The Last Stormlord

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Scarpen Quarter Scarcleft City Arta Amethyst's house, Level 10 Nealrith sipped the hot tea served in a stylish glass with a silver handle. Resin plant seeds floated on top, a Gibber product much sought after in the Scarpen.

In spite of Amethyst's hospitality, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He did not feel at ease in Scarcleft. Old fears stirred deep within; Taquar Sardonyx unsettled him. He always had. It dated back to their boyhood, to the odd times when Taquar had sought a subtle revenge of one kind or another, usually in answer to a perceived slight. He had been good at that, planning with cold vindictiveness to achieve a rival's humiliation.

In their adult years, Taquar had given him less reason to worry; he'd not even appeared to resent Nealrith's marriage to Laisa, the woman he had once courted himself. He'd given his congratulations with an amused smile, remarking that he thought them entirely well suited. But Nealrith had just walked into the city past the remains of men and women nailed-still alive-to the city gates for offences concerning water. He was glad he had four armed men wearing the Breccia Hall monogram waiting for him in the anteroom.

Nonetheless, he found it hard to believe that any rainlord, even Taquar, would hide the presence of a potential stormlord from the only man who could train him properly: his father, Granthon. He had not fully believed the message his mother had received from Amethyst. There must, he decided, be some kind of rational explanation. He and Ethelva had talked it over with Kaneth, and they had all decided not to trouble Granthon with the story until they'd had time to investigate. His father was in no condition to have his hopes raised and dashed once again.

Yes, Nealrith had believed that Taquar had been to blame-by his lack of effective leadership-for the deaths of the two young rainlords in the desert decades ago, but he had never thought him capable of murder. And yet here was Amethyst telling him a story of collusion with Reduner killers, of the destruction of a whole settle, of betrayal so great it was beyond horror.

He had always disliked Taquar, yes, but this was something else. This was treason of the highest order. Moreover, it was stupid. And Taquar was not stupid.

He took another sip of tea and asked carefully, "Do you think Taquar capable of these things?" In the distance, he heard the gate bell ring and suppressed an urge to get up and see if Kaneth was back at last.

"I do, and I know him better than most. I was his mistress for ten years."

Nealrith cleared his throat, embarrassed. "I did hear that, yes. And the boy? Is he honest?"

"I believe so. And don't think of him as a boy, Highlord. Shale is beyond childhood. Anyway, he's not all that young in years, either. Eighteen, possibly. A little socially inept-because of his history, perhaps-but surprisingly well educated, self-contained, capable of mature thought and analysis. He doesn't strike me as particularly imaginative, yet his tale would have required great imagination if it wasn't true. He described the details of rainlord training, for example, just as I have told you. Were those accurate?"

He nodded reluctantly. "And he saw the man who destroyed his settle speaking with Taquar?"

"So he says. Davim, from Dune Watergatherer." She stopped as Jomat came to the door. "Yes?"

"Madam, a visitor."

"I told you we were not to be disturbed."

"Not even by me, my dear?" Taquar stepped around Jomat's bulk and closed the door in the steward's face. "Why, I'll be waterless! Nealrith. Such an unexpected pleasure to see you here. What is it that brings you to Scarcleft? And unannounced, too. That's a breach of protocol, I believe. A highlord's visit to another city should always be preceded by a request for an invitation, is that not so?"

Nealrith curbed his anger. "I am not here in any official capacity, Taquar. I merely bring a request from my mother for Arta Amethyst to dance for her in Breccia City."

"That's carrying the job of dutiful son to extremes, is it not?"

"I was on my way to Pediment on the Cloudmaster's business, as it happens."

"I hope this was not an urgent request on the part of Lady Ethelva. Amethyst has a full schedule for the next several weeks, I believe."

The dancer had stood up as soon as Taquar had entered the room. Now, pale faced, she said woodenly, "Not to my knowledge."

Taquar raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Rebellion, my dear?" Then he looked over at Nealrith, and the smile disappeared. "Leave my city, Rith. Now. You are not welcome here."

