Southern Fire ac-1

by Juliet E. McKenna

  The swordsmen ignored them all, faces unyielding, pace unvarying. Behind, the trireme was wheeling round, blades poised before cutting deep into the water as the unseen rowers drove the ship along the shoreline after the troops. Commotion travelled up the beach like a storm squall. Men who'd long since traded away their pride cowered on their knees. Women begged with futile tears for protection from the Shek islanders. The column pounded inexorably along the beach.

  Insidious, contagious fear pulled Kheda to his feet. He found his horrified gaze locking with the gaze of the leading swordsman, the man's eyes dark and determined beneath the gleaming bronze brow band of his helm.

  They're coming for you. What have you done? Does it matter? You're just as vulnerable as any other beggar on this beach. You're unarmed. Resist and they'll kill you. Unarmoured is unburdened. You'll be faster on yourfeet. But there's nowhere to run. Try dodging past them? They'll be expecting that. The men at the end will just spread out to catch you.

  He looked, all the same, for any chance of evading capture and saw instead the scrawny girl who'd asked him to read her palm. The girl clutched a bowl to her flat chest, scooping something up with her fingers, sticky orange smears all around her mouth.

  You're betrayed? Who wants you so badly? Godine?

  The thought that he might have been tracked, might be called to account for the stolen treasures he'd traded made Kheda feel so sick that he thought for one appalling moment he might truly vomit. He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth.

  Vomit, and that morning's backbreaking work will all have been for nothing.

  The distraction cost him any chance of flight. The troops were on him. Merciless and impersonal, the leading swordsman threw him down on to the sand. Kheda raised his hands to ward off further blows but all that did was offer up his wrists for deftly locked manacles. Arms wrenched, he was rolled on to his stomach, agonising pain in his back telling him someone was kneeling there in plated leggings. Mailed hands seized his flailing legs, weighing them down with shackles. A foot came down on his neck, forcing his face into the cloying, smothering sand.

  The sea couldn't drown you but the land just might.

  As Kheda's outrage yielded to this terror, cloth ripped; his tunic, his trousers, he had no idea. On his back again, he spat sand and earned a stinging slap across the face. Opening his mouth in angry protest, a wad of cotton stifled his words. Cloth tied tight, gag and blindfold both, reduced him to furious mewling. Sand trapped beneath the cloth rubbed his cheekbone raw and hair caught in the knot pulled painfully at his scalp.

  'Take him up.' At their leader's curt command, unseen hands lifted him by shoulders, feet. Belly up like a beast trussed for slaughter, Kheda writhed and twisted, chains rattling. A fist drove deep in his stomach.

  'Give it up,' a voice growled near his ear.

  With a strangled groan, Kheda struggled to catch his breath through the choking gag. The duck broth rose in his gorge along with a new fear.

  Vomit now and you'll likely smother in it before they can get this gag off. Let them think you've given in. Struggle much more and they could kill you by accident.

  He went limp. To his chagrin, his uncooperative dead weight didn't inconvenience his captors in the least, their jogging run jolting him into anguished breathlessness. Then Kheda felt the salt breath of sea water beneath him, a few splashes cold on his skin.

  'Drop us a rope!' someone yelled. Someone else pulled Kheda's hands up over his head and he felt thick hemp pushed between his forearms. Just as he realised the rope had been looped through his manacles, he was hauled upwards with a yank that threatened to pull his arms out of his shoulders.

  You lizard-eating, star-crossed sons of cursed fathers.

  He banged hard against the side of the ship on his way up, once, twice, each impact shocking what little breath he'd managed to recover out of him. As he hit the deck with a thud, it was all he could do to drag some air into his aching lungs.

  'Don't let him roll off the edge.' The shipmaster evidently had little interest in Kheda beyond that.

  'He's not going anywhere.' A firm foot was planted the small of his back. 'Not beyond my lord's cells.' That jest prompted hearty laughter all around. A strident flute signalled to the oarsmen and Kheda felt the wood vibrating beneath his cheek.

