The Plains of Kallanash (22 page)

She disapproved herself, if it came to that. She had never in her life ridden alone, there were always guards with her and other women, a group. But Tella had liked to ride alone, she reminded herself, she did it for years until…

Yes, and look how that ended, she thought. But she was not a galloper, like Tella, she rode steadily rather than fast, and it was not far. The stable-hand saluted as she trotted her horse out of the yard, watched from the shadows by the Karninghold Slave.

Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed the ride. It was pleasantly warm, for one thing, a rare enough event so far south, the skies clear with no threat of rain. There was the wind, of course, but there was always wind on the plains, she hardly noticed it. She was not nervous.

In some of her stories, there were brigands and outlaws hiding in bushes at the side of the road, and hapless travellers were robbed, or worse. But the inner Karnings were free of such risks. The nearer you were to the border, the more chance of encountering deserters from the battles or even the occasional Vahsi barbarian, brutal, savage men who would rape and kill without a second thought. Here, the greatest risk was from an escaped pig or an overturned hay wagon.

She passed the village, and one or two of the villagers working in their fields waved to her, recognising her horse. She rode on, and the further she went from the Karninghold, the more unprotected she felt. She couldn’t remember a time when she had ever been on her own away from home before, not once, and it made her feel vulnerable.

She felt almost as she had when Jonnor first came to her room and asked her to remove her nightgown – naked and exposed. She chided herself for her foolishness, and reminded herself again that Tella often rode alone like this, and she never came to harm, not until…

She was glad when the field the Slave had described came into view. It belonged to the village back down the road, and it was not really a field, being unfenced, but it and the woods behind were assigned for grazing animals and pigs. There were only a couple of goats visible today, tethered forlornly to stakes amidst the rough grass and clumps of bog reeds. Across the field the woods began, and she could see the outline of the dead oak tree towering above its neighbours. Beyond that she could make out the narrow pillar of a Godstower. She had never noticed it before, but then she had always ridden straight past this place in the past. Still, it seemed appropriate, given the nature of her journey.

She walked her horse carefully across the field, mindful of the uneven ground, and dismounted at the edge of the woods, loosely tethering him to a bush. Then she walked on through the trees. They were mostly scrubby bushes and spindly saplings here, and the ground was churned by pigs, muddy in places. She soon came into a stand of taller trees, and there across a small clearing was the oak tree, dead and leafless, one great branch sagging to the ground. Beneath it sat a man.

Whatever expectation Mia had formed of who she was to meet, this man was nothing like it. She had supposed it would be a Slave, or perhaps a builder. Instead she saw a nondescript man in crumpled weather-stained travelling clothes, like a journeyman craftsman. He was sitting, his back resting against the tree, so she couldn’t gauge his height, but he was slim, with a mass of dark curls and a mischievous smile. He couldn’t have been much older than her. He had no horse, and wore shoes rather than boots, and was gloved despite the warmth of the day. He was alone.

Something – some prickle of fear, perhaps – made her stop in the middle of the clearing. She was suddenly very aware that they were out of sight of the road here. And yet – the Slave had sent her to meet this man, so there could be no harm in it, could there?

The man smiled more broadly. “Come closer,” he said. “I will not bite.”

She took a few steps forward, then stopped again. “The Karninghold Slave said you had some information for me.”

“Is that what he said? Then it must be so. Come a bit nearer, so we can talk.”

Another two steps. “Do you know anything about the tunnels?”

He laughed outright then. “Oh, a little. A very little. Do you want to see them? I can arrange that.”

She was silent. There was something very wrong here.

Suddenly she was afraid. She half turned to leave. “I don’t think…”

“Stop!” he said, and his voice was so authoritative that she did. “Do you know who I am?”

He stood and began to walk towards her. The smile had vanished, but there was no anger on his face, rather he seemed filled with sadness.

“I – no, I don’t.”

“I am Cristo,” he said, and to her horror he began, finger by finger, to remove his gloves. She knew at once what she would see. He held his hands to her, palm outwards, displaying the intricate tattoos that marked him as one of Those who Serve the Gods.

“No!” she cried in terror, backing slowly away, but he matched her steps.

“You are honoured, Mia,” he said. “The Gods have chosen you.”

More than anything else, the use of her name without the honorific brought the reality home to her.

“No,” she said, more quietly now, although the blood was rushing in her head, and her legs felt weak. She tried not to panic, for surely this could not be happening. “I’m not ready to die. It’s not my time yet. You’ve made a mistake.”

