And the Lady had not intervened. She’d allowed him this – teasing? – access to his Warren. Perhaps even abetted his effort. Never had such raw puissance come at his call. It was, to be frank … seductive.
Pausing, he turned to peer back over the valley. Numerous fires glittered here on this west side of the Ancy while on the eastern shore hardly a one lit the pure dark of the night. False and true gods: they’ve even run out of firewood. The stories they’d been hearing of the privations endured on that far shore almost moved him to pity. Almost. Starvation, boiling leather to gnaw upon. Sickness. Countless soldiers cut down by bow-fire as they desperately attempted to fish the river. A number had even been caught here on this side having swum across. And were they spying? No – they carried panniers crammed with stolen food.
Ussü drew his thick winter cloak tighter about himself and continued on. A childish display, this summons. An attempt by the Envoy to remind everyone he was still in command, while succeeding only in demonstrating his pettiness.
Guardians posted at the iron-bound door allowed Ussü entrance to the keep proper. Within, he hung up his thick wool cloak. His Moranth guards bowed, halting, knowing they were not allowed in the private quarters. At the inner chamber doors two more Guardians of the Faith stood watch. These pulled open the heavy oaken leaves. Within, Ussü was surprised to see quite a crowd. Most of Enesh-jer’s coterie of minor Roolian aristocrats and army officers stood jammed almost shoulder to shoulder in the smallish meeting hall. More Guardians of the Faith lined the walls, fists on their iron-heeled staffs.
The entourage parted for him – and not with their usual sullen arrogance either; many carried knowing grins, some even let go soft laughs as he passed. Hands at his back, Ussü pursed his lips; so, some new form of torture thought up by Enesh-jer. What would it be now? Had he finally become reckless enough to follow through on his threat to arrest him for witchery?
He found Borun standing at the front and Ussü’s frown turned to a scowl. Lady look away! He’s not going to demand that Borun attack again, is he? He’ll only force the commander to refuse in front of everyone. The man’s instability was verging on dangerous, but Ussü said nothing. He took a deep breath and clamped his lips tight. This night the Envoy wore his full official uniform of rich fur cloak, gold rings at fingers, and thin silver circlet. He held a roll of vellum that he tapped in the palm of a hand. Ussü eyed the scroll. Word from the Overlord? If so, the night’s atmosphere just took on a far more dangerous tenor.
Enesh-jer briefly inclined his hound’s head to Ussü. He raised his hands for silence. ‘Commander Borun, Ussü. Thank you for attending. As many of you know, a messenger arrived a little while ago having ridden through the night from his posting to the west. He has brought word from our Overlord in Paliss.’ Enesh-jer motioned for silence again though hardly anyone had spoken. ‘My lords, the messenger’s credentials are confirmed, the missive’s seals are authentic and unquestionable. This is no fraud, no effort to sow confusion.’
The Envoy took hold of the scroll in both hands, regarded Ussü. A smile bared his sharp teeth. ‘Commander Borun, Ussü. It seems that my many justified complaints and communiqués regarding your behaviour and performance have finally been answered. Your insubordination, your intransigence in the face of my orders, all is well known to everyone here. Now, the Overlord has heard of it and he has answered. You, Commander Borun, and you, Adviser Ussü, are hereby summoned to Paliss.’ And he extended the scroll.
Borun bowed, accepting the vellum. For a time he studied it through the visor of his helm, then silently handed it to Ussü. The mage read quickly – the wording was definitely Yeull’s … yet the missive cited no reason for the recall, just that he should travel with all dispatch and speed for Paliss.
Lady’s revenge! Was this a summons to execution? Enesh-jer obviously believed so. He thought himself vindicated and Ussü could see no reason why he should not. ‘M’lord,’ he ventured, ‘may I ask—’
‘No you may not! Enough talk from you. Enough words.’ The Envoy swallowed, forcing himself to stillness. ‘You have been pulled from the front … which was my request all along. Go! Now. This night.’
Teeth clenched so hard they hurt, Ussü managed a very curt bow. Turning, he saw that the entourage had remained parted. They all knew already. This was just a pantomime, a public humiliation and a show of power. Let all others considering dissent beware! This could happen to you too!
