There was a cloying smell of oil, sweat and perfume on the recreation platform as wrestlers, archers and idlers of both sexes strolled casually around between the arenas that morning. As he headed for the archery range, Pelmen found himself staring at Arlece's flamboyant hair. Arlece had just handed a quiver, bow and thorns to a companion and was approaching one of the many stages.
Pelmen decided to study him. Arlece easily floored two adversaries, using skill, as well as his strength, and Pelmen desperately tried to memorize his techniques. Although he was painfully aware that it was practice which would give him the best chance of victory, he nevertheless figured it would do no harm to watch and learn. After quickly disposing of the second wrestler, Arlece strutted to the edge of the stage, challenging Pelmen with a menacing stare.
Pelmen did not want to let go of his bow, even for a few minutes and so turned away and continued on his way, stopping a hundred paces from one of the targets, a wooden manikin. Slowly, he took out several bundles of thorns, tied up with a cord, with which he was equipped. Then, fighting back a sigh, he lifted Master Galn's bow—his bow. Guided by memories of his first experiment with the weapon, he had decided not to fire at the target to begin with, in order to concentrate on firing distances.
The string was still as difficult to draw. The first attempt was too short, the second, badly managed, went askew. When, after a while, Pelmen went to pick up the thorns, and then shot again, mechanically, the absurdity of the exercise drew grimaces of annoyance from him. Why continue when the person who had taken him to one of the corridors of the Canyons, and who had shown him what a marvelous thing it was to draw a bow, no longer existed? Why upset himself? What was the point?
To match his skill... The Pelmen who might have tried to do that was a different person. Someone who wouldn't have this gaping hole in his life.
Feeling hungry, Pelmen went to sit down in a deserted corner of the esplanade. He rummaged in his satchel and ate without tasting his food, then went back to take up his position again and resume his session, without any more conviction. He continued until his fingers were burning, and he felt as if he was making progress, even if that progress resulted in a painful shoulder. Determined to prove himself, Pelmen focused on the pain, telling himself that at least it proved that he was still alive.
"Pel? My son?"
Pelmen turned round. For a second, he stood there stupidly, wondering who the stout hevelen was whose crudely shorn head gleamed under Astar's rays and who had stolen the sweet odor of his mother.
"Mama?" he finally said. "What have you done?"
He interrupted himself, his breath cut short. Dryna had just thrown herself into his arms and was hugging him so tight that he thought he would break in two. He did his best to return the embrace while she babbled in his ear. The warmth of his mother's skin shooed away the shadows which had, up until a moment ago, been gripping his heart, making his pain more bearable.
"Astar be praised, you look well," she said, pulling away and stepping back in order to look at him more closely, her nostrils quivering.
Pelmen forced a little smile. How emotional must his oh-so-discreet mother be to make such a display of her feelings in public?
Her face filled with compassion. "Your odor is that of grief, as Xuven told me. Yes, your uncle told me about Master Galn. And your gaze... it's changed. Oh, my son, why did you have to come here?"
"It would have happened anyway," replied Pelmen, hoarsely. "Master Galn didn't have much longer. And I think... no, I'm sure, it would have been even harder in Durepeaux. I would have felt that not only was I losing him, but also all of my hopes and dreams."
Dryna resembled a wounded animal when she looked at him again. "You could have warned me, all the same! To tell me where you were... instead of leaving it to Xuven to do it."
"I'm sorry, truly sorry. I would have done, but... Why didn't you come with Zenel the other day?" he asked, changing the subject.
"He didn't want me to come with him. He thought he'd be able to bring you back to Durepeaux." She shrugged her shoulders. "I knew he was mistaken."
"You know me, at least."
Dryna's expression became grave.
"What's the matter?" Pelmen asked.
"Oh, I..." Her eyelids fluttered. "Before leaving, I made my own inquiries. I know what Zenel planned at the tannery. I know you left because of that."
"Not only that, Mama."
"But if you don't like it here," she went on, without paying any heed to the interruption, "you can come back. You'll always have a place there, you know. Even if I have to make your father swallow rotten nidepoux broth for six months before he ends up accepting you. It's nothing less than what he deserves, trying to trap you the way he did."
Pelmen watched her and then burst out laughing, pleased when his mother started laughing uncontrollably too. He realized that her presence made him feel better, and he placed his hands tenderly on her shoulders.
