Southern Fire

Chapter Eight

Kheda heard a patter on the fringed leaves of the perfume trees in the garden beyond the window, briefly drowning out the grating crickets and other insects. The rain was just enough to stir the heady fragrance before the false promise of the shower passed away, leaving the humidity even more oppressive than it had been before. The pale light of the Lesser Moon shone through the slats of the shutters and Kheda looked at it, riding unchallenged in the night sky now the Greater Moon had retired to days of seclusion.

The Pearl, whole and brilliant, clouds passing swiftly without obscuring it, that has to be a good omen for Daish. Heavens send the true rains soon though. Even the night gives no relief from this heat now.

Kheda wiped Telouet's forehead with a damp cloth, the insensible slave now stripped naked beneath a light coverlet on the bed, his breathing harsh and slow. Hearing soft footfalls in the corridor, Kheda straightened up, putting the cloth in a bowl of besa-scented water, the astringent oil counterfeiting coolness on his hands. A brisk double rap on the door sounded loud in the silence and startled a tiny green house lizard across the ceiling. Outside, whoever had knocked was rebuked with a vicious hiss.

Kheda smiled a little. 'Enter.'

'Ulla Orhan, beloved son—'

'Shut up, Vaino.' The heir to the Ulla domain pushed past his body slave and bowed deep to Kheda.

'You are welcome.' Kheda stood in the pool of light cast by the single oil lamp he had lit against the deepening shadows outside. Arms folded, head tilted, he looked at the boy.

I haven't heard that note of authority in your voice before, my lad. Do you know how much it makes you sound like your father?

'How's your slave faring?' Orhan looked down at the oblivious Telouet. Ulla Safar's only living son bore a disconcerting resemblance to his sire, although, as yet, he was nowhere near as fat. Only his jaw and mouth differed, sole inheritance from his long-dead mother.

'Well enough,' Kheda said calmly.

'It seems we have something of an outbreak of this contagion.' Orhan's open sarcasm startled the Daish warlord. His sharp eyes took in the cup that had held the charcoal draught. 'I am on my way to see what can be done. Do you need any herbs or tinctures that you do not carry with you? Do you have tasselberry root? Sawheart? Enough for any of your other people who might be struck down?'

Both sensible choices for someone suffering a waterborne vomiting illness though, of course, also the two herbs most specifically recommended when poisoning is suspected.

'Yes, thank you, I have all I need.' Kheda saw Orhan's body slave was looking apprehensively at his master. Kheda didn't recognise the man.

Not that there's any point remembering your face, when Orhan's seldom permitted to keep the same slave for more than a season or so.

'No, there's something you can send me, some ice, if there's any left in your cellars.'

Orhan nodded as if some unspoken question had been answered. 'At once, Daish Kheda. I'll bid you good night then, but don't hesitate to send word if you need anything, to my own quarters.' He paused on the threshold. 'I was sorry not to see Daish Sirket with you. Do give him my regards on your return to your own domain.'

'Of course.' Kheda bowed briefly as the slave shut the door and hurried after his master as Orhan's determined stride faded into the distance.

If you show no aptitude for divination, my lad, you've certainly been paying attention to your herbal studies. I wonder if you are so very inept at divination? Are you playing some deeper game? Maybe you suspect the water sickness that carried off your mother was no such thing. You wouldn't be the only one to wonder. If you are trying to deceive Ulla Safar as to your true nature, I wonder how long you'll manage without losing your life for it, sole son or not?

Kheda sat in the silent gloom and considered his recent dealings with Orhan in the light of this new notion. Some while later, more footsteps in the corridor diverted him from such speculations. This time, it was an anxious trio of servants led by an old man carrying a bowl of ice chipped from the blocks carried down from the freezing mountain heights and packed beneath straw in the citadel's deepest cellars. Behind him, two girls struggled with a tray laden with covered dishes.

'My lord, my lady Mirrel bids you eat, even if you cannot join the company in the dining hall,' one said with an anxious smile. 'She hopes your slave is recovering.'

'Set that down there.' Kheda nodded at a sandalwood side table and the girls hurried to obey.

The male servant smiled ingratiatingly as he put the bowl of ice on the floor. 'Let me serve you, great lord.' He lifted a cover from a bowl of steamed sailer grain dotted with dried sardberries and dusted with shredded pepper pods. Appetite twisted Kheda's stomach.

'I'll serve myself. Leave before you wake my slave.' The edge in his command sent all three scurrying away.

Kheda sighed as he stifled the tempting scent rising from the yellow and white dish with the lid and scooped up some ice, dropping it into the water he had been using to bathe Telouet's forehead.

I beg your pardon, Mirrel Ulla, but there's no chance I'll be eating any of this. How to get rid of it, though, so untouched food won't be an insult? Nosy Ulla servants will doubtless report anything unexpected in the chamber pots. What would Safar make of word that I've been seen burying cane shoots and spiced duck in the garden?

Kheda grinned at the absurdity of that notion and reassuring himself that Telouet was still sleeping peacefully, he picked a book out of the open physic chest and sat down on a cushion, leaning his back against the bed.

He had read through all Daish Reik's specifics for treating sicknesses of the gut, and just for good measure, those against poisons, when he heard the others returning from the banquet; Janne and Itrac's voices bright with inconsequential chatter until they might reach the dubious sanctuary of their apartments. Kheda paused, laying the book down on his lap as the door along the corridor opened and closed. With all the shutters open in a vain attempt to find some cool in the night, the conversation on the other side of the wall floated out to the garden and back in through his own windows. He heard the brisk notes of orders given and obeyed punctuated by the sharp sounds of coffers and chests opened and shut and the muffled flop of quilts and cushions fashioning beds for the servants and musicians to soften the hard tiles of the floor. Gradually the bustle slowed and finally stilled. Soon after, a soft single knock came at his door.

