A low murmur spread through the Agents and they started to move. Myrrhini assumed an order had been given to leave. Once again, heavy boots crushed her bare toes, driving them deeper into the clinging black mud, and once again, her cries of pain were lost in the general noise. She limped and staggered her way through the mud to where her horse waited impatiently. A handful of food and a waterskin were thrust into her hand. The Agent was gone before she could thank him.
They rode through the grasses as the mud dried and the humidity built with the rising sun. By the time it reached its zenith, the ground was once more dusty and most of the humidity had burned off, leaving Myrrhini gasping in the heat. She had kept her blanket and draped it over her head to keep the direct sun off her skin, but the heat underneath it was worse. By the time the sun was dipping towards the horizon, Myrrhini was swaying in her saddle with exhaustion.
‘I hate Midacea,’ she muttered when they halted for the day.
An Agent, whose name she knew but could not recall, laughed at her words. ‘Lady, Midaceans hate Midacea. Why do you think there are so many Midaceans scattered throughout the world?’
‘I thought C’sobra was bad,’ Myrrhini said.
‘Sssa, it is, but Midacea, this far south of the river, is worse.’ The Agent helped Myrrhini out of her saddle and steadied her on her feet. ‘There’s truth in the old saying,’ he added.
‘What old saying?’
‘You don’t know it?’
‘Obviously not.’
‘Where have you been all your life?’
‘North.’
‘A long way north, obviously.’
‘All the way.’
‘Ah,’ the Agent said. He had not yet released her hand, but as he spoke he did so, a strange expression on his face.
‘“Out of the forest, out of Midacea.” It means getting away from a place as quickly as possible. People usually just say “out of Midacea” when they mean they are leaving soon.’
‘I’ve never heard that one. Where did it come from?’
The Agent was about to answer when he stiffened abruptly, staring over Myrrhini’s shoulder. She spun around to see Itxtli approaching purposefully.
‘Dismissed, Agent,’ the achulti said. The Agent walked away quickly and went about his tasks of setting camp for the night.
‘That was not friendly,’ Myrrhini chided.
‘Neither is Tochtli,’ Itxtli said, watching the other Agent.
‘He was nice to me.’
‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ Itxtli said shortly.
Myrrhini was unsure whether he was suggesting she had read the Agent’s friendliness incorrectly, or he was saying Tochtli’s friendliness was a mistake. Either way, she was stung by his words and went to walk away.
‘You can’t get out of Midacea that easily,’ Itxtli said.
Myrrhini stopped. ‘What?’ she said.
‘You were asking about the old saying. It comes from when the Midaceans tried to turn their forests into pastureland. They went on a massive land-clearing exercise, cutting down and burning their forests, turning them into this.’ He gestured at the vast grasslands around them. ‘They found, after it all, that their rainforests were growing on poor soil, and once all the leaf litter blew away, they were left with nothing to grow their crops on. The grass is all that grows here now, and not even the cows will eat it. Midaceans fled their homeland in their droves to escape the famines that followed.’
‘Why famines?’
Itxtli gave a bitter laugh. ‘Their only real export was the timber from the forests, which they burned to create a farmland they hoped would rival the Lac’un pastures. When the smoke cleared, they had nothing. “Out of the forest, out of Midacea.”’
‘That’s so sad.’
‘So stupid.’
‘Not stupid, just unwise.’
‘Stupid to trade what you have in the hope of getting something without guarantees.’
Myrrhini wondered what Itxtli would make of her decision to trade her life as the Eye of Varuun for the safety and peace offered alongside the Scarred Man she had Seen. Probably stupid, but she had survived the attack on the Place and made her way this far south despite everything.
Itxtli looked away at a shout, followed by the sounds of an altercation. He sighed and gave an apologetic shrug.
‘The men are getting restless — we have been away from home for a long time. When I have sorted this out I will send someone to help you with a tent.’ He gave a brief nod and left.
