Ширли Мерфи - The Shattered Stone [calibre]

Zephy saw Shanner in the crowd. Then she caught her breath, for Thorn of Dunoon was with him, his red hair bright against the stone wall of the Glassmaker’s shop. And she thought, He should wear a cap if he wants to go unseen.

What had made her think that? But yes, Thorn and Shanner were slipping away quickly behind the crowd accompanied by a third man: she felt a sick fear for no reason.

There was an ugly sound from the crowd, and when Zephy turned to see, there was Kearb-Mattus standing with the Deacons as self-confident as if he were one of them. No Cloffi man would stand so, head up and eyes brazen, beside Deacons. The Kubalese was going to speak to the crowd! Speak in place of the Deacons? Zephy stood staring.

The Kubalese’s voice was deep with confidence. The muttering of the crowd stopped at once. The man’s charm and assurance held them. “There will be no war, men of Burgdeeth. Listen to your Deacons. Kubal will not attack Cloffi; the Kubalese and the Landmasters of Cloffi have made a pact of friendship.”

“But what of Urobb?” someone shouted.

“Urobb is another matter and not of concern to you.”

There was cheering—but some muttering, too. Zephy felt an unease begin to grow in the crowd, and fear crept along her spine. But often another fear touched that one as two of the Deacons stared toward an alley: they started forward suddenly so the crowd drew back; they lunged, caught someone, were struggling to hold him captive, someone who fought them . . .

His red hair flashed as he was pummelled between the Deacons. His arms were pulled behind him, and he was prodded in the direction of the Set between four Deacons. Behind him came the little wizened man, led on a rope like a donkey.

“Might have suspected, a Dunoon goatherd . . .”

“It’s the Urobb behind him . . .”

“Why do they take the miner prisoner? Would the Landmaster keep the truth from us?”

“Hush . . .”

“Shanner Eskar was with them, where is Shanner Eskar?”

“It’s his mother got him free, I heard the Kubal say . . .”

Zephy stared, stricken, as Thorn of Dunoon was led away. When she could no longer see him, or see the cluster of red robes, she looked stupidly at the crowd, then fled to the sculler.

Shaken and trembling, she stood in the herb-scented sculler awash with emotions she could not name. Urobb had been defeated by Kubal. Cloffi might be next. But the spinning terror in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with war. All she could see was Thorn of Dunoon’s face, and the fury in his eyes as he was forced away toward the Set.

When Shanner came home at last, late in the night, she sat up in the darkness of the loft. She would be all right now that Shanner was here. No one had told her anything, no one would speak of what had happened, of Urobb, of war—she had dared not ask about Thorn.

But Shanner was surly to her questions, as unwilling to talk as everyone else. He sat on his cot staring at his feet until she almost screamed with frustration. “What has happened? Tell me something! And why did they let you go and not Thorn?”

“They just let me go,” he said dully. “What do you mean, ‘and not Thorn’?” She could see he was tired. It took him a minute to realize what she had said. It took her only a second to wish she hadn’t said it. He stared at her, surprised. Then he grinned.

“I didn’t mean . . .” she began.

“I know what you meant, little sister.” He smiled knowingly. She could have hit him. “Well there’s nothing for it now, poor girl.” He gave her a look of mock pity. “Well, Zephy, it wasn’t me brought in the Urobb! What did you want me to do, demand to be taken? By Eresu, this is a blazing damned time to turn into a giddy woman!”

She stared at him, wishing he wouldn’t tease. She was awash with uncertainty, confused at her own sudden feelings, and needing him to talk to.

“Why couldn’t you just dally around like the other girls? Great flaming Urdd, Zephy, why do you have to make things so serious?”

“What will they do to him?”

“I don’t know. Lock him up—and the miner, too—for a few days.” His eyes were red and tired. She daren’t ask anything more.

She held her tears until Shanner was asleep, then she dissolved into a misery she didn’t understand and only wanted to be rid of.

*

Few Cloffa had seen the Landmaster’s quarters, except the serving girls who lived there. Though most Burgdeeth men came into the Set to train with the Burgdeeth Horse, their drilling ground was the enclosure itself where the mounts were stabled, not the sumptuous apartments. And Thorn had not seen even the drilling ground, for Dunoon men did not serve in the Horse. He was taken, now, through the parade ground, past the stables, and in through the thick double doors.

The ceiling of the room he entered was as high as the winged statue in the square, as tall as three floors of a common house. Around its upper third ran a balcony with a carved railing, where a fat young girl was standing with a dust cloth in her hand, looking down with curiosity. Below the railing, the walls were wonderfully smooth and were painted with scenes in colors beyond imagining, scenes of the gods, of the Luff’Eresi flying in the clouds. But there was something strange about the pictures, something . . . They were ugly! The Luff’Eresi were not beautiful like the statue in the square: they were heavy, with bold, cruel faces, their wings leathery and thick and their horses’ legs common and hairy. Their eyes were cold and cruel, and they held men in their hands, men as small as toys. They were flying with them and tossing them into the sky, they were . . . they were eating them! Appalled, Thorn stood frozen, staring.

A Deacon jerked him rudely, and Thorn tore his gaze from the paintings to see the Landmaster watching him.

“Those are your gods, Thorn of Dunoon,” the fat man said sarcastically. He gave the picture a proprietary glance, and his mouth twisted in a caustic smile.

“Why have you brought me here?” Thorn demanded. “What do you want of me?” If he were Oak Dar he would have been more subtle, his father could be very politic, but Thorn could squeeze out nothing but sore anger. “What Covenant have I broken against the Landmaster? What crime have you invented for me, to be dragged here like a trussed pig?”

The Landmaster swelled at Thorn’s insolence, his bald head and round stomach seeming to grow tighter; he motioned to the Deacons, who lined up on either side of Thorn. Thorn wished he could laugh in the crude ruler’s face, but his sullen fury was too great.

“You have defied the Covenant of Primacy. Or are you so ignorant you don’t know the Covenant of Primacy, goatherd?”

“ Primacy! What has primacy to do with letting a poor Urobb miner say his piece?”

“Primacy entails that all news of Ere come first to the Landmaster, Cherban! You had no right . . .” Thorn stared at him with interest. The man’s cold demeanor was pretty thin. “You had no right to bring any news of Ere to the people of Burgdeeth! False news it was, and upset them unduly, goatherd! Take him away. Lock him where the Urobb was; we’ll see how the whelp likes cow dung and gutter-water for supper.”

Fury blinded Thorn. As he was forced at sword point through the Set, even the beauty of the inner gardens and fountains could not cut through his anger.

The cellhouse stood alone on the opposite side of the Set. As Thorn was thrust through the door, he spun around to see the Urobb miner coming toward him across the parade yard, led on a long rope by the Kubalese on his dark war horse. Kearb-Mattus’s crude laugh rang across the Set. “I’m taking your friend to Urobb, Cherban, as fast as my horse can gallop. If he can run faster, he might be alive when he reaches his homeland.”