by Shannah Jay
Realising with a shock that the creature enjoyed anger nearly as much as it enjoyed pain, she reined back her fury and disgust, and instead summoned up an image of joy, a Gathering in Temple Tenebrak.
Carefully she built up her image, with every note perfectly played, every movement of the dancers exquisitely graceful, every flicker of light reflected from one object of beauty to another. So had it been in Temple Tenebrak. So was it still in her dreams.
And as she projected her joy and her image towards it, the Manifestation of the Serpent reared backwards and screamed in pain, trying to shatter her illusion, destroy her joy.
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She held firm, concentrating on the notes of the tune, and without realising it, she began swaying to and fro in time to it.
At the edge of the clearing, the two deleff raised their ruffs and they also swayed slightly, tramping their feet up and down in time to the unheard music that was as clear to them as it was to Herra.
Above them the sky darkened as the outline of a row of gigantic, motionless deleff was superimposed upon it.
And something else darkened the clearing, too, something that growled to itself from deep in an abyss that hung between this world and the next level, an abyss where no light penetrated, where only evil flourished. At the prodding of the Serpent below, its Manifestation lashed the water to a white frenzy with the thick curves of its huge serpentlike body. The very air itself seemed charged with menace. Pain. Sorrow. Failure. Again and again those images beat against Herra.
For a moment the image in her mind flickered, then she willed it back again, even more beautiful than before. Tenebrak. Joy. Sharing. Loving.
Without realising it, she moved her arms to embrace her vision, took a step forward and began to dance, forming the movements with hands and feet and body in perfect attune, movements that were as instinctive to her now as breathing. Thus had the Sisters learned to move, uniting body and soul, enhancing every skill and Gift that each possessed.
Wing shapes flickered from the backs of the deleff, lending an eerie blue glow to the scene. Herra didn’t even feel them brush through her, didn’t see the huge deleff bowing their heads to her, beating their wings to and fro in concert with the rhythms of her dancing.
Joy filled the clearing!
Beauty loaded the senses so that fear couldn’t enter.
She laughed. She bowed gracefully. She lifted her voice in song, a plaintive tune she’d always loved.
And the writhing serpent-thing screamed again as it sank back into the water, falling deep into that dark abyss from which it had crawled. There it was absorbed back into the shadowy matter from which the Manifestation of Evil made its attacks upon the brightness of a planet that was so special in the universe that the Serpent itself couldn’t yet pass the portal it watched from below, only send forth its manifestations, until it had killed off the creators of that bright purity which was so painful to the forces of evil. Only when it had killed joy, could it take control of Sunrise.
Alone in the clearing, Herra danced on until the music in her mind ended and a sudden weariness made her sink to the ground. And as she lay there, she knew she would gladly pay the price of wisdom, gladly help her people to take another step along the path.
She blinked up at the two deleff, now standing on either side to guard her rest, and she chuckled softly. She couldn’t escape from her various guardians, no matter where she went. Always there was someone ready to save her, as she would save them in her turn. For love bound you one to another.
And that in itself was another source of joy.
CHAPTER 20 SHADOWS OVER TENEBRON
The Lord Claimant of Tenebron stared at the letter from Sen-Sether summoning him and his people to arms and sighed in exasperation. Why did Sen-Sether always hunger for more and more?
Wasn't it enough that they each controlled their own claim, that they both had everything they could ever want. He couldn’t understand why Sen-Sether still hadn’t disposed of Danver. What was the point of having power if you weren't the actual Lord Claimant?
As always when he reviewed his life, Benner had to suppress the longing that lurked in the back of his mind. He had everything a person could want - everything except a son of his own body. But still, he added hastily, the Serpent had been good to him. And he had a nephew who was very happy about becoming his heir, so why was he worried? True, Mezver was rather a lazy young fellow, but that meant he was less likely to plot to overthrow the uncle who showered him with riches. And at least Mezver was of the Serpent.
Not like Evren, who’d defied his father all his life and then run away - or Lerina, who’d clung obstinately to her mother and joined that damned Sisterhood. Once Benner had discovered she was his daughter, he’d naturally wanted to take her in charge, as any good father would. Useful pawns, daughters. You could get a good bargain for a pretty one, and Lerina was pretty. But she was rotten at the core, which was the fault of those hags who’d reared her. The Sisterhood ways were disgusting, unnatural. Fancy men being stupid enough to let women tell them what to do!
He sighed and popped a sweetmeat into his mouth. Things were suddenly taking a turn for the worse. Why did Sen-Sether want to drag him all that way just to attack the Sister-hags? Let those filthy perverts stay up there in the far north. Benner didn't care what they did with themselves and their followers in the wilds of the High Alder, just as long as they never came back to bother him in his own claim of Tenebron.
He was getting older. He didn't need things to change any more. He enjoyed the freedom the Serpent had given him to live as he pleased in his own claim, take as he pleased, make sure none of his subjects grew too powerful . . .
He scowled upon that thought. His individual subjects might not be powerful, for even the great families were now quiescent beneath the Serpent's yoke, but there were two or three other pockets of resistance in Tenebron that still eluded his control. Not serious problems - no, of course not! - but their existence was yet another reason not to go off on a long campaign and leave his back unprotected.