Myrrhini watched him stalk towards where the Agents were milling about. The other achulti, Huitzilin, was in the middle of it all, trying to bring order, but without much success. There was something about the two achultis that jarred. They were the same rank, but the Agents treated them very differently, and their treatment of her varied considerably. And her treatment was nothing like the rough handling Maida had endured. Thinking of Maida, Myrrhini sighed, wondering where she was, and why she had left her. Surely they were heading in the same direction — would it not have been better to travel together?
They travelled across the plains with the insects, the dust, the heat, for longer than she bothered to count, the days blurring into dreary, uncomfortable sameness, until one afternoon as the sun set, sending golden shafts of light across the waving grasses, Itxtli gave an unexpected whoop. Myrrhini looked up from her consideration of the black dirt beneath her horse in surprise.
Ahead was a low wall. Barely rising above the level of the ubiquitous grass, it stretched north to south across the plain as far as the eye could see. Myrrhini could not see any guards or any sort of gate — it was just an unremarkable low stone wall. She urged her horse closer to Huitzilin.
‘What’s the wall for?’ she asked.
Huitzilin stared at her with undisguised shock. ‘You can see it?’
‘Obviously.’
The achulti snarled, an angry, frustrated sound. ‘So that red-headed slag was not who she claimed to be.’
‘How so?’ Myrrhini said.
‘Only those of Mertian blood can see the wall. If you can, you must be the one the Queen is seeking.’
Myrrhini frowned, troubled by the illogic in the achulti’s comments, but he had never impressed her with his intelligence. She was about to say something when a low growl made her start. There was barely enough time for her to scream before the big spurre leapt up from where she had been hiding in the grass, her claws extended, her mouth agape. Myrrhini’s scream was cut off by the massive bulk of the cat driving her off her horse and sending her tumbling heavily to the ground. Her horse squealed and bolted.
‘Tatya!’ a voice shrieked. ‘No!’
The spurre, her front paws pinning Myrrhini to the ground by the shoulders, snarled savagely. She bared her fangs and Myrrhini could feel the predator’s rank breath wash over her face. Hot saliva dripped from teeth and lips. Myrrhini stared up, unable to move or even speak, her mind blank with terror. But death did not come. Tatya closed her mouth, stopped snarling and stepped back off the helpless woman beneath her claws.
‘Later, Mertian,’ the spurre rumbled as she turned and walked away.
Myrrhini was about to rise when Maida gave a piercing scream of terror, mingled with agony. Tatya dropped low to the ground in a hunting crouch, her mane bristling, her ears folded back.
Maida rose from where she had been hiding in the long grass. Her hands were pressed hard to the sides of her head and her eyes were wild. The screaming stopped abruptly. Maida dropped her hands to her sides and stared at Myrrhini.
‘Eye,’ she said in a low, harsh voice not her own. ‘I have waited a long, dark time for this opportunity. And you have given me what I want.’ Maida’s mouth stretched open impossibly wide and she made a guttural sound, like she was vomiting up all the filth, all the violence and hatred she had ever seen. Blackness spewed from her mouth, splattering on the ground around her. She kept coughing, vomiting more and more of the vile muck until she staggered and collapsed i
nto it, utterly spent.
For a moment, nothing happened. All the Agents stood silently staring at the hideous scene, unbelieving until, with a gurgling bellow, the black slime sprang up as if alive. It engulfed six Agents before anyone could move. They died, screaming, dissolving before the shocked eyes of the rest. Six more Agents, including Huitzilin, suddenly cried aloud as if in incredible pain. Their cries were short-lived, fading into silence in a heartbeat, leaving them motionless and silent once more.
Myrrhini stepped back hurriedly, bumping into Itxtli. Neither of them moved as Huitzilin drew his sword.
‘Kill them all,’ Huitzilin grated. His voice was the same as the one that had torn its way from Maida’s throat. Around him, the other Agents who had screamed raised their hands. Incoherent roars of malevolence burst forth and a stream of coruscating colours sprang from their fingers. The colours rippled through the air like heat rising from a stove, spreading out quickly to form a hemisphere that enveloped the Agents.
