by Matthew Ward
"And if it doesn't?" Jamar asked, a glimmer of respect in his eyes.
"Then we will be no worse off, and at least the fault will clearly be ours."
"If that is so," I asked. "Why am I hearing it from you, and not the serathiel?"
"This opportunity has not yet occurred to the serathiel, though I'm sure that it will in time. I ask not with her authority, but out of wisdom. I trust that you see the difference?"
"I understand," I told the serathi, and I did indeed.
Adanika had come looking for us precisely so that she could deliver this request without other serathi hearing it, chiefly because of its implied criticism of the serathiel. It was an easy request to agree to, not only because I trusted Adanika far more than the serathiel at this point, but because I'd resolved to leave as soon as it had become clear that Calda's recovery was no temporary thing. I'd told the serathiel something similar when first we had met, but it seemed that Azyra had not shared that information with Adanika. I wondered why.
"And you? Why are you not so unperturbed by change?" asked Calda.
"I never said I was not," Adanika rejoined. "But the path I walk was laid many years ago. I can never go back to how I was. This truth provokes both joy and fear." It might have indeed been the case that this brought Adanika joy, but her expression now held only sorrow. "I seek only to help my sisters, both high and low, to avoid making the same mistakes. Will you help me in this?"
"I'll be happy to," I said. "I'd intended to remain only so long as Calda was injured, so it seems our desires overlap." A sudden thought struck me concerning Calda's miraculous recovery, and Koschai's. "Unless, of course, you know of a reason she might need to stay?"
"It doesn't matter if she can. I'm not staying," Calda objected.
"Indeed not," Adanika agreed, perhaps a little too readily. "You are a creature of the open field. I fear that a cage, even a glorious one like Skyhaven, ill-suits your temperament." With that splendidly-veiled insult, she turned her attention to me. "Whatever injuries were suffered, her soul never fled. There is nothing to fear in Calda Cadvar's departure."
Calda frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"She's saying you weren't brought back from the dead," I explained, "like Koschai was."
"Wait. Koschai's dead?"
"Only in a manner of speaking," said Adanika.
"How many manners are there, exactly?" Calda asked acidly.
Adanika ignored the interruption. "He is otherwise as mortal as you are." She turned back to me. "Edric Saran, take your friends to the Farsight. You will find the serathiel there and, I suspect, a reason to depart. Please make use of it."
"We will," I assured her. "Will you not accompany us?"
Adanika shook her head. "Elynna weighs upon my mind, and I must do what I can for her. We shall meet again soon enough, Edric Saran. I promise you that." Without another word, she left the room.
*******
We had few belongings to gather, having arrived only with the clothes we had worn and the weapons we had carried. Calda, unsurprisingly, was eager to put Skyhaven behind her. Jamar, as usual, seemed happy to follow wherever I led. I was leaving, so he no longer had any reason to stay.
Once outside, I discovered that it was another gloomy day, with oppressive clouds hanging overhead like disapproving tutors. A thin covering of snow lay across rooftops and along the streets. Skyhaven might have had its own seasons when it was above the clouds, but when beneath them it endured the same weather as the rest of us.
We struck out along the river towards the Farsight, neither hurrying nor dallying. There were many more serathi in the skies than I'd seen before, the majority of them clad in armour, rather than robes. Was this related to the reason Adanika wished us to depart?
We reached the Farsight's lower gate to find Koschai waiting. The Tressian's clothing was dishevelled, and he had an oily smear across one cheek. He greeted us warmly, and I wondered at the coincidence of finding him here.
"Adanika tells me you're all leaving."
So much for the meeting being coincidence.
"That's what she told us," Jamar said wryly. "Though it remains to be seen if we are able to do so."
Koschai smiled."Adanika sees things long before the rest of us. I've come to accept that."
I offered a grin of my own. "But she didn't tell you about that streak on your face?"
He frowned, touched a hand to his face, and plucked a rag from his pocket, and wiped furiously. I saw for the first time that his hands were filthy as well. "Bother. She might have said."
"That would mean volunteering information."
