earthdawn Anarya's Secret

by Tim Jones

  "Why were you so hard on him?" asked Kendik when Lethik had gone.

  "It pains me to say it, but the young nobles with whom Tesek has surrounded himself do not always live up to their benefactor's exacting standards of behavior. I am merely behaving as the secretary to any Borzim noble, rusticated for some minor misdemeanor and condemned to tour the malodorous villages of the plain, might be expected to behave."

  "He's right, lad," said Atlan. "If you've never been a poor man under the heel of a rich man, you won't know how the rich act when they have the chance. But we remember, don't we, Mors?"

  But Mors had gone. There one moment, gone the next, that was Mors.

  "Surely even he can't find anything to steal here?" said Kendik, without much hope. "I don't want an incident to mar the duke's visit."

  "I'll have a word," said Atlan, "but Mors wasn't cut out to spend his life on guard duty."

  Lethik's house, though no palace, was no worse than many in Kendik's home village, and Kendik quietly told T'shifa to stow her intimidating manner after the t'skrang had spent five minutes interrogating Lethik and his pleasant wife Sa-kara about every aspect of the night's arrangements. T'shifa subsided, but continued to look around darkly.

  They started with parsnip soup. It wasn't bad, not bad at all, and it was hot, which meant the water had been boiled thoroughly. Kendik began to relax. He might survive this experience after all.

  The stew that followed was dominated by parsnip as well, and Kendik wouldn't have been entirely surprised had he been offered a baked parsnip for dessert, but the food was hot and it was filling, which was all Kendik had ever asked for. "You'll eat anything," his mother would say, as she took another emptied plate from him and filled it from the pot that bubbled on the stove. He decided that Duke Kendik would eat pretty much anything, too.

  "Most enjoyable," said Kendik. "Have you wine?"

  Five minutes later, when the oldest of Lethik's three sons had run to the tavern and back, they had wine; and not long after that, Lethik and Sakara were showing them the sleeping arrangements.

  "This is our bed, normally," said Lethik, "but it's yours tonight. Not quite what you're used to, I'm afraid."

  "Oh, I'm used to hardship in the service of Borzim," said Duke Kendik airily. "I've slept on worse than this, I can assure you, out in the field. This will do perfectly well. T'shifa's an old fusspot, you know—you mustn't mind her."

  Lethik and Sakara exchanged glances, but no words passed between them.

  Having inspected her master's bed, and then those provided for her and the two guards, even T'shifa pronounced herself satisfied.

  "There's wood for the fire and a full pot of water," said Lethik, "and tapers to light your way. Will you be wanting anything else? I'm keen to get these young ones settled."

  "One further thing," said T'shifa. "We require one of your children to stay behind, to act as a messenger in case we require anything more in the night."

  Lethik looked stricken, and Kendik could see that Sakara was on the verge of open dissent. "Don't worry," Kendik told them, "the child will come to no harm. You can make him up a bed there by the fire, and with any luck, he'll have a peaceful night's sleep."

  "Oh, please let me stay," said Kendik's middle son, "please let me!"

  And they did let him stay, though with many a doubtful glance. "A hostage is always a useful asset in strange territory," whispered T'shifa as they watched the family say their goodbyes.

  Kendik would have preferred the boy not to be there. He wanted to shuck off his ducal status and talk with his friends, as equals, about the events of the day. (He wasn't sure yet whether he should count T'shifa as a friend, but the t'skrang was certainly interesting.) Instead, he was obliged to maintain his attitude of bored superiority, and the social hierarchy meant that Atlan and Mors could talk freely only with each other.

  The boy, Natrass, a sturdy lad with close-cropped dark hair, sat wide-eyed on his pallet, looking at them. After a while, Kendik descended from the table and went to sit by him. The boy shrank away alarmed, and for a long time Kendik could get nothing more from him than monosyllables. Eventually, the boy unwound enough to confide in a whisper that he wanted to build things: not houses, but water-races and aqueducts and roads and things no one had a Name for yet. "I want to make my Dad proud of me," he said; then he clammed up. Kendik had seen his father talking sternly to the boy before the family left for their night in the inn. Perhaps the inadvisability of confiding in dukes had featured in Lethik's advice.

