Prophecy's Ruin bw-1

by Sam Bowring

  Baygis glanced at Fahren. Do we mention the bird?

  Not yet.

  ‘These are troubling accusations, Corlas,’ said Baygis, and his face indeed was troubled. ‘What do you have to say about them?’

  Corlas stared back from under bushy brows. ‘I do not know this young woman, nor her mother,’ he said. ‘I did not kill their kin.’

  ‘You were in that area, though, around the time of the crime,’ said Fahren. ‘Were you not? On your journey between Whisperwood and the Halls?’

  ‘You know that to be the case,’ said Corlas. ‘I would not deny it.’

  ‘And you never stopped at the farm where these women lived?’

  ‘No.’

  He has always been difficult to read, said Fahren. When he first returned to the Halls and explained absconding from the army with a story of enchantment, I could not fault him. It was a version of the truth, however, and …

  You sense a lie in this?

  Yes.

  I shall ask about the bird.

  When Fahren raised no objection, Baygis went ahead. ‘Have you ever had dealings with a weaver bird, Corlas? The one called Iassia, perhaps, whom I tracked down outside Kadass?’

  Corlas opened his mouth, and paused. Then he said, ‘No.’

  ‘Corlas,’ said Fahren, ‘please – we are not your enemies. We don’t think you’re a murderer, but there is something more to this, something beyond mistaken identity. Those women were coaxed here by a weaver – a weaver who knew your name.’

  Corlas’s brow furrowed and he seemed about to say something. The look changed to frustration and he remained silent.

  Baygis sighed. ‘I’m afraid I must question you again, Corlas,’ he said. ‘Under the influence of magic. I’m sorry.’ He sent magic into Corlas, lubricating his throat so the truth would slide out. ‘Now again,’ he said, ‘tell us everything you know of these events.’ Even as he intensified his truth-coaxing magic, Corlas kept his mouth firmly closed. ‘Corlas?’ he said forcefully. ‘What can’t you tell us?’

  A fine sweat broke across Corlas’s scalp but, in a remarkable display of will, he remained silent.

  ‘This taciturnity does not aid you!’ said Baygis, growing angry.

  He has a will of iron! he sent to Fahren.

  ‘Corlas …’ said Fahren pleadingly. ‘What can’t you tell us, my friend?’

  Eventually, exercising an enormous amount of control, Corlas opened his mouth. ‘I am sorry, Baygis, Fahren, but I will not answer your questions.’

  Baygis stood angrily, and Fahren looked dismayed.

  ‘So be it then!’ exclaimed Baygis. ‘If only you would speak with me, I’m sure we could work this out! But if you’d rather remain under suspicion, then congratulations, for that is what you have achieved! Guards!’

  Guards appeared at the door.

  ‘Take the taskmaster to the holding cells! He hasn’t left me any choice!’

  Corlas stood, huge in the small room. He did not look into Fahren’s hurt eyes as he walked, haltingly, out the door.

  ‘I must speak with the Throne,’ said Fahren.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I felt a block in his mind when you asked about the weaver. It’s part of why he could resist telling us the truth.’

  Baygis raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Corlas has made a deal of some kind,’ said Fahren sadly, ‘with the enemy.’

  •

  Corlas sat in his cell wondering how it had come to this. His hate for the bird, which he’d thought could not possibly grow any stronger, grew stronger. In the years since his crime, Corlas had hoped Frera and Essie would have got on with their lives, eventually putting behind them the tragedy that had befallen them. If it hadn’t been for Iassia, that might have been the case. He could picture the bird stirring up old emotions, opening old wounds, reawakening old nightmares and spurring his wretched puppets into a journey of revenge that benefited nobody.

  Much as he hated the bird, however, Corlas knew he could not absolve himself of blame. He had committed the crimes he stood accused of. The man he’d killed had been a peacekeeper whom he’d refused to obey, and that was a serious charge no matter his state of mind at the time. With a cold acceptance that grew lump-like in his gut, Corlas knew he would be found guilty. Iassia had successfully engineered his downfall, though to what spiteful end Corlas couldn’t guess. Maybe the bird simply sought revenge for the years spent waiting for him beyond the wards. Or maybe, with a creature like that, evil was its own reward.

