In the Earth Abides the Flame (8 page)

'We must face facts,' Mahnum said soberly. 'If things go ill, and we are not believed - or worse, we are believed but are judged against because of it — we run the risk of danger and even death. Saraskar explicitly warned us about that.'

Farr leaned forward. 'We must accept the risk. Wira and Parlevaag accepted it, and we should do no less.'

'One way or another, tomorrow sees the end of our quest,' Kurr stated. 'So we should prepare for the long journey home. I think we have enough money for at least one horse, if not two. I saw some good specimens at the market, and I will make inquiries about them in the morning.

Tonight I want you to pack up your belongings in preparation for a swift departure, if required.'

'What will we do with the Bhrudwan once we've finished with the Council?' Perdu asked.

'Perhaps turn him over to the Council or to the Instruians to do with as they wish,' Kurr answered. 'I'm not sure. Let's deal with the first thing first, and concentrate on tomorrow.

Winning the confidence of the Council is all-important.'

Phemanderac chose that moment to come down the stairs to the basement, having just returned to the tenement. They immediately deluged him with the news, and he was eventually able to work out that the Company, through good fortune and Kurr's bold opportunism, had secured an appointment with the Council of Faltha. He rejoiced with them, then announced his own important news.

'You may have noticed this is my third consecutive late night out,' the philosopher said. 'I discovered a priceless treasure in the Hall of Lore: a vault in which are stored many early manuscripts regarding the activities and beliefs of the First Men. Unlike a year ago, when I was forbidden access, the Archivist has been of great help to me, allowing me freedom to study these valuable records, and even assisting me in transcribing and interpreting their obscure language. Apparently there is now no restriction on their use, though the Archivist tells me few people ever inquire of them.'

'I wonder why,' Farr said quietly.

'How did you avoid the curfew?' the old farmer asked him, the faintest hint of suspicion in his rough northern voice. The thin philosopher frowned, but chose not to take offence. Be patient with Kurr, Leith had advised him. He is slow to trust, but is a good man.

'Easily enough,' he replied. 'I don't know why this did not occur to me when last I sought permission to view the Archives. I simply struck up conversation with the Archivist who, as is the norm with these men, is ever eager to talk to another man of learning. He is very opinionated and a little conceited to go with it, but his friendship earned me one of these.'

He held up a green tablet, about hand size, with the seal of the Council of Faltha set on it.

'A night pass!' Foilzie said, almost reverently. 'I have friends who would pay you much money for that.'

'I'm sorry, madam,' Phemanderac replied, giving Foilzie a slight bow. 'This is the property of the Archivist - or, more correctly, his wife. Were it not returned, questions would be asked.'

'Nevertheless, it will come in useful,' Farr said.

'Would have come in useful,' Kurr corrected. 'You forget we no longer need to make the loathsome journey to the Hall of Meeting, save once more; so we do not need the pass. But it would have saved us much time.'

'I am sorry,' Phemanderac replied, his long face reddening slightly. He thought it best not to tell them he had come by the pass ten days earlier.

'Have you found anything important in the Archives?' Stella asked politely.

'I have found many things of wonder,' Phemanderac replied with enthusiasm. 'Books of poetry supposedly written by brothers of the House of Wenta, one of the original four houses; parchments upon which were written records of the dealings of Instruere, going back to within a hundred years of its foundation; an extensive treatise on good and evil which makes interesting reading: many such things lie unknown and unread within the vault. Apparently the House of Lore employed a team of scholars who transcribed and interpreted these works, but of late scholars are being replaced by guards, and the oldest manuscripts begin to decay.'

Kurr said nothing. The scowl on his face, however, spoke volumes.

Phemanderac looked around at the Company. They have lived for their quest for months now, he thought; lived and died for it. I cannot expect them to be interested in fragile old manuscripts that do not bear on their immediate predicament. Nevertheless, he felt deep within there was something in that vault calling to him, something that wanted to be discovered and read. How can I tell them that? How can I tell them that what 1 look for is more important even than the safety of this generation of Falthans?

'No, I've found nothing you would consider important,' he admitted. 'Not yet. But I will.'

