The Plains of Kallanash (36 page)

Bulraney’s big chair stood forlornly empty in the middle of the room. Hurst had only been there briefly twice, but he could see at once that the place was different. It was tidier, for one thing, and more chairs had been brought in and arranged in a loose semi-circle to one side of the large one. Heddizan was clearly more of a discussion man and less of a dictator than his predecessor.

Hurst went across to one of the windows and gazed out across the plains. The glass was scoured by wind-blown dust and hard to see through, but here and there a pane had been replaced giving a clearer view. Slowly, he walked from window to window admiring the expanse of emptiness. The view from the top was spectacular. He hadn’t realised quite how much he’d hated being confined, not just in his prison cell but the whole compound. The high walls were necessary, he conceded, to keep out marauding Karningholders and kishorn alike, but still it felt stifling when the whole plains were outside.

Meanwhile, a head appeared at the top of the stairs from the floor below.

“May I?”

“Come in
– um, Delnor,” Hurst said.

“Just came to hand in my sash,” he said, thrusting a fistful of crumpled material into Hurst’s hand. And without another word he disappeared down the stairs.

“I’m confused,” Hurst said plaintively.

Walst sighed loudly and rolled his eyes dramatically. “It’s really not difficult. The Commander died, Heddizan got to be the new Commander, Ainsley became First, I moved up to Second and Delnor, being the best of Third’s group, became Captain there. Then you magically got made Commander and we all got demoted again. Understand?”

“I think so, yes. A lot seems to have happened rather quickly just lately.”

Light footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of the Warlord. He was alone, but he still carried the sword.
My
sword, Hurst reminded himself.

“Come in,” he said breezily. “Erm
– Lord? Is that how I address you?”

“Formally, yes, but Dethin will do here.” He looked around at all the faces watching him. “I shan’t need everyone. Captain Heddizan, you may go. Ainsley. Gronnash. Thank you.” He waited while they filed down the stairs and the thumping of boots had died away, then gazed impassively around at the four of them. Hurst stood beside the big chair, with Walst next to him and Trimon across the room. Gantor leaned against the wall behind them. “Well now, let us speak freely
– Most High.” And he bowed formally to Hurst and then, with a murmured “Most Respected”, to each of the others in turn, but his face was cold as he turned back to Hurst. “I daresay Bulraney didn’t recognise your sword, but he knew there was something unusual about the four of you. He had his faults, but he had good instincts and he was very good at keeping me informed. He was right to be curious – it’s not usual to see a Karningholder and his Companions here, fully armed. So now you had better tell me exactly who you are, how you got here and what in all Nine Vortices you want with us.”

Hurst didn’t have to think about his response. The Warlord was a man of little emotion, but he had seen enough of battle-hardened Karningholders to understand the defensive layers a man might wrap around his heart to protect him from the work he must do and allow him to sleep at night. This was no Bulraney, driven by anger and selfishness and violence. The Warlord kept himself under tight control, but he was a man of intelligence and imagination, as he had proved at the trial. He would listen and consider before taking any action, and Hurst trusted him enough to know that he would do nothing without good reason. The time for secrecy was past.

So Hurst carefully peeled off his gloves to reveal the Karningholder tattoo, the spiral filling the whole back of each hand, with the jewel colours from his three Karnings clear and vivid.

“I am Most High Hurst dos Arrakas, First Husband of Karning Dranish Turs Kan-forst,” he said. “I have come to find my wife.”

Mia didn’t miss Dethin much while he was away. She kept to her usual routine and so did his men, so it almost felt as if he were still there, except that she slept alone and ate her supper with the other women, instead of sitting silently beside Dethin while he talked to his men.

He had twenty Captains, two from each Section, who spent two or three years with him before returning to their home Section carrying his discipline and methods with them. There was no doubt that his men both respected and feared him. He set high standards, expecting all the Captains to train with him every morning. After the stillness each day he carried out inspections, descending unannounced on the stables or the stores or the kitchens or the armoury to check that all was as it should be and woe betide anyone found deficient.

Yet everyone apart from the Captains had been with him for years and all were fiercely loyal to him. Mia found that two of the men looking after the stores and the most senior stable worker were all former Warlords now retired through injury or age, yet they happily stayed on under Dethin, and talked darkly of moving on whenever Kestimar from Sixth Section should take over. Even the kitchen workers here were a cheery and friendly group, unlike the lecherous men at Third Section. The women were treated with friendly respect.

Dethin always held a planning meeting in the big room next to the bedroom at noon, and his men continued the tradition even when he was away. Sometimes when she was busy in the bedroom, she overheard them talking about her, either forgetting or not knowing she was there.

“Don’t touch those, they’re for Mia,” one of them said one day, and she guessed someone had reached for an apple from the bowl of them Dethin had left for her.

“Mia?”

“Cassia. He’s changed her name.” That made her smile.

