B008P7JX7Q EBOK

by Ijaz, Usman

  Mordred came and stood beside him, his wild, dark hair blowing in the wind. Jonas’s brown eyes pierced the landscape before him, staring through a window of time. His voice was hoarse as he told his son, “I can still remember the night they came. The steel in the moonlight, the sounds, the screams. I remember the rain .... And now it is to be one of ours who will bring an everlasting darkness to their world ... as they did to ours.”

  Mordred said nothing, gripped in sullen silence.

  Jonas ignored him, gripped in the euphoria he felt when imagining the change he would bring to the world.

  I want them to rue that night and the massacre that followed! His hands shook from their grip on the balustrade. I want them to rue what they did!

  Chapter 7

  A Hail of Knives and Bullets

  1

  Adrian sat with his back to the bar and listened to the old man singing on the small dais near the back of the common room. Hamar and Owain sat to one side of him and Alexis and Connor to the other. The five sat in silence, having passed their meal in much the same manner. They listened to the music over the sounds of a half-filled common room. The room was small and dim, the smell of sawdust covering the floor mixing with the aromas of meat roasting over spits. They had arrived in the small town of Haven just as the last light was leaving the sky, and Haven, with its cobble-stone streets and white buildings, reminded Adrian too much of Port Hope.

  “I don’t mind, I don’t mind,

  What you say to me, my dear,

  But I’ve got something to show you,

  I know what you want to hear,

  But I’ve got something to show you,

  Never fear, I’ll always be true,

  My blood is on the table, you see,

  My heart is beating, you see,

  For you, my dear,”

  The man sang in a deep rumbling voice while another man played a lute in the back and a third strummed on his harp. They had the look of wandering musicians to them, playing for beds or food. Adrian focused on the words, wanting to be carried away as a good song was sometimes capable of doing. When Hamar spoke beside him it startled him, as much a result of the gentleness to the voice as the suddenness of it.

  “Listen, lad. What happened to your people was brutal. I’ll admit it, and so will many others, but sooner or later you’re going to have to realize that you can’t change it. The past is in the past, and I don’t think even the Ascillians could have changed it. You can’t let it keep eating you, or else soon there will be nothing left of you but a broken mind, and we need you whole.”

  Adrian looked at him, and thought that he could see children looking up at this man and calling him “Father”. He nodded at Hamar’s words and went back to listening to the man on the dais.

  Hamar stood up, running a hand through his hair. “I'm going to sleep, all this noise is giving me a headache.”

  “He’s right,” Owain said over the empty stool. “You’re far too young to break your mind over such matters. If it makes it easier, think of the present; it’s all that matters after all.”

  Adrian nodded glumly, taking in Owain’s words as well. The men on the dais finished to great applause. Adrian applauded without being aware of it.

  They had been gone from Port Hope for less than four days, and already he was beginning to wish that he had remained there, that the Legionnaires had never been sent for him.

  They remained for a while longer, listening to the man with the harp play while the others took a rest. When the common room began to clear out, they all headed upstairs and to their rooms. Again Adrian noticed the Legionnaires keeping their guns concealed, but ready to spring for them. It might not be too out of the ordinary to see a man with guns, but he thought people would take special notice of the beautiful guns the Legionnaires carried.

  He dreamt that night.

  2

  Darkness. All around him there is darkness. The world is nothing but pitch black. Thus he is surprised when he reaches out before him and is able to see his arm clearly. There is a sense of falling, not precisely moving for all the still darkness around him, but falling nonetheless. He moves through the darkness, that for all he can see might as well stretch for eternity. Not only is there not even the slightest hint of light, but there is no sound either. He is stuck falling in this dismal cocoon, wondering what will greet him at the bottom of his fall, or if there is a bottom.

  A voice. A woman’s light chime, sudden and from all around him. Go forth. Do not be afraid. And before he is able to truly grasp what the voice is saying, he realizes that he is indeed moving forward. There is nothing to tell him that he is moving, the unchanging darkness still holds all around him, and yet there is a sense of floating. You cannot go back. Not now. Not ever.