'Enter.' Kheda got to his feet and stretched stiff shoulders.

Birut opened the door to admit Janne, the slave's face showing open concern.

'A shame you did not join us, you missed a splendid banquet.' Janne's voice was sweet with sarcasm. 'An entire table of river-fish dishes and a separate one for coral crabs and sea fish. Every platter of duck and jungle fowl was decorated with their tail feathers and the sweetmeats were garnished with gold leaf.'

'I saw no point in leaving Telouet just to have Safar and the Ulla women draw me into endless speculation about his illness.' Kheda placed a strip of tooled leather in his book and closed it carefully. 'They'd doubtless have tried to make out I was accusing them of poisoning him.'

'As if you would suspect such a thing.' Janne sounded shocked for the benefit of any hidden ears but raised her eyebrows at Kheda in silent question.

He shrugged to convey his inability to answer that. 'Besides, I thought Ritsem Caid might prefer to discuss our current predicament with Coron without such distractions.' Now he was the one looking at Janne for an answer.

'Redigal Coron seemed more concerned to discuss Chay's news of a spate of vomiting servants in the lower levels,' Janne told him sourly.

'Charming conversation for dining over,' grimaced Kheda.

'As Moni told Coron in no uncertain terms.' Amused recollection momentarily brightened Janne's weary face.

'Do you think she was telling the truth? Chay, I mean,' Kheda wondered incautiously.

Oh, surely Safar's spies have finally gone to bed along with everyone else.

Janne nodded reluctantly. 'Some of Moni Redigal's maids have fallen victim and one of Taisia's musicians. I believe Ulla Orhan has been sent to tend them, though much good it will do Safar if his only son drops with the same sickness.'

'Orhan stopped by to see if I needed anything for Telouet.' Kheda gave Janne a significant look. 'I believe he has grown commendably mindful of his duties this past season.'

Janne froze for a moment before she raised an eyebrow at Kheda. 'It is a shame he had to leave the banquet. He might have learned a great deal from observing his father's conversations with Redigal Coron and Ritsem Caid.'

Would Safar poison a whole slew of people, just to get his son out of that banquet? Is he starting to fear Orhan might challenge his supremacy, even after so many years of belittling the boy and undermining his confidence at every turn? Is poisoning his every other son Safar's way not so much to deprive Orhan of competitors as to deprive him of potential allies? Or are hunger and tiredness running away with your imagination, Daish Kheda?

'What did Orhan miss?' he asked bluntly.

Janne yawned inelegantly. 'Not a great deal, even when we managed to stop talking about vomit. Ulla Safar maintains this threat of magic isn't sufficiently proved to require his intervention. Redigal Coron is inclined to follow his lead, though I suspect he's less convinced by Safar's arguments than those pestilential zamorin of his. Ritsem Caid disagrees but—' Janne yawned again. 'He's hardly in a position to act, if Safar and Coron won't.'

Kheda wasn't convinced about that. 'What did you and the other wives discuss?'

'The usual dealings in materials, finished goods and our artisans' skills. Taisia Ritsem is at least as concerned with establishing her domain's new trade in iron and steel as she is with wizards to the south,' Janne replied waspishly. 'Chay and Mirrel were happy to advise her. Neither see any reason why life shouldn't go on as normal.'

'Did Itrac agree?' asked Kheda curtly.

'No, she became increasingly distressed at such heartlessness.' Janne glanced involuntarily over her shoulder.

'I'd better not leave her long. We're all too weary to be dealing with hysterics half the night.'

'There's silvernet by your bed.' Kheda took a step towards her then thought better of it. 'I don't suppose this is a contagion but better not risk it.'

Janne looked around the room. 'You're not having anyone else sleep in here tonight?'

'There's no point in anyone risking sickness who doesn't have to.'

'At least let Birut help you settle for the night.' Janne shot Kheda a meaningful look, then, without waiting for a response, walked noiselessly back down the dark corridor to her own quarters.

Kheda scrubbed a hand over his beard. 'You can take those for the midden.' He pointed at the heap of stained clothing he and Telouet had been wearing earlier.

'Let me pour you some water to refresh yourself.' Birut beckoned Kheda to the washstand and moved to whisper in the warlord's ear as he lifted the ewer high to make as much noise as he could. 'We should watch the Redigal retainers,' he hissed urgently. 'Telouet said he'd heard rumour that one of those zamorin is no such thing, that he has his stones and a son besides, and the gang of them are planning to set up their own dynasty.' Birut set the brass ewer down with a clang and looked at Telouet. 'He is going to be all right, isn't he?'

'All the omens are favourable,' nodded Kheda. 'Now, go tend to your mistress.'

Birut caught up the soiled clothing and departed. Kheda dumped a handful of already slushy ice in the bowl and shivered as he rubbed cold water around the back of his neck and his face. As he stood, cool trickles soaked the clean buff silk tunic and trousers he'd pulled haphazard from one of the many clothes chests. It didn't do much to clear his mind.

There's another puzzle and one we've no hope of resolving as long as Telouet's insensible. It'll just have to wait for the morning. If we're to get the better of Safar, to rouse the allies we need against this accursed magic, I'll need all my wits about me, not be half dead with tiredness in the morning.

Kheda looked at the ostentatious bed where the slave lay.

