The Arkhel Conundrum (The Tears of Artamon Book 4)

by Ash, Sarah

  With a jolt, the steppe wolves began to pull the cart. Kiukiu gripped hold of Risa as the cart gathered speed. Soon it was bowling along far faster than the two ponies had ever managed to trot.

  It was not until the green of the grasslands began to blur that she realized that Chinua was employing a powerful conjuration to put a considerable distance between them and Gavril.

  ***

  Semyon dismounted, staring intently at the track. “Looks as if a herd’s been driven through here recently. All this dust. Could be goats or those great hairy beasts they herd out here.”

  “Yaks?” offered Vasili.

  “Except . . .” Semyon got down on one knee to look more closely. “It’s hard to make out for sure but these don’t look like cloven hoof-prints. More like . . . paws.”

  “Paws?” Vasili snorted with laughter. “A herd of mountain bears?”

  “Or a pack of wolves.” Gavril had not forgotten that Chinua was a shape-shifting shaman with powers almost equal to those of the Magus.

  “Whatever they were,” Semyon said, standing up, “they didn’t pass through here that long ago. But the way they’ve scuffed up the earth, they’ve made it impossible to work out which way the cart went.” He turned first to the track that led eastward, then to the other leading north, scratching the back of his neck in confusion.

  Gavril was beginning to realize exactly how determined Kiukiu was to carry out this mission—whatever it might be—without his help. Still groggy from the drugged tea, he felt despair roll over him like rain clouds, sapping all the color from the morning.

  She’s left me. And I still have no idea why.

  “This is something only I can do,” she had said. “ You have to let me go. That’s just how it is.”

  “I’m not giving up,” he said, as much to himself as to the two druzhina. “But I have to do this on my own. If I don’t return in a couple of days, I want you go back to the kastel with a message for the Bogatyr.”

  “And leave you alone out here, my lord?” Semyon shook his head.

  “Are you suggesting I can’t fend for myself?” Much as Gavril valued Semyon’s loyalty, he was reluctant to drag the two younger druzhina any further into Khitari.

  “No, but—”

  “Tell the Bogatyr to be on his guard in case the Arkhels try to stir up trouble while I’m away.” And Gavril dug his heels into Krasa’s flanks, speeding off along the northward track.

  Chapter 36

  The mountainside rang to the repetitive din of hammers and sawing. Distracted by a distant cry overhead, Gerard Bernay glanced up and caught sight of a snow eagle circling high above the ridge. He gazed at its widespread wings, marveling at the lazy elegance of its flight, the effortless way it skimmed on the breeze. There must be so much more I could learn from observing it.

  “Careful with that beam!” The workmen’s shouts and curses brought him rudely back from his reverie, drowning out the eagle’s piercing cries. “Ingenieur; we’re ready to lower this into place.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Later , he promised himself as he turned back to help guide them to correctly position the heavy timber. They had already made good progress in making the mine entrance safe, and as another ox-wagon came trundling up the steep path with its load of machinery parts, he knew that he would be busy supervising the construction of the pump engine to start to clear the water from the mine. When the day’s work was done, if the evening was fine, he would take his notebook higher up the mountainside and make sketches of the mountain raptors as they wheeled above the crags.

  Gerard and his team had notched up six days working beside the old mine shaft and had created a makeshift camp in the ruins of the old miners’ huts. The next job was to try to roof over what was left of the pump house and make the tall chimney safe.

  But first there was a pump to install, machinery shipped in from Tourmalise to assemble; Rasse Cardin had been only too happy to supply the parts from the Iron Works at Paladur—for a not inconsiderable fee.

  Mountain life wasn’t so bad, Gerard reckoned as he walked briskly back to the camp; there was a waterfall nearby which provided clean water and a bracingly cold shower to rinse away the sweat of a day’s hard labour. And watching the great birds in flight from so high up had rekindled his obsession; in rare idle moments, he had begun to make calculations and observations based on his sketches. His one regret was that to make the mine operable again, he would have to ruin the tranquility. Once the fires started to burn, the steam pump chugged into life, and they began to pump out the water flooding the mine, the wild birds’ songs would be drowned out by the din.

