CHAPTER FIVE
SEER
On the first day of the new moon, spill an innocent’s blood; fill the 17 prepared cups; drink of one each day; thus, for 17 days you will be able to See for half an orm.
– The Xadra of Quotamantir
Cobrora Fhord burned intensely. Lying in the chill night, the city-dweller’s body flushed uncannily yet did not awaken. This was no fever or reaction to orb-spider poison.
Courdour Alomar watched his companion toss and turn and cast aside a blanket. Even in the fire-glow, Cobrora’s flush was unmistakable. And as the warrior knelt closer he saw Cobrora’s cheeks and brow were inflamed in criss-cross fashion where the spider-web had lain. As though branded, he thought fancifully.
Suddenly, the campfire emitted a disconcerting shower of sparks, the wood cackled evilly and a falling branch rolled out and across the ground, into the grass.
The horses whinnied in alarm.
Courdour Alomar sprang up and started stamping out the burning grass as it leapt in a narrow trail of fire evidently in the wake of the orb-spider. Finally, he had extinguished the flames and all that was left was a thin black line.
And in the camp itself Cobrora still lay restively whilst Ulran was now sitting upright, curious. “Trouble?”
Courdour shook his head. “No, only a few stray sparks.” He did not actually doubt the evidence of his own eyes. But he was loath to admit what he had seen.
“Time to shake Cobrora for his watch, anyway,” suggested Ulran on glancing at the sky.
The city-dweller was mumbling something and finally, on waking, said, hazily, “Osasor! I called him but he came too late! O, Osasor!” Then Cobrora looked around and shivered. The unusual flush had gone and left a face as white as alabaster, save for faint red traces where the webs had been.
“Your watch, Cobrora.”
“Hmm? Oh, thanks. I’ll put more firewood on – it’s even colder tonight.”
Courdour Alomar settled into his bedroll and looked askance at Cobrora. He shook his head in bewilderment and closed his eyes to rest.
***
First Sabin of Fornious was spent without rest or food for the three travellers. Ulran pressed on without regard, hoping to make the teen by nightfall. Scalrin soared above, always in the lead.
Besides the occasional and annoying facial after-tingling of the web, Cobrora again suffered incredibly vicious headaches. And accompanying them was the smell of something rotten, decayed and vile. The constant unremitting jogging of Sarolee, an empty belly, the headache and the vile stench that clogged nostrils combined to weaken Cobrora so the city-dweller couldn’t help but lag behind, to Courdour Alomar’s voiced chagrin.
But the agonies were real and Courdour’s temper was nothing in comparison. Only an arcane ability to transcend the physical plane, albeit briefly, prevented Cobrora toppling from the horse.
The day’s fast helped martial weakened faculties until now the city-dweller was in a perpetual half-reality, the inner-being warmed by half-formed shapes, indefinable but benign, of buildings of black, of people of warmth, of flames of beauty.
***
A cowhide was stretched between a ring of upright posts and filled with bubbling blood.
Por-al Row sweated not from his exertions but from fear. His liege had commanded that if blood was necessary for the enchanter to See, then blood he should have, by the bucketful.
And now the blood of Yip-nef Dom’s hapless concubines gurgled unpleasantly, the stink colouring both himself and his king green.
But the lengthy incantation appeared to be having some effect, at last.
Gauzelike, a picture rose with the steam: the image shimmered, of Lornwater’s Gildhouse on the first day of the carnival: the First Sabin of Fornious. But there was no laughter here. Few words penetrated through but it was evident, by reading lips and expressions, that the gildsmen were massing together, anxious to oust Saurosen IV.
King Yip-nef Dom looked worriedly at his alchemist, his good eye nervously watering. “We cannot afford a civil coup – and those gildsmen are the best organised to accomplish it, if any can.”
The alchemist nodded, pleased with his experiment’s results. “I agree, sire. Our pl – your plan might come to nought if the unrest is either quelled or the king overthrown.”
Nose twitching at the noisome concoction, Yip-nef Dom said, “Well, what do you propose to do about it?”
“I have been looking at a certain gildsman in Lornwater. A man of dubious morality. Gildmaster Olelsang is ambitious, proud and conceited. He may serve our ends, sire.”
