Nothing but Tombs

by Tim Stead

  It was time.

  He opened the door and walked into the cell carrying a chair. He set the chair down in the middle of the room facing Luka and sat in it.

  “My people aren’t rich,” Luka said. “You’ll get no ransom.”

  Mordo smiled. “You have mistaken us for criminals, Luka,” he said. “We’re not. You’re here because we wanted to ask you some questions.”

  “We?”

  “Indeed. We are a militia or sorts. We look after certain matters for the council.”

  Luka stared at him, not quite making the connection yet, Mordo thought.

  “Then what the fuck do you want with me?”

  “I’m sure that you’re already aware that an officer of the city regiments – Lieutenant Malik Delaris – has been killed. We are looking into the matter.”

  The rabbit saw the fox. “Who?” It was unconvincing.

  “Come now, Luka. We know you were friends with Delaris. There’s no point denying it. Was it your idea to kill Councillor Gayne?”

  “What? No!”

  “Ungren said it was.” Lilt Ungren was another name from the list. Mordo hadn’t taken him yet. Luka was the first, but he didn’t have to know that.

  “It’s not true!”

  “Really? Then whose idea was it?”

  Luka hesitated just a moment too long and perhaps not quite long enough. “It was Malik’s,” he said. That was a confession.

  “How convenient,” Mordo said. “But now that you’ve admitted being part of the conspiracy it hardly matters.”

  It took Luka a moment longer to realise that Mordo was right.

  “I spoke against it,” he said. “I never imagined that he’d try, really try.”

  “That’s not what I’ve been told,” Mordo said. “And you chose to keep silent after the attempt. That was a mistake. It points to your guilt.”

  “I was afraid. Besides, Malik failed. The councillor escaped.”

  “No credit goes to you for that,” Mordo said. “No, there’s no doubt that you’re guilty, the only question is how deep your guilt goes. This may all have to come before a dragon court, you know. You’d best be sure that you aren’t caught in a lie when it comes to that.”

  “No, I won’t lie, I promise. I’ll tell you everything.”

  Of course you will, Mordo thought. That’s why I picked you first.

  “Well, then,” he said. “Perhaps you’d better start.”

  It took an hour, but at the end of it Mordo knew everyone who had been involved, from the man who’d served them drinks in their favourite tavern to the names of their tailors. Best of all they had no idea how Gayne had survived. Luka had no idea that the councillor was a god-mage. That secret, if it had been grasped at all, had died with Delaris.

  *

  Negotiation was a delicate thing. Gayne knew that. He had a strong position on the council, but he was not invincible. About a third of them would follow his lead and a third were implacably opposed to whatever he said. The rest of them could be swayed by argument.

  He had already spoken to his supporters. They were primed, and his enemies, he hoped, would be taken by surprise. They would be suspicious because it was Gayne himself who had called the meeting.

  They gathered at around noon in the council chamber that had once been the Falinis’ ballroom. Most such meetings were open to the general population, but at Gayne’s request this one had been convened in private. Soldiers stood on the doors and the usually crowded chamber echoed to the sound of the Arbiter’s voice.

  “As this meeting has been called by the first councillor from Dock Ward, we will hear him speak the cause,” the arbiter said. He passed the talking stick to Gayne who stood and surveyed them.

  “We have had an offer,” he said. “From Col Boran.”

  That caused a stir.

  “An offer of help?”

  “What do they want with us?”

  The same questions, more or less, in many voices. Gayne held up his hand for silence, and to his surprise they quieted almost at once.

  “It is not an offer of help,” Gayne told them. “It is an offer of arbitration. They will stand between us and Kenton, guarantee our safety, and the dragon Torgaris will judge the truth of our words.”

  “They will not side with us?”

  “No.”

  “Then I see no value in the offer.”

  Gayne leaned forwards on the table. He fixed his opponents with a hard stare. “You do not understand,” he said. “Kenton has agreed to this already. Why would he do that if he did not want something from us – something that we would, might, give him.”

