Scarred Man (25 page)

… if it wants her dead, we should keep her alive …

I follow Keshik because I need him. Without him, I will kill everything that stands in my way. I
will find Myrrhini and then I will kill her. I won't want to, I won't plan to, but I will. I killed Ileki. I killed Waarde. I will kill Myrrhini.

Keshik will stop me. He will fight me again and Myrrhini will escape me. He will keep me from killing her. He might even kill me.

I need him.

Myrrhini woke with a start. She sat up in her narrow bunk and looked around. Above her head, the rigging creaked and groaned as the ship made its steady way south-east. The sounds of men talking as they went about their business were muted and untroubled.

Why had she woken up?

The air was cool, but not uncomfortable. She swung her legs over the side of the bunk and put her feet down on the wooden floor. It had the slightly damp feel that everything aboard seemed to have. She stood up and walked to the porthole, shivering slightly as she did. Outside, she could see the stars sparkling in the black sky, and the light of the moons glinting silver off the calm sea. But far to the west, the dark shape still rose from the horizon. She held herself tightly against the sudden chill that swept across her.

Was this what had woken her up?

Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. There was something else, something more subtle that had woken her up. She stepped back to her
bed, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders to keep warm before returning to stand at the porthole. The ship creaked as it rolled a little when a small gust caught the sails. The voices of the sailors above rose for a moment as they adjusted the sails and the ship returned once more to an even keel. She could almost get used to this, a life on the open water. As long as the nights were always like this.

Was it a dream? Could that be what had awakened her?

No. Something else.

A despairing cry — the sound of a man in abject terror — tore through her. She felt her stomach lurch. She was falling, yet her feet were firmly on the deck. Wind rushed past her face, filling her ears with its roaring. Her world spun crazily around her, her eyes watering, her mouth dry.

What is happening to me?

Myrrhini reached out her hand to steady herself against the wall. The wood was smooth against her fingers, giving her something solid, an anchor against the swirling, flying world in her mind.

Slowly, she regained balance, the images in her head faded and the sounds dropped away, but she was left with an inescapable feeling that something significant had happened, something that could change the world had just taken place; something she had to know about. Her mind went to the small pouch she still kept under her clothes, the pouch containing the dried daven she had bought in Usterust.

Was it time for another Seeing?

Could she do it here?

Why not?

She had not attempted a Seeing since the one that had shown her the end of the world and the Scarred Man. It was still seared into her memory, but the image of falling was so strong and the sense of fate attached to it so inescapable that she felt driven to seek out more, to find out what was happening. She knew she could do it without all the rituals — she had done so before — but whether she could here, so far away from the Sixth Waste, was another question altogether.

Myrrhini undid the laces of her bodice and reached inside to pull out the daven, but as she did, there was a hard pounding at her door. She shoved the pouch back inside and was tying her laces up when the door swung open.

‘You are wanted on deck,' an Agent instructed her.

‘How dare you burst in on me,' she snapped.

The Agent, a sailor she had not seen before, snorted derisively. ‘I dare because I am acting under orders, Onaven. Now get moving.' He stepped inside and took her by the arm, to drag her out of her cabin. She slapped him across the face as hard as she could. He released her arm and pressed his hand to his cheek, which was already reddening.

‘You'll pay for that,' he snarled. He drew his dagger. ‘Now get moving.'

Myrrhini allowed herself to be urged along the companionway to the steep stairs that led onto the upper deck. Once on deck, the Agent pushed her none too gently along towards the stern where it
seemed the whole crew was gathering. He came to a stop next to Maida who stood slightly apart from the others, with an Agent close at hand. On her shoulder was the rodent, the shapeshifter that had torn the Agent apart in Usterust. Myrrhini shuddered as she remembered the unspeakable violence and the horrifying quantity of blood. Unconsciously, she wiped her face, recalling the hot, sticky droplets that had landed there. In her mind she could still see the huge black animal with the stiff yellow mane as it stood amid the carnage, growling low in its throat, blood dripping from its fangs. The rodent fixed its disconcerting, red-pupilled eyes on her as she stood beside Maida. Myrrhini looked away, clenching her fist.

From behind her came a low chant, joined almost immediately by a beautiful, pure, male voice singing. She recognised the tune — it was the Ahuitl, the ceremony she had seen once before.

