by Jen Williams
‘No,’ he managed eventually. ‘Blood is the last thing I need.’
‘You’re sick.’
Tor said nothing. He stayed on his knees, waiting for the pain to pass. Kirune came and pushed his head against Tor’s shoulder. When eventually the splitting sensation in his arm stopped and his chest ceased throbbing, he held out his hand and Bern pulled him to his feet. The human’s face was very sombre.
‘I know what that is,’ he said quietly. ‘Aldasair told me all about it.’
‘Well, it could hardly be anything else, could it?’ Tor said brightly. He wiped a hand across his forehead, his fingers trembling. ‘Eborans aren’t known for catching sniffles.’
‘Tor –’
‘Bern, can I ask a favour of you? Do not mention this to the others.’ When Bern opened his mouth to protest, Tor shook his head. ‘I mean it. We’re in a precarious enough position as it is, and there’s nothing to be done about it anyway.’
‘But your tree-god . . .’
‘Ygseril still sleeps, as well we both know. He sends all his available energy into the war-beasts, and let’s be honest, they are a lot more useful than me at the moment. Come on. I don’t want to talk about this right now.’
The powdery light of dusk was filtering through the trees when finally they found it. They came out of a thick band of Wild-touched foliage to see the ground dropping away below them. There was a vast chasm in the earth, so huge Tor felt an odd sense of vertigo just looking at it. They were still some distance away, and they could see several clumps of Wild-forest between them and the chasm.
‘That’s it,’ said Bern. ‘That’s where they are hiding.’
‘All these centuries, and the bastards have been hiding underground. Do you think we—’
Tor stopped as an enormous shape rose out of the chasm. It was a Behemoth, looking oddly small against the crack of darkness below it.
‘Fuck.’
It moved up through the air slowly, as fat and as lazy as a bee in autumn, and another emerged just below it, following its kin. Together, the two Behemoths rose into the darkening sky and moved to the west. From what Tor could see, both ships looked in good working order, with no ragged holes or torn places.
‘By the stones . . . if we needed evidence, there it is,’ said Bern. He rubbed at his beard. ‘This is useful to know. I’m sure the Lady Vintage will be thrilled. Now, I’d prefer to get some distance from here before we fly back to Ebora. I don’t fancy being spotted by anything on the ground.’
‘Or –’ Tor stood up, loosening his sword in its scabbard – ‘or we could go and have a closer look?’
Bern crossed his arms over his chest. ‘You want to get closer to that?’
Tor nodded, smiling again. There was an echo of pain in his arm, a faint but constant reminder of his oncoming death. ‘Let’s go and see what the worm people are like when they’re at home.’
Chapter Twenty-eight
Our journey back to the Winnowry today was an especially unpleasant one. We had been to a small settlement on the outskirts of the Sown territories, expecting to pick up a girl of thirteen to take back with us. However, on arrival we were told that she had been killed – caught by a gang of extremists and murdered. The Sown territories butt onto the foothills of the western range of the Bloodless Mountains, and they’re dangerous, full of people who have lived hard lives. Once we had seen the body for ourselves, Agent Lin was ready to leave immediately, clearly disgusted with them, but I demanded to speak to the leader of the settlement. It is not right, I told them. The girl could have been safe with us. And they would have been safe from her. My words were seeds falling on rocks, as they so often are.
On our way back we paused at Greenslick to give our bats a rest. It is a terrible place, a ravaged landscape with vast stretches of varnish in all directions. It is hard to look on that and feel hope. Feeling especially melancholic, I asked Agent Lin if there could ever be a brighter future for the children of Sarn. I regretted saying it immediately, as it is always wiser to keep your feelings to yourself in the Winnowry, even amongst other agents, and Agent Lin is hardly known for her caring nature. But to my surprise, her shoulders dropped, and something changed in her face. It was then that I remembered, much too late, that she had had a child once, and they had taken it from her.
‘There’s no hope for any of us,’ she said eventually. ‘Not in this cursed land.’
Extract from the private records of Agent Chenlo
‘This is a little more civilised.’
