The Tears of Sisme

by Peter Hutchinson

  He didn't notice that Tariska had gripped his hand tightly, until several minutes later she spoke. "It can't end like this, Berin. It can't all have been for nothing."

  Seeing her on the edge of tears, he pressed her hand and said, "Come on, I'll never believe Idressin's dead until he's been buried for about ten years. And even if something happened to him, the rest of us can't give up now."

  The girl looked at him in surprise, as he continued. "It’s the same as it was when Idessin was arrested. I don't think it matters how incompetent or afraid we are. We simply have to go on, we have to get Rass and the Talisman to safety. Maybe the Talisman will do its part too."

  "Do you mean it will do whatever it has to do by itself?" Tariska asked uncertainly.

  "I don’t know. Something like that. You heard Idressin yesterday. The forces which drive things along are much bigger than us. We think we do everything, but they cause it and we just carry it out."

  "Then whatever we do, it doesn't matter, because we had to do it anyway?"

  "I'm getting lost here, Tikka. I think it does matter, because we have choices which can influence which way... Look, look, I'm sure that's Idressin."

  All through the low-voiced conversation they had never taken their eyes off the cliff above. A little group of figures had appeared on the quartz ledge, given a brief wave and vanished again.

  "I take back everything I said," Berin announced solemnly. "It's Idressin's job to plan everything and do everything and our job to sit back and watch."

  They grinned at each other in relief, then both heads snapped back to the crag as a great crash sounded from above. At first they could see nothing, and then a shower of fragments revealed the giant boulder bounding from side to side down the gully. Already it was half way down, dislodging more loose rocks with each thunderous impact, until an avalanche of stone was pouring down to engulf the lower reaches.

  Shouts of anger and concern sounded from the Mederros as they saw several of their companions on the final ledges overwhelmed by the torrent of falling rock, and as the reverberations died away and the dust began to settle, the group commander sent twenty men back up the screes to give what assistance they could. In the event they had been lucky. Only three men were dead and all five of the injured could walk. The tutor and his two companions had been descending last and were safe in the passage deep inside the gully when the rockfall struck. The patrol, evidently unable to find another handy boulder, contented themselves with throwing stones, which clattered and hummed dangerously down the cliff, but claimed no more victims.

  As soon as the whole party was reunited, the tutor led them at a fast pace through the straggling thickets, keeping the city wall half a mile to their left. It was obvious to them all that the avalanche would have alerted every guard on this sector and it would not be long before a force was sent out to investigate. They halted as the bushes ended cleanly at the edge of a wide open space.

  "These are the old burial grounds. There's no cover from now on," the tutor explained to the Mederro commander. "You see the column on that mound about half a mile straight ahead of us? The entrance to the catacombs is just behind it. As I told you, once we're inside we could hold off an army while we wait for the others. Keep your men together and go straight for it."

  A breathless trot brought them without incident to shallow steps leading up to a wide stone portal. A couple of lookouts were posted on top of the mound and the commander arranged his men for defence inside. Anyone ascending the steps was confronted just inside the portal by a blank wall with long straight corridors which slanted off right and left into the shadows. The Mederros had a fair number of bowmen with them and until they ran out of arrows, any attack would end in simple butchery.

  While the little force was settling in, Tariska took the chance of getting the tutor's attention. "Will Caldar and the others be coming through this way, Idressin? I get the feeling it won't be long before every soldier in the city’s on alert."

  "They'll have little choice, Tikka; the city walls will be fully manned by now, so it'll be the catacombs or nothing. They're the back door everyone's forgotten about. They're old, very very old; they were here long before the present city wall was built about eight hundred years ago, straight over the top of them. Sammar should be able to lead his men out right under the enemy’s feet, that is as long as that map's accurate and if they…."

  "What if the troops follow them in?" Berin interrupted. "Or if they're already inside trying to cut them off?"