Big enough for Safar and however many women it takes to slake his lusts but better not share it with Telouet, just in case this sickness is catching. Better be ready to help Telouet, in case some crisis comes on him in the night.

Pulling the tunic off over his head, he dropped it on the end of the bed before drawing the oil lamp's wick down to a dim glow. Laying one of the smothering silken quilts down on the floor, he pulled up a cushion to pillow his head and tried to compose himself for sleep, despite the questions that plagued him and the relentless, stifling heat.

Might there be a coup in the Redigal domain? Is that possible? How would Ulla Safar and Ritsem Caid react? What of the domains to the north?

Then he realised he was wide awake. Close on the heels of that insight came the bemused understanding that he had indeed drifted off to sleep. Kheda sat bolt upright.

What's that smell? Burning? The brazier? Surely not; I let it die back once I'd boiled enough water for Telouet's immediate needs and put it in the corridor. What's happened to the lamp?

The room was in absolute darkness but for splinters of moonlight cast through the slatted shutters. Kheda coughed and tasted a rank sweetness at the back of his throat. He coughed again and a lurking headache tightened a vicelike grip around his temples. Cursing under his breath, he felt his way through the room to the side table with the lamp, cursing again when he touched the hot glass that had sheltered the flame.

Someone's turned this out and none too long ago. Birut being overcautious again? But there's nothing here for it to burn. Where is that smell coming from? Has some fool dumped something on that brazier outside?

He took a moment to check on Telouet. The slave was still sleeping but his forehead was cooler to the touch. Kheda allowed himself an instant of relief before realising the scent of sullen smouldering was growing increasingly strong. Feeling his way to the door Kheda pulled it open, drawing breath to summon some attendant. Instead, rank smoke filling the corridor caught in his throat and provoked a fit of coughing to whip his headache into a raging fury. Kheda shut the door, leaning against it until the paroxysm passed, leaving him shaking and breathless.

A fire and no alarm raised? How could that be in a residence this size? We have to get out of here before we're all smothered in our sleep!

Kheda took as deep a breath as he could without coughing again and opened the door a crack to slip into the corridor. He walked slowly towards Janne's room, one hand tracing the cool marble wall, the nagging impulse to cough almost choking him, eyes stinging as the smoke swirled around him like tangible malice. He found the door to Janne's apartment ajar.

When did Birut last go to sleep without securing his mistress's safety?

Kheda opened his mouth to call for the slave but the acrid smoke tore into his throat again and he coughed convulsively, chest heaving. No one inside so much as stirred, not the musicians, the maidservants nor the porters. This room was darker than his own; someone had let down the awnings outside and tied them tight across the shutters to block out both light and air. Kheda stumbled across sleeping bodies heedless on feather-filled pallets as he struggled to find the door to Janne's sleeping chamber in the cloying darkness. Flinging it open, he fumbled his way to the bed, barking his shins painfully on some dress chest. Thrown off balance, his next step found Birut, asleep on his pallet at the foot of the bed.

'Wake up!' Kheda seized the man's naked shoulder, shaking him roughly.

The man rolled unresisting beneath the assault with a faintly resentful murmur. Kheda dropped to his knees, bending close to feel Birut's laboured breath slow against his cheek. Moving with new urgency, Kheda reached for Janne, finding her curled up beside Itrac in the wide bed, both women lost in sleep too deep to be natural.

'Janne, dear heart.' Feeling for the beat of her blood, Kheda found it suspiciously sluggish. He stroked the hair from her forehead before slapping her cheek, lightly at first then with more force. 'Janne! You have to wake up!' Dread as well as the heat of the night sent cold sweat trickling down Kheda's spine.

So how do I wake everyone before this smoke stifles them in their sleep? Well, let's see if we can't get rid of some of this smoke first. In fact, let's see what's going on, rather than flailing around in the dark.

Dropping to one knee, he found Birut's tunic and rummaged in the slave's pockets for a spark maker. Finding an oil lamp on the table beside Janne, he lit it with careful hands. The women and the slave slept on, undisturbed by the light. Kheda was not sanguine, seeing thick coils of smoke drifting through the shadows of the room. Taking the lamp out into the corridor he saw the double doors dividing these apartments off from stairs at either end of the corridor were closed. Dark smoke was sliding through the cracks around the set to the north. Kheda hurried to the southern doors and shoved them hard. They wouldn't shift. He set down the lamp and put his shoulder to them. Nothing gave. They were locked.

'Lizard eaters,' Kheda muttered furiously before picking up the lamp again and cautiously approaching the doors at the other end of the corridor. He didn't have to touch the polished wood to feel the heat coming off them. He could hear the hungry crackle of fire digging into the wood on the other side, getting a firm grip. That same strange taint he'd tasted on waking caught at the back of his throat.

These corridors are lined with marble, floor to ceiling. What is any fire going to burn, to get from room to room, from door to door? This fire's been set deliberately and as soon as those doors burn through, we'll be blinded by smoke and burnt like Olkai in the flames.

Something's riding on this smoke, an intoxicant of some kind. We always suspected Ulla Safar knows his poisons, even if he pays scant attention to curative lore. Is this his final touch on some murderous plot, a smoke to send us into a stupor we'll never wake from? Was there something in the food at the banquet as well? Something to keep the Ritsem and Redigal contingents sleeping through any uproar while we of Daish get a second dose in the smoke, just to be sure we sleep while the fire does its work?

Though fires are always a peril at this season, with everything so dry and everyone on edge and distracted because of the heat. You'll be so distraught, won't you, Safar, that such a thing should happen in your very residence. You may even be burning a few of your own slaves, to quell Ritsem Caid's suspicions. Well, forgive me, Safar, if I make sure all your efforts are wasted.

