Moontide 02 - The Scarlet Tides (23 page)

Kekropius touched his arm. ‘Our laws forbid contact with men. Though we have rescued you, we are compelled to bring you here. Our council must see you, and debate what to do with you.’

‘But I’ve got to find—’

Kekropius interrupted. ‘I am sorry to put you in this position, but you cannot leave without the permission of our council.’

Alaron’s temper rose, but he drove it back down. ‘That’s just a formality, right?’

Kekropius shrugged enigmatically. ‘It is a serious matter. We have no greater secret than that of our existence. Though you are the enemy of our enemy, we cannot risk this place becoming known to the Inquisition.’ He ducked his head. ‘It may be that you will not be permitted to leave.’

Before Alaron could react, another lamia, larger even than Kekropius, blocked their path forward. Fire flared above its left hand and lit its features. The newcomer had a reptilian face with amber eyes and looked even less human than Kekropius. In a deep rumble he said, ‘Kekropius? You were not expected for days.’

‘Naugri, I greet you. We ran into trouble and had to return.’ Kekropius waved a hand towards the sacks of cooked meat. ‘We found fresh meat, but ran into an old enemy.’

‘You were not seen?’ Alaron realised that Naugri was not actually carrying a torch and his mind churned.
Fire-gnosis – what are these creatures?

‘Our secret is safe,’ Kekropius started, but Naugri jabbed a finger at Alaron.

‘Then what is this? A prisoner?’

Kekropius laid a hand on Alaron’s shoulder. ‘He is my guest, rescued from the enemy.’

Naugri slithered forward and Alaron saw that he wore a huge sword on a belt just above where his waist became snake trunk. ‘We take no guests. All of the First People are our enemies.’ He drew his sword; fire ran along the blade.

‘Naugri, sheath your weapon!’ Kekropius snapped. ‘The Council of Elders will decide this matter.’

The two faced each other for several long fraught seconds while Alaron held his breath and wondered whether he ought not to be trying to blast his way out of this – if he could. He could feel Kessa’s cold presence behind him; she could probably move much faster
than he could. He wondered what she would do if Naugri attacked her mate.

Then abruptly the flames on Naugri’s blade winked out and he stalked away. ‘The Elders will decide,’ he rasped over his shoulder as he went. ‘But either way, the human will never leave the valley alive.’

Alaron looked at Kekropius. ‘What’s he saying?’

The lamia’s amber eyes blinked apologetically. ‘I am sorry. Naugri is just speaking his mind. He is very … blunt.’

‘But you can’t keep me here!’ He clutched the wall for strength. ‘You might as well have just let the Inquisitors kill me!’

Kekropius looked back at Kessa. ‘My mate told me to intervene. Sometimes she sees things that may be.’

Alaron’s eyes shot to Kessa, whose face remained impassive.
Divination
. They have Water-gnosis, and some of them have other affinities. ‘What did she see?’

Kekropius shared a glance with his mate, and something passed between them. ‘Safety,’ he said softly. ‘She saw you lead us to safety.’

*

They took a long passage deeper into the hills. The rocks here were limestone, porous and easily shaped, and someone had been using Earth-gnosis to do so: the cave had been smoothed and widened, the water-channel widened and deepened and a path cut alongside. They crossed over a narrow stone bridge and followed dim natural light to another cave. The air was cold and damp, but it smelled clean and fragrant and Alaron inhaled heavily, trying to steady himself. He felt like he’d stepped into a dream.

They emerged into a narrow tree-lined gully just as the sun rose, turning the slit of sky far above pale blue. He stared about him in awe: a low, man-made dam ensured the bottom of the gully was filled with water. He glanced at Kekropius and corrected himself: not
man-
made. There were other cave-mouths scattered about the pool, subtly concealed by the topography of the land. Naugri was waiting beside the pool, watching three lamiae young swimming, laughing gaily as they rippled gracefully above and below the surface. Naugri snapped
at them and their laughter faded, their eyes going round as they saw Alaron.

A dark shape detached from the walls and slithered to Naugri’s side. His mate: he stroked her head fondly. She turned to face the newcomers, then ducked behind Naugri fearfully as she saw Alaron. ‘Man,’ she said fearfully.

