The Redemption of Wist Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3: The complete collection

by David Gilchrist

  ‘How do you think Eliscius managed to survive the walk into the desert?’ Wist asked. ‘He was a wise man, but he wouldn’t have had the knowledge to survive.’

  ‘I have seen only what was shown to me in my vision,’ Faric replied. ‘I have only your word that these things have taken place. I am not a solver of riddles and puzzles. Once he has found us, you can put these questions to him.’

  Despite Wist’s protestations, Faric declined to debate the matter and pushed his mount off towards their destination, leaving him to follow.

  As they moved further into the desert, Wist noticed the increasing variety of life that thrived on this burned plane. In every crevice and fold of the land, seemingly withered plants clung to life; like a reminder of hope, they sprouted from dark creases where the bedrock of the world was exposed beneath the sand. This too was new. It was the first time since they had left the cave at the foot of the cleft in the world that he had seen solid ground. The sight of it filled him with hope. He was weary of the ground constantly moving under his feet. The permanence of the stone left him yearning for home and an end to his travelling.

  The oppressive loneliness of this place still pressed down on Wist. He missed Aviti terribly. She was his connection to the past. Faric was his companion now, but he could only force brief flashes of humanity from him. Aviti’s anger and passion was something that he could almost touch. The Lyrat’s detachment left him cold.

  --*--

  After they had been travelling for several hours without exchanging a single word, Faric gestured off to the East. Wist sat forward on his mount, alert now. Tensing his body for an imminent threat, he trained his eyes where Faric had pointed. At the limits of his vision, he could make out a herd of creatures. Cold grey in colour, they followed a parallel trail, but they were at least a league distant. Even from this distance, the beasts looked enormous, their vast, rotund bodies carried along on small, wide legs. The heads of the leading animals swayed gently from side to side as they walked, their ambling gait rocking them as they went. Only their snubbed muzzles protruded from the bulk of their torso. This aberrant band marched onwards towards whatever they perceived their goal to be. Wist realised that this was not a threat, but a wonder. He and Faric stopped to watch their progress.

  ‘The Corozon are leaving their heartlands,’ said the Lyrat. ‘It is a wonder to see such a thing, but also it is an ill omen. To see more than a single Corozon is rare occurrence. Such great beasts do not easily tolerate the presence of each other.’

  --*--

  They made steady progress for the remainder of that day and the next, the horses devouring the miles between them and the foothills that lay before the mountains. Resting briefly and sleeping lightly, they travelled through day and night. Wist felt himself becoming attuned to the pulse of life within the vast desert. Its rhythms rose and fell in opposition to the sun. Wherever its scorching fingers failed to reach, life sprang up and, once it had a foothold, its roots deepened and spread. They had seen nothing to rival the majesty of the herd of Corozon, but the variety and veracity of life that flourished here continued to astonish him. From small flora and fauna to scuttling insects and tiny animals, the desert had come to life, as if in answer to Faric’s summons.

  At the beginning of the third day, they started down the descent that would lead them away from the desert and into the rising hills. For a time, Wist was reluctant to cross the invisible boundary that marked the end of the desert. He knew that he’d only just begun to scratch at the surface of the life that the Lyrats led amongst its hidden treasures. He’d never been very good at leaving things behind.

  Beyond the gentle hills that they approached, a giant mountain loomed, which Faric identified as Rathou. It sat fiercely at the end of the mountain range, like a challenge to anyone who dared approach it. Its iced white peak cut a sharp contrast to the grey brown of the surrounding plateau. The ragged edges of the mountain’s profile were no less forbidding than the great desert they had traversed. The lesser peaks of the mammoth range fanned out in either direction from Rathou, as if they formed an honour guard – each one paying silent tribute to the pinnacle of their kind. Only a few of them had snow on top – those nearest the largest mountain. Wist wondered what lay beyond those peaks, and how anyone could hope to cross them. He reckoned that, if he needed to, Faric would simply tackle the obstacle as he had all of the others: head on.