Kheda left the doors well alone and returned to Janne. He caught up a water flagon from the washstand, kicking Birut and Itrac's new slave Jevin mercilessly, both men still sound asleep by the bed. Exasperation rising to rival his anxiety, Kheda dashed the water he'd so painstakingly boiled earlier all over Janne and Itrac. Banging the metal vessel on the marble wall, he raised a deafening clangour.

'What—' Birut looked up in blurred confusion.

'There's a fire!' yelled Kheda.

Fierce, instinctive loyalty drove Birut to his knees. He grabbed at the carved foot of the wide bed. 'What?'

'Fire!' Kheda was shaking Janne with ungentle hands. 'Get everyone moving!'

Janne stirred but only to push Kheda away with a murmured apology. Biting down on another cough, he rolled her over to administer a stinging smack to her silken buttock. The unexpected shock finally penetrated Janne's stupor. She reared up, one arm flailing to fend off her attacker.

Kheda grabbed her hand and held it painfully tight. 'Janne, wake up. There's a fire.'

'What?' Janne looked at him, uncomprehending.

Birut was stumbling towards the door to the audience room. 'Everyone's asleep.' He looked foggily surprised as a coughing fit seized him.

'We have to get out of here.' Kheda reached across Janne to drag Itrac over and slap her rump as well. 'Birut, we have to get out into the garden.'

'Itrac!' Janne seized the girl and began shaking her. When he was satisfied both slaves and women were sufficiently awake to realise their predicament, Kheda hurried back into the audience room, banging on walls and tables with the dented brass ewer as he went. At his shouts and kicks, servants and musicians began to stir, looking grog-gily to Kheda for instruction.

'The fire's that way' Kheda pointed and everyone heard the menacing susurration of the growing blaze. 'The other doors are blocked. We have to get out into the garden.'

Partly stupefied or not, those closest to the outer doors immediately began pushing, heedless of the sharp carvings digging into their hands and shoulders.

'It won't open!' Kheda heard panic in the flute player's words. 'It's jammed on the other side.'

'Someone get out through the windows.' Kheda looked up at the dark shutters too high for a solitary man or woman to reach.

'Where are the poles for the shutters?' wondered one bemused maid.

'Someone help me get up there.' Jevin, Itrac's new slave, appeared, a scrap of torn silk masking his face.

'Here, on my back.' One of the supposed porters turned to face the wall, arms outstretched, legs bent to brace himself. Jevin clambered up on to his shoulders, flattening himself against the smooth marble as he reached up with one desperate hand. He just managed to catch hold of the lower sill, swinging his other hand up to heave the shutter.

'Up you go, lad.' Another of the porters was ready. He seized Jevin's foot, propelling him upwards.

The slave hauled himself up, teetering on his stomach before he managed to swing a foot round to pull himself astride the opening. 'What do I do now?'

Kheda took a pace forward. 'Open the garden door!'

Jevin swung himself over the sill, lowering to the full extent of his arms for the drop to the garden. As he disappeared, Birut emerged from the sleeping chamber supporting Janne and Itrac on each arm.

'Forget everything but the jewels,' Janne snapped, her brow creased in a scowl of pain. 'You, and you, fetch your lord's personal coffers and his physic chest.' She stabbed a finger at two whimpering maidservants. At the sound of her voice, other girls began frantically cramming silken draperies into chests.

Banging came from the other side of the door. Jevin was shouting, and at some command from the unseen slave, all four porters shoved on the door. With a vicious splintering, the doors yielded.

'Wedged, my lord.' Jevin held up a split and dented block of wood.

Night air flowed in, almost cool after the fug in the apartment. Everyone in the room stopped still for a moment, in the relief of a clean breath and of seeing their way out. That solace was short-lived. The crackle of the fire beyond the doors in the corridor audibly quickened, deepening to a hungry snarl. With the door to the garden open, the room and the corridor drew air through the fire like a chimney.

'I'll fetch Telouet,' Kheda shouted to Birut. 'Get everyone outside.'

Birut didn't need telling twice and half carried Itrac and Janne to the door, the women and musicians pressing behind them, Jevin and the porters dragging those worst affected by the smoke.

Kheda grabbed the lamp, unable to stop himself coughing as he went out into the corridor. Smoke swirled thicker than ever in the darkness, motes dancing in the halo of light. In his own sleeping chamber, Kheda hurried to lift Telouet from the bed, slinging one of the slave's brawny arms over his shoulder and seizing him around the chest.

'Come on, it seems we must decline Ulla Safar's hospitality.' Telouet was still too deeply asleep to be more than a dead weight in Kheda's arms. Catching up his lamp and dragging the slave out into the corridor, Kheda saw flames. The far doors had yielded to the fire and were now burning fiercely.

As that realisation struck Kheda, so did a solid blow. If Telouet's arm hadn't broken the force of it, Kheda would have been knocked senseless. As it was, he staggered forward, letting Telouet fall heavily. He whirled round, trying to dodge any second blow and to see who could be attacking him.

A burly figure masked against the thickening smoke loomed out of the darkness. He swung a studded club in a two-handed grip, aiming for Kheda's knees. The warlord sprang aside, his agility surprising the would-be assassin. Realising his victim was neither stunned nor doped for an easy kill, the man's next blow connected with Kheda's thigh, knocking him sideways. He fell to his knees. The assassin raised his club to smash the side of Kheda's head. The warlord threw the lamp full in the man's chest, glass shattering and burning oil splashing him. The man reared backwards then froze, mouth open on a cry of angry pain, before collapsing forwards.

