The Plains of Kallanash (53 page)

“Is this true? You wish us no harm?”

The man nodded eagerly.

“Can you talk to us?”

A shake of the head.

Hurst grunted.

Mia had slowly made her way forward to stand beside him. “They’re puzzled,” she said. “Why not tell them who we are, and what we’re here for?”

That brought another nod.

“I’d rather know what
they’re
here for,” Hurst muttered. “Oh, very well. I am Hurst dos Arrakas, of – well, of nowhere at the moment. We have all come from – from beyond, to… erm…”

Dethin appeared beside Mia, and twitched a hand, and Hurst fell silent. All heads were turned towards Dethin.

“There are those who call us barbarians,” he said in his quiet voice which yet carried all round the wide landing with its high ceiling, “but we are all of us Karningers, like you. We were sent into exile beyond the border by Those who Serve the Gods and their Voices and Slaves, to fight endlessly against our own people with no possibility of reprieve. We will tolerate this oppression no longer. We have come here to reclaim our own land from these outsiders and set ourselves and all Karningers free. Our quarrel is not with you, but all who oppose us must die or leave the Karningplain. You must choose which side you will take, and you must choose now. Will you oppose us?”

The warriors stood motionless during this speech, but the Silent Guards were signalling to each other with rapid hand movements. They couldn’t speak, but they could still communicate. Mia could see Walst tensing, and she put out a restraining hand towards him, shaking her head slightly. His swordpoint dropped a little, but his eyes were on Hurst.

The Silent Guards stopped signalling, and all turned to Dethin. The leader bowed deeply to him.

“Will you oppose us?” he asked again.

A vehement shake of the head.

“We are going up to the top of the tower,” Dethin said. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Again, a negative.

“I’m not going anywhere while they’re still here, and armed,” Hurst muttered.

The leader gestured at himself, then a sweeping motion to include his fellows and then pointed downwards, a questioning look on his face. Dethin looked at Hurst, who shrugged and then nodded.

“Very well,” Dethin said. “If you leave all your weapons behind, you may go.”

They unbuckled their knife belts and placed them in a heap on the floor. Cautiously, swords still bared, the warriors stood aside to let the Silent Guards leave.

With a quick hop the leader jumped onto the low wall edging the ramp and leapt into the void beyond. Mia was too horrified to move as one by one all six of them jumped to certain death many floors below. It was Walst who recovered first, and raced across the landing to look down the shaft.

Then he laughed. “Fuck me, this place is amazing! Come and look.”

It was only when Dethin took her hand and reassured her that the six were perfectly safe that Mia dared to look. There they were, floating slowly in elegant spirals down to the ground floor, their silks fluttering colourfully as they descended.

“Well, that beats walking, and no mistake!” Ainsley said.

“Any explanation for that?” Hurst asked Gantor.

“Just some mechanism we don’t understand,” he grunted.

“Exactly so. Let’s call it magic, shall we? But I wonder why they put up no resistance?”

“Not their responsibility,” Gantor said. “Whatever their orders are, they’re not required to defend the tower from the likes of us.”

“If they’re not here to keep us out…?”

“Maybe they’re here to keep someone in? Let’s find out, shall we?”

There was no time to savour the relief of escaping without a fight, for they were not yet at the topmost level of the tower, and none of them had forgotten the traps and devices they had encountered lower down. They could not afford to be complacent.

The arched doors had ordinary handles and opened without effort. There were no other doors onto the landing, so there was no option but to go through. Beyond was a long straight corridor leading directly to a window in the outer wall of the tower. Doors led off on either side. The first one they opened revealed a bunk room with six beds, each perfectly made up, six chairs and a cupboard containing equipment for sharpening swords and the like.

“No personal effects at all,” Gantor muttered. “No books, games, writing things.”

“Maybe they don’t write home much,” Walst said.

“I’d expect them to write reports, though,” Hurst said thoughtfully. “Very odd.”

“Maybe they can’t read or write,” Gantor said. “To keep them isolated. But everything about this place is odd. Do you realise, we haven’t seen
them
at all.”

“Them?”

“Those who Serve the Gods. They’re supposed to live here, remember, and there’s room for hundreds of the little bastards, but we haven’t come across a single one.”

“That woman
– the healer – said they weren’t here, but if they are, they’re up above, on the top floor. We must be close now.”

They went on, and found a room with shelves filled with clean clothes for the Silent Guards, neatly folded, then several empty rooms and finally, a surprise
– five women in aprons busy with domestic chores; not Trannatta, just ordinary Karningers. Two were dealing with laundry, and three were preparing food, and they burst into terrified screams when the warriors appeared.

“Nothing wrong with
their
voices,” Dethin muttered.

