Sinner (33 page)

“
S
till nothing from our rear?” Zared asked Theod yet again as they sat their horses a half-hour’s ride north-east of Carlon.

“No, my Prince,” Theod said. “Caelum must be suffering from shock. He has not sent so much as a scout after us. Not,” he said glumly, “that he has many to send.”

Zared turned away from Theod, his thoughts bleak. When Theod had caught him up with the devastating news that Caelum had ridden his force straight into Kastaleon without so much as a dog to scout the place out, and had thus suffered the full force of the explosion, Zared had blanched.

“How many?” he had asked quietly.

“Between three and four thousand dead at least, my Prince. And scores more injured nigh unto death.”

“Caelum?”

Theod had not known, but Zared refused,
refused,
to consider Caelum dead. Besides, had Caelum died Axis would surely have known and acted.

Why in the name of every god in existence hadn’t Caelum sent in a scouting party first?

Zared had been prepared to risk five or six deaths, much as he regretted them, but he had yet to come to terms with the horror of three or four thousand dead. All he’d wanted to do was destroy Kastaleon and hold Caelum up for a few days. What he
had
done was create a situation where war was unavoidable.

His hands were tied, and through his own action. He could either surrender himself – an idea anathema to the proud Zared – or he could work to make his position unassailable.

His doubts had been blown away as forcibly as most of Caelum’s force. He now had
no
choice. He must make himself King of Achar, with Leagh at his side. Once King he could hopefully rally the support of hundreds of thousands of Acharites feverishly loyal to their resurrected monarch.

Even Caelum might think twice about setting the Strike Force on the entire West and North.

At the least, Zared thought with only the tiniest degree of humour, he might think about sending in a scouting party first. Frankly, Zared was amazed that six days after the destruction of Kastaleon, the Icarii Strike Force was still not yet wheeling down on him from the sky.

“I would have set
everything
I had after me had
I
been Caelum,” he muttered. “What in the name of all gods is he up to?”

They had moved south fast from Kastaleon. Desperately fast. They’d ridden a day, then commandeered river boats to carry them towards Carlon. This morning Zared had ordered the boats to put to shore, and land his men so they could ride the final league.

Zared hoped that Goldman had been right in saying Carlon would support him, and that western Tencendor would rise up to back his claim to the throne. The last thing he needed was to ride into an apathetic city.

“She still does not know?” Theod said softly beside Zared, breaking his thoughts.

Zared glanced over his shoulder. Leagh was several lengths behind him, riding with Herme. Zared reined his horse closer to Theod’s.

“No. I have not liked to tell her. Who knows if Askam lives or dies? It would be cruel to tell her.”

Theod looked at him with concern, thinking to say more, but Zared’s gaze was now fixed on the road before them.

“Look! Is that Goldman?”

A group of five horsemen had ridden from Carlon’s gates, still some three hundred paces distant. Two outriders carried poles from which fluttered pennants and standards.

“Look,” Theod said, “they bear the standards of Carlon…and of Zared, Prince of the North.”

Zared felt his muscles relax a little; he had not realised he was so tense until this moment. He pulled in his own horse, then waved his column to a halt.

There was a movement to his side, and Herme and Leagh rode up.

“Goldman,” Zared said, indicating the riders, but Leagh said nothing.

The group of riders covered the distance to Zared at a brisk canter. It was indeed Jannymire Goldman, with four well-dressed companions.

“Prince Zared,” Goldman said, reining his horse to a halt three paces from Zared, “I offered the support of the traders and guilds of Carlon, and here it is. May I present Mayor Gregoric Sandmeyer, and the Guild Masters of the Wool, Fish and Grain merchants’ guilds.”

Zared raised his eyebrows. A powerful coterie indeed. “And do you also present me Carlon, Master Goldman and Mayor Sandmeyer? I have at my back a force of some
five hundred men. Hardly enough to overrun Carlon’s walls should I be forced to do so.”

“I think you will hardly be ‘forced’, Prince,” Sandmeyer said, bowing deeply from his saddle. He was a barrel-chested man, with strong features and startling eyes. “Carlon – indeed, Achar – eagerly awaits you.”

Then he turned to Leagh, and offered her another, if smaller, bow. “My Princess, I am glad to see you again. It has been too long. And you ride by Prince Zared’s side. If I may be so bold, for many know that the Prince has been petitioning for your hand for many a long year, may I ask if you ride as his wife?”

