In the Earth Abides the Flame (6 page)

Hal smiled. 'Those are impressive questions. Like the Hermit, I bear things. But unlike him, I act only when I am given permission.'

'From a cruel god? How can you stand it?'

Hal said nothing in the face of Leith's rising anger.

'I don't want to know a god who hurts people. I don't want anything to do with a god who breaks people's legs and calls it kindness. I don't want to know a god who abandons his people.'

Hal turned to face his younger brother. 'Like Mahnum our father abandoned us? Be patient, Leith. One day you will be able to lorgive him.'

'Only if I choose to,' Leith shot back before he could stop himself. 'Maybe he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. I hate all this talk of goodness and forgiveness and mercy. I'm sick of you and your ways, Hal. You always find a way to put yourself above me. You're always right, and I hate it. It's just an act, if you'd only admit it. Some big act to compensate for your crippled body. Well, nobody likes it. And you're not as innocent as you make out, brother. I've been watching you!'

Even as he spoke he knew that this wasn't the best way to do things, that Hal wasn't his main target, just one who wouldn't strike back. Nevertheless.

'Tell me, brother, how did we defeat three powerful Bhrudwan warrior-magicians?

Phemanderac told me something of these Lords of Fear while we travelled through Treika and Deuverre. How could we possibly have beaten them? Where did their magic go? Kroptur warned us of the power of these Bhrudwans. I saw no power. What do you know about that, brother?'

Hal returned Leith's stare for a moment before answering. He still betrayed no loss of composure.

'They weren't exactly at the height of their powers, Leith. Weeks on Breidhan Moor without the provisions we had, without a guide, without an aurochs like Wisent. They had to abandon their horses. Perhaps their strength was weakened by all this.'

Leith shook his head. 'I know you, Hal. You are aware of more than you're telling me. What about the Bhrudwan we took captive? Mother tells me he escaped from his bonds, yet the Company recaptured him. And surely he wasn't so weak then! He was supposed to have struck you with a sword, yet there wasn't a cut on you when the others came to your rescue.

Don't tell me any lies! You're doing something to him, aren't you; you're keeping him sedated, like you did to the village horse when she got sick last year. You're a magician, exactly like the Bhrudwans. You're not just some farmer's boy, not just some local village healer. You're not the Right Hand they're talking about, though, I know that: the Right Hand is supposed to be good. For all your talk of the Most High, you're not good. I've seen you, remember? I've seen the black wings, and no arrogant talk of kind cruelty makes a bad thing good. So if you're not the Right Hand, and if you're not a farmer's son, what are you, Hal? What are you?'

'You'll see,' came the unconcerned reply. 'One day you'll find out whether I really am good or evil. Until then, watch me if you must. Warn the others if you think I'm dangerous. But remember the words of Kroptur, the ones he spoke to you and me just before we left his house. Do you remember? "Answer me this question," he said. "Do ye two boys love each other?" Do you have your answer yet, Leith? I have mine. Do you want to hear it?'

'No, I don't. Go away.'

'I love you, Leith. I always will. Now, goodnight.'

'You've done it again, you monster.' Leith glared at his brother's turned back.

The Company spent the next day in further debate. The basement echoed to the sound of voices raised in frustration, entreaty and occasional anger as they discussed how to gain access to the C'ouncil of Faltha. Gradually it became clear Hal would lose the argument. Farr, Kurr and Phemanderac all agreed that bribery would achieve their aims, while the direct approach entailed a great deal of risk and would work only slowly, if at all. Hal coun-tered by arguing that even if bribery helped them towards their goal, the methods used to achieve it might sour the result. The others tried to understand, paying Hal at least that much respect, but in the end his lone voice lost out to the wisdom of his elders. It was decided. The Company would bribe their way to the Council. The members of the Company would seek employment in the Great City, in order to raise the amount required to buy off the vast number of officials between them and the Council of Faltha. Phemanderac declared himself optimistic he could find jobs in the market for a number of them, and that a few weeks of his playing would bring in a substantial sum. Mahnum trusted his Trader skills would enable him to buy and sell to his advantage. Indrett had observed few sellers of baked sweets at the market, so saw a potential opening for the sale of her baking. One by one, each member of the Company suggested ways of making money; each, if the truth be known, relieved to have something to do, something to distract their minds from the rigours and sadnesses of the journey that lay behind them.

