by Martin Ash
‘Aye. Certain persons had other reasons for wanting me in custody in Dharsoul – but that’s another story. Let’s stick with yours. The controls were unusually rigorous. You took to the wilds to avoid them. Even so, it’s a harsh and dangerous land, most especially with wagons. You were lucky not to have come unstuck.
‘I know the region well,’ Gully said. ‘I was able to guide Master Atturio safely to the Volm Road.’
‘But this place where you found the stone, had you never come across it before?’
‘It wasn’t directly on the route I followed. But I was warned of a landslip which necessitated a small diversion. It was there that we came upon the grotto.’
‘Warned? By whom?’
Gully shrugged. ‘A fellow traveller at an inn.’
‘What was his name? Can you describe him?’
‘He didn’t give a name. He approached me, just briefly, to pass on the advice. I hardly saw him. He wore a hood and scarf.’
‘Why was there so much activity at the border, Master Dinbig? Do you know?’ Sildemund asked. ‘We heard different stories, of murders, an escaped criminal, of trouble around Garsh. They say it’s under siege by Tulmu forces. But why would that affect traffic at the border?’
‘I’m not entirely certain. But there were murders in the region, yes. Particularly gruesome, by all accounts. One of the victims was a Tulmu border guard. Money was stolen. And there is concern over Garsh and its inhabitants. Revenants have been appearing in villages and towns all over Tulmua, and now in Darch, preaching their message to any who’ll give them ear. Officially they’re forbidden from leaving Garsh. The Tulmu authorities have moved to prevent further excursions. I understand there’s been bloodshed, though I lack details. I’m not sure what it’s all about but I’m concerned at what is happening there. Most particularly because I now believe there may be a link between Garsh and the strange stone, the Heart of Shadows, that you have inadvertently brought to Dharsoul.’
‘What kind of link?’
‘Until I know more, I’d prefer not to say,’ Dinbig’s eyes rested on Picadus, who had seated himself again, his face ghostly, his eyes upon the mosaic floor. ‘Your companion does not look well.’
‘He’s not like himself,’ said Sildemund in a murmur. ‘I wonder whether it might be the stone. Others have suffered after coming into contact with it. You saw Professor Ractoban – and you detected something unwholesome about the stone as soon as you set eyes on it. Yet neither Gully nor I seem affected.’
Dinbig nodded. ‘It’s likely that some persons will be more susceptible to its influence, just as there are those who are sensitive to the aura of magic where others feel nothing; those to whom spirits manifest which are unseen by most; those who are haunted by feelings they can’t identify, a deep sense of the world’s sadness, of life’s unutterable mysteries, to which others are oblivious. We don’t know why this is, just that it is.’
‘Then we’re free of the stone’s influence?’
Dinbig hesitated. ‘A man who does not sense magic will yet not deny its effects. One who is cursed does not see the agent of the curse, nor knows the curse itself, except in its manifestation.’ He slowly shook his head. ‘We have here something foul, something profoundly and utterly evil. Over time it will wreak its havoc upon all with whom it comes into contact, I scarcely doubt. I don’t know what’s to be done about it. I’ll go now and speak with Prince Enlos and the Supreme Haruspices. Perhaps the Queen has divulged something more.’
‘And what of us?’ asked Gully.
Dinbig paused. ‘I don’t know if there’s anything I can do. I’m sorry.’
‘But you know what happened. You’re not walking gladly to your own death, I’m sure of that,’ declared Sildemund. ‘If you can somehow haggle your own way to freedom, can’t you also speak for us? After all, we’re not truly guilty of a crime.’
‘The truth is that “freedom” now, as you might imagine it, doesn’t have the appealing ring that it formerly possessed. The Heart of Shadows has changed that. Such is its nature as to breathe corruption into all things. Believe me, it might be preferable to die tonight than to be let free on the course this stone sets. I will speak for you, but the law is the law, and I have no power to sway it. And in the unlikely event that I’m successful, you won’t thank me for it. The consequences that would lie before you may be no better than the fate to which you’ve been condemned tonight. We shall see.’
