Nothing but Tombs

by Tim Stead

  “How long have they been there?” he asked.

  “Minutes,” Dantillia replied. “They weren’t there when we were outside the walls.”

  “Well, that’ll be one surprise fewer for Alwain when he gets here,” Cain said.

  24 High Stone

  Callan Henn thought it best to tell his wife before he spoke to the lords. He knew that Dardanel didn’t trust her, but Honaria had never given him cause to doubt her, and he both loved and trusted his wife. He made his way back up to their chambers in the high tower and pushed the door open.

  “How is Triss?”

  His wife turned from the child’s bed. “Better,” she said, and frowned. “Margalay says one of the lords has been killed, and his whole family with him.”

  Margalay was her maid, and had come with her from her father’s house. She was also Honaria’s main source of gossip, so Callan wasn’t surprised.

  “It’s true,” he said. “Lord Umber.”

  “The children?”

  “The same,” he replied. “Drugged, then stabbed while they slept.” He didn’t believe in sugar coating the truth for her. She lived in the same harsh world as he. He saw her hands go back to Triss. The mention of murdered children had affected her more.

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  Callan always wondered why his wife looked more child-like when she frowned. He hoped that it was because she was older in joy than in sorrow, but it probably had to do with her short hair and her immaculate olive skin. Her smile was knowing. Her frown was out of place.

  “Dardanel thinks it was an Abadonist,” he said.

  Her frown became a scowl. “Dardanel blames Duranders for what the rats eat in the kitchens.”

  “Maybe, but Umber’s door was locked and guarded, his windows shuttered and bolted, and there was a scent of White Ivy in the room. This time I agree with him.”

  Honaria turned her face away and was silent for a moment. “He’s probably right, then,” she muttered grudgingly. “An Abadonist could do that, but why? And they’d have to have been here.” She turned back, her eyes wide. “He thinks it’s me?”

  “Not in a thousand years, my love. But I wanted to ask you to keep your ears and eyes open for any sign that one of the guards might be a Durander mage. You know the kind of thing – a slip of the accent, a Durander gesture or saying.” He frowned. “What defeats me is the reason. Does your family have enemies?”

  “No! And if they did, they’d try to kill my sister and my brother before me, and never go after a guest in my house.”

  “Could anyone who is not Durander have these skills?”

  Honaria gave every appearance of considering the question seriously. “It’s possible,” she said. “But it would involve a treason that’s never been committed in five hundred years of the Occult Kingdom.”

  “So unlikely, then?”

  “I’d have said impossible, but who knows what vileness may come to pass in these troubled times? It’s more probable that the culprit is a paid assassin.”

  Callan nodded. “Well, I have to give the bad news to the remaining lords. Will you stand by me? You can leave Triss with Margalay.”

  “I will,” she said, and smiled, he supposed, to show him that there was no resentment in her for his questions.

  They went down the stairs and into the great hall. He had already sent messengers to all the lords and they were gathered there, each with a retinue of armed men. Callan understood the precaution, though he considered it unnecessary. Their assassin had already shown a penchant for the quiet of night.

  The assembled lords fell silent when he entered the room.

  “Umber’s dead?” Lord Blackwood asked.

  Callen looked him in the eye. “Lord and Lady Umber and their entire family were murdered last night in their beds. Their door was locked, their shutters were bolted and they had loyal men on their door all night.”

  “Loyal men?” Blackwood scoffed. “Then how was it done? I say put them to the question.” There was muttered agreement through the hall. Callan glanced at his wife.

  “There is some evidence that they were killed by an Abadonist,” he said.

  Blackwood shook his head. “Why would a Durander Mage want to end Umber’s line?”

  “Money, probably,” Callan said.

  “You think this is Alwain’s work? I still don’t see a Durander working for that bastard, paid or not.”

