The Complete Tamuli Trilogy: Domes of Fire, The Shining Ones, The Hidden City
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‘There were other young men like Gelan in Verel, and they used to visit each other in their homes where they didn’t have to hide their feelings. They were all very kind to me. They used to give me advice and buy me pretty gifts. I was quite fond of them. They were all polite and intelligent, and they always smelled clean. I can’t abide smelly men.’ She gave Kring a meaningful look.
‘I bathe,’ he protested.
‘Now and then,’ she added a bit critically. ‘You ride horses a great deal, Kring, and horses have a peculiar odour. We’ll talk about regular bathing after I’ve put my brand on you.’ She laughed. ‘I wouldn’t want to frighten you until I’m sure of you.’ Her smile was genuinely affectionate. Sparhawk realised that what she was telling them was a part of the Rite of Passage, and that she would very likely never be this open again. Her typically Atan defences had all been lowered for this one night. He felt profoundly honoured to have been invited to be present.
She sighed then, and her face grew sad. ‘Gelan had one very special friend whom he loved very much – a pretty young fellow named Majen. I didn’t like Majen. He used to take advantage of Gelan, and he’d deliberately say and do things to hurt him. He was frivolous and selfish and very, very vain about his appearance. He was also unfaithful, and that’s contemptible. In time he grew tired of Gelan and fell in love with another meaningless pretty-boy. I probably should have killed them both as soon as I found out about it. I’ve always regretted the fact that I didn’t. Gelan had foolishly given Majen the use of a rather splendid house on the outskirts of Verel and had told him that he’d made provisions in his will so that Majen would own the house if anything ever happened to him. Majen and his new friend wanted that house, and they plotted against Gelan. They lured him to the house one night and insisted that he come to them alone. When he got there, they killed him and dropped his body in the river. I cried for days after it happened, because I was really very fond of Gelan. One of his other friends told me what had really happened, but I didn’t say anything or do anything right away. I wanted the two of them to feel safe and to think that they’d got away with the murder. Gelan’s sister inherited me – along with all his other property. She was a nice enough lady, but awfully religious. She didn’t really know how to deal with the fact that she owned me. She said she wanted to be my friend, but I advised her to sell me instead. I told her that I’d found out who had murdered Gelan and that I was going to kill them. I said that I thought it would probably be better if I belonged to somebody who was leaving Verel in order to avoid all the tedious business about unexplained bodies and the like. I thought she’d be tiresome about it, but she took it rather well. She was really quite fond of her brother, and she approved of what I was planning. She sold me to an Elenian merchant who was going to sail to Vardenais and told him that she’d deliver me to him on the morning of his departure. She’d made him a very good price, so he didn’t argue with her.
‘Anyway, on the night before my new owner was planning to sail, I dressed myself as a boy and went to the house where Majen and the other one were living. I waited until Majen left the house and went to the door and knocked. Majen’s new friend came to the door, and I told him that I loved him. I’d lived with Gelan for six years, so I knew exactly how to behave to make the pretty fool believe me. He grew excited when I told him that, and he kissed me several times.’ She sneered with the profoundest contempt. ‘Some people simply cannot be faithful. Anyway, after he began to get very, very excited with the kissing, he started exploring. He discovered some things that surprised him very much. He was even more surprised when I sliced him across the belly just above his hips.’
‘I like this part,’ Talen said, his eyes very bright.
‘You would,’ Mirtai told him. ‘You never like a story unless there’s a lot of blood in it. Anyway, after I sliced the pretty boy open, all sorts of things fell out. He stumbled back into a chair and tried to stuff them back in again. People’s insides are very slippery, though, and he was having a great deal of trouble.’
Ehlana made a choking sound.
‘Didn’t you know about insides?’ Mirtai asked her. ‘Get Sparhawk to tell you about it sometime. He’s probably seen lots of insides. I left the young man sitting there and hid behind a door. Majen came home a while later, and he was dreadfully upset about his friend’s condition.’
‘I can imagine,’ Talen laughed.
‘He was even more upset, though, when I reached around from behind him and opened him up in exactly the same way.’
‘Those are not fatal injuries, Atana,’ Engessa said critically.
‘I didn’t intend for them to be, Father-Atan,’ she replied. ‘I wasn’t done with the two of them yet. I told them who I was and that what I’d just done to them was a farewell gift from Gelan. That was about the best part of the whole evening. I put Majen in a chair facing the chair of his friend so that they could watch each other die. Then I stuck my hands into them and jerked out several yards of those slippery things I told you about.’
