Broken Stone 02 - Warlock's Sun Rising

by Damien Black

  From the Abbot’s private chambers he could look across the crenellations of the wall towards the cursed moorlands. They had mercifully been swallowed up by the darkened firmament, but that didn’t mean the adept couldn’t sense their lingering evil. Another ordeal the Redeemer had seen fit to deliver them from.

  ‘He is a terrible fighter you know,’ said the Abbot, disturbing his reverie. ‘Why you place such importance on your novice I have no idea.’

  Horskram didn’t know whether to scowl or chuckle at that remark. What with their location by the Draugmoors and on the borders of two incessantly warring baronies, the monks of Heilag placed more emphasis on martial skills than most.

  ‘As I have said to others of our Order before, his talents lie elsewhere,’ replied the adept, without turning around from the window. ‘But rest assured, the monks at Rima shall see to it that his weaknesses are improved upon as well.’

  ‘Let us hope so,’ said Johann. ‘For your sake.’

  Something in the remark struck Horskram as odd. Turning to face the surly abbot he looked at him askance. ‘What do you mean by that exactly?’ he queried. His sixth sense had not flared, though in proximity to steadfast evil it was continually alerted anyway.

  Johann’s face betrayed just a flicker of regret. But the mask was back on as he said: ‘I mean to say that you have put a lot of faith in the lad’s significance. Not lightly do we herald the coming of a hierophant, and it’s your reputation on the line if you turn out to be wrong.’ Before Horskram could interject he went on: ‘Oh you may not make me privy to your secrets, Brother Horskram, but I’ve served the Order long enough to know when some devilry is in the offing. We’ve had to double our prayers in the past few months to keep Lymphi from overrunning the Draugfluss… The Rent Between Worlds is growing wider by the day.’

  Horskram’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well, you let me worry about my reputation,’ he said. ‘And keep your mind on stemming the Draugfluss. Doubtless you’ll learn everything you need to know from the Grand Master, in due time.’

  ‘Oh I’ve no doubt but that he’ll inform me, when he deems fit to do so,’ replied the Abbot. He seemed about to say more, but held his peace.

  Bidding the prior a curt goodnight, Horskram left his chambers, wondering at the meaning of his strange manner.

  Hettie gazed upon the sleeping form of Vaskrian. His face was lit by a shaft of moonlight streaming in through a window of the chapel. He looked wan and sickly, but even so she had to admit she found him handsome, in a rakish sort of way. Even his burns seemed to add to that rakishness, somehow.

  She had been unable to sleep for a couple of hours, and had only the continual chanting of the monks for company. One of them walked over to sprinkle them ritualistically with holy water, as he had done an hour or so ago. He continued to chant the litany as he did.

  They had been given pallets by the sacristy: the Argolians had explained that the proximity of its relics would render their prayers more potent. Horskram had warned them all to make no mention of the Redeemer’s blood, but if it was such a potent relic to be worth all that secrecy, Hettie wondered why it hadn’t been enough to protect them. Her mistress Adhelina had voiced that thought, but Horskram had sternly replied that the curative powers of the Creed were not an exact science. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

  Still, she had undeniably felt better since arriving at the monastery. Their journey through the moors had passed in a horrid haze, during which her troubled thoughts had returned to plague her as she recalled the ordeal with the Woses. Now that too seemed like a fading nightmare, as did the awful spectral kings she remembered seeing…

  Had all of that really happened? Best to remain unsure: some things weren’t worth knowing.

  She glanced at her mistress. Her face looked peaceful in the silver moonlight; it had a healthier pallor than the previous night.

  The same could not be said of the rest of their companions, apart from the chubby novice Adelko, who seemed to have fared well enough along with his mentor. Returning her gaze to Vaskrian she inwardly berated herself for entertaining any feelings for him: now was hardly the time for romance. And besides that he was a commoner, and a foreigner to boot.

  And yet… perhaps now was precisely the time to entertain such feelings. For after all the dangers they had endured, who could deny that life was fragile? Their homeland was overrun, her past lay in tatters. Why not enjoy herself while she could?

  She felt herself flush at the thought. She hadn’t had much experience with men, growing up in the strict patrician order of castle life there hadn’t been much opportunity… She had stolen a kiss or two from a visiting tourney knight three summers ago; at sixteen summers she’d thought it the most blissful experience ever. Of course her swain had wanted to take it further, and she had been tempted – but fear of being shunned if she let him and got found out had stopped her.

  He had left the day after, the tournament finished, to seek other conquests elsewhere. That had made her bitter at the time, but she soon got over it – a girl had to be pragmatic in a world like this. And that same pragmatism had told her a poor landless knight’s daughter was unlikely to be married off any time soon. That meant a world without conjugal love, so she might as well get used to it.

  And used to it she had become. Not for her Adhelina’s flights of fancy about paramours and love affairs and chivalrous suitors. But now, with the world she knew swept away by the seas of unruly fortune, none of those considerations seemed to matter much any more.

  Returning her eyes to the sleeping squire she felt the flush spread from her cheeks down her neck and across the rest of her body. Let the Argolians pray for her sins: a girl had to have some small pleasures in life.

