Kataljid wished she was out of this wasps’ nest but her keepers kept tight hold of her. Men of the Lion Guard patrolled the mansion’s walls alongside the Eagles. Kataljid realised she had no choice but to stay put.
Unfortunately, as the duke passed her, the wind caught the hem of his cloak. It knocked her headdress askew. She stifled a gasp. The problem wasn’t air on her burns. It was the cruel glitter in the eyes of Herricus, and the way he nudged his friends. Hovering beside them, Salrivos looked away.
Now she was glad she was sitting between her stone-faced guardians, because she was trapped in Eagle House with the prince, and goddess alone knew how long for. Kataljid determined to stay awake.
It was a long night on a hard pallet. A mob roaring “We want bread!” had broken into the citadel. Kataljid could hear them being slaughtered just outside the fragrant garden.
By dawn the rebels were defeated. The last shreds of revolt were pinned in the smoking city below.
A slave burst into Nalix’s room, a redhead branded with the Eagle. The slam of the door jerked Kataljid from her doze. She glanced round wildly in case it was the Prince of Arson but the slave-girl clapped her hands and proclaimed, “All hail to the Lion! The empress’ actions have saved the citadel. In the name of the emperor she bids you return to your homes and prepare.”
Kataljid grabbed the girl’s sleeve as she passed. “Prepare for what?”
The slave prised Kataljid’s fingers from her arm. “Civil war, of course.”
It took Kataljid a moment to realise the slave had actually touched her. By then the redhead had slipped away.
No one could explain how the litters had got broken. The empress commandeered the only decent one. Princess Nalix almost managed to grab another that was just about whole but Prince Herricus stared her down. That too was new, thought Kataljid, seeing the surprised look on her guardian’s face. Evidently Herricus’ star was on the rise. She wondered uneasily how he’d managed that.
It was a sorry procession that went back to the Lion Mansion. Walking down the steep streets in stilted sandals was well-nigh impossible. Crossly, Nalix commanded her captain to slice the heels off with his scimitar. The exposed wood skidded under Kataljid, who grabbed wildly to save herself. Unfortunately her fingers tangled in Nalix’s stole. The elderly princess crashed to the cobbles. Her scream abruptly ended. Kataljid tried to reach her. A smell of oil assailed her nostrils then her head rang against stone and everything went black.
Out of the darkness came a whine like the hiss of a sword whipped through air. Only this sound didn’t go away. It got louder and louder, drawing Kataljid into a whirl of pain. Concussion. She opened her eyes but the blackness didn’t go away either. A smell of dank cave was the only sign she hadn’t gone blind. And a hint of... cheap musky jasmine?
“Princess Nalix?” she croaked, but there was no answer.
Dizzily she crawled around her prison. Suddenly her outstretched hand met nothing. For endless moments a dislodged pebble tumbled through the blackness. Trembling, she drew back to safety. It took a long time for her heart to stop pounding.
At last she nerved herself to inch along the rim of the abyss. Soon she collided with a wall. She followed it around in a ragged half-circle. With each frustrating touch she was more certain there was no door. Nor could she feel a ceiling. Maybe they’d dropped her down by a rope.
Creeping into the middle, she found her guardian. Whose robes were sodden with blood. Princess Nalix would blackmail no more men into bed, not without the heart that had been hacked from her chest.
Kataljid tried to scrub the metallic stickiness from her hands but it clung. Fighting down panic, she slumped against the rocks as far from the corpse as she could get. If she hadn’t broken Nalix’s leg would her guardian still be alive? No, came the recollection. The cobbles were slick with oil. But she’d still hurt a daughter of the Lion House. Why hadn’t they executed her yet? And if they’d murdered Nalix, why hadn’t they killed her at the same time?
“Kataljid?”
She thought her mind had generated the voice but it called again from far below. Opening her eyes, she saw a faint spot of light coming from the void. A torch! Almost she called out but only her captors knew she was here. There was nowhere to hide.
Brighter grew the light, throwing shadows into relief. Kataljid hid in a crack, grasping a rock as a weapon. Then the flames leaped over the brim and a slave climbed into her cell. The Eagle brand on his temple seemed to flutter its wings in the uneven light. Behind him came a bald man marked with a Lion.
