Path of Revenge (34 page)

‘Fossa,’ whispered the Hegeoman.

‘Not conclusive proof, oh no, but excellent circumstantial evidence. Yes, yes. One enormous seam with Fossa at the centre. No wonder you recovered such a large huanu fragment. We may have to shift our operation there, you understand. Was there…was there much more of it, did you notice?’

Hah,
thought Noetos.
They’d have to bring dirt into Fossa to make it a hole.
The image of hundreds of men completing the cliffs so they encircled the village absorbed his attention for a moment.

‘Sir? Did you see more huanu stone on this island?’

‘Not as I remember. I only picked the stone up by chance; it dug into my back when I sat to eat my midday meal. I was curious; I’d never seen rock like it. Thought it might make a good sinker for one of our nets, but I changed my mind when I came ashore. Opuntia—my wife—liked the look of it.’

‘How did it end up as a carving?’

‘I took it to Diphona of Hupallage, a master carver. He shaped the stone, though it defeated all but his sharpest blade. Cost me five gold coins.’

‘Oh my, oh my. What did he do with the splinters and shards?’

‘I have no idea. Look—I don’t know your name—could this not wait until we see to the task at hand?’

‘Olifa is my name, yes, though they all call me Omiy here. Their little joke, ha ha. Oh yes, this can wait. Ignore me, I’m forever curious, always have one more question. Like to drive people mad, they tell me.
Oh my. It’s just that the cast-off fragments alone would be worth a kingdom. Think of how long Palestrans have been digging along the Ossern seam. We have a few dozen jars such as the one I showed you, and ten tiny nuggets. I found one of them—the smallest of the ten, half the size of a fingernail—but many alchemists working at Eisarn over the centuries can’t even claim that, oh no. Fifty-one jars, ten nuggets. Rewards for a thousand years of labour.’

The door of the hut banged open and a bald head poked inside. ‘Is it true?’ enquired its owner in a deep voice. From the hungry look in his eyes Noetos had no doubt he referred to the stone, not to the Neherian fleet.

‘Patience, Papunas, we are almost finished. The day shift will get their chance to look, oh my, yes. Tell Seren we will be out in a minute.’

The minute was more like ten; but eventually the three men emerged from the hut to face a hundred or more miners gathered around in a semicircle. The alchemist opened his mouth to speak, but before he could make a sound Noetos moved in front of him.

‘I’ll show you the stone because I know it is important to you,’ he said. ‘But let no one forget our main business. The Neherians are destroying the fishing villages north of here, and we can save lives if we can warn their inhabitants. Now,’ he growled, turning to Omiy, ‘conduct your test and be done with this.’

‘Aye, we’ll see the test,’ the overseer of the night shift said.

A small, shy lad stepped forward from the mass of miners.
Young to be a miner,
Noetos thought, surprised.

‘Put the stone down on the ground over here, if you please,’ he said in a squeaky boy’s voice.

Far too young.
Nevertheless, Noetos did as he was bid.

With no warning conjuration the boy flicked a finger at the grass growing by one of the huts. Instantly a few blades caught fire, accompanied by a hissing noise. Noetos jumped back, startled.

‘Looks like fire magic, but it’s water magic right enough,’ the boy said. ‘’S my job here, testing rock for huanu. Any huanu here, I find it.’

He turned to the bust of Arathé, nestled on the stone floor of the pit, and gestured with his hand. Noetos saw something, a faint blue flash, a pale imitation of the power of the Recruiters. Effective, nonetheless: the flame sizzled against the stone, then vanished, and the boy jerked his hand back with a cry of pain.

‘Have a look at the stone,’ the overseer demanded.

Noetos bent over the carving. ‘Yes, there is a third blue mark,’ he said eventually.

He expected cheering, perhaps, or chatter at the least, not this awed silence. Had he just taken away their livelihoods as effectively as if someone had dumped a lifetime’s supply of fish on Fossa market? Or was the mining profession to become much more important in the future? Neither, Noetos reasoned. It would be more like seeing the Undying Man in the flesh after serving him for a lifetime. Awe and terror mixed in together.

‘We all see the proof,’ said the night-shift overseer, iron in his voice. ‘Anyone who tries t’ take the stone from its keeper gets thrown from the south rim, are you hearing me? Now, there’ll be a shy moon tonight, so we wait ‘til first light ‘fore we go off to warn the villages. Get plenty of sleep. We’ll be goin’ fast and light, and we won’t be hangin’ ’round for stragglers.’