Nealrith gritted his teeth, even more enraged. "As you wish," he said tightly and rose to his feet. He stooped to pick up his water skin. "Oh, one other thing. There's a whisper on the wind about a young water sensitive with potential right here in Scarcleft. Perhaps it would be a good idea if I took him back to Breccia City with me."

"But you just told me you are on your way to Pediment. Anyway, you should not listen to rumours. There is a half-mad boy who has been living in the tunnel and stealing our water, but he is no water sensitive. Merely sandcrazy and highly imaginative. He has been spreading an imbecilic story far and wide about how I killed his family, kidnapped him, held him prisoner, all so that I could prevent the Quartern from having another stormlord. Now does that sound likely? Watergiver only knows why that would be an aim of mine. I am not suicidal. I like to have water in my dayjar, too, and it is clear your father is unable to make that a certainty." He looked Nealrith straight in the eye. "I assure you that looking for the lad will be a waste of your time."

Nealrith hesitated, wrestling with his own doubt as he tried to keep his voice even and confident. "Oh? You have examined him yourself?"

"Of course not. I leave that sort of thing up to the people I employ. After all, I already know his story to be a midden heap of untruths, don't I?" Taquar smiled blandly. "Jomat, show the rainlord out, please."

Amethyst made a choking noise, and they both looked at her.

"My dear, you do not sound well, and you are exceptionally pale," Taquar said. "Why do you not rest?"

"I wish to accompany Highlord Nealrith to Breccia City," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lady Ethelva has asked for me."

"And I say you will not go."

Nealrith interrupted to say, "Taquar, you can hardly stop her."

"Of course I can. This is my city, and all I have to do is forbid the guards at the gates to allow her through."

Nealrith paused, looking from one to the other, his frustration at his situation warring with his idea of what was legal and proper for a man in his position. Taquar was still smiling affably; Amethyst was as white as sun-bleached salt.

"Don't leave me," she said to Nealrith. The despair in her eyes pleaded.

"I have twenty men out in the street," Taquar said, staring right at Nealrith. "And you have no jurisdiction here. Even Granthon cannot command me in any matters except those that pertain to external water supply or to the security of the Quartern, or other matters that concern more than just this city. I should not have to tell you that."

Oh Sunlord, Nealrith thought, his stomach churning as he heard the hidden message and its mockery. This Shale Flint is telling the truth. But even if we find him, how will we ever prove it? And if we prove it, what will we ever be able to do about it? "I would advise you to reconsider," he said finally. "I will send a message to the Cloudmaster. I feel certain that he would be profoundly upset if anything were to prevent the arta's arrival there within, let's say, ten days."

Amethyst gave a sound that could have been a sob and turned her face away.

Taquar inclined his head. "I will take the Cloudmaster's emotional state into consideration. Now be so good as to leave, and take your guards with you. I repeat: you are not welcome in Scarcleft. My men will escort you all to the city gates."

Nealrith turned on his heel and left the room. His own guards fell in behind him, but he scarcely noticed. He was still seeing the blank horror on Amethyst's face. Terelle fled, the terror behind propelling her forward with blind dedication-and speed. She had no destination in mind, no plan beyond escaping the guard. That horrible man's order still rang in her ears. Kill her. Not "Kill her if she runs" or "Kill her if she doesn't cooperate," but simply "Kill her." She didn't know who he was, but he could command the enforcers, and his callous indifference made her feet fly. There was no alternative. If she lost this race, then she died.

She tore down the stairs three at a time, swung around the corner at the bottom and hurtled into the main thoroughfare. There were people there-too many. She was forced to slow, to push her way on, feeling all the while the prickling between her shoulders as if a blade was about to strike. She guessed her eyes reflected her fear, because people stared at her. She expected someone to stop her, to seize her, to hand her over to the guard. But, unlike Shale, there was no price on her head, and instead of hindering her, several of the level's less reputable citizens took it upon themselves to delay her pursuer. A youth carrying a bundle of bab palm fronds swung around, seemingly by accident, so that the stalks whacked the guard behind his knees. He crashed with a thud. Immediately after he regained his feet and resumed the chase, Ba-ba came out of nowhere pushing a wheelbarrow full of sinucca leaves into his path. By the time he had scrambled up again, Terelle was out of sight.

