by Roger Taylor
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said while we ate. About this perhaps being my journey’s end. I’m torn. One minute I think, yes, there’s nothing else I can do. Pinnatte’s undoubtedly near the heart of something awful, something I’m sure will spread far beyond Arash-Felloren, even if the Kyrosdyn themselves don’t seem to realize it yet. But he’s gone beyond where I can reach him, in almost every sense. Then I hear my companions – my Elders – questioning me, and I hear myself blabbering, “I don’t know this, I don’t know that.” And while they wouldn’t reproach me, I’d know I was letting them down – letting many people down – people who might have to go out and face whatever it is the Kyrosdyn are intending.’
Heirn looked at him sympathetically. ‘I can see your problem,’ he said. ‘But I honestly don’t know what else you can do. If you talked to the Prefect’s people about it, they’d probably lock you up as a lunatic. Of course you’d be able to walk away while they were looking for forms to complete, but that’s beside the point. And the Weartans wouldn’t do anything, except perhaps make inquiries into the death of the Novice, and that would only bring you to the attention of the Kyrosdyn, which is precisely what you don’t want. And as for me helping you, I’m just a smith trying to earn a living, but board, lodge and wages are yours for as long as you want to work.’
Atlon looked at him guiltily. ‘I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done for us. I shudder to think what predicaments I’d have landed myself in by now if I hadn’t met you. But I can’t allow you to become too closely involved with me. I could be dangerous.’
Heirn raised a hand to stop him. ‘Have you had enough to eat?’ he demanded.
Atlon slapped his stomach and puffed out his cheeks by way of reply. Then he put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands thoughtfully. ‘I don’t have any choice about this,’ he said. ‘Your advice is sound. This should be the end of my journey. It’s a logical conclusion, given the facts. But whatever’s happening here could well overtake me before I get home. I can’t walk away from it.’
‘But…’
‘No choice, Heirn. No choice. I’ve had none since I first came here. Somehow I have to find out what’s happened to Pinnatte and what the Kyrosdyn are up to, no matter what it costs. It’s just unfortunate that it’s going to be harder now. If the worst comes to the worst, Dvolci will get a message back home.’
Heirn frowned. ‘We’ve discussed this already. How are you going to deal with Pinnatte? Not only will he not want you there, but he’ll probably be surrounded by Barran’s people. I really don’t know how dangerous the Kyrosdyn are with their crystals and Power, but Barran’s people are dangerous in the good old-fashioned way. They’d slit your throat and drop you in an alley as soon as look at you.’ He jabbed his forefinger into the table for emphasis.
‘I thought that would be the case from what I’ve heard of Barran, so I’ll go straight to the Vaskyros.’
As Heirn’s mouth dropped open there was a crash at the other end of the room, and a wild-eyed figure burst through the door.
Chapter 25
‘Welcome,’ the raven said. The man started away from it violently then, crouching low, he stared blearily round at the watching diners.
‘Just a drunk,’ Heirn said casually, but nevertheless pushing his chair back so that he would be able to move quickly if necessary as Elda began to speak to the newcomer.
‘I’m not sure,’ Atlon said. ‘He looks more petrified than drunk.’
Then, Elda was leaning over the counter, shouting and pointing towards the door.
‘Go on, man, go on,’ Heirn muttered softly. ‘You’re making a mistake.’ He was narrowing his eyes as if in anticipation. Suddenly the man lunged threateningly towards Elda. As he reached the counter, Elda leaned backwards, then her right hand described a wide vertical circle and an incongruous bell-like sound filled the room as a large pan struck the man on the head. He slithered to the floor. Atlon cringed in response, as did most of the spectators, though their recovery was quite rapid and Elda was almost immediately regaled with an enthusiastic burst of applause. She raised the pan in triumphant acknowledgement.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ Heirn said to Atlon.
‘Come on,’ Dvolci said excitedly, clambering roughly over Atlon’s lap and running after the smith as he threaded his way through the tables. With some reluctance, Atlon followed him.