‘Shy moon?’ Noetos enquired of the alchemist, in whose cabin he and the Hegeoman were apparently to be billeted.

‘Hiding behind clouds; yes, clouds and rain tonight. Not our friend, the weather, but consider how much
more difficult the villages will be to burn tomorrow. Oh yes, friend enough. Now, to bed and to sleep.’

‘I hope so,’ Noetos said. A thought struck him. ‘You don’t talk in your sleep as well, do you?’

‘Oh my, no. What a waste that would be!’

The fisherman turned to his silent companion. ‘At last, something in our favour,’ he said as they reached the alchemist’s hut, and was rewarded with a smile.

If Noetos had thought the alchemist an odd fish before, it was nothing to his behaviour once they entered his hut. Without a word the man began to gather up his possessions, including his maps, scrolls and clothes, assembled them on the floor and then wrapped them in a large sack. He followed this by taking the precious vial from his safe and placing it in a pocket of his shirt.

‘Right, clearly we cannot sleep here tonight, indeed no. I will commandeer one of the empty huts nearer the Palestran Line and we will sleep there. Come, then; gather your things and make a pile by the door. We’ll make our move as soon as darkness falls, oh yes.’

‘What move? Why can’t we sleep here?’ Noetos asked.

‘Observation, oh my, yes. The key to survival, it is. Did you not observe the faces surrounding you? Some of their owners are, I am sure, right now thinking about your stone, yes indeed, and soon they will be plotting how to relieve you of it, yes, oh my, yes. Who wants to be here when they come to get it? Not I, for one, undeniably not. Seren and Papunas will be pressed hard to control them, that is if Papunas himself is not leading one of the groups to take it from you. And they will not bring magic to bear against you, oh no; they will use axes and picks wielded by their ore-toughened arms, that they will. Axes and picks. Do you want to observe that?’

‘You’ve made your point,’ Noetos said wearily. ‘We’ll sit here and eat something from our packs, since no one has offered to feed us, and then we’ll follow you. Just find us somewhere safe.’

‘Not fed you? Oh my, of course, you are missing out on the evening meal. Well then, go and eat, by all means. I will remain behind until it is dark enough to move my possessions. Go on! Follow the others; they’ll all be going to the dining hall.’

Omiy explained that in the hall there would be safety in numbers: none would dare move against him yet, lest they be attacked by those of like mind but greater prudence. Later, in the midst of night, it would be a different tale.

‘Go and eat,’ he repeated. ‘But keep the stone hidden, oh my, so as few as necessary are tempted.’

Noetos and the Hegeoman, more of a ghost than a person without his voice, found their way to the large but sparsely furnished dining hall, and were given food—reconstituted meat and turnip, barely palatable, but welcome nonetheless—and, wonder of wonders, warm beer. Beer was served thrice a week to the miners, but apparently every night to the possessor of a huanu stone.

The fisherman supped his drink while listening to the chatter, grunting a cautious, barely civil reply to anyone who tried to engage him in conversation, avoiding the covetous stares of men Omiy would doubtless accuse of plotting to take Arathé away from him. The Hegeoman had trouble eating, and Noetos was forced to batter the food into a paste before his companion could force it down. Even then it clearly gave him pain.

Halfway back to the hut they were accosted. Noetos turned, already swinging an arm to strike the man emerging from the shadows, but held the punch when Omiy whispered his name. His name, the start of a sentence, or perhaps an expostulation. Who knew?

He took them to a run-down hut fifty paces from his own. Inside, the two cots were dilapidated and covered in spiders’ webs, but the alchemist ignored this, dropping himself into the closer of the cots.

‘What of my companion? Where will he sleep?’ Noetos asked, but Omiy merely put a finger to his lips.

‘Ah, I’ve slept on boards before,’ said the fisherman. ‘Go on, Bregor, take the bed. No telling when you’ll next have the chance to sleep in such luxury.’

The Hegeoman snorted in repy, his mouth quirking upwards at the corners.
Good. The man recovers his humour,
Noetos thought.
Perhaps he will soon recover his voice, and we can go about recovering our families.

There was straw enough on the floor to cushion Noetos’s bulk. He turned on one side, cradled Arathé close to his chest, and fell at once into a deep sleep.

