The Panids' Children_The Panids of Koa Read online

“Something?” Jac hovered uneasily looking from the door to the floor, clearly exasperated. “Something to do with Naicarn?”

  “No. It could be that he is completely unaware of it. It’s a long way down…” Distant noises broke his concentration.

  “We should go,” Jac pointed out trying to ignore the unsettling feeling Kellim’s latest preoccupation had caused. He knew Kellim too well to ignore anything that distracted the old man.

  Kellim was definitely troubled. “I may need to return here,” he said eventually and then seeing Jac’s agitated state checked for movement on the other side of the door. The two hurried out of the cellar, Kellim taking one last troubled look behind, before following Jac up the steps.

  “Which way out?" Jac asked steadying his sword as they climbed.

  “The courtyard and then the main gate,” Kellim replied urging his old joints to work properly.

  “The main gates! That's the escape route?” Jac almost stopped but Kellim shooed him on. “You can't be serious, are you sure that last trip hasn’t done something… you know?” he made some vague gesture of confusion.

  “The fortress… is shielded,” Kellim, panted, ignoring Jac. “Any transport… across the outer walls is impossible… I must be outside of them… in order to make good our escape…”

  The jagged conversation continued as the two barrelled up the steps and burst out into a corridor. Jac’s drawn sword received a surprisingly empty greeting.

  “No guards,” Kellim leaned forward conspiratorially. Clearly pleased with himself. “Naicarn thinks we’re elsewhere.”

  Jac looked at him, at first baffled. “Oh,” he cottoned on. “Those little copper balls of yours.”

  “Old man, older tricks,” Kellim winked, “And I prefer to call them spheres,” he corrected.

  “My mistake,” Jac said innocently.

  “You and Carrick…school Children,” Kellim shook his head wearily. “Come on, look sharp. This way. He’ll not be fooled for long."

  The old Panid ran off down the corridor. Jac was left standing for a moment and then pounded after him. Somewhere along the dim passage he overtook Kellim and was able to flatten them both to the wall just in sight of the courtyard door. He motioned for Kellim to be quiet and silently slid his sword from its scabbard. He’d expected Lewen to be here waiting for them. But two guards appeared from the shadows instead. Their tanned skin and dark hair marked them as Amarian, their mismatched armour as hired. Jac fell upon them. He caught the first guard by surprise. Dispatched him in two efficient moves and placed himself ready for the second. Blocking the man’s sword, he pushed him back and used his knife.

  Not for the first time Kellim noted the difference in Jac’s fighting style, it was no less precise but was now driven by anger. It was an emotional change, a dangerous change. “Would you like to take a minute before we move on?" Kellim ventured.

  Jac answered by changing the subject. “We're going through that door then?" he gave it a nod as he retrieved his knife and sheaved his sword.

  They could now hear noises and shouting coming from the other side. Kellim nodded. Once again pushing aside his concerns about Jac. “It sounds busier than I’d hoped.”

  Jac shrugged. “Well, it’s only going to get busier.”

  “After three then?" Kellim began and then paused considering the door and their proximity. “Perhaps a little further back,” he said looking behind.

  They swapped places, moving away from the door. “One,” Kellim spread his consciousness through the fortress. “Two,” he found his copper devices and nudged them. Doors erupted and confusing echoes of his will and whereabouts bounced everywhere. “Three!” Kellim shouted as he rushed into the smoke and debris.

  They ran into the panic and confusion of the vast courtyard. “The gates!” Jac shouted in alarm. “Shouldn’t the gates be gone as well?”

  Over to his right a number of armed men rushed to block their escape. But there was a startled scream from their midst, a soldier fell clutching his stomach and the guards stumbled over him. Another broke from the group and proceeded to attack them, losing his helmet as he turned. The troops’ progress to the gates halted in disarray but gained some focus when the fair hair and pale skin of a Hallorn was revealed. Without a word Jac somehow doubled his speed and ran to Lewen’s defence. Kellim skidded to a halt and quickly reappraised the courtyard’s layout. All the doorways were blocked and the soldiers were quickly recovering from the initial confusion. The gate had to open now or they were lost. This was no time to be coy about the true nature of his abilities so the Panid focused his will, braced his mind against the castle and drew deeply on the field. The air prickled and the available field dipped sharply. He unleashed the focused potential at the gates, which groaned and then ruptured in a mess of splinters and metal. The confusion about him was rekindled.

