The Plains of Kallanash (23 page)

“Everything,” Hurst said. “We’ve no idea what we’ll find if we get down there, so we’ll go prepared for battle. Plus torches, food, the usual stuff.”

“And if we can’t get in?”

“We fall back on the torture option.”

They were in the stable yard preparing to mount up, watched with alarm by a growing crowd of guards, Skirmishers and servants, when the Karninghold Slave came into the yard at a run, followed by a long trail of lesser Slaves and acolytes. The Slave skidded to a halt beside Hurst.

“Yes?” Hurst said icily, turning to face him.

The Slave bowed. “Most High, is there a problem? It is most irregular for you to be taking up arms during this sad month. Are we under attack?”

“You tell me. While you’re at it, you can tell me what you said to my wife to convince her to ride off alone. You can tell me who it was who waited for her, by prior arrangement with you. You can tell me why you sent her off to be
murdered
by that coward. And you can tell me the truth, by the Gods. Are you going to answer me,
Most Humble
? Thought not.”

The Slave’s mouth flapped open and closed, and he was so white-faced, Hurst thought he was going to faint.

“Most High…” he whispered. “What are you going to do?”

Hurst took a step nearer, and was amused to see the man flinch, and cower back. Hurst had the muscular build of a trained Skirmisher, and fully arrayed in mail and armoured leather, with his sword on his back and knives and axe at his belt, he knew he was a formidable sight.

“I’ll tell you what I am going to do,
Most Humble
. I am going to find out what happened to my wife at that field on the north road, and you had better hope that I succeed, because if I don’t, I will be coming to you for answers and I have some very creative ways of ensuring your compliance. Now stand aside.”

The Slave was shaking like a leaf, but he straightened himself and looked Hurst in the eye. “I have to warn you, Most High, that the Gods will look most unfavourably on such irrational behaviour as this. Allowance will be made for your grief, but I must beg you to consider your position! I cannot ignore this.”

Hurst laughed. He hadn’t intended to, but the man was unbelievable. He stepped forward so that his nose practically touched the Slave’s.

“I’ll take my chances with the Gods. And you had my wife killed. I cannot ignore
that
. Stand aside.”

With that, they mounted up and rode in a great cloud of dust out of the yard.

They tethered the horses in a line under the trees. Hemmond was to take care of them while they were inside the tower. While Gantor tried to attach the grappling hook to one of the lower windows, Hurst said to him, “I don’t want any heroics from you, Hemmond. Keep a horse saddled at all times, and if anyone comes, anyone at all, get the Nine Vortices out of here, understood?”

“Understood, Sir. I brought this, thought you might find it useful.” He proffered a small wooden box. Hurst lifted the lid and peered inside.

“Chalks?”

“Thought the tunnels might be confusing, Sir. You can mark your route with these.”

“Oh – very clever!”

“I had a friend once who grew up at the Ring, Sir. Used to play in the old dragon caves in the mountains there as a boy. From time to time a child would just
– disappear. It’s easy to lose your bearings underground.”

“Thank you, Hemmond. Now
– oh, finally!” he said, as a cheer went up from the others. Trimon could be seen swiftly climbing the rope. They watched as he nimbly slithered over the sill and inside, vanishing from view.

“Now, Hemmond,” Hurst continued, “if we manage to get inside and connect up with these tunnels, we’ll want to explore, so we may be gone for some time
– days, perhaps, could be longer. Don’t wait longer than a day. If we’re not back by noon tomorrow, take all the horses back to the Karninghold. Tell everyone we rode almost to the northern boundary following a trail, and then hit swamp so we set off on foot, clear? And if we don’t come back at all…” he paused, feeling the enormity of what he was saying. “If we don’t come back, my father will be here shortly. Tell him everything – everything, mind.”

“I understand, Sir. I thought—” He chewed his lip, but Hurst waved him to continue. “I have a friend, a craftsman, outside the walls, whose wife’s father lives with them. He’s a scholar
– or was, before he retired – so he can read and write. I thought it might be wise to have a written record of events, Sir. In case anything happens to me, Sir.”

Hurst was silent, wondering perhaps for the first time just what he was getting into. It was true that Hemmond would be vulnerable, just for being with them. Hurst had insisted he wore no visible weapons or battle gear, just his usual uniform, in the hope that everyone would think he was no more than a servant following his Karningholder’s orders, but if the Slave got hold of him… A man who could calmly send a pregnant Higher to her death would certainly not hesitate over a lowly stable hand.

“That’s a good idea, Hemmond. So long as he knows to get it to my father.”

