by Rj Barker
“What priests I have,” said Neander, “will also join you, Rufra, and any they judge loyal.”
“Girton, I want you to get in touch with Arketh the torturer. If any of those who believe Darsese lives are still in the town I want them ready to move against the Children of Arnst when it is time.” He turned to Venia. “They will need some way of making plain who they are to you and my troops. We will also need to agree some signal for when Girton returns with Darsese. That is when Festival must attack, drawing attention from the Low Tower so Girton can get back in. Now, we have until dawn to plan.”
“Why wait?” said Aydor. “Why not act now, before the Landsmen are ready?” Rufra picked up one of the pieces he had placed on the table.
“Because the fewer Landsmen and Children that are in the sepulchre the better your chances are. The reason I send so many with you is so you can get back, not so you can get in. I hope you will have little problem there if, as you say, the machines really are working.”
“You don’t believe me?” I said.
Rufra turned away.
“A turn of phrase, Girton, nothing more.”
“They must be working, Rufra, otherwise how did Vondire and the Landsmen get in? Neander tells us there is no other way.”
“It is true,” said Neander.
“Well,” said Rufra, “let us hope it is so. Now, everyone, get ready. Do what you feel is needed, sign the gods’ books, make what plans you must.”
I left the battle room in the company of Aydor and we were joined by my master. Neander walked in front of us and I tapped him on the shoulder.
“Girton,” he said, “if you wish to call into question my loyalty I am afraid you will have to do it another time. There is much to do.”
“Of course. You need to train your priests to use their books as shields, eh?”
He sighed.
“Many of my priests used to be soldiers. They had hoped to leave the profession behind them but, and as unlikely as it seems to us both, Rufra is defending the gods I have followed all my life, and the gods they believe in. They will take up arms again for the dead gods. They will probably die here for them.” His words made me feel small, so I pretended I had not heard them.
“It is not that I want to talk to you about, Neander. It is another thing, and that only.”
“Aye?”
“The pools in the sepulchre. The machines seem clear enough, they only had one handle to pull, but once the process has started I must know how much noise the pumps will make and how long it will take.”
He looked me up and down, waiting for some insult, but I held my mouth in check.
“The pumps are almost soundless,” he said after a while. “Better to maintain the illusion of the miraculous. But it takes about fifteen minutes to empty the pools and the same to fill them.”
“Dark Ungar’s piss,” said Aydor. “That’s fifteen minutes where we’ll have nowhere to go if we are found.”
“Then,” said Neander, “I would suggest not being found, eh?”
I left the unpleasant and unhelpful priest and went in search of the torturer, Arketh. Although she made my skin crawl, any men and women she could bring to battle would greatly assist Rufra in holding off the Landsmen and their allies. I slipped into the castle and headed down to the dungeons through uncomfortably tight and low corridors. Somewhere inside a small voice spoke of how hard it would be to fight here. How vicious such close fighting was. How skill counted for little in places like this.
I cannot help you here.
That other voice, that old one that could do so much, it sounded so very weak and far away.
Saleh sat on a two-legged stool, the sort designed to stop the person sitting on it falling asleep. He looked surprised to see me.
“Blessed,” he said quietly.
“I am looking for Arketh,” I said.
“I do not often hear that.” He stood, leaning his stool against the wall. The dungeon smelled like a sewer. I don’t know how he stood it.
“Do you know how I could find her?”
“Usually Arketh is the one who finds. Truthfully, I know nothing of her and am happy to keep it that way. She comes in some evenings, always avoids the Landsmen. You can wait, if you wish? She may be here soon.”
“Very well, I shall.” From somewhere he found another stool and then took out some bread and meat wrapped in rags and, before eating, he offered it to me. I turned it down, the smell was too unbearable for me to think of eating. Nevertheless, we sat in quiet companionship while he ate. When he finished he carefully folded up the rags he had brought his food in and packed them away.
