Damned - White Wolf Part 31

'Why do you not like Brother Lantern?' asked Rabalyn, on the afternoon of the third day.

They were taking a break from sword practice on the open ground at the rear of the Crimson Stag. The lad had promise, but his arms needed strengthening. 'Is it that obvious?' asked Diagoras.

'I don't know. It is to me.'

'Then you have a sharp eye, for we have exchanged no angry words.'

'He has been kind to me, and I like him,' said Rabalyn.

'There is no reason, then, why you should not,' Diagoras told him.

'So why don't you?'

'We're here for you to learn swordplay, Rabalyn. Not to discuss my likes and dislikes. You are fast, which is good, but you need to think about your balance. Footwork is vital for a swordsman. The weight must shift from back foot to front foot. Come, let me show you why.'

Moving out onto the open ground Diagoras offered his blade. Rabalyn's sword touched it.

'Now attack me,' said the Drenai. Rabalyn moved forward, slashing his sword through the air. Diagoras blocked the cut, stepped inside and hammered his shoulder into Rabalyn's chest. The youngster tumbled back and fell heavily. Diagoras helped him up. 'Why did you fall?' he asked the lad.

'You shoulder-charged me.'

'You fell because your back foot had come forward alongside your front foot. When weight was thrown against you there was nothing to support you. Stand with your feet together.'

Rabalyn did so. Extending his arm Diagoras pushed hard on the youth's chest. He staggered back. 'Now, stand with your left foot pointing forward, knee slightly bent, and your back foot at a right angle to the front.'

'What is a right angle?'

'Point your left foot towards me, twist the other foot to the right. That's it.' Once more Diagoras pushed the youth. This time he hardly moved. 'You see. The weight is pushed onto the back foot, so you remain balanced. When you lunge you extend the left foot first.

When you move back it is on to the right foot. They never cross over.'

'It is very complicated,' complained Rabalyn. 'How am I supposed to remember this in a fight?'

'It is not about memory. It is about practising until it is second nature to you. With luck you'll develop into a fine swordsman. Of course it would help if you had a better blade.'

'Then this might be of use,' said Skilgannon. Diagoras spun round. He had not heard the man approach, and this unsettled him. The Naashanite walked past Diagoras and offered a sabre and scabbard to Rabalyn. 'It is a good weapon, well balanced and finely made.'

'Thank you,' said Rabalyn, reaching for it.

'I was just explaining to the lad about the importance of footwork,' said Diagoras. 'It would be most helpful if he could see it displayed. Would you object to a practice?' He found himself looking directly into Skilgannon's sapphire eyes. The warrior held his gaze for a few moments, and Diagoras felt as if the man was reading his soul.

'Not at all, Diagoras,' he said, retrieving the sabre from Rabalyn.

'Would you be more comfortable using one of your own blades?' asked Diagoras.

'It would not be safe for you if I did,' said Skilgannon softly.

They touched blades as Rabalyn sat down on a bench. Then, in a whirl of flashing steel, they began to fight. Diagoras was skilled. Eighteen months ago he had won the eastern final of the Silver Sabres at Dros Purdol. His a.s.signment to Mellicane had meant missing the national final in Drenan. He was sure, however, that he would have won it. So it was with great confidence that he took on the d.a.m.ned. The confidence, he soon realized, was misplaced. Skilgannon's sabre blocked every lunge and cut. Diagoras increased the pace, moving beyond that of a practice. He did not do this consciously. His mind was locked now in combat. Faster and faster they moved. Suddenly Diagoras saw his opportunity and leapt forward. Skilgannon parried, stepped inside, and slammed his shoulder into Diagoras's chest. The Drenai officer hit the ground hard. He glanced up and saw Rabalyn staring at him, his expression one of shock and fear. Only then did Diagoras come to his senses and realize that he had been trying to kill Skilgannon. He took a deep breath. 'You see what I meant about balance, Rabalyn,' he said, trying to keep his voice light. 'In my excitement I forgot all about footwork.' The youth relaxed.

'I have never seen anything like it,' he said. 'You are both so fast. Sometimes I couldn't even see the swords. They were just blurs.'