STAMPING ABOUT, TRYING TO keep warm in the cold pre-dawn air lying thick in Eisarn Pit, was not Noetos’s idea of preparation for a rescue mission, especially given the number of times he had been woken during the night.

The first time, innocent enough, had been to the sound of Omiy’s snores. The man did not talk in his sleep; he would not have had the breath for it, given the prodigious sounds he made. For a while the fisherman had lain awake worrying that others, knowing of this nocturnal excess, would locate them by the simple expedient of listening at the door.

The second, third and fourth times were disturbances outside, all from the same direction. The second involved a great deal of crashing about, accompanied by the breaking of timber, while the third and fourth sounded like fist-fights of some magnitude.
Real Cadere Row stuff,
Noetos thought dreamily.

They emerged from their hut some time before dawn to see the entire day shift standing in a circle around the alchemist’s hut, or what remained of it.

Noetos had missed the fire, or perhaps the crashing and banging he had heard during the night had been alchemical explosions. A few rough-looking
fellows sat on the rocky ground apart from the others, having various bruises attended to.

‘Truss these lads up,’ said Papunas, the day-shift overseer, grimacing from the pain of a purpling bruise to his right cheek. He gestured, and two men set to with ropes. ‘Truss ’em tight.’

He turned to the ruffians, presenting them with a face like a winter storm. ‘I warned you boys. Did y’ think I was bluffin’? That I’d go back on my word, ’spite speakin’ in front of a hundred men who’ll despise me if I do? Dupes if you did. You’ll be flying at rimfall.’

One of the five captives, the youngest in appearance, began to blubber. Three of the others stared defiantly at their overseer; the fourth lay unconscious on the ground. Eventually one of the captives kicked the crying boy in the leg. ‘Ah, shuddup, Dagla. We took us chances an’ we lost. Coulda bin us goosin’ outa here with th’ magic stone under us arms. Instead we get t’ see how deep this pit really is.’

‘I didn’t wanna do it,’ the younger man snuffled. ‘But Gawl here said we all had t’ stick together. It’s all right fer him, he’s old ’n’ not much use. But why d’y’wanna throw a good pair o’ arms like mine off the rim?’ His red eyes pleaded with his overseer.

‘Did you hear my warning?’ Papunas enunciated each word carefully. The young man hung his head.

Noetos could stand it no longer. He knew what it was like to plead for his life. ‘Overseer,’ he said, walking over to the knot of captives and onlookers, ‘I have a suggestion. Will you allow me to present it to you?’

‘Go on,’ the man said warily, taking a fig from a sticky mass in his pocket and sticking it in his mouth.

‘We will be sending miners west to Altima and north to Tochar to warn the Palestrans about the Neherian fleet,’ said Noetos. ‘The rest of the
volunteers are coming east with me to warn the coastal villages. But what about the village the Neherians are about to attack? We should be able to warn those villages to the north of the fleet with little trouble, but there are lives to be saved today if we start now and make haste. I didn’t consider it before, because we will likely lose men in any confrontation with the Neherians. But these men here, they are lost anyway. Wouldn’t it be better for their deaths to mean something? Or, if they survive, to have redeemed themselves? Put weapons in their hands and let them try to save a village.’

Three of the five men raised their heads, hope replacing resignation on their faces. Far better to die in battle than be executed. Better still to live.

Papunas pursed his lips. ‘How do you know which village the ship-boys will be plunderin’?’

‘We don’t. But we’ll be able to work it out when we see where the Neherians place their lookouts on the Fisher Coast Road. Then all we need to do is follow the smoke.’

‘An’ what’s t’ stop these lads agreein’ to this, then scarperin’ t’ save their own stinkin’ skins?’

Noetos took a steadying breath. ‘I’ll command them,’ he said.

Papunas spat out the fig. ‘You? Fishin’ man? Who’s going t’ prevent these friendly boys from jumping you and carvin’ out yer tripes?’

The fisherman took a step forward and drew his sword. ‘Perhaps these friendly boys,’ he said as his blade flashed once, ‘recognise competent swordsmanship,’—another flash, and again—‘when they see it.’ Two more flicks and five sets of wrists were free of their restraining ropes, their owners rubbing their raw skin. He’d nicked one, but the man had the sense to hide the blood from his overseer. The youngest lad’s eyes bulged with fright.

‘Huh. Not bad, fishin’ man. Good enough t’ take care of this lot. If they’ll swear to you, you can have ‘em.’