The Righteous Blade

13

By the time they got to the nearest safe house there was an air of barely suppressed panic.

Serrah did her best to comfort Tanalvah, leaving Kutch to look after the children more or less on his own. None of them felt secure, and Serrah was at a window or door every few minutes to check on the outside world. There was no sign of Disgleirio.

Within the hour, Caldason arrived.

‘Everybody all right?’ he asked as he slipped in, doffing his hood.

‘Yes. Well, physically.’ Serrah nodded towards Tanalvah, hunched in a chair by the hearth, staring into the yellow-blue flames of a log fire. ‘She’s still in shock. I’d leave her be for now.’

He nodded. ‘And Kutch?’

‘Upstairs with the kids. He’s fine.’

‘What about you?’

‘Me?’

‘How do you feel?’

‘I’m all right, Reeth. What did you expect, that I’d run amok or something?’

‘No. From what I’ve heard you dealt with it in exactly the right way. But just lately you have been a bit…’

‘Unpredictable? Apt to fly off the handle? Like you?’

‘Well…’

They exchanged sheepish smiles.

‘It’s funny, but having to take charge back there kind of centred me. Otherwise…well, maybe my reaction would have been different.’

‘It’s not so strange when you think about it.’

‘Perhaps. Anyway, what do you mean by “from what you’ve heard”?’

‘There were other Resistance people at the concert, and they’ve been spreading the word. I figured out where you’d be.’

‘Do you think Kinsel’s arrest was part of a general clampdown?’

‘There doesn’t seem to be any more activity on the streets than usual. I reckon they were targeting just him.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Where’s Quinn?’

‘I was going to ask if you knew. He was trying to find out where they were taking Kinsel. I hope he hasn’t shared his fate.’

‘He can look after himself.’ He glanced at Tanalvah. She hadn’t moved, and seemed unaware of them. ‘I was with Karr earlier. He’s on his way, taking a roundabout route, same as me.’

‘Good. Reeth, that meld you had a run-in with.’

‘What about it? Her…them…’

‘I think “it” will do. Could it be connected in any way? With Kinsel, I mean.’

‘Can’t see how. I don’t know what the hell that was about.’

‘Yes, could have been anything, I suppose. You’ve made a lot of enemies.’

‘That’s a habit we share.’

She was about to answer when Kutch entered the room.

‘Reeth! Am I glad to see you.’

‘How are the children?’ Serrah asked.

‘Sleeping. What’s happening, Reeth? Are they rounding up everybody in the Resistance?’

‘We don’t think so. But it’s as well to take precautions.’

‘Including abandoning places like this,’ Serrah added, ‘though I’m sure Kinsel didn’t know about this particular house. But we’re going to have to make some big changes to how we operate.’

‘Why?’ Kutch said.

‘Oh, come on, Kutch.’

‘What?’

‘Serrah means that we’ll need to be extra careful now Kinsel’s in their hands,’ Caldason explained, ‘because he’ll be made to talk.’

‘He’d never do that.’

They turned. Tanalvah had lifted her head and was glaring at them, eyes red-rimmed.

‘He wouldn’t do it,’ she repeated. ‘Kinsel wouldn’t betray anyone.’

‘Of course he wouldn’t,’ Serrah agreed, ‘not willingly. How are you feeling, Tan?’

She ignored that. ‘He’s strong. I know he isn’t like you. He’s not a fighter. But he has a…

moral

strength.’

‘Nobody doubts he has guts,’ Caldason said. ‘Or that he’ll try to hold out.’

‘He won’t inform. He’s too principled for that.’

‘It’s not a question of choice, Tan. Particularly as I think I know who’s-’

Someone rapped a signal on the door.

Hand on sword hilt, Caldason went to the spy-hole, then drew the bolts.

Karr and Disgleirio came in together. The patrician looked white and exhausted.

‘We ran into each other on the way,’ Disgleirio told them.

‘Was anybody hurt?’ Karr wanted to know, sounding short of breath.

‘No,’ Serrah assured him. ‘Shaken, but otherwise all right.’

Karr moved over to Tanalvah. ‘This must be a terrible time for you, my dear.’ He took her hands. ‘We’re going to keep you safe, you and the children. And we’ll do all we can to help your man.’

‘I told Kinsel it doesn’t matter. I said no cause is worth your life.’ She looked up at Karr. ‘I don’t think he believed that. Any more than you do.’

‘I deserve your blame. I should have-’

‘No. If I blame anybody, it’s myself. I was the one who…talked him into giving the concert.’

