by Matthew Ward
I released Calda's hand and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I'll be back soon, sister. See that you're still here when I return, or there will be trouble."
Nodding my thanks to the serathi, I walked back to the door. Jamar briefly laid his hand on my shoulder, and then turned to Irina. "Where is her sword?"
"Her possessions are in the chest at the end of the bed."
Jamar opened the lid and withdrew Calda's still-scabbarded sword. Whilst the serathi looked on bemused, he eased the blade from its sheath and set it upon the sheets. Finally, he took Calda's hand, and moved it so that her fingers rested upon the hilt.
"A warrior's ritual?" asked Elynna.
"In part," said Jamar. "If she awakens with a sword in her hand, she will at least know that she is with friends, even if she does not know who they are."
"What curious creatures you are," Elynna said, with ill-disguised amusement. "Come now. You should rest."
I still had questions – so many questions – but my earlier weariness returned with a vengeance. Calda was safe, or was at least as safe as Jamar and I. Everything else could wait, so I nodded my compliance.
Offering a satisfied smile, Elynna led us away.
Four
I slept badly. It was in no way the fault of my hosts, who had provided a suite of rooms whose luxury surpassed even those I'd known at the Golden Court. Nor was my body to blame. Indeed, I was so exhausted from the events of the day that I was unconscious within moments of my head striking the scarlet pillow. Alas, it was my mind that betrayed me by worrying over things it could not change, and these concerns manifested, as ever, in the form of dreams. Yet it was not Calda's fate that haunted me so.
I walked through cobbled streets, flanked by austere and imposing townhouses, lost in a crowd that surged and flowed about me. For a moment, I thought myself in Tressia. Then I noticed the washed-out and greenish colours that suffused everything about me; that the citizens who strode past were little more than spectral vapour, and I realised, with that strange detachment only possible when dreaming, that I was in Otherworld – the Realm of the Dead.
I'd trodden the paths of Otherworld twice in my waking life, and both times considered myself lucky to have survived the experience. Though the ghosts themselves were harmless – or nearly so – there were other, less benign, denizens of that desolate place. Chief of these was, of course, Malgyne, the God of the Dead, and he had many servants. There were ghostly ravens who acted as his eyes and ears, and skull-helmed revenants who served as his retainers.
I remembered nothing of the buildings I passed, for the dreaming part of my mind clearly deemed the details of my surroundings to be unimportant. I doubt it would have mattered, for Otherworld's appearance always changed to match the viewer's perception. Yet, little by little, I became aware of a figure walking some way in front of me.
He was garbed in black, oddly solid in a realm sadly lacking such. I saw nothing of the man's face or head, for his deep hood was drawn up. How did I know the figure to be a man? I accepted the idea without question, surrendering myself utterly to the muddled logic of the dream.
As I approached, I saw for the first time that the man had a raven perched upon his shoulder. The man's hood fell back as he turned, revealing a youngish face framed by dark, shoulder-length hair and given sardonic aspect by a neatly-trimmed goatee. It was Constans. He was smiling, but that meant nothing. Constans always smiled, even when there was little to amuse him.
"Heed this warning." His voice was hollow.
"What warning?" My tongue felt as sluggish as my mind.
The dreamscape flickered. All of a sudden, the buildings were gone, replaced by ruined echoes of their former selves. The ghosts remained, still travelling to whatever destination called them hither. I was walking too, I realised.
Constans kept effortless pace. The raven on his shoulder stared at me with unalloyed hatred. "You've lost your chance."
A half-dozen revenants emerged from the mists ahead, their silver death masks glinting evilly in the wan light. I tried to speak, but my lips wouldn't move. I tried to flee, but my legs were no more obedient.
"You can't leave," said Constans. "You belong here now."
I looked down, and saw that he was right. My body was just as pale and vaporous as those of the ghosts with whom I walked. In panic, I seized Constans. My fingers passed straight through his arm.
"It's too late, Edric. It's much too late."
The revenants surged forward, their darkness blotting out all light.
