by Ian Irvine
“Shand!”
“Well, making the flute was his idea in the first place. And Yalkara—”
The brush froze. “Yalkara!” Malien hissed. “Of course!” She raced out, leaving the brush hanging in Karan’s hair.
Maigraith checked the ring carefully, and had Shand look at it as well, but it was no different from the gold she had given Tensor the previous week. Later she sat down with the Mirror, searching for anything that might indicate how the flute was to be used. She found nothing, and began to wonder if the answer was there at all.
Who else would know anything about it? She had already asked Mendark and Yggur, but if they did know they were not saying. Tensor had been an artisan toiling for Shuthdar when the original flute had been forged in Aachan, but would he tell her? She took her courage in her hands and went back to the workshop. Tensor was busy, but would see her in half an hour as long as Karan was with her. Maigraith had no idea where Karan was. She sat down on the step.
Shortly Tensor appeared at the door, furious at the interruption. She explained what she was looking for.
“I never saw it used,” he growled. “It was used only once on Aachan, by Shuthdar. He took very good care that no one was watching. Good day!”
He slammed the door. Maigraith trudged back to Yggur’s stronghold. As she approached the main door Karan and Llian came out, arm-in-arm. Llian had been telling a joke, very animatedly, for he was waving his arms and Karan was laughing. They stopped when they saw her long face.
“What’s the matter?” asked Karan. “You look as though you’ve just broken the Magister’s second-best teapot.” This must have been a reference to Llian’s joke, for she giggled and Llian burst out laughing.
“We’re going down to the city for dinner,” Karan went on. Her face was flushed.
Maigraith envied her. “I don’t know what to do!” she burst out.
“You know,” said Llian, “I keep thinking about the glyphs inscribed on the Mirror. Why are they the mirror image of the script in Yalkara’s book?”
“Hey!” said Karan. “What if it’s an instruction?”
“Not much use if we can’t read it,” Llian replied.
“I meant, perhaps the mirror image is the instruction,” said Karan.
They both stared at Maigraith. “Yes!” cried Llian. “Open the Mirror, Maigraith. Quick! Where’s that bit of card I copied the glyphs on?” He fished it out of his bag.
No sze gwi ta sha mu no dzo ta dzo gwu cho ksi lo sze mo nu mu bu gi sze gwi gwu je ru she ksi cha vo gw’uh wi no sze ta mo va mu bu cho ksi kso fe mo nu mu gw’uh gwu ta dzo lu u lo gwi ksi lo gi mu qa kso je e i dzo ta dzo mu no she nu che mo lo cha kso pi lu ta gwu va nu vo cha ru gwi sze ya ta sze pi no sze lo je mu gwi ta sha sze e.
Maigraith handed the Mirror to him. Llian held it up, and Karan the piece of card, facing the Mirror. “What does it say?”
“Exactly the same, only reversed,” said Maigraith.
“Oh well. It was a good idea though.”
“Let me have a go.” Maigraith reached for the Mirror. The golden ring shone on her finger.
Karan held the card up again. “That’s strange,” she exclaimed, staring at its reflection.
“What?”
“The glyphs aren’t reflected at all, just a whole lot of letters.”
“Get them down, Llian,” cried Maigraith, “before they disappear.”
Llian wrote down the letters below the glyphs.
“What does it mean?” he asked hopefully.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Maigraith. “But I’ll bet Shand does.”
They found Shand hurrying down the main hall of the fortress. “Come in here,” said Maigraith, drawing him into an empty room. “Have you any idea what this means?” She handed him the piece of card with the glyphs and the jumble of letters.
“It appears to be a message written out in the Charon syllabary,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“The Charon language is written in a script where each character represents a syllable, rather than a letter as in our alphabet.”
“But these glyphs aren’t the secret Charon script,” said Llian.
“No,” said Shand, “unless it’s an older version. And it may well be, because the syllabary looks much the same. Where did you get it?”
