Shadowgod (10 page)

Yes, you are right, he wanted to say but his eyes felt like caves that he was falling backwards into, caves that swallowed him in dark oblivion.

Up rocky stairs,
From the black halls of death,
Came cold, fierce spirits,
With our fate in their hands.

—Calabos,
Beneath The Towers
, Act 3, ii. 12

It was the second night since the Low Coronation, and in secluded chambers near the Earthmother shrine in the Keep of Day, Alael slept. And in sleeping, she dreamed.

Soothed by a warm cup of mulled wine, she had drifted effortlessly away into misty slumber which gave way to vivid reverie. She dreamed that she was standing in a pillared room in the Keep of Day, talking with Abbess Halimer. Bright sunlight poured in through an open window to flood the room with gold while sweet scents spread from bowls of flowers hung from the pillars.

Why are you so sad, child
? said Abbess Halimer, but Alael was trying to hear what someone was singing in the garden below the window, a song about rings and crowns and winter…

You must bind up your sorrow
, the Abbess said behind her.
You have much to do
.

Alael turned, ready to deny any feelings of sadness, but froze in silence when she saw that the Abbess had been talking to Tauric, not her. The young emperor kissed the Abbess' hand, bowed solemnly to her then crossed to an open door, pausing on the threshold to give Alael a single, brief look of longing. He was attired in a black doublet over a sky-blue shirt, and wore on his head a slender silver circlet adorned with small red stones. Her heart leaped at the sight but before she could speak he was gone, the door closing behind him.

Ignoring the Abbess' pleas, she ran to the door, wrenched it open and rushed through…

Into a dim, entangling undergrowth redolent of fertility and decay. As she pushed her way through, a dusty silver radiance settled over her surroundings, making every sprig and leaf and tendril look shining and dark, like polished iron beaded with moisture. Then the enclosing foliage thinned and she stepped out onto tilled earth.

Behold the vale of unburdening, daughter….all souls and essences journey along it…

Alael caught her breath in surprise. Since the Battle of Besh-Darok she had heard the Earthmother speaking in her dreams many times, but always as if from far away - this was the first time she had been spoken to directly. With the goddess' words sounding in her head like a great bell struck softly, Alael looked all around her. She stood at the edge of an immense valley, its sheer sides made from towering peaks and jagged ridges, its floor a wide, flat expanse of evenly-turned dark brown earth. Pale, tenuous human forms were sweeping past in their dozens, scores, hundreds, bobbing and flailing, dipping in and out of the soil as though in the grip of an invisible river whose currents rushed them along. Then she noticed, here and there, solitary figures fighting against the flow, grasping at clumps of weeds or protruding rocks….

Those who will not shed their burdens…

As she watched, a bright green mote flashed down from above and struck one of the struggling spirits. Immediately, it ceased all movement and rose into the air in a smooth, vertical ascent that Alael followed until it vanished in the black, empty vault of the sky.

Still they violate my realm, knowing that I will not retaliate... how I long for revenge against the Lord of Twilight, that arch-murderer, that thief of eternity... they think to keep him divided and thus keep their pathetic powers... soon all their schemes will come to naught and you will be my blade upon his neck…

“I...I do not wish to do that,” Alael whispered.

The way is set and the masquers have their appointed goals... daughter,
you
shall be my blade…

Then the ground opened under her feet and down she plunged into darkness. Somehow she went from falling to running along a low, narrow tunnel and then to climbing a rope ladder up a constricting hole which came out in the rotting bole stump of a tree. Clambering out she found herself in a forest clearing where Tauric stood on a mound, peering through a gap in the foliage. Following his gaze, she saw Besh-Darok from afar, its walls and towers ablaze and belching smoke.

“Save them!” she cried to him. “You must save them!”

But Tauric turned and ran down the mound to a tall, brown stallion. Only when he had mounted up did Alael notice that both his arms were metal, but as he rode past her, away from the city, his glance was full of sad yearning.

Alael dashed up the mound for a clearer view, and found on the grassy crown a winged helm, a spear and a round shield. Hastily, she donned the helm and shield, picked up the spear and started down the slope towards Besh-Darok. But something was stopping her, grasping her, shaking her -

Awake to look up at the worried faces of Abbess Halimer and Keren Asherol.

