In the Earth Abides the Flame (9 page)

Behind the Iron Door a great, high-ceilinged hall opened out before them, the famous Outer Chamber of the Hall of Meeting. The grandest and most expensive structure in Instruere, the intricately decorated walls of the Outer Chamber stretched away from the Company into the hazy distance, seeming to the apprehensive travellers like nothing so much as a huge ribbed gullet, swallowing them into the bloated stomach of the Council. Wide marble floors, inlaid with patterned tiles depicting scenes from the Vale of the First Men, led the eye to fluted columns and cream stone walls - the stone having been transported over five hundred miles from grim quarries at the northern extremity of the Remparer Mountains - and a high-vaulted roof. Up to this roof the eye was drawn, as indeed had been the plan of the great architects, a roof seemingly supported by two rows of statues depicting some great conflict.

Furoman followed their eyes, noted the expressions on their faces, and was satisfied: this place never failed to generate awe in those who first saw it, and proved an invaluable weapon in the hands of the Council, serving to cow appellants who might otherwise have given them trouble.

'The statues tell the story of the dealings of the Most High with the First Men,' he said. 'Not that provincials such as yourselves would be expected to know that venerable tale.' The jibe was obviously designed to intimidate but, despite knowing this, the members of the Company found that in the presence of such magnificence they could not respond.

Leith found himself transfixed by the enormous wall-carvings stretching between floor and ceiling, and could make out elements of the story Kurr had told them on the road to Breidhan Moor.

That dark shape must be grey-cloaked Kannwar, the Destroyer, kneeling with arms outstretched, about to take the Water of the Fountain in disobedience to the ban of the Most High. That faceless figure with the arrow nocked to the bow, marble feathers resting against cold cheek, was surely the Most High. The arrow was aimed at the outstretched arm of the Destroyer. The sculptor had managed to capture and communicate the sense of drama: the two figures on the brink of conflict, about to make eye contact; the water about to be drunk, the arrow about to be released, the doom about to be pronounced, the world about to be changed forever. Around them other carved figures watched the confrontation, the battle within their own hearts personified in this clash of good and evil, and they tried to choose which they preferred.

What do I choose? Leith asked himself. The continued powerless-ness of unquestioned obedience, or to take control by dipping my own hand into the fountain?

'Come on, Leith,' Hal whispered, tugging at Leith's sleeve. 'The Council awaits us.'

Through a wood-panelled door at the end of the hall they entered a deep but narrow room, the Inner Chamber of the Hall of Meeting, almost filled with a long table and chairs stretching from end to end. There were no other furnishings or adornments in the room, nothing but plain walls and a white ceiling. Near the centre of the table sat the sixteen members of the Council of Faltha. While the Company was still some distance away their friend Saraskar stood, then came over to them. He introduced himself to each member of the Company, repeating their names to himself as they spoke them; then led them to the others at the table.

The overwhelming tension in the room began to affect Leith even before he sat down, and he began to shake with fear. Not fear of the Councillors themselves, or not exactly; he was more afraid of the situation they found themselves in, of the uncertainty, afraid that he might do or say something to damn Faltha - or, more elementally, damn himself. The doom was about to be pronounced, the world was about to be changed forever. He sat on his hands, but his whole body shook so much he was sure the others would notice it. No one said anything: they were involved in their own struggles.

For it was not only a unique afternoon for the northerners. In calling the meeting Saraskar had been obliged to give an outline of the Company's request; and, though he had couched it in the vaguest terms possible, he knew that it had, as had been inevitable, warned the traitors that the game was up. He had seen the looks on their faces. In that sense the meeting itself was unnecessary, for Saraskar now had his confirmation. The words of the northerners were true

- in essence, if not in detail. Faltha had been betrayed.

He had been granted so little time to prepare. One short night, a night on which even he could not break curfew without good reason, a night during which he was closely watched. No chance to meet with the loyalists - he already thought of them in those terms - who lived in various unattainable parts of the city. Time only to talk frankly with his frightened family and his servants; to solemnly tell them that they were in the gravest danger, from which there may be no escape. To flee the betrayed city would remove the last defence Instruere had against the stratagems of Bhrudwo. His wife bit her lip, held him close and reassured him that she would do whatever was necessary. His girls cried. His servants made certain discreet preparations against his failure to persuade the Council, in the event the evil had gone further than the northern Trader asserted.

