Tanalvah had made good time negotiating their passage, and there was some to spare before she met up with Freyal and the children. So she decided to go into the temple, just for a few minutes.
It was small, certainly when compared to those for the gods preferred by the rich and powerful. That was one of the reasons she liked it. It didn’t make her feel too intimidated. She went through its marble pillared entrance, across an anteroom and into the darkened hall of worship. There were several dozen people inside. Some sat on benches, heads bowed. A few were supplicants, waiting in line before a perpetually burning flame so they could cast in the scraps of parchment on which they had written their appeals.
But most simply stood and gazed at the goddess.
Tanalvah understood that the figure on a dais before the shrine was only a representation of Iparrater, a glamour likeness tended by her priestesses. That didn’t make it any less remarkable. To Tanalvah it was an article of faith that the illusion had an actual affinity with the goddess herself.
There was something almost unbearably sad about the chimerical Iparrater, as was to be expected of a deity that accepted the burden of so much despair. She was a tragic, ethereal figure, swathed from head to foot in grey gossamer, her arms outstretched as though to take on the weight of her worshippers’ sorrow. Yet for all the melancholy that attached to her, somehow she was fetching. Her face was veiled, but by some strange quirk of the sorcerers’ art or through the transcendent power of the goddess herself, there was an unmistakable impression of her hidden features. A stamp of kindliness, nobility and sublime mercy.
Tanalvah went to her knees. She prayed for Mahba’s spirit, for the safety of the children, and lastly for herself. Conscious of time passing, she traced the sign of the goddess, touching her collarbones, left to right, with the middle fingers of her hand. Then she rose and turned to leave.
In a side chapel she paid to light a candle so that Mahba’s soul could see its way to the afterlife. And in the annexe she couldn’t resist stopping at the oracle. A stone idol, in the form of a scaled-down version of Iparrater’s glamour, it dispensed prophecies in exchange for a coin. She dropped one into the dish, reflecting on how fast her money was going, and slipped her hand into the divining slot. A light tingling sensation prickled her fingers.
There was a panel at the foot of the statue, coloured pewter. Its surface swirled and glittered. A few words came into focus.
Interesting times await you.
Tanalvah felt, perhaps heretically, that she could have worked that out for herself.
As promised, Freyal was there with the children. Tanalvah embraced, thanked and paid her. Then she took Lirrin and Teg by their hands and set off again.
She never knew that Freyal would be dead before nightfall.
Her body would be found not far from the street where she worked. The likely cause of death was stab wounds, though she had other injuries that could have proved as fatal. Some put the murder down to a lone sadist. An occupational hazard. There were those who whispered about agents of the state, and of how the girl’s condition pointed to torture. She knew a secret, maybe, a piece of information the authorities wanted.
But nobody cared.
On the way to the ship Teg became fractious and tearful, and demanded his mother. He drew unwelcome stares. Tanalvah placated him a little, and Lirrin tried to help calm him, in her perplexed, tight-lipped way. But it was an additional problem Tanalvah didn’t need as they moved through byways filled with potential informers and haters of her race.
They were nearly at the moorings when things reached breaking point. The boy was in a tantrum, struggling in her arms, and his sister had succumbed to great wet, gulping tears of her own. Heads were turning their way.
Then a strident noise boomed out above them. They looked up to see a crier glamour far overhead. It resembled an enormous eagle, so big that were it to land its wings would span the width of the road. And it wasn’t alone; others could be seen wheeling in the distance.
The voice of the crier, with its distinctive, not quite human inflection, was greatly amplified. But as the glamour was still high in the sky, and circling, only snatches of its proclamation could be heard.
‘… of a Rintarahian citizen … flight from the scene … Qalochian … Lahn …’
‘That’s your name, Auntie Tanalvah!’ Lirrin exclaimed.
Tanalvah scooped up the startled children and ran into the nearest alley. She prayed that people on the street were too preoccupied with the glamour to notice. Weaving through the back ways, carrying Teg, dragging Lirrin, both of them bawling, she moved as fast as she could towards the harbour. She’d promised to be with the ship at a specific time, so it could catch the evening tide, and this detour was slowing her dangerously.
