by Phil Tucker
He growled then, wheeled away and began to run past the campfires, the suspicious faces. Through the dark, back to Gregory's camp.
Gregory heard him coming and rose to his feet. Tharok burst into his small circle of light and strode right up to him.
"Egard. What happened to him? Why?"
"It doesn't concern you."
"Tell me, human, or I will summon all six hundred of my kragh and have them destroy you, troll or no."
"What do you want to know, kragh? You want to know why I killed Egard? Why I killed the man who taught me to become what I am?" Gregory laughed, the sound high and alien, a skittering titter. "You want the truth, the reality? I can give it to you. But you know it won't change anything. Oh, no. You have tasted power. You have merged with the earth and stone and touched the mind of a troll. You know that nothing I can say now will change what you want. I was where you now are, teetering on the brink of the chasm, looking down into the realms of power, but trying to convince myself that I wanted to draw back, that I still wanted to save myself."
Gregory stepped forward so that his face was inches from Tharok's and looked up at him, completely unafraid. "I thought that I would save myself, so I killed Egard when I discovered what he was. I killed him, or tried to, for I don't know if he truly died that night. And I swore to never touch the mind of another from that day forward. Do you know how long that vow lasted? A year. Now, here I am, alone in these high mountain passes talking with a kragh, living with a troll, alone. But, oh, the power I wield! Why would I want human cities and human conversation when I can commune with the sky and listen to the wind? I can fly with the hawk and burrow with the starmole! I can be one with the world! Your Sky Father must feel like this, looking at all and knowing their minds. Power, kragh, power. You want it. You need it. That is what you are about: power and control. So, don't come here barking and yelling about Egard, thinking that it matters. It doesn't. Tomorrow I will go with you to the Dragon's Tear. I will go with you and teach you how to control that which you desire, and you will give me riches. We will grow together, into power greater than of which we can dream of. Am I not right?"
Tharok was shivering, his mind spinning, thinking of the charwolf – the brief glimpse that Gregory had seen in that mountain meadow. Leading human men and women, children and beasts into the darkness. Power. The deep stone thoughts he had touched. The Dragon's Tear. Nakrok. Porloc and the Orlokor, the human empires, the mass of kragh seething and swirling and killing each other forever.
Then he thought of the great Uniter, Ogri, and how he had died alone in that high Valley of the Dead. How he had been the only kragh in memory or legend to ever ride a true dragon. The only kragh to unite them all, a kragh who had no spirit. Who had fled the world before it was too late.
Tharok groaned and covered his face with his hands. The world was spinning around him, and through it he could sense the power within his grasp, the power he need but reach out and take. Armies marching at his command, the world aflame, nights of power and delirium, blood and fire. He could control it, he heard himself whisper in the depths of his mind. He could control himself. It was only a question of willpower, of determination.
Nothing was beyond his reach. Nothing.
With a cry he tore the circlet from his brow, and blessed silence came roaring down upon him, swept the thoughts and pain and dreams from his fevered mind and left him reeling and alone in front of the human.
Gregory was staring at him, his eyes gleaming. Tharok met his gaze and then spat full in his face. The man fell back, shocked, and Tharok grinned at him, all tusks and fangs.
"Follow us tomorrow, and I'll order you dead."
He turned then and marched away into the darkness, his head now devoid of thoughts of conquest. He looked down at the slender band of iron and resisted the urge to hurl it away into the night. He was done with its power. He would follow his own fate without it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Iskra stepped up to the great double doors of the Emperor's Hall and took a deep breath. She resisted the urge to smooth her skirt, to touch her hair, to finesse the irreparable. The chamberlain had offered her the privacy of a chamber in which to refresh herself, but she'd politely turned him down; part of her worried that that have proven a delaying tactic or a subtle trap, while another deemed it worth the gamble of presenting herself in such rough condition. It would speak volumes as to the risks and determination she had shown in reaching the emperor's presence.
