earthdawn Anarya's Secret

by Tim Jones

  "Right," said the guard attending Kendik, "You can deliver your letter now." He opened the door, and escorted Sezhina and Kendik within.

  They were facing a desk so massive that the t'skrang could have made a ship out of it. On the far side of the desk, a man in scarlet and gold robes sat, appraising them, framed by the light from a window that overlooked the interior garden. From his be-ringed fingers to his waxed moustache, he dripped excess. The office was decorated to match the man: a riot of trophies, statues, weaponry, tapestries, gold, silver, and bronze.

  Standing behind and to the left of the seated man was a contrasting figure, slim and straight, his robe an unadorned brown, his nose a prow that stuck out proudly from his face. Graying hair betokened advancing years, but his gaze was steady and his stance erect.

  Two guards who had been standing inside the door escorted Kendik and Sezhina to the edge of the desk.

  "You must bow in my presence," said the seated man.

  Kendik sketched a bow, and saw Sezhina, on his right, do likewise.

  "I understand you have something for me?"

  "Vulumensthetika of the House of the Wheel gave me this letter to deliver to you," said Kendik, placing the envelope on the desk in front of Tesek.

  "Perhaps you would let me examine it, milord," said the standing man. "There is no fathoming the depths of trickery to which the t'skrang will sink."

  "Very well, Niatos."

  Niatos produced a pair of silver tongs from a pocket in his robe and picked up the envelope. He examined it closely on both sides.

  "I believe it is safe to open," he said, and did so, extracting the letter within with the tongs and subjecting it to further scrutiny, his lips moving soundlessly.

  "There is no harm in it that I can detect."

  "Is it written in some odd language?"

  "No, milord."

  "All right, hand it over."

  Either Vulumensthetika had poor handwriting, or Tesek was not a fluent reader. He pored over the letter for some time, asking Niatos for advice on several words. At last he got to the end, and looked up at Kendik with barely suppressed anger.

  "So these are her terms, are they? To abandon the town I have built up from a few mud huts by the Opthia, never to return? To let those long-snouted vermin pick and choose who rules Borzim, and make my town their fiefdom? This I will never do! I'll give her a reply, all right: your heads on pikes outside the North Gate!"

  A reply flared up in Kendik's throat, but he caught Sezhina's warning glance, and said nothing.

  "My lord," said Niatos, "it is of course out of the question that you could accept such terms, but a pause for reflection may be in order. Let us ask ourselves why the t'skrang sent these envoys to us."

  "I don't care what their reasons are! All I know is that I will not tolerate them camping on my doorstep. If they think that I will not react to these provocations, then they will soon have to think again!"

  Kendik saw a look of exasperation flit across Niatos' face. "But have you considered, my lord, that this may be precisely the reaction they wish to provoke? Their forces outnumber ours, and with all respect to your guards, they are trained for keeping order and interrogating prisoners, not for open war. Battle suits the t'skrang, not us. Our advantage is that, given time, the t'skrang forces will start arguing among themselves. It is neither natural nor profitable for t'skrang to lay siege to a town, and no matter how well they are being paid, their orks are going to get restless, too. My lord, there is enough food and wood within the town to withstand three months' siege. Not until our stocks of either draw low should we attempt any action that places our forces at risk. In the meantime, I am doing what I can to bring aid."

  "Couldn't you just perform one of your spells and make them go away, or turn them into sheep, or something?" grumbled Tesek.

  Niatos raised an eyebrow. "As ever, my lord, your opinion of my powers flatters me. However, the t'skrang are not without powerful magicians of their own. A war of spells is unlikely to end well for any of us."

  "So what do you think I should do with these two?"

  "They interest me. Permit me to take them—under guard, of course—to my quarters, and I will question them further. They are not worth another moment of your time."

  Tesek gave Sezhina and Kendik a venomous glare. "Don't think you're getting off lightly. Niatos has ways of asking questions that even I wouldn't use. You'll be wishing you were a pair of heads on pikes before long."