The red-flamed torch passed her, carried by Necalli who was singing the main tune and, as he walked, Iskopra joined in with the other atonal, jarring tune. The Guide reached out for the torch, but as he stepped towards the Agent, the rodent hissed and leapt from Maida's shoulder, as if to attack Myrrhini. Iskopra staggered slightly, overbalancing into the Agent, who nearly fell. Myrrhini reached out her hand instinctively and grabbed the thick torch. As her fingers wrapped around it, the shapeshifter fell to the deck and scuttled away into the darkness.

As if nothing had happened, Iskopra regained his balance, took the torch from Myrrhini and split it in two, handing half back to the Agent. As before,
once the torch had been broken, each half changed colour — Necalli's to orange and Iskopra's bright yellow. The orange flame guttered and went out while the yellow flame continued to burn brightly. Iskopra's harsh, atonal song went on as the two of them walked to the gathered Agents. Myrrhini watched as a wave of weariness swept across her, leaving her on her knees, both hands on the deck and her head lowered. She closed her eyes and leant forward, allowing it to wash over her. When it did not subside, she rocked back and sat on the planked deck, resting her head on her knees. Her breath came in short gasps. After only a moment, she was seeing spots before her eyes. They danced and spun out of control, weaving complex patterns of brilliant colour across her vision. At first, she thought it was seasickness, but the patterns started to take on form — forms she recognised. Forms she had seen at the Place of the Acolytes.

With a grim smile, she retrieved the daven pouch from under her clothes, took a pinch of the herb and crushed the daven berries in her hand, shoving them all into her mouth.

The drug hit her system like a hammer, throwing her back hard onto the deck. Her head slammed into the wood with a thud, sending sparks scattering through her already dazed mind. Distantly, she heard the Ahuitl reach its conclusion with the pure, simple melody ringing out, but she knew something was different, or would be any moment.

Sure enough, the song came to an abrupt end as the burning oil exploded, not into red flame, but into a brilliant silver that sent near daylight spilling
across the ship. A voice that no one recognised — not even Myrrhini, from whose throat it issued — rose in a cry that silenced everything.

She called out in the ancient language of Mertia, a tongue that only Iskopra and Itxtli understood. Even as she shouted, Myrrhini knew her Seeing was true, even if she could not believe it herself.

 

Maida cradled Myrrhini's head in her lap as she knelt beside her on the deck. She smoothed the sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead and whispered gently.

‘Hush now, Onaven,' she said. ‘Lie still.'

‘What's happening?' Myrrhini asked.

‘Someone shouted during the ceremony. It's all very confusing. Apparently the ceremony is supposed to be done quietly and whoever shouted has ruined it all.' Maida seemed to be barely holding back a smile. ‘They are all very cross, trying to find out who it was, but no one recognised the voice.'

‘But —' Myrrhini began. Maida placed her hand over her mouth, stifling the words.

‘But no one knows who it was,' Maida whispered. ‘And we should keep it that way.'

Myrrhini started to push herself up from the deck, but her weakness prevented her. Maida slipped her arm under Myrrhini's shoulders and helped her to her feet. As she held her, Maida came very close. She sniffed and her eyes widened as she recognised the daven smell.

‘Where did you get the daven?' she whispered. ‘No, don't answer that yet. Let's get you back to your cabin first.'

Together, slowly, they made their way back down below deck to Myrrhini's cabin. Maida pushed the door open and shoved Myrrhini inside.

‘You rest,' she said. ‘I'll go and see what's happening on deck.'

‘No,' croaked Myrrhini. ‘Stay. This is about you.'

‘What?' Maida said, but Myrrhini had collapsed onto the floor and was starting to speak again. Maida wanted to leave her to her visions, but when Myrrhini spoke her name, she stopped and crouched beside her.

‘The Scarred Man and the Swordsman. Maida will stand. She will stand beside the Scarred Man. The Swordsman will falter but the guarded in the night will rise. The ancient battle will rejoin and darkness will rise but the Scarred Man will guard Tusemon while the Swordsman will watch the Seeing One. The Unseeing seeks sight while the world burns.'

Maida rocked back to sit on the floor. She knew what she had heard, and she knew, in part, what it meant. Keshik was still alive!

