by Tom Lloyd
Xeliath ignored the interruption. ‘What others intend is the matter at hand. Unfortunately for all of us, you’ve become a nexus for those intentions.’
‘What are you talking about? I’ve been given no quest by the Gods.
Carel always says I’ve got the piety of a dead ice-cobra. Just why do people think I’ve been chosen to lead a crusade, or whatever other damn stupid idea they have?’
‘And therein lies the problem.’
Isak cocked his head at the strange girl. For such a young woman she was amazingly confident and assured. ‘How did you learn Farlan anyway?’ That was one of the things nagging at him about this girl: her accent was not just excellent, but native.
‘Can we please keep to the matter at hand? If you need an answer, I didn’t, I can’t. I’m speaking directly to your thoughts. Whatever you hear is how your mind chooses to represent those thoughts. This is just a dream, Isak, your dream. The conversation is happening, but this place doesn’t exist.’
‘Then how?’
‘I’m not sure whether I should tell you, but I don’t suppose you’ll pay attention until you get an answer. You were Chosen last year; I already had been. Lady Amavoq came to me in a dream. I wasn’t made Krann or given a title, but my gift was rather special. Lady Amavoq told me to watch over you. I was intended to be your bride and royal assassin.’
‘What was the gift? Why only intended?’
‘The gift was the Skull of Dreams, the one owned by Aryn Bwr’s queen. That’s how I’m here: other than warded minds, I can enter most people’s dreams - and once there, I can kill them. As for intended, well, things went astray there, but it’s only been since I met Morghien that I begin to understand why.’
‘I’m now a prisoner in my dreams. When I accepted the Skull, my fate was entwined with yours - but unfortunately, you have many fates… and none. Either way, it was too much: it broke me. Oh Gods, did it hurt - you’ve no idea just how much something like that could hurt.’ She stopped for a moment, her pain showing in her face. Isak didn’t know how to respond; he felt guilty for something that he knew nothing about.
Xeliath shuddered. ‘For a moment, an instant, I saw a thousand futures ahead of me. The Skull stopped my mind being completely destroyed; it cushioned the blow, somehow, but it could do nothing to stop me screaming. I looked like I’d been struck down by madness. She sighed. ‘My family believe I have been called as a prophet. Now I’m kept confined and drugged.’
‘And this is my fault?’ Isak couldn’t keep the incredulous edge from his voice, but Xeliath gave no sign that she had noticed.
‘In a way. When I was following your mind, I found Morghien, passing close by, and I entered his dreams out of curiosity. The man of many spirits: he is well named. I found more answers than I’d expected, and answers that I had not expected.’ She sighed. ‘There were so many prophecies about the Age of Fulfilment - so many hands trying to affect the future - that it looks like they may all have failed.’
‘How? You’re not making any sense.’ He was beginning to feel stupid: should it be this hard to grasp?
She smiled and patted the ground beside her. He sat, feeling the soft ground give slightly under his weight, and Xeliath leaned against him, slender and frail, but curiously warming on his skin.
‘You know about prophets, yes? That they speak in riddles and everything has to be deciphered? Well, they don’t see the future, they see what is possible, and then those visions are translated according to the viewpoint of the scholars who study the prophet.’
‘So the scholars could be lying?’
‘If only it were that simple.’ Xeliath gave a rueful chuckle and took his hand, patting it affectionately before interlacing her fingers with his and squeezing them. ‘Sometimes they are correct, sometimes not. But you must remember that there’s a power in words, there’s a power in belief. Men work towards what they believe - Gods are sustained partly by the belief and devotion of their followers. You should know that words can affect the Land - whether it’s logical or not, we see the Land through words, stories and beliefs. The course of history itself can be shaped by these words. You might want to tell your father that. Honestly, giving a white-eye such a name … it just pushed you further from the intended path. He might find himself explaining his decision at the Gates of Death to an annoyed deity.’
‘I didn’t pick my name… and I still don’t get what is this to do with me.’ Now he sounded plaintive.