Okaar had taken them, via a winding route through streets and alleyways, to a tall tower, and up a winding set of stairs to a small roof garden. The place was stuffed with multitudes of flowering plants as well as several small blossoming trees; it was like stepping into a cloud of floral perfume. Chenlo sneezed twice in quick succession.
‘It’s a quiet place, and private.’ He nodded towards the balcony wall, which was around chest height. ‘It’s also the tallest tower in this region of the city, so it’s difficult to spy on it from other towers. It’s used for perfumes, as you’ve probably guessed.’
‘It is very fragrant,’ said Chenlo, a touch sourly.
Okaar nodded, and led them over to a small wooden table and chairs neatly nestled under one of the blossoming trees. The space had been lit with a number of elegant lamps. Venturing out into the streets he had put on a deeply hooded cloak, and only now did he twitch it back from his face. Once again, Vintage winced at the discoloured purple patches that showed in the gaps between his bandages.
‘That section there,’ he gestured to a less colourful part of the garden, ‘contains my own special selection of plants. They do not tend to be used in perfumes.’
‘Your own little poison garden!’ Vintage smiled, pleased with the thought of such a thing hidden above the roofs of Jarlsbad.
‘What if the people gathering blossoms for the perfumes gather the wrong ones?’ asked Chenlo.
Okaar smiled. ‘This place is my own. Only I gather the flowers here – sometimes poisons can be sweet-smelling, of course.’
There was a bottle waiting on the table with a set of short glasses sitting in a wooden tray. Vintage recognised the drink as kyern, the same restorative Okaar had given her on the day she’d fallen on her broken ankle in the Eboran palace gardens. As they sat down, Okaar picked up the bottle and looked at them enquiringly.
‘Darling, I would love some, thank you.’
‘Not for me,’ said Chenlo. She looked uncomfortable, plucking at the sleeves of her jacket.
‘You know, if Okaar wanted to kill us, he could have done it several times on the way over here. Or he could have just let Tyranny murder us instead.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Okaar. ‘I know well that kyern is an acquired taste. Since you spent so much money on finding me, may I ask what it is you want?’
Vintage took a deep breath, marvelling at the various scents. It was just possible, underneath it all, to smell the busy city spread out around them.
‘First, I must say thank you for your most timely intervention. It was very welcome indeed. May I ask why you did it?’
Okaar looked down at the drink in his glass, swirling it around. Eventually, he shrugged one shoulder. ‘Do I need a reason?’
‘You’re an assassin. Generally you don’t save lives.’
‘Granted. Lady Vintage, some of the things I have been instructed to do over the years, in the service of Tyranny and in the service of the Winnowry, have been things that have left, shall we say, a stain on my soul? The war-beasts of Ebora are a wonder, a thing that when I was a child I very much hoped to see with my own eyes. They were creatures out of stories, and yet when finally I met one, I poisoned it and took a sample of its blood. I helped to steal one of its siblings, and separate it from its family. I might argue that I had little choice, Lady Vintage, but recently life has given me some new choices. I am not beholden to the Winnowry anymore, for one,’ he lifted his glass in a mock salute, ‘
for which, I believe, I have your colleague to thank.’
Vintage nodded, wondering if she believed any of it. She could tell from Chenlo’s face that the agent did not.
‘If I save a few lives here and there, perhaps it is . . . I don’t know. A way to soak out the stains? Or to paint over them.’
‘And I suppose that if by saving those lives, you really, really annoy Tyranny Munk, that’s all to the good? What about Jhef? If she’s still with Tyranny . . .’
Okaar smiled, although it was a cold thing. ‘Jhef chose to stay with the new queen, and she is old enough to make those choices now.’
Silence fell for a moment. The sounds of the busy street below floated up to them. Vintage had a sip of her drink, savouring the kick of sweetness that filled her mouth. Chenlo slipped the final vial from her pocket and placed it carefully on the table. She leaned forward, her eyes on the assassin.
‘What is this? Where did you get it?’
