Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms

by Bevan McGuiness

They were about to walk away when Manred stopped them. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Before you go; a little gift.’

  Slave narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘A gift?’

  ‘Three actually.’ Manred turned and gestured. Another man walked out of an alley leading two horses and a person in chains, clad in rags, with a hooded robe the only thing providing warmth. The hood was pulled down, keeping the face in shadow.

  ‘What is this?’ Myrrhini asked.

  ‘You killed six of the Queen’s own, and supplied me with quite a lot of money, not to mention two real uniforms which will be very useful. And,’ he laughed, ‘you are leaving. I thought all that deserved a present.’

  ‘A present?’

  ‘Two horses and a slave. They can be very useful for carrying things that horses won’t carry, they eat less and they’re easier to kill.’

  ‘No,’ said Slave. ‘No slaves.’

  Manred shrugged. ‘Your choice, but I thought your Acolyte friend might be interested.’

  ‘Why would I be interested?’ Myrrhini asked.

  At a signal from Manred, the man leading the slave pulled back the hood to reveal the man’s face. He was gagged and bruised, but there was no mistaking Hinrik.

  ‘He’s Acolyte, just like you,’ Manred said.

  45

  Leserlang was an ugly city. Set in an open, somewhat barren plain, it rose like an angry scar above the harsh ground. Its walls were grey stone, streaked with yellowish stains that ran like tears from the battlements. No trees stood around the walls, neither did any water grace the vista. In the still air, smoke hung low and brown over the jagged buildings and towers that rose half-heartedly above the stained walls. A low rumble of city noise drifted across the plain.

  ‘Why would anyone build a city here?’ Maida asked.

  Keshik shook his head. Certainly there was nothing anywhere near to encourage one to linger. ‘Not for the scenery,’ he muttered.

  Maida attempted a laugh, but the starkness of the scene robbed any hint of levity from her heart. A carrion bird drifted across the light blue sky, crying mournfully.

  ‘That’s fitting,’ Keshik observed and he nudged his horse forwards. Maida pulled a scarf up over her head and followed.

  They rejoined the road with its long line of weary travellers just before the city gates. The heat that had so distressed them near Mollnde had reduced, to be replaced by a dry, biting cold. No wind stirred the air, but Maida had a feeling that wind would be a frequent visitor to this open plain.

  The other travellers gathered on the road were surly and uncommunicative. They stared at Keshik and Maida with suspicious eyes and allowed them space grudgingly. Even the horses sensed the hostility — they were restive and unsettled.

  The column of people awaiting entry to Leserlang moved slowly while the sun rose in the sky. It brought little warmth as it climbed up and what it did was swept away by the wind that sprang up halfway through the morning. Even the cool change was not enough to make Maida feel any more comfortable. The people waiting alongside them kept their distance, but the constant murmuring, the smell, the watching eyes meant she stayed on edge.

  Keshik slipped into his near-trance state as he waited. He sat astride his horse with blank eyes and steady breathing. Maida had asked him where he went when he did that. He told her he meditated on the lessons of Tulugma. Having heard many of the lessons of Tulugma, Maida wondered what there was to meditate on.

  The day dragged on and they advanced a step at a time, until they stood in front of a bored-looking guard.

  ‘Purpose in Leserlang?’ he asked.

  ‘Business with the Readers,’ Keshik said, roused from his trance by the voice.

  ‘Be welcome to Leserlang, home of all wisdom and enlightenment,’ the guard said, obviously having said the same thing uncountable times before. He waved them on and after most of the day waiting, Keshik and Maida urged their tired horses forwards, into Leserlang.

  Inside, it was less ugly. A wide street separated well-maintained buildings of pale stone. No trees lined the street, but a row of low shrubs ran along the left-hand side. Once inside the gate, the crowd seemed to melt away quickly, leaving the street relatively quiet.

  Keshik and Maida followed the main street until it came to a junction, where Keshik took the left turn without hesitating. Maida, having never been to Leserlang before, was happy to admire the grand buildings as they went, especially as there was no crush of crowds around her.

