by Stewart Ross
Taja learned, somewhat to her surprise, that in Alba weapons training began at the age of eight. All Defenders paraded once a month in the main square. Discipline was stricter than in Della Tallis, too, with public floggings for those who stepped out of line. To keep up the strength of the defence force, as far as possible reproduction was regulated. Between the ages of thirteen and fifteen, all women were expected to have at least one child before returning to military and agricultural duties. Their offspring were raised communally by a team of younger women supervised by four Konnels. Relations between men and women over the age of fifteen were not expected to result in the birth of further children.
Jannat talked for a moment about her child, Parmin, then asked Taja whether she had any children. No, came the curt response, she had not. They walked on for a few steps. “I don’t like to talk about it, Jannat,” she added in a softer tone. “You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Children mean you are never forgotten – and I don’t want to be forgotten. I don’t want to live and die and disappear like an insect. If I had children, they would talk about their mother, and their children would talk about their grandmother, and so on. But that won’t happen to me.”
“It’s the same for nearly everyone,” replied Jannat. “I don’t suppose Parmin will ever remember me when I’m gone – and his children certainly won’t!”
“But that’s what I don’t want!” retorted Taja, suddenly animated. “I’m intelligent and able! My spirit should not flare and burn out, leaving ashes to blow away in the wind. That’s why I hoped Cyrus and I could find the Soterion together and give its secrets to the world.”
The archer laid a hand on Taja’s arm, only to have it brushed aside. “I don’t need sympathy, Jannat! Nor do I deserve it. Listen, on the way here I did something dishonourable. One of the men in our band was injured – I hastened his death so he would not slow us up. I sacrificed him. Now I have a chance of redemption, even sacrificing myself if necessary… ”
“I promise you,” said Jannat, aware now that Taja, despite her hard shell, was as vulnerable as every other Constant, “that you will be long remembered. Whatever happens when we get to Alba, you will always be the person who risked everything for others.”
“Is that really what I’m doing?” muttered Taja. “Behaving like Roxanne?”
“Yes, it is. You didn’t have to leave Cyrus and the others and come with us, did you?”
“No, I suppose that’s true. I didn’t.” Taja’s voice became lower, as if she had to force the words from her throat. “Well, Jannat, if things go wrong – you know, if I don’t survive to see the end of this mission – please tell Cyrus what you just told me.”
“That you are risking all you had for a principle, like Roxanne?”
“Yes.”
Jannat smiled. “Don’t worry, Taja. I think he knows that already.”
It was the middle of the night by the time Yash’s band reached the small patrol door in the settlement wall. Following the usual procedure, they identified themselves with a password before the bars across the door were pulled back and they were allowed in.
Unused to Alban formality, Taja was surprised by the way the patrol reported back. The archers, standing on either side of her in a row, had their weapons checked to ensure they were undamaged. Yash then informed the Duty Konnel what had happened, pointing to Taja and calling her Roxanne, as planned. The Konnel peered at Taja’s tattoo in the moonlight, nodded and ordered her to be held in the guardroom until Abhay verified her identity in the morning. The officer did not want to be responsible for a Z-marked woman wandering freely around the settlement in the dark.
When Yash asked the Konnel why he did not report to Abhay and Padmar immediately, the man hesitated for a moment before repeating what he had been told. The acting Emir, he explained with obvious embarrassment, had given orders not to be disturbed. She and Abhay had important matters to discuss and wished to be left alone.
Discuss important matters all night? thought Taja. Padmar had obviously fallen for more than Timur’s promise of unlocking the secrets of the Soterion. Was there no limit to this monster’s dreadful powers? Not long afterwards, her mind still swirling with curiosity and fear of what lay ahead, she lay down on a rough bench in the guardroom and fell into an uneasy sleep.
Early the following morning, Yash led his archers into the parade square and stood next to the lion to wait for Padmar. Looking tired and flushed, she appeared with Timur at her side and began questioning the patrol about its mission. Her partner, his tattoo covered by a huge black hat, loomed over the diminutive Konnel like an evil puppet-master.
