Hero Risen (Seeds of Destiny, Book 3)

by Andy Livingstone

  She threw his clothes at him and he dressed quickly.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

  She frowned. ‘Oh, do not think that you were the only one to benefit from this.’

  He didn’t know how to answer, and fussed with his weapons, settling them about him and only feeling fully clothed when they were all in place. But his mind still was working. ‘It feels like there is a connection between us now.’ It was a fact he couldn’t deny to himself.

  She looked at him askance. ‘There is a connection between you and Marlo, and Konall, and Grakk, and especially Gerens for some strange reason. We have a connection of some sort with everyone we have met and some we haven’t.’

  ‘That’s not what I—’

  She cut him off with a laugh, amused rather than mocking. ‘I know, I am just playing with you. Of course there is, and all connections are different. This one was there before, but it took today to reveal it to us. We have all sorts of connections with all sorts of people.’ Her smile was wicked. ‘Though admittedly, this is one of the stronger ones. The forever-strong ones.’

  The door was banged roughly and Konall’s voice was loud through the heavy wood. ‘It’s getting blowy on deck. You have had enough time for your girly words, and their hot air will give us some welcome warmth.’

  She drew a slow breath and laid her fingers on his arm, speaking quietly. ‘This connection does mean, however, that you must have my back as I have had yours.’ She reached for the door, casting an even more mischievous grin back over her shoulder. ‘Especially after paying so much attention to my front.’

  If the others noticed his blush or the dishevelled bunk as they stomped in, they didn’t show it.

  ‘Feeling better, chief?’ Gerens said. At Brann’s nod, Gerens turned the burning darkness of his gaze on Xamira. ‘Thank you. There are some things that women handle better than men.’

  Brann spluttered into a fit of coughing but Xamira maintained her poise, the hardness back in her own eyes. ‘Of course there are. That is how men have survived the centuries.’

  Konall looked about to debate the point, but Grakk laid a hand on his arm. ‘More importantly, we will be in Sagia in a few short days. We should start discussing what we will do there.’

  There was a table in the middle of the room and, as Brann pulled out a chair, he kicked a pillow under the nearest bunk.

  Grakk grinned.

  Xamira slapped his bald head.

  Chapter 9

  The silver goblet crashed against the wall and bounced across the floor.

  ‘A third millen? And this one? Has he lost his wits?’ He grabbed the second goblet on the table and filled it with wine.

  ‘Have you?’

  He turned to find anger turning her eyes as hot as her voice was made cold. She stood stock still, glaring at him.

  ‘You would throw the boy to him?’

  ‘He is a man.’

  ‘He is a young man.’

  ‘He is still a man. And his time has come.’

  ‘His time will come and go without him should he be rotting in a cell. Or worse.’

  She stormed closer, and he found himself taking a step back. He caught the movement, drawing himself to his full height.

  ‘He will not. His companions are here, so here is where he will come should he survive where he went. Then we will learn what he has learnt, know what he has come to know. If it is of sufficient import, it must sway the fool.’

  ‘You do not know that it will.’

  ‘It must. It is a risk we have to take.’

  She snorted in disgust. ‘It is a risk he will be taking. For your ends.’

  ‘For all our good.’

  She spat into the fire, the venom in the action repeated in her tone. ‘For your good.’

  ‘What does it matter if many gain?’

  ‘It matters to you.’

  ‘It has to matter to someone, or we will be destroyed by a madman fighting a fool.’

  She laughed with scorn. ‘And watched by an older fool.’

  ‘A fool who trusts your prophecy.’

  ‘Do not lay the blame for your callousness on the words of the gods,’ she growled.

  ‘I do not. Should the gods speak true, he will be the hero who must stand for us all if we are to defeat what would otherwise be our doom. He is the key to the downfall of those of weakness who must fall, and to the door that must open to those of us who see the title of Emperor as a means to rule and not an opportunity for a daily banquet of frivolity and praise and with concern for naught beyond the walls of this palace.’

