by Martin Ash
Epta! Sildemund’s ears had pricked at that name. Epta was the young woman Dinbig had spoken of, Kemorlin’s daughter, the lover of both Prince Enlos and Dinbig himself. Then it was here, to Garsh, that she had been exiled. But who was the other, the baby, now twelve or thirteen?
The Elder nodded to an armed assistant stationed at the side of the chamber, who turned and departed via a door set behind the table at which they sat.
‘What’s going on here?’ whispered Sildemund to Dinbig, who was standing now beside him.
‘The past is slipping into the present,’ the Khimmurian replied, cryptically. ‘And we may be about to witness the future coming into being.’
All waited, no one spoke. The atmosphere in the chamber grew increasingly tense. Sildemund, raising himself on tip-toes, craned his neck in order to follow Dinbig’s suggestion that he see what design had been etched or stained on the surface of the table at which the Elders sat. But he could make out nothing. The light thrown by the candles was not enough, and though there were numerous flues around the walls, designed to draw smoke from the room, the air remained thick and gloomy. It had grown exceedingly warm. Sildemund’s mind worked feverishly – again, so much seemed to be happening that he could not understand. And still, something was pushing at his thoughts.
There was no meat. He feeds upon the life force of others…
And suddenly he had it. Or thought he had… A chill gripped his gut as he struggled to make sense of what was coming to him. He stared at the three Revenants, consumed with a new and growing fear.
He had to speak! He needed to tell someone, for the thoughts that were running through his mind now seemed close to delirium. Yet no matter how many times he viewed them, he was left with just a single conclusion.
Dinbig had moved away, stroking his beard and deep in contemplation. Barring Gully there was no one else to whom Sildemund could safely confide his thoughts. He edged close to Gully and whispered, ‘We must get away. Immediately!’
He saw Gully’s frown.
‘Don’t question it, Gully. Just help me.’ He managed to catch Dinbig’s eye and surreptitiously beckoned him across. As the Khimmurian drew close he said, in an urgent undertone, ‘The myth states that Sko-ulatun lives on the hearts of others in order to sustain his own existence, isn’t that so?’
The Khimmurian nodded.
‘And these Elders confirm that he feeds on the life of others. Yet they held him here, they say, for years. Why didn’t they let him die?’
Dinbig stared at him.
‘And what did they feed him on to sustain him?’
Before the Khimmurian could respond the door was flung open. A Revenant fighter rushed in, marching directly to the three Elders without acknowledging the illustrious foreign company assembled in the chamber. The fighter bent across the table and whispered. Sildemund became aware of shouting somewhere in the corridors outside the chamber.
The Elders rose as one. In a curious re-enactment of events just hours earlier in that very chamber, they ordered everyone out. ‘Return to you chambers immediately!’
Protests this time were more vocal than before. The Darch, in particular, saw this as a provocative and deeply worrying ploy to disregard the request they had made. But the Revenant guards were pushing forward heedlessly to clear the room. The few Darch and Tulmu soldiers looked to their leaders for directions. Prince Enlos yelled indignantly, ‘What’s this? We protest! What is happening?’
‘Go quietly, please, Prince Enlos,’ the crone replied, trying to calm the situation. ‘All of you. You’ll be safest in your chambers. You do not understand the gravity of what has happened. Sko-ulatun has returned. He is among us!’
~
There were renewed shouts, and increased noise from outside the room. The guards pressed forward. The three Elders were preparing to leave. One – the younger woman – had gathered up the bound Heart. Enlos, King Lalvi and the others remonstrated more loudly, unwilling to be confined again in conditions of extreme danger. Sildemund, angry, bewildered, pushed against a guard who was trying to force him back.
Suddenly, close by his side, there was a roar. Picadus, in an explosion of pent-up fury, had turned on a Revenant guard, catching him a swinging blow on the jaw and knocking him to the floor. As the guard fell, Picadus leapt on him and snatched his sabre. In rage, he turned and struck out at another.