  “Our city?”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Gayne snapped. “Kenton wants to go home. He knows that he can’t win – not without allies, and he has none. He has crops withering in the fields, his men grow more restless by the day. The worst we will do out of this is a year’s respite.”

  “And what can we do with a year?”

  “I propose that we raise two more city regiments,” Gayne said. “That is our strength. We have the people. He does not.”

  “He will if he takes Anjasari’s lands, and Falini’s too.”

  Gayne pointed at the man. “Good,” he said. “We will ask for Falini’s lands. He can have Anjasari’s.”

  “He won’t agree to that,” one councillor protested.

  “Why not?”

  “He wants to be king. He cannot be king if the land is split in two.”

  “Kenton is not Falini. He might be titled a Duke, but he’s a farmer at heart. He thinks it’s his duty to be king, but he doesn’t want it.”

  “You seem to know a lot about Kenton and what he wants, Gayne.”

  “So would you if you took an interest,” Gayne said. “Kenton’s people have been in the city for months. He even tried to have me killed. And I’ve spoken to many of them – traders, farmers, hostlers. We buy food from them. They all share the same picture of the man. He likes to eat, drink and hunt. He loves his land and treads easily upon it. He doesn’t want to be here.”

  “So why not demand the kingdom?” The man who asked was Midallo, one of Gayne’s enemies. It was a foolish question.

  “Because he will not cede it to us. If he is pushed too far he will fight. Any man would. Do not mistake an unambitious man for a weak one, Midallo. Kenton still has more men than we do, and he probably knows how to use them.”

  “Enough talk.” It was Caravalli another of Gayne’s enemies who spoke. “The matter is plain enough, and we have nothing to lose by talking to the Duke. I say we do it.”

  “That’s not the point,” Gayne said. “We’d be foolish not to. What are we going to ask for?”

  “Anything we can get,” Caravalli replied. “And you seem to know the man best. You meet with him. We can’t all go. Take Midallo with you.”

  Gayne was immediately suspicious. If Caravalli wanted him to go then there was a reason he should not, but he could only guess at it. Perhaps the man doubted a deal could be done and Gayne could be blamed for the failure. Perhaps any deal would not be good enough, but if so, he was throwing Midallo into the pot. Midallo himself seemed a little taken aback by the suggestion.

  “Why me?” he asked. “I’m no negotiator. I’m a cooper.”

  “I trust you,” Caravalli said. “I don’t trust Gayne. Let him do the talking. You keep him honest.”

  “I don’t trust Col Boran,” Midallo said. “It could be a trap. Gayne’s already said they tried to kill him.”

  “That was Kenton,” Caravalli said. “Col Boran has guaranteed your safety.”

  Gayne found this all fascinating. It was the first time he had seen signs of a hierarchy amongst those who opposed him. He would have to keep a closer eye on Caravalli.

  “A vote, then?” Gayne suggested. He was glad to be sent. He trusted Col Boran completely. Eran Callista had already saved his life once and if he doubted her neutrality, he believed her sympathies tended to the Johannist cause despite he
r noble blood. The only catch would be if she had discovered what he was.

  “I agree,” Caravalli said. “A vote. The motion is to accept Col Boran’s offer and to send Gayne and Midallo to negotiate with Kenton and get what they can.”

  “Shouldn’t we discuss what we want?” one of the neutrals asked. She had been frowning more and more through the discussion.

  “Yes,” Gayne said. “But we have two weeks. Once it is decided that we are accepting the offer we can debate our position as much as you like. I agree with Caravalli. Let us vote.”

  More words were said, but with the two principle factions in agreement it was a formality. When the vote came only two voted against.

  It was a victory, albeit one that worried Gayne just a little. He left the council chamber and went back to his lodgings all the while trying to decide what Caravalli’s angle was. In the end he decided it was unimportant. If there was danger then Caravalli was avoiding it. If there was blame to be apportioned, then Caravalli was ducking that, too. Perhaps that was enough. Gayne expected no danger and believed that he would emerge with credit, so he dismissed the feeling of unease and began to think about Kenton.

