In the Earth Abides the Flame (71 page)

The king's adviser, clearly terrified of the Jugom Ark, nonetheless was even more afraid of the wrath of his master. He reached out a shaking hand, forced it against the heat from the Arrow, and touched it. Instantly the whole throne room was lit up by flame, and a shriek of agony echoed through the White Palace. There, writhing on the floor, lay the counsellor, clutching at his maimed hand.

Leith turned to the shaken king.

'You are a coward,' he pronounced, in a voice laced with sorrow, anger and judgment. 'You would order another to bear the pain of your own misdeeds. I have nothing to say to you, except that you have this day lost the respect of your people.'

He turned to the badly burned man, and as he did so, he heard Hal's voice in his mind.

Enhancement. Enhancement? What was that about? Then he remembered: black wings, the Hermit dying and being healed, the Haufuth unexpectedly dominating Maendraga the magician. In a flash he knew.

'Bring me ointment!' he cried.

'Ointment is no use here,' someone said. 'He'll die of that wound.' Nevertheless, ointment was fetched and given to Leith. No one else moved.

Here we go, he thought, and spread ointment on to the burnt remains of the old man's hand.

The man himself had passed out, and his body was clammy. He took the Arrow and laid it on the man's hand. I'm looking for some enhancement here, he said. The Jugom Ark flared briefly in response, and Leith stepped back.

The man's hand was whole, as though the burn had never been.

Absolute silence enveloped the throne room.

Leith wondered if, just for that moment, he had sprouted wings.

'The touch of the Arrow can either burn or heal,' he spoke into the silence. 'Which of these happens to you depends on what you are made of.'

He took a deep breath, then sighed. Well, Hal, 1 always wondered what it would be like to be like you. 1 guess I'm about to find out, and I'm not sure I'm going to enjoy it.

It seemed almost possible that no one in the throne room would ever move, ever speak again, that they would all stand here in stunned stasis until the end of the world.

But there was no time. 'Bring me the fair-haired man who brought us to the palace,' Leith barked.

'Yes, my lord,' said the drunken soldier, correctly assessing the shift in power that had just taken place. Without turning to acknowledge his king, he left the room. Meanwhile Geinor, the king's adviser, stirred into consciousness and stared dumbly at his hand. The King of Nemohaim, his authority usurped by the demonstration of power witnessed by his whole court, slumped back on his splendid throne and said nothing.

Maendraga knelt beside the old man, running his fingers across the now-whole hand. 'It's not an illusion,' he said quietly. He turned his head to look at Leith, who shrugged his shoulders, unsure as to how to deal with the magician's obvious regard.

The soldier returned with the fair-headed man, whose eyes widened as he took in the scene in the throne room. He had obviously been told of events, for he went straight to the old counsellor.

'Are you all right?' he asked the old man.

'Graig,' said the counsellor, taking the other's hand and rising to his feet. 'My son. I am all right.'

'This is your father?' asked Leith.

'It is, and I thank you for what has happened here.' 'Then I have found here what I sought,'

Leith said. 'Come!' He indicated the son and his father, and the magician. 'We need to talk, and I won't abide this place a moment longer.'

It proved easy enough for the four of them to leave the White Palace. The story, or at least a garbled version of it, ran before them, and they simply walked out, unchallenged by soldier or courtier. Reluctant to attract further attention, Leith found and paid for lodgings at a doss-house near the docks. He would have preferred somewhere more pleasant, a little less rundown, but he had almost no money. Little remained of the store the Arkhimm had brought south with them — he had almost forgotten to pick it up when they stopped off at the magician's cottage. The landlord, sensing the man with the money was a stranger, sought to charge them an outrageous amount for one night's stay.

'It's for the best,' said Maendraga. 'Tomorrow we need to find an Aslaman pilot who will take us north, and the wharves are just outside our window.' After a sleepless night spent first telling Geinor the counsellor and his son Graig of their quest, then having to listen to raucous singing from the tavern below and brawling out on the streets, the magician was less sure it had been a good idea. 'Still, at least we have enough money to hire an outrigger,' he said.

'How do you know all this?' Leith asked, curious and half annoyed that again someone else seemed to be making the decisions. 'I thought you'd never been beyond the Vale of Neume.

Where did you learn about pilots and ships? And who are the Aslamen?'