  Kellim gathered himself, struck a dazed guard who stumbled into him and ran. The last of the troops had fallen and Lewen was shouting desperately for Jac to follow him. Jac however, had begun to advance on a group of approaching soldiers. Grim faced he ignored the young man’s desperate calls. Shouts from above marked the appearance of archers on the battlements and new soldiers heading for the gate. Their chance of escape was narrowing. Jac reached the group with Lewen close behind. Kellim glanced their way and seeing the growing opposition, focused his will and drew on the field as he ran. He felt for Jac and Lewen, almost stumbling on debris and made the link. In a blink they were at what remained of the gates. He pushed both men forward and clearing the portal was able to locate his marker. With a grunt of effort, he collapsed the space between and they were gone. Three more exhausting jumps took them miles clear of the fortress and to the last of Kellim’s pre-set markers.

  Guards and mounted men streamed out of the fortress in a fruitless bid to follow. Stood in the remains of the gatehouse, Naicarn accepted the report from his captain with irritation. He deliberately unclenched his fist and let the piece of paper fall to the floor, where his attention was caught. He nudged a small copper sphere with his boot, bending to pick it up, he examined it and was surprised by what he found. Perhaps time would no longer be a limiting factor.

  “Call back your men captain.”

  He looked at the distant hills. “Old tricks old man.”

  Chapter 2

  Gwen looked down at the uneven spread of flat rooftops. Brilliant white cubes that jostled and crowded their way down to the distant harbour and the ultra-blue of The Cian Sea. Even from this distance she could make out the ships that brought the city of Loholt its wealth. By far the biggest port on the south coast it had been a vital trading post for centuries. This fact allowed some of its less savoury dealings to continue, something she had never been able to accept. She turned to look at her brother.

  “He's here,” she said with some relief and combed a hand through long, fair hair. “The ship's anchoring now.” Carrick seemed distracted. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Carrick?”

  "Sorry, I was miles away,” he apologised. “Is Aaron okay?"

  “As far as I can tell from this distance, but I won’t be happy until I can see him. No, change that. I won’t be happy until we’re away from this place.” Gwen frowned slightly. “What's wrong?”

  Carrick considered his words for a while. “Tired, concerned, perplexed but mainly tired. We’ve had a steep learning curve lately.” He turned to face his sister. “Collecting Aaron and Jenna should have been a walk in the country. But we’ve been dogged by complications at every turn," he paused again. “This is the first place that seems unaffected by political unrest and Ildra’s supposedly benign ruler.”

  Gwen nodded. “Well, we did leave things a bit late. If we’d set out to collect them a year ago they’d both be safe at Naddier by now. But that’s hind sight for you.”

  “Where is a seer when you need one?” Carrick joked half-heartedly.

  Gwen offered him a wry smile and linked his arm. “No one thought things would go this fa
r and while Segat continues making threats it will only get worse. More slavers, pirates and mercenaries will take advantage of the lack of patrols.”

  A hundred years of peace had caught most countries off guard. Their own Order, like many others across the south, was used to advising and settling petty disputes, not fighting mercenaries and chasing after slavers. The Orders were having to re-think their roles and Talents to up their game. Carrick and she, setting modesty aside, had coped better than most and as a result been given more to do. But the strain was beginning to tell and the chase to get ahead of the slavers and placed heavy demands on their field skills. Carrick, as was his nature, took full responsibility for what had happened.

  “You’re right,” Carrick agreed. “We did think it was political posturing. New king wanting to make his mark.” He shrugged slightly. “But I can’t get past the idea that there’s more to it. I mean using the death of an almost forgotten princess to stir up feeling against Amaria. That is pushing it a bit. I’m worried where all this is leading.”

