He read the front-page headlines. WAR! they blared, and beneath: WILD RUMOURS NO LONGER SPECULATION. So the new president and the Council are already going to war, he mused. Do whatever it takes to get elected before you do whatever it is you want to do, he thought, remembering the political maxim his long-dead advisor Jazet Na’Keem had recited when A Ahmud Ki was being groomed for the presidential role. Some things never change, he decided wryly, and read on: The foreigners’ claim that an enemy of the empire was intending to bring war to our land was borne out yesterday when a farspeaker message from General Tazim, based on the Stepping Stones Islands, reported mass destruction of our naval base at Ne’er Kaza and the loss of two thousand lives.
A Ahmud Ki continued, learning that Tazim’s message had been truncated in its transmission and that no further word had been received from him. He reached the final paragraph where the reporter named the foreigners involved: The former king of Kerwyn, along with his military attaché, Blade Cutter, and his advisor, Meg Farmer, were taken to General Benir’s headquarters in Lightsword late last night for further questioning in this matter.
He lowered the paper, astonished by the revelation. Meg is in Lightsword. And the Horsemen are still coming. The morning light had already lost its soft glow, the white buildings shining starkly in the sunlight. The Horsemen were still at their work. How much of the world had they consumed? He’d hoped that they would have been content with the destruction of the Kerwyn land, that whatever revenge they were driven to fulfil would end when they had turned everything associated with that kingdom to dust. The realisation that they intended on destroying all life everywhere was terrifying.
He read the article again and then a related piece that focussed on the foreigners. Meg had led her family and friends to Lightsword and tried, in vain, to get the authorities to rally against the Demon Horsemen. A Ahmud Ki shook his head. Such resistance was futile in the face of the coming storm.
He sat back and lowered the paper onto the table. Does she still have the sword hilt? he wondered, his mind beset with myriad permutations of what he knew. Nothing mortal could stop the Horsemen, that was certain. A Dragonlord’s magic might stop them one at a time. He had spent days working out what might be possible. There was a way he believed he could fight them, one on one. One spell, the very spell Mareg had gifted to the Horsemen that gave them the power to destroy—the spell of unmaking—could be used against them in single combat. One Horseman alone couldn’t cast the spell, but one Dragonlord could. He guessed Mareg had planned this from the outset when he created the Horsemen, so he could control his potent minions in Se’Treya. He’d probably even demonstrated the spell on one to show the others that he was their master. But they caught him out somehow and killed him. Perhaps it had come to a simple showdown on the dusty Se’Treyan plain, where magic was nullified and a warrior’s brutal skill triumphed. Or had the Horsemen defied Mareg when he released them to destroy something else in the mortal world, turned as a pack on him and torn him apart?
A Ahmud Ki could stop one, but not all of them at once. Meg, if she knew the spell, could stop another. But there were eight Horsemen at his last encounter with them, and unless they could be separated so Meg and he could deal with them one at a time, the unmaking spell was useless.
So there was only the sword.
He walked to his bedroom, where he opened a dark wooden wardrobe and retrieved a small ivory casket from under a pile of clothes in the base. He sat on his bed and passed his left hand across the plain casket, unlocking the magic spell binding it shut. He lifted the lid and pulled out the slender amber bracelet. He held it up to the light in his right hand, examining it as he had a hundred times since receiving it from Erin. ‘Whisper,’ he murmured, remembering the unsought affection the black bush rat had offered him from their first meeting. ‘You knew.’ He lowered his hand, returning the bracelet to the casket and simultaneously touching his chest through his black tunic with his left hand. ‘I was a Dragonlord,’ he said. ‘You knew that and yet you gave me your life because of what I said to you.’
He went to the window to look over Yul Ithrandyr once more. A dragon egg with a vivid red nose section hovered over the city’s south. Further south-west, smoke rose from a hundred factory chimneys in the city’s industrial sector. The blue sky was cloudless. He took a deep breath and watched a little yellow-breasted bird hop along the roof opposite his window in pursuit of an insect. Quarry snapped up, the bird fluttered away. A tiny fly landed on his windowsill and he asked it, ‘How can we escape our destinies?’ but the insect took flight without answering.
