In the Earth Abides the Flame (32 page)

'There's a reward,' his wife had said. 'You'll be able to leave that dusty old library.' What she really meant was they could leave that draughty old tenement. Well, she is who she is. How can 1 refuse her?

'This way,' the secretary said, opening a door off the main corridor. 'He'll see you now.'

The Archivist took a deep breath. The moment was at hand. He walked through the door.

'Sit down,' a high-pitched voice wheezed. 'Sit down.'

With those words the blood froze around the Archivist's heart. There at Saraskar's desk sat the Arkhos of Nemohaim, and he wore the widest smile.

*

* *

The grassy bank, slippery with the morning rain, sloped steeply away towards the river.

Perhaps this explained the slowness with which the Company made their way forwards, though it may have been the delayed shock of the Water Chamber and the closeness with which death had brushed them; perhaps it was their reluctance to leave Foilzie and the bald man to the Instruian Guard, or even the fact of their undeniable tiredness. Whatever the reasons, they were far too slow.

There was the boat, a small dinghy down at the bottom of the slope, with Kurr, Hal and the Haufuth climbing in at the prow with a couple of Escaignians - Leith supposed they were Escaignians; yes, there was the bright-eyed young man who had led him to the Water Chamber - occupying the rest of the space. They would certainly never fit the whole Company in. In front of him the Hermit slipped on the muddy slope and fell to the ground, soiling his blue robe. Leith himself had to be careful of the treacherous ground as he lent the tall, aristocratic man his assistance. The Hermit regained his feet and brushed himself off.

Leith turned to press on, his feet went completely from under him and he slid twenty feet down the slope, his fall arrested when his head slammed into the side of a small stone water trough.

Above him the short period of grace the Company had enjoyed ended with a suddenness that took their breath away. Into the grassy lane burst a contingent of the Instruian Guard, a few yards below the northerners. At the same moment those down in the boat yelled a warning, then hurriedly cast off from the shore as some of the guards scrambled down the slope. Seeing this, the guards turned and advanced up the slope towards the Company, who took to their heels in a desperate attempt to avoid capture. Only the Hermit had seen Leith fall. In the fear of the moment none of the others missed him from among them.

It seemed to take no time at all to flash past the place they had left Foilzie and the bald man, fear lending them a fleetness of foot they could have used earlier. They soon outdistanced their armour-encumbered pursuers. Phemanderac noted in passing that Foilzie must have found shelter.

'Where are we going?' Perdu gasped out from the front of the group. Behind him the Company stretched quite a way back down the wide muddy road, back to the Bhrudwan, who looked a little lost without Hal. 'Where are we going?' he repeated. No one replied. Most were out of breath, spending all their energy on running. In truth no one could have provided an answer anyway.

Behind them the guards slowed to a walk, confident their prey would not escape. This was the Docks, to be sure, a veritable rabbit-warren of places to hide, but the ignorant northerners ran away from the walls of Instruere, towards the western end of the island where the arms of the Great River rejoined in their final reach to the sea. The captain smiled. He would enjoy this.

And it would prove to be the perfect result to present to his new master, a final betrayal of the hated Arkhos of Nemohaim.

The sumptuous red leather chair seemed to wrap its arms around the Archivist as he waited for the Arkhos of Nemohaim to begin. He wanted to ask where Saraskar was, what was happening and why he was obviously not free to go, but could not loosen his tongue sufficiently to speak.

'You're probably wondering where the Arkhos of Sarista is, and why I have taken his place,'

the dreadful man wheezed from his black chair behind the desk. 'Well, there's been a reorganisation around here. I have been moved - shall we say, sideways - while the Arkhos has been relieved of his position. Very indiscreet, our friend has been.' The Arkhos's jowls wobbled dangerously as he shook his head. 'It is a foolish thing in this city to talk too freely to the wrong people.' For a moment the wheezing stopped.

The fat man fiddled with a piece of paper on his desk. 'Now, you were here to tell the Arkhos of Sarista about your encounter with one of the northerners, I believe. Specifically his discovery of information in the archives relevant to the Council of Faltha. I'm sorry he can't be here to hear your tale. I hope I will suffice in his stead. Be sure I will relay anything important to the Council. Speak to me and you speak to the Council.'