***
First Sabin. And they could smell and hear Saloar Teen now.
Cobrora had shaken off another headache and breathed in the invigorating spray-breeze.
Ulran drew up Versayr on the rise ahead and the others reined in beside him. A short distance below swirled the teen, a good fifteen marks wide, running fast and deep.
Cobrora was unsettled by the sight and swallowed nervously at the prospect of crossing.
“Further upteen are some narrows with stepping-stones,” said Ulran. “We’ll ride on till dusk. The narrows should be about a half-day’s ride after that.”
Slightly disappointed, Cobrora gazed skywards, searching for a familiar shape that usually blotted out the sinking sun in its circling flight. But Scalrin was nowhere to be seen. A bad omen, for sure.
Later, they passed stunted trees on either side of the teen. “The dead remains of leech-trees,” Ulran explained. “They were felled long ago, in the times of legend. Their leaves hung down into the teen, clogging the waters, and sent poisons down-teen to the early settlements.”
Cobrora shuddered, for though blackened with age and death, the tree stumps exerted an evil, sentient presence.
A short way further up-teen Courdour Alomar grunted and dismounted.
Cobrora alighted too, pleased to rest weary limbs and eat.
After the welcome meal, closing eyes and, sensing that the next day might bring great exertion, Cobrora slept the instant head touched saddle. But after a short while exhaustion was slaked and sleep became fitful, bathed in a swamp of sweat. The loss of both lesslords of water was troubling.
When Ulran came to shake Cobrora for the next watch, the city-dweller was already awake.
In the darkness of no-moon, Cobrora watched the starlit water glistening, roiling. The tethered horses moved on the grass restlessly, snorted at any movement.
Animals tended to be aware of Cobrora long before they sensed another person’s approach.
It was tempting to go across to commune with Sarolee, then, attracted by the clear night sky, the idea was dismissed.
Stars shone, forming the Pyramid there, the Ranmeron Point at the apex; and, there, a spiral of stars resembling the fluting of a taal-shell. The taals. Cobrora had read much about Taalland, of the legendary towns on stilts, but had not even seen a taal shell, only beautifully detailed drawings in the Archives. Small wonder the Archives were regarded as hallowed ground. So much history and learning within their mighty tomes.
As a youngster Cobrora had realised full psychic potential there, within the long musty lanes of books, aisle upon aisle of knowledge; as though feelers of thought actually reached out, guiding a young mind to those particular esoteric works now remembered so well.
Cobrora had read voraciously, returning daily to feast, little appreciating then how the volumes of philosophy opened the mind and un-clamped the shackles.
Then one day Cobrora had seen the Librarian stumble and fall on a stairway; only to learn later that the Librarian had indeed fallen – but a full quarter after Cobrora had seen the accident. Fortuitously, immersion in the philosophical treatises had prepared the mind for this shock: Cobrora was a psychically sensitive person, one in ten thousand.
Since then, nightly training followed, but always within the comfort of the city walls.
Now, sitting the water’s edge, chewing a piece of milk-grass, the city-dwelle
r raised closed eyes to the heavens, slowly opened them and gazed to a fixed point, higher and beyond the stars. Cross-legged, Cobrora swayed. Body temperature lowered. Shivered. Blood coursed through temples, slowed and became sluggish. Head spinning giddily, Cobrora persisted in staring at that point so far away. Swirling, blood in ears pounding, dizzying, eyes ceasing to focus, save down a dark cold tunnel, spiralling, and – Cobrora could see, yes – see!
Faintly, but discernible all the same, a small pin-point of light in the darkness. White in texture, soft and beckoning, enlarging painfully slowly, exasperatingly slowly as Cobrora Fhord continued to swim ever faster and sickeningly in the vortex of subliminal emotions. Cobrora’s whole body felt as though it was being violently shaken apart. Then whiteness enveloped all self. Cobrora was submerged, bathed in an eerie glow, and gradually the glow took shape, jagged, leaping, cavorting. The configuration of flames, of effulgent searing fire, coloured reds and yellows and oranges.