Instantly, more guards, male and female, fell upon him. He reeled and, bellowing like a crazed bullock, slashed with the sabre. His position was hopeless, but blind with his fury he would not yield. Surrounded, he fought, swinging and striking, regardless of the wounds the guards were already inflicting on him.
‘Pic! No!’ Sildemund made to lunge forward to help his friend. As he did so, a powerful hand came from behind and clamped over his mouth. He was dragged back into the shadows of an alcove at the side of the room. Another arm fastened around his arms and chest to keep him still.
‘Hsst! This is our chance!’
The hand slipped from his mouth. He twisted his head around. ‘Gully!’
‘Quiet! There’s nothing we can do!’
The chamber was in uproar. No one had eyes for Sildemund. Picadus, shrieking, had taken down two more guards. Three others struck at him. He was streaked with blood. The main body of Revenant guards had moved in disciplined order to put themselves between the Tulmu and Darch royalty and the combat. They faced the Tulmu and Darch, weapons readied, but neither side made a move.
As Sildemund watched, Picadus was struck a blow on the side of his head. He staggered, blood appearing suddenly at his temple. His eyes rolled and a great shudder passed through his limbs. A second blade slashed into his chest and with a soft sigh he slid to the ground.
Sildemund felt Gully’s strong arm draw him back further into the alcove. ‘There’s a door here.’
In a daze he allowed his friend to pull him through the doorway, which Gully then pushed silently shut behind them. They were engulfed in dark. Sildemund leaned against a wall, struggling with himself, while Gully put his eye to a chink in the door. The hubbub outside gradually faded.
‘The chamber’s empty,’ Gully whispered.
‘Pic. Poor Pic.’
Gully took his shoulders. ‘There was nothing we could do. Do you think I would have left him, given a choice? It was already too late to intervene. We would have been cut down with him.’
Sildemund could hear the emotion in Gully’s voice. He nodded, in a welter of self-recrimination. ‘I know it, Gully. I know it.’
‘What now?’ said Gully, after a pause. ‘In the turmoil we’ve not been missed, but we will be.’
‘We have to regain the Heart.’
‘What?’
‘We’ve delivered it into the wrong hands, Gully. I’m sure of it. We must go after it – or I must.’
‘I’m with you, lad. You know that. But I’m confused.’
‘Me, too. But there’s no time for explanation.’ His eyes were adjusting to the dark. ‘What is this place?’
‘A storage cupboard, I think. Look, these are candles, here’s oil. There’s no other door.’
‘The Elders took the Heart. I think they’ve gone through the door in the far wall, at the back. That’s where we must go.’
‘There may be guards still in the chamber.’ Gully silently opened the door a crack. He peered out, then slipped stealthily through. Sildemund followed. The tall columns reaching to the ceiling loomed on either side. Gully crept forward to look around one. Sildemund did likewise with another. No guards were positioned in the recesses on the other side, and peering through the gloom across the chamber they could likewise see none stationed at the opposite wall. Close to where they stood, pools of blood coloured the floor. Bloody footprints and long smears evidenced the dragging of bodies to the main door.
‘I’d give much for a weapon,’ breathed Gully, wiping sweat from his brow.
Sildemund stepped out warily, then, glancing left and right, stole across the c
hamber towards the portal at the far wall. Passing the table where the three Revenant Elders had sat, he paused to glance down. He saw the emblem etched into the wooden surface: a serpent laid upon a tree. Could it be the same as that on the exigen cage that had originally held the Heart of Shadows? It was possible.
He moved on, Gully beside him. At the portal he pressed an ear to the timber. He heard nothing beyond, and eased the door open. A stone passage bore off for a short distance, then branched to left and right.
‘Which way?’ he said as they reached the junction.
Sildemund shook his head, listened. He thought he heard faint voices coming from somewhere to the right. He knew he had to pursue, to find where the Heart of Shadows had been taken. He made off with Gully close behind.
