by Tom Lloyd
‘No more!’ called a voice that echoed around the room with such force the light from the candles shuddered and dimmed. Legana blinked. The Lady was standing in front of her, facing her attacker. She held a leaf-bladed spear in her hands, its golden shaft blazing in the weak light.
‘Aracnan, explain yourself!’
Legana staggered back, dazzled by the light of the spear and gasping as the jewels around her neck suddenly burned with the Lady’s fury.
‘Explain myself?’ spat Aracnan with sudden venom, sword still raised. ‘I don’t think so.’
He hand went to a pouch at his belt and he withdrew an object. White light cascaded over them all and Legana felt the walls shudder. The rumble of thunder assailed her ears as power poured from the object. She found herself screaming in fear and pain.
The air around Aracnan shuddered. ‘Enough of your meddling, Lady,’ he crowed. ‘Your fate awaits you.’
Legana tried to turn and run, but her body would not obey. A savage stream of power from the Crystal Skull in Aracnan’s hand lashed out at Fate. Legana was thrown backwards, writhing with agony as bloody slashes appeared on the Lady’s body. The roar of power was all around, hammering at her ears, ringing like a gigantic bell through her head. Her screams were drowned out by the brutal energy raging around her.
The Goddess struck back with fire and spear. The light became too intense to bear as the pair fought. The roar intensified and she felt her eardrums burst, but even then the sound refused to cease, it was inside her head, battering at her skull. Legana shuddered as she felt the Lady strike and be wounded in the same moment.
She opened her eyes a fraction to see a frozen moment of violence, with blood streaming in all directions. The white light shone like a savage halo around them. The Lady turned towards her, mouth open, words forming even as she cried out. Legana felt a flame of white fire slice her face and the pain intensified throughout her body even as she was jerked backwards.
She crashed through the outer wall of the chamber, feeling nothing of it, and the blessed blackness of night swallowed her. Legana, wrapped in agony, realised she was screaming with two voices; a mortal’s shriek of pain and a Goddess’s death-cry. Her body spasmed as it crashed through something else and rolled to an abrupt halt. Three words flashed across Legana’s mind: Fate help me. Then she realised that Fate was dead, and unconsciousness claimed her.
CHAPTER 14
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ Natai Escral, Duchess of Byora, shouted across her breakfast table. The object of her ire, a sallow-faced marshal called Harin Dyar, shrank back under the force of her demand. Natai was sitting bolt upright, a laden fork pointed at the unusually scruffy officer.
‘What use is “I don’t know”?’ She was alone at the table; although a place had been laid for her husband, matters of state had got her up early, as usual.
Behind her a child started to cry: Minnay, an orphaned toddler, one of her dozen wards. She saw the haggard woman she’d named Eliane standing nearby, Ruhen content in her arms after half an hour of crawling around on the floor under Natai’s supervision.
Qood, I didn’t disturb him, she thought with a smile. I wouldn’t want him to cry - that sound breaks my heart.
‘Ah, your Grace, Hale is effectively locked down,’ Dyar stammered after a few moments. ‘I cannot get any of my troops in to investigate.’
‘Locked down?’ she hissed, still angry, but mindful of Ruhen’s presence. ‘You mean you’ve allowed a handful of crippled old men to keep my soldiers from my own damn city?’
‘Your Grace, we will need to use force to get into the quarter,’ Dyar protested, ‘and I do not have enough men - Hale’s penitents outnumber those under my command.’
‘Marshal, how is it you cannot even brief me on what has happened? Why does the Byoran Guard not hold these streets?’ She looked around, as if her wards - or the four nurses tending them -could provide answers where Dyar could not. The room, one of the largest in the palace, had once been a communal chamber for her grandfather’s harem. It was both opulent and elegant, and Natai spent much of her leisure time there, surrounded by children.