  Blackwood had a point. Alwain had done nothing to win friends beyond Avilian’s borders. He shared in that innate sense of superiority that most Avilians seemed to be born with. It also seemed far too subtle a thing for the disgraced duke. Callan had spent time in Bas Erinor for this exact reason – to get the measure of the man.

  “It’s not Alwain, or not directly. Some of his allies might be capable, but I don’t know who.”

  “We should leave,” Lord Toranda said. “We should go back to our own castles.”

  “You couldn’t defend that glorified manor against a herd of sheep,” Blackwood said. “And perhaps that’s what this is – a stone thrown into this ants’ nest to send us scurrying back to where we’re weak. With the men we have here we could hold out for months against a couple of full regiments. No. We should stay here.”

  “But an Abadonist? Nobody’s safe here.”

  Blackwood turned to Callan. “Lord Henn, what do you suggest?”

  “There are precautions we can take,” Callan said. “The killer drugged Umber’s family first. That wouldn’t work if the windows were left open, and you could post guards under the windows or even in the bed chamber. If anyone wishes it, I can make provision elsewhere in High Stone.”

  “So you think we should stay?” Blackwood suggested.

  “My Lord, I am not in a position to command you either way, but there is no doubt that both courses have their perils. I shall stay, of course. I have nowhere to go.”

  “Well, then, I shall stay,” Blackwood said. “I will take precautions as you suggest. Militarily there is no argument. High Stone is a place of strength and we would be fools to leave it.”

  There was a murmur of agreement again. But Toranda looked worried, perhaps afraid. Callan couldn’t blame the man- or any of them. They had brought their families here for safety, and now there was a clear and immediate danger. That outweighed the more distant but still very real dangers beyond High Stone’s walls.

  “Precautions? I’m not having a soldier in the bedchamber with me and my wife!” Toranda said.

  Blackwood grinned. “At your age it shouldn’t be a problem,” he said.

  “We stay, then,” Lord Kinray said. “Lord Blackwood is right. Whoever did this wants us to run, and I, for one, won’t give them the satisfaction.”

  Toranda looked as though he would gladly sacrifice his dignity to run for home, but he reluctantly nodded with the others.

  Callan glanced once more at Honaria. She didn’t smile, but she met his eyes and nodded. It was something they’d often said to each other. You could always count on the stubborn streaks of northern lords.

  25 Enali

  For a moment, a very rare moment in his very long life, Narak was lost for words. He was used to seeing what he expected, to expecting what happened. Enali Canterissa was a surprise, a ghost; her blue eyes met his and did not fall away.

  “You are Enali Canterissa,” he said.

  “Yes. Mariet sent me a message. I was expecting you.”

  Narak walked up the short path to the front door. On closer inspection the illusion did not fail. She could have been Perlaine’s sister, even down to the unpainted face, the faintly unkempt hair that caught every breeze and the way she flicked it back with her hand.

  “So I suppose you know nothing about Bard Enric’s plot to kill the king?”

  “Of course I do,” she replied. “But it was just talk. Bard was gutless. He was nothing without his flock of peacocks around him. Trust me, Deus, he had nothing to do with trying to kill the king.”

 
She believed every word of it.

  “But he did. He came up with a plan that nearly worked.”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t clever. It was the only interesting thing about him.”

  “I heard he was good looking.”

  Enali shrugged. “Twenty a florin,” she said. “He also had a loud voice.”

  “Are you saying that somebody overheard him and borrowed his plot?”

  “There’s no other explanation,” Enali said.

  “Where did you discuss it?”

  “In the tavern – the Noble Visitor. I don’t think we talked about it anywhere else, though he might have done when I wasn’t there.”

  Narian? Could it be Narian? It seemed unlikely to Narak. The tavern keeper ran a profitable watering hole. He must be a wealthy man – not by Golt standards, but anywhere else in Avilian he would be considered so. Perhaps he wanted more – a lordship – and Alwain’s bounty would surely be more than even a prosperous tavern was worth. Even so, it was a gamble. Narian stood to gain a great deal, but the cost of failure was everything.

