Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) (17 page)

‘I’m meeting Heron here. Have you seen her?’

‘No, master, no. But I’ll tell her you’re here if I do, master.’

Losara nodded, continuing on. During his infrequent visits to the library (Heron normally selected the texts for his study), he was always struck by how empty the place was. Only occasionally did he see another person here besides the librarian, and it made him wonder: with so many books and so few readers, how much forgotten knowledge was stowed away on these shelves? Perhaps the key to the destruction of Kainordas was in here somewhere, unread upon a faded scroll.

He came upon a clearing amongst the shelves. Another tattered rug covered the floor, with some tables and chairs standing atop it. He was surprised to see someone sitting at one of the tables. Her hair fell forward over her face to enclose her book in a prison of black tangled strands. From her mud skin he could tell she was a Mire Pixie, and he guessed her to be just over a pace tall. She wore a ragged green dress, low enough at the back for her crystalline wings to poke out and fold behind her. He remembered seeing her somewhere before. Years ago? In a dream?

He moved forward, deliberately making some sound as he went so as not to startle her if she looked up suddenly, but his effort had the opposite effect. Her head snapped up and he found himself staring into fearful blue eyes. She breathed in sharply as she realised who he was.

‘Hello,’ he said.

She flinched and he halted abruptly. She rose awkwardly to her feet, banging the chair as her legs pushed it backwards, and stumbled into a curtsy.

‘Master,’ she whispered. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t know you would need this space.’

She scrabbled for the book she’d been reading, closing it with a thump. Dust billowed out, causing her to give a little cough. Losara smiled at that, but she was already backing away.

‘You needn’t leave,’ he said.

She moved into the shelves, hugging the oversized book to her breast with both arms. ‘It’s all right, thank you, I . . . I need to speak with the librarian anyway, master,’ she stuttered.

Before he could say anything else, she’d disappeared amongst the books, her footsteps quickening as she escaped from view. He stood staring after her, sad that he’d frightened her away.

•

Later, after their lesson, Losara helped Heron back to their rooms. She clutched his arm tightly as they went, grateful for the support. She was over a hundred years old now, and she looked it.

‘I saw a Mire Pixie in the library today,’ said Losara.

‘Did you, my dear?’

‘I haven’t seen many of them about the castle, besides the counsellors. I thought they preferred Swampwild.’

‘They do, my boy, though some serve in the castle. It would have been a girl, I suspect, a few years older than you?’

‘Yes, although I didn’t see her face well. She was too busy curtsying.’

‘Mmf. Sounds like Lalenda.’

‘Lalenda.’ He tried the name out.

‘Yes. She’s often found in the library. Battu’s prophet, you know. She sees real things, not vagaries like in shadowdreams. She’s the one who told Battu where you would be born. Poor little thing,’ she added.

‘Why?’

‘At least when I served under Raker, I could come and go from the castle and experience something of youth! She hasn’t been out since the day she was brought here.’ Heron coughed wetly and spat phlegm onto the floor. ‘No place for a Mire Pixie, that’s for sure.’ She coughed again. ‘No place for an old woman either. Too many stairs.’

Losara patted her pasty hand. ‘I’m sorry, Heron. I wish for your sake that you’d nothing left to teach me.’

‘He should let me die,’ said the old woman angrily. ‘Look at me!’ She pulled away, holding her arms aloft. They were like sticks. ‘I should have died twenty years ago, curse him!’

Losara stared, seeing the misery in her faded old eyes. He felt pity for her, but she still had knowledge he needed. He took her hand and gently led her on.

•

Lalenda shut her door, breathing hard. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was afraid of – there was little rumour around the castle about the blue-haired boy, for he kept mostly to himself. The reputation he had was built mainly on the prophecy – that surely a man who would destroy the light would be powerful and terrible indeed. One thing was certain – he was Battu’s disciple, and if that made him anything like Battu, he was best avoided at all costs.

Still, as she sat on the bed clutching a book to her chest, she realised how much she had become invisible over the years, and how long it had been since anyone had really seen her, like he had.

Fourteen / Blade

Fourteen

Blade

Blade

‘Whose damned chickens are these?’ Bel demanded of the world in general. At his feet was a wire cage that had evidently fallen and sprung open. Chickens were running all over the street, getting in the way of carts and people.

