Sinner (25 page)

“
S
end someone else to watch the Star Gate,” SpikeFeather told Caelum, “for Orr has gone.”

That is all he said, for since his apprenticeship to the Ferryman SpikeFeather had developed a secrecy about him that had not been there previously. SpikeFeather knew there was something wrong, and he knew Orr had disappeared, but until he knew exactly what had happened he was not going to waste Caelum’s time with speculations.

Once SpikeFeather had been an ordinary Icarii, not even an Enchanter. Just a birdman who did his best at whatever he’d been assigned to. More by accident than design, SpikeFeather had found himself commanding the Strike Force during the last months of Axis’ campaign against Gorgrael, but he had not truly felt comfortable in the position, and once peace had settled over Tencendor, he’d handed the position of Strike Leader to DareWing FullHeart.

Besides, he owed a life to the Ferryman.

SpikeFeather had spent many years in the Overworld after his pact with the Ferryman in return for Orr
transporting the children to safety, but fifteen years ago Orr had summoned SpikeFeather to the waterways.

There, Orr had begun to teach the birdman.

SpikeFeather was never quite sure
what
the Ferryman taught him.

It was not magic, for SpikeFeather remembered no spells and had no power to wield them in any case.

It was not the explanations to great mysteries, for SpikeFeather never remembered feeling very enlightened.

Orr had mostly just talked, generally about what he had seen and heard over the past millennia – and over fifteen years he had barely managed to scratch the surface of his experiences.

SpikeFeather only spent a few months of each year in the waterways. Orr often told him that he needed to spend as much time reflecting as he did absorbing, so in those months he spent in the Overworld, SpikeFeather wandered about Sigholt, sometimes talking with one or two of the SunSoars, mostly just thinking.

SpikeFeather had been standing atop Sigholt when Orr’s terror struck him. Apart from a few disjointed words, nothing had reached him but that terror.

Terror? SpikeFeather had not known Orr to be capable of such emotion.

Now SpikeFeather sat in a small flat-bottomed boat in the centre of a vast underground violet lake. Above him soared an immense domed roof of multifaceted crystals.

Where was Orr?

SpikeFeather did not know. He had called, but Orr had not appeared.

SpikeFeather could try to look for him, but if the past fifteen years had taught SpikeFeather anything it was that the waterways of the Underworld were so vast that to search for someone without a clear idea of where they might be would be to search in vain.

So SpikeFeather searched for clues in the words that Orr had sent him.

Qeteb. SpikeFeather frowned, rolling the word about his mouth until whispers echoed off the crystal roof.

Qeteb.

He did not know it. Nothing Orr had ever said in the past alluded to a Qeteb. It meant nothing in any of the languages SpikeFeather knew. All he knew was that with the word, Orr had passed across the knowledge of indescribable terror.

SpikeFeather shivered.

Qeteb meant nothing. What else? Grail. Grail King. Beware the Grail King in the Maze.

Only one word had some association for SpikeFeather. Was the repeated Grail a reference to Grail Lake? If so, then what?

SpikeFeather tried to think it through, but found no answers and came to no conclusions. Orr had never mentioned anything about the Sacred Lakes, and yet…yet…wasn’t there a mystery about them?

SpikeFeather sighed, and turned his mind to the other word.

The Maze. Orr had sent the message, “Beware the Grail King in the Maze.” And then, “Attend the Maze!”

The Maze? The Maze?

Where was Orr, where
was
he? SpikeFeather needed to find him, to get him to explain what this Maze was, and why SpikeFeather had to attend it. And why had Orr been so terrified of this Qeteb, and the Grail King?

SpikeFeather sighed. Even if he was almost certain he would never find Orr amid the meanderings of the waterways, he needed to try. He took hold of the oars and began his search.

The waterways was a world both magical and physical. Thousands of leagues of actual physical waterways wound
about underneath Tencendor and the surrounding oceans, but the magical waterways extended far further. Those Icarii Enchanters who knew how, and who commanded enough power, could manipulate the waterways to mirror the various melodies of the Star Dance. If an Enchanter sang a Song to accomplish his or her purpose, then someone with the knowledge could travel a waterway that matched the pattern of the Song to accomplish the same purpose.

