‘My Lord, your daughter spent much time contemplating her mother’s portrait’ he said, his voice surprisingly firm. ‘This was reported by her maid. And in these caves where she was last seen I found this.’ Here Mooraz handed his Lord the necklet of purest northern crystals which The Dark had gifted his wife to wear on the occasion of his daughter’s birth. She had been wearing these same crystals on her death several hours later. The light cast by the many candles around them made the stones glisten on his Lord’s hand like ocean spray in the sun. ‘I know my Lady Lae would not be parted from such treasure,’ Mooraz said, ‘save to leave a sign of her destination.’
‘Indeed, let us not imagine she could leave her father anything as simple as a note.’ The Dark appeared unperturbed by this reminder of his wife’s untimely death. However, Mooraz knew his concern for his daughter was great. ‘The pain of receiving her tattoo weighed heavily on her mind,’ The Dark said softly, closing his long fingers over the jewels, ‘yet I never imagined she would —’ He stopped and glanced past Mooraz before deftly secreting the necklet within his heavily brocaded robe.
‘My Lord The Dark,’ came a booming voice from behind them.
Mooraz stepped aside as the Elder Sh’hale lumbered up. Bloated and unkempt, with his devotion-suit creased and ort-ale on his breath, he was a disgrace to his House. Yet Mooraz noted that The Dark, whose appearance was never less than immaculate, received his guest with gracious good will.
‘Sh’hale,’ he said and inclined his head.
‘Where is your daughter?’ the Elder demanded. ‘I had thought to enjoy her company this morning. To speak well of my son Kert whom it appears she will not marry.’
Mooraz felt the hairs on his arms rise. He would sooner slit this Sh’hale Lord’s throat than see him sit beside his young lady. Worse still, consider her marrying into their House.
‘My daughter is in solitary vigil,’ The Dark said, which was not a lie, ‘preparing for the ordeal of her Be’uccdha tattoo.’
Mooraz did not care to think of such pain inflicted on his lady but the Elder’s eyes brightened. ‘Then she is a woman, ready to be a wife?’ he asked.
‘Most recently, yes,’ The Dark confirmed, then added, ‘News which will greatly please her betrothed.’
The Elder’s answering smile had the looseness of a leer. ‘Of course,’ he said.
Sick anger rose within Mooraz and his hand drifted towards the dagger on his chest sheath. Yet at that moment The Dark caught his eye and motioned him away. Mooraz was greatly relieved to exit and stepped smartly from the balcony to the carved stairwell and once below, to the raised entrance of the chamber where he could better direct his men who were strategically placed across the floor.
It had been many years since an assassin had tried to take the life of his Lord, yet Mooraz remained vigilant. The unpleasantness of the Elder Sh’hale’s comments faded from his mind as his trained eye inspected the several hundred believers, their cliques of colour like the splash-patterned artwork adorning Cliffdweller caves.
There were clusters of dark-skinned Be’uccdha families who came from the castle surrounds, pockets of paler pilgrims from distant Houses across the realm, and scattered throughout, Cliffdwellers. These natives of the cliffs below Castle Be’uccdha were distinguished by their golden skin and eyes, and a halo of fuzzy gold curls. At the end of their long legs was a hard nub of nail, a trotter which gave them the illusion of standing on tiptoes. Though this stance appeared precarious, it was perfectly suited to the rocky terrain of their cave warrens, and did not impede them on smoother surfaces, such as they occupied now.
Mooraz found no recognisable threat in the crowd but continued to observe the assembly until finally his Lord stepped to the edge of the balcony and quiet descended on the candlelit cavern. The Cliffdwellers ceased swaying and held themselves immobile to hear their Lord’s words.
‘Once there was Unity …’ The Dark intoned. ‘Good and evil were balanced within man and the Four Worlds were one.’