But no scream of burning pain crossed tight-pursed lips, only a beatific smile. This was surely ecstasy, the closest yet to Osasor! Cobrora felt at peace, as though coming home at last.
PART THREE
FIRST DEKIN – THIRD DLOIN OF FORNIOUS
The Song of the Overlord – part the Third:
Each quarter of the moon is devolved
Round His own insistence, His own desire
He hath nurtured and become the five elements
Indeed, nothing existeth, that He is not
His vitality is all of life’s source, itself
And He is all speech, every mouth is His own
He is all senses, listening with every ear
The sight of all eyes is He.
CHAPTER SIX
TEEN
Like the empty sky it has no limits
Yet it is right in this place, ever profound and clear
When you seek to know it, you cannot see it
You cannot take hold of it
But you cannot avoid it –
Death.
– Dialogues of Meshanel
Dawn light shimmered in the dew-laden air. The sound of the teen spray dimly penetrated and Cobrora finally awoke, brows and hair covered with globules of dew and spray.
Then, I slept well, after all, Cobrora realised; strangely, I feel refreshed.
A dun-coloured warbler chirped its first song of the day as Cobrora rose on slightly stiff joints. Was this a foretaste of old age? Cobrora smiled, recalling the ages of the other two: a long way to go, yet! Clothes, particularly the leggings, clung to cold-pimpled flesh; knees trembled as if with ague, and all fingers were blue.
Rigorously slapping hands together and stretching toes within the hardened hide boots, Cobrora glanced back at the small camp.
A sinking feeling. Being on watch last, the fire should have been kept burning; but now it was too late, only dying embers smouldered beside the still forms of Ulran and Courdour.
Seeing the wispy ashes evoked memories of last night’s dream or vision, of the close proximity of Osasor. Bodily, Cobrora tended to warm just at the thought of Osasor and thus emboldened felt capable enough to face the teen. Still ague-ridden, the city-dweller went to shake the others: Courdour was already awake.
Having un-hobbled the horses, Cobrora led them and the mules to the teen.
The air was fresh. The surrounding land emerged from the haze in the distance. The mists of Marron Marsh seemed to slice across the view at the far extremity of the grassy plain. And beyond, jagged and snow-capped, the myrtle shapes of mountains, the Sonalume Range.
Involuntarily, Cobrora rubbed hands over upper arms and clasped tight, shuddering.
The sudden appearance of a dark shape swooped above, obliterating the weak morning sun. Cobrora jerked up, startled.
“Scalrin!” shouted Ulran as he elbowed his way out of his sleeping roll. “At last!”
Eerily silent, the bird swooped and glided as though seeking human prey, then arched in a sharp turn, circling time and again, hovering as if in warning over the waters of the teen.
Ulran answered Cobrora’s and Courdour Alomar’s quizzical glances with a typical shrug. “He seems to be warning us – but if we’re to go on we’ve got to cross the teen.” He eyed Scalrin, said aloud, as if to the bird, “No matter what.”
So while Scalrin soared and plummeted above the teen, the three travellers sat down to a cold breakfast. Courdour’s scowling countenance did not particularly perturb Cobrora now as they ate: so I let the fire go out, so what? I’m only human.
Midway through the meal Cobrora questioned Ulran about the bird Scalrin: “Until now I’ve taken for granted your ability to understand that red tellar,” Cobrora said, jerking a greasy knife skywards. “But how do you do it?”
“I don’t honestly know. A gift, I suppose – similar to your own, perhaps?”
“I see – I just wondered, for I’ve never before heard of such a remarkable bond between man and red tellar – not even in the legends of the Kormish Warriors!”
Ulran eyed Cobrora steadily. He shrugged and stood up. “We’d best be moving out. Ready, Alomar?”
The warrior nodded. After the dishes had been washed and stowed in the packs, they mounted up and followed the teen.
As they rode on, Cobrora looked at the swirling depths and the turbid waters that violently brushed the overhanging grass tufts on the banks, acutely aware of physical limitations. “I’m no Kormish Warrior, Ulran. I’m sure I’d drown trying to cross that. Osasor’s disciples don’t take kindly to water.”
“Next you’ll be telling us we shouldn’t have lost your Alasor amulet!” barked Courdour irritably.
