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
‘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.