A Solitary Journey (16 page)

Bloodsword had rarely lost a battle in his celebrated career, but he also knew what defeat looked like, so it was obvious, if distasteful, that the battle was being rapidly lost. The barbarians had tricked him—at least a couple of their priests had survived, although he was satisfied he’d killed a few in the initial onslaught—and it would be wiser to withdraw and return after Shahk
starved the enemy into submission. ‘Send word to withdraw,’ he said to a warrior on horseback. ‘We’ll regroup north, at Riverfork beneath the mountains.’ He watched the rider spread the word to a squad and the fifteen horsemen galloped down the slope towards the battle, separating to take the call for leaving. It was done. He consoled himself with the knowledge that this was only a withdrawal, a tactical manoeuvre to wrest the balance of power and initiative from the barbarians to his own army. Retreat was an alien word. This was not a retreat.

He turned his horse to lead his guards over the crest, leaving the battlefield in his wake to head for the vast campsite where his army quartered in preparation for the conflict, and stared in astonishment. The Kerwyn camp was ablaze and a vast host of cavalry were charging his position, black pennants flapping above the riders. For a long, terrible moment, Warlord Bloodsword was transfixed by the vision, as if he was unable to comprehend the change in fortune, before he wrenched his sword from its scabbard and cried, ‘Sound the horn!’ Urging his horse forward by smacking it across the rump with the flat of his weapon, the Kerwyn war horn bellowing behind him, he rode to meet his enemy.

Lanterns washed the council chamber walls with soft yellow light. ‘Do you think this is wise?’ asked Gold. Diamond raised a bushy white eyebrow as if surprised by his colleague’s suggestion of impropriety. ‘Explain,’ he calmly instructed.

Gold glanced at the Seers seated at the council table before he went on. ‘I know we’ve always sent acolytes into the streets to work because it exposes them to the squalor of the common people and lets them observe their sinful nature. I remember the years I spent feeding gummy old men and bone-thin urchins and I was glad when Seer Jarudhaslight finally released me from that irksome chore. The common people are doomed. It says so in
The Word.
“Those whose ways are nothing but the dirt beneath our feet will not enter Paradise”.’

‘We all know the verse,’ Onyx complained.

Gold’s expression showed his annoyance with Onyx’s rebuff, at which Onyx shrugged and cocked his head to one side. Gold continued. ‘My point is: why are we bothering with building and working in temples in the city quarters?’

Diamond paused before answering, ‘“Blessed are the ones who help those in the greatest of need”,’ and he
let the quotation hang between Gold and himself for a moment, before continuing. ‘Scripture is our guide, Gold. Remember also that it is written, “The man who does the work of Jarudha amid His enemies will enter Paradise before others”. We are in the Last Days. The work we do now is all preparation for the coming of the Demon Horsemen.’ He stopped to cough and Gold noticed a shadow of pain cross the old Seer’s face before he forced a smile and spoke again. ‘The new King claims servanthood to Jarudha, but we must make sure that he cannot renege on his promises. Building the temples makes his statement public to the people. But more than that. Teaching the people within the temples makes them servants of Jarudha. It breaks the King’s hold over them because they will look to a higher authority, one who promises them comfort and peace and all of the things this earthly king can never give them.’

‘They become our subjects,’ interrupted Onyx, dark eyes sparkling.

‘They become Jarudha’s servants,’ Diamond corrected. ‘We are merely Jarudha’s disciples. What we direct the people to do, we do because it is the Will of Jarudha. Is that not so?’ A frantic knocking started at the door. ‘Enter!’ Diamond ordered. The door swung open and two yellow-robed acolytes burst in. ‘Yes, Brightshard?’ Diamond prompted.

‘Your Eminence, there are assassins in the temple!’ acolyte Brightshard blurted, his face white with fear.

‘Is anyone hurt?’ asked Seer Hope as his companions rose from the table.

‘Six,’ Brightshard told them.

‘How many are there?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Brightshard.

‘I saw at least eight,’ the second acolyte offered.

Diamond turned quickly to Onyx. ‘Use your Blessing.’

