A Place Among the Fallen [Book One of The Omaran Saga]

by Adrian Cole

  'Release him!’ ordered Korbillian.

  Wolgren scowled at him, but at last did as he was told. Ratillic coughed, massaging his shoulder where the boy's fingers had dug into him. He said nothing, but the owls fluttered down. Three of them perched on a chair behind Ratillic, their huge eyes watching the youth, as if in readiness for a kill.

  'You have no claim on the girl,’ Korbillian told Ratillic: ‘She has chosen to come with me, and is far more valuable than your maps. You are worthy of contempt, nothing more. I may have been wrong to ask Wolgren to free you.’

  Ratillic stared at them with renewed hate. As the moments seeped away, the air became charged with the promise of violence. Another movement from above them almost broke the silence. Korbillian raised a fist as if to ward off a blow or to discharge some grim force.

  'Wait!’ cried Sisipher, and the attention focussed on her. ‘The owl comes with news.’

  'How can you know?’ demanded Ratillic.

  Sisipher pointed. A huge owl landed opposite them, holding its great wings out as it alighted. Its chest seemed to be splashed with blood, but it was a rusty bib of down. Ratillic studied the bird, his expression becoming one of horror.

  'What does it say?’ asked Sisipher, who understood that some kind of silent conversation was ensuing.

  Ratillic ignored her, listening. Then he nodded, sagging back. ‘Damn them!’ he spat. ‘They are here.’

  'Who?’ said Sisipher.

  'The Deliverers. And there is blood on the snow.’

  Korbillian looked sharply at the girl. He did not need to question her. ‘It is as I foresaw,’ she nodded.

  Korbillian turned back to Ratillic. ‘What are these Deliverers?’

  'They belong to a distant fortress city called the Direkeep. They are sworn to wipe out power and any worshippers of gods. Like plagues they drift across Omara, even to its remotest parts. Now they are below us in the pass.’

  Korbillian held out a gloved hand. ‘And are their hands clawed like steel?’

  'Oh yes,’ agreed Ratillic. ‘So I am told. When they achieve full status, their training complete, their hands are struck off and replaced with the killing steel. The purifying steel, they call it.’

  'They kill?’ said Guile, shuddering.

  'It is their so-called duty to give blood to the earth, the blood of transgressors.’

  'Why are they here?’ said Sisipher.

  'Why indeed?’ Ratillic smiled, and the girl felt herself crawling as his eyes watched her. She had tried to escape the implications of his earlier unpleasant suggestion.

  'What's happening outside?’ she asked.

  Ratillic's mood changed. His eyes held a fresh anger. ‘My owls met them. There was a fight. Claw and steel. Two of the owls are wounded, but Kirrikree says they will heal. Several of the Deliverers are also wounded. One of them is dead.’

  'The owls killed him?’ said Guile, surprised.

  'No. The man was blinded. Such things happen in a fight. He would have lived, but Kirrikree says he was executed by his leader, who will not be burdened with cripples.’

  'Can they be after us?’ Guile asked Korbillian.

  'Possibly.’

  'They have your scent,’ confirmed Ratillic. ‘You have drawn attention to yourself, Korbillian. And this is no simple follower of the Abiding Word, the law of the Deliverers, who seeks you. Kirrikree says it is Simon Wargallow.’ Though Ratillic's lips twisted in a sardonic smile, he pronounced the name as though it were a sentence.

  'The name means nothing to me,’ said Korbillian.

  'Take my advice. Go out into the snow and kill him,’ said Ratillic. ‘There are about a score of them. Kill them all. They are no better than vermin. Omara has no need of their kind. As well destroy the Direkeep as your eastern city. It is as great a source of evil.’

  Korbillian shook his head. ‘By no means. The place you call the Direkeep can harbour only a fraction of the evil of the mound. I will waste no time on these Deliverers. Do they know where we are?’

  'No. Nor will they find my haven. Kirrikree's owls will lead them far off. Since you will not destroy them, let the mountains do it.’

  'Do they possess power?’ asked Guile.

  Ratillic laughed. ‘They terrorise. They have that sort of power. Otherwise, no. Korbillian could fell them all—”

  'No!’ snapped Korbillian ‘Power should never be misused. I have always insisted as much. If your owls will lead them astray, so be it.’

