Southern Fire

Chapter Thirteen

Such a narrow strait, and it might as well be a thousand leagues wide.

Kheda sat cross-legged on the steeply shelving sand and burned with frustration. The dark, shingle-strewn bay opposite was twin to the one where he sat, the shallow waters between greenly opaque in the aftermath of the morning's violent storm. There were a few differences, crucial for anyone hoping to make that short crossing. An ominous grey-stone building stood foursquare at the water's far edge, its roof walk patrolled by armoured men, windows no more than arrow slits. The double gates were locked in a forbidding barrier of black wood and iron studs in contrast to the open doors and shutters of the simple houses clustered some way beyond. More of the single-roomed dwellings stretched up a curving track and spread out along the shore on either side. Swiping away insistent sandflies, Kheda watched children scampering to play in the lull between the rains, men and women idling after the noon meal that had brought them respite from their mundane tasks. Kheda's belly had been empty and griping since dawn and hunger distracted him yet again.

I don't recall ever being so famished. I wonder what they've been eating. Well fed and well defended, there's no reason for these people to have a care in the world. Not with that fortress protecting Shek Kul's residence. No ship's going to land on that side of the strait without permission, without falling to a hail of arrows from the watchful rampart.

The galleys and countless smaller boats jostling for anchorage in these waters knew better than to try, clustered instead on this side of the narrow seaway. There were intimidating guardians of the warlord's peace here too. Kheda looked dourly at the heavy triremes drawn up at either end of the beach where he sat. Beyond, fast triremes patrolled the more open waters, on the lookout for any opportunist vessel taking a course it shouldn't.

'You look very serious, friend. Get caught without shelter in this morning's downpour?' As unkempt as Kheda, another of the pathetic human flotsam washed up on the shore dropped down to sit beside him. 'Me too,' he said ruefully, gesturing at the sodden, tattered tunic draped across his bony arm.

Kheda hadn't bothered to try drying his clothing. The humid air hung around like a damp blanket in any case. He nodded at the heavy trireme closest to hand. 'I was wondering if anyone had ever managed to hide themselves aboard one of those.' It was the only vessel he'd seen making the infuriatingly short crossing in the day and a half he'd kept his vigil.

His companion laughed out loud. 'Not that I ever heard.' He shrugged pale brown shoulders. Like so many in these reaches he was light-skinned enough to pass for a sun-darkened mainlander. 'Some say there are domains whose trireme captains will take a bribe to carry a passenger unbeknown to their lords but I wouldn't risk it myself.' He shook his head with a shiver. 'Not and get thrown over the side at the first hint of trouble. Anyway, there's no chance any of Shek Kul's shipmasters would do such a thing.'

'I don't doubt that,' Kheda admitted ruefully.

Not with the power and competence of Shek Kul's rule so indisputably apparent in every move his people make, every word they speak. His all-pervasive authority makes any claims of the Daish domain look no better than Chazen Saril's ramshackle governance. You've nothing left to bribe your way aboard with either.

The fisher family that had saved him had more than earned their set of crystal cups. Set ashore on an islet ringed by busy fishing vessels, Kheda had been forced to give up the canthira goblet for a frustratingly short passage to a trading beach. Each of the vizail bowls had carried him a little further east and finally, the single gold bell that he'd hoped to give Janne had been the price of passage here. Now he'd arrived in Shek Kul's domain, he had nothing. Kheda fingered the ivory hung around his neck.

Nothing I'm prepared to give up.

'I'm here for another few days at least.' The newcomer jerked his head at a handful of galleys anchored close to the shore. 'None of this morning's arrivals will be going my way. How about yourself?'

'Nothing for me so far. Any news to share from the ships you've spoken with?' Kheda asked with studied casualness. 'Anything from the south? I heard rumour Ulla Safar was getting above himself.'

'There's word of warfare.' His unsought companion looked puzzled. 'But that the Redigal and Ritsem domains are joining with Daish to divide the Chazen isles between them. Does that sound right to you?'

'I've heard stranger things.' Kheda sounded suitably dubious but a faint warmth kindled beneath his breastbone.

Surely that must mean Sirket is backed by the allies I hoped my apparent death would win him. The three domains must be proving strong enough to hold their own against the invaders, otherwise the news would have travelled north faster than the breaking rains. I'll take that as proof that I read the omens aright, to follow the course that brought me here. But how long can they hold out, once the rains retreat and withdraw the protection of the smothering storms.

Kheda looked beyond the scatter of little houses on the far side of the strait. A dark stone wall cut a line through the green of the trees. Shek Kul's compound: ringed around with high walls ceaselessly patrolled, a lofty watch-tower raised above the main gate vigilant day and night. Just beyond the tower Kheda could see a corner of a central palace doubtless built with defence at least as much in mind as luxury.

Somewhere inside that impregnable wall, someone knows how Shek Kul defeated magic and drove it from his domain. I have to know, if I'm to take back any hope of Daish holding off these savages whenever they choose to come north.

