‘Some of you believe that the Empire fell when the Palace of Cobwebs fell. It is not so. For the heart of the Empire was never there. It lies here, within these walls. Without the Black Palace, without the secrets and the lies and the abuse of chantment, there could have been no Palace of Cobwebs; no Imperial Court; no Emperor; no Empire. If we are to remake Merithuros, then we must begin here, here and now!’
Darrow was a slight figure, and he looked lean and spare in the simple black clothes he had worn since he came here. But in the dim light of the oil lamps, his fair hair shone like silver-gilt, and his grey-green eyes flashed as he threw his head back. The great square ring on his hand glowed with its uncanny blood-light.
‘Will we transform the Empire of Merithuros into the Republic of Merithuros?’ His voice echoed through the vaulted chamber. ‘Are you with me?’
Calwyn felt a chill of memory, thinking of Samis as he’ d stood in the tower in Spareth and called on them to help him, to unite Tremaris – One of the rebels spoke from where he lounged by the wall. ‘We’ ve been patient with you so far, Lord Sorcerer. But why should we share power with you, with the chanters?We want to take power for ourselves. That’ s what we’ ve worked for. Why should you cheat us out of that?’
‘You ignorant upstart!’ hissed one of the cowled Council of Three. ‘Our brotherhood are the true keepers of the Empire! Ironcraft built Merithuros, and we are the guardians of the Power of Iron. Our knowledge is sacred, and infinitely precious. The question is, why should we share power with you savages?’
Shada called out shrilly from the crowd of children. ‘We don’ t want anything to do with you – we’ ll join the rebels! You should never have sent us to that place!’
‘Selfish, ungrateful child! Your sacrifice was necessary so that we might all survive in peace! You forget, we saved you children. You think you would have survived as chanters out there?’
At once shouting broke out from all corners of the room. Darrow said nothing, but stood in grave silence, a slim upright figure, and gradually the silence spread out from him to the rest of the chamber. Into the quiet he said, ‘These debates are necessary, but later, there is no time for them now. The Army is on its way here.’
The shouting began again. ‘Impossible!’
‘He’ s lying!’
‘I suppose all the Seven Clans are coming as well!’ sneered one of the sorcerers.
Again Darrow waited for silence to fall, then he growled out a throat-song of chantment. Slowly he swung around to face the outer wall, and swept his arm in a series of wide arcs. At once a buzz of excitement rose as everyone, rebels and chanters alike, surged forward.
Darrow was opening windows onto the desert. As his song droned out, gaps began to form in the outer wall, small perforations in the black polished stone that grew into a long row of graceful arched apertures, until the whole side of the huge room was transformed into a colonnaded terrace, high above the ground.
The sorcerers staggered back, shielding their eyes from the flood of bright light. Some of the children yelled out and ran forward to hang over the edge of the windows, shouting and pointing. But Fenn and his fighters were less startled by the appearance of the windows – for anything was to be expected from these uncanny magic-workers – than by what they could see through them.
Long rows of soldiers were clearly visible, and moving closer to the plateau. Calwyn could make out their scarlet banners and the plumes on their bronze helmets. The lines of troops stretched back and back across the plain, a moving mass of metal, flesh and armour. And behind them, Calwyn glimpsed another straggling procession, less disciplined than the soldiers, and far gaudier: bright curtained litters and rainbow silks that could only belong to members of the Court. The chamber was in uproar. Hundreds of voices shouted at once, the black robes of the sorcerers rustled in agitation, and the rebels’ boots drummed as they stampeded to the arched windows and jostled for a view.
Darrow stood immobile on the stairs, arms crossed, watching the commotion he’ d caused; a faint smile played around his lips. Calwyn swallowed hard. She whispered to Tonno, ‘He looks – he looks like Samis, that day he blew the Clarion of the Flame. Do you remember, Tonno? How Darrow tried to make him speak, but he stood there, with his arms folded, just like that, and wouldn’ t answer – And the Ring shone on his finger –’
‘Aye. I remember,’ said Tonno grimly, and he tightened his grip on Calwyn’ s shoulder until it hurt.
But now Fenn had drawn his knife and leapt up the stairs beside Darrow. He shouted, ‘We must prepare for battle! We’ ll fight beside you, you magic-men, if you have the stomach for it! Or are you soft-bellied as worms, locked up in this dark box all your lives?’
