by Sam Bowring
‘I think,’ said Despirrow, ‘it has a better chance than heaping the slain at the foothills of the Roshous.’
Braston sighed. ‘I ask my soldiers to fight, to die, for me. How will they react when they learn I don’t stand with them?’
‘My friend, you’ll do them greater service if you end Regret once and for all. The sooner he dies, the more of them you’ll save. Trust me, they will thank you for it.’
‘If we succeed.’
‘If we succeed.’
Braston made a vexed noise. ‘Would that I had not been born a threader, just a simple king instead.’
‘Your commanders are worthy,’ said Despirrow, ‘and there will be other leaders on the Fields. Have some faith, Braston – it will not fall apart for lack of your gaze.’
Braston grunted.
They entered the throne room, which was unusually empty. At a fountain near the entrance stood the sole occupants – Mergan, with the band of threaders he had scoured Aorn to assemble. Despirrow recognised only one of them – Karrak, prince of Ander, had visited Althala during more peaceable times. Approaching with Braston, Despirrow took in the rest.
There was a bald fellow dressed in leather, his skin a little sooty. A slight girl in a flowery dress tugged nervously at her auburn hair. A soft-faced man in travelling clothes had a serene, unfocused gaze. And a young woman in a white robe, with startlingly white hair, could only be the Priestess Yalenna. Despirrow found his gaze lingering upon her, but he forced aside any lustful thoughts. This was a serious group, put together for serious reasons. There would be plenty of time for romance once the world was safe.
‘Ah,’ said Mergan, ‘Braston, Despirrow – welcome. Let me introduce you to the rest of the Wardens.’
‘Wardens?’ said Braston.
‘It seems a fitting name,’ said Mergan, ‘given the purpose for which we’ve come together.’
‘And how did you go about finding these fine folk?’ said Braston. He moved before them, bowing slightly to Karrak, who returned the gesture. ‘What was the standard by which the best threaders in Aorn are judged?’
Although his tone did not imply disrespect, Mergan stood a little straighter. Braston was still king here, and it seemed he was not letting anyone forget it.
‘Well,’ said Mergan, ‘perhaps I should let them show you.’
Despirrow awoke with a stiff neck in the afternoon, the last doldrums of ale still curling in his veins. Wardens indeed, he thought, annoyed by the dream. That name had lost all original meaning, replaced these days with the hate and fear the likes of him had imbued it with. The Despirrow who had given Braston patient counsel, and silenced his own desires at will, was long gone. Thinking about him now was like trying to remember the details of childhood – a few disconnected images, some vague impressions, and not much else.
He wanted water, badly. In his mind’s eye he saw the crystal surface of the Lumin River, bubbling happily under the bridge into Saphura.
Damn it. I have to get out of this nowhere.
He stood and, with a flick, banished all dirt from his clothes and skin. He tried to recall where he was – somewhere between the Temple of Storms and Althala, not that far from Saphura by foot, really – and forced himself to go through the mental preparation for the move. Some minutes later he was on his way, the hot fields fading past him as his threads realigned to the distant point.
He felt nauseous as he stepped out of the air, onto a path hemmed by trees and waxy ferns. A quick scan of his surrounds showed no one about to register his arrival, which was good, because he didn’t feel like being delayed by any killing. Before him a bridge hung over a ravine some twenty paces deep, through which the Lumin ran. The bridge swung slightly as he stepped onto it, enjoying the coolness that issued from beneath. On the other side, the path continued on and disappeared around a low hill, which housed a gaping cave mouth he didn’t remember.
As he walked towards it, he saw something strange. On one side of the path, before the cave mouth, was a clear, rocky area. There, some of the groups of smaller rocks were rattling together, as if something beneath them was trying to dig out. Suddenly the rocks took off, floating directly up into the air. He waited, watching, until they grew to distant specks.
Things quieted down.
The Spell ails, he thought.
