Roar, page 29
At the top of the trail he discovered that there was a barrier, preventing him from walking out into the sunshine outside. Between it and the food. Bars. The word came to him as he stood there, though he didn't recognise it. But he knew it was in his way.
He roared angrily at them and somehow it made the bars disappear. They just flew away. Then he padded out onto the ground beyond, and immediately felt the warmth of the sunshine on his back. It felt good. More than good. As the warmth soaked into his back he felt the need to stretch out. He let out a few more growls for good measure as he enjoyed the warmth. And more than that, he enjoyed the smell of the air – fresh and clean. Not like that dark place below.
In time he looked around and noticed there were a large number of two legged creatures around who appeared to be screaming and running. It was almost as if they were being hunted, he thought. But he couldn't see anything chasing them. He ignored them. They made a noise, but it wasn't important. The feel of the sunshine was more important. And the feel of his strength returning mattered. As did the smell of food in the distance. In fact it mattered more than everything else. So he turned and started padding towards it, his belly rumbling.
It wasn't far to the food. To where he could see meat hanging from some strange looking grey trees above a fire. A place full of strangely shaped trees where brightly coloured and massive leaves fluttered in the breeze. That strange little voice in his head kept yelling at him, something about markets and tents and stalls, but he ignored it. Just as he ignored the screaming two legs that once again were everywhere, running away. It would all go away. He wanted the food but he didn't quite know how to get it. Why was the meat hanging in that way? He sniffed at it. It smelt burnt but in a strange way good. Perhaps even familiar. Something in him told him that burnt meat was good meat. So he burnt it a little more, roaring and bathing it in his fire. Then when it smelled right he reached out with a paw, hooked a piece and tore it free from the branch it was hanging from. Then he dropped it on the ground and started chewing into it.
It was good! It went down easily and filled his belly, and he tore at it eagerly, gulping it down chunk by chunk. He concentrated on the meat and ignored everything else around him. Or he tried to. But the annoying two legs still annoyed him as he ate. They were everywhere, running, making strange sounds. Why? Were they trying to distract him from his food? To steal the meat from him? He didn't like that. But as long as they didn't come too close. So he ignored them, as he gulped down burnt chunk after chunk of the meat.
Eventually he was full. His belly was stretched as far as it could go comfortably. He stood up and stretched some more, feeling strong again. And the pain was gone. He felt the need to announce that to the world. So he looked around at the two legs and then threw back his head and roared.
It was a good roar. Satisfying. It told the world he was strong. It warned anyone who came near him that they should run away. And it just felt good. For too long he had been weak. Confused. His head full of funny thoughts. No more. So he roared a few more times, just for the pleasure of it.
The two legs apparently understood and he watched them scatter. He was pleased they understood he wasn't to be annoyed.
After that it was time to lie down. To find a nice place in the sun and enjoy the satisfaction of his full belly. So he began looking around for a place. A nice high place where he could lie down and have a commanding view of the land around him.
But as he did so a bunch of two legs with strange grey sticks began to approach him. He didn't know why they were coming, but he didn't like it. Something in the way they approached suggested a threat. As if they were going to challenge him. But he would not be challenged! So roared and then watched as they flew away. They actually took to the sky. He hadn't known that the two legs could do that. It seemed odd somehow.
Still they were gone. That was what mattered. They were gone and he was alone. He was pleased with that.
Thunder unexpectedly roared somewhere, and he felt something sting him. A stone maybe. A bug. He didn't like that. So he roared and the thunder went away and so did the sting. But not for long. A short time later he heard more cracks of thunder; felt more stings.
That made him angry. This time when he roared he put all his strength into it. And this time everything went away. The funny trees with their brightly coloured leaves flew off into the sky. The odd straight sided rocks all around it collapsed. And the two legs with their funny sticks flew away.
After that the thunder stopped. There were no more things biting him either. There was only quiet as peace had returned to his world. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be bothered anymore, he decided it was finally time to find a place in the sunshine and have a nap.
He looked out to his side and noticed that one of the strange straight sided rocks was taller than the others that were still standing around it. And it had a flat top. He padded toward it, noticing as it did so that some more two legs seemed to come running out of it. The rocks were hollow and the two legs lived in them! Perhaps they were caves?
But he didn't want to sleep in a cave any more. He wanted sunshine.
So he stretched out his wings and leapt over the collection of caves to land lightly on the top of the tallest one. It was smooth and level; perfect for napping on. Then, because he suddenly felt a slight chill in the air he roared again, bathing the corners of the stone in fire and letting them melt until finally he was surrounded by flames.
That made things perfect. He had had a good drink. His belly was full. The sun was shining and he was warm. And most of all he wasn't confused any more. It was time to rest. And for some reason he felt very tired. He felt as if he hadn't slept in a very long time. So he folded his wings around his body, curled up into a ball and collapsed onto the nice flat rock, surrounded by fire.
