“All right, Chief. Take it easy. We were all young once.”
Alberic glared. “Not me. Now, where’s this carnival the keeper’s called.”
“He’ll be along.” Godric took the wine cup from Milo and held it gently to Alberic’s lips. “A sip! Not too much.”
Alberic took no notice. He grabbed the cup, downed half its contents, and sighed. Then he mopped a red drop from his chin with a starched white handkerchief. “Get off me,” he croaked.
Carys grinned at the Sekoi. The creature shook its head sadly. Its right arm was heavily bandaged, and she knew that Godric had caught some of the fire too; he limped when he thought no one was looking. She’d been lucky.
The door snicked open; Galen stalked in, and behind him Quist and Scala, with two of Alberic’s heavies. They stared at the bed in amazement. The keeper came over and looked down. “You look terrible,” he said quietly.
Alberic smiled, a grimace of pain. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not going to your ragtag Makers.”
“I doubt they’d have you. If you want to unburden yourself of your evil doings . . .”
“Get lost, keeper. It would take weeks. You’ll have to wait for my autobiography.”
Galen nodded. His black hair was tied back; his eyes were dark as he looked down at the tiny figure. “You have great courage, Alberic, for a man of such little faith. We may have come farther than we think.”
“Yes. Indeed.” The dwarf drank waspishly. “God, the worst thing I ever did was go looking for you. Life was simple. Eat, cheat, steal. Now look at me. For Flain’s sake, get on!”
Galen turned. Among the massed candles, his shadows flickered huge on the walls. “First, casualties. Sikka?”
The fair girl was sitting on the bed. She said, “Eighty-six injured, thirteen seriously. Deaths have gone up to forty—Kalesha went this morning.”
Grim, Galen nodded. After a moment he turned to Carys. “The search?”
“Finished.” She stood up, as if reporting to some spymaster. “The entire building is empty, as far as we can find out. There are twenty-eight levels belowground, mostly unlit, and we’ve had parties going over every inch. There are relics everywhere, Galen, and I don’t know what any of them do, except the descending rooms—there are four of those.” She hesitated, not wanting to remind him, but it had to be said. “No one was here except the dead man at the gate and whoever was in that interrogation chamber.”
They had found the room early yesterday; one of Godric’s men had come staggering back out of it, yelling in stark terror, beating imaginary worms off his clothes. When she and Galen had pushed past him, they had seen nothing but a spilled table and chairs and on the floor a terrifying, ugly mass of worms, hideous threads of red. She had recognized them at once. So had Galen.
She looked at him now. “There were two people in there at least.” The undigested fragments had told them that; teeth, fingernails, the metal clasp of a belt, though no one had dared to go and look too closely. The room was locked, with an uneasy guard outside.
“Yes,” Galen said. “And Raffi had been there. But I tell you, Carys, he is not dead.”
She looked at the Sekoi, who cleared its throat gently. “Galen, we have to consider the possibility . . .”
“He’s not dead.” The keeper sat on a chair and looked up, eyes dark. “I know that.”
“But there’s no way out.” Carys came over. “Where could he have gone?”
“He’s with the Margrave. There must be miles of corridors below us, maybe sealed now, leading right down into the pits. He’s there, Carys, I know it.”
“Oh, let him believe it if it keeps him happy.” To her surprise, the peevish voice was Alberic’s. The dwarf waved his wine cup at Scala. “Can’t we pull a few fingernails off her and find out?”
Scala twisted her red lips into a smile. “Don’t waste your time, little man. Maar’s a mystery to me. All I know is that we’ve lost a great deal of money.”
Alberic grinned. “Speak for yourself, sweetie. Your ransom won’t be small.”
“You won’t live to collect it. Half the Watch will be camped outside here in hours.”
There was silence. They all knew that was true. The Battle for Maar had been short and deadly, but it wasn’t over yet. Carys had dreamed again last night of the terrible searing lights that had scorched from the cube, of the strange energy fields that Alberic’s front rank had crashed into and died in, before Galen had summoned all the power he had to make the black arch that let them through. And then the nervous, shadowy progress through the echoing building, ambushed at each room and corner by sparks that leaped and killed, and shafts that opened without warning. Even now, who knew what traps were still lurking undiscovered?
