by Anthony Ryan
“His name is lost to me, but he was the first to touch the black stone, the first to receive a gift. A mighty power, like mine one he preferred not to use. Though there were occasions when he would demonstrate it, holding willing volunteers frozen for hours at a time, a harmless amusement you might think. But I saw it for what it was, a barrier, the counter to the power I had been gifted.
“In time we grew to be great friends. As age wearied him and he began to contemplate the trials ahead, it was a small matter to persuade him to a final adventure, a second touch to the stone which would spare him so much pain, leaving his body empty, whilst his gift lingered in his blood.
“I didn’t know, of course. I didn’t realise what I would be unleashing. We touched something, you see. When we reached into the Black Stone. We touched something beyond this world. Another place, a place where what you call the Dark holds supreme, a place of utter chaos. In having such a powerful soul touch the stone, I pierced the veil between the worlds and let it loose in ours, spreading out through all the world like a plague, latching onto a few souls, seeping into their blood so every generation would birth more, and creating a snare for their souls. For we had made them real, by giving them a place to reside, we had created the soul. We had created life beyond death. It’s them that hold me in the Beyond. Their power sustains me, feeds me, keeps me chained in that eternal prison. I tried so hard not to, but even there, in a place without form or any feeling save the endless cold, even there the instinct to feed is irresistible, and if there are none left here, there will be nothing more to sustain me when I choose to slough off this flesh.”
He moved back, his alien visage returned to its previous blandness. “In all honesty I wasn’t at all sure I could twist you to my design. Some souls are simply too lacking in malice to make suitable tools. But then I saw you hack the head from that animal in the north. Do not think me ungenerous.” He raised a hand and reached towards Vaelin’s forehead. “I’ll make you a god too, if you like.”
The hand stopped, barely an inch from Vaelin’s skin, the Ally’s eyes widening in shock as he regarded the fist clamped to his wrist. “The seed grew,” Frentis told him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Frentis
The Ally slammed his free hand onto Frentis’s fist, his face contorted, the flesh turned red as he no doubt sought to summon his gift. Frentis slapped the hand away and pushed him back, forcing him to his knees.
“They are forever bound to me,” the Ally snarled at him, gesticulating at the frozen figures all around. “Whilst I live in this world they are mine. Only the death of this flesh will free them.”
Frentis ignored him¸ eyes going to the open door at the north end of the arena in expectation.
“So that’s why Revek hung on to his shell for so long.” The Ally gave a grating cackle. “Taking another would have left him susceptible to my touch once more. So he gave you his blood to free you as he had freed himself.” His mirth evaporated and he hissed at Frentis, eyes bright with baleful promise. “You shouldn’t have revealed this little secret, boy. All you have done is ensure the death of any formerly bound by my will. Though it may take me years. Do you imagine time is any barrier to me? The centuries I endured in the Beyond…”
Frentis cuffed him on the side of the head, the force of the blow enough to leave the Ally stunned and barely conscious. “You seem overly fearful, for a god.”
“Beloved.”
She stood next to the ape’s body, red from head to toe but whole again, the rents torn into her chest sealed and smooth. Her face was a stranger’s but the gaze was the same: unselfish affection, naked love. “Did you bring the healer?” she asked.
He looked back at the doorway, seeing the Lonak girl enter, leading Lekran and the Politai into the arena. Vaelin had told her to wait until her song told her it was safe. Weaver walked at the head of the Politai, his gaze fixed on the Ally.
“I see you did,” the woman observed. “I don’t suppose it matters now. It seems your brother found a better vessel.”
He turned back to her, noting she had reclaimed a short sword from the sand and was moving purposefully towards the queen.
“Don’t!” he told her, moving to block her path.
She stopped and issued a sigh of frustration. “She took you from me,” she explained in her impatient tutor’s voice. “There must be a reckoning.”
“Yes.” He raised his own sword. “Yes there must.”
“Don’t you see?” she railed at him in sudden anger, pointing at the Ally. “He is broken now. I will drink from him, take his gifts. The world can be ours.”
