The Tower of Sheagil

The Tower of Sheagil

Sequel to 'The White Fox'

R. J. Parkinson

Note: maps and appendices at:

Maps and appendices

Copyright © R. J. Parkinson 2011

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter 1

It was like duelling with a snake. Why did she always put him through this charade whenever he needed anything? It made him angry, but he would never get what he wanted by shouting at her. No. He had to charm the witch.

He stamped up the stairs to the royal apartments where his wife surrounded herself with her confidantes, all of them women, all of them lovely and all of them virgins. And they would have to stay that way as far as he was concerned. With the hold she had over him he could not risk meddling with her women.

Did she have them there just to annoy him? Very likely. Look at this, she was saying. Look, but don’t you dare do anything else, my love.

No. He would not dare. And that was even worse than the affront of the hill folk. She had no right to taunt him. Why couldn’t she be like other women? Why couldn’t she just do what he told her?

He stopped outside the doors and signalled to the two guards to wait opening them while he caught his breath and calmed himself. He breathed deeply and schooled his expression, wiping away the lines of wrath from his brow and replacing them with lines of concern and weariness, keeping his ready smile not far from the corners of his mouth. That smile, used just the right way, could get her to do anything.

He nodded to the guards. They were bigger than he was. Tall Vorthenki brutes from the far north. Hardly civilised. Most people believed that he was the tallest of all the Vorthenki, but most people believed a lot of nonsense.

The doors swung open and beyond was a long room that seemed to be carpeted with ladies in fine silks. Some sat, some lay on the floor. She had arranged them so that the colours of their dresses graduated from reds near the door and moved through the rainbow to meet at her rich blue robes that spread over her central throne. He wondered how long she kept them like that. Was it something she did just before his arrival or did she insist they stay in position for hours at a time for her own pleasure? Probably the latter. He was not the only object of her vindictiveness.

It was important not to look at them, of course. Not even a glance. His eyes were only for her. He was good at observing from the corner of his eye, even when, as required, his eyes lit up at the sight of her. Did one of those women wink at him? Surely not. His wife would kill her with a mere gesture if she were caught.

She always wore blue, even when she did not have a bevy of attendants draped around her. He had asked her why once and she had just laughed at him.

My love! she cooed, as if she were surprised. She was never surprised. She knew everything that happened in the palace, usually before it happened. Although things could be hidden from her if enough care were taken.

My heart, he cried back, carefully tingeing obvious delight to see her again with his distraction.

I have not seen you for days, my love. Your passion wanes, I think. You leave me with these poor fools for company. She flicked a look of disgust at the lovely things surrounding her. Gilish carefully did not follow her gaze.

I hesitate to burden you with my… my own problems, my heart. You know I want you to be always joyful.

Joyful? How can I be joyful when you are gone? How can I know you still love me when I see you not? You vanish from my sight, even my inner sight, and I wonder where you go? What do you do? Who are you with?

Carefully, carefully. She’s asking more than she seems to be asking. Don’t answer the hidden question.

I have been in the West. All the way to the hill country. There have been raids. Folk from the hills cross the great wall and attack the towns there. They say… no, I cannot believe it.

Say it, my love. I must hear all.

It is rumour, just things fearful folk have made up. They asked me if it was your people involved somehow.

My people? My people? What have they to do with this?

Nothing at all, my heart. Surely, nothing. But you know they fled to the West and now the hill folk crossed the wall and we don’t know how. It is a hundred feet high.

But there are ways through it, she said. Ways my folk made when we built it.

Ways? Ways they might show the hill folk?

Too fast. He saw it immediately but too late. Her eyes blazed angry.

You dare accuse my people of helping that scum? You shun me for days then tell me it is my people who cause all your woes? We hate them. We hate them all. None of us would sully ourselves with them. She rubbed her hands together as if washing them.

Gilish tried the smile.

You are right, of course, my heart. It was a stupid idea. I will have the man who thought of it killed.

And his family.

Of course.

And his animals.

Yes, and we will burn his house and scatter the ashes.

And you will stay here.

I fear the troubles in the West will tear me away, my heart. You would not want them to say I was afraid to fight the hill folk.

Hill folk, she spat. They are nothing, nothing at all. Except an excuse.

Ah, my heart, they are an excuse I would gladly lose.

He managed a look that mixed longing and lust in equal measure. He undressed her with his eyes. She was a beauty, it was not so hard, as long as he could forget for a moment just how dangerous she was.

There was a smug smile in response. Yes, she liked that look. He grinned back, the winning smile this time, a little bit conspiratorial. They had secrets between them that these others in the room, the ones he was studiously ignoring, could not possibly share.

But he was not quite there yet.

Where were you?

In the West, I have said so.

Yes, but I could not see you.

No, you could not, he thought, but he schooled his expression into puzzlement.

I was far away, my heart, yearning for you every moment, for I could not see you either.

That is not what I meant.

The look again. Distract her before she pursues that thought too far.

