Sinner

by Sara Douglass

  Zenith approached more slowly, smiled, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  Old friends, indeed.

  61

  An Army of Norsmen

  Feblone Aszrad, silk merchant and bastard son of a Corolean soldier seeded during the Tencendorian wars of forty years past, pulled back his horse and swore. His laden mules would be crippled if they were forced off the road surface and into the uncertain gullies on either side.

  And he had buyers waiting impatiently in Carlon’s markets and palace halls for this silk.

  But he had little choice. Swearing again, but a little more softly this time, Aszrad waved to his muleteers to hurry their charges into the side gullies.

  “But carefully!” he roared as a long-haired youth jerked at the lead mule and almost pulled it off its feet. Damn these Nors boys! They were useless for anything save sloe-eyed dancers and entertainers.

  Useless, that is, until they reached their manhood. Aszrad’s eyes slipped to the dust approaching from the southern reaches of the Tarantaise road. Here, if he was not mistaken, came a goodly force of Nors knights.

  And bound for where?

  Not Carlon, that much was certain. Not for Zared.

  Aszrad reined his own fine-boned stallion off the road, holding his breath as the horse’s hooves rattled on the loose scree, then relaxing a little as the stallion found its footing and stepped into one of the gullies. Aszrad turned around in the saddle, checking to make sure the train of mules was safely out of the way of the approaching force, then dismounted to watch as it thundered past.

  The Nors knights were famous for their silent, cruel warfare. They were good, very good. If they fought for you. Aszrad winced as the first ranks swept by, narrowing his eyes against the dust, clinging to his stallion’s reins as it pulled back in fear.

  The force was heavily armoured, but moving quickly despite it. Burnished gold, copper and bronze plating glinted and sent reflections of sun-fire slanting about the landscape. Banners, pennants and lance tassels snapped in the breeze of their passing, saddle cloths flapped, weaponry – in full display – sat easy and ready to hand in practical leather scabbards, sheaths and quivers. A bright force, but a fighting force.

  Aszrad blinked and counted the units as they rode past. Twenty-nine! By the great multi-armed Baba himself! If those units were the full three hundred men, then that was almost nine thousand!

  Nine thousand?

  “For Caelum, no doubt,” Aszrad murmured. “Nine thousand to Caelum’s aid. And all bright and ready for war. What will my Lord Zared do against such as these?”

  As most merchants in Tencendor, Aszrad favoured Zared, not only for his free trading policy along the River Nordra, but for his decisive action in freeing trade along the river. As the last of the units thundered past, Aszrad turned to one of the muleteers.

  “Bring me a carrier bird,” he said.

  “Nine thousand!” Zared crumpled the note in his hand and flung it into a far corner of the reception room. About him were ranged sundry captains and lieutenants of the force he had managed to raise thus far, Herme and Theod standing slightly to one side.

  Leagh, forgotten, sat embroidering by a window.

  Her head was bowed in concentration over her silks, but her fingers moved slowly and clumsily.

  “Where?” Theod asked.

  “A league south of Tare, riding north,” Zared said. “About forty leagues due west from Carlon.”

  “And the note?” Herme said. “How old is the information?”

  “A day only.” Zared sat down heavily at a table with maps and lists of units and supplies scattered about it. “An armoured force that heavy and vast could ride perhaps three leagues a day.”

  “They’re riding through a rich agricultural area of Achar –” the captain caught himself, “– of Tencendor, sire. There are enough barns and provisioning stores in Tare and western Arcness to feed an army twice that size. Perhaps, sire, they could be moving even faster.”

  “I thank you for your optimistic assessment of the situation, Grawen,” Zared said dryly, then sighed. “But you are most likely correct. He would be riding to join Caelum. Herme, any fresh intelligence on Caelum’s force?”

  Herme stepped to the table, scrabbled about for the map he needed, then jabbed a finger down on northern Arcness, just below the Rhaetian ranges. “Intelligence of last night put Caelum’s force here. About fifteen leagues south of the Rhaetian ranges, heading due south. Now some four thousand men he’s scraped together from Skarabost and Arcness, although not Arcen itself. And the Icarii Strike Force are with him – another two thousand.”