Skilgannon reversed the blade, offering the sabre hilt to Rabalyn. The young man took it, then grinned at Skilgannon. 'It is a wonderful gift. I can't thank you enough. Where did you get it?'

'From a man who had no need of it. Use it well, Rabalyn.'

Diagoras pushed himself to his feet. 'My apologies, Skilgannon,' he said. 'I was so carried away by the contest I almost forgot we were merely practising.'

'No apology is needed,' said Skilgannon. There was no danger.'

Anger flared in the Drenai, but he swallowed it down. 'Even so, the apology stands. I should have known better.'

Skilgannon met his gaze once more, then shrugged. 'Then it is accepted. I shall leave you to your practice.'

'Garianne was looking for you,' said Rabalyn. 'She is in the tavern with Druss. I think she's a little bit ... er ... drunk,' he concluded lamely.

Skilgannon nodded, then strolled away.

'He is very good, isn't he?' said Rabalyn.

'Yes, he is.'

'You look angry.'

'You mistake embarra.s.sment for anger,' lied Diagoras. 'But at least you saw how important it is to retain balance.'

'Oh, I saw that,' said Rabalyn.

In the tavern Skilgannon found Druss sitting alone, and eating a double sized meal. Two huge slabs of meat pie had been placed on an oversized banquet plate, with a huge portion of roasted vegetables. Skilgannon sat down.

'You could feed an army on that,' he said.

'I was feeling a little peckish,' said Druss. 'Chopping logs always gives me an appet.i.te.'

'The lad said Garianne was looking for me.'

'Aye, she was. But now she's gone.'

Skilgannon chuckled. 'Druss the Legend is embarra.s.sed,' he said. 'Is that a blush I see?'

Druss glared at him. 'Some Datian officers have been asking questions about a number of dead men found in a stable in the Naashanite quarter,' he said after a moment. 'Best stay low here until we leave.'

'That makes sense,' agreed Skilgannon.

'You think they'll try again?'

'Yes. But probably not until we're on the road. It does not concern me unduly.'

'And why is that?' asked the axeman.

'I must a.s.sume Servaj used the best men he had in the first attack. They were really not very skilled. The Source alone knows what the second best will think to accomplish.'

'Beware of arrogance, laddie. I have seen great fighters brought down by an idiot with a bow. Once I saw a fine warrior felled by a stone hurled from a child's sling. Fate has a dark sense of humour sometimes.' The axeman fell silent, and set about tackling the enormous plate of food. After a while he glanced up. 'I saw your bout with Diagoras. Don't judge him too harshly. He's a good man - sound and brave and loyal.'

'I didn't judge him, Druss. He judged me. In all likelihood his judgement is accurate. If I was a warrior told about the deeds of the d.a.m.ned I would loathe him too. You can't change the past, no matter how much you long to.'

'Aye, there's truth in that. We make mistakes. No point dwelling on them. As long as we learn from them. Garianne went off with a Vagrian officer. Don't judge her too harshly either. She needs what she needs.'

'I know. Have you learned any more about this Ironmask?'

'Nothing good,' said Druss. 'He's sharp, canny and brutal. His men were handpicked for their savagery. Not a nice bunch.'

'And you still mean to take them on alone?'

'Ultimately, laddie, we are all alone.'

'What is your plan?'

'Simplicity itself. I shall walk into the fortress, find Ironmask, and kill him."

'Simple plans are usually the best,' agreed Skilgannon. 'Less to go wrong. Have you considered the hundred and seventy warriors who are said to man the fortress?'

'No. They'd best keep out of my way, though.'

Skilgannon laughed aloud. 'And you talk to me about arrogance?'

Druss chuckled. 'I might think of a better plan once I've seen the place.'

'That would be wise,' Skilgannon agreed.

'I'm not sure you're the man to be offering lectures on wisdom,' said Druss. 'As I recall you were a general, with a palace and a fortune. You gave it all up to become a pacifist priest - an occupation, I might add, you proved wholly unsuitable for. You are now a penniless warrior, being hunted by a.s.sa.s.sins. Have I missed anything out?'

'You could add that the person who wants me dead is the woman I love above all else in this world.'

'I take it back,' said Druss. 'Tell me more of your wisdom, laddie. I find it strangely appealing.'