Pulling on his cloak to leave, Ussü discovered his robes were wet where a number of the hangers-on had spat upon him.
On the way back down the valley Borun summoned messengers to give quick commands in the clipped foreign Moranth tongue. Ussü was silent for a time. There was nothing to say. Finally, he sighed, and asked: ‘Will we ride together?’
‘Yes. We will go ahead with an advance force. It will take time for the full withdrawal.’
Ussü stopped short. ‘Withdrawal?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean you are leaving with all your Moranth?’
‘Of course.’
Ussü’s voice rose with his amazement: ‘Does he know that?’
‘Yes.’ Borun’s tone remained maddeningly flat.
‘And he … approves … ?’
‘Of course. You know he has long regarded me as an impediment to his overall command. He considers my removal a victory.’
‘Borun – you and your Moranth are the only reason this command remains. Only your heavy infantry is holding these Malaz—’ Ussü corrected himself, ‘Greymane back.’
‘Envoy Enesh-jer is not of that opinion.’
‘Dammit, man. They’ll all be dead within a week!’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Then Greymane will dog any retreat all the way to Paliss.’
The Black commander halted at the entrance to the tent he’d set aside for Ussü’s use. ‘I do not believe so, High Mage. Regardless, I suggest you redirect your energy and concern to what might lie in your own future. Have you not wondered what might stand behind this summons?’
‘No, not yet. I don’t know. Yeull has been convinced by Enesh-jer’s lies, perhaps.’
Borun clasped his gauntleted hands at his back, regarded the dark river. Ussü thought his mood reflective. ‘My reading of Yeull is that he is many things, but no fool. High Mage, he is a frightened man. Something has happened. Something that terrifies him. And he has called us to him.’
Ussü sighed. ‘I only wish I could share your … faith.’
‘Faith?’ The Black commander sounded bemused. ‘It is an estimation. A bet, if you will. Everything is a gamble.’
Ussü smiled now. ‘Really? Everything? What of those who do not gamble?’
‘Those who do not gamble do so betting that terrible things will eventually happen to those who do.’ And he bowed to leave. ‘High Mage. We both have a busy night ahead of us. Until then.’
Ussü bowed as well. He watched the commander march off. Messengers who had been keeping a respectful distance now crowded the man. Gods above and below, Yeull. What have you done to deserve the loyalty of such a man? It’s a mystery. Shaking his head, Ussü turned to packing his equipment.
* * *
The ground had been scoured naked here in what the Shadow priest, Warran, claimed was Emurlahn dissolving into the ‘between-ness’ of Chaos. Humped bare granite, resembling bedrock, gave way to pools of sand in dips and hollows that churned like water as if containing things just beneath their surface. Curtains of ash swept over them like gauzy blankets, only to drift on. A brief rainstorm out of the empty sky left them soaked in black dust.
Their bat-like guide led them steadily on towards the dark hole that lay on the horizon like a great unblinking eye, or an opening on to nothingness. The ravens took turns harassing the little flier, making half-serious attempts to snatch it from the air – at least when they were not hopping ahead of Warran and cawing their derisive calls.
Kiska had no idea how long they had been wal
king, or how much time had passed. Or even if such a consideration as ‘time’ was relevant here – wherever here was. In any case, it seemed that nothing had happened for a very long time when something heaved itself out of one of the pools of dust.
Warran charged ahead eagerly, only to stop suddenly. Good gods, Kiska thought, was the man hoping it was a fish?
But it was not. It was a twin to the daemon who had helped them earlier, Little Branch. It pulled itself free of the clinging quicksand then straightened to a similar height – twice Jheval’s – and carried the familiar brace of terrifyingly sharp spears on his back.
‘Greetings, Azalan,’ Warran called, raising his hands.
‘Murderer!’ the daemon bellowed, and in one swift motion drew a spear and thrust it through the priest until it splintered against the bare stone behind. Warran toppled. The huge length of the spear bobbed from him like an enormous quill.