More and more lamiae appeared, their skin hues changing from green to grey as they left the foliage. They bared pointed teeth and hissed menacingly.

‘Kekropius, what have you brought us?’ called a cold, creaky voice from the mouth of the nearest cave, and the entire gathering stopped and bobbed their heads.

‘Mesuda-Eldest,’ Kekropius said reverently. ‘We have a guest.’

The newcomer was the first of this gathering that Alaron saw to show any obvious signs of age. She was hunched and moved awkwardly, and her skin did not change readily. Her comb was dry and shrivelled, as was her face, like wrinkled leather; there were flaking patches on her snake-skinned limbs and her breasts were barely discernible. Only her twin snake-legs and a certain caste to her face marked her as female. She glided to Kekropius’ side and peered at Alaron, swaying gently.

These creatures are impossible …
He felt as if he’d stepped out of the real world and into Lantric mythology.
They have to be constructs …

The old female smiled. ‘He guesses the truth.’ She slithered up to him and stared; though her body was stooped, her eyes were level with his. For a second Alaron was unsure whether his instincts had lied and he was in immediate danger, so deep and complex were the emotions he saw in the old woman’s eyes: loss, awful grief, and lingering fury all vied for mastery in her complex gaze, overlaid with sad tranquillity. They both exhaled together and he felt their minds touch. She had a strange fluid style, but it was recognisably the gnosis. He hurriedly shielded his thoughts.

‘Yes, boy,’ she said softly. ‘We are constructs.’

Naugri snorted grimly. ‘Must we tell our secrets so swiftly, Eldest?’

‘One way or the other, our secrets will be safe, Naugri,’ Mesuda
replied evenly. ‘Take him to the high chamber.’ She reached out and lifted Alaron’s periapt from about his neck. ‘For safe-keeping, child,’ she said softly, then, to Kekropius, ‘Feed him, and send him to the meeting within the hour.’ She glanced at Kessa. ‘You may attend and report.’

Constructs were not common on Noros, but they were part of life in Pallas and the north. The Imperial Beastarium in Pallas was renowned for breeding constructs, for the military and for commerce – mostly that meant beasts of burden, but they also created the venators for the Inquisitorial Fists. Many of the beasts had been inspired by Lantric mythology – Rimoni might have been the first great Empire of Yuros, but Lantris was undoubtedly the first great culture, and its gods and goddesses the first widespread religion, suppressed by the Kore but never quite eradicated. Children grew up with the fairy tales of the Lantric Pantheon and their debauched ways, and they provided inspiration for some of the output of the Beastarium. But two things were forbidden: constructs could have neither human components, nor human intelligence. If these were truly constructs, they were very,
very
illegal.
And these lamiae have the gnosis …
That was something he’d never heard of.

‘What is your name, child?’ the old woman, Mesuda, asked him.

‘Alaron.’

She stroked his cheek with her big, brutal-looking hands, and it took all his strength not to flinch. ‘I hope we have the chance to know each other better,’ she said gently, then turned and slithered away.

Alaron was taken to a small chamber inside the caves. Without the periapt his use of the gnosis would be weaker, less efficient. He thought about the numerous opportunities he’d had to run over the past three nights that he had passed up; they felt like mistakes now.

I have to trust that Kekropius means me well, and that Kessa’s divination was right.

After a brief meal of dried meat, Kekropius and Kessa led him to another passageway, a steep smooth trail spiralling upwards. He got the impression that Kessa had something at stake here, and guessed that her precognitive skills were as much on trial as he was. ‘What did you see?’ he asked her, but she ignored him.

The hills were honeycombed with passages and chambers, though they seldom saw others. In one dim cavern he saw two young-looking lamiae, one male, one female, clasping each other. He was powerful, she slim and lissom, with big slanted eyes, and their hands were slender and graceful as they stroked each other’s bare shoulders. They were kissing, their arms and snaky hair entwined, and they both started guiltily and jerked apart when they sensed his gaze. If he hadn’t been so nervous he would have laughed aloud. Kessa hissed at them and they fled.

The cave-mouth opened onto a small dell open to the sky and bathed in evening sun. Four creatures were seated on subtly shaped boulders set at each corner of the compass. Kessa led him into the middle, and stood behind him. ‘These are the Elders,’ she hissed. ‘Give respect.’

