‘Yes, I remember. The madwoman Elith, and these rites you say she didn’t perform. Let’s have it, then.’
‘She did perform the rites, my lord.’
‘I rather imagined so. Menkarak, whatever his other deficiencies, doesn’t strike me as a liar. And was this at your instigation?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Jhiral sighed and sank back into the arms of the throne. He leaned an elbow on the arm, put his hand to his brow and looked at Archeth wearily from under it. ‘You are going to explain all this in a satisfactory manner at some point, I assume.’
‘I hope so, my lord.’
‘Then could we perhaps accelerate the process? Because at the moment I appear to be listening to a member of my inner court admitting to sorcery in collaboration with an enemy of the realm.’
‘I don’t believe there was any sorcery, my lord.’
‘Ah.’
‘Khangset was certainly attacked by some force with technology we don’t have access to, and Elith thinks she helped summon them. But her involvement in these matters is coincidental at best. I encouraged her to repeat the rites she thinks communicate with the attackers, and of course nothing happened.’
Nothing, that is, if you don’t count the creep of flesh on the back of your neck as Elith stands erect before the crudely hewn stone figure on the cliff’s edge in the hour before dawn, arms held out to mimic its patient cruciform beckoning, singing a wild, arhythmic incantation, fluid northern syllables stretched to shrieking and thrown out into the whoop and roar of the sea wind, until it’s hard to tell any more who’s making which sounds. You heard a lifetime of suffering and grief poured out in song there, Archidi, and for more than just a moment or two it seemed to you, didn’t it, that something stony and violent must answer from beyond the curtains of gloom and gale.
‘Archeth, come on.’ Jhiral shook his head. ‘That doesn’t in itself prove anything. Perhaps these forces she attempted to summon just weren’t interested in an encore. Hmm? Sorcery is an unreliable business. You’ve said so yourself enough times. And Rakan and Shanta here both say the destruction was pretty overwhelming, the worst they’ve seen since the war. Who’d come back after a successful sacking like that? What point would there be?’
‘My lord, what point would there be in attacking a garrisoned port in the first place, if nothing of value is taken and there is no onward assault?’
Jhiral frowned. ‘Is this true, Rakan? Nothing was taken?’
‘No, Majesty. It appears not. We found the interior possessions of houses untouched where they had not been destroyed by fire. And the port authority strong rooms contained silver bullion, paymaster’s bagged coin, and several crates of confiscated valuables, all of which were still in place.’ A hint of emotion crept into the Throne Eternal’s dispassionate voice, the faintest tinge of confusion. ‘Though each door had been ripped off its hinges as if by a team of horses.’
‘And I take it,’ said Jhiral dryly, ‘that you could not possibly introduce a team of horses in the lower levels of the port authority.’
‘No, Majesty.’
‘Shanta? Any alternative explanation you can think of?’
The naval engineer shrugged. ‘Perhaps some system of pulleys. Sufficiently well-anchored, they might—’
‘Thank you, I think we’ll take that as a no.’ Jhiral scowled and looked at Archeth again. ‘It seems to me we’re back to the sorcery that you’re so firmly of the opinion did not occur.’
‘I don’t say that sorcery - or some form of science of which I’m ignorant - did not occur, my lord. I say only that the woman Elith had no hand in it, that I did not see her perform sorcery at any time, nor do I believe that she has ever had the ability to do so. She is merely a spectator to these events, a spectator with just enough specialised cultural knowledge to give the impression of involvement.’
Jhiral made a small, exasperated noise in his throat and threw himself back in the arms of the throne. ‘You see? I didn’t follow any of that last sentence, Archeth. Can you - please - spell it out for us in terms a pure-blooded human would understand.’
She ignored the veiled insult, swallowed it, marshalled the facts at her disposal and once more built up the façade of professional detachment that kept her sane and out of jail.
