Shadowkings (11 page)

"They burned everything. They burned our house...and...they said the Mother was evil and the singer was evil..." His voice wavered into sobbing. "...my Da, they burned him too..."

"Where, Gevran?"

"...Hanlo..."

Suviel straightened and looked at Gilly and Keren. "That's less than an hour's ride away."

"What about the boy?" said Keren. "Should one of us stay here with him?"

Suviel shook her head, surprised at how calm she was. "He'll have to come with us. There's no knowing what is abroad tonight."

Gilly released his hold on the boy and stared down at him with a kind of intense compassion. Then he looked up and Suviel saw a cold anger in his eyes.

"The boy will travel with me," she said. "You and Keren will ride before us and keep alert."

Keren and Gilly glanced at one another, then nodded and hurried to remount their horses. Suviel reached out a hand to the boy. "Come, Gevran. You'll be safe with me."

Hesitantly, he took her hand.

* * *

They smelled the fires long before they saw them.

They were weaving a slow, fitful way through the enclosing forest darkness with only the faint radiance of a hooded tallow lamp to keep them from getting lost. The odour of burnt wood was growing stronger, an acrid sharpness that smothered the smells of wet soil and growth.

The boy Gevran made no sound as he sat behind her with his arms about her waist. It reminded her of her sisters son, Huranach, at that age and how he used to sing a simple little song about horses in time with their mount's gait. The memory was painful and she realised that she had not thought about that part of the past for a long time. But Huranach was dead and no matter how much she wished to bear a child, Ikarno's child, the truth was that her age was against her. Her role now was to play her part in this struggle and hope that the nameless high powers favoured them with good fortune so that the world became a better place for children to be born into.

Still, she treasured the weight of Gevran against her back and the trust which it implied. I will not let you down, she promised silently.

Before long a yellow glow could be seen through the trees, made faint and hazy by smoke. Keren doused the lamp and as they approached slowly Suviel commenced the thought-canto of Vigilance. As they drew near she could see a cluster of huts and small barns, some smouldering shells, others still burning furiously. In the middle of the village bodies lay scattered around a half-demolished square stone temple from which a column of smoke rose. The village appeared deserted but from within the Vigilance canto Suviel sensed several strange, flickering presences.

"Someone's still there," she muttered to the others. "We better circle round, see if we can find them."

"Can't wait to break up their little party," said Gilly, slipping a small buckler onto his left arm.

On horseback they slowly skirted the village, eyes scrutinising every shadow, every doorway and window, every huddled, motionless body. Suviel could smell scorched flesh in the air, and heard Gevran sniffle at her back. They were half way round and just starting to get a view of the temple's collapsed rear wall when three men in loose-fitting red garments emerged from it and came purposefully towards them. Each one wore a leather mask across the nose and eyes, and carried a short bow with an arrow already fitted and drawn. They halted a dozen or more paces away, between two smoking huts.

"Have you come here to pray," said the one in the middle, "or to die?"

"Pray to whom?" said Suviel, silently preparing another thought-canto.

"We are the disciples of the great Ystregul, Prophet and Shadowking of the Fiery Tree, he who was betrayed by his consort, abandoned at the Plateau of Arengia. Abase yourselves before its flames - ," The man indicated the temple, still emitting a funnel of smoke, " - and you will be admitted to the ranks of the chosen. Denial is blasphemy."

"And these villagers?" said Gilly. "Did they deny your god?"

"They were dancing to a song praising the Whore Mother when we arrived. There is no redemption for the servants of evil. Their spirits have been harvested unto the Tree of Fire."

"You know," Gilly said. "For a murderer, you talk very prettily."

A knife-thin smile creased the spokesman's face as all he and his companions raised their bows and took aim. "Your spirits will feed the Fire of the Ages," he said, and the three arrows burst into flame and were released as one.

Suviel was ready, the canto of Astray whirling in her mind, and she reached out to push, slow and lure. The arrows veered off in smooth curves, vanishing in the dark wood.

"Keren!...Gilly! Wait - "

But they had already rolled from their saddles and were on their feet, swords ready, heedless of her cry. The masked disciples tossed the bows aside, drew their own weapons and advanced. Suviel felt an edge of panic as she saw hot green fire glitter along those three blades and hurriedly began another thought-canto, praying she would be in time.

