Windsinger

by A. F. E. Smith

  ‘Hey, Kardise boy.’

  That wasn’t likely to be the opening to anything good. Zander’s stomach clenched, but he made himself put down his sword and turn around slowly. A couple of men stood there, shoulder to shoulder, blocking his exit: merchants’ guards, by the look of them. One was fair-skinned, almost as fair as a Nightshade, with reddish blond hair and a scowl; the other, cracking his knuckles and grinning, had colouring more like Ree’s, amber and brown. In the past, Zander would barely have registered what they looked like in such simple terms, skipping straight to the more important details of build and posture and possible prowess in weaponry. Yet in the strange new world in which he found himself, such things were significant.

  ‘Who, me?’ he said, and the brown-haired one’s smile widened.

  ‘I don’t see any other Kardise boys in here.’

  Zander hesitated as the little scene unfolded itself before him in all its tedious inevitability. It wouldn’t make any difference what he said or what he did; their intent was clear to read in their aggressive stances, their hard eyes and curling fists. He was a symbol to them, not a person. And as such, all that mattered to them was what he looked like.

  ‘You want to pick a fight,’ he said wearily. ‘So can we just skip the insults and go straight to the part where you beat me up?’

  ‘Don’t be clever, Kardise boy. No-one likes clever.’

  ‘What are you doing here, anyway? Why aren’t you back in Sol Kardis with all your traitor kind?’

  ‘I’m a junior assistant weaponmaster.’ Though probably not for much longer, after this. He found himself remembering Ree’s face when he’d talked to her about leaving, the little frown between her eyebrows as she worried about him. At the time, he’d thought he could weather anything as long as he could stay here in Arkannen. Now, in retrospect, he realised it had been easy to dismiss what he’d never experienced. ‘I teach basic swordsmanship and bladework –’

  ‘That can’t be right,’ the blond one said. ‘What’re the weaponmasters playing at? We can’t have your sort teaching our troops.’

  ‘Yeah. That has to be bad for morale. Serious security risk, too.’

  What do you think I do? Zander wanted to ask. Harangue them about how much better Sol Kardis is than Mirrorvale? Pass on information about how Borro’s grip still isn’t improving, even after I’ve shown him fifty times? I’m not teaching troops, I’m teaching rich kids who barely know one end of a sword from the other! But he held his tongue, because none of it would have helped. Instead, he tried a smile. Surely even these men would respond to a little charm and the application of reason.

  ‘I mainly run errands and fill in paperwork. I’m not privy to any secrets.’ He spread his hands. ‘Besides, I’ve been here three years now. Arkannen is my home.’

  ‘So you’re sayin’ you’ve turned against your own people? Taken Mirrorvale’s side in the war?’

  By all the little gods. How was he supposed to reply to that? They’d consider him a traitor either way. But then he saw their faces darkening with a mixture of anger and harsh satisfaction, and realised that was the point.

  ‘Well,’ he said hastily, ‘I’d really rather it wasn’t happening at –’

  The punch caught him on the side of the head, sending him stumbling backwards. His ears were ringing. He considered lunging for his discarded sword, but that would lift the fight from a brawl into a duel, and if he killed anyone – even in self-defence – he really wouldn’t have a place in the fifth ring any more. All this was against the Code as it was.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t think he could hold off the two of them in unarmed combat. He had the benefit of Helm training behind him, but that had ended a couple of years ago – and since getting his job, he’d mainly focused on improving his skill with the sword, since that was what he taught. Against two seasoned merchants’ guards, he didn’t stand much chance.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Do we have to –’

  The blond one threw another punch, which he managed to block before sidestepping so that the other one didn’t have a clear line of attack. If he could get them to obstruct each other, he might be all right. He landed a kick squarely on the side of the blond’s knee, taking the opportunity afforded by the man’s temporary incapacitation to get into a better position. He didn’t want to be pinned between them and the wall. Ideally, he’d reach the door and escape. At this stage, he was far less concerned with proving himself than he was with escaping in one piece.

