Sinner

by Sara Douglass

  Before Zared ate his evening meal he sent fifty men to Kastaleon in groups of three or four. They were garbed as traders or itinerants, and would be able to pass unnoticed among the crowds that gathered about Kastaleon. The castle was not simply a defensive structure, but it also served as the point where Askam imposed his tariffs on the Nordra River. No vessel could slip by Kastaleon unnoticed or unchallenged. All stopped, all were inspected, all were taxed. With the trade, and just the general traffic along the roads leading to and from the grain lands of upper Tencendor, there was generally a large number of people moving past or through the castle and the settlement surrounding it; his fifty would attract no undue attention.

  Zared gave them that night and the first part of the following morning. Close to noon he led a force of some five hundred men south; the bulk of the army staying behind. The intelligence Zared had received showed that Askam had about one hundred and twenty men stationed at Kastaleon. Not many. After all, this was peace time.

  He glanced across at Theod, who looked excited, and Herme, who was considerably graver.

  At Zared’s stare, Herme shrugged. “You have no choice, my Prince. You must demonstrate how deeply Caelum has insulted you, and how he cannot afford to ignore the issues that threaten Tencendor’s peace.”

  But do I threaten Tencendor’s peace by this action? Zared wondered. Will it stop at Kastaleon, or will it spread ripple-fashion throughout the entire land? But it was too late to back down now; already some fifty of his men were waiting inside Kastaleon, and they would cause mischief enough even if Zared turned for home at this very moment.

  So Zared waved his men out.

  They now carried the Prince of the North’s standard, and Zared himself rode at the head of the column dressed in clearly visible insignia. If he had wanted to keep his approach through Aldeni quiet, then he needed to ride into Kastaleon openly.

  The captain of the watch spotted them a thousand paces from the castle. He peered through the afternoon sun, trying to catch a glimpse of the standard, then his eyes widened.

  “The Prince of the North approaches,” he cried. “Form an honour guard!”

  “Curse his hairy stones!” the captain muttered as he climbed down the ladders to the inner courtyard. Zared might have sent a forward scout to warn of his arrival. No doubt he would expect a full banquet and noble entertainment in the hall tonight. Well, he’d have to think again. Kastaleon hardly had the facilities to –

  His thoughts were cut off by a clatter of hooves across the drawbridge. Zared, with some two hundred and fifty men, swarmed into an already crowded central courtyard.

  The captain frowned. Why were they deploying so? One would think they were almost…

  He snapped to attention as the Prince himself reined his horse to a halt before him.

  “Welcome to Kastaleon, my Lord,” he said. “May I inquire as to the purpose of your visit?”

  “Certainly,” Zared said pleasantly, dismounting and pulling the gloves from his hands as he walked the few steps between himself and the captain. “I have come to seize your castle, sirrah. Your surrender, please.”

  The captain’s mouth dropped, unable to believe what he’d just heard. “But…but…”

  Then training took over, and he snapped out of his fugue. “Hartley!” he shouted, turning to look for his second-in-command, “we are under –”

  The hilt of Zared’s sword crashed into the back of his skull, and the captain collapsed to the pavement. The rest of the courtyard was in uproar. Men had come to their senses at the same time as the captain, and many had drawn swords and moved into defensive positions.

  But it was too late, the invader was already inside!

  And worse. The fifty men Zared had sent in earlier were causing chaos and distraction within the buildings, shouting false orders, seizing weapons, locking men in barracks and store rooms. The two hundred and fifty Zared had brought into the castle with him quickly subdued the soldiers within the courtyard and on the walls, while outside Kastaleon another two hundred secured the immediate riverfront, wharf and approach roads.

  Kastaleon was Zared’s.

  That evening he summoned the captain of Kastaleon’s guard. The captain was sullen and subdued, nursing a dreadful headache and a worse case of resentment.

  “I am sending you north,” Zared said as soon as the captain stood at some sort of attention before his desk.

  “I am not yours to command,” the captain muttered.

