In the Earth Abides the Flame (70 page)

Initially he considered illusion, and even fashioned a tentative invisibility with which to cloak the Arrow. Long before it was substantial enough to apply he abandoned it, knowing his thau-maturgy was no match for the power that made the Ark. Something touched by that Hand would always be visible. And, he reasoned further, it was the Arrow's time. Hidden for two thousand years, it was about to be revealed. He could do nothing to prevent that.

The solution, therefore, appeared to lie in avoiding people. But this was no solution. Neither he nor Leith had been this way, and therefore knew of no unpopulated paths. Worse, they had to go to Bewray, the capital city of Nemohaim situated at the mouth of the river they followed seawards, in order to take ship for Instruere. Maendraga shuddered: he had never been among more than a few people at a time.

Could the Arrow be covered or otherwise disguised? He thought not. The heat coming from the flames was real heat, and he had no doubt any covering would burn. Finally he shared his concerns with Leith, who shrugged his shoulders and mumbled: 'I don't care. We have to go north. It doesn't matter.'

They were noticed, of course, long before they came to the first of many villages, but were left alone by fearful, superstitious locals. Maendraga noticed this, and also noticed the messengers sent northwards ahead of them. Perhaps the youngster had been right, he considered. Perhaps they should have gone back the way he had come, but if he admitted the truth to himself he had not wanted to spend a moment longer in that malevolent place. Instead he had chosen the sanctuary of his cabin so as not to face the accusing shade of his dead wife, her voice filled with reproach, demanding to know what he had done with their daughter. But she had been there, too, in the cabin they had shared, so he left with the bearer of the Arrow.

And his wife's voice came with them. During the warm days of late summer he spoke to her, becoming careless of his privacy.

" Ah, Nena. Ah, my love. I told her, but she wouldn't listen to me. Just like you. You never really listened to me. You know, she looks just like you, my beautiful girl does, your eyes, your hair, your lips . . . and now I've lost you both. Please forgive me! I'll put it right, I'll find you rest! We never should have married, knowing what we knew. But 1 will yet find your name a home, yours and Bella's . . .

Maendraga had reasons for going to Bewray he had not told his young companion.

The arrest came in a small town a day's ride south of Bewray. Leith saw the soldiers approach on horseback, but neither he nor Maendraga made any effort to turn aside or seek a hiding place. Instead emotionlessly, fatalistically, they watched the approach of the armed men.

'Excuse me, sir,' said a polite yet firm voice from behind them. It continued as they whirled around, as they stared at the speaker, a tall, fair-headed man with his sword drawn, point levelled at them, an apologetic look on his face. 'Persons answering your description are wanted at the White Palace to answer questions about criminal activity,' he said, clearly enunciating each word as though afraid of misunderstanding. Unexpectedly, he broke into a smile and relaxed. 'It would be safer for you if you came with me now, than if we had to send the soldiery down here to fetch you. They don't have the same regard for life as I.'

'But - but we have to find the Aslaman ...' Maendraga stuttered.

'It's all right, we'll come with you,' said Leith quickly, overriding the magician's protests. 'I was expecting this, or something like it.' His companion returned him a puzzled glance, but Leith put his hand to his lips. The soldiers had drawn up, ready to enforce the commands of their leader.

'I agree with your young friend,' said the fair-headed man amiably. 'It is better to keep silence in a strange country.'

'Criminal activity?' Maendraga said, still flustered. 'We've done nothing wrong!'

'I have,' said Leith. He'd never felt like this before: he could sense the danger all around him, but at the same time could tell it did not touch him. He felt safer facing the point of a sword in a foreign place than he ever had in his home village. Or perhaps now he had lost his friends, he didn't care. 'I've done many things wrong,' he said reflectively, 'things that hurt my closest friends, even my family.' As he spoke, it seemed as though clouds of grief and self-pity rolled away from him. 'But I'm sure the King of Nemohaim doesn't want to talk to us about those.

He wants us because I look like someone you've been told to keep a watch out for, and I carry something he wants to see. A few weeks ago the Arkhos of Nemohaim passed through Bewray, and left descriptions of a number of people he wanted arrested on sight. No, don't answer me; I know I'm right.'