  But worth ten thousand, every man in the room thought. An air-borne force held a frightful advantage over a ground force – and the Strike Force had kept their wits and skills ever since Axis had taken their training in hand during the wars against Gorgrael’s ice creatures.

  “And how old is that intelligence?” Zared said wearily. “Gods, but I wish I had some of Caelum’s farflight scouts to aid me. But, no, I must rely on men who ride a week to pass me information so old that it is almost useless. Caelum could be close to Carlon by now.”

  Herme looked at Zared carefully. “This information is less than a day old, sire, and came by birdman.”

  “Again,” Zared said softly.

  Leagh paused in her embroidery.

  “A member of the Lake Guard, sire,” Herme said, “although I disremember his name.”

  Zared stared at Herme. These Lake Guard were proving remarkably disloyal. Three days ago had come a very private message from WingRidge CurlClaw, telling Zared a little about the Demons that threatened. Even as vague as it was, the information was so explosive and so terrifying, Zared had shared it only with his closest commanders.

  “The information tallies with what we know from other sources, sire,” Herme added.

  Zared rose and paced about the room. “Why do the Lake Guard aid us?” His eyes swept the entire room, seeking an answer. “Why? Are they not devoted to the StarSon? I cannot but think a dreadful design behind their so-called aid.”

  Was the information about the demons meant to dissuade him from causing Caelum further problems? Was it meant to force him to sue for peace so Tencendor could face the threat united? Were the Lake Guard actually working for Caelum, rather than betraying him?

  “Their aid saved us at Kastaleon,” Theod said.

  Leagh gave up any pretence of embroidering and lifted her head to listen. The Lake Guard had betrayed Caelum – and Askam – at Kastaleon? Her brow furrowed.

  “Still…” Zared hesitated.

  “We have to believe it,” Herme put in. “Dammit, Zared, we have to.”

  “Is the birdman still here?” Zared asked.

  “No. He left as soon as he had delivered the information.”

  “Very well.” Zared made his decision. “We trust the information. So, if Caelum rides fifteen leagues below the Rhaetian ranges, how long will it take the Norsmen to reach him?”

  Herme worked it out. “At three leagues a day, and allowing necessary days to rest the horses, I would say ten to twelve days.”

  Zared chewed the inside of his cheek. His eyes fell on Leagh and his eyes softened, although his expression remained hard.

  “I cannot allow that force to merge with Caelum’s,” he said quietly. “I cannot. With the Norsmen and the Strike Force, Caelum would be almost invincible.”

  “Sire,” Herme said, “would it not be better to stay here? Have Caelum come to us, try to take Carlon?”

  “I will not risk the people of Carlon to Strike Force attack,” Zared continued, remembering Severin. “And besides, if we can prevent the Norsmen joining Caelum then he will be seriously weakened.”

  “But Caelum isn’t the best –” Theod started.

  “I am not going to rely on his bad generalship for ever,” Zared said to him. “Even Caelum has to start learning at some point. Herme? What numbers do I command now?”

  Herme glanced
about at the others in the room. In the five weeks since Zared had taken the crown thousands had flocked to Carlon. Many soldiers, many just enthusiastic peasants. Even the rumour of a King of Achar had been enough to put many thousands of feet on the roads to Carlon.

  “Seventeen thousand,” Herme said. “Fourteen thousand regular forces, three thousand men half-trained with the pike and sword. The regular forces are horsed, the three thousand mostly are not.”

  “Herme, Theod, I want the fourteen thousand ready to ride in the morning, the rest to follow as best as they are able. I am going to stop that Nors force before it reaches Caelum.”

  He looked about. “Questions?”

  62

  The Warding of the Star Gate

  Isfrael stood at the edge of the forest and shuddered. He tipped his head and rubbed one of his horns against a tree, finding calmness in the touch of velvet to bark. Only the desperate summons of the entire Circle of the Star Gods had made him venture to the very edge of the forest in these dark times. Isfrael found himself more and more uncomfortable in open spaces as each year went by. Even the relatively closed spaces of the Ancient Barrows were almost as distressful as the stone of Sigholt.

