‘Come on, move yourself. It’s nearly dawn.’
Dvolci’s deep voice rumbled cavernously through the slumbering darkness where Atlon was floating. It provoked a response that Atlon felt was lucidity itself, but it was a distant and unintelligible grunt that actually drifted into the gloomy Wyndering room. There was an exasperated sigh, then a significantly more purposeful, ‘Move yourself,’ accompanied by a poke at the form under the blankets.
Atlon repeated the grunt more slowly and waved a vaguely defensive arm towards his tormentor, but otherwise did not stir. The poke was contemplated again but abandoned in favour of a vigorous shaking. Atlon swore into his pillow then plunged his head underneath it.
Dvolci chuckled darkly, ‘Lie there, if you wish then. But you’ve made better choices. “Mattress was given a good beating only last week”.’ It was an alarmingly accurate imitation of Ghreel’s voice. ‘A beating, no less. There’s house pride for you. I wonder what a bed bug with a headache thinks about people sharing its home.’
Atlon, abruptly awake, emerged from under the pillow and rolled over sourly, scratching himself. ‘It’s not even dawn yet,’ he grumbled. A nerve-jangling grinding sound filled the room, making him clamp his hands over his ears.
‘Must you do that?’
‘It’s my breakfast,’ came the injured reply. ‘Do you want some?’
Atlon forced himself to focus on his companion in the dim light. Narrow taunting eyes met his bleary gaze. Dvolci was sitting on his haunches and leaning forward intently. His sinuous body ended in a pointed head which was tilted ingenuously to one side. A taloned paw was offering Atlon a heavily scored piece of rock. Atlon scowled. ‘Get off my chest, I’m awake now.’
Dvolci slithered gracefully to the floor. He began chewing the rock again, revealing white and alarming teeth. Atlon grimaced at the noise and swung out of the bed.
‘You’d think with all your learning, especially with your knowledge of the Power…’ Dvolci hung mockery about the word. ‘… you’d be able to wake up in a more civilized manner – greet the world with a little cheerfulness, perhaps.’ He stopped chewing and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. ‘It’s almost as if you reverted to something more primitive when you went to sleep. Of course, you’re not alone in that. It seems to be a very common human trait. Mind you, I’ve always thought that…’
‘… humans are not a particularly well-evolved species yet.’ Atlon finished the sentence as he slouched over to the stone sink and began pumping the handle. ‘Unlike the felcis, they have no teeth worth speaking of, rather inadequate hands, and a quite pathetic digestive system, as I remember.’
Dvolci nodded sagely. ‘Yes, indeed. One wonders at times how you’ve all managed to get this far considering such disadvantages.’ He crunched the remains of the rock nosily. ‘Still, don’t fret, you’re quite endearing on the whole. And your imperfections can sometimes add to your charm.’
‘At least we don’t irritate people by being brisk and hearty when we wake.’ Atlon plunged his face into the cold water to end the conversation.
Dvolci delicately picked his teeth while Atlon washed and dressed.
‘Where shall we go first?’ he asked eventually.
Atlon thought for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I’m no wiser about that than when we started,’ he said. ‘We’ll just have to keep asking and following the trade route back to its source – if it has only one source.’ He frowned. ‘I must admit, I’m surprised we’ve never heard of this city on our travels… what was it – Arash-Felloren? Does the name mean anything to you?’
‘There’s something vaguely familiar about it. It’s got an old sound – very old – but I can’t place it.’ The felci gave a dismissive shrug. ‘It’s probably only a small town when all’s said and done. You know how parochial people are – everyone thinks that their village is the centre of the whole world.’
Atlon looked doubtful. ‘This is a big inn to serve a small town.’
‘Well, we might learn something over breakfast. There are quite a few other people staying here.’
Atlon’s expression changed to one of surprise. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I looked, of course,’ Dvolci replied. ‘While you were comatose in your pit I had a good prowl around the place.’ His voice rose. ‘And don’t look at me like that. One of us has to stay alert. You know how treacherous your kind can be. This could be a den of thieves and murderers for all we know.’
Atlon buckled on his sword. ‘I can look after myself quite well, thank you.’
