The Radiant Child

by Duncan Lay

  All the workers she passed turned dull eyes towards the armed men, before looking away. Some averted their eyes completely, although Karia knew the sight of the renegade Norstalines and Berellians must have been strange. Worse, some of the stone workers stopped to cough, a rasping noise that always seemed to end with them spitting out blood. Karia turned away in horror at the sight of it cutting channels through the stone dust on men’s chests.

  She focused on the city. It loomed over the plains and the river that wound through the fields. She could remember when the market town of Wollin had seemed huge and mysterious to her. She had grown used to the splendour of Norstalos City but Tenoch made the Norstaline capital look like a provincial town.

  The walls were huge, a beautiful golden stone that seemed to catch the sun, the same stone that had been dug out of the quarry. Its towers were huge and square, jutting out every one hundred paces, while the gates were enormous, seemingly made from entire trunks of trees. The problem was, the walls were so huge that she could not see the buildings inside. The only thing that was visible was a stone pyramid. It was a long way away, deep into the city, but still easy to see. A thin trail of smoke rose from the top and, although she did not know why, it filled her with dread. So much so that she called out to Ezok, who rode on the same cart.

  ‘What is that?’ she asked, pointing it out

  ‘The Temple of Zorva,’ he replied absently.

  Karia looked again, then realised what the smoke must be. She decided she did not want to look any more. She closed her eyes, praying softly that Martil would reach her soon.

  The trip through the city seemed to take forever. The streets were wide and paved with stone, the houses likewise of the same material. There were markets everywhere, each one selling just one thing. One just had fish, another just meat, one more vegetables and fruit, while others had clothes or jewellery and one even sold men, women and children. She gaped at that, as well as the people dressed in many different ways. Some wore nothing but simple loincloths, some wore plain-coloured tunics, while others wore robes in bright colours. Many of the women, and the men also, had strange tattoos etched into their faces, arms and legs, while others had their faces, ears, eyebrows, cheeks and noses pierced with gold and bone. Some looked away from the strangers, while others stared at them boldly, almost in challenge.

  She watched it all, intrigued. Were they all bad people? She watched them and wondered. It seemed to her that the more richly dressed they were, the more gold they wore, the nastier they looked. As for the men, women and children with rope collars around their necks, who followed the rich ones dumbly, she pitied them—and feared what it meant.

  But the biggest horror waited at the Temple of Zorva.

  It sat alone in the middle of a square, much like the palace at Norstalos City. But it was bare of shops and people, all except a crowd of cheering, chanting men, clustered around the front of the pyramid.

  Karia wondered what they were cheering. They all seemed to be looking up towards the top of the tall Temple. The front of it seemed to be stained a strange brown colour. She wondered why, then gasped in shock. Someone had fallen from the top! She watched, horrified, as a body bounced down the rough stone steps. Why was everyone laughing, pointing and cheering? The cart rattled closer and she saw the body land at the bottom. It was picked up by men and thrown onto a pile of others. They were all dead, she saw. At least twenty of them. She stared, unable to turn away, then looked up to the top of the Temple, where red-robed Fearpriests stood, waving at the crowd.

  The lessons of Father Nott, as well as what she had overheard Martil and Merren talking about came back to her then. They were killing people!

  She felt sick, and had to look away, or she would surely vomit. She wished she could get her hands on the Egg, so she could bring that whole Temple tumbling to the ground.

  Onzalez prepared himself for the Ruling Council of Seventeen meeting and for an expected battle with Brother Horna. From the look he and the guard at the gate had exchanged, it was apparent Horna had been doing some plotting in his absence. It was no surprise. He knew Horna was one of the few that had thought the Albiona expedition a waste of time and effort. The others, even Horna’s erstwhile supporters, had listened, spellbound, as Onzalez outlined the tens of thousands of new souls that would bow to Zorva, the power and plunder that would flow into Tenoch. Only Horna had disagreed, before being forced to go along with the majority.

