Silent Hall (35 page)

“I will not repeat the Clairvoyants' exhaustive study of the subject here, but indeed, can it come as any surprise that the Gods and their servants should stand in opposition to those who would accurately interpret verses that celebrate ‘she with no church' and other such presumably Godless heroes? I think not.

“Let us not forget that the Dragon Knight, though best known for his wizardry and martial prowess, was one of the few fully human ordained priests of God Most High. Read these verses once more, then, and ask yourself, is this a grand religious tale about a husband and wife remaking the world, or is it a smaller prophecy about five individuals still to come, bringing one age to a close and ushering in another?”

“That's enough,” said Criton, sighing and putting a hand to his forehead. “That's enough for now. I can't really concentrate anymore. I have no idea what he's saying half the time.”

“It's really very simple,” Phaedra told him. “He didn't think priests could be trusted to interpret the prophecy honestly.”

“What did
he
think it meant?” Narky asked, knowing the answer but rubbing it in.

Phaedra sighed. “He thought it hadn't happened yet, and that it's about five separate people.”

“It's about us,” Narky said. “Read it again.”

When she had done so, Hunter frowned. “I can't tell what it means. If all of these things come true, then what? What's ‘the end to all things once planned?'”

“Who cares?” Criton asked gleefully. “It says I'm going to find him!”

“I don't think we can be sure,” Phaedra said gently. “It's awfully cryptic. The second line contradicts itself, the third is vague to the point of uselessness, and the fourth is just confusing. And if you're so sure it's about us, who's the murderer?”

“What is murderer?” Bandu asked suddenly. She had turned away from the children, who were now hard at play. Delika seemed to be in a constant state of inventing new rules, to which everyone but Tellos was attempting to adapt.

“I am,” Hunter said gravely. “I killed two men in the mountains.”

“In self-defense,” Phaedra pointed out. “That's not the same as murder.”

Narky was silent, his good eye lowered to look at the ground. “Maybe it's not about us, then,” he mumbled.

Phaedra's chest tightened, and her heart sank. She was no fool – she knew guilt when she saw it. Who had Narky killed? It was all coming together now: his secrecy, his hurry to leave Tarphae… he had never shown any remorse over the loss of their home, and now she knew why. Tarphae's curse had meant that he could not be pursued.

Should she say something? Narky might turn dangerous if he realized that she knew his secret, and thought he could keep her quiet. But was she ready to condemn him?

“No, you could be right,” she said to Narky, trying to keep her face neutral. “Maybe Hunter considering himself a murderer is enough.”

“It has to,” Narky said. “I mean, Criton's not really
fatherless either, but I still think that first line is him.”

Criton glared at him, and Narky winced. “Sorry, that's not really what I–”

“Here,” Phaedra interrupted, trying to keep the peace, “why don't I read another page or two? Let's see…

“An intriguing note brought up by Mage Tyrol of Gateway is that of the six verses in the Dragon Knight's prophecy, five have exactly eleven syllables. According to him, a poem of six verses with eleven syllables each would fit into a well-established pattern of elven poetry. It is conceivable, at least, that the third line was somehow altered before or during transcription. If indeed the Dragon Knight's prophecy takes the same form as elf poetry, the ramifications would be truly fascinating. It would shed a new light, for instance, on the other mad ramblings recorded by the Dragon Knight's companion, such as the repeated phrase in his account, ‘There is a third side! There is a third side, but I cannot reach it.'”

“That
is
interesting,” Hunter said, “but we should get going. Daylight doesn't last forever.”

Criton nodded and went to help Bandu back onto her horse. “Maybe you can read the rest later, and just tell us about it? The language those academic wizards use is hard for me.”

“That's fine,” said Phaedra. She would need something to do before she slept, to help calm her nerves. She could not stop thinking about Narky. She had grown to like him, and it devastated her to think that he had killed someone in cold blood. Who had his victim been? What would make a boy like Narky kill?

Maybe he had been a different person once. Perhaps Ravennis had changed him. After all, the line from the prophecy was about a man being transformed from murderer to rescuer. If the prophecy was really about the five of them, couldn't that mean that Narky would redeem himself?

