The Second God (31 page)

Late in the afternoon, the guard on watch duty at the seeing tube sent word back to the camp. There was activity outside the gates of Greenstone Ford.

“What kind of activity?” Arran said sharply. We were all a little short-tempered after the morning’s near-disaster, and had been lectured for hours by Yannassia, through a weary Ly, as if it hadn’t been her own idea to try to talk to these people. I was full of magic, too, and that was making all three of us twitchy, although much less than before the blood-bonding. Somehow Ly’s blood reduced the adverse effects of magic.

I put a hand on Arran’s arm to calm him. “Tell us what you saw,” I said to the guard who’d run down with the news.

He licked his lips, throwing Arran a nervous glance. “Two men emerged from the small door and went to the wagons—”

“What sort of men?” Arran said. “Guards? Golden soldiers? Bakers? We need proper information, not half-hearted ramblings.”

“He’ll get to that. Don’t rush him.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly, and turned to the guard. “Forgive me. We have had a trying time. Please continue.”

“Two men – ordinary clothes, brown, like farmers. Went to the wagons. The burnt out ones. Nailed a paper of some sort to one of them. Looked straight up at us. Pointed to the paper. Went away again.”

“So they know about the watch point,” Arran whispered, his mind shocked.

“Not a total surprise,” I said. “They have enough men on the walls every hour of sunlight, and they must have seeing tubes of their own. It’s tricky with this many people here to stay hidden at all times. Eagles flying in and out, too. It wouldn’t be hard to work it out. But I wonder what this paper is about? It’s obviously for us.”

“There is no need to retrieve it,” Arran said. “We have done the best we can, and were lucky to escape with our lives. It could easily be a trap.”

“It could be. It could also be a reasonable offer to negotiate, now that this Dragon God knows he can’t force us to bend to his will.”

Ly’s voice was in my head.
“Yannassia thinks you should come back to Kingswell. She believes it to be a trap.”

“Exactly!” Arran said.

“Then we’ll let them think we haven’t been fooled,” I said crisply. “We will break the camp and abandon the watch post. Then, three nights from now, we will come back and take the paper.”

“It is almost darkmoon,” Arran said.

“Lions have excellent night vision,” I said. “With a lion as my guide, it will be easy.”

“No, Drina, no. It is a good idea, but let me go.”

I shook my head. “It has to be me, in case the wind man blows up a storm again. I’m the only one who can deal with that.”

He was silenced, and although Yannassia wanted every detail explained in exhaustive detail, in the end that was exactly what we did. The camp was dismantled the following sun, and the sun after that the guards left with the mules, beginning the slow journey back to Bennamore. There was no longer any need for concealment, so they took the shortest route down to the road, well aware that they were visible from the walls of the town. We wanted them to know we were leaving.

Arran, Flenn and I flew off in the same direction, but after a couple of hours, we doubled back to come round to a different part of the hills, further up river, where we made a basic camp. Arran had learned a surprising amount from Ly, and he astonished Flenn by disappearing for half an hour and returning laden with food. Then he cooked on the open fire, just as Ly did, although he didn’t quite have Ly’s skill with herbs.

I’d thought the lion riders might join us, but they were camped some distance away on the other side of the river. There were few safe river crossings, so they stayed on the town side, where they would be needed. Each night Ly sent one of the lions padding silently past the gates to check that the paper was still in place, and to see if anyone noticed his presence, but no one did. We were lucky with the weather, for rain would probably have destroyed the paper, or at least washed the ink from it.

On the third night, I set out to retrieve it. Sunshine was not happy flying at night, so Kalmander agreed to take me in. He felt very different from Sunshine, not just bigger, and a struggle for me to clamber onto, but a stronger personality. It reminded me of meetings I’d been at where everyone was relaxed and informal, making jokes, and then Yannassia walked in. Even though she said nothing and her manner was perfectly natural, not formal at all, she still had some ineffable quality that affected everyone around her. Presence, perhaps. And Kalmander seemed to me to have that same quality, however fanciful the idea.

