Silent Hall (36 page)

It took them another day and a half to reach Laarna, crossing through ravaged fields and burnt olive groves. Laarna's olives were well-known even on Tarphae – the loss of these trees would be felt for generations.

At last they found themselves atop a hill, looking down at the smoldering city in the distance. They rode on, their spirits falling. The battle was clearly long over. The battlefield lay well before the open gates, a scavenger's feast of corpses and broken arrows, riderless horses and smashed chariots, tattered standards and bloodied armor. The smell was sickening. Dogs barked and vultures took flight as Hunter and Narky rode among the dead, looking from side to side in horror.

“Look,” said Narky.

Hunter followed Narky's finger, and found that it was pointing at a dead raven. Behind it was another. And another.

“The ravens?” asked Hunter.

Narky nodded. “They haven't been shot down. There are no arrows in them.”

Hunter felt suddenly cold.

Within the city walls, some buildings were still burning. “Maybe someone is still alive in there,” said Narky without hope.

The city turned out to be much like the battlefield, except that the corpses here included women and children, all speared and slaughtered. Hunter and Narky did not go near the docks, but the smoke that rose from that direction told them all they needed to know.

They wandered almost aimlessly through the wreckage of the town until they came to the collapsed building that had once been the Temple of Ravennis. The corpses of two women had been tied high onto the pillars on either side of the entrance. The one on the left had been young and beautiful, Hunter realized with some surprise. The other had been very old, and the ropes that bound her to the pillar had torn her skin. Narky saw them, and his eye filled with tears.

“Seekers of Wisdom,” Hunter read above the gateway. “Readers of Fate. These must be the oracle priestesses. My father did say there was more than one.”

“There were three,” Narky whispered.

“What do you think happened to the last one?” Hunter asked, but Narky just shook his head and wept.

Hunter held out his hand. “Give me the dagger and let's cut them down from there.”

They buried the oracles right in front of the temple, in as deep a grave as two men without shovels could dig. When they had finished, they sat down wearily on the temple steps.

Narky wiped his hands on his shirt and gazed about, looking lost. “What the hell happens now?” he asked.

“Now we go back to Atuna,” said Hunter, “and we tell them what we saw.”

Narky did not argue. They rode back in silence at first, stopping only once to rest their horses. Hunter wondered what they would do with little Rakon, now that his home and family were gone. What would they tell him?

As they were preparing to sleep beside the road, under the shelter of a lone tukka tree, Hunter asked Narky if he thought Ravennis still wanted him to do something.

“Want something?” Narky repeated blankly. He blinked a few times and then shook his head, as if coming out of a reverie. “Ravennis is dead,” he said. “When crows fall dead out of the sky, what else could it mean?”

“I don't know,” Hunter admitted, “but it's hard to believe.”

Narky shook his head angrily. “It's not right. It doesn't make any sense. Ravennis was always there. He gathered us together, He sent us away from Tarphae… He saved me and you from the people we were. How can he be gone? How can the God of Fate be gone?”

Hunter had no answer, so he said nothing. No answer could have satisfied Narky anyway.

They reached Atuna around dinnertime, cold, wet, and hungry. Every head turned their way as they staggered into the inn. Rakon's eyes were already red from crying, but he took one look at them and burst into fresh tears. Apparently, the others already knew about Laarna's fate.

In fact, they knew more than Hunter and Narky did. A group of refugees had arrived in Atuna that morning; Phaedra told them about it over a welcome dinner of hot soup.

“They said that on the Festival of Destiny just under a month ago, the Oracle of Ravennis announced that a time of reckoning was on the horizon, a reckoning of Gods and men. The Gods would each be judged, and Magor would be judged most harshly. The priestesses said that His time was coming to an end. Within the year.”

Hunter nodded absently. It was hard to get excited about the Oracle of Ravennis after what he and Narky had seen. “Magor seems to be alive and well so far,” he said.

“He may have won the battle,” said Phaedra, “but that doesn't mean it won't come true.”

Narky turned away, hiding his face.

“Magor didn't win the battle,” Hunter told her. “He won the war. Ravennis is gone.”

“Gone?” repeated Phaedra.

“Gone. The Ardismen destroyed His temple and tied the dead oracles to its pillars. There were dead ravens all over the battlefield.”

Phaedra looked stunned. “Well,” she said, “that changes things. That changes things.”

“Are you sure that means Ravennis is dead?” asked Criton. “It couldn't just mean He's been injured or something?”

