The Second God (30 page)

“Go ahead,”
said a voice in my head.

“Ly? You don’t mind?”

His amusement was very clear.
“No. I am in bed too, so this is a good time. I am here, and also with you. Enjoy yourselves.”

So we did, but it was very odd, all the same.

~~~~~

The morning dawned damp and miserable, so that the crawl through the heather to the watch post was even less pleasant than usual. And to no purpose, for there was nothing at all to look at, besides the blackened remains of the wagons abandoned before the gates, and the soldiers marching back and forth, back and forth endlessly on the wall above.

“Ly? Tell Yannassia that I’m going in for a closer look at the wagons. I may be able to tell…”
I swallowed, and took a calming breath.
“If I can see bones, then there may be nothing left for us to do here.”

“I will tell her. She is right here.”
A long pause.
“She is not happy about it, but she trusts your judgement.”

Arran and I crawled back to the camp, tucked away in its hollow. Flenn was there, having arrived in the middle of the night. The eagles were already there, too, waiting for us, Sunshine clicking her beak excitedly, Kalmander as amused as ever.

“What do you find so funny, eagle?” I said to him, but he just bobbed his head about. I swear he was laughing at me.

The three of us mounted our eagles, and circled round behind the hills at low altitude so that we could approach from the north, along the river. No point drawing attention to the camp’s location. Then we glided in to land on the wide paved road between the ford and the gates. On either side, the tall plains grasses with their great plumes towered over our heads. Not a hundred paces away, one of Ly’s lions crouched, hidden by the high grass, an invisible protector for us. Only we knew he was there.

About halfway between river and wall was a wide area of flattened grass where the roads leading north and south met and crossed those heading east and west. This was where arriving wagons would wait for the gates to open for the market, and where they would congregate afterwards to collect their armed guards for the journey home. At those times, this would be a bustling place, with horses tethered under the few shade trees, pots of brew steeping on small fires and a great deal of gossip and gambling and discussion of wool prices. Now it was deserted, with only the charred skeletons of eight wagons to one side.

We sent the eagles across the river to wait, out of range of arrows from the wall, and walked up to the wagons. Three of them were burned to ash, with only a few fire-blackened metal parts remaining. But the rest were more intact, and with a bit of poking and prodding on one of them, we could see into the secret compartment where our spies would have hidden. I left the two men to investigate the inside, not sure I could stomach finding anything gruesome.

“Nothing in that one,” Arran said after a while. “We’d better look at them all.”

They began a methodical check, prising apart boards and peering into the dark spaces. Even damaged by fire, though, the Gurshmonta wagons were solid and took some dismantling, so the morning was wearing away before they reached the final wagon. I was getting jumpy by this time. It’s one thing to know that I was protected from arrows or stones or swords, and quite another to stand within bow range of the walls for hours. Yet the inhabitants gave no sign that they’d even noticed us. Above us on the walls, the golden helmets moved back and forth at a measured pace. Somewhere in the distance, chimes marked the passing hours. And the gates remained firmly closed.

“Well, that is the last one. As far as we can tell, no one was in any of these,” Arran said.

“That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

“Possibly. We are no nearer knowing whether they are still alive, though.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” I said. “Let’s knock on the door and ask.”

“Drina, I do not think—”

“Look,” Flenn said, grabbing my sleeve and pointing. “There!”

I followed his finger, found the gate – and it was opening. Not the massive main gate, but a smaller, human-sized one cut into it. A figure stepped through and the gate closed again.

“Now what?” muttered Arran.

He was a nondescript man of average height, wearing the sort of gear that an expensive guard-for-hire might choose – comfortable trousers and tunic in practical brown, with well-fitted armoured leather on top and quality boots, although he carried no visible weapons. His hair was long but neatly trimmed. Probably he was the wrong side of fifty, but still in good condition. A guards’ commander, at a guess.

“Who do you think he is?”
Arran thought.

“We’ll find out. Ly? Are you watching this?”

“Yes. I have two more lions within range, and a group of moa, if you need them.”

“He looks harmless,”
I thought, but the worry in Ly’s mind was palpable.

The man in brown smiled as he approached. I’d had years of experience of reading people’s expressions and movements, and I saw nothing threatening in him.

“Good morning to you,” he said, with a bow, hand on chest. “May I be of service in any way?” Presumably he spoke his own language, but I had no trouble with the meaning. It was useful to be able to understand everything that was said in a foreign language.

“Greetings,” I said. “We are Bennamorians, come to discover why our compatriots’ wagons were destroyed, and what happened to them.”