Llian explained. “What does it say?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to work out how the syllables go together to form words, first. But it must be some kind of message, from Yalkara.”
“Or warning!” said Karan.
“Can you put the syllables into words, Shand?” Maigraith asked eagerly.
“Possibly. I once knew the spoken Charon language fairly well, though I could not read it. It’d take a fair bit of headscratching, and the words would still need to be translated. Make me a copy, Llian. I’ll start on it as soon as I get back. Sorry, but I’m in rather a hurry. I’ll see you later.” He hurried out without further explanation.
“Mendark’s coming!” said Karan, who was guarding the door.
Llian sprang up guiltily and they ran outside, laughing.
“Come and dine with us,” called Karan over her shoulder.
“I have to work,” said Maigraith irritably, yearning for what they got from each other. “Besides, you look as though you’d planned a private evening.”
“Nonsense!” they said together. “We can talk further while we eat,” Karan added.
Llian linked his arm through Maigraith’s and she could not resist any longer. She wanted to be with them; she was hungry too.
They were going to a café Llian had found on one of his jaunts into the low parts of the city and, he being Llian, they became lost three or four times and went into several undistinguished little eating houses before they finally found the place. Maigraith kept looking over her shoulder as they trekked from one establishment to another.
“What’s the matter?” asked Llian.
“Oh, nothing! Ever since Ellami’s attack I’ve felt jumpy. Once or twice I thought someone had followed us, but I must have been imagining it.”
Karan shivered, though no one noticed. “Here it is,” cried Llian. “It’s pretty basic!”
Even so, Maigraith was not prepared for quite the austerity of the place she found herself in. It was a shack with a mud floor and a few plank benches and trestles made from raw timber. There were no other customers either, but a fire blazed in one corner. It was cozy by the fire, though a large puddle under the table left Maigraith nowhere to put her feet.
The proprietor, a stooped fellow wearing a moldy coat and slippers, shuffled in. He bent over the table until his nose was almost touching Maigraith’s. He had a tiny wrinkled mouth like a cat’s bottom and it stayed closed when he spoke.
“Whoozipang?” he demanded. Black hairs sprouted out his cratered nose as luxuriantly as a walrus’s moustache.
Maigraith leaned away from him, but the hairy bugle followed her until he was almost lying across the table. “Whoozipang?” he asked again.
“She is!” Karan and Llian said together, pointing at Maigraith.
“Yooispang?” The bristles quivered. Maigraith stared up his nose in fascinated horror.
“He wants to know who’s paying the bill,” Karan said merrily. “Obviously he doesn’t trust our looks. Tell him you will, or we’ll never get our dinner.”
“I will pay,” Maigraith said with dignity, feeling conned. Karan caught Llian’s eye and they both laughed like penniless students who had just cadged a banquet. Nose Hairs shuffled out again.
“He hasn’t taken our order,” Maigraith grumbled.
“Doesn’t need to,” said Llian. “Everyone gets the same here.”
The host shuffled back in with a jug of golden wine. He spilled it into three bowls, put the jug down in the center of the table with a crash that rattled the cutlery and turned away.
“Ll sen” Nuhnn,” he said over his shoulder and disappeared out the back.
“What did he say?”
“I have no idea,” said Karan boisterously. Just the smell of wine was enough to get her going. “Move up please. Your big backside is taking all the room.”
Maigraith, whose rear was rather smaller than Karan’s, was offended. She hurriedly slid up the bench. “Ow!” she yelped.
“What’s the matter now?”
“Nothing. A splinter in my… bottom.”
“Shall I call the host to get it out for you?” Llian asked mischievously.
Maigraith was not amused by personal jokes. “I’ll put up with it,” she said through pursed lips.
Shortly a young woman came in, as plump and pretty as the man was grotesque. She smiled at them, especially at Llian, took their orders, all the same, naturally, and went out again.
Llian raised his bowl and they drank. The wine was better than Maigraith had expected, and after the bowl was finished and she had poured another she felt better.
