The Diamond Isle

by Stan Nicholls

  Everybody she passed seemed to be going about their own urgent business, understandably, and largely they ignored her. When she got to her destination, she found Kinsel outside the door.

  ‘Serrah, I’m so glad you’ve come.’ He was obviously relieved to see her.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘We were promised a healer, but nobody’s come.’

  ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath, Kinsel, given the state of things out there.’

  ‘I know, and I feel selfish when everyone’s so stretched. But I’m worried about Tan.’

  ‘Is she in desperate need?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘That’s what I was hoping a doctor would tell us.’ He moved closer and his voice dropped. ‘Though I’m starting to think she might need a priest, not a healer.’

  ‘Is she that bad?’ Serrah replied, alarmed.

  ‘No, no, you misunderstand me. It’s just that what ails her seems more…spiritual than physical.’ He added in a whisper, ‘I suppose I mean her mental state.’

  ‘I’ve not seen that much of her since she got here, but she does seem…well, almost a different person. What happened, Kinsel, do you have any idea?’

  ‘She had a hard time in Bhealfa before getting away, of course. I’ve never been able to find out exactly what she went through, though we can be sure it was difficult. But I’m no less in the dark than you, really.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s the baby. It’s her first, remember, and sometimes that can be a trial. Maybe once it’s born–’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He looked at her, as though he’d pulled away from his own concerns and was seeing her properly for the first time. ‘I’m sorry, Serrah; you must think me terribly self-obsessed. I haven’t even asked how you are.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure? You do look a little wasted, if you don’t mind me saying. What have you been up to?’

  ‘It’s an involved story, and it’ll keep. Look, things outside are turning critical. That’s what I came about.’

  ‘We know we’re hardly in a good position here, but–’

  ‘It’s going to get a lot worse. I want you to think about letting me arrange a move for you all, seriously this time.’

  His worried look deepened. ‘I thought you said we were safe here.’

  ‘I did. You are. But you’d be safer nearer the redoubt’s core. You’re too close to the outside of the building.’

  ‘What’s the point? The situation’s hopeless, isn’t it?’

  ‘That attitude’s not very helpful to Tan, is it? Or the kids. And what’s your alternative, giving up and cutting your throats? There’s always hope. Hang on to it.’

  ‘You sound like the way I was once.’

  ‘Good. Be that way again, it suits you.’ She squeezed his arm affectionately, noting how much bonier it was. ‘Something will turn up.’

  ‘The Source?’

  ‘Our secret weapon?’ She had to bite back her cynicism, lest she negate her last little speech. ‘It’s not proving fantastically helpful at the moment. But it has come up with some interesting facts.’ There was no need to burden him with horror stories about the Founders. ‘Again, I’ll tell you later.’ Assuming there would be a later.

  ‘Something else worries me.’

  ‘Haven’t you got enough to be going on with?’

  ‘Seriously. I wonder what I’d do if it came to me being all that stood between Tan and the kids and those invaders. What price my pacifism then? How would I be able to protect them? Then I think about how I’m leaving the fighting to others, and feel perhaps I’m just a coward after all.’ He bowed his head.

  She stretched a hand to his chin and gently lifted his head again. ‘That’s between you and your conscience, Kinsel. I know what I’d do in that situation, but you and I have a slightly different way of looking at the world. And you’re no coward. I couldn’t do what you do. That turning the other cheek stuff takes a lot more self-discipline than I’ve got. Does that make either of us a coward?’

  He gave a mild smile in gratitude. ‘We’ll have to hope that the enemy behave honourably and are merciful towards women and children.’

  ‘I’m sure they will be, if it comes to that.’ She thought it would be nice to believe that herself. ‘Kinsel, time’s pressing. Can I see Tan?’

  ‘Yes, of course you can.’ He stood aside to let her in.

  As before, Tanalvah was in her bed. Her appearance wasn’t greatly improved from the last time Serrah had seen her. She still had a pasty, unhealthy pallor, and her breathing was shallow to the point of improbability. Her eyes were closed. In the room’s meagre light, she could have passed for a corpse.

  There was no sign of the children. Serrah assumed they were behind the closed door of the adjoining room, hopefully sleeping.

