Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms

by Bevan McGuiness

  Pulling a boot on over her broken toe was agony, but the sound of Hinrik stirring slightly gave her the strength to go beyond the pain. Stamping the ground to settle the boots on her feet, she looked again at Hinrik.

  ‘Bastard son of a rodent,’ she spat. The image of her own dead body lying where Hinrik was flashed back into her mind. No doubt he would have left her there to die without a thought. She kicked him again. He groaned, but did not move. ‘Freeze,’ she told him. ‘Coupling with a lizard. Bastard!’

  She shoved everything that would fit into the bag Hinrik had brought and made her way out into the night. Overhead, Grada was moving towards Yatil, indicating the Kiss was soon, ushering in the new Crossing. Instinctively, Myrrhini made the sign of luck — thumb wrapped over forefinger with the other three fingers pointing up at the moons — in hope of a good new Crossing. She gave a wry smile.

  ‘Good Crossing, Myrrhini,’ she said. She stood tall and looked around at the surrounding walls of the Place and sighed. ‘I will need more than luck for that.’

  If she were to escape this Place, she had to negotiate the Arms, or bypass them entirely. How to do that had occupied her mind, and she had decided to try to climb over the rim.

  Her planning had only reached the idea stage, but now she had to think quickly and move faster. In her sack, she had clothes, blankets and some food, possibly enough for a few days. In her mind, she could picture the maps she had been studying and knew she had to head south through the Forest of the Tundra and then down through C’sobra. How long that would take her was the daunting unknown.

  But before that, she had to get out.

  Since the village occupied an area between the central hub and the outer rim of the Place, she was able to easily make her way to the rim without running the risk of being seen — not that she was likely to be watched. She reached the inner wall of the rim and looked up.

  From inside the rim came the muted sounds of the Arms fighting and training. Even so early in the morning, they trained. There was no way through that without being seen and stopped. No, up and over was the only way.

  The wall was smooth and high. No chance of climbing it here, so she moved along the wall, looking for an opportunity.

  To her surprise, about halfway along the arc of the wall she found a ladder lying on the ground. From the way it had flattened the weeds, she guessed it had not been there for long. Myrrhini was puzzled, but not about to question her good luck. She made the sign for luck again and lifted the ladder to rest it against the wall. As she did so, she saw a flash of white on the ground. When the ladder was in place, she stooped and picked up the small package.

  It had her name on it. She opened it to see a letter and a small leather pouch.

  ‘Myrrhini,’ she read, ‘I hope you take your chance and leave this place. Beware of Hinrik, he is not what he seems. Run south, run hard. What you Saw is happening in Vogel, so do not go there. Do not think too badly of us, what we did was not exactly as the poem described.

  ‘Fare you well, Myrrhini.’

  The letter was not signed, but she would know Koslea’s neat, precise script anywhere. She was confused. Koslea was helping her escape? Koslea wanted her to escape? She thought back to his final words to her: ‘I’ve done all I can. Remember the julle, Myrrhini.’ When she first heard the words, she assumed he had meant that he had done all he could to protect the Acolytes, to prevent her finding out the truth of how the Acolytes had twisted their agreement and slowly destroyed the Mertians after having already wiped out the Scarens. But what if he was referring to something else? What if he meant that he had done all he could to help her escape? Had he separated her from Hinrik deliberately by calling in the Arms? When had he placed the ladder and note here? She blushed as she realised Koslea might have been out here preparing for her escape while she and Hinrik were together. Images, remembered sensations swept across her, leaving her not breathless with pleasure but anguished with embarrassment and shame.

  A clatter of weapons followed by a burst of laughter from within the rim brought her back to her present situation. She tucked the letter and pouch into her bag and started climbing.

  Reaching the top, she pulled the ladder up after her. The steep pitch of the roof made the climb hard, especially given the light dusting of snow that had left it damp and slippery. The one thing she had in her favour was the loud noise the Arms were making below her. Their clashing weapons and rough voices should easily cover whatever noises she made as she dragged the ladder up with her.