‘And then you just left them there?’ Talen asked eagerly.
She nodded. ‘Yes, but I set fire to the house first. Neither Majen or his friend managed to get enough of themselves put back inside to be able to escape. They screamed a great deal, though.’
‘Good God!’ Emban choked.
‘A fitting revenge, Atana,’ Engessa said to her. ‘We will describe it to the children in the training-camps to provide them with an example of suitable behaviour.’
Mirtai bowed her head to him, then looked up. ‘Well, Bevier?’ she said.
He struggled with it. ‘Your owner’s sins were his own. That’s a matter between him and God. What you did was the proper act of a friend. I find no sin in what you did.’
‘I’m so glad,’ she murmured.
Bevier laughed a bit sheepishly. ‘That was a bit pompous, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s all right, Bevier,’ she assured him. ‘I love you anyway – although you should keep in mind the fact that I have a history of loving some very strange people.’
‘Well said,’ Ulath approved.
Danae returned with a cup of water and offered it to Mirtai. ‘Did you finish telling them the things you didn’t want me to hear about?’ she asked.
‘I think I covered most of it. Thank you for being so understanding – and for the water.’ Nothing rattled Mirtai.
Ehlana, however, blushed furiously.
‘It’s getting late,’ Mirtai told them, ‘so I’ll keep this short. The Elenian merchant who owned me took me to Vardenais and sold me to Platime. I pretended not to speak Elenic, and Platime misjudged my age because I was very tall. Platime’s quite shrewd in some ways and ignorant in others. He simply couldn’t understand the fact that an Atan woman can’t be forced, and he tried to put me to work in one of his brothels. He took my daggers away from me, but I still had my spoon. I didn’t kill too many of the men who approached me, but I did hurt them all quite seriously. Word got around, and the business in that brothel fell off. Platime took me out of there, but he didn’t really know what to do with me. I wouldn’t beg and I wouldn’t steal, and he was really very disappointed when he found out that I’d only kill people for personal reasons. I won’t be a paid assassin. Then the situation came up in the palace, and he gave me to Ehlana – probably with a great sigh of relief.’ She frowned and looked at Engessa. ‘That was the first time I’d ever been given away instead of sold, Father-Atan. Did Platime insult me? Should I go back to Cimmura and kill him?’
Engessa considered it. ‘I don’t think so, my daughter. It was a special case. You might even look upon it as a compliment.’
Mirtai smiled. ‘I’m glad of that, Father-Atan. I sort of like Platime. He’s very funny sometimes.’
‘And how do you feel about Ehlana-Queen?’
‘I love her. She’s ignorant, and she can’t speak a proper language, but most of the time she does what I tell her to do. She’s pretty, and she smells nice and she’s very kind to me. She’s the best owner I’ve ever had. Yes. I love her.’
Ehlana gave a low cry and threw her arms around the golden woman’s neck. ‘I love you too, Mirtai,’ she said in an emotion-filled voice. ‘You’re my dearest friend.’ She kissed her.
‘This is a special occasion, Ehlana,’ the Atana said, ‘so it’s all right just this once.’ She gently detached the queen’s arms from around her neck. ‘But it’s not seemly to display so much emotion in public – and girls shouldn’t kiss other girls. It might give people the wrong sort of ideas.’
Chapter 19
‘Hang it all, Atan Engessa,’ Kalten was saying, ‘you heard the story the same as the rest of us. She said she hadn’t even entered training when the Arjuni captured her. Where did she learn to fight the way she does? I’ve been training more or less constantly since Sparhawk and I were fifteen, and she throws me around like a rag doll anytime she feels like it.’
Engessa smiled slightly. It was still very early and a filmy morning mist drifted ghost-like among the trees, softening the dark outlines of their trunks. They had set out at dawn, and Engessa strode along among the mounted Pandions. ‘I’ve seen you in a fight, Kalten-Knight,’ the tall Atan said. He reached out and rapped one knuckle on Kalten’s armour. ‘Your tactics depend heavily on your equipment.’
‘That’s true, I suppose.’
‘And your training has concentrated on the use of that equipment, has it not?’
‘Well, to some degree, I suppose. We practise with our weapons and learn to take advantage of our armour.’
