Arash-Felloren

by Roger Taylor

  ‘Move!’ came a muffled but unmistakably urgent instruction.

  As Atlon scrambled to his feet, the noises died away and, with a great deal of cursing and head-shaking, the traffic in the passage returned to normal.

  ‘What did you do?’ Atlon hissed as he set off again.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Dvolci’s head came a little way out of the top of the pack. ‘I was just trying them out as Sound Ways.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And they are – and they’re not. Not Sound Ways as I’ve ever known them. They’re more like a defence of some kind. Like the labyrinth protecting the Armoury back at the Castle.’

  ‘The noise out here was bad,’ Atlon confirmed, sympathetically.

  ‘You should’ve been in there,’ came a terse and heartfelt response. Dvolci’s tone indicated that he did not want to pursue the matter. Atlon was not certain, but he thought he could feel the felci shaking. In the end he decided it was his imagination; perhaps Dvolci was just scratching – but even the idea of Dvolci being afraid was unnerving.

  After a while, they came to a fork in the passage. Atlon chose the busiest branch again. ‘Pay attention to where we’re going, in case we have to leave in a hurry,’ he said, though more in an attempt to reassure himself that Dvolci was all right than anything else.

  ‘I am, I am,’ came the scornful reply. ‘You see you do the same. As I remember, you’re pretty poor at finding your way around underground, for one of your Learned Order.’

  Atlon smiled and ignored the jibe other than to hitch his pack roughly.

  As the passage wound on they passed several other junctions, each time choosing to follow that which seemed most populous. Atlon was unsure whether to feel pleased or alarmed when two people asked him where the main entrance was. He flicked a thumb vaguely backwards.

  Finally they emerged on to one of the terraces surrounding the arena. The sudden opening out should have brought relief after the dingy confines of the passage, but to Atlon it was as though he had stepped outside to find himself under a lowering and thunderous sky. Of its own volition, his hand came up and began circling his heart. He stopped when he realized what he was doing and returned his hand to his pocket uncomfortably.

  ‘Do it, if it’ll make you feel better.’ Dvolci had clambered onto his shoulder and was gazing around the huge hall, his nose twitching. ‘I’m not laughing.’ The gesture was gone but it had served its purpose, and Dvolci’s comment helped.

  ‘What in the name of all that’s precious is this place?’ Atlon whispered, looking up at the balconies looming overhead. The arches were like so many eyes – some dark and sightless, others squinting ominously, flickering with lamplight and shadows. They drew his gaze inexorably to the solitary crystal hanging from its barbed roots. It seemed to be pointing towards him, like an accusing finger.

  ‘His place, that’s what it is,’ Dvolci replied. ‘I shudder to think what it’s been used for. There were terrible sounds – old, old sounds – still lingering in that tunnel I went into, and worse beyond, I’m sure. That’s what made me cry out. I didn’t dare go in further. But it’s His place beyond a doubt.’

  Atlon could not disagree. His throat was dry and the building seemed to be trying to crush him. He straightened up in an attempt to throw off the feeling. ‘Where next?’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘Anywhere,’ Dvolci replied off-handedly. He bent close to Atlon’s ear. ‘But be careful – very careful…’

  Atlon raised a hand to silence him. ‘I know,’ he said. He was holding himself very still. ‘The least hint of my using the Power here will make me shine like a beacon to anyone with the eyes to see it. I can feel it now. This place was built for the likes of me.’ He closed his eyes. ‘It’s a trap.’

  A hand seized his elbow.

  Chapter 21

  Atlon started violently. As did the person who had seized his arm. They both hastily backed away from one another in a flurry of mutual apologizing.

  Atlon snatched off his hat and peered at his assailant.

  ‘Rinter?’ he asked, as face and name came together.

  ‘The late Rinter, nearly,’ came the reply, Rinter patting his chest earnestly. ‘You frightened me half to death, jumping like that.’ Atlon made another apologetic gesture, but Rinter was in a beneficent mood. ‘My fault, I suppose,’ he conceded. ‘I saw the hat and I thought, that’s got to be Atlon – better late than never. I should’ve seen how engrossed you were.’ He looked around proprietorially. ‘I don’t blame you. Nothing like this where you come from I’ll wager. Isn’t it magnificent? I always said it was worthy of better things, and now Barran’s in charge, it’ll get them. Great days are coming.’