*******
The next I knew, I was sitting upright in the darkness, breathing heavily and clammy with sweat.
"The dreams again, savir?"
Jamar stood silhouetted in the doorway. His cultist robes were gone, leaving only the travelling clothes he had worn beneath. For a time, I was embarrassed he'd witnessed my moment of weakness. Then, as my breathing steadied, so did my pride. I'd find nothing but support from Jamar. "Was it that obvious?"
"Perhaps a little," he replied wryly. "There are three solid walls between my bedchamber and yours, yet your voice carried beautifully."
"What a talent, and what a waste. The loss to the bardic traditions must be considerable."
"Unlikely. I can't say it was a pleasing sound." His joviality abated. "Were the dreams the same?"
"They're always the same." I hauled myself out of bed and began dressing. "Every night for the past few weeks."
"I suppose it's useless for me to tell you Constans chose his own fate."
"I don't feel guilty about what happened to him." That bit wasn't quite true, but I didn't see any reason to tell Jamar that.
As it happened, I needn't have bothered with my small deception. "If this is how you sleep when you're not burdened by guilt, I dread to think how you'd be if it were weighing you down, savir."
"You're impossible, do you know that?"
Jamar gave a slight bow. "So you have often told me, my prince, but I nonetheless sleep soundly." This last was said with a small smile, and I was grateful for his attempt to lift my spirits. It had even worked.
Almost.
I finished dressing and buckled on my sword. I wasn't going anywhere unarmed until I'd a better understanding of the serathi's purpose.
Not bothering to draw back the drapes, I followed Jamar from the darkened bedchamber and into the living space beyond. It was circular in shape, with four doors set evenly around one half of its circumference: one to each of the three sets of sleeping quarters, one to the corridor outside. The rest of the boundary was given over to a massive leaded window whose span was broken only by a single door, constructed of the same material, which opened out onto a wide balcony. Beyond, lay one of Skyhaven's many gardens, and a glimpse of the river I'd seen on my approach.
The brilliant fires of the evening's sunset streamed through the window, burning away the last vestiges of horror from my uneven dreams. Padded chairs dotted the room, and in the centre stood a large, round table upon which rested several bowls of fruit, and a jug of water. I'd been much too tired to contemplate eating when we'd first arrived. Now, I was absolutely famished. Taking a seat at the table, I attacked the food with gusto.
"Where do you think we are?" I asked through a mouthful of apple. "Relative to the world, I mean."
Jamar thought for a moment before replying. "If the peaks we saw yesterday were the Greyridge Mountains, which seems likely, I think our cultist friends had set up their operation somewhere just over the Thrakkian border."
I could believe that. The Thrakkians were a warlike and exuberant people, little inclined to any measure of civic order. Scarface couldn't have placed his camp better. Salkard was only a league or two north of the Tressian/Thrakkian border. Provided he didn't prey upon the Thrakkians themselves, they'd have left him alone.
I discarded the remains of the apple and reached for another. "So we're over Thrakkia?"
"I don't believe so. From the position of the sun, I think we've headed no
rth since then."
"What, Skyhaven moves?"
As ever, Jamar took my scepticism in stride. "Is that so ridiculous? Especially compared to the fact that it exists at all."
"I suppose not," I allowed. "So we're over Tressian land?"
"I think so."
"I wonder why."
"Does there have to be a reason?"
I demolished another apple before responding, gathering my thoughts. "No, but the serathi don't seem the types to do anything without cause. If we're heading into Tressia, it'll be for a reason."
Jamar shrugged. "What do you make of our hosts?"
I offered him a crooked smile. "The Tressians will be upset. They love the rumour that there's an angel living in their cathedral's bell tower. It won't seem as special if there's a whole city full of them." I pressed on before Jamar could chide me for meandering. "For myself, I'd say the legends don't do them justice. I've never seen anyone fight like Adanika."
Jamar raised his eyebrows, and I realised that I hadn't yet told him what had happened in those snow-laden woods. The tale didn't take long to recount and, by the time I was finished, Jamar looked very thoughtful indeed.
