Descent (32 page)

‘Three months after the Battle of Victory, when Vezzet was setting up his army fortress, he found me. I was working for Cornelius at the time, but he was so old, and the country was already degenerating under his rule. The Valkyries had begun attacking, and we were in a state of chaos. Vezzet told me how his family had died, and he blamed that for all the bad decisions he’d made.
I took a vow of loyalty to him to try and repay my father’s debt. At that time, he convinced me he was raising his army only to overthrow Cornelius, and to restore Cynis Witron to prosperity. Like a fool, I believed him.’

Again Bayard paused and Ria moved to stand a little closer to him. ‘I have been helping him ever since, tied to him because of my father’s actions, always trying to repay him. He convinced me, and I must admit I was not hard to persuade, that his family’s death had traumatised him so badly that it had driven him to seek revenge, and had led him to the greatest mistake of his life—betraying Paragor. He swore that he had changed, I led raids to different towns, and I slaughtered or enslaved innocent people under the impression that they were Followers. It was not until last night that I realised. Vezzet hadn’t changed at all, and I was a imbecile not to have seen it.’

The Captain rubbed his eyes tiredly.

‘So many people need not have died, but for my gullibility,’ he muttered.

‘And so many more would have died had you not acted as strongly and as bravely as you did last night,’ Jane replied firmly.

Fern nodded. ‘You should be commended, Captain Adon Bayard. You acted honourably, first in joining Vezzet for something you yourself were not responsible for, then in trying to banish the world of Followers. You saved Luca and rid the world of Vezzet’s vileness.’

Bayard stared at Fern. ‘I feel like I know you from somewhere. Have we, perchance, met?’

Fern grinned. ‘I’d remember such a meeting, Captain. But you may know of me, yes. I apologise for not introducing myself properly, but, my lord, I trust I have your silence on the matter?’

‘Of course...’

‘Prince Fern del Sitadel, of Cynis Witron and the Elves at your service,’ Fern said, giving a short bow.

Bayard’s face seemed to drain of all colour. ‘Impossible,’ he whispered. After a moment he seemed to snap awake and quickly knelt to the floor. Fern smiled and told him to rise.

‘Now is not the time for such formalities. I am here only as a friend to Luca.’

‘But how can this be, highness? You died! I saw it!’

‘Many lives, has our great prince,’ Altor said softly, meeting Fern’s eyes and smiling slightly.

‘And this is Prince Altor of Lapis Matyr,’ Fern said.

Bayard blinked in surprise and bowed to the ground again. ‘The Black Prince and the Elvish Prince, along with three Bright Ones, all in the fortress of Karangul,’ he said. ‘I am lucky beyond the telling.’

Altor shrugged, turning his gaze to where Jane sat.

‘Now that you’re here you can take your place on the throne!’ Bayard went on excitedly. ‘Cynis Witron will be saved under your rule!’

Fern glanced at Jane and then back at the red-haired man. ‘That’s the plan. For now, I think it might be a good idea for everyone here to come with me to Sitadel, where we can have a proper meeting about what will happen with Karangul.’

‘I think that’s a good idea,’ Jane said. ‘If we can get Luca there safely.’ She turned to Anna. ‘I thought he might like to hear some music, so I’ve sent for a harp. You and I can take it in to him.’

Luca woke almost as soon as the door had closed after his visitors. He sat up in bed and looked around. His head was muddled and hazy, and everything he saw frightened him. The man who had hurt him was in every shadow, in every person who looked at him.

The door opened again, startling him, and two women entered. One was small and blonde, the other was taller and had long dark hair. Something inside him said he knew them, but he couldn’t name how, couldn’t shake the feeling of terror when he felt eyes looking at him.

The dark haired one carried a harp in her hands. She said something but he didn’t hear it. He was desperately fearful all of a sudden.

He backed away against the wall, his teeth grinding violently. They were going to hurt him. He couldn’t remember who he was, but there was an overwhelming desire to take the instrument she held in her hands.

His fingernails had bitten into his skin where he’d clenched his fists, and he looked down in alarm at the blood. The sight made him gasp, but he looked at the harp and felt calmer. He noticed the woman staring at his mouth, and Luca drew a hand up to realise vaguely that he’d been dribbling.

Suddenly he felt very angry. ‘Give it to me,’ he ordered ferociously, and something in him must have frightened her, because the woman thrust the instrument towards him and hastily stepped back again.

Luca held it in his sore, clumsy hands, and he sighed in utmost relief. The instrument was like balm on his soul. He turned and went to sit by the window. The two moons were rising through the night sky.

