‘Have you ever seen anything like this?’ Keel asked, amazed.
‘I’ve seen its like,’ said Garric. ‘In Carradis.’
‘You said you didn’t go closer than the outskirts.’
‘Nor would you, if you’d seen what I saw. But the outskirts were enough. The old capital … There are strange forces at work there. Time doesn’t flow as it should. A man can’t trust his own mind. But I saw Old Ossian buildings, and gardens even finer than these.’
Keel tilted his head back, his eyes roaming the windows. ‘All they had, all they made … How did it end in barbarity and chaos?’
‘Empires fall,’ said Garric. ‘The urds had their turn, and so did we. The Krodans style themselves as the Third Empire, but their time will come, just as it did for all the others.’
‘Shades, don’t you think of anything else?’
‘Not since I lost my country.’
They wandered further into the gardens, searching for an exit. Cade stayed where he was, pressed against the stone jamb. It was easy to hear their conversation in the quiet open space.
‘You need to go easy on Aren,’ Keel said. ‘Osman doesn’t like it. Fen either. They don’t understand.’
‘They don’t need to.’
‘They do, Garric. You asked them to help you save him, and they did, and it cost us Otten and Dox and Tarvi and Varla. It’s sore hard on ’em to see how you hate that boy when their friends gave their lives to rescue him.’
Cade waited for Garric’s reply, heart bumping with the thrill of eavesdropping.
‘When I look at that boy, I see his father’s face,’ he said at length, and the words were so bitter he spat them. ‘And all I can think of is how I missed my chance to put a blade in that bastard’s heart.’
Cade went cold. If you ever see the Hollow Man, you run. You run and you don’t stop. For he’s come to kill you.
‘Then tell them, eh?’ said Keel. ‘Tell them why you risked their lives to save the son of a man you hate.’
‘And then what? I tell them that, I’ll have to tell them all of it. And I won’t do that. My shame is mine to keep.’
‘Strikes me you’ve been letting shame set your path long enough.’
Garric rounded on him, eyes blazing, fists clenched. ‘Be damned,’ he snarled. ‘You’ve no right to say that to me.’
The Bitterbracker was uncowed. ‘Who does, if not me? You need to hear it from someone.’
‘If you want to go home to your family, just say so,’ Garric snapped.
‘I don’t,’ said Keel. ‘I mean to say, I do, but—’
‘Aye, you never could quite decide, could you?’ Garric said spitefully.
Cade saw the Bitterbracker control himself with some effort. He put up his hands as if to simmer Garric down, but it was himself he was calming. ‘All I’m saying is, there’s only four of us left, and we need every one. Even then it won’t be enough. We need to join up with another rebel group, bring them in on the plan. If anyone can convince them, it’s you.’
‘There’s no time!’ Garric snarled in exasperation. ‘Everything is in motion. You think the royal wedding will wait for us? Ottico will marry in a matter of weeks! We have to be at Hammerholt by then.’
Cade listened in bewilderment. The wedding? Hammerholt? What did that have to do with anything?
‘Can’t be done, Garric,’ said Keel. ‘Not with who we’ve got left.’
‘It can,’ Garric said through gritted teeth. ‘This is our only chance, our last chance! You want another Salt Fork? And another after that? You saw how fast those spineless bastards turned on us. We’ll never be free if our own people won’t stand up to the Krodans. They don’t believe, Keel. But we’ll make them believe!’
‘Godspit, Garric! You’re talking about breaking into the most impenetrable fortress in Ossia and snatching the Ember Blade from under the nose of the crown prince!’
‘It can be done,’ said Garric, with steel in his voice. ‘It will be.’ He stalked away, leaving Keel cursing behind him.
Cade pulled back from the doorway, his mind reeling. The Ember Blade? They were planning to steal the Ember Blade?
