Hans Baecker began to utter some kind of caution, and he reached out to catch
hold of Bruno. But Bruno was too quick, he slipped through Baecker’s grasp and
darted towards the temple. If the strange, snaking pillar of stone was real then
he would touch it with his own hands. Or, better still—his sword. He marched
forward. At the same time he heard a sound from somewhere above his head, a
sound like something cracking or splintering off. Bruno looked up, raising a
hand to shield his eyes from the direct sunlight.
The next thing he was aware of was something dropping down out of the sky, a
sliver of stone the shape and size of a blade. The fragment struck his
outstretched hand and broke into a dozen smaller pieces. Bruno cursed loudly and
staggered back, blood pouring from a deep cut in his hand. “Taal’s breath,” he
swore. “That’s my sword hand.”
Hans Baecker ushered him back from the courtyard of the temple, muttering
condolences. “I was trying to tell you,” he said. “Maybe that wasn’t such a good
idea.”
Bea, too, had chosen to use her time that morning for exploration of a sort.
The young healer had set off in search of solitude, a quiet place where she
could try and come to some understanding of the conflicting emotions at war inside her. She explored the grid of narrow lanes that ran beyond the palace,
high above the rest of Sigmarsgeist. Finally she found a bench which allowed her
a view that stretched across the lower levels of the citadel, towards the outer
walls. She sat down in the warm sunshine, and stayed for a while watching the
incessant movement in the distance. Lines of men, and women too, bearing their
loads of stone, raising the line of the wall towards the sky, ever higher, ever
more impregnable. Elsewhere, further along, the existing structure was being
demolished and a new wall was being built beyond it, like a belt being loosened
to accommodate an ever-swelling belly.
Bea stared at it all, the figures of the labourers and their scarlet escorts,
stared at them hoping to find an answer to the question that would not leave
her. Why had the gods brought her here? She was certain this was not the work of
chance. But, for as long as she waited, she found no answer in the silent
toiling of the tiny figures upon the walls. All they spoke of was the relentless
march towards war, final and inevitable.
Bea turned abruptly at a light touch upon her shoulder. Anaise von Augen was
standing over her, an expression of gentle curiosity upon her face.
“Oh!” Bea said, startled. “How long have you been standing there?”
“A while. I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so peaceful.”
Bea stood up, feeling suddenly awkward and exposed under the other woman’s
gaze. “Not so peaceful, actually. I think I was in search of peace, but I’m not
sure I found it.”
“I’m sorry if it was I who disrupted that peace,” Anaise replied, contritely.
“Not at all,” Bea assured her. “The cause is all my own.”
Anaise turned her expression to one of concern. “What are you feeling?” she
asked.
“Confused.” She saw no need to be other than truthful. Anaise took Bea’s hand
and sat by her. “Now, tell me,” she began, smoothing her skirts. “I want to know
what is troubling you.”
“I’m confused. Confused about myself,” Bea began, after a pause for thought.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Anaise. All this—” she made a sweep of the citadel
beneath them with her hand. “All of this makes perfect sense. I understand what
you are doing here, I really do. And yet, yesterday, below ground—I’m sorry,
I—” she broke off, lost for words.
“It’s all right,” Anaise said, softly. She reached for Bea’s hand again. “I
know. I could tell it disgusted you. It made you think you could never be a part
of such savagery, whatever the motive that lay behind it.”
Bea nodded, almost imperceptibly. Anaise sighed. “My brother and I have spent
many nights of conversation, arguing into the small hours about such things. I
do not expert you to understand, nor to accept. I understand your revulsion,
Bea.”
“But do you understand this?” the younger woman countered. “Do you understand
why I find myself drawn to this place, drawn by a force so powerful I can feel
it even here? Drawn for no purpose that my reason can explain?”
“Well,” Anaise replied. “Much talk here has been of warriors. Of men like
Stefan and Bruno, who could perform great service for Sigmarsgeist. But I think
you would be of equal, if not greater value to us, Bea.” She squeezed the girl’s
hands between her own. “Truly, I do.”