Trimon’s head appeared at the window again.

“Can’t open the door,” he called down. “You’ll have to climb.”

“I’ll go next,” said Walst, reaching for the rope.

“No, no, Gantor next. If he can fit through there, we won’t have any bother.”

Gantor climbed more steadily than Trimon, and it took some manoeuvring and a bit of pulling by Trimon for him to squeeze through the window frame. After him, Walst went up, and then some bags of equipment, and finally, with a wave to Hemmond, Hurst.

“Careful!” said Trimon, as he slid feet first through the opening. “No floor.”

He was right. There was only a stone staircase spiralling round the inside of the tower wall. Hurst gingerly set his feet on adjoining steps, and hauled the rope up behind him, coiling it neatly.

They made their way down and down, seeing no sign of a door at all. There was enough light to see their way right to the bottom.

“Tunnel!” said Gantor with satisfaction. And so it was. The stairs from the tower deposited them in an alcove off the main tunnel which led away in two directions. However, their way was barred by closed metal gates.

“Well, that didn’t last long,” said Trimon moodily, rattling them. There was no handle or latch, and the bars were too close together to put a hand through to the other side, but Gantor pointed to an alcove in the wall.

“That looks like a lever to me. Do you think it opens the gate?”

“Or tells someone we’re here,” Trimon said.

“Oh, let’s give it a go,” Hurst said cheerfully. “What have we got to lose?” He slowly heaved the lever upwards. As it moved, the two halves of the gate opened wide.

“There you are,” Hurst said, striding into the tunnel. “That was easy. Gantor, what are these marks on the wall? Do they mean anything to you?”

One side of the tunnel bore a whole series of engraved markings, a little like letters but not in any script Hurst recognised. They all gathered round them, Trimon holding the torch aloft.

Gantor shook his head.

“Mia would know,” Hurst said. “She knew all the different scripts.” He felt a sudden wash of pain as he remembered. Then he reminded himself that Mia was still alive somewhere. He had to believe it, otherwise he suspected he would go insane. Or perhaps he was already insane, and this recklessness was a kind of madness. Perhaps they should go back.

Behind them, the gate creaked and smoothly closed again, with an audible click as it locked itself.

They were trapped in the tunnel.

Mia awoke in a room filled with blue light. She was lying on her back on hard stone, hands folded on her breast, soft silk under her fingers. She knew instantly that she was in the funeral tower, and she was filled with panic. They were going to burn her, but she was alive. She had to get out, to get to a safe place, somewhere out of reach of the blue fires that dawn would bring. She had to save her child. And then, sudden joy – she would, after all, live to hold her child in her arms. She sat up, awkwardly, for every joint ached and she was chilled to the bone. And the first thing she saw was the man who had killed her.

“You!” she cried, trying to rise. A wave of nausea swamped her.

“Take it easy,” he said. “Do not move too quickly.”

“What are you doing here?”

He laughed at that. He was sitting, knees bent up to his chest, ankles crossed, against the wall, wearing the same clothes as before. “Someone has to guide you to the Life Beyond Death.”

“Am I dead? I don’t feel dead.” He laughed again. “Oh, I’m so glad this amuses you. Are you going to explain? How do I get out of here?”

Slowly she pushed herself to her knees, and then, carefully, for it made her dizzy, to her feet. She staggered across to the wall and stood leaning both hands against it to steady herself.

“Here,” he said, holding a flask up to her. “Have a drink
– just a little, mind. Take it slowly. When you feel a bit better we will start waking the others up.”

“The others?”

“They all took the poison, so sweet!”

She looked around and saw her Companions lying on mats around the room. Morsha was flat on her back, arms folded, just as Mia had been, but Mista and Marna were curled up as if sleeping.

“I don’t understand,” she said, expecting him to laugh again, but he didn’t.

“I know,” he said. “It must be difficult to get your head round.” Then he waved a languid arm towards her belly. “How far along are you?”

“What? Five months or thereabouts.”

“Any of the others pregnant?”

“No, I don’t think so. Why, what difference does it make?”

“You will have a bad time, unfortunately. The poison you took is
– incompatible with babies.”

“What? You mean…?”

“I fear so.”

She was hit by a wash of grief, followed by a burst of anger. What was the point of her own survival if her child was lost? What was the point of any of it?

“I don’t understand,” she said again.

And again, irritatingly, he laughed. “I shall explain it all to you later, but just now we have to get a move on. I shall give them the antidote. You need to make sure they drink something and not let them get up too quickly.”

