The Hanging Mountains (52 page)

The Guardian and her entourage backed away to make room. Shilly stayed as close as she was allowed, craning for a view of the gondola’s interior. When their heads finally came into view — one human and a crew of three Panic — she felt a pang of disappointment that Highson wasn’t among them. Neither were Oriel or Griel. The only people she recognised were Rosevear and Ramal, the latter standing at the front of the gondola, scowling from under heavy brows at the humans watching her descend.

Rosevear leapt out as soon as the ground came close enough. He ran to Marmion.

‘Griel and Oriel sent me to tell you that everything is organised and ready. Everyone intending to come to the barge needs to board this balloon, and it’ll take you there.’

‘Please tell the Guardian.’ Marmion indicated the woman waiting stiffly to his right.

‘Yes, of course. I apologise.’ The young warden sketched an awkward bow. ‘It’s an honour.’

The Guardian waved away the formalities. ‘Have they acceded to my demands? Will Lidia be present?’

‘She will.’

‘Then I see no reason not to proceed.’

‘How many can that balloon carry?’ Shilly asked.

‘Fifteen,’ Rosevear replied, acknowledging her with a quick nod.

Shilly performed a quick count: the Guardian, Seneschal Schuet, Marmion, Kail, Kelloman, Rosevear and Highson and at least three guards to balance out the Panic crew, and two empty seats for Lidia Delfine and Heuve, after the meeting.

She stepped back as the Guardian picked exactly the people she had expected.

‘Don’t worry,’ whispered a voice in her ear. ‘There’s a widow’s walk running the entire length of the upper wall.’

Shilly turned to see Minister Sousoura standing directly behind her. The woman pointed up at the edge of the open-air roof.

‘A what?’

‘An observation deck. Somewhere to watch from.’

Shilly blushed, feeling decidedly provincial even though she had had no way of knowing what the term meant. ‘Will you take us up there?’ she asked, wondering why Sousoura was suddenly being so friendly.

‘When the Guardian has gone, I’ll show you the way.’

The boarding party filed onto the gondola, one by one, through a gate that opened in the side. Kelloman was puffed up with self-importance and appeared not to notice the tiny creature that followed him aboard. Kail moved stiffly, obviously in some discomfort, while Marmion walked with quiet dignity, as did the Guardian. Seneschal Schuet stayed close to her at all times, accompanied by the three guards. Two of them lugged the wooden box aboard with them. The third carried a black cotton sack over one shoulder.

Ramal boarded last, closing the gate behind her with a firm click. The moment they were all seated, the pitch of the engines increased. With a brisk gust of air, the balloon ascended smoothly into the sky.

The clouds had begun to lighten. Dawn was growing near.

‘About that observation deck ...’ Shilly prompted Sousoura, taking some comfort from the possibility that she might be able to see after all.

‘Of course. Do you want to ask your companions?’

The minister gathered together a contingent of peers and servitors as Shilly asked Jao and Banner whether they would like to watch from the widow’s walk. They agreed, looking equally at a loss as to Sousoura’s interest. When the minister pronounced the group ready, they hurried to a stairwell tucked neatly into one corner of the building. The stairs turned in a tight spiral up through the sturdy wooden walls before emerging, as promised, at the very top.

There, the narrow walkway ran the entire circumference of what, in another structure, might have been the roofline, with occasional platforms large enough to hold a group of twenty people or so. The view from the walk was unobstructed by trees. The tall belltower loomed behind them, facing the mountains.

Shilly, when she climbed stiffly to the top, had to force her way through a crowd pointing in amazement and dread at the floating city half-visible as a vast, light-speckled presence within the clouds. The lack of clear detail made it look much larger than the first time Shilly had seen it. Its edges blended with the clouds, borrowing some of their immensity. Even she thought it an ominous, threatening sight.

The balloon carrying the Guardian and the others looked tiny in comparison — and so did the barge where the meeting itself would take place. A broad, square, flat-bottomed vessel supported by two cigar-shaped balloons tied in an X, the barge was stationed exactly midway between the two cities. Shilly could make out several figures standing in the barge, waiting for the Guardian to arrive, but she couldn’t tell who they were.

