In the Earth Abides the Flame (19 page)

He begged, implored, ordered and cajoled the Instruian Guard in order to gain support for his master. Initially the guards were not keen for a further taste of battle, but wheedling words in the right ears eventually secured eighty soldiers for the task. They had spent the previous day searching the city, and his worry had finally eased when that stinking fish-seller gave him the information he sought. Plans were laid, and the attack timed for dawn. The Arkhos would have his revenge. Success was vital, failure unconscionable.

His signals now brought the axemen to the front. An imperious gesture from the Arkhos of Nemohaim sent their axes ringing against the old oak door of the tenement. The sturdy wood withstood the four-axe onslaught for a full minute before it splintered, then crashed inwards.

In an instant two dozen soldiers poured through the dark opening, trying to dismiss thoughts of steel bars and double-handed swordsmen. They had heard the rumours, embellished in the telling. But the huge red man was real, and had the power and will to order their deaths should they show the slightest sign of reluctance. It was folly to cross any member of the Council, death to cross this one.

It took less than a minute to secure the building, and within three minutes it was obvious the tenement was empty, not only of people, but of possessions.

'Burn it down,' the Arkhos ordered in his wheezy hiss.

'But, my lord, the buildings on either side will also be consumed,' his servant said before he could help himself. His moral inhibitions foolishly overrode his instinct for self-preservation. 'Should we not at least warn the occupants?'

The Arkhos of Nemohaim was in no mood to brook any questioning of his will. He made no effort to control his black emotion. In the silence of the moment, as the chief servant realised that he was dead, he noticed a muscle twitching in his master's neck, as though something was alive under the skin.

'Burn it down,' the Arkhos repeated, reaching out a meaty hand and grabbing his servant around die throat. He turned to one of the guards. 'Start the fire with this.'

As the fire roared from floor to floor and the piteous cries ceased, the Arkhos of Nemohaim surveyed his handiwork. The gnawing blackness inside him was in no way assuaged by the scene. Let it all bum. It is their fault for living here, so close to them, and not reporting them to the guard. Let them die.

'Block the entrances to the tenements on either side,' he commanded. 'They might be hiding in one of the buildings.'

Distasteful as this was, no one dared disobey the monster in red. Sword-bearing guards beat back the desperate occupants as the fire took hold in the building to the right. To the left, the neighbouring tenement stubbornly refused to burn. A man and a child emerged on the roof of the rightmost tenement: below them the building shifted, settling perceptibly lower. As the flames licked around the roof the man took his child and threw it bodily over fifteen feet of yawning space to the roof of the next building. The child cried out and lay still where it landed. The man set himself, then jumped. He fell at least three feet short, and plummeted to the ground with a shriek.

Not enough, the black madness cried. Give me more.

In the midst of all this came Lennan, who had watched the Company take refuge in a small outbuilding near the city wall. It had taken longer than anticipated to climb down from his vantage point. He was appalled at the sight of the burning buildings, and for a moment considered abandoning his revenge. Coward, the fire roared at him. Take your destiny into your own hands. His blood roaring in his throat, Lennan stepped out into the street.

Rough hands were laid on him the moment he ventured into the open, and one of the guards dragged him before the Arkhos.

'This is one who was in The Pinion,' he said. 'He is an associate of the ones you seek.'

'I wasn't there!' Lennan cried. The guard cuffed him silent with a steel glove.

The Arkhos drew his sword. Do it, the blackness pleaded with him. You know you want to.

The guards drew back, leaving the wretched boy defenceless in the middle of the street. 'I can tell you where they are!' he cried, trying to get this creature before him to hear reason. But it seemed the man was not listening.

The Arkhos advanced on the boy, who stumbled in his haste to escape. On came the Arkhos, slashing indiscriminately. Nemohaim had been a superb swordsman in his younger days, but displayed none of that talent today. The Captain of the Guard turned away, professional distaste mixed with horror at what was happening in plain view on the street. But he could not shut his ears to the grunts and screams, and the sound of steel on bone.

When he turned back, the Arkhos was fumbling with his sword, trying to slip it back into its scabbard, not having bothered to clean it first. The captain would assign to his junior the task of cleaning away the shapeless mess that besmirched the cobbles.

