“Say something.”
“What do you want me to say?” asked Talandra.
“That this isn’t the end!”
Blood rushed to Talandra’s face but the anger quickly faded, leaving behind only disappointment and regret. “Would you really be happy as a concubine?”
“What?”
“My father had three children. Three heirs. The people expect me to have a family,” said Talandra. “My position, my responsibility to the future, demands it. An unbroken royal bloodline would secure the succession. But maybe you could lurk in the shadows for the nights when I’m alone.” The look on Shani’s face spoke volumes about that idea. Even though it felt as if she were driving a spear through her heart, Talandra pressed on. “One day I will marry a man and have children. It’s the right thing to do for my country.”
“That’s very noble and selfless, but don’t pretend it’s the only reason, yes?” said Shani, falling back on her old way of talking.
Talandra smiled, unwilling to lose her temper again. “You’re right. It’s not the only reason. I’ve always wanted children, but you knew that. It’s why we never spoke about the future. Did you know my father knew about us?”
Shani’s mouth fell open. “You never said anything.”
“He never mentioned you by name, but he told me that one day I would have to make a choice.”
“What choice?”
“To live for the moment, or to build something and create the future. I’ve made my choice.” The words had an ominous sound, like a door closing. Talandra’s posture shifted as she slouched off the unofficial part of their relationship and adopted a neutral expression.
“Shanimel, I am formally offering you the position as head of the intelligence network for Seveldrom. If you do not feel able to fulfil these duties then I expect your resignation, together with the names of three replacements, on my desk by tomorrow morning.”
“Tell me one thing. Answer one question truthfully,” said Shani, and Talandra gestured for her to continue. “Do you love me?”
They stared at each other for a long time, saying nothing. She desperately wanted to answer, but couldn’t and had to work hard to stay calm and hold back the tears. Her throat tightened and she forced her breathing to remain slow and even. She wondered what Shani saw when she looked at her. Would Talandra even recognise her own face in a mirror?
In those final intimate moments together she tried to memorise every line and curve of Shani’s face. She tried to fix in her memory the passionate nights they’d spent in her room. A part of Talandra knew that quiet moments, and time devoted to personal pleasure, would be few and far between in the future.
Shani crossed the room and for a brief moment Talandra thought she was going to kiss her, but the spark of hunger in her eyes faded. Instead she walked out without saying another word, leaving Talandra alone with her duty and responsibilities.
CHAPTER 29
After four days of guarding the army’s withdrawal to the capital, Balfruss felt physically and emotionally drained. He’d spent each day on edge, in a constant state of readiness, expecting an attack at any moment from the Warlock and his Splinters. So far there’d been no sign, but none of the Battlemages dared relax. They all knew the Warlock to be extremely dangerous and unpredictable. The unusual murder of the King and recent loss of Ecko served as constant reminders of the Warlock’s power and abilities.
During the withdrawal, Darius took his turn guarding the royal family at night, so at least Balfruss didn’t need to sleep through most of the day any more. When he had, finally, slept at night he’d been so tired that mercifully there had been no dreams. Balfruss didn’t know how long that would last. Thule had shared with him what he’d seen and felt from Ecko’s final moments and already a seed of guilt was starting to flower in Balfruss’s stomach. If he’d been honest with the others from the start and told them everything about the Warlock, then perhaps it wouldn’t have happened. Or if he’d stayed in the field and someone else had protected the royal family at night, his strength might have made the difference. The mix of guilt and regret made his stomach ache and left a sour taste in his mouth. The Warlock would pay dearly for Ecko.
As well as Battlemages, Seve cavalry scouts maintained a constant watch, but the western army didn’t pursue them. They seemed content to rest and regain their strength, while the Seve warriors slowly crawled home through a river of churned mud. A steady downpour on the second day limited their ability to see the enemy, making the scouts’ task much more dangerous, but fortunately no men were lost. The rain didn’t affect the Battlemages, as they relied on other senses to detect the presence of magic, but it didn’t stop them being as miserable as everyone else. After a day spent riding in soggy clothing that clung to the skin, a dry set of clothes, a warm fire and a hot meal were cherished blessings.
On the third day the western army began to follow. If both armies maintained their current speed, and there were no surprises, the Seve army would have a few days in the city before the siege began.
At the end of the fourth day the army was only a few miles from the city, but still stopped for the night to set up camp. There wasn’t enough daylight to move warriors into the city, a laborious task that would take up most of a day.
As soon as he’d pitched his tent Balfruss lay down on his bedroll. He expected to fall into a black pit as he’d done on previous nights. Nothing happened, even though it felt as if his eyes had been scrubbed with sand he couldn’t sleep. Instead his mind came awake, his thoughts sharpening with unusual clarity. Stripped of all distractions the silence bred fear. All of his worries and doubts about the war came to the surface. He persisted for a time, determined to get some rest, but none of the meditation techniques he knew were working.
Frustrated and annoyed Balfruss left his tent and was surprised to see it was dark outside. He must have fallen asleep at some point, but felt no better for the rest.
