“You want to go to the Gelaming camp?” Tyson enquired.
“The nest of vipers, yes,” Cal said. “I expect they will be delighted to see me.”
A great many Teraghasts had fled into the otherlanes, once it had become apparent the battle was going against them, although many others, predominantly injured hara, had been taken captive by the Gelaming. The camp was in chaos, as healing personnel struggled to cope with many injured hara, of both sides. Cal led Moon and Tyson to the middle of the camp. It was clear that he intended to confront Pellaz immediately.
At the entrance to the Grissecon site, Tharmifex Calvel was waiting for them, apparently having been warned of Cal's approach. He blocked their path, arms folded. “Cal, you manifest at the most surprising times.”
“Let me past,” Cal said. “I have no quarrel with you. Don't make me change my mind.”
“We will talk,” Tharmifex said, “but not here. A great many hara are interested in where you've been and what you've been up to.”
Cal drew in his breath. “I will talk to you, tiahaar, but now here, as you suggested. Now, let me through.”
Tharmifex's expression became pinched. “If you insist, although you might not like what you see.”
Moon felt increasingly uneasy. The Grissecon was over. What was there left to see? Presumably, Pellaz was unharmed, because Tharmifex did not appear distressed. Moon and Tyson followed Cal beyond the entrance.
There was a strange close atmosphere inside the wall of silk screens. The dawn light made everything feel surreal. The conflict was over, but something was still going on. Moon felt sick again, the way he'd felt in Aleeme's tower prison. A wide circle had been marked out with salt or chalk on the grass. Around two dozen hara stood in the circle, surrounding whatever remained in the centre.
Cal drew in his breath sharply, and a tall har with incredibly long tawny hair straightened up slowly and looked round, straight into Cal's eyes.
“Kakkahaar!” Cal hissed. “Now who would believe that?”
The har glided towards them swiftly and bowed, somewhat insolently. “Tiahaar Calanthe, we meet again. I witnessed some of your activities earlier. Most impressive. Somehar has taught you well. The technique and style seemed almost familiar.”
“Tiahaar Lianvis,” Cal said, “what pickings are there here for you? You are far from the desert. Are the Gelaming paying you in captives?”
Lianvis laughed. “Now, there's a thought! But no. Somehow I think I'd find resistance to such a demand.”
“You could try,” Cal said, “if Aldebaran has left any wounded alive after trampling over them on his sedu. Where's Pell?”
Lianvis indicated the centre of the circle. “There's a slight problem.”
“Problem? What? Is he hurt?”
Moon noticed Cal didn't move his gaze from the Kakkahaar's face.
Lianvis cleared his throat and stared at Cal for some moments.
“Well?” Cal said.
Lianvis glanced round quickly, then clearly came to a decision. “We cannot separate them.”
“What?”
Lianvis shrugged gracefully. “It is somewhat indelicate, but as far as I can tell there has been no retraction of the inner organs. We cannot pull them apart without risking damage because the Freyhellan is too deep in Pell's body. I cannot communicate with Pellaz. He is unconscious on more than one level.”
“How serious is this?” Cal's colour had become ashen again.
“We are hoping the condition will subside naturally. Pellaz took on a lot. He required great strength to face Ponclast, who no doubt now believes the Tigron has the power of a dehar. He hasn't. What he projected, coupled with that last attack you helped him with, has effectively closed him down. Galdra har Freyhella is frozen in shock.”
Cal nodded, but his expression was distant, as if his mind raced through many thoughts.
“Perhaps,” Lianvis said, “you could attempt...”
“Yes,” Cal said. Without looking at his companions, he marched forward and pushed through the small crowd of hara in the centre of the circle. Moon and Tyson exchanged a glance and followed. Moon could feel the Kakkahaar's attention fixed upon him. It was not a comfortable feeling.
