Havenstar

by Glenda Larke

  Corrian still stayed in the house, and so did Quirk when he was in Shield. Most of the time, though, the Chameleon was out in the Unstable, spying on Minion camps. Keris feared for his life, but he seemed to lead a charmed existence, shielded by his camouflage abilities. He travelled alone, and on foot. In spite of his constant protestations about his basic faint-heartedness—worthy, he said, of the most abject of invertebrates—he seemed almost to enjoy his dangerous forays into the Unstable. He was fond of maintaining that his worst enemy was sheer grinding boredom.

  ‘Minions,’ he said, ‘are the dullest creatures on earth. Left to themselves, all they ever seem to do is pick on one another and tease their Pets into mouth-frothing rages. And watching hour after hour of that is about exciting as gawping at spiders having sex.’

  His periodic protest to the Margrave about mind-numbing tedium were ignored; Meldor insisted the information he obtained was invaluable. Thanks to Quirk, they were able to position Havenguards according to the concentrations of Minions outside Havenstar borders. ‘To know your enemy is to have won the first battle,’ Meldor told him.

  In the meantime, Corrian had opted for a much quieter life. She seemed content not to move elsewhere. She earned her keep by helping with the cooking, as best she was able with one arm. She took up with a one-legged street-sweeper, and regaled anyone who would listen with a discourse on the variations possible in bed when you only had six limbs between you. Most of her time, however, seemed to be directed at becoming the neighbourhood herbalist for women’s ailments. She dispensed remedies for everything from cramps to infertility, apparently with some success as there was a constant stream of women coming to the kitchen door and she now bought the best of pipeweed. Missie, Colibran’s wife, whiskers twitching in indignation, complained about the house becoming a medicine shop, but only when Corrian was not around.

  The only time Keris met Meldor was when he came to the shop to discuss the burning of trompleri maps with Favellis and Dita. These discussions always took place late at night when everyone else had gone to bed and, other than the two women and Meldor, they involved only herself, Scow and Davron. Meldor, it seemed, was determined to keep the whole matter a close secret. Dita and Favellis performed their experiments on an area Keris first surveyed and mapped to the south of Havenstar, far from Minion eyes, and reported back their findings only to the select group.

  They’d discovered that the burning of any trompleri map brought about the same result: an instant and possibly lasting stability. The only limitations were the limitations of trompleri maps themselves. Poorly executed maps could never become trompleri maps and were therefore of no use in creating stability.

  ‘So, that means the transposing of the Unstable is going to be a slow and piecemeal process,’ Davron lamented once, ‘one small area at a time.’

  Meldor smiled an enigmatic smile, leaving everyone with the impression that the thought pleased him. It was Scow who remarked, ‘Which is probably just as well for the likes of the tainted. Need I remind you that we would all eventually die in stability? And we know that the Unbound are all reporting that they find the new stabilities, the ones created by the burning of Deverli’s maps, inimical to them, unlike the old fixed features.’

  Sobered, Keris thought about the irony of that. They were the ones who’d brought the end of instability to within the bounds of possibility, and they were among the ones who could never benefit. Even Favellis and Dita were doomed, because they’d also imbibed ley.

  ‘Nonetheless,’ she said, ‘I think this is how the old fixed features were created. I suspect the tainted can live in them now because the stability has been compromised by time and the Unstable. I think that once they were a lot bigger, and a lot more stable—a thousand years ago.’

  ‘A thousand years is rather a long time for us to wait for a stability we can live in,’ Scow said mournfully.

  ‘Havenstar will never be stabilised,’ Meldor said, and his voice was the closest she had ever heard to harshness. ‘Never. We will always have Havenstar.’

  The other experiments done by Favellis and Dita had shown that there was no other way out for the tainted. When the two women had stabilised an area containing six tainted animals captured by Havenguards, three had died in agony with frightening rapidity and the other three lived but appeared to have gone mad. They’d tested one of their own untainted dogs after Favellis had drugged it. The animal had not died, but did wake up violently ill and it was days before Favellis could forgive herself. After that, nobody suggested any more experiments with living things.

