The Plains of Kallanash (17 page)

“Perhaps if I talked to him…?”

But even as she spoke, he saw the realisation in her face. Jonnor would never agree.

“I’ve asked, I’ve tried to make him see…” Hurst stopped.

Jonnor enjoyed his power
; that was the truth of it. As lead husband, he had the final word, and even though the law was on their side, in reality any arrangement could only be reached by mutual agreement. Hurst could see that Mia understood the problem.

“Besides, it’s too late now,” he went on. “I don’t think there’s any way we could reach an acceptable arrangement. I’m sorry, Mia, truly I am, I would not have had things turn out this way for the world, but he left me no choice.”

“There is always a choice.” Her voice was so low he could barely hear her.

“I
felt
there was no choice. And this way… in the end, when the dust settles, it will be better, you’ll see. We’ll get a new pair, bring us up to four again. I have a younger brother…”

She lifted her head sharply to stare at him. “Oh, you’ve got it all planned out, have you?”

“I’ve thought about it, of course. We have to think about the future, Mia.” He was aware he was pleading with her. He so badly wanted her to see the positive side to it.

“I don’t want him to die,” she whispered.

“Well, let’s be optimistic then, maybe it will be me who dies.”

“I don’t want
either
of you to die!” she said in a spurt of anger, and with that she swirled out of the room.

~~~

The next day Jonnor’s blue arrows arrived, and Hurst received his poison. As he emerged from the Slave’s meeting room, vial in hand, Gantor was waiting.

“I’ll take that,” he said, holding out his hand. “Don’t want you doing anything stupid on impulse. If you decide to do this, you’ll have to convince me you mean it first.”

Tamely Hurst handed it over. “It has to be kept locked away.”

“I have a lockable chest, don’t worry.”

There were two tense days when Jonnor and Hurst were both at the Karninghold. Neither Jonnor nor any of his Companions were expert marksmen, but any of them could have a lucky shot, so Hurst was not at all relaxed about it.

Whenever he was out in the open, he felt horribly exposed. Gantor and Walst went everywhere with him, one either side, all three of them constantly checking where Jonnor and his Companions were, and whether they carried bows. But there was no point in hiding away, for sooner or later the arrows would fly.

The first arrived late on the second day, fired by Jonnor himself, which missed Hurst by a wide margin and instead hit a swordsman in mid-swing on the far side of the training grounds. And only moments later, while everyone was distracted by that, the second was fired from a different direction. It passed close to Gantor’s head, eventually impaling itself harmlessly in a wooden door.

Hurst started to laugh, more from tension than amusement, but although he, Gantor and Walst scanned the crowds thronging the training grounds, the third arrow failed to appear, and Jonnor and his Companions had disappeared.

After that, Hurst was away at the lines for more than a week. He felt reasonably safe there. It was not impossible for Jonnor to turn up and have a shot at him during the skirmish, but it was much harder to get a clear shot in the midst of a melee. Besides, they couldn’t appear at the lines without him knowing about it. So he felt able to relax a little.

But as soon as he arrived back at the Karninghold, the instant he dismounted, he heard the distinctive whine of an arrow. He
didn’t see it, but there was a dull thud as something thwacked into the horse very close to his head. He heard the animal whinny in alarm, then Gantor’s voice: “What the Vortices?”

Then his legs gave way and the world went dark.

Mia felt as if she had stepped into an unending nightmare. Just when it seemed the three of them had reached a new understanding, the world had fallen apart. Everything was changing, all the certainties of her life swept away.

The only surety now was that one or other of her husbands would die and she could find no comfort in either outcome. Jonnor had filled her dreams for ten years, and, even though the reality had not quite matched her hopes, she trembled at the prospect of his death. How could she bear it?

Yet the prospect of Hurst’s death was no better. He was her staunchest friend and supporter, always on her side, no matter what, and now she knew the reason – all these years, he had secretly loved her! Saying nothing, doing nothing, never more than a friend and yet the whole time he had harboured a passion for her. Even though it had brought them all to the blue arrows, still she saw the romantic element in it. She looked at him with new eyes.

Until recently, she had never compared her two husbands, never looked beneath the surface of either, but now she understood them both better. The man she had loved for so long had ignored her, mistreated her and hit her, and their new closer relationship could not change that. The one she had taken for granted had respected and loved her. It was sobering to realise how little she had known them.

She spent hours sitting on the window seat in her bedroom, a book lying disregarded on her lap, gazing out at the funeral tower beyond the walls. She couldn’t settle to her everyday chores, so she hid away. There was no trace of Tella here now, her gowns and scarves sent away, her wardrobes and mirrors packed up in the cellars. The last hint of her perfume had faded to nothing. All that was left of her was the exquisite golden dragon and a few pieces of jewelry, hidden in a drawer. And memories. Those would never fade.

