‘Warrior’s Claw. Nothing as fine as yours, but she was very talented. Did you know she gave Keshik those scars?’
Maida turned to Keshik. ‘You said Zhan Tien gave you those,’ she accused.
‘It was a fiction we allow the Ogedei to believe,’ Adrast said. ‘Keshik was fighting four of us — it was the only way we could test him enough to get him to raise a sweat. At one stage, Bai and the Ogedei were near and they both slashed at Keshik. Zhan Tien was close enough, so we all let him believe it had been his weapon.’
‘It was good for his ego,’ Keshik muttered.
Slave lost interest in the conversation. He fingered his own Claw, far away in thought. This woman, Bai, had used a Claw. Her colouring, the fair hair, the dark skin — could she have been related to the Scaren? Maida had said she had seen people with his colouring in the mountains. Gielde bordered the mountains. At the time, when Maida had told him of others, he had not allowed himself to dwell on the thought, but now he was unsure. Was he truly the last of his kind? He had been born, so he had Scaren parents. Where had they come from? Did they have relatives? Were they even dead as he had always assumed?
He resolved that if he survived what was coming, he would travel to the mountains to find out.
‘What did you want us for?’ Keshik demanded. ‘It was not to talk about the old days.’
‘No, Myrrhini wants you. And the Blindfolded Queen needs you. I can send you to her.’
Keshik lowered his head into his hands. ‘Sorcery,’ he mumbled.
‘Not really,’ the Elbar assured Keshik.
‘What else could it be?’ Keshik said without raising his head.
‘It’s just another way of seeing the world.’
‘Myrrhini will need more fighters,’ Slave said.
‘You mean tacticians, don’t you?’ Adrast said.
Slave gave a curt nod.
‘I thought so. She has enough to simply run at the enemy and die. She needs someone to tell them where to run so that their dying matters.’
Keshik looked up at that, to stare at Adrast.
‘You can dismiss the Tulugma like that?’ he asked.
‘We are trained to die and take as many with us as possible as we die. This is the moment we came into existence for. If the Tulugma cease to exist after this …’ He gave a shrug. ‘So be it. Tulugma himself came here to flee what his people had brought into the world. If his legacy is what finally destroys it, he would lie happily in his grave.’
‘I spoke with that thing,’ Keshik said. ‘It told me it knew Tulugma.’
‘I didn’t know they’d met,’ Adrast mused.
‘It said I fought like him,’ Keshik went on. ‘It also said it would not feed on me because of Tulugma.’
‘It had the chance to feed on you, and didn’t? You were lucky, Keshik.’
‘What did it mean?’
Adrast scratched at his chin. ‘The old writings are hard to read, but from what I have managed to decipher, it feeds on thought, draining the mental energy of the person. The stronger the mind, the more energy it gains.’
‘Which is why it attacked Leserlang,’ Maida said. ‘All those clever people. All that knowledge.’
‘And why it went for the Hidden City of the Blindfolded Queen.’
‘Why?’ Slave asked.
‘The Mertians still hold much of the arcane knowledge in the world. It wants it back, and it wants its people back.’
‘Its people?’
‘You haven’t worked it out yet? The Revenant you recently sent from this world desired destruction; the one still here desires worship, followers. It will feed on every mind eventually, reducing us all to mindless slaves. That clever strategy you used against the Revenant won’t work against Kielevinenrohkimainen. It will defend its followers. It needs them, both for their devotion and their minds’ energy.’
‘How can we fight it?’ Keshik asked.
‘Bravely, accepting vast casualties. Keeping enough good warriors in reserve for the final confrontation.’
‘It will be bloody,’ Keshik said.
‘Very,’ Adrast agreed.
‘So where is it going now?’ Slave asked.
‘Apros. The oldest kingdom in the world. The centre of culture of the Eleven Kingdoms.’
Slave stood up. All this talking had its place, but time was wasting. He knew what he needed to know — where to go, how to fight this thing. It was time to leave. But he could not simply order them to leave; he’d had his fill of orders and he was not going to start giving them himself.
