‘But that isn’t all, is it? We’ve rarely had so many imponderables facing us at the same time. Not only are increasing numbers resisting our rule, there’s also this business of the northern warlord and his expansion. We’ve had no word from the expedition we sent. Doesn’t that concern you?’
‘You’ve changed your tune on all this. Not long since you were practically dismissing such problems as insignificant.’
‘I’m beginning to think that perhaps I was wrong. I edge towards the doubters’ camp, Rhylan.’
‘I still think Gath Tampoor is more culprit than victim as far as the disorder’s concerned, as you used to. And it wouldn’t surprise me to find that they were behind Zerreiss in some way, too. It’s the old, old story, brother; the struggle between the empires carries on, it just takes different guises.’
‘That’s enough of a worry in itself.’
‘Don’t underestimate the strength we can bring to bear against them. Rintarah is no sickly weakling. Our might is incomparable.’
‘Yet in respect of the insurgents in our midst, we’re like a bear that’s trodden on an ants’ nest. For all our might we haven’t rooted them out.’
‘We will. You forget who we are. What we are.’
‘You make no mention of the most worrying development; the disturbance to the matrix. There was a particularly severe episode just in the last few days, as you know.’
‘Again, why shouldn’t this be Gath Tampoor’s doing?’
‘Because we can’t do it. It’s beyond the powers we now have, and we’ve no reason to think they’re any more advanced.’
‘What, then?’
‘There are two possibilities, both of which I find troubling. One is that some unknown, unsuspected power is responsible for interfering with the magic’s flow. In some ways that might be the worse option, as it implies something we didn’t anticipate.’
‘And the other possibility?’
‘I fear that Caldason might have become aware of his capabilities.’
‘Now we get to it. That damnable situation has been a thorn to us for far too long. But why should he have woken to himself now and not before?’
‘Who knows? That may not be as important as recognising that he has.’
‘He can’t have entirely realised his potential, or we’d certainly know it.’
‘Perhaps not, but he could be progressing by degrees. As a man might learn some new skill.’
‘With respect, Felderth, what I see are several unrelated events. Thugs making trouble on the streets, as ever was; a barbarian warlord, latest in a long line of ten-day wonders; and an anomaly in the matrix, which in itself isn’t entirely without precedent. None of it necessarily adds up to a threat to us. I repeat: remember who we are.’
‘Take this,’ his brother said, plucking a red rose from its stem, ‘and see in it the fate of our rule if you’re wrong.’
Rhylan took the flower and breathed deep of its gorgeous aroma.
But the instant he stepped outside the barrier the rose turned black and crumbled to dust.
The constant glow of magic that emanated from any heavily populated area usually outshone the night sky. But this evening the luminescence was less bright than normal, perhaps because the colder weather meant fewer people on the streets. And the rooftop of the safe house where Caldason and Serrah sat was on the edge of Valdarr, well away from the frenetic centre. Consequently they had a rare view of the stars.
‘And how do your people account for them?’ Serrah asked.
‘The Qaloch tell several stories of how the stars were created.’
‘There isn’t one accepted version?’
‘No. Qalochian religion and myths aren’t carved in stone the way they are in most other places. There tend to be various versions of our legends.’
‘Which do you like best?’
‘About the stars? My favourite’s the one about Jahon Alpseer. Ever hear of him?’
She shook her head.
‘He’s one of the Qaloch god-heroes who presided over the birth of the world. Back then, there weren’t any stars, because the gods saw no need to hang other lamps than the Sun and Moon. That was mostly because they were too busy fighting a constant war against an equally powerful race of demon deities. The prize they fought over was the fate of the human race, which is to say the Qalochian race, as it was our story. The demons wanted to exterminate the small number of men and women the gods had made; they feared this new life-form would multiply until it threatened their power.’
‘What happened?’