'What I was wondering,' continued his new companion in a wheedling tone of voice, 'is whether you'd hook up with me for the afternoon.' He twisted to look up the steep slope of the shore towards houses tucked in among lilla trees now moist with new green. The morning's rains had made pools of the sailer grain plots firmly edged with sharp earthen banks and ducks were foraging happily in the liquid mud. Hens looked on aloof from the shelter of fowl houses with fans of sailer straw making frivolous crests in their thatch.

'Someone up there should be happy to let two strong men hoe their garden while they sit in the dry and cook a dinner big enough to share round,' he urged Kheda.

Or one strong man and a narrow-shouldered runt with ribs plainly visible beneath his tight-drawn skin. No, that was unfair.

Kheda could see his companion was entirely willing to work. It was just that his narrow frame wouldn't exactly inspire confidence.

'That woman there.' The newcomer nodded towards one of the closer houses, where a brindled hound with heavy jowls lounged in the shelter of an arched gate set in a substantial clawthorn hedge. 'She gave me some meat for cleaning out her hen run a few days since.' The ugly beast pricked suspicious ears at the pair of them.

'I haven't seen any of the Shek so much gather their own wood since I got here.' Kheda surprised himself by speaking that sour thought aloud. 'Travellers do almost all their labours.'

Being aboard that galley loosened your tongue more than you expected, certainly more than is prudent.

'What of it?' The newcomer was growing impatient. 'Do you want to eat today or not?

Kheda noted his companion wasn't the only vagabond looking enviously at the shelter and food the islanders enjoyed, doubtless why spiked palisades or hedges surrounded each house and most boasted hounds bigger than any Kheda had ever seen in the southern reaches.

The spokesman of a large village would think himself lucky to win the least of these hounds as a reward from his lord. A warlord would think himself generous to make such a gift to a most favoured warrior. Here, they guard chicken houses.

'If you're not interested—' The newcomer rose, dusting with ineffectual hands at wet sand sticking to his scrawny rump.

'I'm interested. I have to eat.' Kheda spared one last look for Shek Kul's distant compound.

If I can't get inside those walls to find out how Shek Kul defeated insidious magic brought down by his erstwhile wife, perhaps someone outside might know something of use.

'I'm Shap by the way.' His companion led the way up the slope towards the house he'd pointed to before. The hound in the gateway rose slowly to its massive feet, russet hackles bristling and loose black lips curling back to reveal formidable yellowed teeth.

'Cadirn.' Kheda halted, folded his arms and stared the dog down.

Authority rather than challenge, just as Daish Reik taught you.

It held its ground but didn't start barking, plainly reserving judgement.

'Good day to the house,' Shap called out, watching the burly dog with considerable nervousness.

A woman appeared on the wide porch, wary of drips sliding down the nutpalm thatch over her head. 'What do you want?'

'We wondered if we could be of use to you today, in return for whatever food you might spare us,' Shap said humbly, taking a hurried pace back as the dog took an inquisitive step towards him.

'Wait there.' After some consultation inside the house, the woman reappeared. 'You can weed the reckal plot.' She jerked her head towards a row of neat furrows where pale-leaved seedlings were already showing themselves. 'As long as you know reckal from everything else?' Her question was severe.

'We do,' Shap assured her with ingratiating cheerfulness.

'Come in and be welcome.' The woman came down the steps of her house and opened the gate, nudging the dog aside with her thigh. Like most of the Shek islanders, she was taller and longer-legged than the women of the southern reaches. Shap made sure he kept Kheda between himself and the dog, to the woman's evident amusement. Once they were inside, the woman caught up the beast's chain and brought it inside the fence, fastening the gate securely. 'Leave your things with the dog. He'll keep them safe.'

'Thank you.' Shap handed Kheda an anonymous roll of closely woven cloth tied tight with dark, much-knotted cord. Kheda set down both their bundles by the gatepost.

'Good lad,' he soothed the dog as it cocked inquisitive ears at him. Realising the woman was looking none too patiently at him he followed Shap.

Reckal. Toothed leaves and dark green, reddish veins on the underside. Janne's cook only ever serves the roots and then only when he feels their orange colour will enhance the look of a dish, given they taste so bland.

'You start at that end and I'll start here.' Shap was already on his knees in the stone-bordered vegetable plot, teasing errant sprigs of green out of the moist earth with his fingers.

Kheda crouched at the far end of the seedbed, studying the two- and three-leaved seedlings with interest. He separated them with a careful forefinger.

Firecreeper, inevitably. Redlance, good for the blood and especially women's concerns. Aspi, leaves good against worms and yes, the root oil makes an excellent wound wash.

Shap looked up from his furrow, annoyed. 'The reckal's the only thing with toothed leaves.'

'There are some useful healing plants here.' Kheda looked at him. 'They could be planted somewhere else.'

'She said nothing about that.' Shap already clutched a handful of green and white tendrils. 'Leave the reckal and get everything else out, roots and all, mind.'

'Very well,' Kheda conceded stiffly.

'If we don't make a good job of this, we don't eat,' Shap warned sourly.

'Throw the weeds into the hen run.' Kheda glanced around to see that the woman had brought an embroidery frame out of the house together with a stool and a basket of brightly coloured silks. He watched her needle dart in and out of the white cotton until she looked over to see what he was doing and scowled at his lack of progress.

