The Brotherhood knew itself to be safe, secure. Its vast network of spies warned it instantly of any threat, long before that threat was seen. Vigilance was, therefore, easy and relaxed. The gates stood open wide. The guards played at rune-bone and didn’t even bother to glance up from their game as Hugh and Iridal walked through the gates to a cobblestone courtyard beyond. Most of the outbuildings were empty, though they would have been filled rapidly enough with the citizens of Klervashna had attack threatened. Hugh and Iridal saw no one in their walk along the winding avenues, leading up a gentle slope to the main building.
Older than the rest, this structure was central headquarters for the Brotherhood, which had the temerity to fly its own flag—a blood-red banner bearing a single upheld hand, palm flat, fingers together. The entrance door—a rarity on Arianus, for it was made of wood, decorated with intricate carvings—was closed fast and barred.
“Wait here,” Hugh ordered, pointing. “Don’t move from this spot.” Iridal, numb and dazed with exhaustion, looked down. She stood on a flat piece of flagstone that was, she noticed (now that she examined it more closely) a different shape and color from the flagstone walkway leading to the door. The stone was cut to resemble vaguely the shape of a hand.
“Don’t move off that rock,” Hugh warned again. He indicated a narrow slit in the stonework, positioned above the door. “There’s an arrow pointed at your heart. Step to either the right or the left and you’re dead.” Iridal froze, stared at the dark slit, through which she could see nothing—no sign of life, no movement. Yet she had no doubt, from Hugh’s tone, that what he said was true. She remained standing on the hand-shaped rock. Hugh left her, walked up to the door.
He paused, studied the carvings on the door, carvings that were done in the shape of hands—open, palm flat, resembling the symbol on the flag. There were twelve in all, ranged round in the shape of a circle, fingers out. Choosing one, Hugh pressed his own hand into the carving.[56] The door swung open.
“Come,” he said to Iridal, motioning for her to join him. “It’s safe now.” Glancing askance at the window above, Iridal hastened to Hugh’s side. The fortress was oppressive, filled her with a sense of terrible loneliness, gloom, and dark foreboding. She caught hold of Hugh’s outstretched hand, held on to it fast.
Hugh looked concerned at her chill touch, her unnatural pallor. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, a grim look warned her to remain calm, in control. Iridal lowered her head, pulled her hood down to hide her face, and accompanied him inside a small room.
The door shut immediately behind them, bars thundered into place with a boom that stopped the heart. After the bright light outside, Iridal was half blind. Hugh stood blinking, motionless, until he could see.
“This way,” said a dry voice that sounded like the crackle of very old parchment. Movement sounded to their right.
Hugh followed, knowing well where he was and where he was going. He kept fast hold of Iridal, who was grateful for his guidance. The darkness was daunting, unnerving. It was intended to be. She reminded herself that she had asked for this. She had better get used to being in dark and unnerving places.
“Hugh the Hand,” said the dry voice. “How very good to see you, sir. It’s been a long time.”
They entered a windowless chamber, lit by the soft light of a glowstone in a lantern. A stooped and wizened old man stood regarding Hugh with a gentle, benign expression, made remarkable by a pair of wonderfully clear and penetrating eyes.
“It has that, Ancient,” said Hugh, his stern expression relaxing into a smile.
“I’m surprised to find you still at work. I’ve thought you’d be taking your ease by a good fire.”
“Ah, this is all the duties I undertake now, sir,” said the old man. “I’ve put the other away long since, except for a bit of instruction, now and then, to those like yourself, who ask for it. A skilled pupil you were, too, sir. You had the proper touch—delicate, sensitive. Not like some of these ham-fisted louts you see today.”
The Ancient shook his head, the bright eyes shifted unhurriedly from Hugh to Iridal, taking in every detail to the extent that she had the feeling he could see through her clothes, perhaps even through flesh.
He shifted the penetrating gaze back to Hugh. “You’ll forgive me, sir, but I must ask. Wouldn’t do to break the rules, not even for you.”