‘Settle down,’ said Hiza, grinning at his companion’s mock affront. ‘They’re only chickens.’

‘That’s right!’ said Bel. ‘They
are
only chickens! And I didn’t spend years honing myself into a well-tuned, one-man fighting explosion in order to have to deal with damned chickens!’ He flexed his arms. ‘See these muscles? Do they look like the muscles of someone who spends his day picking up
chickens
?’

‘Oh no!’ A young woman darted between Bel and Hiza. She looked like a farm girl from one of Kadass’s outlying areas. ‘Excuse me, sirs! I’ll have them all back in their cage in a moment!’

‘These chickens,’ Bel said, ‘have been disturbing the peace.’

Hiza couldn’t help but smirk.

‘I’m sorry, sirs,’ the girl said. ‘If you’ll just give me a minute . . .’ She set about grabbing at bundles of feathers and stuffing them, struggling, back into the cage.

Bel gave Hiza a sideways glance as she pointed her posterior at them. ‘I guess sometimes this work is rewarding,’ he said.

A chicken flashed past him and he snapped his boot down on its tail. ‘Here you go,’ he said, handing the bird to the flustered girl. ‘And next time, ma’am, make sure your cages are secure. Can’t have these birds running about in front of carts and carriages.’ He smiled and pushed back his curly brown hair. ‘This your first time to Market Road?’

The farm girl seemed relieved by his friendlier manner. ‘Well, no . . . my mother and I come every six months or so.’

‘Ah,’ said Bel, leaning casually against the stall. ‘And where’s your mother now?’

‘She couldn’t make it this time. She’s in bed with a head cold.’

Bel’s face became a picture of concern. ‘What a pity.’

Hiza rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, Muscles,’ he said, grabbing Bel to pull him away. ‘We can’t stand around all day wasting our time on damned
chickens
,
can we?’

•

The air of Kadass was thick and sluggish, muddying the constant murmur of activity – the shriek of children at play, the tapping of a blacksmith’s hammer, the call of a street vendor, the music of a minstrel. There were parks and lakes where people swam, splashing and laughing. Traffic moved steadily along streets of orange stone between the city’s neatly constructed buildings. On Market Road, the heat did nothing to slow the exchange of coin from hand to sweaty hand.

Bel and Hiza wandered the rows of stalls. At eighteen they were both new blades, seeing out their compulsory two years of service as peacekeepers. While many of Bel’s friends had been posted elsewhere in Kainordas, he and Hiza had been assigned to Kadass. He would have preferred it if the choice had been his, instead of the precaution of keeping him safe behind the wards . . . but it wasn’t so bad. Girls liked the uniform, and he enjoyed being able to swing his sword around sometimes. At least Naphur had made sure one of his friends remained with him. Hiza didn’t realise there was a reason for their posting, as Corlas and Fahren had always advised Bel to keep his true identity a secret, unless he wanted to be treated very differently by everyone. Sometimes he wondered why he shouldn’t be treated differently. Why shouldn’t people know that their hero walked amongst them? At any rate, he was sure he wouldn’t remain a simple blade for long. During training he had been a favoured student, and not just because his father was the great Corlas Corinas. Time and again he’d proved himself to be a master of weaponry and a charismatic leader. He didn’t intend for that to be any different out here in the real world.

Somewhere, back the way they had come, a commotion broke out.

‘If that’s those chickens again . . .’ said Bel.

‘Thief!’ someone shouted. ‘Thief!’

The blades glanced at each other, then simultaneously broke into a run. It was a jeweller with a display of gaudy wares who was doing the shouting.

‘Where’d they go?’ Bel called to her.

‘There!’ she shouted. ‘By the fountain!’

Ahead, a black-haired man was dodging between groups of pedestrians. Bel and Hiza pelted after him, calling out for people to stand aside. The thief tore down a side street. As they followed, a loose cobblestone shot out from underneath Hiza’s foot and his ankle twisted with an audible snap. Bel skidded to a halt as Hiza cursed loudly.

‘Keep going!’ he muttered through gritted teeth. ‘Don’t let him get away!’ Bel hesitated a moment, then started running again. ‘By Arkus’s great orange arse, this hurts!’ shouted Hiza, and Bel knew the words were meant to spur him on, not bring him back.