  Until Onzalez had made his move, Horna had been the Council’s nominal leader—not that there was an official leader—but he was the most influential, used to the Seventeen agreeing with his plans, his ideas. But Onzalez’s passion and ambition had been too much for Horna to fight against and had allowed Onzalez to bring the Seventeen under his control. Onzalez’s dreams of conquest and expansion had overwhelmed Horna’s desire for things to stay unchanged.

  But he had to be careful. Horna was always waiting for a chance to seize back control. And, if he did but realise it, this was his perfect opportunity. Just one of Gello’s soldiers or an eagle or leopard warrior could let slip that the army was not still fighting in Norstalos—but was dead.

  Still, he had a few surprises up his sleeve. The Dragon Egg was one. Gello and his soldiers were another, for the presence of the Norstaline Queen and her lackeys of Aroaril was the most pressing danger to the Seventeen. With no Tenoch army, Gello—and by extension Onzalez—was the power in the city. As long as the rest of the Seventeen thought Gello was under Onzalez’s control, he was safe. And he had another plan as well, which he planned only to reveal at the meeting.

  He took a little longer to prepare himself, to make sure his face gave nothing away. For the Council room was the only place, apart from the bedchamber, where the Seventeen removed their cowls. Here their faces could be revealed, must be revealed. Secrets were harder to keep then.

  Onzalez stepped into the chamber and slipped his cowl from his head, feeling the rare sensation of a breeze on his hair. He nodded and smiled to the other sixteen, who took their places around the circular stone table, designed so that none were seen to be above the others.

  He could feel their eyes on his face, especially on the livid scar on his cheek, the memento from his duel with the foul Archbishop of Norstalos. He held his head high.

  Servants had placed food and drink on the table, made sure the lanterns were all lit and the table and chairs spotless, then left through a hidden door before the first of the Seventeen entered. All was as it had been before he left, he reflected as he took his seat.

  ‘Brother Onzalez has returned to us after more than a year on the southern continent of Albiona, bringing with him strange warriors and stranger tidings. I think we should hear from him now,’ Brother Horna said and, almost before he had finished, Onzalez had pushed back his chair to stand.

  With a mild smile, he began with his best news, that virtually the entire country of Berellia had been converted to worship of Zorva and the acolytes he had taken with him were even now finishing that job, while a second country, Norstalos, was almost within their grasp. He went on to tell them about the Dragon Egg and how its power had drawn the Aroaril-lovers across the sea.

  ‘They have brought all the leaders of Aroaril’s resistance with them,’ Onzalez explained, ‘in a desperate attempt to seize back this Egg, their last hope to destroy us. They thought us at a disadvantage but all we need to do is defeat this pitiably small force and the entire continent is ours. Without their Witch Queen, they will fall apart. We just need to raise the city against the invaders and everything I predicted will come to pass.’

  ‘Witch Queen?’ Horna asked sharply.

  ‘How she is known by true followers of Zorva on the other continent. She is strong with Aroaril and while she has no magic herself, she commands men who use magic, priests of Aroaril with power and a warrior with a magic sword. But once she is gone, they are nothing and we shall rule!’

  He expected to see nods and smiles of agreement—but fel
t a moment’s terror grip his heart when the other Fearpriests turned to Horna.

  ‘Why have the leaders brought their best soldiers all the way here, when they are locked in a war back in their homeland? And an egg? How can that be more powerful than we are? I warn you Onzalez, the Seventeen are not your unthinking lackeys. There are things you are not telling us!’ Horna thundered.

  Onzalez met his gaze calmly. ‘It is not “an egg”. It is the most powerful magical object in the entire world. It is a creation of the dragons, that we took from them and the last hope of the Aroaril-worshippers. Once you see it in action, you shall believe me! As to the ways of the Aroaril-lovers, who can say what madness drives them? But we can be sure of one thing. They have put themselves at our mercy by coming here. We must take immediate action to give victory to Zorva. Trust me as you always have, support me as you should and, with my ally King Gello, we shall destroy these impudent Aroaril-worshippers and then you may join us in returning to the southern continent in triumph!’

