“Now, Daryth, all the flies are fast asleep, and we will sneak in and take some of their treasure. Reaching once more into his saddle bag Kylos pulled a square of tent patching and a flask of tent oil. He returned to the hive, listened and then pumped more smoke into it. “You must never cut off more than a cubit,” he told the boy. “Below that is where the hirakadesh babies live and we must not cause them harm.” So saying, he placed one hand on the top of the hive, drew his gladius and with one deft move cut through the top of the hive inverting it quickly to prevent the bright ruby red liquid from spilling. He handed the hive cap to Daryth cautioning to keep the whole thing upright. Spilling the syrup might attract flies from the other hives and they could very well invade the sleeping tower and kill everything inside. He folded the patching canvass over the severed hive patting it in place so that the remaining syrup would hold it. Tying it carefully but firmly with a length of bow string he painted over the fabric with the tent oil. “He gave me a wink. Now, t’pahq,” he said, “with your further indulgence we shall collect some blue and orange.”
“Not the yellow then?” I ventured.
“Beloved Commander—you now a well as I that the yellow syrup is poison. And besides the zakkar does not work on the khorvar. When we want the poison we have to use a different wood but this sometimes kills the hive if one is not careful.”
I grinned at him. “Oh I knew it was poison—I was just not certain that you knew.”
He knew very well. The viscous yellow syrup was prized by the kayetim who by reason of their “vocation” dealt in all manner of deadly techniques to dispose of their victims. The jalhirakavar or yellow syrup, had a debilitating, paralytic quality which whether ingested or injected by dart or shurikan would result in an unpleasantly long, lingering death by suffocation as breathing and moving became more difficult.
There were a few kayetim who refused to have anything to do with the substance, believing that it debased their caste and their skills as assassins. Others would charge those who commissioned their services exorbitant amounts of gold to provide a death using jalhirakavar. Some who paid for such an assassination would often pay extra if the kayet kidnapped the victim, took them to an agreed location and administered the toxin while the client watched.
I frowned. Sometimes the depravity of our species completely defied any kind of rational understanding.
That evening as we settled around our hearth for to consume the remainder of our stew, Kylos sat again with Daryth showing him how to extract the hirakadesh syrup from the little waxen compartments that held it. Explaining all the while as to how all of it, except the clay case could be eaten. Placing the clay cone in a fire melted the wax capsules. Care had to be taken not to allow the syrup to boil or it would be ruined. As the clay cone and its contents cooled the wax would float to the top of the syrup and form a stopper. The clay cone would become hardened by the heat of the hearth and would then form a tough jar strong enough to transport the precious cargo within. And when the syrup was spent the wax could be used to make sweet smelling candles.
“Are you archer or perfume maker, Kylos?” Jaen’t teased.
“I am a man of many skills, Jae’nt, as I am sure Aenar will be pleased to confirm.”
The Provost grinned. “I can attest to that, most enthusiastically. He cooks and cleans extremely well.”
Kylos shot his consort a truly poisonous glare. “And you promised not to tell anyone about the cleaning!”
Just as we were serving up the stew Markos arrived with a couple of his personal guards. “If it is not too presumptuous,” he said, “might I join you? It seems far too long since I have been at hearth with my friends.”
I gave the young king a welcoming smile. “Please. It will be good to have your company.”
As he settled next to Dthor and me he suddenly turned his head and scented the air. “Is—is that hirakavar I can smell?”
Kylos held up the freshly-fired red flask he had just finished weaving a carrying handle for. “You may be certain of that, brother.” Kylos pointed to the other two cones. “And more besides.”
Maegor was halfway through serving us when Karyn shot through the gap in the wind breaks like a badly thrown spear and stalked up to Aenar. “Why?” she demanded, “why would you do this and deprive a nation of such a treasure?”
“Why would I do what exactly?”
“You have taken a Morlan from his people—a preciously rare skill and made him what? Your own private treasure?”
