by Glenda Larke
A sudden caterwaul scrambled her thoughts, a human scream followed, then the sounds of a scuffle, all coming from behind her tent. Without thought, she ran towards the noise; a moment later Davron raced in from her left, recklessly leaping guy ropes, while Scow barrelled in from the right like a bull on the rampage.
‘Where—?’ Davron snapped out the question.
She pointed. ‘I think it was Quirk.’ The Chameleon had been on sentry duty with Portron.
A flare of light blinded them all, arcing through the darkness with throbbing brilliance before vanishing.
‘Who’s there?’ Davron yelled, running on, knife already drawn in one hand, the butt of his whip clutched in the other. ‘Keris, get a proper light!’
But Master Gawen had already plunged a torch prepared for just such an emergency into the heart of the camp fire. He came up bearing it aloft like a banner.
‘Watch out! It’s a Minion—!’ Quirk’s voice came out of the dark, raw with terror. There was a scrabble of stones and the diminishing sound of running feet.
Corrian, hauling on clothes, groping about her person for her pipe, appeared at Keris’s side. ‘What’s all the dither?’
‘Quirk?’ Davron grabbed the torch from the courier, and moved into the patch of darkness beyond Keris’s tent.
The Chameleon was lying there on the ground, hands clutched to his knee. ‘There was someone trying to get inside Keris’s tent,’ he said. He rocked himself, trying to overcome the pain of an injured leg.
Davron hesitated, looking off into the dark.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Scow told him, with scant politeness as he knelt beside Quirk. ‘Whoever it was, he’s gone now.’
Davron shrugged and turned his attention back to the Chameleon. ‘Did he get you?’
‘Yes. With a wretched ley-blast. At least, I suppose that’s what it was. I never saw what hit me. I glimpsed him sneaking around the tents, but nobody sneaks like I do. I came up on him from behind, was about to clobber him one—and then I had to go and stand on the tail of the fellow’s pet.’
Davron looked at him, incredulous. ‘You what?’
‘Well, I didn’t see it. It was some slinky black thing—’
‘What were you doing creeping around after a Minion anyway? Are you mad?’
‘I didn’t know it was a Minion, did I? I thought it must be another bandit. He was slitting Keris’s tent. Ouch! Scow, don’t touch that! It hurts like the very devil.’
‘We’ll get you to Meldor,’ Scow said, and hefted the Chameleon into his arms as if he were nothing more than a child, and a half-starved one at that.
Davron glanced around the assembled group. ‘Portron, did you see anything?’
‘Nothing. I was on the other side.’
‘Better get back there, and be especially vigilant. Gawen, you take Quirk’s place with your dogs. Keris, did he take anything?
She walked over to look at the damage. A knife lay on the ground near the tent; she picked it up and gave it to Davron. ‘No, he didn’t have time to do much. Barely had the knife inserted into the canvas by the look of it.’
He looked at her, face expressionless. ‘Odd that it should be your tent he chose, isn’t it? Corrian’s is closer to the edge of the camp and Quirk’s would have been easier to approach without being seen.’
She turned from him, stiff with fright. Coincidence, surely. Corrian looked at her in sympathy. ‘If you feel scared, lass, you can share my tent.’
‘I’ll be all right, but thanks anyway.’
Inside her tent, she lit her only good wax candle with trembling fingers. Coincidence? Or had the Unmaker sent one of his Minions after her, to make sure she did not have the trompleri map? She felt sick.
She sat down for a while, thinking. So much happening all at once, so many ideas… She opened up her packs and took out her mapping inks, paints, pens and brushes. Ley was not evil, as Chantry had so long preached. Ley was power, and it could be used. Used to make a trompleri map. Slowly she reached out and picked up the small bottle in which she had stored the mineral salts she’d found in the quiver. She turned it over and over in her hands, wondering if she really wanted to travel down the path her thoughts were taking, wondering if she really wanted to know how to make a trompleri map after all.