‘Look at this.’ Elda was waving the pan at Heirn indignantly. ‘You’re making them too thin.’
Glancing down as he stepped over the fallen figure, Heirn took the pan and examined it. He shook his head. ‘If I made them any thicker, you’d kill someone,’ he said firmly.
Elda’s mouth moued into a denial but she confined herself to a grunt and a scowl.
‘He’s all right.’
It was Atlon. During the exchange about the pan, he had been examining Elda’s victim. ‘But Heirn’s right – your pans are thick enough.’ The man confirmed Atlon’s diagnosis by groaning.
Elda nodded to Heirn who bent down and, wrinkling his nose, seized the man by the scruff of the neck. ‘Come on, my lad,’ he said, dragging him upright. ‘Out you go. And don’t pick on a defenceless woman next time.’
As he opened the door to eject the man, the noise that washed into the room was no longer that of the usual clamour of a busy street; now there was uproar. Still supporting the intruder, Heirn cautiously moved up the steps until he could see what was happening. Atlon and several of the other diners followed him.
The traffic in the street was in even greater confusion than before, for running through it, regardless of riders, vehicles, and pedestrians, were men and women as ragged and unkempt as the one that Elda had just felled. And the warm night air was full of angry voices. From where he was standing, Atlon could see a score of violent arguments, several loose horses, and at least two carriages resting on their sides.
‘What’s happening?’ he gasped. ‘Who are these people?’
Heirn shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he replied, adding softly, ‘but can you use that sword you’re wearing?’ He withdrew his free hand from his pocket. It was decorated with a heavy set of iron knuckles.
Atlon looked alarmed. ‘I can use it after a fashion, if I have to, but what’s going on?’
‘They look like Tunnellers,’ Heirn said. He wrinkled his nose again. ‘They smell like Tunnellers.’ He shook Elda’s victim. ‘What’re you all doing up here?’ he demanded.
The man, recovered now, though holding his head, yanked himself free. His eyes were wide with fear. ‘We’re not hurting anyone. Leave us alone! We don’t want to be here, but we can’t stay down there.’
‘He’s terrified,’ Atlon said. ‘He’s trembling from head to foot. Do they normally come out on to the streets like this?’
Heirn shook his head. ‘They come up to beg now and then, and they can be a nuisance. But I’ve never seen anything like this.’ He made to interrogate the man again, but Atlon laid a restraining hand on his arm.
The noise from the crowd rose and Atlon had to shout to make himself heard as he addressed the man directly. ‘What’s happened? What’s frightened you? Why’ve so many of you left your… homes… to come out on to the streets?’
The man opened his mouth several times before he managed to speak. ‘There’s something down there. Something awful. In the shadows. It’s killing people. Killing and killing.’ He clamped his hands to his ears. ‘The screaming. I can still hear it – echoing and echoing. It’s everywhere. You can’t tell where it’s coming from. Is it ahead – or behind?’ He clutched at Heirn. ‘There’s nowhere to hide. Then it howls. Whatever it is, it howls.’ He began swinging his head from side to side frantically. ‘It’s not something anyone should hear. It’s something out of a nightmare.’ Then, with two sudden strides, he was gone, lost in the confusion.
Heirn and Atlon exchanged a look but did not speak.
‘What was he talking about?’
I
t was Elda, standing just below Heirn on the stairs. She was hefting her bent pan.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Heirn replied. ‘It’s probably a… flood, or… foul air.’
‘A flood! After this summer?’
‘I don’t know,’ Heirn insisted, though with a hint of irritability that he did not intend. ‘Who knows how these people think – how they live.’ He put an apologetic arm on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, there can’t be all that many of them. Atlon and I will stay here until things quieten down. You look after your customers.’
Temporarily mollified, Elda descended the stairs ushering everyone vigorously before her. As they disappeared behind the glass doors the faint sound of ‘Welcome’ drifted up through the general din.
