The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition)

by Dusk Peterson

  Quentin-Andrew heard the priests begin to murmur amongst themselves, but this time he did not move his gaze from Dolan. The boy – no, the man – was staring down at the stone tier, scuffing the floor with his right sandal. He was unarmed. Quentin-Andrew held his breath, waiting for the warmth to come that had always come, but nothing happened except that something brushed his arm.

  It was the High Priest, stepping past him. He was headed toward the eternal flame on the altar, and as he walked forward he said, "We who worship the Unknowable God have never claimed the right to weigh men's deeds and judge men's eternal sentences. That right belongs to the God alone. The only right we have claimed is to ask the God to place a man under his curse if, in our poor judgment, it appears to us that the man has made no effort at all to follow the gods." He gave a wry smile as he dipped his hand into the crystal bowl of water beside the flame. "Never before have we been asked to show a man mercy for doing that which he believed the gods would condemn. Nevertheless, Dolan, your witness matches that which we received today, telling of the manner in which Lieutenant Quentin-Andrew died. And so we must conclude from this that Quentin-Andrew, though filled with darkness which blinded him to the true consequences of his deeds, was indeed willing to make deep sacrifices for the sake of his fellow men, and we know this to be the sign of a god-lover. Therefore, High Judge above all judges, we ask that you take our wishes into consideration in judging Quentin-Andrew son of Quentin-Griffith, and we request that you wipe from his forehead the ashes of cursing that we placed there thirty-seven years ago."

  The Jackal, dipping his golden claws into the water held up by the High Priest, replied, "I am the god to whom the son of Quentin-Griffith pledged his loyalty as a child; I speak the words of the Unknowable God above all gods. In the name of that Mystery which none may see but those who dwell eternally in the City of the Land Beyond, I declare that the son of Quentin-Griffith has turned his face toward the gods, and in so doing has become and was and always will be a servant of the God who created him." As he spoke, his claws touched Quentin-Andrew's forehead, and Quentin-Andrew felt the warm water dissolve the grime that lay there.

  Silence filled the chamber like a fine mist. Quentin-Andrew stared at the golden eyes of the god, dancing with brightness like fire upon a death-pyre. The god's snarling smile did not change. He gestured with his hand, still sparkling with water. "Come," he said.

  Quentin-Andrew turned to follow; then he found himself whirling to look up at the tiered chamber once more. Behind him, the priests were beginning to murmur again. The sound of their feet as they walked down the steps echoed on the other side of the chamber, where young Dolan still stood. Dolan seemed unaware that the trial was over. He was staring at his feet, and the hair falling in front of his face did not obscure the smile on his lips or the dream-look in his eyes.

  Warmth touched Quentin-Andrew. He turned his head, and saw that the Jackal was standing beside him, shining like one of the torches upon the wall. The god was waiting. After a long moment, Quentin-Andrew asked, "What will happen to him?"

  The god lifted his face, like a dog that has scented its prey. "Does it matter?" he asked in his soft, thunderous voice.

  Quentin-Andrew looked back at Dolan. The young man had awoken from his dreamlike state, and he was moving slowly now toward the exit, cautiously, as though he feared that someone would notice him and stop him. He no longer wore the bright-bordered tunic of an army official that the Commander had given him; he was dressed all in brown, like a priest or an orphan-boy.

  "Yes," said Quentin-Andrew, his voice faint against the sound of the priests talking. "He is my wine-friend."

  The god's voice, though quiet, continued to fill the chamber above all other voices. "He will die, killed by the daggers of war that you helped to whet. Yet because you granted him eight years' respite from his execution, he has had time to pass on his secret to another. And that secret, carried through the long night, will one day be a sheath upon the blade of war and lawlessness. In this way, the gods have accepted and transformed the sacrifice of pain which the son of Perry-John offered to us in the Chara's dungeon."

  Dolan, still moving cautiously, had arrived at the bottom of the steps now. He walked slowly forward, past the priests who no longer watched him, until he had nearly reached where Quentin-Andrew stood with the god. He had kept his face bowed till now, but his eyes lifted suddenly and met Quentin-Andrew's. For the moment between lightning and thunder, Quentin-Andrew thought that the eyes held recognition. Then, still smiling, Dolan walked without hesitation into the fiery god.

  Light flared, as though someone had thrown tinder upon a bonfire. Quentin-Andrew thought he heard a sharp cry, but whether it came from Dolan or from himself he never knew. When his vision cleared, he found himself standing at the foot of a dark hillside, looking down upon a dry moat.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A dry moat is what he thought he saw at first. It was hard to tell in starless darkness, though now a faint sheen of moonlight frosted the ground under the moonless sky. The moat itself, though, was darker than blackened blood, and a steady wind of icy air blew from it. Quentin-Andrew was standing at the lip of the moat.

  Then he looked harder and saw that the moat surrounding the hillside was in fact a series of long pits, each divided from the other by a wall of earth. Faintly now, he could hear sounds arising from the pits: gasps and moans and sobs and screams. He heard words too: curses and pleas and protests. And Quentin-Andrew knew, without lifting his eyes to look up the hillside behind him, where it was that he now stood.

