“Greetings.” Tevi wondered where the witches had been during Shard’s attack. Although, if Altrun was a guide, they could not have done much to help.
“Captain Curnad asks for the honour of the Dragon Slayer’s company. If you could spare him a few minutes.”
The title was not accurate. She certainly had not killed Shard, but the epithet had attached itself to her during the afternoon. Tevi nodded. “Yes. Of course.”
“Thank you. We will escort you to him.” The officers were clearly being polite by not challenging her status, and regardless of how the request had been phrased, Tevi could not refuse.
The witches led her back to the centre of Uzhenek. Their destination was one of the stone-built survivors of the citadel. The walls were massive and the doorway was protected by a portcullis. The windows were high arrow slits. Tevi guessed that it had been a prison or an armoury. She was shown into a small room that held nothing apart from a rough table and four chairs. Only one of these was occupied.
Captain Curnad stood to greet her. He was a small wiry man of about fifty. His blond hair had been cropped close to his skull. The expression on his weathered face was stern and thoughtful but not hostile.
Once the other officers had withdrawn, leaving them alone, Curnad gestured for Tevi to take a chair and poured wine into two tin goblets. Possibly, while Bykoda was alive, the drinking vessels would have looked like gold. Tevi took a sip, remembering the last time she had shared wine with one of Bykoda’s officers. She desperately hoped there would be no love potion this time.
From the moment she had entered the room, Curnad had been watching her intently. At last he spoke. “I think I should start by saying that I recognise who you are, Captain Tevirik.”
The announcement was not a complete surprise. His face had been faintly familiar, although Tevi had been unable to place it.
Curnad went on. “I’m one of Anid’s deputies. I was with her up at Tirakhalod not long ago. You were with the sorcerer Jemeryl at a gathering in the keep.”
“Oh yes.” Tevi remembered him. “Weren’t you the one who threw wine at Ranenok’s lieutenant?”
“I wouldn’t waste good wine on any of them.” Curnad relented enough to give a half smile, and then his manner became more purposeful again. “I assume you know about the news recently. We’ve heard that Jemeryl killed Bykoda, and Mavek is now in charge. I was thinking that Uzhenek would be out of the action, but then you show up, dressed like a hero from legend, just in time to deal with a very convenient dragon. I could dig out a message orb and tell Tirakhalod what has happened. But I’m wondering if it might be wiser for me to take the long-term view.”
Tevi said nothing, waiting to see where he was going.
“If I could contact Commander Anid, I probably would, but I haven’t heard from her since yesterday, and this morning I was told that Ranenok is now in charge of the entire army.” Curnad put down his goblet. “If Jemeryl could defeat Bykoda, then she could whip any of the acolytes in her sleep. And we all know that Mavek won’t be able to run the Empire. The way I read it, he’s already had trouble with Anid and Yenneg.”
His eyes fixed on Tevi shrewdly. “I’d heard that you’re ungifted, but you’re clearly not ordinary. After today’s performance, you’ve got the whole city in your hand. It doesn’t help that the townsfolk saw all of us running scared. And we were. I don’t know where Jemeryl found the dragon, or how she got it to play along with the charade. But it just goes to show that she isn’t someone to get in the way of. She’s already got herself a strong base here with you as a figurehead.”
“I’m not a powerful witch. I’ve got where I am by giving unquestioning loyalty to whoever was winning. The way I see it, in this current fracas the winner is going to be Jemeryl. So I’m going to play along with the game of you as the great Dragon Slayer until she arrives.” He picked up his goblet again. “You are expecting her to get here soon, aren’t you?”
Tevi’s lips tightened in a wry smile. The only direct question he had asked her was one she could answer truthfully. “Yes. I am.”
*
The next morning, dressed in the rag-tag uniform, Jemeryl rode away from the burning inn. Ash from the inferno she had started rained down around her, and for miles along the road, the wind carried the smell of smoke.
