The Plains of Kallanash (34 page)

“Yield!” he shouted, just in case anyone was in doubt of the situation.

For a long moment, the two men glared at each other, chests heaving. Then Bulraney raised his hands in submission. Hurst nodded his acknowledgement, and tossing shield and sword aside in disgust, turned and strode away.

He had not gone many steps before he realised it was not over. He felt, rather than saw, what was happening
– some slight movement in the crowd, eyes turning in horror back to Bulraney, an audible intake of breath. He whipped round to see Bulraney bearing down on him, sword in hand again. This time Hurst had no sword, no shield, no defences. He was not near enough to the ring of spectators to find help, or to hide in the crowd. He was out of options. In desperation he reached for his knives. They were standard issue Skirmisher daggers, but designed as much to be thrown as used for stabbing. He had time to get one into each hand. He had no hope of injuring Bulraney, fully armoured as he was, but he had to slow him down at the very least to give himself time to grab a sword again. So he aimed squarely for the head, forcing Bulraney to duck, and perhaps breaking his momentum. He fired them off without a pause, first one then the other, and then turned and ran for the closest man holding a sword, grabbed it from his astonished hands and swung round, prepared to fight for his life all over again.

There was no need. One of the knives had, by some miracle, caught Bulraney on the side of the neck. Even as Hurst watched, he dropped slowly to the ground, twitched a few times and was still. It didn’t need the rapidly spreading pool of blood to tell the tale. Bulraney was dead.

Mia woke to see Dethin lying beside her, his eyes on her face.

“Good morning,” he said, and then he smiled. She was surprised to see how much younger and more approachable he looked so, but his eyes crinkled at the corners in a way which reminded her distressingly of Hurst. For an instant she felt her loss like a physical pain.

“Not up and about yet?” she asked, smiling weakly. “Is it still early?” But the sun was well above the horizon, she could tell by the shadows.

“I’m taking a day off,” he said. “I thought you might like to go for a ride.”

“Oh
yes
,” she breathed. “Yes,
please!
”

She dressed quickly in trousers and a tunic with split sides, and the more solid of her two pairs of boots. It lifted her spirits beyond all measure to have the prospect of a little freedom from the compound for a few hours, and the chance to wear sensible clothes again was by no means the least of it.

Dethin eyed her with interest as they descended the stairs to the canteen.

“Where did you find that outfit?”

“In the basement. I had to make some adjustments.”

“It fits you nicely, and I like that longer tunic. You’re clever with a needle. If you have more like that, I don’t have any objection to you wearing them more often, if you want to, but… you may get some comments. It’s not usual here, most of the women wear skirts. It’s only out at Supplies that they prefer trousers.”

“Well, they’re more practical, I suppose,” she said, a bit puzzled.

“It’s not that
– well, not
just
that,” he said, and stopped abruptly on a half landing. “At Supplies, the women have to do a lot of the work
and
provide the usual services to the men. Wearing a gown is seen as an invitation, so they tend to wear trousers most of the time.”

He turned and continued down the stairs, but she followed more slowly, somewhat unsettled. She knew little about Supplies, for few people talked about it, but there were rumours and hearsay about how unruly it was. For men and women alike, it was a serious punishment to be sent there.

They had a quick meal in the almost deserted canteen, and then went straight to the stables. Two men sweeping dropped their brooms and leapt to saddle the horses for them.

“Just us?” she said, realising that his usual entourage was not accompanying them. Was that unusual? The two stable hands seemed surprised, she thought, as she caught them exchanging glances.

“This is a pleasure ride,” he said. “Nothing formal.” But his inscrutable mask was back, and she wondered if she’d said the wrong thing.

They left by the east gate and headed directly into the sun. On either side two small hunting paths disappeared into the long grass, but ahead the track was broad and straight, rutted by cartwheels and churned by hooves. It was dry and hard today, and she rode with care, trying to avoid the most uneven patches. Dethin had soon left her behind. Eventually he stopped and she caught up with him, a little breathless.

“Sorry,” was all he said, and after that he rode more slowly, or, when he forgot and pulled ahead anyway, he noticed sooner and waited for her.