Gilly leaped forward to engage the nearest enemy and there was a flash as their swords clashed and red and green sparks flew. The trader cried out as some of the sparks landed on his hands and clothing. He backed away, trying to protect himself with his shield but was forced to parry some blows, causing more showers of deadly sparks. Keren was in similar difficulties, her clothes smouldering in several places as she struggled to defend herself against the other two.

Watching the deadly fight, Suviel strove to keep her mind clear and calm as the canto of Cadence reached its full potential and the Lesser Power murmured and surged within her. But Gilly and Keren were too close to their opponents to use the Cadence canto as a shield so Suviel reached for the Lesser Power, directing, focussing, gathering it in her chest, filling her lungs till they seemed ready to burst. She felt like a torch, burning with a silver flame that streamed up her spine and into her head. Then she opened her mouth, jaws stretching and released it all in a single, thunderous shout.

As her horse reared in fright, Gilly and Keren dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, hands covering their ears. Two of the disciples collapsed writhing on the ground but their leader just staggered, mouth gaping in agony, blood trickling from ears and mouth. Then he regained his balance, jaw moving jerkily as he swallowed blood, then he raised his sword and started towards Suviel who had dismounted with the boy and was struggling to control her horse.

Suviel was unaware of the disciple leader's until Keren shouted a warning. Panic threatened when she looked round and saw him running lightly towards her, his blade exuding a sickly green power. Next to her, Gevran gave a wordless cry of fear and clung to her. Facing that leather-masked killer, she knew she had no time to prepare another thought-canto and was fumbling in her pockets for anything which might aid them when a blackened figure came running and stumbling from a nearby burnt-out huts, a spear clutched in his hands.

The disciple was mere feet away, bright blade swinging back, when the spear caught him in the side, and ripped bloodily up through his lower chest. The disciple bellowed in torment as the crazed charge flung him to the ground. His attacker, a man in ragged, scorched garments, made noises deep his throat as he pulled out a long dagger and half-fell to his knees. Incredibly, the disciple was still conscious. His mask had become dislodged, revealing burning green eyes which he turned on the blackened man.

"Die, child of earth!"

The glowing blade was rammed into the man's side. He made a choking sound, seared head trembling, wide eyes staring down at the laughing disciple. Then he brought the long dagger down in one, smooth, hammering cut that severed the green-eyed head and silenced that tongue. The man released the dagger, and stared down at his hands for a second before sprawling limply on the ground.

"Da!" Gevran cried out behind Suviel, and suddenly he was running over.

"The others!" Suviel shouted. "Gilly, quick, take their heads!"

The trader shook his head, snatched up his sword and swung at the exposed neck of the nearest disciple as he was getting to his feet. Keren forced herself upright, and staggered after the third disciple who was slowly crawling towards the forest. With a two-handed grip on her blade, she finished the grisly task.

Suviel ran over to Gevran, grabbing his hand just as it was about to close on the hilt of the sword buried in his father's side.

"No! It's bane would poison you, child."

"But it's in him!" the boy wept. "Da..."

"Gev..." whispered his father. "...Gev, don't..." He coughed, then stared at Suviel. "Are they..."

She nodded. "How did you know how to kill them?"

"My brother..." He grimaced with pain. "...was with Gunderlek, escaped the siege of Rauthaz. He told me before he died. Took an arrow in the shoulder, arrow like this...hellblade." He reached out to clasp the boy's arm. "I've cousins in Beharis, lady. See him safely to them, I beg of you in the Mother's name." His other hand dug hard into the ground at his side and his eyes looked into the distance. "His songs were so beautiful, made us so...happy..."

Then his hand relaxed and his head sank back, eyes lifeless. Gevran held on to the other hand, weeping. Suviel let out her breath in a long sorrowful sigh then noticed Keren standing nearby, still unsteady on her feet and rubbing her ears.

"Can you hear me?" Suviel said, getting up.

Keren nodded. "A little."

"Watch over the boy for a moment," she said. "Don't let him touch that sword hilt, and don't you either."

