‘Despair takes many forms, Slave,’ Ileki said. ‘Some take the Day of Release to escape from their normal lives. They seek the danger, the excitement of the battle, the risk of death or to win a lover with their valour.’ Ileki allowed his eyes to drift over the savage scars across Slave’s body and face. ‘And some seek death himself.’
Slave shook his head, as much to clear it of disturbing images as in disbelief. He fixed Ileki with a hard glare. ‘Do you seek to be my patron?’
‘No.’
‘So why did you help me?’
‘I am a visitor to this city and find some of its customs distasteful.’
Slave considered this response. While it had the ring of reasonableness, he was unconvinced. To change the subject, he nudged the dead body on the floor with his foot.
‘What about this?’ he asked.
‘We can’t stay here, not now. Slaaj is a dangerous enemy.’ Ileki looked around the cramped, stinking space with something like wistfulness. ‘Give me a moment to collect some of my things and we will find somewhere new.’
Slave watched as Ileki scrabbled through the piles of books and papers, selecting the occasional object, rejecting most. The few items he did keep, he shoved inside a sack. When he was done, he had one last look around before turning to face Slave.
‘You can carry the food,’ Ileki instructed.
For a moment, Slave bristled at the tone of instruction before nodding and picking up the bag of provisions. Ileki led him out of the small room and back into the labyrinth of corridors.
The darkness and the smell were almost overwhelming. Try as he might, Slave could not ignore the stench. In an attempt to distract himself, he focused on the complex interweaving of alleyways and corridors. It seemed that every door opened intoa room rather than another alley and in every room lived a family. Most of these rooms were little bigger than his own dank cell and few had natural light; flickering candles or oil lamps provided relief from the gloom. Overhead, he caught glimpses of sky through gaps in the ceiling, but this whole ramshackle place was built up in as many levels as a builder had the courage to attempt.
‘How can people live like this?’ he was moved to ask his guide.
Ileki paused in his determined stride through the maze and turned to face Slave with a strange look on his face.
‘Not from choice, Slave,’ Ileki assured him. ‘And many that do risk the Day of Release in the hope of gaining a patron.’
‘They will become a soldier just to escape?’
Ileki shook his head. ‘Not every patron is like Slaaj.’
Slave was about to ask another question when a sound intruded. He held his hand up for Ileki to be quiet while he listened. The sound was complicated, like nothing he had ever heard.
‘What is that?’ he whispered.
Ileki sighed. ‘The Day has ended for those in the arena. The pathetic inhabitants of this sad place are coming home.’
Slave concentrated once more on the noise, but was still unable to discern any single sound. It was a vast mumbling and muttering, sending sound echoing through the network of interlocking alleys and rooms, washing over him, flooding his senses. For a moment, he felt as if he was being pursuedby a single creature advancing through the detritus of humanity around it, devouring and destroying all in its path. Slave’s reverie held him motionless for a moment until Ileki grabbed him by the arm.
‘Come. We must move quickly. You are an intruder here and intruders are not always dealt with kindly,’ Ileki hissed.
Slave fell into step behind him, for the moment allowing the odd inconsistency in Ileki’s words to slip past. Ileki led him quickly through the passages until he stopped beside a mostly unmarked section of wall. After checking to ensure they were alone, Ileki muttered a series of words in a low, singsong tone and a doorway glowed into existence where previously there were merely stains and smears.
Ileki pushed at the door and it swung open.
‘In here,’ he urged.
Slave hesitated. The sight of sorcery sent shivers along his spine.
‘Quickly,’ Ileki hissed. ‘They will be on us.’
Slave swallowed his unwillingness and stepped through the doorway. Ileki pulled the door behind him and as it closed, it flickered and vanished from view. Once inside, Slave glared at Ileki.
‘For an intruder, you know your way around well,’ he said softly.
Ileki tried to grin wryly, but the look in Slave’s eye froze the smile.
‘Sit down,’ Ileki said. ‘And I will tell you a little about myself.’ He paused before going on. ‘And a little about you as well, I think.’
