Dark Heart Part 38

'You are wondering who I am,' the giant figure said, and buildings shook as his voice roared. 'I am neither Recruiter nor Maghdi Dasht, fatal as that would have been should you have shown them lack of respect. So who could I be? I am the Undying Man himself come amongst you, surveying the empire I built-and I am displeased!'

Stella wanted to cry out, but a deep dread had seized her heart and she could not move. So...much...power!

The figure crooked his arm and the oldest Umerta boy rose into the air, his cudgel still in his hand. 'The honour of Andratan has been impugned, son. You struck your ruler's person and you must pay the price. I will have the respect I deserve.'

Higher and higher the boy rose, whimpering as he did, and the acrid smell of urine wafted around the square. The helpless boy was not the only source.

The sorcerer made a fist. The young man arched backwards, going into convulsions, and strangled cries issued from his open mouth. The fist opened and the youth fell thirty feet to the ground. A small cloud of dust rose, then dispersed.

Stella watched for any signs of life, but there were none.

'May I approach?' the woman asked, her voice shaking. The parasol lay discarded on the ground behind her.

'You may,' said the sorcerer.

He held me in his arms a few hours ago, Stella found herself thinking.

The woman knelt before the giant figure, her face working, betraying the great effort she made to keep her composure. 'I make plea neither for myself nor for my son, whom you have...' she licked her lips, 'whom you have rightly punished. Instead, following protocol, I invite the guests of the Bhrudwan Empire to sup with us this evening, and stay the night should they wish.'

The giant vanished and Heredrew stood in its place.

'We accept. And there we will solve the mystery of our travelling companion whom you claim as your daughter. Perhaps reasoned discussion will achieve what violence could not.'

The Umerta steading lay half an hour's ride north of the port, a little inland of the golden beaches ribboning the coast, surrounded by forbidding forest. The land they worked was extensive, with a significant live-in workforce in addition to the matriarch's many sons-their number now reduced by one.

Their homestead was enormous, and palatial in almost every respect. A stone exterior, in contrast to the wooden houses of Sayonae. How far had the stone been brought, and at what cost, Conal wondered. He had not imagined Bhrudwo, which he'd envisaged as a poor place, sucked dry by the Destroyer, would contain places such as this.

The entire steading gathered to receive their unwelcome guests, and to pay respect to the body of the Umerta heir. They have an awkward task, Conal thought. To lie with everything they have in order to convince the monster they are pleased to entertain him on the night they should be mourning the loss of the eldest son. There stood the matriarch, head high, a smile pasted on her face, which had sagged noticeably since this afternoon. Either side of her stood her sons and daughters, bowing and curtseying as the Destroyer led the Falthans into the large reception room.

'So the bear reveals his claws,' Conal hissed as he approached Stella.

'Tonight is not about your feelings,' came the reply.

'But some night must be. The monster must die for the sake of the world.'

'My hand will be on the knife that separates him into a thousand pieces,' his queen said, and his heart rose. 'As soon as he has served his purpose.'

Conal found himself presented to the stony-faced matriarch. He kissed her hand, as seemed to be tradition in this barbaric land, then looked up into her dead eyes and whispered: 'I will kill him.'

'You are a fool to think such things,' the woman said, but her eyes sparkled as she spoke. 'And an even greater fool for saying them. Perhaps, if it lies within the grace of our lord of Andratan, you could give me some time to correct your thinking.'

Conal nodded, wondering what the woman could mean, and allowed himself to be led into the dining room.

The Falthans were accorded privileged positions directly opposite the hostess, yet their number, including the obviously bedazzled Pernessa, filled less than half one side of the enormous table. Conal was seated next to Robal; Stella had clearly manoeuvred things to ensure he was close to the guard. To his left were a pale Phemanderac and, next to him, Moralye, who patted at his mouth with a cloth and appeared ready to spoon-feed him. On the far side of Robal sat Stella, then Kilfor, Sauxa and Pernessa. The remainder of the table was filled by the Umerta family.

Eight exquisite courses served on the finest porcelain, and yet no one but Heredrew ate more than the smallest portion of food. Surely the monster must notice? If so, he did not acknowledge it. So much sorrow and fear resting on this place, and all he can do is stuff his cheeks full of his victim's food.

A side door opened and a woman entered, tiptoed across the room and stood at the matriarch's left; a place away from the Destroyer, who of course had been given the honoured place at her right hand.

'My lord, this woman was to have been my daughter-in-law,' the woman said, her voice level. 'She was betrothed to my son.'

The monster looked up from his feast. 'Plenty more brothers,' he said, and turned back to his meal.

'Providing any of them are alive by morning,' Conal breathed. The pretty but wan-faced girl beside him-Sena, she'd named herself-drew in a sharp breath.