‘Very well. Elith, in common with a lot of the transplanted peoples from annexed territories in the north, believes in a broad pantheon of different gods and spirits. It’s a tradition that bears some resemblance to the Majak nomads’ framework of faith, but it’s far more ordered. It’s been written down, modified, embellished and shared among the Naomic tribes for long enough to become codified. Among this pantheon, there is a figure, or more correctly a whole race, called the dwenda.’
‘Dwinduh?’ Jhiral mangled the unfamiliar word.
‘Dwenda. Or the Aldrain, depending on which tribe’s tales you prefer. It comes to the same thing. A race of beings, close to human in form, with supernatural powers, access to realms beyond human reach, and close links to or even shared blood with the gods.’
Jhiral coughed a laugh. ‘Well. I mean, that could be the Kiriath you’re talking about there. I’ve heard the same things said about them enough times. Human-type races with unexplained powers. Are you saying the Kiriath or some of their cousins are back, that they’ve taken to sacking my cities?’
‘Clearly not, my lord.’ Though she found suddenly she could not make herself hate the idea, the return and the final exasperated turning on these fucking humans. And she wondered fleetingly where Jhiral had derived the idea from, out of what guilt and half-suppressed fear of the race who had served his father but turned their back on him. ‘The Kiriath are gone, yes. But they are probably not the only near-human race ever to have visited this world. In the Great Northern Chronicle, the Indirath M’nal, there is some mention of an enemy that fits the description of Elith’s dwenda. I’m not overly familiar with the text, I’ll need to look back through it, but one thing I do recall is that these dwenda were reputed to have a specialised relationship with the elements, that they could, for example, summon up storms or command the earth to open and vomit up its dead. And certain types of stone and crystal were supposed to have powers they could draw out.’
‘Crystals?’ Jhiral’s face was a study in disdain. ‘Oh, come on Archeth. No one, I mean no one with a halfway decent education believes that power-of-crystals shit. That’s for the peasants on the northern march, the ones who never learnt to read or add up.’
‘I agree, my lord. But at the same time, it is a known fact that my own people were successful in utilising certain structural peculiarities of geology for navigational purposes. It simply occurs to me to wonder if the dwenda might not have done something similar.’
‘Navigation, eh?’ Jhiral glanced shrewdly across at Shanta, who looked embarrassed. Archeth had run her theory by him, but he hadn’t reacted all that well to it. ‘Go on, then. I’m listening.’
‘Yes, my lord. On the bluff overlooking Khangset harbour from the north, there is - there was, I’ve had it removed now - a stone idol. Very roughly human in form, about the size of a small woman or a half-grown child. It is made of a black crystalline rock called glirsht, commonly found in northern lands, but almost unknown further south. Elith brought the figure with her from Ennishmin in a cart with her family’s other possessions. She set it on the bluff, and periodically she climbs the coastal path to make offerings to it.’
The look of disdain flowed back, this time on Rakan and Shanta’s faces as well. The Revelation and its adherents had scant time for idol worship; at best it was primitive nonsense, to be discouraged with a more or less heavy ecclesiastical hand; at worst it was a first category sin, and deserving of death. Imperial conquest was built on a centuries-old assumption of the right to suppress the practice and instruct those conquered in the error of their ways. Specifics varied from Emperor to Emperor, and how well financed the levy was at the time.
‘The way I see it, my l
ord, this idol may have acted as some form of beacon. Elith believes it was her prayers and offerings that brought the dwenda to Khangset. I’m inclined to think those rituals are beside the point. But the stone itself, the glirsht, may have some kind of’ - a shrug; she had not fully convinced herself of all this, let alone Shanta - ‘a structural resonance, perhaps. Something for the dwenda to steer by.’
Even in her own ears, the words sounded limp. Jhiral looked back at her for a couple of moments, then down into his lap, then back up. When he spoke, his voice was weary, almost plaintive, imploring the simple explanation.
