Scarred Man

by Bevan McGuiness

  A hand grabbed his sleeve, breaking his reverie. He looked up to see a flash of white as a cloth was raised, then lowered: the signal to move again. The woman beside him started edging along the Wall. Keshik followed. They slipped silently past several openings before Guaman stopped at an unremarkable patch of darkness. He crouched and peered into it.

  After a short while, he straightened up.

  ‘Sssa,’ he hissed. ‘Here.’

  Three members of the troop moved silently out of their positions and slipped into the dark area, ducking low. Keshik waited with the others for what seemed like an eternity until they returned. Hand gestures were exchanged. Keshik was unable to see the gestures, but Guaman’s reaction suggested he had found what he wanted. Keshik was gathered into a group with three others who entered the darkness under the nondescript rock overhang.

  The sudden change from normal night to the inky blackness of underground was palpable. Keshik felt as if he had instantly shifted into a new world that had never known light. The dark was so tangible as to be almost felt. It swallowed any sounds they made, leaving him feeling deaf as well as blind. He moved slowly, concentrating on feeling his way. His right hand rested on a wall and his feet edged forward, seeking anything on the ground. Beneath his fingers, the stone was smooth and cool, slightly damp.

  They walked like that, in silence, in utter dark, until Keshik lost all sense of time and direction. He followed as they turned corners, walked along passages sloping up and down and twisting this way and that. It seemed that someone knew where they were going as there was no halt or hesitation as they slowly moved deeper into the Wall. Without warning they stopped, causing a small clatter of noise — welcome in the oppressive silence — as they bumped into each other.

  Keshik heard a soft whisper make its way along the line as the command was passed down from Guaman.

  ‘We rest here.’

  Keshik turned his head and repeated the words. When the whispering stopped, it was replaced by a muted rattle and scrape as they lowered themselves to the ground. It was only when he allowed himself to stop and sit down that Keshik realised how exhausted he was. It was not just how far they had come, it was the tension. He had been tense ever since the wyvern had swooped them and now that he was not moving, all the tension caught up with him. He slumped forward, allowing his swords to scrape loudly against the stone wall, earning a jab in the side and a harsh hiss.

  ‘No sounds,’ the voice said into his ear.

  He bit off his instinctive reply and stared into the blackness, wondering where they were, where they were going and what they would be doing when they got there.

  After an unmeasurable time, he was jabbed again and pulled up. He had been dreamlessly asleep, but he awoke fully. Some food was thrust into his hand and he ate it as he followed along. Again the silence and the darkness enveloped him, leaving him alone amid this strange troop on their unlikely mission.

  Some time later, he saw a flash of light. At first, he thought it was his eyes playing a trick, but the flash reappeared, then steadied, then started moving towards them. Slowly a man appeared. The light showed him to be pale with fair hair that hung low to almost cover dark eyes. He was dressed in a leather jerkin and pants with heavy boots on his feet. At his side hung a Warrior’s Claw not unlike Slave’s.

  The man stopped in front of Guaman and gave a short bow before speaking in a peculiar, somewhat sibilant and lilting tongue. Guaman answered in the same language. The two of them talked for a short while before the man carrying the light turned and started leading them further on, deeper into the Wall, but more upwards. They passed many side tunnels, stepped around pits and ducked under unexpected projections, all of which they would have missed without the light leading them.

  They marched in silence, but ahead there were sounds, strange to Keshik’s ears. At a junction of three tunnels, Guaman held his hand up to call a halt. He turned and hissed a command in the sibilant tongue. Everyone in the troop, except Keshik at first, unsheathed their swords. He followed suit. At Guaman’s next gesture, they all advanced in attack formation along the left-hand passage.

  Unlike all the passages they had traversed so far, this one was wide enough for four and smoother, with fewer loose rocks on the floor. Keshik walked on the right-hand side of his band of four — almost none of whose names he knew — three from the front, awaiting the battle to come.