  Then the guards within the room escorted them to the door, and the guards outside led them back down the stairs to the ground floor, to a room which, Kendik guessed, was roughly underneath Tesek's room two floors above. The lead guard knocked on the door. "Enter," said Niatos.

  "How did he get there?" asked Kendik. "Magic?"

  "Stairs," replied Sezhina as they entered, gesturing to a metal staircase at the back of the room that spiraled tightly out of sight through a hole in the ceiling above.

  It would have been easy to miss it. The room was as full of eye-catching objects as Tesek's has been, but the ostentation of the ruler's lavish premises was missing, replaced by the multifarious tools of magic: alembics, retorts, jars full of oily liquids, sealed tins, and most of all, covering every available surface, scrolls. Kendik was reminded of the crowded shop in the Street of Apothecaries, although this room did not have a thick film of dust. It was somebody's job to keep this room clean and in a modicum of order.

  Kendik didn't know what many of the objects were, other than the ubiquitous scrolls, but his overriding impression was that they were of great age. Surely much that was here dated to before the Scourge?

  Kendik heard Sezhina's breath draw in sharply. "That's—" she started to say, but then she saw Niatos looking at her curiously, and swallowed whatever she was going to say next.

  Niatos considered them each in turn, and began to speak. "Two humans, working for the t'skrang, with the courage—I do not think it is too strong a word—to bring Lord Tesek a message that displeases him considerably. One was, for a short while, a member of Tesek's own guards. Another, I hear tell, has been masquerading as a duke, and has even gained something of a following among credulous provincials. Both of you interest me. Before Lord Tesek decides on your fate, I would like to know your stories. I prefer that you tell me the truth, though, for the present at least, I will not compel it. You first, I think," Niatos said, turning his thin, aged, but still vigorous face to Sezhina.

  Sezhina's story was much as Kendik had heard it before, though she went on to describe more of her adventures in the lands outside Kaer Volost, tales of predators, both natural and supernatural, evaded and defeated. As he listened, Kendik realized that his home village had been an oasis of peace and tranquility compared to some. He had never had to face the sight of a Horror oozing down the village's main (and only) street. He shivered, and clutched the pendant around his neck for reassurance.

  Niatos asked questions from time to time, but appeared to take Sezhina's story at face value. Then he turned to Kendik. Dutifully, Kendik embarked on tales of village life, his parents, the conflicts of adolescence, but Niatos waved an impatient hand. "Tell me what happened after you came to Borzim and made the acquaintance of the traitor Akil."

  Since Akil had been captured, tortured, and killed, Kendik didn't see much point in attempting to preserve the secrets of her intelligence network. Nevertheless, Niatos made him go back over several points, and quizzed him at length about the location of the safe house to which Akil had first sent Kendik, Atlan, and Mors.

  "And then she sent you to Pust," said Niatos. "Tell me about this t'skrang that accompanied you."

  To his surprise, Kendik found himself reluctant to paint T'shifa in as bleak a light as she deserved. He did not tell Niatos that T'shifa had tried to kill him, or that he had tried to kill her. He also left out the Names of his contacts—perhaps he could call them his friends— from Pust. It was possible that Niatos already knew who they were, but Kendik wasn't going t
o do anything to add to the troubles of Natrass and his parents and brothers. Unsurprisingly, Niatos was very interested in whatever Kendik could tell him about Vulumen-sthetika, and Kendik described her as carefully as possible—though feeling, as he did so, that Vulumensthetika was less comprehensible to him than any other Name-giver he had met, too essentially t'skrang to be easily understood by a simple human like himself.

  He said as much to Niatos, who replied "She is no different from anyone in a position of power. She is motivated by pride, ambition, and fear. But you say she employed the services of a magician? Tell me as much as you can about that one."

  Niatos was frustrated at how little detail Kendik could supply about the spells Hathilt had used on Natrass and on the old woman, but his description of Hathilt's appearance—the pale skin, the protruding eyes—both impressed and, he fancied, alarmed the Wizard. "A Pale One, eh?" he said. "A dangerous ally, by all accounts."