Of course, the Shek domain is celebrated for its embroideries.

Kheda bent hastily over the narrow furrow and dug his fingers into the soft, damp earth as the woman exchanged a few disparaging remarks with someone unseen inside the house. His back was soon aching and his eyes rapidly tired of searching out the minute differences between one dagged-edged seedling and the others clustered round it. His thighs cramped as he hunched and shuffled along the row, trying not to crush the frail leaves he had left behind. Standing to add to his paltry handfuls to the pile of wilting weeds was scant relief, hunger twisting his innards every time. His tunic hung clammy about him, damp trousers chafing, and fresh sweat making him unpleasantly aware of his own rank odour.

All things being equal, I'd rather earn my food as an oarsman than a gardener.

Shap interrupted his thoughts with an unimpressed sniff. 'If you want half the food, you'll need to do half the work, friend.'

Seeing the skinny man was a full furrow and a half further across the reckal patch than he was, Kheda bit down on any reply and crushed an errant seedling between finger and thumb, a smear of green adding to the soil stains on his hands. Then he tried to pick up his pace but Shap was a full two furrows further across the vegetable patch than he was when they finally met.

'You take that lot to the hen run.' Shap stood up and groaned, digging a hand into the small of his arched back, shoulder blades sharply pointed, every bone in his spine clearly visible. 'I'll see what the lady thinks we've earned. Get the bowls.'

Kheda scooped up the heap of discarded weeds. The hens plainly knew what was coming; setting up a shrill clucking that brought the dog to its feet, alert for any suggestion that the fowl were being stolen.

'Empty hands, see?' Kheda spread them out for the dog and then offered one, palm down, to the brindled beast. It gave a perfunctory sniff and then sat on its haunches, allowing him to retrieve their gear, ears still pricked as it watched Kheda rejoin Shap by the house.

'You've got bowls of your own?' The woman of the house was waiting with a burnished copper cook pot, ladle poised impatiently. From the way she carried the pot, it wasn't hot. Kheda and Shap both rummaged hastily to find their bowls.

The broth left from last night's stewed duck eked out with a few left-over vegetables and thickened with the dust from the bottom of the sailer crock, Janne Daish wouldn't serve this to visiting slaves to insult their lord or lady.

Kheda spooned it up hungrily all the same, savouring the few shreds of meat. He cleared his throat and smiled. 'That's a fine piece you're sewing there.' He nodded toward the embroidery frame.

The woman nodded a perfunctory acknowledgement, scraping round the bottom of her cook pot. 'There's a little more. Do you want it?'

'Famous for its embroideries, the Shek domain, even in the southern reaches.' Kheda tipped his bowl to drain the dregs of broth.

And what are you going to say now? 'Trade good, is it? No one put off by the possible taint of magic clinging to the cloth?'

Shap thrust his own bowl forward as soon as the woman raised her ladle. She gave him a second substantial portion, leaving Kheda with only a few thin spoonfuls of gruel. 'You eat what you've earned.' Her sharp black eyes dared him to challenge her.

'You've our thanks and our hopes that your journeys prosper.' A bare-chested man appeared in the doorway, tall and copper-skinned with shoulders as broad as any Kheda had seen on Godine's galley. He thrust his thumbs into the broad sash that served him as a belt, the bone handle of his serpentine-bladed Shek dagger white against the indigo cloth. The hilt was carved in the likeness of a heron.

Why not ask him? 'Tell me, friend, just how did Shek Kul put paid to his erstwhile wife suborning sorcery? Your warlord will naturally confide such things to you, and why wouldn't you debate such sensitive matters with a ragged, servile traveller?'

'If I don't get a passage out today, may I call on you tomorrow?' Shap squared his narrow shoulders, plainly disassociating himself from Kheda.

'You can, not that I'm promising anything,' the woman said grudgingly. She didn't include Kheda in this.

'Good day to you, then.' Back straight, Shap turned on his heel and headed for the gate. The dog barred his way, advancing to the full length of its chain.

'Get back,' Kheda snapped at the animal, daring it to disobey with a ferocious scowl. He unlatched the gate while the confused dog was looking towards the house for guidance and strode down to the sea, not caring where Shap had got to. Sorely tempted to hurl his cracked bowl out into the water, he crouched down and, instead, began scouring it clean with sand and water.

That was certainly a humiliating waste of time spent finding out nothing in the least bit useful. What now?

'Are you the palm reader?' A timid voice at his shoulder startled him from his frustration. A girl was looking down at him, barely more than a child and painfully thin, dark skin muddy with hunger, crusted eyes a watery blue. 'That man, back there, he said you'd read his journey in his hands.'

'I have some such talent.' Kheda stood, shaking water from his bowl and spoon. 'Sharing it with you depends on what you can do for me.'

The girl dropped her gaze and dug a toe into grey sand pocked from the morning's rains and churned by busy feet. 'I found driftwood this morning.' She was indeed clutching a scanty bundle of warped and splintered sticks scarcely thinner than her own arms.

