The Last Stormlord (54 page)

“Are you all right, m’lord?” Elmar asked, after he had gamely struggled into Shale’s Reduner clothes. The breeches were far too small.

Shale shot a quick look at the rainlord. Elmar’s words had made him realise just how weak Kaneth was.

“Nothing that a week or two’s rest won’t cure,” the rainlord said with a wan smile and a hint of dry humour. “Moving water out of men is a bloody tiring business.” He looked at Shale. “Remember, it’s much easier just to disable someone by withdrawing the water from their eyes than to do it to the whole body. Takes less out of you. Now, can you try to look like a guardsman instead of a potter’s boy hunched over his wheel? Shoulders back, that’s it. I am going to make a scene at the gate so everyone looks at me, not you. Understand?”

“Yes, lord.”

There was still no hint of Terelle’s water in his consciousness. Wherever she was, it was not close by. Kaneth was right. She would have gone to Level Ten. She was safe. And then he remembered how difficult it might be for Terelle to get up to the tenth, with all the reeves and enforcers on the lookout for the waterless, and he despaired all over again.

Kaneth turned and looked once more at the briquette traders. “If you are wise, you didn’t see a thing,” he called out to them. He dug into his pouch, extracted a handful of tokens and launched them into the air so that they scattered over the piles of briquettes.

“That should give them something else to think about for a while,” he muttered as they headed for the city’s southern wall once more.

He stumbled again as they reached the gate, and this time it was one of the city guards who grabbed him by the elbow. He was berated for his trouble, as Kaneth indignantly launched into a tale of how he had been assaulted in the bazaar by a pack of waterless Gibbermen and would not have escaped with his life if not for his valiant Breccian armsmen. Glowering, he jabbed a finger into the guard’s chest, demanding to know what sort of law they had in Scarcleft. How was an attack on a visiting rainlord even possible? Especially one sent by the Cloudmaster of the Quartern! It was outrageous!

Shale skulked behind Elmar’s bulk, his head lowered. Every now and then, he glanced behind. There was no sign of pursuit. By the time Kaneth had finished with the Scarcleft gate guards, they were only too grateful to see the rainlord and his party pass on through.

Shale took one last despairing look over his shoulder as they left the city.
I’m sorry, Terelle
, he thought.
I’m so, so sorry. Everything happened so fast.

He gulped, trying to hold back the horror inside him. Please let her not be dead, too. Not Terelle.

Scarpen Quarter

Scarcleft City

Arta Amethyst’s house, Level 10

Nealrith sipped the hot tea served in a stylish glass with a silver handle. Resin plant seeds floated on top, a Gibber product much sought after in the Scarpen.

In spite of Amethyst’s hospitality, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He did not feel at ease in Scarcleft. Old fears stirred deep within; Taquar Sardonyx unsettled him. He always had. It dated back to their boyhood, to the odd times when Taquar had sought a subtle revenge of one kind or another, usually in answer to a perceived slight. He had been good at that, planning with cold vindictiveness to achieve a rival’s humiliation.

In their adult years, Taquar had given him less reason to worry; he’d not even appeared to resent Nealrith’s marriage to Laisa, the woman he had once courted himself. He’d given his congratulations with an amused smile, remarking that he thought them entirely well suited. But Nealrith had just walked into the city past the remains of men and women nailed—still alive—to the city gates for offences concerning water. He was glad he had four armed men wearing the Breccia Hall monogram waiting for him in the anteroom.

Nonetheless, he found it hard to believe that any rainlord, even Taquar, would hide the presence of a potential stormlord from the only man who could train him properly: his father, Granthon. He had not fully believed the message his mother had received from Amethyst. There must, he decided, be some kind of rational explanation. He and Ethelva had talked it over with Kaneth, and they had all decided not to trouble Granthon with the story until they’d had time to investigate. His father was in no condition to have his hopes raised and dashed once again.

