by Jen Williams
Frith took it, and smiled again. It looked more genuine this time.
‘Thank you, my friend. Goodbye.’
The afternoon filled with a brittle, crackling sound, pressing against Crowleo’s eardrums, and then the air around Frith surged with light and noise. Crowleo stumbled backwards, and in a blink the light was gone, along with Lord Frith. He stood there for a long moment, staring out across the treetops to where the Frith family vault was hidden.
‘Whatever’s happening, Sebastian,’ he murmured, ‘I hope you are safe.’
Negotiations were continuing on into the night.
Sebastian watched them from just beyond the circle of statues; Ephemeral, Crocus and Havoc were sitting cross-legged opposite King Aristees and his two closest advisors, all six of them talking animatedly across the silvery glow of the cold-light. Sebastian wasn’t sure what he was more surprised by: that King Aristees would sit and negotiate terms with the people who had just slaughtered his own men and women, or that the brood sisters would even consider his offer, as greatly changed as it was already. He thought of how they’d been on the battlefield of Baneswatch – confused, conflicted and, above all, young. Now they were arguing shrewdly, pursuing their own goals with a determination even Frith would admire. Ephemeral held up her hand, one finger stabbing the air as she reiterated something the Narhl king wasn’t paying enough attention to.
‘I cannot say I ever thought I’d see the day when my father would sit down with another people,’ said Dallen. He’d appeared out of the darkness next to Sebastian, limping slightly. In the pale glow of the cold-light his face was a painful jigsaw of bruises. ‘He barely approves of trade with outsiders, and even then it must take place beyond Narhl borders.’
Sebastian shrugged. ‘It is a most unexpected outcome. I have been training the brood sisters for combat, in how to keep themselves safe. I didn’t realise they picked up diplomacy along the way.’
‘They are . . . extraordinary women.’ Dallen glanced down at the stony ground, and Sebastian knew he was thinking of the men and women they had killed that day. ‘I wish you had told me of them sooner.’
‘How do you even start to tell a tale like that?’ He had told them, of course; after King Aristees’ surprise proposal, Sebastian had spent some time telling the remaining Narhl the full story. How their ill-fated journey under the Citadel had led to their unleashing the god of destruction on the world, how Sebastian’s blood had brought her army to life, and how they were still linked to him, through that same blood. It had not seemed to dissuade the Narhl king. ‘It’s not really something you can casually drop into everyday conversation.’
‘If I had known, I might have been able to warn them,’ said Dallen coldly.
‘Would that have stopped them beating you?’ Sebastian took a slow breath, trying to keep his temper under control. ‘I did what I thought best. I am not sorry.’
Dallen didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘The wyverns. I’ve never seen them behave like that. It was as though you commanded them with a look.’
Sebastian looked down at his boots. The silver thread in his mind was still there. He could tell that the wyverns were frightened by the taste of Narhl blood on the air.
‘That is more difficult to explain, I’m afraid. I’m not certain I understand it myself.’
Dallen narrowed his eyes at him but said nothing.
‘And now we wait and see.’ Sebastian turned back to the talks going on in the middle of the stone circle. King Aristees was laughing at something, smacking one broad hand with the flat of his axe with mirth. ‘I must admit, I do not know what will be the outcome of this.’
‘What do you hope for?’
‘Peace, as ever.’ Sebastian looked at Dallen, who shook his head, smiling without amusement.
‘I find that difficult to believe.’
‘Dallen—’
‘When you told us all the story of the dragon and her daughters, you told us of the battle in Relios, when she came and killed all your fellow knights. They had cast you out because of what you were and refused your help, but still you felt sorrow over their deaths. Am I correct?’
Now it was Sebastian’s turn to be silent. He remembered walking the smoking battlefield afterwards, looking for survivors and finding only twisted, blackened corpses, all their humanity burnt away. They had hated him, yes, they had exiled him from Ynnsmouth and stripped him of his title. He had also felt their loss keenly, like a wound in his heart.
‘I did what I did for love,’ he said eventually, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘I tried to save them, and I tried to save you.’