Dvolci snorted. ‘Half a day with the Queen’s elite troops doesn’t make you a warrior, you know,’ he said. ‘Especially when all you did was raid an empty fortress.’
‘It could have been very dangerous.’ Atlon protested defensively. ‘And it was more than half a day. I spent a lot of time with them – as you know. They were quite impressed by me.’
Dvolci gave a scornful whistle. ‘You mean they remembered you vividly – it’s not the same thing.’
Atlon straightened up. ‘Impressed. Their word, not mine. They said I was a very quick learner.’
Dvolci moved to the door. ‘Why don’t you try learning to wake up in the morning then.’
Breakfast at The Wyndering was both constant and variable. Constant in that Ghreel and the fare he served each week were always the same, variable in that those present on any two consecutive days were rarely the same.
Not that the latter was anything to do with the former, for Ghreel, oddly enough, was a remarkably competent cook. It was simply the location of the inn, which stood at a busy crossroads. All the traffic between the Wilde Ports and Arash-Felloren passed by it, as did such traffic as moved through the region north and south.
Thus, though he had imagined himself to be a solitary guest the previous evening, Atlon now found himself in a room with a score or so others, all busily eating at four long tables. Some were grouped together, others sat alone, but that they were all travellers was apparent from their dress and general demeanour. Beyond that however, Atlon could not deduce anything about their various trades and professions. Nevertheless, he was relieved to note that they appeared to be an improvement on the group that had been decorating the place on his arrival. Two boys and, occasionally, Ghreel, were moving amongst them, serving food.
Atlon sat down at the end of one of the tables. Dvolci jumped up beside him. The man sitting opposite started slightly but Ghreel, who was lumbering by, gave an almost feminine cry.
‘What the hell’s that?’
The general hubbub dropped and all eyes turned towards him.
He answered his own question. ‘It’s a rat!’
Embarrassed, but managing a smile as he met Ghreel’s gaze, Atlon forced himself to be pleasant. ‘It’s a he, and he’s a felci. He travels with me. He’s my companion.’
‘Not here he’s not. He – it – isn’t staying in my inn.’
Atlon looked around the room. There were at least three dogs lying under the tables. ‘The dogs stay,’ he said.
But Ghreel was not going to bandy words with this know-all teacher from far away. Momentarily forgetting Atlon’s easy way of paying, he leaned forward menacingly. ‘Get it out of here, or I’ll throw it out.’
‘You don’t know anything about felcis, do you?’ Atlon said. He motioned to a passing boy for food in the hope that morning routine might divert his irate host. Then he laid a hand on Dvolci’s sleek neck. ‘It’s not a good idea to touch him. Felcis are a highly intelligent species and they don’t like being mishandled. They’re deep rock-dwellers, and…’
‘I know a rat when I see one.’
There was a flicker of impatience in Atlon’s eyes but he kept his tone conciliatory. ‘Then when you look a little more carefully, you’ll see that he isn’t one, won’t you? Look at him. He’s nothing like a rat. He…’
Ghreel however, was not listening. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. One of the dogs pricked up its ears, then scrabbled to its feet and sauntered over to him. It was a large, muscular animal with torn ears and scars on its face bearing witness to its history as a fighter. Atlon gave Dvolci an inquiring look. The felci gave a slight nod and Atlon edged resignedly away from him.
Ghreel seized the dog by the chain around its neck and turned it towards Dvolci.
‘See it off!’
Immediately, the dog set up a great clamour, barking furiously, its paws scrabbling on the rough floor as it pulled against Ghreel’s grip in an attempt to reach its prey. The big man staggered as he struggled to restrain it. Atlon looked anxious but Dvolci seemed unconcerned by the uproar, sitting on his haunches and peering curiously about the room.
‘Get it out of here or I’ll let him go,’ Ghreel shouted to Atlon above the din.
Atlon was about to reply when Dvolci gave a low whistle and turned towards the dog. As if seeing it for the first time he began to stare at it intently, tilting his head first one way, then the other. The dog redoubled its outcry at the challenge. Dvolci continued staring for a little while then dropped gently on to all fours and, crouching low, began to crawl slowly along the bench.
‘Quietly, if you can,’ Atlon hissed between clenched teeth as the felci crawled over his knees.