  At the peak of the roof, she sat astride the ridge and heaved the ladder up until it overbalanced and tipped down onto the outer slope of the roof. Try as she might to be careful, it landed heavily on the tiles with a loud crunch. Something broke, probably a tile, sending fragments skating down the roof to fall with another clatter on the ground outside.

  Myrrhini froze as the noises from inside stopped. For a moment there was silence before muffled voices floated up through the roof, voices that sounded different to the previous loud shouts and cries of training men. These voices were lower, more intense. They sounded like orders.

  Without thought, Myrrhini dropped the ladder and swung her leg over the roof ridge, allowing herself to slide down the slope. At the edge of the roof, her feet shot out into space while she desperately scrabbled at the tiles seeking purchase. The ladder tumbled to the ground uselessly. More tiles broke sending clay fragments clattering to the ground as she groped and thrashed at the roof. Her body was more than halfway over the edge when she finally brought herself to a stop and clambered back up.

  From below came the shouts of men as they left the Place and swarmed around, seeking the source of the noise. It would be only moments before she was found and dragged back to face Joukahainen to answer for what she had done. She had to move and move fast.

  Myrrhini started to edge as quickly as she could along the roof, away from the fallen ladder. Her broken toe was throbbing, sending shafts of pain up her leg with every step. Lights appeared below as the Arms raised torches. A man called out.

  ‘A ladder!’

  Cries and rapid footsteps followed while men ran to examine the fallen ladder. Myrrhini dared not slow or look down as she scuttled along the steep, slippery roof away from the searching eyes.

  A bellowed order cut across the excited chatter. ‘Don’t just stand there, man! Get up there and have a look! She could still be there.’

  Myrrhini increased her pace. A loud thud signalled the ladder being raised to the roof. She heard boots, followed by the cracking of tiles as a heavy man reached the top.

  ‘Nothing up here,’ the man called. ‘She must have gone already.’

  ‘You sure?’

  He gave another cursory glance around. Myrrhini pressed herself against the roof, hardly breathing, as his eyes swept over her.

  ‘Yar,’ he called back down. ‘She’s not up here.’ He clambered down the ladder again.

  When he was safely on the ground, he joined the rest of the Arms as they moved out into the darkness beyond the Place in search of whoever it was who had dared leave. Myrrhini knew it would not be long before they realised who it was. In fact she was a little surprised they had not worked it out already.

  The sounds of pursuit faded. Myrrhini crept back towards the ladder, miraculously left behind by the Arms, and started to climb down. Her toe was so painful that she nearly cried out when she put her foot down off the ladder. After a quick look around to make sure she had not been seen, Myrrhini hobbled as fast as she could away from the Place of the Acolytes into a world she knew nothing about.

  Once in the trees, she felt herself relax. The Arms were blundering about ahead of her, shouting and crashing, looking for the escapee. She moved as quickly and quietly as she could. The Arms, with their torches and loud voices, were easy to spot and avoid. Most movement was away from the Place, gradually spreading out, so that the gaps between the men increased. Myrrhini simply followed along stealthily.

 
Time ceased to have meaning — her every sense, every thought was concentrated on the search going on ahead of her. The noises of shouts and calling gradually died down until the hunt was occurring in near silence.

  It was after Grada had set that, at a command Myrrhini did not hear, the Arms started to head back to the welcoming warmth of the Place. This was the most dangerous time, as the men began to walk back towards her. Hunkering down behind a large tree with her back pressed against the bark, she waited.

  It did not take long before the sounds of a pair of boots crunching in the snow came near. Myrrhini pressed herself against the tree as a member of the Arms strode past her. He was a compact man with long hair, clad in the full uniform of an officer. His breath streamed out in the light of both moons. As he passed, Myrrhini heard his low muttering.

  ‘Stupid bitch. Why in ice would she leave? Freezing cold, julle pack in the area, no gear, she won’t last the night. Idiot.’