But Heirn was wrong. Although the first rush of people gradually dissipated, carriages were righted, horses recovered, and fights and quarrels noisily abandoned, more and more Tunnellers kept moving along the street. Their presence became like a miasma, muffling and subduing the bustling liveliness that had previously marked the scene. After watching them for only a short time, Atlon was appalled. Though he had seen many things that distressed him in the short time since he had arrived in Arash-Felloren, nothing had prepared him for the sight of so many wretched individuals. Some were obviously strutting thugs, but it needed no skilled healer’s eye to measure the pervasive weakness that typified most of them; the blank, frightened and lost expressions, and, for many of them, malnutrition verging on starvation.
‘This is awful, Heirn,’ he said soberly. ‘How can people be allowed to live like this?’
Heirn did not reply for a long time, and his voice was unsteady when he did. ‘They choose it,’ he said, but everything about him told Atlon that the comment was at best a half-truth and that Heirn knew it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Atlon said. ‘It’s not my place to offer reproach.’
Heirn’s jaw was set. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said very softly. ‘It’s everyone’s place.’
They stood in the silence for some time, then Dvolci gently whistled in Atlon’s ear. Atlon shook himself out of his dark reverie. He was already facing tasks that were probably beyond him. Fretting about the lot of the Tunnellers when he could do nothing about it was a self-indulgence he could not afford. He must concentrate on those matters that he could do something about. The decision hurt him however.
Looking around to ensure that no one in the immediate vicinity might overhear him, he said, ‘It must be that creature – the Serwulf. The damned thing’s loose.’
‘“It took me hunting. I could hear prey screaming”.’ Heirn’s voice was flat as he echoed Pinnatte’s words. ‘I didn’t really know what to think about your creature before but, bad or not, the Tunnellers make their own lives and they don’t come out except when need drives them. It must be something truly awful down there for this to happen. What can we do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Atlon said. ‘With each turn of events, things seem to get worse.’ He straightened up. ‘But they also become clearer. I can’t reach Pinnatte, and even if I could find the Serwulf and kill it – which is debatable, to say the least – what end would it serve? None. The heart of the troubles here lies with the Kyrosdyn and, thrash about as I might, that’s where I’ll have to seek an answer.’
Heirn turned to him sharply and pointed to the door below. ‘I’d forgotten in all this confusion. Did you really say you were going to the Vaskyros?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘Are you mad? Didn’t you say they’d know about your… abilities… with the Power? Sense it in you in some way?’
‘It’s a risk,’ Atlon replied, feigning a casualness he did not feel. ‘But I should be able to hide it from them. I’ve faced worse by far. And I’m not without resources.’
Heirn looked extremely doubtful. ‘But you still can’t just walk up to the gate and start asking questions.’
Atlon thought for a moment. ‘Why not?’ he decided. ‘What else would a traveller from another land do – a traveller who was interested in the working of crystals as part of his trade, and who’d heard of the famous Kyrosdyn from far away?’
‘You’re crazy.’
Atlon’s fear balled up and threatened to overwhelm him. When he spoke his voice was hoarse with it. ‘Don’t, Heirn, please. I’m frightened enough. Just help me to do what I’ve got to do.’
‘Help you to commit suicide, you mean.’
‘No, damn it. I’ve every intention of staying alive.’ Atlon paused. ‘But just be here for Dvolci if something goes wrong. Take him – and my horse – to the road north of The Wyndering. They’ll be all right from there. Then keep an eye on what’s happening in the city and help my friends if they come looking for me.’ He gazed at Heirn earnestly. ‘Will you do that for me?’
Heirn met his gaze unhappily. ‘Of course I will, but…’
‘No buts, Heirn. Nothing that’ll weaken my resolve.’ He stared into the crowds passing by, larded now with Tunnellers, wandering aimlessly, like terrified grey ghosts. ‘I think I’d like to go back to your home now and rest. I’ll need to prepare myself before…’ His voice tailed off.
Heirn nodded. ‘Let me say good night to Elda then we’ll get back,’ he said.