  A light. Up ahead and so small as to be mistaken for a star in the night. He gravitates towards it, seeing it grow larger as he draws nearer. The light pulses and wavers, as if struggling to keep the darkness at bay, to keep itself from being swallowed. He floats closer, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The light is of the purest white, so bright that it should sear his eyes simply from looking at it , and yet it does not. Instead it bathes him in brilliant warmth.

  He reaches out to touch it, only aware in some small way that his arm is cast in white brightness, and the source of the light suddenly bursts apart. The darkness is pushed away, and the light before him is now a giant sun that pulses with the same beat as his heart.

  He is swallowed into it, and there is only the light.

  3

  In the morning the Legionnaires woke the boys. Adrian and Connor dressed and went downstairs where Alexis waited for them to break their fast on a small meal. They were not to be left alone at any time, it seemed. Many of the other patrons were up as well, and the streets outside were already full of people going about their way. The sounds of a waking city came in loud through the door of the common room.

  “Why are we heading out so late?” Adrian asked. When they had left Port Hope they had woken with the sun.

  Alexis grabbed a small roll of bread and stood up. “People traveling so early might draw unwanted attention. Let’s go.”

  They went to the stables and found Hamar and Owain saddling the horses, pots and pans clinking. Adrian and Connor went to their own horses and began to saddle them in silence. Having spent much of their lives working in the stables it came to them easily and soon they were ready. The small party led the horses out into the brightness of a new day.

  “I could have used a little more sleep,” Connor muttered.

  “And the boy says he wants to be a Legionnaire,” Owain muttered.

  The streets of Haven were busy despite the early hours of the morning. Carts and wagons fought their way through the throng, while the unconcerned people ran about or simply sauntered from shop to shop. Vendors beneath their flat-topped canvas booths shouted to the passing crowd, trying to draw interest to the wares they displayed. A grizzled old man shouted at Adrian as they passed.

  “Over here, boy! The best rast you’ll ever eat!”

  Adrian looked at the greasy mess slopped on the plate the man pushed at him, and walked on. The crowd didn’t allow much room, so they were forced to lead their horses in a single line with Hamar leading and Owain bringing up the rear. Adrian looked to the two Legionnaires and saw them scrutinizing every face that turned towards them. They looked about the crowd as if expecting an attack from out of thin air, but Adrian thought it would be near impossible to pick an assailant out in this crowd. Instead he thought of the dream which he only now remembered in bits and pieces. What he remembered most was the whiteness, and how it had flared at his touch. He pondered silently on it as they walked. Ahead of him, Connor seemed lost in his own thoughts.

  A vendor, her dark hair held back by a shawl and her small eyes peering out of a doughy face, attempted to get Hamar’s attention. He glanced at her, and she blinked and shut her mouth and turned to shouting at another wanderer.

&n
bsp; Alexis laughed. “Always the gracious one, aren’t you Hamar?”

  “Shut up, boy,” Hamar said. “If you were experienced you would find something better to do than joke and laugh.”

  “I am experienced,” Alexis told the other man firmly. “I wouldn’t have been chosen if otherwise.”

  Hamar grunted. “You were chosen because of your--”

  An elderly man dressed in rich silks walking past them suddenly collapsed to the ground, clutching the small hilt of a knife buried in his chest.

  4

  “Hamar!” Owain shouted.

  Hamar let go of his reigns and his hands darted inside his coat. He turned around to look at Owain, guns already in hand, and saw the old man lying on the ground. Immediately his eyes darted to the crowd, but it was impossible to discern an attacker; the ones who saw the corpse drew away, but the people farther away still looked unperturbed. The attacker could be anywhere.

  “Alexis! Take the boys away!” he shouted as he scanned the crowd around them. Yet Alexis hesitated, gripping his own guns and watching the crowd. “I said take them away, you fool!”

