Читать книгу The Three Sisters - Rebecca Locksley - Страница 7

'I have been very honoured to be a part of this regiment,' Ezratah Karanus said, trying to look as if he meant it. As the son of an impoverished family he never gave offence if he could help it and he'd done his best to hide how disappointed he'd been to find himself at this dusty little outpost with no chance of fighting or loot. 'It's just… my family, we have lived at Vaskom for four hundred years, but the war… they look to me to do something… '

'Ah!' the magelord said. 'Yes. These northern-border outposts are not good places to get rich. The Red Seagani have accepted civilisation far too peacefully for that. Not that we would have them otherwise.'

Once again Ezratah blessed the fact that Duke Wolf Madraga's magelord came from the same kind of background as he did. Most of the duke's regiment of mages were rough colonials who might have Mirayan blood but who had been born in the Archipelago and, in the worst cases, educated here as well. But this magelord had been born and bred at home and knew - intimately, so the rumours said - the problems the Mirayan civil war had caused for families of their rank.

Ezratah suspected he had a soft spot for him, which was why Ezratah had come to him for advice. He wanted to be somewhere where there was a chance to make some loot fighting the natives. Rumour had it that the magelord had managed to accumulate quite a fortune during the war of settlement in Southern Seagan, so he should have some good advice.

'I thought maybe the border with the Mori,' Ezratah said, perhaps a bit too eagerly. The sacking of Fleurforet had been big news among the garrison here.

'You will certainly see fighting there,' the magelord said. 'But if it's money you need… The Mori are savages. The only valuable thing they have is fur, and you'll have to see a lot of fighting to get it. No, I have another suggestion to make which you may find outrageous but which I want you to consider seriously. If you want to make a lot of money fast, do what I did when I first came: go to Olbia and take service with a merchant.'

'A merchant!' Ezratah cried, unable to keep the distaste out of his voice. In Miraya it would have been a great disgrace for an aristocrat to work for a merchant. He could already hear his elder brother, Marcus, scoffing at the very idea.

'This is the Archipelago, not Miraya,' the magelord said with an understanding smile. 'What you do here will have little effect on your life back home. And you will find it answers your needs admirably, Karanus. Merchants pay well and the work is not demanding. It can even be exciting if you have to fight pirates. And merchants can put you in the way of making money discreetly in trade. Yes, I know, but look how rich the merchant families are. I wager they travelled in the deck cabin on the trip over, didn't they?'

Ezratah remembered his miserable little hammock just above the bilges that was all he had been able to afford on the duke's wages. How they had stunk! How he had resented the lowly born merchants who had strutted about on the deck and had eaten pork and apple stew at the shipmasters table. Yet he was still Mirayan enough to find the magelord's words hard to believe. He was Ezratah Karanus, a nobleman. Nobles did not work for those beneath them.

'If you will pardon the impertinence, sir, did you really work for a merchant?' he asked with polite incredulity.

The magelord's eyes twinkled. 'Yes, I did. I worked for Caius Vassilus in Olbia doing a variety of things. Pirate protection was the most exciting. It took me back to Miraya several times on free passage in the deck cabins, and there was a considerable amount of loot to be had. My family have had reason to be very glad I did it. I'd recommend either of the Vassilus brothers as good masters, but any reputable mercantile house in Olbia would recognise the value of a good Mirayan-educated mage, especially one with your talent for languages, Karanus. You can always take a more suitable post afterward, as I have, if you feel the need to re-establish your honour. There is always call for Mirayan-born men.'

Ezratah nodded - mostly to cover his surprise. The magelord had seemed such a well-bred man. For a moment he almost thought he might be mocking him. But he was quite serious. Then another terrible suspicion came to Ezratah.

'Sir, if I may ask, is that why you stayed here?'

