by Tim Stead
“Let’s get on then,” she said. Perhaps there would be more to see from the headland. She remembered the harbour as a fine one, full of white-sailed ships. She liked to look at ships. She would never travel anywhere by ship – it seemed wholly unsafe – but she liked the careless romance of them. She looked at Jidian. He was doing his best to study the walls, to do what Narak would do if he was here.
“I could hit them from here,” Jidian said. “You remember that time at Finchbeak Island?”
“You told me about it,” she replied. “You struck terror into the hearts of Seth Yarra by shooting them dead from a thousand yards. But we’re not here to kill people, my love.”
“You’re right, of course.”
They walked on.
*
Jidian glanced at Sithmaree walking beside him, and the sight lifted his mood as it always did. He had no idea why she put up with him. He was slow, he knew that. He wouldn’t have admitted to being stupid. He always got there in the end, but he was generally the last to arrive at any conclusion. Jidian prided himself on being honest, straightforward and loyal. That seemed to be enough.
They’d fallen a little behind the patrol, perhaps thirty paces off the back marker. Sithmaree was walking more slowly. She seemed thoughtful.
“Do you really think they can win?” she asked, looking down at the city.
“I suppose it’s possible,” Jidian said. “They have the walls and a decent force inside. Apparently they have a leader who knows his stuff. I wouldn’t bet either way at this point.”
“But it can’t be right, can it – people ruling themselves?”
Jidian shrugged. “I suppose there weren’t always kings and dukes. It must have started out that way.”
“But that was before cities, and armies, and anything.”
“Perhaps, but dukes and kings and such don’t do much for the common people. Best they do is leave them alone. No landlord, shopkeeper or street sweeper ever started a war. Maybe this lot’ll do better, if they win.”
Jidian looked up. They’d dropped a little further back, and the patrol was climbing a hill ahead of them, bearing away from the city wall. That’s when he saw them, armed men among the trees on the ridge line. He slipped his bow from his shoulder.
“Look!” He pointed, shouting up to the patrol ahead of him. “Ambush!”
He saw the lieutenant turn and look, following his finger up the hill. Jidian could see more men now, a lot more.
“Who are they?” Sithmaree asked. She’d already drawn her short blade and uncoiled the whip from her belt.
“Can’t tell.” Jidian had an arrow on the string, but he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of staying and fighting. The men of the patrol were vulnerable. There were so many men up there that he could not kill them all.
The hiss of arrows was a clear enough sign that the approaching men were hostile. Jidian let his arrow fly and a man was lifted off the ground by the impact. To his surprise the arrows fell around him and not the greater body of men in the patrol.
“Jidian! Blood Silver!” Sithmaree had plucked one of the shafts from the ground at her feet. The point glittered unnaturally. The implication was obvious. The numerous men on the slopes above them were here to kill Jidian and Sithmaree, and the attackers knew, somehow, where and when they could be found.
They were caught in the open, but there was a tree, a single slender oak, about twenty paces away. They quickly took cover behind it and in its relative safety watched the second volley of arrows fall.
Jidian stepped out from behind the tree and shot again, this time taking two men with a single arrow. He ducked back.
“There must be fifty of them,” he said. He looked across at the patrol. They were retreating down the slope towards him, but that was a bad idea. It would put them in greater danger.
“Lieutenant, move away!” Jidian shouted. “It’s us they’re after. Save your men. We can look after ourselves.”
“Lieutenant’s dead,” the sergeant shouted back. “We were told to look after you, and we don’t back down from a fight.”
Jidian shook his head. The sergeant was brave, but it was pointless.
“Well do what you want, then, we’re leaving.” He turned to Sithmaree. “Head for the city wall,” he said. “Those men are Anjasari’s. We’ll outrun them and cut back north.” Jidian had worked it out. If they got into the kill zone of the wall the men on it would protect them by shooting at Anjasari’s men. They’d shoot at Jidian and Sithmaree, too, but that wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t have blood silver arrows.
They ran.
The slope wasn’t steep and there were more trees down below, a scattering before the killing ground by the walls. Jidian didn’t doubt for a moment that they’d make it. The range was extreme and they’d shown in the first volley that they were hardly superb marksmen. But half way down he heard a gasp and turned to see Sithmaree face down, an arrow in her back. He skidded to a halt and hurried to where she lay. She was still breathing.
He turned her over as gently as he could. There was dirt on her face and he brushed it off. Her eyes opened.
“Shit,” she said. “Who would have thought…?”
“I’ll carry you,” Jidian said. “You’ll heal.”
She smiled and her lips were unnaturally red.
“No. I can feel it, my love. I’m going.”
“No!”
“Tell Callista to look after my snakes,” she said, and winced. “Damn. I wish we had more time.”
“We’ll have years,” Jidian promised. “It doesn’t end like this.”
Her hand gripped his arm weakly. He covered it with his own.
“Run while you can,” she whispered. “Avenge me…” and then she vanished.
Jidian stared at the place where she’d been. There was blood on his arms, his hands, but no body. It didn’t happen like this. When Benetheon Gods died they died like men. They just died. Vanishing was something that didn’t happen.
