Tyron returned carrying a decanter of dark red wine and two glasses. He placed all three items upon the table, and I was astounded to see him fill both glasses to the brim. He brought them over and sat down before handing one to me.
‘Teena’s in a deep sleep,’ he said. ‘The doctor plans to keep her that way for at least twenty-four hours.’
‘What will you tell her?’ I asked.
‘As little as possible,’ Tyron said gruffly. ‘I’ll tell her that I obtained the remains and cremated them. I’ll tell her that Kern is at peace.’
‘Why didn’t we get the rest of the body?’ I asked.
‘Because the tassels are cannibals,’ he replied.
I shuddered and looked down in horror. That must have been why they’d come for the body of the girl by the lake. We sat in silence for a long time before I could bring myself to drink.
I sipped at the wine tentatively. It had a bitter taste, but it slipped down my throat smoothly, giving an instant sensation of warmth.
‘This house is one of the safest places in the city,’ Tyron said. ‘It has stout reinforced doors, and several of my servants can handle themselves and fight with weapons. The tassels rarely enter the wealthier parts of Gindeen. That incident by the lake was unusual. They prefer the dark streets close to the Wheel. But if Hob does get it into his mind to come after you, there’s nothing I can do.’
‘Am I in danger?’ I asked. ‘From what he said, it’s the future I should worry about.’
‘True, but Hob isn’t to be trusted in anything he does or says. In time he may forget. And then again, he might not. The most dangerous time may be the next few days. We might be wise to postpone your entry to Arena 13 for at least a year; the season after next or maybe even later than that.’
Tyron’s words stunned me. Usually second-year trainees fought a few contests matched against each other. The best were sometimes even pitched against those with high rankings, who had many years of experience behind them. It was part of the learning process. I’d been counting down the days to the end of my first year, looking forward to fighting in Arena 13 again.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Trust me,’ Tyron said. ‘It’s best if you keep a low profile. The very first time you fight for real, Hob may visit the arena looking for you. And strange things can happen with that lottery orb. However, I may be able to negotiate with him to leave you alone for a while so that you can develop your skills in the arena. It would cost me, but it’s a possibility.’
‘Can we do nothing without fearing Hob?’ I asked Tyron, my voice full of bitterness. ‘Can there be no peace or dignity?’
I saw Tyron flinch at the word ‘dignity’ as if I’d struck him. I glanced at his forehead and, even in the low light, noticed the bruise where it had struck the marble floor of that throne-room.
‘Dignity? You want dignity, boy?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Well, there’s precious little dignity to be had right now. It’ll be a great many years yet before we can afford dignity. You weren’t much impressed, I take it, with my behaviour tonight? Well, I had to pay for two souls; if you’d stayed calm, I need have paid for only one.
‘It’s cost me my profits for almost a whole season. But it’s not the first time I’ve climbed that hill. Not the first time I’ve handed hard-earned gold over to Hob. Not the first time I’ve burned and buried flesh to keep it from him. What’s gold anyway, when weighed against the torment of a man?’
I was stunned by this outpouring of emotion. I guessed that there was much more here than Tyron was saying; things I didn’t yet see.
‘Do you think I wanted to bow and scrape before that creature? Why do you think I did it? Tell me!’ Tyron demanded.
‘For Kern and for me,’ I answered lamely.
‘Yes, for poor Kern, and for you, and also for something else. You don’t yet see how powerful and dangerous Hob is. Without his sufferance, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Even now, he could break me, had he a mind to. So I bow and scrape and put away that thing you call dignity. I do it because something’s growing here. Something centred upon this house and upon what I and others do in the Trig.
‘You see, we’re getting better, boy. Slowly but surely we’re getting better. We’re climbing that long stairway back to dignity. Once men ruled the whole of this world and there was no Barrier of mist and fear to confine us in this cursed place called Midgard – that’s what the ancient books say.’
