In the Earth Abides the Flame (47 page)

'Good. I have spoken with our master. We have no time to waste.'

The first few people who came to the basement were not too much of a surprise, just two or three friends accompanying Indrett as she returned from the market later that morning, keen to hear her story and share some of the local gossip. Others, seeing the burned tenement reoccupied and knowing the story of its burning, came to look at those who had invaded The Pinion and invoked the ire of the Arkhos of Nemohaim. The visitors brought food with them, good plain food, drink and good cheer; and the blackened walls echoed with laughter, little people rejoicing that the big people were not having things all their own way.

The surprise came when, rather than dropping, the number of visitors to the basement increased throughout the day. Something of a carnival atmosphere settled over them, enhanced when a number of Phemanderac's musical acquaintances arrived and began to play; and by the evening it seemed to Indrett that the whole of the market had taken up residence in the room. And not just the market-goers: Mahnum recognised amongst the crowd some of those who had been rescued from The Pinion. It was clear the people of Instruere had taken the northerners into their hearts.

That first unforgettable night was spent talking, laughing and singing. Unobserved perhaps by the majority of those present, something unusual began to happen. The crowd divided into smaller and smaller groups, most comprising no more than two or three people sitting or standing close together, discussing the events in the city, what might happen in the future; talking, hesitantly at first, about their own hopes and dreams, and of the warnings brought to Instruere by the northerners. They quite forgot about their houses and their daily tasks. The unexpected boldness of the normally self-interested Instruians in associating with the northern

'criminals', their expression of defiance in the face of the guard and the Council, were deliciously intoxicating.

Though most of the visitors left before midnight, they all returned to the basement at daybreak, bringing more food with them. There would be no market today - or, more accurately, the market was set up in Foilzie's blackened basement. Breakfast and lunch were shared, those with plenty giving of their bounty to those who had little or none. Carpenters, seemingly appearing from nowhere, began repairing the fire-damage, while others produced carpets, chairs, couches, curtains and drapes. The musicians began anew, and the crowd swelled until it could no longer be contained in the tenement basement, spilling out on to the narrow street.

At first the members of the Company were too tired to do anything except attend to the needs of their visitors. Then, when the realisation that something was happening settled on them, they began to speculate about it. Farr was strongly of the opinion the crowd should be dispersed, fearing at any moment the attention of the Instruian Guard would be attracted to them. While agreeing with him, most of the others were too fascinated to be really frightened, and took comfort from the sheer number of people gathered in and around the basement. Surely there was not enough room in The Pinion, indeed, in the Hall of Lore, to contain the crowd! But Farr's warning at least elicited volunteers from those gathered who kept watch for any sign of the guard. None were seen that day.

Mahnum wandered around the basement, unsure of what was going on, and what, if anything, should be done about it. 'My grandfather told us of the old days, before the Council ran everything,' one old man was saying. 'Back then a Warden had command of the guard, and there weren't so many of them either. A Warden, just like Furist and Raupa decided. If it was good enough for the First Men, it should be good enough now.'

Not three feet away a young woman spoke with vehemence. 'The Most High is real,' she said, the intensity on her face daring any of her listeners to disagree. 'I've felt Him. You just close your eyes and reach out with your soul.'

'But what does that have to do with the Bhrudwan armies?' asked a thin young man. 'You can stand on the battlements and reach out with your soul as much as you like, but the arrows'll make a pincushion of you just the same. We need weapons, not feelings.'

In one corner of the room Stella described the journey of the Company to an interested group of listeners, a fair proportion of them young men not insensitive to the unusual northern beauty of the speaker. 'We cut the ropes of the bridge,' she was saying, 'and two of the Bhrudwans fell. So we really only had one to fight. Even so, he would have killed us all but for the bravery of Wira. He's the one I told you about, hair as white as — well, as white. Tall and strong. Anyway, we captured the Bhrudwan. There he is, over there.' She pointed to where Achtal stood impassively beside Indrett. Her listeners were impressed, and a number of them imagined an army of powerfully built warriors like the Bhrudwan just a few yards away.

