Markos confided several times that he was certain he should have had the whole of the priesthood executed following Tariq’s acquittal because somewhere in his heart of hearts he sensed that the Aergin and his followers would find some way to regroup elsewhere and continue to spread their poison in other cultures. Sadly, from Markos’ point of view at least, he could not find reason legitimate enough to justify a pogrom, and he was not prepared to extend “by reason of divine intervention” beyond what he had already accomplished somewhat blasphemously in his God’s Name.
The mounted troops were the first to begin to advance leaving the encampment shortly before noon. They were closely followed by several units of alliance hoplites and a couple of battalions of Kendirith spearmen and Dog Soldiers. A couple of supply wagons trundled ponderously behind the vanguard to provide the rations once the safe water haven was reached and secured.
The march would continue to advance in stages with periods of two to three days’ rest between. The safe water areas that the Kendirith and kayetim had managed to identify and mark on the map were large distances apart, sometimes likely to be a settan’s march; and although the kings were tempted to march the men through the night they decided that this would only be done once every three days and that following an all night march the men would be rested for two days.
The generals and war councillors were not happy with the schedules not because they considered them too soft or generous, but because it would slow our overall progress to our destination and give the enemy longer to prepare more effectively for our arrival. I had to agree the strategy was risky, but I would much rather be fighting alongside well-rested fresh troops than tired, hungry and probably angry men.
We camped that night near one of the rare stand of scruffy trees that dotted the veldt settling by the hearth quite quickly. Faedron had managed to identify some edible roots—no mean feat on the Medran veldt where most of the plants were hostile to human life. Kylos and Maegor had hunted down a couple of Medran hares and Tariq had bagged a couple of black kites—again one of the few species of bird on the veldt whose meat, despite the scavenger nature of the bird, was not verminous. We would at least be spared field rations that night, and if there was enough left at the end of the meal we might enjoy a good stew on the following night.
Karyn joined the group with the ever-present Thaze and began helping with the preparation of the meal.
Jae’nt and Tariq arrived with a keg of ale they had somehow managed to sequester before leaving the main camp. I did not want to consider long how they might have accomplished this so I ignored the barrel as they tapped it and served us.
As I leaned back against Dthor and supped my ale, watching the group peeling, cutting and carving the birds and game into joints. Aenar leaned towards me and tapping my forearm directed my attention to Kylos.
The archer was sitting slightly awkwardly on the far side of the hearth with Daryth tucked into his crossed legs. His bow lay across the boy’s lap and he was teaching him how to use the whetstone to sharpen the fighting blades that were fixed to all of the kaltharim bows. We could hear him explaining the importance of gaining the correct tang on the blade over the low crackle and hiss of the fire. I smiled at how gently he guided the boy’s hands showing him how and when to increase the pressure and when to dip the stone or wipe the wet dust from the metal with the burnishing leather. The expression on Kylos’ face could only be described as sheer joy. He was delighting in the task.
Aenar was so captivated by the look on his consort’s face that he lost track of the fact that he was honing his own dagger. The whetstone slipped from his fingers and the edge of his hand slid along the blade. “Valhaedis foresch! You hell-spawned piece of scrap!” he dropped the knife as if it had burned him and clamped his hand over the cut. I handed him a clean rag from our field satchel. He took it, still cursing his weapon and his stupidity.
Daryth jumped to his feet and ran around the hearth. “Lord Soldier, Lord Soldier. Let me see.” The boy grabbed Aenar’s hand.
“It is nothing, Daryth. Just a cut, don’t fret so.”
He pulled at the rag insistently. “Let me see, Lord Soldier!”
Aenar growled impatiently. The boy was not to be dissuaded, and from the look on his face I could see that he was determined to examine the injury whether Aenar willed it or not. The wound was deep and it was clear that it would need stitching. I signalled to Karyn who grabbed up her small surgical pack.
Daryth turned Aenar’s hand over in his, closed his eyes for a moment as if he was deep in thought and then clamped his own hand over the wound. The Provost drew in a harsh grating breath and jumped as if he had been suddenly punched and winded. When he began breathing again Daryth let go of him. Karyn almost shrieked and those of us next to the Provost just gaped.
The wound was not only closed, it was as if it had never been there. The boy hugged Aenar around the neck. “Now all is well again, Lord Soldier,” the boy smiled and promptly fainted.
Jae’nt leaned over and took Aenar’s hand squinted closely at it for so long that eventually the man snatched it back in self-defence. “What in the Nine Hells just happened.”
Karyn sank to her knees and went to move Daryth into a more comfortable position for when he awoke, only to find Aenar snatching him up and cradling him against his chest.
“He has The Touch, Prince Jae’nt. The boy has The Touch. That means he can heal in ways that we cannot probably even begin to imagine. I must send word to the Healer’s Guild in Moria at once.”
Aenar grabbed the woman by the wrist as she rose with such ferocity I thought he would break her arm. “You will send word and speak of this to no-one, Karyn. This boy is under my protection and you have my oath that I will defend him by whatever means I deem fit.” He gave the healer a deadly look. “And you have already seen me deliver on my oath once before.”
