Scarred Man (20 page)

‘On your feet,' the man ordered.

Keshik stilled the pain and forced himself up.

The man standing before him was strongly muscled and lithe, with dark eyes staring evenly from beneath unkempt hair. He stood with the easy confidence of the warrior, holding the knife competently in his right hand. Any doubt about Keshik's belief that this was a war party of some sort faded completely as he regarded the fighting man before him.

‘I am Ozcollo,' the man said. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?'

‘I am Keshik, Swordmaster of the Tulugma, and what I am doing here is my business.' A low murmur ran around the watching soldiers as he said his name, and he saw two men exchange a coin. He had been recognised, even here in this jungle so far from the northern wastes.

‘Not any more, it isn't,' another voice said. Keshik recognised it as Guaman's voice, but he did not turn to look at Guaman, preferring to stare out Ozcollo.

‘Keshik of the Tulugma — I have heard of you, Kabutat,' Guaman went on. ‘A rootless vagabond,
night guard
, restlessly travelling the world's wilderness selling your blade to anyone less worthy than yourself.'

Keshik felt the anger begin to boil within him. He knew the man was deliberately goading him, but did not yet know why. He would wait to find out, before killing him.

‘I see your discipline has not completely deserted you, Kabutat,' Guaman said. ‘This is good. You might need it where we are going.'

‘I am not going anywhere with you.'

‘Idiot,' snapped Guaman. ‘Look around you. You are unarmed, alone, surrounded by thirty — all armed. And if you are expecting your silent friend to come and rescue you, forget it: he is gone. Atok here tracked him last night as he fled after you were taken.' Keshik tore his gaze from Ozcollo as Guaman indicated a compact, wiry woman standing in the deep shadows beneath the dense canopy of leaves. She raised a dagger in front of her face in a curious salute reminiscent of Slave's gesture with his Claw. Keshik did not return the salute, preferring instead to examine his surroundings. Now that it was daylight, he could see that this camp was well set for defence and concealment. It was a small clearing within a dense jungle, but around it the trees were so closely packed there was only one easy way in and that was cleverly concealed by bushes. In the low branches hung simple hammocks, and a small firepit gave off a little smoke. As a camp, it was as primitive as Keshik had ever seen, yet it had all the evidence of having been here for some time — and it had a prison pit.

‘You're an advance party for an invasion,' Keshik said softly.

Guaman shook his head. ‘No, but close,' he said. ‘And if you want to see another sunrise, you have only one choice. Join us or die where you stand.'

Keshik shrugged. ‘I am a mercenary, a kabutat as you have said. My blades are for hire.'

‘No one said anything about payment, Keshik,' Guaman corrected.

‘I live, that's payment enough for me.'

A low chuckle rippled around the watching warriors. It stopped at Guaman's glare, once again impressing Keshik with the discipline of this troop. Guaman switched his stare from his troop to Keshik.

‘Join us and place yourself under my command,' he cautioned.

‘Of course.'

‘I will take the word of a Tulugma Swordmaster. Even a kabutat.' Guaman turned to one of his men. ‘Feed him and give him his blades back.'

 

They told him they were an advance party from the east of Tusemo, near the foothills of the great mountains that split the world. That much they would say, but as to their aim, they would say nothing. Their food was basic forage and better than most. And plentiful. Keshik fitted in well with the hardened fighting men and women as they shared their meal with him.

When the meal was done, Guaman rose to his feet. ‘It is time,' he said without preamble. ‘We move tomorrow. Ispaca, you and Taraque stay here and keep our line of retreat clear if we need it. The rest of you know what to do. Sleep well. We start
at dawn.' As the troop moved off to their hammocks to sleep, Guaman caught Keshik's eye and gestured to him. ‘Keshik, you're with me.'