His words were reassuring; the tone mild, conciliatory, designed to allay his fear of this legendary man, the fat Spider of Instruere; still, the Archivist was afraid.

'So the northerner discovered something important among that pile of rubbish? If there was something of such importance that Saraskar would grant you an audience, why was it not unearthed before now? Are you incompetent?'

'No, my lord,' the Archivist stammered, his face flushing a bright red. 'The visitor had knowledge I was not party to which enabled him to interpret some of our oldest and most obscure manuscripts.'

'How could a provincial from Firanes know something the Archivist of Instruere does not?'

Ah, but he does not come from Firanes, my lord,' the Archivist said, stung by the insinuation.

'He claimed not to have come from Faltha at all.'

'From where, then? From Bhrudwo?'

This was better. He had information this slug wanted. And my reward?'

'Your reward7.' For a moment the Archivist feared the Arkhos would climb over the desk to get at him, but the man apparently thought better of it. 'Your reward?' he repeated, thoughtfully this time. 'Yes, I can suit a reward to the value of your information. Now, tell me where this man is from.'

The Archivist wanted to pursue further the matter of the reward, but something in the face opposite his dissuaded him.

'He said he was from Dhauria, of the remnant of the Vale of the First Men.' The words came out like a pearl from his lips, and the Archivist noted their effect on the pig-like eyes of the Arkhos of Nemohaim.

'Did he? Did he now? And what did you think of his claim, then?'

'Well, like you I don't believe a word of it,' the Archivist replied carefully, 'but he did have knowledge of the First Men that has died out in Faltha, knowledge no villager from the north could possibly know. He knows more than I do; more, if I might dare say it, than you yourself, my lord.'

'So you don't believe him?' The Arkhos heaved himself to his feet, and came around from behind his desk until he stood directly in front of his visitor. 'What if I were to tell you I myself have been to another place of legend, a place of equal renown, of even greater power?

Would you disbelieve me as quickly as you disbelieved him?'

'What place is this, my lord?' The Archivist could barely speak in the face of the overpowering presence of the Arkhos, who appeared far more dangerous than any mere spider.

The huge man lifted his head proudly. 'I have walked the blackest of all halls, plumbed the deepest of all pits, strode the highest of all walls. I have spoken with the Voice disembodied, and have eaten with he of the one hand. Do you know the answer to this riddle, man of learning?'

'Andratan,' whispered the Archivist. 'The Destroyer.'

'Wonderful what a little learning can do for a man,' said the Arkhos. 'But learning can take you only so far. I offer you this reward. Pledge me your fealty, and you too can walk in the places of legend.' 1 need a new servant, he thought. This one will do nicely.

'So if the man I met is indeed from the Vale, then he is your enemy.'

'Not my enemy, but the enemy of the Destroyer. The enemy of Bhrudwo.' The truth as a lie -

the best weapon of all. Tell this easily gulled mental weakling the truth and he will assume the man is our friend, because he will not believe I am a traitor. 'Our friend. I need to talk to him.'

'That may take some doing, my lord. He intended to leave Instruere in order to follow up his discovery in the archives. He may have already done so.'

'Indeed? What could be so important that he would want to leave so fair a city?' the Arkhos mused in a voice heavy with sarcasm.

'He is after an old relic. He believes, my lord, that he knows the location of the Jugom Ark, the Arrow of Yoke.' Another pearl cast in front of the Arkhos. Perhaps this meeting will work out well after all, he tried to tell himself, but he could not suppress the unease that rose up to fill his throat.

There was no mistaking the effect these words had on their hearer, nor the covetousness that sprang into the small round eyes as their import was absorbed. 'The Arrow? he breathed. For a few moments the huge Arkhos appeared quite unmanned.

The Archivist said nothing, but merely waited, trying to prevent his unease growing further.

'So that is their plan! With the Arrow, the weapon wielded by the Destroyer's deadly foe, I could ...' He came to himself, and said no more of what was on his mind.

'So the legends multiply,' he said eventually. 'This must be disconcerting for a revisionist scholar such as yourself. Dhauria, Andratan, the Destroyer, the Jugom Ark. Next Kantara will come down from the clouds, or Bi'r Birkat will appear in front of our eyes. What say you? Do you still call these things legends?'