The fawning zamorin servant pulled a broad-bladed dagger out of the assassin's throat and held out a hand to help Kheda to his feet.

'If he'd had a sword, he'd have had me,' Kheda gasped, shaken.

The zamorin shook his head as he replaced the dagger in the would-be killer's own sheath. 'Too hard to explain how you came by stab wounds, when your body's found beneath some beam or fallen door jamb.'

Between them, the two men got Telouet up from the floor. Kheda reached out to grasp the lackey's shoulder. 'Thank you.'

The lackey nodded to Janne's room and the garden beyond. 'Raise as much noise as you can. He can't pretend ignorance if you rouse the whole fortress.'

Kheda halted. 'You won't be suspected, will you?'

'No.' He stopped by the doors, now unlocked. 'This was my task, opening these, so we could all lament how you failed to find such an easy way out, disoriented in the smoke. I'll just say I found him dead.'

Resting Telouet's weight against the wall, Kheda smiled. 'I was always proud to call you my brother, you know that.'

'And I you.' Kheda heard rather than saw the zamorin's grin before the man fled on noiseless feet.

As he hauled Telouet bodily into Janne's apartments, two of the so-called porters rushed to Kheda's aid. 'My lord!'

'Are you hurt?' asked one, alarmed at the blood on Kheda's bare chest and shoulder.

'What?' Kheda looked and realised it was the assassin's blood. 'No, I'm fine.' Though as he spoke, he realised Telouet's arm was deeply scored where the assassin's club had struck him.

They fled for the garden together. The first breath of cool night air made Kheda's head throb unbearably. A shudder ran though him and he coughed convulsively. When he finally managed to stop, his head was swimming as if he'd been guzzling some distilled barbarian liquor.

'What do we do now?' Janne clutched at his arm, her legs bare beneath a tunic not her own, hair half pulled from its night plait, naked face showing every year of her age. Beyond her, Itrac sat huddled on a chest, face hidden in her hands, shoulders heaving. Jevin knelt before her, his gestures eloquent of uncertain attempts at reassurance.

'Raise an alarm,' rasped Kheda. He looked up with abrupt fury at the blind shutters of the inner citadel's higher levels. 'Find something to throw at those. Shout as loud as you can.'

The maidservants needed little encouragement to lift their voices in frantic cries for assistance. After a moment's thought, one of the porters gleefully shoved a substantial glazed urn from its plinth, the others catching up the bigger shards of rim and base to hurl at the upper windows. Lights soon began showing up above, to Kheda's grim satisfaction.

Let Ulla Safar's people try to ignore this commotion.

He took a careful breath of clean air so he could speak without coughing. 'Listen to me, everyone. We're going back to the galley. If Ulla Safar's servants can't show a modicum of care with night-time candles, we will be safer there.'

'We certainly can't use these rooms until they're restored to some order.' Janne rallied her wits. 'If we return to the Rainbow Moth, we won't discommode Mirrel Ulla by requiring alternative accommodations.'

Shouts were coming from inside the fortress now, genuine consternation beyond the smoke-filled rooms that the Daish contingent had fled. Some of the instructions were clearly audible, calling for buckets of earth and palm flails to beat down the flames. Musicians, maidservants and porters alike looked at their master and mistress, alert for unspoken instructions as to the attitude they should adopt.

'Let's get to our ship as soon as possible. Itrac is plainly most distressed. This unfortunate accident has doubtless redoubled her memories of those fires that have ravaged the Chazen domain.' Kheda caught Janne's eye and she nodded her understanding.

Let Mirrel open up the most lavish suites this fortress has to offer. Once we're back aboard, Janne won't shift from polite refusal to subject Itrac to any more upheaval. So that'll be them safe at least.

Kheda sat on a convenient bench of pierced wood. 'Birut, did you get Telouet's swords?'

'Of course, my lord.' Birut came over. 'And my own.'

Kheda realised with weary amusement that was the only reason the slave had bothered with a breechclout, to give himself something to thrust his scabbarded swords through in lieu of his proper belt.

'Bring them to me.' Kheda took the weapons and weighed them in his hands before handing one to the porter who'd been watching anxiously over Telouet. He jerked his head towards the other burly men. 'Birut, give one of them your second sword and get Jevin's off him. Draw lots for whoever has to end up with a stick.'

As the man departed, Kheda knelt to look at Telouet's new injuries. Lifting the slave's bloodied forearm, he carefully tested the bone and cursed under his breath as he felt the distinctive grate of a break. Worse, a foetid smell wrinkled his nostrils. Their murderous attacker had smeared excrement on the studs of his club.

'Janne!' Kheda looked over to see her making a sharp-eyed inventory of everything the maids had managed to salvage, despite their orders to leave with nothing but the essentials. 'Do you have my physic chest? You, Jevin, get me some bits of wood.'

One of the girls brought it clutched in white-knuckled hands. Kheda rummaged inside for the salve to curb the foulness that could leave Telouet's arm festering. Smearing pungent yellow on a length of cotton, he bound it tightly over the deep scores before carefully splinting the broken bone. New purpose burned through Kheda's weariness, even mitigating his headache a little.

My most faithful slave isn't going to lose a limb to Ulla filth, not if I can help it.

'My lord, are we waiting to send word to the ship by one of Ulla Safar's servants?' The porter was back, Jevin's second sword held purposefully in one meaty fist. One of his companions stood at his shoulder, holding Birut's other blade. Both looked incongruously happy to have weapons in their hands. 'Or shall we take a message to the landing stage, make sure they summon the galley at once?'

