Barran dropped down heavily into a chair, leant back, and looked at the elaborate array of angled and irregular-shaped mirrors lining the wall in front of him. By each one was a decorated circular grille. He had been there for some time, but still he could barely believe what he was seeing. It was the culmination of an incredible day.
Even without this room, the whole of the Jyolan building was amazing! How could the Kyrosdyn have owned it for so long and done so little with it? When he had been merely a casual Pitside spectator he had seen the potential of the place, with its remarkable arena and enormous, largely unused audience space. Later, as his interest had grown, he had done careful calculations to assess its real worth. But, as today had passed, these calculations had been set at naught and his estimate of the value of the place had grown considerably. And the discovery of this room had set even his new evaluation at naught.
The Kyrosdyn’s neglect of the Jyolan puzzled him, but their failure to use this room defied him utterly. It needed no sophisticated thinker to see its value in the scheming world of Arash-Felloren’s incessant power struggles, yet the lock had been rusted almost solid and, when it was finally freed, the door had opened into a room that was thick with dust. No one had been in it for years.
He smiled broadly. It was a sight few had ever seen. So much had come to fruition so quickly. Even now he found it difficult to grasp all that had happened in one day. It was as though a boulder blocking a choked river had just been torn free and he was being swept along on an uncontrollable torrent that would carry him from high and spartan mountain plains down into lush and fertile valleys.
For months he had been quietly pushing at the owners of the Jyolan – or those he thought to be owners – and there had been no response. Nothing but evasiveness and indifference. It was a perfect reflection of the way the place was run, but it made no sense. As a business it was obviously bumping along, barely making a profit, and slowly, but quite perceptibly, deteriorating in every way. He had offered them all manner of different deals, from various forms of silent partnership to outright purchase. He would put money into the place, get a decent Master, some better animals, smarten the place up. He had threatened and cajoled, gently and reasonably persuaded… but all to no avail. He had been on the verge of resorting to direct violence when, during one of their routine meetings to discuss the crystal trade, Rostan had made a casual remark about the one-sided negotiations. It was unusual, because Rostan did not make casual remarks – especially when discussing business. Barran, as was his way, had confined news of his interest in the Jyolan to only his immediate officers, so Rostan’s comment had been to tell him that the Kyrosdyn were involved and were interested in his proposals. This having been declared, albeit covertly, Barran knew that the negotiations should continue.
He was both impressed and concerned by Rostan’s timing – the Highest must have been watching developments keenly, but was he, Barran, becoming so predictable? It was a salutary reminder that although he had a long and relatively stable relationship with the Kyrosdyn, he should never take them for granted. He did not remotely understand what drove them but he knew that their power was far greater than they allowed generally to be known, and their commitment to their own self-interest was total. All were pawns in Arash-Felloren.
The peculiar reticence of the Jyolan’s apparent owners now made sense. The Kyrosdyn were obsessive in all things, rarely doing anything openly or directly. Barran knew then that his pursuit of the Jyolan would go the way of all his negotiations with them – it would be convoluted and slow. He had learned to deal with that through the years, and he immediately abandoned his intention for more direct action. Nothing would be gained from it, and much could be lost. The Kyrosdyn would deal with him, either directly or indirectly, when they were ready and not before. All he had to do was persist with his approaches and ensure that he assessed their financial need accurately when they finally succumbed – and, for all he did not understand their motivation, he was good at that now, his normally taciturn exterior disguising an obsessive deviousness of his own.
Why they should be interested in having him involved with the Jyolan was a question that he knew was not worth pursuing. Perhaps they wanted to keep close to him because of his increasing control over the mining and distribution of the crystals. Perhaps it was for some completely different reason. Still, it did not matter – it was sufficient that both parties now knew where they stood. All that would be needed now was patience and watchfulness.
He had thus been more than surprised at the startling suddenness of the Kyrosdyn’s actions today. It was unprecedented and, even now, he wondered what vital signals he had missed in all the confusion.
There had been the summons to attend on Imorren. That was a fairly rare event in itself, but being marked ‘urgent’ made it unique. There was, of course, no indication of what she wanted to discuss, but he had gone to the Vaskyros immediately and without questioning the messenger. He had met Imorren several times in the past. In the early days she had tried to oppose him as he had begun taking control of the distribution of the crystals, but she had been too late. By then, having carefully studied the demand for the strange rocks, he had quietly dealt with almost all the disparate groups who dominated the miners, and replaced them with his own men. He had allowed a few to remain and operate, on the grounds that should he gain absolute control, his various enemies would almost certainly unite against him. As it was, there were sufficient crystals being traded outside his control to keep them all divided.