Onyx raised an eyebrow, but he smiled grimly and reached inside his blue robe to withdraw a long phial. He uncorked it and drank the amber liquid. As he lowered the phial he gazed at Diamond and said, ‘Jarudha lead us.’

Diamond smiled and nodded to Reason and Faith. ‘Guide our brother.’

The Seers followed the acolytes and discovered eight more acolytes waiting in the shadowy lantern-lit main temple corridor. ‘Which way?’ Diamond asked.

‘They’ve separated. Some went into the main chamber, Your Eminence. Two are in the acolyte chambers,’ said an acolyte in the hallway.

‘We’ll deal with the main chamber first,’ Diamond decided. To Seer Emerald he said, ‘We need your Blessing.’

‘I haven’t tried it properly,’ Emerald replied with concern.

‘Now is as good a time as any,’ Diamond assured him. ‘Weaver can guide you.’ As Emerald drank his phial of euphoria, Diamond motioned to Reason and Faith who steered Onyx along the hallway towards the chamber doors, and they waited until Weaver arrived with Emerald, who was still sinking into the potent euphoria’s trance-like effect. ‘Brightshard,’ said Diamond. ‘I need you to establish where the assassins are.’

Brightshard, a thin, nervous young man in the lantern light, bowed politely and edged the heavy door open. He peered into the dimly lit space, searching carefully before easing through the gap. Seer Silverlight held the door ajar. Diamond touched Silverlight’s shoulder, whispering, ‘Can you create enough light to illuminate the chamber?’

‘If I use the drug enhancement, yes.’

Diamond slipped his hand inside his robe and brought out his personal phial. ‘Then prepare yourself,’
he said, and pressed the phial into Silverlight’s hand. As he released it, he heard a muffled groan from the chamber.

‘Brightshard,’ Silverlight reported, closing the door.

Diamond checked Onyx and Emerald, and as Silverlight drank the euphoria he said, ‘Now we learn more about the gifts we have been given by Jarudha. Emerald will place us under his protection and Silverlight will let us see our enemy. Then it is up to Onyx. Stay close and watchful. We must find every assassin in here.’

‘Your Eminence should stay out,’ Gold suggested, ‘in case—the Blessings don’t work.’

Diamond shook his head. ‘No. Jarudha has shown us what we can do on the battlefield. Now we must show our faith in Him. I will come with you.’ He looked at Silverlight and saw the unmistakable drug haze in the Seer’s eyes. He turned to Emerald and asked, ‘Are you ready?’ Emerald stared silently ahead. ‘Protect us,’ Diamond ordered. Emerald’s green eyes narrowed and Diamond felt a prickling sensation along the skin of his hands and face. He saw the others could feel it as well and knew that Emerald’s Blessing surrounded them. ‘We go in,’ he said to his companions and took Silverlight’s arm to lead him. ‘Acolyte Whitecat? Follow us in, but stay out of Emerald’s circle of Blessing.’

The circular central worship chamber in the temple was dark. Normally candles burned around its perimeter, but the assassins had extinguished them. Diamond squeezed Silverlight’s arm. ‘We need light.’ A ball of white light appeared and hovered in front of Silverlight’s face before it rose slowly towards the ceiling, chasing the shadows into hiding. The grey chamber was empty of furnishings, with only a stone altar at the centre directly beneath the apex of the domed ceiling and eight circular stone columns around
the outer section to support a flat rim of the ceiling before it vaulted into the central dome. Brightshard’s body was spread-eagled in a pool of blood five paces to the right of the entry door.

A flicker of movement caught Diamond’s attention and a dagger clattered on the stone pavers two paces from his feet. A second dagger whistled through the air and hit an invisible wall an arm-span from Gold’s startled face. ‘The protection works,’ Diamond announced. ‘Onyx, bring down the intruders.’ As the huddle of Seers moved into the chamber, the three euphoria-ridden men steered by their handlers, a dark figure jumped from behind a column and ran at them with a short sword. Onyx raised a finger and a bolt of energy shot from it and through the assassin’s chest. The fatally wounded man jerked backwards on impact and toppled, his sword sliding harmlessly across the floor. Two more men appeared, one with a loaded small crossbow, but Onyx fired two energy bolts, killing them in an instant. The chamber returned to silence. ‘There is no other way from the chamber!’ yelled Diamond. He was lying, but he knew the intruders wouldn’t know anything about the Seers’ secret door. ‘Surrender or die!’

