‘You were going to Heaven to see your God.’
‘Our God.’
‘Not any more, O’Reilly.’ Her nostrils flared. ‘And this time, I want you to stay dead.’
Gabriel tried to flee over the river, to let his spectral body fade to fog, but he was too slow. Mark had him. Reaching out, the major – of course it was the major, stupid – caught him in midair, his mystical grip as strong as a blacksmith’s vice. Gabriel dived for the protection of the earth, hoping to bury himself in the frost and frozen mud of the riverbank, but Mark wouldn’t allow it.
Holding fast to the wraith, the major said, ‘You have been a troublesome fellow, Gabriel, troublesome indeed. But not any more.’
The former bank manager and erstwhile Union Army soldier watched as the forest itself began to melt. The colours, green, brown and white, ran together like a child’s drawing left out in the rain, and a dark cleft opened behind the major’s horse. Gabriel had seen it before and the realisation was quick to sink in: this time it would be for ever.
A recalcitrant Mark tried to rise up, to scream, but the presence keeping him inside Major Tavon’s body cried, ‘Shut up, you! Gods, but you are annoying! I expected more from you, more toughness, more resilience.’
‘Don’t,’ Mark pleaded, ‘stop this – he’s never harmed anyone.’
‘Shut up!’ Mark felt the hand again, that invisible weight pressing against his chest, against the major’s chest, stopping his air and leaving him gasping.
It’s killing itself, Mark thought. Jesus Christ, it’s willing to kill itself to make a point.
‘I’m not doing anything to him,’ the voice boomed, ‘you are, Mark Jenkins. I can’t do anything, I can’t harm one forgotten hair on his translucent head without you. So before you start assigning blame, remember, you represent half of this marriage, my friend.’
‘No,’ Mark wheezed, the pain in his chest too great. He saw exploding points of yellow light and then fell back into the space he had been allotted, his arms and legs paralysed, his senses dulled and his breathing jagged.
He watched through Major Tavon’s eyes as Gabriel O’Reilly disappeared inside what Mark guessed was one of the tears Steven had seen at the Idaho Springs Landfill. Mark hadn’t been able to see them before. He could now.
‘Blackford!’ Major Tavon screamed along the ragged line of Malakasian soldiers.
The lieutenant hurried to her side. One of the sergeants in Captain Hershaw’s company had built a small fire and was brewing tecan and preparing a hasty meal for the officers. Blackford gulped his tecan, scalding his mouth and throat, and hustled to the front of the line despite aching feet, blisters and a throbbing twinge in his lower back. As dawn approached the major had agreed to a much-needed break. The battalion had marched nonstop since the previous evening and the men were in sore need of rest. They had arrived at the glen where, unbeknownst to them, Steven, Gilmour and Nerak had battled to the death just a few days earlier. Major Tavon rode down to the riverside and stared as if expecting Bellan Whitward to peek out from behind the field of boulders. The ravages of Steven’s fire had been covered by new snow, likewise the chitinous remains of the dead bone-collectors.
‘We’ve made it here in a day and two nights,’ she said to Lieutenant Blackford.
‘I am impressed. You can tell the soldiers that.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to hear it.’
‘They are to have a full aven’s rest. My orders are to drink plenty of water – the river is clean enough – and have them eat their fill.’ The major herself had not rested since their departure from Wellham Ridge. She had twice dismounted to allow her horse to feed, but other than that, she had been in the saddle the entire time. ‘Feed them now, and have them go directly to sleep. I want to make twenty, perhaps twenty-five miles, before the dinner aven tonight.’
Like dozen, Blackford had no idea what a mile might be, but he didn’t question the officer, who had been saying indecipherable things for the past five days now. Lieutenant Blackford had resigned himself to the fact that made-up words must be another symptom of the major’s illness.
‘And have Captain Hershaw and Captain Denne ride up here for their orders,’ Major Tavon went on, oblivious to the lieutenant’s train of thought. ‘I want Denne here along the river and Hershaw’s men fanned out to our west. They won’t cross the river, but they might try to move out towards the Ravenian Sea. The terrain that way is unforgiving, but eventually it would bring them closer to Orindale and potential escape.’
‘Er, who, ma’am?’
