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

by Adrian Cole

  On the journey through the forest, Wargallow called an overnight halt, ensuring that the captives were secured. He still kept them all well apart from each other, knowing it would add to their despondency. None of them had been able to speak to each other since the journey on horseback had begun. Wargallow made himself comfortable some distance from his men, wrapping up in a blanket; he fell asleep quickly.

  Djemuta briefly checked to ensure that the prisoners were secured, then sat by the spluttering fire. It was the girl who fascinated him, for her features, especially her eyes, were like no others he had seen. He felt drawn to her, but knew she was a transgressor; to touch that fair skin, the dark flowing silk of her hair, would surely ensnare him. It is a natural longing, he thought, and yet another voice warned him that a more subtle force was at work. It would not be easy to give her blood to the earth. For a while he brooded, urging the dawn closer.

  Sisipher had closed her eyes, but was not asleep. Many times she had tried to find Kirrikree with her mind, but had failed. There was only the darkness and silence beyond the trees. In the camp she could sense the sluggish thoughts of their captors, like creatures below the ground, not certain of themselves. Perhaps Kirrikree had gone for help, she wondered. Yet where would he find it? The owls of Ratillic? Would any of them have journeyed this far from the mountains?

  A sound out in the woods brought every head snapping up. The guards bristled like hounds. There was movement at the edge of vision, and in the shadows all around the camp, figures waited. The clink of accoutrements sounded as clearly as a bell, and everyone came alert. Steel sang, flashing in the fire-glow.

  'Who's there?’ a Deliverer challenged. They all feared the grim beings of the east. Wargallow was up and at the centre of things, studying his men, though all were prepared for conflict if necessary. He was pleased.

  A single rider trotted out of the trees, garbed in the tunic of an Empire man. He bowed gently and gazed at the company, a grin that was a little scornful and a little amused on his face. He was young, confident, sure of his strength. ‘I am Ruan Dubhnor, from the Chain of Goldenisle. With me are a good many soldiers of the Emperor. In fact, your camp is surrounded by them.’ He looked as though he would chuckle.

  'For what reason?’ said the hooded Wargallow. ‘Do you seek a conflict?’

  Ruan laughed gently, almost politely. It was a measure of his confidence. ‘You appear ready for one. Who are you?’

  'You are strangers to these lands,’ said Wargallow. ‘From the west, I understand. I cannot see that you have any rights here. In fact, it would be well for you to declare your purpose.’

  Ruan's smile remained. He did not seem prepared to answer Wargallow's challenge. Instead he stared, now arrogantly, about him, noticing for the first time that there were prisoners here. ‘Well, well. Who are these unfortunates?’

  'I owe you no explanations,’ insisted Wargallow coldly. ‘Take your men and ride away.’

  Sisipher stared across at Guile, but he had turned his face away. Did he fear these men more than the Deliverers? Korbillian was also silent, watching with feigned disinterest.

  'Well, now,’ said Ruan, apparently enjoying himself as he trotted his horse slowly around the ring of Deliverers. ‘You owe me no explanations, you say. I say in reply, that you are mistaken.’

  Though Wargallow's face was hidden, his anger and malice were not.

  'You have no business with us.’

  Ruan turned on him, leaning forward. ‘Some days ago I sent a party of men northward into Strangarth's lands. They have not reported back. You wouldn't have seen them on your journey?’

  'It seems that any number of your men ride across these lands at will. Perhaps this party you speak of is one of those we have seen.’

  Ruan nodded. ‘You think so? And what happened to them?’

  Wargallow did not answer.

  'It seems at some point,’ went on Ruan, circling again, and his voice growing less warm, ‘that they became separated from their horses.’

  Djemuta tensed, ready to kill. One gesture from his leader and he would hamstring Ruan's horse and finish this arrogant rider within moments. Wargallow felt the trap closing, knowing that the horses his men had been riding were those of Ruan's soldiers.

  'Why should this concern me?’ he said, continuing the bluff while he prepared his mind for what would have to be a fight. As long as the numbers against them were not too great, they would survive.