"Thanks, but it's not going to happen," he said softly. "You see, before you arrived, I asked myself a lot of questions. Thanks to you, I understand that it's here I need to be. I have to go forward, make progress, and do it not only for Master Galn, but for myself. It'll be difficult at first, but never as difficult as cutting up nidepoux hides."
"You're firmly decided, then. You know you might have to travel with your uncle—to go to distant countries, including some outside the Canyons? That terrifies me."
"Yes, he's talked to me about it. It's pretty frightening, it's true. I admit, however, I want to find out more about the places where he swaps all of his merchandise. Then again, I'll have to earn my food and shelter sooner or later."
Dryna nodded her head. "I know you well enough to know you won't change your mind. At least promise me you'll be careful."
"Of course, Mama. That's a promise. Er... I wanted to ask you... what's become of Mils? You haven't brought him?"
Dryna pursed her lips. Pelmen looked at her anxiously.
"The first two days after you left, I gave him something to eat. Afterward... afterward, he no longer came. I think he understood you weren't coming back."
"Then..." Pelmen's throat was dry. "Then he too has gone to live his own life. It's probably better that way."
Astar had begun his decline toward the line of the horizon.
"Are you spending the night in Xuven's house?" Pelmen asked.
"I can't, Mistress Buselden gave me a day's leave, but no more."
Mistress Buselden was the dressmaker in Durepeaux for whom Dryna worked.
"But the tiredness..." Pelmen protested.
"Don't worry. I traveled aboard a nidepoux cart coming up here, and my legs are still strong. It'll be all right." She cast a glance at the day-star. "I mustn't stay too long, though."
"Give me time to pick up my thorns and I'll come with you."
While walking beside his mother, avoiding the hevelens and the animals which were being led by the bridle across the footbridges, Pelmen thought about how much effort his mother had put into coming to visit him. He felt guilty about being the only cause of her coming to the great city, without being able to help taking a certain pride in it.
To come here, she must finally have put some distance between her and Zenel. It's about time.
"I've brought you our long-haired nidepoux blanket," said Dryna. "It's waiting for you at your uncle's house."
"You... you did that?" The warm and silky blanket, a gift from Olgen Peaudecuir, was the most precious thing they possessed, and it was Pelmen's father's pride and joy. "Does Zenel know?"
"Not yet," she replied, with one of her malicious smiles. "You know he keeps it in his trunk and only takes it out once or twice a year to admire it. He won't notice right away."
"But when he does, how are you going to explain it?"
"I'll tell him you needed it more than he does. I'll talk to him about his responsibilities to you. He's still your father."
"That won't please him."
"Don't worry about it; I know how to handle him."
"Oh, Mama..." He stopped and, putting his hand on her wrist, made her turn toward him, before hugging her. "Thanks. Thanks for that... and most of all, for having come."
Dryna didn't reply and turned away, fighting back her tears. They continued walking in silence into the tunnel leading down to the base of the mountain, and emerged into the open air. There, at the foot of the great city, they said their goodbyes.
"Don't forget the blanket if you go traveling. When you're inside it, I know you'll think of me."
"I'll take it," Pelmen promised. "And I'll come to see you, as soon as I can."
They embraced once more, for a long time, before Pelmen pulled away gently. She stood there motionless while he turned around and went back into the tunnel.
Pelmen slept a little better that night. Every time the image of Master Galn on his death-bed came to torment him, racking him with questions about the fate of Teleg and Alicene, or he thought about his mother and Mils, he pressed the soft, comforting nidepoux fur against his skin. That was how he ended up going to sleep, with his cheek resting on it.
Before Astar reached his zenith the next day, Pelmen left for the artisans' platform, with instructions to come back as soon as the trial of Merit was over. Between the weavers' and potters' shops, the air was filled with the hubbub of merchants appealing to passers-by and customers haggling over prices or making conversation, with the background sounds of carpenters tapping, polishing and cutting. For them, it's just an ordinary day.
It was Alicene who saw him first. She was standing near the stage, and shouted to him after he had passed her by without noticing her. It was easy to tell by the rings beneath the young woman's eyes and her half-closed eyelids that the night had been very short. In spite of her tiredness and sorrow, Alicene tried her best to behave naturally around Pelmen.
I dare not imagine what state Teleg's in.
His friend sat on a stool set on the stage. His back bent, he seemed to be entirely absorbed in his task. Facing him, two unknown individuals were watching him.