It touched, then engulfed a man who had paused to watch. He gasped once before flaring into brilliant blue light and vanishing. At this, the rest of the Agents turned and ran, Myrrhini and Tatya among them.
‘This way,’ shouted Itxtli, grabbing Myrrhini’s hand. He dragged her towards the low wall. Myrrhini staggered and fell as he wrenched at her, but he simply dragged her along the ground, scraping the skin from her legs and ripping her clothes on the harsh dirt. She tried to scramble to her feet, but he was running too fast.
He ran straight at the wall without pausing. Myrrhini flinched in expectation as he seemed to be about to collide at full speed, but he ran straight through, dragging her with him. She squawked, but felt nothing. Once through, Itxtli slowed to a walk before stopping and releasing Myrrhini’s hand.
‘We’re safe now,’ he panted.
Myrrhini winced as she rose to her feet before gasping in utter disbelief at what lay around her.
‘Where are we?’ she whispered.
‘Home,’ said Itxtli. ‘The city of the Blindfolded Queen.’
39
Tchinwukana urged his horse on, pushing up to a gallop. Behind him, Slave and Keshik followed suit. The ground beneath the hooves was black and powdery, rising in plumes with every impact. They had been riding hard for days across this apparently endless grassland.
They rode during the cool of the evening and the early morning, resting during the blistering heat of the middle of the day. Tchinwukana had left his wounded colleagues back at the inn and taken their horses together with all their gear for Slave and Keshik.
‘Buy new stuff,’ he instructed them, handing over all his money, ‘and follow when you are well enough.’ They had protested, but he ignored them.
So far, he had yet to speak a word to either of his new travelling companions. His silence suited Slave, but Keshik chafed for days before finally starting to talk to himself. He talked at length about his past, his adventures, people he had met and Maida. He talked a lot about Maida.
Slave listened with growing fascination to the swordsman’s story. At first, he heard the words, but as time went by, he started to hear what was being left out. Keshik, Slave realised, never spoke about why he was exiled from the Tulugma, neither did he mention what had happened beneath the city of Vogel. Eventually, Keshik ran out of stories and he fell silent once more, leaving them all to their own thoughts.
By the time Tchinwukana reined in, Slave was ready to eat his horse. He hated riding and this extended stay in the saddle had not changed his mind. He ached from head to foot; his nose, eyes and mouth were full of the black dust and he felt sick from the constant jolting. During the ride, he had watched Tchinwukana and tried to emulate how the Agent of the Blindfolded Queen rode, but he knew he had a long way to go before he could claim to be a competent rider. And he was not sure he wanted the practice necessary to achieve that aim.
‘Here,’ Tchinwukana said.
‘What?’ asked Slave.
‘Home. We have arrived.’
‘Where?’ Keshik pulled his horse in alongside Tchinwukana’s to stare at the vast, unbroken plain of waving silvered grass. ‘There is nothing here.’
‘Ha! You fools, you know nothing.’ Tchinwukana dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and sprang forward. After three strides, horse and rider vanished.
Slave narrowed his eyes to closer examine the empty space into which Tchinwukana had disappeared, but could see nothing. If it was an illusion, it was perfect. He had read of such things: mystical gates that were rumoured to take adepts into distant places. Could the Blindfolded Queen be such a powerful adept? Or did she command others with such power? Either way, she was an opponent to be reckoned with.
Keshik unsheathed his blades and slowly advanced his horse to where Tchinwukana had vanished. Slave watched as the swordsman veered away, heading north, seemingly without him noticing his change of direction. It was only after he had completely turned that Slave called out.
‘Where are you going?’
Keshik spun around. ‘How did you get over there?’
Slave shook his head. ‘You were turned around by the magic hiding this place. It’s how they have stayed hidden for so long.’
‘So how do we get in?’
‘I don’t know.’
Keshik fell to muttering, as Slave had noticed he was wont to do, and stalked away, heading south. Slave watched him, then trotted along to join him.