Phaedra shook her head. “If His city is destroyed and His priestesses are dead, and His holy birds are falling dead out of the sky, then Narky has it right. The battles fought here on earth mirror the ones fought in heaven, and Ravennis' city was completely annihilated. The refugees thought the Ardismen attacked them in order to punish the oracle, but it sounds like it was more than that. They were there to cut off Ravennis' fingers, and Magor did the rest.”

Criton folded his arms. “So Ravennis announced that Magor was in trouble, and Magor went and killed Him. You'd think the God of Fate would see that sort of thing coming.”

Hunter frowned at him. He thought Criton might be getting back at Narky for an earlier slight, and that bothered him. Narky had just lost his God. This was no time for vindictiveness.

“We're not supposed to outlive Him,” Narky mumbled. “It's all wrong.”

“That prophecy,” Hunter said. “Did they say Ravennis would judge the Gods, or just that they'd be judged?”

“They didn't say,” said Phaedra, at the same time as Criton said, “God Most High will judge them.” They turned to look at each other, as if engaged in a contest of wills.

“They didn't say,” Phaedra repeated again, forcefully.

“They didn't say,” Criton admitted. “But it's obvious. He'll arise soon, and then Magor will pay for what He's done.”

“But does the prophecy still stand?” asked Hunter. “If the God of Fate is dead, do His words still mean anything?”

“There's no way of knowing,” said Phaedra. “They might, but they might easily not. It depends on the nature of this particular prophecy. If Criton's right, and Ravennis was predicting that God Most High would judge the other Gods, then Ravennis' death might have no impact on whether it comes true or not. But the prophecy could have been a boast on Ravennis' part, which would make it meaningless now that He's been defeated.”

“Well, we'll have to find Rakon a new home,” Hunter pointed out. The children had finished their dinners by now and were all huddling near the fire. Hunter was glad that the innkeeper had warned them away from all going to Laarna together. He shuddered to think that they had almost taken the children to the site of that massacre.

“Would the twins' family take him in?” Criton asked.

Hunter and Phaedra exchanged a glance. “I doubt it,” said Phaedra. “They didn't come to the door themselves, even after they knew we'd brought the children back. We only spoke to a slave.”

To Hunter's surprise, Criton gasped in shock. “They have slaves here? Real slaves?” He shook his head in wonderment, and – was that disgust?

“My mother used to tell me stories where the villains had slaves,” he said. “I thought they were made up!”

“No,” said Phaedra, “slaves are real.”

Hunter nodded, relieved that she hadn't elaborated. The cooks and cleaners of House Tavener had all been slaves.

“So where now?” asked Narky, sounding as though he had very little interest in the answer.

The others all looked at each other. “Adla and Temena live near Ardis,” Hunter said. “It might not be safe to go there. And Caldra and Delika don't exactly know where they live. We might have to find them all new homes, not just Rakon.”

“We could ask the villagers at Silent Hall to take them in,” Phaedra suggested. “But we might be able to bring Adla and Temena home, depending on how close it is to Ardis and what side it's on. Adla, do you know where your village is, compared to Ardis?”

Adla came over to them cautiously. “I don't know,” she said. “It's close to the tune.”

“What tune?” asked Narky. “What are you talking about?”

“That cave,” she answered, “where the dragon man died. The tune.”

Criton sucked in his breath. “She means the Dragon Knight's Tomb,” he said, not even trying to conceal his excitement. “That's it – that's where we're going.”

B
andu felt
the little arm pressing out against her belly, and she smiled. It felt funny and happy and alive, and it kept her from worrying. Goodweather was living and growing. So was Bandu.

They went the way Criton said, toward Ardis. After a few days of travel, they found the army's trail. It was wide and muddy, covered in food scraps and horse droppings and broken things that the Ardismen had thrown away. They tried to keep away from the trail, since they didn't want any scouts to notice them following it, but sometimes they would go over a hill or come out of a wood and there it would be again, a winding river of ugliness.

The men took turns walking, since they only had four horses now. They didn't have to hunt, at least, because Phaedra had bought them plenty of food in Atuna. She had also bought a wide canvas sail and some rope for them to use as a tent, which annoyed Hunter until the next time it rained. After that, he didn't complain about the money.