Aenar rose, his hand on his dagger. “Shield Maiden or not, woman, now you presume too far with me. What Kylos and I have done is no business of yours. Why we have done it is no business of yours. He may be a “treasure” or a “prize” or any other such object of desire to you and your Guild. But to us he is now and always will be our son. He will have a childhood and he will learn such things as will please him and fill his life with joy and honourable purpose. He will not be pushed or moulded into some kind of mindless dreadnought to be moved and made to do according the will of another. He has escaped that once and I will not see him forced on that path again.”
The Provost leaned down and put his face close to Karyn’s “Now, I suggest you take several steps away from me before I forget that I do not strike women and put your vadanesh face through the back of your head.
Dthor and I exchanged astonished glances. I never heard Aenar use such a foul word before, especially considering that it was an incredibly obscene noun for female genitals considered so disrespectful and denigrating that even lowest of the ranks eschewed its use.
Karyn stood defiantly for a moment trying to stare the man down. She was a powerful woman with great fighting prowess—all of us knew that, and at any other time she might well have made Aenar—or any of us—pause for thought. But this was a man defending his stand and his newly adopted son.
Daryth extricated himself from Kylos’ hold and walked quietly to Aenar’s side taking his hand. “Please, Lord Soldier, stop being angry and don’t hurt Karyn.” He turned to the healer and put up his hand “And you leave my Lord Soldier alone.” He thrust his raised palm towards her suddenly, “Go away!”
Karyn jumped back as if she had actually been pushed. Clearly she had no wish to be touched by the child while he was thus agitated and I could only begin to suspect why. No doubt the skill that could be harnessed to heal could just as easily be used to inflict an injury. As Anubis always told me every magical skill is like a battle blade—it will always cut in two directions according to the will of soldier wielding it.
She glared over at Kylos. “This is not over.”
Markos rose. “Yes it is, Karyn. The boy is no longer Morlan—he is Zetan by virtue of the fact that Kylos’ royal seal on the Articles of Adoption make this so. If you have a problem with either my judgement or my rule, feel free to challenge me for the Crown. Otherwise hold your tongue and check your manners.”
“Majesty, I did not see you there.”
“Clearly not. Perhaps you would have behaved more in keeping with your rank and status if you had. I suggest you do as young Daryth says and leave. You have demeaned yourself and Morla enough this evening.”
Faedron leaned back against Maegor as he settled with his own bowl. “Well that was tense!” He turned to Aenar. “I can’t believe you used that disgusting expletive. I’m astounded that man of your status would actually know of it.”
“What does it mean?” Kylos asked as he moved to join Aenar and Daryth.
Faedron made a face. “Trust me, Kylos, you really do not want to know. But if Maegor used it I would make him wash his mouth several times with strong liquor and wait a whole settan before I allowed him to kiss me again.”
Kylos eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. “Oh! It is that bad!”
“Worse!” I told him.
†
CHAPTER 39
SERPENT
SLOWLY BUT surely the harsh scrub of the veldt began to give way to the kinder terrain of t
he Medran hinterland. Rough clumps of coarse witchgrass gave ways to softer more succulent meadow grass. Rough scrub and briars began to give way to patches of copse and woodlands and the skies began to fill with birds. On the crest of a nearby hill a small herd of red antelope loped along, pausing every so often to graze, the lead stag and flanking watchers lifting their heads high to scent the wind. If they detected us they gave no sign, and the herd meandered on along the crest before turning and walking down and away from us.
Aenar leaned towards me. “If those beasts are safe to eat I dare say hunting is going to be good as we go.”