Saraskar used the time as well as he could, but not well enough. The Council had convened early that morning (just after sunrise, in fact), in order to make some impression on the stream of appellants congesting the corridor of the Hall of Meeting. He had no opportunity to talk to the Arkhoi he knew to be loyal, other than the exchange of a few whispered comments; learning that they, like him, had no firm plan, and no chance to make one. On and on the day wore, the Council dealing swiftly with appellants under the firm hand of the Arkhos of Nemohaim, their leader. One of the traitors, Saraskar reminded himself. And the Arkhos of Nemohaim kept them busy as though to deny them any opportunity to discuss the coming meeting.

The northerners knew nothing of this. Some of the great men of the world were gathered in this room, about to judge their case. Leith flicked a glance in the direction of the Arkhos of Sarista, and in a moment of clarity read the fear on his face. His hopes sank. If this wise man feared the outcome, what hope did they have? What was likely to be their reward for accusing these powerful men of treachery? In a wild moment he hoped his father was wrong, had made it all up, that the benevolent caretakers of Faltha would forgive them their impudence and let them go.

To his left sat Hal. Behind him stood the Bhrudwan warrior, compelled to the Council under the close eye of Farr and Perdu, his hands still bound. Hal had effected some sort of change in the stern man, but the Company was by no means ready to risk freeing him from his bonds, so he stood there, a barely controlled explosion just waiting for a spark. Surely here was evidence no Council could ignore. Surely truth would win, just as Hal argued it would. Please, please, please, Leith thought, willing it to happen; please, please, phase ...

The meeting went wrong from the start. In spite of the importance of the moment - or perhaps because of it - the hard faces staring at them from across the table daunted most of the Company, who were reduced to staring at their laps. The Haufuth found it particularly difficult, as he had been in the city barely three days, and had not yet encountered the grimness characteristic of the Instruians. Phemanderac found his scholarly arguments of no use, as they were invariably interrupted long before the point he so carefully tried to formulate emerged from its logical construction. Farr and Perdu were content to leave the talking to the others. Indrett and Stella, being women, were tolerated in the Council only if they did not speak. Thus within minutes Mahnum and Kurr became the effective spokesmen for the group, and found themselves questioned sharply by several of the ambassadors. Then Leith accidentally knocked over a carafe of water, and the Arkhos of Tabul was forced to stop in the middle of an elaborate dissertation on the ability to discern Bhrudwan troop movements, having to mop up the spillage with his own handkerchief.

The Council Members insisted on questioning the Bhrudwan themselves. One after another they fired questions at him, but the Acolyte simply refused to answer them. He doesn't understand the common tongue, Leith shouted at them in his mind. We told you that! Of course he can't answer! When Hal attempted to answer for the Bhrudwan warrior, the questioner bade him keep silent. Hal tried to encourage them to approach him differently, without confronting him so blatantly. The Council would have none of it. Even Saraskar seemed to be losing patience.

A tremendously fat man, larger even than the Haufuth had been last winter, pulled himself to his feet by gripping the table, and began speaking with the Bhrudwan in another language.

The warrior obviously understood, for he began to answer in the same tongue. The fat Councillor translated the questions and the answers: is an army planning to invade Faltha?

No, Great Lord, there is no army. What are you doing in Faltha? I have travelled to this backward land to pursue a man who stole my master's fortune. Is that man in this room?

Yes, Great Lord. He sits opposite you. To whom do you owe your allegiance? To Vartal, my Trader master. As one the members of the Company sprang to their feet to protest, but they were ordered to sit down. Leith felt as though he and his friends sat locked inside a cage.

'You are not telling us what the Bhrudwan is actually saying,' Kurr complained to the fat Councillor once the charade finished.

'Are you questioning my honour?' came his sharp reply.

'Of course we are,' the old farmer replied frankly. 'We're questioning the honour of the Council of Faltha. That's why we're here.'

'Do you believe his report?' Mahnum asked directly, addressing his question to the Council at large. 'Surely even the appearance of a Bhrudwan warrior in Faltha speaks of danger?'

'I believe it,' the fat Councillor said flatly. 'For some reason of your own, perhaps to gain advantage in the exchange of goods, you bribed or coerced a Bhrudwan citizen to impugn the good name of the Council of Faltha. You are a Trader, are you not?'

