by James Abbott
Lupara explained at great length what had happened during the tragedy at Baradium Falls, wanting Xavir to understand the true events rather than the shameful act that had hardened within his mind over the years. It was important to her that he regained his pride.
As far as Xavir knew, intelligence had been received by Stravimon’s spies that dozens of invading tribes from beyond the Plains of Mica were gathering to make a unified attack on the northern boundaries of Cedius the Wise’s hitherto unbreakable kingdom.
Tens of thousands of wild warriors would slaughter innocent Stravir.
Xavir was ordered to lead the Solar Cohort and a contingent of the main army in an unusual series of attacks to intercept these tribes one by one, before the bulk of their armies could coalesce and thunder into the main settlements on the border. Then the orders changed: the legion had been held up, so it was up to the Solar Cohort to engage and delay their enemies.
What Xavir and the Solar Cohort were unaware of was that orders had been given to the people of the border towns, warning that the attack was coming and, to spare as many civilian lives as possible, they were to strip their settlements of any clan markings and instead make themselves look like wild warriors of the northern lands. Crudely armed mobs were ordered out to defend their territory.
But the genuine invaders were days away, if indeed they were coming at all. Oblivious to any of this, the men of the Solar Cohort, and their allies from Dacianara, did not hesitate in butchering clusters of woad-faced mobs in the darkened forests.
All they had been doing was butchering the Stravir.
The attack was halted immediately when the blood-drenched warriors realized their mistake, but it was too late. Hundreds of innocents had been slaughtered like cattle. When reinforcements from Cedius the Wise arrived, led by Mardonius, an ambitious duke, the Solar Cohort were taken into custody and their horrific attack – portrayed as a senseless slaughter – was made known to the rest of the forces immediately. The news flourished and the legendary deeds of the famed warriors were eclipsed by their greatest shame.
Although, Lupara explained, Xavir’s sentence of imprisonment rather than the death penalty was probably a gesture from Cedius the Wise, who could not bear to lose his favourite warrior, a man whom he had loved like the son he never had.
Xavir listened without showing emotion.
‘How did the knowledge of the trap surface?’ he asked eventually.
‘One man felt the burden of guilt. He wrote a letter to Landril’s previous employer to share what he’d done, and of the plot with Mardonius. The letter was intercepted and never made it to its intended destination.’
‘Lord Kollus?’ Xavir asked.
‘Yes. That letter came into Landril’s hands swiftly. Doing what spies do, he looked into getting more information and uncovered many further coded communications between the two. Some minor lords had knowledge of the act, though they were not involved. The main perpetrators were General Havinir, Lord Kollus and Duchess Pryus, but they had all been working for Mardonius, as I believe Landril has told you.’
Xavir glanced out towards his comrades, who were still lounging on the grass. Lupara wondered just what it meant for one of the finest warriors in the land to have been betrayed and manipulated in such a way.
‘How did you end up here?’ he asked.
‘This place is of import to the Dacianarans. One of our elders fell here, two centuries ago, where there now lies a burial stone. To all intents and purposes I came to tend to his spirit. An old mentor of mine, Katollon the Soul-Stealer, stands in command of my kingdom, though he is not a king. I am still legally the ruler and we have exchanged missives over the years, both Katollon and I, and with Jumaha of the Vrigantines. We send them by wolf. They still wish me to be queen, but I do not feel the people are ready yet. The dishonour is still raw.’
‘Is this why you want to come out of exile?’ Xavir asked. ‘To correct the mistakes of the past?’
She paused for a moment. ‘Fighting Mardonius would bring honour to me. This is true. But no. I want to fight to correct the mistakes he has made, because they are too severe and have consequences that will ruin both our countries.’
‘I do not yet understand what is going on in Stravimon, but Cedius would never have let things get so bad,’ Xavir replied.
‘I could see the look in Cedius’s eyes after you were taken away. The old man didn’t just lose a friend, he lost his heir. He was broken after that.’
‘After Baradium Falls no one would have me as their king.’ Xavir straightened his posture, letting any sentiment fall away. ‘Mardonius, then. He always was scheming and ambitious; he would have taken advantage of what happened. Ensured my name was sullied. I will never understand how a wretch like him rose through the ranks. He was weak, never a good fighter. Anyway, I am a soldier. I am not a man who sits on a throne.’
‘Cedius led from the front once,’ Lupara said. ‘That would have been you. Instead we have Mardonius, and now look at where our nations stand. Many countries surrounding Stravimon have been beaten into submission and integrated into its borders. There are cairns up and down the kingdom in which your own people have been buried on a breathtaking scale. This is no noble war. This is genocide. Anyone who doesn’t think like him or poses a supposed threat is eliminated. The clans have largely sided with him, because those who don’t have been stripped of their lands and wealth and driven from the kingdom. Those who are onside do get ample rewards. There is no honour any more.’
‘This still does not sit well with me. It does not make sense to kill so many innocent people.’ Xavir wore a heavy frown and shook his head at the notion. ‘Has no one tried to assassinate Mardonius?’
‘They have, but those who have tried have been killed by his bodyguard – a man who is said to be possessed by a daemon. The Red Butcher, they call him – for good reason. He is the sword Mardonius wields, whilst he rots in the palace.’
