The Second God

by Pauline M. Ross

  Trimon was dressed exactly as we’d seen him before, like a guard or a soldier, in what looked like a well-fitted, good quality uniform. And yet, if it was a uniform, it wasn’t the same as that of the guards who watched Arran, and nothing at all like the golden armour of his troops. Perhaps he was a mercenary of some sort, or had been in some kind of militia in the Karningplain.

  He smiled at Arran, quite relaxed. “Good afternoon. Arran, isn’t it? Shall we sit at the table and have a little chat? Did you enjoy your meal?”

  “Yes, thank you. It was nice to have meat for a change.”

  “And the apartment? You like it?”

  “It is a great improvement,” Arran said with feeling.

  Trimon laughed, a pleasant rumble. “I’ve been away at Dellonar for a while, so I didn’t realise you were still in the black cell. As soon as I got back, I gave instructions for this room to be made ready for you.”

  “I appreciate it very much.”

  “Now, then…” Trimon had a small box under one arm, which he rested on the table. Lifting the lid, he pulled out a glass sphere sitting on a wooden plinth. “Have you ever seen one of these before?”

  “No. It is… very pretty.” Arran was puzzled, and so was I. What trick was this?

  “Pretty?” Trimon gave a bark of laughter. “It is pretty, yes. Just now it’s completely clear but if you put your hand on it, it will change colour inside.”

  “Really? I should like to see that.”

  Another burst of laughter. “And so you shall, so you shall. Just rest your hand on it and keep it there until the colour stops changing.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

  “Very well.” Before I could urge him to be cautious, Arran slapped the palm of his hand onto the top of the ball. At once it lit up with a yellowy glow. “Oh, that is very clever!” he said in delight. The colour changed to red, then green, and then an orangey-red, before shifting to a very dark grey. For a time it pulsed lighter and darker, before it burst into an explosion of orange, followed by a sparkling light grey that twinkled like stars. Gradually it settled back to dark grey, and became steady. Arran broke into laughter. “What a good trick! How does it do that?”

  But Trimon’s eyes were wide with surprise. “I’ve never seen it do that before,” he muttered. “You must be very special.”

  Arran laughed again. “Me? No.”

  “Hmpf. You may remove your hand now. Well. That was unexpected, but the colours are not important. What matters is that if you lie to me, the ball will turn blue.”

  “Oh, magic. I get it.”

  “Magic? I don’t know. Perhaps it is, or perhaps it’s just something we don’t understand. It works, that’s all I need to know. So tell me a lie, and you can see for yourself.”

  “What sort of lie?”

  “Anything. Your age, for instance. How old are you?”

  “Seventeen,” Arran said without hesitation. The glass sphere flared a deep blue. “Oh! That is ingenious.”

  “Why seventeen?”

  “That was the year I won the tournament.”

  Trimon smiled. “Ah. I won my first at thirteen. Sword? Bow? Spear? Pike?”

  “Sword. Yourself?”

  “Bow.” But a shadow crossed his face, and he folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Enough idle talk. We understand each other. If you lie, I will know it. So let us have some wine, and you can tell me all about yourself.” He clapped his hands, and although Arran didn’t turn his head, I heard the door open and a guard came in, clearly by pre-arrangement, with a flask and two beakers. Trimon poured wine into both and slid one across the table to Arran.

  “Not too much wine,” I whispered, realising even as I did so how foolish it was to lower my voice when only Arran could hear me.

  “I know,” he said. “Stop worrying.” There was affection in his mind, but also a strange excitement. He was enjoying this game with Trimon. That made me fret even more. He was too relaxed, too unsuspicious.

  “Tell me your name first,” Trimon said.

  “Arran. Oh, my full name? Arran abre Teynia fen Hextor.”

  “And what does all that mean?”

  “Hextor is the family name. The middle part means ‘from the noble line of’. Teynia is the nobility part. Well, minor nobility.”

  “So you really are a lord? Tell me about your minor nobility family.”