Jheval’s morningstars whirred to life in his hands. Kiska leapt aside to give the lethal weapons room then struck a ready stance, staff extended.
It advanced on them, pulling free another spear. ‘Slayers!’
‘What do you mean?’ Kiska tried. ‘Slayed who? We’ve killed no one!’
‘It’s Chaos-maddened,’ was all Jheval had a chance to yell before the daemon was upon him, thrusting. He parried, knocking the deceptively slim and fragile spear aside, but found himself still a good two paces distant from the fiend. ‘Shit,’ he snarled as they both realized that neither could get close enough to strike.
The thin haft twisted then, whipping, and caught one of Jheval’s morningstars, sending it flying off into the sky. ‘Shit!’ Kiska agreed, and charged. The butt end of the spear flashed toward her; she parried, but the strength of the blow drove her sideways to land painfully on naked rock.
Jheval parried with his remaining morningstar, standing edge-on, retreating, as the daemon thrust again and again. Backpedalling far too swiftly he stumbled, and the spear whipped again, slapping him across the face to send him down with an arc of blood jetting from his nose.
Kiska glanced round in a panic for her staff but the creature was right there, rearing over her, spear raised. ‘Die, killers!’ it yelled.
Killed who? What? For this I die?
The daemon looked away, turned its spear to bear upon another, too late. A white blur struck it in the chest and the two fell rolling and tumbling over the broken rocks. Kiska levered herself on to her elbows to watch a great white hound, almost as large as a horse, clamp its jaws on the shoulder and neck of the daemon and bear down. Black ichor shot; the fiend shrieked, pounded a fist on the hound’s back. A great snapping and popping of cartilage sounded then, and the daemon’s head flopped loose, the body spasming. Hunched over the corpse the beast growled at Kiska. Its eyes glowed the deep red of heart’s blood.
She raised her open empty hands to whisper, ‘It’s okay, boy. Okay.’
Rumbling, gaze fixed on Kiska, the hound slowly dragged off its prize, leaving a smear of black over the rocks. Kiska let it disappear among the larger stones before heaving herself upright. She rolled a shoulder, wincing, rubbed her bruised back. Gods, what a blow!
She limped over to Jheval, found him sitting up, a fold of cloth pressed to his face dripping blood in his lap. She helped him up. He bent his head back and groaned. ‘Fucking broke my face! Shame about the old guy,’ he added.
Kiska nodded. ‘Yes. Poor fellow. He was harmless enough. Did you see the hound?’
He nodded behind the cloth pressed to his face. ‘Yes. I know a fellow who’d love to tackle that thing.’
Kiska decided that perhaps the man had taken too hard a blow to the head. ‘That was the beast we saw before we entered.’
‘Could’ve been.’
She looked down at the fallen priest – and frowned. Something was wrong. Then the man lifted his head and took a squinted, one-eyed look round. ‘Is it gone?’ The spear fell with a clatter.
Jheval let go a savage curse, blood exploding from under the cloth. ‘I saw you impaled!’
‘Not at all! It passed through my shirt,’ and he pushed a hand through the slash, waving it.
Jheval stalked off, cursing afresh. Kiska studied the old man while he dusted himself. ‘He’s right,’ she said. ‘It could not have missed you.’
The old man waved deprecatingly. ‘It was nothing. I merely edged aside.’ And he turned sideways, mimicking a dodge, and laughed.
That laugh raised Kiska’s hair; she’d heard it before, she was sure. It held an undercurrent of mockery that she found unnerving. Just who or what was the man deriding? She couldn’t be sure it wasn’t herself. In any case, she was far from satisfied. She watched while the old fellow picked up the long spear and held it out before him, bobbing it up and down. He glanced at her. ‘You wouldn’t by chance have any string, would you?’
Once Jheval returned, morningstars retrieved, they continued on, albeit at a slower pace. Kiska kept watch for the hound: was it following? Or had it fed its fill? Peering back she saw Jheval watching her and she cocked a questioning brow.
The man touched gingerly at his nose where a rolled-up bit of cloth blocked one nostril. ‘It’s there,’ he said, his voice pained.
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve spent a lifetime hunting and being hunted. I know.’