‘Well, quite a lot, actually. But the climax of the story tells how Jahon faced the lord of all the demons, Pavall, in a duel they fought across the sky. Jahon was getting the worst of it, because Pavall was a night demon who could conceal himself in shadow and strike out of the darkness. So Jahon used his sword, which was made of ice incidentally, to pierce holes in the black veil that shrouded the world. The holes let in the great light from outside, exposing Pavall, and Jahon slew him. Jahon left the holes so that no other demons would ever be able to hide in darkness.’
‘It’s a charming story. A bit … martial.’
‘Yes, it’s typically Qalochian. These days, at those rare times when Qalochians meet, it tends to be told ironically.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, the way things have worked out, we say that Pavall must have won after all.’
‘Oh. Gallows humour.’
‘Don’t knock it. What is it they say? Better to laugh lest you cry.’
‘That isn’t restricted to Qalochians, Reeth. Though there’s been precious little to laugh about lately. But let’s not get into the whole Kinsel thing again. Thinking about it’s too depressing.’
‘You looked a bit downcast when we came away from the hill. Was it something Tanalvah said?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t about Kinsel. She mentioned Eithne.’
‘I thought that was a subject you didn’t like talking about.’
‘There are times when it’s a taboo with me,’ she admitted. ‘But they tend to be triggered by something I wasn’t expecting, like when I was in the temple. Generally I can live with it, though I can never make promises about the future. I was doing a pretty good job of not thinking about Eithne until Tan brought it up.’
‘There is one thing I’ll confess to being curious about,’ he ventured carefully. ‘It’s not really about your daughter, but –’
‘Spit it out. If it’s too close to the heart I’ll tell you.’
‘Eithne’s father.’
‘Ah. A flesh wound rather than a direct hit.’
‘You can tell me to mind my own business.’
‘It’s all right. There’s not much to say about him, actually. He was like me. Well, he was in some ways; mostly he wasn’t. I mean we were alike in being professional fighters. Only with him it was the army. He was really ambitious and rose fast. Fought in a number of campaigns and gave a good account of himself. Then the fool went and got himself knifed in a brawl in a tavern. No, it didn’t kill him. He ran off with the healer who nursed him through it. She was older than me, too, a bit. Eithne was five or six when it happened. He didn’t want to be tied down with a child, you see. At least, that’s what he said.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No need. I was too young, and we wanted different things. It didn’t take me long to realise I was better off without him. Though I’ve often wondered whether it would have gone better for Eithne if she’d had a father around.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have got you talking about this. It must be painful.’
‘No, not at all. Talking can help, in fact. That’s something I’ve taken a long time to understand.’ She brightened. ‘Let’s make a pact. From now on, either of us can ask the other about anything. And if it’s something we don’t want to talk about, we just say. That way we can stop tip-toeing.’
‘All right.’
‘Good. Now, about the gold consignment.’
‘I walked into that, didn’t I?’
‘It’s the best service you can give to the Resistance right now, Reeth. Besides, it occurs to me you might be better off out of Bhealfa for a while.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t look at me like that. I know you can take care of yourself, but a couple of things have been bothering me. First, do you remember finding your file when we torched the records office? With all the pages torn out? I’ve seen how bureaucracies work, when I was with the CIS, and I’m telling you that kind of thing doesn’t happen without authority. Somebody very powerful has an interest in you, and they didn’t want anybody seeing the contents of that file, least of all you.’
‘I have to admit that has been puzzling me. What else?’
‘The meld. She might or might not be connected to it, but if there’s even a slim chance she is, it starts looking as though you’re attracting some unhealthy attention.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time. I’m officially an outlaw, you know; I’d expect there to be records on me.’
‘I bet if we’d gone through every file in that place, yours would have been the only damaged one. It means something, Reeth. Though I’m damned if I can think what.’
‘I don’t know that it adds up to a need for me to leave the country.’ He held up his hands. ‘All right, all right. It’s true I’ll probably go anyway –’
‘Great!’
