Sinner (37 page)

“Another Borneheld has swept down from the north,” he said.

“Hardly Borneheld,” EvenSong put in softly, her eyes steady on Askam.

“What difference?” Askam said. “Did not both seize the throne through vileness and treachery? Does not Zared seek to tear the realm apart as once did Borneheld?”

“No,” EvenSong said, more strongly now. “I will
not
credit that Zared is another Borneheld, Prince Askam. He has done wrong, surely, and for that he must pay, but he does not have the narrow mind and the cruelty of –”

“You were not there to see Kastaleon torn apart,” Askam cried, scraping his chair back. “You did not have to endure the smell as four and a half thousand screaming men burned in that inferno!”

“Askam,” Caelum said, “be still. EvenSong, Askam makes a good point.
You
did not have your arm torn off, nor did you have to watch the graves being dug for your command.”

“This is counterproductive,” FreeFall said as EvenSong dropped her eyes. “I care not whether Zared takes after his elder and unlamented brother Borneheld or not. What I
do
care about is making sure that Tencendor regains peace as soon as possible. I find no joy in contemplating the resurrection of Achar and all that it implies.”

Caelum placed both his hands flat on the table. “Quite. FreeFall, EvenSong, this must be resolved by action, not diplomacy. It has gone too far to be solved with words.”

“No action ever goes so far that it can’t be solved by –”

“Nevertheless,” Caelum snapped, stopping EvenSong dead. “I cannot ignore the fact that Zared is raising an army in the west, and I cannot ignore the fact that he claims he will not relinquish the throne unless he is forced to do so. Dammit! What is it about brothers that they torment the SunSoars so?”

There was silence as Caelum restrained his anger. “This will
not
be solved with words,” he said again, staring EvenSong in the eye, “but with war. As Zared prepares for war, then so must I. DareWing?”

DareWing straightened on his stool. “The Strike Force are within two days of the Rhaetian hills, StarSon. They will arrive well rested, ready for action.”

“You cannot use the Strike Force against humans!” EvenSong cried. “Axis was ever loath to do it.”

“I will do as I must, EvenSong.”

“But that
would
open the scars of the past as nothing else would, Caelum. You cannot do it!”

“EvenSong makes sense,” FreeFall said. “I did not want to see Zared take the throne of Achar, but using the Strike Force to retake Carlon is…too dreadful to consider.”

Caelum sat silently, remembering his earlier thoughts that this could all too easily disintegrate into another Wars of the Axe.

“What else can I do?” he eventually asked. “What? There is no ground force I can use to defeat him because the majority of the north and west swings behind Zared. FreeFall, even the Strike Force may not be enough. Not to take a city the size of Carlon – or even Arcness, should that also decide to throw in its lot with Zared. And the Strike Force, impressive as it is, cannot patrol the entire realm.”

He looked about the table, then let his gaze rest once again on FreeFall. “I need more, FreeFall. Will the Icarii help me?”

FreeFall’s eyes widened, and he looked at his wife before replying. “Caelum, cannot the Lake Guard help? They are at least six hundred, and as skilled at arms as the Strike Force.”

“I am wary about taking them from Sigholt.” Caelum had begun to wonder if the Lake Guard had some connection with the craft at the foot of the Sacred Lakes. For the moment, he preferred to keep them where they were in case they could provide information about the TimeKeepers or, more importantly, in case they might somehow be able to help against that danger. But he did not want to tell FreeFall that. As yet only himself, WolfStar, SpikeFeather and the Star Gods understood what was threatening from the stars. No-one within that group wanted to spread the knowledge until they understood more clearly the nature of the peril.

“Well, then,” FreeFall said, sharing another, more anxious glance with EvenSong. “What about Nor? Ysgryff brought some nine thousand to Axis’ cause, as I remember.”

“That was forty years ago. Of those nine thousand most are dead, and Yllgaine did not keep up the same level of military preparedness that his father did. After all,” Caelum continued bitterly, “we
all
thought to have entered a time of peace. Yllgaine can send me perhaps four thousand. No more.

“FreeFall, I
need
the assistance of the Icarii. Every one of the adults has spent a few years in the Strike Force. There must be thousands among you who could be retrained to fight.”