‘Oh, no,’ hissed one of the Three Councillors, and though his voice was soft, everyone in the room heard it. ‘We will fight beside you, filthy and stupid as you are. If the Emperor’ s spawn think they can take over our Palace, our sacred home, we will show them –’
But then came a voice that Calwyn had not expected to hear: diffident, reserved Heben called out from the thick of the crowd. As he spoke, a space cleared around him. His face was flushed, and his words tumbled out, brimming with passion.
‘Must we fight?’ he cried. ‘Must we have war? For what?’ He waved his hand toward the windows. ‘Before we knew they were coming, we were ready to tear each other to pieces! Now we see a common enemy, we’ re happy to work together. Can’ t we work together without the enemy?’
‘But the enemy is out there, boy!’ exclaimed Fenn. ‘Do you want us to turn our backs and hope they’ ll go away?’
‘No – no! That’ s not what I mean.’ Heben was calmer now, but there was something in his voice that made everyone fall silent. ‘The Emperor is dead. The Palace of Cobwebs is fallen. Nothing will ever be the same! The Army shouldn’ t be our enemy – we should work with them –’
‘Heben is right.’ Darrow spoke quietly, but every head turned to listen. ‘We have the chance, here, now, in this place, to make a new Merithuros. We can build a land without Emperors and Princes. A land where chantment is no longer secret and despised. A land where the Seven Clans will live and work together, rather than quarrelling. A land where the Army is put to better use than marching around the Empire demanding food and dancing women –’
‘They’ ll find no dancing women here,’ said somebody sourly, and everyone laughed.
‘We must begin again!’ cried Heben, and his eyes blazed in his thin, ardent face.
Darrow nodded. ‘As soon as we begin to fight, we begin to make the same mistakes all over again. The Army and the Court, the rebels and the chanters, the miners and the Clans. . .You may despise them, they might hate you, but they have much to teach you, just as you have much to teach them. If we are to build a true republic, we must welcome them. And then we must begin to talk to one another.’
The chamber erupted; everyone shouted at once. Darrow stood in the eye of the storm, with a calm half-smile. Fenn tried to control the uproar, hauling some speakers up to stand beside him on the stairs, holding up his hands for quiet, and from time to time there was a lull in the noise, and individual voices could be heard: pleading, persuading, bullying, cajoling, fierce and passionate voices. Heben’ s voice was prominent among them, and before long he stood beside Fenn and Darrow on the steps, arguing fervently. The din roared around Calwyn, and she swayed against Tonno’ s sturdy side.
‘Let’ s go outside, lass,’ he said in her ear. ‘This is no argument of ours.’
Calwyn nodded, and allowed him to shepherd her from the room, with his strong arm around her shoulders. They slipped out into the quiet of the polished corridor, and at once saw Mica hurrying toward them, her sandalled feet pattering on the black stone. ‘What’ s all that racket?’ she cried. ‘I could hear it all the way from Halasaa’ s room!’
‘Is Halasaa all right?’ asked Calwyn anxiously.
‘Just the same – he ain’ t no worse. Maybe better. He’ s sleepin now
, a proper sleep, none of them dreams.’
Calwyn bowed her head; she felt that she couldn’ t face that oppressive little room where Halasaa lay lost in his wilderness of pain and shadows.
‘The Army’ s right outside,’ Tonno told Mica. ‘Darrow opened up windows.’
Mica’ s face lit up. ‘Let’ s go out and see em! Oh, let’ s get out!’
Calwyn said, ‘Perhaps the doorway Darrow sang is still open –’ Impulsively they set off through the hushed rooms, leaving the echoes of the debate behind them, until the only sound they could hear was their own footfalls. Calwyn hurried ahead, down ramps and staircases. Now that Mica had suggested it, the confused longings and clamouring in her head had firmed into one desire, to get out of the Palace. Partly she was impatient to escape from the stale air and the stifling shadows, but it was more than that. Something tugged at her, like a chantment of iron that pulled at her mind. Faster and faster she hurried on, until she was almost running, and Tonno and Mica had to trot to keep up with her. The temperature rose steadily as they approached the outside of the building, and before long they stood in front of the imposing doorway that Darrow had opened.
