Vergence (23 page)

Orim knew the strike had inflicted a mortal wound, but he maintained the pressure, twisting the blade further in, peripherally aware of the first man on his knees, sinking to the floor with great wet pulses welling between fingers, flowing to sluice unevenly over the balcony edge.

When the guard's struggles stopped completely, Orim carefully lowered the body to the floor, the stiletto making a dull, sucking sound as he tugged it free. He leant forward, inhaling deeply, listening for reactions from the room.

Aside from a few murmuring sounds through the wall there were none. A sticky warmth spread through the leg of his trousers where they had pressed against the dead man's thigh, the air full of the thick cloying metallic smell of pooling blood.

Orim slipped the guard's short sword from its sheath, and hefted it to get a feel for its weight as he moved toward the door.

Ebryn managed to open his door before the third set of impatient knocks. Outside stood Master Quentyn, his pale head bobbing vigorously from side to side.

Quentyn made a strangled sound, like a cat coughing up a hairball, his eyes bulged, and his mouth produced faint popping noises, as if struggling for breath. Ebryn stepped backwards. Quentyn was the last person he had expected to see here, and something seemed to be very wrong with him.

“Master Quentyn?”

Quentyn snorted dramatically and bent forward, holding onto the door frame for support, body shaking in silent spasms.

“Wha—” Ebryn said.

Quentyn's hand was tanned and golden. Just above the wrist he saw three inked braids, the outer two red, and the inner light blue.

“Sash?”

The glamour disintegrated like a thin morning mist blown away by a sudden gust and before him was Sash, her body convulsing with silent laughter, tears streaming down her face.

“Oh—” she said, straightening up and recovering her breath. “I'm sorry, I just couldn’t resist.”

Ebryn's heart still raced in his chest, but he couldn't help grinning at her.

“How did you find me?” he asked, stepping back to let her in.

“Easy. I asked a student. Everybody's heard of master Tenlier — he's rather important,” Sash said, looking around. “These rooms are big.”

She moved past him towards the balcony, trailing her fingertips along the back of a chair. “And you've got a view over the city.”

“Yes,” Ebryn said, trying not to sound apologetic. “It's much more than I expected. Tenlier told me many of the senior adepts were doing research in a place called Magadigar, and others in Tapulupat and Yoyt-something. I think this room belonged to one of them.”

He followed her, but remained inside the room at a respectful distance as the balcony was only wide enough for a single person. Outside, darkness had already settled, the sky turning an impenetrable black, and thousands of street lights in shades of blue and green visible in all directions.

“Doesn't it look like all the stars have fallen to the ground?” she said.

“Yes. I wonder what one would look like if it really did, though.”

“Like a large, very bright diamond,” Sash said. “It happened at home a few times when I was very young.”

He looked at her carefully to see if she was joking again. “In Senesella?”

“Yes. I saw one once, but I wasn't allowed to touch it.”

They stood in silence, watching the city. There was something fascinating, almost terrifying, about its immensity. Ebryn could almost imagine everything had turned upside down, and were it not for odd patches of illuminated buildings and sounds carried through the still air, it might have seemed they were suspended amongst the stars in the sky.

After a while Sash turned, and moved past him back into the room. She stood next to one of the chairs, her eyes travelling across his room, lingering on his bed. She glanced at him, and quickly looked away.

She wore an inward, almost solemn expression, and for the first time Ebryn had no idea what she was thinking. He found he was seeing her almost as a stranger would, and was struck again by how perfectly beautiful she was, almost as if he'd needed a moment of stillness to be able to view her clearly.

She turned towards him and a dozen lights from outside reflected in her eyes like floating sparks or miniature orange-red flames.

“Do you want to sit?” he asked.

“Oh … no,” she said. “I actually came up to find out if you'd like to come and see the procession with me — with us?”

“What procession?”

“Today's the first day of the Tranquillity holidays, and part of that is a great procession around the inner circle road. A lot of people come to watch, can't you hear the noise starting?”

Ebryn nodded, although he couldn't really hear much difference. At night the city always sounded impossibly loud to him. In Conant, it had been so quiet when in bed at night he'd been able to distinguish between the hooting of different types of winged hunters. In Vergence, he suspected he'd be hard-pressed to pick out the sounds made by somebody outside his room.

Ebryn paused to put his boots on before following Sash to the landing outside his room. As he tightened the straps a light flared outside his door.

“Aara, is that you?” Sash said. “What are you doing here?”

He heard Aara's voice, but couldn't make out her reply.

“That's wonderful. I was concerned when I didn't see you. I thought you might have been sent home,” Sash said.

Ebryn emerged from his room to find Sash holding an illusory flame in the palm of her hand. He could sense no heat or smoke from it, but the flickering light illuminated the balustrade which overlooked the open central well of the building.

Aara stood just outside the door to her room. When she saw Ebryn she bowed her head, and turned away slightly. She reminded him of a small forest deer, startled whilst foraging away from cover at night.

“We're going to the Tranquillity celebrations. If you're not doing anything you can come with us … if you want to?” Sash said.

Aara peeked quickly at Ebryn around the fringe of her headscarf. “Thank-you — I would rather stay.”