  Adelko tossed and turned on his pallet. His bruises still ached. Brother Severus, in charge of combat training at Heilag, was just as unyielding as Udo had been at Ulfang. Perhaps it was to show the novices that no favouritism would be given to visiting friars. Or maybe Horskram had had a quiet word with the muscular journeyman, instructing him to spare his charge nothing.

  Whatever the reason, Adelko had found the last four days every bit as torturous as their benighted journey across the Draugmoors. At least it was refreshing to have more worldly reasons to feel pained, he reflected ruefully as he sat up wincing. He had been housed with Horskram in a cramped cell in the journeymen’s quarters. His contact with other novices had been limited outside of lessons, and though several had praised his command of scripture, few had proffered any words of real friendship.

  The novices here weren’t so keen to hear tales of the outside world, unlike his old comrades at Ulfang. But then many of them were from more illustrious backgrounds: the sons of noble families who had travelled before being indentured to the Order. Besides that, their proximity to the Draugmoors gave them plenty of opportunity to witness denizens of the Other Side. Both those things gave them a certain pride.

  Perhaps their standoffishness was for the best anyhow, Adelko reflected as he got up and walked over to the window: there seemed little point in trying to make friends here, for soon they would be off again. And it made Horskram’s usual secrecy rule easier to abide by.

  Gazing at the dusky courtyard, Adelko wondered what the future held in store for him.

  The damsels had recovered from the curse of the draugar, but the others had fared less well. That meant they would have to get to Rima right soon, travelling by sea from Westerburg. The thought filled him with excitement and trepidation. Until this year he had never even seen the waves: soon he would voyage across them. And once at the Pangonian capital, he would be released from Horskram’s service and assigned to Grand Master Hannequin.

  That prospect also churned up mixed feelings. To study at the feet of the Order’s most learned monks was a great honour, yet it seemed like an age since he had been seconded to Horskram. They hadn’t always agreed, but he had become bonded to the crabby old adept, who was almost a second father to him now. The thought of
not being at his side filled Adelko with sadness. His life of adventuring would be at an end too – for the time being anyway. Though part of him yearned for a return to the security of monastery regimen, Adelko knew he would miss the road.

  He watched the water sprites dance across the river towards the bridge before the prayers of the monks turned them back, and felt his trepidation grow. The sour-faced prior of Heilag clearly didn’t think much of him, but his mentor seemed convinced he was marked by destiny – as did the Earth Witch.

  Adelko didn’t like to think of himself as exceptional: it was unbefitting a pious monk and hardly in his nature. All he had ever yearned for was an unusual life, but beyond that he’d never considered whether he actually deserved such. Horskram seemed to think he did, while pointing out the sacrifices involved. At barely fifteen summers he had intervened in wars, survived skirmishes, and fought warlocks and shades and demonkind.

  Horskram had been right: he was caught up in events larger than himself. A wyrd was on him, just as the Faerie Kings had implied at Tintagael. And yet, even now, he could scarcely credit the idea that he might be a tool of the Almighty.

  Who was that person really? What was he becoming?

  His sixth sense continued to jangle as he watched the Lymphi turn and swim up against the current, their watery bodies writhing in displeasure as they clawed their way back towards the Draugmoors.

  Questions. Always so many questions.

  Adhelina awoke early to find a monk sprinkling her with holy water. Waking before time had been nothing new to her of late: it was a tell-tale sign of the Melancholy Sickness.

  And she had reasons aplenty to be melancholy.

  She shut her eyes against the encroaching dawn, trying to focus on the Argolians’ prayers instead of the visions of her butchered father that strafed her mind. Their strange journey through the Draugmoors seemed but a distant dream now; her grief was all too real.

  Her fault. All her fault.

  If not for her headstrong plan to flee her wedding, the Lanraks would probably have gone through with the marriage alliance. She knew Hengist well enough to realise his pride had been mortally insulted; he would never agree to marry a woman who had spurned him so publicly. And so he had opted for war instead. Because of her, Adhelina’s father lay dead and so did many of her countrymen. Subjects who would have looked to her for guidance and protection.

  She felt tears push themselves between her eyelids and stream down her cheeks. She was distracted from her sorrow by a gentle touch on the shoulder. Opening her eyes she saw Hettie, looking anxious in the pale light.

  ‘Milady, sit up and talk to me,’ she urged softly. ‘It is not good to be alone with one’s pain – believe me, I know that all too well!’

  With some effort Adhelina sat upright. ‘You’re up early,’ she said, wiping the tears away.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. But soon it will be time to break our fast. Yon Argolians may not suffer us to eat with them, but they proffer a tidy spread at least.’

  Adhelina smiled at her friend, grateful for her attempts to cheer her up.

  ‘Oh Hettie!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you here. And you saved me from Albercelsus… I don’t believe I’ve even thanked you.’

  Hettie blushed a little. ‘Think naught on that, milady, it was all he deserved – why, I hope I cracked his brains!’

  Adhelina could not help laughing. ‘Hettie, it’s the skull that cracks, not the brains within – but yes, I hope so too!’

  Her lady-in-waiting was still staring at her. ‘A pity you don’t have any of that stuff you gave to me when I was ill – that Elenya’s Root.’

