The Company of Glass

by Tricia Sullivan

  She turned her gaze away from the Eye and the surface of the water cleared.

  Lerien sighed. ‘He was a great man. Maybe he still is. How can I judge his tidings?’

  Mhani said nothing.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Lerien – Tarquin’s wrong,’ whispered Istar, and was hushed by Xiriel.

  ‘Sendrigel, I want none of this to reach Hezene. Not a whisper. Go about your business as if nothing is happening.’

  ‘Can I release the Knowledge-lights from the Fire Houses for trade?’ Sendrigel asked hopefully. ‘For Ajiko has ordered more horses from Pharice, and we must have a way to pay for them.’

  ‘I suppose it’s all right. Knowledge-lights can hardly pose a threat to us in the hands of the Pharicians. But be vigilant for anything unusual. Yanise, tell Hanji we need a week’s marching rations for eight men and horses. Ajiko, organize the six best fighters you have in Jai Khalar at the moment.’

  Kassien inhaled sharply – a high, delighted sound. ‘Ajiko’s going to give us his best men!’

  Xiriel elbowed him into silence.

  Ajiko said, ‘The Eyes fail us in Wolf Country even now. For three weeks I have had no contact with my commanders through their Carry Eyes, and the Eyes which stand in the ruins are not able to See among the mountains.’

  ‘The Carry Eyes are not being used,’ Mhani said. ‘I cannot See through them if your commanders have decided not to report. That is a problem between you and your men. Perhaps they did not agree with your orders and decided to leave their positions for reasons of their own.’

  Ajiko was apoplectic. ‘You insult my men and my methods if you think that such indiscipline—’ he began.

  ‘They are Clansmen,’ Mhani said mildly. ‘They have minds of their own.’

  ‘Do not try to blame me for your failures, Mhani!’

  ‘Enough!’ Lerien spread his hands. ‘We will never solve this problem if the two of you cannot learn to work together. Ajiko, like it or not, the Knowledge is here to stay. Mhani, you must admit that strange things have been happening in Jai Khalar lately. We cannot rule out the possibility that the Eyes are at fault in Wolf Country – how could we? I’m lucky to find my bed at night the ways things are going this summer.’

  ‘That is due to the coming of Jai Pendu,’ Mhani replied. ‘The White Road cannot be far.’

  Lerien turned to Ajiko as if she had not spoken.

  ‘See how he fears the thought of going to Jai Pendu?’ Istar whispered. ‘He’s afraid of the White Road. He doesn’t want Mhani to find it.’

  ‘I will prepare the men you asked for,’ the general said, and left in a tightly controlled rage.

  Sendrigel said, ‘I will try to find out more about affairs in Pharice. There is a dissident faction in their government which has itself set on recovering the Everien Knowledge that remains in Jai Pendu. They call themselves the Circle, and they operate by stealth – Hezene will not tolerate overt opposition to his policies. I am not sure of their strength on land but they have some support in the Imperial Navy.’

  ‘Have they not learned from Hezene’s failure to intercept Jai Pendu by sea?’ Lerien guffawed. ‘The Floating Lands sank six of Pharice’s best galleons.’

  ‘If there were a Pharician force travelling down the western range, they might be doing so to get to Jai Pendu without being detected by Jundun. They might be renegades.’

  ‘I don’t understand why the Pharicians want any part of the Knowledge,’ Mhani said peevishly. ‘The Sekk do not trouble them, and they lack the Eyes and the other remains of Everien civilization which support the Knowledge.’

  ‘They are a culture obsessed with possessing things,’ Sendrigel answered. ‘Information has value to them, and the Knowledge is a kind of information.’

  ‘Speaking of information,’ Lerien said, ‘get me more about this faction called the Circle. Call in your informers and prepare reports. Bring your findings to Mhani in my absence.’

  Sendrigel bowed, and Lerien dismissed both him and Yanise with a gesture. Then the king turned to Mhani, his posture slackening. In a completely informal tone, he said, ‘I can feel you thinking something unpleasant. Say it.’