The centre of the circle was like the scene of a horrible accident, yet without blood. A sour feeling hung in the air, a sense of desolation. Somehar had put blankets over Pellaz and Galdra's naked bodies; they had not moved from the Grissecon posture. Galdra's eyes were open, but unfocused. His breathing was laboured and he appeared to be in pain. A har stood behind him, hands on Galdra's shoulders. Moon could hear softly whispered words, but could not catch their meaning. Pellaz was slumped motionless against Galdra's chest, his head turned to the side, so that Moon could see his eyes were closed. Moon could not imagine what Cal must feel to witness this sight. This Galdra, who was only a name to Moon, had taken Cal's place. The Tigrons of Immanion should have performed this Grissecon, but it had been Cal's choice not to be with the Gelaming.
Hara stepped aside when they realised who had pushed among them. Cal stared at Pellaz for some moments, then hunkered down beside him. He brushed Pell's hair back with one hand. “Pellaz,” he said, and let his hand rest against Pell's head. “Hear me. Let him go.”
He did not have to speak those words aloud, and perhaps did so merely to inform or remind the hara present of who and what he was. All was silent as Cal remained crouched at Pell's side. Even the sounds from beyond the circle seemed hushed. Then Pellaz uttered a sound that was half gasp, half cry, and his head jerked up.
Cal withdrew his hand. He stood up and turned to Lianvis. “Lift him,” he said, and walked past Tyson and Moon back toward the site entrance.
Lianvis gestured at two hara dressed in similar attire to himself, who must be fellow Kakkahaar. Moon had to watch in ghoulish curiosity as they separated Pellaz and Galdra. He knew he should really look away, but it was too fascinating.
“That,” said Tyson, “is unreal! No wonder Pellaz used that har for this Grissecon. Did you see...”
“Ty, shut up,” Moon interrupted. “We should go after Cal.”
Chapter Forty-Two
They found Cal at the healing pavilions asking earnest questions of harried healers about Azriel and Aleeme. Moon wasn't deceived. Behind Cal's focused concern, panic was fluttering like a trapped bird. He didn't feel good at all. He didn't know what had happened to his world. Reality and truth had just reared up and slapped his face. The blow had obviously dislodged some scales from his eyes.
Moon wandered into the crowded pavilions, leaving Tyson to stand by his hostling at the entrance and wonder why Cal was babbling. Moon walked between long rows of beds in the dim light of the tents, where the smell of crushed grass mixed with the stench of blood. Teraghasts and hara of other tribes lay side by side. The Teraghasts in that place were in no condition to attack or try to escape. Most lay motionless. Moon knew he should offer to help, because it was clear everyhar there was worked off his feet, but Moon caught glimpses of the injuries and couldn't bring himself to look closer. Walking through those long tents was like a sickening nightmare, being too scared to look anywhere but straight ahead. Still, he made himself do it.
The healers wouldn't let Moon near Aleeme, who was in a sectioned-off area for critical cases, but he found Azriel lying on a low pallet, staring at the gently swaying ceiling. Moon spoke, but Azriel didn't appear to hear him. The healers had cleaned him up, but he wasn't there. Moon hoped that Azriel was deep inside himself and would one day come back. He didn't want to think about the alternatives.
The Gelaming had set up a large canteen tent where food and drink was available for all personnel. Once Moon came out of the healing pavilions, Cal decided they should go and eat. In the aftermath of the conflict, warriors with minor wounds ate breakfast jovially together. Looking at their faces, Moon realised many of them were surprised to find themselves still alive. In the camp around them, tents were already coming down as the tribes made preparat
ions to return home. At some point in the future, there would be a big victory celebration in Immanion, but by that time many hara would be immersed once more in their everyday lives and would tell themselves they hadn't got the time to travel. Relations with the Gelaming would never be the same again, because the Gelaming had proved their point. Moon could sense that some hara were already thinking about that and that it made them uncomfortable.