“Saleh,” I said. He looked up, waiting for me to ask something of him and ready to help. But I asked nothing.
Instead I danced.
I did not dance a story, and I did not dance anything too athletic as in the small room there was not enough space. It was not my longest dance, nor was it my most complex, but I will always think it my best. It was the most free I had ever been. I danced for Saleh and he wanted nothing from me, so I let myself go. There was no expectation from this audience and an invisible music filled me. There, in that small, filthy and lonely place, in front of a good man, I was at my best.
When I finished, I did not know how much time had passed, only that, for once, I had no doubt I had done the right thing.
“I had never imagined such beauty could exist down here,” said Saleh, his eyes wet with emotion. He lifted his head, exposing his neck to me. “Thank you, Death’s Jester.”
“You need not thank me, Saleh.”
He was about to speak, to say something else. His mouth opened and his eyes widened a little then he stopped, tilted his head.
“Arketh is coming,” he said. “If you do not mind I will leave now, the Mistress of Teeth makes me uncomfortable.”
“Of course.” I gave him a weak smile. “She does not make me feel particularly comfortable either.” He stood, gave me a small nod and left.
There must have been more ways out of the dungeon than were immediately apparent, as I heard Arketh coming down the stairs and she did not slow or stop to let another pass. Neither did I hear Saleh’s footsteps going up. She appeared at the door, shuffling past the entrance to the dungeon keeper’s room in her ragged finery, looking like she had spent her life living in hedges but bringing that wonderful perfume in with her: the scent of life and love.
“Arketh,” I said in no more than a whisper.
Her head whipped round, her face twisting into a semblance of a smile. She twirled her hair like a young girl seeing her beau. The teeth in her braids clicked against her fingernails.
“Girton,” she said, “you have come to see me. Did the burning of your friend whet your appetite for my company? I have waited for you. I was sure we would meet again down here.” Her head tilted and she looked puzzled. “Though I did not know if it would be voluntary on your part.”
“Well, we may still meet down here again but hope it will not come to that. I have come for your help.”
“My help?” She drifted close to me and I was engulfed by the yearslife smell of her perfume. “So, King Rufra needs to know something, does he?” A smile brushed her red lips. “And now his famous morals have become inconvenient.” I started to speak but her hand came up. A filthy, cloth-bound finger crossed my lips. “Shh, you need not worry. I can keep secrets, just as you must. A torturer who cannot keep their mouth shut would swiftly find themselves out of a job.” She took her finger away and amusement sparkled in her green eyes. “And becoming a practical exercise for their replacement.”
“Rufra has no need for a torturer, Arketh.” The sparkle in her eyes vanished.
“Then what use am I to him, Girton Club-Foot?”
I stepped closer to her, so I could touch her, feel the life pulsing within her. It let me imagine I could feel a lie if she made one.
“How serious were you about Darsese, and leading those men and women to save him?”
“Utterly,” she said. There was no change in her that I could discern through feel, but her face hardened, the mocking cynicism fell away and I found myself believing her, in this at least.
“Serious enough to give your life, if it came to it?”
“I would rather not,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes like she flirted with her first lover. Then her face hardened. “But if needs be I will. Why do you ask this?”
“Because you were right, Darsese lives.”
Her eyes widened a little. She controlled her expression well, but not well enough to fool me. She was surprised. But why?
“You know this? How?”
“I saw him.”
“Where?”
“In the sepulchre. They keep him strapped in a throne.”
“And it was definitely Darsese?”
“I could not see his face. His head was down and his hair was in the way. But who else has hair like that?”
“Such long red hair.” She whispered the words, almost in a reverie.
“Yes.” A grin spread across her face.
“And you want my help to get Darsese out.” That smile was back, the one that made me think she knew something I did not. I was caught here. We needed her help but I had no wish to deal with her. Everything about her set me on edge.
“Yes.”
“Of course I will help. When?”