And I am not what these Agents want — she is.

Maida stared at the woman lying, barely conscious, stinking of daven, drooling on the floor as she moaned incoherently.

‘Ice and wind! You're Myrrhini, aren't you?' Maida whispered. ‘You're the thrice-cursed Eye of Varuun.'

Keshik stared in utter disbelief at the vista spread below him. Up here, so high in the Wall, windows had been carved. He stood by one and felt the wind on his face, breathing in the clean air.

The canyon gouged out by the Great River of Kings over time was vast beyond reason. He had stood at its edge and looked down before, but never had he stood so high and seen so much of it. Spreading out from the Wall, it widened until it was thousands of paces wide, almost as many deep and stretched back beyond the horizon. At present, the Great River was an angry brown serpent hissing along the bed so far below, to be tamed by the obdurate stone, but on the occasions when the ice caps on the mountains far to the east melted, it would surge like a rabid beast down towards the Wall and smash impotently against its massive bulk. Even now, when the river was relatively quiet, he could hear the boiling wash as the waters pounded against the mountain-sized gate. The vast slab of rock he had seen deep inside the Wall would hold back the waters, allowing only a relative
trickle through. Without this redoubt, the delicate farmlands would be washed out into the Silvered Sea.

…
the Wall is dying …
What had the dying guardsman meant? Was the Wall alive in some way?

His focus was broken by another cheer from behind him. He turned to watch the celebrations of the Rogue and his troop. They had fought their way through the upper levels, gathering support and followers with every step until here, just one level down from the Peak, there was a veritable army of the disenchanted and the angry keen to wreak vengeance on the Supervisor and his lickspittles.

Once they had left the lower levels behind and moved into the better lit and less rancid upper levels, the troop became more talkative and Keshik was able to piece together the basics of the revolt. The reasons for the invasion and Guaman's plans did not interest him, he only cared that this was nearly over and he would soon be free to resume his pursuit of the Agents of the Blindfolded Queen. He looked away from the celebrations and stared down again at the canyon.

‘Keshik.' A hand clapped his shoulder. It was Guaman. ‘You have more than repaid my confidence in you, Swordmaster.'

‘“Kabutat” was what you called me,' Keshik replied without looking around.

‘I did, but only to see what you were made of.'

Keshik grunted. Again, the man had shown his true colours by his methods. He would be a petty tyrant who spent his limited time as Supervisor
repaying his enemies before being replaced by another of the same.

… the Wall is dying …

‘Do you know why the Supervisor must die?' Guaman went on.

Keshik shook his head.

‘He has spent his time, as have his predecessors, lining his own pockets, ignoring the cries of those from the lower levels. Those like me who work here and keep the Great Wall. He has corrupted the noble mission of the Wall.'

‘When you have studied military history as I have, and travelled as I have, you will come to be as bored with words like that as I am. You want to be Supervisor because you want power.' Keshik tore his eyes from the breathtaking scene to face Guaman. ‘You will be no different to those up there right now.'

Guaman's face darkened for a moment before his smile returned. ‘I like you, Swordmaster. You have a sense of humour.'

Keshik grunted again and waited for Guaman to make his point.

‘We are going to win. I will be Supervisor, and I have seen you fight. I want you to stay.'

Keshik shook his head. ‘No.'

‘Just like that?
No?
You didn't even think about what I can offer you.'

‘I don't want what you can offer me.'

‘You don't know what I can offer you. Do you have any idea how much wealth and power is to be had here? The Wall is all that stands between prosperity and utter ruin for all those who live in its
shadow. We command such tribute from the countries around us as would make your eyes water. And you can join me in spending it.'

‘Can you offer me the wild winds of the north? Can you offer me snowdrifts piled as high as your head? Can you offer me a clear horizon where I can see my enemies coming? Can you offer me freedom?' He dropped his voice and turned once more to contemplate the daunting canyon below. ‘Can you offer me Maida?' he whispered to the wind.

‘I can offer you freedom and no enemies.'

Again Keshik shook his head. ‘No, you can offer me a life of indolence locked inside a mountain, a life spent in waiting for the next one like you to arise and bring revolt again. No.'