Since his first meeting with Imorren, when he had shown her the benefits of stability in the crystal trade, he had had no serious problem with the Kyrosdyn; each had an interest in ensuring the well-being of the other, and though never overtly stated, this was clearly understood. Nevertheless, Imorren disturbed him. Over the years, he had seen no change in her physically – no subtle, hardening lines in her face, no filling out of her form. And she had always looked far younger than the age that her known history in the city indicated. But more than that, he had always found her unsettling to be with. For a long time he wondered why he felt no attraction to her. She was undeniably beautiful but, whenever he was with her, a coldness rose up inside him to forbid all thoughts of desire. Was it something in those searching grey eyes? Or that fine, too-symmetrical face? Or that serpentine quality in her movement? He had never found the reason, and he had long given up searching for it. Perhaps it was no more than his natural instinct for survival. To be in any way emotionally attached to Imorren would have soon seen him under her sway, and turned from a near equal into a mere vassal. He would not have won the wealth and power he had today. Indeed, he could have been dead.
Still, it was curious. And insofar as he could pretend to understand her – the most impenetrable of the Kyrosdyn – he sensed too that she was as puzzled as he by this strange distance between them.
Meeting her today however, he knew that he had the advantage in whatever bargain was to be struck – and there was a bargain to be struck or she would not have contacted him in such a manner. As she entered the room, he could feel her agitation, even though her appearance was as calm as ever. He stood up and paused deliberately, looking squarely at her.
‘You asked to see me, Ailad.’
‘You wish to acquire the Jyolan?’
Sitting staring at the mirrors, Barran congratulated himself again that he had managed to avoid any reaction to this brusque question. Such directness he had never known from any Kyrosdyn, not even from the novices whom he occasionally met in his day-to-day dealings with them.
Having taken this first assault without responding, he had been tempted to make an evasive reply to see how much further Imorren’s directness might go. But a wiser part of him reminded him who and what she was, and that if she was being so blunt, she was telling him that she had a genuinely urgent need and if he did not fulfil it, and fulfil it now, someone would be found who would. He knew well enough that his worth to the Kyrosdyn was a matter of balance. If, for example, they considered anarchy in the crystal trade to be to their advantage, they would not hesitate to have him assassinated. Thus he must accept her message and reciprocate.
‘Yes,’ he said simply.
There was no hesitation in what followed.
‘It is yours for…’ She quoted a price that was almost exactly what he had hoped to pay in the end. Again he wondered how predictable he was becoming. ‘But…’
The word pinioned the elation that was starting to well up in him.
‘You must open it tonight – fully, and with a Loose Pit. We shall provide you with suitable animals for the closing contest.’
Looking back, he felt a twinge of regret for his slight faltering at this point. He should have just bowed and left. As it was, he fumbled into details. ‘I shall need the full co-operation of the present staff,’ and it was she who bowed and left, answering the request with a curt nod – and was that a hint of irritation, or triumph? Details were for other, lesser fry to deal with.
He had lost that part of the confrontation certainly, but he had no serious regrets. It had been a well-laid ambush and he had handled himself quite well, all things considered. Years of secrecy and deviousness on the part of the Kyrosdyn had made him ignore the possibility that one day they would resort to directness. He shook his head and smiled to himself again. There was always something to be learned – or, more correctly – to be re-learned. Whatever Imorren had gained from their bargain, he may or may not discover in due course; it was of no great concern. All that mattered now was that he had the Jyolan, and for the price that he wanted.
Not that the scaling of the bargain had been easy. Imorren’s demand for a Loose Pit in a matter of hours had been a taxing one, and Barran’s current euphoria was tempered by physical fatigue as a consequence. Tentative plans, made in anticipation of the ultimate acquisition of the Jyolan were dragged out, ruthlessly pruned, and implemented with unprecedented vigour; Barran himself at his finest, coaxing and menacing alternately, as each problem required.
The least of these had been announcing that a Loose Pit was to be held. As Rinter had told Pinnatte, news somehow seemed to travel amongst the followers of the Loose Pits faster than it could be carried by a good horseman, and so it had proved. More problematic had been the gathering of decent animals. Here, the senior Kyrosdyn Brother who had appeared from nowhere to give him a bunch of keys and, ‘to be of service, friend Barran’, had proved to be invaluable. His actions had confirmed finally to Barran the truth of the long-established rumour about the Kyrosdyn’s considerable interest in the fighting animals themselves. He was also heartened by the man’s arrival because it clearly indicated Imorren’s desire for his success in the venture. However, the thought of the Ailad’s directness after so many years of intricate deviousness, buzzed about him all day like an unseen and irritating insect, though he dared not take the time to pause and think about it.