  Sensing Kinsel and Serrah’s presence before they made a sound, Tanalvah opened her eyes. There were unmistakable embers of pain in them, but she smiled at Kinsel.

  ‘I seem to spend my life asking this,’ Serrah said, ‘but how are you, Tan?’

  ‘I’m going to be better,’ she replied. It came out with a decisiveness she hadn’t shown for a long time.

  ‘That’s the spirit, my love,’ Kinsel approved.

  ‘I’m going to be better once I’ve made a clean breast and begged forgiveness.’

  ‘Iparrater doesn’t need you to beg,’ Serrah replied, taking it as a reference to Tanalvah’s faith. ‘You’ve often said yourself she’s a benign god.’

  ‘I’ve made my peace with her. I’m content with whatever punishment she sees fit to inflict on me. No, I’m thinking of more worldly forgiveness.’

  ‘You’ve done nothing to be forgiven for. If you’re referring to your old profession, well, you hardly had a choice about that, did you? Come on, Tan. A child’s birth should be a joyous time, whatever else is going on in this crazy world.’

  ‘It will be joyful to me if my child isn’t born in my sin. Which is why I must make my confession and–’

  ‘Tan? Tan.’

  Tanalvah’s face twisted, her body writhing in agony.

  Kinsel peered at her, anxious. ‘My love?’

  ‘It’s…time.’ Tanalvah said it through clenched teeth. Another shudder wracked her.

  ‘She’s right,’ Serrah reckoned. ‘Those are contractions.’

  ‘We need a healer.’ He looked distraught.

  ‘They’re all busy.’

  ‘Then we have to do it. Serrah, you–’

  ‘Because I’m a woman I have to be an expert midwife, is that it?’

  ‘Who else does she have but us?’

  ‘Oh, shit.’ Serrah felt a little ashamed, as well as fearful. She really wanted to get back to Reeth. And if she was being totally honest, given the ramp still coursing through her veins, the action. ‘Bring hot water and towels,’ she said. As he moved off, she called, ‘And keep the kids out of here!’

  ‘Good odds,’ Caldason said, his gaze flicking from the paladin to the meld and the young officer.

  ‘They’re under orders to leave this to me,’ Bastorran told him.

  ‘Ah. I meant only the three of you. Good odds.’

  ‘I’m going to enjoy shutting that mouth of yours so much.’

  ‘Then perhaps it’s time you stopped flapping yours and got on with it.’

  Kutch was still gawping at the uniformed stranger, and Wendah was staring perplexedly at him.

  Bastorran took the lure and came at Reeth, sword swinging. Their blades collided, giving off a peal that echoed through the empty stable.

  The opening rash of strokes and counterstrokes should have determined top dog. Instead it showed there was little between them in terms of prowess. But that initial few seconds reminded Reeth of something he had observed the last time they met. Their skills might be more or less equally matched, but their fighting styles differed. Like all paladins, Bastorran had been trained in the classical tradition. Caldason was more of a street fighter. He put a gr
eater emphasis on instinct, and less on standard combinations and textbook passes.

  Not that classical meant fair. Fencing as the paladin employed it was no less ruthless in intent than the actions of the lowliest back alley vagabond. Bastorran may have wielded his blade with grace, even a certain elegance, but still the object was to drive steel into his opponent’s gut.

  ‘Not so easy this time, is it, Caldason?’ he mocked. ‘No speeding wagons to hurl your victim from. No gangs of traitors to spirit you away.’

  ‘Whereas you’ve only brought a pair of back-ups. Or should that be three, counting the grotesque?’ Caldason nodded at Kordenza. The meld, acting as a lookout at the door, glared back.

  Bastorran went on the attack again. They slashed at each other, probing defences, seeking a breach. But the intensity of their blows was rising in direct inverse ratio to the speed at which they moved. Most duels were short, intense affairs, settled quickly in passion. When two swordsmen of like stature met, stamina was often the deciding factor.

  Wanting to avoid the descent into a messy slog, Caldason put on a spurt in hope of finishing things. Bastorran tried to match him, and for the first time looked to be faltering.