Guaman sighed and clapped Keshik again on the shoulder. ‘We will talk more after we have gained the Peak. Then you might reconsider.' He began to walk away, but paused. ‘You are my weapon, Keshik. At present, the best I have. Think about that, too.'

Keshik continued to stare out, ignoring Guaman's departure.

A weapon
, he mused.
Is that all I am? A weapon, a tool, to be used by anyone?
Even as he thought it, he knew it was true. A weapon to be wielded by anyone who could pay.
Is that what my masters meant me to become?
This, too, he realised, was true. The great Swordmasters of Tulugma were indeed simply tools to be used.

‘Perhaps it is time to become more,' he muttered as he turned away from the window.
But to become what?

 

The sounds of movement alerted Keshik to the now much enlarged troop surging up the last set of stairs before reaching the highest level of the Wall. He quickly checked his swords as he joined them.

They filled the broad stairway that led to a large open area flooded with sunlight that streamed through numerous windows. The light illuminated a huge mosaic map set into the floor, showing the area around the Wall stretching from the end of the canyon to the east to the coast of the Silvered Sea to the west. It was done in exquisite detail with sparkling gems liberally scattered throughout. The troop pounded over it with scant, if any, regard for its beauty. Hanging from the walls between the tall windows were paintings and tapestries showing scenes from all over the world. Keshik recognised at least three from the north, one of which was torn down by an errant spear carried by a young man in a borrowed uniform. Opposite the stairs stood heavy double doors. Guaman strode at the head of his troop and pounded on the doors.

‘Supervisor!' he roared. ‘Come out and face the people!' The doors remained closed and no sound came from beyond. Guaman pounded again, with the same result. He turned away from the door to face his followers.

‘Break it down,' he said.

It took a while, but eventually, the troop smashed their way through the doors. They poured past the shattered remains into the Peak to be greeted by a tightly packed group of soldiers. At their head stood
a tall, powerfully built man in a spotless uniform who stared at them implacably as they approached. When the rabble was barely two paces from him, he exploded into action, springing forward with sword and Warrior's Claw. He had six men down before the rest of the troop could engulf him. They fell on him and his soldiers like the Great River of Kings smashing into the obdurate Wall, only to be driven back like the river itself. The lead soldier stood as the troop took a step back, leaving their dead and dying before the defenders.

Guaman, bleeding from a nasty gash across his face, stepped out from the troop to face the defenders.

‘Arbat,' he said in a reasonable tone, addressing the implacable man. ‘We have —
I
have — no quarrel with you. My fight is with the Supervisor. Let us through so that we can deal with him directly. There is no need for you to die here.'

Arbat allowed a brief smile to cross his blood-spattered face. ‘No need?' he said. ‘I disagree.'

‘You will not let us pass?' Guaman asked.

‘I will not.'

‘Then die with the rest.' Guaman stepped back and looked around. ‘Keshik! I have a task for you.'

Keshik sighed and unsheathed his swords.
The weapon cannot but obey.
He pushed his way past the muttering troop to stand before Arbat.

‘Defenders of the Peak,' Guaman said, raising his voice to address them, ‘when Arbat falls, my troop will advance over his body. At that point, you have a choice: throw down your weapons and beg for mercy, or be cut down.'

Keshik heard the words but paid them no heed as he sized up his opponent. Arbat was tall and muscular, with an advantage in reach but lacking in speed. His attack on the troop had benefited from a degree of surprise in its ferocity, but even so, it was skilful and controlled. He fought well with the sword, but his Claw lagged a little in defence, showing a deficiency in defensive technique as well as imperfect footwork. His attack was based primarily on strength and the use of the second weapon. Keshik had killed better men before, and would do so again.

Arbat watched as Keshik raised his swords in salute then held his Claw in front of his face almost exactly as Slave did. He lowered it to his side and sprang forward, driving his sword straight at Keshik's throat. Keshik was expecting the attack and deflected the sword, stepping aside, ready to fend off the swinging Claw as Arbat brought it around in a move that would have killed many an opponent. As Arbat staggered slightly past him, off balance from the strength of Keshik's defence, Keshik gave a solid kick to the back of his knee. Arbat was wearing light chain mail so the kick gave no injury, but it shifted his balance a little, meaning that when he spun around and came back at Keshik, his aim was off. Keshik allowed the sword to run the length of his own as he moved inside Arbat's guard, turning as he did so. He slammed into Arbat. His own lighter leather armour gave him increased speed, but in a collision with an armoured body he came off second best. Before Keshik could react, Arbat brought his arms around
to grab him. Arbat was strong and his grip was tight. Keshik stamped down hard while slamming his head back. His foot missed Arbat's boot, sending a jarring pain up his own leg, but his head smashed hard into Arbat's jaw.