  ‘No you don’t, you little shit.’ The brown one stepped in to block his path, slamming the heel of one hand towards his nose. Zander barely managed to deflect the blow, and the force of it set him off balance. Before he could right himself, the man brought a knee up into his groin, hard enough to double him over. Gasping, he backed away, knowing it was taking him further from the door but unable to help it –

  ‘That’s right,’ the blond man’s voice murmured in his ear. ‘Stay here with your friends.’

  Then one of them had his arms pinned behind his back, while the other drove a punch straight into his guts. His body convulsed, trying to fold in on itself a second time, but the tight grip that twisted his wrists up behind his back left him nowhere to go. Gulping desperately for air that didn’t seem to be there, he blinked the tears out of his eyes in time to see the man’s fist draw back again –

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ The voice was familiar, though distorted by Zander’s own fight for breath. It certainly worked on his assailants; the threatening fist was lowered, and his arms were released. Zander dropped to his knees, unable to keep himself upright, and sucked in a long, blissful draught of air.

  ‘It wasn’t our fault,’ one of the men said – Zander couldn’t tell which. ‘He picked a fight with us. We were just defending ourselves.’

  ‘It didn’t look that way to me.’

  ‘But, Captain Caraway –’

  ‘Shut up. I know exactly what you were doing. And that kind of shit isn’t welcome in the fifth ring, so I suggest you remove yourselves before you get removed.’

  ‘You don’t have the authority,’ one man muttered. Zander glanced up in time to see Caraway’s eyebrows lift.

  ‘I’ll force you out of here if I have to,’ he said calmly. ‘And that’s all the authority I need.’

  ‘But you can’t –’

  ‘Try me.’

  Silence. Then, with a mumbled yes, sir, the two merchants’ guards retreated. Caraway followed them to the door, and Zander heard a brief exchange of words before the captain re-entered the duelling room and sat down beside him.

  ‘Two of the Helm are escorting them to the Gate of Steel,’ he said. ‘They won’t be back.’

  Slowly – because it made his bones ache – Zander turned his head to look at him. ‘You know, you’re quite scary when you want to be.’ Ugh. What in the name of all the gods did I just say? ‘I mean … thank you, Captain Caraway. I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  Zander prodded his cheekbone, then winced. ‘Like I just got beaten up by two men who hate me for where I was born.’

  ‘Do you want me to have them arrested? They broke the Code. I could press for more than a ban from the fifth ring, if you like.’

  Zander sighed. ‘What would be the point? It wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t stop people looking at me and seeing the enemy. It wouldn’t end this war.’

  Clearly the fight had screwed him up worse than he’d realised; he never usually let this much bitterness come out of him. He never usually felt this much bitterness. Even when he’d been wrongfully imprisoned for planning Ayla’s assassination, he’d never felt so … helpless. That was the only word for it. As though no matter what he did, no matter who he was, a simple accident of birth meant he would always be wrong in some people’s eyes.

  Caraway looked at him for a long moment in silence. Then he asked softly, ‘Is it very bad, Zander?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t
handle.’ The reply came automatically, even though Zander wasn’t sure if it was still the truth or not. He returned Caraway’s gaze, seeing brown eyes and brown skin only a shade lighter than his own, and wondered … ‘You don’t get it too, Captain?’

  Caraway shook his head with a rueful smile. ‘Not to my face. Though I did overhear a couple of sellswords discussing the fact that I’m obviously a Kardise agent sent to weaken the Nightshade line with my filthy foreign blood. But there have been people talking that way since I married Ayla, so I’m used to it.’

  Zander didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t imagine ever accepting the things some of his students said of him with that kind of easy equanimity.

  ‘I don’t know how you bear it,’ he muttered, and Caraway shrugged.

  ‘People are far better at noticing how they’re different than how they’re the same. I see it year after year when I’m training new recruits. And war only brings it out more strongly. It turns everyone into patriots.’ One corner of his mouth turned up. ‘Not that I object to people being proud of their country, obviously. But there’s a difference between that and hating everyone else’s.’