“Excuse me, acting Emir of the Alba,” he interrupted with oily good manners. “May I put a question or two to our friend Yash?”
Padmar’s eyes were drained of all judgement as she gazed up at him. “Of course, Abhay!”
“Thank you, Padmar. Now, Yash, tell me this instant – no, please forgive my rudeness – I mean, do fill me in on the success of your exemplary patrol. You rescued Roxanne, for instance, my old Constant friend?”
“We did.”
Timur’s eyes flashed with delight. “And where is she?”
“In the guardroom, as the Duty Konnel ordered.”
Timur rubbed his hands together, struggling to keep himself under control. This was too good to be true! These batbrained Albans had delivered Roxanne to him without realising what they were doing. With a little not-so-gentle persuasion, she would be only too eager to put the secrets of the Soterion into his grateful hands!
“And you are sure it is she?” he continued eagerly. “You’ve seen the tattoo – the foul mark of a Zed – cruelly burned on her, like mine?”
“She’s branded, yes,” Yash replied cautiously. He hated lying, though he had no choice.
Timur’s eyes narrowed slightly. This fool wasn’t trying to hide something from him, was he? “And you killed her escort of Constants – all of them?”
“Shot dead with arrows and buried, yes.”
“I expect that pleased Roxanne, didn’t it?” asked Timur, his whole body writhing with anticipation at how Yash would respond to his wickedly barbed question.
Yash hesitated, fatally. What was he supposed to reply? Timur had said Roxanne was a friend whom Cyrus held against her wishes. But Yash now knew what Timur had known all along – that this was a lie. He played for time.
“Pleased her, Abhay?”
The Great Zed could contain himself no longer. “Toadpizzle!” he screamed. “You know what I mean! What did she say when you told her she was coming back to me, the Mali – ” He stopped just in time, biting his tongue in the process.
“She doesn’t want to meet you again, Abhay,” said Yash, staring in disgust at the trickle of blood running down the ice-white face.
The besotted Padmar started. “Oh Abhay! You said –”
Timur cut her short. “She lies! Poisonous, worm-ridden lies!” he cried. “Of course she’s thrilled at the prospect of being reunited with me. Am I the only one who tells the truth?”
Yash resisted the temptation to give the obvious answer.
“I will see for myself,” Timur continued. Swinging round, he ran off with enormous strides in the direction of the guardroom. For a moment, Yash thought of following him to protect Taja from possible harm. Having witnessed a side of Timur not seen before, he feared greatly for her safety. But he stayed where he was – revealing the truth now might jeopardise their whole plan.
Padmar, mesmerised by Timur’s false charms, watched until he was out of sight then turned back to Yash. “On that man,” she said, “hangs the fate of our whole community. Yash, I hope you haven’t been disloyal to Alba.”
“No, I have not, Konnel Padmar,” he replied firmly, refusing to link her with the position of Emir. �
��We brought back a Z-marked woman, as Abhay asked.”
She looked up at him, a quizzical expression on her small, round face. “Well, Abhay will soon be back with his friend and we will know the truth. In the meantime, fill me in on the details of your patrol.”
Timur was gone longer than expected. By the time he reappeared, walking alone up the stony slope from the guardroom, Yash and his archers had related their full story. They made a good job of it, moving on from the truth to weave an elaborate fabrication of slaying the Constants and capturing the woman with the Zed tattoo.
“Well, Abhay?” asked Padmar as he approached. Ignoring her, he stormed straight up to Yash and punched him viciously in the face. “Ignorant snakescum!” he screeched. As the archer reeled backwards, Timur raised his fist to strike again.
“No!” cried Padmar, grabbing his arm. “That is not our way, Abhay! Tell me first! Please!”
Trembling with rage, the Malik of the Grozny gave Padmar a look of indescribable scorn. “Not your way?” he mimicked, his high-pitched voice resembling hers with unkind accuracy. “What is your way? To lie and cheat like your frogspawn warriors who bring in the wrong woman, eh? Don’t you understand? The woman this incompetent insect has brought in is not Roxanne!”
