Quicksilver Zenith

by Stan Nicholls

  As yet, whatever the warlord did had little effect in the temperate south. Besides, they had pressing problems nearer to home.

  In a run-down, near lawless quarter of Valdarr, not far from the docks, a secret hide-out had been hastily established. It was in a deconsecrated temple that had seen its congregation go down along with the area. A new, empire-built place of worship in an adjoining, more salubrious neighbourhood had taken the rest. Now it was boarded-up and dusty, and ideally situated for Resistance purposes.

  In one corner, Phoenix and Caldason stood before a wall-mounted, luminous map. For once, the sorcerer wasn’t trying out a magical disguise.

  ‘See it?’ he said, pointing to one of numerous specks off Bhealfa’s northern coast.

  ‘Just about. And you’re sure that’s the place?’

  ‘There’s nothing totally certain about it,’ Phoenix admitted. ‘But Covenant’s been studying the mystery of the Clepsydra for years, and all the probabilities indicate this islet.’ He tapped the map with his finger.

  ‘Probabilities,’ Caldason repeated.

  ‘It’s the best we can offer, short of going there.’

  ‘Which I hope you’re not thinking of doing, Reeth,’ Karr said. He’d approached without them noticing. ‘At least, not unless you’re part of a Resistance mission.’

  ‘We have an agreement, don’t we?’

  ‘We do. But I know how frustrating it must be for you having to wait.’

  ‘I asked Phoenix to show me where the thing might be because I’m curious. But there’s a limit to my patience, Karr. Do you have any idea when I’ll get to go?’

  ‘No, frankly. What with the move, and now what’s happened to Kinsel. And there’s still the question of getting the gold to Darrok.’

  ‘I thought that might be on your mind.’

  ‘Well, at least you don’t go into a sulk whenever it’s mentioned. I suppose that’s some kind of progress.’

  ‘I’m thinking about it.’

  Karr brightened. ‘I’m glad to hear that.’

  ‘But don’t take anything for granted. Like I said, I can only be patient for so long.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be getting on with the business at hand?’ Phoenix reminded them.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Karr agreed.

  They moved off to the main part of the hall, where there were more people, some on benches, a few making do with the floor. Caldason shoved in next to Serrah. Kutch was there, too, along with Quinn Disgleirio. Phoenix joined Karr’s indefatigable administrative officer, Goyter, carrying her inevitable wad of documents, at the side of the room.

  The remaining twenty or so people were all known to Caldason to a lesser or greater degree. They consisted of high-ranking members of Covenant, the Righteous Blade and several other groups affiliated to the movement. No more than half of them sat on the United Revolutionary Council, as care was taken never to have every important operative present in the same place at the same time.

  Karr went to the front of the group, and addressed them without preamble.

  ‘We’re all far too busy to spend too much time here, quite apart from the security considerations, so I intend keeping this as brief as possible. I don’t have to tell you that we’ve taken on a massive task. The coming move has to be one of the biggest endeavours in recent history, and so far things are going more or less to plan. Which is remarkable considering the pitfalls we’ve encountered, not least the fact that the authorities are bearing down ever harder on the civil population.’

  ‘He doesn’t look any healthier, does he?’ Serrah whispered.

  ‘A little worse, if anything,’ Caldason replied.

  ‘The purpose of this meeting is two-fold,’ the patrician continued. ‘First, it’s for you to report on the progress of your particular areas of responsibility. That way, we can all get an idea of the larger picture. Second, it’s an opportunity for you to meet your counterparts, exchange ideas and maybe help each other out with any problems you’re encountering. We’ll keep it simple. There’s no need for names, just remind us of your position or function and tell us how you’re doing. Got that? Good. Who’s first?’ About half those present raised a hand. ‘Yes, you.’ He pointed at a heavily built, full-bearded man in the front row.

  ‘Shipping,’ the man declared bluntly as he got to his feet. ‘Our fleet’s up to about two-thirds of what we’ll need, though it’s as ragtag a navy as you’ll ever set eyes on.’ There was some laughter at that. ‘We could use more ships, naturally, any class; and we’re especially short on experienced seamen to handle them.’ He sat down.

