The Burning Kingdoms
Page 16
Tash ran her hand over the ground. All she wanted to do was marvel at the beauty of the plateau. She lay back and stared up at the stars, wept silently, and eventually slept.
It was still dark when Tash woke, chilled to the bone.
“At least it’s not that horrible total black-dark. This is the lightest dark possible,” she muttered. “And muttering to yourself isn’t a sign of madness. It’s just a sign of . . . being a normal, talkative type of person. I’d talk to the trees if I could. Shitting shits, I’m cold.”
She got to her feet and jumped around to get warm. “Need to make a fire. Then get some water and food. Then . . .”
But she wasn’t sure what would come after that.
“Who cares? Fire first.”
Tash set off, picking up old dried branches and some moss that was good to get the fire going. She found a stream nearby and drank and washed her face. As she walked, she noticed a faint red glow in a slight depression in the ground ahead of her. She froze. A demon hollow?
Then she realized what it was and smiled.
“I’ve walked in a circle. It’s my demon hollow. I made that.”
She started the fire and wondered if someone might see it. Brigantines or Pitorians. Geratan maybe? But she could see no other fires anywhere. The only light was from the stars and moon.
She lay by the fire, warm at last. “Tomorrow is for setting traps for food. Easy enough when I’m rested.” And she closed her eyes and slept again.
The next time Tash woke, the sky was a pale blue and the sun was over the treetops. Her fire was out, but she was lying in a pool of sunlight. It felt wonderful to have the warmth of the sun on her skin. She got up and stretched—oh, the joy of stretching. That would never get old.
Her stomach made a loud, groaning noise. She hadn’t been this hungry in a long time. She’d have to set some rabbit traps and then go and get her bearings—where exactly was she?
Food first.
She made traps, set them, and started her fire up again, then sat by it, looking over to her demon hollow. It was still there, still glowing faintly red. She had thought it might close—after all, there was no demon alive to keep it open. Somehow, though, it was staying open for her. It was her tunnel, her demon hollow.
But I’m not a demon.
At that thought, Tash looked at her own skin to check.
Definitely human.
But the demon hollow—her hollow—was still there.
There’s a wisp of smoke still in me. That’s why. I’ve still got a bit of demon smoke deep inside that came out of the demon when he was dying. It was heading back to the core of the demon world, but somehow some of it got left behind.
Tash turned away from the hollow. “I may have a bit of demon in me, but I’m not a demon. I’m human. I don’t belong in there. I belong up here in the human world.”
She thought of the human world farther south. Civilization. She really should go back there, back to civilization.
“I should get a job, food . . . a bed to sleep in.” She picked at the worn leather of her shoes. “New boots. The ones I wanted in Dornan. The most beautiful boots in all the world.”
Though now she thought about it, Tash no longer wanted the boots. She wasn’t sure what she did want, other than to sit here by her fire and do nothing.
It was a beautiful spot. The stream was clear and gentle, forming a lovely pool just right for bathing in. It was similar to a pool she’d bathed in last summer, with two flat boulders, one submerged so that you could sit on it comfortably in the water, the other out of the water for drying on. She could do with a good wash now. It would be the perfect place. She got up and went to the pool.
As Tash approached, she could see the two boulders weren’t similar; they were exactly the same shape as the pool she remembered.
Is it the same one?
Impossible, surely.
Of all the millions of places to emerge on the surface of the Northern Plateau, she’d come out at a place she’d been to before?
But it did look exactly the same.
If it’s the same place, then . . .
Tash turned round and walked to the west and, within a short distance, she found what she was looking for. It was partly filled in, one side collapsed, but two of the sides were straight. It was a demon pit that Gravell had dug.
She walked back to her demon hollow and realized it was where she and Gravell had made their campfire. The same spot where they’d sat and talked and . . . and it was the place she’d imagined when she was tunneling.
The tunnel hadn’t just brought her out to the Northern Plateau—it had brought her out to the very spot she’d been imagining.
The exact same spot.
“Shits.”
That’s amazing. I mean, moving rock is amazing, but moving rock so you can travel wherever you want to be—that is really amazing.
And now Tash had another idea.
If I think of Twist, can I tunnel to him?
She wanted to see Twist. He was the one demon who had tried to help her and she knew he hadn’t wanted her to be encased in stone.
“But Twist will probably be with all the other demons who do want me encased in stone. Not that they can do that to me again, ha ha. Not now that I’m the queen of tunneling.”
But they might not encase her in stone next time. Next time . . .
They might just pull my head off.
Tash knew she should forget about the demon world and head south.
I should get a job, a safe job, with money and . . . and. But I don’t want that. I want to see Twist. I want to learn about the demon world.
She looked back to her demon hollow. Frost, the girl she’d seen down in the demon world, seemed to know it better than anyone—at least, anyone else human. Tash wanted to know about her as well, and why she was helping the Brigantines.
I wonder if she can make tunnels too. But she’ll be with lots of Brigantines, who aren’t noted for being any nicer than demons, so I can’t really ask.
