by Stephen Deas
PART THREE
TETHIS AND THE LOST KING
18
JUST ON A GRANDER SCALE
He crawled and dragged himself out of a hut he’d never seen, inch by inch out of a village he didn’t know, to the reed beds on the edge of a lake he couldn’t name. He was going to die and he wanted it to be outside under the stars, not in the dark. He reached the water’s edge, rolled onto his back and waited. One by one the stars winked out. Tears filled his eyes. He wanted to live, not to die. He wanted to live but the choice had been taken away.
A man stood over him. The man’s face, where it wasn’t lost among the shadows of his cowl, was pale. One half was ruined, scarred ragged by disease or fire, with one blind eye milky white. He wore pale hooded robes the colour of moonlight.
‘Are you death?’ Berren asked.
‘I bring the Black Moon,’ the stranger said.
Berren woke up covered in sweat. For a moment he couldn’t work out why he was in a room and in a bed instead of shivering on the beach. The hangover was real enough, though. Beside him Hain was snoring loudly.
He sat, head in his hands, wincing at the pain, putting the last few days back together, piece by piece. They’d returned to Forgenver. Master Sy had been on the same ship. They couldn’t possibly have avoided each other and yet somehow they did. When they were back, Talon had come and dug him out of his tent. My brother is heading south. He wants you with him. I think he’s stupid and I think you shouldn’t go. If you do, then you’re stupid too. And you’re not. He’d sounded angry.
In the room next door he could hear Master Sy. The thief-taker was snoring too, just like he always used to back in Deephaven.
He didn’t know why he’d said yes. Hadn’t known then, still didn’t know now. Just that he couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let the thief-taker vanish again, even if he had no idea of what to say to him. Talon hadn’t said a word, but the look in his eye spoke volumes. You deserve each other. Both of you. They’d ridden out of Forgenver late that same day and headed south, him and Hain and the thief-taker. Day after day with hardly a word spoken between them.
His head was spinning. He could barely keep his eyes open and he couldn’t get the dream out of his head. I bring the Black Moon. What did that mean?
He shook himself, wincing again. Dreams were stupid and it was much too early to be awake. He put on a nightshirt and went looking for some water. Moonlight robes made his dream-person a priest, didn’t it? A moon-priest. He’d known a moon-priest back in Deephaven. Garrent. But a priest with a burned face and one eye? He didn’t remember anyone like that.
When he got back, Hain was dressed. He gave Berren a sour look. They’d never really got past that punch on the nose. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Looking for water.’
Hain nodded at a jug on the table and mumbled something. Behind Berren the door opened and Master Sy came in. Except this wasn’t his Master Sy any more. This Syannis was older, angrier, his face pinched tight in frustration. The heady mix of fear and awe Berren remembered as his apprentice was gone, not a trace of it left. What he saw now both made him feel pity and repelled him. And after all this time, after all that had gone between them, neither could think of a word to say to the other. He’d had so many questions – the warlock, the golden knife, the priests, Tasahre – so many questions and so much to say and so much anger . . . And ever since that night on the beach, all his questions had crumbled into ash and even his anger wouldn’t burn.
Are you sure?
‘Berren.’ Master Sy gave him a nod. I’m sorry about how it all ended. That was as much as Berren ever got. And when Berren pestered him about what he’d said in the wood by the beach, about Tasahre being still alive, about that Are you sure? what did he get? Nothing. A shake of the head. I saw the same as you did. I did not see what happened afterwards and I never spoke to you in the wood by the beach that night. You must have been dreaming.
He should just leave, he knew it, and yet he couldn’t. Because he had to know . . . something. He didn’t even know what. Just needed to be with Master Sy for a while so he could finally be rid of him. ‘Where are we?’ he asked.
‘Galsmouth, dark-skin,’ muttered Hain.
‘North of Tethis. Meridian’s territory,’ said Master Sy.