'What, because I worked for a merchant? Oh no!' the magelord laughed. 'I promise you no one at home will know or care as long as you are a rich man. I don't really know why I didn't go home. I like it here, I think. These islands are not Miraya, but they have many advantages Miraya does not. I do not miss the winters in Akieva, for instance. And my son will inherit more land here than his cousins back home, despite his father being a mage. And he may never have to know the horror of death magic…'

Ezratah knew how much the magelord's home province of Callona had suffered from rogue death-mages during the early part of the civil war. Thank Mir that had never happened in his part of the country, just the endless banditry that had ruined crops and killed peasants and the endless need for money to keep the men-at-arms armoured and fed. Even when a good strong warlord had brought peace to the area so that the family could spare Ezratah's defensive powers, there had been a sense of exhaustion throughout the province that was pleasantly absent here.

'For all its faults, these are lands of promise,' the magelord continued. 'I think we Mirayans have the chance to build fine societies here, to lead the natives into the life of Mir and civilisation. You're a smart lad, Ezratah. You have abilities beyond magecraft that might serve you well. Don't close your eyes to those opportunities. Think it over and, if you wish, I can give you a letter of introduction.'

Thus it was that two months later Ezratah found himself on the road to Olbia with a letter of introduction to one of the Vassilus brothers. As the gate of the fortress swung shut behind him, he had a moment of self-doubt. His place in the duke's regiments had been assured and the pay had been reliable, if poor. The other mages, though crude colonials, had been good-hearted fellows. What was he doing going off to work for some merchant?

He could already hear his brother's snide remarks. Marcus had always accused him of having a faulty sense of honour.

But Ezratah knew in his heart that what he did was for the Karanus family. It was for their honourable name; for their continuance at Vaskom; for his father, who had first suggested that he come out here, and had told him that he would not blame him for what he did whilst in the Archipelago. It was also for his dear little sisters, Saskia and Julia, whose safe and honourable future marriages were now assured because of the money Ezratah had sent home. Ezratah himself would have preferred a more cultured life in one of the colleges in the Mirayan capital, Akieva, but the civil war had put an end to any chance of that.

Thinking of his sisters always reconciled him to this barbaric country. It was awful to think that his sisters had faced being forced by poverty to remain unmarried and childless, and live as useless, incomplete women. At least in providing their dowries, he had achieved something worthwhile. Now that their futures were assured, he felt free to take this risk.

With any luck he would not need to use the letter anyway. All kinds of things might happen in Olbia. Prince Alexus Scarvan had much more trouble with the natives than Duke Wolf did. Surely he would be interested in a young mage of good family and silver-level power. In Miraya the fact that Ezratah had no one to sponsor him to the prince would have been a problem, but this was Yarmar. Anything might happen here. What if he could come home a rich man and restore the family fortunes? Marcus would have to keep his sneers to himself then.

With this thought he set off at a brisk pace along the road toward Olbia. There was a small Seagani village near the garrison, and he passed many natives in their flowing linen trousers and tunics, and finely wrought silver and copper jewellery. Even the women wore trousers, though in deference to the Mirayans they also covered their hair and wore longer tunics. The brown cloud of boredom that had been weighing on his mind at the outpost lifted and he was filled with a sense of adventure.

The Archipelago might be barbaric but there were consolations for being here. It was exciting to be somewhere different, and learning Archipelagan languages was much more fascinating than learning the peasant dialects at home. The many quaint customs of the Seagani made them interesting, too. Mind you, that could be part of the problem as well. Walking along the road that late summer morning Ezratah found he was still very shaken by the scene he'd had with his native mistress a few nights before.

Because he'd been interested in learning Seagani, in addition to the more obvious reasons, he'd formed a liaison with a young Seagani woman. Her family had been badly in debt and pathetically grateful for the tiny amount of money he paid her. He'd kept her in one of the small native bothies that stood in the little settlement outside the fort and they'd got along very happily together, so that he'd felt he'd understood her. He thought he'd treated her very decently. He'd been careful not to give her any children and when the time had come for him to leave, he arranged to pass her on to one of his fellow officers. A Mirayan serf would have been very grateful for this, but she'd found out what he intended, his mistress had carried on dreadfully.

'I thought you cared about me!' she'd screamed. Well, hadn't he showed that by trying to assure her future? What had she expected? Surely not marriage! She had become so upset, he sent for her mother; only to find that her mother, instead of berating her for ingratitude like the mother of a Mirayan serf woman would have, had taken her part against him! He flushed hotly just thinking of the difficult scene.

