The Plains of Kallanash (46 page)

“But still…” Hurst frowned. “I’d hoped I might yet persuade Tanist to take him along.”

“He seems quite keen to go to Kestimar,” Heddizan said. “Said something about the War Council. I suppose he wants to be in the thick of it, mixing with all the Warlords.” He shrugged.

“Ah, he wants to find Tella, I imagine. His wife. She’s with one of them, or she was.”

“So many wives you people have,” Heddizan said with a wry smile.

In the end, Jonnor left without a word. Hurst tried to laugh it off as just another example of his intractable nature, but Mia was distraught, and he himself was hurt. For more than ten years they had been brothers, skirmishing together, sharing their lives, and right up to the blue arrows, he had thought they got along well. He had grumbled sometimes about Jonnor, but he had liked him well enough, most of the time. If he had been a little more flexible, a little less obtuse over Mia, they would have been together still. So it was hard to learn that his resentment was still too great to admit even a polite parting word. Perhaps, one day, they would all be together again, maybe even with Tella, and then these grievances would be forgotten, but for now he couldn’t forgive Jonnor for making Mia cry.

Hemmond, the elderly stable hand from their Karning, was too unfit to be included in the tunnel expedition, but Tanist had an important task for him. He was to go to Hilligor and wait there for word from the Ring. If all went to plan, he would then return to the Third Section to tell Heddizan, and through him the Warlord. Lukannis, the former Commander, would go with him, as guarantee to the warriors that the Karningers were not simply playing a trick on them. Then those who wished would be welcome to go home to their Karnings.

Before they left, Hurst took Mia aside. “I have something I’d like you to look after, if you will.” He held up the delicate silver pendant Dondro had worn, shaped like a filigree cage. “It was obviously precious to him.”

Mia examined it closely. “It’s beautiful! Such fine work – I’ve never seen anything like it. But what’s inside it?” She shook it, making a dry rattle. “They almost look like bone fragments.”

“I think so too. They’re actually engraved, in tiny letters. Or symbols, I suppose. No idea what it means. Perhaps the scholars would know. But I can’t leave it here, to be fought over and gambled from hand to hand. Will you keep it for now?”

“Of course. I’ll make a little bag for it. A strange thing for a Servant to wear, don’t you think?”

“Very. But he was odd altogether, Dondro. His whole back was covered with tattoos, and no designs any of us recognised.”

Mia shivered, knowing exactly how Hurst had come to see Dondro’s naked back.

Two days after the last cart passed by, Tanist led his group out of the compound to the ruined Godstower which was now their only access to the tunnel. Hurst fretted over the need to travel above ground, but the weather was so filthy that it hid them very effectively from anyone who might be watching. They were all soaked and chilled to the bone by the time they reached the Godstower and scrambled over the tumbled blocks into the shelter of the tunnel. They carried their weapons, but most of their supplies had been carefully hidden some time before in the camp cave there, in the cart captured from Dondro.

Heddizan went with them, to see them on their way. He and all the Captains were familiar with the gates and tunnels now, but they had no inclination to use them. Without the Skirmishers’ maps and compasses, it would be all too easy to get lost. Walst was there too, although he wasn’t going with them. He would be part of the second group leaving a day later. He had no one to read the signs for him, but Tanist’s group would mark the route with chalk, as Hurst had done, and wait for them at difficult junctions. They would wait again as they neared the tower, so that they could attack in one group.

They said little to each other, no more than a few whispered words of good luck and farewell, but no one invoked the Nine. None of them now had any faith in the Gods’ power. Gantor and Trimon wheeled out the cart, and with a wave they set off, leaving Heddizan and Walst standing in the half-light from the Godstower, growing smaller with each step they took.

After they passed through the first gate, they all stopped. It seemed a significant moment.

“Well, we are committed now,” said Tanist in a low voice. “No talking unless absolutely necessary, and keep to your places in the line. No weapons drawn without my command.”

Hurst found it disconcerting to be back in the tunnel again. It was only ten weeks since he had emerged, blinded by the sunlight, from the Godstower, and yet so much had happened in that time. He had been swept into battle, fought against Karningers, killed Bulraney and become Commander – but none of that had changed him fundamentally. He had first walked through the tunnel on a tide of anger and hope, indifferent to his own survival, and he had carried that recklessness into Third Section with him. It had almost got him killed, but even then he had not cared much about the future.