  "You're a good lad," said Kendik lamely, and made ready for bed. He was asleep in minutes.

  It was Natrass who woke him, daring to reach out and tug at his bedclothes. The boy's pale face leaned over him, whispering.

  "There's a man at the door, says he has to talk with you."

  "Does he now?" said Kendik groggily. He got up and made to follow the boy quietly downstairs, then remembered who he was supposed to be and called "Guards!" Atlan and Mors roused themselves from their pallets in the hall and looked suitably embarrassed at their complete failure to detect the menace of an approaching ten-year-old. T'shifa emerged from the children's room and lifted a long face to the air, sniffing for trouble.

  "Guards," said Kendik, "find out what this visitor wants, but do it quietly."

  After a low-pitched conversation in the doorway of the house, the visitor emerged, with one hand twisted behind his back and held in Atlan's secure grip. He was a peasant, and he looked familiar.

  "Sire," he said, wincing a little, "you are in grave danger."

  "Danger? What kind of danger?"

  "Let me handle this, milord," said T'shifa, pushing past Kendik. She thrust her snout into the face of the terrified peasant, who looked as if he expected to be eaten on the spot, and hissed something at him.

  Kendik decided that he had had enough of being pushed around by T'shifa. "I will talk with our visitor," he said in a loud voice. T'shifa looked daggers at Kendik, but moved away from the peasant.

  "As you wish, my lord," she said.

  "Release his arm," said Kendik. Atlan complied.

  "Now," said Kendik, "you must be cold. Come and stand by the fire."

  The peasant rubbed his sore arm. "Begging your pardon, milord, but there isn't time. There's a mob planning to attack this house. They mean to burn it down and kill everyone inside, milord."

  A cry, quickly stifled, came from Kendik's left. He had forgotten Natrass was there.

  "Do they imagine we will stay in here to be burned alive?"

  "There's a lot of 'em, and they've got clubs, and lengths of wood from the pile, and a few of them have swords from serving in Lord Tesek's forces. If you get out of the house, they don't mean to let you go far."

  "What are we waiting for, then? Let's go."

  "They mustn't know I told you, milord, or I'm a dead man, and my family too."

  "Then you can leave, as soon as you tell us why this is happening."

  "They say one of your guards has been stealing the people's wealth, what wealth they have, and this morning he knifed an old woman when she tried to protect some bits and trinkets she had. And besides, lots of 'em are sick of being under Borzim's thumb and paying all Lord Tesek's taxes, and they want to show those Borzim dandies what's what—that's just what they're saying, milord," the peasant added hastily, catching sight of Kendik's expression. "But me—well, you gave me that silver coin, milord, and I'll always be grateful for that."

  "I didn't steal a single thing. There's nothing here worth stealing anyway," said Mors. "If you think—"

  "Silence!" said Kendik. "We have to find a way out of here."

  "I know a way, sir," said Natrass. "It will get you safely onto the Borzim road."

  "Then we'll follow the boy," said Kendik. "Get your things and let's move."

  Two minutes later, they were outside the door. They waited until the peasant—now with a gold coin to add to his silver—disappeared into the gloom, then followed Natrass, as quietly as t
hey could, in the opposite direction.

  The route twisted and turned among the silent houses. Twice, hearing them pass, dogs growled, and one began to bark; then it yelped, and fell silent. They pushed on, squelching through stinking mud, splashing through fetid water.

  And they almost made it. Whether by plan or accident, two men emerged into an alleyway leading to open fields just as Kendik and his group were entering it. "Here they are," one yelled, "they're trying to—" His cry died in a gurgle of blood, but there were others nearby, and they ran to join the fight.

  When Kendik was training to be a Swordmaster, he had dreamed of battles of champion against champion in the open fields, the sun shining on the heads of the combatants, fair maidens cheering and screaming at each thrust and parry. But this was knife work, in the dark, in an alley. He dodged a club that whistled past his head, took a glancing blow across the ribs, turned and sank his knife deep into something that grunted and cried out and fell. Atlan's sword flashed past him and skewered an opponent.

