‘Then what claim do the cosmographers have on him?’
Trapped by her lies, Lenares tried not to panic. ‘None, ma sor. He wanted us to help him with some calculations. Have we done something wrong?’
The man pursed his lips, and made a small gesture with his hand. A smaller man next to him, attired as a soldier, bowed fractionally and left the group.
He’s going to search the cosmographers’ tents for Torve. What will happen when he is not to be found?
‘No, you cosmographers have done nothing wrong, ma dama Lenares. The status of this Omeran is still unclear. We know the Emperor sent him on this expedition for some purpose, and we are uncomfortable not knowing what it is. Without the Emperor’s protection, the Omeran suffers all manner of degradation. It is our mind to protect it. No one likes seeing animals suffer, particularly if by keeping it safe we can serve the Emperor’s interests.’
Lies mixed with truth. Why did people persist in thinking they could deceive her? As for that, why had she thought she could deceive anyone?
Because she did not want to see Torve hurt.
‘Ma dama, excuse, me but Captain Duon is waiting…’ The messenger tugged at her robe, then looked up as the gaze of every man around the well fastened on him.
‘Are you on your way to Duon?’ the Elboran asked Lenares.
The messenger answered. ‘Ma sor, this woman has a most important meeting with Captain Duon, and I will be in trouble if she is late.’
‘Trouble?’ crooned the Elboran. ‘My, my. Are you under the misapprehension that Dandy Duon is in charge of this expedition?’ There was a dangerous undercurrent in his voice. The messenger heard it, and took a step backwards. ‘If there is anything of importance to be discussed, we will hear about it first.’
The unfortunate messenger cleared his throat. ‘With the greatest of respect, ma sor, neither the girl nor I know what the meeting is to be about.’
As the Elboran prepared to reply, the red shape in Lenares’ mind developed a second and third funnel, accompanied by a roaring sound like nothing she had ever heard. For a moment she thought everyone must be able to hear it, but since no one else reacted, she realised it was wholly within her head. It was the first time any of her visions had been accompanied by such a sound. A dry part of her mind catalogued the occasion for further study.
The noise made the next few minutes’ conversation inaudible, though fortunately none of the men appeared to speak directly to her. She began to back her way slowly through the crowd; as she did so the roaring began to fade.
How much longer until the hole in the world manifests itself here? Minutes? Hours? It had been most of a night and part of the next morning between the time she had first noticed the hole grow larger and the arrival of the earthquake in the Garden of Angels. Would she have as much time now?
She was frightened that the hole in the world might be searching for her. She did not know what would happen if it found her.
The soldier sent to look for Torve returned before she could escape the gathering and flee to Captain Duon with her warnings. There was something Lenares recognised about the soldier, though she had never before seen his face. She dreaded what he was about to say.
‘I spoke with the cosmographers, ma sor Enui, and though I did not get to see the Omeran, they assured me it was at work in one of their tents.’ The man delivered his report in the crisp diction of a professional, yet Lenares was certain she had heard him speak prior to this. His pale, watery eyes transfixed her, and the colour in her mind reddened further. Why is he lying? ‘They assured me it would be available for the needs of the expedition later this afternoon. I will fetch it for you then, ma sor.’
Lenares kept her silence with difficulty. The soldier surely served the Elboran. Why had he lied? At his word she should have been exposed as a liar herself, and the hunt for Torve would continue. And why was the man familiar?
She raised her eyes to his. A face she did not know, of that she was certain. Accept my gift to you, it seemed to say.
A short nod from the Elboran dismissed the conversation, and Lenares turned away from the enigmatic soldier to face the messenger.
‘We must go, quickly,’ she whispered.
The Elboran was not finished, however. ‘Dryman, accompany the esteemed cosmographer to her meeting with Duon, would you, and report to me on what transpires.’
‘Very well, ma sor,’ the soldier replied.
‘But you are not invited—’ The sentence ended in a squawk as the point of the soldier’s knife tickled the messenger’s throat.
