by Ian Irvine
Shand stood looking down. Oh, for such a daughter, he thought unguardedly. But that thought brought an unhappy one and he reached for the bottle on the mantelpiece. Karan looked up at the scrape of glass on stone. Shand had the bottle to his lips.
He caught her eye, hesitated, then held the bottle out to her with a rueful expression. She shook her head automatically—even half a bowl clouded her thinking, took away her will to work all day and half the night—but saw something in Shand’s face and changed her mind.
“Not out of the bottle,” she said. She dragged her table out of the way, found two bowls in a cupboard and filled them. They sat together, sipping their wine, not talking. The wine was a good one.
“More?” asked Shand, when the bowls were empty.
“Why not? The first finished any hope of work tonight.” After half of the second was gone she put the bowl down. “What is it, Shand?”
He shook his head. His eyes were closed. There was a tear on his cheek.
Her soft green eyes met his deep-set eyes.
“I had a daughter once,” he said.
She said nothing.
“She is gone, lost long ago. How I loved her.”
His old face was quite broken. A grief that would last for all his life, that had colored every moment of his life since. Karan’s heart went out to him. A tear fell on his beard and hung there, a single drop that flamed in the candlelight. Then it ebbed away like the passing of a life.
“My fault it was entirely. I neglected her, then she was gone. One day I had everything; the next: nothing. I can never forget her. Can never forget how I failed to keep my promise.”
Karan said nothing, only hugged him.
“She was such a beautiful child.” His eyes were blurry with terrible, distant sadness. “When I lost her all the joy went out of the world. It would have been her birthday today.”
“That is why you gave up the Secret Art!”
He was startled. “How did you know?”
“You know too much, and you are too old and, dare I say it,” she felt self-conscious saying it, and rolled her eyes so he would think it just a joke, “too wise.”
“Wise I am not. Look what I’ve done to you and Llian. I’m sorry, Karan. I will try harder.” He smiled at some secret thought. “Sometimes you remind me of her. You’re right. In ancient times I did practice the Secret Art, and even had some modest success at it. No one knows that now, save Mendark, and you, and Nadiril of the Great Library. Do not speak of it, I beg you. I had a great love, and I was wealthy and powerful and proud. Too proud and too busy rushing around trying to alter the course of fate. But I minded everyone’s business except my own, and with the passing of time I lost everything, even that daughter I loved more than anything. That was lifetimes ago, but still it hurts. I’ve never spoken about it before.”
Perhaps that’s why it still hurts so much, Karan thought. “How did it happen?”
“I don’t know. The Zain had their revenge on me for something I did to them in ages past, I’m sure of it. Who else could it have been? That’s why I’ve been so hard—well, you know all about that. She was gone, and all my efforts, great efforts you can be sure, discovered nothing. My wealth and power, wisdom—ha!—even the Secret Art, were revealed to be worthless. So I renounced them, and my duties and responsibilities, and took up the simple life in Tullin. No responsibility more onerous than to chop wood and keep the fires going, no duty except to the landlord, in return for meat and drink and a bed. And in truth, I found that the life suited me.”
Karan raised a sceptical eyebrow. Perhaps you convinced yourself, she thought, but I doubt that a great past can be cast off so easily. “Then what brought you out of Tullin after all this time?”
Shand stared into the fire. They were burning wood from a house nearby, destroyed in the war. It smoked and steamed, poor stuff with little heat in it, choking the grate with white ash. A sliver of wood was sticking straight up like a spire, and Shand watched the smoke trail up from it, the wood slowly charring. The spire drooped down until it touched the main piece of wood. The smoke failed.
“Brought me out?” he said absently. “I suppose it was your father.”
“My father?”
“I knew him well. I told you that once, remember?”
“Of course I remember. It was when we were in Ganport, after you had taken pleasure in my humiliation—the famous bath, if you remember!”
Shand laughed and it gave Karan pleasure to hear it. “I could hardly forget it.”
