He reached the Ogedei’s tent quickly. A light glowed inside the big tent and sounds of conversation came from within. The guards who held post during the day were gone, leaving only three black shapes who stood nearly motionless in the dark. Keshik could see them waiting there, feeling their eyes moving restlessly, seeking out any intruder. They were well placed, these waiting Habigga. There was nothing for it: if Keshik were to learn what the Ogedei was doing so late at night, they would have to be removed.
Keshik stepped back slowly into the impenetrable black of the dark side of a tent and loaded the small crossbow he had taken from Edelmira. He took aim and fired. There was a dull thud as the string released followed by the whistle of the bolt. A thump, a short cry and one was down.
The other two clearly heard the attack. Neither of them moved but, in the light of Grada, Keshik caught momentary flashes as the whites of their eyes indicated their gazes shifting to his location. He risked loading again, but one of the watchers saw the movement. One moment there were two dark shapes looking for him, the next there was one — the other appeared to simply vanish. Keshik knew he had scant instants before he was found, so he loosed the other bolt and ran back into the line of tents without waiting to hear the sound of it finding its target.
His speed saved him, as he saw the Habigga move silently to where he had just been, announced by the glint of a knife blade. The assassin had struck at what he had apparently believed to be the source of the crossbow bolt. Keshik held his breath while the Habigga slowly circled, seeking any hint of the attacker. When the gaze passed over him, Keshik closed his eyes to mere slits so as to lessen the chance of gleam from the whites. The Habigga moved on. Keshik breathed again. Finally, the Habigga saw something that interested him and he slid into the blackness, vanishing from Keshik’s view.
Crossing the open space that surrounded the Ogedei’s tent, Keshik moved as quickly as he could. With every step he felt an uncomfortable tingle between his shoulders, imagining a blade or bolt slamming into him at any moment. None came, and he reached the tent alive. He hesitated, waiting to hear if he had been seen, before making his way towards the sound of voices.
‘… won’t believe this for long,’ the Ogedei was saying.
‘It doesn’t matter, just as long as you fulfil your role.’
‘And exactly what role is that? You have never been clear enough on that.’
‘The Blindfolded Queen sent for you not long ago — she has already seen that she needs you. Isn’t that enough?’ This second voice was oddly familiar, yet somehow alien. It made the hair on Keshik’s neck bristle.
‘No. It is not.’
‘It has to be, my impatient friend. My own oracular skills are fading, as are hers. Everything is falling into chaos, as you know. You must bring your warriors to her.’
‘You have told me all this,’ the Ogedei snapped. ‘It is all mystical nonsense.’
‘It is clearly not nonsense. Did I not tell you that Keshik would be here?’
‘You did.’ Zhan Tien’s voice lost some of its anger. ‘And he no more believed my lie than I believe yours. Which simply proves how weak the lie was.’
‘He is not clever, certainly. But as long as we can keep him here with us for another day, it will not matter any more.’
‘Why another day?’
‘You will see tomorrow.’
‘If I know Keshik — and I do — he will already be preparing to leave, taking that Tusemon slag with him.’
A low, chilling chuckle stilled the Ogedei’s words. ‘He is not leaving, he is nowhere near leaving. If I told you what he was doing right now, you would not believe me.’
Keshik went cold, not just from the words and what they meant — he suddenly recognised the voice. There was a lot more going on here than he had even considered.
‘By the way,’ the voice went on, ‘your Habigga guards have failed you, even that rather delightful Edelmira.’
The sounds of sudden movement warned Keshik that Zhan Tien was making his way out of his tent. Keshik was about to flee when the other voice spoke again.
‘It has been a long time, Keshik, hasn’t it? I know you can hear me. I have tracked you and yours here. There is no escape now.’
Keshik’s eyes went wide with fear as he listened to Sondelle’s rasping voice. When the sorcerer fell silent, Keshik bolted.
5
‘I have already sent for the Tulugma,’ Quetzalxoitl snapped.
