Читать книгу Quicksilver Zenith - Stan Nicholls - Страница 8

Serrah Ardacris was in trouble.

Horrified, Tanalvah watched as her charge was driven back towards a wall by the two sentries still on their feet. They had pikes, giving them the advantage, and they were enraged. Serrah fought like a rabid thing, hacking at them savagely with her blade as she retreated.

To Tanalvah the situation looked dire. But Serrah seemed to be laughing.

Three of the sentries’ comrades were down. One was groaning and trying to rise. Another sprawled unconscious. The third lay very still in a widening pool of blood. The bench they’d been using as their checkpoint was overturned, and scraps of parchment fluttered in the chill morning breeze. On either side of the wagon that served as a roadblock a small crowd had gathered.

A loud crack brought Tanalvah back to earth. Serrah had chopped clean through one of the guard’s pikes. Its bearer was disbelieving for a second, then narrowly dodged her follow-up swing. Discarding the useless halves, he quickly pulled back, fumbling for his own blade. She turned her grinning wrath on his companion.

He had a simple strategy: herding her like swine until he could bury the pike in her chest. Serrah thought him unimaginative. She spun at him, using the momentum to hurry along a low stroke. He recoiled, avoiding it by a hair’s-breadth. Her next blow scoured his fist, biting deep. Wailing, he let go of the pike with his injured hand, upsetting its balance. As he botched correcting it, she went in again. He took the full force of her blow, toppled backwards, and landed flat-out, arms and legs akimbo, the pike rolling clear.

From where she stood, pressed into a doorway thirty paces distant, Tanalvah could swear she heard a hefty smack as he hit the flagstones.

Head thrown back, her long blonde hair falling loose, Serrah was laughing. Partly in triumph, but mostly from some darker impulse.

The remaining sentry charged, bellowing to mask his dread. She stood her ground and met him. Their swords crashed together in a discordant note nobody failed to hear. Then their blades took to chattering; a brittle, malevolent discourse in steel.

The intensity of her attack began to overwhelm him. He longed to abandon the fight. It was in his face. In his eyes. Even Tanalvah saw it, a good stone’s lob away. But there was no break, and their clamour grew more frantic. The sentry hammered and slashed, while Serrah wielded her blade like a scalpel. He tried to overcome her with force and bluster. She fenced.

And in a split second, struck. Her blade raked his cheek. He cried out and slapped a palm to the wound. Crimson ribbons dribbled from between his fingers. In pain and fury he rushed at her, brandishing his sword, yelling hoarsely. She swept aside his blade and cut him down. He sank rather than fell, ending on his knees, head lolling. She was already moving away as he pitched to the ground.

Tanalvah slipped from her hiding place and dashed to her friend. She found her smiling.

‘Come on! We have to get away!’

Vacantly, Serrah stared at her.

Tanalvah grabbed her wrist. ‘We can’t stay here. Come on!’

Smile fading, Serrah focused. She glanced down at Tanalvah’s hand. ‘You’re shaking.’

‘You’re the one who should be.’ She squeezed Serrah’s arm and implored, ‘This is crazy. They’ll be others here soon. We’ve got to go.’

The small crowd watched them silently.

Serrah looked about, as though seeing her surroundings for the first time. Something of her old self emerged. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right.’ She nodded at the main thoroughfare. ‘That way.’

They ran.

A smattering of cheers rose from the crowd, and several people shouted encouragement. Others began yelling abuse. As the women jogged away, a shoving, ill-tempered commotion broke out; a scaled-down version of the divisions that plagued Bhealfa as a whole. But Serrah and Tanalvah weren’t pursued. Not by anything human.

They’d covered a block when Tanalvah tugged at Serrah’s sleeve. ‘Look!’ She pointed back the way they’d come, and up.

Serrah turned without breaking step. She saw something above, flying at rooftop height and closing in on them. Its vast wings flapped in a slow, leisurely rhythm. Though everyone knew it didn’t really need wings at all.

A shadow fell across the fleeing women. The creature circled overhead, and they could see it more clearly. It was some sort of hybrid, mostly bat with insect traits, the latter providing it with three sets of spindly legs. The effect was not unlike a housefly, albeit one the size of a hay cart and sporting coal-red eyes.

‘I don’t think it’s a hunter-killer,’ Serrah judged, scowling irritably, ‘just a damn snoop.’

‘Then any minute it’s going to start shouting about where we are.’