The thief had disappeared, but Bel spotted a flight of steps up the back of a building with an open doorway at the top. From somewhere inside came the sound of glass smashing. He bounded up the stairs and through the door, into a low-roofed room full of crates. He guessed it was some kind of storage area for the tavern beneath. At the far end light came in through dusty windows, one of which was broken. Bel made his way between the crates, coming to the shattered window and poking his head through just in time to see a foot disappearing up onto the roof. He kicked out the remaining glass and clambered through the window, reaching up to grasp the edge of the roof. With a mighty heave he pulled himself up, flinging a leg over for purchase. On the roof, he took a moment to find his balance on the tiles then made for the peak. He saw the thief below him: a ratty little man with a gemstone pendant around his neck.

‘Stay right there!’ called Bel.

The thief screwed up his face in response, then stepped off the roof. Bel heard him land on wood and realised he’d jumped back down onto the stairs they’d both come up. He cursed and followed, coming down on the stairs as the thief was running up the alley. A few more paces and he would be back amongst the crowds, where he would easily disappear.

If I’m to bring down Fenvarrow
, thought Bel,
I should be able to handle one thief.
He pulled out his boot knife and sent it flashing towards the thief, now some thirty paces away. It thudded into the man’s thigh, bringing him down heavily. Bel trotted down the stairs, chuckling.
I’m impressive, no doubt about it. How many could make a shot like that?

When he arrived, the thief was worming around on the ground, which made it difficult to retrieve the knife. ‘Keep still, you rat-haired turd,’ muttered Bel, cuffing the man over the head. He grabbed the knife and pulled it free, wiping the blade on the thief’s shirt before sliding it back into his boot. He grabbed the little man by the collar and dragged him, protesting, back down the alley to Hiza. Hiza was propped up against a wall, being helped by a young couple who’d seen him fall. Apart from being pale, he contained his pain well. Bel dumped the thief unceremoniously on the cobblestones before him.

‘How is it?’ he asked.

Hiza winced. ‘Broken, I think. Had worse as a boy, when at least I had gangly limbs to blame for such clumsiness.’

‘You hear that, rat?’ said Bel to the thief. ‘My partner’s injured because of you.’ He kicked the thief in the ribs and the little man whimpered.

‘Don’t hurt me, sir! I ain’t goin’ nowhere!’

‘How correct you are,’ said Bel. He turned to the couple, who were looking on nervously, and shook his head. ‘Some people just have to ruin it for the rest of us. Thanks for helping my partner.’ He produced a gold coin from a leather purse. ‘Take this, from Kainordas. If you would hurry and find a rider for us, you may tell them Bel Corinas said you’re to have the same again.’

‘Oh, no need to pay us, sir,’ said the woman. ‘We couldn’t just leave your friend lying there.’

‘Aye,’ said the man. ‘And we’ll go and find a rider for you right away.’

‘No, do take it,’ said Bel, grasping the man’s hand and pressing the coin into it. ‘It isn’t payment – it’s thanks. Anyway, the Throne has plenty more.’ He winked at the couple, who smiled. ‘Please tell the rider we’ll need a cart.’

The couple departed. Bel kneeled and took the pendant from around the thief’s neck. He tossed it to Hiza.

‘Pretty,’ said Hiza, turning it in his hands.

‘Not worth the trouble,’ said Bel. ‘Probably dyed glass.’ Reaching down, he ripped cloth from the thief’s shirt.

‘Whatcha doin’ now?’ whined the thief.

‘Trying to stop you bleeding, rat,’ said Bel. ‘Though Arkus knows why I’d be bothered.’

He wrapped the strip of cloth around the wound and pulled the knot tight. Again the thief cried out in pain, sickening Bel with how weak he was.

‘Steady there,’ said Hiza.

The fire faded from Bel’s eyes and he shrugged. ‘It has to be tight,’ he said. ‘To stop the flow.’

•

Bel sat alone in the Wayward Dog, staring into his mug. Normally he’d be having a drink with Hiza at the end of their shift, but Hiza would be in the Hospital of Arkus by now. At least that meant he had a friend in the Halls again. When he’d been assigned to Kadass, Hiza had moved his lodgings into the city. Bel, however, found himself ordered to remain in the barracks, where he was safer. He missed his old friends. There was still Hiza, but the rest of the gang had gone. The ring had left the ring leader and the Halls were much duller for it.