  Zander nodded. It was all part of what he’d once described to Ree as believing in things: start believing in something strongly enough, and you began thinking that anyone who didn’t share your opinion wasn’t as worthy of respect as everyone else. That kind of thinking was what led to seeing people as labels, instead of individuals: us and them. And if your belief was strong enough, you’d manage to convince yourself that killing them was no worse than killing flies.

  He expressed some of that to Caraway, who listened gravely before adding, ‘Though of course, it’s hard to blame anyone for working themselves into that state. Not when they’ve just been thrown into a war that’s not of their making. What are their alternatives? This war isn’t about ideology. It’s not about right and wrong. It’s a war that neither side wants but neither can avoid. No-one wants to die for that, but they might all the same.’ He sighed. ‘Thinking of the Kardise people as a homogenous group allows us to hate them. And hating them allows us to kill them when the time comes. If it’s that or be killed, what else can we do?’

  ‘We?’ Zander echoed.

  ‘I don’t hate the Kardise. But given the chance, I will kill anyone who threatens my family. So really, I’m just the same as everyone else: afraid of losing what matters to me.’ Briefly he gripped Zander’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps it would help to remember that, Zander. These people who say cruel things to you, who call you names … in the end, their words are only fear.’

  Easy enough to say, Zander thought. Easy enough to believe, in the abstract. Not so easy to live through. Caraway was a good man, but he was protected by who he was. Even Zander himself had a reasonably secure position, with friends like the Captain of the Helm to look out for him. But other people, like that street vendor, working down in the first ring every day … what did it matter to them if the cruelty came from hatred or fear? It was hard to feel sympathy for someone while they spat in your face.

  ‘I’m afraid it will go beyond words,’ he said. ‘You saw what happened just now. And there are plenty of Kardise immigrants in Arkannen. Plenty of people like you, whose families have been in Mirrorvale for generations but who look a bit Kardise. Some of them have already started leaving the city, Captain Caraway. I might be able to understand why people are behaving the way they are, but that doesn’t make it right.’

  ‘No.’ Caraway gazed out across the deserted duelling floor, lost in thought. He looked tired. With something akin to shock, Zander realised he’d been so caught up in his own problems that he’d forgotten Ayla had gone to the border to fight. In her absence, Caraway was in charge of everything: the Helm, Darkhaven, Arkannen. His and Ayla’s three children. He’d sent older, more experienced Helmsmen to the border and kept the younger ones in the city, which Zander had been selfishly glad of on Ree and Penn’s behalf, yet he hadn’t been able to do the same for Ayla. He must be afraid for her every day. He must be desperate to find the evidence that would prove her innocence and put an end to the fighting. Yet he’d still found the time to rescue Zander from a couple of idiots and tell him I don’t hate the Kardise, even though he had far more right than most.

  That generosity of spirit, as much as anything else, was why Zander was still in Mirrorvale instead of fleeing home with his tail between his legs.

  ‘I’ll speak to the Captain of the Watch,’ Caraway said, oblivious to Zander’s tumbling thoughts. ‘See if she can spare more men to patrol the Elbaite Quarter and keep an eye on the Kardise-run businesses in the city. And the Helm can help to keep the peace in an unofficial capacity, though I’m always wary of treading on Larson’s toes. As for you – if you have any more trouble, Zander, just let me know. You shouldn’t have to put up with this kind of thing.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Zander said quietly. But as Caraway made to get up, he stopped him. ‘Captain … is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘With keeping the peace?’

  ‘With ending the war.’

  Caraway hesitated, before settling back down beside him. ‘To be honest, Zander, I don’t think there is. I’m not sure …’ He closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, before finishing, ‘I’m not sure there’s anything anyone can do.’

  ‘Then there’s no hope at all of finding the proof you need?’

  ‘Oh, there’s always hope.’ Tipping his head back against the wall, he added softly, ‘Just not a great deal of it.’