Tash began pacing up and down. She wanted to test her skills. But how?
She stopped pacing.
“Simple. I head to the central core. Once I’m there, I can decide about Frost or Twist or just leaving for good. But first I have to see if I can really do this.”
EDYON
ABASK, CALIDOR
EDYON HAD remained hidden behind the chair in Regan’s room, crouched and fearful, long after Hunt and Birtwistle had left. Regan took time over his ablutions, blew out the candles, and went to bed, but it was only when he was snoring lightly that Edyon dared to carefully push the chair forward, crawl out from behind it, and creep to the door. Edyon did not immediately go to his father to report the conversation he’d overheard. Instead, he returned to his own room.
Why didn’t he report the treason immediately? Well, in truth, Edyon had a feeling his father wouldn’t believe him. And he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. The whole incident seemed unreal, and this feeling of unreality wasn’t helped by the fact he had been more than a little drunk when he’d hidden behind the chair. Edyon left it a day, and then another, and with time, the more the whole event seemed more unreal and the more he began to wonder if he’d misheard, or misinterpreted, or indeed imagined the whole thing.
Birtwistle’s castle home was the last stop on the tour, so Edyon had some time to decide what to do, but time was running out. He asked his father one day, with practiced casualness, “Do you trust Lord Regan?”
“Absolutely,” Thelonius replied without hesitation. “He is my oldest friend and confidant. I would trust him with my life, and I did trust him with yours. Why do you ask?”
Edyon could only look away. “No particular reason.”
What he needed was proof. Something he could show his father so it wouldn’t just be his word against Regan’s.
The irony was that Edyon could understand some of the motives of the plotters—they believed Edyon was illegitimate, which was true. He himself had not been able to lie about his parents’ being married, and yet Regan had been pushed by Thelonius into perjuring himself.
Then, of course, there was the issue of money. Edyon had learned from the chancellor that all the lords had been taxed severely to finance the building of the huge border walls. Regan, Hunt, and Birtwistle had been taxed most and continued to pay. And, finally, there was the issue of the aid to Pitoria, and thus also the issue that Edyon himself, their king-to-be, was half-Pitorian.
However, none of this was reason enough for a coup nor could it excuse murder. And the traitors were with Edyon and his father every day and every evening. Edyon watched them closely, listened to them speak, and observed their mannerisms. He wondered if he could draw them out in discussions, but they were all careful to talk only of defending Calidor and supporting, if weakly, any decision Thelonius made.
The tour had progressed to the border wall and they rode westward along the southern side of it, camping beneath its looming presence for a night. The wall was, as everyone had promised, impressive. Even Edyon could see that a lot of men and a lot of money had been needed to construct it. The huge, first wall was formidable, the ditch wide and deep, and the far wall thick and solid.
Edyon woke early and lay on his bed, thinking about the traitors, the wall, Aloysius, and, indeed, his whole life. He recalled Madame Eruth’s foretelling: This is the crossroads. Your future divides here. There is a journey, a difficult one, to far lands and riches, or to pain, suffering, and death.
He’d chosen a path, and, after much time with death all around him, he was now in a land of riches. But was death just the other side of the wall? Was death around him in the form of the traitors?
Madame Eruth had also foretold a handsome foreign man. Where was he now? Where was March?
Edyon couldn’t stay in bed any longer. He rose and climbed to the top of the wall.
“No sign of the boy army yet?” Byron asked as he joined Edyon in the early morning light.
Edyon shook his head. “Brigant’s a lot less forbidding than I’d anticipated. I expected to look over the wall and see . . . oh, I don’t know, half-starved people and barren fields.” He gazed at the rolling green fields on the Brigantine side. “But will the wall do its job? Imagine an army of boys running toward us, Byron. Would they be able to scale these walls and attack our army?”
Byron’s gaze followed Edyon’s. “It wouldn’t be easy. Even with smoke. And once you’re in the ditch, you’re vulnerable, a sitting target. Of course, that doesn’t mean the Brigantines won’t try it.”
Edyon knew he was right. Death was there to the north, but, turning to look at his father’s camp, he saw Regan and Hunt walking together, and he had a feeling that death was there too.
The royal tour left the camp and headed into the rugged territory of Abask. As they threaded their way up the jagged mountains, Edyon tried to take it all in. There were stunning views back down the valley, a series of waterfalls with the faint colors of a rainbow in the mist at the bottom. But there were no people, no villages, not even any proper roads.
“So, what do you think of your land, Edyon?” Thelonius asked as he rode beside him.
“It’s very beautiful,” Edyon replied.
“Beautiful and empty. I know you think I feel nothing for the Abasks who were here, Edyon. But I do. This was their home, and they fought hard and died for it. They were a brave people.”
Edyon nodded but didn’t know what to say. It was true—March was perhaps the bravest person he’d ever known.