Berren rubbed his eyes. Yes, they’d crossed the river into Galsmouth yesterday. Today they’d set off for Tethis itself, a few more days down the south road. As far as Berren understood it, they were going to walk right up to King Meridian’s castle and have a look around, spy on who was there for a bit, check on its defences, count soldiers, that sort of thing. Then they were going to sneak in, murder the king, sneak out again and slip away back to Forgenver. Just like that. They were going to get away with this because . . . He had no idea. Because they were going to change their clothes and stop looking like swords for hire at some point? He’d assumed that the whole bit about murdering the king had been a joke, but the closer they got the less sure he became. Whatever Master Sy’s plan was, he seemed to think it was going to work. And Berren? He was still here. Somehow it was better than staying in Forgenver, knowing that he could have been with the thief-taker, talking to him and trying to understand . . .
I loved her! She was everything that was right and good and you killed her! And why? She tried to stop you from murdering someone, that’s all! She had you beaten! She tried to let you live! She gave you every chance! Why did you have to kill her? Why? Why did you do it?
But not a word would come out. Not a single one. The awkwardness between them was a physical thing. It would have been easy, Berren thought, for the thief-taker to have walked away, to have turned his shoulder and sniffed with disdain, to have ignored Berren completely. It would have made it easier for Berren too because it would have woken the anger again.
Sorry? You’re sorry? And that’s supposed to be enough?
Master Sy shifted from one foot to the other. He stood stiffly, almost as though he knew what Berren was thinking and didn’t know what to say either. ‘When we get to Tethis you will present yourselves to the castle,’ he said. ‘You will find a sergeant to one of the companies and you will offer yourselves as labour for the day for a penny and a supper apiece. You’ll work and you’ll do as you’re told.’ He glanced at Berren. ‘Stay away from the castle and from any of the king’s guard who might recognise you. Keep your eyes open and see what men of what companies are there. At the end of the day you will leave with the other labourers. Join me after dark on the river road beneath the castle, where the valley is steepest. We’ll wait for three hours and then go into the castle together. Sun willing, we’ll take Prince Aimes and return to Forgenver.’
‘We will, will we?’ Berren forced the words out through gritted teeth. ‘And how will we get out again?’
‘Leave that to me.’ Syannis looked aimlessly around the room. ‘Breakfast. Five minutes sharp.’
As he left, Hain leaned into Berren, the smell of last night’s beer still strong on his breath. ‘What are you doing here, dark-skin?’
Berren pushed him away. Five minutes later, the three of them sat in the same uncomfortable silence, eating with the ruthless efficiency of three men who’d do anything for a decent excuse not to talk to each other.
From Galsmouth to Tethis was two more days by mule. They stopped at villages on the way and Syannis traded their cloaks for some old farming clothes and a couple of well used axes. Over the next night they slept rough under the shelter of a copse of trees. They set out again early, pushing on along the coast road that ran all the way to Forgenver and beyond. In sight of Tethis, they stopped and camped another night. From the sea the town was laid out for all to see, sprawled along the shore beneath the line of hills and cliffs. From the land it was almost invisible: aside from the castle with its one piece of wall and its watchtowers, you’d hardly know it was there.
‘Meridian’s at home,’ muttered Syannis as soon as they saw it. Berren wondered how he knew until the thief-taker po
inted at the clusters of flags flying above the two towers. Among them was a red flag with four white ships. The flag of Radek of Kalda. Berren knew it at once – he’d spent years looking out for it, every day.
Syannis grunted, and for a moment Berren saw a glimpse of the old thief-taker who’d taught him most of what he knew, the Master Sy with the flashing eyes and the quick cutting tongue and the simmering rage buried beneath. For a moment and then it was gone. ‘Come on.’ The thief-taker led them off the road until he found a hole under a fallen tree. The three of them wrapped their swords and their armour in cloth and buried them along with anything else that marked them as men of war. When they were done, Syannis brushed himself down. ‘See? Now we’re farmers.’ With a flourish he produced a skin full of cider, and there it was again, a glimmer of the man Berren had once known.
Berren scratched his head and took a gulp. ‘Talon led us along this road when we left Tethis the last time. Up to Galsmouth and through the next duchy.’
‘Gorandale.’
‘That’s the one.’
