A Solitary Journey (12 page)

‘Paradise. A word that drives the hearts, minds and dreams of men all over the world because of the promise it contains. Jarudha shows us in
The Word
that there is only one pathway to Paradise and that is through the cleansing salvation of the Demon Horsemen who will burn the earth free of sin and death. Praise Jarudha. May the day of the coming of the Demon Horsemen be in my lifetime.’

FROM ‘THE SERMON FOR HOPE’, WRITTEN AND DELIVERED BY HIS EMINENCE, SEER DIAMOND, IN THE FIRST TEMPLE OF THE PEOPLE CONSECRATED IN YEAR ONE OF THE REIGN OF KING FUTURE ROYAL THE FIRST

O
nyx did not enjoy walking among the common folk. He felt their sinful nature cling to him like pestilence and he always bathed for an hour after city walks. Being in Diamond’s company did not lessen his distaste. Neither did the knowledge of the new King’s building program of Jarudhan temples through the city. He preferred the cleanliness and quiet of the palace temple with its pristine gardens and holy seclusion. He knew Diamond knew that and surmised that Diamond’s insistence on his company was the consequence of His Eminence’s sadistic discipline which had kept him in line. Onyx snorted at the thought of Diamond’s new title—His Eminence. The Seers had always been oligarchic—a company of elders collaborating and making decisions based on
The Word
and the needs of the Jarudhan Order. They’d deferred a sense of leadership to Diamond as the eldest and sometimes wisest, but it was out of respect not recognition of rank. Now Diamond was officially the head of the Seers—His Eminence—by the King’s decree and it rankled Onyx.

‘Watch your step,’ Diamond warned.

Onyx glanced at Diamond and down at where his companion looked to find that he was one step short of
a steaming puddle of thick cow urine. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and sidestepped the offensive puddle, casting an angry glare at a citizen who was tending a brindle cow at the edge of the market.

‘Perhaps you should save your contemplation for times when you’re not walking,’ Diamond suggested, a faint smile gracing his mouth.

‘You know I don’t like coming out here,’ Onyx complained.

‘Service to Jarudha is more important than our comfort,’ Diamond reminded him, paraphrasing scripture.

The Seers crossed the far end of the small market where impoverished hawkers touted their chipped pottery and rancid food to poorer customers. Forty days after the arrival of Warmaster Cutter, the Kerwyn army was still perched on the eastern bank of the River of Kings and Kerwyn ships blockaded the port. Negotiations with the Kerwyn king had just begun and the solitary source of food supplies to the city was the small farming lands to the south under constant raids from war parties of the Coalition. People were hungry. Entrepreneurial individuals grew meagre vegetables in patches of soil between houses and sold them at the market, but profits were dwindling in a city where people had less and less money to buy less and less food.

Diamond and Onyx stopped at a building site where a ramshackle former bordello was being resurrected as a Jarudhan temple. ‘Jarudha’s spirit is so strong it can transmute lust into prayer,’ said Diamond as they watched men, women and children remove rotten wood from interior walls, lift new supporting beams for a tiled roof into place, and daub the stone with white calcimine. ‘The Kerwyn stop us bringing in materials, but the people are
resourcefully using what they can find in the ruins on the outskirts.’

‘Nice,’ said Onyx, not disguising his disinterest in the project.

‘This is the fourth temple under construction,’ Diamond went on, ignoring Onyx’s mood. ‘One in each quarter. We have to train disciples and acolytes to serve in each one.’

‘Is this absolutely necessary?’ Onyx asked.

‘If we’re to begin the total conversion of the people in preparation for Jarudha’s Paradise these temples are absolutely necessary,’ Diamond replied amiably. ‘Through these temples we will deliver
The Word
to the people and they will help us establish the new Order. They will think that they understand.’

‘The new Order will be in place when the Demon Horsemen ride the land and scourge the people of their sins,’ argued Onyx. ‘This toying with the people is a waste of time.’

Diamond fixed Onyx with a withering stare. ‘When the Demon Horsemen come, what will you have done to escape their retribution, Onyx?’

‘I will have obeyed Jarudha’s teachings,’ Onyx stoically replied.

‘“Go unto my people and teach them
The Word
of Jarudha and you shall be eternally blessed”,’ Diamond quoted. ‘A Seer who doesn’t live by the scriptures has no place in Paradise.’

Onyx glared at Diamond’s carefully selected reference, but he had no answer, so he bowed his head slightly and said diplomatically, ‘Your Eminence is ever the one who knows best the work of Jarudha.’

Diamond smiled, but he recognised his colleague’s bitterness and noted that he would have to watch Onyx.

