Awakening Page 11

  ‘Torg always makes good fish stew. But I will need more fish.’ He looked up at her pointedly. Shaan halted, the spoon half way to her mouth. She had forgotten she was supposed to go fishing that afternoon. ‘I’ll go as soon as I finish this.’

  Torg nodded. ‘Good. But don’t eat too fast, you’ll sick-up and scare the fish.’

  ‘That would probably help me catch them.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Not those flatna fish, they’re picky with what they eat, they don’t want some skinny girl’s sick-up.’

  ‘Well why don’t you catch them then,’ she said irritably.

  ‘I don’t need to.’ He grinned and pointed a wattle pea pod at her. ‘I found a street thief to steal them for me.’

  ‘I am not a thief anymore.’

  He raised an eyebrow and his smile disappeared. ‘No, but you still honour their code.’

  Shaan paused in her chewing and looked up uneasy.

  ‘I have heard,’ Torg continued looking back at his peas, ‘that a young thief escaped at an inn because a drunkard got in the way of the Hunter pursuing him. What happened to your face?’ He gestured at the cut down her cheek.

  Shaan swallowed. She had forgotten how swiftly news could travel on the street. ‘Nothing. I fell over at the yards.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He looked at her. ‘They’re dangerous men those Hunters, Shaan, part of the Faithful. You don’t want to be getting tangled with them.’

  ‘He was just a boy,’ she whispered.

  ‘Boys grow to men fast in Salmut, you know that. And he knew what he was doing.’

  ‘No.’ She put her spoon down. ‘I knew him. He was a sweet boy, he was too young . . .’

  ‘He was a thief,’ Torg interrupted and she glared at him.

  ‘That mark was careless. He may have lost a purse, but he still goes home to a table laden with roasted meats and clean linens while Tam sleeps with the city rats. I could not stand by and watch him dragged off to a cell!’

  Torg’s expression darkened, but she didn’t care. He knew what the streets were like, he’d brought her in from them himself.

  ‘I couldn’t turn my back, Torg, I just couldn’t.’ She sat back with a shrug. Let him think what he would. She could no more have left Tamlin to his fate than leaped for the moon.

  Torg nodded and watched her for a moment, his lips pursed.

  ‘You could not, but next time you must.’ He went back to shelling his peas. ‘I cannot have one who consorts with thieves living at my Inn. I don’t need to attract the attention of the Crooked Man.’

  ‘I don’t consort with them.’ Shaan protested, but his tone made her uneasy. Would he throw her out? ‘Besides Tamlin doesn’t work for him.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He never did when . . .’

  ‘When you were on the street?’ Torg shook his head. ‘Shaan, that was many years ago. He may have changed now, he most likely has and you know it. Many things are changing now, more and more street packs are owned by him. And have you not noticed how many more Faithful can be seen in the city? They are watching us all.’

  Shaan’s protest died on her lips. He was right, and maybe she was one they were watching. ‘I’ll try to be more careful.’ She rose from the bench and carried her plate over to the washing trough.

  ‘I’ll go for your fish now. I’ll be back by nightfall.’

  ‘Good.’ Torg tipped the bright yellow peas into a bowl. ‘Make sure you are. I need you to serve ale tonight. I’m expecting good custom. There’s a trading ship docked from Torin.’

  Shaan’s heart sank, a ship from Torin meant she would be up until after the moon set. The common men from the Free Lands had a great liking for their ale and their women. She sighed and retrieved her fish spear, knife, and a small rope bag. Stepping out into the late afternoon sunshine she met Tuon coming through the gate. Her blonde hair was pulled severely back and there was a red mark on her cheek. She was walking very slowly and barely nodded when she saw her.

  ‘Tuon.’ Shaan hugged her. ‘Are you all right?’

  She gave her a wan smile. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘You know better than to ask me that.’ She reprimanded her, but there was no strength in her tone.

  Shaan tried to inspect the red mark on her face. ‘What happened?’

  Tuon pulled away. ‘Nothing, it’s nothing. Although I should ask the same of you.’ She took Shaan’s chin in one hand, looking at the cut across her cheekbone.

  ‘I fell over at work in the yards.’ Shaan lied.