Flenn translated, struggling a little with some words, but the man in brown nodded in comprehension. “The wagons were permitted access to our marketplace to conduct their business, but they abused our hospitality by concealing traitors inside, with the intention of smuggling them out of the town.”

“Traitors?” I said, and again Flenn struggled to find the word.

The man in brown smiled more broadly. “So we call those who would betray our secrets to outsiders.”

I wondered what secrets they had that they were so anxious to conceal, but it wasn’t something I could ask about. “If any Bennamorian has broken your laws, I am sorry for it. But I would hope you would be generous towards guests within your walls, who may not be aware of all the complexities of your laws.”

Flenn threw me a despairing glance, but he manfully attempted to translate.

The man in brown spread his hands wide in acknowledgement. “Indeed we are. That is why we have not yet executed them for their crimes.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” I said, and that was certainly true. If they were alive, we might yet salvage something from the situation. “I should like to know more of these crimes, and perhaps discuss how Bennamore might compensate you for any losses incurred. Are you the proper person for us to deal with?”

When Flenn translated this, the man in brown frowned. “I am not sure I understand the question.”

“Do you speak for the authorities here? Do you have the power to negotiate with us?”

He chuckled. “I speak for the authorities, yes.”

“Then perhaps we may know your name and rank? I am Axandrina, the Bai-Drashonor – heir – to the Drashona, the ruler of Bennamore. I have the authority to negotiate on her behalf. This is Arran, and this is Flenn.”

“I am Trimon. I hold a position in the household of the Sublime Dragon God of the Winds. Arran and Flenn – they are your bodyguards?”

“Arran is my drusse – like a husband. Flenn…” I thought quickly. Best not reveal that Flenn was a mage. “Flenn is our interpreter.”

“You’re brave, Most High Axandrina, to come here alone and defenceless, without an army to give force to your words. Or perhaps your queen is foolish to send you.”

I had to smile at the idea that I was defenceless. “Perhaps. But my only wish is to talk to you, Lord Trimon, and I don’t believe that you would attack an unarmed woman, who is no threat to you. Was I wrong in that belief?”

“No threat? Yet our trading caravans have been frequently attacked by lions and eagles and other strange creatures, all controlled by men, and now you yourselves arrive on the backs of eagles, just like them. That is a little suspicious, don’t you think?” The smile never wavered but the tone in his voice was suddenly cold.

“When whole towns are taken over by hostile forces, it’s not too surprising that their friends rally round to help them.”

“Since when was Bennamore a friend to Greenstone Ford?” he said.

“Greenstone Ford is – or was – independent, and no concern of ours. The same with Rinnfarr Gap. But Dellonar – that is a different matter. We have treaties and accords and pacts and a whole host of arrangements with them, going back hundreds of years. The Port Holdings are very much our concern.”

Flenn shot me an apologetic glance. “I… got a bit lost there. Can you start again?”

“No matter,” Trimon said. “I understand you well enough. I picked up some of the language in Dellonar, and you sound much the same.”

“All the coastal towns speak Bennamorian,” I said. “We were one country once.”

“But not any more.”

“No. They wished to be independent, and we allowed it. Everyone should have the right to manage their own affairs, don’t you agree?”

He grinned at me, and somehow that wide smile was more malevolent than the coldness. “And now you are
friends
. How nice for you. And the Vahsi, are they your friends too? A whole command of the Silent Guard was lost to their horsemen on the eastern road.”

That was news to me. “The Vahsi do as they please. Do you wish to discuss plains politics and history, Lord Trimon, or may we talk about our people that you hold? We’d like to have them back, if we can come to terms.”

“Terms.” He licked his lips, and the smile wavered a little. “Yes, terms. My terms are these, Most High Axandrina.” He paused, and I was amused to realise that he’d had no instructions on this. Perhaps our wish to negotiate at all was a surprise to the authorities inside the walls, and he’d been sent out to us expecting nothing more than a little verbal sparring. Now he had to work out what his masters would want from us.

He smiled again, and the head came up. “These are my terms. We want no more attacks by these animals. It’s annoying to run out of decent wine and spices. We will keep your people as surety. If you attack us again, we will kill them. Understand?”

Something about his words niggled at my mind, but I couldn’t work out what it was. “I understand you, but I cannot agree. The Drashona will never permit her policy to be dictated by such an arrangement.”

His face reddened. “You dare to—! Arrogant fucking woman! ‘I cannot agree’,” he said in a poor imitation of my voice. “’The Drashona will never permit’ – ha! I think she will, if pushed, and by the Nine, I’ll push her until she screams for mercy.”