  Myrrhini stiffened, part in offence at the man’s words and part in fear of the julle pack. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of stepping out and announcing herself to the man to gain the safety of the Place. At least then she would survive the night. The idea passed as quickly as it had come and she remained motionless until the officer had gone. The sounds of others returning were clear in the still air of the night. Myrrhini forced herself to stay hidden until every sound had faded. Her back was aching from the cold seeping through her clothes, her broken toe was throbbing fit to burst and her hands were numb, but her renewed determination to be away from the Place of the Acolytes kept her hidden until the silence of the forest had returned.

  When she was convinced she was alone in the night she stiffly rose to her feet and looked around.

  South. Which way was that?

  The sun rose over there, which meant that south was … she turned to her right, there.

  Myrrhini shrugged and headed south.

  28

  Slave looked about nervously. The edginess, the unease, the discomfort that bordered on fear had not left him in the days since departing Vogel. If anything he had slowly become a jangling mess of nerves. He was hardly sleeping, and eating was a chore. On numerous occasions, he had felt his heart start to pound for no apparent reason, causing his breathing to become laboured and shallow. His head swam and once he almost fainted. So far he had managed to keep his discomfort to himself, but he sensed Ileki was more aware of his problems than he acknowledged. Also the looks the others shot at him were no longer merely suspicious; he was beginning to see malice in their expressions.

  Night was falling again. Slave sniffed the air, trying once more to discern what, if anything, was causing the tension. Nothing. All around, he could see the wide open fields but little else. They were already into the arid lands that stretched north to the tundra and west to the mountains. The wind was blowing steadily from the north-west, carrying with it the scents of desert sands, of something lying long dead somewhere, of cultivated land.

  Nothing.

  He looked up at the darkening sky and felt a wave of fresh fear sweep over him. He cried out in panic. The Warrior’s Claw seemed to leap unbidden into his hand as he sprang from the carriage.

  ‘Slave!’ a voice called. ‘What is it?’

  Fear, anger, panic. Uncontrollable emotions surged through Slave. He held a fighter’s crouch, snarling at everyone around him, his Claw gripped tightly in his left fist. Someone yelled. Slave roared in bestial fury and sprang towards the voice. He did not know who tried to stop him, but struck out savagely, dimly sensing the Claw slice into flesh. Another person stepped in front of him, then another. From behind came the sound of footsteps, but Slave was too unhinged to pay attention to anything but his need to flee, to escape this oppressive terror. Voices were raised, weapons too, but Slave drove on, his Claw slicing through anything that appeared in his path. Words shifted to cries, cries rose to screams as he ran, but he did not understand any of it

  He sped out into the field. The tall stalks of grain whipped at him as he fled.

  Something slammed into his back, causing him to stumble. The Claw slipped from his grasp. Before he could react to regain his balance, another powerful impact sent him to his knees. His hand landed on the Claw and he gripped it. Once again, the feel of the heavy metal comforted him, almost easing the raging panic, but yet another blow, this time high on his left shoulder, spun him around and drove him face down into the dirt. He scrambled to regain his footing, but a final solid blow, this time from a boot, robbed him of consciousness.

  ‘… no idea,’ a voice said.

  Slave resisted the urge to stir as consciousness returned, preferring to lie motionless, listening.

  ‘Well, you had better find out,’ Aesla snapped. ‘Hari’s wound is very serious. If he dies, this dies too.’ Slave was unprepared for the sharp jab to his ribs from Aesla’s boot. A groan of pain escaped his lips.

  ‘So it wakes,’ Aesla said. She crouched beside him and poked him with what felt like a dagger.

  Slave opened his eyes. As always, a slight flinch greeted the sight of his left eye. He made to sit up, but could not. He looked down to see that he was tied hand and foot. A chain wrapped around his chest was shackled to the axle of the carriage.

  Aesla tapped his chest with her dagger. ‘Tell me why I should not just open your sorry throat right now,’ she said in a flat tone.