He gestured towards the bookshelf and shook his head.
‘Who knows if we’re fit to rule ourselves, never mind this world . . .? But I’ll tell you this: if we don’t rule, then others will. Dark things like Hob. And even darker things from beyond the Barrier – creatures that support that so-called Protector of ours and keep us in our place, making us shut our doors against the night, fearful for the safety of our womenfolk and children.’
I was staring at the floor now, beginning to see what had happened in Hob’s lair in a new light.
‘Drink your wine, boy, but don’t get used to it. As my trainee, this one glass is all I’ll allow you. I want you to remember this moment when you sat sipping wine with old Tyron and he told you the truth about what he’s trying to do; a truth that even my own daughter isn’t aware of. She thinks I’m a money-grubber, and in some respects she’s perfectly right. Money is important to me, but I need it for a reason. I need it to buy lacs from the Trader, the best quality lacs possible. I need it to buy wurdes; wurdes that might one day transform the best of my lacs into something else.
‘You see, boy, despite what happened to poor Kern, we’re still here. We’re still alive. And you will fight in Arena 13. You’re just going to need a little more patience, that’s all. How would you like to fight behind a fully sentient lac?’
I looked up at Tyron, hardly able to believe what I was hearing. I stared into his eyes and saw that he was completely sincere.
‘Do you know what that would mean?’ he asked. ‘There’d be no more drumming on the boards to a mind-dead lac. It would be fully conscious. It would know the patterns as well as you, appreciating all the permutations. You could use Ulum together. Such a lac might take the initiative and signal to you! You could speak to it. Give it tactical commands verbally.
‘Imagine your speed and instincts allied with such a lac. The time might come when we’d welcome a visit from Hob. Remember Gunter and your father – remember what they achieved . . . Well, let’s see what Tyron and Leif can do together!’
‘Could you really pattern full sentience into a lac?’ I asked.
‘Does the snow melt in spring? Does the wolf howl at the moon?’ Tyron asked with a smile. ‘I’m close, Leif. Very close. Maybe not this year and maybe not the next, but very, very close. That’s why I beat my head on the ground: so as to keep it on my shoulders.’
He pointed at his forehead. ‘I was trained by Gunter – Gunter the Great – who was the best artificer Gindeen’s ever seen. Your father was the best Arena 13 combatant he ever trained, and I was Gunter’s best trainee patterner. It’s a clever head, this, even if I do say so myself. I wish there was another as clever living in this city now. With my head and your legs we might well do something one day, and I don’t just mean in Arena 13.’
Tyron sipped his wine, and in the silence I tried to work out what he meant.
‘Remember what Hob said to you?’ he continued. ‘Piece by piece . . .’
‘Maybe they were just threats . . .’
‘Aye, they were threats all right – threats he’s vindictive enough to carry out. But he has a limited number of selves. Oh, they can be replaced, but it takes time. That’s how he can be destroyed; that’s what we’ll do to him. Piece by piece we’ll weaken him. Your poor father must have been so close, so very close. Hob was desperate. That’s why he challenged him to fight in the arena in front of his lac for the whole contest.’
‘You mean, if he’d carried on, eventually he might have faced Hob for the last time? Defeated the last of his
selves?’
‘Maybe . . .’ Tyron answered slowly. ‘But remember, people were fleeing the city in terror. With his back against the wall, who knows what Hob might have done? There are ancient weapons called atomics, capable of burning a city and slaying thousands. Who knows what a rogue djinni like Hob has stored in the vaults of that citadel? No, there’s another way; one that could take him by surprise.
‘First, we could weaken him in the arena. That would be your job. Then, when we have him where we want him, we could attack him in his lair. He wouldn’t expect that. It might just work, especially if we used sentient lacs to lead the attack.’
My mouth opened in astonishment. What he was saying sounded incredible. From anyone else’s lips it would have been just a fantasy, a dream offering refuge from the harsh reality of life in the city. But Tyron meant every word and I believed he was capable of doing exactly what he said.
