The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  ‘You need more sleep than you got,’ said Siel.

  ‘Welcome to the road,’ he said, a stock reply to complaints among soldiers about rations, foot sores, tiredness. But she was right. This campaign was draining him, this life was draining him, and no pleasant idle retirement waited at its end. Only this war, sure to last more than his lifetime, unless the castle won it sooner. Then oblivion.

  Welcome to the road. When they came to a village, Sharfy’s scales bought horses and the villagers’ promise of silence, should they be questioned. Though Lalie had never ridden before and had to share a steed with Siel, they made good speed for Elvury, only the Elemental Plains between them and baths, beds and proper meals, the mountains already rising in the distance.

  They spotted an elemental in the far distance on their second morning on the plains, just a ripple of disturbed air like a tiny cyclone moving in fast lurches, but it didn’t come closer and their luck held. Stranger? Anfen wondered. Loup claimed she no longer followed, but he didn’t believe it. Their crossing the plains was filled with peace that seemed miraculous.

  They prodded Sharfy for war stories, of which he had no shortage, nor a shortage of delight in telling them. Anfen allowed himself to be lost in their fiction, and noted the numbers of dead left in a trail behind Sharfy’s heroics had increased from the previous telling. Sharfy was unaware that humour was the appeal; he felt the stories were swallowed whole and that his listeners’ admiration for his great deeds was genuine, even as they jested. They didn’t know his newest story had borrowed pieces of its plot from a Batman comic, but for that matter, nor did he …

  The plains became foothills. They encountered no one but saw in the distance a few tribal nomads, the rare dark-skinned kind who conversed with elementals and took great pains to avoid other human company. The mountains soon loomed over them like an enormous frozen wave, slabs of blue high on the horizon’s white sky. They paused to bathe, then fished for an hour in the River Misery, catching only two small things not even worth filleting, until it occurred to Loup to bless their lines and bait. Minutes later, Sharfy pulled a fat black dirtfish from the water, flopping sluggishly on his hand-held line. Anfen caught a bigger one moments later (Sharfy needed many measures to be sure of it), but they’d wasted too much time here, and headed onwards again, muttering under their breaths in exasperation. ‘Good eating, dirtfish are,’ said Loup, oblivious. ‘Oh aye, if you cook em right.’

  At last the land began to climb, building to the ranges that acted as Elvury’s shield from assault. If a war brewed there, or if it had begun, they would begin to see signs of it soon. By now, it was almost certain that the looming hillsides were thick with Elvury’s hidden lookouts, who watched them approach with arrows fixed. To the group’s chagrin, Anfen led them by a path that lengthened the trip by several hours, but also gave them a good look at the road leading to the city. And soon the mystery of the south-marching armies was partly revealed when they rounded a bend on the high shoulder of the sheer cliffs, looking down at where the road led into the mountain pass.

  Masses of troops were gathered in the fields and plains just beyond the road, the only way to the city from the north. With good reason, they had not ventured through it; a few hundred well-positioned defenders could make deathly hell for even a large passing army like this; a man-made avalanche to trap them in the pass could be the opening hand played. From there, target practice.

  From this high up, the soldiers seemed to swarm like insects over the fields, wearing the colours of many Aligned cities, and some the castle’s own uniform of course. It was nowhere near what they could send, if they dug deep for numbers, but it was a big enough force to be gathered in one place — a little scooped from each pool of soldiers, so as not to leave any single Aligned city’s defences weak. Supply trains could be seen even now making their way from the road to the encamped masses.

  Anfen knew what kind of effort such a gathering would take in organisation alone. This would not have been done without strong purpose. Though if it was a siege unfolding … ‘No catapults,’ said Sharfy. ‘No siege towers. No machinery at all.’

  ‘Yet they have this bunch sitting here, who must be fed and kept disciplined, who must forgo bathing unless it rains, who must shit in the fields and grumble about being away from their wives. All while anticipating a charge to their own deaths. And they surely don’t have forces at the southern gates. So what is the point?’