"Impressive," he rumbled. "Not wholly surprising, but impressive nonetheless. I was, however, speaking of their character."
I smiled. "I stand corrected. They seem friendly enough, I suppose, but I had to shame Adanika into offering to help Calda. I think they see the world differently. They're distant, somehow."
Jamar nodded. "I'd tend to agree. They're elegant, and perhaps the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen. Save for Amathri, of course..."
"Of course." I'd never met Jamar's wife, and could never determine if she had him completely besotted, or terrified. Probably it was a little of both.
"...but they're cold, incredibly cold," Jamar went on. "There's no compassion in their eyes, just curiosity. I'm not sure that bodes well. There's also the matter of who they serve."
"I know what you mean."
For most of my life I'd been taught that Astarra – or the Radiant, as the serathi seemed to know her – was a fickle and jealous goddess who could not be trusted. Did that make the serathi worthy of our trust? Of course, that assumed that my preconceptions at all matched the reality. I'd been brought up to believe Ashana was the chief power of the divine pantheon, but as much as I hated to entertain the notion, there was nothing to guarantee the accuracy of those teachings. In religion, as in so many other things, he who shouted loudest, won.
I walked over to the balcony. "What do we do from here?"
"As much as I hate to admit it, there's not much we can do for now," said Jamar, picking his way through a bunch of grapes. "Calda isn't fit to travel. Even if she were, I doubt we can depart from Skyhaven without the consent of the serathi."
I grimaced. "So Salkard, the cultists, and so on, will just have to wait?"
Jamar nodded. "Indeed. Now we know where they are, it should prove a simple enough matter to smoke them out. Besides, between our breakout and Adanika's actions, we've left them leaderless, if nothing else. What happened to Scarface, by the way?"
"Adanika said something about him meeting justice in 'the Courts of Heaven', by which I assume she meant to bring him here, but I've no way to be certain."
"It might be worth asking, when you next see Adanika," Jamar suggested. "If he is here, we might be able to 'persuade' him into telling us a bit more about his Burning Lord."
"And if we can't, I've a feeling that the serathi can." I turned my back on Jamar and gazed out into the brilliant sunset. Far below, small greyish-white figures moved amongst the trees. They weren't serathi – they had no wings – and I wondered idly what they might be. "Finish up eating, and we'll seek Adanika out. I can't bear to sit idle."
"It's quite a big place," Jamar pointed out. "We could be some time searching."
"I suspect that once we're wandering about, she'll find us soon enough."
"Very well," Jamar said. "Assuming you're correct, what then?"
I hesitated. He wasn't going to like this. "Then I'll ask her to return you to the ground so you can finish what we started with the cultists."
"With respect, my prince, I'd rather remain here. You might need me."
"I'm in no immediate danger, and the Salkard situation needs to be resolved."
"Even so, my first duty is to you, and to the warleader."
"We'll discuss the matter after we find Adanika," I told him, unwilling to give up on the matter, but having little stomach for an argument. Jamar gave a stiff nod, affirming that the conversation would be no easier for having been delayed.
"First things first," I said. "I want to check on Calda. Can you find your way back to that room?"
"I believe so, savir," Jamar replied, much happier at the prospect of taking action.
"Then we'll be off."
Jamar nodded, and moved towards the exit. Before he could open it, a sharp knock came from the other side. After a polite pause, the handle turned, the door swung inwards and a stranger entered.
The newcomer was clad in the same plain black as the serathi, but to my surprise was as mortal as I. He was every inch the archetypal Tressian noble, tall and with short black hair oiled straight back from his forehead. Touches of grey at his temples betrayed that he was my elder by some years, but there was an energy about the man, a sense of potential held in check by a precision of movement and speech. A fire burned inside this Tressian, one he kept carefully under control.
"Good evening, gentlemen." The man's speech was clipped, precise. "It is my very great pleasure to welcome you both to Skyhaven."
