Arash-Felloren

by Roger Taylor

  Rostan felt what he thought of as the will of the building close about him as soon as he passed under the arch. But it was different today – very different. Whereas normally it was little more than a frisson of unease, it was now almost palpable. He seemed to sense countless eyes watching him, even studying him. More alarmingly, he noted, there was a marked aura of danger about Pinnatte. For a moment he thought that it was the strange Power returned, but it was not emanating from Pinnatte. Rather it was as though the building was reaching out to protect him.

  Questions about the Anointing returned, demanding attention, but a deeper instinct told Rostan simply that he must concentrate on carefully handling Pinnatte. And he must get out of here as soon as possible.

  Pinnatte was striding out confidently. People stepped out of his way. Rostan noted that he did not hesitate as he negotiated the many junctions and branches that they passed. Though he knew the building quite well, he could not have walked through it so purposefully, yet this man – this abomination – who had been here only two days at the most seemed to know the place as if he had been born here. It reinforced Rostan’s growing feeling that Pinnatte and the building were connected in some way.

  Then, an unexpected concern began to make itself felt. The route they were following was vaguely familiar though he knew it was one which he had not taken for a long time. As he began to remember it, the knot of fear which had tangled in his stomach as soon as he had confronted Pinnatte, tightened. Somewhere around here was the accursed heart of this place: the room whose purpose both mystified and terrified the Kyrosdyn – the Mirror Room. Rostan’s mouth went dry. He was about to touch the crystals at his neck for sustenance, when an inner voice warned him against it.

  ‘The Room and all the Mirror Ways that feed it should be destroyed,’ had been the common cry raised by Kyrosdyn through the ages. But what if its creator had indeed been Sammrael? Who could say what purpose such a place would serve? And who would perform such a task? And how? What might happen if the intricate pathways of the endlessly reflecting images were disturbed? What chance scatterings, refractions, splittings might occur, what terrible conjunctions and resonances might come together to slice through this reality and open uncontrollable gateways into…?

  Despite himself, Rostan ran his hand across his forehead. This was no time to be bothering about that old and intractable dilemma.

  In the end, just as they had vaguely allowed the Jyolan to become a rather tawdry asset far from the centre of their main concerns, the Kyrosdyn, as much by default as any conscious decision, had opted for ignoring the Mirror Room. It was something that someone else could deal with – at some unspecified time in the future.

  The nearer they drew to it, the more uneasy Rostan became.

  Ironically, it was Pinnatte who spared him any further torment. Coming to the last junction before the passage that led to the Mirror Room, he stopped the small procession. The Mirror Room was obviously of importance to Barran, and Pinnatte was still sufficiently in command of his thoughts to realize that he would probably not appreciate that interest being casually exposed to anyone else, specially the Kyrosdyn.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘If he’s where I think he is, he mightn’t want to be disturbed, but I’ll tell him you’re here.’

  Barran looked surprised when he opened the door in response to Pinnatte’s knock. ‘You’re early,’ he said.

  Too flustered to be tactful, Pinnatte flatly contradicted him, then blurted out his tale, almost incoherently. ‘No, I’m late, I’m afraid. I’m sorry. But some Kyrosdyn Brother stopped me in the street. He’s waiting along the passage. He wants me to go to the Vaskyros to see Imorren. I told him I’d have to ask you first. He says he knows you. He…’

  Barran blinked owlishly and lifted a hand to stop him. ‘Some Kyrosdyn says he wants to takeyou to Imorren?’ he said with amused disbelief. ‘He has a name does he, this Brother?’

  ‘Rostan.’

  Barran’s manner changed abruptly and the amusement vanished. He hissed something under his breath, then took Pinnatte’s arm in a powerful grip. ‘I’ll tell you this once, Pinnatte. Learn it! I’ve little sense of humour at the best of times, and none at the moment. Whatever you’re…’

  Alarmed, Pinnatte pointed with his free arm. ‘He told me he was called Rostan. He’s back there – go and see. I told him to wait. I didn’t think you’d want him to know where you were.’

