The Plains of Kallanash (37 page)

“So that’s what you did to the lion? You soothed it?”

“Yes, but the strange thing is, I can’t see so clearly here. The larger animals are fuzzy, somehow, like in a thick fog, and the smaller ones don’t register at all. I suppose that’s why I never noticed it before. But it still works. It always works. So, yes, I soothed the lion.”

“It’s a very peculiar talent to have,” she said thoughtfully. “Is it magic?”

“What is magic?” He shrugged. “It just seems like a natural ability to me. It’s not as if I’m creating fire, or turning pebbles into diamonds. I don’t believe in magic.”

“Neither do I,” she said.

Although at the back of her mind was the niggling thought that she had heard before of something like Dethin’s talent. Danzor, that was it, Gantor’s grandfather, the scholar at the library. When she’d talked to him at the Ring about the Catastrophe, he’d told her about something similar, a kind of magic which was suppressed on the plains. Was this what he meant?

After supper that night, Dethin lapsed into his usual morose state, and even his men drifted off to do other things. At the far end of the canteen, there was a large group clustered round the gamblers, cheering every acquisition or loss of bones, and Mia found herself alone with him. It was too early to go to bed, but she couldn’t face a whole evening of silence.

“Would you like to play crowns?” she asked brightly. “I found a set in the store-room when things were being moved around for the resupply.”

“Crowns?” he said. “Oh, crowns! I haven’t played for years. I had a
—” He stopped, and then laughed a little, with a quick glance at her that made her wonder what he had been about to say. “Let’s just say that I wasn’t the best at it. But I’ll have a go, if you like.”

She soon found he was right, he was a very poor player, but sometimes when he made an obvious mistake and she pointed it out, his eyes gleamed with interest and he avoided that move afterwards. She thought he’d been poorly taught, for he obviously had the intelligence to play well, if he had a mind for it. He seemed absorbed in it, and she thought he was rather enjoying himself. They finished one game rather quickly and began another.

“So tell me about your husband,” he said.

“Which one?” she said absently, for she was pondering her next move.

“Oh, I forgot you’ve had three,” he said. “The one you left behind, grieving for you. Do you miss him?”

For a moment she was startled. Had she ever told him she’d had three husbands? She supposed he must have worked it out, knowing that one had already gone down the tunnels.

“Hurst, you mean? Oh. I – I don’t know what there is to tell, really. Oh yes, I miss him…” Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with sorrow for her lost husband, and her old life. Just when she had got to know him properly, to appreciate him, he had been taken from her. She felt tears starting, and determined not to give way to them. “I see what your strategy is,” she said with forced brightness. “You’re trying to distract me, so that you can win the game. It won’t work, Warlord, be sure of that.”

She forced a smile, but he stared at her, and then abruptly pushed the board away, spilling some pieces.

“This won’t do!” he said, and jumped up. She stood too, suddenly afraid. One or two faces turned to them from tables across the room, staring. Just as suddenly he sat down again. “Now I’ve made you afraid of me again,” he said, with a twisted half smile. “I’m sorry, Mia, but this was a mistake. We shouldn’t get friendly like this.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because everything could change at any moment. There’s no certainty here, no continuity. We’re only together for a short while. The next battle, the next training exercise – I could be dead, or injured. Or someone could take a knife to me.”

“Like Bulraney?”

“Yes. And then – I would be minding the stores, or down in the kitchens, and you—”

“Oh.” She saw the point. “I would belong to someone else,” she said in a small voice. “To the new Warlord.”

“To Kestimar, yes. And he’s very different from me. It’s better if – we’re not close. It would make it very hard for you.”

“But what about
– what you said before?” She couldn’t quite say the words, but she could see that he understood her.

“I shouldn’t have said that, perhaps, but I wanted you to know that I’m doing the best I can for you. I’m trying to make things easier for you, as far as I’m able to. But you mustn’t get attached to me or anyone else.” His voice softened slightly. “Do you understand?”