For two days it had stood ajar, but a disapproving sorcerer had sealed it again only the night before.
‘Oh, no!’ cried Mica, her face pinched with disappointment.
‘I can open it!’ exclaimed Calwyn wildly. ‘I can, I can open it!’
Behind her back, Tonno and Mica exchanged a look; Tonno shrugged. Calwyn closed her eyes and stretched out her hands, and let her mind fall into a state of relaxed attention. Her longing to be outside was so strong that it overwhelmed her misgivings about practising ironcraft. The chantment murmured in her throat. She felt for the crack where she could insert the delicate wedge of her song, and found it. Slowly the crack began to split apart. The notes of her chantment were a lever that gently, almost imperceptibly, forced the stone asunder.
Her eyes were still shut as she felt her way. But she heard Mica give a gasp of excitement behind her, and Tonno’ s indrawn breath. And then came another noise, a long low groan, like the breath of the Black Palace itself, as the huge stone door swung open.
Calwyn opened her eyes. A bright square of red sand and azure sky gaped before them, and at once Calwyn ran out into it. Mica followed, whooping and throwing her arms into the air. Tonno shook his burly head as if to clear the clinging shadows of the Palace. A flock of hegesi grazed on the plateau not far from the doorway; they lifted their heads for a moment and gazed blankly at the intruders.
Calwyn stepped back, shielding her eyes, and stared up at the smooth black wall of the Palace. There, about a third of the way up, was a series of small holes: the arched windows that Darrow had punched into the wall of the meeting chamber. A few little faces peered out: some of the chanter children, enjoying the view they’ d never seen before. Mica waved, and the children waved back.
‘Look.’ Tonno stared to the north. ‘They’ re not far off.’
The nodding plumes and banners were at the very foot of the plateau, splashes of colour that bobbed and fluttered against the red dust, and the late afternoon sun glinted off the helmets and spearheads of the soldiers.
Shouts of command began to drift toward them. ‘Halt! Siege stations! Load catapults!’
The soldiers broke ranks and swarmed forward to assemble their weapons. Calwyn recognised the Mithates war-engines that Trout had described: catapults for hurling fire, and huge sledges, piled with boulders that the soldiers must have collected on the other side of the Lip of Hathara. The cohorts teemed around the foot of the plateau like ants around their nest. Behind the catapults were other troops, equipped with ropes and hooks, ready to scale the escarpment when the Palace had been breached. There were archers with their bows already raised, and soldiers tending huge iron cauldrons, filled with flaming tar.
Calwyn stood watching, with her hand above her eyes. She felt paralysed and dizzy, as if she were floating away from her body. The whole scene was drenched in thick orange light from the declining sun.
Tonno touched her arm. ‘Better go in, Calwyn. We don’ t want to be caught in the middle of the fighting.’
‘We are in the middle,’ said Calwyn, dry-mouthed. ‘If not for us, none of this would be happening. Fenn was right. I can’ t make it go away by shutting my eyes.’
‘We can see everythin – and we can run if we have to!’ cried Mica, her eyes shining.
‘Come inside!’ urged Tonno once more, but Calwyn shook off his hand.
‘No! No!’ Something like panic rose in her. She had to stay outside. She allowed Tonno and Mica to lead her behind the shelter of a low wall of stones that marked the boundary of a garden, but she would not crouch down. She had to see, she had to stay here, with her feet on the ground. She didn’ t know why it was so desperately important, only that it was.
The soldiers moved rapidly, with terrifying efficiency. Already a boulder had been loaded into the cup of one catapult, and Calwyn heard the cry go up: ‘Release!’ The restraining ropes flew free, the cup rose majestically upward, and the boulder, the size of Fledgewing’ s dinghy, soared into the air. There was a sickening crash as it slammed into the black marble wall of the Palace, punching an ugly splintered hole.
‘Can’ t you stop em, Cal?’ cried Mica. She believed that Calwyn could do anything.
A shower of sparks flew between the Army and the Palace: a hail of arrows, their gleaming heads caught by the sun. Most glanced off the stone and fell back, useless, into the dust, but some whistled with deadly aim straight into the hole. Calwyn gasped, and flung out her hands to the soldiers, as if pleading could bring a stop to this.
