A Solitary Journey (28 page)

He coughed. ‘I’ve never spoken to anyone about her in my lifetime,’ he said. ‘I’ve never loved anyone else. She was very different. She was like you. She didn’t judge me. She accepted me.’

‘Were you married?’

A Ahmud Ki chuckled softly. ‘No. It was all over too quickly.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said and she touched his hand. He opened his palm and enclosed her hand, and
she was surprised at the silky softness of his skin and the sensation that tingled between them. She realised for the first time that every time she had touched him before, when he was ill, her spine had tingled.

They stood silently for a moment, until A Ahmud Ki said, ‘Watch this.’ Keeping a firm hold on her hand, he raised his other hand and said, ‘Leoht.’ A milky sphere materialised in the air above his upturned palm, its soft light melting the darkness from their faces. Meg gasped. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Your magic works through me when we are close.’

‘But how?’ she murmured, astounded by the vision.

‘I am a Dragonlord by birth,’ he said. ‘The Ki are in me. I know how to make magic, but something that Mareg did to me when he had me imprisoned has weakened what I can do. I need to find a Conduit too.’ She shuddered at his last words and pulled her hand away, and the light sphere dissolved. ‘Why did you do that?’ he asked.

‘I am not your Conduit,’ she replied sharply and walked away.

He watched her retreat, glad there was no light to interfere with his natural vision. The big man who was her friend appeared at the end of the gorge with the minstrel and the two men approached the rest of the party, and something in their manner made him realise that they were telling the others important news. He wandered casually towards them, fascinated by their chatter. Many words made sense because he was learning more of their crude tongue every day, although he still couldn’t put complete sentences together to speak. ‘What’s the fuss?’ he asked Meg when he got her attention.

‘Wombat’s made contact with another group,’ she said eagerly. ‘There are more of us out here.’

‘Empires rise and fall. That is an eternal law. Just as the greatest of all eastern empires, that founded by the Ashuak, dissolved into ruins and its people were scattered to the four winds, so it will come to pass that the kingdoms of the west will become memories, then histories and finally the myths and legends of the distant future. Jarudha ordains that it will be so.’

FROM
F
ALLING
DUST: FADING EMPIRES
BY SEER TRUTH

S
eer Vision closed his book and called, ‘Come in,’ annoyed that someone was disturbing him so late in the evening. The door opened and Seer Weaver entered, accompanied by a man in a black cloak with his hood up. As they stepped into the light, the man in the black robe pulled back his cowl to reveal a hard, dark-bearded visage with a broken nose. ‘Well?’ Vision asked, glaring at Weaver.

‘This is a representative from King Ironfist—Carver Deepchest.’

The Kerwyn bowed his head slightly. ‘I am fluent in your language and I know your god, Jarudha. I have learned to be a believer.’

Vision assessed the man, noting that he had the physique and demeanour Vision associated with a soldier, despite his educated speech. ‘How did you get through the city’s defences?’

‘Defences are only as good as the men who keep them,’ Deepchest replied. ‘Not every man in your army is loyal to it.’

‘So a spy let you in?’

Deepchest smiled crookedly. ‘What is a spy?’ he asked as he bowed politely.

‘Get to your purpose,’ Vision ordered.

Deepchest nodded and said, ‘My Lord is willing to recommence bargaining with you on matters affecting us all.’

‘The diplomacy isn’t needed. What is your King proposing?’ Deepchest looked at Onyx. ‘What is said in this room is for Jarudha only,’ Vision added.

Deepchest nodded. ‘King Ironfist sees no point in a long war. The lands north and east of the city are already Kerwyn lands. It is only a matter of time before the city falls. King Ironfist knows well the prowess of the man who leads your army and respects him as a man who will make the war long and difficult, but King Ironfist will not rest until he is king of the whole western land and this might mean there is no city here when the war is over. He does not want to see that happen. He is asking you to convince the King to either surrender and be allowed to go east freely to settle anew, or to accept King Ironfist’s sovereignty and relinquish his ownership of the land, acting instead as a governor.’

