Silent Hall (20 page)

“Bring forward his wives and children,” he ordered his men.

A man in the crowd near Criton jumped up and tried to run away from the sight, his eyes filled with tears. He had not taken a single step before the butt of an Ardisian spear struck him in the back and sent him crashing down again. The crowd was forced to watch in horror as, one by one, the High Priest of Magor executed the king's two wives, three concubines and fourteen children. By the time he reached the youngest, the gathered citizens of Anardis were all weeping. So was Criton.

“We're next,” he heard a woman in the crowd whisper.

When the youngest of the city's royal line was dead and still, High Priest Bestillos turned to one of his captains. He whispered something to the man, who turned and gave orders to his lieutenants, as the word was passed along through each rank of soldiers.

Criton did not want to see where this was headed. He rocked back from his knees to the balls of his feet, and began inching toward the temple. Yet he had not traveled more than a foot before the red priest's gaze suddenly fixed on him. Bestillos' eyes widened, then narrowed again. The priest did not only see Criton; he
saw
him. The pale skin, the soft hands, everything that was fake about Criton fell away before the priest of Magor's gaze.

“That one!” the priest shouted, pointing. “Kill him!”

To Criton's great luck, it seemed as if half the men in the crowd thought Bestillos had pointed at them. Men rose everywhere and tried to escape through the crowd, many of them finding themselves impaled upon spears within moments. Criton jumped to his feet and sprinted toward the temple, dragging the horses along behind him.

“Monster!” one of the Ardismen cried, leaping toward him through the crowd. Criton looked down at his hands for a split second and found that they were claws again. The priest had not only seen through his disguise – he had torn it clear off.

Criton had nearly reached the temple by the time any soldiers caught up with him.
Forgive me,
he prayed to his people's God, and when the soldiers barred his way, he roasted them. The living ones scattered then, and ran burning through the crowded tumult and confusion.

Criton arrived at the temple door just as it opened and his friends rushed out. Then it was onto the horses, faster than seemed possible, with Criton clinging to Bandu's back and the others helping Phaedra onto her horse before practically leaping onto theirs. Hunter swiped a few spear points aside as they all wheeled around and made for the city gate.

“Dragon spawn!” Criton heard the priest's voice shouting from behind him, and he turned his head to see the barbed spear flying toward him through the air. As far as the priest had thrown it, still its aim would be true.

Criton never knew how she did it. Even in retrospect, he didn't see how it made sense. But somehow, Bandu's arm shot out and she slapped the spear out of the air. One moment it was about to pierce Criton's heart, and the next moment it was falling to the ground, harmless. They sped away.

When they reached the city gate, some twenty soldiers were waiting there. Hunter only spurred his horse, and Bandu and Phaedra followed his lead. Criton raised his head and sent a burst of flame heavenward. Hunter's sword beat aside a pair of spears and sliced through one of the soldiers' necks. The rest scattered.

Then the city walls were behind them, and they were riding away southward as swift as the wind. Criton held tightly onto Bandu as the ground flew by underneath them. Even with the horror behind them, they could not ride fast enough. Smoke was rising now: the city was burning. Criton prayed that the Temple of Elkinar, at least, would be free of smoke and slaughter. It was hard to imagine that it would.

When they came to a rest, Criton climbed off his horse and collapsed to the ground. Bandu dismounted too, whispering in their horse's ear and wiping off its foamy mane with her hand. The saddlebags on Hunter's horse turned out to have a brush inside, and he gave the horses a more thorough grooming.

“I can't believe we made it,” Narky said.

Criton just shook his head. He couldn't believe…

“Bandu,” he said, “how did you do that, with the spear?”

Bandu turned to him. “Do what? What you say?”

“I saw you reach out and knock Bestillos' spear away. It would have killed me otherwise.”

“My hands are on the how-you-call-them all the time,” Bandu said, indicating the reins.

“I saw the spear fall,” Phaedra put in helpfully, “but nobody touched it. I thought it got blown aside by a sudden wind.”