The passage widened, permitting a short stone stairway to lead down to the entrance to another passage, then up the other side to rejoin the way they were on. A carved stone balustrade ran along the narrowed upper passage, linking the two stairheads. The ceiling was much higher here, and daylight filtered in through a wide, mullioned window set in the wall high overhead, though it did little to relieve the overall dimness of the corridors. There was a heavy arched door facing them some way beyond the second stairhead.
Sildemund slipped past the stairs until he was able to look down at the passage entrance below. The feeble light failed to extend into the passage, which present a shadowed maw. Sildemund crouched, peering between the balusters, straining to see further into that dark. Though it was silent now, he was convinced he had heard something within the passage. A movement, as of something scuffling against the wall or floor. And the sound of a breath. He felt naked and vulnerable. Like Gully, he would have given almost anything to have been in possession of a weapon.
He indicated to Gully that they should explore the lower passage. He crept on, to the head of the second stairway which descended to the passage opening. Gully was already cautiously descending the first. The stairways were each of a dozen wide stone steps, curving slightly as they descended. On the third step Sildemund froze. There was a movement below, a faint blur of a shadow on the stone flags. Then the light scuffling sound again.
From the opening below them a figure stepped.
It was a man, but he came out half-crouching, then quickly straightened. Just for a split second Sildemund had the impression of a misshapen body, which seemed to meld into its proper form as it came into view. He put it down to a trick of light and shadow, playing on his eyes, for the figure now turned towards him, and he gave a gasp.
He knew this man. He could not believe it. He knew him well. He was of Volm, and had worked many times for Sildemund’s father, Master Atturio. Through his astonishment, Sildemund gave a relieved smile.
‘Jans!’
XXVII
Jans gazed up at him blankly.
‘Jans, what are you doing here?’
Jans seemed dazed, or possibly drugged or something, his look both vacant and penetrating. The way he held himself, his movements – was he in pain?
Again, Sildemund had the fleeting impression of physical distortion, of unfamiliarity. It was as though Jans’s muscles, limbs, bones were shifting, modifying, trying to find a comfortable position. But the face was Jans’s, and though Sildemund half-consciously felt a tremor of deep unease, he barely assimilated it, so overcome was he with surprise and pleasure at seeing Jans here in this most unlikely of locations.
‘Jans, don’t you know me? It’s me, Sildemund.’
Jans’s gaze became focused, as though he had snapped now into awareness. His eyes searched Sildemund with an eager gleam. Their expression belied the broad smile that spread across his face. Sildemund tensed with sudden apprehension.
‘Ah, Sildemund. Yes, how are you?’
He began to mount the stairs.
Without knowing quite why, Sildemund backed away a step. From the opposite stairway Gully spoke. ‘And me, Jans. I’m here, too.’
Jans, who had been unaware of the presence of another, turned to face him, poised with one foot raised on the second stair.
‘Is something the matter, Jans?’ queried Gully. ‘Do you not know me, either?’
‘I do, of course.’
‘It’s me, your old friend Edric.’
‘Yes, Edric,’ said Jans in a voice queerly pitched. ‘It’s so good to see you. I’m sorry, I’m not well.’
With a motion of his head Gully warned Sildemund back, though Sildemund had already retreated to the top of the stairway. Jans turned back. ‘Sildemund, where are you going?’
Sildemund made no reply. On the opposite stairway Gully was also backing swiftly to the top.
‘Sildemund, wait,’ said Jans. ‘I want to talk to you.’
Again he moved towards Sildemund.
‘Sil, he’s not Jans!’ warned Gully.
Jans cast a reproachful glance over his shoulder. ‘Edric, what to you say? I’m Jans. Of course I am. Can’t you see?’
‘I see, yes. I see something that resembles and claims to be Jans, but isn’t. Why else would you believe me, who you’ve known for many years, to be Edric, who you’ve also known, and who you know to be dead these past weeks?’
Jans’s lips curled. Sudden, scalding ire flashed in his eyes. He vented a scathing hiss and, spinning, lunged towards Sildemund. As he did so his form began to alter.
‘Sil, run!’ yelled Gully.
