The Plains of Kallanash (38 page)

“As I discovered. And I appreciated the advice, Captain. Should have paid it more attention.”

“You’re most welcome, Commander. And it worked out well enough, in the end.”

~~~

Hurst began to settle into his new role, although at the back of his mind was the conviction that he would not be there long. And yet, he couldn’t quite work out how best to proceed. Mia was gone, in fact all of them – Tella, Jonnor, Mia and all their Companions – were gone, and he had no power to bring them back. He had no idea where most of them had been sent, and even if he did, there was no assurance that they were still there. Or even alive, he thought uneasily, remembering Jonnor. A flogging at Bulraney’s orders was no trivial affair. Nevertheless, he was beginning to formulate a plan for approaching the Warlord and asking him directly about Mia, when events took a more threatening turn.

He was dressing one morning when a bell began clanging from somewhere outside. It was not the tinny sound of the canteen bell, or the clamour of the gate bell announcing arrivals. This was a sonorous affair, a large stately bell swung with determined rhythm. He opened the bedroom door to find Mallissa, almost bumping into her on the landing above the stairs, her arms filled with clothes and, incongruously, a small sword.

“Whatever is that noise?” he said.

“Alarm bell,” she said shortly, puffing to the stairs and starting downwards. Then she turned and looked him up and down. “Better get your battle gear on.”

“Where are you going?”

“Tunnels. Warriors to the walls, everyone else to the tunnels. Better get moving, Commander.” And she was gone.

Instead, he went through to her sitting room, which faced west, the most likely direction for a threat. Sure enough, there was a cloud of dust on the horizon. He had no means to determine whether it was an army or just kishorn, but he guessed that someone else had and would hardly sound the alarm for kishorn.

“Well, Trimon, it looks like they haven’t forgiven you for your accuracy with a fire arrow,” he muttered, and went back to the bedroom to find his battle gear.

By the time he got to the west-facing wall, Trimon was already shouting instructions at his archers amidst a dense crowd of swordsmen hustling for vantage points, and the dust cloud was closer and obviously not kishorn. Through the dust were glimmers of metallic weaponry, and Hurst caught glimpses of banners here and there. He turned to look back over the compound with an appraising eye. The main buildings were brick or stone, but there were many outbuildings with reed-thatched roofs vulnerable to fire. He called his Captains to him.

“Heddizan, I only need your group here. Ainsley, you’re down in the yard defending the gate. Gronnash, your men are watching the other three walls, in case they try to go round the back.”

“What about me?” Walst asked eagerly.

“You’re organising the fire watch.” His face fell. “Look, fire’s the biggest risk, they’re likely to want their revenge for Trimon burning their precious fort. Water all the roofs, fill as many buckets as you can from the wells. Anyone able-bodied can help. Drag them out of the tunnels if you need to.”

Walst looked gloomy, but he tore off at once, shouting orders to his men.

Gantor raised an eyebrow.

“Well, he’d be a liability on the wall,” Hurst shrugged. “Too eager to start fighting. He’s better down below, where he’s got space to swing his sword. Anyway, that’s where the action’s going to be. It won’t take them long to overrun us.”

Gantor nodded. They both knew the odds. Cassinor Annamost had fifteen hundred battle-hardened Skirmishers at his disposal, whereas they had no more than a hundred ill-trained apprentice blacksmiths and plough boys.

“Once the gate falls,” Gantor said, “this lot will all retreat to the tunnels and seal themselves in. What will you do?” But Hurst had no answer to that.

The morning wore away and the dust cloud slowly drew nearer and resolved itself into organised groups of men, who then stopped and began to form into camps.

“Not as many as I’d feared,” Gantor murmured. “Five Hundreds, I make it.”

“Still more than enough,” Hurst said. “The question is what they want to achieve. Do they intend to wipe us off the plains altogether? Or will they just burn the compound, but let us escape? Or maybe they only want to have a little warning skirmish to flex their muscles and then go home.”

Gantor was silent.

Hurst ordered small groups at a time to eat, and as noon passed by he went himself to find food. There was little enough left. The leavings from the morning meal had been picked clean, last night’s roast kishorn was nothing but bones on the spit and a barrel of dried meat was almost empty. Hurst took a few strips and some dried crusts of bread. By the time he got back to the wall, he found the watchers in a state of high excitement.