  ‘We’re doing what we can about that,’ Karr assured him. ‘We’ve increased the parties we have out buying and stealing vessels, and we’re looking into the possibility of building our own. They only have to be capable of the one crossing, so that shouldn’t prove too difficult. Now …’ He looked around. ‘You.’

  A thin, bald, middle-aged individual stood up. ‘Transport, including supply of horses, mules, oxen and other working animals. We’re fortunate in having a renewable resource, and we’ve already got a number of breeding herds ready to go. A good stockpile of wagons, too.’

  He sat, and a mature woman near the front got up. ‘Food and water,’ she announced. ‘We’re renewable too, of course, and as far as drinking water goes we know the island is well provided with springs and wells. We’ve got good stocks of most dried foodstuffs, but I am a bit worried about a possible food gap.’ She half turned to explain to the audience. ‘That’s the period of time that might exist between the food we take running out and the first harvest. I think my colleague in charge of agriculture may have something to say about that.’ She nodded to another woman, who took the floor.

  ‘I’m fairly confident about the prospects for farming. The island’s central plains are fertile; the soil’s good and well drained, though naturally there’s no accounting for unexpectedly bad weather. There are some gaps in our seed stores, and I’d be pleased to hear from anybody who could assist with that. And I could do with more people to help with the crops and animal husbandry, not to mention experienced fishermen.’

  Karr picked another speaker.

  ‘Gives you some idea of the scale of the thing, doesn’t it?’ Kutch remarked in a hushed tone.

  Caldason nodded.

  It was the turn of a short, muscular man with mousy, shoulder-length hair. ‘Armourer,’ he explained. ‘I also speak for fletchers, sword-wrights and the weapon-making brotherhood generally. We have substantial arsenals secreted. Blades are ample, as are bows, arrows, spears and axes. Shields, chainmail and helms we could use more of. That’s down to a shortage of suitable materials rather than skilled labour.’

  ‘Buildings and island fortifications,’ the next man stated. ‘We have a materials problem too. Wood is plentiful but it won’t last long once we get started. There’s some stone out there we can quarry, and we can adapt the existing buildings, but we’ll have to consider importing it. The workforce isn’t too big a headache because a lot of the requirement’s for menial labour. And I’d guess that if nothing else they’ll be plenty of people about.’

  ‘You should be able to count on it,’ Karr agreed, ‘gods willing. Quinn, what about you?’

  Disgleirio rose. ‘The Fellowship of the Righteous Blade is handling island defences, martial training and general security. We’re meeting our targets on all those. But let me remind you that we’ll be forming a people’s militia as soon as the island’s secure. That’s anybody who can lift a weapon, basically, and it’ll be Blade members who instruct them. Beyond that, we’ll be building a standing army as fast as we can. So spread the word that we’re willing to consider fit, motivated men and women.’

  He was replaced by a chubby, weather-beaten man with black hair and a goatee. ‘I speak for artisans. That includes blacksmiths, wheelwrights, carpenters, glass-blowers, potters and the rest. Our trades are well represented in the Resistance ranks. Like others who have spoken before, the problems
we see are the supply of materials to work with, and fuel for our stoves, braziers and furnaces.’

  Phoenix talked of magical provisions and the part Covenant would play. Goyter, in charge of logistics, appealed for more clerks, and scholars with a head for numbers. And there were others, covering every imaginable aspect of state-building from scratch. They related their achievements and shortcomings, their needs and difficulties.

  At last, everyone had spoken, and Karr took charge again.

  ‘Many of you are wondering when the move will happen. Of necessity, we have to keep that flexible. All I can say is that the most favourable time will be chosen, and that you’ll be given as much advance warning as possible. We already have people on Batariss, smoothing the way. So, in a sense, the exodus has already begun.’ He paused and looked them over. ‘Now that I’ve given up the political forum to devote myself unstintingly to the cause –’ there was clapping and a few shouted compliments ‘– I’ll be working as hard as I can to bring nearer the day of our departure.’

