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.’
In Gellan, the red city, it is dusk. The jumbled spires and tenements glow in the light of sunset, the same colour as the ruby ring that Samis wears. Samis stands on a bridge above a sluggish river, the colour of blood, as if it ran from a slaughterhouse. slaughterhouse.
Darrow stands beside his old friend, and stares down at the swirling water. He is a boy no longer. He cannot believe the words that Samis has just uttered; he feels as though he has stepped into a dream, or a nightmare. Yet he knows that his friend is in deadly earnest, though his voice is light.
‘Well, my Heron?What do you say? Are you with me in this quest?’
For a heartbeat or two, he cannot speak, and his heart is gripped with dread. Can it be possible that for a third time, his inability to act, to speak, to move, will take him helplessly down a path he has no desire to follow?Will he shake off this paralysis in five years, or ten, or fifty?Will he find himself an old man, Samis’ s deputy, heart’ s-brother to the tyrant of Tremaris, the Emperor of the World, nodding and smiling beside the throne of a madman?
‘I will be the Singer of all Songs, my Heron.’ Samis looks into Darrow’ s eyes, as cool and arrogant as the night they first met, up on the roof of the Black Palace, with the moons shining behind his head. ‘And you will
be with me.’
Darrow finds that, after all, he is not paralysed. He cannot speak, but he can move. He takes one step backward, then another. He shakes his head.
Samis frowns. Then he holds out his hand. ‘Heron. You know you are more truly my brother than any of the Emperor’ s sons. Everything I gain, I will share with you.’
Darrow finds his voice. ‘No,’ he croaks, still shaking his head. ‘No.’
He turns his back and begins to walk away down the narrow streets that lead from the river, the noisy, crowded streets. He walks faster and faster, until he breaks into a run, and he does not stop running until he reaches the docks, and the dark, cold, cleansing sea.
five
The Madness of the Sands
IT WAS DARK down in the cellars. Keela had never known such darkness. The Palace of Cobwebs was always lit, by moonlight or filtered sun, or by thousands of candles. But this was thick, choking darkness, hot and stinking of fear.
Keela patted herself all over. She was unhurt, but in the scramble to safety, she had lost her shoes, and her beautiful gloves were in tatters. The gods alone knew what she must look like!
Now that the roar of destruction had stopped, Keela could hear whimpers of panic, moans of pain, and weeping from the other trapped survivors. She had lost Immel, lost her friends; they were separated from her by fallen walls. Keela was not afraid. It would be only a matter of time before her followers came to find her. They couldn’ t all have been killed! She was alive, others were alive. She had only to wait. Though she had never been good at waiting. . .
Far above came a rumble of falling stone, as part of the ruins settled. Keela winced. If only she had managed to hold onto that chanter child! He would have been able to shift all these rocks and burrow their way out in an instant.
Something shifted in the blackness nearby. ‘Who’ s there?’ called Keela sharply.
‘Lord Haigen, First General, Fourth Division of the Imperial Army, born into the Clan of the Darru!’ a gruff voice barked out. ‘Who goes there, woman?’
‘Mind your manners, sir! You’ re addressing the Third Princess of the Imperial House!’
‘I beg your pardon, my lady.’ There was a pause. ‘Never fear, my lady. My soldiers will be here presently to dig us out. Stay close to me, my lady. I’ ll see you’ re looked after as you deserve.’
Keela almost laughed aloud. She could hear it all in his voice, in his crafty, stupid, soldier’ s voice. He wanted to use her, this general; like all those ambitious men, he thought he could wear her like a jewel, to enhance his own power. It never occurred to these men that Keela might have ambitions and plans of her own, that she could use them.
‘Oh, General!’ she purred. ‘I’ m so glad you’ re here, I’ m so glad there’ s a strong man here to take care of me! Where are you, Haigen? Let me hold your hand!’
‘I’ m afraid I’ ve mislaid my gloves, my lady,’ confessed the general.
‘Never mind about that. We have survived a catastrophe. We mustn’ t let a little thing like gloves stand between us.’
For a time they sat in the dark, hand in hand, flesh against flesh. Keela could hear the general’ s breathing. She moved a little closer, aware that Haigen could smell the perfume of her hair, her clothes, her skin.
‘Do you know what caused this?’ she murmured. ‘An earthquake?’
‘I won’ t lie to you, my lady. It was no earthquake.’ The general’ s voice swelled, became important; like all men, in Keela’ s experience, he loved to explain things to a woman. ‘The rebels from the sea-towns are behind this. Nothing more certain.’
‘They must be very strong, to destroy the Palace!’
‘Not so strong that we can’ t defeat them.’
‘But you couldn’ t have expected this!’
‘Our intelligence did not rule out the possibility of an attack,’ said the general, but there was a glimmer of uncertainty in his tone. ‘Though an attack on this scale seemed – improbable.’
Keela fell silent. She must be very careful now. It was clear to her that the sharp-toothed little nadu, Calwyn, must have been working for the sorcerers, and not the rebels. Only the sorcerers knew about the children. Had they plotted to assassinate the Emperor and remove the children, to bring down the Palace? They might have suspected that Amagis had betrayed their secrets, and ordered the little nadu to kill him, too. . . In the darkness, she began to stroke the back of the soldier’ s roughened hand. At last she said, ‘Perhaps the rebels had help from elsewhere. From the sorcerers?’