  You've spent the last three days wishing for a way to get across the strait, haven't you? How many times did your father tell you? 'Be careful what you wish for, you may just get it.' Very well then, what do we wish for now? A rapid end to this perilous voyage or some improbable delay before you're taken before Shek Kul? Or will you even be taken before Shek Kul? Perhaps you'll just lose your head on the guard commander's word, once Godine's identified your thieving, deceitful face.

  Though they could have killed you for that back on the beach, all the better to warn any other beggarly travellers against pilfering and treachery. You're to be put in a cell. If the warlord's swordsmen hold you, could you draw one of them into conversation, find some clue as to how this domain defeated magic, without bringing suspicion on yourself ? At the very least you might learn some truth of events in the south, brought by message bird or courier, uncorrupted by passing through countless mouths.

  Frail hope raised Kheda's blind head when he felt the grating of shingle beneath the trireme's hull.

  'Over the side with him.' The shipmaster sounded bored.

  'What, like this?' Hands grabbed his feet and arms, swinging him back and then out, as if to toss him bodily into the sea. Kheda's instinctive, futile struggles prompted laughter all around until the frantic heartbeat drumming in his ears drowned it out.

  'Let's have him.' Even when they'd had their fun with him, Kheda's fear was slow to fade. He was passed from hand to hand like a bale of cloth, fleeting moments ;tween one grip and the next when all he could feel was the empty air between himself and the sea below.

  'Get those chains off,' someone ordered with cheerful confidence. 'We're not carrying him.'

  Hauled upright, Kheda reeled, dizzy. As the shackles around his feet fell away, he stumbled to steady himself.

  'Walk forward.' the confident voice commanded, a directing hand firm on his shoulder.

  Very well, since you insist. So far, so good. They haven't killed you out of hand.

  Kheda felt for the ground with hesitant toes, as slowly as he could without prompting retribution. The shingly sand of the beach soon gave way to the hard damp earth of a well-worn path and Kheda felt the land rising under his feet.

  Are they taking you to Shek Kul's compound?

  'This way' The hand turned him abruptly. The screech of a pebble caught beneath a door and grating on a stone threshold send an involuntary shiver down Kheda's spine. Then the heavy slam of the gate behind him crushed hope like a flower beneath a heedless foot. Inside the hollow square of the fortress on the beach, big stones had been brought up from the shore to cobble the ground and Kheda stumbled, stubbing his toe and ripping the edge of a nail. He bit down on the cloth inside his mouth, against this pain and worse, his bitter disappointment.

  'Where do we want him?' someone new asked.

  'Lower level, over towards the sea.' With these words the confident voice that had brought him went away towards the gate. The outer door opened to admit unexpected laughter just as abruptly cut off by its closing.

  'Let's have no nonsense from you.' Kheda's new captor untied the cloth blinding him. Kheda gasped for air, wincing partly from the light and partly from the feeling he'd lost half the hair on his head.

  His captor studied him with frank curiosity and Kheda instinctively assessed the man in turn. Copper-skinned with a close-trimmed beard peppered with grey, he wore a mossy leather coat of nails rather than chainmail and boasted a brass-trimmed round helm and ornate, burnished vambraces as fine as any Kheda had ever seen.

  So lengthy service has earned you lighter duties than running up beaches to beat beggarly travellers into submission, twenty men against one. Which authority pro
bably means you could kick me to death without anyone raising so much as a murmur.

  Kheda hastily dropped his gaze.

  The jailer made a non-committal noise. 'Follow me.' He turned and walked away without waiting to be sure that he was obeyed. Kheda stood stubbornly still, looking briefly upwards and around. Above the fortress's two rows of shuttered and blind inner windows, archers on the roof walk watched him, bows ready, quivers hung at their belts. Someone unseen laughed derisively.

  How long would you give me, before you shoot?

  Deciding not to find out, Kheda hurried after his jailer, pulling the rags from his mouth with savage hands. His captor had already reached a door, sorting through keys on a chain around his waist. Opening the door on to steps sinking into darkness, he disappeared. Kheda followed, blinking, twisting his bound hands awkwardly to feel for the wall in the gloom.

