Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms

by Bevan McGuiness

  ‘The underdwellers,’ she said. ‘Are they what you fought?’

  ‘No, but I did see them. They are called Duregs.’

  ‘They are real?’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Hekseri asked.

  Slave regarded her, wondering what she meant. Did she mean this minute, with her, or about the underdwellers, or with his life when he left her? It didn’t matter; they all had the same answer.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  19

  ‘The Mertian manuscript again?’

  ‘Yes, Aue. The same manuscript.’ Myrrhini sat at the desk and pretended to think. ‘And Unger, and the book I had last time about the daven weed.’

  ‘Of course, Myrrhini.’ Aue paused. ‘Do you recall what book that was?’

  ‘Ask Hinrik, he will remember.’

  ‘Yes, Myrrhini. I will do that.’ He shuffled away leaving Myrrhini alone again. She sat and looked outside at the Mertian village. The drawings on the hide walls flooded back to her, along with the odd unease of something not right. Something she was missing.

  The heavy thump of the wooden box being dumped on the desk brought her attention back to the present. Aue unlocked the box and bowed as he stepped back. ‘Hinrik will bring the other books in a moment, Myrrhini. Was there anything else?’

  She was about to wave a dismissal when her bony frame flashed through her mind.

  ‘Some bread with butter and jam, please. And greenberry tea, with sugar.’

  The six runes were exactly as she remembered them. The archer, the tall man, the gate, the julle, the wheel and the bird stared back up at her, as impenetrable as ever. Except …

  Myrrhini looked quickly around to ensure she was not being watched before pulling out her paper.

  There, as she thought. The archer. He stood at the beginning of the same set of six runes. The sequence was the beginning of a long set of pictograms preceding a collection of pictures that seemed to show a scene of Mertian women involved in what looked like tanning animal hides. Surely this ancient manuscript was not about such mundane matters?

  A hesitant cough at her shoulder made her look up. Hinrik stood behind her with the two books she had asked for.

  ‘Unger and the daven book, Myrrhini,’ he said.

  ‘Excellent, thank you, Hinrik.’

  He placed them on the table beside her sheets of paper. He pretended not to notice her drawings but failed.

  ‘Was there anything else, Hinrik?’

  He straightened quickly. ‘Just to apologise, Myrrhini,’ he stammered.

  ‘Apologise? What for?’

  ‘For hurting you the other day. I touched you and you screamed. I did not mean to hurt.’

  Myrrhini shook her head. ‘It was the daven juice, not you.’

  ‘Daven juice?’

  ‘This ink,’ she gestured at the Mertian manuscript, ‘is daven juice. I accidentally tasted it.’ She gave him a self-deprecating smile. ‘You know what it’s like.’

  Hinrik shook his head. ‘I don’t know much about its effects.’

  Myrrhini shrugged. ‘It can bring on heightened senses. In my case, pain.’

  ‘My apologies anyway.’ He hesitated, as if about to say something more, but turned abruptly and walked briskly away.

  Myrrhini opened the two books at random and turned her full focus to the brittle pages in the wooden box.

  The day passed, interrupted occasionally by more food and sweetened greenberry tea. The sun sank beneath the rim, Grada rose and still Myrrhini read and copied. At regular intervals, she ordered more books about any arcane historical lore she could think of. By the time she could think no more, she was surrounded by piles of books, all open to pages she had not read. The only ones she had paid close attention to had maps, and of those she made numerous, surreptitious copies.

  ‘Myrrhini.’

  She looked up with irritation at the interruption to see Koslea standing beside her. ‘It is time for the librarians to take their evening meals. You should leave now.’ He peered down at her pages of drawings. ‘What are you doing? If I may ask.’

  ‘You may not ask,’ she snapped, gathering her papers together, covering as much as she could. She had been careful and all her maps were at the bottom of the pile, so all Koslea could see were her attempts at translating the old manuscript.

  Koslea looked away as if respecting her wishes. ‘If the old language interests you so much, you could always just ask Aue for some help. He does speak it a little. As far as I know no one else does.’