“Not yet,” she said shortly. Sandmeyer was being too forward. “I have yet to come to a decision.”

“I see,” Sandmeyer said softly, and looked at Goldman.

“I think, Princess,” Goldman said, “that Carlon’s reception may make your decision a little easier for you.”

Zared had hoped Goldman would organise a welcoming crowd, but he had never envisioned the tumultuous welcome that Carlon put on for him.

As they urged their horses forward, Zared became aware of a muted roar. Initially it puzzled him, but as he drew closer to the main gates he realised – with absolute astonishment – that it was the thunder of a crowd tens of thousands strong.

He looked at Leagh – they now rode side by side at the head of the column, the others having drawn back – and saw that her face was pale, as astonished as his.

And then they were inside the gates, and inside a maelstrom.

The noise of the crowd was overwhelming, and Zared had to grab at the bridle of Leagh’s mare as it shied in fright. One of Carlon’s militiamen ran forward, and took
it from him, and Zared leaned back in the saddle, trying to absorb the sights and sounds before him.

Carlon’s streets were lined ten-deep with people. Others crowded balconies and roofs. Everyone was waving something, whether ribbons or pennants or banners; some were the rose and gold of his familial standard, others were the royal blue and scarlet of the Acharite throne.

As one, they roared his name.

“
Zared! Zared! Zared!
”

Atop the shouts of the crowd came the trumpeting of horns – scores of them – and the beating of drums and the clashing of cymbals. The noised bounced off walls, echoing wildly through the streets and then into the sky.

Zared stared, then he laughed, almost overwhelmed with the emotion poured out in his welcome. He spurred his horse forward and waved, and the noise, if possible, tripled.

Leagh, riding at a more sedate pace behind him, was utterly stunned. She could hardly comprehend the sights and the sounds. She had seen nothing like this before. Nothing. Even Caelum’s crowning on the shores of Grail Lake had been a sedate seventh-day picnic compared to this.

Askam had never pulled a crowd of more than a thousand onto the streets, but Leagh thought that Carlon’s entire sixty thousand must have abandoned home and work and school to pay homage to Zared.

And that was what it was, she realised. Homage, not welcome.

Before her the crowd surged, trying to follow Zared’s progress. He had been mobbed, but did not seem afraid. Instead he was laughing, and leaning down from his horse, grabbing hands, touching faces.

“
King Zared!
” the crowd now roared. “
King Zared!
”

Then the mob were crowding her, too, and she heard them call out her name.

“
Leagh! Leagh! Queen Leagh!
”

Some ten paces in front of her, separated by hundreds of people, Zared swung his horse about and caught her eye.

Leagh stared at him, shaking. She had never realised…never realised…

They were led, eventually, to the dazzling ancient Icarii palace on the highest hill in the city.

Not to the Prince’s palace.

The Icarii palace had been the one used by the former Kings of Achar, passing into the hands of the SunSoar family once Axis had destroyed the throne.

Now, apparently, it would again be used by an Acharite king.

There, in the Chamber of the Moons, Carlon had prepared a reception for Zared that was only slightly less restrained than the street welcome.

On the dais sat a throne, a perfect replica of the ancient throne of the Acharite kings. Leagh stared at it in amazement – how long had they been preparing for Zared? The throne was the patient work of a master craftsman, several masters, for exquisite wooden carvings had inlays of gold and silver and scatterings of precious gems.

How had I never known? she thought to herself, still dazed, as Zared took her arm and led her to the dais. How had I never known?

Zared would not use the throne, saying it could wait until he was crowned, but he stood on the dais, Leagh at his side, Herme, Theod, Goldman and Sandmeyer slightly behind him, and received the well-wishers of Carlon.

First there were representatives from the guilds, all of whom knelt before Zared and promised him their support.

The city militia stood forth and did likewise.

Representatives from each of the major blocks of Carlon came forward, some with their wives and children, and proffered their support.

And from the nearer rural areas came the rural guild masters, there, as all the others, to offer Zared their wishes and their loyalty.

Leagh was a little amazed that even the rats had not sallied forth from their sewers to pledge
their
allegiance as well.

“Prince Zared,” Goldman finally said, standing forth so that he could address Zared. “Have you any doubts as to the loyalty of your people?”

