The gelding screamed. It arched its body, lashing out, then, panic stricken, it bolted. Sparks scattered from its hooves as it careered across the courtyard, instinct driving it to escape the Castle which it saw as the source of its terror. Cyllan crouched precariously in the saddle, hauling on the reins but to no avail - the horse was heading for the main gates, and the gatekeeper had deserted his post to help his fellows. The gates still stood part open, and the gelding galloped under the yawning arch, bolting straight for the sward and freedom.
Cyllan saw what lay ahead of her, saw the whirling chaos of black light and impossible colours that tore the world apart beyond the Maze. She glimpsed the tortured crags of the mountains twisting in on themselves, moulded by the Warp to hideous illusions, and in terror she flailed at the gelding, struggling to stop its headlong flight before it was too late.
The horse raced across the Maze - and the scream that tore from its throat as it emerged on the far side was shredded by a howling roar as the full force of the Warp hurtled at them like a monstrous tidal wave. Cyllan felt as though her body were being torn apart - darkness shot with livid silver fire erupted in her face, and agony smashed through every nerve before the world exploded in oblivion.
Keridil staggered to his feet, dazed by the force with which he’d hit the ground when he flung himself clear of the gelding’s flailing hooves. As Fin Tivan Bruall ran to help him, he stared towards the gates and the maelstrom beyond, and his face was grey with shock.
‘Aeoris…’ He made a sign over his heart. ‘Fin, she-she-
Fin didn’t answer him. He was looking over his shoulder to the steps, and what he saw alarmed him. Tarod stood motionless near the top of the flight, and it was obvious from his rigid attitude that he, too, had seen Cyllan’s appalling fate. One of his attackers lay at his feet, hunched and moving feebly. The other was backing slowly away down the steps, his sword half raised as though to protect himself from something no other man could see, and he was terrified.
Fin gripped Keridil’s shoulder. ‘High Initiate …
Keridil turned, buffeted by the screaming wind, and his face tightened. Then he started to run, stumbling towards the frozen tableau on the steps. Taking their cue from him, the remaining swordsmen gathered their courage and closed in … then Tarod turned his head.
If he had ever been human, Keridil thought, his look now gave the lie to it. Tarod’s face was demented, and his green eyes burned with an unholy light. His lips moved and he mouthed a word, though in the racket of the storm Keridil couldn’t tell what that word was. Then he raised his left hand - and the High Initiate felt terror strike to the depths of his soul.
She was gone. Tarod fought against the knowledge, but couldn’t deny it; it had happened, and he’d been unable to prevent it. She was gone - the Warp had taken her, and hurled her into whatever unimaginable nightmare waited beyond its borders. She might be dead, or alive and trapped in some monstrous limbo … he had been so close to her, and again he’d lost her. And the grief that devoured him, far greater than the grief he’d known at Themila Gan Lin’s death, or Erminet’s, was the catalyst that finally woke the power in him to its full flood. Cyllan was gone, and all he could think of was revenge. For her sake he wanted to kill, ravage, destroy anything and everything in his path. And the focus of his blazing hatred was one man - his one-time friend. His betrayer. His enemy …
As he gazed like a transfixed animal into Tarod’s eyes, Keridil felt Fin Tivan Email’s presence at his side. It was small comfort.
‘I tried to stop her.’ He barely recognised his own voice.
The corners of Tarod’s mouth lifted in contempt, but he stayed his hand. ‘You tried to kill her.
‘No-‘ And the protest died as Keridil realised Tarod wouldn’t believe him. He had one chance, he thought; just one. Distract him long enough for the other Initiates to move in and take him unawares. It was a slender hope, and the thought of what Tarod might do if the gamble failed turned his stomach to water.
‘We’ve both lost, Tarod,’ he called above the gale.
‘You see - she took the Chaos stone. So now your soul’s gone forever … ‘ He licked his lips nervously. ‘I don’t think even you can prevail against us without that.