‘And will they come?’ Myrrhini asked.
‘You don’t need to ask me, flaunting those eyes of the Quanhtli. Look for yourself.’
Myrrhini turned away from the Queen and stared north. It took her a while to focus her vision through the Eztli-Ichtaca, past the city’s mystical wall into the endless plains of Midacea. She Saw a large camp of soldiers, gathered expectantly around a tent in their midst. Inside the tent, an old man was performing some sort of magical procedure involving a large bowl. Seated opposite him was Maida. Beside her was a man who could only be Keshik.
She could see, but not hear, the dispute, the threats, the rage building in Keshik. With every movement, every gesture, every word, his destiny became clearer. The old man looked up, as if staring directly at Myrrhini. He spoke and the conversation shifted. Myrrhini drew her vision back to the Queen.
‘Yes, they will come. And they will do your bidding.’
Quetzalxoitl gave a cold smile. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘And Keshik. Will he lead them?’
Myrrhini nodded. ‘They will follow him, but only after he sheds more blood.’
‘And Slave? What is his destiny?’
‘Still hidden,’ Myrrhini admitted.
‘I am beginning to wonder whether you were worth all the trouble.’
Myrrhini had nothing to say to that. She had wondered the same thing herself. So far her visions were confined to the past, the history of the conflagration that was slowly spreading across the Eleven Kingdoms. Already Lac’u was gone, her people dead or running insanely north, leaving nothing but blackened ground behind them. C’sobra would fall soon. These things of the present she had Seen, but nothing that gave her insight as to the aim or weaknesses of the twin evils that stalked the world. The same questions remained: what were they seeking? What was their ultimate aim? Did they even have an aim? Was simple destruction all they purposed for the world?
And Tatya? Why did the shapeshifter keep haunting not only her Seeings, but her dreams also?
The door opened behind her. She spun around to see Slave standing in the doorway.
‘Come with me,’ he said.
Without a look back at the Queen on her throne, Myrrhini followed Slave out of the room. He led her unerringly back to the Chamber of Kalev. As before, the room erupted into light and movement the moment she set foot inside, and as before, it was clear that Slave saw something other than what she did. He stopped and pointed at the wall.
‘What do you see there?’ he asked.
‘I see a man, or something like a man, standing over a shallow hole in the ground, like a bowl.’
‘So do I. What do you see in the bowl?’
Myrrhini squinted, trying to keep the rest of the sights and movement in the room from distracting her. ‘It’s Maida,’ she said finally.
‘You know I killed her,’ Slave said.
‘She told me.’
‘We are both seeing the same thing. Do you think that is significant?’
‘It must be. But what does it mean?’
‘Did you know that the Scaren used to practise human sacrifice?’
Myrrhini nodded. ‘I saw that in here. It was why your people and mine fought so bitterly.’
‘If you know that, then you know what that means.’ He pointed at the scene on the wall.
Myrrhini was about to protest when she looked at Slave. In the eerie light of the pictograms and living murals, he seemed to glow, somehow ethereal. His silver eye flashed, as if absorbing the light. In the instant their gaze met, she saw hi
s destiny.
‘No,’ Myrrhini breathed. ‘Not that.’
‘Not what?’ came a sharp voice from behind her. ‘What was so important that you left my presence without a thought?’
Myrrhini turned to see the Queen standing, arms akimbo, in the doorway of the Chamber of Kalev. Quetzalxoitl took a stride forward. Her black blindfold took on a menacing aspect as the clashing lights sent coloured shadows writhing across her face.
‘What have you Seen?’ she demanded.
Myrrhini was about to speak, but Slave placed himself between the two women, his Warrior’s Claw in his hand.
‘I don’t trust you,’ he said.
‘Before the Eleven Kingdoms were the Seven Wastes,’ Myrrhini said. Her voice was oddly flat, emotionless and distant. It was unusually accented as well.
‘What?’ snapped Quetzalxoitl.