Slave looked around for a chair and was instantly struck by the difference of this room to the first one. Where that one was stuffy and ramshackle, this one was sumptuous and well appointed. There were three chairs, a low table, a brightly coloured rug, book shelves full of well-bound books and a cupboard, which Ileki was opening. Inside the cupboard, Slave could see loaves of bread, bottles of wine and what looked like cheese. He felt suspicion rise within him. A low growl of displeasure escaped his throat.
Ileki looked up from the food cupboard, concern on his face.
‘I mean you no harm, I assure you. Quite the opposite, in fact,’ he said quickly.
‘You are a sorcerer,’ Slave said in a low, menacing tone.
‘I have learned a few trivial tricks, that is all.’
‘I have no reason to treat sorcerers well.’
‘Because your master was a sorcerer?’
Slave nodded.
‘I am not really a sorcerer,’ Ileki started. ‘As I said, I have learned a few tricks, that is all. I am a scholar, a Reader as we are called in my land.’
Ileki sat in one of the comfortable chairs and gestured for Slave to do the same.
Slave shook his head. ‘You said you could tell me something about myself.’
Ileki frowned. ‘I can, but I don’t think you will like what you will learn.’
‘Just tell me.’
‘I think I will show you first.’ Ileki rose and walked over to the book shelf, picking up a shiny disk a little larger than his hand. ‘Here, take a look at yourself.’
Slave took the disk and stared at the image in the mirror. After a brief moment, he looked back up at Ileki, then down at himself again. A dark face with a shock of oddly pale hair stared back at him. Slave once more lifted his eyes to regard Ileki’s paler-skinned face, his brown hair and dark eyes.
In the disc his reflected face showed twin scars, deep and straight, running from just below the hairline above his left eyebrow across his face to end at the right-hand corner of his mouth. They cut straight through his left eye and across the bridge of his nose. And it was his eye that would draw the most stares, he knew. His right eye was deep green, flecked with blue, but his left was silver. He could see neither iris nor pupil within the silver orb that glinted back at him.
Gingerly, he raised his hand to trace the scars. When he closed his left eye to see the mark traced across the eyelid and through the gap, he could still make out a glint of silver beneath the ruined flesh. The mirror slipped from suddenly numb fingers and fell to the floor where it smashed into a thousand shards.
‘Receive my blessing,’ Slave whispered.
‘What?’ Ileki asked.
Slave shook his head, but did not answer. He felt weak, his legs threatened to give way beneath his weight. Ileki noticed the sudden uncertainty and stepped forwards to ease him down into a chair.
‘I didn’t think you knew,’ Ileki said softly.
Slave did not respond.
‘I may be an intruder here, but you will stand out like a beacon. You are safe here, for a time, but you must be careful.’
Still Slave did not respond. He sat motionless, staring blankly at the wall. Were he to have been asked directly, he could not have said what he was thinking. His mind was awash with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Ever since he had scraped at the wall in his cell, he had dre
amed only of freedom. In truth, he had little or no idea what freedom meant or entailed, but he wanted it, he hungered for it, his need for it kept him alive under his master Sondelle’s brutal training. Now, confronted with a face that would forever mark him, forever set him apart, he felt his mind losing direction, swinging wildly from despair to violent anger, and everything in between.
No matter how he tried to live, he would never be free of stares, of questions, of people who would remember him. He thought of the thousands who had watched him kill in the arena. How many of them knew Sondelle? Would news of his exploits get back to his master? A chill settled on his soul as he knew beyond doubt that his master would already know of his erstwhile slave’s activities and the use to which he had put his harsh training.
He felt an aching dread borne of certain knowledge — he would be caught. His master had arcane powers at his disposal that would track him down no matter where he was. Flight was pointless, escape impossible. Why had he even tried?
A sudden wild hope seized him. Slave sprang to his feet and in a single bound he covered the distance between himself and his benefactor, grabbing Ileki by the throat. His muscles bunched as he heaved the stunned man to his feet.
‘You said you know sorcery,’ Slave hissed. ‘Can you hide me from my master?’
