Hengan guards who had been closing upon them halted, jaws agape, and began scrambling away. Dancer ignored them for now.
‘You summon us away from our work gathering our brothers and sisters?’ Tem demanded. ‘Here? To what purpose? You waste our time.’
The mage raised his hands. ‘Please! Hear me out. An enemy is near.’
‘Enemy?’ Onos T’oolan grated breathlessly, his fleshless hand moving to the wrapped grip of his flint blade. ‘We care nothing for your pathetic scramblings for power. I consider this call … unworthy.’
Dancer half drew his heaviest parrying blades, leaning forward.
‘No, no,’ Kellanved pleaded. ‘Really. A true enemy. I swear.’
Tem Benasto extended a withered hand to Onos T’oolan to check him. ‘Speak,’ he told Kellanved.
‘Here,’ Kellanved stressed, ‘in this very city. I have seen him with my own eyes in the flesh. Not longer than one year ago … a Jaghut!’
T’oolan’s blade whipped free of his belt in a motion too swift for Dancer to follow. ‘What!’
Tem Benasto pointed a bony finger at the Dal Hon mage. ‘This is impossible. We ourselves cleansed these lands many ages ago. No Jaghut remain on this continent.’ He tilted his head sideways, as if confused by the little Dal Hon mage. ‘You do understand that if you are lying you will be judged … unworthy.’
Kellanved rubbed his neck, then dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘None the less, I saw what I saw.’ He opened his arms. ‘Prove me wrong.’
Tem Benasto turned his wide cat-jaw headdress to his brethren. ‘Summon our brothers and sisters and search the city.’
*
Silk and Smokey had taken up post at the Eastern Inner river gate when a wash of major sorcery made them both stagger. Moments later a rumbling came and dust rose over the Outer Round river gate.
‘What in the name of the Nine was that?’ Silk demanded.
Smokey was rubbing his forehead and wincing. ‘Don’t know. But – damn.’
‘This is no two-bit raid,’ Silk growled.
‘The Cawnese did warn us that it looked as though that Dal Hon runt was bringing mages.’
Silk nodded at that. Yes. But he’d been expecting a few ship’s mages, or a drunken hedge wizard – not this. He backed away from the wall, thinking, Hood take it, if they got through I know where they will be headed. And that damned assassin is with them …
He turned and ran for the nearest stairs.
‘What about the defence, man!’ Smokey yelled after him. ‘The walls!’
But in Silk’s eyes there was only one thing worth defending.
He found the palace in a panic. Functionaries and servants ran every which way. He grabbed one’s arm, demanding, ‘What’s going on?’
‘Creatures!’ the woman gasped. ‘The dead walk!’
Silk curled a lip. ‘Really? Did you see these?’
‘Well, no. But everyone’s saying—’
Snarling, he released her. He knew it; that damned Dal Hon sneak was up to something.
He pushed further into the complex. Curiously, just where he’d expect to see barricades or wall-to-wall palace guards, he found none. Yet neither was there blood, or corpses, or the ruin of battle. It was as if everyone had simply upped and run away. It troubled him greatly, but he made for the central cynosure, hoping to find Shalmanat.
Heaving open the door of the domed inner sanctum, he froze, absolutely shocked as he faced the backs of four individuals who, frankly, fitted perfectly the description he’d been given of dead walking. Without a pause he threw out his hands and gave them every ounce of summoned Warren power he possessed.
The conflagration of energies left the floor glowing and crackling and through the smoke he saw Shalmanat limping away through a distant door. Of the interlopers nothing remained, just smoke and charred ash.
He hurried forward only to be yanked backwards off his feet and lifted by an iron-hard grip at his neck. He was turned to stare into a face that was, frankly, death incarnate: dried, aged flesh stretched over bone, dark empty eye-pits and bared tannin-stained teeth. And round this head, the opened fleshless skull of a wolf, jaws agape.
‘Do not interfere,’ the apparition told him, and he was unceremoniously flung aside through the air to land tumbling.
Blinking, dazed, he squinted while the things seemed to disintegrate into dust before his very eyes. He blinked again. Dust. Dust? And bones? The Army of Dust and Bone?
