Darksong Page 7

  The Prime and most of the draakira had reached the end of the pier, only to find the way blocked by a wall of people trying to come onto it. As usual in such situations, no one was willing to give way and tempers were fraying. Glynn approached the draakan entourage, who were complaining loudly to the Prime. Ordinarily she would have thought them a feeble lot not to simply shove their way through, but as it was she was glad of the rest. She really felt almost sick with exhaustion and despite her wonder at what she had done, she was a little uneasy at the numbness it had left in her head.

  Despite fatigue, her mind recorded the details of her surroundings, as it had been trained to do. She noted a man with a scarred forehead harnessed like a beast to a trolley of vegetables; a woman slapped a plump knee and nodded to a passing trio of men; a musician sang in a reedy voice about the hidden fires of Iridom, accompanying himself on a rough-looking harp that reminded her of what she had heard about the great harps used by higher balladeers and some songmakers.

  Wind had advised his students to study their weaknesses as much as their strengths because weaknesses were secret thieves, and Glynn had done so. Some people had minds that developed a kind of clarity when they were exhausted or in pain, which actually enabled them to think with greater precision than usual, but her mind became vague when she was tired or in pain. To compensate for this weakness, Wind had taught her how to make mental records even when she was injured during competition bouts; lists which could be kept intact in her mind until they could be examined when she was less distracted.

  Glynn made no attempt to draw any conclusions from what she was seeing. She watched an old man propped against a big boulder crook a gnarled finger at one of the urchins, who nodded without glancing at him. One woman handed another a bag that clinked. A woman standing casually by the roadside, yawning widely, had eyes both watchful and frightened, which roved ceaselessly and hungrily over the faces in the crowd.

  ‘Always be alert to the periphery,’ Wind had taught her. ‘Not everything that is important will be at the centre of events. See what might be used against you or your opponent. See what help lies at the edge of things.’ Glynn wrenched her mind back to the present just in time to avoid being skittled by a man balancing a huge bale of oily-smelling fur on his head.

  When at last the draakira began to shuffle forward, Glynn followed and was relieved to find that the fleeting stop had restored her slightly, which meant that using her mind as she had done would not permanently drain her. If only the numb part of her mind would also ease.

  The carriage awaiting them appeared only to offer two sets of seats facing one another, the majority of its bulk being decorative, and Glynn wondered with a sinking heart if the rest of them were going to have to walk up to the citadel. But then the driver, resplendent in green and white livery, laid down his reins and leapt down to open a set of doors which had not been evident in the rear section, revealing a row of bench seats all facing forward like seats in the back of a minivan.

  Glynn was jostled by someone passing, and she found herself pushed close to one of the animals tethered to the vehicle. She was startled when the wedge-shaped head swivelled to her and she stepped back hastily in case the beast had scented the feinna. The last thing she wanted was to attract anyone’s attention. She need not have worried, for all of the draakira were gazing at the open doors at the rear of the carriage where a man emerged with languid grace. He yawned widely and blinked at the brightness of Kalinda and Glynn thought that he was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. His pale blond hair hung past his shoulders in long, perfectly even, oiled ringlets, and he was very tall and lean, with eyes of a vivid peacock blue, surrounded by kohl markings that accentuated their colour; his clothes were exquisitely cut and predominantly green.

  He glanced at her and Glynn’s feinna senses reacted with such violent aversion that she actually found herself baring her teeth. Fortunately his gaze had slipped away from her almost at once and the draakira were too fascinated by him to notice Glynn struggling with the seething turmoil of her feinna senses, triggered by something in the handsome stranger beyond the scope of her human senses. He approached the veiled Draaka, smoothing pale shining ringlets back from his face in a gesture as elegant as it was deliberate, before assaying a graceful, though not particularly deep, bow. It was then that she noticed one of his arms was in a sling.

  ‘I am Kalide, heir to the Iridomi chieftainship and brother to the Holder of Keltor, Tarsin the Effulgent,’ he said in a smooth though unexpectedly high-pitched voice.

