Pilgrim

by Sara Douglass

  In the shadows the two indistinct white shapes of the donkeys shifted. They were disturbed and uncertain, and they were not quite sure why. They did not trust the blandness of Askam’s eyes, nor the similar blandness in the eyes of the men and horses he’d led back to Zared’s camp.

  “Carlon!” a joyful voice rang out from the ranks behind him, and Zared grinned, as relieved and as happy as his command.

  “Carlon,” he said, and let his eyes roam over the rising pink walls before them.

  Then he quickly checked the sun. Noon. They had two hours to ford the Nordra at the crossing north of Grail Lake and get inside. Not long enough. Perhaps a third of his force—and, of course, the Strike Force who could happily wing the distance—could get inside the city gates by mid-afternoon.

  Zared sighed, and turned about to issue orders to Gustus and his other captains. Most would camp on the eastern banks of the Nordra, but perhaps ten or eleven thousand could safely make the dash for the city before despair closed in.

  “Leagh,” Zared said as Gustus spurred his horse away, “do you mind?”

  “No,” she smiled, and reached out for his hand. “We will wait for the afternoon. A few hours will do us no harm.”

  Several ranks behind them, Askam smiled.

  Zared sent the Strike Force ahead, then gave the order for seven thousand, including those still wounded, to make the push across the ford and then into Carlon. As the remainder of his force busied themselves erecting the shade cloths for what they hoped would be the last time, Zared stood on the banks of the river, Leagh beside him.

  “It looks so beautiful,” she said, and leaned against her husband.

  Zared nodded. “See? People wave from the walls.”

  Perhaps several score of the Carlonese had lined the walls, waving banners and faint smudges of hands. They were too far away for their voices and cheers to reach Zared’s and Leagh’s ears, but they could hear them in their hearts.

  As the first of the men from Zared’s force crossed the river and spurred towards the city, the gates swung open.

  “Safe,” Zared said again. “I have brought you home safe.”

  The mid-afternoon hour seemed to drag forever. All who yet waited on the eastern banks of the Nordra shifted impatiently; horses loaded with gear were ready to be urged across the river and into Carlon the moment despair had evaporated.

  From a small gap in the pink walls a patchy-bald rat stared across the distance to the waiting army.

  More two-legs. Well, all the more to sate his hunger. The patchy-bald rat couldn’t wait for the badger to get here. Couldn’t wait for the feast to begin.

  A thin drool of saliva ran out from between its yellowed fangs and trickled down to its claws. In the blink of an eye, the rat scampered down a drain set into the walls.

  Down to the sewers under the city.

  Zared hoped the three hours between mid-afternoon and dusk would be enough to get everyone safe within the walls. He did not fancy spending another night in the open when shelter sat so close.

  A few paces away from Zared and Leagh, the white donkeys dozed, their heads nodding with the weight of their thoughts.

  The instant it was safe, men leapt to the poles and shade cloths, pulling them down haphazardly and parceling them up into rough bundles.

  There would be no need to use them that night.

  Zared mounted his horse. “Gustus, will you watch Leagh? I need to be—”

  “I will watch her,” Askam broke in. “You need Gustus with you, and I will be sure to bring Leagh safely home.”

  Zared hesitated, but Leagh smiled and took her brother’s arm. “I will be safe enough with Askam, Zared.”

  Zared looked from one to the other, and then nodded. He did need Gustus at something other than nursemaid duty, and watching Leagh would keep Askam out of mischief.

  “Then watch her as if your soul depended on it,” Zared said, and Askam inclined his head.

  “As if my soul depended on it,” he agreed, then took Leagh’s hand and led her towards her horse.

  For the next two hours Zared’s full attention was given to the mechanics and logistics of getting tens of thousands of men and horses and mules across the ford and then into Carlon without clogging river, road or streets.

