The Q'Herindam Page 7

  “Yous the two what I’s taken up ta th’ Tower?”

  Kuiran stood and Old Snowy stepped back a pace.

  “Yur a big un. Bain’t got no ‘orse ta carry ee.”

  “Old Snowy is it? I’m Kuiran and this is Raleen. Don’t worry about a horse for me. I walk.”

  The old man shook his head, a slow grin further creasing his lined face.

  “No bloody wonder. Bain’t be no ‘orse I ever seed what could carry ee.”

  After the old man had availed himself of the table’s offerings, they all went outside where they found three saddled horses waiting, complete with what looked like provisioned saddlebags tied behind the saddles. Old Snowy took the saddlebags from one of the horses and tied it behind the worn saddle of what looked to be his horse, judging by his murmurs to her. While the spare horse was led away, Raleen mounted the other, a dun, and without any fanfare they were off.

  Old Snowy was a character. Abruptly plain spoken, he gave a running commentary of the places they passed on the way out of Sanctuary, only falling quiet as they left the city. The road rose steadily and before they passed through a gap in the hills, the old man reined in and swung his horse around. Raleen followed suit and Kuiran also paused and turned, leaning on his staff to catch his breath, not quite so fit after months at sea on Jalwynd.

  Before them was a stunning vista. The city spread from the base of the slope below them down to the water and part way around the arms of the bay which formed the natural harbour of Sanctuary. The docks seemed miniscule from where they were but Kuiran could make out Jalwynd riding at anchor in the middle of the bay. Good, one less thing to worry about for now. After a few minutes Old Snowy pulled his horse’s head around and they set off again.

  The country they rode through now was mostly farmed, only the hillier parts were treed and it looked like orchards, row after row of manicured growth. Old Snowy hawked and spat.

  “It be summat wilder where we be goin’, only one village on th’ way like. Mebbe we’ll be lucky and get a bed fer th’ night. You got any money?”

  Kuiran frowned. Something he hadn’t thought of. Money. He’d not had much use for it in the past. Raleen murmured reassurance and pulled a small purse from inside her tunic.

  “Do the people of Wyalon take gold in payment for things?”

  Old Snowy’s eyes boggled.

  “Real gold? Yer got real gold? A fella could buy ta bloody inn with real gold.”

  “Well that’s settled then,” Raleen said as she put the purse away.

  Kuiran smiled and shook his head, he should have known. What a woman.

  As the afternoon wore on, the farmed country slipped behind them and the way rose gradually before them. Kuiran relished the walk as, in truth, he’d found life on board ship restricting. Off in the distance they could see mountains, the sun still bright on their upper reaches but where they rode through woods the day became chill as the light dimmed and it was a relief to see the glimmer of lights from the small village ahead. Two rooms and stabling for the horses was arranged and paid for, Old Snowy checking they received the correct change for the small gold Raleen produced and handed over. It must have been some time since a gold coin had been seen at the inn, judging by the excitement resulting from its use.

  They were the first to bring the news of the demise of the Council of Mages and when the landlord found that Kuiran and Raleen were involved, he insisted no payment was due for the evening meal nor drinks for the night. Word spread quickly around the village and the pair found themselves in the midst of celebration as the inn quickly filled and drink flowed.

  It was a merry night.

  In the morning they set off again and Old Snowy told them they would be camping rough that evening as the Tower was a good day’s ride away. The trio climbed steadily until they had left the lowlands far behind, their path now narrowing.

  “How does the prisoners’ food get up to the Tower?” Kuiran enquired of Old Snowy.

  “Pack ‘orses once a month. Brings enough up ta last em. There’s a couple a guards stationed up ther who makes up the daily portion and pokes it through the ‘ole wit a long pole. Ta guards gets relieved when ta next d’livry is made. None likes ta job but it ‘as t’be done like.”

  Kuiran felt sorry for whoever had been imprisoned in the Tower for near on twenty years. They must have been locked up about the same time as the second Dominion war started. He idly wondered if there was any connection between the two events.