The most difficult problems had arisen from the neglected condition of the building and the revelation of its confusing and complex layout. Even now, Barran was not entirely certain that everyone had returned from the crowds that he sent in to move years of accumulated rubbish, and to hang lamps and mark the ways to the various balconies. And, despite Imorren’s tacit agreement about co-operation, the existing staff had been precious little use. Sluggish and dilatory by dint of years of practice, they did not fully grasp Barran’s sense of urgency until he sent two of them sprawling. Even then they added little but confusion, seeming to know almost nothing about the building other than what lay on the ground floor and basement where the animals were held before fighting.
Only one was of any real value – a frail, wizened individual who remembered ‘the place, like it used to be. Long before they came, with their frosty ways.’ He it was who guided Barran’s men through the maze of passages to the different balconies, though, to his initial alarm but subsequent delight, they had to carry him much of the way.
When they returned him from this tour of the building he refused the handsome sum that Barran offered him with an airy wave. There was a sparkle in his eye that Barran hoped would be in his when he reached that age.
‘Put it away. Put it away,’ the old man said excitedly. ‘I should be paying you. Waited years for this. Seen the place going down – tragic.’ He cast a significant glance at the back of the Kyrosdyn, talking to someone nearby, and, laying a confidential hand on Barran’s arm, beckoned him to bend down. ‘There’s other places here thatyou need to know about,’ he whispered, giving a massive wink and touching a finger to his lips. ‘One, very special.’
‘Show me,’ Barran said quietly.
The old man had led him along more twisting, winding tunnels, showing him lines of small rooms that, to Barran, could have been private quarters, and a series of larger rooms which might once have been dormitories.
‘What are these?’ he asked, as they came to one of them.
The old man shrugged. ‘I’ve seen them used as store rooms, junk rooms, meeting halls, quarters for special guests, all sorts of things, but what they were originally, I’ve no idea.’ The admission of ignorance seemed to offend him and his manner became defensive. ‘Course, no one knows what this place was built for… or even when.’ He lowered his voice. ‘But it’s a queer place, you know. There’s some say these tunnels actually move.’ He put his hand into one of the circular openings in the wall. ‘Especially these small ones.’ He removed his hand and wiped it on his trousers. ‘Can’t say I believe it myself, but I’ve seen and heard more than a few things here over the years that didn’t make any sense, so…’ He left the sentence unfinished and looked up at the arching ceiling. ‘And I’ve always had the feeling that the place is bigger inside than outside.’
‘It’s just confusing,’ Barran said, becoming a little impatient at what he took to be the old man’s ramblings. ‘I don’t think there’s a straight line in the place. It’s difficult to keep your sense of direction.’
But the old man was not listening. He was wandering off again, motioning Barran to follow. As they neared the door at the far end of the corridor, the Kyrosdyn came through it. He gave a display to indicate that he had been looking for Barran for some time and, ignoring the old man, walked fussily up to him and took his arm to direct him back the way he had come. ‘I think you should look at the large cats that have just arrived. I’m not sure…’ He staggered slightly as Barran did not respond to the pressure on his arm.
‘In a moment,’ Barran said, catching a plea in the old man’s face.
‘But…’
‘In a moment,’ Barran said sharply, with a look that forbade any further debate.
There was a brief flash of anger in the Kyrosdyn’s eyes, but he turned away quickly and gave a sulky shrug.
Then they had come to the room he was now sitting in. As they neared it, the Kyrosdyn became increasingly agitated. ‘I’ll look at the animals shortly,’ Barran told him, though more by way of a goad than a reassurance, sensing that this was not the cause of the man’s concern.
At the door the Kyrosdyn had stepped forward and, taking the keys from Barran, had selected one and inserted it in the lock. His manner was one of strained helpfulness and, to Barran, seemed to be covering something approaching desperation. This continued as he made a half-hearted attempt at turning the key before he yanked it out, announcing, ‘It won’t move. It’s probably broken, or rusted.’ He turned to walk away, adding off-handedly, ‘Besides, this room was never used.’
Intrigued by the man’s anxiety, Barran laid a gently restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll have someone work on the lock. It won’t take a moment. Some of my men are very good at that kind of thing.’ He became hearty. ‘Failing that, we’ll break in.’
Though the Kyrosdyn said nothing further, Barran could feel his nervousness. He took some delight in it. He traded with these people, but he had never liked them. They were a cold, twitchy lot, and to see one struggling to conceal ordinary human emotions appealed to him.