Karyn gaped at the soldier as if she simply could not credit what she was hearing. “Aenar. a skill such as Daryth’s comes perhaps once in ten generations. The last known Toucher existed over a hundred cycles ago.”
“And I do not give a rotting fig for that,” The Provost responded. “Have you so soon forgotten what we pulled him from that you would shove him back in with a bunch of monks—or whatever kind of zealot it is your Healers’ Guild comprises. I will not have it.”
“And neither will I,” Kylos said joining us.
“This is incredibly selfish,” Karyn snapped.
“Better that than treacherous,” Kylos bit back. And with that the couple rose and excusing themselves to me headed towards their bivouac area carrying the unconscious boy with them.
The departure of the Provost and his charge left a kind of void in the gathering. The bitterness hung in the air for almost a secta before Tariq started singing an old Morlan love song—from a soldier to his squire apparently—and low Morlan voices gradually took up the refrain from the various fires close by. From the quavering in some of the voices it was clear that this song, though obviously kept alive by some kind of hidden military tradition—in spite of the repression—had not been given voice by any of the these men until this moment. This was going to be an interesting and very painful transition for the Morlan nation.
I became aware of Karyn complaining to Thaze as she and Faedron began to serve up the food. “This is not over, Thaze, I swear it. I will petition the King tomorrow noon at The Forum. That boy must go to the Guild. He is a Morlan and prince’s consort or no, the Provost will not deny our nation one of its greatest prizes.”
A prize, I thought. Daryth was not a prize, a trophy to be won in a contest of any kind. He was a little boy who had survived an horrific ordeal. He deserved a childhood. I called quietly to Polo, whispered my instructions and sent him off. Dthor gave me a deeply pained look. “Can you not spend one night without plotting, shovaqi?”
“Apparently not, my love.”
By the time I woke at sunrise Aenar and Kylos were already seated by the hearth w
ith Daryth. I could smell the oats and spices cooking as Kylos concocted his soldier’s porridge. The mixture was delicious thick with just the right amount of weight to sustain one through a long morning’s march. Like most Morlan food it was spiced but for the mornings it was a blend of sweet, warming spices and syrups extracted from native Morlan plants. I always looked forward to the mornings that he cooked it.
I slid out from under Dthor’s arm and strolled towards the couple.
Kylos suddenly leaned back from the Provost. “Our son? You are serious? You cannot be serious.”
Aenar pulled the boy close to his chest as he had done the night before, winding his free arm around Kylos’ waist to pull him into a group embrace. “Kylos, shovaqi, you do not deceive me for a moment. I know that you are as helplessly besotted with and devoted to him as I. Calaena will adore him the moment she sees him and spend as much time trying to spoil him as we spend trying to prevent it.” The Provost reached into his cloak pocket and produced a scroll. “All that is needed is for you to put your seal to this and for Daryth to say yes.
The boy launched himself from Aenar’s lap to hugging Kylos’ neck and wrestling the young archer from side to side saying “yes, yes, yes,” until Kylos began to laugh. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out his royal seal and some wax. “How can I possibly fight two such determined warriors?” He placed the scroll on a flat hearth stone and sealed it.
“I suspect you cannot,” I said as I reached them. “Such ferocity and determination are impossible to defeat, I fear.” I indicated the steaming cauldron, “May I?”
Kylos simply gestured for me to help myself. “I suspect I have you to thank for putting this little monster so firmly in my path. I should have seen your hand stirring the stew when Polo turned up all blushes and fidgets and whispers to my wayward consort there.”
I sat down with the couple, then smoothing my hand briefly through Dthor’s waist length hair in greeting as he joined us to break fast. I turned my attention to the boy watching as he settled himself in the archer’s crossed legs and began to eat.
“Daryth, may I ask you about your gift? Your ability to make people well—like you did with Aenar last night,” I explained when the boy looked bewildered.
“Oh. That.” The boy frowned for a moment. “I do not know how I do it. I just do. I think what I want to happen. Touch—and it happens. Mother could do it as well, though she said she was not as good at it as I am.”
He paused for a moment to eat more porridge. When Daryth’ father was destroyed by the M’rgaerdjinn he and his mother had been taken to the Aergin’s own Chantry in Moria because he had been “recognised” as a suitable candidate for acolyte. The priests had promised that his mother would take up duties of maid servant to the Aergin himself but within a few days of their arrival she fell ill and died. At first Daryth could not understand why he had been unable to heal her. He tended her all through her final days, but no matter what he tried, how he thought. She simply died.
“It was poison,” he said—so casually he could have just thanked me for seasoning his meal. “I cannot stop poison. I can only do as you saw me do last night, Lord Commander.”
I considered for a moment. Given the developments I had seen in Jalin’s abilities as he came into his early manhood, I had no doubt that Daryth’ talent would grow and it was quite conceivable that he would develop the ability to destroy toxins; and Zoar alone knew what else he might accomplish.
The priests had discovered his healing faculty when one of the acolytes was seriously and almost certainly fatally injured by his “mentor” during an educational session involving the introduction of various implements into the acolyte’s body. The youth had been dumped and left on a cot and would have died had Daryth not seen it. He healed the youth who then told the priest and the Aergin had immediately seized upon the event realising that he had an incredible asset in the boy in that he could extend the length of time it took a man condemned as Tainted to die.
