I’ll have to get used to all this, she realised. That or wear a blindfold.
‘Myrrhini.’ Maida greeted her with neither enthusiasm nor rancour. ‘We are about to leave.’
‘Where?’
‘North,’ Keshik said. ‘We are going to attack the Revenant’s army.’
Myrrhini paled, but even as Keshik’s words hit home, she realised it had to happen. Suddenly so many of the destinies she had Seen on her way through the Tulugma made sense. Horrible, shocking sense.
‘My cargo will be useful,’ Camaxtli said. ‘If you can afford it, that is,’ he added.
‘What is it?’
‘Poisons, drugs, explosives — Myele Fire.’
Keshik frowned as if plotting. ‘Good,’ he said finally. ‘You can bring it along.’
‘If you can afford it,’ Camaxtli repeated.
Keshik drew his swords and advanced towards the wagon. ‘If you bring it along, driving the wagon and following every order I give you, I will pay you —’ he made a show of hesitating, staring up at the sky as if calculating ‘— your continued life. Fair?’
Camaxtli swallowed convulsively. He looked around at the hundreds of hard Tulugma faces before giving a curt nod.
‘Good,’ said Keshik. ‘Time to move.’ He mounted his horse and raised his fist into the air. ‘Tulugma, worthiness awaits!’ He dropped his fist as the army leaped onto their horses and surged northward.
For days they travelled north through the grasses of Midacea. Very little ever changed, the sun rose high into a cloudless sky every day after a chilly night. The wind, always blowing, varied a little in strength and direction, but it was mostly from the west, bringing dust, pollen and tiny stinging seeds that stuck onto everything. It seemed to Myrrhini that riding high on the wagon without Slave as a partial windbreak, she suffered more from the winds and the seeds than she had previously. Certainly, Camaxtli let it be known that he was more unhappy now than before. He grumbled and complained incessantly. If Myrrhini had not Seen his destiny, she would have been tempted to use her knife skills on him — he was much more than he appeared.
Alyosha ambled along with the wagon, mostly keeping to himself while Tatya slunk, invisibly, with Slave. They kept pace with the horses and wagon surprisingly easily. At night, Tatya and Slave patrolled the perimeter, never finding anything, but ever alert, taking turns to sleep. As the Tulugma travelled, scouts and hunters ranged around the column as far as the horizon, bringing back news and prey. They fell into a comfortable routine, one that gave Myrrhini a clue as to why Maida and Keshik so loved the freedom of the wilderness. There was something about the stars above at night, the sun during the day that made the sky seem larger, the world wider and life freer than she had imagined possible. What made this so different to time she had spent alone in the northern wastes after fleeing the Place was that she felt completely safe here amid the most dangerous fighting force in the world. It allowed her to relax and enjoy the journey. And forget the destination.
In addition to travelling, the Tulugma trained all the time. They frequently forewent their horses to run alongside the column to practise running attack patterns. They stopped every day earlier than they might so that they could spend time on their weapon skills.
But it was after dark that the camp really came to life. Keshik organised the Tulugma into small troops he called arbans. Each arban was structured around a leader, the Tuk, who had responsibility for discipline and tactics. These arbans were set tasks of infiltration or assassination each night in a rolling roster. The penalties for failing their missions were harsh, including withholding of food, beatings or other privations. To Myrrhini’s eyes the treatment seemed almost barbaric, but the Tulugma took it all in good spirits. So every night the camp became silent, expectant, as anything up to ten arbans slipped into the grasses to carry out their various missions.
The assassinations were, obviously, mock killings involving the marking of a given target, although sometimes the marking involved some bloodletting as the intended victim fought back. Credit was gained for silence, speed and subsequent evading of pursuit. Anyone was a candidate for assassination, including Camaxtli, Keshik, Maida and Myrrhini. Infiltration tasks included things like taking a particular saddle, removing a pair of boots or even mock poisoning of meals.
What Myrrhini knew that no one else did was that Slave regularly interfered with the exercises. He would silently foil attack after attack, steal the target before the arban arrived or even spirit an assassination mark away. It added to Keshik’s status as every arban believed he was responsible for the interference.