  Gwen reflected on her brother’s words. “Segat’s a direct descendant, the first of the Urukish bloodline to re-take the Ildran throne. That mixture of Urukish arrogance and Ildran passion isn’t a good combination. UruIldrans haven’t forgotten their beloved Illia, even though it’s almost a hundred years since her death. Sooner or later, in this case much later, someone had to get bored counting all that gold and stop to think hey, no Amarian was ever brought to justice, or even made to offer an apology! I suppo…what are you doing?" Gwen asked, somewhat bemused, as her brother stepped up onto the low wall that surrounded the flat roof.

  “Sitting,” he said glibly. “You know I don’t like history, too many names and dates. I need a rest and Bryn needs time to buy a cart. Sitting seems like a good solution to both. This could be our last chance to just sit! Come on,” he patted the white washed surface.

  With more caution she joined him. They sat for a while in silence, feet dangling, looking out across the hot noisy city. Carrick leant slightly, nudging her with his shoulder. "Do you remember the last time we were here?”

  Gwen narrowed her eyes for a moment. “Of course, I’d almost forgotten Drassique! Do you think he still remembers? It must be nine, no, ten years.”

  “At least.”

  “Have you still got it?” Gwen asked recalling the incident.

  “Somewhere,” Carrick said evasively. They both laughed at the shared joke.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve laughed like that,” Gwen said eventually. “We could do with more of it.”

  “We could. I miss the others. We all used to make each other laugh,” Carrick admitted.

  “Usually at each other,” Gwen rested her head on his shoulder. “I wonder if Kellim and the others have reached Malik’s yet and how Jac is.”

  “Hmm, better I hope,” Carrick closed his eyes letting the heat of the sun keep his thoughts light. “Kara would love this.”

  “The heat?” Gwen asked.

  “Hmm,” Carrick answered absently.

  “Kara would sit in an oven and ask for a coat,” Gwen smiled realising how much she’d missed her. “She’ll probably be somewhere hot.”

  A lone seabird called out as if signalling its intention to turn in a lazy curve towards the harbour. It glided down over the rooftops, across narrow bustling streets and then out over the harbour.

  Sea tanned men jumped from the ship onto the quayside. Heavy ropes, apparently leaping after them, were efficiently manhandled onto the moorings. Each man wore the overly baggy trousers the sailors in this region favoured. Some had tattoos, others beards platted with strips of colourful cloth. But all knew their jobs and the ragged ship, creaking and groaning in disagreement, soon became tethered to the jetty. An apparent jumble of activity and colour had the ship unloaded in an hour, ready for the last of its cargo to leave. Chained at the ankle, exhausted, dirty and drugged, the men shuffled off the ship five at a time. Harsh words and blunt rods dug and directed them towards the auction rooms.

  The first of these lines were herded into small cells at the back of the auction house. Its ground floor consisted of an open space that functioned as the sales area, which in turn opened directly onto the quayside. The place stank of sweat and of the smoking oil lamps that lit it. A number of people were already gathering in the dingy room, some covering their noses with scented cloths. Nebessans, tinkling with jewellery of minutely intricate designs, Cians in short sleeved tunics and loose trousers, Hons in long white garments belted with vivid sashes, even Amarians in rich patterned silks that floated on the breeze. Their diverse features and skin colour emphasising Loholt’s position in the trading world.

  Chatting with two men from Nebessa the owner, a large black skinned man typical of Selarsh, kept a discrete mental contact with his colleague, a tall indistinct figure watching unnoticed in the smoke and shadows.

  Outside Carrick signalled to Bryn, who had parked a cart and its team close to the building’s open front. Bryn nodded in return as they approached and watched as Gwen and Carrick made their way through the crowds to the slave house.

  “Did you notice the ships in the harbour?” Carrick asked.

  “Any ones in particular, there’s a lot,” Gwen stopped, looking back to see what she had missed.

  “You can just to say see them now.” Carrick pointed. “There. The Ildran warships.”

  “Ildran warships. Ildra doesn’t do ships.”

  “Three of them. Big, well-armed,” Carrick added.