"I hope he'll succeed," Alicene said. Teleg's sister's eyes sought out his own, looking for comfort—she must have reached the end of her rope, to rely on him!
He tried to look confident. "You heard what he said—he's been preparing for this for some time. If your father was sure he would succeed, there's no reason to think he was mistaken. Let me see how he is doing."
Pelmen walked around the stage in order to assess the object which Teleg was working with flint in hand. There was an entire array of them at his feet, their cutting edges varying in size and thickness. The harp was wedged between his knees. At the moment, Teleg was working on the inner curvature of the instrument's upper section. His features were wrinkled in concentration. Pelmen was certain his friend had not noticed his arrival.
So far as he could judge, Teleg's hand was steady, which was something of a marvel, considering what he had been through.
"I feared that tiredness might have dulled his skill," Pelmen whispered to Alicene, "but I can't see any deficiency. I'm not an expert, of course."
"As long as those two are of the same opinion," she replied.
Pelmen turned to look at "those two". The examiners were wearing togas ornamented by the motifs of the Carpenter, displayed on an ochre and yellow background. One of them, old enough to be his father and short of stature, had gray side-whiskers that tapered toward the chin. His brows furrowed, he was sitting motionless. The second individual, younger and less attentive, must have been having difficulty channeling his energy, for he never ceased shifting his large carcass, like a nidepoux too long confined in its pen.
Alicene, whom Pelmen was watching out of the corner of his eye, was visibly making an effort to adopt what might pass for a neutral attitude.
Teleg only paused for brief intervals to gauge the quality of his work. He continued to hollow, file and polish his instrument until he was happy that it had reached the degree of perfection needed. Then he took the strings which he had brought and extended them across the framework of the harp. A clear sound rang out. He checked his work one last time. When he got to his feet, turned toward the judges and, not without a certain solemnity, held the object out to them, his face was a display of various contradictory emotions. Fear, pride and indecision were in conflict there.
The older hevelen took the harp, weighed it in his hands, and inspected it carefully. He strummed the strings, which emitted a sound Pelmen thought pleasant. That was not the opinion of the examiner, however, for he handed the instrument to his companion with a dismissive gesture. The massive individual scarcely cast a scornful glance over the harp before breaking it over his knee with a frightful and resounding crack.
"No!" howled Teleg.
Losing control of himself, he rushed toward the large examiner—who, with an authoritative sweep of the hand, struck him full in the face, sending him sprawling on the ground, half-stunned. Pelmen wanted to run to his aid, but Alicene's frail arms encircled him, causing him to lose his balance and fall over.
"Don't go. It's useless! You'll only make things worse!" she was sobbing and pleading, but holding on to him with the strength of desperation. Pelmen would have had to hurt her to pull free, so he became still.
"Did you see?" he groaned, propping himself up on his elbow and turning toward her.
She replied with a nod of the head, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"The Merit is not granted," the first examiner announced. Apparently, he thought he needed to elaborate, since breaking the harp wasn't clear enough.
Teleg was lying on his back, his arms extended alongside his body, crushed by the weight of his failure and all his accumulated fatigue, even more than from the blow he had received.
"Accordingly, you will carry out for our lord, the Carpenter Emeritus, the functions of windlass operator, from today onwards and for the two following springs. All the property of your deceased father, the master craftsman Galn Boisencroix, now belong to our lord, who will dispose of it as he sees fit. In his great forbearance, the Carpenter Emeritus consents to employ your sister, Alicene Boisencroix here present, in his quarters in the Sanctuary of the Ten, where she will become one of his maidservants."
The examiner directed his mocking, hawk-like gaze at Alicene. Pelmen, his fists clenched, wanted to make him swallow his words, and he muttered through his teeth: "We'll see whether or not she'll serve him!"
"Don't get involved!" Alicene pleaded again, gripping his arm with her long, slender fingers. Once again, he looked at her uncomprehendingly.
"It's my fate at stake. It's up to me to decide it." The young woman's voice was firm, her bloodshot gaze meeting Pelmen's without flinching. "What has happened is... it's horrible, I know. My brother doesn't deserve it at all, but I beg you not to make things even more difficult. At least the Carpenter treats his maidservants decently."
"How do you know?"
"It's well known. Believe me, a place in the Sanctuary of the Ten is far from being the worst thing that could happen to me. At least there, I'll be able to try to keep an eye on my brother."
"He'll be there?"
"In the section reserved for windlass operators. You'll be able to visit him, I think."