Maendraga stared at him, astonished. A small crowd of villagers gathered around them, attracted by the sight of bright steel and in the anticipation of spilled blood.

'Perhaps you are, sir,' said their captor, a hint of puzzlement in his voice. 'But why would you admit guilt here in public?'

'I'm guilty of being one of those the Arkhos wanted detained,' corrected Leith. 'Nothing more.

So let's get on with the detaining.

I've lots of things to do yet, and I can't stay here long. And don't bother asking me to give you my treasure. It would only destroy you.'

'Of course not; it is for the hand of my lord.' Their fair-headed captor looked at them a little sheepishly. 'Can I - can we - perhaps you would .. . ?'

Leith smiled, and as he thrust the Arrow aloft it burst into bright flame, its crackling the only sound in a hallowed silence.

'Thank you, sir,' said the fair-haired man.

It had been a long time, more than a month in fact, since Leith had been in a city, but it took him little time to adjust to the noise and bustle of Bewray. Less of a city and more a collection of towns, it sprawled in an undisciplined, dishevelled fashion over three low hills squatting shamefacedly between land and sea. An ancient place, as ancient as Instruere, yet Bewray had no architecture, no beauty to boast about apart from the palace which sat atop the central hill.

Surrounded by stately firs, it overlooked the town like a bloated insect resting from feeding on the remnants of its prey. The town was a trading centre, a thoroughfare, a place to which everyone went to make money, a filthy, shabby place few lived in by choice. Leith, who had grown used to the streets, markets and intrigue of Instruere, found the place a little drab, a little pedestrian. For Maendraga, however, just being in close proximity to thousands of people was overwhelming. In the weeks it took them to ride down from the Vale of Neume to the northern coast, Maendraga had asked Leith repeatedly what Bewray would be like, but none of his taciturn answers prepared him for this. There was nothing but humanity and its detritus. Tall tenements, narrow streets, heat and dust, fumes from the open sewers, noise and movement; no peace, no solitude, no breathing space. The magician constantly felt his clothes fitted him too tightly, as though his surroundings were about to strangle him.

'Well, here we are in Bewray, walking to our deaths most probably,' Maendraga mumbled as they rode quietly up the road to the White Palace. 'I could have used the Wordweave to get us out of this.'

'I know that,' Leith said, almost laughing. His manner caused the older man to turn and face him.

'Where's the sullen boy of the last week? Why couldn't you have been a little brighter when we needed it?' he asked, a little aggrieved.

Leith laughed again. 'I've just realised something I should have seen months ago, much earlier on in our journeying,' he said. 'You see, each country we travel through has someone important waiting, someone we need to make contact with.'

'Someone? What do you mean?'

'I'm not exactly sure why yet, but all lands and peoples are being drawn into this quest. It's as though we've gone around Faltha gathering people.'

'You make it sound mystical. You're just a northern peasant, not god's chosen instrument.'

'Just like you're a shepherd from Nemohaim. Remember this?' He held out the Jugom Ark.

'Perhaps the Arrow gathers people to itself.' Having lived his life under the shadow of Bewray's legacy, and the training he instituted, Maendraga was prepared to believe anything about the Arrow.

'So it stands to reason that someone awaits us here,' Leith continued. 'Let's go and meet him -

or her.'

Yes, thought Leith excitedly. Why did 1 not see this earlier? He ticked them off in his mind.

As he named each name, it clicked into place in his mind. Farr ofMjolkbridge, Perdu of the Fenni, the Hermit, Axehaft of the Fodhram, Achtal the Bhrudwan, Phemanderac of Dhauria, Jethart from Inch Chanter, even the Widuz leader who pursued us to Instruere. Then Foilzie of Instruere, the bald man of Escaigne, Prince Wiusago of Deruys, Te Tuahangata from the Mist, Maendraga and Belladonna of Kantara. He breathed out. A great pressure had been released.

Quite a collection, he reflected. Not all of them gathered yet, not all even allied to the cause, but all necessary. Someone awaits us here, I know it.

And then, as realisation opened before him like a dormant flower reawakened by spring, Leith saw his place in the great deeds that had been, and were about to be performed. He was a flashpoint, a spark, a gatherer. For what? But even as he formed the question, he knew it didn't matter. He had found his place. He could wait and see what happened.