He rose and walked away from the small fire, Keshik following, out past the camp clearing and into the jungle. No words were spoken until they were well away from listening ears. When Guaman seemed satisfied that they were far enough from the camp, he stopped and turned to face Keshik. Around them, the night was black and only the noises of the jungle were heard. Keshik could barely see the soldier who stood a scant two paces from him.

‘We are not a simple Tusemon raiding party. We are an infiltrating force, one of several. Our overall objective is not available for you to know, but the task of my troop is to move into the northern gate of the Wall.'

Keshik was taken aback. A move into the gate was tantamount to a full-scale invasion. To attempt it with less than fifty, no matter how good they were, was a simple suicide mission. And if it were discovered, as it had to be, it would plunge C'sobra, Midacea and Tusemo into bloody war. What idiot could have planned such a mission?

As he pondered the lunacy that was the tale told him by Guaman, it struck him that no one had spoken Tusemon, not a word. Everyone had spoken C'sobran. Even their accents were C'sobran.

Yet they had challenged him and Slave in a different language again, one that he did not recognise. And he spoke five languages. This was not what it seemed. Slave had been right. Keshik decided to follow Guaman and leave as soon as he
had a good opportunity. He grunted in apparent acceptance, already planning his departure.

There was no clear opportunity that night, mainly because he slept more deeply than he had thought he would. He was shaken awake at first light and a handful of dried food was thrust into his hand.

‘Time to move, Kabutat,' Ispaca said.

Keshik swung out of his hammock and strapped on his swords. Around him the rest of the party went about their departure routine in silence. They were ready to move quickly and when Guaman raised his hand after talking with the two men being left behind, they departed and glided into the jungle. Keshik found a place in the formation easily. From his studies he recognised the tactics they were employing as those first developed during the great purges, when the armies of the world hunted down the remnants of the Scaren race. There was nothing to be learnt from their use of such tactics: armies all over the world still used them to great effect. Even the hand signals were the same. Anyone watching would know what to expect.

They moved with haste and silence through the noisome jungle until, just before sunset, there came the sound of water.

At Guaman's predictable signal, the troop spread out along the edge of the jungle to survey the ground ahead. It would have taken more discipline than any normal army could ever hope to achieve to prevent every eye being drawn to the stupendous structure before them.

Keshik had only seen the great Wall once but once seen, never forgotten.

Stretching across the vast Great River of Kings, the Wall stood hundreds of paces high, rising from foundations said to have been built by the Third Waste. It towered like a small mountain, jagged and dark, reaching across the river that spread out like a sea to the east as its flow was interrupted by the City of the Wall. Keshik had heard it said that the City of the Wall was a natural formation left behind when the mountains were driven back by the mythic battles of the Wastes. As he stared up, mouth open like a country simpleton seeing a town for the first time, Keshik could believe it. Water cascaded down its sides to pool at its base. The animals that gathered to drink from the pools were barely visible as specks of black against the Wall. What seemed like small birds whirling around the peaks were battle-trained wyverns, three or four times the size of a horse. The cleared area before the base of the Wall was hundreds of paces wide but unpatrolled — there was no need. No army in the world could assault a mountain, especially one honeycombed with thousands of tunnels, and inhabited by a city's worth of people.

The setting sun lit the great Wall up with brilliant golden light against the slowly darkening sky before vanishing below the vast expanse of the Silvered Sea to the west. Something like a sigh passed along the troop of invaders, their paltry numbers brought into stark reality before the immensity that was their target.

‘Move,' Guaman ordered, and the troop slipped out of the jungle at a run.

Myrrhini stood before the door and frowned.

‘Am I to be locked away like a prisoner?' she asked.

‘No, Lady,' Itxtli sighed. ‘Just housed in a secure location while we ready the ship to take us across the Silvered Sea.'

‘It looks locked,' Myrrhini protested.

‘I believe they have another … guest, here,' Itxtli said.

‘Yes, I heard. A fair sight better looking than me and more dangerous as well, I believe.'

‘Chimalli needs to guard his tongue better.'

Another Agent approached the door with a key. He unlocked it and stood back to allow Myrrhini entrance.