‘Some old friends of mine.’ Tavon glanced back towards the river. ‘And Blackford, bring me some of that tecan.’
‘Tecan?’
‘Yes, lieutenant, you reek of it. I like mine with an extra pinch of leaves right in the goblet. Like they serve it at the Café du Monde.’
Major Tavon discussed the day’s march with Captain Denne and Captain Hershaw, the ranking officers after her.
‘It will be more difficult going, but I still think we can make twenty miles with your men fanned out to the west,’ she announced.
Captain Hershaw, a young man considered a bit of a rising star in the Falkan occupation forces, did not presume to correct the major. He had lost seventeen soldiers to fatigue, injury and illness since leaving Wellham Ridge, soldiers he had been forced to leave behind because the major would not hear of providing an escort to safety. He hoped they would survive the journey on their own; at least the snow had stopped and the trail behind them was clear.
It had been three days since they’d sent riders to fetch Colonel Pace and he expected the colonel to have arrived in Wellham Ridge by the time the battalion returned from this fool’s errand. The colonel would address Major Tavon’s unconventional behaviour and brutality, so until then he would keep his mouth shut.
‘I’d like your soldiers in a line, two-deep, running out from the river, maybe five hundred paces through the forest, longer if you can keep them all headed south at roughly the same clip,’ the major went on, pointing.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Hershaw answered smartly. It was a ridiculous order, but he would ensure his men complied as best they could. Marching all day spread out in a line five hundred paces long would guarantee that by nightfall, he and his lieutenants would spend a half-aven retrieving everyone who had been lost or had fallen behind. No matter; they would weather this temporary storm, and Colonel Pace would reward him for it.
Tavon went on, ‘And you, Captain Denne, will remain here along the river.’
‘Why?’ Denne, a career soldier with more than two hundred Twinmoons’ service, was incredulous. ‘Why stretch Hershaw all the way out into the forest while my men remain bunched up here?’
A momentary look of irritation clouded Major Tavon’s face. She didn’t appreciate having her strategies questioned, even by a seasoned officer. ‘Because, Captain, we are tracking an extremely crafty and resourceful prey, a Larion Senator and a young sorcerer of tremendous ability.’
‘Two men?’ Denne said. ‘We’ve run the entire battalion down here for two men?’
‘Two very powerful men, Captain. And while I expect they will stick to the river, they probably know we are coming and might try to sneak off to the west and work their way around us. They are hauling a large and cumbersome cargo so their progress will be extremely slow, but I do not wish to lose them because I failed to dispatch at least a token force to keep an eye on western routes around our line.’
‘You’re mad,’ Denne said.
‘Captain, don’t—’ Hershaw interrupted, but Denne ignored him.
‘You’ve lost your mind; you realise that?’ Denne gripped his saddle horn with trembling fingers. ‘We’ve lost men coming out here. Our position north of Wellham Ridge is compromised. Our soldiers are collapsing with fatigue, and for what? For two men – one a Larion Senator? – hauling a wagon loaded with a cargo so large and heavy that we could take them with a squad, never mind a
n entire battalion?’ Denne’s voice rose as he continued, ‘Please, Major Tavon, I’m begging you to turn us back to the Ridge. You need to see a healer, a team of healers.’ He glanced at Hershaw and Blackford for support, but finding none, he pressed on. ‘People are dying, Major, our people, and more will die if we march all day today!’
The spell struck Captain Denne in the chest, ripping through layers of leather and cloth to his flesh, crushing his ribs, perforating his lungs and tearing his heart free with an audible ripping sound. Blood splashed Captain Hershaw’s face, but it was not the steaming fluid that caused him to shudder, but the unholy sound of whatever Major Tavon had called upon to eviscerate Captain Denne going about its work. He had never heard anything at all like the sound of his colleague, his friend, being torn to pieces in front of him.
Captain Denne, his body torn apart, pumping out blood, gurgled incoherently and tumbled from the saddle.
‘Captain Blackford,’ the major said, emphasising the field promotion, ‘see to it that your men are ready to accompany me along the river. Captain Hershaw’s soldiers will fan out, two-deep, to our right and make their way through the forest today.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ The newly minted Captain Blackford was quaking too furiously to hide it.