  Serrah and Reeth exchanged apprehensive glances amid the applause.

  ‘To less happy matters,’ Karr went on, stilling it. ‘Many of you will have heard that a great supporter of our struggle, and a man I count as a dear personal friend, Kinsel Rukanis, has been arrested. We don’t know what charges, if any, will be brought. I’m sure that your thoughts and prayers will go out to him and his loved ones. Kinsel is a man of honour, who would never dream of telling what he knows about our activities. But … realistically, he’s being held by determined and unscrupulous enemies well versed in cruelty. We must assume the worst and act accordingly. Before you leave here tonight you’ll be told of certain safe houses to be avoided, contacts it would be best not to approach, and any other information concerning Kinsel’s knowledge of us you’ll need to know about. I’m sorry to end on a sad note. Now, please, take this chance to mingle, talk and exchange ideas.’

  As everyone began to mill about, Serrah and Reeth approached Disgleirio.

  ‘Any word on Kinsel?’ Serrah asked.

  ‘Nothing. And not for want of trying. I’ve got more ears to the ground than … well, than I can usually spare. But they’ve got him sealed up too tightly. How’s Tanalvah?’

  ‘About as you’d expect. She’s with some good people at the moment, and well guarded. I’ll go there myself after this.’

  ‘What do you think his chances are?’ Caldason said.

  ‘Of what?’ Disgleirio replied. ‘A quick death? A long prison sentence? I don’t mean to be facetious, but there are a limited number of options in a situation like this.’

  Serrah looked unhappy about that. ‘We can’t just give up on him.’

  ‘Nobody’s suggesting that. It’s a question of what’s possible.’

  ‘Lots of things are possible given the will,’ Caldason told him.

  Phoenix came by at that moment and Disgleirio collared him.

  ‘Tell these two what you told me earlier.’

  ‘What was that?’ Realisation dawned. ‘Oh, that. It’s not the sort of thing I like making a fuss about, Quinn.’

  ‘What is it?’ Serrah asked, curiosity whetted.

  The sorcerer didn’t answer, so Disgleirio did. ‘Phoenix here is shortly to celebrate his hundredth birthday. That makes you and him contemporaries, doesn’t it, Reeth?’

  The Qalochian regarded him stony-faced.

  ‘Er … Congratulations, Phoenix,’ Serrah said, hoping to move things along.

  ‘Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have many people to talk with.’ He moved off.

  ‘I believe he was embarrassed,’ Disgleirio reckoned. ‘That must be a first for the old boy. But I have to say, Reeth, that you’re wearing a lot better than he is.’

  It was probably intended as friendly mockery, but from the look on Caldason’s face, Serrah wasn’t sure he saw it that way.

  She need not have worried. The guards had let in a messenger, and he made straight for the Righteous Blade man. They had a whispered conversation before Disgleirio dismissed him.

  ‘Well, we have some news,’ he told Serrah and Reeth. ‘It seems somebody very important just arrived from Gath Tampoor.’

  ‘Who?’ Serrah asked.

  ‘We don’t know yet. But it warranted a fast chartered ship and a very heavy escort to paladin HQ.’

  ‘You’re assuming this has something to do with Kinsel?’

  ‘It’s a fair assumption. Some top official arriving so soon after such a high-profile arrest; it’s hardly likely to be a coincidence, is it? And we’ve heard nothing about an official visit being due.’

  ‘Any hunches?’ Caldason wondered.

  ‘Only nagging worries.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Suppose they’ve brought in a really skilled interrogator, or a master torturer?’

  ‘I would have thought they had enough perfectly able ones here already.’

  ‘Know what I think? I think Karr’s underestimating the damage Rukanis could do. He knows quite a bit about our operation and if … when he talks, he could take us all down. We should do everything we can to prevent that.’

  ‘What are you saying, Disgleirio?’

  ‘He’s been an asset. Now fate, or betrayal, has turned him into a liability. I don’t want to sound hard-hearted about it, but if we can’t rescue Rukanis …’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’d recommend assassinating him.’

