‘You all now wear a crystal of amber. Jarudha would not have given me the dream if He did not want us to hold the true power of the Conduit. Where our predecessors chased one Conduit, we have created six. Praise be to Creator for what he has done.’
Word, Pelican, Newday and Moon echoed the sentiment and Creator bowed his head in humility.
‘I locked myself away, as I told you,’ Scripture continued, ‘to find an answer. Jarudha has led me to it, but it is an answer that demands the united strength of the truly faithful.’ He drew a breath, gazing at his brethren. ‘We know that alone we are weak. This is the lesson Prayer gifted to us. We must not stand alone before Jarudha’s servants. When we pass through the portal we must be as one, channelling through my mind as Creator has taught us in the past. You must forget yourself, your mortality, your fears and give yourself entirely over to me. Only then can we open the door to the Last Days and Paradise. This is the gift Jarudha passed to me. This is what you must give to me.’
He stared at the five Seers, each robed in blue, each wearing an amber crystal hanging from a silver chain around his neck. He smiled.
‘This is where Jarudha’s kingdom begins!’ he announced triumphantly.
The nausea made Word stumble, and he sank into the grey dust, feeling as if he might vomit. Portal travel had never weakened him this dramatically before. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at one of the younger Seers, Moon. ‘I’m fine,’ he said and straightened unsteadily.
The intensity of the cloudless blue sky surprised him, as did the endless grey of the landscape that stretched towards a darker smudge, suggesting mountains, in the distance. Scattered across the forbidding plains were stark white trees, their sharp limbs seeming inclined to rip out the sky’s underbelly.
‘This is nothing like I expected,’ said Moon.
‘This is what those who do not inherit Paradise will see,’ Scripture explained. ‘Paradise is reserved only for those who are worthy.’
‘This is an empty place,’ said Newday. ‘Is this where Prayer died?’
‘There is an underground chamber,’ Word explained. ‘Look for a tunnel opening.’
They walked the dust-gripped landscape for what seemed a painfully long time, searching for an opening, the invisible sun’s heat slowly creeping into their pores and making them sweat. ‘Focus on your faith,’ Scripture urged at regular intervals. ‘You are one with me.’
Word focussed as instructed, but the passing time ate at his faith like a determined rodent until he began to doubt that an opening would ever be found. And then they stumbled upon it: a flight of stone steps descending into the earth and darkness.
‘Now it is important to forget yourself and be one with me,’ Scripture warned, and he led them in single file down the staircase.
Word was glad to leave behind the strange world, even to go into darkness, but as his feet touched each stone step memories of Prayer’s fate echoed in his mind and fear lurked in his thoughts. Scripture was leading them into an unknown place where Prayer had met a Demon Horseman, and no one knew if it was possible to return. In his insistence amplifying their Blessing through him, Scripture had gambled all their lives. Only Law and Pelican remained behind, trapped on the Fallen Star Islands at the mercy of the Ranu. If they were all to perish in this underground realm, this place of emptiness and death, what would become of the future?
The steps ceased and they stood in a dark corridor. Scripture spoke in Word’s mind, but he was talking to everyone in the group. Focus together. Let me use your minds and I will make light to continue on our way. Shield yourself from fear when we face the Demon Horsemen. Believe. Jarudha walks with you. You are a true disciple.
A moment passed and a white sphere of light appeared, floating above their heads.
Behold what you have made, Scripture projected. Have faith.
With their way lit, the Seers filed along the corridor, Scripture leading, Moon trailing at the rear.
They entered a circular chamber, one that Word noted was different from that he recalled Prayer entering. There was no strange ebony statue at its centre; just emptiness and two openings into corridors. Scripture must have detected his uncertainty because images and words formed in his mind.
Never question what you see. Trust in Jarudha and all will be revealed as he chooses.
Word recognised it as a direct quotation from The Word: a section of early text that exhorted readers to place their entire faith unquestioningly in Jarudha if they truly wanted to see the truth and receive salvation. Blind, unquestioning faith—the kind they expected from the acolytes and from the disciples of their religion. Now he was struggling with it because of his rising fear of the unknown. He chastised himself and focussed on emptying his mind of fear, but he was startled by Scripture’s strident voice.