‘Is that all?’ Vision asked.

Deepchest cleared his throat quietly and said, ‘King Ironfist offers important status for you and your priests. You would become advisers and your religion would be adopted as the King’s religion.’

A faint smile crept across Vision’s face and his eyes sparkled. ‘An interesting proposition. Let me see.’ He rose from his chair and continued to speak as he walked around his desk to stand before Deepchest. ‘The King here already gives us status. After him, we are the supreme authority and even he answers to Jarudha. He lets us build temples in the city wherever we please and he funds our needs from the Royal treasury without question. He is about to make the worship of Jarudha mandatory for all citizens. What has your King offered
that we do not already have?’ He looked squarely at Deepchest, noting the V-shaped scar across the bridge of the Kerwyn ambassador’s nose.

Again, Deepchest nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I will convey what I have heard to my King.’

‘I think you understand well,’ Vision replied. ‘Go with Jarudha’s blessing.’ He instructed Onyx to ensure that the ambassador was escorted safely and secretively from the city. When the door was closed, Vision settled back to his reading.

The text was a work by his dead father, Seer Truth. Vision’s personal mission, to vindicate his father’s life purpose in finding the Conduit that would ensure the Demon Horsemen could be released, was consuming his private time with great passion. Truth had correctly traced the Conduit’s journey from the chest of a dragon slain by the Prophet Alun during the decline of the ancient Ashuak Empire, to Alun’s granddaughter and sister to Erin the Wise, and from there down the Kushel family generations to Samuel Kushel whose father settled his family in Shess. Certain that Samuel was the same man as an old soothsayer in a northern Shess village, Truth went in search of the Conduit, only to discover that Samuel had passed it to the Abomination—the woman, Lady Amber—who eventually killed Vision’s father in a strange duel that also cost her her life when the Demon Horsemen were apparently unleashed. So the Conduit was lost forever. Vision had arranged for a meticulous search of the area of that fateful confrontation, the area known as Whiterocks Bluff, but the Conduit was definitely gone—by all accounts from eyewitnesses, who came upon the scene within a day of the battle, it was in the belly of a great white shark.

But, as the Seers all knew, Jarudha worked in mysterious ways. The loss of the Conduit was compensated with their discovery of another path
towards Paradise—through consumption of the mind-altering drug euphoria. Euphoria enhanced their Blessings—the magic they could summon. So far, it hadn’t replaced the awesome power that he knew the Conduit could command, but he was convinced that euphoria was the key they needed. The challenge was to learn how to harness and grow its potential.

Another knock at the door made Vision mutter an obscenity and close the book. ‘Who is it?’ he called.

‘Me,’ a familiar voice replied. The door opened and Onyx reappeared.

‘Is our friend safely underway?’ Vision asked.

‘Yes.’ Despite his acceptance of Vision’s leadership, Onyx refrained from using Vision’s official title. After all, the title was meant to be his.

‘Then why this additional intrusion?’

Onyx shut the door. ‘Our friend shared an interesting rumour,’ he explained.

‘I’m listening,’ Vision said.

Onyx casually sat in a padded armchair, one of three reserved for the office of the spiritual leader of the Seers. ‘The Kerwyn are getting reports of a witch upsetting their warriors in the southern parts of the Whispering Forest.’

‘A witch?’

‘It’s the term the Kerwyn use for women who use magic,’ Onyx explained.

Vision snorted. ‘I know what a witch is. And I know they don’t exist.’

‘Occasionally women copy the tribal shaman,’ Onyx reminded him.

‘False magic. Fakers,’ said Vision dismissively. ‘The Kerwyn have been fooled by some pranksters.’

Onyx nodded. ‘Perhaps. But the ambassador considered the rumour important enough to share with us.’

‘Looking for a quick answer,’ said Vision. ‘Is that all this was—a rumour?’

Onyx took the hint and stood. ‘I thought you’d at least want to know,’ he said and headed for the door again. ‘Goodnight.’