The soldiers with ropes were writhing up the edge of the plateau, hauling one of the catapults after them. ‘Get down!’ roared Tonno, shoving Mica behind him. But Calwyn stepped forward, inexorably drawn closer to the battle.
She was dimly aware of a strange sound behind her: a growling, buzzing, unearthly music, howling out across the desert. But it was Mica’ s cry that made her spin around, even before she heard the noise that followed. It was a noise that engulfed all other sound, a grinding, screeching noise so loud she thought her head would split in two.
Calwyn spun around in horror, clutching her ears. It took her a moment to comprehend what she saw, so extraordinary was the sight. The Palace was moving, gliding silent and ponderous as an armoured ship across a dry sea of sand. And it was moving toward them – Tonno grabbed Mica by the arm and pulled her away, his eyes wide with disbelief and horror. Calwyn swayed, frozen to the spot, as her mind whirled. The engine, the demonic engine – only Darrow knew the secret – Darrow must have set it off – ‘Calwyn! ’ Faintly Mica’ s desperate scream reached her, and at last she found she could move her feet, and she ran.
Breathless, she stumbled after Tonno and Mica, feet pounding across the dirt. Clouds of red dust swirled around them until they coughed so hard they could no longer run. ‘It’ s all right,’ gasped Tonno at last, tears streaming. ‘It’ s not coming after us –’ Calwyn spun round: he was right. The three had run to the west, toward the setting sun, and their shadows stretched back to where the Palace loomed close to the edge of the plateau, scattering the troops who had scaled the rise. As they watched, the vast war-engine halted, then changed direction, gliding back across the plateau, crushing the sorcerers’ gardens to pulp.
The procession of courtiers had almost caught up to the soldiers on the plain, but the sight of the moving Palace had thrown them into bewildered chaos. Curtained litters were dropped, and courtly ladies and gentlemen peered out, covered in dust, and exclaiming in distress. Servants fled in every direction, and laden hegesi bolted, bleating. Through it all, Calwyn could hear the shouted orders of the Army commanders, the clash and clatter of arms, and the hiss of swords being torn from their sheaths.
‘There must be war now!’ she cried in despair. ‘What’ s Darrow thinking?’
‘Darrow? Darrow never done this!’ said
Mica vehemently.
‘But he must have!’ Calwyn was almost in tears. ‘No one else knows how!’ With her heart in her throat, she stared up at the roof of the Palace. Was that movement there, a small dark shape darting? She squinted in the thick light of sunset.
The Black Palace, engine of war and destruction, sailed inexorably onward. ‘Release!’ yelled the soldiers, and another huge boulder smashed into the Palace. Black splinters showered Calwyn, Mica and Tonno, and they flung up their hands to protect their eyes.
Calwyn gasped. With that impact, she’ d seen movement again, at the very edge of the roof, and this time a dash of colour too: pink. She stared, and blinked, and stared again. ‘Mica, look! The roof! I think – I can see Keela!’
Mica peered upward. After a moment she said, ‘That’ s her all right. You think she set it goin?’
‘It’ s impossible,’ said Calwyn. ‘Only a sorcerer –’ She stopped. There was that splash of pink, and beside it, another, smaller figure, difficult to see in the fading light. The one in pink was Keela, she was sure of that. How did she get here? And who was that with her, that small figure – small enough to be a child – Mica jumped, and gave a little scream. ‘Calwyn! It’ s Oron! Ain’ t it? Can you see?’
‘Yes,’ breathed Calwyn. Oron and Keela, in league together, somehow. . . It was Oron who had set the Palace going, not Darrow. She felt as if a great weight had lifted from her.
The soldiers loaded the catapult on the plateau, but before they could release the cup, the Palace swung around again, and they were forced to scatter. The sharp polished corner of the cube crunched down onto the catapult, splintering it into a thousand pieces, and grinding the boulder into dust.
What must it be like inside the Palace? Calwyn had been on a boat tossed by a fierce storm. She remembered her terror as she’ d slid helplessly along the deck, not knowing which way the ship would pitch next. She pictured how the Palace’ s inhabitants would slip on the polished floors, how their heads and limbs would slam into those unforgiving marble walls. Halasaa, Darrow, Heben, the twins – Goddess, let them be safe! She put her hands to her head. Was that a voice in her mind, pleading for help? Halasaa? Is that you?
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