Sinner (36 page)

F
our weeks after the disaster of Kastaleon, Caelum stood alone on the windswept plain of northern Rhaetia and wondered at his father’s courage. He, too, must once have felt this alone, but from somewhere he’d found the strength to best both Borneheld and Gorgrael – and Timozel and every other traitor the star-damned Prophecy had thrown his way.

Except Axis hadn’t quite disposed of the one who really mattered, had he? Caelum’s eyes swept the sky, searching the stars hidden behind the sun’s brightness. Drago was out there somewhere, communing with his companion demons, plotting again for the destruction of Tencendor.

Demons that could dull the Star Dance? Wipe Icarii enchantments from Tencendor?
Caelum shuddered, and tried to put from his mind the growing tarnish he could feel in his own powers; every day he had to reach harder to hear the Star Dance. His mother and father and WolfStar would see to that – they
must!

Ah! What was he doing? Why did he let his fear of Drago consume him so? With considerable difficulty, Caelum cast Drago from his thoughts. He had treachery more close at hand to deal with.

Over the past weeks travellers had brought news from the West. Zared. He had “seized” Carlon, with the help of the Princess Leagh, and had declared himself King of Achar. Or was that King of the Acharites? Caelum did not care about the stylistic distinctions. All he knew was that Zared now styled himself King of Achar – the Carlonese, at least, cheered him through the streets – and that Caelum would need a war to wrest the West back from Zared.

A war. Well, if he had to go to war to bring peace back to this land, then he damn well would. Besides, wasn’t that what everyone expected him to do?

He sighed, and his eyes filled with tears. But war was the last thing, the
very
last thing that Tencendor needed. Why couldn’t they have peace for longer than a lifetime? Why couldn’t the hatreds and ambitions of the past lie peacefully in their graves? Why should
he
have to deal with something he thought his father had ended?

I wish I hadn’t been born first, he suddenly thought. It would all have been so easy if I hadn’t been born first. But only bleakness lay in following that train of thought, and Caelum forced his mind back to his current difficulties.

He turned and surveyed the plain at his back. Over the past two weeks he’d moved his five hundred south to this point just above the low mountain range of Rhaetia. He’d finally managed to re-establish contact with the Strike Force in Sigholt, and now most were flying south to join him. They’d be here in a few days. Caelum had ordered several units from Sigholt to free the Wings currently in Severin; they should join him shortly as well.

So at least the Strike Force was on its way – but not much else.

From the West reports drifted in that Zared, aided by Theod and Herme, had a force that numbered close to fourteen thousand and was growing each day. Word
about Zared’s seizure of the Acharite throne had spread faster than a contagious disease, and Caelum had received information that Acharites from Ichtar, Zared’s home province, as well Theod’s Aldeni and Herme’s Avonsdale, were moving south to join their new King in Carlon.

Caelum should have expected nothing less from those provinces, controlled as they were by their treacherous overlords. No doubt many had been threatened with seizure of lands if they did not support their lords. But men from Romsdale – whose lord, Baron Marrat, supported Caelum – were also reportedly on the move to Carlon.

Have I judged wrong? Caelum wondered. Do these men crave a human King and an Achar more than they crave a SunSoar-led Tencendor?

But even if they do, he reasoned quickly before his doubts crippled him, they should not be allowed to have it. No, this rebellion must be stopped
now
, before it went too much further.

He walked slowly back towards camp. The West and North, traditionally the areas from which the majority of a ground force could be recruited, were largely lost to him. That left Nor in the south, and the vast eastern territories, governed by FreeFall, Talon of the Icarii, in conjunction with Isfrael, Mage-King of the Avar. In the spring or summer he could also have called on the Ravensbundmen, but now they were lost in the northern icepacks, hunting their seals.

Nor. Prince Yllgaine had sent word that he rode to Caelum’s side. But it would be some weeks before Yllgaine could get a force to help Caelum. Normally Yllgaine would have sailed troops up the Nordra, save that the traitorous Carlon sat on the waterway like a spider waiting to snatch at them, so they were coming
north on horseback instead. Another three weeks at least. At least. It was not easy to raise an army in an hour or two.