Lindel came first, and for a moment the world was red with her light. It was the red of death, of pain, the red he had seen in his mind as he was tortured. He could hear his own screams in his ears.

He sat with his legs over the side of the window and held the harp in his lap. Carefully, and ever so gently, he plucked at a string. The sound was clear, but his fingers were stiff, so when he tried to play more than one note at a time, he simply could not move them fast enough.

Luca sat for hours into the darkness of the night and tried, desperately, to play a tune, some simple melody. All he got from the instrument was a barrage of noise.

Any song would be fine—
anything
—if only he could just make music. But it hurt too much. He was too broken to move in the way he once did. And he couldn’t remember a single song.

As the morning came, when the notes began to sound distinctly like the sound of bones cracking and the red moon had sunk from the sky, Luca flung the harp ferociously against the wall and watched in anguish as it smashed into fragments.

Images of the splintering wood wandered through his mind, as did a masked face, and laughing yellow teeth, and blood, and the snapped strings from every instrument he had ever played, and broken vocal chords, though he could not really know what they looked like.

Athena, Princess of the Elves, next in line to be queen, newly married to a man she loved, should have been the happiest woman alive. Instead she felt only despair. But she was not so petty that she would parade her feelings for all to observe—rather, she kept them locked away.

Her husband was gone again. Every day he had somewhere to go, and always with Altor and Jane. This time he had been gone for nights, and even though she knew he was doing good for the country, she was growing weary of the pitying glances. Where is your husband this time? Why doesn’t he attend these meetings or functions with you? Why, Athena, do you do everything alone?

She was sure her husband was in love with someone else. She felt it in her breast—a sad longing for something that was not hers and never would be.

It was becoming clearer who that other person might be. It stunned Athena to realise how obvious it was, how oblivious she had been to the truth. And it made her realise how impossible it was going to be for her to have him. It didn’t matter anymore that she was his wife. The binding meant nothing if it was not made in love.

So in the morning she dressed and went down to the stables to saddle her horse. With a list of the towns Fern was visiting in her pocket, she set out on her journey to find him. Find him, and end this farce of a marriage.

She was not a woman who kept someone from being with their true love. Of this Athena was determined.
Altor rode at the front, a few hundred metres ahead of the rest of the group. There was a large wagon in their party, carrying the body of the tortured Stranger. The others rode their horses flanking the wagon, making sure Luca didn’t try to escape again. They’d be spending their nights in different towns, as it was going to take them some time to reach Sitadel, slow as they were.

That first day had been surprising. They’d saddled their horses, and Altor could remember the sound that had come from Fern upon spotting the Captain’s black mare.

The horse gave a loud whinny and nearly kicked down the stall walls trying to get to Fern. The tall Elf greeted the horse with a laugh of joy, and started whispering into her ear as he stroked her.

‘A friend of yours?’ Bayard had asked, bemused.

Fern grinned. ‘Nuitdor was my horse before I was killed. Best friend a man could have.’

Bayard’s widened. ‘She was the horse you rode when you faced Odin?’

Fern nodded, his eyes fixed on the mare lovingly.

‘Gods, you must have her back then! She’s yours!’

‘No, no, I could not ask you to do that—she’s been yours for the last two years.’

‘Please,’ Bayard implored. ‘I have no claim to her whatsoever—I want you to have her. Might we swap?’

Fern could resist the temptation no longer, for he nodded and mounted up, and the sight of the two of them flying across the plains together, as graceful and fast as the wind was enough to gladden every heart that saw them.

The Black Prince pushed the image away from his mind, his mood too foul to be thinking about such things. He’d ridden ahead because he didn’t particularly want to be around any of them just then. Not even Jane and
Fern. He didn’t quite know how to deal with their grief. And it was just driving home the point he had always made to himself—don’t make attachments. They only ended in messy emotions and loss.

The wind whipped into him through his cloak. It was deathly cold out here so early in the morning. They had to get as much travelling done in daylight hours as they could. Shivering, he wished it were night so that there might be something for him to kill.

The nightmares that shrouded him every time he slept, courtesy of the gaping wound in his arm, were terrifying. But to Altor, more frightening was the fact that they weren’t any worse than the dreams he’d had before he’d been attacked by the Valkyries. He might have been the only person in the world immune to the creatures, so accustomed to darkness was he already.

Scanning the empty horizon, Altor suddenly spotted something. Quite a way ahead, but definitely there. A black smudge on the ground. The prince kicked his horse into a gallop, and as he moved towards it, it became all too clear to Altor what it was.

