You were rather an unpleasant person, she said to him. I’m sure no one liked you. They are certain to hate you after I’ve finished with you.
Despite her boast that she could propel his injured body, it was so badly damaged she had to take the time to exercise some rough healing. Bones fused together, skin healed, and something akin to blood flowed through his veins. She had walked him backwards and forwards, perfecting his slightly waddling gait, laughing and taunting him all the while.
Now he stood at the lip of a giant hole in the ground. His friends—he truly thought of them as friends now, in contrast to the enemy that had hold of him—looked up at his greeting. He could not fight it. He was a puppet with the strings cut.
“Conal!” Stella cried, a smile on her face.
Inside his tiny prison Conal shrieked. Far, far better to be dead and gone than to watch this.
“Where are the others?” asked Noetos’s brat. “Where are my father and sister? Have you seen them?”
A memory stirred: a whirl of arms and legs, falling. A pact he’d tried to pull out of. Arathé explaining how one of them needed to die in order to break Husk’s hold on them all. His memories, lying open to Umu.
“I have seen Arathé,” she said through his mouth. “She and Duon are well.”
“Where are they?” pressed Anomer.
Not a question Umu could answer. “They will be here soon,” she temporised. “In the meantime, what are our plans?”
The cosmographer girl stared at her, at him. Conal tried to prevent Umu from accessing his memories, but she rifled through them. Bah, I know all that, she said. With her strange powers she will see through me very soon. Therefore she must be our first target.
“What has happened to you, Conal?” Lenares said as he drew closer, walking carefully around the rim of the hole.
Umu’s thoughts flashed across his mind like fireflies. “I was badly hurt,” he said, pulling a pitiful face. “About to die. But I used some residual magic from my captivity by Husk to heal myself. It is no wonder I appear different.”
Curse Umu’s cleverness.
“That could be it,” Lenares said doubtfully. “But who is Husk?”
“Sit down, everyone, and I will tell you,” said his mouth.
When they had done so, Umu began his sorry tale, tapping his memories. She kept largely to the facts, surprising Conal. The key difference was, of course, his death: Umu told her listeners that the combined effects of three falls were enough to break Husk’s hold over them. “He is now no longer a factor in this conflict,” she concluded, “likely licking his wounds in Andratan.”
“Andratan?” said half a dozen voices.
Umu quailed inside Conal’s body. She’d made a mistake of some kind perhaps. The priest rejoiced.
Kannwar stood, towering above him, his shadow falling across Conal’s face. “This voice controlling you called himself Husk and dwells in Andratan?”
Conal’s head nodded.
The tall man, possessor of so much power it unnerved even Umu, turned to Stella, his face clouded with anger. “I know who this man is. You and I, we have made a huge mistake.”
“Doesn’t anyone want to hear my plan?” Lenares said, but the others were no longer paying her any attention.
“I do, tell me,” said Conal’s mouth.
But even Lenares turned away, wandering over to where Stella and Kannwar sat, heads together.
Umu ground Conal’s teeth in frustration.
CHAPTER 8
SHIPWRECK
“I’VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING like it,” Kilfor said.
Sauxa stepped carefully over another body. “Course you haven’t. We’re from the plains, boy; we don’t get storms like that one, ulcers to its black soul. ’Cept, of course, the whirlwinds of 990. Now there were storms set to blow your teeth out your—”
“Enough of your foolish stories,” Kilfor said, not un-gently. “This was not a normal storm.”
“Oh? You’re an expert on Bhrudwan weather then?”
Kilfor pushed aside a splintered and broken pile of timbers. “No, of course not.”
“Well then.” The old man folded his arms, his smug expression indicating he thought he’d won the argument.
“But the people who lived in this village would have been experts,” Kilfor said. “If storms like this one were commonplace, they would not have been slaughtered like this.”
“Huh,” Sauxa said grudgingly, unfolding his arms.