Cal found them an open air table near the edge of the crowds and sent Tyson and Moon to fetch trays of food. This required lengthy queueing, and by the time they returned to Cal he had a companion. Moon recognised the long-haired Kakkahaar who had spoken to Cal at the Grissecon site. “This is Lianvis,” Cal said, gesturing across the table.
Moon and Tyson sat down, each uttering a muttered greeting. Moon could tell the Kakkahaar was attracting a lot of attention from hara nearby. He must be here simply because he'd been looking for Cal. It struck Moon as odd then that a Tigron of Immanion could wander among ordinary hara, as Cal was doing, and not attract attention. Blending in was one of Cal's talents.
“This must be your son,” Lianvis said to Cal, while looking at Tyson. “You are very much alike.”
“And this is Moon,” Cal said, “Pell's sori.”
“Again the family resemblance is stunning.” The Kakkahaar smiled at Moon. “Thank you for all you did last night.”
Moon felt embarrassed. He had a feeling this har had seen everything. “How's Pell?” he asked, then regretted it. The question turned to ice in the air, fell heavily, and then shattered over the table. Cal cleared his throat.
“He'll be fine,” Lianvis said lightly. “It'll take him a few days to balance himself, but that's only to be expected. It's a small price to pay for victory.”
“Victory?” Cal said flatly. “All we did was buy some time.”
“Really?” Moon said. “I thought...”
“You're right, Cal,” Lianvis said. He began to eat from the plate of food in front of him. “Ponclast's allies overestimated his readiness, and underestimated the Gelaming's, or rather Pell's, resourcefulness. I don't know for sure if this is the last we'll see of the problem. It might be that future skirmishes will take place elsewhere. We might not notice them, or even know they've happened.”
“I hope that's the case,” Cal said.
Lianvis looked up at him. “Ignorance is bliss, eh? Strange, I wouldn't have thought that would be your philosophy.”
Cal shrugged. He'd barely touched his food. “It's becoming so.”
Lianvis wiped his mouth fastidiously with a corner of his napkin. “What Pellaz did was simply work,” he said, in a meaningful tone. “Don't let it get to you.”
Cal fixed Lianvis with a stare. “Get me to him,” he said, in a voice that sent a chill down Moon's spine.
“Pellaz?” Lianvis asked. “You don't need me for that, surely...”
“No,” Cal said. “You know who I mean. Where is he?”
Lianvis put his hands against the table and regarded Cal thoughtfully. “I am in two minds whether to tell you. I've heard quite a lot about you since making contact with the Gelaming.”
“What do you care? You've done far worse in your time than I ever have, I'm sure.”
Lianvis frowned, as if debating why he should care and perhaps surprised because he felt the need to do so. “You and Pellaz mean something,” he said at last. “Conflict with Galdra har Freyhella and a possible unpleasant outcome is now how it's supposed to end, either for you or for Wraeththukind in general.”
Cal laughed coldly. “I won't kill him. I just want to meet this paragon who everyhar thinks can take my place. Wouldn’t you, in my situation?”
Lianvis grinned and began to eat once more. “In your situation, my dear Cal, I most probably would kill him, but that's why you are a Tigron and I am not, nor ever could be. Very well, I'll take you to him later.”
“I want to meet him too,” Tyson said, the first time he had spoken to the Kakkahaar.
Lianvis shook his head in amusement. “Poor Galdra! Perhaps I should consider selling tickets for this event.”
Before they left the table, a member of Tharmifex Calvel's staff approached them. He bowed to Cal. “Tiahaar, there will be a meeting of the Hegemony at mid-day. You are invited to attend.” He turned to Lianvis. “You also, tiahaar.”
“Tell Tharmifex I'll be there,” Cal said. “I'll be with my companions here, so make sure they have places.”
The messenger bowed again, assured Cal this would be attended to and departed.
“You know what I think?” Lianvis said.
“What?” Cal asked.
