Nalademus grabbed the hilt of the man's gladius, wrenching it clear of the scabbard. From below came the sounds of a commotion, and voices raised in anger. Nalademus moved slowly back into his apartment, and gazed around at the rich hangings and decorations, the shelves lined with tomes, the golden goblets. And through the balcony window he could see the white and perfect glory of the city.
He fell to his knees and reversed the sword. Wrenching open his robes he placed the blade against his chest, the hilt against the floor. Then he threw himself forward. The hilt slipped, the blade merely slicing through the skin above his sternum and lodging under his collar bone. Hands grabbed him, hauling him to his feet. 'No!' he wailed. 'No!'
During the four days that followed the arrest of Nalademus, and the ending of the power of the Crimson Priests, wild celebrations broke out in every district. Thousands of Cultists were freed from prison, returning to their homes. Many Crimson Priests shaved off their beards and fled the city. Others waited defiantly, continuing their duties, sure that the furore would soon die down. Most of these were arrested, summarily tried, and put to death quietly.
The prisoners in the dungeons below the arena of Circus Palantes knew nothing of the great events in the city above. They were the last to be freed, and, when the dungeon doors were opened, believed they were to be taken for burning. Many cried out, begging for their lives.
'Silence!' thundered the guard. 'You are to be freed on orders of the emperor.'
The prisoners huddled together, unwilling to believe him. Surely, they thought, this was just an attempt to lull them into walking obediently to their deaths. A white-robed councillor stepped into the doorway, holding a scented handkerchief to his face to mask the stench from within.
'What the guard says is true,' he told them. 'Nalademus has been arrested and condemned, and you are all free to go to your homes, wherever they may be.'
Persis Albitane heard the words, and felt an enormous wave of relief surge through him. He struggled to his feet, and turned to help the Veiled Lady to stand. Her face was ghostly white, and gleamed with sweat. Her flesh was hot to the touch, her eyes fever-bright.
'Leave her where she is,' said the guard. 'She's not to be freed.'
'Why?' asked Persis. Most of the Cultists had filed through the doors, anxious to be clear of this dreadful place. They left without a backward glance at the woman. At last only Norwin and Persis remained with her. 'Why?' asked Persis once more.
'Not for me to know,' said the guard. 'Now be on your way.'
'She is sick, and needs help,' said Persis.
'Stay with her then,' sneered the guard. 'I don't mind if you die with her.'
'They cannot stay,' said the councillor.
Persis knelt by the stricken woman. 'I am so sorry,' he said. Her eyes cleared momentarily and she smiled at him. No words were spoken, but her hand reached up and stroked his bearded face. As her skin touched his Persis felt a great warmth begin to flow through him. The searing agony of the abscess on his neck disappeared, and all the pain from the bruises and cuts upon his face and body faded away. Still the warmth grew, as if the sunlight was seeping through his skin, filling his veins with bright light. And with that light came a vast understanding that transcended any intellectual learning. His gaze locked to hers, and tears fell from his eyes. Her hand fell away.
Persis Albitane reached out and stroked her hair. He felt the power move within him.The three men remaining in the cell stood in astonished silence as they saw a pale light glowing round the dying girl. The dreadful, pus-covered whip wounds sealed themselves and healed without scars. The skin of her face began to glow with health, all her bruises disappearing. The light faded and Persis rose. He looked into the eyes of the guard.
'Don't hurt me,' said the man, backing away.
'How could I hurt you more than you are hurting yourself?' Persis asked him. He glanced back at the young woman. She smiled at him, and gestured for him to go. 'Do you have her veil?' asked Persis. The guard nodded dumbly. Then fetch it for her. And find her some clean garments and food. Will you do this?'
'I will. I promise,' replied the guard, still terrified.
'Then may the Source bless you,' said Persis. With one last look at the woman in the cell he took Norwin by the arm and walked along the dungeon corridor and up the steps towards the light.