His smile turned wry. "True." He returned the rag to his pocket. "I was repairing – well, tinkering, really – with one of the millrace gates. The serathi aren't much for technology, and I like to help if I can. Most days I do more good than harm."
It was easy enough to imagine him elbow deep in oiled machinery, happy as a hound on the hunt.
"Will you be alright here, alone amongst these creatures?" Calda asked.
"I've been here, alone amongst these creatures, for ten years now," Koschai assured her. "I've seldom been given cause to worry about that, though it's kind of you to ask. There was one thing though. One small request I wanted to make."
"Name it," I said.
"I... I think I would like to see Arianwyn again, my boy, if I can. Who knows, if the serathi are right, and this 'Reckoning' is upon us, I might not get another chance."
"I'll do whatever I can," I assured him, glad that he'd come to this decision, however hard it must have been.
"Thank you, my boy, thank you," he glanced upwards. "You'd better go, if you're going. It would appear a storm is gathering."
I followed his gaze, expecting to see angry grey clouds or the first drops of rain, but there was none of that. Instead, I saw that Koschai was speaking of a great winged host of serathi streaming onto the platform that held the Farsight. What was going on?
"Are you coming up with us?" I asked Koschai.
"No... No I don't think so. I much prefer it when the serathiel forgets that I exist. I don't see any need to remind her today." He shook each of our hands in turn. "Goodbye, my boy. Jamar. Warleader." Calda looked pleased to be addressed by her title, rather than her name. I suspected she was warming to the father far more than ever she had to the daughter.
As I'd anticipated, the Farsight platform was full of serathi, and armoured serathi at that. So full, in fact, that I couldn't actually catch a glimpse of the Farsight itself. At some unseen signal, the ranks parted and there, at the far end of the corridor of wings and armour, stood the serathiel, her lips pursed in what might have been a reserved smile, or might equally have been a slight frown.
She inclined her head in greeting. "Ambassador. I am surprised to see you here unbidden."
"I hope we aren't intruding," I replied. "It was suggested my presence might be useful."
"By Adanika?" the serathiel asked. "She has a remarkable knack for... anticipating... my decrees."
"It was indeed, serathiel, though I do not know why."
"Do not concern yourself. I have known her much longer than you. Still she is a mystery to me. It matters only that you are here."
Azyra smiled warmly, though I noted she didn't say whether or not my presence was welcome. The reactions of the other serathi provided few clues. Most regarded us with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Personally, I felt more than a little intimidated. Though the serathi had parted for me, they hadn't drawn back too far. Indeed, there wasn't room for them to do so. As a result I was now surrounded by a host of immortal women girded for war, any one of whom could have broken me in half on a whim. During my time on Skyhaven, the serathi had variously struck me as kind, helpful, distant, frustrating and evasive – now I could add 'terrifying' to the list.
"As you are here, you might as well see what has drawn us." Azyra indicated for the serathi to make space around the Farsight. I stepped into the place prepared
for me, and whispered silent thanks to Adanika for sending me here.
As before, the Farsight showed an image of the world below. It was the site of some hilltop fortification, or at least so the central pile of tumbled stone suggested. There was a wall too, running around the perimeter of the hill, but it was a crumbled and shabby thing, little more than knee-high in most places, where it existed at all.
Clustered behind these poor walls was an army; a small one, but an army nonetheless. I estimated there were perhaps as many as a thousand men and women gathered, all of them clad in tarnished plate mail and blue tabards. An army of Tressia.
The hill was broad and deep, but the Farsight was wide enough to show the attackers mustering at its foot. These too had a certain uniformity, which was granted by their dull black garb and pale skin. Beyond that, the appearance of individuals varied wildly. There were uniforms and weapons from many realms, and from all manner of times. One man carried a shield bearing the crest of the Empress Melanna Saran, dead many hundreds of years. Others wore Thrakkian scale coats, Tressian tabards, or other, more exotic garb that had no business existing in this place and time. I swore quietly; this was an army of the dead and damned. It was an army of fallen, and there were thousands of them, arrayed under their raven-black banners.