‘Yes, I can see why you would be interested in that.’ Okaar folded his hands neatly on the table. ‘It’s a drug Tyranny started to make during her time as the leader of the Salts in Mushenska. When I came to know her, we spent some time working together to perfect it. It’s still not quite there, but it does the job, as I’m sure you noticed. The name we once sold it under was heartbright. It magnifies the natural qualities of winnowfire.’
‘And did the Winnowry know about this?’ demanded Chenlo.
‘Not at all. We did many things the Winnowry were not aware of.’
‘Who was Tyranny selling it to, out of interest?’ asked Vintage.
‘She kept a great deal of it for herself, although she was often wary of using it. The drug makes you feel quite ill, and Tyranny has always mistrusted anything that makes her weak. There were also a number of fell-witches Tyranny was in contact with, a tight-knit and secret circle, who had managed to avoid detection over the years.’
Vintage sat up. ‘Really? Who were these women?’
‘I did not see them often myself, as they only trusted Tyranny, and they were extremely anxious not to be exposed, but from what Tyranny told me, they were almost a religious order of a sort, a counterpoint to the Winnowry. She did not have much time for them. They treated the winnowflame as a kind of deity, and Tyranny thought them foolish.’
‘I have heard of such,’ said Chenlo quietly. ‘There are always whispers of them, but never anything solid. When Tyranny was brought in, she told us all about them, offered to lead us to them if we let her go. Mother Cressin dismissed it as nonsense.’ She raised her eyes to Okaar. ‘But that is not why we are here.’
Okaar nodded. ‘Of course. When Tyranny herself was captured by the Winnowry and eventually allowed to move freely as an agent –’
Chenlo made a disgusted noise.
‘– she began to blackmail all of her old customers. These women vanished immediately.’ Okaar shook his head a little. ‘Tyranny has never had a friend or an acquaintance that she wouldn’t stab in the back at a moment’s notice. I should have known better, but so often we are willing to look the other way when the truth is an ugly thing.’
Vintage thought of Nanthema, her face stony as she stood at the side of the throne. ‘It seems that Tyranny turns on everyone eventually. Her newly loyal subjects may be about to learn a painful lesson.’
Okaar bowed his head in acquiescence.
Vintage poured herself another shot of the kyern and drank it down in one gulp. ‘Okaar, darling, we need this heartbright of yours and we need it in large quantities, as soon as possible. I assume you don’t mind talking a little business?’
Okaar shrugged one shoulder. ‘I do not need money. I was careful to hide away a great deal of coin when I worked with Tyranny, mostly without her knowledge. And I would have to manufacture the drug from scratch. In large quantities, this will get me noticed. I do not wish to be noticed, currently.’ He gestured around at the garden. ‘Being noticed will get me killed.’
‘What else can we offer you, then?’ asked Vintage. ‘Name your price.’
‘I like you, Lady Vintage. You are sharp.’ Okaar looked away across the garden, his dark eyes narrowed. ‘Can I ask what you would need so much heartbright for?’
‘We have a fell-witch army in Ebora,’ said Vintage quickly. ‘One that could help us win the fight against the worm people – if they were given the ability to produce such destructive fire.’
‘Not an army,’ protested Chenlo. ‘They are refugees. They need our help. The help that Lady Noon promised them.’
‘When the Jure’lia come, having the winnowfire that can destroy them will help, I promise you that.’ Vintage turned back to Okaar. ‘We’ll need enough for around fifty women, enough to last over a sustained campaign. You will know best the actual quantities of that.’
From below them, a loud argument erupted, curse words floating up into the air. The language was native Jarlsbadian, and Vintage caught a few phrases here and there: beer like horse piss and sodden pig-brained idiot.