One of those Elders was Mesuda, who bobbed her head, as if to reassure them. ‘Welcome Kessa, mate of Kekropius and trusted child of the lamiae,’ she started, and a rumbled greeting ran about the circle. ‘With her, as her guest, is Alaron-mage, a human.’

To Alaron’s right sat a hulking being who looked like an older version of Naugri, with scarlet mottling on his snake limb. His breath smoked in the cool dawn air. ‘I say again, why is he not already cooked?’ he rumbled.

Opposite him, a female lamia with a wizened face and a tangle of grey hair cackled merrily. She didn’t appear to be able to straighten her shrivelled body, but her yellow eyes were bird-bright. ‘No, Hypollo, we should torture him first. Pain gives the meat more flavour.’

‘My wife has seen him provide a greater value, Reku.’ Kekropius’ voice cut across her laughter and Alaron turned in surprise.
He’s an Elder too?
His rescuer gave no sign of familiarity. ‘Kessa has that gift.’

‘An unreliable gift,’ sniffed the ragged female, Reku. ‘I do not want her shifty dreams to cheat me of a fine meal.’

Kessa rose slightly on her powerful snake-limbs and her shoulders went back slightly. A threat-gesture, perhaps. Alaron could feel her conferring mentally with her mate, after which she subsided again, a chastened look on her face.

The four Elders went silent, and he could feel information flowing through mental linkages. He had some proficiency in Mysticism and it wouldn’t have been hard for him to tap into that link, but he knew better than to try; these creatures were used to being intimate with each other, and his presence in that link would be impossible to conceal. Instead, he concentrated on what he might do if this went badly: he wasn’t much of an Air-mage at the best of times, and they still had his periapt. Running would futile, but he was damned if he’d let them eat him.

Their mystic communion ended as suddenly as it had began. Mesuda raised her hand. ‘Speak, Hypollo. What is your verdict?’

Hypollo studied Alaron, his giant reptile head cradled on one fist. ‘Eat him. He is a danger to the people.’

If I go right, and jump, I might stand a chance …

Mesuda bobbed her head. ‘Kekropius?’

‘I believe in my wife’s visions,’ he said, as Alaron had hoped – no,
prayed
.

‘Reku?’

Reku clasped her hands together, measuring Alaron with beady eyes. ‘Gut him slowly, to bring out the juices, then strangle him with his intestines to seal in the flavour. Cook him with apple and cloves.’

Kore’s blood!
He glanced over his left shoulder. There was a cleft there too, but he suspected it went straight down to the pool.
No, I should go right.

All eyes went to Mesuda. The crone bowed her head. ‘Then my vote is the casting one. Hear me! The first rule of we lamiae is that no outsiders shall ever know of us and live. In times of doubt we must revert to the core tenets of our people.’ She looked sadly at Alaron. ‘I am sorry child, but I concur with my fellow elders. You must die.’

Alaron stared in disbelief. These people had rescued him from certain capture, torture and death. That they now would dismiss him with so little consideration, and decide to eat him –
to eat him
– was more than he could take in. His senses were flooded with stunned, meaningless detail, even as his reflexes bade him move, to flee or to fight.

‘No!’ he shouted, ‘
no
, you can’t! I’ve got to find Cym!’ He threw his head about wildly, seeking an escape. ‘I’ve got to help her make it to—’

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and bent him over backwards. Kessa’s mouth opened above him, twin fangs erupting from her upper mouth. She wrenched him to her and bit, her teeth puncturing his throat like knives of ice. He stared up at her as she released him, looking down at him with softly dilating eyes. He slid down her body, his cheeks brushing her breasts and belly as if he were spending his last moments of life in some idiot attempt to seduce her. Then the ground rose up and smacked him in the face – and all the while, his mouth tried inanely to finish his last sentence—

‘
—Hebu … salim … !
’

His hearing and sight faded until the world dissolved softly into a vague blur of nothing.