  'This way' The jailer was lighting a tallow-caked candle lantern. He led Kheda down a windowless passage past a succession of iron-barred doors. The only sound was the smack of the jailer's sandals on the stone floor and the softer scuff of Kheda's bare feet. A chill settled on Kheda that had nothing to do with the dark cool of the underground passage.

  If there are other prisoners here, they're either past making a noise or these cells are solid enough to keep any cries locked inside.

  The jailer halted, raising keys to his candle lantern to see them more clearly. He grunted that same noncommittal noise and unlocked a door with nothing to distinguish it from the others he'd led Kheda past. 'In you go.'

  There's nothing else I can do, friend.

  Kheda complied. At least the cell proved to be clean and dry, with close-fitted stone walls and bare floor. Some light filtered through a grille set high in one wall and Kheda realised it gave on to the inner courtyard.

  'Let's have your hands.' The jailer reached for Kheda's manacles with another key ready. Taking the heavy steel cuff off, he swung them thoughtfully by their linking chain. Kheda braced himself for a blow but the man merely made that same non-committal grunt and left the cell. The solid clunk of the heavy wood against the rebated jamb was as demoralising as the well-oiled snick of the key locking it tight.

  Kheda rubbed at the bruises the manacles had left around his wrists. His mouth was dry and not only from the cloth he still clutched tight.

  Are you awaiting my lord Shek Kul's pleasure? Does he want his palms read? Or are you dumped down here to see if fear or thirst kills you fastest? This isn't going to be a comfortable stay regardless, on a bare stone floor with nothing to soften it. Some beach scavenger will have claimed your bag by now, maybe even that mangy little bitch who betrayed you. She'll doubtless think herself well rewarded, the poor little fool.

  'What can't be mended must be endured.' Daish Reik told you that often enough. Forget what you've lost and consider what you still have to call on: clothes, torn but still serviceable. That disgrace of a knife gone, fallen from the sheath or taken by one of Shek Kul's soldiers, no great loss either way. You'll hardly be fighting your way out of here with a blade that barely cuts cloud bread. Spark maker still in your pocket, remarkably enough, not that there's anything to kindle in here. Ah, but there is, once it's dried, anyway.

  Kheda knelt to spread the cotton that had gagged him out on the floor. That done, his movements slowed. He rubbed a shaking hand over his beard. Then his fingers closed around the ivory spiral still hung around his neck. At least he still had that.

  He couldn't bring himself to sit and ponder what the next twist of unforeseen fate might bring him so he paced the length and breadth of the cell. Ten paces by eight. He measured each wall in the other direction to confirm the measurements. Standing beneath the grille, he tried to reach the lower edge. He couldn't. He took a pace back and did his best to estimate the height of the grille, how far short his reach was, how high that made the ceiling above.

  Once he'd calculated every dimension and even the volume of water it would take to fill the cell, Kheda sighed and sat down beneath the grille, face upturned. He could just see a clouded fragment of sky high above the hollow square of the fortress. He studied the scrap of grey intently. A figure passed the grille. Kheda tensed but nothing came of the occurrence. He came to ignore the fleeting shadows, even growing irritated at the momentary obstruction of his view.

  Late in the afternoon, the sky darkened and rain began to fall, pattering softly at first then pouring down on to the cobbled court. Kheda stood beneath the grille, tormented by the scent, by the dampness softening the air. His throat ached with thirst but Shek Kul's fortress had been built with excellent drainage. All those countless measures of water flowed away into hidden cisterns, barely a drop falling on to Kheda's sweat-smeared face. Dispirited, he sat down, ignoring the steel-hued sky and the voices he heard passing across the courtyard.

  Two of the cloud breads popular in these northern reaches tumbling through the grille took him entirely by surprise. One of the puffy, hollow rounds bounced off his head. He managed to catch the other before realising fruit of some kind was following, hitting the floor with soft splotches. Kheda's hands searched the floor, pulling apart the husks, cramming the softness into his mouth, licking at juice running down his fingers, the sweetness inexpressibly welcome in his parched mouth even with its hint of decay. He was so hungry, so thirsty, he'd eaten three before he realised they were lilla fruit.