‘Look, Archeth - could this not just be a case of pirates? Albeit sophisticated pirates, pirates with a flair for disguise, for exploiting the terrors of our less worldly citizens? Maybe even pirates with some sorcery adept crewing with them.’ The imperial fingers snapped - abrupt inspiration. ‘Come to that, they might even have been in league with this northern bitch you brought back with you - what if she was spying for them on shore, going up to the bluff to signal to them?’
‘They took nothing, my lord,’ she reminded him. ‘And no pirate vessel I’ve ever heard of mounts weaponry sufficient to damage Kiriath-engineered defences.’
‘If it were the dwenda,’ said Rakan, perhaps in an attempt to back his Emperor up, ‘then they also took nothing. Why would that be?’
Jhiral nodded sagely. ‘That’s a very good point. Archeth? Are these creatures not interested in gold or silver?’
She bit back a sigh. ‘I don’t know, my lord. I’m barely familiar with the mythology as it is. But it does seem clear that these raiders, whether they were dwenda or human, came for something other than loot.’
‘Such as? Not their local priestess, that’s for sure. They left her high and dry for us to pick up.’
‘Revenge, perhaps?’ said Shanta quietly.
There was a brief, prickly silence, during which you could see the naval engineer transparently wishing he’d never spoken.
‘Revenge, on whom?’ asked Jhiral with dangerous calm.
Archeth cleared her throat. Someone had to say it. ‘Elith was not well treated by imperial forces during the war. Members of her family were brutalised. One died, and the rest were re-settled against their will.’
‘Well, we all suffered in the war,’ Jhiral said, in clipped tones of affront. ‘We all had to play our part in the struggle. That’s no excuse for treachery or betrayal of the realm.’
Jhiral’s part in the struggle and the suffering had been confined, Archeth seemed to recall, to riding behind his father at troop inspections and saluting. For all his training, he never saw combat.
‘I don’t think Mahmal Shanta is referring—’
‘I don’t care what you think he’s referring to, Archeth.’ Affront was now building to genuine anger. ‘We’ve pussy-footed around this long enough. If there is even the slightest suspicion that this woman Elith might have given aid or comfort to our enemies, sorcerous or otherwise, then I want her put to the question.’
Archeth’s flesh chilled.
‘That won’t be necessary, my lord,’ she said rapidly.
‘Oh, won’t it?’ Jhiral leaned bodily out at her from the throne, voice an inch off shouting. It was the most aggressive stance he’d taken all evening, the confrontation with Pashla Menkarak included. ‘How refreshing that you’re suddenly so certain of something. Perhaps you could explain to us, in this mess of mythological mumbo-jumbo and conjecture you’ve cooked up, how you can be so bloody sure of that?’
Seconds ticked away, she could almost hear the clockwork of their passing. Behind her eyes, the seared memory spread itself, of interrogations she’d been required to attend in the past. She forced herself not to swallow.
‘I have gained this woman’s trust,’ she said truthfully. ‘In the days since we found her, her madness has begun to recede. She talks to me freely, not always making sense, but that is improving. I don’t believe any degree of inflicted pain will help the process - if anything, it will simply thrust her back into her delusions. I need more time, my lord. But given that time, I am wholly confident I will discover everything of value that she can tell us.’
More quiet. But she no longer heard the clockwork in it. Jhiral still looked sceptical, but in a mollified sort of way.
‘Rakan?’ he asked.
Archeth’s gaze leapt to the Throne Eternal’s face. She should have known better - there was nothing to hang on to in that impassive face. Faileh Rakan considered for a moment, but the only indication that there was anything going on behind the narrow features was a slight distance in the normally attentive eyes.
‘The woman is talking,’ he said finally. ‘The lady kir-Archeth does appear to have won her trust.’
Yes, you fucking beauty, Rakan. Archeth could have kissed the Throne Eternal captain’s impassive face for him. Could have punched the air above her head and whooped.
She held it down and watched her Emperor.
Jhiral saw her watching. He made a tired gesture.