He came upon the body of the dead person, lying next to the corpse of a horse. It would be some time before the group behind him caught up, therefore he had a moment to contemplate what to do. If it had been just a body, then he might be able to continue on, no qualms about someone foolish enough to be travelling at night. Except that this wasn’t just a body.

It was the Princess of the Elves, the lady Athena.

Fern’s wife.

Quickly he took off his cloak and placed it over her mangled corpse, and then he turned and rode back towards his group, mindless of the sharp cold biting into his flesh. They all stared at him as he approached, his horse galloping as fast as it could.

‘What is it?’ the red-haired Captain asked, but Altor’s gaze washed over him, looking for someone else.

Fern was at the rear of the party, his horse walking silently next to Jane’s. The two of them looked up in alarm as Altor slowed to a halt in front of them.

‘Fern,’ he breathed, holding his hands up to stop them. There was an unfamiliar feeling inside Altor. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t make any words come out. Clenching his teeth at his own weakness, he said carefully, ‘There’s something up ahead that you don’t want to see, Fern.’

‘What? What are you talking about?’ Both he and Jane had grown very still.

‘There’s been a ... your wife was out during the night for some reason. Her body is up ahead.’

Nobody said anything. The wind blew through the windows of the carriage, making a high-pitched whistling sound. Fern stared at Altor, the colour drained from his face. Jane’s eyes were wide with horror.

The Elvish Prince sat there a moment longer, and then he kicked his horse hard, racing forward to the bundle on the ground. Altor followed him as quickly as he could, and saw as Fern dismounted and sagged to the ground. Altor turned and held the rest of the group back, letting the man have at least this one last moment alone with his wife.

Jane felt the pain slash through her as keenly as if it had been her own grief. She watched from the back of the group as Fern bent over Athena’s body and started to cry. She wanted to go forward and comfort him, but she couldn’t make her body move. Her vision swam with a clear, brutal flash of guilt. And hot on its tail was a desperate sorrow, because she knew that she could not possibly be the one to comfort Fern.

‘Won’t it ever stop?’ she whispered into the wind, to no one in particular.

That evening, in the tavern they were staying in, he turned away from her when she came to find him. There was a new ache inside him, for he had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to be with her, wracked with guilt as he was.

‘How are you?’ she asked him worriedly.

‘Fine.’

Jane walked forward a few steps. ‘I’m so sorry—’

‘—No, don’t,’ Fern warned. ‘I can’t ... be near you right now.’

Jane drew back a little, her eyes anxious.

‘Every time I looked at her, all I saw was you,’ he spat angrily. ‘And Athena knew that. She died knowing that I didn’t love her.’

Jane could think of nothing to say. She reached for him again but he pulled away violently.

‘Just don’t, Jane! Not now.’

She nodded quickly and backed away. She paused briefly, her voice firm, ‘Please don’t blame yourself. If you do, you will never get past this.’

Jane found Altor sitting at the bar of the tavern downstairs from their rooms. His face was buried in a mug of ale, and he barely looked up when she sat down next to him. Ordering the same, Jane sat in silence. When the ale came she sipped at it, trying to ignore the bitter taste and focus on what she was here to say.

‘Have you ever had a moment when things just slide into place, finally?’ she asked him softly. ‘Like you’ve just suddenly gained some perspective?’

Altor said nothing.

Jane sighed. ‘I’ve been an unforgivable, whinging
baby for way too long, Al. I’m really, truly sorry for my behaviour. But I wanted to tell you that I’m not going to do it anymore—wallow in self-pity. There are ... there are
so
many worse things in life...’ Her voice caught slightly and she closed her eyes, willing herself not to think about the crumpled body under the cloak.

Jane opened her eyes and placed a hand on Altor’s shoulder. ‘Altor,’ she said firmly. ‘Look at me.’

Slowly he dragged his eyes to her. There were deep circles under them, and he looked deathly tired. But what shocked her the most was the fury in his gaze. She ignored it—she had the same thing inside her after what they’d seen that day and they couldn’t allow it to overtake them or else they would be lost too.

‘You have to go up there,’ she told him clearly. ‘You have to look after him. It can’t be me—but he loves you. I know you don’t want to, but y
ou’re the only one.
’

Altor stared at her. The rage never left his face; she understood it was too deep for that. But after a while he nodded, leant forward and kissed her on the cheek softly, before heading upstairs.