  As the workmen crowded around the wagon to start the unloading, he heard them raise a cheer. Hurrying over, he saw them rolling a couple of barrels alongside the hamper of provisions he had ordered.

  “What’s this?”

  “Ale. My treat, Ingenieur.” Kartavoi appeared, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. “The lads have worked hard all week; I thought they deserved a reward. It’s a long time to wait for a relaxing jar or two till we return to the main camp.”

  “But after a jar or two up here in the mountains, a misplaced foot in the dark and—”

  “These men can take their liquor. You worry too much.” Kartavoi turned back to the wagon, laughing.

  And who’ll have to bear the responsibility if some drunken idiot falls to his death? Gerard bit back the response, knowing that Kartavoi would pay him no heed. With no way to vent his exasperation, he turned away, taking the path that led higher up, striding briskly away from the oblivious Kartavoi before the temptation to punch him became too strong to ignore.

  “Who’s there?”

  One of Kartavoi’s guards on lookout duty, suddenly appeared on a boulder above him.

  Gerard found himself staring into the muzzle of a musket. He raised his hands. “You should recognize me by now,” he said dryly to the guard.

  “Ingenieur Bernay.” The musket was lowered. “Sorry. There’ve been a few unexplained incidents today.”

  “Intruders?” Gerard could not help but remember the two Nagarian warriors who had threatened them before. “Uninvited visitors?”

  The guard nodded. “Someone’s been spying on us. Take care, Ingenieur.”

  “I’m just going for an evening stroll. Need to stretch my legs,” Gerard heard himself saying airily.

  Tracing the course of the mountain stream upward beyond the ridge, he found himself in a secret little valley, already half in darkness as the sun dipped down, illumining the rocks behind.

  A sudden intense shaft of late sunlight shone like a beacon into the little valley, blinding him. But not before he had seen them: tall figures, their faces masked, gathered together in a circle. Some wore horned masks, like mountain goats, others had antlers . . .

  He blinked. At the heart of the grassy dell was a circle of standing stones.

  For a moment I thought there were people standing there.

  The stark contrast of evening light and shadow must have played tricks with his sight.

  He rubbed his dazzled eyes and adjusted the wide brim of his hat to shade out the piercing brightness of the evening sun.

  Not people but just ancient stones, set up centuries ago, probably to mark out a temple to the old gods of the mountain. Gerard had seen stone circles like this on the grassy downs that lay beyond Berse Heath in Paladur; local antiquarians had written treatises about their original purpose, even fancifully suggesting that they had been placed there long ago by their ancestors as a temple to the sun god. And Ryndin had made mention of some local deity, with much superstitious muttering about not disrespecting old customs and beliefs.

  Gerard went up to the weathered stones and walked from one to another, examining them.

  How did the ancestors transport them up here? Or did they hew them out of the mountain itself? But even so . . . to have the skill and knowledge to haul such massive objects into place and set them standing so sturdil
y upright . . .

  He stopped and placed his hand on one, feeling the rough texture of lichen beneath his fingertips, closing his eyes a moment to listen to the silence.

  It’s as if time has stopped still here.

  A thin whisper of breeze arose, stirring the grasses where he stood.

  Murmur of voices chanting to the slow, muffled beat of drums; the rhythmic tread of many feet moving in time with the drumbeats.

  Gerard opened his eyes, feeling the hairs prickling at the back of his neck.

  He was, as his rational mind had assured him, alone on the edge of the circle.

  I must have imagined it. And yet it had seemed so real, as if the dancers had brushed past him as they performed their ritual, weaving in and out of the stones.

  The sun had almost sunk below the horizon and the shadows were spreading into a dark mist. He’d have to come back up the next day to continue his investigation.

  Better get back to the camp before the sun sets—there’s no moon yet and I didn’t think to bring a lantern.

  Gerard cast one last look back at the circle, each one a dark giant, looming out of the encroaching night. Like silent sentinel warriors.

