There was no one there.
Lit by the soft glow from the lifting device walls, the dock was empty. A small boat, the type used for fishing on the lake, was tied up, and Gantor leapt aboard, tossing tarpaulins and ropes about. He returned in a moment, shaking his head. Hurst prowled up and down the dock, but there was not so much as a crevice to conceal a man.
“Where have they gone?” he muttered, emitting puffs of freezing air. His skin felt taut with cold. A few flakes of snow fell silently, although the dock was clear.
Hurst made his way to the furthest end of the dock, and peered out across the lake, but the water was still. Far away on the shore, tiny lights shone, making the surface sparkle, but no boat disrupted the smoothness.
“There’s no sign of anyone in the water,” he said.
Then he turned and saw the doors, a dark square almost invisible against the night-black walls of the tower.
“They’ve gone inside,” he said with conviction. “They’re in the tunnels.”
Cautiously they pushed open the outer doors, crossed the ante-chamber and silently eased a chink in the further doors. There was distant shouting inside the Hall of Light – Dethin’s voice, Hurst thought, bewildered. How had he got there? Then another voice, barely audible. No sounds of fighting, though.
He nodded a signal to Gantor. A moment’s pause for breath, then they shoved the doors wide apart and boiled down the steps into the hall.
Some distance away across the mosaic floor was a large group of warriors – no, Skirmishers, Hurst realised. A Ten, or perhaps more, fully mailed and armed, but none had drawn a weapon. In the middle of the group, two of them supported a man swathed in blankets, drooping and injured, or perhaps sick. Beyond them were five men with weapons drawn, Dethin in the centre.
“Surrender or die!” Hurst cried, racing across the floor.
The Skirmishers turned towards him, and now he could see that their hands were raised in submission. As he slowed and his men took up position in a half circle, he read the insignia on their uniforms. He heard Gantor’s cluck of surprise beside him, and he himself lowered his sword a little, astonished.
“Hilligor? By the Gods, what are you doing here?”
“Commander? I’m sorry to alarm you, but we had no way to communicate with you. And we had to do something.”
He drew aside with slight wave of one hand, so that Hurst could see the sick man clearly. Where the blankets parted, a torn shirt was visible, stained with dark patches, perhaps blood. The man’s face was as pale as death beneath unkempt hair and the scruffy beginnings of a beard. His eyes were closed, but he was conscious, muttering under his breath, his head lifting and then lolling to one side or backwards. One leg twitched spasmodically.
And Hurst recognised his new co-husband.
“Bernast?” he whispered. “Oh, by all the Gods…”
~~~
When Bernast had been carried to the infirmary and the healers had shooed everyone away, Hilligor told them everything that had happened since they had parted on the plains outside Third Section. Bernast had gone home, taking his own Skirmishers with him, and Hilligor had gone straight to his co-husbands at his Karning and explained it all.
“It could hardly be kept from them,” he shrugged, “especially since Mannigor had taken up with you, and frankly, I felt out of my depth. I wanted their advice. Cassinor has been on the border longer than anyone else, he’s as wily as a fallan dog and I knew I could trust him. They were all shocked, of course. The older ones in particular… So many barbarians they’ve killed over the years, and were proud to do it. It was an honour to defend the Karningplain from the uncivilised hordes beyond the walls. And now…”
“Did they believe what you told them?” Tanist asked quietly.
“Oh yes. When they thought about it, it explained all the oddities, the things we weren’t allowed to do, because the war had to be maintained.”
Cassinor and one of his brothers were too infirm to make the annual journey to the Ring, and therefore had no fear of an interview with the Voices, so they read all the messages Tanist sent through Hilligor to kin and friends he hoped would sympathise. As a result, they made certain preparations, sending Skirmishers to the barrens for training, just in case, and warning Hilligor to take his battle sword to the Ring with him. It was forbidden, of course, but every Skirmisher packs his own gear for the tournament, and it was easy enough to tuck it away at the bottom of the box.