  He knew he couldn’t withstand another bout of Baygis’s questioning. Answers had been creeping along his tongue, knocking on the back of his teeth. It had taken all his will to remain close-mouthed, and he suspected that next time he would not even try. He decided he’d rather make his admission willingly than have it forced out of him, to tell it in his own words. If only they’d never come to take his child all those years ago. Damn Kainordas and Fenvarrow both! If they had both just left him alone!

  ‘Mirrow,’ he whispered. ‘Forgive me that I will come to you through shame such as this.’

  Would they execute him? He wasn’t sure. If they did, what would happen to his soul? Would Arkus even accept him into his Well? The thought came suddenly: would she be there if he did? Her soul had been commended to Whisperwood. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but now it hit him with force. He could not be executed in Kainordas! He had to get back to Whisperwood, lest he spend all time separate from her!

  There was a click at the door; Corlas knew who it was.

  ‘Father!’ said Bel, rushing into the room. Corlas stood and they embraced, arms locked, chests crushed against the columns of cold steel that ran between them. Bel pulled free with angry eyes. ‘How can they charge you with these crimes?’ he said. ‘How do they dare it?’

  ‘My boy,’ said Corlas, his eyes dropping to the ground. ‘I will not lie to you.’

  ‘What?’ said Bel. ‘What are you –’

  ‘Bel,’ said Corlas, so wearily that Bel fell silent. The resignation in his father did not speak of innocence, and he took a step back when he saw it.

  ‘Yes, son. I am guilty.’

  Bel stared at him disbelief.

  ‘It was just after your mother died.’ Corlas sighed. ‘I was angry. When I met the peacekeeper, he challenged me. I tried to leave but he attacked. I did not mean to kill him, only to defend myself. Then …well, you know what happens to the likes of you and me in such circumstances. He brought out the blood fury in me.’

  ‘Then it was his fault,’ said Bel darkly.

  ‘He was a stupid boy indeed,’ agreed Corlas. ‘Bel, listen – they must not be allowed to execute me here.’

  ‘Execute?’ repeated Bel, eyes blazing. ‘Execute? No, I think not! Not unless they want me to execute them !’

  Thirty-three

  Bargain Fulfilled

  Rage coursed through him as he strode along. It boiled and bubbled, filling up the spaces within him where his other had been stripped away. Even his eyeballs felt hot.

  The guards who tried to bar his way found themselves lying on the floor with heads throbbing. He burst through the doors into the Throne’s chambers with a crash. Naphur and Fahren, who had been talking at the edge of the room, looked up in alarm. Guards rushed in behind Bel, drawing their weapons.

  ‘No!’ said Naphur, raising a hand. ‘It’s all right, soldiers! Stand down!’

  The soldiers glanced from Bel to the Throne and, although they didn’t like it, backed away rubbing their bruises.

  ‘Close the door!’ ordered Naphur. When they did, he stepped forward. ‘Now Bel,’ he said, keeping his voice calm, ‘Fahren has just told me about your father. I don’t know what these charges are, but –’

  ‘Quiet,’ said Bel, and struck a nearby statuette off its pedestal, shattering it to splinters. Naphur stopped short at the display, shocked. ‘There is talk of execution,’ Bel went on.

  ‘I have given no such order,’
said Naphur. ‘And I will not. We don’t even know if the charges –’

  ‘They are true,’ said Bel. ‘My father has admitted it to me himself. He met the keeper on his journey here, to find me. The man tried to stop him, attacked him without real provocation, and Corlas gave him the death that he deserved. So, what do you say now? I have seen how reluctant you are to intervene when it comes to this land’s precious laws. If you will not bend them for a thief, will you break them for a murderer?’

  Naphur and Fahren glanced at each other uncertainly.

  ‘Do not even consider execution as an option,’ said Bel. The fire in him was daunting, even to these two powerful men. ‘Mark me well.’ With that, he stalked out, almost ripping the door from its hinges as he slammed it open.

  A hesitant guard peeped around the creaking door. ‘Is everything all right, my lord?’

  ‘Leave us!’ snapped Naphur. ‘Close the door!’

  The guard quickly obeyed.