Chapter Thirteen—The Hero
Jemeryl awoke at the start of another grey day. She rolled onto her back and flung her arm over her eyes, trying to block out the world. The attempt was futile. Grief lived within her like a parasite, squeezing her lungs and filling her throat. Most of her had died with Tevi, and the fragment that was left had no desire to go on. Perhaps she should complete the job and then kill herself.
The idea was worryingly attractive. It had been sliding around the corners of her mind for the previous four days. Jemeryl opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and faced it head on. Why not? The best efforts of sorcerers had found no evidence for an afterlife. Probably there was none. But oblivion did not sound so bad at the moment, and regardless of what might await her, how could she be frightened to follow Tevi anywhere?
In her absence, Mavek would claim the talisman, unless somebody else got to it first. But the world she left behind would no longer be her concern, except for the faint possibility that Mavek might succeed in changing time. In which case, both she and Tevi would be alive again and none the wiser.
Jemeryl groaned and sat up. The idea of abandoning the talisman to Mavek, in whatever way, was a cowardly attempt to delude herself, avoiding reality. Even if he was still alive and sane, he did not have the ability to use the artefact. Why else put so much effort into intimidating the other acolytes if he did not want their help with the talisman? And what made Mavek think that a co-operative effort would work?
Jemeryl lifted the chain around her neck and pulled out the talisman. The stone disc lay cupped in her hands. Once it had seemed sinister and deadly. Now it was far more ambiguous. If anyone should attempt to use the talisman, it ought to be her.
Obviously, Bykoda had more experience than she did, but Jemeryl did not think she was being immodest by believing that she matched the late Empress in skill. And her Coven training gave her the benefit of knowledge and skills acquired by generations of sorcerers, which might help her to tackle a crisis.
As her extended sorcerer’s senses tracked into the higher dimensions, Jemeryl’s eyes fixed on the pattern engraved on the talisman. The trick would be to probe very delicately, without upsetting anything. In fact, until she had learned more, she must not do anything. She had to discover how the device worked, find out what principles lay behind it. And then she should experiment carefully, to see if she could identify the flaw that Bykoda had warned of.
Once she understood the problem she could then make an informed decision about what she should do. But for the moment, she was not doing anything. She was just looking.
“Jemeryl!” Klara’s voice was a warning croak.
In shock, Jemeryl’s hands clenched around the talisman and she bolted up straight. Then her head fell back and she closed her eyes. This was the second time that she had started to use the talisman. Without Klara as the voice of her subconscious, how far would she have gone? Would she have stopped at all?
Jemeryl thrust the talisman back inside her shirt and stood up.
In this region of the grasslands, the terrain was folded into a series of gentle rolling ridges. The damp wind rustled across the plains, carrying the scent of more rain on the way. Rolls of heavy cloud hung low overhead. Her horse stood nearby, grazing on the fresh grass.
The road was no more than parallel lines of hard-packed dirt, formed by the passage of wheels. In an emergency, and with a fast carriage, little sleep, and regular changes of horses, the distance between Tirakhalod and Uzhenek could be covered in two days. More normally, it took four times as long, which meant that Jemeryl was now at the midway point.
After her experience on the first night of the journey, she had avoid
ed stopping at the way stations. Her supplies would last her until Uzhenek, where she could buy more. Jemeryl’s mouth turned down at the corners; she was deluding herself again. At the rate she was going, the supplies would last her all the way to Lyremouth. She should try to eat more. Breakfast would be a good start, but her stomach felt tense and cold. Perhaps when she was on the road and fully awake she would be able to summon some appetite.
Jemeryl called the horse over and hoisted the saddle onto its back. While she worked, her head shook repeatedly in a combination of dismay and incredulity. She could not believe how close she had been to activating the talisman. Klara took a perch between the horse’s ears and watched her attentively, somehow managing to convey both concern and reprimand. Jemeryl paused and met her familiar’s eyes, although when she spoke, it was mainly to herself.