  “What’s going on?” Connor asked.

  Alexis at last retrieved sense enough to holster his guns and grab each boy by the hand. “We have to go. Hurry!” He looked to Hamar one last time. Hamar gave him a silent nod. Alexis led the boys up the street, pushing and shoving through the throng.

  The loud roar of a gunshot made Hamar turn around towards Owain. The other Legionnaire had pulled his guns from his blanket rolls and had them aimed towards the angled rooftop of a building a little further down the street.

  The sound of the gun was like thunder in the clear morning. For a moment there was only silence, broken by fearful murmurs, and then the crowd broke out in panic. They began to run like a startled flock of sheep.

  “The bastard’s on the rooftops!” Owain said. “I don’t know how many of them there are, but there’s definitely one up there.”

  “Keep him in sight,” said Hamar as he scanned the crowd for the irregularity. There had to be more than one, sending one was suicide. Abruptly sharp pain exploded in his side, and he fell to one knee. He looked down and saw the small hilt of a knife sticking out from beneath his ribs. Owain didn’t come to him, which was for the good; he was well trained, after all. Hamar grunted as he pulled the knife out and tossed it aside. Blood immediately soaked his shirt beneath his coat and ran down his side. He stood up, blood-covered hands gripping steel guns.

  “We’re too open here!” Owain shouted to him over the din of the crowd. He squeezed off another shot at the rooftops closest to them, and cursed when it missed. “He’s fast!”

  “We have to fall back,” Hamar said. Owain nodded wordlessly. They began to retreat then, with Owain keeping a watch on their trail, and Hamar, wincing at the pain in his side with every step, keeping an eye up ahead. The pain was a distant feeling he found; there, but bearable, overridden by the urgency of the situation.

  From behind him came the abrupt sounds of several shots fired in a consecutive rumble. He wheeled around. Owain lay on the ground, still moving, barely. Hamar looked at the knife protruding from his throat and the one piercing his chest and cursed aloud. He forced his mind to acknowledge what his eyes showed him; his companion was dead already. He gave a silent prayer for his fallen comrade and turned and pushed his way through the panicked crowd.

  He fought through the crowd and they fell back before him, all too aware of his guns. He scanned the rooftops behind him, and caught sight of a lean man with his face masked leap from one angled rooftop to another, following him. The man darted back before he could so much as raise his gun. Hamar cursed. How many of the bastards were there?

  He looked ahead, and in the milling crowd saw a lone priest trying to calm the folk, limping from one panic-stricken person to another. The priest was dressed in the fashion of the priesthood, a black robe with the bottom half of his face covered. Hamar could have laughed at the priests attempts to calm this wild herd. He looked behind him, saw a figure leaping from one roof to another, exposed at last, and raised his gun.

  He felt the blade as it sliced into his chest. He looked before him, and stared into the priest’s cold, green eyes.

  Hamar struggled to breathe, but all that came from his mouth were froths of blood. The priest moved before him in fluid motion with no hint of a limp and planted a knife in the nape of his neck. Hamar fell to the ground, life fading, and the last sight before his eyes was that of the priest’s calm gaze looking down on him.

  His last thought was of Alexis and the boys.

  5

  The Legionnaire led the boys up the angled street at as fast a run as the frenzied crowd allowed. The sound of the guns had some raising their heads and looking about hoping to catch a glimpse of the source. The sound of those gunshots worried Alexis. Cold anger that he was not doing anything to help his comrades swelled in him. It was an effort for him to keep moving and not simply turn back.

  “Alexis, what’s going on?” Adrian asked.

  “I don’t know,” Alexis told him absently, hating the worry that tinged his own voice. He couldn’t help but feel a coward. I should be helping them! But underneath the anger and the feelings of cowardice lay a deep shame as well; he desperately wanted to turn back and prove himself. He reminded himself firmly that this was not the time.