The Sekoi shifted uncomfortably. “The castellan is right, Galen. We must plan quickly. If we are to withdraw . . .”
“Withdraw!” Galen looked up sharply. “We’re not withdrawing. I, for one, am going into the Unfinished Lands. I’m going down into Maar, and the pits are the quickest way.”
They were silent. Carys had known it would come to this. “Count me in,” she said quietly.
“Carys . . .”
“Don’t, Galen. I want to find Raffi too. And I’ve some unfinished business of my own.”
Quist was looking at her. He said, “You’ll die there. No one can live there.”
She looked at him sourly. “No one asked you. Your part in this is over.”
Galen stood; Quist rose to face him. They eyed each other.
“I can’t believe,” Galen said bitterly, “that any keeper . . .”
“I wasn’t a keeper; I was a scholar. I ran away. Like yours did. Maybe like yours, I couldn’t go through with it.”
“To the Watch! In God’s name . . .”
“I soon came to hate the Watch. But it had the only thing I wanted.” Quist looked sidelong at Scala; she made a small pout and said, “You stayed because I blackmailed you, lover.”
“No, I stayed because of you.”
Scala looked at Galen. “He’s so weak, you see? A complete romantic fool. That’s what your Order makes of people.”
Galen’s eyes were black with fury. “And you’re not weak. You simply murder the unarmed and the defenseless.”
“That’s right.” Her gaze was steely; then she looked at Quist with quiet amusement. “But I know him. He’s always trying to impress me. Any second now, he’ll be telling you he’s coming down with you into Maar.”
The candles flickered; all the shadows jumped. “Are you?” Galen said quietly.
Quist said, “Yes. Think about it; you’ll need me. I have sense-lines. I can be of some use.”
“To find Raffi? You don’t even know him.”
“To find the truth. To find out who gives the orders. Don’t you think the Watch have a right to know it too?”
After a second, Galen limped away; then abruptly he turned. “All right. I haven’t got time to argue. But if you betray us down there . . .”
Quist raised his hands.
“And she stays here.”
“She certainly does.” Alberic wheezed from his bed. “She’s four thousand marks on the hoof and she stays with me.” He raised his cup to Scala, who looked disgusted.
“So the three of us will go.” Galen’s voice was somber; there was a split second of silence before the Sekoi languidly said the words Carys had been praying for.
“Four of us.”
They all looked at it. It shrugged graciously. “I miss the small keeper.”
Galen was watching, intent. The Crow power moved around him, strange shadows and drafts that agitated all the flames. “Ever since Tasceron,” he said, his voice a whisper, “you’ve stayed with us, when you could have gone. To Sarres, to the Great Hoard. Now even to Maar. Why should a Sekoi care so much for Starmen?”
The creature’s yellow eyes widened. It seemed a little overcome. “Because we are friends, Galen. We have become friends.”
The keeper came up to it and nodded. “I’m very glad of it,” he said. “But what do you seek in Maar?”
The Sekoi did not answer.
“All very touching.” Alberic coughed painfully on the pillows. “And I suppose now you expect my boys and girls to gallantly hold off tens of thousands while you nobly sacrifice yourselves to martyrdom.”
Galen turned. “That’s the idea.”
“Well, I’ll admit the place is good for it. It’s worth ten of Halen’s castle, and if we can get those hot weapons on the roof to work, I’ll fry a few Watchpatrols to a crisp. But get this, Galen. We’re not staying around. We’re taking anything not nailed down and clearing, as soon as I can scrape myself from this bed. But then, it won’t worry you. You won’t be coming back.”
“Oh, I’ll be back.” The Relic Master came over and looked down at him. “You don’t get rid of me that easily, thief-lord.”
“Get rid of you!” Alberic growled. “I seem to have been trying for years.”