Hurst rounded them up and then went off with Gantor to investigate their quarters.

“There’s not much to see,” he reported when he returned. “The usual things, and a room with six beds, and an old woman sleeping there – sick, I’d say. Took no notice of us, anyway.”

Walst and Trimon had the five women pinned into a corner, sobbing and leaning against each other for support.

“The old woman – what’s wrong with her?” Hurst said. This brought a loud outbreak of sobs. “What is your job here?” More sobs. “Look – we mean you no harm, you know. Who is it you work for?” But he could get nothing from them.

“Can you calm them down?” Dethin said quietly to Mia. “Soothe them
– like I did with the
keelarim
.”

“I don’t know how to,” she said.

“Give it a try.”

But although she could feel the women’s distress very clearly, she had no idea how to reduce it.

“Well, we can’t waste any more time on them,” Hurst said. “Ainsley, take three men, and keep an eye on them. Put them in the bunk room, that’ll keep them out of the way.”

“Can’t we let them go?” Mia said, finding herself quite upset by the women’s constant wailing. “They are none of them young, they’re terrified and they can’t do us any harm, surely.”

“They’re too hysterical to let loose down below,” he said. “Who knows what they might do? They’re safer here. Besides, someone has to stay with the sick one. She looks likely to die at any moment. Come on – just a few more doors to go.”

When they reached the outer door of the women’s quarters, they found it closed and locked against them. There were small hatches in the door, to allow food to be passed through. Once again, Dondro’s ring released them.

“They were locked in there!” Mia said, shocked.

“So they were,” Hurst said sombrely. “Elderly women locked away to provide food and clean clothes for the Silent Guards. We’ll take them with us when we go back down.”

“There are a lot of people imprisoned in this tower,” Mia said quietly.

Two remaining doors led only to empty rooms, and a third was locked. Again, the ring released it.

“Look at this,” said Gantor. “The door locks on both sides, so you need a ring to go either way. What do you suppose they have hidden away here?”

“Let’s find out,” Hurst said. “But I think we should assume it’s hostile.”

Beyond the door was a short corridor and then a long ramp curved away up the inner side of the tower wall. The men drew their swords and Mia her dagger, and they crept silently up the ramp, up and up, until they could see the topmost spire of the tower arching high above them. They had reached the top of the tower.

They emerged into a room filled with light. The whole floor was a single vast room, the outer walls largely glass, and the sunlight reflecting off the lake dazzled them. In the exact centre of the room was a massive glass table, perfectly circular, and embedded in it were the same type of fiery letters they had seen in the tunnel.

Set around the table were many chairs, about half of them filled, but Mia had never seen people like them. They were old, yet their skin was clear and shining. Their hair was grey or white but it hung to their waists, lustrous and full. They wore elegantly draped gowns decorated with gold embroidery. Their faces were all turned expectantly towards the warriors, and there was no fear in them at all. Surprise, maybe, and even pleasure.

One of the two women gasped and clapped her hands in excitement. “At last, at last!” she cried.

One of the men held both hands out towards them, beaming. “Come in, friends, come in and welcome! We have been waiting such a long time for you.”

“Now what?” muttered Walst.

Hurst felt much the same. After all the bizarre events of the last few days and weeks, going right back to Mia’s disappearance and his own pursuit of her, he had long since lost any ability to predict what might be around the next corner or behind the next door. He felt as if he had jumped into a river in full spate and was being swept inexorably downstream to who knew what destination.

It no longer worried him. It was enough to be alive, to be with Mia, to be still moving forwards. Every encounter, however, every new twist left him less able to deal with the next. He knew himself to be a competent Skirmisher, perhaps more than competent, and where he knew the rules of the game he could cope well enough. But here there were no rules at all. He had no idea what game they were playing, what the pieces were, what moves he could safely make. A simple lock could open up the floor beneath them. An empty hall could suddenly fill with enemies appearing out of nowhere. He was prepared for anything or nothing, moving blind, simply hoping that they would get through each stage.

He wished Tanist were there, with his relaxed air of authority, taking the lead, giving orders without effort. He made it look so easy. Dethin had that too, he realised. He had stepped in with the Silent Guards, and said all the right things, much better than he could have done. He had never pushed himself forward, never tried to take over, but when he had needed help, Dethin was there, just like his Companions, trustworthy, always watching his back. He liked that. He half wished their positions were reversed, that he had nothing to do except protecting Mia, and Dethin had the task of dealing with all the impossible things that had crossed their path.

And now, this. Whatever he might have thought he would find, it was not these benign old people, beaming in pleasure at him. They looked harmless, but how could he tell? Were they even real?

He heard Dethin’s voice from behind him. “Mia?”