  At his side Shra sent him a sympathetic glance, but did not take his arm as she would have done in private. “The Barrows are a place of magic, Sacred One,” she said. “You will feel more comfortable underground.”

  His teeth gleamed. “I doubt it. I wish I had not been summoned from the trees.”

  “The need is great,” Shra murmured. “Else why would the Star Gods call you?”

  “They blame Drago,” Isfrael said, and tilted his head as a stag does when it scents the wind. “They say he stole the beloved wood and uses it to lead the Demons through the Star Gate.”

  He snorted. “But WingRidge tells me that Drago is innocent of my sister’s murder, and that WolfStar has misunderstood crucial aspects of the Maze’s message.”

  “But the threat of the Demons is real enough, Sacred One,” Shra said, her eyes on the figures moving about the Barrows in the distance.

  “Yes, the threat is real enough.”

  Shra nodded, but did not speak further. It was the only reason Isfrael had consented to come. He might not have moved to aid Caelum, but Isfrael would not deny the plea of the Star Gods.

  Isfrael turned slightly so he could see Shra. More than any other woman, even more than his mother or Azhure, she was the one who had shaped his childhood. She might not now exert such an influence over him, but Isfrael loved and respected her very much.

  “Whatever happens, Shra,” he said, his voice unusually soft, “I will keep the trees safe.”

  She smiled. “I know, Sacred One.” She paused, then changed the subject. “Have you heard where your mother is?”

  They were unsure of Faraday’s whereabouts. The Sceptre had hidden both her and Drago so skilfully that neither Isfrael nor Shra, nor any one of the Avar, knew that she had travelled south to be retransformed at the Star Gate itself.

  Isfrael’s expression darkened. “No, and I do not –”

  He was interrupted by a golden and silvered Icarii Enchanter alighting before them, his white wings almost luminescent in the moonlight.

  “StarDrifter SunSoar!” Shra bowed, the heels of her hands to her forehead, but Isfrael just stared hostilely.

  “Your mother is well, Isfrael,” StarDrifter said, greeting both of them with the same gesture Shra had used. “And was, the last time I saw her, on the Island of Mist and Memory.”

  Isfrael’s entire body jerked. “She left the forest?”

  “She had other paths to explore,” StarDrifter said, regarding Isfrael carefully. In the ten or fourteen years since he’d last seen him the Avar had clearly won dominance. Not even the hint of a feather. There was now little or no SunSoar left in the Mage-King. “Perhaps once we are done about the Star Gate I can explain further. But rest easy for now – she is well, and loved.”

  Isfrael shrugged, pretending some indifference. “She had the choice to leave, and she took it.”

  “Isfrael, Bane Shra,” StarDrifter said, “I – nay – all of us currently here are glad of your arrival.” He glanced behind Shra. “Have you brought Banes with you?”

  “Thirty-seven,” she said. “Almost all our Banes. I hope your project will not put them in danger, StarDrifter.”

  “The Star Gods’ project, not mine,” StarDrifter said. “And there will be danger if these Demons manage to break through the wards and into Tencendor.”

  Isfrael’s eyes gleamed. “It is said that your power fades, StarDrifter. Is that so? Are all Icarii Enchanters fading into insignificance?”

  StarDrifter winced – Isfrael almost seemed delighted at the thought. “Yes, it is true. As the Demons gather close to the Star Gate their darkness shields us from the Star Dance. If we cannot push them back…”

  “And my father? And Azhure? And the other Star Gods?” Isfrael said. “Do they fade as well?”

  “Not as badly as the Enchanters,” StarDrifter said. “Not yet.”

  “Not yet. Well, so they desire my – our – help?”

  “Yes, Isfrael,” StarDrifter said quietly. “Tencendor needs your help.”

  There was movement and the sound of voices among the fires surrounding the Ancient Barrows, and StarDrifter stood back and waved with his hand. “Sacred One, we need your presence.”

  Isfrael looked, shrugged, and walked forward, Shra at his side and the other Banes following in a silent, dark group.