'I don't doubt some of your brothers will try to revenge themselves tonight,' he said to her. 'If they try, they will die. Tell them that, will you? And you can also tell them,' he added, lowering his voice, 'that there are others, more capable, working to rid the world of this man. Let them take heart from that.'

'Why do you travel with him?'

Sena really did have the most intense blue eyes, which bored into his as she asked the question. She had a pretty face too, and-he was a priest. These thoughts were distracting him.

He smiled at her, shaping his face in what he imagined was a ruthless look. 'I travel with him for a chance to see him dead.'

'Now, it is time to talk of Lenares,' the Destroyer said to the woman whose son he'd killed. 'I would have this mystery solved without further bloodshed. You may speak without fear, as long as you speak the truth. But first, I would have you speak of yourself.'

'My name is Martje,' she said without hesitation. 'I am not from the Fisher Coast, and have not been raised in its ways.'

'No,' the Destroyer agreed. 'You have the look of one from Astralagus.'

'The Hanseia Hills, actually, near the Nordalagus border.'

'Ah, the Hanseia Hills, from which come at least half the rebellions in Bhrudwo-and half the Maghdi Dasht. I am beginning to understand. Now, for one foreign to the Fisher Coast, you seem well versed in its etiquette, no matter what you say. A pity your son did not have your natural caution.'

'You forget it was I who ordered him to strike,' she said, raising her chin.

'I needed someone to punish, in the interests of preserving public order.'

'You should have chosen me,' she said.

'I still could, Martje.'

She blanched at this, but did not pull away.

'Now, Lenares,' he said, turning to her, 'please oblige me by standing against the far wall.' He waved his hand at a wall covered in portraits of men and women.

'Any questions?' he asked those still at the table as the girl stood amid the well-trimmed beards and elaborate frocks. 'Just to make it even clearer, would the Umerta family members stand either side of Lenares, please?'

There could be no doubt, even for one as sceptical as Conal knew himself to be. He wanted the Destroyer to be wrong, wanted to see him humiliated. But he was clever, two thousand years clever. The faces gathered against the gold-leafed wall were all of the same stock. Lenares, whatever her protestations, was one of them.

The Destroyer stood, brus.h.i.+ng away the remnants of his meal. 'Lenares, you're from the south, are you not?'

'Yes,' she answered, her face pale. She had said little since arriving here, obsessed, no doubt, by trying to work this out using her system of numbers. If that wasn't also a sham. Perhaps the girl was afraid of being exposed as an opportunist.

'Yes,' she repeated. 'Lenares the Cosmographer, of Talamaq. I am an Amaqi.'

'And are Duon and the man who calls himself Dryman also Amaqi?'

'Yes, but they are from southern areas.'

'You are trying to steer me away from the inevitable conclusion to these questions,' the Destroyer said. 'That is not like you, Lenares. Are there others in Talamaq with pale hair and skin?'

'No,' Lenares replied. 'Mahudia, my mother, said I was special.'

'She's not your real mother though, is she?'

'She was the only real mother I ever had.'

'But not your birth mother.'

Lenares hung her head. 'No. I cannot remember my birth mother.'

'A serious admission for one such as yourself, who remembers everything. Now, can you explain why you look almost exactly like the portrait just above your head?'

It was a small picture, insignificant enough amongst a wall as grand as this was to escape attention, of a girl with the same eyes, mouth, jaw, complexion-the same everything as Lenares bar the hair, and that was only a matter of style, not colour.

The Destroyer turned to Martje. 'I a.s.sume the girl in the portrait is Cylene?'

'No,' the woman said serenely. 'That is a picture of me at her age.'

'And do you have a portrait of your errant daughter?' asked the Destroyer undeterred. 'One, perhaps, that might recently have been taken down from the wall because of the shame she has brought this house?'

'Mikal, go and fetch your sister's painting,' Martje said. 'You'll find it in my room.'

'Sitting beside your bed, no doubt much wept over.' Seeing her surprised look, he went on: 'You'd be surprised how many similar cases one comes across if one lives long enough. While your son fetches the final piece of compelling evidence, let me see if I can fill in the remaining blank s.p.a.ces. You were married to a Fisher Coast man who disgraced himself in some way. Usually in these situations he is a drunkard, a gambler or a philanderer, but not always. Whatever the reason, he runs down the family fortune. Then one or more of the children go missing, their loss usually attributed by the father to an accident, but in reality they are sold as slaves to fund whatever vile habit that has cost the man his soul. I a.s.sume your husband is no longer with you?'

'He is not,' she said. 'And it was for none of those reasons I parted with him. Had he been merely a drunkard or those other things you mentioned, I would have remained with him.' Her face pinched in even more tightly than usual.

'I am sorry to hear this,' the Destroyer said, with a catch in his voice as if he genuinely cared for the people he was destroying. 'There is a fourth common reason, but I did not mention it for reasons of shame and honour.'

