The Plains of Kallanash (43 page)

“That’s the spot,” Hurst said.

She felt she was drowning, her whole body caught up in a maelstrom of sensation. It was almost too much, with both of them involved. She gasped, and then was hit by a sudden fit of the giggles. They both stopped and looked at her.

“More of this, or something else?” Hurst said.

“Something… you… right now…” she panted.

He complied at once without a word, and again she cried out as he entered her. She thought it would be quick, but although every thrust was exquisite pleasure, he finished before her. She could hardly bear it! However, both men understood her urgency. Hurst rolled away and Dethin took his place almost without a pause, and this time the waves of pleasure crashed over her at last and brought her relief. When she came to herself, he was just reaching his own conclusion.

She lay exhausted, arms and legs spread wide, as Dethin caressed her face with delicate little butterfly kisses.

“Gods…” was all she could say. “Gods…”

“You know,” said Hurst, propping his head on one hand and grinning from ear to ear, “for myself I’d have no objection to continuing this arrangement whenever cousin Crannor happens to be passing by. This is so fucking good.”

~~~

Dethin left at first light, his inscrutable face back in place. Hurst was busy all morning, officially meeting the newcomers and interviewing the captured guide. Mia tidied Dethin’s rooms, and then went down to the basement to find clothes, for she hadn’t been able to bring everything with her from the Warlord’s House. As always, they were too big for her, so she collected sewing things from Runa, the old woman, and went back to Dethin’s room to sew. Late in the morning, Hurst came to find her, and help her carry her things across to his room. She was now the Commander’s woman.

“What did you do with Mallissa?”

“She’s with the Captains now. I decreed that they needed one extra woman, and lo – it was done.”

“You have a lot of power over these women,” she said, uneasily remembering what Dethin had done to Tella.

“For the moment,” he said, unconcerned. “With luck, we won’t be here for long.”

But she felt a prickle of fear. What would happen to her when he went back up the tunnel? Would she belong to Heddizan?

That afternoon, Hurst asked her to go into the tunnel to see if she could read the signs beside the gates.

“Me? Why?”

“Because you can read Kannick Old Script.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll have a go.”

It was more difficult than she’d thought to dredge up from memory the symbols and convert them to sounds. She had no trouble remembering while sitting quietly in the library at the Ring, or in her own room at the Karninghold, but the tunnel was a dark and threatening place. Hurst stood to one side, holding the torch for her, while Gantor was showing Tanist and Groonerst how to read the numbered code on the wall and open the gate. The clicks and clunks, the metallic whine as the gates opened, the click-thud as it closed again, the water rushing beneath her feet and the flickering light beside her, all combined to chase coherent thought from her head. Every time the gate thudded shut, Gantor would turn and call, “Any luck yet?” and Hurst would shout back, “No, she’s still working on it.”

After a while, she shook her head. “I can’t think. It’s too hard to remember, and it’s years since I read anything like this.”

They all stared at her, disappointment etched on every face.

“Well, how are we going to….?” began Hurst, but Tanist hushed him.

“We still have our guest in the lockup. He’ll be more co-operative in time, I’m sure.”

“If you torture him,” Mia said quietly.

“Only if we have no other option,” Hurst said. “I’ll ask around if anyone else reads Kannick Old Script.”

“Most of them can’t even read their own names, in any script,” Gantor muttered.

They gave it up, trying as best they could to convince Mia that it didn’t matter at all, but she knew they were depending on her. The signs would most likely guide them to the Ring, and without the ability to read them, they would easily go astray, or wander the tunnels much longer than necessary. She was downhearted, and only picked at her food at supper, while the men tried very hard to maintain an air of forced joviality. She was not consciously thinking of the wall markings, but a sudden shift in her mind brought instant clarity, like a breeze clearing fog.

“Brellett!” she said. “Brellett car… um car-sent dri… dri-forna.”

“What?” There was an abrupt silence, and they all turned to stare at her.

“The first three words, they only work reading right to left.
Brellett carsent driforna
.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” said Walst.

“I’ve no idea. But that’s what the marks say.”

“Oh bugger!” said Gantor. “Bugger bugger bugger. That’s not Kannickian at all.”

