The Right Hand of God (17 page)

stepping aside in his spirit, allowing the malice of the voice to slide past. He could do nothing to attack it, that was not the Haukl way; but he fashioned a place of resistance.

'I have a message for you from my queen,' he began.

'Be quiet!' snapped the voice in front of him, and the words whipped at him like ropes cut from a sinking vessel. The compulsion was nigh irresistible, yet he had prepared.

'I - I have a right to speak,' he continued, swallowing hard, and the eyes in the terrible face opposite him narrowed in surprise. 'My queen suspects treachery in the Council of Faltha, and it is confirmed by the use of dark magic in the halls of the First Men. She bids me say that Sna Vaztha withdraws from this false Council, and considers it disbanded. She seeks like-minded monarchs with whom to appoint a new Council of Faltha. Her association with this group is now at an end, and her representative will now leave.'

'Oh, he will, will he?' Deorc shouted, but though the voice poured at the Arkhos like blood and fire, it could not hold him captive. Enraged, Deorc stood and gripped the table, which began to smoulder under his hands. 'You will not long escape the power of the Great Master, base-born fool! Peasant! I choose to let you go, for my master has entrusted me with power to put your pitiful band to the torch, and I would not waste it before time! Beware!' And now it seemed to Modahl in his distress that actual flames spurted from the man's mouth in bloody gouts. 'We come for you! Rally your useless defences, for the Undying One will enjoy your struggles. Now go! See if your old legs bear you to your road ahead of the Instruian Guard, who are being loosed upon your friends this very hour!'

With that, the power exerted by the magician slammed into Modahl like a blow from a giant hand, and he flew

through the open door, to land on his back in the Outer Chamber, the wind knocked out of him. He struggled to his feet, then ran from that place in fear, in a desperate attempt to outrun the doom that would soon descend upon the Company.

The rising sun silhouetted the Bearer of the Arrow as he stood on a small wooden platform facing the vast gathering. He raised his arm so that sun and Arrow joined and made one large conflagration, casting long shadows behind the thousands who stood silently before the Struere Gate. They had gathered here for many reasons. Fear and uncertainty, despair and loss motivated some, anger and hatred others. There were those who came to see the magic, as though the whole business were of no more importance than the entertainment generated by a passing band of players. Most, however, sensed the changing of the times. The Jugom Ark revealed. Modahl the legendary Trader back from the dead. The City in an uproar. It was the end of an Age, some said, or even the end of all things. Some said the Destroyer himself was but a few days' march from the walls, bringing with him an army to wipe every trace of Instruere from the earth.

The silhouette spoke to them in the simple voice of a young man, amplified by some strange magic so that all who stood there could hear it clearly and understand it, even if the common tongue was not their own. As the figure spoke, the Arrow in his hand pulsed gently, flaring occasionally as if emphasising what the voice said.

'The Council of Faltha is made up entirely of traitors to Faltha, according to Modahl the Trader, who was appointed to the Council as the Arkhos of Sna Vaztha,' said the voice earnestly. 'It is corrupt to the core, and is led by a Bhrudwan magician. Therefore, as the Bearer of the Jugom Ark, I disband the Council of Faltha and declare them anathema. Should anyone capture a member of the former Council, I would ask that you refrain from killing them, although their lives are forfeit, but instead bring them to me.

'There shall be a new Council, chosen from all the peoples of Faltha. Each country or kingdom will elect a Councillor, and they will meet together when they may. Until such time, I appoint the Company of the Arrow as the interim Council' The figure pointed to the left and to the right, where those who had helped put out the fires and served them food and drink stood silently. A few members of the crowd cheered.

'Lest you think we have replaced one tyranny with another, I declare that all meetings of the interim Council will be held in the open. Anyone who wishes to hear what is discussed may do so. We have no secrets from you, no interest apart from the salvation of Faltha.

'We are aware the interim Council is incomplete. We place our faith in the Jugom Ark to draw representatives from the lands who have none.'

The voice continued on in its boyish, almost shy manner, explaining how a great army would be raised. This army would confront the Destroyer by marching eastwards to secure the Gap against him. They dared not wait until the brown hordes laid siege to the City, as happened a thousand years before. The army would be made up of trained soldiers in the main, the voice told them, but there would be room for any who wished to defend Faltha.