She nodded, hands folded in her lap, head bowed. Tears were pricking again, and she tried to force herself to be calm, but she was distressed, all the same. Her whole life she had been surrounded by people who cared about her – her own kin, and then her Karninghold family. There were plenty for her to care about, too – the children, the servants, all the village folk and petitioners who came to her. The thought of living the rest of her life without that closeness, with nothing but casual friendships, as easily broken as made, appalled and frightened her. Such a bleak future it seemed to her. And yet she knew that everyone else here was in the same position. Every one of them had been torn away from home and family, and deposited here alone and friendless.

“Look out your riding clothes, and a few spares,” he said, rising again. “Tomorrow we’re going on a journey.”

“Where to?” she said, looking up in sharp fear.

“To Third. There’s someone there you should meet.”

“The new Commander? Are you going to give me to him?”

He smiled a little then, his face suddenly softer. “Only if you want me to. I will never give you away against your will, Mia, I promise you that. But it’s only right that you should meet him. Then you can decide what you want to do.”

Hurst found that there were some unexpected advantages to being Commander. One of them was respect. The warrior hierarchy was based entirely on superior battle skills, and scores of people had watched him defeat Bulraney in single combat under very difficult conditions. Even those who resented that fact that he was responsible for Bulraney’s death had no hesitation in applauding his talents in combat. He’d expected it would take time to assert his authority, and was surprised to find almost everyone obeying him without the least sign of unwillingness. But then Bulraney had ruled by fear, and had been widely, although secretly, disliked. No one had wanted to challenge him openly, but there was quiet satisfaction that he was gone.

Hurst found himself in a rather curious position. He was the absolute ruler of this strange community, both administrator and battle leader, yet he felt very unfit for the job. All his training was focused on life in the Karnings – the hearing of petitions, the management of the Karninghold itself and the ritualised games of the skirmishes, all of it controlled, down to the last detail, by Those who Serve the Gods and their Voices and Slaves, and the endless layers of regulation governing even the minutest detail of life.

Here, the rules were fewer and unwritten, and he knew none of them. In battle, he was confident of his abilities, but outside of it, he was less sure of himself. It didn’t help that two of his five Captains were his own Companions who knew no more than he did. Nor had the Warlord left him with any instructions, or even advice, having simply shrugged and said in his laconic way, “You’re in charge now. It’s up to you.”

So Hurst set up a War Council. He included all five Captains, plus the two recently deposed ones, Gantor, a couple of the more sensible experienced warriors, and one of the storesmen, when he discovered he was a former Commander. Every afternoon, they squeezed into Hurst’s new elevated office, and explained his job to him. There wasn’t much to learn. His only significant duty was to turn up for battle when summoned by the Warlord, and defend the compound if attacked.

He could himself attack the nearest exposed Karning if he wished but it wasn’t compulsory. Bulraney had never bothered, feeling that they were too outnumbered to do any good. Hurst felt no inclination for suicide attacks either.

Almost everything else in the compound ran itself. Food arrived from Supplies or from the Warlord or, if they ran short, from small hunting parties. Everything else was negotiated from the Warlord following a resupply.

That left only training and discipline for Hurst to manage. He implemented a more rigorous training schedule, using those with Skirmisher experience to teach the proper methods to the rest, and although a few men thought themselves too experienced to be taught basic skills, many were glad to learn. He insisted, too, that everyone ate together in the canteen, with no running up and down the endless stairs with trays of food, as his predecessor had insisted.

“Those who want to take food away for themselves, they can do that, of course,” he said when a few people grumbled, “and anyone who is ill will be looked after, but no one here needs to be waited on.”

For discipline, he followed the Warlord’s example, hearing complaints and resolving difficulties by listening quietly to all sides of the argument and then pronouncing judgment.

For the first time, he felt able to ask openly about Mia. He, Gantor, Walst and Trimon had all made discreet enquiries before, of course, asking about anyone who had come through the tunnel and what had happened to them, but no one seemed to know much, or perhaps they just preferred to say nothing. The change of names made things difficult, too. And now Mista had disappeared, apparently on Bulraney’s orders.

“The women move all the time,” Ainsley told him. “Everything here is traded
– for food or materials or just for goodwill, to be called in later – and the women are part of that.”

