Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms

by Bevan McGuiness

  ‘She’s part Mertian,’ Ileki said. ‘And her idiot brother used daven to give him visions which he used as mindless party tricks. Daven is illegal in Lac’u, so they wanted to go to C’sobra to get more. We were betrayed and sold.’

  Myrrhini scrambled to her feet and spun around to stare at Waarde. ‘Part Mertian?’ she gasped.

  ‘Yar,’ Ileki said wearily. ‘And once they —’ he stabbed a finger at the collection of men walking and riding around the wagon, driving a line of shackled prisoners ‘— find out…’ He let his voice tail away.

  ‘What?’ Myrrhini prompted.

  ‘You really have been sheltered, haven’t you? A Mertian woman is worth more than you would believe to a slaver. Even a pathetic mongrel breed like this one is worth a fortune. If they sell her, every one of them will be able to retire rich.’

  ‘And a full-blooded Mertian woman?’

  ‘An Eye? Beyond price.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Two reasons — a tame Eye could be kept drugged and be in a near permanent oracular state. The possibilities are staggering. The other is the Acolytes. I hear they have an Eye at the moment, but when she’s dead — not long from what I know about daven use — they will pay anything to get another. And there aren’t many left.’ Ileki gave a tight grin. ‘A ragtag bunch like this could ask whatever their limited minds could imagine and the Acolytes would pay it, and consider themselves lucky.’

  Myrrhini stepped back from the bars. ‘I had no idea.’

  Ileki shifted to face her. ‘You really are an inno —’ His grin froze and his eyes widened as several pieces of information clicked together in his head. He slowly stood, sniffing like a dog. ‘Ice and wind,’ he breathed. ‘You’re her. The Eye.’

  Myrrhini looked around in a panic. ‘How can you …?’

  ‘Daven,’ Ileki said quietly. ‘You reek of it.’

  ‘You can smell it, even under all this?’ She gestured at the filthy dress.

  ‘I can, but not too many others would.’ He looked down at Waarde. ‘She might recognise it, from her brother.’

  ‘But, even if I used it, surely you can’t tell … the other thing you said.’

  Ileki shook his head. ‘I am a Reader from Leserlang. Only a Mertian could take that much and live.’ He gripped the bars and pressed against them, as if to somehow get closer, to keep others out. ‘You’re Myrrhini.’

  Myrrhini paled. ‘You know my name?’

  ‘Everyone knows your name. The last known Eye of Varuun, the Oracle of the Acolytes, the Great Deceiver, the Eater of the Julle. Yes, the whole world knows of you, Myrrhini.’

  35

  Slave kept going as long as he could before the pain, the exhaustion and the hunger slowed, then stopped him. On his left, the vast Lac’un farmlands still stretched to the horizon, but the forest on his right had disappeared, to be replaced by scrubby bush. The sun was high in the sky. Thirst battled with the hunger and he knew he needed to find water soon. He lay under a stunted tree, seeking whatever shelter it might offer.

  Sleep crept upon him, but some time later the sounds of conversation intruded. He sat up. In the distance he could just make out a small group of farm workers.

  Though busy with their work and clearly engrossed in their conversation, they stopped when Slave urged his protesting body to stand up and wave to them. Slave tried to call out, but his voice failed him, as did his legs moments later. He collapsed weakly and listened as their running footsteps approached.

  Shadows loomed over him as the workers gathered around his prone figure.

  ‘Never seen anything like it …’

  ‘… underdweller …’

  ‘Nar, too dark …’

  ‘… that sort of weapon before …’

  ‘… alive?’

  Slave groaned as he tried to talk and the conversation ceased.

  ‘Better get him some water,’ a man said.

  ‘Yar. I got some.’

  Slave felt a hand lift his head up and the spout of a bottle was forced, none too gently, between his lips. Lukewarm water poured into his mouth. He coughed and spluttered, but swallowed greedily.

  ‘Ice me! How long since you took a drink, stranger?’ one man asked.

  ‘Two days,’ Slave croaked.

  ‘Same for food?’