Hain snorted. ‘Nothing but hills and sheep. Mind you, Tethis isn’t much better, nor Forgenver if it comes to it.’
‘We came along this road.’ Berren screwed up his face, trying to remember. ‘We passed through a few villages on the first day. Once we were out of the town, everything was so empty. The hills got bigger. And yes –’ he frowned ‘– there were a lot of sheep.’
Syannis shrugged. ‘Can’t be leaving the mules. Swords and stuff we can bury. Mules, they’ll wander, or else someone will take them.’ He swept his arm across the landscape. ‘Look at this place. Almost deserted. Scraps of woodland. A few big rocks here and there. Sharp bends, steep valleys. A forgotten hut or two.’ He shook his head. ‘Outside Tethis itself, this country has its own laws. Especially inland. Hain’s right. Hills and hills and more hills and nothing much else except bloody sheep.’
‘Open country all the way to Galsmouth.’
‘Yes.’ Syannis made a face. ‘Why?’
Berren handed back the cider. ‘Nothing really. I was just thinking. I broke into your house once when you were in Deephaven. When you . . .’ He stopped. That was the night that Master Sy and the warlock Saffran Kuy had killed the Headsman. Hain probably wasn’t supposed to know about that. ‘Not long after you put a lock on the door.’ He turned to Hain and grinned maliciously. ‘And he was always so careful to bar the doors and the windows in case someone with a knife and a grudge slipped in at night. But he never thought to bar my room. It was always open. Even after I was gone.’ Berren looked back at Syannis and then glanced away inland at the line of hills. ‘I think this road is a bit like your front door, master thief-taker, and those hills, when they get closer, are like your unguarded upstairs window that no one’s thought of. If, say, you wanted to move a few hundred armed men about. Like I said, I was just thinking. It’s like breaking into someone’s house, just on a grander scale.’
Hain looked at him. His face was a mask of questions, and then Berren watched as it filled with the glow of understanding. Slowly he nodded.
Syannis, Berren saw, was quietly chuckling to himself.
19
THE TIES OF THE PAST
The summer days were long and hot, the evenings and the nights pleasantly warm and the days started early. They rode their mules back to the roadside as the sun rose and then watched and waited until the first carts appeared on their way to the Tethis markets. Berren and Hain and Syannis sidled in among the traffic and settled alongside a couple of old farmhands driving a wagon full of hay. The men were surly, but they soon found their tongues when Hain offered to share his breakfast with them, and quickly got to chatting about the weather and their crops. Syannis let Hain do the talking. Berren’s mind wandered. Coming here had seemed like a fine enough idea when he hadn’t actually given it much thought, but now it was making him nervous. People in the castle would remember his face – the bondswoman, the two soldiers who’d barred his way, Princess Gelisya – and besides, Tethis was home to the soap-maker, Vallas, Saffran’s brother.
As they came close to the town, two soldiers on horseback blocked the road ahead of them, stopping each cart in turn. When the wagon reached them, they poked their swords into the hay and took a good long look at Syannis and Berren.
‘Business in Tethis?’
‘Hay for them horses of yours,’ grumbled one of the men on the wagon.
Hain smiled and patted the axe on his belt. ‘New edges for me and my brothers,’ he said. The soldiers muttered to each other, shook their heads and waved them on.
‘Look at their colours,’ murmured Syannis. ‘The Mountain Panther. That tells you something in itself.’
‘It does?’ Berren shrugged.
‘That Meridian has money,’ said Hain.
They rode on until they reached the side of the Tethis valley opposite the castle. For a few minutes they stopped, but from there the castle was difficult to see.
‘Can’t stay here staring,’ muttered Syannis. ‘People will notice.’
‘Another reason to come at the place through the hills,’ said Berren.
‘Or from the south instead of the north. Come on.’
The thief-taker led the way now. They reached the market where Berren had searched for what he’d needed to save Tarn. Instead of crossing the river bridge to the castle road, the thief-taker paused by the street down to the sea, towards the ships and the docks and the fishermen.
‘A moment, Berren, if you please.’
