In the Earth Abides the Flame (26 page)

He rounded on the bald man. 'And you,' he said, 'you were the one who brought them here, and for such complicity I remove you from the Eldership.' A gasp came from the Company's guide. 'You have barely escaped sentence of death. Should I find you had knowledge of their true character, I will extend their sentence to include you and your family.'

'A masterful performance!' Kurr cried bitterly, and clapped mockingly. 'One which does nothing to answer the questions before us, but has served to rally your underlings to your side.' He turned to the knot of Elders. 'Can't you see what he has done? He has sung of his power, and you skip to his tune without ever questioning the lyric! Has he picked you for Eldership because of your special abilities as chattels? For your inability to construct and hold a single original thought? You are Elders under this man because you have no qualifications as leaders! Because you are weak sheep who need a strong shepherd, and the more he strikes you with his staff, the better you like it! Fools! You have all the responsibility, but none of the authority; all of the glory, but none of the power. You are his stooges! Know this: in approving this sentence of death, you doom Faltha to a slower and more painful, but no less inevitable death. History will record that a small group of spineless men were responsible for the fall of Faltha!'

'Take him away,' the sallow man said, and spat upon the ground. 'Take them all away. Let the sentence of death be carried out one day from hence in the Water Chamber. I have spoken.'

Last time 1 follow your advice, Leith thought sourly.

'Well, at least I feel better for having said it,' Kurr muttered quietly. It was some time later that day, though none of the Company could tell the exact hour, and the doorway to the small cell in which they sat shackled together was barred by the same two guards who had watched over their quarters. 'But perhaps it was not the wisest conversation I have ever conducted.'

Politely, no one said anything. They were still trying to come to terms with what they had heard.

'You never told us about any of this,' the Haufuth said eventually. 'Didn't you think it might have been relevant?'

'What little I remember of my years here and the long journey to Firanes is muddied and confused. Witness how long it took me to recognise Feerik - the Presiding Elder, my cousin -

as he is named. Indeed, I'm sure I would be ignorant still had I not mentioned my father's name. Perhaps I should have remained ignorant. It was cruel chance that revealed my mortal enemy to me.'

'Do you really hate him so much?' Stella asked.

'If you had seen the hungry faces, and how cynically he and his kind took from them ... I tell you, I would have slain him cheerfully. Times were very hard. It was all so long ago, forty years and more, and I would gladly have remained unreminded of it. I never would have thought my actions then would cost my friends their lives.'

'So now what?' Perdu asked. 'We have decided on a course of action, but our way is blocked both by Instruere and by Escaigne.'

'I do not have much respect for Escaigne,' Farr said. 'Their weapons are rudimentary and ill-kept, and their discipline is lax. We should be able to leave whenever we please.'

'Success has made you overconfident,' Kurr told him. 'Where is your weapon? For all their failings, they succeeded in taking your sword from you.'

'To my shame,' Farr muttered. 'The first enemy to do so. At least I surrendered it willingly.'

'That won't make it any easier to reclaim,' Mahnum commented. 'And what chance do we have against Escaigne without our blades?'

'We cannot rely on force,' said the Haufuth. 'Any sort of conflict will result in the discovery of Escaigne.'

'Good,' growled Farr. 'Let Instruere do our job for us.'

'Get our enemies fighting against each other...' added Stella.

'. .. then in the confusion we could make our escape from the city,' the Hermit concluded.

'If only we could get out of these chains,' Indrett reminded them.

'Then we can stand on the shores of the Aleinus and watch the whole place burn to the ground!' Perdu declared. The death of Parlevaag was still much on his mind.

'No, no!' cried Hal. 'The only winners would be the Bhrudwans.'

The Hermit groaned. 'How could you possibly object to the destruction of our enemies?' He had tired of this sullen, self-righteous youth some time ago, and resented his role in the Company. One of the Arkhimm, the Five of the Hand! Can they not see it? They give him a respect he does not deserve. Is it the pity he receives for his disabilities, or something more?

He had heard of such things: a person able to hold others in thrall, aided by divination or the casting of spells. 'I do not wish to see anyone die, but we cannot protect everyone, not unless the Hand of God suddenly sprouts a thousand new fingers.'

'There are hundreds of innocents in Escaigne. Do you not object to their destruction?'