Two guards stepped forward to push the doors open. They were massive, fit for mounted knights to pass through without ducking their heads, made of gilded and beautifully worked bronze. The chamberlain, a broad-shouldered and potbellied boar of a man with a glistening bald pate, clad in robes more beautiful than any she owned, led her party inside.
The Emperor's Hall was filled with people. Tall columns rose up from amongst the crowd to support the vaulted roof, and the air was thick with perfume and humanity. There was no throne at the far end of the room, but rather a chaise longue on a raised dais, a beautifully carved affair of ivory and white silk on which rested the man she presumed to be the emperor. He was lying on his side, his body lost amongst the silks, a scepter topped with a gold medusa's head almost lost amongst the folds, his face covered with an ivory mask inlaid with silver. Even at this distance she could make out the gleam of his eyes as they locked on her.
"The Lady Iskra of Ennoia," called out the chamberlain in Ennoian, and then he repeated it in Agerastian, his voice a hollow boom that silenced the crowd like a great hand pressing down ridges of clay. "Accompanied by her delegation, come to speak with the emperor of Agerastos."
Iskra stepped forward, summoning every ounce of training and refinement that she could from her childhood in Sige. She glided forward, glancing neither left nor right, ignoring the fascinating panoply of dignitaries, nobles, musicians, advisors, and charivari as she walked over the marble floor toward the distant dais. Behind her, she could hear the soft footfalls of Tiron, followed by Hannus, Ord, and the Agerastian translator, Orishin. Captain Patash brought up the rear, seeing his duty through to the last.
Murmurs followed in her wake. The emperor never stirred, didn't sit up to get a better view of her. She gazed upon his reclining form and tried to match him to the virile, heroic figure that dominated the square outside thanks to the height of his great column. That young man had been muscled, almost statuesque; the man before her was almost a child, his body slender and frail. The forty years since he'd led the Agerastians in revolt had taken their toll.
"Emperor Thansos," she said upon reaching the appropriate distance, dropping into a curtsey. "Thank you for this audience. I traveled far and risked many dangers so that I might have the honor of addressing you."
Her words were carefully chosen and had their desired effect; the whispers stirred up again behind her. For an Ennoian - they didn't yet know of her Sigean blood - to claim it an honor to speak with an Agerastian was unheard of.
The ivory mask tilted a little more in her direction. The eyes behind it were sharp and alert. She met their gaze directly. What a beautiful mask, she thought. What did it hide?
"Lady Iskra," came his voice, whispery and quiet. "An Ennoian in my court. How the times have changed. Would you share your family name?"
Her heart fluttered. It was time to roll the dice. "Of course. I am Lady Iskra Kyferin, of Castle Kyferin, widow of Lord Enderl Kyferin." She had to raise her voice at the last, as the crowd's shocked pause erupted into anger. She almost smiled coldly, but instead she schooled her features and kept her expression neutral. Instead, she watched the emperor. He was the only one who mattered.
"So, it is true," he said. "The Scourge of Agerastos is dead." The hall quieted as everybody leaned forward to hear the emperor's quiet words. "You are surpassingly bold, Lady Kyferin."
With each word she gained his measure, or sought to do so. His reaction spoke volumes. She knew well just what tragedies her husband had visited upon
these shores, had heard him regale countless visitors over the years with detailed accounts of the navy battles. The assaults on the shore. The burning of villages. The salting and burning of the sparse soil. The siege of the capital. The butchering, the widespread horrors that had been visited upon the people. How the sky had grown dark for days with smoke. How he had sought to convert them all to Ascendancy at the point of the blade and the twist of the skewer. That the emperor didn't order her arrested and held for public execution immediately was impressive, and saved her having to blurt out the cause of her visit as guards wrestled her away.
For which she was grateful.
"Are you come from Ennoia, Lady Kyferin? Did the Ascendant or his Grace send you as an envoy?"
"No, Your Imperial Highness. Neither of them knows that I am here. I come of my own accord, with a proposition that I believe to be of benefit to us both."