Her fingers fumbled opening the jar. It took an effort of will to mix up ink and paints, to add the tannin powder and the dyes to the salts, until finally she had what she wanted: a small amount of black ink and several small pots of varying shades of brown paint.
A clean sheet of parchment pinned to the portable mapping board, a tracing of part of Piers’ large scale map of Wedge Hill where the fellowship had stopped on their first night in the Unstable… Then, taking a deep breath, she began inking in the outlines.
It seemed no different from any other map. The hill taking shape under her pen remained flat against the paper. Doggedly, she worked on, waited for the ink to dry, then applied the paint. She had to close her eyes for a minute, so that she could picture the hill, its steep sides of shale and broken earth, the gentler slope to the north, the steep track on the southern side. She mixed and merged the paints on her palette, then on the paper, taking infinite care, until she had achieved what she wanted.
Except that it was not what she had hoped. It looked no different from any other map she had ever created. She heaved a sigh and pushed the parchment away. As she washed her brushes, she was aware of her fatigue as well as her disappointment. Perhaps the whole chart had to be completed for it to work, but all she had was browns, and precious little of that. Perhaps all the ingredients of the inks and paints had to come from a ley line, just as she believed the salts had. She dried her brushes and went to put the parchment away—and stopped short. Her colours had become a dark smudge on the paper. Indistinct, without detail or delineation. She stared, not comprehending for a moment. Was there a hint of contour? It did seem to be raised up, she was sure of it. Not as clearly as the hills on Deverli’s map, of course—
With an abrupt movement born of her fear, she shoved her map out of sight and took an anxious look around her tent. Belatedly, she pushed her pack in front of the small tear the Minion had made in the canvas.
Deverli’s map. For the first time on the journey, she dug into her mapcase and pulled out the trompleri map.
It was dark. Smudged, indistinct.
It took her another minute to understand. Night. A scene viewed by night. Of course. She had never seen the map at night before, but of course it was reflecting the real time of day, as well as the actual conditions of the place it portrayed. If she looked closely she could make out the larger rocks and hills and copses, illuminated by moonlight.
She drew out her own map of Wedge Hill again and knew she’d done it. Not well because she lacked enough of the correct materials, but she’d done it.
She had made a trompleri map.
~~~~~~~
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alas, that humankind knows not the most precious of its jewels till it slips from his grasp.
—-Old Saying of the Margravate of Malinawar
‘Not asleep, Keris?’
Scow, who’d been crossing the camp on his way to Keris’s tent when she had emerged from it, pitched his voice to a whisper so as not to disturb anyone else. ‘I was just coming to see if you were all right. I saw your candle. I was worried you’d gone to sleep with it still burning.’
‘No. I—er—couldn’t sleep. Are you on guard?’
‘Yes. Davron decided to put three on at a time tonight. You and he and Corrian will take the second shift.’
‘How’s Quirk?’
‘Fine. Meldor fixed the worst of it. He’ll be a bit sore for a while, that’s all. You’ll be tired if you don’t sleep.’
‘In a moment. Can I ask you something first? Scow, how well do you know this courier?’
‘Gawen? We’ve come across him from time to time. Quiet chap, pleasant enough, I think.’ He gave her a sharp
look, but did not ask why she was interested.
‘A trustworthy courier?’
‘All couriers are trustworthy, you know that. Otherwise they wouldn’t be couriers.’
‘I want to have a few private words with him. Do you think you could send him to wake me when his stint of guard duty is finished?’
‘As you wish. And really, Keris, you ought to get some sleep.’
‘All right, I’m off.’
She ducked back into the tent, knowing Scow was right. She had to sleep, but her eyes kept straying to the tear in the canvas of the tent. If the Minion had not been discovered he might have searched her belongings and found her trompleri map. Perhaps that was what he’d been after in the first place. She refused even to consider the other possibility: that he’d been intent on murder.
She reached out and took up both the trompleri map and her own poor attempt to emulate it. She took one last look at them both, and then, with cold determination, she overcame her reluctance and fed the edge of them both to the candle flame.
~~~~~~~
‘Can’t you sleep either?’ Scow asked Davron.