Some time after breakfast the next morning strong hands knocked on the door of the tenement. The door went unanswered for a time, most of the Company being at the market.

The remainder (Perdu, Stella, Mahnum and Kurr) expected Foilzie to answer it. The pounding grew louder and more persistent.

'I'll see who's there,' Stella said eventually, hands pressed against her temples, and went to the door.

'Stella!' a great deep voice boomed. 'It's good to find you safe and well! And the rest of the Company? How do they fare?'

'The Haufuth, it's the Haufuth!' Stella shouted excitedly back down the hall. 'Haufuth, come in, come in!' She ran ahead of him, calling: 'We have a guest!'

'Guests,' the Haufuth corrected, striding in behind her. 'My friend the Hermit is here also. Is there anything to eat?'

'We are all well,' Stella said, answering his earlier question. 'I'm home from the Market with a headache, but the others work there.'

'It is good to see you fit and healthy again,' Kurr said, shaking the Hermit's proffered hand, delight clear on his face. 'Sit down, both of you, and break your fast. We have much to tell you.'

'My friend,' the Haufuth said as he smiled at Kurr, 'you know I want to hear your story, though I fancy I know some of it already. But unless you have forgotten yourself completely, you will remember that the greater the tale, the more strength required to hear it, therefore the larger the breakfast to fuel the hearing. Will you at least let me sample the delights of Instruian fare before I collapse from starvation?'

Foilzie came to the table, and Kurr introduced her to the Loulean headman and the Hermit.

'You will not be disappointed in this woman,' the old farmer remarked as breakfast was served.

'Well, it seems like we've arrived just in time,' the Haufuth commented between mouthfuls.

'Yes, the meeting is this very afternoon,' said Mahnum. 'How did you know about it? And how did you find us, friend?'

Kurr laughed. 'Unless I am mistaken, our worthy headman refers to breakfast. Am I right?'

The Haufuth looked shamefaced.

'We spent three days wandering the city in search of you,' he said, 'and it was like looking for one patch of grass in an open field until we came across a certain market.' The Haufuth grinned widely at them. 'After that it was easy.'

'It's good to see you again,' Mahnum said to the big man. 'But forgive me for asking, where is the rest of you?'

'Blame him,' the Haufuth said, pointing at the Hermit. 'He wouldn't let me sit down long enough to sustain my girth. Look at this!' He stood, placing a closed fist between his belt and his shirt, and the disappointment on his face was obvious. 'Still,' he continued, sitting down again with a thump, 'if the fare in this city is the equal of what is set before me this morning, it won't take me long to recover.'

The Hermit smiled. He had grown to appreciate the Haufuth in the time he had known him, and reflected that he had met the others only once, for a total of one day, and putting himself in their service was a somewhat risky thing to do after years of solitude. To counter that unease, however, he considered the

excitement rising within him at the thought of taking such a risk. Here he sat, among people he hardly knew, with a door about to open to a new life. He determined he would meet it without flinching.

'What have you done with Wisent?' Perdu asked, worry edging his voice. 'Did you find him lodgings?'

'We did indeed,' replied the Haufuth, 'but at a price! I hope the Company has money enough to pay for his keep: the stable-master was very specific in demanding that we pay him for the rental of two stalls and for the equivalent of two horses' upkeep. I had money enough only for three days.'

'You gained a bargain,' said Perdu, a smile on his face. 'He eats at least as much as four. Now, if you will give me directions, I will go and visit him.' In a moment the adopted Fenni left to reacquaint himself with his clan chief's generous gift.

The Haufuth and the Hermit listened while Kurr told them about the adventures of the Company - how they made the Southern Run, the ambush of the Bhrudwans and the loss of Wira, the long journey across Treika and Deuverre, the escape of Leith and Mahnum from Adunlok, and their race with the Widuz to the city walls, finishing with Parlevaag's death.

Then they heard the trials endured by the Company in this city of cities, and were cheered to learn of the imminent appointment with the Council.

Kurr turned his attention to the blue-robed man from the edge of the wild. 'And you? Have you recovered?'