I swore softly under my breath. We'd all thought them quiet for the winter, aping the habits of the living men they had been. Clearly, we'd been wrong, and now those poor bastards on the hill were going to pay for it.
"It's Tarvallion." Calda's eyes sparkled with recognition. "Or what's left of it, at least. We took that place apart pretty well, you and I."
Now that Calda pointed it out, I found that I did indeed recognise the place. I'd commanded the army that had laid siege to Tarvallion. I rather wished now that I'd left it in a more defensible condition – at least that way the Tressians would have had a chance. What were they doing so far from home in such weather? The answer didn't matter. The only question was whether or not they could survive what was coming. On the face of it, the outlook was poor. Then again, neither side could possibly know that the serathi were watching from high above. I doubted that Skyhaven was more than a pinprick in the sky.
"Are you going to help?" I asked the serathiel.
She narrowed her eyes. "Against those perversions of natural law? The host is mustering. But it will take a little while longer."
From what I could see, the host looked pretty mustered to me, but I bit my tongue. I knew from experience that the fallen were far stronger and tougher than men, but I'd have lain long odds that the serathi were more dangerous foes still. Fighting together, Tressians and serathi had a good chance of victory. Alone, the Tressians were rats cowering in a trap, waiting to die.
"I need to go down there." The words left my lips before I'd fully thought them through.
"Impossible," said Azyra. "Your lives should not be put at risk for this."
"They're our lives to risk," Calda retorted.
"And our allies to risk them for," Jamar added. "We have more cause to fight than you."
My eyes locked onto the serathiel's. "Besides, I think you'll need us there. If only for identification."
"We do not need your help in telling friend from foe," said Azyra, a warning in her eyes.
"You may not." I pointed to the image on the Farsight. "They do."
"Explain."
"The Tressians are embattled, outnumbered and fighting for their lives. It won't take much for them to mistake you for a threat."
I scoured the rippling waters. After a moment, I'd found what I sought: a thickset, full-bearded man whose tabard was as white as the snow. He bellowed orders at the milling soldiery as his horse shifted restlessly beneath him. To his side, another white-tabarded figure, this one considerably more slender, watched his preparations with awe.
"I know this man," I told Azyra. "He's Edrevor Torev, their commander, and a friend. Take me down there. I'll explain what's happening before the bulk of your host arrives. You want to work with the Tressians, then this has to go flawlessly. You're already facing an uphill struggle because of what happened in Salkard." I wondered briefly if referring to Myrzanna, even indirectly, was a wise thing to do, but it was too late now. "You wanted me to speak for you in the world below. Sometimes that means trusting to my judgement, rather than your own."
Azyra regarded me for a long moment, her face inscrutable. Then she clasped her hands across her chest. "Very well, ambassador, we shall heed your advice. As you say, there is little point in having allies and not recognising when their wisdom exceeds your own."
That hadn't quite been what I'd said, but it was a graciously turned compliment all the same. "Thank you."
"We shall deliver you to your allies," the serathiel said. "You will act as heralds to our coming." She offered a wintery smile. "And then, you shall see how the serathi fight."
Fourteen
I'd anticipated that the method of our return to the world below would have been the same as that which had accomplished our departure, but in this I was swiftly proved wrong. Instead of directing three serathi to fly us to the world below, Azyra instead bade us walk to the centre of the Farsight.
The waters were shallower than I'd expected, scarcely cresting the uppers of my boots. As we reached the centre of the pool, I was again aware of the sheer number of serathi watching our progress. Most seemed amused, and for a moment I entertained the idea that this might all be some strange joke at our expense. Then Azyra held up a hand, signalling that we should stop.
"Are you prepared to leave?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied. Whatever was about to happen, I wanted it done.
"Then find your friend, Edric Saran. Warn him of our coming."
Everything around me vanished, replaced by blurring colours. I'd a sudden sensation of falling, and had to close my eyes to fight against a sudden and desperate nausea. When I opened them again, Calda, Jamar and I stood amidst the muddied snow and biting winds of ruined Tarvallion.