“Laratus!” Heedless of the prohibition against touching slaves, she threw her arms around her mentor. He hugged her back. The front of his tunic was stuffed with pieces of metal that stuck into her. “What’s going on?” she asked him.
“Revolution. Haladra’s seized the throne. My guess is she’s poisoned the emperor. She’s going to share the throne with Herricus. They’re blaming you for Princess Nalix’s death so they can demand compensation from your father. A herd of your Oakland aurochs should be enough to keep the army on their side.” He turned, lighting a second torch at the one that was guttering. “Come on. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Kataljid could have smacked her head at her own stupidity. If she’d had the courage to explore the edge of the abyss, she’d have found the steps hacked into the rock. She tucked her skirts under her belt and clambered down. As soon as they were trotting along the safety of a tunnel, she panted, “How did you know where I was?”
Laratus indicated the Eagle slave. “Vetrus came to tell me.”
“You saved my baby, princess,” Vetrus said. “The one with the burns on his chest, remember? He’d have died if not for you.”
She stammered, “I – I’m glad he’s all right. But how –?”
“I’m one of Salrivos’ body-slaves. Prince Herricus sent his friends to make sure he’d followed orders. I was the one who brought them wine. Salrivos said he’d stashed you in the general’s larder but begged them at least to tell him why. Then Belden said didn’t they want a bit of fun in revenge? They’re just waiting for Lilixar.”
Almost at the end of the passage Vetrus pressed a stone in the wall. In response a block pivoted, revealing a roughly squared room stacked with weapons.
She chose a sword and shield, battered but serviceable. Laratus cuddled a crossbow that took three bolts at a time. There was enough padding down the front of his tunic that he’d never be able to draw a full-sized bow. Poor frightened eunuch, clanking with every step. Why hadn’t he just picked up a breastplate? Vetrus himself, a wiry man with bony features, chose a sling with a pouch of lead shot.
A hinge creaked somewhere.
“Ssh!” Vetrus hastily pulled the slab to. From the tunnel, light burst through the narrow gap and the jingle of military harness came echoing closer. It all but masked excited whispers. Voices she knew. Lilixar the ox, Belden the lard-arse... and pretty-boy Salrivos. The fugitives scarcely dared breathe. Hastily they doused their torch in a pot of sand.
“What?” gasped Salrivos, having to take two steps to their one. “I’m s’posed to marry that acorn-eater?”
They carried on past the hiding place. Belden snapped, “Yes, you moron! Weren’t you listening?”
“I would if anybody ever told me anything.”
“Oh stop moaning, you little squirt.”
Now the voices were receding. Noiselessly Kataljid opened the secret panel and dodged after them.
“Listen, squirt. You marry the bitch, Herricus executes her for treason, you pretend you’ve escaped with her baby –”
“What baby?”
“I don’t know! Any one we can lay hands on. Then you can be regent to it when you get to Oakland. Call up our troops and suddenly you’re a king.”
Too angry to think straight, Kataljid tore herself free of Laratus’ grip and followed as closely as she dared. She needed their light to see by. The lads’ voices were distorted now as they climbed up the ch
asm wall. She hung her sword down her back and recklessly set her toes in the first crevice. It was much harder when their torches bobbed so high above. She strained to hear Lilixar’s words drifting down into the darkness.
“Then you bring all that meat on the hoof to pay off the army so they don’t join the rebellion. Everybody’ll love you. What’ve I forgotten, Bel?”
“Then oh dear the empress has an accident and Herricus takes the throne.”
“Yeah, King Salrivos, you’ll be the new emperor’s right-hand man.”
They were scrambling into the cell now. Belden, the last, slapped the short hostage on the back. “Remember who your friends are when you’ve wooed your acorn eater, eh?” Kataljid clamped her lips and hung silently, keeping her eyes just above the rim.
Lilixar ignored the byplay. Stomping over the old woman’s body, he stopped, then whirled, waving his torch into every dark corner. “Where the fuck is she?”
Belden seized Salrivos. “Yeah, you toe-rag, what have you done with her?”
“Nothing!” Sal couldn’t have looked more desperate if he’d tried. “My slaves left her right by the princess.”
