whispered.
“We belong together,” Hurst said fiercely.
“Thank you.” A twist of a smile. But he didn’t look convinced.
~~~
The snow kept them at the tower for some weeks longer. People came and went, the sick and injured arrived and were healed and left again, but the three of them stayed on. The message system stabilised, the new Council established regular meetings, and still they lingered. Word arrived that Henissa had given birth to a daughter, and within hours Bernast woke, in the same way as Mia – instantly, and with no ill effects or lingering weakness. The former barbarians continued to trickle back to their homes and apply for registration, but many vanished into the Karningplain or took over Godstowers or abandoned buildings, preying on settled communities.
Parts of the tunnel were also falling under bandit control. A group from Third Section, who had walked all the way, arrived exhausted, filthy and near starvation, after several clashes with armed groups. One of the arrivals was Morsha, but she had no knowledge of the rest of Mia’s Companions.
“I was at First when word reached us, and naturally I went to Third to look for Mia,” she said. “You’d all gone, of course, but quite a few wanted to follow, and knew how the gates worked and everything, so I just tagged along. Took us a long time, though, with the food running low and injured men. And we had no idea how to get out – no choice but to keep going. You’ve no idea how good it is to have hot water again.”
Four weeks after the Great Temple was taken, a milder spell of weather turned Hurst’s thoughts to home. There were eighteen who wished to go, Karningers and former barbarians. They had decided to ride, a journey of several days, because the sky ships were awkward for such a large group. None of them wanted to walk all the way through the tunnel again, even without the prospect of fighting their way through. The horses were kept on the far side of the Ring of Bonnegar, so they walked through the tunnel to the nearest Godstower, grateful they now knew how to open the door.
Hurst thought he would be sad to leave the tower behind, their home for more than two months now, but as soon as he settled into the saddle he laughed in sheer delight. It was like a long-awaited release from prison, or a return to health after protracted illness. He was giddy with joy and he saw the same enchantment on all the faces around him. For a while they let the horses have their head, and raced down the wide track as fast as the slope allowed. As they descended onto the plain, the forest loomed ahead of them, and they slowed their pace to stay within sight of each other.
They rode in easy fashion across the barrens, first through deep forest, making camp in clearings near the track, and then across the open plain, sleeping beside the stone-built shelters provided for the purpose. Twice they encountered groups of Skirmishers patrolling. The first was in daylight, a cousin placed there by Tanist to watch for trouble.
“Keep your eyes open,” he advised Hurst. “There are some odd people around just now. That’s what happens when you open the border – the barbarians get everywhere. If you ask me, we were better off when we killed them on sight.”
“They’re as civilised as you or me, given the chance,” Hurst said, although he wasn’t sure it was true. Was civilisation a natural state all men were capable of, or merely a veneer over a deeply barbaric nature? He thought of Bulraney and wondered.
“Do you want an escort? You are few, and have women with you.”
“We’ll be fine. Only one more night and then we’ll be into the Karnings.”
Even so, they slept with weapons to hand and kept a full watch, sleeping crammed inside the shelter for protection rather than out in the open. In the middle of the night, Dethin woke him.
“Many horses,” he whispered.
After an hour or more, the sound of hooves was audible. They sat, barely daring to breathe, swords in hand, but the large group rode on and the sounds diminished and disappeared.
Hurst was relieved to escape so easily. After that, they proceeded cautiously but met no trouble. In the Karnings they passed through, the roads were clogged with people moving from place to place, not just the bright red wagons authorised by Council to transport former barbarians home, but small farmers’ carts and groups on foot, carrying bundles of clothes or tools, with pots dangling.
“They’re allowed to travel now,” Gantor said, when Hurst expressed surprise.
“Who would have thought so many would have wanted to?” Mia said.
Some groups were in festival mood and waved cheerfully at them as they rode past, but others were surly, watching them with grim expressions, and some were terrified, leaping out of the way. A few were provisioned with knife or home-made spear or the occasional sword of a retired Skirmisher, but Hurst’s group was mounted and well-armed and no one threatened them.
Dethin watched it all with open interest, staring at every craft town or village they passed through, and chatting to anyone who fell into his orbit as they waited to cross bridges or for service at inns. Hurst had never seen him so outgoing and friendly, even as a boy, and it pleased him to see the effort he put into relearning all the ways of his home. He would fit in very well at the Karning.