  Adhelina sighed. ‘All my herbs are in my medicine pouch back… back at Graukolos.’ She could hardly bear to call the besieged castle she had fled twice home. She bit her lip as a new problem occurred to her. ‘As is all my jewellery. Hettie, we’ve no coin. Even if we do get to Rima, we’re going to have our work cut out for us just surviving.’

  ‘But you’re somebody important,’ Hettie insisted. ‘Indeed, you are now the Eorla of Dulsinor – its rightful ruler. Surely the King will treat you as an honoured guest, even if you are in exile!’

  ‘Yes but that all depends on politics,’ said Adhelina. ‘Carolus may choose to take the Lanraks’ side – or he may simply not care either way.’

  ‘Well if the latter proves true, I’m sure he would extend every courtesy to a high-born noblewoman.’

  ‘Possibly… But in that case he will almost certainly refuse to let us leave his court. Most likely he would keep me close, in case he should ever need me as bargaining tool. Don’t you see Hettie? After all we’ve suffered, I’ll just be in a man’s power all over again!’

  ‘So what are you suggesting? You can’t mean – ’

  ‘My original plan was to get to the Empire,’ said Adhelina. ‘Admittedly via Rima is a roundabout way to go, but we could take ship across the Sundering Sea… sail to Khronos in Nacia, that’s the south-western tip of the Empire. It’s a longer journey than I’d planned, but it’s doable.’

  Hettie looked aghast. ‘In heaven’s name, Adhelina, we’ve just been through all the horrors of this world and the next! We nearly died and lost our souls to the Other Side, we’ve lost everything we ever had – and yet you talk of more misadventures! Can’t we just settle down in Rima and make the best of whatever life we have left?’

  Hettie’s plea brought renewed stabs of pain to Adhelina’s heart. Her yearning for freedom had already cost them so much, and yet to falter now… Somehow that would make all their sacrifice seem in vain.

  ‘No,’ she said, her voice hardening. ‘A well-kept slave to a king at his court, I won’t have it Hettie! That’s precisely the kind of life I’ve spent months trying to avoid. We’ll travel with the others, as soon as they’ve recovered. When we get to Rima we’ll branch out on our own. Anupe will probably come with us anyway, so it’s not like we won’t have any protection.’

  ‘I doubt she’ll want to protect us now there’s no coin in it for her,’ said Hettie. ‘And besides…’ – she glanced meaningfully at the Harijan, who coughed and shivered on her pallet – ‘Our foreign friend doesn’t seem to be doing so well… Who’s to say she’ll even survive the trip to Rima? And even if she does, you said it yourself – we’ve no money! How will we live?’

  ‘You’re forgetting I have two brave knights who are madly in love with me,’ said Adhelina. ‘I doubt my paramours will let me starve. Why they might even be persuaded to come with us!’

  Hettie rolled her eyes. ‘This planned excursion is getting more fanciful by the second! You’re starting to sound like one of your romances!’

  Adhelina had to laugh at that. ‘Hettie, think on everything we’ve experienced of late – all the dangers you’ve just pointed out! Has it not occurred to you that we’re already living a romance, albeit a ghastly one? Troubadours will make songs out of everything we’ve endured, mark my words!’

  Her friend sighed, but had to acknowledge the point. ‘All right,’ she said resignedly. ‘But can I just add that your swains aren’t faring too well either?’

  Adhelina pursed her lips. Casting her eyes across the two knights, she had to concede Hettie had a point of her own. Both men, normally so strong and healthy, looked weak and sickly. Even mighty Torgun’s movements seemed crepuscular, while Braxus coughed fitfully and stared blankly most of the time. It pained her to see them in such a way. Even with her herbs, she would be powerless to help with this kind of malady.

  But seeing them so vulnerable somehow intensified her feelings for them. They were both so different, yet she had come to see the good in each of them. How indeed would one choose between such suitors?

  She banished the question from her mind. This was no time for indulging in courtly love.

  ‘Well, we seem to have recovered,’ said Adhelina. ‘We can only pray that the monks are able to heal our saviours as well, given enough time.’

  The thou
ght of time made her more anxious. She had gleaned enough from Horskram to learn they had passed a fortnight on the moors, however strange that seemed. At least that meant their trail had gone cold – no more Lanraks chasing them. But word of the war up north must have spread by now: it wouldn’t be long before word of their escape got out too. That would mean opportunistic freeswords on the lookout for runaway damsels.

  At this rate, Adhelina didn’t fancy their chances of getting even as far as Rima with naught but five sick bodyguards and a pair of monks to protect them. As the Argolians brought them their breakfast she welcomed the distraction from her troubling thoughts. But when she began to eat, it was with a subdued appetite.

  CHAPTER XII

  Another Close Shave

  Adelko looked ruefully at his companions as they assembled in the courtyard. His Argolian brethren had done what they could, yet they were a sorry sight for all that. Sir Torgun and the rest of them moved sluggishly, crawling up into the saddle and huddling into their cloaks as though it were a bitter winter morning. The splendid sunrise that painted the brown stones of Heilag rosy red put the lie to that notion.