Both men cried out in pain, but while Keshik maintained his focus through the pain, Arbat allowed his arms to slacken. Keshik broke free of the grip and drove his elbow back. It collected Arbat just below the ribs.

Keshik took advantage of Arbat's momentary hesitation to slash at his face. Arbat's reaction was instinctive, snatching his head back as the blade cut through the air towards him, but not far enough. He screamed as the softly glowing, sorcerous weapon opened his face to the bone. Blood splashed out as Arbat staggered back. Keshik moved in to press his advantage, but Arbat put aside his pain to launch a counterattack. His Claw slashed upwards at the same time as his sword cut across Keshik's thighs. Keshik defended the sword cut with one of his blades and blocked the Claw with the other. He again put his head to good use and this time made hard contact with Arbat's already damaged nose. The crack as it broke was loud, as was Arbat's cry of pain that immediately followed. He staggered back, blood streaming over his mouth, but Keshik followed him, slashing at his body and head with blows so fast that Arbat had no chance to evade. He fell without another sound.

With his death, the rest of the defenders threw down their weapons and dropped to their knees, but Guaman was in no mood for mercy. He raised
his sword and bellowed, ‘No prisoners!' before striking dead the first kneeling man. His troop followed suit and butchered every defender. In heartbeats, it seemed, they were all dead and Guaman stood in triumph amid the carnage.

Keshik, who had sheathed his swords after killing Arbat, turned his back on Guaman and started to make his way through the troop with the aim of leaving. He wasn't getting paid to butcher unarmed men on their knees. He wasn't getting paid at all.

‘Keshik,' Guaman called. ‘We are not done yet.'

‘I am.'

‘No, you are not. Stop him!' he ordered.

Several members of the troop gathered tightly around Keshik. Their faces were flushed with excitement and bloodlust, their blades still dripping. Keshik looked into their vacant eyes and stopped. He could kill many of them, but this sort of mood would bring him down. He turned back to Guaman.

‘Wise decision, Swordmaster,' Guaman said. ‘Now, let us finish this.'

Beyond the dead bodies of the defenders was another heavy door. This one was not metal, but exquisitely carved wood, showing a map of the world. The Great River of Kings was a single, inlaid piece of blue semi-precious stone while the City of the Wall itself was standing slightly proud, shaped out of a piece of mangase. The names of the Eleven Kingdoms were inset in gold, the Silvered Sea seemed to be made of silver and the borders that separated the kingdoms were picked out with what looked like thousands of tiny chips of diamond.

Guaman threw his shoulder into the door and heaved it open. Beyond lay another large room, this one filled with artworks. Paintings and tapestries hung over the walls, carpets covered the floor and statues stood apparently randomly around the room. The troop moved quickly through to the far end and along the corridor that left the room.

There were doors all along the corridor, on both sides. Guaman strode past them, as if personally focused only on the door at the end, but he gestured to his followers that they should explore each door as they went. Keshik stayed as far behind Guaman as he felt was reasonable, so he saw what lay behind the doors and what he saw and heard made sense of the dying guard's comment. From the sick and depraved things he witnessed in passing, he agreed: the Wall was indeed dying. If what he saw was what the rulers used for entertainment, they were no longer fit to rule. And once the troop was done with everyone who was being entertained behind the doors, they were not capable of much at all.

 

By the time Guaman reached the end door, he was joined only by Keshik and Ozcollo. He kicked it down and strode in. They all came to a sudden halt as they took in what lay before them. It was a huge, lavish boudoir, dominated by a massive bed piled high with rugs and pillows. From the ceiling above it were draped filmy curtains to slightly obscure what was happening on the bed. Standing around the room, between floor-to-ceiling windows, were about twenty naked women armed with swords and bows. As Guaman, Ozcollo and Keshik watched,
the women nocked arrows and drew their bows. From behind the gauzy curtains came a sleepy voice.