Had he been younger, Kendron would have spun on his heel, and marched smartly away. Instead, he shuffled round and walked slowly back to the lines of his Hundred, one of his Companions hovering at his elbow and another retrieving his sword.
Hurst’s whole body shook, but he forced himself to turn and walk away from the humiliation. Dethin reached a hand to pull him back onto the plinth. As Hurst buckled on his sword, Tanist raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“He guessed something was going to happen. They have battle swords.”
“So do we,” Tanist said. “Well, some of us do, and we have plenty of daggers and bows. We’ll give them a fight, if that’s what they want. Don’t worry about it. We still have one more die to throw. Whenever you’re ready, Warlord.”
With a brief nod, Dethin removed his helmet and stepped to the front of the plinth, gazing calmly down at the perfectly straight lines of the Silent Guards, and the more disordered squares of Skirmishers. It took some courage, Hurst thought, to stand there so coolly, when there was no knowing how the Silent Guard might react. What would they do, he wondered, if one of their own side drew a weapon? Would they turn on him? Did they even have a concept of sides, or was it just us and everyone else? He remembered the six from the tower, whose loyalty was only to their fellows, and wondered at how little any of them knew of these men, taken at the age of five and turned into a golden army with almost unimaginable levels of discipline.
The Skirmishers shuffled nervously, but the Silent Guard stayed immobile, watchful. Dethin raised one hand, and the court fell silent as everyone’s eyes turned on him.
“Guards of the Temple,” he began, and his voice lifted commandingly around the court, “you who live under the bonds of your oath, I bring you good news. You have been promised a day when you will be set free from your servitude, when all those oppressed and bound shall be free. That day has now come. These men behind me are here to bring freedom and joy to all those labouring under the heavy yoke of oppression. They mean no harm to you, or to those who devote their lives in humility to the Word of the Gods. They will not enter the temples, or defile them, or breach their sanctity. No one who lives honestly need fear them. Their object is to cleanse the Karningplain of the evil ones who have subjugated its people, who have destroyed lives and families, who have imposed their will by fear, who sent any who opposed them into exile. I myself lived beyond the borders, and now I have returned as it has been foretold. I stand before you in the shadow of the Great Temple. I have turned the worm. I ask you, therefore, to lay down your weapons and leave this place. Go where you will, in peace and contentment, for the rest of your days. I set you free.”
Even Hurst, who knew Dethin well and was aware of what he would say, was impressed by his rhetoric. He could see the Skirmishers exchanging puzzled glances, and shaking their heads, but the Silent Guards stood transfixed, unmoving. When Dethin stopped speaking, the ten leaders who stood a little forward of the rest began signalling to each other with their hands, as they had in the tower, communicating in their strange language. Their fingers flew, and Hurst thought there was an excited, almost frenzied, air about it. Then with curt nods, they stopped, and one of them turned and began signalling to his men behind him. Several of them ran forward to the glass roof between the two battle lines and began opening concealed doors to reveal winding mechanisms on each side. In teams they hauled, and gradually the sides of the roof parted and fell away, revealing a large opening.
“Now what?” Hurst muttered.
“I expect they have keelarim down there,” Gantor whispered back. “They haven’t seen him turn the worm, so they’ll want proof of that.”
“Did they accept the rest of it, d’you think?”
But Gantor just shrugged.
“At least they haven’t drawn their swords yet,” Trimon said, his fingers moving restlessly on his bow.
After the glass roof was opened, the men operating the machinery dashed off into their own lines, and Hurst lost sight of them. There was a long pause, when nothing appeared to be happening. Apart from lowering his arm, Dethin remained still at the front of the plinth.
“What’s happening?” Walst hissed. He had been given strict instructions not to draw his sword, not even to rest his hand on the hilt, unless given an explicit order, but he clenched and released his sword hand repeatedly.
“Nothing,” Gantor said. “Have patience.”
Some metallic noises and then – crack! Hurst jumped, and Walst’s hand shot to his sword before slowly dropping again. A loud rumble below ground. Loud clinking sounds, then a bellow reverberated around the court, like a giant kishorn.
“What the Vortex—?” Trimon gasped, as another rumble shook the ground.
“Big keelarim?” Hurst said, puzzled.
Another bellow, louder, like thunder. Hurst winced, turning away. Still Dethin remained unmoving. Clinking again, scrabbling noises, more rumbling, a low growl, barely audible, felt in the chest.
“What is down there?” someone said.
Then an eruption of gleaming red scales, long neck, spikes everywhere and vast wings – wings half the width of the court, flapping free, raising a storm of dust. Shrieking defiance, the beast tore screaming straight into the sky, until the chains caught it, tugged it back, held it in midair above their heads.
“By the Gods! A dragon!” said Gantor, awed.
“Ah,” said Tanist. “Not quite the sort of worm we were thinking of, eh? What a lot of legendary creatures we’re meeting lately.”
The dragon bellowed again, fought futilely against the chains which held it on both legs and round its neck, then settled awkwardly on the ground near the open hatch, chains clanking back into the void. It saw the golden lines of the Silent Guard, and with a low growl leaped and dived towards them. None of them moved, although one or two near the front flinched. Again the chains held it, and it settled on a nearby plinth, wings outstretched, screaming its fury. Another leap and one of the chains holding its neck snapped.