‘Doling out guilt won’t help Kinsel,’ Serrah announced. ‘What’s important is, what do we know? And what can we do?’

Karr nodded. ‘You’re right. In that respect, Quinn has something to tell us.’

‘Well, it’s short and not so sweet,’ the Righteous Blade man reported. ‘The carriage they put him in went straight to paladin headquarters.’

‘Could we get him out?’ Kutch asked.

‘Maybe if we attacked with an army,’ Caldason allowed, ‘though I doubt it. And the chances of Kinsel still being alive when we got to him are slim.’

That sent them all into a reflective silence.

Disgleirio cut through it. ‘There’s something else. Guess who rode in the carriage with him? Devlor Bastorran.’

‘The young pretender himself,’ Karr mused, ‘and your greatest admirer, Reeth.’

If Caldason appreciated the joke he didn’t show it. ‘How did he look, Quinn?’

‘I only caught a glimpse of him. There was no sign of bandages or dressings, and his leg was out of plaster. He walked a little stiffly, but looked hale apart from that.’

‘So, the paladins were behind this,’ Karr concluded. ‘Or at least the younger Bastorran.’

‘It might not be that simple,’ Serrah said. ‘I think at least some of the men who arrested Kinsel were CIS agents.’

‘You’re certain?’

‘Not entirely. But I worked with them long enough to be pretty sure.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Kutch admitted. ‘What does it mean?’

‘The Council for Internal Security is one of the most powerful and feared arms of the Gath Tampoorian government,’ Karr clarified. ‘But by tradition and treaty it’s only supposed to operate within Gath Tampoor itself.’

‘You’re naive if you think it’s never meddled in any of the empire’s colonies,’ Disgleirio said. ‘The pretence that it doesn’t was only ever to do with agencies not being seen to step on each other’s toes. It’s just internal politics.’

‘True. But if they’re acting

openly

here in Bhealfa, and working closely with the paladins, we’ve moved to a new level.’

Caldason shrugged. ‘More evidence that the gloves are off. We knew that.’

‘But hardly good timing when we’re so close to the move,’ the patrician reminded him.

‘How does this do Kinsel any good?’ Tanalvah broke in.

None of them had an answer.

They talked on, pooling their knowledge, arguing, considering plans. And doing their best to comfort Tanalvah when tears overcame her.

Eventually night began to fall and the curfew loomed. Karr left for home, promising to send people to keep a discreet

eye on the safe house. Disgleirio went off to check the lookouts stationed near the paladin headquarters, and to increase their number. Kutch, suppressing yawns, was sent upstairs to sleep by the children.

‘I’m going to scout the area before curfew,’ Caldason decided. ‘When I get back I’ll stay the night.’

‘All right,’ Serrah said. ‘Be careful.’

He let himself out and she secured the door behind him.

Tanalvah still sat forlornly by the dying fire, seeing who knew what in the dancing flames. Serrah tossed on another log and sat next to her.

‘It sounds a stupid question,’ she confessed, ‘but how are you?’

‘I’ve lost him, haven’t I? The only man who ever respected me. The only man I…loved.’

‘Listen to me, Tan. We’re going to do everything we can to get him out of this situation. You heard what Karr and the others said; no effort’s going to be spared to bring Kinsel back to you.’

‘I also heard them say he’s in a fortress, and in the hands of ruthless men. I don’t fool myself, Serrah. It’s over.’

‘It is as long as you have that attitude.’

‘Where there’s life there’s hope, eh?’

‘Well, yes. It sounds trite but it’s true.’

‘I’m finding it hard to keep any hope going right now. I can’t see…I can’t see a way out of-’

‘It’s easy for me to say, Tan, but this isn’t the time to go to pieces. Kinsel needs you, and so do Teg and Lirrin.’

Tears began coursing down Tanalvah’s cheeks. ‘The children…’

‘At least they’re going to be safe.’ She reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘You can rely on that. I swear it.’

‘I know. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have had the brief happiness we were lucky enough to have.’

‘You can have it again. We’ll work something out.’

‘I know you’ll all do your best. But-’

‘What?’

‘There’s something you don’t know.’

‘If it’s something that might help Kinsel you must tell me, Tan.’

She gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘It doesn’t help. Far from it.’

Serrah passed her a kerchief. Tanalvah began dabbing her wet cheeks with it.

‘What is it, Tan?’

‘Serrah, I…I’m pregnant.’

Serrah was speechless for a moment, then said, ‘You’re sure?’