  The trail now wound around through a high mountain pass and when they reached the saddle at the valley’s head, Old Snowy stopped and pointed. Off in the distance, they could see the Tower standing grim and solitary atop a barren rock at the end of a spur. It took the rest of the afternoon to reach the guardhouse, a small stone building tucked up against the mountain, standing sentinel on the only track leading onto the spur. Smoke trickled from a hole in the roof then billowed from the doorway as two soldiers ran outside at the sound of horses, quickly buckling on their helms. When they saw who was there they became suspicious but one of them knew Old Snowy.

  “What brings you Snowman? Why you here?”

  “Ta Council of Mages is all dead matey. This big un here ‘ad a finger in ut. We come here to collect yon folk ina Tower.”

  The two soldiers looked askance.

  “All the bloody Mages dead? Evry one?”

  Old Snowy couldn’t conceal his mirth.

  “Deader an dead matey. They’s no more.”

  One of the soldiers whipped his helm off and threw it high in the air with a loud whoop. Thumping his companion on the back in joy. Kuiran and Raleen were invited into the hut where they would camp for the night. Old Snowy saw to the horses, staking them on a long lead to graze whatever greenery they could find. There was a small smoky fire struggling inside and Raleen suddenly realised she was feeling cold. The smoking fire was reluctant and feeble and Raleen soon saw the reason, they were burning dried dung. Probably the only fuel available up here. Stacks of bags, kegs and parcels were stacked against one wall, the provisions for the prisoners in the Tower she guessed. Kuiran spoke up.

  “How many people are imprisoned in the Tower?”

  One of the guards answered him.

  “Four now. There used to be six but over the years, two of them died. The four left were the most powerful of those the Council of Mages imprisoned.”

  “Do you happen to know how they could be overcome by the Mages on the Council?”

  The other soldier answered.

  “Everyone knows. The Mages kidnapped their children and threatened to kill them if the parents didn’t enter the Tower. Rather than have their children killed, they surrendered.”

  Kuiran had to ask.

  “What happened to the children?”

  “The Mages killed them anyway,” the soldier answered.

  Suddenly Kuiran was glad the Council of Mages had met the end they did. There was a particular stink of evil in all of this.

  The morning was cool and bright as Kuiran, Raleen and Old Snowy made their way on foot along the top of the spur to where the Tower stood as silent testimony to the injustice heaped upon those imprisoned inside. An injustice Kuiran was hoping to right. As they approached, Kuiran could make out faint blue, wavering lines of energy surrounding the Tower.

  “Can you see the lines of energy around the Tower, Raleen?” Kuiran asked.

  “I see nothing but a Tower, Kuiran. You are the Wyalonian, maybe it’s some sort of Watermagic.”

  Old Snowy looked from one to the other as they approached the Tower. They drew close and he stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Baint be safe ta go no closer. Folks die if’n they get too near.”

  In truth, two skeletons were visible nearer the Tower, one clad in the remains of a soldier’s uniform, the conical helmet rusted to the skull. That blue light which only Kuiran could see was clearly lethal.

  Kuiran cautioned Raleen to wait with Old Snowy as he edged closer to the
Tower, holding his staff straight out in front of him. When he was but a few paces away from it, the blue light rippled around the end of his staff which parted the energy like water around a stick in a stream. The metal tip of his staff was diverting the spell somehow. Kuiran edged around the base of the Tower until he was facing the stout wooden door and cautiously advanced only his staff, keeping his body well away from the magic of the spell. The tip of his staff went right through the blue ripples until he was resting it against the door of the Tower.

  Old Snow’s mouth was agape. He’d never seen anyone get so close to the Tower before. The soldiers feeding those inside the Tower normally slid trays of food along the ground, pushing them with poles to a small portal which allowed only food and water through. He’d heard of a soldier who had moved too close to the Tower once. His bones were probably those lying on the ground, still in uniform. Raleen was chewing on her fist, worried for Kuiran’s life. He was quietly observing his staff, thinking hard. The vibrations he felt through it were similar to those resulting when he dipped the staff into sea water and he felt pressure building within him.

