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

by Adrian Cole

  'So you see,’ said Korbillian, when the mocking laughter had died down, ‘the giving of blood is like the killing of one's own family.’

  Wargallow's eyes blazed as if Korbillian had struck a nerve. ‘Family! Aye, that's well chosen! Grenndak would have appreciated that, too! How many infants died at his command?’

  Brannog shifted closer to him, uneasy at this outburst.

  Wargallow's calmness had deserted him, his face changed dramatically by the sudden mood. ‘Grenndak may have thought himself above the simple people of Omara, and he may have behaved like a god, but he was no more a man than you or I. And no less!’

  Korbillian glanced at Sisipher, noticing that Wolgren was very close to her side, an unwavering guardian. ‘You speak in half-truths.’

  'Grenndak took women, as any man would. Sometimes they bore fruit. He could not permit that, could not permit his seed to live, not when it would inherit his power. So they were destroyed, just as the women who carried them were.’ He gazed furiously outwards, seeing nothing but the bloody past and some private murder that he would not reveal. The air was charged with waiting violence.

  Guile, who had been forgotten, broke the spell. ‘Then Grenndak was no less insane than my own cousin, Emperor Quanar Remoon.’

  'And his Abiding Word,’ said Ratillic, directing his voice out to the gathered Deliverers, ‘is as evil as the power that seeps down from the east.’

  Wargallow spun round to search the faces of his men. There were almost a thousand of them, he knew, all loyal to him, but still he looked for dissent. He could not see them all, but he heard nothing but the silence. Not a man among the Deliverers would have spoken for Grenndak. Wargallow raised his killing steel. ‘I will have blood!’ he shouted, and at once he was answered, so suddenly that Korbillian and the others felt themselves shudder at the speed of the reaction. Wargallow swung his arm down, and whether by accident or intention, the steel caught the stone behind him and a flurry of sparks arced from the metal. Wargallow howled and leapt away. His steel hand glowed blue, and his eyes fixed upon it. Before his men could react again, he raised his hand.

  'The stone has answered!’ he called.

  Morric Elberon's fingers tightened on the sword hilt at his side. What direction would this fanatic take? But Wargallow seemed calmer now as he lowered his steel. He grinned at Korbillian. ‘Since we all have power, let us use it.’

  'On the Mound of Xennidhum.’

  'Just so.’

  After that they went out of the dome and used the great square to make their camp. As Ygromm had promised, water was found in wells below the city and it was pure enough to drink. But the army, once refreshed, split itself, with the Earthwrought alone. Brannog sat with them, talking to them quietly, saying that it was even more important now for them to persuade every other Earthwrought tribe to come from the earth and begin the rebuilding. But it was agreed by all that it would not be here in Cyrene.

  Korbillian and Ratillic sat apart. ‘The Sorcerer-Kings eclipsed the Hierarchs,’ said Ratillic.

  'Yes. Isn't that why the Hierarchs were so eager to find them again?’

  'As you say. Their greed disgusted me. But it is in my mind now, Korbillian, that what lies in the east may not be so easily contained. What plans do you have?’

  'The Chaining power was damaged. We must repair that damage. Bind once more the powers that these Sorcerer-Kings awoke. Success lies in the hands of Omara. The power has been scattered, and so Omara must act as a body.’

  Ratillic nodded, his hostility towards Korbillian now directed elsewhere. A poetic solution, he thought, but as he looked at the army around him, and felt its tensions, its guilt and its aggression, he wondered how realistic Korbillian's dream was.

  20

  FEAR'S EDGE

  Korbillian addressed the army from the steps of the domed building, while above him the owls and other birds watched. He faced the sun setting in the west beyond the rusting sands and watched the shadows pushing into the square. The whispering of the city had ceased, as though in confessing some great sin before its god it had unburdened itself and was at peace. Only the silence remained. Korbillian told the gathering he had given deep thought to the campaign. Essentially, he said, they were to be a spearhead, and although he intended to destroy the evil in Xennidhum, law would have to be enforced thereafter, and to that end others would have to follow from the west. Cyrene, he suggested, should be a base, so that those coming here from the west in future could break their journey. He called now for representatives from each section of the army to go back with an explanation of this, so that as many reinforcements as possible could be sent. At first, no one was eager to make the crossing back, fearing the dunes and what had transpired there, but the leaders went among the men, choosing from them those they considered worthy of Korbillian's charge.