  The twenty-six Barrows spread in a huge arc from west to east. When Axis reclaimed Tencendor, Enchanters had erected a graceful bronze obelisk in the centre of the arc. It still stood there, spearing into the night sky, a bright blue flame in the shallow pan at its apex.

  But now there were hundreds of smaller bronze tripods set up, forming a perfect circle that enclosed the Barrows. Enchanters stood by each waist-high tripod, their eyes closed, hands folded over breasts, wings tucked neatly behind them, deep in concentration, reaching for every note of the Star Dance they could still hear.

  The outer ward, StarDrifter whispered in Isfrael’s and the Banes’ minds, and they nodded, watching closely as they moved through to the inner circle.

  There stood several more Enchanters, slightly to the side of a man and a woman who exuded power.

  Isfrael bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile. “Adamon and Xanon,” he said, and inclined his head slightly at the two Star Gods.

  “It is good of you to answer our plea,” Xanon replied gravely, “when your concerns lie so deep in the forests.”

  “Here, or at the Star Gate itself?” Isfrael asked without preamble.

  “At the Star Gate,” Adamon said, and Isfrael noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “The chamber itself will form the strongest ward.”

  “And how do we descend?” Shra asked. “I have heard that there are many tunnels, but all take hours to negotiate.”

  “Ah,” said a voice to one side. “But I have lent my assistance.”

  And WolfStar stepped into the light.

  Isfrael literally snarled. “What do you here, you lurking rabid wolf?”

  To one side StarDrifter smiled.

  WolfStar raised an eyebrow. “I help here, TreeSon.” It was not quite what WolfStar had in mind to call Isfrael, but even WolfStar thought it prudent not to call the Mage-King a twig-encrusted joint of venison. He shot a glare at StarDrifter.

  “Peace!” Adamon snapped. “Isfrael, WolfStar has opened one of the Barrows –”

  “Mine,” WolfStar said.

  “– and cleared the stairwell so that we may travel quickly and easily down it. An hour of steps, that is all.”

  “Then let’s commence,” Isfrael said, “before I lose patience and break for the trees.”

  And he shouldered past both Enchanters and gods and stalked towards the open Barrow.

  Axis stared into the Star Gate. The stain had not only spread, but thickened during the past
few days. How much longer? He did not know. These days he lived with a constant tight knot of fear in his belly. He had not lived with such fear for a very long time, not since he was a youth first riding with the Axe-Wielders, and even then he’d not felt anything this intense.

  About him were ranged Azhure, the five other Star Gods, and several score Enchanters – the most powerful of the Icarii nation. The chamber was already crowded, but as he heard steps from one of the entrance tunnels and raised his head, Axis realised it would be tightly packed with bodies once the Avar Banes had squeezed themselves in.

  Well, that would not matter if between them they managed to construct a warding strong enough to keep these damn Demons – and his renegade son – beyond the portal.

  Isfrael stepped into the chamber. Like StarDrifter, Axis had not seen him in many years and he could hardly believe the degree to which Isfrael had absorbed the power of the trees. In manner and appearance he reminded Axis vividly of the power that drifted about the Sacred Groves and the Horned Ones who inhabited them.

  Isfrael caught sight of his father. He stared, unsure of how to react. Finally he stepped forward, looked into the Star Gate, then raised his eyes back to his father and simply nodded.

  “Will you help us, Sacred One?” Axis said. “Daily our power fades, as does that of the Icarii Enchanters. We need your help.”

  Isfrael tilted his head, pretending to think. “Do the trees need to fear what comes through that Gate, StarMan?”

  “Do you know what threatens through that Gate, Mage-King?” Silton, God of the Sun, stepped forward. “Do you want despair and pestilence riding the trees as they will ride the plains? Terror and Famine lurking in the shadows of the glades as they will in the homes of Icarii and human? Do –”

  “Enough!” Isfrael snapped. “I will help, otherwise I would not be here. StarMan,” he turned back to his father, “when this ward is worked, must I and my Banes stay to maintain it?”

  Axis shook his head. “Not all, three or four, perhaps. Once built, the ward will take only a fraction of the builders to keep it in place.”