‘I don’t know whether Panic eyes are any better than human,’ Shilly said to Jao, who had come to stand next to her, ‘but if you can tell whether Highson is over there, I’d be immensely relieved.’

‘So would I,’ Jao replied. ‘Alas, I see no better than you. I’m having no luck looking for Griel.’

The sight of something moving swiftly and silently through the clouds to one side of the barge sent a momentary pang of fear through Shilly. It came and went, then appeared again some distance away.
The Swarm!
she thought, and readied herself to cry out an alarm. Then she recognised the swept-back lines of Chu’s wing, and relief flooded her.

Good luck,
she wished them, as the balloon docked with the square barge. The midair manoeuvre was conducted in silence and at a sufficient distance that it would have been easy to feel removed from the events taking place over there. But she felt no such disconnection. Her thoughts were entirely on what happened next.

That explained, she told herself later, why she didn’t notice what was happening right beside her — the subtle widening of a gap around Shilly, Banner and Jao; the lack of conversation when Minister Sousoura glided confidently forward — until the knifepoint pricked her side and a strong, perfectly manicured hand gripped her shoulder.

‘If the Guardian dies,’ said the minister, ‘you die.’

Shilly could only nod, and watch and hope.

* * * *

The Wraith

‘Examining the surface of things is the most

obvious and least interesting way of studying

the world. Of greater relevance are the things

going on beneath, between, and behind

everything we take for granted.’

THE BOOK OF TOWERS,
EXEGESIS 25:3

abryn Kail tried not to wince every time the gondola swayed beneath him. His chest felt taut and hot under his fingers, but the wound only hurt when he moved. Or breathed deeply. Or thought about it.

He concentrated on the spectacle before him: one city clinging to the steep walls of a spur of rock that was a mountain in its own right, by Strand standards; another hanging in the clouds suspended from balloons as large as the city itself.

The barge waited between them, preternaturally still under its cross-shaped balloons, a centre around which powerful forces had gathered. He could see four humans standing with four Panic. Rosevear and Highson he recognised; the two others, he gathered from the conversations around him, were Lidia Delfine, the Guardian’s daughter, and her bearded bodyguard, Heuve. The four uniformed Panic figures were harder to identify: he presumed one was Kingsman Oriel, the self-styled leader of the city, and two were obviously guards. But who was the one standing to one side with a crude iron circlet around his head, and why did his eyes seem to gleam brighter than the others in the growing light?

In the exact centre of the platform where the meeting would take place rested a long, rectangular table on sturdy wooden legs. There were no chairs, so it wouldn’t be a conference as he had initially imagined it. The platform was surrounded by a wall one metre high, and beyond that was nothing but empty space.

The balloon sidled up to the platform and one of its crew threw over a rope. Once lashed together, gates on each flying craft were opened, allowing a gangplank to connect the two. Mage Kelloman looked at the plank and his white skin paled even further. Guide wires set at waist height obviously failed to reassure the mage for the hands gripping the seat in front of him remained tightly clenched.

Kail could sympathise, but he wouldn’t let fear stop him from attending the meeting. When his turn came to cross, he did so without hesitation, following Marmion stiffly, trying not to let his infirmity show and knowing he was probably failing.

Everyone gathered at the table, adopting positions as much by instinct as design. The contingent from the Panic Heptarchy stood on one side; those from Milang stood on the other. Lidia Delfine and her mother remained apart for the moment, and they acknowledged each with little more than a slight nod. Highson and Rosevear stood opposite Kail and Marmion. Kail couldn’t tell if they were surprised to see him. He still felt slightly unsettled himself at where fate had led him.

The goateed Panic male with the iron crown took a position at one end of the table, symbolically standing between the two groups.

‘Welcome, friends,’ he said, encompassing both sides of the table with outstretched arms. ‘It’s high time we met to discuss our differences. Too long has our true enemy exploited the hostility between us. The moment has come to put the past behind us and begin building the future.’

‘Spare us the rhetoric, Griel,’ snarled the sour-faced Panic male standing opposite the Guardian. Oriel’s forked beard was an exercise in vanity. His bald skull shone like polished ivory in the morning light. ‘I’m here solely to listen to a confession. It’s a bit late for an apology. Too many of my people have died. When retribution has been made, then and only then will I consider peace.’