“No, good Goldman,” Zared said softly. “This is more than I ever dreamed possible.”

“Do you have any doubts as to their wishes, my Prince?”

“No, Goldman. I do not.”

In a dramatic gesture, Goldman dropped to one knee, put a hand over his heart, and dipped his head in obeisance.

“Zared, will you accept the loyalty of your people? Will you accept the wishes? Will you assume the throne of Achar?”

There was utter silence in the chamber, and Zared looked slowly about, not only at the people who waited for his answer, but also at the chamber itself that had witnessed so much violence and death during Axis’ war with Borneheld.

“I was born to the throne of Achar,” Zared said, his voice ringing to the very peak of the brilliant blue-enamelled dome itself, “and so I will assume it.”

The chamber erupted. Goldman waited until the noise had died down, then he looked at Leagh. “And will
you
accept the wishes of the Acharites, Princess?”

She stared at him, then Zared leaned across and took her hands, turning her to face him.

“Will you be my wife, Leagh?” he said. “Will you be my Queen?”

She looked at him, studied his face, and knew she had no choice. “Yes, Zared,” she finally said, “I will be your Queen.”

C
aelum had viewed the disaster of Kastaleon for a full week, and yet still he could hardly credit his eyes. The castle was a ruin – no longer smoking perhaps, but the piles of cold, useless stone were as painful to gaze upon as the burning wreckage had been.

What remained of his command was still camped about the ruins. Six hundred men, many still abed from their injuries. Straggly tents, ragged horse lines, and morale that was as damp and grey as the moat most had been forced to swim through to survive. Beyond the camp site, thousands of sad mounds stretched into the distance. Graves. Reminders of the treachery Zared had visited on him.

“How could he have done it?” Caelum muttered, but no answer occurred to him as it had not occurred to him every time he’d asked himself that question over the past week.

He turned from his useless contemplation of ruins and camp and walked towards a tent set aside from the others. A guard outside saluted as Caelum approached, but Caelum noted the guard’s eyes slid away, refusing to meet his.

Lingering grief for his comrades, Caelum told himself.

He lifted the tent flap and entered. It was dim inside, too cool, and Caelum thought about asking a servant to light the brazier. He half turned back towards the tent flap, intending to ask the guard to fetch someone, then thought better of it and lit the brazier himself.

“Caelum?”

Caelum closed the brazier hatch. “You’re awake, Askam. Did the herbal brew not work?”

Askam struggled into a sitting position on his bunk. “The pain has dulled, but my left hand itches abominably. Ah!” He spat into a corner of the tent. “The ghost of this arm haunts me, Caelum! Will it never leave me in peace?”

Caelum sat down on a stool close to the brazier and watched Askam warily. He did not know the words needed to comfort the man, but he suspected that Askam would accept no comfort. All Askam wanted was revenge. Revenge for his castle, revenge for his arm. He had lost more weight in the past week than Caelum had thought possible any man could do. The skin hung grey and slack from Askam’s bones, his eyes were red-rimmed with pain and exhaustion, and the fingers of his remaining hand constantly trembled. His breeches were stained by wear and the exudate from the crusty bandages about his torso.

Askam could hardly bear the pain when the bandages were changed and, to Caelum’s knowledge, they had not been touched these past three days.

There was a sweet stench in the tent that could not entirely be explained by the fragrant wood burning in the brazier.

“You should rest, Askam, perhaps eat more. And someone should surely clean your –”

“I will bite off the hand of the person who dares touch me!” Askam snarled, and Caelum reflexively jerked back on his stool.

“Askam –”

“I will flay the skin from Zared’s body with my remaining fingernails for what he has done!”

To that Caelum had nothing to say.

“When do we move? What
else
of mine has he seized?”

“We cannot move while you still lie so weak, Askam.”

Askam lurched to his feet. He swayed alarmingly, but threw off Caelum’s concerned hand and managed to find his balance.

“I can ride, Caelum. And it was not my sword arm that was stolen.”

“You can hardly stand,” Caelum said carefully. “And the lack of your left arm will severely hamper your sword balance.”

“
I can fight!
When do we move?”

“I have not yet –”

Whatever Caelum was about to say was halted by a movement outside the tent, an exclamation of surprise, and the lifting of the tent flap.

Axis SunSoar, God of the Star Dance, entered the tent.