  He didn’t really know the man as well as he had claimed. It was true enough that he had questioned people from Kenton’s domains, but none of them had been intimates of the Duke. He had formed a clear impression of the man, but it had not been tested. He would have to be careful. He could not assume that the man was a fool.

  Mordo was waiting for him.

  Gayne had come to appreciate Mordo more as time had passed. The renegade from Col Boran was sharp witted and ruthless and had clearly set his heart on riding Gayne’s coat tails. Today Mordo looked concerned.

  “You heard about Kenton, then?” Gayne asked.

  “Kenton? No. But I must speak to you on another matter.”

  “Oh?”

  Mordo was pacing, which made Gayne uncomfortable.

  “I have secured most of the conspirators, My Lord,” he said.

  “Well, that is good news.”

  “I have established that those who are not held are dead, but now we must decide what to do with the living.”

  Now Gayne understood. Mordo wanted him to kill them and use their lives to make him Farheim. Gayne was reluctant.

  “You should execute them,” he said. “Preferably in public with a recitation of their crimes.”

  “Of course,” Mordo said. “But there is another consideration.”

  “And that is?”

  “Col Boran.”

  “Col Boran is no threat,” Gayne said. In fact, he quite liked Callista. She was not unattractive and she had saved his life. Those two significant marks remained in her favour.

  “You are wrong, My Lord,” Mordo said. “If they know what you are, they will destroy you. Sooner or later they will find out and you will have to face them.”

  “I’m sure we can reach some accommodation, Mordo.”

  “Eran Pascha is implacable, My Lord. She has killed children to prevent them becoming what you are. She will not hesitate to kill you, too.”

  Gayne considered his words. Mordo was in the habit of calling him a lord when he wanted something, and he only had the renegade’s word for what Pascha had done, but on the other hand Mordo had not failed him yet.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “I have explained the numbers to you already. You know that the more men you kill, the more powerful you become, but only if you use those deaths to make Farheim. Pascha has killed hundreds. The Great War gave her an excuse to build her power and she used it. If you met her now, even if you were equally skilled, she would destroy you.”

  “So I must kill people and create Farheim.”

  “If you want to live.”

  “How many do you have imprisoned?”

  “Eight, My Lord.”

  Gayne did not like the story Mordo was telling him, but most of him believed it. At some point he would have to fight for his life and what he did now could change the outcome. He had no particular desire to see Mordo as Farheim, mostly because the man desired it too much, but in another way it made sense. Who else would he gift with such power? At least Mordo was loyal.

  “I’ll do it,” he said.

  61 Fetherhill

  Enali slept well, which surprised her. She always found it hard to sleep in a new place, even when they moved from their country house to Golt she generally spent that first night turning restlessly in her bed. The memory of her former life disturbed her. She was only now beginning to recognise what she had traded for her immortality. All the happy things in her life, the family estate, the orchard where she had played as a child, her mother’s laughter, her father’s deep, knowing smile. All that belonged to the past. Like a dream.

  She woke refreshed with a cool northern light filling the room. She put the hollow feeling of those memories behind her and rose and dressed. Today she had one priority – to see Lord Fetherhill and learn his condition and that of his family.

  The lord’s dining room lay on the floor below. Two guards stood at the foot of the stairs leading up and they watched her, unsmiling, as she passed them and headed down.

  Jerac Fane and Calpot were both there, discussing business by the sound of their voices. It was amazing what you could tell from the tone of a conversation without even hearing the words. There was no doubt that Fane was in charge, but Calpot was his own man. There was a complex interplay in their muffled words. There was a mutual respect, a recognition that Calpot had to be willing even as he acknowledged Fane’s position.

  They stopped talking when she walked in.

