“He came here because of you.”
“What do you mean? He didn’t!”
“Well,” I stare up as Leyvala dawns in the sky, a wonderful purple-blue slash of color, “Why else would he come? I don’t think it was because of your mother or father.”
“What would you know?” It seems she and Thurifer think alike on that one. “You’re too young.” She flounces away, to the other side of the rock, to where she can very deliberately not see Doven, who is still staring at Ammeline.
Linnith is silly if she thinks Doven will even notice. He is crouching next to Ammeline with a look of total absorption on his face. It would need an upsurge from Abaloss Rift to get his attention.
I hear laughter from behind. Vannis is looking amused. “Ammeline never could share her toys. She always wanted them all for herself.”
“She is very good.”
He raises one eyebrow. “‘Good’ is not exactly the word most people would use in connection with Ammeline. However, she certainly knows how to use her natural advantages.”
He doesn’t sound particularly admiring.
I am curious. “You don’t like her?”
“She is selfish and destructive.”
“Like you then.” I am just stating the facts.
He opens his eyes wide. “So. You do have claws. You do have opinions.”
“You think I am stupid?”
He shrugs. “I just thought you were a bit ... boring.”
That red-hot anger rises inside me again. I want to hit him. “And you? You are not a bit ... boring?”
He gives a grin full of wide, white teeth. Even his teeth are perfect. “I could never be boring. Ask any girl.”
“I am a girl.”
He laughs. “You may be, one day.” His eyes scan me up and then down and then up again, showing me just exactly how far off he thinks that is.
I flush. This ... person ... is extremely irritating. “I suppose you think all girls should look like Ammeline!”
“Life would be more interesting if they did.”
I kick him on the shins. He gives a sharp gasp and pushes me so hard that I fall right off the top of the rock. I drop down into the gulley, hitting my head hard against the dry ground beneath. My head begins to thump painfully.
With one jump Furian is down beside me. Jethran is quick to follow. Both men look at me with concern.
I pick myself up, assuring them that I am uninjured. Vannis has turned away. He doesn’t care if I have broken anything. He has already dismissed me from his thoughts. He has moved over to Linnith and is dripping his poisonous opinions into her small ears now. Linnith can’t hide her pleasure at having attracted the attention of one of the most handsome boys on the planet. She is trying not to show it, but she has started to twirl her hair around one finger. She likes him to be that close, all right. Even so, she keeps darting little glances at Doven, to see if he has noticed. He hasn’t.
Furian and Jethran manhandle me up to the top of the rock again. Furian looks at Vannis with distaste. “Be more careful,” he says shortly, “Remeny could have broken something.”
“She fell. It had nothing to do with me.”
My mouth drops open.
Furian rests a hand on my arm and fixes Thurifer’s grandson with a long glance. “Vannis, take care. You are only one of a group here. You seem to believe you are in some way superior to the rest of us.”
Vannis puts his face up to the suns and smiles broadly. “Not superior. Just different. Better?” He pretends to consider. “Perhaps.” He slowly turns his head from side to side to ensure an even tan. “—Like your Ammeline.”
He knows how to hurt, this indulged boy. It is Furian’s turn to redden, to look as though he would like to toss the boy over the edge of the rock. He clenches his fists. “Ammeline doesn’t think herself superior.”
Vannis gives a leer. “Ammeline is a prize flirt. And you know it. You should have taught her something useful, instead of letting her know how pretty she was. Now she can’t think of anything else.”
Furian’s jaw moves. His grasp on me is too tight. I try to wriggle out from under it.
He looks down. “I’m so sorry, Remeny.” He lets me go immediately. “Forgive me.”
“Of course.” I rub my arm. Why are all these people so cross with each other? They still have family. Why are they wasting their time?
I remember my promise to Zivan. “Will you teach me how to fight?”
Furian looks surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I need to know how to kill.”
“We are here to protect you. You do not need to know how to kill.”
“You are a Pallidan. An expert at the martial art of kappaltu. Linnith told me.”