'Well, my lord,' the Archivist said quietly, 'you have yet to ask me the location of this Arrow.'

'You know! He told you?'

'According to the words of Bewray of Nemohaim, the Guardian of the Arrow, words I saw with my own eyes, the Arrow rests in the Vale of Neume, between the two mountains known as the Sentinella, at a place named Kantara.' The Archivist smiled. The third of his pearls. It was time he weighed in with a legend or two of his own.

If the fat man was surprised by this revelation he did not reveal it. 'I am the Arkhos of Nemohaim,' he said. 'I represent Nemohaim to the Council of Faltha. I am a direct descendant of Bewray, the founder of Nemohaim. As such, I am a fit Guardian of the Arrow.' He stood, as if announcing a decision to the Council. 'I claim this heirloom as my own. No other man may lay hands on it, on pain of death. With it 1 will declare myself the enemy of Bhrudwo.'

The Archivist sat stunned at this turn of events. What does the fat man have planned? he asked himself.

'I need a partner,' the Arkhos said suddenly. 'I need somebody like yourself, with the lore to guide us to the Arrow. I will pay you well. Will you come?'

History reached out an ancient hand and grabbed the Archivist, this doubter of myth, this rational man. The names of legend assaulted him like raiders of the heart. Dhauria, Andratan, Kantara.

In the face of this overpowering desire he retained a small measure of equanimity.

'I want my family provided for,' he said.

The Arkhos of Nemohaim reached into his robe and took out a small bag. He handed it to the Archivist. 'Payment in advance,' he said. 'Open it.'

With unsteady fingers he unpicked the knot in the drawstring to reveal one large nugget of solid gold. Pure Tabul gold, the like of which had not been seen in Instruere for a generation.

'Is that enough?' the fat man asked.

'I am your servant, my lord,' said the Archivist.

Leith woke to find himself alone, totally alone. Wet and cold, he lay in the mud at the bottom of a grassy slope, unable for the moment to remember what he was doing there. His head hurt.

He touched his temple and found blood on his fingers. The sight made him feel nauseous.

Misty rain filtered down on him as the weather closed in, and he began to shiver where he lay.

There was some reason why he should get to his feet, something urgent; but it eluded him. He worked away at it: Instruere ... Escaigne ... the Water Chamber ...

He sat bolt upright. The motion made his stomach heave. How long had he been lying there?

Where were the others? He crawled back out on to the grass and looked down at the river. The boat was gone. He turned away and began to climb the slope, slowly, gingerly; then stopped, disbelieving, and turned his aching head back to the river.

He rubbed his eyes, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

'They're herding us,' Perdu said bitterly. 'Rounding us up like dumb animals, penning us up against the river. There's no escape.'

'But at least there will be defence,' Farr exclaimed. Each member of the Company wielded a stout length of timber, gleaned from a stack of building materials they passed some while ago.

'Can't we hide?' asked Indrett. 'Sticks against swords doesn't sound like a winnable fight to me.'

'Hide where? The guards are taking their time, exploring every house and every shed in their search for us. It's just a matter of time.' The exhilaration of battle built within Farr, and all thought of flight or safety retreated from his mind.

'Then why not surrender to them? Perhaps they will deal with us leniently.'

'Wishful thinking,' Mahnum answered his wife. 'They have not forgotten The Pinion. We wounded their pride. They will seek revenge, if only to prove to their citizens that they still retain control of the city.'

'Has anyone seen Leith?' Stella asked quietly.

Heads turned this way and that, but it was obvious Leith was not amongst them. 'Now where has that foolish boy got to?' Farr said.

'Who saw him last? Where was he when he was last seen?' Mahnum's voice was tight, urgent.

For a while no one answered as they thought, retracing their steps from the Water Chamber.

One amongst the Company kept his thoughts to himself, thinking, this is right. I will say nothing.

'The last memory I have is of the Escaignian - not the bald one but the other one, the one who helped rescue us - thanking Leith as he left.' Anxiety gripped Stella's heart.

'Was that before or after the bald one was shot?' Mahnum's voice betrayed his fear.