Dancer's Lament

Chapter 22

THEY TIMED THEIR entrance for dusk. Dorin had slept most of the day; when the time came to set out he felt fully rested and recuperated. He – and, he assumed, Wu – had given no one any word of their plans or intent. They merely set out. They said nothing to Rheena, or the troop of followers, not even letting them know where they were going. Dorin assumed that she’d simply taken charge, as she should. After all, neither he nor Wu had any particular interest in running the actual day-to-day operations anyway.

Wu led the way, and Dorin was content to let him do so. Truth was, he now knew that any time the fellow appeared to be leading the way he was actually following at a safe distance. Dorin kept an eye on the streets and surroundings, scanning for threats. He assumed Wu was actively hiding their location. He now understood it was second nature for the shifty fellow, hunted or not.

The route took them by a roundabout way to the rich central precincts, close by the grounds of the inner temple, which stood next to the palace and shared its privileged position. The entrance was a lesser-travelled access of servants and the lowest ranked functionaries. Dorin waited while Wu scouted ahead, cloaked in shadow. By this means they steadily penetrated into the palace grounds. The wreckage of the recent fighting was still impressive. It must have been a ferocious battle here for the throne room itself. Yet Wu’s route bypassed that main part of the palace, and it became clear to Dorin that they were headed for the Protectress’s personal sanctum, the city’s domed cynosure.

‘Why here?’ he whispered to the mage as they hid in a side gallery.

‘She rests within.’

‘Says who?’

‘My sources.’

‘You trust them?’

‘I trust their greed.’

Dorin grunted his agreement. ‘Very well. Now?’

‘Now we wait.’

Dorin sat back, crossing his arms. This he understood. He had been trained in resting readiness. ‘When?’

‘When I sense it is all clear.’

‘Why can’t you just take a look?’

The Dal Hon youth, in his charade of an elder, drew together his already wrinkled grey brows. ‘I cannot. There is only light inside that dome.’

Dorin snorted at that. Amazing. Some sort of Temple of Light, he imagined. Or a temple to the Protectress herself, as after her demonstration of might she was now quite openly worshipped as the patron deity of Heng. Much to the priests of Burn’s outrage. Yet something of that troubled him, annoyingly.

They waited while night patrols passed by. Finally, Wu nodded to him and he uncrossed his arms, knives already in his hands. Wu crossed to a corridor that led to a small door that opened on to the temple. The scars of the past fighting marred the walls here, but much less so than in the administrative wing.

Wu was still for a moment, then he cast Dorin a significant look, and nodded. Dorin pushed open the door and the two entered.

It was a broad empty domed chamber, dimly lit by a sort of formless glow that covered the entire room. At its centre someone sat hunched beneath a blanket. Dorin paused; this was not right. He had been convinced of it the moment they entered the temple. But Wu glanced back at him, sending him a silent question. He raised his hands, uneasy, yet unable to say exactly why.

Was it because this was just too easy? But that was a ridiculous cliché. Assassinations that are properly planned should unfold easily. Proper preparation and all that . . .

Wu, however, obviously shared nothing of his disquiet. The mage sauntered onward, drawing a walking stick from within his belt – a real walking stick of wood this time – and swinging it about. Dorin was beginning to get a feel for the fellow: the stick appeared whenever he felt at ease, or confident. Perhaps, dared he say . . . cocky?

He had no choice but to follow along, hunched, craning his neck, knives in hand.

It was the Protectress after all – Dorin had seen her a few times. He’d been half dreading that it was Ho waiting for them, wrapped in the thick robes.

But it was she. Shalmanat. In the flesh. Hunched beneath thick enfolding layers of cloth. For warmth, he imagined. She stirred as they approached, straightening and blinking. She looked quite ill to him, even more pale than before, her eyes sunken and bruised.

‘So,’ she said, her voice hoarse and faint. ‘You have come.’

Wu bowed. ‘Good evening, Protectress.’

She drew a heavy breath, obviously still quite weak. ‘What is it to be?’

‘Exile, m’lady,’ Wu said. ‘If you would be so kind.’

‘Exile?’ She cast a questioning look to Dorin. ‘Is this your answer? After slaying a king I should think you would consider it nothing to remove me.’

Dorin considered the question. He felt no urge to slay her. Quite the opposite, in fact. And if their objective could be achieved without the necessity of it, so much the better. He answered her look. ‘Will you go?’