Tarod’s eyes narrowed to ferocious slits, and Keridil saw that the other men had, as he’d hoped, taken advantage of this brief respite to close in. One of them made a sudden clumsy move; Tarod’s head snapped round -
‘Take him!’ the High Initiate yelled, goaded at the same moment by a sudden despairing premonition that his warning was too late. ‘Take him, before -
His words cut violently off as a titanic flash of blood-red light exploded outwards from where Tarod stood. It coalesced into the form of a gigantic broadsword, twice the height of a man and glowing with a ferocious fire of its own, which Tarod held balanced in both hands as though it weighed nothing. One of the Initiates made an inarticulate noise and staggered back. Lit by the flaring glow of the supernatural sword Tarod’s face was a mask of pure malevolence - then he swung on his heel and the blade shrieked in a whistling arc that cut down the two nearest swordsmen before they could jump clear. Blood spattered Tarod’s face and arms as the two severed bodies pitched to the ground, and as he came face to face with Keridil once more, the incandescent sword glowing with a savage hunger in his hands, the High Initiate recoiled in sick horror. He had sent two Adepts to their deaths - the others now drew back, their gazes locked on the monstrous blade - and by the light spilling from the sword he saw his own nemesis in Tarod’s unhuman eyes.
For a moment the howling thunder of the Warp seemed to abate, and in the comparative lull Keridil heard the slide of Tarod’s foot on stone as he began, slowly, to advance. The blade pulsed, shimmered, blinding him then without warning a blast of raw, uncontrolled power slammed into him like an invisible fist, knocking him backwards so that he sprawled on the flagstones. So fast that he had no time to react, Tarod sprang down the steps towards him - and as the daze cleared from his mind, Keridil found himself staring at the monstrous, glittering sword only inches from his face.
He bit hard into the flesh of his cheeks, willing himself not to give way to the panic that threatened to engulf him. The philosophers said that, when death stared him in the face, a man recalled the events of his life in a rapid flow of dreamlike images. Keridil had no such experience - his mind froze to a blank fugue and he could only stare helplessly at the blade and the silhouetted figure beyond.
From the corner of his eye he saw one of the surviving Initiates make a convulsive move in his direction, and he flung out one arm in a warning gesture.
‘Stay back!’ The man hesitated, then obeyed, and Keridil let his breath escape slowly between his teeth.
When he spoke, he was surprised to find that his voice was steady.
‘Get it over with.’ The storm was rising again, but he knew his adversary heard him well enough. ‘I’m not afraid of dying. Have done with it, Tarod.
Tarod stared down at him. The sword in his hand didn’t waver, but the madness in his mind was giving way to a clearer, colder reason. He could destroy Keridil.
And if the blade once touched him, the High Initiate wouldn’t merely die; for the sword was a lethal manifestation of the very essence of Chaos, a focus for the power that flowed through him. Keridil wouldn’t merely die: he would be annihilated. It would be a just vengeance; a fitting retribution for Cyllan’s fate … yet Tarod held back.
She might be living still. A Warp had brought her to this Castle; he himself had survived the hideous onslaught of such a storm when he was no more than a child. And if she were alive, he could find her …
To destroy Keridil would gain him nothing. Too many people had already died in this unhappy affair; to add one more to the toll would be a bitterly futile gesture, and a further betrayal of his oath to Sister Erminet. He didn’t want revenge. Reason argued that the High Initiate wasn’t wholly responsible for what had happened, and
now that the insanity which had possessed him had passed, the desire for vengeance had gone with it. All that mattered was finding Cyllan.
Keridil’s eyes widened in surprised confusion as Tarod raised the glowing, threatening blade until it no longer menaced him. He stared up at his enemy, suspicious and uncertain, not daring to acknowledge a spark of hope. Tarod gazed back, and the contempt in his green eyes was suddenly mingled with pity.
‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I won’t take your life, High Initiate. Enough blood has already been spilled here.
He renewed his grip on the sword and its brilliant corona flared up until Tarod stood wreathed in bloody light.
Overhead, the sky howled and spat a web of silver lightning high above the Castle spires, and Keridil felt a charge of energy jolt through him as the Warp renewed its fury.
‘If Cyllan lives,’ Tarod said, and despite the roar of the storm Keridil heard every word as clearly as though it were spoken within his skull, ‘I’ll find her. And if I do, I promise you that you’ll hear no more of me.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Once, you refused to accept my word, and you betrayed my trust. I hope by now you’ve learned a lesson from that mistake.