‘Retribution?’ the Guardian echoed. ‘We have committed no wrong.’

‘No?’ Oriel vented his anger directly at her. ‘You confound our compasses and attack our patrols —’

‘As you attack our patrols, without provocation.’

‘You send your ghouls and wraiths to destroy our homes.’

‘They have destroyed our homes, too — and killed my own son.’

‘The kingsfolk have lost entire families!’

‘Clearly, both sides have suffered,’ broke in Griel. ‘On what grounds do you accuse each other?’

The Guardian turned and reached for the cotton sack carried by one of her soldiers. At the same time, Oriel reached down to his feet.

With a clatter, two bloodstained pieces of armour — one broad leather chestplate patterned with leaves, the other a light chain shirt featuring circular motifs — slammed down on the table.

‘The so-called wraith we shot down was wearing this,’ said Griel, indicating the chain shirt. ‘The body inside was decidedly human.’

‘The wraith
we
shot down was a Panic soldier,’ said the Guardian.

‘Both were fakes,’ said Marmion, stepping up to the table. ‘Your enemies played on your natural suspicion to divert attention away from them.’

‘Why should I believe you, human?’ sneered Oriel.

‘Because I hold no allegiance to either side. Because my people have helped both forester and kingsfolk in this struggle.’

‘You’ve aided traitors and saboteurs. You have kidnapped my entire city!’

‘As you have kidnapped the Guardian’s daughter and taken prisoner friends of mine.’ Marmion waved away the objection. ‘We can stand here all day, trading insults and slights, but that won’t get us anywhere. I suggest we open our minds to the possibility that we’re being used and do something constructive about it.’

‘I have no reason to believe you.’ Oriel folded his long arms. His black beard stuck straight out from his chin, a stance of unmistakeable hostility. ‘You have no evidence to back up your claims. I see only a plot to undermine my rule and therefore my people.’

‘Your rule?’ asked Griel. ‘Your people?’

Oriel puffed out his chest. ‘I rule by the mandate of the Heptarchs.’

‘What happened to the King? To the notion that the Heptarchs act in his stead?’

‘Times are changing, Griel. Haven’t you noticed? The Quorum is gone. The city is under attack. Perhaps it’s time for the Heptarchs to step permanently aside for a new King, since the old one obviously isn’t coming back.’

‘Isn’t he?’ In one smooth motion, Griel took the iron circlet from his head and threw it on the table between them. ‘Try it on for size. I dare you.’

Oriel looked down at the scuffed grey circlet, then back up at Griel. Something passed between the two Panic males that Kail didn’t quite fathom. Not an understanding, exactly. Perhaps a recognition, but of what, he couldn’t tell.

‘I have been granted a vision,’ Griel said softly, ‘of a time when forester and kingsfolk work together. Some say fog and wood shouldn’t mix, and traditionally that has always been so. But perhaps the time has come for a change — a change for the better, erasing old suspicions and healing wounds untreated for too long. Fog and wood
do
mix in the forest, to magnificent effect. Why shouldn’t we?’

‘You’re a fool,’ said Oriel softly, but he made no move to pick up the circlet. ‘I do not listen to fools.’

‘Then you’d better listen to reason,’ said Marmion, forcing his way into the tense stand-off between the two Panic males. ‘You want evidence? I’ll give you evidence.’

Pushing the crown back towards Griel, he indicated that the guards carrying the wooden box should come forward. They hefted their burden onto the table, where it settled with a thud, then stepped back.

Marmion put his one hand on the box’s rough pine lid but did hot open it. The barge swayed as though a strong gust of wind had caught its broad underside.

‘The creature in this box is one of the nine that has been hunting these forests since three weeks ago. It comes from the time before the Cataclysm, a time we know very little about. I know this, though: it’s mindless and rapacious; it would kill us in a frenzy of bloodlust were I to set it free now. It is not the sort to plan and enact elaborate revenge.’

‘Yet you claim that these are the beings responsible for setting my people against hers?’ asked Oriel, indicating the Guardian with a contemptuous flick of a finger. ‘Your lie is paper-thin.’