His anger had moved him forwards, so that he was no more than a couple of paces from me, and close enough that his spittle hit my face. I should have stepped back, of course, and Ly and Arran were both yelling mentally for me to do just that, but somehow I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, in case he thought it was a sign of fear. I truly wasn’t afraid, come to that, for what harm could he do me?

But he calmed himself, unclenched his fists, and even managed a half-apologetic smile. “But I forget my manners. Will you come inside, so that we can discuss this properly?”

“I think not,” I said coolly. “I’m not sure there’s much left to discuss. I believe —”

He moved very fast, pulling a knife from some hiding place – a sleeve, probably – and in a heartbeat his arm was around me, gripping me tight, the blade at my throat. “Now, my fine lady,” he hissed in my ear. “Now we see what your so-proud queen will permit.”

Arran had drawn his sword, and was circling round us. “Where do you want me to stick this?” he said, his tone so casual that I almost laughed. Flenn was following Arran round, pacing his steps so that Trimon and I were in the middle. His hands were raised slightly, ready to shoot fire at Trimon, if needed, although he looked nervous. He was more accustomed to using his magic for healing or improving crops than fighting.

I wondered why the guards on the wall hadn’t joined in with an arrow or two. Perhaps they were worried about hitting Trimon, or perhaps they, too, had been given no orders and awaited a call for aid from Trimon.

But no, even as I had the thought, an arrow pinged off Arran. He swayed, momentarily blinded as the defensive shell popped into place, then ran across to Flenn, standing in front of him to shield him.

“So chivalrous, to protect the interpreter and not the lady,” Trimon murmured.

That time I really did laugh. “The lady doesn’t need protecting, not when she has lions at her command.”

They were at Ly’s command, as it happened, but there was no need to explain the details. They came bursting out of the rustling grasses at full stretch, three of them, teeth bared, their roars shaking the trees. Memories of Sho-heest’s lion came tumbling back unbidden, and I screamed as loudly as Trimon, even though I knew Ly would never allow them to harm me.

A few arrows whipped past, but there’s a thick hide on a plains lion, even a natural one. And these were far from natural. Their blood magic bonding almost doubled their size, and their heads towered over even the tallest man, and Trimon wasn’t tall, or brave either. He screamed and screamed again, backing away frantically, still keeping me in front of him. The knife jerked and he released me, pushing me hard in the small of my back so that I fell forward right into the lions’ path.

They leapt over me, and the screams stopped suddenly. For an instant, as I scrambled to my feet, I thought it was over. The lions must surely have reached Trimon, and that was the end of it.

Then something hit me in the back, knocking me flat, with a great howling noise. My helmet was torn from my head, and wind whipped my hair wildly in all directions. I stayed low, but the storm buffeted me about, rolling me over, then pushing me a different way. I bumped into something solid with an “Oof!” of surprise.

But I knew how to deal with this unnatural wind. I focused my mind, searching for the magic in it. It was dispersed, and hard to find at first, but it was there. And then I reached out and took it all.

Stillness, then a rattling as gravel and dried leaves settled back to earth. Arran was still strong in my mind, unhurt. Before I even had time to roll to my feet, a shadow passed above us blotting out the sun. That thread of amusement couldn’t be anyone but Kalmander. Even chaos and mayhem entertained him, it seemed.

Giant claws wrapped themselves around me, and I was lifted up and away. To my right, Arran was encased in a matching set of claws, his mind shrieking with glee. Below us, as we flew low over the burned wagons, the lions shook their great heads, temporarily blinded by the storm’s dust, and crept towards the grass to hide. Ahead, Flenn was racing towards the river, but we swept on and up, across the sluggish brown water and the algae-coated stones that gave the ford its name, as the black eagle carried us into the hills.

“Are we leaving Flenn to swim for it?”

“Ly is sending his eagle for him to fly back. Kalmander cannot carry him in case he hurts him.”

“What about Trimon?”

“Not sure…”
There was a long pause.
“Kalmander says he made it back to the gate. Unfortunately. He tried to slit your throat! But he will be a little more cautious about seemingly harmless visitors in future.”

As we should be, too. I’d misjudged Trimon badly, thinking him some middle-ranking guard of no importance. But he was no mere guard. Now I realised what had bothered me in his talk –
‘these are my terms’
, he had said. His terms, his golden army, his windstorm.

We had been playing our dangerous game of words with the Sublime Dragon God of the Winds himself.