Dvolci made no response, but stopped briefly about two paces from the dog. Then, without warning, he leapt forward. There was a collective gasp from all those who could see him, and more than a few jerked their feet off the ground in a very unmanly anticipation of a wild flight by the felci. But it was suddenly quiet. In between frantic barks, the dog had found itself nose to nose with the felci and, for some reason, had lost interest in its loudly announced intention. Though all that could be heard was the felci’s whistling, now very soft, the dog’s ears flattened against its head, its tail curled tightly and protectively between its legs, and it dropped to the floor with a whimper. So sudden was this collapse that Ghreel almost overbalanced.
It took the innkeeper a moment to grasp what had happened, then he swore at the dog and yanked violently on its chain. But to no avail – the dog remained motionless, its head turned away from Dvolci. Eventually Ghreel drew back his foot to kick it.
‘No!’ Atlon cried. ‘Leave it. I told you you didn’t know anything about felcis. It’s lucky your dog had a bit more sense. It could have been cut open from nose to tail by now.’ Suddenly he was on his feet, very angry. ‘And what the hell were you playing at anyway? Do you always set the dogs on to anything you happen not to have seen before? Is that the way travellers are treated at The Wyndering?’ He waved an arm across the watching room.
Dvolci, leaving the scene of his triumph, gently bumped into the irate Atlon as he trotted back along the bench. ‘Quietly,’ he said, softly and with heavy irony.
‘Get me my breakfast,’ Atlon demanded to conclude his tirade, then he sat down. ‘And be quick about it. I’ve paid enough for it.’
Ghreel was in no mood to argue. The unceremonious rout of his best dog, and the intensity of Atlon’s sudden and righteous outburst had left him feeling exposed and foolish. He affected an indifference to what was said about him beyond the limits of The Wyndering, but he knew that he had just made a mistake, not least in underestimating Atlon and that stupid animal. He was known for dealing ‘firmly’ with troublesome customers, but news of his subjecting one of his guests to such unjustified violence could spread like a grass fire and do his business great harm. He let go of the dog, which scurried quickly to the far end of the room, then he aimed an angry blow at one of the passing boys. Apparently used to such treatment, the boy ducked and continued on his business, barely missing a step.
The various travellers returned to their meals but now the atmosphere was alive with chatter as, in the wake of the tension, they became as familiar with each other as old friends, telling the tale of what they had just seen to one another over and over. There was a great deal of laughter and knowing head-nodding, and eyes turned repeatedly to examine Dvolci and Atlon.
‘Heading for the fighting pits, are you?’
The question had to be repeated before Atlon realized it had been addressed to him. It came from the man sitting opposite. Atlon apologized awkwardly then, as the words impinged on him.
‘Fighting pits? What are they?’
The man gave him an uncertain, half-amused, half-suspicious look. ‘The fighting pits,’ he echoed, almost as if he had been asked where the sky was. ‘Everyone’s heard of them.’
Atlon shook his head. ‘Not me, I’m afraid. I come from far away.’
The man nodded. ‘I suspected as much when you were so polite to Ghreel. You staying here long?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m travelling south for… some friends, but I’ll need to find work locally to pay my way.’
The man gave him another look then seemed to reach a decision. He rested his arms on the table and leaned forward confidentially. ‘It’s perhaps as well you bumped into me, then,’ he said. ‘You have to be careful around here, you know. There are plenty of people who’re only too willing to take advantage of a stranger such as yourself.’ He leaned further forward and lowered his voice. ‘But I think I can help you.’ He looked at Dvolci and touched the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘I know my fighting animals, and that… is a fighting animal. He’s not big, I’ll grant you, but he’s got it inside, you see. Heart. Guts. That quality only other animals can see.’
‘Other animals, and you.’
Atlon, struggling to understand what the man was talking about, started slightly. It was his voice, but he had not spoken. Dvolci looked up at him innocently.
‘Exactly,’ the man replied, not realizing who had spoken and apparently not noting the sarcasm. ‘Experience, you see. Saw it as soon as your… what is it?… Felci?… looked at that dog. I saw what Ghreel didn’t… the muscles under that fur, those claws, the teeth.’ There was unfeigned admiration in his voice. ‘And the way it moved. It’s intelligent too – look at how it’s watching everything. You’ve got a fortune waiting for you in that animal, trust me.’