‘I need to go,’ he said.
‘Already?’ Maida asked.
‘Is there anything else you have to offer?’ he asked Adrast.
The Elbar shook his head. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘And anything else I can tell you when we’re there.’
‘You can’t come,’ Keshik snapped. ‘You are the Elbar of the Tulugma. If we all fall in this fight, you have to remain here, to make sure not everything is lost.’
‘You need tacticians.’
‘We have Slave. He knows tactics as well as anyone.’
Adrast fixed Slave with a curious gaze. ‘Why did your master teach you military tactics?’
A chill ran through Slave that had nothing to do with the cold mountain air. Even after all this time, even the simple mention of Slave’s life under the brutal tutelage of Sondelle was enough to take him back. Back to when he was barely a man, back to the constant suffering, back to his cell. He felt himself start to shiver, to quake.
I am a free man, he told himself. No one can order me to kill again, to go back into the endless dark. Not if I don’t want to go.
With an effort, Slave pulled himself away from the fear, the dark horror of his training, to face Adrast, the Elbar of the Tulugma.
‘I don’t know,’ he heard himself say.
‘That’s odd, don’t you think?’ Adrast went on, talking to Keshik as if Slave were not present. ‘That a man would train a slave with all the skills of this man here —’
‘What is an Elbar?’ Slave interrupted. If the man went on much longer, Slave knew he might not be able to maintain control, and killing Adrast here and now would be a mistake.
The Elbar looked around, apparently unconcerned at being interrupted. Slave guessed he liked the sound of his own voice, so no matter what the topic, he would talk happily.
‘It’s a mispronounced shortening of the ancient Mertian word Eldareida. We share origins with the Readers of Leserlang. Although they profess ignorance of it.’
‘Readers,’ Slave said softly. ‘Not because they read, but because they were originally Mertian sorcerers.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Ironic, isn’t it?’
Not really, no.
‘We have been coming across bits of the ancient Mertian culture ever since we went to Vogel,’ Maida said. ‘But nothing to do with the Scarens. Why is that?’
No, we haven’t got time. Who cares?
‘The Scarens were destroyed in the purges. The Mertians were mostly just scattered. Especially since they had already split in two even before the purges started,’ Adrast said. ‘It’s why the Mertian culture is so widespread. Even down to their ancient curse — everyone says “ice and wind”.’
Can’t you stop talking?
‘I have to go,’ Slave repeated.
Adrast looked up at Slave. ‘Of course. We can leave first thing in the morning.’
‘Why not now?’
‘We can wait a night. Myrrhini is safe for the moment and Kielevinenrohkimainen is far from her.’
‘You know where Kielevinenrohkimainen is?’
Adrast gave a noncommittal grunt and spread his hands in a gesture that seemed to indicate uncaring ignorance. ‘It is far from Myrrhini.’
Slave left the room. If he had to wait a night in this place, he would spend it where he chose to, preferably not in the company of the Elbar of the Tulugma. He closed the door behind him, choosing not to pay any attention to th
e murmured words of injured pride as he walked away.
The night was already icy, but the towering walls of rock surrounding the Kuriltai provided shelter from the winds that had to be swirling outside. Slave looked up at the huge carving of Tulugma that stared down at the training grounds. He wondered at the ropes that snaked up from the very top to the ground next to the carving of Tulugma. Curiosity got the better of him and he ran lightly across the sands to take hold of a rope. It was thick and heavy, very strong. He started to climb.
Hand over hand, with easy strength, he climbed to the first dark opening. The exertion quickly warmed his muscles. At the opening, he swung inside, landing on the rock floor. His eyes, already used to the dim light outside, adjusted to the dark in moments, revealing a large, empty space. He walked slowly away from the entrance, every sense alert.
There were many smells in here. Old sweat, blood, ink, books. Another training space. Training the mind perhaps? A space for study, for poring over the words of the long-dead Tulugma? Keshik certainly had quoted the man often enough; he had to have spent many days learning all of that. Slave kept walking, alert for any changes to the still air.