Ileki gasped as he tried to speak. Slave released his grip and allowed him to fall back into his chair.
‘I don’t know.’ Ileki flinched and lifted his hands defensively as Slave tensed. ‘I can try, but I need to know more of Sondelle.’
‘What do you need?’
‘What sort of sorcery does he practise?’
Slave shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Tell me of the rituals he used. Did they involve blood, or herbs, or the use of scrolls?’
‘All of them.’
‘Divination?’
‘What is that?’
‘Looking into the future or past, by use of devices like mirrors or bowls.’
‘No.’
‘Did he slaughter animals?’
‘All the time.’
‘People?’
Slave nodded curtly.
‘Necromancy,’ Ileki said softly. ‘Ice and wind.’
‘Is that bad?’
Ileki gave him a sad look. ‘Very bad. And execution if the Talons ever find him.’
‘The Talons?’
‘Peace enforcers. The armed force behind the Wings of Vogel.’
Slave stared at Ileki. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘The Wings of Vogel govern the land of Lac’u. The Talons enforce their wishes.’
‘An army?’
‘Like an army, yes.’
‘Were they chasing me?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘But I killed many people in the arena.’
Ileki shrugged as if these killings were trivial things, to be dismissed. ‘No one bothers about that, not in the arena. It’s what they go to see. No, you were chased by the smaller, private armies of mercenary owners like Slaaj. They are much more dangerous.’ Ileki gestured to encompass the stinking slums beyond the walls. ‘Especially in here, in the vorbyndjaarge.’
‘Vorbyndjaarge?’
‘It means “rat hunter” in the old tongue. This whole area has grown up around the old sewers, and used to be infested with rats. Time was, only rat hunters ever came in here, but as Vogel became richer, the poor became poorer and more numerous. The wealthy decided they should no longer pollute the clean streets of the newly rebuilt Vogel and herded them all in here.’
‘How long ago?’
Ileki almost grinned. ‘About two hundred and fifty Crossings ago.’ He looked as if he were about to say more when a loud explosion rocked the room, sending books tumbling to the floor. Ilekileaped to his feet in shock. Slave remained motionless, alert. He listened to the creaks and groans around him as the complex structure redistributed its load, shifting slightly under the new arrangement. Somewhere nearby a scream signified a collapse. The scream was cut off abruptly as more debris fell.
Slave looked at Ileki.
‘Is that normal?’ he asked.
Ileki shook his head.
‘Is it because of me?’
‘Probably.’
‘You said I would be safe here for a while. Has that time run out already?’
Ileki frowned. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘So what was that?’
‘I don’t know, but if they are that close we have to act fast.’ Ileki did not explain what he meant. Instead, he went back to the cupboard and pulled out a scroll. The parchment crackled in his hand as if in protest. Ileki sat again in his chair, unrolled the scroll and began to read aloud.
A familiar scent wafted across the room towards Slave. When it reached him, he flinched as if struck. Waves of memories crashed over him. So many memories of smelling that very odour and the kinds of heinous acts and sensations that followed it battered at him, leaving him panting, weak. No strength remained in his legs and he dropped to the floor, on all fours like an animal. His head spun, sweat sprang from every pore, his eyes blurred. Tears flooded down his cheeks as murmured words of obeisance forced their way past gritted teeth.
If Ileki noticed the effect his spell-casting was having on his companion, he gave no indication as he muttered and gestured. When he was finished, a faint red nimbus surrounded his right hand. With a simple flick of his wrist, he sent the nimbus towards Slave.
Slave was too lost in his remembered fear to notice the red, gas-like stuff writhe through the air. When it reached him, it recoiled, as if in pain, before collapsing in on itself and disappearing with a faint flash of light. Ileki hissed in anger at the failure of his spell.
‘Ice and wind,’ he exclaimed. ‘That scroll was expensive!’
Slave looked up. His eyes were slitted, his lips drawn back in a snarl like a cornered animal. His left eye glinted, reflecting the flickering light of the oil lamp. Everything about him had changed, he had become a slave again: afraid, sly and deadlier than anything Ileki had ever seen.