‘Mardonius was never a fighter,’ Xavir sneered. ‘His kind are the worst leaders. They don’t know the bloody realities of war. People’s deaths do not matter to them.’
Lupara thought she could see fires of vengeance burning within Xavir’s gaze, the injustices of what was happening to his country, what had happened to him – all for one man’s greed for power.
‘You still have not really told me,’ Xavir said, ‘why you and Landril wished me here.’
‘I would have you build an army. Protect those Mardonius hunts. Bring back justice to the country.’
Xavir grunted a laugh. ‘An army requires money, food and time, Lupara.’
‘And magic. We need magic.’
Xavir shook his head and narrowed his eyes. ‘There is no need for magic where good fighters stand.’
‘Magic is essential in a war of this scale. Landril believes Mardonius will soon move to take ownership of all the sisters – at least to keep them out of his affairs, if nothing else. An army of men cannot fight the witches without aid. But if it is money we need for war, I have access to some wealth still.’
‘Not enough to take on Mardonius and Stravimon’s forces, I’d wager,’ Xavir said. ‘It’s a fanciful scheme.’
Lupara considered one final way to help change Xavir’s mind. ‘Will you walk with me?’
The Long Walk
The journey back to Jarratox took several hours, and it was well into the night by the time that the two sisters returned. Witchstones, sensing their approach, lit up the bridge across the chasm towards the island. In daylight the void below would make Elysia grip the stone sides tightly, but at night there was something almost comforting about the nothingness that surrounded the walk, despite the strange, stirring winds. It was as if they were walking through another realm entirely.
Jarratox loomed ahead of them. Lights lit the arched windows in the numerous spires and towers deeper back within the settlement.
Strange, Elysia thought, that there were not the usual flashes of magic as sisters practised their a
rts into the evening. It looked like any ordinary city.
‘Something does not sit well tonight,’ Birgitta said as they stepped onto the solid ground of the island-town. ‘The source winds blow ill.’
‘How so?’ Elysia asked. She was tired, and just two words felt a struggle to say.
‘There is a tension in the air. I can feel it.’
They continued under ancient, lichen-laced archways, through courtyard gardens and under trees that had no right to be growing in such awkward places, yet somehow a seed had rooted and managed to endure. Curiously there was no one around on the streets, no sisters on their way to evening readings or to recite ancient litanies. Pale witchstones illuminated only ancient stone.
Eventually a noise could be heard. Following the tendrils of sound, the sisters strode into an ancient quadrangle, where dozens of their kin, cloaked in black, were gathered around a large fire and humming a lament. It was an ancient funeral song from the Sixth Age, written by the legendary poet-sister Alyanda, whose books were still preserved in the libraries, and who was often quoted by the older sisters.
Birgitta tugged the sleeve of the nearest woman. ‘What has happened, friend?’
The woman twisted back, her head shaded by her blue hood. ‘One of the sisters is with us no longer.’
Elysia gasped.
‘Who is it?’ Birgitta asked.
‘Galleya.’
‘I know her,’ Birgitta whispered. ‘I spoke to her only last night. But . . . how did it happen?’
‘She immolated herself with a red witchstone, right beneath the statue of the first matriarch.’
‘Immolated?’ Birgitta appeared to be confused. ‘You mean she killed herself? But, why?’
‘A decision was made shortly after daybreak that we are to fully pledge our allegiance with King Mardonius. Not all of the sisters supported the news.’
‘Did she explain why she was going to . . . return to the source? Did she leave a letter?’
The woman turned around fully to regard the two of them, and Elysia thought she recognized her as one of the senior tutors. Birgitta appeared to know her, anyway.
‘Galleya had spoken of the brutality of Mardonius’s regime, and said that she refused to participate with any plans generated by, and I quote, “the royal butcher”. Galleya said that she had seen so many evil things done to ordinary people, and that the sisterhood should not join his campaigns. The matriarch had apparently not invited Galleya to an important gathering to inform her of the decision to align with Mardonius. Make of that what you will.’
‘The matriarch did not want her to protest during the proceedings.’
‘That isn’t my place to say.’
Even Elysia could see the fear in the woman’s eyes as she turned away.
Birgitta regarded the scene for a moment longer, then turned and steered Elysia back through the throng towards her quarters.
‘Should we not remain here?’ Elysia asked.
The sound of the lament followed them along the dark passageways, all the more haunting as they stepped into shadows.
Birgitta said nothing.
As they ascended the internal stairs to the young sisters’ quarters, Elysia asked: ‘Is it true that this is what Mardonius is really doing. Is he killing all these people? We should fight back if that’s the case.’
‘Fighting is not always the answer. Besides, you should not jump to conclusions if you have not seen such things for yourself. Question everything.’
‘I’ve only heard rumours,’ Elysia said. ‘But this sounds serious.’
Birgitta sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down into her hands.
