Atlan saga omnibus, p.43
Atlan Saga Omnibus, page 43
A fragmentary protest meant nothing to me. I followed Holy Kaselm over the pillars’ shadows. My mind and body were already vague, longing for the rest with the confidence which, if strong enough, was all that was needed to defeat the fear.
A single candle hazed the small bare room. I was already in the priest’s black shirt, too large for me, between the rough linen sheets, when he returned with a flask of wine and two exquisitely wrought goblets, obviously Temple property and so not to be looked upon as luxury. His shadow wavered over wall and ceiling, surged into the impenetrable, stagnant shadow curving the room’s corners.
“Of course, tomorrow the most important parts of .your wardrobe will be transferred here. I have enough space.” “Your priests’ shirts are very like the officers’ shirts of the Northern army, in which they also sleep.”
“You have experience of that, naturally.” He held out one full goblet to me.
“Yes. I was with the Northern army more than a year. Also the men sleep in their boots—even in billets, at least according to the ladies of your Capital who sued for various damages …” I didn’t realize till later that I was avoiding an awkwardness.
“Something to eat, bread and cheese?”
“Please. I hear he’s coming here?’
“Who?”
“Zerd—”
“Don’t worry. He’ll not get far with that army. Their regulars were a tiny nucleus before this giant campaign was recruited for—the scum of the Northern drinking-shops. Anyone with any money bought himself off—At a pinch even a war-office can be warred against, but not the little individual officials in it—” Kaselm munched placidly, his shadow jerking a parody of each mastication.
“He’s held them so far,” I said dubiously. “It wasn’t a pretty journey, actually, Holy Kaselm.”
“He’s a good general, that’s acknowledged through the known world. But he’s not yet had one battle to try those raw recruits—and men can ford streams hand-in-hand even in the most exotic scenery, it doesn’t stop them being raw till they’ve seen a bit of action—more than half his youthful raggle-taggle will break in battle, and unfortunately for him their first is going to be pretty important.”
“I shouldn’t think he’d be risking so much if that were so.” “No? He’s little to lose, hasn’t he? The whole idea was a suicide-jaunt from the first The Dragon-General has seemed a threat under the Northern King’s nose for some years—” “Isn’t it possible Zerd accepted the job with enough faith in 350 his own ability to pull it off, Atlan and all?”
“Anything’s possible,” the priest agreed, “but I should think he’s found out his mistake in the last few months, bogged down by the ominous on every side, trapped, cut off behind our mountains.”
“He’s dangerous enough. I know he gathers in the tail-ends of every plan-structure before making his next move, he takes account of every aspect of living for his army from movement to movement, week to week—month to month they’ve survived far more than his King presumably expected. He’s brilliant enough to be taking account of the greater plan, too. He’s the calmest person in the world. / should be very surprised,” I said, embarking on a cheese sandwich, “to find that he has ever considered the word failure.”
“No matter how brilliant in himself, I don’t think we need fear his advent. How could one man hold together such a deplorable force, very aware that they’re ludicrously outnumbered in enemy territory—unless he’s superhuman.”
“He’s ab-human. The Superlativity will surely declare open war on an ally whose great-grandmother was a crocodile —who—who can turn any enemies blue like himself, filling them with the poison which is his element but alien to his victims who die within a few days. He must be exterminated!”
The priest turned to stare at me.
“How do you know this?”
I whispered, “I must be one of the only three people in the world who knows this and still live.”
“How does he inflict the poison?”
“A bite, a scratch, maybe at times without purpose, through carelessness—I couldn’t be sure of the exact way.”
“The Superlativity may be interested by this information,” Kaselm said thoughtfully, snuffing the candle. I nodded sleepily. “Kill the Demon.” I snuggled into my pillow.
What seemed the next instant the room was flooded with light. Bird song liquefied space. The priest Kaselm was nowhere to be seen.