Major Tavon didn’t seem to care. ‘Very good.’ She looked down at Captain Denne’s carcass. Blood had bubbled up between his lips and one eye was half open. ‘I’m glad to see I can still do that.’
Captain Hershaw swallowed hard. This was no illness; Major Tavon was a demon, possessed by something evil, perhaps from Welstar Palace. He had never been there himself, but he had heard the legends. Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘Might I be excused, ma’am? I have preparations to make.’
‘Of course, Captain, of course,’ Major Tavon said. ‘I’ll see you for dinner tonight.’
Hershaw’s mind was blank. Should he run? Should he order the major taken under arrest? Should he direct his soldiers to sneak away during the day, to circle back and meet him in Wellham Ridge? He needed time to think, but she wasn’t giving him any. He swallowed again, wiped Denne’s blood from his face and said, ‘Very good, ma’am.’
‘One last thing,’ she added. ‘If you should come upon these two men, I want you to keep them alive for me. They can be broken, battered, missing limbs and crying for mercy, but I do need to speak with them before they die. Is that understood, gentlemen?
Blackford and Hershaw answered in unison, ‘Yes, ma’am.’
As he accompanied a trembling Blackford back through the lines of sleeping soldiers, Captain Hershaw overhead Major Tavon say, ‘I’m going to find you, Steven.’
*
‘Where were the moons last night?’ Garec asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Steven said. ‘They were in the north two nights ago. The clouds were heavy, though, and I didn’t see them for more than a moment.’
‘I haven’t noticed either,’ Kellin said.
‘So we don’t know how long it’s been?’ Garec said.
Steven said, ‘We can figure it out.’
‘All right. We left Traver’s Notch the same day Gita sent a rider to Capehill to get that magician, the one Gilmour is going to knock senseless.’
‘Stalwick,’ Gilmour added.
‘That’s him,’ Garec said, ‘and then we were … what? Fifteen days crossing the plains? It was so rutting cold out there, I can’t remember. Was it fifteen days before we ran into that cavalry battalion?’
‘I think so,’ Gilmour said, ‘then two in Wellham Ridge, three days to reach the glen, four more days to get here and one day to excavate the spell table.’
‘That’s twenty-five days,’ Steven said. ‘That should be enough time for Stalwick to get back to Traver’s Notch, right?’
‘Assuming they found him,’ Garec cautioned.
‘We have to take that chance,’ Steven said. ‘We have to contact Gita and get her marching on Capehill – we need the distraction to get the spell table out of here and hidden somewhere Mark will never think to look for it.’
‘Wellham Ridge?’ Kellin asked.
‘How about Orindale?’ Garec said.
‘I was thinking more like South Dakota or Paraguay or New Zealand.’
‘Ah,’ Garec said, ‘your side of town.’
‘Exactly,’ Steven turned to Gilmour, ‘and why not? We have the portals; we have that book. All Mark has is the keystone. If we get rid of the table, he’s screwed.’ Steven sounded childishly hopeful.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Gilmour said.
‘But it would at least allow us to focus on Mark,’ Steven clarified. ‘Except for whatever damage he’d be doing with the occupation army – and I’ll grant that could be significant – he won’t be able to open the Fold. Evil’s ascendancy will be delayed, possibly for ever.’
‘He will come for us,’ Gilmour said, ‘for us, for the portals, and for our knowledge of where the table is hidden.’
‘Exactly. He’d be where we need him to be. We’re the only ones who have a chance of standing against him, and if he’s pursuing us, we’ll know where he is and what he’s doing. Gita can occupy the military in the east for a while, hopefully long enough for us to face Mark on our terms.’
Gilmour nodded slowly. ‘By now the forces called in to secure Orindale will be back on their normal patrols. Gita will face a relatively small force when they march on Capehill. She might just take the city.’
‘That would certainly agitate things over here,’ Garec said. ‘It’d buy us time and a much-needed distraction to get rid of this table.’
Brand interrupted, ‘But if Mark has infiltrated the occupation army, would he not have sent word to Capehill that Gita’s planning an assault?’
‘Probably,’ Steven said, ‘but it’s a long ride up there, so we may still have time to warn Gita that her cover’s blown.’