And the rest of the east? There were the populous plains of Skarabost and Arcness. But populated with Acharites – and how many of them might elect to slip past Caelum and run helter-skelter for their shiny new King?

That left the Avar and the Icarii.

Caelum’s boot heel caught in a small hole and he cursed as he tripped and almost fell. Had it come back to this? Avar and Icarii against the Acharites? It was the Wars of the Axe all over again, save for the name.

And all due to the damned ambition of Zared. Axis should have done
more
to ensure that line stayed dead and buried than just declare the throne destroyed. Rivkah should never have been allowed to bear that child. Never.

Caelum shivered. In the time it’d take him to raise a force capable of striking back, Zared would have consolidated his own position. Ample time for him to raise more mischief to tear the realm apart.

He quickened his stride. In a few weeks he would meet what forces Marrat could muster, as well as Yllgaine’s horsemen, in the northern plains of Arcness. Between then and now he had to raise what he could from the Icarii and, possibly, the Avar. Although what his strange half-brother would give him was debatable.

Askam stood waiting for Caelum just beyond the camp’s perimeter. He had gained strength over the past weeks, although his face was still unnaturally thin and prematurely lined. Askam had not found pain the best of companions. His jacket sleeve flapped uselessly in the wind; Askam refused to pin it out of the way, saying that he did not want to hide Zared’s cruelty from the world. Of all the major players, Askam had lost the most from
this sudden descent into hostility. Virtually the entire West had abandoned him for Zared.

Along with his sister.

“When do we move out?” he asked.

“Are you rested enough?”

“Dammit, I am not an invalid!
When?
”

Caelum let his eyes drift over the mountains to the south-east. The Minaret Peaks.

“In the morning,” he said. “At dawn. You and I to the Minaret Peaks. DareWing will meet us at FreeFall’s court. Unit commander Froisson will lead the rest of the force into the Rhaetian hills to await our return in their shelter.”

“The Icarii will assist us,” Askam said, his voice cracking.

Caelum looked at him. “I surely hope so.”

“FreeFall is family. He
must
help you!”

Zared is family, too, yet see what he does, Caelum thought. But he smiled and clapped Askam on his right shoulder and led him back to their tent.

The Minaret Peaks had once been known as the Bracken Ranges, but that was before Faraday had planted out the Minstrelsea forest that crowded their slopes, and before the Icarii Enchanters had recovered the ancient cities that had lain buried under enchantments during their thousand-year exile. Now the ranges that ran from eastern Rhaetia to the Widowmaker Sea were crowded with minarets and spires that rose from the magical forest of Minstrelsea. It was a beautiful and mysterious region of Tencendor, and Caelum regretted that war had brought him here for the first time in almost fifteen years.

He should have left Sigholt more, he realised as he and Askam cantered their horses towards the first of the trees. He should have showed himself more to the peoples he led.
No wonder the greater number of humans now flocked to a man they could – at the very least – put a face to.

The paths of the forest were cool and calming, and Caelum ordered they rein their horses back to a walk.

“Why?” Askam demanded. “We have no time to saunter along these paths, StarSon. We are on a mission of war, not a picnic.”

“Nevertheless,” Caelum said, “Minstrelsea does not like horsemen rushing about her paths. Do you not hear how she sings? Can you not feel her beauty?”

Caelum’s Enchanter powers opened him to the more magical of Minstrelsea’s songs, but he knew that ordinary mortals could well sense – if not completely hear – the music that floated about the trees. He let it relax him, let it comfort him.

His eyes drifted to the strange creatures that cavorted in the shadowy spaces and light-dappled glades. Diamond-eyed dragons crawled along branches and luminescent badgers snuffled beneath bushes. And others, yet stranger.

Askam pulled his horse back with bad grace. Stars! But it would take them six weeks at this pace!

But he had underestimated the magic of Minstrelsea. It was not yet gone noon when he noticed an Icarii birdman standing in the centre of the path before them.

“StarFever HighCrest,” Caelum said, pulling up his horse as he recognised FreeFall’s Master Secretary of the Palace. “I greet you well.”