Nalademus was put on trial before Jasaray's Council. The main witness for the defence was Voltan, who told of the murder plot, and also admitted Temple funds were used to help Stone's enemies in the east and prolong the war. Just before sentence Nalademus was allowed to speak. He at first railed at Jasaray - who was not present - accusing him of weakness and divisive policies, undermining the great destiny of Stone, but when sentence of death was passed he collapsed, and was carried from the chamber.
Bane sprinted up the hillside, hurdling a fallen tree, then slowed to an easy run as he entered the woods. The wounds on his left shoulder and side were healing fast. Rage had removed the stitches yesterday. The two men had - at first - exchanged only a few words.
'You are still angry with me,' said Bane, as Rage snipped the last stitch, pulling clear the thread.
'Not angry,' said Rage, 'disappointed.'
'I think you are wrong. I can beat him.'
Rage had shrugged. That is not the point. You no longer need to fight him, to risk throwing away your life. It is not about revenge now, or justice. It is just vanity. He defeated you, and now you must prove that you are the better man. Life should be worth more than that, Bane.'
The words echoed in his mind as he ran. He couldn't explain the depth of his feelings to Rage, nor the despair he had felt through most of his young life. Lia had been the rainbow after the storm, the one great chance to change his destiny. When Voltan killed her he had planted a seed of hatred in Bane's heart, a seed that had flowered and grown. Not a night had passed without Voltan's face hovering in Bane's mind as he slipped into sleep. Not a morning had broken without a thought of the merciless gladiator and the blade that had sent Lia's soul hurtling from the world. For more than two years now the hatred had eaten away at him, and Bane believed it would only pass when he faced the warrior, eye to eye, sword to sword. It was the Rigante way.
Dipping his shoulders Bane powered up yet another hill, then onto a winding path that flowed down into a wooded valley. A low mist drifted across the bracken, and Bane slowed his run, unable to see the ground ahead. The last thing he needed now, a day before the fight, was to twist his ankle on some hidden root or stone. Ahead he saw two men hauling the trunk of a dead tree towards a slope. One was old, with only one arm, the other in his teens. They were struggling with the trunk. A broken branch had wedged itself against a buried rock. The one-armed man chopped off the branch with a hatchet, and they began to pull once more. Bane joined them, grinned at the old man, then took up the end of the rope. The trunk moved more easily now and they hauled it down the slope to a clumsily built cottage beside a stream.
'My thanks to you,' said the old man. 'We would have made it, but by heavens it was quite an effort.'
'You are Bane,' said the slim, dark-haired youngster. 'I saw you fight Dex.'
The older man moved in closer and peered at Bane. 'Aye, you have the look of a swordsman,' he said, his voice less friendly.
'Is it true you are to fight Voltan?' asked the youngster.
'Aye, it is true.'
'I hope you make him die slowly!'
'That is enough!' roared the old man. 'I don't want to see any man die slow, not even foul creatures like him. There has been more than enough killing already.'
'How can you say that?' asked the young man. 'He was one of those who murdered our friends, took them for burning. He deserves a painful death.'
The older man sat down on the fallen tree, pulled clear the leather cup which covered the stump of his left wrist, and scratched at the scarred and puckered skin. He glanced up at Bane. 'As I said, our thanks to you. Do not let us keep you from your trai
ning.'
Bane stood for a moment, then ran on, heading back up the slope, and off onto an old deer track. As he reached the higher ground he saw the city below him, glistening in the early light. His legs were tired now, his calves burning.
The bathhouse at Circus Occian was open, though the water was not yet heated, and Bane moved through to the new open-air training area, designed by Rage. Several of the younger gladiators were already there, hoisting weights under the supervision of Telors. Bane stretched out his aching muscles, then did some light work on the climbing ropes, hauling himself up to the top of the frame and down several times.
Telors joined him. 'Not too much now,' he said. 'Save something for tomorrow.'
'You think I am being foolish?'
'It is not for me to say. Men do what they must. Personally I'd have asked the emperor for a mountain of gold and my own personal whorehouse.' Telors shrugged.
'You've seen him fight,' said Bane. 'Rage does not believe I can take him.'