  "No one knows their way around in there." He forestalled Berin's question with a shake of his head. "Not even me. There’s such a maze of tunnels and blind ends that anyone relying on ordinary sight and memory would still be wandering around inside when their lantern went out. It's happened. People used to go in there to rob the dead, but as they gradually had to venture further in to find plunder, many of them never came out and the profession of grave-robbing lost its attraction. Sammar’s got a map, a good one he says, and Caldar may be able to help, so they should find their way. It's not that which…."

  Sudden activity at the entrance diverted their attention. Half a dozen bowmen disappeared down the steps at a run, while the rest strung their bows and made ready.

  "What's happening, Ollus?" Berin asked the Mederro group commander, who was a Shattun-speaker.

  "The lookouts sent word someone's making a run for our position here. He's being chased hard." The bows above began to shoot, the deep thrum speaking of their power. "No one we recognise," Ollus added as he went off down the steps.

  A few minutes later he returned alongside a stranger. The newcomer appeared to be wounded in several places, but he was walking unaided. He towered above his escorts, the dark bearded face and fierce eyes speaking his origin as clearly as the black birawi.

  "A Sarab," Ollus said unnecessarily to the tutor. "D'you speak Sarai?"

  "Which of you is A'Delzir?" It was Shattun, Berin realised, heavily accented, the voice deep, yet surprisingly gentle from this gory giant.

  "I am A'Delzir," Idressin replied.

  "I am Piddur. I have a message from Sholomik." The Sarab kept his voice steady despite his wounds.

  "Let me guess. You are the Sarai army come to rescue us."

  "There were two of us." Berin could detect no flicker of humour in the man. "There would have been an army, but we were forbidden to leave the Harb by members of The Council”. Piddur looked down at Idressin, his face expressionless except for his eyes which burned with ….pride? …..rage? "Most men obeyed, it is the law. Only ten of us preferred exile to the shame of obeying this order, and eight of those Sholomik sent back to their bhereths. Ransamarin and I alone were given the task of journeying from the Harb to bring you Sholomik's message. I fear I am late bringing it to you. We were captured twenty miles from the city: they held us and questioned us for three days, until Ransamarin died and I escaped."

  "How did you find us?" Ollus asked sharply. His suspicion of the Sarab had been apparent from the start, when he had quietly signalled two archers to take up positions at the top of the steps. Piddur was not going to get out.

  Berin had the feeling that the newcomer would have ignored the question had it not been repeated by Idressin.

  "By God's favour I came upon you as I made my way toward the city. The soldiers are swarming like hornets around this part. So I captured one, who told me they were surrounding a band of rebels among the mounds ahead of me. I needed only to find the centre of the swarm and truly here you are."

  "How did you know A'Delzir was here?" Ollus persisted.

  "I did not know. I was hoping for news of him."

  "You ran openly through the Imperial army, one of you died just getting here, and all on the chance of some news." Ollus' showed his disbelief in every word.

  The Sarab gave him a contemptuous glance as he replied, "Of course. It was my duty to deliver the word of Sholomik. Now I am here and my friend is in Paradise." The bony shoulders shrugged. "Once my message is
delivered, whether I live or die is a matter of no importance. It will be as God wills." He turned to Idressin. "Shall I speak my message here, or do you wish to withdraw out of the range of cowardly ears?"

  "These are my companions, Piddur," the tutor replied gravely. "Speak to all."

  Piddur closed his eyes and recited, "Beware the prentex in the ajeddak temple is a spinner he is drawing power from the watchmen through the black stone and do not for any reason enter the catacombs the shadow there is too strong all is not well on the harb you will hear it from the messenger you must come here by the quickest way the deddi gorge I will have another message for you there."

  "Those are his exact words?" the tutor asked sharply.

  "Of a truth," the Sarab replied, sounding slightly offended.