“They’re coming!” someone yelled at him, skittering down the steps three at a time and racing across the compound.

He climbed the stairs without haste, knowing that Gantor would alert him to any urgent situation. He gained the top of the wall, and warriors stood aside to let him through. The archers were all in position, arrows nocked, ready to fire. As soon as he could see, he understood. A small group of riders had moved towards them, away from the main army, although the dust they kicked up made it hard to count them. Their banners strained on their poles, but the wind was from the east, so Hurst couldn’t see them. He hardly needed to, for surely it was Cassinor, or some of his family.

Walst was still manning the fire buckets down below, but Gantor and Trimon stood silently beside him on the wall. Hurst knew what they were thinking – they could simply walk out to meet the Karningers and return to their own people, leaving these barbarians behind. But that would mean abandoning Mia, and he wasn’t sure he was prepared to do that. On the other hand, was he prepared to fight and die as a barbarian? He had gone into battle with them, but then he’d hardly had a choice at the time. This was different, for there was more than one possibility – he could walk away himself, he could surrender the entire compound or he could hide in the tunnels like a coward. Or he could fight his own people. But then they were all his own people, weren’t they? Those camped in front of him, and those beside him – all of them were Karningers. He sighed, and Gantor threw him an amused glance.

“You do get us into some interesting situations,” he murmured.

The riders stopped, just beyond arrow range. For a while they simply stood, immobile, while the dust settled around them. Then they raised a signal pole.

“Fucking Vortices,” said Trimon, but Gantor just laughed.

“Open the gate!” Hurst yelled down, and prepared to race down the stairs, but to his surprise Heddizan materialised in front of him and drew his sword.

“Can’t allow you to do that,” he said firmly. Gronnash appeared too, brandishing his spear.

“But—”

“Takes three of us to order the gate open, and we’ll kill you rather than allow you to open up to the enemy.”

“No, it’s all right, I know these people—”

“Daresay you do, but still no deal.”

Hurst stopped and took a long breath. “I’m not letting them in, I just want you to let me out, that’s all.”

“You’re going out there? Alone?”

“Alone. They won’t hurt me.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because one of them is my father.”

One gate creaked open a few inches and Hurst squeezed through. Instantly it slammed shut behind him. Then he set off to walk towards the cluster of riders, a distance that had seemed nothing at all from the top of the wall, but now seemed vast. There was one good thing, he thought as he made his way there, about having a bad leg
– it made his odd mixture of limp and rolling gait instantly recognisable even from a distance. Long before he had reached the group, several of them had dismounted, awaiting him, although none risked venturing closer to the walls and the archers atop them. But as he drew close, one figure emerged and came towards him, arms outstretched.

Tanist beamed at him. “Hurst! You have no idea how glad I am to find you at last!”

“Not nearly as glad as I am to see you. What took you so long?”

And then they were laughing and hugging and laughing again.

Apart from Tanist, Bernast was there too, and Cassinor had sent one of the junior husbands, Hilligor, as well as some of his own men. Mannigor was with them, too, the boy Hurst had spared on the battle field. A gaggle of Companions accompanied them. But they had barely made the introductions before a scout came galloping up.

“Beg pardon, Commander Sir,” he said to Hilligor, “but there’s a small group of riders come down the track from the north. They’re hiding in bushes about a mile from here.”

“How many?” asked Hilligor.

“Eight, Sir, with two pack horses in addition.”

“Would they be from your camp, Commander?” Hilligor asked Hurst.

“No, I don’t think so. There’s no one out just now, no hunting parties. Most likely they’re from one of the other Sections, just passing through. They saw you, I daresay, and thought to hide until it’s dark.”

“Well, we have no wish to interfere with these people,” Hilligor said with a shrug, “but they’re safer elsewhere. Shall we go and tell them to be on their way?”

One of the Companions gave up his horse to Hurst, and most of the group wheeled off to the north to find the hidden riders. They were not, as it happened, very well hidden at all, for there were no trees here and nothing but straggly bushes and long grass which covered the humans but left the horses all too visible. There was a sudden flurry of activity when they saw that they were about to have visitors. But Hurst recognised the Warlord’s horse. Signalling the rest to hold back, he spurred his own beast forward to intercept him before he could mount and ride off.

“Wait! Wait!” he called. “It’s all right!”