  “Let’s hope that’s the fleet or at least a large percentage of it.” She ran a hand absently through her hair. “Who’s let Segat build those?” she puzzled, more to herself than her brother. “What is he up to?” Gwen turned back, taking in the entrance to the slave house and what she could see inside. She shook her head. “When is Perin going to do something about all of this?”

  “It’s not his country,” Carrick replied bluntly. “You know as well as I there’s an unspoken etiquette between the royals not to meddle in each other’s affairs. Well in peace time anyway.” Carrick looked at his sister and relented. “Ok, we'll try and free as many as we can. But remember, Aaron’s the priority and we haven’t exactly come in force.” He glanced meaningfully at the large number of guards present. “We’ve chased Aaron a long way to let ourselves be distracted now.” They paused a while longer in the doorway making a show of retrieving things from their backpacks.

  “Will you take care of the owner’s associate?” Carrick asked.

  "Yes. I felt his touch as we approached. He's hardly subtle.”

  "Be tight with this Gwen. There are a lot of swords here and even if they wait long enough to ask questions we’re a long way from home. Not even Perin’s arm reaches this far.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll behave.”

  Carrick didn’t answer and stepped ahead towards the small group. The tall man in the shadows noticed his approach and was about to touch the owner’s shoulder, but Gwen was a step ahead. His hand faltered and then slowly returned to his side as he sank back into the smoky recesses of the auction house. It was customary in Loholt for successful traders to retain the services of lesser Talents to monitor the minds of those they did business with.

  Their business finished, the two Nebessans moved away to inspect several lines of slaves.

  “Carrick,” Gwen called, pointing to the line of slaves about to enter. Carrick caught the owner’s eye before he could turn to see where his colleague had gone. “The men entering now,” he said switching to Koan, the common language used across the continent for centuries and spoken by the majority of people in addition to their native tongue. He gestured at the group in front of him, “I'm in a hurry to be away and they’ll suit my purposes exactly. How much do you want?”

  The line of men was abruptly halted to allow Carrick a better view of the ‘stock’. They were from varied countries. The Selarsh slave trade wasn’t fussy. Once they were drugged and their memories wiped it wouldn’t
matter where they’d come from. Handlers pushed and shoved them into position grabbing them by their hair to lift their heads. Carrick winced.

  A sudden movement near the doors made some of the guards look quickly in the direction of the cart parked there. Bryn was a tall man, lean and muscular. He was imposing at the best of times and the expression on his face made them pause for thought.

  “No,” Carrick called out as much to stop Bryn as the handlers. “That will be quite alright,” he tried to sound nonchalant. “I've seen all I need to. Let them be.”

  The owner smiled, a good profit could be made from a buyer in a hurry. The tall, muscular one on the cart needed watching. A mercenary of some kind but with a military edge in his baring. With a subtle gesture he directed a few of his men to better positions; trouble was never far away in this business. He began sizing up the other Hallorn; his female companion had called him Carrick. Like the mercenary outside he appeared to be in his mid-thirties, good clothes, in the Cian style and the woman with him was about the same age and dressed like the man, which was mildly interesting. Clearly all three were from Hallorn or at least had been born there; the fair hair and pale skin stood out a mile amongst the black skinned people of Selarsh. It was unusual to find Hallorns here. This trio’s story was becoming interesting even in these unsettled times. The woman was quite attractive, he mused about her value; however, she looked too intelligent to be just an adornment and beside that kind of woman tended to be much younger, wore far less and had much bigger… his thoughts trailed off as something, a voice in the back of his head began speaking to him. It was a subtle voice, very calm even reassuring. He looked back at the man called Carrick. Hmm, what had he been thinking before? His thoughts had drifted away but the voice was very close. He listened. What was it telling him? Perhaps this man was not so well off. Perhaps he was a man of limited means. No, he wouldn’t be able to push the price up as much as he had first thought and then he looked at the slaves the man wanted, they were a sorry bunch. In fact, the more he looked at them the more he felt he would be well rid of them and at the earliest opportunity. He went to check with his associate but then the voice interrupted, a little too urgently, but no less compelling. He thought better of it.