“Yes,” Bandu said. “Wind. Not my hand.”

She said it with finality, and Criton took that to mean that he should close his eyes and breathe slowly and try to stop feeling so dizzy. He had been breathing too fast, and riding too fast, and – no, it was none of that. It was the screaming of the children.

I
n his mind
he had apologized to Criton a thousand times. Whether he had meant to or not, Narky had suggested that Criton's ancestors were monstrous beings that deserved their enemies' hatred. How could he have thought that Criton would not take such a thing to heart? Narky, of all people, should have understood what it was like to have one's sires maligned. Everyone he knew from childhood was dead and gone now, and he was
still
trying to escape his identity as Narky the Coward's Son.

How could he even face Criton now? The plan Narky had asked him to carry out had been more than dangerous; it had been absolutely suicidal. Any man in Criton's position who had a single shred of selfishness would have run for his life the minute he had stepped out the temple door. If Narky had been in the same position, he was sure he would have given up on the others and fled the city as quickly and quietly as he could. It was a horrible thought, but it was true.

Yet Criton had followed the plan through, even when his disguise had been compromised, even when the man who had killed his family was pointing straight at him and ordering his death. Criton's loyalty and bravery were staggering.

How could Narky look him in the eye, after what he had said and after what Criton had done? Apologizing would only remind Criton of their earlier argument. Perhaps it would be better to let those words die a quiet death, foolish and forgotten. Yet how could he know that they would even
be
forgotten? Maybe Criton would never forget. Maybe bringing it up and apologizing was Narky's only way to be forgiven.

He wished he could be sure. He wished he knew what to do. He wished there was a way to find out what Criton would think if he apologized, short of actually apologizing and learning the answer the hard way. The closest thing he could think of was to ask Phaedra.

“Apologize for what?” Phaedra asked, when he brought his question to her. It was nighttime, and he had stayed up after his watch was over to talk to Phaedra during hers. “What did you say to him that requires an apology?”

Narky had forgotten that Phaedra had not been present for that particular quarrel. He squirmed now, as he was forced to explain. Phaedra looked horrified when he told her what he had said, and though she listened to him explain his internal conflicts on the matter, her mind was clearly made up long before he had finished.

“You have to apologize,” she said.

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure. Even if Criton
has
forgotten, that's the kind of thing you should apologize for anyway. Criton hardly knew anything about his ancestors until he read that scroll. It filled him with self-doubt, and then while he was trying to make sense of it, you hit him where he was most vulnerable. You have to apologize, Narky. There's just – you have to.”

Narky sighed. “I thought so. Thanks, Phaedra.”

For what must have been the first time, Phaedra smiled at him. “I'm glad that you're trying. I didn't like you at first, but I think you've really changed. For the better.”

“Really?” Narky beamed back at her. He had wanted so badly to become a new person after Ravennis had forced him to examine himself, and had not felt that he was living up to his hopes. But Phaedra had noticed a difference. Gods bless her, Phaedra had noticed a difference.

There was not much time to rest. As soon as the sun rose, they broke camp and continued southward. Narky doubted that the High Priest of Magor would abandon his victorious conquest just to chase Criton across the continent, but Criton clearly thought otherwise and for once, Narky did not argue. He was still trying to find the right time, the right way, the right context in which to say he was sorry. The thought of apologizing while everyone else was present made him want to beat his head against a rock.

He would have to do the same thing he did with Phaedra, and speak to Criton during his night watch. Narky yawned. If he kept staying up in order to talk to people one-on-one, when would he ever sleep? No, that was selfish. He could always sleep later.

Criton opted for the final watch that night, and because he was too unfocused during the discussion, Narky ended up with the second. Second watch was the worst. His sleep would be interrupted before he could derive any benefit from it, and he knew he would have to wake up a second time in order to speak to Criton and, if he fell asleep after their talk, a third time only an hour or two later.