  He had expected to see a marked change in the environment as the passed from the desert, but the difference was more subtle. The small shrubs and trees that grew here looked less severe; their limbs and leaves slightly lusher, less rarefied. Plants displayed hints of myrtle and olive, rather than the russets and sepias of the desert tundra. Despite this, the signs of life were still sparse, the bedrock of the Earth jutted through in places at obscene angles, suggesting old violence and scars unhealed by time. Wist could only look at those gaping rends for a few moments before he had to avert his eyes. Those old wounds were his fault. How far had the damage radiated from his ancient failure?

  The path the horses stepped upon became more defined, emerging from the dust. The sound of the horses’ footfalls shifted from a dull cushioned pat to a sharper, fully defined crack.

  ‘Won’t that give us away?’ he asked, referring to the unending series of clattering rings from the horses’ hooves.

  ‘We are beyond the boundary of the Great Desert now,’ said Faric. ‘That is not to say that we are safe, but that the immediate threat is diminished. And there is little we can do to mask the noise. Our best course of action is to proceed with haste.’

  ‘How much further do you think we have to travel?’ Wist asked.

  ‘We will gain the foot of the mountains in a matter of hours. All that then remains to do is to find a place to shelter for the night.’

  Wist sighed and pushed his mount on. The faster they got to their destination, the quicker he could find out what had happened to Eliscius; if that was who waited for them at the end of the road. He had thought of bringing this up with Faric a few times, but he was aware of the futility of his questions. There was no alternative course for them.

  The gradual descent ended, flowing seamlessly into a short vale, which was denuded of plant life. The main difference between this plateau and the desert tundra was the significant shift in temperature. While it was not cool, it was more bearable that the previous day’s sojourn had been, a gentle breeze skimming across them as they travelled now. The undulating land stopped him determining how far they were from the foot of the giant mountain.

  As they crested an unremarkable slope, one in an endless series of hills, Faric brought his dark horse to rest. After a moment, Wist caught up with the Lyrat and looked down the other side of the hill. They’d almost reached their destination. At first, Wist assumed that they’d stopped because Faric was unsure of how to continue or perhaps this was the point that the Lyrat had never been beyond. Before Wist could speak, Faric raised a hand and pointed to a spot about quarter of a mile up the side of the mountain, not far from a ragged path that meandered from the mountain’s base.

  Wist shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, unable to discern what he was meant to see. Faric raised his other hand to halt any forthcoming questions. Wist concentrated on the area indicated, looking for a sign of danger or threat. There was a darkened patch, but he could not make out whether this was a natural shadow or something more ominous.

  A flash of light caught Wist’s eye. He had no way of determining what had caused it, but it had originated from the dark area he had been observing. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘I do not know, but I have seen it as we crested the last two hills,’ replied Faric. ‘Whoever is there, they have been watching our approach. And now they know I am aware of their presence.’

  ‘What should we do? Do you think it could be Eliscius?’

  ‘They have not ridden down to confront us.’ said Faric. ‘Therefore, we must find out who they are, and what they intend
.’ Faric stepped his horse forward, down the final descent before the enormous mountain, and Wist pushed himself on to catch up.

  The path up the mountain was easy-going to start with. It was compact earth with little or no bare rock exposed, and it allowed them to make substantial progress, but slowly the bedrock of the mountain began to emerge through the packed earth. The tightly compressed soil was soon replaced with loose shale and small rocks, forcing them to rein in the horses and keep them under close control. With Wist’s limited riding experience, it was a struggle to maintain a pace that was greater than they could have managed on foot.

  The sun had dropped behind them now, so they wouldn’t be able to return to the foot of the mountain today. Trying to negotiate this terrain in the dark, even with Faric’s preternaturally enhanced senses, would be suicide, but they were committed now.

  As the path snaked back below them, Wist tried to get a view of what awaited them, but the slope of the hill was too acute to allow him even a glimpse. The path continued its winding way upward. ‘Why can’t they cut a path that runs straight up the mountain rather than meandering pointlessly across?’ he complained.

  ‘Rainwater falling on the mountain here would destroy such a path as it sought to find its way to the sea,’ answered Faric.