Magi Longevity

One of the benefits of the gnosis is longevity. Partly this is derived from active and conscious exercise of the gnosis: use of Healing and Shape-mastery are particularly efficacious, as is the darker art of Necromancy. Just being magi seems to impart greater resistance to illness and harm. The Ascendants lived four or five times the normal span. Pure-bloods can expect to live two centuries, and notable benefits are also enjoyed by lesser magi. Of course, they are also in the front line of the military, so the perils are often great also.

O
RDO
C
OSTRUO
C
OLLEGIATE
, P
ONTUS

Brochena, Javon, Antiopia
Shaban (Augeite) 928
2
^nd
month of the Moontide

Molmar put the skiff down several miles southwest of Brochena in an uninhabited bit of desert where empty ditches and mounded earth spoke of failed irrigation programmes. By dawn they were installed in a safe house in the slums of Brochena. Kazim and Jamil sat with their fellow assassins on a verandah before a paved courtyard where Gatoz and Magister Sindon were talking to a man with a smoothly shaven skull and an urbane manner. He was Jhafi, but apparently known to the Hadishah; he was introduced as ‘Zan’, and he welcomed them to the city.

‘It will take days to arrange the attack,’ Gatoz told the group. ‘Magister Sindon and Zan-saheeb will arrange this, while we keep to
ourselves. We must stay hidden.’ He glanced at Zan, gesturing for him to speak.

‘The information we have,’ Zan said, ‘is that there are secret passages in the central keep. A sharp-eyed agent of mine detected Gurvon Gyle emerging from such a passage, thinking himself unseen. He appears to be in contact with Cera Nesti, the Javon Queen.’ The man sounded pained by this revelation, as though he had something invested in this queen, an attachment that had been betrayed. ‘My people have not made any move, knowing such a mage to be beyond us. Instead, we contacted your masters.’

‘Tell us about Gurvon Gyle,’ Gatoz said.

Zan licked his lips. ‘He is a Rondian mage who was hired by King Olfuss to protect him and his family. He betrayed that trust and the king died. However, one of Gyle’s agents, a woman named Elena Anborn, apparently betrayed Gyle, protected the king’s children, Cera and Timori Nesti, and helped restore Nesti rule. I say “apparently” as it now appears that Gyle, though hidden, is again working with Elena Anborn.’

‘Is this Anborn woman a target also?’ Jamil asked.

Gatoz broke in, ‘Certainly. She is a Rondian mage. But Gyle is the main target.’

‘What about the Nesti queen?’ Molmar asked, his voice indifferent.

Zan responded, ‘Cera Nesti was fervently in favour of the shihad. I believe Gyle has used his gnosis to gain a hold over her. If we kill the snake, his venom will drain away.’ He looked about him for more questions, and when there were none, went on, ‘The Nesti in Brochena are mustering for war, and many Jhafi are joining them, for love of the queen. They are due to march north in a week or so. Their target is Hytel, a northern city.’

‘If we can find Gyle, we will kill him before they march,’ Gatoz put in.

‘How will we find him?’ Jamil asked.

‘I will find him,’ Magister Sindon put in, his usually mild voice vehement. ‘I know Gyle, believe me. I have used his services before, and he trusts me.’

There was more, but it was mostly detail. Kazim neither knew nor cared about Gurvon Gyle or Cera Nesti; he found his attention wandering and wondered instead where Ramita was. It hurt to be estranged from her, but increasingly he could see no future for them. The world was pulling them apart.

If the children belong to Meiros, then she will hate me doubly – but if they are mine, they too will be Souldrinkers. Better that they drown at birth.

Slowly, the light that was his love for Ramita was going out, the taint of what he had done, and what he was, tarnishing all that had once been so bright. It was so wrong, to have loved her for so long, only to have it all come down to this numbness. For the first time he asked himself:
if you were offered her back, would you take her, knowing the distress it would cause her?

To his shock, the answer was – he really didn’t know. And that hurt.

*

Brochena, what little they saw, was a strange place to Kazim. It reminded him a little of Hebusalim, the way the architecture had traces of both east and west, but here it was the Rimoni influences he noted most, in the straight lines and columns, and the sun and moon faces adorning the largest buildings. He saw no Rimoni in person, though. Master Zan told them that the Yuros immigrants mostly dwelt closer to the palace. ‘They have the money,’ he said simply, his tone more neutral than Kazim might have expected. Zan looked rich himself, or at least the child of privilege.

