In the Earth Abides the Flame (11 page)

Kurr knew the most sensible course of action would be to leave Instruere immediately and start the long journey home, yet his heart would not let him admit defeat. He began to review the conversation just concluded. Much of it had already evaporated from his mind, yet he sought some way he might better have presented their case. Rather than sealing the Tightness of their cause, Mahnum's revelations about the duplicity within the Council seemed to weigh against the Company. Could it have been handled differently? Would it have been better to leave the traitors unnamed? Might they have fared better had they not brought the Bhrudwan with them? However he turned the options over in his mind, the questions remained unanswered.

The old farmer's sense of failure was replicated among the other northerners. From his vantage point at the rear of the Company Leith looked across at Stella. Her lustrous, shoulder-length hair hung over her face, hiding the eyes that just this morning had seemed to embrace the world with enthusiasm, but now were dark and quiet. Thinking about her, even after having shared this long journey with her, simply paralysed him. He could not look openly at her, much less talk to her or offer her consolation.

His mother walked beside him, speaking only when spoken to, her thoughts obviously somewhere else. The sense of abandonment Leith had felt while his father was in Bhrudwo had been replaced by a dullness, a feeling of regret for what they had lost rather than a passion to revive it. During the last few days the family had said very little to each other, as though in mute acknowledgement of the change.

And Hal? Leith could not understand his brother. The decision of the Council should have dealt him and his precious faith in the Most High a severe blow. After all, he was the one who told the Company that the Most High would take care of it. Well, they had tried his way, telling the truth to the Council of Faltha, and had met with failure. But, far from being discouraged, Hal alone of the Company seemed unconcerned about the defeat. Perhaps he has no other way of dealing with disappointment, Leith thought in sudden comprehension. Maybe he is less, not more, than the rest of us. Maybe he has no capacity to care.

Perhaps he is right, Leith reflected further as they walked out into the dusty streets of Instruere. Here we are, a few moments after the Council decreed there is no Bhrudwan threat, and the markets are as full as ever. On a sun-drenched afternoon like this, it was difficult to conceive of any threat to the small talk of the market-goers, the entertainments of the musicians and acrobats, the sights and smells of this city that seemed to grow from the very rock of the earth. These people, this city; they would go on forever.

The Company left the Hall of Meeting behind them and hurried down the Vitulian Way, past the thin spire of the House of Worship, towards home. Tall tenements on either side lost their colour as the weary sun finally found the horizon, the last of her golden benediction lifting from the city, turning splendour to sullenness.

Instruians melted from the streets, leaving them to the refuse and the dogs; the hour of curfew was nearly upon them.

Ahead and to their left a small group of men lounged against a low wall. As the Company approached, one man detached himself from the group and stepped into the centre of the wide, deserted Way. 'Halt!' he cried.

'Guards,' Kurr muttered.

'No, not guards,' Farr corrected him. 'See, they do not wear the Instruian livery, but are dressed in the garb of the Straux.' Most of southern Instruere was dominated by the drab but utilitarian brown of people from the most populous of the sixteen Falthan kingdoms, while northern Instruere was largely populated by those of Deuverre, who wore brighter colours. It was unusual to see people from Straux in northern Instruere, especially so near curfew when they could not possibly return home in time to avoid being picked up by the Instruian Guard.

'Well then, we shall see what they want,' said Kurr.

'You should be in your houses,' the man called to them. 'Not walking the streets after curfew, an easy target for every band of ruffians!' He laughed, an unsettling sound. Kurr found himself wishing they had brought their swords.

'We return from an audience with the Council of Faltha, and as such have nothing to fear from the curfew,' said Kurr boldly. And as for ruffians, the Instruian Guard keep them off the streets.'

This elicited another ugly laugh from the man barring their way, echoed by the others leaning against the wall. 'Let us see if the Instruian Guard will protect them,' one called.

The man in the street pulled his sword from its tattered scabbard. His fellows eased themselves away from the wall and on to the dusty road. Without a word they drew their swords, then spread out across the street. Helplessly the Company watched the leader signal to one of the others to step forward. 'Show me which one.'

