The Silver City, page 20
‘It will only be sleep. I promise you.’ She turned and gazed down at Ansaryon. He had not apparently moved at all, but there was a subtle difference in his face, and the grey marks of Ayak’s fangs were gone. She put a finger on the pulse-point just below the sharp line of his jaw, and felt the beat of his heart, slow, strong, reassuringly steady.
‘No,’ she said, letting joy displace grief at last. ‘No, he is not dead.’
CHAPTER TEN
Not dead, but hardly alive either. Mellok the Healer refused to believe it at first: then, when his own examination of the patient confirmed that, against all the odds, all the teachings, Ansaryon had survived, he became convinced that Halthris must be responsible. To his flood of eager questions, she had only one answer. ‘I didn’t do anything, and I didn’t give him anything. I just sat beside him, and held his hand.’
But it was obvious from his awed, wondering expression that Mellok thought that she had used some kind of unknown and powerful Tanathi magic. She wanted to tell him the truth, but Ansaryon had asked her not to, and she would respect his wishes.
When it became clear that she was not needed for the moment, she called Fess, who was still lying on the bed — enjoying its comfort, she suspected, rather than from any sense of loyalty or devotion to its human occupant — and told Kefiri that she was returning to her room for a while.
Kefiri’s face revealed that she, too, believed that Halthris had saved Ansaryon with hidden powers. ‘Shouldn’t you stay?’
Halthris shook her head. ‘There’s no need. He’s asleep, and quite safe for the moment. You should get some sleep, too. That’s what I’m going to do.’
Kefiri studied her, a frown between her strongly-marked brows. She said softly, ‘You did do something, didn’t you?’
Mellok was discussing medicines with one of the women. Halthris dropped her voice to a murmur. ‘Yes. He asked me to keep him here, and I did.’
‘But I didn’t hear you — ’ Kefiri stopped suddenly, and she stared at the Tanathi woman with sudden realization. ‘So that was it! But you don’t take Annatal, do you?’
‘No. I wouldn’t know what it was if it appeared on my supper plate.’
‘Then you must have some natural power of your own.’ Kefiri chewed thoughtfully at a ragged nail. ‘That’s supposed to be impossible. But whatever the reason, I think you saved his life last night, and so I thank you for it, from my heart.’
‘I was his anchor,’ Halthris said, remembering. ‘That was all.’ She paused, and then added, ‘He may wake, and ask for me — if he does, can you send someone to find me? Especially if it is near sunset.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Kefiri, and to the other girl’s surprise, reached up on tiptoe and kissed her cheek. ‘You are his friend, and now you are mine too. Sleep well, Halthris of the Tanathi.’
But her mind was too restless, too active to sleep. What she really needed was time alone, to think about what had happened, and ponder the implications. She wandered down the stairs of the central tower, Fess at her heels, and nearly bumped into a small boy standing at the bottom, gazing upwards. He wore the ubiquitous tunic and trousers of all Zithiriani, but they were unusually ragged and dirty. Under the veneer of grime, his lank unwashed hair was startlingly pale. He stared at Halthris in obvious bewilderment, and she smiled. ‘Are you lost? That’s all too easy, here. I’m going to the Tanathi quarters — what are you looking for?’
The child shook his head. His eyes, under the thick uneven fringe of hair, were surprisingly dark for such a fair colouring. She had a sudden sense of unease, as though something quite alien and unchildlike had looked out at her. He said in a whisper, ‘I don’t know. What’s up there?’
‘Lots of rooms, one above the other, in the tower. I shouldn’t go up there, if I were you — the Lord Ansaryon is still sick, and mustn’t be disturbed.’
A low growl interrupted her. She looked round in surprise and saw Fess staring at the child. Every hackle was raised, her tail had grown to twice its normal size, and her teeth were bared. Halthris said sharply, ‘Fess! Don’t be silly — he can’t hurt you!’
Reluctantly, the cat slunk past the boy, still bristling, and sat down beside her partner. Halthris rubbed the top of her head reassuringly, feeling the animal’s fear and hatred still seething around them both. When she looked up, the child had gone.