Once at the Ring, it was possible to meet Bernast at the tournament arena, and discuss tactics. Bernast had been worried about his interviews, but the first one had gone well. They had asked about Mia, of course, but they hardly mentioned Hurst, and Bernast’s trip to the border didn’t come up at all. Even if they had known about that, it was just an invasion exercise, a perfectly legitimate Skirmisher affair, not a matter to concern the Voices.
“They must have been suspicious about Hurst,” Tanist said. “He’d been gone for months, by then.”
“Well, all they asked was simple stuff,” Hilligor shrugged. “Did he tell Bernast where he was going before he left, had he sent any messages to him, that sort of thing. No mention of tunnels. They were more concerned about how Bernast felt about it – was he worried about him. Which he was, of course.”
But by the second round of interviews, the Voices were clearly better informed. They asked Bernast and his Companions outright about Hurst and his trip to the border, and Bernast – open, honest Bernast – had told them everything he knew. Hurst’s stomach clenched in fear – they were too late! They had lost the element of surprise, and now it would be much, much more difficult to achieve a quick result.
“That wasn’t much, though, was it?” Tanist said calmly. “He took care not to know what we planned. Well, we didn’t know ourselves, then.”
“No, but he knew that you and Hurst were out on the plains with the barbarians,” Hilligor said. “He knew you were planning something and he’d talked to me. So my name came to their notice as well, and although I’d tried to keep out of Cassinor’s scheming, I knew I couldn’t risk an interview. But Bernast—” He stopped, distressed, and they sat uncomfortably and waited for him to continue. “Three days later,” he went on, taking a long breath, “they came for him. Twenty Justices and a lot more guards, who took him to the House of Revelations, and his Companions could get no word of him, so they came straight to me. The same day we saw your signal – the red flag at the top of the tower – so we knew we would be safe here. We went in and got him out, and…” He stopped again, his face effused with emotion. “As soon as this is settled,” he said with sudden fierceness, “we’ll go back and get the rest of them out of there. By the Gods, you cannot imagine—!”
“How many?” That was Tanist, his voice like ice.
“Hundreds. I don’t know, we didn’t go any further into that evil Vortex than we needed to. Bernast – the Gods know what they’ve done to him, but others we saw were worse.”
“We’ll get them out. But how did you find him amongst so many?”
“We waved swords at the guards. It’s amazing how helpful people can be when there’s a blade at their throat.”
There was a rumble of approval. The time for caution was long past. Hurst was reminded of Mia, pinning the healer against the wall, dagger out.
“Why bring him here?” Gantor said. “Why not the main infirmary?”
“It’s infested with Slave healers,” Hilligor said at once. “Couldn’t take the risk. But I’m relieved you have proper healers here. I thought we might have to kidnap one.”
“And how did you get the boat? Or know how to ring the bell?” Tanist asked. “We didn’t know that ourselves.”
“Ah. We had – help.” Hilligor waved a hand to indicate one of his men, standing behind him, still helmed. After a momentary hesitation, the Skirmisher swept off the helmet. A woman, head shaved.
“A Slave!” Tanist said, astonished. Then, suspiciously, “And you trust her?”
“With my life!” Hilligor said, with a lift of his chin. “I’ve known her for years now, as a Karninghold Slave and more recently as a Voice. She dislikes the way things are as much as we do, I assure you.”
Tanist turned to her and regarded her steadily. She met his gaze without flinching.
“Are you with us or against us, Most Humble? For there can be no wavering here.”
“I am with you,” she said calmly, her voice low. “I have left my old life behind just as much as you have. I cannot go back.”
“Will you tell us how things work? Who’s in charge? That’s what we can’t find out.”
“I will tell you everything I know.”
Tanist grunted, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eye. “Well, that will certainly be useful.” He glanced at Mia, and she nodded slightly.
Hurst shifted uneasily. He could see no guile in her, it was true, and Mia seemed satisfied, but still… she was a Slave. He was not sure he could ever trust one again.
