Dark Paths

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Dark Paths Page 35

by Markus Heitz


  ‘What could I ever achieve in Dsôn? In a realm that does nothing but wait and wait for something to turn up? I wanted to have the chance to rule, share power with my siblings.’ Tirîgon stood up. ‘It was a mistake. The whole plan was a terrible mistake. I have to try to put things right.’ He turned to go.

  ‘Do you think your father will still be alive?’ Acòrhia could not stop herself.

  Tirîgon halted. ‘Why shouldn’t he be?’

  ‘Do you remember the instructions you left? If Aïsolon has not stopped his investigations, he will suffer the same fate as your mother.’ Acòrhia watched him turn round and come back to where she was. That expression on his face! It’s terrifying! She started to quake with fear. ‘You can’t hold me responsible!’

  ‘You could have stopped him.’

  ‘How? You never told me his name.’

  ‘That’s because I didn’t know it. And I never knew what he looked like, either. But I gave you a description of the ring he wears and told you how to find him.’ Tirîgon stared down at her. ‘I must get back home. I have to save my father’s life.’ He wrenched the cushion from under her head. ‘I will make sure they all hear about your heroic deeds here in Phondrasôn and how you saved my sister. Other story-tellers will relate your achievements and turn you into a true legend.’

  ‘What . . .?’ Acòrhia tried to struggle to one side to escape the cushion he was bringing down over her face. ‘No! No! I did everything you ever asked me to.’

  ‘I know, my dear. And I enjoyed my time with you, but I cannot risk a word of this coming out. You have succumbed to your injuries. These things happen. The gods of infamy are not always merciful.’ He pressed the thick fabric onto her mouth and nose. ‘Believe me. I know that only too well.’

  No! No! With all her remaining strength, Acòrhia tried to push his hands away.

  Chapter VII

  Consider the fact that we need light

  to protect ourselves from the darkness.

  But what about those

  who are born blind

  and are thus

  not afraid of the dark?

  I can only say:

  these are the most dangerous ones.

  ‘Aphorisms’ from the epic poem Young Gods

  composed by Carmondai, master of word and image

  Phondrasôn.

  I wonder how effective our efforts will be with the reconstituted skull? Sisaroth watched Tirîgon return from the patient’s sickbed. ‘I was just coming to find you. We need to get Acòrhia into the palace so we can use her as a sacrifice.’ He was tingling with anticipation. His long-held vocation as a priest for the gods of infamy was now reawakening. He felt tremendous. ‘We’ll have to come up with a story to account for how she died. Some injuries turn out to be more serious than they may appear on first sight.’

  ‘You are absolutely right there, brother.’

  ‘You mean . . .?’ His exuberant hopes took a nose-dive into disappointment.

  ‘Yes. She died of her wounds before my very eyes. It happened so quickly. No one could have prevented it.’ Tirîgon looked truly distressed, unusually for him. ‘And I am starting to agree with you. We should abandon any plans for Phondrasôn. With her final breath, Acòrhia told me your sentence of exile has been repealed. In Dsôn there’s a big hunt on for the real killer of Sémaina.’

  Repealed? He was exonerated? Sisaroth’s spirits soared again as he took in the import of his brother’s news. ‘Can it be true?’

  ‘I gather so. She told me messengers had been sent out to find us, but she fell into the sleep of endingness before she could explain.’ Tirîgon wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘We need to get ourselves organised to eradicate these karderiers so they can’t attack us on our return journey. As soon as we have dealt with them, let’s be on our way. I want to see Father again.’

  ‘And Mother, too, of course.’ Sisaroth could not work out why his brother, normally such a tactician, should suddenly have become sentimental. The news from Dsôn seems to have affected him deeply. ‘Don’t tell me Acòrhia put a spell on you?’

  ‘Forgive me if I give way to my emotions for once.’ Tirîgon gulped down a sob and struggled to contain his feelings. ‘She opened my eyes to what is truly important. But I don’t think the good news she brought you will make up for the loss of a sacrifice for Shëidogîs.’

  They walked up to the palace side by side.

