The women chattered around me. They spoke the women’s version of Hrandish, which was lilting and rhythmic. The men’s speech, which I was more familiar with, was clipped and sharp. I could understand the women well enough, but my speech was halting. They didn’t mind, correcting me with blushing little giggles, hands in front of their mouths. Fluttering around me, they were soft and plump, smelling of flowers and soap, like perfumed doves. It was hard to believe these gentle souls bore any resemblance to their warrior husbands, fathers and sons.
“I like to sleep now,” I told them, and they led me to a room opening directly onto the courtyard. An open window admitted a slight breeze and the plashing of the fountain nearby. In the distance, the murmur of female voices. The children had all vanished as suddenly as a flock of birds. There was a low bed, a chair, a box filled with expensive clothes and nothing else.
“Sleep well,” the older woman said. “And welcome to the zarn adrish.”
She shut the door behind her, and I was alone. For a moment I sat, relishing the peace, and reaching out to my flickers. They were distressed and anxious. My two healing flickers were fizzing with excitement, wanting to treat all my hurts. I tossed aside my thrower’s coat, not needed here where the law allowed throwers to conceal their status. At Mesanthia, I’d adapted a Hrandish bodice to hold all my flickers, so that I would be able to walk about without attracting attention.
I drew out one of the flickers and she settled on my hand with a tweet of contentment. Warmth flooded into my hand and all round my body. I’d never needed to use my own flicker before, but I remembered Zak’s face when Xando had healed his broken arm. This one was not for deep injuries like bones, but she could deal with cuts and bruises very well. In no time the pain was gone. I thanked her, and she chittered happily to her friends as I tucked her away again.
There was enough sunlight in the room to energise the flickers, so I drew out each in turn and crooned to them a little. Then I lay down and slept.
~~~~~
My husband didn’t send for me that night, nor the next, but that didn’t surprise me. It would never do for a Hrandish warrior to appear too eager to bed his new wife, in case anyone thought he actually liked her. Some men waited moons.
During the days, my time was my own and I made good use of the opportunity. I was allowed out only during the mornings – the Hrandish term for it was actually ‘women’s time’ – and each day I made sure to be ready as soon as the doors were unlocked. I wore my thrower’s coat, for I didn’t want the other women to know my flickers were elsewhere, but as soon as I was free, I bought a cheap bag and stuffed the coat in there. With my Hrandish clothes, and a scarf concealing most of my head, I looked much like any other woman out for a little shopping.
One day I went to the foreign quarter to see Zak. The whole area was encircled by a high stone wall, with only one gate, but the guards stationed there bowed when I spoke to them in High Mesanthian and admitted me without question. They knew of Zak, and showed me the way to his house. He wasn’t there, but I saw some of his friends who assured me everything was in hand.
Another day I went to the tunnel, sitting mesmerised under a tree watching the great jet of water shooting hundreds of paces across the lake, frothing it to a frenzy. The tunnel was guarded, of course, but the warriors sat in chattering huddles or sparred with knife or spear rather than watching.
They knew their vigilance was not needed, for no one could enter that forceful surge of water. The only way was to stop the flow from above, and only a prince of the blood could order that. He would stand close to where I sat, within view of watchers far above, and give a coded signal. Then – somehow – the water would be stopped for a while. Long enough for a person to walk through the tunnel. But I had no prince able to send the signal, and I no longer knew how I would get one.
Mostly, though, I ambled around the crowded streets. It was a freedom I’d never had before, but now I could shut out the jumble of emotions assaulting my mind, and be a part of the life of the city. I wandered here and there, buying small items with coins I’d hidden in my bodice alongside the flickers, sampling the spicy food or just watching the throngs jamming the markets. There were few men about, so I was surrounded by easy-going women who smiled at me, despite my foreign appearance, and stopped to offer help whenever they thought I was lost.