  The Prime made a responsive bow. ‘Sire, I am Prime Wykka, leader of the draakira in the Acanthan haven. The Draaka, our mistress, is unfit for socialising at this time. Therefore I greet you in her stead and request that we be conveyed immediately to the palace where she may rest in comfort and recover from the journey.’

  ‘Then you must allow me to greet you with …’

  ‘Sire, I would be glad to forgo all formalities until my mistress is in a fit state to accept them,’ the Prime interrupted him so bluntly that Glynn wondered if she intended to give offence.

  The man shrugged, though anger flashed in his blue eyes. ‘As you wish. If you and your mistress and one other will seat yourselves in the forward section of the carriage, the rest of your delegation will find there is room for them in the rear.’

  As the draakira began to shuffle towards the rear door, Glynn was tempted to try to use her new ability on the Iridomi man, but the mere thought of trying to read his emotions made her feinna senses recoil as violently as if she had contemplated dipping her hand into acid. Her reactions were so exaggerated that Glynn wondered if the new duality of her sensibilities was distorting her perceptions.

  Mingus, Leta and the Prime assisted their mistress into the front section of the carriage, as Kalide peremptorily bade the waiting servitors hasten to the palace with the luggage. He added pleasantly that the last to arrive would be routinely whipped. As Glynn moved to the door of the carriage in her turn, she overbalanced slightly and her hood slipped from her head. Groping to replace it, she was waved to sit facing the wall separating the front of the carriage, where the Draaka sat, from the rear. Through a small window in the fore of the carriage, she could see the backs of the Prime and the Iridomi. She stiffened to hear the latter remark that the Draaka must be more liberal than rumoured, if the cult would employ a myrmidon.

  Her mouth went dry for he could only be referring to her. He had seen her hair when the hood slid off her head, and under the lightness of his tone, there was something brutish.

  ‘I assure you there is no myrmidon in the service of the Draaka,’ Wykka said in a bored voice, then she swooped forward to reposition the Draaka more securely. By the time this was done to her satisfaction, the carriage had begun to move and the matter was dropped.

  But Glynn could not relax. During the crossing, she had actually forgotten her dangerous resemblance to the amazon women who protected the soulweavers. She must alter her appearance as soon as she possibly could. To begin with, she had not really understood why she was so often taken for a myrmidon. Admittedly many myrmidons were tall and blonde because the sect had been set up by women of the Myrmidori sept, where both men and women seemed to be dominated by these physical characteristics. But women from any sept were eligible to join if they were prepared to set aside their allegiance to their birth sept and spend some years celibate, so not all myrmidons were tall and blonde.

  It was only after she finally met some real myrmidons on Fomhika, that Glynn had understood that her resemblance to the warrior women lay deeper than her athleticism and hair colour. The metal-capped javelins that myrmidons wielded as their weapon of choice demanded a certain combination of grace and strength, and Glynn moved with the same athletic grace because of her martial-arts training. The myrmidon women had been uniformly courageous and outspoken, and had emanated integrity, and Glynn, too, had a firm code of honour. Meeting the amazon women had made her realise that she could very easily h
ave been one of them. Indeed, in other circumstances, she would have been proud to be taken for a myrmidon, but on Ramidan that resemblance could be the death of her. Especially in the company she was keeping. It would be too noticeable if she dyed her hair, but she could cut it short and behave more timidly. She could slouch to minimise her height and wear the loosest of the clothes given her to conceal her muscles. Bayard would have wondered at the changes, but none of the other draakira had paid her enough attention to notice. If they did, she would simply admit the truth: she did not want to be mistaken for a myrmidon.

  The carriage began to judder in a way that reminded Glynn of a taxi ride she had once taken in Paris, and she wondered if they were now travelling over cobblestones. They were going steeply uphill in any case and, leaning forward and straining her neck, Glynn caught a glimpse of the citadel looming ahead.

  She overheard the Prime ask Kalide why permission to dock had been so long delayed.

  ‘The Fomhikan who tried to poison my illustrious brother escaped from the palace cells in the early hours of the morning with the help of a gang of the Shadowman’s ruffians,’ he answered. ‘There was a search of the pier in progress most of today, hence your delay in landing, but the area is now secure.’