The emperor studied her, then raised a gloved hand. "Clear the hall."
It was a whispered command, but the reaction was startling. Without complaint or rancor the crowd backed away, turned, and began to stream out the great double doors. Iskra resisted the urge to turn and watch them go.
As the crowd thinned and disappeared, Iskra caught sight out of the corner of her eye of the guards lining the walls, along with six more standing to each side of the dais. Perhaps thirty armed guards or more, she estimated. An impressive show of force. The chamberlain was standing to the right side of the dais, large and inscrutable, and a woman Iskra's age was standing on the dais proper to one side of the chaise, wearing stunningly beautiful robes of emerald, her hair intricately braided, her expression cool and calculating.
After everyone had left, Iskra realized that a good twenty other individuals had remained behind, not standing on the dais or immediately before it, but arrayed around the sides and behind her, listening with intense gravity. A quick, speculative glance took them in, and she guessed about half of them were charivari of some high rank or other, a quarter of military standing, and the final quarter composed of those members of court whose function was of sufficient importance that they could assume the emperor had not addressed them when he ordered the court cleared. In all, it seemed that a private audience with the emperor included almost twenty-five other people.
"Lady Kyferin," said the emperor, stirring on his chaise. "Know that only my curiosity prevents your immediate and painful death. There is no other name more hated across all of this isle then your husband's. Speak your proposition."
Never had Iskra been so glad for her childhood court training. She remained relaxed, confident, diffident to just the right degree and not a shade more.
"Your army won a striking victory in Ennoia more than a month ago," she began. "I have amongst my retinue those who saw your Sin Casters work their magic. He saw them slice down hundreds of the empire's greatest knights."
There was a pleased stirring amongst certain members of the crowd - the military types especially, she noted. However, features of the woman behind the chaise seemed only to tighten, while the emperor remained inscrutable.
"Yet those same sources saw your Sin Casters fall after wielding their magic, vomiting blood and unable to stand. Did they think to consume Gate Stone and wield tainted magic with impunity? I doubt it. Surely you have many more Sin Casters prepared to take their place, along with plenty of Gate Stone to fuel their powers."
She might as well have drawn a sword. The emperor sat up, hissing in either anger or pain, while startled expressions flashed across numerous faces.
"How do you know this?" The emperor's voice was a whipcrack. "Who has spoken to you of these secrets?"
"Secrets?" Iskra smiled. "Hardly. I know more than you think. I know that your army is in woeful condition, despite its crushing victory. Without supplies, reinforcements, or fresh Sin Casters, they have retreated to the coast. They are laying siege to a coastal city, but in truth I believe they are awaiting succor. How much Gate Stone did they carry? Plentiful amounts? I doubt it. Low on Casters, low on Gate Stone, low on everything – I imagine your invasion teeters on the brink of ruin. The real question is, how much of this do your own citizens know?"
The emperor said nothing.
She sensed more than heard Tiron's subtle preparation for violence. The imperial guards were all glaring at her, eyes wide, ready to attack at the slightest indication from the emperor.
"I do not enjoy repeating myself," whispered the emperor. "How do you know this?"
"I have a Sin Caster amongst my own number. He deduced the usage of Gate Stone, and saw the deleterious effect it had on your Casters. We know from where Gate Stone comes, and I know you have precious little of it here on Agerastos. Without it, your Casters are helpless. Without it, you will be crushed by the next army the Ascendant's Grace throws against your forces. An army which is gathering even now, ready to wipe your insurrection off the map and then follow in my husband's footsteps to your shores."
The woman stepped forth, a strange light in her eyes. "It is as you say. You have come to demand our surrender?"
"No." Iskra turned back to the emperor. "Your Imperial Majesty, I too am the enemy of the Ascendant Empire. I have been cast out of my home and hunted by forces loyal to the Ascendant's Grace. I have come to your shores by secret means to offer an alliance. I have plentiful amounts of Gate Stone. I can transport it directly to your capital, or even to your forces directly."