  Slave nodded.

  ‘Here.’

  A chunk of bread was thrust into his hand and he bit it hungrily. It was dense — coarse and grainy — but wholesome and filling. Slave chewed and swallowed, feeling the weight of the meal. When he was finished, he offered a grateful nod to the men gathered around him. They were all dressed in simple clothes with sturdy boots on their feet. Their faces were weather-beaten and lined as they stared down at Slave.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ one man asked.

  ‘Chasing slavers,’ Slave said.

  At his words, there was an indrawn breath from all the men, who seemed to move slightly away from him. Glances were flicked over shoulders and some fists were clenched. Slave shook his head.

  ‘They are a day ahead,’ he said.

  ‘Where were they from?’ the man with the water bottle asked as he offered Slave another drink.

  Slave swallowed deeply again while considering the question. He did not know, but had suspicions.

  ‘C’sobra,’ he guessed.

  ‘Yar, the ice kissers,’ the man said with a knowing nod. ‘They do that.’

  ‘Why?’

  Nervous smiles broke out among the men. ‘Money, man. Money. What else?’

  ‘Where would they go?’

  More glances were exchanged as the brief flickers of smiles vanished. ‘Venste.’

  ‘Where is that?’

  ‘It’s more a keep than a town. Just inside the C’sobran border. Long way that way.’ The man rose and gestured with his arm in a generally north-eastern direction. ‘Dangerous place,’ he added.

  Slave finished the bread and forced himself back up onto his feet.

  ‘Thanks for the food and water,’ he said.

  ‘If you’re thinking of chasing down slavers on your own, you’re welcome to it.’

  ‘Here,’ said another man, pressing a water bottle into his hands. ‘Take this.’

  ‘And this,’ said another, urging him to take some more bread.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ yet another man asked.

  Slave hesitated as he accepted the bread. It was a question he had not been able to answer for himself throughout his long run. Why was he chasing down the remaining slavers? What was he hoping to gain by his pursuit? It was not as if he owed the Sana anything. And Ileki? Just who was he chasing? Was he really aiming to free the two of them, or was he simply chasing down slavers?

  At his hesitation, a low, knowing chuckle ran through the group of men standing around him.

  ‘A woman,’ the man with the water bottle announced.

  ‘Yar, a woman,’ agreed another.

  ‘How do you know?’ Slave asked.

  The chuckle became laughter. ‘My friend,’ said one, giving him a slap on the back, ‘when a man does something this stupid — it’s a woman. Believe me, it’s always a woman.’

  ‘Stupid?’ Slave repeated.

  ‘Chasing a troop of slavers alone. Without food or water, and only that as a weapon. Yar, that’s stupid.’ The man jabbed a finger towards the Warrior’s Claw at Slave’s waist. ‘What is that, anyway?’

  Slave pulled the weapon out from his waistband and held it up. The blades glinted in the brilliant sunlight. He thought about what he could say: how he came by it, what had owned it before him, what it might yet cost him. But there was only one thing he would say.

  ‘It’s mine,’ he said softly.

  Something in his tone made the farm workers step back. To a man, their earlier expressions of concerned curiosity faded, replaced with nervousness. Slave shoved the Claw back into his waistband.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. He went to leave, but hesitated. ‘You sai
d that way?’ He gestured in a vaguely east direction.

  The man who had pointed the way shook his head, either in disbelief or resignation, before nodding. ‘Yar, that way will take you to Venste.’

  Slave tried to jog, but was still too weak, so instead he walked away from the farmers, trying not to hear the words of discouragement they muttered among themselves.

  Slowly the sky above shifted from brilliant blue through to indigo blackness. Stars appeared, together with the twin moons, but their feeble light served only to half illuminate, obscuring rather than showing.

  With his overall physical weakness, the hunger and a gnawing feeling of anxiety over the wellbeing of the Sana and Ileki, Slave was less focused and more susceptible to the panic of a night in the open stretched uninterrupted to the horizon. His eyes adjusted quickly to the night, but his attention was more on what he could not sense, rather than what he could see. There were no walls, no ceiling, nothing. Anything could come at him in this space, and with the wind stirring the odours and sounds, he was more blind than he ever was underground. Terror gripped him. His trained, disciplined mind started once again to crumble.

