That evening,
after a supper of stewed dried meat mixed with slices of dried yam
and dried riverweed peas that everyone shared, she was once more
invited into the spaciousness of the blind man’s tent. This time
Scow stayed, as well as Davron.
‘I’ve made
some punch,’ Scow told her, handing her a mug of spiced wine. ‘To
celebrate our reunion.’
‘And your safe
rescue,’ Meldor added, raising his own mug in her direction. ‘I’m
sorry about your maiming, Keris. I’d like to know the whole story.
What did the Unmaker hope to gain? Did he realise that I had asked
you to be my mapmaker to replace Deverli?’
‘Yes, I think
so. He wanted to stop me being of any use to you. I’ll tell you
everything I know, which is a lot more than you think, in exchange
for more truth from you.’
‘Ah. And what
is it that you know?’ he asked, probing.
‘How to make a
trompleri map, for a start.’
She sat,
imperturbable, sipping her wine, enjoying the stir that statement
prompted. Davron’s face flashed with hope, Meldor lost some of his
normal regality as he spluttered a little over his warmed wine and
Scow sucked in his vast cheeks and then held his hands to the
flames of the stove as if he was suddenly feeling the cold.
‘And what is
it you want to know?’ Meldor asked.
‘All the
things you haven’t told me. Where you are bound. What your plans
are, in general at least. Why you are called Margraf. If I help
you, this has got to be a partnership.’
Meldor nodded
in Davron’s direction, amused. ‘All right. You’ll have the
information you seek; my word on it. And now, how do you make a
trompleri map?’
She folded her
arms and sat back. ‘First, I have a confession. I had one of
Deverli’s missing trompleri maps. It was delivered to me with
Piers’ things.’ The startled silence that greeted this
pronouncement was all she could have hoped for. She added calmly,
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t exist anymore, though. I burned it. That was
what disintegrated my tent.’
Even Meldor,
usually so unruffled by events, was horrified. ‘You
destroyed
it? But why?’
‘Because I was
afraid. My father died because of that map.’
‘But you do
know how to reproduce it?’ Meldor’s tone was sharp.
‘As soon as
you told me that ley was power, and not innately evil, I guessed.
Before that, I made the same mistake that everyone seems to have
made, even Carasma. You all thought there must be some sort of
mysterious innate skill within the mapmaker, as you find within
water diviners. Either that or some sort of magic possessed by a
particularly talented maker of maps. But that’s not so. Any
ordinary mapmaker can do it.’ She waved her mug towards Scow. ‘This
punch is really good.’ He acknowledged her compliment with a
kinesis of thanks.
She continued,
‘During our crossing of the Dancer, some mineral salts of the kind
I use for making inks were scooped up into my quiver, quite by
accident. Not knowing where they came from, I kept them. When I did
realize their origins, my first reaction was to throw them out, but
by then I had already been carrying them around for several weeks.
I decided that if they hadn’t hurt me by then, they were unlikely
to do so, so I kept them. Then, when Meldor said ley was power,
well, how better to make a trompleri map than to use something
impregnated with ley? I thought it was worth a try. And sure
enough…’
‘You drew a
trompleri map?’ Davron was grinning at her.
‘Of sorts. It
wasn’t a very good effort, because I had to mix the salts with
non-ley ingredients, with the result that the contouring was not
obvious. But it was there. Presumably if all the ingredients could
be taken from a ley line—’
Scow gaped.
‘It’s as simple as that?’
‘Well, it’s
hardly a simple matter to dig around in a ley line looking for
ochre and sienna and all the other pigments I’d need to make a
proper map. To have a full range of colour, and it would have to be
colour, I think, I’d really need things which might be difficult to
find in a ley line. Like tannin and madder root and indigo.’
‘Deverli must
have done it somehow. Or found substitutes within the line,’ Davron
said thoughtfully. ‘Mind you, he was just the sort of
devil-may-care fellow who would enjoy digging about in the
Wanderer, and laugh about it afterwards.’
‘I’ve another
confession,’ she continued. ‘Because I didn’t altogether trust you
all, I wrote down instructions on how to make a trompleri map and
sent it to all the other master mapmakers I knew of. Gawen the
Courier took the letters for me.’
Once again
they all stared at her.
‘You gave the
information away?’ Scow asked, obviously staggered.
‘Yes.’
‘You could
have made a fortune, you know,’ Davron said. He sounded more amused
than surprised.