The guide, who had just emerged from his tent, regarded Scow with a grimace. ‘One of those nights. What do you mean “either”? You’re not supposed to be sleeping!’
‘Not me: Keris.’ The Unbound man nodded towards her tent, where the candle still burned.
‘Probably scared stiff. Not that I blame her. Scow, I’m worried about just why that Minion was there. I’d give a day of my life to know if he was aware she wasn’t in th—Holy taint! What’s that?’
A brilliant flash of white light lit up Keris’s tent from the inside. Then it burst outwards, shrivelling the canvas in an instantaneous flash of heat and incandescence.
For a split second Scow and Davron stood still, momentarily beyond shock, then a blast of air hit them both. Scow, who was larger, was just knocked flat; Davron was lifted and hurled back into his own tent, which then collapsed on top of him, its guy ropes wrenched from the ground as the shockwave filled the canvas like a sail billowing before a gust of wind.
When he crawled out again, it was to find the camp almost completely flattened.
Meldor’s tent was still standing because it had been protected by Portron’s and Gawen’s, but all the others were either collapsed or sagging. Of Keris’s tent there was simply no sign.
‘Keris,’ Davron whispered. He ran to where she had been camped. ‘Maker, Keris—! Damn it, someone get a light.’
There was a babble of questioning voices, of cursing, of running feet. Gawen’s hounds were howling. Davron, frantic, knelt in the ruins of Keris’s tent, flinging things aside, scrabbling in amongst the dark huddle of bundles on the ground. ‘A light, someone! Maker damn it, will someone give me a light!’
In the dark under his hands something stirred and groaned.
Portron strode forward holding the lantern from his tent. Davron snatched it from him and held it up to see better. ‘Keris?’
Another groan and one of the bundles uncurled at his feet. Unbelievably, it was Keris and she was alive. She said, ‘I—I’m all right. I think.’ She tried to kneel and staggered, but it was Scow, not Davron, who jumped forward to support her by an arm around her waist, careful not to let his skin brush hers.
‘It’s not possible,’ Davron whispered, scrambling up. ‘The heat— Your tent burned. Vanished. You ought to be dead.’
She touched a weak hand to her hair. ‘Almost.’
‘Are you hurt?’
She considered the question for a moment. Then said, ‘Singed. I’m all right.’
‘By the Creator’s holy grace,’ Portron exclaimed, ‘what happened?’
‘You should be dead,’ Davron reiterated flatly. ‘How is it possible that you survived?’
‘The—the blast went upwards. Upwards and outwards. I ducked. Rolled myself into a ball. Dived down behind my packs. It sucked—all the air out of—me.’ She shuddered. ‘Oh, midden. I think I’ve lost most of my hair.’
Meldor frowned. ‘I’ll take a look at you if you’re hurt. The rest of you, get the camp straightened up again, and keep a good watch.’
‘I’m all right,’ she said, still shaking. ‘I’m not burned, just…shocked.’
‘I don’t understand. What happened?’ Corrian asked.
‘It was ley,’ Portron said with certainty. ‘Nothing else produces light like that.’
‘I think we can take it that the Minion left something behind,’ Meldor said, ‘presumably with the intention of killing Keris. Scow, back on duty. Davron, you take Keris to Scow’s tent. She can sleep there for the moment.’ He paused. ‘Davron?’
Davron took a deep breath and gathered his wits, aware that Meldor was doing his job. He made a gesture towards Keris, as if to help her, but she disengaged herself from Scow and stood erect. ‘I’m all right.’ As the others moved to obey Meldor, she gave a brief glance around her belongings to check them out, but nothing seemed to have been damaged. It was as she had said: the blast had gone upwards. Surreptitiously Davron ran a hand over the nearest of her packs and then rubbed his fingers. There was no ash, nothing. The tent had been completely vaporised.
He picked up her bedroll. ‘Are you sure you’re not burned anywhere?’ He tried to sound neutral, but guessed his behaviour had more of the appearance of a hen fussing over chicks. He waved her towards Scow’s tent.