“Early tomorrow, before dawn. We expect the Landsmen to attack Rufra’s compound in the morning. While they do that a small group will storm the sepulchre. They are using magic, Arketh, and we do not think most of the Landsmen know what is happening there. If we can free Darsese and show him, then we think most of them will desert Fureth.”
“And you intend to make Darsese king once more?” That gleam in her eyes, the sense of a secret that amused her. How could I tell her that Rufra would hand over the only person she seemed to care about to the sorcerer hunters?
“Rufra will follow the rule of law,” I said.
She stared at me, the pupils of her eyes leaping around my face as if marking off the scars and creases that time had gifted me. Then she smiled, backing away.
“Where do you want my people?”
“In Ceadoc town. The Children of Arnst will move on Rufra from there and Festival will attack them from the rear. What help you can provide will be appreciated. Tell your men and women to wear bright colours if they have them. Anyone in black will risk taking an arrow or blade meant for the Children.”
“Very well.” She nodded, more to herself than to me. “But I come with you into the sepulchre.”
“No, it will he tight and hard fighting.”
“I know how to use a blade, Girton Club-Foot, and it is not negotiable. I go to where Darsese is.” I don’t know why this made me feel so uneasy. I did not doubt her commitment, it was writ on her face, but the feeling she hid something would not go away.
“They are your soldiers who will die in Ceadoc. You should lead them.”
“I care nothing for them, they will die for the cause. I go where Darsese is,” she said again, limbs stiff as if she thought making her body immovable would make her request the same. I did not want her with us. I only wanted people I trusted with me in the dark tunnels of Ceadoc Castle.
“Rufra will not allow it. He will only send those whose skills he knows and who have proven themselves.”
“Without me,” she said, “you will never get into the sepulchre. No doubt you can hold your breath and swim through the pools, Master Assassin, but how many with you would be capable of such a feat?” Her smile spread across her face and she clearly thought me outmanoeuvred.
“The pumps are working, and I know how to pull a lever.”
She laughed, delight spreading across her face.
“Oh, you think it is that simple, eh? You pull a lever and enter the Sepulchre of the Dead Gods? Did Neander tell you this?”
“No, he—”
“Neander has no idea how to get into the sepulchre. Why would he? The great Neander is unlikely to risk getting oil on his robes, eh?” With a sinking feeling I realised what she said made sense. “You need me to get in, Girton Club-Foot. The machines have secrets and I know more of Ceadoc’s secrets than any other.”
“Even Gamelon?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Almost any other, but I cannot imagine Gamelon going anywhere where there is a risk of a blade being pointed at him.” She held my gaze, waiting for my reply, and when I did not speak she did. “Well?”
I imagined what it would be like, being caught by the Landsmen in those dank tunnels, fighting a desperate rearguard while pulling on levers, trying to work out some code we did not know existed until the moment we came upon it. It was not a risk I could take.
“Very well. It seems we must take you with us or risk falling in the first charge.” She nodded.
“You will not regret this, Girton Club-Foot. I can hold a stabsword and shield with the best of them.”
“I do not doubt you are adept at killing, Arketh.”
She grinned at me and laughed, shaking her head and making the teeth entwined in her hair rattle.
“Battle is different, eh? Usually I am about drawing my deaths out for as long as possible. I will meet you at the Low Tower before first light.” I left the dungeon, sneaking back through the castle like a common thief and unable to shake the unpleasant, hollow feeling in my stomach that I had made a mistake that was sure to come back and haunt me.
Chapter 29
Twenty went into the sepulchre in the end and I do not think any of us expected to leave it. Aydor accompanied me, I asked him to bring Celot but he would not, saying Rufra needed more than just Dinay to guard him. Marrel ap Marrel’s Heartblade, Gonan, had come, together with three of his troops. Marrel’s sons had wanted to come but I had forbidden that too. The man had suffered enough heartbreak and his sons were safer in the Low Tower with him. I had also forbidden Dinay, the head of Rufra’s cavalry, from coming. She was formidable and would become more so given enough experience. If we didn’t get out with Darsese I trusted her and Celot to get Rufra and his family away from Ceadoc.