He jumped up in a single fluid movement, and walked swiftly across to Morsha. He pulled a silver ring out of a pocket somewhere, and, kneeling, pressed the ring to her neck. Then he repeated the action with Mista and Marna. By the time he had finished, Morsha was already stirring. One by one the women woke up, and went through the same stages as Mia. She knelt beside each of them, offering sips of water, supporting them when dizziness overcame them, moving backwards and forwards between them, helping them up. When they asked what was happening, she had no answer to give them.

As soon as they were all on their feet, albeit a little wobbly, he said, “Right, we must go. Careful on the stairs, hold onto the rail if you feel dizzy, but keep moving, all right? No time to linger.”

They followed him to one end of the room, but Mia hesitated. Hurst would be out there, perhaps, standing on the balcony in the dark, keeping vigil for her. He would be watching for her. Had they passed in front of the windows? She wasn’t sure, but she was very close to one now. She moved closer, but when she looked through it she knew at once that it was the wrong side, for there was no sign of the Karninghold, just emptiness lit by the moon.

“Come, we have to go,” he was calling now. Was that a touch of panic in his voice? Cristo, that was his name, she remembered. It must be close to dawn, then, close to the time when the gong would sound and the flames would leap up and engulf anyone left behind.

Instantly she darted across to the opposite window. Yes! There was the solid shape of the Karninghold, flags straining on the towers, and low down a row of dim lamps marked what must be the balcony where Hurst would be standing. She moved directly in front of the nearest blue lamp so that she would be silhouetted, and raising her arm, she waved.

“What are you doing?” he hissed behind her, and roughly grabbed her arm. “Come away from there! We must go, now!”

Calmly, she went. The stairs were broad and straight, descending with rectangular precision backwards and forwards across the tower – stairs, half landing, turn, stairs, half landing, turn. The blue light was left behind, but the moon was near full so at first they could see clearly. But as they continued to descend, there were no more windows and the gloom was greater with each step. Before long they were feeling their way down, clinging to the thick ropes looping along the wall and placing each foot with nervous care. Eventually they stopped.

Cristo pushed his way past them, and Mia heard clunks and metallic rattling sounds.

“Through here,” he said, and they all trooped obediently through a gate and down a short tunnel with the friendly yellow light of torches at the far end.

“Wait here, I have something else to do first, then I will be back.” He turned back towards the funeral tower and the gate clanged shut, leaving them standing there.

It seemed an age that they waited, Mista and Marna crying softly, Morsha grim-faced. Mia looked about her, but there was nothing much to see. They were standing in a broad tunnel lined with stone, round above, and flat underfoot. There were no other doors, and nothing else visible apart from the torch on the wall.

“Where is he taking us?” Morsha said, her voice echoing. She sounded quite calm, almost interested.

“I don’t know,” said Mia, “but at least we’re alive, that’s something.”

“Do you think this happens to everyone? Or is it just us? And why?”

But Mia had no answers.

They waited for a long time, and Mia began to wonder if Cristo had abandoned them. But then there came a sound, very distant, like the boom of an avalanche heard from far away, reverberating through the stone walls of the tower.

“The gong!” said Morsha, at once. Almost immediately there was a louder noise, much closer, like a rushing wind. “The fire,” she added, smiling. “We’re dead and burned now.”

Soon after that the door opened and Cristo emerged. He closed the door firmly behind him, and lifted the torch from its sconce.

“Good, good,” he said, beaming at them, “you have done very well so far. Keep this up and I will not have to shackle you. Come on, this way.”

“Where are you taking us?” Morsha said, but he just laughed.

He led them on down the tunnel, but they hadn’t gone far when they came to a door set in the wall. Cristo opened it, and led them inside. Arrayed on benches were rough tunics, trousers and boots, similar to Cristo’s own.

“Charming as your death robes are, they are not very practical for our journey. I have done the best I can, but I have never had to do women before, so forgive me if I have got things wrong. And for you
–” He turned to Mia, and his voice softened. “You will need these.” He opened a wooden cupboard, and showed her a shelf of women’s cloths.

Mia felt the prickle of tears, but she nodded.

“I shall wait outside while you change,” Cristo said. “Be quick about it, we have a way to go.”

He left, pulling the door to behind him.

“The baby?” Morsha said, and Mia nodded miserably.

“It’s whatever he gave me to make me seem dead. It
– it kills the baby.”

Marna came and put her arms round Mia, and held her tight for a long time. When she finally let go, Mia realised they were all crying. They knew, better than anyone, how much she had longed for this baby, her joy when she found she was pregnant at last, her happy anticipation. That was gone. Everything was gone, she realised, everything she knew and loved, her whole life, and she had no idea what was to replace it.