  Her voice became a hiss. ‘Those of us? Or one of us?’

  ‘What must be, must be. And what also must be is for the boy to fulfil his destiny.’

  ‘It is not for you to decide the path he takes in doing so. That is between him and the gods. And whether he achieves it is down to him alone.’

  His fist thumped on the table, sending the glass decanter to smash on the stone floor. His voice was a bellow, raw in his aged throat. ‘Well, to be allowed that, he must face danger. No one follows a hero who merely proclaims himself as such; he must speak through his actions, and in his deeds he must be seen to achieve what they cannot. What I do, what I have always done, what I will do now in sending him to that fool and what I plan beyond, is present him with the opportunity to do as such.’

  ‘And what good is that should it fail?’ she said. ‘A dead hero is of use only to the bards.’

  ‘That may be so,’ he growled, ‘but a living one must give the bards something to sing about, else he is just another soldier.’

  ****

  The ship bumped against the quay amid the early morning chill, and Brann scampered down the gangplank as soon as it was set in place, leaving behind a beaming Rodrigo with a chest full of gold and a head full of plans.

  ‘Keep your hoods up,’ he cautioned the others. ‘Loku is most probably not here, but his Sagian spies and their thugs will still welcome us with a club or a sword before we can get halfway to what we want to do.’

  Xamira gave him a nod and slipped away. They had spoken on the deck as the ship approached the harbour and he knew her duties would take her elsewhere, but still the sight of her drifting into the busy activity of the dockside crowd before she disappeared moments later left a pang of loss in his chest. Neither of them had spoken again about what had transpired in the cabin, but there had been something different in her eyes since; something indicating that it sat at the back of her thoughts in the same way that is sat in the back of his. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind to concentrate on what had to be done.

  Their passage to the Pastures, the areas of slums and poverty where Marlo had spent his early years and where the house lay that harboured Einarr, proved uneventful and quick through streets not yet filled, and their welcome there was warm and genuine – all the more so for the unexpectedness of their arrival.

  They sat quietly as all from their trip was related, but Einarr’s dark expression mirrored that of the others when Brann told of their intentions.

  ‘Have you lost your wits?’ he thundered, leaping from his chair with what, Brann noticed, was already remarkably controlled balance for one with only one foot. The lord glared at him with the power inherent in decades of wielding authority. ‘You honestly think you will stay alive if you go and present yourself to the very man who accused you of being part of a plot to murder him and sentenced you to what he believed was certain death? Who we then, to all appearances, did try to kill, using an assassin who looked like you? Whose home we struck at the very heart of? Whose niece died in that attack?’ He saw the pain in Brann’s eyes. ‘Look, I am sorry about the hurt that last memory brings you but, believe me, it is nothing to the short but decisive pain of a heavy blade chopping through your neck.’

  He shook his head, grabbing his crutch and stomping to the table.

  Grakk said softly, ‘We believe it is the only way, Einarr. There is no other option. We need
his armies. Loku cannot be allowed to find the way to Khardorul. Even if he finds the one item he desires and resists the temptation to grasp the power offered by the rest, which simply would not happen, merely the knowledge released to the world of the existence of that unimaginable archive and all it contains would bring chaos and destruction, such is the callous self-interest that is the manifestation in some of the natural urge to survive by evolving stronger than our peers. What we describe as inhuman is, unfortunately, all too naturally human. The lives of many more than just us few, more than even this entire land, will be in jeopardy.’

  Einarr glared at the table in silence.

  Brann walked to the other side of the table. ‘I agree with all of that,’ he said. ‘Which is why I will go alone.’

  Uproar broke across the room like a wave on rocks. Brann stared around them all, waiting for the noise to subside.

  ‘I know what you are saying,’ he said when it did. ‘But I am the only one who knows the private way to Alam’s room, and think about this: if you find it surprising that I would willingly put myself before the Emperor, think how astonished the Emperor will be. Surely he will see how important the news I bring must be if I place myself in that position.’ He paused, before continuing: ‘And if the worst does happen, then another two or more people would find themselves in that situation when the message could have been just as well delivered without them.’