‘You’re at the heart of it all. “Saviour” is just a name, but it’s loaded with enough power to affect those who are associated with it. Names can be used by men and Gods towards their own ends. You’ve become the centre of the prophecies of the Saviour, whether you like it or not, but the laws of magic are not the same as those of nature.
‘Everyone with any power has tried to influence your birth, to create the man they needed. They failed. Between them they gave you the power to change the Land around you, to bend fate to your will, but they forgot the difference between nature and magic: when forces of nature meet, either one wins outright, or they cancel each other out. When forces of magic meet, they corrupt and change each other.
‘The result is that you have the power without the desire: no dreams of conquest, no grand schemes, just an emptiness of ambition. Destiny has twisted about you and snapped.’
Isak took a deep breath. He had no idea what questions he should be asking. His mind was blank.
‘I-How can I know you’re telling me the truth?’
Xeliath smiled, understanding his suspicion. ‘Well, first of all, you recognise my voice don’t you? I was watching that first night in the Tower - though I didn’t know where you were, I could feel your soul entwined with my own. I’ve been with you since the beginning of this new life of yours.’
Isak’s eyes widened in recollection and he opened his mouth to speak, but Xeliath placed a finger to his lips and hushed him. Then she put her hand on his chest and pressed her fingers against the scar there. ‘And I know you can feel it within yourself. You’ve been Chosen, yet you hardly care, do you? It’s not affected you: whatever sense of purpose you feel comes from your intelligence, not your instincts.
‘I-‘ Xeliath looked around suddenly, alarm flashing over her face. Isak looked too, but he could see nothing in the empty landscape - then he remembered this was just an image in his mind. He closed his eyes and reached out cautiously.
It was as if there were two Lands, laid one upon the other. He could feel his friends asleep around him under a canopy of trees, and the grass, fluttering out on the plain. He focused on the dream scene - and found the source of Xeliath’s concern. A shadow swirled around them, like fingers of cloud drifting past the unseen sun. Isak recognised the sensation; it was what he’d felt on the battlements, at Suzerain Fordan’s feast.
‘I must leave,’ Xeliath began, ‘don’t worry; I’ll deal with whatever that is. Did Morghien give you letters for the King of Narkang?’ Isak nodded, his mind still on the shadow.
‘Give them to King Emin in private; he will explain in more detail-I don’t know him yet, but the King’s mind shines as brightly as yours and he could be as important as you are. Shadows fear him. I will come to you again, when I can.’ She hesitated, her confidence melting away as she stared up into eyes that mirrored her own.
Tentatively she drew herself closer, breathing in the scent of his body, and placed a tender kiss on his lips. Isak felt her tongue flicker against his own, and then she pulled back. She looked sad.
Isak saw her completely open and vulnerable. The scar on his chest burned with shame and lust. ‘Wait,’ he cried, feeling himself drifting awake, ‘if I’ve broken your mind, then why are you still helping me?’
Now all he could see was the outline of her face against the starry sky. The melancholy in her voice was almost more than Isak could bear. ‘Because it’s what I am. It’s all I have left.’
CHAPTER 26
The further south they travelled, the
more winter lost its edge. Nights were cold, especially when they slept on board the riverboat, but the familiar bite of snow in the air was gone. The Parian felt summer on the horizon as they left the shadow of the mountains and crossed wide empty plains. Narkang lay to the south-west, but they had no intention of going near either Vanach, which had strict religious laws too easy to break unsuspectingly, or Tor Milist - no one knew what reception Isak might get there.
Instead, they travelled on the river that marked the border between Tor Milist and Scree for much of the way. There was a small risk of trouble, but their party was well able to deal with any problems they might encounter.
It was strange to wake without a mountain somewhere on the horizon, but the presence of the early morning sunshine more than compensated. The sight of thin wisps of cloud above, all edged in gold, brought a smile to Isak’s lips. He began to remember the pleasure to be found out in the wilds. With the warm memory of Xeliath in his head and friends surrounding him, Isak found himself enjoying life more than ever. Only the lingering memory of what the dark-skinned girl had said troubled him, even though he had determined not to worry any more about it until he reached Narkang and the brightly shining King Emin. Still he couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of unease.