‘– but I’m not a man to run, Serrah. Not for anything.’
‘I know that. It’s one of your more endearing qualities.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t get smug about it. You have less endearing ones, too.’
They smiled at each other.
A trapdoor in the roof lifted and a head appeared.
‘Quinn?’ she said.
Disgleirio climbed out. ‘There’s news.’
‘About Kinsel?’
He nodded. ‘They’re going to put him on trial, and soon.’
‘That’s something, I suppose,’ Caldason argued.
‘Not really. He’s to be allowed no defence witnesses and no one to speak for his character, and the whole thing’s going to be in private with a single judge presiding.’
‘A show trial,’ Serrah murmured. ‘A veneer of justice with the verdict decided before they start.’
Disgleirio shrugged. ‘What else did you expect? There’s another piece of news, and I think it should interest you especially, Serrah.’
‘Tell me.’
‘We know who the VIP from Gath Tampoor is. It’s your old boss at the CIS. Commissioner Laffon himself.’
The blood drained out of her face and it took a moment for her to say anything. Then she whispered, ‘I think any chance Kinsel might have had just died.’
17
‘We’re not likely to find out anything by hiding here.’
‘Give it a chance, Reeth, it’s been barely an hour.’
‘I don’t know what you expect to achieve. The Resistance have plenty of people watching the place already.’
‘Like I said, when I heard Laffon was here I just had to do something.’
‘You don’t believe he’d walk out of there unaccompanied, do you?’
‘If he did he’d be dead before he got ten paces,’ Serrah vowed.
‘All right, we’ll stay a little longer. But I don’t know how safe this place is. Paladins are bastards but they’re not stupid; they’re bound to check buildings this close to their HQ. Disgleirio’s men have already had a couple of narrow squeaks.’
‘If it looks like getting awkward we’ll be out of here. Promise. Now keep your eyes open.’
The empty house they’d broken into was opposite the immense walls of the paladin’s bastion, and almost faced its main gates. Serrah and Reeth had arrived not long after dawn, and now the streets were starting to fill with people.
‘What do you think’s going to happen, Serrah?’
‘Nothing, probably. But don’t you ever feel you have to act rather than sit around waiting? Look, you go. I’ll stay here a while and –’
‘No, you’re right. We might as well be here as anywhere else. But don’t build your hopes up.’
Another hour passed. There were comings and goings across the road but they all seemed routine. Then a closed coach was let out.
‘For all we know, that could be him,’ Reeth said, ‘and we can hardly go over and demand to look inside.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Serrah sighed. ‘I guess this was a stupid idea after all. But I –’ Something caught her attention.
‘What is it?’
‘Over there. The small gate next to the main ones. See what I see?’
He peered through the gap in the dusty window drapes. ‘It’s her, isn’t it?’
‘You could hardly make a mistake about it; she’s pretty distinctive.’
A striking figure was leaving the grounds. She was athletically built and pale as snow, and her fair hair was cropped.
‘Interesting that she should be coming out of there, isn’t it?’ Reeth said. ‘Let’s get after her.’
‘Wait.’ Serrah dug in her pocket and brought out two die-sized orange cubes. ‘Face charms.’
‘Oh, no. Must I?’
‘Yes. The meld knows what you look like, and she got a look at me, too. She’d spot us in a minute without a disguise.’
‘I hate these things.’
‘I’m not crazy about them myself.’
He took the cube marked with an M, leaving the one with an F on her palm. ‘These are really expensive. Where did you get them?’
‘I couldn’t get the real thing. They’re counterfeits. So they won’t be as reliable as a genuine spell. Won’t last anything like as long either, so bear that in mind.’
‘Great.’
‘Hurry up! She’ll be gone soon.’
He crushed the cube in his fist, then opened his hand. The pile of sandy dust flew from his palm and straight to his face, like a swarm of tiny airborne bugs. It settled as a fine, even coating, covering everything except his eyes and mouth, and instantly began creating the illusion. Serrah did the same, and in seconds their appearances were transformed.