True to his word, Phemanderac persuaded the stallholders to find jobs for a number of the Company. Leith and Hal were employed by the fishmonger; Hal as a general 'fetch-and-carry-it' boy, Leith as a filleter. Across the open space Stella worked with the jeweller, a job seemingly tailor-made for her; within days she bargained with the customers like an old-timer. Indrett rented space at the end of the foodmarket, getting up early each day to bake honey cakes and other sweets, simple northern delicacies not before seen at a sophisticated Instruian market. When the others arose in the morning she was already gone, leaving behind a delicious aroma.

Each market day ended before sunset, when a night-time curfew came into effect. This was unusual for Instruere, but the Great City was on an unofficial war footing with a rebel town or province - Leith was not clear which - called Escaigne. On each street corner stood a waist-high pole, like a broom handle planted in the earth; the signal pole for curfew. When the Council deemed the city unsafe, the City Guard placed red tags on every pole as a warning to citizens not to be seen on the streets after sunset, unless they had special dispensation. This custom had first been introduced during the time of the Bhrudwan occupation nearly a thousand years before, but was now used almost exclusively when the robbers and raiders of Escaigne infiltrated the city, making it unsafe - so the Council said - for the ordinary Instruian to be abroad.

Establishing exactly who these Escaignians threatening the mighty city actually were took the Company quite a deal of working out. According to some at the market who said they knew (rather than the many who ventured an opinion), Escaigne was a town somewhere in Straux which had been made poor under onerous taxes, and raided Instruere in order to survive.

Others claimed it was a secret society philosophically opposed to the rule of the Council, with its headquarters out in the forests of southern Deuverre, or in the swamplands of the Maremma; while still others said a disaffected former member of the Council of Faltha had raised an army and sought to bring down the Council. Whichever was correct, all agreed that from time to time raiders stole from the city granaries, markets and coffers, and letters sent to the Council of Faltha from a place called Escaigne claimed responsibility. No matter how diligently the Instruian Guard searched the countryside no trace of this country, city or organisation had been found, and no captive, however mercilessly tortured, ever divulged the location of this mysterious place. Escaigne was a thorn in the Council's ample flesh.

The curfew proved a major barrier to the Company in their pursuit of a hearing from the Council of Faltha. It was difficult to raise enough money during the day to survive and to put some aside into the 'bribe fund' and, as well, find the time required between market's close and the beginning of curfew to actually pursue the officials who required bribing. Eventually Kurr decided that Mahnum, Farr, Perdu and he himself would spend their afternoons seeing officials in the Hall of Meeting, while the others continued to earn money at the market.

The Company had one difficult moment with Foilzie, who had initially not been told of their prisoner. She'd been angry, going so far as to threaten to tell the Instruian Guard, and was dissuaded only by promises that it was a temporary arrangement, until such time as the Council of Faltha could be persuaded to take charge of their captive. Hal told them Achtal would be no trouble, but the Company took no chances, keeping him locked in an annexe to the basement used as a storeroom.

The old farmer took time aside from the others to search for the Watchers. But, as day followed day and he found no sign of them, he began to question Kroptur's sources of information. The Seer's words suggested nothing had been heard from the Watchers for some time, which now seemed something of an understatement. Kurr spoke with business leaders, prominent citizens and even members of the Instruian Guard, and learned only that few of them remembered the existence of such a group. Those who did laughed it off as little more than legend. The Watchers seemed to have vanished from Instruere.

At the end of the first week the Company decided to begin the long process of approaching officials to gain an audience with the Council of Faltha. They sought advice from others at the market. Though none of the stall-owners had themselves been before the Council they all knew someone who had, and were not reluctant to offer counsel.