The scroll did help her get to sleep that night, though its single-mindedness irritated her. Despite his occasional assertions to the contrary, Caruther had been obsessed with proving that the priests who had contributed to the understanding of the Dragon Knight's legend and prophecy were all liars. There was very little of value other than what she had already read aloud.

It was the fairy angle that maddened Phaedra most. As ‘truly fascinating' as the idea apparently was to him, Caruther had never gotten around to explicating the connection between the Dragon Knight and the fairies. She tried to think about it as much as possible during the next day's ride – anything to avoid thinking about Narky and his unknown victim.

“The Dragon Knight could have gone mad,” she pondered aloud. “That's always possible.”

“What?” asked fair-headed Caldra, who was riding with Phaedra today. Bless her; she thought Phaedra had been talking to her!

“I'm talking to myself,” Phaedra reassured her. “My father used to say that sometimes you have to talk to someone who really understands you.”

“Oh,” said Caldra, sounding lost.

“What's that you were saying?” asked Narky, riding up beside them with Rakon holding onto his waist.

Having his attention made Phaedra nervous, but she pressed on. “I was thinking about the Dragon Knight. Caruther mentioned, sort of in passing, that while the knight was dying he kept saying there was a third side, but that he couldn't reach it. Maybe the Dragon Knight really did go mad, but if he didn't, I was thinking that this ‘third side' might be the fairies. The scroll kept referring to the dragons and the Gods as ‘the two sides'; that was what made me think of it.”

“So you think the fairies were also in on the plot to punish what's-his-name?”

“Salemis. I don't know for sure, but I think it's possible that's what the Dragon Knight meant.”

Narky bit his cheek thoughtfully. “He said he couldn't reach it, right? Do you think he meant the prison, or the fairies' world? Or the Gods' world? There's nothing new about not being able to reach that.”

“Narky!” cried Phaedra. “What if the dragon was imprisoned
in
the fairies' world? It would explain why no one was able to find the prison, and why the Dragon Knight would have been unable to finish his quest! The mesh between us and the fairies can't always stay open – that's why the captain and Raider Eleven had to give up on us! Criton, didn't you say you had a scroll about fairy numerology somewhere?”

Criton looked back at her, startled. “I left it with Bandu when I came to get you out of Illweather. I don't think she brought it with us.”

“Can you try to remember what it said? I think it might help with finding the Dragons' Prisoner.”

Those were the magic words, of course. Criton spent the rest of the day silently trying to remember what he had read. Bandu tried to speak to him once, but he told her he was busy thinking. She turned and looked back at Phaedra with a vengeful expression.

The two of them were having problems, Phaedra knew. The bigger Bandu got, the more Criton seemed inclined to avoid her. It was grossly unfair. Phaedra knew that he was struggling with his impending fatherhood, but that was no excuse to distance himself from his wife. She was having a hard enough time just controlling her own body.

Bandu's nausea seemed to have subsided, but she had grown so much that she barely resembled her old self. Her belly, which had been emaciated when Phaedra had first seen her, was growing by the day. Her tiny breasts too had easily doubled in size. Even her back seemed wider.

When they stopped at another inn that night, the islanders spent some time trying to determine what they actually knew about the barrier between their world and the world of the fairies. Criton's recollections of the numerology scroll, combined with Bandu's childhood memories, pointed at a barrier that fluctuated in strength depending on the amount of time since the previous breach. Without the right timing – or a truly vast amount of power – it was likely impossible to break through. That was a comforting thought. The barrier kept the fairies out.

They followed Atel's road for about a month, while Hunter's funds slowly dwindled into nothing. When the road split only a week or so from Atuna, they turned left, away from the sea. The right fork clung too close to the sea, and besides, Phaedra suspected that the left fork would take them to Crossroads. The Atellan friars barely charged for their rooms, and she had never felt as safe as she had among them.

Crossroads did not have the same effect on Narky. He kept back, muttering, as the new head friar came out to greet them, and he awoke twice in the night, crying out in pain and terror.

“The ravens!” he shouted once, loudly enough that Phaedra could make out his words from two rooms over. “He's dying!”

Phaedra did not want to embarrass him the next day by asking about his dream, but she did ask him how he felt.