“Would you defy the will of the Gods, Mia?”

“Why me? Why now? Why take me when I’m pregnant?”

“Pregnant?”

He frowned a little, and she felt a sudden surge of hope. It must be a mistake! Surely they would give her child a chance to live?

But it was dashed at once. “Well, that is a pity, but it cannot be helped. Now Mia, you have two choices here. You can be sensible and drink from this little vial here, and you will fall asleep and know nothing about it. Or…” And he grinned again, as if taunting her. “Or you can be difficult and I will have to deal with the matter myself, which is less pleasant for both of us. So which is it to be?”

He removed the stopper and held out the vial to her, and automatically she took it. For a frozen moment they stood an arm’s length apart, both waiting. He folded his arms and smiled again, one eyebrow raised in query.

Then she hurled the vial at him and ran.

She had only to get to her horse before he could catch her. Just a few seconds would see her mounted and free, and she would be away from him. She hadn’t thought beyond that, driven only by the burning need to get herself and her child away from this man who would smile as he watched her die.

So she ran.

She saw everything around her with astonishing clarity. She avoided the thorns of brambles that would catch at her clothes and slow her down. She swerved around the muddy patches that would suck at her feet and send her crashing to the ground. She leapt over fallen trees and ducked under low hanging branches. She ignored the crashing noises behind her. She came out into the open and raced for her horse. She grabbed the reins up and almost got one foot into the stirrup.

Almost.

Then he caught her and pulled her to the ground. She fought, of course. She fought as all mothers do for their child, fought with flailing arms and kicking legs, fought with astonishing strength for her life. But it was no use. Eventually he got her on the ground, straddled her and slapped her, hard. Then she felt his hand on her neck, something cold against her skin, a sharp stinging and the world went dark.

Hurst had no inkling of trouble. He and Bernast, with their Companions and a Hundred of Skirmishers, rode into the receiving courtyard in a big, noisy, relaxed group and dismounted without haste. Mia was not there to greet him, but perhaps she was away to one of the villages. It was only when Henissa and her Companions, all in tears, rushed across to him that he felt the first stab of fear.

His first thought was the baby
– she had lost the baby, perhaps. Maybe an illness. But he could not in his wildest imaginings have anticipated the news he received that day. Mia was gone, dead and burned already, while he was riding home at his leisure. He couldn’t take it in. Walst had to grab his arm to support him before he collapsed.

The Karninghold Slave was there with his smooth words of comfort. Mia had been chosen by the Gods. Such an honour. So few taken that way, and now three in the same family. Such a very great honour. Hurst barely heard him. It was only when the Slave murmured, “Such a mistake, riding alone in her condition…” that Hurst suddenly paid attention.

“Riding alone? What was she doing riding alone?”

“Her own choice, Most High. She could have gone south with Most High Henissa and the others, but she chose to ride north on her own.”

“Mia? No, she would never ride alone, what nonsense is this?”

“Nevertheless, on this occasion she did, Most High, with tragic consequences.”

“Henissa, did she tell you why?”

“No, no, she didn’t. Just that something had come up that she had to deal with.” She glanced quickly at the Slave, and then added, “We were all preparing to ride out together, but then she talked to the Most Humble and after that, she changed her mind.”

“What did you say to her?” Hurst said. They were much of a height, but the Slave seemed to shrink back a little, so it seemed as if Hurst were looming over him.

“Nothing of importance, I assure you, Most High. She had been
– a little troubled lately, and I asked her if she felt more herself, that’s all. Ladies get – somewhat fanciful when they are in a delicate condition, Most High.”