They walked south, Slave in silence and Keshik muttering, for the rest of the day and most of the next with neither plan nor purpose beyond hoping to find some hint of how to penetrate the mystical barrier that shielded the home of the Blindfolded Queen.
It was late on the second day when the sounds of battle reached Slave’s ears. He pulled out his Claw and cocked his head to one side to concentrate. Keshik, seeing the Claw, tried to listen. Slave raised his right hand and pointed south.
‘There,’ he said softly.
Keshik followed his gesture to where he could see a small dark patch in the grasses.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Agents.’
‘Don’t like Agents,’ Keshik grunted.
‘Me either.’
They ran. Keshik had both swords out and Slave carried his Claw as they ran towards the group of Agents. There would have been at least twenty armed men milling about, but neither believed for a moment that they would not prevail. It also never occurred to either of them that attacking these men was unreasonable or unwarranted.
The earliest inkling they had that things were not as they seemed was when the first Agent saw them. Instead of raising an alarm, he screamed incoherently and ran at them with his arms outstretched, as if to tear them apart with his bare hands. Keshik sliced through him with a single blow under the breastplate across the belly that almost cut him in half. He went down with a gurgle, spilling his life onto the grass.
On hearing the scream, the other Agents turned as one to face the two charging men. An Agent raised his arms above his head and bellowed in a language that neither Slave nor Keshik knew. Flames rippled along his arms and rose into the air above him.
As he engaged an Agent, Keshik muttered, ‘That doesn’t look good.’
Slave rolled under the swing of another Agent before springing back up to his feet and slicing upwards with his Claw, tearing the man open from waist to throat. ‘Leave him to me,’ he said. ‘But stay away from me. You know what happens when I fight.’
Keshik planted both feet to receive the charge of an Agent armed with a polearm. He swayed sideways and deflected the thrust with his metal blade before driving his sorcerous blade through the man’s groin. As he whipped the blade out, leaving his opponent to fall screaming, he grunted in acknowledgement. Slave ran towards the man casting the spell. He dodged blows and parried as he ran, not stopping to fight, just evading, his mind intent on the flaming man.
The flames between the man’s arms now extended three or four paces above his head, rising with every
heartbeat, spreading evenly outwards in an inverted triangle. They writhed like a living being, caged and angry, seething with barely restrained fury. Slave tried to keep his eyes away from the flames, concentrating instead on the man’s unprotected body. Standing as he was, with feet apart, arms outstretched, he was easily vulnerable to either a thrust or a thrown weapon. An Agent screamed maniacally and drove a sword at Slave as he made his way through. Slave avoided the clumsy blow and sliced off the man’s hand as he passed, still driving towards the magician.
Two things came crashing into his mind simultaneously, almost undoing his concentration. The first was something that had been nagging at him ever since seeing the swirling melee. These men were supposed to be trained as soldiers — disciplined and skilled — so why were they acting like thugs? And who had they been fighting? There were no opponents here, only Agents. A moment of battle clarity opened his eyes to see that Agents were fighting Agents. There was a clear delineation and in the heartbeat before it faded he realised there were two distinct groups, and that one was about to be destroyed.
The second thought did bring him skidding to a halt. There were three points of light, dancing within the sheet of flame, which spun and whirled before coming to rest, looking down at him. Fear, unwelcome and strong, swept across him suddenly. He felt the first sense of panic and with it, the blackness started to close in around him. His eyes lost focus and darkness trickled into the edges of his vision. He roared an answer to the man’s earlier words — in the same language although he did not realise it — and sprang forward.
He brought his Claw up in a slicing blow that should have ripped the man open from groin to shoulder, but the blade refused to bite, instead skidding across naked flesh. The blue uniform fell open, sliced easily, but the body remained untouched. Slave allowed his momentum to continue and slammed his shoulder into the man. This should have at least sent him staggering back, but Slave felt like he had collided with a wall. He rebounded slightly, the impact jarring him. Above him, within the flames, the three points of light continued to regard him impassively.
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