The two men arrived at the end of the street. At least, it was the end of the street now: the paved road ended in a newly formed cliff twenty feet high. Between them and the sea, a hundred paces distant, lay a pile of mangled wreckage. The upturned hulls of fishing boats, timber from houses, large tree trunks, boulders and bodies—everywhere, bodies—were covered in a thin layer of sand. Seagulls and other winged scavengers fought over any morsel they could find, whether fish or human flesh. Beyond the wreckage, which stretched as far as Kilfor could see in either direction, the sea lapped gently.
The stench was unbearable.
“Huge waves smashed the village to a pulp,” Kilfor said. “The wind would have been bad enough: we’ve seen what it did to the farmhouses and barns inland. Like I said. No normal storm.”
Kilfor and Sauxa had made their way east and then south through the fringes of Patina Padouk, beginning their long walk home to Chardzou. They had seen the clouds forming out to sea, their plainsman’s weather sense warning them to hurry southwards. Even so, they had been forced to take shelter in a shallow limestone cave, while all around them the violent wind ripped trees up by the roots. They had sheltered for a day, venturing out only when the storm had ended, to find the great forest decimated. A few trees remained standing, stripped of leaves and branches, while the majority of the forest lay broken on the ground, bare trunks pointing to the northeast like accusatory fingers.
The two men had looked at each other for a few minutes; then, without a word being said, turned and made their way north, back from where they had come.
“Can’t leave Robal and his friends to deal with this,” Sauxa said eventually.
“They might need help,” Kilfor agreed.
“Even that magician might not have been able to protect them,” Sauxa added.
They had emerged from Patina Padouk—or what was left of its northern marches—on a bluff overlooking the remnants of a fishing village. There had been a pier, Kilfor thought, judging by the few bent piles some distance out to sea. There had been fishing vessels. They had passed two of them an hour or so back, wedged high up in trees. The men had wondered what else there had been, and what might be left.
Now they knew. What was left were flies, millions of them, and a liberal coating of debris.
“How many people do you think lived here?” Kilfor asked his father.
“A thousand perhaps. I don’t know. I’m not skilled at estimating the size of places like this.”
“Why not? You spent enough time inside their taverns and dosshouses.”
“Inside being the operative word,” the old man said.
There was no heart in their sparring, it was a reflexive action.
“No one alive.”
“I don’t know about that.” Sauxa leaned forward, better to look to his right along the beach, to where the coast curved around to a headland. “Look there.” He pointed. “Tell me what your young eyes see.”
Kilfor squinted. “There’s wreckage, lots of it. It looks like a boat—no, a ship. A large ship.”
“I could see that,” said his father. “What else?”
“Movement,” Kilfor concluded after a long look. “Can’t tell what.”
“People clambering over the wreckage?”
“More like birds, I think, after whatever food the ship was carrying.”
“We had better see if there are any survivors who need our help,” Sauxa said.
Kilfor laughed. “Better see if any treasure needs our help is what you mean.
”
“If we can’t help the people, we’ll help ourselves,” said the old man, chuckling. “Come on.”
The day was about done by the time the two plainsmen reached the wreck. As the fiery sun set behind them, it lit up the cracked and broken timbers of the ship’s hull with a golden glow. Spars and masts littered the beach around the shipwreck. Apart from the groaning of overstretched timber, the scene was silent.
“Where are the people you saw?” Sauxa asked.
“Hola!” cried Kilfor. “Anyone there?”
A flock of brightly coloured birds leapt into the air at his shout, arrowing away towards the headland to his left.
“No one. Come, boy, let us examine the ship more closely. It might be to our advantage.”
Kilfor felt uneasy about this. “Father, I have no objection to taking whatever valuables we might find. But Robal might be lying under a tree somewhere. I think we ought first to assure ourselves our friends are well before spending time searching for treasure.”
“Fine sentiments,” Sauxa said, smiling. “At first light tomorrow we head back to the place we left him. But we can’t travel anywhere now, can we? Look, the sun is about to set. Do you fancy walking through this land at night, with the bodies of the dead everywhere and debris ready to ensnare you? We’re here now; what harm in having a look?”
Kilfor had to laugh. The old man was clever still.
