by Martin Ash
‘Worshipped?’
‘I was alive then!’ His eyes flashed in the shadow. His torso slid forward. ‘I was powerful, Meg-lan! So powerful! I ruled – I was a god, the supreme Father of humankind! There was no other!’ He paused, and she saw the ferocity in his glare. ‘But Claine…’ he spat. ‘Claine was jealous! She was deranged! She could not accept my power. She wanted it all! She wanted my children to bear her name – she desired the adulation, the worship. It was her name, her symbols, that she demanded should bestride the peoples and nations of humankind. And when I opposed her, she took my Heart. I was banished forever, condemned to suffering without surcease, to wandering with no end, forced to know death, death, death while I was yet still alive.’ He fell silent, twitching. His body had tensed, gripped with fervour. For some moments he remained lost in bitter reverie, then said, in a low, twisted voice, ‘I’ve been a dead thing for so long, Meg-lan. I have suffered, oh, how I have suffered, in ways you could never begin to imagine. But now… now is time for my return. I shall have Life once more!’
Meglan made little sense of his words, but she probed further, hoping for some clue, some indication of how she might thwart his desire to regain his Heart. ‘And what then?’
‘Then? Aah…’ He grinned, showing the rotten stumps of teeth, and wormy, fleshless gums. Leaning towards her, he extended an arm, reaching through the flames to caress her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Meglan drew back at the touch, and her eyes widened as she realized he was indifferent to the fire. ‘With Life I shall create Life, love-ly Meg-lan. You shall be my bride. Together we shall begin again the process that was begun and then curtailed so long ago. From us shall be born the forefathers of a new race of men. They will dominate, they will be of me. Sko-ulatun shall be worshipped again! I shall be the Father, a god once more. I shall possess both Life and Death! And you, love-ly Meg-lan, you are not Claine. You have no power to defy me.’
He withdrew his hand.
Meglan struggled to find her voice. ‘Why me? I am not special. Why not some other?’
‘Why?’ Skalatin seemed almost surprised. ‘Why? Because you offered yourself, sweet.’
‘No!’ Her anger flared with such ferocity that she almost rose to strike him, though it would have had no effect.
‘Chi-ld, you were there. Upon the stairs, remember? You were waiting. Untouched. You had spurned all others. Life held nothing. You looked for something other, something beyond.’
She shook her head, numbed.
‘You looked for Death,’ said Skalatin. ‘And I came. I found you. I saw. I knew.’
‘You knew nothing!’ she spat. ‘You just thought, and took. In your heart you are no different.’
Skalatin chuckled again. ‘I have no heart.’
‘You have no perception.’
‘You gave me your essence, so that I might never lose you.’
‘No! I gave you nothing!’
‘Mmmm.’ He stroked his clawed fingers together, observing her closely over the flames. ‘I shall take everything from you now. We shall love, when I am whole again. My bride. My unblemished bride. Our children shall inherit all.’
She turned away. She knew that he still watched her, but she kept her face averted, sensing that he somehow fed upon her hatred of him.
Silence fell again. He was stronger, and he controlled the silence. Again it dominated, seeming to make the air as brittle as glass. She felt she would scream, but fought down the urge to shatter it, to speak again. Then the thought came: No! By questioning him I gain, not lose, for his answers tell me something. I don’t know what, but he reveals. And she was about to question him further, to ask about Claine, who she was, but a dark form suddenly blocked the light at the entrance of the cave.
The gargantuan form of Fagmar the Angelic lodged there, silhouetted against the outer glare. ‘Master.’
Skalatin rose. ‘Come, Meg-lan.’
She followed him out, squinnying her eyes as the stepped into the daylight. Before them a pair of Fagmar’s brigands gripped a young Darch cavalryman by the arms. The Darch had been stripped of weapons, boots and armour. His clothing was wet and he was bloodied and beaten. His face was grey and contorted with pain. Wide, haunted eyes travelled from the looming figure of Fagmar to Skalatin beside him, smaller but equally shocking, equally menacing. Then the man’s eyes fell upon Meglan. He showed a glimmer of surprise, of confusion, and Meglan felt a surge of terrible guilt, for she saw that he looked to her with hope, for mercy.