There is much of you I cannot hope to understand, my heart. But I understand that you are a woman of great passion. Careful stress on 'woman', reminding her of the times when they had been merely a man and a woman alone with their desires.

Ah, passion. I think you have yet to know all my passion, my love. But passion takes as well as gives.

He tried to maintain the look of longing and lust but that was too puzzling to let pass.

My heart? You speak in riddles?

I can block the ways in the wall.

You can? I knew you could.

And perhaps I will.

Perhaps? Not such a passionate word, my heart.

You will stay here for the same length of time you stayed away from me and you will eat nothing, for I ate nothing while you were gone. Then… she seemed to think for a moment. Then you will ride the length of the wall, all of it, and the ways will be blocked.

But it is hundreds of—

You will do this, my love, to prove you are true to me."

He gritted his teeth and tried not to show his anger. It would take weeks to ride the wall. What was she trying to tell him?

You know I am true to you.

And your people will say it was your doing. They may tell themselves one day that you built the wall itself.

I would rather spend the time with you.

She shrugged, suddenly losing interest.

But I will be in my tower. You cannot come there.

And with one of those curious hand gestures she vanished, as she often did.

Capricious bitch, he thought. How was he to live with such a woman? Wanting him one moment and dismissing him the next. But she was right. Of all the places in the vast palace that tower had no entrance he had been able to discover, and he was not limited by the abilities of an ordinary man.

But he knew she was still watching him. So, without a glance at the lovely things strewn over the floor, and a carefully contrived expression of dismay and disappointment, he turned and left the room.

Chapter 2

The two men hunched over the chessboard could hardly look any more different.

Amoth, the Vorthenki, towered over Daylan the Relanese. His knees came up higher than the table the board sat on so that he had to spread them out to get close enough to play.

Daylan sat with his knees neatly tucked under the table, his deft hands reaching elegantly for the pieces he moved while Amoth's huge thumb and forefinger knocked over pieces either side of the one he grasped.

Sorry, he said, righting Daylan's rook.

Daylan had smooth olive skin and dark eyes. Amoth had the kind of hair that had been bright red when he was a child but had faded to a reddish brown. His skin was freckled and his eyes were blue-green.

They stared at the board between them as the marketplace drifted around them. Vendors yelled the merits of their wares. Small children inveigled passers by to look at their parents' stalls by being as cute as they could. People wandered and mingled and perused the various goods on offer only occasionally glancing up at the mountain of a palace above them. But all knew they lived in the shadow of the Emperor. Most people felt safer for it, some people did not.

So, what do you think? Amoth looked at Daylan.

You're serious?

I told you, we've orders to add a few more fellows to our troop. Preferably Relanese, I don't exactly know why. Not my business. He shrugged.

You're all Vorthenki so far?

So far. We were Althak's men before, we still are I suppose, but we work for his son now.

Why me?

You've done some fighting down south, as we all have, and they say you know which end of a sword to hold. Good with horses too, I heard. And you're Relanese.

Daylan wrinkled his nose and took another sip from his beaker.

But what would I do in a troop of Vorthenki? Think about it, Amoth. Morning training, sparring one on one, you'd outreach me every time. I could take you on with a spear, but then we'd be getting into serious fighting and someone could get killed.

It's your move.

What? Oh... there. He moved his knight.

Amoth looked across at the market stalls. I've learned that reach isn't all its cracked up to be, he said slowly. Have you ever seen our captain?

No, but he's Althak's son so he'll be a big brute like you.

Amoth shook his head.

Take a look over there. He pointed towards one of the stalls where a boot seller was haggling with three customers at once.

Why? Is that him?

One of the customers was a Vorthenki man-at-arms like Amoth. Another was a woman and the third an old man.

He's the one with the white hair.

The old man?

Look again. He's younger than either of us, don't be fooled by the hair. It was as dark as yours when I first met him. But that was before he went to Kelerish and closed the doors to hell.

I heard about that, but it's just a tale.

I was there... no I wasn't at Kelerish. But he and a priestess went there while we waited at Lianar. When they came back his hair was white and she told us what happened. Since then we've been calling him the White Fox.

Daylan looked plainly sceptical, but he peered at the white haired man at the stall.

He had dark hair you said? And he looks more Relanese than Vorthenki. But you said he was Althak's son. Doesn't look like him.

No, I never quite got that straight myself. But it's not our business after all. My point, though, is he's no bigger than you and he thrashed me once.

What? In a sword-on-sword fight? No, he couldn't have.

In answer Amoth pulled back his sleeve and displayed a fine line running upwards from his elbow along the back of his arm.

That's his work. Amoth grinned. In more ways than one. He called me out. It was fair enough. I'd insulted our host. I hadn't meant anyone to hear but the ale they were serving was horse piss. He moves... I don't know... he's always ahead of you. Sliced my arm. Made me apologise. Then he set to and bound it up. Healed nice and clean, see?

He what? Cut you up and then fixed your wound?