  Favellis and Dita continued to keep a close eye on the stabilised areas, watching for any signs of change, and had come to the conclusion that Keris had been right. They were much like the old fixed features. Left alone, their edges would gradually be eaten away by instability. They could be more immediately threatened by the vagaries of a capricious ley line, but they would probably have the capacity to last hundreds of years. ‘We can make them large,’ Favellis said. ‘Keris gave us contiguous maps and we have successfully enlarged the first area we did.’

  ‘Good,’ said Meldor. ‘But that’s enough for now. Trompleri maps are going to be too precious to waste burning them. We know all we need to know for the time being.’

  It was true that trompleri maps were invaluable. People were coming to Havenstar, more and more each day, and each day, guides left with some trompleri maps to show the newcomers the safest routes into the enclave. If they’d blundered into a Minion camp people would have died. Instead they came in safely, the Unbound and the excluded, the tainted and the ley-lit, the Unbred who had somehow escaped execution at birth, and all the variety of Unstablers: traders, Tricians, couriers, tinkers, peddlers, guides. There were good men and rogues, the cast-offs of Chantry and the rebels from Order, men and women, all with one thing in common: they were Havenbrethren, and had served Havenstar even though in many cases they had not yet seen the place. They came because Meldor asked them; they came because they knew him or knew of him; they came because they trusted him. They came safely because of Keris’s maps.

  He’s bringing them to war, she thought, and still they trust him.

  War. There had not been a war in what remained of Malinawar since just after the Rending, a thousand years past. Nobody waged wars when there was nothing to be gained, and everything to be lost, until now. Yet even she could see it was coming. Each time she drew a map that portrayed an area close to Havenstar, Minions could be seen on it. Just as Havenbrethen moved in, so did Lord Carasma move in his forces. They did not approach Havenstar territory too closely—yet. They camped where they thought they could remain unseen. ‘Waiting for the right moment,’ Meldor remarked with cold calm. ‘Waiting for a gathering big enough to form an army. Never mind, we grow stronger with every passing day, too. Keris, we need as many maps as you can possibly make.’

  ~~~~~~~

  ‘Davron—!’

  Davron jumped, spilled his char and cursed heartily. ‘Quirk—damn it, you misbegotten lizard, you frightened ten year’s growth out of me!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Quirk said cheerfully, lowering his small pack to the ground. ‘But I can’t help it if you people are all as blind as moles in a hole.’

  Scow’s voice drifted across the camp from the darkness. ‘Disorder be damned! I could have sworn that he wouldn’t make it in tonight without me seeing. Unmaker take you, Quirk.’

  They had known he was coming—their meeting was by arrangement—but still the Chameleon could arrive unseen by either Scow on guard duty, or by Keris, perusing her trompleri maps of the area.

  She stuck her head out of her tent and laughed. ‘Quirk, how are you? Don’t take any notice of these sulky menfolk! It’s good to see you. We’ve brought you your new supplies, as promised.’

  Scow came in to join them around the fire. ‘Anything to worry about out there, Keris, or can I take a break?’

  She glanced at the map she’d been working on. It was hard to see much at
night, of course, but there had been no one around at dusk. ‘Nothing as far as I can see. The nearest Minions were a couple of hours away, beyond those hills. I’ve seen quite a few,’ she added, trying to hide her unease.

  ‘I know,’ Quirk said. ‘I’ve just come from that direction. There’s a big camp there.’

  ‘We thought as much,’ Davron said. ‘Keris has been mapping the foot of the valley between them and Havenstar. That way, if ever they move out, we’ll be able to see.’

  ‘Can I get you a meal, Quirk?’ she asked.

  ‘Whatever you have leftover from supper will be fine. And a cup of your brew, Scow. You do make a good drink, for all that you’re as short-sighted as a blindworm.’

  ‘Watch it, or the char won’t taste as good,’ Davron told him.

  ‘You mean he would dare to sabotage the brew?’ Quirk asked.

  Scow said loftily, ‘An artist likes me needs to be free from strife, dissension, and insults before he can produce a true blend of the ingredients that make up the smooth perfection of—’

  Quirk threw a pebble at him.

  The banter continued, followed by a more serious discussion of the Minion movements Quirk had noted, but Keris sat remote from it, letting the talk roll over her. She watched as Davron joked, glad he could appear light-hearted. Her own mood was sombre. Davron was so alone, sitting there. He could laugh and talk and swap tales, but his gaze held a bleakness he could not hide from her. He’d not touched another human being, skin to skin, in over five years. He had not held a woman or played with his daughter or known his son. She could love him, and go on loving him, but she couldn’t eradicate his loneliness. When he said goodnight and left the fireside, she watched, and ached for him.

  And in the morning he was gone.