  As they went through the hidden paths carved high above that lethal stretch of road to the city, there were indeed defenders in place and, by their bustling activity and the tension in the air, they expected something to happen soon. Many knew Anfen’s face, and he knew the words to grant his group passage. ‘How long have the forces been there?’ Anfen asked a passing commander.

  ‘First group, a week ago. Building since.’ The commander rushed away, a trail of nervous teenage archers behind him.

  ‘A week!’ Anfen said in disbelief. ‘They could not have set this up better for a complete massacre of their own men. They gave the city a week to prepare?’

  ‘Vous is mad,’ said Sharfy simply.

  It was true, but … ‘His Generals and Strategists are not. The worst we could do is assume all this happens on a lunatic’s whim, however it looks. Something foul rides on the wind here.’

  At last, there were the walls of the city: high turrets pocked with silhouettes of archers, and gaps in the wall and gate likewise occupied all the way down, sometimes up to twenty men on a ledge, all with a great view of the road below. Any invaders who did survive a march between the mountains would be welcomed with a terrible storm of arrows, spears, weighted nets, boulders and more. If they meant to go through with this, maybe it really was lunacy, simple lunacy.

  There were secret upper tunnels into the city for those coming from business in Aligned country. The group were inspected by border troops, strip-searched, quizzed, threatened. All expected and endured without complaint, but there was a tense hysterical tone to it all and, inside the city, that same charged atmosphere filled the air. Armed men in big numbers milled about the gates inside, the air rife with the clash of swords as they sparred, the burble of their talk like a noisy sea.

  The secret way opened out to a high ledge which ran around the entire rim of the city like the top edge of a giant bowl. Many of the important buildings were up on this shelf, safely away from the charge of potential angry mobs, a lesson history had taught past city rulers the hard way. The streets below teemed with what looked like business as usual: the normal massive swarm of people through the trading Bazaar, itself the size of a small city. This was the rich city’s economic hub, the home of its tradesmen and guild halls.

  Anfen knew, as did the Council of Free Cities, that in those bustling crowds were spies in the castle’s employ. He gazed down there as they marched the last few steps of their journey, wondering just how many there were, feigning the life of ordinary citizens, quietly working their way up the city’s political ladder, eyes keen for Elvury’s weak spots, sending reports off in secret. How many were assassins waiting for their assigned targets and orders? Anfen knew he would now be at the top of their hit lists.

  The young guard guiding them to their inn sent someone to alert the Mayors of Anfen’s arrival. ‘The Mayors were making ready to depart,’ the guard explained. ‘Gave you up for dead, methinks.’

  ‘They weren’t far from being right,’ said Anfen.

  ‘That’s the road, eh? Much trouble?’ The gleam in the young guard’s eye said he longed for such missions too. It was the same eagerness for war and spilled guts many young soldiers felt, tavern stories ringing loud in their ears, until their first real sight of it up close.

  Anfen saw part of the young man’s face slip off and spill down his shirt with a trail of dark blood. ‘Much trouble,’ he sighed, too weary to impart any kind of wisdom. It would all find him, soon enough.

  At the plush inn reserved for high officialdom, Lalie was taken aback a
t all the luxury on offer — the food, hot baths, musicians, steam rooms and massages. ‘This is your reward,’ he told her, ‘for your loyalty. You have been a good companion to us. More of this awaits you, if you help us further.’ It was a lie — she had been a surly companion, adding greatly to their tension, needing to be tied and constantly watched, lagging further behind in pace at times than Loup, who at least had the excuse of age. But he needed her to tell her tale to the Mayors. For that matter, he had to tell his own, and he had too little time to prepare it before another messenger came to summon him to them.

  49

  There were six Free Cities, yet seven Mayors sat around the crescent-shaped table, in a discreet cabin built beyond the noise of the Bazaar’s dinnertime bustle far below. Discreet was important with so many prominent targets gathered in one place. The city’s lights burned bright outside the high window, stretching further than the eye could see. Plates of delicacies were laid on the table before the Mayors, mostly ignored. After weeks of rabbit stew, jerky, foraged roots and other such fare, Anfen had a powerful urge to walk over and crudely stuff his face with the cold meats, cheeses and berries.

