Anfen saw part of the young man’s face slip off and spill down his shirt with a trail of dark blood. ‘Much trouble,’ he sighed, too weary to impart any kind of wisdom. It would all find him, soon enough.
At the plush inn reserved for high officialdom, Lalie was taken aback at all the luxury on offer — the food, hot baths, musicians, steam rooms and massages. ‘This is your reward,’ he told her, ‘for your loyalty. You have been a good companion to us. More of this awaits you, if you help us further.’ It was a lie — she had been a surly companion, adding greatly to their tension, needing to be tied and constantly watched, lagging further behind in pace at times than Loup, who at least had the excuse of age. But he needed her to tell her tale to the Mayors. For that matter, he had to tell his own, and he had too little time to prepare it before another messenger came to summon him to them.
49
There were six Free Cities, yet seven Mayors sat around the crescent-shaped table, in a discreet cabin built beyond the noise of the Bazaar’s dinnertime bustle far below. Discreet was important with so many prominent targets gathered in one place. The city’s lights burned bright outside the high window, stretching further than the eye could see. Plates of delicacies were laid on the table before the Mayors, mostly ignored. After weeks of rabbit stew, jerky, foraged roots and other such fare, Anfen had a powerful urge to walk over and crudely stuff his face with the cold meats, cheeses and berries.
It took him a moment to comprehend why seven Mayors were here: ludicrously, the ‘scattered peoples’ had finally gained a vote in Council affairs. At least the man was not introduced as a Mayor; rather, as ‘spokesman’ for a couple of millions spread across vast distances, from little groups of nomad wanderers to the large fishing villages about the Godstears, themselves not far from status as city-states in their own right. To top it off, the spokesman came from High Cliffs, which already had its Mayor at the table. Anfen did not show his displeasure at this idiocy, for inter-city politics was not his trade, but he thought he sensed similar displeasure in a couple of the Mayors when the ‘spokesman’ was introduced.
All the other faces he knew, bar one. Tsith had sent their Mayor’s advisor, not their Mayor, doubtless another sore point for those about the crescent-shaped table. And another obstacle for Anfen, if this matter went to vote; a Mayor’s advisor could not commit his city to something as extreme as destroying the Wall at World’s End. It may be your Mayor is too old and ill to make the journey here, Anfen thought angrily. That means it’s time for your city to get a new Mayor.
The Tormentor’s arm was in a bag by Anfen’s feet. A few curious eyes turned to it and invited explanation, even as they waffled on through pointless formalities. He sat heavily on his chair well before they’d finished, a slight breach of protocol earning him a sternly cleared throat from the Mayor of Faifen. If she begins to swoop around the room like an Invia, consider me chastised, he thought sourly.
‘A long journey?’ said Ilgresi, Elvury’s Mayor. A smile creased his cheeks, though his eyes, black and blind as two rocks, showed nothing.
‘I thought we could cut through some of the-’ he’d almost said nonsense ‘-niceties, given the forces building up on your doorstep, Mayor.’
‘Ah yes. Have you been informed of the latest?’ said Ilgresi, smiling with real mirth. Anfen wished the man wouldn’t, for his teeth were metal and as black as his eyes.
‘No, but I saw the build-up on my way here, some hours ago. Ten thousand, I’d have guessed it.’
‘A siege, you’d have thought?’ said the Mayor.
‘But for the lack of artillery, yes.’
‘And the lack of force at our southern gate! But it may be they mean to send some there. After all, they asked us for passage.’
Anfen blinked. ‘Ridiculous. Passage to where?’
‘Ah, that’s what they do not wish to tell us! They have asked us — their messenger straight-faced — to allow them through the pass, then through the eastern roads skirting the city walls. Which, as It wills, gives them access to our southern gate.’
‘What do you think of this?’ said Liha, leaning towards him. The Mayor of Faifen, she was the only woman present.
‘I don’t know what to think,’ Anfen answered, knowing full well they’d have had every angle of this discussed already with their best and brightest — why bother asking him, unless there was some implied test of loyalty or competence in it? ‘It could be the request was to buy time, or they’re overstocked with soldiers and wish to cull some on a suicidal mission, and measure your strength into the bargain.’
‘It would also make veterans of our forces,’ said Ilgresi, shrugging: let them. ‘Our army is a young one. It would be good for them.’
Anfen groaned inside. Good for them, to participate in a massacre? Good for them, how? Do you think they thirst for the sight of spilled blood and cracked heads? Will getting it help them sleep at night? Tipping big rocks down a cliff face and lobbing arrows down a valley at helpless targets is not combat.
He saw his thoughts echoed on two other faces before him, the two Mayors who’d seen combat themselves, and knew it as more than an abstraction. One of them — Tauk, another former winner of Valour’s Helm and Mayor of Tanton — said, ‘Their actions will tell the story. So far they do not turn about and take a longer road … rather, they wait and more forces come. Now let us hear Anfen’s news. He has had a long journey and we prolong it.’
Anfen said, ‘One question. You sent Far Gaze after me. May I ask why?’
‘To see you were still alive, and to guide you back, if you needed it,’ said Tauk, his look indicating he told most of the truth, but not all. ‘We were due to depart — our cities don’t run themselves. The ambitious ones will be clearing their throats for speeches. I’m sure my capture and death are already common knowledge.’ The other Mayors chuckled. ‘I trust your tale will explain why Far Gaze isn’t with you now.’
They were largely quiet as he told them what had occurred since he set out. The base directly under the castle had failed, thanks to the groundmen, though Anfen had expected little different setting out — this despite having freed a number of their slaves as a gesture of good will, and despite enormous bribes. He could see by the Council’s faces they would send him, or someone, back to try again. He reported success in mapping out some of the tunnel sections close to the castle, even directly beneath it, for they’d found a staggering amount of underground space apparently unknown to the castle, near the entry point to Otherworld.
Which brought him to the Pilgrims. That part of the tale got them interested. A hundred questions were ready to leap from their mouths, he saw. He told them all they needed to know, and was annoyed at their fascination with trivial things: the Otherworlders’ personalities, dress styles. He held up his hands. ‘Please. Time wastes. It was the charm I found with Case you now need to hear of. It was given to him by the Invia, who then placed him in the castle’s high towers.’
That got their even closer attention. He held it too, telling them with as much conviction and detail as he could what he’d seen on the charm: the conversation between Vous and the Arch Mage, the Arch Mage’s fear of the Wall’s destruction, his apparent fear of a ‘plot’ to destroy the Wall. But Anfen also saw on the Mayors’ faces scepticism and doubt.
‘We will vote on this business with the Wall,’ said the Mayor of the other ‘Great’ Free City, Yinfel. ‘You’ve more to tell, I’d venture? Is it time yet to show the contents of that bag at your feet?’
Anfen had had trouble getting it past the guards. He undid the satchel’s buckles. Inside it was the Tormentor’s hand, like twisted threads of dark glass rope wound into muscle and covered in spikes. It had stopped twitching only two days prior and had shrunk a little, but the spikes of its fingers were still sharper than daggers. Anfen demonstrated this by digging it fingers-first into the floor at his feet.