Sildemund studied him coolly. ‘Your role in this business raises many questions in my mind, Master Dinbig.’
‘If only I had no role! I’m not here by choice.’
‘Yes, both prisoner and honoured guest, it seems. An unusual combination. How is it?’
The Khimmurian spread his hands. ‘It’s a complex affair. To explain everything will take time, and we have very little of that. For now, we should surely focus upon immediacies.’
He turned, walked to the door, nodded politely, and left.
Sildemund stared blankly at the closed door for some moments, then said, ‘If it’s true, Gully, if we’re sentenced to die, I’ll fight. I may be unarmed but it will never be said of me that I willingly gave up my life. If there’s no other way, I’ll leap upon a guard and take his blade. If I can’t escape, then I’ll die, but others will go with me.’
Even as he spoke he recognised the hopelessness of his words, and felt the fear, the coldness deep inside as he contemplated the awful prospect of his death.
Gully had seated himself on the divan again, his eyes on the floor.
‘Are you with me, Gully?’
Gully raised his head and looked at him, then offered a grim smile. ‘I’m with you, Sil, for what good it may do.’
XVII
They passed what remained of that night and the whole of the next day confined in their apartment. Food and drink were brought at regular intervals, by servants accompanied by guards, but they received no other visitors. The day was interminable. They knew nothing of what was going on beyond their door. Their tempers were frayed and they were hardly able to eat.
A little before dawn of the following day the guards returned. Sildemund, Gully and Picadus had barely slept in all that time, though Picadus had taken himself off some while earlier to lie in smouldering silence on his bed. Following Dinbig’s departure late the previous night Gully and Sildemund had exchanged few words. There was nothing to be said. They shared the same fears and the same tenuous hopes, but nothing they might express could change the outcome. They waited, then, absorbed in their thoughts, as the day passed, the evening came and the candles burned low, and endured another night which was both an endless suspense and too brief a flicker which came and had passed in an instant.
In the silence of the pre-dawn the marching steps of the soldiers grew audible from far away: at first a faint drumbeat, muffled and distant, becoming louder and reverberating along empty corridors. Sildemund listened, his heart in his mouth, knowing the sound for what it was, and prayed that it would turn away and diminish into another distance.
But the footsteps came on. Sildemund’s eyes met Gully’s in the candlelight. Gully’s features were grey, lined, mirroring his own, and expressing everything.
The sound became a thunder, hammering off the harsh stone slabs: rap, rap, rap! It filled Sildemund with terror, became all he knew, a heartless beat, matching the hammering of his own heart.
It ceased directly outside their door. In its wake was a resounding silence, louder than the sounds had been. Both Sildemund and Gully had risen involuntarily to their feet, and now Picadus emerged from his bedchamber with a haunted stare as he watched the door.
The latch shifted and the door swung open. An officer of the Palace Guard strode smartly in, followed by two soldiers. More lined the corridor.
‘You will come with me.’
The three were marched through the torchlit palace, back, Sildemund reckoned, towards the Hall of Receiving. Faceless sentries, motionless as statues, were the only signs of life in th
e endless corridors. The entire place was silent but for the ominous tattoo of their own marching steps.
At a certain point they were joined by a second squad of guards, emerging from a passage a little way ahead. With them was the Khimmurina, Ronbas Dinbig. He glanced aside and nodded to them as he stepped into the main corridor, but his expression gave no indication of what might lie in store.
They followed close behind this second group, and at length were brought to a halt in a small gallery before an arched portal. The guards waited. Sildemund, a hollow fear gripping his gut, succeeded in sidling close to Dinbig, and whispered falteringly, ‘Are we condemned?’
The Khimmurian gave a vague shrug. ‘I don’t know. I reasoned long and hard. Prince Enlos was not hostile to my argument, but the Supreme Haruspices maintained a wall of resistance. Their decision hasn’t been made known to me, but I feel there may be little cause for optimism. So much is at stake in their eyes. My feeling is that we are to be informed now, but it may be little more than a preliminary to your execution. Still, it will be interesting to meet the Queen at last.’
‘You’ve never had an audience?’