‘You mean,
sold them the information?’ she asked. ‘It never occurred to me!
Trompleri maps will save countless lives. Save countless people
from tainting. On a trompleri map it’s possible to track Minions
and their pets and the Wild. Or study the ley lines. Crossings
would be so much easier. You could see what the weather is like. Or
the whirlwinds. You could see where other Unstablers were, and what
happens to them. The more trompleri maps that are made and sold,
the better for us all. It’s not something to make us all rich.’
‘It was never
our intention to make a monetary profit out of trompleri maps.’
There was mild rebuke in Meldor’s tone. ‘However, I don’t know that
you’ve done the right thing, though, for all that. Remember that a
trompleri map can work both ways. If Unstabler bandits got hold of
them, then they would know where the fellowships are, how many
people they contain and how best they could be ambushed. If the
Minions got hold of them, they would have the same information. A
trompleri map would be a weapon against us, against all decent
people, when it’s in the hands of the wrong person.’
She was
crestfallen and said in a small voice. ‘I guess I never thought of
that.’
‘Never mind.
I’ll write to all the mapmakers myself, warning them of the
problem.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Perhaps it is time for Kt Edion to be
resurrected—they will take more notice of something that is signed
by a Knight of Chantry.’
There was an
ironic twist to Davron’s mouth. ‘You would have made a good
Hedrin-chantor, Meldor. Cynical.’
‘Some of the
mapmakers probably won’t want to make trompleri maps at all, not
when it means searching for the ingredients in ley lines,’ Keris
said. ‘Anyway, let’s get back to my side of our bargain. Why are
you called Margraf? Where are we going really? Is there a
Havenstar? Do you—’
Meldor held up
his hand. ‘Do you swear that you will keep the information to
yourself?’
‘Certainly, as
long as no one is injured by my silence.’
Davron gave an
amused smile. ‘A fair amendment, Meldor.’
‘Very well.
What was first? The Margraf title? It’s not one I claim, but I am
the founder of Havenstar and its leader, insofar as it has one. So
people call me the Margrave. They like traditions, so I acquiesce,
but titles mean little to me. As I have told you, I am not a
Trician—and anyway, in Havenstar Trician blood means nothing. In
fact, the only aristocracy in Havenstar are the ley-lit, as you
will find out.’
‘What is
Havenstar? Where is it?’
‘It’s south of
the Graven. What is it? It is an enclave for the excluded,
including the tainted. That’s all. It is stable there, and safe,
yet there is no Order, no Rule and no kinesis chain surrounding
it.’
It was her
turn to stare. ‘How is that possible?’
‘You’ll see.
We are taking you there. That’s where your mapmaker’s shop is.’
‘Stability
without Order? How? Sorcery?’ The word jerked out of her
involuntarily.
Meldor
laughed. ‘No, no sorcery, I assure you. It’s more like—well the
closest thing I can think of are the fixed features, I suppose,
although it’s not quite the same.’
‘If it’s safe,
yet it doesn’t kill the tainted, then why don’t all the excluded go
there?’
Once again it
was Meldor who answered, his mellifluous voice rolling over her
like a bank of fog, blanketing any desire she might have had to
disbelieve. When Meldor spoke, it was easy to accept.
A
dangerous man.
‘Havenstar is small as yet and grows only
slowly. One day it will be big enough for all, but not yet. In
addition, it remains a fragile place, easily sabotaged. We offer a
place within its security only to those we trust, and to those who
are prepared to pay the price.’
‘Which is to
fight for the end of the Unmaker,’ Scow added.
‘Are you
prepared to pay that price?’ Meldor asked.
‘Are you going
to tell me your plans?’ she countered.
He considered.
‘I don’t suppose it would do any harm. Firstly, we would like every
honest Unstabler to have access to trompleri maps. Secondly, we
hope to wage war against the Minions and their pets, to destroy
them utterly. Thirdly, we want to enlarge Havenstar so that it does
indeed become a home to all excluded. So that no one will ever need
to wander the Unstable because they have no other place to go. And
finally…’ He hesitated, as if he was choosing his words carefully.
‘Finally, one day soon, there will come the confrontation with the
Unmaker himself. A confrontation we must win.’
She felt sick.
‘Win? How can you be sure you can defeat the Unmaker?’