They stopped late in the morning by a patch of straggly bushes to relieve themselves and drink from their flasks, but then they rode on, and Mia began to wonder if they were going somewhere in particular. Twice they passed a Godstower not far away, marking the location of the tunnel below.

“Do these tunnels run all the way to the Crested Mountains?” she asked when they were walking the horses to rest them.

“No, only a few miles more from here. But they’re still building them.”

“They? Your people or theirs?”

“Theirs. We have access to the tunnel around Sixth Section and Supplies, but they have everything else. During the winter quiet, they close off the whole tunnel, and that’s when their people go to and fro, taking materials out to the far end of the tunnels.”

“Who builds the towers, then?”

“They do. They’re building the one beyond Supplies at the moment.”

“So whenever they secure a new Karning, they move you back and there’s another tower ready to move into?”

“Yes. It’s a dance, that’s all, but they’re playing the music. Although sometimes they change the tune. Three years ago they joined forces on the western side and completely wiped out Western. Obliterated it. Six, seven hundred fighting men killed, and who knows how many others. Women, kitchen workers, stable hands…”

Mia’s eyes widened. That was the famous victory that Hurst boasted about, when his father decisively defeated the Vahsi and brought peace to the west. Not quite so glorious from this side of the walls. Hundreds killed, and all of them Karningers just like the Skirmishers they fought. A dance, indeed, but who exactly called the steps and played the music?

“I didn’t realise,” she said quietly.

“They can do that anytime they want, and we have no answer. They’re better equipped, better organised, better trained. We get a few Skirmishers here, but they’re usually not very good. Their rejects, I think. We manage when we only have to fight one Karning at a time, but when they get together they’re unbeatable.”

“So why don’t they do that more often?”

“I’ve often wondered that myself.” And he remounted and kicked his horse into a canter.

As they went further east, the flat landscape began to be dotted with cayshorn islands. Cayshorn trees had large protruding roots near the trunk, and when one managed to become established on the windblown plains, it accumulated dirt around the roots which built over the years into a sizeable mound. Young trees then seeded on the mound and over time a large treed island could arise. Nearer the Karnings the movements of people and kishorn had largely eradicated them, but elsewhere they were more common, poking up above the waving grass stems like sailed ships. Mia had seen pictures of them, but it was different to see them in real life.

They stopped at one near the track to eat and rest for a while. From the top, the towers of the Warlord’s House were just visible. Beyond that a dust cloud marked the progress of the main kishorn herd, slowly moving north for the winter. To the south, smaller groups of kishorn or deer or canasts could be seen. Dotted about were a number of moundrat hills. But to the east, only a few miles away, was another walled compound with its tower.

“Supplies,” Dethin said, before she could ask.

“Are we going there?”

“Gods, no. I only go there when I have to check everything is in order, and I certainly wouldn’t take you there. They manage their own affairs, and as long as food and other goods get through to us, we don’t interfere.”

They sat under the shade of a cayshorn tree, their backs against the smooth trunk, the delicate leaves above them dry and rattling. A few had already fallen and were gathering in heaps against the exposed roots. For a while they were silent, but Mia was always a little afraid of the reclusive side of Dethin, so when he shifted position and she realised he was not asleep, she said, “Have you been Warlord a long time, Crannor?”

He opened his eyes, and she thought his mouth quirked a little at the use of his old name. “Twelve
– no, thirteen years, now,” he said.

“Do you like it? Being Warlord?”

“Better than being in Supplies or the kitchens. When I first arrived at Sixth, I was very resentful for a while. Like you, I suppose. Railed against my fate, the usual. But I got no sympathy, I was no different from anyone else. After about six months, I realised that I was stuck here and I might as well make the most of it. I was Skirmisher trained so it was easy enough to get myself up to Captain, and I was Commander of Sixth inside four years. Three years after that I was Warlord.”

She ran through the numbers in her head and realised that he was younger than she’d thought. He couldn’t be any older than Hurst.

“Do I like it? There are – perks, of course.” He glanced at her and paused for an instant. “And I enjoy being able to run things my own way. But I don’t have a lot of power. The Section Commanders are more or less autonomous, I just organise the combined activities.”

“Battles.”