CARYS EMPTIED THE PACK. Then she put in water, the food supplies, her lodestone, a spare crossbow, a warm coat. It felt heavy and bulky. She packed the pockets with crossbow bolts. When she’d finished, she took off the Watch uniform and dressed in her old clothes, lacing the green jerkin up. Finally she pulled the insignia—her own—from her neck and dangled the tiny silver discs over the pile of clothes. Then she dropped them.
“So what is this business of your own?” Galen was leaning in the doorway, looking at her. He had his dark coat and his stick, and wore both sets of awen-beads, intertwined, she noticed. She didn’t want to tell him. Then abruptly changing her mind, she said, “Mathravale.”
He knew the name. His look was sharp. “What does that horror have to do with you?”
“My parents were there. Probably.” She didn’t tell him Quist had been there too; this was not the time for the black fury that would bring. “I found out that the children from Mathravale had been taken to Marn Mountain. So that solves a few mysteries, doesn’t it?”
Galen came into the room. “I’m sorry, Carys,” he said. “It must have been a shock.”
“Not really.” She laced the pack quickly. “I never knew them—not that I remember.”
“Still . . .”
“Leave it, Galen.” She turned. “Don’t tell me they were martyrs for the Makers and that it was good, or that I should take time to grieve over them. I never knew them. It’s myself I’m grieving for.”
“They were martyrs. And it is good.” He folded his arms, unmoving, then glanced over at the crumpled uniform. She followed his gaze and swung the pack up. “Yes. I’ve finished with the Watch. Forever. No more spying, no more lies. It’s over.” When he wouldn’t move out of her way, she laughed drily. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Raffi would. When he found out we had both planned your capture he was so angry, Carys. I have never seen him so moved. It made me ashamed.” He was silent a moment, his face dark with pain. Then he said, “But the Watch is more than a uniform. It’s not so easy to put off. Carys, if you are coming with us for revenge . . .”
“I should leave it to you?” She came up to him. “After all, what is your oath for if not revenge, Galen?”
He nodded, gaunt-faced. “Maybe. But I’ve sworn it now.”
As he turned away she said, “Will you do it? Will you kill that creature?”
His back was to her. She heard him breathe, then he said, “Yes.” The answer was so quiet, she was hardly sure it was there.
THE GATE TO THE UNFINISHED LANDS was half buried, as if the land outside had bubbled and heaved up against it. The four of them stood there, with Godric and some of his men, and Scala, who had insisted on coming.
“Well, keeper. Graycat.” The big man slapped their arms affectionately. “I don’t suppose wishing you luck is any use. Flain keep you.”
Galen gave him a blessing gravely. “And you, guard the warlord. He’s not ready for the Makers. I have a great deal of work to do on him yet.”
Godric roared with laughter. “You’re a brave man, Galen. I hope you find the lad. I always had a soft spot for Raffi, since I first saw him scared stiff at that cromlech.” He nodded at the men; they seized the blackened shell of the door and began to heave it open.
Scala moved up to Quist. “You don’t have to do this. We can both be ransomed; I have a few contacts that owe me favors. We’ll come out of it well. “
He looked down at her. “When I come back . . .”
“Fool. You won’t come back.” She looked piqued. “You’re a fool, Captain.”
Quist ignored her. “When I come back, I’ll find you. I promise.”
She stepped back. “It makes no difference to me, lover.”
“Doesn’t it?” he breathed.
The door creaked uneasily apart between them, the metal buckling and corroded. Through the gap a cold wind whistled, heavy with a foul yellow sleet. The Sekoi gave a mew of disgust. Galen gripped his stick and walked straight through; Quist followed, with one last look at Scala, and Carys pulled up her hood and marched after them. Godric took out a gold coin and put it in the Sekoi’s hand. “Your winnings. From last night’s game.”
Regretfully the Sekoi spun the coin, “I’m afraid,” it said sadly, “there will be very little to spend it on.” Tugging a scarf over its face, it followed the others.
The yellow sleet stank of sulfur. Godric watched it swirl in clouds beyond the door. “Get that thing closed,” he said grimly.