  “My father was Bai-Kellonor at Hexmore – heir to a ruler in a very small town in the far north of Bennamore. That was years ago. He is nothing important now. My mother… is dead. I have three brothers and two sisters, all much older than me. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Irrelevant,” Trimon snapped. “Why do you ask about me?” His tone made my heart turn over in fear. This was a dangerous man to anger.

  But Arran was unruffled. “You interest me. A man with god-like abilities who leads a great army, the ruler of a vast land, yet you wear no silk or gold, you are not followed around by hordes of fawning lackeys. You are a powerful leader, yet still humble.” I was silent, admiring the deftness of his flattery. “And from the way you dress, you are a plain soldier, like me,” he went on. “Still fit enough to fight, too. I respect that.”

  An impressively skilled answer. Where had he learned such tactics?

  Trimon reached for his wine and took a sip. “That is true,” he said slowly. “A plain soldier, yes. A skirmisher, we call it. That is what I am.” Another mouthful of wine. Then he set the beaker down and leaned forward again, his face intent. “When I was five, my father took me to the armoury. There was a line of weapons laid out – bow and sword and throwing knives and spear, a whole array. ‘Choose one,’ he said. ‘You have one moon to try them all, then you choose just one and you practise with it every hour you have. You work at it until you’re not just good – you’re the best. Nothing less will do.’ So I did. I chose the bow and I practised every free moment. I got up with the sun, and I shot arrows until my fingers bled, and then shot some more. By the Nine, I was good! Everyone said so. Such skill! No one had ever seen such a talent, everyone said so. I won all my junior tournaments, and started winning against grown men when I was barely more than a child. I was chosen to be Companion to a Karningholder because of it – which is a great honour. And then…”

  His face clouded with anger, but it wasn’t directed at Arran. Trimon was looking down at his hands, raging at some inner memory. I held my breath, wanting to hear more, but not sure where this was leading.

  Trimon drank deeply from his beaker, then slammed it down on the table. “And then they told me it wasn’t skill at all. I have control over the air, it seems, so my arrows flew far and true because of some weird magical power, and not any achievement of mine. Those hours and hours of training – a complete waste of time. All those tournament victories weren’t down to me at all. It was like I’d cheated. Can you imagine how I felt?”

  “Yes! Gods, that is terrible. Everything you believed yourself to be – not true. You must have felt dreadful.” I wondered if Arran was thinking about his own ability, so recently discovered, which had helped his success with a sword. Not the same, but it must be in his mind. Did he feel that about himself, that everything about himself was no longer true?

  Trimon’s face cleared. “You do understand! I became a god and acquired an army, but I lost something that I’d been proud of. I haven’t lifted a bow since that day. Naturally, I still train, because it’s a habit and I enjoy it, but only with sword or stave. My army became my focus. They don’t speak, but they do have a language of their own, using hand gestures, so I set myself to learn that with the same devotion I’d once given to bow practice. When we moved out onto the plains, I learned the dialects. And when we took Dellonar, I set myself to learn their language, too. It takes me hours every day, but I’m pretty good now, don’t you think? You understand everything I say, don’t you?”

  “I do, yes. That is impressive.” Arran’s surprise mirrored my own. I hadn’t even
realised Trimon was speaking Bennamorian. Still, at least he wouldn’t wonder how it was that Arran could understand a language but not speak it.

  Trimon smiled. “You know, Arran of the minor nobility, I rather like you. You’re more interesting than the last prisoner we had here. He lasted no time in the black cell. Crying like a baby, he was. But you’ve emerged in good shape. You must come and eat meat with me some time.”

  “Thank you, I should like that,” Arran said, for all the world as if he were receiving a regular invitation to dine.

  “I can trust you not to try to escape, can’t I?”

  All my alarm bells rang at once. “Careful!” I yelled to Arran, my heart suddenly thundering. It would be so easy to be caught out in a lie.

  But Arran didn’t even pause to think about his answer. “That would be dishonourable.” The indignation in his voice was genuine.

  “And you would never do anything dishonourable?”

