Roger Taylor - Arash-Felloren

Barran did not reply immediately. Rostan’s tale chimed with Pinnatte’s and had a convincing air about it. The Kyrosdyn were always negotiating with someone – as was he – and the consequences of the cry ‘Kyroscreft!’ going up would indeed be a problem for them… and many others as well. Nevertheless, he was fairly certain that Rostan was lying. The spectacular ineptitude of his initial approach had given that away. What Pinnatte could have done to bring the likes of Rostan and Imorren down on him, he could not imagine, but he knew he was not going to find out unless Rostan specifically wanted him to know. And, given such an appeal, it was virtually impossible for him to refuse Rostan’s request. However, he was growing to like the young thief and he was genuinely indebted to him for his actions at the Loose Pit.

He signalled Pinnatte to come forward. Putting a protective arm around his shoulders he said, ‘I want you to go with Rostan, Pinnatte. The Kyrosdyn need our help with something and we always look to help one another whenever possible. It shouldn’t take long.’ He looked at Rostan. ‘Make sure he’s back before sunset. Apart from the work he’s doing for me, the Prefect’s insisted we hold a celebration for what he did. He’s hoping to be here himself.’

He became proprietorial. ‘Pinnatte’s the talk of the Noble Houses and the Trading Combines already. He’s become very famous. People are queuing up to meet him.’

There was a little truth in what he was saying, but with no idea what the Kyrosdyn really wanted of Pinnatte, it was the only protection he could offer him. It was also probably the best, openness and public knowledge being the biggest hindrances to the compulsively secret dealings of the Kyrosdyn – as they were to his own.

Reassured, Pinnatte left the Jyolan with Rostan. Throughout the incident he had been suffering conflicting emotions. Beneath his alarm at Barran’s first response, and the general uncertainty about Rostan, there had been bubbling a monstrous anger. It was not right that he be treated so. Those who offended thus should be struck down without pity. And more than once he had felt the blow forming within him.

Even as he reflected on these responses, he knew they were still there, an almost continuous undertow to everything he did now.

And Rostan felt something too. The Pinnatte whom he had encountered in the street had been frightening enough, but the brief sojourn in the Jyolan seemed to have made him even more disturbing; the strange power in him washed to and fro without any semblance of reason or order. It occurred to him, very strongly, that the Kyrosdyn’s neglect of the Jyolan over the years might have been a serious mistake, and he resolved to speak to Imorren about it as soon as an opportunity presented itself.

They walked on in silence for a long time, Pinnatte and Rostan wrapped in thought, and the bodyguards forming a discreet triangle about them. It was Pinnatte however, who came out of his reverie first, as years on the street told him something was amiss. He looked round quickly, but could see nothing. The bodyguard Gariak picked up his movement.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, stepping alongside him.

Even as he spoke, Pinnatte saw the cause. ‘Tunnellers,’ he said. ‘Everywhere.’ As he recognized them, deep inside he felt the angry cry, ‘Prey!’ and a sense of raging frustration. It took him a conscious effort to still it and as he did so he realized where his night-time hunting with the creature had occurred. His two selves became momentarily one. He turned to Rostan. ‘Nothing to concern us,’ he said quietly so that the bodyguards could not hear. ‘Merely our creature feasting down there.’ He smiled darkly. ‘They think they can escape.’

Our creature! The knot in Rostan’s stomach tightened again, partly at this first outward acceptance by the Anointed of what he was, and partly because the strange Power was all about him again. He had been right. Whatever Pinnatte had been before he returned to the Jyolan, he was worse now. And even more frightening. Whatever the flaw was in the Anointing, it was spreading, and Pinnatte’s Power was growing rapidly both in intensity and instability. Would even Imorren be able to cope with this?

And, if she couldn’t, would they be able to kill him?

A deep chill of denial filled him by way of reply.

Without realizing it, he began to walk a little quicker. They were not far from the Vaskyros now. All he had to do was stay calm and get this abomination there.

Suddenly Gariak grabbed his arm and dragged him into a side street. The other two bodyguards followed his lead and ushered Pinnatte after him. Before either of them could speak the bodyguards were obliging them almost to run.

Encumbered by his robes and unused to any form of vigorous exercise, Rostan was soon suffering. He pressed his hand to his collar and recovered a little. ‘What’s the matter?’ he gasped. Without breaking his pace, Gariak glanced backwards by way of answer.

Rostan turned to see a group of about twenty Tunnellers following them. Most of them were carrying sticks or swords and their manner bore none of the vagueness that usually hallmarked their kind. As soon as he turned, there was a cry and the crowd began to run towards them. Something dark flared up within Pinnatte demanding that he reach out and destroy the pursuers, but a long-imbued instinct of flight overrode it.

‘This way,’ he shouted, turning into a narrow alley. Gariak hesitated for a moment then bundled Rostan after him. Glancing round, he shouted something to the other guards that Pinnatte did not understand. Halfway along the alley, another intercepted it. Reaching the junction, Pinnatte turned to look back. Rostan was some way behind him, being supported by Gariak, but he could not see the other two bodyguards. The crowd had reached the alley and were milling about in some confusion as they struggled to enter it. This was as he had expected, and he knew too that the crowd would soon lose its momentum in this confined space. Almost wholly street thief for the moment, he was considering whether to flee and save himself or to risk helping Rostan and thus perhaps ingratiating himself further with Imorren. He was still debating when the two bodyguards suddenly appeared. They had been crouching low amongst the rubbish near the entrance.

There was a brief spasm of violent activity – swords rising and falling repeatedly and rapidly, though to Pinnatte, gaping horrified, it seemed they were moving with intolerable slowness. Tangled skeins of… something… arched through the air, silhouetted against the sunlight beyond. Then high-pitched screams, scarcely human, were echoing frantically along the alley, racing after the two bodyguards. Pinnatte could not move. Mingling with his horror at what he had seen was the darkness within him, rejoicing. This was the way things should be. This was the way they would be.

‘Which way?’ Gariak demanded, as the two bodyguards reached them. Pinnatte started, then moved without thinking. The sight he had just witnessed, dark shadow-play against the bright mouth of the alley, and his response to it, had torn away a veil. Hitherto he had been a passive victim of events, looking only to win wealth for himself in this city where wealth was everything. But he had relished the carnage of the Loose Pit and he had accepted the joining with the creature and wallowed with it in its terrible hunting. Now he saw that there had been throughout, a small part of him which rebelled against this metamorphosis. A frail green shoot amid the bloody mire of a battlefield. It began to bloom now, though a gale of excuses bowed it low: the changes were beyond his control, he must tread this path to reach his chosen goal, the events were happening anyway, why should he not benefit from them? Yet they did not destroy it. And now the last excuse, the faintest but the most persistent – that perhaps none of the events had been truly real, but had existed merely in his imagination – had been hacked away by the slashing swords of the bodyguards. The awful cries of the wounded and dying had wrapped themselves around him. These were real people, inadequate people for the most part, driven from their sorry homes by a monster which he, above all, knew could not be faced by anyone. For whatever reason they had been following Rostan, escape from them was a comparatively simple matter and the slaughter had been as unnecessary as it was brutal.