In the Earth Abides the Flame (34 page)

This was more than enough for the shocked and disoriented Instruians. Their captain was gone with another contingent, perhaps claimed by the river; the rest stood here bereft of leadership, staring violent death in the face. To a man they turned and ran.

Farr let out a triumphant cry and made to pursue them, the lust for battle boiling in his blood.

A shout from the Hermit stopped him. 'Don't!' came the cry. 'They are under some kind of spell, we all are. In a while they will come to their senses and pursue us again. We should make good our escape while we can!'

As one the Company recognised the wisdom in this advice. 'Follow me!' the blue-robed man cried. 'This road should lead away from the guards, at least.' The Company followed the Hermit as they made their way away from that scene of fear and death, down a cobbled road which took them in a wide arc back towards the walled city in the distance.

LATE SPRING WAS A WONDERFUL time to walk the narrow poplar-lined lanes and grassy meadows of Straux. However, Leith and the Arkhimm, the seekers of the Jugom Ark, did not have the leisure to appreciate them. The low country of Westrau stretched from the Aleinus, the Great River, more than seventy leagues south to the Veridian Borders, a mountain range which separated Straux from the arid interior of southern Faltha. Fertile and flat, Westrau province was comprised of cropland and woodland in equal measure. Many roads wound their way across these rich lands, shooting tendrils left and right to wooden farmhouses; houses that looked safe, homely and inviting to the little group making their careful way southwards.

A momentary spasm of homesickness seized Leith as they walked between two long rows of stately oaks. He thought of the Common oak, of all the long, lazy days he and his friends had played under its protective boughs. He remembered the late September storm that found him hiding under that great tree, sheltering from the rain and from the villagers who laughed at him. His longing weakened somewhat at the thought.

It was about noon on a cloudless day, the fifth following their escape from Instruere. The tension and fear that had emanated from the city, enmeshing Leith, Hal, Kurr, the Haufuth and Phemanderac in its debilitating embrace, slowly faded away. Not that they were out of danger.

Though the brooding evil of the city was now behind them, and the great flood had sundered them from both friend and foe, they were in no doubt they would be pursued. Nevertheless, all of them enjoyed the open lands they travelled through. Leith felt as though the air was lighter, or that lead weights had fallen from his limbs. I ought to be leaping about and shouting, he thought. Or perhaps not, he reflected, glancing at the sober faces of the two Escaignians who remained with them. They had lost much in the unmasking of their secret hideaway, and more in their rebellion against it. There is too much uncertainty, too much loss to be truly happy.

Yet he could not help himself. She had said - well, she hadn't actually said, but surely she meant she had feelings for him. His mind told him that Stella's regard ought to be a small thing when compared with the Bhrudwan threat, or the traitorous Council of Faltha, or even the Escaignian problem, but his heart said otherwise.

No matter what happened now, he was loved.

Leith stopped for a moment under one of the oaks. Sunshine, spring fragrance, a warm breeze, so different to the day he'd waited in vain for her under the Common oak. He ran his hand over the rough bark, remembering .. . but in his recollection Stella walked across the Common toward him, her face bright with love.

Three faces, the faces of his family, intruded on his vision. Did their love matter? His mother, Indrett, loved him, that he knew. But his father? Perhaps he did, but he had a peculiar way of showing it. Hal? Yes, Hal loved him, but it was a harsh love, too strong, a love that put him under too much pressure. Not that Hal demanded anything for himself; just the opposite.

Instead, the realisation hit Leith with some force: Hal's love demanded too much of him.

But in some way Stella's implied feelings for him. meant something more. Well, his family had to love him. Stella, though, was the desire of his heart.

'Do you think they are all right?' Kurr asked the Haufuth for the fourth time that morning. And for the fourth time the big man answered, 'I'm sure they are.'

'One of us should have stayed with them,' the old farmer said, also for the fourth time. Leith anticipated the answering grunt from his village headman.

'Still, what's done is done. We can't go back now.'

Leith could not let this go on, the two older men were punishing themselves. 'But where are we going?' he asked. The old farmer turned to him as they walked.