  Morric Elberon called upon Ruan and Guile chuckled at the young man's disappointment. ‘The task you are being given,’ he told him, ‘is not an easy one, nor a light one. It is only now that our illustrious warlord here has realised just what confronts us, and not only us. I have to put aside my own cause, Ruan. If I do not, if I lead you back now to war with the Emperor, how safe would I be on his throne? How long before this sickness creeps across the continent to the western sea, and then on to Goldenisle? No. We have to fight, with all we have. When we triumph, think of the strength of our alliance here in the east. Better to make an ally of Wargallow than an enemy, eh?’

  'Must the Emperor be told?’

  Elberon laughed. ‘No, boy! His Administrators would be glad to see us swallowed. They'd likely support the east!’ But his humour had a brittle edge to it here in the twilight. ‘Bring every last man who is loyal to Guile. They'll come.’

  Ilassa chose his men, though he later confided in Korbillian that he could not be sure how Strangarth would react to a request for more men. He had been amicable enough about sending this contingent (with Ratillic and his wolves standing by) but now he might prove more typically irascible.

  Wargallow was content to send men back. He wanted his deputies at the Direkeep to know how matters were developing. He would have to exercise caution for a while yet, he knew, for it would be all too easy for jealousies to arise there, and for some hitherto unknown rival to seek his position in his absence. He had no desire to return to find himself deposed before he had taken his place of power. Grenndak's death would not be a secret for long.

  Lastly it was agreed to leave a number of men in the city to make a base of it, with Earthwrought to exploit the water supplies. Once all the men had been chosen and those selected for the return had departed, the army moved eastward into the night, while hovering over them like a ghostly cloud were Kirrikree's own forces. Some of these flew far ahead, searching the dark sands by starlight. Kirrikree was able to report no immediate dangers. Ratillic, who could again hear what passed between Sisipher and the white owl (the latter saw no reason to embitter Ratillic now that he had capitulated) studied his maps. He had traced a path to the plateau, but there was nothing beyond it on his parchments, no detail. Only the dark stain where Ruan's spilled wine had run marked the empty space. Ratillic's wolves trotted beside him, obedient as dogs, but restless, hating the desert, so that he had to calm them with soft commands.

  Brannog glanced at his daughter from time to time, wishing that he had never allowed her to come. Surely Korbillian did not need her? How much would he use them all? No sacrifice would be too great, that's what he believes, Brannog was thinking. We may all perish yet. But he shook such thoughts from him. Ygromm, who had been persuaded to ride one of the hardy ponies that Ilassa's men had brought in reserve, had felt Sisipher's mind brush his, for the girl had yet to credit the full extent of her gift. Some things she had not been told, but too much power too soon could damage her. Ygromm was far too in awe of her to impose himself, but he directed waves of calmness her way, smoothing down the restless anxiety he could feel in her.

  Ygromm was always aware of t
he youth, Wolgren. He was afraid, but it seemed to Ygromm that the boy would follow the girl wherever it was necessary. The cause meant little to him, except as a means to riding beside and protecting Sisipher, and Ygromm had seen the way the youth had secretly watched Guile, whose eyes always rested longer on Sisipher than they needed to. Guile's desire for the girl, Ygromm estimated, came second to his other desire, which was for power. It was what had lured Wargallow here, the man with the killing hand. He was the most terrible of all, and would bow to no one, whatever his promises. Ygromm was certain of that. Even the Preserver had not tamed him.