‘If they’re Kerwyn, they won’t understand you, Your Eminence,’ said Weaver.

‘You tell them then,’ Diamond replied. Weaver repeated Diamond’s ultimatum in Kerwyn and waited. ‘Repeat it,’ Diamond instructed impatiently. Weaver did as asked. From the shadow of a column on the opposite side of the chamber two men in black emerged, swords ready. ‘Tell them to drop their weapons and we won’t harm them.’ Weaver gave the assassins the message. They stayed silent.

Diamond stared across the space at the two Kerwyn. ‘Ask them why they’ve come here. Who are they to kill?’

‘Isn’t that obvious?’ Weaver remarked dryly.

‘Ask them,’ Diamond insisted.

Weaver asked. The assassins did not answer. ‘I know they understand me,’ Weaver said.

Diamond shrugged. ‘Onyx?’ Two deadly bolts of energy flashed across the chamber, hitting each target in the head. ‘Check there are no more,’ Diamond ordered Whitecat.

The acolyte edged to the nearest column and began a slow search, moving from column to column until he completed the circle of the chamber. ‘There is no one else in here, Your Eminence,’ he reported.

Diamond nodded. ‘Down to the acolyte chambers then,’ he said. Silverlight’s magical light sphere floated with them as they left the chamber.

‘How?’ King Future demanded, glaring with angry blue eyes at the Royal Intermediary standing at the foot of the throne steps.

Kneel Goodman returned the King’s gaze and calmly explained, ‘The Kerwyn distracted the Elite Guards with a small armed force that tried to push into the palace as a diversion, which allowed the assassins to enter the temple grounds unseen.’

‘And they killed ten acolytes?’

‘Yes, Your Highness.’

‘How many captives did the Seers take?’

‘None, Your Highness.’

Future clenched his fist. ‘And your men?’

‘We’ve got seven, Your Highness.’

‘Interrogate them. Find out what plans Ironfist has,’ Future ordered. ‘We need to counteract every treacherous move he intends to make now that he has no army to threaten me.’ Goodman coughed and shook his head slowly. ‘What?’ Future demanded.

‘The Kerwyn don’t have tongues, Your Highness.’

Future’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Their tongues have been cut out. Whoever organised this squad and the assassins made certain they wouldn’t divulge any military secrets if they were captured.’

Future snorted. ‘And they dare to call us barbarians?’ He rose from his throne and descended the steps, looking at the Tithe Lords who were gathered together for the first time in the King’s Counsel Chamber. Of the original eight representatives from his mother’s reign, only three had survived the Kerwyn invasion because they abandoned their lands for the security of Port of Joy. The octagonal Counsel Chamber was a huge empty space with more Elite Guards present than dignitaries. ‘Gentlemen,’ the King said, ‘the war is over for now. This attempt against the Seers is the last gasp of a broken enemy. Warmaster Cutter and the Royal Seers have restored our kingdom. We will reassemble in five days to begin planning the reconstruction of the kingdom. It will not be the same as before the war. You are lucky to have survived by your wits and sense of self-preservation, unlike your companions, but I will have to reorganise Western Shess for its own protection. There will be changes even for you.’ He saw the uncertainty in the three faces and added, ‘It will be a new world order under Jarudha’s guidance and benevolence. I think you will come to understand that we all have been blessed.’

‘Ashes are not the end. Scatter them and enrich new growth. Out of the ashes will arise new beginnings.’