“And what would you do with it? I fought my way through a city of horrors today, all of your design. How can you dream I would allow you to do that to the world?”
“Because you love me!” Her new eyes were beautiful, he saw. Dark, limpid pools in a pale mask, free of any cruelty, but utterly mad.
“You are sick,” he told her. “And I brought the healer…”
She gave a shout of frustration and attempted to dodge past him, sword reaching for the queen’s exposed back. He forced the blade aside with his own and tried to grab her wrist, hoping to disarm her. She was too fast, spinning away and slashing a cut into his shoulder.
“You talk of sickness,” she spat. “We live in a world of sickness. You mourn for those I killed today. Did any ever mourn for me? I killed for decades to build this empire of filth and greed. It was mine to bring down.”
Frentis felt his left arm growing numb as warm blood coursed down his back. “Please!” he begged her. “If he can heal a body, perhaps he can heal a mind.”
She paused for a second, a confused frown appearing on her brow. “The night I killed my father he wasn’t afraid. He sneered at me, he spat in contempt. He said, ‘I should have drunk your blood the night I drank from your whore mother.’ Can he heal that?”
“I don’t know.” Frentis reached out to her, chilled arm trembling. “But we can…”
The arrow took her in the chest, quickly followed by two more. She staggered, her confusion fading as she looked down to regard the fletchings, her expression one of complete and sane understanding.
The Lonak girl stepped to Frentis’s side, bow drawn, and sent another arrow into the woman’s neck, folding her body onto the sand. Frentis watched the girl move closer and deliver a hard kick to the corpse, eyes narrowed as she scanned her for the slightest sign of life. She glanced at Frentis, frowning at what she saw on his face. “The song was clear,” she said.
He heard a faint moan behind him and turned, seeing Weaver gently taking hold of the man lying slumped in the sand and guiding him into a seating position. The Politai stood around them, spears levelled at the Ally. “There is a great sickness in you,” Weaver said. “Let me help.”
The Ally’s senses seemed to return as Weaver drew him into a tight embrace, struggling feebly then throwing his head back to issue a scream.
PART V
Any found to have promulgated the falsehood that human life may be extended by the foul practice of drinking the blood of the Gifted are liable to summary arrest, their punishment to be determined under the Queen’s Word. Any writings containing this falsehood are subject to immediate seizure and destruction.
—THE QUEEN’S TENTH EDICT, SIGNED INTO REALM LAW BY HER GRACIOUS CONSENT IN THE SIXTH YEAR OF HER REIGN
VERNIERS’ ACCOUNT
Despite the stubbiness of his fingers Raulen had a fine, flowing script the equal of any scribe. Also, his reading voice was similarly accomplished, reciting my recently dictated words in even tones free of any stumbles. “‘…and so it came to pass that Queen Lyrna Al Nieren walked once more on the soil of her beloved homeland,’” he read. “‘And terrible would be her vengeance.’”
“Very good, Raulen,” I said. “I think that’s enough for today.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He rose from the stool and went to the cell door. “Same time tomorrow then.”
“To
morrow my trial begins,” I reminded him.
“Yes,” he sighed, pausing at the door and forcing a smile. “No doubt this great work will be complete when your innocence is proved.”
“No doubt.” I returned the smile, grateful for his artifice.
“Even your gaolers are scholars,” Fornella observed after the heavy door had slammed shut, leaving us alone. She sat on her narrow bunk, surrounded by bundles of parchment. With little else to occupy her during the long months of our shared captivity, she had taken on the translating of my manuscript into Volarian, despite full knowledge it would most likely remain unfinished.
My gaze tracked over her now almost all-white hair, tied back from her face into a tight bun. In recent weeks the skin on her scalp and hands had developed faint red spots and the lines around her eyes grew ever deeper, though she bore it all without complaint. Despite the many messages I asked Raulen to convey to every Imperial official I could recall, she had never once been allowed out of this cell to relate the warning she held. Our journey was indeed an abject failure and it seemed the survival of this empire now depended entirely on Queen Lyrna’s vengeful designs. An absurd hope, I knew. For all her wits, and Al Sorna’s martial cunning, the Volarian Empire was monstrous. It requires an empire to destroy an empire, I concluded, reaching for pen and parchment to write it down.
