Like a nest of termites, Bruno caught himself thinking. The comparison seemed harsh, but somehow apt. To a man, the workers were immersed in their daily routine, those now leaving the houses hurrying to relieve the workers returning home. But all seemed to Bruno to be in good heart, and, if most ignored him or greeted him only with the most cursory of nods, then he guessed it was because they were focused upon the day to come, or else the rest that would be their reward for their labours. He stood a while longer taking in the extraordinary scene, then walked on.
The communal quarters gave way to a road lined with storehouses, and then, in turn, to a street occupied by a huge, smoke-belching armoury, its red-bricked chimneys standing like sentries against the sky. Bruno took his time, stopping to look through the open gates and between doors, marvelling at the intensity of the heat generated by the mighty furnaces within. Outside the gates, teams of horses hauled wagons slowly up the hill past Bruno, each wagon laden with the produce of labour: heavy broadswords, axes and pikestaffs fashioned from fresh-minted steel. Truly, Bruno reflected, this was a people readying themselves for war. Could the rest of the world really have left themselves so unprepared?
Turning the corner at the head of the road, he came to a plot of open ground framed by tall, spindly trees. It was a rare enough sight in the citadel. Bruno remembered noting the scene during their journey the day before, and congratulated himself on regaining his bearings. He remembered the square as empty save for the trees, and a squat, rectangular structure at its centre, flanked by statues of the gods Taal and Ulric. Bruno had marked it for a temple or shrine of some sort.
Now, he looked on, puzzled, wondering if his memory had deceived him. The yellowish shell of the building had been almost split apart, ripped open by a tall finger of bleached white stone shaped like a pillar that had burst through the roof of the other building. Both of the statues had been felled. The holy gods lay upon the ground, their likenesses broken into several pieces.
Bruno stood and stared at the improbable structure that seemed to grow from out of the ruined temple. It looked to be made of some kind of marble, and rather than climbing straight as a chimney might, bent and twisted along its length, giving Bruno the absurd impression that it had grown up out of the ground. The column stood taller than any of the trees, and was carved from top to bottom with runes of the most intricate design. There was no way that he could not have noticed it before, and equally surely no way that such a large and elaborate structure could have been built so quickly. The white marble glinted in the sunlight, teetering above the older structure like a predator over its prey.
So distracted was he by the sight that Bruno did not notice Hans Baecker walking towards him until the two of them were almost face to face.
“What’s the matter?” Baecker demanded of Bruno, cheerily. “Are you lost?”
“No,” Bruno replied, shaking his head forcefully, hoping either memory or vision would resolve itself. “But I’d swear that yesterday that pillar—or whatever it is—wasn’t there.”
Baecker edged forward, and took a few steps around the temple, keeping a careful distance. “What are you saying?” he asked at last. “That all this has been built overnight?”
“Not all of it,” Bruno said. “Just the pillar.”
Baecker looked the pillar up and down, taking in its considerable height and the carvings etched upon its surface. “That seems unlikely,” he replied, doubtfully. “We work hard here in Sigmarsgeist, but, all the same…”
“I’m sure I’m not imagining it,” Bruno went on. Then laughed. “But, perhaps I am! Perhaps I’m actually seeing things. In which case,” he added, “only one way to find out.”
Hans Baecker began to utter some kind of caution, and he reached out to catch hold of Bruno. But Bruno was too quick, he slipped through Baecker’s grasp and darted towards the temple. If the strange, snaking pillar of stone was real then he would touch it with his own hands. Or, better still—his sword. He marched forward. At the same time he heard a sound from somewhere above his head, a sound like something cracking or splintering off. Bruno looked up, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the direct sunlight.
The next thing he was aware of was something dropping down out of the sky, a sliver of stone the shape and size of a blade. The fragment struck his outstretched hand and broke into a dozen smaller pieces. Bruno cursed loudly and staggered back, blood pouring from a deep cut in his hand. “Taal’s breath,” he swore. “That’s my sword hand.”