Caelum gaped at him, then enveloped him in a huge hug. “Father!”

Axis briefly returned the hug, then pushed Caelum back.

He looked almost as grey as Askam. “By all the stars in creation, Caelum,
what has happened here?
”

For eight days the Star Gods had talked, argued, and studied the black stain in the universe as also the slight taint that each felt in their powers. What to do, and how?

Finally they’d decided that Caelum had to be told what was happening. If the saving of Tencendor rested on his shoulders, then he needed to be informed.

Thus Axis had materialised just outside Kastaleon, focusing his Song of Movement on the faint tug of his son’s blood.

When his vision cleared from the enchantment, the sight that met his eyes caused him to cry out in shock.

The destruction appalled him. He’d had no idea of any war being fought on Tencendorian soil. He, as his companion gods, had been so consumed by the problem of the TimeKeeper Demons he’d paid no attention to the daily travails of Tencendor.

Besides, Caelum now ruled, and Caelum needed to be left alone to rule as he saw fit.

But what in the name of all Stars had happened here?
There were graves…thousands of them! For the first time in a week all thought of the TimeKeeper Demons and their potential for utter disaster had fled from Axis’ mind.

Now Axis grasped his son’s shoulders, as worried by the pallor of his skin and the dark circles under his eyes as he was by the destruction and death outside. “Caelum? What has happened here?”

But it was not Caelum who replied.

“Your
brother,
” Askam almost spat the word, “has committed such treachery that this land has not seen in decades.”

Axis ignored him, his eyes still locked with his son’s. “Caelum?”

Caelum glanced at Askam, then took his father’s arm and steered him outside.

Askam made as if to follow, but faltered at the first step and sank back to his bunk again. He muttered Zared’s name as his head hit the pillow, and even he was not sure if the word was a curse or a promise.

“Zared had seized Kastaleon as part of his quest for the Acharite throne –” Caelum began.

“
What?
” Axis exploded, then subsided as he noticed small groups of men turning to stare at them.

Damn Zared into a thousand pits of fire! Damn Rivkah for breeding him!

Caelum nodded. “Even with the mention of the throne, Father, it seems that the hatreds of the past have flared into war. Zared claimed that the human populations felt slighted, that they needed their throne back.”

“Stars,” Axis muttered. “Was all I fought for in vain? Had he no
thought?
”

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “What did you do?”

“I raised five thousand men and came here to personally supervise his expulsion. But…”

“But it did not go well for you, did it, my son? I assume Zared does not lie in any of those graves.”

Caelum hesitated, then shook his head. “We approached stealthily. I hid the force under cloak of enchantment –”

Axis glanced sharply at him.

“– and I thought us to be safe enough. The castle was quiet. I thought Zared and his men asleep. But as we entered the courtyard…once most of us were in…”

Caelum turned to his father and shared with him the vision and experience of the explosion.

Aghast, Axis halted him. “You led your men into a trap, Caelum! Did you not think to send scouts…make sure all was as it seemed before you blithely marched your entire force inside?”

Caelum flushed. “All seemed well, Father! How could I have suspected such foul –”

“As easily as Zared anticipated
your
approach, Caelum! Why were you not more careful?”

Axis took a deep breath, averting his eyes from his son’s face. “Did you not think to parley first?” he asked in
a quieter tone. “Zared would have talked. His seizure of Kastaleon was just a theatre to gain your attention.”

“What? Look at this, Father!” Caelum waved a hand at the ruins. “Is that ‘talk’?” He turned to the field of graves. “Are they ‘theatre’?”

“I might have done the same had I heard a force of five thousand approached, Caelum!” Axis snapped. He paused, and collected himself. It was no use expending his anger at Zared on his son.

“You are right,” he said. “He should not have gone to these extremes. Where is he now?”

“Ah, he, ah…” In the first shocking aftermath of the explosion Caelum had not thought to determine Zared’s position, and in the past two or three days he had been so plagued by his nightmares it seemed that whenever he blinked he saw the point of the sword screaming down towards his heart.

Gods, why hadn’t he acted quicker? How was it that Drago could so destroy his mind from whatever hole he’d secreted himself in?

“You
have
sent farflight scouts to search him out, Caelum…haven’t you?”

Caelum licked his lips, then wished he hadn’t. “I left half of the Strike Force in Sigholt, the other half in Severin.”