“During the last war, the Abask people were trapped here, surrounded by the Brigantine army. They clung on as long as they could, until the Brigantines overwhelmed them, killing most and taking the ones left alive as slaves. There were so many Brigantines—they’d trapped us in Calia. But at least we still had routes out via the sea. The Abasks didn’t even have that.” Thelonius added, “We could have fled, of course, but I’ll never leave.”
Edyon remembered what March had told him about Abask. The Brigantine army had killed many, but what had defeated the Abasks was hunger. This had been their land; they’d not fled either. They’d been killed or taken. That was true of March too.
Thelonius continued, “I received news last night from our spies in Brigant. They report that the main Brigantine army is still in the north, and they have no significant troops to the south. My assessment is that the ships they are massing will attack Pitoria, and the Brigantine ground troops will strike there too.”
“I’m glad you sent them the ships.”
“Let’s hope Tzsayn can make use of them.”
“And what if Aloysius defeats the Pitorians and turns on us?”
“We’ll be ready for him. The ports are protected. The north wall is well fortified. Even with all its might, the Brigantine army will struggle to breach it.”
“And what of the boy army? What of their powers when they have the smoke?”
“They will be formidable. You’ve shown us that, Edyon. Lord Darby reports that the Pitorians are sending men to disrupt the production of demon smoke. We can only hope they are successful.”
“Didn’t Lord Darby say that the boy army was in the south of Brigant?”
“The Pitorians believe some of these boys’ brigades are. I’ve had various reports and it seems some are in the south—actually not far from here, just over the border.” Perhaps seeing the look of concern on Edyon’s face, Thelonius said dismissively, “But they aren’t an army—they need a leader and a real man’s army behind them. They have neither.”
“But wasn’t the latest rumor that Harold—”
“Harold is a boy. Younger than you and just as inexperienced. He’s no leader. He’s no Boris, no Aloysius. I’d be delighted if he was in charge. I hear he’s fond of fashion and changes his hairstyle daily.”
Edyon brushed his hand with a small feeling of shame over the new, rather showy, velvet jacket he’d put on that morning. “But won’t he have advisers who do have experience?”
“Yes, Edyon, and he’ll learn in time, as you will. But for now, he’s just a boy.”
So that was how Thelonius thought of Edyon. Just a boy? At times that was all he felt like. A boy trailing along, following his father, a man who had been a stranger to him until recently and often still seemed like a stranger. And how could he tell this man that his oldest friend was plotting against him? It would sound ludicrous.
When they reached a confluence of two rivers, they stopped and made camp for the night. Tables were laid out with wine and food. The warm light from the setting sun gave everything a golden glow. Edyon stood by the water, watching the sun fall behind the mountain. The camp lanterns began to shine out.
Again, Byron joined him, saying, “Abask really is surprising. There is beauty everywhere I look.”
Edyon glanced at Byron, catching his eye for what seemed like a long moment. Does he mean me? Is Byron flirt-ing with me? Edyon couldn’t help but smile. No! Don’t be ridiculous.
Byron continued, “Will you make a home here? Castle Edyon? It could be stunning.”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps. But everything here is so . . . so empty. There’s not a village, not even a house left standing from when the Abasks were here.”
“They all lived in mud huts,” Regan said, joining them and immediately dispelling whatever flirtation might have been in the air.
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Byron muttered to Edyon.
“They were a primitive bunch. Inbreds,” Regan continued.
; “I’m not so sure about that either,” Byron muttered again, and more loudly he replied, “My father has much respect for them, Lord Regan.”
“Does he now? And have you met any Abasks yourself, Byron?”
“Um, no.”
“Alas, I have . . . as I said, evil-looking inbreds.”
Regan looked at Edyon as if waiting for him to admit to knowing at least one Abask. Edyon had never wanted to punch anyone so badly before.
“Still, it’s certainly an impressive location,” Regan continued. “It would be a magnificent place for a castle. And it’s not so impractical. It’s only two days’ ride to Calia if you go over the pass. And you could have the roads improved. The land in the river valleys is fertile for farming. There are plenty of forests for wood, for hunting. There’s also some old copper, tin, and silver mines, which could be reopened.”
It almost sounded like Regan was planning on taking Abask for himself when his plot came to fruition.
“It’s a huge amount of work. And a huge amount of money,” Edyon said, wondering if Regan would say more.
Byron added, “But it could be wonderful. Perhaps you could utilize the mountainside to create waterfalls, pools, and gardens.”
Edyon nodded. “They might even surpass Lord Regan’s fountains and terraces.”
“That would be a commendable venture, Your Highness,” Regan replied. “I could see that this would be a place of wonder.”
Yes, but who do you imagine living here? Me or you?
And then it seemed Regan couldn’t resist adding, “It certainly would be a wonderful place for you and your family to live—a wonderful place for your children to grow up. Your wife would be a lucky woman indeed.”
Edyon pasted a pleasant smile on his face. “She would be. Though I’ve yet to find the right woman for me.”
“The chancellor is keen to help,” Regan said. “He’s already drawing up a list of potential wives for your father to review.”
“Well, I’ll make my own choices. And I won’t be picking off a list.”
I won’t be picking at all.