Dinbig shook his head. ‘I’ve been presented with the opportunity on more than one occasion, but I was concerned that she might inadvertently mutter some aside, clear her throat, sneeze or otherwise give utterance and bring about my premature end. So until now, I’ve always made excuses and avoided the honour.’
Sildemund stared at him, wondering at the character of a man who could summon humour in such circumstances. Or did Dinbig know something he didn’t? Was he facing death simply for having been informed of what had happened? Or did he have a way out? He was an enigmatic fellow, Sildemund acknowledged. Ostensibly debonair, but many-sided. Guileful, unquestionably. Quite an unknown quantity. He was also a prisoner here, but what precisely were the conditions of his confinement? He was accorded respect, comported himself with an air of confident authority and command, and was wholly at ease with his predicament – or so it appeared.
There was intrigue here, and Sildemund doubted that he would ever know the full story, even if he lived beyond the coming hours. But he could not doubt that Ronbas Dinbig was a personage of some status. A sorcerer of the legendary Zan-Chassin, a man of knowledge, an international and influential merchant, official emissary on behalf of his liege and nation, the semi-barbarian kingdom of Khimmur in the north. And what else?
Sildemund found himself a little awed and simultaneously unsettled by the man. He was not sure that the Khimmurian was to be trusted, yet in the matter of what was taking place he had little choice.
He was being eyed coldly by the officer of the guard, and he spoke no further with the Khimmurian. But standing now in silence, waiting, the full horror of his situation rose suddenly to engulf him. He looked about him at the guards. There were more than a dozen, all elite troops and well-armed. He recognized the inevitability of his swift and bloody death were he to attempt to put into action his declared plan, to fight. Despite himself, Sildemund began to tremble. He felt suddenly alone in a callous and overwhelmingly incomprehensible universe. He stepped back on shaking legs and involuntarily released a sobbing breath.
Strong hands took his arms and held him up, for his legs were threatening to give way. He turned to see Gully, a strained smile of support etched onto his gaunt features.
‘I don’t want to die, Gully.’
‘Nor I, lad. But if that’s what’s to be we must face it with courage.’
Sildemund shook his head from side to side. ‘No! No! Not like this! It shouldn’t be!’
Gully drew him towards himself and embraced him hard, blinking back his own tears. Then Sildemund sensed another hand laid softly upon the back of his head. He turned, and saw Dinbig standing close.
‘Stay your fear,’ said the Khimmurian gently. He withdrew his hand, and as he did so made a small gesture with his fingers, at the same time mouthing brief words that made no sound.
Sildemund stopped trembling. His mind no longer raced and the full flood of his terror was dispelled. He straightened, embarrassed at his outburst, but in control of himself. He glanced at Gully and saw that though he remained grim-countenanced, the haunted, leaden glaze of his eyes had given way to something containing a more characteristic glimmer. Picadus, too, stood straighter, looked less sour, and was glancing about him as if newly-alert to his surroundings.
Ronbas Dinbig stared straight ahead. Sildemund eyed him curiously. Something had happened but he was not sure what. Before he could give it further thought the portal was opened from within and they were ushered through.
They passed into an austerely furnished reception chamber where Prince Enlos was in hushed conference with the two Supreme Haruspices. All three bore tense expressions, and dark crescents beneath their eyes evidenced lack of sleep. Behind them, to Sildemund’s astonishment, Queen Lermeone sat in stiff silence on a carved beechwood chair. A pair of Palace Guards stood at alert before her.
The officer guarding Sildemund and his companions saluted. His men ranged themselves along the walls. Ronbas Dinbig bowed deeply. Gully sank to his knees and made his obeisance, and Sildemund and then Picadus followed suit.
‘You may rise,’ said Enlos in a sombre voice. ‘Come forward.’
He indicated with stiff movements a place where they should stand, in a row before himself and the Haruspices. He was plainly discomfited and unwilling to meet their gaze, most particularly in Gully’s case. The uneven cross-shaped scar on his cheek was livid against the shade of this skin.