  Myrrhini gathered her papers and started to close the books, but his hand on her wrist stopped her. ‘Let me, Myrrhini,’ he said. ‘It is my job.’

  Myrrhini straightened up and stepped away from the table. ‘Of course,’ she said. Her wrist felt odd where Koslea had touched her. The sense of someone else’s warmth on her skin was … She could not describe it. Certainly she had been touched before, Onaven was always pushing her and at times carrying her … She drew her wrist in against her chest and held it.

  ‘Myrrhini?’ Koslea asked. ‘Are you troubled?’

  Myrrhini shook her head. ‘I think I would like to eat too.’ She turned and left the library without looking back. Koslea hurried after her.

  ‘Your appetite has been very healthy recently,’ he said when he caught up with her in the corridor.

  Myrrhini did not answer him.

  ‘Onaven has said she might have to have the Belly make some new clothes soon the way you are going.’

  ‘Good. The ones I have are getting tight and I need some that are warmer.’

  ‘I will tell your Bane to have it done, Eye.’

  They walked the rest of the way in silence. Myrrhini endured the usual stilling of the Arms with a deep breath and a sigh.

  ‘Why do they do that?’ she demanded of Koslea as soon as the door was closed behind them.

  ‘Train?’

  ‘No; they stop training the moment I walk in.’

  ‘A mark of respect, perhaps?’

  Myrrhini shook her head, remembering all the leering looks she had received from the soldiers. ‘Not respect,’ she said. ‘Something else.’

  Koslea gave her his usual sideways look through slitted eyelids. She had long since given up trying to work out what it could mean. It was, she had decided, just something he did.

  The meal hall was full and noisy as members of the Belly, Mind and Arms of Varuun shared the evening meal. With its high, vaulted ceilings, ornate wall hangings and numerous sconces, it was the brightest and most welcoming room in the whole Place. As well, being attached to the kitchens with their ever-lit ovens, it was the warmest. Myrrhini liked it. Four long tables lined with high-backed but comfortable chairs stretched across the hall, while at the far end, running in the opposite direction was the main table where the highest ranking members of the Acolytes sat. Their table was covered in white cloth and was set with silver utensils, although they ate the same food.

  When Myrrhini entered the noise level dropped, that bubble of silence again, which followed her across the room to her seat at the far end of the hall. Low conversation only recommenced aftershe and Koslea sat. Onaven was already waiting for her, and put a plate in front of her as she sat.

  ‘Here, Myrri,’ she said.

  Koslea rose sharply, his chair scraping loudly across the floor as he moved. He glared at Onaven with fury in his eyes.

  ‘“Myrri”? You refer to the Eye of Varuun as Myrri? What is she, a kitchen scrubber? How dare you address the Eye with such disrespect!’ he thundered. The tentative murmur of talk was stilled instantly as every face was turned towards them. Koslea seemed unaware of the sudden change in the room. He breathed heavily, almost panting, as if struggling to control himself. ‘You are stripped of your role as Bane forthwith,’ he hissed. ‘Go into the kitchens immediately and present yourself to Ur Dee for scrubbing duties.’

  Onaven went deathly pale. Tears welled up in her eyes. Sh
e gave a quick nod of her head to Koslea, a last despairing look at Myrrhini and walked away from the table. Koslea did not watch her leave; as soon as she moved away, he sat back down again.

  ‘My apologies, Eye of Varuun. You should not have had to see that, but I will not have you treated with such disrespect.’

  Myrrhini was torn. I cannot stand up against Koslea, but Onaven did not deserve that. What could I have done? And yet, why did Koslea respond like that? He treats me with disrespect all the time.

  Or does he?

  Myrrhini looked down at her plate. No matter what had happened, she still had to eat well, hadto put on weight to give her more resistance to the cold she would soon face.

  The confrontation over, the rest of those in the dining hall went back to their own meals and conversations, apparently ignoring the head table. But Myrrhini knew from experience they were only too aware of what had gone on. She looked to her left where the oddly titled Head of the Belly, Aimo, sat eating with his usual gusto. His simple clothes, indicative of his humble status, were already marked with small spatters of his meal. Beyond him was the Head of the Arm, Erno. He was in full uniform as always — the flowing red robe, the close-fitting leather cap, the heavy, studded jerkin — and no doubt he still wore his ceremonial sword at his left hip.

