‘Your ability. It’s connected to your emotions,’ said Andres, getting up while a fretting Cesar removed the cobwebs from his hair. ‘And when your life is in danger it protects you.’
‘Think what you could do,’ said Tommy. ‘Break down walls. Level buildings. Command the earth to eat up anybody you disliked; anybody you hated. And who could stop you? Who would have the power?’ The boy’s voice was peppered with envy and excitement. ‘You alone have control.’
Lysander paced closer in a white swirl, booming: ‘This gift is not for frivolity and parlour tricks.’
‘She was just having fun,’ bristled Tommy.
‘Fun? The Aether can be a source of great darkness and when you drink from it, it drinks from you. Drain too much and you risk your very humanity. Does that still sound like fun to you?’
‘He didn’t mean any harm, Lysander,’ said Anna softly.
Lysander bore a hole into Tommy with his stare, lifting it now. ‘I am pleased that you are learning to control your power, Anna. I mean only for you to use it wisely.’
‘And I shall.’
‘What a shame,’ came a voice, feigning depression. ‘Personally I think you should have kept him up there. Venecians are terribly pongy.’ Lysander spun his head around to see Kara waltzing down the stairs. ‘Isn’t anyone going to say hello?’
‘H—’ Tommy got a whack from Cesar before he could finish.
‘A boy after my own heart.’
‘What do you want, Lady Kara?’ asked Lysander.
‘I’ve come to tell you that Elderly Francis dutifully requests our presence in the palace of dust.’
‘Our?’ asked Mateo.
‘I do not stutter, foreigner. We are to depart from the monastery in an hour. Please hurry along. Francis said there was going to be gifts and I would like to know whether gold will be involved. I suppose any such items will be of that tacky material that leaves a green mark on the skin.’
Elder Francis sat through the quarrel in his office chair, shutting out the medley of abuse, slang and malapropisms. He smelt the saliva on the side of his index finger and tried to think of a synonym for “sensible”, resorting to “judicious” though it did not capture the exact texture he wished to convey. The letter he was writing almost got covered in his cup of tea by a stray shoe, but he brushed it aside and finished writing, sealing his letter with hot wax.
He had convened the youngsters to resolve the situation cordially. Their response, Lysander and Mateo notwithstanding, had been dissatisfying. When a temporary lull came he embraced it, working his way towards them. ‘It is not for me to decide whether this girl comes with you on your quest.’
‘Then don’t,’ came a voice.
Elder Francis frowned. ‘On the basis of the accounts I have received, it appears that she is an adept fighter, besting even you Lysander.’
‘Elder, I do not think that is—’
‘And she has knowledge of alchemy that may prove advantageous on your journey through mire, jungle and desert. Who knows what creatures lurk in the shadow ready to nibble, mm?’
The blood drained from Tommy’s face.
‘This is no epic quest, Elder Francis. Tommy and I intend to travel to the desert; the Venecians departing for their homeland from Mezbollah,’ said Anna.
‘And you have no map or idea of where you’re going or what you’ll find there. If these boys are to leave you, then two extra sets of hands will be essential to your success.’
‘Two?’
‘Lysander will be joining you.’
The news hit Lysander like a bolt from the blue.
‘Your training in the safe confines of this monastery has come to an end, Cleric. We can teach you nothing more. You will apply what you have learned in the wider world and escort Anna on her expedition. On your arrival at the daevan settlement you will hand the leader this, whoever she may be.’ Elder Francis tapped Lysander’s hand with the letter when he did not immediately take it from his hand.
‘I have no problem with the monk, but the rogue? We cannot trust her; she will betray us,’ bridled Cesar.
‘And do what? Steal your filthy Venecian tabard? You should think yourself privileged that I’d consider travelling with you barbarians. For all I know you may put me a pot and leave me to stew.’
‘Stringy meat is not to our taste.’
‘Why would you want to come, Kara? You have everything you need here and this is not going to be a pleasant anecdote for you to regale a dinner party with,’ said Anna.
