Rebellion ttr-2

by Ian Irvine

  And perhaps, he thought as he hefted a block of stone no one else could have lifted, he was using physical labour to avoid facing up to the hard truth — that a mutiny reflected as badly on the leader as it did on the mutineers.

  That night, without making any conscious decision, he took the steep stairs to the observatory. It would be bitter up there but he did not take a coat. He felt numb, and maybe the cold would rouse him.

  At the top he partly closed the shutter of his lantern and passed the narrow band of light across the mural, left to right — and his skin crawled. It was a crude work, done with vigorous brushstrokes and hardly any touching up, yet the cheeks and eyes of Axil Grandys were so like precious black opal that Rix shivered. How had he had managed such realism from such a casual technique?

  It raised the troubling question Tobry had hinted at the first night — had something guided his hand? Maloch?

  From childhood, Rix had suffered from a deep-seated fear of anything uncanny. His first divinatory painting, done at the age of nine — a youth cutting down a rabid old shifter — had terrified him. Several months later, Tobry had been forced to kill his mad, shifter grandfather. When Rix heard about it he had blamed himself. He had burned the painting and had never found the courage to tell Tobry about it.

  He scanned the Grandys mural again. Where had it come from — memory, divination, or the sword’s enchantment? The thought that any aspect of the art he loved could have come from outside him, that he was no more than a conduit for an ancient sword that was using him for its own fell purpose, was too much to contemplate. Yet if it were true -

  No! It could not be true.

  Had Grandys ever suffered from such crippling self-doubt? It was hard to imagine it, but successful men learned to hide their frailties, or overcome them. If Rix could not overcome this one, he would fall, and Garramide with him.

  How could he become the leader Garramide needed? How regain the confidence of his people? And even if he did, how could Hightspall be saved now? Or was it already too late?

  He passed the band of light across Grandys’ face again. It was probably the movement of the light that created the illusion; yes, it had to be. Yet Rix could have sworn the stone lips moved.

  And he felt sure he heard a whisper inside his head.

  Follow me.

  Tali lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. She wanted to be with Tobry so desperately that she was tempted to damn the lot of them and creep down to the black hole, which some of the servants now called the kennel.

  But even if she could defy Rix, Tobry would not. He was deeply ashamed of concealing his true nature from his friend and would turn her away at the door. Tali could take the servants’ abuse, their knowing looks and their calling her slut and bitch, but his rejection had crushed her, and the thought of it happening again was unendurable.

  Anyway, after Rix’s impassioned pleas last night, she could not undermine him further. She would not be the spark that lit the fire of mutiny.

  She closed her eyes and wiped the tears away. Why wouldn’t Tobry let her help him with healing magery? Did he know it was impossible — or was there another reason?

  His own magery was stronger since becoming a shifter, he had said, but more perilous. And now he was practising it day and night. In the past, he had often joked about what a dilettante he was — a man with many natural gifts who had made no effort to master any of them. He was certainly making the effort now, but was he practising his magery because he hoped to save himself with it? Or in despair that he never would, and would soon be dead?

  It reminded her of her own dilemma. She had hesitated too long at Tirnan Twil, possibly because of a subconscious worry that one day she would need her magery for healing. You can be a destroyer or a healer, but not both. Her eyes roved across the barely perceptible ceiling, creating images where there were none.

  Lyf would soon resume the attack, with far greater force than before. He would throw everything at Garramide and surely must prevail. No matter how bravely Rix fought, he did not have the numbers to hold the walls against a proper army.

  This battle could not be won by arms. It had to be fought another way — with magery. She lit a candle, then got out the little self-portrait Holm had taken from Tirnan Twil and lay back on her bed, trying to get into the mind of her enemy. She knew Lyf’s story, knew all that had been done to him, but Tali needed more; she needed to understand the process by which the gentle, decent young king had transformed himself into so embittered and vengeful a man.

  The miniature could not tell her. The heavy film of grime and smoke stains obscured all but the outlines. If only there were a way to clean it -

  Tali sprang up and hurried up to Rix’s chambers. He answered the door himself. He was barefoot, his black hair was tousled as if he’d been running his fingers through it and he had a sheaf of papers in his left hand.

  “What?” he said curtly.

  She thrust the miniature at him. He blinked at it, then took it. “Lyf?”

  “A self-portrait, done just after he was crowned.”

  “You’d better come in.”

  He tossed his papers onto a pile of papers and ledgers on the table and gestured her to a chair by the fire. “Wine?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “That’s right, you don’t drink.”

  “It’s too strong. It goes to my head.”

  “It doesn’t go far enough to mine.” Rix set a lantern down on a side table, turned the wick up and sat down on the other side of the fire. He studied the portrait for a minute or two. “He wasn’t without talent.”

  “Can you clean it?”

  “If I had the time. Is there some reason why I should?”

  She told him about her various seeings and spyings on Lyf and Errek, the decline of magery, and Lyf’s frantic search for the missing key to king-magery, the greatest power of all.

  “And he needs it for his greatest task,” she added.

  “A task that’s more urgent than winning the war?” said Rix. “I can’t imagine what.”

  “Neither can I. But he’s really desperate.”