“That is true. I suppose I can teach you some of the moves. If you like.”
“Please.”
Furian nods. “All right. When do you want to start?”
“Now.”
“Are you sure you haven’t damaged yourself from that fall?”
I shake my head.
He looks resigned. “Very well.”
He begins to explain to me about body balance and after a few moments Doven comes up.
“I would like to learn, too.”
I am surprised, but not as much as Ammeline. She is staring in our direction, her face contrary. She knows she has failed in some way.
So does Linnith. Her face has cleared. She looks quite happy again.
Our first lesson begins.
By the time Zivan and Torch get back, we have learnt quite a lot. Furian tells us to practice each morning and evening and promises to continue with our education in the art of kappaltu tomorrow.
Zivan goes straight to Quondam Azrial, muttering something into her ear. The quondam catches Thurifer’s eye.
“We have to hurry,” she tells us all. “The cohort of Scoriat soldiers is only two hours behind us now. If we don’t get through Boulderstone Pass before the eruption of the rift, we will be caught.”
There is instant movement. Everybody is ready within two minutes.
I stare at Zivan. Neither she nor Torch can have slept much more than an hour in the last three days. Yet they are still standing, looking quite able to continue. Even though Zivan’s face is streaked with dust and her clothes caked with grime, she stands tall, proud.
Linnith is conferring with her mother, Karith. They seem to be trying to line up two unusual points along the Abaloss Rift. Finally, they nod. Karith takes the lead.
“Another hour,” she tells us. “But we must hurry. There are signs that the rift will erupt very soon.”
I don’t ask what those signs were. I have two in front of me. The skulks are all looking nervous, sniffing the air with their thick muzzles. Beside them, Torch is shifting his eyes rapidly from one place to another, trying to identify some risk which only he is aware of. We need to hurry.
We half walk, half run along the gullies which lead us toward the Rift of Abaloss. It might be one thousand seven hundred miles long, but it is not exceptionally high. It really doesn’t look menacing at all from where I am, except that the land surrounding it is getting more and more surreal as we approach. The gullies are deeper, the caps of the rocks on their mushroom stalks are higher above us, and the stems they sit upon are gradually thinner and more worn.
Thurifer tells me as we march that each time the rift erupts, the water in this area is thrown up to fifty miles into the air. Over half of that water comes straight back down to land near the rift. It is a deluge so strong that it can easily kill. He points to the weird shapes all around us.
It has certainly carved a way through the local landscape. We are wandering past convoluted stalks of rock which have been water-sculpted into strange shapes. They resemble alien faces and limbs. In fact, the whole landscape is bizarre.
Kalyka, who is happy again trailing Torch, is looking around her with wonder. She is seeing a fantasyland. We have only ever experienced Astakarth. This landscape
is a revelation.
She is limping slightly. She frowns as I try to find out what is wrong. She doesn’t want my help. She tries to walk staunchly on. Her face warns me not to mess with her.
I stop her and gently ease her shoe off. Beneath the rough leather, her toes are bleeding. She has huge white blisters along the sole of one foot. They have burst. We both gaze at them, dismayed.
“I can go on,” she informs me, sounding older than she is.
“I will carry her.”
We both turn around.
Furian is standing behind us. Without any further comment, he grabs her by the shoulders, does some complicated maneuver with his arms and deposits her on his neck, her two legs hanging down, one on each side of his face. She gives a squeal; I’m not sure if of fright, anger or glee.
Her grandfather comes hurrying up to find out what is wrong. He tuts as he sees the state of her feet and removes the shoe from my hand. “I should have seen this coming.”
“How could you know that her feet were hurting?”
“It is my job to know. I am her only family.”
It seems to me that he is being rather hard on himself. Kalyka has always been a bit of a handful. How can a man in the last quarter of his life hope to see to every detail of her upbringing? Though he has certainly tried. He scuttles along beside her, until Thurifer reaches us. The praetor draws an ointment out of his sack of medicines and carefully rubs it over the bad foot. He takes the other shoe off too, handing it to Fimbrian. The right foot is fine, but Thurifer treats that too.
