The Stealers' War (11 page)

Cassandra shook her head. ‘If this book is irreplaceable it will be impossibly well guarded.’

‘You are half correct,’ said Temmell. ‘Impossibly well-guarded, naturally. But hardly irreplaceable. The knowledge that comprises the Deb-rlung’rta exists in piecemeal fashion inside the skull of every priest in every temple in the heights. They could come together in convention and put it back together like a jigsaw.’

‘Do not steal it, Alexamir. You steal only your death.’

Temmell laughed heartily, the first sign of true amusement Cassandra had heard from the man. ‘Oh, I do not require Alexamir Arinnbold to merely
steal
the Deb-rlung’rta. That is hardly a feat equal to the talents of the Prince of Thieves. He is to break into their great temple, copy the text and leave it resting in place. Seemingly undisturbed by all fingers save those of a few grubby log keepers and scribes. They must not know we have a copy until it is too late.’

‘I will do as you bid,’ said Alexamir. ‘I would do it if this spell book was resting in the dark hall of Kalu the Apportioner himself using the tongues of a thousand demons as its cushion. How am I to copy this book, though, when I have not been taught a scribe’s reading?’

‘Open the book and stare well at each page. The first enchantment I shall cast over your features. My second will make your mind a copy-book. I shall lift the impression of the script from your mind when you return.’

‘You may change his face,’ pleaded Cassandra, ‘but you can’t change the man. His manners, his accent . . .’

‘I see that the celestial caste’s education still includes the arts of spycraft. Have no fear, little Vandian, my glamour will alter the muscles of his throat. I’ll have him singing like a born rice-eater quickly enough. And as for manners, well Alexamir is an intelligent young man and, I have noted, a very fast study. He will prosper under my tutelage. Slow wits do not last long in my service.’ He turned towards the nomad. ‘I must minister to your golden fox and ensure my healing has taken. Ride to Kani Yargul and ask him to grant me a private audience before supper. Then return and carry away the Lady Cassandra. Your training for your task begins this evening.’

Alexamir exchanged a worried glance with Cassandra. She listened to Alexamir’s galloping steed as he departed, before glaring at the trickster from her cot. ‘You are using him.’

‘We are using each other. On such transactions are the foundations of civilization laid.’

‘If you call the clans civilization.’

‘I call them an opportunity. One not to be wasted.’

‘You don’t need to supervise my recovery. Whatever you did to my body, you’re sure enough of its effects.’

‘You have caught me out. I don’t need to supervise your condition,’ admitted Temmell. ‘But I do need to discuss your fears. And it is better that the Prince of Thieves is not distracted by them. His success will require a fierce clarity of purpose.’

‘Fears? You believe I am afraid of you?’

‘Only a stupid person would fail to be. And you, I think, are far from dull-witted. But it is not your fear of me that is my concern. It is your fear of Alexamir’s success . . .’

Cassandra tried to laugh. ‘So, you believe I fear walking again?’

‘No. It is the duties that are attendant upon your healing which you fear. When you have your spine unbroken, you will be able to walk. And where might you walk to, little Vandian? Naturally, you will follow all those lessons of duty and honour to your house and emperor and Imperium. Such heavy baggage. It is little wonder that you lay sprawled there, barely able to crawl with all that weight upon your young back.’

Cassandra attempted to reply, but something within her choked the words. She had to gather herself back together before she could speak. ‘Alexamir gave his word, his blood oath. He will show me the life of a nomad and then I am free to choose to return to Vandia at any time.’

‘As you
choose
. Of course you fear me. I can smell the terror upon you like a scent, like an expensive perfume from Ortheris. But you fear having to choose to abandon Alexamir so much more.’

Tears rolled down Cassandra’s cheeks. ‘Leave me be. This is no healing.’

‘The truth is always healing. Just not for your Prince of Thieves. He may not bring me back the Deb-rlung’rta if he knows it is also your passage home. Or perhaps he will . . . the honour of such savages! But the hesitation and conflict such a truth will cause in him is as great an enemy as a city filled with half a million ancient blood-foes of the Nijumeti.’

‘Leave me alone!’

‘What is the saying in Vandia?
Family. House. Empire
. No place for a low-born nomad in such a philosophy. Oh, I will fix his golden fox’s mangled legs. But you’re not going to hobble away from Alexamir until I have a copy of the Deb-rlung’rta sitting safely in my hall.’