At first, I directed him the same way as Sunshine, with mental images and the desire to go this way or that, faster or slower. But after a while, there was a voice in my head with the familiar ripple of amusement.

“You could just tell me where you want me to go. Much easier.”

“Kalmander?”
He didn’t answer but his amusement deepened.
“You’re an unusual bird. Who are you, really?”

“I am Kalmander,”
he said loftily. I waited, but he said nothing more, so I supposed that was all the answer I was going to get. And perhaps it was as good an answer as any.

We glided down to a spot near the river, where we would be hidden by the long grasses as soon as we landed, although a bird of Kalmander’s size was hard to hide. We just had to hope that a black eagle would not be noticed on such a dark night.

Ly’s lions were nearby, and one of them loped silently over to me. Such huge beasts, and yet so stealthy. My heart beat faster as he drew near, but I reminded myself that he was perfectly safe under Ly’s control. Breathing deeply, I forced my fear back down.

He was fitted with a riding harness, and knelt to allow me to mount. I hesitated, but Ly’s questioning thoughts spurred me on. I struggled onto the beast’s broad back, holding tight to the strap attached to the saddle. The stirrups were too long for me, so my feet dangled, leaving me feeling quite insecure. But a lion, I discovered, is a gentle mount at a walking pace, no different from a horse. His muscles rippled under me, and there was a deep-rooted thread of aggression in his mind. I wouldn’t have liked to try to control him, but he was biddable enough in Ly’s hands. He padded off through the grasses, weaving back and forth, finding a clear route through the tangled stems. Above my head, the plumes waved as the lion brushed past, and here and there I caught the distinctive perfume of moonroses.

In my mind, Arran was an anxious audience, saying nothing so as not to distract me, but exuding fear. Ly was calmer, concentrating on controlling the lion. I knew he had Yannassia beside him, and I could only hope she wouldn’t divert his attention.

For myself, now that I was on the move I wasn’t nervous. Excited, perhaps, but all my fears had dropped away. I felt – not invulnerable, for no one is immortal, but certainly well protected. With my defensive shell, and my ability to take magic from Trimon’s windstorms, not to mention the lion, a coiled power beneath me, and Kalmander ready to whisk me to safety, I wouldn’t be easy to capture or kill. And the watchers above me on the wall knew nothing of my little venture. They couldn’t see me without the aid of the moon. It felt good to be fooling Trimon and his shiny-armoured friends, and avoiding whatever trap they’d set for us.

The lion brought me, under Ly’s direction, right to the wagon with the paper. There was still a faintly charred smell about it, which only a good rainstorm would erase. I pulled the paper free, tucking it into my jacket. The lion turned and loped softly back into the grasses. He took a different route this time, less direct, circling widely round for reasons unknown to me. If I hadn’t had Kalmander, sitting beside the river as a fixed point in my mind, I would have been hopelessly lost. The grasses we passed through were even thicker than before, so that I was constantly slapped in the face by giant stalks as thick as my arm. One hit me so hard, my defensive shell pinged into effect and for a panicky instant I was nowhere, until I relaxed.

When my sight came back, I was staring at four pairs of eyes gleaming in the darkness. The lion stopped, a rumble in his throat so low as to be almost inaudible. I had to look through his eyes to see what was in front of us.

Four men. Hard to say which of us was more surprised. They’d been sitting, but now, warily, they stood, and reached for bows or blades. I didn’t need to see the shape of the blade to know who they were. The painted faces and furs they wore gave them away.

Vahsi. The barbarians of the plains. The people who made the Blood Clans and Icthari look as tame as kittens. I could feel my heart hammering, and my breath caught in my throat.

Ly’s voice, urgent.
“Drina! Listen carefully, and say these words. ‘Bre’ash ad farronim luch’eear in’holiash.’”

He spoke slowly so that I heard only the sounds, not the meaning. Stumblingly, I repeated them.

The suspicious look on the Vahsi’s faces lifted. One of them tapped his fist to his chest, and said, “By the one sun and the hundred thousand stars, we will not hinder you, sister.”

