Drakenfeld

by Mark Charan Newton

  ‘Spirits save me.’ Her eyes revealed a desperation I had never before seen.

  ‘Very well.’ Turning to the smug senators, I called over, ‘All right then. She’ll ride.’

  At least the view was good down by the side of the dirt track. The crowd was behind us, an intimidating sight, and there were a few people taking bets nearby, chalking up numbers on pieces of slate while young boys collected and distributed coins. I’d also found a decent pastry seller, too, so I munched glumly on one of his pies as I waited for Leana to emerge from what Veron lovingly described as ‘the pits’, where the riders equipped themselves with armour and weapons. Veron bought himself a cup of wine and rejoined me.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ he said, slapping me on the shoulder. ‘She’s got spirit.’

  ‘She’ll become a spirit if she’s not careful.’ I became acutely aware, yet again, of how much I depended upon Leana’s skills, and how much I would miss her if anything happened out there.

  ‘You think she’ll meet her death?’ Veron asked nonchalantly, as if he was talking about the weather.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I replied. ‘Upstairs I made an offering to Polla and, shortly after, made a five pecullas bet. That should cover all eventualities.’

  ‘Worry not, I’ll help find you a new assistant should the worst happen.’

  I opened my mouth to reply, but Veron continued, ‘I’m joking, Drakenfeld. I know you’re some strange unit together. What I still don’t understand is, how come she’s not attached to anyone.’

  ‘She was. Once.’

  ‘Once?’

  ‘Remember the massacre I told you about, in Atrewe, when I met her?’

  ‘Ah.’ Veron nodded. ‘Her fellow died in that?’

  ‘Decapitated. She doesn’t talk about it much, as you can imagine.’

  Veron shook his head. ‘Surely she could move on though, and take other lovers?’

  ‘Even in death, Atrewens who were married are still bound. It makes things rather complicated, so I understand. Well, even more complicated than marriages between the living, that is. I’m sure she’s met other men on the road with me, who she’s been interested in. If I’m honest, I have encouraged her to go and have some fun with them, too, but as far as I’m aware she kept to her vows. Though I think it’s a shame, given how short life can be, I respect her decision.’

  ‘Love, eh? Almost as messy a business as politics.’ Veron chuckled and we took our place by the barriers, talking to some of the race stewards nearby. Apparently two riders had died during the first race, three during the second and one more during the third, and in addition to this there had been ten further life-threatening injuries. The best I could hope for was that Leana would not join the corpses. I knew, however, that she would be seeking nothing short of a victory, and would push herself to make a point.

  I suspected Veron had taken some strange delight in the whole process. It was like he was a god who arranged worldly events purely to see what happened. ‘Are her people, the Atrewens, good with horses?’

  I scoffed the last of my pastry before replying. ‘I can’t speak for her people. I don’t think horses are part of their heritage in the same way as the nomads in Koton, but Leana’s always been a good rider. She’s never worn a saddle to my knowledge, but riding across a plain is a good deal different to riding at speed on that dust track.’

  ‘That is a safe assumption,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve grown fond of Leana.’

  For a moment Veron let his mask slip and I got to see the man behind. ‘Every time she opens her mouth I dream of far-away lands . . . I never went on military campaigns like Maxant. Never really ventured too far across Vispasia, such is my rather dull life. And there was a girl, when I was younger, who I once met in a tavern on the border of Maristan, and who I managed to remain attached to for a month at the most . . . She was probably the only woman I felt a genuine, deep affection for, and Leana reminds me of her greatly.’ Veron trailed off and regarded the track. ‘The things we can and cannot do in our station of life, right, Drakenfeld?’

  It’s a lot worse at the stations lower than ours, I wanted to say, but decided not to. ‘It’s never too late to walk down old roads.’

  ‘It depends if one knows where those roads are to be found. I have no such maps. One gets such reflections when you get to my age, Drakenfeld. Leana reminds me of simpler, more honest times in my life – nothing more, nothing less.’ Veron tipped the rest of his wine down his throat and threw the cup to one side. ‘I’ll tell you more about it some day.’