'Then trade it for food and bring me half of whatever you get.' Kheda kept his voice hard as the girl raised wide, woebegone eyes to him, forcing him to explain. 'I can't promise you'll like what I read. Those men from the galley that sailed this morning, they promised me a share in their fish but when I saw ill-luck for their rowing master, I went hungry.' Anger at that unforeseen injustice soured his tone.

The girl's face turned sympathetic. 'I'll bring whatever food I can find.' Swinging her bundle of wood up on one shoulder with unexpected deftness, she trotted away through the shabby encampment ranged along the high-water mark.

Why did you tell her that? Why did you agree to read her future? A lost waif like that, she'll doubtless fasten on anyone who offers her kindness and if you see some hazard in her path, can you turn your back on her? The last thing you need is some vulnerable child dependent on you.

Kheda watched her thread her way through the ramshackle huts of branches and half-rotted lengths of sailcloth. The inadequate shelters changed hands with other every tide as far as Kheda could tell, as men and women came ashore or left with some departing ship, trading whatever necessities or trinkets they might have for protection from the daily rains. Some of the travellers held together in twos or threes, others didn't even bother bidding temporary companions a perfunctory farewell before taking a solitary berth on some galley heading in the right direction.

Give these people enough hints of favourable fortune and you could claim a decent share in food and shelter, not break your back grubbing in the dirt to get it. You've forsworn your honour already, thieving from Godine. How many nights will you suffer an empty belly before you compromise with a few invented omens for the sake of some sailer bread?

A welcome rush of splashes distracted him from such treacherous notions. Ladders were being thrown over the stern of the heavy trireme stationed down the beach. Troops slid down them, barely bothering with the rungs as they splashed into knee-deep surf. The men came ashore in two rapid files, rhythmic chinking from their mail coats, hands on their sword hilts.

Kheda looked around for any sign of disturbance. Travellers were scattering like a villager's ducks but only out of fear of the Shek swordsmen. Some cowered by their inadequate huts, others hesitated, tattered bundles clutched tight. The most terrified found themselves up to their chests in the waters of the strait before they could stop. Some ran inland to find villagers with brooms and hounds on ready chains barring their way. The dogs reared up, baying with excitement.

The swordsmen ignored them all, faces unyielding, pace unvarying. Behind, the trireme was wheeling round, blades poised before cutting deep into the water as the unseen rowers drove the ship along the shoreline after the troops. Commotion travelled up the beach like a storm squall. Men who'd long since traded away their pride cowered on their knees. Women begged with futile tears for protection from the Shek islanders. The column pounded inexorably along the beach.

Insidious, contagious fear pulled Kheda to his feet. He found his horrified gaze locking with the gaze of the leading swordsman, the man's eyes dark and determined beneath the gleaming bronze brow band of his helm.

They're coming for you. What have you done? Does it matter? You're just as vulnerable as any other beggar on this beach. You're unarmed. Resist and they'll kill you. Unarmoured is unburdened. You'll be faster on yourfeet. But there's nowhere to run. Try dodging past them? They'll be expecting that. The men at the end will just spread out to catch you.

He looked, all the same, for any chance of evading capture and saw instead the scrawny girl who'd asked him to read her palm. The girl clutched a bowl to her flat chest, scooping something up with her fingers, sticky orange smears all around her mouth.

You're betrayed? Who wants you so badly? Godine?

The thought that he might have been tracked, might be called to account for the stolen treasures he'd traded made Kheda feel so sick that he thought for one appalling moment he might truly vomit. He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth.

Vomit, and that morning's backbreaking work will all have been for nothing.

The distraction cost him any chance of flight. The troops were on him. Merciless and impersonal, the leading swordsman threw him down on to the sand. Kheda raised his hands to ward off further blows but all that did was offer up his wrists for deftly locked manacles. Arms wrenched, he was rolled on to his stomach, agonising pain in his back telling him someone was kneeling there in plated leggings. Mailed hands seized his flailing legs, weighing them down with shackles. A foot came down on his neck, forcing his face into the cloying, smothering sand.

The sea couldn't drown you but the land just might.

As Kheda's outrage yielded to this terror, cloth ripped; his tunic, his trousers, he had no idea. On his back again, he spat sand and earned a stinging slap across the face. Opening his mouth in angry protest, a wad of cotton stifled his words. Cloth tied tight, gag and blindfold both, reduced him to furious mewling. Sand trapped beneath the cloth rubbed his cheekbone raw and hair caught in the knot pulled painfully at his scalp.

'Take him up.' At their leader's curt command, unseen hands lifted him by shoulders, feet. Belly up like a beast trussed for slaughter, Kheda writhed and twisted, chains rattling. A fist drove deep in his stomach.

'Give it up,' a voice growled near his ear.

With a strangled groan, Kheda struggled to catch his breath through the choking gag. The duck broth rose in his gorge along with a new fear.

Vomit now and you'll likely smother in it before they can get this gag off. Let them think you've given in. Struggle much more and they could kill you by accident.

He went limp. To his chagrin, his uncooperative dead weight didn't inconvenience his captors in the least, their jogging run jolting him into anguished breathlessness. Then Kheda felt the salt breath of sea water beneath him, a few splashes cold on his skin.