He would never understand these people. He'd thought a lot about what the magelord had said but, no, he couldn't imagine thinking of the Archipelago as home. Things were too disordered here. This was exile. As for the climate that everyone raved about - was it really so wonderful? The mild winters were well enough, but now, in late summer, the midday heat was dreadful. The air smelled of hot dust, and insects chirruped loudly in the short, dry grass. These were the grasslands where the all-important sheep were raised and there was little shelter from the strong sun on the paved Mirayan high road.

It was strange country. In most of the landscapes Ezratah knew, there were valleys and hills. Here, there were wide, undulating plains, and occasional valleys scooped out by streams. There were stands of trees here and there, but only the valleys were really forested and the main road didn't enter those.

Sometime before the sun reached its highest point, Ezratah turned off the main road and took a steep path down into one such shady valley. Here the air was redolent with the smell of sun-warmed mangiri trees and full of the chirruping of cicadas. At the bottom of the valley was a small stream. He followed its course, looking for some cool spot where it would be possible to rest a few hours in comfort.

It took him a little time to find a suitable spot, for the sides of the stream were thick with ferns. When he found a clearing where the stream widened to a ford, another small valley opened into it. Something about that gully made him curious.

It was a large hollow that looked like a big bite had been taken out of the hillside. Within the hollow, almost filling it, was a huge circle of standing stones, roughly hewn but definitely man-made. Fascinated, Ezratah examined them for some time. The fact that the wall of the hollow was covered with moss and ferns made it impossible to tell if it had been carved or not. If it was natural, it was remarkably even. The stone circle fitted perfectly within the hollow. Each stone was an even distance from the wall so that he could walk easily through the space between.

Who could have made this thing? Surely the natives were not capable of such stonework. They were barely civilised enough to build themselves proper dwellings, and they did all their religious stuff in groves of trees.

He explored the surface of the stones and was fascinated to find a carving of five concentric circles shot through with crossed lines on one of them. He'd never seen the symbol before.

At last, however, hunger drew him away from the interesting circle and he stretched out in the shadow of one of the stones to eat his bread and cheese.

Suddenly he felt something. Something magical. He sat up, his trained senses alert, but he couldn't detect what had disturbed him. It had been just a frisson, something too small for even the smallest spell.

He had just sat back down when someone stepped out from within the circle beside him and let out a yell of exhilaration. Ezratah started up with a cry. The man, a tall, pale-haired warrior dressed in black, saw him and jumped back, too. For a moment the two of them stared at one another in shock.

Then the warrior seemed to shrug off his surprise. 'Tell me, sir, which way is it to Olbia?' he asked, in a heavily accented version of trade talk.

'That way,' said a dazed Ezratah, pointing back toward the road.

'And how far?'

'About five days' walk,' Ezratah said.

'I thank you, sir,' the warrior said, and took off down the path at a fast jog.

Ezratah sat gaping after him. Mir's blood, where had the fellow come from? He looked around in confusion. By all that was…

'Wait!' he cried, but the warrior was out of sight and probably out of earshot. Ezratah ran between the stones, looking everywhere. Where had the man come from? There was no way he could have entered the circle without Ezratah's knowing. He'd already examined the wall of the hollow. He looked again, hoping to find a possible hidden cave, but there was no sign of anything. As he passed back and forth between the stones he became aware that his senses jangled. He felt as if he had hit his funny bone, only the feeling was all over his body. At first he thought it was the shock of seeing the man, but the moment he left the circle, the feeling disappeared. Instead he simply felt refreshed, as if he had jumped into a cold pool of water.

How peculiar!

He stepped back between the stones and the jangle came back. He stepped out of the stones and it was gone. At that moment, there was the scream of a hawk and a bird plunged down from the air nearby, grabbed something from the ground and flew off. It took Ezratah a moment to realise that it had taken his bread and cheese.

'Hey,' he shouted, throwing a stone uselessly after the already distant bird.