  Barran hesitated, darker thoughts forming. Pinnatte didn’t seem to be lying, but was he perhaps being used unknowingly by others? Others, taking advantage of the confusion surrounding the transfer of the Jyolan to catch him unawares?

  Discreetly he checked his various knives, then he dismissed all other concerns from his mind. Had he made a mistake? He was alone in this part of the building and, even if he were loyal, this street thief would be no use if assassins had come. ‘Do you know who Rostan is?’ he asked. Pinnatte shook his head. ‘He’s the Highest of the Order – second only to Imorren herself. Now why would such a man want anything to do with you?’

  His alarm now turned to fear by the subtle changes in Barran’s demeanour, Pinnatte told him a modified version of his encounter with Rostan. ‘I took his purse by mistake the other day, and his bodyguard knocked me about a bit even though I gave it back. He just met me in the street to apologize. Said he’d been looking for me. Said Imorren wanted to make sure I was all right, as well.’

  Barran shook his head as if he had just found himself in the middle of a strange dream. Rostan, apologize! Imorren concerned for a street thief! It was impossible. But it was also too ludicrous a tale to be used as a lure to draw him into an ambush. And still nothing about Pinnatte indicated that he was lying. What had this Den-Mate been up to? Had he really done something to attract the attention of Rostan and Imorren? If so, it couldn’t be anything trivial, yet, equally, it couldn’t be too serious, or he’d have quietly disappeared by now. He set the questions aside, took a deep breath, and shook his shoulders to loosen them. When he spoke to Pinnatte he was a mercenary again, looking to make the most of an inadequate ally.

  ‘I think someone’s deceiving you, Pinnatte, but come with me. If there’s trouble, keep out of it, you’ll get in my way. Just run for help. Do you understand?’

  Pinnatte nodded. ‘Run for help,’ he echoed.

  ‘Now, tell meexactly where this Rostan is.’

  Pinnatte told him, volunteering, ‘There’s three bodyguards with him.’

  Barran cursed silently. In the confusion of taking over this place he’d let basic precautions slip away. That would end today – if he lived! But, too, Pinnatte’s information was odd. Four men would simply have followed him and struck as soon as the door had been opened.

  He patted Pinnatte’s arm reassuringly then motioned him to lead on.

  As they neared the waiting group, Barran called out, almost jovially, ‘Step more into the light, Rostan.’

  Rostan raised his hands in an apologetic gesture and did as he was asked, at the same time telling his bodyguards to move well back.

  ‘Wait here,’ Barran said to Pinnatte in a reciprocal gesture.

  Reaching Rostan, Barran greeted him with heavily feigned warmth, but made no attempt to disguise his genuine surprise. ‘What’s this Pinnatte tells me?’ he began. ‘The Ailad sends the Highest to seek out our hero?’

  ‘Hero?’ Rostan queried, obviously at a loss.

  Barran looked at him intently. ‘He’s the one who opened the gate the other night. Saved us a lot of problems, not to mention the lives of some of my friends.’

  He gave some significance to the last remark to announce that Pinnatte was under his protection.

  Still unsettled by what he had found in Pinnatte and by the heightened aura of the Jyolan, Rostan found himself unable even to make an attempt at diplomacy other than to glance round to ensure that Pinnatte and the bodyguards were out of earshot. ‘I know nothing about that,’ he said coldly. ‘This man is needed by Imorren on a Kyr
osdyn matter. A serious matter. It’s in your best interests to tell him he can come with us, now.’

  Barran was surprised at this bluntness, but he was in no mood to be addressed thus and he replied in like manner. ‘What possible Kyrosdyn matter could a street thief be involved in? He told me some wild tale about being beaten after taking your purse and you wanting to apologize. If he’s still got something of yours I’ll get it for you, but I’m obligated to him and he’s doing important work for me. He goes nowhere until I know what’s going on.’

  Barran’s manner forced Rostan to compose himself. He tried to retreat into reasonableness, giving an elaborate shrug and becoming confidential. ‘It’s to do with that incident, Barran,’ he said. ‘You see, it was witnessed by a lot of people – including some of the Prefect’s agents.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And, unfortunately, someone in the crowd saw fit to… air… the word, Kyroscreft.’ He coughed uncomfortably. ‘The difficulty is, we’re involved in some delicate negotiations with the Prefect at the moment, and the incident’s causing us… problems.’ He fell silent and met Barran’s searching gaze with a look of his own appealing for understanding, one businessman to another. ‘So we need the young man just to confirm that nothing untoward happened and that it was merely a… typical street quarrel.’