Arrows sprouted from the ground around him and he felt a stinging on his calf. He looked down and saw blood. It was only a graze, but it roused him. He stood and shot three arrows in quick succession. Five men died.
Revenge. She had asked for revenge and to give her that he would have to live. But was she dead? Jidian turned and ran again. This time he didn’t hold back, and in minutes he’d lost them. Grief and confusion were tearing at his chest and he stopped, sobbing, in a grove of chestnut trees.
It must be Pascha, he thought. She had seen Sithmaree’s injury and snatched her back to Col Boran to heal her. There was hope. But why just her? Why would Pascha not take them both? He had to find out. To get back to Col Boran on his own would take a month by horse, or half that if he transformed and flew as an eagle. There had to be another way.
Callista.
Callista was somewhere inside the city. If he could find her, she could send him back to Col Boran in an instant, in the blink of an eye. He began to undress. Narak had mastered the trick of transforming fully clothed, but none of the others had. If he flew into the city and then transformed back into human form, he would be naked. That could cause problems, and he didn’t want that.
He tied his clothes into a bundle and tied the bundle onto his bow. He looked around. He was now half a mile from the wall. There was no sign of either his pursuers or the patrol. He hoped the sergeant had saved his men.
Jidian transformed. He became The Eagle, stretched his wings out to their ten-foot span and felt the air beneath them. There was none of the joy he usually felt, just anger and sorrow, but there was a spark of hope, too, and he fanned that. He grabbed his bow in his massive talons.
She is alive, he told himself. She is waiting for me somewhere. He beat downwards and rose through the thin canopy into clear air. Now he could see the city and, as he rose higher, he could see it spread out beneath him like a map. He pulled his wings in closer to his body and plunged down towards it.
He passed high above the wal
l, but even so he saw people looking up and pointing. It was hardly surprising. His shadow moved across the city, a flash of darkness that snapped heads upwards. But Jidian was looking for a quiet place, a place that an eagle bigger than a man could land, change and dress without being disturbed. The problem with this city was its poverty. The lanes were all narrow, the main streets busy, the parks non-existent.
He passed over a large building. There was a tower. He banked and glided back for a better look. Yes. It looked like a palace, but the tower had a flat roof, a flag pole, plenty of space. He banked again, swooped lower and settled on the stonework, safe, he hoped, from prying eyes. He had no idea how the people of Afael would greet a Benetheon God, and no plans to find out.
It took less than two minutes to change back to human form and drag his clothes back on. He fastened his sword belt and slung his bow and quiver over one shoulder. Now how to get down? There was a door but, when he tried the handle, he discovered that it was locked.
That wasn’t a problem. He kicked it and shattered the jamb, stepped through the ruins and listened on the stair that led down behind it. He heard nothing.
He hurried down. At the bottom of the stair was another door, but this one wasn’t locked and he stepped through into a vast hallway. This, too, was empty, but he could hear someone moving furniture in an adjacent room. He ignored that and headed out through what seemed to be the building’s grand entrance.
Outside he knew there were grounds. He’d seen them from the air, but they were more unkempt than he’d realised. There were even goats grazing on the grass and a couple of men watching them. They watched him, too, as he strode down to the gate.
Now that he was here, he had to think how he could find Callista. It was obvious, he supposed. She was nobility, albeit minor nobility. But Callista had the resources of Col Boran behind her. She would stay in the best inn in the city.
Jidian seized the first man that passed him on the street.
“You. What’s the best inn in Afael?”
The man tried to shake him off. “How the fuck should I know?”
Jidian lifted him off the ground.
“An opinion?” His tone was menacing, and at this stage he was prepared to kill for answers.
“Try The White Star, The Wolf’s Head, The Eagle’s Bow. I can’t afford any of ‘em.”
Jidian dropped him and he ran. That was inconvenient. He had names, but no idea where the places were. But he had to admit that he liked the sound of The Eagle’s Bow. It was odd to have a tavern named in your honour in a town you hadn’t visited for centuries.
He approached another man, a stall-trader selling sticks of spiced meat. It didn’t look like the man was doing a lot of business.
“Three,” Jidian said. The man put three sticks on his brazier.
“Three coppers,” he said.
Jidian paid and waited while the meat sizzled and the sticks blackened. “You know the Eagle’s Bow?” he asked.
“I know it,” the man said.
“Far from here?”
“Two streets over. You not from here, then?”
“Been away for a long time,” Jidian confessed.
“Lots of folk coming back,” the stall-trader said. “Now things are changing.”
“You think they’re good then, the changes?”
“Can’t be bad.” The stall-trader picked up the sticks and offered them to Jidian. “Now we have a say,” he added. “We get to choose who rules, and that’s a kind of power, isn’t it?”
Jidian took the sticks and pulled half the meat off one with his teeth. It tasted good. “I suppose,” he said. “That inn, the Eagle’s Bow. Which way?”
The man pointed. “Up there, turn left, go two streets, turn right and you’ll see it.”
“Thanks.” Jidian nodded and started on the second stick. It was really quite good. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed Afaeli street-food.
“Best brush up before you go there,” the meat seller said. “They don’t like scruffy folk.”