“No!” FreeFall banged his fist on the table. “Caelum, understand this. I abhor what Zared has done, and I fear it beyond words. But I fear more what would happen if I mobilised the Icarii nation against the Acharites. I think I would prefer to see Achar reborn in the West before I set Icarii against human again. Caelum, we are
all
children of the Enchantress.”

“So tell me what you will do, Talon of the Icarii,” Askam said, leaning forward over the table, his eyes glittering, “once you see men falling down in worship of the Plough in Zared’s West? What then, Talon?”

“Artor is dead,” said FreeFall. “There is no need to fear the worship of the Plough.”

“But the hatreds that built the Seneschal may only be simmering beneath the surface. What else might they build? What other Seneschals?”

“
You
must know!” FreeFall snapped. “As you are Acharite yourself! Tell
us
, Askam, what to fear!”

“Peace!” Caelum cried into the tension. “I do not want us warring against each other! FreeFall, I accept your answer. For now.” His voice hardened. “But know
that I may well return and
demand
your aid if I find myself desperate enough for it. I am StarSon, I sit the Throne of the Stars, and I can damn well order you to provide what you will not willingly give!”

FreeFall blanched and sat back. Caelum leaned forward and stabbed a finger across the table. “You gave your homage and fealty to my parents, and that homage and fealty extends to me. Do not underestimate me, FreeFall. I can and will demand it of you if I have to.”

DareWing, who had been watching and listening in silence, regarded Caelum with speculative eyes. StarSon had been indecisive and unsure in the early weeks of this crisis, but in the past hour DareWing had seen Caelum show more spirit than he had in months. Well, some men needed a crisis to push them into their full potential. Was Axis’ blood finally making its mark on the man?

FreeFall nodded stiffly. “As you will, StarSon.”

They sat silently, staring, until EvenSong smiled a little too brightly. “And what other news, Caelum?”

Caelum looked away from FreeFall reluctantly. “My other nemesis, Drago. I have reason to believe that he passed through Minstrelsea some weeks ago. Have you any reports of him?”

Both EvenSong and FreeFall shook their heads. “It is strange,” EvenSong said, “that he was not noticed. Many feet walk the paths of Minstrelsea, seen and unseen, and there would be many eyes to mark his passing. But we have heard nothing. If Drago was moving south, then perhaps he took a route other than Minstrelsea.”

Maybe, Caelum thought, then thrust Drago to the back of his mind again. His father would deal with him. “Is Isfrael within the northern groves?” he asked FreeFall.

FreeFall nodded slowly. “You do not think of asking him for aid? The Avar would hardly –”

“I must,” Caelum said quietly, “since the Icarii refuse.”
This was a journey Askam could not participate in. Caelum used his power – and he had to expend such an effort! – to transfer into the northern groves of the Avarinheim forest where Isfrael had his court.

The forest was silent, watchful. Caelum walked slowly though the outer groves, nodding to the few Avar standing about their edges. They watched him suspiciously, turning to murmur to their companions as he passed.

There were several score Avar in the Earth Tree Grove itself. They stood about in small, silent groups before the stone circle that ringed the massive Earth Tree. As Caelum stepped into the grove, they all turned to stare at him, their dark faces impassive, their hands folding before them.

Keeping his own face expressionless and his gait steady, Caelum walked into the open space before the stone circle. He glanced at the watching crowd, then looked at the stone circle. Just inside he could see Isfrael, sitting a wooden throne placed underneath the Earth Tree herself. Standing slightly behind his right shoulder was Shra. Taking a deep breath, Caelum walked underneath one of the stone arches and stopped a few paces away from Isfrael’s throne.

“Brother,” he said by way of greeting, and inclined his head.

“What do you here?” Isfrael asked bluntly, and Caelum suppressed a wince. Should he have asked permission before stepping into these groves? No! Why should
he
of all people?

“Zared has proclaimed himself King of Achar and –”

“So I have heard,” Isfrael said.

It did not occur to Caelum to wonder
how
Isfrael had heard.

“So now we have a King of Achar again,” Isfrael continued. “What are his intentions?”

“Who knows what he plans,” Caelum said. “And who knows if your forests are safe. I go to stop him now. And thus to my purpose –”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I –”

“I know. Our father asked the same of the Avar, and he was denied as well. I will not help you in this war. We are not a fighting people.”