Mooraz scanned the audience again then lifted his gaze to where his Lord The Dark stood alone on the protruding lip of his balcony, the richness of his robe in stark contrast to his bare stone surroundings. Beside him, water dripped from a curtain of stone spears that clung to the high ceiling of the cavern. The drops sparkled in the candlelight as they fell, and the echo of them striking on the rocks in the deathly silence of the cavern inspired the soul to awe such as even Mooraz was not immune to.
‘In those times of Unity,’ The Dark continued, his voice rising and echoing from the smooth cavern walls, ‘the Ancients ruled the one world in peace. Bounty covered the land and there was no sadness, no grief, no pain.’
Mooraz felt the familiar ache within himself. As a child, he had longed for the time of Unity, but maturity and the death of his father had forced Mooraz to accept that his destiny was to ensure Ennae’s survival, not to live in paradise. Yet though he lived with violence, Mooraz dreamt of peace.
‘Then came a man of destruction.’ The Dark’s voice grew in volume yet as always, remained dispassionate. ‘A man with no good to balance his evil. A liar. A thief. A murderer.’
A silent shudder passed through the audience.
‘To protect the innocent, the Great Guardian split the one world into four, and the evil which had been spawned was exiled to Haddash and that evil became Kraal, the Lord of the Fireworld, the Serpent of Death.’
Mooraz looked again to the audience, for at this stage of the litany some became restless. Yet all remained still and Mooraz marvelled that the Cliffdwellers, whose movements were so fluid and constant, seemed able to remain motionless for so long. Only once, a hundred years ago, had a Cliffdweller been told to stop swaying at devotions, and since that time no Cliffdweller of the thousands who attended had moved when The Dark began to speak. Though they had no sense of self-preservation, Cliffdwellers were obedient. Unlike Plainsmen. Mooraz reflected that it was this trait which had likely ensured the Cliffdwellers’ survival over the centuries, and would continue to do so while they collected oceanweed and other sea delicacies daily for the Be’uccdha kitchens.
‘Yet the Great Guardian did not abandon us,’ The Dark continued. ‘He gave us an Ancient to lead us into redemption. The descendant of that Ancient, King Mihale rules Ennae while the Great Guardian rules the Airworld of Atheyre with wisdom and discernment, taking to himself only those whose spiritual lives are at an end. Those who must be reborn he gives to Kraal, to be baptised in the fire of creation.’
Mooraz listened with half an ear to the remainder of the litany. He did not disbelieve the prophecy of Ennae’s redemption. Indeed, he looked to the time when The Light would come and bear a child to control the violent Maelstrom that would unify the Four Worlds. He simply did not believe it would occur in his lifetime.
Yet soon enough the formality of the devotions was dispensed with and Mooraz watched intently as his Lord looked into the crowd and found those who had evil in their souls; avarice, dishonesty, one who had stolen his brother’s best robe to attend the ceremony. Mooraz marvelled at the piety of those who would confront The Dark with evil on their souls, knowing it would be revealed and reviled. Yet such was their devotion to the Great Guardian, they would gratefully accept punishment to ensure The Balance was maintained. Much evil lay to the north of Ennae, and all knew they must strive for great good to compensate.
Thankfully, there were none who required physical punishment. Public floggings were lengthy procedures and Mooraz was eager to reach the Shrine and retrieve his wayward charge.
When the ceremony had ended, Mooraz cut across the cavern and waited for The Dark to farewell Sh’hale befor
e escorting his Lord to the concealed alcove within the balcony.
The Dark took a goblet of wine and dismissed his servant. When they were alone again he said, ‘Bring her back to me, Mooraz. I care nothing for her wrongdoings but I grieve for her presence. All will be forgiven.’
Mooraz took much heart from this news. ‘I will do your bidding, My Lord,’ he said obediently and took his leave, hurrying to find his young Lady before harm could come to her.
Yet though Mooraz had been his Lord’s dutiful servant for all his twenty-seven years, he feared that one day he would falter in that duty; something would be asked of him that he could not perform. Love had caused his father to defy The Dark, to refuse his demand that Mooraz’s ailing mother be sacrificed to the Fireworld of Haddash. So horrific had that day been, it existed in Mooraz’s memory now only as a painful blur. The dreaded blackness, like a scythe of death, had encompassed the land and it had been only his own obedience to The Dark which had dispelled its fearful hold.