'The guardians come from mixed stock,' said the magician quietly. 'My wife was an Aslaman, a disgraced outcast. She came to the Vale of Neume in search of food, and found me.'

'Oh.' Leith heard the pain, and his own hurt made him reluctant to probe. 'An outcast.'

'Yes. Her father was—' He stopped, then turned to the youth, a frown on his face. 'You've kept your pain private. I think I'll do the same.'

'Fair enough.' Leith shrugged his shoulders, apparently unconcerned.

'Leith, don't forget I have a truthsense. You really want to talk about it.. .'

'Is that so?' Leith retorted, bristling. 'Where I come from such an intrusion into people's privacy would be called impolite at the least.'

Maendraga turned away, visibly hurt.

said the voice.

Then the boy has grown up, Leith thought flatly. But the shadow on his heart did not lift.

'I'm sorry,' he said to the magician. 'I'm having difficulty dealing with this Arrow business and what it's doing to me, but that's no excuse.'

'All that, and the loss of your brother,' said Maendraga in an understanding tone.

Leith closed his eyes in exasperation at his own thoughtlessness. He explained to Maendraga his idea that his brother, the magician's daughter, and the rest of the Arkhimm were not dead.

Too hurt yet to hope, Maendraga merely grunted a curt 'We'll see,' and began preparing to leave.

'What I said last night still stands,' Leith said to Geinor and Graig. 'We need to take the Arrow back to Instruere, where people from every part of Faltha are being assembled. Something is going to happen that neither the Council of Faltha, nor the Bhrudwans themselves anticipate.

Whatever happens at Instruere will draw in every other country. All of the Sixteen Kingdoms will follow, as will the losian such as the people of the Mist, the Pei-ra, the Fodhram and the Fenni. If the peoples refuse the summons, and the Bhrudwans overcome us, no one in Faltha will escape the dark tide. You are not far enough away here in Nemohaim.'

'We were far enough away last time,' said Geinor. He had made up his mind: he would follow the bearer of the Arrow, but his fine, analytical mind sought to understand the situation.

Things were clearly far worse than their own intelligence had led them to believe. Or lied to them about. His own king was many things but not a traitor, not yet anyway, of that he was certain, but the true situation had nonetheless not been known.

'Do you think it is by accident that the Arkhimm came from the furthest reaches of Faltha? If the Bhrudwans overrun us, my own country of Firanes will not be safe, and we are further from Instruere than you.' Leith frowned, then sighed. 'Sometimes, when I listen to my own rhetoric, I fear I am exaggerating. I've never seen a war.'

The old counsellor shook his head. 'Pray fervently you never see one,' he said. 'It is impossible to tell you how cruel men can be; and it does not matter which side is right, both sides will be cruel. It is the nature of the aggressor to want to destroy their enemy, and of the invaded nation to exact terrible revenge. I have seen it, in my own lifetime, at Vassilian on the Plains of Amare. I was there when we routed the Pei-ra, and taught them a lesson. The only problem with the lesson was that none of the Pei-ra lived to take news home to their king.'

'So you'll come?' Maendraga asked impatiently.

'Of course I'll come. Do you think I could again serve my king after what happened? Do you think my son could remain a soldier and forever bear the shame of how his liege-lord betrayed his father?'

'But you come because of the Arrow,' Leith said flatly.

'Because of the Arrow,' Geinor agreed.

The wharves — a name dignifying a confused array of rotting timbers and broken piles -

jutted out into the Bay of Bewray like a row of broken teeth. Tied to them floated a collection of decrepit fishing boats, a few of which were being caulked by old salts and their apprentices. Maendraga, Leith, Geinor and Graig wandered along the largest of the wharves, and at intervals the magician asked the fishermen, 'Pilots from Aslama?' only to receive in response a shake of the head.

'Where's Aslama?' Leith asked him.

Maendraga pointed uncertainly out into the bay.

'That's the Wodhaitic Sea,' said Leith patiently, reminding himself that the older man knew nothing of Faltha's geography.

'And out there is Aslama, or so my wife told me,' said the magi-cian stubbornly. 'The islands of Aslama, off the coast of Nemohaim, where no one works more than an hour a day and it is never cold. Or so she said.'

