In the Earth Abides the Flame (27 page)

Yes, you understand that. 1 know what you do in secret on your foul island; I made it my business to know. You won't be able to resist what 1 will offer you. The Arkhos allowed himself a single moment's relief. For the first time since the meeting started he saw a chance, and without further consideration he threw himself at that chance. In order to succeed, he had to make Deorc believe he had a plan, and was confident of success.

'Come with me now, my lord, if it is answers you seek; yes, and the rest of you can come also, though I know there are those among you who plot my downfall. Fools! Do you think I would not prepare against you? Come to The Pinion with me, all of you, and help me put the question to a special guest I have invited there.'

'The Pinion, ah, The Pinion!' Deorc said, as though to himself, and he flexed his long-boned fingers. 'Long have I desired to see it, even though rumours make it only a pale shadow of the dungeons on Andratan. I would have asked for a tour, even if you had not made this request.

Why not, indeed? We will go there now.'

You fool! Barely can you restrain your desire. So the Destroyer ensnared you, the whisper on Andratan said, and so 1 ensnare you. In the heat of your desire you will believe anything 1 tell you.

'Very well,' the Arkhos said placidly. 'I will lead the way. Follow us, fellow Councillors, I insist.' With that he heaved himself to his feet and left the chamber, knowing he would be followed.

Time passed slowly as the Company waited for their chance. Phemanderac called successfully for his harp, having convinced the guards of its harmlessness, and now sat in one corner tuning it. One or two of the Company sat silent, engrossed in their own thoughts and reflections, but amongst the others a debate was in progress.

'Let's assume our mission was of at least some importance to the Most High,' Perdu said. It was he who had begun this discussion.

'Let's first assume he exists!' the Haufuth countered. A dream is only a dream.

'That's what I'm talking about,' Perdu persisted. 'If he exists, you would think he would be interested in the welfare of his people, the descendants of the First Men. Therefore he would be concerned with our mission to warn Faltha. Right so far?'

The others nodded.

'Then why does he not lift us out of this prison? Why indeed allow us to fall into this trap? He is renowned in your legends as a performer of miracles, so where are they?'

'We could do with a miracle now,' Indrett agreed.

'In my view, a god who does not demonstrate supernatural ability is no god at all, merely a human construction,' the Haufuth said firmly. 'We have seen no miracles thus far, just the result of honest endeavour coupled with a little luck; therefore, the Most High is merely wishful thinking.'

Hal spoke up. 'Have you considered the cost of miracles?' he asked.

'The cost of miracles? What cost?' they wanted to know.

'For every direct intervention in the world of humans, the Most High loses an opportunity to enrich our lives,' he said. 'The most important things that happen on this earth, the things that really count, are the choices we make. The simple, honest endeavours of ordinary people trying to cope with the bigness of life enables true beauty of character to form within them.

No miracle can replicate that. If the Most High met every crisis with a miracle, our characters would remain stunted and childlike, and the world would be robbed of its chief beauty.'

'Yet at least people would live,' the Haufuth said, dismissing the lecture. 'What good are people with true beauty of character if they are about to die?'

'In many cases that beauty is enhanced by death faced courageously, or embraced for the sake of a friend,' Hal responded. 'Yet death does not automatically follow when the Most High allows events to run their course.'

'I don't want miracles,' Leith said suddenly, taking them by surprise. They had thought him asleep. 'I don't want magic. Or, at least, what I want is magic that doesn't really matter, that doesn't change things. I'm tired of being manipulated by things like prophecies.'

'Why so afraid of the Realm of Fire?' the Hermit asked. 'Does it interfere with your control over things? Too wild and unpredictable?'

'Look at prophecy. The day we came to Bandits' Cave you gave me two "words", as you called them. The first one came true. So did the two signs you gave me to confirm your words. It made me feel like someone else was in control of my life. It seemed like you were showing off your power.'

'So they came true, did they? To be honest, I can't remember what they were.'

Leith felt somewhat deflated. 'The first was an important clue in our escape from Adunlok and the Widuz. Your two signs were just a dunking in a frozen pond and a secret never shared.

The second prophecy hasn't yet come to pass.'