Syannis and Hain left him there, holding the mules. Berren followed the progress of the street with his eyes. He’d walked it that day, all of it. It ran all the way down to the sea, past the Mermaid, around the bulk of the harbour to a shingle beach covered with nets hung up in ranks to dry. Somewhere down there was the soap-maker, Vallas Kuy. Berren’s skin prickled. The stink of fish wafted up on the sea breeze. Gulls squawked and circled overhead. As soon as he looked for them, Berren started to see cats, here and there, hiding in shadows and nooks and crannies. He felt them watching him. His sword hand itched, but today he was a farmer and so he had nothing to grasp. He could almost feel the presence of the warlock.
It started to rain, a light warm summer rain that reminded him of Deephaven. Dark clouds flitted back and forth across the sun. Berren looked out at the sea and the waves. I can work on a ship, he thought. I could go anywhere. I could go home. What’s to stop me? He’d miss Tarn maybe. He wouldn’t miss him much, though. Not enough to stay.
But go? Go where?
Syannis came back and he was on his own. ‘Change of plan,’ he said. ‘Hain can go back and get our stuff. I’m coming with you.’
Berren blinked. What? ‘But won’t they recognise you?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. It’s been a very long time.’ He bared his teeth. ‘And you know what? I can’t resist it. The temptation is too much.’ He met Berren eye to eye for a moment, and there once more was the old thief-taker. ‘Like walking the edge of a sword blade, eh? And what better place to say whatever needs to be said about Radek and your dead sword-monk than in the midst of our enemies, digging their privies?’
Syannis was mad. Utterly mad. Berren couldn’t help himself – he started to laugh. ‘You know I might just push you into one and bury you,’ he said, and he meant it too.
‘Yes,’ the thief-taker’s face gleamed, ‘I know you might try.’
They led their mules from the market square, over the bridge and up the other side of the river valley and then back along the top of the cliffs. The open ground within the castle walls and palisades was filled with tents and makeshift huts and soldiers now. Even the castle itself had changed since Berren and Talon had come by some two months before. The buildings had been made gaudy with a riot of coloured paint and were festooned with flags and banners, as though some fading rainbow had fallen out of the sky and spilled its guts everywhere. As their mules picked a path between the tents, Berren spotted three different uniforms a
mong the soldiers. He’d seen the castle soldiers before, the king’s guard, but now there were also soldiers who looked like the two horsemen they’d met on the road, and then there were soldiers in polished silver and bright green with the strange double-headed pikes he remembered from Deephaven and Radek’s ship.
They found a sergeant from one of the mercenary companies and Syannis begged for work. The castle was full. Berren could feel the tension in the air, too many men with too many swords, all pressed together with nothing much to do. The sergeant promised them a penny and a supper and set them to work. They filled old privies and dug new ones, cleaned boots, polished armour and stayed as far from the castle as it was possible to be. Berren looked up from time to time, but he never saw any sign of Gelisya or her bonds-maid, nor even Meridian or Prince Aimes or any of the rest of the court. The work was dull and dirty, but after years of being a ship’s skag, he bore it easily enough. Simple hard work suited him. It let him empty his head, or it would have if Syannis hadn’t been right there beside him. But Syannis was there, and Berren didn’t know where to start.
‘Stealing your half-brother sounds like a stupid idea,’ he said at last, when he couldn’t think of anything else. ‘If you can get that close to him, you should just kill Meridian.’ Come the evening, he thought he might just walk away and head back down to the docks and take up being a seaman again. Sail somewhere far away. Anywhere, really.
‘And how is that any better?’ whispered Syannis.
‘You kill a man, he doesn’t shout out, call for guards, raise the alarm, kick and struggle and scream. That’s how.’
Syannis snorted. ‘You sound like me. Well then maybe we will, but we can’t kill Aimes. You know the only reason I took you was because you looked like him. Nothing else. I didn’t want an apprentice. But there you were, my little brother, standing right in front of me, and this time I could actually do something. Later . . . well, later there were other reasons. You weren’t such a bad apprentice. Mostly.’