She turned to walk beside him. ‘I feel a bit sore on my face, but it’s nothing much. My hair— What does my hair look like?’
He held the lamp up, taking the opportunity to study her face. ‘Short. A sort of uneven frizz. It’ll grow.’ His fear was dampening down, to be replaced by an irrational anger. He clutched the bedroll tighter, aware that his hands were shaking. ‘What I want to know is what happened.’
‘I don’t know.’
The denial was all-encompassing, and he didn’t believe it. He stopped and shoved her bedroll at her. ‘Sit down,’ he growled and started to re-erect Scow’s tent. ‘I would like to know just what you’ve been up to,’ he added between blows with a rock to a loosened tent peg. ‘Where did that ley come from, Kaylen?’
She was silent.
‘You do know,’ he accused.
‘Yes. It’s nothing I want to talk about right now.’
‘I’m responsible for all that happens to this fellowship. I’m responsible for everyone’s safety. I need to know what happened.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s over. Finished. It won’t happen again.’
He hammered the last of the pegs in with unnecessary savagery. He wanted to fling his anger at her, force her to tell him everything she was hiding. And was wise enough to know that if he did, her stubbornness would increase, not dissipate.
He stood upright and faced her. ‘I do have your interests at heart,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes, I think I believe that now.’ Her voice was outwardly calm, with only the tiniest of cracks to show that she was not as steady as she was trying to appear. ‘But Meldor does not, and you’d go straight to him with whatever I told you.’
He was silent, aware of the truth of that accusation. ‘You don’t accept my judgement,’ he said at last.
‘Not in the matter of Meldor. He cares nothing for others, only for what they can offer him. Thank you for fixing the tent.’ She picked up her bedroll and opened the tent flap. ‘Goodnight.’
He accepted his dismissal.
~~~~~~~
‘She wouldn’t tell me anything,’ he said to Meldor. ‘She distrusts you too much.’
The blind man was sitting on his pack in his tent, sipping water from a mug. ‘Ah. You didn’t push it.’ A statement, not a question. ‘You’re in love with her, aren’t you?’
The denial stuck in his throat. He could not forget the horror of that moment when he’d seen her tent evaporate, disintegrate so thoroughly that not even ashes were left. He’d thought her dead and the emotion inside him when he realised she was unhurt was
one he’d not thought he would ever feel again.
‘She’s a child,’ he said, and knew the remark to be inane. Meldor did not even deign to comment on it.
Davron hung the lantern he had been holding on the central support pole and unhooked the wine skin instead, to pour himself a drink. ‘What—what if I am? It’s impossible, and we all know it.’
‘Don’t let it cloud your judgement.’
‘Now, just when have I ever allowed love to affect my judgement?’ he asked, and the sarcasm lay thick in the air between them. He drank the wine deeply and far too quickly, before he added, ‘If you use her badly, Meldor, it will be the end between us.’
The blind man nodded, as if confirming something to himself. ‘Love her if you will, Davron, but don’t trust her. Don’t mention Havenstar. She’s far too independent to be trusted. And far too canny.’
Davron did not bother to reply, but he was aware of the irony. Last time it had been he who had been warning Meldor against her.
~~~~~~~
Keris woke to the feel of a hand on her ankle, shaking her foot. She roused, aware that sunlight was already touching the peak of the canvas.
‘Maid Kaylen?’
‘Yes. I’m awake. Master Gawen?’
‘That’s me. Scow said you wanted to see me.’
He was leaning in the tent flap and she gestured him in all the way. ‘It’s daylight,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘I thought I was supposed to be on guard duty last night—’
‘The guide thought you had better rest instead. What did you want to talk to me about?’
She regarded him, alert now, the last of sleep gone and all the memories of the night flooding back. The flame’s touch to the maps, the moment’s warning she’d had as the parchment crackled. She had flung the maps upwards in an instinctive reaction, and dived behind her packs as the whole world exploded around her. The air had been sucked from her lungs, leaving her curled up and helpless, fighting to draw breath… She fingered her hair, remembering.