‘Take us to Duon,’ he said, with all the authority of an emperor.
Dryman the soldier continued to puzzle Lenares as they made their way along the rows between tents. In fact, he defeated her. None of her numbers were of any use; it was almost as though he was a negative, an inverse of a person. Even with the crushing pain in her mind growing ever stronger, she tried as hard as she could to penetrate his mystery as they walked briskly to Captain Duon’s tent.
The soldier was slightly below average height, with short limbs and neck. Unremarkable features capped off a forgettable physique. He carried his head high, though, giving an impression of…not authority, exactly, but of competence. He seemed equal to anything. The perfect soldier, it appeared.
She had progressed no further in her surreptitious examination of the man when they arrived at the open space in front of Captain Duon’s tent. The captain himself stood and began to welcome her formally to the expedition.
Lenares fidgeted through the first few sentences. There was no time for this.
‘Captain Duon,’ she said, her voice cutting across his greeting. ‘There is a hole in the world. It is approaching the expedition right now. You should warn everyone.’
‘What? Hole in where? Warn them about what? Is this another of your witchy predictions?’
‘No, ma sor. Cosmography, not witchery. The world is made of numbers, and I can see the patterns they make. Something terrible is breaking through from outside the world. It has made a hole in the patterns. I can prove it to anyone trained in mathematics.’
‘Yes, I did want to talk with you about your cosmography. They say you are the best of your generation, so I suppose I should expect some…er, eccentricity along with the brilliance. I wish to consult you about the expedition; in particular, which route we should take to Marasmos and the supply ship waiting there. There is a debate, you see, among the Alliances as to which of the three main paths is best for our purposes.’
He stopped speaking. The cosmographer was bent over, hands over her ears, panting as if she were about to give birth.
‘It is too late,’ she said weakly, and sank to the ground.
She did not fully lose consciousness, though she wished she could. Her head was crammed with intense pain, her ears filled with roaring. When after a minute or so she was able to stand, the roaring continued. It seemed to come from two, no three, parts of the camp. She turned towards the nearest sound: something golden flashed across a row between tents. An animal? Whatever it was, it was the source of the roaring sound.
Or one of the sources. Behind her a second roar rose up. All fear fled in the face of the chance to put a shape, a name perhaps, to the hole. She turned and dashed in the direction of the roar.
A hand clamped on her arm. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’ the soldier said.
‘Don’t care,’ she answered. ‘Let me go, I have to see.’
‘Then come with me,’ he said, and drew his sword.
Somewhere behind them Duon was shouting orders, but no one appeared to be listening. Thousands of soldiers in the camp, yet none seemed to be organising a defence against…whatever it was, whatever they were. Duon forgotten, Lenares and the soldier raced down the path between two rows of tents, pushing past screaming people running the other way.
They arrived at an open space near the edge of the camp—close to her own palanquin, a suddenly nervous Lenares realised. As she tur
ned to look for it, a cry of agony and fear rang out, closely followed by the sound of splintering wood. Her palanquin burst asunder and from it emerged…a golden and white shape. No. A woman screaming, her legs held fast in the mouth of a…of a lion.
Mahudia.
A second figure, this one red, stumbled out of the remains of the palanquin. A man covered in blood. Chasico. He collapsed as they watched.
The lion was a male. Lenares had seen drawings showing the flowing mane, powerful haunches, large jaws. They had not prepared her for the magnificence and terror of the animal.
Lenares had been afraid for herself many times, and had always been able to respond with anger and aggression. This was the first time she had been really afraid for someone else, and it paralysed her.
Mahudia! M—mother!
Mahudia screamed again, pleading for help as the lion dragged her across the stony ground. No one rushed to her aid, though a number of men shouted, attempting to scare the animal away. The lion dropped its prey, placed a paw on her leg, and looked around, confused.