I feel better, the black madness whispered. 'I feel better,' the Arkhos of Nemohaim said. For the moment.

'Pheeeyeew,' Stella remarked after careful consideration. 'This place smells like a dead sheep.'

Indrett smiled pleasantly at her. 'That's because it is a dead sheep, dear,' she said, pulling a greasy pelt, overlain with dust, out from under the young woman.

'Ugh,' Stella added, after a little further consideration. 'Where are we?'

'Looks like some sort of storage shed,' Kurr said.

Foilzie nodded. 'That it is. My Ferdie - may his soul be at peace - used this place to keep goods he bought until the price went up at market. Now sit tight, my loves, and don't you put so much as a toe into the open air until I return. Promise?'

The Company nodded as one. Anything, even the foetid air in this cramped shed, was better than being on the streets today. Foilzie grunted and pulled the reluctant door shut behind her, leaving them alone.

Phemanderac waited for a full thirty seconds, then could contain himself no longer. 'Is this a good time to discuss the future of Faltha and our role in it?'

'You have a fine sense of the dramatic,' Kurr said. 'I doubt you could have found anything that important in the records of a town such as this.'

'But I have,' the philosopher replied emphatically.

'Important to a scholar, perhaps.'

'Why not judge the matter yourself? I want to present my findings to the Company. All of you should decide upon the merit or otherwise of what I have discovered. Understand, though, that however my words are received I shall assist you in your endeavours to escape this city; and if you see any hope in your quest, I will continue to give you whatever assistance I can.

My pledge thus made, you can make a judgment without fear of my taking offence.'

'Very well, then,' Kurr said. 'It appears we will be here for some time. Tell us what you have found out.'

'First, let's summarise our knowledge,' the philosopher suggested. 'The Bhrudwans threaten to invade Faltha, and are conducting their preparations with the utmost secrecy. They have succeeded in infiltrating many of the Falthan kingdoms, and appear to have a majority of the Council of Faltha in their pay. The Arkhos of Nemohaim seems to be their leader.

'Mahnum the Trader was sent to Bhrudwo by the Firanese king to investigate a rumour of war heard at the court. Most likely this originated from Bhrudwan emissaries sent to enlist the king to their cause. In Bhrudwo Mahnum was able to confirm the existence of a large army, and on Andratan learned the names of those who were set to betray Faltha, and something of the Bhrudwan timetable. He also learned the Voice of Andratan - who may be the Destroyer himself - is searching for information.'

'He wanted to know all about the Right Hand,' Mahnum confirmed. 'I had no idea what he meant. I still don't.

'But while I think about it,' he continued, 'I have for some time intended to ask Achtal what the Bhrudwan warriors knew about the Right Hand. Their leader was relentless in his pursuit of knowledge about this Hand, and would not accept we knew nothing. I am convinced it was for this knowledge Indrett and I were taken captive and not merely disposed of.'

All eyes turned to the Bhrudwan, who crouched unconcerned in a shadowy corner of the shed, still wearing the Arkhos of Nemohaim's red robe.

Hal spoke. 'According to what Achtal has told me, his leader was playing a dangerous game.

Their instructions came from Andratan, and referred merely to the elimination of the Trader and anyone else who might know of the Bhrudwan plans. However, there were those in Bhrudwo who might reward handsomely the one who brought them information about something Andratan itself had not discovered; that is, the Right Hand. So the leader of the raiding party kept the captives alive, hoping to gain that information or at least to hand the captives over to the highest bidder. There was one man, apparently, an ambitious and scheming individual, who was prepared to pay a great deal of money for such information.'

'Why did Achtal not rebel at this, if his instructions from Andratan said otherwise?' Stella wanted to know.

'Bhrudwan warriors of this order are taught unquestioning obedience to their leader, so it never occurred to Achtal to disobey him. But during their travels he lost respect for his leader, and it is his opinion that this divided purpose robbed them of strength and led to their defeat.'

'So what is this Right Hand, then?' Mahnum asked.

'Achtal knows no more than you do,' Hal said. 'He assumed it was some great weapon or fearsome warrior with the potential to deal the Bhrudwan cause a mighty blow. For a while he considered it might be you yourself,' he said to his father.