  In his mounting panic, he ran. The grasses whipped at his body, turning any exposed flesh into a network of tiny scratches as the sharp-edged leaves drew blood. He screamed and pushed his body on, driving himself beyond exhaustion, beyond what it could normally stand. His limbs felt on fire, with every step sending a spearing thrust of fresh agony into his tortured mind while his chest screamed for air. Sweat flooded off him.

  His foot caught in a small hole and he was catapulted forwards to land heavily. A white flash illuminated the inside of his head and darkness took him.

  Slave awoke to agony in his limbs and the sharp stab of sunlight. He groaned and attempted to roll over, but could not move. At first, he considered it was simply his body protesting at the abuse it had suffered, but the rope tied around his wrists quickly corrected him. His eyes adjusted to the brilliant light and he was able to make out the face of a slaver.

  ‘It awakes,’ the man said with a sneer.

  ‘I remember you,’ Slave hissed.

  ‘Good. It makes introductions easier.’ It was the axeman who had captured Waarde and Ileki. Slave snarled and struggled against the ropes, but the knots were well tied. The axeman stepped back and held Slave’s Claw up to the sunlight. ‘I hope you have no idea what this fine weapon is worth, because if you did, you would try even harder to escape.’ He lowered the Claw and waved at the men around him. They moved forwards as a group and lifted Slave from the ground, carrying him a short distance before tossing him over the back of a horse. Consciousness faded again as the horse started to walk.

  He drifted in and out of wakefulness. Food and water were offered to him occasionally, but he lost track of time and place until he was dragged off the horse and thrown roughly into a cage mounted on the back of a wagon.

  There was another person in the cage with him. He struggled into a sitting position to see who it was. A woman with thick black hair and deep blue eyes stared back at him with shock.

  ‘The Scarred Man,’ she whispered.

  36

  The streets were chaos come to life. Flames leaped from windows, smoke filled the air along with cries, screams and maniacal laughter. Armed Duregs, all bearing the twin scars, ran wildly, slashing at anything in their way.

  Keshik led Maida through the insanity, shielding her with his swords, his body and his scars. Whenever drooling Duregs or wild-eyed humans ran at them with sword or axe raised, Keshik stood between them and her. The attackers either died at his intervention or, seeing his scars, they shied away, seeking another target.

  The noise and smoke and destruction built with breath-taking speed until it seemed to Maida that the whole world must have gone utterly insane. Houses tumbled into rubble as the flames ripped through the city while the ground beneath their feet rumbled and trembled. People were running like ants from a destroyed nest — directionless and furious.

  Maida quickly became lost as she ran with Keshik through the chaos that used to be Vogel. He often had to drag her on as she paused to stare in shocked disbelief at some new scene of horror. Keshik was able to separate his own feelings by reminding himself that he had to get Maida away before this maelstrom of violence engulfed them both. While he was confident of his own ability to fight his way through such ill-disciplined brawling, Maida could not. She was still weak from her ordeal and her mind was scattered. As Keshik ran, he gripped the hilt of the magical glowing sword Sondelle had given him, holding it before him. It was lighter than his metal blade and would hold its edge, no matter what he had to carve his way through.

  But the milling crowd filling the main city square gave him reason to question his confidence. The whole area was alive with people, most of whom seemed to be shouting. No, not shouting — roaring. Keshik tried to discern words in the din, but everyone he could see, at least those with the scars across their faces, was only making sounds, like animals. He held Maida behind him as he approached. Behind them, others followed, as if drawn.

  A sharp, high-pitched squeal made him look away to his left to see a woman who had just slashed herself with a dagger. Blood coursed down her cheek and across her jaw to drip onto the ground: her face was contorted into a mindless, obscene mix of agony and ecstasy. She raised her wounded face to the sky and joined the chorus of roars, brandishing her bloodied dagger at the unheeding sun.