“Mia was the least fanciful person I ever met,” he said shortly. Then he burst into tears.

~~~

For several days Hurst shut himself away in the little room where he used to sleep. It was small, holding no more than a bed, a wardrobe, now empty, a couple of bookshelves, likewise empty, a table and a couple of chairs. Adjoining it was a water room. It was dusty and bare, but it had a door which could be locked and no memories of Mia. He came out for meals, picked at his food and retreated again.

One day at meat, Bernast said diffidently, “I don’t wish to disrupt your solitude, brother, but I think you should see Hemmond.”

“Hemmond?”

“One of the stable hands. He’s been trying to see you for days now. He says he knows something about Mia, about how she died.”

“What does it matter now?” said Hurst. “Can he bring her back? If he can do that, I’ll see him.”

But he realised that Hemmond might have been in the stable yard when Mia left on her fateful last journey, and curiosity got the better of him. Hemmond could not enter the high tower, so Hurst arranged to meet him in Gantor’s library, together with Walst, Trimon and Gantor himself. Hemmond began by telling him everything he had seen in the stable yard, which was very much what Hurst already knew – Mia had been preparing to ride with Henissa and a large group, had spoken to the Karninghold Slave and had then changed her mind and ridden off alone.

“Did she speak to the Slave first, or did he initiate it?” Gantor asked, and Hurst was grateful to have his friend’s clear-sighted intelligence beside him.

“Oh, it was him, Commander,” said Hemmond. “He called her across, and spoke to her in a very low voice, so no one would overhear. When she replied in her normal voice, he shushed her. And then she made an excuse to the others and rode north. Well, I was worried about her – in her condition and all – so I found myself a horse and rode after her.”

“And did you catch her up?” Hurst said, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“Not on the road, Most High Commander, I was quite a way behind. But I saw her horse tethered on the far side of a grazing field beside some woods, so I stopped. I wasn’t sure what to do. I couldn’t see Most High Mia anywhere, but I thought she must be in the woods somewhere, and – well, whatever she was doing there, it was a private matter, I didn’t want to intrude. Higher business, nothing to do with me. So I stepped off the road into some bushes, where I could see her horse, but she wouldn’t see me, and I waited. And then— then—” He stopped, distressed, but Hurst, in an agony of suspense, waved him to continue.

“Then she came running out of the trees, running full pelt for her horse. She tried to mount, but—” Again he stopped, his face ashen, rocking gently back and forth. Hurst couldn’t speak. They all waited for Hemmond to compose himself and continue.

“This man came running out after her, he caught her. She put up such a struggle, you wouldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t help, I was too far away, even if I’d shouted…” He put his hands over his mouth, close to tears. “And then he got her pinned down and – I don’t know what happened then, but he just jumped up and ran back into the woods. And – and she just lay there…”

He sobbed gently, and then with an effort, wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry, so sorry… Anyway, I rode across as fast as I could, and at first I thought she was just unconscious. She seemed
– so peaceful, so normal-looking, not like she was dead at all. But there was no pulse, no breathing. And I could see the mark on her neck, just an outline but it was there. So I knew. So then I went after this man, the man who’d killed her. I didn’t have a bow or sword, but I had a couple of good knives,” he said grimly. “I followed his trail through the woods.”

“He left a clear trail?” Walst asked.

“Yes, he wasn’t trying to hide, he was racing along making the most appalling racket. I had no trouble following him. Almost caught him too, but he was just disappearing inside when I got there.”

“Inside where?” Gantor said.

“The Godstower. There was a door open and he was just going through it, and then the door closed. And I couldn’t find it after, couldn’t find any way in at all, no handle, no keyhole. I went over every inch of that stone, and there was nothing.”

Hurst leapt up. “Can you find this place again?”

“Of course.”

“Well, let’s go.”

“It’s almost dark,” said Trimon.

“Then we’d better take torches.”

When they reached the field it was just about full dark, no more than a narrow band of light ribboning the horizon.

“That’s where she was
– over there,” said Hemmond sadly.

They rode across and dismounted, and Trimon lit a torch. There was nothing to see, just some horse droppings, and trampled grass where many feet had stood around while her body was lifted.

Hemmond led them on into the woods. Even in the dark with a single guttering torch, the trail was plain to see, where the killer had raced oblivious through undergrowth and Hemmond had chased him on horseback.

And so they came to the Godstower, standing black and forbidding in the middle of the forest. There were hundreds of such structures scattered all over the plain, beside villages or surrounded by bog or deep in forests, with no visible way in and no obvious purpose, each just a single tower of stone, six sided, with open windows two or three stories above the ground. No one seemed to use them or to know why they had been built, so the farmers assumed they were for some higher purpose and called them Godstowers.