If only Tella hadn’t died. Since then, everything had come crashing down around her, and the worst was yet to come. Mia’s fears weighed her down, as if she were buried under a mountain of rocks, deep underground, with the closeness, the dark stifling her, clutching at her throat so that she couldn’t breathe. Whichever of her husbands died, how could she carry on as if nothing had happened? Her marriage, her life had shattered into a thousand pieces and she wasn’t sure it could be mended.

As always when she felt distressed, she turned to the Slaves for support. The temple was her place of refuge, where she could meditate and clear her mind, while the acolytes chanted and incense filled the air with heady scents, a different one for each hour of the day. She found herself drawn there often, usually after the stillness, and on days when the men were all on the training grounds and she could settle to nothing in dread of hearing the death alarm.

Sometimes there were groups there, families come in from their village to celebrate a birth or mourn a death, or to make offerings to the Slaves for a request to the Gods for help. Sometimes one or two of the traders who brought fresh food to the Karninghold each day would sit in the temple for a while before beginning the return journey. But mostly it was quiet, the acolytes circling and chanting, a scattered handful of the kitchen workers, heads bowed, and the Silent Guards in their gold armour, immobile and watchful.

Quite often the Karninghold Slave would appear while she was there. He would sit in the half-light, his hood shading his face, but his eyes glittered whenever she glanced his way, and she suspected he was watching her. One afternoon, not long after Hurst had received his arrows, the Slave met her at the door as she rose to leave, a little unsteadily for the incense was heady.

“Would you perhaps come to the meeting room, Most High?”

“Of course, Most Humble.”

The Slaves’ meeting room was large and airy, its white-painted walls and sparse wooden furniture, also white, making it seem empty. Mia’s slippers shushed on the tiled floor. There was a table spread with papers against one wall, and some hooks with a few books hanging on another. In the centre was a carved wooden bench with a strip of carpet for padding surrounded by half rings of wooden boxes for seats, where the acolytes received their instruction.

The Slave waved her to the bench and hung his gown on a peg by the wall before joining her. His simple tunic and trousers made him look quite ordinary, although with his bald head and large bony nose, he was distressingly like a cadaver. He had deep set eyes under hooded lids, which stared unwinking at Mia.

“You are distressed, Most High. It is natural, of course, but perhaps it might help if we talk about it.”

“If you think it best, Most Humble.”

“I wondered, Most High, if you have thought at all about the possible
outcomes
to this tragic situation?”

“I… try not to,” she whispered.

“Indeed, that is understandable. But you might perhaps nurture hopes? It might seem to you that, on balance, one outcome might be
preferable
? Have you thought along those lines at all?”

“You mean…?” For a moment she was shocked. Could he really be asking which of the two she wanted to survive? “No, I have not. It seems to me that all possible outcomes are bad.”

“Indeed, indeed, Most High. It is most distressing. A little wine, perhaps?”

He fetched her a glass, and she sipped it obediently. He watched her, eyes glittering, face impassive, his bony fingers fiddling with his rings, one which bore the same three Karning stones as her torc, and another with a single large amber stone.

“What you might not have
understood
, Most High, is that the Gods consider such cases very
carefully
. The outcome is not pre-ordained, you know. It depends to some extent on chance, but it depends on other considerations, too. Such as the best
arrangement
for the future. For
all
parties, if you understand me. So once the eyes of the Gods are drawn to the matter, they will make the best decision for everyone, so far as they can be aware of all the circumstances. Now as to that, we can help, in our humble way. We can ensure that they are fully aware of all the
implications
of their decision, that they understand the consequences for all parties with an interest. You might like to ponder the idea.”

Mia frowned, unsure what he was suggesting. It almost sounded as if he would ask the Gods to decide on the basis of her personal preference, but that could hardly be so. Such matters were decided for higher and more abstruse reasons than her feelings, surely?

“The Gods have our ultimate happiness in mind, Most High,” the Slave said unctuously.

That took her breath away. “If the Gods had wished
me
to be happy, Most Humble, they would have kept my sister alive and spared all of us this nightmare.”

~~~

Jonnor had been hit twice by Hurst’s arrows, but survived. Then he got his own arrows, and two of those were used up, and still both Mia’s husbands lived. Yet two more arrows remained, one on each side, and there could be no relief from the worry until the matter was resolved one way or the other.

The constant tension affected everyone in the Karninghold. The children were clinging and fretful, the adults were short-tempered. Hurst’s trip to the lines gave everyone a respite, and to Mia’s relief Jonnor began to come to her room again, a practice he had abandoned during the early days of the crisis.

While Hurst was away, Gantor’s oldest brother and his wife arrived. They had visited before, for as scholars of high standing they had the freedom to travel where they wished. Drantior and Missandra were almost fifty, the one tall and thin with a little pot belly, much as Gantor would have been without constant training to build his muscles, and the other small and round like a dumpling.