  Wist blushed. Why did the Lyrat have to pick up on his every mistake?

  They rounded a jagged bend in the path to be confronted by a small, gnarled figure blocking the road. He was a third smaller than either of them, and about the same amount broader in the shoulders. Over his right shoulder was slung a dull war-hammer. The light, leather armour he wore contrasted notably with his ebony skin. Even in the waning light, Wist could see that although the dwarf’s face was lined with age, no sign of it was present in his short dark hair or beard. He emanated strength as if he had been mined from the rock of the mountain itself.

  ‘Stay back,’ he shouted to the companions. The soft lilt of his speech did little to hide the aggression. With a simple flick of his wrist, he moved the hammer from its resting place to swing near his feet. The setting sun glimmered in his dark eyes.

  ‘We mean no harm,’ Faric replied, holding his hands clear from his body to show that they were empty.

  ‘We are looking for Eliscius,’ Wist blurted out. He cursed himself for speaking without thinking, but Faric made no move to reprimand him.

  ‘Never heard of him,’ the dwarf shouted. ‘Take your Lyrat friend and be on your way back down. Leave me alone.’

  ‘May we share your fire and shelter?’ Faric had spoken as if he were reciting a formal rite; invoking an unwritten accord between kindred spirits.

  A complex smile cracked over the dwarf’s face. Wist grew uneasy looking at that grin. He braced himself for an assault.

  ‘One of the great and noble Lyrat people lowering themselves to share the hospitality of a lowly Cerni? You must have fallen upon the hardest of times.’ The dark dwarf doubled over in a mock bow. His mention of Cerni stirred memories within Wist once more.

  Faric showed no sign that the words had affected him. ‘Once our people were friends.’

  ‘More than that,’ replied the dwarf, ‘they were allies. But you assume much to invoke tales of those days.’

  ‘Much I may assume, but it is a small service I ask,’ replied Faric. ‘One night is my request. Then we shall be on our way.’

  The dwarf’s eyes flicked from Faric to Wist and back again; measuring them, assessing them.

  ‘A Lyrat walks out of the desert, escorting a pale-skin, and asks for aid in the name of concordats long dead.’ The dwarf’s smile deepened to reveal his teeth. ‘And I thought there was nothing left in this world that could interest me.’ Then the dwarf turned to leave, swinging the hammer back up to its place on his shoulder.

  ‘What now?’ Wist asked Faric. ‘Do we follow him?’

  ‘Aye,’ shouted the dwarf, waving his hand. ‘There are still some tales that I must hear.’

  ‘What is your name?’ shouted Wist on an impulse as they moved their horses to catch up with the substantial figure.

  ‘Nikka,’ he replied.

  ‘I am Wist and this is Faric,’ he said, without being asked. Nikka continued his march without turning around to acknowledge them. He led them on for half an hour longer. By the time they had reached their destination, the sun had set, leaving a faint red glow in the eastern sky. The entrance to the dwarf’s cave was unremarkable: an overhanging ledge of rock, protruding from the mountainside, formed a shelter to the wide opening. The cave’s mouth was large enough to allow the horses to pass in unimpeded, but the companions were forced to stoop to enter.

  Immediately, Wist felt constricted as he bent to enter the cave, but once they were beyond its mouth, it widened to reveal a large central living space with several smaller rooms that looked as if they had been moulded from the rock. Even Faric’s face betrayed some surprise at the size and comfort that the cave provided.

  ‘It is not only Volni that can delve the rock,’ Nikka said, catching the look on his visitors’ faces. ‘Ages have come and passed since we have emerged from our dark place, but the rock remains interwoven with the fabric of our being. It is true that my people use this lore for building rather than delving, but my hands find peace in such a task.’ He caressed the stone wall of the cave as he strode to one of the ante-rooms.

  ‘Tether the horses near the air,’ Nikka instructed them. ‘Once you have seen to them, you may clean the road from yourself.’ He indicated another small opening in the wall. ‘I will set a fire and see to a meal. Then I shall hear your tale.’