They had all heard of his exploits in The Pinion. 'He was the least of the warriors we fought,'

Stella told them.

'Something has to be done,' said one of the men with bravado. 'If the Council won't do something, we will. Perhaps the Bhrudwan could give lessons or something, and we could learn to fight like him.' A chorus of agreement rose from the others, not wishing to be outdone. 'After all, we're all - well, most of us, anyway - just as strong as him. We've got the potential. We just need the chance.' His speech was rewarded with a smile. The talk continued through the evening, and the second night repeated the pattern of the first. As the evening wore on, the overt market noise subsided into earnest discussion. The talk could perhaps be classified as political and religious; but that is only to say that people talked about what was most important to them.

Late that night the Hermit, clad as ever in his blue robe, stood in front of the assembled people and spoke.

'Good people of Instruere,' he said, his incisive tone quietening the crowd, 'this gathering is taking place in fulfilment of something spoken to me many nights ago. In a vision I heard a voice crying out: "The people will join together in their search for me." This is the voice of the Most High, who in these days is doing a new thing. He is about to return to his people, and has appointed us to tear down the walls, mend the ancient bridges, throw wide the doors of the houses and get ready to welcome our king. Can you not sense it? Does your spirit not feel restless even as I speak? Does not your heart beat faster? It was for this purpose that we of the north were called to you. It is here that the Most High will return. We are to be the spearhead of the new move of God. Let these thoughts lead you as you talk together.'

As abruptly as he had begun, the Hermit finished his short speech, smiled briefly and moved back into the crowd.

'Who was 'e?' one man said to another, to be answered with a shrug.

'He said he heard the voice of the Most High!' a woman said to her neighbour, excitement in her voice. 'He can tell the future!'

'Nonsense!' said an old man. 'What has the Most High got to do with us? We'll put this town to rights without his help. And if he tries to interfere, He'll find things not to his liking.'

Reaction to the Hermit's speech buzzed around the room.

'What was that about?' Perdu whispered to Mahnum, not a little unsettled. 'What does he mean by this talk of the Most High?'

'I don't know,' the Trader replied. 'If the Haufuth were here, I would ask him. He has spent most time with the man.'

'I see our friend has suddenly become a northerner.'

'But what he said does help explain what is happening here,' Indrett added. 'What if Hal was right? What if the Most High simply requires our presence here, and it is not necessary to persuade the Council of our cause? What if the people themselves are going to prepare for his coming?'

'But whose coming, I wonder?' said Farr, intruding on their conversation. 'The Right Hand, or the Most High Himself? Or, as is most likely, the Destroyer and the armies of Blmidwo?

And how should we prepare? Do we decorate the city walls, or build our defences?' He paused, weighing the effect of his words on their hearers. 'Make no mistake,' he said.

'Everything depends on our choice.'

* * *

Deorc strode into the Inner Chamber, having been satisfied by Furoman that everything was ready. For what he had planned it would not do to be unprepared, as chance was the enemy of success. As he sat, he cast an assessing eye over the gathering of the Council. The division between Falthan loyalists and Bhrudwan sympathisers was clear, and fear had done its work: the size of the latter was far larger than the former. The elegant Bhrudwan wondered how any Councillor could remain a loyalist. Surely they must know what is in store for them? He could not conceive that any man, knowing he was betrayed and a trap lay unsprung in front of him -

indeed, that he himself had unwittingly helped set it - would nevertheless walk open-eyed into it. They are fools. They do not deserve their seats. 1 do Faltha a favour this day.

'Welcome to the first session of the new Council of Faltha,' he began. He pitched his voice carefully, in the way the Bhrudwan Voicemasters had taught him. As he spoke, his voice shaped the thought: you are privileged to be here. It is an honour that at any moment could be taken from you. Do not forget it. And, by his art, he wove the thought into his voice. 'We have much work to do, and must first face a most unpleasant task—'

'Who are you, and what gives you the right to command this Council?' It was a direct challenge, and it came from the group of four loyalists seated at the far side of the table.