As they skirted Tor Milist’s official border, those they met reported that the civil war had started up again in earnest. Duke Vrerr had suffered two minor defeats already that year, though he had barely escaped with his life, it appeared the rumours of his death had been exaggerated. The duke had placed an enormous bounty on the head of the witch Lefema after her attempt on his life, but so far, no one had claimed it. The peasants hated their Lord with a passion, for he was already appropriating people’s crops - at this rate they would have nothing to store up for the winter.
And court gossip was passed on too: a Chetse mercenary was providing plenty of talk amongst the gentlefolk of Tor Milist, for he had apparently succeeded in cuckolding the notoriously jealous duke.
‘I can believe that well enough,’ Vesna commented as they relaxed in the common room of a dockside tavern they had graced with their presence.
‘And why’s that?’ Tila’s expression went unnoticed.
Vesna stared at his drink and scowled at the bitter aftertaste. ‘Well, I went there as part of the negotiations over the last border raids, a famous name to distract the duke.’
Isak smiled. Vesna hadn’t admitted to Tila all the reasons for being sent on such missions: no only did men tend to get distracted when the famous adulterer was around, but Vesna had been trained by the best poisoners in the Chief Steward’s employ. Many negotiations had been swiftly resolved by the timely passing of an obstructive old man.
‘I met the duchess only once, but she-‘ Now he caught sight of Tila’s face. ‘Ah, I mean-Well, you know what they say about the Chetse…’ The count’s brain caught up with his mouth and he shut up.
‘No,’ said Tila, innocently, ‘what do they say?’
‘I, er… they say-‘ He looked around the smiling faces and scowled. ‘Oh leave me alone, I never went near the woman, despite her offers. She smelled so bad I couldn’t bear being in the same room.’
Carel gave the downcast count a pat on the shoulder, but Vesna got up and headed for the door.
‘I think it would probably be quicker to just ask him which women he has gone near,’ Carel told Tila, a merciless grin on his face.
Tila could see why the count kept his first name from everyone, even his friends. ‘And I think you should keep quiet, old man,’ she snapped back. ‘At least Count Vesna’s trying to be respectable. You’re the one encouraging him - not to mention throwing all your money at trollop barmaids.’
The laughter was less raucous now: the guardsmen filling most of the bar weren’t going to risk enjoying themselves too much at their commander’s expense. In any case, Tila had a treacherously good memory for those with a sweetheart at home and a local girl on their lap. Since she’d had to give in to Isak and use a normal saddle, Tila’s tongue had been sharper than ever and the men trod carefully aroundher.
Carel snorted and turned away and Tila stormed off to join Mistress Daran at a table away from the increasingly rowdy soldiers.
‘So you’re goin’ south to the borderland from here, my Lord?’ asked the barkeep hesitantly, taking advantage of the lull in conversation.
Isak turned to look at the man. Just for a moment his temper flared as he recalled all the inns like this he’d been excluded from in his old life. Then the memory of the shadow took over, and he grimaced at the thought that still his life was not his own.
The barkeep began to sweat as Isak glared at him, twisting a grimy cloth tighter and tighter around his pudgy hands. ‘Do you normally let white-eyes in here?’
‘I-Er, well, some o’ tha mercenaries we get in these parts, it don’t matter whether they’re white-eye or no. Duke Vrerr pays for men who’ll follow any orders and that always bring scum - men as’ll kill you soon as look as you.’
‘So you think I’m respectable enough for your establishment?’
‘My Lord?’ enquired Carel, sternly.
Isak kept the terrified barkeep frozen to the spot for a moment longer, then shook off his bad mood. He acknowledged Carel’s admonishment and tossed a gold coin on to the bar.
‘I’m sorry. Please, keep the beer coming. If you have brandy, then you look like you could do with one yourself.’