It was lucky that he was, for the first hints that all was not as it seemed were subtle and would have been missed by most. A waft of air, a hint of a smell, a sound that might have been a normal night-time noise. Slave froze. In the dim light of the early evening, he could just make out a dark shape — a shadow within a shadow — lurking at the far end of the room.
And it was lurking, not simply standing still. Slave could sense an air of menace, a suggestion of malice about the shape. It was not waiting, it was lying in wait. Slave continued to walk towards the dark, finding, with no surprise, that he had reached inside his jerkin and pulled out his Claw. The weapon softly glowed.
A low malevolent sound emanated from the darkness. It made Slave hesitate, sending a chill across him that was colder than anything caused by the night air. He shivered, trying not to recognise the sound.
‘We meet again,’ a voice said. It was a rumbling sound, far deeper and more powerful than anything a human chest could produce. Two red eyes suddenly glowed within the dark, as if whatever was there had finally opened them to see the world around it. ‘And you still have my Claw.’
‘Would you like it back?’ Slave asked.
The Revenant laughed. Slave remembered the sound and shuddered. Unconsciously, he raised his hand to trace the twin scars that forever marked his face.
‘No,’ the Revenant said, ‘keep it. You are making excellent use of it. Better even than I had hoped.’
‘I destroyed your army with it.’
The Revenant stepped forward, bringing the darkness with it from the back of the room, its eyes the only part of it that was clearly visible. The rest remained hidden, obscured by the darkness it brought with it.
‘My army?’ it said. ‘They were only there to attract your attention.’
‘It worked.’
‘And here you are, my Beq.’
Slave felt dread in his gut. Had he been manipulated to be here by this thing? It had its own plans, own desires, and Slave did not know what they were beyond the destruction of the Mertians.
‘What do you want?’ Slave asked.
‘What do I want? You know what I want, what I need. You have felt it, you have tasted it. Every time you feel my gift, you touch the truth.’
Slave knew what the Revenant meant, but he did not want to admit it, nor allow the beast before him to name it. The dread that had started to form moments before was spreading quickly. It left him cold and shaken. He had to stop it somehow.
‘How did you survive out on the plains?’ Even as he uttered the words, Slave realised he had made a mistake. This thing crouched in darkness was not a man with whom he could share a conversation. It did not share even the conventions Slave had slowly learned. This thing, this Revenant, was what people truly feared. It was the Other that lurked in the shadows.
There was a rumbling growl, a sound of anger, of frustrated rage, of inhuman emotions before the shadow abruptly surged up and forward. It spread wings of darkness to surround Slave as its deep red eyes sped across the room. A gaping, fang-filled maw opened beneath the eyes, dripping black, viscous fluid onto the floor. Slave reacted instinctively, raising the Claw in front of his face before slashing it up and across the onrushing darkness.
The Claw erupted in brilliant silver light, cutting across the blackness without resistance. With a bellowing roar, the Revenant pulled back, its enveloping wings dissolving, diffusing like smoke into the night air. In a matter of heartbeats, the impenetrable black shadow faded to leave only the dark red eyes glowing within a tightly packed, densely swirling mass of smoke.
‘We will settle this, my Beq,’ the beast said in the instant before it vanished utterly.
Slave lowered his Claw slowly. The room was still and silent again, but the smell of ancient smoke now permeated everything. On the floor was a line of scorch marks where the black fluid had dripped from the beast’s fangs.
That thing had been real, it had left traces of its presence. But how had it been here?
What had he and Myrrhini killed so far above the Tusemon plains?
He put his Claw away again and walked back to the opening over the training grounds below. The rope that dangled from above moved slightly in the breeze. He gripped it and leaned out, looking up. His eye was caught by a flicker of movement at the top of the cliff. A watcher? An intruder?
Slave swung out onto the rope and climbed. He passed another opening that seemed to lead into a similar room but ignored it.