Abruptly, Fess’s ears went up, and she glanced round at Halthris.
‘It’s all right, he was just a lost little boy, that’s all — not some demon or sorcerer,’ she said firmly. ‘Come on, let’s find our quarters.’
She had wanted privacy, but her suspicions proved correct. As soon as she walked through the door of the room which had been allotted to her and the other two Tanathi women, Sherren leapt up from the side of Inri’s bed with a cry of delight. ‘Hal! There you are at last! Inri’s been wanting you — ’
‘Didn’t Abreth say where I was?’ She glanced longingly at the empty and inviting comfort of her bed in the far comer, and then turned her attention to Inri. She was sitting up, there was healthy colour in her face, and a well-cleaned plate and bowl lay on the floor beside her bed. ‘I was with Ansaryon. The Lady Kefiri wanted my help, I can’t think why. Anyway, it seems he’s not going to die just yet, so I thought I’d come back and see how Inri is.’
‘Much better, as you can see.’ Sherren’s young, fresh face was smiling in welcome. She wondered what he would think if he knew just what she had seen, and done, over the past day and night. ‘You do look tired, though, Hal. Haven’t you had much sleep?’
‘Not much, no.’ She grinned at Inri. ‘I can see they’ve been feeding you properly.’
‘More than I can eat, usually.’ The injured girl leaned back gingerly against the heaped pillows, her green eyes shining. ‘Thank you, Hal — thank you for helping to save me from the Ska’i.’
‘You’re my friend — of course I’d help you.’ Halthris felt embarrassed, remembering, too, Kefiri’s gratitude. She had only done what was asked and expected of her: there was no need, surely, for such praise. ‘Anyway, Grinya did all the hard work.’
‘I know — he’s been telling me not to eat too much, or his poor horse won’t be able to carry both of us next time.’
The door opened to admit Abreth. ‘I thought I heard your voice — hello, little sister!’ He embraced her heartily. ‘How is Ansaryon?’
‘Sleeping. It looks — it seems as though he might recover eventually — if Hegeden wills it.’
‘Well, anyone hurt as badly as he was will take some time to get over it,’ Abreth pointed out. ‘I must say, my opinion of him has soared. I thought he was just another fragile city-dweller, certain to shrivel up and die at the first touch of hardship.’
‘I thought so too,’ his sister said. ‘And I’m very glad we were wrong, because he certainly saved our lives on that journey.’
And last night she had saved his, so now they were equal.
‘Have you eaten yet?’ Abreth went on. ‘Because there’s plenty of our breakfast left — they’re very generous with their food here — and Djekko has challenged Kettan to a game of tek. Just the two of them, no other players. Grinya’s keeping the bets, and so far almost everyone has put something on Djekko.’
‘And I will too — he’s a master at tek.’ She thought of something. ‘How will they play without a carpet?’
‘Chettay is drawing it out now — we asked for a big piece of that paper stuff, and some charcoal. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.’ Abreth’s face was exuberant at the prospect. All Tanathi loved to play tek, which was a complicated game of skill and strategy, involving up to six players moving counters on a specially woven carpet of intricate design. A good contest between evenly-matched players might last several days, and there was always feverish betting on the outcome, on the final score, and even on the length of the game.
Grinya put his head round the door. ‘We’re ready. Hello, Hal — want to bet?’
‘I’ll wager a couple of bracelets on Djekko, but no more. I don’t trust Kettan not to improve his game.’
‘He’ll need to raise it a long way to beat Djekko. Well, Inri? Can you muster the strength to come and watch?’
Soon, all eight surviving Tanathi were crammed into the small room occupied by Djekko and Grinya. The two wooden-framed beds had been pushed to one side, leaving the floor clear, and in the space lay a large rectangular piece of paper, rather longer and wider than a prone man. Chettay, working from top to bottom with her stick of charcoal, had drawn a squared and segmented spiral pattern moving inwards to the centre, which was marked by a circle. At irregular intervals the firm lines of the spiral were broken, marking the places where a contestant could cross one of his counters over to block his opponent’s path. As befitted a top player, Djekko had his own hexagonal dice, a handsome object made of polished bone with inset gold dots on each face. He also had his three counters, in the form of silver cats. In contrast, Kettan had taken three of the gold talismans from his braided hair, a hawk, a snake and a bear, and laid them down on the figure of Sarraliss and her mare Chy, which always marked the start of the game, at the bottom left-hand comer.