Hans Baecker ushered him back from the courtyard of the temple, muttering condolences. “I was trying to tell you,” he said. “Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”
Bea, too, had chosen to use her time that morning for exploration of a sort. The young healer had set off in search of solitude, a quiet place where she could try and come to some understanding of the conflicting emotions at war inside her. She explored the grid of narrow lanes that ran beyond the palace, high above the rest of Sigmarsgeist. Finally she found a bench which allowed her a view that stretched across the lower levels of the citadel, towards the outer walls. She sat down in the warm sunshine, and stayed for a while watching the incessant movement in the distance. Lines of men, and women too, bearing their loads of stone, raising the line of the wall towards the sky, ever higher, ever more impregnable. Elsewhere, further along, the existing structure was being demolished and a new wall was being built beyond it, like a belt being loosened to accommodate an ever-swelling belly.
Bea stared at it all, the figures of the labourers and their scarlet escorts, stared at them hoping to find an answer to the question that would not leave her. Why had the gods brought her here? She was certain this was not the work of chance. But, for as long as she waited, she found no answer in the silent toiling of the tiny figures upon the walls. All they spoke of was the relentless march towards war, final and inevitable.
Bea turned abruptly at a light touch upon her shoulder. Anaise von Augen was standing over her, an expression of gentle curiosity upon her face.
“Oh!” Bea said, startled. “How long have you been standing there?”
“A while. I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so peaceful.”
Bea stood up, feeling suddenly awkward and exposed under the other woman’s gaze. “Not so peaceful, actually. I think I was in search of peace, but I’m not sure I found it.”
“I’m sorry if it was I who disrupted that peace,” Anaise replied, contritely.
“Not at all,” Bea assured her. “The cause is all my own.”
Anaise turned her expression to one of concern. “What are you feeling?” she asked.
“Confused.” She saw no need to be other than truthful. Anaise took Bea’s hand and sat by her. “Now, tell me,” she began, smoothing her skirts. “I want to know what is troubling you.”
“I’m confused. Confused about myself,” Bea began, after a pause for thought. “Don’t misunderstand me, Anaise. All this—” she made a sweep of the citadel beneath them with her hand. “All of this makes perfect sense. I understand what you are doing here, I really do. And yet, yesterday, below ground—I’m sorry, I—” she broke off, lost for words.
“It’s all right,” Anaise said, softly. She reached for Bea’s hand again. “I know. I could tell it disgusted you. It made you think you could never be a part of such savagery, whatever the motive that lay behind it.”
Bea nodded, almost imperceptibly. Anaise sighed. “My brother and I have spent many nights of conversation, arguing into the small hours about such things. I do not expert you to understand, nor to accept. I understand your revulsion, Bea.”
“But do you understand this?” the younger woman countered. “Do you understand why I find myself drawn to this place, drawn by a force so powerful I can feel it even here? Drawn for no purpose that my reason can explain?”
“Well,” Anaise replied. “Much talk here has been of warriors. Of men like Stefan and Bruno, who could perform great service for Sigmarsgeist. But I thi
nk you would be of equal, if not greater value to us, Bea.” She squeezed the girl’s hands between her own. “Truly, I do.”
Bea shook her head in emphatic denial. “That’s exactly it,” she said. “I wouldn’t. Look at all this—” she indicated the citadel again. “I’m a healer. My work is amongst the sick, the diseased, the dying even. Sigmarsgeist fairly bursts with vigour and health. You have no need of me here, no need at all.”
Anaise got up, and stood for a moment, letting the sunlight play upon her upturned face. Then she looked down at Bea. “I think there’s something you ought to see,” she said. “Something I did not share with the others yesterday.” She looked around. “My carriage is close by,” she said. “It’ll be quicker that way.”
She extended her hand, and smiled, encouragingly. “Will you come?”