The sound of children distracted him and he looked into the street five storeys below where a dozen boys were kicking a ball, jostling and laughing. A dog started barking at their antics, and a barrel-chested man strode out of a shop and bellowed at the dog, which only made it bark with greater fury. A Ahmud Ki watched the vignette with mild amusement before he headed for his wardrobe again. He pulled out a travelling bag. The last item he packed into it was the ivory casket with its precious treasure.
The room was small, white and lit by a wire-lightning bulb. It was windowless with only one door. Meg led her companions inside, escorted by six Ranu soldiers who took positions around the walls. Two men sat at a rectangular white table, one in a white military uniform, the other in a white shirt and black trousers.
‘It seems your military leaders have successfully caught our boundary forces napping,’ said the man in the Ranu officer’s uniform, his medals shining on his chest. ‘What exactly are you hoping to achieve?’
‘We have no army,’ said Inheritor with tired patience.
‘Then what attacked our forces on the Stepping Stones Islands?’
Blade Cutter answered. ‘The Demon Horsemen.’
The Ranu officer raised an eyebrow and glanced at his companion, a balding government official.
‘Horsemen?’ repeated the official, peering at Cutter over the glass nearseers perched precariously on his nose. ‘Is this your name for some special military force?’
‘This is no military force,’ said Cutter, ‘and you can’t defend yourselves against them.’
‘That makes no sense,’ the official stated. ‘You say we cannot defend our people from this army?’
Meg met the official’s disbelief with her steady gaze and said, ‘The Horsemen are not an army. They’re magical creatures—’
‘Will you stop this preposterous nonsense about magic!’ interjected the military officer and he glared at Meg and her companions. ‘There is no such thing as magic!’
‘Then what’s this?’ Meg asked. She held out her hand and a small metal ball appeared in her palm. As the astonished Ranu watched, she made it levitate and grow into a radiating light sphere. ‘Explain that with your scientific rationale,’ she challenged as the sphere vanished. ‘The Horsemen are not mortal. You can’t kill them with your peacemakers.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said the military officer. ‘This is nothing but sophisticated propaganda designed to make us capitulate before your army gets here. And I’m telling you, it won’t scare us. We have inventions you haven’t even dreamed of.’
‘You haven’t ever dreamed of anything like the Horsemen,’ said Inheritor.
The military officer stood, studying Inheritor. ‘Whoever you really are, you’ll at least have the pleasure of watching your army destroyed, that I promise you.’ He nodded to his colleague as he left the interrogation room.
‘He’ll regret that,’ Cutter warned.
‘High General Laksham has never regretted anything,’ said the official. He shuffled some papers on his desk, drew out a single sheet and took up an autoscribe, saying, ‘Now, back to business.’ He looked at Inheritor. ‘Tell me again what your leaders did with the former president of the Ranu republic.’
Inheritor sighed heavily and replied, ‘I’ll tell you again: we did nothing to your president. He was trying to help us against the Horsemen.’
The offic
ial selected another piece of paper. ‘According to the last report received from—’
‘The captain of the dreadnought Shar k’mel—yes, we’ve heard this over and over,’ said Inheritor. ‘I’ve memorised it. Ki did not perish on the dreadnought. He escaped the destruction of Port of Joy with us and that’s the last we saw of him.’
‘And we have no proof of this,’ added Meg before the official could continue. ‘At least, we had no proof until the news you received from your unfortunate general on the Stepping Stones.’
The official adjusted his nearseers and shuffled his papers some more, methodically organising them into discrete piles on the table. ‘Under the Treason Act of the Ranu People’s Republic, and with the authority invested in me by the citizens thereof,’ he announced, ‘I hereby declare that you will all be charged with conspiring to bring down the democratic government of the people through subversive action. The penalty for this crime against the Ranu state is death by public beheading.’
