Colours in the Steel (56 page)

It was almost becoming amicable. City people wagered on the clan’s archery matches, discussed the form of the various champions and contenders over spiced cider in the taverns, observed the life of the clan and found in it things to appreciate, as the city had always done in its dealings with foreigners. The clan was getting used to the view; you couldn’t live under the walls for long without beginning to respect them, to wonder about the sort of men who could make such a huge artefact and make it so perfectly. Some of them sat for hours watching the ships on the water, thinking what it must be like to be carried inside a little wooden shell far out into the middle of that astonishing blue emptiness until you reached another country, another place that would be like this one but different in ways they couldn’t begin to imagine. There were even a few men in the camp who considered, sometimes actually talked about, the idea of
not
destroying the city.
Deliberately to ruin such a thing would be a waste, and what could be more abhorrent than waste?
They were, however, very few. Most of the plainsmen gave it no thought, being too busy with other things.

Loredan reopened his fencing school, and soon had a full class. Litigation was still tending to increase, the demand for lawyers was greater than ever, and there were others joining the schools who didn’t intend to practise law but just wanted to learn how to fence. He hired a new clerk, a man in his sixties who did the sums, collected the fees and wrote up the books. He arranged the sale of Athli’s furniture, surrendered her lease and got a refund on the balance of the rent, and found a reliable courier to forward the proceeds to the Island. Three weeks later he got a receipt in her neat, clear handwriting, accompanied by a formal note of thanks copied from the usual book of business precedents.

The
Squirrel
came back with a cargo of bowstaves and peacock feathers, and left with three berths still empty; people were still leaving the city, but the price of a passage had fallen by a third. Venart came alone; he called to see Loredan with a message, but he was out and the person he was playing messenger for hadn’t written a letter. He took a letter from Gannadius to the Patriarch, and came away with his arms full of books, fresh parchment, pens, two bottles of extremely good wine (one for himself, for running the errand). Alexius was out of bed, and had more or less resumed his duties as Patriarch now that the Security Council only met once a week. He asked Venart to give Vetriz his best wishes, and wondered if there might be room for a barrel or two of preserved pears aboard the
Squirrel
the next time she made the run. His doctors had absolutely forbidden them, but what did they know? And besides, where was the point in being a wizard if you couldn’t eat what you fancied?

The Prefect, the Lord Lieutenant and their colleagues in government returned to their work with renewed vigour after the enforced holiday of the emergency. It was an exciting time for them, full of opportunities; during the uneasy suspension of faction politics, any number of potential weapons had been forged and stockpiled, so that when conventional government was resumed both sides were spoilt for choice when it came to subjects for debate and argument. For the first week or so the contest was fairly evenly balanced, but it wasn’t long before it became apparent that the Lord Lieutenant’s Radicals were gradually getting the better of the Prefect’s Popularists, thanks mostly to two issues which immediately caught the imagination of the Council and thereafter refused to go away; the bungling of the initial cavalry raid, and the unauthorised use of the barbarous and inhuman fire-oil.

As far as the Prefect was concerned, his worst enemy was timing. In less than a month, he was due to be reaffirmed in office by the Council; with the Radicals baying for his blood as the officer nominally responsible for both disasters, this might not turn out to be the formality it should have been. There were precedents for the impeachment of a Prefect - the last one over a century ago, it had to be admitted; but that only increased the glamour of the situation, since it was a poor councillor who didn’t want to be involved in making history - and his only line of defence, he quickly realised, was attack. By shifting the blame onto Colonel Loredan (who had been, of course,
Deputy
Lord Lieutenant, although directly answerable to the Prefect’s Office), he could so engineer matters that if he were to fall, the Lord Lieutenant would inevitably fall with him. This would involve a major escalation, from which there could be no turning back; but once both of them had been impeached, they would then have no alternative but to work together to overturn the impeachments (his constitutional advisers were already working their way through the loopholes in the regulations and had promised an early report) and restore the situation to what it had been before. The best way to achieve that would be to bring forward Loredan’s trial to the earliest possible date.

 

‘I don’t believe it,’ muttered Ceuscai. ‘Read it again.’