“They’re friendly,” she said without hesitation. “They seem – excited.” Her voice sounded puzzled by that.

Those seated around the table exchanged glances.

“We
are
friendly,” one of the men said, standing up, so that Walst twitched. “We have no weapons – see?” He held his arms out horizontally, the draped sleeves hanging almost to the floor. “You may search us if you wish.”

Hurst was torn. It would be sensible, of course, but it seemed disrespectful. The gowns they wore were of an unfamiliar style, but there was a tradition long ago on the plains that those who had reached the age of wisdom set aside practical working clothes and grew their hair and wore the gown. Many villages still kept to the old ways, calling such people ‘elder’ and deferring to them in many matters.

Seeing his hesitation, the man lowered his arms and said, “Your archer there will have no trouble putting an arrow in any of us from where he stands, if we should make the slightest move against you. Will you not sit and talk to us? It has been so long since we saw anyone from outside. And Skirmishers and barbarians together… There is a tale to be told, I believe.”

“And a sword-maiden, too,” said one of the women, smiling at Mia. “That is a tale
I
should like to hear.”

Again Hurst was irresolute, but Mia suddenly set off across the room. “
Crenjifor!
” she murmured. “And
denniyar!
Of all things! And you have golden wine – this is dark enough to have come from Herramin.”

“Near enough,” one of the women said, rising, and moving gracefully across the room to the side table where Mia stood with a glass decanter in one hand and a prickly fruit in the other. “This is from Northern Trellia, the very best quality. Here, let me pour you a glass. Anyone else?”

“We’re not here for a party!” Hurst said in exasperation, feeling the situation beginning to drift away from him.

“We should very much like to hear what you
are
here for,” one of the men said. They had a curious rolling accent, that reminded him strongly of Dondro. Yet they were not like the Servants to look at, not in the least. Nor were they quite like Karningers. They had high foreheads and rounder faces, with narrow lips and noses.

“Who
are
you people?” he burst out.

“Oh, come on,” Mia said. “Surely you can work it out? You should be able to count, at least.”

Hurst counted. “Nine,” he croaked. “You’re the Nine.”

“Didn’t you notice the symbols they each wear?” Mia went on. “This is Sylinor… Pashinor… Gullinor… Gaminor…” She walked round the table, wineglass in one hand and fruit in the other, pointing out the delicate embroidery on each breast, listing the names of the Nine.

“But you’re not Gods.” That was Gantor.

“No, no, we’re perfectly human, but…” He stopped and frowned. Sylinor, Hurst worked out. “There is more to it. Would you like to hear our tale?”

Hurst hesitated again.

“I should like to hear it,” Gantor said firmly.

In the end, Hurst, Gantor and Dethin unstrapped their swords and sat side by side, opposite the Nine, while Mia roamed about the room, eating and drinking and gazing out of the windows. The other four stood around the walls, swords still drawn, Trimon with an arrow nocked, just in case. One of the women – Gaminor, Hurst guessed – set wine on the table in front of each of them, which Gantor and the Nine sipped appreciatively. Dethin and Hurst left theirs untouched.

“I must start, I suppose, with the
Tre’annatha
,” Sylinor said.

“Trannatta,” Gaminor said to him with a smile.

“Oh – yes. It’s a corruption of the name, of course. They call themselves
Tre’annatha.
Tell me, what do you know of them?”

“They are from the northern coast,” Gantor said flatly.

“True. They first came here – oh, almost a thousand years ago, it must be. They opened up the northern trade route, and brought in spices and silks and vines and oils and all these exotic fruits your sword-maiden is enjoying so much. And the Petty Kings were so grateful they fought for the right to control the supply, and the
Tre’annatha
went home again in disgust. Or so it is said. Would it surprise you to learn that in fact they stayed on?”

“We have seen them,” Dethin said quietly. “They call themselves Those who Serve the Gods now.”

“Ah! So you know something, then. They stayed, and hid themselves away underground. For they had no interest in spices. What they were looking for was magic.”

He paused and looked round at them, perhaps expecting some reaction, but they said nothing. They had seen enough strangeness in the last few days to suppress even Gantor’s scepticism.

“The
Tre’annatha
have a long history, and they retained many written records, even from before the Catastrophe, or shortly after. They brought their own languages and writing system to the Petty Kings…”

“Kannick Old Script!” Mia said, from her post by the window.

“It is very like that, yes. They introduced that style of writing here, and it only died out recently – a couple of hundred years ago or so.”

“You have a novel concept of recently,” Dethin said.

“All things are relative,” Sylinor said, beaming benevolently at him, and some of the others laughed. They were so relaxed, Hurst thought sourly.