“Any time you like, Warlord,” Tanist called out, but Dethin turned and came running back to them.
“No good,” he said, and his eyes were wide with shock. “Better move out of range.”
“What do you mean, no good?” Tanist said.
“I’m not getting anything from it.” The creature shrieked again, flapped and took off, snapped another chain. “Whatever it is, it’s not something I can deal with. We’ll have to find another way.”
Another surge, nearer to the Silent Guard, and this time some of them jumped back. One chain caught on a claw, and as the dragon tried to wrestle its way free, it spun round and caught sight of the little group still standing on the plinth. It screamed and dived at them, breaking a third chain.
“Further back!” shouted Tanist. “Back, quickly! Archers, prepare to shoot!”
They scrambled to the edge of the plinth, and began jumping down, but Dethin caught Hurst’s arm.
“Trimon!” was all he said.
Hurst turned, horrified. Trimon was facing the dragon, walking slowly forwards to the edge of the plinth. Within a few steps he would be within range of its fearsome teeth.
“Trimon! Come on! Time to go!”
“Carry him,” Gantor said, and they dashed across to Trimon and grabbed his arms. Hurst was shocked by his face – he was almost dreamlike, gazing enchanted at the dragon as if it were the most beautiful sight in the world. And the dragon, his eye almost level with Trimon’s, gazed back at him.
“Wait, wait!” Dethin came running up beside them. “Trimon, what are you seeing?”
“Amazing!” he murmured. “Quite amazing! Unbelievable!”
“Trimon, talk to me!” Dethin took one arm and shook him, and Trimon tore his eyes away from the dragon and turned his head.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Trimon, tell me exactly what you can see.”
“Look for yourself.”
Another shake, harder this time. “Describe it.”<
br />
“Oh. Swirls of colour. Light, all blowing round, making shapes. A single shape – not sure. The way it moves – just air moving, but so beautiful… Oh, look at that!“
The dragon flapped its wings again, stirring a tornado of dust.
“Can you make it go away?”
“Why would I do that? It’s glorious.”
He gazed at it, mesmerised. Dethin squeezed round to stand directly in front of him. Trimon ducked his head left and right to keep the dragon in view, but Dethin grabbed his head with both hands and forced his attention.
“Trimon! Concentrate. You have to force it to obey you.” Another great flap of wings set Dethin’s hair flying. “Focus your mind. Get control of it.”
For the first time, Trimon looked fully into Dethin’s face. “How? I don’t understand.”
“You have a connection to it.” The dragon stretched its neck skywards and screeched in anger. “We just see a dragon, you’re the only one who can see what it is underneath, its true nature. So reach out your mind to it, and bring it—”
Another screech drowned his words, but this time Trimon nodded and lifted his face to the dragon. He closed his eyes and then gasped.
Whatever he did stirred the dragon to a frenzy of flapping. The chain held it. Landing awkwardly, it settled on the ground and pelted towards Trimon, screaming, rows of teeth bared.
The others all scrambled back, but Trimon was motionless, eyes shut, concentrating, oblivious.
Then his eyes shot open, mouth round in surprise. He raised one hand towards the dragon, lifted his head and gave a great, unearthly howl that echoed round the court. On and on, rising and falling, like nothing human.
The dragon took off again with a scream of dismay, wings flapping right above their heads now, sweeping them into a new dust storm. The final chain snapped and it shot up, then swirled round and round, screeching so loudly that Hurst’s ears hurt.
Circling in great sweeps, becoming bigger and less diffuse, filling the whole court, a howling gale tearing at them, catching loose gloves, someone’s bow, a helmet, tossed into the air like so many dry leaves. Then just as Hurst thought he would be blown away himself, it was gone, the dust settling, a rattle of debris falling, and finally silence.
A small cheer from somewhere behind them, and a burst of relieved chatter as people picked themselves up, shook off dust, looked for lost belongings. In front of them, the Silent Guards moved forward in unison, until the front line was directly below the plinth. As one, they unstrapped their weapons and laid them at their feet before kneeling, heads bent to the ground in submission.
“Well, looks like we’ve found the One after all,” Gantor murmured.
57: Home (Mia)
Mia could hardly believe the tale when she heard it.
“But it wasn’t real?” she kept saying.
“It was real enough, but not alive.” Dethin’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her bewilderment.
“And it was just wind? A tornado?”
“Something like that. It looked to us like a dragon, but Trimon could see through the illusion, and he saw it as air, moving air.”
“So he really has a connection.”
“Apparently so.”
“It must have been magic of some sort,” she said uncertainly.
“I suppose so. The Silent Guard conjured it up, but they don’t have the power to create such trickery themselves. I imagine they found the machinery, discovered what it could do and incorporated it into their beliefs.”
“But what was it for? Why would anyone make such things?”
Dethin shrugged. “Who knows? A defence mechanism, maybe? Or perhaps it was used for some obscure ritual. It must date back to before the Catastrophe, so we’ll never know for sure.”