Ezratah cursed the distraction and entered the stone circle again, but this time the jangling was much reduced. He wasn't even sure he really felt it. He cursed again and kicked one of the stones in annoyance. What on earth had happened here? Now he'd never know. The one person who could answer his questions was jogging down the road to Olbia. Ezratah could probably catch him up if he hurried and, since they were going the same way, what could be more natural than falling into conversation? Quickly Ezratah gathered up his belongings and swung his pack onto his shoulder.

The warrior had moved fast. There was no sign of him on the path or on the paved main road that was now shimmering with heat in the midday sun. By the time he reached the road Ezratah was beginning to wonder if following the stranger was a good idea. The locals showed a naíve lack of fear for magical people, but Mirayans knew that they could easily be death mages or their slaves. Yet Ezratah felt sure the warrior himself wasn't magical. In fact, apart from the strange jangling among the stones he had felt no magic at all. So why did he feel so certain magic had taken place? Maybe there had been another person, some invisible mage…

Suddenly resolute, Ezratah pulled on his army-issue straw hat - an embarrassingly peasant sort of a thing - and set off down the road toward Olbia.

He walked as fast as he could and soon his head began to swim with the heat. He kept telling himself that the warrior must be around the next bend for nobody could jog far in this heat. But every time he rounded a corner in the road there was no sign of him.

At last he threw himself down in the shade of a distance marker. He was a fool to think he could catch the fellow. He was probably accustomed to these temperatures. Although, was the fellow a native? Natives were dark. Mirayans were the only people in Yarmar with fair hair, but Ezratah had never seen any Mirayan who looked like… Suddenly he remembered the garrison commander reading out a circular from Duke Wolf. The duke was interested in any sightings of tall, pale-haired natives with high cheekbones and green eyes, just like the warrior at the stones! Sweet Mir! The duke would doubtless be in Olbia for the feast of St Stefan when Ezratah got there and he might be very impressed by a young mage who could give him some information on such a native.

He simply had to catch up with the fellow, even if it meant using magic. With a theatrical flick of his hand, Ezratah crossed his legs with his mage's staff across his lap and visualised his centre of magic as a well of gold within his chest. He spoke the words of power, using their hard force to drive his will down hard into the liquid gold, hitting it like a hammer on an anvil so that suddenly the gold burst forth, flaring up and filling him with power. His ability to control and mould that power to his will filled him with pleasure. He rose quickly but with satisfying smoothness until he was levitating half a man's height off the ground. Then, with a push of his staff and another magical word, he launched himself along the road, gliding over the ground faster than a man could run.

* * *

Yani was travelling fast, using a combination of jogging and walking.

'He's still there,' Marigoth said, flying at Yani's side in the form of a hawk. 'He's using magic to catch up now.'

'Fire and earth!' Yani exclaimed. 'What a pair of fools, letting ourselves be seen like that.'

'Who was to know there would be someone there, in such a lonely place? And a Mirayan of all people!'

'You had no idea where we would come out and you know it.'

'You're the one who went leaping out in front of him. At least I stopped and looked. Do you think we should try and shake him off?'

'I don't think we should bother with him. It might just make him more suspicious. Anyway, we've done nothing wrong.'

'Humph! The Mirayans have probably made using the Circles of Power illegal. Let me call up a storm. That should put him off,' Marigoth said

'No. Don't try and lose him. Perhaps we should let him catch up.'

'Why? I thought you hated Mirayans.'

'Have you thought that we are going to a Mirayan city and we know almost nothing of Mirayans? How are we going to find Elena? We can't speak their language. We don't know their customs or the reason they do what they do.'

'They're bad people,' Marigoth said. 'It's perfectly simple.'

'Yes, very helpful,' Yani said sarcastically. 'It might be well to speak with a Mirayan and find out more about them. They are very different from the Archipelagans.'

'You're crazy, Yani. You'll get nothing useful out of one of them. I wonder if I could get lightning to strike him.'

'Mari! Leave him. Just leave him alone! Let me deal with it. You concentrate on the Tari. Is there any sign that they noticed us?'

'None at all. Probably too busy communing with the pure life spirit of their holy land to notice us,' Marigoth sneered.

'I hope you're right.'

A few minutes later there was a rumble of thunder in the distance.

'Hey! Is that a storm? You agreed you'd leave the fellow alone.'