The travellers sat in a wide semicircle, Kannwar and Stella at its centre. Ten hard faces, all wearing accusatory expressions, sitting in judgment on them. Stella wanted to weep.
They had every right to be judgmental. The story Kann war had told was an evil one, with few redeeming features, and even Stella had not known it all. The bare facts seemed to confirm everything Falthans believed about the Destroyer and his consort. She knew that after the telling had ended they would be fortunate to keep any of their companions.
Deorc of Jasweyah was a very ambitious man, Kannwar had said. The mountainous land of Jasweyah was an amalgam of various kingdoms, always warring, requiring much intervention on the part of Andratan—until Deorc rose to power and changed everything. From being a drain on the Undying Man’s resources, Jasweyah under Deorc was transformed into a net exporter of men and produce. Kannwar rewarded Deorc for this by promoting him to Lord of Andratan Keep, second in the Bhrudwan Empire only to the Undying Man himself.
Deorc had not wanted the promotion, apparently being content to rule in Jasweyah, yet he could not resist the Undying Man’s summons. In truth, Kannwar told them, he promoted the young magician to keep him under close surveillance, fearing he would lead another rebellion. Deorc was clever enough to know this, yet not strong enough to refuse.
So began years of planning for the invasion of Faltha. Deorc lobbied to be granted the leadership of the Undying Man’s mighty army, but was refused. That honour would not be given to anyone but the Destroyer himself. Instead, Deorc was given the task of infiltrating Faltha and using his magical power to corrupt the Falthan leadership.
Instruere, Stella explained, was Faltha’s largest city, a city independent of the sixteen kingdoms that made up the land of the First Men. Here the sixteen Arkhoi—each an ambassador, the representative of their king—met to coordinate the government of the land. So it was to Instruere that Deorc took himself, and in Instruere he settled, beginning his task of deception and betrayal. He seduced members of the Council of Faltha, offering Arkhos after Arkhos whatever they desired, until he held a majority in the Council. Instruere’s defences were neglected under his dominion, and plans were laid to open the gates to the Undying Man’s army when, in the fullness of time, his master chose to invade.
But resistance had arisen in the form of a group of northerners, led by Leith and Hal Mahnumsen. Their parents had been taken captive by four Lords of Fear, a response to Mahnum having discovered the timing of the coming invasion. Leith and Hal, along with other villagers, pursued the Lords of Fear and rescued their parents, ending up in Instruere. Stella explained that she had been one of those villagers.
While in Instruere, she told them, she had fallen in love with a mysterious stranger called Tanghin. What she did not know was this man’s real identity. When her friends advised her against the liaison, she ran into Tanghin’s arms, only to discover him in magical communion with the Destroyer. Tanghin was Deorc.
Kannwar continued the tale. He told them how he had commanded Deorc to capture Stella, seeing something magical in her. Deorc complied, but his bitterness grew as he wanted Stella for himself. Stella seized on this and lied to Kannwar, claiming Deorc had taken her for his own. Enraged, Kannwar had engulfed them both with his blue fire, pulling them from Instruere across the world to where his army was encamped, waiting for the signal to invade.
“I tortured Deorc,” Kannwar admitted. “I had to know the depth of his treachery. I forced Stella to watch. Yes, I am ashamed of these things, but it was a time of extremity, and I had long ago abandoned the restraint with which ordinary people hedge themselves about. It soon became clear to me that Stella had tricked me. Deorc had not touched her. Yet he had acted traitorously. It was Deorc who had sent the four Bhrudwan Lords of Fear west to take Leith and Hal’s parents captive, because he wished to learn my secrets. Do you see? Had he not betrayed me, Faltha would have had no warning of my invasion. No resistance would have been raised and I would now be ruling throughout the northern world. To their betterment, though I accept Queen Stella sees this differently.
“I was angered beyond reason. I encased the wretch in filaments of magic, binding him in a place of near-death forever. He was entrapped in the seconds before death, eternally reliving the pain of his torture. This I judged sufficient to balance the great harm he had done.”
“You did it to frighten me,” Stella said, her eyes dark.