So – they were here for her. Well, not without a fight. He clambered to his feet and staggered after Shalmanat. The door opened on to a narrow hall that led to the spire. Here he started up the circular staircase. He lost his breath about halfway but grimly carried on, teeth clenched, gasping in air.
He gained the top landing to find himself once more facing the rear of the four members of the Army of Dust and Bone. Two turned to face him, bony hands going to the grips of flint weapons thrust through twisted hide belts.
‘Leave her alone!’ he demanded. Shalmanat stood at the balcony of the spire, her chin raised, defiant. The wolf-headdress creature turned at his call. ‘She is not your enemy,’ Silk told it.
‘No. This is why she still lives.’
‘Then what do you want!’ Silk yelled.
Wolf-headdress raised a pole-thin arm of dried flesh over bone to her. ‘We are displeased to find one of her kind ruling here over you humans. This is distasteful to us.’
‘She has been our benefactor!’
‘None the less.’ The creature faced Shalmanat. ‘Liosan calls. It is time for you to return to your kind.’
Shalmanat shook her head, pushed her wind-tossed thin white hair from her tear-stained face. ‘No. You don’t understand. They would not have me.’
The creature drew a flint dagger. ‘Choose. Return to your kind … or face us.’
She snarled then, straightening. ‘Damn you pitiless Imass!’ And, grasping the ledge, she rolled herself over the top to disappear, her white linen shirt and trousers snapping in the wind.
Silk lunged forward, ‘No!’
He half leaned over the ledge, only to be blinded by a great flash of light from below, and he turned away, blinking. ‘What have you done?’
‘She chose wisely,’ the Imass said.
And with that the four suddenly dispersed into dust that quickly blew away. Silk slid down the wall of the balcony to hunch, head in hands, somehow still unable to understand. Was she gone? Really truly gone?
What ever would he do now?
Resistance in Li Heng collapsed as the account spread of witnesses seeing monstrous creatures flinging the Protectress to her death from the top of the spire. This, plus the apparent routing of the Cabal of Five, completely ended the hostilities.
Kellanved and Dancer entered the central palace unopposed.
They found it a littered mess vacant of all functionaries, guards and servants. Kellanved peered round at the overturned furniture and scattered scrolls and vellum sheets, then eyed Dancer. ‘Not the welcome I was expecting.’
Dancer suddenly pushed his companion back as dust gathered before them in a thickening gyre to coalesce into the forms of three T’lan Imass: Ay Estos in his wolf headdress, Tem Benasto in his sabre-toothed cat skull and the lean figure of Onos T’oolan. Tem Benasto grasped the leather-wrapped grip of the flint dagger at his waist. ‘You lied. No Jaghut can be found here. Only one woman of the Tiste Liosan – whom we dealt with.’
Kellanved spread his hands wide. ‘But I assure you—’
‘Too late,’ Ay Estos answered, like a sentence.
The Bonecasters nodded to T’oolan and he clasped a hand to the grip of his long two-handed flint blade. ‘You have been judged unworthy,’ Onos announced.
Dancer stepped between them, his blades drawn. He eyed the creature, saying, ‘First let’s see how we compare—’
A new shape appeared then: Ulpan Nodosha in his headdress of a gigantic cave bear. He raised a hand for a halt. ‘Vestiges o
f Omtose Phellack have been detected.’
T’oolan’s weapon fairly flew up and he spun. ‘What?’
Dancer saw then the speed of this Imass swordsman, and despaired. He knew nothing like it, save for the Dal Hon half-breed, Dassem.
‘Impossible,’ Tem answered. ‘We ourselves cleansed this land millennia ago.’
Ulpan Nodosha gave a nod of his gigantic bear skull headdress. ‘None the less. Along the river. And very recent.’
Tem turned to regard Kellanved. ‘This is … troubling. If true, you were right to bring it to our attention. We must pursue this.’
And with that all four sloughed away into dust. Kellanved waved his hands. ‘Wait! Are you going? Really going?’ He looked to Dancer and threw his hands in the air. ‘A little consideration – that’s all I ask!’
For his part Dancer resisted rubbing his neck in relief. That had been far too close. Fortunately, the little Dal Hon mage had been on top of things, but what of next time? If there ever was one, which, if he had any say, would be never.