  “My honour is all I have left, now,” he said sadly.

  Trimon grunted. “Good enough.” He collected his glass ball and left.

  Even after he’d gone, my racing heart wouldn’t quiet down. But Arran was ecstatic. “That went well, do you not think? I did not make any mistakes, did I? Are you pleased with me, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, very pleased. You did brilliantly.”

  “And look, he has left me the wine.”

  I didn’t want to say anything to puncture his good humour, yet it was worrying, all the same. Trimon might seem affable, but he was still very dangerous. The next encounter might not go so well.

  And I wondered who the previous prisoner was, who had cried like a baby. Not one of our original spies or the Gurshmonta wagoners, for they were all accounted for. But what had happened to Lathran? He had vanished without trace.

  38: The Wild Hunting Clan

  Yannassia was, if anything, more anxious than I was. “This will be a very testing period for Arran. He has done well on this occasion, but the next time… Do not let him relax, Drina. Remind him to be constantly on his guard.”

  I thought he’d already had a very testing time, and that decent food, hot water and a proper bed had to be a less challenging option, despite the visits from the Dragon God, but I didn’t say so.

  “I will, but he knows what he must do. Besides, it is not long now until things begin in Dellonar, and then… everything will be different.”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “From now on, you should take whatever time you wish to be with him. You need not go to this Icthari entertainment this evening. Indeed, I am not much minded for it myself, for their music is not at all pleasant, and the dancing…! But I suppose I must attend, for the sake of politeness. But you may have a quiet evening.”

  “Thank you. That would give me some extra time with the children.”

  But my quiet evening evaporated almost as soon as I crossed the threshold of my apartment.

  “Drina! Arran!” Ly’s voice, full of excitement. “I am almost there. I can see the camp.”

  And there it was, a little circle of clava, several with smoke rising from the gap in the roof. There was a larger fire in the centre of the camp, and around the perimeter, small shelters, piles of wood, skins stretched on frames, a fenced area containing beasts of some kind. A rocky outcrop nearby was home to a couple of white eagles.

  Diamond found an open space to land in, and Ly jumped off eagerly. Faces peered from open clava flaps, and then several people emerged, waiting for Ly to cross the open ground and reach the perimeter of the camp. I couldn’t help feeling the same suppressed excitement as Ly, but the rational part of my mind wondered at the lack of visible friendliness. No one ran forward to greet Ly, no one called out. They stood, arms folded, watching and waiting. It was unnerving.

  Ly’s enthusiasm dropped a little, but he strode steadily towards the group, his eyes searching the faces. Which one was his father? I couldn’t wait to see this man who’d been such a big influence on him. Ly hadn’t seen his father since he was ten, but he had many fond memories of him.

  After scanning the assembly, Ly settled on a small woman with the blue eyes of an elder. He made the traditional gesture, touching one hand to his forehead.

  “I greet you, elder.”

  “And I you, byan shar. Our home is yours. You are welcome here.” But her expression and the flat tone belied the words.

  “Is my father here, Mek-tarra?”

  “You remember my name, Little-Ly.” That produced a half smile. “He is only on a supper hunt. Come inside. Have some besh.”

  She led him to a larger clava and ducked inside. Ly bent his head to follow. It was gloomy inside, for no lamps were lit. In one of the alcoves, two young women looked up from their spinning to stare at Ly. At their feet, their naked babies kicked on a rug, babbling softly. Ly made a friendly greeting, and the women nodded, then, with lowered heads, turned back to their spinning.

  Mek-tarra gestured Ly to a rug beside a brazier, and poured besh for him. Several other elders silently took seats around the brazier. Ly greeted several of them by name, and they nodded and grunted back. One or two made the gesture of respect. The ones Ly didn’t know introduced themselves. Mek-tarra tried to work out how many years it was since Ly had been there. It all seemed quite normal for a returning son of the camp, and yet there was no warmth in their manner. They were not quite hostile towards Ly, but the atmosphere was constrained.