  “Lady Enali,” Fane said. “I recommend the bacon, but the tea is a little cool.” He signalled a soldier and the man went to fetch a fresh pot. “You slept well?”

  “I did.”

  “If you have any questions for me you must ask them today,” he said. “I will leave at dawn tomorrow.”

  “Another castle?” Enali asked.

  “Red Hill.” It was no more than she had expected. Fane was going after the lords who supplied Alwain with the bulk of his army one by one. Another month of this and he’d have them all.

  “Red Hill should be easy for you after Great Howe,” she said.

  “I’m taking three thousand men,” Fane replied. “Red Hill kept a hundred behind when he sent his men east.” He seemed quite business-like about it. She didn’t see how his plan could fail to draw Alwain away from his siege of Bas Erinor. All the regiments under his sway would be anxious to return home. Their families, their children were all here in the towns of the west, and their lords would all be captive, hostages against them.

  “I’d like your permission to speak to Lord Fetherhill and his family, and to travel to Great Howe and do the same there.”

  “I’m happy for you to do so, My Lady,” Fane said. “Bram will provide you with a suitable escort when you travel. Fifty men should be sufficient.”

  “Sufficient for what?” She thought herself quite capable of meeting her own needs, defensively or otherwise, now that she had Pascha’s ring.

  “The people in these parts are getting a little… enthusiastic about their freedom. I wouldn’t want a misunderstanding. You wear the Wolf’s ring after all.”

  So it was an escort to discourage confrontation. That would be interesting. She wondered how disciplined Fane’s men were. Only a few weeks ago they’d been farmers or townsfolk and now they would be asked to protect a Lady, a symbol of what they had overthrown. How would they take to that, she wondered?

  “I don’t need an escort,” she said. “But if it pleases you to provide one…”

  “It does.” His look said that she should know better. She smiled at him. He tried to hide his own smile with a scowl. “Preserve us from the boldness of youth,” he said. “Wars have been started for less.” He stood up. “I must leave you now. I have preparations to make.”

  He left, clattering down the stairs. She looked at Calpot.

&n
bsp; “He likes you,” the old man said. “I like you. I hope you’re not going to start anything and disappoint us.”

  “I represent Col Boran,” she said. “I am here to observe, nothing more.”

  “You serve The Wolf,” he said. “He chose you, and he’s a creature of a different stamp.”

  She smiled at him. She’d decided that she liked Bram Calpot, too. He was a no-nonsense man, a blunt man, but he had heart and he was not unkind. “I will behave,” she assured him.

  Calpot nodded. “Then I’ll tell the guards that you’re to have unlimited access to Fetherhill and his family. When you want to travel tell me and I’ll arrange your escort. Otherwise the castle and its kitchens are at your disposal.” He stood. “Well, my belly is full. I wish you a good day, Lady Enali.”

  She was left alone in front of a table that would not have shamed her father’s house, in quantity if not quite in variety. A fresh pot of tea arrived and she poured herself a cup, ate bacon and tumbled eggs and a few slices of fruit.

  Enali didn’t know Fetherhill. She’d seen him, of course, at Golt. You saw everyone at Golt if you stayed long enough. Her father had a low opinion of the man, but he had never offended Enali, despite his politics.

  She washed her hands in the bowl of rose water provided and made her way back up the stairs. The guards were still there at the foot of the stair leading up, but now they stood aside when she approached. She nodded her thanks to them and walked past, climbing to the top floor of the keep. There was a door at the top with another guard.

  “Lady Enali,” he said. “If you need anything, just shout.” He opened the door for her. She walked through. Inside she found herself in a large hall, richly decorated. There was a fire burning on one side and a large table in the middle of the room. Fetherhill and his family were seated around the table. They looked up as she entered.

  “I know you,” Fetherhill said.

  “You do, My Lord. I am Enali Cantarissa. We were introduced at the King’s Ball last year.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “It is a long story,” she said. They all seemed to be here – Fetherhill, his wife, the two girls. “You are all well?”