‘Thank you, Patecoatl.'

The Agent gave a short bow and stepped back.

‘Go in,' Itxtli urged. ‘There will be food, a change of clothes and a bath. It has been a long journey. You could use the rest. And,' he added, ‘you might tell us your name at some stage.'

The memory of what had happened the last time
she boldly proclaimed her name and title still gave her nightmares, so she had steadfastly refused to tell him.

‘“Lady” suits me fine,' she said.

‘Please go in, Lady.'

Myrrhini went in. She stopped when she heard the door close and lock behind her, but then continued to the end of the corridor. On opening that door, she found the bathroom. A smile formed as she breathed in the rich aromas of oils and soaps. The water was already hot, presumably drawn by the other ‘guest' of the Agents of the Blindfolded Queen. She made her way back along the corridor to the other door and pushed it open.

‘Get out of here!' a voice shrieked at her the moment the door swung open.

Myrrhini stood for a moment, shocked and unsure. The flame-haired woman standing half naked in front of the closet stared at her, her cries of protestation dying on her lips.

‘What are you staring at, princess?' the woman snapped.

Myrrhini gaped, still unsure what to say.

‘I guess you are the other “guest” of the Blindfolded Queen, then,' she went on.

‘I am, I guess.'

‘Come in, then.'

Myrrhini stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Still the other woman made no attempt to dress or cover herself. Her skin was pale, but darker than Myrrhini's own, and the white lines of numerous old scars criss-crossed her chest. There was an unhealed wound, high on her chest, that was recent. Myrrhini felt a twinge of sympathetic
pain at the sight of the angry red injury that marred her shoulder. The woman saw the direction of Myrrhini's gaze and raised her hand to the wound.

‘They don't like me much,' she said by way of explanation.

‘How did that happen?'

‘They shot me when I tried to run away.'

Myrrhini remembered her own escape from the Place of the Acolytes, and wondered how far she would have come had she been shot like that.

‘Have you been here long?' Myrrhini asked.

The red-headed woman shrugged. ‘A while. Waiting for you, I think.'

‘For me?'

‘So Mixcoatl tells me.'

Myrrhini shook her head. ‘They said you were dangerous.' She narrowed her eyes before adding, ‘And prettier than me.'

‘I am.' She smiled. ‘Well, the dangerous part, at least. What's your name?'

Myrrhini hesitated a moment before answering. ‘Onaven.'

‘I'm Maida. Welcome to captivity.'

The way she said it, so simple, so unaffected, made Myrrhini laugh.

‘Thank you,' she said.

‘I guess you want a bath.'

‘Is it that obvious?' Myrrhini said.

‘Onaven, you stink.'

Myrrhini could not keep the expression of shocked hurt off her face, and Maida went on, ‘But not as badly as I did when I got here. One of the Agents came into my room to tell me how much I stank.'

‘Oh.'

‘It's one of the benefits of travelling rough. And by the looks of you, you've been doing it very rough for quite a while. The bath's at the end of the corridor. I drew one for me, but you need it more than I do.'

‘Oh.' Myrrhini thought about this and another thought occurred to her. ‘But if the Agents can come into our room, why were you …'

‘Standing around like this?'

Myrrhini nodded.

‘When I have no weapons left, I always have this one.' Maida indicated her barely clad body. ‘And I can use this one well when I have to.'

Myrrhini looked at the pale-skinned woman. She was wearing only flimsy underwear that left her mostly uncovered. The way the garments revealed more than they hid, enhancing rather than obscuring, showed that Maida was skilled in the use of her natural weapons. Her mind went back to Hinrik. ‘You mean you …?' She could not finish the sentence.

‘If I have to, yes.'

‘I think I'll have my bath.'