  “Nevertheless, I am sure you would like StarSon Caelum and Prince Askam informed of my actions?”

  The captain stared silently at him.

  “Yes, I am sure you would. Well, I would like you to take a message to Caelum for me.”

  The captain continued to stare at Zared.

  “I am ordering you to carry a message to Caelum!” Zared snapped, and the captain nodded curtly.

  “You will inform Caelum that I have seized Kastaleon in part compensation for the loss of trade Prince Askam’s exorbitant tariffs on river cargo have caused me and most of Western Tencendor. Nevertheless, I am a generous man, and I will be prepared to forget the loss and hand Kastaleon back into Prince Askam’s care once Caelum is prepared to negotiate the matters I discussed with him in Sigholt. Please repeat what I have just said.”

  The captain hesitated, then repeated the message.

  Zared sat back in his chair. “Good. You will ride north with all possible haste.”

  “Are you invading the West?” the captain said.

  Zared noted the lack of a title, but understood the captain’s attitude. No doubt Askam would not receive news of his failure to defend Kastaleon with much good cheer.

  “Not if I don’t have to,” he said. “Now, get you gone from here. There is a horse and an escort waiting.”

  Once the captain had gone, Herme emerged from a shadowy corner. “The first act has been played out in this war of nerves, my Prince. And now?”

  Zared thought for some time. “I don’t want Caelum receiving intelligence that Kastaleon is surrounded by an army fourteen thousand thick, Herme. I will keep the five hundred here, but the rest…the rest I want to start to move,” he hesitated, “move them inland to the Western Ranges.”

  Herme nodded. Within striking distance of Carlon. Whatever Zared was saying publicly, he’d been thinking of Carlon. Well, if he truly wanted the throne, Kastaleon was never going to be enough. “Do you think Caelum will move against us, Zared?”

  “Frankly, I doubt it.” Zared stared into the flames of the fire in the hearth across the room. “I think your counsel that he would do anything to avoid a serious confrontation was wise. But just in case…just in case. Who knows what Askam might push him into? If I have to stand and fight I do not want to do it here. Kastaleon is not built to withstand a siege, and this is a bad place to stage a battle. I need to be prepared for…”

  “For?”

  “For whatever else might eventuate…”

  “My Prince –”

  “I saw that man’s face, Herme. He hated me. Until a few moments ago this was all such an academic exercise. Too easy. A routine deployment. But I very much fear we may have to fight this one out, Herme.”

  “Most of the Acharites will fight for you, Zared! You fight for them, for their pride!”

  “I most certainly hope so,” Zared said very softly, his gaze still unfocused in the flames. “I most certainly hope so.”

  As Herme left the room Zared saw Leagh standing in the gloom of the door. The expression on her face was very cold.

  After a moment she presented her back and walked away.

  37

  The Leap

  He woke to the feel of StarLaughter’s fingers trailing down his body, and he smiled, although he kept his eyes closed. But she had seen the smile, and she laughed, low and jubilant, and bent her mouth to the task of arousal even as her fingers slipped lower.

  Drago continued to play at being asleep. This must be true happiness, surely. Here
no-one hated him, no-one constantly threw infant misdeeds in his face, and here the distractions were only ever of the pleasurable kind.

  Here power beckoned, and life as a SunSoar Enchanter seemed a tangible certainty rather than a hopeless dream.

  Here everyone lived only to regain what they had been robbed of, and Drago revelled in the single-minded atmosphere of revenge. Revenge? No, he didn’t want to think that. All here only wanted what had been wrongfully taken from them. Restitution, perhaps. Satisfaction, certainly.

  “StarLaughter,” he murmured, and reached for her.

  Here his lover was no kitchen girl, but a powerful Enchanter, and the wife of the most powerful Enchanter-Talon of all. He did not know why she loved him; it was just enough that she did, and Drago was grateful.