Only one point in all those weeks had truly made a difference, and that was the moment when Mia had run into his arms, and it had changed everything. Now he had someone to live for, someone to plan a future with, someone to justify the fight for a different sort of governance, a more compassionate and humane way of life. But now he also had someone to protect and it terrified him.

“Are you all right?” he whispered, dropping back to her side.

“Of course,” she whispered back. “That’s the third time you’ve asked.”

“Don’t worry,” Dethin murmured. “I’ll protect her.”

Hurst nodded, not completely reassured, and returned to his place at the front, beside Tanist.

They travelled much as Hurst had on his previous journey, stopping briefly to eat and rest each time they came to a camp cave, and sleeping for a few hours at every third one. Whenever they passed a Godstower, they spent a little time trying to work out how to open the door, but it was too dark to see much, even with torches, and although they could make out where the door must be, there were no handles, levers or locks. Eventually, they gave it up.

“If we happen on one in sunlight, or a full moon, we can have another look,” Tanist said gloomily, “but let’s not waste any more time on it otherwise.”

On the third day, they reached another of Tanist’s interests, a side room filled with carts. The cart they had brought with them was light and easy to push along by only one person, even when fully loaded with their gear. It had enough padded seats for eight people, and if they could get just two more, they would be able to speed the whole group through the tunnel. But the gate barring the entrance was locked, and this time it was a simple padlock and heavy chain, and nothing they tried would open it.

“Well, we always planned to walk the whole way,” Tanist said with a sigh. “We’ll still be able to carry one or two people in the cart, if anyone is injured or finding it difficult to keep up. Let’s carry on.”

Hurst said nothing. There were only two people Tanist might have in mind as being unable to keep up, and Mia was certainly not finding it difficult at the moment. He himself was most in danger of needing the ignominious assistance of the cart. He was all too aware that he was unused to such punishing exercise, for the ache in his bad leg was a constant reminder. It was going to be a long dreary walk.

Every step down the tunnel was torture for Mia. Her heart thundered, her breathing was fast, every nerve was stretched to breaking point. Her muscles were tensed to run for safety, although there was nowhere to run to. Her eyes were alert to the least movement in the shadows beyond the flickering torchlight, and her ears strained for any unusual noise. They walked quietly and without talking, but fourteen armed men could hardly be silent. She heard the creak of leather, the jingle of sword-loops, the stump of booted feet, the clap of a scabbard against thigh, the whisper of many breaths, the rumble of the cart. Beneath her feet water rushed in a constant torrent. And always around her was the confining, suffocating darkness.

Tanist and Hurst walked in front with the torch, with Gantor and Trimon behind. Then Mia, near enough to help read the signs when they came to a gate, with Dethin alongside her. Behind them was the cart, fitted with another torch, then the rest of the group in pairs. At the back, Groonerst and Ainsley kept watch behind them. Mia envied the Skirmishers their easy acceptance of the dangers. Who knew what they might find beyond the next gate, or in the next camp cave? Yet they walked stolidly along without complaint, without apparent fear, and whenever they stopped, however briefly, they rested and even slept.

Mia found it impossible to sleep. She lay down obediently when directed, with a blanket folded under her and another as a pillow, wrapped herself in her cloak and closed her eyes, but that only intensified her awareness of the noises around her. Those on watch whispered together, there were snuffles and gentle snores, or creaking when someone turned over. Occasionally footsteps would creep through the room, followed by the unmistakeable sounds of the carsi being used. For hour after hour she lay, pretending to sleep, until someone came to rouse her and another long day’s walking began, if day it was. It was hard to tell, in the perpetual darkness.

She had known fear before, but only that brief jag of terror before someone
– a servant, her husband, a guard, a Slave – stepped in to deal with the problem. There was Cristo, of course, but that hadn’t lasted long, either. Since then, it had been something less – a kind of background anxiety, a constant murmuring worry about Bulraney or Dethin, and the unknown future. But this was more intense – and it was constant, like a continual screech in her ears, jangling her nerves and reducing her to quivering helplessness.

In this strange underworld, Dethin was her greatest comfort. He walked silently beside her, catching her arm if she stumbled, waiting for her if she stopped for a moment, smiling sometimes when she caught his eye. Whenever they stopped to rest, he made sure she got her food first, and had the best of the blankets, and the most secluded and secure sleeping bench. He draped a blanket for privacy when she used the carsi or washed. The last thing she saw when she closed her eyes to sleep was Dethin sitting not far away, watching over her.