  Immediately to her right was the perpetually empty chair of Joukahainen — the Wielder of the Key of Varuun. One chair past that was Koslea, now apparently calm, clad in his ceremonial blue robe with the silver chains — one at his waist to signify the purity of his calling and another at his neck to signify his ‘slavery’ to Varuun. Last on the high table was Kaarle, the Julle Husbander. His role was another whose origins belied its current scope. At first, the Julle Husbander was simply responsible for the julle pack kept at the Place of the Acolytes. He now presided over the whole farm that provided much of the food for the Place. Although technically a member of the Belly and hence under Aimo, he was quite separate and answerable only to Joukahainen. It was Kaarle who had taken the julle away from Myrrhini after it had followed her out of the ritual.

  Kaarle selected the vicious animals to stalk her in the Ritual of the Naphthon; Myrrhini did not like him.

  In fact, when she thought about it, she did not like anyone at the high table.

  ‘Myrrhini,’ Koslea said. ‘You will need a new Bane. Is there anyone you would like?’

  ‘Why ask me? I have never had any say in it before.’

  Koslea lowered his eyelids until once more he was looking at her through slits. ‘Do you have a preference?’

  Myrrhini put down her fork and turned to face Koslea. An idea came to her. It would have its problems, but it might have its advantages as well.

  ‘Hinrik,’ she said.

  ‘The librarian?’

  Myrrhini nodded.

  ‘He is a man, and that is unusual for a Bane, given the close relationship the Eye traditionally shares with her Bane.’ Koslea tapped his chin with his forefinger. ‘But if that is what you wish, so be it.’

  20

  ‘You did very well,’ Slaaj said. ‘The Lan spoke very highly of your service.’

  Slave stood with Ileki in Slaaj’s room again. They had escorted the Lan and her son back to her home and returned just before dawn. Slaaj summoned them to his room soon after they had eaten, but they still had not slept. Ileki was clearly suffering from the lack of sleep, but Slave was used to it.

  ‘I think it is time you moved out of your dungeon,’ Slaaj went on, addressing Slave. ‘You can share Ileki’s room, seeing as you will be working together from now on. Ileki, throw Rakelaar out.’

  Slave said nothing. Ileki gave a half-smile and looked at Slave, but Slave kept his eyes on Slaaj.

  ‘You both look tired,’ Slaaj said. ‘Go and get some sleep. Have the morning training off and rejoin training this afternoon.’

  Ileki reclined on his bed with a groan. ‘I am exhausted,’ he said.

  Slave sat on his own bed and studied him.

  ‘You are from C’sobra,’ he stated.

  ‘Yes, I told you that.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. And now I am wondering what else you didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like why did you help me?’

  Ileki sat up. ‘When I came to Lac’u, I did have a reason, but things went wrong for me and I ended up hiding in the vorbyndjaarge. When I saw you that day, I —’ he hesitated. ‘I wanted something from you, and thought if I helped you, you might help me in return.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Slave said.

  ‘I come from a city in C’sobra called Leserlang. It is a city of learning, of knowledge. There are many Readers there and, of course, there are rivalries. I have a rival, an enemy. His name is Fraunhof. He —’ Ileki drew a deep breath and wiped his face. ‘He took my wife from me and ruined everything in my life. I came here to hire someone to kill him.’

  ‘That’s all?’ Slave asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ileki. ‘That’s all. When I saw you and heard you had survived the arena, I hoped you might help me.’

  ‘And you allowed yourself to be captured by Slaaj to do … what?’

  ‘That was an accident. I saw you leave with him and followed you.’

  Slave lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Ileki waited for him to say something, but when he did not, he turned away and fell asleep.

  Slave was not asleep: he was thinking. Could he trust Ileki? Should he go to Leserlang and kill this Fraunhof? Was there any sort of obligation he owed Ileki? Living all his life in a cell, doing only what his master told him, had not prepared him for such questions. He was glad when a guard came and summoned them both to afternoon training.