StarFever bowed low. Every last speck of him, whether feather or robe, was a saffron orange. “And I you, StarSon. The Talon received word two days ago of your visit, and he and his wife have been eager to meet with you.”

Caelum tried to ignore Askam’s obvious impatience at StarFever’s long-winded speech; StarFever had gained his position for his skill at protocol, not his reticence.

“It has been too long since I last visited the Spires, StarFever.”

“Then let me lead the way, StarSon,” and StarFever turned and strutted in stately fashion down the forest path.

Caelum cautioned Askam into patience with a sharp glance, and they pushed their horses after the Master Secretary.

StarFever led them deeper and deeper into the forest. After some time Caelum noted that while trees still soared to each side of the path, shapes also humped just under the moss-covered soil, too regular to be natural. A few more minutes down the path low structures began to snake their way through the trees, and then resolve themselves into walls that soared towards the sky.

“Gods!” Askam breathed, his impatience forgotten as he realised that massive buildings filled the spaces between the trees – yet harmonised so completely with the forest that they added to the impression of space and light between the trees. Their walls were of pastel-coloured stone, sometimes shading towards pink, sometimes towards mauve, sometimes towards gold, and they curved and fell and soared into arches and cloisters and columns and spires.

“The minarets reach at least three hundred paces into the sky,” Caelum said in a low voice to Askam as StarFever led them off the path towards a wide archway. “And tunnels and chambers are carved deep into the mountains themselves. The Minaret Peaks are honeycombed into Icarii wonders. Have you never been here?”

Askam shook his head, dismounted where StarFever indicated and handed the reins to a man of solid build and dark eyes and skin. An Avar. The people of the forest.

Caelum noticed Askam watching the Avar man, and wondered if this was also the first time he’d seen one of the forest people. The Avar rarely ventured out of their
forest homes, whether the Minstrelsea or the Avarinheim, and many Acharites were initially wary of their formidable build and fierce expressions. But the Avar lived peaceful lives, deeply attuned to the cycles of the seasons and the needs of the earth.

StarFever bowed to the Avar man. “I thank you and yours for your help, Heddle. Will you keep the horses well until StarSon and his companion return?”

Heddle nodded, his eyes skipping over Askam to rest on Caelum. He inclined his head, but he did not bow. “You are welcome among the trees, StarSon.”

Caelum thanked him, then he and Askam followed StarFever into the world of the Spires.

This was truly an Icarii wonderland. The walls of the wide and high passageways glowed with a soft radiance that owed more to magic than any lamp. Above their heads flew jewel-bright Icarii, and through the doors and archways they passed could be glimpsed chambers and spaces that led even deeper into the mountain. Soft murmurs of voices and music drifted through the air.

Why did I leave it so long before coming back? Caelum wondered again, and before he could answer his own rhetorical question, StarFever had led them into an enormous chamber underneath one of the spires, and FreeFall was hurrying to greet them.

FreeFall hugged Caelum, then turned to Askam.

“By the Stars, Askam!” he said, shocked. “What has happened to you?”

“He lost his arm in the explosion that destroyed Kastaleon,” Caelum put in before Askam could respond.

FreeFall swung his violet gaze back to Caelum. “Not only Askam’s arm, but over four thousand lives were lost, I believe.”

Caelum nodded soberly. “Whatever Zared packed into the cellars of that castle was murderously spiteful.”

FreeFall sighed, and beckoned Askam and Caelum over to a round table situated directly under the spire. Caelum glanced upwards as they approached. Smooth walls adorned with gold and silver swirls fled upwards towards a speck of blue sky at the apex of the spire. Even Caelum, with his Enchanter heritage and Icarii blood, felt a moment of dizziness.

He looked down, and there was FreeFall’s wife, EvenSong, to greet him.

EvenSong smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “It has been too long since you have visited our home, Caelum.” She turned, exclaimed over Askam as FreeFall had done, then indicated the chairs about the table.

DareWing FullHeart was already waiting for them, and greeted Caelum and Askam as they sat down.

“I have heard the news from the West,” FreeFall said without preamble. “I can hardly believe that Zared would have gone so far.” He glanced at Askam’s empty sleeve again, and Askam smiled bitterly.