Bea shook her head in emphatic denial. “That’s exactly it,” she said. “I
wouldn’t. Look at all this—” she indicated the citadel again. “I’m a healer. My
work is amongst the sick, the diseased, the dying even. Sigmarsgeist fairly
bursts with vigour and health. You have no need of me here, no need at all.”
Anaise got up, and stood for a moment, letting the sunlight play upon her
upturned face. Then she looked down at Bea. “I think there’s something you ought
to see,” she said. “Something I did not share with the others yesterday.” She
looked around. “My carriage is close by,” she said. “It’ll be quicker that way.”
She extended her hand, and smiled, encouragingly. “Will you come?”
* * *
They rode back towards the centre of the citadel, and the palace. Neither
spoke. Bea passed the time looking from the window, marvelling at how
Sigmarsgeist seemed busier by the hour, like a voracious bloom, constantly
growing. Inside the palace it was cool, and quiet after the bustle of the
streets. Anaise led the way to a suite of chambers a single floor below ground.
A soldier in the white of the elite guard escorted them through a set of heavy
oak doors, and then they were alone. No guards, no distant screams. The two
women stood within the eerie stillness of the inner sanctum.
“Few people ever come here,” Anaise murmured. “Not even my brother.”
Bea looked around. They were inside a circular chamber, lit by the dim glow
of candles fixed at intervals around the walls. The room was unfurnished except
for four chairs set facing a rounded turret or basin that sat waist-high in the
centre of the chamber. The whole place smelt of dry antiquity, and was obviously
far older than the rest of the citadel. Bea immediately knew that beneath the
stillness in the room, the energy was stronger here than anything she had sensed
before. She steadied herself against the upright back of a chair.
“What is this place?” she whispered. “Why have you brought me here?”
Anaise gave no direct answer to her question, “I know your secret,” she said
instead, and smiled, knowingly. Bea’s face flushed a guilty red. She turned away
from the other woman. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “What secret?”
Anaise drew the younger woman to her, taking her gently in her arms. “It’s all
right,” she assured Bea. “We’re the same, you and I. The others don’t understand
us. But we know. We can feel it, can’t we?”
Bea broke away in a sudden panic. She had the feeling that Anaise was looking
directly into her soul. “I don’t understand,” she protested. “What—”
“Magical energy,” Anaise said. She clasped hold of Bea’s hands, and steadied
her, forcing her to meet her gaze. “You can feel it, can’t you?”
Bea looked up at Anaise and a signal passed between them, an unspoken
complicity. “I feel it,” Bea confirmed. “I can feel it here more than anywhere.”
Anaise led her towards the centre of the chamber. The two women stood with
their backs to the raised, circular wall. Bea was at once aware of something
flowing into her, powerful and irresistible.
“Turn around,” Anaise commanded, softly. Bea waited a few moments longer, then
obeyed. She knew, sooner or later, she would have no choice. She found herself
gazing down into a shaft which disappeared into the darkness far below. The
faintest of breezes wafted up from the bottom of the shaft. Bea breathed in, and
gasped, involuntarily, as her mind connected with an invisible force.
“This is why you came to Sigmarsgeist,” Anaise told her. “All that you have
been searching for is here.” She pulled Bea back from the edge of the parapet.
“Steady,” she advised. “It will overpower you if you’re not careful.”
Bea took a step back. Her head was still swimming. “What… is that?” she
asked.
“This is the most ancient part of the old city still remaining,” Anaise told
her. “The shaft passes right through the core of Sigmarsgeist. It goes deeper
than we went yesterday. Far, far, deeper. I did not bring your comrades here,”
she said. “They wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m not sure that I understand,” Bea said, slowly. But she felt impelled to
look again. Gingerly, she edged towards the open shaft and stole another glance
inside. Immediately, she felt something spark inside of her. The sensation
lasted no more than a moment, but it was unmistakable, nonetheless. Anaise
caught sight of her confusion, and laughed.
“Careful!” she cautioned, smiling broadly. “You are like I was at first. You
cannot resist it. Take care, or it will consume you.”
Bea’s heart was pounding. She took a deep breath to free herself of the
sudden intoxication. “What is it?” she asked.
“It is a well spring of magic,” Anaise said. “The shaft runs right to its
source. Whoever built it long ago was tapping into the unimaginable power that lies buried deep beneath the world. People
are frightened of such things, but you and I understand the good that they can
do.”