‘Hear us, those who are destined to scourge the world of sin. We, Jarudha’s faithful disciples, have opened the pathway to the Last Days as promised in all the ancient texts. Come to us that we might lead you to wipe the world free of the impious and the unfaithful, the sinners and the unbelievers who defile all that your master created. Come to us, oh Jarudha’s Demon Horsemen!’
Scripture’s call reverberated in the chamber and along the corridors. When the chamber returned to silence, Word could hear only his own breathing and heartbeat. His entire being screamed silently for him to leave. This place was not safe. If he stayed, he would die like Prayer.
Scripture repeated his exhortation and again the call echoed through the space, followed by silence. Word’s fear threatened to overwhelm him, but then he saw Moon shaking palpably and sweat beading on Pelican’s forehead and he discovered a source of calm in their shared terror. He could be stronger than the younger Seers. After Scripture, he was the eldest, the Seer the others would look to in Scripture’s absence.
I am your ever-faithful servant, he silently recited. In the face of death, I seek only to be joined with your spirit. I see only your light and your way.
Faint light appeared in one of the corridors, light that steadily grew and took on a blue sheen. Spurs clinked and metal boots scraped against stone. The light brightened and the corridor filled with the shape of an armoured man, shining with blue light, as if he were the light itself. In his hand he carried a sword unlike any Word had ever imagined, with a broad blade and serrated edges, a cruel weapon designed to tear chunks from an opponent and inflict ragged wounds that would fester and never heal.
The warrior strode into the chamber and halted before Scripture, his face hidden behind a visor within a plate-armour helmet. Word thought the warrior was going to speak, but then he raised his sword. A desperate image of Prayer flashed into Word’s mind and all hope drained from him. Be strong! Scripture roared in his head, challenging his fear.
The sword reached its zenith above the warrior’s head and its blade flared with bright blue tongues of flame. Behind him, Word glimpsed a second figure of light emerging from the corridor. And then the scene paused, as if it were a painting or a tapestry like those hanging on the palace walls, and Scripture’s voice roared again in his mind, but this time addressing the warriors.
Stay your sword! Kneel before a disciple of Jarudha! Kneel to show your faith!
Word expected the sword to cleave Scripture in two, as it must have Prayer. When it began to lower slowly, his heart skipped a beat in astonishment and relief, and he felt hope pour into him where fear had fought to take control. But the warrior did not kneel as His Eminence ordered. The second warrior stood at the right side of the first and both held their swords points to the ground.
Focus! roared Scripture through Word’s mind. Fighting his swirling emotions, Word tried to bring his mind to bear on Scripture and to open his thoughts to him, but he was afraid. He did not understand and yet he understood everything. They were in the presence of the Demon Horsemen, the highest and most potent servants of Jarudha. Truly, they were the deliverers of the Last Days after all. Truly, it was they who were dest
ined to enter the realm of Paradise and sit with Jarudha to watch over eternity. Here he was, standing before the beings to whom he’d committed his entire life, and he was utterly terrified.
Word sat alone in his chamber, unable to suppress the cold fear sliding through his veins. His hands trembled as he opened his personal diary and smoothed down a fresh, crisp page. He stared at the blank paper as if he expected it to marshal his thoughts for him, but his mind was assailed by images of the encounter with the Demon Horsemen; they were seared into his consciousness. He reached for the autoscribe, but the trembling tip stayed poised above the waiting paper for a long time before he could lower it, and the entry began with an ink blot.
Jarudha be blessed, he scrawled. Jarudha be praised. He repeated the phrases three times, unable to move forward. Then he wrote, I was in the presence of your servants, my Lord, and I was afraid. I am still afraid. Why, oh blessed and awesome Jarudha, am I so racked with fear that my hands shake and I feel ice in my blood?
He laid the autoscribe beside the diary and sat back in his chair, staring at the holy circle embossed on the chamber’s stone wall. Why am I so afraid? he silently asked the circle.