  ‘I have been looking for Ajiko’s armies in the Eyes for days and days. They are not where he says they are. I have Seen the entire land of Everien and all its borders, and if there is no Pharician army in the Eye, there is also no great force of ours, unless it is dispersed in the Wilds. Ajiko orders Pharician horses and holds meetings and makes maps, but it doesn’t add up. We ought to have armies not far from A-vi-Sirinn on the border of the Wolf Country, but I cannot See them and they will not call me. You blame the Eyes but you should consider Ajiko!’

  Lerien’s voice was kind, as if to make up for the words he was speaking. ‘I know he is hard on you. He is Clan, Mhani. He has not the scope to appreciate the Knowledge and that is why he dismisses it. But he is a seasoned warrior and he has devoted his life to the defence of Everien.’

  ‘He is a bully,’ Mhani said.

  But Lerien was pacing along the ledge, head down. ‘It troubles me to see Tarquin again, especially so close to the coming of Jai Pendu. I know you wish me to approve Istar’s petition. But Ysse was clear on this point; even on her deathbed, she was adamant that the White Road should be allowed to lie. That we were to strengthen our material applications of the Knowledge, and avoid the Liminal. I am sure she knew something we do not – as does Tarquin.’

  ‘That is what I am spending night and day trying to discover for you, Lerien. So that you will not be dependent on the legacy of Ysse – or the testimony of a madman. So that you will be able to determine your own destiny.’

  Lerien laughed. ‘Or so that you will be able to make my destiny for me, Mhani? No, do not frown. I like it well that you are strong. I will consider your words while I ride.’

  ‘Ride?’

  ‘Have I any choice? I must find my troops in the Wolf Country and lead them down to guard the gates to Everien. Even if there is no Pharician army on our border, I must have command of my men. I cannot rely on the Eyes exclusively – not now, not in a summer when Jai Pendu comes and mysteries abound. And I would be a fool to ignore Tarquin.’

  ‘He is a hero in the eyes of many,’ Mhani said expressionlessly. ‘Yet you might send men without going yourself. Send Ajiko!’

  ‘I must go. According to our traditions, the Clans do not live by the Knowledge. Today Tarquin accused me of losing touch with my people, locked away high up in this castle – and I am willing to suffer these accusations because I believe the Knowledge is essential to our survival. Have I not always supported your work, Mhani?’

  ‘You have.’

  ‘But if I place all my faith in the Knowledge, I betray my origins. My own senses must be the judge. I will ride to Ristale tomorrow. I hope Tarquin is deluded. But if he is right, there will be no time for heroism at Jai Pendu. We will have to prepare to repel Pharice – somehow.’

  Mhani did not appear convinced.

  ‘Who will command in your absence?’

  ‘Ajiko, I suppose, can handle military matters. No, do not fret: the Eyes will always be yours – you know I don’t understand them’ Mhani smiled at Lerien when he said this. ‘Hanji can manage the rest. I will give you my decision about Istar when I have seen what there is to see at Ristale. One thing is clear: the Pharician Pallo must be watched closely. I like it not that he moves about so freely.’

  ‘He’s just a boy,’ Mhani protested.

  ‘I’ll not send him to Jai Pendu, and you should—’

  Pallo gave an inarticulate cry and jolted the Eye.

  ‘Don’t do that! I’ve lost the image now, and if Mhani guesses I’ve been spying …’ Xiriel hurried to conceal the Eye in his robes.

  ‘Tarquin!’ Istar uttered savagely. ‘For one man’s whim, all our plans gone to ruin.’

  The others backed away from her. She paced the room, her face closed and angry.

  ‘Pallo, are you a Pharician spy?’ sh
e snapped sarcastically.

  ‘No,’ answered Pallo, his voice cracking.

  Istar threw up her hands. ‘What is happening around this place? Pharician spy, my toenail.’ She halted at the window and stood there silently. ‘Duty,’ she whispered. ‘How I hate it. Yet what am I without it?’

  ‘Don’t take personal insult,’ Kassien admonished. ‘The king has to consider all his subjects, and we are only—’

  Istar gave him a look so dark he bit off his own words. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Humour me in this. Stay away from Mhani and the king … especially you, Pallo! That shouldn’t be too hard. In fact, endeavour to speak to no one. We will meet back here at midnight, after we’ve all thought this through. Agreed?’