Ileki slowly rose to his feet and edged away until he felt the door at his back. Slave’s eyes followed him. Another blast shook the room. Small pieces of ceiling floated down from the widening cracks above them. Ileki placed his hand on the doorknob, but as he did, something changed in Slave’s gaze. The animal receded and the human flowed back.
Slave shook himself. The debilitating flood of memories ebbed away, their retreat hastened by the second explosion. Some semblance of self trickled back into his mind and awareness of his surroundings slowly reasserted itself.
‘What is doing that?’ he asked Ileki.
Ileki opened the door a crack and twisted around to peer outside. He sniffed loudly.
‘Myele powder,’ he declared.
‘What is that?’
‘An explosive. Made in Gielde from a rare mineral found only in the mountains.’ As he spoke, he seemed distracted, as if focusing on something he could not see, but only hear or smell.
Slave took a cue from Ileki’s actions and smelled the air. An unfamiliar scent caught his attention. Myele powder, he told himself, storing the memory of scent, origin and name for later. The incongruity of his use of the memory technique his master had taught him was not lost. A faint smile creased his lips. He looked back to Ileki to see the man regarding him with a quizzical expression.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘You are a strange one, Slave,’ Ileki said.
Slave could see no point in saying anything, especially now he knew what he looked like. Ileki seemed to be waiting for an answer, but when none came, he turned back to the doorway and the sound of running feet.
Slave rose to his feet and hefted his Claw. ‘They are coming this way,’ he observed.
Ileki looked around at his words, his eyes widening at the sight of the Warrior’s Claw, but Slave ignored the look. He shouldered his way past the smaller man to step out into the a
lley. The running feet were closer now, and coming fast. He tilted his head to one side to concentrate on the sounds. These were not the ones who had chasedhim through the city. Most likely, they were simply inhabitants of this stinking rat warren. No matter, they were coming towards him and he would not hide. Slave stepped forwards to meet them.
8
‘Nine days!’ Myrrhini whispered. ‘Nine days! What can possibly require nine days?’
Onaven sighed as she stood with her back to the door of Myrrhini’s room. For all her strength and seeming self-reliance, the Eye of Varuun was still only a young woman. The demands of the role were heavy and the disciplines had broken more than one in their centuries-long history. As Bane of the Eye, Onaven had several tasks, one of which was to administer the strict purification regime — the Ritual of Kantele. Normally the ritual would be administered for three days at most. To call for nine days was either a sign of a simple and vicious cruelty or an indication of the significance of the Seeing required. Either way, Myrrhini was in for a bad time — one she might not even survive.
‘Come, Eye of Varuun,’ Onaven said softly. ‘The Key awaits.’
‘Ice the Key,’ Myrrhini said in a voice unlike her own, but she rose and offered her hand to the Bane. When Onaven did not take it, Myrrhinishook her head slightly. The forms must be obeyed. ‘The Eye of Varuun will attend the Key and be purified.’
Onaven gave her a quick smile and took her hand. Slowly, with due solemnity, she led Myrrhini out of her room.
Honoured and ancient, the Ritual of Kantele had three stages. Each one was designed to fulfil two purposes: first to drive the receptive mind of the Eye deeper into the state which received the visions that made her so valuable to the Acolytes and second to remind the Mertian of her people’s parlous state before the Acolytes rescued them from the ravening Scarens.
The first stage, the Chamber of Kalev, was to remind the Eye how uncontrolled and chaotic were the visions that plagued the untrained Mertian mystics, many of whom were, according to legend, driven mad by their gifts. The second stage, the Ritual of the Five Wastes, was designed to remind the Mertian Eye of her utter dependence upon, and gratefulness to, the Acolytes. The third stage, the Ritual of the Naphthon, enabled the Eye to contemplate her ancient enemy — the Scaren hordes — and ingest the powerful narcotic that helped calm her uncontrolled visions and sharpen her mystic focus.
Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms Page 6