  ‘Corlas,’ muttered the Throne. ‘I placed great trust in him. I tried to repay the wrong that was done to him. Arkus knows, I did what I could! Now he throws it back in my face. Murdering, and striking bargains with weaver birds …’

  ‘My Throne, we don’t know the nature of his bargain,’ said Fahren, trying to maintain calm for them both. ‘We don’t know if he is in the process of fulfilling it, or if it is yet to occur. He probably didn’t even know Iassia was the enemy when he made it.’

  ‘It is precisely the uncertainty that is troubling,’ said Naphur. ‘You say you cannot break the block that would allow him to speak?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then he is an enemy in our midst. For all we know, the deal was to pretend to be the boy’s father, entrench himself in the Halls and wait for the best moment to bring us all down.’

  ‘That seems overly elaborate, even for a weaver.’

  ‘But it’s possible, isn’t it? You yourself have said how inventive they can be. It could be anything – maybe Corlas is to wait until the very deciding moment, when the armies of shadow and light clash for the last time, then stab Bel in the back.’

  ‘Then why would Iassia give him away?’ said Fahren. ‘My Throne, I don’t think Corlas is a willing agent of the shadow.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ growled Naphur. ‘I also would not have thought him capable of the crime he’s accused of. Even if he was, I would have listened to his explanations; I would have helped him if I could. But he has lied to us before, and now he lies to us again!’ Naphur began to pace. ‘I did as right by him as I could, did I not?’

  ‘Yes, I feel that you did.’

  ‘I was sorry for what he went through. I tried to make it up to him. I respected his counsel where the boy was concerned. I did not send him away, or cut off his access from Bel. We were friends. I bent to his will as no ruler is obligated to, even when it was against my better judgement, and this is how he repays me!’ Naphur came to a stop at the edge of the room, glaring out across the Halls. ‘What shall I do?’ he asked. ‘Even now, I would not see him executed.’

  ‘No, my lord, that would be most unwise.’

  Naphur spun around – Fahren had seldom seen such a fierce expression on his face. ‘Banishment,’ the Throne said. Fahren raised an eyebrow, but let Naphur continue. ‘Banishment from Borgordus. I cannot kill him, but I cannot allow his presence when he could be working against us. He must leave. Today.’

  ‘My Throne, please stay this action a moment longer.’

  ‘Why? I am in no mood for advice at this time, High Mage.’

  ‘Naphur,’ said Fahren steadily, holding the Throne’s gaze, ‘ I have not betrayed you.’

  Naphur’s eyes flashed, but a moment later he breathed out, and some of the redness faded from his cheeks. ‘Very well, Fahren. What is it?’

  ‘Do not forget that Bel is our primary concern in this. Any action must take him into consideration.’ The High Mage lit a brittleleaf roll with a spurt of flame from his fingertip, which was shaking slightly. ‘Right now Bel feels that it is we who are the enemy. If we send Corlas away, who knows if Bel will remain in the Halls afterwards, or ever listen to us again?’

  ‘I cannot let such crimes go unpunished,’ said Naphur.

  ‘I agree,’ said Fahren. ‘And Corlas is lucky you have chosen so mild a punishment. He cannot stay in the Halls, but neither can we afford to have Bel go chasing after him. We must work hard, and immediately, to re-establish his trust in us.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Think of it from his perspective. We are about to send away his father, and we have just put the girl he loves in jail. He’s been robbed of those he holds dear, and you and I will receive the blame.’

  Naphur sighed. ‘When did my Throneship become all about this boy?’

  ‘He is potentially the most important person born in millennia,’ answered Fahren. ‘We need him. We need to prepare him, and he still needs our protection. We cannot afford to make an enemy of him.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ asked Naphur dully.

  ‘We let the girl go.’

  Instantly Naphur became angry again, opening his mouth to object.

  ‘You are the Throne!’ interrupted Fahren. ‘You’ve been a just and fair ruler for decades, and you do this thing now for the good of the land! Not because of a personal desire, not because you are corrupt! The girl’s charge is small, and not important in the scheme of things. We can deal with Cydus, get him out of Kadass, order him back to that swamp he presides over.’