‘They never liked this place,’ the old man whispered to him as his men were working on the door. ‘It scares them. Don’t know what it is, but when they first came here, they took one look at it, then sealed it, and never came near it again.’ Barran nodded.
When the door finally creaked open, the old man grabbed a lamp from one of the men and with a command, ‘You lot wait here,’ stepped inside, drawing Barran after him. At first, the room seemed no different from many others he had been shown, though along one wall was a decorated timber panel. Before he could speak, the old man took hold of the edge of the panel and heaved on it. Barran watched for a moment, then helped him. The panel slid reluctantly to one side.
The old man stepped back and held the lamp high. For a moment, the wall looked like the many-faceted eye of a huge insect as row upon row of dusty mirrors – or what appeared to be mirrors – sparkled in the lamplight. The Kyrosdyn, who had followed them, hissed audibly and stepped back quickly into the doorway. Placing the door between himself and the mirrors, he lifted a hand to the collar of his robe and pressed, almost as though he were testing his pulse.
Then, looking constantly over his shoulder at the door, the old man was softly explaining something to Barran. There was a grille by each mirror. The old man clicked his fingers and demanded, ‘Keys, keys!’ of his increasingly wide-eyed companion. Barran hurriedly retrieved them from the Kyrosdyn and watched in continuing amazement as the old man showed him how the grilles worked. He moved very close to Barran. ‘I might be old, but I’m not stupid. I know what a man like you can do with a place like this.’ He became almost inaudible as he directed a discreet but scornful finger towards the figure hovering behind the door. ‘Me, you and them. We’re the only ones who know about this place. They won’t say anything. Look at him – I told you, the place scares them witless. I won’t say anything – I’m just glad the Jyolan’s in good hands again…’
‘I won’t be saying anything either,’ Barran said, anticipating the advice he was about to be given. His mind was reeling with the impact of what he had just seen and heard. Opportunities upon opportunities were unfurling one within another in a great confusion. But the background to this ferment was simple and clear – this room must be his and his alone. ‘And I won’t forget who showed it to me.’
The remark was wilfully ambiguous, for even as he was speaking he was considering having the old man and those who had opened the door killed. The thought was a natural one for him, but he did not consider it for long. Killing the men would cause far more problems than it solved, and who could say what else this old man knew about the Jyolan? He placed a defending arm about the frail shoulders and drew him close. ‘I’m in your debt,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’
As he had refused money earlier, so the old man gave a dismissive wave. ‘I told you, I’m just happy to see the place waking up again. And now you’ve got it, you’ll really look after the Jyolan, won’t you?’
Barran looked at him doubtfully. ‘You want nothing?’
‘Well, a good place, Pitside, regular, would be nice,’ the old man conceded.
‘It’s done.’
The old man beamed.
‘And come to me if you find you want anything else.’
The pressures of organizing the Loose Pit had obliged Barran to leave the room after this declaration, though he had found it far from easy. It was not until much later that he had been able to return and reflect on what he had been shown.
He looked at the array in front of him, tapping his lips with the key that the old man had given him. Leaning forward, he inserted the key into a hole in one of the grilles, and turned it. It was very stiff, but eventually it moved and voices began to float into the room. They were echoing and strange, but they were clear enough. He listened for a moment, then closed the grille, and his normally immobile face was briefly split by a smile which was full of both childlike wonder and cunning anticipation.
On each of the mirrors could be seen not a reflection of himself, but some part of the Jyolan Pits. And from the grilles could be heard the sounds from that same place. He sat back and took in the scene as though he were an emperor viewing his domain from a mountain top. Some of the mirrors were still and dark, others were alive with activity. But from here he knew that he would be able to watch and listen to almost everything that happened in the Jyolan in complete secrecy. He could ensure that the Master and the Judges were doing as they had been instructed, note the trends in the wagering, see who was there with whom, especially who was there with someone they shouldn’t be with, and he would hear what they were talking about – all the fragments of information that would be so important to him in his expanding business. His early career as a mercenary had taught him the importance of good intelligence not only in fighting, but in making deals, and he had put that knowledge to considerable effect since coming to the city.
He had heard that there were supposed to be devices in some of the older buildings which enabled scenes to be viewed and overheard from a distance and in complete secrecy. Arash-Felloren, however, was full of such nonsensical tales, and he rarely gave any of them credence. The people here were greatly given to exaggeration about the wonders of their precious city and, in his experience, it gave them at times a gullibility remarkably at odds with their normally sharp and shrewd nature. It was no great surprise to him that they would find it easier to accept that some of the major political changes which had swept the city through its long history were due to these fantastical mirror and echo ways rather than the patient treachery and convoluted cunning of their own kind. But here were those self-same devices, just as the gossips and tale-tellers had always declared.