Mahnum laughed. 'If I am the Right Hand, and the Right Hand is a chief part of the Falthan defence, then Faltha is in serious danger.'

Phemanderac resumed. 'As I understand it there are others among us, such as the Hermit, who have become aware of the existence and significance, if not the identity, of the Right Hand.'

'That is so,' said the man in the pale blue robe, smiling widely. Instruere had been good to the Hermit, and he had taken the opportunity to mix with the countrymen of his birth, and relearn the social niceties he had forgotten in his years of self-imposed isolation. He had deliberately kept a low profile, spending much time away from the Company, observing them and allowing circumstances to take shape.

'In my solitude I heard the word of the Most High,' he said positively. 'Not in an audible voice, but fully formed as an impression in my mind, came the word that I should expect visitors. I was given two specific words for one of them, whom I should recognise when he came. I was also given a specific phrase, one which I had not heard before: "the Right Hand of the Most High".'

'Let's make this clear: no one had told you of this Right Hand?' Phemanderac wanted there to be no doubt as they tried to make sense of what was happening to them.

'I can verify that,' the Haufuth interposed. 'While he was convalescing the Hermit raised the subject with me a number of times - a large number of times. Actually,' he added, 'I think the Hermit believes he knows the identity of this Right Hand.'

'I do,' said the Hermit, 'though this is through my own observation and suspicion, not through a direct word.' He shot a glance at Hal, who said nothing. 'And in my opinion the Right Hand is a member of your Company, the one to whom I delivered my words at Bandits'

Cave.'

Head down, apparently absorbed with something on the floor, Leith felt his face colouring at the attention of the Company. He remembered the words of the Hermit: 'a high and lofty destiny ... will rule over kingdoms ... have come for such a time as this.' He also remembered the unease the words caused him. They represented the kind of fantasy he entertained as a child, to dominate and rule over those whom he could not control, to be important, famous, loved by everyone ... This is not my destiny. 1 hope it is not my destiny. It would destroy me.

Dreaming in the dayUght.

Leith raised his head, his chin forward, and faced his friends and family. 'Those of you who know me know how unlikely it is I would turn out to be a great weapon or a mighty warrior.

Let us all dismiss the notion, as I have already.'

Unperturbed, the Hermit said: 'Such an answer is precisely what I would expect from the Right Hand.'

Phemanderac spoke. 'When I first met Leith 1 told him of the prophetic saying of Hauthius, a great sage and prophet of former times from my homeland, who many hundreds of years ago wrote the Arminia Skreud. It tells us a number of things: that the Bhrudwans will have dominion in Faltha; that they will be driven back by something called the Jugom Ark, which is an artefact wielded by the Hand of God, who is at present concealed, but is about to be revealed; and this Hand originates, the saying concludes, from Loulea Vale in Firanes.'

'What it tells us depends on whether we believe in the accuracy of such prophecy.' The Haufuth frowned as he spoke. 'It tells me nothing at all. Moreover, it raises the possibility of making foolish decisions in trying to fulfil prophecy. We have come this far by honest endeavour and determination, not by giving way to ancient writings. I say this is not only a waste of time, it is potentially dangerous.'

'Perhaps this is something we can debate once the information has been presented,'

Phemanderac said somewhat testily.

'If I read the riddle correctly,' Mahnum said, 'the Right Hand is the warrior, and the Jugom Ark is the weapon he uses.'

Stella squirmed on her sheepskin seat. 'I would like to hear more about this Jugom Ark. The name seems familiar. What is it?'

'The name should be familiar, if you remember anything from the history you were schooled in,' Kurr growled. 'So should the rest of the Company recognise it, unless they were asleep when I recited the Domaz Skreud to them. The Jugom Ark was the arrow with which the Most High vanquished the Destroyer, and was given to the First Men as a symbol of their unity.'

'And, symbolically, was almost immediately lost - as was the unity,' commented the Haufuth wryly. 'That's what we're fighting against. Rescuing Mahnum and Indrett from the Bhrudwans was nothing compared to the task of pulling the different Falthan factions together, complicated by the depredations of the traitors to Faltha. A unified Faltha would be able to drive back any Bhrudwan attack, in my opinion. But,' the big man concluded, 'it will never happen.'