Tanalvah nodded.

‘How long?’

‘A couple of months.’

‘Oh gods, Tan.’

‘You know the ironic thing? I prayed for it. I begged the goddess every day to bless us with a child of our own, to make our family complete. The gods work mysteriously. They give with one hand and take away with the other.’

‘What’s happened to Kinsel is the work of men, not gods.’

‘I think the goddess knew what was going to happen to him. She gave me this child as compensation, a way of balancing things.’

‘If it helps you to think of it that way, go ahead. But don’t lose sight of the possibility that you may still have both; Kinsel and the child.’

‘You have more optimism than I do at the moment.’

‘Yes, at the moment. You’ve had a tremendous shock. Things will look different soon.’

‘I hope you’re right. But…don’t tell anybody. About the

baby. Not just yet. I don’t think I could take much more sympathy right now.’

When Caldason got back, Tanalvah was slumbering on the fireside couch.

‘You look tired yourself,’ he told Serrah.

‘It’s been a long day.’

‘Get some sleep. I’ll look out for Tanalvah.’

‘Sure?’

‘Go ahead. If you’re needed, I’ll call.’

She left to rest in another room.

He quietly hefted a chair to the hearth. Placing his swords on the floor beside it, he sat.

All was silent for a while.

‘Reeth?’

‘I thought you were asleep.’

Tanalvah shifted on the couch. ‘The way I feel at the moment I might never sleep again.’

‘I feel that way myself sometimes.’

‘You have demons waiting for you in sleep. I know what that’s like now.’

He said nothing.

‘Tell me, Reeth: what gives you your strength?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The capacity to go on. Your will to survive.’

‘I have no choice.’

‘Because of this…immortality thing?’

‘I could end my life if I chose. There have been times when I’ve tried.’

‘But not too hard, it seems.’

Again he didn’t answer.

‘So it’s simply revenge that gives you the resolve to carry on?’ she ventured.

‘Don’t underestimate it. Revenge can be a worthy sentiment.’

‘There was a time when I would have argued with that.’

‘But not now.’

‘After what’s happened to Kinsel, I’ve thought of nothing but vengeance.’

‘Then you understand.’

‘We’re not the same. Don’t try to make out we are.’

‘It’s just a matter of degree. You want retribution for your personal hurt. I seek vengeance for my tribe, and our entire race.’

‘How very noble of you.’ It was an intentional barb.

‘You’re of the Qaloch. I would have thought you’d look favourably on what I’m doing.’

‘Just being born of Qalochians doesn’t make me one. Not really.’

‘You’re wrong. Blood will out.’

‘I’ve had no experience of being a member of the race we share, except its negative effects.’

‘That’s hardly the fault of the race. Unless you believe in blaming the victims.’

‘The Qalochians are history’s victims. Can you fight history?’

‘History’s made by people. I can fight

them

. Or at least the ones who wronged us, and go on wronging us.’

‘So you’re fighting the world, then. You’re ambitious in your enemies, I’ll give you that.’

‘You don’t know much about our past, do you? Or our culture?’

‘Beyond the fact that we’re a warrior race, what else is there?’

‘So much, Tanalvah. And it’s fading with every year that passes. Can you speak the Qaloch tongue?’

Tanalvah shook her head.

‘Language was one of the first things they took away from us, because they understand the power of words. There was a time when many places in this land bore Qalochian names. But no longer. And where they can’t abolish language, they

twist it. So invasion becomes liberation, and they call slavery freedom. These things go unnoticed when we lose touch with our customs and beliefs.’

‘I have beliefs,’ she came back indignantly. ‘I worship Iparrater, defender of-’

‘The downtrodden. I know. She’s a Rintarahian deity.’

‘So you’re a believer in the old Qaloch gods, are you?’

‘I follow no gods.’

‘You would do well to.’

‘Who would you suggest? Mapoy, patron of bathhouses, perhaps? Ven, the god of rag pickers? How about Isabelle, goddess of shoemakers?’

‘You’re mocking me.’

‘No. I just wonder why you honour petty foreign deities rather than Qaloch gods.’

‘What would be the point? The gods of the Qaloch have forsaken us.’

‘And your new goddess hasn’t?’

‘What do you care, Reeth? You’ve left no room for faith in your withered heart.’

‘The gods have done nothing for me. If there are gods. I walk my own path, as well as any man can.’

‘You’re asking for ruin when you scorn the powers that gave you life, Reeth.’

‘Life? Life’s just the difference between what we hope for and what we get.’