&
nbsp; Finally they were there, riding through the arch with the alarm sounding above them, servants rushing here and there to take the horses and unload the packs, everyone smiling. Henissa raced out with a great squeal, hurling herself at Bernast before he was properly dismounted, then kissing Mia, Tenya and Morsha, and even Hurst, before starting again with Bernast. Marna was there, weeping over Mia and Morsha, and Torman, Jonnor’s missing Companion, but there was no sign of Jonnor himself, or Tella.
They all went through to the guest hall, where dusty outer clothes were taken away, food and wine was laid out, and everyone was introduced. One by one, the arrivals were led off by Henissa to their rooms to refresh themselves. Last of all, she came to Hurst, Mia and Dethin. Mia had written, not explaining the situation, but requesting a specific guest apartment for them. Henissa had other ideas.
“Will you come this way?” she said to Dethin. “I will show you to your room.” She used no honorific, but Hurst forgave her for that. It was awkward when so many arrived at once, and with some very odd histories.
Mia stood up. “No, Henissa, not that corridor. Did you not receive my message? The three of us will share the blue suite.”
“Oh, yes, but… I thought you weren’t serious. You and Hurst are in the high tower, naturally, and – erm…” She waved vaguely towards Dethin.
“We will share,” Mia said, in a tone that allowed no argument. “The blue suite is perfect.” Hurst knew she had chosen it because it had two bedrooms, which they hoped would forestall some of the questions.
“Very well,” Henissa said, compressing her lips in disapproval. She led the way in the opposite direction, towards the area of larger apartments set aside for more important guests.
They waited several days before discussing their arrangement with Henissa. Bernast was of course aware of it already, and must have explained to Henissa, for her face clouded as soon as Mia began talking. Hurst said very little and Dethin nothing at all, but Mia made a fine job of it. She even dredged up some examples from history of lovers from outside the marriage who had been admitted to the high tower. There was no provision in law for any formal arrangement, and no likelihood that the Council would take up the idea in the future, but they hoped to come to some informal agreement.
But Henissa would have none of it. It was too unconventional, she argued, too lax to be considered. There were so many changes already, there had to be lines drawn somewhere or there would be chaos. There could be no respect for a husband who allowed his wife to behave so, she said, glaring at Hurst, nor for a wife who kept both husband and lover. It undermined the institution of marriage, the running of the Karning, the very fabric of the law. It was quite impossible.
So they stayed in the blue suite, and although Dethin kept his things in the unused bedroom to deter comment amongst the servants, they all knew that they were the subject of gossip.
Hurst had been living in the moment for so long that he had hardly thought what life would be like after their return. There were no skirmishes, of course, but there was training every day, he had Mia at night, and there were long relaxing evenings playing crowns or reading or just chatting companionably with friends. The everyday routine of the Karninghold soothed his spirits with its mundane activities, and he was glad to see the children again, all of them grown in body and abilities since the summer, and admire the new baby.
To Hurst’s horror, the Karninghold Slave was still there, the same one who had sent Mia to her death, and although Hurst wrote at once to his father to ask him to do something about it, he himself was powerless to insist that he leave. Every morning he sat through the communion, listening to the chanting, holding Mia’s hand, and glaring in his most ferocious manner at the glittering eyes under their hood. Any normal man would have crumbled long since and found a reason to disappear, but this Slave was made of tougher steel, and remained impervious. The only comfort was that he had no influence over Karning affairs now, so Hurst had no cause to meet him at any other time.
Mia, to his surprise, was unconcerned by the Slave. “He can’t hurt us now,” she shrugged. Then, with a gurgle of laughter, “I’d slit his throat if he tried.”
They had been there less than a week when Tella arrived. She had Kestimar, the new Warlord, in tow, and a stream of more junior warriors, and seemed very much herself – amused by life, charming and as restless as ever. No one had ever settled what would happen if she or Jonnor returned, whether their deaths would simply be revoked, as Mia’s had been, or whether some other role would be found for them. Whenever Hurst had raised the issue with Tanist, he had simply shrugged and said, “Let’s wait and see, shall we? No point worrying about hypotheticals when we have real problems to solve right now.”
Fortunately, Tella had no intention of staying. She came only to scavenge whatever valuables she could. She took several horses, for the stables boasted many fine mounts gifted to her over the years, and spent an afternoon rifling through drawers and boxes in Mia’s room for jewelry. She was vague about her plans, although she thought she might find a craft town somewhere to set up what she described as ‘a quality establishment for discerning men’.