She continued on, terrified. Sick with worry for Shale. As she skirted the city's base at a run, she kept remembering her last glimpse of the chaos in Russet's room. There had been blood everywhere. And dead people. And blind people clutching their eyes. Shale had been in the middle of it all, trying to get to her. And he wasn't a warrior! He had no idea how to use the scimitar he wore. Blighted eyes, he hadn't even pulled it out of its scabbard! She bit her lip, scaring herself just thinking about it.

She ran out of breath and slowed to a walk. She looked back over her shoulder. There was no disturbance behind, nothing that indicated she was still being chased.

Now what? she asked herself. She considered warning Russet, but had no idea where he had gone. No, best she get to Amethyst's. Highlord Nealrith was there, and he could protect her. Besides, that was her only chance of meeting up with Shale again. Anyway, the arta and the Breccian highlord needed to be warned about the attack on Kaneth.

She hurried uplevel as quickly as she could without drawing too much attention to herself. It wasn't easy: reeve representatives were more alert than ever, looking out for lowlevellers who had no reason to come uplevel. She was stopped several times and produced Russet's uplevel pass. Because she was neatly dressed and well spoken, she succeeded where other lowlevellers might have failed.

Once on the tenth level, however, she was lost: she had never been at that end of the level before. It took time to find her way through a maze of shops and residential streets to Amethyst's lane.

When she arrived at the gate, she found it ajar.

She hesitated, then gave it a tentative push with her fingers. It swung wider to reveal the small unroofed outer courtyard. She looked around. Jomat was nowhere to be seen, and the house was deathly quiet. A faint, unpleasant smell drifted on the air. The main door to the house also stood ajar. She tiptoed into the entrance hall, only to trip over Jomat because she was looking around instead of down.

He lay on the flagstone floor, obviously dead. He had been sliced open across the abdomen and lay in a pool of foul-smelling liquid. A sagging hole penetrated layers of yellow fat, and his guts spilled out in an obscene tangle. His hands still clutched at them, as if he had tried to tuck them back where they belonged. His face was frozen in a dying rictus of surprise and betrayal and pain. He had not expected to die, and his unbelief was still there in the eyes that stared sightlessly at her.

She gagged and had to cover her mouth and look away. Highlord Nealrith wouldn't have done this, would he? But if not, then who?

She dithered. Should she flee? But where to? She had expected help, and now there was none. And then her next thought: Amethyst. Where was the arta?

Oh, please, let her be all right!

Without thinking too much-because if she did, she knew she'd be too terrified-she ran up the stairs two at a time. Once again she found an open door. There was no one in the outer chamber, no one in the sitting room. She ran through into the bedroom. Amethyst lay on the canopied bed, her hands clasped at her waist. She appeared to be sleeping. Terelle approached, her heart hammering in her throat, the roaring rush in her ears blocking sound. It wasn't until she was at the edge of the bed, looking down, that she saw the knife. It was angled upwards from below Amethyst's left breast, jammed in as far as the hilt. But there was hardly any blood. If she had not been so unnaturally still, Terelle might have thought that she still lived.

A slight sound broke through her shock, bringing her back to a sense of her own danger. She raised her eyes from Amethyst's body and saw a man emerging from the adjoining water-room. He was wiping his sword on a towel, which he then casually dropped on the floor. The weapon he kept in his hand. He was tall and lean, a handsome man, with dark hair neatly tied at his nape. His eyes were a deep grey and held an intensity that made her instantly fearful. She knew who he was: Taquar, Highlord of Scarcleft.

"Let me guess," he said softly, "you must be Terelle." She nodded, unable to do anything else in the face of his menace.

"Are you alone?"

She nodded again and looked down at the bed. "Did she kill herself?"

"No, I did that. She knew she was about to die, so she attacked me with that knife. Brave, but futile. Why are you here?"

"I came to see Amethyst," she whispered. "The door was open." She began to back away.

Casually he reached into his cloth belt and withdrew an object he had secreted there. He brought it up until it was level with his shoulders and pointed it in her direction. "And do you know what this is?"

