The Company of Glass

by Tricia Sullivan

  Jai Khalar was preparing to disgorge its king into the world. In one night emergency plans were drafted, supplies were organized, objectives altered. Messages sped all over Everien through the Eyes and were returned. A general flapping and frenzy animated the Citadel from root to crown. Tarquin knew nothing of this; he had gone to sleep after he left Istar, flat on his back on a small section of roof where he’d found himself when he finally grew too tired to move another inch. The stars were hidden by cloud, and at some point he was drizzled on, for he woke shivering and damp to the sound of Hanji’s voice.

  ‘Pancakes, they say, but the flour shipments are delayed and Ajiko’s Pharician horses eat twice as many oats as our little mountain ponies. Tarquin, I said wake up. Where I’m going to put these refugees I can’t begin to guess. We have plenty of space if only I could find some of it.’

  ‘What time is it?’ said Tarquin.

  ‘The king’s party is almost ready to go. Your horse will be saddled by now. Come, get up.’

  ‘It’s a terrible idea,’ Tarquin said, rising stiffly and feeling sorry for himself at the prospect of spending another day in the saddle. He was feeling his age this morning. He crawled through the window into a small, anonymous room where Hanji was waiting to bustle him on his way.

  ‘You should have come back a long time ago,’ Hanji remonstrated. ‘There have been lots of terrible ideas going around this place, but what would you know? You’ve been off being Free and all that.’

  ‘You make it sound like a holiday,’ Tarquin said. ‘Do I look like I have been enjoying myself for eighteen years?’

  Hanji sighed. ‘No, you look like a mean old dog.’

  Tarquin followed the seneschal through ever-shifting rooms. Unperturbed by moving floors, disappearing windows, and changing levels, Hanji nevertheless occasionally paused to adjust a picture frame or move a table a few inches to one side. He stopped before a small grey door left slightly ajar. It looked as though it led to a closet. Hanji planted his hands on his hips.

  ‘Who’s left this open?’ he muttered. ‘Don’t they know this door leads right out of Jai Khalar? If someone could sneak out, then someone could sneak in.’

  Tarquin yawned. Hanji sighed and rubbed his forehead. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting breakfast. That way is the gate; I will bring you some food to eat in the saddle.’

  He had turned towards the small grey door Hanji indicated when the old man suddenly remarked, ‘Aye, it was a morning just like this when you came back from Jai Pendu with the bad news, wasn’t it?’

  Tarquin turned and gawped at Hanji, who had achieved new heights of insensitivity, he thought. Hanji continued dreamily, ‘I’ll never forget how the White Road came. I was in the middle of disciplining that little pip of a chimney sweep Fausen when the whole wall above the crèche gave way. There were children running about and women screaming. It was like an avalanche, all white and roaring …’ He spread his hands, evoking the explosion. ‘And the White Road opened. We heard hoofbeats coming through a storm of light and sound. And then there you were: on foot, bleeding, pale as ash. Ah, you looked terrible, you did. Fausen escaped in the confusion, damn him. Come to think of it, I never saw him after that. Maybe something on the White Road ate him.’

  ‘Is there a point to this story?’

  ‘I was just thinking aloud, that’s all. Thinking that the White Road never showed itself after you returned, but now that you’re back, maybe it will open again.’

  ‘No! Don’t say such things. Jai Pendu must not be disturbed. I left … things … behind there that you would not wish to meet.’

  ‘Things, what things? Your silence on this matter grows tiresome, Tarquin.’

  ‘It is not my purpose to entertain you. Go back to your kitchens and supervise something!’

  Hanji sniffed. ‘If you’re going to be so obstinate, I will. Go on, you’re late already.’ He pushed Tarquin through the door and locked it behind him.

  Tarquin was inside a storage cupboard. There was a door at the far end. He opened it and stepped into a small white alley. A tabby cat was trapped there, mewling pathetically. It was surrounded by a dozen dead mice, some half-eaten.

  ‘How long have you been stuck in here?’ Tarquin asked it, and was treated to a long, complaining howl. He opened the door at the far end of the alley and the cat shot through as though chased by fire. ‘I know how you feel,’ he called after it. ‘I hate this place, too.’