Dallen looked at him sharply and opened his mouth, but King Aristees was bellowing at them from the centre of the circle.
‘Get over here, warmling scum,’ he shouted, cheerfully enough. ‘It seems we have come to an agreement.’
‘Humans are strange.’
In the immediate aftermath, while the few survivors of Aristees’ men patched themselves up and the bodies were respectfully moved out of the camp, Sebastian had taken Ephemeral to one side.
‘Never a truer word,’ he muttered. They stood at the edge of the circle. The sun was a distant white disc in the sky, giving out no warmth at all. ‘Ephemeral, you must understand what it is they are asking of you and your sisters.’
‘I understand,’ she had said, shrugging one shoulder. ‘He wishes to mate with one of us, to bring the dragon blood within his own tribe. I have done a lot of reading of human histories, and there are many such instances, particularly within royal families. Often it is used to broker peace, to form alliances.’
‘That is correct, I suppose,’ said Sebastian. ‘It is no simple thing he asks of you, Ephemeral. It’s not like trading food for money, or land for titles, it’s . . .’ He lifted his hands, and dropped them again. ‘You and your sisters are still learning so much. I fear we didn’t quite get to this stage of your education.’
‘We are learning all the time,’ said Ephemeral. ‘Even when you’re not here to teach us, Father, we are always learning. And I think,’ she glanced at him, ‘there are some things you cannot teach us.’
‘I’ve no doubt about that.’ Sebastian shook his head. ‘What do your sisters think of all this?’
Ephemeral tipped her head to one side as though listening to an interior voice.
‘They are curious,’ she said eventually. ‘These Narhl people are unusual. Everywhere we have been we have needed to hide ourselves for fear of humans discovering what we are. We are, as you know, easy to spot.’ She gestured to her own face, pale green, sharply angled, and beautiful. ‘The Narhl are unafraid, even though we have killed so many of them. They do not fear our green skin and sharp teeth.’
‘You know that’s only half the story,’ said Sebastian, as softly as he could. ‘We hide from the people of Ynnsmouth and Relios because the stories of what you did – of what you and Y’Ruen did – are still fresh in their minds. Here, those stories are distant.’
‘Then that is also in our favour.’ Ephemeral looked at him, her yellow eyes wide. ‘Some of my sisters wonder if we might find acceptance here.’
Sebastian looked out across the bleak landscape, filled now with rolling fog. He missed Wydrin with a sudden, unbearable keenness. She would have had many choice words about King Aristees’ offer, and would have put them plainly to Ephemeral.
‘To be married, though.’ Sebastian grimaced. ‘And to him. I hoped that you would come to forge your own relationships, of course. But to see you traded off in one—’
‘Oh, we do not intend to marry,’ said Ephemeral. She smiled at Sebastian’s surprised expression. ‘King Aristees is overly hairy and smells disconcertingly of fish. But it occurs to me that we are in a position of power here, with a great need of assistance, and there may be a way to make sure that everyone is satisfied to a degree. What is the correct term?’ She reached up a clawed hand as if to pluck the word from the air. ‘Compromise.’
Now Eph
emeral rose from her seat on the ground; if hours of sitting in one position had made her uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. King Aristees got up with more difficulty, leaning heavily on the staff of his axe.
‘We have come to an agreement, Father,’ she said. ‘Although we cannot accept King Aristees’ gracious offer to become his queen.’
‘More’s the pity,’ grunted Aristees.
‘We have agreed to an exchange of information and resources. Those sisters of mine who wish to will stay with the Narhl in the Frozen Steps for a time, learning about them and how they live their lives. We will teach them what we know of combat, tracking, and so on, and it is hoped that in time relations between us will grow warmer. In exchange, they will lend us a number of troops in the conflict against Joah Demonsworn.’
‘Father,’ Dallen shook his head wonderingly, ‘all these years of ignoring the outside world, and you lower our walls for these creatures? Monsters who murdered your own men and women?’
Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but Aristees spoke over him. ‘Did you see these lizard-women fight? I would take one of them over ten of you. With their blood on our side, the Narhl will be unbeatable.’ He shrugged. ‘Their influence will strengthen us – only the cold-blooded could be so brutal. And if they require assistance with beating one crazed mage? Then we shall demonstrate our war skills, Dallen, and they will know where their true home is.’
Sebastian rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘Then you agree to help us take back Skaldshollow?’
King Aristees laughed. ‘We have had many years’ experience of harrying those walls, warmling. You would not be able to do it. I shall send a wyvern and a messenger back to the Frozen Steps, and have a hundred of my best soldiers at your disposal. You will see how the frozen lands fight then.’
‘Good.’ This was a new voice, cutting across the icy dark like an axe blow. They all turned to see a slim figure step out of the darkness. It was Frith, dressed in a sleeveless jerkin, the sand of a distant desert still coating the bottoms of his loose trousers, his bare arms bound in silk strips. Over one shoulder he carried a hessian sack, and his face looked as though it were carved from stone. ‘Gather your troops at the southernmost wall, King Aristees, and ready them to storm the defences. Sooner rather than later.’
Frith came into the circle of light, putting the sack down carefully.
‘Who is this, to command me so?’ bellowed King Aristees. ‘Another warmling who desires to feel the edge of my axe?’
‘I command you all,’ said Frith, glaring round at them. He didn’t seem to feel the cold. ‘And you will all do as I say immediately.’
‘Frith, what’s happened?’ Sebastian glanced at the sack uneasily. ‘Where have you been?’
One of King Aristees’ advisors tore the spear from his side and with a cry flung it directly at the young mage’s chest. Frith raised one hand and the man and his spear were frozen in place, unmoving.
‘I do not have time for this.’ He turned to the king and produced a fireball, suspending it in front of him like a small sun. ‘You will do as I say or I will burn you and any other Narhl that mean to stand in my way.’
‘We’ve brokered a peace,’ said Sebastian, holding up both his hands. ‘The Narhl have already agreed to help, Frith. There is no need for threats.’
Frith kept the fireball burning for a few seconds more. In its orange light his eyes looked wild.
‘That is good. Then I shall expect no more delays. Your troops, Aristees, at the southern gate, along with the brood sisters. You shall be our distraction, while our main force comes from the north. I shall return again shortly.’
The Narhl soldier lurched forward, released from the spell, and dropped the spear awkwardly to the ground. He retrieved it and stepped back, his eyes wide with confusion.
‘Frith, what are you talking about? Distractions? What is our main force?’ Sebastian shook his head. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To Nuava,’ Frith said shortly. ‘I finally located her with the seeing spell, and it seems she has the last weapon we need.’
73
Nuava crawled on her hands and knees over the flat stone surface, following the seams of Edeian where they flowed through the rock. Here and there she would pause and make some small adjustment with her hammer and chisel, listening to the flat chink echo around the quarry. This was crafting on the highest level, and she was using every inch of skill she’d been taught over the years – at long last she was crafting the Edeian as she’d always dreamed she would. So why did this feel so wrong?
She looked up, glancing across the impossibly wide expanse that was this werken’s chest, and saw her aunt hobbling towards her over the stone. Tamlyn was pale, her face the colour of dust, and she walked now with one hand pressed to her midriff at all times, but she showed no signs of slowing down. Her mouth was a pinched line, and there was a feverish look in her eyes that Nuava was swiftly learning to grow wary of.
‘How are those connections coming along?’
Nuava sat back on her haunches and rubbed some stone dust from her fingers.
‘Good, Tamlyn. This piece is riddled with Edeian, and it’s relatively easy to make the links we need. I would never have thought it, with the size of it.’ She gestured weakly at the monster they were resting on. ‘Barlow found us the right materials, that’s for certain.’ She paused. ‘Do you know what happened to Barlow?’
Tamlyn lifted one shoulder slightly and dropped it, grimacing slightly; even this small movement caused her pain.