Myrrhini left the room quickly and made her way towards the bathroom. Once there, she undressed, taking care to hide the dagger she still carried beneath the pile of clothes. She took the little bag containing the dried daven and carried it with her to the bath. With a happy smile, she selected some fragrant herbs and soaps and slipped into the warm water, placing the daven pouch on the floor beside the bath. The woman Maida
already confused her. To start with, she was beautiful, with a body that would entice men easily. And one that she would use. Myrrhini shuddered as she contemplated doing … that, for some manipulative purpose. She considered her own body with its bony knees, knobbly elbows, narrow hips, small breasts and pasty skin. Would any man desire her? Could she do
that
, even if she had to? Could she use this body as the sort of weapon Maida did? What could she ever want badly enough to do … that? There was also something oddly familiar about Maida, but surely she could never have seen her before.

The door swung open.

‘I thought you might want some other clothes, too,' Maida said. She was dressed and had her arms full of clothes that she dumped unceremoniously on the floor. She sniffed at the pile of Myrrhini's old, travel-stained clothes. ‘I'll burn these for you.' At Myrrhini's look, she paused. ‘I burned mine, too.'

‘Why?'

‘Didn't I tell you, I stank.'

‘You did, yes.'

‘So did my clothes.' Without another word, she picked up Myrrhini's clothes and carried them towards the fire. As she walked, the dagger fell out, landing with a metallic clank on the floor. ‘Well, well,' she said. ‘This is better.'

Maida dropped Myrrhini's clothes into the fire and then picked up the dagger. She tested its edge with a practised thumb and hefted it with a skilled hand.

‘Nice blade,' she said. ‘Where did you get it?'

‘I took it off a dead man,' Myrrhini said.

‘Did you kill him?'

‘Yes.'

‘Good for you. How did you kill him?'

‘I stabbed him with an arrow.'

Maida raised her eyebrows speculatively. ‘Never killed a man like that.'

‘Have you killed many men?'

Maida nodded. ‘I have. You?'

Myrrhini shook her head.

‘Just the one?' When Myrrhini said nothing, she sighed. ‘Just the one, then.' She looked at where Myrrhini lay still in the bath, covered with bubbles and with fragrant leaves floating on the surface, and sighed again. ‘I will leave you to your bath.'

Myrrhini did not watch Maida leave. She could guess what she thought of her: a weakling; a soft woman who had only ever killed one man, even if it was with an arrow. All the more reason to keep her true identity a secret.

She allowed herself to sink beneath the surface, soaking her filthy, tangled hair. When she drifted back to the top again, she started the long task of washing her hair.

 

Myrrhini allowed her hair to hang loose while she sorted through the pile of clothes Maida had left her. She found some that fitted and put them on, hiding the dagger carefully close to her skin before regarding herself in the mirror. A woman who bore little outward resemblance to the Eye of Varuun stared back at her, but Myrrhini could not identify
what was different. Her eyes were the same colour, her hair was the same — if less well groomed — the figure was the same, but she was different.

‘Still ugly, though,' she muttered as she hid the pouch containing the dried leaves and berries once more beneath the demure neckline of the dress.

The door to their shared room was closed when she returned. She pushed it open and went inside. To her surprise, the Agent Patecoatl was sitting on the bed beside Maida. He had his arm around her waist and was talking in low, earnest tones. When Myrrhini came in, he leapt to his feet.

‘Lady,' he said. ‘I am …'

‘I know who you are,' Myrrhini interrupted. ‘And I think I know what you are doing.'

‘I should leave,' he said to Maida, who gave a wry smile and nodded. He bowed slightly to Myrrhini and left quickly.

‘Well done, Onaven,' Maida said when they heard the outer door close.

‘What?'

‘Now he thinks he has been caught and will be nervous. All the better.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘If we are to escape, we will need his help. It will take a while, but I think we will get there.'

‘But I don't want to escape.'

Maida stared at Myrrhini with anger. ‘You what?'

‘You heard me.'

‘You like being a prisoner?'

‘Not really, but it is much better than what has happened to me recently.'