Still bewildered and a little fearful that Dvolci might intercede on his behalf again, Atlon said, ‘I’m sorry if I seem foolish, but I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.’
The man waved the remark aside airily. ‘Strange you’ve never heard of the fighting pits,’ he said. ‘But there’s nothing much to understand.’ He tapped his head. ‘Doesn’t tax the brain. Animals fight in the pit, and people bet on them.’
Atlon’s breakfast appeared in front of him but he scarcely noticed it. He was having difficulty in believing what he had just heard. ‘You mean, people wager money on one animal killing another?’ he asked uncomfortably.
The man shook his head reassuringly. ‘Oh no, there’s not always a killing.’ He smirked and returned to his meal. ‘Lot of money goes into training a good fighter. Can’t afford to risk losing them too easily, can you? No, people just bet on which will win.’ He tapped the table as he spoke. ‘People’ll bet a fortune on a good fight.’
A sharp flick from Dvolci’s tail and a soft whistle told Atlon to restrain his incipient indignation and to listen and learn. In deference to the felci’s command, he managed not to speak, but his hands were shaking as he began to eat.
‘I wouldn’t have thought the authorities would allow something like that,’ he said, after a while.
The man laughed outright, in genuine amusement, spraying food. ‘Authorities! What authorities? No one has authority over Arash-Felloren. Quite a few think they do – the Prefect, the Council, the noble families and the like.’ He gave the word noble a scornful emphasis. ‘And a lot more would like to – the trading houses, the Weartans, the Kyrosdyn, the Guilds – all looking after themselves. But it’s everyone for himself, really. Always has been, always will be. Arash-Felloren’s too big for one man to control – even one man and an army.’ He became avuncular and set aside this digression. ‘I can see it’svery fortunate you’ve met me. You must’ve come from far away indeed, by the sound of it. Don’t you worry. No one could stop the pit fights even if they wanted to.’ He rubbed his thumb and first two fingers together knowingly. ‘There’s far too much money to be made at it.’
Atlon chewed his food energetically to hide his increasing agitation. He tried to deflect the conversation. ‘Who are the Kyrosdyn?’ he asked.
The man’s face twisted into an expression of distaste. ‘Crystal-workers,’ he replied. ‘Why?’
‘Crystals I know a little about,’ Atlon said brightly, surprised at his good fortune in encountering this information, and more than a little relieved to have found something that would take him away from the fighting pits. ‘Perhaps there would be work for me with them.’
The man cast an anxious glance at Dvolci then leaned forward again, urgent now. ‘Listen to me. Don’t you have anything to do with them. I’ve heard tell that working with crystals can do strange things to a man, and looking at the Kyrosdyn, I can believe it. They’re a weird bunch. Humourless, scheming devils. Meddling with things they ought to leave alone.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, they have a finger in every part of the political squabbling that goes on. Eternally playing one side off against the other for whatever suits them, though no one seems to see it except us ordinary folk.’
‘Why would they do that?’
The man looked surprised. ‘I don’t know – power, influence, control over the city like I said… who knows? They call themselves artists and craftsmen but they’re no better than all the others really. Worse, in fact. Rumour has it there’s a vast hoard of tints under the Vaskyros – they certainly employ enough guards to protect the place. But they’re always looking to make more money. They’re involved in all sorts of things that have nothing to do with the crystal trade, but always secretly – behind the scenes. If you ask me, they wouldn’t be happy even if they did manage to take over the entire city. They’d want all the Lowe Towns, probably, even the Thlosgaral and the Wilde Ports.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And there’s other things, too. They have… powers.’
He seemed to regret this last remark almost immediately and glanced quickly from side to side, as if even the mention of the Kyrosdyn had brought a malign influence into The Wyndering.
‘Find out more,’ Dvolci’s whistled instruction was urgent.
‘What do you mean, powers?’ Atlon asked bluntly.
The man gave him a startled look.