King Ironfist refused to meet King Future on common ground to negotiate. Instead he sent an ambassador, a surly-faced individual named Barter Longhands, to accompany Warlord Bloodsword to a meeting with Future and his people at a farmhouse north of Port of Joy. Sensing treachery in Ironfist’s absence, Future also chose not to attend, sending as his mediators Royal Intermediary Goodman, Seer Gold and a reluctant, freshly healed, but limping, Warmaster Cutter according to King Ironfist’s alternative request. ‘I’m not a negotiator,’ Cutter argued as he rode beside Goodman. ‘I don’t trust the Kerwyn. What if they attack in our absence?’

‘Without their Warlord?’ asked Goodman. ‘Bloodsword has agreed to be there.’

‘You don’t need a Warlord to wage a war,’ said Cutter. ‘And what if we get to this farmhouse and Bloodsword’s not there?’

‘They could be thinking the same thing. Bloodsword will be there.’

‘But you have no guarantee.’

‘I have King Ironfist’s word.’

Cutter laughed ironically. ‘A trustworthy king.’

The Shessian entourage cantered out of the Northern Quarter outskirts and angled away from the main road along a track that wound past abandoned and ruined farms for a short distance before approaching a stand of gum trees surrounding a big farmhouse. A flock of pink galahs scattered from their path as they reached the main building. Cutter counted twenty-three Kerwyn horses as they slowed to a walk and he searched for his military opposite, curious as to what Bloodsword would be like face to face. A Kerwyn rider in red robes detached from the others and trotted to meet them. The riders reined in and the Kerwyn spoke in fluent Shessian. ‘I am pleased you have come. I am the King’s
Royal Ambassador, Barter Longhands.’ He looked at Goodman in his black robes and said, ‘I assume that you are the King’s Intermediary.’

‘Kneel Goodman,’ Goodman replied.

‘Greetings, Kneel Goodman,’ Longhands said cordially. ‘It is good that we can meet on common ground.’

‘This is Western Shess,’ Cutter said.

Longhands looked at the Warmaster, noting the man’s strength and aggressive demeanour. ‘Ah yes,’ he acknowledged, ‘and you are the great Warmaster Cutter.’ He bowed his head courteously, saying, ‘It is a pleasure to meet so honourable an adversary.’ He also nodded to Seer Gold. ‘I hope Jarudha has blessed your morning’s journey.’

‘Jarudha protects as always,’ Gold replied.

Longhands readdressed Goodman. ‘We have surveyed the farmhouse and it is safe for us to discuss what is on the table. If you would be kind enough to instruct your company to wait here and only yourself, the Warmaster and the priest will come with me.’

‘And the soldiers?’ asked Cutter.

Longhands smiled. ‘The soldiers will withdraw to the same distance as your men.’

‘Who among you will come to the table?’ asked Goodman.

‘Myself, of course, Warlord Bloodsword as promised, and the King’s scribe.’

‘And who is that?’ asked Goodman.

Longhands’s horse shuffled and he reined it in before he explained. ‘Scribe Recordskeeper writes down what is spoken between men in negotiations with King Ironfist and they are kept to show others what has been promised.’

‘So where was this Recordskeeper when your king made his promises to King Future?’ Cutter asked pointedly.

Longhands glanced at the belligerent warrior, but to Goodman he said, ‘I will head back to the house to begin preparations. Join us at your leisure.’ He wheeled his horse and trotted back to the Kerwyn ranks.

‘This stinks of a Kerwyn trap,’ said Cutter angrily, and he shifted warily in his saddle, surveying the surrounding bushland, noting the places where the Kerwyn could hide a small force. ‘We should scout the countryside carefully before we walk into that house.’

‘The Kerwyn have agreed to withdraw to the same distance as us,’ Goodman reminded the Warmaster. ‘This may be the only opportunity we have left to negotiate a respectable peace.’

‘I agree,’ said Seer Gold. ‘The Kerwyn have been caught off-guard by our tactics. We should seize the chance to negotiate before they can test our defences further.’

Cutter mumbled a sarcastic remark as he turned to issue orders to the accompanying cavalry to withdraw two hundred paces to the south. ‘The Kerwyn are required to do the same,’ he explained, ‘but I don’t trust them. The moment you see any threat, or suspect treachery, warn us in the house. Without fail.’ The twenty riders nodded and turned to take up their station, while Cutter and his companions started the steady walk on their horses to the farmhouse.

