by Mark Bowsher
‘Well,’ said Krish. ‘Guess it’s almost over. Balthrir, I just wanted to say—’
‘Don’t give me any of that mushy stuff, kiddo! We’ve not got it in the bag yet!’
She was right, of course. They might have walked around the world but until they tied that bow it wasn’t over. There was still one last leg of the journey to go. They had tied the twine to a tree just past Ugethrid, on the road to the Night Ocean, so their journey would end there.
As they reached the trenches themselves, Krish was surprised to see that nobody was sowing seeds or harvesting the crops. In fact there were a number of tools discarded rather clumsily by or in the shallow trenches. He looked over at Balthrir, who seemed equally bemused.
As they entered Al Kara they were in for a bit of a shock. The town was largely abandoned. All doors to dwellings were shut tight and tent flaps fastened. Many market stalls had been half packed up, the wares still on display coated in a light covering of dust. Even food had been left out on the stalls, flies picking at the meat and maggots crawling over fruit.
The Broken Scythe had several slats of wood nailed across the door. Krish recognised innkeeper Tol’s scrawl on a handwritten poster on the wall next to the door:
*
Looters will be
prosscutted
prossacutted
presecuted
BARRED !
*
Tol’s spelling clearly hadn’t improved since he’d been away. But Tol’s words suggested that he expected to come back and that his customers would return also. What had happened here?
As Krish and Balthrir stared up at the Black Palace they took in a new addition to the tallest tower. Several of the prisoners who made up the palace stood on each other’s shoulders at the very top of the tower to form a flagpole. Flapping lightly in the breeze was a black flag with the emblem of a golden crown embroidered across it.
‘’E ain’t ’ere,’ said Balthrir, staring up at the flag. ‘That flag only flies when ’e’s not ’ere. Just to say, yer know, “I ain’t ’ere but I am ’ere in spirit.” Or some cobblers like that.’
‘So where is he?’ asked Krish, beginning to worry that their whole quest had been for nothing.
Balthrir opened her mouth to answer but then spotted something in the distance. Far off, in the direction of Ugethrid, there was a cloud of dirt rising into the air. The cloud followed the road they had taken on their adventures to meet Old Margary, to the Night Ocean, the Pale Hunting Grounds and beyond. The direction they would now be heading in to finish their journey around the whole world and tie the bow to complete the third of the tasks the King had set for Krish to win the Myrthali. If there was anything going on on the Great Plain they might struggle to tie the bow undisturbed. The tugging on the twine was now ceaseless.
Krish and Balthrir reached the road. When they’d walked down it months ago there hadn’t been a soul in sight on that dusty expanse. Now there were carts and wagons of all sizes. Some drawn by horse, others by mule and a few smaller ones by hand. They ducked behind a ridge to observe the chaotic caravan heading out of Al Kara. Carts were filled with men, women and children. Most looked fairly poor but they could see some closed, jewel-encrusted carriages with the odd noble fanning themselves at the small windows. But nobody seemed angry. Most appeared rather jovial. There was much laughter. Some in open carriages filled to the brim with people had even found space to brew tea and pass small glasses around for all to enjoy. Children sat happily at the back of the carts, their feet swinging playfully over the edge.
‘What the blinkin’ ’ell?!’ said Balthrir. ‘What is going on round ’ere?’
Guards marched at the side of some of the carts and carriages, all in pairs, most chatting with each other, not too concerned that anyone would make a break for it. These weren’t prisoners – well, aside from the slaves in their large caged wagons, though even they seemed surprisingly relaxed. Nothing severe appeared to be going on, but still Krish and Balthrir kept their distance.
‘Come on,’ said Balthrir. ‘We’ll go through the farmlands in Tassi. It’s the long way round but we might pick up some info on the way. And there’s no road that way. You can only get there on foot. So we shouldn’t run into any of this lot again till we reach the Great Plain.’