“Something to aid your defence, I hope,” Fornella said, glancing up from her own work.
“I have no defence, save the truth. And that will avail me nothing now.” The Empress, in her wisdom and benevolence, had sent no less than six learned counsel to act on my behalf at trial. All experienced legal scholars of impeccable reputation and, I saw clearly in their faces, absolutely no hope or expectation of securing my acquittal. I had listened to them all politely before releasing them from their duty with an assertion I would be conducting my own defence, much to their evident relief.
“The girl was lying,” Fornella went on. “The blindest fool can see that.”
“And were I to be judged by a jury of blind fools, I might have a chance. But there will be but one juror, and she is far from blind. However, even she cannot deny my right to speak following conviction. I can only hope there are ears to hear the warning.”
Despite my continued calm, a calm that I confess still baffles me, sleep eluded me that night. I had spent the evening arranging my manuscript and penning an outline for Raulen regarding the completion of the final chapters. He had agreed to take copies to a select few scholars of my prior acquaintance, though I harboured suspicions that those who didn’t immediately burn it might seek to claim it as their own work. Another copy would be conveyed to Brother Harlick in Varinshold, where at least it would receive a home in the Great Library he hoped to rebuild. As the small, barred window above my bed grew dark I took a quill and scrawled the words “A History of the Unified Realm” on a blank sheet of parchment, a little chagrined that my script wasn’t near so elegant as Raulen’s, and placed it atop the neatly arranged bundle.
I lay back on my bunk seeking rest I knew would elude me and pondering a particular point of scholarly regret. I never heard Al Sorna’s full account.
Somewhere past midnight, my half doze was interrupted by a faint creaking sound. I rose, blinking in the gloom and feeling my heartbeat lurch at the sight of the cell door slowly swinging open.
She decided not to wait for a trial, I concluded as my perennial calm dissolved and I cast about desperately for some kind of weapon. However Raulen was too diligent a gaoler to allow a prisoner any implement beyond the small wooden candlestick I wrote by.
I expected Hevren, or more likely some anonymous Imperial servant suitably skilled in crafting convincing suicide from murder. Instead the door swung open to reveal a slender form in a black dress, her eyes wide and fearful as she beckoned to me with desperate urgency. Jervia.
For a second I could only stare in amazement as she continued to beckon, her movements becoming frantic, then I swung myself off the bunk, dressing quickly and moving to Fornella. Over the weeks she had slept more soundly than I, either through the rapid onset of age or a salved conscience. In either case it took several attempts to wake her and several more to coax her from the bed.
“Why is she here?” she whispered, a deep frown on her wrinkled brow as she regarded Jervia fidgeting in the corridor.
“I don’t know,” I said, returning to my bunk to pull on my shoes. “However, we are provided with an open door, and I intend to use it.”
Jervia put a hand over my mouth as I came to the doorway, forestalling my whispered questions, moving away and gesturing for me to follow. I glanced back at Fornella, now dressed but no less suspicious. “I’m not sure I can run,” she murmured, coming to my side and taking my hand.
I led her along the corridor, past the other cells, all empty I noted, to where Jervia waited at the barred gate. I came to a rigid halt at the sight of Raulen, standing aside and holding the gate open.
“It’s all right,” Jervia whispered. “He doesn’t see us.”
I stepped closer to the gaoler, taking in the sight of his features, the eyes focused but not on me, a fond smile on his lips; the face of a man viewing a long-cherished sight.
“You did this,” I murmured to Jervia, sliding past Raulen’s bulk to come to her side.
She gave a nervous smile. “His daughter died at Marbellis. I gave her back to him.”
Gifted, I realised, glancing back at the gaoler and gaining a new appreciation for his sense of duty. All those years with the Hopekiller in his grasp and he never sought vengeance.