FROM
‘
THE DIARY OF KING FUTURE ROYAL THE FIRST
’

H
e was exceedingly tall, at least Wombat’s height, but lithe, brown in skin tone and by the definition in his wrists and cheeks muscled beneath his thick leather coat. He studied her with large dark eyes in the fine mist before he shifted his attention to the others. Hungry, unwashed, wet and exhausted from days of trekking through the mountain valleys, the Shessian refugees could only hope these strange new people would be kinder than the Kerwyn who hunted them out of their land. The tall man turned and shouted in his foreign language to his companions. A troop of twenty armed warriors broke rank to approach, staring at the curiosities that had come down from the mountains in the coldest time of the year. Meg watched them warily, their manner suggesting neither friendliness nor threat as they pointed at the refugees and talked to each other. The leader stepped back, eyeing Wombat as the only man in the refugee group, hand lazily grasping his spear as if he was expecting the big man to do something foolish.

A warrior suddenly stepped forward and grabbed Whitebird’s arm, and she screamed as he pulled her from the refugee crowd. Ochre, Glitter and the other
women protested, hitting him with their fists and yelling abuse, trying to stop the man from taking Whitebird. Meg’s frightened gaze shifted to Wombat who was lifting his axe, and she saw the strangers’ leader shake his head at Wombat and stride purposely towards the trouble. He pushed between the women, ignoring Glitter’s attack on him with her fists, and broke the warrior’s hold on Whitebird. He berated the man, before he turned his attention to the rest of the warriors and barked instructions. The men drew back from the strangers, laughing and chatting despite their leader’s apparent anger.

The leader faced the women and held out his hands, palms upward in an apologetic, friendly gesture, and spoke to the refugee group in a gentler tone.
I wish I understood him,
Meg thought, and as she concentrated when he spoke again, this time to his men, her spine tingled and his words made sense.
He’s sending someone to tell his people that we are here,
she interpreted silently, and blinked, surprised that she understood his language.
How is it that I can understand? What can’t I do with this magic?

The leader waited as several men hurried through the thick forest down the narrow path that the refugees had been following in their descent from the mountains, before ordering his remaining warriors to rest. Satisfied, he sat on a flat rock on the edge of the path.

‘Are they going to help us?’

Meg turned to Magpie who was at her side staring at the warriors. ‘They are going down to tell the people in their village that we’re here,’ she told him.

‘How do you know that?’

How could she answer that? ‘It makes sense,’ she said.

‘Why are they brown?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you know what this place is called?’ Magpie asked.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘We have to be patient.’

Unsatisfied with her answers, Magpie shrugged and squatted to draw shapes with a stick in the soft, moist earth. Meg ignored him as she studied her companions. Everyone was thin, dirty and haggard. Even Wombat had lost weight, though he remained an imposing figure. His wife and children sat beside him on the pathway, tired and gaunt, and the rest sat on the ground, awaiting their fate in the foreign land. The warriors were talking quietly, occasionally throwing glances in the refugees’ direction, so she concentrated on listening to what they might be planning, unaware of Wombat approaching. ‘Can you understand them?’ he asked. Startled, she stumbled over her answer as she admitted that she could. ‘Then what are they saying?’

‘Not a lot,’ she explained. ‘Those two,’ she said, subtly indicating a pair of warriors, ‘are arguing over whether they should keep us or sell us.’

‘Sell us?’ Wombat’s brow knitted angrily. ‘I’m no one’s slave,’ he said between his teeth.

‘What if they do sell us?’ Meg asked.

‘They can try,’ Wombat snarled.

‘And you’ll do what?’ she asked. ‘There’s too many of them. They’d kill you before you could do anything.’

‘Better than slavery,’ he said.

‘And Ochre? And your children? The rest of us? What then? You die and we are sold anyway. What does that prove?’

He glared at her because he knew she was right. Sighing, he muttered, ‘Then we’ve escaped one imprisonment for another.’

‘We escaped death,’ said Ochre who’d quietly joined Wombat.

Wombat smiled at his wife. ‘Always right, aren’t you?’ he teased amiably, and put a big arm protectively around her shoulders before he asked Meg, ‘Isn’t there some magic you can use to get us out of this?’

‘I don’t know what I can do,’ she replied. ‘And what would I do? I can’t fight.’

Wombat grinned. ‘The girl I knew ten years ago could fight.’

‘I don’t remember it,’ she said with a plaintive edge that made him raise an eyebrow.