Alicene turned toward the shorter of the two examiners, who had drawn near and could not have failed to hear her last remark. His silence was tantamount to confirmation: if visits had been forbidden, he would not have kept it private.
"Come with me," he said to Alicene.
She gestured silently to Pelmen that all would be well. He stood aside, with ill grace.
The brutal examiner had hoisted Teleg, who was still semi-conscious, onto his shoulder. He came down from the stage as if he were carrying an insignificant burden.
With his soul feeling as if it were dying, Pelmen watched them move away. He could not believe what had just unfolded before his eyes. The meaninglessness of Master Galn's death had been followed up by further tragedy. Slowly, numbly, he went to pick up the abandoned flints.
***
The vigorously launched cactus thorn sped across the two hundred yards separating it from the target to lodge, vibrating, in the leg of a wooden puppet attached to the platform. Pelmen turned to his uncle and nodded his head.
The week before, after Teleg's failure and the heavy penalty inflicted on him, Pelmen had wondered whether he might need to give up on Alveg and those who exercised power there. When he had told Xuven about the disastrous conclusion to the trial of Merit, his uncle expressed sympathy, while manifesting disappointment rather than surprise. "I've heard tell of skillful apprentices finding themselves set aside, to the profit of hevelens who benefit from the favor of Aguerris," his uncle explained, "but there's no proof. Until now, I assure you, not all Aguerris have acted like Ferestas Taillebois—the Carpenter's name. In my opinion, you shouldn't look at it as a desire to do harm but largely a matter of thoughtlessness. Ferestas is a gambler, and rumor has it that he has recently got into debt, as a result of stupid bets. To him, any means seems good to get the wind behind him again. If Teleg had, let's say, thought to offer him his best pieces, his chance of success would undeniably have been increased."
Pelmen had wrinkled his nose in disgust. The songs praising the nobility and wisdom of the Aguerris were no more than songs, then. More than ever, he understood that if he wanted to succeed in his own endeavors, he would have to fight, and try to come through the trials without expecting any leniency.
The physical challenge did not displease him so, in his free time, he aggressively drew the empty string of the bow he kept behind the counter, imagining he was taking aim at each of the two examiners, quaking in fear. They had only been carrying out orders, of course, but he had never seen the Carpenter.
After some initial stiffness, his muscles became accustomed to prolonged effort, and over the course of evenings spent on the recreation platform, the old feeling came back to him with increasing sharpness as he familiarized himself with his bow. The distance he was able to attain now surpassed anything he had been able to reach before.
Xuven studied him as if seeing him for the first time. "I must admit that it isn't commonplace, to hit the target at that distance five times running against the wind. But don't let it go to your head—it still remains to be seen how you perform in a lateral wind. Let's go pick up your thorns."
They drew nearer, and Xuven whistled between his teeth. Except for the last, less precise shot, the thorns were all planted in a neat group in the torso of the puppet. Pelmen did his best to pull them out without damaging them, but was obliged nonetheless to throw away two that had become unusable. Still accompanied by Xuven, he went back to the shooting area, taking for his target a puppet due south of his position.
From the quiver given to him by his uncle—"What would an archer be without his quiver?" he had asked Pelmen in a gruff tone—he took several thorns and carefully selected those he was about to employ.
His nostrils quivered, his entire body infused with the breath of Aoles. He sensed the wind—the wind was within him.
Calmly, he drew the bow which had belonged to Master Galn, releasing the string at the right time. The dart flew, heading to the left of the puppet. Caught by a gust of wind, it scored a direct hit.
Xuven shot him such an incredulous glance that it almost provoked a smile from Pelmen. When three out of the other four projectiles had hit their target, Xuven placed a hand on his nephew's shoulder.
"One might think Aoles were guiding your hand in person."
"Does that mean I can remain in your service?"
"Of course. You're genuinely gifted, it's true. Especially for being so..."
"What?"
"I should tell you the scent that clings to you most frequently these days is that of anger." Xuven raised his hand to prevent his nephew from responding and went on: "Oh, it's normal to revolt against injustice, but anger, although it permits advancement at times, is a double-edged flint. Don't travel too long in the company of that beast, or you risk feeling its bite when it begins to devour your heart."
Taken aback, Pelmen remained silent, suddenly aware that he couldn't hide how he was feeling from his uncle.
"Think about pleasant things," said Xuven. "About those you love, about good times spent in their company. No one can take those moments away from you. There is more to the world than just the bad things."