'Vanni regrets saying that. He wouldn't have wanted to say anything to make you doubt your abilities. He was hoping he could talk you out of the contest.'
'What do you think? Give me the truth.'
'I can't give you the truth, Bane, only opinion. I once saw a big soldier, fully armed, with breastplate, shield and sword, brought down by a boy carrying a makeshift wooden spear. When a man fights anything can happen.' He gave a rueful smile. 'And I'm not going to stand here and tell you how good Voltan is - not the day before you fight him. I can tell you how good you are. You are a match for almost anyone. You have the speed, the strength, and most importantly the heart. I'll be with you tomorrow. I'll put a fine edge on your sword, and your breastplate will gleam with oil.'
'Breastplate? It is a death bout.'
Telors looked uncomfortable. 'The emperor has suspended the usual rules. Voltan will fight without armour of any kind.'
'Then so shall I. It is to be a duel, not an execution.'
'I thought you'd say that,' admitted Telors. 'It does you credit. Rage would have said the same.' A servant called out that the water was heated, and Bane moved back inside.
The bath was sixteen feet long and nine feet wide. Steam was rising from the surface of the water, carrying the scent of lavender. Bane stripped off his clothing and slipped into the water, ducking his head and swimming to the far end, where he sat on a ledge, resting his head on the rounded brass rail surrounding the bath. Tension eased from his muscles.
He lay in the water for some time, then towelled himself dry and wandered to the massage room, where an Occian slave rubbed oil into his skin, and worked on the muscles of his legs and upper back. Bane dozed for a while. When he awoke he found he was alone. The slave had placed warm towels over his body, and had left him sleeping. Rising he went to his locker, put on a fresh tunic and leggings and walked barefoot back into the bathhouse. Leaving his training clothes with a slave for washing he tugged on his boots and walked out into the sunlight.
It was a beautiful day and he strolled along the avenues back towards the villa. Most of the celebrations were over now, but there was still an air of elation over the city. At the villa the gardeners were at work, weeding the flower beds, and Bane saw Cara, dressed in a pale green dress, walking among the roses. A dark-haired and handsome young man was walking with her. Cara saw Bane and waved. He strolled over to them. 'This is Maro,' said Cara. 'He is the son of the general Barus.' Bane shook hands with the man. 'He has come to see Grandfather,' continued Cara, 'but he is still out on his run.'
'He must have taken the western route,' said Bane. 'I have not seen him today.'
'Maro and I are to be married,' said Cara.
'If your grandfather agrees,' put in Maro.
Bane smiled. 'I am sure he will - if that is what you desire, princess. However, I am hurt. I always thought you would save yourself for me.'
'You are too old,' she said, with a mocking grin. 'And not handsome enough.'
Bane put his hand over his heart. 'Women are so cruel. Be warned, Maro!'
He bowed and walked away. Cara ran after him, taking his arm. 'You and Grandfather should end this quarrel,' she told him.
'We have not quarrelled,' he said.
'You do not look me in the eyes any more,' she said suddenly. 'Why is that?'
'Nonsense,' he said, forcing himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes were bright blue and pale. Voltan's eyes. He looked away. 'Your guest is being neglected,' he added.
'Have I done something to offend you, Bane?'
'Not at all.' He felt awkward standing there.
'Are you still planning to fight tomorrow?' she asked him.
'Yes.'
'I met him, you know. Voltan. I met him in the marketplace. I liked him. Oh, I know people say he is evil, but I saw him at one of our meetings. The Veiled Lady touched his head and blessed him. So he can't be all bad.'
Bane sighed. 'I do not know if he is all bad. He killed someone I loved. He will die for that, not for some . . . political intrigue.'
'He will die anyway, Bane. We all do. It is a shame that you cannot forgive him.'
'Some things cannot be forgiven.'
'I do not believe that.'