'It wasn't me. It's coming up by itself. Don't you trust me?'

'Of course, Mari dear. Why ever would I not?'

'Humph!'

Throughout the afternoon the sky grew dark and heavy, and Yani began to keep her eye out for a place to shelter. The countryside was not promising. On this flat plain, the trees and the little stone shepherds' huts seemed likely victims for lightning strikes. She was just beginning to wonder if she should turn off the road into one of the valleys and build herself a little shelter when Mari swooped down beside her and said, 'There's a settlement up ahead.'

'Great! I think we should seek a place for the night there. Where is the mage?'

'He caught up a while ago and now he's walking along just behind the next bend. He seems a bit wary of you.'

'Maybe we won't have to bother with him after all. No sign of the Tari?'

'Not a one. I think we've got away with using that circle.'

The settlement was in a large valley. A couple of big stone buildings in the main street were surrounded by horribly tumbledown little buildings of wickerwork and mud. Both women had heard that the Seagani did not build permanent structures for they moved their settlements every couple of years so that the land could renew itself. These buildings looked a long way past their useful age and yet people were clearly living in them.

'Perhaps the Mirayans have outlawed roaming,' Marigoth snorted, only half seriously. Later they discovered that that was indeed the case.

It was quite dark though it was not very late in the day. Despite the sounds of habitation and lights in some of the hovels, there was no one on the paved road. The streets that led off it were dusty tracks that smelled of manure.

'Erk,' Marigoth said, walking invisibly at Yani's side. 'This is worse than that city.'

'The worst I've seen,' agreed Yani, who had often witnessed in Dania how disgusting streets got when too many people lived in one place. It would be even worse after it had rained.

'Look up there,' she said suddenly. 'A tavern.'

'You want to drink?' Marigoth asked.

'Taverns have places to sleep too,' Yani said. 'Though an ale wouldn't go astray.'

'You're going to go into a room full of strangers?'

'Of course. I did it all the time in Dania. It's a great way to find out things.'

'If you say so. I think I'll stay hidden, thank you very much.'

For a moment Yani was going to retort that a tavern was no place for a little girl anyway, but she thought better of it and held her tongue. She was becoming quite diplomatic these days.

The tavern was a substantial-looking wooden building. Inside, men were seated at long benches along grubby trestle tables with earthenware jugs and beakers in front of them. Despite the greasy straw on the floor, the place had a cheery atmosphere. Someone was playing a harp in the corner and several men were singing along.

The harp fell silent the moment Yani came in. Unsurprisingly, everyone turned and stared. She walked through the room, doing her best to look unconcerned. They must have reached Southern Seagan for these people wore the facial whorl tattooed on their cheeks. How would the bad blood between the Southern Seagani and the Tari over the death of the three mages and the destruction of Olbia affect them? Well, Yani thought, too late to worry about that now.

She looked for a place to sit. No one spoke to her and all of the tables were occupied. She felt uneasy about joining a group. Through an open door she saw a lighter room. She passed through into it. This room was cleaner and there were flagstones on the floor. It did not have as nice an atmosphere as the outer room, but there were only about a dozen men and a couple of empty tables.

Yani approached the Seagani tavern wench who was leaning drearily in a doorway and asked the price of a meal and a drink. For a moment the woman simply stared at her. When she finally spoke, her voice was drowned out by a loud remark from a nearby table about the sudden stench in the room.

Yani looked round. The speaker was a thickset, curly-haired man. His two companions, a tall man with vacant-looking eyes and a little, rat-faced man, were nodding. They were all staring pointedly at Yani.

The raven cawed in the back of Yani's mind. She felt the brief exhilarating tingle of danger, but it would be sheer self-indulgence to rise to the fellow's insults. She should try and keep out of trouble before she got to Olbia. Elena's freedom was more important than her honour.

'May I have ale, please?' she asked the wench.

'Ooh,' his tormenter said. 'May I have ale, please? Oooh, isn't he nice. Doesn't he have a fine opinion of himself.'

Yani turned in annoyance. 'Why are you being so rude? I've done nothing to you.'

The bullyboy was slightly taken aback by this unusual attack, but he recovered all too quickly. 'Who do you think you are, native, to come back here and drink with your betters?'