'We go to Kantara, like we discussed last night. We have no other choice. As the Haufuth said, it is the same choice we faced back in Loulea; to protect the ones we love, with no hope of final victory, or reach out and risk all. We must finish what we have been called to do.'

'But where is Kantara? If it is anywhere?'

'We know that Kantara is in the mountains of Nemohaim, at the head of the Vale of Neume,'

Phemanderac said from directly behind them. Leith and the farmer both turned to regard the serious philosopher. 'Bewray hid the Arrow there.'

'Will it still be there for us to find?' the Haufuth said quizzically. 'Surely it must have been found some time in the last two. thousand years?'

'Finding it may be the least of our problems,' Phemanderac admitted. 'The sacred book spoke of some form of protection. Sentinels and guardians.'

'Oh,' said Leith. This was sounding worse every time they talked about it.

'It is my hope that the Arkhimm — the five fingers of the Right Hand - is constituted specially to spring the trap, or to find a way around the guardians,' the philosopher continued.

'Something about the combination of talents found amongst you, some blend of courage and cunning, of honesty and single-heartedness, of self-doubt and confidence...'

'You talk in riddles,' Kurr said gruffly. 'And anyway, if what you say is true, won't Stella's absence cause us a problem or two?'

'That's exactly what I'm afraid of,' Phemanderac admitted. 'Nevertheless, we cannot go back for her now. If the remainder of the Company contrive to escape the city and find us on the road to Kantara, well and good. Otherwise, we will face whatever we have to face, and overcome it, or not.'

'First we have to find Nemohaim,' Hal reminded them. 'None of us have been southwest of Instruere. We have to pass through Straux and Deruys - two friendly countries, so the innkeeper told us - before we reach Nemohaim.'

'Before that we have to find the main road,' one of the Escaignians said gruffly. 'We're not much help, we've not been out of Instruere in over a decade.'

'Down this path until we come to a small village, then take the gravel road to the right until we come to a low hill; that's what the innkeeper said,' recited the other Escaignian. 'The Great South Road will be found on the far side of the hill.'

'I thought he said the gravel road went off to the left,' the Haufuth said.

'And how much further is this village?' the first, taller Escaignian inquired, the one with the bright eyes. 'I think the innkeeper was too drunk to give us the correct directions.'

'At breakfast time?' Leith looked doubtful.

'You were there last night,' Kurr commented dryly. 'You saw him. He drank more beer than the rest of the bar combined. I'm surprised he was able to get out of bed this morning.'

The Haufuth shook his head and winced. It had been a lively evening. 'He looked like a man who could hold his liquor.'

'Still, I don't trust the directions he gave us,' the shorter Escaignian insisted. 'We should have found the village by now.'

'You mean this village?' Kurr asked, pointing down the lane to where a few rude shelters were interspersed with the trees.

'Look for a gravel road,' the taller Escaignian suggested.

'And then go right,' said his companion.

'Left,' corrected the Haufuth.

Kurr sighed.

'You will stand aside and let us pass,' said the enormous man in his high-pitched, wheezy voice. 'You have no authority to prevent our passage. Stand aside!' The Arkhos's temper skirled upwards towards breaking point. Beside him the Archivist stared nervously over the low sides of Southbridge into the lazy waters of the Aleinus River, trying not to pay too close attention to the conflict.

'It's for your own good, sir.' Sweat poured off the forehead of the young guard, who knew this man by reputation. 'Enemies of the State are abroad, and no one is to leave Instruere until they are located.'

'Those are your orders?' The voice had a dangerous edge to it.

'Yes, my lord. I would not presume to stand in your way were I not obliged to do so.' The guard's face paled visibly under the Arkhos's pig-eyed stare.

'So I am a prisoner in Instruere?'

The young guard did not speak, but the answer was obvious, visible on his face. Deorc had taken control, and meant to play with Nemohaim like a cat plays with a mouse. This youngster stood between the Arkhos and his freedom, between his life and death. I'll have to be careful here, the big man thought, but his thoughts were betrayed by the hot singing of his blood in his head.

'I am a prisoner and you are my jailer?' he asked quietly. He took a step closer to the young man, menacing, intimidating. Behind him his company shuffled their feet nervously.