Jianna had been ten years old when first she stumbled on the pa.s.sageway that led beneath the royal palace. It had been an accidental discovery. She had been playing in her father's apartments while he had been away with the army putting down a rebellion. Her mother had sent servants looking for her, to scold her for some infraction, and Jianna had run into the huge and luxurious bedroom seeking a hiding place. She had sought to conceal herself behind a heavy silk curtain set against the north wall, but when she tugged on it she found that it would not move. A tiny section of it, at floor level, had become wedged in the walnut panelling of the wall behind. The ten-year-old princess found this perplexing. Gently she eased it out, and stepped behind the curtain. The two servants sent to fetch her to her mother soon gave up the search. Jianna heard them move away. Once alone she drew back the curtain and examined the panelling. It was ornately carved, and embellished with gold leaf. Above her head a golden adornment had been set into the wood. It was a lion's head, the mouth open and snarling. On both sides of the head were golden candle holders.

Jianna moved back into the room and hauled a chair to the panelling. Standing upon it she studied the lion's head. Suddenly the chair shifted. As she fell the princess grabbed the nearest candle holder. It twisted under her grip. Letting go, she fell to the floor. A cold draught of air flowed across her. The panelling had opened. Beyond was a shadowed chamber. Clambering to her feet she stepped inside. It was no more than five feet deep, ending in a barred iron door. Sliding back the bar, she pushed open the door. Beyond it was a dark tunnel. At ten the princess was too fearful to enter this frightening place.

Barring the door once more she returned to the apartment, drew the panelling shut, and pushed the candle holder back into its place, relocking the entrance.

During the following year she thought about the secret pa.s.sageway often, and chided herself for her childish fears. One hot afternoon, as her servants dozed in the afternoon sunshine, she crept away, back to the royal apartment. Taller now, she could -standing on tiptoe - reach the candle holder and twist it. The panel eased open. Taking a lighted lantern she stepped into the chamber beyond, examining the wall on the other side of the lion ornament. Here there was a simple lever. Pushing shut the panelling she tugged on the lever. A click sounded. The panelling was now firmly shut.

Moving to the iron door, she opened it and stepped out into the pa.s.sageway. It was cool here, and a flow of air made the lantern flame flicker. Feeling her way carefully ahead she came to a set of steps leading down. The walls glistened with damp, and a rat scurried across her foot. She almost dropped the lantern.

Jianna felt her heart beat faster as fears began to swamp her mind. What if hundreds of rats attacked her? No-one would hear her screams, and, worse yet, her body would never be found. She faltered, and considered going back. But she did not. Instead she recalled the instruction of the swordmaster Malanek: 'Fear is like a guard dog. It warns you when danger threatens. But if you run from all your fears the guard dog becomes a savage wolf, and will pursue you, snapping at your heels. Fear, if unopposed by courage, eats away at the heart. Once you run you will never stop.'

The tunnel seemed to go on for ever. Jianna began to worry that her lantern would splutter out, leaving her in darkness. Eventually though she came to another barred door. The bar had been recently greased, and slid open easily. Opening the door just an inch she saw beyond it an iron ladder set into a rock wall. Chequered light patterned the rocks. Pulling the door fully open, she looked up. A metal grille blocked the shaft some twenty feet above.

The shaft continued down beyond the doorway, and she could not see the bottom, though she could hear running water. Leaving the lantern burning in the doorway Jianna climbed the ladder. The grille at the top was too heavy for her to move, but glancing through it she could see the tops of trees, and hear the fountains of the royal park.

The tunnel, she now knew, was an escape route from the palace.

Retracing her steps Jianna made the long journey back to the apartments, re-barring the doors as she went. Her curiosity satisfied, she did not travel that way again until the second year of her triumphant return to the capital. Her face stripped of the paint of n.o.bility, her clothes ordinary, she sometimes escaped to walk the sunlit streets, or shop in the markets alongside ordinary citizens. She would eat in taverns, and listen to the conversations. Had either Askelus or Malanek known of these trips they would have become apoplectic with rage and frustration. Yet it was on adventures like this that Jianna learned what the populace truly thought of her government of their lives. It did not matter to her that she was now known among the n.o.bility as the Witch Queen. To the common people she was a figure of awe, respected and feared. Not loved, though, as Malanek believed. In taverns and eating houses people spoke of her courage, her shrewdness, her battle skills. There was considerably more debate about her ruthlessness.