He knew that he was partly to blame – corrupted, as it were. That was what made his enemies so righteous about hunting him, beyond the simple drive to stop a villain. Despirrow understood that was what he was, what he had become, but it didn’t bother him – he enjoyed being him. And if the world was coming undone, he was damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy that too, while he could.
He felt bolder as he approached Saphura, more inclined to squeeze the town for honey. He followed the path around the hill, and down the slope ahead. Along the Lumin, blue-tiled buildings smiled at him. White froth milled about stone wharves that broke the river’s flow, and the doughty little boats tied to them.
It was a relief for Despirrow to see a place so familiar, a place he sentimentalised. He’d had some good times here.
Had that been before the change, or after?
He frowned, not quite sure. Maybe both.
With a shrug and a jolly bounce in his step, he made his way down the hill. As he neared the edge of town, a sight stopped him in his tracks.
‘Ah,’ he said.
A little way off the path, across grass, nestled between copses of trees, colourfully attired locals gathered around a makeshift stage. Upon it stood a beautiful young woman in a flowing green dress, the groom beside her beaming his fool head off. Between them was a white-robed priest bearing the lightning insignia, listening to them speak their vows, and making the breeze whistle about them.
My weakness, my joy.
Of all things that were hard to resist, weddings topped Despirrow’s list. To take the bride in full view of her friends and family – rutting at her would-be husband’s feet, his ears unhearing of her pleas, and then leave her there, weeping, as time came back, bloodied and bruised and sullied – oh, there was no greater thievery! So ultimately selfish, such an act of pure taking, debauchery divine.
He stepped from the path, all thoughts of whorehouses forgotten. His encounter with the Spell had made him reckless – time was ticking by, and who knew when he might be presented with such an opportunity again?
‘Despirrow.’
The voice froze him even as he’d been about to freeze time. One more moment and it would have been done. Instead, coldly, angrily, he turned to take in the equally chilly eyes of his old comrade, who stood under a tree, camouflaged in the shade against the sight of others.
‘What are you doing here?’ spat Despirrow.
‘Saving you from yourself, it seems,’ said Salarkis.
‘Find me later if you want to talk. I am occupied.’
‘I see what you’re about, Despirrow. Don’t you think they might be closely watching, waiting and listening for any sign of us?’
‘I do not fear Braston.’
‘How about he and Yalenna both? Don’t you think they’ll hear about a strange happenstance, in which a bride claims to have been raped during her wedding ceremony … or simply disappears, if you planned to kill her once you’re done? Don’t you think it will bring them to you like wasps to maggots?’
‘I can be gone from here afterwards.’
‘Before you even step foot in Saphura? Don’t you wish to see her streets again, drink her wine?’
‘I’ll let you have a turn!’ hissed Despirrow. ‘After me, you can have what’s left of her!’
Salarkis chuckled. ‘It would not appeal to dip my fish in the sop of your handiwork, even if I had the fish … which I do not, or have you forgotten?’ He grew steelier. ‘It’s not just Braston and Yalenna after us, Despirrow. It’s Karrak too.’
Longingly Despirrow stared as the couple leaned in for a kiss to seal their union. As the onlookers cheered and cried, he knew his preci
ous moment was lost. Oh, he could find her later, but it would not be the same – she would just be another woman then, no longer the bride on her wedding stage.
Salarkis’s last words finally trickled into his brain.
‘What?’
‘Karrak. He is no longer one of us. He has gone over, joined them.’
‘No.’ Despirrow couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Karrak? Turned good? I don’t believe it.’
‘It is, however, true.’
‘Why? How?’
‘He has been alive the whole time we slumbered. Time has changed him, for better or worse, depending where you stand.’
The couple stepped down to move between their guests, who showered them with petals. Despirrow scowled.
‘That is unwelcome news.’
Though he had never liked Karrak much in the first place, it was still difficult to believe they were now true enemies.
‘Take heart, comrade. You can still have your fun. Just choose wiser victims.’