“It won’t last,” Jervia said, tugging at my sleeve.
She led me through Raulen’s meagre quarters and into the only slightly more ornate north wing of the palace; a series of storerooms and living quarters where the army of Imperial servants slept. We encountered only two guards, all wearing the same expression of focused delusion as Raulen. I saw Jervia wipe her cuff across her face as we moved on, noting the dark smear of blood on her skin and wondering how much strain she endured to facilitate this escape.
We stole through the courtyard in a crouch, though the pair of guards on the northern gate showed no sign of having noticed our passing. “We must hurry,” Jervia said, making for the grassland beyond the road. “The illusions will fade soon.”
“The road…” I began but she shook her head.
“Too well guarded, my lord. I have a rope placed on the cliff, and a boat waiting on the river.”
“I…” Fornella gasped, coming to halt, features sagging in the scant moonlight. “I can’t.”
“It’s not far…”
“Leave me,” she groaned, doubling over and sinking to her knees, drawing air into her lungs in ragged heaves.
“My lord!” Jervia implored.
I leaned down, putting a hand around Fornella shoulders, frowning at the sight of her face, eyes alert with warning and free of fatigue. “It’s him,” she breathed. “The Messenger. I know his stink.”
I straightened, meeting Jervia’s gaze, seeing only a scared young woman forced to a courageous act. “A moment please,” I said. “She grows older by the day.”
Jervia gave a reluctant nod, eyes darting about constantly for any sign of pursuit.
“Tell me,” I said. “What threats did the Empress make to coerce your testimony?”
Her face showed a pained grimace. “Father was arrested on charges of treason. It happened when word began to reach us of what had transpired in the Unified Realm.”
“She knew my return would be imminent, and prepared her trap accordingly.”
“I expect so.”
“And that ridiculous story about the sword?”
“Invented by Lord Velsus, at the Empress’s behest. I had no choice, my lord.”
“Of course.” I squeezed Fornella’s shoulder and moved away, keeping a distance from our rescuer. “I have known Lord Velsus for close to twenty years,” I said. “He’s an arrogant, self-regarding, judgeme
ntal bully. But he’s never been a liar, as I expect he lacks the imagination for deceit.”
She said nothing, but I saw how her eyes narrowed and her hand reached into the fold of her dress.
“You played your part very well,” I said, continuing to move away from Fornella, Jervia pivoting to match my every step, the muscles of her forearm bunching at she gripped something tight. “So reluctant and contrite, bound to win my trust when you came to open my cell door. When did it happen? Was it when the Red Hand took you?”
Her eyes flicked to Fornella, now groaning as her grey head lolled forward, then turning back to me with a different face. It was as if she had contrived some magician’s trick, switching the face of a sweet, brave maiden for something altogether older, its malice plain in every coarsened line and the twisted sneer of her lips. “When last we met you were not so courageous,” she said, Jervia’s well-spoken vowels moulded into something harsher, and familiar.
“Courage?” I gave a very soft laugh. “I find courage is just another of life’s illusions. In the end, we all do what we must.”
“Very profound. And true. For tonight you must walk off a cliff, having effected an escape by use of foul magics, no doubt learned from your friends in the north. Perhaps it was guilt that made you do it, or it could have been a final act of defiance. A refusal to allow the Empress just recompense for all your dreadful deeds. I’m sure scholars will ponder the question for years to come.”
“Don’t you ever grow tired of this? All these years spent in murder and cruelty? Don’t you want to be more than a slave to a monster?”
“Slave?” The crooked bow of her lips parted in a laugh. “He did not enslave me. These many years in his service have never been a punishment. Every life taken, every seed of chaos sown, my just reward, for this world deserves all the havoc I can wreak upon it. With you gone to your deserved end the Empress’s gaze will inevitably turn north, where the Unified Realm lies barren of much of its strength as their queen pursues her mad vendetta across the ocean. Why do you think she gathers her fleet?”