Part 6 (2/2)

The man spurred his mount towards Pazel, and the bird lowered its head and struck him a blow like a blunt axe to the chest. Pazel staggered, his breath knocked out of him. The man in work clothes was strolling towards him, grinning. The rider turned the messenger bird again, and Pazel saw a long steel nail protruding from the toe of his boot. Pazel leaped sidelong as the man lashed out. The nail missed by inches. Cursing, the man began to dismount.

Then his head shot up. Pazel turned and saw Hercol leap into the air like a dancer, feint with his right leg, and deliver a lightning strike with the left that felled the man in work clothes like a puppet whose strings have snapped.

The moment he touched the ground Hercol was sprinting for Pazel. The rider hauled his bird about, kicking savagely with his heels. With a deep croak the bird bore him away.

Hercol seized Pazel by the chin. 'All right?' he said.

'I think so. Ouch! Ouch! ' He put a hand to his chest. ' He put a hand to his chest.

'You'll be sore for a fortnight, if it was that fenneg fenneg bird that struck you.' He shook his head. 'Why didn't you listen, Pazel? I told you not to go through with it.' bird that struck you.' He shook his head. 'Why didn't you listen, Pazel? I told you not to go through with it.'

'I thought you were just trying to protect me,' said Pazel.

'So I was! I saw the Secret Fist watching us from every third corner, the moment we entered the gates. Come quickly! When that rider sounds the alarm they'll fall on us in force.'

They ran back the way Pazel had come. The man Hercol had kicked lay still, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Pazel shut his eyes a moment, but he never forgot the man's look of shock, the gape of the bloodied mouth, the wide-open eyes. Like the faces of so many dead, he would glimpse it in dreams for years to come.

When they reached the port they had to fight their way through the crowd. Even in the short time he had been gone it had swollen, and its anxiety had increased. Some were literally weeping with fear. There would be war, another eternity of war; how had they ever let themselves hope it could end? Others vented their anguish on Pazel: 'Caught the little deserter! Good work! Always whip a s.h.i.+p-jumper, I say!'

Hercol led him to a fis.h.i.+ng pier, at the foot of which King Os.h.i.+ram's men were holding back the crowd. They were let through, and Pazel saw Fiffengurt and Neeps standing beside Thasha's body at the end of the pier. Both were looking in the direction of the Chathrand Chathrand, which loomed like a sea fortress three miles offsh.o.r.e.

Their faces lit up at the sight of Pazel. 'Welcome back, fool,' said Neeps.

Pazel didn't argue the point. 'What are we going to do now?' he said.

'First, get Thasha back to the Chathrand Chathrand,' said Hercol. 'When that is done, we shall seek another way to reveal Arqual's plot to the world. A way that doesn't require tarboys to play cat and mouse with a.s.sa.s.sins.'

'That'll be a pleasant change,' said Neeps, watching the bay. 'Dancing devils! Why are those rowers so slow?'

'Because you're watching 'em,' said Fiffengurt.

Pazel paced the dock, trying not to look at the bundle at Hercol's feet. After an interminable wait the skiff reached the pier. The men at oars saw Thasha and began shouting at once: 'Who did it, Mr Fiffengurt? Who would lay a finger on her? Can we kill him, sir ?'

Lowering Thasha into the boat was an undignified affair. The Babqri love-knot slipped, and her golden hair spilled onto the slimy floor. They could not stretch her out, and at last placed her feet on the bench between the rowers. Neeps tried to clean her hair on his trousers.

The sailors wept. Like most of the crew they had not cared much for the Treaty Bride at first. n.o.ble-born pa.s.sengers came and went, often greeting sailors, if at all, with a barely disguised sneer. The men returned the favour, and accounts of first-cla.s.s ignorance, seasickness, fear of rats and fleas and bedbugs and general uselessness were traded like hard candies on the lower decks.

But they had not sneered long at Thasha Isiq. Rather than fine food or bleached petticoats she had wished for a chance to climb the masts or explore the black cavern of the hold. She was also a virtuoso swearer: a lifetime of eavesdropping on captains, commodores and other guests at her father's table had made her a walking sc.r.a.pbook of naval curses. By the Chathrand Chathrand 's first landfall men were boasting of her beauty, and when a rumour spread that she had flattened a pair of thuggish tarboys in a brawl, they had added ferocity to her list of virtues. She was 'a good 'un,' they decided, and there was no higher praise. 's first landfall men were boasting of her beauty, and when a rumour spread that she had flattened a pair of thuggish tarboys in a brawl, they had added ferocity to her list of virtues. She was 'a good 'un,' they decided, and there was no higher praise.

A sudden voice from the Chathrand: Chathrand: 'What is this, Quartermaster ?' 'What is this, Quartermaster ?'

