The Plains of Kallanash

by Pauline M. Ross

  While Dethin was away, she somehow spent most of each afternoon reading. She would pick up a book during the stillness, and then, with no hour bells to guide her or other duties calling her, the time would drift away. But then one afternoon, when she was engrossed in one of the legends of Sylinor, she looked up and saw Dethin watching her. She was so startled she dropped her book, and with a smile he walked across the room and bent down to pick it up, neatly folding the strips together.

  “You’ve lost your place, I’m afraid.”

  She laughed and took it from him. “It hardly matters. How was your trip? Was it awful?”

  “No, actually. Unusual, certainly, but not awful.” Then, to her surprise, he sat down beside her on the broad window sill and curled his arm around her waist. “I’ve missed you, you know,” he said, and bent down to nuzzle her neck. She was too astonished at this unexpected display of affection to speak, and she was suspicious of it, too. What did he want of her? Sex? Well, that would be simple enough, but was anything ever simple with this difficult man?

  He lifted his head to look at her, not smiling, almost as if watching for her reaction. With his other hand, he tentatively touched her hair. “I love you, Mia,” he said.

  She felt as if he had kicked her in the stomach. Love? What did he know of love? This was a man who kept her prisoner and took what he wanted, regardless of her wishes. How could that possibly be called love? And she could not help comparing him to Hurst, who had loved her in his gentle way for ten years and not said a word, who had always been a friend to her, who had listened to her and comforted her and never asked for anything in return. Hot fury boiled through her and she jumped up and turned on him.

  “No, you don’t!” she hissed, so angry she could barely breathe. “You know nothing about me! You use me and ignore me and treat me with less respect than your horse, and just because you bring me gifts occasionally doesn’t mean you care anything about me! Love – you don’t even know what it means! Love isn’t about what you feel, it’s about what you do, how you behave to someone else, about honesty and trust. You don’t love me, you don’t talk to me. You don’t even see me!”

  And she turned and ran from the room and down the stairs, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She found her way, inevitably, to the temple. It was quiet there, away from the bustle of the compound, and even with the sun bright outside, it was cool and dark, with only a few beams of shining colour spearing down from the tiny windows high above. It calmed her to be there, even though she had left the Book of the Hours up in the tower. She dried her tears and meditated.

  The only other person there was the old woman from the basement. Mia had never discovered her name; no one seemed to know it and perhaps she had forgotten it herself, for she had been the old woman for longer than anyone could remember. She was half mad perhaps, but she came to the temple regularly, sitting rocking gently and mumbling to herself. After a while, she left too and Mia was alone as dusk fell outside.

  Eventually Dethin found her there. He was still wearing his dusty travelling clothes, so perhaps he had been looking for her all this time. He said nothing about it, however. He sat on the straw bale beside her, not touching her, not even looking at her.

  “Mia, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I never meant to upset you. I never do.” Then he sighed. “I – I’m not very good at this, I’m afraid. I don’t know the proper way to treat you. I’m sorry for that.”

  “You could learn,” she said, watching his face, but his eyes were fixed on the ground.

  “Perhaps. I don’t know. Maybe it’s too late for that.”

  “It’s never too late.”

  He was silent for a while. “I don’t know if we can ever be friends,” he said at last, turning for the first time to look at her, “and maybe it’s best that way, but I would like to know more about you, if I may. Will you tell me about yourself sometimes?”

  “I should like that. And – Crannor, I’m sorry too. I seem to do nothing but shout at you.”

  That brought a twitch of the mouth and the slight gleam of the eyes that she was learning to recognise as amusement. “Oh, I like that better than docility,” he said. “And better than being afraid of me, too. At least you tell me what you feel.”

  “So, will I get to learn something about you, too?” she asked, emboldened by this new, softer Dethin.

  “Me? There isn’t much to tell. You know how I came here, and my life since has been ruled by the sword. What else is there to know?”

  “Well, you could explain to me how it is that you can stare down an adult lion without fear, and with complete assurance that it won’t harm you.”

  “Oh, that.” He turned away again, and she was afraid that she’d offended him. He was silent for a long time, but then, to her relief, he turned back to her. “The summer before I went to the scholars, one of my uncles took me on a trip. He was a merchant trading in rare spices and exotic foods, and every third year he used to take a caravan south to the ocean to stock up on all sorts of things that come from the cold sea. He always took one or other of the children with him, because he says it’s essential for them to understand that there are places beyond the plains.”

  “Oh, I should love to see the sea!” she said. “Was it amazing?”

  “It was – the whole coast was a string of towns and ports and one or two great cities, too. And so lively, with music everywhere. But a lot of bad things, too – thieves and beggars and children with no boots and ragged clothes. And no order to it – people seemed to build wherever they wanted, and the roads wound about all over the place, not a straight one anywhere. But while I was there, something strange happened. I—” He stopped abruptly. “You know, this is going to sound crazy, but it really happened. I discovered that I could see into the minds of animals.”

  “Oh. That does sound – odd.”