~~~
The next day, Hilligor and Klemmast went back and forth through the tunnel gathering what Skirmishers they could without attracting any attention, and bringing them back to the tower. By evening, Tanist had more than a hundred men, fit and armed, at his disposal, more than enough to make a show of strength at the assembly, while maintaining the watch at the tower.
At noon the following day, the third since the red signal flag was shown, some fifty people gathered in the entrance hall ready to go to the scholars’ hall for the assembly. Hilligor was left in charge of the tower, to keep watch in case of any attempt by the Slaves to retake it and to guard the prisoners. Klemmast, to his annoyance, was left behind too, and most of the warriors from beyond the border also stayed. The warriors could be no help in the Ring, knowing nothing of it, but they were familiar with the tower by now, and could be relied on if it came to a fight.
Hurst, Dethin and Mia were all to go to the assembly. Dethin would tell his story to the Karningholders, and Tanist thought Mia’s connection would be useful. Hurst was uneasy about it, but they had escape plans in place, and the route back to the tunnel would be kept clear by Skirmishers.
“Keep Mia at the back,” Tanist said to Hurst, “and at the least sign of trouble, get her out of harm’s way. You and Dethin both, understand? Don’t hesitate. She may be as brave as any of us, and handy with a dagger too, but if the arrows start flying, pick her up and run.”
“What about you?” Hurst said. “You can shoot about on those crutches now, but a sword’s more use, I’d have thought.”
Tanist grinned. “My Companions will be standing right behind me at all times. They’ll carry me to safety, if need be.”
Hurst looked the faces surrounding him, some excited, some grim, some thoughtful. This was the moment when all their plans would be laid out for the world to see, the moment when the last shred of uncertainty had to be set aside. Once they stepped into the great lecture hall, there was no retreat, they were committed to see things through to the end – whatever it might be. And, just as when waiting for a battle to start or before entering the tournament ring, Hurst’s mind cleared of everything but the task ahead. There was something satisfying in reducing all life’s problems to just one – survival. The ultimate goal was to establish a new, saner form of governance on the Karningplain, but here, today, the only objective was to face up to whatever came, and live through it.
He took a deep breath, adjusted his sword and snapped on his gloves.
Silently the group filed out of the entrance hall into the ante-chamber and down the stairs to the Hall of Magic. Hurst was near the middle of the group, with Mia and Dethin just behind him. The men were all fully mailed and armed, but Tanist had insisted Mia wear what he called proper clothes – the trousers, long tunic and scarves of a Karningholder. “We want them to be sympathetic,” he had said bluntly, “and she’ll make more of an impression this way than looking like a barbarian.”
They wove backwards and forwards on the black paths, the only sound the creaks and chinks of battle gear, the stump of boots and the tapping of Tanist’s crutches. Then they curved down the widening stair and through one of the gates to the Hall of Light. Small wooden signs had been posted by each tunnel now, showing the direction and the buildings reached that way. Guards had been posted in the hall – “To avoid any surprises,” Tanist had explained – and they saluted smartly as the group passed by. Then on down the tunnel. It seemed very familiar to them now, but Hurst had not forgotten how alien it had seemed when they first encountered it, with its smooth walls and floor and the eerie glowing light emanating from everywhere and nowhere at once.
After a while they came to the first alcove, and Tanist struggled to find the right place to press to open the hidden door, before surrendering to Dethin’s expertise.
Inside, several anxious scholars waited with guttering torches.
“Quickly now, this way!” one said. “Mind your step – it’s a bit rough.”
This proved to be an understatement. Hurst had expected that the tunnel door would decant them directly into the basement of the scholars’ hall, just like the one at the Records Hall. Instead, they found themselves in a crudely excavated cave, which reminded Hurst a little of the caverns under Third Section where the barbarians had gathered before the battle. The walls were black rock, gleaming slightly with moisture, all bumps and jagged outcrops, with here and there the indentations from a pick still visible. Beneath their feet were lumps of fallen stone mixed with gravel, sloping upwards so that occasionally there was a scraping slithering sound and the clash of metal, followed by a curse. Hurst slid himself a couple of times, then Mia went down, and after that they inched along holding hands and feeling their way in the deep shadows, for the torches were well ahead of them.
