The Waterless Sea (20 page)

For they are friends. After several years of mistrust, Darrow has lost the fear that Samis will tire of his company. And he knows that he is no mere servant, no matter what the other sorcerers mutter behind Samis' s back. He is adviser, confidant, companion, brother. When the two travelled together to the Palace of Cobwebs, the courtiers treated Darrow with almost as much respect as Samis himself. Samis speaks of future journeys, away from Merithuros, across the seas to theWestlands, or north to Baltimar.

The world, which had closed around Darrow like the walls of the Testing room, has opened itself out like a flower after rain.

Darrow and Tonno guided
Fledgewing
into the harbour of Hult. The little town barely earned the name: a motley collection of dilapidated buildings, patched together out of driftwood, grey and cheerless. Darrow and Samis used to come here on their hunting expeditions and drink wine in what passed for the tavern. Darrow suspected that the gold coin that Samis carelessly tossed to the innkeeper was the only income the place mustered from one year to the next.

‘Wait here till I fetch you,' he told Tonno. He stepped ashore onto the sands of Hathara for the first time in five years, grim-faced, and strode in the direction of the rickety tavern. Grubby children watched him from behind an upturned fishing boat, and snickered into their hands. In a doorway a woman sat mending. She stared at him with narrowed eyes, and, without hiding her gesture, made the sign to avert bad luck. Darrow' s mouth twisted in a half-smile. How different it was from the welcome he' d received on Ravamey. And yet this was supposed to be his home.

The tavern was as he remembered it. The innkeeper sat at a trestle table, gambling with two slow-chewing men. He looked up sharply at the entry of a customer. The smell of slava was thick in the air, and the men shook their dice slowly, reflectively, and let them fall without interest, hardly bothering to keep the tally.

Darrow ordered a jug of wine. The innkeeper said, ‘Haven' t seen you for a goodly while.'

‘No.'

‘Didn' t have
that
last time.' He gestured to the scar that dragged Darrow' s eyebrow toward his cheekbone. ‘Get that hunting?With your friend?'

‘Yes,' said Darrow briefly. ‘Hunting.' He did not say that he himself was the prey in that hunt.

The innkeeper looked sly. ‘Looking to hunt again?'

‘Maybe.' Darrow poured himself a beaker of wine; it was as sour and thin as ever.

‘Come from the Court?'

‘Not this time.' Darrow looked up and held the man' s shrewd gaze for a moment. ‘I am not welcome at the Court any more. I killed a prince of the Royal House.' As he spoke, Darrow saw again the body covered in the grey cloak, lying amid the silver towers and domes of Spareth, and his heart beat hard.

The innkeeper straightened up. ‘I know someone. You might call him a hunter. Think he' d be interested to meet a man who' s killed a prince.'

‘Yes,' said Darrow. ‘I thought you might. I would like to meet your friend.'

Again the two men' s gaze met, and held for an instant.

‘Be here at sundown. I' ll make sure he comes.'

‘Thank you,' said Darrow. He drained the beaker and went outside to wait.

The road that ran along the shore was red and dusty, littered with small stones. He walked up and down. It was not so hot here on the southern coast, but it was warm enough, and the sun glared as fiercely as in the middle of the desert. The sea was a sheet of white metal, painful to look at. Some little stones pattered into the dust at his feet, and he heard children giggle and run away. Thirsty, he found a fountain in the deserted marketplace, and sat for a while on its dusty edge in the sunlight, conscious of the eyes that watched him from every hut and every shadowed doorway.

The sorcerers gather in the dark corridors, in whispering knots. When they see Samis and Darrow approach, they turn away, silenced.

‘The old Lord is dying,' says Darrow. ‘They must choose the next wearer of the Ring.'

Samis strides along. His high hunting boots strike like flints on the black marble.

‘In all my time here, I have never met this old Lord. It' s time we paid him a visit, Heron.'

‘They won' t allow it.'

‘Heron, you disappoint me! Have you not learned that lesson yet?
They
cannot prevent us from doing anything. Come.'

The two friends sweep along the polished corridors. Samis is right: the sorcerers do not stop them. Samis' s arrogance is like a torch of fire, scattering those who might oppose them.

Only at the very door to the room where the old Lord lies, does someone say, no.

‘You shall not enter,' saysThe Spider, malignant in his dark robes, his long fingers curled, already, around the ebony staff that the old Lord carried.

Samis' s eyes narrow. ‘You have hopes, my friend,' he says softly. ‘Do you truly think yourself worthy to be the next Lord of the Black Palace, with all its mysteries, all its sorrows? Are you strong enough?'

‘I am no princeling,' spits The Spider. ‘But I have earned the right to rule here. The old Lord has promised that I will be his successor.'

Samis smiles his lazy smile, and inclines his imperious head. ‘Ah, well, if the old Lord himself has decreed it, we must offer you our congratulations,' he says. ‘Come, Heron. Let us leave our friend to enjoy his inheritance.' The two men turn away. They are some distance from the doorway when Samis begins to sing beneath his breath. Darrow hears a strangled cry. He spins about to see The Spider collapse, in a flurry of black robes, his mouth gaping in horror. The ebony staff protrudes from his chest. Samis has stabbed him, with chantment, through the heart.

