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The ground at the base of the cliff proved fairly level, a shelf in the mountainside, carpeted with broken stone, frost-shattered from the cliff above. They trudged up towards the entrance, Zole stumbling from time to time to make herself appear more prey than predator.
“Stop!” Five figures broke from the cave mouth, grey-robed Lightless, four with crossbows. In the midst of her clarity-trance Kettle took them all in, down to the heavy bolts in the bows of the two to the left and the fanned needle-clusters in the bows of those on the right. A shot from either of those crossbows would launch a funnel of a dozen or more poisoned darts, making evasion or deflection near impossible. “Who are you?”
Kettle had been wishing, ever since the Lightless who pretended to be a woodsman had bitten out his tongue, that she had asked the names of his companions. Her knowledge of the Noi-Guin was substantial compared to the rumour and myth that most people laid claim to, but it didn’t extend to knowing if their servants adopted new names and adhered to any particular convention.
“Mai,” she said. It’s easier to lie when you’re telling the truth. “I’ve brought this prisoner for Tellasah to interrogate. She has information about the convent.” Kettle raised her head to dispel any suspicion that she was hiding beneath the hood of the robe she’d taken from the Lightless. She reached out to shove Zole’s shoulder, sending her stumbling forward, getting the girl closer so that she might work the magic she’d claimed would make this ruse succeed.
Four crossbows lifted, four fingers tightened on triggers. Back in the cave, that looked to broaden as it went on rather than to narrow, Kettle caught other motion.
“Come here, you!” Kettle pulled on the rope, making a show of holding Zole back whilst at the same time letting her close another yard on the five Lightless immediately before her.
“One more step and I’ll have her shot, then you.” The man in the centre of the five watched Kettle with pale eyes set in a broad face. He overtopped six foot, his solid build apparent despite his robes. He bore no obvious weapon but darkness smoked around his hands. Kettle could sense the shadows around him. This one had been pushed further into the night than his companions, further than her too.
“Mai of the Lightless is taking me to Tellasah.” Zole kept her face down and her voice was quiet but it seemed to burn through the air. Nona sensed it buzzing in Kettle’s skull. “I am her prisoner.”
Kettle felt the words building up, spiralling around her, demanding that she accept their truth. It was almost true, after all. It would be easier to believe it.
“Tellasah will want to see me,” Zole said, her voice resonant.
“Tellasah will want to see her.” The officer nodded. His pale eyes never left Kettle’s face. The lack of malice in them worried her. Cruelty bred stupidity but the quiet dedication of the Lightless promised only efficiency, and success in attaining their goals. “Escort Mai and her prisoner to the holding cells.”
The man indicated the cave and at his signal four more Lightless came forward. The first of them had a slightly puzzled look. “I’m to take this woman to the cells, Arthran?”
The man looked down at his subordinate, a frown creasing his forehead. “Yes, take Mai and her prisoner to the cells.”
Kettle could see the tension in Zole’s jaw as she stood, head down, some mutter on her lips.
The woman nodded and indicated that Kettle should follow her. Two of her companions moved to flank Kettle and Zole, the third bringing up the rear. “Come.”
* * *
• • •
THE ENTRANCE TO the Tetragode opened out beyond the cave mouth into a natural cavern of impressive dimensions. A score or so Lightless occupied the space, some busy with a stack of barrels and crates near the centre, others armed and ready in natural galleries along the rear wall. Kettle tried not to look around too obviously but set that desire against the need to understand the challenges attendant on leaving again. She wondered briefly how the supplies came to be there. If they were brought in by foot across the foothills then the cost would be stupendous and the trail left for any curious party to follow would be hard to miss.
Kettle was glad of the escort in as much as it meant that the woman in front of her was leading the way. They had soon passed enough junctions for it to grow clear that becoming lost was a real possibility. She was less glad of the audience. It made little sense to her that her prisoner needed three extra guards here when the ideal time to escape would have been out among the foothills with just one captor.
The tunnels were natural, cut by ancient rivers, but shaped here and there by pick and hammer. The floor, where not level with the hard-packed sediment of those vanished rivers, had been evened out with rubble or well-secured planks. Wooden steps allowed easy passage up the steeper inclines.
The spread-out and labyrinthine nature of the Tetragode was perhaps as important a defence as the strong points, but did mean that most of the complex lay empty at any given time. The long galleries returned to darkness once Kettle’s party had passed through and silence stalked them. The nun felt a sense of familiarity, having explored the caverns beneath the Rock of Faith at length, and behind those thoughts Nona added her own appreciation of deep places.
The first major checkpoint came as a small fortress built around the exit from a cavern that could have housed a large fortress. Lightless watched from the battlements and raised a portcullis when hailed.
In the long, stone-clad tunnel that led through the fortress a single Noi-Guin waited, seated at a desk set in their path. A score of murder-holes pierced the ceiling and the walls for ten yards before and behind the desk.
Where Kettle’s attention focused discreetly upon the walls, Nona drank in the details of the Noi-Guin. Echoes of Kettle’s memories informed Nona that the assassin who had tracked her on her ranging had been similar in appearance. Additionally, Sister Tallow’s report to the convent table had described the two she fought outside the novice dormitories years before to be clad in the same manner.
The Noi-Guin’s most striking feature was the black-skin mask that covered his face, with just a slit exposing the eyes and perforations at the nose and mouth. Taken from the hull of a tribe-ship, the stuff was as flexible as silk unless some object tried to move it too swiftly, in which case it became rigid and tougher than steel.
A close-fitting leather hood, descending to spread out over the shoulders, prevented Nona from telling how far the black-skin extended. Red Sisters who were hunska primes or full-bloods, as most were, would wear black-skin only over their torso as otherwise it could resist their fastest movements with unfortunate consequences. Also the stuff, being fabulously rare, was often in too short supply to be used more widely. The rest of the Noi-Guin’s outfit was black leather, variously ridged or reinforced with iron plates. The dark grey cloak was presumably a concession to the enduring chill of subterranean life and shed when action was required.
“Where are you going?” The Noi-Guin studied them, his eyes like black beads within the slits of his mask.
“Arthran received this woman at the west-cave. He instructed me to escort her and the prisoner to the holding cells.” The Lightless stepped aside, leaving Kettle and Zole fully exposed to the Noi-Guin’s scrutiny.