“You owe me loyalty!”

“I owe you
nothing!
I have never offered fealty and homage, Caelum. Not to you, not to our father.”

“Isfrael, please…”

“No.”

“What if Zared comes to destroy the forests?”

Isfrael studied Caelum carefully. “I do not think Zared would do that.”

“But –”

“Zared is your problem, Caelum, not mine. He does not become my problem until I see the sparkle of axes in my forests. I will
not
send my people out to fight someone else’s war. Do you understand?”

“Then damn you, too,” Caelum said bitterly, and turned his back on his brother.

Isfrael sat and watched Caelum stalk towards the edge of the grove, and then fade out of view as he worked the Song of Movement.

“He has a lot to learn,” Shra said softly.

Isfrael thought for a while before answering. “He will always do his best,” he finally said, “although I wonder if his best is going to be good enough.”

There was a step behind them, and an Icarii birdman emerged from behind the Earth Tree.

It was WingRidge CurlClaw, Captain of the Lake Guard.

“I do thank you,” he said, bowing deeply before Isfrael.

“I would not have helped him in any case,” Isfrael said. “The Avar will
never
take up weapons and stalk the field of war.”

Isfrael paused and watched WingRidge carefully. “You are an interesting young man,” he said eventually. “And you serve your master well.”

“I am bound to his service,” WingRidge said. “But it has been hard sometimes.”

Isfrael nodded sympathetically. “He will understand that eventually,” he said, then waved the birdman away.

F
araday slipped quietly into the room and sank down into the chair by Niah’s bed. The woman was alone.

Over the four weeks of nights that Faraday had come in here, she had occasionally found WolfStar tangled about Niah, but his visits were becoming rarer, and Faraday supposed he had more urgent business elsewhere.

Niah was sleeping badly. She murmured and tossed, and by the sheen of the moon Faraday could see that the woman was perspiring lightly. One hand lay resting on her by now slightly distended belly.

No doubt she feared sleep, yet did not know why.

Faraday smiled, and prepared herself to enter the dream world. Every night Zenith took another step closer, every night Niah was pushed just that bit closer to the baby. Step by step.

Closer to entrapment.

Faraday closed her eyes.

When she opened them again she found herself in the misty world of the shadow-lands.

About her bustled – and yet drifted – the dream reflection of Ysbadd. People moved from shop door to
window, from street corner to boudoir, from wharf to store room. All moved slowly, hesitatingly, as if they had forgotten their purpose, and yet somehow all arrived at their destination.

Faraday wandered the streets, ignoring, and being ignored by, all those who drifted past her.

Ah, there was Zenith. Under the awning, its canvas flapping inconsonantly in this most visionary of domains, where she had stopped last night, unable to take another step.

Faraday moved to her side. “Zenith.”

Zenith lifted her eyes and stared at Faraday. Then she smiled, slowly and hesitatingly. She had only been smiling since the plains of Tarantaise. It was a good sign.

Faraday took her hand, and then leaned forward and hugged her. “Niah worries, yet does not understand the reason for it. She walks through her days, her eyes flitting over her shoulder, gasping at breezes in shadows. She is losing, Zenith. She
is
losing.”

“And the baby grows?”

“Healthy and ever receptive. But we must be quick, for the baby is approaching the stage of its growth where it can be inhabited by a spirit. And you and I know which spirit we want to inhabit it.”

Zenith nodded, and looked down the street. “I feel stronger tonight, Faraday. I can surely walk to the wharves.”

“Good! Zenith, if you can walk to the wharves, then I can find you passage. Imagine, all the way to the Isle of Mist and Memory! For once you need take no steps.”

Zenith gave an almost predatory smile. She could sense victory, and it lent her strength. She had no guilt about what she was going to do. Niah had felt nothing but triumph in possessing her and in spiriting her into this dream-world prison.

“Then let us make a start,” she said and, leaning on Faraday, she took a step forward.