‘This one was picked up by the stream,’ said Fagmar. ‘Washing his smalls, I’m told.’
‘Ah, good.’ Skalatin stepped forward to place himself directly before the soldier. ‘I hope you will help me.’ He turned to Meglan. ‘Come here, pret-ty Meg-lan.’
Meglan reluctantly stepped forward, her legs weak, a taut sickness deep in her stomach. She did not want to look at the young soldier, to see his fear.
‘Are you of the Darch com-pany that rode here from Dharsoul?’ asked Skalatin. The man gave a single nod.
‘Who is in that com-pany?’
The soldier hesitated.
‘It will be best for you to tell me,’ Skalatin said, in a voice that left no doubt as to his meaning.
Meglan raised her eyes to the soldier’s. ‘Tell him, please, for, believe me, he can make you. We already know that Prince Enlos is there, and Master Kemorlin. Also three men from Volm. Are there others?’
The soldier shook his head. ‘Just officials and troops.’
‘They are in your camp now?’
‘No. Prince Enlos and the others are inside Garsh.’
‘Do they car-ry some-thing? An ob-ject, about this size?’ Skalatin held out his hands. ‘It would be cov-ered, or carried in a cas-ket of some kind.’
‘I don’t know.’
Skalatin turned to Meglan. ‘Who carries it?’
‘My twin brother brought it to Dharsoul. I don’t know who its bearer is now.’
‘Your bro-ther? Ah, Meg-lan, your father should not have been so greedy. All this could have been a-voided.’ He turned back to the cavalryman and questioned him further, getting his name, rank, company, and the names of his commanders and the commanders of the Tulmu force. The soldier was hesitant, but he perceived something in Skalatin’s manner that encouraged him to speak.
When he had what he wanted, Skalatin spun on his heel and walked back towards the cave. ‘Kill him,’ he commanded Fagmar. ‘And bring me the heart.’
‘No!’ Meglan cried. ‘Please, spare him!’
She threw herself at Skalatin, clawing at his burnous, but he thrust her off with a growl, and she fell to the ground. The cavalryman’s desperate eyes were upon her. ‘Don’t go,’ he pleaded. ‘If I’m to die here, let the sight of you be the last vision that my eyes behold.’
Meglan climbed to her feet, tears coursing down her cheeks. She forced a smile. ‘You’re brave,’ she said. Fagmar’s blade plunged into the man’s gut.
As the soldier fell with a groan, Skalatin grabbed Meglan’s arm and half-dragged her towards the cave, where he thrust her down beside the fire. Moments later the heart was brought in on a tin plate. Meglan crawled away to the rock wall. She pressed her brow to the cold stone, sobbing as Skalatin loudly took nourishment. Then she heard a voice.
‘Meglan.’
She looked up, stared as a chill coursed across her skin, then buried her face in her hands. ‘No! Oh no! Please, no!’
The young cavalryman rose and stepped around the fire. He took her by the arm. ‘Come, Meg-lan. It’s time to leave.’
Outside, Fagmar handed over the Darch soldier’s equipment. The cavalryman/Skalatin dressed himself, then Fagmar and three of his men led them down towards the place where they had captured the Darch. They took one horse, the roan mare, for Meglan. When they were close, Skalatin spoke for some moments quietly with Fagmar while the men kept watch over Meglan. Then the bandits left, melting back into the terrain, and Skalatin ordered Meglan to mount.
Meglan stared at him, at that face, the murdered young soldier for whom, for a brief instant before his life was stolen, she had sensed a glimmer of emotion more powerful than she could comprehend. Now that youthful face clothed a creature she could not bear to look upon.
‘It won’t work,’ she said.
‘We shall see.’
He led her to the track and on, at a confident pace, towards the sentry post at the perimeter of the Darch camp. Recognizing him, the sentries hailed him as he passed. ‘Ho! What’s this, Karlen? What’ve you brought us? Something to relieve the boredom? She’s fair, indeed, but have you brought only one? She’ll be worn out in no time!’