  ‘With Hari injured, you need me.’

  Aesla shook her head. ‘No, not good enough. We have a Reader and three others who are still fit. If we are careful, we won’t have any problems.’

  ‘Then kill me,’ Slave said.

  Aesla rocked back on her heels and loudly expelled a breath. ‘Bastard,’ she muttered. ‘You know I can’t do that. We really do need you.’ Aesla shifted to sit cross-legged beside him and leaned forwards. ‘What the ice happened?’ she asked.

  Slave shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I have been nervous and edgy ever since leaving Vogel, but today I just…‘ He hesitated, unsure how to describe the wave of uncontrolled fear and anger that had swept over him. ‘I don’t know, I just could not stand it any more.’

  ‘Stand what?’

  As Slave considered her question, images came to his mind — images of open skies, wide empty plains, vast distant horizons, space without end. An idea started to form, but before it could fully take shape another figure loomed over him.

  ‘He’s been underground all his life,’ Ileki said. ‘Always surrounded by walls, enclosed in small spaces. He’s terrified of the open space.’

  ‘But we’ve been out of Vogel for days,’ Aesla protested. ‘Why now?’

  Ileki joined Aesla sitting on the ground, on the opposite side of the bound Slave. ‘I would guess,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘that he has been feeling nervous ever since leaving the city. Would that be right?’ He addressed the last to Slave directly.

  Slave nodded.

  Ileki looked back up at Aesla. ‘He has a very disciplined mind as well as a disciplined body. He could keep the fear under control until now, but it simply got too much for him. He panicked.’

  Aesla closed her eyes and sighed. ‘The man can face down a barin, but panics at the sight of open sky?’

  ‘I think so, yes,’ Ileki agreed.

  As Ileki spoke, Slave felt the pieces click together in his mind. Hovering at the back of every thought since leaving Vogel was the nagging unease of openness. There was no end to the nothing around him. The sky went on and on, forever. The land stretched to the horizon, there was no solidity, no barrier, nothing. Nothing. That was what had so terrified him: the concept of nothingness. He was open, exposed. Enemies, anything could come at him from anywhere. He could not feel the safety of a wall at his back, he could be seen from great distances.

  The thought of such distances, of the vast nothing that lay around him, the sky that went up and out forever, sent a shiver through him. He groaned and closed his eyes; the knowledge of all that space pounded at h
is mind, forcing his eyes open.

  ‘I am right, aren’t I?’ asked Ileki.

  Slave swallowed hard and gave a short nod.

  ‘Ice and wind,’ Aesla spat. ‘You are more trouble than you are worth.’ In a smooth movement, she uncoiled and rose to her feet as she sheathed her dagger. ‘Sort this out,’ she snapped at Ileki before turning on her heel and stalking away, muttering to herself.

  Ileki watched her go, shaking his head. ‘Sort this out, she says,’ he said softly. ‘Ice and wind, what does the woman expect?’

  Slave looked up at Ileki and frowned. ‘How are you going to sort me out?’ he asked. The look on Ileki’s face shifted into amusement, but froze when he met Slave’s stare.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ileki said simply.

  ‘We have to do something,’ Slave said. ‘I cannot go on like this.’

  ‘No, he can’t.’

  Both Ileki and Slave looked up at the new voice. The Sana stood looking down at them with her arms crossed.

  ‘Do you have any suggestions, Sana?’ Ileki asked.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she said.

  ‘Oh? What do you suggest?’ Ileki prompted gently.

  ‘To start with, untie him and bring him back to the carriage. I am not going to spend time out here in this unhealthy heat.’

  Inside, the carriage was cool and dim. The sides were draped with expensive fabrics in soft pastels, the floor covered in rugs and cushions, while around three sides ran a low bench that served as seating. The San sat in a corner, apparently asleep. The Sana sat primly beside him, as if waiting to give an audience. Ileki and Slave clambered up the two stairs and sat on the bench as close to the rear of the carriage as possible — and as far from the Sana as they could get.