'So you wouldn't listen to any more prophecies?'

'I didn't say that,' Leith protested.

'You can't have it both ways,' the Hermit said. 'Any use of the Fire, either good or bad, comes with a claim on the life of those practising it and those benefiting from it. The Fire gives you control over things, but the source of the Fire gains control over you. Miracles open you to the miraculous.'

'So I feel controlled because I am being controlled?'

'Well... let us say you sense the existence of powers far greater than yours, and you feel crowded out.'

'So do we follow the prophecy or not?' Farr asked. 'I thought we decided all this. I don't care where our guidance comes from, what I want is to get on with it. Too much talk, not enough action!'

'We follow the prophecy,' Kurr said. 'And, if the Hermit is right, we fall under its spell.'

'If falling under a non-existent spell is the worst of our fears, then perhaps things are looking up,' said the Haufuth.

'Things will look up once we're out of this foul city,' said Kurr.

'Very nice,' said Deorc. His tongue clicked like a businessman ticking off an inventory. 'A work of true beauty.'

'Thank you,' said the Arkhos of Nemohaim. He could sense the excitement of The Pinion's central chamber, but forced himself to keep his wits about him. As the Bhrudwan became ever more engrossed in the undoubted attractions of this place, the Arkhos's mind raced constantly, in search of ways to press home his advantage.

'What's this one for?' the Keeper of Andratan asked his host. His hand rested on a small table with a vice-like apparatus attached to one end.

'That's one of mine,' the Arkhos said proudly.

'How does it work?'

'The hands go here,' said the Arkhos, indicating the metal apparatus. 'The fingers are spread apart — like this. Would you put your hand here?'

Deorc keenly complied.

'Now, if I tighten these screws - not too tight? Good - the hand is held firmly. Each screw moves independently, so I can force the fingers apart - thus.'

'Very nice.' The Keeper winced as the screws were wound tighter.

'And if I pull this lever, the whole mechanism is released, and you can slide your fingers out.

What do you think?'

'How far apart can the fingers be forced?' Deorc flexed his own fingers, and the Arkhos was surprised to see a dreamy look in his eyes.

'Four inches apart is standard, lord.'

'Good. Order one of these made for me. I will collect it when I am here next, in the vanguard of the Bhrudwan army.'

The Arkhos nodded.

'By the way, these instruments are far too clean.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'The most important weapon of torture is fear, not pain. Your goal is to make them think they are quite properly your plaything; forgotten, abandoned, beyond rescue, beyond help. The pain is only an added bonus.' He licked his lips.

'We have many other instruments...'

'Yes, yes. I have seen them. No time for that now. Show me the prisoner.'

Through the chamber they strode, followed by the other Arkhoi. In the far corner a young man, chained to the cold stone wall, cowered away from his captors. Doesn't look like he'll give us much sport, thought the Arkhos. Pity: I need as large a distraction as possible.

The Arkhos and the Bhrudwan went through with the game. 'How long has he been down here?' asked Deorc.

'Not long, a day or so.'

'Untouched?'

The Arkhos nodded. 'He appears to be a simpleton. Someone from Escaigne has erred badly in sending this boy into Instruere. Finally we may learn the location of our enemy.'

'What shall we start with?' With a wave of the hand Deorc indicated the chamber and the instruments contained therein.

'You choose, my lord.'

'Good,' the Bhrudwan said. 'This is my favourite,' he said after some consideration, indicating a plain, unadorned bench. 'Do you have the gauze?'

'Of course, lord,' the Arkhos replied. Personally, he thought the Water Funnel a little tame. As though his mind had been read, the Keeper of Andratan turned to the captive. 'All I want to do is to give you a drink of water. A nice long drink of water.' Somehow, in the saying of those few words, he communicated such menace that the prisoner's face drained of colour.

'Watch what I do. Listen to what I say,' he said to the Arkhos. 'I'll have him begging for mercy long before the first drink. Pass me the gauze. I want to explain how this works to our guest.'

As the unfortunate young man was unchained, the Arkhos noticed the hands of the Bhrudwan.

They were trembling.