The Warlord spun round to face him, and then, with some abrupt orders to the rest of his group, he moved forward towards Hurst, stopping a short distance away.

“Commander? What is all this?”

“Oh
– long story. But they mean us no harm, and you should be part of this. Won’t you come and hear what they have to say?” Hurst nudged his horse forward, but the Warlord held up his hand.

“Don’t come any closer! Whatever this is about, you can deal with it. My business can wait.”

With a sigh, Hurst dismounted. Whatever tale Tanist had to tell, he felt it was only right that the Warlord should hear it too. It seemed like fate that he was there at just the right moment. So he draped the reins over a bush and walked forward towards the Warlord. Before he could say anything, there was a squeak from one of the Warlord’s minions, and someone shot out from behind the bushes and ran towards him, riding scarf slipping off. And then—

“Hurst! Hurst!” she cried and hurled herself into his arms.

“Mia? Mia! Oh my sweet Mia!” And there she was, laughing and crying and kissing him, arms tight around his neck. He could hardly believe it, it was so unexpected. He kissed her again and again, and then she pulled away from him.

“Oh, the beard!” she laughed, stroking it, and at the same moment he said, “Your hair!” And they kissed again.

“Are you all right?” he whispered to her.

“Fine. And you?”

He nodded. Then he remembered the Warlord.

“Thank you for bringing her back to me,” he said.

The Warlord bowed stiffly in acknowledgement. “Now you have a difficult decision to make,” he said, his face expressionless. “You can stay here and keep Mia, for as long as you remain Commander, or you can return to your own world and leave her behind. For she can never go back.”

Mia was too overjoyed to take it all in. She had fretted the whole way south, wondering what the new Commander would be like and why Dethin wanted her to meet him, and the sudden realisation was overwhelming. And not only was Hurst there, but Tanist and Bernast, too, with vast numbers of Skirmishers. What was going on? It was bewildering.

As they went for their horses, she found herself beside Dethin, a little apart from the others.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was Hurst?” she whispered.

“Because you would have assumed things
– that everything would go back to normal. And also—” He stopped, and looked her in the eye. “For selfish reasons. I wanted a little more time with you.”

They rode into the Karningers’ camp, where pavilions and smaller tents were being set up, cook fires had been started and the organised bustle of settlement was under way. Dethin sent a pair of runners to the compound to summon all the Captains, but only Gantor, Walst, Trimon and Ainsley turned up, and his own men chose the safety of the compound too. Most warriors were uncomfortable with the idea of getting familiar with the enemy.

Hilligor’s pavilion was already fitted with rugs, tables, chairs and cupboards in one large room, with hangings to create smaller rooms to one side. In no time they were seated around a brazier, with platters of fruit and cheese on the tables, and goblets of wine handed round on trays.

Mia was the first to tell her tale, and the Karningers listened intently as she described waking in the funeral tower, her illness and then her weeks with Dethin. She glossed over the details, but still they eyed him covertly as she talked, while he sat as immobile as stone.

“And did they abuse you?” Tanist said softly when she finished, glancing again at Dethin.

“No one hurt me,” she replied. “I’ve been treated very gently.”

“But you slept with him,” Hurst blurted out.

“Yes. That’s how things work here. If not Dethin, it would have been someone else.” She could see him about to say more, but she held up a hand. “No
– don’t, Hurst. This isn’t the Karningplain, it’s a different life here. I’ve had to adapt to it, everyone has to. Women are treated very fairly here, but there are certain conditions, that’s all. There’s no more to be said. Tell us your story, for I should very much like to know how you ended up here, as Commander.”

So Hurst told of the journey trapped down the tunnels, escaping in triumph only to be scooped into the compound and sent straight off to battle, and then the fight with Bulraney.

“So you’re in charge here?” Bernast asked, his eyes wide with amazement.

“Yes, this Section, anyway. Dethin here is the Warlord, he’s in overall charge of all the Sections on the eastern side.”

“Well, trust you!” said Tanist, smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners just as Hurst’s did. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here at all, despite Mannigor meeting you on the battlefield like that, but to find you so settled…”

“But you’ll come home now
– won’t you?” said Bernast.

Hurst glanced across at Dethin, sitting silent and inscrutable, his wine untouched. “Not sure exactly. There’s a lot to consider.”