Slave turned his head to look at Myrrhini, but she was beyond seeing him. Her flaming eyes burned with an intensity he had not seen before. She lifted her face to the ceiling as she continued to speak.
‘The First and the Sixth Wastes froze, the Second learned to whisper, the Third rested between the great rivers and grew fertile, the Fourth and Fifth scattered their people, but the Seventh remains as it will ever be: untamed, unknown and ever visible.’
Slave followed her gaze to see the images on the ceiling shift and merge, becoming a single great map of the world, but it was unlike any map he had seen. Instead of the Eleven Kingdoms, he saw six great wilderness areas — the Six Wastes of legend. He identified them easily, but could not find a Seventh.
‘I know that,’ Quetzalxoitl said irritably. ‘The Six Wastes were governed by the ancients, but stripped from them when they betrayed the world to summon the Great Revenants to do battle. The Seventh Waste is the heart of men, uncontrolled and unknown. You are supposed to be telling me things I cannot See for myself. So far I have not heard much from you to justify the expense of bringing you here.’
Myrrhini stepped out from behind Slave, pointing at Quetzalxoitl. Her eyes blazed with power, the flames deep within them writhing as if in pain. From her lips, in a voice not her own, spewed out a harsh, guttural stream of words. Slave listened intently while Quetzalxoitl visibly cringed, her face paling with every word, until she lost control and fled, screaming, from the room.
Myrrhini lowered her arm as her words faded away. The power that had possessed her drained out of her, leaving her too weak to stand. Slave caught her as she crumpled, surprised at how light, how fragile she felt. He lifted her in his arms and carried her back to her own room. As he walked, he pondered what she had said, wondering how she could have known the ancient language of sorcerers that he had learned from Sondelle.
How, indeed, did Quetzalxoitl know it?
Whatever the answers to these questions, one thing was clear: it was time for him to leave and, unfortunately, he had to take this frail woman with him.
And she had to survive the journey.
Myrrhini had not stirred by the time he laid her down on her bed. Her face looked peaceful, if pale, when her eyes were closed, hiding the disturbing flames within. Slave left her there and went to stand by the door. He had heard people come into her room without warning on too many occasions to believe she would be undisturbed as she rested, and he needed time to think.
How could he get her out of the city without arousing too much suspicion? How could he gain enough of a lead to evade the pursuers who inevitably would come? Were he alone, it would be easy, but with her …? He stood with his back against the door, staring at her without seeing her.
In the end, there was only one way — simple speed. He would have to take her and run, leaving a sufficiently believable false trail while they hunted Keshik, although how the Tulugma swordmaster would react when Slave found him was problematic. He had enough hazy memories of his periods of black rage to know he had almost killed Keshik on at least three occasions, and twice he had been prevented from doing so by pure chance.
The door at his back was shoved hard. His body prevented it opening, much to the chagrin of the man who cursed at its immobility. Slave tensed as the man prepared to shove again at the door. Just as he pushed with all his strength, Slave stepped aside. He grabbed the man as he stumbled through the suddenly unresisting door. With a sharp jab, Slave rendered the old man unconscious. He lowered him to the ground quickly and closed the door, after checking to make sure there was no one watching from the corridor.
He considered killing the man at his feet simply to buy some extra time, but decided against it. He had killed too many without need, and this man’s death would achieve little. Myrrhini did not stir until he shook her shoulder. She groaned and rolled over as if trying to avoid him, but he was insistent.
‘What is it?’ she slurred.
‘We need to leave, now.’
‘Why?’
‘Your Seeing.’
‘What did I say?’
‘You don’t know?’
Myrrhini shook her head as she sat up. ‘When I See, I sometimes speak, but I rarely know of what.’
Now that she was awake, Slave went to find the things they would need for their journey. He hunted through the wardrobe for sturdy clothes and boots while Myrrhini stretched and yawned.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
Slave did not look around as he pulled out leather pants, a heavy jerkin and boots. He heard her rise and walk towards him. She rested her hand on his shoulder as she watched.