  It took him a moment to comprehend why seven Mayors were here: ludicrously, the ‘scattered peoples’ had finally gained a vote in Council affairs. At least the man was not introduced as a Mayor; rather, as ‘spokesman’ for a couple of millions spread across vast distances, from little groups of nomad wanderers to the large fishing villages about the Godstears, themselves not far from status as city-states in their own right. To top it off, the spokesman came from High Cliffs, which already had its Mayor at the table. Anfen did not show his displeasure at this idiocy, for inter-city politics was not his trade, but he thought he sensed similar displeasure in a couple of the Mayors when the ‘spokesman’ was introduced.

  All the other faces he knew, bar one. Tsith had sent their Mayor’s advisor, not their Mayor, doubtless another sore point for those about the crescent-shaped table. And another obstacle for Anfen, if this matter went to vote; a Mayor’s advisor could not commit his city to something as extreme as destroying the Wall at World’s End. It may be your Mayor is too old and ill to make the journey here, Anfen thought angrily. That means it’s time for your city to get a new Mayor.

  The Tormentor’s arm was in a bag by Anfen’s feet. A few curious eyes turned to it and invited explanation, even as they waffled on through pointless formalities. He sat heavily on his chair well before they’d finished, a slight breach of protocol earning him a sternly cleared throat from the Mayor of Faifen. If she begins to swoop around the room like an Invia, consider me chastised, he thought sourly.

  ‘A long journey?’ said Ilgresi, Elvury’s Mayor. A smile creased his cheeks, though his eyes, black and blind as two rocks, showed nothing.

  ‘I thought we could cut through some of the—’ he’d almost said nonsense ‘—niceties, given the forces building up on your doorstep, Mayor.’

  ‘Ah yes. Have you been informed of the latest?’ said Ilgresi, smiling with real mirth. Anfen wished the man wouldn’t, for his teeth were metal and as black as his eyes.

  ‘No, but I saw the build-up on my way here, some hours ago. Ten thousand, I’d have guessed it.’

  ‘A siege, you’d have thought?’ said the Mayor.

  ‘But for the lack of artillery, yes.’

  ‘And the lack of force at our southern gate! But it may be they mean to send some there. After all, they asked us for passage.’

  Anfen blinked. ‘Ridiculous. Passage to where?’

  ‘Ah, that’s what they do not wish to tell us! They have asked us — their messenger straight-faced — to allow them through the pass, then through the eastern roads skirting the city walls. Which, as It wills, gives them access to our southern gate.’

  ‘What do you think of this?’ said Liha, leaning towards him. The Mayor of Faifen, she was the only woman present.

  ‘I don’t know what to think,’ Anfen answered, knowing full well they’d have had every angle of this discussed already with their best and brightest — why bother asking him, unless there was some implied test of loyalty or competence in it? ‘It could be the request was to buy time, or they’re overstocked with soldiers and wish to cull some on a suicidal mission, and measure your strength into the bargain.’

  ‘It would also make veterans of our forces,’ said Ilgresi, shrugging: let them. ‘Our army is a young one. It would be good for them.’

  Anfen groaned inside. Good for them, to participate in a massacre? Good for them, how? Do you think they thirst for the sight of spilled blood and cracked heads? Will getting it help them sleep at night? Tipping big rocks down a cliff face and lobbing arrows down a valley at helpless targets is not combat.

  He saw his thoughts echoed on two other faces before him, the two Mayors who’d seen combat themselves, and knew it as more than an abstraction. One of them — Tauk, another former winner of Valour’s Helm and Mayor of Tanton — said, ‘Their actions will tell the story. So far they do not turn about and take a longer road … rather, they wait and more forces come. Now let us hear Anfen’s news. He has had a long journey and we prolong it.’

  Anfen said, ‘One question. You sent Far Gaze after me. May I ask why?’

  ‘To see you were still alive, and to guide you back, if you needed it,’ said Tauk, his look indicating he told most of the truth, but not all. ‘We were due to depart — our cities don’t run themselves. The ambitious ones will be clearing their throats for speeches. I’m sure my capture and death are already common knowledge.’ The other Mayors chuckled. ‘I trust your tale will explain why Far Gaze isn’t with you now.’