‘Relax, little bird, it will come back when it’s time. You’ve already remembered enough to keep us safe and warm through the mountains.’ He looked over Meg’s shoulder. ‘Our tall friend is coming.’

The leader was walking towards them. His eyes glanced over Meg, and she sensed an expression of appreciation on his face that made her shiver before he fixed his gaze on Wombat. He spoke and gestured for Wombat to follow him.

‘What did he say?’ Wombat asked.

‘He said that you should bring us down to his village. There will be a little food,’ she explained, aware that the leader’s attention was back on her, but she avoided his gaze.

‘Then we’d better go,’ Wombat said, and he asked the rest of the refugee group to follow him.

The path wound between tall trees and lush green undergrowth, the mud underfoot threatening to make Meg fall, so she concentrated on keeping her balance as she followed Magpie and Wombat’s family. Through the branches she spied a silver ribbon of water in the valley and a vista of distant snow-capped mountains to the east, and when she saw a wooden platform for a lookout jutting from a switchback in the path she stopped to study the view. The valley river broke regularly into small ponds and lakes that glittered in the
brittle sunlight seeping through the light grey overcast sky, and along the edge of the largest lake directly below was a small village with thin white columns of smoke rising from chimneys. ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Glitter as she joined Meg. ‘I never imagined a place like this could exist.’

‘Neither did I,’ Meg replied, but she wasn’t comfortable with the unfamiliar scene. The alien world had none of the familiar eucalypts, the dry stretches of plains and rolling hills or mallee, and was so vibrantly green that the colour dazzled her eyes. A hand nudged her and three warriors pointed along the path. She smiled briefly and took Glitter’s arm to lead her down.

The foliage thickened as the ground levelled out, reminding her of the Whispering Forest, except here the forest was rich with ferns and creepers, and the tree trunks were overgrown with moss and lichen. Runnels crisscrossed the path’s moist earth and the grass verge was tall and thick. The drifting misty rain kept the bird life silent and hidden, and the first animal she saw was a cream dog at a bend in the path. Its ears snapped up and it barked. Three children appeared behind the dog and a warrior stood behind the children.

Wombat threw the man over his shoulders and stepped aside, sweat pouring from his reddened face. Another warrior barrelled into his side and grappled the big man, while a third leapt onto his broad back. Wombat grunted and pulled at the warrior’s enfolding arms, slowly breaking his hold, but another warrior grabbed Wombat’s legs and brought the big man to the ground with a thud. Even overpowered, Wombat landed several solid punches and kicks before the warriors finished trussing him and left him puffing on his side. Beaten and exhausted, he yelled hoarsely to the women and children, ‘Don’t fight! Go with them!’ Magpie ran out
of the cluster of frightened refugees and swung his fists at a warrior who laughed and dodged the boy’s attacks playfully. ‘Stop it!’ Wombat wheezed. ‘Give up, lad!’ but Magpie kept at the warrior until the man grabbed his flailing arms and pinned him, still grinning at the boy’s efforts.

Angered, Meg felt a tingle along her spine as she focussed on the warriors, but she heard Wombat’s voice through the mist of fury fuelling her rising hands, ‘No! Red! No!’ She hesitated, and lowered her hands. What was she going to do anyway? They were in the centre of a village square, surrounded by a crowd of men, women and children who’d come to watch the parade of the refugees with pale skins. The warriors who escorted them down the mountain surrounded them, but anything Meg did with her wild, unpredictable magic might harm others, and particularly might harm children. But why did they attack Wombat without provocation?

The women started screaming as the warriors reached to take possession of their selected targets. The tallest warrior, the man who acted as the leader, approached Meg and she flinched as he reached for her arm. He spoke gently in his tongue and she understood that he meant her no harm. Again her spine tingled and she focussed and let his words take form. ‘Come. I have chosen you.’ She wanted to ignore Wombat’s plea and fight—but she realised her notion was foolish and acquiesced.

Glitter was being dragged away by a warrior, fear etched on her dirt-stained face and her eyes wide. ‘Meg!’ she cried, grabbing at her arm. ‘What are they going to do to us?’ Her fingers slipped away.