“No,” she agreed. “They’ve used Kannick Old Script to write some other language. It sounds Grivordian to me.”

Gantor gave a strangled cry. “
Karshen’t
! That’s what it must be – east.
Karshen’t
is east. And
tryfour’nya
is some number or other, I forget what.”

“A distance, maybe?” Tanist’s eyes were gleaming. “What about the first word
–
brellett
?”

“Not a clue,” Gantor said. “But
– Gods, that’s clever. Everything’s backwards, and they use Kannick Old Script for Grivordian words. Very devious. But Mia’s equal to it. Well, there’s one thing settled, Hurst – now she has to come with us, for sure.”

For a moment, Mia thought she must have misheard him. But then she saw the look of dismay on Hurst’s face and the way they all looked at her and then their eyes slid away in embarrassment, and realised that they had intended this all along, but hadn’t quite got round to telling her yet.

“Gantor—” Tanist began, and Hurst said, “I’m not sure—” at the same moment, but Gantor was defiant.

“No, she has to come with us,” he said. “There’s no alternative. She’s the only one who can read this script.”

“She could teach us,” Tanist said.

“No time. Have you any idea how complicated Kannick Old Script is?” And they began to argue about it, obviously a familiar point of contention amongst them. Yet none of them had thought to mention it to her, that they expected her to follow them through the tunnels and help them reach the Ring. And all so that they could kill Those who Serve the Gods.

“No,” she said. That one word dropped like a blanket over their raised voices. “No,” she said again into the silence. “I won’t do it. Whatever you’re planning to do at the Tower of Reception, I won’t help you do it.”

Hurst was frustrated. If Mia wouldn’t go with them, they couldn’t leave until she had taught Gantor all she knew of Kannick Old Script – if she would do even that much. He understood her feelings, for she had always been a devout and obedient follower of the Gods. Of course it must seem like sacrilege to her, even to consider the possibility of taking swords into the Ring, the one place where the Gods were known to make direct contact with mortals. Yet he had to convince her. Whatever the Gods might be, their Servants and Slaves were corrupt and evil beings and must be removed; of that he was certain.

There was another cause for concern, too. It would take them several weeks to travel through the tunnels all the way to the Ring. Even with the carts to help, it would be a slow process, and it would be impossible to avoid other travellers. Once the winter quiet began, there would be no new recruits coming through, but the tunnel builders would be around, repairing any damage and digging out a new stretch of tunnel beyond Supplies.

“They close off the tunnel below us, as well,” Ainsley told him. “They lock the door to the kitchen and stairs, so we can’t get into the tunnel at all.”

“That’s no problem,” Gantor said. “We can get in through the ruined Godstower. But are they moving around down there the whole time?”

“Oh no, just the first few days, and then the last few. It’s pretty quiet the rest of the time. They’re all out beyond Supplies, I’d guess. So we just need to wait until they’ve all passed through, then we can start off.”

“We?” Hurst said, and was amused to see how crestfallen Ainsley looked.

“Well – I’d love to be part of it,” he said in a small voice. “If you’ll have me. I’m an ex-Skirmisher, I know which end of a sword to hold.”

“That’s a matter for discussion nearer the time,” Hurst said more gently. “I can’t take all the best men and leave this place unprotected, can I? But it seems we’ll have a few weeks to prepare.”

Fortunately for Hurst’s sanity, Mia was quite happy to spend hours down in the tunnels with Gantor and an escort of armed warriors in case of unexpected encounters, slowly reading the reversed writing on the walls while Gantor struggled to construct the meaning behind it.

They’d found several people who came from the former Grivordia, so they took one or two with them each time to see if the words triggered any memories. There were a few, as well, who’d had what Gantor regarded as a proper education, so they tried those, too. Two turned out to have some knowledge
– Runa, the old woman, had grown up speaking Grivordian at home, and one of Mannigor’s mentors, Krennish, had studied Grivordian with the Scholars. Between them, with painful slowness, they translated the engraved words, Runa cackling with glee at her sudden importance.

When they had exhausted the possibilities of the first gate, they walked up the tunnel to the next one, where there was also a camp cave, untouched since they had left it, and access to the ruined Godstower. Gantor had hopes of working out how to open the door of the Godstower, but it was buried under a mountain of rubble.