“Of course,” said Hugh, and held up his right hand, palm out, fingers together. The Ancient took Hugh’s hand in his own, peered at it intently by the light of the glowstone.
“Thank you, sir,” said the Ancient gravely. “What is your business?”
“Is Ciang seeing anyone today?”
“Yes, sir. One’s come to be admitted. They’ll be perform—the ceremony at the stroke of the hour. I’m sure your presence would be welcome. And what is your wish concerning your guest?”
“She’s to be escorted to a room with a fire. My business with Ciang may take a while. See to it that the lady’s made comfortable, given food and drink, a bed if she desires.”
“A room?” asked the old man mildly. “Or a cell?”
“A room,” said Hugh. “Make her comfortable. I may be a long time.” The Ancient eyed Iridal speculatively. “She’s a magus, I’ll ’er. It’s your call, Hand, but are you sure you want her left unguarded?”
“She won’t use her magic. Another’s life, more precious for her than her own, hangs in the balance. Besides,” he added “she’s my employer.”
“Ah, I see.” The Ancient nodded and bowed to Iridal with a rusty grace that would have become one of Stephen’s royal courtiers.
“I will escort the lady to her chamber myself,” said the old man in courteous tones. “It is not often I have such pleasant duty allotted me. You, Hugh the Hand, may go on up. Ciang has been informed of your coming.” Hugh grunted, not surprised. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, refilled it. Placing his pipe in his mouth, he cast Iridal one look that was empty and dark, without comfort, hint, or meaning. Then he turned and walked into the shadows beyond.
“We go through this door, my lady,” said the Ancient, gesturing in a direction opposite from that which Hugh had taken.
Lifting the lantern in his wrinkled hand, the old man apologized for preceding her, saying that the way was dark and the stairs in ill repair and occasionally treacherous. Iridal begged him, in a low voice, not to think of it.
“You’ve known Hugh the Hand long?” she asked, feeling herself blush to ask the question, trying hard to make it sound like casual conversation.
“Over twenty years,” said the Ancient. “Since he first came to us, little more than a gangling youth.”
Iridal wondered at that, wondered about this Brotherhood, who ruled an island. And Hugh was one of them and seemingly respected at that. Amazing, for a man who went out of his way to isolate himself.
“You mentioned teaching him a skill,” she said. “What was it?” It might have been music lessons, to judge by the Ancient’s benign and gentle appearance.
“The knife, my lady. Ah, there has never been one as skilled with a blade as Hugh the Hand. I was good, but he bettered me. He once stabbed a man he was sitting next to him an inn. Made such a neat job of it that the man never moved, never let out a cry. No one knew he was dead until the next morning, when they found him sitting in the same place, stiff as the wall. The trick is knowing the right spot, slipping the blade between the ribs in order to pierce the heart before the mark knows what hit him.
“Here we are, my lady. A room nice and cozy, with a fire well laid and a bed, if you’d care to take a nap. And will you have white wine or red with your meal?”
Hugh walked slowly through the halls of the fortress, in time to feel pleasure in this return to familiar surround-Nothing had changed, nothing except him. That’s why had not come back, when he knew he would have been welcome. They wouldn’t understand and he couldn’t explain - The Kir didn’t understand either. But they didn’t ask questions.
56
Haplo made a study of the Brotherhood and was able to penetrate many of their secrets. He surmises, in his writings, that the carvings on the door correspond to some sort of ritual cycle in the Brotherhood’s calendar. A member chooses the correct hand based on this cycle and presses his hand against it. A small hole carved in the door admits sunlight into the watch room. The sunlight is cut off by the hand covering the hole, and thus the watcher knows the member is one who has a right to enter. At night, or on cloudy days, a candle flame or some other source of light is held up to the correct hand, is seen through the hole.
Those who fail to perform this ritual are killed instantly by the archer stationed at all times in the window above.