‘Please try not to smudge it,’ Chettay was saying anxiously, her eyes on her handiwork. ‘It’s taken me since yesterday evening — oh, be careful, Kettan!’
‘I’m being careful.’ It was noticeable that Kettan was wearing hardly any jewellery: only his talismans, a couple of bracelets of almost plain gold, and a silver and amber neck-ring. He settled himself cross-legged on the floor beside the paper, and studied the pattern critically. ‘It’s not straight.’
‘Doubt you could have done any better,’ Djekko said. ‘Right — who’ll take the dice?’
The actual throwing was a matter much too important to be left to the players themselves, and was generally allotted to a mutually-agreed onlooker.
‘Hal,’ said Abreth at once.
Hastily, she declined. ‘No. I’m going to get some sleep in a moment — I’ve been awake for most of the night.’
In the end, Chettay was chosen — Kettan having rejected Sherren because he suspected that their personal animosity might affect his judgement, and Grinya because, as the keeper of bets, he had a pecuniary interest in the result. The dice was thrown to determine the starting order, and in a hushed, absorbed silence, the game began.
By the time the players had moved their counters half way up the first arm of the spiral, it was obvious that this time luck was on Kettan’s side, and that the contest would be a long one. Halthris got to her feet and slipped quietly out of the room. She would be able to snatch some privacy, even some sleep, and there looked to be no prospect of the game ending much before sunset.
Fess was lying curled on her bed, her black nose hidden beneath the fat, furry end of her long tail. She opened one baleful eye as her partner entered, and then closed it again dismissively.
‘Don’t worry,’ Halthris said, grinning. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you.’ She pulled off her soft leather boots and flopped down on Chettay’s bed, which was the one most likely to remain unwanted for some time.
At last she was alone, safe from curious eyes and inquisitive probings. But her own mind was full of questions, and as soon as she lay down, Chettay’s warm fox-fur cloak pulled over her, they rose up clamouring. How could Ansaryon speak to her, and she to him? Was it the same method which she used to communicate with Fess? What linked their minds, if not the mysterious, deadly drug whose absence had nearly killed him? Did she have concealed powers, as Kefiri had suggested? If so, how had he known about them? Why had he used her for his anchor, rather than his cousin Kefiri, who obviously knew him far better? What was the significance of the wolf-god of death, Ayak the Devourer, beloved of the Ska’i? And who, or what, was D’thliss, whom he had cursed in Ayak’s name?
There were no answers yet, but he had promised to give her some later. For now, her eyes were closing, and sleep, blissfully welcome, was creeping up on her. She allowed herself to drift into slumber.
Fess growled. Halthris came awake with a start and sat up, the fox-fur cloak slithering like a live animal to the floor. The cat was crouched on the end of the other bed, hackles erect, glowering at a small, ashen-haired figure standing in the centre of the room.
It was the child again. He still wore that strange, bewildered look on his grubby face, and she smiled at him, despite the abruptness of her waking. All Tanathi loved children, and thoroughly indulged and cherished the young of their tribe. ‘Hello,’ she said gently. ‘Are you still lost?’
The boy started, and looked round at her. He was perhaps seven or eight years old, and would be very attractive if it were not for the dirt on his face and clothes, and his general air of hunger and poverty. He shook his head mutely.
‘Well, this is my room — I share it with Inri and Chettay. I’m Halthris, of the Tanathi tribe. All the others are next door, there’s a game of tek in progress.’
The child was looking at her as if he had no idea what she was saying, although she had spoken clearly in good Zithiriani. Fess had stopped growling, but her tail twitched rhythmically, and her eyes glittered a savage yellow.
‘Why don’t you go and watch the game?’ she suggested gently. ‘I’m trying to get some sleep here, and I’d be very grateful for some peace and quiet.’