Behind the two dark figures stood the rest of the Arkhoi, some bored, others horrified by what they were hearing and seeing in this cruel place. Rhynn, Arkhos of Asgowan, tried not to look. He hated this place and was only too aware of what they were about to see, having been down here once before at the invitation of the Arkhos of Nemohaim. But he had been given no choice. To have refused this trip, his instincts told him, would have put himself and his State at a great disadvantage with respect to the Council. Personally, he could see his influence with the Council of Faltha waning to the point of uselessness.

'Look carefully at the gauze. It's a fine metal mesh, with small hooks that slide easily down the throat, but catch against the skin, making it impossible to draw out without tearing tissue away with it. You can drink with the gauze in your throat, but you can't eat. Now, the longer you delay telling us what we want to know, the more we'll give you to drink, and the further the gauze will be forced down your throat. Nod if you understand what I mean.'

The captive, paralysed with fear, made no move. Deorc took the razor-sharp gauze and held it against the boy's thigh.

'Then let me assist your understanding.'

With a flick of his wrist Deorc dragged the gauze across the pale, quivering skin. The boy shrieked. His torturer held a ragged, streaming strip of flesh close to the captive's face.

'Do you understand now?' he asked in a soft voice. This time the boy nodded vigorously.

As the Arkhos of Nemohaim had feared, the entertainment was all too brief - or, from Rhynn's perspective, mercifully short. The Bhrudwan's art, though appreciated by many in the chamber, was lost on him. The captive's mouth was forced open, and the gauze placed inside.

Then water was poured down the throat, forcing the gauze down with it. The Bhrudwan was immensely skilful, keeping up an almost careless chatter while making sure the victim was able to answer questions. And beg for mercy, Rhynn noted. The Bhrudwan seemed to like that best.

This is what I risk if I betray the Council, Rhynn thought. Yet how can I choose otherwise, now that the Council has accepted the authority of this monstrous man?

'Escaigne. Where is Escaigne?' The questioning was relentless. 'Pass me the funnel. If the gauze goes much further down we won't be able to retrieve it, and your life will be measured in days; long, messy, agonising days you'll spend coughing up your own tissue . . . What did he say?'

'Entangled, my lord,' said one of the guards.

'I wonder what that means?' The Bhrudwan scratched his head, puzzled.

The Arkhos of Nemohaim leaned across the convulsing form strapped to the table. 'I think I know,' he said, struggling to keep his voice level. 'We are about to remove a major impediment to the plans of your master. Escaigne is entangled, as he says: entangled in Instruere. I have some more questions for our friend on the table, but he will tell us where in Instruere the Escaignians are hidden. A decade of deception is about to come to an end.'

'TIME PASSES SLOWLY,' KURR OBSERVED. A sense of failure did battle in his heart with a growing fear, prompting his morose words.

Phemanderac" laughed thinly. 'Although if we are to die, it does not pass slowly enough.'

'Whatever the outcome, I'll be glad to be rid of this loathsome city.'

'It's not that bad! Where else can you find the excitement of the market?'

'The market was a surprise,' Perdu admitted. 'We don't have costermongers or fish-splitters on Myrvidda. We don't have The Pinion, either, and our people don't hide in fear from each other.'

'We have long told stories of Fenni cruelty,' Farr said pointedly. 'This should not be strange to you.'

'The Fenni deal harshly, but they deal swiftly and justly,' he replied. 'We hold no prisoners, we seldom engage in torture, and we defend our own with a passion.'

'Do you miss them?'

'Of course I do,' Perdu said softly. 'Some of them especially. Don't you miss the Vinkullen?'

'I do,' Farr replied, 'but I miss the Great Wood more, and the laughter of the Fodhram; and my brother most of all.' He sighed. 'I, too, want out of this repellent place.'

'I like the city,' Stella said. 'There is nothing about our village that I miss, nothing at all.'

'Not even your parents?' Hal wanted to know.

'Especially not them,' the young woman said with distaste. 'They were happy to sacrifice me to that brute Druin. I'm glad we left Loulea.'

'Even if we die here?'

'Yes, Hal,' she said emphatically. 'Better quick death than slow death.'

'You didn't know Druin as well as you thought,' the cripple insisted.