  ‘I don’t need a lecture on what I could do,’ said Naphur. ‘I could have done a great many things that I never chose to, and no one could have stopped me.’

  ‘I know,’ said Fahren. ‘And Kainordas is lucky to have such a leader. But this will not be an abuse of power, Naphur. It is necessary, believe me. If we don’t do it, Bel will have no reason to stay here and we will lose him to the world. Then, maybe, we will all be lost. You can never forget the shadows in the south, lord.’

  ‘I never do,’ said Naphur. ‘You know that.’

  ‘I do. So don’t let an ink-stained vase determine the course of our fate.’

  Naphur stood silently, his mind ticking over.

  ‘Very well,’ he said eventually. ‘The girl will be freed – but Corlas will leave this very afternoon.’

  •

  ‘You are charged with the murder of a peacekeeper,’ said Naphur through the bars.

  To his left stood Fahren, looked perturbed, and to his right Baygis wore a steely expression. Corlas sat wearily in the cell on a wooden chair. He hadn’t bothered to rise when the three powerful men entered the cell, which he knew had not gone unnoticed.

  ‘What you are certainly guilty of,’ continued Naphur, ‘is consorting with the enemy. I treated you with respect, I tried to be compassionate. I thought we understood each other. Yet for any wrongs we may have done you, you wronged us in return twice over.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Corlas, scowling openly.

  Baygis smacked the bars of the cell, making Corlas start. ‘If you show this disrespect to my father,’ he said, ‘because you imagine you are to be executed and therefore have nothing to lose, then cease to make such assumptions!’

  Corlas was surprised by that.

  ‘I don’t know for sure if you are guilty of the murder,’ said Naphur, ‘but there will be no investigation. Your accusers will be told they were mistaken, and Baygis will not question you again.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Corlas, dumbfounded.

  Naphur sighed. ‘For the sake of your son.’

  ‘For the sake of your control over my son,’ corrected Corlas, scowling again.

  ‘Are you saying you don’t wish to be set free?’

  Corlas couldn’t believe his ears.

  Naphur’s voice hardened. ‘Free to leave.’

  ‘Leave, Throne?’

  ‘My men will take you to your quarters to get your things, and then you will leave the Halls forever. You are banished from Bo
rgordus, and if I ever see you here again, it will not be forgiven. Since we do not know the nature of this bargain you made with the weaver, and you cannot tell us what it is, I have to assume you are a threat. I don’t care where you go, but it had better be somewhere far enough away that I never hear of you again. And Bel will not know where you go either. You will not see him again, ever.’

  Finally Corlas stood up. ‘You cannot ask that.’

  ‘I’m not asking,’ said Naphur. ‘And if you do not comply, I will have Baygis tear your mind apart in search of the truth. There will be a public trial, and a public execution too. All the good you have done in your life will be erased, and your name will be sullied forever. Shame will mark your passing. Go now, salvage some of your dignity, and leave Bel with the better memories of your time together.’

  Corlas bared his teeth. Angry though he was, he thought of the trial and the admissions he would have to make. He thought, too, of his other son, that other part of Bel whom he’d never sought out. Perhaps now was the time to try. Finally, he thought of Iassia. Would the weaver be waiting outside the Halls, ready to ask his ‘favour’, whatever it may be? If only he could speak about it, tell them the bargain was not yet in effect, but would be if the bird found him. The words, as ever, would not form in his mouth. It seemed he would have to take his chances.

  ‘You leave me scant choice,’ he muttered.

  ‘I would ask you to swear,’ said Naphur, ‘but I’ve learned how little your word means. I leave you, then, with threats instead. Do not return, Corlas. Blades!’

  Four large blades entered the cell, moving to unlock the grille.

  ‘Take him quickly,’ Baygis instructed. ‘Speak of this to no one. Do not shackle him, but if he tries anything, kill him. He is to be led past the wards and then turned free. Make sure he puts down some distance before you return.’

  The blades nodded, and ushered the big taskmaster out of the cell.

  ‘Goodbye, Corlas,’ said Fahren sadly.

  Corlas stared ahead with glazed eyes, silent as he was escorted from the cell.

  •

  ‘Where is he?’ Bel demanded. ‘Where have you taken him?’