“My chest hurts,” he said, scratching at it through his shirt and wincing. “It itches, too.”

He looked awful. His shirt was clinging to his body with sweat, and like the rest of them, his hair had grown over the months into a shaggy tangled mess. Then he wiped his forehead, and Phaedra noticed the blood on his fingertips.

“What happened to your fingers?” she asked him.

“My fingers?” he said absentmindedly, looking down at them in surprise. “Nothing.”

“There's blood,” she pointed out.

“Huh,” he said. “I don't know where that came from.”

The others were slowly gathering round, concerned. “Take off your shirt,” said Hunter.

The shirt was still partway over Narky's head when he heard their collective gasp. “What?” he asked.

Somehow, even after all these months, Narky's scar had reopened. All across his chest, the symbol of Ravennis was bleeding.

“
W
hat does it mean
?”

Phaedra shook her head. “I don't know. Narky, do you–”

“
I
don't know!” Narky cried. “It wasn't like this yesterday. It just happened!”

“It doesn't look very deep,” said Criton.

Phaedra shook her head. “You're sure you don't have any idea why this would happen? What did you dream about last night? I heard you saying something about ravens.”

“I don't remember!” he shouted, panicked. “I just remember that it was awful. It felt really
important
when I woke up.”

She made a frustrated sound. “You have to be the only person who's had a prophetic dream and can't remember a single detail.”

“Well, I can't,” he said angrily. “I'm sorry if that bothers you.”

“What you want now?” asked Bandu.

Phaedra began to say something, but Bandu hissed at her. “Not you,” she said. “Narky. Where you want to go?”

Narky just stared at her for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “I want to go to Laarna,” he said at last. “A priest of Ravennis or an oracle might help me.”

“Then Laarna it is,” said Hunter. “Atuna's on our way north; we can stop there to bring the twins home.”

They parted with the friars and continued northwards, keeping to Atel's road. Narky became more jittery as the days went on, urging them to hurry. When they reached Atuna, he wanted to abandon the twins there and continue onwards without even stopping.

“That's not going to happen,” Hunter told him. He felt bad enough for the way they had had to leave Breaker at the gates of Parakas. Besides, although Hunter did not like to bring it up, they were now completely penniless. As soon as Tellos and Tella were back in their parents' care, Hunter would have to sell his horse.

Still, Narky would go mad without something to do for the next hour or two. Hunter set him the task of getting a good price for the horse, while Bandu and Criton watched over the other children and he and Phaedra went to return the twins to their parents.

“I can't believe they're going to have a baby,” Phaedra said, out of nowhere.

Hunter nodded, unsure of what to say. Criton certainly didn't seem ready for fatherhood, but that was not the kind of thing one said out loud. As for Bandu… he didn't know what to think about Bandu. The fact was that he found her pregnant body embarrassingly arousing. Her vast, growing belly captured his imagination completely, filling his head with thoughts that he would never, ever share with Phaedra. Her shape and her motions were so compelling. Bandu moved her round fertile body with such matter-of-fact strength that Hunter did not doubt she would make a capable mother. She seemed completely, beautifully ready.

They followed the twins' lead, trying to ignore the stares from passersby. Finally they reached a house of white imported stone in the wealthy Atunaean style, and Tella said, “This is it.”

Hunter took a deep breath and knocked, wondering anxiously about the parents' reaction to the sight of a pair of islanders with their children. He decided that they should not have a chance to think about it. As soon as the door opened, Hunter said, “Are these your children, my lady?”

The young woman who had opened the door simply stared at him, saying nothing. She had callused skin and short, straight hair, and Hunter could see immediately that he had made a mistake.

“That's not Mother,” said Tellos, “that's Hindra. She's our slave.”

“Tellos!” cried Hindra, breaking her eyes away from Hunter's and noticing the children. “Tella! Where have you been?”

“We found them in the woods near Parakas,” said Phaedra. “We think they'd been kidnapped by fairies.”

“Fairies,” repeated Hindra. “Thank you for bringing them all the way back here. I know it must not have been easy. I grew up south of Parakas, in–”

“I'm hungry!” shouted Tellos gleefully. “Find me something to eat!”