  He followed the cat to the gates of the Citadel by a tortuous route that led through storage rooms and over bridges, emerging at last into the entrance cave without quite knowing how he could have descended so far. The cat shot away into the dark recesses of the cave and he found himself caught up in a bustle of activity and drawn outside. There seemed to be an inordinate number of anxious clerks and grooms about, but the warriors Ajiko had chosen for Lerien numbered only six. They stood still and silent to one side. When Tarquin approached they glanced at him and then made themselves busy with their gear after the manner of people who don’t wish to be caught staring. One stepped forward to greet him, a Wolf Clan captain with grey hair and sagging jowls.

  ‘You don’t remember me,’ he stated. Tarquin looked at the man more closely as he gripped his proffered hand. The face had seen some years, but he recognized the broad-shouldered body and the stiff-jointed way of moving that disguised the speed of the man’s footwork.

  ‘Stavel?’

  The Wolf laughed. ‘Bet you didn’t think I’d live this long,’ he said. ‘I got lucky. More than once. You always said my stubbornness would get me killed.’

  ‘You still refuse to wear the sword,’ Tarquin observed, indicating the twin axes in his belt, the traditional Wolf weapons. He remembered Stavel as an arrogant young Wolf fighter who had refused to even train with the sword on the grounds that he would betray his family honour. His attitude made him unpopular with Ysse, who insisted on unity among the Clans despite their long history of war. The Wolves had come from the forests to the south-west of Everien and had access to metals for their axes through trade with the Pharician Empire in the far south, so they were powerful by comparison with the Bear Clan, who had always been impoverished mountain nomads obliged to fight bare-handed. When the Wolves, lured by the Knowledge of the vanished Everiens, began to encroach on the Everien highlands, they had immediately tyrannized the Bear Clan who occupied the same territory in the north-west. Oppressed by the axes of the invaders, the Bears by necessity developed a sophisticated and crafty weaponless martial style; yet when Ysse came along offering swords to any who would learn to use them, they were quick to capitalize. The Bears had been the first to cooperate in the unification of Everien under Ysse, much to the displeasure of the Wolves, who now found their axes outmatched by the superior Seahawk weapon. Tarquin smiled, recalling some of the grudge matches between Bear and Wolf that had taken place in his training ground, for though obliged to join against the Sekk and fight as comrades, the two families had never completely let go of the old hate.

  The proud Wolves retained as much of their autonomy as they could get away with, but Stavel had been the only one to decline to handle the sword, even in training. ‘The axes are my Clan legacy,’ he had once said to Quintar. ‘I will not betray them for another weapon. All my skill goes into these.’ At the time, Quintar had been monumentally annoyed. Yet now it was good to see that not all of the old animal spirit had been quashed by the formalism of Lerien’s rule.

  ‘This is Taro,’ said the Wolf, indicating a stocky young archer with black hair and dark skin. ‘And Kivi the Seer, Miro, Jakse, and Ketar.’

  The others nodded greetings, and Tarquin’s attention focused on Ketar, who was big and blond, leonine in appearance. He looked uncomfortable, probably because he didn’t know whether to address Tarquin as kin or not.

  ‘How is Mintar?’ Tarquin asked him, trying to be friendly.

  ‘She died last year,’ Ketar said. ‘Peacefully, in her sleep – but it hit Santar and Jietar hard.
They went off to join Ajiko’s army with darkness in their hearts.’

  Tarquin didn’t say anything. He had often thought of his mother but had never gone to see her after the destruction at Jai Pendu. Now she was dead. He adjusted his sword belt. What a morning.

  ‘Where the hell’s Ajiko?’ he asked suddenly, casting about himself. ‘And where’s the king? Are we going or not?’

  A young groom put reins in his hands, and he looked up at a tall black horse decked out in battle gear. ‘So many Pharician horses,’ he muttered. ‘I hardly feel I am in Everien. I hope it’s not a prophecy of what’s to come.’