I nodded. Only the creatures and plants indigenous to the veldt had to be approached with caution. The only people truly safe on the veldt were the Plainsmen—and they were very rarely seen by travellers. The closer we moved to Medravia, the more plentiful the game would become. The forest land was home to hundreds of boar and woods fowl. Hunters should be on the lookout particularly for the kaedan. This was a timid creature generally the size of a small dog, very slow moving and protected in a tough, thick shell into which it could withdraw when danger threatened. This made it difficult to kill and a hunter would need a special lance to slay it. The meat it provided was sweet, soft and aromatic to the extent that it needed little seasoning, if any. It was cooked in a pit oven and once ready the bottom of the shell could be easily prised off with a strong knife or short sword.
Should we pass any large areas of woodland there was every likelihood that the hunters would be able to take some boar and woodlark. The watering holes would have waterfowl and fish and no doubt the men would welcome the break from field rations and preserved meats served up in the mess tents.
We arrived at the Safe Water Haven a little after dawn of our fifth marching day. The kings, knowing that we were very close had ordered an all night march. The men would rest for the next three days and then we would day march for five days, rest for two and continue in this pattern until we reached Medravia or met with the Legion—whichever came first.
It was here, as the Kyr Garrin took their ease at the compound hearth, that the first of Markos’ herald eagles arrived confirming that the M’rgaerdjinn Chantries were being disbanded and razed and that the gold had been seized and was being smelted according to his orders. According to one message, the Aergin’s archives held scrolls bearing thousands of names going back to the inception of the cursed Order. Some of the families would have died out generations back.
Markos sighed heavily, crumpled the message and tossed it into the fire. He gave me a deeply tired look. “I wonder was it worth the price?”
He was not really addressing the question to me, but I answered him anyway, hopeful that it would bring his some small comfort and much encouragement. “Keelan thought so,” I reminded him, “and I doubt his judgement was often flawed.”
Markos gave me a crooked little smile. “Ez’n, t’pahq, you always seem to know just what to say.
“And there is always the fact that you got to incinerate that wretched Aergin.”
“Oh now you’re really making me smile!” Markos grinned. He was suddenly serious again. “I still think I should have had Orrin end him. If he survives his injuries I am certain he will seek his vengeance.”
“You still could despatch a kayet to ensure his influence ends with the dissolution of the Chantries.”
Markos nodded slowly. Yes, he could have the man assassinated, but he could not do so without betraying the oath he had sworn. I nodded as I remembered our conversations from when the priests had been ousted.
He turned his attention to where Polo and Daryth were playing rough-and-tumble by Aenar’s tent. He gave a broad smile. “It is remarkable that the boy seems so recovered from his ordeal.”
I nodded my agreement, though perhaps it was not as remarkable as Markos might think. Children were often far more robust than we gave them credit for, able to recover from the greatest of shocks and traumas much more quickly than adults. Where adults seemed to have to navigate the currents of grief and bereavement or shock, children just seemed to drop into great “puddles” of despair for short periods and then return to whatever it was they were doing as if nothing had happened. Doubtless Daryth would have these periods, probably nightmares for a while before shaking of the horrors of his time with the Aergin completely.
I watched as the two boys ran off into the main camp and wondered what kinds of mischief they were planning to get into.
Markos threw himself back from the hearth on to a pile of skins, put his hands behind his head and lay basking in the gentle heat of the spring sun. I pulled my despatches from the satchel beside me and began sorting through them, my concentration being greatly assisted by the gentle sounds of Dthor and the others honing their blades, and the low bubble of their hearth-side chatter as they laboured.
About a secta later I had finished with the despatches and sent Iannos off with the new boy, whom I was informed was called Artos, before heading into the pavilion to shelter form the rising heat. As I was making my way into the relative cool of the tent Polo returned and settled by the hearth where he began cleaning Dthor’s greaves. I had not long been stretched out on the low day bed when Alna appeared and poured me chilled water. Quite how she had managed to procure it I could not tell, but I was grateful for it. The day was becoming quite hot.
I lay back on the makeshift couch sipping the water and, drifting lightly in that wonderfully hazy state between doze and wakefulness.