'Sounds like paradise,' said Leith sullenly, a suspicion growing in his mind. 'Tell me - and this is just an idle thought - your obvious desire to see these islands had nothing to do with suggesting this route north to Instruere, did it?'

Maendraga grinned at him. 'Of course it did.' Then his face sobered, and he added: 'Aslaman custom requires that the dead be honoured on their home island. I would like to see that custom honoured.'

'But you said she was an outcast.'

'Yes, she was. We'll see what happens. But it's a moot point, since it seems there is no Aslaman ship in the harbour.'

'What about one of those?' Leith asked, pointing to the dilapidated boats moored all around them.

'From what Nena told me, the Aslamen are not particularly keen to meet strangers. She told me dark tales of how they treat uninvited visitors to their lands. Now that I have seen the fear in the faces of the seamen I have asked about Aslama, I believe her. We'd never get a boat to take us out there.'

'Then how were you expecting to get them to agree to take us north to Instruere?'

'They will want to honour my wife's and my daughter's death,' he said simply.

'Excuse me,' said a voice from beside them. 'I hear you're lookin' for an Aslaman pilot.'

There had been some strife between the Aslamen and the White Palace, the old salt told them, which explained why no outriggers tied up at the wharves. 'Them as run the palace had their reasons, but they don't bother tellin' us,' he said in his strong local accent.

'They don't tell me either,' muttered Geinor. 'I wonder how much else they haven't told us.'

'Anywise,' continued the fisherman, 'the canoes don't come here now. Anchor round the coast a ways, do their tradin' in secret and get on their way unmarked by th' officials. Like it better that way, I reckon.'

'So how do we find one?' Maendraga asked.

'I'd take y' meself, if I weren't goin' out on the boats today,' he said, a look of cunning on his craggy face. 'A man's got t' feed his family.'

Geinor took over. 'Of course he does,' he said. 'And we'd want you to be rewarded for taking us to the Aslamen pilots, and missing out on all that good fishing.' He took a purse from the folds of his robe and made to open it.

'Then you've got yerselfs a guide,' said the old salt happily. 'Fish ain't bitin', anyhow.'

They left immediately, taking the northeast road out of the city, over a range of low, grassy hills. Within four hours of leaving the wharves, they were descending towards a small village which boasted a single wharf.

'Rivals River,' announced the old salt. 'Or, to name it proper, Afon-yr-Eifl. Not that many remember real names nowtimes.'

'I've never heard it called anything but Rivals,' said Graig.

'Everyone disremembers the past,' said the fisherman sullenly. 'We forget who we are, an' we become nobody, ruled by fools who send boys to war when there's nothin' left worth fightin'

for.'

'Did you lose your son at Vassilian?' asked Geinor gently.

'Just two girls left now, married off they are to worthless bide-a-beds. Lost three of'em, my three boys,' said the fisherman matter-of-factly. 'And for what? No one tells us why, no one says sorry, they just wait 'til the next crop is grown and harvest them too. I say forget war!

Remember the old ways. Remember the old names, the old language. Be true to what we know.'

Leith looked at the old man sideways. Not as old as all that, he considered. And not half as provincial as he affects. This man knows something about life.

'Well, here we are,' he said. 'You're in luck. There's a boat at the wharf now - look, the pilot's castin' off. If you hurry, you might catch him.'

The four travellers began to run.

'Goodbye now!' the old salt cried after them, laughter in his voice. 'Goodbye! Fuir af Himmin!'

Leith spun around to gaze at the small, retreating figure. Who else had farewelled them with that cry? Kroptur. The hair on the back of his head rose as he realised the old fisherman was one of the Watchers, that he had known, he had been waiting for them. He had not asked about the blazing Arrow so conspicious in Leith's hand. He had not needed to.

I wish 1 had asked his name.

The four men made it to the wharf, breathless and anxious, just as the canoe began to pull out.

After shouting and gesticulating for a few frantic moments, they were able to get the pilot to bring the canoe around. It was more than a simple canoe. Hollowed from a huge hardwood forest giant, the canoe was at least fifty feet long and six feet wide. Attached to each side were smaller trunks, held out at some distance from the main hull. The cargo was stacked in the back, some way ahead of which four brown-skinned, bare-chested, bemuscled men rowed with wide paddles. At the bow stood the pilot, also bare-chested but wearing an elaborate, feathered headdress. A single sail was fixed to the main hull.