'But his presence here?' Mahnum pressed.

'Is not unusual,' the fat man insisted. 'Many Bhrudwans travel through Faltha every year, on their way to the slave markets of Ghadir Massab.'

'Traders, not warriors.'

'Are you the expert on the affairs of southern Faltha, northerner? Perhaps you would care to explain to us how these Bhrudwan traders protect their cargo against desert thieves? Do they perhaps use warriors?' The fat Councillor's cruel voice cut at Mahnum, who had no reply.

'Where did you learn to speak Bhrudwan?' Saraskar asked the fat man.

'It was deemed necessary for someone on the Council to study the devices of the enemy,' said the Arkhos.

'But if Bhrudwo is no threat, why study them?' Kurr shot out.

'Simple prudence,' the fat man replied, but the answer was patently false.

This is not how it should be happening! thought Leith. The Council should be listening sympathetically, and offering us aid — or taking this burden from us, and rushing out to organise their defences against the invasion to come! What has gone wrong?

Finally the Arkhos of Treika leaned forwards and asked the question everybody was expecting. 'Trader, you say you were given the names of various traitors within Faltha. Now, answer me carefully. Are there any such here in this room?'

Mahnum seemed undaunted by their treatment. 'Yes, there are,' he replied simply. Indrett's pride in her husband shone from her face.

'Then you have a responsibility to name them, so that we may judge the reliability - or otherwise - of your story.'

So be it. They might as well be ordering our executions.

Gently he spoke. 'There are seven traitors among the sixteen members of the Council of Faltha. They are the Arkhoi of Firanes, of Treika, of Favony, of Tabul, of Straux, of Nemohaim, and of Vertensia.' He deliberately looked each man in the eye as he spoke their names. Two of their number would not respond to his gaze, while the others stared at him with a contempt bordering on hatred.

The room settled to complete stillness as all waited for the Trader to continue.

'I have told no one the details - how the treachery was committed, who was involved, how deep it all runs - not even my companions. I will now relate the acts of betrayal these men engaged in, as told to me on Andratan; acts that can be verified should anyone wish to do so.'

Mahnum spoke quickly, determined to say as much as possible before he was silenced. 'The Arkhos of Firanes conspired with Wisula, now Regent, to murder the rightful king and usurp the succession. This was done on the suggestion of the Redana'an ambassador to the court at Rammr, a man who is in fact a Bhrudwan agent. That the Arkhos of Firanes and the Firanese Regent are both puppets of Bhrudwo can be confirmed by a number of the courtiers, who now live in fear.' How raw the words are, Mahnum thought, how roughly shaped; almost impossible to swallow, let alone digest.

The Arkhos of Firanes, supposedly a servant of Loulea, and of all other Firanese villages, Mahnum reminded himself, openly sneered at his words. This is wrong, the Trader thought worriedly. If only seven of the sixteen Councillors are traitors, why are they not fearful of their lives now their treachery is exposed?

'The Arkhos of Treika authorised the shipment of Bhrudwan armaments to Instruere, to be used in an insurrection planned to coincide with the coming invasion.' A hissing sound came from the aristocratic figure opposite Stella. 'These weapons can be found in a private house he rents near Struere Gate.'

'That's not true!' the Treikan ambassador cried. 'He lies!'

'You told us those weapons were for the Instruian Guard, bought honestly in the markets of Tabul,' Saraskar said quietly.

'They are, they are!' insisted the Arkhos of Treika.

'Then how did a man from Firanes learn of them?'

Mahnum continued relentlessly, as though reciting something burned into his mind. 'The King of Tabul has placed an interdiction on the export of gold from the mines of Ghellol. This has angered the ruler of Vertensia, whose country depends on the revenue from gold exports through Jardin, the only deep-water port on the Southern Shores. The Arkhos of Tabul and the Arkhos of Vertensia have conspired together to circumvent that ban. When not in Instruere, they use Bhrudwan silver - which is not banned in Tabul, being as close to the markets of Ghadir Massab as it is - to bribe the Ghellol miners, and a steady supply of gold makes its way south across The Mamon to Vertensia. The Vertensian king uses this gold to build an army, which he will use to annex Tabul. Apparently the Arkhos of Tabul does not know this part of the arrangement.'