  Nikka busied himself with his tasks. Wist was astonished at the trust the dwarf had shown in letting them share his shelter. A shelter was a poor way to describe this place. It seemed as though it had been shaped by the earth to suit Nikka’s purpose; as if the dwarf had found it buried in the dark stone of the mountain. Wist could discern no tool marks on the smooth walls. The irregular shape of the main room had a gentle flow to it; a delicate grace that sat incongruously alongside the dwarf.

  Wist joined Faric and together they completed their tasks with the horses swiftly. After this, they took the travelling packs and deposited them where Nikka had indicated they could, washed, then sat by the fire and ate the rough but satisfying stew that their host had offered them. As they finished the meal, Nikka requested to hear their tale and Faric began to speak.

  ‘Let the pale-skin tell it,’ interjected Nikka, without explanation. Dark mischief danced in his eyes.

  Wist was glad of the opportunity to speak. Deciding to leave nothing out, he told Nikka all of what had happened to him. He even included the details of the Lytch and their desperate flight from it, but he let Faric relate his own part. When he came to tell of Aviti’s fall into the Corb, Wist felt himself tighten up - worry for the Masheshi girl welling up inside.

  ‘That is a dark tale indeed,’ said Nikka when silence had settled on the room. He turned to Faric. ‘It pains me greatly to hear the fate of your people. I wish my own race had an ounce of the honour and sense that your people have shown through the ages – if not in their doom.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ asked Wist bluntly. ‘You speak of your people, but I see no sign of them. Do they hide among the hills?’

  Nikka assessed him with a bitter glare, but the venom in his eyes was not for Wist. ‘If only they had the sense to live among the hills or on the mountain. No, they dwell in Sordir, the vast city at the far side of this mountain. There they wage ceaseless war upon each other, when they are not battling the Volni.’

  ‘The Volni?’ he asked. ‘You have mentioned them before, who are they?’

  ‘The white-skins,’ Nikka’s voice betrayed more than a drop of bitterness. ‘The pale dwarfs of the deep. So long and deep have they delved, they have lost any colour that they once may have had. Some believe that they have lost their soul along the way also. Only conquest and plunder satisfies them – and even that does not last.’

&nbs
p; ‘So why are you here and not with your people – Cerni, did you call them?’ he asked.

  Nikka nodded.

  ‘- with the Cerni fighting these Volni?’

  ‘Volni – Cerni, after centuries fighting one battle after another, I grew tired of the wars, the killing.’

  ‘Centuries?’ Wist was astonished at the Cerni’s apparent age. ‘Surely there were times of peace? No war can last that long.’

  ‘Can it not now?’ Nikka smiled ruefully. ‘I had forgotten what an impatient people man can be. But you are correct. There have been times when the Volni were quieter, when they retired to the dark recesses of the earth to plot and to rebuild. During these times, I would find myself attached to a House, or perhaps a faction that was vying for control or territory – or one of the other names for power. For, what good was I to anyone, bar my skill with the hammer and my lust for blood?’

  ‘You were a mercenary?’ Wist said, unable to hide the distaste in his words.

  ‘Mercenary, sell-sword, assassin – aye, I was all these things. I was a killer and I accepted anyone’s coin. Even the Gods have lost count of the souls I have sent on their way.

  ‘But eventually my bravado and courage led me to a fight I could not win. Hopelessly outnumbered by the Volni, I was captured and enslaved. For years, I was put to work in one of their day-less cities deep beneath the earth. There I learned to work the stone, to mould and craft it.’

  As the tale turned to speak of the dwarf’s ability with stonework, his face transformed, revealing a little of his enduring adoration of the earth and rock. The dark dwarf continued to tell of his days beneath the earth under the cruel beatings of a slave master, his soft accent contrasting with the harshness of his story.

  ‘Eventually I escaped, or rather I was allowed to flee. During a nasty fight that escalated into a riot, I slipped my bonds and ran. My fellow slaves saw me leave, but knew I could do nothing to aid them. How it pains me still to think of their life down there, Volni and Cerni alike. Does it surprise you to know that they put their own kind in shackles?’ He looked from a response from Faric, but none was forthcoming.