The way was fraught with difficulties. As with each night’s journey over the past two weeks, Zenith found every step agonising, so difficult that her breath wheezed in and out of her lungs, and her fingers dug into Faraday’s arms and shoulders with the strength of her distress. Some steps Faraday thought Zenith was about to collapse, but then Zenith would somehow find the strength to stumble forward. They moved through the streets, each movement a torment, no other thought on their minds but that Zenith must lift one leg and put the next foot forward, and then transfer weight to it, and then find the strength to use it to spring her into another step, and then another, and so onwards, ever onwards. Until finally…

“Faraday, I cannot go on! This must be it for tonight. I am sorry, I cannot…”

“Look, Zenith!” Faraday grasped Zenith’s chin in fierce fingers and forced her head up. “See? Five more steps and we are at the wharf!”

“Five steps too many, Faraday. Tonight I must rest here. I must. I –”

“Then prepare to live your life, your
eternity,
locked in this shadow-world! The baby grows apace, Zenith. We cannot leave it too much longer. A week, ten days at the most, and some other spirit will inhabit it! I cannot keep them at bay for much longer. Get to the wharf, Zenith, or I swear I will not return tomorrow night!”

Zenith wailed, and Faraday’s heart turned over in sorrow and pity for her, but she let none of it show on her face.

“Move!” she hissed. “Now!”

And Zenith put another foot forward, screaming with the pain, but Faraday urged her on, and somehow she got
another foot forward, even though her leg was trembling so badly Faraday thought it would never bear her weight.

But it did, and then they were only three steps from the wharf.

Again Faraday’s fingers bit painfully into Zenith’s face. “
Look!
”

And Zenith raised her head and looked.

There, bobbing in the grey sea, was a boat. A small boat, a lantern in its prow. A flat-bottomed ferry.

Zenith took another step, and bent double and groaned with the pain. But again she raised her head and looked.

“Where did that come from, Faraday?”

“It had lost its owner,” Faraday said. “And, lost, it needed a purpose. So I summoned it. Come, two more steps.”

They were two more steps that almost tore Zenith apart, but she took them. She sobbed as she sank down on the ferry’s cushions, and Faraday climbed in beside her and cast off the rope from the wharf.

“I will ride with you a way,” she said, “before I return. And tomorrow night…tomorrow night I will greet you at the pier of Pirates’ Town. Oh, Zenith, there, there. No need to cry, it will soon be over. All will be well soon, I promise.”

She took Zenith’s head and placed it in her lap, and she let Zenith sob until she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Faraday sat there a long time, watching the grey waters drift past, lost in the shadow-sea between the coastline of Nor and the Isle of Mist and Memory. She sat there until she felt the approach of dawn in the world of the waking, and then she vanished, leaving Zenith to travel the shadow-seas by herself.

The dawn was still and cold, and Faraday stood at the lip of the southern cliff of the mount, seeming not to notice
the thousand-foot drop beneath her. She shivered, more in delight than discomfort, and wrapped her arms about herself. She loved standing here, looking out into the great southern ocean, watching the waves roll in, feeling the salty wind push back her hair.

It smelt of freedom. If she wished she could step off the cliff and die, or she could turn and walk back to the priestesses’ dormitory for breakfast.

Which?

She laughed, revelling in the fact that she
had
a choice, and felt rather than heard StarDrifter land on the grass behind her.

She half turned her head and grinned. “Come to save me, StarDrifter?”

He returned her smile briefly, took the step between them and wrapped his arms about her.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m alive.”

His arms tightened, and Faraday relaxed back into them. Faraday shared a deep companionship with StarDrifter. A friend, she thought, for all life and through all future lives.

“Zenith is closer,” she murmured, and his arms tightened.

“Where?”

“Drifting the shadow-seas between Nor and this island.”

“When?” His voice was tight, anxious.

“I hope to find her on the shadow-pier of Pirates’ Town tonight.”

“And then it will be only days until she reaches the Mount?”

“Only days, StarDrifter. You will have your granddaughter back soon.”

“Axis and Azhure should be caring for her, helping her to find her way home.”

Faraday was silent for a long moment, then she shrugged in his arms. “
We
love her, StarDrifter, and
we
help her.”

They stood a while in silence, then Faraday became aware that StarDrifter was distracted, and very, very worried.

“What is it?” she asked.

StarDrifter stood back. “Faraday, at dawn one of the priestesses hurried into my chamber. She had disturbing news.”

“What?”

He took a great breath. “There is something wrong with the Temple of the Stars.”