Maida continued to stare, as if utterly disbelieving. ‘How is that possible? Being a captive can never be better than being free, no matter how harsh freedom might be.'

Myrrhini dismissed Maida's words as meaningless. The woman clearly did not know what she had been through or what she had to do. It also did not matter what she thought. Myrrhini had to go to the Blindfolded Queen. What Maida wanted to do was of no importance when compared to that.

Maida stared at Myrrhini for a while before she sat back down on the edge of her bed and waved her hand at the table.

‘While you were in the bath, he brought some food.'

Myrrhini smelt fresh bread and jam. She saw the steaming cups, the bowl of fruit.

‘They are looking after us, aren't they?'

Maida scowled as she crunched on a piece of fruit, the juice trickling down her chin. Myrrhini sat at the table and selected some food to put on her plate. She watched Maida eat. Even scowling, with fruit juice smeared on her mouth, the woman was quite lovely. Myrrhini had never seen hair that colour before and she was entranced by the way it caught the sunlight that streamed in through the window. Maida's startling green eyes flashed with anger as she looked up and saw Myrrhini watching her.

‘What are you staring at, princess?' she snarled.

‘You,' Myrrhini said. ‘You are beautiful.'

‘Try not to be so surprised. We slags from the gutter can look good, you know.'

‘I never called you anything like that.'

‘You're thinking it. They all do.'

‘I'm not, Maida,' Myrrhini assured her.

‘Shut up and enjoy your captivity. I won't bother you with my presence much longer.'

Myrrhini could not think of anything to say, so she bowed her head and ate, as the sun sank towards the horizon, sending shafts of golden light in through the barred window. Already, she felt that Maida's dismissal of her had shifted into active dislike, but she had lived with disdain and hatred all her life. She could cope with that.

Maida ignored her for the rest of the evening until she started undressing for bed. When she was clad only in her flimsy underwear, she turned and faced Myrrhini.

‘I might get lucky tonight,' she hissed. ‘That Agent thinks he has won my heart and will probably come to claim his prize. If you want to see the morning, pretend to sleep and pay no attention to what happens. Understand?'

Myrrhini nodded.

‘If you change your mind and want to come with me, be ready. If it happens, it will happen quickly. I won't wait, or slow down. If you come, you keep up and stay quiet.'

Again, Myrrhini could not think of anything to say. Her heart pounded as images of what might happen this night flickered through her mind. Could she stay silent while Maida first seduced the Agent and then … what? Would Maida kill him? Could she watch it happen and do nothing?

A guilty sense of excitement crept into her.
Watch? Watch Maida couple with that handsome Agent? Could she watch that happen? She blushed, knowing she could lie in her bed, pretending sleep while watching that happen. Shame filled her. How could she be so perverse? The shame built as she slipped out of her own clothes and climbed into her bed. She was actually trembling.

Maida extinguished the lanterns in the room, and just as the last one guttered and went out, she gave Myrrhini a hard look. ‘Of course, you can always join in if you get tired of just listening,' she said. In the moment before the light vanished entirely, Maida must have seen the look on Myrrhini's face. She chuckled, a low throaty sound. ‘I thought not, Onaven.' In the dark Myrrhini heard Maida pad across the room and slide in between her own sheets. ‘And just as well, too,' she muttered.

Myrrhini lay awake as the moons slowly wound their way up the sky, so close now as they ushered in the new Crossing. She watched as their light spread across the room, softly illuminating her newest prison. Certainly it was one of the better ones, even if she was sharing it with Maida. Across the room, her fellow captive lay still, breathing steadily but probably not asleep. A movement at the window caught her eye. She looked across quickly enough to see a large rodent scamper inside and shuddered. It had most likely been attracted by the scent of the uneaten food. She was about to get up and chase it outside when she heard the sound of the outer door being opened.

‘Now just keep quiet,' Maida hissed.

Soft footsteps approached their door and it slowly opened. In the moons' light, Patecoatl stood in the doorway.