Pelmen thought about arguing, but instead he uttered a deep sigh. His eyes stared into the void. "You're probably right," he admitted finally. "If not, I wouldn't have met you."
"What's that I see?" said Xuven, ironically. "One might almost think it was a smile. Come on, I prefer that."
Pelmen went to extract the thorns from the puppet before replacing them in his quiver. He would have to go down to the plain to harvest more thorns from the cacti in order to replenish his stock. As he came back, he raised his eyes along the granite cliff of the Alveg Mountain, all the way to the immense palace of gilded rock crowning it. The distinctive tint of the Sanctuary of the Ten, which was found nowhere else in the Canyons, gave him the impression a piece of the sky had been detached, as an ambassador, to settle there and watch over the inhabitants of the city. The swollen and bulbous form was fascinating, even from afar. From time to time, a Wing of Aoles launched forth from the top of one of its ten towers.
Pelmen turned up his nose. Deciding to concentrate all his efforts on his training was the logical thing to do in order to ensure that the sacrifices he had made had not been in vain, but he could not help feeling a little guilty. His friends must think he had abandoned them.
"You can go and see them tomorrow morning," Xuven said, pointing to the Sanctuary. "I have to be away from the shop, so you'll have the whole day to yourself."
Pelmen accepted with gratitude, and was getting ready to follow his uncle when he saw Arlece. The curly-haired wrestler was watching them.
Pelmen frowned, walking in the opposite direction so as to avoid him. However, he wasn't fast enough.
"Fortunately for you," said Arlece, "you're better with your bow than you are at wrestling."
Pelmen stopped, surprised. His uncle took another few steps forward before turning around, frowning.
"You were watching me?" asked Pelmen.
"That's all I was doing," said Arlece, ironically. "You can handle yourself."
"You think so? In that case, you and I make a pair."
"I wouldn't go that far..."
"I've just had an idea," Pelmen interjected. "I could teach you what I know about archery, and in exchange, you could teach me to wrestle. That way, we'd have all the trumps in our hand for the tournament."
Arlece forced a smile. Pelmen thought he was about to be rudely put in his place with one of the mocking remarks Arlece had the knack of making, so he was surprised by the wrestler's reply.
"Perhaps that's not such a stupid proposition. Let's see... how about this: we meet up tomorrow when Astar reaches his zenith, at Master Benras' tavern in the Three Taverns sector. Might as well discuss it over a tankard."
Pelmen looked at Xuven for guidance, who nodded imperceptibly.
"Agreed," said Pelmen.
Early the following morning, with a satchel slung over his shoulder, Pelmen impatiently began climbing the cliff leading to the Sanctuary. Astar's rays were already decorating the edifice with a thousand beams of light. The palace of the Aguerris was so majestic and seemed so inaccessible that under normal circumstances, it would never have entered Pelmen's mind to go there. He climbed the narrow stairways as quickly as possible. Soon, however, he had to slow down in order to catch his breath.
The high steps went on forever. Dressed luxuriously, Opulents perched in baskets surrounded by rigging overtook him. Hoisted by windlasses, they reached the summit well before him, in spite of the gusts of wind making their perches sway.
Pelmen had sturdy legs, and did not slow his progress once, although, by the end, he felt like a pain-ridden old man. Down below, the city deployed its multitude of footbridges and platforms, insignificant in comparison with the so-called major plazas. Under the breath of Aoles unfurling over the plateau, Pelmen advanced, his back bent, toward a gigantic granite portal surmounted by a sculpture on the same scale. The latter depicted an algam, which, on its rostrum, invited the visitor to follow it. The work was so ingenious Pelmen could not imagine how his fellow hevelens could have accomplished it. It gave the impression that, at any moment, the bird might come to life and beat its wings.
His attention caught by the ruby-tinted hues of the portal's lintels, Pelmen stared. Refusing to believe it at first, his eyes widened.
He had assumed that the supposed riches of the Sanctuary were an exaggeration due to the striking coloration of its walls, but it was necessary to yield to the evidence—the bars of amberrock alone represented an immeasurable treasure. It was only after recovering from his initial astonishment that he noticed an open stone doorway off to one side. Judging by the pair of hunters armed with flint spears and guarding the entrance, it must have been the more commonly used of the two; the other was obviously only used on ceremonial occasions. Pelmen addressed himself to one of the guards, whose eyes looked at him from a weather-beaten face.
