Across the Face of the World (51 page)

here the speech in the Square of Rainbows, there the Water of Life raised to his lips - though had he taken time to notice, he might have remarked on the total absence of dust on the hang¬ings, which spoke either of a fastidious chatelaine or their recent rescue from some storage cellar.

'Set the fire in the grate,' he commanded; and the Factor of Malayu, without equal in his huge province, bent like a servant to obey his lord's will.

'My lord,' ventured one of his aides, 'the sacred flame is set down in—'

'Yet I choose to consecrate the blue fire here,' came the soft reply. 'Here. Do you object?

There are others who would take your place.'

'No, lord, I do not object,' came the firm reply. If there was a formula for survival in the retinue of the Lord of Darkness, it was found in the avoidance of overt displays of either weakness or strength. The aide judged that his reply would suffice, though he kept that thought half-formed in the back of his mind, for the Undying Man could scoop out a man's thoughts as easily as skim¬ming scum from the surface of a stagnant pond.

'Bring my pouch. I will conduct the ceremony myself.' In a moment, the pouch lay open in his hand. It was a repository of efficacious chemicals, nothing more, though few apart from himself knew of their origins. There, that pale yellow liquid carefully stop¬pered in a vial had been extracted from alpine herbs found on the slopes of the Aldhras Mountains, and the only people who knew its secret had died centuries ago. And there, far more sinister, was the pink powder omat, a mixture of a mildly hallucinogenic mush¬room and dried human blood. It was the manner in which the blood was obtained that made omat rare. That secret was still known in many places in Bhrudwo; the Destroyer could not dispose of everyone.

But it was from another vial the Undying Man took a pinch of blue powder, and the provenance of this none but he knew. He had not bothered to give it a name. In truth, it did little more than make the passage of his magic easier. For what these fools who called themselves his servants did not know was that the power to perform magic came from the practitioner himself. Two thousand years ago, the Lord of Bhrudwo had set himself to study magic, and he had learned. He had learned it all. And what he had learned was that down through the ages the great magicians, the true sorcerers, had all died young. They had died because they had drained themselves, ageing before their time. Those who had found out the horrible truth were by that time addicted to the power only a magician can know, and were unable to lay that power aside, even to save their own lives.

Ah, but the greatest discovery of all, the truth that made him who he was, was known to him alone. He alone knew how to perform magic by using the strength of others.

'Come closer, my friend,' the Destroyer said to the Factor of Malayu, in a friendly tone.

'Watch and learn.' And he put an arm around the Factor's shoulder. Perhaps 1 have found favour with my lord after all, the Factor thought in wonder.

The fire burned merrily in the grate. The Undying Man stretched out his hand - into the flame

- and sprinkled a tiny amount of the powder into its burning heart. Then the pull - there from his followers, and there from the foolish Factor, who should have ruled his province with a far firmer hand - and the flame seemed to collapse in on itself, feeding on itself - or something -

from the inside out. Slowly it turned a dark blue, as though bruised, the colour of used blood.

The faces of his followers turned pale, as they always did when he practised magic, though they never knew why. He was careful to limit his abuse of their strength to very small increments, spread evenly amongst them. But the Factor was another matter.

'Is something wrong?' came the quiet question.

'No, my lord, truly—' but the Factor collapsed on to the hearth, his face drained and newly lined, his lips blue.

'The Factor is tired after a long day. See he finds his bed,' the Lord of Bhrudwo commanded one of his servants.

'Yes, lord.' He manhandled the Factor through the arched door and out of the room with little apparent effort, though the truth of it was the day had exhausted him also.

Now the flame had steadied, indicating that the link had been made, and suddenly a disembodied voice spoke from within the blue fire. 'Great Lord, it is your servant Deorc,' it said. 'I stand ready.'

'And where do you stand?' The Destroyer fashioned his Wordweave into something which resembled, metaphorically speaking, a mallet. It did not pay to be subtle with Deorc: a faithful lieutenant, brimming with intelligence and ambition, he would have been a worthy successor to the Undying Man except for the obvious fact of the Destroyer's immortality. Deorc would recog¬nise any attempt at deception and despise it, favouring strength and cruelty over the use of his intellect - which was his strength and his weakness, of course.