I took his proffered hand in mine. "Edric Saran, Regent of the Hadari Empire, and Ambassador to the Tressian Republic." There was no harm throwing my title in there. Tressians placed great store in such things. "And this is Halvorn Jamar, my bodyguard."
"An honour to meet you both," the Tressian replied. "Adanika suggested you might require a guide, and I have little to occupy my time. My name is Koschai Trelan, and I am at your service."
I barely heard his last words, so firmly did his name grab my attention. The man was still a stranger to me personally, but I at least knew who he was – or at least who he claimed to be. Impossible as it seemed, this was Arianwyn's father, supposedly lost these many years.
If Koschai noticed anything odd in my expression, he passed no comment. "I assume you'd like to see your companion first of all?"
"Indeed," Jamar said. "How is she?"
"Asleep. Irina told me that you were welcome to visit, nonetheless. If you'll both follow me?"
With Koschai as our guide, we retraced our steps to Calda's room. He kept up a stream of polite discourse, though I confess I let Jamar carry the burden of conversation. Oh, I made polite noises, but I was still puzzling over Koschai. Was it really him? If so, why was he alive? And on Skyhaven of all places? What did it all mean? Did it mean anything? I decided that until I understood, I'd be very cautious indeed.
We entered Calda's chamber to find that she was, indeed, still asleep. Irina stood motionless at her bedside. I could well believe she'd spent the intervening hours in precisely that position.
"I regret that there has been no change," Irina said quietly. "I can do only so much without unfortunate consequences."
That sounded sufficiently ominous that it dragged my mind away from the mystery of Koschai. "What do you mean by 'unfortunate'?"
"I will speak of it only if it becomes necessary."
Her finality discouraged further discussion. Not being one to surrender to a discouraging tone, I was still seeking out a way to reopen the topic when Jamar sealed it firmly closed.
"I'd like to sit with her awhile, if I may." It wasn't clear whether he was seeking permission from me or from Irina. He then turned to Koschai. "I believe the ambassador was hoping to speak with Adanika."
"Regrettably, that will not be possible at this time," Koschai replied. "Although I believe the serathiel wishes to meet with yo
u later."
"How much later?" I asked.
"I'm afraid I don't know. She will send for you. In the meantime..."
"In the meantime, I think I'd like some fresh air." I hoped my rudeness might provoke a reaction. It did not.
"Of course, Ambassador. If you will come with me? The riverside terrace is this way."
With a final glance at Calda, I followed Koschai from the room, down a broad flight of stairs, and out onto a wide balcony. It was a cold night, but not so cold as I would have expected. Even with the sun vanished, Skyhaven remained pleasantly warm. Even more surprising, it was well lit. The Tressians used firestone lamps – lumps of common quartz infused with magic – to light their more prosperous streets. It seemed the serathi had something similar, for the buildings of Skyhaven bathed in pools of dull orange light.
A fitful breeze danced through the night air, rustling leaves and branches in the trees beneath us. A little way distant the river cut its way through the gardens below. There was no sign of any serathi, nor of the other figures I'd seen earlier.
Koschai closed the door behind us. "It isn't entirely proper, but may I call you Edric? I'm afraid that I'm not much of one for titles."
Him and no one else in the Tressian Republic, I thought. "Not at all. As it happens, I'm not much of one for them either."
He nodded his thanks. "I know it's hard, but please try not to concern yourself about your friend. The serathi will do all they can."
"So I'm told," I replied. "I'm afraid I don't yet understand them."
Koschai smiled. "I've been here for some years, and I'm certain that I don't understand them."
"Are there any other mortals here, or is it just us?"
"For the time being, it is just us, at least so far as I know. The serathi don't confide in me about everything. They entertain guests, from time to time, but I'm aware of no others at present. That said, it is a large island, and I can't be everywhere at once."
"No prisoners, then?" I enquired, thinking about Scarface.
"Again, not so I am aware."
"And are you a guest?"
"Of a more permanent kind, perhaps."