Rubbing her locket, Kara said, ‘You can have money and still want. I have never left Old Haven. I do not know what is outside of these walls; what awaits me. And I intend to find out, one way or another.’
‘Her skills would be useful,’ admitted Andres.
‘I am not going anywhere with her unless she swears to treat us with respect. Especially Mateo.’ Cesar pointed squarely at Kara’s mug. ‘He has more good in him than you will ever know.’
The room looked at the Trickster for a response.
‘What?’
‘Do you swear?’
‘I will try to bite my tongue when I can.’
‘That’s not an oath!’
‘And I am not a saint. Take it or leave it.’
‘You horrible little—’
Elder Francis butted in before proceedings went south. Again. ‘If you can put petty rivalry to one side for a minute, I would like to explain the enormity of your quest.’
He rolled a torn and stained map of Torrodil across a large wooden table bookended by ancient tomes. There was the north-eastern capital of Kelgard encircled by the Waverpine Forest, the Eyre River looping round its western border; there were the Frozen Isles off the eastern coast; and in the south-western corner, not far from the Ashvale Mountains pass, lay Old Haven and the River Tevern, with the small Ironbark Woodlands protecting the city to the south.
‘From Old Haven you will journey through the woodlands, meeting the Sidian Mire shortly after. It will be two days’ travel and you will be forced to spend the night there. Build a campfire and do not stray from it. Continuing south west you will pass into the Kurashi Wilds, a place of great beauty and interweaving rivers that will not hesitate to take you along with them. A war between tribes has worn on for nine years; do not get caught up in their troubles. Whether you pass into Mezbollah via foot or river is your choice, though the latter will save you days of travel. The merchant town is filled with exotic smells and tastes, some seedier than others. You will require a guide to take you through the Nhamoon Desert, for the desert dunes change with the winds, and the daeva ensure their home is not found easily. Pay good money to any guide willing to take you, for they risk their life doing it.’ Elder Francis rolled up the map. ‘This map is old, but it is yours.’
The seven companions gulped. Anna, Tommy and the Venecians had understood that the task would be daunting, but hadn’t had to face just how daunting, sidelined by minor events in the relative safety of Carrigan. Kara contemplated escaping to her house, taking the map with her. How long would their journey be? Two days through the Mire. Two weeks in the Kurashi Wilds? Three? And the boundaries of the Nhamoon Desert hadn’t been outlined on the map simply because no Carrigan cartographers knew.
Yet what was the alternative? The Venecians could not pass through the mountains to get home. Anna and Tommy should not return home. Kara had no home. And Lysander’s home had been pulled from underneath him – he was being tossed out on the street he had been taken in from years prior.
Better to have a go at it; to see what was waiting for them; to travel together. Because, in truth, they had each longed for this.
When Elder Francis mentioned gifts would be handed out in the monastery gardens, Kara’s heart skipped a beat and her head put the journey out of her mind. Six went on to the gardens, Lysander remaining to talk to his Elder.
‘Is this what you would have me do? Journey with these youths?’
‘Do not forget that y
ou yourself are but twenty years. They will need direction and you still have much to learn. Anna in particular will help you, as you will help her. Watch over the girl. She carries with her a burden and a boon, and it is up to you to ensure that she does not carry it alone.’
In the leafy uncultivated hub of the monastery gardens, the seven adventurers gathered. To Anna went a short sword of gemmed hilt, the stone catching the light and bathing her face in a crimson hue. To Cesar and Mateo went longswords with elaborate intaglios and shields bearing the image of the citadel capital Kelgard and the Waverpine Forest. To Andres a longsword and a shortbow of unbreakable klether string to join it. Tommy accepted a shortbow with his nervous hands. Knowing that Kara’s weapons could not be surpassed, Elder Francis gave her a majestic, liquorice-green hooded cloak with gold trim, to which she replied, ‘Good gracious,’ and did not attempt to contain her joy. The last gift was reluctantly accepted: the Staff of Ohmer, the celebrated monk of the Illuminate Order. It had been Elder Francis’ staff for seventeen years. Today it passed into Lysander’s safekeeping, to lead them on their journey forwards.