  “Well, it was odd to me too, but it’s true. The small ones were nothing more than the tiniest burst of feeling – hunger, or fear. But the big ones – their feelings were quite complex, sometimes. Horses were interesting, because they have real affection for their owners. Oxen, less interesting. But one day, a horse panicked over something, a sudden noise of some sort, and took off down the street, and I realised that I could – oh, how can I put it – I was able to soothe it, somehow, reduce its fear and calm it down. It was sheer instinct, I have no idea how I came to do it. And after that, I could do it whenever I wanted.”

  “So that’s what you did to the lion? You soothed it?”

  “Yes, but the strange thing is, I can’t see so clearly here. The larger animals are fuzzy, somehow, like in a thick fog, and the smaller ones don’t register at all. I suppose that’s why I never noticed it before. But it still works. It always works. So, yes, I soothed the lion.”

  “It’s a very peculiar talent to have,” she said thoughtfully. “Is it magic?”

  “What is magic?” He shrugged. “It just seems like a natural ability to me. It’s not as if I’m creating fire, or turning pebbles into diamonds. I don’t believe in magic.”

  “Neither do I,” she said.

  Although at the back of her mind was the niggling thought that she had heard before of something like Dethin’s talent. Danzor, that was it, Gantor’s grandfather, the scholar at the library. When she’d talked to him at the Ring about the Catastrophe, he’d told her about something similar, a kind of magic which was suppressed on the plains. Was this what he meant?

  After supper that night, Dethin lapsed into his usual morose state, and even his men drifted off to do other things. At the far end of the canteen, there was a large group clustered round the gamblers, cheering every acquisition or loss of bones, and Mia found herself alone with him. It was too early to go to bed, but she couldn’t face a whole evening of silence.

  “Would you like to play crowns?” she asked brightly. “I found a set in the store-room when things were being moved around for the resupply.”

  “Crowns?” he said. “Oh, crowns! I have
n’t played for years. I had a—” He stopped, and then laughed a little, with a quick glance at her that made her wonder what he had been about to say. “Let’s just say that I wasn’t the best at it. But I’ll have a go, if you like.”

  She soon found he was right, he was a very poor player, but sometimes when he made an obvious mistake and she pointed it out, his eyes gleamed with interest and he avoided that move afterwards. She thought he’d been poorly taught, for he obviously had the intelligence to play well, if he had a mind for it. He seemed absorbed in it, and she thought he was rather enjoying himself. They finished one game rather quickly and began another.

  “So tell me about your husband,” he said.

  “Which one?” she said absently, for she was pondering her next move.

  “Oh, I forgot you’ve had three,” he said. “The one you left behind, grieving for you. Do you miss him?”

  For a moment she was startled. Had she ever told him she’d had three husbands? She supposed he must have worked it out, knowing that one had already gone down the tunnels.

  “Hurst, you mean? Oh. I – I don’t know what there is to tell, really. Oh yes, I miss him…” Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with sorrow for her lost husband, and her old life. Just when she had got to know him properly, to appreciate him, he had been taken from her. She felt tears starting, and determined not to give way to them. “I see what your strategy is,” she said with forced brightness. “You’re trying to distract me, so that you can win the game. It won’t work, Warlord, be sure of that.”

  She forced a smile, but he stared at her, and then abruptly pushed the board away, spilling some pieces.

  “This won’t do!” he said, and jumped up. She stood too, suddenly afraid. One or two faces turned to them from tables across the room, staring. Just as suddenly he sat down again. “Now I’ve made you afraid of me again,” he said, with a twisted half smile. “I’m sorry, Mia, but this was a mistake. We shouldn’t get friendly like this.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because everything could change at any moment. There’s no certainty here, no continuity. We’re only together for a short while. The next battle, the next training exercise – I could be dead, or injured. Or someone could take a knife to me.”

  “Like Bulraney?”

  “Yes. And then – I would be minding the stores, or down in the kitchens, and you—”

  “Oh.” She saw the point. “I would belong to someone else,” she said in a small voice. “To the new Warlord.”

  “To Kestimar, yes. And he’s very different from me. It’s better if – we’re not close. It would make it very hard for you.”

  “But what about – what you said before?” She couldn’t quite say the words, but she could see that he understood her.

  “I shouldn’t have said that, perhaps, but I wanted you to know that I’m doing the best I can for you. I’m trying to make things easier for you, as far as I’m able to. But you mustn’t get attached to me or anyone else.” His voice softened slightly. “Do you understand?”

  She nodded, hands folded in her lap, head bowed. Tears were pricking again, and she tried to force herself to be calm, but she was distressed, all the same. Her whole life she had been surrounded by people who cared about her – her own kin, and then her Karninghold family. There were plenty for her to care about, too – the children, the servants, all the village folk and petitioners who came to her. The thought of living the rest of her life without that closeness, with nothing but casual friendships, as easily broken as made, appalled and frightened her. Such a bleak future it seemed to her. And yet she knew that everyone else here was in the same position. Every one of them had been torn away from home and family, and deposited here alone and friendless.

  “Look out your riding clothes, and a few spares,” he said, rising again. “Tomorrow we’re going on a journey.”

  “Where to?” she said, looking up in sharp fear.