‘She was here when Joah’s creature caught me, and that was the last I saw of her. If she went back to Skaldshollow . . .’ Tamlyn touched her fingers to the red-beaded necklace at her throat. ‘If she is back there, then I do not know what her fate could be.’
On the long painful journey through the forest, they had circled around the city, Tamlyn leaning heavily on her niece; swearing between her teeth but never slowing down. When they got close enough to see the walls, they had stopped, staring up at the shifting red caul of light that covered their city. Nuava remembered feeling like they were children lost in the forest, clinging to each other as the monsters closed in. She had asked her aunt, in a voice that sounded appallingly young, what she thought the light was. Tamlyn had only shook her head and spat on the ground, and they had moved on.
‘Do you think anyone in there is still alive?’
‘We won’t know until we take a look, will we? And we can’t do that until my Destroyer is ready. I’m going to head back up.’ She nodded to the far side of the werken’s chest, where its blunt head emerged from its sloping shoulders like a giant gravestone. ‘It’s not long now, Nuava. Not long until we take it into battle and we have vengeance for your brother. For Barlow. For all of them.’
She turned to go and her foot slipped a little on the smooth rock, almost casting her to the floor. She caught herself, but the effort forced a shout of pain from her throat. In an instant Nuava was on her feet and at her aunt’s side, but the older woman pushed her away. The last of the colour had drained from her face and for a frightening moment Nuava thought she was going to pass out.
‘Aunt, you are badly hurt.’ Nuava swallowed a hard lump in her throat; they had had this conversation before. ‘If we do not get you help soon, you will not live to steer the Destroyer.’
‘I should be dead already.’ Tamlyn gasped down a mouthful of air. ‘By rights I should be dead in the trees somewhere. But I didn’t die there, Nuava, and I will not die before I tear Joah’s head from his stinking neck.’ The force of her anger seemed to give her some strength back. ‘Even if I have to smash this werken to pieces on his monster’s hideous hide.’
With that her aunt began to hobble rapidly away. Nuava picked up her chisel once more, watching her go.
Hours later, as the weak light of late afternoon darkened to a solid grey, Nuava half slid, half stumbled down the makeshift wooden ladder they’d rigged to the side of the Destroyer. The whole thing was covered in
a complicated latticework of wooden scaffolding, and looking at it made Nuava wonder how long her aunt had been working on this secret project. How many men and women had known about this and kept their mouths shut? It was a demonstration of the respect commanded by the Mistress Crafter; respect that edged into awe. Nuava tugged her fingers through her dirty hair, frowning. The same awe and respect that had allowed her aunt to make several unwise decisions on behalf of the people of Skaldshollow. With a shiver she remembered the slim shape of the Prophet, always hidden behind the gauze of her bed curtains, and then later, the smiling, handsome face of Joah Demonsworn as he tore her brother’s heart from his chest.
She half fell from the last step, her fingers numb from carving stone. There was a small fire down by the werken’s head, so she walked towards it. They had managed to scavenge some food on their journey here – several handfuls of small hard berries, a few thick root vegetables Nuava had dug up, remembering them from a botany book she had once studied, and one surprised snow grouse, which Nuava suspected had already been injured. Her stomach was growling painfully.
‘Tamlyn? Are you there?’ The shadows were starting to grow long and the temperature was dropping fast. ‘I need a break.’
Her aunt lurched out from behind the curve of the Destroyer’s head. There was colour on her cheeks again, and a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. Nuava’s stomach turned over at the sight of it.
‘Aunt, you are feverish. Quickly, come over to the fire and rest, I’ll find us some more food—’
‘That’s Mistress Crafter to you!’ snapped Tamlyn, stumbling towards her. She was covered from head to foot in a layer of stone dust, and both her hands were red with blisters from the hammer and chisel. ‘Have you forgotten who I am? It is time, child, to wake this bastard up. I have the stone, the last piece – the last piece of Heart-Stone.’ She sucked in a ragged breath, reeling on her feet. ‘Our last chance to avenge Skaldshollow. It is time to wake the last werken.’