Vinwulf had volunteered to come with us, and I had supported him in it. Rufra said no, of course. The boy was a fighter but it would be nobody’s loss if he fell. Our numbers were made up with Rufra’s men and women and all carried his famous hornbows, capable of cutting through a shield, as well as longsword, stabsword and shield of their own. The plan had been for thirty but in the tight corridors it had been decided we would only get in each other’s way. I had even considered leaving all our equipment and going in fast, but without shields all it would take was a few well-trained crossbowyers or spearholders and we would be finished. The whole idea of this attack made me jittery. This was not how I was best used. I was quick and acrobatic. Forcing me into the position of shieldbearer where life depended on luck as much as skill felt wrong. But it was necessary, there were no others and, as Darsese was a sorcerer, skills I kept secret may well be all that kept us alive.
Rufra stood with Vinwulf by his side, watching as we prepared. The king was similarly jittery, pacing backwards and forwards before he sent us off into the darkness.
“Keep safe,” he said, walking up and down our small group as we smeared black panstick over our faces, the better to hide us. “What I have asked you to do is hard,” he said, “and I would go myself if Girton would let me.” Unconsciously, his hand went to his side. “But he will not. He is ever the protective one.” Grins went around our little group. “I hope to the dead gods that you can get in and out without being seen. If you are scared it is no shame, but if you worry that you may not succeed remember the birds of Xus,” he said. He suddenly had my full attention. It was rare for him to mention religion. “The birds came to protect Girton. Xus the unseen walks with him, and as such he walks with you but not for you.” He stepped in close to me and put a hand on my arm, his face drawn and serious. “Bring them back to me, Girton,” he
said, “and yourself, bring yourself back too. I need a friend at my side.”
I wondered at this sudden glimpse of the friend I had not seen for years, but when I looked into his eyes I saw the reason for it. I think he believed he sent us to our deaths in the labyrinth of Ceadoc. The Rufra I had known when I was younger would never have doubted, but this one was worn by difficulty and misfortune and I forced a smile on to my face.
“I shall do my best not to die,” I said. “It would ruin an otherwise pleasant day.”
“Good.” He clapped me on the arm, his smile returning. “You walk with the Chosen of Xus,” he shouted, “and as such I do not believe you can fail. Now go. Bring me back the high king and then we’ll scour Ceadoc of its filth.” There was the banging of hands of the inside of shields. It was brief—we did not want to attract attention—but it was heartfelt. Rufra gave us a sad nod.
“I’m more worried about Rufra than us,” whispered Aydor as we moved carefully along the base of the Low Tower. I glanced up at the walls.
“Aye, the Landsmen can rain down havoc from up there.”
“Not that,” said Aydor. “Rufra can stay in the tower. The Landsmen will have to draw him out if they really want him. I mean Vinwulf. That boy is hungry, you saw him with Fureth. I’ve seen him sneaking round Ceadoc. He feels his father’s leash keenly.”
“You think he would act against his father?”
“Possibly,” said Aydor. “I am not sure he is brave enough to act, but in the heat of battle if he thought he could get away with it? He has no love for his father, not like a child should.”
“I wish you had not told me this, Aydor.”
“That is why I wanted Celot to watch out for Rufra. The king will not fail us as long as Celot stands.”
“Then I would say Rufra is far safer than us.”
“No,” grinned Aydor and punched me on the arm. “You are the Chosen of Xus. We cannot fail.”
I started to laugh but it died in my mouth when I realised Aydor was deathly serious. I was about to tell him I was no one’s Chosen when I saw the faces of the men and women around me—all staring, all full of hope—and I realised it was not what any of them wanted to hear.