It was cumbersome, but possible.

But not for SpikeFeather. He was not an Enchanter, and Orr had never taught him the magical secrets of the waterways. So SpikeFeather travelled the waterways the most difficult way of all, by the strength of his own muscles and the labour of his heart.

He had no idea where to start looking for the ever secretive Orr, or for this Maze, or for any way to approach the Grail Lake via the waterways. The only one of the Sacred Lakes he knew the path to was the Lake of Life, and that was only because Orr had needed to show him an easy way to travel between Sigholt and the waterways.

So SpikeFeather rowed. He followed his instincts, and when that got him nowhere he followed his frustration and anger.

Where was Orr? What had he been so terrified of? What was wrong?

Who or what was Qeteb? The Grail King? The Maze?

SpikeFeather rowed. He rowed through caverns where grey stone cities lay smothered in cobwebs. He rowed through forests of glass and enamel. He rowed along waterways that were lined with weed, and some that were lined with figures carved from ice. He passed strange creatures embalmed in limestone, and others stranger trapped in petrified wood.

But he did not find Orr.

Finally, after many days, SpikeFeather sat in his flat bottomed
boat in the centre of the violet lake and wept. He had failed Orr in his hour of need. He had proven a failure as a pupil, and an even worse failure as a friend.

Orr had trusted him with those words and phrases, as he had trusted him to know he was terrified, perhaps unto death, and yet SpikeFeather could not help him.

Eventually SpikeFeather raised his eyes. There must be
something
he could do.

Who else had spent time with Orr in the waterways? Axis SunSoar had, but Axis SunSoar would reveal nothing of what he had learned from the Ferryman.

But there were others. The Lake Guard. As children they’d spent a night with Orr on their way from Talon Spike to Sigholt. No-one knew better than SpikeFeather how strangely time passed within the waterways. What if those children had spent one night of Overworld time in the waterways, but a year of Underworld time?

The children had been changed, all agreed on that. They were apparently loyal to Caelum, but did they in fact care more for…

“Orr,” SpikeFeather whispered. The Lake Guard
must
know something! And if not, then would they not help search for Orr?

Yes, surely.

Suddenly glad-hearted, SpikeFeather grabbed at the oars and rowed for the Lake of Life.

It was an arduous journey, and he was close to exhaustion when he emerged onto the moonlit lake. But once he’d moored the boat close to Sigholt he managed to wing his way to the roof with alacrity. Answers waited, and Orr needed his help.

There was no-one about as SpikeFeather made his way down to the quarters where slept WingRidge CurlClaw, the captain of the Lake Guard.

SpikeFeather tapped at the door gently, not wanting to startle the birdman, but was startled himself when it swung open to reveal WingRidge sitting at a table.

“Greetings, SpikeFeather,” WingRidge said.

“You knew I was coming,” SpikeFeather said, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him.

WingRidge shrugged. “I was merely passing the night with my memories. I thought you had gone back to the waterways, SpikeFeather.”

SpikeFeather was in the act of sitting down opposite the captain when he saw the embroidered device on the birdman’s uniform as if for the first time. A complicated knot – but weren’t all knots simplified mazes?

SpikeFeather slowly sat down and looked WingRidge in the eye. “I had to come back.”

“Really?” WingRidge leaned back and poured them both some wine. “How so?”

SpikeFeather briefly explained what he had experienced atop the roof of Sigholt, and the sense of terror that Orr had passed across to him.

“Terror?” WingRidge became suddenly very watchful. Orr had been standing guard at the Star Gate. What had he seen? Heard?

“I could not understand it. It was a terror so great it was almost formless. With the terror he passed across some words.”

“Yes?”

“Qeteb.”

WingRidge slowly put his glass down and stared at SpikeFeather.

“Beware the Grail King in the Maze.” SpikeFeather watched WingRidge’s reaction carefully, then leaned forward and tapped the birdman on the chest. “You
know
of what I speak!”