  The next älf who turns up won’t be covered by the death curse. ‘Was she able to give you any clues about the route to take up to the surface?’ Sisaroth asked. ‘I know we want to go back, but without knowing the way . . .’

  ‘The Zhadar knows the way.’

  ‘Well, he says he does.’

  ‘We’ll ask him. Or we’ll force him to tell us. Let Marandëi show what she’s capable of.’

  Sisaroth was more and more confused by the change in his brother’s attitude. He seemed to be contemplating an immediate attack, eschewing a strategic plan, on an enemy power that vastly outnumbered them. What has brought about this change of heart, I wonder? This is the first time he has shown himself desperate to go home. He always wanted to create an invincible empire here in Phondrasôn. ‘What’s the matter? What did Acòrhia say to you?’

  Tirîgon’s pace slowed.

  ‘Excuse me,’ came a call from behind them. ‘I have a message for you.’

  Sisaroth saw a soldier hurrying towards them with a leather roll in one hand. ‘Who is it from?’

  The älf handed him the roll. ‘The same groundling that came to see you before. He said to tell you these are his master’s instructions. And he said to give you his own final greetings. He would not be coming back.’

  Tirîgon asked urgently, ‘Has he been gone long? Did he deliver any swords for us?’

  ‘No, no swords. I came as quickly as I could from the gate.’

  So the little mountain maggot is carrying out his plan. Sisaroth could guess what his brother was thinking. ‘Forget it. The groundling would never have taken us with him. He hated his master but he’d have led us to our doom rather than take us to Dsôn or Tark Draan. He told us clearly that he considered all älfar his enemies.’

  Tirîgon uttered a curse. ‘It would have been too good to be true,’ he muttered. He looked about to set off. ‘Perhaps I can catch up with him.’

  ‘Wait.’ Sisaroth opened the leather folder. Out tumbled another example of the fateful jewelled breastpin and a parchment whose contents he quickly skimmed. The document was written in perfect älfar and headed My trust in you. The piece of jewellery was presumably intended as a reminder and a warning.

  Our first real mission. This is not coming at a good time. ‘Brother, come. We’ve got something more important to sort out. More important than Tungdil. Let’s speak to Firûsha.’ He rolled the parchment up and entered the palace.

  The guard saluted and returned to his post.

  Tirîgon accompanied him in obvious ill-humour. ‘I suggest we take Marandëi along. Whatever the Zhadar wants us to do she should be able to deal with easily. The sooner we’re done with that the sooner we can come back, take on the karderiers and set off for home.’

  ‘So you’ve no idea what he’s asking us to do?’

  ‘It won’t be anything the cîanai can’t pull off. Apart from maybe working out the design specifications for building a special tower . . .’

  ‘. . . that I’ll then have to liberate her from.’ Sisaroth could not help laughing.

  They called Firûsha, Crotàgon, Marandëi and Tossàlor to meet in the library.

  There was dismay about Acòrhia, with the cîanai in particular devastated by the news of her death. But when Tirîgon explained that they did not intend to place the next arrival under oath, with the explicit intention of making him or her a sacrifice, she began to smile. She had placed the skull in a padded casket and carried it about with her everywhere she went. This and the staff she used gave her the look of an eternal wanderer.

  Firûs
ha made no comment, not even when she heard that their sentence of exile had been repealed.

  She is still terrified of the potential power of the skull. Sisaroth put his arm round her shoulders. ‘You’ll learn to see Shëidogîs as a friend we can confide in. We shall need his protection if we are to survive.’

  His sister indicated the box. ‘Will you be taking it with you to Dsôn?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘The gods of infamy belong to our race.’

  ‘But didn’t the Inextinguishables themselves ban this form of worship?’

  ‘Didn’t you say the Inextinguishables are in Tark Draan now?’ Marandëi interjected, one hand on the casket. ‘And that they have been there for a very, very long time? Perhaps they will welcome what Shëidogîs can do for them. Or the Dsôn Sòmran älfar may take to him if the Infamous One performs some miracle to improve their situation.’