It had been a good day.
Chapter Thirty One
Aunt Matilde was looking old, Camille thought as she studied her visitor. Tired. Her wrinkles seemed to have deepened. And it was her fault, Camille knew. Her aunt was worried for her. Worried that she was going to spend the rest of her life in this gaol cell.
Camille was worried about that too. But strangely she was becoming less worried as the days went by and she grew ever more resigned to her fate. At least this cell wasn't as bad as the dungeon back in the Eternal City. She had it all to herself. Even better, she had a cot to sleep on instead of some mouldy straw on a stone floor, and the promise of regular food. Good food. It didn't stink and it wasn't cold or dark. There was also no constant threat of torture. She could live here.
Strangely Camille thought that in the end it might be boredom that would eventually get to her. Boredom and loneliness. Being confined to a cell was hard. But the fact that the guards refused to talk to her – or sometimes even to look at her – was worse. They treated her as if she had committed the most terrible of crimes. Camille found it hard to accept their coldness, though why it should bother her after having spent three years in the dungeon she didn’t know.
Was this how they treated all their prisoners? She didn't know but somehow she doubted it. She suspected it was because her crime was something they simply could not tolerate. And perhaps because her victim was someone they had pinned all their hopes on. He was a wizard. He had found a spell – a warspell – that had stopped a war before it had begun. His spell had destroyed the trolls. And then another had disarmed the soldiers. He was a hero. She was the villain who had attacked him.
Her aunt was the only one who came to see her. The Oracle hadn't come back, and Camille was beginning to understand that she wouldn't. Potaine had been humiliated by her actions. She was one of the few oracles in existence. She spoke for a higher power. And she had made promises on her behalf. Camille had thrown all of that back in her face. The woman was angry – probably rightfully so.
But Thorm shouldn't have died from her actions! That was what she kept telling anyone who stayed long enough to hear her. It was the thought she clung to as day after day had passed. Camille hadn't intended to kill him. She had only wanted to hurt him. To punish him for what he had done. It was also the most she could have done when she had no magic of her own!
But there was no one prepared to listen to her. She only saw the guards and they didn't want to hear anything she had to say. She got the feeling that even her aunt didn't want to listen either. Every time she tried to explain she saw the look of disappointment appear on her aunt's face and knew she didn't want to hear her. And Aunt Matilde surely hated the lion wizard as much as her.
“He wasn't supposed to die!” Camille told her yet again, hoping this time her aunt would finally listen to her. But how could her aunt do that when she was beginning to doubt it herself? Maybe she really had intended to kill him as everyone believed? She no longer knew what the truth was.
“It doesn't matter, Camille.” Matilde settled further into the hard wooden chair just on the other side of the bars and stared tiredly at her through them. “Believe me, it doesn't matter anymore. You used magic to attack an innocent person. As far as everyone is concerned, that's the end of it. You know that. Your mother told you that from the start that magic can never be a weapon. It goes against everything we believe in.”
“But I don't have any magic!” Camille tried to defend herself. “Besides, you tried to kill him too!”
“True. I got too angry. It's the curse of all fell casters as we cast using our emotions. It was supposed to be a test. A duel. But things got out of hand. Still I wouldn't have killed him. I just had to know how powerful he was. I also had no idea he was a wizard at the time. I thought he was just a lion with magic. As it is I've had to answer to the rest of the sorcerers guild for my actions, and have been judged for them.”
“Oh.” Camille hadn't known that.
“And obviously you do have some magic. Some ability as a dreamer. I've petitioned the Dreaming Lords to retest you, but I doubt they will. Testing is mostly done for the purposes of deciding on training, and they will not train you. No one will train a woman who has killed or tried to kill with their gift.”
Camille resisted the urge to snap at her that she didn't want training. This was her aunt, the only family she had, and her only friend in this strange city of magic. She couldn’t afford to drive away the only person who would even talk to her. Instead she made understanding noises and tried to listen to what her aunt had to say.
“But enough about this. I want to talk to you about Mara. I need you to write down absolutely everything you can remember about her.”
“She's a friend,” Camille began. But was she? Or was she something else? That question had been bothering her ever since she'd been told that Mara had lied to her. And that she'd since fled. “I remember that she practically carried Elspeth all the way from the Volden Plains. Surely that has to speak to a good heart?”
And by the gods it had to. But did it also speak to an honest heart? Camille so wanted to believe that it did. But she was starting to doubt it. If Mara had lied to her about one thing, about the twister of fire that had appeared above the gunsmith's shop after her mother's battle – what else might she have lied about?
“Maybe. Or maybe not. Perhaps she had an ulterior motive? Who knows? I don't.” Aunt Matilde rubbed tiredly at her face. “But what I do know is that she is a liar. She also keeps secrets. Maybe dark ones. Because now we know that she is an alchemist or apothecary of some sort.”