She stared at him coldly. ‘If you really believe that, I’m sorry for you.’

There wasn’t a lot more to be said. Tanalvah turned away, and eventually she slept, or pretended to.

Caldason kept watch until first light, when Serrah relieved him.

Then he drifted into sleep himself.

He was on the edge of a field, the golden corn as high as his chest.

It was hot. The sun beat down like a hammer and heat contorted the air. There was hardly a breath of wind. The drone of bees and faint birdsong were all that broke the silence.

A flurry of movement caught his eye, far off, near the other end of the cornfield. Something moved through the crop, heading in his direction. He couldn’t see what it was, just the corn rustling as the commotion progressed. When it got to about a third of the way across, he noticed something else.

A party of horsemen, five strong, appeared at the field’s farthest edge. They plunged in, living ships breasting an ocean of gold. He could hear shouting, and saw the riders whipping their mounts unmercifully.

Their unseen quarry ploughed on, cutting a path that came nearer and nearer to where he was standing. The pursuing horsemen, crashing heedless through the stand, were closing the gap.

Suddenly, a figure burst into the open, scattering stalks, leaves and corn pollen. Reeth recognised the old man he had seen so often before. Then he realised that the man carried a child, perhaps three or four years old. The youngster, too, was familiar, though he had no idea why.

Child hugging his chest, the elderly protector, running with surprising speed and agility, dashed past him. Then he knew that he had been cast once more as a powerless observer, invisible to the actors in this particular drama.

He turned to follow the old man’s progress. Now he had the cornfield at his back, and was looking towards grassland with rolling hills in the middle distance. The old man was sprinting to meet another, larger group of riders, obviously allies, galloping towards him. They came together. With a deftness belying his years, the old man scrambled onto a riderless steed, hoisting the child up with him. Then he set off across the plain, hell for leather. But the others remained, forming a defensive line.

At that moment the five pursuing horsemen came out of the corn

behind Reeth. Two thundered past on his right, two to his left. The fifth, disconcertingly, rode

through

him.

He watched as the two groups, screaming murderously, met with a clash of steel.

There was a flash, bright as lightning, and the scene dissolved into pitch black.

Now he stood on the lip of a low cliff, overlooking a fast-flowing river. Here and there, smooth rocks poked out, turning the water to white foam.

A boat appeared, bumpily riding the current downstream. It was a rudimentary craft, made of tanned hides stretched over a wooden frame. There was no sail; it relied on oars for motive power, and it had a primitive rudder.

Six people occupied the boat. Four were oarsmen, though the speed of the river made their paddles redundant. They used them to fend off the half-submerged boulders that threatened to rip open the hull.

At the stern, hand on the tiller, sat the old man. Huddled next to him was a boy; unmistakably the same child he had seen carried from the cornfield, now around eight or nine years of age. But whereas the boy had taken on some years, the old man looked exactly the same.

On the opposite bank, a gang of men, perhaps a score in number, came into view. They were on foot, running to keep up with the bobbing, scarcely controlled boat. There were archers among them, who at intervals loosed arrows at the boat. Its erratic course was such that few of their shots came near. The boy, despite his tender age, occasionally fired back. His bolts flew with greater accuracy, causing the outraged mob to duck.

A moment later the boat was washed round a bend and out of sight.

The blast of light came again. Darkness closed in.

He was standing in rough, boggy terrain, and it was night. But ahead of him several buildings were on fire, illuminating the landscape. Pungent wood-smoke stung his eyes and scorched his throat.

It was a scene of chaos, with people running in all directions, and it took a second for him to make sense of things. A small battle was going on, a raid on a modest settlement by the look of it, and the defenders had just begun to rally. He saw raiders un-horsed and speared where they lay. Knots of men belaboured each other with broadswords. Savage hand-to-hand fighting went on all around.

He looked about, expectant. The old man caught his eye first. He was unchanged; moving through the melee, barking orders.

Then he saw the boy. Though youth would be a better description. He must have been fifteen or above, and now he sought no one’s protection. Giving as good an account as any, and better than most, he not only fought but directed others. He moved with a fluid assurance, cutting down foes, cheering on his comrades, showing no quarter.

In the middle of the slaughter the youth turned and peered his way. It seemed that their eyes met, giving the lie to his observer’s invisibility. And in that moment of contact, real or imagined, the disembodied onlooker realised, or rather had confirmed, the youth’s identity.

It lasted just an instant.

The searing, unbearable light came then, swiftly followed by a darkness that was all-consuming.