  Finally Lerien emerged from the cave into daylight, accompanied by Mhani. When the king mounted she stood at his stirrup, listening to his final instructions. Her hand reached up to touch his knee, and Tarquin’s eyes froze on the gesture and the intimacy it implied. Lerien’s face was turned away, and Mhani turned and left after a moment, but the exchange left Tarquin wondering what was going on between them. Mhani was soon lost among the advisers, who scurried from horse to horse, their coloured robes fluttering in the dawn breeze, their voices sounding high and childlike above the noise of the stream flowing from the entrance cavern. Tarquin realized he didn’t know Mhani any more. Maybe he didn’t know any of them.

  The air was heavy with the smell of cattle and dew. There was a fell light in the south-east where the sun would be when it had cleared the peaks, but the rest of the sky was robed with muddy grey clouds running under a high wind. It was the kind of day that reflected back to Tarquin his own inner sense of desolation and gave him a perverse satisfaction by doing so. He pulled the stirrups down and prepared to mount.

  Hanji appeared out of the knot of people and hobbled exaggeratedly towards Tarquin. ‘We old men must stick together,’ he said in a quavering voice, as if reading Tarquin’s mind. ‘See you don’t strain yourself.’

  Tarquin got into the saddle with an effort. He gathered the reins and frowned down on Hanji, who thrust a cloth-wrapped packet at him. ‘What is Lerien thinking of?’ Tarquin demanded, opening the cloth with his teeth. He frowned at the mixture of hard-boiled egg and rice. ‘Riding off and leaving his castle to a bunch of clerks, and Ajiko! The Pharicians will seek to attack here first.’

  ‘And what would you have him do?’ Hanji countered. ‘All his troops are hidden somewhere in Wolf Country and must be gathered. The Eyes cannot save his people, and you’ve said yourself that Jai Pendu is unreasonably perilous. He must go and see this army with his own eyes.’

  ‘What good will that do? If he believes my account he should take whatever fighters he’s got and ride immediately to intercept the Pharicians before they reach the sea gates, while sending messengers to bring the rest of his forces. And he should order his people to flee to the hills until it is all over. If he doesn’t believe me, then he should—’

  ‘What?’ Hanji whispered. ‘Kick you out of Jai Khalar and risk you riding around the countryside telling everyone what you saw? If Tarquin the Free were to ride into any town or farm in this valley, he would be listened to, and believed. And then who would rule Everien?’

  The party had begun to move. Tarquin had taken a bite of his breakfast and now had to swallow in a hurry.

  ‘But I don’t want to be—’

  ‘I know.’ Hanji raised his staff in farewell.

  ‘—king,’ Tarquin murmured to himself.

  There was a confusion of hooves as the riders picked up speed, and the party moved off at a good clip for the first few miles: a dramatic exit for Lerien, Tarquin thought. The king soon slowed the pace and Tarquin found himself riding alongside Kivi the Seer, who was casting curious glances in his direction.

  ‘What?’ grunted Tarquin. ‘Speak.’

  Kivi was small-boned and brown-skinned, and he had a nervous air about him like all his family; the Deer Clan were too damn sensitive for their own good, Tarquin had always thought. Kivi said, ‘You don’t look like I expected.’

  ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘I don’t know. But you don’t look like it.’

  ‘Are you supposed to be a Scholar?’ Tarquin scoffed. ‘If that’s the extent of your analysis, you can’t be too bright.’

  ‘I can’t put my finger on it,’ Kivi continued, unperturbed by the insult. ‘It’s something in the air about you. I can’t decide whether or not I like it.’

  Tarquin gave an uneasy laugh but Kivi didn’t seem to notice for he kept talking. ‘I’m glad to see you all the same. I was to have gone with Lerien to Jai Pendu, and I was afraid. A part of me is relieved that we cannot find the White Road.’

  ‘You should not even be looking for it.’

  ‘But we need another Artifact! The Knowledge is the only way we can possibly fight the Sekk, and anyway how else are we to obtain trade goods from Pharice if not by the arts that depend on the Knowledge? It is our wealth.’

  Tarquin yawned. The sun was getting hot already; at this time of year it seemed always to be in the sky. Sleep had become a myth.

  ‘But it’s madness,’ he said at last, rousing himself. ‘The Everiens couldn’t withstand the Sekk – they fled, didn’t they? What makes you think that their Knowledge will let you do what they could not?’

  ‘We cannot be certain why the Everiens fled,’ Kivi said timidly.