Although some warriors were still awake, sat around fires not far away, he didn’t feel as if he could intrude. Many of them had lost family, friends and brothers in arms, and were in mourning. Heaping his misery about Ecko on top of theirs wouldn’t help anyone.
Instead he watched their shadows pass back and forth in front of the flames and when the smell of cooking meat reached his nose his stomach grumbled in complaint. His last meal was a distant memory and his mouth began to water. He was about to start building up the fire when a shadow fell across him.
He came to his feet and was only slightly surprised to see the Warlock. As before, he wore plain clothes to suggest he was nothing more than a common labourer with the army. He might be powerful, but he was also wise enough to avoid a fight when it wasn’t necessary. For a few seconds Balfruss considered raising the alarm. Torval might be able to stop the first few swords and arrows, but Balfruss wondered how he’d manage against fifty, or a hundred warriors. In the end he decided it wasn’t worth the risk. It was very likely Torval would kill them all and their deaths would be on Balfruss’s conscience.
Balfruss gestured for him to sit down as he built up the fire. Torval seemed completely at ease in the middle of the sprawling camp, making Balfruss glad he hadn’t warned the others. As he stacked the kindling Balfruss noticed Torval’s face was pale and drawn, his cheeks hollow and dark smudges circled his eyes. His shirt was loose and Balfruss could see a bandaged lump on his chest from where Ecko had wounded him.
“He nearly tore out my heart,” said Torval with a smile. “It’s taken me days to recover.”
He looked a long way from recovered, hours away from death in fact, but Balfruss didn’t say it. Perhaps he should take a risk, try to kill the Warlock and put an end to this conflict. The thought drifted in and out of his mind as he weighed up the potential risks and benefits.
Balfruss lit the kindling with flint and tinder, added small twigs and gradually built up the blaze. There was leftover stew in the pot, which he set to warm on an iron tripod over the fire. He off
ered a bowl to Torval, who declined with a wave of his hand. Even that small movement made him wince in pain. His smile didn’t look nearly as smug or arrogant as a few days ago.
“I know why you’re here,” said Balfruss, stirring the stew with a thick wooden spoon.
“Really?”
“You’re going to try and convince me that we’re the same. That we’re alike because we both have a thirst for knowledge.”
“Power,” said Torval, holding up a finger. “Power is everything. That’s what you want, just like me.”
Balfruss shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the vast camp spread out around them. “Power for what? To rule? Lead an army? I don’t want either of those things.”
Torval dismissed those suggestions with a shake of his head. “Neither do I. Blinkered bureaucrats and morons with sharpened steel.”
“Then what do you want?”
“To create the future,” hissed Torval. His eyes burned with a peculiar, unsettling light. Staring into them Balfruss saw a hint of madness and something he hadn’t expected. Loneliness.
“The future?”
“Religions come and go. Wars move the borders a little this way, a little that way. They cull the population for a generation, but nothing is built, nothing created of value that lasts. It’s all a distraction.”
Balfruss did nothing to hide his sarcasm. “Instead of fighting we should be working together.”
“Exactly!”
Balfruss shook his head. “You didn’t unite the west for that. You have no interest in peace, or helping people better themselves. You put a madman in charge of an army. You’re partly responsible for every life that’s been lost.”
Torval ignored the barb and wouldn’t be taunted. “Do you know why the Sull refuse to deal with us?”
“The Sull? No one has spoken to them in over a hundred years.”
Torval ignored him. “It’s because we’re so primitive compared to them. We’re savages, rolling around in the mud, fighting over scraps of land. They’ve moved beyond such petty rivalries.”
That only confirmed what Balfruss had suspected for some time. The Warlock was insane. No one was in contact with the Sull. No one. “You think you’re special. Better than everyone else, but the truth is, I pity you.”
Something he’d said finally caught Torval’s attention. His mouth gaped a few times before he regained control. “You pity me? Please,” said Torval, gesturing expansively, “enlighten me.”
“Once you and I were alike,” admitted Balfruss. “When I was a boy I dreamed of escaping the daily hardship my mother endured. It was selfish and ungrateful, but I was just a boy. She seemed to work all hours of the day and some nights too. She was always tired and never at peace. Once I asked her if she dreamed at night. She told me she didn’t have time for dreams. For her, sleep was a release. It was her only time to rest and put down her burdens. I wanted something more. When I found out about my ability, I saw the Red Tower as my one chance. I absorbed everything they taught me, but it wasn’t enough.”
“It was the same for me. What they taught was so narrow. The teachers and the Council promised much, but they hoarded their knowledge.”
Balfruss guessed what happened next. “So you travelled in search of something more. Something worthy of you.”
“You went into the west and the deserts of the east. Did you find what you were looking for?” asked Torval.
Balfruss ignored him this time. “But then you began to change. Your magic became a crutch. You used it to bully and control others. If someone didn’t agree, then you found a way to change their mind, sometimes literally, with magic. You’ve spent so much time by yourself, listening only to your own counsel, that you can’t accept what other people think any more. They must be wrong, because you are strong and they are weak, and only the strong deserve to survive. You’ve never met anyone that’s challenged you.”