  Rounding a corner, he saw a guarded door ten paces ahead. The first rank fell on the two guards and had them down before they could call out. Guaman ripped the keys from one guard and unlocked the door, pushing it aside without hesitation. He gave a rapid series of signals and the first four ranks sprinted ahead, through the open door into the room beyond. Without speaking a word or uttering a cry of any sort, the sixteen fighters spread out and engaged the surprised men sitting at tables, talking quietly or playing dice or lying on simple cots. It was simple slaughter done in heartbeats. None of the men were armed or prepared in any way. Some of them showed no signs of being fighters and fell to their knees at the first sign of the attack, but they were hacked down without pause.

  Keshik wiped the blood off his blades and resheathed them as he watched the others ransack the room. There was something odd about them. They weren’t simply looting as was the custom with soldiers, they were leaving valuable trinkets, even coin, behind while they hunted. It dawned on him suddenly — they were searching for something specific. He shrugged and pocketed whatever took his eye. If they were leaving the goods behind, there was no reason he should. After a while, one of them looked up and caught Guaman’s eye. He shook his head slightly and Guaman nodded. He gestured and two men moved to open the door that led out of the room while the others formed up behind them, ready.

  The door was not locked and it opened smoothly onto another room. It was as well the murder done in the first room had been silent, for there were ten armed men standing at the ready, guarding a large metal door opposite. There was no stunned surprise here: the guards reacted with the speed of trained warriors. One nocked an arrow and brought down an invader, another took two steps to one side and struck a large bell, while the remaining eight drew swords and advanced.

  The troop surged forward, spreading out to allow as many of their number in as possible, but the guards copied their action, so that the two groups met in the middle of the room with a clash of steel. The guards shouted, but the invaders remained disciplined and silent, even when cut down. Keshik was engaged quickly, but for all his training, the guard was no match for him and he went down without landing a blow. An arrow sliced the air past his cheek to land with a soggy thud in the throat of the man behind him. Keshik stepped forward to engage the next guard, but in the close quarters of the fight, one of his swords snagged on someone close and, for a moment, left him undefended on the left. Again, the guards were shown to be little more than armed amateurs and his opponent failed to take the chance.

  He wrenched his blade free and cut the man down. For a fleeting moment, he had a space around him, so he sought the archer who was still firing into the melee. So far he had brought down three and, as Keshik saw him, he was taking aim on another. Keshik spat a curse in Tusemon at him, causing him to falter and look around. When their eyes met, the archer shifted his aim to Keshik. It was what he had wanted. He lowered his blades, as if in expectation of death, but when the archer loosed his arrow, Keshik slashed upwards and cut the shaft from the air. The archer’s eyes widened as he realised what had happened. Before he had the chance to nock the next arrow, the Swordmaster was upon him.

  The room fell silent. Keshik looked around. All the guards were down, along with six of the troop, of whom at least three would never rise. Keshik was surprised when Guaman gestured to another man who quickly killed the three wounded. When he was done with his bloody work, he wiped his knife on the coat of one of his former colleagues. He gave the salute to the dead — raising the blade in front of his face — and stood. Guaman gave a curt nod before gesturing t
o move on.

  Beyond the door was a room the likes of which Keshik had never imagined possible. It stretched, perfectly straight, as far as he could see, and was lit at regular intervals. Dominating the whole scene was a vast slab of rock that extended apparently the length of the room. Attached along the slab maybe three paces apart were heavy chains, each link of which was about as tall as a man and as thick as a man’s torso. The chains rose high above the top of the slab to disappear into darkness. The sheer scale of the room was intimidating.

  The air was thick with moisture and water lay everywhere: pooling on the floor, dripping from the chains and falling like raindrops from the roof. There was movement as people walked beside the slab of rock, apparently checking every portion with infinite care while others were clambering along the chains like monkeys. How they managed to keep their grip on the wet metal and not fall to their deaths was a mystery to Keshik, but he had little time to ponder it as Guaman gave another hand gesture and pointed to the right.