  ~~~~~~~

  Chapter Thirty

  There will come a Betrayer to your new land. Beware this man, for he will wreak destruction in Lord Carasma’s name. Yet pity him, for he will destroy that which he loves. Hold to hope, you people of the shining land, even as he cuts a swathe through your aspirations, even as your children drown in the flood he will loose behind him, for hope may be all ye have.

  —Predictions 24: 5: 12-13

  Keris woke to sunlight streaming through her tent walls, bright and warm. Too warm. She crawled out of her bedroll and stretched, a little puzzled. Why had no one woken her earlier than this? They had many things to do. Time was precious as war came closer. She poked her head out of the tent. No one was up. Quirk was still lying out in the open in his bedroll with a blanket pulled up over his nose. The sun was already high in the sky.

  She stood up and looked for Davron, who’d been on the dawn watch, and could not see him. She woke Quirk and went to wake Scow, to find him snoring. Of Davron, there was no sign. His tent was still there, his packs were still there, but he was gone.

  So was his crossings-mount.

  At first they were more puzzled than worried. ‘He must have gone to investigate something,’ Scow said.

  ‘I can find him,’ she replied, confident. ‘I’ll just look at the trompleri maps.’

  When she did, the only moving figures she saw were right at the edge of one of the charts, which would put them five miles away.

  ‘That can’t be him, surely,’ Scow said in shock. ‘He wouldn’t have gone that far without telling us.’

  Panicked, she wrenched her enlarging glass out of her pack. Her hand shook as she focused on the two riders about to move out of range of the chart. She sat back on her heels and gazed at Scow in dismay. ‘It’s him. And a Minion,’ she said in a strangled whisper. ‘He’s with a Minion.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ Quirk asked. ‘Minions often don’t look any different from most untainted people.’

  Wordlessly she handed him the enlarging glass. ‘It’s him. I’d know that horse of his anywhere, and the way he rides.’ She swallowed. ‘The other person is riding some sort of tainted animal, and there’s a pet with them. No one but a Minion has a pet.’

  Quirk snatched the glass from her to look for himself, and then handed the glass to Scow. ‘I’m afraid she’s right. He’s been taken prisoner!’

  Scow looked through the glass in turn. ‘No. I can see nothing to indicate that he’s a prisoner. Besides, what single Minion, no matter how hideous his pet, could take Davron Storre a prisoner? He went willingly.’

  ‘But why?’ Quirk asked, bewildered.

  It was Keris who told him, choking back her tears.

  ‘You mean—’ he said, when he finally understood, ‘that he can’t help himself? He has to serve the Unmaker? Davron Storre?’

  ‘Yes. From the moment the Unmaker calls him until the moment he completes the task he is given, he is as much a Minion as the man he now rides with.’

  ‘No,’ Quirk said flatly.

  Tears slid down her cheeks, but her weeping was silent. ‘He has become our enemy. And should we meet him, we are bound to stop him.’

  ‘Kill him? But you love him! Don’t you?’ Quirk’s anguish riddled his protest.

  ‘And I failed to stop him.’ Scow said, bitterness seeping out of every word. ‘Great help I was… Meldor would have felt something. I just slept.’ He slammed one massive hand into the palm of another and turned away.

  ‘Can we catch up with them?’ Quirk asked, gesturing at the tiny figures on the map.

  Scow shook his head. ‘They have at least two hours start and they’ll be off the map soon. And we don’t have a chart showing the area they are riding towards. Useless to follow; we’d never find them. Besides, he’ll join up with other Minions soon—or meet the Unmaker somewhere in the Writhe. Chaosdamn, poor Davron.’