‘I saw the worm people, not long ago,’ said Okaar. A scattering of blossoms from the tree above had fallen onto the table, and he touched his fingers to the delicate petals. In the bright sunshine, the scarring on his face was uncomfortable to look at. Vintage thought of Tor, and how much of his scarring had healed, thanks to the application of Noon’s blood. The history of the Eborans might have been a lie, but they still have so many advantages over us dowdy humans. ‘I had taken my leave of Tyranny, and Tygrish was crawling with guards eager to part my head from my body, so I rode out onto the plains to wait for the situation to, how would you say? Cool off. It was night-time, and I was attempting to stay awake in case of bandits. I saw three Behemoths in the sky, moving across the stars so slowly. Have you ever seen them at night? I expect you have. Light crawls across the moon-metal, like it turns to oil when it touches them, and they are utterly soundless. It was like finding yourself in the woods with a predator so huge it does not notice you, yet you know that if it does, you will be dead.’
‘That is the future for all of Sarn,’ said Vintage quietly. ‘If we do not fight them.’
Okaar nodded. ‘I do not know that I can make enough heartbright for you. Who knows, after all, how long this war will last? However, I will make as much as I can, with the time I have and the materials available. In exchange for this, I will require an amnesty from any crimes I have been thought to commit by the peoples of Ebora. I will require sanctuary in Ebora, and protection from the worm people. If there is a safe place, that is where I want to be. I wish there to be a place open for my sister also, if she should ever leave the side of Queen Tyranny.’
Vintage pursed her lips. She was thinking of the other war-beasts, and specifically Vostok. How would they feel if she brought into their midst one of the thieves responsible for taking their sibling from them? Not to mention the destruction of a good part of the forest, and the attempted theft of other valuable items. It was going to be a difficult conversation, at the very least.
‘Done. When can you have it ready?’
‘A few days at the most. You will, however, need a way to get it to Ebora. Heartbright in the quantities you require will be bulky, and even your war-beast will struggle to transport both you and it.’
Vintage sat back in her chair, taking a deep breath of the scented garden air. ‘Darling, such quibbles will hardly stop me. Besides, I think I have an idea.’
Chapter Twenty-nine
‘This is a really bad idea.’
‘Now then, Bern, surely you’re not adverse to some danger and excitement.’ Tor pulled his hair back and quickly restrung it into a braid. They were crouched at the edge of the great hole in the earth, in a rocky space where a few twisted trees were still clinging to life. ‘We’re just going to have a little look around.’
‘You suggest that we are cowards?’ boomed Sharrik. The three of them immediately shushed the big griffin, and he clucked his beak in protest.
Bern grinned, looking
more like himself than he had in weeks. ‘I’ve seen a fair bit of danger and excitement, aye, and I’m not worried about seeing a little more. I’m simply stating for the sake of any nearby gods who might be listening, I thought it was a bad idea. It will be of great comfort to me when my body has been hollowed out by burrowers.’
‘That’s the spirit. And if my sister isn’t down there, I think we’ve got a better chance of getting in and out unnoticed.’
After the first two Behemoths had left, they had watched a third one rise out of the crevasse, followed by the enormous purple dragon called Celaphon. They had all shrank back at the sight of the beast who had killed Eri so cruelly, but the dragon had not noticed them or felt their presence. Bern was certain that this last Behemoth carried Hestillion herself – he had felt her, very faintly, down the link they shared.
‘I do not see why I must wait here,’ said Sharrik, taking care to speak in a very rough whisper that was not much quieter than his usual speaking voice. ‘I do not wait on the edges of the battle.’
‘This isn’t a battle, my brother,’ said Bern, patting the griffin’s shoulder. ‘A battle is the last thing we want here, in the heart of enemy territory.’
‘And besides, Sharrik, you are enormous and bright blue, and not especially made for stealth. Instead, you will wait here in case we need sudden backup. Bern, Kirune and I will be gathering information,’ said Tor. ‘Vintage taught me all about it. Come on.’
In the end, Tor and Bern climbed up onto Kirune’s back – with a few growled protests from Kirune – and the big cat glided slowly down into the darkness. At first, Tor could see nothing at all, just vast walls of earth and rock to either side, scarred here and there with gnarled, Wild-touched roots from ancient trees, and then below them he began to see faint lights, yellow and white.
‘Can you feel them?’ he murmured to Bern.
The human, who was sitting behind him, shifted slightly, and Tor felt his discomfort through the link they shared as war-beast kin.