No one spoke. The nurses all looked away, trying not to catch her eye. Eliane stared at the floor - but she rarely did much else. Since she had been saved from being trampled in Criers Square, Eliane had managed to frustrate all attempts to build up her painfully thin frame. Nor had anyone been able to coax any word of her past out of her. She claimed to have no memory of what had happened before she reached Byora, but Natai didn’t believe it. Something in Eliane’s eyes betrayed a damaged soul, a fear so deep it had become part of her. Despite her apparent ill-health, her production of milk remained healthy and Ruhen was thriving, even while his mother wasted away. All she did was to clutch that damn book, and she wailed like a daemon if anyone tried to take it from her.
‘Your Grace?’ called a voice.
Natai jerked her head up, looking at Dyar, before realising he and his aides were staring, astonished, at one of the soldiers at the door.
What in the name of the Gods? Who’s that impudent - ? Natai’s thought went unfinished, for the face was familiar. He wore the crimson tunic and black trousers of her guard, but he had added what appeared to be long armoured gloves. The uniform was pristine, but the gloves, blue-sheened metal bound by a random crisscross of twine, were battered. They triggered the memory.
Ah, Ruhen’s protector, of course, Natai told herself. ‘Sergeant Kayel, isn’t it?’ she asked.
He saluted awkwardly. ‘Honoured you remember, ma’am.’
Ma’am? I’m not some damned merchant’s wife, she thought, but before she could chastise the man she found herself turning towards Eliane and the child. Ruhen was smiling up at the painted birds wheeling around the various aspects of Hit and Vellern. The whole chamber was decorated in such a way - a lot more wholesome for innocent young children than the original paintings. She hesitated, snared by Ruhen’s shining smile, and by the time she remembered herself, her anger had disappeared.
She turned back to the soldier. ‘You have something to add, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, your Grace. I was in Hale last night. Can’t tell you exactly what’s going on, but I caught sight of a right mess in Alterr’s temple and some young novice was chatterin’ that the high priest had died.’
‘Lier is dead?’ Natai went white. ‘Gods, how could that have happened? You said a mess, what sort of mess?’
Kayel grinned. ‘Looked like it’d been hit by a siege weapon, ‘cept the wall of the greater chamber had been blown out, not inwards. Lots of armed penitents around, and a right ugly mood. Someone said something about the Lady, or a priestess of the Lady, bein’ involved.’
‘The Lady? Could this be a feud between temples?’ Natai stopped suddenly as she had a chilling thought. ‘A feud between Gods?’
‘Perhaps, ma’am, but there’s a whole lot of anger over there, and men runnin’ around lookin’ for someone to blame.’
‘What were you doing in the Temple District so late at night?’ she asked, then worked it out before he replied. ‘Ah, a little praying at Etesia’s temple?’
Kayel shifted his feet. ‘Spoke a few words at the Temple of Death too.’
‘Are you suggesting that sending troops to investigate will cause a full-scale riot?’
‘I’m sayin’ they looked like they were ready to start a fight given the first excuse. Might not stop at a riot either way.’
‘Do you have any suggestions for Marshal Dyar then?’ She had meant to mock the marshal’s ineffectiveness but Kayel didn’t hesitate.
‘Find a mage to tell you what’s happened. Then when the district is open again send some men in without uniforms; see who’s doin’ all the talkin’, who’s doin’ the blamin’. There’s always some bastard who don’t care what happened, only how to use it to their own ends.’
‘You really think this will escalate?’
The sergeant shrugged. ‘You want to take the ri
sk? Wasn’t the High Priest of Alterr tryin’ to tell you how to run the city?’
Natai almost laughed at his implication until she realised he was entirely serious.
‘Wouldn’t be surprised if they done it themselves,’ Kayel added, ‘but my money’s on you gettin’ the blame whichever way.’
She stared down at the breakfast she had abandoned. The Circle City was a playground of intrigue: four distinct domains, and until recently, four very different leaders. The White Circle leaders of Fortinn had fled and the quarter was now ruled by a triumvirate appointed by the three remaining leaders. It was a temporary solution suggested by the duchess herself.