  Several nods around the room accepted that fact, and all eyes turned to Einarr. His fists were clenched and he hit them gently against the table, several slow times. He looked up at the top of the stairs where Aldis, despite her years unknown, stood straight and steady on the landing, regarding him. His eyes met those of the soothsayer he venerated and something seemed to pass between the pair. When his head turned back to Brann, a resigned sadness was lined across his face. ‘There is nothing certain about the views of that man,’ he said in a low voice, ‘but if you must, you must.’

  Brann started to reassure him further, but the look in his eyes stopped him. With a nod, he dropped his weapons on the table, retaining only one knife on his belt. He pulled his cloak about him, cast one last look at Marlo’s pale form watching him quietly from a chair by the fire, turned and left the house.

  On the walk to the entrance he remembered leading to the sewers, Brann had tried to visualise each turn on the route below the palace, but still he was forced to double back several times after taking a wrong turn in the darkness. What seemed like a day later, he found himself easing through the movable stone panel at the back of the privy and, with a furtive and nerve-filled look, into the corridor close to Alam’s chambers.

  All was quiet, magnifying to his ears every slight sound he caused as he crept to Alam’s door, and he pressed his ear softly against the wood. He could hear nothing, and snatched an anxious look from side to side behind him, expecting a servant or a guard to appear. He eased the latch with painstaking slowness and pushed the door open the slightest crack, listening again, still hearing only silence. He edged the door forward the width of a finger, leaning forward to press an eye to the space.

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake just come in!’ the old voice yelled in exasperation.

  Brann jumped so violently that the door swung wide, and he almost stumbled into the room.

  The former Emperor was sitting in his customary high-backed chair. ‘Come in and shut the door, you fool. Or would you rather just call the guards instead?’

  Brann stepped in, obediently closing the door and glancing around. They were alone, and he breathed more easily. ‘How did you know it was me?’

  Alam snorted. ‘You need to work on your sneaking. Pulling up a hood may fool Taraloku-Bana’s dolts, but I rely on fewer people of higher quality.’

  ‘I need to see Kalos,’ Brann blurted. He saw no point in wasting time.

  But Alam was less hasty. ‘Oh, I see. A hunted fugitive wanders in here and thinks he can demand an audience with the most powerful man in the world.’

  ‘It is vital. His help is vital.’

  ‘And you think he will offer assistance to you, of all people, just like that.’

  ‘Of course not. But it is for the sake of all, including his Empire and, therefore, him.’

  Alam sighed and indicated the chair beside him. ‘Convince me that I should put you in a position to try to convince him.’

  Brann told him the salient points of his journey, from Markethaven to Chula Pexl. Alam had steepled his fingers and, head still and eyes closed, listened in silence, but when Brann added his theory of Loku’s aim, the old head snapped up.

  ‘He knows of the City of All Wisdom?’

  Brann nodded. ‘I believe so. Does the Emperor?’

  Alam nodded. ‘That secret is passed to each Emperor on his accession by the High Mother of the Oracle. The idea is that he must keep it safe, though the current incumbent is not faring well on that score.’

  Brann frowned. ‘Is it not a huge risk that one such as Kalos knows what Khardorul harbours? Would he not be tempted to seize the power it could bring, power that dwarves even what he holds now?’

  ‘Each High Mother tends to have decent intuition as to character, which is why one rises to such a position. She who crowned Kalos was no exception. He knows it is a secret place of great holy significance and seclusion in the Blacklands – an area unpleasant enough to hold no attraction for a lover of luxury, and a sanctum of piety is utter anathema to a lover of decadence. It makes him feel important to know there is a secret he alone must protect, and it is easy to keep a secret to yourself if you have no interest in its truth.’

  Brann thought of the frivolity that had marked every encounter he had experienced with the Emperor, even in the face of dire circumstances. Alam’s words made sense.