“First to your mother,” said Hindra. She turned to the islanders. “Please wait here,” she said. “I'm sure they will want to reward you for your troubles.”

They waited there, uncomfortably, while Hindra took the twins inside. A courtyard could be glimpsed past the half-opened door, with fig trees planted at artistic intervals and a stone fountain in the middle.

“I had no idea they were so rich,” Phaedra said.

“Noble, you mean,” said Hunter. “They must be, to own slaves.”

“Not here,” she corrected him. “Most of Atuna's noblemen died in the uprising, alongside the king. In Atuna, any wealthy family can buy the right to own slaves from the ruling council. You didn't know that?”

“I guess I did, but I forgot.”

She eyed him quizzically. “You remembered all about the trees near Parakas, but you didn't remember this? We're practically swimming distance from home here, in the largest city in the world! Your father must have talked about Atuna all the time!”

Hunter shrugged. “I didn't think about those things back then.”

“But you thought about trees.”

“I thought about war,” Hunter snapped. “When people spoke of Parakas and its settar trees, they were speaking about war.
That's
why I listened.”

Phaedra seemed taken aback, embarrassed.

“I wasted my life learning how to kill people,” Hunter told her. “I didn't think about it that way, but that's what it was. I was just learning how to kill people. And I didn't even realize I was wasting my life until I actually killed someone the first time, up in the mountains. It's awful. It's even worse knowing it's the life I
wanted
.”

“But Hunter–” she said sympathetically.

He didn't let her finish. “I know,” he said. “You rely on me. If I didn't keep fighting, we'd probably all be dead. But I don't want to keep having to kill in order to live.”

“Maybe one day you won't have to,” she said.

He laughed ruefully. “But then what? It's all I know how to do, Phaedra. I don't know how to farm or be a merchant or a cobbler or an anything. I'm not really a nobleman anymore, not of a country that exists, but I don't know how to
do
anything!”

“You'll find something,” she reassured him, “and in the meantime, we wouldn't be here without you. You didn't waste your life.”

“My father thought I did,” he answered her. “He worried so much about me wasting my life that he went all the way to Laarna to ask the Oracle what to do about me. And I haven't changed at all since then – I'm still doing the same old things. He'd probably be disappointed.”

“No, Hunter!” she began, but she did not get to finish, because just then the door opened and Hindra reappeared.

“The mistress wanted you to have this,” the slave said, handing Hunter a small but heavy purse. “Thank you.” She closed the door.

“How much was that?” Phaedra asked, as they turned to go.

Hunter glanced inside the purse. “Enough to have kept that horse,” he said. It occurred to him that he would never have accepted this money back when he still had his nobleman's dignity. The thought was sad, but oddly freeing. It didn't matter anymore that the gift was a show of superiority: money was money, and the islanders could use however much of it they got.

Phaedra cocked her head to one side. “You're not the same, you know. And you're
not
just doing the same old things. For the Gods' sake, you're rescuing children!”

Hunter sighed. “I still feel the same on the inside. Lost and stupid. You know the happiest moment in my life was the day my father gave me this sword? I wanted a sword so badly. What am I supposed to want now?”

Phaedra shook her head, but she said nothing. Hunter became keenly aware that he was talking all about himself, and had not even asked her how she was faring.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't complain so much. I still have my health.”

“It's all right,” she said to him. “I think you've lost more than I have. You lost your dream. I lost mine too, but I found a better one.”

“You did?”

Phaedra nodded. “I'm sure you will too. It just takes time.”

Hunter thought about this. He wanted to ask Phaedra what her new dream was, but the moment had passed, so he saved his question for another time. She didn't seem eager to talk about it, not yet anyway. Could she be right about him, though? Would he find another dream?

They slept in Atuna that night, at the same inn where they had stayed so long ago. Narky objected to staying there, but the others overruled him.

“This was the first place we shared after that awful voyage,” Phaedra said. “We have to stay here.”

“No,” said Narky, “we don't. This is the worst place I can think of to stay on the way to the Oracle of Ravennis. It's… it's bad.”

“This is where we're staying,” Criton told him. “We're tired, and it's familiar.”

Narky kept grumbling, but he had already given up on changing their minds. The next morning, over a breakfast of flat bread and soft sheep's cheese, Phaedra suggested that they make a quick stop at the temple square before heading north toward Laarna.