The blue-robed Hermit shrugged his shoulders. 'They will die anyway once the Bhrudwans take the city.'

'If we could find a way out of Instruere without betraying Escaigne, would you take it?'

'Of course I would. If there was such a way. Do you know of one?'

Hal shook his head.

'Then I see no alternative.'

After further debate the others agreed with the Hermit, with the exception of Hal and the Haufuth. 'In a perfect world we would be able to save everyone,' Kurr said. 'But this world is not perfect, and people have died already on our quest. The Bhrudwans plan to kill far more, and enslave the rest. Even unarmed, we should be more than a match for our guards. Let us await our chance.'

'So we escape Escaigne. Then what?' The Haufuth felt uneasy about this. They had a cell door to break through, and Escaignians to avoid, let alone the danger they would be in once they were loose in Instruere. Where was this illogical confidence coming from?

The farmer was firm. 'Then we have another problem to solve. Until then, we can do nothing but wait.'

Above Instruere twilight took hold, sending a sultry sun scurrying from a reddening sky.

Curfew was about to be imposed on a reluctant, uneasy city for yet another night. The Arkhos of Nemohaim could barely control his agitation. An emissary of the Destroyer! Here in the city, flaunting his presence, as though Instruere was already his master's plaything. Perhaps it is, perhaps it is, the Arkhos thought as he hurried to the hastily-arranged meeting. Curse this weather! He had never known such a place as this for hot, humid days. He forced his sweaty bulk along the pillared corridor and waited impatiently while the Iron Door was raised. His teeth ground silently of their own accord as he saw the Council members waiting for him, immaculately dressed, and at the head of the table, his own accustomed place, sat the emissary he had only heard about this very afternoon. And here came the Arkhos's first shock.

Deorc!

Tall, raven-haired, square-jawed, fine-fingered, charismatic, with a golden tongue and power resting on his shoulders like a mantle. Deorc, Keeper of Andratan, one of the Destroyer's most trusted servants, recruited by the Bhrudwan high command ten years ago after ruthlessly putting down the bloody Jasweyah rebellion. A black reputation, well deserved. Acutely aware of his disadvantage, and that all eyes were on him, the Arkhos of Nemohaim found a seat between the Arkhoi of Straux and Treika. He longed to straighten out his red robe, or fiddle nervously with his tassels, or give his mind to the question of why his spies had not informed him as to the identity of the emissary. But, exercising the iron self-control that had given him his position, the self-control that seemed so often to have deserted him lately, he did none of these things. For Deorc had the sharpest mind he had ever encountered - save one, it hardly needed to be noted - perhaps overmatching his own. He must concentrate. They have engineered this deliberately! Someone desires to replace me, and Deorc is in league with them, perhaps with the blessing of the master. 1 must work fast, find and trap the usurper, expose him to my benefit. Where intelligence fails, cunning and deceit will suffice. His pig-eyes closed to small slits, and rich excitement bubbled through his blood. A game! A game to the death! A game 1 will win.

He took a moment to look around the room at the faces he knew well, the traitors of Faltha, the group named so accurately by the Firanese Trader. Straux. Treika. Vertensia. Favony.

Tabul. Firanes. Asgowan, his most loyal servant, whom even the Trader had not known about, the ally he kept secret even from the supposedly all-knowing Destroyer. And finally Haurn, his trump card, a timid, insignificant man bullied into betraying his Sna Vazthan masters the very day the puerile northerners came bearing their tales, and the one who swayed the vote against the loyalists. He looked them all in the eye. Here he received his second shock.

Asgowan!

With a supreme effort the Arkhos of Nemohaim forced himself to stand, and grate out the formal greeting to their guest. 'An honour indeed to welcome our benefactor and our master's right hand.' The words of the blessing came out like a death-curse. Try harder! You must not get off-side with this man, he told himself. He holds your life in his hands! Then, as he read the countenance of the Bhrudwan who rose to acknowledge his welcome, he received his third shock.

Without doubt, my death is in his eyes. They mean to replace me.

'Nemohaim,' the emissary of the Destroyer said, nodding his head to indicate he should sit. 'I regret that I have been kept waiting.'