  “To Third. There’s someone there you should meet.”

  “The new Commander? Are you going to give me to him?”

  He smiled a little then, his face suddenly softer. “Only if you want me to. I will never give you away against your will, Mia, I promise you that. But it’s only right that you should meet him. Then you can decide what you want to do.”

  36: Visitors (Hurst)

  Hurst found that there were some unexpected advantages to being Commander. One of them was respect. The warrior hierarchy was based entirely on superior battle skills, and scores of people had watched him defeat Bulraney in single combat under very difficult conditions. Even those who resented that fact that he was responsible for Bulraney’s death had no hesitation in applauding his talents in combat. He’d expected it would take time to assert his authority, and was surprised to find almost everyone obeying him without the least sign of unwillingness. But then Bulraney had ruled by fear, and had been widely, although secretly, disliked. No one had wanted to challenge him openly, but there was quiet satisfaction that he was gone.

  Hurst found himself in a rather curious position. He was the absolute ruler of this strange community, both administrator and battle leader, yet he felt very unfit for the job. All his training was focused on life in the Karnings – the hearing of petitions, the management of the Karninghold itself and the ritualised games of the skirmishes, all of it controlled, down to the last detail, by Those who Serve the Gods and their Voices and Slaves, and the endless layers of regulation governing even the minutest detail of life.

  Here, the rules were fewer and unwritten, and he knew none of them. In battle, he was confident of his abilities, but outside of it, he was less sure of himself. It didn’t help that two of his five Captains were his own Companions who knew no more than he did. Nor had the Warlord left him with any instructions, or even advice, having simply shrugged and said in his laconic way, “You’re in charge now. It’s up to you.”

  So Hurst set up a War Council. He included all five Captains, plus the two recently deposed ones, Gantor, a couple of the more sensible experienced warriors, and one of the storesmen, when he discovered he was a former Commander. Every afternoon, they squeezed into Hurst’s new elevated office, and explained his job to him. There wasn’t much to learn. His only significant duty was to turn up for battle when summoned by the Warlord, and defend the compound if attacked.

  He could himself attack the nearest exposed Karning if he wished but it wasn’t compulsory. Bulraney had never bothered, feeling that they were too outnumbered to do any good. Hurst felt no inclination for suicide attacks either.

  Almost everything else in the compound ran itself. Food arrived from Supplies or from the Warlord or, if they ran short, from small hunting parties. Everything else was negotiated from the Warlord following a resupply.

  That left only training and discipline for Hurst to manage. He implemented a more rigorous training schedule, using those with Skirmisher experience to teach the proper methods to the rest, and although a few men thought themselves too experienced to be taught basic skills, many were glad to learn. He insisted, too, that everyone ate together in the canteen, with no running up and down the endless stairs with trays of food, as his predecessor had insisted.

  “Those who want to take food away for themselves, they can do that, of course,” he said when a few people grumbled, “and anyone who is ill will be looked after, but no one here needs to be waited on.”

  For discipline, he followed the Warlord’s example, hearing complaints and resolving difficulties by listening quietly to all sides of the argument and then pronouncing judgment.

  For the first time, he felt able to ask openly about Mia. He, Gantor, Walst and Trimon had all made discreet enquiries before, of course, asking about anyone who had come through the tunnel and what had happened to them, but no one seemed to know much, or perhaps they just preferred to say nothing. The change of names made things difficult, too. And now Mista had disappeared, apparently on Bulraney’s orders.

  “The women move
all the time,” Ainsley told him. “Everything here is traded – for food or materials or just for goodwill, to be called in later – and the women are part of that.”

  “So they’re treated just like horses,” Hurst said in disgust.

  “Better, actually,” said Lukannis, the former Commander, in amusement. “Most men don’t ride, but they all… well, women are highly valued, let’s say. But it’s the same for men. Any man can be traded away, too. The women just bring a higher price. And the best of them – the young, pretty ones – don’t stay long anywhere.”

  Even now, though, he found they were all reluctant to admit to knowing anything about the missing Karningholders. When he had first explained about Tella and Jonnor and now Mia, they had exchanged glances and studiously avoided his eyes.

  “What is it?” he said. “Why won’t anyone talk about this? What’s the big secret?”

  After a long silence, it was Lukannis who answered. “Look at it from our point of view. We get a steady trickle of people through the tunnels, most of them the thrown away rubbish of Karning society. All guilty of some crime or other. Some of them deny it, but they must have done something to be marked and sent here. Then all of a sudden we’re getting Karningholders turning up, complete with a full set of Companions. Not once, not twice but three times. And then you lot appear out of nowhere, fully kitted out with proper Skirmisher gear. And now you tell us you all came from the same Karning, for fuck’s sake. Naturally we’re wondering what in all the Vortices is going on.”

  “It’s an interesting question,” said Hurst. “I’m not sure I know the answer, actually.”

  “I think we could work some of it out, though,” Gantor put in. “Tella never exactly played by the rules, especially where men were concerned. That’s a crime, to the Slaves, so she was marked and sent here. Jonnor – that was a blue arrow, we know that, and again, he didn’t actually die, he came here. And Mia—”