Every now and again the crier glamour, or one of its duplicates, appeared low over the rooftops, massive wings beating languidly as it broadcast her description and supposed crimes. Tanalvah expected to be challenged at any moment, to hear the tramp of running boots and feel the thud of a militiaman’s cudgel across her back.
But she reached the dockside undetected. And there was the ship, bustling with activity prior to departure. The gangway was still in place, and at its top stood the captain, watching them approach. Tanalvah dashed to it, clutching the children, heart racing. At the foot of the stairs she hesitated, breathing hard. The captain must have seen the criers. Would he want to carry a fugitive?
‘Come on!’ he yelled, beckoning frantically. ‘Hurry!’
She clattered up the gangway, leaving a trail of bits and pieces that spilt from her open shoulder bag.
‘The criers,’ she panted.
‘I know,’ the skipper told her. ‘Go with him. Move!’
A crewman steered her and the children to the bridge, and out of sight.
The captain bellowed the order to cast off. Crew scuttled along the decks, ropes were slipped from bollards, the gangway was raised. Sails whipping, the vessel moved away from the harbour wall.
Shortly, the captain joined Tanalvah on the bridge.
‘We’re not clear yet,’ he said, ‘but I think we’ll be all right. Unless they have the navy out. You’re not important enough for that, are you?’
‘What? Oh. I don’t think so. No, of course not. Look … thank you for taking us. But why? After the criers, I mean.’
Teg and Lirrin were subdued and tearless now, mesmerised by the captain’s weather-battered, generously whiskered face.
‘I’ve no great love for the law myself,’ he replied. ‘And there’s the kids to consider. Besides, a little risk adds spice to life.’
She smiled. ‘I think I’ve had enough to be getting on with.’
‘There might be a bit more before we’re through.’
‘Oh?’
‘You were in such a state when you found me at the inn, you didn’t even ask where I’d be taking you.’
‘No, I didn’t, did I? I suppose I was just relieved to be getting away from here.’
‘My first thought was the Diamond Isle. Seemed fitting, given your, er, line of business.’ He eyed the children. ‘But when you mentioned kids I knew that wouldn’t have been right.’
‘You can say that again. So where are we heading?’
‘Bhealfa.’
‘But that’s Gath Tampoorian territory!’
‘It is these days. And they wouldn’t take kindly to a Rintarahian vessel sailing into one of their ports, that’s for sure. But that’s not how we’re going to do it. I’ve arranged to have you transferred to another ship, when we’re off the coast. I’ve dealt with the skipper before and he can be trusted. And as he’s a Bhealfan he shouldn’t have too much trouble getting you all ashore. But there are dangers, I won’t pretend there aren’t.’
‘You have dealings with the enemy?’
‘I deal with men in the same trade as me. They just happen to be on the other side of a divide because the politicians, the warmongers, say so. And before you ask wha
t dealings I have, let me tell you it’s smuggling. It’s not what I’d choose to do, but these are hard times for fishermen, what with all the trouble in the fishing grounds up north.’
‘Why? What’s happening there?’
‘Zerreiss.’
‘What?’
‘Who.’ The captain smiled wryly. ‘Sometimes I forget how little the government lets you land-dwellers know. Whereas out here, on the ocean, and in other climes, we hear things, see things … Zerreiss is a warlord, and he’s been making some impressive conquests in the barbarous regions.’
‘I thought there were many warlords in that part of the world.’
‘Yes, there are. But there’s something different about this one. Something out of the ordinary.’ He took in the faces of his passengers. ‘But I’m being a bad host. You look as though you could do with food and drink, and some rest.’
‘Thank you, we could.’
‘After that, you can tell me why you’re fleeing Rintarah, if you’re inclined. And I’ll tell you what I know about Zerreiss, and why his followers call him the man who fell from the Sun.’