  As one, the troop sprinted into the darkness away from the huge slab of stone. As they moved, the sound and smell of animals quickly built up. Great bellows and grunts, like monstrous horses in pain, together with heavy pounding like vast footsteps. The stench was unbelievable. They kept running — it seemed to Keshik that they must surely leave the Wall — but ahead the light was that of torches, not sunlight.

  Guaman held up his hand and the troop came to a halt, all breathing hard and drenched with sweat. Despite the unimaginable size of the area they were in, the air was foetid, still and close, with now no end in sight. It was as if they were in an underground plain that never saw the daylight.

  ‘We have achieved our first aim,’ Guaman said in a low, harsh whisper. ‘Now we set camp here and start the next stage.’

  Camp? Here? Keshik was unable to grasp the concept. Setting a camp inside, near no wall or any sort of cover? Outside, on a real plain where the wind blew clean and the sun shone, he would camp anywhere, but here? Nonetheless, the troop settled themselves and prepared to rest. A basic guard roster was set up and Keshik eased himself down onto the stone to try to relax.

  Sleep would not come, but as he rested he tried to work out what he had gotten himself into. And how to get out of it. It was clear these people knew more about the inner structure of the Wall than they should as Tusemon raiders. There was complicity with the inhabitants at some level, which just complicated matters. Was he a part of a revolution? An uprising? Like just about everyone he had ever known, he knew next to nothing about the inner workings of the City of the Wall, so it was possible for there to be complex politics, but what was that to him?

  He was only here in order to stay alive to find Maida.

  He had to leave this troop, whatever their purpose, before things got too ugly. Dying here with these people was not going to happen. But how to leave, and where to go? He recalled the brief conversations he had had with Slave, usually at night, about his training in underground fighting and finding his way in utter dark. He would be at home here in this stinking hole where sunlight never warmed the ground and wind never stirred the air. But he was gone, chasing after Myrrhini as he, Keshik, should be seeking Maida. Just the thought of her name was enough to bring her back to fill his mind, so he gave himself over to enjoying his memories — memories that could always drive the blood and death away.

  He jerked awake as someone touched his shoulder.

  ‘Move,’ a voice whispered in his ear.

  Keshik silently rose. The animal stench had faded while he slept. His eyes could make out shapes: black against black in the dim light from the torches that lit the vast slab of rock so far behind them. Ahead, the grunting of the animals continued, but he was still unable to identify what manner of beast they might be. The troop was moving at a jog towards the animals. No doubt he would find out what they were soon enough.

  He gnawed on some of the dried travel rations the troop had given him as he jogged. It was good, better than the normal rations, but still dry and tasting like sweat. He swallowed and took a swig of water. It, too, tasted of sweat.

  They ran over level, flat ground, stone carved by ancient means to serve ancient purposes. Ahead, light started to glow, the flickering light of torches. It grew rapidly as they ran, soon casting shadows that danced behind them on the stone ground. Every sense seemed to be acute, flooding him with information. He took in the mixture of light and shadow, black on black and dancing flames ahead. He heard the pounding of his feet, his breathing, the creak and rattle of equipment and armour overlaying the grunting and snorting of the animals ahead. His skin tingled as his sweat dried in the breeze created by his own movement. The scents, the smells, the stench of those around him mingled yet he could still identify each different one.

  When the flicker of silver flashed for less than a heartbeat, away to the right, he saw it and on some level understood it, but on no conscious level did he register its presence or its meaning. He kept running.

  They slowed to a walk as the animals ahead started to take shape. The chains of the great stone slab appeared again and angled down towards the ground where they ended in massive harnesses strapped to the backs of the animals, of which there were hundreds upon hundreds, attended to by as many men and women. Keshik was puzzled as to what this small troop could hope to achieve here, unless of course, their aim was to cripple or destroy the great Wall itself. In which case these monstrous animals that were attached to the unimaginably vast block of stone that was the heart of the Wall would be the target. It was the sheer strength of these beasts, shackled to the mighty chains that controlled the gate that operated the Great Wall, allowing the water to flow or not. If they were harmed or killed, the Wall would cease to function.