The corpulent Chosen of Hit, Lord Celao, had taken a fair amount of persuading, but at least Cardinal Sourl had had the brains to realise she was right. With bad news coming from all directions, business would be disrupted enough. They would still play their games, of course, but they all had to recognise open war over control of Fortinn would be madness.
Either of them could be behind this, Natai realised. They both stand to benefit from religious insurrection here. Gods, they aren’t working together, are they? No, that is too farfetched. Even with their renewed piety, I can’t see any alliance lasting long enough for them to execute a plan together properly.
‘Marshal, I want your full complement of troops out on the streets; concentrated on Coin, Wheel and Breakale for the moment. Make it clear to the population that business goes on unhindered.’ Again the fork stabbed in his direction, emphasising her point.
The man bowed and scurried out, not trying to hide the relieved expression on his face. His two aides were on his heels. As they left, the duchess’s principal minister strode in alongside the duke and she breathed a sigh of relief: at last she would hear something useful. Her husband wore a concerned expression, but Sir Arite Leyen was his usual picture of calm. He inspected the faces in the room, then bowed.
‘Sir Arite, where have you been?’ She raised a hand to cut off any reply. ‘No, I don’t actually care, just tell me what you know - and it had better be more than I’ve already heard from this sergeant or I’ll damn well put him in charge of the Closed Council instead!’
A second bow was the only response to her threat; that in itself was ominous enough since Sir Arite generally managed a feeble joke in most situations. ‘Your Grace, I was busy in the Vier Tower with Mage Peness.’
She pictured the thin-lipped mage whose round face seemed to distend when he smiled. ‘Peness? What does that wheedling little toad want?’
‘Merely to help his sovereign,’ Sir Arite assured her before looking pointedly at the onlookers.
‘Sergeant, help the children back to their rooms,’ Natai ordered.
Kayel looked startled at the command, but he hesitated for just a moment before he started to move. The children and their nurses all took one look at the hulking, scar-faced soldier and fled, even Eliane, which provoked a spark of irritation in the duchess. She’d wanted to hold Ruhen a little longer this morning, letting the stresses of rule melt away in his shadowy little eyes.
Those hypnotic eyes.
Eliane’s were grey, dull; they hardly compared to the rich swirl of shadow in Ruhen’s. When Natai spoke soft, adoring words he seemed to drink them in, to revel in her love for him, even as young as he was. The baby would lie quite contentedly in her arms and look at her with incredible intensity, hardly ever blinking; his stare managed to revive her in a way sleep no longer could.
She shook herself back to the present; there would be time enough for Ruhen later. ‘Sergeant, stay here; the rest of you leave us.’ Seeing Sir Arite’s surprise, she added, ‘He was in the district last night. He’s the only one who seems to know anything.’
‘As you wish, but my news is rather alarming.’
‘First of all, tell me if this was Sourl or Celao?’ she said, forcing herself to regain the serene composure she was known for.
‘I doubt it was either, I wish it was both,’ Sir Arite said eventually. He gave the big soldier a suspicious look and Kayel stared back, unfazed. ‘Your Grace, I really do think it would be better if - ‘
‘Just tell me.’
At her expression he seemed to deflate a little. ‘Peness says that there was a vast amount of magic expended last night - a terrifying level of raw energy.’
‘Strong words.’
‘The man was frightened.’ He leaned forward, his voice dropping. ‘Peness is one of the most powerful mages in the city, and he was frightened by what he described.’ The words seemed to hang in the air between them until Kayel sniffed, apparently unimpressed.
‘Did he say why he was so afraid?’ Natai asked, ignoring the soldier.
‘He couldn’t be sure. He was being evasive, but I don’t believe it was through ill-will. Mages tend to have their own allegiances and an entirely different range of concerns - I believe he was worried about interfering in the business of others.’
‘Who would worry our most powerful mage.”