  “And you think this image might be the lost key?”

  “I don’t know — but Lyf did say that the master pearl could lead him to the key, and I felt drawn to the portrait the moment I saw it.”

  Rix glanced at the huge pile of work on his table and his jaw tightened. “I’ll clean it up when I get some time. I don’t know when that’ll be.”

  He stood up, and Tali was rising to go when someone slapped a heavy hand on his door, three times.

  “Swelt!” Rix muttered. “What the hell does he want?”

  He opened the door and Swelt lumbered in, red-faced and panting, followed by Tobry and Holm.

  “Carrier hawk just came in,” said Swelt.

  “News of the war?” said Rix.

  “Bad news. From the west.”

  Rix stood up, offering the castellan his chair by the fire.

  Swelt shook his head. “No, thank you — too much to do.”

  “Well?” said Rix, curbing his impatience.

  “It appears the chancellor took heart from the news of your victory, and led his army north to battle.”

  “Where?” Rix’s voice went hoarse.

  “Halfway between Rutherin and Bleddimire.”

  “I assume it didn’t go well.”

  “His officers lost their nerve, and the troops broke and ran at the first charge…”

  “I can hardly bear to hear the rest. The chancellor’s army was wiped out?”

  Swelt shook his head. “Through sheer good luck, most of his troops survived.”

  “Good luck has been a scarce commodity in this war,” said Tobry.

  “They were racing across a narrow bridge,” Swelt went on, “closely pursued. An enemy bombast fell short and destroyed the first span of the bridge. They got across but the enemy couldn’t follow.”

  “I dare say the chancellor counts it as a
victory,” Tali said sourly.

  “No one else does,” said Swelt. “I’m told his hold on the south-west is weakening.” He went out.

  “So nothing’s changed,” said Tali. “As far as resistance goes, we’re it.”

  “I’m really worried about Lyf’s next attack,” said Rix. “What if he brings a thousand men?”

  “No one could beat off such an attack,” said Tobry.

  “Save Axil Grandys himself,” said Rix, to his own surprise.

  “You painted a mural of him,” said Holm. “Can I see it?”

  “It’s not a secret,” said Rix. He took a lantern. “Half the servants have been up there. They think highly of Grandys here.”

  He went ahead up the steep tower stairs, lighting their way with the lantern.

  “Careful of the broken steps. The masons are too busy reinforcing the walls.”

  “What do the servants make of the mural?” said Holm.

  “They prefer to see the Five Heroes on horseback, brandishing their swords. Or standing over their fallen enemies, crushing them into the muck.”

  “And you haven’t depicted Axil Grandys that way?”

  “You’ll see in a minute.”

  He stepped into the observatory and held the lantern high, illuminating the wall where he’d painted the mural.

  Tali let out a little cry, then stepped back, her hand over her mouth.

  “What’s the matter?” said Rix.

  “It’s the opal man.”

  “So what? You saw him in the Abysm. You told us about it, remember?”

  “He didn’t look like that,” said Tali.

  “I recall you saying he was all twisted and contorted.”

  “But his face was different.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “In the Abysm, the opalised man was screaming in agony.”

  “He is screaming.”

  “Not in agony, Rix. He’s screaming in rage.”

  “What does it matter, after all this time?”

  Tali went forwards again, studying the face. “It reminds me of something I’ve seen before.”

  “You’re an infuriating woman. You must have driven hundreds of men into a rage.”

  Rix’s joke fell flat. “I’ve seen that expression somewhere — ’ She broke off, clutching at her heart. “Tirnan Twil.”

  Rix and Tobry stared at her. “What about it?” said Rix.

  “That’s where I saw his face — in my mind’s eye.”

  “What were you doing at Tirnan Twil?”

  She related the story of the destruction of Tirnan Twil, briefly, baldly.

  Rix ground his teeth. Even Tobry looked shocked.

  “Why are you only telling me this now?” said Rix in a frighteningly soft voice.

  “The night we came, you weren’t interested in my story — ”

  “Nor did you volunteer it.”

  “I was planning to tell you both, until I discovered Tobry was an incurable shifter. After that, everything’s been such a disaster that I didn’t get time to tell you.”

  “I assume that’s where you found Lyf’s self-portrait,” said Rix.

  “Um, yes.”

  “You didn’t tell me then, either.”

  “I would have done, if you hadn’t been so busy. But it doesn’t change anything, does it?”

  “Oh, Tali,” said Tobry. “How could you be such a fool?”

  “It changes everything!” said Rix.

  “How?” she whispered. “I don’t understand.”

  “Not only am I harbouring a shifter in my house, and not only are you, according to rumour, debasing the whole fortress by sleeping with him — ”

  “I’m not!” cried Tali. “He wouldn’t have me.”

  “I’m glad one of you showed some sense.” Rix scowled at Tali. “Tirnan Twil was built by the Five Herovians. It contained many of their most precious books and relics, vital objects that can never be replaced.”

  “And it survived, never seriously threatened, for two thousand years — ” said Tobry.

  “Yet now you tell me,” Rix continued, speaking over Tobry, “that within hours of your arrival it was aflame from top to bottom.”