  He turned his head. The god of death was waiting, his body dazzling in the blackness. Quentin-Andrew felt oddly calm, perhaps because he had anticipated this moment for so long. Yet still the question needed to be spoken. "Do you wish me to enter this pit?" he asked.

  "Do you wish to enter the pit?" the Jackal replied, his voice taking on the tone of a priest who is asking a ritual question.

  Quentin-Andrew turned his gaze once more toward the pit that lay at his feet. Moonlight was beginning to creep down its sides, which remained dark like the landscape surrounding Quentin-Andrew. Only the dullest shimmer of light revealed that the sides of the pit were composed of black ice. Deeper the moonlight crept, remorselessly slow, until Quentin-Andrew began to wonder whether the pit had any bottom. And then the light touched the floor of the pit, and Quentin-Andrew heard his own indrawn breath join the sounds arising from the pits nearby.

  At the bottom of the pit, bound loosely to the wall in glittering chains and manacles, was a tall man with reddish-white hair. He was alone, hunched over the dark ice on the ground; his face was hidden in his hands. It was a pose Quentin-Andrew had seen many times in other prisoners, and once again he expected the warmth to enter him, but it did not come. Nothing came except the cries of the tormented and the endless draft of cold.

  "Yes," Quentin-Andrew heard himself reply. "My service is unfinished."

  The creeping light reached the end of the pit nearest Quentin-Andrew, and as it did so, he saw a form take shape: steps leading down to the depths of the pit. He turned for a final look at the Jackal. His spirit hummed in anticipation, but his body was steady.

  "Enter, then, since it is your wish," said the god, "and leave again, since it is your wish. The pits hold only those who desire to stay there. All others, who have turned their faces toward the gods, may bring healing to the wounded, but no chains bind their spirits to this place."

  The light had now reached the mouth of the pit; it touched Quentin-Andrew and snuffed out. A glow remained in the air, however, and after a moment Quentin-Andrew realized that the dim light emanating from his body had grown bright enough to cast an aureola that pushed back the darkness around him. He took a deep breath, and without looking again at the Jackal, he placed his foot on the top step of the pit. Following the lamp of his own body, he made his way down the stairway, which had no bannisters.

  The noises from above dropped away as he travelled lower. The cold
increased. Soon, every breath he sucked in stabbed at his lungs, and through his boots he could feel the numbing pain of the ice. The silence was deeper than death. After what seemed like a journey of many days, Quentin-Andrew reached the final step, and there he paused, blinded by the darkness beyond him. Further ahead, he could hear the sound of aching breath; he followed it, as he had once followed the men he trapped. And so, in the end, he found the Commander.

  o—o—o

  The Commander of the Northern Army was just as he had been before: crouched on the ice, his hands folded over his face. Quentin-Andrew knew the other man from his hair and from the gold edging of his cloak, signifying his rank. Stopping a body's length away, he said, "Commander."

  The Commander raised his head at once and rose slowly to his feet. Though he stood within the dim light cast by his visitor, he stared with unseeing eyes in Quentin-Andrew's direction. "Lieutenant?" he said in a cautious voice.

  "Yes, sir." Quentin-Andrew found that his vision had sharpened, as it always did at such moments. He could see the throbbing blood-tunnel in the Commander's throat and the practiced stillness with which the Commander held his dagger-hand. The skin near the Commander's manacles was blue-white, and the Commander's lips were chapped and bleeding.

  "So they have captured you as well," said the Commander in a calm voice. "I feared the worst when you disappeared from the camp. Have they questioned you?"

  Quentin-Andrew paused a moment before answering; he was watching the Commander's eyes and gathering the information he needed. "Sir, why are you here?"

  The Commander sounded more hesitant than before. "I was captured, I suppose. We went into battle – you heard that? – and as we broke through the palace walls, I felt something hit my head. When I awoke, I was here." His voice grew more firm. "You didn't answer my question, Lieutenant."

  Quentin-Andrew walked forward and placed his dagger-hand in the Commander's. "I am well, sir," he said.

  The Commander briefly inspected with his fingers the unmarked hand and wrist before releasing Quentin-Andrew. "I'm glad of that," he said quietly. "Now that they have me in their hands, they won't bother you. They know that I have all the answers they need." His voice grew lower. "I have been trying to prepare myself for that."

  The dagger-pricks of coldness were beginning to dull Quentin-Andrew's mind. He shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts and asked, in a hard, precise manner that all too many men had known, "Who are 'they,' sir?"

  "The enemy, of course." The Commander's reply was immediate, with a note of surprise to it. "Those who are against us. The men who are destroying the Three Lands."

  Quentin-Andrew felt an easiness come over him then, as he always did in the moment when he learned which instrument would break the prisoner. Still he hesitated, wondering which of several paths to take to his destination. At that moment, a movement caught his eye.