For a moment more, his deep eyes stared at her, and she was struck again with that profound sense of unease, even of despair, so that she wondered what she was doing here, why she had ever fought for Zithirian, ever tried to anchor a flawed and fading mind to light and life …
He nodded suddenly, and smiled. It lit up the whole of his face: his eyes danced, his cheeks dimpled, he was a little boy again. He sketched the Zithiriani salute of child to adult, knuckled hand on bowed forehead, and then turned and ran out.
‘What’s your name?’ she said, but he had already gone.
Puzzling over it, but not for long, she reached down and pulled the fox-fur back over herself. As she snuggled into its silky warmth, Fess left the other bed and insinuated herself underneath the cloak, purring. She gave her human partner a roughly affectionate lick on her chin, and tucked herself against her side. Within a few heartbeats, they were both fast asleep.
*
Five times in two days, the trumpets sounded: and five times, fugitives from the captured city of Zithirian had straggled wearily across the ice and into the haven of Sar D’yenyi.
First had been Ansaryon and his strangely assorted band of Tanathi and soldiers. The other refugees were all members of the Court, or the Royal Guard; no women, no children, no ordinary citizens, for they would not know where the High Citadel was, and would be unlikely to survive the journey if they did. The fact that Ansaryon had endured it, hideously wounded and suffering from Annatal withdrawal, was a miracle in itself. His continued refusal to die aroused in his young cousin Kefiri a mixture of admiration, pride and relief. She had lost so much in this terrible disaster: Ansary’s tenacious hold on life was the symbol of hope to which she clung.
There was a great deal to do, and she threw herself into organizing it all with a frantic urgency that betrayed her desperate need to keep grief at bay. There were people to feed, to tend, to find accommodation for. Messages had to be sent to the mining and quarrying settlements, far into the mountains, and also to the remoter farms in the Kefirinn valley, on the other side of Estray. Winter had come a month early, but at least they were well prepared for it: Sar D’yenyi always was. The rocky island on which the citadel stood was holed like a sea sponge with tunnels and underground storage chambers, packed with dried meat and fish, grains, honey, hay, preserved fruits and vegetables, oil, burnstones, bales of furs and cloth, spices, medicines … if necessary, the inhabitants could be fed, clothed and warmed for a year without running short. And being surrounded by a mountain lake, fresh pure water had always been abundant.
Still, she checked the inventories and the stores with her Chamberlain, just to make sure. After all, Tsenit knew about Sar D’yenyi, and must have guessed that many fugitives would make their way here. But did he know that Ansaryon was still alive?
If he did, then, sooner or later, the Ska’i would appear at her gate, too.
Against that day, she ordered the defences to be checked and strengthened where necessary. Up on Estray, a cave above the tree line gave a perfect view, when clouds and mist did not obscure it, of much of the trail leading to Sar D’yenyi. In past times of danger, it had been used as a look-out post, with a signalling system to warn of approaching enemies. She discussed it with Ramath, the Captain of the Guard, and ten men and their supplies were sent up there, with orders to have someone on watch like a hawk at all hours of the day, and night. But the frozen lake presented the most serious problem for the defenders: while winter remained, it would be a permanent bridge over which attackers could reach the island. She must ask Ansary what to do, when he got better.
When. That first day, after the terrors of his fever and the sorcery which had flung lightning all round his chamber, she had hardly dared believe that he lived, let alone that he might recover.
The deep sleep into which he had sunk, after Halthris’s mysterious intervention, was so terrifyingly similar to the final coma which Mellok had described. But the Healer assured her that it was true slumber, and that the strength of her cousin’s heart and breathing increased by the hour.
It was all the Tanathi woman’s doing, Kefiri was sure. She did not quite understand how, but it was connected with the thought-link all Mazath used. She had not realized that anyone who wasn’t Mazath trained and using Annatal would have the power: but Halthris evidently possessed it, although she had seemed almost as bewildered by what had happened as Kefiri was.
She liked the Tanathi woman. She would have liked her anyway, for Ansary’s sake: she was ten years younger than her cousin, and had always idolized him — almost as much as she had idolized Tsenit.