He remembered how Shoal Point had been abuzz with talk of the marriage of Prince Ottico to Princess Sorrel of Harrow, just before he and Aren had been arrested. As part of the celebrations, Prince Ottico would become Lord Protector of Ossia and receive the Ember Blade as a symbol of his right to rule. Da had raged at the mere thought of a Krodan holding the Ember Blade until Ma told him to still his flapping lips before the Iron Hand heard.
But Garric wanted to take it back. Take it back for the Ossians. A disbelieving smile spread across Cade’s face. Wouldn’t stealing it be a poke in the eye for the Krodans! Wouldn’t that show everyone the Ossians still had some fight in them!
Garric and Keel had gone by now, but Cade didn’t follow. He’d pushed his luck enough for one day. If they caught him, they might wonder what he’d heard, and now he understood Fen’s warning. Garric might take drastic action if he thought they knew too much.
He was practically hopping with excitement as he retraced his steps. With luck, Osman would just think he’d wandered off, too curious for his own good. But what a story he’d have to tell Aren when he awoke!
He slowed and came to a stop, a frown settling on his brow. This chamber didn’t look familiar. He went back a room and picked another direction, but he didn’t recognise that room, either. Concern became alarm as he tried room after room and recognised none of them.
He hadn’t strayed far from the corridor in his pursuit of Garric and Keel, and the route had been straightforward enough. He should have been able to find his way back with ease. Yet, somehow, Cade had become completely and hopelessly lost.
37
Nine, what have you got yourself into now?
Cade peered down another corridor, as grand as the last and just as deserted. He thought he’d been here before but couldn’t be sure. He took it anyway. It felt like the right direction to get him back to the boat, and he judged it better to go forward than to endlessly retrace his steps.
As he went, he looked this way and that, searching for anything he recognised. It was no good. He might have walked this corridor twice already and he wouldn’t know it. There was something about these chill stone walls and alien curves that foiled the mind’s grip. Remembering a route in Skavengard was like climbing ice.
He stopped at a junction, drumming his fingers against his thigh in agitation. He remembered that room, didn’t he? That frieze of symbols which ran around the walls? Maybe. Or perhaps it was another frieze in another room.
His stomach rumbled. How long had he been walking now? He had a vision of wandering till he starved to death, to be found as a skeleton by the next group of travellers to brave this place. They’d imagine he met some heroic end, never suspecting he’d died of plain stupidity.
Can’t you do anything right?
It was his da’s voice, that tone of angry exasperation he used when Cade’s ineptitude in the workshop became too much. Today, he deserved it. He was furious with himself for getting lost. And if he didn’t find his way out before sunset, starving might be the least of his concerns.
‘Polla spoke of a terror that came with the night,’ Vika had said. Whether rumour or fact, he didn’t much want to find out.
He decided to find an outside window. If he kept the lake to his left then he’d reach the boat eventually. It was just so hard to find a straight way through. Every time he made progress, he was turned aside, led up this stair or down that passage until he found himself travelling in a completely different direction.
I should start shouting, he thought. That’s what Garric said to do. The whole valley would hear me if I just shouted.
But he refused to spoil his achievement by calling for help. He was proud of himself for discovering what their rescuers were really up to. Usually Aren thought up the plans, but this time it was Cade’s plan, Cade’s triumph, and he’d
spin a great story from it one day. Unless, of course, it ended with him bleating like a lamb for rescue, because he was too mud-headed to find his way back to the others.
Besides, there was something in the silence that discouraged loud noises, something that made him want to remain unnoticed. And he wasn’t looking forward to facing Garric if he learned Cade had gone missing.
It couldn’t be midday yet. He still had time to get back and give some excuse to Osman.
He made his way through several chambers into a room that had been designed like a rock garden, where dripping, rusted spouts hung over upright stone tubs half-full of green water. This had been a place for bathing once. Now it was just a dead end.