  'Goodness, these people are touchy,' Berin thought, as he watched. 'He's so proud that he thinks nothing of dying to deliver a message and considers every comment a potential insult.' His thoughts were cut short as the man looked around the group and said "Where is the Zeddayah?"

  The rest of them looked blank, but Idressin replied readily, "He’s in Karkor. When he can escape, he will join us here."

  "Then I must go to help him."

  "The Sarai army," Ollus snorted scornfully in the background.

  Piddur addressed himself only to Idressin. "Where will I find him?"

  "At this time he may be anywhere in the city," the tutor replied. "If he and his companions can’t fight their way out, then they’re planning to come through the catacombs."

  "Then he must hear the warning of Sholomik."

  "You would never find him," Idressin said firmly, "neither in the city nor in the catacombs. Believe me, if there was a chance, Piddur, I would help you in this: there’s more at stake here than the Zeddayah and Barrada's amulet."

  "Not for Sarai."

  "Barrada was not named Rahidor for his amulet, but for the Talisman he held."

  "The Talisman of Obedience is here?" Piddur asked incredulously, scanning the darkness on every side.

  "The Talisman is everywhere, yea, closer to a man than his own heart and enveloping him more completely than his own skin. Yet few indeed be they who can find it." Idressin rolled out the sonorous words in Sarai with his gaze firmly on Piddur, who shivered slightly, then completed the quotation himself.

  "As one grain of sand in the desert or one star in the firmament is their number, but because of them the whole desert shall bloom and the sky shall be ablaze with light. Even the rumour of their deeds shall change men's hearts and they that witness them shall be blessed among all nations."

  "The Talisman and the Rahidor are in Karkor also. We wait here for them all."

  There was a long silence, then the Sarab spoke with none of his customary haughtiness. "This is too great a matter for me. Sholomik spoke to us of another treasure greater than the amulet, but he named it not. If the Talisman has returned, it is a wonder that no man has seen for countless generations. No single Sarab would hesitate to give his very life for the chance to see such a miracle. Now you tell me the Rahidor is in danger alongside the Zeddayah, and yet I must wait here? I am a simple man and the only one here of my people. How can I not go to their aid?"

  "Your death would be of no aid to them whatsoever."

  "These catacombs, Sholomik tells of danger there. If God wills, perhaps I would find my way through to warn them. If not, then it will be small loss."

  "Your death is more certain in there than it is above ground with a thousand men in your way. I would go through myself, but there’s not enough time to find my way by stealth and I don't have the power to force a passage."

  Tariska stared at the tutor in shock. The foundations of her own resolve were suddenly crumbling. Idressin, even more than the Tinker, had come to be the rock that never failed, that supported her through the darkest times. And if he did not have the power, what chance for Caldar and the others? For the first time in her life she found herself completely speechless and the words when they came were Berin's.

  "They will die in there then?" Bleak and brief: the youth did not have the heart to ask for explanations.

  The Karkor Stockyards

  At the stockyard Rasscu leaned casually against a fence and fingered the object in his pocket. He could not believe that this was the world-shaking marvel they had come so far to find; he suspected an intricate piece of deception on Idressin's part, but for what purpose he could not begin to guess. It had shown no magical powers so far and still felt exactly like an ordinary pebble.

  Fifty yards away Harol was standing beside one of the pens, talking to two men in brown robes. She appeared entirely relaxed, but she was keeping a sharp lookout, as she had been for hours. They had been lucky at first in managing to avoid all contact with the Imperial Guard, although the scouting and dodging had taken a lot of time: too much time for them to complete their escape over the city wall. They did not know that the extra troops who had sealed the city off at dawn were part of Shkosta's plan and nothing to do with their own escape. They simply saw hundreds of soldiers mounting guard on the BalaBen Gate and the adjacent walls, where there would normally have been a handful. Ledwar, the group leader, had decided reluctantly to move back to the cattle market, where they waited in mounting tension for Sammar's arrival.