She shied away from that path of thought, just as she steered her mind past images of her father, her other cousins, her uncle the King, the men and women who had peopled her childhood, all dead, horribly murdered and mutilated by savage and bloodthirsty warriors, amidst the flaming wreckage of the most beautiful city in all the known world.
‘No,’ she said, letting joy displace grief at last. ‘No, he is not dead.’
CHAPTER TEN
Not dead, but hardly alive either. Mellok the Healer refused to believe it at first: then, when his own examination of the patient confirmed that, against all the odds, all the teachings, Ansaryon had survived, he became convinced that Halthris must be responsible. To his flood of eager questions, she had only one answer. ‘I didn’t do anything, and I didn’t give him anything. I just sat beside him, and held his hand.’
But it was obvious from his awed, wondering expression that Mellok thought that she had used some kind of unknown and powerful Tanathi magic. She wanted to tell him the truth, but Ansaryon had asked her not to, and she would respect his wishes.
When it became clear that she was not needed for the moment, she called Fess, who was still lying on the bed — enjoying its comfort, she suspected, rather than from any sense of loyalty or devotion to its human occupant — and told Kefiri that she was returning to her room for a while.
Kefiri’s face revealed that she, too, believed that Halthris had saved Ansaryon with hidden powers. ‘Shouldn’t you stay?’
Halthris shook her head. ‘There’s no need. He’s asleep, and quite safe for the moment. You should get some sleep, too. That’s what I’m going to do.’
Kefiri studied her, a frown between her strongly-marked brows. She said softly, ‘You did do something, didn’t you?’
Mellok was discussing medicines with one of the women. Halthris dropped her voice to a murmur. ‘Yes. He asked me to keep him here, and I did.’
‘But I didn’t hear you — ’ Kefiri stopped suddenly, and she stared at the Tanathi woman with sudden realization. ‘So that was it! But you don’t take Annatal, do you?’
‘No. I wouldn’t know what it was if it appeared on my supper plate.’
‘Then you must have some natural power of your own.’ Kefiri chewed thoughtfully at a ragged nail. ‘That’s supposed to be impossible. But whatever the reason, I think you saved his life last night, and so I thank you for it, from my heart.’
‘I was his anchor,’ Halthris said, remembering. ‘That was all.’ She paused, and then added, ‘He may wake, and ask for me — if he does, can you send someone to find me? Especially if it is near sunset.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Kefiri, and to the other girl’s surprise, reached up on tiptoe and kissed her cheek. ‘You are his friend, and now you are mine too. Sleep well, Halthris of the Tanathi.’
But her mind was too restless, too active to sleep. What she really needed was time alone, to think about what had happened, and ponder the implications. She wandered down the stairs of the central tower, Fess at her heels, and nearly bumped into a small boy standing at the bottom, gazing upwards. He wore the ubiquitous tunic and trousers of all Zithiriani, but they were unusually ragged and dirty. Under the veneer of grime, his lank unwashed hair was startlingly pale. He stared at Halthris in obvious bewilderment, and she smiled. ‘Are you lost? That’s all too easy, here. I’m going to the Tanathi quarters — what are you looking for?’
The child shook his head. His eyes, under the thick uneven fringe of hair, were surprisingly dark for such a fair colouring. She had a sudden sense of unease, as though something quite alien and unchildlike had looked out at her. He said in a whisper, ‘I don’t know. What’s up there?’
‘Lots of rooms, one above the other, in the tower. I shouldn’t go up there, if I were you — the Lord Ansaryon is still sick, and mustn’t be disturbed.’
A low growl interrupted her. She looked round in surprise and saw Fess staring at the child. Every hackle was raised, her tail had grown to twice its normal size, and her teeth were bared. Halthris said sharply, ‘Fess! Don’t be silly — he can’t hurt you!’
Reluctantly, the cat slunk past the boy, still bristling, and sat down beside her partner. Halthris rubbed the top of her head reassuringly, feeling the animal’s fear and hatred still seething around them both. When she looked up, the child had gone.
Abruptly, Fess’s ears went up, and she glanced round at Halthris.
‘It’s all right, he was just a lost little boy, that’s all — not some demon or sorcerer,’ she said firmly. ‘Come on, let’s find our quarters.’