But at what cost? The lives of his kin, forfeited by his own hand. Fierce and fanatical loyalty for The Dark had followed this action, for if Mooraz doubted a moment that those deaths had been necessary, the madness of guilt would consume him like the flames which had eaten the flesh from his parent’s bones. This single-mindedness of duty was all that kept him sane, and though he often did not understand his Lord’s intent, Mooraz trusted his powers of discernment.
The long climb to the surface allowed Mooraz time to slough off his painful memories. The sun on his face was a welcome relief and he took precious moments to drive the cold from his heart with the simple warmth of his world.
Mooraz would allow himself such pleasures as these, and even say he loved the sun, for the sun could not be harmed. Yet to love a woman was to risk repeating the mistakes of his father, and that Mooraz would not do, though it cost him his very soul.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The third long day of marching had worn the Princess out. Talis watched her straighten her shoulders and then shift them uncomfortably as they paused for Laroque’s lead guards to clear a fallen tree from their path. The lands around the Shrine with their dense forests and lush undergrowth were said to soothe the souls of those buried therein, yet as they drew closer, Talis felt no quietening of his spirit. On the contrary, the more time he spent in the company of the Princess, the less he knew his own heart, which was steadfast towards Lae at one moment and dismissed her in the next.
Although their steady advance had brought them above the lowlands haze and into the Elder Stand, there was little better visibility among the thick trees and vines. A day away from the Shrine and with night falling, all were on watch for the Raiders who attacked at night in this forest they called their own. As the Princess’s Champion, Talis should have been vigilance itself yet his thoughts were as thick as the ort porridge they’d eaten that daybreak.
Laroque moved down the ranks to pause at his side. ‘Nephew,’ he said.
Talis pushed his weariness aside and nodded at the Princess who stood patiently on the trail, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. ‘My Lady grows tired.’
‘I’ll warrant her bones ache but her mind will be alert. Unlike yours.’
‘Uncle?’ Talis said, but knew he was discovered.
Laroque lowered his voice. ‘Two sleepless nights keeping watch over the Princess.’ He shook his head. ‘You do her no service by starving yourself of rest. You must accept my offer of shared watch this night or …’ His gaze searched the straggle of guardsmen along the trail. ‘If not, I’ll set Pagan the watch.’
‘A fearsome threat.’ Talis gave a mock bow. ‘You have won my obedience, Uncle.’
‘Midnight. No later.’ Laroque slapped him on the arm and strode back up the line. ‘We will break our march here,’ he called to his men, pausing to bow to the Princess as he passed her. ‘Stamp down the snap-grass. Set the fires and stay watchful,’ he warned.
Talis expected his Princess to slump to the ground, but she merely remained where she was, staring into nothingness, and in turn he gazed at her. The realisation lay heavy in his heart that soon he must do what duty demanded. He must tell her that within his mind lay her childhood memories; memories he could not give back.
The child Princess he had known would have understood his plight and gifted him forgiveness, but the woman before him was a different Khatrene, a stranger. The prudence his father had taught him argued delay.
So he approached her, ignoring the crackle of snap-grass underfoot, and bowed. ‘My Lady, we may rest now,’ he said. This and nothing more.
‘If I sit down I don’t think I’ll be able to get up again.’ She glanced to the forest at their side. ‘Is that water I can hear?’
‘A river runs beside our trail, My Lady.’ He gestured to the right. ‘We will cross it tomorrow.’
‘I just …’ She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands then dropped them to her sides. ‘I want a bath.’
‘My Lady?’ He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
‘Before I eat I’d like to freshen up.’ Talis was constructing a polite refusal to this when she added, ‘If that’s not too much trouble.’