Mia greeted them with pleasure, for any distraction was welcome, but it seemed a curious time to visit. Usually they came when Gantor had a long spell away from the lines. But perhaps they had a professional interest in the blue arrows procedure. Or, more morbidly, perhaps they were there in case Hurst died and Gantor was also consigned to the flames.

They waited patiently for Gantor to return from the lines, mixing with equal ease with Mia and her Companions, with the Slaves and with the servants. They loved to spend time with the children, too, for they had none of their own, fondly guessing which of them might possibly have been sired by Gantor, and wondering where baby Jinnia got her white-blonde hair when her parents were both so dark. Only the guards and Skirmishers made them uncomfortable.

The day Hurst, Gantor, Trimon and Walst were scheduled to return with their three Hundreds, Mia was very much on edge. After several days safe in the knowledge that neither Jonnor nor Hurst was at risk, she knew the deadly duel would now be resumed. She could not have guessed quite how soon that would happen.

When the arrival alarm sounded, she went to the receiving yard with her Companions, the servants and guards, to await the procession. Jonnor should have been there too, but his absence was hardly a surprise. The lines of horses trotted in through the gates in a cloud of dust and circled round the yard, the leaders drawing to a halt close to the steps where she stood. Hurst smiled at her, dismounted and turned to make some adjustment to the reins. Then he turned to face her again.

He was just about to speak when the arrow flew and thumped into the horse, making it startle. To her astonishment he just crumpled and fell. He was mere feet away from her, lying immobile on the ground.

For an instant she couldn’t understand, confused by the horse, which skittered about, snorting. Gantor was shouting something, trying to grab the horse, people rushed forward to help, others were telling everyone to stay clear. There was shouting, noise, confusion, a whirl of people and animals.

In the middle of it, Hurst lay as if dead and
icy fingers of fear gripped her. Was this it, the end she dreaded? Was it Hurst she would lose?

She started to rush to his side when several Slaves appeared and began moving everyone back. Where had they all come from, she wondered? It was not usual for so many to receive a returning Karningholder.

A clear space expanded around Hurst and then it was obvious what had happened; not far away was the arrow, lying on the ground, shaft and feathers both a deep blue.

Mia stood immobile, watching it all happen as if in a dream. More Slaves appeared, gave orders, strode about with arms waving. Horses were led away to the stables. People drifted back to their chores. Gradually the yard cleared until only a few small knots of spectators remained.

Two Slaves knelt down beside Hurst, loosening his clothes, checking him. They looked at each other across his corpse-like form and one gave the tiniest shake of his head. Fear clutched at her.

But one of the Healing Slaves came over to her. “He is well,” she said. “His breathing is normal, his colour is good. We must wait, now.”

Hurst was lying in the sun, so when they deemed that the miasma had dispersed and it was safe, the Slaves allowed Gantor and Walst to carry him to a stone bench set in a shaded alcove nearby. It was not permitted to take him indoors, it seemed, but this was acceptable. Someone – Morsha perhaps – brought out a cushion for his head, and they waited.

Mia knelt on the ground beside him, stroking his hair and face, tears cascading unheeded down her cheeks. His weather-worn skin was rough under her fingers, his chin prickly with stubble. As she watched over him, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even, she was reminded of the mornings she had woken beside him in his bed. With all his lack of beauty or symmetry, his familiar face was so dear to her. She could not bear to think of him dying. She had never known such exquisite agony as she waited, helpless.

At some point she became aware that Jonnor was there. When she turned to look at him through her tears, his face was pale, anxious, as if Hurst were suffering from some unexpected illness rather than a deliberate attempt to kill him. Then he saw her watching him and his face closed. He turned abruptly and, pushing people aside, vanished through the circle of spectators.

Time passed, and still she wept over Hurst’s immobile form. The sun began to sink in the sky and the shadows lengthened, chilling her to the bone, but she never moved. People came and went behind her, she heard occasional whispers, and once or twice the Healing Slave came to check on Hurst, and then went away again. No one spoke to her.

Then a tiny cough, an intake of breath and his head moved. A sudden spasm of fear – was this the end? Then he opened his eyes and gazed at her. A little smile twitched.

“Mia…” he murmured.

The Healing Slave rushed over. “Well, the Gods have decided to spare you, Most High,” she said, and beamed at Mia. “They are merciful today.”

“Kind of them,” said Hurst, his voice no more than a dry croak.

Gantor and Walst helped Hurst inside one of the healing rooms, while Mia fetched water for him and the Slave chased everyone else out. It was cool inside, despite a small brazier in one corner, and Mia shivered again and pulled her scarf closer round her head. She was stiff from sitting in one position for so long, muscles sore, and her head ached from crying.

“Are you all right?” Hurst said.

“I’m supposed to ask
you
that question,” she said, laughing from relief. “How do you feel?”