“We haven't any of us made a sacrifice in a very long time,” she said. “If we don't please
some
God, no one will protect us from the ones we've angered.”

“That's true,” said Narky, “but I want to get to Laarna as soon as possible.”

To their surprise, the innkeeper interrupted them. “You're going to Laarna?” he asked, bringing them a new basket of bread and setting it down on the table. “Are you insane?”

“What do you mean?” asked Criton.

The man looked at them in disbelief. “Haven't you heard? Ardis has gone to war against Laarna. You'd be walking right into a battle!”

He left them looking dazedly at each other, wondering what to do next. Hunter saw fear on Criton's face. It seemed the red priest still haunted his dreams.

“We have to go,” said Narky.

“Narky, we can't go,” Phaedra explained gently. “We can't bring Rakon home to a besieged city! We should wait here until news comes.”

Hunter agreed with her, but her words still made him uncomfortable. They reminded him of the last time they had stayed in Atuna – at this very inn – waiting for news.

“I have to go,” Narky said. “Ravennis wants me there. If there's a battle going on, I have to join it.”

Hunter could hardly believe those words had come from Narky. “You're a brave man,” he said.

“No, I'm not,” said Narky, wretchedly. “But if my choices are between a battle and a cloud of ravens, I'm going with the battle.”

Criton shuddered. “Fair enough.”

“I'm sorry,” Phaedra said, “but we can't all go with you.”

“Where is he going?” asked Delika, looking from one islander to another. The children had been eating with them this whole time, but she had only just started paying attention to the conversation.

“I'll go with you,” said Hunter. “We can take a pair of horses and leave the others here in safety.”

Criton nodded. “I'll come too. I don't like the idea of you fighting Bestillos alone.”

“But where are they going?” Delika asked Phaedra.

“Phaedra can stay,” said Bandu. “I go with Criton.”

“Bandu, you can't!” Phaedra protested.

“It's too dangerous,” Criton told her. “You're pregnant, Bandu. You can't just–”

Bandu stood firm. “Where you go, I go.”

“WHERE?” cried Delika. “Where is everyone going?”

“Narky and I are going to Laarna,” said Hunter, “to join a battle against Ardis. Criton, I think you'd better stay. Bandu won't let you go without her, and what if we don't come back? Stay here this time. We'll see you in a week or so, Gods willing.”

Criton slumped his shoulders, but he didn't object. Hunter and Narky prepared to mount their horses, packing some feed and some dried meats in the saddlebags before setting off. Hunter left the purse, so that the others could stay at the inn during his absence. He also lent Narky his long dagger.

“If we're not back in two weeks,” said Narky, “take the kids and go to Silent Hall. Psander's not safe, but she's better than here. We're too close to Mayar here.”

Phaedra nodded. “Laarna is a port town too,” she pointed out, “and if Ravennis is busy fighting with Magor, He might not have the strength to keep Mayar away from you. Be careful.”

They set out midmorning, riding north along the coastal road. The cliffs rose high above the sea here, so for now they allowed themselves to follow the road, keeping an anxious eye on the waters below. When it grew dark they drew away from the cliffs and slept on a mossy bank. It rained during the night, and they awoke wet and frozen, shielding their faces from the droplets and trying to climb back onto their horses in the moonlight. If they could not sleep, at least they could make some progress.

They met a refugee the following day, staggering toward them along the road. “Turn around,” urged the young man. His clothes were muddy and torn, and his knees and elbows scraped and bleeding.

“Did you fight in the battle?” asked Hunter.

The man stared back up at him defiantly. “He's a deserter,” said Narky.

“We were losing,” said the deserter. “There's no honor at the end of the Ardismen's spears.”

“When was this battle?” Hunter interrogated him.

“Four days ago,” said the man. “The battle was lost, I tell you! The red priest has probably burned the city by now.”

They left him there and continued on their way. They did not meet many other refugees. Hunter suspected that armed riders such as Narky and himself would be avoided whenever possible. They did come across a group of ragged women once, and saw some dark-clothed people below them at the base of the cliffs, slogging wearily along the beach. Other than these, the road was empty.