Jidian looked down at himself, and it was true. His trousers were muddied, his boots filthy, his shirt had a torn sleeve. But there was no time for that. He had what he wanted. He set off at once to find the tavern. If it wasn’t the right one at least it was close and he could look for the others later.
It looked a pleasant enough building when he eventually found it. He pushed through the door and strode up to the bar.
“You,” he called to the barkeep. “Is Callista Dalini staying here?”
The man was filling a mug with ale and he finished the job carefully before turning to Jidian. He looked the Eagle up and down, took apparent note of both the state of his clothing and the weapons he was carrying.
“What was it you wanted, sir?”
“Callista Dalini. Is she staying here?”
“If anyone of that name was staying here, why would I tell you?”
“I’m a friend. I need her help.”
“You? You don’t look like you need anyone’s help.”
“A mutual friend is in trouble,” Jidian was losing patience. He needed to find Sithmaree. The barkeep shrugged.
“I wish I could be of service, but...”
Jidian reached across the bar and grabbed the man by the shirt, lifting him into the air and dragging him half way across the counter.
“Is she here?”
The barkeep tried to prise Jidian’s fingers from his clothes, but the Eagle’s grip was like iron.
“No! She’s not here. She went out this morning and isn’t back yet.”
Jidian dropped him. “You expect her back?”
“She’s paid for the room for a week more,” the barkeep said, smoothing down his clothes. “She’ll be back.”
Jidian threw a coin onto the counter. “Wine,” he said. “The best you’ve got. I’ll wait.”
He went over to the side of the room and took a seat in a booth. Even so close to the bar the place was arranged in such a fashion that he couldn’t really watch out for her. But the barkeep would tell her. He was sure of that.
The man brought over a bottle of wine – a good Telan vintage – and put it and a glass on the table in front of him. There was a hand full of silver as well.
“Keep it,” Jidian said. “If I want something else, I’ll tell you.”
He poured a glass and set it down, but he didn’t drink. Instead he stared at the red liquid and thought of Sithmaree’s blood. His hands had been painted with it when she vanished. She’d been bleeding badly. He felt like tearing the world apart to find her, but he didn’t have the power. Pascha did. Perhaps Callista did. If the Sirash had still existed he could have looked for her there, but that avenue had been closed by Pelion when he’d released Pascha. He was helpless, and he hated the feeling.
He sipped the wine. It was good, but he barely noticed the taste. He was afraid, he realised. It wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with. Death didn’t frighten him. So many of his friends had died that he half expected it. He was a warrior, and death was the natural end of that. Sooner or later his luck would run out, even if it had held good for sixteen centuries.
What frightened Jidian was losing Sithmaree. They had become like two eyes in the same head. They saw things slightly differently, but each benefited from the other, made their vision better. He could not imagine being alone again, other than as something bleak and never ending.
“Jidian?”
It was Callista. She was standing by his booth. The sense of relief he felt was tainted by fear. Now he would find out.
“Sithmaree was shot,” he said. “She was bleeding, dying, I think. Then she vanished. Did you take her?”
“No. Perhaps Pascha…? Dying? Who did it?”
“Anjasari. I need to get to Col Boran.”
“Of course.” She looked to and fro. “But not here. Come up to my room.”
He followed her. Half his hope was gone, but there was still Pascha. It must be Pascha. There was no other explanat
ion.
“You’re sure it was Anjasari?” Callista asked as they climbed the stairs.
“His men for sure,” Jidian said. “They ambushed us, used blood-silver arrows. We were on patrol with some of Kenton’s men. They killed one of Kenton’s cousins.”
“Do you want me to do anything?” Callista asked.
Jidian thought about that for a moment. Revenge wasn’t something he’d baulk at. If he got his hands on Anjasari again…
“Tell Kenton what happened. Tell him I want Anjasari alive.”
“I will,” she said.
There was shouting in the street. Through a window Jidian could see men running by. Callista stopped for a moment and looked out.
“It’s happening,” she said. “Kenton’s attacking.”
Jidian wasn’t interested, but he knew that was wrong.
“There’s no attack planned,” he said. “Kenton is still feeling his way around the city.”
“Who, then? Anjasari?”
“Must be. He knows that if Kenton finds out what he’s done, that I got away, he’s done for. If he can take the city he might survive.”
“He won’t,” Callista said. She carried on, unlocking a door at the top of the stair. They went inside. “Stand there,” she said.
Jidian stood. He closed his eyes. He didn’t like travelling this way. It made him feel unwell.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready.”
There was a change in the air. It was suddenly cooler. He opened his eyes and found himself on Pascha’s terrace at Col Boran. Callista was standing next to him. He hadn’t expected her to come too. There were three other people on the terrace. He recognised two of them – Pascha and Skal Hebberd. There was a girl, too, but she was blond. There was no sign of Sithmaree. Jidian felt like all the strength had been driven out of him.
“Is Sithmaree here?” he asked.
Pascha frowned and stood up. “Why would she be here, Jidian? What’s happened?”
Jidian told his story again. It was difficult. The words didn’t want to come out. He felt short of breath and weak. Pascha looked grim, but when he finished, she nodded.