  Could that be the aim of these strange people?

  One of the huge beasts suddenly bellowed as if in rage. Keshik stared at it, finally close enough to make out some details. It was unlike anything he had ever seen: six-legged, with a small head on a long sinuous neck; a tail, thick and stubby, sported two large spikes, and a double row of spines extended the length of its back and neck. In the flickering torchlight it looked to be brown in colour with odd splotches of yellow.

  As if the bellow were some sort of signal, dozens more of the beasts reared and roared, sending the attendants scurrying about in a frenzy. They came from everywhere, wielding long poles with which they prodded and struck their charges with great thwacks that cut across the noise of the animals. Guaman reacted as though he was expecting this. He gestured to the left and the troop changed direction, running towards an area where there were no handlers. In the dim flickering light, the intention was obvious: to get through the line without being seen. They moved like ghosts. Guaman showed skill in leading them, keeping to the dancing shadows, staying in the darkness even as they approached the light.

  Up close, the animals were intimidating. They loomed huge overhead. A tall man could easily run beneath their bodies, between their tree trunk-sized legs. Their long necks curved and swayed as the troop darted past them, their heads dipping to regard the little people. Small, red-rimmed eyes stared dumbly, reflecting occasional flashes of firelight that gave them an otherworldly, surreal appearance. Warm breath, redolent with rotting vegetation, washed over Keshik as one lowered its head close to him. It opened its mouth to reveal rows of heavy, blocky teeth designed for grinding grass. Each tooth was as large as Keshik’s fist. He looked away and concentrated on running.

  They were through. The noise and smell faded quickly as they fled beyond the monstrous beasts. Just before the light disappeared completely, Guaman held up his hand to signal them to head to the left. The troop wheeled smoothly around and continued running until a wall appeared, black and forbidding, before them. They stopped and the man who had met them earlier stepped forward to the single wooden door in the wall. Keshik could not make out what he was doing, but presumably he had pulled out a key and unlocked the door for, after a brief pause, the door was swung open. />
  ‘Now we earn our money,’ Guaman said. A low chuckle ran through the troop. It sounded odd to Keshik, as though it was a joke he did not get, but he was used to that so he followed as the rest of them filed silently through the door. Beyond lay utter dark.

  A faint light sputtered before blossoming into a gentle green glow that someone held aloft. The troop moved on.

  They passed quickly through a tortuous maze of narrow tunnels. Keshik frequently lost track of the light as its bearer turned a corner or rounded a bend but the sounds and smells of those around him kept him following, and held panic at bay.

  The scent of fear had assailed him soon after passing through the door. At first it was just a niggling sense of something watching him which he dismissed as simply an awareness of those around him, but the feeling kept growing until it filled his mind. He could not see any walls or a ceiling, but still he felt they were closing in, soon to crush him. He started to pant as if exhausted, then the sweats began. He started to mutter his dofain, but the man behind him jabbed him sharply with what felt like the hilt of a sword, shaming him into silence. The dofain helped little as he ran over it mentally; it did not quieten his mind and take him to the still place he needed for battle readiness. And that he would need battle readiness was unquestioned. This was not going to be an unhindered passage, of that he was sure.

  26

  The Queen’s Quest was a graceful vessel. She stood at anchor in Usterust, her clean lines setting her apart from the other, more prosaic, sturdy coastal ships clustered around her like supplicants. Her crew, clad in similar uniforms to the Agents, were disciplined and sombre. As Huitzilin led his xuauhtli aboard, he held Maida’s arm tightly. She was chained hand and foot, walking quickly with shortened steps. Gone was the dress she had chosen while locked up, replaced with canvas trousers and a coarse-weave tunic. Her feet were bare and her face was dark with anger, not all of it directed at the man forcing her along. After they had boarded, Itxtli followed with his xuauhtli and Onaven. She walked unencumbered, and was dressed in finery, underneath which she hid her dagger, her pouch of herbs and a large rodent.