Shadowless: Book 1 of the Ilmaen Quartet

by Helen Bell

  Guns were still levelled at them, though, and despite his confident words Kerin could see no way past those.

  Lemno watched him, matching smile for smile.

  ‘Two executioners are here already. The third will be called in a moment. Or shall I… No. I’ll not dirty my hands on you again, boy. It would take a better man than you to justify that. You vastly overestimate your worth, like all your family. Hedhakkin!’ he called, without looking away. ‘Now, what to do with the bodies? One of the deeper oubliettes, I think. We’ll have to seal it up, of course. My profound apologies. I know you Reincarnationists can only pass into the next life on a funeral pyre. We’ll keep this one for questioning.’ He pointed to Vel as the third guard stepped from the corridor to join them. ‘You can finish the others. This one first.’ He never took his eyes from Kerin. That was a mistake. Confusion then anger spread over his features as a rifle barrel pressed into the side of his neck. He kept quite still; his men lowered their weapons.

  ‘Your other guards are a little tied up at the moment. No, don't turn. You shan't see my face,’ Cedas ordered. ‘Kerin—’ Another rifle flew across the space between them; Kerin caught it deftly and cocked it, covering Lemno while Cedas moved back into the shadows lest Lemno turn.

  ‘I’ve already seen that the skin you are so fond of is black. Did you manage to overcome my men without them seeing your face, then?’

  Cedas laughed. ‘They saw me, but if they hadn't the imagination to spot my trap, I don't suppose their powers of description are so great. And Ilmaen is full of black men. You'll be a long time looking.’

  ‘You’ll note I chose my helpers for their charm,’ Kerin remarked. Lemno met his gaze levelly, even in defeat. Kerin searched him until he found a key, which he tossed to Naylan.

  ‘Get that door open now. If that’s not the key, Lemno will find a way to open it or have his guts paint the floor.’ And to Cedas: ‘The guards: how many and what sort of threat?’

  ‘Two, and not the brains of an ant between them. They’re out cold, bound and gagged in the wardroom – oh, and your man in the cupboard was awake and kicking off, so I put him out again.’

  ‘Done!’ called Naylan. He started to free the door.

  ‘I’ll do that. Watch Lemno.’ Kerin passed Naylan the gun and was at the door as it swung open. He caught his brother as he fell through it.

  ‘Jastur! On my life…’

  Jastur was a tall man, taller than Kerin. It exaggerated his gauntness, just as his wild black hair and beard exaggerated his pallor, but he braced himself on the doorframe and raised his eyes to the others.

  ‘I will manage. Look to Lemno; he must be dealt with.’

  ‘Be easy,’ said Kerin, ‘I’ll handle him.’ Then to Cedas, ‘Walk him along the passage, let him get used to freedom.’

  Kerin looked into Jastur’s cell and cursed to see how tiny it was, and how filthy. He turned to Lemno with a venomous look.

  ‘Long you have wanted what the Hedsarollen were heirs to. Now I’ll happily bequeath you something of my brother's. Put them all in here,’ he ordered Naylan and Vel as he took Lemno's lantern. ‘I would gag you,’ he told Lemno, ‘but I would sooner think of you shouting yourself hoarse to no avail, and all the while taking in the stench to which you condemned Jastur.’

  He slammed the door after the last man and locked it himself. Lemno peered through the grille, but looked past him, to Vel.

  ‘You would have found the wiser, older man’s shadow a better shelter than this young buzzard’s. And you - you are going to regret not killing me,’ he said matter-of-factly, as if pointing out that Kerin had dropped something. Vel said nothing, while Kerin almost smiled, but the hatred he felt was too strong.

  ‘Oh, how I wish I could descend to your level, and do so. When the true order is restored I’ll have that chance. Be it by trial or by combat, I’ll have that chance. For now, we will be taking every key between here and the next level, so you may be here some time. I trust vermin like you will feel at home in the dark.’ He snatched the light from the door.

  What Jastur wore amounted to soiled rags; they were cast aside as he dressed himself in retainer's garb in the privacy of a dim corner. Despite the clean clothes he was filthy and stank and looked better suited to a sickbed; Kerin had to prop him up on the other side from Cedas. Jastur had barely any strength in him, and his feet half dragged as they hurried up corridors and stairs, locking every door they could behind them. Kerin sent Vel on ahead to check the route, but they had no hope of avoiding people for ever. They had the guardhouse to pass yet.

  ‘Jastur,’ he whispered urgently as they moved swiftly on, ‘we have to go past the first-level guardhouse, then down the tunnels and up again to the Corn Lane postern gate. Pretend that you are drunk and we are taking you back to quarters.’

  He was so frail it took little to make it convincing. Kerin and Cedas were staggering with exhaustion themselves by the time they reached the guardhouse. By good fortune they passed at a quiet moment and were not noticed. A sharp left and another staircase down and they were in a new set of tunnels, moving further out and under the two inner walls and finally up to ground level again. Ahead of them Vel beckoned, and Naylan hurried past them to the door Vel was pointing out. There Naylan picked a lock that, thankfully, gave him no trouble, and that let them into a small room where he unlocked a second door. The afternoon light streamed in, as sharp and clear as cold water to them, as painful as daggers to Jastur's sensitive eyes.

  First out, Vel looked down the lane one way and the other, and then beckoned Kerin out. With huge relief he saw the two wagons were only twenty feet away. To his surprise Renia sat with Bighur at the reins of one. Bighur started it up while Renia clambered through to the back of the wagon as it rolled level with them.