Scripture had risked all of their lives to confront the Horsemen, and he was grateful that His Eminence had remembered to close the portal behind them when they returned to the temple.
A knock at his door startled him and he hesitated before querying, ‘Who is it?’
The handle turned and a familiar face appeared, shadowed by the wire-lightning light. ‘It’s time we talked,’ Scripture said, and entered unbidden.
‘Your Eminence,’ Word said, standing and bowing his head.
‘Sit down,’ Scripture snapped. ‘We’re colleagues inside this room.’ He pulled a wooden stool towards Word’s chair and sat. ‘So,’ he began, ‘what do you think?’
Word blinked. ‘About what, Your—’ He stopped before finishing the title.
‘How will we use the Demon Horsemen?’ Scripture said.
Word raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s not for us to use them,’ he answered cautiously.
Scripture rubbed his eyes, a sigh revealing his intense exhaustion. He straightened his head and looked Word in the eye. ‘Without our combined wills to constrain them, they would have slaughtered us,’ he said quietly. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
That is why I am still afraid, Word silently admitted. He said, ‘Yes.’
‘They know that we are all tainted with our sins,’ Scripture explained. ‘They smell it on us. They see it in our hearts. Without the Conduit to protect us, we will perish with all the others.’
‘So it seems.’
‘But with the Conduit and our will, we can command them,’ Scripture said confidently.
Word heard a tiny note of triumph in Scripture’s voice, a touch of hubris that had always marked the older man’s leadership. It didn’t ease his fear.
‘We don’t have the right to command Jarudha’s servants,’ he said, unable to suppress the quaver in his voice.
Scripture’s eyes narrowed and he said slowly, ‘We have every right to serve Jarudha’s plan. Just like our predecessors who struggled to find the Conduit, we have struggled and it is now we who have been blessed and charged with bringing Paradise to the world. We are Jarudha’s servants too, and we have been made the gatekeepers of His Demon Horsemen. You walked at the edge of Paradise with all of us, you saw His Horsemen and you saw how they were compliant to our combined wills. We are the Conduit now, Word. You, me, all of us—we are the Conduit.’
Word saw the fire in Scripture’s eyes and knew the future was being planned in his presence. He swallowed, trying to force his fear back into its rightful place, licked his lips, and asked, ‘What do you propose?’
Scripture’s mouth twisted in a sour smile. ‘We begin by teaching the meddling Ranu a lesson that will turn their barbarian hordes into whimpering dogs howling for Jarudha’s mercy.’
The hatred simmering in Scripture’s reply made Word less certain than ever of the path their leader had chosen for them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Shadow entered the old palace war room, followed by his brothers and Warlord Fist. He crossed to the tall windows and gazed towards a long dark blue strip on the horizon that was the western ocean. When he turned to face the others he looked tired.
‘It seems our friends the Seers have withdrawn from our company of late,’ he said. He looked squarely at Fist and continued, ‘It also seems that the old Shessian warmaster is more difficult to catch than I was led to believe. And the Abomination and her companions are even more elusive, able to appear in the Bog Pit, steal a prisoner directly from my warlord and disappear at will, then prevent our soldiers arresting the old warmaster and disappear yet again.’ He smashed his fist against the back of a tall chair at the long central table and swore. ‘And now,’ he said slowly, ‘I receive word that the Ranu have annexed the Fallen Star Islands because I could not deliver an assassin to them.’ He paused, still staring at Fist. ‘Explain to me, very clearly, why I should not replace you.’
Fist met the king’s stare without flinching. He’d faced death in the middle of battle. The king’s only battles were mock ones with his brothers. ‘Your Highness,’ he said calmly, ‘I am the only man you have who knows how the Ranu military minds work.’
‘Is that right?’ Shadow challenged. ‘And you base that, I suppose, on your brief campaign against my brother?’
‘Yes, I do.’
Shadow’s smile flashed briefly, a false smile that reflected his irritation. ‘Well, Warlord Fist, there is an enemy interfering with the sovereignty of my kingdom and your life is on the line. Deal with the Ranu on behalf of your king and your nation. If you succeed, I will honour you. Should you fail, I will kill you personally. Do you have any questions, Warlord Fist?’