"I've come to visit a friend. May I come in?"
"Friend? What friend?"
"He's a windlass operator. A new one named Teleg, who arrived less than a week ago."
"You're in luck—they still need reinforcements," the second guard, a stocky individual, piped up with a predatory smile.
Pelmen did not much care for the joke, but he contented himself with waiting for the sentries to stop laughing.
With a grunt, the weather-beaten guard invited him to follow.
A soft light, emanating from crystals that could be distinguished within the rock, illuminated the vast interior of the palace. The visibly organic aspect of the exterior was also evident within. Pelmen felt a wall. Cold, hard and smooth, it was certainly stone, but so perfectly united that nothing suggested the blocks had been fitted.
Servants in the colored livery of their lords were hurrying back and forth; here and there, Opulents were conferring in small groups. Overly emphatic laughter or exuberant exclamations rang out on occasion. Covered by an emerald green carpet, a monumental staircase led to the upper floor. The hunter ignored it to turn into a gently sloping corridor leading to the hall where the windlasses were housed. Daylight streamed through horizontal wooden bars which were seamlessly inlaid into the sills of the windows. The hunter veered to the left a little before the entrance. Nevertheless, Pelmen caught a glimpse of three hevelens leaning over the handle of one of the windlasses—a second trio must have been working on the other side.
Dust had settled in the new corridor they went along. It tickled Pelmen's nostrils, and he sneezed.
"Who does your friend work for?" asked the weather-beaten hunter.
"The Carpenter Emeritus."
A little way further on, after passing several doors, they went into a room saturated with the acrid odors of sweat and dirt. Hevelens, young and old, but all male, were living there in squalid conditions all too familiar to Pelmen, in the midst of filthy blankets, broken pitchers and straw pallets of more than questionable cleanliness. While the guard remained at the entrance, Pelmen looked around the place without finding Teleg. He questioned two windlass operators before a third with a ruddy face and fetid breath intervened.
"You're looking for a blond with violet eyes, is that right?"
"That's him."
"He's doubtless in Master Dorecruche's tavern in the city. He's had a nasty fall, your mate—but between us, he'd better watch his back if he wants to last. The Aguerri here doesn't like us to get drunk."
Amazed, Pelmen asked: "How does Teleg pay for drink?"
"He does what we all do, odd jobs for the boss at the tavern. We do it, and not even every day, because we're only allowed to eat at work, but he's young and strong. " The hevelen's eyes lit up. "What have you got in your satchel? Perhaps you can help me out..."
Pelmen took a step back to avoid the dirty hand, and the other burst out laughing while he drew away, without asking for any more. Pelmen retraced his steps, still escorted by the guard. When they reached the first intersection, he asked which way to go to reach the servants' quarters.
The hunter shook his head. "Only a few people are authorized to see the Aguerris' personal servants. If there's one you need to see, he'll have to come and find you during his rest period." In response to Pelmen's distressed expression, he added, slyly, "I can get a message to him... if you have something to offer in exchange."
"I don't have anything," Pelmen sighed. All that the satchel contained was his next meal, and he had no intention of trading it.
The guard pointed at the exit, signaling that he should leave.
"But I'll come back, and I won't be empty-handed."
"I'll look forward to that blessed day with impatience."
Without further delay, Pelmen went back down the steps along the side of the cliff. He asked for Master Dorecruche's establishment, and learned it was in the Three Taverns quarter.
As he strode over the footbridges and walked among the houses, the directions he had been given became confused in his mind.
I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.
Fortunately, the four major platforms situated at the cardinal points formed precious reference-points. Retracing his steps, Pelmen went back to the balcony circling the mountain. From there, he resumed his search more carefully.
When he began to encounter groups of two or three hevelens with vile smelling breath who were holding one another's shoulders as they walked, he knew he had made no mistake this time.
A drunkard, singing at the top of his voice, leaned abruptly over the edge of the balustrade to empty the contents of his stomach. Pelmen felt sorry for any unfortunate individual who might be passing by on the lower level.
The regulars were coming from a building whose banner, flapping in the wind, depicted an earthenware pitcher. Bawdy shouts mingled with the buzz of conversations scarcely permitted the intermittent chords of a lyre to be heard.