  An impatient Tirîgon broke into the discussion. ‘Can we not postpone this decision? I want to know what that bastard, the Zhadar, wants us to do.’ He took the leather document roll from his brother and extracted the instructions. ‘We only have to obey him one last time.’ He read out the Zhadar’s demand.

  My trust in you

  I am sending you to the Cjash region in the triple caves of Whifis.

  In the middle cave there lives a creature I once showed a favour to. It has not repaid the debt.

  It calls itself the veyn. Do not be taken in by the way it speaks. It is neither male nor female; it likes to speak the truth and will attempt to read your minds. As you know, in many a head, it is better if the truth stays hidden.

  The veyn wears a silver bangle and a circlet of tionium connected to a palladium chain from which it derives strength, power and authority.

  You will act as my strong arm to collect my outstanding debts. Bring me the creature’s malicious tongue and the bangle and circlet. Act with all speed. Do not delay, and above all, avoid entering into bargains with the inhabitants of Whifis.

  I am only concerned with getting the bracelet and the circlet. Tungdil will show you the way. Make haste. The quicker you are, the sooner your return to Dsôn or other place of your choosing.

  *

  Tirîgon cursed. ‘The groundling was to have taken us? Why didn’t I run after him? I wish I had.’ He tossed the paper down onto the table.

  ‘We’ll have to go and find the Zhadar first to let him know the dwarf has deserted,’ Crotàgon proposed.

  Sisaroth noticed the corner of a second piece of paper jutting out from the leather case. It was a note with a sketch map and a written description. That’s not the Zhadar’s handwriting. ‘Tungdil read the instructions and has given us a route plan,’ he said with relief.

  ‘Right.’ Tirîgon was already on his feet. ‘Let’s get started. Sisaroth, Marandëi and myself. That should be enough. The rest of you stay here to hold the palace and the fortress.’ He went to the door. ‘I’ll get provisions made up. When we’re back we’ll discuss how to locate where the karderiers are assembling so we can find them and destroy them before they get a chance to attack us.’ He left the room.

  Initially all was silent in the library.

  Finally Crotàgon cleared his throat and spoke. ‘It’s remarkable how he always seems to be the one to make decisions.’

  ‘I would have said exactly the same,’ said Sisaroth in defence of his brother. Firûsha indicated her agreement. ‘You must excuse his uncouth manners. He is upset about the news from Dsôn.’

  ‘One would have thought he’d be pleased about what he heard.’ Tossàlor played with a piece of bone, examining it under the light. He removed a thin slice with his pocket knife. It was impossible for him ever to leave his art at the door. ‘After the incident over there in the barracks he’s a changed älf. Where is that calm sense of reason?’

  How would I know? Sisaroth had no explanation for the change in his brother’s attitude.

  ‘I think it’s because he volunteered to join us in our Phondrasôn banishment and now the longed-for return is within our grasp,’ Firûsha proposed. ‘He misses our parents and friends just as we do.’ She looked at the others, a happy smile on her face. ‘Isn’t it amazing to know we can all go back soon?’ But she could not help sending a sickened glance at the casket.

  ‘It certainly is,’ Tossàlor agreed. ‘I’m eager to know what kind of a reception they’ll give me in Dsôn.’

  ‘I get what you’re hinting at.’ Sisaroth smiled. ‘The three of us will make sure our father issues a pardon. We’ll tell him how much you have helped us. He’ll have no choice but to be gracious.’

  He would never admit that he had any doubts in that respect. The artist was guilty of such perfidy and atrocities against his own people in the name of art that his deeds eclipsed any straightforward murder. My father will have great difficulty in dealing generously with the case. It might be better for Tossàlor to stay here in Phondrasôn. He’s just waiting for the next set of curse-free bones so he can get his new project started without having to fear the consequences.

  At the same time he was well aware that Crotàgon would insist that Tossàlor accompany them. The warrior was fond of him, even if the affection did not seem to be mutual. Crotàgon was very popular among the troops and was regarded as the army’s unofficial commander. They could not afford to slight the statuesque älf.

  ‘That goes for every älf who has shown us loyalty during our time in Phondrasôn,’ Firûsha added.

  The others nodded and clapped.