  They ran through the sea of people, with Alexis looking over his shoulder every few steps. Each shot they heard caused their heads to jerk around towards the noise. They continued to run, pushing through the curious and frightened throng of Haven. Then they heard three consecutive shots, and Alexis stopped for a moment. He looked back the way they had come, but there was nothing to be seen through the crowd. For a few moments his heart was still, and the desire to go back and see if that had been the end of it was almost too great to ignore, but he resisted the urge.

  They continued to run, and after those few shots they heard nothing.

  They had left their horses behind, with them it would have been near impossible to get through the crowd, but Alexis wished that they had them as they came out onto the Great Road. He looked both ways of the wide highway frantically, trying to decide which way to go. He looked east and west, but the road was too open, they could easily be ridden down and shot whichever way they went. He came to a decision at last.

  “Into the woods,” he said, and darted across the road, pulling the boys along with him.

  “What about Hamar and Owain?” Connor panted.

  “They’re better Legionnaires than me, so enough with the questions!”

  The three disappeared into the green embrace of the forest.

  6

  When all was said and done that eventful morning in Haven, three bodies littered the streets. When the Haven Guard arrived, they found only the dead. The people stood far back and watched as the Guard searched the bodies. They were eager to watch, but none wanted to be close enough to inherit the blame. While a few were searching the bodies the others went around the gathered crowd to gain an account of what had happened. No one seemed to know what had occurred, however. The many tales that were told were all baffled ramblings, and many simply contradicted one another.

  Among the crowd of watchers was a small girl and a tall, rigid man. They watched the Guard search the bodies, and then watched as the deceased were carried away on the back of wagons.

  “The boy and the other Legionnaire escaped,” said the girl as they walked away. “I should have kept a better watch.” Her dark hair fell to her shoulders in straight waves, framing a small heart-shaped face with large green eyes, tilted as were the man’s. She wore a loose tunic and carried a wicker pack on her back.

  “Yes, you should have, but not to worry,” said the man. “They cannot go far.” His dark hair was closely cropped and looked disheveled, as though he had just awoken that moment. His small, tilted black eyes scanned everything with a perpetual tightness that made onlookers shy away from his gaze.
Lean and tall, he moved with the intensity of a wolf.

  “We don’t know where they went, Amon,” the girl said.

  “I said not to worry about it,” the man growled. “We have plenty of time to catch up to them. And when we next meet ...” he sighed deeply as if tired, “... they will wish they had died this day.”

  Chapter 8

  King and Seer

  1

  The water was calm and quiet, the king saw.

  His own face stared back at him from the black water, illuminated by the lamps on the walls. The green eyes were the only features that he could recall from his youth. His face had grown fuller with age, and he had a beard now which covered the lower half of his face, a light yellow tinged with gray, as was his hair.

  Aeiron Methoran wondered then how long he had been there, forestalling all his other duties to stare into the plinth of black water, hoping it would wake and show him a glimpse of what was happening, or what was to come. Anything to prepare him or help him. But there was only the blackness of the still water. He resisted the thought that perhaps that was the answer the Krillen wished to show him and that he should simply accept it.

  “My lord?”

  Aeiron turned to find Nemar standing in the open doorway to the small room. Behind the seer he could see the guard on duty. Nemar entered cautiously, reading his face.

  “It hasn’t shown anything?”

  Aeiron straightened from the plinth and looked to the seer. “Nothing.”

  “A sign that nothing has gone wrong, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps,” said Aeiron, though he didn’t believe it. What he did believe was that the Krillen showed what it wanted and only when it wanted to. God knew the damn thing didn’t have a mind of its own, but that was how it felt to Aeiron. And how else would something from the Ruins work? He wondered if it was desperateness or foolishness that had led his ancestors to steal this small bit of water from Urd’s Well, before it was lost completely to the Ruins. A little bit of both, he decided as he left the lone chamber with Nemar at his heels. Aeiron nodded to the small boy that stood outside in the hall. There was always a page waiting outside with the guard, to run and fetch Nemar or the King should the Krillen light up. An important but dull duty, the king knew.