‘You would let me? What if I returned, what then?’

Wu pursed his lips as he examined his walking stick. ‘Then we would have to kill you.’

She nodded, accepting this. ‘And the mages – what of them?’

Wu shrugged. ‘They serve the city, do they not?’

Shalmanat nodded again, obviously relieved. ‘Yes. As do I . . .’ Something in her delivery of these last words raised Dorin’s hackles and he drew breath to act. ‘. . . while you I think would not.’

The dome blazed to that familiar eye-searing brightness. Dorin could not help but bring the backs of his hands to his face, hunching against the agonizing punishment. The knives blazed to glowing brands in his hands and he flinched, dropping them. All his equipment sizzled now and he danced about, tearing it all from him. He heard Wu curse and the stick clatter to the stone flags.

‘Do something!’ he called.

‘There are no shadows . . .’ Then the mage laughed, almost giggling: ‘No darkness. No shadows! I am a fool!’

A door opened and Dorin swung to the noise. He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and tied it around his eyes then let his hands fall loose at his sides, waiting and listening.

Heavy flat footsteps approached. Ho. Two other lighter sets followed. Silk and the Dal Hon woman – Mara? Someone was stumbling about to his left – Wu, damn him.

Mentally, he retraced his position then took two quick steps to his right. His shin barked the stool, knocking it flying – she’d moved. No fool she. He waited then, listening once more.

‘Well,’ Wu suddenly announced to the room at large, ‘I suppose I shall have to summon my daemon now.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ the Dal Hon woman snarled.

The heavy steps approached close, so very close. Just as one last footfall came in arm’s reach Dorin edged aside, blocking the hands reaching for him. Ho grunted, his feet shifting.

‘Just grab him, Ho,’ the fop mage said. ‘We don’t have all night.’

Thank you. Dorin hadn’t quite located that one; quiet, the fop. He circled, his course taking him that way.

Ho came lumbering after.

‘I do possess a daemon,’ Wu asserted, quite affronted. ‘He is coming now and you are all in grave danger. I suggest you flee.’

‘Shut up, fool!’ Mara warned again.

‘No killing here!’ Shalmanat called suddenly from a good distance off.

This time, as Ho’s last step brought him within arm’s reach, Dorin knocked aside the arms and counter-attacked with a kick to the chest that sent the burly mage stumbling backwards.

Dorin also stumbled. He staggered back towards the fop mage’s location. He heard the fellow step aside to avoid him. That was enough, and he spun, catching hold of the mage to clench the man’s throat. ‘Nobody move!’

Shocked silence followed for several heartbeats. ‘I hear anything and I’ll crush this one’s throat. What of that, Shalmanat?’

‘Please,’ the Protectress answered, ‘please . . . do not desecrate this place.’

Dorin heard true anguish in her voice. ‘What of it, Ho?’ he asked.

‘Let’s take this outside,’ Mara snarled, and a door slammed open.

Dorin realized his vision was returning as he noticed he could see the cloth pressed against his eyes. He used his shoulder to strip it from his head, all the while careful to keep a tight grip on the mage, Silk. He saw Mara marching Wu towards an exit.

‘Wait!’ Ho called, and he crossed to Mara and began tying Wu up. Dorin was chagrined to see that Ho was using his own wire to do so. He bound Wu’s hands behind his back and wound the length round his neck as well. Then he tore Wu’s jacket and wrapped it over the mage’s eyes. ‘You’ll not slip away this time,’ he said, satisfied, and urged Mara onward.

Dorin followed, hands at Silk’s neck, his thumbs pressed into the man’s larynx. ‘Where are the other two,’ he demanded. ‘The fire mage and Koroll?’

‘They are following the Kan retreat,’ Ho answered behind him, helping Shalmanat.

‘This way leads to the river,’ the Protectress said as the little procession slowly shuffled along. ‘You two offered me exile and so I return the offer. Go with your lives and never return.’

Wu mumbled something hoarsely and Mara shook him. ‘What was that? Where is your daemon now, fool?’

‘It’s rather late,’ Wu gurgled.

Mara shook him again.

They reached a tunnel exit and Mara pushed it open. It led to the mud shore beneath a set of piers. It was the depth of night. ‘Get a boat,’ Shalmanat told Ho and he lumbered off through the mud. ‘We have a city to rebuild,’ the Protectress continued, hugging herself. She pulled her thick robes tighter. ‘We cannot waste any more time on you two.’ She peered aside. ‘Ah . . .’