Sometimes he joined Corlas in teaching the younger students, where his sense of fun and fairness made him a popular addition to the class. The fairness came because he was conscious of the difference between him and his peers. Often he deliberately reined in his skill, having learned that no one liked to be outshone all the time. He knew he could beat them all anyway. Despite such distractions, he was beginning to feel trapped behind the ward stones, and had told Corlas as much. Corlas had said he understood better than Bel would ever know – whatever that meant – but he hadn’t
done
anything about it.

There was a lot getting on his nerves of late. Sometimes he’d be walking along merrily then stop suddenly, feeling at a total loss for no discernible reason. Sometimes he heard echoes of strange thoughts or foreign emotions he could not quite grasp. They slipped away and he was left feeling disturbed, discordant. Often he thought about what he was destined to do, one day – but which day? When? Was he meant to sit around waiting until some event precipitated his greatness, or was he meant to go out and make it happen? No one had a good answer for him. They all told him to live his life, to try not to let it bother him – and yet they wouldn’t even let him leave the Halls at an age when many young people went off to explore the world. He wondered vaguely about how his
other
self was faring, that dark slime that had dripped out of him all those years ago.

‘Those muscles not strong enough to hold up the ends of your mouth, keeper?’ came a woman’s voice. ‘You’re staring at that beer as if it murdered your family.’

‘Hmm?’ he said, glancing up. And then both he and a strange girl he’d never seen before stared at each other in great surprise.

She wore a light green cloak with the hood back and dark green vestments underneath. Her nose was pointy and studded by a tiny emerald. Her forehead was high and proud, framed by red ringlets that escaped being pushed behind her mischievous little ears. She was a beautiful girl, but that wasn’t why Bel stared; it was her eyes. They were green shot through with flecks of gold.

‘Sprite . . .’ he said.

‘And you,’ she replied.

Bel had to control an instinct to reach out and touch her, as if that would somehow prove she actually was a Sprite. He held out his hand, but forced himself to turn it into a gesture offering her the seat opposite. She sat, still staring.

‘Did you . . . er . . .’ Bel fumbled. Normally he was good at talking to women. He’d had practice: his mystical eyes and uniform had made sure of that. This time, for some reason, he felt odd and awkward.

‘I was actually just coming over to tease you because you’re a keeper,’ she said suddenly, then seemed surprised at her words.

‘Flattering,’ he replied, though he didn’t manage to inject any sarcasm.

‘And also you looked so glum. But I didn’t realise you were . . . I mean, I’ve never met anyone else who had Sprite in them. Oh, I’ve seen those poor children they cart around in the circus, but half the time they’re the ringmaster’s hatchlings with ears stuck on.’

‘Well,’ said Bel, ‘I’m told we’re rare. Not quite as rare as blue-haired babies, but rare nonetheless.’ She looked confused and he waved the comment away. Searching quickly for something else, he found, ‘So what work are you in, miss, to be in the habit of teasing keepers?’

‘Oh,’ she smiled for the first time, ‘nothing I care to speak of. But I saw you chase down poor Jiggis before – quite an agile fellow, aren’t you?’

‘Jiggis?’ said Bel. ‘Oh, the rat who broke my partner’s ankle.’

‘Well, he didn’t actually. It was your partner’s ineptitude that did that.’

Bel felt his brow heat. ‘I didn’t notice you watching.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘And you wouldn’t have unless I wished it, unlike fools who snatch false gemstones in public. I had my own vantage. A lovely view, way up high.’

‘Bold of you to admit such things to a keeper.’

‘I’ve admitted nothing,’ she said. ‘Except to being in a tall building.’

Bel smiled. ‘So this is how to tease a keeper, is it, oh unnamed thief? To hint at your profession and prove yourself uncaught?’

The girl took a swig of her ale. ‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘That’s good ale. I wonder if it’s locally brewed.’

‘I admire your spirit,’ said Bel, ‘but you should be careful which keepers you choose to tease.’

‘Oh?’ said the girl, arching an eyebrow. Her eyebrows were already naturally arched, so the result was pronounced. ‘And you, sir, are one of those keepers best avoided?’

‘I don’t mind some friendly chat,’ said Bel. ‘But I’d steer clear of me out there,’ he gestured at the door, ‘while you go about your
business
, whatever it may be. I don’t care what you say about vantages and such, I’m not an easy fellow to shake.’