The journey was easy enough on her body, but it was still hard on her. She worried about Criton. He always said he loved her, but she didn't see it in his eyes anymore. At night, he didn't try to pull her away from the tent to mate, and he didn't seem to like it when she pulled at him instead. It frustrated her, because she did not want him any less than she had before. If anything, she wanted him more. But now, now that his young was starting to grow heavy, he turned away from her. He even closed his eyes when they mated.

She wanted to speak to Phaedra about it, but she never got the opportunity. Phaedra didn't want to talk about those things in front of the little ones, and they were always there, of course. One night, when Criton had already slunk away from her to fall asleep, she tried to wake Phaedra up to talk. Phaedra moaned and waved her away and didn't even open her eyes. Bandu sighed and lay down. It was a lonely time, even with a new person living in her belly.

She blamed Criton. He had promised to take care of her! Wicked man. She wished she could throw him away and want someone else instead, but she couldn't. Phaedra would have said it was because Bandu had promised not to, but that was wrong. It wasn't because of a silly promise. The trouble was that she loved him.

What was the matter with him? Maybe Phaedra would say that all men did this sometimes. Maybe she would say that Bandu should stay away from him again, as she had done at Silent Hall when Criton had first learned about the young. Maybe she would say… Bandu did not know what Phaedra would say. She wished she could find out.

They traveled another week, and Bandu could not take it anymore. She left him in the tent with the others, and walked out into the night. The woods welcomed her with that same comforting wind that once sung her to sleep. She found a guardian tree and looked up into its branches in the moonlight, her heart filling with sadness. She couldn't climb anymore, not with such a big belly. She was wider to the front than to the sides.

She missed Four-foot. He had never turned on her or rejected her, or made her feel so stupid for loving him. She wanted him back. When would Psander bring him back to her? He had been her only friend, but together they had been a pack. What was she with Criton?

She walked on until she reached a narrow brook. She had swum across a river once, to find him. What had made her so sure of herself?

She could hear him behind her now, crashing through the woods. “Bandu!” he was yelling. “Bandu! Where the hell are you?”

She waited for him to find her. When he panted into sight, she asked, “What is the hell?”

He shook his head at her furiously. “Why did you run off, so late at night? You could be eaten by animals, or captured by Ardismen – is that what you want?”

“I want you care about me!” she snapped at him. “You only care if I am dead?”

“Of all the stupid–” he began.

“You are stupid!” she shouted. “Always you want to learn about family, learn about family. Dragons not your family, stupid Criton!”

He slapped her with the back of his claw and she fell into the shallow water. She tried to jump to her feet, but she misjudged her weight and splashed right back down again. The stones at the bottom dug into her backside. She began to cry. “You are a wicked man!” she sobbed.

“I'm – I'm sorry,” he said. He sounded shocked.

“You are wicked,” she repeated, her tears dropping noiselessly into the stream. “Like your father.”

Criton stepped forward, and his body blocked out the moon so that she could not see his expression. “I have no father,” he said.

She smacked her hand against the water. “Everyone has father,” she hissed. “You think everything only how you want. You don't love him so you say you don't have father. You don't love me so you say you don't have wife.”

Criton didn't say anything for a moment, only knelt before her and held out his hand. “I do love you,” he said finally, steadying his voice. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please get up.”

She did not take his hand, but stood up carefully on her own. “Why you don't want me?” she asked him.

“I do,” he said, lying. “It's just – I'm not used to this.”

“You are stupid,” she told him.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I am. I'm sorry I hit you. Please forgive me.”

“No,” she said. “You are bad to me. I don't forgive.”

Criton sighed. “All right,” he said. “But will you come back to camp with me?”

She shook her head.

“I'm sorry I hit you,” he said again. “You're right about what I'm becoming. I don't know what got into me, I just couldn't… I lost control. I'll be good to you from now on. I want you to always be happy and I don't want… I don't want you to ever be afraid of me.”

Why did she want to forgive him already? She shouldn't forgive – she knew she shouldn't. It was dangerous. She should tell the others and keep away from him, and bear her young on her own. If he could hit her once, he could hit her again. He could hit their young.

She fought with herself as he went on apologizing. He would never change. How could he change? His insides were angry. They always had been. What would it mean, if she forgave him? Would their young grow up to be angry like him? Would Goodweather say, ‘I have no father'?

She followed him back to the camp, and sat while he built up the fire for her to dry herself. She knew she could not trust him, even though he was being good to her now. She knew it, but it did her no good. She needed Phaedra's help. She could not stay angry on her own.

He was a good man; that was the trouble. A good man, but a bad husband.