‘Brunette suits you,’ he told her, ‘though I’m not so sure about the green eyes.’
‘Right. Now let’s –’
‘How do I look?’
She let out an exasperated breath. ‘Your Qalochian features have softened quite a bit. The blond hair looks all right, I suppose, but I don’t think much of the beard.’
Automatically, his hand went to his chin, but of course it felt just as smooth as always.
‘Can we go now?’ she insisted.
By the time they’d slipped out of the house the meld was halfway down the road. They followed at a safe distance, trying to look casual. Which wasn’t easy for Caldason, who felt self-conscious about the face charm. But nobody seemed to take any notice of them.
The meld turned into some of the centre’s busiest streets. Crowds made it easier for Reeth and Serrah to stay concealed, but increased the chances of losing her. They started to close the gap.
‘This damn thing’s beginning to itch,’ Reeth complained, fighting back the temptation to scratch his face.
‘So does mine. Try to ignore it.’
They were led up one steep lane and down another, then across a square. A block later they were in a busy street market.
‘Do you think she’s actually going somewhere or just wandering?’ Reeth said.
‘She seems to be walking with a purpose. Let’s get a bit nearer.’ She upped her pace.
The market sold everything. There were stalls with vegetables, fruit, cheese, meat, fish, bread and wine. Others were stacked with clothing, boots, saddles, chainmail, pottery, woven baskets, lucky charms and cheap glamours. Live lobsters were on sale, along with rabbits, cockerels, goats, kittens and venomous snakes. Healers held kerbside surgeries; soothsayers read fortunes from cards; people had their hair cu
t. Musicians strolled, plucking strings or blowing horns; jugglers flung their clubs; street jesters performed. Livestock bleated and everybody haggled.
Inevitably, there were glamours too. Creatures repulsive and comely materialised in flashes or expired in flaming shards every few minutes. Large and small blasts of magical radiance pulsed out on all sides. The din was fierce, and the air was scented with a thousand smells, pleasant and otherwise.
With the market growing busier, and the prospect of their quarry disappearing from sight, Reeth and Serrah had to follow at close quarters. They were almost near enough to reach out and touch the meld’s shoulder, should they be sufficiently foolish to do so.
‘The wretched thing’s tingling now,’ Reeth whispered, jabbing a thumb at his face.
‘Mine too. Don’t think about it.’
At that instant the meld stopped and turned. Reeth grabbed Serrah’s arm and pulled her to one side. Their heads went down and they pretended to be engrossed in a display of cheap jewellery. From the corner of his eye, Reeth was aware of the meld looking their way. A long moment later she resumed walking.
‘Think she spotted us?’ Serrah asked.
‘Don’t know. But at least she’s not running. Come on.’
They continued to trail her. The meld kept to an easy stride, occasionally glancing at the wares on sale, but mostly concentrating on weaving through the crowd. Emboldened, Serrah and Reeth began closing the gap again.
About six paces separated them from the meld when she stopped again. Once more, she spun around and stared. By this time her pursuers had drifted to the middle of the street, well clear of the stalls on either side. They froze.
‘Shit,’ Serrah muttered. ‘Look disinterested.’
‘Any idea how?’
The meld took a step towards them, then noticeably started.
‘Reeth. Your face.’
His features were liquefying. In seconds his eyes reverted to their original colour, the shape of his cheekbones went back to normal, his whiskers fell away.
‘Lousy fakes!’ Serrah cursed as her own disguise began to fade.
The meld turned on her heel and ran to the right. But as she moved, a near-identical duplicate dashed to the left. The two figures were joined by a membrane, a glistening film resembling a wet spider’s web. When they were separated by a couple of yards it ripped apart and the halves were each rapidly sucked back into their bodies.
Quicksilver Zenith Page 17