* * *
They rode back towards the centre of the citadel, and the palace. Neither spoke. Bea passed the time looking from the window, marvelling at how Sigmarsgeist seemed busier by the hour, like a voracious bloom, constantly growing. Inside the palace it was cool, and quiet after the bustle of the streets. Anaise led the way to a suite of chambers a single floor below ground. A soldier in the white of the elite guard escorted them through a set of heavy oak doors, and then they were alone. No guards, no distant screams. The two women stood within the eerie stillness of the inner sanctum.
“Few people ever come here,” Anaise murmured. “Not even my brother.”
Bea looked around. They were inside a circular chamber, lit by the dim glow of candles fixed at intervals around the walls. The room was unfurnished except for four chairs set facing a rounded turret or basin that sat waist-high in the centre of the chamber. The whole place smelt of dry antiquity, and was obviously far older than the rest of the citadel. Bea immediately knew that beneath the stillness in the room, the energy was stronger here than anything she had sensed before. She steadied herself against the upright back of a chair.
“What is this place?” she whispered. “Why have you brought me here?”
Anaise gave no direct answer to her question, “I know your secret,” she said instead, and smiled, knowingly. Bea’s face flushed a guilty red. She turned away from the other woman. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “What secret?”
Anaise drew the younger woman to her, taking her gently in her arms. “It’s all right,” she assured Bea. “We’re the same, you and I. The others don’t understand us. But we know. We can feel it, can’t we?”
Bea broke away in a sudden panic. She had the feeling that Anaise was looking directly into her soul. “I don’t understand,” she protested. “What—”
“Magical energy,” Anaise said. She clasped hold of Bea’s hands, and steadied her, forcing her to meet her gaze. “You can feel it, can’t you?”
Bea looked up at Anaise and a signal passed between them, an unspoken complicity. “I feel it,” Bea confirmed. “I can feel it here more than anywhere.”
Anaise led her towards the centre of the chamber. The two women stood with their backs to the raised, circular wall. Bea was at once aware of something flowing into her, powerful and irresistible.
“Turn around,” Anaise commanded, softly. Bea waited a few moments longer, then obeyed. She knew, sooner or later, she would have no choice. She found herself gazing down into a shaft which disappeared into the darkness far below. The faintest of breezes wafted up from the bottom of the shaft. Bea breathed in, and gasped, involuntarily, as her mind connected with an invisible force.
“This is why you came to Sigmarsgeist,” Anaise told her. “All that you have been searching for is here.” She pulled Bea back from the edge of the parapet. “Steady,” she advised. “It will overpower you if you’re not careful.”
Bea took a step back. Her head was still swimming. “What… is that?” she asked.
“This is the most ancient part of the old city still remaining,” Anaise told her. “The shaft passes right through the core of Sigmarsgeist. It goes deeper than we went yesterday. Far, far, deeper. I did not bring your comrades here,” she said. “They wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m not sure that I understand,” Bea said, slowly. But she felt impelled to look again. Gingerly, she edged towards the open shaft and stole another glance inside. Immediately, she felt something spark inside of her. The sensation lasted no more than a moment, but it was unmistakable, nonetheless. Anaise caught sight of her confusion, and laughed.
“Careful!” she cautioned, smiling broadly. “You are like I was at first. You cannot resist it. Take care, or it will consume you.”
Bea’s heart was pounding. She took a deep breath to free herself of the sudden intoxication. “What is it?” she asked.
“It is a well spring of magic,” Anaise said. “The shaft runs right to its source. Whoever built it long ago was tapping into the unimaginable power that lies buried deep beneath the world. People are frightened of such things, but you and I understand the good that they can do.”
Bea nodded, confused and awed. She knew, and yet she did not know, not really. “I have given it a name,” Anaise continued. “The Well of Sadness.”
“Sadness?” Bea asked. “How can such a wondrous thing speak of sadness?”
“Because the well is dry,” Anaise explained. “At some time in the past the shaft has been blocked, or else the waters that fed it have ebbed away.”