It was Captain Rose. The red-bearded man was studying them with intense suspicion, his enormous hands gripping the rail. Beside him stood Lady Oggosk, his witch-seer, old eyes gleaming from beneath a faded shawl.

Before Fiffengurt could reply, Hercol shouted: 'This, Rose, is the end of your conspiracy - and what will concern you far less, the end of one n.o.bler than certain minds can grasp.'

'I've seen enough of corpses. Bury that one in Simja, whoever he is.'

Hercol reached out and uncovered Thasha's face, now deathly grey.

'You would do well not to impede the return of Thasha to Etherhorde. His Supremacy will wish to pay his respects.'

'What, what?' cried Oggosk. 'The girl is dead?'

'I believe I just said that, d.u.c.h.ess.'

Rose did not stand in their way. Indeed he helped by clearing the deck of all but essential hands. Nonetheless as the lifeboat drew alongside the towering vessel, Pazel heard cries of anguish and disbelief. Oggosk's voice had carried: the news was already loose on the s.h.i.+p.

The davit-lines were made fast, and heave by heave the men of the watch hauled the lifeboat up the s.h.i.+p's flank.

'Line a casket with paraffin,' said Rose when they reached the topdeck. 'We'll send ash.o.r.e for an embalmer.'

'Dr Chadfallow will do,' said Hercol.

Rose nodded. 'She was brave. I am saddened by this.'

Pazel looked at him with fury. Liar. Liar.

Across the deck men stood gaping, holding their caps. Lady Oggosk muttered a prayer. As they lifted Thasha from the boat, the witch suddenly put a hand on the girl's cold, colourless forehead. Oggosk's milk-blue eyes opened wide. She turned her gaze on Pazel, and for a moment he was transfixed. It was as if she could see right through him.

'What have you done?' she whispered.

With a great effort Pazel wrenched his gaze away. Oggosk stepped back, but Pazel seemed to feel her eyes drilling at a point between his shoulders as they crossed the endless topdeck, silent but for creaks of the rigging and the sighs of stricken men.

Demons of cruelty had sewn his wedding shoes.

Half a mile behind the bearers of Thasha's corpse, Admiral Isiq kicked the silk things into the roadside brush. At once he felt better. He had been no poor runner once - ages ago, before his first command - and the feel of dry, dung-laced earth on his bare feet summoned memories of Turam, the old Isiq homestead in the Westfirth, where his father had killed a marauding bear with just a hunting knife. He loosened his cravat. He was gaining on them.

Behind him, the mob wailed in their thousands. Soon the youngest would catch up, shout their sympathies, get in his way. He broke into a cautious run. Misery it seemed, like fury, could give one strength.

I've lost my girl. Lost her mother twelve years before. Lost Syrarys - she was ever my foe but I possessed her body, her hands, possessed a lovely illusion. Even that they have taken from me. But not this body, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, you filth. Not this mind pitted against you for ever.

He was thinking of his Emperor, and Rose, and above all Sandor Ott. Arunis might have killed Thasha, but Ott had spun the web in which the sorcerer found her, hopelessly tangled. Arunis had come out of nowhere; Ott had shadowed Isiq for years, disguised as an honour guardsman.

By the G.o.ds, it felt good to run again. The road burned the soles of his feet and each slap said, You live, you can act, you have nothing left to fear. You live, you can act, you have nothing left to fear.

He saw now what he had to do. Thasha's sacrifice meant the prophecy was annulled: no stirrings of revolution would begin on Gurishal, no preparations for the return of their G.o.d. But the s.h.a.ggat remained. So did the will to make him flesh again. Above all, so did the Nilstone.

Which meant that some other vessel would have to bear his daughter home: the Chathrand Chathrand must never leave this port. And there was only one power in the Bay of Simja that could stop it. For all their show of guns, the Mzithrini s.h.i.+ps would never dare to act against an Arquali vessel. Not here anyway, before the eyes of the world. But King Os.h.i.+ram would have every right. Simja's navy might be a pitiful thing, but ten or twelve wars.h.i.+ps were surely enough to hold the must never leave this port. And there was only one power in the Bay of Simja that could stop it. For all their show of guns, the Mzithrini s.h.i.+ps would never dare to act against an Arquali vessel. Not here anyway, before the eyes of the world. But King Os.h.i.+ram would have every right. Simja's navy might be a pitiful thing, but ten or twelve wars.h.i.+ps were surely enough to hold the Chathrand Chathrand, immense as she was. You never dreamed I would go this far. You have counted on my blind love of Arqual, my soldier's oath. You will regret it. You never dreamed I would go this far. You have counted on my blind love of Arqual, my soldier's oath. You will regret it.

Thasha's body pa.s.sed through the North Gate, and Isiq was but minutes behind. The flower-collectors pointed the way. He would be mortally sick with fatigue when this task was done. But done it would be, and let the night come after.

'Your Excellency!'

<script>