WingRidge nodded, his eyes shifting as he thought
quickly. If Orr had been at the Star Gate, and if he knew of Qeteb, then he could only have known by two means. Firstly, he’d discovered Qeteb by a means as yet beyond the Star Gate. But WingRidge didn’t think that the case, for he’d have known –
all
would have known – if disaster was that close. No, Orr had likely found out via the Sceptre that Drago carried, and that meant the Maze wanted Orr and, through him, SpikeFeather, to know.

It also meant that Drago had likely stepped through the Star Gate. WingRidge almost smiled with satisfaction, then remembered SpikeFeather sitting impatiently before him.

“Then the time
is
nigh,” he said slowly, and did not know whether to feel excited…or terrified.

“Tell me!”

“Most of it I cannot, SpikeFeather.”

“WingRidge, Orr also told me that I must attend the Maze.”

WingRidge stared at his glass, his eyes carefully veiled.

“Curse you, WingRidge, I
need
to know where to find this Maze…this Qeteb!”

WingRidge laughed harshly, utterly devoid of humour. “No, no, you
never
wish to find Qeteb!”

SpikeFeather, exhausted and emotionally drained, lost his temper. “What demon do you owe your cursed loyalty to, WingRidge? What –”

“
Never say I owe my loyalty to a demon!
” WingRidge screamed. Leaping to his feet, he sent the table crashing to the floor with one furious twist of his wrist. “I owe my loyalty to the
StarSon!
Not to any damned demon!”

His fury stunned SpikeFeather back into silence.

WingRidge took a deep breath and calmed himself. “I offer my apologies, SpikeFeather. You are closely associated with Orr and the waterways, and it was you who first brought us into contact with the Underworld. For that I, as all the Lake Guard, remain in your debt.”

He paused, and rubbed his eyes. When he looked back at SpikeFeather they were rimmed with dread. “If the Grail King stirs, then so I
must
speak. Especially since the Maze appears to require your presence. Yes, I owe you some explanation. Please, will you help me right this table so we may sit in comfort again?”

SpikeFeather assisted him, then they sat, each silent on his side of the table.

After a while WingRidge began to speak in a quiet, even tone. “When you left us with Orr we floated only a small distance with the Ferryman before he left us to continue our own way. The boats we sat in were magically guided, and all we had to do was sit and sing to get to the Lake of Life.”

“But –”

“But someone else came to us down in the waterways, SpikeFeather, and told us of a mighty secret.”

“Who?”

Silence for a long time. Then, very quietly, “WolfStar SunSoar.”

“Ah!” SpikeFeather exclaimed. “Will this WolfStar never leave us alone?”

“He showed us a great mystery,” WingRidge said, a trifle defensively.

“He manipulated you.”

“He showed us the Maze,” WingRidge said. “And he showed us our purpose.”

“Your purpose?”

“To serve the StarSon as best we might.”

And well you show it, SpikeFeather thought, for sometimes you barely give Caelum the time of day. “Where is this Maze?”

WingRidge hesitated. “Very well. You have reason enough to know. Look,” and, pulling a piece of parchment to himself, WingRidge drew a plan with swift, dark strokes.

A
s the autumn thickened with clouds overhead, Zared moved on Kastaleon. He did not want to initiate a war, he did not want to evoke images and memories of invasion or treason, he only wanted to make a point. And so Zared did not invade Kastaleon with an army, or even an armed force, but with a relatively small group of men.

By the first week in Bone-Month Zared had his army stationed at a point some two leagues to the north-west of Kastaleon – a morning’s ride away. Zared was tense and worried, as were Herme and Theod. Had they managed to pass unnoticed through Aldeni, or did the captain of Kastaleon have intelligence of their movements? Would his arrival be a surprise, or quietly awaited? Zared had done his best to keep the army to uninhabited stretches of Aldeni, and Theod had spread the word among his people that the least said about any sightings of Prince Zared and a force moving south the better…but Zared well knew that a single loose tongue could mean a trap awaiting him at Kastaleon.