“Was it a bad dream, Alael?” said the Abbess.

She nodded, then said, “Was it hard to wake me?”

Keren gave a wry smile. “Yes…”

“She spoke to me,” Alael said abruptly.

“I see,” the Abbess said. “Would you like to tell us about your dream?”

Keren brought over a couple of chairs as Alael related all that had happened, leaving out nothing. The Abbess' demeanour was relaxed and composed but her eyes never left Alael as the tale was told. Alael thought she saw a certain hunger in the woman’s gaze, as well as an intense interest, but when the account was done the Abbess sat back, looking pensive.

“There was a time, before the invasion,” she said after a moment or two, “when those sisters who underwent true visions numbered perhaps one in every fifty. For the Rootpower priests such mystic experiences were much more frequent, almost as if the Fathertree himself was overflowing with the need to reach out to his followers. We sisters of the temple pretended to look down on the brothers of the tree, while secretly envying them their talkative god.

“But now, when I think of all that has happened and hear you speak of your dreams, I find my envy balanced by fear. She sounds so….cruel and pitiless. Does she even hear our prayers for mercy and compassion and peace?”

“I do not know,” Alael said quietly.

Sighing, the Abbess got to her feet. “And knowledge is not faith. All we senior sisters can be sure of, in terms of knowledge, is the fact of the Goddess' Gift.” She opened one hand, palm upwards, and a pure white flamelet flickered and shone there. Instinctively, Alael knew that the tiny shred of magical fire came from the Earthmother’s power. She could almost taste it.

The hand closed, snuffing out the tiny argent blaze.

“A rare and secret thing among the sisters of the temple,” Abbess Halimer said. “I would be grateful if you refrained from speaking openly about this.”

Alael and Keren murmured their assent.

“Now, Alael - rise and dress. The farewell gathering is being held in the ground floor conclave chamber in an hour. So, till then.”

Recollection struck Alael as the Abbess made a graceful exit. Of course, the delegation to Dalbar was leaving today, Gilly, Medwin and …

“You forgot, didn’t you, little sister?” Keren, arms crossed, was giving her the single arched eyebrow look of mock disapproval, which quickly dissolved into an open smile.

“Not forgotten, peerless big sister!” Alael said. “Merely distracted.”

“Hmm, yes.” Keren said, standing up. “Come on - I’ll help you choose a gown fit to distract our boy emperor.”

Alael tried to look outraged but failed - Keren’s wit was at once sharp and on target.

The two women had been introduced soon after Alael recovered from the terrifying possession of the battle, and was surprised and a little wary to discover that Keren’s ordeal had been so similar to her own. Sharing her experiences, and learning about what it felt like to be a Daemonkind, brought them together in a fast-deepening friendship.

Wearing a brown and red dress more demure than the one Keren had picked out, Alael hurried with her companion down a minor stairwell whose wall tiles bore patterns and forms of sea creatures. As they walked, Alael asked Keren if anything more had been uncovered about the attempt on her life.

“Nothing of significance. The woman who tried to kill me was a player who had gone missing from one of the beggar troupes over a week ago. Bardow is sure that someone used the Lesser Power to weave a compulsion into her mind, possibly the same person who attacked Nerek in the Artisan Quarter.”

“Did none of the senior mages sense such goings-on?”

They were passing through a small courtyard busy with carters unloading their wares, and Keren lowered her voice.

“Not one. Bardow thinks that the person behind all this may be masking his use of the Lesser Power by tainting it with another…”
“The Wellsource?” Alael whispered in dread.

Keren shrugged. “It would be the obvious choice…”

From a bright outer corridor they entered the ground floor conclave chamber, a vaguely triangular room with benches and high-backed seating arrayed before a dais at its narrow end. And when Keren left Alael’s side to join Medwin and Gilly who waited near the luggage piled on the dais, it finally sunk in that her friend was leaving. Others were already there, sitting on the benches, familiar faces like the Lord Regent Yasgur with his advisors, Atroc and Ghazrek; Nerek, looking pale and impassive; red-haired Ffion and a few of her fellow mages; Yarram, Lord Commander of the Fathertree Knights, sitting with the commanders of the new orders, the Knights Protectorate, the Knights of the Moon and Stars, the Knights of Keys, and the Knights of the Bell. And Tauric with three of his White Companions.

