by C F Welburn
“Dane!” Roje called out in alarm, but the green man raised a shaking hand to distil alarm. Unvil snorted and rolled his eyes, assuming the small ashen had not the stomach for killing.
The riders returned then, Yorvic dismounting and grasping Balagir’s hand.
“I’d ask you what just happened, but I think we all need a drink first.” Balagir smiled, relieved the captain would wait for an explanation he was not sure how to give. The soldiers, mostly Eskarathian, gathered as many horlock weapons as would serve the peasants and townspeople, who had previously been poorly armed. Then they were ready to return.
The green pointy-hatted ashen stumbled over and leant heavily on Balagir’s good shoulder.
“All that,” the lych wheezed faintly, “and I end up with this ridiculous hat.” Then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed in a heap at Balagir’s smoking feet.
XXIII
INQUISITION
Of course, the hat was not all Jerikin got. After he was stretchered off the field, he could not be woken. He was hospitalised in the same infirmary as the Dunns, but his nightmarish cries from a thousand grisly ends frightened other patients, and he was finally quarantined, with many medics fearing to attend him. Balagir checked on him several times throughout the course of that first day, and on each occasion his condition had worsened.
Balagir’s condition had not been much better when he had first re-entered the city. His shoulder and collarbone were shattered, his hands and face were blistered and burned, and the arrow wound in his arm was beginning to swell and pulse. But he was an ashen, and there was a swift remedy for his pains, providing he had the means and capital to pay. It turned out neither Raf Nauger’s death, nor the sacrifice of the unfortunate Dane, had been in vain. For those that remained had enough smoke about them to visit a hub.
There was one not far to the rear of the keep as it happened, though Yorvic mentioned it with a superstitious gesture, shunning it as an unnatural place.
The horizons were, for the moment, clear of any largatyn, and the scouts brought no news of imminent threat, so they had excused themselves for a time to pay the piper and heal.
Yorvic stood waiting for them at the western gate, marvelling their miraculous recovery, his own arm now in a sling. An hour before, Balagir had been close to death, yet now he returned as if the morning had not happened. There were traces of events that could not be hidden, however. Balagir had had to remove the shade-band from the collar and discard the season-cloak. Its burned tatters held nothing of the warmth or freshness it had once been capable of, and the band would be ineffectual until augmented in another appropriate garment.
“The Dunn wishes to speak with you,” Yorvic said, straightening at their return. Balagir nodded and followed wordlessly.
Dunn Elohim was propped up in bed. He smiled weakly and waved his man away as Yorvic and the ashen entered.
“Forgive my hospitality,” he greeted with a wan smile. “It seems we are in your debt. I understand my father had heard but not heeded your warning. I will not make the same mistake.” He was a few years older than Dunn Fannon, but still young compared to his late father. His face was grey, but there was a light in his eyes.
“Most kind, Dunn Elohim, but do not waste your strength on gratitude just yet. The darkest part of the storm is brewing, and your father was not himself. If any blame should be attributed, it should be to the askaba.” Dunn Elohim nodded.
“I’m ashamed to admit it, but you speak much more rationally than I had expected.”
“Not all of us are heathens,” Balagir said, and now it was his turn to show a tight smile.
“So I see.” He turned to Yorvic. “See to it that these ashen are free to move as they please. They are not to be molested and should be shown gratitude for their acts.”
“That is not necessary,” Balagir said. “Like men, not all of us are benevolent. A man should be judged on individual merit.”
“Wise words. Should we treat the askaba thus?”
“The askaba are a cult; they have forsworn individuality. Whatever Sassarek was involved in, so too were his brothers.”
“Then you have my permission to question him. I ask only that he lives. Every man in Eskareth is entitled a trial; a fact that makes my father’s actions all the more terrible.” Balagir glanced at Inverna, who avoided his eyes.
“It is important the men realise your father was manipulated. If we are to stand any chance, the two cities must fight as one.”
“Then it will please you to know that Dunn Fannon’s condition has stabilised. His advisor, Beringal, will work closely with Yorvic in organising the men.”
“The first steps to peace. If only they had begun in a time of peace.”
“Good seeds can grow in bad earth.”
“I trust he no longer wants my head?”
“Ha. On the contrary. You will find him along the corridor. He too wishes to speak with you.”
“Then with your leave I’ll go at once. I don’t know how long we have, but dawn would be a prime time for them to strike.”
“Then go to it. You are of course expected in the council at dusk. We humbly request it.”
“We’ll be there.” With that they left the room, and the medics to their work.
Dunn Fannon awaited them with a tired smile and a bandage that covered most of his face. He struggled to sit up until Balagir raised his hand.
“You’re going to need your strength.”
“I should have heeded you,” he said, far more ruefully than a Dunn had cause to sound. “I’m afraid I had become blinded by my grief, a weakness in a ruler.”
“These are trying times, Dunn. You’ve had much thrust upon you.”
He shook his head, not accepting the gifted excuse.
“Tell me, have you news?”
“None as yet, but we should be prepared.”
“And the askaba? What have you learned?”
“We are on our way now.”