The Shambles was his most immediate problem. Should he clean up that area of the city once and for all? No. There were just too many people living there. It'd turn into an outright civil war if he pushed them too hard. And civil wars never got anyone anywhere. They just used up all the tax revenues and brought hardship to the land. You had to be practical about some things. If only Sen-Sether would realise that.
Benner had tried clearing up an odd street here and there in the Shambles, just to prove who was in charge, but he'd been amazed at the number of poorfolk who lived in and under each crumbling building. When he razed a street, those he’d dispossessed only descended on other areas of the city and caused trouble there, more trouble than before. He'd had to hire extra guards last time to clear things up and big fellows like that cost a fortune to feed and house, an absolute fortune.
And when you did clear up one street, then some other street near the Shambles would gradually fill with the same shiftless folk and its buildings would become run-down - almost overnight! - so that those who had lived there before moved out to new domains on the other side of the city. Then the
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poorfolk finished their destruction of the street by building their sheds and shacks on land which had once been gardens, yes and tunnelling beneath it, too. The Shambles was an absolute maze of tunnels.
He sighed. It was a delicate balance to maintain for a ruler. The poorfolk seemed to grow more numerous every year and he didn’t dare push them too far. If he simply killed them off, as Sen-Sether advised, as Sen-Sether intended to do in Setherak, then who would do the menial work? And if he tried to make them lead more useful lives and abandon their shiftless ways, who was going to pay for the new domains and shops and farms that would be needed? Who was going to find jobs for them all?
Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he popped another of the sweetmeats into his mouth, sucking it loudly
and thoughtfully, not really noticing its cloying sweetness.
Even the other Initiates of the Inner Shrine in Tenebrak admitted that the Shambles wouldn’t be easy to bring under control. But the individual poorfolk showed no signs of rebellion against the rule of the Serpent. Well, they were too occupied finding ways to feed themselves and their numerous offspring, weren't they?
My Lord Serpent, how can you let them be so fecund and me so - he did not allow himself to finish that thought.
A smile crept over his face and he forgot his personal problems. The Streetmasters who controlled the various factions inside the Shambles could be very useful at times, very useful indeed, happy to undertake little tasks that couldn’t be done openly by a Lord Claimant or his guards, and not at all expensive, really. When it came down to it, he wouldn't like to try managing Tenebrak without them, whatever Sen-Sether said.
But the Hashite Guild and Aharri Bel-Ashkaron were another matter entirely. They definitely needed dealing with. Well, tonight's trap was tightly planned and long prepared for. Tonight, with the help of one of the more co-operative of the streetmasters, Benner's guards would catch some of the leaders of the cursed Guild, and, if the Serpent was with them, they would catch Aharri Bel-Ashkaron himself.
That was a wonderful thought. Skill and cunning always paid off in the long run, if you were patient enough. And Benner could be very patient indeed when he wanted something.
***
As the second moon rose, the Shambles grew quite lively. Wesrov, streetmaster of the western quarter - tonight acting for the Lord Claimant, and not for the first time - assembled his bullies in his headquarters in Fountain Square. As the headquarters had a lot of secret entrances, the extra activity wasn’t immediately noticeable to those outside.
Only the Hashite who’d continued to serve as bodyguard to Jianti for many years, concealing her links to the Guild since Benner had outlawed it, noticed anything unusual. But then, Medlian was a very observant woman. It was her trade. The sight of men slipping furtively into Wesrov's headquarters didn’t make her particularly suspicious, however, for groups of bullies often gathered there. Such forays were bringing the poorfolk into disrepute, but what could you do about that in such troubled times?
Unfortunately, it was an hour or two before Medlian thought to mention what she’d seen to her mistress, Jianti, who was streetmaster to the few whores who still plied their trade in a world where unprotected women were anyone's for the taking and men laughed at the idea of paying for one. The only whores who could now earn a living were those who catered to strange tastes.
When she heard what Medlian had seen, Jianti forgot business and sent out her people to find out what was happening.
Once Wesrov's bullies were assembled in Fountain Street, he came to brief them himself, attended by his two chief henchmen. He was a small man and his narrow face looked almost skull-like in the meagre light from the one lantern swinging from a ceiling hook in the largest of his cellars. These men weren’t fond of bright lights. After the briefing, they left quietly. It was a well thought out plan, an easy way to earn good coin. No one doubted the outcome.
Later that night, Aharri Bel-Ashkaron came into Tenebrak City from the wildwoods south of Silverhill, where he now spent most of his time directing the resistance to the Serpent, as well as running the remains of his great trading empire that continued to finance the rebellion. There might be fewer long-distance traders nowadays, but the shortages meant you could make some quick profits if you could get goods through.
He lived in a new settlement he had founded, called Merryanak after his murdered wife, and as the settlement was in a valley behind a narrow pass, only an army would be strong enough to take it.