“Severin?”

“I thought it best that, at the least, Zared could lose his seat of power for his treachery in seizing Kastaleon.”

Axis only just managed to stop himself from swearing. “You have started a civil war, Caelum!”

“It was not
I
who started it!”

Axis stared at his son, fighting back the words. A parley, open discussions about whatever grievances Zared had, and restitution to Askam for the seizure of Kastaleon would have solved the entire problem. But, no. Caelum
had felt the need for dramatic action. Had he not taught his son better?

And he had just marched his entire force into enemy territory without scouting first?

Axis turned away, pretending a careful study of the ruins. How could he revile his son for the actions he’d taken? Caelum had no experience of war, and little of diplomacy. The now-dead Duke of Aldeni, Roland, had warned Axis many years ago that peace did not breed good kings or war leaders. Well, Axis hoped that Caelum would learn from this experience.

Stars knew he was going to need it.

“Caelum,” he said quietly, facing his son again, “Zared is not the only problem you and Tencendor must face.”

Briefly he told his son what WolfStar knew about the Sacred Lakes and the TimeKeeper Demons. He did not tell him that WolfStar claimed Caelum was the only one who could battle against the Demons.
That
Caelum did not need to hear right now.

What Caelum had heard was bad enough. He stared at his father. “Tell me the implications of the TimeKeepers’ approach!”

“They will destroy our power, Caelum. Already they blot out the Star Dance from a tiny portion of the universe. If they get close enough to the Star Gate then they will cut out the music of the Star Dance completely.”

“But that will mean…that will mean that all Enchanters in this land will lose their powers! Every…every…” Caelum stared at his father, not able to say it.

“And every Star God, Caelum. Every Star God.”

Caelum shook his head, trying to comprehend this torrent of bad news. No wonder the problems he’d been experiencing with his own powers. And it would only get worse? He tried to imagine life without the ability to hear
or use the Star Dance, and found he could not do so. “Why do they approach so fast? Why now?”

And even as he asked the question, he knew. Drago.
Drago had taken the Rainbow Sceptre through the Star Gate to these Demons!

Yes, Axis answered in his mind. “He leads them,” he continued in his speaking voice, “no doubt in some plan to finally wrest control of Tencendor from you. Stars knows he was ever ambitious!”

“Father,” Caelum whispered, “have you dreamed of the hunt recently?”

“No. Why?”

Caelum told his father about his dreams, about being hunted through forest and plain alike by the horseman dressed in his enveloping dark armour.

“It is DragonStar,” Caelum said, “and always he hunts me down, and always he impales me on his sword.”

His eyes were haunted, terrified. “Now Drago leads Demons to destroy us. Drago’s infant pact with Gorgrael was the least of his horrors, wasn’t it, Father? He will never rest, never, until he can kill me.”

“Caelum, listen to me.” Axis took his son’s shoulders and forced him to meet his stare. “We will prevail. We have time to prepare. The Demons are far off yet.”

Axis could feel Caelum trembling beneath his hands, and his power could detect the memories rushing through his mind. Stars! He had not realised Drago exerted such a hold over Caelum.

“Caelum? We
will
deal with this.”

“Yes. Yes, you are right.” Caelum straightened and subdued his doubts. “But first I must deal with Zared.”

“Yes.” It will give you experience, Axis thought. Experience and confidence.

“Do whatever you think best, Caelum.”

“I’ll battle it out, then,” Caelum said. “Zared has lost the right to parley.”

Axis frowned, then nodded. “If your judgment tells you that is the right course, then take it.”

Then he caught himself. What was he thinking? Was he about to sacrifice his brother in order to hone his son’s skills? But Caelum had been right to say that it was Zared who’d started this. Zared had drawn the first blood.

Was Tencendor worth a brother? Axis had to stop a grim smile. He’d killed two brothers already to accomplish his dream. The death of another to preserve it was no great sacrifice.

Was it?

“If you need advice, Caelum, never hesitate to ask.”

Whatever doubts Caelum had exhibited earlier had now apparently vanished. “I will deal with Zared on my own, Father. Zared is my problem. But,” his mouth quirked, “Drago is something I may need a little help with. With him, and with these Demons, I do invoke your aid.”

Axis smiled, and put his arm about Caelum’s shoulders. “Go deal with Zared, and then we shall scheme to put Drago away for an eternity.”