  'By the time the storm has come and gone, Simon Wargallow will be lost, perhaps even dead, though I doubt that. Then you can leave here in peace. But not with my maps,’ Ratillic added contemptuously. ‘You can find your own—” But he stopped, his eyes locked with those of the great owl, Kirrikree. He was silent for several moments, and it became obvious that his anger was mounting. He directed a look of fury at the silent bird. ‘No!’ he snarled at it finally.

  Kirrikree opened his wings and beat the air in defiance. That unblinking gaze fixed Ratillic, unmoved.

  Sisipher clapped her hands together and gave a delighted cry. ‘You hear him, Ratillic?’ she laughed. ‘He doesn't obey you any more.’

  'Can you commune with the owl?’ gasped Korbillian.

  Sisipher stared at him as if she had only just realised. ‘Oh! Yes, I can. Kirrikree and Ratillic were arguing.’

  'You imagine things,’ cut in Ratillic.

  'No!’ Sisipher laughed. ‘I know what Kirrikree thinks.’

  'Tell us!’ cried Guile. ‘Why were they arguing?’

  'Kirrikree,’ said Sisipher, ‘is opposed to Ratillic's hostility towards us. He wants to help.’

  'He will lead the Deliverers away, that is all,’ insisted Ratillic, but Sisipher was still laughing, delighted at the unspoken understanding of Kirrikree that she had discovered.

  'No! That is not all. After that he will come with us. He will be our map, Korbillian. He will guide us across Omara!’

  'But why?’ said Korbillian in disbelief.

  Sisipher's smile died ‘Because he knows what lies in the east. And because it killed his brother. He agrees with you, the evil must be opposed at all costs.’ She could feel the warmth within the bird, the bond, sensing that it would grow between them, but beside it she could sense also the sorrow, and the fury.

  * * * *

  Simon Wargallow watched the skies. The clouds had parted and he felt that the owls had mercifully lost an ally in their going. The aerial attack had been sudden, well ordered. How long had they been watching us? he wondered. Did they know we were coming?

  Beside him, Djemuta secretly studied him. Nothing evaded his master's suspicion. He seemed to consider every man, every creature a threat until it proved itself otherwise. To him, every boulder, every crag, stood deliberately in his path, a challenge. Like all the servants of their ruler, the Preserver, Warden of the Direkeep, they were sworn to deny power, yet Djemuta feared its presence in every stone. If he failed, Wargallow would be hard. His reputation as the principal killing arm of the Preserver was established. Had the Preserver known that this man Korbillian, this agent of evil, was in these bleak mountains? The Preserver's eyes saw far across Omara, his gift from the earth. What did he know of Korbillian? I am certain, Djemuta mused, that he knows enough to have sent Simon Wargallow so far from the walks of men, placing this charge upon him, to keep Omara untainted by the evils of men, the earth-harm they might do.

  There were smears of blood across Djemuta's robe and a scored line across his cheek where the claw of an owl had almost found an eye. One of the others, Carmund, had been unlucky, rendered sightless by the owls. Himself eager to serve the Preserver, Djemuta had dispatched him swiftly. As usual, Wargallow had noted the kill, but had said nothing. He shared his thoughts, his goals with no man. Djemuta knew that when he was hunting transgressors, he was single-minded and unremitting. Yet there now seemed about him a greater desire for success, as if all his past victims were stones along the path to this particular killing, w
hen it came.

  Wargallow again searched the sky. Time was an enemy now. There would certainly be another storm, and they would have to lie low. Tracking the man Korbillian would be difficult enough. Time! Wargallow growled within. If I had had more, I would have coaxed more from those wretched villagers. But had I stayed, the enthusiasm of Djemuta would have demanded more than the serving girl's blood. And yet there is plenty of time. Korbillian is the greatest prey I have yet hunted. I should savour that. Wargallow allowed himself a smile, relaxing. Even if this takes me a year, I will find him.

  'Will the owls attack again?’ came Djemuta's voice. The Deliverers had defended themselves well, but had not been able to match the speed of their aerial assailants. Steel and claw rang together, but several of the Deliverers had received deeper wounds than Djemuta. They did not complain, but there was an air of apprehension hanging about them all. Wargallow remained aloof from it.