  Rank after rank of men urged horses and supply mules into the muddied waters, and then up the far bank and onto the road for Carlon. The muscles of man and beast alike, still frozen from the icy waters of the river, shuddered with the effort of pulling body weight and supply bundles up the western bank and then through the increasingly trampled road surface. Dust rose in a cloud along the road to Carlon, men and beasts obscured by the murkiness thrown up by the host of hastening hooves and feet.

  “Leagh?” Zared shouted as he saw Askam leading a column of men and horses down into the Nordra.

  She waved as Askam nodded. A faint cry reached Zared’s ears, but he could not distinguish words, and within the instant both Leagh’s and Askam’s horses had plunged into the Nordra. Zared felt sick, remembering the near tragedy of the Azle crossing, but the Nordra was shallower and less angry than that river had been, and Leagh’s mare retained her footing easily.

  “She will be safe,” Herme murmured at Zared’s side, and Zared nodded unhappily.

  “I will not relax until she, as all my command, rests safely under Carlon’s eaves,” he said, and checked the horizon. Already the sun was sinking low into the clouds of dust—now even Carlon was obscured—and they had perhaps an hour left before they must all be safely sheltered.

  Herme noticed the direction of Zared’s eyes, and he checked the remaining units on their side of the Nordra.

  “Perhaps eight hundred men left,” he said. “Sire, you must think about leaving yourself.”

  “Not until the last of the men is on his way,” Zared replied, then he grinned. “Look! The donkeys guard our rear.”

  Indeed, it seemed as if that was what the donkeys did. They had positioned themselves at the very rear of the final column, but facing eastwards, as if they feared an attack from the rear.

  Zared’s grin faded. “What are they?” he whispered.

  “Our friends,” Herme responded quietly, “and that is all we need to know.”

  Within twenty minutes the last column had braved the ford, and Zared, Herme and Gustus—Theod having gone on earlier—pushed their horses into the water.

  Behind them, the two donkeys plunged in as well.

  Within a heartbeat Zared felt the icy water creep up to his thighs, and felt his horse falter as the current caught. But it found its footing surely enough, and pushed forwards, and within minutes Zared felt the water cascade away from their bodies as the horse leaned into the slope of the western bank.

  “Home!” Zared shouted joyfully, and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. It needed no encouragement.

  The final few hundred men, Zared, Herme, Gustus and the two donkeys at their rear, galloped for the city, racing to reach its gates before the sun sank below the horizon.

  “Home!” Zared screamed, and the cry was taken up about and before him.

  “Home! Home! Home!” men screamed, and then the shadow of the walls embraced them, and Zared heard the gates groan and then thunder closed behind the donkeys.

  “Home safe,” he cried, and waved at the cheering crowd overjoyed to have him home. “Home safe.”

  “Theod!” Zared clapped the man on the shoulder, still suffused with the joy of bringing virtually his entire command safe into Carlon’s shelter and not noticing the man’s frown. “Theod. Did Leagh go straight to the palace?”

  “Zared,” Theod stumbled. “I thought she and Askam were riding with you.”

  A coldness such as he’d never known before crept through Zared’s entire existence. “Where is Leagh?”

  “I thought she was with you!” Theod repeated in a whisper, his face white.

  Zared stared at him a moment longer, then spun for the gates. “Leagh!”

&nbs
p; “No!” Theod screamed, and grabbed at Zared’s arm. “Night falls. See?”

  Zared paid him no heed.

  “Leagh,” he screamed, and it took five men to drag him away from the exposed air of the street and into a nearby shop as twilight fell over the city.

  “Leagh!”

  “Why, why, why?” she cried, twisting in the grip of a brother she no longer knew.

  As they had ridden for the city, and under cover of the dust haze, Askam had seized the reins of her horse and, surrounded by the men he’d led back from the wilderness, had kicked their horses into the shelterless fields north of Carlon.

  Now they milled about as dusk swept in from the east, the safety of the city a useless half-league to the south.

  “Why?” she cried, too confused to be scared. Yet.

  Askam let his madness reveal itself in his smile, and though it was his voice that answered, he spoke with the words of the brown and cream badger.