Nine – All Art Is Useless
In a chamber of the Imperial Palace, Queen Katharine is getting her diamond crown adjusted. The Royal Painter has said that it is off-centre. The Queen’s posture is similarly all wrong – ‘unladylike’ was the offhand remark – and she needs to put down the parchment and give him her undivided attention, unless she is purposefully trying to ruin the latest portrait for the masses, in which case she is doing splendidly.
‘Kindly remind the Royal Painter what happened to his predecessor,’ says the Queen to one of her handmaidens. ‘I think he may have forgotten.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
For five minutes the artist is content and Katharine sits straight, eyes slightly to the right of him as he has insisted. Unfortunately a list of garrison numbers in the Middle Kingdom catches her eye and she remembers that she hasn’t read it yet.
‘Eyes up please.’
Katharine obeys but it is the last time.
From the window she spies on her beloved capital Kelgard, the heart of the Empire’s power and knowledge. So sheltered, surrounded by walls and rivers and trees. But one city does not an Empire make. The Venecians and their King will pare through her exposed kingdom until this core remains, ready to be ripped apart by siege weapons. But the people demand a portrait, don’t they? They insist on venerating their Red Lady, raising her to the Summerland on their shoulders. Such speeches she makes. But to fight and die on the battlefield with the men? They will not allow it, and thus the Council of the Realm will not allow it, and thus a pre-emptive war with Venecia is unfeasible. To sit and pose for portraits is what she is good for.
‘The crown has slipped again. Do try to sit still for just a min—’ Before he can finish the crown is hurled at his chest, bouncing off and into the canvas, toppling it.
‘I will not sit here and listen to this any longer. I am not some fragile thing to be idealised from afar. Tell me painter: what good will portraits be when they are sacking our walls?’
‘Your Majesty I—’
‘No, I suppose that is not your concern. Leave and take that mess with you.’
The man does as he is told, Katharine calling for her handmaidens, who start the long process of ridding the Queen of her ceremonial attire, composed of layers of dress and mountains of flawless jewels. She sits and examines her forefathers on the walls: some good, some bad, yet all men. Men who have led this kingdom through revolts, religious uprisings, civil war and foreign disputes. There is King Owen, who concentrated on producing an heir while the City starved. To his left is King Bodred, who stabbed and cheated his way to the throne. To look upon them is to seek answers they cannot give.
Katharine dabs a wet cloth on her lips. It is hazardous to speculate her age, for she accentuates and conceals; pricks and pokes and dabs until smooth and wrinkle-free. Nonetheless, without the pomp Katharine appears younger than her thirty-one years. Dangerously delicate. That is why she plasters it on for public address and private audience, inducing awe in beggar and prince alike.
A handmaiden holds up a red gown and enquires whether it is suitable, to which the Queen makes a cursory indication to a purple dress in the adjacent bedroom.
Her kingdom is not prepared for war. She knows this. Gone are the days when a Carric monarch could click their fingers and awake the men in the night; when one palm held absolute power. Will her glibness abandon her as yours did, King Tomas? Will she lose her wits to senility, if not the guillotine, King Frederick? Five years of peace and stability, but on the horizon war and the politicians close their ears, hearing only ambition and the hope that a military victory will grant her the supremacy she must desire. She does not have the words to convince them. The people need her, but what good can she do in this room, on that armchair? ‘The people…’ she said, thinking aloud.
The purple dress went on and the Queen went bounding down the halls, headed for the assembly hall and Lord Sutton, spotting him in amongst a crowd of men discussing the events of the day. The men hushed as she drew near.
‘If I am not mistaken, was that not the Royal Painter coming through here a moment ago with splodges on his clothes?’ said one of them to much amusement from the rest.
She smiled. ‘I would speak with you, Lord Sutton.’
The Queen and her public advisor took in the morning air in the grounds, finding refreshment in a light wind.