When Bandu woke him up for his own watch, he sat staring bleary-eyed into the fire, wondering how he would ever wake up once he lay down again. Without anyone shaking him as Bandu had done, he would have to rely on his body to awaken on its own. He sighed and picked up his water skin, draining it in one long string of gulps. If that didn't wake him up later tonight, nothing would.

The water performed its task admirably. When he had finished emptying his bladder, Narky shambled over to where Criton was sitting, looking tensely out into the night.

“I can't help but feel like he's coming after me,” Criton said, out of nowhere. “He wouldn't, right? He'll stay in Anardis until he's done making his point. I know that's what he's doing, but I
feel
him chasing me.”

“Do you think that comes from magic?”

Criton considered this. “Bandu says the wind told her Tarphae would drown, so I guess premonitions like that are possible. But do you think he'd follow us without dealing with Anardis first?”

“I doubt it,” Narky said. “I actually meant, do you think it comes from
his
magic? If everyone is so afraid of him that the whole city of Anardis surrendered without a fight, maybe some of that is magical.”

“Huh,” said Criton, looking thoughtful. “You could be right. I feel so… hunted.”

They were silent for a time. Criton kept opening his mouth to say something, then closing it again. Narky stood uncertainly, not sure whether to move on with his business or wait for Criton to speak.

“Um,” Narky said, finally sitting down with a thud next to Criton. “For what it's worth, I'm really sorry about the things I said earlier. Your ancestors in Ardis, and all of that. If they were anything like you, they were good people. The best people. That scroll was full of lies, just like you said.”

Criton nodded, his expression blank. It took him some time to speak. “You were right though, I can never know for sure.”

Narky squirmed. “But the scroll said you were all pure evil by nature. That's just obviously not true. You could have left us. You could have run away when you had the chance, instead of risking your life to come back for us, with horses and everything.”

Criton looked sick at the very suggestion. “You think I could have betrayed you all like that? Betrayed Bandu? I could never. Never.”

“You didn't even think about it, did you?” Narky asked enviously.

“Who would have?”

“Most normal people would've at least considered it,” Narky said. “We were so scared back there. I thought for sure we'd all die. I think if I'd been in your place… I think I would have left.”

Criton looked disgusted. “You really would have, wouldn't you?”

That look of disgust made Narky want to stand up for himself. He might be a coward, but thinking of saving oneself from mortal danger by abandoning one's friends was not
uniquely
cowardly! Surely it wasn't! Criton was the unusual one. Why couldn't he just take the compliment?

“I don't know,” Narky said. “I never got the opportunity, so I'll never really know if I'd have taken it. But it wouldn't be crazy for someone to do that. It was crazy not to. What was the chance we'd all make it? More likely we'd all have died and you'd have died with us. Look, what I was trying to say was, you're a good person. Brave and loyal and all that. And I'm sorry about the scroll. I didn't really think it was true, but I thought it might be, and I said so. I'm sorry.”

Criton did not say anything for a minute. Then, finally, he nodded. “Thank you,” he said.

It seemed like that was all Narky was going to get out of him. If he'd hoped to be forgiven or absolved, that would have to wait for another time. It didn't matter. At least he had said what he wanted to say, and he wouldn't have to say any more about it. Narky returned to the tent, and fell asleep almost as soon as he had laid his head down.

Waking up was exactly as unpleasant as he had expected. The next day dragged by dreadfully, and the only part of it that Narky enjoyed was lying back down again that night. The plainsfolk on the way south were still closing their doors to the islanders, so they relied on Criton to disguise himself and buy their supplies on his own. Bandu often wandered away while they were waiting for Criton, eventually rejoining them with no explanation. Though Narky had seen more of Criton's magic, he knew that Bandu's must be progressing just as rapidly. Criton claimed that she had power over the wind now, a possibility that she did not exactly deny.

“Power is wrong,” she would say. “Is not power.”

She did not, however, supply any alternative explanation.