Her anger was evident and he wondered at it. Her tiredness was of her own making. It was at her insistence that they were accompanying Laroque, and Talis had offered to carry her. On several occasions. What more could he do? ‘My Lady, your safety dictates —’
‘No.’ She held up a hand. ‘I don’t care about safety any more. All I care about is being clean.’ Her voice rang overloud in the shadowed glen.
Her Champion inclined his head, ‘My Lady,’ while wondering how he would deal with this latest argument.
Pagan, who brought no remedy and likely more grief, appeared at his side. ‘Trouble, Cous?’
Talis turned cool eyes on him. ‘Not yet.’
Pagan took the warning and a backward step. ‘Your good uncle only asked —’
‘I’m going to take a bath,’ the Princess informed him. ‘Tell Laroque we won’t be long.’
‘My Lady …’ Tired though he was, Talis could feel his own anger stirring. ‘Perhaps we could discuss this alone.’
The Princess ignored him completely. ‘Do you hear me, Pagan?’
‘I will deliver your message, Princess,’ his wretched cousin said, bowing low. Then with his face obscured by fallen hair he added, ‘Does My Lady require an assistant?’
Talis was about to step forward and tear his cousin’s disrespectful tongue from his mouth when the Princess raised a warning hand. It was only force of will that held him obedient.
‘Pagan,’ she said softly, ‘are you asking me if I want someone to scrub my back?’
The apprentice’s head came up, his eyes all innocence. ‘My Lady has no maidservant to see to her needs. I merely offered —’
‘I can see what you’re offering,’ the Princess said. ‘I might have led a sheltered life but I’m not stupid.’ She stepped closer to Pagan and it was all Talis could do to hold his place. ‘Let me make this so blindingly clear that even you understand.’ She paused and Pagan nodded to show his attention was engaged. ‘I … am … not … interested. Leave … me … alone.’
‘My Lady is tired,’ Pagan said and bowed again, his smile intact. ‘I will retire from your presence.’
The Princess watched him go and then shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said turning back to her Champion with an expression of amazement. �
�€˜That boy has an ego as big as all outdoors.’
Talis did not know the meaning of her words but her tone was clearly one of derision. ‘My Lady does not approve of Pagan?’ Hope rose within him.
‘Approve?’ Her answering laugh was a huff of exasperation. ‘He’s a complete idiot. I mean, I assume he can fight or you wouldn’t trust him to guard me. But vain …’ She shook her head again. Then suddenly a frown crossed her face and she reached swiftly to clasp a hand to his arm. ‘You won’t tell Laroque I said —’
‘Your confidences are like precious jewels in my keeping, Princess,’ Talis assured her. ‘I will not share them.’
‘Good.’ She dropped her hand. ‘I’d hate for Laroque to think …’ again a smile pushed at her lips. ‘Can you believe that Pagan? What a prat.’
Talis did not understand her, yet he shared her smile and felt it wriggle inside his heart like the contented movement of a babe at its mother’s breast.
Good humour still caressing her lips, she asked, ‘So, can I have a bath?’
Talis’s happiness gave voice to laughter yet he shook his head. ‘I wish I could allow it, My Lady. Alas, we are deep in Raider territory and I cannot trust your safety to a single man.’
Her sigh acknowledged defeat. ‘And I’m not desperate enough to forgo privacy just yet.’ She spared a glance at the resting warriors. ‘It’s bad enough when I have to sneak off to … you know.’
Talis nodded, the embarrassment of her plain speaking eased by their newfound camaraderie. He bundled his cloak to lay it on the crackling snap-grass for her comfort. ‘Rest assured, Princess,’ he said, ‘I guard your privacy as carefully as I guard your life.’
‘I know.’ She sat on the bundle, wincing as it crunched, and Talis sat opposite, his thickly quilted battle suit protecting him from the prickly grass. ‘Not that we’ve seen anyone else anyway. Where are all the people?’ she asked, taking the nesdai leaves Talis gave her to chew while they waited for the evening meal to be prepared. ‘We’ve been walking for days and haven’t seen a soul.’
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