As they returned to Heirn’s they passed a great many Tunnellers. Some of them were begging and were of a vicious demeanour, but Heirn’s size and determined stride kept them at bay. The majority, however, were as Atlon had noted before, sad and weary creatures, most of them looking for a dark corner to lie down in. Fear radiated from all of them.
‘A long way from their homes,’ Atlon said, half to himself.
Heirn ignored the remark. ‘There’ll be trouble if they’re still wandering the streets tomorrow,’ he said.
‘Then there’ll be trouble,’ Atlon said resignedly. ‘If that is a Serwulf loose in the tunnels, and everything we’ve heard indicates that it is, it’ll be getting stronger by the minute. No one will go back down there.’
‘They’ll get no choice,’ Heirn replied. ‘The Prefect will set the Weartans on them to make sure they do, because if he doesn’t, there’s a score of merchants that’ll turn their own mercenaries on to them once they look like affecting trade. And past experience shows that it’s difficult to confine mercenaries to what they’re supposed to be doing once they’ve banded together.’
‘From what I know about the Serwulf, I think you’ll find all these people will die where they stand before they’ll risk facing one again.’
Heirn was openly disparaging. ‘It’s only an animal,’ he said. ‘You want to see a Weartan Renewal Squadron in action. That’s something that no-one’ll stand against. The Tunnellers will be scuttling back at the first hint of one of those being let loose.’
‘I don’t know whether to hope you’re right or wrong,’ Atlon said. ‘But I fear you’re wrong. I fear you’re going to have trouble on your streets soon.’
Heirn shrugged. ‘There’s always trouble on the streets. Why do you think I carry these?’ He thrust his iron-clad knuckles in front of Atlon’s face. ‘But it’s not worth worrying about. Generally speaking, so long as you can hear it coming, you can run away from it.’
The observation brought Atlon back to his own dark concerns and the two men made the rest of the journey in silence.
* * * *
That same night, with Rinter left to hover outside a closed and guarded door, a breathless Pinnatte finally met Barran. The preliminaries to the encounter were comparatively brief, Barran still being occupied with the take-over of the Jyolan and the consideration of its future. Almost all the provisional plans he had made for it in the past were being dashed aside by what he was discovering about the place, not least the Mirror Room. Though he was not by nature given to idle speculation, it still both puzzled and troubled him to learn that the Kyrosdyn had not used such a remarkable asset. As it was, he had spent more time than he knew he properly should, just sitting in the room and thinking, sifting through the innumerable possibilities that it offered for the fu
rther advancement of his power and influence within the city.
He was only a little taller than Pinnatte but his heavier and more muscular presence made him seem much taller to the young street thief.
‘You’re one of Lassner’s, are you?’ he began.
Pinnatte remembered what Ellyn had whispered to him just minutes earlier. ‘You’d be best advised to run away to another part of the city and find honest work for yourself, young man. But I can see you’re not going to pay any heed to that advice, so if you’re bent on being bound to my husband rather than being free, stand up straight and answer clearly when he speaks to you. Don’t be insolent, but do try, at least, to look him in the eye.’
Pinnatte found the latter very difficult – Barran’s gaze had crushed stronger by far than he – but he did manage to stand straight and answer promptly.
‘Yes, I am, sir.’
Barran maintained his stare, looking up and down Pinnatte as though he were a piece of furniture he was contemplating buying. Then he sat down behind a desk and, after a brisk but impatient search, retrieved something from one of the drawers. He dropped it on to the top of the desk. It was a small money bag. Without lifting his wrist from the desk, he unlaced the bag with one hand and emptied out the contents. It was an unexpectedly dexterous movement and particularly caught Pinnatte’s attention. Coins glittered in the lamplight, one of them rolling a little way, another spinning on its edge. Barran casually stopped the rolling coin but let the other spin. Pinnatte watched as the coin turned imperceptibly from a spinning sphere into a quivering disc which seemed to stretch time itself as it gradually rattled into a distant silence. A silence which filled the room.