'It's Gal, isn't it? And Durai?' Both were faces from the rearmost ranks of the Daish swordsmen and Kheda had barely looked at either of them on this trip, not wishing to draw any attention to them.

'Dyal, my lord,' said the second.

Kheda looked around the garden. There were windows to rooms on three sides but all those corridors would lead back towards the fire, which was still blazing unrestrained. There would no getting back inside the fortress until that was under control. He turned to look at the tall wall behind them that reached up to a parapet with low towers watchful on either side, though, curiously, no sentry had appeared to see what all the commotion was about.

'I don't feel inclined to wait for Ulla Safar's minions to sort out their mess before coming to our assistance. We'll get up to the walkway.' He pointed. 'Then we can follow the rampart round to the other side of the fortress and signal the Rainbow Moth ourselves.'

I should have suspected a scorpion under the bed, shouldn't I, when Ulla Safar put us so far away, quite out of sight of our galley. How could I have missed some hint of this in all the auguries I took before we sailed?

As Kheda thought this, a streak of light high above caught his eye. A shooting star or firedrake seared its brief path across the night sky. He stared, open-mouthed.

That's out of season, or at least early, with the rains not yet come.

'What have we got for a rope?' Dyal was already catching up lengths of discarded cloth trailing from the I garden's battered perfume trees.

Gal darted back down the steps and vanished into the smoke-filled audience room, appearing moments later with arms full of silken coverlets, face congested with the effort of not breathing. 'Who's got a knife?' he gasped.

It turned out some instinct had prompted every man to catch up his dagger. Kheda drew his own and sliced the fine weave with as much relish as if it had been Ulla Safar's throat 'How do you suggest we get the first man up to the parapet?'

Dyal was already plaiting strips into a sturdy cable. 'Leave that to us, my lord.'

When the silken rope looked barely long enough to Kheda, three of the erstwhile porters formed a practised ladder against the battlement wall and Dyal climbed deftly up their backs and shoulders. Once aloft, he threw a loop around a sturdy merlon and dropped the rope to Gal waiting eagerly below.

'You two stay here, back up Birut and Jevin,' Kheda said to the other porters. He climbed up after Gal, Telouet's sword awkwardly thrust through his belt. As he reached the parapet, the first concerned shouts from Ulla servants sounded in the garden below. 'Daish Kheda! Great lord!'

'Ignore them.' As he ran along the wall walk, Dyal ahead and Gal bringing up the rear, he heard Janne's furious censure intercepting whoever had so conveniently managed to make a way through to the garden as soon as it seemed Daish Kheda was escaping the trap.

The watchtower barred their way, the only route to the parapet beyond, the inward-looking window unaccountably shuttered. Dyal hammered wrathfully on the door. 'Open to Daish Kheda! Are you deaf as well as blind?'

Kheda heard muffled movement inside hastily stilled. He stepped forward and bent close to the crack of the door, speaking with cold precision. 'I am Daish Kheda. Open to me now or I'll demand your heads for your insolence.'

The bolts were immediately withdrawn and the door opened to reveal two youths barely old enough to shave, never mind serve in a warlord's personal guard. Neither spoke, terror plain in their white-rimmed eyes.

'Treacherous scum.' Dyal stepped forward, sword half unsheathed.

The doorway beyond stood open and Kheda saw a figure running along the wall walk. 'They're not worth the waste of our time.' He shoved Dyal towards the far door. They ran on, all three with swords now drawn, bare blades shining like parings from the Lesser Moon bright above. Lights began showing all along the citadel's upper levels. Kheda ignored them.

Young lads on watch and barely trained. Ulla Safar would be distraught as he excused himself to Ritsem Caid and Redigal Conn, bemoaning his guard captains folly in trusting to youths who had concentrated all their energies on looking outwards, rather than into the fortress. Of course, with the tales of magical foes coming up from the south, that was to be expected, if not excused. The boys would naturally be sentenced to impaling, the captain to a flogging to leave him scarred for life. But I would still be dead, along with my most influential wife, the inconvenient Itrac Chazen and as many as possible of our retinue who might be able to shed some light on these dark dealings.

The next watchtower was empty, doors wide open. The one beyond was barred. Dyal raised his sword hilt to hammer on the stubborn wood. Before his blow landed, the door opened and an armoured Ulla warrior rushed out. He charged into Dyal, knocking him off balance, the Daish man's blade scraping ineffectually over his mailed shoulder. Falling, Dyal grabbed at his assailant, wrapping his arms around his neck, tangling his legs with his own. The pair fell from the parapet, landing with a sickening crunch of bone and an agonised scream in the stone-paved courtyard below.

Kheda's sword met the shining blade thrust forward by the next man out of the watchtower, anonymous as the first behind face guard and the fine chain veil of his helmet. The warlord backed away, parrying a second stroke sweeping in at waist height. There was no way he could attack, not bare-chested against an armoured man.

'Let me past, my lord!' Gal pressed close behind him.

'There's no room.' Kheda twisted his wrist to foil another lethal thrust at his belly.

'My lord!' Alarm sharpening Gal's voice alerted Kheda to running feet at their rear.

'Sheathe your swords!'

When he heard Ulla Orhan's voice behind him, Kheda's surprise nearly gave his opponent an easy kill.

'Put up your blades.' The youth's furious words rang with an ominous echo of his father's ruthlessness.

The man facing Kheda took a step back, sword lowered warily. 'We were told of invaders on the walls.'

'In the inner citadel?' Orhan's voice was cold with disbelief. 'With no breach of the outer defences?'