My sleep must have been immediate and profound—and long. The priest had gone to the Temple morning-meal, leaving me to rouse myself in time for the later breakfast of the Court. I yawned and stretched. I was already feeling better for my sanctuary. I wriggled out of bed and the priest’s spare shirt, dressed in my own clothes, went to the doorway, started down the long, bare, fresh, clean corridor. I felt well and alive. It occurred to me for the first time that the priest might have drugged my wine to ensure a profound sleep. The friendly sound of my footsteps kept up with me.
Out in the Temple grounds, where I’d never been before, I realized just how early it was though. I’d emerged from the wrong end of the corridor and had a mile, perhaps a little less, to traverse before I got back to Court. I didn’t mind a bit. The grass was silver-gold with dew. Flower petals could just about be seen unfurling. The morning was swift with that kind of movement, but there was not another human being to be seen.
The resilient turf stretched up. I followed the incline beside a long white wall, formed of blocks decayed in places. There were not even any windows. I felt so healthy and happy, it was the last place in the world I expected to hear groans.
Muffled groans, as if subterranean, but with no attempt at concealment. They were reckless wild groans, the expression of despair, but the angry expression.
Such bad-tempered hopelessness from below ground—I knelt beside the wall. There was a crash as if something unwieldy but substantial had been thrown. My hand came to a rusty grating—the top segment of a barred window, just enough to admit air to an underground chamber—the rest of the window must face earth. I scrabbled a bit and pulled away enough weed to be able to peer through the grating. There was nothing, no darkness, nothing, a suffused colourless yet murky gloom.
I put my lips to the grating and called clearly but softly.
“Is anybody there?”
There was hardly an instant of breathless silence, then a rush and suddenly strong, pale fingers were round the bars before me, then fast groping savagely out between them. My face was touched before I backed with a gasp; the fingers followed but the hand-knuckles were unable to pass through.
I was afraid I had meddled with a shut-up madman, so I didn’t say anything and was getting ready to up and run when a hoarse voice came from the invisible. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” I countered.
“Who do you think?” The hoarseness stumbled on a laugh. The tone struck me as contemptuous.
“Listen,” I said. “I’m no one. I don’t belong here. I was passing and I heard you, that’s all.”
“What do you mean you don’t belong here? Are you trespassing?”
“I’ve a right at least to be here, I’ve been with a priest. What were you throwing?”
“How—?” “When I heard you—’
“Dead rat. At least it was dead when it hit the wall, after I threw it.” The fingers were gripping the bars again. “Listen, you sound very young—Why are you talking to me?”
“I don’t know. Curiosity, at first, and now I just haven’t left yet. Are you shut up down there or can you get out if you like?”
There was a burst of fierce laughter. He was laughing his head off. The fingers shook on the bars.
“You’re a criminal? That’s a Temple dungeon?”
“Sure, sure, very pretty, all correct.”
“Is there anyone else with you?”
“No.” He was relaxed again. He sounded uninterested. His fingers were long and the nails jet-black rimmed, the skin a pale tan under a lot of dirt. “Hey kid—boy or girl? Girl isn’t it—that’s nice. Can you get me something to eat? Something little, something fresh and nice—Y’know? Just shove it through—”
“Why not skin and eat your rat?”
“No fooling—” I was glad he couldn’t get at me.
“I’m glad you can’t get at me, with a violent temper like that.”
I heard swearing behind me as I went to the nearest fruit tree. I returned with three ripes, which I pushed through to him. “Gods bless your dear little heart—”
“I only brought three because you can’t have too many to hide, your gaoler would notice—Have you anything at all to hide things in, down there?”
“Filthy straw—”
“I’ll bring more to eat tomorrow morning—How well do they feed you here?”
“Bowl of weevily gruel a day, big bowl, I wolf it down, maybe a hunk of meat with something wrong with it; there’s a pitcher of water, always in the corner, always gets a green scum before they change it. I let the rats pee in it, leave it alone, unless I’m particularly thirsty.”
He was eating the fruit now, the hands left the bars, I could hear him, also the spitting out of pips.
“I may be able to bring a flask of wine. Could you hide that amongst your straw?”