‘What are my limits in acting against the Ranu, Your Highness?’
‘Do whatever it takes,’ Shadow replied. ‘Place the city under martial law. Expel the Ranu ambassadors and truncate all Ranu mercantile interests. Press-gang all the recruits you need to expand my army. Get the Seers out of their temple and onto the city walls. I don’t want a Ranu foot on Kerwyn soil anywhere.’
‘Is that all, Your Highness?’ Fist asked.
‘That is everything, Warlord, everything.’
Fist saluted the king, the princes, and departed.
Shadow shifted his attention to his brothers. ‘This will not be a good time,’ he began. ‘Our spies are loyal, but cannot be ruthlessly honest with us. The truth is that the Ranu have metal ships and dragon eggs and a vast army and they will drive us out because we lack the military strength to stop them. Lastchild, I want you to make preparations for our expedient exit from the city if Fist’s efforts prove futile. The moment the Ranu are in position to begin a full land assault on Port of Joy, we leave.’
‘But the kingdom?’ Lastchild asked.
‘You’d die for a kingdom?’ Shadow questioned.
‘I would,’ said Gift. ‘If it was the only chance I had to be king, I’d die for it.’
Shadow turned to his youngest brother. ‘And why is that?’
‘You don’t understand what it’s like to be the last in the family line,’ Gift said. ‘My mother is the invisible queen, kept out of the way in her private house in the Northern Quarter, free to come and go but always under close guard, and never invited here. And why? Because I was never going to be king, was I? That’s how it works. But I’d willingly die for the kingdom if I knew I could be king.’
Shadow glanced at Lastchild, before saying, ‘Then I’m going to grant your wish, little brother. If the Ranu begin a full assault and we leave, I will make you the king. Do you still want it so badly that you would die for it?’
Gift’s eyes were wide with astonishment. ‘You would really make me king?’
‘I promise,’ said Shadow. ‘You can be the one to face the new Ranu overlords when Port of Joy is burning.’
Gift
looked to Lastchild. ‘You heard that. I will be the king. Not you. Not him. Me. He’s the king and he’s promised it to me and you can’t do anything about it.’
Lastchild smirked. ‘If that happens, little brother, you can have it. Me? I intend to be alive and well in another country.’
A Ahmud Ki twisted the glass stopper from the phial and lifted it to his nose. The powder was odourless. According to his advisors and surgeon, the drug was, when taken in small doses, relatively pleasurable and harmless. However, they warned that it was highly addictive and, taken over an extended period, ate away at the brain and sensibilities until the user became irreversibly paranoid. Port of Joy, the Kerwyn capital, was apparently littered with euphoria addicts, from small children to old men and women—all victims of the Seers’ free distribution of the drug to lure people to their temples. There was also reliable speculation, brought to him by his spies and ambassadors, that the Seers relied on the drug to work their minor feats of magic, which would explain their desperation to retain the major source of the plants from which the purple powder was extracted—the Fallen Star Islands.
It was the latter information that made him curious. If it was true that the drug could generate magical power in a human, how much more effective might it be in someone who was not entirely human?
How long had it been since he last felt the pleasure of magical power coursing through him? The woman, Meg, had carried an amber gem from the Genesis Stone—the last fragment of the source of magic that had, at one time in history, sustained entire cultures. He remembered how his body had tingled when he touched her, how he’d felt the old power surging through his veins like an excited pulse and the brief exhilaration when he conjured a fireball in the Kerwyn port.
He had so hoped to find Meg alive after he returned from Se’Treya, when he led the Ranu armies into the Andrak regions. He had finally admitted that he loved her and wanted to be with her—but deeper even than the love, he wanted to be near her source of magic. He wanted to be what he believed he was meant to be, a Dragonlord; only the amber from the Genesis Stone could give him that. Not finding Meg alive, learning that she had disappeared without a trace, had sorely disappointed him, but he had learned to accept that the past was gone, and, ironically, this world and his new title made him more powerful than he could ever have been as a Dragonlord.
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