  ‘It seems obvious to me,’ Tarquin argued. ‘The more powerful the Everien Knowledge became, the more it attracted the Sekk, like insects to sugar. Is it not true that after each Glass we recovered from Jai Pendu, instead of defeating the Sekk we found ourselves harder pressed than ever? They crave the Knowledge, I tell you. Why else are there no Sekk in the Wild Lands, or Pharice, or the islands? They are drawn to Everien.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Kivi said. ‘There is a logic to what you say. But when we look back in time, we do not see Sekk in Everien.’

  ‘What is this about looking back in time? Does Mhani now gaze on visions of ancient Everien? How can you trust visions that you cannot verify?’

  ‘We have gained much Knowledge by looking back,’ Kivi said defensively. ‘If there were not so much prejudice against them, we might even use the Impressionists.’

  ‘You must live in the here and now, Kivi,’ Tarquin scolded. He gestured to the landscape. They were riding across flat country filled with ripening wheat; Everien wind towers whirred almost inaudibly to either side of the road. ‘Look how rich this land is! And the ease of lifestyle that the wind towers can give you. That’s what you should use the Everien remains for, not visions of a time long gone by.’

  ‘The wind towers are one of the great boons of Everien, but we don’t have enough people to bring in the harvest,’ Kivi said. ‘There will be famine this winter if we do not get our soldiers back soon.’

  ‘Ah, the Knowledge,’ Tarquin groaned. ‘It’s a cruel trick. It always promises a better life, but matters only ever get worse.’

  Kivi didn’t answer. Tarquin knew he must be thinking that it was tedious to talk to such a cynical old man.

  ‘I’m going to go spread gloom over Lerien,’ Tarquin said, and urged his horse forward. When he glanced back at the Seer to gauge the effect of his words, he saw to his surprise that Kivi was smiling.

  Riding at the head of the group, Lerien appeared to be enjoying himself, as if unused to fresh air and physical activity. Tarquin brought his horse alongside and remarked, ‘Ajiko has changed.’

  ‘He finds it hard to balance the Knowledge with the Clan ways,’ replied Lerien carefully.

  ‘What’s that got to do with the simple need to maintain a strong corps of warriors?’

  Lerien snorted. ‘And what would you have him use for talent? You saw Istar. Shall I make an army of girls?’

  ‘I’d take her at my side before Ajiko. At least her mind is clear.’

  ‘Her mind is clear because she is young,’ Lerien retorted. ‘When Ysse lay on her deathbed and gave me the kingship, mine was equally clear. Yet I was saddled with a people dependent on the Knowledge. I don’t cl
aim to understand it. Do you think me at home in Jai Khalar? I would rather go back to my Clan, take up some handicraft, and quarrel with my neighbours, like in the old days you always used to talk about.’

  Tarquin brushed wind-tears from his eyes. Lerien was too young to remember those times. He realized with a sudden pang that he wanted to be talking now to Ysse, but he would never see her again. He said, ‘There are lands to the east, between the mountains and the sea. My Clan settled there when they first were driven from the islands by the Wasps. You might retreat to that region. It is harsh country, but the Sekk have never come there.’

  The king was studying him keenly. ‘And neither will I, if it means the Pharicians and the Sekk cut up the cake of Everien between them. We cannot go back to Clan times, Tarquin. And you can’t be Free. Not any more. If you are going to be in Everien, you must support me in this.’

  Lerien reined in his horse to a walk, and as Tarquin did the same, he noticed that they had pulled ahead of the other riders by some hundred yards or more. He realized Lerien was waiting for an answer, and remembered Hanji’s final words. ‘I have no desire to lead anyone,’ he told the king. ‘If my legs would carry me better, I wouldn’t even take charge over this horse.’

  He dropped the reins to illustrate his point, but the Pharician stallion was too thoroughly trained to misbehave. He kept on beside his neighbour at the same pace, and Lerien began to laugh. From behind them, Taro gave a hoarse shout of alarm.

  Tarquin turned in the saddle to see Taro pointing at a huge shadowy thing hurtling out of the sky. There was no time to take in more than a flash of great scintillating wings. Then the horse swerved and bolted, the bit in his teeth.

  A Sheep’s Bladder in a Kicking Game