  Leserlang was an orderly city with straight roads and tidy buildings. There was a structure and arrangement to the city that felt uncomfortable to Maida, who was used to the randomness of the wilderness. Leserlang was also large, and Maida soon became bored with the sameness of the buildings — however grand they may have been — and the straightness of the roads.

  ‘Do you know where we are going, Keshik?’ she asked.

  Keshik grunted and gestured to a slightly larger and grander building ahead.

  ‘The Rurthi,’ he said. ‘Meeting place of the Readers.’

  The Rurthi was more like a castle than a normal building. It was surrounded by a high wall and a large gate set in the middle faced them. At each corner of the castle was a tower that reached twice as high as the walls. Crenellated battlements lined the top of the walls and Maida could see men patrolling.

  ‘What sort of place is that?’ she asked.

  ‘Paranoid,’ Keshik said sourly.

  Maida laughed. ‘Maybe they like to read undisturbed.’

  ‘Maybe, Maida, maybe. Let’s see if they can be useful as well as paranoid.’

  They weren’t. The guard at the gate, much more alert and efficient than the one at the city gate, would not let them in without an appointment, but would not help with how one might acquire such a thing. By the time they had finished with the guard and been dismissed it was dark, and they were confronted once again with the need to find somewhere to sleep and food to eat.

  Normally, this was simply a matter of going to the nearest inn, but on their passage through the city so far, they had not seen one, nor anything like one.

  The grand buildings were dark already and the crowds on the wide streets were thinning even though the sun was only recently gone from the sky. Shortly, the temperature would plummet.

  ‘Where does everyone go at night?’ she wondered aloud.

  ‘Somewhere warm and out of this wind, I hope,’ Keshik said.

  Maida shivered and drew her robe more tightly around her. The wind was whipping along the almost deserted streets with increasing ferocity. Finding somewhere to sleep was becoming more imperative with every passing moment.

  Keshik nudged his horse into a trot as the first snowflakes dusted his cloak. The temperature had indeed plummeted, ushering in a bitter night that would be hard on anyone on these unforgiving streets. The darkened facades of stone buildings watched them hurry by but not a soul disturbed their passage.

  Leserlang took on a strangely menacing air. Somewhere, a low howl cut through the wind.

  ‘What was that?’ Maida said, raising her voice to be heard over the wind.

  ‘Sounded like a julle.’

  ‘A julle, this far south?’

  Another howl, this one closer. Followed by another, then another.

  ‘That’s a julle pack,’ Keshik said.

  ‘Inside the city?’

  ‘It would explain why everyone gets off the streets after dark.’

  The howling drew closer.

  ‘Ice and wind!’ Keshik said. ‘They’ve got our scent.’ He drove his heels into the flanks of his horse, sending it into a gallop. Maida did likewise and together they raced along the deserted street in search of shelter.

  It is said that in the Wastes of Varuun a julle pack can track a scent through a blizzard and outrun the wind. As she fled ahead of them through the wind and snow, Maida hoped the old sayings were exaggerated, but from the way the howls kept drawing closer, she was having her doubts.

  The sound of thei
r hooves was joined by the howling of both wind and julle pack. They raced through the streets with scant attention to their path; their only thought was flight. The snow swirled in their wake. Blank buildings raced by them, streets passed unnoticed as they drove their increasingly panicked mounts around corners, under archways, dodging carts left thoughtlessly across narrow alleys until they came to a skidding halt in a dead end.

  ‘Ice it!’ Keshik shouted, dragging his squealing horse back around, but it was too late.

  At the mouth of the single exit to this short, somewhat rounded street was the julle pack. All around them, the buildings bulked dark and forbidding, with neither doors nor windows at ground level. There were several windows on the second and third floors. Keshik swore again before sliding down off his horse and drawing his blades. Maida too drew her sword. She preferred to fight on horseback — a difference of technique and upbringing.