  ‘He was caught then?’ the Prime asked.

  Glynn wondered at the Iridomi’s frequent references to the Holder as his brother. A Holder was deemed to belong to all Keltans rather than to his family or sept. In practice he might favour his old sept and maintain close contact with his family, but in public a Holder at least behaved and spoke as if he had no sept. Yet here was Kalide claiming Tarsin every other sentence.

  The Prime asked why the Fomhikan had not been executed immediately upon his being judged guilty and there was a slight, but Glynn thought significant, hesitation before Kalide answered that a judgement had not been pronounced. ‘Of course there is no doubt that he is guilty,’ he added smoothly. ‘He was seen delivering the poisoned canters of cirul to my brother’s apartment and one of them contained a rare golden brew produced from fruit that grows only on vines in the yards of the chieftain of Fomhika: the poisoner’s own father!’

  ‘An advocate would argue that the canters might easily have been altered without the knowledge of the Fomhikan who delivered it.’

  ‘My brother’s life servitors declare that to be impossible for the canter corks were waxed and stamped by Poverin’s own seal.’

  There was a pause before the Prime said thoughtfully, ‘Our party was upon Fomhika and guested by Poverin when news of the poisoning came. I had the impression that he was genuinely shocked.’

  ‘I have no doubt he was shocked. After all, a plan had gone badly astray.’

  ‘You claim the Fomhikan chieftain plotted assassination?’

  ‘It is not my place to pass judgements. Or pre-empt them. Yet look at the other evidence. The Nightwhisper arrived in port the day before Bleyd delivered the cirul, having travelled direct from Fomhika.’

  ‘A veritable avalanche of evidence,’ the Prime said dryly. ‘One must wonder why a judgement took more than a moment to deliberate.’

  Kalide scowled. ‘Judgement was delayed because the prisoner was still being interrogated. My brother, reasonably enough, wished to know the name of his accomplices. And he would have known if the visionweaver who was about to reveal the truth had not been captured and stolen away by Bleyd of Fomhika.’

  Wykka said something Glynn did not hear.

  ‘An attempt to murder the Holder is no small matter,’ Kalide responded stiffly.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ the Prime conceded. ‘What did the Fomhikan say to the charges?’

  ‘He claimed to be innocent, of course,’ Kalide sneered. ‘He said a message had been delivered to the palace, demanding that he come in person to collect a parcel. He thought it odd that his father had not made mention of the gift, he said. He also claimed there was no note with the canters suggesting that the contents be mixed.’

  ‘And Poverin?’

  ‘He avows the seal was not his.’

  The Prime shrugged. ‘I am surprised that this Bleyd did not point out that the evidence against him was so stupidly damning that it could only have been manufactured.’

  ‘I have not found Fomhikans to be especially subtle as a rule,’ Kalide said evenly, but Glynn’s feinna senses again detected anger. ‘In any case, no great attempt at concealment would have been necessary if the poisoning had been successful, for in that case the poisoner’s own brother would have been declared Holder and it would have fallen to him to direct the investigation into the death of his predecessor. How easy for justice to be swept aside under such circumstances.’

  ‘Is it said openly that the mermod was involved in the assassination attempt?’ the Prime asked.

  ‘Let us say that he is known to be devoted to his brother. It would not be difficult for the mermod to convince himself of the poisoner’s innocence, in this case.’

  ‘You said that the Fomhikan was helped to escape from the citadel cells by the Shadowman?’ Mingus spoke for the first time. ‘Can you not force a confession from whomever gave you this information?’

  Kalide had turned enough that Glynn saw his scowl. ‘Who would want to free the Fomhikan just before a soulweaver was to be named his accomplice, other than one who had pledged his life and shadowy legion of spies to the witches of the misty isle!’ he snapped.

  ‘So, it is only a speculation that the Shadowman was involved in the escape,’ the Prime concluded.

  ‘You say a soulweaver was to be named his accomplice?’ Mingus asked.

  Kalide nodded smugly. ‘The visionweaver who saved Tarsin experienced another vision in which she saw that the poisoner’s accomplice was a woman who bore blue forehead sigals such as some hags of the misty isle affect. My brother sent the visionweaver to the cells in the hope that proximity to the Fomhikan poisoner would enable her to identify the woman, but as I have said, she was kidnapped before she could do so.’