  Kuiran felt the immensity of the wrongdoing this place represented, the evil of it. He must make it right. With a huge roar, he drew his staff back and with every ounce of strength in his body, drove it into the door.

  The solid wood of the thick door shattered into matchsticks and the Tower trembled as a brilliant blue flash of light shot skywards from the top of it and the blue wavering energy vanished.

  As the smoke cleared, four tall, thin people, two men and two women, stumbled out of the Tower and stood, owlishly blinking before Kuiran. One of the women stepped slowly forward and took Kuiran’s head gently between her hands as she spoke.

  “Well met, Son.”

  4. Merdon’s Apprentice.

  Belvedere. A bustling city full of renewed vigour. Its inhabitants rebuilding their lives after the War of Freedom, when the Dominion army was finally crushed in the city’s Plaza. Since the war, most of the damaged buildings had been repaired while some were still in the process of being rebuilt. Trade was booming and the harbour full of shipping again. The Council of Ten, Willem’s vacant position having been filled, had done an excellent job of managing the city, post war. It was now almost running itself.

  Cristal sat in her study, ruminating. No word from Kuiran and Raleen yet and no word from Arwhon either. He’d been gone nearly two weeks and not a peep. Shiri was not worried, she shared Arwhon’s trust in Fate. They had both been there to help each other in their time of need. Was that the working of Fate or Chance? Shiri thought Fate. Now Arwhon was alone in the hands of Fate. It bothered Cristal though. She doted on her young grandson and he was again laying himself open to who knew what danger.

  And that new Servant. Cringle. Nothing like Chalc, who was wise and dependable. When Chalc was Servant, he had taught Arwhon all his arms skills and maturely guided the boy to develop into something, but Cringle. What could he do except be a nuisance. Oh, his reading was coming along well and he was devouring Cristal’s library, book by book, starting with the easier ones. His writing too was almost legible but the questions. What is this, what does that do, when is Arwhon coming back? On and on. His insatiable curiosity was such a trial at times. Even Shiri, who was very patient, sometimes had enough of Cringle and went up to her room for a little peace.

  There was nothing wrong with the boy, he was an excellent servant when it came to looking after things but he needed skills and the skills Cristal had in mind were those which would one day help Arwhon on his quest to rid the lands of evil. Life skills were what Cringle needed and Cristal knew just the person to teach him. She rose and signalled for her carriage. There was someone she must visit who could help. Someone close to her who knew some of the sacrifices Arwhon had made.

  Someone who owed her a favour.

  Satrenday meant markets and purchasing supplies for the house. Cringle knew he needed new clothes to keep pace with his continual growth. Really it was Mendle’s job to purchase supplies but Cringle liked to get a few special things in for the odd surprise at the dinner table and he could use his need for clothes as an excuse to be at the markets. He was so lucky meeting Arwhon and becoming his Servant but since Arwhon had gone off with a dwarf, there wasn’t much to do. Sure, there was Shiri to care for but without Arwhon around she was quiet and kept more to herself.

  He was about to pass through the front door when Cristal’s voice startled him.

  “And where are you sneaking off to, young man?”

  “Er, the markets Cristal. I need some new clothes.”

  “They can wait boy. Run upstairs and pack enough clothes for two weeks. You’re going on a little adventure.”

  Cringle could hardly believe his ears. Going on an adventure! He shot up the stairs and was back down in ten minutes with a small pack. Cristal was waiting for him.

  “Have you got everything you need in there? You won’t be coming back here for a while.”

  Cringle held his pack up, beaming.

  “Yes Cristal, it’s all in here.”

  The stern old lady didn’t bother to answer merely motioned him to follow and went out to her coach. Cringle jumped in and off they went but not very far. The coach turned left at the end of the street into the main thoroughfare but before reaching the square turned off east into some narrower streets. Cringle hadn’t been here before and wasn’t quite sure were he was. They stopped outside a decrepit looking building and Cristal alighted, motioning Cringle to do the same.