Sildemund was already making for the arched door at the other end of the passage. The thought loomed large that he should have gone back, along the way they had come, for this door might be locked. Even if it were not, he had no idea what lay beyond. But he heard a blood-curdling snarl to his rear and knew there was no way back.
He reached the door, twisted the iron ring. To his relief it gave. He threw his weight against it, half-fell through. As he made to heave the door closed he saw Jans almost upon him. But it was no longer Jans. Vestiges of Jans’s features still clung to the face, savage and incensed, bloated, metamorphosing right before Sildemund’s eyes. It was a travesty now, a grotesque caricature. Snout and jaw were pushing sickeningly through the flesh. Naked bone, bloody sinew, muscles and hair commingled in a chaos of derangement.
The body no longer mimicked the human. It was half-transformed, a fleet, bounding thing, big but spindly, and in its current state, clumsy. The corrupted remains of hands were still identifiable at the extremities of the forelimbs, which stumbled and skidded as their bone-structure altered.
This was Sko-ulatun.
Sildemund glimpsed Gully in the passage beyond. He was some paces from the stairs, in pursuit of Sildemund and Jans. But he froze now, for just an instant, taking in what they faced. Then he signalled frantically to Sildemund, and turned and ran to the stairs and down.
Sildemund rammed the door shut. As he thrust home the heavy iron bolt to secure it, Sko-ulatun cannoned into the other side. Sildemund leapt back, horrified to see that a single blow had splintered the heavy timbers. Within a minute at most, Sko-ulatun would be through.
‘Gully, Gully, keep safe!’ whispered Sildemund. Sko-ulatun bellowed, and pummelled again on the door. Sildemund took consolation that Gully would have time to put distance between them.
The blows on the door resounded through the stone passages, the door shaking, gradually shattering. Sildemund turned to take stock of his surroundings. He was in a wide corridor which ran to left and right, set with statues and columns. There were several doors and side-passages in sight. He made off, impelled by his mounting fear, randomly choosing the third opening and hoping to save himself in the labyrinth of passageways.
He sprinted up a curving stairway, raced along more corridors. Sko-ulatun’s hammering and howling grew dimmer as stone walls came between them. Now it faded altogether. Sildemund halted a moment, catching his breath, listening. Was his pursuer through the door, racing after him even now through the corridors? Or had he abandoned the door, turned and made off after Gully? Sildemund became aware of the eerie emptine
ss of his surroundings. He had seen no one since leaving the chamber of candles. It was as if Garsh had been suddenly abandoned.
He pushed himself on. A little way ahead the corridor terminated at another double door. He listened, heard nothing, and opened it cautiously. He stepped into a spacious room, its walls hung with rich tapestries and drapes. Repeated on several of these was the same emblem, or variations on it, that he had seen on the table in the chamber of candles: the serpent and tree.
There was no one in the room but in the moment that he entered Sildemund thought to glimpse, at the edge of his vision, a blur of movement, a swish of red and brown robes, a figure passing swiftly through an arch set in one wall. He would have made straight for the arch, but his eyes fell upon the object in the centre of the room, and he hesitated. A low slab of striated marble was set upon the floor there. On this was a bundle bound in rough, travel-stained cloth.
Sildemund’s skin crawled. His innards constricted as, slowly, he stepped towards the Heart of Shadows.
His mind bristled with questions. Why had it been left here? Why was it unguarded? What was he to do with it?
He stood before it, transfixed. It had to be kept from Sko-ulatun, he knew that. Yet he had brought it to Garsh, had been compelled to bring it, for that purpose. And now, having delivered it into the hands of the Revenants of Claine, he feared he had achieved the very opposite. They had kept Sko-ulatun here. They had kept him alive! Why? What were they concealing? What were their true aims?
He stared down at the soiled bundle on the slab. Doubts and questions swarmed like demented things. He could not think clearly. He was alone, more than ever, and faced with a decision that would be the most fateful he could ever make. There was no one to turn to, no one to ask advice of.
And there was no time for consideration.
He reached down and gathered up the Heart.