  Although the army was aware of vague movement on the horizons, the dunes did not return. Three days out from the city, again travelling across nothing but sand, the company began to rise up an interminable slope, and Ratillic directed them through a narrowing sand valley that rose up to the first rocky outcrops they had seen since leaving the dead city. These poked through the sand like broken hulks from the sea, lifeless and bare. From a vantagepoint high on this crumbling ridge, Korbillian looked eastwards to the pre-dawn skies. The sand rose up in motionless swells, and beyond them he could see at last the huge plateau. It was like an immense block, several thousand feet high; its walls stretched away and back like the shores of a continent thrust out into an ocean of sand. It was dark and blotched and from here it was impossible to see any detail. Above it was a layer of cloud, or steam, as if volcanic fires burned there, but Korbillian knew this was an image, no more. The unnaturalness of it, the wrongness, impressed itself upon the mind like a shout.

  Kirrikree came to him, alighting nearby. Korbillian nodded to the owl as if it had spoken directly to him. ‘I can feel its power from here, Kirrikree. Like a beast watching an approaching hunter.’ As he watched, the sun rose up behind the plateau, splashing it with vivid pink light, and while the sky turned to blood behind it, the silhouette seemed to darken, stark, massive, immovable as a world. Sisipher had climbed beside Korbillian, and as she watched the dawn spreading from its wound in the skies, she swayed dangerously at her first sight of the plateau.

  'So much death,’ she whispered.

  Korbillian caught her words. ‘You foresee our doom?’

  She shook her head. ‘So many have died there. Everything is so confused. It is as though time has been riven, knotted upon itself. Too many possible ends are interwoven. I cannot look without—” She turned away, overcome by nausea. It was Wolgren who steadied her.

  Korbillian gave instructions for the army to rest for a few hours only. No one argued: they were all too eager to move on, in spite of the growing heat, now that the plateau was in sight. When they began again at mid-morning, they found the sand less shifting, with rocks exposed in places. The slope rose more gradually, affording them frequent views of the plateau, and although not a man among them was not glad to be coming to the end of the desert, they all felt the power of that huge mass. It soared up, higher by the mile, malignant and intensely oppressive, scowling down like an angry god. The horses shied often and had to be coaxed and calmed by the Earthwrought. Ratillic's wolves stopped more than once, crawling forward on their bellies.

  Ratillic watched them closely and spoke to Korbillian. ‘They smell that place from here, just as they would decay.’

  Korbillian ignored him. He needed no reminding.

  When they came to the edge of the sands, right under the brow of a final escarpment, it was close to sunset. The walls rose up sharply before them and the dying sun picked out no pathway up, just sheer rock. The plateau was hidden, and Korbillian was glad that it was so, knowing how unsettling its imposing dominance affected everyone. He arranged that the army camp under the cliffs, and the men did so, most of them collapsing.

  None of the Earthwrought seemed to have slept for days, not since the desert crossing had begun, and now they sat and gazed out at the sands, drowsy but always aware. Wargallow came before Korbillian once he had settled his Deliverers down.

  'How are we to scale these cliffs?’

  'I have asked Ygromm to find a way, if one exists,’ said Korbillian.

  Later, when Ygromm returned, Wargallow again came out of the night to hear his words.

  'There is a path under the cliffs, which will bring us up beyond them and under the great walls. There is water,’ Ygromm told them.

  'Clean?’ said Korbillian.

  Ygromm shook his head. ‘Better to use what we have. This comes down from the plateau.’

  'Is there anything we can eat?’ said Guile, who had also joined them, eager for news.

  'Kirrikree has found fruit, but although his people can eat it, it may harm us,’ said Ygromm. ‘I have sent men to study the land beneath the plateau. There will be ruins, I think, unless Xennidhum was built higher up. It is hard to say where the tides once reached.’

  Wargallow's face had clouded. ‘Is it safe to travel beneath the ground? Surely we can find a way up this cliff face?’

  Korbillian shook his head. ‘No path is safe. We are in the very jaws of the old powers. Have every man readied at first light. Ratillic, let your wolves lead us along Ygromm's path.’

  'Let me go with them,’ said Brannog. ‘I have travelled far under the earth with Ygromm. I understand the dangers.’

  'So be it,’ nodded Korbillian.

  They broke up after that, their spirits weighed down by the task ahead. Elberon confronted Guile anxiously. ‘We need a good killing,’ he said softly. ‘Something to lift morale. The men are tired, nervous, unsure of what we'll find. Nothing will restore their confidence better than a blow against this evil.’