Pelmen entered the dive. At the back of the room, bare-breasted dancers with wrinkled skin swayed their hips provocatively without any respect for the rhythm of the music. That was of no importance anyway. For the clients, occupied as they were in exchanging the latest gossip over a tankard, were not paying any attention either to the dancers or to the old musician on the stage, who was as decrepit as his instrument. The beer was flowing freely, and the shaven-headed tavern-keeper was so busy he did not notice the new arrival.
Pelmen made his way to the counter and from there set about making his way along the line of cheerful drunks. Most of them had brought small trinkets, or even items of food, to pay for their tankard of beer or goblet of trana spirit. The landlord inspected the merchandise with a wary eye and then, if he judged it adequate, made it disappear as if by magic before serving anyone.
When Pelmen discovered Teleg, the bare-chested young hevelen was gazing into the bottom of his tankard. Not at all sure what attitude to adopt, Pelmen approached him at a measured pace and tapped him on the shoulder.
His friend raised his head and contemplated him, haggardly. He had the beginnings of a beard and his hair had lost all of its shine. Teleg recognized him after a momentary delay, but even then, his expression stayed a little suspicious.
"Why did you come?" Teleg asked, in a thick voice. His breath was noxious, and Pelmen took note of the hollow rings around his eyelids.
"Why? Aren't we friends? Brothers, you told me, remember..."
"Yeah, for sure," Teleg snarled. "My sister told me you were there when I underwent the trial. You can see where that led."
Pelmen stood there open-mouthed. Teleg went back to his tankard, and then, after a pause, without looking at him, murmured: "It doesn't matter now; it's not important anymore."
"Yes, it is," Pelmen replied. "It's very important to me. Do you think I should have intervened? That it would have helped?"
"No, you were probably right... just like Alicene. I know she's the one who stopped you from helping me. But you see..." Teleg looked at him, his eyes gleaming momentarily. "I no longer have enough energy. The only freedom I have left is to choose to be bitter and to drink myself senseless." He laughed, mirthlessly. "If I didn't hate songs so much, I could almost make one up about that."
"You say so because you can't think straight right now. Why not try to look further ahead? I've kept your set of flints, and I'll bring them to you myself two springs from now. Yes, what happened to you is vile, I'm the first to admit that, but all hope isn't lost. You'll be able to start again..."
"You can be so naïve! It's obvious you've never been a windlass operator. Two springs might as well be an eternity. Even assuming I hold out that long, do you think I'll still have any desire to work under the banner of that piece of shit Carpenter? I'd rather starve."
"You could change trades."
"Change trades!" Teleg shook his head. "You tire me, and Astar knows I don't need anyone to make me tired these days. Go home."
Although wounded by Teleg's attitude, Pelmen realized that pushing his friend right now would not do either of them any good. Teleg was simply not in a state to hold a conversation. Pelmen took a step toward the exit before changing his mind.
"I'll be a hunter soon, and then, I swear to deploy all the winds of Aoles to get you out of it before your term. If it has to come to that, I'll go as far as offering myself to finish it in your stead."
Teleg shook his head, with a knowing expression. "I doubt that kind of arrangement is possible. Don't make promises you can't keep."
They looked at one another and then Pelmen turned around and left for good. It was the first time his friendship with Teleg had been subjected to such a rough test. If he had been able to change the past, to go back and persuade his friend not to participate in that damned trial, at least for a while, he would have done so gladly. Windlass operator! Teleg's fate was certainly not an enviable one.
Astar had almost attained his zenith already. From where he was standing, Pelmen could see the other two taverns.
Stirred by dark thoughts, he headed toward the one from which the most attractive odors emanated. That was indeed Master Benras' establishment, as one of the drinkers confirmed. Arlece was not there. Pelmen traded a thinly rolled leaf containing spices for a tankard of beer and sat down at a table, where he waited. There weren't a lot of customers at this time of day—only a few regulars expressing themselves in slurred voices.
Eventually, the confident silhouette of Arlece appeared in the doorway. He was clad in necot and wearing an ivory necklace. His characteristic sly smile froze momentarily as he spotted Pelmen. He sat down and, with a familiar gesture, summoned the innkeeper who appeared quickly and served him with deference.
They drank at the same time, Pelmen making an effort not to wrinkle his nostrils on sniffing Arlece's perfume.
"Have you thought about my offer?" Pelmen asked.
"Your talent for bartering isn't much better than it is for wrestling."
Pelmen's nostrils quivered.
"Let's see," Arlece continued. "You're proposing to teach me what little you know about archery in exchange for what I can reveal to you about wrestling. That looks like a fool's bargain, doesn't it?"