  “It was attacked by renegade gauntlings, hunting me because — ”

  “And everything there, and everyone except you and Holm, perished,” Rix went on, talking over her. “Can’t you see what the Herovians in this house, and every other Herovian house throughout Hightspall, will think when they hear of it?”

  “They’ll blame you, Tali,” said Tobry, looking as though he had aged twenty more years. “You and Holm, but mostly you, because you’re the Pale slave who escaped from Cython, and it doesn’t take much for Hightspallers to think of the Pale as traitors.”

  “We’re not! We’re not!” Tali sank to the icy flagstones.

  “They’ll say you made a pact with Lyf himself, long ago. And say you’ve been working for him, spying for him and committing acts of sabotage for him all this time. They’ll remember that House Ricinus, the wealthiest and most powerful house in all Hightspall, fell within days of your arrival. And Caulderon only days after that.”

  “Now you’ve come to this ancient Herovian house,” said Rix. “The moment my people hear about Tirnan Twil they’ll draw the inescapable conclusion. That you’re here to destroy Garramide as well.”

  CHAPTER 58

  “I won’t do you any more damage, Rix,” said Tobry early the following morning. “I’ll be gone within the hour.”

  Rix shook his head. “No, you won’t. Swelt had a carrier hawk come in at dawn and I need your counsel more than ever, now. I need every fighting man I’ve got, too.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “There’s an enemy army marching our way. A small army, but — ”

  “How small?”

  “Fifteen hundred men.”

  Tobry whistled. “Are you a praying man these days?”

  “I’ve worn all the skin off my knees this morning.”

  “How far away are they?”

  “Five or six days. Depends on the weather.”

  “And if they do a forced march, like last time?”

  “The only point to a forced march is to take your enemy by surprise. It doesn’t apply here. They know we’re expecting them.”

  “Let’s say four days, to be safe.”

  “Four days or forty, it’s not going to make any difference, Tobe. Even a thousand trained soldiers would be too many for us. Fifteen hundred just makes it quicker.”

  “What’s happened to your fighting spirit? The other day — ”

  “After the battle on the wall, there were times when I truly felt we could take on Lyf. That we could even save Hightspall…”

  “So did I. But…”

  “But the relentless bad news — your doom as a shifter, the talk of mutiny, the destruction of Tirnan Twil — it’s shaken my confidence, Tobe.”

  “You’re making Garramide stronger every day. And every day, a few more people turn up at the gates, wanting to fight on your side.”

  “Not enough to make a difference. It’ll take a miracle for us to survive this time.”

  “You knew that when you decided to take Lyf on. We all did.”

  “But when I left Caulderon I didn’t have anything to lose. Now the lives of hundreds of people depend on me; people I’ve fought beside; people who’d give everything for me. I’m scared, Tobe. What if I’m not up to the job?”

  “You won’t let people down. You always do your best.”

  “If Lyf takes Garramide, he’ll put everyone to the sword.”

  Tobry did not reply.

  “I–I need a sign, Tobe. A symbol to rally behind.”

  “Is that why you painted the Grandys mural? And why you keep going up there to commune with it?”

  “He’s the most famous name in Hightspall. He was such a brilliant leader — and my ancestor.”

  “He wasn’t a nice fellow, though.”


  “I know, but he won every battle he fought. Even when his forces were desperately outnumbered, he could turn the tide through sheer, ferocious determination. That’s what it’s going to take for us to win this battle, Tobe. Nothing else will do.”

  “Well,” Tobry said reluctantly, “if he’s the kind of symbol you need, then by all means use him. But be careful.”

  “I will… but I’m worried.”

  “What about?”

  “Maloch, for starters.”

  “What about it?”

  “Remember how you warned me about it, the night you came?”

  Tobry nodded.

  “I think you’re right,” said Rix. “I sometimes feel it’s developing a life of its own.”

  “What kind of a life?” Tobry seemed to be holding his breath.

  “I don’t know, but when I draw it I feel strong. Ruthless. Driven.”

  “Go on.”

  “Like a drunk who can’t stop thinking about his next bottle, the sword is constantly on my mind.”

  “Perhaps that’s the enchantment. Put it away and only use it when you have to fight.”

  “I need it, Tobe. I’ve never needed to believe in myself more.”

  “You looked like a born leader when we fought on the wall.”

  “I was using Maloch. Perhaps that’s why I’m called to the sword, and to Grandys. Because he had the strength I lack. Can the mural divine my future, do you think?”

  “One or two of your divinations have been right in the past. Though,” Tobry mused, “I think it just reflects your own desperate need.”

  After he had gone down to the black hole, Rix soon found himself standing face to face with the twisted figure again. Tali was right. The expression on Grandys’ face was rage, and it made him seem all the stronger.

  Help me, Rix thought. Show me how I can win the coming battle.

  The problem was twofold: a few weeks’ training wasn’t enough to make his force of yeomen and farm labourers into professional soldiers, and he simply did not have enough of them to defend the walls against fifteen hundred enemy. Days ago he had sent envoys to all the manors within twenty miles, but few had offered help. Perhaps they’d heard that he harboured a shifter here.