  The lead julle, a massive beast that stood as high at the shoulder as Keshik’s waist, stepped into the alley, a low rumble emanating from its throat. Suddenly, every window seemed to burst with light. In the sudden glare, Maida looked up to see dozens of faces staring down at them. She blinked to accustom her eyes to the light and saw that all the people — men and women — were well-dressed, and most held cups in their hands. Many were smiling, all were watching intently. The reality of their situation dawned on her. She spat a curse.

  Keshik echoed her sentiment as he stepped forwards to meet the first julle.

  It howled and sprang, only to fall silently as the blades of the Tulugma Swordmaster sliced its head clean from its shoulders. As one, the rest of the pack rushed forwards. Keshik was surrounded by slavering mouths and hungry teeth. He slipped into the fighting dance that made the Tulugma so feared throughout the world.

  His swords sang as they sliced. He was a swirling fiend, never still, never where he should have been, always moving, always just beyond reach, always presenting the steel wall that was gleaming shield and whistling thresher. The julle kept coming, but were slowly driven back by the unstoppable blades that sliced and hacked and dismembered with unfaltering precision. Keshik’s expression was utterly blank, almost like a man asleep, but his eyes were hard, never wavering, never softening.

  A few julle, luckier than their packmates, slipped past the swords to attack Maida. She used her horse as a weapon as well as her sword as she defended herself against them. Her arm rose and fell while the big animals snapped at her legs. One leaped up, trying for her body, but her horse shied at the threat, giving her the chance to slash at the julle as it flew past.

  Above them, the gathered crowd cried out and gasped alternately as the julle pack was systematically annihilated before their eyes. Silence fell abruptly.

  Keshik carefully cleaned the blood from his blades by wiping them on a piece of undamaged julle, and resheathed them. Maida lowered herself from her saddle and did likewise. Only after he had rejoined Maida and checked that she was unharmed did Keshik bother to look up at the gathered spectators.

  He slowy ran his gaze over every face, memorising each one. When he was done, he lowered his head and spat on the snow.

  ‘Well done, visitor,’ a man called from a window.

  ‘Do not come down here,’ Keshik warned. ‘Just direct us to where we may spend the night in warmth.’

  ‘Go to the end of the street and turn left. Third door. It is unlocked and you are free to use anything you find inside.’

  Keshik gathered the reins of his horse, and those of the pack horse, and walked with measured care out of the small arena with Maida at his side.

  At the end of the alley, they turned left and walked to the third door. It was unlocked and led into a small covered courtyard with feed troughs for their horses and blankets to keep them warm. Maida and Keshik saw to the horses before making their way to the door opposite. Through the door was a large room with a massive bed and a table laid with a full meal. Maida dropped her pack on the floor and walked past the table, grabbing a goblet of wine as she made her way towards one of the two doors in the opposite wall.

  When she opened it, she stood and sighed in simple pleasure. As she had hoped, the door led into a sumptuous bathroom with a tub full of steaming water, a large mirror and a smaller metal tub in which she could wash before soaking in the bath. On a low table was a collection of soaps, aromatic oils and powders. A broad smile formed on her mouth as she started to strip off her clothes. Keshik stood at the door and snorted derisively.

  ‘A bath?’

  ‘Go away, Keshik,’ Maida said. ‘Try the other door. Leave me alone for a while.’

  Keshik grunted and stepped back. He did not, however, slam the door. He closed it softly. Maida appreciated his gentleness when it happened, which was less rare than anyone else in the world might suspect. She stood naked in the metal tub and washed herself thoroughly with the warm water and soaps.

  When she was happy she was clean she stepped out of the metal tub and made her way towards the deep bath. It was circular, about three paces across, tiled and set into the floor. She stepped down into the steaming water, wincing briefly at the heat before sinking down into its sweet embrace.

  It had amused her sometimes to imagine what it would be like to live in luxury such as this, to have a bath every day, with a selection of oils and soaps to scent herself. She lay back to allow her hair to float on the water and stared up at the ceiling. It, like the walls, was carved and painted with patterns of interlocking spirals and images of woodland creatures. The whole room was a work of art, a bas-relief mural stretching across five of the six sides. She reached out, selected an oil at random and poured it into her water. It spread out across the surface, leaving patterns as it swirled around her. Maida breathed in, savouring the subtle aroma. After the days of heat, the rudeness of Leserlang and the insanity of the chase through the streets, she started to relax.