“Are you going to challenge me?” asked Torval. All humour had steadily drained from his expression and now he looked on the brink of violence.
“If I must.”
The Warlock’s voice was very quiet, but Balfruss heard every word. “I’ve seen more than you can imagine. I’ve crossed the Dead Sea and walked through the endless emerald jungle. I was the first outsider to speak to the Sull in over three hundred years. I’ve discovered ancient temples devoted to religions from a thousand years ago. My skills and knowledge are beyond the Grey Council. How are you going to challenge me?” The question was dripping with scorn and yet Balfruss felt utterly calm.
“Because you’re weak,” he said. “You’re weak because you’re incapable of change. Everyone else grew up, but you’re still a scared and stubborn little boy. You’re desperate to convince me because you’re lonely. You need affirmation. You need someone else to tell you that what you’re doing is right.”
“You have no idea,” snarled Torval.
“Are you having doubts?”
Torval continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You have no idea what I can do. I could kill you in a hundred different ways.”
“Threats. How original,” Balfruss said with a smile as he stood up. “You seem to forget that I was also trained at the Red Tower. And even if I don’t know how something is done with magic, I can easily disrupt the flows.”
Too late Torval realised what was about to happen. Balfruss focused his will and reached for the Source. With the speed of thought a giant hand grabbed Torval’s body, yanking him into the air. The illusion flickered, and for a few heartbeats he could see through the image of Torval’s body dangling off the ground. Narrowing his eyes Balfruss saw faint threads of power running away from the projection into the distance, like the strings of a puppet. As much as he struggled there was no way for Torval to break free without Balfruss releasing him.
“I know this won’t kill you, but it will hurt a lot,” said Balfruss. He imagined a short sword being driven through Torval’s forearm and it became a reality for the projection. Torval screamed and thrashed about, but no blood dripped from the wound and no one came running. No one else could see or hear him.
“I will—”
Before Torval could finish his threat Balfruss drove another sword through his other arm. The Warlock’s mouth stretched wider and wider in a silent scream until it looked as if he would dislocate his jaw. His eyes rolled back in his head and he thrashed about but it made no difference.
“I’m ashamed to say that when I first heard that one man had united the west, I admired you,” said Balfruss. “I imagined the Warlock to be a great man to have accomplished so much in such a short space of time. Now, I just pity you.”
“I thought you had vision,” said Torval between gritted teeth, “but you’re just like the rest. Narrow minded, focusing only on tomorrow. The next sunrise, the next meal. With our power we could do anything, go anywhere. We could live forever as Gods and create a new world.”
“I don’t want any part of that.”
“I will make you beg for death,” promised Torval. “I will strip you of every friend, kill everyone you care about one at a time, until there’s no one left. Then I will show you who you really are.”
He released the Warlock and, instead of falling, the illusion remained hovering in the air. “Don’t come here again.”
Balfruss thought he would make another threat. Instead the Warlock just snarled and vanished.
The stew was bubbling in the pot but Balfruss had lost his appetite. The next time they met it would be as implacable enemies. His knees wobbled, but he managed to sit without falling over. His doubts resurfaced anew and, for the first time in years, Balfruss prayed to the Maker for strength and courage.
CHAPTER 30
Gunder was sat in his kitchen looking over the accounts when someone started pounding on his front door. Although it was late, he had been expecting a visitor, but they never usually came through the front or bothered to knock.
“Open up! In the name of the Emperor!”
Leaning heavily on his cane he limped to the door. Six members of Taikon’s Chosen were standing outside. All were armed and one held a lantern that left their faces in shadow. It gave them a villainous look, but Gunder could see it was more than just a trick of the light. These men were recent recruits and not true believers. Their leader, marked with white epaulettes on his uniform, was the only one who didn’t resemble a thief or former street tough. He was a broad-chested Zecorran and had the rigid bearing of a soldier.
“Stand aside, fatty!” said one of the men, barging past Gunder and nearly knocking him over. The others followed, leaving the officer on the doorstep.
“You’re accused of spying and being an agent of foreign powers working against Emperor Taikon,” said the officer. His black eyes revealed nothing but his bushy eyebrows waggled as he spoke, giving him a comical appearance. “We’ve received a report about suspicious activity.”
“I’m just a spice merchant,” said Gunder, wobbling and nearly falling over again. The officer put out a hand to steady him. “I don’t know anything about spying. I swear it by the Lord of Light. May he strike me down if I’m lying.”
Gunder put his hand over his heart and the officer’s hand twitched in response as he started to copy then stopped himself. Long years of habit were hard to break. The officer still believed in the Lord of Light, but it wouldn’t do for one of the Chosen to be seen making gestures to an old religion.
Behind him it sounded as if the soldiers were rummaging around in his kitchen and throwing objects on the floor.
“If you’re just an honest merchant then you’ll have no issue with us searching your home.”
“Of course not,” said Gunder, stepping back to create space. “Please, come in. Would you like a drink? Tea, or wine perhaps?”
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