“If I want to kill myself, then that’s my right. But I don’t have the right to take thousands of other poor bastards with me.” She bent to adjust the cinch strap. “It’s quite simple. I take the talisman to Lyremouth, make sure it’s safe, and then if I don’t feel any better, I can kill myself there with a clear conscience.”
*
A boisterous entourage of children followed Tevi through the squalid streets of Uzhenek, shouting, jumping, and fighting imaginary dragons. The youngest was barely old enough to walk. The eldest was old enough to have known better. Over three-quarters of them were wearing identical plaited bands of blue and black wool, although there was no general agreement as to where the braid should be worn. Some had it around their arm as an amulet. Some around their throat as a necklace. The more extroverted used it as a hair band.
The townsfolk had decided that blue and black were Tevi’s colours. With each day, more of them were sporting the token of their allegiance to her—a display that Tevi did not want and certainly had not asked for. She wondered whose idea it was and where the braids were coming from. Had the collapse of Bykoda’s Empire stranded an enterprising merchant with a cargo of coloured wool, and he had seized on the chance to cut his losses?
As she passed by, people stopped whatever they were doing and waved at her. Some went so far as to shout and brandish their blue and black braids in the air. Tevi acknowledged the accolades with all the conviction she could muster. By the braids and the cheers they were declaring themselves as her followers, which meant that she was their leader, which in turn meant that she was responsible for them. With each day it was getting worse.
Tevi arrived at the western edge of the city. Ahead of her, the road carried on through farmland before crossing the river Kladjishe on a low wooden bridge. On the other side, the road turned north to Tirakhalod and ran in a straight line across the wide flood plain until it climbed the valley wall and disappeared over the top at a point maybe five miles distant from where she stood.
Half a dozen groups were visible on the road, all of them heading to Uzhenek. The city’s population was growing by the hour, as reports of the mighty Dragon Slayer spread. The new arrivals brought stories of turmoil, looting, and slaughter, of property stolen or destroyed, of murderous gangs. They came hoping that the Dragon Slayer could protect them and put it all right again.
Tevi felt as if she were being physically crushed by the weight of their hopes. She had made no promises, but others made them on her behalf. The town was alive with wild stories of the things she had claimed that she was going to do, and even wilder stories of the rewards that her followers were going to receive. Not one of the claims had come from her lips. It was not fair that she should be the one left feeling guilty.
Increasingly, she shared Captain Curnad’s belief that the battle with Shard had been a staged piece of theatre, designed to achieve just this result. Except she knew that the controlling force behind the display was not Jemeryl, but the dragon itself. Why had Shard done it? What was the dragon expecting to happen next?
Tevi’s gaze travelled along the road, dotted with pitiful refugees, coming to her for sanctuary. Her only comfort lay in the hope that the dragon had told the truth when it said Jemeryl was also on the way to Uzhenek and would get there soon. This was not just from the desire to be reunited with her lover and reassure herself that Jemeryl was safe. Given all the ridiculous stories flying around, it would be nice to have someone on hand who really could slay a dragon.
*
Jemeryl reached the top of a gentle hill. Ahead of her, the road dropped into a deeper valley with a river flowing through and a small town built on the far bank. Closer at hand was a sprawling collection of buildings surrounded by a high wooden palisade. From what Jemeryl could remember, the river was a tributary of the Kladjishe, and the town was called Rynrudth, or Redezth, or something like that. Uzhenek lay another eighty miles to the south.
The sun was dropping towards the horizon. If she wanted, she could spend the night in the town, or she could press on and cover another few miles by nightfall. Jemeryl urged her horse forwards, still trying to work out what would be best. She was finding decisions very difficult.
By the time she reached the wooden palisade, Jemeryl had just about made up her mind to wait and see what the town had to offer. She rode past the stockade gates with barely a glance at the six soldiers standing guard there until the sergeant hailed her.
“You! Where do you think you’re going?”