On the sixth time that Myrrhini herself was the assassination mark — a fact known only to Keshik, the Tuk responsible for the attack and Myrrhini — Slave seemed to materialise out of thin air beside her as she made herself comfortable under the wagon. He clamped his hand over her mouth. She stiffened, but relaxed when she saw it was him. He gave the signal for silence and when she nodded, he removed his hand.
In the darkness, his silver eye gleamed slightly. He pointed with his right hand to indicate the direction from which the arban was approaching then slid his arms under her. With speed indicative of great strength, he carried her out from under the wagon before moving swiftly away into the cover of the grass. She knew better than to speak so she waited until he had carried her far enough away.
When he put her down, she went to speak, but he again gestured her to silence, then pointed to the north. Myrrhini followed the gesture. To her surprise, the sky to the north was not dark as she would expect. A faint red glow brushed the black. She stared, allowing her vision into Eztli-Ichtaca to take over. Images of violence, of barbarity, of unspeakable destruction flooded her mind through her flame-filled eyes. Towering over the wanton destruction stood a massive humanoid shape, gnarled and black like a burnt tree stump. It roared in malevolent joy at the work of its screaming army below.
Myrrhini cried aloud in shock as she recognised the darkness that she had sensed for so long, now taking form before her eyes. It was this that the Blindfolded Queen herself had not been able to See in its entirety. Knowing what she was now Seeing, Myrrhini allowed the Seeing to grow and develop. The Beast stopped roaring and swung a huge fist, catching a writhing shape. Myrrhini focused on the shape, feeling as if she herself were flying frighteningly fast towards the Beast. The shape resolved itself into a wyvern. The Beast gave a sound that Myrrhini could only think was its version of laughter, a hideous sound of ancient malice, as it raised the wyvern to its mouth. Myrrhini was not fast enough to pull her vision back before the Beast bit the struggling creature in half. As her vision fled from the feeding Beast, it somehow caught sight of her.
Your days are numbered, Mertian, it said. I am coming for you and yours.
‘You Saw?’ Slave asked quietly.
‘I Saw,’ Myrrhini said. ‘It is coming for me, and my people.’
‘And I am its Beq.’
‘You say that, I have Seen it, but what does it mean? I know the Beq was the Scaren warlord commander of all the tribes, but what does that mean now? The tribes are all but gone and that army —’ she pointed north at the red glow ‘— is under the direct control of that … thing.’
Slave shook his head. He had wondered about it ever since hearing the word for the first time. How could he be the commander of an army he had never seen? And what did it matter if he were called its leader when he was nowhere near it? He could not see how it would be important, yet it came up every time there was a Seeing or he had a dream. Deep in his gut, he felt it would matter.
A low growl alerted Slave to Tatya’s approach. She slipped through the grass like a shadow to stand at Slave’s side. He, apparently absently, rested his hand on her back, his arm extending almost horizontally from his own shoulder.
‘Chaos,’ Slave breathed, ‘is mastered by discipline.’
‘What was that?’
‘One of the ancient military stratagems my master taught me.’
/> ‘Why did he teach you so much about military strategy?’ Myrrhini asked.
Slave had often puzzled over that very question. He now knew Sondelle had raised him to face the Sorcerer Revenant in the labyrinthine prison beneath Vogel, which explained the skills he had been taught, but not the extensive military strategy. It was almost as if Sondelle had prepared for the eventuality that he might fail. But could he possibly have foreseen the screaming insanity that lay beneath the horizon ahead of them?
The sounds of voices reached them. The arban sent to ‘assassinate’ Myrrhini had tracked them here and would arrive in moments. Slave allowed himself a small sigh.
‘The Tulugma are good, but they need more practice. Tatya, do you feel like giving them some more practice?’
Tatya gave a rumbling growl of pleasure. ‘Always,’ she said.