As he finished his pronouncement, someone knocked heavily on the door. He gestured to a guard who opened it. Another official entered: a younger man with a dark beard, also wearing a white shirt and black trousers. He beckoned to the older official, who rose from his chair, saying, ‘I will return in a moment,’ and left the room.
‘What’s that all about?’ Cutter queried.
‘No idea,’ said Inheritor.
‘Whatever the outcome, we have to prepare for an escape,’ Meg said.
‘To where?’ Inheritor asked. ‘If the Horsemen have really come all this way, where else is left?’
Meg had no answer. Where could they run? Their last hope had vanished with A Ahmud Ki’s disappearance. The fact that she couldn’t make a portal connection with the Khvech Daas library and Erin compounded her fear that the Demon Horsemen had outwitted them. The Last Days, as the Seers had called them, were rapidly counting down. How much of the world was already dead grey dust?
The official returned with a contrite expression. ‘You have a visitor,’ he announced and stepped aside to admit a tall, slim man, his grey hair styled short, a neatly trimmed beard framing an elegantly handsome face. Meg felt a sudden, strong shiver as if she was in the presence of powerful magic.
‘There’s no need for anyone else to be present,’ A Ahmud Ki said firmly, and he waited for the official and guards to vacate the room before taking a seat opposite the prisoners. Smiling, he said, ‘We meet again.’
‘How?’ Meg asked, unable to frame the full question, amazed to see A Ahmud Ki alive.
‘I read the paper,’ he said. ‘Seems the Demon Horsemen weren’t satisfied with just destroying your land.’
‘I meant how did you get here?’
‘The same way you did,’ he replied, ‘only I hadn’t expected you to be here either.’ He acknowledged Inheritor and Cutter. ‘How did you explain your sudden arrival to the authorities?’
‘We didn’t,’ said Inheritor. ‘In fact, we tried to blend in, until some local citizens reported us to the peacekeepers.’
‘There are thirty of us,’ Cutter explained. ‘It’s hard to hide a sudden influx of thirty foreigners, even in a city as big and strange as this one.’
‘When they came to arrest us we tried to explain why we were here,’ Meg said.
‘But they didn’t believe you,’ A Ahmud Ki added. ‘They accused you of setting up an invasion. I got a quick summary from your friendly interrogator, Yazik Neman.’
‘Who just issued us with the death penalty,’ said Inheritor.
‘Efficient,’ A Ahmud Ki remarked. He stood. ‘We have to leave now and move quickly. I’ve told Yazik that my military force is moving secretly to intercept the approaching enemy force and so he is not to reveal to anyone that I am back in Ranu Ka Shehaala. I’ve explained that you are trustworthy people and that I will take you with me. However, if Yazik is as officious as he should be, he will already be checking out the credibility of my story.’
‘But you’re the president,’ said Inheritor.
A Ahmud Ki glanced at Meg, realising she had kept his secret from her friends. ‘Was,’ he admitted. ‘A new one has been elected. I’m on the outer again. That’s why we have to move quickly. Do you still have the sword hilt?’
‘They took our belongings when they arrested us, but we hid the bag under some rubble,’ said Inheritor.
‘I added a hide spell to the rubble,’ Meg explained.
A Ahmud Ki nodded approvingly. ‘Clever. We’ll retrieve it as we gather everyone together.’
‘Where are we going?’ Cutter asked.
‘Ask questions later. We have to go now.’
Meg waited for her companions to leave the room before she approached A Ahmud Ki. She felt the energy between them increase as she got closer. ‘You’ve changed,’ she remarked.
‘We have a lot to do,’ he replied without acknowledging her observation. ‘And very little time to do it in.’
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Meg sat in the rear seat of the motor wagon beside A Ahmud Ki and watched the city drift by. Lightsword had changed significantly since she’d left it with Captain Marlin more than thirty years before. The buildings were taller, the sky was dirtier with industrial smoke, the streets were cluttered with motorised wagons and paved with stones, there seemed to be more people and it was so much noisier than she remembered. She looked over her shoulder and saw the cavalcade of seven more vehicles carrying the refugees from Summerbrook. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked above the wagon’s rattle and putter.