  15

  It was a matter of pride to the paladin clans that no prisoner had ever escaped from their Valdarr headquarters. Not that there had never been attempts at both break-outs and break-ins. But all had ended in failure and the deaths of everyone involved.

  Important captives weren’t held in ill-lit dungeons deep in the bowels of the central fortress, as might be expected. They were hidden in plain sight. There was an extensive clearing in the grounds, an area in which not a tree, a rock or even a single blade of grass had been left standing. Its perimeter was guarded day and night by sentries with kill dogs on slip-leashes. The second line of defence was deadlier still: a range of protective spells of the highest order. Glamours that would raise ear-splitting alarms as they injured, mutilated and killed at any hint of an unauthorised approach.

  In the middle of the clearing was a building. It was a windowless, single-storey structure built of stone, with a flat roof and one robust door. No attempt had been made to beautify the exterior, which was uniformly weathered grey.

  Inside, there were just six chambers. Four were cells. The other two housed what were euphemistically referred to as persuasion suites.

  Currently, the building had only one occupant.

  Kinsel Rukanis had been deprived of food, water and, crucially, sleep. He had been interrogated with little respite, and some violence had been shown to him, though it was more rough handling than actual abuse. Most of his captors’ questions were about who he knew in the Resistance, and its organisation. So far, he’d refused to answer any of them.

  For the last couple of hours he’d sat uncomfortably on a hard wooden chair, his wrists bound, facing an increasingly agitated Devlor Bastorran.

  ‘You do know that this attitude isn’t helping your case, don’t you?’ the paladin said.

  ‘I’m doing my best to answer your questions.’

  ‘You’ve failed to answer a single one of them!’

  ‘I can only address questions on things I have knowledge of. If you will persist in asking about matters beyond my –’

  ‘Oh, come on, Rukanis! We both know you’re up to your neck in terrorist activities.’

  ‘I resent that accusation,’ he came back heatedly. ‘Terrorism’s something I would never –’

  ‘We have evidence, and witnesses.’

  ‘Then produce them. Charge me and take me to trial. As an empire citizen I have that right.’

  ‘Under the new emergency powers the rights citizens shall be accorded are at the discretion of legally designated law enforcers,�
�� Bastorran chanted.

  ‘How am I expected to prove my innocence under such conditions?’

  ‘As far as we’re concerned, the question of your innocence or guilt is already settled.’

  ‘If that’s the case, why should I co-operate?’

  ‘Because things will go easier on you if you do.’

  ‘Show me a law I’ve broken. Cite me one example of –’

  This isn’t so much about anything you’ve done. It’s your friends in the so-called Resistance whose activities interest us. Tell us about that and you’ll find us much more accommodating. But carry on obstructing us …’ He left the threat hanging.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you.’

  ‘Afraid? You don’t know the meaning of –’

  There was a light tap on the open cell door. Visibly irritated, Bastorran swung round to see his aide, Lahon Meakin, hovering there. ‘Yes? What is it?’

  ‘Your pardon, sir, but you asked me to let you know when our visitor was ready to see the prisoner.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ He turned back to Rukanis. ‘One moment.’

  He left the room with his aide, slamming the door behind them.

  Kinsel sagged in his chair. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, and there were ominous signs that they hadn’t even started to flex their muscles yet. And now somebody else seemed to be involved, though he was damned if he could think who.

  The door opened again, breaking his chain of thought.

  Devlor Bastorran came back in, accompanied by an almost skeletally thin man, probably in his sixties. He was totally bald and clean-shaven, with lips that were a colourless slash, and sharp, intensely blue eyes. His expensive clothes had a discreet quality often associated with the rich and powerful. The man seemed vaguely familiar to Kinsel, but he had no recollection of ever meeting him.

  ‘You have a caller,’ Bastorran announced as though ushering in a guest at a social event. This is Commissioner Laffon, of the Council for Internal Security.’

  Kinsel didn’t know what to say. This was a very important man; the head of the CIS himself. And if everything he’d heard about him was true, a man whose reputation wasn’t entirely without blemish.