It was a brief farewell ceremony, yet full of warmth and regard. Abbess Halimer and two Temple sisters sang a soft, wordless cantion as Bardow said a few words about the three travellers and their destination. Then Yasgur gave Medwin a flat leather case of documents and spoke quietly to all three, before departing with his retinue.

Sitting near Ffion and the other mages, Alael did her best to avoid looking in Tauric’s direction and was relieved when the ceremony was over. After exchanging a few words with Gilly, Tauric and his followers left straight away. The three delegates then moved towards the doors which led out to the coaching stables. Alael began hurrying after them but slowed and held back when she saw Nerek and Keren walking side by side, speaking close and serious. Keren carried a pair of saddlebags over her shoulder and was reaching into one when she noticed Alael.

“There she is.”

The two look-alike women exchanged words of farewell and clasped hands, then Nerek gave Alael a brief nod on her way towards the door.

“What a hasty leavetaking,” Keren said as she fumbled in her saddlebag. “I was afraid we might not have a chance to speak...ah, here it is…”

She produced a thick, leather-bound volume and gave it to Alael. “This is a rare book called the Codex Of Northern Sagas…” She indicated a fringed cloth bookmark protruding from the pages. “That marks the place of a very old sagasong called ‘How Raegal Sang A Road To The Land Of The Daemons’ which, unfortunately, is written in an ancient Othazi dialect. While I am away, could you make enquiries among the scholars of the city to see if anyone is able to translate it?”

“Why, I would be happy to.”

Keren smiled. “Oh, thank you. I’m taking a copy with me, in case I encounter someone capable of translating it, but it is good to know that another will be pursuing the mystery. If you speak with Bardow he will know which of the colleges to approach, and when I return we can compare notes, eh?” She laid a hand on Alael’s arm. “Take care in your dreams, little sister. And don’t be too afraid of looking Tauric in the eye.”

From a balcony off the conclave chamber, Alael held onto the book firmly and watched the delegates coach clatter away from the palace, heading off towards the harbour. There, they were due to board a fast galley to take them to Sejeend where a barge would carry them along Gronanvel to the northern end of the Red Way. From there, they would travel south on horseback to Dalbar’s capital, Scallow. As the coach receded, she uttered an inner prayer for their safety.

“Ah, I see she gave you that collection of, ah, doggerel.”

It was Archmage Bardow, regarding her with a humorous gaze.

“Oh, ser Bardow, I am to ask you about which colleges…”

“Indeed, translations and so forth. I can offer a few recommendations, but I would prefer to deal with that later since there is another more pressing problem at hand. I have been meaning to discuss certain matters with Nerek and yourself, and this assassination business has made it all the more urgent. I shall be meeting Nerek in the mage hall shortly - if you join us now, we can make a start. Is that agreeable? And we can talk about that translation after.”

Alael thought a moment, picturing Nerek in her mind, and knew that she needed to know more about Keren’s sorcerous twin.

“I would most happy to help,” she said.

“Excellent, then let us be on our way. Time is of the essence - Lord Regent Mazaret will be at the gates in only a few hours…”

* * *

It was late afternoon when Mazaret and his knights escorted the wagons of wounded and refugees through the Gallaro Gate. City wardens were already waiting, alerted by the message bird he had sent from the fort at Shekaruk Pass. There would be food and drink and warm shelter, remedy for the sick and care for the anguished.

The first watch-brands were being lit along the city walls as Mazaret and the others rode their weary horses up the Shaska Road. Snow and sleet had come down in icy, needling showers during the return journey, but now the sky was a dark blue, star-strewn canopy where scraps and rags of cloud rushed from horizon to horizon. It was dry but the wind that blew in from the bay was bitterly cold and made all of Mazaret's wounds ache just that little bit more. The slash at the back of his head, however, was a constant source of pain. Terzis had successfully cleaned the laceration and healed its edges, but the shock, concussion and bruising had combined to make him feel every one of his fifty-two years.