Yash wiped the blood from his mouth. If he had needed any proof of Roxanne’s description of Timur as “all evil”, he had it now. This Z-marked thing was indeed a beast, a fiendishly clever one. Padmar might have fallen deeper into his trap than others, seduced into overlooking his obvious wickedness, but at first hadn’t they all been tempted there by his brilliant deception? Now look where it had got them! Yash decided to speak out before the devilish intruder dug his claws in any deeper.
He had barely opened his mouth, when they were interrupted by three men running into the square. “Konnel Padmar! Konnel Padmar!” cried one of them. “You are needed at the gate right now!”
“What is it?”
“A force of about a dozen warriors, including all the Soterion guards, is headed this way. There’s a child with them, and a woman with what looks like a Zed tattoo! The gate guards don’t know whether to let them in or not.”
Padmar glanced at Timur. His demeanour had switched yet again, and for the first time she felt a flicker of mistrust. The quivering fury of a few seconds ago had melted into eager anticipation as he took in what the messenger had said. A woman with a tattoo? Was it possible?
“Shall we go, dear Padmar?” he enquired with exaggerated civility. “This might be interesting.”
The need for decisive action forced Padmar temporarily to ignore the shadow lurking at the back of her mind. She may have lost her judgement on one issue, but for everyday matters she retained the leadership and decision-making skills that had made her a Konnel. “We will go to the gate at once,” she ordered. “Run ahead and tell them to do nothing till I get there.”
Ordering Yash and his archers not to move a step in her absence, she hurried off towards the gate. The black-hatted Timur, stalking her like the raven of death, followed closely behind.
Once the Konnel was out of the square, Jannat came across to Yash. “Now we know for sure, what are we going to do?”
“After coming this far,” said Yash, speaking with difficulty because of the cut on his lip, “there’s no going back.”
Jannat nodded. “We’re all agreed on that, Yash. His behaviour was vile, wasn’t it? But I think there might be worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you see what was on his shirt?”
“Yes, my blood!”
“No,” frowned Jannat. “It was there when he came back from the guard room. I’m afraid it might be someone else’s.”
Padmar and Timur were nearing the wall as Cyrus finished speaking. His words had carried clearly to them, confusing the Konnel and sending her partner into a fit of violent quivering. Calling up to the guards to remember their orders, the pair clambered swiftly up the ladder to join them. Timur knocked his hat off on the way up and, such was his urgency, didn’t bother to go back and pick it up.
“Stonehead!” he hissed as he shoved aside a startled lookout and grabbed the man’s javelin. With Padmar at his side, he moved to the front of the parapet and launched into a long and raucous attempt at a laugh. The ruse, though hideously unconvincing, gave him time to assess the situation. The Soterion guards had deserted their posts and were lined up with a good-looking stranger holding a long spear. And there, standing next to him…Oh yes! It was her alright, older but still striking. Roxanne, his obsession, his beautiful Nemesis.
Her presence kindled in him a dreadful fire. The flames of failure teased, tormented, and finally consumed him. The pain surpassed the Z-branding of his childhood, swallowing up all other thoughts and desires. Reason fled. In that blind instant, one action alone could assuage his pain: he must kill that woman!
And so it was that Timur the Terrible raised his javelin and cast it at Roxanne. And so it was, too, that Navid the Defender – the noble, loyal Navid – sacrificed his life by throwing himself into its path. The steel point passed clean through his ribs and pierced his heart.
Cyrus’ oldest and dearest companion was dead before he hit the ground. The terrible stillness that descended over the scene was eventually broken by a melancholy howl. On and on it went, echoing off the walls, into the trees and across the mountains like the wailing of a legendary host at the loss of its leader. With one soulless exception, all who heard it, even those far away in the square and working on the terraces, shivered with pity for poor, bereaved Corby.