Yes, Nealrith had believed that Taquar had been to blame—by his lack of effective leadership—for the deaths of the two young rainlords in the desert decades ago, but he had never thought him capable of
murder
. And yet here was Amethyst telling him a story of collusion with Reduner killers, of the destruction of a whole settle, of betrayal so great it was beyond horror.

He had always disliked Taquar, yes, but this was something else. This was treason of the highest order. Moreover, it was
stupid
. And Taquar was not stupid.

He took another sip of tea and asked carefully, “Do you think Taquar capable of these things?” In the distance, he heard the gate bell ring and suppressed an urge to get up and see if Kaneth was back at last.

“I do, and I know him better than most. I was his mistress for ten years.”

Nealrith cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I did hear that, yes. And the boy? Is he honest?”

“I believe so. And don’t think of him as a boy, Highlord. Shale is beyond childhood. Anyway, he’s not all that young in years, either. Eighteen, possibly. A little socially inept—because of his history, perhaps—but surprisingly well educated, self-contained, capable of mature thought and analysis. He doesn’t strike me as particularly imaginative, yet his tale would have required great imagination if it wasn’t true. He described the details of rainlord training, for example, just as I have told you. Were those accurate?”

He nodded reluctantly. “And he saw the man who destroyed his settle speaking with Taquar?”

“So he says. Davim, from Dune Watergatherer.” She stopped as Jomat came to the door. “Yes?”

“Madam, a visitor.”

“I told you we were not to be disturbed.”

“Not even by me, my dear?” Taquar stepped around Jomat’s bulk and closed the door in the steward’s face. “Why, I’ll be waterless! Nealrith. Such an
unexpected
pleasure to see you here. What is it that brings you to Scarcleft? And unannounced, too. That’s a breach of protocol, I believe. A highlord’s visit to another city should always be preceded by a request for an invitation, is that not so?”

Nealrith curbed his anger. “I am not here in any official capacity, Taquar. I merely bring a request from my mother for Arta Amethyst to dance for her in Breccia City.”

“That’s carrying the job of dutiful son to extremes, is it not?”

“I was on my way to Pediment on the Cloudmaster’s business, as it happens.”

“I hope this was not an urgent request on the part of Lady Ethelva. Amethyst has a full schedule for the next several weeks, I believe.”

The dancer had stood up as soon as Taquar had entered the room. Now, pale faced, she said woodenly, “Not to my knowledge.”

Taquar raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Rebellion, my dear?” Then he looked over at Nealrith, and the smile disappeared. “Leave my city, Rith. Now. You are not welcome here.”

Nealrith gritted his teeth, even more enraged. “As you wish,” he said tightly and rose to his feet. He stooped to pick up his water skin. “Oh, one other thing. There’s a whisper on the wind about a young water sensitive with potential right here in Scarcleft. Perhaps it would be a good idea if I took him back to Breccia City with me.”

“But you just told me you are on your way to Pediment. Anyway, you should not listen to rumours. There is a half-mad boy who has been living in the tunnel and stealing our water, but he is no water sensitive. Merely sandcrazy and highly imaginative. He has been spreading an imbecilic story far and wide about how I killed his family, kidnapped him, held him prisoner, all so that I could prevent the Quartern from having another stormlord. Now does that sound likely? Watergiver only knows why that would be an aim of mine. I am not suicidal. I like to have water in my dayjar, too, and it is clear your father is unable to make that a certainty.” He looked Nealrith straight in the eye. “I assure you that looking for the lad will be a waste of your time.”

Nealrith hesitated, wrestling with his own doubt as he tried to keep his voice even and confident. “Oh? You have examined him yourself?”

“Of course not. I leave that sort of thing up to the people I employ. After all, I already know his story to be a midden heap of untruths, don’t I?” Taquar smiled blandly. “Jomat, show the rainlord out, please.”

Amethyst made a choking noise, and they both looked at her.

“My dear, you do not sound well, and you are exceptionally pale,” Taquar said. “Why do you not rest?”

“I wish to accompany Highlord Nealrith to Breccia City,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Lady Ethelva has asked for me.”

“And I say you will not go.”