  The old man looked at him. ‘Nevertheless, he has been charged with protecting it, and protect it he will, as he loves the concept of being the Emperor. And so I see that you are not here to ask his help, in actual fact, but to present a situation where it is in his best interest to act. Or, to put it another way, he would see a possible calamity that the dispatch of a couple of his millens would avert.’ Brann nodded. ‘Very well, but be aware that he is not in the best of moods given that his brother, Kadmos, got himself drunk enough two nights ago to lose his balance on the balcony of his chambers. And, as you know, these Royal residences are fairly high above the courtyard at that side of the building.’ He saw the look on Brann’s face. ‘Oh, don’t tell me you had something to do with that also.’

  Brann shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He couldn’t stop a smile twitching at one corner of his mouth. ‘Loku – Taraloku-Bana – may have been led to believe that the person guiding us from within the palace was that very prince.’

  The old man pondered that for a short moment, stroking the long wisps of his beard. ‘There are advantages: he does not look any more for such a person and he thinks that you and your sorry little band are without highly placed assistance and influence, meaning that he may underestimate you.’

  ‘And Kadmos was a nasty bastard.’

  ‘And Kadmos was indeed a nasty bastard,’ Alam agreed. ‘And although that is by no means always a bad thing, in his case it was.’ He noticed Brann’s disapproval. ‘You have yourself your own nasty bastard: the boy with the hair like black fire.’

  Brann frowned. ‘But Gerens is not a vicious bully. He’s just matter-of-fact about things.’

  A cold smile. ‘And so it is, always. A friend is efficiently ruthless, an enemy is a vicious bully; one you love to have on your side, one you hate in opposition; one is a nasty bastard… and so is the other. As I say, it is not always a bad thing. Kadmos enjoyed it and did it for himself, whereas your boy feels nothing and does it all for you. That is the difference: why and how they did it, not what they did. Learn to see what is in front of you, not what you want to be in front of you, and you will appraise people better. And if you can appraise them, you have more of a chance of reading them and predicting them.’
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br />   ‘And controlling them?’

  ‘Of course. What is the point of building years of knowledge of what works and what does not, if you cannot utilise that? And how can you utilise it when your body is weak if not through others?’

  ‘And is that what you do with me?’

  ‘Of course.’ He gave a thin smile, but the eyes were hard and Brann saw in that moment the Emperor who had once ruled with a hand as skilled and uncompromising as a captain who guided his ship equally through storm and calm. ‘What do you think is in this relationship for me otherwise?’

  ‘I thought you did this out of the goodness of your nature.’

  Alam snorted. ‘The temples can attend to charity, but can they run an empire? Each has his part to play.’

  Brann looked into the empty fireplace as the breeze that stirred the gauze of the curtains brushed over him from, it felt, a land across the sea. ‘You sound like someone I met in Tucumala.’

  ‘Then you should listen to what he told you, for you heard wisdom.’ He grunted. ‘Enough. You want to meet the Emperor, then.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Good.’ He shuffled to a plaited cord hanging beside the mantelpiece, and pulled on it twice. Moments later a servant girl – around half Brann’s age and with a tread as soft as her eyes were sharp – slipped through the doorway.

  ‘Lord?’ she said with a slight bow.

  ‘Take this young man to the Lord Chamberpot with information that he was sent by a member of Lord Taraloku-Bana’s network with a message of such import that it must be delivered directly to the Emperor himself.’

  The girl’s voice was cool, confident, but respectful. ‘For clarity, lord, you mean me to take this boy and the message to the Lord Chamberlain?’

  He gave his customary snort. ‘You know what I said, and you know what I meant. Both are full of the same stuff, but the chamberpot is periodically emptied of it.’ He looked at Brann. ‘Go with the girl. She is one of mine. If I can trust her, so can you, and she has a mind quicker than either of us men.’

  Brann blinked at him, still taking in that he was to be meeting the Emperor so quickly. ‘What, now?’