He went to the windows, which looked over the valley. At least he could see the lake from here. He put his hands on a sill and leaned out, the cold breeze blowing against his face. Skavengard stretched dizzyingly away above and below, bulging with turrets and overhanging balconies, tumbling down the cliffs to the water. He was higher up and further from the wharf than he’d thought. If he craned his head, he could see the edge of Skavengard’s main island to his left, hulking into the sky.
Then he noticed the shadows in the folds of the castle, longer and deeper than they should be. With a thrill of alarm, he saw that it was past midday already, long past midday. The sun was dipping in the west. Somehow, time had run away from him. He could have sworn he’d been wandering for less than an hour, yet evening was creeping up fast. Suddenly the distant threat of sunset felt very close indeed.
Call for help. They’ll come. Call before it’s too late.
No. He was still determined to do this one thing on his own. He wanted to enjoy Aren’s amazement at the news that they were not among villains but revolutionaries, and Garric planned to steal the Ember Blade itself! Maybe, if he and Aren played their cards right, he’d even let them join him.
Spurred by that thought, he headed back to the corridor. He had his bearings now. This time he wouldn’t go astray. This time, he was on the right track.
His optimism was misplaced. Before long, he was forced out of sight of the water, and the only light came from cleverly angled shafts and windows too high to see through. He managed to descend a few levels, which was good, but worry still gnawed at him. Was the light dimming already, or was it just his imagination? He found himself wishing for the sight of another living thing, even a spider or a mouse, but there was nothing: not a web nor a dropping, no bones or nests, no indication that anything had ever been here except the building itself. This place wasn’t just dead, for death was rancid and messy. It was the eradication of life.
And then, in the midst of that colossal, echoing emptiness, he heard a woman’s laughter.
The sound brought him to a dead stop. It had been brief, and faint enough that he suspected his mind was playing tricks on him. A high, delicate sound, there and then gone. Which way had it come from? He looked through a doorway. Down there, he thought, if he’d heard it at all.
A murmur of conversation blew past him, carried on a breeze from outside. Muttered speech, like two people talking on the edge of a busy room. Common sense urged caution, but anything was better than wandering this forlorn, deserted place alone. Ignoring the voices didn’t seem like an option.
He hurried through pillared chambers, down narrow passageways in the walls that must have been used by servants. He caught a whiff of perfume, a heady contrast to the faint scent of decay that rose from the lake and hung stagnant in Skavengard’s halls. Ahead of him there was a hubbub, the clink of goblets, laughter and talk. There was even music, though it was unlike anything he’d heard before. A stringed instrument plucked tinny notes, accompanied by a strange atonal jangling and tinkling bells.
It’s a party, he thought, perplexed. But not like any party he’d ever been to. His imagination filled in the scene. He pictured a glittering ballroom, highborns drifting here and there in bizarre finery, sipping exquisite wines and plotting one another’s downfall beneath a bladed veil of politeness.
The servants’ passage dead-ended at a small door of beaten metal. Cade pressed his ear to it. The party was on the other side. A woman laughed suddenly, so close to the door that he jerked back.
He hovered uncertainly in the gloomy confines of the passage. Should he make himself known? They didn’t sound threatening, but it was hard to tell.
At last he could stand it no longer. Cade had always preferred action over excessive thought, so he cracked open the door.
There was nobody beyond.
Puzzled, he pushed the door open all the way and stepped into the hall. It was as empty as the rest of the castle. Crumbling galleries ran around the room and sunlight slanted in from a row of windows high on one wall, shining in his eyes. Dusty mosaics sprawled across a cracked stone floor. There wasn’t a soul to be seen.
But he could still hear them.
The sounds were all around him now. Laughter, conversation, music. They spoke in a lilting tongue like running water, frightening and wonderful. The language of Old Ossia; it had to be. He closed his eyes, and it was like he was among them. Voices become louder and faded as their owners walked past him. He could smell them, their perfumes and oils, and hear the crinkle of their fabrics, the soft step of their shoes. He felt a touch on the back of his hand, a trailing finger brushing past, and his eyes jerked open again.
They’re still here, he thought. This place remembers them.