They were trotting now, with the tracer glamour hanging over them, keeping pace. There weren’t many people on the streets this early, but those that were began taking an interest.

‘Alert! Alert!’ the glamour screeched. ‘Felons sighted! Summon the watch!’

Tanalvah mouthed, ‘Oh, no.’

People were stopping to look.

‘Fuck this.’ Serrah’s hand went to her belt.

Wheeling, the glamour continued its hue and cry. ‘Fugitives! Insurgents! Here! Here! Here!’

Serrah tugged out a short-bladed throwing knife.

‘Alert! Alert! Anti-social elements at large! Summon your …’

Arm drawn well back, she lobbed it with all her strength.

‘… local militia or –’

The blade struck the creature’s fuzzy underside, and seemed to be absorbed into it. At once the glamour froze. Its serrated wings stilled. Yet still it hung in the air, impossibly.

What looked like a circular red stain appeared at the spot where the knife had entered. It began to expand. Resembling fire spreading across paper, it started to turn the creature’s apparently solid flesh not to ash, but countless silver motes. Racing faster, the corruption riddled the glamour’s body, veined its wings and stripped its bristly legs. The illusion of ebony tissue dissolved into a mass of tiny radiant pellets.

They fell as silvery hail, gently popping on the pavement below. What was left drifted down as a soft rain of shimmering pewter, dusting the streets and early risers before vanishing.

Serrah’s knife clattered to earth somewhere, heard but unseen.

‘Good shot,’ Tanalvah whispered, plainly fearful.

‘A good knife lost,’ Serrah complained.

They took to running again.

Their flight was more artful this time. They used alleys and back ways, narrow lanes and covered passages. When they caught sight of the main thoroughfares they saw mounted militia heading in the direction they’d come from.

‘Slow down,’ Serrah panted. ‘Running attracts attention.’

‘And killing people doesn’t?’ Tanalvah retorted.

Serrah shrugged.

‘Are you trying to get yourself caught?’

‘No.’ Serrah regarded her with hard eyes. ‘That’s never going to happen again. I’d rather die.’

‘Ah, so that’s it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You have to ask? You’re too volatile, Serrah. What you did back there was … insane.’

‘I won’t be treated like shit.’

‘It was all unnecessary. You should have just shown them your identity documents. The forgeries are good enough to pass.’

‘You’re missing the point, Tan. They disrespected me. I’m not a piece of meat to be abused.’

‘What price respect if they’d killed you? Or captured us both? And who knows what would’ve happened to us then.’

It wasn’t only Tanalvah’s agitation that had passersby staring. Her jet hair, light tan complexion and slightly angular features attracted glances too. She had enough experience of casual prejudice towards Qalochians to ignore them.

‘As I said,’ Serrah replied coldly, ‘I won’t be taken.’

‘What about me?’

‘I wouldn’t let it happen to you either.’

‘Really? How?’

‘If there was a chance of you being captured I’d cut your throat.’

‘That’s a comfort,’ Tanalvah returned sarcastically. ‘Your actions have consequences, Serrah, and not just for yourself.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’

‘You act as though you don’t.’

‘I do what I have to do.’

‘And relish it, if that fight you just started was anything to go by.’

‘In a way, yes. There’s nothing like being near death to give life some kind of meaning.’

‘I suppose that’s an improvement. Not that long ago it was only death you wanted.’

‘Keep moving,’ Serrah urged, blanking her.

As they hurried on, Tanalvah muttered, ‘Gods, you frighten me sometimes.’

They were nearing the city centre, where the streets were much more crowded. It was a crisp morning, and weak, autumnal sunshine burnt off the last of the night’s haze.

The fog had cleared but the magic was thick.

Wherever people congregated in numbers, the magic naturally tended to be more abundant. In the plazas, markets and boulevards of Valdarr’s hub, it was already dense, despite the hour. And its variety was as diverse as the populace.

For the rich, magic was the agency for parading their wealth. They strolled in the company of glamoured escorts, exquisitely beautiful and uncommonly repulsive. They summoned flocks of living doves made of ice, which melted as they flew or shattered into a thousand fragments on touching the ground. They conjured herds of pink fawns, and fireflies the size of pigeons that throbbed with blinding light. They caused talking bears to roam abroad, and produced cockerels that sang rather than crowed the hour.