  A burst of abuse behind them precluded Atlon’s answering and they both moved quickly to one side as three men staggered out of the passage carrying a bulky and apparently very heavy metal frame. After a brief and profane debate they disappeared into another passage. Rinter and Atlon watched them in silence.

  Rinter’s familiar face and agitated presence made Atlon feel less exposed, but he was still unhappy about lingering in this place and cut straight to the heart of his concern. ‘I heard it was a great success last night. What was that creature they had at the end?’

  ‘Oh, interested now, are we?’ Rinter could not resist this gentle jibe in the face of Atlon’s seeming enthusiasm. Atlon gave a non-committal shrug. Rinter became paternal. ‘A great success indeed – a first-class Loose Pit. But it wouldn’t have been suitable for your – felci, was it? I know he’s a tough little character, but the least of the animals fighting last night would have seen him off in seconds.’ He put an arm around Atlon’s shoulder and began leading him down towards the arena. ‘Still, don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to get him earning. They won’t be holding Loose Pits very often – fighting these animals too much spoils the market. Scarcity always adds value, doesn’t it?’ He lowered his voice confidentially. ‘But stick with me. There’s some big game going on. When we were here yesterday morning, no one had any idea of what was going to happen. Then, when I arrived in the evening…’ He gave Atlon a mildly reproachful look. ‘Searching for you; there it is – the place all lit up and bustling, crowds coming from everywhere. And for a Loose Pit to be set up so quickly, there’ve got to be considerable resources put to work.’ He gave Atlon a massively knowing look.

  ‘I’ve heard the Kyrosdyn had something to do with it,’ Atlon said, trying to ease the conversation back to the creature.

  Rinter looked rather surprised, then he became knowing again. ‘That’s the gossip,’ he said. ‘Though it’s unlikely ever to be more than that. I told you yesterday, the Kyrosdyn are a strange lot. What they do is what they do, and the rest of us are best keeping away from them.’

  As anxious to escape from the topic as Atlon was to pursue it, he was torn between boasting about his re-established contact with Fiarn through his friendship with Pinnatte, and straightforward curiosity about Atlon. The latter won. Despite the excitement of the last day, business was business. He still had a living to make and he was certain that the felci could do well for him if he handled it correctly. ‘Where did you get to yesterday?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘Did you get lost? I was quite concerned about you. The city’s not the safest of places for strangers.’

  ‘I got a job,’ Atlon replied.

  With commendable control, Rinter confined himself to a simple, ‘Oh?’ rather than, ‘Not in a damned Kyrosdyn workshop, I hope,’ which is what sprang immediately to mind.

  ‘With a blacksmith – doing his leatherwork and harness repairs,’ Atlon offered.

  ‘Good, I’m glad,’ Rinter lied. ‘As I said, I was concerned about you. It’ll help keep you going until something better comes along.’

  ‘That’s where I heard the gossip,’ Atlon went on, tapping his ear. ‘And when I heard about last night’s performance – especially the creature at the end – I had to get along and see for myself. Is it possible to view the an
imal?’

  The question took Rinter aback.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘All the animals have gone now. They’re usually taken away after the show – if they’re fit to be moved, that is.’

  Atlon looked disappointed. ‘Well, tell me about it then. What did it look like? I must have had half a dozen descriptions, all different. Where did it come from? And who’d own a thing like that?’

  They had reached the edge of the arena. Despite concentrating on prising information from Rinter, Atlon could feel the solitary crystal high above his head, seemingly focusing the attention of the entire hall on his unwanted and treacherous presence. Instinctively he replaced his hat. Rinter gave a cursory description of the creature which confirmed what Atlon had already heard, then ended with a short homily. ‘It’s not a good idea to ask who owns particular animals when it’s not been announced by the Master of the Pit. Some people are very sensitive about their privacy.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to cause any offence,’ Atlon said hastily.