15
By law and convention, Bhealfa’s capital was deemed to be wherever the Prince resided. Practicality meant that the old capital, Valdarr, which Melyobar had effectively abandoned, actually fulfilled this role.
The city housed a provisional senate, to handle the day-to-day running of the state. Many regarded it as no more than a sop to the mob and dissident professional classes. Real power resided not with the senate, the Prince, or his puppet Council of Elders, but in the hands of Gath Tampoorian overseers. Most of these were based in Valdarr as well.
At the city’s core, the four pillars of Bhealfa’s social structure – monarchy, law, religion, magic – flaunted their status in lofty and impressive architectural statements. But under Gath Tampoor, it was whispered, the buildings were more splendid than some of the institutions they represented: the monarchy was mired in insane farce; law enabled repression; religion doled out calmatives. And magic did what magic did.
From the tallest central towers to the coarsest outlying shacks, Valdarr, like any community of any size anywhere, bathed in the glow of sorcery.
A storm was brewing. The sky above the horizon was black and there were flashes of lightning in the distance, followed by dull thunder.
‘What do you think of it?’ Caldason said.
‘Well, it’s … big,’ Kutch replied, a little daunted.
‘It’s a fair-sized city. Nothing compared to Merakasa or Jecellam though, or even some of the other colonial capitals.’
‘This is enough for me for the time being, thanks, Reeth.’ He looked to the storm. There were more fingers of lightning, far off, and echoing thunder. ‘I think it’s coming our way.’
‘Another good reason for us to get down there.’
Caldason turned and strode to the wagon, standing near the edge of the hill’s flat summit. The horses had their heads down, munching grass. Karr sat on the driver’s board, watching the sky.
‘Still waiting for your sign, Patrician?’
‘Yes, but not for much longer, I hope.’
‘How will your people know you’re here to be signalled?’ Kutch wondered.
‘They have a rough date for my return, within a few days either way. Assuming I was going to get back at all, that is. Chances are they’ve sent the herald to this spot several times already. It’ll be back.’
Caldason sighed. ‘So we have to cool our heels. More delay.’
‘It’s important, Reeth. There’s been a concerted effort to kill me. We need word that it’s safe for us to approach my house.’
Karr resumed scanning the clouds. Kutch and Reeth left him to it and ambled away.
After a few moments staring down at Valdarr, Kutch said, ‘You promised to show me some swordsmanship, Reeth. Why not now?’
‘Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt you to know some basics.’
‘I don’t like violence, you know that. But I am interested. Show me a few tricks and I’ll swap you some magic.’
‘Hardly tricks,’ Caldason informed him tightly. ‘And you can keep the magic.’ Tone lightening, he added, ‘So, what do you want to know?’
‘Why do you carry two swords?’
‘It’s a question of the right tool for the job.’ He unsheathed the sword at his belt. ‘A rapier. Thin, rounded blade, very fine tip. The perfect fencing weapon, providing you’re up against an opponent also using a rapier. It can be used against an opponent with a broadsword, which is more of a hacking weapon. In fact in some instances it’ll give you an advantage.’
‘How?’
‘There’s an old saying among swordsmen: the tip is surer than the edge.’ He described a pattern in the air that ended with a blurringly fast thrust. ‘Often it’s the tip of a blade that can prove decisive in a fight. Here, take it.’ He offered the hilt to Kutch.
The boy accepted it gingerly. He waved the sword about a bit. ‘It’s quite light.’
‘Yes, and see how flexible it is? Here.’ He took it again, then bent the blade so its tip touched the hilt, making an O. When he let go, the blade immediately snapped back to its original shape. ‘A rapier’s like a surgeon’s knife. It’s a precision tool, relying on its point rather than its edge.’ He plunged the rapier into the earth and left it there quivering. ‘On the other hand …’ He reached up and unsheathed the sword strapped to his back. ‘This is a broadsword. Its blade’s flat and it has a sharpened edge as well as a point. Take it.’
Kutch grasped the hilt in both hands and backed a step. The blade thudded to the ground. ‘Gods, how do you fight with this thing? I can hardly lift it.’