'That is because you have never suffered,' he said, a note of anger in his voice. 'It is so easy for people like you, living in luxury, servants attending your every need. What is there to forgive? A cook makes your porridge too thin? Oh, I forgive you. But the women of the Gath who saw their babes plucked from their arms by Stone soldiers, their little heads smashed against the walls of the houses, they know what suffering is. Do they forgive? I saw Voltan plunge his sword into the heart of the woman I loved. He laughed as he did it. And you ask me
to forgive? Look around you! Everything you have here - everything in this city - is built on the blood of slaughtered people. Maybe one day they will forgive you. But I doubt it.' Furious now, he strode away from her.
As he reached the front of the house he saw two men walking along the gravel path. 'Persis!' he shouted, and went to meet them. Both were dressed in filthy clothes, which stank horribly.
'It is good to see you, my boy,' said Persis wearily. 'Is there somewhere we can cleanse ourselves of this dungeon aroma?'
'Of course. Follow me.'
Persis was too large and Norwin too small for any of the clothes in the house to fit them, so while they were bathing Bane sent a servant to the market to purchase fresh garments. Cara and Maro, who had seen the men arrive, came to Bane as he waited in the east-facing main living room. 'Was that Persis?' she asked.
'Yes. They were freed yesterday, but with no money and no friends here they sought us out.'
'I am glad that they did. I shall get the cook to prepare them some food.' She moved away and Maro remained. Bane gestured him to a chair.
'I know a friend of yours,' said Maro. 'Banouin.'
'He is not a friend. He is someone I once knew.'
'Oh. I did not realize. He speaks of you fondly.'
'I have always preferred fond deeds to fond words,' said Bane. 'How is he?'
'He left the city this morning. He is going home. I shall miss him.'
Bane had no interest in talking of his former friend, and changed the subject. 'How did you and Cara meet?'
Maro smiled. 'I suppose it is safe to say it now, but I saw her at one of the Veiled Lady's gatherings. Afterwards we talked and . . .' He spread his hands. 'I grew to love her. I shall be nineteen in three weeks. We plan to wed then.'
'She is a fine girl.'
'I know that.'
'What are your plans?'
'I shall become a soldier, like my father.'
'A soldier?' queried Bane. 'I thought you Cultists did not believe in war.'
'I am not a Cultist. I have attended their meetings, and there is much about their philosophy that I admire. But this is not a perfect world, and there are many dangers in it. I am perfectly willing to offer love and generosity of spirit to all I meet, but there will b
e a sword at my side in case that generosity and love are not reciprocated.'
Bane nodded agreement. 'How does Cara feel about this?' 'How do you think?' responded Maro, with a grin.
CHAPTER TEN
'Can I count on your support?' Jasaray asked Bendegit Bran, as the two met for the last time, on the steps of the Imperial Palace. Fiallach was waiting with the horses and the ten-man Honour Guard that was to accompany them to the city gates.
'I have much enjoyed our visit, Majesty,' said Bran, 'and it was a great privilege to meet you. I thank the gods that you survived the assassination attempt, and am honoured that it was a Rigante warrior who aided you on that fateful night. I shall report faithfully to my king everything you have said, and it is my hope that the days of enmity between our peoples are at an end.'
Jasaray took his arm and walked with him down the steps. 'Wars are sometimes necessary, and often inevitable,' said the emperor. 'But Stone has enemies far closer to home than Connavar of the Rigante. Tell him this. And assure him of my good wishes.'
Bran bowed, then stepped into the saddle. Fiallach also bowed. Jasaray looked into the warrior's eyes. 'I think you will be glad to be heading home,' he said. 'I fear that city life does not suit you.'
'I have a longing for the mountains,' admitted Fiallach.
'Caer Druagh is said to be very beautiful,' said Jasaray.
'If you visit us, as a friend, I will take you riding in the countryside, the high woods and the valleys,' promised Fiallach.
'That would be most pleasant,' said Jasaray.
Bran touched heels to his mount and they rode slowly from the palace, the silver-clad Honour Guard marching behind them. An hour later they cleared the gates, and took the horses into a light run across the western hills. Drawing rein at the top Bendegit Bran gazed back at the city of Stone.