They journeyed for several days through farmlands which were far from rich with crops. The meagre amount growing in the fields tended to be dried out and dead-looking. Eventually they came across fertile fields. An old man was hard at work picking the leaves off a knee-high crop. He had a shock of messy hair, silver in colour, hay-like in texture, and was slim, his clothes baggy, but there were still muscles clinging to his old arms. He caught sight of Krish and Balthrir, pulled a marginally displeased expression, then returned to his work.
‘If yer lookin’ for the festival, it’d be quicker by the road,’ the old man said with gruff indifference.
‘Do what, mate?’ said Balthrir. ‘What festival?’
‘We’ve been off, er, travelling,’ Krish tried to explain. The old man didn’t seem to care.
‘What festival? Ha!’ The old man continued with his work picking leaves, his breathing laboured, looking like he’d keel over at any moment. Krish and Balthrir waited on tenterhooks for the old farmer to elaborate but he said nothing.
‘Yes!’ barked Balthrir. ‘What festiv—?’
‘They can’t make me go!’ the old man interrupted. ‘What’s the point, eh? Forced fun and all that! What’s the point? Old Obsendei wants to cheer up all the poor unhappy people in his kingdom by forcing ’em to have fun at his festival? Ha! Not for me! There’s crops that still need harvestin’! They’ll just go to waste ’less someone does summink. This old rebel’ll be harvesting till ’e’s more use as compost!’
‘So, the King’s holding a festival to keep everyone happy?’ asked Krish.
‘Ha! Makes the poor forget how poor they are for a time, eh?’ said the old farmer. ‘Not me! Plenty o’ work still to do! All that accursed R’ghir’s fault, they say!’
Krish remembered the name. R’ghir was one of the nobles: Lord of the East.
‘One of ’is messengers turned up late,’ the old man carried on. ‘Lost a whole bag of Kalrahs. Taxes from the Lean Mountains. Said ’e’d fallen from ’is ’orse. A likely story! Took the money for ’imself, didn’t ’e? R’ghir wanted to execute ’im, probably to save ’is own neck! Stop old Obsendei executin’ ’im instead! Yer know what old Obsendei’s like? Blames whoever’s nearest! So this messenger spins some yarn. Says ’is ’orse was tripped over by some magic, invisible wall. Ha! Likely story, eh? Likely story! But old Obsendei loves the idea! Travels out there! ’E ’imself says it’s real! This magic wall that nobody can see! Ha! Mad as a jagga-jagga! Now ’e’s draggin’ everyone, forcin’ ’em to go to some festival! Festival o’ magic with this magic wall at the middle of it. People like it! Mad as jagga-jaggas! Mad as an ’ole bunch o’ jagga-jaggas! The lot of ’em! Not old Amsi! Not old Amsi, I say!’
They left ‘old Amsi’ to his ranting but they were now deeply concerned. This ‘magic wall’ that had tripped up the horse of one of R’ghir’s messengers was clearly the twine, which Balthrir had made invisible and which ran straight across the Great Plain. It had become the centre of a festival that all the people of Al Kara had been forced to attend (not that it sounded like they needed much persuasion to skip work or school to be invited to a festival of magic). And it was the idea of the King himself. If he wasn’t at his palace then it was very, very likely that he was at the festival. The King was in the right place, but getting his attention and making sure that he saw the twine being tied without their being stopped or arrested could prove a challenge.
Both Krish and Balthrir were lost in thought, trying to come up with a plan, as they trekked through the empty fields. They reached the woods on the edge of the land of Tassi by nightfall. There was very little twine left to unfurl as they made their way through the tall trees. A feast of faint
sounds drifted through the night to the ears of the two weary travellers. Music. Great drumbeats. Applause. Cheering. The odd roar like fire exploding into the air followed by more applause. The anticipation of seeing what was happening on the Great Plain quashed any chance they had of trying to think up a plan.