Briefly he wondered how many other of the city’s wild tales might prove to be true – precious few, he trusted, since some of them were extremely alarming. Though the thought was almost immediately swept aside by the many other matters vying for his attention, it twisted a tiny cold knot of fear deep in the pit of his stomach before it left. There were so many strange things in this city! However, even this chilling acknowledgement could not survive long in the heat of Barran’s elation. Not now that this incredible room was all his!
But he must clean the place up. The mirrors were covered with a film of dust. He reached out and made to wipe one of them with his sleeve. To his horror it quivered then moved, and the view it was reflecting blurred and vanished. He snatched his hand away fearfully and, for an instant, saw his new future crumble in the wake of his careless destruction of this incredible acquisition. But the mirror slowly sighed back to its original position. He let out the painful breath he had been holding and pressed his hands together to stop them shaking. Then, very carefully, he took the surprisingly thick edge of the mirror between his thumb and forefinger and supported it while gently cleaning it with a kerchief. It misted as his breath touched it and the image faltered slightly, revealing a faint reflection of his anxious face, but it steadied almost as soon as he released it.
He made a note that one day he would have to find out how these things worked. He was never comfortable with things whose workings he did not understand, particularly if he was relying on them for anything important. Once he had been given charge of an elaborate siege engine and, full of youthful pride and believing the claims of the inventor, had made wild claims about its value in a forthcoming assault. ‘What’ll you do when the string breaks?’ an old sapper had sneered to general amusement at the height of one such peroration. Stung, he had sneered back, and in the subsequent melee had killed the sapper. Subsequently, the machine proved to be not only useless, but dangerous to its operators, and the mocking comment had returned to bite deep into him. Like a barbed arrow, it had stayed with him ever since. He rarely relied on anyone absolutely. Even now he always carried several knives and, though he had had little cause to carry a bow for many years, he still had two spare bow strings secreted in different pockets.
Yet, unusually, he could think of no one to whom he might turn with such a problem, save perhaps the old man, though he suspected that he knew only that the Ways were there and what they did. Indeed, he suspected that the strange irregular mirrors and their grilles were perhaps beyond anything that the craftsmen of today’s city could even aspire to. His doubts broadened into certainty. There would be no one. He could not even think of anyone who could construct the building, with its innumerable twisting tunnels and passages and alarming balconies. And if there were someone who understood the mirrors, there was the problem of secrecy – whoever learned of this device would have valuable information – too valuable. Grim amusement bubbled up within him. That was probably the very reason why no one knew how to make such devices now!
He set the problem aside with all the others that the day had brought. It was not important at the moment. He could clean the mirrors himself, and it was encouraging that, even though they had probably not been used for many years, they seemed to work perfectly.
He relaxed and once again admired his new dominion. Several of the mirrors showed the arena from different angles. After a little searching, and more careful cleaning, he found the old man, incongruous amid the conspicuous wealth that stood around him, but smiling happily. Barran chuckled as he saw an attractive young woman engaging him in conversation. Probably thinks he’s a rich eccentric, he thought. He had a suspicion that the old man was not as frail as he made out and that he was going to get more than a good Pitside place for his efforts. Barran reached out to open the grille by the mirror, then changed his mind.
He turned to the other mirrors showing the Pitside. Even though he knew that he was both too excited and too tired to make rational plans, he could not stop himself from speculating and scheming as he looked at the wealth and power that was gathered around his arena. He let the ideas come and go for a while, though he deliberately avoided dwelling on any of them. Then, reluctantly, he drew the timber panel over the mirrors and left the room, carefully locking the door and placing the key in a safe pocket.
As he walked along the dimly lit passages his physical fatigue began to take its toll and his thoughts reverted to more immediate concerns. Not least was the matter of why the Kyrosdyn had suddenly decided to sell. Why had they not used the place to its full? Surely they must know what they had given him! They must want him to become even richer and more powerful than he already was. But why?
He stopped and straightened up, and made an attempt to dismiss these unanswerable questions once and for all. Just get through this day successfully – go and check the animals in the basement – go and check the takings. As he paused, the sound of cheering from the arena floated along the passageway. As it passed, it left a lingering echo like a low moan. It was like the sound that could sometimes be heard in the Thlosgaral, and the old memory made Barran shiver. He looked around at the many dark orifices pocking the walls and the ceiling and even the floor. They looked like so many eyes.
Could it be that someone, somewhere, was watching and listening tohim?