Ho returned towing a blackened, half-burned old rowboat that he drew up before Mara and Wu. Mara pushed Wu in to fall on his back, where he writhed mumbling curses through the wire at his neck.

Ho waved Dorin in. ‘Leave Silk here.’

Dorin set one foot into the shallow boat. ‘I think not.’ He forced Silk in with him. The mage reluctantly submitted.

‘You haven’t escaped yet,’ Shalmanat warned.

‘Exactly. I’ll release him when we’ve passed the Outer Round.’

‘We will be watching,’ Ho warned.

Dorin pushed off and the boat began drifting downriver. He pointed to the oars and urged Silk down. ‘Row.’

The mage appeared ready to say something – to curse him perhaps – but he bit his tongue, subsiding. He set to mounting the oars. Dorin worked on releasing Wu, careful not to turn his back on Silk as he did so.

Wu sat up, rubbing his wrists and neck. ‘Well,’ he said, peering about. He slapped his hands to his thighs. ‘It is night. I am free. I suggest we return to . . .’

‘No,’ Dorin said.

Wu blinked at him. ‘What? No? Whatever do you mean?’

‘I mean no.’

‘We’re not beaten, you know. That was a stand-off.’

Silk laughed at this as he rowed.

Dorin shot him a glance, shook his head. ‘No. There are too many of them. Six if you count the Protectress.’ He sat back, but kept one eye on the mage. ‘Overreach. We’re not ready.’ And he surprised himself as, unbidden, there arose in his thoughts, a silent yet. He recalled the warning given him by that female mage – what had been her name? Something like Nightcold? ‘We were reckless.’

‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ Silk muttered.

‘Shut up and row. The same could be said for you. We’re alive because we offered exile to Shalmanat and she responded in kind.’ He glanced to Wu. ‘Your instincts saved us there.’

Wu inclined his head in acknowledgement. He drummed his fingers on the blackened wood of the gunnel. ‘Where is he!’

‘Who?’

‘My daemon, of course.’

At the oars Silk snorted a laugh. Dorin looked Wu up and down. ‘You don’t have a daemon.’

Wu appeared quite offended as he drew himself tall and tried to straighten his jacket only to discover that it was gone. ‘I do so. He just doesn’t come when I call. He’s not well trained.’

Silk was shaking his head.

The river gate of the eastern Outer Round was approaching. Teams of labourers were arriving for the day’s work even as Silk rowed them between its wrecked stone arches. Dorin gestured the city mage over. ‘Okay, get out.’ Silk headed the bows for the shore. Dorin shook a finger. ‘No. Now. Jump.’

‘What? Into the water?’

‘That’s what’s in the river. Go on.’

‘But my silks . . .’

Dorin pointed again, rising.

Silk sighed and stood. ‘Very well. Just so you know, you two are the stupidest—’

Dorin pushed him over and he fell with a great awkward splash. He flailed in the water, perhaps trying to swim, or giving them an obscene gesture. Dorin took the oars. Wu sat at the stern plate, peering back at the receding walls of Heng, lit now in dawn’s pink and gold glow. ‘Farewell, poor city. You will never know what you missed.’

‘Wretched dung-heap,’ Dorin muttered.

‘What lies ahead?’ Wu asked.

‘The Idryn meets the Bay of Nap at Cawn.’

Wu tapped a finger to his nose. ‘Ah, Cawn. City of merchants – sorry, I mean thieves, gougers, frauds and those who fatten themselves on the misery of others. We should do well there . . .’

The rowboat passed beneath the overhanging branches of a copse and Dorin started as something thumped down from a tree limb into the boat. It was that tiny monkey-creature, the nacht, baring its fangs in what he hoped was a grin.

Wu threw open his arms. ‘There you are! What took you so long?’

‘That’s your daemon?’

The creature climbed Wu and tried to sit on his head; Wu fought with it to keep it from doing so. ‘Indeed. That’s its name – Demon. He’s quite the troublemaker.’

Dorin corrected the boat’s path by rowing gently. ‘Give it another, please.’

The nacht hissed at Dorin and made gestures that vaguely resembled obscene signs. Wu pulled its hands down. ‘Now, now. Bad Demon. Bad.’