The next three days were a strange, surreal dreamscape of boredom and nervous tension. They could not go out, nor could they train, in case the noise drew attention. They were shown no plans, given no briefings; the only order was a terse, ‘Not today,’ from Gatoz every midday. The Nesti soldiers were mustering and drilling west of the city, and many Jhafi were going to march as well, in support of this mini-shihad to Hytel.

‘Why is Gyle here?’ Kazim emerged from his misery enough to ask Jamil.

‘I’ve no idea,’ was all Jamil could answer.

What Kazim couldn’t bring himself to ask was whether Jamil knew what Gatoz had done at the Krak. He felt himself sinking further into a kind of despair, in which innocents would be slain until he turned into precisely the sort of monster Rashid and Sabele wanted him to be. His only consolation was that as he’d not used the gnosis since that incident, his well was full, and he did not suffer from that gnawing hunger. Time dragged by in iron chains while he bottled his fury. The noise of the city outside barely penetrated their walls; inside, hours were frittered away on dice, cards and sleep.

*

Finally the day came, though there was nothing about it to distinguish it from any other. Kazim woke late, having lain on his pallet wondering where Jai was. And Keita, the girl his brother – if Jai could still be called that – had taken south. She was pregnant too, like his Ramita.
Plump, needy Keita, who snared my soft Lakh brother.
He hoped they were faring well.

They were all mooching about the courtyard when Gatoz walked in and clapped his hands, calling them to attention. They expected to be stood down again, but instead he said simply, ‘Tonight.’

That one word shook their minds awake.

After that, all was preparation: oiling bowstrings and sharpening blades, daubing their faces with wet soot so they would better blend with the shadows, festooning themselves with weapons, then limbering up gently, in readiness for action. Jamil tried once again to tell him how to enhance his blade or his arrows so that they could better penetrate a gnosis-shield. Though he barely listened, the words were seeping into his subconscious; he could feel them there, churning around, as he tried to determine which made him more guilty: to use his power or to not use it.

Just before dusk, Haroun led the whole group in prayer, choosing verses from the Kalistham that reminded them that the greatest goal of every warrior of Ahm had to be to give his life for his brothers. ‘Only you, Ahm, are constant, in this shifting, changing world. Only you are real. We are but the dream you dream. How can a man know what is truth without you, for you are the only truth.’

‘There is only Ahm,’ the men responded, over and again.

Haroun finished and blessed them, his palms held high to heaven. ‘Ahm be with you.’

Then the Hadishah blended with the night and went seeking their prey.

*

Cera and Timori Nesti looked out over the city as it heaved with activity. Even up here on the balcony she could hear the clang of the hammers in the smithies, the calls of the traders, the rattle of the wagons and the tramp of the soldiers. The balcony faced north, overlooking parade grounds where ten thousand Nesti soldiers were readying for the march north.
Two days
, she thought, frightened and strangely empty. She clutched Timi’s shoulder as her eyes became wet and unfocused.

It was all coming to an end, the odyssey that had begun when Elena Anborn had saved Timori and her from Gurvon Gyle. For a time she’d held her courage and with Elena had reclaimed the kingdom. But that had been just an illusion. Look how quickly Gyle had stolen back into her palace, unseen and untouchable, and shown her just how easily he could destroy them if he wished. She, Timi and everyone they loved would be killed unless she did as he demanded. All she had to do to end this, he’d told her, was to betray Elena.

But he’d lied: that was just the beginning.

A ruler must make hard choices, without loyalty or malice
. Elena herself had taught her this lesson when tutoring her on politics, so she’d done just that. But she couldn’t live with that choice now. It ate at her guts and accused her every time she looked in the mirror. Now only one betrayal remained. Gyle had promised it would be bloodless: an encounter with the Dorobon, an honourable surrender, and after that, her brother could live in peace, subservient to the Dorobon but still alive.

‘When do you march?’ Timi asked eagerly. Like everyone else, he believed that they were marching to an easy victory.

‘In two days, darling,’ she told her little brother – not so little anymore; he was eight now, and thought himself a warrior. They’d
even made him a sword, and armour, with a helmet to fit his little head, to keep it safe. He thought he was so grown up.