'I stand, my lord, above the Aleinus Gates, at the mouth of the Vulture's Craw. I expect to be in Ehrenmal within the fortnight, and will arrive in Instruere a few weeks after midsummer.'

'You have made good time.' The Destroyer allowed a little approbation to seep through the fiery link.

'Yes, my lord. The horses we obtained from the Nagorj have proved their stamina, and can go further yet. They compare favourably with the best in Birinjh. I will arrive in time to do my master's bidding.'

'And my headstrong Lords of Fear? Have you heard any news of them? Have your spies yet found out who ordered them west?'

'I have heard nothing, Great Lord.'

Ah, Deorc, I hear the resonance. You must know 1 hear it. You are not lying, but you are not telling me all you know. The Destroyer shook his head. Such things genuinely saddened him.

Yes, he could ask careful questions until he forced his lieutenant to tell all he knew. Or he could bludgeon the man through the magic of the blue fire, compelling him to reveal all, though Deorc's strength to resist would not be inconsiderable, and he would take some time to break. But either way Deorc would be rendered useless. And strong men must be allowed their secrets, surely? So you know some' thing about these four warriors, but not where they are? No matter. They can do nothing to hurt me. No one can, not now.

'I expect you to find out,' he answered pointedly. 'If they are acting on someone else's orders, then I have been betrayed. They are deceived if they believe they do my bidding.'

'Yes, lord.'

J can sense his fear. He is involved somehow. The Undying Man knew he could reach through the blue fire and have his answer, but he withheld his power. I'll leave you with your little secret. But you will tell it to me someday.

'Do not fail me, my brave captain,' said the Destroyer, and allowed the faintest filament of mockery to feed into the flame. 'They must be supple for the day I ride through the gates of Instruere in triumph.'

'How can I fail, Great Lord?' came the answer quick as a flash. 'It is your plan I will execute, and your plans are always flawless.'

The Lord of Bhrudwo laughed then, a full and hearty laugh that would have been recognised by those who lived in the latter days of the Vale of Dona Mihst, had any of them been less than two thousand years dead. He knows I know something - it is the nature of the blue fire to know something of the other person's thoughts - yet he still walks the line with his jests. Ah, Deorc, perhaps I will let you live after all.

The Factor of Malayu trembled between the silk sheets of his bed. He was ill, that he knew, and he felt worse even than the time his foolish brat of a son had tried to poison him. But here there was no one to strike out against, no carcass to hang from the city gate. Or at least there was someone, but this someone was one that no one dared strike out against.

He did something to me, I sensed it. The Factor knew that magic had been performed, and that he had suffered as a result. He drained me. He sucked something out of me to make his dreadful blue flame.

He had felt it, a fact only possible because his father's personal apothecary was himself skilled in aspects of rural magic, and for the last six months had been teaching the Factor the rudiments of this powerful art. It had sensitised him.

What if the Destroyer - in his anger the Factor could not call him lord - what if he calls me to his side once again? Will I obey? Will 1 wait like a goat on the altar slab for his power to wound me once more?

Wait. What was it old Freina said? 'Don't make resolutions in the presence of magicians, for they can pick the very thoughts out of your head, the strongest ones first. Don't think about it, slide away from the decision, let your mind deal with it without the interference of your will.'

I'll have to go to him if he calls me, he thought. The alternative would be even worse. The Factor groaned; his body ached, and his head pulsed with pain. Put the thought aside, just think about sleep. Don't let the word form. Think about something else.

Revenge.

The Lord of Darkness sat alone in the darkened drawing room, the only light coming from flickering embers in the grate. He did not sleep. He never slept. So it was that he heard the stray thought and followed it to the mind that was trying not to think it.

Ah, now. So the worm squirms under the boot of his master. He smiled, a thin gesture indistinguishable from a snarl. This will be diverting.

FIELDS OF MOURNING

TIME PASSED UNNOTICED BY the Company as they stood together, hand in hand, looking upon the still forms in their midst, the grey-cloaked Bhrudwan warrior and the tow-headed youth from Mjolkbridge. Above them the moist grey mist swirled, drawn down the mountainside by a cool, sulphur-tainted breeze, lending a sharp¬ness to the afternoon air on the cruel slopes of Steffi.