‘And the sheer bulk of our horses,’ Vanion added. Vanion was wearing his black armour for the journey. His choice of wardrobe had occasioned a spirited discussion between him and the woman he loved. Once she had removed herself from the restraining presence of all those Elenes, Sephrenia had become more vocal, and she had shown an astonishing aptitude for histrionics during the course of the conversation. Although she and Vanion had been talking privately, Sparhawk had been able to hear her comments quite clearly. Everyone in the house had heard her. Probably everyone in Sarsos had.
‘At least half of your training has been in horsemanship, Kalten,’ Vanion continued. ‘An armoured knight without his horse is very much like a turtle on his back.’
‘I’ve said much the same thing to my fellow-novices, Lord Vanion,’ Khalad said politely. ‘Most of them take offence when I say it to them though, so I usually have to demonstrate. That seems to offend them even more for some reason.’
Engessa chuckled. ‘You train with your equipment, Kalten-Knight,’ he repeated. ‘So do we. The difference is that our bodies are our equipment. Our way of fighting is based on speed, agility and strength, and we can practise those without training grounds or large fields where horses can run. We practise all the time, and in the village where she was born, Atana Mirtai saw her parents and their friends improving their skills almost every hour. Children learn by imitating their parents. We see three- and four-year-olds wrestling and testing each other all the time.’
‘There has to be more to it than that,’ Kalten objected.
‘Natural talent perhaps, Sir Kalten?’ Berit suggested.
‘I’m not that clumsy, Berit.’
‘Was your mother a warrior, Kalten-Knight?’ Engessa asked him.
‘Of course not.’
‘Or your grandmother, or your grandmother’s grandmother? Back for fifty generations?’
Kalten looked confused.
‘Atana Mirtai is descended from warriors on both sides of her family. Fighting is in her blood. She is gifted, and she can learn much just by watching. She can probably fight in a half dozen different styles.’
‘That’s an interesting notion, Atan-Engessa,’ Vanion said. ‘If we could find a horse big enough for her, she might make a very good knight.’
‘Vanion!’ Kalten exclaimed. That’s the most unnatural suggestion I’ve ever heard!’
‘Merely speculation, Kalten.’ Vanion looked gravely at Sparhawk. ‘We might want to give some thought to including a bit more hand-to-hand fighting in our training programme, Preceptor Sparhawk.’
‘Please don’t do that, Vanion,’ Sparhawk replied in a pained tone. ‘You’re still the preceptor until the Hierocracy says otherwise. I’m just the interim preceptor.’
‘All right, Interim Preceptor Sparhawk, when we get to Atan, let’s pay some attention to their fighting style. We don’t always fight on horseback, you know.’
‘I’ll put Khalad to work on it,’ Sparhawk said.
‘Khalad?’
‘Kurik trained him, and Kurik was better at close fighting than any man I’ve ever known.’
‘He was indeed. Good idea, Interim Preceptor Sparhawk.’
‘Must you?’ Sparhawk asked him.
They reached the city of Atana twelve days later – at least it seemed like twelve days. Sparhawk had decided to stop brooding about the difference between real and perceived time. Aphrael was going to tamper no matter what he did or said anyway, so why should he waste time worrying about it? He wondered if Zalasta could detect the manipulation. Probably not, he decided. No matter how skilled the Styric magician might be, he was still only a man, and Aphrael was divine. An odd thought came to Sparhawk one night, however. He wondered if his daughter could also make real time seem faster than it actually was instead of slower. After he thought about it for a while, though, he decided not to ask her. The whole concept gave him a headache.
Atana was a utilitarian sort of town in a deep green valley. It was walled, but the walls were not particularly high nor imposing. It was the Atans themselves who made their capital impregnable.
‘Everything in the kingdom’s named Atan, isn’t it?’ Kalten observed as they rode down into the valley. ‘The kingdom, its capital, the people – even the titles.’
‘I think Atan’s more in the nature of a concept than a name,’ Ulath shrugged.
‘What makes them all so tall?’ Talen asked. ‘They belong to the Tamul race, but other Tamuls don’t loom over everybody else like trees.’
‘Oscagne explained it to me,’ Stragen told him. ‘It seems that the Atans are the result of an experiment.’
‘Magic?’
‘I don’t know all that much about it,’ Stragen admitted, ‘but I’d guess that what they did went beyond what magic’s capable of. Back before there was even such a thing as history, the Atans observed that big people win more fights than little people. That was in a time when parents chose the mates of their children. Size became the most important consideration.’