She had wanted privacy, but her suspicions proved correct. As soon as she walked through the door of the room which had been allotted to her and the other two Tanathi women, Sherren leapt up from the side of Inri’s bed with a cry of delight. ‘Hal! There you are at last! Inri’s been wanting you — ’
‘Didn’t Abreth say where I was?’ She glanced longingly at the empty and inviting comfort of her bed in the far comer, and then turned her attention to Inri. She was sitting up, there was healthy colour in her face, and a well-cleaned plate and bowl lay on the floor beside her bed. ‘I was with Ansaryon. The Lady Kefiri wanted my help, I can’t think why. Anyway, it seems he’s not going to die just yet, so I thought I’d come back and see how Inri is.’
‘Much better, as you can see.’ Sherren’s young, fresh face was smiling in welcome. She wondered what he would think if he knew just what she had seen, and done, over the past day and night. ‘You do look tired, though, Hal. Haven’t you had much sleep?’
‘Not much, no.’ She grinned at Inri. ‘I can see they’ve been feeding you properly.’
‘More than I can eat, usually.’ The injured girl leaned back gingerly against the heaped pillows, her green eyes shining. ‘Thank you, Hal — thank you for helping to save me from the Ska’i.’
‘You’re my friend — of course I’d help you.’ Halthris felt embarrassed, remembering, too, Kefiri’s gratitude. She had only done what was asked and expected of her: there was no need, surely, for such praise. ‘Anyway, Grinya did all the hard work.’
‘I know — he’s been telling me not to eat too much, or his poor horse won’t be able to carry both of us next time.’
The door opened to admit Abreth. ‘I thought I heard your voice — hello, little sister!’ He embraced her heartily. ‘How is Ansaryon?’
‘Sleeping. It looks — it seems as though he might recover eventually — if Hegeden wills it.’
‘Well, anyone hurt as badly as he was will take some time to get over it,’ Abreth pointed out. ‘I must say, my opinion of him has soared. I thought he was just another fragile city-dweller, certain to shrivel up and die at the first touch of hardship.’
‘I thought so too,’ his sister said. ‘And I’m very glad we were wrong, because he certainly saved our lives on that journey.’
And last night she had saved his, so now they were equal.
‘Have you eaten yet?’ Abreth went on. ‘Because there’s plenty of our breakfast left — they’re very generous with their food here — and Djekko has challenged Kettan to a game of tek. Just the two of them, no other players. Grinya’s keeping the bets, and so far almost everyone has put something on Djekko.’
‘And I will too — he’s a master at tek.’ She thought of something. ‘How will they play without a carpet?’
‘Chettay is drawing it out now — we asked for a big piece of that paper stuff, and some charcoal. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.’ Abreth’s face was exuberant at the prospect. All Tanathi loved to play tek, which was a complicated game of skill and strategy, involving up to six players moving counters on a specially woven carpet of intricate design. A good contest between evenly-matched players might last several days, and there was always feverish betting on the outcome, on the final score, and even on the length of the game.
Grinya put his head round the door. ‘We’re ready. Hello, Hal — want to bet?’
‘I’ll wager a couple of bracelets on Djekko, but no more. I don’t trust Kettan not to improve his game.’
‘He’ll need to raise it a long way to beat Djekko. Well, Inri? Can you muster the strength to come and watch?’
Soon, all eight surviving Tanathi were crammed into the small room occupied by Djekko and Grinya. The two wooden-framed beds had been pushed to one side, leaving the floor clear, and in the space lay a large rectangular piece of paper, rather longer and wider than a prone man. Chettay, working from top to bottom with her stick of charcoal, had drawn a squared and segmented spiral pattern moving inwards to the centre, which was marked by a circle. At irregular intervals the firm lines of the spiral were broken, marking the places where a contestant could cross one of his counters over to block his opponent’s path. As befitted a top player, Djekko had his own hexagonal dice, a handsome object made of polished bone with inset gold dots on each face. He also had his three counters, in the form of silver cats. In contrast, Kettan had taken three of the gold talismans from his braided hair, a hawk, a snake and a bear, and laid them down on the figure of Sarraliss and her mare Chy, which always marked the start of the game, at the bottom left-hand comer.