  It came from the wall of the pit that glistened black under the light Quentin-Andrew cast: a faint color and movement, like the blue throb of a blood-tunnel that was sheathed by skin. Quentin-Andrew stepped over to the wall and wiped his hand across the face of the ice, feeling the coldness bite into his hand as he did so. Where his hand had passed, the opaque wall turned to clear crystal. Now he could see what lay beyond it.

  "Sir," he said in the respectful voice he used to lure his victims into unwariness, "will you come over to this window, please?"

  "Window?" The Commander's voice was uncertain.

  "Yes, sir; it's within a few steps of you. I think you'll find that your chains extend that far."

  Quentin-Andrew did not turn his head, but he heard the heavy clank as the Commander dragged his chains across the floor. A moment later, the Commander's arm brushed his, and Quentin-Andrew stepped aside to allow the Commander full view of the scene.

  After a minute, the Commander began to curse, steadily and with his usual restraint. "Those demons," he concluded. "Those heartless villains."

  "What are they doing, sir?" Quentin-Andrew knew better than to provide his own commentary.

  "Destroying a village. The men are imprisoned in a group – the enemy isn't allowing them to die quickly, the poor wretches. And the women and children— I cannot speak of it." He started to turn away, but Quentin-Andrew grasped his arm and held it fast.

  "What's happening now, sir?"

  The Commander sucked his breath in quickly. "How odd. I can see Capital Mountain now. I thought that this window looked out onto the north, and yet . . . No matter; the scene to the south is just as terrible. A bonfire is blazing, and the enemy is throwing objects onto it: books and harps and tapestries – everything that enriches the Three Lands."

  "I see." Quentin-Andrew's voice was colorless. "And is that all the enemy is doing?"

  "No, I— How odd, the window seems to point west now; I can see the setting sun. The enemy is destroying a law court. . . . Gods, if only I were free!" The Commander's arms tensed as he tightened his fists. "They are destroying everything civilized, everything the gods love."

  "I don't believe they are quite finished, sir," Quentin-Andrew said in a cool manner. "Can you tell me what the enemy is doing now?"

  After a moment, the Commander said in a weary voice, "We must be looking east; the landscape is night-laden. I can barely see— Yes, they are executing people. Law officials, bards who sing of the deeds of gods and men . . . The shapeless gods preserve us, they are even killing priests." The Commander's voice took on an edge. "When I leave here – and I will leave here – the enemy will pay for this in blood. I will see that each man who has done this pays his debt, and the men who ordered it will pay the greatest debt of all. They will regret the day they were born. Do you understand, Lieutenant? I want you to help me to punish these men."

  "Certainly, sir," Quentin-Andrew said in a matter-of-fact manner. "Including you?"

  The Commander had begun to turn away from the window again. Now he stopped and said, "Lieutenant?"

  "You wish the men who did this to be punished. Shall I punish only our captains, or am I to punish you as well, sir?"

  "Lieutenant, what in the names of the nameless gods are you speaking of?"

  "Look again, sir; the enemy is destroying another village."

  "I already saw that, and I have said they will be punished—"

  "Look at their uniforms, sir."

  A silence, and then the Commander said in a tight voice, "Rogue troops. They exist in every war, but I had trusted that I had my men under better control than that. I see what you mean, Lieutenant. The captain who allowed this to happen will be punished for his men's deeds—"

  "No captain ordered this, sir; the order came from you. Have you forgotten the command you issued concerning villages that harbor fugitives?"

  The Commander remained silent for several seconds. From where Quentin-Andrew stood, he could see the Commander's face, which was lit by the colors cast from the scene beyond. "Yes," the Commander said slowly. "I needed to track down the leaders of the enemy, and some had taken refuge among the villagers. It was a harsh move but a necessary one. With the enemy alive, I could not protect the villages against them. One or two villages must be sacrificed in order that the others—"

  "Here is the bonfire again," said Quentin-Andrew. He could not tell whether the fire was in fact there, but he dared not allow the Commander to continue down the path he was taking. He knew from experience that the Commander could lose himself for days in his thoughts of the greater good. "What uniforms are the soldiers wearing?"

  The Commander's voice turned quiet. "Our uniforms. I remember now. I ordered the destruction of the law books and the other objects that recorded the past history of the Three Lands. It was a hard decision but a necessary one. The law has grown corrupt – it must be purged of its evil elements, cleansed of its dark past. I wish to bring Koretia and Emor and Daxis closer together, to take another step in creating a single law for the whole of the Great Peninsula—"

  "Yes, sir," said Quentin-Andre
w. "Is that why you ordered the death of the priests?"

  "Of course," the Commander replied without hesitation. "Only the corrupt priests, the ones who had taken the side of the enemy. War is a terrible thing, Lieutenant; it brings the horrors of destruction and fear and torture. Little though I like having to treat men in such a way, it is necessary for the sake of peace. I want this war to be short; I want the Great Peninsula to lie in peace once more. With the enemy dead—"

  "I see." Quentin-Andrew allowed his voice to grow a shade colder, as it did when he was discussing matters with the Commander that entered into his own province. "Sir, who is the enemy?"