“Can’t have done.” Lilisar punched him. “What are you up to, you snivelling little prick?”
Kataljid realised how stupid she’d been. There was no other way out. They’d be climbing back any moment and she was one against three. She felt her way down, feet slipping in her hurry. Her pulse pounded in her ears but she managed to regain her footing before she dropped into the abyss. If the prince’s clique hadn’t been rowing they’d have caught her. At last she reached the ledge.
But they still had a torch. Their descent was much faster. Kataljid hopped on one foot then the other, ripping off her sandals, then fled ghostly up the passage.
She just made it back to the secret armoury before the prince’s coterie turned the final bend. Through the crack in the door she watched them. Belly Belden was in front. Lilixar the ox frogmarched Salrivos along behind.
Laratus shot his bow. The three bolts fanned out. One took Belden through the throat and their torch flew out of his reach. Another sliced Lilixar’s shoulder but the third clattered uselessly against rock.
Belden fell, clawing at the blood bubbling from his neck. Lilixar threw Salrivos towards the attackers and backed off, kicking the torch away so he was less of a target but the Eagle slave rolled a handful of shot and Lilixar slipped. His head crunched against the wall and he slid unconscious to the ground.
Salrivos scrambled to a crouch. His black eye didn’t seem to trouble him. He spun his sword in a glittering pattern and advanced. Laratus was feverishly reloading his crossbow. The passage was too narrow for Vetrus to use the last round in his sling. All that stood between them and freedom was one slightly battered youth.
Kataljid edged forward, seeking an opening. Salrivos drew a dagger.
The fallen brand lit their faces. “You!” he gasped, then noticed her sword and buckler. “But –”
“Get on with it, you conniving murderous bastard.” She lunged in a feint. He resisted the lure, parrying with insolent ease. Skilfully he let her wear herself out against his ever-dancing blades. Short though he was, Salrivos outclassed her. His grin was a taunt.
She jumped back, panting. “It’s not going to work, you know. You’ll never win Oakland. You think it’s just like the empire, don’t you? Well it’s not. At home kingship doesn’t pass down through blood so your random baby can’t get you the crown.”
“So? A new line’s got to start somewhere.” A flick of his wrist and a silver star spun towards her. She ducked. It sliced a hank of her hair before clattering on rock.
Kataljid rolled into his legs, counting on the constraints of the tunnel to stop him taking a swing. He didn’t bother. Tossing the dagger from a throwing hold to a thrust, he bore down. He was faster than anyone she’d ever seen. She kicked out ferociously, connecting with his leg. Salrivos screamed and fell, blade shattering on the floor. Like his ankle. He clutched the white bone as though he could push it back under the skin. Whimpering, he collapsed. “Don’t hurt me!” He grabbed at her robe. “Please, Candis. I don’t know what you heard but I wouldn’t have done whatever it was.”
She tore free. If Salrivos hadn’t been so focussed on her he would have noticed the secret panel swing open again.
“Please, Candis, please!” Sweat sparkled on his ashen cheeks. “You’ve got it all wrong! I was going to run away with you where we’d both be safe.” Then he cast another star.
His ruse had bounced back on him. Salrivos hadn’t given a thought to the magic of an Oakland healer. Kataljid felt his agony as though her own bone had fractured. She would have fallen but for her sword. It deflected the star but she overbalanced.
Three bolts leaped from a crossbow, their impact hurling Salrivos across the passage. A slingshot caught him above the heart. His beautiful face went slack.
With his death the pain vanished, at least the pain in her leg if not the one in her heart. Now she heard a battle in the mansion beyond.
“Sounds like our side’s winning,” said Laratus.
“Maybe.” Vetrus gave a feral grin and swept up the fallen torch. “But let’s take the back door just in case.”
Down through the maze of caves he led them. In parts the caverns were so vast they were lost in shadows, in others horrifyingly tight. As they wriggled through a fissure Kataljid felt the weight of the mountain pressing down at her in the dark. Ahead, their torch guttered and fear gripped her. Chanting mantras to the Goddess, she strove to quell her mounting panic. To be lost down here in the endless night...