Temrai nodded and held the parchment up to his nose. The light in his tent was just about good enough for reading, provided the writing was clear.

‘“Bardas Loredan to Chief Temrai, greetings,”’ he recited. ‘“You will recall that we have an outstanding contract between us. Would you be so kind as to indicate when it would be convenient for us to meet, under safe conduct, to discuss how this obligation might best be discharged? I await your answer with interest.”’

‘He’s gone mad,’ Uncle Anakai pronounced judicially. ‘Probably the result of his disgrace and being relieved of command. I’d sling it on the fire if I were you.’

‘He must be a bit crazy if he thinks we’ll go for the old single-combat routine,’ Ceuscai agreed. ‘For one thing, there’s no evidence at all that this challenge’d be ratified by his government.’

Temrai lifted his head. ‘Who said anything about single combat?’ he said.

The council of war looked at each other. ‘That’s what he’s getting at, surely,’ someone said. ‘Roundabout way of putting it, I know, but what else would you expect from a raving lunatic?’

‘This hasn’t got anything to do with the war,’ Temrai said. ‘It’s personal. He wants me to make him a sword.’

The tent went very quiet. ‘Are you sure about that?’ asked Uncle Anakai. ‘No disrespect, but that’s rather a lot to read into a fairly short letter—’

‘Actually,’ Temrai said, ‘he’s quite right. Oh, come on, I must have told you the story. Didn’t I? It was what he was referring to when we played diplomacy that time we met him. You remember.’

Ceuscai frowned. ‘I remember there was a lot of stuff I didn’t understand about signs and you owing him something,’ he said. ‘But if you explained at all, I must have been asleep or something.’

‘Oh.’ Temrai’s face twitched into a slight grin. ‘I’d better fill you in, then. I did meet this Loredan while I was living in the city; well, actually it was the night I left. Jurrai and I were just riding along the bridgehouse road, in fact, when this Loredan barged in front of me, blind drunk, and I, um, trod on him. Rather, my horse did. He wasn’t damaged, but it has to be admitted, some of his property was. A painted sign. Apparently rather valuable. And he insisted on being paid for it, and for some reason or other I promised to pay him back by making a sword for him. So you see, strictly speaking, he’s entitled.’

Another silence.

‘This is getting ludicrous,’ Ceuscai said at last. ‘Stop messing around, Temrai. You make it sound like you’re almost considering doing it.’

Temrai scratched the back of his head. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Maybe not. I’m in two minds about it, to tell you the truth.’

Everybody started to speak at once. Deafened, Temrai held up his hand for quiet.

‘About meeting him, I mean,’ he went on. ‘Think about it, will you, rather than yelling your heads off. This man used to be the Commander-in-Chief of the city, but now he’s been disgraced. The latest word is, he’s going to be put on trial; if he’s serious about this sword business, then maybe that’s what he wants it for.’ He paused to let the implication of what he’d said sink in. ‘In other words,’ he said, ‘he’s discontented, with a whopping great big grudge against the city rulers, possibly a bit mad as well. And didn’t we all agree a week or so back that the only way we’ll ever get in there is if someone opens the gates for us?’

‘I see,’ said Anakai softly. ‘So you think that’s what he’s really getting at?’

‘It’s possible. And even if that isn’t what he’s got in mind at the moment, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t plant the idea ourselves. Or has anybody else got any addle-brained malcontents on the payroll who are crazy enough to betray the city and also in a position to be able to get hold of the key?’

‘Well,
he’s
not, for a start,’ someone objected. ‘You just said, he’s been relieved of command.’

‘He’ll know how to get the gates open,’ Temrai replied confidently. ‘Come on, it must be worth a try. Mustn’t it?’

The council of war considered the point. ‘Try this,’ someone suggested. ‘Here’s the disgraced Commander-in-Chief, reputation and honour in shreds, nothing left to live for, he’s failed his city and he’s got nothing to lose. Why not try and make up for it and become a national hero by assassinating the clan chief? It’d be a suicide mission, but as far as he’s concerned it’s got to be better than being put to death by his own people.’

Temrai nodded. ‘That’s perfectly possible,’ he said. ‘Which is why, if we do decide to meet him, I’ll want the best archers in the clan covering him from the moment he sets foot in this camp. Then we can send his head to the rulers and tell them he came here offering to betray the city. That’ll give them all sorts of things to worry about.’