Longhands waited at the door, smiling and nodding acknowledgement to each person in the traditional Kerwyn manner as they entered. Cutter surveyed the room. There were three windows and another door to the right. He noted with dismay that the positioning of the chipped wooden table and stools in the centre and the choice of seats by the Kerwyn standing behind them meant the Shessian delegation would have their backs to the door. He locked gazes with a tall, broad-shouldered individual
who had long dark hair braided in thin lines at the sides and narrow, dark piercing eyes, and guessed that he was Warlord Bloodsword. Bloodsword was studying him with the objective expression of a warrior assessing an opponent he was expecting to fight in an arena. Cutter’s fingers touched the pommel of his sword and he saw Bloodsword’s eyes flicker recognition and the man’s hand also dropped against his sword.

‘Please be seated,’ Longhands invited, indicating the chairs. Gold and Goodman sat as requested, but Cutter angled his chair so that he was sideways to the table, with an eye on the entrance. Longhands gave him a look of displeasure, but Cutter ignored it. ‘I welcome our friends,’ Longhands said as he sat beside the man Cutter assumed was Bloodsword. ‘We have water for whoever is thirsty,’ he said, indicating a red pitcher and six mugs, ‘and nuts and fruits in the adjoining room when we have finished our meeting.’

Beside Bloodsword was a thin individual in a red cloak with the hood shadowing his eyes, and the unfeigned secrecy alerted Cutter to more danger. ‘How come your friend has to cover his face?’ he asked bluntly.

Longhands looked at Cutter as if surprised by the question. ‘This is the King’s scribe,’ he said in explanation.

‘So what?’ Cutter asked. ‘He takes down the hood or we leave.’

Goodman turned to Cutter with a querying expression that carried his dismay at the Warmaster’s rudeness, but Longhands replied calmly, ‘In our lands it is customary for the King’s scribe to keep his face hidden. The scribe is the only one who knows the King’s mind and he is not a person but the keeper of the King’s wisdom.’

‘In my experience,’ said Cutter, ‘the only people who hide their faces are those with something to hide who cannot be trusted.’

Longhands glared at the Warmaster for what seemed a long time, until he finally spoke in Kerwyn to his companions. The mysterious individual lowered his red hood to reveal a gaunt, pale clean-shaven face with haunting ice-blue eyes that stared straight at Cutter. The man said something to Longhands without taking his cold stare from the Shessian Warmaster. ‘Scribe Recordskeeper asks that he be allowed to replace his hood,’ said Longhands firmly.

‘As he wishes,’ Goodman replied, without looking at Cutter.

Longhands nodded to the Kerwyn scribe who lifted his hood into place so that his eyes vanished into shadow again, leaving Cutter even less easy about the situation. ‘My companions are not well-versed in your language,’ Longhands explained to Goodman, ‘so you and I will have to patiently translate what transpires here.’

‘I speak Kerwyn,’ said Goodman.

Longhands smiled. ‘Good. Then we can commence the negotiations.’

Cutter half-listened to the ambassadors as they stated their respective kings’ positions and began laboriously establishing negotiable and non-negotiable issues, but he was more intent on listening to the sounds beyond the room, searching for aberrations to confirm his suspicions that this was an elaborate Kerwyn trap. Across the table, he saw his counterpart staring at him. Bloodsword was still measuring him and to any experienced warrior that type of persistence meant Bloodsword was not going to be content with words across a table. He also noticed that the scribe wasn’t writing down what was being said.

‘What do you think of that proposition?’

Cutter became aware of Goodman’s face in his field of vision and realised that the Intermediary was awaiting an answer. ‘What proposition?’ Cutter asked.

‘The Kerwyn are offering to withdraw five thousand men at a time over a period of—’

Shouting outside the room broke the Intermediary’s explanation and Cutter was on his feet, sword drawn. His eyes were on Bloodsword, who was still seated, but he sensed movement and whirled as the scribe’s hands flashed in a throwing motion. Spinning metal glinted as three thin murderous objects flew at him. One embedded in his left arm, into the padding covering the thundermaker wound received on his heroic charge a cycle past. The second sliced across his neck. He swatted the third aside with his blade. With a roar he strode around the table as the scribe scrambled from his stool and Warlord Bloodsword rose with his sword free of its scabbard. The scribe wrenched open the second door as Bloodsword’s blade broke Cutter’s swing and stopped the advancing Warmaster. Cutter’s anger melted into discipline in the face of the new opponent who was staring him down with fierce determination. Bloodsword had measured him and was certain that he would prevail.
Your mistake,
Cutter bitterly thought.

‘Give up,’ Longhands warned, also holding a short sword that he produced from beneath his red cloak. ‘Your waiting guards are already dead. There are two hundred men surrounding the farmhouse.’