It had taken Ria the entire trip to work up the courage to face Luca. Partly because she was afraid of what had happened to him, and partly because she knew that if she was in his presence for long, she would want to take back all the cruel words she’d spoken.

When finally they reached the palace several days later, she did visit him, and it became clear that her thoughts were foolish and selfish. Ria was the least of Luca’s problems at the moment. He was sitting at the window, looking out into the evening sky. Lindel and Jael both shone brightly, casting an eerie light on his face—his pained face that seemed to convey nothing but dreariness.

He didn’t look at her as she entered, and she had the feeling he didn’t even notice her presence. Ria dragged a stool next to him and sat down. Slowly he turned to her, a dull, uncomprehending expression in his eyes.

‘Luca?’ she asked, looking closely at him.

Eventually he nodded. ‘Yes, that’s me. I’m Luca.’ His voice was slow. He stared at her, waiting.

‘How do you feel?’ she stammered.

He paused again. ‘I’m having trouble ... I can’t...’ he rubbed his head. ‘I don’t know ... some things. There are too many shadows. I can’t remember you...’

She could see he was trying, but things were muddled in his mind. She could see the distress this caused him.

‘I’m Ria. My name is Ria,’ she replied softly, but there was no recognition at all—only a blank stare. She swallowed and shut her eyes. This was her punishment. That this man, this wonderful, broken man should not know who she was, after all that they had been through.

He said nothing more, and Ria felt that he had left the conversation completely.

‘Why should you remember me?’ she said lightly. ‘I’m just a friend.’

He turned slowly back to the window, murmuring quietly, and Ria couldn’t make any sense of what he was saying. His hands were clenching and unclenching in his lap, roiling, anxious masses of swollen flesh and nobbled bones. She couldn’t stand it any more. She had tried, but she couldn’t look at him while he was like this.

And could she be blamed? He was frightening, and who said she had to subject herself to his madness? It was not as though she had caused it!

Ria clenched her teeth and stood, fighting a violent wave of guilt. Luca started to laugh hysterically, his voice slicing horribly into her ears. She left quickly and
shut the door. On the other side, Ria lent heavily against it and shut her eyes, sucking in deep breaths, unable to block out the sound of his cackling.

‘Are you all right?’ Jane asked and Ria’s eyes snapped open quickly.

‘I’m fine,’ she replied shortly, standing up straight. Jane approached from the other end of the corridor, holding some books.

‘You saw Luca?’ Jane asked, and when Ria nodded she went on. ‘He needs the company. I’ve taken to reading to him—there’s a whole library that Cornelius has given me access to, and I think Luca really needs the mental stimulus—’ she broke off from her cheerful speech as Ria shook her head.

‘He doesn’t know who I am!’

Jane sighed and rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘I know it’s hard. But it isn’t his fault. And it’s not a reflection of his feelings for you either. It’s just ... he’s hurt. It can’t be helped.’

This only worked to make Ria feel worse.

‘How long were you in there with him?’ Jane asked, looking into her face.

‘A few minutes. I had to get out of there—I couldn’t stand to see him like that!’

Jane frowned and patted Ria’s back gently. ‘We have to help him, Ria. He needs us to be there for him. Especially you.’

‘Me? I’m the last thing he needs!’ Ria laughed bitterly. ‘He’s blocked me out of his mind!’

‘No, Vezzet did that. Not Luca,’ Jane said firmly. When Ria didn’t reply, Jane’s frown deepened. ‘Go back and sit with him for at least a little while. He’s not going to hurt you—you aren’t allowed to just give in. I know it’s scary, but think about how he must feel. And don’t bother crying!’

Ria stifled the tears that had indeed been on their way. With an overwhelming sense of shame, she pushed past Jane and ran down the hall, away from his room.

She didn’t go back to see Luca. Nor did she try to find Fern and comfort him. She could not offer any solace for Bayard after what he had been through—his guilt, and grief, and shame.

What was wrong with her? Maybe Bayard had been right when he’d told her she was too damaged.

Some days later, Ria paced her room, thinking about his words once again. A moment later she burst into Bayard’s room and found him sitting on the balcony, trying in vain to polish his sword with only one hand.

‘You know what?’ she yelled. ‘I’ve been berating myself for fact that I’m not good enough for you, but you’re the one who’s damaged if you’re willing to just give up on me!’

Bayard stared at her blankly. ‘Ria, are you all right?’

‘You can’t just walk away from me because I’m too difficult!’ she snapped. ‘It’s weak and cowardly. You have to be better than that.’ Her hands had started to shake. She’d never been this angry.