Movement caught his eye and he looked over his shoulder. With a chill of wonder, he saw the occupants of the room at last.
They were cast against the wall by the light from the windows, shadows on stone. There were dozens of them, some with fantastical hairstyles or towering headdresses, others wearing large rigid hoods and robes with wide shoulders. Some drank from slender glasses and gossiped, while others moved to the music in a slow formal dance, appearing and disappearing as they stepped in and out of the sunlit patches on the wall. The musicians themselves could be partially seen in the corner, a black tangle of limbs and long-necked instruments.
Cade stared. He’d never believed in ghosts, even when he was young. They were just stories, like all the others his ma told. He was a boy who only dealt with what was in front of him, like a chisel that wouldn’t do what he wanted, or his father’s glowering disappointment. Ghosts were too fanciful to be part of that life.
As he watched the shadow-party in awe, his own shadow standing among them, he knew he’d crossed some threshold, stepped all the way into one of Ma’s tales. His life as a carpenter’s boy was behind him. No longer was he a prisoner, condemned to drudgery and toil. At last he was out in the world, and it was stranger and scarier and more exciting than he’d dared to dream.
Were they really there, he wondered, or was this just a scene from the past, played out a thousand years ago? Before he’d really considered the wisdom of it, he opened his mouth and said:
‘Hello?’
The music clattered into silence. All conversation ceased instantly. His greeting echoed around the hall, throbbed away down the empty corridors beyond.
Then, slowly, every shadow turned its head towards him.
‘Er,’ said Cade. He had the creeping suspicion that he’d just made a terrible mistake.
And now the voices began again, this time a sinister susurrus, a vicious, hungry whispering like the sea rushing in over a pebble beach. Though he couldn’t understand the words, Cade knew they were talking about him. His skin crawled and he took a nervous step back. The air in the room, already cold, became sharp enough for frost.
The ghosts glided aside, leaving Cade’s shadow standing alone where it was thrown against the wall. From the far side of the room, a new silhouette entered the hall, this one taller and somehow darker than the others. Cade felt his knees go weak as it moved from the light of one window to another, growing taller as it came towards him: a slender robed figure, as elongated as a shadow at sunset, wearing a twisted crown with seven prongs. Dread emanated
from it in freezing waves, making Cade’s mouth dry up and his breath grow short. He wanted to run, but he was rooted to the spot.
Azh Mat Jaal, he thought. The Sorcerer King.
The figure, so tall now that it had to stoop, reached out towards Cade’s shadow. Sharp-nailed fingers slid from voluminous sleeves, stretching across the wall, lengthening impossibly until they were almost touching his silhouette … almost …
A hard, hooked nail scraped Cade’s shoulder, dragging at the fabric of his coat.
The touch broke his paralysis, and he screamed and bolted. He flew out of the hall, arms flailing, moving almost too fast for his feet to keep up. Stumbling and skidding, he ran headlong through the corridors and chambers of Skavengard. As he fled, he glimpsed the crowned figure again and again. There, rising in a patch of sunlight on the wall! There, sliding out of a dark corner, those terrible hands always reaching for his shadow!
He sprinted round a corner, crashed into someone and was roughly seized. Screaming and thrashing, he kicked out, and there was a grunt as his boot connected with a shin. He was grabbed and thrown violently away. His face struck a doorframe and he went down, boneless and stunned, all the panic knocked out of him.
‘Cade! Cade, it’s us!’
It was Osman, crouching next to him. Keel hopped on one foot nearby, cursing elaborately. Garric pushed Osman aside and hauled Cade up by the front of his coat. It was he who had pulled Cade off Keel and thrown him against the door; Osman would have been gentler.
‘You damned little fool!’ he growled, his jaw clenched. ‘Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you?’
‘And we’ve found him!’ Osman interposed himself quickly, for Garric looked angry enough to strike him. ‘Let’s be thankful for that, eh?’
The Ember Blade Page 30