Even a vengeful Caelum.

A vengeful Leagh was bad enough. After they’d moved away from the almost disastrous river crossing at
the Azle, she’d spent days – and long nights – pleading with him to turn back to Severin. Marry me there, she’d said, rubbing her naked body against his, and we will ride out Caelum’s anger. And if there are further disputes between you, then surely Council would be the best place to reason them out.

When he’d continued to refuse to turn for home, Leagh had become angry. Again she’d accused him of lying to her, deceiving her.

“And deceiving your parents’ trust in you,” she said several nights ago, “for they believed you’d remain loyal to the Throne of the Stars.”

That had been too much, and Zared, furious, had moved his sleeping roll away from her for the rest of the night.

His fury was also tinged with guilt. What would she do when she learned that he was intent on reclaiming the Acharite throne, and on regaining the Acharites their pride? She would certainly then believe he only loved her for her inheritance. That was wrong, Zared told himself during the rest of that long, lonely night, for he
did
love her, and as much for her wit and charm and strength of character (which he currently cursed) as her lands.

Zared admitted to himself that part of Leagh’s appeal lay in her inheritance, and that inheritance could not possibly be divorced from his current crusade. It was naive of her to think otherwise.

But this evening, as he watched his men set up camp above Kastaleon, Zared sighed, and vowed to make peace with Leagh as soon as he could. Gods knew what would happen if she refused to marry him…

Before Zared ate his evening meal he sent fifty men to Kastaleon in groups of three or four. They were garbed as traders or itinerants, and would be able to pass unnoticed
among the crowds that gathered about Kastaleon. The castle was not simply a defensive structure, but it also served as the point where Askam imposed his tariffs on the Nordra River. No vessel could slip by Kastaleon unnoticed or unchallenged. All stopped, all were inspected, all were taxed. With the trade, and just the general traffic along the roads leading to and from the grain lands of upper Tencendor, there was generally a large number of people moving past or through the castle and the settlement surrounding it; his fifty would attract no undue attention.

Zared gave them that night and the first part of the following morning. Close to noon he led a force of some five hundred men south; the bulk of the army staying behind. The intelligence Zared had received showed that Askam had about one hundred and twenty men stationed at Kastaleon. Not many. After all, this was peace time.

He glanced across at Theod, who looked excited, and Herme, who was considerably graver.

At Zared’s stare, Herme shrugged. “You have no choice, my Prince. You
must
demonstrate how deeply Caelum has insulted you, and how he cannot afford to ignore the issues that threaten Tencendor’s peace.”

But do
I
threaten Tencendor’s peace by this action? Zared wondered. Will it stop at Kastaleon, or will it spread ripple-fashion throughout the entire land? But it was too late to back down now; already some fifty of his men were waiting inside Kastaleon, and they would cause mischief enough even if Zared turned for home at this very moment.

So Zared waved his men out.

They now carried the Prince of the North’s standard, and Zared himself rode at the head of the column dressed in clearly visible insignia. If he had wanted to keep his approach through Aldeni quiet, then he needed to ride into Kastaleon openly.

The captain of the watch spotted them a thousand paces from the castle. He peered through the afternoon sun, trying to catch a glimpse of the standard, then his eyes widened.

“The Prince of the North approaches,” he cried. “Form an honour guard!”

“Curse his hairy stones!” the captain muttered as he climbed down the ladders to the inner courtyard. Zared might have sent a forward scout to warn of his arrival. No doubt he would expect a full banquet and noble entertainment in the hall tonight. Well, he’d have to think again. Kastaleon hardly had the facilities to –

His thoughts were cut off by a clatter of hooves across the drawbridge. Zared, with some two hundred and fifty men, swarmed into an already crowded central courtyard.

The captain frowned. Why were they deploying so? One would think they were almost…

He snapped to attention as the Prince himself reined his horse to a halt before him.

“Welcome to Kastaleon, my Lord,” he said. “May I inquire as to the purpose of your visit?”