“Now Maigraith,” said Karan, “tell us what’s bothering you. Apart from the splinter.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Everything! Afraid that I’ve done the wrong thing with Aeolior’s birthright. Afraid what Yalkara would think of me. Afraid what people will do with the flute.”
“Then when it’s made, take it and use it yourself.”
“How?” she shouted, then ducked her head and went red in the face as the host appeared around the door, muttering imprecations. “I don’t know how, Karan. I can’t work out how the flute was meant to be used. No one knows, and the Mirror can’t tell me.”
“Or won’t.”
“Or won’t,” she agreed. “I thought you might have some ideas, Llian.”
Llian drained his second bowl. He shook his head. “It’s not the sort of secret that’s left lying around.”
The pretty waitress came back with a tray containing many small dishes: fiery spices, pickles, mustards and thin sweet vinegar. She set it down, returning with another—equally small bowls of shredded raw meat and raw fish cut into matchsticks. Finally she eased a smoking slab of granite onto the middle of the table, and tossed the meat onto it to cook. The meal was accompanied by a mound of steamed vegetables and another of glutinous dumplings.
They ate without further talk. At the end Karan licked her fingers contentedly. “A tale would be a good way to finish this evening off,” she said. “What do you have for us, Llian? None of your Tales of Bawdry, mind, like this afternoon.” She laughed at the memory. Llian blushed, which made Karan laugh even louder. “That’s not the kind of thing Maigraith wants to hear.”
Being on her third bowl of wine and her natural prudishness well overcome, Maigraith would have been delighted to hear such a tale, but just then Karan very loudly said, “Hey!”
The other two sat up, wondering what was the matter. The host thrust his nose whiskers around the door, said something like “Rkle’bbos,” and slammed the door again.
“What?” said Maigraith.
“Recall the tale you told in Carcharon, Llian? The part about Nassi, the young woman who worked out how Shuthdar had tricked Bandiar the sorcerer.”
“Yes?”
“Was that really true?”
Llian looked pained. “We already talked about that. It was true enough.”
“I’m serious. Was it true that Nassi escaped with Shuthdar and later became a great mancer and a wise woman?”
“Yes, but I don’t see what you’re getting at.” Then suddenly he did. “She established a great house.”
“A dynasty? Or do you mean a college?”
“A dynastic house, but of course many students came to learn from her, and after her death it became a college. I should have thought of that! Nassi knew more about Shuthdar’s mind and work than anyone, and she saw him use the flute.”
“She would be dead three thousand years,” said Maigraith.
“Longer, but she may have written it in her Histories. Unfortunately, her college is at Saludith. It would take months to go there.”
“I can take you there. I’ll make a gate.” Maigraith reached into her pocket.
“Not here!” said Llian hastily.
Giving him a stare fit for an imbecile, she brought out a handkerchief which she used to mop her brow. “It’s very hot.”
“The spices, and the wine,” said Karan. “Are we finished?” Suddenly they needed to get outside. All thoughts of a tale were gone.
She called the waitress back. As Maigraith was paying the bill, which was only a few coppers, she looked up to see Nose Hairs watching her like a hunting skeet. His lips moved as she counted the tariff into the waitress’s hand, then he turned away and they went out.
“I don’t know what all the fuss was about,” she said, “for such a small amount of money.”
“He’s always like that,” said Llian. “The war drove him mad. It’s a tragic tale, though a common enough one.”
“Oh?” said Karan.
“He was a rich man, but he volunteered to serve in the war against Yggur and was struck down in the first hour of battle. He lay under a pile of dead for days, they say. When he came home, his wife and children were dead, and the house burned to ashes. He lost everything.”
Maigraith was silent, thinking of the tragic youth who had sheltered her and Faelamor after the Conclave. The shivers running up and down her spine quite took away the levity that three bowls of wine had given her.
31
Saludith
“In days of yore, old pirate Chaw,
Was a’sailin’ round the Horn—”
Llian roared out the verses, while leading them up a dark alley where the smell of human filth and rotting rubbish was more pronounced than usual.