Nealrith interrupted to say, “Taquar, you can hardly stop her.”

“Of course I can. This is my city, and all I have to do is forbid the guards at the gates to allow her through.”

Nealrith paused, looking from one to the other, his frustration at his situation warring with his idea of what was legal and proper for a man in his position. Taquar was still smiling affably; Amethyst was as white as sun-bleached salt.

“Don’t leave me,” she said to Nealrith. The despair in her eyes pleaded.

“I have twenty men out in the street,” Taquar said, staring right at Nealrith. “And you have
no
jurisdiction here. Even Granthon cannot command me in any matters except those that pertain to external water supply or to the security of the Quartern, or other matters that concern more than just this city. I should not have to tell you that.”

Oh Sunlord
, Nealrith thought, his stomach churning as he heard the hidden message and its mockery.
This Shale Flint is telling the truth. But even if we find him, how will we ever prove it? And if we prove it, what will we ever be able to do about it?
“I would advise you to reconsider,” he said finally. “I will send a message to the Cloudmaster. I feel certain that he would be profoundly upset if anything were to prevent the arta’s arrival there within, let’s say, ten days.”

Amethyst gave a sound that could have been a sob and turned her face away.

Taquar inclined his head. “I will take the Cloudmaster’s emotional state into consideration. Now be so good as to leave, and take your guards with you. I repeat: you are not welcome in Scarcleft. My men will escort you all to the city gates.”

Nealrith turned on his heel and left the room. His own guards fell in behind him, but he scarcely noticed. He was still seeing the blank horror on Amethyst’s face.

Terelle fled, the terror behind propelling her forward with blind dedication—and speed. She had no destination in mind, no plan beyond escaping the guard. That horrible man’s order still rang in her ears.
Kill her
. Not “Kill her if she runs” or “Kill her if she doesn’t cooperate,” but simply “Kill her.” She didn’t know who he was, but he could command the enforcers, and his callous indifference made her feet fly. There was no alternative. If she lost this race, then she died.

She tore down the stairs three at a time, swung around the corner at the bottom and hurtled into the main thoroughfare. There were people there—too many. She was forced to slow, to push her way on, feeling all the while the prickling between her shoulders as if a blade was about to strike. She guessed her eyes reflected her fear, because people stared at her. She expected someone to stop her, to seize her, to hand her over to the guard. But, unlike Shale, there was no price on her head, and instead of hindering her, several of the level’s less reputable citizens took it upon themselves to delay her pursuer. A youth carrying a bundle of bab palm fronds swung around, seemingly by accident, so that the stalks whacked the guard behind his knees. He crashed with a thud. Immediately after he regained his feet and resumed the chase, Ba-ba came out of nowhere pushing a wheelbarrow full of sinucca leaves into his path. By the time he had scrambled up again, Terelle was out of sight.

She continued on, terrified. Sick with worry for Shale. As she skirted the city’s base at a run, she kept remembering her last glimpse of the chaos in Russet’s room. There had been blood everywhere. And dead people. And blind people clutching their eyes. Shale had been in the middle of it all, trying to get to her. And he wasn’t a warrior! He had no idea how to use the scimitar he wore. Blighted eyes, he hadn’t even pulled it out of its scabbard! She bit her lip, scaring herself just thinking about it.

She ran out of breath and slowed to a walk. She looked back over her shoulder. There was no disturbance behind, nothing that indicated she was still being chased.

Now what?
she asked herself. She considered warning Russet, but had no idea where he had gone. No, best she get to Amethyst’s. Highlord Nealrith was there, and he could protect her. Besides, that was her only chance of meeting up with Shale again. Anyway, the arta and the Breccian highlord needed to be warned about the attack on Kaneth.

She hurried uplevel as quickly as she could without drawing too much attention to herself. It wasn’t easy: reeve representatives were more alert than ever, looking out for lowlevellers who had no reason to come uplevel. She was stopped several times and produced Russet’s uplevel pass. Because she was neatly dressed and well spoken, she succeeded where other lowlevellers might have failed.