  When they were done, and StarLaughter had exhausted him, Drago drifted back to sleep. He dreamed of the hunt, of riding through the forests, riding down all in his path, invulnerable in his armour, riding until he had his quarry at the point of his sword, and then on the point of his sword. That felt very good. Very good indeed. Even StarLaughter could not make him feel that good.

  Drago rolled over, half asleep…

  …and rolled against something cool and clammy.

  He recoiled immediately, leaping into full wakefulness. It was the baby, StarLaughter’s damned not dead, not alive child that should have been decently interred four thousand years ago.

  Repulsed, Drago rolled completely out of bed and stood looking at him.

  StarLaughter carried the babe everywhere, offering him her breast when they sat down, apparently unaware that the child did not breathe or move or blink.

  He just lay, and stared with his undead eyes.

  StarLaughter crooned constantly to the baby, whispering words of love and encouragement, and her attention to the child sickened Drago.

  He leaned down, hesitated, then poked the baby in the ribs.

  The baby rolled a little at his touch, but otherwise made no response. And yet…yet Drago had the strangest sensation that somehow the baby had filed away that minor insult. Locked it away in some dark room of its mind where it kept all experiences. Kept it until it could be examined with…with more life and some decision made as to the response it merited.

  Well, Drago tried to joke to himself, if the infant hadn’t made any response in the past four thousand years, doubtless he wouldn’t any time soon.

  “My baby,” crooned StarLaughter behind Drago, and he jumped guiltily. Had she seen?

  Apparently not. “My beautiful boy,” she said, and picked up the baby, cuddling him to her. “See how he grows!” and she looked to Drago for confirmation.

  “A very beautiful boy,” he finally said. Why didn’t she accept that the baby was…wrong?

  But maybe all that had kept StarLaughter going these past millennia was the baby. Maybe she kept him to stoke her hatred and need for revenge.

  But Drago discarded that thought almost as soon as it crossed his mind. No, StarLaughter seemed genuinely to believe that the baby was alive.

  “Come, my love,” she said, and Drago realised she was speaking to him. “Come walk a while with me.”

  Drago dressed, in finer clothes now than those he’d arrived in, although he knew not from where they had come, clasped the sack of coins to his belt, and escorted StarLaughter and her strange undead child into what Drago had come to call the orchard.

  Orchard it was not quite, for no fruit drooped from the branches of these strange anaemic trees, and the sun shone only fitfully from amid the roiling violet clouds, but orchard conjured up images of peace and happiness for Drago, and it reminded him of home.

  That surprised him, for he had not thought to so miss Tencendor. But miss it he did, and he could not deny he would be glad to go back through the Star Gate. It would be good, he thought, going back cloaked in so much power people would envy him, rather than revile him.

  The cloud flitted through distant trees, and Drago turned to watch them. StarLaughter called them her Hawkchilds, and the name suited them. She may have retained her Icarii resemblance and her loveliness, but the children had changed in the wastes. They looked Icarii enough, with their delicate features and their jewel-like wings, but at the same time they had developed such a quintessence of bird, of predatory bird, that they appeared more the flock of hunting hawks than the crowd of children. Whatever childlike qualities they’d once possessed had been lost in their transformation to birds of prey.

  Hunting hawks, not children.

  Drago smiled and held out his hand as the cloud drew closer. It whispered, a constant undertone of WolfStar’s name repeated over and over, and the children – the hawks – wheeled this way and that, as if of one mind, one heart.

  The cloud approached him as if it would envelop him, but it halted at the last moment, the two hundred staring at him with their heads on an identical tilt, their eyes identically dark and curious.

  StarLaughter smiled. “See how they come to you, Drago. Will they hunt for you, do you think, when we return to Tencendor?”

  He rubbed under the chin of the nearest creature. She tilted her head, leaning into his hand, and smiled and closed her eyes, enjoying the attention.

  “I hope so,” he said. “Do you know I dreamed of the hunt? Even when back in Tencendor?”

  “You must have felt us, even then, my love. You and we are bonded. Linked by our need to regain what is rightfully ours.”