  'You see,’ smiled Ruan affably, ‘we found the horses. Tethered out there in the trees. But not the men.’

  'So you are declaring us to be thieves?’

  'You are the Deliverers,’ said Ruan. ‘I have heard many things about you. How you give blood to the earth.’

  'That is so,’ nodded Wargallow. ‘There are laws that have to be upheld at any cost, evils that must be cut from the body of the world.’

  'And my men? Has their blood fed the earth?’ Ruan's smile had been replaced by a cold stare.

  'Not by my hand, nor by the hands of my Deliverers.’

  'Then by whose?’

  'We found the horses wandering loose, riderless.’

  'All of them?’

  'Indeed. Not a man with them. I assume Strangarth disposed of them. He is not a king who enjoys trespassers in his lands.’

  Ruan snorted derisively. ‘Killed the men and released the horses? Good horses such as these?’

  'Strangarth breeds better. He is renowned for it, though you seem to know little about him and his country. Otherwise you would not have been so foolish as to send such a small party into his lands. You have no rights there.’

  Ruan thought about this, certain that the Deliverer was lying about the death of the men.

  'Since the horses are yours,’ Wargallow told him, ‘you may take them.’

  Again Ruan laughed. ‘Rest assured that I will.’

  'When I have finished with them. For the moment I need them.’

  Ruan stared in surprise, as though not quite able to comprehend what he had been told.

  Wargallow ignored his expression. ‘I am in haste to return to the Direkeep. Once I am there, I will see that the horses are returned to you.’

  'And if I demand them now?’

  'Why should you? Do you not have enough?’

  Ruan looked away, circling again. His horse seemed nervous, as if the smell of so much steel frightened it. Ruan knew that he had the upper hand in this business. He had enough men surrounding the camp to force any issue, no matter how good these Deliverers were (and word had it that they were superb fighting men). Wargallow's coolness worried Ruan. What trick did he hold? Why was he so calm? I must act with care, Ruan told himself. There is no need for blood, and they may not have killed our men. He studied the prisoners, and for the first time noticed them properly. He almost toppled from his horse, but controlled himself at once. What a blind fool! he shouted inwardly. They are here! Right under my nose. The man of power that I was told to send men to find—and the one called Guile. Sitting before me. Now I must step very gently.

  He turned back to Wargallow. ‘I see these people are prisoners. Might I know who they are and why you hold them?’

  'The horses you may have, in time,’ said Wargallow. ‘But that is all I will give you. My business is the Preserver's only.’

  'You are testing my patience.’

  Korbillian, who had been sitting beneath a tree, now stood up. It was impossible to prevent him from speaking, Wargallow knew.

  'Who is your master?’ Korbillian asked Ruan.

  The question fell like an axe, and Ruan stared at him as if he had said something offensive. ‘Quanar Remoon, Emperor of Goldenisle.’

  'And who commands you here in the east?’

  'Morric Elberon. Why do you ask?’

  'Why is he here?’

  Ruan laughed, throwing back his head, but the tension in him grew tighter.

  Wargallow had come forward. ‘If your Emperor thinks to conquer this continent, that
is his affair. Who rules these lands is immaterial. But the Preserver is not to be disobeyed. The Abiding Word is his law. If you conquer, you must yet accept the Word and be bound by it.’

  'Keep your wilderness!’ Ruan chuckled. ‘And your laws.’

  Korbillian frowned. If these men did not want the land for conquest, what did they seek here? Still it was a mystery.

  'I say again,’ said Wargallow, ‘that the law must be kept.’

  'And if not?’

  Wargallow gently let his killing hand slide into the firelight. ‘Those who transgress will forfeit.’

  Ruan felt a deep instinctive terror, although he masked it well. ‘I think not,’ he said, but his voice had dropped, the words hardly formed. Slowly he dismounted and stepped toward Wargallow, though he felt as if he were approaching his own execution. ‘We must speak privately. I see no reason for blood to be spilled here,’ he said, so that only Wargallow could hear.