The woods began to thin and a sea of flickering lights was visible up ahead. They emerged from the woods to a narrow ledge looking down on the plain below. The light of the five moons, Mother with her Sons dancing around her high in the sky above the plain, shining down on the tall towers of rock on the borders of the vast landscape, did little to illuminate the land below. Fire and torchlight were what lit up the night. A trail of torches from the carts and carriages snaking along the road led to a vast walled rectangle that practically filled all of the nearside of the Great Plain. Interior walls had been erected, splitting the enormous structure into many different areas, all of which were filled to the brim with people milling about this way and that. There were many torches to show people the way through the night. From some sections of the structure great fireballs would often burst into the sky, followed by enthusiastic applause. Spinning batons, hastily changing colour from vivid pink to neon green, then shining purple and orange and blue and red and indigo, were hurled into the air. More cheers. More fire. There were rows upon rows of stalls and a clamour of laughter and excitement all around. There was something odd about it all, though. Something not quite right in the sounds of cheering and jollity. Drumbeats and the music of strange instruments drifted up from the festival below.
As they inched forward to see the far side of the vast structure, Krish and Balthrir saw that one entire side, stretching past the end of the main festival area, almost reaching the halfway point of the plain, was a walled section, a sort of arena, empty in the middle, with tiered stalls each side full of spectators. Two figures on horseback cantered back and forth, sizing each other up from opposite sides. It was hard to tell with the large, dark-coloured splatters that were dotted about the ground here, but Krish had a nasty feeling that come daybreak, they would turn out to be blood red.
In the middle of the western side of the arena, the corner nearest them, a section of the stalls about the size of a house jutted out from the rest of the crowds. It was level rather than tiered and covered instead of open. Squinting in the darkness they could just make out the black drapes overhanging the sides of this box-like section of stalls. A golden crown was emblazoned across the drapes. Guards surrounded the box area, but from where they were seated, the front of the box faced away from them.
‘Well,’ said Balthrir. ‘Yer’ve found yer King!’
‘That’s not all we’ve found.’ Krish pointed and Balthrir followed his line of sight to an object not far from the royal box. A white tree, partially supporting one set of stalls. Their gaze traced their route months ago from the tree to the other side of the Great Plain. It ran directly through the middle of the arena. Krish now noticed that many of the bloodstains were one side of the invisible twine or the other. There was a sickening feeling in his stomach. Had people died because of the twine? He was filled with rage and wanted the King dead and gone more than ever. But he remembered all the bodies lining up in the Sands of Tyraah. Why was it that whatever course of action he chose, whether King Obsendei stayed or was removed by one means or another, many people would die?
One of the figures on horseback approached the centre of the arena. It was difficult to see what was happening but the figure appeared to be holding something. A sword, he guessed. The figure brought the item crashing down on the invisible barrier at the centre of the arena. After a few seconds’ delay, Krish had his arm almost yanked from its socket as there was a sharp tug on the twine.
After several minutes of indecision, they started their descent towards the festival. The line of carts and carriages became an expansive queue of humans, their modes of transport discarded haphazardly by the entrance. A whole battalion of guards were stretched out across the entry point to the festival, leaving only a small gap for people to filter through. The guard captain, sporting a majestic purple doublet over his armour, was barking at every citizen as they entered:
‘You will attend His Most Magnificent Majesty’s Festival of Magic! You will pay fifteen Kalrahs for the privilege! You will have a jolly good time!’
There was much grumbling at this.
‘Fifteen Kalrahs?!’
‘Extortion! That’s what it is!’
‘What if I don’t want to have a good time?’
The guard captain stepped up to the dissenters and shouted in their faces, spittle flying from his mouth.
‘YOU WILL PAY FIFTEEN KALRAHS! YOU WILL HAVE A JOLLY GOOD TIME! On pain of death or imprisonment! Those caught not smiling or only laughing infrequently will form part of His Most Wise and Noble Majesty’s newly commissioned North Wing Extension of the Black Palace!’