He smiled. ‘So, work at your craft and try to make your brain catch up with those legs of yours. The Trader visits the Sea Gate early in the spring. I’ll take you with me. It’ll give you a better idea of what I’m trying to do.’
I nodded, drained the last of my wine and set the empty glass down on the table.
Tyron refilled his own glass but ignored mine. Five minutes later I was in bed, but I didn’t sleep well. I couldn’t get the events in the arena and the visit to Hob’s citadel out of my head. I kept seeing Kern looking up to meet Teena’s eyes for the last time. Then I saw his head lying in that box.
27
The Memorial Service
This is the time of waiting.
This is the time when women rule.
But soon it will be over.
The moon shall dim while the sun grows bright.
Then Thangandar shall return to lead us to victory over the cursed djinn.
Amabramdata: the Genthai Book of Prophecy
Gindeen was mostly a godless city, with few places of worship, none of them large enough to hold more than a couple of dozen people.
So the memorial service for Kern was held in Arena 13. He had been very popular, both with spectators and with fellow combatants; the gallery was full to capacity. Everyone sat in silence, waiting for Pyncheon to make his appearance and begin the proceedings. The sashes worn that day were all black, and the women were dressed in purple and grey, the traditional colours of mourning, their lips unpainted.
I sat in the front row with Deinon and Palm on my left; immediately to my right was Tyron, and Teena was seated between him and Kwin.
Before we left the house, Tyron had given stern instructions, mostly directed against Kwin – though his eyes did settle upon me briefly. Anyone could speak at the service, but we must not use the occasion to attack Hob. To speak out in that way would bring disaster down upon the whole family.
The great candelabrum descended, filling the arena with flickering yellow light, and the mag door slowly rumbled open. Pyncheon, wearing a black sash and holding the ceremonial staff of office, walked slowly to the centre of the arena and looked up at the gallery.
‘We are gathered here to celebrate Kern’s life and mark his death!’ he cried out, his words echoing back from the walls of the gallery. ‘He died bravely, just as he lived. He was also a combatant of great skill. He would have gone on to become one of the greatest fighters this arena has ever seen. Who else would speak of Kern?’
In reply, a number of hands were raised in the gallery. Pyncheon rapped three times with his staff on the floor and then pointed it at a young man to our right.
‘Crassius will speak!’ he called out.
Crassius was one of Tyron’s min combatants; he had just completed his three years of training. I had only met him once as he was now based in the Wheel. He was ginger-haired and freckled, and as he came to his feet he blushed bright red at the prospect of speaking before such a large gathering.
‘As well as being a skilled combatant, Kern was also a great teacher,’ he began. ‘He was kind and patient, and I owe him much. He filled me with confidence when I had none. He made me believe that I had the ability to succeed. I came to this city alone and without friends. Kern and his wife, Teena, befriended me. Teena, I am sorry for your loss. We all share your grief, but yours must be greater than anyone’s.’
As he sat down, a tear tricked down Teena’s cheek, but she smiled across at Crassius and then raised her hand.
She rose to her feet, but it was some time before she could speak, and I feared that she was asking too much of herself. But then she took a deep breath and began.
‘I loved Kern, I love him now and I’ll love him for ever. I miss him terribly. But the greatest loss of all is that suffered by our child, who will never know him. I will remember Kern and I will tell his son that he had a great man for a father.’
After that Tyron spoke with great formality, and was followed by another dozen contributors – mostly combatants, apart from Wode, an artificer friend of Tyron’s, and a representative of the largest of the gambling houses.
But nobody in that gathering was saying what should have been said. Nobody expressed outrage at what had been done to Kern. The defeat was acceptable – something that happened routinely in this arena. Death too was to be expected. After all, the fight between the Wheel’s combatant and Hob was the equivalent of a grudge match; it was a fight to the death.