  From somewhere, torches appeared: their opponents wanted a better view. It was a mistake, because the mob's best chance had lain with lucky blows in the dark. Now that the four of them, all trained in one fighting Discipline or another, could see their adversaries, the odds had changed. Soon half a dozen villagers lay dead in the alleyway, and the rest, knowing they were beaten, broke and ran. "Put those torches out, you fools!" came a gruff voice, but by then it was too late. There was a scuffle, a final hoarse grunt, and then silence but for their heavy breathing and the cries of the wounded.

  By the light of a torch Atlan had seized, Kendik looked around. Almost at his feet lay the woman he had killed. In death, her hands were still clasped over the long, bloody gash in her belly, trying to stop the sea of intestines from spilling out. She had soiled herself, and she stank; and Kendik had killed her, a young woman armed only with a plank of wood and her anger. It was the first Name-giver he had ever killed. He bent over and vomited at her feet.

  "No!" cried Atlan. "Mors!"

  Mors was slumped against the wall of a house, holding his hands to his neck. He died as Atlan watched, the last light fading from his eyes, his hands dropping away to reveal the gaping slash in his throat. Blood bubbled out, and Mors fell forward, lifeless.

  Atlan bent down and sobbed. When he straightened, his face was pale, his eyes the only points of color.

  "Whoever did this, I will find them, and I will kill them," he said. T'shifa appeared, looking as unruffled as ever save for a gash in her cloak. She was pushing a squirming Natrass before her. "I caught the little rat," she said. "He was trying to escape. He led you into a trap. He deserves to die."

  Chapter 5

  "We need to get out of here," said Kendik.

  "But," said Atlan, peering in at Kendik and T'shifa, "there are three of us, and a whole village full of them."

  Kendik and T'shifa were sheltering under the canvas awning put up to protect the stockpile of wood for repairing the water race. It was just beyond the end of the alley in which they had been attacked. Atlan was on guard duty outside, getting wet. The stockpile had been ransacked for impromptu weapons by the mob that tried to kill them, but there was still plenty of wood to build a fire, should they decide to risk it. At the moment, they were staying put with their prisoner.

  "Stop wriggling, boy!" said T'shifa. Her clawed hand descended and gave Natrass a smart cuff across the head.

  "Leave the boy alone," said Kendik. "We have no reason to doubt him."

  "You must be more naive than I took you for ... milord," said T'shifa. "He led us right into a trap. He must have realized that's where the mob would go, or maybe it's his parents who are behind the whole thing. Aren't they, boy? Eh? Eh?" Natrass, terrified, tried to scramble away from her.

  "That's enough!" said Kendik. "We are not going to torture a child. Atlan, bring some of that rope. Tie the boy up, but don't make the knots tight enough to hurt him."

  "We'll get to the bottom of this," Kendik added for the benefit of Natrass. "I'll see that justice is done."

  The boy had used up his tears and his pleading. Now he just stared at Kendik as Atlan trussed him up.

  However had it come to this? wondered Kendik. Mors dead, his body now laid to rest beside the woodpile; another half a dozen bodies in the street; and his chief adviser urging him to have a small boy put on trial for treason. Thank the Passions there was no way that demand could be carried out. If they got out of Pust with their skins intact, they would be doing well.

  "I think we should simply return to Borzim," Kendik told T'shifa. "You can report to your masters, and Atlan and I can find a better line of work than threatening children."

  "I'm not leaving here until I discover who killed Mors," said Atlan stubbornly, and added "By Dis, this rain is cold. How much longer do I have to stay on guard duty? It's not as if—"

  "Silence!" said T'shifa. "You have sworn service to Duke Kendik. Now be true to your vows!"

  Kendik wanted to tell T'shifa to drop the whole charade, but he kept silent for the sake of Natrass. If T'shifa was still keeping up the pretence that Kendik was a duke in front of the boy, that must mean she didn't intend to kill him right away. Natrass was Kendik's responsibility, and as long as he was convinced of the boy's innocence, he did not intend to let him come to harm.

  "Any sign of them?" Kendik asked Atlan.

  "Nothing to see but drizzle. They probably don't realize we're out here. Is a patrol from Borzim due soon?"