‘It’s not important,’ Atlon added hastily. ‘I was just curious. I’ve seen all sorts of strange things in my travels, and heard some odd tales, but they all usually come down to trickery and craft in the end. Are you all right? I didn’t mean to alarm you.’
The man bridled slightly. ‘You didn’t alarm me,’ he said, a touch too loudly. ‘But it’s not something that’s talked about a lot. The Kyrosdyn certainly don’t like it. They always deny everything, play the innocent, the injured party. But everyone knows they meddle in things they shouldn’t. They’re queer things, crystals.’
The man fell silent. Though anxious to pursue the topic, Atlon sensed that nothing was to be gained by pressing him. Reluctantly he drew the man back to his original topic.
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Hypocrites. You can find them anywhere. The kind that wouldn’t be seen at your fighting pits, but who’d have someone there making money for them.’ He winked significantly.
The man nodded a confirmation but still seemed to be unsettled by the talk about the Kyrosdyn. The general hubbub of the room came into the awkward silence between them. Atlon was loath to lose this first tenuous contact with the crystal trade. ‘Tell me more about these pits,’ he said, setting aside his distaste and affecting enthusiasm. ‘What kind of animals fight there? Not felcis, surely.’
‘No,’ the man replied, looking relieved. ‘Never seen anything like him before.’ His confidence began to seep back. ‘Mainly it’s like on like – cocks, dogs, cats, horses – fads come and go. But there’re no rules – it’s whatever the owners agree. In fact, a good mixed fight usually attracts a lot of attention.’
‘And thus money,’ Atlon added.
‘Exactly,’ the man replied, fully himself again. He pointed at Dvolci. ‘You see, an animal like that – not big, not fierce-looking and, if I’m any judge after seeing him with that dog, not keen on fighting more than he has to – can do well for his owner. You’d be able to take him from pit to pit and make a lot of money before his reputation got widely known.’
Atlon could not think how to continue the conversation. The man misunderstood his silence. When he spoke again, his tone was almost reverential. ‘Of course, if you’re interested in real fighting – and real betting – you have to go to one of the Loose Pits.’
Atlon looked at him blandly.
‘There’s everything there,’ the man went on, taking Atlon’s continued silence as a question. ‘All the animals that no one will challenge in the ordinary pits.’ His voice fell. ‘And some things the like of which you’d be hard-pressed to dream about. Terrible things. Things that might have been wolves or bears or worse once, but certainly aren’t now.’
Atlon did not need Dvolci’s softly whistled urging. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
Once again, the man looked about him. When he spoke, it was in a whisper. ‘You need to see them to understand. Some say that the Kyrosdyn have actually made these things, but I’ve heard it said that they’re bred from creatures which have been found in the lower depths.’ He pointed a curled finger downwards. ‘You know… in the caves.’ He almost mouthed the words. ‘Lower even than the old tunnels.’
Atlon leaned back. Suddenly he felt very cold. He had countless questions that he wanted to ask, but knew that this man could not answer them even if he had been willing to. ‘This city sounds very interesting,’ he managed to say. ‘Lots of opportunities for an enterprising man.’ He laid his hand on Dvolci.
‘With the right kind of guide,’ the man suggested.
‘Indeed.’ Atlon pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. ‘As I said, I’m on a journey for some friends – travelling south. But it’s not urgent, while my need for work is.’
The man smiled broadly. ‘Work’s the refuge of a desperate man.’ He flicked a thumb at Dvolci. ‘My name’s not Irgon Rinter if good money isn’t to be made by putting that in the pits.’
Atlon shook his head and pushed his plate to one side. ‘I’d need to think about that. I’ve been a long time alone and he’s been good company. I’m very fond of him. I couldn’t throw him into a pit full of those creatures you were talking about.’
The man held up his hands in denial. ‘There’s no question of that,’ he said quickly. ‘To make money in the ordinary pits you try to remain unknown. But to get into the Loose Pits it’s just the opposite. You have to make yourself well known – fight your way up – get a reputation. There’s no money to be made betting on what happens when you just throw a cat to the wolves, is there? And fighter though he might be, he wouldn’t stand a chance against some of the things in the Loose Pits.’
He looked at Atlon narrowly for a moment, then held out his hand. ‘Your name, stranger?’