Keridil started to sit up, moving slowly, watching the blade in Tarod’s hands. He didn’t speak; his throat was too dry; but his eyes were venomous. Then Tarod raised his face to the screaming sky, as though communing with the storm’s diabolical power. The Warp answered with a howling, shrieking crescendo, and Tarod’s figure seemed suddenly to catch fire, black brilliance shot through with sparking silver blazing to life about him.
The sky erupted in a rolling bawl of thunder, and an explosion of white light blasted the courtyard, making Keridil yell out in pain and terror as the colossal flash seared his eyes. He fell back, flinging an arm up to protect his face, struck the flagstones, sprawled -
There was silence. Dazed, Keridil lowered his arm, blinking at the dancing after-images which clouded his vision. Then, as his sight cleared, he realised with a fresh shock that the Warp was gone. The watery grey light of a natural dawn filled the courtyard; Eastwards the sky was streaked with the first faint rays of the morning Sun, while somewhere beyond the stack a seabird cried with a plaintive, mewing sound. And Tarod had vanished, as though he’d never existed.
Painfully, the High Initiate climbed to his feet. Every bone, every muscle, every fibre in his body ached; his limbs shook, and when a hand took hold of his arm he leaned gratefully against Fin Tivan Bruall’s burly support. The horsemaster’s face was pallid, his mouth set; Keridil looked beyond him at the ragged circle of Initiates who were approaching uncertainly.
‘Keridil?’ Taunan Cel Ennas was the first to speak.
His gaze flicked to the bodies of the two men Tarod had killed, then he looked away quickly.
Keridil couldn’t bring himself to look at the corpses.
He said tightly, ‘Have them covered and taken inside, Taunan.
‘What -‘ the other man began to say, then changed his mind, shaking his head helplessly. The half-voiced question, what happened?, was too obvious, yet unanswerable. He turned and stumbled towards the steps.
Others were emerging from within the Castle now, and among them Keridil saw the anxious face of Drachea’s father. All this, and now he had to face explaining the death of the Margrave’s son and heir …
He shook his head savagely to clear it, but a cold, angry bitterness remained. Behind him he heard a clatter of hoofs as the milling horses were recaptured and led away towards the stables, and - aside from the two dead men on the ground - the sheer normality of the scene made him feel sick. He should have ignored the demands of protocol and tradition; he should have shrugged off the opinions of those who insisted that he make a ceremony out of Tarod’s death, and simply killed him without fuss or formality when he had the chance. Now, he had other deaths on his conscience. Drachea Rannak, Sister Erminet, the two guards in the cellar, two more here in the courtyard … He remembered the pledge Tarod had made before vanishing, and cold, cynical disgust filled him. He’d no more trust the word of that creature of Chaos than he’d trust a poisonous snake. While Tarod lived, the Circle and all it stood for were imperilled: he had to be destroyed. But how many more lives would be lost before this affair was finally over?
And Keridil’s blood ran cold at the thought that followed: if it ever would be over. If the Circle could prevail against Chaos …
He had been moving towards the main doors, but abruptly he stopped. He felt steadier now, and his mind was as clear as a knife blade. Tarod had bested him - but Keridil’s heart and soul craved retribution. And for the sake of the Circle, of the whole world, he’d take it or die in the attempt.
He looked up at the sky, which was brightening by the moment, and let the full flood of his bitterness and anger wash over him. He fingered the gold badge at his shoulder, the double circle with its diagonal lightning flash; and spoke so softly that the attendant Fin couldn’t catch his words.
‘I’ll destroy you, Tarod,’ Keridil whispered with savage intensity. ‘By Aeoris and his six brethren, I swear I’ll find you, and I’ll destroy you. Wherever you are, however long it might take, I won’t rest until I’ve erased your taint from the face of our world!
As though in answer to the High Initiate’s oath, the first vivid ray of the Sun touched the top of the Castle wall, casting a pool of light down to the courtyard. Keridil felt a peculiar sense of peace steal over him - the peace of knowing that he had spoken from his heart, and set himself on a right and just course which, come what may, he would see through to the end. He had the resources of an entire world at his hand; the power of the Circle and of the ancient gods it worshipped. Against such strengths, Chaos couldn’t hope to triumph - and it was Keridil’s sworn duty to see it crushed and destroyed.
They were watching him still, the silent little group in the doorway. Keridil hunched his shoulders, realising that he was cold. Then he began to walk purposefully up the wide, sweeping steps to meet them.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
The Outcast Page 32