13
The Great River of Kings was in flood by the time Keshik reached it with his army. It happened every ten or so Crossings when the ice caps on the mountains were melted by unusually high temperatures, sending vast amounts of water thundering down across the C’sobran plains to crash impotently against the Wall. It was for this reason, Keshik guessed, that whoever — or whatever — built the Wall in the first place. Certainly, it had protected the delta farmlands to the west for uncounted Crossings.
His own experiences deep within the Wall in aiding the overthrow of one ruler to be supplanted by another had shown him that, like all societies he had ever seen, the one governing the operations of the Wall was no different. Maida had told him of the devastation wrought by the malicious opening of the vast gates holding back the untamed waters. Done, no doubt, as a demonstration of power to squeeze even more tribute from those who lived in thrall to the whims ensconced within, it had swept away whole villages and ruined an entire crop.
And now, he needed passage across, or through, the Wall for him and his army. If Slave were here, Keshik might have risked an infiltration through the unending dark of the tunnels deep within the Wall, but Slave was not here. That meant negotiation with Guaman, the new Supervisor of the Wall. Keshik had helped him gain his position of prominence, but when it was done, Guaman had thrown Keshik from the top of the Wall, fearing for his own position. Keshik still woke on occasion in a sweat, remembering that fall, and the wyvern that had caught him.
Slave was riding a wyvern. Was there anything the man could not do?
Commit to a cause — that’s one thing, Keshik thought bitterly. We need him now. And he is off somewhere pursuing his own ends.
Hayde rode up to Keshik and dismounted. Standing beside him, Hayde stared down into the roiling brown waters of the Great River of Kings. The huge canyon Keshik had been thrown into last time was now almost full, with more water surging down from the mountains to the east every moment. He tried not to think of how deep the huge angry lake before him had to be, but having fallen into the canyon, he knew he’d fallen for twenty or thirty heartbeats before the wyvern smashed into him. This temporary lake before him was deeper than most hills were high, wider than any arrow could ever fly.
And he had to be on the other side.
‘Ogedei Keshik —’ Hayde began.
‘Don’t call me that,’ Keshik snapped. ‘Just tell me what you learned.’
‘The guards at the lower gates would not allow us free passage,’ Hayde said. ‘They demand the full payment.’
‘That’s all you learned?’
‘No, Oged —’ Hayde hesitated under Keshik’s glare. ‘Keshik,’ he went on. ‘There were sixteen armed guards standing in front of the gate, twenty behind them inside the gate, with at least fifteen archers at full draw cowering behind cover.’
‘And the gate itself?’
‘Stone, inset three paces back into the Wall. Hidden hinges, murder holes above and on either side.’
‘We’re not getting in there, then,’ Keshik observed.
‘We could,’ Hayde disagreed.
‘We need every sword, we can’t waste any on an idiot behind a wall.’
Hayde remained silent. Probably waiting for my brilliant strategy to get past an impassable gate without losing a single life, Keshik guessed. Below them, the Great River of Kings raged at the Wall that stood impassively in its way. I know how you feel, Keshik thought.
‘Send out every Habigga tonight. I want to know where the secret gates are and how they are guarded by morning,’ he snapped.
Hayde sprang back up onto his horse and pulled her head around, setting his heels to her flank, sending her galloping back to where the main body of Keshik’s army waited.
‘How are we going to get across?’ Maida asked. She stood beside him in light body armour, with a sword at her left hip, a dagger at her right and a short war axe slung across her back. When the rays of the setting sun struck her, she glowed. Keshik had never seen her more beautiful.
‘We’ll go under, with any luck, without Guaman ever knowing we were there.’
‘Won’t he have the passages he used better guarded?’
‘He might, but our fighters will be better than anything he has.’
‘You hope.’
‘I have seen his best.’
‘Do these secret entrances exist?’
‘They have to.’
‘Why?’
‘Otherwise we have to pay and I don’t have any money. Do you?’
Maida snorted. ‘Not yet.’
‘I don’t think this is going to pay well.’
‘We won’t survive it, will we?’
‘No. We can’t possibly survive. That army —’ Keshik waved at the dull red glow beyond the northern horizon ‘— is vast. We have six hundred.’