He nodded. “You were even more dangerous than he. If once you discovered the reservoir of magic the Most High had deposited within you, I might not have contained you. So I kept you frightened, unsure, always on edge.” He lifted his face to them all. “Of anyone alive, Stella Pellwen has seen the worst of me.”
“And this is the man who calls himself Husk?” Conal said, his voice high and sweet. “This man eternally on the cusp of death, his magic bound?”
“I have underestimated him,” Kannwar said. “Seventy years ago I bound him, and seldom have I looked in on him since. You see, with the loss of my other hand and my subsequent defeat, I was forced to re-evaluate my goals. My long years of planning for revenge against the Most High seemed a waste to me. In fact, as Stella can testify, I walked in the borderlands of madness for a long time.
“In my weakness I drew on all the magic I had, some of which I had invested in the bonds imprisoning Deorc. In my long path to healing I may have disrupted this magic, allowing him to free himself from his prison. It is the most likely explanation for what is a clear fact: Deorc of Jasweyah is now Husk and has become a formidable magician. I will tell you this, though it chills me to the bone. As Stella can attest, the way to make a great magician from a good one is to immerse them in suffering. Such has happened to Stella, though she is yet to test her limits. And such, I believe, has happened to Deorc. I have an enemy, and he is housed in my own citadel.”
“And he is your own problem, surely,” said Moralye. “Phemanderac ended up trusting you, though he was old and perhaps easier to sway. And I do not deny the things I have seen: how you have rendered aid to the Most High. Yet I cannot help thinking, along with Hauthius, that ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ ”
She turned to the others. “Why ought we be concerned about this Husk? Ought we not to seek this magician out and see what aid he can give us in defeating the gods? Might he not be a better choice to rule Bhrudwo than the man who, with his rebellion, broke apart Dona Mihst, the man who became by choice the greatest enemy of the First Men?”
“Aye,” Robal said. “We’re assuming that the man standing before us is a reformed character. But I say he i
s not. I say he is still the man whose army killed thousands of Falthan sons, orphaning a generation of children. If we trust him now, we will end up as amusements in his dungeon. For myself, I would see him dead, or at the least bound in the manner he bound Deorc.”
This is not going well, Stella said.
No, replied the Most High. Despite Kannwar’s masterful application of the Wordweave, there are still six of your companions who do not trust him, and one I cannot read.
The latter comment took a moment to penetrate Stella’s consciousness. But before she could question her guest, someone else had asked for clarification.
“How could we consider Husk a potential ally given what he made Arathé do?” asked Mustar, the young Bhrudwan fisherman. “I saw her tearing the Padouki apart with her hands and her teeth. What sort of monster would make an innocent girl do that?”
Sautea growled his agreement.
Robal snorted. “If he can do that much with hands and teeth, what could he do against the Destroyer with his magic?”
“We don’t want to bring one tyrant down only to replace him with another,” Moralye said. “We need to learn more about Husk before we decide anything.”
Kannwar is behaving with remarkable patience, Stella thought. The Destroyer I knew would have ground every nay-sayer into the dust.
“Are you proposing an expedition to Andratan?” Robal asked Moralye.
“No one enters Andratan without my blessing,” Kannwar growled, but only Stella heard him.
“No need,” said Conal brightly. “Wouldn’t it be easier simply to ask one who has suffered at his hands?”
The travellers agreed to listen to Conal’s tale. Only Lenares objected, wishing instead to regale them with her ideas of what they should do. But no one was in the mood to listen to the cosmographer, no matter how bravely she had behaved. More pressing mysteries had presented themselves.
“Husk ensnared three minds during his time in Andratan,” Conal said. “Mine, that of Arathé of Fossa, and of Duon, the explorer of Elamaq. With these three minds he planned to have his revenge on the Undying Man by using them to draw three groups of travellers from the three corners of the world. I ensured Stella came east, while Arathé drew her family, and others, north. Captain Duon influenced the decision of the Emperor of Elamaq to send an expedition, from which we have our cosmographer and her, er, paramour.”
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