  ‘It’s all right between you and me,’ Rinter assured him. ‘No harm done. But a careless question in the wrong place can land you in trouble.’ He became confidential again and slipped in his boast. ‘Even I don’t know who that creature belonged to, and I was talking to Fiarn last night – Barran’s second-in-command. But for what it’s worth, I’d say it belonged to the Kyrosdyn.’ Resting his elbow on the parapet wall at the edge of the arena, he placed his hand casually over his mouth and spoke behind it. ‘And I’d say it was something they’ve brought up from the caves.’

  ‘Does that happen a lot?’

  ‘Who can say?’ Rinter replied. ‘As I said, Loose Pits aren’t all that common – and I don’t get to many of them. But I’ve seen some strange things come and go. Nasty things, to be honest, some of them. And I’ve heard of worse.’

  Atlon strove to look impressed but he was disappointed by the turn in the conversation. It would be pointless pressing Rinter further about the creature and probably downright foolish to ask how he might gain access to the caves to see for himself. But Rinter was still his best hope for further information.

  ‘I hear there were people hurt last night,’ he said. ‘Something to do with the gate – I saw it being repaired.’

  Rinter nodded significantly, fully centre-stage now. This would enthral Atlon and keep the felci nearby. ‘I was in the thick of it,’ he declared earnestly. ‘Thought my last moment had come at one stage. Dog escaped from the Pit, you see. Caused a panic on the terraces and a crush in the entrance hall. Only one small gate open.’ He relived the moment, gesticulating. ‘Then, Pinnatte – that’s my friend – just reaches up, clambers on to the shoulders of the people in front, runs across the top of the crowd, squeezes over the fence and opens the gate.’ He blew out a noisy breath. ‘You should have heard the din when the gates flew open – I’m not surprised they got damaged. Then I was being pulled along without my feet touching the floor. Good thing I was near the edge or I’d have been carried halfway down the street before I got free, otherwise.’ Unexpectedly the re-telling disturbed him, bringing back the incident to him with peculiar vividness. He drew his hand across his forehead and shivered.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Atlon asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Rinter replied with forced heartiness.

  ‘Your friend was very brave. Did he get hurt at all, in the crush?’

  ‘The gate threw him to one side, clear of the crowd. All he got was a bang on the head and a cut hand.’ Rinter bore Pinnatte’s injuries with great fortitude. Sensing that he had Atlon almost hooked, he tugged the line gently to draw him in further. ‘He had a disturbed night though – bad dreams and all, but…’ and, as if inspired, ‘… I’ll introduce you to him if you like.’

  Anxious to be away from this fearful place with its feeling of focused oppression, Atlon took the bait happily. ‘Didn’t you say this Barran was some kind of a bandit – a criminal?’ he said as they walked along yet another winding passage. ‘How’s he come to be in charge of a place like this?’

  Rinter looked at him sharply, then glanced around nervously, as though someone might be listening. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I think you must have misunderstood me. Barran’s a businessman – a distinguished and successful businessman. He’s quite… robust… in the way he works – he’s known for it – but he’ll have come by this place in the normal way of things. More I couldn’t say. I might know Fiarn, but that doesn’t make me Barran’s confidant.’

  Sensing his error, Atlon remained silent until eventually they came to the room in which Pinnatte had awakened after his collapse. Subsequently he had spent the night there. The door was open and Pinnatte could be seen sitting on the edge of the couch which had served him as a bed. He was gazing down at his feet. Two large, ill-favoured individuals stood by the door. They acknowledged Rinter curtly but moved to intercept Atlon.

  ‘He’s a friend,’ Rinter declared confidently. The two men exchanged a glance then slowly stood aside, leaving a small gap for Atlon to pass through. As he did, smiling uncomfortably, one of them rested two fingers on his chest and said, ‘Keep your hands where we can see them, friend.’ He laid an emphasis on the last word which indicated that Rinter’s intervention really counted for nothing. Atlon exuded timidity. The two men moved into the room after him and took up positions on each side of the door.

  ‘How’re you feeling now?’ Rinter was asking Pinnatte. ‘I see Barran’s looking after you.’ He nodded towards the two guards.