I was just drifting slightly deeper when I heard Kylos. He sounded disturbed and as I pulled myself back from the fringes of sleep I heard the archer begin to raise his voice. “Aenar, no!” There was a clatter and a couple of shouts and I was on my feet and out into the compound before I realised. I came through the door just in time to see Kylos go sprawling into the weapons rack and Tyrel, despite his size go headlong over the hearth. I caught sight of the hem of what I assumed was Aenar’s cloak going through the windbreaks.
Kylos scrambled to his feet and began heading for the exit when he caught sight of me. He turned abruptly and hurried over to where I stood gaping at the chaos.
“T’pahq, you must stop him. He will kill her this time for certain.”
I had not noticed originally, but when Polo returned to the Kyr Garrin’s compound he had returned alone, and when Aenar asked where Daryth was the squire had told him that Karyn had invited him to go with her into the woodland to search for healing herbs to replenish her stock.
My heart leapt into my throat. The Healer’s actions might be totally innocent. The boy did have the healing faculty and she might just be intent on teaching him the basics of herbal medicine to augment his skills as a Toucher. Given the recent debacle, however, innocent or not her timing for such an outing could not have been any worse and the fact that she had not asked permission from either Kylos or Aenar to take the boy with her did not bode well for her motives.
“Polo, saddle Vyrnath, quickly now.” I told the boy.
He dropped my consort’s greaves as if they had bitten him and ran to where the horse was tethered across the enclosure. Dthor made to rise. “No, stay here in case the boy comes back.”
“Kylos get Orrin and give chase. When you find them send up a flare so that I can locate you.”
Kylos nodded and headed off to the Kayetim enclosure next door.
As I mounted Vyrnath, Dthor took hold of my hand. “Tread softly, my love. Aenar has no reason where that child is concerned.” I nodded and went to complete the mount but Dthor pulled me back once more. “Do you think he will kill her?”
In truth I had no firm notion of what Aenar might do. As Dthor said, the man’s reason left by a short flue where Daryth was concerned—much as it had evaporated like boiled Brandywine when he broke Kaleb’s neck in the dockside tavern as much for insulting Kylos as for trying to stab him in the back. What I was certain of, however, was that whatever his intentions the Provost had to be stopped—and so did Karyn. Daryth was a child and not a trop
hy to be competed for.
I had just reached the edge of the woodland when Kylos’ arrow flare broke through the canopy of leaves. I squinted up at the burning way-marker reining my mount in for a moment to take a good bearing before spurring the horse on into the trees.
I was only a about half a cord into the woods when Orrin appeared from the shadows and signalled to me to stop and dismount, and it was as I approached him I caught sound of voices raised in anger. Karyn’s and Kylos’.
The kayet guided me quickly to a small clearing carpeted with tiny white highly scented flowers. Aenar was sprawled out on the ground with Daryth cradling his head in his lap.
I turned to Orrin. “He isn’t . . . is he?”
“No, t’pahq, just out cold. It seems Kylos is a marksman with a sling shot as well. It was most impressive.”
I turned my attention to the argument nearby.
Kylos’ hand suddenly shot forward and he grabbed Karyn by the laces of her corselet. “And I do not care what you say, bitch.” His dagger was drawn and jabbed under her chin almost before I could remark the movement. “You would not have done this with any other boy without gaining the blessing of his parents.” He shoved her away and she sprawled before him. Scarcely had she hit the ground but that Kylos had unclamped his bow and drawn a bead on her. At his current range should he loose the arrow he would skewer her to ground. Kylos threw his head back and growled at the sky relaxing his aim as he did so.
“You are either irredeemably stupid, Karyn, or you have a death wish of an intensity hitherto unseen among the rational. Get back to camp. Go!” he shouted, “Go before Aenar comes to his senses. I had the element of surprise this time. I will not have it when he wakes. And I assure you that though I may be half his age, I am no match for him hand to hand; if he takes it into his head to pursue and end you, I will not be able to stop him.”
A Rising Darkness Page 60