  'I agree,’ nodded Wargallow equally softly, but he had not retracted his killing hand. ‘Leave us alone. The horses will be returned.’

  They walked a little way from the others, but the Deliverers watched every move closely. ‘This man you have with you,’ said Ruan, his voice now little more than a whisper, ‘he whose hands are sheathed. Is he your prisoner?’

  'It does not concern you.’

  Ruan fought down his anger at this repeated stubbornness. ‘I think it does. You see, Morric Elberon has issued orders that we are to search for two men who have fled from the Emperor. You serve the Preserver, while I serve the Emperor. These men have, in some way, defied the Emperor. I have not been told how, but evidently it is in some way that has greatly angered him. Have they also defied the Preserver?’

  Wargallow saw now the real reasons for the persistence of the man before him. ‘I cannot release the man Korbillian to you. He must go before the Preserver in the Direkeep. Should you seek to take him by force, we will not be easily overcome, and each Deliverer will fight to the death.’

  'I understand that. It is commendable. As a soldier, my actions would be the same. But I have no wish to involve my men in a bloody exchange. I also have no wish to offend the Preserver. Morric Elberon has issued orders that the Abiding Word is not to be abused.’

  'Then perhaps we understand each other,’ said Wargallow.

  'I must ask you, though, about this other man, Guile. What is he to you?’

  Wargallow considered carefully. It seemed as if Ruan was prepared to compromise, even though he must believe Wargallow's men had killed the men whose horses they now rode. Yet unless Ruan was foolish, or lying, surely his prime target would be Korbillian and the secrets that he possessed. What could he want with the other, who appeared to be little more than an opportunist?

  'If he means little to you,’ Ruan went on, ‘I would be prepared to leave you in peace, if you give him to me. Morric Elberon particularly wants him.’

  'What has the man done to warrant such interest?’

  'As I told you, I have not been informed. But nothing light, I assure you. You can assume that once the Emperor has him, his blood will be spilled. Give him to me, and I'll report to Morric Elberon that the other is dead. Forget the horses. Keep them.’

  'You will tell Morric Elberon that Korbillian is dead?’

  'Whatever you prefer.’

  'Say he has gone to the north, to the ice fastnesses. But that he is not dead.’

  'Very well.’

  'Wait here.’ Wargallow brushed past him and went to his prisoners. Korbillian had been watching with interest, but had heard nothing. Wargallow stopped beside Sisipher and spoke to the Deliverer who was never more than a step away from her side. Slowly the man let his killing hand drop close to the girl's neck. It would have taken an instant only to sever it. Korbillian could read treachery in every move.

  Wargallow crossed to Guile, who now looked at him dubiously. He would like to have heard the private discussion he had seen. The Deliverer bent down and in a move so swift that it defied the eye, sliced through Guile's bonds. Guile stood up, massaging his wrists. The steel had not touched his skin.

  'I understand you are from the Chain,’ Wargallow said to him.

  'I've been there,’ Guile said defensively.

  'Really? It does not concern me.’

  Guile looked strangely at Ruan as he remounted his horse. Once astride it, he put one hand on the hilt of his sword. Korbillian came forward, knowing at once that the threat of violence was over. Something had been decided, and there would be no bloodshed.

  'What is happening?’ he said.

  'This man is to go with the Emperor's soldiers,’ said Wargallow diffidently.

  'Why?’

  Wargallow had already turned his back. ‘It does not concern you.’

  'He travels with me,’ said Korbillian.

  Wargallow pointed with his killing hand at Sisipher. ‘As long as you desire the girl's safety, you are in no position to make demands.’

  Korbillian's face clouded, and for one moment it seemed as though he would erupt with fury. He looked up at Ruan, who had brought his horse closer. ‘Why do you want him?’

  Ruan shrugged. ‘I have my orders.’

  'From whom?’

  'Enough!’ snapped Wargallow. ‘Take him away.’

  Ruan pulled out his short sword. He gestured to Guile. ‘Come!’

  Guile turned to Korbillian. ‘They'll kill the girl if you argue.’

  'Why do they want you?’