  Barran did not reply immediately. Rostan’s tale chimed with Pinnatte’s and had a convincing air about it. The Kyrosdyn were always negotiating with someone – as was he – and the consequences of the cry ‘Kyroscreft!’ going up would indeed be a problem for them… and many others as well. Nevertheless, he was fairly certain that Rostan was lying. The spectacular ineptitude of his initial approach had given that away. What Pinnatte could have done to bring the likes of Rostan and Imorren down on him, he could not imagine, but he knew he was not going to find out unless Rostan specifically wanted him to know. And, given such an appeal, it was virtually impossible for him to refuse Rostan’s request. However, he was growing to like the young thief and he was genuinely indebted to him for his actions at the Loose Pit.

  He signalled Pinnatte to come forward. Putting a protective arm around his shoulders he said, ‘I want you to go with Rostan, Pinnatte. The Kyrosdyn need our help with something and we always look to help one another whenever possible. It shouldn’t take long.’ He looked at Rostan. ‘Make sure he’s back before sunset. Apart from the work he’s doing for me, the Prefect’s insisted we hold a celebration for what he did. He’s hoping to be here himself.’

  He became proprietorial. ‘Pinnatte’s the talk of the Noble Houses and the Trading Combines already. He’s become very famous. People are queuing up to meet him.’

  There was a little truth in what he was saying, but with no idea what the Kyrosdyn really wanted of Pinnatte, it was the only protection he could offer him. It was also probably the best, openness and public knowledge being the biggest hindrances to the compulsively secret dealings of the Kyrosdyn – as they were to his own.

  Reassured, Pinnatte left the Jyolan with Rostan. Throughout the incident he had been suffering conflicting emotions. Beneath his alarm at Barran’s first response, and the general uncertainty about Rostan, there had been bubbling a monstrous anger. It was not right that he be treated so. Those who offended thus should be struck down without pity. And more than once he had felt the blow forming within him.

  Even as he reflected on these responses, he knew they were still there, an almost continuous undertow to everything he did now.

  And Rostan felt something too. The Pinnatte whom he had encountered in the street had been frightening enough, but the brief sojourn in the Jyolan seemed to have made him even more disturbing; the strange power in him washed to and fro without any semblance of reason or order. It occurred to him, very strongly, that the Kyrosdyn’s neglect of the Jyolan over the years might have been a serious mistake, and he resolved to speak to Imorren about it as soon as an opportunity presented itself.

  They walked on in silence for a long time, Pinnatte and Rostan wrapped in thought, and the bodyguards forming a discreet triangle about them. It was Pinnatte however, who came out of his reverie first, as years on the street told him something was amiss. He looked round quickly, but could see nothing. The bodyguard Gariak picked up his movement.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, stepping alongside him.

  Even as he spoke, Pinnatte saw the cause. ‘Tunnellers,’ he said. ‘Everywhere.’ As he recognized them, deep inside he felt the angry cry, ‘Prey!’ and a sense of raging frustration. It took him a conscious effort to still it and as he did so he realized where his night-time hunting with the creature had occurred. His two selves became momentarily one. He turned to Rostan. ‘Nothing to concern us,’ he said quietly so that the bodyguards could not hear. ‘Merely our creature feasting down there.’ He smiled darkly. ‘They think they can escape.’

  Ourcreature! The knot in Rostan’s stomach tightened again, partly at this first outward acceptance by the Anointed of what he was, and partly because the strange Power was all about him again. He had been right. Whatever Pinnatte had been before he returned to the Jyolan, he was worse now. And even more frightening. Whatever the flaw was in the Anointing, it was spreading, and Pinnatte’s Power was growing rapidly both in intensity and instability. Would even Imorren be able to cope with this?

  And, if she couldn’t, would they be able to kill him?