  “Welcome to the new Tencendor, my dear. I am sure you will be a useful addition to our company.”

  Leagh opened her mouth to say something, but just then the corruption of dusk swept over them, and a thin whimper was all that issued from her mouth.

  Pestilence raged, bubbling through the minds and souls of all those exposed.

  For one horrible brief moment of sanity, Leagh understood her fate, and understood that she had been betrayed by her brother.

  One hand clutched uselessly at the air, and she opened her mouth for one final, despairing shriek.

  But no sound came forth. Madness ravaged her mind and tore her soul to pieces, and Leagh stared blindly into insanity.

  Then, quietly, she began to babble, her fingers itching madly at her belly.

  31

  The Fun of the Blooding

  For several days Caelum and his parents climbed ever higher into the Icescarp Alps. The climb was hard, the cold wretched, and the lack of food debilitating—what game may have once existed on the sides of the mountains had apparently disappeared—yet all these discomforts paled into insignificance when compared to the constant sweeping shadow of the Hawkchilds far above them.

  The three tried to ignore them as they climbed, but it was hard to drive the shadow and the intermittent whispering and hissing laughter from their minds.

  They spent each night huddled in frigid caves or under draughty overhangs, clinging close to each other and the hounds for warmth.

  On the fourth night, they had found a slightly more substantial cave. It had been formed from a fault in the rock, and stretched some twelve paces back into the cliff face, and was at least five paces wide and five high. There was room enough for all to curl up at the rear of the cave, a mass of arms and legs and furred bodies, out of the draught that eddied in from the narrow mouth.

  No-one had spent much time on conversation after they’d stumbled in and checked the cave for any dangers that might be lurking there. Axis had just nodded tiredly once he was certain the cave was as safe a shelter as they’d find that night, and had then sunk down to the dirt, pushing aside some of the cave rubble to make himself a reasonably flat space in which to sleep. Azhure and Caelum lay down on either side of him, and then the hounds snuffled and scratched and turned about in ever-tighter circles, finally dropping down as close to the three as they could.

  It was as much comfort and warmth as any could expect.

  Once settled, no-one spoke. All were too hungry and cold and tired to be able to conjure anything vaguely cheerful in the way of words, and there was no use speaking the pessimism that gripped all their minds.

  Outside the darkness deepened, and the cave lost all form in the gathering night.

  Axis wondered where the Hawkchilds spent the nights. Did they cling to the rock face outside the cave entrance, like gigantic bats protecting their nest? Or did they spend the entire night spiralling ever higher in the joy of their masters’ expanding destruction? Waiting for the morning, and for the pale faces and forms of their prey to peek out from the cave, and emerge to creep ever higher into the mountains?

  When would they attack? Axis did not think it would be very long, for he, Azhure and Caelum were growing weaker, and soon would not be able to defend themselves from an irate millipede, let alone the Hawkchilds’ spiteful wrath. He sighed, irritated with himself. None of them could afford to even contemplate defeat. And yet, did he have the strength to go on fighting? How much would Tencendor demand of him?

  Azhure leaned in tight under Axis’ arm, wishing she could give him more comfort. She remembered how he’d once provided them with magical fires to warm them the last time they’d traversed these mountain paths. She lifted her head slightly, and glanced into Axis’ eyes, and wondered if he, too, remembered.

  Stars! How she wished she could enjoy her power again, if only so she could revel in the intimacy of sharing Axis’ every thought.

  Azhure dropped her gaze and clung as tightly to her husband as she could. Behind her Sicarius and his mate, FortHeart, pressed their warm backs against hers. Azhure briefly scratched Sicarius’ head, then relaxed, and slipped into a dreamless sleep. A few minutes later Axis, too, slipped into sleep.

  Caelum, already deep in sleep on Axis’ other side, was not so fortunate. Again and again that night DragonStar hunted him through forest and plain. But in the fifth visitation, the dream hunt took on a different aspect.