Mia was glad to see Dethin safely back, one of the first to return to the tower. He led a small number of those injured by the fighting on the streets, where groups with different allegiances had clashed. Everyone else had stayed behind.
Although the Silent Guards had submitted to Trimon’s authority, and most of the opposing Skirmishers had surrendered without a fight, including Mia’s father, there were still a few clashes as they dispersed. Then it was a matter of plodding methodically through the maze of tunnels and halls below the temple complex, rooting out all the Trannatta. They found numerous bonded servants down there, too, still loyal to their masters.
The celebrations at the tower went on long into the evening, accompanied by a great deal of wine and ale. A few more Skirmishers drifted back through the tunnel in twos and threes, bringing news. Klemmast had led his Hundreds to the House of Revelations, to free all the prisoners there and escort them to healers at the Ring’s main infirmary. The worst affected would be brought to the tower in time. The cells would be called into use again, to house the Trannatta until it was decided what to do with them.
Hurst’s own Hundreds had turned up, and they were to help the Silent Guards who wished to leave, finding them transport to their homes. However, many of the Silent Guard wished to stay, having no memory of any life before the Temple. Trimon was their leader now, as much to his surprise as theirs, and they were willing to follow his wishes. Already he had plans to form an elite troop, although he was vague as to purpose.
Hurst was not amongst the returners, and eventually Mia gave up waiting for him.
“I suppose he’ll find somewhere to sleep over there. Do you have to go back tomorrow?” she asked Dethin as they undressed.
“I’ve been given no orders. Having failed abysmally to turn this particular worm, I don’t think Tanist has much use for me anymore.”
She laughed. “You can look after me, then.”
“Always happy to do that.” He bent his head to kiss her gently.
“And a whole night to do it in.” She caught a look in his eye. “What is it? Too tired? It’s been a difficult day for you.”
“No, it’s not that. It just seems odd that Hurst isn’t here.”
“It’s not the first time that’s happened.”
“But he was always nearby – downstairs somewhere, talking to Tanist, checking on the watch. I knew he would turn up later. This is different.”
They slipped into bed, and he lifted an arm so she could curl up next to him.
“He wouldn’t mind, you know,” Mia said.
“Wouldn’t he? Are you sure about that?”
“He said he’s happy with things as they are, that was quite clear.”
He sighed. “I wonder if he really means it. I’m sure he still feels underneath that you belong to him. And who can blame him? You two have been lovers for years. I’m very much an interloper.”
Was that so? Did Hurst still see Dethin as a rival, someone to put up with, because she wanted it? Was he waiting patiently, hoping she would tire of him?
After a while she said, “It’s not true, actually – that we’ve been lovers for years.”
“No? That’s what he told me. We talked a lot while you were unconscious.”
“For him – I think it is true, but not for me. I never thought of Hurst until a few months ago. He was just a friend, that was all. I was in love with Jonnor.”
“Jonnor? Your other husband?” Astonishment in his voice. “That bag of foul-mouthed unpleasantness?”
She giggled. “That’s the one. He was much more presentable as a Karningholder, you know. He deteriorated sadly when he became a barbarian.”
“I didn’t realise,” Dethin said. “But still – even as a friend, you have a long history together. Whereas I—”
“Whereas you have always treated me kindly,” she said in a low voice. “Unlike Jonnor.”
“But I forced you…”
“Better you than Bulraney.”
“Gods, yes! But still…”
“Ssshh. You were the Warlord, it was expected of you. Don’t feel guilty for doing what you had to do. That’s all over.”
“I don’t know how you can bear to have me touch you. Wh
y don’t you hate me?” And he shuddered, taking a heaving breath.
“I’ve never blamed you, never. And you never hurt me. Stop tormenting yourself. You’re here with me because I want you here. I like being with you, and that’s the truth.”
They lay for a long while in the dark, not speaking. Mia closed her eyes and opened her mind to him, allowing his love to flood over her. She sighed in contentment, wondering if she would ever convince him that he was a welcome bedmate. She thought about Hurst and his comfortable unquestioning adoration, and that was a marvellous thing to have. If she had never met Dethin, she would have been entirely content with Hurst alone.
But Dethin gave her something different, an intense passion that thrilled and excited her. He set her on fire, somehow. It didn’t feel like love, or at least, it was nothing like the deep affection she felt for Hurst, but it was a wonderful sensation to be with him, to see the way he looked at her, to feel his kisses washing through her body, or the warmth of his love inside her mind. It was lust, she supposed, a selfish desire fired by her connection, and perhaps one day it would diminish or she would learn to love him the way she loved Hurst, but for now she wanted him and she wasn’t going to give him up without a fight.
He stirred a little, shifting position. “I love you, Mia.”
“I know,” she said.
~~~
It was several days before Hurst returned. Walst was sent back first, to reassure the women, he said, but Mia suspected he was too fidgety for the delicate business of calming the Ring and mopping up the last of the opposition. He was very cross to be denied a full scale battle and likely his twitchy sword hand would cause trouble before too long if he were out on the streets. But he reported that all was well, apart from a few troublemakers reluctant to concede defeat.
The Plains of Kallanash Page 65