No, it was what had happened afterwards that appalled me; rage surged through me in waves so that my whole body shook. Hob and his tassels were permitted to take a defeated adversary alive or dead from the arena. Somewhere in the dark recesses of that thirteen-spired citadel the head was severed from the body and kept alive while the body was eaten by the tassels.
How could that be tolerated?
How could what was so despicable remain unchallenged?
‘Is there anyone else who would like to add to what has been said?’ Pyncheon demanded.
There was a silence; then I noticed a movement to my right. Kwin was raising her hand.
A female was not permitted to set foot in the arena, but could speak from the gallery. No other woman but Teena had made a contribution so far, but now Kwin wanted to have her say. I felt a surge of elation, but I could see the dismay on Tyron’s face.
Pyncheon rapped with his staff and then pointed at Kwin, naming her as the next speaker.
She began to rise, fury twisting her features.
‘No!’ said Tyron, reaching across Teena to restrain his daughter. But she tore herself free and got to her feet.
Suddenly Teena reached up and grasped her hand. ‘Please,’ she said quietly. ‘Please don’t do this.’
The two sisters stared at each other for a moment, and then Kwin nodded, bowing to her sister’s will. I think only Teena, the widow of poor Kern, could have stopped her that day. Kwin certainly wouldn’t have listened to her father.
‘I loved Kern as I would my own brother,’ she said, her voice clear and sharp. ‘He was fierce in combat but a kind and gentle man in private. Memories make us what we are; they shape our consciousness; they give direction to our lives. I will cherish my memories of Kern.’
As Kwin sat down, she added something very softly so that only we could hear: ‘And I will live to avenge his death!’
A short concluding address from Pyncheon followed, and then the memorial service was over.
After the evening meal Tyron asked me to stay behind in the dining room.
‘I just want a little chat,’ he told me.
So I waited while Palm and Deinon went up to our room to pack; both were going home the next day.
‘What happens during the next three months or so is your decision, boy,’ Tyron told me. ‘Most trainees return to their families, but as you don’t have that option you’re more than welcome to stay here.’
‘Thanks for that offer,’ I told him. ‘But I’ve decided to travel south to visit the Genthai domain. I want to see how my father’s people live.’
‘That’s a good idea, Leif. I th
ink we all need to return to our roots. I know someone who is about to head south. If you’re prepared to wait here for a couple of days, I should be able to arrange a ride on a wagon for you – at least as far as Mypocine. After that it’ll be up to you. But you must be back at least three clear months before the next season starts to begin training. Is that clear? Our work goes on.’
I nodded, and Tyron shook my hand and without another word left the dining room.
When I went upstairs, both of my roommates were getting their things together. The painting of Math had already been removed from the wall. Deinon turned round and smiled at me. ‘I’ll say goodbye now, Leif. I’m off early tomorrow before breakfast. My father’s picking me up.’
‘I’m staying here for a couple more days before I go back to Mypocine,’ I told him. ‘Tyron’s fixing me up with a ride back. See you when pre-season training begins. Have a good break until then.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Palm watching us. I thought he was going to make some sarcastic remark or ask why I was going back to Mypocine when I had no family to return to, but he held his tongue. So I thought I might as well be polite.
I turned to him. ‘Have a nice break too, Palm,’ I said. ‘This’ll be your last night in this room, won’t it?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I started training before the end of last season, so I’ve been here well over a year. It’s time to move on. My quarters will be in the Wheel next year. But no doubt we’ll see each other again. One day we’ll meet in the arena!’
There was a challenge in his voice: he was clearly looking forward to beating me in Arena 13. I merely smiled back at him.
Yes, no doubt I would face him in the arena one day. And despite that formidable tri-glad of his, I was determined to win. But I’d be happy to see the back of him. I’d miss the painting – although the artist hadn’t managed a good likeness of my father’s face.
Arena 13 Page 21