The cavern narrowed so that the warriors had to creep sideways, but the floor was smooth and level by then, and after that the walls opened out into a more regular cave. Beyond that a door led to a large room half filled with broken chairs and tables, and boxes of cracked slates and nibless pens and other detritus. Finally, a door took them into a wide corridor lit by low-burning lamps.
Several men were left to guard the caves and keep torches ready for their return journey, and more stood in pairs at intervals along the corridor. It was only a short distance before they turned aside and entered a large room, comfortably furnished with rugs, soft chairs and a couple of tables. At one side a ramp swept back and forth to the floor above. Several more scholars were there to meet them, amongst them Danzor.
“This is the preparing room for the great lecture room above,” he said, beaming jovially at them as if this were no more than a regular academic outing. “We will wait here until all is ready, although you are a little late, so it will not be long. Ah, Tillissa! How is it going?”
A stout woman of uncertain age was tiptoeing down the ramp, eyes wide.
“I’ve never seen it so full!” she said in a loud whisper. “Every seat has been taken for an hour past, and still they come.”
“Are they all Karningholders?” Tanist asked. “Any Slaves?”
“A few Slaves, yes. Many Karningholders, but a lot of others – merchants, craftsmen, Aiders. Is that all right?” She looked worried, as if wondering whether she was supposed to refuse admission to the wrong sort.
“The more the better,” Danzor said briskly. “We shall need everyone involved in time, so it’s best they hear what’s going on direct from us. Well, shall we go on up?”
The scholars went up first in a big chatty group, then the warriors silently, in single file again. As before, several were left in the room below to keep it safe for their retreat later, so only twenty walked up the ramp. They could hear the sound long before they emerged, a low rumble like an angry wasps’ nest, getting louder as they ascended. When they reached the upper level, the noise was like thunder. They could see nothing, though, for they were concealed behind a long screen, designed so that a scholar giving a lecture could keep eq
uipment hidden away until it was needed. Here they waited, while scholars ran back and forth, until Danzor deemed the moment judicious and they stepped out onto the dais.
Hurst had been inside the great lecture room many times over the years. It filled most of the first three floors of the scholars’ hall, a semi-circular platform surrounded by tiers of seats rising to a great height, and so designed that even a whisper on the dais below could be heard quite clearly in the highest and furthest seats. It was large enough to accommodate a thousand students, so it was said, and Hurst believed it. Occasionally during very dull lectures he had tried to count the seats, and although he had never quite completed the task the numbers were convincingly high. He counted students, too, and had never recorded more than a couple of hundred, even though the lectures were open to all comers.
Today the room was full to overflowing. On the benches, spectators were squeezed tight against each other, and even the steps were packed with people. More sat on the floor in front of the first seats. At the back, crowds jostled for position and still people fought through the doors and peered over heads from the lobbies beyond. The noise rose to an animated hum, then faded to a low growl, fingers pointing, hands covering whispering mouths, as all heads turned towards the dais.
Hurst could understand their discomfiture. Never before had armed men stood guard here.
To either side of the platform, a line of men stood, helmets hiding their faces, shields in position, mailed hands resting on sword hilts. Three of them carried bows, lowered but primed and with an arrow nocked. They gazed out across the audience, assessing it for threats, as Hurst himself was doing. The benches were too densely crowded to wield a sword, but a bow perhaps…? Or throwing knives, or a dagger. He watched for any sudden movement, his own hand straying to his sword.
And there it was.
Just as Danzor stepped to the edge of the dais, hand held up to command the room, two grey-clad figures jumped up from the floor below. Slaves!
The Plains of Kallanash Page 61