‘I cannot hide away in this palace forever. You have heard the people. They cry for answers and a reaction to the pillaging of four of their towns. Too long have I mended their grievances from these halls. Oughtn’t I speak to them and allay their concerns directly?’
‘Such an address would take weeks to plan. Better to issue a proclamation through the Council.’
‘The Council’s duty is to discuss statutes and maintain the constitution; it is not and never will be a face for this nation.’
‘A written proclamation through the Palace then.’
‘Literacy is not a natural endowment. Many cannot understand words on parchment, but in speech…’
Katharine became conscious of a soothing hand on her shoulder. It lay there for an extended period. Just long enough to arouse suspicion.
‘You worry greatly, my Queen.’
‘And you forget your place, Sutton.’ The hand slinked away. ‘I want a large gathering. Thousands. In the Imperial Palace Square.’
‘There is no need for that many.’
‘I desire that my words resound to the Outer Kingdom where the affected can hear them.’
‘The Treasury will not be convinced to part with its money for public discourse, no matter how noble the intention.’
‘Then it will need to be reminded that its money is not its possession at all, but collected from citizens who do not have the good fortune to spend their days tallying gold.’
Lord Sutton looked at his knuckles longingly. ‘And pray tell what would this wondrous speech be on? This speech that is to dispel their fears through word alone?’
‘Sacrifice. Not giving in to terror. Very perfunctory.’
‘That’s it?’
‘I do not like to plan it out in advance, for it would sound unnatural. The fundamentals will come to me several days prior.’
‘How fortunate that is all the time required,’ said Sutton, derision taken by the wind.
‘So you agree? You will arrange it?’
‘Why not go to the ministers yourself? I am sure you could convince them.’
An arm wormed its way around his. Sinking lower, making herself seem fragile and womanly, offering him reprieve in her eyes. ‘This would be good for your reputation, my Lord. Especially after that horrible scandal last year with the scullery maid and her newborn baby. Think of it as not a favour, but an offering.’
‘An offering?’
‘To instigate positive change. Your people sit knees bent, heads down, waiting for
the final blow. You can orchestrate an event that will revitalise them and help undo their fear. You have my assurance that your part will not be forgotten, not by me and not by the Palace historians. What a legacy you could leave.’
‘It will take time, you know this.’
‘I do.’
‘And it will not be easy.’
‘Good. “Lord Sutton is not one for trivial encounters,” isn’t that what they say?’ Queen Katharine did not allow him to confirm or deny it, for she cupped his chin with her fair hand, lifting his head to face hers. ‘Go to the Council, arrange this, and you will earn my favour – a rare currency for any man.’
The reluctance in his temperament wilted to nothing and she sent him on his way. Katharine knew exactly what her speech would entail, and there would be no empty phrases and no acts of contrition.
Ten – Chill
The Sidian Mire is no place for the eyes of Man. Hollow trees rattle in the wind, branches cradling abandoned birds’ nests. Slippery rocks bid you closer to opaque pools of changeable hues. And all the while you dredge through, you cannot but wonder what creatures cause the water to bubble so; why even the sun has forsaken this land.
The ordinary residents of Carrigan do not venture into the mire, for they have no need or want to explore, but merchants do, on occasion, rest a night with their wagons. The mire will demand a tithe for their passage. A wheel to bob up and down. A trusty mutt to take beneath the murk. From time to time the mire requires a larger sacrifice. It spits out impenetrable fog to chill and mislead, leaving one route visible: a slim trail around its deepest pools. Shoes and socks are abandoned to slime, leaving rocks to cut at your soles and lap up the dripping bounty. Round and round you go on the route to nowhere, strength sapped by the cold and the mire licking at you hungrily. It teases you with mirages: banquets and rivers of mead. But when you come round you are drinking from a foul pool, corrosive water scalding your insides. The reflection that stares back at you is gaunt and oozing out of every pore. Feed the mire with fickle Hope, the meal of utmost succulence.
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