'Don't draw your swords until I give the signal,' the young guard said, motioning his men back.

The Arkhos of Nemohaim smiled, and laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. 'That's right,' he purred. 'We don't need to involve anyone else in this. You see, I have to leave the city, and you have orders to prevent me. Let the matter be decided at the point of a sword.'

The young guard had been badly outmanoeuvred. He could command his troops to slay the Arkhos, but he would lose face before his company. Nemohaim once had a fearsome reputation as a swordsman, but had run to fat, and perhaps single combat would be the best way out of this. He had graduated third in the Academy, more than handy with the sword, and should be able to vanquish this cumbersome, slow man. Yet he had orders not to take this man's life if at all possible. There was no way out of his dilemma.

'So, lackbeard.' The Arkhos spat the words out. 'You will not fight me. Then take the coward's place and step aside!'

The calculated insult had its effect. Against his better judgment the young guard drew his weapon and adopted the half-crouch drilled into him at the Academy. At the sight of this the Arkhos of Nemohaim smiled. A neophyte. 1 can predict every move, every response.

The fight was short and bitter, the outcome never in doubt. Forward two steps came the youngster, leading with the left foot, and a feint to the right. A classic textbook opening. The Arkhos waited with his sharp blade. The sound of steel on bone made the Archivist turn away.

For all practical purposes it was finished then, though the guard was valiant to the end. The Arkhos didn't have to kill him, but the blackness in the centre of his being cried out for death, reminding him of Deorc's gloating smile and the death of all his hopes, and so he slashed the defenceless youth until he no longer moved, and then some more after that. The remainder of the Southbridge Guard melted away, and the Arkhos led the horrified Archivist, their five servants and their horses across the bridge into Straux.

'You have some skill with the blade, my lord,' said one of the servants, bowing to the Arkhos before they mounted their horses. This servant pulled back the heavy cowling that had hidden his distinctive features, revealing the captain of the Instruian Guard. 'You were right,' he said.

'It was important they did not recognise me.'

'It is better the city thinks you lost in the flood,' the Arkhos said, pausing to mop his brow.

'I almost was. I have never seen such power wielded by one man, my lord. He just raised his arm and the flood rose up. Fifteen of my best men were killed, cruelly drowned. We will have to be careful in the face of such miracles.'

'I have met the boy you say caused the flood,' the Arkhos of Nemohaim said in his chesty wheeze. 'I saw him in the Inner Chamber of the Council of Faltha, and he performed no miracles then when a miracle would have served them well. But he comes from a powerful family, one we have had dealings with before. They must be destroyed before their interference can affect the plans I have laid. And when I have this Arrow I will destroy them all.' His voice was implacable, but his gaze was on the city as he spoke.

The last flush of the setting sun found Leith and the others of the Arkhimm scrambling up a series of low hills topped by a single line of tall pine trees. This day had not worked out as they had hoped: misled by a hung-over innkeeper, they had expected to find the Great South Road by lunchtime and be safely in lodgings by now. Instead the seven of them spent an unpleasant afternoon lost, and Leith found the experience of being lost in a strange land extremely disconcerting. There had been arguments, and at one point the Haufuth and the old farmer came close to a serious falling-out. Here we are on a quest to unify Faltha, Leith thought wryly, yet we can't agree amongst ourselves. Where are my fancy voices now?

The day, which had started so promisingly, clouded over; the sky lowered as the cold west wind rose, until the dark green branches of the exposed pines still some distance above them swayed back and forth, groaning and creaking in the stiff breeze. Cold, tired, hungry and downhearted, Leith and the others finally crested the hill and gazed out over the twilight world of southern Westrau.

A hundred feet below them a silver ribbon of swiftly flowing water wound its way to the right, beside which Leith could make out a road - wider than any other they had seen in this country - surely the Great South Road. Far off to the right, in the hazy middle distance, twinkled the cosy new-lit lights of a large town, snugly nestled in the low arms of hilly outliers. The young Loulean's heart sank as he realised just how many hours it would take them to reach the safe haven of that town, and longer still until he was lying asleep in a bed.