  ‘Do you think you three can carry out the Zhadar’s mission by yourselves, or would it be a good idea if I came along, too?’ Crotàgon asked, flexing his muscles.

  ‘It’d be better if you stayed with Firûsha and the army, just in case the karderiers try anything while we’re gone,’ Sisaroth said after a short pause for thought. ‘Tirîgon is right to suggest we take Marandëi with us. We should have no need to fear any opponent if we have her magic skills.’ He got to his feet. ‘Till we meet again.’ He embraced his sister. ‘Be good, and if you can’t be good, be careful,’ he joked.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Tossàlor remarked. ‘If anyone attacks she’ll hew their skull into tiny pieces and sing a song of victory when she’s finished.’

  All the älfar joined in the general laughter. Sisaroth left the library in Marandëi’s company, so that they could prepare for the journey.

  ‘I shall be taking the skull with me,’ she told him.

  ‘Don’t you trust Firûsha?’

  ‘She destroyed it before and I’m sure she’d do it again, given half a chance.’ She carried the casket by its handle. ‘It’d be better to take Shëidogîs with us. After all, we might come across a superfluous älf on our travels.’ A smile of anticipation played about her lips. ‘I know the Infamous One will return to us. I can feel it in my bones. We must ensure Tossàlor is given due recognition for his masterly reconstruction.’

  Sisaroth recalled the frightened expression on his sister’s face. ‘Firûsha certainly does not share your enthusiasm. What exactly did the skull do to her?’

  ‘Nothing. Obviously, nothing. Otherwise she’d be dead, wouldn’t she?’ replied the cîanai. ‘Shëidogîs wanted to drive her away. He was frightened for his own existence.’ She stopped and looked him in the eye. ‘Believe me, Sisaroth: Shëidogîs is perfectly capable of driving anyone mad. That would have been your sister’s fate if he had decided to try.’ Marandëi walked on, striking the ground with the silver-tipped staff as she did so. ‘Is it your wish to become a priest?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied quickly. ‘I have studied all the rites.’

  She smiled. ‘You mean the rituals the Inextinguishables allowed before they lost faith with the gods of infamy and condemned all forms of their worship?’ She moved the casket. ‘You have absolutely no idea what powers Shëidogîs has. The miracle of the glass sea is just one of the wonders to come. Imagine the force of a god of infamy riding on an untameable night-mare! A magnificent specimen br
im-full of fury and able to carry its rider through any battle, trampling the enemy under its hooves!’ Her features darkened. ‘What the Inextinguishables did by outlawing the religious practices was to shackle this stupendous animal, to curb the mouth with its formidable incisors, to hobble the lightning-hooves, leaving nothing but the extraordinary coat.’ She tapped the casket lid with the end of her staff. ‘Dsôn Sòmran won’t know what’s hit it. The power of Shëidogîs will astound them all. They’ll love it, I promise you.’

  Sisaroth could hardly wait to try out the sacrifice to invoke the spirit of the god and entice it back into the skull. He had paid attention to his sister when she had tried to warn him that the spirit might not be that of one of their own gods, but he had dismissed her objections. He was convinced by what Marandëi was telling him. I shall sacrifice all the älfar that bore false witness against us. All of them! ‘Can you teach me more about the old forms of worship? We’ll have plenty of time before we reach the triple cave. You could teach me on the march.’

  ‘My word! You remind me of myself when I was younger, Sisaroth. All that passion.’ Marandëi nodded to him. ‘Of course I will. You should learn how to pray properly to the gods of infamy and understand how to free them from their chains. The two of us will be instrumental in returning our race to the old ways.’ She turned to enter her own chamber. ‘I won’t be long packing the things I need. I’ll see you at the gate.’

  Sisaroth walked on to reach his own quarters.

  What will the Inextinguishables say when we bring the gods of infamy back with us, I wonder? Are we heading for a conflict here? Could it be that we will cause a schism amongst our people?

  He stepped into the first of his suite of rooms, removed his armour and undergarments and got dressed for the journey.

  He was still considering the ramifications. He wanted to find out the extent of Shëidogîs’ power before making his final decision. Shëidogîs must convince me himself.

  Phondrasôn.

 

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