“An alchemist? She doesn't have that sort of knowledge,” Camille protested immediately. But did she? Mara seemed so self-involved. So concerned with appearance and her place in society. She was of noble blood and it had been humiliating to be cast out of the Dunmore family. Was there more to it than that?
“As I said, she's a liar and a keeper of secrets.” Her aunt stared straight at her. “And you are too trusting.”
Camille didn't answer, not knowing what to say. But she really liked Mara. So perhaps she was a little bit too proud and too concerned with herself, but she had a good heart. This all had to be some sort of misunderstanding.
“I went with a few others to the house where she had been staying in Yissell Arn before she fled. We went through those few possessions she had left behind. There wasn't much. But what we did find were the remains of various mushrooms and toadstools. Petals from certain plants. Scrapings from various rocks – little more than powder. Things that had been brushed off the table in her room. Things that can be used to create various potions – and various poisons. The wizards knew some of them. The apothecaries knew others. But all knew they were things she shouldn't have.”
“There's more too. The Oracle asked some of our people in the Eternal City to speak with her parents. What they learned about her was troubling.”
“They went to the Dunmore Estate where she was supposed to have grown up and found that the servants didn't know Mara. They'd never even met her. If she had truly been a daughter of the family, they should have known her. But then they spoke with the major-domo and it turned out he knew her name. He knew her for a pretender. He said that she sent some gold coin to the Dunmore Estate every month in exchange for their claiming her as their daughter. It turned out that the Dunmores didn’t have a daughter. But they had debts. The estate had fallen on hard times. Servants had to be let go. Lands sold. And as the family were destitute and needed the money they agreed to pass her off as such. It also turns out that she never stayed with them. And in fact the family were paid to despise Thorm.”
“Then …?” Camille tried to take that in. To work out what it meant. She'd never heard of such a thing.
“The Dunmores were obviously her pass to get into the Palace of the Sun. Using their name she could claim to be of one of the lower ranked noble families. It allowed her to mingle with the upper echelons of society. Marriage to the finest gunsmith in the land would have helped with her entrance. Thorm was making a name for himself as an artisan of surpassing ability. The nobility valued his weapons. Undoubtedly that would have helped her advance. Helped her mingle. We already know it allowed her to consort with Lord Aston. A person only one step removed from the Eternal King. But if he'd spoken with her pretend family, he would have learned the truth and the marriage would have been off. She couldn't have that.”
“With a noble name behind her, a master artisan as a husband, and whatever wealth she obviously has, she could have climbed to the top. And with her knowledge of potions, who knows what she could have achieved?”
“But of course when the Royal Enforcer had his witch finder test Thorm, everything must have fallen apart. All her plans must have been destroyed.” Matilde's expression suddenly became hard. “Which brings up an unfortunate possibility.”
Camille stared at her aunt, hearing the change in her voice and saw the sudden pain in her eyes. It scared her.
“It must have been a terrible moment for Mara. Everything had gone wrong. Instead of climbing the ranks of the Court, she was about to become known as the fiancé of a wizard in hiding. It could lead to her being thrown in gaol. Or hung. All her plans were in ruins. Perhaps she looked around the shop and thought about all the gunpowder stored there. And we know that she did somehow get away unscathed. Almost as if she had some warning of what was coming.”
“No! Not by the Sisters!” Camille gasped as she realised what her aunt was saying. That Mara wasn’t the victim in what had happened but the perpetrator. That she had lied to hide her crime and blamed an innocent victim.
It couldn't be! Camille tried desperately to deny it. She had to deny it. Because the truth was too terrible to accept. It was impossible! Mara couldn't have been the one responsible for hurting her mother! And yet it made sense. The Oracle had said repeatedly that Thorm wasn't responsible. He also had said he hadn't done it. And she knew in her very being that her mother wouldn't have tried to kill herself as Potaine had suggested. That hadn't left a lot of other options. An accident – save that her mother wasn't that stupid. Or that her mother had finally decided to kill Lord Aston – but that wouldn't fix anything and it wasn't her goal. They had to end the Eternal King not his Royal Enforcer. Now there was another possibility?! Her friend Mara had done it.
Still, it was hard to believe that her friend was a master criminal. Self-absorbed? Yes. Shallow? Yes, that too. But a murderer? A cold blooded killer?
And yet certain things came to mind. Memories. Like the way Mara had woven her way through the crowds to get some soup for her and Elspeth. And her turning up in Strongheart with Elspeth in the first place.
“She moves like a dancer.” Camille finally admitted the possibility out loud even as it made her feel ill to admit it. “Fast and graceful. She's also recovered better from her time in the dungeon than the others.”
“A dancer. Or an assassin. Or perhaps an agent,” Matilde mused. “And perhaps she wasn't as badly harmed from her time in the dungeon as she appeared. After all, it would seem she is a consummate liar. But if she is one of those things, who does she work for?”