For the poor, magic was the balm that soothed their misery. In side streets and dingy turnings, unwashed children made do with cheap clown glamours that flickered and slurred through their performances. Or tumbling acrobats in washed-out colours that faded in and out of focus. The youngsters’ gaunt elders, dressed in rags, wrung subsistence out of begging. They used rudimentary spells, counterfeit or stolen, to materialise basic musical instruments. Glamoured pipes and fiddles, suspended in empty air, tooted and scraped simple melodies. Passersby flung the odd coin into the paupers’ upturned caps.

There were glamour beggars too, collecting for benevolent leagues that eased poverty, or affected to. These glamours, in clean rags and with scrubbed, smiling faces, were idealised versions of their human counterparts. Consequently their caps overflowed while the real poor were ignored.

Everywhere there were glittering illusions and cunning phantasms to deceive the senses. New glamours were constantly appearing, while others, expired or dismissed, were snuffed out.

Another day of infinitely malleable reality, and it wasn’t mid-morning yet.

Serrah and Tanalvah took it all for granted. They were much more concerned with the level of security on the streets. Watch patrols and militia mingled with the crowds, as was to be expected, but in recent days their numbers had greatly increased. And now there were army regulars at every corner too, and the distinctive scarlet tunics of the paladin clans could be seen on all sides.

Tanalvah did everything she could to avoid attracting attention. She prayed Serrah would do the same.

‘There’s a rumour they’re going to ban weapons in private hands next,’ Tanalvah confided.

‘How could they do that? You listen to too much gossip, Tan.’

‘Kinsel overheard something about it at the concert hall. From a couple of high-ranking administrators.’

‘People wouldn’t put up with it. They’d resist. If anybody tried to take my blade off me –’

‘You’re doing it again. Seeing everything as solvable by violence.’

‘How else would you stop them? Honeyed words and garlands?’

‘What I mean is –’ Tanalvah looked around and lowered her voice. ‘What I mean is that this isn’t the time to be taking any kind of risk. Not with the move so near.’

A wraith-like entity flew past, travelling at speed. Looking vaguely female, it seemed to be clothed in something gauzy that flowed behind it like a tangle of spider webs. It showed no interest in them. Tanalvah guessed it was a messenger glamour.

‘As I’ve been allowed no part, I can’t really do anything to endanger it, can I?’

‘But I’m sure they will. Involve you in the move, that is. With your talents –’

‘Yes,’ Serrah replied cynically, ‘of course they will.’

‘Oh, Serrah … We need you. Whether you have a role in the exodus or not.’

They reached a crossing of two main thoroughfares. Grand carriages swept by, drawn by zebra, stags, panthers, grotesquely large swans and lizards; any of a hundred different exotic beasts the horses had been charmed to resemble.

‘I’m going back to Karr’s place,’ Serrah decided.

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No. I’ll be fine.’

‘I’m worried about you.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘Well, I am supposed to be at Kinsel’s. Sure you’ll be all right?’

‘I can manage.’

‘If you come across any more roadblocks …’

‘I promise I’ll restrain myself.’ She flashed a fleeting but genuine smile, turned and moved into the throng.

Tanalvah watched her for a moment, then set off in the opposite direction.

It was a short walk to her destination. But Tanalvah took a convoluted route, just in case.

The neighbourhood where she now lived was affluent. It had wide, clean streets and substantial, well-maintained buildings. The magic on display was tasteful and costly, and there were no beggars. Everything about the place seemed designed to make her feel guilty.

When she entered the villa, Tanalvah’s lover was waiting for her.

They embraced, and he said, ‘What’s the matter, Tan? You look troubled.’

‘I’ve been with Serrah.’

‘Ah.’ It was all Kinsel Rukanis really needed to know. He’d been there when Serrah gave way to despair, and he’d seen how she was since. Nevertheless he asked, ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing she hasn’t done a dozen times before. Not that that makes it any less frightening.’

‘No. But we mustn’t forget that if it wasn’t for Serrah –’

‘We wouldn’t be here. I know. If it hadn’t been for that, I’d say to hell with her.’

‘She needs her friends more than ever now. Attempting suicide wasn’t the end of her troubles. Far from it.’

‘At least she hasn’t tried it again.’

‘Really? Don’t you see her reckless behaviour as just another way of achieving her death wish?’

