In the Earth Abides the Flame (60 page)

Leith shuddered where he stood: he still had not become conditioned to someone else's voice in his mind. You're about to ask me to do something extremely foolish, aren't you?

But I'll burn!

Leith recognised that the words were intended to carry something profound, but it was lost on him at this fraught moment. It was made for your hand, wasn't it?

You never give me any choice; that's why 1 hate all this. I'd rather do this because I want to, not because you make me.

I can't do that. I can't leave when doing so would cost lives.

But 1 couldn't.

Just bear the pain.

The voice closed off in his mind, leaving him alone to think through his dilemma. The voice had spoken of choices, but there was no real choice. His hand would burn, of that he was certain; but it seemed he would have to pay the price in order to avoid having countless deaths on his conscience. Then maybe they could be rid of this whole business.

Now for it! he thought glumly.

Leith put out his hand -

- and closed it tightly about the Arrow, clenching his teeth as he did so; but he felt no pain.

The Jugom Ark flared, then died back. Beside him the others gasped. He lifted the Arrow and held it out, barely believing that it lay clasped in his hand, fire guttering along its length.

'We must leave this place,' he said calmly, keeping the joy from his voice for fear it might be interpreted as pride. 'The Haufuth's hand must be attended to.' Nodding in wonder, the five moved carefully, respectfully, away from the holy place, the empty stone table, bearing with them the talisman of their time, the Arrow. The glow accompanied them.

The answer was obvious, but just as obvious was that the question needed to be asked. Kurr asked it. 'Did it - does it hurt?'

Leith shook his head.

'How can that be?' said the Haufuth. 'Look at my hand!'

'I see it clearly now,' Phemanderac interrupted excitedly, his mind racing as they came to the cave entrance. 'Leith, you were the Appointed One. Only one hand can hold the Arrow at a time: that's why Furist and Raupa, the leaders of the First Men who escaped the wrath of the Most High and led them into Faltha, came to blows over it. That hand is yours. More so because of your relationship with Stella.'

Leith's head spun round, but he could see little of the philosopher's expression in the dark.

'What relationship?'

'You've shared intimacy.'

Leith reddened, and at the same moment the Arrow burst into renewed flame. 'That's not true.

We haven't—'

'I don't mean that! But you told her your dream on the night of fire, didn't you? And she told you hers?'

Leith nodded his head, still red in the face.

'Sharing intimate knowledge binds you together. It did, did it not? In some intangible way you may have brought enough of her essence with you to allow you to pick up the Arrow without hurt.'

The Loulean youth shrugged his shoulders: he doubted the argument, but had nothing to counter it with. Let it rest: get the Haufuth to safety first. Time enough for talk later.

One by one the five exhausted and emotion-racked men struggled up and out of the cave, and found themselves standing in the day's gloaming. It was nearly dark and raining steadily.

Out in the cold air, free of its cave for the first time in two thousand years, the Jugom Ark flickered and flamed, shedding enough light for them to find their way down to the boat. At the stern Hal ministered to the Haufuth's burned hand. He encouraged the big man to hang his arm over the side, his hand in the icy, numbing water. After a few minutes he drew it out, and Hal applied an ointment from the pouch he had left in the boat. Leith had been holding the Arrow tightly for half an hour or more, but ignored the ache in his own hand and, settling himself in the yawl's prow, lifted the Arrow high to light their way through the fog. Thus those on the shore beheld the return of the Arkhimm, bearing aloft their treasure and the consummation of their quest.

But no cheer came across the waters, a fact that puzzled Leith. Surely the others watched for them? In silence they beached the boat, but there was no sign of their friends. Then, to their relief, black shapes materialised from the cloak of the mist.

'There you are at last!' the Haufuth called to the closest of them. 'We have it! We have the Arrow!'

The shape resolved itself into that of a truly obese man, flanked by sword-wielding guards. A smile played on his cruel face.