And again: “He’s too soft with her – taking her riding, bringing presents. And those trousers…!”

“He’s always like that with them. Don’t you remember the last one?”

“Course! Gorgeous, she was, lovely body, not like this one.” There was a burst of coarse laughter.

“She didn’t last long though, did she? Nor will this one, you’ll see. He’ll get rid of her soon enough.”

“No, he likes this one.”

“He always likes them, but they don’t like him.”

“Ack, it’s stupid being so soft, they don’t respect you for it. They like it rough.”

“Don’t let him hear you talking like that.”

Mia still wasn’t sure what she felt about Dethin. She had no real affection for him, although perhaps that would come in time, and she still feared his moods. Yet he was polite and considerate, and he didn’t abuse her beyond the obvious fact that he took his pleasure with her against her will. But there was nothing to be done about that, and if it were not him, it would be someone else, or more than one.

He had told her that he would never send her back to Bulraney, but that was not much comfort, since he could just as easily send her to any other Commander. Last year, she was told, Dethin had traded his woman for a dozen archers and twenty horses. She wondered miserably whether she would be valued so highly.

Mia had made some effort to get to know the women at the Warlord’s House. There were four of them now, for a new one had recently arrived, a gift from Ninth Section. They were quite cheerful about the life they were required to lead, and when Mia tentatively asked whether perhaps they resented being used in such a way, they couldn’t understand what she meant. One had worked in a brothel all her adult life, and the others had never hesitated to sell their bodies when they needed money or food, or simply for a quiet life. Even now they often disappeared with one or other of the Captains for the afternoon, in exchange for an extra ration of meat or ale, or a handful of the bones they used for their endless gambling games.

“There’s not many men here,” they would say, “they don’t often get drunk, it’s only evening work, and there’s no one nagging you to find more customers. And it’s nice not having to take the herbs.”

That was something Mia couldn’t agree with. None of the four had been married or had children, and although they sympathised with her for the loss of her baby, they couldn’t really understand the depth of grief she felt. From time to time she still had flashes of pain deep inside, as if her body remembered. Sometimes, when she was alone, she curled up on the bed and wept.

But now she had a new source of comfort
– books. Dethin had brought her fourteen of them, all different shapes and sizes, and she had settled down eagerly to look through them and decide on the most interesting to read first. She’d thought they would be a random mixture of subjects, but to her surprise they were all books about the Gods. There was a children’s history of the coming of the Word, a detailed technical manual of all the types of plants ruled by Pashinor, a dry theological comparison between Gullinor and Sylinor and so on.

To her pleasure, there was also a Book of the Hours, with all the chants required for each hour of the day through the seasons. In the early years of the Word of the Gods, when Slaves were few and lived mostly at the Ring or the Karningholds, anyone with any pretension to education had their own Book of the Hours, so that when they had the opportunity to commune with the Gods, they would know the correct words. Now that even the smallest village had its own Slave, there was no longer much need for such things, and only those who travelled a great deal or lived remotely had one of their own. Mia had never even seen one outside the Ring, apart from the huge versions kept in the temples.

She soon discovered, when she asked around, that there was in fact a temple within the compound. It was tucked into a corner of two of the outer walls, and was more a slightly rounded off square than a circle, but it had the little round windows filled with coloured glass to depict the domains of each of the Nine, although high up and only on the inner walls. It was being used as a hay store, but she found a couple of men willing to clear it out for her, leaving just a ring of bales around the outside to sit on. She swept it clean herself. It became a comfort to go there and sit quietly, or read the words of the hour out loud, as if somehow she still had a connection to the Gods, even in this place that often felt like one of the Nine Vortices.

One or two of the other compound residents went to the temple too, but most were cynical about the Gods.

“They never took any interest in me in my Karning,” one said, “and they certainly won’t here. Why should I pay any attention to them?”

“They only look after the Karningers,” another said. “There are no Gods here.”

Mia could understand why they felt that way, but the Slaves had always taught that the Nine were everywhere, listening and watching with compassion, even if they only spoke directly to Those who Serve the Gods, and only in the Tower of Reception. She had never doubted their word. Even if it was one of the Servants who had taken her away from her Karning life, had killed her child, she knew he only acted on the will of the Gods, and she could never question the purposes of the Nine.

While Dethin was away, she somehow spent most of each afternoon reading. She would pick up a book during the stillness, and then, with no hour bells to guide her or other duties calling her, the time would drift away. But then one afternoon, when she was engrossed in one of the legends of Sylinor, she looked up and saw Dethin watching her. She was so startled she dropped her book, and with a smile he walked across the room and bent down to pick it up, neatly folding the strips together.

“You’ve lost your place, I’m afraid.”

She laughed and took it from him. “It hardly matters. How was your trip? Was it awful?”