  ‘Really.’ Tuon regarded her. ‘That looks like a man’s handiwork. What really happened?’

  Shaan shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. I have to go catch some fish.’ She started walking toward the gate, but Tuon grabbed her arm.

  ‘Wait. Did Rorc offer you a place with the Faithful? Is that what this is from?’

  ‘No!’ She pulled away. ‘I wouldn’t work for them.’

  ‘He did, didn’t he?’ Tuon’s face was hard. ‘I knew it. Did you take it? What did he make you do?’

  Her voice was rising and alarmed, Shaan glanced around. She pitched her voice low. ‘I don’t want to work for him, I won’t. This cut . . .’ she hesitated, ‘I got it at a tavern. I had too much wine and fell over, that’s all. It’s nothing to do with him or the Faithful.’

  ‘You refused him?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be worried, that you’d think . . .’

  ‘That he had you doing what I do for him,’ Tuon finished.

  ‘He didn’t tell me what you do.’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t,’ she replied bitterly. ‘But I know him, Shaan, he won’t let you go this easily. You promise me you’ll be careful now. I won’t have you ending up like me. You can still be a rider.’

  If they accept me, Shaan thought, and if I still want to be. But it wasn’t herself she was thinking of now. Whenever Tuon spoke of the Commander Shaan saw that sadness in her eye. The pain. ‘Do you love him?’ she said.

  Tuon became very still, then looked away, staring at the inn behind her. Shaan gingerly reached a hand out to her. ‘Does he know?’

  She laughed then, a harsh exhalation of breath. ‘I’m a whore, Shaan. He is Commander of the Faithful, the Guardian’s Chief of Armies. I gave up any illusions I might have had years ago.’

  Shaan’s heart clenched with pain for her friend and she did not know what to say.

  ‘I still love you.’ She smiled thinly and Tuon’s face relaxed a little and she hugged her. ‘And that is a gift. Go on . . .’ she pushed her away. ‘Don’t you have fish to catch?’

  Shaan sighed and rolled her aching shoulders. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And don’t forget, I’m still going to take you to a dream seer about those nightmares,’ She shook a finger at her, ‘I know you’re still having them’.

  ‘Yes, mother.’ Shaan rolled her eyes. ‘I have to go, I’ll see you later this evening.’ She headed out the gate, feeling Tuon’s eyes on her back as she left.

  She walked down the alley away from the inn pausing at the intersection to the Great Avenue. It was crowded with people coming up from the wharves into the heart of the city. Men in rough seamen’s clothes swaggered in groups, a few street whores lingered on a corner, and the smell of roasting meat wafted in the hot air.

  Three Serpent Isle ship mistresses passed her, their tall muscled forms cutting a swathe through the crowd. All had a blue seabird tattooed across the black skin of their cheekbone and they glanced at her with dark eyes as they passed. Shaan nodded at them, then turned right and trudged down the gentle slope of road, weaving through the flow of bodies. The sun was dropping lower in the sky, she would be lucky to land a fish before dark.

  Wearily, she slithered like smooth water around a group of raucous young men, and made for an empty side street. She would have to fish from the end of the wharves, there wasn’t enough time to get to her usual spot on th
e reef on the other side of the port, and to get there quickly she would have to cut through the thieves’ territory. She chewed on her lip and shrugged her bag up onto her shoulder, then gripped her spear firmly with the other. If there was trouble she might as well be ready for it.

  She followed the dim street and emerged from between two double-storey stone buildings into a wider road that ran parallel to the Great Avenue. The road was scattered with stumbling groups of men and women, their faces obscured by dirty hair, hats and veils. Either side were dilapidated inns or shops. Most were just fronts for vendors of the mind-clouding drug, crist.

  Cautiously, she stepped out and turned right, hurrying along as close to the centre of the road as possible, keeping a wary eye out. Men and women, and sometimes children, squatted listlessly along the fronts of buildings, and on the side of the road. A group of what could have been wealthy citizens staggered out in front of her and she was forced to sidestep. Immediately, a young girl lunged at her, grasping hold of one of her legs.

  ‘Coin,’ she rasped and cackled.