“Sure. Sure.” There was a short pause while he gnawed thoughtfully at the fruit. “Why you doing this?” “Just tell me why you were put in here.”
“I’m Kond,” he said, but hearing that didn’t ring a bell, “second-in-command of Ael.”
“Where’s Ael?”
“Where’s Ael? Look, lovely, you a moron or what? Ael, you know, Ael.”
“Doesn’t matter how clearly you hiss it, I don’t know it.” “Him. Most dreaded bandit chief in the Empire, especially in these hills.”
“I didn’t even know there were hills near here.” I was disillusioned; I had fondly believed I was doing good for a rebel of the old Religion, since he was stuck in the Temple dungeons. “Listen, whoever you are, I will be back tomorrow unless discovered—Is there anything else you want?”
“A knife.”
The Court have taken it in good part that I am sleeping in the Corridors because of nightmares. Some of the ladies seem to envy me for being under Kaselm’s protection, but when I seemed bewildered everyone believed at once in my innocence and there have even passed conniving glances—nobody means to enlighten me in case I am worried.
There was sympathy and well-wishing about my nightmares. My night-things and some of my clothes have been transferred to Kaselm’s cell.
I saw Forialk at two of the meals. He was rather bandaged and has two black eyes and a split lip and looks very dashing. He would have spoken to me but there was too much of a crowd. I can’t remember whether I saw Ecir.
At night there was a big send-off, I was escorted with streamers to the Temple, but managed to hide some things under my cloak.
In the candlelit cell I drained my goblet.
“You drug my wine, don’t you, Kaselm?”
“I won’t if you don’t wish it.”
“I’ve tried sleeping-draughts myself but they were never strong enough.”
“I hope this will prove so tonight. You were far more tired last night.”
“Kaselm—Tell me, who is Ael?”
“The bandit leader? Who told you about him?”
“I heard of him today in the Court.”
“Oh, he’s nothing but one of the thorns in the flesh of the law—His gang are impregnable in the hills, they roost in a network of caves and swoop on travellers. Not even the best armed escorts can be certain of being much use—apart from the fact that many of them are secretly in Ael’s pay. He doesn’t scruple to rob or kill the most important personages—”
“What is he like?”
“A big, ugly tyrant, nearing forty in appearance but he’s said to be in his late twenties, half his nose gone and his whole skin a patchwork of scars—”
“And his second-in-command? Haven’t you got him here?” I held my breath, wondering whether the Court are supposed to know that.
“Yes, I believe we did catch him, several months ago. Of course Ael will have found someone else now, so he’s no longer a valuable prisoner.”
“Haven’t the gang tried a rescue-swoop?”
“Why should they bother? They could never get far, whereas in their eyrie … Ael’s surrounded by too many competent toughs to repine over their individual loss in fight or capture. No, our young man is safe with us, and when we need the dungeon for someone else we’ll have him executed without trouble.”
Once in the night I awoke and found myself shuddering in every limb. A sound of knocking seemed to converge upon my ears from every side. I pressed my hands to my eyes and moaned. In a swift movement the priest Kaselm had rolled over on his pallet, risen, and was crouched at my side. “All right, all right, little one.” He lit a candle and held my hands till I stopped shuddering. He did not blow out the flame when at last I lay weakly back again.
In the morning the priest was gone and I was alone in the light—and song-flooded room. I dressed, hid the objects under my cloak, and went out into the sunlight.
I found the grating after a little difficulty. I hadn’t properly memorized where it is, knelt to it and called softly.
“Kond.”
There was a sound of movement.
“Here I am.”
“Here is a flask of wine and some cold meat, as I promised
He groped and took them, breathing heavily. “I’m sure you’ll get to heaven …”
“You can manage O.K.? You’re standing with your arms raised?”
“I don’t mind the strain, for this …” There was a puase. “Did you bring it?”
“You want to kill the jailer, don’t you?”
“What else.”
“Then you’d be out, killing anyone else who got in the way, and up to the hills again.”
“Well?”
“I’m not eager to help you …”
“Can’t you get it? Can’t you try for tomorrow?”