Kellanved gestured aside with his walking stick. ‘Ah, here we are.’
Dancer glanced over and flinched, as there stood Ho. But it was not Ho, for that mage never possessed such an empty half-grin. It was one of the doppelgangers he and Kellanved had released. The quadruplet urged them to him, his grin twitching, and disappeared into a side room.
‘This way,’ Kellanved invited, and followed. Within, they found all four identical burly men. Three held the fourth subdued: one with a headlock, the others on each arm. The constrained one grunted, struggling and glaring. Kellanved approached and nodded to him. ‘Ho. You worried me the most. How was I to get the better of one such as you?’ He gestured to the other three. ‘Thankfully, you yourself provided the means.
‘Wrap him in chains,’ he told them, ‘and take him to the waterfront. A riverboat is waiting to take him to Cawn. There, a Napan vessel is provisioned and waiting for a long journey. A journey all the way to the lands of the Seven Cities.’
Ho, the cords of his neck straining, his lips drawn back, cut in: ‘Idiot! No prison can hold me.’
‘Oh, but this one can, I assure you. It is a prison perfectly suited for one such as you.’ He nodded to the three and, grinning, they proceeded to drag their brother away. ‘But watch out for the dust,’ Kellanved called after them. ‘It is a very dusty place.’
The Dal Hon mage offered Dancer a smug smile and motioned him onward. ‘There we are. The Protectress dealt with, as you heard. All that remains is to take possession.’
Dancer was not so sanguine. ‘I doubt anything could be as all settled as that.’
Kellanved headed out to the main hall, waving Dancer’s reservations aside. ‘You’ll see!’
The long hall led to the formal throne room where Shalmanat used to receive petitions and lower judgements. Here, Kellanved pointed to a robed functionary running past. ‘You there! Come here!’
The man gaped, scrolls and vellum sheets clasped to his breast. ‘Don’t kill me, m’lord!’ he pleaded.
‘Nothing of the sort, I assure you,’ the mage said soothingly. ‘Gather the court, please. These are my orders, yes?’
The fellow nodded jerkily. ‘The court, my lord?’
‘Yes. All those who wish to witness the change of rulership here in Heng. All interested parties. Yes?’
The palace clerk kept nodding. ‘Very good. Yes, m’lord. At once. As you order.’
‘Excellent.’ Kellanved bade him go with little shooing gestures of his hands. The fellow ran, sheets flying.
‘And what will this accomplish?’ Dancer asked, brows arched.
‘Witnesses, my friend. Vital.’ He raised a crooked thin finger. ‘Nothing happens unless it is witnessed.’
*
When Heboric arrived in Li Heng he immediately asked about the location of the main temple to Fener. Not surprisingly, it was located in the main garrison of the city, Fener being not only the Boar of Summer, but one of the acknowledged gods of war. Entering, he was surprised to find himself rather quickly assuming the role of High Priest of the temple, as none of the local adherents wore blessings of the boar beyond small tattoos upon their cheeks and wrists.
As such, he was entitled to attend court here in Li Heng, which he did at the earliest opportunity. Yet it was a disappointment; the legendary Protectress did not appear. The mundane dispensing of justice fell that day to some overly groomed mage who Heboric was surprised to discover was the moderately famous mage of Telas, Smokey.
He turned instead to questioning the gathered court of wealthy merchants, high functionaries, nobles, and other such flunkeys and hangers-on. Eventually he found what he was searching for: a self-important sycophant eager to prove how close he was to power by voicing all the many secrets he was privy to.
‘The Protectress is not in attendance?’ he asked the fat fellow.
The hanger-on laughed indulgently. And, glancing left and right, leaned closer. ‘I happen to know for a fact that she is unable to.’
Heboric made appreciative noises, ‘Indeed … And why would this be?’
The man nodded as if in secret accord with him. ‘Well, Brother Fener, you are new here, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, the Five have things in hand – let us just say that, yes?’
Heboric raised his brows, impressed. ‘You are implying …’
The man peered right and left once more, and winked. ‘Let us just say that I am now in such a position that no action is taken at all by the Cabal of Five without my consultation, yes?’ And he patted Heboric on the arm, conspiratorially.