The grumbling died down and those citizens in the queue practised their smiles. A pale, miserable-looking man with shaggy black hair looked almost pained when he tried to smile – like he’d never actually done it before.
‘Not my idea of fun,’ whispered Krish from their hiding place in the rocks.
‘Nope,’ said Balthrir. ‘Just an excuse to wring a little bit more money out o’ people. Fifteen Kalrahs!’ She shook her head. ‘Ridiculous!’
Beyond the line of guards they could see into the festival itself. They climbed a little way back up the hill to get a clearer view of what was going on. There were many alleys full of stalls where children and adults alike were playing games. Throwing rocks at strange fruit to win a prize or trying to catch floating balls of water which held children’s toys within. There was music and singing and a number of wizards had their own stages to perform tricks. They were busy turning parents into animals or making small children lift off the ground for a few moments, much to the amusement of the spectators. The wizards looked to Krish like someone had just given ordinary street performers a quick scrub and a half-decent outfit to wear. Their magic was okay but nothing compared to Balthrir’s.
‘Blimey!’ said Balthrir with a smile that was both envious and amused. ‘If I ’adn’t sorta caused this festival malarkey I might ’ave actually got a job at it!’
‘So how are we going to get in?’ asked Krish. ‘It looks very well guarded.’
The outer wall of the festival was a channel with guards on either side.
‘They’ve gone to pretty extreme lengths to make sure everyone pays fifteen Kalrahs!’ said Balthrir.
Krish thought for a moment and then voiced a mad idea out loud.
*
A great explosion ripped through the quiet in the guard channel and everyone stepped back from the blast zone.
‘GET OUT THE WAY!’ cried a guard. ‘GET BACK!’
Two of the guards ran across to the inside of the guard channel. The rest of the guards were too busy reeling from the chaos around them to notice the hole the explosion had created in the wall or that two guards were just about to slip through into the northern end of the arena when…
‘Balthrir…’
The two guards turned to see a familiar person holding a staff. The rounded face and kindly features of Balthrir’s harsh but fair young teacher stared back at the two guards.
‘You really have perfected those mask spells but now your perfection gives you away,’ said Madam Nboosa.
CHAPTER 29
THE AMATEUR’S DEFIANCE
Madam Seesi Nboosa turned to a nearby guard captain. ‘I will take these two to Madam Eshter myself.’
‘Yes, Officer Nboosa!’ answered the guard captain.
Nboosa escorted the pair of guards into an alley away from all the main areas. Several guards stepped forward to see what was happening and flinched as they came into contact with what felt like an invisible wire trailing behind the two guards Nboosa was escorting.
Nboosa and the two guards were now underneath the stalls of the arena. They could hear cheers
from above and people stamping their feet in excitement. Nboosa waved her staff to reveal the two ‘guards’ as Krish and Balthrir.
‘Oi!’ said Balthrir, adopting a low voice in a valiant attempt at keeping up the pretence of being a guard. ‘What ’ave you turned us into, lady!’
‘I think you and your accomplice should drop it, Balthrir!’ said Nboosa, looking not only angry but disappointed. ‘They could have killed you if they’d realised you’d broken in!’
‘Madam Nboosa!’ said Krish, much to both Balthrir and Nboosa’s surprise. ‘It wasn’t her fault! See, I kidnapped her and—’
‘Oh, like you could kidnap me, mate!’ said Balthrir.
‘Your parents are fine.’ Balthrir stared directly at Nboosa as her teacher said this. Balthrir suddenly looked like a child. A little relieved but desperate to know more. ‘I imagine that’s the question you’ve been wanting to ask,’ Nboosa continued.
‘I…’ Balthrir was rarely speechless. She was totally confused.
‘I knew about your parents, Balthrir,’ said Nboosa quietly. ‘I just hoped you’d stick around school long enough for me to teach you a little more. Then you might have been able to get a job and earn some money. Rather than trick people out of it! If it was magic you’d wanted to know I would have taught you some more if I could and—’