She halted, the last of her courage draining away. "It-it's a zigtube."

"It is also loaded. Hear that whining? All I have to do is tap this little catch here, twice"-he indicated the spot-"and the barrier between the zigger and freedom will drop, and the zigger will fly out. You know what will happen then?"

Donnick the doorman, clutching at his throat, writhing on the courtyard paving, taking time to die. She nodded again.

"They can follow you around corners, did you know that? Bloodlust drives them. They go for the soft parts of the body. Your eye, perhaps. Or maybe up a nostril and straight into the brain, and as they burrow, they exude their toxins. No one has ever been able to tell us if it is painful, but I assure you, it has always looked that way to me. The victims just go on screaming until they die. Is this the way you want to end your life, Terelle?"

She shook her head, incapable of any other movement.

"Then kneel on the floor-slowly-and put your hands behind you."

She hesitated, then shook her head. "You're going to kill me, just like you killed Amethyst."

"A justifiable deduction, but not necessarily accurate. I most definitely won't kill you until I have Shale in my hands. And maybe I won't even then. Maybe I could use you to ensure his cooperation. Is he fond of you?"

She met his eyes. "I'm hardly going to say no to that, am I?"

He gave a slight smile. "You are a surprising girl." She clamped her lips together tightly to stop her chin quivering.

He took up the towel he had been using to wipe his sword and cut it into strips which he knotted together to make a rope. She watched him, waiting for a moment's inattention, but his gaze flicked her way constantly, and the zigtube was now on the bed within his easy reach. When he'd finished the rope to his satisfaction, he used it to tie her hands together, leaving one end trailing down. Then he tied this long end around one of her ankles in such a way that she had to stoop slightly. Like that, there was no way she could run, or even walk without stumbling.

He tucked the zigtube away, saying, "Now we'll go and sit downstairs while we wait for the seneschal and his men to return with Shale." He gestured to her, indicating that she should precede him down the stairs.

She faltered a little but made it to the bottom. There, he sat in one of the chairs in the hall and indicated the floor in front of him. "Sit there."

Wordlessly, she obeyed and for some time they sat in silence. He continued to polish his sword, using the throw cover of the chair he sat in. The reek of Jomat's body wafted by intermittently. She wondered what had happened to Amethyst's other staff: there had been a maid and a cook, she knew. She listened for sounds from the kitchen area, but all was quiet.

Amethyst. Terelle wanted to grieve, but couldn't; shock held her emotions immobile. "Why did you kill her?" she asked, her voice as thin as a child's.

"She betrayed me. She betrayed me by helping Shale escape, when she should have told me about him."

"And why did you kill Jomat? Amethyst thought he spied for you."

"For Seneschal Harkel, yes. I just didn't want anyone left alive who knows about my interest in Shale Flint."

"So you are going to kill me. I would really rather you didn't."

He stared at her, surprised. Then he laughed. "You have backbone, I'll give you that. How did you meet Amethyst? Who are you, Terelle? I've never met anyone with eyes quite like yours."

"I came to Arta Amethyst to take dance lessons."

"And how did you meet Shale?"

"We bumped into each other. Accidentally. He was running from some of the enforcers…" Her voice shook and trailed off.

"And you were living with a waterpainter, an old outlander. A relative of yours?"

"I don't know."

"That's an odd answer."

"Well, I don't know."

He laid his blade aside and leaned forward. "Shale told you about what happened to him, didn't he?"

"Happened to him when?"

"He told you about me."

She shook her head. "I don't even know who you are."

"I think you do."

She did not reply.

He picked up his sword and put the tip of the blade under her chin. He tilted her face upwards, forcing her to look at him. "I think you know very well. Don't play games with me, Terelle, or you may regret it. How old are you?"

Instinctively, she lied. "Fourteen. Just last week."

"You are tall for that age."

"I can't help it!" she wailed. Anything to convince him she was a child still. "I just keep growing!"

He laughed at her. "In another couple of years, you will be very desirable. There may be a place for you in Scarcleft Hall."

"If you want a waterpainter."

He smiled and went back to polishing the handle of his sword.