“That, yes, but other things too. Making sure things are distributed fairly, that the Sections with access to the tunnels don’t hog the best of everything. Keeping things moving. Judging the serious offences. But it’s a solitary life, being the man at the top.”

“You have friends, though, don’t you? Men you’ve chosen. And
– women.”

“Friends? I suppose my men are friends of a sort, but they come and go. I choose them for their ability, not because I like them. As for women
—” He looked at her again. “That’s one of the best things about being outside rather than in the Karnings, there are always women. When I was sixteen, I thought that was wonderful, queueing up to get laid every night if I wanted and for free. And the Captains and Commanders have their own women, to sleep with, not just a quick fuck. But the first one who came to my bed, I went to kiss her and she slapped my face. ‘You don’t get me,’ she said, ‘just the use of my body for a few minutes. Do what you must and then leave me alone.’ So that’s what I’ve always done. Women are for sex, nothing more. But you’re different, aren’t you, Mia? You’re the first who’s ever suggested we might be friends, the first to kiss me.”

She could find no words to answer him, this strange, lonely man who owned her. Still, it was good that he was being more open with her, so she took his hand. He put his other hand over hers and drew it to his chest, but his face as he looked at her was oddly impassive.

“You see, I don’t understand you,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “You don’t even like me, but you kiss me, you do – that thing that you do…” And he sighed. At such moments he seemed almost human. She was almost tempted to smile, except that he was so serious. “I don’t know what you want of me, Mia.”

How could he not understand? She was his prisoner, with no hope of freedom, and she did whatever might appease him, stop him from sending her back to Bulraney. And she was learning not to spit fire at him. He was easier to deal with when he was calm like this.

“Nothing you don’t wish to give,” she said. “But I’m used to being married, where sex is just part of something more, something comforting.”

“Friendship?”

“Yes, but more than that. Working together with a common purpose. My husbands had their own duties, of course, and I had mine, but there were many shared responsibilities too. It made us very close.”

“Ah. Intimacy.”

“Yes, exactly! I know things are different here, but that’s what I miss most. Plenty to do, and people to share it with.”

“Well, I’m not sure what else there is for you to do,” he said. “Kitchen work is very low status, almost as bad as sewing in the basement with the old woman. Work around the compound
– that’s for the men. We’re very rigid here. And most of the women don’t want to do more than they do already – the evening work with the men, and a bit of tidying and laundry. For many of them it’s easier than where they came from. They wouldn’t thank you for changing things.”

“No, I suppose not,” she said.

While they sat, they saw a group of people leading a line of horses through the long grass off to the north. They pulled onto the main track and turned east. One man at the front rode, but the rest walked beside the horses, which were strung about with sacks. They saw Mia and Dethin sitting and waved, but didn’t stop. Unlike the dull brown clothes all the warriors wore, they were dressed in garish colours, with bright scarves on their heads. They all wore trousers, but Mia thought one or two of them were women.

“Are they from Supplies?”

“Yes. They’re collecting the grain for the bread you dislike so much. This tall grass isn’t much use for anything, but some grasses have seeds that can be ground for flour. But when the resupply comes in from the Karnings, we’ll get some decent grains.”

After that, they turned back towards the compound, but the sun was already dropping down the sky. Mia began to be afraid they would not be back before dark. The open plain was not exactly safe during the day, but at night it was terrifying for anyone without campfires and enough company for constant vigilance, and there would be no moon for hours yet.

They were perhaps half way back to the compound, and the clouds had cleared to promise a wonderful evening, when they became aware of dust ahead of them, and a deep rumble in the ground.

“Kishorn!” muttered Dethin. “They’re a little east of us, but let’s head for that cayshorn island over there just in case.”

They tied the horses securely to the trees, and waited. It was a small group of kishorn, no more than a hundred or so adults and calves, ambling along slowly about half a mile away, grazing as they went. Around the outside, a pack of scruffy fallan dogs watched for an unwary calf or a sick adult trailing behind, but the herd moved constantly to deter them. The matriarchs led the way, while adult males patrolled the sides and rear, protecting the younger females and calves in the centre. Gradually they moved out of range, leaving a broad swathe of flattened grass, but still Dethin waited.

“Shall we move on?” Mia asked, but he said nothing. He almost looked as if he were listened, concentrating on something.