Hurst kept an eye on her too, but he was occupied with Tanist and Gantor, planning, organising watch shifts and cooking rotas, so mostly she was left to Dethin. She would have liked to hold his hand sometimes as they walked, just for the pleasure of a human touch, but he was fully mailed, even to the gloves. She was mailed herself, in fact, wearing an armoured leather over-tunic, vambraces and greaves, although it had been difficult to find anything small enough to fit her.

“A knife in the upper arm or leg won’t be fatal,” Hurst had told her in a matter-of-fact way, “but a knife in the heart will be.”

She had a knife of her own, too, a long, curved spike, which Hurst had shown her how to hold, while pointing out the best places to aim for. It did nothing to reassure her.

The third night they used the last of the bread brought from the compound, crumbling it into the stewpot so that it thickened the gravy almost to the consistency of porridge. Everyone agreed it was the best meal yet. Mia lay down, her belly full, and she was so exhausted that she slept almost instantly.

She woke to lights, strange flickering blue-green lights. Someone was crying, a high wail. Faces leaned over her, spoke to her, but she couldn’t understand the words. On the floor, a heap of bloodstained cloths. Then she must have slept again, because she was in the cart, moving so fast she felt sick. That wailing again. Then another face, a man, a stranger with dark hair and a short beard, bending close to her, hushing her, his hand on her forehead.

“Sssh, it’s all right, Mia. It’s only a dream. Wake up! Sssh now.”

Who was he, this man? She started up, and then, in a rush, she realised. “Dethin? Sorry, sorry… Did I wake everyone?”

Dethin tucked an arm around her back, and smiled.

“Not really. Don’t worry about it. This place – it doesn’t make for easy dreams.”

It was true, for while she had lain awake for hours, she’d noticed several others who were restless in their sleep. Some even cried out momentarily, or muttered as they dreamed. Perhaps they suffered on this miserable journey, just as she did.

She lay down again, and he kissed her softly on the forehead. Impulsively she pulled him down for a real kiss. He laughed and laid a hand soothingly across her stomach. He had removed his armoured gear, and she could feel the soft warmth of his arm through her tunic.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured, pulling her cloak up to her chin and tucking it around her. She closed her eyes, and almost immediately drifted off.

She woke some time later – hours or minutes, she couldn’t tell – to find him still sitting on the floor beside her, his head resting on his arm inches from her face. He was sleeping, but not quietly, muttering and twitching, his other hand moving in the air, as if grasping something. He seemed to be talking, but she couldn’t make out the words.

“Dethin? Wake up!” she whispered.

He woke instantly, his head jerking up, and drew a sharp breath when he saw her. To her dismay she saw tears on his face. He must have seen her expression, for he looked down and quickly wiped his sleeve across his eyes.

“I hate this place,” he said, almost too low for her to catch the words.

“So do I, and I don’t even remember much about my previous journey. But you remember everything, I expect.”

He looked up at her then, and quickly down again, nodding almost imperceptibly.

“There’s room for both of us on here,” she said. “Come and lie down beside me.”

Without a word, he lifted her cloak and slid in alongside her, wrapping the cloak round both of them and curling his arm over her waist and round her back, to pull her close. She folded into his arms with a sigh. Comforted, they both slept.

~~~

Mia lost track of the days after that. There was nothing but the endless tunnel, the brief stops at gates, and the longer stops at camp caves. Occasionally the group would pass a side tunnel to a Godstower, and once she was astonished to see grey daylight filtering down. Another time it was raining, and she could hear water pouring down from the open roof and into the drains below their feet. There were many side tunnels now, each marked with a Karning number, or sometimes several, presumably leading to funeral towers. Eventually, they came to the one with Mia’s own Karning number on it, and she knew it was the one she had travelled down. It still had Hurst’s chalk mark on the wall.

“That will be the last of my marks,” he said cheerfully. “We’re into new territory now.”

The group fell into a rhythm, with everyone knowing their assigned tasks. Even their rest stops were quiet now, as people did what needed to be done with silent efficiency. Mia supposed that Skirmishers were always this way, once a mission got under way, but she couldn’t help admiring the quickness of everything they did. Every morning, before they left their sleeping place, they prepared two bags of food, one to be eaten at meal stops, and one for the pot
– dried meat, vegetables, beans, grains, whatever was to hand – so that when they arrived at the next sleeping place, it would go straight into water over the brazier, with no waste of time. It meant they had hot food in an hour or so. While they waited, they prepared sleeping places, washed in cold water and changed into clean underthings. Or at least, Mia did. She wasn’t sure about all the men. Dethin always trimmed his beard, using his own blades and a small hand mirror, and she noticed that after a few days Hurst began to do the same.

The hot meal was the most sociable time of the day. Hurst and Dethin came to sit with her, one either side, and often Tanist or Gantor or Trimon as well, if they weren’t on watch duty. After that, the group slept and either Hurst or Dethin would lie with her. When they woke, there was a pot of porridge ready, and another long day of walking began.

Once they passed through an entire stretch of tunnel between two gates lit with an unearthly greenish glow high up along one wall, which flickered and dimmed and sputtered in the strangest fashion. They waited some time before venturing into that section in case they met anyone, but when they plucked up the courage to walk on, they found it empty. Nor could they see any way of controlling the lights.

“It would be useful if we could light the whole tunnel like this,” Tanist said. “But I don’t see any levers. Does anyone know how it works?”

“It all seemed like magic to me,” Ainsley said. “The guide would open the gate, and then after a minute or two, by the time everyone was through, the next lights just came on by themselves.”

“Well, it’s not magic,” said Gantor, “That’s for sure. And I would guess it’s the same kind of vapour that lights the funeral towers. There must be some trigger around here somewhere.”

“We can’t spare the time to look for it,” Tanist said. “It’s a pity, but we must keep going.”