“The waters,” Bea echoed. Somewhere in her mind the pieces of an ancient puzzle were coming together.
“You know,” Anaise said. “You believe. You speak its name, even to those who do not believe.”
Bea had to cling on to the other woman to keep herself from falling. She felt overwhelmed. The words were on her lips but now she could not speak.
“Tal Dur,” Anaise said at last. “The waters of Tal Dur that once rose here.”
Bea nodded. It must be so. Nothing else could account for the power she had felt flowing into her body. “Imagine,” Anaise went on, “imagine what we could achieve, what ills we could heal, if only we could tap into its mighty power once again.” She turned Bea’s face towards her until she was looking directly into the other’s eyes.
“Like me, you have longed to find Tal Dur. Tell me it’s so.”
“In my dreams I have often stepped into its waters,” Bea whispered. “And through its divine will, I have brought healing to the world.”
Anaise smiled at her, indulgently “So pure,” she murmured, “so beautiful.” She ran her fingers through the copper curls of Bea’s hair. “You should grow your hair long,” she told her. “Grow it long like a priestess of Shallya.”
Bea twisted away. A frown crossed her face. Anaise stepped back, giving the healer space. “No, not a priestess,” she corrected herself. “The sisters of Shallya do not countenance the healing powers of magic.”
“No,” Bea said quietly. “They do not.”
“But we believe,” Anaise said. “And our belief will endure. Tal Dur is here, somewhere very close,” she said. “And, with your help, I shall find it.”
Stefan had stepped to one side to allow the stocky figure of Rilke past. But now he found himself more than curious to hear whatever it was that Rilke was so anxious to discuss with the Guide. As the White Guard went to close the door to the chamber behind him, Stefan held firm, keeping it open. Rilke glared at him with an undisguised loathing.
“If you want to pit your strength against mine, mercenary, then we’ll find a place that will do justice to the argument.”
“I’ve no interest in fighting you,” Stefan told him. “But if you’ve come to say something to the Guide about my comrades or I, then I want to hear what it is.”
“What I have to say is none of your business,” Rilke spat. “Whether it concerns you or not.” He hauled upon the door, putting all of his strength into pulling it away from Stefan, but Stefan held his ground. The two men stood with the door between them, going nowhere.
“Enough!” the voice from within the chambe
r commanded. “Both of you, step inside.”
Konstantin’s face was a mask of contained rage. “Men of good faith must not enter into conflict,” he told them. Stefan and Rilke exchanged wary glances. Neither spoke.
“That is how our enemies will divide us,” the Guide stated, curtly. “You are both of you fools if you cannot see that.”
“I apologise,” Stefan said at last. “If you wish, I’ll withdraw.”
Konstantin waved his offer away. “No,” he said. “Rilke has been ill-mannered. Our guest will stay, and hear whatever it is you have to tell me.”
Rilke executed a short, graceless bow. He looked far from happy.
“It would be better that we spoke in private,” he said.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Konstantin concluded. “Now, speak.”
Rilke looked from the Guide to Stefan, and back again. The expression on Konstantin’s face made it clear he was not to be swayed.
“So be it,” Rilke said, stiffly. “I bring news from our scouts on the western plain. They have found a gang of marauders, close on two score of them, riding south.”
“Do we know who they are?” Konstantin asked. Rilke glanced again at Stefan before continuing. “They may be remnants of the defeated Chaos army at Erengrad.”
“Good. Very good, Rilke.” Konstantin turned his gaze towards Stefan. “It seems the opportunity for you to exercise your blade has come sooner than either of us could have expected,” he said. “You wanted to take the fight to our enemies. Now you have the chance.”
CHAPTER NINE
Seek and Destroy
Through the long days of captivity, Alexei Zucharov had had at least one thing in abundance. Perhaps for the first time in his life he had time to contemplate his past, and his future, to search what memories remained of the man he had once been and to explore the first stirrings of the creature that he was to become.
[Stefan Kumansky 02] - Taint of Evil Page 12