  She was pale and thin with the bright feverish eyes of an addict. Her fingers were stiffened into claws as she pawed at her. She was fourteen years old, maybe less. Dark bruises sat beneath her eyes and a sweet, sickly smell came from her. She would most likely be dead before the season changed. Shaan prised her off easily and moved swiftly away before the girl could catch hold of her again.

  The Guardian should be doing something about it, she thought bitterly, but as usual only the wealthy seemed to count. Or maybe some of the wealthy’s predilection for the drug kept the city’s leaders from looking at the problem too closely.

  ‘Come on, come out!’ A man’s snarling voice made her look up.

  Backing out from the open doorway of an inn called the Proud Fist was a large black-haired man. He was shirtless and held his hands up, making fake swings at the small crowd of jeering onlookers gathered around the entrance.

  He shouted again to someone inside. ‘C’mon, you bitchlovin’ goat! C’mon!’ The last was a growl and the thick layer of fat around his middle quivered as he staggered and swayed.

  ‘Kill him!’ A dirty woman shrieked and hobbled across Shaan’s path She reeked of urine and old ale.

  Shaan backed away and slunk around and behind the big man. She was nearing the end of the street when she heard a woman’s scream come from an alley ahead, followed by the crash of breaking glass. She slowed and looked behind her. All were preoccupied with the fight. Another pained scream sounded and was abruptly silenced. Telling herself it was a bad idea, she moved cautiously to the corner of the closest building and peered around.

  The alley was dim but for a shaft of afternoon light falling between the rooftops above. Dust motes drifted in the soft light and she could make out a man pressing a woman against the wall. Her face was turned to the back of the alley and he was whispering harshly in her ear, one hand about her throat, the other pressing her back. A lovers’ quarrel or an argument over the price of crist? It would be better not to intervene. The man moved and the blade of a knife caught the light as he laid it against the whimpering woman’s throat.

  Shaan’s heart thudded. She should walk away now, but a surge of anger stopped her. Another man in an alley and a woman alone – not this time. Carefully, she lowered her bag to the ground and gripping her spear, crept into the alley. Keeping to the shadows she approached the man from behind, took a breath, and with both hands spun her spear and brought the handle down hard on his wrist. There was a crack and with a pained grunt the man dropped the knife and spun to face her, pushing the woman roughly away.

  Shaan skipped back near the opposite wall and spun the spear again to point the blade at him. ‘Back off or next time I strike with this end.’

  ‘Bitch!’ He rubbed his wrist. ‘What d’you want?’ He eyed her spear and laughed roughly. ‘That all you got girly?’

  Shaan swallowed. He was bigger than she had estimated, and wiry. A long scar puckered his face from his forehead to his chin.

  He suddenly lunged at her. Shaan tried to dodge but he grabbed the spear, pulling it out of her grasp. ‘Now we’re even!’ He threw it behind him. ‘Come on, girly. You scared?’ He bared his teeth like a dog. ‘I’ll give you a taste, and then maybe I’ll have some fun!’

  Shaan scowled. She was not going to take a beating from a man twice in one week. His knife was lying near the wall, if she could just get hold of it . . . suddenly his fist was coming at her head. Ducking, she punched up into his exposed armpit, but his other fist caught her in the back, knocking her down. Hot pain flared. Rolling, she staggered back to her feet and dodged sideways as he came in again. He was too close to the wall and roared as his knuckles grazed across exposed stone. With a spite-filled laugh, Shaan slipped behind him and kicked his upper back, slamming his face into the wall. The sound of his flesh smacking brick was immensely satisfying.

  ‘Bitch!’ He spun around, his face bleeding, and she dived for the knife but was too slow. He sunk a hand into her hair and yanked her back.

  ‘Time to stop playing,’ he grunted, forcing her to her knees. Her scalp felt like it was burning as she slammed her elbow into his groin. He let go with a strangled groan. Lunging forward, she seized his knife and slashed it across his calf. He yelled and backhanded her across the face. Pain exploded across her cheekbone and blackness danced at the edges of her vision. Get up! A voice in her head screamed as he snatched the knife from her fingers.

  ‘Watch out!’ A woman shouted and Shaan heard the sound of wood hitting bone. She rolled left as her assailant hit the ground and, blinking, stared up at the woman holding a thick lump of wood. ‘Nilah!’ she exclaimed.