‘You’ll be safe,’ Meg promised, but she hated the words as they left her lips. She had no right and no reason to offer an empty promise. She flinched again as
a heavy hand touched her shoulder and she faced the warrior, his stern face indicating that his patience was vanishing. Magpie was being securely held by the man he’d attacked, so Meg pointed to him, looking back at the leader warrior and saying in her Shessian language, ‘The boy. He’s my son. He has to come with me.’

The leader stared, expressionless, so she repeated her request and pointed frantically at Magpie. The leader looked at Magpie and nodded to the man restraining him, who grinned and pushed the boy firmly towards Meg. Magpie spun angrily, fists clenched as though he was going to attack again, which made the warrior chuckle and he called to his companions to look at the boy. ‘Don’t do it,’ Meg ordered to Magpie’s back. ‘I need you to come with me.’ The boy was slow to respond, and when he did it was reluctantly. His face was lined by hatred as he shuffled towards Meg, glaring at the tall leader. She went to put a hand on Magpie’s shoulder, but he brushed it silently aside. ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ she said quietly to appease him, but the boy did not acknowledge her.

‘Come,’ said the man in his foreign tongue, beckoning and turning as if he expected Meg and Magpie to follow him obediently.

‘What about Wombat?’ Magpie snarled.

Meg looked at their bound protector and repeated, ‘There’s nothing we can do right now. He’ll be all right. We’ll work something out when we know what’s going on here.’ Magpie’s baleful glare turned on her and made her shiver. The leader gesticulated impatiently for them to follow him. ‘Come on,’ she said to Magpie. ‘We’ll find a way to help Wombat.’

The tall warrior led them along a path that wound through the village, shadowing the riverbank. Meg gauged from the chuckling whisper of water pervading the air above the sibilant hiss of the soft rain that the
river flowed swiftly. Meg was watchful of Magpie, his mood threatening to end in rage, but she was conscious also of the lush green, wet world through which they walked. The village houses were square, whitewashed mud-and-wood constructions with thickly thatched roofs, with some growing room attachments like the chunks of lichen and pale yellow fungi adorning every tree trunk. She spotted a group of men heaping a line of heavy bags along the top of the riverbank at a lower point in the village grounds and wondered why they were working in the rain. Beneath the willows, and in the shelter of verandas on the small houses, dark-skinned people stared. Every house seemed to have at least one dog, but she was surprised not to see cows in the animal enclosures, only unfamiliar animals that were like skinny sheep with hair and curled horns.

The warrior took them towards a large house the size of at least two of the ordinary houses they passed on their walk, nestled between two thick-trunked trees on a rise, but he veered away from the solid front door and stopped when he reached a smaller door to a lean-to shelter attached to the side of the house. He indicated that Meg and Magpie should enter. Nodding to show she understood, Meg pulled on the door handle, noticing the heavy chain and lock hanging from the bolt. The warrior said something that she interpreted as ‘The other way’, and realised that she had to push instead of pull.

She opened the door into a small musty room with a hay-strewn floor, but as she cautiously entered Magpie yelped and she spun to see the warrior holding the boy’s arm as he thrust the door shut. Startled, she heard the chain rattle and the click of the lock closing and Magpie swearing and yelling, and though she tried to see through cracks between the wooden door panels the view was too limited. Magpie’s protests faded. He was
being taken somewhere else. She pushed against the door and, remembering that it opened in, searched in vain for a handle to pull.

She was imprisoned. Her heart sank. They’d escaped the murderous Kerwyn, struggled through the mountains and the cold, survived the attack of the wild cat-like creature, only to become captives to strangers. It didn’t seem fair. She had to do something to save her people—but what?

She cleared her mind of her immediate troubles to create a tiny light sphere to illuminate her prison. Careful to control the intensity, she let the sphere rise from her hands and float an arm-span above her head. The rectangular room was, from the lingering smell, used to shelter animals, but apart from the hay on the floor it was empty. She searched the walls and discovered the frame of a window, but it was boarded from the outside and would not yield to her efforts to force it open. Disappointed, she slumped into the hay and let the light disappear.