For his part, Heboric struggled to make sense of what the fellow was insinuating. That he was, or was not, currently consulted? He decided that unctuous buttering-up would smooth over any confusion and so he made more rapt noises, adding, ‘Indeed!’
The court hanger-on nodded profoundly. ‘Indeed. You are obviously incredibly observant yourself. I can tell, as I myself possess an acuity that is uncanny.’
‘Amazing!’
‘Absolutely. Believe me. This so-called “retreat” by the Protectress is a completely false cover-up. The Five now rule in all but name. Take it from me, for I am never wrong.’ And raising a fat finger in emphasis, the fellow strode off.
Heboric was left blinking in a fog of confusion, until, with some mental effort, he managed to dismiss ninety per cent of the blowhard verbiage to distil the conclusion that plots and rumours were now rife here in the power vacuum of the court of Heng.
Familiarizing himself with the city, walking the rounds, he found very little to worry him regarding the purported rampant cult activity. True, the cult of the Protectress was on display in shrines and votary offerings at crossroads and marketplaces, but as a scholar of religion and history he understood that such was the normal ferment of beliefs and competing factions. Time would be the test here. And it would be interesting to find out if any of these new creeds or personalities would ever actually amount to anything.
A week later he was attending to the dutiful in the temple when a guard entered and ordered everyone to post. Heboric stepped out on to the main training grounds to find guards rushing about and reinforcements being assembled. He set off to find a ranking officer to question.
He found a lieutenant of the garrison attached to the palace across the grounds. This woman inclined her helmeted head to him in respect. ‘Priest,’ she greeted him.
‘What is all the activity?’
‘A raid. A rider arrived yesterday from Cawn, warning us. The pirate ruler of Malaz heading upriver. We were ready for a minor raid, but things are heating up. Seems they came ready to take on the Five.’
Heboric nodded. ‘Ah. So a mage battle.’
‘Unfortunately for the rest of us, yes. Now, if you would excuse me?’
He bowed. ‘Of course.’ The officer jogged off.
As priest of one of the gods of war, Heboric chose to walk the walls of the palace grounds to
witness this attack. Hengan guards came to ask his blessing, which he gave freely as he sought out a position from which to see the action. Eastward, apparently.
Reaching a viewpoint on a corner barbican of the palace walls, he leaned on the stone crenel and peered out along the Idryn. He saw nothing in particular, save for thick traffic on the roads, a great many citizens rushing this way and that in panic and confusion. Some smoke and dust in the air over the city far to the east.
The raid, such as it was, didn’t seem to have penetrated very far into the city proper. The Five must have repelled these pirate adventurers. Still, he remained for a few hours as noon approached, and then, to his surprise, the Boar suddenly came to him.
It was as if a shadow of the beast himself reared up over him; the hair of his neck and arms bristled just as any boar’s would. He raised his nose to scent the air as the shadow-boar did over him and what it sensed made it chuff and stiffen. The power of the Boar burst upon him then, as an aura, sizzling the air, and his head turned to the inner palace walls within the compound, and what he saw there through Fener’s eyes staggered him.
Lean and ragged shapes stood the walls, some wearing archaic headdresses and tattered hide cloaks. Yet through Fener’s senses Heboric saw them for what they were: entities fairly blazing with power, and he recognized them from ancient accounts: the undying army of the Imass themselves, and even the Boar within him was staggered.
He understood now why he was here. This was far more epochal than the mere transfer of authority from one ruler to another. An ancient and implacable power had been raised anew and nothing would be the same again.
He headed for the palace. Had these Elders now taken charge?
The court was a mass of panicked functionaries, bureaucrats, merchants and city aristocrats, all jostling and exchanging whispered news – awaiting their fates, in fact. Later that afternoon the doors opened and in came a short, wizened Dal Hon elder with a walking stick, accompanied by a lean youth and a Napan woman. These three walked to the front and the Dal Hon seated himself on the formal throne of Heng, flanked by the other two.
The elder raised his hands for silence. ‘Calm yourselves, please, citizens of Heng. Nothing shall change. All shall remain as before. The Protectress may be gone, but you have a new Protector.’ The ancient pressed a hand to his chest. ‘Myself.’
Kellanved's Reach (Path to Ascendancy) Page 34