  ‘At least you’re kind towards her. Those other senators—’

  ‘Oh, ignore those bastards. They’ll never change. They think anything that doesn’t come from within Detrata’s borders is either to be feared or turned into a slave.’

  A horn blew and there was an announcement by one of the criers; the crowd noise flared up once again.

  ‘She’s on.’ Veron steered me further along the way to a better spot to view the race. I glanced around behind me, interested to see if any of the men from earlier were still following.

  ‘You look as if someone’s trying to kill you,’ Veron said.

  ‘No, simply taking it all in, senator. There she is!’ I called out. I recognized Leana’s nimble frame atop her horse. Again she had refused a saddle, wore a light breastplate with a black vest pulled over the top, as well as a steel helmet, and a sword clutched in one hand. Another two dozen riders in various colours crowded around her and she was soon lost in their energetic mass. Above them, the sun roasted the spectators in the midday heat.

  ‘How long are they going to take until it begins?’

  ‘Relax,’ Veron said.

  Another announcement, another cheer, and the horses thundered off into the distance, leaving only a cloud of dust.

  ‘There they go!’ Veron shouted.

  My heart beat so fast it hurt to breathe. I waited to see what happened, but the raised dust obscured the view. Moments later, the yellow cloud arced in the distance and I saw the riders heading back towards us. Eventually, even the determination on the riders’ faces could be perceived.

  To my utter amazement, Leana was in the first three.

  She seemed to hang back on the corner then lurch across behind the path of the leaders, undercutting them slightly; one of the others jabbed a spear towards her and she managed to lower herself forwards and yank back the spear, in a display that surprised even me. Her attacker collapsed from his horse and went skidding across the dirt before he slammed into the barriers.

  The crowd hollered; the race moved on.

  ‘Impressive stuff.’ Veron seemed even more excited than me.

  Again we waited, my hand tapping repeatedly on the barrier. The crowd gave off a deeper boom while the riders were out of sight and I simply hoped that Leana had not fallen.

  Moments later, there she was, this time in the middle of the pack. The front rider and his horse collapsed, taking two other riders out with them: one rider slammed into a barbed post, ripping open his chest, while the rest of the pack veered around the carnage and raced off into the distance again.

  ‘I’d wager that hurt,’ Veron called, cringing. ‘The best he could have hoped for was a quick death.’

  The process repeated itself several times, each occasion bringing me to the edge of my senses. I was a man who appreciated logic and control where possible: my mood did not improve when matters were in the hands of the gods like this. Each time Leana passed us, the field around her had been thinned considerably, but all that mattered was that she was there.

  ‘Oh, do cheer up, Drakenfeld. Stop looking so glum. It’ll all be over before long.’

  Finally, on the last lap of the race, none of the riders seemed to pay much attention to fighting each other: they were simply engaged in a sprint to the finish. Leana was towards the front of the field, but not first, and she remained fully in sight all the way to the finish, where her head was down as she crossed the line.r />
  I cannot describe my relief or elation as it all came to an end: the crowd’s energy peaked and fell, back to the background murmur. The horses slowed, the excitement died away.

  Leana rode towards a man in red clothing, who shook her forearm in solidarity – I assumed he had won the race, but I wasn’t yet sure. The results were recorded in a ledger and the criers commenced the announcement. The man in red came in first, Leana following only a few paces behind, before two other riders and, eventually, what was left of the rest of the pack.

  ‘Tryum’s thunder,’ Veron declared, ‘Cettrus the Red won the race. You remember the fellow from the party, Drakenfeld? He was only fairly new to the sport at the time, but now this will improve my credentials even further. I will be seen as an excellent judge of character. Soothsayers will soon be coming to me for advice . . .’ Veron was losing himself in the creation of his own mythology.

  Waving for Leana’s attention, I watched her face crease in delight as the nation of Atrewe was called out by the nearest crier. She rode over to us, carefully jumped down and tied her horse. Her leg was bloodied with a surface wound across her thigh, and I helped her back through the gap in the barrier.