He's a deft hand. Mine was nothing much but Alanth, you know Alanth, he had to stitch him up, said the words over it and everything. That healed clean too.

He cut up Alanth as well?

No, that was an accident with someone else. But he knows his way around wounds and belly aches as well as any priestess. Here Amoth glanced over his shoulder. Almost as well, I should say.

This is more interesting than I thought, said Daylan. I like the idea of a captain who can patch me up if I need it. What's his name? His real name, I mean.

Olcish.

A Relanese name, not Vorthenki at all. He looked over at the stall. The white haired man was shaking hands with the vendor and collecting his purchase. Why's he buying womens' boots?

Best not to get too nosy about palace folk. So you want the job? Usual pay plus a share of any booty.

Don't talk about booty, there isn't any. Even down south where there's real fighting to be had they're too savage to have anything worth taking.

You're right enough there. They say it hasn't been this quiet since Gilish himself, and that was a thousand years ago.

All right, as long as you'll promise you won't lecture me on Relanese history. You've barracks in the palace I suppose?

Yes, the lower levels, of course. Come on, I'll show you. Leave the game, you were losing anyway.

Chapter 3

Oh, there you are, my dear, clucked Hrana. I thought you'd still be turning out the flat breads.

I finished them so I got on with doing the buns.

And you're half way through those too, you're a treasure, you know?

Hrana stroked Elithun's hair fondly, noting how the girl had been dotting blobs of honey on the tops of each of the buns as they cooled from the oven. Just enough to make it spread out as it softened, but not enough to run all over the place which was a waste. The honeyed buns sold well, but they did have to be just right, especially the ones for the palace order. These were perfect.

I wanted a word with you this morning, before Olcish comes in.

The mention of Olcish had the girl glance at the window to get the time. She relaxed.

He won't be here for a while yet.

I know, so we've a bit of time. How old are you now, dear? Fifteen?

I think so. You thought I must be twelve three years ago. She shrugged and smiled. So I expect I'm fifteen now.

It's odd that you Vorthenki don't note your birthdays. We should just pick a day and say that's your birthday.

But it could be just any day.

Yes, it could. Why not today? We'll say you're fifteen today and it's your birthday. Which is good because I've got you a present. She handed a packet of pickled fish to her. Share it with Olcish if you like.

Elithun sniffed it slowly.

Mmm. Thank you, Hrana. It smells good. She frowned. I might not share it with Olcish, though. He eats everything, and this is too nice.

Boys are like that, always hungry. Though Olcish gets plenty to eat at the palace and he's more a man than a boy now, you know. He must be nearly twenty.

He's... he's just Olcish to me.

And you're fifteen. Here, stand up and let's have a look at you.

Elithun stood, puzzled. She turned around at Hrana's request and saw the older woman frown.

That tunic's getting too tight across the chest, I think. Time you had some better clothes. Come on.

What about these?

One of the others can do them. Here! Tinal! Come and finish the honeyed buns. Tinal would not make quite such a good job of it but he needed the practice and Hrana could see there were enough for the palace order already. Now, you come along with me.

Elithun wondered why Hrana chose this morning to talk about birthdays and tunics, but she shrugged and went with her. Hrana and her husband, Lartin, lived in a tiny room upstairs from the main bakery. Lartin was busy downstairs getting the main batch of loaves ready when Hrana led her up there.

The older woman rummaged in a chest and pulled out a loose fitting silk dress with some embroidery on the cuffs and neck. It looked quite old but once it had been rather fine.

Here, I've no use for this nowadays. It should fit you well enough, though you'll grow taller than me soon I expect.

It's pretty. Too pretty for working in.

But not too pretty to have breakfast with Olcish in.

But... Olcish knows all about me. I don't need to dress up for him. Anyway, he's... well, he's...

Palace bred? He still comes to have breakfast with you whenever he can, though.

That's because... because he feels sorry for me.

Maybe. Go on then, try it on and let's see how you wear it.

Elithun pulled off her tunic, it was indeed getting tight.

You're working on a fine figure there, my girl, noted Hrana. Here, before you put that on try this for size. She rummaged in the chest again and found a stiff garment Elithun was only vaguely familiar with. Hrana wrapped it around her middle and tightened it at the back.

There. That's better. It pushes them up a bit. Stops them flapping about and makes more of a show, see?

I'm not sure I want a show.

Well, put the dress on and let's see. You want to look grown up, don't you?

I suppose so.

She pulled the dress over her head and found the sleeves. It felt nice, sort of crisp and soft at the same time, a bit like the best pastry.

Hrana eyed her carefully.

Not bad at all. Though your hair needs some work. I got you a brush for it a while back, but you don't get much use out of it do you?

Sorry.

No matter, let's sort it out now. Sit here and I'll do it.

It felt nice having Hrana brush her hair, she could have sat there for hours. But Hrana took very little time to get it straight. Then she wanted to put some pins in it or something, which felt odd but not unpleasant.

"Yes,