‘I can’t wear that,’ she muttered.
Slave sighed in exasperation.
Myrrhini reached past him to pull out a shirt. Slave turned his head to see her start to unlace her dress. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘North. We need to find Keshik and Maida.’
Myrrhini pulled the dress over her head and dropped it onto the floor. She was wearing little underneath, certainly nothing like the complex series of undergarments that Waarde had worn. Her body was slim and smooth; Slave looked at her with curiosity. Hers was a body unlike any he had seen before. Waarde had been small, with a roundness that he found attractive. Most of the women Sondelle had given him were lithe and muscular. Myrrhini was slender with not much curvature to her body, but there was a softness to her despite that. There was little musculature to indicate physical strength but a wiriness that suggested some stamina. He realised suddenly that she was staring at him with her head tilted slightly.
‘Have you seen enough?’ she asked. She pulled the shirt over her head.
Slave nodded, handing her the leather pants.
She took them and pulled them on. ‘You know, you should be embarrassed by that question, not just nod.’
‘Why?’
‘Men are not supposed to stare at undressed women like that. And when they are caught doing it, they realise they were doing the wrong thing.’
‘So why undress in front of me?’
‘You said we had to leave. You seemed in a hurry.’
Slave handed her the leather jerkin. She put it on over the shirt and started to lace it up. He knew he was ignorant of women and their motivations — Kirri had taught him that much — but there was something strange about this one. Myrrhini stepped backward to sit on a chair, where she started to pull on the solid black leather boots.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Getting ready to leave.’
Slave gave up. If she wanted to play games, let her. His only concern was to keep her alive long enough. He went back to the door and eased it open. There was still no one in the corridor. Their luck was holding. Myrrhini came to stand close behind him. Her body pressed against him, her breath warm on his neck.
Slave heard only the normal sounds of people walking and talking, nothing unusual to suggest anyone having missed the old man yet, or coming to see Myrrhini. He took a deep breath. Time to go.
On silent feet, Slave made his way out of Myrrhini’s room.
‘Where are you going?�
�� she called to him. He stopped and turned on her, angry at her loud noise.
‘We are leaving, remember?’ he hissed.
‘Now?’ Again her voice was loud, piercing.
‘Yes, now.’
Myrrhini was obviously about to speak again, but Slave raised his hand, trying to get her to understand to be quiet. She hesitated, then closed her mouth. Slave sighed and continued to move along the corridor.
At the stairs that wound their way from the top to the bottom of this tower, he paused. The sounds of the workings of the Hidden City went on as ever, unconcerned with what might be occurring nearby. Satisfied, he moved quickly around the stairwell and on towards the secondary stairs concealed behind one of the many tapestries that adorned the walls. He pulled the tapestry aside to reveal the unlit staircase.
‘How did you …’ Myrrhini started to ask, but he clamped his hand over her mouth before she could finish her question. From the sounds of running feet coming up the darkened stairs, he was too late. He gave no indication as to whether he was irritated or frustrated at her, he simply turned and ran almost without sound down the stairs towards the approaching agents.
Myrrhini heard only three sounds, like heavy sacks falling to the ground, but she knew what they meant. When there was nothing else to hear, she ventured down the stairs after Slave.
He looked up from the three dead agents and stared at her with undisguised rage. Myrrhini stopped at the sight, taking two steps back up instinctively. Slave gave a low snarl, an animal sound, before stooping to wipe the blood from the softly glowing Warrior’s Claw using the clothes of one of the dead agents.
‘Next time, keep silent!’ he hissed at her.
Myrrhini stared down at the dead agents. Each one had been killed by what looked like a single savage wound to the throat. She had seen enough fights since leaving the Place for her to recognise the speed with which Slave must have attacked. To kill three armed men so close to each other without suffering a single wound himself was almost beyond belief. He had to have come at them with total surprise out of the darkness and dropped them in a matter of heartbeats. Again, she wondered how such an unspeakably violent man could bring peace.
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