  I embraced her hot, dust- and sweat-covered body, as she mumbled into my shoulder, ‘Now at least they have heard of my country.’

  ‘They certainly have.’

  ‘A shame I did not win,’ she replied, acutely aware that we were showing more affection now than we had ever done before.

  ‘And a shame you bet on her winning, Drakenfeld,’ Veron interrupted, and congratulated Leana on finishing an honourable second.

  ‘Actually, I placed money on her finishing in the top three. I’m not reckless.’

  ‘Logic prevails,’ Veron smirked. ‘Now, let’s see if we can find Leana a decent physician. There is meant to be a fine fellow from Koton around here somewhere. They know a thing or two about medicine. He’ll patch up that leg soon enough.’

  Evening Games

  It was enjoyable heading back into the tiers of the stadium to see the expressions on the senators’ faces. Leana hobbled up the steps, injured but with her pride intact. Only one of the senators swallowed his own pride and mumbled his congratulations to her, the others remained cool and distant. Some looked as if the event had well and truly ruined their day. Two of them spat on the floor in front of us.

  Even General Maxant inclined his head in our direction, acknowledging Leana’s performance. The king, it seemed, maintained the same, remote gaze all afternoon.

  We enjoyed the rest of the afternoon’s races at a leisurely pace. I did not want to risk being followed or attacked again – particularly if Leana was partially injured, so I conducted the rest of my questioning at some speed, this time deciding to do it within the tiers of the stadium rather than by the stalls.

  At the age of fifty-nine, Senator Gallus was the oldest of the suitors who attempted to charm Lacanta, but he suggested he hadn’t ever been in with much of a chance. There were no games, he stressed – she was polite and affable, and did not successfully get him to vote with any particular motion, despite trying to. ‘She kept on trying to stop the military from their campaigns. She didn’t like war. I can’t agree with such ridiculous sentiments. War is in our blood, after all.’

  Senator Litren’s initial bitter mutterings subsided into something sensual eventually, and he spoke of their moonlit walks, tinged with anticipation, as one of his most cherished memories of her. Senator Lobbe, a surprisingly squat man in his forties, and who walked with a noticeable limp, confessed to spending a fortune on gifts for her. But he later found out that Lacanta had given away several of them to her maids or their families. She calmed his rage when he found out, however. ‘She could always do that,’ he breathed, staring into the deep distance. Only Lobbe suggested that Lacanta might, on occasion, query how he intended to vote on a particular piece of legislation. A few times she hoped he would vote in favour of her brother’s laws, or to smooth over some of the warmongering sentiments in the Senate, but his most affectionate times with her did not, he felt, coincide with political requests. That fact had spurred him on somewhat.

  The most important part, for me, was that not one of them boasted of or admitted to sleeping with Lacanta. There was the chance they were lying, trying to conceal any connections with her, but I did not believe so, because they each confessed to desiring intimacy with her. They admitted to being rivals for her attention – and yet she had sexual relationships with none.

  Yet again I felt I was on the verge of something significant. Why would Lacanta deliberately create the impression that she was sleeping around, despite being a very private and chaste woman? Perhaps there was a benefit in doing so – but why, to mislead others? I could not even make a single connection with General Maxant, either. His potential role in the murder did not seem to fit.

  My eyes settled on the one man I had not yet interviewed more thoroughly: King Licintius. If he indeed played a role in his sister’s murder behind the scenes, he had far too much to lose. As well as a beloved sister she was a great political ally, furthering his efforts in the Senate in a way that he could not. But if he had something to hide, why would the king insist I did what I could to find her and permit me access to the most secure building in Detrata? Nothing made sense on that front either.

  The mighty general would be the next person to explore further. The fact that he had entered that room first, most likely as some part of an elaborate plan, was the road to understanding just how Lacanta had been murdered, and having seen what they were capable of, I just had to be careful that General Maxant’s men did not get to me first.

  We headed home before sunset. I thanked Veron for his guidance today. He remained with the other senators, somehow managing to bask in the victory of Cettrus the Red.