Anakai frowned at him thoughtfully. ‘You’ve made your mind up, haven’t you?’ he said. ‘You really do want to meet this lunatic. Temrai, he’s the man who poured the fire-oil on the rafts. I won’t insult you by asking if you’d forgotten.’

‘He was only doing his duty,’ Temrai replied quietly. ‘Just as we were only doing our duty putting the rafts under the walls in the first place. If you want to argue morality we can do that later, although personally I prefer chess.’

More silence, this time with an unspoken commentary;
he never used to be like this, he’s changed, maybe the war’s really got to him
.

‘And suppose he does actually want you to make him a sword?’ someone eventually asked. ‘Would you do that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Temrai replied, looking the man steadily in the eyes. ‘It may be that I want this particular man kept alive, rather than getting himself killed in the lawcourts. Also, I’ve never made a law-sword before, it’s rather an interesting exercise, technically speaking. And consider this, too,’ he went on, cupping his chin in his hands. ‘Suppose he wins his trial and gets back into favour. Suppose he gets his command back. And then suppose it becomes known that he won his trial with a sword made for him by the enemy chief personally. I think our friends over the river could really tear themselves apart over that.’

‘And we wouldn’t have to contend with their best general,’ someone added. ‘It’s a nice idea.’

‘You’re all out of your minds,’ Anakai grumbled. ‘This is either a trick, or the ravings of a madman, or a really peculiar form of practical joke. You don’t even know for sure that the letter came from Colonel Loredan.’

Temrai smiled, and yawned. ‘True,’ he said, ‘but if I’d allowed myself to be put off by not knowing things, we’d never have started this war in the first place.’ He sat still for a few seconds, then went on. ‘I’ll tell you something else,’ he said. ‘I’m prepared to bet that the man who brought this message - he’s waiting in the guard tent, with ten men ready to cut him into slices if he so much as scratches his bum - is Loredan himself. Who else is he going to find to run his errands for him?’

Ceuscai shook his head, as if trying to wake up from a peculiar dream. ‘Well, we’d recognise him if we saw him. Why not bring him in and see for ourselves?’

‘Why not indeed?’ Temrai grinned. ‘Go fetch, Ceuscai. And bring plenty of guards, remember.’

 

Loredan sat in the middle of the circle, trying to put out of his mind the arrowheads trained on him. It was the first time he’d sat in a plains tent; he’d seen any number of them, but always from the outside. It was a clever design, he realised, efficient and comfortable. The heavy felt kept in the heat, while the oil and lard on the outside kept out the rain. The uprights were strong enough to keep it up even during the savage windstorms of the plains spring, but could be put up and taken down again quickly and easily by one practised man. Unlike so many city houses, it had adequate ventilation to allow the smoke from the fire to escape, rather than filling the room and blinding everyone inside. It would also catch fire at the least provocation, as he knew better than most; cut the guy ropes and pitch in a torch, and nobody would get out alive. Curious, that these eminently practical people had never dealt with such an obvious flaw in the design. They had some sort of blind spot where fire was concerned.

‘It’s very good of you to see me,’ he said pleasantly, ‘a busy man like yourself.’

Temrai shrugged. ‘It’s not every day we get visits from distinguished enemy lunatics,’ he replied. ‘Now then, what’s all this
really
about?’

Everyone in the tent waited for Loredan to answer. He took his time about it, as he enjoyed the warmth of the fire. He was still damp after swimming the river, and with his hair plastered down over his forehead he didn’t look particularly mysterious or threatening.
He looks older than I’d have thought
, Temrai said to himself,
but it’s definitely the same man, the one I remember
. The thought of him getting away, dying cleanly in the lawcourts from a single thrust without knowing that his city was being destroyed and his people butchered, wasn’t something that Temrai wanted to dwell on. To find his one true enemy again after so many years and then to lose him, at the very moment of consummation, would make the whole exercise meaningless. After all, it had been that last-minute meeting, just as he was about to leave the city with every part of him urging him to spare it, that had made him come here and shown him that this terrible thing had to be done.