When he reached the top, the wind came at him with the bite of ice that stung any exposed skin. He pulled himself over the edge and stood on the rock. There was a levelled area, clearly made for a sentry; in the middle stood a stone protuberance around which the rope was tied. It looked like the stone had been left standing when the rest of the area had been carved away. This place was little more than a niche carved out of a much higher cliff that soared out of sight into the night sky. The cliff extended to left and right, with similar niches carved at regular intervals. From this vantage point, the Kuriltai looked like a deep bowl carved out of the mountain’s foot. Slave held his Claw, waiting for the watcher to show himself or make the mistake that would reveal his position.
A twitch in the rock made Slave start. He lunged at the rock with his fist, making solid contact with the body hiding in a niche behind the cleverly camouflaged hanging cloth. The sound of air being driven from lungs preceded the watcher staggering out.
The Tulugma was wearing the full black uniform of the kabutat, even to having a black bow and black arrows fletched in black. Only his eyes were visible, staring out through holes cut in the close-fitting hood. Slave grabbed him by the throat and slammed him back against the rock.
‘How many watchers are there?’ Slave asked.
The Tulugma kabutat snarled but did not answer. Slave suddenly realised what he was doing. He shoved the man away and released him. His instinct was always to assume an enemy, no matter that he knew the watcher was not a threat. Slave stepped back, to allow the kabutat a chance to recover his breath.
‘You are Slave?’ the Tulugma asked.
Slave gave a grunt of assent.
‘How did you know I was there?’
‘You moved.’
The Tulugma stood up. Slave watched as he did so, expecting something. He was not disappointed. The knife was black, gripped in the kabutat’s left hand. It did not flash in the moonlight, but Slave saw the man’s momentary tensing before his hand moved. The strike was fast and strong and would have been dangerous had Slave not seen it. As it was, Slave blocked the blow, gripping the kabutat’s wrist in his right hand. He wrenched the kabutat forward, dragging him off balance before heaving him sideways. The kabutat staggered and fell. Slave dropped his knee into the man’s chest and rested the Warrior’s Claw against his throat.
‘Has there been
any attempt to breach the walls in the last few days?’ Slave asked conversationally. The kabutat shook his head. ‘Could you explain something to me?’
‘What?’
‘You are a kabutat?’
‘Yes.’
‘So why is Keshik so upset at being called a kabutat?’
‘Everyone serves as kabutat — it just means night guard — but to be cast out, exiled in disgrace like Keshik was, means that they are never fit to be anything but a kabutat, which is the lowest rank a Tulugma can serve. They can never be Ild or Tuk or Subot or worthy of being seen in daylight.’
‘So he is still Tulugma, just the lowest rank?’
‘Not really.’
‘But you just said he was a night guard, like you.’
‘No, he is not fit to be anything but kabutat, even if he was Tulugma.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘It does to us.’
Slave shook his head and got up, off the kabutat. He reached out his hand and helped him to his feet.
‘How many watchers are there up here?’
‘Ten.’
‘Where else are watchers stationed?’
The kabutat gestured out towards the narrow gorge that led to the Kuriltai. ‘There’s normally fifty spread out along the top of the gorge, but at the moment there’s only twenty.’
‘How many are left here overall?’
The Tulugma narrowed his eyes, as if weighing Slave’s motives.
‘I think I will leave that to the Elbar to answer,’ he said finally.
Slave said nothing. The kabutat’s answer was a good one. He should not be talking about such things to someone he had never met. The discipline of these Tulugma was strong. He had already watched them die under orders, so he knew their strength. He stared down at the Kuriltai. As he did, the memory of the battle with the Revenant over the Tusemon plains washed back over him. What had really happened there? How had he flown with the beast? How had Myrrhini? What had Adrast meant by his talk about the ‘world of could be’? And what exactly had happened in the room below him?
Slave sighed. He could achieve nothing here. In truth he didn’t really know why he had climbed up here in the first place. What had he gained by it? With a shake of his head, he lowered himself over the edge and climbed back down to the training ground.
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