“I would not say that we were the best of friends, for we were too different for that. But he was very kind to me when my memories troubled me most. I was shocked to hear of his death—he was the kind of man that you think will live forever. Then your sending from the ruins above Tullin roused me to my responsibilities.
“Once I realized that it was you, the past woke in me. It put me in a great conflict and it gets deeper every day. This hanging about, waiting on the whim of Mendark when I could be minding my own business in Tullin, drives me into a rage!” He banged the table, making the empty bowls jump.
Karan stayed up late, working on her plans until after midnight in spite of the wine, and worrying about how she would ever afford to fulfil them. Shand had been asleep for hours. Llian had not come back. Finally she went to bed, but woke in the night at some noise outside. Her heart was racing, and she felt uneasy. Where was Llian? Doubtless in some low bar, drinking with new-found friends, equally low. She drifted back to sleep.
She was woken in the morning by a muffled conversation outside, then Shand opened the door. She sat up sleepily, looking away from the bright lantern.
“Was that Llian?”
“No, he’s still not back.”
The night’s foreboding stabbed her in the belly. Karan leapt out of bed and threw her clothes on.
“What’s the matter?” said Shand.
“Something’s happened. I’m going looking for him.”
“You’ll never find him.”
“If I was in trouble he’d come looking for me.” She shrugged on her greatcoat, took her hat down off the peg.
“Do you want me to come too?” Clearly he didn’t want to, for his eyes strayed to the bottle on the shelf.
“I’d prefer to be alone. Oh, who was that you were talking to?”
“A messenger. Mendark arrived a few hours ago. It’s said that he looked very worn.”
“Will there be trouble with Yggur?”
“More than likely, though doubtless they’ll try to get along for as long as suits them.”
She trudged the sodden city all day, asking at every inn she came to, but found no trace of Llian. The backstreets of Thurkad were a labyrinth and her talent told her nothing either.
Karan returned in the early evening, not daring to walk in such places after dark. Saturated, freezing, she was shaking with a chill that was surely going to get worse. At Shand’s question she shook her head. “Not a trace. I don’t know where to turn. You haven’t heard anything?”
“No!” he said.
“Something’s happened to him.”
“It’s beginning to look that way. I hope—”
The tone of his voice annoyed her. “Don’t start on that again. It’s nothing to do with Rulke!”
“You can’t know that.”
“I know! He’s in trouble. Shand, you’ve got to help me. You have contacts here. Please, Shand.”
He writhed.
“I’m sure my father would have wanted you to.”
He twisted, but in the end could see no honorable way out. “I suppose I could ask my old friend, Ulice, if she’s still alive. I’ll go in the morning.”
“Could you go now?” she asked desperately.
Llian went out into the Thurkad night, into the wind and rain and smoke from countless chimneys, which hung in the streets like greasy yellow fog. Contrary to Shand’s opinion he did not have any particular destination in mind, as he had only a few coppers e
arned from a previous begging tale. He was in no mood to repeat that tonight. He wandered the streets for hours, till his wet clothes stank of smoke. It felt as if it was raining misery and it did not stop at the skin—the unhappiness washed right through him, saturating every cell and nerve.
He paced on, head bowed into the wind, an anonymous and shabby figure, pathetic as any of the tramps, derelicts and street people that he passed. None met his eyes nor showed the least interest in him. Why would they? He had nothing to offer them.
Well after midnight, Llian turned into a narrow street that was vaguely familiar. Tallia had brought him here, he remembered, the night he’d sneaked into the citadel just before the disastrous Conclave. Yes, there was the house, still recognizable though burnt to a roofless masonry shell. Llian climbed through a window like an eye-socket and perched on the rubble inside, sheltering from the wind.
There had been a cellar, he recalled, and leading from it, a hidden tunnel. He found the cellar by falling into it, a sudden drop onto rubble that bruised one knee and gashed his palm. Groping around, to his surprise a section of one wall quivered under his weight.