Crimes were now punished severely; thieves had three fingers of their left hand cut away for a first offence. A second offence led to death by beheading. Killers were taken back to the scenes of their crimes and executed there. Embezzlers and fraudsters were stripped of all a.s.sets. In the first year of her reign more than eight hundred people had been put to death in the capital alone. Askelus was not in favour of such extreme practices, even though the numbers of reported crimes plummeted. Jianna listened to his arguments about the need for a compa.s.sionate society, about understanding the complexities of the causes of crime. Jianna had been dismissive of his reasoning.

'A man breaks into a house, and kills the owner to steal a few valuables. How many people are affected? The owner may.be dead, but he might have a wife and children. He will certainly have relatives, neighbours and friends. His relatives have neighbours and friends.

Perhaps a hundred people in all. Like a rock hitting the surface of a still lake the ripples of this crime spread out. People become worried about their own homes and their own lives.

When then the murderer is dragged back to the house and killed there people relax.

Justice has been done.'

'And what if the wrong man has been killed for the crime?'

'It makes no difference, Askelus. A crime has been punished. A hundred people are satisfied that society will avenge crime.'

'Does the man unjustly killed not have family and friends and neighbours, Majesty?'

'And that is the curse of intelligence, Askelus. Intelligent people always seek to see the other side of the problem. They look for cause and effect, balance and harmony. They focus on the poor man who steals a loaf of bread to feed his family. Oh woe, they cry, that we live in a society where a man can be reduced to such a state. Let us therefore give free food to all, so that no-one will ever steal bread again.'

'I do not see a problem with that, Majesty. There is food enough.'

'There is now, Askelus. But travel a little further down this road and what do you see? Men and women who no longer have to work for food. They breed and they multiply, producing more and more people who do not have to work for food. Where do they then live, these people who do not work? Ah, then we give them free houses perhaps, and horses so that they may travel. What of clothes to wear? How can they afford them, these people who do not work? And who pays for this road to madness, Askelus?'

He had not been convinced and had spoken of building more schools, and the training of the poor to give them new skills. This idea did have appeal. Jianna's new empire would need more skilled men and women. So she had allocated funds from the treasury for the creation of more schools and teachers, and even the building of a university. Askelus had been delighted.

As time pa.s.sed Jianna continued to use the secret pa.s.sageway, travelling more and more through the city. Shopkeepers and tavern owners came to know her, and she built a new ident.i.ty. She was Sashan, the wife of a travelling merchant. She even bought a cheap silver wedding band, which she wore on her right wrist. This kept most of the single men from bothering her as she moved through the city. The ones untroubled by the band she sent on their way with harsh words and a flash of her eyes.

An area a mile south of the palace became a favourite haunt for her. There was a square here, and a marketplace. Women would often gather round the well at the centre of the square. There were benches and seats and the women would chat to one another about life and love and the raising of children. It was rare that politics entered the discussion. Even so Jianna found sitting among them hugely enjoyable.

It was there that she met Samias, the wife of a local builder. Often she would have three young children with her, and would watch them run around the square, peeping at items on the stalls. They would squabble good-naturedly, or play. Samias would open her bag and remove parcels of food, and the children would sit by her feet, munching on pies, or cake, or fruit. Samias was a tall woman, heavy around the hips. She constantly smiled as she watched her children. Only on the days when she was alone did her smile fade, and then Jianna saw the sadness in her eyes.

They spoke often. Mostly Jianna listened. Samias was contentedly married. Her husband was 'a good man, sound and caring' and her children were a constant delight. 'Life is good, so I mustn't complain,' she said one day.

'Why do you talk of complaining?'

Samias seemed surprised. 'Did I? Oh, it's just a phrase.'

'You love your husband?'

'Of course. What a silly question. Wonderful man. Very good with the children. What about your man? Is he kind?'

'He's pleasant enough,' said Jianna, suddenly unwilling to create more lies.

'That's good. I expect you miss him when he's away. Travelling merchant, isn't he?'