The aggressive voice made Jemeryl stop and look over in surprise. Even before she was completely sure that she was the one addressed, her horse had been surrounded by a ring of soldiers, pointing spears in her direction.
“What is it?” Jemeryl tried to collect her thoughts.
“I said, where do you think you’re going?”
“What busin...” The rest of the sentence died. Too late, Jemeryl remembered that she was wearing the clothes she had taken from the army deserter. By bad luck, it seemed that she had come across one of the few places in the collapsing Empire where military order still held. “Er...Uzhenek.”
“On whose orders?”
“My captain’s.”
“Who is your captain?”
Only one name came to mind. “Tevi. Um...Captain Tevirik.” Jemeryl knew that she was not sounding at all convincing.
The sergeant clearly thought so too. “Get off that horse.”
Jemeryl hesitated. The soldiers would not be able to stop her if she made up her mind to continue, but she did not want to advertise her true identity. Fortunately, Klara had been flying on ahead and was able to settle down out of sight. But how best to deal with the soldiers? Jemeryl was considering tampering with their memories, when an officer arrived on the scene. The witch would still not present much of a challenge in a fight, but his memory would be better protected.
Jemeryl hopped down from her horse. At worst, she would end up spending a few hours in a cell. She could break out and make it look as if she had done it by conventional means. Nobody would bother Mavek with news about the escape of an ungifted common soldier.
“What’s going on?” the witch asked.
“Sir. I suspect that this soldier is a deserter.”
“Oh, that’s ridic—”
“Speak when you’re spoken to!” the witch shouted in Jemeryl’s face.
The sergeant continued. “Sir, she came trotting down the road and was going to go straight past the gate without showing her authorisation. And she still has not given satisfactory account of herself, sir.”
The witch turned to Jemeryl. “Now, soldier. What have you to say for yourself?”
“Would I—” She got no further.
“You start whatever you’re going to say with ‘sir.’”
Jemeryl grit her teeth. She would have to put more effort into her act. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I’m tired. I’ve been on the road a long time. What I was going to say is, would I have brazenly ridden past the gates if I were a deserter? I’m under orders to get to Uzhenek as soon a possible.”
“Where is your authorisation?”
“I...I’ve lost it...sir.” Jemery
l could not believe how inept she was sounding. “If you don’t believe me, sir, you can contact my captain at Tirakhalod.”
“Who is your captain?”
“Te...Tev...” Suddenly the weight of her grief hit Jemeryl. The name would not form on her lips. She dropped her head so that no one would see the tears in her eyes.
“I don’t think we need to hear any more. Take her to the brig, sergeant.”
Jemeryl shook her head, mainly in despair at herself. Talking her way out had been a complete failure. She hoped that her backup plan would work better. Once night fell, she would have to break out of jail. Fortunately, the cell she was dumped in did not look as if it would present much of a challenge. She could be out of it in seconds.
However, to Jemeryl’s surprise, the sergeant returned less than an hour later with three subordinates, and in an unnecessary show of force, dragged her from the cell and frogmarched her to the large open parade ground in the centre of the compound. The escort then withdrew, leaving Jemeryl standing alone in middle.
The sun was setting, but it was still light enough to see normally. Jemeryl looked around in confusion. In front of her was the biggest construction in the compound, presumably either the army headquarters or the compound captain’s home. On the other three sides stood ranks of common soldiers, maybe as many as two hundred in total. Two officers stood in the corners at the rear.
The sound of a door closing drew Jemeryl’s attention back to the main building. Three more officers had emerged and now took up position facing the assembly of soldiers. The officer on the left of the group had slightly more embellishment on his uniform and a longer cloak than the rest, which Jemeryl guessed made him the one in charge.
The captain raised his voice to a shout. “We all know that there are temporary difficulties at the moment. And we all know that some people think they can take advantage of the situation. What I want everyone here to also know is that no one will get away with it as long as I am in command. All deserters will be executed on the spot. I want this to be an example to everyone here.”
The Empress and the Acolyte Page 25