‘I’m beginning to think this is going to be a long journey,’ Dorin muttered.

The nacht reached its quick hands into Wu’s shirt and tossed a box to the bottom of the rowboat. It spilled open to reveal the broken piece of worked stone. Dorin hung his head in disbelief. ‘We lose everything and that’s all you come away with?’

‘It’s important,’ Wu huffed. He shook a finger at the nacht. ‘Bad Demon.’

Dorin picked up the flint shard and shoved it back into the box. For an instant he was tempted to toss the damn thing into the water, but that would hurt the poor fellow’s feelings needlessly, so he threw the ridiculous object to Wu. The mage tucked it back into his shirt. As he did so, the nacht snatched his stick and threw it overboard. Wu swung a punch at the creature but it ducked. He pointed out over the water. ‘Fetch! Get the stick, Demon!’

The nacht yawned, showing a pink mouth and enormous fangs, then curled up at the bottom of the boat and shut its eyes. Wu sat grumbling and fussing impotently at the stern.

Dorin decided that maybe he could come round to taking a liking to the ugly beast. He raised his gaze to the tall walls of Heng slowly diminishing into the distance behind them, and pondered on all he was leaving behind.

He regretted not having a chance to say farewell to Rheena. But the moment hadn’t arisen. He also knew that she wanted far more than a partnership and that he wasn’t prepared to offer – not yet, anyway.

As for Ullara . . . He paused in his rowing, resting his hands on the oars. Ullara . . . He hung his head and pressed a hand to his brow for a time.

He’d taken so much from her – and she’d given him so much. Even more than she knew, perhaps. She’d given him his true identity. It was terrible that she’d lost her vision when she’d seen his true self right away. And named him.

So he was finished with Dorin. He was not the lad he’d been when he’d entered the city. Not that he’d been some green farmhand, but he’d been untested, unbloodied . . . unready.

Not so now. Dorin was done.

Hard lessons luckily survived had put an end to that lad and his dreams. A transition from which a good few do not emerge alive. But necessary, if hard. The city had cut away the untried Dorin and trampled his dreams into the mud and the mire.

He was Dancer now, and Dancer from now on.

But he would not regret it or hold a grudge. Perhaps he no longer had dreams. He didn’t need them. Now he had plans.

* * *

With the long delayed spring already giving way to summer, Silk walked the walls of Li Heng. The warmth of the sun was welcome on his new white silk shirt and new Untan olive-green silk pantaloons. Construction was moving along swiftly on most of the wall repairs. And since the siege he’d been enjoying far more respect from the Hengan militia, and among the citizens in general.

He stopped at a view over the river, but did not lean out of the crenel as the stone would dirty his shirt. He watched the muddy ochre-red waters course along and pondered once more on the fate of those two bold-faced would-be usurpers. The utter audaciousness of their ambition still made him shake his head in wonder. Were they simply criminals with arrogance far outstripping their abilities, or had he come within a hair’s breadth of having to bow down to a psychopathic sorcerer? He still wasn’t sure.

Mara still wanted them dead. But Shalmanat would have none of it. And in any case, it appeared they were gone for good. Lying in a ditch in Cawn with their throats slit, no doubt. As befitted a couple of common criminals.

The good news was that Shalmanat was recovering. He thought he’d actually seen a spot of colour come to her cheeks with the returning warmth.

But it was different now. It could never be the same after her . . . cleansing. Palace bureaucrats and functionaries who had treated her as a chief administrator before now bowed before her. Some even feared to address her. In the streets her ascendance was unavoidable. Shrines to her now stood on almost every corner. Temples openly worshipped her as the patron goddess of Heng. And the priests of Burn no longer dared object.

Yet all the while something else tinged the reverence. Something far less welcome to his senses. The populace had watched while the Protectress slaughtered thousands and now they laid garlands and burned incense to her in worship. But, sometimes, Silk noticed the taint of propitiation in their offerings. They venerated her, yes. But now they also dreaded her. For she was a goddess. And goddesses acted capriciously – they were not like normal people, nor even nobles. They were accountable to no one but themselves.

It saddened and worried him. For worshippers had been known to turn upon their idols.

The words of that young soldier returned to him and he shivered. The Wrath of the Goddess. They had seen her wrath and it terrified them.

It saddened him because – more than anyone – he did not want a goddess in Shalmanat.