“Whatever happened here?” Mia asked, gazing over the great stone blocks scattered about like toss-stones.

“No one knows,” Gantor shrugged. “I haven’t found anyone who remembers.”

This time the translation was easier. Many of the words were the same, or similar enough that they could guess the meaning. They sent someone back to fetch Hurst to explain it to him. As Mia read out each line, Gantor translated.

“So
– ‘
tunnel east first
’ – then something we can’t make out – ‘
to the south
’ or ‘
along the south
’. That’s the tunnel name. Then the distances. ‘
Air entrance hole in ground
’ – we read that as ventilation shaft, yes? ‘S
ixteen garon
’. Well, we don’t know what a
garon
is, but it was seventeen
garon
at the last gate, so it’s about that distance, between two gates.”

“Maybe it actually means ‘gate’,” put in Krennish. “It must be difficult to measure actual distances down here, maybe they just count the gates.”

“Good point. Then this bit here means ‘
room of refreshing
’, so that’s a camp cave.”

“And that’s seventeen there, isn’t it?” Hurst said, squinting at the dots. “Even I can read the numbers. But Gods, I’d go cross-eyed if I had to stare at these dots all day.”

“I know. Mia’s the only one who can make sense of them. ‘
Seventeen garon
’. Then ‘
place of crossing, two hundred and seven garon
’, that’s the junction with the other tunnel, and this next line, see? That’s the name of it, erm, Mia?” She recited the words. “Right, ‘
tunnel south east
’, and another one going south. See? You get that? But then here, the bottom line – ‘
tower of mages
’, that’s how we read it, that’s where we’re going.”

“Tower of mages? What does that mean?”

“Tower of the magicians. It’s the old name for the Tower of Reception. Very old name, actually.”

“What kind of superstitious nonsense is that?” Hurst said.

“Oooh, not nonsense,” Runa said, tutting at him. “The connections are very quiet now, but they’re still there, C’mander.”

Hurst raised his eyebrows at Gantor.

“She talks like that all the time,” he whispered. “She really believes in magic, you know.”

“Well, we all need something to believe in,” Mia said.

As they began to walk back, Gantor said, “And what do you believe in, Mia?”

She tilted her head to look at him, half amused and half surprised. “Is that a trick question? I believe in the Gods, of course.”

“And what else?”

“Family. Loyalty. Honour. The usual things, Gantor.”

“And truth? Do you believe in truth?”

“Of course.”

“Always? Should you always tell the truth?”

Hurst had no idea where Gantor was going with this line of questioning, but it was not the first time he and Mia had sparred over some abstract philosophical point, so he smiled to himself and let them carry on.

Mia was serious, pondering the question. “I think there are times when the absolute truth is – unhelpful, but I also think that any kind of deception is damaging, ultimately. It destroys trust.”

“Only if it’s found out.”

“The important things are always found out. And even if not, lies eat away at you from the inside like acid, and tear you apart.”

“So if someone had lied to you, would you be angry?”

She turned sharply to face him, snatching at his arm so that he had to stop. “Tell me openly what you mean, don’t dance around the subject,” she said, and Hurst heard real anger in her voice. She was afraid, he realised, afraid of some revelation that would hurt her. He wondered himself what Gantor had in mind. His own conscience was clear, but perhaps it was something about Dethin? Or Jonnor, maybe?

But Gantor said calmly, “We have all been lied to for many years
– for two hundred years, to be precise.”

“The Slaves? Is that what this is about? You don’t trust them, so I shouldn’t either, is that it?”

“Mia, all of this,” and he waved his arm to encompass the tunnels, his voice rising a tone, “the barbarians, the border wars, everything we’ve been told is a
lie
. How can you possibly trust the people who kept such secrets from you?”

“Keeping secrets is not quite the same thing as telling lies,” she said, although she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “And they must have had a reason…”