  Quirk looked shocked. ‘But we should stop him. He knows so much! About trompleri maps, about the defences of Havenstar, about everything. If the Unmaker questions him…’

  ‘—he won’t say anything,’ Scow said quietly. ‘Quirk, all the Unmaker can do is to give him a task. One task. Which will probably be to destroy Havenstar somehow. He can’t force Davron to answer questions, unless he gets his Minions to torture him.’ Keris shuddered. ‘But he won’t want Davron hurt, I think,’ he added quickly. ‘He’ll want him in good health to perform his mission, whatever it is. One mission, that’s all.’

  Quirk continued to look appalled. Scow was trying to be upbeat, but it was clear to them all that it made little difference if Davron answered questions or not.

  ‘How long to Shield?’ she asked Scow.

  ‘If we leave the packs, if we change horses at the border we can be there tonight.’

  ‘Then we ride now. We must warn Meldor, warn everyone. Warn them that Davron is...’ But she could not finish. She could not name him their enemy. She stopped, gathering herself together with conscious physical effort. She felt cold, frozen, as if ice were working through her body from the inside out.

  Dead, she thought. Maker, I feel as if something inside me is dead... ‘Strike the tents,’ she said.

  ~~~~~~~

  That same morning Meldor was woken by his scribe, Nablon, also known as the Ant.

  Like Colibran the Cricket, Nablon had feelers, but the resemblance ended there. His feelers were short and pointed forward to shade eyes that were round and glossy black. His cheeks were marred by external mandibles, appendages ideally suitable for cracking nuts and marrow bones, meeting in front of his human mouth. The rest of Nablon was wholly human. It was unfortunate that when he was agitated the mandibles clacked together of their own accord, and that morning at dawn, that’s exactly what they were doing.

  ‘Margraf,’ he said, shaking Meldor. Clack-clack. ‘Margraf!’ Clack. ‘Wake up. An emergency—’

  Meldor woke, immediately alert. He was used to early rising although usually in a more pleasant way, with a cup of char and the sounds of hot water splashing into the basin on his wash stand. Clacking mandibles were quite another thing. ‘What is it?’ he asked and groped around his bedpost for his dressing gown. Nablon thrust it at him.

>   CLACK. ‘An attack,’ the scribe said. Clack-clack-clack-clack. ‘It’s started. There are hundreds of Minions coming with their Pets. They are pouring out of the hills and gullies, on all the maps we have. It is much worse than we feared. Margraf, there are thousands of them—’ Clack-clack-clack-clack!

  Meldor remained quietly calm. ‘Have they got to the border yet anywhere?’

  ‘No, not yet, but—’

  ‘Did you look at the maps of the route from the Eighth?’

  Clack-clack. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There are forces there. A large army it looks like.’ Clack-clack-clack-clack …

  ‘Ah. So Portron did go to the Sanhedrin, eh? Now that is the news you should have given me first, Nablon. Davron’s not back yet, I suppose?’

  Under the tranquil questioning Nablon began to calm. ‘No, Margraf.’

  ‘As I expected. It had to happen this way,’ Meldor said and bent to wash his face. The water was cold. When he lifted his head again and held out his hand for his towel, he added, ‘And no point in sending after him. What’s done is done by now. Go tell Pennet to come in. And arrange for my breakfast to be taken in the map room.’

  Nablon handed him the towel and went, his clacking beginning all over again.

  Pennet, Meldor’s valet, helped him to dress while a string of flustered officials came and went and he gathered information and issued orders. It seemed the vast number of the Minions and pets were approaching from the east. There, Havenstar was bordered by an irrigation dyke filled with a mixture of water and ley, a barrier they’d named the Channel.

  When Meldor arrived ten minutes later in the huge map chamber, a room initially intended to be an audience hall, he asked to be taken to the area where the channel maps were mounted. Three long rows of sloping boards had been erected to make a triangle approximately in proportion to the borders of Havenstar. On these, a set of Keris’s border maps had been mounted in a continuous line. As Meldor approached, Nablon turned away from where he had been studying the maps, his feelers stiff and his mandibles clacking unceasingly. ‘Margraf, it’s getting worse with every passing minute!’