‘What happened to short children?’ Talen objected.
‘Probably the same thing that happens to ugly children in our society,’ Stragen shrugged. ‘They didn’t get married.’
‘That’s not fair.’
Stragen smiled. ‘When you get right down to it, Talen, it’s not really very fair when we steal something somebody else has worked for, is it?’
‘That’s different.’
Stragen leaned back in his saddle and laughed. Then he went on. ‘The Atans prized other characteristics as well – ability, strength, aggressiveness and homicidal vindictiveness. It’s strange how the combination worked out. If you stop and think about it, you’ll realise that Mirtai’s really a rather sweet girl. She’s warm and affectionate, she really cares about her friends, and she’s strikingly beautiful. She’s got certain triggers built into her, though, and when somebody trips one of those triggers, she starts killing people. The Atan breeding programme finally went too far, I guess. The Atans become so aggressive that they started killing each other, and since such aggressiveness can’t be restricted to one sex, the women were as bad as the men. It got to the point that there was no such thing in Atan as a mild disagreement. They’d kill each other over weather predictions.’ He smiled. ‘Oscagne told me that the world discovered just how savage Atan women were in the twelfth century. A large band of Arjuni slavers attacked a training camp for adolescent Atan females – the sexes are separated during training in order to avoid certain complications. Anyway, those half-grown Atan girls – most of them barely over six feet tall – slaughtered most of the Arjuni and then sold the rest to the Tamuls as eunuchs.’
‘The slavers were eunuchs?’ Kalten asked with some surprise.
‘No, Kalten,’ Stragen explained patiently. ‘They weren’t eunuchs until after the girls captured them.’
‘Little girls did that?’ Kalten’s expression was one of horror.
‘They weren’t exactly babies, Kalten. They were old enough to know what they were doing. Anyway, the Atans had a very wise king in the fifteenth century. He saw that his people were on the verge of self-destruction. He made contact with the Tamul government and surrendered his people into perpetual slavery – to save their lives.’
‘A little extreme,’ Ulath noted.
‘There are several kinds of slavery, Ulath. Here in Atan, it’s institutionalised. The Tamuls tell the Atans where to go and whom to kill, and they can usually find a reason to deny petitions by individual Atans to slaughter each other. That’s about as far as it really goes. It’s a good working arrangement. The Atan race survives, and the Tamuls get the finest infantry in the world.’
Talen was frowning. ‘The Atans are terribly impressed with size, you said.’
‘Well, it’s one of the things that impresses them,’ Stragen amended.
‘Then why did Mirtai agree to marry Kring? Kring’s a good warrior, but he’s not much taller than I am, and I’m still growing.’
‘It must be something else about him that impressed her so much,’ Stragen shrugged.
‘What do you think it is?’
‘I haven’t got the faintest idea, Talen.’
‘He’s a poet,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘Maybe that’s it.’
‘That wouldn’t make that much difference to someone like Mirtai, would it? She did slice two men open and then burn them alive, remember? She doesn’t sound to me like the kind of girl who’d get all gushy about poetry.’
‘Don’t ask me, Talen,’ Stragen laughed. ‘I know a great deal about the world, but I wouldn’t even try to make a guess about why any woman chooses any given man.’
‘Good thinking,’ Ulath murmured.
The city had been alerted to their approach by Engessa’s messengers, and the royal party was met at the gate by a deputation of towering Atans in formal attire, which in their culture meant the donning of unadorned, ankle-length cloaks of dark wool. In the midst of those giants stood a short, golden-robed Tamul. The Tamul had silver-streaked hair and an urbane expression.
‘What are we supposed to do?’ Kalten whispered to Oscagne.
‘Act formal,’ Oscagne advised. ‘Atans adore formality. Ah, Norkan,’ he said to the Tamul in the golden robe, ‘so good to see you again. Fontan sends his best.’
‘How is the old rascal?’ Oscagne’s colleague replied.
‘Wrinkled, but he still hasn’t lost his edge.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Why are we speaking in Elenic?’
‘So that you can brief us all on local circumstances. How are things here?’
‘Tense. Our children are a bit discontent. There’s turmoil afoot. We send them to stamp it out, but it refuses to stay stamped. They resent that. You know how they are.’
‘Oh my, yes. Has the emperor’s sister forgiven you yet?’
Norkan sighed. ‘Afraid not, old boy. I’m quite resigned to spending the rest of my career here.’