  Kendik had no idea what he was talking about, though it was plain from her expression that Sezhina did.

  After tiring of Kendik's fumbling efforts to describe magic, Niatos said "Very well. If that is all you can tell me, let us move on to some other points that are less than clear to me. Exactly what did Vulumensthetika want you to do when she first sent you back to Borzim?"

  Kendik was spared from answering by a knock at the door.

  "Tell whoever that is to go away," said Niatos.

  A guard opened the door and relayed these instructions to whoever stood outside. A whispered but agitated conversation followed.

  "It's Devlit, sir. Says he has to see you."

  Niatos lifted his eyes skyward. "Very well. Send him in."

  Looking more nervous than ever, the young Wizard entered the room, his gaze skittering from person to person. With impressive synchronicity, he was holding Vulumensthetika's original letter out in front of him, as if it could protect him from Niatos' wrath.

  "It's this letter, sir. They found it on the male prisoner when they searched him, and gave it to me to examine. It's plainly enchanted, sir, but it's beyond my arts to decipher. Seeing as how it was on the prisoner, I thought you'd best take a look at it."

  "Evidently there are some things you haven't been telling me," Niatos said to Kendik. "That is unwise." He turned to Devlit. "Put the letter on my desk and leave us."

  Devlit scurried out in fear and relief. Niatos picked the letter up with the silver tongs he had used earlier, looked at it closely, even sniffed it. "This is written in some t'skrang dialect. It will take a little work—"

  He was holding the tongs in his right hand. He reached out his left hand to take the letter. The instant his hand touched the parchment, he drew it back as if burned. Tongs and letter clattered to the desk. Niatos reeled backwards. His left hand was withering, the bones showing through ancient flesh. Even through his thick robe, Kendik could see the withering effect moving across the magician's body. With his right hand, Niatos was reaching for something behind the desk; but, whatever it was, he was shaking too much to be able to grasp it. The shriveling reached his neck and then his face. His hair burst from his scalp and fluttered downwards in a cloud. What was left was a skull-like face, something between man and vulture: clouded eyes, a long nose, and a lipless mouth.

  "Dinazhe!" said Sezhina. "Run!" She dashed for the door. Ken-dik looked back. The lipless mouth was opening, trying to form a word. He did not want to hear that word. He ran after Sezhina, slamming the door shut on the terrible sight behind him.

  Chapter 16

  The guards outside Dinazhe's door were not used to it being flung open from the inside. Their surprise gave Kendik and Sezhina a moment's head start. Sezhina burst out first, and Kendik followed. Though he was younger, he certainly wasn't fitter, and it was all he could do to keep up with her.

  They ran along the corridor and took the first turning they could, which was into the passageway that led to the garden. Ahead, they saw laborers lugging crates. The idea came to Kendik without conscious thought. "Slow down," he told Sezhina between gasps.

  "What?"

  "Slow down. We're builders."

  She understood at once. Slowing to a dawdle, they joined the back of the group of laborers as they made their way through the interior garden.

  "I'll give you a hand," Kendik said to the nearest.

  "Thanks," she replied. Sezhina joined in on the other side. Guards ran past, paying the laborers no attention at all. "What do they look like, anyway?" he heard one shout.

  They picked their way through the main building site at the front of the palace—no easy task when carrying heavy loads—and deposited the crates as directed by their foreman, a choleric individual who, from his demeanor, had spent a long and stressful career as a sergeant in the guards. He didn't actually call them "you horrible lot," but all other expected behavioral traits were present and correct. If he was surprised at the acquisition of two new workers, he gave no sign.

  They put the crates down twenty yards from the front door of the palace. Kendik entertained thoughts of simply sauntering off down the road to freedom—though they would have to pass a guard post to do so. He leaned over to Sezhina as they straightened from their labors and suggested to her what she had not so long ago suggested to him: "Make a break for it?"