“It would have helped,” Cobrora said, flushing.
“Don’t worry, Cobrora,” said Ulran, lancing the warrior a disapproving look. “You’ll manage the stepping-stones with Sarolee’s help.”
“Overlord, you know not what you do!” the warrior said enigmatically, eyeing the heavens. He shrugged, urged Borsalac to ride further ahead. “Come, then, we’re wasting time,” he shouted over his shoulder, and shook his head in disgust.
Cobrora and Ulran exchanged curious looks. He didn’t understand at all, thought the city-dweller.
***
“I’m concerned, Por-al Row,” declared Yip-nef Dom irritably, his eyelid around the glass eye watering: it had been a long day and grime now grated painfully, but his pride prevented him from removing it in front of the alchemist. Curses on that fiend, Courdour Alomar! “I want you to See – yes, I know I’ve run out of concubines, yes I know how scrying saps your strength and power – but we need to See!”
“Very well, sire. I shall use the bones,” Por-al Row reluctantly agreed, turning back to his dog-eared books of the arcane, lest the king perceived his annoyance.
The king’s peevishness had worsened of late, and he did not like it. Obviously, that she-devil was spending too much time with him, twisting him round her every whim, damn her to the ashes! But whilst the liege was in this mood he dared not say or do anything too ambitious, for the king might do something irrational.
Was it possible, he wondered, this insanity I have carefully fostered might be the ruin of me instead of the salvation? Leafing through the thick parchment xadras, muttering to himself, Por-al Row shivered within his black voluminous robes at the thought of the monster he might have unleashed.
***
At midsun they halted by a small mort-taal. Scalrin had flown out of sight up-teen. Here, the teen was no more than eight marks wide and shallow, the banks steep, with glistening smooth stepping-stones to the other side. The waters gurgled, barely covering the stones. “We’ll cross here,” said Ulran, dismounting.
Versayr baulked as Ulran took his bridle and stepped into the teen.
“Here, let me go first,” said Courdour. “Borsalac’s example should calm him.”
Ulran stepped back, though puzzled at his mount’s behaviour. “The air is so still,” he remarked, glancing towards the haze of th
e Sonalumes. Not a bird stirred in the cloudless sky.
Courdour Alomar led his horse onto the flat slippery stones. The fast-flowing teen swashed against his boots, seeming to splash higher as he progressed across. The speed of the water increased as well.
Cobrora Fhord watched; a dim nagging at the back of the mind, heart cold with the loss of Alasor.
The innman followed the warrior, and though Versayr appeared reluctant they began to cross the stones.
Dismounting, Cobrora steadied Sarolee. The mules seemed unaffected; yet something had upset the horses.
Suddenly, the stillness altered. A whispering rose, became a mounting roar.
All eyes jerked up-teen.
From the direction of the uncanny roar, a haze of water-droplets reflected countless intersecting rainbows. Louder, nearer, it sounded unlike anything Cobrora had ever heard.
The teen-water was now fast-running, threatening to unbalance men and horses. Then, as Ulran barked, “Flash-flood!” it came plainly into sight.
At least two marks in height, a massive foam-flecked and murky wall of water bore down on them, waves of white overflowing each side of the teen.
And flying above the water-wall was Scalrin, great wings beating the air, and a high-pitched shriek of warning filled all their heads though the bird uttered no sound at all.
Transfixed by the incredible sight, Cobrora stared with mouth wide.
Ulran and Alomar were only three-quarters across the stepping-stones. Without a word, they both gripped their mounts tightly and swung up into their saddles. The horses whinnied, sensing the down-rushing danger, their hoofs splashing and clacking on the stones. Ruthlessly, they forced their mounts over the slippery rocks, towards the manderon bank.
Then it was upon them, deafening, and blasted into them broadside on amidst the squeals of the horses and the panicky braying of the mules.
Cobrora’s feet were swept from under and Sarolee’s taut reins snapped. With incredible violence the wave lifted them up and Cobrora landed upon the turf some distance away. While being lifted, Cobrora saw both companions hurled from their horses and then all vanished beneath the turbulent dark brown barrage of water. Then, mercifully, Cobrora lost consciousness.
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