  “And how is your… wife?” Mek said.

  There was a wave of affection in Ly’s mind which was very pleasing. “She is well. We are blood-bonded now.”

  The elders murmured approvingly, and nodded. One or two smiled, but Mek said coldly, “And she doesn’t mind you coming here without her?”

  Ly laughed. “She doesn’t control me, not any more. I know you don’t approve of her, but I owe her my life. She kept me sane through the difficult age of learning and regeneration. You heard about the second byan shar? He is finding it difficult, too. But now that I have reached the age of strength, my wife can no longer take all my power from me and we are true equals. I have a brother of the heart, too – we are a clavaia’an byanna’vyor.”

  That interested them, and they plied Ly with questions, drinking besh and passing round sweet nuts with a strange texture that needed a lot of chewing. They were fascinated by the idea of Arran’s protective shell.

  “I have no memory of such a thing,” one of the elders said, and the others shook their heads too. “What kind of a connection might it be?”

  “To the body’s own skin, perhaps,” one suggested.

  “But the clothes are included,” another argued.

  “The outer surface, then,” said someone else. “Boundaries. Perimeters.”

  Ly wisely let the discussion run, as the atmosphere lightened and became relaxed. Most of them must have been unbonded, for I couldn’t see into their minds, but two were bonded to the eagles on the rock, and one woman had a pine marten on her knee. I was relieved to see their initial wariness melt into something approaching friendliness.

  A commotion outside was followed almost at once by a middle-aged man barrelling into the clava, his face alight with excitement. “Ly? Ancestors, it is you! How good to see you!”

  Ly sprang to his feet, his mind suffused with delight, to be immediately wrapped in a bear hug. I knew at once that this was Ly’s father, and I knew his name, too – Dea-famaar. Behind him, a woman of similar age, Loa-shee, that I felt was a lover. She looked less pleased to see Ly, but I had to guess that from her face, for she and Ly’s father had no bonded beasts. And behind them came Ly’s brother, Dain-brythe, who was downright angry. Outside, his wolf was prowling about and whining.

  They talked non-stop for an hour at least, father and son. The affection between them was wonderful to see, and I was happy for Ly to have this family reunion in the midst of all our troubles. By then, the supper was ready and they moved outside to sit around the cooking fire and eat and drink garsh, a stronger brew.
The food was the same type that Ly had so often made – no fish, but small rodents, stuffed and roasted, or tiny birds wrapped in aromatic leaves, with a mixture of herbs and berries and fried roots.

  My mouth was watering, and I could taste every mouthful. I pulled my awareness back to my apartment, to find my bodyguard and steward watching me with concern. On a table at my elbow was an array of tempting dishes, and wine.

  “Thank you! Just what I needed.”

  “Is there anything else I can get you, Most Powerful?” the steward said, but I shook my head, my mouth already too full to speak.

  “Arran? Have you been watching this?”

  “Yes,” he said glumly. “It is making me very hungry.”

  “Haven’t they fed you yet?”

  “No, but it will not be long. The night watch has just started so it will be very soon now.”

  “How do you know about the night watch?”

  “There are bells to mark the hours, and at the final bell the afternoon watch and night watch march around the parade ground to switch over. I can see it from my window.” A pause. “They are very disciplined, the ones in armour. The prison guards, not as much.”

  “So there is no one watching at the switchover?”

  “Oh. You are right, I believe. They all come down from the roof to march around. They do that for quite a while – about half an hour. Is that useful information?”

  “It might be. Knowing when they’re not watching – it might be useful.”

  “Drina, Ly is asking about the god-powers.”

  I switched my attention reluctantly away from my own meal and back to Ly.

  “—lightning? Or mist? There have been byan shar in the past who were able to use them, and I really need that power now.”

  “Why?” That was his brother, Dain-brythe, his huge wolf beside him. “This war is far to the east and south, you said. Why does that concern us?”

  “Because when the south and east have fallen, Bennamore is next and then the Clanlands. These people will keep moving forward until they have swallowed us all.”