'There's word of magic attacking in the south.' The warrior still didn't sheathe his blade. 'Who knows where wizards might appear?'

You're very bold in defying the domain's heir apparent. You've had your orders from someone close enough to Safar to be the warlord's mouthpiece.

All the same, Kheda risked a glance backwards and saw Orhan was in armour of his own, a troop of mailed men at his back. The boy had come prepared to fight.

'Ulla Orhan, I am going to the landing stage, to signal to my galley to take us back on board,' Kheda told him forcefully. 'I am not risking my people's safety any further in a night of such confusion.'

'I will not gainsay you,' said Orhan tightly. 'Much as it grieves me to see my father's fortress embarrassed by such inadequacy.'

'Back off,' Gal snarled at the swordsmen blocking their path.

The warrior took a pace backwards. Kheda took one forwards, Gal at his shoulder, his breathing harsh in the tense silence. Behind, he heard Orhan giving some low-voiced order and the rattle of mail as one of his men ran off, doubtless to carry a message to some ally. To their fore, the armoured man gestured to those behind him and they melted away, leaving the parapet clear.

'I shall not forget this.' Kheda's tone was neutral as he wiped sweat from his forehead. 'Any of this.'

'Nor shall I.' Orhan blinked slowly. Then noises below prompted a new concern into his eyes. 'Did someone fall?'

'Dyal, one of my men. Tend him well because I'll be holding you to account for him.' Kheda turned to continue his race along the parapet.

Let Orhan prove his good faith with decent care for Dyal, if he's not already dead.

Whatever word had gone out, it saved Kheda and Gal from further challenge, each watchtower opening almost before they reached it, sentries standing aside with their faces an eloquent mix of shame and apprehension. Kheda counted off the turrets as he and Gal passed through them, chest heaving when he finally reached one that would give him a suitable vantage point over the river, the toothed expanse of the landing stage far below. 'Signal lantern,' he snapped at the cowering guard.

Snatching it from the man, Gal climbed the ladder to the trap door opening on to the roof of the tower. Kheda hurried after him, three steps to one stride. Gal set the heavy lantern in its high seat, the brilliance painful to their eyes. Kheda pulled the lever that closed the shutters set into the lantern's sides. Counting the beats of his heart, he snapped the light open again, closed and then open, in the sequence that the Rainbow Moth's captain should recognise. He peered through treacherous darkness, a few scant lights marking out the profusion of huts and shelters on the bank beyond the anchorages. His own vision was a confusion of false glimmers prompted by the lantern's dazzle. 'Gal, can you see anything?'

'Not yet, my lord.'

They waited.

'Yes, there!'

Kheda found the answering gleam where Gal was pointing. Breath caught in his throat, he counted off the pattern of light and dark.

And that's the true signal, not some random pretence, nor yet covert warning that the ship's been seized, shipmaster under duress, crew quaking for fear of their lives.

'We go down to the dock,' he told Gal decisively. 'As soon as the galley's here, you go and fetch my lady Janne and the others. If Ulla Safar's going to make another attempt on my life, he can make it in full view of too many witnesses even for him to kill. I'm not risking myself in any dark corridors, so Safar can wring his hands over some panicked underling's tragic mistake, and I'm certainly not having Janne caught up in some skirmish.'

'This way, my lord.' Gal led Kheda unerringly down the stair curling below the watchtower in the thickness of the wall and then through corridors busy with startled underlings. Lamps were being lit, doors opening and closing, servants and slaves alike shying away from the two men's drawn swords and dangerous expressions.

A final turn and a flight of steps brought them to the door leading to the room behind the dock in the fortress's outer wall. Gal hammered on it.

'Open to Daish Kheda!'

The heavy iron-bound wood swung open so fast, someone had to have been waiting behind it. Kheda followed Gal through it to find they were in a lofty hall with torches burning in brackets high on the walls and another door opposite. Arrow slits piercing the walls all around and holes in the ceiling for the better delivery of boiling oil, scalding water or just skull-crushing rocks would make sure no one uninvited would get a chance to use either entrance to the fortress. A sizeable contingent of Ulla swordsmen stood in the centre of the floor, between Kheda and departure.

'Open the outer doors, if you please.' Kheda addressed himself to the captain whose brass-decorated helm denoted his rank. 'My galley will be arriving in a moment.' He kept his voice mild.

Gal's scowl and the menace in every line of his body should make it plain we're not to be trifled with. That and our naked swords. Do you have the stones to ask us to put them up, I wonder?

'As you command, great lord.' The sentry captain bowed low and jerked his head to send a couple of his men unbarring the heavy double doors. Kheda walked forward, not looking at any of the Ulla guards. As he walked out on to the landing stage, he saw the Daish galley looming out of the night, moonlight catching the white foam stirred up from the river as the oarsmen turned the mighty ship around. The Ulla men followed him out, drawing up in solid rank along the edge of the dock.

'Get those chains clear!' Kheda looked up to see an armoured man shouting from the stern platform, the ship's contingent led by one of Serno's most trusted subordinates. More men crowded the deck, looking every measure warriors even in the cotton trews and open-necked sleeveless tunics of a galley crew. The captain of the dock sentries jerked his head to send his men to unhook the heavy chains rigged across to prevent any unbidden ship sliding into the welcoming embrace of the landing stage.

'Go and tell Janne Daish we are returning to the shelter of our own galley.' Kheda nodded to Gal who immediately disappeared back into the labyrinth of the fortress. Kheda stood, arms folded, forbidding arrogance challenging the sentries to notice his bare chest, torn and dirty trousers, the absence of everything that should have proclaimed his status as warlord.