'We are fighting to defend far more than just the Sixteen Kingdoms,' the voice said. 'Therefore we will invite warriors from many other lands to join with us.' On the voice went, explaining how the losian might help in the perilous task ahead.

'What d'you think?' one man said to his neighbour. 'Ever heard of a war where they ask you if you want to fight?'

'Not as though I'd be unwilling,' came the reply. 'It doesn't bear telling what those Bhrudwans might do if they break open our gates. But I've got the ashes of my house to sort through.

Take weeks, that will.'

'So will raising an army,' an older man put in. 'Sounds like he's wanting people to come from all over. It'll be months before they march east, see if I'm right.'

'I don't like the thought of that Destroyer coming here again.' The speaker, a middle-aged woman, gave voice to their fears. 'I've three sons, two of them married. How many will I have once this is all over, whether they join the army or no?'

'Where will they get the armament, that's what I'd like to know,' the first man asked those nearby. 'Takes ages to make swords, good ones at any rate. I used to work for a blacksmith, and swords took months. One poorly-aimed blow and snap! All that work wasted.'

At that moment heads jerked around: something appeared to be happening near the platform.

A man in a white robe had just arrived, after a hard run, it looked like. Two of his colleagues held him upright as he spoke urgently to the Bearer of the Arrow. The figure stepped down from the platform and out of sight of much of the crowd. Talk spread through the assembled throng, much of it agitated. What was happening?

The former blacksmith felt a hard bump in the back, and turned angrily, ready to quarrel with whoever had been careless with their elbow. His curse died in his throat. At the back of the crowd a solid line stretched along the length of the City wall. The Instruian Guard.

Directly behind him a knot of guardsmen pushed forward, bludgeoning a path through the gathering with the butts of their swords and spears.

'Stand aside!' they cried. 'Make way, or you'll finish up on the end of a spear!' One or two scuffles broke out, and a scream came from somewhere away to the left, but in the main the crowd parted.

Leith looked on with concern as his grandfather struggled to speak. 'The - Council - is coming!' Modahl forced out between gasps. 'They plan to - wipe us out!' Mahnum and Indrett could barely keep him on his feet.

A commotion in front of them made Mahnum lift his head. People moved to the left and right, opening a path back to the Struere Gate - through which poured hundreds of guardsmen.

Leading them towards the Company was the Council of Faltha, and at its head strode Tanghin of the Ecclesia.

Groans of recognition went up from the crowd. Some of the survivors from the Ecclesia were among them, and they remembered Tanghin and his betrayal. With half an eye on the approaching Guard, Mahnum heard Modahl explain that this Tanghin was in fact Deorc, the leader of the Council of Faltha. For a moment he believed his father mistaken; but as the Council drew near, the realisation settled into his spirit like a hot stone. Tanghin and Deorc were one man, the man at the heart of the evil in Instruere. Someone shouldered Mahnum aside. The Arkhos of Nemohaim stared at the man with hatred on his face, his wheezing breath expelled in a series of hisses.

'This is the man that would have wed Stella,' Mahnum said quietly. 'We have all been so blind!'

The man with the handsome face and the dire eyes raised a hand. The Guard halted. He stood there, a few scant yards from the Company, scorn on his face.

The speechmaking here this morning was weak,' he said, almost conversationally, addressing the Arkhos of Nemohaim, whom he seemed to regard as the leader. 'Insipid. Double-minded.

It is clear you and your rabble know nothing of power and the manipulation of minds, nor will you ever. I was right to replace you. Why did your new friends not recommend Tanghin of the Ecclesia to make speeches for you? He would have gladly spoken on your behalf!' His words spat from his mouth as though they were weapons.

'Beware the Wordweave!' Phemanderac cried from beside Mahnum. 'Keep your thoughts unmixed! Hold in your mind the image of this man as a liar and destroyer of lives!'

Deorc cast a venomous glance at the tall philosopher, who stared back at him unblinkingly.