  Kerin and Cedas helped the light-blinded Jastur up the back steps and handed him through the open door to Renia. Vel slipped in past them as they jumped down and the door shut as the wagon rolled away. Cedas walked smartly to the back of Eddir’s wagon. Kerin waited for Naylan to shut and lock the outhouse door and fling the keys he carried into a midden in a nearby alley, all the while watching Bighur’s wagon roll quietly to the junction and turn out of the lane, on its way to the east gate. In an instant he and Naylan were up the steps of Eddir’s wagon. They slipped inside, Kerin keeping the door open an inch and his eye to that inch, watching for any sign of pursuit. He could hear Naylan breathing heavily behind him; Cedas was as silent as a cat.

  ‘We should go,’ Naylan advised. Kerin could hear how shaken he was, but held up a hand. Naylan knew the plan, and the plan said they would wait. The minutes stretched on and the wagon fell silent until finally Kerin said, ‘Let’s go.’

  Cedas banged on the wagon front and it lurched forward. Naylan let out a long breath.

  ‘Hell! That was close.’

  Too bloody close,’ Cedas opined. ‘How did he come to ride into town the very day of the rescue?’

  ‘It’s a knack he has,’ Kerin said dismissively, but he had been thinking the same thing.

  ‘A knack?’ Cedas’s glare was baleful. ‘You know, something tells me he was right. We should have killed him while we had the chance.’

  Naylan said, ‘At least it’s over.’ Kerin shook his head.

  ‘It’s not over. That was the easy part.’

  oOo

  In the other wagon, with the horse plodding along in its unhurried way, it felt like hours had passed.

  ‘Are we out of town yet?’ Renia whispered to Vel, who hovered as near the front door as he could without being seen.

  ‘Yes, but the road’s busy. We need to keep our voices down a bit longer.’

  She turned back to Jastur who lay in one of the bunks trying to muffle his periodic bouts of coughing; he nodded to confirm he had heard. Apart from a hoarse ‘Thank you’ no word had passed his lips. He looked awful; he smelt worse, it almost made her cough and retch herself. But there was a bearing to this man, a dignity that beli
ed his tramp-like appearance. She remembered the clothes they had set aside for him now and held them up for him to see. He understood her meaning and began unbuttoning the retainer’s disguise he wore and sat up to ease the shirt off.

  As she helped she realized it wasn’t simply dirt on him; he was covered in scabs and wounds. Some of them accounted for the smell as they were clearly infected but he seemed oblivious to them. He helped her to help him as best he could.

  ‘I’m going to wash you,’ she told him before she realized her words didn’t give him a choice about it, and cast him a guilty look. ‘Sir,’ she added belatedly. She was startled to see eyes the exact match of Kerin’s gazing at her out of such a different face, heavy-browed and squarer-jawed. He said nothing, just lay back to await her ministrations. The stove had been lit, thank goodness, and she thrust the retainer’s clothes in to burn up.

  He submitted to the wash, though now she was doing it she doubted she was doing much good. The dry scabs she didn’t want to disturb, while touching the suppurating ones would just spread the infection. She settled for cleaning up the patches of intact skin between them, and tore up a petticoat to make dressings and bandages for the worst wounds. He bore with it, took the clean shirt and her help in putting it on, all in silence.

  ‘We’re well out of town now.’

  Vel left the door and came to settle on the other bunk, looking awkward. What did you say to the rightful ruler of a country when he lay in front of you looking like a vagabond?

  ‘Where did my brother go?’ the vagabond asked in a thin but measured voice.

  ‘He took the other wagon, said he wanted you and he to leave town separately, sir. We’re to meet up later.’

  Jastur gave half a laugh, which turned into another coughing fit. ‘Now, he follows protocol,’ he murmured as he recovered.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘No matter. May I know to whom I owe my thanks?’

  ‘Sir, I’m Velohim Ty’r Athre, of the Southlands in Mhrydain. This is my sister, Renia. We found your brother after Lemno cast him off the ship you both travelled on. The other helpers are Naylan, he’s a tinker; and Cedas, he runs a travelling show.’

  ‘I am honoured to know you. It seems there is a plan?’

  Vel and Renia looked at each other, realizing that if there was one, beyond the next hour or so, they didn’t know what it was.

  ‘The next steps are down to you and Kerin, sir,’ Vel told him.

  Jastur glanced between their worried faces and nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘Then I think we may be continuing this acquaintance a little longer, if you are willing. This business is not done yet and it won’t be an easy journey. But thanks to you and your companions it is well started.’

  Renia closed her eyes, heart sinking. He was right; it was not done yet. The tension of the last few hours was lifting, but that leaden weight in the pit of her stomach hadn’t shifted at all. Her vision was not going to be fulfilled today; probably not tomorrow either, or the day after that.

  It gave her more time in Kerin’s company, at least. Pointless in the long run, she knew, but without that, the fear would be unbearable. If only the two didn’t have to go hand in hand: she longed for those first few days, when she had known him without knowing how completely he was going to turn her world upside down.

  ‘It is well started,’ Jastur repeated to himself, and lay back exhausted as the wagon rattled on, taking them ever further from Karn.

  The story continues…

  Restoring the Light

  Book 2 of the Ilmaen Quartet

  Will be published October 2015

  Visit helenbellauthor.com

  Acknowledgements

  I had a blast writing this, but you wouldn’t be reading it now if I hadn’t had some help along the way.

  Among the many people I need to thank are:

  Lynn Curtis for the copyediting and the good advice; Peter O’Connor of Bespoke Bookcovers for the cover design; Simon Appleby and the team at Bookswarm for my author website; Amanda Spice for reading and commenting on one of the many drafts - and asking ‘is it published yet?’ every year until it was; Mike Dobson and Dave Lewis for checking the maritime and metrological accuracy of Chapter 12 - The Crossing; and last but not least, my family for their patience (and all the cups of tea, even if I didn’t remember to drink them).

  Helen Bell