'Drop us a rope!' someone yelled. Someone else pulled Kheda's hands up over his head and he felt thick hemp pushed between his forearms. Just as he realised the rope had been looped through his manacles, he was hauled upwards with a yank that threatened to pull his arms out of his shoulders.

You lizard-eating, star-crossed sons of cursed fathers.

He banged hard against the side of the ship on his way up, once, twice, each impact shocking what little breath he'd managed to recover out of him. As he hit the deck with a thud, it was all he could do to drag some air into his aching lungs.

'Don't let him roll off the edge.' The shipmaster evidently had little interest in Kheda beyond that.

'He's not going anywhere.' A firm foot was planted the small of his back. 'Not beyond my lord's cells.' That jest prompted hearty laughter all around. A strident flute signalled to the oarsmen and Kheda felt the wood vibrating beneath his cheek.

You've spent the last three days wishing for a way to get across the strait, haven't you? How many times did your father tell you? 'Be careful what you wish for, you may just get it.' Very well then, what do we wish for now? A rapid end to this perilous voyage or some improbable delay before you're taken before Shek Kul? Or will you even be taken before Shek Kul? Perhaps you'll just lose your head on the guard commander's word, once Godine's identified your thieving, deceitful face.

Though they could have killed you for that back on the beach, all the better to warn any other beggarly travellers against pilfering and treachery. You're to be put in a cell. If the warlord's swordsmen hold you, could you draw one of them into conversation, find some clue as to how this domain defeated magic, without bringing suspicion on yourself ? At the very least you might learn some truth of events in the south, brought by message bird or courier, uncorrupted by passing through countless mouths.

Frail hope raised Kheda's blind head when he felt the grating of shingle beneath the trireme's hull.

'Over the side with him.' The shipmaster sounded bored.

'What, like this?' Hands grabbed his feet and arms, swinging him back and then out, as if to toss him bodily into the sea. Kheda's instinctive, futile struggles prompted laughter all around until the frantic heartbeat drumming in his ears drowned it out.

'Let's have him.' Even when they'd had their fun with him, Kheda's fear was slow to fade. He was passed from hand to hand like a bale of cloth, fleeting moments ;tween one grip and the next when all he could feel was the empty air between himself and the sea below.

'Get those chains off,' someone ordered with cheerful confidence. 'We're not carrying him.'

Hauled upright, Kheda reeled, dizzy. As the shackles around his feet fell away, he stumbled to steady himself.

'Walk forward.' the confident voice commanded, a directing hand firm on his shoulder.

Very well, since you insist. So far, so good. They haven't killed you out of hand.

Kheda felt for the ground with hesitant toes, as slowly as he could without prompting retribution. The shingly sand of the beach soon gave way to the hard damp earth of a well-worn path and Kheda felt the land rising under his feet.

Are they taking you to Shek Kul's compound?

'This way' The hand turned him abruptly. The screech of a pebble caught beneath a door and grating on a stone threshold send an involuntary shiver down Kheda's spine. Then the heavy slam of the gate behind him crushed hope like a flower beneath a heedless foot. Inside the hollow square of the fortress on the beach, big stones had been brought up from the shore to cobble the ground and Kheda stumbled, stubbing his toe and ripping the edge of a nail. He bit down on the cloth inside his mouth, against this pain and worse, his bitter disappointment.

'Where do we want him?' someone new asked.

'Lower level, over towards the sea.' With these words the confident voice that had brought him went away towards the gate. The outer door opened to admit unexpected laughter just as abruptly cut off by its closing.

'Let's have no nonsense from you.' Kheda's new captor untied the cloth blinding him. Kheda gasped for air, wincing partly from the light and partly from the feeling he'd lost half the hair on his head.

His captor studied him with frank curiosity and Kheda instinctively assessed the man in turn. Copper-skinned with a close-trimmed beard peppered with grey, he wore a mossy leather coat of nails rather than chainmail and boasted a brass-trimmed round helm and ornate, burnished vambraces as fine as any Kheda had ever seen.

So lengthy service has earned you lighter duties than running up beaches to beat beggarly travellers into submission, twenty men against one. Which authority probably means you could kick me to death without anyone raising so much as a murmur.

Kheda hastily dropped his gaze.

The jailer made a non-committal noise. 'Follow me.' He turned and walked away without waiting to be sure that he was obeyed. Kheda stood stubbornly still, looking briefly upwards and around. Above the fortress's two rows of shuttered and blind inner windows, archers on the roof walk watched him, bows ready, quivers hung at their belts. Someone unseen laughed derisively.

How long would you give me, before you shoot?

Deciding not to find out, Kheda hurried after his jailer, pulling the rags from his mouth with savage hands. His captor had already reached a door, sorting through keys on a chain around his waist. Opening the door on to steps sinking into darkness, he disappeared. Kheda followed, blinking, twisting his bound hands awkwardly to feel for the wall in the gloom.

'This way' The jailer was lighting a tallow-caked candle lantern. He led Kheda down a windowless passage past a succession of iron-barred doors. The only sound was the smack of the jailer's sandals on the stone floor and the softer scuff of Kheda's bare feet. A chill settled on Kheda that had nothing to do with the dark cool of the underground passage.