1 remember the Hermit promising me a great destiny, he thought. Nothing could be greater than being a part of this. Then his head snapped up as another thought hit him. So preoccupied was he that he hardly noticed as they dismounted, and were led through the great portals of the White Palace, along a magnificent gallery to the throne room. Why would he still be gathering people if those he'd already gathered were dead? They can't be dead!

Phemanderac, Achtal, Wiusago, Te Tuahangata, Belladonna and the others - Kurr, the Haufuth and Hal. Surely they are still alive!

I am not a murderer. 1 hated him, but no more.

As they walked down the mosaic-tiled floor of the vaulted throne room, as they passed assembled courtiers, soldiers and advisers dressed in stately robes, and as the soldiers forced them to their knees in front of the King of Nemohaim, Leith could hardly keep from shouting with joy. 1 know, J finally know what this is all about! He knew who he was, and what he was supposed to do. Even failure in this task would be better than not knowing what this was all about.

He was returned to the doings of the moment by a barked warning from one of the soldiers.

The king spoke. Leith looked around him, but the fair-haired man was nowhere to be seen.

'You will answer our question!' shouted the king. 'Why did you pursue our servant the Arkhos of Nemohaim?'

Leith wanted to answer immediately, not least because he saw there might be serious consequences if he did not, but too many things were happening inside his head. Chambers and compartments opened in his mind as he watched. The Jugom Ark was involved in some way, as were the words of the Hermit, the wisdom of Phemanderac, the magic and Wordweave of Belladonna and Maendraga, the compassion and kindness of his brother, and behind all the voice. The Voice of the Most High, he admitted to himself for the first time. He was - they all were - stones suddenly magnetised, lodestones others would follow.

And with the certainty came other things, thoughts he wanted to explore . . .

But there was no time. A soldier, dressed in ceremonial battle armour smelling of alcohol and cleaning fluid, forced him to his feet. 'We can loosen his tongue for you, my lord,' he declared.

Leith forced his mind back to the present. He had no miraculous powers, no mechanism for invulnerability, no means of protection from the King of Nemohaim and the power-lust evident in his eyes; none except knowledge. But it would be enough.

'There's no need,' he said quietly, with absolute conviction. 'We face here an impasse. You, the King of Nemohaim, want the Jugom Ark for some purpose of your own. Something to do with conquest and domination, no doubt. You guessed the nature of your Arkhos's quest, and would have taken it from him if he had returned with it.'

The king said nothing, but his eyes were edged with anger.

'However, I have returned with it. Your problem is that you cannot take this thing from me, for I am its rightful bearer. You could try. Perhaps you could kill me and my friend. Did you recognise the last of the guardians of Kantara, by the way? But you could not stand the fire of life contained within the Arrow. Or could you? You are, after all, the king. But what do you know of the Most High? Would you care to try?'

Leith watched the royal face carefully. He saw the eyes widen a little, as greed replaced anger, only to narrow with doubt and fear.

'Why don't you ask one of your loyal soldiers to try?' Leith baited. 'Perhaps the one who sought to loosen my tongue? If he can handle this thing, perhaps you can too.'

The king had to try, Leith knew. He held out the Jugom Ark. Flames flickered along its steel shaft, bringing no pain even as it rested lightly in his palm. It's a matter of trust.

'Take the Arrow,' the monarch ordered.

The soldier did not move.

'Take it!' the king snapped, furious at the disobedience.

One of his advisers summoned up the courage to approach the throne. 'My lord .. .' he began tremulously.

'What is it, Geinor?' The king's voice wavered dangerously. He was clearly in a black mood.

'M— my lord, there are stories, legends, tales about this Arrow ... it may be dangerous, as he says ...' The old man lapsed into a frightened silence.

The King of Nemohaim leaned forward, his thin, acne-scarred face flushed.

'Are you saying that either we or our subjects would be afraid of our greatest national treasure, unearthed after all these years and brought to our hand?'

'No, my lord,' said the adviser, falling into the trap.

'Then as one of my loyal subjects, bring me the Arrow.'

The face of the elderly counsellor whitened, while the alcohol-soaked soldier mopped his brow. Leith had hoped the king would choose the younger man over the older.