‘I am not some weasel slinking in dark alleys! I take,’ Despirrow thumped his chest, ‘who I want!’
Salarkis shrugged. ‘If you wish. Meanwhile I shall threadwalk far away, for Saphura will be ruined for us all.’
Despirrow’s shoulders sagged.
‘Come, my friend,’ said Salarkis. ‘You have gold, do you not?’
‘Of course.’
Briefly he remembered the fat-pursed merchant he had met on the road, and his beautiful daughter. That had been the first instance of stopping time since he’d been back, the double reward too much to resist.
‘Saphura still has whores, no doubt,’ said Salarkis. ‘Ease your lust in a common way, just this once, as a favour to me. When you have done so, in the aftermath of clarity, you will know that I was right. If not, curse my name, and do as you will.’
Reluctantly Despirrow knew that he was being given sound advice.
‘What about you?’ he said. ‘Are you still Forger’s errand boy, come to counsel me to return to his side? I will get there, in the end. I’m just taking my time.’
‘No,’ said Salarkis. ‘I’m no one’s lackey.’
Despirrow scoffed.
‘I guess you could say,’ Salarkis continued, ignoring the slight, ‘that I am taking my own time too. Which doesn’t mean I can’t look out for my comrades in the meantime. Stealer is dead –’
‘So that is true.’
‘– killed by Karrak –’
Despirrow grimaced.
‘– leaving only you, I, and Forger as … allies. The odds are not stacked in our favour as once they were, Despirrow. I only hope that Mergan is mad enough to be no help to our enemies.’
‘Mergan? Mad?’
‘He was locked in Regret’s tomb for three hundred years.’
‘How do you know all this? Have you been having any conversations I should know about?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Salarkis with a wink, ‘when I listen, people do not know I’m there.’
He gave a mocking little bow, and unravelled.
The commotion from the wedding grew louder, and Despirrow realised they were heading towards him, no doubt to carry the festivities into town.
He turned away, not wishing to look upon what had been denied him.
As Yalenna made her way through the castle to her quarters, Captain Jandryn emerged in front of her, heading in the same direction. She drifted along behind him for a while, her soft shoes making no noise on the carpet. For some peaceful moments all other thoughts left her as she found herself admiring his well-turned calves. Then he glanced around and saw her, and the tweak of a smile on her lips vanished.
‘My lady,’ he said, stopping to wait.
‘Hello, Jandryn.’
He fell into step beside her. ‘I was just on my way to see you.’
‘Oh, yes? What should I know?’
‘Er …’ He glanced about. She wondered if reporting to her made him anxious, as she was not officially part of the castle hierarchy. ‘I just wanted to see if you … wanted anything done?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘I wonder if there’s been any word of Despirrow? We are hoping to track him.’
‘Nothing I know of, my lady.’
‘Braston has already instructed his threaders to keep their ears open, but if you hear anything, come to me first. Especially anything about strange rapes and assaults on women.’
Her words made him uncomfortable. ‘I will, my lady.’
‘Good. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m quite tired.’
‘Of course.’
They were halfway down a corridor without an easy exit, though it was clear to Jandryn he was being dismissed. Awkwardly he turned and went the other way, trying to make it appear that he had some purpose in that direction. Yalenna smiled a little at his discomfort, finding it somehow endearing.
She reached her quarters and, upon entering, found Salarkis sitting in her armchair by the window.
‘Hello,’ she said.
Salarkis gave her a wan glance. ‘Despirrow is in Saphura,’ he said. ‘Thought you’d like to know.’
As seemed to be becoming his infuriating habit, he disappeared.
A SWIRL OF LEAVES
Braston led the way onto the bridge. It was important for him, thought Rostigan, to go first, to be bold. Or maybe he did it naturally, instinctively. Either way, let him.