Falling to his knees, Cyrus cradled his dead comrade in his arms. There were no words for his sorrow. Beside him, Sammy began to cry. Roxanne stood open mouthed, looking first at the corpse at her feet, then at the devil on the wall.
Unintentionally, Padmar gave Timur the excuse he needed. “What have you done, Abhay?” she asked quietly as Corby’s unhappy wail died down.
“Done?” he retorted. Having wrestled his feelings back under control, he saw that maybe all was not lost. He turned to the warriors around him. “So perish all traitors!” he cried. “It’s as I told you, isn’t it? That idiot Yash got the wrong woman, but we have now found the right one – and there she is, still with the false Constants who have come to cheat us of what is ours.
“Snake-tongued, aren’t they? See how they have tricked our own guards into joining them, just as they tricked Yash’s patrol.”
Padmar hesitated for a moment. Her doubts about Abhay would have to wait. Once more the situation required command and authority. Abhay had shown such qualities, albeit rather crudely, and she had to do the same. She was, after all, the acting Emir of Alba.
“Abhay is right!” she shouted. “We will allow no traitors beyond our walls, Constant or not.”
She pointed at Roxanne. “Except you. You are welcome. You have returned from Yonne to help us, so please enter. Guards, allow in the Z-marked woman and shoot dead anyone who tries to accompany her!”
The Alban warriors heard her words in silence. They might not like what they had heard, but an Emir, acting or otherwise, had to be obeyed. Lacking Yash’s strength, independence and iron sense of justice, they would do as their commander had ordered, opening the gates to one stamped as an enemy and shutting them against former colleagues and their friends.
Roxanne knew there could be no discussion. If she so much as hinted to Cyrus what she was going to do, he would stop her. Time was short and Timur’s violence made it plain that Taja’s plan had failed. The key was inside the walls of Alba and she alone was allowed in.
Lost in his thoughts as he gazed at Navid’s lifeless face, Cyrus hardly heard Roxanne whisper as she hurried past. “I’ll be fine, Cy. And whatever you do, don’t try to follow me.”
What was that? Who’ll be fine? He looked up. The gate opened wide enough to admit a
single person… “No! Roxanne, no! Come back!”
Before he had time to lay down the body of his friend and scramble to his feet, the gate had closed. He had not even said goodbye. Corby turned from the corpse of his master and started licking Cyrus’ hand. Seeing his friend’s distress, Sammy clung tenderly to his arm. “It’s alright, Cyrus,” he said between sobs. “Your Roxanne knows what she’s doing, don’t she? Trust her!”
At that moment, Cyrus did not feel like trusting anyone. Here he was, far from a home he had abandoned, accompanied by only a broken-hearted dog and a weeping boy. Zavar was dead; Navid was dead; goodness knows what had happened to Taja; and now his dearest Roxanne had entrusted herself once more to the monster who had twice sought to destroy her life. It was all too dreadful, too depressing to contemplate. It was finished.
On the other side of the wall, a peculiar procession had formed. At its head marched Timur, Roxanne on his left, Padmar on his right. My two women, he smirked; and if I had to choose between them, the short, squat one wouldn’t stand a chance. He was bored with her already and looking forward to getting to work on Roxanne.
Behind Timur there followed several dozen marching Defenders. As the column made its way towards the square, word spread quickly about events by the gate, and small crowds of Albans turned out to cheer the returning hero. He’d done it! That strange-looking man had actually found the literate woman from Yonne who would open the Soterion and read the secrets of the Long Dead! Excited by the noise, young children ran out of the houses and danced along, whooping and clapping, in front of the parade.
Timur had triumphed.
As the party entered the square, the atmosphere changed. There were plenty of people waiting, mostly archers, but none of them was cheering or waving. Yash and his patrol were still standing beside the well, as Padmar had ordered. At their feet, laid out on the cold stone, was something Timur recognised at once. He had seen so many – indeed, he had seen this particular one before. It was a naked corpse, the horribly, brutally mutilated corpse of Taja, sometime Mudir of the West Tower.