“No, actually. Unusual, certainly, but not awful.” Then, to her surprise, he sat down beside her on the broad window sill and curled his arm around her waist. “I’ve missed you, you know,” he said, and bent down to nuzzle her neck. She was too astonished at this unexpected display of affection to speak, and she was suspicious of it, too. What did he want of her? Sex? Well, that would be simple enough, but was anything ever simple with this difficult man?

He lifted his head to look at her, not smiling, almost as if watching for her reaction. With his other hand, he tentatively touched her hair. “I love you, Mia,” he said.

She felt as if he had kicked her in the stomach. Love? What did he know of love? This was a man who kept her prisoner and took what he wanted, regardless of her wishes. How could that possibly be called love? And she could not help comparing him to Hurst, who had loved her in his gentle way for ten years and not said a word, who had always been a friend to her, who had listened to her and comforted her and never asked for anything in return. Hot fury boiled through her and she jumped up and turned on him.

“No, you
don’t!
” she hissed, so angry she could barely breathe. “You know nothing about me! You use me and ignore me and treat me with less respect than your horse, and just because you bring me gifts occasionally doesn’t mean you care anything about
me
! Love – you don’t even know what it means! Love isn’t about what you feel, it’s about what you
do
, how you
behave
to someone else, about honesty and trust. You don’t love me, you don’t talk to me. You don’t even
see
me!”

And she turned and ran from the room and down the stairs, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She found her way, inevitably, to the temple. It was quiet there, away from the bustle of the compound, and even with the sun bright outside, it was cool and dark, with only a few beams of shining colour spearing down from the tiny windows high above. It calmed her to be there, even though she had left the Book of the Hours up in the tower. She dried her tears and meditated.

The only other person there was the old woman from the basement. Mia had never discovered her name; no one seemed to know it and perhaps she had forgotten it herself, for she had been the old woman for longer than anyone could remember. She was half mad perhaps, but she came to the temple regularly, sitting rocking gently and mumbling to herself. After a while, she left too and Mia was alone as dusk fell outside.

Eventually Dethin found her there. He was still wearing his dusty travelling clothes, so perhaps he had been looking for her all this time. He said nothing about it, however. He sat on the straw bale beside her, not touching her, not even looking at her.

“Mia, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I never meant to upset you. I never do.” Then he sighed. “I – I’m not very good at this, I’m afraid. I don’t know the proper way to treat you. I’m sorry for that.”

“You could learn,” she said, watching his face, but his eyes were fixed on the ground.

“Perhaps. I don’t know. Maybe it’s too late for that.”

“It’s never too late.”

He was silent for a while. “I don’t know if we can ever be friends,” he said at last, turning for the first time to look at her, “and maybe it’s best that way, but I would like to know more about you, if I may. Will you tell me about yourself sometimes?”

“I should like that. And
– Crannor, I’m sorry too. I seem to do nothing but shout at you.”

That brought a twitch of the mouth and the slight gleam of the eyes that she was learning to recognise as amusement. “Oh, I like that better than docility,” he said. “And better than being afraid of me, too. At least you tell me what you feel.”

“So, will I get to learn something about you, too?” she asked, emboldened by this new, softer Dethin.

“Me? There isn’t much to tell. You know how I came here, and my life since has been ruled by the sword. What else is there to know?”

“Well, you could explain to me how it is that you can stare down an adult lion without fear, and with complete assurance that it won’t harm you.”

“Oh, that.” He turned away again, and she was afraid that she’d offended him. He was silent for a long time, but then, to her relief, he turned back to her. “The summer before I went to the scholars, one of my uncles took me on a trip. He was a merchant trading in rare spices and exotic foods, and every third year he used to take a caravan south to the ocean to stock up on all sorts of things that come from the cold sea. He always took one or other of the children with him, because he says it’s essential for them to understand that there are places beyond the plains.”

“Oh, I should love to see the sea!” she said. “Was it amazing?”

“It was
– the whole coast was a string of towns and ports and one or two great cities, too. And so lively, with music everywhere. But a lot of bad things, too – thieves and beggars and children with no boots and ragged clothes. And no order to it – people seemed to build wherever they wanted, and the roads wound about all over the place, not a straight one anywhere. But while I was there, something strange happened. I—” He stopped abruptly. “You know, this is going to sound crazy, but it really happened. I discovered that I could see into the minds of animals.”

“Oh. That does sound
– odd.”

“Well, it was odd to me too, but it’s true. The small ones were nothing more than the tiniest burst of feeling
– hunger, or fear. But the big ones – their feelings were quite complex, sometimes. Horses were interesting, because they have real affection for their owners. Oxen, less interesting. But one day, a horse panicked over something, a sudden noise of some sort, and took off down the street, and I realised that I could – oh, how can I put it – I was able to soothe it, somehow, reduce its fear and calm it down. It was sheer instinct, I have no idea how I came to do it. And after that, I could do it whenever I wanted.”