Part 38 (1/2)

'You are wondering who I am,' the giant figure said, and buildings shook as his voice roared. 'I am neither Recruiter nor Maghdi Dasht, fatal as that would have been should you have shown them lack of respect. So who could I be? I am the Undying Man himself come amongst you, surveying the empire I built-and I am displeased!'

Stella wanted to cry out, but a deep dread had seized her heart and she could not move. So...much...power!

The figure crooked his arm and the oldest Umerta boy rose into the air, his cudgel still in his hand. 'The honour of Andratan has been impugned, son. You struck your ruler's person and you must pay the price. I will have the respect I deserve.'

Higher and higher the boy rose, whimpering as he did, and the acrid smell of urine wafted around the square. The helpless boy was not the only source.

The sorcerer made a fist. The young man arched backwards, going into convulsions, and strangled cries issued from his open mouth. The fist opened and the youth fell thirty feet to the ground. A small cloud of dust rose, then dispersed.

Stella watched for any signs of life, but there were none.

'May I approach?' the woman asked, her voice shaking. The parasol lay discarded on the ground behind her.

'You may,' said the sorcerer.

He held me in his arms a few hours ago, Stella found herself thinking.

The woman knelt before the giant figure, her face working, betraying the great effort she made to keep her composure. 'I make plea neither for myself nor for my son, whom you have...' she licked her lips, 'whom you have rightly punished. Instead, following protocol, I invite the guests of the Bhrudwan Empire to sup with us this evening, and stay the night should they wish.'

The giant vanished and Heredrew stood in its place.

'We accept. And there we will solve the mystery of our travelling companion whom you claim as your daughter. Perhaps reasoned discussion will achieve what violence could not.'

The Umerta steading lay half an hour's ride north of the port, a little inland of the golden beaches ribboning the coast, surrounded by forbidding forest. The land they worked was extensive, with a significant live-in workforce in addition to the matriarch's many sons-their number now reduced by one.

Their homestead was enormous, and palatial in almost every respect. A stone exterior, in contrast to the wooden houses of Sayonae. How far had the stone been brought, and at what cost, Conal wondered. He had not imagined Bhrudwo, which he'd envisaged as a poor place, sucked dry by the Destroyer, would contain places such as this.

The entire steading gathered to receive their unwelcome guests, and to pay respect to the body of the Umerta heir. They have an awkward task, Conal thought. To lie with everything they have in order to convince the monster they are pleased to entertain him on the night they should be mourning the loss of the eldest son. There stood the matriarch, head high, a smile pasted on her face, which had sagged noticeably since this afternoon. Either side of her stood her sons and daughters, bowing and curtseying as the Destroyer led the Falthans into the large reception room.

'So the bear reveals his claws,' Conal hissed as he approached Stella.

'Tonight is not about your feelings,' came the reply.

'But some night must be. The monster must die for the sake of the world.'

'My hand will be on the knife that separates him into a thousand pieces,' his queen said, and his heart rose. 'As soon as he has served his purpose.'

Conal found himself presented to the stony-faced matriarch. He kissed her hand, as seemed to be tradition in this barbaric land, then looked up into her dead eyes and whispered: 'I will kill him.'

'You are a fool to think such things,' the woman said, but her eyes sparkled as she spoke. 'And an even greater fool for saying them. Perhaps, if it lies within the grace of our lord of Andratan, you could give me some time to correct your thinking.'

Conal nodded, wondering what the woman could mean, and allowed himself to be led into the dining room.

The Falthans were accorded privileged positions directly opposite the hostess, yet their number, including the obviously bedazzled Pernessa, filled less than half one side of the enormous table. Conal was seated next to Robal; Stella had clearly manoeuvred things to ensure he was close to the guard. To his left were a pale Phemanderac and, next to him, Moralye, who patted at his mouth with a cloth and appeared ready to spoon-feed him. On the far side of Robal sat Stella, then Kilfor, Sauxa and Pernessa. The remainder of the table was filled by the Umerta family.

Eight exquisite courses served on the finest porcelain, and yet no one but Heredrew ate more than the smallest portion of food. Surely the monster must notice? If so, he did not acknowledge it. So much sorrow and fear resting on this place, and all he can do is stuff his cheeks full of his victim's food.

A side door opened and a woman entered, tiptoed across the room and stood at the matriarch's left; a place away from the Destroyer, who of course had been given the honoured place at her right hand.

'My lord, this woman was to have been my daughter-in-law,' the woman said, her voice level. 'She was betrothed to my son.'

The monster looked up from his feast. 'Plenty more brothers,' he said, and turned back to his meal.

'Providing any of them are alive by morning,' Conal breathed. The pretty but wan-faced girl beside him-Sena, she'd named herself-drew in a sharp breath.

'I don't doubt some of your brothers will try to revenge themselves tonight,' he said to her. 'If they try, they will die. Tell them that, will you? And you can also tell them,' he added, lowering his voice, 'that there are others, more capable, working to rid the world of this man. Let them take heart from that.'

'Why do you travel with him?'

Sena really did have the most intense blue eyes, which bored into his as she asked the question. She had a pretty face too, and-he was a priest. These thoughts were distracting him.

He smiled at her, shaping his face in what he imagined was a ruthless look. 'I travel with him for a chance to see him dead.'

'Now, it is time to talk of Lenares,' the Destroyer said to the woman whose son he'd killed. 'I would have this mystery solved without further bloodshed. You may speak without fear, as long as you speak the truth. But first, I would have you speak of yourself.'

'My name is Martje,' she said without hesitation. 'I am not from the Fisher Coast, and have not been raised in its ways.'

'No,' the Destroyer agreed. 'You have the look of one from Astralagus.'

'The Hanseia Hills, actually, near the Nordalagus border.'

'Ah, the Hanseia Hills, from which come at least half the rebellions in Bhrudwo-and half the Maghdi Dasht. I am beginning to understand. Now, for one foreign to the Fisher Coast, you seem well versed in its etiquette, no matter what you say. A pity your son did not have your natural caution.'

'You forget it was I who ordered him to strike,' she said, raising her chin.

'I needed someone to punish, in the interests of preserving public order.'

'You should have chosen me,' she said.

'I still could, Martje.'

She blanched at this, but did not pull away.

'Now, Lenares,' he said, turning to her, 'please oblige me by standing against the far wall.' He waved his hand at a wall covered in portraits of men and women.

'Any questions?' he asked those still at the table as the girl stood amid the well-trimmed beards and elaborate frocks. 'Just to make it even clearer, would the Umerta family members stand either side of Lenares, please?'

There could be no doubt, even for one as sceptical as Conal knew himself to be. He wanted the Destroyer to be wrong, wanted to see him humiliated. But he was clever, two thousand years clever. The faces gathered against the gold-leafed wall were all of the same stock. Lenares, whatever her protestations, was one of them.

The Destroyer stood, brus.h.i.+ng away the remnants of his meal. 'Lenares, you're from the south, are you not?'

'Yes,' she answered, her face pale. She had said little since arriving here, obsessed, no doubt, by trying to work this out using her system of numbers. If that wasn't also a sham. Perhaps the girl was afraid of being exposed as an opportunist.

'Yes,' she repeated. 'Lenares the Cosmographer, of Talamaq. I am an Amaqi.'

'And are Duon and the man who calls himself Dryman also Amaqi?'

'Yes, but they are from southern areas.'

'You are trying to steer me away from the inevitable conclusion to these questions,' the Destroyer said. 'That is not like you, Lenares. Are there others in Talamaq with pale hair and skin?'