  As he made his way carefully back down the mountain path through the dusk, he caught voices rising in raucous song from the miners’ camp below.

  That blockhead Kartavoi must have broken open his kegs of ale. He grimaced. The prospect of trying to write up the day’s accounts, let alone sleep in the company of drunken miners, was not an appealing one. I hope to God they don’t start picking fights—or stumble over the edge of the cliff in the darkness when they stagger off to relieve themselves.

  The miners had lit a fire and were comfortably sprawled around it, the orange glare of the flames enhancing the ruddy glow of their faces.

  “Ingenieur!” Kartavoi hailed him. “Come and join us!”

  It would look churlish to refuse. Gerard steeled himself and went over to join them, feeling the hot blaze of the crackling fire.

  “Ale for our Ingenieur!” Kartavoi thrust a mug into Gerard’s face, slopping a splash of ale onto his coat.

  “Is there anything to eat?” Gerard was not eager to drink on an empty stomach. One of the miners passed him a bowl of steaming soup; Gerard sniffed it suspiciously.

  “ Schi : cabbage soup,” said the man, grinning as he tossed him a chunk of rye bread. Gerard had become accustomed to schi over the last weeks: the base was cabbage and apples, but the cooks added anything they could lay their hands on, from mushrooms and carrots to salted meat. Sometimes it was delicious; at other times, barely palatable. Today, Gerard was hungry enough not to care and found soon himself holding out his bowl for a second helping.

  “Tell me, Bernay.” Kartavoi’s face was already flushed. “What brings a clever young man like you all the way out into the wilderness, eh?”

  Gerard stifled a sigh; he had learned that it was best to humor Kartavoi when he started drinking. “My boss, Master Cardin, sent me.”

  “Not gambling debts then?”

  Gerard shook his head. Unlike our employer, Lord Ranulph.

  “So you’re still fancy free? Or is there a wife at home, waiting for you?”

  “No wife,” Gerard said.

  “Sensible man!” Kartavoi burst into laughter. “I came up here for a bit of peace and quiet. Too much nagging at home. Peace and quiet and . . .” He gave Gerard a knowing wink.

  Gerard did not follow. “And?”

  Kartavoi wound one arm around Gerard, pulling his ear close to his mouth. “They say there’s treasure buried on this mountain.”

  “They do?” Gerard tried to extricate himself from the heavy arm wrapped around his neck. Kartavoi had never mentioned buried treasure before.

  “That’s why the lads signed up for this job.” Kartavoi took another swig of ale and belched loudly, enveloping Gerard in a cloud of foul-smelling breath. “Lady Morozhka’s Hoard,” he said in a confidential whisper. “No one dared to come and search for it while Lord Volkh was alive. But now we’re all part of the empire, who’s to stop us?”

  “Doesn’t this land belong to Lord Ranulph’s family?” Gerard managed to extricate himself. “Was Lady Morozhka one of his ancestors?”

  Kartavoi let out a chuckle. The idea seemed to amuse him. “Not as far as I know. Morozhka’s the one who brings the snow. Lady Frost, the children call her.”

  “Ah yes; the Azhkendi goddess of winter.” Gerard remembered Ryndin’s warning. “ You don’t want to anger Lady Frost up here in the mountains .” And another memory came to mind from his time at Tielborg University: the students at the Department of Antiquities getting very excited over a treasure trove found in the grounds: the grave of an ancient warrior prince. Perhaps the stone circle concealed similar remains . . .

  ***

  Dawn sunlight, rancidly bright, lit the tumbledown miner’s shack where Gerard was sleeping, waking him. He lay there awhile, listening. The song of a little bird piping nearby brightened the early morning. But all the usual sounds of the camp stirring to life were absent: the men, coughing and grumbling as they forced themselves off their mattresses to go relieve themselves; the clash of metal pots and ladles as the cook made porridge. Sitting up, the warm blanket falling away, he realized that he was alone.

  Gerard seized his coat and pulled on his boots. Hurrying outside, he saw that the mine works were deserted.