Daryth paused in his tale to help himself to another ladle of porridge, giving me a very serious look as he explained how much he liked Kylos’ porridge.
The Aergin decided to conduct an experiment and gut-gilded an acolyte in front of the boy and ordered him to heal. Daryth, terrified by the agonised screams of the victim did so, maintaining the thrall for hours while the gold cooled and cured. He was unconscious for several days and when he awoke it was to find the acolyte he had healed going slowly about his duties still carrying the gold inside him. The youth died some days later mainly because Daryth refused to use his gift on the young man again and, it seemed, wasting no words to acquaint the Aergin with the fact. And that was how he had ended up in the side store where we found him. The High Priest had determined that one way or another he would break the boy’s will and subjugate it to his.
Aenar leaned forward and ruffled Daryth’s pitch black hair proudly. “But he did not realise that he had challenged such a fierce little warrior.”
“Fierce warrior,” Daryth giggled. “I cried lots under all that horrid stuff. I wasn’t brave at all.”
“Even the bravest soldiers cry, Daryth,” Dthor said seriously. “Meriq here makes me cry almost all the time!”
Daryth gave the captain a strangely knowing look. “But that’s only because you love him so much Lord Consort. Like my Lord Soldier and Kylos.”
“That little boy is disturbingly wise at times,” Dthor observed as we mounted up and prepared to march on towards the safe water
I smiled. He had endured and seen a great deal for a boy his age. He had seen much that no child should ever see. It was little wonder that he had some understanding beyond his years. I found it comforting that despite the horrors he had experienced he could still recognise love and seemingly appreciate its worth.
The army moved quite quickly across the rolling plain towards the Safe Water Haven, sometimes fast marching for up to five sectas and then slowing to a normal march and then to plain walk. The mixed pace suited everyone, included the horses who seemed to grow stronger rather than more tired—as did the men. We ate and drank on the move—not something that particularly suited my digestion, but the odd cramp was a small price to pay.
As the vanguard moved over the crest of a low hillock I saw Janir’s standard go up and everyone came to a halt. From atop Vyrnath’s high shoulders I could see the king turn. He seemed to spot me and waved me up.
Stretched out before us was an enormous expanse of bright flowers, reds, oranges, yellows and blues large and round as saucers the whole area was dotted with tall earthen towers of varying hues.
Janir gave me a pained look. “Please tell me these plants are not going to explode into poison gas and acid and that they are not going to try to devour us as we pass through.
I smiled. “No they will not, Sire. But the men must be careful not to disturb the towers—especially the yellow hued ones.”
The towers were hives of Pollen Flies—the baclavin an odd striped insect that spent its days collecting the pollen and the nectar of the plains daisies. The creatures were the size of cherries and looked as if they should not be able to fly at all. But fly they did and with remarkable skill, hovering over the blooms and even flying backwards when the need arose. The syrup they produced we called bacla and it was much prized though it often proved difficult and hazardous to collect.
The sound of the Core Group arriving and Kylos whistling through his teeth distracted the king momentarily. Kylos gave broad smile. “Oh by Morgul’s sacred teeth! Hirakadesh! What fortune! Come Daryth, I will show you how to take their treasures—but we must be cautious and not touch the yellow hives.” Kylos turned to me.” With your indulgence, t’pahq, may we tarry a while.”
“If you know a safe way to get the syrup from the baclavin I will tarry with you and learn the trick.”
The king sent word back through the troops to walk softly and not to touch or disturb the hives in anyway after I explained that the insects carried a very p
owerful and unpleasant sting and were not averse to using it if they were or felt threatened. The denizens of the yellow hives were particularly aggressive if disturbed and their stings were deadly. They were slim, striped yellow and black, and the length of a man’s thumb. They would always attack in number and they would continue to sting a man until he died from the shock of it. Where their brother flies could only sting the once and would then die, these creatures could withdraw their stingers and strike until they ran out of venom or they died from the exhaustion brought on by their attack.
As the army moved slowly and cautiously among the hives Kylos, Daryth and I headed towards the nearest red hive. We dismounted and the kalthar began rummaging in his saddle bag. “I know it is in here, I always carry it.” He gave a grin. “We find these hives all over the Morian forest. Ah there you are!”
He pulled out a strange contraption that had a small cage like structure as its base which he explained held charcoal. The cylinder above had a gauze base and held a sweet, aromatic wood he called zakkar which he explained had a highly soporific effect on the hirakadesh. There was a tube poking out of one side of the cylinder and a small pair of bellows fixed at the back. Kylos started the device will well-practiced ease and very soon was producing a great deal of thick sweet-smelling smoke.
He began by sending little clouds of smoke towards the entrance and it was a very short time before a few flies appeared. They buzzed around for a while and then suddenly dropped and were still. Kylos slipped the spout of smoky contrivance into the entrance and began pumping the bellows slowly and gently at first and then with more vigour. From inside the tower we could hear a gentle rising buzz and then the whole hive went silent.
A Rising Darkness Page 59