He smiled, but
there was no mirth there, only a deep sorrow that tightened her
stomach to a ball. ‘Sure? I’m not sure. There are predictions in
the Holy Books that seem to indicate we have a chance. Just a
chance. Every step I’ve taken has been made because I believe it is
what the Maker recommends. But how can I be sure? All I know is
that we can’t afford to lose.’
It was not
what she had wanted to hear.
She sat still,
miserable with fear, but was given no chance to indulge in
self-pity. Someone started yelling outside: one of the Unbound who
had accompanied Meldor from Heldiss’s camp. The shout was taken up
by several others, and the sounds were ones of dire urgency. Only
one word was clear, but it was enough to freeze her blood:
‘Minions!’
Scow and
Davron plunged for the tent opening as one man. She followed,
pulling out her knife as she went. She paused outside the tent-flap
trying to take it all in. The camp was a blur of movement and
noise. Something growled off to her left; there was a yapping
somewhere in the darkness to her right. In the distance an animal
wailed, in either pain or anger. Sounds close by curdled her
insides with terror. A shape loomed up out of the blackness and
fell dead at her feet, its matted-fur hide feathered with arrows,
its serrated tongue lolling out of a boned mouth that gushed fluid
in a dying gurgle. Other unimaginable creatures loomed in the
darkness, briefly glimpsed when the light from the fire or a
lantern glinted in eyes, or sheened from scaled skins. This was not
an attack by a few odd Minions and their pets. This was a full
scale onslaught by tens of beasts and their masters.
Even as that
realisation woke in Keris, something leapt at her out of the gloom.
She had no time to throw her knife, and would have been flattened
under the clawed forefeet of a Wild had not Scow swept his
long-handled battle axe between them and half-severed a dog-like
head from the massive shoulders that had been coming her way.
‘Get your
bow!’ Scow yelled at her. ‘Keep your distance from them!’
It was good
advice. She headed for her tent, stumbling in the dark. She
glimpsed Davron fighting a red-haired woman mounted on a tainted
animal not unlike Scow’s Stockwood; both man and woman were using
ley and the clash resembled a war between flashes of lightning. A
burst of red fire was dissipated against an equal blast of purple
force. Flames sprouted and died, sparks fountained at each clash,
hiding them both from view. She wrenched her gaze away because to
watch was more than she could bear.
Behind her,
Meldor was now standing calmly outside his tent, his head tilted to
better sense what was happening around him. Then, with casual
flair, he flicked ley outwards from the palms of his hands. He
rarely missed his target. Minions, sensing the intensity of his
power, flung themselves away from him; the Wild, not so wise,
yelped and jerked as fur or flesh burned. The brightness of the ley
left patterns dancing in front of her eyes.
A burning turd
whisked past her ear like a lethal weapon; she had no idea where it
came from, but suspected a friend when it hit a Wild that was
advancing on her. The creature screamed and veered away out into
the night.
Several
snarling carnivores appeared out of nowhere and started to herd her
away into the dark of the camp perimeter. She swung her knife at
them, warding them off. They were playing with her, daring her to
try to pass them, then darting in with snapping jaws when she did
try. Frustrated, aware that her single throwing knife was hardly
adequate against such a pair, she was glad to be rescued by Davron
who had apparently rid himself of the redhead’s attentions. He
slashed at the creatures with his whip. Flayed skin flicked away
from their bodies in strips, blood gushed. They turned tail and
fled. The smile Davron gave her was grim. ‘Don’t worry about not
killing the bastards this time around,’ he said.
‘Wouldn’t
dream of it,’ she said and then the battle swirled between them and
she lost sight of him. In front of Corrian’s tent a bear-like
creature backed into her. In a panic she stabbed at it with her
knife. It had been edging away from Portron, who, as far as she
could see, had been doing nothing more lethal than sprinkling it
with water. She pulled the blade out, gratified to find the
creature collapsing like a pricked bladder, but then was forced to
part company with the knife almost immediately when the pet’s
master leapt at her in a rage. She had a glimpse of blond hair and
a mouth rimmed with blood and threw the weapon, aiming for the
man’s throat. She misjudged completely. The Minion had been moving
towards her and in her hurry she’d made no allowance for the
diminishing distance. The knife hilt hit his chin and bounced
harmlessly to the ground. He jerked away, scarlet lips drawn back
in a snarl. Ley flickered out of his fingers, and she ducked.
Portron flung some more water and the man screamed as it hit his
skin.