  ‘Why not? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘Because although I know there are people in this city who conspired to take Mirrorvale to war with Sol Kardis, I can’t find out who they are without the cooperation of a bunch of rich men who make it their business not to cooperate with the Helm. I’m questioning them anyway, but so far it’s bloody slow going.’ Caraway shot him a sidelong glance. ‘It’s enough to drive a man to drink.’

  Startled, Zander swung round to face him – but surely it must be all right if he can joke about it. All the same, just to make sure, he said tentatively, ‘Sir, you’re not … I mean, you haven’t …’

  ‘No,’ Caraway said. ‘Ayla trusts me.’

  ‘It’s that simple?’

  Caraway’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Isn’t it?’

  Unsure whether they were still talking about Caraway himself or something else entirely, Zander said nothing.

  ‘I taught her the sword in here, you know,’ Caraway added. ‘A couple of years ago. After unarmed combat, it seemed the logical next step. And she’d always wanted to learn, so …’

  ‘Is she good at it?’ Zander asked curiously. In response, the captain’s lips curled in a slow smile that was equal parts amusement and pride.

  ‘Damn straight.’ After a moment, though, the smile faded. ‘But it doesn’t matter, does it? I could teach her every combat trick I know, but that wouldn’t keep her safe during wartime. Nothing can do that, not for anyone. The only sure way of not dying in battle is not to go into battle in the first place.’ He scrubbed his hands through his hair; for a moment, his façade slipped until he was no longer Captain of the Helm, just a frightened young man. ‘A few nights ago, there was a raid. The Kardise set a fire. People died, on both sides. I had to send more men to the border, men who hadn’t been fully trained. And still, the wealthy investors of Arkannen refuse to help me!’

  Zander didn’t know what to say. He wanted to know more about the raid – his mind kept jumping from his father to Helmsmen he knew, from the boys he’d grown up with to the boys he was doing his best to train in the city. Yet he didn’t think he was even meant to know about it. As far as the citizens of Arkannen were concerned, news from the border was sporadic and largely positive; it was only a moment of stress that had induced Caraway to reveal anything different.

  ‘And you really don’t have any other leads?’ he asked instead.

  ‘Take a look, if you like.’ Carawa
y fished a small notebook out of his pocket, turning it to a particular page before handing it to Zander. ‘See if anything strikes you.’

  His tone didn’t suggest he believed anything would come of it – more that he was desperate enough to try anything – but Zander took the notebook anyway. The way he felt right now, he was desperate enough to try anything, too.

  Caraway had set out all the pertinent points of the investigation across a double-page spread. Zander read through it all, carefully, but the captain was right: there was little enough to go on. Certainly nothing came to his own mind that would be at all helpful.

  Absurdly disappointed, he flicked through the rest of the notebook – and then a name caught his eye. Maurais. He knew that name, from somewhere in his distant past as the polite and well-behaved son of a councillor. He just couldn’t quite remember where.

  ‘Captain?’ he asked. ‘Who’s this?’

  Caraway leaned over and frowned at the page. ‘Sorry. Terrible handwriting. It was the name of the previous owner of the warehouse where Sorrow overheard a meeting of the Free Arkannen group. He died years ago, and I couldn’t find any connection to the present business. There are certainly no current trade investors of that name.’

  ‘He had a daughter,’ Zander said slowly. The story was coming back to him piece by piece, from some long-ago dinner-party conversation that had no doubt seemed interminable at the time. ‘It was still being talked about even when I was a child, because it was such a sore point for my father and his friends … Giovano Maurais’s daughter married a factory owner, here in the city. Not just any factory owner: Derrick Tarran, the man who controls the world’s supply of taransey. The Kardise were convinced it was their chance to finally learn the secret of how it was made, but Liliane Maurais never told anyone back home. Not even her father, when he was alive.’

  ‘Taransey,’ Caraway repeated. He looked dazed, as though Zander’s words had hit him like a weapon. ‘I’m a fucking idiot. You’re sure about this, Zander?’