‘What kind of man are you?’

‘I wish I knew. Truly I do. It would probably be kinder to Alexamir if he died from the charge of a temple guard’s pistol before you break his heart. But you wouldn’t want to see his death come to pass. So keep your mouth shut around him, little Vandian. Let him survive to return with my prize. Then you may allow the grand sweeping tragedy of your life to play out as it will.’ He turned before he left the chamber, giving her an ironic bow before he exited. ‘My lady of the Imperium.’

Cassandra was left to her worries, whirling around her like a murder of crows, pecking at her. Sometimes it took another’s viewpoint to crystallize who you were and what you truly felt. She loved Alexamir, but she could not tell him. Because the trickster was correct. When Cassandra could walk, she would have to walk away from him. There was no place for Alexamir in the Imperium and no place for her here.
Let him fail, but return alive. I will stay like this. Ten minutes a day and broken for the rest. Let that be my fate, please
.

Her brooding was interrupted by the swinging of the hall’s wooden door. A man entered. Not a Nijumet, that much was certain. Pale white skin, a narrow face and thin black moustache. He looked like a trader; thick, high leather riding boots, worn leather trousers and a heavy furred green jacket good for sleeping out on the plains. No slave, either. Not with a pistol holster belted near his left side, a flared ornamental barrel jutting out.
Meant to be fired from a wagon or saddle, if I’m any judge
.

The traveller noticed Cassandra lying down on the cot and his eyes twinkled with mischief. Cassandra guessed his thoughts. ‘I’m not one of Temmell’s saddle wives.’

‘I don’t think the man has any. And you’re no mountain maid.

Kishian or Persdad?’

‘Neither. Shouldn’t you be wearing ankle irons?’

‘I’m more use to the Nijumeti able to run as free as a jackrabbit,’ said the trader. ‘I am Brean Luagh of the very fine nation of Hellin.’

Hellin?
‘I have heard of your country. You’re the only people who trade with the nomads.’
These are the traders Alexamir said would take me back to the league and the nearest Guild of Radiomen’s hold, if I decide to leave. When, lady, when
.

‘Well, some of us do and some of us don’t. Business can run awful tricky out here at times. It takes a special person to rub along friendlylike among the clans.’

‘A skill you possess?’

‘Along with a few wagons filled with barrels of rubber. Very useful stuff, rubber.’ He winked at her. ‘Not many rubber trees out here in the steppes. Not many trees at all, really. Rare stuff here, you might say.’

‘So you bring it out of Hellin.’

‘I can see you’ve never visited my country. I’m a poor bog-walker, and a poor bog-walker likes a good piece of marsh. It’s versatile stuff, marsh. Slippery, sucking, complex soil. Good for drowning every horde to wander in from the steppes. And the ones who don’t get sucked under the bogs end up dying from the bites of our very friendly snakes and insects. Poison and fever and marsh. And Brean Luagh. At your service. But no rubber trees. That I source from Morynia. Is the master of the house in?’

Cassandra nodded in the direction the trickster had left.

‘He’s particular about people disturbing him in those rooms. Who knows what he does in there, eh? Would you be so good as to tell Master Temmell when he reappears that Brean Luagh is in town and requests the pleasure of his company for a little haggling? Are you sure you’re not from Persdad?’

‘Quite.’

‘Temmell is an interesting fellow; a golden eagle among grass mice. Have you ever met anyone like him out your way?’

I don’t recall mentioning what my way is
. ‘People are different wherever you travel.’

‘And isn’t that what makes the journey so interesting? Well, there it is. Might I have your name, it seems awful distant to be leaving without knowing it?’

‘Cassandra.’

‘A name as lovely as yourself. I shall bid you a farewell, then, Cassandra. Perhaps we shall meet again before I take my leave of the Nijumeti.’

Cassandra shrugged. ‘I’m not going very far.’
At least, not much further than a ten-minute walk
.

Cassandra was back inside the family tent when Kerge appeared at its opening. ‘Where is the manling, Alexamir?’

‘Away at council with their grass king and what passes for a court sorcerer in these parts,’ said Cassandra.
Training him to commit suicide for me
. ‘You are not chained?’

‘Madinsar does not chain her servants. She would see a thrall attempting escape the day before the slave knew of it themselves.’