There were so many women surrounding me in their colourful silks and scarves, that I could hardly miss the man striding through the crowded market in his thrower’s coat and wide-brimmed hat.
“Xando? What by all the gods are you doing here?” The Tre’annatha were not welcomed at Hurk Hranda, and he should have left straight after the marriage ceremony.
His face lit up when he saw me, but when I asked again why he was still there, he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Renni wanted to stay. Some business here, she said. We have permission for five days, as visitors. Are you all right? You look… the same as usual.”
“You expected me to have a black eye or two? I have healing flickers.”
“Ah!” A quick smile. “Good. I have been… worried about you.”
“Demons, Xando, I’ve chosen to be here, and I’m not helpless. You have to stop being so protective.”
“Sorry. Sorry. I just…” He chewed a lip. “I miss you, Allandra… Sanya. Can we at least be friends?”
“We were friends until you betrayed me.”
For a moment I thought he was going to cry, but he recovered. “That was… a mistake,” he said in a low voice. “I meant it for the best, and I still think… But I should never have done it, I can see that now. It was disrespectful to you, to go against your wishes. Do you think you could ever forgive me?”
“No,” I said coldly. “What you did was unforgivable. Goodbye, Xando.”
He said nothing, but his eyes haunted me as I strode back to the women’s quarter.
~~~~~
The best part of the day was the evening. All the women went to the great courtyard where the women’s quarter joined the warriors’ palace, as it was known. Not that it was very palatial, just the same type of single-story wooden complex that the women had.
Food at the courtyard was served from long tables laden with dishes of rice and fish and game birds from the hills. Everyone filled a bowl with whatever they liked, and ate in big, noisy groups round communal tables. Many of the warriors were there, too, to see their wives or mothers or sisters, and eye up their children.
One made straight for me. “You are the outcomer wife of the Most Mighty?” he said without preamble, sitting down beside me and drumming his fingers on the table. His leg twitched, as if to some unheard rhythm.
I nodded, keeping my head low, but he laughed. “No need to be so demure in here. When your present Master has finished with you, it will be well to have another Master in mind. For myself, I like my women a little different. More of a challenge.” His feathers bobbed about as his fingers tapped and tapped.
He used the women’s form of speech to me, which sounded strange to my ears. But then all the children grew up here with the women, so their language was the one they spoke first. His eyes glittered, and although he was handsome enough, in the Hrandish way, there was something unsettling about him. Something restless and dangerous.
His mother, still a beauty despite the grown sons and an obvious enjoyment of her food, had four other sons, two of them twins of fifteen or so, grown men but not yet warriors.
“They are fine young men,” I said, when she pointed them out to me.
She sighed, her head drooping. “They are. Very fine, my Han Karl and Han Hrillon. I am proud of them.” But she wiped away a tear.
“What is it? What is wrong?”
“Any day now, they go to the high lake. Then they will be lost to me.”
I was mystified, until I remembered. The initiation rite. They would spend a whole moon living on their wits in the mountains. When they came back, they would be warriors. If they came back at all, but
better to say nothing of that. “But they will return to you. You will see them again. You will sit here in a moon or two, and eat rice together, and the only difference is that they will be warriors.”
She turned tear-filled eyes to me. “It is not so. They change when they go to the high lake. They do something to themselves – a part of the ritual – and it changes them. Such lovely boys, but they will never be the same, even if they survive.”
When I looked into their minds, I could see exactly what she meant. The twins, tall and masculine as they were, yet were full of fun and gentle affection for their mother and brothers. On the other hand, the warriors’ minds were overflowing with anger. There was no reason for it, they were amongst their kin, but still something made them rage inwardly. It made them excellent warriors, I supposed, but not comfortable to have around.
~~~~~
Early on the third evening, my husband sent for me. Not to his bed, the summons I’d been expecting, but to the meeting pavilion.
“It will be nothing,” Ghan Klur, the twins’ mother, said. “Just some important guest who wants to meet you, I daresay.”