  The others nodded dumbly. After she left, Kassien seemed to shake himself awake. He looked at Pallo and mused, ‘I wonder whether they’ll kill you as a traitor. And how. Hanging? Beheading? Throw you off the Eye Tower? What do you think, Xiriel?’

  Valiant or Crazed

  Tarquin had fallen asleep on a white pallet in a room full of vines and silkspiders, but when he woke everything was red except the sky overhead, which was black. There was a soft glow coming from the red fabric of the circular bed where he lay, and from the carpets and their shimmering designs that moved like oil on water, and from the tapestried walls. The colour was so pervasive that the room reminded him of a hand through which a bright light had been shone, illuminating its blood so that all was crimson but the dark bones.

  He leaped up and ripped the door open, expecting to find the corridor and its wide windows. Instead he stepped into the enormous vault of the training arena. He stopped in his tracks. At first he couldn’t believe it; he was amazed to find himself back in the place where he’d spent so much of his time of old amid the cacophony of mock battles and endurance drills. Now the place was empty. The ropes and nets had been removed; the quicksand pit had been filled in; the diving pool was decorated with ornamental plants. The school that had once been used to train horses had been replaced by a bare section of stone floor painted with lines that Tarquin guessed were meant to act as positional markers for soldiers. He wandered across the smoothly raked sand to the fighting ring where he’d conducted the test matches and stepped up on to its raised floor. Most of the bloodstains on the aged wood were familiar. Remembering how the place used to reek of men and horses and dogs, he sniffed; now it seemed sterile. Tears pressed the backs of his eyes.

  Tarquin swore and kicked at the scuffed wood. He missed Ysse. She had been a bitch and a half but at least you always knew where you stood with her. Same with Chyko – you could trust Chyko. Maybe not in a card game, granted, but in the important things he had always been sound. Shit, you could trust Chyko, and Chyko had been a criminal.

  He laughed, recollecting. Those days when he was training the Company for Ysse – they had been the best of his life. He shuffled over to the wall where all the weapons had once been stored: spears and crossbows, swords, fighting sticks of all description, axes, flails, dart guns and flying knives, partisans, glaives, whips, now all replaced by practice swords. Alongside there was a duty roster posted in neat handwriting composed of ruler-straight lines. He turned away, momentarily depressed; then he laughed again, thinking what Chyko would have made of Ajiko’s duty rosters.

  Quintar had heard rumours of Chyko for years without ever actually encountering him. In the spring of the year that he began recruiting for Ysse’s special Company, he would have said that every Clan warrior of note must have passed through this training ground. Word had gone out that Quintar was looking for the twelve best fighters in the land, irrespective of Clan, rank, or standing of any kind, for ‘special training’. Ysse had insisted on the unification of the Clans under Jai Khalar, but this had never been easy to accomplish, and the Clans tended to retain the strongest of their fighters for themselves, sending only their younger sons to Ysse’s guard at Jai Khalar. By appealing to Clan pride and a sense of elitism, Ysse hoped to smoke out the real warriors so that Quintar could teach them how better to destroy Sekk – with the promise that the warriors would then return to their home territories capable of serving their Clans better than before.

  Yet the ultimate purpose of the Company was to form a cadre of warriors who could fight across all Clan territories, systematically eliminating the threat of the Sekk and their monsters while eroding the hostilities between Clans at the same time. It would mean bitter enemies fighting side by side, so that a Bear Clan fighter confronted with members of his own family Enslaved by the Sekk would not succumb to pity, nor face the dishonour of killing his own kindred – but would rely on his Wasp Clan comrade to slay honourably the relative that he could not. It would mean each warrior placing his life in the service of others outside his Clan, against an enemy none of them really understood. Only the most valiant of Clan warriors would wish to take on such a task – or the most crazed, depending on how one chose to look at it.

  At that time, Quintar was the most renowned swordsman in Everien, and he enjoyed Ysse’s favour, which was not lightly bestowed. Members of the Guard jockeyed for position in Quintar’s esteem, but he had not been interested in them so much as in the outlanders, civilian Clansmen from whom he hoped to draw new, wild blood. Clan tradition said that the warrior should make himself separate from society, autonomous and free. Life in Jai Khalar could dampen that spirit, and he suspected his own Guard had become too caught up in the military culture – had come too far from their origins – to retain the individual courage that would make them exceptional. He wanted men who had blood – not merely in their veins, but on their weapons – and, even better, on their teeth. To test their mettle he decided to fight them each himself: this would be part of his own training.