They had done it, they had overcome the Lords of Fear, rescued Mahnum and Indrett, and against all odds taken one of the Bhrudwans captive, but no one celebrated. The feeling amongst the Company was closer to shock. Weeks of pursuit had ended suddenly, violently, tragically, leaving pursuers and former captives alike dumbfounded. Where the polite, well-spoken youth from the hills of Vinkullen had been, there was now only a broken body and a dull ache.

Farr broke the mood. He walked over to the bound warrior and prodded him in the ribs with his foot. 'Was it worth it, our fine revenge?' he said quietly, as if to himself, but everyone heard him. 'For this?' No one answered him.

He stepped over the broken body of his brother and knelt down by the dead Bhrudwan. With a sudden violence he rolled the corpse on to its side, grasped the hilt of Leith's sword and pulled, almost falling over as the blade slid free.

'If by stabbing you a hundred times I could bring back my brother, I would!' he shouted, and behind him a bird took flight at the sudden noise. Turning his back on the fallen warrior, he grasped the sword hilt in both hands, disregarding the pain in his lacerated right arm, and raised it above his head. Ignoring the cries of his friends, he drove it into the ground inches away from the head of their captive.

'Let this remain for all time as a memorial to my brother!' he cried, in a voice so desolate that all who heard it were cut to the quick. He then sat on the stony path of the Westway, his head in his hands, and would not be consoled.

Mahnum and Indrett sat together on the trunk of a fallen tree, a few feet apart from the Company, unable to share in their sorrow. She laid her head on his breast, resting quietly, saying nothing, allowing the fears and the pain of weeks of sordid, demeaning captivity to fade from the forefront of her mind. Hal squatted awkwardly next to them, speaking softly and slowly, explaining all that had happened since Midwinter's Day. In turn, they told him of their trials as captives of the Bhrudwans. Somehow the simple act of talking brought a measure of healing: Mahnum and Indrett allowed the tension to drain out of them, and entertained the possibility that after so long they might be together with their family again.

'Where's Leith?' Indrett asked, anxious to see her son.

'Gone to fetch Kurr from across the river,' said Hal. 'Now that the bridge is no more, he may have had to go some distance to find a suitable crossing place. He'll be back soon.'

'Is it really all over?' she whispered to Mahnum.

'Yes,' he answered, running his fingers through her hair. 'At least for us.'

A few paces down the road, Perdu and Parlevaag talked in low tones, their language unintelligible to the others. The adopted Fenni nursed a badly bruised hand: the Bhrudwan warrior's staff had smashed it with surprising force, and already his knuckles had swollen. He knew he ought to wash it in running water, then bandage it, but the hurts of others seemed more immediate.

'How have you been treated?' Perdu asked the woman.

'Not so well,' she replied, fingering the scar on her cheek. 'They were beasts wearing human skin. I wish they had slain me along with Horstaag.' She talked of her dead husband with a hollow voice, fright¬ening in its lack of emotion. 'I did not have a chance to bury him, to prepare him for his meeting with Qali. Who knows where he now walks?'

'Did they - harm you?' Perdu was solicitous in his concern, but also somewhat reserved. He hadn't known the woman at all well; Fenni women were considered their husband's property, and to be seen talking with one unchaperoned was to invite a duel or the judgement of the clan chief. She was young, and from the north of Myrvidda, that was all he kriew. Horstaag he had known; they had hunted together on the margins of Scymria, had found the spoor of the legendary mamoti, and it grieved him to think of the man's death. But in all their time together they had never talked of their wives or families, which was considered proper Fenni behaviour.

'These men were too single of purpose for that,' she replied. 'They drove us hard, seldom feeding us and not allowing us even to speak. At times the other woman and I tried to communicate, and she explained to me as best she could who these men were and what they were doing.'

'You're safe now,' Perdu said comfortingly.

'Yes,' she replied doubtfully, looking around her at a landscape totally devoid of familiar landmarks, at people she did not know, and at the bound figure of one of her former captors.