  'No doubt. But we will endure.’

  Djemuta thought of the battle. The owls had been organised and had not fought randomly, but with deliberation. Strangely, they had not seemed to be attacking with the intention of killing for food. Rather they had fought to spite the Deliverers. Protecting, perhaps, something here in the mountains.

  Wargallow looked over his men. They were close together, ready for his command. He was pleased: they were well disciplined. With a gesture he moved them on and as a single body they rode up the pass. Their horses were small and sturdy, chosen for the arduous journey and battle-trained. A few had shown signs of panic when the owls came, but now they were relaxed. Wargallow smiled grimly to himself. The owls, he suspected, would not harm the horses.

  They had not travelled far when the flutter of wings came to them and they saw the white heads of the owls among the higher snows. Wargallow reined in and the men tightened ranks. They had fought mounted previously, but the snow underfoot was deepening and so now they dismounted, reining the horses together as the first of the great white owls came swooping down. Why, thought Wargallow, do these birds attack by day instead of night?

  The cries of the birds were designed to terrify, to freeze their prey, but the Deliverers raised their steel hands, unmoved. As the owls came among them in a sweeping wave, steel flashed and claws ripped down. Feathers fluttered like snowflakes and the horses snorted, tossing and ducking, although Wargallow's guess proved accurate. The birds would not harm the horses. Wargallow's men fought in silence, but they moved with speed that would have dumbfounded ordinary men. Still it was not enough to cut the owls from the sky, for the birds were far quicker, able to turn and manoeuvre with stunning dexterity for such large creatures. They did not attack quietly. The first wave of them flew away, immediately followed by a new attack, and Wargallow frowned at the organisation. There was nothing random about this assault, and he had known soldiers who were less well disciplined.

  Gradually the Deliverers had to give ground. Their horses were not, after all, able to remain calm for a prolonged attack, and as if sensing this, the owls dived at them in mock assault. It was enough to cause confusion and reins snapped. Several horses got loose and backed away. Following up this advantage, the owls prized the horses apart and the Deliverers found themselves similarly split. Djemuta was frantically warding off an attack and trying to see where the horses were. Wargallow thought he understood the tactic of the owls—they were trying to force his men back towards one of the walls of the pass. Yet perhaps it would be better to have the solid rock behind them. He chose his moment to shout an order, and the men fell back.

  'Leave the horses!’ Wargallow yelled. ‘We can collect them after this.’ As he suspected, the owls did not try to prevent them reaching the rock wall, and they got there quickly, able now to rest. The owls soared high overhead, circling, waiting. It would not be long before they came in again.

  Wargallow scanned the snows. Out in the scuffed blanket was a figure, alone, the only Deliverer who had fallen. He did not move. The horses had retreated down the valley. Wargallow knew they would not have gone far. The smell of blood would not deter them from coming back to their masters, though the owls were vigilant.

  'Any injured?’ Wargallow asked Djemuta. A quick inspection revealed nothing serious, but every man had been marked.

  'How many of the creatures are there?’ Djemuta wondered. ‘I had thought owls to be solitary hunters. And so large!’

  'There is a powerful evil here,’ said Wargallow. ‘Just as the Preserver warned.’

  'Sire!’ came a shout and one of the men waved to them. Wargallow went cautiously to look. ‘A cleft in the wall, sire.’

  'A cave?’

  'Yes, sire.’

  Wargallow considered. ‘Exercise great caution.’ The owls were far more intelligent than he had expected, and there was now every reason to expect a trap. ‘See what lies within.’

  The man obeyed instantly, disappearing into the darkness.

  'The owls are returning,’ called Djemuta, and at once the men readied. Wargallow motioned them into the tall cleft, making as small a target as possible for the owls. He saw no danger in that. Possibly the birds had defeated themselves. Now they were unable to reach the defenders, yet still they swooped by beyond them. While this continued, the screeches of the birds ringing off the rock walls, Wargallow's man came back from the dark. ‘Not a cave, sire, but a passageway. It cuts through a neck of the mountain and comes out into a valley beyond.’

  'Did you see any of the birds there?’

  'None.’

  'Very well, but be ready for another attack.’