“So they’re treated just like horses,” Hurst said in disgust.

“Better, actually,” said Lukannis, the former Commander, in amusement. “Most men don’t ride, but they all… well, women are highly valued, let’s say. But it’s the same for men. Any man can be traded away, too. The women just bring a higher price. And the best of them – the young, pretty ones – don’t stay long anywhere.”

Even now, though, he found they were all reluctant to admit to knowing anything about the missing Karningholders. When he had first explained about Tella and Jonnor and now Mia, they had exchanged glances and studiously avoided his eyes.

“What is it?” he said. “Why won’t anyone talk about this? What’s the big secret?”

After a long silence, it was Lukannis who answered. “Look at it from our point of view. We get a steady trickle of people through the tunnels, most of them the thrown away rubbish of Karning society. All guilty of some crime or other. Some of them deny it, but they must have done something to be marked and sent here. Then all of a sudden we’re getting Karningholders turning up, complete with a full set of Companions. Not once, not twice but three times. And then you lot appear out of nowhere, fully kitted out with proper Skirmisher gear. And now you tell us you all came from the same Karning, for fuck’s sake. Naturally we’re wondering what in all the Vortices is going on.”

“It’s an interesting question,” said Hurst. “I’m not sure I know the answer, actually.”

“I think we could work some of it out, though,” Gantor put in. “Tella never exactly played by the rules, especially where men were concerned. That’s a crime, to the Slaves, so she was marked and sent here. Jonnor
– that was a blue arrow, we know that, and again, he didn’t actually die, he came here. And Mia—”

“Mia never did anything wrong!” Hurst said in a spurt of anger.

“No, but she was curious about the tunnels, wasn’t she? These secret tunnels that nobody is supposed to know about. And the funeral towers. I think she may have asked too many questions. Or asked the wrong person, maybe.”

“The Karninghold Slave?” Hurst said. “But surely
–
surely
no one would condemn her to this Vortex of a place for such a thing! That would be evil.”

“And what about you?” said Lukannis. “What did you do?”

“Do?” Hurst was bewildered.

Gantor sighed. “
Do
pay attention, Hurst. Everyone here has been found guilty of – well, some transgression. Except us. Are you going to explain or shall I?”

So Hurst told them how they had broken into the tunnels through the Godstower, and simply walked all the way to the border and beyond.

“So you’re not marked!” Lukannis said, astonished. “You could go back if you wanted.”

“Of course,” said Hurst. “If we can get back up the tunnels.”

“And if they’ll have us back,” said Trimon darkly.

~~~

Hurst’s office was the top floor of the highest tower, but he discovered he had living quarters in another, much lower, tower. When he was first shown there, it was late on his first evening as Commander. After days in his prison cell, the stresses of the trial, his unforeseen reprieve and promotion and a whirlwind tour of his new domain, he had no thought in his head beyond falling into bed.

So he ignored the several doors leading off the landing at the top of the stairs, and took the one pointed out to him as his bedroom. It was poorly furnished, containing only a bed, a couple of small boxes and a chair, but the bed looked clean enough and he had slept in much worse. He undressed, scattering clothes onto the boxes, crawled into bed and was asleep within moments.

Sometime later he half woke to gentle movements of the bed as someone climbed in beside him.

“Are you asleep?” a female voice asked.

“Who are you?” Hurst whispered, and heard a chuckle. And then hands began to touch him.

Now if anyone had asked him if he wanted a little bed play, Hurst would undoubtedly have turned the offer down, thinking of Mia. But his powers of resistance were at a very low ebb and he wasn’t strong-minded enough to refuse a woman determined to have her way, especially when he’d awoken to find the process already underway.

So with no more than a token protest, he lay on his back and allowed his mysterious visitor to do whatever she wanted with him. She stroked him all over, and when he responded in the inevitable way, she took him expertly in hand. After a while, with another throaty chuckle, she tossed the covers aside and straddled him, and soon brought him to a very satisfactory conclusion.

“Who
are
you?” he said again, but she only laughed.

“Go to sleep, Commander,” she whispered. And he did.

Her name was Mallissa, he discovered the next morning, and she had been Bulraney’s woman and so now she was his. She lived in his rooms, having her own sitting room and lots of cupboards, where she kept her personal supplies of whatever treats she could wangle from the stores. It was her job, it seemed, to look after him.

“I don’t really need a woman all to myself,” he protested, but at once her face fell.

“The Commander always has his own woman,” she pouted. “You can pick one of the others if you like, one of the Captains’ women, and then she comes here and I go there, but if you just send me away, I have to go to the Section House.” She pulled a face. “I like it here, and I’ll do whatever you want. I did for Bulraney.”

She was not much more than twenty, he guessed, a well-rounded woman with pretty features, and he told himself that it was no different from the Companions. Mia was his wife and his love, but while he waited to find her, there was no reason not to sleep with Mallissa. It was not as if she were unwilling, he told himself. And it was surprisingly good to have regular sex again, there was no doubt.