22
I had thought this the darkest place of the soul, that there could be no worse, but I was wrong. For I had made evil into a shape and spoken to it, and it mocked me. It was my own face in a mirror; When I looked up it was always there.
Sorrows of Kest
“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME ARE THESE?” Raffi wandered down the rows of cages, appalled. Here were all the creatures of a world’s nightmares: strange amalgams of species, things with spines and twisted limbs, extra organs, unimaginable diseases. The misery and horror of their minds hung around him in the darkness; he could barely breathe in it.
The beasts fled at his approach, dug themselves into straw. In one cage an apelike thing with pale, hairless skin hugged itself; in another, small snakes shed their skins rapidly, over and over.
“That’s a little something for myself.” The Margrave gripped the mesh and looked at the snakes peevishly. “Skin-shedding I detest. I have to undergo it at regular intervals. Kest might have made my skin more durable than yours, but at a price, and I have long worked on the problem. Not with any degree of success.”
“It will kill them,” Raffi said miserably.
“Probably. It usually does.”
He stared at it. Its jewel-bright eyes looked back. “I knew this would disturb you. My policy is to show you everything, Raffi. To hold nothing back. This way.” It led him through workshop after workshop, dim gleaming palaces stuffy with heat, their Maker-surfaces reflecting the scuttling shapes of unknowable beasts, of vast machines and racks of glass vials and diagrams that flickered on lit screens. Underfoot, in the shadows, tiny things ran and squeaked.
“A few get out,” the Margrave said idly. “Over the centuries they will no doubt have produced some interesting subspecies.”
Raffi felt sick, and shaky. Down at the end of the room a dark Sekoi was cleaning out cages. “Why?” he whispered. “Why are you doing it? What is it all for?”
“Why am I doing it?” The Margrave looked astonished. “But Raffi, this is not my work. It’s the Makers’.”
He shook his head. “Kest’s, you mean. You called him your father.”
“So he was, genetically. Does that make me one of the Makers too?” It seemed amused with the idea, rustling into its breathy laugh. Then, seeing his stricken shock, it put a scaly hand on Raffi’s shoulder. “Forgive me. This must be hard for you. Come down here.”
It walked on quickly, a rustling slender shadow between the high cages. “You see, in your stories Kest
had become the one who tampered, the one who created evil, and in a way that is true, but the harsh fact is, Raffi, that all the Makers manipulated genetic material. Some species they brought from Earth could not survive on Anara without modifications. That was the start of it. They introduced new strains of crops, more hardy breeds. But these species affected others. Populations rose or were made extinct; habitats began to be altered and the Makers found they had started something they could not control. Anara is a vibrant, teeming world. Vast colonies of insects spread diseases they had not even known of; interbreeding and mutation were rife; forests were destroyed, deserts appeared almost overnight. The very planet began to warp. They found they were not gods after all.”
Raffi listened to it with dread. Its voice mocked him with pleasantry. Coming to a circular staircase, it led him down, muffled and echoing. “‘Keep to the program,’ Tamar kept saying. ‘It will work out.’ It never did.”
The steps rang under his feet; the air was hot and sulfurous and they seemed to be deep in caves now, cut out of bedrock. Through his misery, Raffi saw that the floor was carved with great channels, and through them lava flowed, curling and crisping to cinders on top, always swept away. The heat was intense. Small bridges spanned the flows; in places huge holes gaped where steam hissed out.
The air was thick with strange gases; he almost choked, his eyes running with water, both hands over his nose and mouth.
The Margrave waved a proud hand. “The very depths of the Pits of Maar. The heart of Anara. There are tunnels down here I have not trodden in centuries. All under the planet’s crust they run, who knows where. Once I spent months deep under the Tower of Song; another time I walked for hours through the drains and sewers up into the eternal darkness of Tasceron and explored its alleys, a muffled figure in the dark. So much is unknown, Raffi! So much we might never know.”
Raffi whispered, “When they come back, we will.”
The Margrave eyed him sadly through the jets of steam and the lurid fiery glow. “You already know, don’t you,” it said quietly, “that they are never coming back.”
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