‘Little sister, I once heard of a warlord who wanted to spread fear,’ she spoke softly and very deliberately, her shoulders slumping. ‘This was deep in the south. Near the humid swamps, further into thick-leaved forests. His soldiers would mark the houses of those people who worshipped a different god to him, in order to create fear. Nothing would come of it, but people would expect the worst. He could disrupt an entire community without so much as a show of a sword. A simple cross upon their door and that was that. Later he used the trick again, only he was more devious this time. To prevent himself from being deposed, he arranged it so that a rival faction would mark the homes of neighbouring factions with crosses, sowing discontent. Fighting broke out within their ranks, rather than against his own forces. This warlord, he clung on to power for decades. All with a simple cross.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Elysia said.
‘Mardonius may not have to be killing all the time to create fear. He is clever. He is a manipulator. He was never a warrior. Take the example of his messengers a couple of days ago.’
Birgitta rose and walked to the window, looking down upon the gathering for Galleya. The sisters’ eerie song drifted up to them.
Elysia stepped close to her side. ‘What do you make of the matriarch’s decision?’
The answer came fast and blunt: ‘I think it is a terrible thing. I fear corruption has set into the higher echelons of the sisterhood that we should bow to bribery or threats. What is the purpose of the sisterhood?’
‘To nurture the source for the future.’
‘And?’
‘To use it to the benefit of people.’
‘Precisely – for the benefit of the people. All people. Not just for one man and his greed. We have always stood apart from the power plays of the clans. It used to be that we were allocated to the clans to be healers and advisers but now we are used as weapons,’ Birgitta replied. ‘Wielded in the wrong hands, our powers can be devastating.’
Elysia felt the urge to say something in response. That surely, at times, there was a need to fight back. But now was not the time to retaliate.
‘Sometimes sisters may even end up fighting against each other,’ Birgitta said with a shudder. ‘It used to be that the sisterhood came first – above all politics. Now I’m not so sure. You can be positive that the brightest and most able young sisters will be sent to Mardonius now, and who knows where their loyalties will lie after a while?’
‘That won’t be me, then,’ Elysia muttered.
‘You are very able. The tutors all speak of your potential, but there is a fire inside of you that frightens them.’
Elysia frowned. ‘Hardly.’
‘It is true – I sense it in you myself. There is a wild abandon, a curiosity about the external world as well as the source of magic. That unnerves them. It is why I teach you, because it was hoped I could channel your passions into hunting and nature-craft. But my personal fear for you, little sister, is that you are now too good with weapons and magic. What really frightens the senior sisters is the fact that you are different.’
‘Why are you not frightened of me?’ Elysia asked.
Birgitta regarded her softly. ’I am frightened for you. You have skills for combat, never witnessed in recent years. You may end up causing all sorts of trouble once you’re out there with a clan.’
‘When we saw the meeting,’ Elysia said, ‘you told me you needed to think. You’ve been waiting until the matriarch’s decision. Well, we’ve got that. So what do we do now?’
‘I haven’t merely been waiting,’ Birgitta replied. ‘I have been asking questions. I have been finding out information. I have been contacting old friends and . . . calling in favours.’
Elysia waited for Birgitta to continue.
‘Before dawn. I will come and find you before dawn.’
‘And then what?’
‘We’re setting off from Jarratox,’ Birgitta whispered. ‘It may be the last time you ever see this place. Pack your things; only bring the most important belongings. Bring clothes for the road. And your bow.’
Elysia’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Where are we going?’
‘It is better that you don’t know, because if someone asks, you won’t be able to tell them.’
Elysia looked incredulously at her tutor. ‘But how can we leave? What ab
out Jarratox?’ she asked.
‘Jarratox is doomed,’ Birgitta replied sadly. ‘Take my word for it. Tonight the sisterhood has effectively ceased to be.’
Old Skin
The forgotten warrior and the exiled queen strode through the forest.
A milky light filtered through the canopy, occasionally glancing off the rubble of an ancient ruin. As afternoon slid into evening there was a sharpness to the air. It had been years since Xavir had experienced such surroundings. Every curling leaf, every swaying branch, every darting bird was rendered vividly to his senses. Now and then he would close his eyes so that he could smell the damp earth and the late summer flowers.
The ground rumbled and Xavir watched as Lupara’s wolves bounded ahead. Suddenly more wolves, smaller ones, came to the fringes of the path, peering with curiosity at Xavir and Lupara.
‘Do these others obey you too?’ he asked.
‘Mostly not. I do not give them orders like my wolves, however. I . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘I simply talk to them as I would another person. They’re good companionship in that sense.’
‘Good sentries, no doubt, should you be threatened. Have there been any attacks on you here? Has Mardonius tried to eliminate you?’
‘Much as he may wish to, it is unlikely he knows I dwell here. There have only been a few bandits stray this way. My wolves have seen them off. None who enters the forest without my permission leaves it alive.’
‘Don’t you ever get bored out here?’ Xavir asked.
‘Says the man who has been in prison for years,’ Lupara replied.
‘A fair point.’
The path became a little steeper, narrower and darker. Eventually the two of them came to a clearing.
Lupara nodded. ‘We’re here.’
The three large wolves padded around them and then sat down to regard the distance. A couple of smaller wolves came by to nose the larger beasts, before trotting off into the undergrowth. The wind came and went, leaving them in a tranquil, cool place.