But her eyes skittered away from mine, and I saw concern in her mind.
Several warriors had been sent to collect me. The streets were almost deserted, but there were loud voices and laughter behind many of the flimsy wooden walls. The air was full of pungent cooking smoke, and the smell of roasted meat. Rills of discarded water shimmered in drains beside the road. As we walked silently over the cobbles, two men in front of me, two more behind, and another pair either side, I felt uneasily as if I’d been arrested. I couldn’t imagine what my husband wanted of me.
As soon as I reached the pavilion, the problem was obvious. Xando and Renni, with another foreigner. An interpreter, since they spoke no Hrandish. Renni stood straight-backed, glaring at me as I stepped up to the pavilion. Xando paced back and forth, chewing his lip.
My husband watched them in silence, with his krin haar on either side of him, stern-faced, and a rabble of other warriors milling about, restless to be away to the brothels and gaming houses.
I knelt before my husband, head lowered meekly, leaving him to speak.
“This is the woman?” he said over my head. The interpreter repeated the words in heavily-accented Low Mesanthian.
“It is,” Renni answered, her voice clear and high. “She is going to start a war to take back the river for Mesanthia. She is going to betray you.” The interpreter’s voice murmured again.
I had to smile at this mangling of my intentions. She was close, in a way, but she had totally misunderstood. As for betrayal, she was a fine one to talk of such things.
“Stand up, zarn azay.” The prince’s voice was harsh as a crow’s. “Speak! What say you to this accusation?”
I stood, raising my head. His mind was full of rage, as usual, but there was something else – curiosity, perhaps. He was intrigued by this dissent amongst the outcomers. And amused. He thought it was very entertaining, the idea that a mere woman could start a war. Well, I could play on that.
“The outcomer is mistaken.” He laughed at that – me calling her an outcomer. Good. “I do not see how I could start a war. I am only a woman, and this great city is filled with mighty warriors.”
Was the flattery too much? Apparently not, for he laughed again. “Of course it is crazy,” he said. “She is a crazy woman.”
“Crazy,” I agreed. “She speaks of betrayal, yet she would betray me, who is a friend.” The word almost stuck in my throat, for Renni had never been a friend to me, but a fellow foreigner was something close.
“That is true,” he said, his gaze drifting towards Renni. “That is very true.”
He moved towards me, his eyes glittering, and I tried not to flinch. But he surprised me. He tucked my arm in his, for all the world like any married couple, spinning me round so that we stood side by side, facing Renni.
“Tell me, zarn azay, what is the punishment for that, with your people? For betrayal?”
“Immediate execution,” I said, without hesitation, and all the warriors roared, clashing spears against the wooden floor of the pavilion.
My husband laughed so hard, I thought he might injure himself.
The interpreter rattled away in a low voice, as Renni asked furious questions, her face white. I had no fear that the Hrandish would actually try to execute her. She was a foreigner, for one thing, too unimportant for a warrior to trouble with. She was also a thrower, and no one kills a thrower without great caution.
“Look, this is not acceptable,” Xando said, loudly. “You cannot do this. Do you understand? Not acceptable.” He spoke slowly, as if the Hrandish would understand him better that way.
Prince Kru Hrin spat at his feet, grinning. He didn’t know the words, but he guessed the meaning well enough. I had to agree with him. We were in Hurk Hranda now, and foreign outrage wasn’t going to help. The prince let go of my arm, and circled round to his warriors. “Well, my brave souls? Shall we teach these impudent outcomer dogs better manners?”
Again the spears thundered, the noise echoing off the roof. Outside, faces were pressed against the glass panels, the disruption drawing a curious crowd. The swirling emotions within the pavilion rose to become a bubbling volcano, threatening to erupt at any moment. My flickers twittered anxiously. I was forced to shut my mind to all of it, focusing on soothing them.