“Oh, of course, it all came from the Gods!” Gantor said impatiently. “Everything that’s been done was because the Gods ordered it, I suppose. And the Slaves are good servants of the Gods, aren’t they? Mia, do you know what life was like before these people first came to Kashinor and the Petty Kingdoms? It wasn’t quite the barbaric realm we hear about now. Yes, there were wars, but there was education, too, and enlightened rule and advancement. Anyone who had the ability could rise to a position of importance, man or woman. There were great buildings, there were roads, almost everyone could read and write. And Kashinor! Kashinor was beautiful, all those towers and spires and great domes and pleasure gardens, open to anyone to admire. It was a place of learning, of contemplation, of art and creativity, of healing. The brightest minds of the Kingdoms were drawn there, and from the tribes beyond as well, to learn each other’s languages and to admire the sculptures and frescoes, the exquisite gardens that bloomed all year round, to see the exotic birds and animals, to enjoy the performances by musicians and dancers, shadow walkers and dramatics. Criminals went there to be rehabilitated and the sick to be restored to health. There was a great university there and many libraries and galleries, and books were not just read, but treasured.

“But now
—! The books vanish, the library is crumbling, the frescoes and sculptures have long gone or are shut away in locked rooms, the gardens are dull or have been built over, the university is just a memory, and farmers can’t even write their own names. It was the swamps that did for the Petty Kingdoms, you know. They never got to grips with the swamps. As soon as they got a farm productive it would be swallowed up again. Well, the Slaves drained the swamps, I’ll give you that, so we gained our lush fields and laden orchards, but we have lost so much… And is that what the Gods want for us? Full bellies and empty minds?”

He ran out of words then, and with a ‘Pah!’ of disgust, he strode off down the tunnel, and the others had to scamper to catch up.

Mia was very quiet. Hurst watched her out of the corner of one eye, while pretending to be unconcerned, but she was lost in her own thoughts. He understood what Gantor was trying to do. They needed Mia with them on their journey through the tunnel, and perhaps if she could be turned against the Slaves, she could be persuaded to do it. He wasn’t optimistic. She had always been devout, and her beliefs seemed unaffected even by her own betrayal. Whatever they did, however badly they treated her or anyone else, it must be by the will of the Gods for some mysterious reason of their own. There was no countering faith with reason.

As they prepared for bed that night, she said, subdued, “Do you agree with Gantor?”

There was no point in prevaricating or dancing round the question. “Yes.”

“Do you believe in the Gods, Hurst?”

“That I don’t know. Maybe. But even if the Gods exist, I don’t believe these people speak for them. I think they use them to keep us all in subjection. You must do it, they say, because the Gods will it. So people bow their heads and submit. But there’s no way of knowing whether that’s true or not.”

She made no reply. They got into bed, and she curled under his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. Again he regretted the loss of her lovely long hair, which would have spread over the pillow for him to twine his fingers through. It was odd, too, being just the two of them now.

After a while, he said, “Do you miss him?”

She rolled onto her elbows. “Dethin? It’s strange without him around. I was just getting used to him.”

“Do you love him?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“But you slept with him…”

“I had no choice about that.”

“I thought you said he didn’t rape you?”

“Hurst, I had to sleep with someone. Either that, or be used by a whole succession of men in the Section House. It’s the same for all the women here. Dethin didn’t force me to sleep with
him
, but if I hadn’t, he would have sent me back to Bulraney. It was my best option.”

He thought about that for a moment. “Well, it’s bloody close to rape.”

“We’ve all been forced to do things we didn’t want to do. You had to go into battle against Skirmishers. I had to sleep with a man I hadn’t chosen. He’s treated me kindly, that’s as much as I could have hoped for.”

“Ah, but he fell in love with you, didn’t he?”

“So he says. I’m not sure he really understands the concept. Let’s not talk about him, let’s not talk at all.”

Hurst had no objection to that idea.

Later, as they lay still entwined, limbs still glowing, she said, “Did you mean what you said? About Dethin?”

“What did I say?” he said sleepily.

“Something about continuing the arrangement, that you’d be happy to carry on with it. Or was that just the sex talking?”

He chuckled. “It
was
good, wasn’t it? For all of us, I mean.” He shifted position, fully awake now. “Is that what you want? To carry on, when he gets back? As a regular thing?”

“Well, it was my idea, remember, to stop the two of you spitting at each other. And I don’t think three days
– nights – is quite enough for him to let me go. He’s very – intense. Besides, he’s the warlord. Better to keep him happy, don’t you think?”

She spoke lightly, but he detected the undercurrent of anxiety in her voice. It was a good point. “Fine by me.”

“You won’t get jealous of him, or anything? Because with Jonnor…”