  Caelum found himself running through a maze, trapped by walls that rose three paces above his head and stopped his headlong flight again and again with their frightful blank dead-ends. Behind him echoed the sounds of the hunt. Again and again Caelum found himself having to retrace his steps, certain each time that he would retreat directly into the jaws of the hunt, trying to find an escape from the twisting, confusing paths.

  Every time, just as he was sure he’d found a straight run, it would curve into yet another cul-de-sac. And every time he ran into the blank, mocking wall, he thought he heard the faint sounds of laughter behind him.

  The sound of the hunt closed. Caelum could feel, if not yet see, DragonStar urging his great black horse forwards, could feel it as his brother raised his arm and steadied the sword.

  Could hear his breath come quick with excitement and the lust of the hunt, could feel its fevered warmth at his back.

  Caelum’s entire body tightened as he dreamed, and Axis murmured in his own sleep, as yet not disturbed enough to wake.

  One of the hounds whimpered, and curled into a tighter ball.

  Suddenly Caelum stopped, leaning heavily on a wall with one hand, his breath heaving in and out of his throat. What was he doing? Why was he running? DragonStar would eventually find him, whatever Caelum did to try and evade him, and it was surely better to turn and face him with what courage he had left than continue to waste his energy on flight.

  For the first time, for the very first time since this horror had started months ago, all fear left Caelum.

  Its sudden absence left him feeling exhilarated. Why hadn’t he done this before? Embraced his fate, instead of running from it?

  He straightened, and his breathing steadied. He dropped his hand from the wall, and turned to face the way he’d come.

  The sound of the hunt pounded closer. Now that his own breathing was calmer, Caelum heard the laboured breath of the closing horses.

  He felt the pavement tremble under his feet.

  Caelum carried no weapon—either the dream or fate would not allow it—and so he just stood, the tension of months of uselessness draining from his muscles, and waited.

  A quiet joy filled him.

  There was a howl from the way he’d just come, and then the dark shadow of the Hawkchilds as they swept low overhead.

  Trapped! He’s trapped!

  And just standing, resigned, the weak fool!

  “Resigned?”

  The voice filtered about the turn of the Maze before Caelum.

  “Resigned?”

  And for the first time Caelum heard a measure of uncerta
inty in the voice. It was a dream of many firsts, he decided, and smiled.

  And then a third time—

  “Resigned?”

  A long shadow moved on the pavement before him. Again it moved, and then again, and then DragonStar rode his horrid beast about the corner…at an extremely careful and controlled walk.

  Whatever the black beast had once started out as, it no longer resembled a horse. It had four stout legs, with four rippling talon-tipped paws to tread on. Its body was twice as long as a horse’s, and had only a waggling stump where its tail had once been. The head of the horse was gone, replaced with a gigantic eel’s head at the end of a lithe, snaking neck.

  Caelum stared at it, wondering that it engendered no fear in him.

  Then he raised his eyes—and sorrow enveloped him.

  DragonStar sat the beast, his black armour absorbing all light. His visor was raised, and Caelum saw that his brother’s thin, lined face was remarkably sensuous when it was enlivened with power.

  DragonStar was smiling.

  He raised his right arm, and in his hand Caelum saw that he held a great sword of light, its hilt guard a mass of writhing serpents that twisted about hilt and DragonStar’s wrist alike.

  “Fool,” DragonStar hissed. “Why don’t you run?”

  And Caelum said to him what he needed most to hear himself. “I forgive you.”

  DragonStar screamed, and dug his heels into his beast’s flanks. It cried with the warbling voice of a bird, and lunged forward.

  The sword arced through the air.

  Caelum did not move, nor even flinch. “I forgive you,” he repeated.

  “I do not need forgiveness!” DragonStar screamed, and the sword whistled down through the air and sliced deep into Caelum’s chest.

  Yet even as he felt his lungs and then mouth fill with blood, even as the face of his tormentor filled his eyes, Caelum finally came to an understanding. That face beneath the helmet was like, but unlike, his brother.