'I owe him my life, Nico. What choice do you have when you owe someone as much as that?'
Aleas set off once more, and Nico winced at the pain in his cramped limbs with each bouncing step, already going numb save for the one arm he had managed to poke out through the net.
'I'll make it up to you,' came the other man's voice again, though quieter than before. 'I promise it.'
Nico felt the twine of the net give way between his teeth. His free hand yanked hard and pulled another strand wide apart… and then another until, all at once, he tumbled out through the hole he had just made, and fell on his shoulder to the ground.
Aleas immediately turned and watched him rise unsteadily to his feet, a look of amused interest on his face rather than of surprise. His hands still clutched the empty net draped over his shoulder.
Nico knocked the smile from his face with a sudden right hook. As Aleas staggered for balance Nico's foot caught him so precisely in the crotch that he himself winced from the sudden impact.
Aleas turned white.
He sat down in a delicate descent with the breath hissing out of him and his hands clutching at his lap. 'Sweet mercy,' he breathed. 'Was that entirely necessary?'
'Such are the choices we are forced to make in this sorry world. So, here we are.'
*
'Should be any time now,' Kosh decided, as he passed the gourd to Ash.
'You really think he can win?' Osh asked, still watching the entrance to the courtyard.
Kosh shrugged. 'You always said no victory was ever certain, not even after it was achieved.'
Osh chuckled at this response, and it lifted Ash's heart to hear it.
'If your boy wins,' commented Baracha, also peering at the entranceway as one hand tapped restlessly against his leg, 'I'll eat my own tongue right where it lies in my mouth.'
'Please,' said Kosh, 'I would really prefer it if you did not.'
In a corner of the yard, the waterclock trickled noisily as it counted down the hour. Ash was surprised to feel a flutter of anticipation in his belly. Perhaps it was only Baracha's tension rubbing off on him a little. Perhaps, though, he did really care about beating the Alhazii in his petty games.
If nothing else it would be good for the boy. A victory in front of all of them would help to settle him, and nurture his own self-belief.
'They are coming,' said Kosh, a moment before the two apprentices appeared through the archway of the courtyard. A shout went up from some of the Rshun, as they rose to their feet or emerged from indoors.
'Hah!' exclaimed Kosh. 'They walk side by side. And, look, they carry the fish between them!'
What's this? thought Ash, his face breaking into a grin.
Baracha crossed his arms. His jaw clenched tightly from side to side, as though indeed he was biting through his own tongue.
Both boys were stained with sweat and dirt and, as they stopped before the assembly of Rshun, their eyes said they were finished with this business, regardless of what anyone else had to say about it. As one gesture, they tossed the net and the dead trout in a heap before their masters.
'Enough of this,' Aleas muttered to Baracha, and the big man inclined his head.
The Rshun gathered closer around the two apprentices, and Kosh slapped each on the back, while Aleas put an arm around Nico's shoulders with a quiet grin.
It was Osh who first spotted the arrival of the Seer. He drew Ash's attention by taking a few steps forwards, casting his gaze towards the entranceway where the old man stood, waiting in the heat.
A hush descended as the rest of the Rshun began to take notice. Breaking away from their ranks, Osh and Ash approached the ancient man.
'Something's wrong,' observed Aleas, drawing Nico with him.
'Ken-dai,' the Seer proclaimed to Osh, his voice loud in the sudden silence.
'Ken-dai,' replied Osh.
'What is it?' Nico whispered, but then the Seer went on to say: 'Ramaji kana su.'
Aleas leaned close to his ear. 'He has had a dream,' he translated.
'San-ari san-re, su shid matasha.'
'He thinks we should know of it, before the world turns any further.'
'An Rshun tan-su… Anton, Kylos shi-Baso… li an-yilich. Naga-su!'
Aleas drew a deep breath, as did all those around him. In the quietness of the moment, he whispered: 'Our three Rshun, those we sent against the son of the Matriarch… they have all been killed in Q'os.'
'An Baso li naga-san, noji an-yilich.'
'Baso took his own life, in the old way, rather than fall into the hands of the priests.'
Nothing stirred now in the large open space. They waited for something more, but seemingly he had nothing further to tell them. 'Hirakana. San-sri Dao, su budos,' the Seer said finally, brushing his hands together once. Then he spun on his heels and headed off, his extended ears flapping from side to side as he disappeared back through the courtyard gate.
'That is all. Be with the Dao, my brothers.'
All eyes turned to Osh. Nico noticed how the farlander's fists were clenched tight, though his expression remained one of perfect calmness.
The silence stretched on as the assembled Rshun waited for a word from their leader – perhaps a speech of some kind, or a few words honouring their dead comrades. Nothing came from him, though. Slowly, the silence expanded into an emptiness needing to be filled.
Nico's attention stayed on Osh's hands, the fingers clenched white with tension. As the awkwardness of the moment increased, some of the younger Rshun shifted with unease.
Ash began to take a step forward. At the sight of it, Baracha did the same. They both tried to speak at once.
'I will go,' declared Ash.
'As will I,' said Baracha, and he and Ash eyed each other with visible surprise.
Behind them, Nico and Aleas did the same.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The War Below Bahn spent most of the day underground.
He had been sent by General Creed into the warren of tunnels and chambers that cut through the earth and rubble foundations of the outer wall – Kharnost's Wall – where the sappers and the Specials worked endlessly to stop the Shield being undermined by the enemy. His instructions were simple: assess, through independent eyes, the present condition of the men below.
Like ghosts, Bahn concluded, in his first hour of being underground in those cold dark spaces where they toiled and sometimes fought.
The sappers were ragged and filthy. Many were criminals pardoned only on condition of working here, though some had volunteered, ex-miners and skilled labourers mostly. Any patch of their skin still free of grime shone sickly white in the pale swing of the lanterns. They dug dirt and carried dirt and shored up roofs with tarred timber in abject silence like that of a coffin. Working days for the slaves were merciless and exhausting, leaving little time for sleep. They worked in shifts of eleven hours, a half day, which in the tunnels felt more like twice that length of time, then rotated back to the surface where they drank the fresh air and rubbed their eyes in the burning daylight like men restored from the dead.
The Specials were a different breed entirely. Lean and wild-looking in their creaking, compact casings of black-leather armour and with their bare faces heavily scarred, they sat around in squads in small rooms barely large enough to hold them all, playing cards or fixing kit or simply waiting, eyes dulled by boredom, for some sudden signal of alarm. They had dogs with them, strong blunt-faced animals specially bred for underground baiting, just as scarred as their handlers. These lay with their leashes tied to posts, their bodies similarly encased in a simpler form of leather armour; occasionally their ears would twitch at the distant barking of other dogs below ground.
The air was foul and tasted spent. The low light strained eyes. The silence became a pressure on the ears, like the prelude to something terrible.