This man had a bandage around his head, but Leith still recognised him as he walked towards the Company, sword held before him. With a sudden chill Leith knew the purpose of this confrontation.

'These are guards, only not in uniform!' Leith hissed in Kurr's ear. 'He with the bandage is the one—' But it was too late. The man separated Leith from the others with the point of his sword. 'This is the one we seek!' he cried in a harsh voice. 'He is mine!'

'You have your orders,' the leader said grimly. 'Take him, his father - that one beside him - and the dark one there - yes, him.

Leave the others for now. Obey orders or no bandage will be able to help you.' ,

It was over in a moment. Before the Company could protest, Leith, Mahnum and the Bhrudwan warrior were taken from among them and marched into a side street at the point of a sword. While most of the ruffians melted into the shadows, four remained with the Company, ensuring there would be no pursuit.

After many long minutes one of the men barked: 'On your way! Hurry home before the guards find you on the street!' To emphasise his words he cracked Farr a blow across the shoulders with the flat of his sword, then turned on his heel and ran with his fellows towards where the Hall of Meeting rose from the shadows.

Farr made to follow, but Kurr grasped him by the shoulder. 'Think with your head, not your heart, my friend,' he said quietly. 'Those were guards, not brigands. They've taken our friends into custody. Remember what the Arkhos of Nemohaim said about Mahnum and his son?'

The Vinkullen man grunted, then spat on the ground in disgust. 'What sort of place is this?

The heart of fair Faltha is black. The sooner I'm home, the better I'll feel.'

'But in the meantime we have companions who need help. Perdu,' Kurr said, turning to the Fenni, 'take the Company back to our lodgings. Farr and I will seek the aid of the Instruian Guard. There must be some who still resist corruption.'

'I'm coming with you,' Phemanderac said to Kurr, 'at least as far as the House of Lore. The Archivist awaits me, and I would keep faith with him.'

The other members of the Company cried out that they too wanted to seek the help of the guard, to do something to aid their friends.

'There is no use in your all coming,' the old farmer told them. 'There's nothing you can do about this now. Go back and tell Foilzie what happened.'

Kurr, Farr and Phemanderac started back up the Vitulian Way, leaving the others standing for a confused moment in the deserted street. Eventually, in a silence punctuated only by Indrett's sobs, the Company made the slow walk home to Foilzie's tenement.

Under a fiery sky, in the northern reaches of the vast steppes of Kanabar, brown-robed figures wielding cruelly barbed whips barked out orders, sending many thousands of warriors backwards and forwards across the plain with mechanical precision. Andratan had decided this war would be the last ever fought, and was prepared to invest a little more time to ensure that both strategy and execution were perfect; thus the many weeks of manoeuvres in the midst of this wasteland. The commanders were only too aware of the importance of perfection. He of Andratan was rumoured to be coming personally to inspect his army, the first time he had left his fortress in living memory. Death would come to those who proved themselves inadequate. Whips cracked; ranks of soldiers wheeled left and right; swords were drawn, swords were sheathed. Incantations, shouted in strange tongues, reverberated across the dusty fields like curses levelled against life itself. They spared no effort. All were aware their biggest test would be the imminent visit of their Leader. Beside this, even the coming invasion itself held few fears.

'Just tell me what he's supposed to have done!' Kurr said, a little more loudly than he intended.

To his mounting frustration, the guard continued to ignore him.

'We are Falthans! We come from Firanes! We are guaranteed our rights by the Treaty of Fealty!'

This last brought a response from the guard, a curling of his upper lip.

'I think we're forgetting an important fact about this city,' Farr said to Kurr. With that, he turned to the guard seated behind his desk, pulled a number of coins from his purse and spread them on the table.

'Ah, the Firanese.' The guard expertly scooped the money into a drawer as though it was second nature. 'You're finally speaking valuably enough for me to hear.'