"Because you think you're a good enough archer?"
"Exactly."
"Then you've brought me here for nothing." Pelmen stood up.
"Come on, come on! Don't get huffy. Do you want to succeed in the Recruitment tournament—yes or no?"
Pelmen looked at Arlece suspiciously.
"Without my help," Arlece declared, "you know as well as I do all the winds of Aoles aren't sufficient to make a hunter out of you."
"You have a very high opinion of yourself," said Pelmen, sitting down again reluctantly.
"I fought you, remember? I know what I can do for you. And if I help you to finish in the top sixteen, you'll be selected by the representatives of Tchulen Poindivoire."
"How do you intend to do that?"
"I don't say it will be easy, but it's possible. You lack the basic techniques, and you can't learn them on your own."
"And in exchange?"
"In exchange, all I ask is your bow."
Pelmen's eyes widened. He almost burst out laughing. "Only my bow?" he murmured. "Preposterous."
"Of course, you'll keep it for the duration of the tournament. Afterward, once you're a hunter, it'll be mine. Believe me, it's not too high a price. What I teach you will serve you all your life, whereas the bow..."
"Its range surpasses what most can achieve."
"How do you know?"
"The man who made it told me."
"Probably so he could sell it to you! Take it from me, don't let the chance pass you by."
"Sorry, but it's out of the question."
Arlece's jaw clenched, but he contented himself with staring into his tankard as Pelmen stood up and left the tavern.
Pelmen spent the rest of the day furiously fighting various adversaries on one of the stages of the recreation platform. He saw Arlece going past the combat arena, avoiding meeting his gaze, heading for the archery range. Pelmen tried to remember his rival's techniques, but his movements were clumsy. He lost against three opponents out of four, and only succeeded in dragging the fourth off the stage with him.
The next day, he got a camlorn from his uncle, which he took to the Sanctuary the same evening. The guard with the weather-beaten features happened to be on duty again when Pelmen, his legs weary, reached the stone gateway. Apparently satisfied with the payment, the hunter told him to wait outside while he passed on the message, which was easy to remember. Pelmen invited Alicene to join him immediately if possible and if not, to arrange a meeting.
Pelmen waited, patiently at first. The wait was prolonged to such an extent he began to wonder whether the guard was making a fool of him. The second sentinel refused to let him pass "just to take a look", which only added to his frustration.
Finally, a slender silhouette appeared, hidden beneath a shawl. Alicene was clad in a long dress that was becoming, but had not taken any particular care arranging her hair. In spite of her recently acquired status as a maidservant, she still walked with dignity.
Pelmen uttered a strangled word of greeting, having momentarily forgotten the purpose of his visit.
"It's a pleasure to see you again," said Alicene. "I thought you might have forgotten us."
"I... I would have been very ungrateful if that were the case," Pelmen stammered, blushing, "but it hasn't been easy to get to see you. I had a hard time finding your brother too."
"Is he well?"
"As well as can be expected."
"I've been so busy with my work here I haven't had time to think about him."
"Is the Carpenter treating you well, at least?"
"Yes, his maidservants are privileged. He's been courteous thus far."
"So much the better."
"It's kind of you to worry about me."
Pelmen blushed again. "It's just that... you and your brother... are going to need all the help I can give you."
"You think so?"
Pelmen looked at her in surprise. "You've lost your shop! Don't you think that's revolting?"
"Aoles and Tinmal have turned away from us, it's true. But that might change."
"That must change. If I succeed in becoming a hunter..." Pelmen hesitated. He had never thought in concrete terms about what his future steps might be. He had a sudden inspiration. "I'll try to get myself assigned to the Sanctuary." He lowered his voice. "I'll use all my influence to get you out of here."
"And what if that doesn't work?"
"Perhaps I'll need to use other methods."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well..." Seeing Alicene's furrowed brow, Pelmen hesitated, struck suddenly by the fact that he had no plan of action. "I need to think about it. To talk about that now would be premature. For the moment, the essential thing is for me to find a wrestling master—someone who'll be able to train me for the tournament."
"There might be someone here."
"If that's the case, let me know, will you?"
"Of course." Alicene turned round anxiously. "I'm sorry, but I need to go back now. I've been away too long." She paused and then planted a furtive kiss on his cheek. By the time Pelmen had recovered from his surprise, her swirling dress had already passed through the doorway.