  Narian wasn’t the only suspect. Any of the names on the list and a number more might have overheard Bard’s clever plot and decided to collect the bounty.

  “So,” Narak said. “It wasn’t you who put Bard’s plot into effect?”

  Enali smiled. She actually smiled. “I understand. You have to ask. You have to get a direct yes or no to know if it’s the truth. No. I had no part in using Bard’s idea. I support the King. If I had thought that anyone would actually try it, I would have reported it to the King’s guard – to you.”

  Again, she had done what he had not expected. She had understood and she had not been afraid. Narak bowed politely.

  “I thank you, Lady Canterissa. You have been most helpful.”

  “You’re leaving?” For the first time she seemed a little disconcerted.

  “Of course.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “About my business.”

  “Are you going to the Visitor?”

  Narak should have told her to mind her own business, should have turned and left her standing on her doorstep, but he was impressed by her.

  “What if I am?” he asked.

  “I’ll come with you,” she said. Before Narak could frame his protest she had snatched up a light coat and stepped outside, shutting the door behind her. He stared at her for a moment. He noticed that they were about the same height, and at the same time that she was more nervous now that she had been before.

  One mystery at a time.

  “As you wish,” he said.

  This seemed to delight Enali, who strode out of the gate at his side and down the long streets that led back to the Noble Visitor. She clearly wanted to be in his company. It was something he had grown accustomed to after the first Great War. He had been acclaimed a hero and men wanted to hear him talk of battle. Women, too, though many more wanted to bed him. He had turned them all down, all but those who had swung their swords and drawn their bows beside him. He had come to view adulation as a kind of poison.

  They came at last to the Visitor without a word having passed between them. Narak stopped outside the door.

  “Stay out of my way,” he said.

  She nodded and Narak pushed the door open.

  Inside the Noble Visitor everything was calm. The tavern was as busy as usual for the time of day. Men and women sat at various tables eating and drinking, but it was Narian’s wife behind the bar. Narak crossed the room in a few quick strides.

  “Where’s Narian?”

  “He’s out, My Lord,” the wife replied. “Running a few errands.”

  “When did he go out?”

  “An hour gone. He should be back any moment if you’d care to wait.”

  Narak wondered. Would he run and leave his wife behind? Narian had never struck him as that sort of man, but part of him said it made sense. Narian’s wife was innocent. They would hardly take the tavern from her as punishment for something she hadn’t done, so if things went Alwain’s way he could return after the war and pick up where he’d left off, his business intact.

  He turned round to see what Enali thought, but she’d gone.

  “No, I won’t wait,” he said.

  Outside he looked up and down the street and saw her talking to a man with a market stall. It was common trading practice for those without shops to set up a stall in front of their house, and this was one such. Usually stall men sold goods at the lower end of the market, cheaper and less well made. Narak wondered what Enali was doing. He walked over.

  Enali saw him coming. She quickly passed a coin to the man and picked up a piece of tat from his stall. It was a blue velvet bow with a scarlet ribbon and a piece of cut glass pretending to be an oversized diamond at its heart.

  “Hardly your style,” Narak said.

  “How do you know?” she asked. “I might like cheap, gaudy things.”

  Narak raised an eyebrow by way of reply, and Enali laughed, a light, musical sound that he hadn’t heard in… he couldn’t remember how long.

  “You’ve caught me in a lie, My Lord, I confess it.”

  “So why?”

  She dropped her voice. “The landlady said he’d left, so I came out here and spoke to the stall man. I saw him on the way in. He’s been here since a little after dawn. He saw Narian leave.”

  “And?”

  “He left on horseback with a sizeable bag, heading for the city gates.”