“Leave both shoes off. Let her run around without them for a couple of days. She will come to little harm. We can take it in turns to carry her.”
“Well, I’m not volunteering!”
We turn quickly. Vannis is looking at the blistered feet, his lip curling in distaste. He stares challengingly at his grandfather.
Thurifer sighs. “You will do as you are told, Vannis.”
“I never wanted to come on this wild goose chase in the first place.”
The timeworn praetor seems to shrink. “I am beginning to think that I shouldn’t have brought you. You bring shame on the long line of the gramen.”
“Whatever.” Vannis eyes Fimbrian and Kalyka with distaste. “Who asked them to come?”
Fimbrian’s eyes spark. “You devalue the name of the timeworn!”
“I am a gramen. Show me the respect I am due!”
Thurifer’s face now becomes thundery. “You go too far, Vannis! You are not gramen yet, not while I am alive!”
Vannis mutters something under his breath. I hear the words ‘not long’ amongst others. I am not the only one to suck in air.
Thurifer goes a sort of mottled purple color in the face. He half raises one hand, then lets it drop again. Azrial walks over to him and touches him quietly on the shoulder. When he turns to her, she shakes her head. She is telling him to leave it alone.
I begin to walk ahead. I feel rather uncomfortable. Vannis is so convinced that he knows what is right that it embarrasses me. I cannot look at Fimbrian. If Vannis is the future of the timeworn, I definitely don’t want to be one.
Chellin’s bright eyes are darting around the Cohort of Scoriat soldiers. “Honorable sirs,” he begins, wringing his hands as he speaks. “It were impossible to know how individual birds would react, never having taken them so far out of the city. Of the forty argents I brought, only fifteen is capable of continuing. Fifteen aint enough. Not for a full cohort.” He prostrates himself on the dusty track, almost in tears. “Please forgive these unworthy birds. Please allow this humble servant to return to Astakarth to be buying more birds. Bigger birds. Better birds.”
The legate of the First Istak Cohort stiffens. He is tempted to summarily remove this useless man’s head. Indeed, his right hand hovers for a moment over the blaster holstered at his side. However, argent handlers are few and far between, and the tetrarch may not be sympathetic to a request for a new one.
The legate presses his lips together. Without a full complement of argents, the cohort cannot march. It would be folly. There is no choice but to wait for the man to bring up new birds. This will slow the cohort down considerably. It can cross the Abaloss Rift, if a way is found, but the majority of his men will now not be able to face the Plains of Teygar until a full complement of argents arrives.
He reaches quickly over to Chellin and his gloved hand connects with the dumpy man’s cheek. The water bringer, who had been pulled back up to kneeling position by two legionnaires, crashes to the ground again. He lies there, moaning quietly to himself.
Legate Belisar inspects his glove, displeased to see that flecks of the man’s sweat have stained the pristine material. He frowns at it. He beckons sharply to the Vexil of the Second Decuma.
“Alopen!”
“First Legate!”
“You are to take the men in your decuma and all the water supplies we currently have. You are to track the defectors. You are to effect a crossing of the Abaloss Rift – before the outsurge if possible. You are to engage and destroy the enemy at the first opportunity, if you can. Otherwise you will pursue and wait for the rest of the cohort to reach your position. We will resupply with argents, update Tetrarch Elebor and follow on. Understood?”
“Yes, First Legate!”
They both notice a tall figure that has been hovering close by. Belisar gives one of his enormous frowns.
“Well? What is it, Koban?”
The dark soldier salutes. “Request permission to attach temporarily to the Second Decuma, First Legate!”
Belisar nods. He understands the eagerness. He too feels betrayed by the inability of the fat Inmuri to correctly control his flock of argents. He is inclined to be lenient with such zeal.
“You are Fourth Decuma, are you not?”
Koban inclines his head. “Subvexil, First Legate.”
“Hmm. What do you think, Vexil Alopen?”