The galley docked behind him in a flurry of rushing water. Rapid feet on the stern ladder announced the swordsmen jumping ashore, drawing up around their lord to join in staring down the Ulla sentries. Kheda looked discreetly from side to side, caught Serno's man's attention and narrowed his eyes in mute warning.

The last thing we want is belligerence and mistrust on both sides turning this confrontation into a dockside battle. How to put a stop to that?

Kheda lifted his eyes casually to the sky, studying the heavens. No swordsman would make a move while a warlord was looking for portents. More than one battle had never been joined because an omen had decided the outcome in advance.

As he looked up, more than half his attention on the tense situation all around him, Kheda saw two more white streaks of light in the night sky. More shooting stars, crossing the north of the compass, to vanish in the arc of travel and learning.

It seemed as though half the night had passed before Kheda heard Birut's familiar bellow clearing the way for Janne Daish, first wife and beloved mother, cherished by all her domain. The porters threw open the double doors to the entrance hall and the entire Daish retinue poured out on to the landing stage, maids and musicians alike burdened with an amount of salvaged property that astonished Kheda. His wife's appearance came as less of a surprise.

'My husband.' Janne strode forward, Birut glowering at her shoulder. Somehow, she had managed to find time to dress in a simple yet brightly embroidered gown of blue logen vines on white silk and even had sapphires gleaming around her throat and in her tightly rebraided hair. Jevin hadn't managed to find jewellery for Itrac but she too was at least dressed in something approaching respectable ostentation, in a flowing dress of silk brindled like turtle shell and enough bangles of the real thing to remind everyone whose wife she still was.

'My lady wife.' Kheda waved away Birut who was advancing with a suitably lordly tunic over one arm, intent on improving his master's appearance. 'I suggest we depart and allow Ulla Safar to restore some order to his residence after all these most unfortunate accidents.'

'Indeed.' Janne looked around the Ulla sentries with searing contempt. 'I will not lie to you though, my husband. This has been a most disagreeable visit thus far.'

Kheda nodded to the attendant maids clutching jewel coffers tight with frightened hands. 'Get aboard.' He drew Janne aside, with a sharp gesture to dissuade Birut from approaching.

'Ulla Safar has made every attempt to kill me tonight, short of stabbing me in the back himself. If he doesn't know where I am, he can't try again.' He spoke low and urgently. 'I'm not going to play these games on his terms any longer. We cannot afford to and I need time to think. Tomorrow morning, you will be wanting to make your meditations at the tower of silence by the waterfall upstream, where the brook from the black rock joins the river. Do you hear me?'

Janne nodded, eyes wide with a myriad questions. 'But Kheda—'

He silenced her with a kiss, catching her around the waist and pulling her close. Breaking free of her lips was one of the hardest things he had ever done. 'We're going. Get Itrac below and stay there.' Abandoning Janne he ran lightly up the Rainbow Moth's stern ladder, making his way through the crowded deck to the high stern platform, to stand behind the helmsman watchful by the long tiller that governed the mighty rudder below.

Apprehension twisted Kheda's innards as he waited for everyone to get aboard, the galley's crew shoving off as none of the Ulla men moved to lend a hand. The rowers bent to the oars and the galley soon hauled itself out into the broad main channel. Inadequate as the earlier showers had been, they had still brought a little more water to speed the river's flow. Kheda waited, judging their progress till they were beyond the light shed by the fortress's lanterns, not yet winning close to the random glimmers from the shore.

'What's that?' Kheda pointed into the darkness of the waters, voice sharp with alarm. 'There, did you see it?'

'My lord?' Startled, the helmsman and shipmaster both followed his gesture.

'What is it?' Kheda stared into the night, astonishment in his voice.

After the chaos of the night, that was all it took to set a ripple of panic running through the vessel. The shipmaster hurried to the forward rail of the stern platform, helmsman half standing, face questing. Stealthily, Kheda began taking deeper and deeper breaths.

'Bow watch, what can you see?'

As confused shouts echoed along the deck, Kheda moved backwards, unseen, to the very edge of the stern platform where it hung out over the water, nothing but empty air beneath. He toppled backwards, hitting the water with an inelegant splash. Shouts of alarm just reached his ears before the heavy, turbid water wrapped him in silence.

Keep your mouth shut. Let's not swallow any more of Ulla Safar's shit tonight, and let's get as far away as possible before broaching the surface. This isn't going to work if they drag you out of the river like a half drowned pup.

He struck out strongly beneath the concealing water, driving his arms and legs on until his chest burned and his limbs trembled. Finally forced to the surface, he rolled on to his back, barely letting his face rise clear of the pungent water. He floated for a few agonising, stealthy breaths, alert for lights that might betray him, just lifting his head enough to hear the shouts and commotion downstream, the galley wallowing in dismay as everyone searched the black water around the vessel for any sign of him.

And when they can't find me, they'll look downstream, hopefully. That can stand for a test of all this. If I'm following the right course, they will take the wrong one.

Rolling around, Kheda began to swim upstream, sliding his overarm stroke smoothly into the water to avoid any sound of splashing. Leaving the few lights of the bank behind, he risked a little more speed.

Get clear of these houses and out of the river before dawn brings fishermen and bird hunters out on to the water. Then move fast through the forest; Ulla Safar will be sending out search parties at the first hint of light. More than that, Janne will be wanting to know what under all the stars I'm thinking of, so I'd better be at the tower of silence by the waterfall before she is. I'd better have worked out just why it is those shooting stars are turning me to the north.