  Fighting — that was something he understood.

  21

  The smoke rose from Vogel in a black plume that reached high into the grey sky. At some stage it merged with the lowering clouds to form a smudge the colour of a bruise. Keshik swung his leg over the saddle and slid to the ground.

  ‘Ugly,’ he said.

  ‘Warned you,’ Tristan said.

  ‘What’s burning?’ Maida asked.

  ‘Probably the vorbyndjaarge,’ Panxo said. ‘It burns all the time.’

  ‘I hope your employer’s assets are not there,’ Keshik said to Panxo.

  Panxo shook his head. ‘No, he is based near the arena.’

  ‘Good.’ Keshik remounted his horse and urged it on towards the city.

  At the gate, the scene was more chaotic than normal with so many heavily burdened people pouring out that the guards gave the inbound traffic little more than a cursory glance. Panxo led them quickly through the thronging streets towards thegreat arena that towered over the surrounding buildings.

  He finally came to an unremarkable door in an unremarkable building. He rapped firmly and the door swung open almost immediately.

  A woman greeted him. ‘Panxo. So good to see you.’ She was tall and slender, with black hair and blue eyes. Her clothing was elegant and simple and, to Maida’s eye, very expensive. She stepped back to examine the three people standing with Panxo. ‘And who did you bring with you this time?’

  ‘This is Keshik, the Tulugma Swordmaster, Maida and Tristan.’

  ‘Come in,’ the woman said.

  She led them into a well-appointed sitting room and gestured for them to sit down.

  ‘I am Drikka,’ she said. ‘I look after Huenu’s interests here in Vogel.’

  ‘And what are those “interests”?’ asked Maida.

  Drikka’s smile was a little forced as she regarded Maida. ‘Various activities,’ she said.

  ‘Slaves? Drugs? Prostitutes?’ Maida suggested.

  Drikka’s smile vanished to be replaced with an ugly scowl. ‘What we do here is not of interest,’ she snapped. ‘All that matters to you is your task. You do the task and leave. Simple enough for you?’

  ‘Except for the leaving part,’ Maida said. ‘I like Vogel.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’
said Panxo. ‘You have been complaining about the heat ever since we left Jooure.’

  Maida shrugged. ‘I like complaining too.’

  Keshik snorted a laugh. ‘You have to agree with that.’ His face hardened. ‘The task.’

  ‘Yes, to business. There is a Rilaman noble staying in the city who is causing a great deal of trouble for our business. We would like you to kill him.’

  ‘Don’t you have enough assassins in Vogel?’ Maida asked.

  Drikka shook her head. ‘He is being protected by Slaaj, who owns most of the assassins.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Keshik asked. ‘I was hired in Jooure and came all this way, just to kill one man?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t need a Tulugma Swordmaster to do an assassin’s job,’ Tristan protested. ‘You already have Panxo for that.’

  Drikka gave a shrug, as if conceding the point. ‘If Laird Wilfred were protected merely by simple mercenary guards, you would be right.’

  ‘But there is more?’ Maida added.

  ‘Indeed, a great deal more. He is protected magically by a powerful sorcerer from Rilamo. The mercenaries with him will be purely for show. Your attack will not be against them, it will be against a powerful conjured being — that is why we want a Tulugma Swordmaster. Is that enough for you, Keshik?’

  Keshik’s smile was broad. ‘Where can we meet this Laird Wilfred?’

  Drikka sat back. ‘I had heard of your penchant for the impossible, Swordmaster, but did not believe it. When would you like to …?’

  ‘Tonight, if possible.’

  ‘That can be arranged. He is staying with one of our own nobles, a San Roos, and he frequents some of the less salubrious parts of Vogel at night.’

  ‘Could you tell me of this San Roos?’

  ‘Of course.’

  22

  Hinrik stood uncomfortably at Myrrhini’s door. She sighed in exasperation.

  ‘Come in,’ she repeated.

  ‘But Myrrhini, I am no Bane. I am a librarian. I don’t know anything about the tasks of a Bane.’