‘You know how the people at court like to carry tales. Whatever possessed you to make that remark? I’ll grant you that her Highness’ feet are a bit oversized, but “big-footed cow” was sort of indiscreet, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I was drunk and a little out of sorts. Better to be here in Atan than in Matherion trying to evade her attentions. I have no desire to become a member of the imperial family if it means that I’d have to trudge along behind her as she clumps about the palace.’
‘Ah, well. What’s on the agenda here?’
‘Formality. Official greetings. Speeches. Ceremonies. The usual nonsense.’
‘Good. Our friends from the west are a bit unbridled at times. They’re good at formality, though. It’s when things become informal that they get into trouble. May I present the Queen of Elenia?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
‘Your Majesty,’ Oscagne said, ‘this is my old friend, Norkan. He’s the imperial representative here in Atan, an able man who’s fallen on hard times.’
Norkan bowed. ‘Your Majesty,’ he greeted Ehlana.
‘Your Excellency,’ she responded. Then she smiled. ‘Are her Highness’ feet really that big?’ she asked him slyly.
‘She skis with only the equipment God gave her, your Majesty. I could bear that, I suppose, but she’s given to temper tantrums when she doesn’t get her own way, and that sort of grates on my nerves.’ He glanced at the huge, dark-cloaked Atans surrounding the carriage. ‘Might I suggest that we proceed to what my children here refer to as the palace? The king and queen await us there. Is your Majesty comfortable speaking in public? A few remarks might be in order.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t speak Tamul, your Excellency.’
‘Perfectly all right, your Majesty. I’ll translate for you. You can say anything that pops into your head. I’ll tidy it up for you as we go along.’
‘How very kind of you.’ There was only the faintest edge to her voice.
‘I live but to serve, your Majesty.’
‘Remarkable, Norkan,’ Oscagne murmured. ‘How do you manage to put both feet in your mouth at the same time?’
‘It’s a gift,’ Norkan shrugged.
King Androl of Atan was seven feet tall, and his wife, Queen Betuana was only slightly shorter. They were very imposing. They wore golden helmets instead of crowns, and their deep blue silk robes were open at the front, revealing the fact that they were both heavily armed. They met the Queen of Elenia and her entourage in the square outside the royal palace of Atan, which was in actuality nothing more than their private dwelling. Atan ceremonies, it appeared, were conducted out of doors.
With the queen’s carriage in the lead and her armed escort formed up behind, the visitors rode at a slow and stately pace into the square. There were no cheers, no fanfares, none of the artificial enthusiasm normally contrived for state visitors. Atans showed respect by silence and immobility. Stragen skilfully wheeled the carriage to a spot in front of the slightly raised stone platform before the royal dwelling, and Sparhawk dismounted to offer his queen a steel-encased forearm. Ehlana’s face was radiantly regal, and her pleasure was clearly unfeigned. Though she occasionally spoke slightingly of ceremonial functions, pretending to view them as tedious, she truly loved ceremony. She took a deep satisfaction in formality.
Ambassador Oscagne approached the royal family of Atan, bowed and spoke at some length in the flowing, musical language of all Tamuls. Mirtai stood behind Ehlana, murmuring a running translation of his Excellency’s words. Ehlana’s eyes were very bright, and there were two spots of heightened colour on her alabaster cheeks, signs that said louder than words that she was composing a speech.
King Androl then spoke a rather brief greeting, and Queen Betuana added her somewhat lengthier agreement. Sparhawk could not hear Mirtai’s translation, so for all he knew the Atan king and queen were discussing weather-conditions on the moon.
Then Ehlana stepped forward, paused for dramatic effect, and began to speak in a clear voice that could be heard throughout the square. Ambassador Norkan stood at the side of the stone platform and translated her words.
‘My dear brother and sister of Atan,’ she began, ‘words cannot express my heartfelt joy at this meeting.’ Sparhawk knew his wife, and he knew that disclaimer to be fraudulent. Words could express her feelings, and she would tell everybody in the square all about them. ‘I come to this happy meeting from the world’s far end,’ she went on, ‘and my heart was filled with anxiety as I sailed across the wine-dark sea toward a foreign land peopled with strangers, but your gracious words of friendly – even affectionate – greeting have erased my childish fears, and I have learned here a lesson which I will carry all the days of my life. There are no strangers in this world, my dear brother and sister. There are only friends we have not yet met.’