Darkening Skies (The Hadrumal Crisis) by Juliet E. McKenna Page B

ditch that ringed it. He paused to study the symbols carved on each one. ‘These are for the stars?’
    ‘For the particular constellations that the Aldabreshi follow, yes.’ Hosh nodded.
    He wouldn’t have brought Anskal here given a choice but his first attempts to explain how and why the Archipelagans traced such intricate patterns in the sky had ground to a halt in utter confusion.
    As the Mandarkin had angrily berated him, Hosh didn’t need any omens to tell him how perilous his situation was. He was a dead man if Anskal concluded he was either lying or that he was simply too ignorant to be of continued use as a source of information about these islands.
    So he had brought the wizard here this morning, to this sacrosanct hollow beyond the line of ironwood trees some way inland from the pavilions and the hut settlement. To his profound relief, these ancient stones had finally enabled the Mandarkin to grasp his meaning.
    ‘Each also marks an arc of this earthly compass, where they look for omens of any kind; birds, clouds, some unforeseen occurrence. To give them some answers as to questions of partnership, death, travel?’ Anskal marked out the first quarter of the circle with his pointing finger before cocking his head at Hosh. ‘But these stars are not anywhere close to these stones at the moment. What of that?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Hosh hated to say so but there was so much he didn’t understand about the Archipelagans’ philosophies.
    ‘This is also where they test their slaves?’ The Mandarkin had lost interest, returning once again to the dark stains marring the trampled soil.
    ‘Yes.’ Hosh swallowed stomach-churning recollection of the slaughter he had seen here, when newly-chained captives had been set to fight each other. The corsairs had both wagered and read portents into who lived and who had died.
    There were days when he still couldn’t believe that he had survived being hurled into such deadly combat. Followed by nights when he dreamed of the half-starved, half-witted unfortunate whom he’d had to kill to live. Hosh kept telling himself that the dead man must surely have been reborn, all unknowing by now. That Saedrin would understand he’d had no choice at all. That was scant consolation when he woke sweating, his heart pounding, his stomach heaving.
    ‘That is good.’ Once again Anskal was nodding.
    Hosh couldn’t decide which was more disturbing; that the wizard so clearly approved of such brutality or that he had recognised these blood stains for what they were before Hosh had begun to explain. What was this distant homeland of his like?
    ‘All the same, very strange.’ Anskal shook his head in wonderment before turning back to Hosh. ‘Now you will go and talk to those who fled across the island.’
    The Mandarkin nodded and turning his back, began walking back towards the shady trees, heading for the huts and the pavilions beyond overlooking the curve of the beach at the head of the anchorage.
    Hosh watched him go. The bastard clearly didn’t doubt for an instant that he would be obeyed.
    Because the wizard wasn’t wrong, he thought unhappily. As wretched as his life was, Hosh wasn’t yet so tired of life that he’d defy the Mandarkin outright and die in some magical agony before he’d so much as closed his mouth on the words.
    But wouldn’t that happen regardless, if he came back from the island’s far shore with some message of rejection from the corsairs and their slaves? Because Hosh couldn’t think how he could possibly persuade them to listen to any wizard’s proposal.
    He contemplated the stained earth. The blood shed here wasn’t only from captured slaves. The corsairs had clustered in the hollow, seeking desperately for omens in the first terrified days after Anskal’s arrival. Fear and anger had seen them turn murderously on each other. Hosh had seen Ducah kill a double handful of men and more, for no reason beyond his own impotent fury.
    He felt for the