The swordswoman nodded and Suviel walked towards the temple, beckoning Gilly to follow her. By the red glow of its burning huts the village seemed to be drenched in blood, as if for a while it had become the personal realm of some god of torment, a domain of pain. There was little doubt in her mind that the three red-clad disciples had derived their powers from the Wellsource, but when their leader had talked of this Ystregul she had sensed nothing but utter, single-minded conviction.

She frowned. What had he said, about the Fiery Tree being the one who was betrayed at the Plateau of Arengia? Was this some perversion of the Fathertree faith, created by this Ystregul to feed off the despair of ordinary people? Prophet, the disciple said, and Shadowking. What did that mean?

Then the inside of the smouldering temple came into view and all thoughts fled at what she saw and heard.

"They come, Fate's performers."

She heard a sharp intake of breath from Gilly who whispered a name:

"Avalti!"

"No more, Cordale's scion. An eye in the inferno, and what things I see!..."

A man had been bound neck, chest and legs to a wooden spar jammed into the cracked centre of the domed Earthmother altar at the rear of the temple. But the altar was being steadily consumed, its stone dissolving into the flames which swathed the man called Avalti in a flickering emerald veil. His form seemed unharmed, his garments untouched, but his eyes were unblinking orbs that swam with bright colours. As he stared out at them, Suviel could not be sure if he was in agony or ecstasy.

"Yes, I...I see a snake with two heads in deadly conflict. I see a beast chained, I see a hollow Lord waiting to be filled, I see..."
The many-coloured gaze sought out Gilly,
"I see an iron fox, eyeless to the hunt—"
then Suviel,
"—a frozen bird, trapped under ice,"
then looked past them,
"—and a broken sword discarded."

Without looking Suviel knew that Keren was standing behind her. Shaken and filled with dread, she raised her hand. "Be silent! We do not wish to hear you - "

"
I must speak
!..." An unanswerable anguish filled his voice. The altar was almost gone and as his clothes began to scorch and smoke, his mouth widened in pain. "
I see five become one, I see the triumph of power, I see a growing desolation, I see one become two
..." The wooden pole was black and eroded and the raging fire was eating at the body of the man called Avalti, with everything below his chest already gone.

"I see the world, sunk in eternal night..."

Then flames rushed into his open mouth and he screamed. In seconds all that remained of him was a shapeless blazing mass that dwindled away to nothing. Green flames shrank, guttered and went out, and the wooden pole disintegrated, ash falling on the charred temple floor. Suviel shuddered and turned away to see Keren standing a few feet away, the boy Gevran huddled close to her.

"What did he say?" Keren said. "He looked straight at me and spoke, but all I heard was a strange roaring sound, like a river far off."

"Nothing of importance," Suviel said, as if she believed it. "He was driven mad by evil sorcery." Ignoring the swordswoman's skeptical expression, she went over to Gilly who sat on a staved-in barrel, staring at the darkened, gutted temple.

"Was that really Avalti?" she said quietly.

He nodded. "I heard him sing at the High Day of the Orders in Adnagaur, about a year before the sword fell upon us all. I thought he was dead." He uttered a bleak laugh and rubbed his face. "'An iron fox, eyeless to the hunt' - what does that mean?" There was a desperate note in his voice. "The fox is my family's emblem. What was he trying to say?"

All around them, the last of the fires were going out. In the smoky silence the village seemed almost asleep.

"Put his words out of your mind," Suviel said. "He was in the grip of the Wellsource and it gives forth nothing but lies."

But the worst lie she knew was the one that was half a truth.
A frozen bird, trapped under ice
. Wujad's Pool.

So which half was true, and which half was a lie?

The chains of the King,
Make of us all an empire.

—The Book Of Parodies

The meeting took place in the Realm of Dusk, beneath a sulphurous sky, in a sunken dusty depression filled with sleeping armies. Wearing the suit of bright, spine-adorned armour once more, Byrnak rode along a wide aisle past ranks of wains and war machines, cavalry and chariots, soldiers and beasts, a panoply of warriors in their scores of thousands, all standing motionless and facing inwards. A faint, warm breeze made banners and flags sway limply and brought odours of leather and iron to Byrnak's nose. Beyond the edge of the bowl-like depression loomed a huge, tower-ringed citadel: a second one was just visible as a grey silhouette in the far distance. A deadening silence hung over the bowl, broken only by the sound of his mount's hooves and the desultory flapping of small pennons.