  "The Guards—" began Natrass. T'shifa made to silence him, but stopped at Kendik's upraised hand. "The Guards come through Pust every week or so, though my father says they have been coming more often lately."

  "When did they last pass through?"

  "Two days ago. I went to the square to watch them. Father said I should have been at my letters. Will you let me see my parents again?"

  "That depends on your behavior," said T'shifa. "Keep quiet when I tell you to, and I might let you see them."

  "You will see your family again. I swear on my honor as a Duke of Borzim," said Kendik. The oath felt less hollow than he had expected.

  "Your honor as a Duke of Borzim binds you also not to leave this place until justice is done," said T'shifa. "But let us see what the dawn brings."

  It brought more rain. A freezing drizzle fell on the plains of the lower Opthia. From the forests on the foothills above Borzim to the banks of Lake Vors, those whose fate it was to rise early and work hard cursed the weather and huddled deeper into their clothing. The rain washed away footprints, smells, and sounds. It washed away energy and resolution, and brought only dumb endurance in its stead.

  Outside the village of Pust, dawn brought the sounds of a village slowly and reluctantly bringing itself to recollect the night. A horse-drawn wagon left the village and rolled slowly southward. A few peasants emerged and went to their accustomed place in the fields. And, heart-rending, a forlorn cry rose into the leaden sky: "Natrass! Natrass!"

  Kendik lifted a warning finger. T'shifa clamped her hand across the boy's mouth. "They'll look here before long," hissed Atlan.

  Then there was another sound. It came from somewhere across the village, towards the river. It was a sound composed of many smaller sounds: the clink of armor, the tread of many feet, the call of voices speaking in a tongue Kendik did not know.

  "T'skrang!" said Atlan.

  They both looked at T'shifa, who looked back at them. "It seems a new factor has entered the equation," she said.

  "Who is it?" asked Atlan.

  "It is the Ishkarat, the House of the Wheel."

  "What are they doing here?"

  "Perhaps they were nearby, and are paying a social call," said T'shifa blandly.

  "There's no one I want to see less! There's still a price on my head after our last brush with them. Mors tried to steal ...". Atlan's face crumpled, and he began to cry.

  "We have waited long enough," said T'shifa. She took her hand from Natrass' mouth, stepped
outside their makeshift shelter, and gave a long, ululating cry.

  After a few moments, figures dressed in outlandish robes, richly cowled and booted, stepped from the alleyway. Curved swords swung at their sides. They stopped to let another t'skrang through, more plainly dressed, with a black dagger in her belt. She was a little taller than T'shifa, her skin a darker shade of gray, her green eyes vivid.

  She walked up to T'shifa and said "It has been a long time, sister."

  "Allow me," said T'shifa, "to introduce these humans. They are under my protection. This is Duke Kendik of Borzim, this is his guard Atlan—"

  "I have heard of this one. Where is his brother, the Thief?"

  T'shifa gestured with one claw to the body. "There."

  "Did you kill him?"

  "No."

  "Then who did?" demanded Atlan.

  "Silence!" said the newly arrived t'skrang. "We will decide what to do with you later. What of this boy?"

  "We received word last night that a mob was about to attack us. This boy was meant to lead us to safety. Instead, he led us straight into an ambush."

  "But I didn't know!" wailed Natrass. "I was just trying to get you out of town and onto the Borzim road, like you said! I didn't know they'd be coming that way."

  "I believe the boy," said Kendik.

  "What a pretty picture!" said the t'skrang. "A duke of Borzim hiding under a wet sail, a boy who may or may not be a traitor, a fugitive from Ishkarat justice and his dead brother, and you, S'thanakara, now going by the unlovely Name of T'shifa."

  "Easier for the humans to pronounce," said T'shifa.

  "Who do you serve?" asked Kendik.

  "As well ask the cattle the path to Parlainth," said the other t'skrang. "Call me Vulumensthetika, if you can pronounce that, Duke of Borzim. And now, let us return to this damp little slum, where we will try and get to the truth of these matters."

  The tavern where Lethik's family had stayed the night was the largest building in Pust. The dwarfs of Throal would never put up with this as a courtroom, thought Kendik, but I suppose it's the best we're going to get.