  14

  Morfessa strode down the palace corridor frowning at the amount of people milling around. Minor landholders, village heads and representatives from the Free Lands had all recently descended on the city demanding answers and seeking assurances since the rogue serpent attacks.

  He rubbed his eyes. His head was dull and it felt like the bones in his knees were grating when he walked. How much had he had to drink last night? One bottle? Two? He couldn’t remember, but he had woken in his armchair still in the clothes he had worn the day before with a crust on his lips. A blurry memory of sprawling on the floor muttering while Prin watched from the shadows came to him. Why hadn’t Prin helped him? He touched his fingers to his head and wished he had thought to apply some salve.

  He reached the door at the end of the corridor and nodded at the two guards flanking it.

  ‘Advisor, you’re late.’ Arlindah Soonrah, Salmut’s Guardian, greeted him as he entered. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’

  Commander Rorc and Cyri, the Faithful’s Consul, were already seated on high-backed chairs facing her desk.

  Morfessa gave her a slight smile as he took the empty seat next to Rorc. ‘Sorry, I was detained.’

  Arlindah frowned and cleared her throat. ‘We have just been discussing a request from Councillor Lorgon. The Council of Nine want to have a greater say in running the armys, including the riders. They claim the attacks in the north are destroying the city’s stability and in order to allay the fears of our trading partners, they believe the Council should be making the decisions regarding how the army and the riders are deployed.’

  ‘Although I notice,’ Rorc said, ‘that Lorgon has not included the Faithful in that request. Probably because it’s hard to control men who can see your real motives.’

  Arlindah’s pale grey gaze turned to him. ‘Your may be right Commander, but Lorgon is insistent.’

  Rorc shook his head. ‘It’s just another ploy to take control away from you. This has nothing to do with the traders.’

  ‘I agree,’ Morfessa said. ‘Have any other of the Nine mentioned problems?’

  ‘No.’ Arlindah shook her head. ‘But I cannot ignore this. If the valley traders did pull their funds out of the city it would be very damaging.’

  ‘Surely you can’t be thi
nking of doing this?’ Rorc leaned forward in his chair. ‘Arlindah, Lorgon has never been interested in the good of the city, only his own skin.’

  ‘Well, what am I to do Commander? The Council of Nine exists for a reason beyond the daily administration of the city. They are supposed to be the voice for the people. If I ignore this and he’s right I risk the city’s stability. ‘

  ‘If you give in to him you risk it anyway,’ Rorc snapped. ‘The Council do not know how to run an army, Arlindah, and I will not be told how to defend this city by a bunch of overfed merchants, most of whom have never held a sword much less faced one!’ His pushed his chair back and walked a few paces away from the desk. ‘That Council can set decrees and make suggestions, but you can overrule them. You’re the leader, Arlindah. And if you give in to Lorgon you will find me constantly at your door asking for their decisions to be overruled.’

  ‘I did not say I would give in to him,’ Arlindah said. ‘I’m only seeking to find a way to placate him and ensure our city does not come to ruin.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘May I suggest a compromise?’ Morfessa said. ‘Perhaps allow a representative from the Nine in on conferences between Rorc and his generals – as observers only – so if they have any issue with his commands they can raise them with you, Arlindah.’

  Rorc’s face darkened at the suggestion, but Morfessa held up a hand. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘the decision to change any of your orders would be up to Arlindah and she has never yet had any reason to doubt your commands.’

  ‘No, I have not,’ Arlindah said. ‘That’s a good idea. It will give Lorgon some semblance of control without actually allowing him any.’

  ‘I’m not so sure it would work,’ Rorc said and Arlindah smiled briefly.

  ‘Don’t worry Commander, I trust you far more than Lorgon.’

  Rorc’s expression softened somewhat. ‘Thank you Guardian, but we have more here to be concerned with than the petty power struggles of one councillor. The serpents are becoming more unpredictable, and I’m worried about the seer’s telling.’ He looked at Cyri. ‘You heard her speak of the shadow in the Void. What if it is Azoth returning? He was the creator of the serpents, would that not explain why they are behaving so strangely?’