'Recovered and more, thanks to your leader here,' came the prompt answer, with genuine gratitude in the words. 'And I am a hermit no longer - though I will continue to wear the name until I discover what I have become.'

'You may not have long to wait,' Mahnum said quietly. 'Though if I were you I would give hasty thought to what name you would be known by, for after today ...' He left the sentence unfinished, hanging there like a presage of the executioner's sword, as a reminder of what they were about to face.

* * *

The remainder of the Company worked only half a day at the market. As the reason for this became general knowledge a small crowd gathered around Indrett's stall.

'I told you they'd see you,' one large woman held forth. 'Just spend your money wisely, that's what I said. And see? A meeting with the Council, and inside a month. Unheard of!'

'Yes, but what will they say?' said another. 'Who can know whether the Council will grant your boon? No amount of money buys the Council.'

'Who can know?' echoed an elderly man. 'But the Council is not what it was. If you would just tell us what your suit is, maybe we could give you advice . . .'

'Yes, tell us, tell us,' the crowd demanded. But Indrett remained silent, as did all the Company, knowing just how quickly the news would spread if they were in any way indiscreet. As the crowd realised that no secrets were to be revealed, the merely curious drifted away. The friends Indrett had made remained, offering their silent support. And when she closed her stall and with the others made her way back to Foilzie's tenement, a few of them accompanied her.

The Company approached the Hall of Meeting in the early afternoon, accompanied by twenty or so of their acquaintances from the market. There were few words adequate to describe the Hall of Meeting, the crown jewel of Instruere, conceived and built at the zenith of her glory. Even now, with the golden age long past and the city of cities but a shadow of what she had been, when the skill and patience that constructed the great hall had long been forgotten, Instruians still took pride in this massive building. A detail of guards was permanently assigned to keeping the towering walls clean, risking life and limb on precarious scaffolding as they wiped (and in some cases chipped) the soil and soot of the city away from the elaborate sculptures that adorned them, or clung to the roof while scraping and scrubbing the slate.

The huge building was visible from practically every quarter of the city, intended by its architects to dominate Instruere, yet not in an aggressive fashion; instead it stood to remind the citizens of their commonality, of their part in the government of their new land. Indeed, in the golden age before the Bhrudwan invasion it was possible for the head of each family to meet in the vast Outer Chamber of the Hall of Meeting, which would seat five thousand in comfort. However, there had been no gatherings of the people for over a thousand years, and now it brooded over the city like the memory of a tyrant, its twin towers rising two hundred feet above them.

The Company was not summoned to the Council until late that afternoon. The appellants seen in the morning had taken an unusually long time to be dealt with. At least, this was the excuse offered by Furoman, the ostentatious personal secretary to the Appellant Division of the Council of Faltha. Privately Kurr wondered at this, especially since there was a two-hour gap between the exit of the last (and obviously disappointed) appellant and their call to pass through the Iron Door and approach the Council Chamber. At last, having been reduced to a state of extreme nervousness, they saw Furoman march importantly along the wide hallway, stop and motion for the Company to follow. They made their way past the line of appellants still waiting along the left side of the corridor, under the huge carvings and wide pillars Kurr had grown to hate. They could all feel the resentment in the eyes of the appellants: yet another group with money or influence bypassing the system. Around a sweeping bend the corridor went, then they were face to face with the Iron Door.

Tall as a ship, made from iron won from the Remparer Mountains hundreds of miles away, the Iron Door was of immense symbolic importance to the modern Instruians. It divided rulers from subjects, it enforced the hierarchies so important to a city of this magnitude, and in the process became a focus for the discontent and resentment that small people felt for the big people with the power to influence affairs. In the minds of the Instruian underclass the big people worked behind the Iron door; there the inscrutable decisions were made, and there the intolerable laws were passed. As Leith approached the width and height of the door, he felt its power as a strong repulsion, as though it did not want him to pass. He saw no discernible way through. But just as Furoman drew close enough to touch it, the mighty door rose slowly up into the ceiling amidst the shrieking of gears and clanking of chains. The Company walked under it. Leith glanced up: the door was at least ten feet thick.