  Fortunately the area was enormous with plenty of cover, and the huge sheds stood empty and silent on this Festival morning. Ledwar had commandeered one of the cleaner ones and barred the doors to keep out any chance passer-by who might be surprised to see a hundred and fifty armed men inside.

  Rasscu's reflections were violently interrupted by the sight of a squad of some twenty soldiers who came running round the street corner a hundred paces in front of him. Two archers stopped at the corner and loosed off at their invisible pursuers. Sammar’s band were obviously close behind.

  The Tesserit assessed this new situation. Undisciplined and demoralised, the soldiers were unlikely to be able to prevent Sammar from reaching the stockyards. But the archers worried him. There were three altogether and they had already taken cover inside the pens near him. Any rebels advancing across the open ground in front would present easy targets. A quick glance showed him that Harol and her fellow lookouts had vanished, presumably to fetch reinforcements from the shed. It was up to him.

  He slipped over the fence, a bewildered civilian taking cover like several others in the yards, and walked along to where the first bowman crouched panting, peering out through the gaps in the stout planks. This had to be quick. Caldar himself might be the first to come round that corner any moment. Rasscu had been given a dagger earlier by his Mederro companions and he used the heavy hilt now to hit the man a smashing blow on the side of the head. An instant later the bow and the half-empty quiver were in his possession and he was nocking the first arrow. The long bow felt strange in his hands and he sighed for his own, left behind in Razimir, even as he began to scan the maze of posts and railings around him.

  So far none of the soldiers had noticed him, so intent were they on what might be coming round the corner. A second archer crouched thirty paces away in the next stockpen. He straightened up for a better view and the Tesserit's red arrow took him straight through the throat. The two soldiers near him looked round in panic, saw Rasscu and shouted a warning.

  Where was that third archer? The first rebels slipped round the corner ahead, hugging the house walls. Then they came in a steady stream. Rasscu searched every pen with his eyes. There was no time left. He must find him now. A sudden prickle of danger made him whirl to one side just as an arrow whipped past him and embedded itself deep in the post behind him.

  Behind him, nearer the market. That's where the man was. He saw a flicker of movement through the confusing pattern of head-high fences. The bowman had climbed into one of the alleys between the pens and was running for the huge open doors of the market building. In such a complex area, a hidden archer could be lethal. He had to be stopped. Rasscu could only see the top of his
head, bobbing as he ran. It was enough. A long steadying breath, a smooth release, and he turned away to signal his friends without waiting to watch the man's head vanish.

  He was dismayed to see several wounded among the Mederros, who appeared to be fighting a rearguard action as well. Some of their own archers had remained at the street corner to cover the retreat of the main body. Caldar was not in sight, then at that very moment he rounded the corner with the last group of southerners, Sammar limping among them.

  Sammar took charge at once, stiffening the defence at the street corner, while sending Ledwar off to search for the way into the catacombs with a short bald Mederro, who turned out to be Buder. It was fifteen long minutes before word came back that the entrance had been found and that Ledwar's men were starting to go in.

  By that time the fight for the corner had been lost: their pursuers were the Imperial Guard, different opponents altogether from the soldiers they had encountered earlier. Not only did the Guard press forward hard regardless of casualties, they had also overlapped the whole position quickly and were coming in from three sides. They were hampered by a curious lack of archers, for which the rebels were grateful without realising that the soldiers were obeying their orders to get in close and take prisoners.

  First the pens themselves formed the rebels' rapidly shrinking perimeter, and then as more and more men were sent back into the catacombs, they fell back into the entrance of the alley where their escape lay.

  The Tesserit, his quiver replenished with Mederro arrows, was in the last group. All of them were expert marksmen and even the Guard had grown cautious, believing there was no need to die when they had their quarry cornered. Ten bowmen remained at the mouth of the ally, then six, then two. At last the call came urgently from behind them and Rasscu sprinted for the shed which squatted low and dilapidated between two huge buildings.