  'I'm sure they'll have their killing,’ said Guile. ‘Soon.’

  That night the desert ignored them, maintaining its silence and utter lack of movement. By the time dawn came, the men were eager to move on into the passage under the cliffs. Ratillic and his wolves, with Brannog beside them, followed Ygromm to the place where the passage had been found. Once it had been the course of a stream, but now it was dry, the mouth choked with dust and sand. The wolves sniffed at it, then snarled as if something awaited them within. Brannog raised his axe and spoke to them softly, and Ratillic seemed surprised. How well he hones his own gifts, he thought.

  They entered. Enough of the Earthwrought pressed close behind Brannog and Ratillic to afford the strange body-luminescence that threw the low passage into relief. The floor sloped upward, the walls curved and pitted, sound dulled so that only the taut breathing of the company could be heard. Brannog coaxed the wolves on, and their teeth seemed to gleam, mouths open as though about to fasten on some unseen foe. For a long time they went onward and upward, and gradually the tunnel widened until its ceiling was some fifteen feet above them. Ratillic pointed out the webwork of roots that suggested life somewhere overhead, but Ygromm warned the men not to touch them.

  Eventually the roots thickened, but they were a ghastly white, splotched with a fungal growth that looked to have leeched away all goodness. If there were trees of any size above, they must surely be dead. One of the roots that ran alongside the widening tunnel had become extraordinarily thick, twice as wide as an oak's trunk, and Ygromm paused to listen, as if he could hear the sap running through it. Abruptly the wolves faced it, fangs barred, howling. In the confined space the sound was horrifying. Brannog heard the shifting of earth first, and Ratillic's eyes confirmed it. In another moment a great tremor ran through the root, dust and earth falling in gentle cascades from it.

  'It moves!’ Brannog said, and his words were taken up at once, threatening to spread panic down through the ranks. Brannog watched in horror as a ripple ran along the great root. Korbillian had joined him, watching equally horrified. Ygromm groaned, as though something in the immense root stirred a terrible fear in him.

  'It reaches up to the very plateau!’ said the Earthwrought.

  'Quickly!’ snapped Korbillian. ‘Move everyone through.’

  Ratillic and Brannog exchanged glances, but Ratillic spoke to the wolves. They loped up the passage with
several of the Earthwrought. The procession moved on, all eyes turned to the quivering root. Korbillian watched closely, and as Wargallow arrived, motioned him on.

  'What is it?’ said the Deliverer.

  Korbillian shook his head. ‘I dare not disturb it. The roof might collapse.’ Then the root heaved and there was a rumble above as rock shifted and earth tumbled. Suddenly the root seemed to pull itself, dragged quickly from its bed, thinning out as it passed, tapering down until a fall of soil completely blocked the place where it had been. Wargallow shouted at his men to keep moving, and though they did so, their killing steel was out. Elberon's men were no less prepared, but the great root did not return. Although the army passed now without harm, not one man felt safe. The image of the moving root remained with all who had seen it and word of it was passed back. By the time Ratillic and Brannog had reached daylight, the entire army was eager to be free of the earth. It was as though they had emerged from a living being.

  Brannog stared around him in amazement. They had come out into a semi-circular depression, half a mile wide, partially ringed by low walls of rock, and there were several pools here. But it was the vegetation that shocked the eye. Trees, shrubs and spreading vines were uniformly grey. Trunks and boughs were blotched and gnarled like arthritic hands, and all leaves were the same dull grey colour. There was a thick film of dust over the pools, and reeds thrusting up in clumps near the edges, also grey and drab. The vines were both tiny and large, the thickest like great snakes, digging into the collapsing rock walls. It seemed that everything here was transmuting into desert sand.

  'Is any of this alive?’ Brannog asked.

  'All of it,’ said Ratillic. ‘Be warned.’

  While the men emerged into daylight, Korbillian looked up to study the towering mass of the plateau beyond them, which seemed to reach the sky. Greyness mottled its immense walls, but there was a sickly green foliage there, too, rampant and suffocating the stone. It seemed to have spilled over from the top of the plateau like a creeping flood, sending down roots like enormous cables to the sands far below.