“My own subvexil is still recovering from a bad sprain, First Legate, and not a hundred percent fit. We will be moving fast. Subvexil Koban would be most welcome.”
“Let it be so. They may change places.”
Both lesser soldiers snap to attention.
“Yes, Sir!”
“First Legate!”
As Legate Belisar walks away, Alopen stares at Koban. “Now, why would you want to volunteer for what seems to me to be the most dangerous mission in the whole of the legion, I wonder?”
“Eager to see action, Vexil!”
“Hmm. So I hope.” Alopen signals to the rest of the decuma, making packing up signs. “Five minutes, Koban.”
“At your service, Sir!”
Koban’s dark eyes follow the vexil as he walks away. He lets his breath out – so slowly that nobody can see his relief. Then he hurries back to his own unit. There is not much time.
When I wake all my previous anger has evaporated. I am ready to move, ready for a new day. Today is the day we were going to cross the Abaloss Rift! No Inmuri has done that for centuries.
Torch and Kalyka are close to me. They are excited, too. Kalyka is smiling, holding her small face up to feel the gentle warmth of the joint suns. Their light is still quite low on the horizon, but it is past dawn.
“How is your foot?”
Kalyka shows me. Incredibly, the blisters seem to be almost closed. That ointment of Thurifer’s must contain some sort of magic.
She does a small dance on the spot. “Soon I can put my shoes back on.”
I give her a hug. “You need to be careful for a couple of days yet, poppet. But it does look good.”
Everyone is beginning to pack their things now. We are about to move out. Vannis is frowning in our direction from a distance, but Furian comes up to us and signs to Kalyka to climb onto his shoulders. Kalyka giggles, obeying. The strong man hardly seems to notice her featherlight weight. We begin to approach the rift, following Jethran who is determinedly protecting Linnith and Karith. Both the speakers of the land have serio
us faces. This is the first test their lore is being put to. They don’t want to fail us.
The suns are almost overhead by the time they are satisfied. Karith signals for us all to stop and then waves us closer.
“There!” She points at a nearby rock mushroom. It looks exactly like all the others.
She gets an irritated expression. Karith doesn’t take fools gladly. She also says what she thinks. “Are you all blind or just stupid?” she demands. “Can’t you see it?”
We all study the rock. We see nothing.
Karith gives her daughter a what-can-you-expect sort of grimace. Then she moves quickly up to the rock itself. Taking a light pick from her pack, she taps around an area which is slightly lighter than the rest. There is a sharp crack and a large area of rock shatters into small pieces, revealing an entryway into a tunnel. What appeared to be solid rock was not; it was a mixture of deposits from the last few hundreds of years of eruptions flooding the area over and over again.
Karith is flushed with success. “When there is an eruption the whole of this area is flooded for a long time. Normally part of the water drains back into the rift through this tunnel, but over the centuries, it silts up until it becomes completely blocked.”
Quondam Azrial is pleased. “Well done!”
The rest of us are excited. “Will there be air in the tunnel?” asks Ammeline, her nose wrinkled. She doesn’t like the idea of going into the dark.
Karith is enjoying this protagonism. She puffs out a bit. “Of course there will. The tunnel is only about twenty yards long. It connects to the rift, and the rift is open to the air.” I hear her add ‘silly’ mentally, but I don’t think she actually says it out loud. Her face says it though. Ammeline reddens. She doesn’t seem to like it when people think she is stupid. She tries to push past Karith to take the lead, but Karith is a solid woman; she blocks the younger woman easily. “The speakers of the land must lead the way. Stay back!” She nods at her daughter, who moves to take her place beside her mother.
Ammeline’s eyes have hardened. Suddenly she is not quite as beautiful as I had thought. She is sharper, spikier. She glares at Karith. Karith doesn’t notice, but Linnith does. The younger of the two speakers looks taken aback, then wary. She bows her head respectfully at Ammeline as she squeezes past her into the tunnel. I think that Linnith will take more care now around her rival.
Kelfor- the Orthomancers Page 8