“We need to go, or we'll miss the start,” Sash said, turning towards the stairs. “Are you sure you don't want to come with us?”

Aara shook her head, already retreating towards her room. “Not for me.”

“She seems very shy,” Ebryn said, once he thought they were far enough down the stairs so Aara wouldn't hear. “I don't think I've heard her say more than a few words to anyone before now.”

Sash glanced up to where Aara had been standing. “Yes, she does seem shy. I suppose that's why she keeps her face covered all the time.”

“I'm not so sure that's the reason. She doesn't seem to like men looking at her face. In Goresyn, amongst women who are devoted to the graces, some wear a covering for their hair, for religious devotion — to show they favour the grace of modesty.”

“What are women like in Fyrenar?” Sash asked. Her tone sounded casual, but he could see her watching him carefully.

“I don't really know,” Ebryn said. “The only woman I had much to do with was Fidela—”

“Fidela?”

“She's the housekeeper at Conant Manor. She kind of raised me when I was young. There were a few girls from the village she had for cleaning, but they were always too busy to talk and she sent them away when they'd finished working.”

His answer seemed to have satisfied her. “Did Fidela cover her head too?”

“No,” Ebryn said. “She didn't think much of it. She said it was false, and prideful, to display your modestly so openly.”

“I wish I could have seen Fyrenar on the way here. Some of the people you know sound fascinating.”

“What's your Enla like,” Ebryn asked as they turned onto the final set of stairs.

“She's lovely. It turns out she's a friend of Teblin, and he suggested she look out for me in the test. We're all in the same chapter, so I'm sure you'll meet her.”

“What about Addae, do you know who picked him?”

“Yes, he's in the wayfarers with a man called Cormer.”

The heavy iron bound door to the inner courtyard swung open as they approached.

“Did you do that?” Ebryn asked.

Sash nodded. “It's just a minor casting I learnt.”

“From the same man who taught you to open locks?”

“Yes, he had a real love for doors. I had to have one especially made so he could teach me the opening and locking castings. I thought it might be good to learn before I came here as I'd heard there are many doors in this city.”

The door closed silently behind them again, as they stepped out into the night air. All the buildings of the Genestuer order formed an unbroken oval shape around the central courtyard. The main entrance to the yard lay through a large covered gate on the side opposite Ebryn's room which opened out onto the first of the Claw roads.

Ebryn realised Sash must have her room in one of the buildings. “So where are you living?”

“Look up there, to the left of the gate arch. That's mine, the third up. I'm really lucky with it — it's on the end so I have windows on three sides, although the one facing the street is fairly small and too high to use.”

Tranquillity

O
RIM TOOK A DEEP BREATH,
eased the door open, and stepped inside. The centre of the room was dominated by a solidly built table, surrounded by an uneven collection of chairs and stools.

A thin balding man dressed in midnight blue robes sat to the right of the table, tied to the sturdiest of these, with a gag in his mouth — Ethal Quentyn, staring at the table with wide terrified eyes.

Other men crowded much of the remaining space in the room. Behind Orim, to his right, stood a very large man waiting next to the door with folded arms — a hireling dressed similarly to those recently guarding outside.

Directly in front of Orim, between him and Quentyn, a small man he took to be an interrogator leant over a number of unpleasant looking metal objects on the table.

To the left of the table, another large man busied himself setting a candle holder upright on the windowsill, evidence of a brief struggle in the room. Standing in a doorway across the room, a thin man dressed in dirty white robes held a piece of parchment, staring open mouthed at Orim.

A fifth man who'd been bending down out of sight on one knee behind Quentyn, stood up abruptly. He had olive skin and long dark hair pulled back into a triple braid, with a narrow pinched rodent face.

“What is it—” he said.

In a heartbeat, his expression changed as he recognised Orim, lips pulling back over disorderly teeth in an expression somewhere between a lop-sided grin and a snarl. His sword appeared in his hand, drawn so fast it seemed to spring from his scabbard without any movement.

Orim took a half step to his right, and swung his blade backhanded in a reverse grip. With a sound like a meat cleaver cutting through a joint, the thin shaft of steel penetrated the nearest guard's eye, and pierced the front of his skull. Jammed in a ruined eye socket, and already covered in a film of blood, the blade hilt slipped from Orim's hand as the guard's head jerked backwards.

Ignoring the lost weapon, he switched direction with a powerful slash at the back of the interrogator's neck. Sensing the blow, the man half-turned, raising a protective hand, but the heavy short-sword sliced through fingers and bone, smashed the right side of his jaw, and wedged itself under the base of his skull.

The interrogator lurched against the table, a thin red spray spitting in all directions from underneath the blade edge, and the stricken guard tumbled forward into Orim from behind. They staggered together, catching the dying interrogator, and fell onto Ethal Quentyn. The chair splintered under their combined weight, and Orim slipped sideways, his head striking the edge of the table.

For a moment everything blanked out. He lurched away on all fours with tiny motes of light popping in front of his eyes, feeling something tug violently at his right shoulder. Orim quickly scrambled to his feet, and came face to face with the second guard lumbering stupidly forward with arms outstretched.

From the corner of his eye he could see rodent-face vault to the other side of the table, and had the briefest impression of Quentyn staring wide-eyed at him from under a tangle of bodies.