‘The strength needed to wield that kind of blade is why fights often turn on who has most stamina.’ He jerked the rapier free, then took the broadsword from Kutch. He held them both up as though they were light as feathers. ‘Worked in unison, they can be formidable.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen. You know, this would have interested my brother. He was always martial-minded.’
‘You’d do well to follow his example, at least enough to defend yourself.’
‘I believe disputes can be resolved by reason and – you’re laughing!’
‘No, no I’m not. It’s just … Reason’s a good thing, and it should always come first. It’s what rational people use to settle their differences. But not everybody out there is rational, Kutch. And when you’re up against someone who only wants to spill your guts, reason’s a poor weapon.’
‘Then the Craft’s going to be my defence.’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you haven’t mastered that well enough yet.’ While that sunk in, he added, ‘Were you to use a weapon, I’d suggest the rapier. Its lightness would suit somebody of your build.’
Kutch was bruised by Reeth’s candour. ‘Even if I did take up a weapon, and I don’t want to,’ he replied slightly grumpily, ‘I’m not sure I’d have the co-ordination. I’ve seen you fight, and it looked like an awful lot of physical and mental effort.’
‘Don’t you have to do that with magic? Put a lot of thinking into it, that is?’
‘In the study of it, yes, of course. But not so much in the doing. For that, practitioners have to cultivate what we call a state of no-mind. You empty your mind and let the energies flow through you. You become a conduit.’
‘It’s the same with swordsmanship. There’s another old adage: the sword is blind. In a way, the swordsman should be, too. It’s like saying “try too hard and you fail”.’
‘When you were fighting those men trying to kill the patrician, you started off with your eyes closed for a few seconds. Is that part of it?’
‘I was attuning the instincts you need to fight well. Letting the hand guide the eye and mind, rather than the other way around.’
‘I’m not sure I understand that.’
‘I’ll show you.’ Caldason looked around and pointed. ‘Gather some of those sticks. The smaller ones.
Three or four.’ He dug both swords into the earth at his feet.
Kutch collected the twigs from the foot of a nearby oak. The ones he picked were about the thickness of a man’s thumb. Laid on his open palm, their length roughly equalled the span between the tip of the middle finger and the wrist. ‘I’ve got four,’ he said, tramping back to Caldason.
Karr broke off his sky watch and turned his attention to Reeth and Kutch. There was another distant rumble of thunder.
Caldason glanced at the sticks Kutch had selected. ‘They’ll do nicely. Now, when you’re ready, toss them into the air. Make it a good high throw.’
The boy nodded. He drew back his arm and flung them hard.
Caldason snatched up the broadsword. He sliced the air with it, bisecting the paths of each of the falling twigs. The swishing blade moved too fast to follow.
Kutch knelt to inspect the result. The four sticks were neatly sliced in half, making eight of almost exactly the same size.
‘Amazing!’ he exclaimed.
‘A maximum effect for minimal effort,’ Caldason explained.
‘How did you do that?’
‘By not trying.’ He brought up the broadsword, flipped it and re-sheathed it in the scabbard on his back. The rapier was returned to his belt sheath in a similarly matchless, fluid movement.
Kutch’s eye sparkled with a competitive gleam. ‘Yes,’ he stated dramatically, ‘but can you do this?’ He aimed his hand at the tree, fingers together. ‘Brace yourselves!’ Eyes closed, he began mumbling.
Nothing happened for half a minute, during which Karr inspected his nails and Reeth’s gaze strayed to the view.
Suddenly, a frail radiance appeared at Kutch’s fingertips. The light throbbed, erratically. A wobbly fireball appeared, about the size of an apple.
Its colour blinked between orange and puce. Kutch grunted with effort. The fireball floated forward a few inches, then flopped feebly to the ground. It fizzled and gently popped.
They looked at it.
‘No, I can’t,’ Caldason replied.
‘Damn,’ Kutch muttered, deflated and embarrassed.
Quicksilver Rising Page 16