'And you will deliver it to its rightful owner,' said the Arkhos of Nemohaim. 'And then you will die.'

LEITH COULD DO NOTHING BUT WEEP with frustration as the soldiers of the Instruian Guard strode forward through the mist, bearing bright torches. Before them they shepherded the members of the Quest of the Arrow with their swords, having no more regard for them than if they were Kurr's stupid sheep, not some of the great heroes and nobles of their time.

The Captain of the Guard, the man whom Leith had willed towards safety on the day of the big flood, stood before them with Belladonna as his prisoner, his arm wrapped about her shoulders, his knife-wielding hand at her throat. Beside him a younger guard held Phemanderac from behind.

To Leith the story of events seemed clear. The Instruians obviously captured Belladonna first, then used threats on her life to keep the others in line. Leith could think of no other reason sufficient to prevent the Bhrudwan, and no doubt Prince Wiusago or Te Tuahangata, from engaging in a death-fight with the guards. Absently he recognised the change in the Bhrudwan. Before becoming the servant of Hal he would have fought still, sacrificing the magician's daughter in the process.

The Arkhos of Nemohaim resembled a bloated spider settled smugly in the centre of his web as he surveyed the fruit of his plans. He had correctly identified the northerners' weakness - an unreasoning belief in the Tightness of their cause, and an associated trust in the guiding hand of myth and legend. Destiny. Fools! They assumed they were invulnerable, and so gave no thought to the powers arrayed against them. Such a small matter to capture horses and ride into Bewray, there to gather resources from his king - new, swifter horses, many provisions, and permission to ride to the Vale of Neume. Initially it surprised him to encounter spells set to trap the unwary; but his time in the castle of Andratan had served him well. No enchantment on earth could undo him, of that he was certain. True, he lost a couple of men.

Seeing one of his soldiers burst into flame was a frightening moment, and the counter-spell he delivered was a moment too late to save the man (he wondered whether the momentary pleasure he experienced at the sight might have delayed his reaction), but he himself came through untouched. The Archivist's unbelief had been sorely tested, however, and during the scholar's whining moments of self-doubt the Arkhos found himself wishing the flames had consumed the Archivist instead.

Nevertheless, they won through to the Vale of Neume, there discovering that the northerners, accompanied by the guardians, were but a few hours ahead of them, having found a way into the Vale from the north. He laughed aloud then, for this made his task so much easier: all he needed to do was to follow the northerners to the Jugom Ark, thank them politely, and take the Arrow from them. Then home to Instruere, where the Council and the entire city would rally behind him as he deposed the insolent Deorc. By this action, brave and brazen, his place at the right hand of the Destroyer would be assured.

'You no doubt wonder how I managed to ascend the mountain,' he said. His breath, never very full, rattled in his throat at this altitude while he taunted his captives. 'You wonder also at my presence on this side of the steel rope. How did I dare it?' He laughed, and the cruel sound cut the Arkhimm like knives.

Arrogant fools! Did you think only yourselves capable of effort in pursuit of a goal? Is it not conceivable that if a rabble of northerners can climb a hill, their pursuers, trained warriors in the main, could follow them? By watching your feeble efforts with the rope, we might be able to emulate or surpass them? Such foolishness will reap its reward, as you will soon discover.'

'What business do you have with this Arrow?' Kurr demanded. He was not daunted by this blusterer.

'What business? What business?' the huge man screamed, his face reddened, the blackness within him howled. 'The Arrow is mine by right! I am the Arkhos of Nemohaim, descended from the stock of Bewray. This is my land! You are the trespassers!' He advanced on his captives, stabbing a fat finger in the direction of the old farmer. 'I was - I am the ruler of the Council of Faltha: who else has a better claim on this heirloom than I? Certainly not a bunch of ragged peasants with delusions of grandeur!