“That snake, Sisken. It seems so obvious. I remember seeing him in my father’s chambers late one night. It was the next morning I heard of his plans to ride to Eskareth. No one could stop him. He ceased listening to Beringal.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“I’m anguished that he remains unguarded in Ozgar. I must get word to my men.”
“I fear that will be difficult. But we have his brother here. It may safeguard us, as collateral. If we make it through this, he will pay. You have my word.”
For a moment the young Dunn’s lip trembled.
“We lost too many men.”
“The cost could have been greater. And you survived. That will boost morale.”
“There are some who would disagree.”
“And there are many who would not. You should treasure Beringal, he is a loyal man. And this allegiance with Elohim. A new age could begin here, forged in friendship. You must think what your legacy will be if we succeed, not dwell on the vicissitudes it took to get there.”
“I thank you for your words, Balagir. You’ve shown great character. You will be at the council?”
“All things willing.”
“Good. I would hear of your progress with the askaba. When this is done, I will see you honoured in Ozgar.”
“Get some rest,” was all he said as the young Dunn’s eyes drooped. He did not have the heart to tell him that that day might never come.
Next, they continued their tour by dropping in on Kejal. He did not look well, and wheezed and trembled as he spoke, but all things considered, he was lucky. The arrow had narrowly missed anything vital. He would be of no use to them in the battle though. His part was done. His stint as commander would likely be his sole taste of such responsibility. He had now to wait it out; and when those footfalls came down the corridor and pushed opened his door, hope it wore a human face and not a lizard’s. Yorvic spoke with him quietly for a time, clasped his hand, and left. There was a smell of death in the air, and Balagir was glad to be away.
/>
Outside in the courtyard, adjacent to the gaols, they split up. Yorvic went to speak with the officers and check on the troops. Unvil and Raf Isil went to town to prepare, and the increasingly familiar Ginike and Kiela went to have a drink. Balagir, Roje, and Freya hung back, however, and stopped Inverna from disappearing with the others.
“It’s time you talk,” Balagir said.
“What do you want of me?”
“We will question Sassarek now. Tell us all you know about this cannon.”
She shrugged Roje’s hand free but did not leave. Instead she took a deep, steadying breath and recalled those chilling events.
“It is as I described; Sassarek himself was present, as was Sisken and others of their ilk.”
“And largatyn?” Balagir asked.
She shook her head. “They knew nothing of it, I’m sure. The cavern was deep, in the heart of Iylleth, for it took me a long time to emerge once I had escaped. I met no largatyn, and only an askaba contraption to conceal the entrance to the site.”
“What happened next?” Roje pressed.
“I was bound to the cannon. My protests drew only mild amusement or annoyance. Sassarek said something… That I was doing my bit to rectify our wrongs… I couldn’t understand him. I heard another mention that it should be sufficient to support a field—”
“Field?”
She shrugged. “His words. I was too concerned with my own fate to ask for clarification. Several of the askaba worked on the cannon, others worked on me, taking samples of my blood, saliva, plucking my hair, shining lights in my eyes, and finally using their magic, shocking me, making me writhe until I gave off smoke, which they trapped in vials.
“I don’t know what they did, or how long I was there. Days. Maybe longer. But eventually they seemed satisfied. Sassarek, who had been absent, returned to check the progress.
“Then it went wrong. Their calculations were off… or something. I’m not sure. The explosion should have killed me, but I was flung clear of the falling ice. Several askaba were not so fortunate.”
“So, the cannon was destroyed?”
“Not completely, and I think they learned much from me. If they had another ashen, I’m sure they would swiftly perfect it.”
“Is this why they captured you?” Freya suddenly asked Balagir.
He considered it, but shook his head. “Sisken seemed more interested in the kalaqai than anything else, though what his ultimate purpose had been I cannot purport to know.”
Roje grunted and returned to the cannon. “Why there? Would not their own towers have sufficed?”
“It was drawing something from the ice,” Inverna said coldly. “Something they needed from the heart of the mountain. I’m not sure what. I saw them drilling, extracting a blue liquid, which they bottled.”
“So, this war, drawing the largatyn out could all be a ruse? In order to remove the cannon?”
“It’s elaborate, but possible,” Inverna said.
“What seems clear,” Balagir said, “is that they intend to use this for some sinister end. Whether they need an ashen to power it or it is to be used against us, we are irrevocably involved. No wonder Sisken was gleeful at having found the kalaqai. The timing could not have been better.”
“Finish your account,” Roje urged impatiently.
“I became aware of a coldness inside me, something that had not existed before. I looked down, and the chains about my wrists and ankles had grown brittle, and I escaped. What happened the other night down by the lake, I had not intended it, though there is an irony. Anyway, I found daylight, found the hub, and there I met Roje and Unvil, not long before the challenge was due to start. You know the rest. Though I’m still not sure why we were attacked by the largatyn.”
Balagir gave a sheepish shrug.
“That was our fault, though I do not think the circumstances completely isolated. They wanted to stop us reaching the hub for some reason. They too are being manipulated by the askaba, and it is time we found out why. The eye was from their own Gazer, yet it is clear the message they found has prompted them into evacuating the mountain, thus leaving the way clear to move the cannon.”