'Spend as much as you can on the first official,' some said. 'That way, you'll pass over many in the line.'

'Don't waste your money on anyone below the Assistant Secretary,' others advised. 'They'll bleed you dry, only to pass you on to one of their friends, getting you no closer to the Council.'

They made the journey to the Hall of Meeting again and again, until Kurr knew every step of the way like he knew the road to his own farm back home. They tried first one strategy, then another, spending money as fast as they earned it. Petty official after petty official they saw, mindful always of the long line of people in the Appellants' Corridor waiting to see the Council... but after weary weeks of this it seemed the Company were little closer to finding the key to unlock the Iron Door of the Outer Chamber.

Hal kept his silence. The others avoided eye contact with him, especially Leith, who wanted to see as little of his insufferable face as possible.

And somewhere to the east the armies of Bhrudwo undoubtedly gathered.

'YOU'VE BEEN IN THE CITY over a month now, and you still don't know the rules?' the thin-faced man said in mock surprise. 'How do you expect to gain an audience with the Council unless you demonstrate your earnestness with some form of monetary contribution?

Look around you! Do you think we maintain such a large building and associated staff without some sort of assistance from appellants?'

The four men nodded mechanically; they had heard this line or variations on it from an uncountable number of officials during the previous weeks.

'No doubt you've seen the crowds of people waiting to be heard in the Appellants' Corridor.

Some of them have paid large sums of money to put their cases to the Council. Do you ask me to prefer you over them? That wouldn't be right, would it?'

'But as we explained to your secretarial assistant, we're not just another group wanting some favour from the Council,' Mahnum said patiently. 'We have information of vital importance to all Falthans about a threat to the whole of Faltha.'

'So he told me,' came the smooth reply. 'But you can't expect me to believe you if you won't tell me what this threat is, now can you? For all I know there may be no threat, and you may be a group of madmen come to destabilise the economy of this city. Or perhaps you invented the whole thing just to gain an audience with the Council! Be reasonable! You might be the threat yourselves!' He smirked at them, clearly pleased by his own cleverness.

'Listen, we'd pay you if we could, but our funds have dried up. Surely the occasional person gets to see the Council with a genuine need?' In spite of his vow to keep his temper tightly reined in, Kurr felt anger bubbling under the surface of his words.

'A genuine need? Many of those waiting in the corridor out there have genuine needs indeed.

Why, there's a man out there whose father died without making a will, and whose brother has taken all his inheritance. If he doesn't get a judgment soon his whole family will be forced to beg for a living. Would you consider that a genuine need?'

'If we don't get a hearing, he may be forced to beg for his life,' Farr muttered under his breath.

'Very well!' Kurr grated, realising he was fast losing the battle for self-control. 'Are you telling me we've got this far, but you're not willing to pass us on to the next official in the chain?'

'The next official?' The thin-faced man looked highly insulted, though the expression did not extend to mask the indifference in his eyes. 'I'll remind you I am the personal secretary to the Appellant Division of the Council of Faltha. As such I can recommend directly to the Council anyone I so choose. And I do not choose to do so in your case. Good day.'

A door opened in the small alcove in which they stood, and a head poked around it. 'Furoman!

Can you not keep things quiet? I have a great deal of work to do!'

'I'm sorry, Arkhos, but these appellants are unusually persistent, and rude with it.'

'Arkhos?' Mahnum whispered. 'That title is reserved for Council Members alone!'

Instantly Kurr seized the opportunity. 'Thank you, Furoman, for granting us an opportunity to see the great Arkhos. We'll take only a few moments.' He led the other three men past the astounded personal secretary and through the door before Furoman could react. Bemused, the Arkhos closed the door behind them.

'Very clever,' the middle-aged, dark-skinned, black-haired man acknowledged in a heavily accented voice. This man surely had to be a southerner, from one of the hot countries.

'Unusually

persistent appellants?' he said, a quizzical look on his face. 'What do these unusually persistent appellants want with the Council of Faltha?'