Hemmond showed them exactly where the door had been, its approximate height and width, but although they could see a couple of scuff marks on the ground just as if a door had indeed been opened there, they could find no sign of an opening. For an hour or more they scraped at the stone with knives and fingernails, trying to find the gap that must surely be there, but without success. Eventually they hurled themselves onto the ground in disgust, and, as Skirmishers do, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and slept.

Not Hurst, though. He sat, huddled in his cloak at the base of the tower, thinking. His mind had cleared and his grief was replaced with boiling anger. For all the Slave’s platitudes, this was not the work of the Gods. Mia had been killed by a man, a very obviously human man, who had chased her and wrestled her to the ground as she fled for her life, and then killed her.

Or at least, she had seemed to be dead. What was it Hemmond had said?
‘So normal-looking’
. And Mia had said something similar of Tella and Jonnor:
‘You could see they both died by the Gods’ grace – look how peaceful they were in death. They didn’t look dead at all, it was just as if they were asleep. The Gods kept them perfect, just as they were in life.’

Hurst got up after a while to walk around and stretch his bad leg, which disliked holding a fixed position for too long. To his surprise, Hemmond got up and stood with him.

“Not asleep?” Hurst said.

“At my age, sleeping on the ground isn’t a great idea,” Hemmond said. “Bad for the joints. Commander Sir, I wanted to say…” Then he stopped, glancing at Hurst uncertainly.

“You may speak freely, Hemmond.”

“I hope I did the right thing, Sir, not telling this to anyone else, just you. I didn’t want to stir up trouble, and it wasn’t going to help poor Most High Mia.”

“It was absolutely the right thing. Tell me, Hemmond, you’ve been in battle, haven’t you?”

“Of course, Sir. With your father, many times, and then after I joined you, just the once, before we moved to less exciting parts. Always hoped I’d live long enough to see you at the border on your own account, Sir, if I may say so.”

“I hoped that, too, although it seems less important now. But you must have seen a few dead on the field.”

“Some, yes. More than I wanted to see.”

“And you saw Mia as she lay dead.” Hemmond was silent, not sure where Hurst was leading him. “You said she looked different.”

“Yes, not like she was dead at all. The dead
– their skin goes a funny colour, somehow, grey and lifeless. But she wasn’t like that.”

Hurst smiled.

The moon came up not long after midnight, and although it was past full there was more than enough light for them to douse the torches and examine the tower properly. But still no sign of a door could be found.

“Right,” Hurst said. “So how are we going to get into these tunnels
– explosives? Or should I just hold a knife to the Slave’s throat and get him to open up the funeral tower for us?”

Trimon and Walst exchanged glances, but Gantor laughed. “I’ll hold the bugger down while you torture him, if you like. Or should we take turns?”

Hemmond looked shocked.

“I hate to dampen your enthusiasm,” Walst said, “but is there really any point?”

“In torturing the Slave?” Gantor said. “It would be amusing, don’t you think?”

“In getting into the tunnels. I enjoy a good explosion as much as the next man, but what could possibly be achieved by it? Hurst, Mia’s dead, her killer is long gone and all this grubbing about for tunnels isn’t going to bring her back.”

“Now that,” he said smugly, “is where you’re wrong.”

They argued about it, of course, for how could it be possible? But he was absolutely convinced of it. Mia was not dead, and had not been incinerated in the funeral tower
; instead someone had come and led her and the Companions down into the tunnels. Five people, that was what she had seen after Tella’s death, and five people they had both seen after Jonnor’s. A Karningholder, three Companions and – someone else. Five people. And the warm skin, pale but still showing the tinge of life. In vain Gantor pointed out that Mia had no pulse, had stopped breathing.

“Some kind of poison,” Hurst shrugged. “There are all kinds of poisons, including some that give the appearance of death. But they wear off. Not every poison is lethal. Come on, you must remember the Siege of Hellimoor
– they all took something or other and looked so convincingly dead that the enemy opened the gates and took them inside for proper funeral rites. Then they woke up in the night, slaughtered the priests standing vigil for them and opened the gates. Famous victory, that was, even if it was a bit of a cheat.”

Hurst was determined, and they recognised that he was not going to be deterred.

“Look,” said Gantor to the others, “it’s better than him skulking in that room of his all the time. And he does have a point about the poison at Hellimoor.”

“Right then, that’s agreed,” said Hurst. “Tunnels
– ideas, anyone? Shall we just blow up the tower?”

Walst sighed. “It would be fun… but I think we could get in through those windows, with a grappling hook and ropes. Trimon could, anyway. Then he could open the door from the inside.”

~~~

They rode back for the necessary equipment shortly after dawn. None of them had slept much, and Hurst not at all, but after the misery of the last few days they were all energised.

“What shall we take in the way of weaponry?” Trimon asked.