  Glynn was dismayed to hear this because there was only one soulweaver on Ramidan. Was it possible the woman she had come to see was caught up in some sort of murder plot?

  ‘Any advocate would point out that the sigals might have been false,’ Wykka murmured.

  Kalide looked annoyed. ‘The visionweaver who saw the woman was not as others with mere visionweaving tendencies,’ he said loftily. ‘Despite her youth, she was dying and this gave her greater power over the Void. Ironically, she came to Ramidan in search of healing but the soulweaver could do nothing to help her, nor could the court white cloak.’

  Glynn thought how easy it would be to give the ‘visionweaver’ advance knowledge of the poisoning plot, so that she could ‘save’ Tarsin and ingratiate herself, only later to use the credit she had won to harm the soulweavers. But why would a dying woman lend herself to such a plot?

  ‘Does Tarsin denounce Alene publicly?’ the Prime asked.

  ‘It is common knowledge on Ramidan that the soulweaver to the Holder has for some time been out of favour with my brother,’ Kalide said. ‘He wisely refuses to heed her whispers and hints and he has consistently spurned the interference of Darkfall. No doubt this is at the back of their plotting. They did not like his having slipped out of their grip.’

  Glynn took from this that the soulweaver had not been arrested. Then all thought was obliterated by a putrid gaseous stench that flowed richly into the carriage and set them all to gagging and retching. Kalide explained in strangled tones that there was a dispute about garbage in progress in the citadel. Normally he would have used a closed carriage, but Shadowman agents had smashed the glass in the windows of all but a few carriages. He shouted a command to the driver who urged the beasts into a lumbering trot. There was no possibility of talking or hearing over the deafening thunder of metal wheels going at such a speed over the cobbles. Indeed, it required all of Glynn’s concentration to cushion the feinna from the worst of the jolting, though her senses reported that the little animal was not
even mildly discomforted by the shaking.

  Not so the other passengers. There were audible groans of relief as the carriage drew up to the bottom of the wide stone staircase which ascended to the barred gates of the palace. Legionnaires emerged from the watch hut alongside the steps, and after a nod at Kalide, they began to search the draakira individually and with impersonal efficiency. Glynn noted that the legionnaire approaching her was very young. Nervous about the feinna in her balled cloak, she tried clumsily to send emotions to make him reluctant to touch her. To her dismay, the legionnaire stopped dead and seemed as confused as if he had taken a blow on the head.

  She was relieved to see the glaze fade almost at once from his eyes. But he fixed her with a look of disdain and proceeded to pat down her back and around her neck and shoulders briefly, making no attempt to feel beneath her coat. Nor did he order her to set the cloak aside. She would have felt elated at the success of her ploy except that the young legionnaire’s initial expression of slight distaste was growing more and more exaggerated.

  ‘Did you check her legs?’ an older legionnaire asked, having approached unnoticed by either of them.

  Glynn’s heart began to pound, but the young legionnaire merely knelt and felt about her ankles as his superior turned to observe the respectful search of the statue-like Draaka under the watchful glare of the Prime. Suddenly the feinna began to emit a peculiar musk which sent the young man reeling back with a look of disgust. Glynn kept her expression absolutely bland, and her eyes downcast, though her heart was pounding and she had the insane desire to laugh.

  ‘What is it?’ an older legionnaire asked brusquely as the young man straightened and wiped his hands ostentatiously on his tunic. ‘Did you find something?’

  ‘Nothing,’ the young legionnaire said scathingly.

  There was too much feeling in the word, but other than giving them both a searching glance, the older man bade the younger to get on with it and waved Glynn to join the others who had been searched. She obeyed and stumbled with fatigue. When they were at last given permission to enter the palace, Glynn gritted her teeth as she climbed the steep steps in the wake of the complaining draakira. Reaching the top at last, she wondered if Lanalor had deliberately designed the entrance in such a way as to ensure that no one coming to the outer gates would be in a fit state to attack.