  A deep chill of denial filled him by way of reply.

  Without realizing it, he began to walk a little quicker. They were not far from the Vaskyros now. All he had to do was stay calm and get this abomination there.

  Suddenly Gariak grabbed his arm and dragged him into a side street. The other two bodyguards followed his lead and ushered Pinnatte after him. Before either of them could speak the bodyguards were obliging them almost to run.

  Encumbered by his robes and unused to any form of vigorous exercise, Rostan was soon suffering. He pressed his hand to his collar and recovered a little. ‘What’s the matter?’ he gasped. Without breaking his pace, Gariak glanced backwards by way of answer.

  Rostan turned to see a group of about twenty Tunnellers following them. Most of them were carrying sticks or swords and their manner bore none of the vagueness that usually hallmarked their kind. As soon as he turned, there was a cry and the crowd began to run towards them. Something dark flared up within Pinnatte demanding that he reach out and destroy the pursuers, but a long-imbued instinct of flight overrode it.

  ‘This way,’ he shouted, turning into a narrow alley. Gariak hesitated for a moment then bundled Rostan after him. Glancing round, he shouted something to the other guards that Pinnatte did not understand. Halfway along the alley, another intercepted it. Reaching the junction, Pinnatte turned to look back. Rostan was some way behind him, being supported by Gariak, but he could not see the other two bodyguards. The crowd had reached the alley and were milling about in some confusion as they struggled to enter it. This was as he had expected, and he knew too that the crowd would soon lose its momentum in this confined space. Almost wholly street thief for the moment, he was considering whether to flee and save himself or to risk helping Rostan and thus perhaps ingratiating himself further with Imorren. He was still debating when the two bodyguards suddenly appeared. They had been crouching low amongst the rubbish near the entrance.

  There was a brief spasm of violent activity – swords rising and falling repeatedly and rapidly, though to Pinnatte, gaping horrified, it seemed they were moving with intolerable slowness. Tangled skeins of… something… arched through the air, silhouetted against the sunlight beyond. Then high-pitched screams, scarcely human, were echoing frantically along the alley, racing after the two bodyguards. Pinnatte could not move. Mingling with his horror at what he had seen was the darkness within him, rejoicing. This was the way things should be. This was the way theywould be.

  ‘Which way?’ Gariak demanded, as the two bodyguards reached them. Pinnatte started, then moved without thinking. The sight he had ju
st witnessed, dark shadow-play against the bright mouth of the alley, and his response to it, had torn away a veil. Hitherto he had been a passive victim of events, looking only to win wealth for himself in this city where wealth was everything. But he had relished the carnage of the Loose Pit and he had accepted the joining with the creature and wallowed with it in its terrible hunting. Now he saw that there had been throughout, a small part of him which rebelled against this metamorphosis. A frail green shoot amid the bloody mire of a battlefield. It began to bloom now, though a gale of excuses bowed it low: the changes were beyond his control, he must tread this path to reach his chosen goal, the events were happening anyway, why should he not benefit from them? Yet they did not destroy it. And now the last excuse, the faintest but the most persistent – that perhaps none of the events had been truly real, but had existed merely in his imagination – had been hacked away by the slashing swords of the bodyguards. The awful cries of the wounded and dying had wrapped themselves around him. These were real people, inadequate people for the most part, driven from their sorry homes by a monster which he, above all, knew could not be faced by anyone. For whatever reason they had been following Rostan, escape from them was a comparatively simple matter and the slaughter had been as unnecessary as it was brutal.

  It sickened him. He did not want this! The realization was vivid and absolute. Wealth and power he wanted, yes, but not at this price.

  It must be so. It will be so.

  The rebuttal filled him. Its certainty was terrifying and, briefly, as he ran along the alley, Pinnatte thought he was going to vomit under its impact. Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision.

  How could he oppose such an urging? How could he oppose something that came so clearly from within himself? He clung to a simple inner cry of, ‘No!’

  ‘Which way?’

  Gariak’s cry reached through his turmoil. They had reached another junction. He picked another alley at random. He had no idea where he was, but he knew the crowd would not be following them now, and they would come to safety eventually.