Underfoot the Lumin gurgled along happily, somehow putting him in touch with the deep place – with all the rivers he had ever crossed, as if water was a continuum. His skin prickled, and he felt alive; the sun on his skin, the cool vapour rising from beneath, the smell of trees, all simple sensations combining to form a moment of near-painful connection. It was comforting to know that there were forces in the world greater than he, older, outside his control.
‘Are you coming?’
This from Yalenna, spoken softly, and he realised he had been loitering at the end of the bridge, as if the final step would change things. He took it, and it did. Peace left him, as he remembered what they were here to do.
They moved along the path, past a hill in which a cave mouth yawned. Curious, Rostigan went to look inside – he didn’t remember seeing it before. It was not very large or deep, and he thought it seemed man-made. What had someone thought they would find in there?
‘Come on,’ said Braston impatiently.
Around the bend the path sloped down towards the town. Saphura was a pretty place, its shiny blue buildings and white cobbled streets hedged in by wood and river, so closely that town and nature were almost intermixed.
Tarzi was fond of this city, he remembered. They had come here once together and spent several days doing not much of anything. He wished that she was here now, that they were heading to the riverbank together, where he would smoke his pipe and watch her fish, eventually snoozing in the shade. There was something about the constant sound of running water that already made him feel half-asleep.
The town itself, on the other hand, was quite noisy. The streets were full of bustle, and there was plenty of activity around the docks. They approached from the lesser travelled direction, and on the other side of town to the north the snake of a wider road was visible, wrapping around hilltops to jaggedly follow the river.
They moved down the slope and drew level with the town. Although the Wardens were dressed modestly – the other two had shed priestess’s robe and king’s cape for more commonplace garb – they still attracted a number of stares. Rostigan did not think it was because they were strangers, for Saphura’s fish trade and decadent reputation brought visitors from far and wide. Perhaps the three of them – he grim with a large broadsword slung across his back, she beautiful and smooth and sure, and Braston a tower of muscle – simply made for a striking group. The thought did not warm him, for they did not want Despirrow noticing them first. He quickened his step and caught Braston by the arm. Braston, whose eyes had been sweeping back and forth across the street, snapped around, tenser than
Rostigan had thought.
‘Have you spotted him?’ Braston asked intently.
‘He will spot us, if we continue charging down the middle of the main road.’
‘We should split up,’ said Yalenna. ‘He can avoid us less easily that way.’
Braston gave a fierce nod.
They turned from one another to go separate ways.
As she slipped through the crowd, Yalenna hoped Salarkis had not tricked them into coming here – that she hadn’t led Braston and Ka— … Rostigan … on some kind of distractive chase, or into a trap.
I do trust him, she told herself, if only because I want to.
Lacking a method to zero in on Despirrow with any certainty, she thought it best to start by checking the brothels. Unlike with some towns, Saphura’s brothels were not all cloistered away in some district of ill-repute. Here they were attached to taverns, or stood proudly amongst other businesses displaying their names on signs carved with suggestive silhouettes. There were more of them than she remembered, and she wondered how the local fishermen avoided running into their daughters … but then again, many daughters had probably escaped their families elsewhere, to come here. Sons, too, she thought, as she eyed off two muscular youths accompanying a pair of older women dripping in gems.
On the other side of the road she saw Rostigan going through a swinging doorway into a plush-looking den. Inside she caught a glimpse of scantily clad girls on tabletops, around which men sat drinking from silvery mugs. Plush, but not plush enough – and there she found her method. She needed to locate the best, most expensive place there was.
She stopped at a street stall where dried fish hung on ropes over bowls of shiny berries. They looked quite delicious, though there were a half a dozen stores just like it within sight. The storekeeper, who seemed ill kept and sweaty under his freshly laundered clothes, watched her with hopeful eyes.
‘Can I help you, miss?’
‘I need some information,’ said Yalenna.
‘Oh,’ he said, evidently disappointed. A blessing sank into him – rats will never steal from your larder – but he would not guess that he was far richer for the interaction than he would be from any simple sale of produce.