If there are other prisoners here, they're either past making a noise or these cells are solid enough to keep any cries locked inside.

The jailer halted, raising keys to his candle lantern to see them more clearly. He grunted that same noncommittal noise and unlocked a door with nothing to distinguish it from the others he'd led Kheda past. 'In you go.'

There's nothing else I can do, friend.

Kheda complied. At least the cell proved to be clean and dry, with close-fitted stone walls and bare floor. Some light filtered through a grille set high in one wall and Kheda realised it gave on to the inner courtyard.

'Let's have your hands.' The jailer reached for Kheda's manacles with another key ready. Taking the heavy steel cuff off, he swung them thoughtfully by their linking chain. Kheda braced himself for a blow but the man merely made that same non-committal grunt and left the cell. The solid clunk of the heavy wood against the rebated jamb was as demoralising as the well-oiled snick of the key locking it tight.

Kheda rubbed at the bruises the manacles had left around his wrists. His mouth was dry and not only from the cloth he still clutched tight.

Are you awaiting my lord Shek Kul's pleasure? Does he want his palms read? Or are you dumped down here to see if fear or thirst kills you fastest? This isn't going to be a comfortable stay regardless, on a bare stone floor with nothing to soften it. Some beach scavenger will have claimed your bag by now, maybe even that mangy little bitch who betrayed you. She'll doubtless think herself well rewarded, the poor little fool.

'What can't be mended must be endured.' Daish Reik told you that often enough. Forget what you've lost and consider what you still have to call on: clothes, torn but still serviceable. That disgrace of a knife gone, fallen from the sheath or taken by one of Shek Kul's soldiers, no great loss either way. You'll hardly be fighting your way out of here with a blade that barely cuts cloud bread. Spark maker still in your pocket, remarkably enough, not that there's anything to kindle in here. Ah, but there is, once it's dried, anyway.

Kheda knelt to spread the cotton that had gagged him out on the floor. That done, his movements slowed. He rubbed a shaking hand over his beard. Then his fingers closed around the ivory spiral still hung around his neck. At least he still had that.

He couldn't bring himself to sit and ponder what the next twist of unforeseen fate might bring him so he paced the length and breadth of the cell. Ten paces by eight. He measured each wall in the other direction to confirm the measurements. Standing beneath the grille, he tried to reach the lower edge. He couldn't. He took a pace back and did his best to estimate the height of the grille, how far short his reach was, how high that made the ceiling above.

Once he'd calculated every dimension and even the volume of water it would take to fill the cell, Kheda sighed and sat down beneath the grille, face upturned. He could just see a clouded fragment of sky high above the hollow square of the fortress. He studied the scrap of grey intently. A figure passed the grille. Kheda tensed but nothing came of the occurrence. He came to ignore the fleeting shadows, even growing irritated at the momentary obstruction of his view.

Late in the afternoon, the sky darkened and rain began to fall, pattering softly at first then pouring down on to the cobbled court. Kheda stood beneath the grille, tormented by the scent, by the dampness softening the air. His throat ached with thirst but Shek Kul's fortress had been built with excellent drainage. All those countless measures of water flowed away into hidden cisterns, barely a drop falling on to Kheda's sweat-smeared face. Dispirited, he sat down, ignoring the steel-hued sky and the voices he heard passing across the courtyard.

Two of the cloud breads popular in these northern reaches tumbling through the grille took him entirely by surprise. One of the puffy, hollow rounds bounced off his head. He managed to catch the other before realising fruit of some kind was following, hitting the floor with soft splotches. Kheda's hands searched the floor, pulling apart the husks, cramming the softness into his mouth, licking at juice running down his fingers, the sweetness inexpressibly welcome in his parched mouth even with its hint of decay. He was so hungry, so thirsty, he'd eaten three before he realised they were lilla fruit.

Overripe and so bruised a penned hog would turn its snout up at them. With all the wonderful variety brought by the rains, they couldn't offer me better than this? Why should they? Or then again, perhaps they know exactly what they're doing? Overripe lilla fruit on a totally empty stomach?

Kheda grimaced. Exploration of the cell had proved there was not so much as a drain hole. He set the two remaining lilla fruit aside and forced himself to eat the bread, chewing slowly, hoping it would give his stomach some belated defence. Then he found he had to eat the last of the fruit, desperate to quench his agonising thirst. Setting aside the pungent, empty rind, Kheda took a deep breath.

Now what? Back to the fruitless circle of apprehension and denial your wits have been endlessly scurrying round? Fruitless? Not lilla-fruitless, not any more.

The food putting new heart in him, Kheda grinned at the feeble joke in the gathering dusk. Reaching for the scrap of cotton cloth, he scoured the stickiness out of his beard as best he could. One of the lilla seeds pattered to the floor.

A seed. A new beginning. What was it Daish Reik always said about unbidden omens? Stuck in here, you might as well look for all the forewarning you can gather. It's not as if there are any other calls on your time, great lord.

Feeling around in the darkness, Kheda collected the other seeds he'd spat heedlessly away, placing them carefully in a fold of cotton. Settling himself beneath the grille again, he looked up at the sky and waited for nightfall. As he did so, he pictured the lower room of the Daish observatory tower, turning his mind's eye to the top shelf of books turning east from the door.