They laughed. Skalatin raised a hand in casual greeting but did not pause in his step. To Meglan he hissed, ‘Aha! Now I know the name he gave me is true.’ He addressed the sentries. ‘A messenger. She must speak with the commander.’
He walked his horse on, Meglan at his side, towards the central tent occupied by the force’s commander, Prince Enlos’s deputy, a Darch knight, Sir Cantharo. Meglan kept her gaze low, furious at her plight and the familiar chorus of catcalls and whistles. Arriving before the tent, Skalatin ordered her off her horse. He spoke quickly to the guards outside. ‘I must see Sir Cantharo. It’s urgent.’
Grasping Meglan’s wrist, he stepped between them before they could react, and entered the tent.
Sir Cantharo was seated at a field table inside, consulting with an adjutant. He looked up with some indignation, then – his eyes falling on Meglan – surprise. Before he could speak Skalatin addressed him, ‘Sir, my apologies for the intrusion, but I bring the most urgent news. A message for the Prince.’
‘What message? Who is this?’
‘I found her at the edge of the camp.’ Skalatin cast a glance towards the adjutant, then the guard who had come in behind them. ‘With respect, sir, she refuses to speak to any but yourself or Prince Enlos, in absolute privacy. I think you should hear what she has to say.’
Sir Cantharo frowned, rising. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded of Meglan.
Meglan hesitated, torn, bewildered. She glanced at Skalatin beside her, further dismayed for he so perfectly wore the likeness of the man he had had murdered minutes earlier. Did she dare defy him? She might die on the instant, or… what? He would not be stopped, she was certain of that. He could not be killed. On the Serpentine Path her own blade had sliced deep into his flesh, but left no mark. By his own admission, he was already dead. Or at least, an unliving thing. A bloodless creature seeking life while somehow clinging to a semblance of it.
‘Come on, girl! Answer me!’ demanded the knight.
In a voice almost devoid of emotion she said simply, ‘I am Meglan Frano, sister of Master Sildemund Frano of Volm.’
Sir Cantharo’s brows lifted. ‘The boy who came with Prince Enlos?’
Meglan nodded.
‘And what is this message you bring?’
Skalatin interrupted. ‘Sir, if I may. I cannot emphasize enough, these words should not reach the ears of any other.’
Sir Cantharo nodded, and with a gesture dismissed the adjutant and guard. When they had gone he turned back to Skalatin. ‘And what of you? Has she passed the message to y-‘
He got no further. Skalatin had already moved. Meglan turned her face away.
~
Count Draith, commander of the besieging Tulmu force, was seated on a folding stool, looking out with some concern at the lonely hilltop town. With mild surprise he turned to view the party approaching, pointed out to him by one of his officers. It was a group of four people, on horseback, making their way along the trail under Tulmu escort. He immediately recognized the first of the four. Sir Cantharo, the Darch commander. Two of the others were the Darch Queen’s cavalrymen. The fourth was a woman, a young woman, it appeared, and rather attractive. The Count watched as the party drew closer and halted.
Sir Cantharo dismounted and marched forward to greet him. The two saluted each other.
‘Your call is unexpected,’ Count Draith said, a little warily. Sir Cantharo, he vaguely noted, appeared lean and strained. His gaze drifted to the young woman on the horse. ‘May I ask the purpose?’
‘There’s a new development,’ Sir Cantharo said. ‘Something too critical to delegate to another. I must deliver this female to Prince Enlos, without delay.’
‘Enlos? I’ve no way of knowing when he’ll return from Garsh.’
‘My point entirely. I have to take her inside.’ He stepped closer and took Count Draith’s arm, steering him conspiratorially away from his officers, and speaking in an undertone. ‘Let me explain as much as I’m able…’
Two minutes later Meglan found herself ascending the twisting path to Garsh’s main gate, flanked by a pair of Tulmu guards. Before her rode Count Draith, Skalatin at his side, still in the full guise of Sir Cantharo.
She racked her mind. There had to be a way out of this! They were drawing closer, ever closer, to the Heart of Shadows. What could she do? If she tried to tell her guards the truth, they would deem her crazed, and Skalatin would no doubt prevent her from speaking again.