As he left his riding nerid at a friendly farm just outside the city and started walking, he felt a shiver of anxiety about this visit and wondered whether to postpone it. But it was time and past that he liaised with Viran, Prime Craftsman of the Third Rank of the Hashite Guild. Their loosely linked guerilla campaign against Those of the Serpent had been very effective so far, but they needed to make another strike. But he’d be careful. As always.
The Tenebrani arm of the Hashite Guild was somewhat dispersed in these troubled times, scattered mostly through the wilder parts of the claim, though Hashites were still available for hire to those not connected with Benner. The Lord Claimant was under absolute proscription by all three Ranks of the Guild - Assassins, Mercenaries and Bodyguards. They might have chosen to set up separate headquarters, for their work was very different, but they were nonetheless united in their hatred of Benner.
The turning point in the Guild's neutrality to the Discord raging around it had come when Benner's son Evren escaped from Dalbrak Castle, Benner's country fortress, together with Carryn and Lerina.
Benner's guards had instantly put to death the Hashites who were guarding Evren, even though the bodyguards hadn’t been derelict in their duty. The Guild had made an immediate reprisal for that, as it always did, then an interdict had been placed on serving the Lord Claimant in any way from that day onwards. The Hashites always kept their word and those who hired them must do likewise.
In all other claims except Setheron, the Guild still carried on its trade officially, though the Assassins and Mercenaries, who would undertake anything for anyone if the price was right, were called upon more often nowadays than those of the Third Rank.
This day, Viran, Prime Craftsman of the Third Rank, entered the city of Tenebrak concealed in an empty wine cask. He’d meet Aharri, as he usually did, in the Shambles. Where else could you feel safe from the prying eyes of Those of the Serpent?
The Prime Craftsman had aged considerably in the twelve years since Benjan had left Tenebrak. In fact, Benjan would hardly have recognised his old mentor, if he could see him now. Viran was stooped, his joints were stiff and swollen, and his eyesight was failing, though his brain was as clear as it had always been. The other Hashites of the Third Rank took tender care of their Prime Craftsman, when he would let them, but inevitably he faced danger every time he went into Tenebrak and he refused point-blank to stop going there. He had never led from behind the safety barricades and he never would, he insisted.
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Aharri, disguised as an elderly beggar, uncomfortably stooped to hide his height and limping along with a crutch, made his way through the dark lanes and alleys of the Shambles, followed unobtrusively by one of his aides acting as bodyguard. When he turned into a narrow passage between two houses and knocked softly on the door, the aide stayed out of sight near the entrance to the alley, so well hidden that even Aharri, casting a final look in that direction, didn’t see that someone had already garrotted the aide and eased his body through a door.
It had begun.
Benner was even now pacing his rooms at the castle with anticipation tingling in him. Tonight Aharri and all with him would be killed, most especially Those of the Hashite Guild, Serpent take them! It would make a fine example to other troublemakers.
In the alley, the doorkeeper peered through his grill suspiciously, nodded and let Aharri through. A guide led him down the narrow steps into the semi-darkness below. From that antechamber, passages and doors led in every direction, offering a bewildering choice of routes to those who didn’t know the place. Two of the passageways twisted around for a while and then led back into the antechamber.
Aharri knew them all, for he’d once owned a share in this house.
Buildings in the Shambles were of very varied design, but their main feature was the number of different exits and escape routes they boasted. It was said that no one knew all the paths through the Shambles. And it was probably true. But Aharri knew more than most. As a young man, he’d made it his business to explore quietly in the still hours just before dawn, when even the Shambles were more or less quiet.
After a few twists and turns, he found himself in a fairly small chamber, where Viran was waiting for him, attended by two of his kithan
folk, each of whom was prepared to give his life to save that of the Prime Craftsman. The guide silently indicated two panels that led to escape routes, bowed to them all and left.
Aharri nodded to Viran and made his own inspection of the room, remembering it from a long time ago. A useful place, this. It had other possible escape routes, as well as those the guide had shown them. One of the Hashites made the tour with him in silence, nodding when he pointed out other exits. Two men whose lives depended on constant vigilance. Two men who’d lived their whole lives with danger at their shoulders.
When that silent inspection was finished, each side pointed to the routes they would take if there was any trouble. Then only did Aharri stride across to clasp his ally's hand and say quietly, 'It's good to see you again, Viran.'
'And you. How’s trade?'
A grin was his only answer. City traders never admitted that trade was good, not even in the best of times, and this wasn’t the best of times, more like a lull before the storm they all knew was brewing.
'We heard from the High Alder three days ago,' Viran offered.
'Ah. Was the news good?'
'Excellent. All are in cheerful heart and training carefully. Benjan has been appointed one of the war leaders. A sound choice, Benjan. He knows his trade and is true to his word. They’ll no doubt give a good account of themselves.'
'We traders have shipped quite a few arms to them one way and another.'
'Good.'
Civilities over, they were about to settle into a discussion of how precisely they could help one another during the late spring when there was a brief scuffling sound from behind one of the walls. It was enough to jerk Aharri to his feet and make Viran start levering himself painfully up. But as all fell quiet again, no one made a move to flee the chamber. To act before you know what was happening could be as dangerous as not to act at all. It was a difficult balance to keep.