~~~

A day or two after that, they came to another section filled with light, this time a yellowish colour. They passed through the gate and on along the tunnel, but they hadn’t gone far when Tanist raised his fist and they all stopped. Mia could hear her heart thumping, but there was no other sound apart from the ever-present rush of water under their feet and a slight hissing from the lights.

“People ahead,” Tanist whispered. “Defensive formation.” The words were passed back down the line.

Gantor and Trimon moved forward to take up position alongside Tanist and Hurst. Trimon readied his bow, and the others drew their swords. Mia and Dethin moved behind the cart and four warriors moved forward to help out if there was trouble.

Slowly they began to walk again. Mia couldn’t see anything but the backs of the Skirmishers ahead of her but Dethin, who was taller, signalled four fingers at her. He was on her right, his hand resting on his sword hilt, his eyes focused somewhere ahead of them.

They stopped again, and just as Mia’s nerves were stretched tight enough to snap, Tanist came back to find her.

“Mia, you read the old myths, don’t you?” he said in a low voice. “Weren’t there some creatures that live in the caves under the Ring of Bonnegar?”

For a moment she was too confused to think straight. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

“There were dragons once, supposedly. And
keelarim
. But – they don’t exist anymore.”

“Keelarim?”

“Big caterpillar things with sharp teeth.”

“No, these
—”

He was interrupted by a frantic shout from Groonerst at the back.

“Carts behind! Carts!”

At once there was chaos. Dethin hastily pulled Mia to one side and several people rushed past, swords out. There was shouting, the rasp of swords being drawn, the creak of a bowstring, boots thumping. The strange light glimmered on bare blades. Someone shifted the cart round to partially block the tunnel, with Mia on the far side from the approaching carts.

“Keep down!” Dethin hissed to her, drawing his own sword. “Whatever happens, stay behind me.” And he positioned himself between her and the unknown threat ahead of them.

They had rehearsed this situation many times, but they had never considered that they might be under attack from two directions at once. Mia crouched down in the shelter of the cart. In front of her, Dethin was her only defence from whatever unknown danger lay further down the tunnel. Her fear was a palpable thing, a knot in her stomach, heavy and solid. And yet, now that the moment had come and she was facing a real threat, something in her rebelled at huddling on the ground in terror while a man protected her, and perhaps died for her. Wasn’t she a descendant of the sword-maidens of the old tales? Wasn’t she just as capable of wielding a weapon? Wasn’t she brave enough to fight in battle and die with honour, just like them? Or was she to be cowed and fearful all her life?

She took a deep breath, stood up and drew her dagger.

Dethin half turned his head to whisper, “You may not need that after all. They don’t look dangerous, do they?”

He moved back to stand beside her, and she gazed in astonishment down the tunnel. Four creatures stood there, two legged and two armed like humans, but small and skinny. They wouldn’t even reach her shoulder, she guessed. Their hands and feet were large, relative to their stick-thin arms and legs, and they had bulbous hairless heads with huge pale eyes. They wore loosely draped brown rags – or perhaps that was their skin, she couldn’t tell. They stood in a cluster next to a small cart gazing at her, and twittering to each other. Most bizarre of all, they carried an assortment of what looked like feather dusters and cloths on long poles. The cart was fitted out with a ladder contraption.