  Narak stared at her for a moment. He would have got there in the end, but the girl was quick, and clever. He hadn’t noticed the stall man. He looked up at the sun. There were still a few hours of daylight, but Narian was mounted and had an hour’s start on him. If he ran in his aspect, he could catch the man in an hour, maybe a little longer if Narian was pushing the horse. After that he would have to question the man and return. It would be two and a half to three hours before he was back in Golt.

  He wished he had Pascha’s ability to be anywhere he wanted in a moment, but there was a quicker way than running.

  “Are you brave?” he asked.

  “As brave as I can be, I suppose.”

  “Follow me.”

  He hurried through the streets to the city gates, resisting the urge to run. He knew that she could not keep up with him if he did and he wanted to test her courage.

  “Don’t we need horses?” she asked, already short of breath. A noble Avilian life didn’t really fit a young woman for hurrying.

  “Something better,” he replied.

  Outside the city he turned south, and their destination became apparent at once.

  “Oh, by all the gods…” Enali cried.

  The dragon’s pavilion lay directly ahead and Narak didn’t pause until he stepped through the great stone arch into a grand courtyard bounded by three great chambers, all pillared and open on this side.

  The dragon in residence at Golt was Kelcotel. He lay full length in the chamber to the right of the gate, and was being read to by a young man in a blue tunic. When he saw Narak enter he dismissed the youth. Of all the dragons Kelcotel was perhaps the least disposed to be Narak’s friend. He blamed mankind for his guilt and resented that their release from it had come from a man of such dubious virtue, or indeed any man at all.

  “Narak.” The dragon’s voice was flat and unwelcoming.

  Enali was clearly overwhelmed and hung back, silent and wide-eyed. Narak could understand why. Kelcotel was by no means the biggest of the dragons, or the most fearsome, but he was far and away the prettiest. More than anything else he resembled the largest bird in the world. His body was covered in feathers, and they shone in a dozen hues – red, yellow, blue, gold, green and everything between. There was more colour on Kelcotel than any flower garden.

  “I come to ask a favour,” Narak said.

  “A favour.”

  Narak paused. It was possible that the dragon would refuse to carry him. It was likely that he would refuse to carry Enali.
But Narak had cards still to play.

  “A man is suspected of trying to kill the king and has fled the city,” Narak said. “I would be obliged if you could take us to him.”

  “I am not a horse,” Kelcotel replied.

  “I would not ask a favour of a horse,” Narak said. “I am dragon kin and all of your kind owes me a debt.”

  “That is true,” Kelcotel said. “But it does you no credit to mention it. And the girl. Who is she?”

  Enali surprised Narak again. She stepped forwards and spoke in a clear voice. “I am Enali Canterissa,” she said. “It is a great honour to meet you, Lord Kelcotel.”

  “It is,” the dragon said. “You wish me to carry you?”

  “I would not ask it,” she said, glancing across at Narak.

  “But I would. Enali is helping me,” Narak said.

  The dragon barely glanced at Narak, focussing its vast yellow eyes on the girl.

  “I will carry you as he asks if you will answer three questions honestly.”

  “That is unfair,” Narak said.

  “Is not a dragon-back ride worth a cup of truth?” Kelcotel asked, still staring at the girl.

  “I will answer what I can,” Enali said.

  “If it is too much then you only have to refuse to answer,” the dragon said.

  “But then you will not carry me,” she said.

  The dragon bared its long, sharp teeth, a parody of a smile. “You grasp the essence of the bargain,” he said.

  Enali merely nodded. “Ask.”

  “What do you fear most?”

  “That war will come. That my father will be killed.”

  “And?”

  “There are so many things,” Enali said.

  “But most of all?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I don’t,” Kelcotel replied. “But I do want you to say three true things. If you say them, I will carry you.”

  Enali glanced across at Narak again, but the Wolf was interested in Kelcotel’s game. He, too, was waiting.

  “I am afraid that I will be married off to a dullard to benefit my family and live my life in a house bereft of books. I am afraid of being little more than a brood mare and milk cow to a family of rural idiots.”