‘We are faced with a most exacting problem,’ he said. It is more complex than you might realize. I have passed more than a night and day striving to reach a satisfactory solution. My position is impossible.’
These last words were spoken in utterly downcast tones, accompanied by a forlorn shaking of the head. He raised his eyes now, looking at Gully, as if pleading to be understood and forgiven.
Sildemund struggled with himself, found his courage, and spoke. ‘Allow me to speak plainly, sire. You are saying that we are condemned to death, is that not so?’
Enlos swallowed. ‘I have argued that there should be a way around this – to no end. The Supreme Haruspices are the arbiters of law. I am powerless in this matter.’
‘But we have done no wrong.’
Enlos dropped his gaze. ‘I know it.’
Sildemund looked at the two nameless Haruspices. They returned his gaze. He thought, Yes, you want it this way. It is you who are the true rulers of this nation and you will employ any means at your disposal to maintain that control. He quivered with anger, despising them, then boldly addressed the Prince once more. ‘Prince Enlos, Gully here is a hero, by your own admission. He’s a former soldier in the Queen’s army, loyal and brave, who saved your life. Does that mean nothing?’
Enlos’s face was scored with anguish. ‘By all the gods, do you think I don’t know it?’ He strode to Gully, clasped his upper arms. ‘Gully, Gully, I wish… I wish…’ He turned away, too overcome for more words.
Sildemund spoke again, this time directly to Queen Lermeone. ‘Sacred Majesty, this man saved the life of your only son. Is he-‘
‘You will not address the Queen!’
Both Haruspices spoke as one, their complacent expressions giving way to sudden indignation. The guards before the Queen stepped forward in combative stance, their glaives angled to strike at Sildemund. Enlos raised his hand. Queen Lermeone herself sat unmoving – but not unmoved. He face betrayed her, for she could not wholly conceal her emotion.
Sildemund saw it. She wants to speak! She wants to intervene!
But he recalled that the Queen’s own life hung also in the balance here. He felt Gully’s hand on his arm, heard his taut whisper, ‘Quiet, lad, or you’ll surely die right here and now!’
One of the Haruspices spoke, addressing Sildemund directly. ‘Your fate is not a matter for debate. The law is unequivocal. You are condemned to no longer exist, that the Realm m
ay continue undisrupted under the just and faithful rule of our Beneficent Majesty. Consider this: your end is a consecration, an act of devotion contributing to the peaceful and harmonious continuance of the beloved Darch way. Through it you will know rapture. You are honoured.’
Sildemund glared at him, speechless. The Haruspex continued, ‘You profess innocence but the evidence is to the contrary. You brought evil into our midst. Through your irresponsible actions we are pitched into profound crisis. The evil has yet to be overcome, but the immediate crisis can be resolved. Relinquish your existence on this earthly plane gladly, then, in a spirit of gratitude, for you are truly privileged.’
‘Pah!’ Picadus made a sound of disgust and spat onto the floor. He glowered at the two, then abruptly lunged forward with an enraged bellow, his features twisted, fingers extended to seize the throat of the Haruspex who had spoken.
He achieved barely three paces before being brought down by a guard, who struck him hard on the back of the skull with the butt of his glaive. He was sent sprawling across the floor.
‘Remove him,’ commanded the Haruspex, unruffled. A second guard ran forward and Picadus was dragged limp and senseless from the chamber.
At this juncture Ronbas Dinbig lifted a hand to his mouth and pointedly cleared his throat. ‘Prince Enlos,’ he said, stepping forward, ‘am I to take it that hours spent in discussion with you were wasted? Did my argument carry no weight whatsoever?’
‘To my mind your argument was persuasive,’ replied Enlos. ‘The Haruspices view it in a different light, however.’
The first Haruspex shook his head. ‘Your argument is untenable. The Law permits no variance.’
Dinbig began to pace back and forth before him. ‘But my investigations – and I believe, the information that you yourselves have elicited – reveal that this is an extraordinary circumstance: the Heart of Shadows unearthed and brought to the capital, with all that that implies.’
‘We shall take appropriate steps.’
‘This event is written in the Old Texts. You are disregarding the revelations of antiquity.’