So blunt! So confident in his power! The plans are obviously well laid. Even with this revelation the excitement did not leave him; rather, it increased. He felt his whole body begin to shake with it. Death is the ultimate experience, he reminded himself. It is the only thing that satisfies.

He spread his hands wide in a gesture of resignation. 'I too regret the situation,' he said carefully, forcing himself to think only of the moment, to allow his cunning an opportunity to flourish. 'Such a chance, that so highly esteemed a guest as yourself should arrive at the precise moment of my triumph. Nevertheless, I postponed the moment to be at your service.

I would like to show you something at your earliest convenience, my lord, if you would.' That had his interest. He had bought himself some time.

Deorc was displeased. 'I come with important news, a message of such moment it could be entrusted to no messenger save me. I have endured months of hard riding and the foul climes of your uncouth land to deliver it to you, and am not pleased I have been accorded such dishonour as being made to wait for the likes of you.' His brows closed together under a frowning forehead.

The Arkhos studied Deorc carefully. Outwardly he was just as he remembered from their one encounter on Andratan something over eighteen months ago, when the man fromNemohaim formally pledged his loyalty to the Dark Throne. The Keeper of Andratan had not been a man to trifle with then, and had clearly grown since in some intangible fashion. I will have one chance only. Wait for the opening, then strike quickly.

'Even so, you had to wait, and now I am here. If you would care to deliver your message, you can again be on your way, this time out of this hateful land.' There! He should not he the only one to show confidence.

Deorc's eyes widened, but he said nothing to answer this impertinence. Instead, he spoke the message he had been sent to deliver, each word enunciated clearly, the meaning unmistakable.

'The date draws near when our master will embrace this land with his arms of blessing. The new High Command has proved efficient beyond hope. We are therefore ready sooner than we thought possible.' A clue! A new High Command, perhaps with Deorc at the head? 'I remind you of the position and power that will be yours should you remain faithful - and of the fate that awaits you should you be proved faithless.' Did the Arkhos imagine the sidelong glance that Asgowan threw him? 'We will march on Faltha within the month. By the turning of next spring our army will stand at your gates, and you will open them for us. The New Age will begin from that date.' This was delivered with a brusqueness that told the Arkhos to expect something further.

'But surely you were not sent here to tell us this? Could it not have come through the usual channels?' the Arkhos of Asgowan asked ingenuously.

You've been put up to that speech, Nemohaim thought darkly. Traitor! I've taught you too well! Yet the pupil is not yet greater than his master. 1 know you, and you will prove the weak link in this conspiracy.

'Indeed!' Deorc went on. 'I have been sent with a question, and it is for your leader.' He turned squarely to the Arkhos of Nemohaim, and to his chagrin the Arkhos felt the sweat start out from his brow. There is something in his eyes . . . Weakness, weakness! 1 must show no weakness!

'Some months ago an expedition was sent to this land in pursuit of a Falthan Trader, one who carried secrets of the war effort and who sought to sell them to loyal Falthans, if he could find any.' He sneered, leaving them all in no doubt about his view of traitors. 'Four warriors of the Order of Magdhi Dasht, our most potent fighters, were sent, and should have recaptured their quarry without difficulty or delay. Yet we have heard no further report of them -save that one of them stood in this chamber only a few days ago.' He gathered himself, then pounced.

'Is this so?' he snapped.

Betrayed! Undoubtedly he should have passed on the information to Andratan, but he had hoped to capture and question this renegade himself, thereby gaining valuable information and increasing his prestige with the master. But his plan had failed. The accursed northerners had taken the Bhrudwan out from under his nose, and badly tweaked it in the process. Since then he had been consumed with revenge, a serious mistake, he could see that now. Perhaps not fatal. He looked at Asgowan, who could not keep the satisfied smirk from disfiguring his foetid face. Now that is a fatal mistake.

'It is indeed so, my lord,' the Arkhos replied, seemingly unabashed. And it would be interesting to be told how Andratan learned of something I withheld.' He stared directly at Asgowan then, and was rewarded with a look of fear. I will remember that look and savour it, should these be my last hours. 'It is in fact this matter that is the subject of my triumph. I merely wished to tie up all loose ends before I shared it with my lord. Your arrival in Instruere provides me with the opportunity to give you a priceless gift, one which I know will appeal to a man of your tastes.'