  Atlon looked at the young man. Though he had a natural curiosity about the person whose bravery had saved so many lives, he had stayed with Rinter predominantly because he wished to remain in the building with a view to learning about the creature. When Pinnatte looked up to reply to Rinter, however, Atlon felt as though he had been struck. Instantly, he was back with his few companions on the rain-swept battlefield, sixteen years ago, their meagre line stretched to hitherto unknown limits, but holding at bay the awful forces whose unseen and mysterious touch would smash the ranks of the struggling army utterly if they faltered. Pinnatte seemed to be at the centre of a disturbance of a kind such as Atlon had only known on that day. He was both there and not there – of this world and in many others – a conjunction that should not be possible…

  Long training held Atlon motionless – gave him a little time to absorb the shock of what he was sensing, without betraying anything to those around him. Long training too, enabled him to quell his deeper instincts which rose up screaming for him to use the Power to protect himself. Inconspicuously, he took control of his breathing, forcing himself towards calmness. After scarcely four heartbeats an incongruous frisson of pride seeped into the racing thoughts that were seeking an explanation for what was happening here. He had given not the slightest indication of his knowledge of the Power in the face of this revelation. He had survived!

  It did little to lessen his terror however.

  For there was no control here. Unlike the Kyrosdyn that Atlon had encountered the previous day, Pinnatte was obviously not a conscious source of the disturbance. He was more a gateway, though the word ‘rent’ came to him – an accidental tear.

  With an effort, Atlon succeeded in easing away from his questions. Training again told him that logic alone was, for the moment, inappropriate. Now all he could do was observe. It was not easy. At one moment it seemed that he and Pinnatte were the only solid things in the room, all else becoming vague and hazy, like a hesitant sketch for a painting. At another it was Pinnatte who was unreal and distant, a thing that did not belong in this reality without great hurt being done somewhere.

  He became aware of Dvolci’s head by his ear, whistling urgently but very softly. Reaching up, he touched him gently, simultaneously giving assurance and taking support.

  ‘What’s that in your pack, friend?’

  It took Atlon a moment to realize what the words meant, they were so garbled and raucous as they crashed into his heightened awareness. It was
the emphasis on ‘friend’ that told him it was the guard who had accosted him at the door.

  When he replied, he had to force out each word as though he were speaking a language totally alien to his own. ‘Just a travelling companion,’ he managed, though his voice rang strange in his own ears. He was aware of a scornful laugh and a coarse exchange going on behind him in response, but it was as meaningless as the rattle of branches in a wind-shaken tree.

  Pinnatte was speaking. ‘I’m not sure how I feel,’ came the words. Atlon clung to them to keep his mind clearly in this room. ‘One minute I’m fine – the next, I don’t know. I’m somewhere else. And I keep thinking about that dream. I…’ He stopped and looked away, distracted. Atlon felt as though he were facing a great wind.

  Rinter looked helplessly at Pinnatte. ‘Have you seen Barran yet?’ he asked with that concerned, patronizing tone that the uncertain well use to the bewildered sick.

  Pinnatte shook his head though he did not seem to be listening.

  Atlon heard himself asking, ‘What kind of dream was it?’

  Pinnatte turned to him, painfully slowly. To Atlon, the movement seemed to be tearing through reality itself. He offered his gaze as an anchor. Pinnatte took it. Atlon noticed that the young man’s eyes were black.

  ‘What kind of dream was it?’ he asked again.

  ‘This is Atlon,’ Rinter said, glad to be free of the initiative. ‘The man I was looking for last night when we met, remember? I told you – with the big hat and the felci.’ He pointed to Dvolci peering out of Atlon’s pack. ‘That’s him. A fine animal. You should’ve seen him sort out Ghreel’s dog up at The Wyndering.’

  Atlon took off his hat and held out his hand. The disturbance about Pinnatte was diminishing. He took the offered hand. Then the disturbance was almost completely gone – reduced to little more than a mildly irritating fly buzzing about the room. Pinnatte smiled.

  ‘The dream?’ Atlon reminded him.

  Pinnatte frowned. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he said.