Mia knew that he was thinking about what Dethin had said, that she could never go home. She was marked, after all, permanently exiled, while Hurst could come and go as he pleased. Did she want him to stay just for her? Maybe not, but could she bear him to leave just when she had found him again? He sat beside her, and she kept glancing sideways at him, still unsure if this were really happening or whether it was all a dream.

Then Tanist told them his story, of how he had turned up at the Karninghold to mourn Mia only to find Hurst and his Companions gone and the whole place in uproar, awash with rumour.

“Hemmond found me, of course, and told me what had really happened.”

“Is he all right?” Gantor asked. “We were concerned about him.”

“The Slave was going to put him under the smoke,” said Tanist. Mia shuddered. There were many tales told of the smoke that induced those affected to tell the truth, none of them good. “So he fled to kin, and managed to get word to me when I arrived. He’s with us now, somewhere about the camp. Well, I’m not afraid of the Karninghold Slave, so I persuaded him to tell us what had happened to Mia. She was making enquiries about these blasted tunnels and the funeral towers, apparently, and refused to be deterred, so they held an investigation—”

“What!” cried Mia. “There was no investigation! No one asked me anything!”

“It was a
private
investigation, apparently,” said Tanist grimly. “As far as I can make out, it consisted of the Slave sending a single message to the Ring, where someone determined you were guilty of subordination or rebellion or treason or some such nonsense, and condemned you to death.”

“By the Gods!” said Hurst. “What kind of justice is that?”

“Slave justice,” Gantor said sharply. “They have the power of life and death over us all. But I’d like to know how you persuaded the Slave to tell you all this. He’s a tight-lipped old bastard, they all are.”

“I held a knife to his throat,” grinned Tanist. “Very effective.”

Gantor barked with laughter. “See, I told you we should have tortured him,” he said to Hurst. “You should have let me.”

“Anyway, I talked to Bernast,” Tanist went on, “and he was at a loose end with you gone and no skirmishes, so he had the very apt thought to run an invasion exercise, and he kindly invited me along as an advisor. We took a Hundred of his, and a Hundred of yours, Hurst, and marched for the border, following you.”

“How did you know which way to go?” Gantor asked.

“Ah, now that’s the clever part,” he said smugly. “We had a look at these tunnels
– Hemmond showed us where you went in – and we realised pretty quickly how the one-way gates worked. You were obviously being forced in one direction. So we got the detailed maps and found all the Godstowers, and marked what we thought was the route you had taken. Then there was a junction, so we guessed there, but every once in a while we popped down a Godstower to check, and there were your chalk marks on the wall, so we knew we were on the right track.”

“Ha! I knew the chalk would be useful,” said Hurst, grinning. He was leaning forward on his elbows, listening eagerly to his father’s words, and Mia thought that, apart from the beard, he actually looked rather well. He had lost a little weight perhaps, and was more burned by the sun than before, but he looked very fit.

“So then we got to Cassinor’s Karning, which was as lively as a flattened moundrat tower, with the fort half burned and a lot of surprise that Hurst Arrakas had suddenly become a barbarian, if a rather magnanimous one.”

“I’m sorry about the fire,” Hurst said to Hilligor, spreading his hands. “But you were tossing fire arrows at us, you know, and it was such a temptation.”

“And you had your champion archer with you,” said Hilligor, nodding across at Trimon. “Spectacular shooting, that was. But your generous treatment of Mannigor and Draylinor ensured there would be no reprisals for it. You could have killed both of them on the battlefield, we realise that. Draylinor sends his regards – he’s recovering well. He’ll have no more than a minor limp, in time, and you’re living proof that’s no hindrance.”

“So the question now,” said Tanist, “is what next? Now that we’ve found you, what are you going to do?”

Hurst grinned at him. “Right now I’m going to go back to the compound, reassure everyone that you’re not here to slaughter us all and have some food. Yes, yes, I know you could feed us, but not tonight. Then I shall sleep on it, and we’ll talk again in the morning.”

He stood and there was a general chatter as everyone began to move towards the entrance.

“And what about Mia?” Dethin said. It was the first time he had spoken, Mia realised, and his voice was low, but nevertheless silence fell and they all turned to him.

“Mia will come back with me, of course,” Hurst said, then, suddenly unsure, he turned to her. “Won’t you?”

Before she could reply, Walst said, “And where will she sleep?”

“With me, of course, she’s
– oh!”