~~~

Ainsley seemed to take a certain pride in Hurst’s sudden elevation in rank, claiming credit for having spotted him the instant he arrived at Third, but Hurst suspected it was partly the Skirmisher in him according him the respect due to a Karningholder, an entirely automatic response. Ainsley had been at Third for less than three years, and a Skirmisher for almost ten years before that, and the training ran deep. So it was Ainsley who, eventually, talked about Mia openly.

“Your wife – she was very ill when she first arrived,” he quietly told Hurst one day when they stood alone at the edge of the training ground.

Hurst immediately turned to him.
“Mia? You remember her?”

“Oh yes. Delicate little thing, with hair the colour of autumn leaves. She was ill the whole time in the tunnel
– because of the baby. But you know about all that, don’t you? And then when she was recovering, Bulraney stupidly wouldn’t let anyone near her. Put her down in the kitchens. I think that was why – you see, it takes a long time to travel the whole way. I came from the Ring and it was about ten days.”

“Took us weeks,” grumbled Hurst.

“You were walking it, but most people come in the carriers. It’s quite quick. But it’s long enough for the guide to explain everything. You have time to adjust. But she didn’t have that – your wife. So when she came to be assigned, she was spitting fire.
‘Slavery’s illegal’
– that’s what she said. And she asked to be sent back – to her
‘place in the world’
. Bulraney would have wrung her neck if he could. It was so funny – this tiny little woman standing up to him! But the Warlord – he said he liked a woman with spirit.”

“He took her with him, then? Back to
– Sixth, isn’t it?”

“Near there, yes. But
– you don’t need to worry, he’ll treat her well. All the women are treated well.”

“Apart from being slaves,” Hurst said with asperity.

“They’re no more slaves than any of us,” Ainsley said sharply.

“What about the rest of them? Her Companions, the others before that?”

“They’ve all gone. It’s policy to split up groups who know each other, so no one gets too attached to anyone. Are you going to try to find all of them? Or just – your wife?”

“No idea at the moment. I confess I never had a plan beyond finding Mia. I just assumed, I suppose, that once I found her, everything would fall into place. But it’s more complicated than that, isn’t it?”

Ainsley just nodded. Then he hesitated, and looked sideways at Hurst. “The one you killed with the blue arrow – you didn’t like him much, then?”

“I liked him well enough, I suppose,” Hurst answered. “It wasn’t personal, just
– awkward. Why?”

“Because
– he had a bad time here actually. He took a dislike to Bulraney, and that was never a good idea.”

“What happened?”

“He was like you, in some ways – this air of confidence you all have. So he started bleating about the right way to do this and that, and how he was going to challenge Bulraney, and he wouldn’t listen to anyone. Thought he knew better.”

“That sounds like Jonnor,” said Hurst wryly.

“So one day, there was some minor infraction – I have a feeling Bulraney just made it up actually, because the poor fellow protested up and down he’d done nothing. Bulraney had him flogged and sent to Supplies.”

“Gods!” said Hurst, horrified.

“He’ll probably be fine there, I daresay, and we have all the proper stuff – for dealing with infections and so forth. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.” But he couldn’t quite look Hurst in the eye. “Anyway – that’s why I warned you about Bulraney. He’s not the sort of man you cross.”