  'They'll not tell you. These damned troops are loyal to a man. But I cannot believe Quanar Remoon wants me. You know he was glad enough to dismiss both of us. I have enemies at court, but they, too, would be happy to see me as far away from Goldenisle as this dreary place.’

  'Enough chatter!’ snapped Ruan, beginning to sound irritable.

  'I dare not use force,’ Korbillian breathed.

  'You must think of the girl,’ Guile agreed softly. Then he turned to his captor, making a show of putting on a brave face. ‘Very well, lead on. I'll come without bloodshed, though you'll appreciate I cannot do much harm with only my bare hands.’ He held them up with a forced grin, but no one smiled. He glanced again at Korbillian. ‘I'll likely be in better hands with these men of Empire than the Deliverers.’ As he went, he gave Wolgren a cheery wave, but the youth did not grin back. He imagined Guile was going to his death.

  Sisipher wanted to cry out, but the icy blade at her neck kept her rigid. In a moment the night had taken both rider and captive. Guile was gone, and there had been no finger raised to save him.

  Korbillian came angrily to Wargallow. ‘If he dies—”

  Wargallow did not answer, nor seem perturbed by the threat.

  'Why did they want him?’ Korbillian persisted.

  'It does not concern me. But it seemed prudent to avoid conflict. Your companion has bought our safe passage, so perhaps you should be grateful. He may survive, but I think the Preserver would have killed him.’

  'You hold life cheaply.’

  'That is not so. We are alive.’

  'And my other companions? Will the Preserver attempt to kill them?’

  'It is not for me to say.’ Wargallow moved away, soon afterwards returning to his bed.

  Korbillian would have spoken to the girl, in spite of the steel at her neck, but she had slumped forward, not asleep, but deep in thought. She appeared abjectly miserable. Wolgren, too, seemed to be succumbing to despondency, his youthful zest worn down by the coldness of Wargallow's purpose. The loss of Guile was like a blow to their faith in Korbillian. Korbillian went back to his own place, aware that each move he made was closely watched.

  I had little choice, he told himself. I saved the girl, whose gift I need. But what will happen to Guile? I was responsible for him, and I have not served him well in this business. Yet I could not afford a battle. There may yet be a chance to win him back.

  Reason told him otherwise.

  12

  GRENNDAK

  R
uan did not return, nor did other Empire troops harass Wargallow's party after Guile's departure. Sisipher was still unable to contact Kirrikree, and after the events at the Swiftwater Bridge she assumed he was either keeping out of sight and mind or had gone to find help. Korbillian, the girl understood more and more, welcomed the visit to the Preserver's hold. For some reason he wanted to meet the Lord of the Direkeep, and she wondered if he intended to unleash power of some kind against him. Even so, she felt terribly vulnerable, knowing that the Deliverer who kept closer to her than her shadow was always ready with his killing hand. Beyond them, in the southeast, where the Direkeep lay, she could detect a scent of blood in the air.

  They came out of the forest at last to where the plain was open, low-lying and dotted with marsh and reeds. The beaten path on to the village on the Camonile was safe enough and there did not appear to be any danger if they kept to it. Sisipher felt uneasy, however, for the marshes seemed to her to breathe, as though sheltering things better left unseen. It was a relief to reach the clustered huts of the village. Here the river was half a mile wide, spilling into the marshes on either side, churned to a bright copper, fast-flowing and full of debris from upstream in the east: trees, carcasses and driftwood floated in an endless swirl. The people of the village were inoffensive, prepared to do whatever the Deliverers asked without argument, although Sisipher got the impression that there were far more of them hidden discreetly away. They provided them with food, and some of the bolder men mustered the nerve to ask about the likelihood of trade picking up from the west. Were Strangarth's men likely to come again, they asked, or was there a war brewing? They had been visited by a number of soldiers—the Empire men. Wargallow told them there would be no war, but the strength of the Emperor's forces here puzzled him. Their Commander, Morric Elberon, obviously intended to mount a campaign of some kind. No doubt the Preserver would know more.