Narky did not speak to Bandu much. They had an understanding, as he saw it: neither of them would ever be able to really relate to the other, so why bother trying? As long as they didn't need anything from one another and didn't get in each other's way, all was golden.

During those times when Criton and Bandu were away and Hunter was busy sharpening his sword, Narky and Phaedra found plenty of time to talk. Phaedra had finally removed the plaster bindings around her ankle, and she stretched and exercised her foot while they spoke in an attempt to strengthen it. Narky mostly asked her about making friends and being polite, and she was generally happy to answer. She did not always answer him gently and she did not always answer succinctly, but she was always honest.

He wished he had been able to talk to her sooner. If he had had Phaedra to guide him before, he might not have made such a fool of himself over Eramia, and then things might have been different. He might not have insulted Ketch, or goaded the boy into humiliating him, and then… and then he might have stayed on the island and died like everyone else. Much though he wished he could blot Ketch's murder from human memory, it had also saved his life. Fate had given him a chance to reform. As long as no one found out about Ketch, he would be fine.

If only they weren't on their way to Psander.

It made sense, of course: Psander could shield them from Magor's gaze, and from His servants' pursuit. Narky couldn't argue with that. He couldn't even blame Phaedra for looking forward to their next meeting with the wizard. “The best healers in the world say I'll never walk properly again,” she said at one point. “Maybe Psander can do better.”

“Do you like her because she reads?” Bandu asked. She was sitting nearby, eating some figs that she had no doubt stolen from that orchard a few miles back. Criton was away, buying food for the rest of them.

“Phaedra wants her ankle healed,” Narky corrected her. “She might agree with Psander's goals too, but that's not the same as liking her.”

“I do like her!” Phaedra protested. “At least, I sort of do.”

Narky turned on her. “Really?”

“Well, I mean, we'd never be friends,” Phaedra sputtered. “I don't think she likes
me
very much.”

“Who cares if she likes you?” Narky nearly shouted, causing Hunter to finally stop scraping his sword against that bloody rock of his and start paying attention. “Why would you even
want
her to like you?”

“Because,” said Phaedra, “she's a great woman.”

“She's a blackmailer!” Narky cried, and shrank back in horror at what he had let slip.

“She is not,” Phaedra insisted. “She's certainly tried to buy us with her knowledge, but that's not the same. I don't blame her for any of her decisions, even her dealings with the Gallant Ones. She needs our help.”

“Sure she does,” said Narky. “But you didn't just say you forgave her, you called her ‘a great woman!' What makes her so great, her magic?”

“It's not the magic,” Phaedra said. “It's that… it's… ugh, I don't think I could explain it to you.”

That stung. She didn't mean that her explanatory abilities weren't up to the task. She meant that he wouldn't understand. “Try,” he said.

“It's not going to be a quick answer,” Phaedra warned.

Narky snorted. “When is it ever?”

She frowned at him, and he realized he'd offended her. “Sorry,” he said. He tried his sentence again, this time with a smile. “When is it ever?”

Phaedra chuckled a little despite herself. “All right,” she said. “But I warned you.

“My father was a merchant. He started as a merchant, that is, but he did very well and became a financier. Everyone said he was a great man, and my parents expected me to live up to my name as a great man's daughter. They always said that I could do anything in life, go great places, whatever I wanted. But what they meant was that I'd be able to marry well.

“They taught me to read, and make dresses, and do sums, but it was only so that they could tell suitors that I was clever and learned. When I tried to talk about all the interesting things I'd read in my father's books, they were afraid that I was learning
too much
. And you know a part of me started to believe them?

“What if I was so smart that nobody wanted to marry me? The only reason they wanted to teach me was so that I could be a useful, accomplished wife to some nobleman or something.”

Hunter looked shocked. “My father was thinking about matching you up with my brother.”

“Kataras?” said Phaedra, looking pleased. “Gods, that would have made them happy. Anyway, I don't think my parents expected me to be anything other than a good wife. What else is there for a woman to be?”