“I may bring you food again, but I don’t want to help a brigand to be at large again—”
He grasped the bars fiercely, if the bars had been a little less hard they would have winced, and I knew they were meant to be my throat. “Listen, what do you mean, what are you talking about? Of course you want to help me—”
“1 don’t, no.”
“Damn your soul,” he whispered after a while.
“I see how you want it.”
“No, you don’t. You’re not going, are you? Look, there’s no reason we can’t work something out, I can give in a bit, don’t leave me after we got friendly—” He was saying with frantic persuasiveness at trip-tongue speed when I whispered fiercely, “Shut up.”
“Good morning, holy priest,” I added.
“Good morning, my child. What are you doing here?”
I held up a ragged bunch I’d been pulling up absently while talking to the prisoner. “Picking flowers, holy priest.”
“But they’re weeds, child!”
“Oh, I think they’re pretty, holy priest!” I looked at them with affection, holding back from their rank smell. I walked away with the old priest, chattering as disarmingly as possible.
This morning I did not go to the grating. I’ve had enough of helping people, it’s time I learnt that lesson.
I stood in the front row of the spectators on the biggest ground floor balcony. I had a basket of roses to throw, but my hands were too listless. They all cheered so my head ached, the crowd along the route were so many (so many) stupid specks, beginning to churn into a vortex attacking my eyes. In other words I had a splitting headache, it was mainly the sense of injustice. All those people had been hanging round for hours in the sun-glare to ensure that nobody pinched their chance of a good view, yet they were awfully energetic. I’d only been out a few minutes because everyone knew I must be in front —already I wanted coolness and dark.
The procession was already approaching. The cheering was spreading towards us, a sure forerunner. Damn enthusiastic fools, they were not only treating him as the ally the Superlativity had declared he still definitely is, they were already taking him to their hearts because he is to be a novel treat, a handsome, famous, scale-skinned—
“Mainly your work, mine and yours,” Kaselm had said last night. “I told my master the Superlativity of the Dragon-General’s personal—er—well, powers. He seems to be convinced that the ally can only be a demon, perhaps equal to his godhead, and must be treated with discretion until it becomes clearer what plan of action should be employed.”
My ear-drums throbbed angrily as the crowd below and the aristocrats with me cheered. They began to toss flowers. The sun whirled round and round in an unnecessary perhaps-would-be decorative maelstrom of curly fire, the only part one’s eyes could bear.
Small black drums flanked the Northern army’s horns, hideous as mastodons’ squeals.
The crowd were delighted by the birds. They advanced eight abreast, claws sixteen abreast, on the petal-deep roadway. Their crests were up and they shied at the ceaseless fragrant shower. The crowd’s cheering extinguished the riders’ muttering but not the tightness of their mouths and the white knuckles of their rein-hands. I had a handful of roses but had thrown nothing. My pulses spun as I saw the red cloak, bright and immaculate, recently dry-cleaned, spread regally over the crupper of the high, black, thoroughbred bird. My pulses steadied to a staccato as I saw the black mane, held in a silver band studded with agate.
It was a thousand to one chance that he would look up then, this being the last and most important balcony above his route, but a fair-haired girl in the crowd had thrown a big pink-edged magnolia and he was busy catching it and bowing.
My mouth relaxed. The flowers slid between my fingers.
I’d never been in the main hall of the Temple before, but I wasn’t getting much idea of it now either because it was all pitch dark. There were a lot of people standing round to every side of one, but they were not rustling or whispering much. I think a lot of it was awe. The only lit tiling there was the throne, an ancient boulder of jade, roughly shaped ages ago into a chair-shape and with a stiff net of wrought gold over it. Where the loops of gold crossed each other jewels had been set, some big, some tiny, and apparently scattered quite haphazardly, no pattern. It was cunningly lit by some hidden lamp or something, and it was what we were all looking at but it seemed a long way away even to me. I was again in the front row of the crowd owing to my divinity, which was the only clue we had in the dark of the hall’s hugeness. The throne stayed empty a long time.