He found a length of candle in his pocket, lit it at the nearest street lamp and went back to the cellar, shielding the flame from the wind and the rain. After clearing away a lot of rubble he was able to lever the section of false wall open far enough to squeeze through. He pulled it closed behind him and stood there ruminating, watching the distorted shadows from his candle on the earthy walls.
The opportunity to get into the citadel had opened up without his thinking about it, but now Llian realized that the archives could hold the answer to a number of his questions, not least what had really happened at the time the Nightland was formed.
He hesitated. Why not? What was there to lose now if he did get caught? He held his candle high and started up the passage. At the other end he found the depressions in the wall that opened the hidden door, pressed them together and the slab began to rotate at once. Llian kept out of the way, mindful of its irresistible power to crush and maim. On the floor was the evidence; a bloody stain where the guard’s foot had been pulverized the last time he was here.
Llian hurried to the archives, then remembered that the door was kept locked. He continued on anyway and was glad that he did, for the door was open and a dim light wavered distantly down one corridor.
After checking that there was no one in sight Llian moved off a different way. The archives were vast and he soon lost himself in them. At the end of the row he came to a vault with steel walls and a complicated lock on the door. The door was ajar. Llian found his curiosity impossible to resist.
He slid in through the gap. The vault was solid steel, floor, walls and roof. He soon found out why. It contained the most secret records of the Council—whole shelves of documents under the heading of the Proscribed Experiments, among other prohibited topics.
Llian felt dizzy with excitement. Forbidden knowledge! He did not consider for an instant that being here was a crime. He failed to wonder why the outside door was open, why the vault door was open, even why such records, which would normally be kept under a charm of obscurity, were unprotected by any spell at all. He took the first book off the shelf and opened it. His hand shook. He began to read.
Time passed but Llian was quite oblivious. Finally, though, something made him look over his shoulder. There, leaning negligently on the edge of the door, stood Yggur. Llian almost jumped out of his skin.
“Hello, Llian,” said Yggur with a menacing smile. His cloudy eyes were unreadable. “What are you doing here?”
Llian’s terror of Yggur woke. “I’m looking for documents… about the Nightland,” he said, and knew that it sounded like the lie it was. “I have Mendark’s permission.”
“For the Council’s secret archives? Liar! His ship hasn’t even docked! Come along. You’ll find my cells more comfortable than you deserve.”
He stretched out his arm, clamping Llian’s wrist like a manacle, and led him away. Llian expected to be interrogated as brutally as before, but as the door closed Yggur was called away urgently and did not return.
The first meeting of Mendark and Yggur was not reported. They must have reached some agreement, however, for Yggur vacated the top floors of the citadel in favor of his old fortress, though he kept control of the lower floors and the dungeons below.
Mendark, Magister once more, was soon busy in the citadel, renewing all the links of his power. And that was considerable, for rumor had magnified his successes and he was not short of retainers to do his bidding. Yet strangely, no one had seen his face. Orders were issued by underlings, and when Mendark did appear he went about cloaked and veiled.
Karan sat up all night but Shand did not return. Her cold got worse. She was dozing in her chair by the fireplace when he finally appeared, looking exhausted. “Any news?” she croaked. Her throat was burning.
“I found Llian.” He took his wet coat off and hung it by the fire.
“Where is he? Is he all right?”
“He’s in Yggur’s cells, in the citadel.” He toweled his gray hair.
She leapt up and ran around frantically, trying to find her boots. “We’ve got to get him out. You know what Yggur will do to him.”
“Karan!” he said. “You can’t. It’s quite impossible.”
“Then I’ve got to see him at least.”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” he said.
“I hope you’re not bringing that—”
He took her by the shoulders and brought his whiskery old face close. “I learned something else tonight.”
She shivered, hot and cold. “What? What’s the matter?”
“Llian’s not the only one on Yggur’s list. He wants you too, Karan.”