‘This is not the way lions behave,’ said Dryman the soldier in a thoughtful voice. Lenares jumped, having forgotten he was there. ‘They avoid people. Never would they attack a caravan of any size, let alone one like ours. Something is wrong.’
I could have told you that.
‘Please,’ Mahudia said, her voice surprisingly small. ‘Please, someone.’
A phalanx of soldiers marched into the open space from Lenares’ left. Four men pulled spears from a barrel, stepped forward and threw, one after another. The first two spears bracketed the lion, the third glanced off its head, and the fourth took Mahudia in the thigh. She shrieked.
The lion snarled, then lifted its head and roared. Every soldier took a step backwards; a few drew their swords. A second phalanx arrived.
‘Why won’t someone do something?’ Lenares moaned.
‘Nothing to be done,’ said the soldier, his eyes strangely avid as he took in the scene. ‘The woman is dead.’
‘No, no, she is still—’
The lion dipped its head and took Mahudia’s shoulder in its jaws. The snap and crunch of bones would echo in Lenares’ mind forever, along with the despairing cry of her only true mother. Up came the animal’s head, its prey hanging from its mouth. Another volley of spears, one lodging in the lion’s flank. Powerful muscles contracted, then released: the predator leaped forward and loped swiftly away from the caravan, Mahudia flopping awkwardly in its jaws like a tailor’s dummy and making no sound.
Torve bit his lip, unnerved. Twice now the odd children had vanished. Both times could perhaps be explained by his lack of attention, though how did the children know when to make their leave? Could they have predicted his distraction, or had they caused it? He could not accept they were either hallucinations or magical beings, though both explanations crossed his mind more than once on his walk back to the caravan. Fabrications born of his desire to discover his own past? Romantic notions of hidden resistance to the Amaqi? Or the remnants of a culture that had survived the Amaqi assault, and might one day reclaim lands and power? Too many questions and no way to find the answers.
Another issue began to intrude on his thoughts. How was he to explain his absence? No answers to this question either. He stilled himself, preparing for the beatings. They would come from a number of Alliances, as power was up for grabs and he had become a symbol. He would endure their words, their blows. What had the Emperor been thinking?
As he drew closer to the expedition he became aware of commotion in the camp. At two or three places along the strung-out line he could see movement, surprising in the debilitating early afternoon heat. A blurred shape detached from the caravan and came rapidly towards him, moving with unnatural speed.
If he had been unnerved before, he was terrified now. A lifetime of serving the Emperor had taught him much about the power and cruelty of men but nothing about the supernatural. He peered at the shape, trying to penetrate the desert haze. An animal, a large animal, no, an enormous animal, broke to the left of him, bounding on powerful legs, a spear hanging from its flank, something in its mouth.
Torve made no effort to conceal himself, but the creature didn’t see him, passing some distance to his left, slowing as it went. What is it? The animal disappeared into a shallow basin. Cautiously, Torve followed, flattening himself to the ground at the edge of the slight depression.
The monstrous shape, some sort of demonic cat—a lion?—pawed at a ragged shape on the ground. Oh no. The shape scrabbled weakly with one arm, dragging itself a few feet away from the cat’s claws. It made a thin wailing sound as it struggled. The golden eyes watched with interest, playing with its prey, letting it believe it could escape; then a heavy paw came down on the blood-smeared body. The breath huffed out of it.
The animal padded forward until it stood directly over the body, its face a golden mask. Emperor of the desert. The cat lowered its face and, with a jerk, snapped its victim’s neck. Then it settled down to feed.
CHAPTER 13
THE PLACE OF THE GIANT
THE EXPEDITION ARRIVED at the centre of the stone plain three frantic days later. Captain Duon had ordered extreme haste, careless of the welfare of the animals, bearers and soldiers, forcing the caravan to travel even in the heat of the day. No more lions had been seen, but few disagreed with the order. A rumour suggesting people had gone missing spread throughout the camp, increasing the general level of anxiety. No one was spared the extra work their haste entailed. Torve was allowed no more than four hours’ sleep a night, though scarcely more put upon than the minor members of various Alliances, who were pressed into bearing palanquins, drawing water from the wells, serving meals and even latrine duty.