It was an age ago when Daish Jarai started that first journal of omen and interpretation, every augury faithfully recorded and analysed in the light of later events, that later readers might be guided in their own interpretations. It takes a full year for the heavenly Topaz to move from one arc of the heavens to the next and it has made full circuit of the heavenly compass no less than fifty-six times since Daish Jarai's day. There must be something, in one of the books so carefully protected from damp and decay, that's relevant to your current predicament.

By the time full dark had fallen, Kheda had run through his recollections of every tome on every shelf of that first bookcase and moved on to the clumsy volumes bound in age-old, cracking leather stacked beneath the window. Only a cool breath of night air falling through the grille diverted him from trying to remember exactly what it was that Daish Pai had read into an unusually high tide just at the start of the rainy season. Kheda looked up. The sky was clear and even with his restricted view, he could see the third of the sky that held both moons.

That must be an omen in itself. How often do you see the stars so clear this deep into the rainy season?

Kheda took a deep breath and closed his eyes the better to picture the unseen night skies more clearly. Opening his eyes, he reached for a pulpy scrap of lilla rind, good enough to draw a circle on the smooth flagstones, moisture gleaming faintly in the dim light falling through the grille. Making sure he was orienting himself properly, Kheda deftly marked off the arcs of the earthly compass.

Sitting back, he calculated the positions of the stars, once, twice, counting on his fingers like Mesil at his lessons, determined to get it right. Heart quickening, he looked back up at the sky. Yes, he had tallied the days correctly. The Sailfish was clearly visible behind the Greater Moon. Higher in the sky, the Yora Hawk backed the Lesser Moon set out afresh on its voyage through the heavens only the day before.

Another new beginning for the Pearl that is Daish's most potent talisman.

Kheda grabbed the cache of lilla seeds and set them around his circle. Humble as they were, they would suffice to mark the positions of the heavenly jewels. He studied the pattern revealed and a shiver ran down his spine.

The Ruby, stone of strength and energy, of courage and blood, was in the arc of enmity. With the turns of the stars over the days since he'd left Janne, the Yora Hawk had also moved into that reach of the sky. The mighty bird was a predator, a warning of adversaries, a call to watchfulness, even before the invaders had mocked the constellation with counterfeits wrought from the hapless cinnamon cranes of Chazen.

You have strong enemies, ready to take advantage of any weakness you show. Be fearful and know your limitations. Though the Ruby will pass out of this arc tomorrow, so bide your time.

The Lesser Moon joined the Ruby in that same arc and the Greater Moon stood to one side in the arc of self. It was waning and the Sailfish was swimming in that same sweep of the heavens, so often a sign of good fortune and advantage. Not here, with those stars below the unseen horizon. The Opal, symbolic gem for the Greater Moon and signifier of truth, reinforced the message.

Your power is declining, your liberty restricted, your luck not to be trusted. Seek conciliation.

But what of the Lesser Moon, heavenly counterpart to the Pearl, source of all the Daish domain's wealth, even if it was in the arc of enmity? The Lesser Moon was waxing. Didn't that mean intimate strength returning to the Daish islands, just as the Ruby indicated a decline? Kheda placed another lilla seed in the arc of Friendship, of help and alliance, for the heavenly Topaz. Marking the turn of the years as it did, the Topaz was the most potent of guides, promoting new friendships and inspiration. At present, it was backed by the Spear, commanding sign of male vigour, and strength in battle. With the Greater Moon, it bracketed the Ruby, confining it within the arc of enmity.

Your power may be slight at present but stay strong and others will come to your aid. Stay alert and look for new ideas.

What of the heavenly Amethyst and Diamond? Kheda shivered again. Amethyst, jewel of calm and humility would ride below the horizon in the arc of death where the stars of the Net were spread, sign of capture and restraint. Did that mean he was destined to die in this prison? What else could the Amethyst mean? It was a talisman against intoxication in all its forms, from simple liquor to the arrogance of power. He frowned at faint recollection of an intense conversation with Daish Reik.

'The Net is a sign that can mean good and bad at one and the same time. Capture is an ill fate for the fish but a full net gives the fisherman's children full bellies. Make sure you always see all facets of an omen. The Net is one of those signs that a warlord must always take special heed of. A hunter's net subdues a wild beast, be it jungle cat or rampaging water ox. The Net is a guide if ever you are faced with a great commotion in your domain, some disaster bringing chaos in its wake.'

Kheda swallowed hard. Nothing could bring more chaos than magic. Though death had many facets, that much was certain. It could stem from unfulfilled wants or could be the only means of satisfying a need, bringing an inheritance, material or otherwise.

Is this a warning that your death might he the price of saving your people? But you are dead, as far as anyone but Janne knows. Is this in fact a favourable portent, showing that feigned death will indeed lead you to the means of subduing the invader's magic?

As he caught his breath on this new idea, he realised the Amethyst was set in a straight line across the heavenly compass from the Topaz. The Diamond hung directly beneath, in the arc of sky significant for children. The starry curve of the Bowl was there as well, symbol of nourishment, of love and security. The Diamond was the strongest of all talismans against corruption, against evil, key gem for rulers, promoting clarity of purpose and faithfulness to a cause.