  It was then that she noticed the peepholes.

  What she had taken as painted eyes and black centres of carved spirals were in fact holes. As she stared, she saw movement behind them.

  ‘Ice and wind!’ she screamed. ‘You pathetic bastards!’ Maida scrambled out of the bath and snatched up one of the large white towels to wrap around her body. ‘You spawn of wyvern crap!’ she spat at the watching eyes.

  Maida grabbed her clothes and stalked out of the bathroom. Keshik was sitting at the table, washed and dressed, sipping from a goblet of wine.

  ‘Saw the holes?’ he asked calmly.

  Maida snarled and threw her clothes on the bed. She was about to dress when Keshik shook his head. He pointed at the walls, where Maida surmised there were more of the peepholes.

  ‘I’ll hold a blanket up for you if you’d like,’ he suggested.

  Maida glared at the walls. ‘What’s seen cannot be unseen,’ she said. She dropped her towel and dressed before sitting down to eat with Keshik. When they had finished their meal, Keshik rose. He turned away from the table and walked to the wall where he addressed one of the small holes.

  ‘Now that we have provided you with your evening’s sport, I want some information from you,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ a disembodied voice drifted from above his head. ‘Go back out to the street and enter the first door to your right. The stairs will bring you up to us. We can talk there.’

  Maida stared, disbelieving, at Keshik. He returned her gaze and shrugged.

  ‘How stupid are these people?’ Maida whispered.

  ‘It does not matter any more,’ Keshik whispered back. He strapped on his swords and walked to the door that would lead him back out into the courtyard. ‘Want to come?’

  Maida went cold as she imagined the scene above her head when Keshik was finished. She shook her head. There was nothing she could do, but she did not have to watch. ‘Be careful,’ she said.

  Keshik did not reply, did not even grunt as he opened the door and walked back into the falling snow.

  The door was unlocked. It opened easily
to reveal a narrow stairway heading up. At the top of the stairs was another door. This one was locked, and Keshik hesitated before knocking. Inside, he was a wasteland of icy rage. These monsters, these perverted excuses for human beings, had set a julle pack upon them with the aim of using their deaths, their suffering, as titillation for their jaded palates. They had uncovered Maida’s nakedness and feasted their eyes on the beauty she had reserved for him alone. His rage was under control; it was his friend, his guide here, not his master. All his arduous training meant he used his emotions, not the other way around. He knew exactly what he would do, and why.

  He drew his swords and kicked on the door.

  Light flooded out when a man dressed in expensive finery opened the door.

  ‘Welcome, visito —’ His voice ended as abruptly as his life when Keshik’s enchanted sword removed his head.

  He stepped over the body and entered the brightly lit room. The noise of conversation halted as people saw what had happened in the doorway. Silence descended. Keshik looked around at the fat, bored revellers. The party had clearly been going on for some time, with empty plates and cups scattered about the floor, some people sprawled on couches, sleeping or passed out, as well as a small group of musicians in a corner tuning their instruments before playing.

  ‘What the …?’ a woman said into the silence. ‘What was that for?’

  Keshik kicked the door shut behind him and advanced on the woman who had spoken.

  ‘You wanted some sport this evening, I take it?’ Keshik said coldly.

  ‘Yes, obviously,’ she replied. ‘But that’s no reason for that.’ She pointed at the headless body on the floor.

  ‘I think it is.’ He advanced quickly and slashed with each blade. The woman gurgled once and collapsed into a pool of her own blood. Battle focus was easy after that. All his outrage, his fury, the pent-up pain at Maida’s death and suffering, his hatred of pampered fools like this, clicked together into an implacable resolve. His swords meted out swift, merciless death.

  Later, covered in blood, Keshik wiped his blades on a cloak and slid them back into their scabbards. The one remaining reveller cowered in the corner, whimpering in terror, holding his hands up in useless supplication.