  As they battled, Caldason shot a glance at the unnamed officer, who remained to one side, motionless, as though a mere bystander. His function was presumably to prevent Kutch or Wendah joining the fight, though he had no blade drawn. In fact, Caldason thought he saw him wink at Kutch, but realised that was absurd.

  Now a fresh burst of energy infused their clash and it turned frantic again. Thrusts and parries, blows delivered and offset. The pace was feverish. Neither man would relent, but there was no disguising Bastorran’s growing uncertainty. He seemed to struggle just that little bit more to drive home his strikes. Blocking Caldason’s passes seemed just as much of an effort.

  Despite his boast that he would take Caldason alone, the reality was proving too taxing for the Clan High Chief. His eyes conveyed as much, and the signals were directed at his aide and Kordenza.

  The gestures were subtle, but Kutch picked them up. The young officer remained immobile, giving no hint that he’d comprehended his master’s tacit summons. In any event, Kutch no longer seemed interested in him. His covert attention was on Aphri Kordenza. The meld had understood Bastorran’s command, and was readying herself for a move.

  Kutch was nearest to her. When she transferred her weight from foot to foot, presumably limbering before action, he noticed something strange. As one foot lifted slightly from the floor, there was a glow from under her heel. It was a distinct purplish light, and it appeared, bizarrely, to have the characteristics of a gummy substance. Strands of incandescence linked foot and ground for a second, like miniscule lightning bolts.

  Kutch knew magic when he saw it. And now, with his spotter talent kicking in, he saw into the heart of it. Wendah surreptitiously followed his gaze, and she saw, too.

  Slipping a hand into his coat, Kutch fingered the handle of the knife Serrah had given him just before they escaped Bhealfa. She seemed to have forgotten about it, but he’d kept it close ever since. It frightened him, as most weapons did, but what he saw in the meld frightened him more.

  Caldason and Bastorran continued to fight. The paladin battled with an air almost of desperation, his swipes becoming wilder and his aim less sure. But there were still flashes of brilliance. He put together a mix of passes and feints that wrong-footed Caldason. For a second, everything was in flux.

  Kordenza took her chance and moved. Too fast for Kutch to react, but not Wendah. The girl scooped a handful of tiny green pellets from her pocket and tossed them into the meld’s path. Hex cracklers were at the milder end of the barrage glamour spectrum, more or less toys, but they detonated with an impressive report.

  Caldason and Bastorran were probably as startled as everybody else, but too seasoned to be put off their stroke. Their battling didn’t waiver. On the other hand, Kordenza recoiled and hastily drew back, a stunned expression on her face.

  Wendah had acted instinctively. Her deed had prevented Kordenza from aiding Bastorran, but it also triggered the meld’s anger. Enraged, Kordenza went for the girl and swiped her savagely across the face, hard enough to knock Wendah to the ground. The meld reached for her sword.

  Kutch was there, pointing his dagger at her, hand trembling. ‘Leave her alone,’ he said.

  The meld sneered. ‘Think you can stand up to me, little boy? Let’s see, shall we?’ She swept up her blade.

  Another barred its arc. It belonged to the silent young officer.

  ‘How dare you stay my hand?’ Kordenza flared. ‘Whose side are you on anyway?’

  ‘Certainly not yours,’ he said, speaking for the first time. ‘You want Kutch, you go through me.’

  ‘I’ll enjoy it.’

  Their swords came together and another fight broke out.

  ‘What the hell are you doing, Meakin?’ Bastorran yelled.

  ‘Looks like you don’t inspire quite as much loyalty as you thought,’ Caldason chided.

  They fenced on.

  Still clutching the knife, Kutch backed away from the violence and helped Wendah up. Her lip was bleeding and she looked shaken, but not seriously hurt. He embraced her protectively.

  In Kordenza, Meakin had chosen an opponent far more skilled than himself. But he acquitted himself well, bravely even, knowing that he faced a professional killer. The meld chose to increase her advantage yet further. She retreated a few steps and began the repugnant process of disgorging her twin.

  ‘Don’t let her do that!’ Kutch cried, for he’d seen what she was, and what she could become.