‘We’re going to
win
,’ the boy-king said fiercely.

‘Of course, she said, trying not to cry.

She turned her eyes to the east, where Mount Tigrat shone in eternal snow, high above the deserts. The peak was far away, on the edge of sight, a white gleam amidst the shadowy line of the mountains. The distances were deceptive: it looked near, walking distance perhaps, but in truth it was almost fifty miles away across the plains. One of the old tales of Javon was that the old pagan gods, predating the coming of Ahm, dwelt on the peak. Another story had the mountain hollow, housing a city of afreet. She wished she were a mage and could conjure a host of afreet to fight for her, like in the fairy tales. But only Shaitan-spawned Rondians had such powers in this world: evil white men and women with devious minds and cruel hearts.

‘Majesty?’ a voice called. Tarita, her maid. The young Jhafi girl had been Elena’s maid, but now Elena didn’t have one.
Because she’s not really Elena anymore
. Cera had taken Tarita in so that she would not be thrown onto the streets, or worse. ‘Majesty, it is time for the king’s bath.’ She had Timi’s nanny, Borsa, with her.

Timi pulled a face. ‘I don’t need a bath,’ he declared. He looked up at Cera and noticed her tears. ‘Cera, why are you crying?’

Cera wiped her eyes. ‘I was just thinking of Mother and Father,’ she lied.
I should have been: I think of them too little.
‘Go and bathe, dearest.’

Borsa led the boy-king away, promising him a treat afterwards, and the banal conversation filled Cera with longing for simpler times.
But they never were so simple. There were always enemies and plots and dangers; I was just too young and blind to see them.

‘Madam?’ Tarita still waited on her.

‘Go on ahead, Tarita. I shan’t need you until I change for dinner.’ She waited until the maid had gone, then stood, waiting for the inevitable sound behind her.

‘Cera,’ Gurvon Gyle said softly from the shadows, impossibly close.

She tried not to show that he could still frighten her by mere stealth. ‘What do you want?’

‘To see you,’ Gyle responded.

She screwed up her nose. He’d taken to teasing her like this, telling her that she was intelligent and comely, as if kind words from him meant anything. He was trying to give her confidence for what was to come, she knew, but praise means nothing when you know it for lies. ‘You’ve seen me. Go away.’

Gyle tutted softly. ‘Be calm, Cera. We’ve not far to go now. A march north, a parley, and it will all be over.’ He stepped to her side, still partly in shadow. ‘You’ve done well. Your councillors suspect nothing.’

‘I don’t want your praise.’

‘You’ve earned it.’

‘Deception is not praiseworthy.’

He snorted softly, gazing across the desert as the westering sun carved long shadows across the sands, and the alleys of the city filled up with darkness. ‘I need Elena this evening,’ he told her.

‘She is no longer Elena,’ Cera said automatically.
Because of my betrayal.

‘No, she is not,’ Gyle agreed. ‘But I need her, nevertheless.’

‘Why?’ she asked, not expecting a reply.

‘A meeting. Nothing more.’ He touched her arm. ‘Another will be watching you,’ he said. ‘Someone who can reach out and touch you as easily as I do now.’

She shuddered from his touch on her skin but didn’t move. He stroked her upper arm and stared at her profile. His eyes and fingers gave her a creepy sensation, as if she was a bird and he a cat. ‘Please, I need to be alone,’ she said at last.

He stroked her cheek. ‘You’re going to need a protector, Cera,’ he told her. ‘Someone to remind Francis Dorobon that you cooperated in all ways and are no longer a threat.’

She swallowed, while her skin prickled and her blood ran cold.

‘I admire you, Cera,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You rallied your people at the moment of need. You fooled Elena, which I seldom managed. You know how to lead, and you understand the power of knowledge. You made a fine queen – you would have made a fine mage.’

‘The last thing I would want is to be one of you,’ she said bitterly, knowing she was lying.

‘I could get you into Dorobon’s bed – he’s an arrogant boy who thinks himself cultured and sophisticated, but he has no depth. Not like us. Work with me on this and you will still be Queen in the end. You can still have all you dream of.’

‘You don’t know what I dream,’ she whispered hoarsely.