Atlon took the hand and introduced both himself and Dvolci.
Rinter reached across as if to stroke the felci, then catching Dvolci’s eye, changed his mind. ‘Odd kind of a name,’ he said, with a nervous laugh. ‘But then he’s an odd kind of a creature, isn’t he?’
‘Odd kind of a creature!’
Atlon winced as Dvolci ground his teeth violently and repeated the phrase yet again.
‘You told me to find out about him,’ Atlon protested. ‘And he’s pointed us to the crystal trade. He could be useful.’
‘Yes, yes, yes. I know,’ Dvolci replied irritably. He ground his teeth again and returned to his diatribe. ‘What kind of a creature is it that makes other animals fight just for the spectacle? A human, that’s what. I should’ve torn his blathering head off.’
Atlon knew from experience that there was little point in attempting to stem Dvolci’s onslaught on the character of Rinter and, consequently, humanity in general, but he could not resist a jibe. ‘I thought you didn’t approve of fighting.’
The felci glowered at him, then raised a paw to strike an arbitrary blow at the end of the bed. ‘Don’t damage the furniture,’ Atlon cried hastily. ‘We’re hardly in favour with Ghreel as it is and I’ve no desire to be thrown out of here until we’ve got some more money from somewhere.’
Dvolci blew a violent raspberry, then for no apparent reason ran round the room five times, recklessly bounding over anything that got in his way.
‘Have you finished?’ Atlon asked unnecessarily when he finally came to a halt.
Dvolci shook his head violently, sat on his haunches and began to scratch himself.
‘Sorry,’ he said, after a moment. He looked straight at Atlon. ‘I don’t think you’ve any idea what a difficult species you are to live with.’ His voice was calm and assured now.
Atlon did not argue the point.
‘Bad taste in your mouth again?’ he asked gently.
‘My own fault. I shouldn’t get so angry. Especially about humans. And it’s not as if I didn’t know what you’re like at your worst, is it?’
‘It’s not as if both of us didn’t know,’ Atlon added.
Dvolci jumped up on to the stone sink and began working the handle energetically. When the water started to flow he took several large mouthfuls, gargled noisily and then spat them out. He shook himself vigorously, sending a fine spray of water in all directions.
‘We go with him, though?’ Atlon asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Dvolci replied without hesitation. ‘If the reality of his life matches his gossip, we should learn some interesting things, moving in his circles.’
Atlon voiced his reservations. ‘Not such a small town, after all, by the sound of it. And alarming as well.’
‘You afraid?’
‘Nervous,’ Atlon conceded, pulling a wry face. ‘There are times when I’d much rather be back at the Caves, studying in peace and quiet.’
‘But…?’ Dvolci caught the doubt.
Atlon blew out a long breath and picked up his pack. ‘But the only way to get back to that is to go forwards, isn’t it?’
Dvolci gave a mocking whistle. ‘Very philosophical. You must write that one down.’ Then he was serious again. ‘We must find out all we can about these Kyrosdyn. Some of the things Rinter was saying about them were very alarming. Powers, for pity’s sake. If that means what I think it means… if these people are using crystals to meddle with…’
‘Yes, I know.’ Atlon cut across Dvolci’s concern. ‘But if they are, they are. And they’ll have been doing it for a long time. I’m sure we’ll have no trouble in finding that out. We’ll have to wait and see.’
‘And caves beneath the city – and strange creatures?’
Atlon wiped his hand across his mouth nervously. ‘I don’t even want to think about what that might mean.’
‘We’ll have to find out.’ Dvolci’s tone held no enthusiasm at the prospect.
‘I know, I know,’ Atlon acknowledged grimly. He fluttered his hands as if to dispel an image in the air in front of him. ‘In the meantime we have more pressing problems – like finding a source of income around here.’ He slung his pack on to his back.
A trail of fine dust eddied about his feet as he opened the door. Stepping on to the long balcony, he looked up at the hazy sky and the low bright sun just breaking through the dust that hung permanently over the Thlosgaral. There was an unhealthy, almost feverish quality about it. The promise of a heat that would drain rather than sustain.
‘Yes,’ he said, answering Dvolci’s earlier question. ‘I am afraid.’