‘Well, why then?’ asked Maro, confused.
‘Because it is right to do so,’ said Banouin. ‘If they take him for the burning, and I do not speak, it will be as if I lit the torch myself. You understand?’
‘You can’t save him, my friend.’
‘It is not about saving him. It is about saving me,’ said Banouin, climbing into the rear seat of the pony trap.
The driver cracked his whip and the trap moved out along the avenue.
Banouin leaned back against the cushioned seat and watched as the city of Stone slid slowly by him. Crowds were moving along the avenue, seeking places to dine before attending the many theatres, and scores of pony traps and carriages flowed by, filled, for the most part, with expensively dressed nobles. Huge lanterns, set on iron posts, were being lit in the main thoroughfares, smaller lights being hung from ropes and wires in the side streets.
Stone at night was like a gleaming jewel. But the beauty of it was lost on the young Rigante. He sat silently in the carriage, his heart heavy.
‘Which of the Temple entrances did you require?’ asked the driver.
‘I’m not sure. How many are there?’
‘There’s the main entrance off the Lion Road, but they’ll be closing that soon. Then there’s the Administrative Centre, the Museum, and the Knights’ Barracks.’
‘I have a friend who was wrongly arrested today.’
The driver tensed. Banouin could feel the rising fear in him. ‘You’ll want the Prison Building,’ he said.
The trap moved on, cutting left through the Remembrance Garden, and under the Arch of Triumph, moving further into the centre of the city. There were not so many people here, and fewer lanterns lit.
Banouin’s headache was returning, and he felt a little sick. He considered seeking a vision. He had not used this talent since the dreadful day back in Accia, when he saw the Knights of Stone coming for Appius and his daughter, and knew what they would do. Sweat broke out on his brow, and his stomach tightened. Those without the power would never understand the panic that had swept over him. To sit with living people who were already dead, to watch them smile and laugh, and know that tomorrow they would scream in agony, their lives torn from them. To be filled with power – and yet powerless. Banouin had been consumed by the desire to run, to leave, to put the vision behind him. He had wanted to save himself and his friend.
But Bane was a Rigante, and even the knowledge of certain death could not prevent him from trying to save Appius and Lia. How Banouin envied such courage.
There is the entrance,’ said the driver, drawing the pony to a halt some way from the gates. Banouin paid him and stepped down. The driver swung the trap and moved away swiftly.
Banouin walked towards the building. Like all great structures in Stone it was dressed in white marble and decorated with statues. The huge bronze latticed gates were open, and two Knights carrying iron-tipped spears stood guard outside them. Their cloaks were white, indicating they were Guardsmen, the elite who protected Nalademus.
The young Rigante approached the first of the guards. ‘I am seeking someone in authority,’ he said.
‘You wish to name traitors?’ asked the man.
‘No, sir. My tutor was arrested today, and I wish to speak on his behalf.’
‘If he was arrested, then he’s a traitor,’ said the Knight. ‘You wish to speak in defence of a traitor?’
‘He is not a traitor, sir. He was falsely accused.’
‘Oh, is that right?’ said the Knight, with a sneer. ‘Well, then. Wait here.’ He walked back inside the gates and clanged his spear point against a bronze bell hanging outside the guardhouse. A middle-aged servant emerged from the building, spoke to the guard, then ran towards the main building. Banouin waited patiently. After some time two more Knights appeared, grim-faced men with emotionless eyes.
The first guard approached Banouin. ‘These men will take you to where you can make your complaint,’ he said.
‘Thank you, sir.’
Banouin followed the two Knights along a path of white gravel, and through a tree garden to a side door leading to a narrow corridor. Their footsteps echoed inside the building. They climbed stairs, turning first left, then right, and soon Banouin felt lost within the maze of corridors and rooms. At last they halted before double doors, which the soldiers opened. Beyond the doors was a large room, with high, arched windows. The walls were unadorned, but a beautiful mosaic pattern had been laid upon the floor, a series of interconnected lines of shimmering gold on a field of white. In the centre of the room was a semicircular table, behind which sat a priest. His head was shaved, his beard dyed blood red. He glanced up as the Knights entered, then sat back in his chair, idly fingering the pale grey pendant that hung from his neck.