  ‘Ice and wind,’ Keshik gasped. He had seen manic frenzy before in men taken by the bloodlust of a battle, but never anything like this. ‘How did this happen?’ he whispered.

  A shattering bellow erupted from the middle of the mob. Keshik looked up and saw the huge black form of the creature he had seen earlier rise over the crowd. It brandished its fists to the sky and cried aloud again.

  ‘Come to me,’ it roared. ‘All my servants come to me and find my Chaos.’ The whole crowd seemed to lurch forwards as a single entity. Keshik and Maida were forced along with them.

  ‘My Beq has risen and is abroad in the world. He bears my mark truly and wields my Claw. It is he who released me. It is he who commands you. It is he you must follow. He is my Chaos Bringer, my Flame Warrior. He strikes with my power and carries my blessing. It is he who will rebirth my people and with him we will bring this world to its knees.’

  ‘Where will we find him?’ a brave voice called out.

  In response, the gnarled creature turned and pointed north. ‘He travels north, to the realm once held by the Acolytes. Hasten there and bring my Chaos to the world they now have left.’

  The beast smashed down buildings, clearing a path for them. Behind it, its Chaos legion poured over the wreckage like a storm. Keshik and Maida, totally caught up in the mass of humanity, were swept away as the baying host surged north. Flames leaped up as if by magic wherever they went and nothing was left behind but rubble and bodies.

  ‘Keshik,’ Maida gasped. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Stay close, keep your head down and hold onto me. I will look after you.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Shhh. There’s nothing we can do now. Just keep up.’

  The crowd rushed on past the burning wreckage, trampling over bodies, works of art, gardens, anything in their way. Around them, Vogel seemed to flinch back, but the fires were spreading rapidly and many members of the throng had split away and started to follow them, spreading out to visit more chaos on the mortally wounded city.

  Keshik slowed his pace a little.

  Crazed, scarred and bleeding, members of the out-of-control tide pushed past him and Maida, leaving them behind. When they were at the very tail, Keshik stopped and sheathed his sword.

  Maida pressed herself against him and stared over his shoulder.

  ‘Where are they going?’ she whispered.

  Keshik watched as the mass of people advanced over the wreckage. The noise of its advance was blurred into a single rumble, like the voice of a vast living crea
ture.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘But we need to get away from it.’

  ‘It?’

  ‘The thing in the front.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Keshik just shook his head slowly. ‘I have no idea. But I think I know where it came from.

  ‘We should go.’

  ‘Where?’

  He turned her to the east. ‘I have never been on a ship,’ he said.

  The docks were deserted. Keshik and Maida walked past empty anchorages and silent warehouses in search of someone, anyone, who had a seaworthy craft, but it appeared that they had all taken their leave of Vogel. Likely, too, they had helped others seeking escape from the burning city. Any captain taking to sail with such frantic passengers would have made more from that one trip than he would normally have made in several.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Maida asked.

  ‘Keep looking. There is bound to be someone left — someone who held out for too much, or was too slow, or is just stupid.’

  ‘Do we want a stupid captain?’

  ‘Even a stupid captain would be better than me.’

  Maida smiled.

  ‘You haven’t smiled for a while, Maida,’ Keshik said.

  ‘Nothing to smile about.’ She looked along at the empty wharf, her gaze taking in the smoke hanging over everything, the scattered remnants of hurried flight, the damage. ‘We have to get away from here. How did it happen so fast?’

  Keshik shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Only evil happens fast,’ said a voice.

  Keshik whirled around, his swords drawn. A man stepped out of the shadows. Seeing the swords, he paused and raised his hands.

  ‘Steady, man,’ he said. ‘You’re a jumpy one, aren’t you?’

  Keshik advanced and rested his metal blade on the man’s chest. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

  ‘Name’s Iskopra. I heard you’re looking for a skipper.’

  Keshik pressed a little harder on his sword. ‘Who said?’

  ‘You did, man, just then. I heard.’ Iskopra gave an ingenuous, gap-toothed grin. ‘And I’m not stupid.’