‘Please try not to smudge it,’ Chettay was saying anxiously, her eyes on her handiwork. ‘It’s taken me since yesterday evening — oh, be careful, Kettan!’
‘I’m being careful.’ It was noticeable that Kettan was wearing hardly any jewellery: only his talismans, a couple of bracelets of almost plain gold, and a silver and amber neck-ring. He settled himself cross-legged on the floor beside the paper, and studied the pattern critically. ‘It’s not straight.’
‘Doubt you could have done any better,’ Djekko said. ‘Right — who’ll take the dice?’
The actual throwing was a matter much too important to be left to the players themselves, and was generally allotted to a mutually-agreed onlooker.
‘Hal,’ said Abreth at once.
Hastily, she declined. ‘No. I’m going to get some sleep in a moment — I’ve been awake for most of the night.’
In the end, Chettay was chosen — Kettan having rejected Sherren because he suspected that their personal animosity might affect his judgement, and Grinya because, as the keeper of bets, he had a pecuniary interest in the result. The dice was thrown to determine the starting order, and in a hushed, absorbed silence, the game began.
By the time the players had moved their counters half way up the first arm of the spiral, it was obvious that this time luck was on Kettan’s side, and that the contest would be a long one. Halthris got to her feet and slipped quietly out of the room. She would be able to snatch some privacy, even some sleep, and there looked to be no prospect of the game ending much before sunset.
Fess was lying curled on her bed, her black nose hidden beneath the fat, furry end of her long tail. She opened one baleful eye as her partner entered, and then closed it again dismissively.
‘Don’t worry,’ Halthris said, grinning. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you.’ She pulled off her soft leather boots and flopped down on Chettay’s bed, which was the one most likely to remain unwanted for some time.
At last she was alone, safe from curious eyes and inquisitive probings. But her own mind was full of questions, and as soon as she lay down, Chettay’s warm fox-fur cloak pulled over her, they rose up clamouring. How could Ansaryon speak to her, and she to him? Was it the same method which she used to communicate with Fess? What linked their minds, if not the mysterious, deadly drug whose absence had nearly killed him? Did she have concealed powers, as Kefiri had suggested? If so, how had he known about them? Why had he used her for his anchor, rather than his cousin Kefiri, who obviously knew him far better? What was the significance of the wolf-god of death, Ayak the Devourer, beloved of the Ska’i? And who, or what, was D’thliss, whom he had cursed in Ayak’s name?
There were no answers yet, but he had promised to give her some later. For now, her eyes were closing, and sleep, blissfully welcome, was creeping up on her. She allowed herself to drift into slumber.
Fess growled. Halthris came awake with a start and sat up, the fox-fur cloak slithering like a live animal to the floor. The cat was crouched on the end of the other bed, hackles erect, glowering at a small, ashen-haired figure standing in the centre of the room.
It was the child again. He still wore that strange, bewildered look on his grubby face, and she smiled at him, despite the abruptness of her waking. All Tanathi loved children, and thoroughly indulged and cherished the young of their tribe. ‘Hello,’ she said gently. ‘Are you still lost?’
The boy started, and looked round at her. He was perhaps seven or eight years old, and would be very attractive if it were not for the dirt on his face and clothes, and his general air of hunger and poverty. He shook his head mutely.
‘Well, this is my room — I share it with Inri and Chettay. I’m Halthris, of the Tanathi tribe. All the others are next door, there’s a game of tek in progress.’
The child was looking at her as if he had no idea what she was saying, although she had spoken clearly in good Zithiriani. Fess had stopped growling, but her tail twitched rhythmically, and her eyes glittered a savage yellow.
‘Why don’t you go and watch the game?’ she suggested gently. ‘I’m trying to get some sleep here, and I’d be very grateful for some peace and quiet.’
For a moment more, his deep eyes stared at her, and she was struck again with that profound sense of unease, even of despair, so that she wondered what she was doing here, why she had ever fought for Zithirian, ever tried to anchor a flawed and fading mind to light and life …
He nodded suddenly, and smiled. It lit up the whole of his face: his eyes danced, his cheeks dimpled, he was a little boy again. He sketched the Zithiriani salute of child to adult, knuckled hand on bowed forehead, and then turned and ran out.