Iskra could feel the tension around her like a taut web. Her every statement was like a finger plucking at a strand, causing it to vibrate and send hidden signals amongst those gathered. She stood in a storm of conflicting opinions. There were factions here, she now saw, groups in opposition to each other and the emperor. He didn't wield absolute control. His invasion wasn't unanimously supported. There was so much she didn't know, so many factors involved in this situation. All she could do was gaze at the emperor, match his feverish stare, and seek to convince him of the authenticity of her claims.
A hollow-cheeked, gray-bearded man in elegant white and blue robes stepped forward and bowed to the emperor, who acknowledged him with a nod. Then the man turned to Iskra, and she saw in his face a severity and rigidity that immediately led her to steel herself.
"You display an alarming amount of knowledge on matters occult, matters that are hidden even from some of those present here today. You make ostentatious promises, yet all I see before me is the bedraggled widow of our greatest enemy, accompanied by three soldiers and without chests filled with Gate Stone with which to prove her words." The man's calm, derisive words smoothed down the alarm that had gripped the crowd. "Where is your proof, Lady Kyferin? How are we to know this is not an Ennoian ploy?"
"Knowledge is power," said Iskra. "The Ascendant's Grace does not know how weak your Sin Casters are. If he did, no doubt he would strike immediately." Iskra knew that she was walking a tightrope by making these educated guesses. One slip, and she would tumble into the abyss. "There is no logic behind my coming to your court to reveal these facts if I were seeking to trick you. Instead, I would simply inform His Grace and watch as he crushed your beleaguered forces."
The emperor raised a hand, forestalling any further response. "You spoke of Gate Stone. You say that you have large quantities of it. How can that be if you have been exiled from your home?"
"Do you know the origins of Gate Stone?" Iskra waited, looking around at the crowd. Nobody made to answer. "The magic that flows into our world through the Black Gate can suffuse the ground, enrich rock with its properties and there petrify, becoming as you have seen a reservoir of power that can be unleashed when eaten."
The emperor nodded. "I have surmised as much, but without a means to test it, that is all we have been able to do: surmise. How can you speak so confidently?"
"Because there is a second Black Gate," said Iskra. "A smaller, hidden Portal in the mountains above the castle to which I have been banished, and its -"
She was drowned out. Several courtiers raised their voi
ces in anger and fear, and the woman stepped up angrily beside the chaise, her eyes wide. "Preposterous. There is only one Black Gate. Even children know as much."
Iskra met her anger full on, not flinching in the least. "Then you display your ignorance! My family mined that Gate Stone centuries ago, until the rise of Ascendancy, at which point their operations were ordered to stop. That Black Gate, remote and small, was forgotten. I swear it by my hope for Ascendancy and the White Gate that it exists, and even as we speak, my forces are scouting its location and determining how best to resume those mining operations."
"Lies!" The woman turned to the emperor. "Father, enough. This Kyferin is no better than her husband, seeking to spin tales fit for children so as to ruin us. A second Black Gate? She may as well claim there are two Ascendants, two White Gates, that -"
"Daughter," whispered the emperor, and the woman's jaw snapped shut. "Since we do not believe in Ascendancy, why is it impossible for there to be two Black Gates? If they are merely conduits of magical energy, then there can be one, two, or ten."
The tension in the air grew so rigid that Iskra could almost hear it crackling.
His daughter took a deep breath and bowed her head. "Of course, Father."
She believes in Ascendancy, realized Iskra with a shock. And everybody here knows it. Even the emperor.
"Patrician Athash speaks wisely, however," said the emperor, turning back to Iskra. "Your claims have the ring of truth, but without evidence they are hollow. Can you prove anything of which you speak?"
"No, Your Imperial Majesty. I currently have no proof. Think of this as an overture, if you will. I have come to open negotiations. When my forces secure the Gate Stone, we shall gladly trade it with you in whatever quantities you could desire."