But Vetrus found another brand, which lit them until they found themselves staring up at ripples of sunlit water. Reflections on the roof of the cave, she saw as she and Laratus caught up. A lake, salty and turquoise and gold, lapped right to the mouth of the cave. Which was below sea level, lit by the rising sun.
“Lucky it’s not full tide yet, eh?” The Eagle man grinned. “Best get going before it is.” He dived in. After three deep breaths he jacknifed, plunging deep. For a moment they could see his body arrowing underwater, then the brightness swallowed him. They had no way of knowing whether he’d safely reached the other side.
“Can’t! Can’t!” Laratus wrapped his arms around himself, teeth chattering. “Can’t.”
Kataljid threw her arm over his shoulders but something sharp pierced her breast. She shoved him away, her pained cry echoing above the splash of the waves.
Still clutching himself, Laratus toppled in. Kataljid peered anxiously but he didn’t come up.
She launched herself in a shallow dive and turned back to search the dark waters. Bubbles rose into the light like drops of frothing gold. She followed them down into blue dimness.
Her groping fingers found him. She yanked at his arm but he weighed more than an aurochs and she couldn’t budge him. The eunuch flailed, frantically trying to pull something out of the armhole of his tunic. A goblet spun away, startling a small fish.
Kataljid batted off his hysterical clutch and unbuckled his belt. Jewels tumbled in slow motion, a shimmer of metal and colour that sank into the sand. Laratus grabbed after them but she dragged him to the surface.
“Leave it, you idiot! I’ll come back when I’ve got you out.”
“Not that much of an idiot, then,” the eunuch grinned as the vessel he’d chartered swept them out beyond the headland.
“Only to swim wearing a talent of bullion.” Pretending to adjust the voluminous shawl over her head, Kataljid nudged him companionably. She had to make sure the crew didn’t see. After all, a slave wasn’t supposed to touch one of the noble class. “I have no objection to actual treasure. I just don’t like my friends drowning.”
Beside them, in the shade of an awning, Vetrus leaned up from his couch and called to his servant, the girl with the blue eyes of the north. “Wine for my companions, if you please, and fruit juice for my son.”
“And some dates,” mumbl
ed his wife through a mouthful of spiced lamb.
The slave in the headcloth was unusually tall for a Rovalan, and beloved of the baby recovering from horrific burns.
Once on the shores of the northland, Kataljid stopped pretending to be a slave. With the empire in turmoil, it was safer for them all to be travelling traders. The fortune she’d gone back for was easily enough to buy a waggon, goods and guards, and Laratus still had sapphires and rubies to spare.
As they reached the foothills, Vetrus and his family turned aside. They wanted to join the uprising, but first they had to leave the baby with relatives in their tribe. Besides, the profits from this journey would help fund the rebels. All of them were determined on that.
The waggon trundled into the distance. Kataljid and Laratus rode up towards the pass. She was sad to see them go but the further she penetrated into Oakland, the more excited she grew.
After miles of hairpin bends, they reached the saddle between the last two peaks and paused to gaze down into King’s Vale. Beneath them the fields and forests were more brown than green, crippled by the drought. Except around the lake where she had learned to swim, back when her brother Torgil was still alive, and her little brother Astwin was scarcely out of the cradle.
A frigid drizzle began. Testily Laratus fashioned a blanket into a hood. “I knew it. It always rains in the barbarous north.”
She laughed. “Call this rain?” Inhaling the precious scents of home, she kicked her mare down the slope. “Come on, Laratus! You haven’t seen anything yet.”
It was dusk when they passed the Temple of Healing. Kataljid felt both comfort and pain. Three years she’d lived there, learning the goddess’ work and making friends. All she’d ever wanted was to be a healer, right since she gave acorn-cups of ‘medicine’ to her dolls. But now she had to be a monarch in waiting.
A villager spotted her riding by. “It’s the healer princess!” he cried, and people flocked around. Food, dry clothes, fresh mounts; they could hardly do enough, and all the time they laughed and bantered with her. Laratus hid his surprise. “Spent too long in Rovala, old son,” he muttered to himself, and tried not to show his distaste for sheep’s cheese.
Legends: Stories in Honor of David Gemmell Page 18