“Don't visit Galdra har Freyhella before the meeting. If I were in your position, I think I'd simply act my best before the Hegemony. The Freyhellan will have heard you're here by now. He must be... anxious about it. Anyhar can see he'd lay down his life for Pell in an instant. Show the Hegemony what you're made of – and show Galdra also. He'll be well enough to attend the meeting and in fact I doubt he'd miss it, whatever his condition. It could be the opportunity you need. Two birds brought to earth, lifeless, with one well-aimed missile, don't you think?”
“Thank you, tiahaar,” Cal said. “I'll bear that in mind.”
“Pellaz won't be at the meeting,” Lianvis said. “I can tell you that much. He won't be doing anything of consequence for the next few days. But I think I'll recommend to Tiahaar Calvel that the Tigron is returned to Immanion today. He should be able to take a journey by sedu and I think he should be... removed from play, don't you?”
Cal narrowed his eyes. “Why this show of devotion to me, Lianvis?”
Lianvis shrugged. “I always liked you, despite what you might have thought. I like the whiff of danger about you. You see, I have my romantic fancies about you and Pellaz also. In my fond imaginings, you walk off together, into a rosy Almagabran sunset, hand in hand.”
Cal laughed. “You are amazing!”
“Don't worry. The Freyhellan's no match for you.”
Until the meeting, Cal, Moon and Tyson walked around the camp, so that Cal could exercise his role as Tigron and speak to whoever mattered, as well as many who didn't. He made no move to go and find Pellaz, which Moon found interesting, although he dared not comment on it. When they came across Ashmael Aldebaran, who had just supervised the removal of Abrimel har Aralis from Fulminir, Ashmael embraced Cal spontaneously. “Not before time,” he said. “I'd almost given up on you.”
Moon noticed hara observing Ashmael's hearty and clearly sincere greeting. He also noticed Cal didn't let Ashmael go too quickly.
“We have much to discuss,” Cal said. “I've been with Thiede.”
“Much to discuss!” Ashmael agreed. “Will he return to us?”
“Not in the same way as before,” Cal said. “I need to speak to the Hegemony about it.”
Ashmael nodded, released Cal and patted his arms. “I'm glad you're back,” he said, then grimaced. “So who is the enviable har to tell the Tigrina about his son?”
“Not me,” Cal said. “I have another matter to deal with.”
“You do,” Ashmael said. “Take care of it.”
Cal smiled widely in response.
A makeshift Hegalion had been created at the Grissecon site. When Moon and his companions arrived there, many hara of high rank were finding places for themselves on the mats that had been laid out as seats in concentric circles. Moon saw Tharmifex, Ashmael and Velaxis sitting together, along with Swift and Seel har Parasiel, but there was no sign of Galdra har Freyhella. Perhaps he wouldn't attend. The air around the site felt different now, no longer oppressive. Presumably Gelaming Nahir Nuri had cleaned it of residue of the Grissecon and its aftermath.
Cal pushed his way through the crowds to take his place next to Tharmifex, as if he'd never been absent from these gatherings. Many hara had their eyes fixed upon him, including Seel Parasiel, whose expression was grim, to say the least. Ashmael was grinning, although Tharmifex was tight-lipped. Mo
on knew of the history between Seel and Cal, because Tyson had told him. He wondered what would happen now, but guessed the next hour or so was going to be filled with excruciating moments.
Swift got to his feet immediately and wrapped Cal in a fierce embrace. “I heard what you did for Aleeme and Azriel,” he said. “I can't express...”
“Hush,” Cal said, kissing Swift on the lips – rather pointedly, Moon thought. “They are family. I only did what any of you would have done.”
Seel had also got to his feet and now stood with folded arms next to Swift. Cal ducked his head to him. “Seel,” he said politely, as if nothing bad had ever happened between them, although the mere politeness of the word could also indicate a lifetime of bad feeling. “I hope Aleeme will be all right.”