“I think it’s time we had a word with Sassarek,” Freya said.
“I’ll come with you,” Inverna shot, a chill on her breath as biting as the north wind.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Roje said, straightening. “We’ll send for you should we need you. In the meantime, prepare. We don’t have long.”
She submitted rather easily, perhaps no longer trusting herself to restraint.
“Once you’ve your answers, I’d be alone with him,” she stated quietly. Roje nodded, and none deemed it prudent to argue the point just then.
They walked in single file, only the flickering torchlight aiding their descent. The steps were so worn by passage that Balagir stumbled into Freya. She turned briskly, the gloom giving vent to unlikely words.
“About before…”
“Don’t mention it,” Balagir said with perhaps too much finality.
“I don’t want you getting the wrong impression.”
“War makes one act irrationally. I mean, look at me thinking I could negotiate with the horlocks.”
“Yes. That was madness.”
Roje grunted. “Romancing is best done by candlelight. We’ve an enemy to interrogate. And besides, I’m still waiting for an explanation as to why Hork leapt from the walls and pandemonium broke loose. But that too will have to wait.” Balagir shook his head and increased his pace. He was sure Freya would have kicked the redheaded man down the steps just then, had they not been increasingly short of allies.
The cell was identical to others they had passed, although deeper, and substantially danker, for that fact. Devoid of his instruments, and with a bleeding hole in his forehead, Sassarek had been unable to devise a means of escape. He looked pitiful backed into such a demeaning corner, though visibly relieved they had not brought Inverna with them; this sentiment was short lived once he beheld their unforgiving stares.
“Time to talk,” Balagir said, taking one of the torches from the wall and holding it so the dancing shadows heightened both the wretchedness of the askaba and the intimidation of the ashen.
“You’ll get nothing from me, smoke-eater,” he spat. Balagir looked sidelong at Roje with a raised eyebrow.
“The askaba talks as if he has a choice.” He turned back, leaning in. “You may think things can’t get any worse, but this conversation will seem a pleasant memory once I pass you over to Freya.” The askaba looked uncertainly at the scowling woman before spitting once more.
“Do your worst. Your time is at an end. You’ve already lost.”
“Forgive us for not resting on our laurels just yet. I’m curious about a great many things—one of the side effects of being an ashen I’m afraid—and it’s high time for answers. Deciding where to start is perhaps the most taxing part. Any suggestions, Roje?”
“How about the cannon?”
“Ah yes. A trifle of a matter, but I’m sure you’ll appreciate our concern.”
When the askaba remained silent, Balagir withdrew a small package from his bag and handed it the inquisitor with a knowing nod. The settler frowned, but wordlessly unlocked the door and fed it to the spitting, cursing Sassarek, who continued to wretch even when he was alone in his cell once more.
“Should have cut that ice witch’s tongue out.” His eyes grew round, surprised by his own words and Balagir grinned at the rapidness with which Heggerty’s sea leaf tea still worked.
“Now, now, let’s keep this civil. The fact is, she’s alive and has told us a fair deal, but there remain some blanks; the filling of which will do wonders for your longevity. What is the purpose of the instrument?”
Rather unsettlingly, he emitted a mirthless cackle. No answer was forthcoming.
Balagir frowned and reached into his pouch, withdrawing the small spike which had previously been torn from Sassarek’s head.
“A bargaining chip,” he said, moving it into the light. “I wonder what you would be willing to give us to have it back?”
Sassarek hissed, grasping through the bars, but coming short.
“Did your mother never tell you not to snatch?”
Sassarek’s rage swelled, and he slammed his fists against his prison.
“What would you know, you motherless wretches!”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Balagir said, maintaining his calm in spite of feeling Freya and Roje bristle at his side. “You seem to know quite a bit about the ashen, considering you despise us so. And in light of our… relationship. Tell me, why do you harbour such resentment?” Sassarek remained tight-lipped, visibly struggling against the tea’s effect. Balagir ordered the kalaqai from his bag, making Sassarek gasp and recoil.
“Sisken was right. It’s here… Your brazenness has undone you. There’s no escape now.”
“Yes, your brother. He was quite the host. I suppose he told you all about it, with this little thing,” he said, examining the spike. “Perhaps you might summon him through it. That would be nice. A family reunion.” Era darted about, and even Roje and Freya were captivated by the green trail she left. “Now, since the cannon seems closed to discussion, why the interest in my kalaqai?”
“Your kalaqai? Ha. You hold yourself in high esteem. You’re but a host. She’d just as fondly align with another. One not foolish enough to walk her straight into our awareness. You know some of us had given up hope? Thanks to you, the ashen will never be at peace. Dwell on that in the small hours.” Sassarek’s voice seemed weaker, but his eyes never once left the kalaqai.
“I think you’ll find we are a lot closer than you believe. More so since she’s become my lucky charm. Allow me to demonstrate with a simple command. Let her turn your little spike here molten.” Suddenly the kalaqai flared brightly.