“Yes, what about Mallissa?” Walst said.

“Oh-ho, so who’s Mallissa?” said Tanist, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Has the bereaved husband been consoling himself?”

“It’s not like that!” said Hurst in obvious embarrassment. “I inherited her from Bulraney, that’s all. But I can’t just throw her out.”

“Well, Mia can stay here, if you like,” said Tanist. “Just until you’ve decided what to do.”

“I’ll look after her,” put in Bernast. “After all, she’s my wife too.”

Walst and Trimon burst out laughing, but Hurst looked annoyed and began to protest.

“She could stay with me for the time being,” Dethin interrupted in his quiet way, and they laughed again.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Hurst said, turning on him. “But she’s
my
wife, not yours…”

“I’m nobody’s wife!” Mia said sharply. “There are no husbands and wives here.”

“Is that what
he
told you?” Hurst growled, waving a hand towards Dethin. “Before or after he raped you?”

Sudden silence blanketed them.

“You’re being very melodramatic, Hurst,” she said calmly. “No one raped me. But things are different here. There are no husbands and wives, and whatever the situation before, it doesn’t apply now. I’m not a Karninger any more, I’m a barbarian and I have to follow barbarian rules. At the moment, I belong to Dethin, and I think this Mallissa belongs to you.”

“If you imagine I’m going to meekly go back to Mallissa and let you go off to sleep with
– with
him
,” and he waved his arm at Dethin, “then you’re very much mistaken. I came all this way to find you, and now that I have, I intend to keep you.”

“Perhaps we could share her?” Dethin said. Mia knew him well enough to detect the slight quirk of amusement in his face, but Hurst balled his fists and glared at him as if he wanted to hit him.

“Perhaps we should go and find Jonnor?” said Gantor innocently. “For surely he has a say in the matter too.”

“Oh, by the Nine!” Tanist said impatiently. “This is like a gathering of kishorn. Hurst, I think you’re right to go back and see to your men. They must be wondering what’s going on. All of you
barbarians
should go, I think, and those from inside the border should stay here. We all want to avoid any misunderstandings, I’m sure. However, if you and your Warlord permit, I should like to come with you, to spend the evening with you.
I
came all this way to find
you
, if you remember. And if you can’t reach a civil agreement over Mia, I shall bring her back here with me tonight and neither of you will have her.”

Dethin laughed for the first time then, and Mia noticed again how much younger and less intimidating he looked with a smile on his lips and his eyes crinkled with genuine amusement. But Hurst just glowered.

~~~

In the end, Tanist took one of his Companions with him, a man called Groonerst, who was even more taciturn than Dethin, although they tactfully left their swords behind. Together with Hurst and his group and Dethin and his men, they rode slowly back to the compound, so as not to create any alarm, and Ainsley and Walst rode on ahead to warn the gatekeepers. There was some grumbling about bringing the enemy inside the walls, and Heddizan refused to allow any relaxation of battle status with so many Skirmishers camped not a mile away, but most were relieved to hear that it was only Hurst’s father on the doorstep and that he was not bent on war.

The kitchen staff were extricated from the tunnels to cook the supper, although it was very late in arriving. Fortunately, Hilligor had sent a string of pack horses laden with wine and ale and fruit and sweets and some smoked pork and venison, so no one was much bothered. In fact the canteen got so raucous that after they had eaten Hurst led his party away and up the many stairs to his office.

It was strange, Mia thought, to look out of the windows and see the numerous twinkling torches and cook fires of the camp spread out on the plains not far away. How threatening they must have seemed
– must still seem – to those who saw them only as the enemy. Yet here they were, Hurst and his three Companions, Tanist and his one, herself and Dethin – weren’t they all the same, after all? There was no real difference between them, those who lived their lives with the Gods’ approval, and those who were marked and lived in exile. Yet regularly they divided themselves into Karningers and barbarians, and did their level best to kill each other.

Over Hilligor’s good wine, and a big box of marzipan sweets, they mulled over this and that and neatly avoided the issue which Hurst and Dethin had argued over, and which Mia herself would be happy to have settled. Was she still with Dethin? She thought she was, unless there was some formal agreement to the contrary. Hurst still saw her as his wife, but she knew it was not so simple. He had no claim on her now that she was officially dead, and she understood enough of barbarian ways to know that he would have to negotiate a trade for her. And what about this Mallissa, who was with Hurst?