  They were largely quiet as he told them what had occurred since he set out. The base directly under the castle had failed, thanks to the groundmen, though Anfen had expected little different setting out — this despite having freed a number of their slaves as a gesture of good will, and despite enormous bribes. He could see by the Council’s faces they would send him, or someone, back to try again. He reported success in mapping out some of the tunnel sections close to the castle, even directly beneath it, for they’d found a staggering amount of underground space apparently unknown to the castle, near the entry point to Otherworld.

  Which brought him to the Pilgrims. That part of the tale got them interested. A hundred questions were ready to leap from their mouths, he saw. He told them all they needed to know, and was annoyed at their fascination with trivial things: the Otherworlders’ personalities, dress styles. He held up his hands. ‘Please. Time wastes. It was the charm I found with Case you now need to hear of. It was given to him by the Invia, who then placed him in the castle’s high towers.’

  That got their even closer attention. He held it too, telling them with as much conviction and detail as he could what he’d seen on the charm: the conversation between Vous and the Arch Mage, the Arch Mage’s fear of the Wall’s destruction, his apparent fear of a ‘plot’ to destroy the Wall. But Anfen also saw on the Mayors’ faces scepticism and doubt.

  ‘We will vote on this business with the Wall,’ said the Mayor of the other ‘Great’ Free City, Yinfel. ‘You’ve more to tell, I’d venture? Is it time yet to show the contents of that bag at your feet?’

  Anfen had had trouble getting it past the guards. He undid the satchel’s buckles. Inside it was the Tormentor’s hand, like twisted threads of dark glass rope wound into muscle and covered in spikes. It had stopped twitching only two days prior and had shrunk a little, but the spikes of its fingers were still sharper than daggers. Anfen demonstrated this by digging it fingers-first into the floor at his feet.

  He said, ‘And now, it’s time for you to meet Lalie. She waits outside. Shall I bring her in? I may as well tell you now, she is an Inferno cultist. I use present tense as she’s not yet repented in my hearing.’

  That also got their attention. Izven, Mayor of the one city in the world which allowed Inferno cultists to dwell within its walls, looked around at the others’ reaction a
nd shook his head as though baffled by it. ‘Well yes, bring her in!’

  ‘And make her very welcome,’ said one of the others sarcastically. Izven, in his own opinion clearly more enlightened than they, rolled his eyes. The others smiled at his expense.

  Lalie seemed not to know whether to snarl at the Mayors with her teeth bared, or to shyly say nothing and hide her face behind her hands. For their part, they stared at her baldly and waited. Anfen had tried to groom her for this, on top of all else he’d had to prepare, but it seemed that job had been poorly done. When she saw the Tormentor’s hand sticking up from the floor, she yelped and turned to run. Anfen grabbed her.

  ‘Come now,’ said Izven, smiling kindly at her — and he did have a kind face, alone among the Mayors: a small, soft-looking man who looked like he belonged among books, not planning wars. ‘You need not fear. I will bring you with me to Yinfel, where we have some of your people. There are rules, of course. Some rituals are not permitted within our walls, nor with our citizens, but you will not be hurt.’

  The others rolled their eyes at this; yet another sore point, for no Yinfel law prevented the cultists using people of other cities in their rituals. After some more coaxing, Lalie told them what had happened.

  Said the Mayor of Faifen, ‘It may be painful to you, dear, but what about their method of killing? I see the sharpness of its hand, but what makes them any worse than, say, men with swords?’

  ‘Everything slows down,’ Lalie said quietly. ‘It’s like you’re stuck in mud.’

  ‘Just by being near them?’

  ‘Not exactly. One reaches for you, and you run. But your legs feel very slow, and so does everything around you.’

  ‘And they move fast, while you move slowly?’

  Lalie shut her eyes in concentration, remembering. ‘No … they move slowly, too. Time all jags around, fast, slow, so you lose balance too much to fight back or hide. And when they pull you apart and cut you to pieces, they do it slowly. But if you watch them do it to someone else, it looks normal speed.’