'You thought you would be the saviours of Faltha. You will not. You thought you would deliver us from the clutches of evil Bhrudwo. Simpletons! Faltha needs deliverance from arrogance like yours. Your simplistic view of things is not wanted here - as if Faltha is wholly good, or Bhrudwo wholly evil! Yes, I have been to Bhrudwo. Yes, I count Kannwar, he who is erroneously named the Destroyer, among my allies. Who would not become friends with such strength and purpose, given the chance? Who would not accept assistance from such power, if assistance is offered? Not fools like you! You would have us locked in the past, secure in self-righteousness, rejecting a future filled with possibilities for those with vision to grasp them. You would make us all peasants. Well, I am no peasant! I will not tolerate interference from such as you!'

Leith held the Jugom Ark tightly, breathing deeply to calm his emotions. Already he noticed the Arrow was in tune with his feelings, enflaming when his passions were aroused, sinking into quiescence otherwise. He gave the Arkhos only half an ear, for there was another voice impinging on his consciousness. Not the voice of fire, the voice which had impelled him to pick up the Arrow, but the sound of the land itself, the expression of the potent spell Bewray had placed here. Unclean! it screamed silently. Unworthy! it cried. Cleanse the land of this defilement! Destroy the intruders! He listened to the words for a while with mounting fear.

Though in his heart Leith knew the land's wrath was not directed at him or any of his party -

that from the beginning the whispering in Joram basin had been directed at the Arkhos and his companions - he feared the land would not, could not discriminate between the trespassers and the rightful claimants to the Arrow. He wondered that the magic-trained Arkhos of Nemohaim could not hear the silent voice. Perhaps his own hold on the Jugom Ark sensitised him to the enchantment, and he heard clearly what others could not. Behind him, above him in the fog-bound darkness, power built. Of what kind, or for what purpose, he could not guess.

But something was going to happen.

'Don't surrender the Arrow to him,' said Belladonna, struggling to speak against the knife-edge at her throat. 'Hands like his should not sully the Jugom Ark.'

'Then you will die,' the Arkhos said, turning to her with a sneer.

'We're dead anyway, according to you. Why then should we obey you out of fear?'

The fat man's face leered at the young woman. 'Perhaps, my dainty, your imagination might suggest a number of reasons. Or, if it does not, let me help you. I could have you wishing for death, in such pain you could not speak to beg for your release. Or maybe I could find some other use for you, perhaps as a reward to my men for a job well done, or even keep you for myself for a time, while you continued to please me. A woman like you would soon wish for death, any sort of death, rather than that kind of life. Do you see any reason to obey me now?'

Belladonna blanched, but returned his stare with a brave face.

'Is this the speech of one who would take Faltha into the future?' the Haufuth asked incredulously. 'Does the new Faltha have no further need of morality?'

'Morality is but another vain attempt to control the lives of others,' said the Archivist wearily.

'It is a chain holding back the progress of all free people. Your goodness is just a cloak for fear and self-interest.'

'Look, I don't have the patience to bandy words with you,' said Phemanderac in steely tones, straining against his captor. 'Good

is still good, and wickedness is still wickedness, no matter what you call it. You have in your vaults a treatise on good and evil that would turn your heart, if only you would open yourself to it, but you favour your own wisdom over the combined wisdom of the ancients. Don't accuse us of arrogance! But enough! I will talk to the huntsman, not one of his dogs.' He turned in his captor's grasp to look at the Arkhos of Nemohaim.

'You call the Arrow yours, and claim it by right of descent from those that bore it to this place. But that is not what the books and scrolls say. They tell us the Most High himself gave the Jugom Ark to the First Men as a symbol of unity, and it will be used to call all Faltha together in times of war. Two thousand years after it was hidden, the Arrow has now been found. And, at the moment of its finding, Faltha is threatened by the twin forces of evil: an invasion from without, and treachery from within. Yet you would use it to further your own selfish ends, making it a symbol of division, setting true Falthans against their traitorous masters. You have no right to touch the weapon of your master's punishment. Begone, before calamity befalls you!'