Hrandish warriors are always looking for an excuse for a fight, but until that moment it hadn’t occurred to me that my casual words might provoke one. Now I was uneasy. If things were to get out of hand, a small quarrel could turn into a riot, with half the city burning. It had happened before. More realistically, my fine new husband, unable to vent his spleen on the foreigners, would take it out on me, instead.
By the One, how I despised these barbaric people! And I was wholly in their power. The sooner I could do what I came here to do, the better.
The prince was cheering on his warriors, winding them up to the point when they would surely explode. He was enjoying himself. This was good entertainment, to watch the foreigners squirm. I relaxed a little. Surely he would not pick a fight over something so trivial? Over a woman, at that?
Renni was still huddled with the interpreter in agitated discussion, but Xando stood not two paces from me, watching me with an unreadable expression on his face. Then, to my horror, he lunged forward, grabbed my wrist and dragged me towards the pavilion steps.
I screamed, more in surprise than fear, and tried to pull away from him, but he had me in a strong grip. He hauled me down the steps so fast I almost tripped, then he was storming through the crowd and away.
Perhaps he thought he was chivalrously rescuing me from a dreadful fate. What he thought it could achieve is impossible to guess. Whatever his motives, it was as stupid an act as I’ve ever seen. It was the surest way to cause a riot, and who knew how that would end? My husband would see only that his wife – his property – was being stolen. He could hardly stand by and allow that.
Behind us, many outraged yells, and the clash of spears. I tried to dig my heels in, but Xando dragged me onwards, I have no idea where. Renni appeared at our side, her face contorted with anger, shrieking at Xando in the Tre’annatha language. We ran on, Xando towing me along, while I furiously fought against him. The crowd jumped aside for us, eyes wide with shock.
A whirring noise, and an arrow flew over Xando’s head and thunked into a door nearby. Renni screamed.
Xando, bless him, pushed me behind him.
“Don’t be silly,” I said, rubbing my sore wrist. “They won’t hurt me.”
“They are savages,” he said fiercely, looking frantically around for a hiding place.
That was true enough, and these savages were well-armed. They were pouring down the steps of the pavilion towards us, with blood-chilling war-cries, daggers glinting, arrows nocked, spears held ready.
I jumped out from behind Xando, raising my arms in surrender. Immediately he grabbe
d me again, knocking me off my feet, and as I went down I clutched at his coat and pulled him over too. We crashed down, Xando falling half on top of me.
Renni was still standing. She spun round to face the advancing warriors. “Hoy! Stop shooting! Throwers here!”
But I don’t think anyone heard her, above the screams of the crowd and the blood-chilling yells of the warriors.
I heaved Xando aside, and scrambled to my feet, arms aloft again. Surely when they saw I was safe and free again, they would stop shooting at us? They had. No one was taking the slightest notice of us. All the space in front of the pavilion was a roiling mass of warriors, faces distorted with rage, all engaged in their own honour battles. Swords glinted, knives flew, and spears jabbed.
Another arrow whirred past.
“Get down!” Renni yelled at me, pushing me over again. “Stay down, all right?” Then she turned to face the rioters, placing herself directly in front of us. A living shield. “Stop it! Stop shooting at us! We’re—”
A thunk.
Renni.
I gasped. From her chest, the feathers of an arrow protruded. The shaft was buried in her heart.
For a long, long moment, she stood, frozen in time. “Sorry,” she said, her voice a mere thread. Then, very slowly, she toppled over and lay still, as a dark pool of blood spread beneath her.
Xando moaned.
For a moment, nothing happened. The fighting carried on as if nothing had happened. Then, one by one, people noticed Renni’s thrower’s coat. Swords and spears dropped, the combatants stepped back, and back, edging away from the fallen thrower.
Then pandemonium broke out. There was screaming and yelling, people running this way and that in panic.
“We must go,” Xando said, energised suddenly. He jumped to his feet and pulled me up. “We have to get away, now.”
The Magic Mines of Asharim Page 41