  ‘Brothers, we have spoken about this. The Council is not hostage to the whims and ambitions of Brother Onzalez! We do not have to do whatever he tells us to. I propose we investigate this further, speak to the soldiers who have returned—’

  ‘Brothers, your choice is simple,’ Onzalez interrupted. ‘All I want to do is crush this army of Aroaril-lovers and see glory come to Zorva! All you have to do is give me permission to win this last battle. Give me the power and authority to crush the Aroaril-lovers and give us the final victory. If I fail, then I shall present myself to the Seventeen for their judgment—’

  ‘Let us vote on it,’ Horna fired back.

  Onzalez smiled coldly. ‘Of course. But, before we vote, I should also point out that we need an extra chair in here.’

  ‘What nonsense is this?’ Horna protested. ‘No new member of the Council has been appointed! Or do you see yourself above the Seventeen, given a new position perhaps?’

  ‘No. But, with our success in Norstalos, I introduce you to the representative from that country, Brother Prent!’

  With that, the door opened and Prent strode in, pulling the cowl from his face as he did so.

  The room erupted immediately, with Fearpriests shouting at each other, and it was some time before calm was restored.

  ‘We cannot add another to the Council!’ Horna summed up the opposition.

  ‘We can and we must. It is a law of the Council that every new city added to the Tenoch empire will have a priest to represent it on the Ruling Council,’ Onzalez said triumphantly.

  ‘Brother Onzalez is right,’ croaked the oldest Fearpriest. ‘I can still remember when we were the Sixteen. Now we must be the Eighteen.’

  A quick vote showed twelve of the Seventeen agreed with him.

  Onzalez acknowledged his victory with a smile at Horna, although inside he worried how Horna had managed to tie four other Fearpriests to his side so well.

  ‘And now to the real question—will you allow me to crush this army of Aroaril-lovers and ensure final victory for Zorva?’ Onzalez offered.

  This time the vote was closer, with seven of the eighteen against him. Onzalez had won—but the extent of the opposition was disconcerting.

  ‘You have your wish, Brother,’ Horna said through gritted teeth. ‘But do not let us down.’

  ‘You may rely on me,’ Onzalez assured him.

  24

  ‘How is this possible?’ Onzalez screamed.

  The two scouts pressed themselves into the ground, trembling.

  ‘We do not know, High One. But we have seen it with our own eyes. Their ships have sailed up the entire river and are moored at the docks. They slept there last night and are now marching towards us,’ the scout cried.

  ‘We still have time,’ Gello said confidently. ‘The march through the jungle will take them most of the day, thanks to the men we have hidden there. And they will suffer for every pace they take.’

  Onzalez let out his breath with a hiss.

  ‘Go back to the jungle. Find my warriors and report to me on the progress of our enemies,’ he ordered.

  ‘At once, High One!’ The two scouts crawled backwards on their bellies, then got up and ran.

  ‘This is nothing to be concerned about,’ Gello repeated complacently.

  Yesterday he had waited nervously in his rooms, begging his sketch of Mother to comfort him. But there was nothing. To sit in a room, no matter how comfortable, without a glimpse of sun, hearing faint screams as another sacrifice was dragged up the stairs to their doom…it was hard not to feel fear there, in the heart of the Fearpriest empire and he even had a moment when he wondered what would have happened had he accepted Merren’s offer and joined his men to hers to defeat the Tenochs and Berellians. But then he had looked again at Mother’s picture. He was destined to rule! He would never share power with anyone, let alone a woman! To do otherwise would betray everything Mother had taught him. Of late, he had been relying more and more on Mother’s picture, telling it all his woes, all his hopes and plans. But, sitting there in that room, he realised he could put it aside. He could stand on his own feet. He did not need her.

  So he had walked into the Ruling Council’s chamber proudly and been welcomed warmly. But despite the pledges of allegiance and a vote of thanks for his aid, he had sensed the hatred for Onzalez radiating from several of the Fearpriests around the table.

  ‘King Gello, I am pleased to announce that the Eighteen has decided you are a valued ally. We expect you to lead this city to victory over the rabble of Aroaril-lovers who have followed us here,’ Onzalez had said gravely.