  “The dream is stronger here,” Drago said. Some nights it left him exhausted, breathless, but always, always with such a deep sense of satisfaction it was pleasure in itself.

  He dropped his hand, and the creature drooped, dipping her head, wanting more.

  “Later,” Drago said, and waved his hand.

  Whispering their disappointment, the flock wheeled off, racing cloudlike through the trees, whispering, whispering, whispering.

  “The Questors,” StarLaughter said, and Drago followed her eyes.

  They waited between the pillars of their chamber, and Drago felt a knot of excitement form in his belly. The Questors were so powerful, and yet so benevolent in that power, that Drago felt privileged they allowed him to share their time.

  “Drago,” Barzula said as he and StarLaughter joined them. “How the children adore you.” He smiled, and grasped Drago’s hand.

  “They are…” Drago searched for the right word, “so determined.”

  Barzula’s smile faded. “Determined. Yes, as are we. Please, do sit down.”

  Drago had not had much opportunity to talk with the Questors since he’d arrived. StarLaughter had been his constant companion, and the Questors had kept largely to themselves.

  He sat, with StarLaughter and her child, on the same couch he’d originally awoken on.

  The Questors sat before him, ranged on a semi-circle of plain wooden chairs.

  “We thought we would begin our return journey soon,” Sheol said without preamble.

  Drago breathed deep in excitement. Soon! “I cannot wait to return, to regain what I have lost.”

  “Nor can we,” Mot said, rubbing his skeletal hands up and down his thin arms.

  “What did the Enemy steal from you?” Drago asked. “It must be very valuable that you have hunted so long and so hard after it.”

  “Think you to steal it from us?” Raspu said, and everyone, including StarLaughter, grinned. “I would not counsel that at all.”

  “No, no, not at all. I was just curious. What did the Enemy steal from you?”

  “Ah,” Sheol said, and her face fell in sadness. “The Enemy stole something very precious from us. Very precious. We call it…we call it the Grail.”

  “Ah,” said Drago, understanding. “Grail Lake, of course. What you hunt is buried beneath Grail Lake. Well, I can show you where that is.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Barzula.

  Drago missed the sarcasm. “But what is the Grail –”

  “It is none of your concern,” Rox said
, and his voice was so heavy with threat that Drago recoiled. “The Grail is ours!”

  “Of course. I was just curious –”

  “Curiosity can be dangerous,” Sheol said, her voice as implacable as her companion’s. “Fatal.”

  “I will not steal what is yours,” Drago said, his own anger stirring in the face of the threat. “Have I not had enough stolen from me not to wish further loss on you?”

  In the blink of an eye the demeanour of the Questors altered. Friendliness and companionship radiated from each of them, and StarLaughter slipped an arm through Drago’s, pulling him closer to her.

  “We do not mean to doubt you,” she said. “But what we all hunt is precious to us.”

  Drago let himself be soothed. “And I will have my blood order reversed and my power restored if I aid you?”

  “Assuredly,” Sheol said. “We can do that for you. All we need from you is to help us through the Star Gate.”

  “You will be so powerful,” StarLaughter whispered against his ear, “that no-one will dare laugh at you or taunt you again.”

  Drago relaxed. “But I am concerned that you use my Icarii power to help you. What if you use it all up? I need that power, and I –”

  “Be still.” Sheol slipped from her chair, and Drago suddenly realised that all the Questors had stood, and were now surrounding him.

  “We will leave you what you need,” Sheol added. “Be very sure of that.”

  “Are you certain?” Drago started to rise, but hands clamped down on his shoulders and head, and he was forced back to the couch.

  “This will only hurt a little,” Sheol said, and then they began.

  She was wrong. It felt like they tore his flesh apart and then ripped into his soul. He felt as if a hundred fish hooks had been sunk in his heels, and then pulled up through his body. As if a ravenous rat had been let loose in the spaces of his body and told to eat its fill. He felt himself explode so slowly he could count the particles of flesh as they skimmed by his eyes.