“Certainly,” Zared said pleasantly, dismounting and pulling the gloves from his hands as he walked the few steps between himself and the captain. “I have come to seize your castle, sirrah. Your surrender, please.”

The captain’s mouth dropped, unable to believe what he’d just heard. “But…but…”

Then training took over, and he snapped out of his fugue. “Hartley!” he shouted, turning to look for his second-in-command, “we are under –”

The hilt of Zared’s sword crashed into the back of his skull, and the captain collapsed to the pavement. The rest of the courtyard was in uproar. Men had come to their senses at the same time as the captain, and many had drawn swords and moved into defensive positions.

But it was too late, the invader was already inside!

And worse. The fifty men Zared had sent in earlier were causing chaos and distraction within the buildings, shouting false orders, seizing weapons, locking men in barracks and store rooms. The two hundred and fifty Zared had brought into the castle with him quickly subdued the soldiers within the courtyard and on the walls, while outside Kastaleon another two hundred secured the immediate riverfront, wharf and approach roads.

Kastaleon was Zared’s.

That evening he summoned the captain of Kastaleon’s guard. The captain was sullen and subdued, nursing a dreadful headache and a worse case of resentment.

“I am sending you north,” Zared said as soon as the captain stood at some sort of attention before his desk.

“I am not yours to command,” the captain muttered.

“Nevertheless, I am sure you would like StarSon Caelum and Prince Askam informed of my actions?”

The captain stared silently at him.

“Yes, I am sure you would. Well, I would like you to take a message to Caelum for me.”

The captain continued to stare at Zared.

“I am
ordering
you to carry a message to Caelum!” Zared snapped, and the captain nodded curtly.

“You will inform Caelum that I have seized Kastaleon in part compensation for the loss of trade Prince Askam’s exorbitant tariffs on river cargo have caused me and most of Western Tencendor. Nevertheless, I am a generous man, and I will be prepared to forget the loss and hand Kastaleon back into Prince Askam’s care once Caelum is prepared to negotiate the matters I discussed with him in Sigholt. Please repeat what I have just said.”

The captain hesitated, then repeated the message.

Zared sat back in his chair. “Good. You will ride north with all possible haste.”

“Are you invading the West?” the captain said.

Zared noted the lack of a title, but understood the captain’s attitude. No doubt Askam would not receive news of his failure to defend Kastaleon with much good cheer.

“Not if I don’t have to,” he said. “Now, get you gone from here. There is a horse and an escort waiting.”

Once the captain had gone, Herme emerged from a shadowy corner. “The first act has been played out in this war of nerves, my Prince. And now?”

Zared thought for some time. “I don’t want Caelum receiving intelligence that Kastaleon is surrounded by an army fourteen thousand thick, Herme. I will keep the five hundred here, but the rest…the rest I want to start to move,” he hesitated, “move them inland to the Western Ranges.”

Herme nodded. Within striking distance of Carlon. Whatever Zared was saying publicly, he’d been thinking of Carlon. Well, if he truly wanted the throne, Kastaleon was never going to be enough. “Do you think Caelum
will
move against us, Zared?”

“Frankly, I doubt it.” Zared stared into the flames of the fire in the hearth across the room. “I think your counsel that he would do anything to avoid a serious confrontation was wise. But just in case…just in case. Who knows what Askam might push him into? If I have to stand and fight I do not want to do it here. Kastaleon is not built to withstand a siege, and this is a bad place to stage a battle. I need to be prepared for…”

“For?”

“For whatever else might eventuate…”

“My Prince –”

“I saw that man’s face, Herme. He hated me. Until a few moments ago this was all such an academic exercise. Too easy. A routine deployment. But I very much fear we may have to fight this one out, Herme.”

“Most of the Acharites will fight for you, Zared! You fight for them, for their pride!”

“I most certainly hope so,” Zared said very softly, his gaze still unfocused in the flames. “I most certainly hope so.”

As Herme left the room Zared saw Leagh standing in the gloom of the door. The expression on her face was very cold.

After a moment she presented her back and walked away.