‘She has the future sight you possessed?’

‘Madinsar has it,’ admitted the gask. ‘I never thought to meet a common-pattern female with our people’s talent, but she possesses it. As strong as any among the Elders of Quehanna.’

‘You almost sound happy about your discovery,’ said Cassandra.

‘She is working with me, helping me recover my golden mean.’

‘That sounds uncommonly kind of her.’

‘Naturally, it is for her benefit rather than my own,’ said Kerge. ‘Madinsar wishes to regard the branches of the great fractal tree. She seeks to shape it, as I once did.’

‘Then you are a pawn on the game-board rather than a patient on the surgeon’s table.’

‘You may see what Madinsar is yourself. She wishes to meet with you.’ Kerge glanced around the empty tent. ‘Is the old womanling not here? The nomad’s aunt?’

‘Nonna is out penning her goats before nightfall and the wolves come prowling,’ said Cassandra. ‘I am no slave here, Kerge. My status is that of tent-guest. You do not need to ask any permission save my own.’

‘Then you will see Madinsar?’

‘Only if you carry me to the pony tethered outside.’

The gask bore her outside, the spines of his skin resting uncomfortably against hers. After a short ride in the cooling night air, they entered Madinsar’s tent together. It proved to be a place of bright colours; a soft richness about its incense-scented space, cushions, rugs and blankets. That surprised Cassandra. Tapestries hung from the roof, ancient stories told in pictograms, works that must have taken multiple lifetimes to weave. Cassandra could see this place belonged to a person of importance among the Nijumeti. Unlike Alexamir’s tent, the witch rider’s was lit by a chandelier studded with orange sun crystals. Left outside for a day, the crystals absorbed the day’s light, and then gently emitted what they had stored when placed in darkness. The wheel twisted above her, pulsing softly in rainbow hues which added to the ethereal quality of the tent.
Yes, all the trappings of a holy place.
The high priestess of the witch riders emerged from an antechamber to welcome them. A slight smile pulled at the corners of Madinsar’s mouth. ‘Welcome, Lady Cassandra Skar of Vandia.’

Cassandra glanced around. ‘Is Nurai not here?’

‘She travels away from the camp presently.’

‘Good.’
I have enough problems in the camp without Alexamir’s old admirers trying to find extra ways to kill me
.

‘Nurai has loved Alexamir Arinnbold for as long as she has known him,’ said Madinsar. ‘You can understand how unhappy she feels at your presence here.’

‘She claims to have seen my future.’

‘Only clouded dreams. It is never a good thing to see your own fate too clearly. Happiness is blindness. Witch riders are rarely happy. It is the curse of our gift.’

‘Are you happy?’

‘Happy?’ Madinsar snorted. ‘Worries lap around my mind like the waters of the salt sea. Such waters leave me no room for personal concerns. I have seen dark futures, terrible futures. The end of all things.’

‘Pieces decay: the board is eternal.’

‘A wise enough saying. But I have seen the board on fire. Many of us have. And not just here.’ She glanced at Kerge.

‘That is the truth,’ said the gask. ‘Our elders have scryed disturbing glimpses of what may come to pass. It is as though the branches of the great fractal tree narrow before us. The paths diminishing down to a single, terrible, lonely future. An autumn followed by winter. Darkness eternal.’

‘When witch riders talk of this, we are called foolish old women too close to death, women who dream only their own end,’ said Madinsar. ‘But now I discover that the tales of a forest people beyond the mountains are true. Males and females with the dream-sight. And I find the witch riders share the same dreams with the gasks, or should I say nightmares.’

‘The world is filled with wars and conflict and death,’ said Cassandra. ‘I don’t need your gift to understand that. Just reading any one of a thousand history texts is enough.’

Madinsar shook her head. ‘Our gods do not give us the gift of future-sight through the gasks’ forest, but through the stream with a million tributaries. Kalu the Apportioner’s stream. And you are right, its waters bubble and froth with the rapids of mankind’s passions. How could it be otherwise? But witch riders do not dream of rapids. We dream of nothing at all. It is a darkness more absolute and terrifying than anything an ungifted could understand. Imagine you woke one morning and discovered the sun has not risen and there were no more stars in the sky. Only cold and endless winter. The grass of the plains turned black, the very air we breathe as thin and frozen as daggers. This is our future.’