Darrow rushes back to the fallen sorcerer, but the man is already dead. Blood trickles from the mouth, twisted in its final leering grimace. Darrow cries to Samis, ‘What have you done?'

Samis is not there. Darrow turns his head, and sees him emerge from the Lord' s room. ‘Come,' he says briskly. ‘The old man is dead, too. Time for us to go a-hunting, my Heron. There' s nothing more for us here.' Samis' s eyes gleam as they hurry down the corridors. ‘Hah!'

‘What have you done?' Darrow asks again. He follows his friend, of course; he would follow him to the rim of the world, but his hands tremble.

‘Heron, my Heron. There is no calamity. Two evil old men are dead. They stole children, and tortured them. The world is a better place without them, is it not?'

Darrow does not reply. His heart is troubled. He and Samis do not stop to pack their bags. Before noon, they are riding
hegesi
to the shore. Before nightfall, they have found passage on a boat bound for Geel.

It is not until they are on board the boat that Samis shows Darrow what he stole from the old Lord' s hand. Darrow never asks him whether the old Lord was alive, or dead, when Samis took the Ring from his finger. He is afraid of the answer.

At sunset Darrow went back to the tavern.

The place was crowded, but he saw at once the man he sought. He was lean and alert, weathered and keen-eyed, a desert dweller, in desert robes. He stood as Darrow entered, and deliberately drew back a fold of his robes to show the curved knife that hung at his belt. Darrow went to sit at his table.

‘They tell me you are a hunter,' said the rebel fighter.

‘I used to be. I would like to be so again.'

‘I think I can help you.' There was a pause. ‘My name is Fenn.'

‘Darrow.'

‘So. You have killed a prince. How? An accident?'

‘No,' said Darrow. ‘It was no accident.'

Fenn nodded slowly, with respect. ‘You are a brave man, to show your face inside the Empire.'

‘Perhaps,' said Darrow wryly. ‘But my task is not finished.'

‘Ah.' Fenn poured them each a beaker of sour wine. ‘These are interesting times, my friend. They say the Palace of Cobwebs is fallen. Perhaps the whole Royal House lies crushed beneath its ruins.'

‘I had not heard that,' said Darrow evenly. ‘I have been at sea.'

The rebel shrugged. ‘It may not be true. There are all kinds of stories.' He leaned forward intently. ‘However, this much is true: the towns of Geel and Phain, the mines and the harbours, have fallen to us. The revolution has begun. Had you heard that tale, at sea?'

‘I had not heard that tale,' said Darrow. ‘But I am not sorry to hear it. The Empire of Merithuros is rotten to the core. The miners and town-dwellers toil and starve, while the Emperor' s courtiers grow fat. It' s time for change.'

‘I am glad we agree.' Fenn grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of the thin wine. ‘Why did you wish to meet? Do you want something, or do you have something to give?'

‘Both, I hope.' Darrow twisted his beaker, but did not lift it. Suddenly he asked, ‘Do you know of the Black Palace?'

‘The Black Palace?' Fenn looked startled. ‘Yes, I' ve heard stories of the sorcerers' nest. But the Black Palace is just that: a hearth-story.'

‘The Black Palace is real,' said Darrow quietly. ‘I can take you there.'

‘Into Hathara? No one who goes into Hathara has ever come out alive.'

Darrow smiled. ‘I have.'

‘Why?' asked Fenn abruptly. ‘What do you have to gain?'

‘The same as you. I want to see change in Merithuros, I want to see the Empire dismantled. The brotherhood of sorcerers is as much a part of the corruption as the Emperor himself.'

Fenn shrugged. ‘I don' t know anything about sorcery, and I don' t wish to know anything about it. But if you say that marching on the sorcerers' nest will hasten the revolution, I am prepared to risk it. But –' In a warning gesture, Fenn put his hand again to the knife at his belt. ‘I advise you not to trifle with us. If you lead us into Hathara, into the dead lands, for nothing, we will kill you.'

‘Agreed,' said Darrow calmly. ‘My friend, Tonno, will come with us. He is not Merithuran, he is a son of Kalysons, but you can trust him. And by the way. . .' He sang a low note, and the beaker of wine leapt from the tabletop. A dark stain spread across the floor. ‘Do not trifle with me either.'

Fenn started to his feet; his hand flew up in the sign to ward off evil. He looked quickly at Darrow with a mixture of wariness, loathing and respect. It was a look that Darrow had often seen before, and he returned it without emotion. ‘Yes, I am a chanter. Does that alter your decision?'

For a long moment, the two men stared at one another. At last Fenn put out his hand. ‘I am a man of my word. We will go with you to the sorcerers' nest.'

Darrow shook Fenn' s hand, then motioned to the innkeeper to bring them more wine. ‘Sit down, brother. I have much to tell you.'