Grins of agreement flashed around the room.

'Betters?' Yani asked, genuinely mystified. She sized the three up and thought that Ratface was probably the one to watch. She should… No, she couldn't resist it.

'Stop being such an arsehole!' she said, and turned her back invitingly.

'Uppity shit, we'll show you!' Bullyboy shouted. He sprang at Yani.

Yani spun around, ducked Bullyboy's blow and landed him a good punch in the gut. But there were three of them on her and Ratface managed to get in a kick which knocked her off balance and gave Big One a chance to get hold of her arm and twist it up behind her back.

Leaning back into him, Yani kicked high, catching Ratface in the chin and sending him sprawling. She drove her free elbow up backward, hard as a hammer, and caught Big One a solid blow beneath the ribs. He staggered and she twisted out of his grasp and got a good hit on his jaw. He went down.

'Bye bye, Big One,' Yani said under her breath as she threw herself, fist first, at Bullyboy.

The two smaller men were dirty fighters. They rained a fury of punches and kicks down on her and Ratface even bit her on the arm. But Yani was stronger than either of them. A couple of punches knocked Ratface out, and with a clever duck and a twist she threw Bullyboy over her back. He landed on the floor, winded.

'Just hold it right there!' a voice behind her said.

She swung round. A mage stood in the archway that led back to the front room. Seagani men crowded close behind him. He seemed to be addressing the men in the room with her, all of whom had risen from their seats.

'It was a fair fight,' the mage said. 'Three against one and the stranger has won fairly. I say we leave it at that. We Mirayans can recognise a gallant fighter after all.'

A couple of the Seagani behind him grimaced. The men in the room sat back down and turned their heads away. A low murmur that might have been a cheer came up from the Seagani in the doorway.

'That was well fought. Let me buy you a drink,' the mage said.

'Great!' Yani said, wiping the sweat off her brow. She sat on the chair with the feeling of a job well done.

The mage sat down with his long slim legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle and his staff draped casually across them. The others in the room ignored them pointedly, except for the wench who quickly pulled an ale and brought it over.

'It's Busynose,' whispered Marigoth, who was suddenly standing unseen at her side. 'The one who's been following us.'

Yani had thought he looked vaguely familiar. He was a tall man with curling, light brown hair and a hawkish face. Definitely a Mirayan face, thought Yani, young and not bad looking. His legs were nice, but he had a mage's skinny physique.

'You fought well,' he said, lifting his cup in a toast.

Yani shrugged. 'I'm stronger than I look,' she said. She took a sip from her ale and winced slightly when she realised her lip was cut. But the ale tasted good and yeasty.

'You must be,' the mage said. 'The name's Ezratah.'

'I'm Yani. Thanks for the drink. Do you think these fellows were just looking for a fight or did they have a problem?'

'I believe this room is reserved for Mirayans,' the mage said. 'Out here in the backwoods, we Mirayans tend to stick together.'

'Ah!' Yani said, suddenly understanding everything. 'Then I have had a narrow escape and I should thank you for more than just the ale.'

She looked around the room. Could she have managed nine more of them? Probably - with Marigoth's help. The Seagani in the other room were going back to their seats with curious backward looks. Would they have helped her or left her to her fate? They had seemed to support her, but Queen Sharma had told her that Southern Seagan was now governed by Mirayan lords and a wise man does not fight against his lord's kind.

She looked round at the variety of faces in the room. 'Are all these people Mirayans? I wouldn't have picked them all as such.'

'Miraya's ten times the size of Yarmars. We don't all look the same, though most of us are taller and fairer than the natives. Though not you, I see. Where are you from?'

Yani was watching the barkeep and another man easing Bullyboy and Ratface outside, with an expertise that showed long practice. The raven's eyes glittered with satisfaction.

Yani's eyes grinned. 'I feel a shameful pleasure at teaching those fellows not to pick fights with strangers.'

'Shameful?'

'It is wrong to take pleasure in violence.'

'You're a warrior, aren't you? Violence is your trade.'

'I suppose so. I like to fight well and I love to win, but a good warrior should not enjoy violence for its own sake.'