Why her? Was it starting all over again? She knew why, though. Yggur had never forgiven her for stealing the Mirror. He nurtured his revenges, did Yggur. He’d told her so.
“I’ve still got to go,” she said stubbornly. “Llian risked his life for me.”
“Yggur knows how you think, Karan. He’ll be watching for you. It’s not a risk, it’s certain capture.”
“Then, as my friend, what do you advise?”
Shand found himself in a difficult position, but it was impossible to refuse her now. “Well, Yggur’s distracted with Mendark at the moment. You could try to bribe a guard. It’d take a hell of a bribe though, for the fellow would have to flee and never return.”
Karan was silent. She had no money worth counting, but she did have one precious thing left. “Would you do something for me when next you go out?” she rasped, wiping her dripping nose.
“What is it?”
She lifted the silver chain over her head. It was the only beautiful thing she had ever owned, and she loved it more than anything. “Llian gave this to me in Katazza. It was hidden under Kandor’s bed. Would you pawn it for me?”
He inspected the necklace. “It would be a tragedy to sell this. It’s incredibly old. It’s…” He looked puzzled.
“I must!” she said.
“What if I were—”
“No! Just sell it.”
“Very well, but don’t expect too much. It’s valuable because of its age, not its weight of silver, but neither counts for much in the middle of a war.” He held it up to the light. “The feel of it reminds me of someone I once knew!”
“There’s a name engraved on the clasp,” she said. “Fiachra! Was that her?”
His hand shook as he examined the writing, then he closed his fingers around the chain. “No,” said Shand. “I’ve not heard that name before.”
After he’d gone out she regretted it, but too late to call him back.
Just as Shand returned, Zareth the Hlune appeared at their door, demanding that they report to the citadel immediately. The man was greatly changed from their last meeting, on Tess’s boat. His face was sallow and his chin pigtails peppered with gray.
“You!” he cried, shooting Shand a hostile lo
ok.
“How was your bamundi?” Shand asked cheerfully, giving the back of his neck a meaningful rub.
“It spoiled before I recovered from the poison,” snapped Zareth. “Get moving!”
Karan was shocked that their hideaway had been penetrated so easily. Shand smiled at her indulgently. “But my dear, this is Yggur’s city now, and he was always distinguished by the quality of his spies. He would have known where we were within an hour of our coming.”
“Then why all the artifice?”
“One does not march into the camp of an enemy and bed down in the adjoining tent. Nothing so offends the pride of the powerful as arrogance in their inferiors.”
“But we were allies before,” she said plaintively.
“Of necessity; of convenience. Now he has his empire back, while we are weaker than before. Why would he surrender that advantage? This is no game. Get ready; we’d best not keep him waiting.” He turned away. “Oh Karan!” he said over his shoulder. “I pawned your chain. It fetched a bit more than I expected. Three tells and a few silver tars.” He handed her a small, heavy wallet.
It was an astounding amount of money. Karan took it, feeling desolate. “Thank you.”
“Another thing. I spoke to Yggur a while ago.”
“You spoke to Yggur?”
“After I learned where Llian was. I’ve always got on with Yggur, as you know.”
That was a black mark against Shand’s character as far as she was concerned. “What’s Llian accused of?”
“Stealing documents, concealing documents, trespassing in the Council’s secret archives, lying about what happened in the Nightland, treachery… The list goes for almost a page. It seems that I was right about him after all.”
Karan was silent. Why had Llian gone to the archives at a time like this? What was he doing there? How would she ever get him out again?”
He was the first person she saw after they were escorted into the extravagantly decorated Council room of the citadel. Llian was standing between two guards. Shand saw the relief on Karan’s face when she realized that Llian was safe. This business was tearing her apart, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The sooner it was over the better. Llian looked awful. He made to move in their direction but the guard caught him by the collar. Karan ran to Llian but her relief turned to fury when the import of Shand’s words sank in. There must be proof of Llian’s guilt this time.