‘I don’t think it’s that simple. Well, maybe it’s partly that. Mostly I reckon she’s … pushing boundaries. It’s like she has to have control, even if it means creating situations where she’s most likely to lose it.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘We don’t need a problem like this at the moment, Tan. Not with the move imminent.’

‘I told her that. She might have taken it in, I couldn’t be sure.’

Kinsel sighed. ‘The Council has enough complications to deal with, seeing as our destination’s causing so much controversy.’

‘That’s not your concern, dear. Let others take the decisions. Don’t fret about it.’

‘I do rather, don’t I?’ He smiled, almost shyly. ‘But it’s only because I care passionately for the enterprise. I wouldn’t want anything to endanger it.’

She smiled back. ‘I know that. Even if we don’t see entirely eye to eye on the place the Council’s chosen.’

‘I think it’s an inspired choice.’

‘In some ways it is. But it has bad associations for many in my former profession. It’s never been that popular with whores.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t –’

‘We can’t change what I was, Kin. I thought we’d agreed to be honest about it.’

‘We did. I just don’t like you referring to yourself that way.’

‘It’s only a word. A description of something I did, not what I am.’

‘Of course it is, my love. And as far as the haven’s concerned we can expunge its history and build something better there. But it doesn’t matter where the refuge is. The important thing –’ he leaned forward and kissed her ‘– is that we share the same dream.’

‘Yes, darling.’

‘I only wish I could do something more constructive to help bring it about.’

‘This is your day for worrying, isn’t it?’

‘Well, there’s not much call for a pacifist in a resistance movement.’

‘Idiot,’ she teased. ‘You’ve done invaluable work for the cause, and risked your life in the process.’

‘I think you’re pitching it a bit high, Tan. Anyway, since Karr pulled me from intelligence gathering I feel like a fifth wheel on a wagon.’

‘I’m glad he did. It was getting far too dangerous. Now you can concentrate on your real talent.’

“The singing? It seems frivolous at times like these.’

‘It brings people respite. Don’t underestimate the value of that, my dear.’

‘If anybody’s getting respite, Tan, it’s the wrong people; the rich, the influential, the occupiers and their followers. What I do never seemed more irrelevant.’

‘So make it relevant.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You have a gift from the gods. It’s a sin not to use it. Take your voice to those who wouldn’t normally hear it. Let the poor have the benefit for once.’

‘I’ve always tried to perform for as wide an audience as possible.’

‘Yes, but what does that amount to? A few seats for charity cases. That’s not your fault, Kin; it’s the system you’re part of. What I’m thinking of is something big, and cheap enough for people to afford. No, forget that. Free. Free and open to everyone.’

‘In one of the city’s open spaces. A park, perhaps.’

‘Right.’

‘It’s a good idea, Tan. But …’

‘What?’

‘We’re in a state of emergency, remember. Martial law. The authorities aren’t keen on large gatherings.’

‘You have connections. Use them. Pull strings.’

He brightened. ‘I could try, I suppose.’

‘Sell it as a mollifying event. You know, a way to turn people’s minds from the troubles.’

‘Bread and circuses.’

‘If you’re not taking this seriously, Kin –’

‘No, no.’ He laughed and hugged her. ‘I said, it’s a good idea. Thank you, Tan.’

She could see he was taken with the notion. It was good to set his mind on something other than brooding about the move.

There was a clattering on the stairs, and shrill, excited voices.

Kinsel grinned. ‘Here comes trouble.’

Two minor hurricanes burst through the door. Teg, nearly six, had a shock of ginger hair and freckled cheeks. His sister, Lirrin, going on nine, sported a long blonde mane nearly as pale as her milky complexion.

The children rushed to enfold themselves in outstretched arms. Amid a flurry of caresses and laughter, Kinsel ushered the youngsters into the parlour. Tanalvah hung back, watching them. Lirrin, wearing her habitual, slightly serious expression, even when she should be free of cares. Teg, mercifully still too young to comprehend the full horror of their mother’s murder.

And Kinsel. A little on the short side, well built, with a classical singer’s drum chest, cropped black hair and a close beard. On his hands and knees, blissfully happy in horseplay with the children. Like a child himself. Trying, perhaps, to bind the unexplained wound that blighted his own childhood.

Tanalvah’s family. The only one she’d ever known. Miraculously arriving in her life ready-made: another gift from the gods.

Let there be something better for them, she thought. For all of us. In our new home.

She shivered as though a chill wind had blown in from the unrealised future.

If we ever get there.