Kiska was only half convinced: more of the man’s bluster? He raised his chin to indicate Warran, who walked ahead carrying the spear jauntily over a shoulder. ‘That one. He’s up to something …’
‘Who isn’t?’ she answered, eyeing him sidelong, smiling to take the sting from it.
‘Yes. Well. I mean it. He’s playing his own game and at some time it may not include us. Just a warning.’
‘I will keep it in mind.’ Yet not so long ago the Seven Cities native had dismissed the old man as useless. In any case he was only affirming her own intuition; the priest was dangerous – but if he was so dangerous then why travel with them? Safety in numbers would hardly be a concern of his.
They continued on under the unchanging sky, where sinuous writhing lights glowed both in the dimness of night and in the only slightly brighter diffuseness of day. Their bat guide flitted about them, apparently tireless. A band of bruising developed across Jheval’s face as black as tattooing; his dark eyes peered out of shiny swollen circles. The hound still followed, keeping its distance. Or so at least Kiska believed, as she caught occasional glimpses of snowy white on the edge of her vision. The two huge ravens, she noticed, went nowhere near the beast.
Ahead, the priest Warran suddenly stopped. He knelt to examine some long black shards lying on the scoured granite. Kiska and Jheval came abreast of him and halted as well. Jheval stooped to pick up a piece but the priest batted his hand aside. ‘Do not touch it.’ Jheval glared at the man’s hunched back. The priest held his hands over the shards as if sensing or testing for a time; then he gently lifted one of the longer shards and examined it closely.
To all appearances it might as well have been black glass. Kiska thought that if you were to reconstruct the pieces they would form a crystal-like length of about an arm’s span.
The priest let the shard fall. ‘This is very bad.’
Jheval snorted, straightening. Kiska asked, ‘What is it?’
‘A kind of prison. Very ancient. Perhaps from before the shattering of this Realm. It was forged to contain some thing for all eternity. But Chaos has eaten at it, weakened it, and the entity contained within has burst free.’
Jheval snorted again, scornfully.
Warran eased himself up. He peered about, squinting. ‘Shadow is something of the rubbish heap of time. Over the ages whatever others want hidden, or buried away, into Shadow it goes …’
‘Enough of your charlatan mumblings,’ Jheval growled. He waved to Kiska. ‘Let’s go.’
‘I believe him.’
Jheval gestured helplessly. ‘Fine. It matters not. We must keep going regardless.’
Noddin
g, Kiska tore her gaze from the seemingly infinite refraction of crystalline light and shadow. She forced herself to walk away; something deep within her shuddered at the fascination those broken slivers of night cast upon her.
After a time the priest sidled up next to her as they walked. He still carried the spear over one shoulder. ‘You said you believed me,’ he said, peering up at her with his age-yellowed eyes.
‘Yes.’
He was glancing about; he’d been doing that a lot since they found the shards. Even suddenly darting looks behind – perhaps only because it so obviously drove Jheval to distraction. ‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘Because it sounded a lot like something someone I met in Shadow would have said.’
The man’s greying brows rose as he walked along. The extraordinarily long spear bounced on his shoulder. ‘Oh? Shadow? Who?’
‘A strange being named Edgewalker.’
The priest stopped dead. Kiska walked for a time then stopped, peering back. The man was studying her narrowly, his eyes pinched almost shut. ‘Met him, have you?’ he asked, something tight, almost waspish, in his voice.
‘Yes. Once. Long ago.’
Now the priest snorted his disbelief. ‘An unlikely claim.’ He continued on past her. ‘He doesn’t talk to just anyone, you know.’
Kiska watched the man’s stiff back as he marched off. She had to stifle a laugh. Was this jealousy? Is the man put out that I’ve met and spoken with this strange haunt of Shadow? A kind of … what? … rivalry? She walked on, shaking her head.
Later she caught Warran watching her, only to quickly glance away. Good. About time I gave someone something to think about. I’m tired of being the only one here without some kind of cloak of mystery. The old man has his past; Jheval has his. Even the ridiculous ravens are enigmas. Maybe now he – and Jheval! – will take me more seriously.
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