‘Up there.’ A Ahmud Ki pointed towards the ruined castle on the plateau above the city.
‘Why there?’
‘You’ll see,’ he answered and squeezed her hand.
There were so many questions she needed answers to. ‘Where’s Whisper?’ she asked. His grey eyes revealed that he wasn’t willing to answer that just yet. She nodded to show she understood and asked instead, ‘How long do you think we have?’
‘Before the Horsemen come?’
She shook her head. ‘Until your people realise what you’ve done.’
He smiled. ‘Two or three days at most. Perhaps just one. The bureaucracy can be painfully slow when you want something dealt with, but when there’s any kind of scandal they move far too quickly.’
‘Scandal?’
‘I’m the former president, remember?’
‘But even as the former president, surely you still have some influence?’
He shook his head. ‘Two problems,’ he said, holding onto the door as the driver made a sharp turn onto the road that led up to the castle ruins. ‘First, I’m a political liability for the new president. There’s nothing he’d enjoy more than to bring me to trial for the years of war I promoted.’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ she argued. ‘You were the elected president. The people supported your policies, didn’t they?’
He laughed. ‘Of course. But democratic politics are always about now; the past must be cleansed of all wrong. The people voted for me to lead them to war, but now they want to be forgiven and that makes me expendable. If I’m sacrificed on the public altar, the state is absolved of its past sins.’
‘And the other problem?’
‘I’ve returned without an army,’ he explained. ‘Either I’ve deserted or I’ve lost twenty thousand men, a fleet of ships and an enormous quantity of equipment.’
‘Oh,’ she muttered. ‘I understand.’
‘So, like you, I don’t have anywhere safe to go, even without the Horsemen.’
He smiled wryly and looked across the city that was sinking beneath them as their wagon puttered up the narrow winding road towards the old castle gates. He gave off an uneasy tension, as palpable as the flow of magic she felt about him, and she guessed his secret. He had an amber gem. Its presence resonated with her amber. What frightened her was guessing at how he’d acquired it. Had he stolen it from Erin in a last desperate chance to be restored to his former Dragonlord glory? Or wors
e? Was he a bigger threat to her than the Horsemen or was he really helping? She studied his face, searching for a clue, some sign of reassurance, but he was as enigmatic now as he had been when she first rescued him from the cruel prison in Se’Treya.
Their vehicle stopped alongside several others belonging to visitors in the paved parking area outside the castle gates. A Ahmud Ki, impressive in his white presidential suit, climbed down from the wagon and strolled towards the gatekeeper’s office. The Ranu soldiers on duty saluted when they recognised the former president, but A Ahmud Ki ignored them and spoke directly to the gatekeeper. ‘Who is in charge here?’
‘Mister Keeth,’ the man replied.
‘Is he here?’
‘Who’s asking?’ the gatekeeper challenged.
A Ahmud Ki smiled. ‘Tell Mister Keeth that President Ki wishes to speak to him.’
Understanding dawned in the gatekeeper’s chubby face. ‘I’m sorry, President Ki, I didn’t recognise you.’
‘Just fetch Keeth,’ A Ahmud Ki ordered.
Meg approached him as the gatekeeper left. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Emptying the castle,’ A Ahmud Ki replied. ‘Even an ex-president has some authority with ordinary people.’
‘Why have you brought us here?’
‘Look,’ he said, extending his arm to take in the panoramic vista. ‘You can see in every direction—to the Great Dylan Ranges in the west, the Ureykeyu to the east, the Dragon Peaks to the north and the Great Southern Ocean to the south. The old kings who built this place knew what they were doing. Whichever direction the Horsemen come from, we will see them well before they get here.’
‘And then what?’ she asked. ‘What did you learn from Erin?’
His expression became solemn. ‘More than I can tell you right now.’
‘You found another answer?’
He shook his head, but before he could explain the gatekeeper returned with the castle manager.
‘My apologies, President Ki,’ Keeth said, bowing his head politely.
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