  Overripe and so bruised a penned hog would turn its snout up at them. With all the wonderful variety brought by the rains, they couldn't offer me better than this? Why should they? Or then again, perhaps they know exactly what they're doing? Overripe lilla fruit on a totally empty stomach?

  Kheda grimaced. Exploration of the cell had proved there was not so much as a drain hole. He set the two remaining lilla fruit aside and forced himself to eat the bread, chewing slowly, hoping it would give his stomach some belated defence. Then he found he had to eat the last of the fruit, desperate to quench his agonising thirst. Setting aside the pungent, empty rind, Kheda took a deep breath.

  Now what? Back to the fruitless circle of apprehension and denial your wits have been endlessly scurrying round? Fruitless? Not lilla-fruitless, not any more.

  The food putting new heart in him, Kheda grinned at the feeble joke in the gathering dusk. Reaching for the scrap of cotton cloth, he scoured the stickiness out of his beard as best he could. One of the lilla seeds pattered to the floor.

  A seed. A new beginning. What was it Daish Reik always said about unbidden omens? Stuck in here, you might as well look for all the forewarning you can gather. It's not as if there are any other calls on your time, great lord.

  Feeling around in the darkness, Kheda collected the other seeds he'd spat heedlessly away, placing them carefully in a fold of cotton. Settling himself beneath the grille again, he looked up at the sky and waited for nightfall. As he did so, he pictured the lower room of the Daish observatory tower, turning his mind's eye to the top shelf of books turning east from the door.

  It was an age ago when Daish Jarai started that first journal of omen and interpretation, every augury faithfully recorded and analysed in the light of later events, that later readers might be guided in their own interpretations. It takes a full year for the heavenly Topaz to move from one arc of the heavens to the next and it has made full circuit of the heavenly compass no less than fifty-six times since Daish Jarai's day. There must be something, in one of the books so carefully protected from damp and decay, that's relevant to your current predicament.

  By the time full dark had fallen, Kheda had run through his recollections of every tome on every shelf of that first bookcase and moved on to the clumsy volumes bound in age-old, cracking leather stacked beneath the window. Only a cool breath of night air falling through the grille diverted him from trying to remember exactly what it was that Daish Pai had read into an unusually high tide just at the start of the rainy season. Kheda looked up. The sky was clear and even with his restricted view, he could see the third of the sky
that held both moons.

  That must be an omen in itself. How often do you see the stars so clear this deep into the rainy season?

  Kheda took a deep breath and closed his eyes the better to picture the unseen night skies more clearly. Opening his eyes, he reached for a pulpy scrap of lilla rind, good enough to draw a circle on the smooth flagstones, moisture gleaming faintly in the dim light falling through the grille. Making sure he was orienting himself properly, Kheda deftly marked off the arcs of the earthly compass.

  Sitting back, he calculated the positions of the stars, once, twice, counting on his fingers like Mesil at his lessons, determined to get it right. Heart quickening, he looked back up at the sky. Yes, he had tallied the days correctly. The Sailfish was clearly visible behind the Greater Moon. Higher in the sky, the Yora Hawk backed the Lesser Moon set out afresh on its voyage through the heavens only the day before.

  Another new beginning for the Pearl that is Daish's most potent talisman.

  Kheda grabbed the cache of lilla seeds and set them around his circle. Humble as they were, they would suffice to mark the positions of the heavenly jewels. He studied the pattern revealed and a shiver ran down his spine.

  The Ruby, stone of strength and energy, of courage and blood, was in the arc of enmity. With the turns of the stars over the days since he'd left Janne, the Yora Hawk had also moved into that reach of the sky. The mighty bird was a predator, a warning of adversaries, a call to watchfulness, even before the invaders had mocked the constellation with counterfeits wrought from the hapless cinnamon cranes of Chazen.

  You have strong enemies, ready to take advantage of any weakness you show. Be fearful and know your limitations. Though the Ruby will pass out of this arc tomorrow, so bide your time.