  “I’ve found you an apprenticeship of sorts. Only for a while. Just until Arwhon gets back. You’re to do everything you’re told and do not come back to the mansion until you’re summoned or returned by your Teacher.”

  With that she knocked on the door before her which swung back noiselessly on well oiled hinges to reveal a slight man with dark, lank hair and a nondescript face. Cristal gently pushed Cringle forward.

  “Cringle. Meet your new Teacher. This is Merdon and you are to do exactly as he says. I will return in a fortnight or so to see how you are doing. For now, listen and learn well my lad. Goodbye.”

  Cristal stepped up into the coach and as it pulled away, Merdon leaned forward out of the doorway to look furtively up and down the street before grabbing the front of Cringle’s shirt and pulling him forcibly into the house. The young man followed Merdon down a hallway to a kitchen at the back of the house where Merdon bade him sit at the table while he put a kettle on the stove.

  “How many men and how many women were in the street when Cristal left?” he asked.

  Cringle was dumbfounded. What had this odd question got to do with learning anything?

  “I dunno.”

  “Not good enough. There were six men and two women. How many were looking in our direction when I pulled you into the house?”

  Cringle shrugged.

  “What were they wearing?”

  Again Cringle shrugged.

  Merdon made two mugs of strong cafke and placed one in front of Cringle before sitting opposite him with his own. He studied Cringle silently for a while, making the already perplexed lad feel uncomfortable, then leaned back in his chair.

  “Cristal is a very clever and strong willed lady. If it wasn’t for her, the poorer people in this city would have no voice on the Council of Ten and Belvedere would now be part of Dominion. Arwhon was the catalyst in bringing about the downfall of Dominion but Cristal did a great deal of work for the city which has gone unrecognised by some but not by the poor. She is much admired and as she’s asked me to teach you to better manage yourself and be of value to those who have faith in you, by the Fate I will. Even if I have to pound it in.”

  Cringle was definitely worried now and took a gulp of cafke, scalding his mouth in the process. He knew about life on the streets, having been on his own in Crossroads but he’d always been an outsider with no one to teach him the ropes. He’d done a little petty thievery just to stay alive but he’d never taken
a lot of notice of life around him, preferring to work at odd jobs wherever he could and sleep in stable lofts more often than not. A small reward for mucking out horses. He was known and tolerated in Crossroads but this was Belvedere, a much bigger city.

  Merdon continued.

  “I’m going to teach you to notice things and then relate events one to another in a sensible fashion. I’ll probably teach you how to knife fight but not by any rules you may have heard of and I may also teach you how to pick pockets. This yours?”

  Merdon threw a purse onto the table and Cringle’s face reddened before he hurriedly checked his pockets. They were all empty. Even his bit of spare string was gone. They appeared on the table one by one as Merdon took them out of his pockets and added each item to the pile.

  “You need skills Cringle. You have to learn all about these things to avoid them happening to you. See, you’re already being taught. Now drink up and we’ll go up on the roof but before we do, I must warn you. Everything you see and hear from now on comes under the auspices of the Thieves’ Guild. There is one rule and one rule only. Do not tell anyone of what you see on pain of death. And I mean the death part.”

  Cringle shivered. He could tell Merdon was truly serious.

  As he downed the last of his cafke, Cringle surreptitiously gazed around the kitchen. It was clean and seemed like a normal kitchen, a string of onions hung from a hook on the wall and a few pots and pans stood on a shelf near the fire. The pantry was curtained but a dresser bore a few plates and a bowl of wrinkled apples. The back door was bolted securely from the inside, all the locks had the sheen of oil on them. Cringle assumed their operation would be soundless.

  Cafke finished, they rose and climbed the stairs. Cringle was thankful he had brought only a small bag with him. On the way up to the roof Cringle saw into some of the rooms near the stairs as they passed. They were very grand, with ornate furniture and hangings, paintings and sculptures, all at odds with the apparent poverty below.