‘Oh, very well. But I want regular reports, Archeth. With something substantial in them.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Rakan, who did you say you’d left in charge at Khangset?’
‘Sergeant Adrash, Majesty. He’s a good man, northern campaign veteran. I detailed two thirds of the detachment to stay behind with him, and he has the remains of the marine garrison to work with as well. They’re shaken up but he’ll whip them back into shape fast enough.’
‘How many men does that give him?’
‘About a hundred and fifty, all told. Enough to put a cordon around the town, make sure word doesn’t get out about the raid until we want it to. We’ve posted penalty warnings about seditious talk and unlicensed meetings, built a gallows in the main square and set a dusk-to-dawn curfew. Should have the place back on its feet inside a couple of weeks.’
‘Good. That sounds like solid progress at least.’ A sour glance at Archeth. ‘Can I take it we’ll be hearing some more about these dwenda?’
‘I will begin the research immediately, my lord.’
‘Fine. Let’s just hope the Helmsmen are feeling a little more cooperative than usual, eh?’
The same worry had been dragging at her ever since they left Khangset. She forced it down and manufactured a confidence of tone she didn’t feel.
‘This raid represents a substantial assault on the realm, my lord. I believe that with those parameters, the Helmsmen will revert to wartime attitudes.’ Yeah, Archidi - those that we can still consider sane, that is. ‘I expect fairly rapid progress.’
‘Rapid progress?’ A raised eyebrow. ‘Well, I shall hold you to that, Archeth. As you say, this is an assault on the realm, and at a time when relations with our neighbours in the north are fragile, to say the least. We cannot appear weak. I will not permit a repetition of what has happened at Khangset.’
Archeth thought of the damage to the Kiriath harbour defences, and wondered sardonically how Jhiral planned to exercise that particular point of imperial will if the raiders returned.
‘No, my lord,’ she intoned.
If, for example, the dwenda sailed up the river to Yhelteth, came ashore and stalked the streets of the city as they apparently had at Khangset, phantasmal and to all appearances impervious to any harm human force could achieve. If they put to flight or slaughtered all these fucking humans, and then came like vengeful demons to the gates of the palace, and would not be kept out.
What would happen to Jhiral Khimran, Emperor of All Lands then?
Her own sudden ambivalence mugged her, jumped in her veins and belly like a fresh intake of krin. Unnerved, struggling with the jagged new thoughts, she forced recall of the shattered ribcage of a child, buried beneath charred and fallen timbers. Forced herself to remember that these fucking humans had once included her own mother.
It helped - but not as much as it should have.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Grace-of-Heaven had two soldiers
for him - sun-darkened, sinewy men of indeterminate age who stood around in the upper room at the tavern with arms folded and a latent threat of violence oozing from them like slow smoke. Ringil made them for Marsh Brotherhood muscle, on loan to Milacar no doubt as some kind of lodge-approved favour. Neither was visibly armed, but their loose black burglar’s garb could and probably did hide an assortment of close-quarters weaponry. They spared a couple of surprised glances for the Ravensfriend when Ringil first came in wearing it, but neither man passed comment. Thereafter they were close-mouthed and watchful in the lamp-lit gloom, respectful enough to both Ringil and Grace, but without overdoing it. There was no discussion of payment and, interestingly, no mention of the dwenda.
‘Your main problem,’ Milacar warned them, ‘is going to be getting past the urchins.’
Which wasn’t a surprise, for Ringil at least. He’d had the realities of the landscape laid out for him that first night at Milacar’s place. Grace-of-Heaven, staring off the balcony with him, voice discouraged and faintly tinged, perhaps, with envy. Anywhere else, you’d only have the Watch to worry about, and they can be bought for a harbour-end blow job. Since the Liberalisation, that’s all changed. The slave lobby had the Watch run out of Etterkal altogether, paid them all off at Chancellery level.
The Steel Remains (Gollancz) Page 21