  They went along the passage, leaving a single man to guard the entrance and to give the owls something to shriek at. Wargallow decided it might be best to abandon the horses for the time being. He anticipated going back, once he had caught Korbillian and his party, and if it was a quick kill, he knew the steeds would wait.

  The passage ran on for about two hundred yards through the rock. Beyond it, the valley was silent. Wargallow studied it from cover. There would be little point entering it if it had no way out. The valley seemed to run roughly parallel to the pass they had been climbing, and it rose upwards to the high ridges above. In the ridge was one particular dip, like a saddle, and Wargallow pointed to it.

  'Djemuta. See if you can reach that place. It will not be the way our prey has taken, but we may yet avoid the owls.’

  Djemuta knew that he would be placing his life in grave danger, for it would be difficult to resist the owls on his own. Even so he nodded, beginning at once. Wargallow called for a report from the other end of the passage. Apparently the owls had landed, a great flock of them, and were silently watching the cleft in the rock, as though sure that their victims would have to come out eventually, like voles searching for food.

  Wargallow was not convinced that the owls had been cheated. Had they known about this passage? Perhaps not. He thought hard on his next move. If Djemuta came back unscathed, he would be none the wiser. Either it was safe to climb up to the ridge, or the owls wanted just that and would fly over the mountain and catch them in the open again. Wargallow watched Djemuta as he picked his way among boulders and drifts, blending well into the terrain. It would have to be at night, but as Djemuta had said, owls usually hunted by night.

  Word reached Wargallow that the owls appeared to be asleep out in the snows. More trickery? He would wait and see. If there were a clear moon, they would take the risk. He instructed his men to open their provisions and he placed a guard to watch for Djemuta's return. Moments after eating, he was asleep himself.

  * * * *

  Ratillic sat apart from his unwelcome guests, and though his eyes were open, he may as well have been asleep. Only Sisipher knew what he was doing.

  'He is listening,’ she whispered to the others. ‘Somehow he can hear the owls, even though they are out in the snows.’

  'What of Kirrikree?’ asked Korbillian.

  'I am not yet used to this strange gift. When he is near, I will know it, but as he flie
s away, the contact is broken. Perhaps in time I will be able to master this better and sustain contact.’

  'What of the storm?’ asked Guile.

  'I don't think it has arrived,’ she replied.

  Ratillic stood up, for a moment himself like a great bird. ‘It will be tonight,’ he said. ‘Wargallow and his rabble are pinned in a mountain cleft. The owls say he can escape, but it will be across a northeasterly ridge and away from the simpler eastern path. It is a route that will take him days away from your proposed route.’

  Korbillian had already told him they intended to pass through the mountains by the easiest, quickest route. Reluctantly Ratillic had given them some directions, insisting that since Kirrikree had decided for himself to be their guide, let him show them. Sisipher had had no time to explore her newfound relationship with Kirrikree, for he had left at once to harass the Deliverers. She asked Ratillic about the owls, but he had closed himself off, remaining a mystery. Korbillian seemed not to want to discuss his past and the reasons for the animosity between himself and the Lord of the Mountain Owls.

  When Kirrikree returned, through some unseen vent in the darkness high above, everyone jerked to attention. The huge white owl dropped beside the girl, and Ratillic stared at it in silent fury, as though it had abandoned him. Sisipher felt her heart thrumming as the bird watched her. She wanted to reach out and touch the power that filled it. There was no voice inside her head, yet she understood Kirrikree's thoughts clearly.

  'Do not fear me,’ they said, but the bird already understood that she did not. ‘We have trapped the man Wargallow. Later we will lead him away, and into the storm.’

  'Kirrikree, why have you chosen me?’

  'You chose me. You understand me. You have the gift. Ratillic is afraid. He cannot understand me now. I will not let him.’

  'He is angry.’

  'Yes, but it is his own fault. He sets a barrier between himself and the man of power.’

  'You know Korbillian?’

  'Only what is hidden in Ratillic. But what your master fears most, the eastern evil, that I know. I have warned Ratillic of it, but he denies its meaning. He closes himself off from all Omara. He should be a servant to it, as he should have been to Ternannoc. Where he failed once, he has not the courage to succeed now.’