  As we walked through the ancient streets, I demanded that Leana put her pride to one side and place her arm around me for support.

  ‘Just so you know, if anyone attempts a fight,’ Leana said, ‘I am relying on you to do the work.’

  ‘You know, I’m actually not a bad fighter. You just never let me get any blows in.’

  ‘I will believe that when I see it.’

  The journey home was uneventful. Whoever had been following us at the Stadium of Lentus was no longer here – or, if they were, they were more talented in their methods of surveillance, and they were lost in the thinning crowds. Only gentle streams of people accompanied us home, drunk on the pleasures of the races, calling out the chants from the day and wrapping themselves or each other in the various coloured banners.

  The evening was as pleasant as I could have hoped for. The house was busy with three men from the Civil Cohorts, who were settling in to their new, hastily set up offices, and Bellona seemed to have developed a new-found confidence, ordering them about the place, telling them where they could and could not put their little crates of ledgers. Only three of the men were ever permitted inside at once, and late at night there would only be one man, who would remain a point of contact. Veron had also suggested constructing some kind of makeshift gaol nearby, and looked at the city plans to find a suitable location. Though I was happy to share my house with the cohort, the idea of the place turning into a prison did not particularly appeal.

  Much to my delight Titiana arrived a little later, wondering how the day had gone.

  Bellona cooked a meal for all of us, Constable Farrum and his men included, and we took several couches outside and dined humbly but happily in the garden. I don’t think I’d been as happy in a long time, all of us there under that balmy Detratan evening, faces occasionally walking past the pools of light offered by the lanterns, talking, laughing. Titiana had lost her inhibitions about being seen with me in public, though we were not overly affectionate together. It was progress at least.

  At first everyone had seemed on edge, possibly feeling some unease among these luxurious surroundings, but Leana spoke of her time in the stadium, immediately end
earing herself to the gathered cohort. People began to relax and eventually a few of them told jokes and drank heavily from the jugs of watered-down wine. Bellona seemed delighted at the many compliments to her food and I heard her laugh for the first time – a warm, hearty laugh.

  As for me? I did not want to interfere too much. I knew that if I spoke it might make people feel awkward or on ceremony, and I was more than happy to know that they were enjoying themselves. Their good humour would go some way to blowing away the dark clouds this house had seen with my father’s debts and his suspicious demise.

  So I lounged in the background with Titiana, inhaling her jasmine perfume, waiting to be alone with her.

  She managed to persuade me to head out with her into the evening, to a ‘tavern of her choice’.

  My reaction must have been reasonably dismissive, because she started calling me ‘po-faced’ and ‘pretentious’. I didn’t mind being pretentious – there was nothing wrong with appreciating good things – but I took exception to being called po-faced.

  Her teasing grew more and more immature and so I stood up – perhaps with more drama than intended – and said that Lucan Drakenfeld could drink and talk with anyone, in any place. I suspect I was too busy trying to impress her to understand what I was letting myself in for.

  Secretly, I was delighted to be going out into the city with her.

  The more I grew to know Titiana, the less predictable she became; but as soon as I’d realized that fact, I felt at ease with it. It was nice not to be myself for a while, to escape into being someone else. For one night it felt alluringly unsettling to let go, to be willingly guided by her hand into Tryum’s darker places.

  The whole experience seemed like some mythological story. I had seen some strange sights in the underbelly of Venyn City, but Tryum could offer as much, if not more, in the way of debauched proceedings.

  Colour exploded across the city. Uncertain of our location, we passed along tall, narrow lanes and compact plazas lit up by braziers and lanterns, so that shadows lurched and waned repeatedly. Cheap street performers wearing masks jumped out from alcoves and archways, chanting at me in foreign dialects. Illicit figures were pushing vials upon those who walked by, practically tearing coins from their grip so that it seemed more like a robbery than a transaction. A curse-dealer came by with leather patches on which to transcribe one’s hatred of another, and there were street drummers and dancers and a dark festival atmosphere. People had painted their faces for the various gods and wore strange outfits made entirely from leaves.