  Where were they? Had they abandoned the work and gone back down the mountain?

  He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted out, “Kartavoi!” The sound of his own voice echoed back to him. And then the foreman appeared from behind the end shack where they’d rigged up a privy.

  “Where are the men?” Gerard went over to him. “Did you send them off somewhere?”

  “Search me,” Kartavoi said, his voice thick. He was obviously suffering from the after-effects of the ale last night. “They can’t have gone far.”

  Gerard was already fuming; Lord Ranulph wanted results—and he wanted to be done with this project. A delay like this would only extend his time in Azhkendir even further. “I’ll go and search for them.”

  “I’ll—be right behind you.” But the foreman turned and staggered back toward the privy, so Gerard set off at a brisk pace on his own taking the path that led up to the stone circle.

  Gerard swore. He had found his missing workforce.

  The inebriated miners—and heaven knew how they had made their way up the steep path without coming to harm—lay snoring on the sun-warmed grass, some propped up against the ancient stones, others flat out on their backs, arms flung wide, utterly oblivious. Empty ale flagons were strewn on the ground alongside burned-out torches.

  The tranquility of the remote mountain valley he had chanced upon yesterday had been desecrated.

  But as Gerard strode out across the grass to rouse them, he almost tripped over a shovel half-hidden in a patch of young nettles. What had they been doing? Digging?

  “ Buried treasure, ” Kartavoi had drunkenly confided in him the night before. And as Gerard drew nearer, he saw with a sinking heart that several of the ancient stones had been daubed with red paint, the same paint the miners were using to mark out the seams in the mine.

  And there, beneath the red-daubed stones, was the evidence of their wanton vandalism: gaping holes excavated in an excess of ale-fuelled enthusiasm. As Gerard stood, staring down at the mess, speechless, one of the miners lying sprawled at his feet, let out a snorting snore and opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight.

  “Ingenieur?” he said in a voice thick with sleep. And then winced, clasping his hands to his head. “Wha— what time is it?”

  “Time you were all at work,” Gerard’s voice was taut with fury. “Every hour you’ve spent snoring here is an hour’s wages docked off your pay.”

  The miner sat up slowly and looked blearily around. He lumbered to his feet and stood there swaying. “Wake up, boys!” One by one, the other miners began to stir
, groaning at the dazzling brightness of the sunshine. One of the younger lads, green-faced, wobbled to his knees, only to double up, vomiting into the grass.

  Gerard could feel the righteous anger continuing to grow inside him, an unbearable pressure building behind his temples. And a sudden fierce gust of wind blew across the glen, shivering through the grass, even though the sky overhead was blue and cloudless.

  “Look at the mess you’ve made.” He gestured to the stone circle. He was so furious that he could hardly spit the words out. “I want all this paint cleaned off—and these holes filled in as soon as possible.”

  “What’s the harm?” he heard one man mutter to another. “It’s only a few old stones.”

  “A few old stones?” Gerard turned on him. “This is an ancient sacred site—which you have willfully defaced.” Another gust of wind, fiercer than the first, surged across the glen. “For all we know, this circle could be a memorial to Lord Ranulph’s ancestors.” But all that his words earned him was a few hostile glances and more resentful muttering from the men. The sense of pressure in his head was increasing, made all the harder to bear by the need to keep his calm and not bawl the miners out; if he shouted at them, he’d lose what little respect he’d gained.

  I’ve felt this pressure before.

  Suddenly he was back on desolate Berse Heath, his mind filled with the wild banshee shriek of the wind as it tore across the scrubland toward him, fuelling his body with its raw and dangerous power—

  “You lazy louts!” Kartavoi’s voice rang out across the glen. “So this is where you’ve been hiding yourselves?” The foreman, mopping his shining face, appeared at the far end of the glen. “How are we to get the work done today with half a team?”

  Then he saw Gerard and tugged off his hat in a deferential gesture, clutching it to his broad chest. “Ingenieur; I must apologize for the men’s behavior; it’s utterly inexcusable.”