The man looked down at the coin with suspicion, then nodded and swept it cleanly into his apron pocket. ‘Thank you, my Lord. Will you be wantin’ a bottle yourself?’ He was obviously still uncomfortable, but gold was gold.
‘Yes, thank you, and we are going south through the borderland, if that’s what you call the disputed lands south of here - why? Have you heard anything?’
‘I-Well, nothin’ new. But you might like to know they’re a touchy breed south o’ here. They fight Tor Milist and Helrect if either tries to claim the region. They see a lot o’ soldiers passin’ through, so a uniform they don’t know, like them dragon badges, you’ll get arrows every step o’ the way. They’ll prob’ly leave you alone if you dont boast your colours - and if you’re goin’ nice and slow and obvious-like towards Ghorent. That’s the heart o’ the borderland and some respec’ to’ards the town should see you left in peace.’
Isak nodded and muttered his thanks, then touched Carel on the arm and indicated he was going out to speak to Vesna. Carel nodded and turned to watch one of the guardsmen’s efforts to engage Mistress Daran in conversation. Their evening amusement frequently revolved around a bet on who could draw the chaperone into an obscure argument and how long it could be strung out - that woman did like to argue once she had a glass or two of wine in her. So far they’d managed to conceal the actual betting from Tila.
Out of the corner of his eye Carel saw Mihn follow Isak outside. He smiled: at last his boy had friends, and ones who’d watch out for him at that. It was just what Isak needed, some friendship and reassurance in his life. But he still lay awake at nights worrying about how long it would last. Isak would always be a white-eye. Even if they stopped him looking for trouble, trouble would still find him one day.
A curtain of pink washed across the eastern sky as dusk closed in. A long tear just above the horizon glowed ruby-red and to the west, towards the Gods, the sky was dark and forbidding. The bloody shard seemed to be pointing out the group’s direction; the Gods ignored them. Behind them, in the north, a mass of clouds were ready to sweep down over the plains and pound them with sleet. The boats were waiting for them on the river, but Ghorent itself was still half a day’s travel over the floodplains. More than once over the last few days, parties of bowmen had appeared at the side of the river to watch them pass. They were in no doubt that their passage was being carefully monitored.
Ghorent had to be close now, Isak reckoned - despite the sense of menace that hung over the borderlands, he was looking forward to a night in a town, anywhere with clean
beds and fresh food. All those years as a wagon-brat had been wiped out by a few brief months in hrah Palace, he laughed to himself, until he saw movement, a jerking shadow in the evening gloom.
He readied himself unconsciously, relaxing only when the shadow resolved into Jeil to answer his unspoken prayer. The ranger reined in just before reaching the party and called out in a clear voice, ‘My Lord, there’s a fortified town up ahead with scouts watching the road; do you want us to announce you?’
Isak looked to Vesna and nodded. The count reached out and touched Tila on her gloved hand, an apology for cutting their conversation short, before handing her the reins to his second horse and cantering forward. Jeil wheeled about and then sent his stock pony in eager pursuit.
‘Do you want to approach under a flag?’ Carel knew the answer already, but Isak must confirm all decisions. The white-eye might not care about minor details like where they camped, knowing that if he did object, his word would be heeded, but he had to get used to the protocols of Parian life. So when the rangers pointed out a possible campsite, the greying soldier would turn to Isak and ask whether he would like to stop.
‘No,’ Isak replied, ‘Somehow I don’t think that would be appreciated here.’
The villagers around here saw Ghorent as the heart of these disputed lands. This was where most of the inhabitants came for guidance or justice. The town council was respected precisely because it had no authority and expected none. The arrangement seemed almost absurd to the Parian, who were used to rigid laws and conventions: there were no taxes paid, no real system of governance, certainly no army. What the people of the borderlands did have was a fierce pride in their way of life, and, respect that bordered on affection for the views of Ghorent.
‘Clearly not: they would see it as a boast of strength. Humility and respect is what these people want,’ Tila said from within the pale blue folds of her cape, wrapped around her to keep off the evening chill. Isak bobbed his head in agreement and nudged Toramin into a brisker pace.