‘What’s your name?’ she said, but he had already gone.
Puzzling over it, but not for long, she reached down and pulled the fox-fur back over herself. As she snuggled into its silky warmth, Fess left the other bed and insinuated herself underneath the cloak, purring. She gave her human partner a roughly affectionate lick on her chin, and tucked herself against her side. Within a few heartbeats, they were both fast asleep.
*
Five times in two days, the trumpets sounded: and five times, fugitives from the captured city of Zithirian had straggled wearily across the ice and into the haven of Sar D’yenyi.
First had been Ansaryon and his strangely assorted band of Tanathi and soldiers. The other refugees were all members of the Court, or the Royal Guard; no women, no children, no ordinary citizens, for they would not know where the High Citadel was, and would be unlikely to survive the journey if they did. The fact that Ansaryon had endured it, hideously wounded and suffering from Annatal withdrawal, was a miracle in itself. His continued refusal to die aroused in his young cousin Kefiri a mixture of admiration, pride and relief. She had lost so much in this terrible disaster: Ansary’s tenacious hold on life was the symbol of hope to which she clung.
There was a great deal to do, and she threw herself into organizing it all with a frantic urgency that betrayed her desperate need to keep grief at bay. There were people to feed, to tend, to find accommodation for. Messages had to be sent to the mining and quarrying settlements, far into the mountains, and also to the remoter farms in the Kefirinn valley, on the other side of Estray. Winter had come a month early, but at least they were well prepared for it: Sar D’yenyi always was. The rocky island on which the citadel stood was holed like a sea sponge with tunnels and underground storage chambers, packed with dried meat and fish, grains, honey, hay, preserved fruits and vegetables, oil, burnstones, bales of furs and cloth, spices, medicines … if necessary, the inhabitants could be fed, clothed and warmed for a year without running short. And being surrounded by a mountain lake, fresh pure water had always been abundant.
Still, she checked the inventories and the stores with her Chamberlain, just to make sure. After all, Tsenit knew about Sar D’yenyi, and must have guessed that many fugitives would make their way here. But did he know that Ansaryon was still alive?
If he did, then, sooner or later, the Ska’i would appear at her gate, too.
Against that day, she ordered the defences to be checked and strengthened where necessary. Up on Estray, a cave above the tree line gave a perfect view, when clouds and mist did not obscure it, of much of the trail leading to Sar D’yenyi. In past times of danger, it had been used as a look-out post, with a signalling system to warn of approaching enemies. She discussed it with Ramath, the Captain of the Guard, and ten men and their supplies were sent up there, with orders to have someone on watch like a hawk at all hours of the day, and night. But the frozen lake presented the most serious problem for the defenders: while winter remained, it would be a permanent bridge over which attackers could reach the island. She must ask Ansary what to do, when he got better.
When. That first day, after the terrors of his fever and the sorcery which had flung lightning all round his chamber, she had hardly dared believe that he lived, let alone that he might recover.
The deep sleep into which he had sunk, after Halthris’s mysterious intervention, was so terrifyingly similar to the final coma which Mellok had described. But the Healer assured her that it was true slumber, and that the strength of her cousin’s heart and breathing increased by the hour.
It was all the Tanathi woman’s doing, Kefiri was sure. She did not quite understand how, but it was connected with the thought-link all Mazath used. She had not realized that anyone who wasn’t Mazath trained and using Annatal would have the power: but Halthris evidently possessed it, although she had seemed almost as bewildered by what had happened as Kefiri was.
She liked the Tanathi woman. She would have liked her anyway, for Ansary’s sake: she was ten years younger than her cousin, and had always idolized him — almost as much as she had idolized Tsenit.
She shied away from that path of thought, just as she steered her mind past images of her father, her other cousins, her uncle the King, the men and women who had peopled her childhood, all dead, horribly murdered and mutilated by savage and bloodthirsty warriors, amidst the flaming wreckage of the most beautiful city in all the known world.