She took a deep breath. “Let’s get into some sensible clothes, shall we?”

They walked for hours, following Cristo and the flickering torch. There were metal gates from time to time, but Cristo opened them and they passed through. Apart from that it was just the endless unchanging tunnels.

Long before they stopped for their first meal Mia began to get pains. Worse than that, she started to feel disoriented, as if she was in a dream, or not quite inside her own body. Twice she bumped into the tunnel wall, when she was sure she was nowhere near it, and once she fell over. She was aware that Morsha, Mista and Marna were guiding her, and then supporting her, but she could do nothing about it. She drifted in mind, only half conscious, coming to occasionally to hear whispered voices or faces peering at her. Sometimes she was lying down while they propped her head up to eat or drink. Once she was aware of Morsha changing her cloths, vivid with blood. Then she was lying in some kind of cart rumbling down the tunnel, hearing a voice muttering nonsense and realising that it was her own. Lights flickered and danced, sometimes yellow, sometimes blue, once an eerie green. She was trapped in an unending nightmare of blood and pain and delirium and the eternal tunnels.

~~~

She woke feeling thirsty. She was in bed, with a lumpy pillow under her head, prickly wool blankets covering her. She was warm, she realised. The room was lit by a brazier in one corner, emitting a strange aroma – herby, not unpleasant. There were no windows, and the walls were the same grey stone as the tunnels. Was she still in the tunnels, then? As she turned her head to look around, a strange face appeared.

“Ah, you’re back with us then.”

The woman was elderly, wrinkled as a spring apple, and she wore a floor-length gown with a rough sacking apron over it. Oddly, her hair was uncovered and it was short. Mia had never seen a woman with short hair before.

“Here, have a drink.” She held a clay beaker to Mia’s lips and helped her to drink. It was only water, but wonderfully cool and refreshing.

“Thank you,” she croaked. Her throat was sore, and her lips dry and cracked, but she felt better than she had since they had entered the tunnel. There was no pain, and her bad spirit was gone.

“Who are you?” she asked the old woman.

“I’m Runa,” she said, grinning, so that Mia could see how few teeth she had left.

“Are you
– a healer?” Mia asked, not sure what the proper terminology was. Usually healers were Slaves, but some villages had their own healers. “Or a midwife?” she added.

Runa cackled. “No call for midwives here, dear. There are bone-setters upstairs, but you didn’t need nothing like that, just time and rest. You want the carsi?”

“The what?”

“You want to piss?”

“Oh, the water room. Yes, please.”

Runa cackled mightily at this terminology, and when she had helped Mia into the adjoining room she saw why. The ‘water room’ was no more than a seat with a hole in it above a small stream. Runa gave her some fresh cloths, but she saw that the bleeding had almost stopped.

“How long have I been – ill?” she asked, when she went back into the main room.

“More than a week, less than two,” Runa said, lifting her hands vaguely. “I’ve been looking after you for a couple of days now. You’ll be weak for a while, so Bulraney’s not going to do anything with you for a bit. Now you get back into bed, dear. Supper’ll be here in a little while, I’ll wake you up for that.”

Mia’s couldn’t make sense of any of this. No midwives? Bulraney? Not going to do anything with her for a bit – what did that mean? What did any of it mean? Where was she? Where were Morsha, Mista and Marna? It was too difficult to think about. Her head felt like thistledown and her legs were wobbly, so she crawled back into bed and slept.

For two days she slept a lot and ate solid, meaty stews three times a day, with some kind of inedible bread, and drank cool clear water. Once Runa brought her a bowl of raspberries, small and tart, but fresh. Sometimes there was a kind of gruel, grey and glutinous. She ate everything.

Runa was not very communicative. When Mia asked questions, she usually just shrugged or laughed or flapped her hands about. She spent most of her time in another room next door, and sometimes Mia could hear her talking to herself, a low rumble too distant to make out any words.

On the third day, Runa said, “You’re to go upstairs to see Bulraney.”

“Who’s Bulraney?”

She cackled. “You’ll see.”

“What is this place, Runa?”

Runa eyed her oddly, then said, “Third Section. Let’s go.”

She led Mia out of the room and into another, larger one, filled with worktables laid out with clothes. Heaps of materials, more clothes, perhaps, were stacked on shelves along one wall. The scattering of needles, pins, scissors and thread gave away the room’s function.

“So this is where you go to when you’re not with me,” Mia said. “You’re a seamstress.”