  Warriors of every stripe began to show up at Jai Khalar, enticed by the challenge. Most of them were untrained beyond their Clan weapons of preference, which posed a problem because Quintar needed swords and bows above all. A gifted Snake, even one who could wrestle a buffalo into submission, would still die when confronted with the clumsiest of Wolf axes or Seahawk swords: metal, after all, would always cut flesh. Yet he tested them all, and picked the ones he deemed able to learn new weapons. Most of these men had reputations in their own lands or within Ysse’s army. All of them were seasoned fighters who had faced the monsters that the Sekk could draw down from the hills to prey on humans. None of them could beat Quintar in a mock fight, though a few pushed him harder than he’d liked to admit.

  One day, Quintar had just arrived back in Jai Khalar after a trip to the Fire Houses to inspect some new shield designs that had been highly touted by the blacksmiths. Hanji greeted him at the gate with a curious expression on his face.

  ‘I think there’s something you should see.’

  ‘Is it food? I’m starving.’

  ‘A prisoner has escaped from the dungeon and is causing havoc in the aviary.’

  ‘Havoc in the aviary, eh?’ Quintar snorted. ‘Find Lyetar and ask him to help you. And get me something to eat, please.’

  ‘You can have cakes and beer after you’ve seen what’s happening in the aviary,’ drawled Hanji, plucking at Quintar’s sleeve with a bony hand, ‘You will only accuse Lyetar of lying when he tells you what he’s seen.’

  Sceptically, Quintar followed the seneschal to the wire enclosure where the fighting birds were kept. It had been the pride of Ysse’s reign to construct the aviary, where birds of prey were trained to hunt and kill. Only the young birds were restrained in this way, while they were learning their manners and their moves; the mature killing falcons went free and were called at need.

  The place was indeed in an uproar. The prisoner was loose among the birds, and the guards seemed unable to catch him. A falcon-girl was standing at the gate, peering anxiously up at her disturbed charges.

  ‘Who is he? What are his crimes?’ said Quintar to the falcon-girl. She gave him a red-lipped smile as she gripped the wires with delicate hands.

&n
bsp; ‘He’s called Chyko, and he lost at gambling – badly – against Zedese. When he was asked for the money, this scoundrel fled and stole Zedese’s chariot, which happened to contain his wife and his wife’s sister. By the time Zedese and his friends finally caught up with him, the wife didn’t want to come back! It was too much for Zedese. He decided to have a go at this bandit and got a poison dart in his, uh’ – she smirked and looked down, so that Tarquin would be quite sure which part of Zedese’s anatomy had been attacked – ‘which numbed it. Apparently he couldn’t use it for days …’ she broke off again, giggling, and then was seen to forcibly control herself. ‘I heard it took a dozen men to bring this reprobate in, and he kept saying he only surrendered because of the women. Zedese’s wife, and the sister. He was afraid they’d be hurt; they kept throwing themselves between him and the soldiers to protect him! They have been visiting him every night in jail, trying to bribe the wardens and chanting and begging “Release Chyko, free Chyko.” Then this afternoon, he knocked down the guards, stole back his weapons, and the wardens have chased him halfway across the Citadel.’

  As he listened to her story, Quintar was watching the action inside the aviary. The escaped prisoner was hanging upside down from the wire ceiling, firing his bow, and then scurrying across the wires to the next tree, to hide once again from his avian attackers. The men on the ground had been forced to retreat, hit once too many times in the buttocks or calves with bolts or darts or arrows from what seemed an endless supply. Birds had been sent in to harass Chyko; but the prisoner did not spare these from torment: instead, he was making a sport of shooting them.

  Quintar was disgusted, although he had to admire the inventiveness of the method. The Wasp did not shoot the birds to kill them; rather, he waited until their wings were extended and then systematically shot off their primary wing feathers in such a way that they could not fly straight, and were reduced to spiralling and veering around the cage. He did this to three seahawks in succession before the guards wisely called off the birds.