That must be a sign for Sirket, that my son is meeting the demands laid upon him by my feigned death.

With these jewels forming three corners of a square, there had to be some significance in the last quartile. Kheda found his hand shaking as he set down one last lilla seed. The Sapphire was in the last corner. Slowest, most mysterious of all the heavenly jewels, moving from arc to arc only in every seventh year. Emblem of the future, of wisdom and of truth. It was in the arc of wealth at present and that encompassed so much more than mere possessions. A domain's wealth was its people just as a man's true wealth was his family. The Hoe would be the stars in that arc, even though they would be hidden beneath the horizon at this season. The Hoe was another symbol of male strength but of building and the benefits of working in unity rather than attainment through battle.

These four jewels link your past, present and future without a doubt. There's a promise of rebuilding here, of regaining what you have lost. That could be your future, if you can somehow see your path until those stars are brought above the horizon.

Kheda squared his shoulders. As he did so, the rain-stiffened leather thong caught at the back of his neck. He lifted the twist of ivory over his head. It was warm in his hands, firm yet still somehow soft, a paradox just like the horned fish that had borne it, a creature of the sea yet warm-blooded, red blood in its veins, a beast that bore live young and suckled them. His fingers traced the scales he had shaped into the creamy ivory, fading into a sharp terminal spike.

A dragon's tail, favourite device of augurs, symbolising the hidden and unforeseen. That's what it looked like to me, so that's what I carved, just like Daish Reik had always taught me. It seemed a minor omen, prompting me to play the soothsayer. How many itinerant fortune-tellers know the full complexity of the lore underpinning that belief? Not many, and those that do will keep silent about it, if they value their hides.

He set the ivory down on his fading circle, the spiral luminous in the dim light. It was each moon that marked a dragon's head, in this ancient and seldom looked-for reading of the heavens. The Greater Moon first, that was how it was done, according to the faded parchment stored in the recesses of the Daish observatory library, smeared and stained, crabbed writing blurred where mould had been scraped from the kid skin. Kheda recalled his incredulity when Daish Reik had first guided him through the words.

'The Opal is talisman against the dragons of earth and fire. As the Greater Moon holds the foul beast's attention, it looks away from that which is behind it. Just so, the Pearl is talisman against the dragons of air and water, the Lesser Moon drawing the monster's eye and leaving it oblivious to what might approach from the rear. Therein may he your opportunity, in times of trial!

Dragons. Beasts of magic, embodiment of the chaos wrought by all sorceries and enchantment Could this archaic reading show him something with a bearing on his quest to defeat the magic afflicting his people?

Opposite the arc of self, where the Greater Moon rode, was that reach of the heavens where portents spoke of a person's dealings, for good or ill, with other individuals, marriage above all else. Kheda shook his head in silent bafflement. The Sea Serpent would be the stars in that part of the sky, emblem of the mysterious, of darkness and unseen forces.

What of the other dragon? He moved the ivory twist to mark the arc of the compass devoted to daily duty and physical health where the Vizail Blossom bloomed opposite the Lesser Moon. But that was a constellation almost exclusively tied to feminine concerns. Wouldn't this just mean Janne and Rekha were fulfilling their usual obligations, despite the threats surrounding them? He'd never doubted that. Inspiration failed him and another recollection brought his father's words out of the darkness.

'It's a warlord's duty to watch the skies, to watch the birds of the air, wild beasts and tamed, to seek out every omen and portent that might have a bearing on his people's future. You must read and learn all you can from the records all our forefathers have kept and trade your choicest and most potent talisman gems for copies of such records from other domains. Never grow so arrogant that you dismiss anyone else's learning but rather seek out all such lore with a humble, open mind.'

Then Daish Reik had laughed and clapped Kheda on the shoulder, brushing into oblivion the pattern of both earthly and heavenly compasses that he had so painstakingly drawn in the sand to illustrate some earlier point.

'On the other hand, if you spend too much of your time with your head in a book or your face turned to the skies, you'll miss what's going on around you. If you've done either long enough to get a crick in your neck, you've been at it too long. Chasing meanings and interpretations can just leave you as giddy and useless as a hound that's been chasing its tail. Learn when to stop looking. The significance of past and future is only to serve the present and it is your people in the here and now that are your main responsibility.'

The only person whose life you can influence at the moment is yourself. What can you do? Try getting a good night's sleep, so you're as fresh as possible for whatever trials arrive with the dawn.

Kheda swept the seeds away into the darkness, picked up the ivory dragon's tail and hung it around his neck once more. He moved away from the grille with its persistent draught and wondered how best to settle himself on the unyielding stone. Finding his way to the corner closest to the door, he sat with his back in the angle of the two walls. He drew up his knees, feet flat to the floor and folded his hands in his lap. Leaning a little, he could rest his head against the wall and he resolutely closed his eyes.

It's not going to be easy to sleep in here, so what will make for a distraction from these discomforts? Calculating the paths of the heavenly jewels, that's worth trying. Where will the others be, when the Ruby is next in conjunction with the Yora Hawk?