Gilmour agreed. ‘Right. And I don’t want to contact Stalwick until enough time has passed for Gita to get him into Traver’s Notch. Knocking him senseless on a Capehill street won’t do anyone any good.’
Kellin asked, ‘Steven, when will Hannah’s mother open her portal again?’
‘At seven a.m. on February twelfth,’ he said. ‘It’ll be open for fifteen minutes.’
‘Grand,’ Garec sighed, ‘and when is that?’
Steven started calculating.
‘While he’s thinking, what do we do with the table until febrerry-twelf?’ Brand asked.
‘We find a barn, someplace out of the way, and hide the table there,’ Gilmour suggested. ‘It’s too cold to keep it here, and with Mark coming for us we can’t hide out here in the Vale; we’ll be found.’
‘Or we’ll freeze to death,’ Kellin added.
‘That, too,’ Gilmour said. ‘There were a few farms between Wellham Ridge and the glen where we faced down Nerak. If one of those farmers would permit us to hide this in a barn, we can stay cosy, eat well and get caught up on our sleep while we wait around for Mrs Sorenson.’
‘Won’t Mark search every farm south of the foothills?’ Kellin asked.
‘Probably,’ Gilmour said, ‘but he knows that Gita is marching on Capehill so he might dispatch most of the Wellham Ridge battalion to assist in the north.’
‘That would leave him searching for us by himself,’ Garec said.
‘Just as Steven wants it,’ Brand said.
‘So, when do you plan to clobber this Stalwick fellow?’ Garec asked.
Brand said, ‘I do wish I could be there to see that one.’
‘You know him?’
‘Gods, yes,’ Kellin said. ‘He is, without hesitation, the worst Resistance fighter I have ever seen in my life. He remains the only soldier I’ve ever seen who I wished would defect and fight for the other side, because that would increase our chances of victory severalfold.’
‘Well then, I will delight in contacting him,’ Gilmour said.
‘Make it hurt,’ Brand added with an uncharacteristic smile.
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‘I think I’ve got it,’ Steven interrupted. ‘It isn’t exactly right, but all this time I’ve been calculating based on a twenty-four-hour day in Colorado and a twenty-hour day here in Eldarn. I think I’m off by just a bit; I’d tell you exactly how much, but for that I either need a bit of paper or a calculator. At the moment, I have neither; so, you’ll just have to bear with me and accept the error margin. Agreed?’
Kellin shook her head, bemused. ‘What’s an hour?’
‘Actually, Kellin,’ Steven smiled, ‘it doesn’t really matter. Consider it one twenty-fourth of a day in my world or about one twentieth of a day here in Eldarn.’
‘Good enough,’ she said, ‘go on.’
‘When I left Colorado, it was at dawn on a Friday morning, October seventeenth. To my recollection, Mark and I were in Eldarn for sixty-six days before I fell back through the portal into Charleston Harbour. Now, if a day in Eldarn is twenty hours long, then I would take the sixty-six days we spent travelling through Rona and Falkan and multiply it by point eight three, or five-sixths, to get the amount of time that elapsed in Colorado while we were gone.’
‘You’re losing me,’ Garec confessed.
‘I’ll go slower,’ Steven said.
‘Thanks. My mother dropped me when I was a kid. Maths and I have never seen eye to eye.’
‘So what I’m saying is that sixty-six days in Eldarn equals fifty-five days in Colorado. So I should have arrived in Charleston exactly seven weeks and six days later. Right?’
Garec shrugged. ‘Your lips are moving, Steven, but I just hear noise.’
Gilmour said, ‘Steven, you should have arrived in Charleston on a Thursday in December.’
‘Top marks, Gilmour,’ Steven said, ‘Thursday, December eleventh, to be precise.’
‘But you didn’t,’ Brand guessed.
‘No, I didn’t,’ Steven said. ‘I arrived on Tuesday, the ninth, and returned here to the fjord north of Orindale on Friday, the twelfth.’ He grimaced as he remembered the dreadful tragedy at Charleston Airport and his sleepless three-day race to the Idaho Springs Landfill and Lessek’s key.
‘All right,’ Gilmour said, ‘so, you’re off by forty-eight hours, give or take a few. Over sixty-six days, that’s less than an hour a day. Who cares?’
The Larion Senators Page 8