Bea nodded, confused and awed. She knew, and yet she did not know, not
really. “I have given it a name,” Anaise continued. “The Well of Sadness.”
“Sadness?” Bea asked. “How can such a wondrous thing speak of sadness?”
“Because the well is dry,” Anaise explained. “At some time in the past the
shaft has been blocked, or else the waters that fed it have ebbed away.”
“The waters,” Bea echoed. Somewhere in her mind the pieces of an ancient
puzzle were coming together.
“You know,” Anaise said. “You believe. You speak its name, even to those who
do not believe.”
Bea had to cling on to the other woman to keep herself from falling. She felt
overwhelmed. The words were on her lips but now she could not speak.
“Tal Dur,” Anaise said at last. “The waters of Tal Dur that once rose here.”
Bea nodded. It must be so. Nothing else could account for the power she had
felt flowing into her body. “Imagine,” Anaise went on, “imagine what we could
achieve, what ills we could heal, if only we could tap into its mighty power
once again.” She turned Bea’s face towards her until she was looking directly
into the other’s eyes.
“Like me, you have longed to find Tal Dur. Tell me it’s so.”
“In my dreams I have often stepped into its waters,” Bea whispered. “And
through its divine will, I have brought healing to the world.”
Anaise smiled at her, indulgently “So pure,” she murmured, “so beautiful.” She
ran her fingers through the copper curls of Bea’s hair. “You should grow your
hair long,” she told her. “Grow it long like a priestess of Shallya.”
Bea twisted away. A frown crossed her face. Anaise stepped back, giving the
healer space. “No, not a priestess,” she corrected herself. “The sisters of
Shallya do not countenance the healing powers of magic.”
“No,” Bea said quietly. “They do not.”
“But we believe,” Anaise said. “And our belief will endure. Tal Dur is here,
somewhere very close,” she said. “And, with your help, I shall find it.”
Stefan had stepped to one side to allow the stocky figure of Rilke past. But
now he found himself more than curious to hear whatever it was that Rilke was so
anxious to discuss with the Guide. As the White Guard went to close the door to
the chamber behind him, Stefan held firm, keeping it open. Rilke glared at him
with an undisguised loathing.
“If you want to pit your strength against mine,
mercenary,
then we’ll
find a place that will do justice to the argument.”
“I’ve no interest in fighting you,” Stefan told him. “But if you’ve come to
say something to the Guide about my comrades or I, then I want to hear what it
is.”
“What I have to say is none of your business,” Rilke spat. “Whether it
concerns you or not.” He hauled upon the door, putting all of his strength into
pulling it away from Stefan, but Stefan held his ground. The two men stood with
the door between them, going nowhere.
“Enough!” the voice from within the chamber commanded. “Both of you, step
inside.”
Konstantin’s face was a mask of contained rage. “Men of good faith must not
enter into conflict,” he told them. Stefan and Rilke exchanged wary glances.
Neither spoke.
“That is how our enemies will divide us,” the Guide stated, curtly. “You are
both of you fools if you cannot see that.”
“I apologise,” Stefan said at last. “If you wish, I’ll withdraw.”
Konstantin waved his offer away. “No,” he said. “Rilke has been ill-mannered.
Our guest will stay, and hear whatever it is you have to tell me.”
Rilke executed a short, graceless bow. He looked far from happy.
“It would be better that we spoke in private,” he said.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Konstantin concluded. “Now, speak.”
Rilke looked from the Guide to Stefan, and back again. The expression on
Konstantin’s face made it clear he was not to be swayed.
“So be it,” Rilke said, stiffly. “I bring news from our scouts on the western
plain. They have found a gang of marauders, close on two score of them, riding
south.”
“Do we know who they are?” Konstantin asked. Rilke glanced again at Stefan
before continuing. “They may be remnants of the defeated Chaos army at Erengrad.”
“Good. Very good, Rilke.” Konstantin turned his gaze towards Stefan. “It
seems the opportunity for you to exercise your blade has come sooner than either
of us could have expected,” he said. “You wanted to take the fight to our
enemies. Now you have the chance.”