The soldier stiffened. ‘And what does my lady know of sorcery?’
Keela squeezed his fingers. ‘What will become of us?With the Emperor gone, and the Palace destroyed? It grieves me to say it, but my brother, the First Prince, is not fit to take my father’ s place.’
The general’ s voice was very cautious. ‘The Army will ensure that the stability of the Empire is maintained.’
‘Of course. . .’ They both jumped as a thunder of falling rubble sounded overhead. There were muffled shouts, and someone screamed. Keela held the general’ s hand firmly in hers. She said, ‘Do you know the Hatharan Ambassador?’ ‘I have met the man.’
‘He and I were very good friends.’
‘Indeed?’
‘He told me certain things, secrets that only the Emperor and the sorcerers know. Would you like to hear them?’
‘My lady,’ breathed Lord Haigen.
‘I can make you a powerful man, sir, once we get out of here. First among generals. Even able to choose the next Emperor. But –’ Her fingers tightened warningly around his. ‘I have my price.’
‘What price is that?’
‘I will share your power.’ She did not say: until another comes, a greater man than you, who will brush aside whichever puppet you have chosen, and make me his Empress.
The soldier sucked in his breath as he considered. ‘Very well,’ he said abruptly. ‘It shall be as you wish.’
‘Do you swear it, by the blood of your fathers?’
‘I swear.’
So she told him, there in the darkness, her mouth close to his ear, as they waited for the soldiers to come. She told him everything that Amagis had told her: the ancient bargain between the Emperors and the sorcerers, the chanter children who had held the Palace up with ironcraft. She told him about the Black Palace, deep in the barren lands of Hathara, where the sorcerers nursed their strange powers, and where, no doubt, they plotted to overthrow the Empire. She promised him the support of three of the Seven Clans, all she could speak for.
At last, there was a scraping of stone, and shouts, a shower of white dust, and a lantern thrust through a gap in the roof.
The troops had come, just as Haigen had promised. The general was revealed as a red-faced, stout man, of middle age, who snatched his hand away from the Princess’ s as if it burned him.
‘Lord Haigen, sir!’ The young lieutenant saluted smartly. ‘Glad to see you still alive, sir! There’ s a council of generals, at dawn, on Martec Plain, to discuss the situation, sir. They’ ll be glad to see you, too.’
‘A council? Excellent.’ Haigen tugged at his clothes. ‘I have much to tell them, urgent information, important information.’
‘Lord Haigen?’ Keela called sweetly. ‘Surely you have not forgotten?’
‘Yes, of course.’ The general turned back. ‘See that the Princess is fed, and – and so forth. The men will take care of you,’ he said, over his shoulder.
Keela’ s voice trembled with rage. ‘What of your oath, sir? Sworn on your fathers’ blood?’
‘Oh,’ Haigen smiled. It was an unpleasant smile. ‘A vow sworn to a woman is not binding, my lady. Or else where would our honour be?’
The young lieutenant stifled a laugh behind his hand, but as Keela wheeled to face him, he soon became sober. ‘You dare to smirk at me, you dog?’ she hissed.
‘No, my lady,’ he stammered.
Keela’ s eyes narrowed. ‘Give me your cloak. Then,
if you want to make yourself useful, you can find my manservant.’
The sky had begun to lighten when Calwyn found the gully. She’ d almost given up hope, crossing and recrossing her footsteps, as she searched for the hidden path. Several times she’ d struck a dead end against blank walls of red rock, or found herself out on the moonlit plain again. She felt a renewed admiration for Heben and the confidence with which he’ d led them across the trackless sands, and she wondered again how they would manage without him.
Now when she looked toward the remains of the Palace, she could see tiny ant-like figures swarming around its base: the courtiers who had managed to survive? The Army, preparing to take over? Or the rebels, starting their revolution? Whichever it was, she wanted to keep out of their way.
Eagerly, she pushed down into the ravine, toward the stream and the fronds of green that fringed it. There was the campsite, tucked beneath the overhang, and the hegesi, rounded up and tethered loosely to a tree.
And there was Heben, filling a waterskin at the creek. And there – Calwyn broke into a run. Halasaa strode toward her with his arms outstretched. Mica was chattering excitedly to Shada, and Oron splashed his face in the stream, while Haid and Vin crouched by a tiny fire, slapping out rounds of flat bread.
Halasaa hugged Calwyn and swung her around. Calwyn! She hid her face in his shoulder and held him tight, unable to speak.
Why didn’ t you answer me, after the Palace fell? I thought you were dead!
I answered, my sister. But your mind was too unquiet to hear me.
Heben came up, pushing the stopper into the waterskin with the flat of his hand. ‘I’ m glad to see you safe, my lady,’ he said, retreating to the safety of politeness in his relief.
Halasaa let Calwyn slide to the ground. ‘Yes, I’ m safe,’ she said soberly. ‘But Ched – he was killed, as we were running away.’
The children clustered around, solemn but not surprised.
‘We all would have been dead soon enough, if you hadn’ t come,’ saidVin.