She looked upwards, at the high walls of Garsh following the contours of the hill above her. They were stark against the brittle blue of the sky. A few strands of cloud were dissipating. On the slopes Tulmu soldiers watched. She was surrounded by enemies.
In short order they arrived on a grassy plateau over which the rode led straight to the massive gate. To this they rode, watched by Revenant defenders on the wall. In a loud voice, Sir Cantharo hailed the sentries in the gate-tower.
A helmeted head peered down from a crenellation overhead. ‘What do you want?’
‘Permission to enter. I am Sir Cantharo, appointed deputy to Prince Enlos of Darch. This is Meglan of Volm. She carries a vital message. I am to escort her to Prince Enlos and his company. The information she holds is critical to your situation here.’
‘Wait.’
The head vanished. A short while later a small hatch opened behind a metal grille set into the main gate. Another face appeared, this one belonging to a woman, florid cheeked with long, greying hair. ‘Explain the nature of this information.’
‘That I can’t do, except before my liege and your Elders.’
‘How many request entry?’
‘We two.’
‘You will be stripped of all arms.’
Sir Cantharo nodded. He climbed from his horse, signalling to Meglan to do likewise. He removed his sword and helmet and gave them into Count Draith’s care. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to look after these.’
The town gate groaned upon its hinges. It opened just enough to permit them both to step through. They entered the paved ward within and were immediately ringed by Revenant guards. At an order from their female leader they stripped Sir Cantharo of his armour. Then in silence the two were marched away.
They passed along the same sloping street that Sildemund and the royal company had trodden earlier, across the square and on into the cloistered court. They descended the stone steps and approached the timbered portal set in the high wall of the building on the far side.
It was then that Meglan knew that she had to expose Skalatin, and she saw suddenly the means by which to do it. The irony of it, that she had earlier dismissed the idea due to the very fact that he could not be killed, was not lost to her. But she had to attack him now, deal him what would be, to any normal man, a mortal blow, and thus alert the guards to his subterfuge.
The dangers were immense. She did not know if the guards could overpower him. From what she had previously seen, she doubted they could. But Skalatin was now as close to the Heart as she dared bring him. Sildemund was somewhere here. She had to find him, be sure that he no longer carried the Heart.
She was under no illusion as to Sildemund’s fate were Skalatin to find him with his Heart.
All this came to her in a flash as they crossed the sunlit court. Skalatin, in the flesh of Sir Cantharo, marched before her. Her eyes bored into the back of his neck, reviling him from the depths of her soul. He wore only a light tunic and hose. If she could just lay her hands on a weapon…
Six guards made up their escort, three to either side, plus their leader. They marched with hands on sabre-hilts. Somehow she had to wrest one away.
It would be suicide. With a blade in her hands she would have just an instant in which to strike. The guards would be upon her…
Meglan’s palms were sweating, her throat dry. They arrived at the portal. The troop leader hammered on the wood and the portal opened. They filed through, first the leader and two guards, then Skalatin, followed by two more guards. Now it was Meglan’s turn. She followed close upon the guard in front, noting that they were stepping down into a shadowed passage-way. She saw her chance.
As she stepped through she pretended to lose her footing on the step, and pitched forward. Using her full weight she collided hard with the guard in front of her.
He fell forward, tumbling into another standing below. As he went down, Meglan, virtually on his back, slipped her hand around the hilt, not of his sabre, but of the smaller dagger that hung beside it. Freeing it of its scabbard, she drew it out.
With a yell she sprang up, lofting the dagger. Skalatin/Sir Cantharo was just in front of her, turning to investigate the commotion. With all her strength Meglan plunged the dagger full into his face, screaming at the top of her lungs, ‘Monster!’
She felt the blade-tip bore through hard, brittle bone, then sink smoothly into the softer stuff within the skull. Skalatin staggered back with a roar, clutching at his face. Meglan drew the dagger back and struck again. She had time to see the blood start from his wounds, and for an instant she believed she had failed. She had not anticipated blood. She had expected the wounds to simply open the dead flesh and reveal the imposture.
But blood or not, he was exposed, for she had dealt him blows that no man could survive.