“So they had stories, legends, perhaps, about magic,” Sylinor went on. “They had one legend about an island a long way from any other land, and in the middle of this island was a circle of mountains and in the middle of
that
a beautiful golden tower, from which all the magic in the world emanated. There were great mages there, so the tale went, who learned how to combine their magic to become even more powerful. But they were arrogant, and began to believe they were gods, and brought down the Catastrophe that changed the world. Naturally, the
Tre’annatha
assumed that the island and everything on it had been swept away, but they thought there might be traces left of the original magic. Reservoirs, perhaps, where it still survived and could be caught and harnessed. Imagine how excited they were, when they first came to the plains, to hear about Kashinor – its ring of mountains, and the golden tower at its centre, still called the Tower of Mages.

“It wasn’t difficult to get into Kashinor, it was open to anyone in those days. But the tower
– that was more difficult. The scholars had control of it then. Only the finest scholars could enter the Tower of Mages, so it took them a while to achieve their objective. But eventually, one of them rose to the highest rank possible amongst the scholars, and so found herself here, in this room. It looked much as it does now, or so we have been told. This table was here, with all its strange writing, and more on the walls, just as you see it now. You cannot read it, but
they
could – the
Tre’annatha
. Or at least, they had learned men who were able to decipher it, in time. Can you guess what it told them?”

“Of course we can’t,” Hurst said crossly. They were so wordy, these people! He was primed for action, and it pained him to sit listening politely to this long rambling history, feigning interest. “Can we get to the point?”

Dethin threw him an amused glance. “You will forgive us a degree of impatience, Lord Sylinor. We’ve had a difficult few days, and it’s made us a little tense. Please continue.”

“Try the wine, Hurst,” Mia said
from somewhere behind him. “It’s excellent, and it will help you calm down.”

“I will, if you will stop prowling round like a leopard, and come and sit down.”

Dethin jumped up and ushered Mia into the vacated seat next to Hurst, reseating himself in the next chair along. He always liked to have Mia between the two of them, Hurst realised. Was that just courtesy to Mia? Was he making a pointed contrast with Hurst’s incivility? Or was he punctiliously sharing her evenly between them?

He had been debating with himself for days whether it was better to have her with him, under his eye, even when that put her at some risk, or to leave her behind and worry about her even more. Better to have her there, he decided, calm and not at all unnerved by these people, these not-Gods. He sipped his wine, which was indeed good, and smiled at her, feeling the tension drop away a little.

Sylinor watched them compose themselves, his lips showing just a hint of amusement. “I apologise – Commander, is it not? The story is long, but I am getting to the point at last. The writing was set down just before the Catastrophe. Sadly, it says nothing of the events which led to that point, only that, in case all other efforts to avert disaster failed, nine mages had been laid under a lasting enchantment and hidden under the mountains, to be revived later to aid in rebuilding.”

“You? So you’re
mages
?” Hurst said, astonished. “Did you make this tower, then? It is magic, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is,” Sylinor said, reaching for his wine. “As to who made it… that is lost in the clouds of time. The
Tre’annatha
could read the directions for finding the resting place of the mages – us, that is – but they could not fully understand them. The meanings of the measurements used and the directions were unlike anything they had met with previously. It took them a long time to find us in the dragons’ caverns, and more time to bring us here, for we had been turned to solid stone. But the tower healed us. You are aware, I take it, that the tower has healing properties?”

There was a silence in the room. Hurst supposed he ought to feel something, but his sense of wonder was blunted. Healing properties? He shifted his bad leg, and wished sourly that the tower would heal that. He’d forgotten to take his pain-reducing lozenges that morning, and although the ramp had been easy enough to walk up, he could feel the beginnings of a dull ache now that he was sitting down.

No one spoke. Sylinor sighed, and continued. “So – we were restored to life and health, but there was a tiny problem. We remembered nothing at all, not even our names. Our minds were empty.”

Gantor barked with laughter. “That must have pleased your rescuers!”

There was a ripple of laughter around the table. “Indeed so. They wanted to bring us back to life to harness our magic and make themselves powerful. We were a sad disappointment to them, I fear.”

“You speak the language well enough,” Dethin said. His voice was soft, but his eyes had narrowed.

“That is a good point,” Gaminor said. And it
was
a good point. How come they could talk so well? How did they know so much, with empty minds?

“They taught us,” one of the other men said. “They gave us names, they taught us to speak again, they taught us to read, and then they brought us books, that we might teach ourselves what we could.”

“They hoped we would remember,” said the woman. “But that never happened. All we now know, we learned from books.” There was sadness in her voice.

“So
– no magic, then?” Gantor said.

Again, amusement eddied around the table. “No magic,” the woman said. “No spells, no power, no abilities as far as we can tell. And no memories of home, of childhood, of family, of happier times. This tower is all we know.”