'What happened to our companions? Why have they been arrested? With what have they been charged?' Kurr could feel himself reaching the end of his patience, never a very long road but particularly short late at night on the bleak day the Council rejected their petition, and their companions were snatched from the street.

'Three questions! I'm not sure I heard all three.' The guard glanced pointedly towards Kurr's purse.

'Very well! I'll treat this as a donation to your wife and family.'

'Think of it rather as a contribution to the coffers of the local innkeeper,' the guard replied pleasantly. 'You can see diat I'm a busy man, so I'll be brief. Your friends have been arrested and imprisoned in a holding cell pending trial on charges of a most serious nature.

According to a reliable witness one of the three assaulted an Instruian guard, rendering him incapable of executing his duty since. As you can no doubt appreciate, the government of this city views such actions with extreme seriousness.'

'How badly is this guard hurt?' Kurr's already wrinkled forehead creased further.

'He sustained head injuries of a most—'

'Yes, I know; of a most serious nature. But tell me: how could a mere boy like Leith overcome a heavily armed guard? If this guard is anything like yourself, I cannot imagine anyone hurting him.'

The flattery had no effect. 'I merely pass on information.'

Kurr sighed deeply, and pulled a small bag from his pocket. 'How much to have him released?'

The guard looked shocked. 'These charges are serious! You cannot hope to secure his release by bribing me.'

'I'm sure the charges will be serious,' Kurr said without a hint of irony in his voice. 'Who then do I bribe?'

'My captain will know. Wait here a moment.' The guard strode off down the corridor.

'So what now?' Farr asked. 'What's to stop them bleeding us dry, then refusing to release Leith and his father anyway?'

'Nothing,' the old farmer said, weariness blurring his voice. 'If I had a suspicious mind, I'd be tempted to think that they sought to make it difficult for us to remain in Instruere. I have a feeling that if our secret is not known all over the city by now, it will be within the next few days.'

Back down the corridor strode the guard, followed by his superior. Before he even reached Kurr and Farr he began lamenting the seriousness of the charges levelled against their friend, and how little he could do about it. Kurr shook his head. It looked like there would be many days like this ahead of them.

'This one is particularly dusty,' Phemanderac said between sneezes. It took him only a few moments to remember what it was he disliked about searching through old manuscripts: his allergies had returned, as strong as ever.

'That is because it is from the storeroom next on the list for transcribing.' The clipped voice of the Archivist came from behind a shelf of dilapidated parchments. 'It is possibly two hundred years since anyone laid hands on the volumes in front of you.'

Despite the dust, 1 was bom for this, the philosopher affirmed as he leafed through the first of this latest stack of leather-bound books. Forget the politics of nations: 1 am at home in storerooms deep under the ground. There is a music in these volumes, the music of the past; and 1 am one of the few who can hear it. But as he read, his thoughts wandered back to the events of the day.

These thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the Archivist, who set an armful of books down on the chair beside the philosopher. 'You missed these,' the beak-nosed Instruian said politely.

'They were at the back of the drawer. I myself have not seen them before. Perhaps they will be of some interest.'

Phemanderac cast an eye across them; then suddenly slammed shut the volume he was perusing and pulled the chair with the pile of books over to where he sat. 'Where did these come from?' he demanded.

The Archivist frowned. He appeared taken aback by the change in tone. 'As I said, these lay at the back of the drawer from which you took the previous manuscripts.'

'Yes, but where did they come from? How did they come to be in your archive?'

Gingerly the lean philosopher picked up the topmost book. A huge yellow sun setting behind a tall tower graced the aged leather cover.

'I do not know,' said the Archivist. 'The devices on the covers are unknown to me.' He hefted the second book, a thick tome; on it the silhouette of some giant flying bird hung in front of a full-orbed moon.

'But not to me,' Phemanderac murmured. 'Oh, not to me. My friend, what you have here may be more valuable than all the gold and silver in this city.'

'What are they?' the Archivist asked, his interest piqued.

'I have seen their like in the libraries of my home country; a set of ten volumes, of which five are missing,' came his slow reply. 'These, perhaps, are those five books.'