“A brothel?” Mia squeaked, horrified, but Tella had only laughed.
“A very high class brothel, little sister. Perfectly legal, as long as the appropriate taxes are paid, and I am the very person to manage such a place, am I not?”
“And the Warlord’s role in this enterprise?” Dethin asked her.
“Security,” she answered. “Do you want a job too? The more men I have on hand, the better I like it.”
“I know it,” he said sourly.
She laughed in his face then. “So you do. But you got a fine revenge on me, didn’t you? I had to put up with that fool from South West for a full year. But I led him such a dance that he was glad to be rid of me, and I did rather better after that. Kestimar is – much more amenable, shall we say.” She leaned forward and kissed Dethin on the mouth, then gurgled with laughter. “You did all right after I left, didn’t you? And Mia seems not to mind my rejects.”
“I rejected you,” he snapped, but she laughed even more at his anger.
Hurst had no idea what to make of Tella. Mia cried over her, and hugged her fiercely. “So brave!” she whispered. “To take your own life like that, so that we wouldn’t have to break.”
Tella burst out laughing. “Is that what they told you? Oh, little sister, such an innocent you are! Do you really think I would choose to die? I may have been tired of my life here, but never as desperate as that. No, they tricked me, promised me a new life somewhere else but instead I found a Servant waiting for me with some kind of poison. Mind you, I didn’t go down easily. I put a few scratches on his face. And really, he did me a favour, in many ways.”
“How can you say that?” Mia cried, shocked. “Condemning you – both of us – to a life as slaves, and taking away the possibility of children. It was evil.”
“For you, maybe, little sister,” Tella said. “But for me – I made a better barbarian than Karningholder. And now, we’re all free. We can do what we want, go where we want, be whatever we want to be. No arbitrary rules. No one telling us how we should behave. It’s wonderful!” She flung out her arms, and laughed again. “And no more children – oh, the relief! But I should take a look at the three I produced, I suppose.”
The following day, to everyone’s bemusement, she disappeared again abruptly. She took with her Kestimar and his men, her youngest child, Jinnia, and two of the nursery servants.
“Why?” Mia wailed. “Why take Jinnia? And to a brothel, too. She’s never taken any interest in the children before. I don’t understand.”
Hurst shrugged. “Who knows why Tella does anything? But she’s taken the two servants who looked after Jinnia, so she’ll be well cared for. I expect Tella will take a house, or something, and live very comfortably on the proceeds of her brothel. And when she gets bored she’ll move on somewhere else. She was never settled, and now she’s as free
as kishorn. Better that than have her underfoot here. I’m not sorry she’s gone.”
~~~
The first week or two back were odd, and Hurst felt somehow disconnected. Training took his mind off it, and the nights, when he, Mia and Dethin shut their door on the world, were wonderful, but every day there was some jarring moment that reminded him how much had happened since the summer. The Skirmishers laughed openly at the warriors’ lack of training, the servants were subtly disrespectful, a constant stream of edicts arrived from the Council, and he worried what would happen if Jonnor turned up to disrupt everything. He hoped to feel more settled as time passed, but it didn’t happen.
It was Dethin who brought things into the open.
“This isn’t working, is it?” he said one stillness, as they rested in their apartment.
Mia sighed, and although Hurst began to protest, he knew it was so.
“I don’t fit in here,” Dethin went on. “And not just me, it’s all of us who came back with you. Killin, Cristamond, Ainsley – there’s no place for any of us here. They respect me as a Warlord, but no one else does. I’ve forgotten all my Skirmisher training, and although I’m called Captain, I’m not competent to lead them. Killin can’t even read, let alone know the proper moves. Then there’s Mannigor – he should have his own Hundred, instead of trailing you. Trimon’s a dragon-tamer with thousands of Silent Guards worshipping him as a god, how is he supposed to be just a Companion again? Bernast – I know the tower’s healed his injuries, body and mind, but you don’t forget an experience like that. Even Tenya – she’s a Companion, but she’s treated like a servant here.”
“Maybe she should have gone with Tella,” Hurst said uneasily.
Mia choked. “To a brothel? Hardly!”
“And then there’s us,” Dethin said. “It really doesn’t work having two Karningholders living outside the high tower. You should be with Bernast and Henissa, eating meat with them at least.”
The Plains of Kallanash Page 67
