Page 38 of The Book That Held Her Heart

Behind Evar the fifth figure, the staff-bearer, drew near, plotting a more cautious path along the broadening strip of floor. A ganar!

“I’m sure these differences can be settled without violence.” The ganar spoke no louder than Arpix had, but all eyes turned her way. “My name is Celcha. I am on my own journey and where I travel, all stand under my peace.”

One of the soldiers swivelled to direct her aim at Celcha, and Arpix recognised her to be the woman from the trio that had beaten him back in the other chamber. She’d revelled in her power then, but now seemed close to broken by her lack of it, clinging to the ’stick as if it were all that kept her afloat in a sea of confusion.

Evar began to say something, and in that instant someone fired. The booming detonation set off several more before the first echo of the shot had time to return, a deafening cacophony of explosions, each pushing death before it.

“As I was saying. You stand under my peace.”

A dull metal ball rolled from the end of the first soldier’s ’stick, dropping to land noiselessly in the white powder at her feet. The same thing happened to half a dozen others, though the woman was the only one of them to throw her weapon aside as if it had become a serpent that might suddenly strike her.

Evar took several strides towards Lord Algar, the man still held by the blade at his throat. He seemed to be wrestling with some strong emotion, for his fist holding the dagger trembled.

“He was going to take your eye,” Clovis growled. “He doesn’t deserve to live.”

For a moment Evar hung in the grip of the dilemma that tore at him, his knife ready for the thrust, easily close enough to plunge into Algar’s chest. In the next moment he freed himself with a shudder and turned away, calling, “Livira?”

“She’s not here,” Arpix said, and Evar swung his way. “I don’t know where she is.” The intensity of the canith’s stare drew more from him. “A city somewhere. I saw her in a city. With Yolanda and Leetar.” It dawned on him only now, though it had been obvious from the start. “The city. The statue. She’s on the plateau. Or was there. She’s a ghost in the city that stood there.”

In Arpix’s moment of epiphany Clovis had pulled herself away from his grasp and stood now with the tip of her white sword touching the soiled finery that wrapped Lord Algar’s chest. The man’s single eye showed only bitter contempt where fear should lie.

“Clovis…” Arpix pushed past Evar’s half-hearted attempt to stop him reaching her.

Clovis glanced at him, quickly returning her gaze to Algar. “He deserves to die.”

Arpix wasn’t sure he had an argument against that, only that it feltwrong. “You’re a warrior, Clovis! I’ve seen you fight. It took my breath from me. This”—he waved a hand at Algar—“this isn’t war.”

Clovis’s lips rode up, exposing a worryingly sharp array of teeth. A growl rose through her, so deep that the air throbbed with it. With a snarl she spat at Algar’s feet and turned away.

“And this is why we have Starval.” Starval drew his knife through Algar’s throat and let him fall, gasping and clutching at his neck with both hands. “What?” Starval spread his arms. “We live in a library for gods’ sake. Have you never read a book? You let the bad guy go and he comes back to make you regret it.” Starval stepped over Algar’s twisting form. “If anyone deserved to die it was that one. Right?”

Behind him, Algar was making quite a production of his death scene. Starval made to wipe his knife before returning it to its scabbard. He frowned at the gleaming metal. Algar meanwhile was shuffling backwards, raising a cloud of dust as he headed into a clump of his men, the veteran Jons among them. He took the other hand from his neck, choking on his own dust. The wound that should have been there wasn’t.

“As I said—” Celcha spoke again, “there is a peace.”

“Dammit.” Starval started back towards his victim. “I was going to break his neck. I should have. But no, I didn’t want to copy Mayland.”

Evar caught his arm. “Wait.”

Celcha nodded her thanks. “I’m moving on. In normal times I would offer to escort you to an exit, but time is no longer normal, and my search for the centre must take precedence. You’re welcome to follow, of course, as long as you respect the peace.” And with that she turned away.

Clovis began to follow, snatching hold of Arpix’s wrist. “Wait.” Arpix resisted. “I can’t…” He turned back towards the soldiers and the civilians dotted through their number, anonymous in their dusty whiteness. “I have to check…” He couldn’t say the words. He had to check to see if he’d killed Salamonda. If the explosion he’d made happen had sent her tumbling into blackness along with Oanold and so many of his troops. Livira’s childhood friend Neera too! Where was Neera?

“I…” Arpix spotted Salamonda first, her dark eyes seeking his. Then Neera, limping along behind a large soldier. The relief he felt drew a gasp from him, almost a whimper.

“Arpix. Are you unwell?” Clovis moved closer.

“I’m better now.” Arpix nodded ahead to Celcha. “We’re going with her?”

“Of course,” Clovis said. “Where else is there to go?”

And Arpix allowed himself to be towed.

Despite the fact that many of the worst things to ever happen happened in basements, people keep digging them.

Domestic Architecture, Vol. 6, by Atle Norstad

Chapter 19

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