'I listened to your attempt to inspire these men and women to rebel against their rightful rulers,' said the man with the mask-like face, his voice carrying to all corners of the open space, just as Leith's had done. 'I have been sent by the authority of the Council of Faltha to put down this rebellion and to take its leaders into custody. If the leaders surrender voluntarily, the rest of the people standing in this square may go free.'

A relieved cheer went up from the crowd. Most were already under the magician's spell.

Mahnum took a step forward. So this was the Keeper of Andratan? He had memories of that dark place. Perhaps taking the life of this cruel man might enable him to sleep more soundly at night. He put a hand to the hilt of his sword, the Sword of Jethart.

Deorc saw the gesture and laughed. He raised a hand and instantly the hilt burned with a feral heat. Mahnum jerked his hand away before his skin could burn.

'Illusion!' Phemanderac hissed.

'I do not think so,' Modahl dissented. 'Look at his eyes; see how they glow. And his uncovered wrists! They pulse with a beat not of this man's heart. He carries the power of another. Ah, the price he must be paying!'

'Well, he can pay it and more,' Mahnum said, forgetting for the moment his unwillingness to speak to his father. 'But it appears we are the ones who will be doing the paying here today.

We are trapped.'

'What have you decided?' the unclean thing in front of them asked in his dreadful voice.

'We have no decision to make,' Mahnum replied. 'There is no Falthan law requiring us to submit to Bhrudwo.'

Their enemy laughed. The monster's throat glowed red, as though a great furnace burned within him.

'So my master predicted! Very well: many hundreds of honest Instruian citizens will pay the price for your pride. You have only a few moments of life remaining - just as long as it takes to prepare the blue fire. My master would watch his triumph!'

The leader of the Council turned to call for something from the arms of one of his captains. In that moment the spell loosened. Te Tuahangata sprang forward with a fearsome cry, swinging his war club at the figure. Scant inches from the man's unprotected head it struck an invisible barrier. The warrior cried in pain, clutching his right arm to his side.

Deorc - Tanghin - whoever it was - turned to face them again, apparently not having noticed the attack upon his person. He set a bowl of some oily substance on the ground in front of him, then raised his eyes to those of the Company.

'You account yourselves great,' he said, mocking them. 'You have scholars among you who can read mighty books and almost understand them. Children who can fell members of the Guard with a single cowardly blow from a water-filled jug. Magicians who can contrive a spell that holds together for a full minute. But there are others of your number who are of some interest. Before you die, the Master of All would know you.' He waved his hands over the bowl, and a sickly blue flame rose slowly from the liquid. As it grew, he continued. 'Your cup of despair is not yet drunk down to the dregs. Tell me: is the number of your little band complete? Or have you missed someone?' Without waiting for an answer, he signalled a guardsman, who turned and strode back past the waiting ranks of soldiers towards the Struere Gate.

'Have you guessed yet?' Deorc asked them. 'Soon you will see!'

He raised his arms above his head, and the blue fire leapt into the sky with a roar. 'Behold the Undying One, the Lord of All!'

Something began to take shape in the flames, three red stains in the blue; an open mouth set below two eyes. A voice spoke, shaking the square.

'See my faithful servant! Bow before him!' And a vast weight like a mighty hand drove them all to their knees. In the stillness, laughter rippled across the bent backs of the crowd, causing many to stop their ears. All felt the terror of the voice.

'Arise, my worshippers!' the voice commanded, and at once the weight lifted, and they could stand again. And to their horror, a slender figure, bound with chains and dressed in rags, stood between them and the horrible flames that even now reached out towards them, searching, searching.

'Oh, no,' said the Haufuth. 'He has Stella.'

The next few seconds seemed to last forever. Hal was there beside Leith, where a moment ago he had not been among the Company at all. Placing an arm on his brother's shoulder, he whispered: 'Wait! Do nothing yet!'

His words had quite the opposite effect. With a cry of rage Leith leaped on to the platform, and the Jugom Ark exploded into unbearable brightness. 'Stella!' he cried, and the thin figure turned her face towards him. For a brief moment their eyes met; his filled with rage and fear, hers with despair and hopelessness - and something else, something deeply held. Defiance.