  "Get on with it, you two!" shouted the foreman, almost in his ear. "There's plenty more rubbish to clear out where that lot came from!"

  So they postponed thoughts of escape and followed their new workmates back through the interior garden and into the far side of the palace. To Kendik's relief, they turned left, not right, when they got to the main corridor. There appeared to be no coordination between the guards and the builders, and as long as things stayed that way, and they didn't bump into Dinazhe, Tesek, or the persistent Devlit, they stood a good chance of getting away with this. For a while, at least. Still ...

  "They're bound to catch us eventually," Kendik whispered to Sezhina when he next had the chance.

  "I'm not leaving here until I find what's going on with Dinazhe," said Sezhina irritably. "Do you want to go back and tell Vulumen-sthetika we've failed?"

  "We delivered the message," pointed out Kendik. "That's all she asked us to do."

  "Fine, then, get away when you can. I'm staying here."

  "I will," replied Kendik. His best chance would be at day's end. These laborers would have to sleep and eat somewhere. But something was nagging at him. Where had he heard the Name Dinazhe before? And what was in that letter, to have such a terrible effect?

  T'skrang are not to be trusted, he reminded himself. Not those who sail beneath the banner of the Wheel, at any rate.

  The afternoon wore on, and Kendik's fear of discovery was numbed by his increasing tiredness. He had been used to hard physical work in his home village, but his arms were now honed for sword wielding, not for lugging crates of discarded fittings, tottering piles of tiles, and wooden boxes to and fro across a building site. One of his companions, a tall, shapely woman with a few streaks of gray in her black hair who was carrying a pile of six tiles without evident difficulty, looked at the three tiles Kendik was struggling with and remarked, with wry amusement rather than disapproval, "You're new at this, aren't you?"

  "Fairly new, yes."

  "Come off it. I haven't seen you before today."

  This conversation was edging onto dangerous territory. Right now, Kendik didn't think he could beat a five-year-old in a fair fight, let alone this woman. Sezhina was fifty yards to his left. She was carrying five tiles, and looked as fresh as a daisy.

  "All right," Kendik conceded, "I started today. Didn't want to sound like a complete beginner."

  "Big strong lad like you, a few days with us and you'll be carrying ten tiles without blinking. Nice legs you've got there. Do a bit of walking, do you?"

  Kendik looked at the woman and realized, to his mingled pride and alarm, that he was fearing the wrong sort of exposure entirely. The gaze her frank brown eyes were running over him had not
hing to do with any threat he posed to Lord Tesek. Still, it might be just as dangerous. How to extract himself without causing offence?

  "We travel around a bit, yeah."

  The woman's eyes widened. "Oh, so you and her are together, are you? Still, you can't blame me for trying. It's clear you like older women." With a smile, she turned away.

  To Kendik's immense relief, he had to carry only one more lot of tiles before the foreman bellowed "That's it! Food's on the table!"

  Workers from all points of the site made their way to the largest of the wooden huts in the interior garden. Just outside the door, there was a trough, and Kendik followed the example of his workmates by plunging his hands into it, swirling them around in the rapidly graying water, and vigorously shaking them dry. Then he went inside, where plates of stew and mugs of beer were lined up along trestle tables, and set to eating as though the provender was about to be whisked away.

  The food was surprisingly good, and as a bonus, appeared to be completely free of fish. For the first time, Kendik allowed that Lord Tesek, or those who administered Borzim in his Name, might have their good qualities. When he came up for air, he joined a lively conversation to his left between the woman who had given him the once-over earlier and a dwarf. There had been several dwarfs strutting about looking important with rolled-up plans under their arms, ordering the workers about, but Kendik was surprised to find a dwarf getting his hands dirty alongside humans.

  The woman turned to him and said "Where's your lady friend?"

  "She's—" Nowhere to be seen, he was about to say, but then he saw her, hurrying in to the hut and searching about for a vacant seat and a full plate of food. "—over there," he concluded.