The woman's head bowed. 'That is the reason,' she said.

This brought a grunt from him. 'Did you kill him?'

The answer, when it came, was barely audible. 'Yes. With the help of my daughters.'

The admission occasioned whispering from daughters and sons alike.

'But I am right in guessing that about twelve years ago, give or take a year or two, one of your daughters went missing?'

'Died. She died. Cylene's twin.'

'Put it together,' the Destroyer said quietly. 'You did not see your daughter's body after she died, did you?'

'She was taken by the sea; she walked too close to the crumbling cliffs.' A tear leaked from her left eye.

'And your husband came home overflowing with grief, claiming he saw her fall, blaming himself. They always do. He tried to rescue her, which explained the scratches on his arms, yes?'

'He said she fell.' Martje looked from face to face. 'My daughter, she fell. An accident. We could not find the body.'

'You know there was no accident. There never is. Your husband rid himself of someone about to reveal his dark secret, and made a profit into the bargain. No accident, Martje. What was her name?'

'Merla.' The words came out between deep gasps. 'We called her Merla after her grandmother, who was also a twin.'

The boy sent on the errand returned and placed the picture in the Destroyer's hand. He looked at it a moment, then walked over to a white-faced Lenares.

'Here, Merla,' he said. 'Here's a picture of your twin sister.'

He smiled at her, one corner of his mouth curling up in a most cruel fas.h.i.+on.

'I can guarantee your numbers never told you this was coming,' he said.

'The only thing left to determine is whether the wife aided the husband.'

'Surely not,' Stella said.

'In significantly more than half the cases reported by my factors, the mother and father colluded in the death or sale of the child. The mother agrees to cover the shame that would otherwise accrue. And in most of these cases, one or the other spouse meets with an unfortunate accident in the months or years following, to ensure the secret is kept.'

'I don't know why I'm listening to you.'

Stella drew even further away from the man, as though afraid of being burned by his evil. For a while the chirp of crickets was the only sound that crossed the courtyard. The bench upon which the two immortals sat creaked a little as Heredrew changed position.

'They all think they are being so clever, that their stories will be believed because they've truly thought it through. Oh, Stella, in order to truly see the black places in the abyss of human depravity all one has to do is to live long enough.'

He sighed. 'I know that this afternoon's events have convinced you I am every bit as evil as you thought I was. I'll not gloss over what I did, nor will I pretend to be sorry or say I won't do it again. But I did it in the light, in order to prevent lawlessness. These people do it in the darkness, and kill each other to prevent light being shone on their actions.'

'Finding a darker shade of black doesn't make you white.'

He nodded. 'True. I lost my innocence the day the Most High convinced me to accept the Fire of Life before I felt I was ready. I was three years of age. When did you lose yours, Stella? When you fled your village, leaving your mother and father to care for your drunkard brother and believing you dead? When you ran from your company and delivered yourself into Deorc's hands? Or when you tried to trick me into believing he had betrayed me? Ah, that was a marvellous piece of deception, worthy of a dark lord. When I saw you holding those images in your head, all lies, in order to convince me Deorc had used you, I knew I had found a soul mate. Pure, sweet Stella. You should have seen your face as I punished him. Do you remember begging me to stop? Do you still suffer guilt?'

He leaned closer, until his nose almost touched her stricken face.

'You should,' he said. 'I do.'

Robal tried to sleep but could not. Lying in a large, expensively furnished room on his own, he found himself unsettled, missing the small noises made by sleeping companions on the road. More importantly, he could not hear her; could not ascertain beyond doubt that she was safe, that she had not yet succ.u.mbed.

So now he walked the marble halls of this place in the dim light of turned-down lamps, idly examining tapestries and sculptures, his mind wandering. Where did the builders get the marble from? Why does she continue to allow the Destroyer to remain among us? Who would have thought there was so much money in horses? Has he had her yet?

Robal knew himself to be a man of action not of vision. He'd had his moment: he could have drunk an immortal's blood, but had pa.s.sed on it, content to remain a small man, a servant, a protector. All he wanted was one heart.

But how could he rival an immortal?

No, he had to continue his patient wait, hoping the Destroyer would demonstrate his unworthiness sufficiently clearly to Stella.

Or he could find something to bring the Destroyer down. That way he'd be doing everyone a favour.

He wandered out into the rose garden, closing an exquisite stained-gla.s.s door quietly behind him. A faint light spread from the door, enough to show him he was not the only one out late at night.

There was Lenares, or perhaps he should call her Merla, sitting on a small bench, her back against a stone wall, her head in her hands. Another person broken by the Destroyer. They could all have walked away from the confrontation in Sayonae. A boy would still be alive, and this girl could have remained ignorant of her bitter past.