  Meakin dashed forward, evaded the meld’s sword and encircled her in a bear hug. Their struggle took them to the ground, limbs thrashing.

  That particular distraction was poorly timed for Caldason. He deflected a blow imprecisely, then took a second hit at an awkward angle. The upshot was that his sword, the only one he wore this day, was knocked clean out of his hand. It landed tip down, quivering, in the impacted earth of the stable floor. He dived for it, sprawling full-length, a finger’s length short.

  Bastorran was nearer. He contemptuously kicked the blade away. It bounced beyond reach.

  Caldason was at his mercy. The paladin loomed over him, lifting his sword for the killing blow. ‘You don’t know how much I’ve longed for this,’ he announced sardonically, relishing the moment.

  The blood pounded in Reeth’s ears. Kutch yelled something that sounded like, ‘The sword, Reeth!’ He looked to the weapon. It was tantalisingly near but past hope of recovering.

  Bastorran’s blade was raised high.

  Wendah gave a shrill little scream of horror.

  Caldason’s gaze returned to his sword. An indescribably powerful surge of wanting rose in him.

  The sword moved. It shifted jerkily at first, as though tugged by an invisible hand. Then it flew, smooth and dart-like, hilt first to fill his waiting hand.

  Bastorran watched all this in frozen astonishment, his own sword poised.

  Reeth took his chance. He delivered an upward thrust. The steel sliced into Bastorran’s abdomen, and Caldason felt it go in deep. He wrenched it free, ready to strike again. The wound erupted crimson.

  The paladin wore an expression of bewildered disbelief. A look that spoke ill of a Fate that could have him snatch defeat from the jaws of sweet victory. The sword slipped from his grasp. His blood flowed more freely still. He fell.

  Caldason was numb. The blade in his hand could have been a viper from the way he stared at it.

  There was a commotion. Kordenza ran for the door, cloak aflutter. Meakin was getting to his feet and looking to chase her.

  ‘Let it go!’ Caldason shouted. He thought the young man lucky to have survived one encounter with her. A second could well prove fatal.

  The young officer obeyed. In fact, his attention was now on Kutch, and the two of them came together. They hugged.

  It seemed to Caldason th
at the world had just got crazier. Standing, he said, ‘Kutch, who is this?’

  The boy turned his head Caldason’s way. His eyes were glistening. ‘This is Varee, Reeth. My brother.’

  ‘Your what?’

  ‘It’s true,’ Varee told him. ‘Kutch and I are siblings, and we haven’t seen each other in a long time. In fact, until recently I felt sure he was dead.’

  ‘And I thought you must be,’ Kutch said, his voice near breaking.

  ‘Varee Pirathon?’ Reeth queried. ‘Bastorran called you something else.’

  ‘Meakin. Lahon Meakin. Under that name I’ve been his aide for the last six months.’

  ‘You better be able to explain this.’ There were sounds of fighting from outside the stables, a reminder of the greater conflict. ‘Only not right now. Later, if we’re still alive.’

  ‘He’s all right, Reeth,’ Kutch insisted. ‘He’s my brother. Look how he took on the meld.’

  ‘You do deserve thanks for that, Varee,’ Caldason conceded. He turned his attention to Wendah and Kutch. ‘And so do you two.’

  ‘Forget that,’ Kutch replied excitedly. ‘What about that magic you pulled off? That was awesome, Reeth!’

  ‘No. No, I didn’t do that. It was a fluke…a…It was really you, wasn’t it, Kutch? Or you, Wendah?’

  They shook their heads in unison.

  ‘Neither of us could do that,’ Wendah informed him.

  ‘It was you, Reeth,’ Kutch added. ‘You’re a natural. That Founder blood.’

  Caldason was horrified. He resumed studying his sword.

  Varee looked thoroughly confused.

  In brotherly empathy, Kutch said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll explain. Though there’s a lot to tell.’

  ‘I know some of it. I’ve been trying to help your cause, in a small way. And I want to help now.’

  ‘Then get rid of that uniform,’ Caldason advised, pulling himself together. ‘There are several hundred rebels out there waiting to riddle it with arrows.’

  ‘Gladly.’ The elder Pirathon started peeling off his tunic, revealing a plain shirt.