What should she do? She knew he would protect her and her young – from everyone but himself. Was that good enough?

She slept poorly that night, and not only because Goodweather kicked every time she lay down. She did not know what to do about Criton, and it frightened her. It frightened her to think of living without him as a mate, and it frightened her to think that he might hit her again. If he was not careful with those claws, one blow might kill. She trusted that he would try not to do it again, but could she trust him to succeed?

She dreamt that Goodweather grew to be a strong boy and that he and Criton were fighting. She feared for them both, but all she could do was watch them try to kill each other, hoping that they would fail. When she awoke, heart pounding, Goodweather was stirring inside her. She sat for a time, listening to the wind as it rustled against the canvas. Would her nightmares come true again? The wind gave no indication.

They rode onward, and this time it was Bandu who avoided Criton. He kept looking at her, longing and ashamed, while she tried to keep her gaze on the trees and hills ahead. She worried any minute that she might relent, but the hours went on and still she held strong. He had hit her, she kept reminding herself. She had to protect Goodweather.

The movements of the horse rocked her young to sleep while she rode, and Bandu only felt the little limbs within her when they stopped to eat.

“I think we're getting close,” said Hunter. “We've gone a long way. I'm surprised we haven't come across any villages yet.”

“There's smoke to the southwest,” Phaedra pointed out. “That might be a village, or maybe even Anardis.”

“Or a forest fire,” said Narky.

“Which side of Ardis is your town on?” Criton asked Temena.

Temena shrugged. “We don't go to Ardis,” she said. “Only Pa goes. He goes away in the morning and comes back at night.”

“When he goes away in the morning,” asked Hunter, “what side is the sun on?”

The two girls looked at each other. “That way,” said Adla, waving her arm leftward. “I think.”

“North of Ardis,” said Criton. “We should start heading a little northwards now.”

“Assuming the girls don't have it backwards,” Narky added.

“Ardis is near the upper edge of the mountains,” Hunter said. “I don't remember exactly, but I thought I saw a marker for a tomb on one of Psander's maps, northwest of the city. It might have been a badly drawn hill, though. It wasn't one of the better maps.”

Phaedra sighed wistfully. “I wish we had Psander's maps with us,” she said. “Actually, I wish we had Psander too. I have so many questions to ask her now, about Ravennis and prophecies.”

Criton nodded. “Agreed.”

“We don't need Psander,” said Bandu. “Psander lies.”

“That's not fair,” protested Phaedra.

“It
is
fair,” Bandu replied. Psander had said she would find a way to bring back Four-foot. That lie had never hurt more than it did now. “Psander is a liar,” she repeated. “A wicked liar.”

No one argued with her further. Phaedra knew she would never convince her, and Criton was afraid to argue. And Narky probably agreed with her.

Narky was starting to recover himself, Bandu thought. He was beginning to talk almost like his usual self again. Phaedra noticed too. She asked him once, gently, how he was dealing with Ravennis' death.

“Maybe He isn't dead after all,” Narky said. “One of the oracles was missing.”

Phaedra did not say anything. Narky's spirit was weak right now; she must have decided it was best to let him believe what he wanted.

They rode on, and soon the mountains became visible through the trees. “We're close,” Hunter said that evening, while he and Narky were putting up their tent between two trees. “Just so long as we stay away from Ardis and its army, we'll be fine.”

There was a warm wind tonight, unusually warm for the season. Criton nodded his head in sleepy agreement. “As long as Bestillos doesn't catch wind of us, we're all right. When we get closer to the sisters' village, I'll disguise myself and bring the children there alone.”

He yawned. “If I can, I'll leave them all there while we explore the Dragon Knight's Tomb. No sense in having them underfoot.”

They finished with the tent, and Bandu lay down underneath the canvas. The warm weather was making her drowsy. Even Goodweather did not awaken, despite her lack of motion. Good. She needed some sleep.

The men did not even build a fire that night. The travelers all joined Bandu in the tent and lay their weary heads on the moss and grass and dried guardian tree spines.
Go to sleep,
the wind seemed to whisper to them.
You're all tired. Go to sleep.

Bandu startled for a moment, already beginning to dream. Something was not right. Was it her imagination, or had the grass been stroking her hair on purpose? For a moment she hung between sleep and wakefulness, unsure where reality ended and her dreams began. But the air felt so warm, and her young so peaceful and still, that she soon closed her eyes again. Bandu drifted off to sleep, and doubted no more.