The Farsight had somehow delivered us precisely into the scene it had displayed. Disorientation was swiftly overcome by wonder. Skyhaven was but a dot in the sky, so small that I wouldn't have thought to look for it had I not known it was there. It was a wonder beyond wonders, but I felt uneasy nonetheless. With that simple demonstration of the Farsight's power, a fresh gulf had opened between my understanding of the serathi, and the reality of their being.
The three of us stood a few paces away from the ruined keep. Our arrival had gone unnoticed – almost certainly because every pair of Tressian eyes was directed outward, waiting for the next attack. I could see perhaps a third of the broken wall that served as the hilltop's only defence. A sparse line of Tressian soldiers used the toppled stones for shelter as best they could. Here and there, fires flickered fitfully as the defenders struggled to stay warm. It was deathly quiet; far too quiet for the number of men and women gathered there, but I supposed each Tressian was lost in his or her own thoughts.
A cluster of supply wagons lay a short distance to my right, horses tethered nearby. These were not just draught horses, but knightly destriers too, and the slender, agile steeds preferred by Tressian outriders. Torev had plainly ordered every man and woman to fight on foot. It was easy to see why. There was barely one Tressian for every two paces of wall – a laughably thin garrison.
Work parties moved back and forth around us. Some ferried wounded to the surgeons labouring in the lee of a half-collapsed stable. Others stacked tabarded dead on the far side of the keep. None paid us any heed. Their heads were bowed low against the wind, their eyes fixed on the churned mud and snow through which they walked. The sense of defeat was colder than ice.
"To arms! Intruders behind the wall!"
A patrol of a dozen blue-tabarded Tressians thundered towards us, careless of the treacherous footing. Two nearby work parties abandoned their labours advanced from behind, blocking any escape we might have thought to make. As the circle of Tressians clos
ed in about us, I raised my hands to show I meant to harm. My companions did the same. The gesture did nothing to mollify the Tressians, who ringed us with levelled swords and halberds. On the wrong side of superior numbers for a long time, they clearly welcomed the opportunity to have foes at their mercy.
"We're friends, sergeant," I said calmly.
"Of course you are." The sergeant hefted his sword. "How did you get in here?" His eyes – the only part of his face I could see through his close-set helm – were nervous. He was a badly worried man, and it wouldn't take much to push him into violence.
I swore softly. This confrontation was precisely what I'd wanted to avoid. I'd assumed that the serathi would have carried us down, allowing us to find Torev quickly. As it was, we three were foreign strangers, dressed as vagabonds, and surrounded by fearful Tressians.
"I asked you how you got in here!" The sergeant set the point of his blade at my throat.
"You wouldn't believe me," I replied evenly. "I need to speak to your commander, and I need to speak to him now."
"Do you think I'm stupid?" the sergeant spat. "You're an assassin!"
"I'm nothing of the kind. I am Ambassador Saran of the Hadari Empire. I must speak to your commander."
"Do you really expect me to believe that?"
"I'd hoped you might. Listen man, of all the things I might claim to be, why would I choose that instead of something halfway believable?"
The sergeant glowered, then lowered his sword and stepped away. "Alright, I'll take you. But if one of you does anything that I don't like..." He didn't finish his threat, but it wasn't as if he needed to.
The Tressians took our weapons. Our peculiar procession set off across the hilltop, with the sergeant in the lead. My companions and I were under close guard in the centre of the group, completely helpless if our escort decided to dispose of us.
That point wasn't lost on Calda. "Hopefully they're taking us to Torev, rather than a nice, secluded spot where we can dig our own graves."
Our procession reached the summit of the hill, made a half-circuit of the tumbled keep, and headed down towards what was left of Tarvallion's gatehouse: little more than two man-made stone pillars jutting a few feet from the ground, and some snow-covered waist-high humps that had once been walls. There, amidst the huddle of defenders, were three figures on horseback. One was the slight, white-tabarded figure I'd seen in the Farsight, another was a dark-haired man in the blue tabard and gold-edged armour of a Tressian captain, and the third was Edrevor Torev, last of the Sartorov Paladins.