I breathed again. Whatever I’d said, it had worked to reassure them.

One of them smiled, as suddenly as a moonrose blooms. “Beautiful creature!” he said, pointing to the lion. The others broke into smiles too, nodding.

I smiled too, as much in relief as anything.

One said, “May the sun and moon and all the stars shine on your journey, sister.” As one, they moved aside.

The lion moved on and past them, and then I was being slapped by the grass stems again, bemused by the encounter. What were Vahsi doing here, so close to the town? Usually they avoided well-defended people. Small farming settlements or travellers were their usual target, taking animals for food and women for pleasure, although sometimes the women were returned to their homes years later, plumper and carrying bags of coin.

Kalmander awaited me beside the river, and brought me swiftly back to Arran and Flenn. Arran hugged me tight, and kissed me and hugged me again. In my head, Ly was chattering excitedly, relaying Yannassia’s relief, but I was too exuberant to listen. I’d fooled the Dragon God, and survived an encounter with the Vahsi, and nothing could dampen my spirits. We sat around the fire and drank thick brew and talked about the Vahsi until the sun came up and gave us enough light to read by.

And then we unfolded the message.

“To the Drashona of Bennamore. Greetings from the Sublime Dragon God of the Winds. Be advised that I hold twenty-four traitors from your country. In case you choose to doubt my word, their names are listed below. I keep them as surety for your behaviour towards the realm of Trimonia, comprising all land from the southern reaches of the Karningplain south to the ocean, and from the Greenstone River, also called the Rinnfarr River, in the Sky Mountains, to the Mithrand River in the Crested Mountains. If any of your people, or their friends or allies, enter Trimonia without authorisation, for any purpose, whether by land or air or water, then retribution will be taken against those held. This retribution will take the form of removal of parts of their bodies. Such body parts will be nailed to the traitors’ wagons as proof. Should you wish to reclaim those held, I will require you to give me your heir or equivalent as hostage in their place.”

There was a long, long silence. It was ironic that I had been treated with respect by the Vahsi, who were barbaric to the core, yet these supposedly civilised Karningers were calmly talking of removing parts of bodies, piece by piece. Grief washed over me. What could we do now? How could we surrender to these savages? Yannassia would never agree to be bound by such an agreement. Sooner or later, she would want to attack the golden army somewhere within its vast territory, and then the terrible process would begin. A finger here, a toe there. An ear, perhaps. And then whole feet or hands or arms. I swayed a little, and Arran put his arm around me to support me.

Then, Ly’s voice.
“We would like to hear the list of names. Could you read them out slowly, so Rythmarri can write them down?”

My hands were shaking so badly that Arran took the paper from me and began to read. Most of them meant nothing to me, but two of them were Gurshmontas. Shallack hadn’t mentioned that his own son and niece were amongst those captured. Rythmarri confirmed that all her specialists, those who’d been living inside Greenstone Ford for some time and passing information, were on the list. All but one. Lathran was not mentioned.

“Ask Rythmarri what she thinks has happened to him?”
I thought to Ly.

After a long pause, he said,
“She thinks he is probably dead.”
The grief in his mind was palpable. Poor Lathran, and his parents, Millan and Tisha, waiting hopefully for news at Lakeside. Perhaps we would never know what had become of him. It was a dangerous business, being a specialist. No disguise was ever perfect, and the penalty for discovery was severe – a quick death, if you were lucky, or a slow, painful one, involving the removal of parts of the body, or starvation, or repeated beatings.

I swallowed, and my mouth was almost too dry to manage it. “It’s obvious what has to happen,” I whispered. “My life for twenty-four. It is a fair trade.”

“No!”
Ly and Arran spoke in unison.

“Absolutely not!” Arran said.

“Yannassia forbids it,”
Ly added.
“She says that these people knew the risks they took, and they must accept the consequences.”
A pause.
“She says that we must not attempt to rescue them. There is nothing more we can do. That is the way of war. You are to come home immediately, Drina.”