  ‘My men, who are all sworn to Zorva’s service, will be happy to give you this victory,’ Gello bowed slightly.

  ‘You must return to your men now, to prepare for the arrival of the Aroaril-lovers,’ Onzalez continued.

  Gello inclined his head, his eyes on the rest of the Fearpriests. Onzalez was playing a dangerous game here. If they beat Merren and her rabble, all would be fine but if they failed…

  He had led his men back to the gates to be ready for what the next day would bring—and after he had arranged with Onzalez for wine, food and women to be sent to entertain them.

  Gello had slept late, after a night of drink and debauchery, but had been pleasantly surprised by the sheer mass waiting for him outside the front gate, along with an impatient Onzalez. The Fearpriests and their soldiers had been through the city during the night and made sure every man had made his way to the gates at dawn. There were stoneworkers, with dust still caking their hair, clutching stone picks, hammers and chisels, farm workers with wooden spades, hoes and rakes, as well as shopkeepers and labourers with obsidian knives and clubs. As far as warriors went, there were only a few hundred of those, as well as Gello’s own Norstalines and the Berellians he had rescued. But he had climbed one of the tall gate towers to gaze down on the men assembled and been unable to count them. Fifty thousand perhaps. Even more! They would be unstoppable. Merren and her pack of dogs would be outnumbered more than fifteen to one. True, only about one in twenty had armour or a weapon but not even those damned Rallorans could stand against so many!

  ‘We’ll send a few thousand of your true believers out in front, let Merren’s bowmen use up their arrows on them. Then we’ll send in our trained men, with endless thousands behind them. We’ll drive them into the river, kill every last one of them…’

  ‘No!’ Onzalez interrupted.

  ‘No?’ Gello stared at him in astonishment.

  ‘We need sacrifices! As many as we can get!’

  Gello grinned. It would be that easy! No army could stand against such a multitude as they had assembled! And then all that remained was to sail back to Norstalos and snap it up.

  The jungle was silent as the grave. The birds and animals had melted away. Only the insects remained, eager to sting and bite at the men who crept through the undergrowth.

  Martil led the armoured and sweating Elfarans forwards. They were the bait.
And they had volunteered for the task, for all knew their time left in the world was limited. Martil would not let them go alone—or at least that was what he had told Merren. In truth, he wanted to let the Dragon Sword loose on those he knew were waiting for them. The warm, damp smell of the jungle filled their noses, while it was impossible not to glance at the tall trees and strange undergrowth, so unlike the forests they knew at home. But while small trees and strange bushes lined the wide trail through the jungle, beyond that it was relatively open and easy to see through. Sweat was pouring off them, both from the effect of wearing all that leather and steel on a hot day—and from the thought of what waited for them. Although they had not faced more than a few spears thrown from the trees. With Barrett using birds to spot Tenochs, it was easy for the Derthals to spring an ambush on those in hiding. Merren had been concerned about how the Derthals would recover from the sea voyage but it seemed a night on the land was all they needed. They had been awake at first light, looking as though they had just walked out of their mountains. Sacrax and his warriors were circling around a band now. They did not need Martil, although he would sprint forwards to join the fight nevertheless. And the way the Dragon Sword cut apart even the best and bravest Tenochs was making others run.

  A safe distance behind, Merren wiped sweat off her brow that was only partly due to the heat. They had avoided the traps in the river, while Barrett, Martil and Sacrax were ensuring their passage through to the city was relatively safe. But looming over them, occasionally visible through the trees, was the city of Tenoch. The sheer size of the towers alone had men talking. And what would be waiting for them on the walls—or even outside the gate? They were making such good progress—or were they just walking into the biggest trap of all? But there could be no slowing down. The dragon Argurium had been left behind at the docks. The magical passage across the ocean had exhausted her, Havell said—or perhaps it was just her end was near. Merren had not really wanted to know. She had enough worries on her mind as it was. But one thing was clear—they had little time left and Merren felt acutely the weight of responsibility on her shoulders.