The Voiceskill is a two'edged gift, his masters had taught him. When the spell is strong, you have the power of command. But when the spell is broken, deception fails and your intentions become clear. Above all else, they emphasised, do not allow stray thoughts to pollute the purity of your voice.

It had been a shocking interruption, ripping across the table and momentarily unnerving him.

The loyalists might be fools, but they were strong - or perhaps they lacked the imagination to be controlled. He tightened his grip.

'Until I am elected to headship of the Council, I am nothing,' he admitted. But let there be no doubt as to my right to be here. 'However, I was asked to chair the Council in the absence of the Arkhos of Nemohaim by a quorum of Councillors at an emergency meeting. The paperwork is all here. Examine it: you'll find it is all in order.' You are trapped. You are excluded. You are humiliated. You do not have the strength to oppose me.

He turned to the majority of the Councillors, and prepared to resume his carefully planned speech.

With an agony of effort, resisting the compulsion laid so heavily upon him, one of the loyalists spoke. 'But you - you are a Bhrudwan. How can you command the Council?'

And you are a fool who commands nothing! his thought snapped before he could stop it. The unsettling effect of his angry thought would be diminished if he did not speak for a moment; but then the compulsion of his voice would be lessened. He decided to take the risk. In this situation he could not afford to lose control for a second.

'Where I have come from is of no moment. It is where I am going, and Instruere with me, that is important.' His words were for his own party. I am Progress. I am Power. You who are little will do well to align yourself with me. Now he addressed the enemy. 'It is not my loyalty that is in question today. I submit to the will of the Council. There are, however, some among us who do not.' The loyalists are on trial today. You will decide their fate. Already you taste the fruits of power.

He paused. His authority here was not being seriously questioned. If it came to a vote, there would be no doubt about the outcome. However, he had something much less passive in mind. The northerners had stood in this room and accused the Council of treachery, and because of that fool Nemohaim the slur uttered here remained unanswered. Until now.

'We have a responsibility to our people. You have sought the friendship of Bhrudwo, and my presence here is a confirmation that you have found it. You can regard us as perhaps a seventeenth kingdom. And all of us here - well, all except our unwise colleagues - realise the supposed enmity between Faltha and Bhrudwo was a fallacy invented to serve the conservative interests in Faltha. It never represented anything real.' All the time he wound soothing, encouraging thoughts into his words. You are doing the right thing.

We must have, unity; we must rid ourselves of division. You are the courageous ones, forging a new path for all Falthans to tread. It was hard for him not to laugh inwardly at the absurdity of it all, but he maintained his concentration so the Wordweave would not fail.

'However, we cannot be seen to tolerate division within our ranks. If we are to go forward, we are to go forward together. Therefore, I now call for a statement of unity.' Choose wisely, for this is Ufe and death. Life, with prestige, power, rewards beyond your ability to imagine, access to the dark secrets . . . or death, slow and dark with pain, a fear-filled fall into futility, your name a byword to the peoples, your family ... 'Those among you who choose, on behalf of your kingdoms, to press forward into the new Faltha, do so by standing to acknowledge me as the Head of the Council, in replacement of the traitorous Nemohaim. Those who choose the old Faltha, remain seated.'

Immediately the Bhrudwan-bought Councillors stood, playing their part well. Along with the remaining six of the original seven traitors named by Mahnum - the Arkhoi of Firanes, Treika, Favony, Tabul, Straux and Vertensia - stood Haurn the Craven, along with new replacements for Nemohaim and Asgowan. Two other Arkhoi, Plonya and Deuverre, cast their lot with the traitors when it became apparent who held the power in the Council. The knot of four loyalists - the Arkhoi of Deruys, Redana'a, Sna Vaztha and Piskasia, sadly missing Sarista -

remained seated, staring at their colleagues whom they had recently discovered they did not know at all, tensely awaiting the outcome. They knew this man meant them ill.

'The choice is made. An example will be made of those who have betrayed the will of the Council, so the people of Instruere clearly understand the penalty of resistance. Furoman!' he called out.