‘But we have seen them. They are insane, they have no command structure, no discipline, no clear goals. What were the five fundamentals of the Tulugma war?’
‘Unity, wisdom, the battleground, discipline, command.’
‘They have none of them.’
‘Tulugma also said: if you are weak before your foe, fight to die, flee to live.’
‘Where the enemy has chaos, attack with discipline, where he has the ground draw him out, where there is tumult, bring calm,’ Maida quoted from Tulugma.
‘There are armies not to attack,’ Keshik countered. ‘But we have to attack this one.’
‘We do,’ agreed Maida. ‘So let’s go and get some sleep.’
‘No. Let’s not sleep. I have a better idea.’
‘Really?’
‘We won’t have much chance for it when we get going.’
Maida slipped her hand into his and let him lead her back to their small tent. She took her armour off outside before kneeling to crawl inside.
With the rising of the sun came the sounds of shouting, of horses and marching feet. Keshik hurriedly pulled on pants and scrambled out of his tent. He was greeted by a swarming melee of men and horses pushing and shoving, shouting and arguing.
‘What is going on?’ Keshik bellowed.
At his shout, the melee slowed, separating out into two clear groups of people. His Tulugma stood back from the intruders, a group of maybe fifty men, all uniformed. Keshik recognised one of the uniformed men as he strode out of the group. It was Ozcollo.
‘Ozcollo,’ Keshik said. ‘You are taking a risk coming into my camp.’
‘Guaman thought you were good, but he never imagined you could fly, Keshik of the Tulugma,’ Ozcollo replied.
‘The Tulugma have many skills,’ Keshik said. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to talk.’ He looked at the Tulugma gathered around. ‘In private.’
‘No.’
Ozcollo gave Keshik a long, hard stare, as if weighing up the Tulugma resolve. Finally, he gave a brief nod. ‘Sssa, as you wish then. There is a barbarian horde the like of which no one has ever seen bearing down on us from the north. Every night, from the top of the Wall, we can see the fires of the destruction they are bringing. They are getting closer by the day. The reports are that Lac’u and C’sobra a
re in ruins behind them. They appear to be intent on nothing other than wanton destruction. Anything that stands, they knock down, if it moves, they kill it. They are leaving nothing but blackened earth where they pass. The Wall itself will stand, but we would not survive a siege. If you are intent on throwing your lives away against them, we will not stand in your way.’
‘Free passage through the Wall?’
‘Over, not through.’
‘Good enough. We will be ready to leave before the sun is at its height.’
‘I will wait.’
Slave watched as Myrrhini packed her few belongings. He had seen, and approved of, Keshik’s plan to distribute among his fighters the hundreds of bottles and vials of chemicals stored on the wagon. Personally, he would not have killed Camaxtli, but it was not his decision to make. The merchant had done nothing to warrant his murder, but everyone dies sometime.
Myrrhini seemed upset. Tears were flowing down her face as she slowly shoved things into her pack. When she was done, she slung it onto her back and turned to face Slave.
‘I know you are there,’ she said. ‘You cannot hide from me.’ She pointed at her flame-filled eyes. ‘The eyes of the Quanhtli see everything.’
The Tulugma around seemed to be taking no notice of her, so Slave eased out of his concealment. When he was close enough, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.
‘They are going to die,’ she said. ‘They are all going to die.’
‘Who?’
‘The Tulugma fighters, they are all going to die.’
‘All of them?’
Myrrhini’s arms tightened around Slave. His own arms hung at his side as he wondered what he should do. He was intensely aware of her body pressed hard against his, recalling what he had seen of her, back in the Hidden City — her slender form; her small, high breasts; her smooth skin and the gentle curve of her hips. She was unlike any woman he had seen, yet inside her chest beat the same heart that would stop beating in the same way as every other woman’s. The sound of a heart falling into an open chest echoed through his mind as he saw again the dark room beneath Vogel where Sondelle conducted his heinous experiments. In the fleeting moments Myrrhini held him before he raised his arms to hold her, he saw Waarde, Kirri, the assassin woman he had felt for so long ago in Vogel. He saw their faces, their bodies, their deaths.
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