Sir Arite looked grave. ‘He doesn’t want to make an enemy of anyone who can wield the sort of power expended in Hale last night. Whoever it was, I gather they could have levelled the entire district.’
‘Gods,’ Natai breathed, feeling a chill run down her neck.
‘And that’s not the only news.’ The knight’s eyes narrowed and his voice fell to a whisper, as though his news was too terrible to be spoken in normal tones. ‘Whoever wielded that power - it wasn’t just against the high priest. It fought a being of near-equal strength - magic such as few mortals possess - and it killed them.’
A dull note of pain thrummed through her body. Every sensation was overlaid and muted by a heavy blanket of aching which weighed her down. There was a distant, unidentifiable sound ringing in her ears. As Legana drifted through the empty dream of near-wakefulness she felt something missing, a hole inside her that spoke of something too terrible to remember.
An involuntary twitch in her leg suddenly brought the pain in her side back into focus, sharp and hot. Her lips parted with a gluey jerk as she moaned. The ringing in her ears became more insistent; a spiky, wet feeling that reached all around her head and dug its claws into her neck. For a while Legana lay motionless, unable to hear her own whimpers, until the pain in her side subsided a little and she chanced a look at the Land.
It was difficult to open her eyes. It felt like a long-forgotten movement that required her full force of will to achieve, and when at last she succeeded, she saw little; just a shadowy blur of yellow, and the suggestion of lines that might indicate the shape of a room. Taking too deep a breath she moaned again and a spark of fear flared in her heart. The pain was an aside; what frightened her was the fact she could hear neither breath nor moan, though she could feel the air slide between her tender lips.
The blur ahead changed all of a sudden as a dark shape moved into her field of vision. It eventually resolved into the form of a man, a tonsured priest, standing over her, although the dimness remained and her head began to hurt when she tried to make out the details of his face. She saw a bearded jaw moving, but still heard nothing. In panic she tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness broke over her and she slumped back in agony, feeling tears fall freely from her eyes in a way they had not since childhood.
The priest placed his hands on her shoulders to indicate she should keep still before gently lifting her head and putting a sodden cloth to her mouth. A few wonderfully sweet drops of water trickled into her mouth and Legana summoned all her remaining strength to swallow them. He squeezed the cloth and a little more appeared on her tongue - somehow she fought those down as well, but that was all she could manage. She sagged onto his cradling hand.
The priest nodded approvingly and put the cloth out of sight before placing a hand on her chest. His lips began to move and Legana’s blurred vision swam as a warmth began to spread over her body. The sensation was alien and alarming, but something inside her recognised it as healing magic. The part of her that was touc
hed by a Goddess screamed in fear at another God’s magic, but the human side overruled it and as she sank back into unconsciousness, the pain faded far enough into the background for sleep to claim her. A few moments later she felt nothing at all.
A steady rain was falling on Byora’s granite buildings, streaking walls with dark tears and filling the gutters with a swift stream of dirty water. The Duchess of Byora ignored the patter of water on her hood and watched the rain fall for ten minutes or more instead of touching her heels to the horse’s flanks and setting off down the street.
‘This rain will cool tempers, don’t you think, Sir Arite?’ she said at last.
The blond man only gave a perfunctory nod in response. He looked more concerned by the effect the rain was having on his boots than the state of the city beyond. The duke smiled amiably at his wife, doing a reasonable job of concealing his anxiety to everyone but Natai, the person he was trying most to encourage. She returned the smile, glad of the effort he was making, however transparent. He was the only one who hadn’t tried to dissuade her from this journey, the only one to look beyond his own safety and see the necessity.
‘This was the first time the duchess had ventured out of her palace since the news of the terrible happenings in the religious district had come in the previous morning. That there were reportedly mobs of penitents roaming the city was not her concern; she would not let them cow her. Above her the Ruby Tower looked forbidding in the overcast morning light. The stepped levels of the tower were adorned with shards of red slate, designed for the light of a summer evening. Now it merely served to highlight the grimness of the black mountain walls behind it.