“Hush,” said Karan. “Llian, where are you taking us?”
“A shortcut!” He broke into a tuneless whistle, listing like a yacht in a high wind.
Karan looked anxiously into the darkness. “I don’t like the feel of this place. It wouldn’t be safe even in daylight. Let’s go back.” She turned toward the distant light from the street.
Llian walked into a pile of crates, sending them toppling with a crash of splintered glass. He picked himself out of the debris. “Sorry. Sorry!”
“Llian,” hissed Karan. “You’re drunk!” She stood in the middle of the alley with her hands on her hips. “Come on!” She set off again.
Before she had gone a dozen steps Llian made a gurgling noise, “Karan, gglmph!” and went down again.
Karan imagined it to be the kind of sound someone gave when their throat was slashed open. She snatched for her knife, but it was not there. She had given it to the Telt and forgotten to replace it. She stumbled up into the hungry dark.
All at once a white light lit the alley from one end to the other, brighter than day. It was Maigraith, holding aloft one of her globes. Four people were revealed, advancing on Karan. Llian lay on his back in the muck. Maigraith gave a cry that made Karan’s hair stand up.
“Karan! Stay where you are!”
Maigraith’s arm swung. The globe carved a trail through the air, landing at the feet of the nearest two attackers. Bursting in a pulse of light and sound it flung them against the wall. Neither moved after that. The second pair set off, their legs working like dressmaker’s scissors. Ghâshâd! Karan realized. They came for me!
Maigraith, more calmly now, put her hand out toward the fleeing Ghâshâd. This time there was no sound, light or fury, but their legs were snatched from under them. One lay motionless. The other kept flinging out his arms and legs then drawing them back up to his chest.
Maigraith raced past, pulling a second globe out of her coat. It flared up where the attackers lay. She came running back. Karan was down on her knees beside Llian, cradling his head in her hands. Llian groaned.
“I thought they’d killed him,” Karan said.
“I’m sorry, I lost my head,” said Maigraith.
Karan looked around. Maigraith�
�s globe did not show the details further down the alley. “Are they dead?”
“No,” said Maigraith. “They’re… not dead.” She did not elaborate.
Karan lifted Llian up. “I can walk,” Llian said, holding his head in both hands. “Let’s get away from here.”
“They came from Shazmak,” said Karan. “Thank you, Maigraith.” She still felt awed by what she had seen.
“Sorry,” said Maigraith. “My strength seems to come in blind rage or not at all.”
“They were waiting for you,” said Llian. “For you, Karan!”
“I know. They came to take me back. To Rulke!”
Four of Yggur’s guard appeared at the other end of the alley and challenged them. Maigraith lit up her globe. They all knew her of course. She pointed to the crumpled figures. The soldiers saluted and ran that way.
“I hate Thurkad,” Karan said, swearing under her breath. “How I wish I was back in Gothryme.”
“You won’t be safe in Gothryme,” said Llian. “At least you can be protected here, as long as you don’t follow idiots down dark alleys. Hold on a minute.” Sitting down on the curb he put his head between his knees. “My head!” He felt it with his fingers. There was a large lump and a small amount of blood. “I don’t feel very well.” He got up again, walking between them with his arms over their shoulders.
The guard smirked as they wavered in through the gate.
“Drunk, is he?”
“As a priest,” said Maigraith soberly.
“Or a Magister,” blinked Karan.
The guard guffawed, looked around uneasily in case they were overheard, and waved them on, still grinning.
In Karan’s rooms they helped Llian onto the bed, took off his boots and pulled a cover over him. She blew out the lamp.
“Saludith?” said Karan, as Maigraith headed toward the door.
“I must! It’s urgent now. Rulke must be ready.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No,” Maigraith said unconvincingly.
“I need to get away from here, Maigraith. Thurkad is like a prison to me. And now, every day I’ll be expecting Rulke to try again.”
“All right.” She looked relieved. “What about him?”