The caravan suffered dreadfully from this forced march. The fatherwards trail was not used regularly—no desert trail saw regular traffic—and broke up under the wheels, hoofs and feet of the expedition. Stone chips bruised feet and ankles, crippled horses and camels and shook wagons until there wasn’t one in the caravan that did not require repair. Dust found its way into every crack and crevice, affecting everything mechanical and causing discomfort to anything organic. The camp followers, poorly equipped and plodding along at the rear of the caravan, suffered most.
A broad watercourse marked the centre of the stone plain. Incised from sonback to sonwards deep into the regolith, the valley was perhaps a mile wide, and Torve could see abundant evidence that during the rare floods water filled the valley from side to side, many feet deep. The caravan made its sinuous way down into the valley, which at least offered shelter from the hot fatherwards desert wind. There Captain Duon’s glorious expedition shuddered to a halt, allowed the dust to settle and drew a collective breath.
Along with a few of the more articulate Omerans, Torve was employed by Captain Duon to notify Alliance leaders of a conference to be held in the late morning. No invitation had been issued to the cosmographers, but one of the Elboran soldiers suggested Torve advise them of Duon’s intent. So it was that the Omeran encountered Lenares for the first time since the expedition had left Talamaq.
‘Hello,’ she said, her wan face peeking shyly out from her repaired palanquin. ‘I heard you were part of this expedition. It is good to see you.’
‘And you, ma dama cosmographer,’ he replied, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. ‘I was sorry to hear about what happened to your…to Mahudia. I’m sure the Emperor, were he here, would add his condolences to mine.’
Her face fell. ‘I am sorry too,’ she said in a small voice. ‘The soldiers said you found her body.’ A single tear leaked from her right eye.
Torve nodded. He had avoided a potentially dangerous moment by telling the soldiers he had pursued the lion from the camp. Eyebrows were raised but, as he had hoped, they were not interested in the doings of an Omeran—unless those doings cast him in a bad light.
Lenares leaned forward. Torve held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t ask her next question.
She asked it. ‘Was she…did she suffer, my Mahudia?’
This was a woman to whom it was useless to offer lies, no matter how well intentioned. ‘She suffered, ma dama Lenares. But she was brave. Even at the end she had not given up hope of escape.’
The girl smiled tightly, her hollow eyes glittering. ‘Did they catch the lion? The soldiers didn’t say.’
‘Oh yes, they caught it. Surrounded it with spear-wielding soldiers and filled it with holes. I mean no insult when I say it was a shame, ma dama Mahudia’s death notwithstanding.’ Torve had learned a great deal about lions from camp gossip in the last three days, though he had no way of knowing what was true. Lions were predators, though, everyone agreed on that. One might just as well kill a cat for catching a mouse. ‘It was only doing what lions do.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ Lenares said in her characteristically abrupt manner. ‘It was sent, along with two others.’
This woman raised so many questions. ‘Sent? How can a lion be sent? And what do you mean by saying there were two others?’
‘Nehane said I was not to talk about it. He says that if I contradict Captain Duon for no good cause I will bring shame and hardship upon the cosmographers. But I don’t see how the truth can bring shame.’
‘The truth can bring shame if people don’t want to believe it,’ Torve said carefully. Talking with Lenares was like negotiating one’s way through quicksand.
‘No!’ she countered angrily. ‘Shame is something you feel. I refuse to feel shame for telling the truth.’
He nodded, acknowledging the point. ‘And what truth do the cosmographers want you to withhold?’
‘The hole in the world struck at us three days ago. Whoever is making the hole sent three things to target three people. I think the other two things were also lions, because so many people claim to have seen one.’
‘Everyone claims to have seen the lion because they all want to be part of the excitement,’ Torve said.
Path of Revenge Page 31