Vision was glad to hear the door click shut. He picked up his book, opened it and focussed on where he’d reached, but he couldn’t concentrate. Annoyed, he shut the book and leaned back into his chair, toying with the dark blue material on the arm. The Kerwyn king’s overtures were tempting and he would ensure that option remained viable. The Kerwyn assault on Port of Joy was about to recommence with the end of the season of Shahk and he knew that life in the city would degenerate rapidly for the people as the siege took effect. The fate of the Shessian kingdom was in the hands of Warmaster Cutter, a soldier who’d proven his mettle when the fall of the kingdom seemed inevitable, and it was possible that he could engineer another victory against impossible odds so the Seers would be foolhardy to change allegiances before the outcome was certain. But continuing a relationship with King Ironside was sensible. Whoever ultimately ruled Shess had the responsibility of ensuring the Jarudhan faith prospered.

He drew a deep breath. The experimentation with euphoria was gaining momentum, although Seer Reason was warning that the drug had limited use unless they could refine it to make it stronger. Vision was convinced that it was the key to Paradise. The dream of the Conduit died with his father, but the reality of bringing the Demon Horsemen to cleanse the world of evil remained strong.

He stood and lowered the wick on his lantern, leaving a tiny glow to light his way to bed, picked up the lantern and walked barefoot across the paved floor,
enjoying the cool sensation in his feet. In his bedroom, austere and small, furnished with a single bed and a small dark four-drawer cupboard, he slipped out of his blue robe and underclothes, blew out the lantern and climbed under the woollen blankets. The Kerwyn rumour of the witch eased back into his thoughts as he relaxed to sleep. It was an annoying thought, and he dismissed it as nonsense, but for its own strange purposes it wouldn’t let him rest.

White sails flooded the western horizon, like a long thin bank of cloud rolling in under the blue sky, and a stiff north-westerly breeze ruffled the waves and made Warmaster Cutter’s hair dance. ‘Estimates are that there are three hundred ships,’ said Kneel Goodman, who stood with the Warmaster on the castle parapet.

Blade Cutter kept his gaze fixed on the distant sails. ‘How many ships do we have ready?’

‘Shipmaster Dockman told me there were sixty-two vessels able to put to sea. Twenty-one are fitted with the big thundermakers.’

Cutter remembered Dockman—the shipmaster who led the small fleet against the Kerwyn blockade before the storms settled in. ‘Tell Dockman to weigh his options carefully. He has my permission to plan accordingly.’

‘That will be passed to him, Warmaster,’ Goodman confirmed.

Cutter faced the dark-haired Intermediary. ‘Where’s the King?’

‘His Highness is in bed with an unfortunate cold and said he would visit you in a couple of days when he is feeling better.’

‘Better health to His Highness then,’ said Cutter as he headed for the steps. He stopped at the top with Goodman and continued, ‘I’ve seen enough from here. My guess is that the Kerwyn will start the assault within
two days. I’ve received reports that the new Warlord, Broadback, is bringing siege machines that our own Seers designed when they were helping the King take the throne from his mother. Ironic, don’t you think?’

‘Circumstances change,’ Goodman remarked.

Cutter descended quickly to avoid the formalities associated with arriving at and leaving the palace. Mounted, he led his small entourage of Elite Archers out of the palace and through the old castle precinct, heading for the perimeter of the Northern Quarter.
Circumstances change,
he considered as he rode.
Circumstances might change again.
He knew he couldn’t rely on the Seers. The dead Queen was never able to successfully guarantee the Seers’ loyalty in her long struggle with her son for the throne, yet some of them had been more than eager to lend the Rebel forces a hand. The Kerwyn arrived in Shess with their thundermakers, powerful and deadly magic conjured by the Seers, to support the Prince’s usurpation of Queen Sunset’s throne. Once the Prince was the new King and the Kerwyn plot to take control of Western Shess uncovered, the Seers changed sides and provided King Future with even more potent magic. The Seers changed sides to suit their own ends. Of that fact he was certain. He didn’t want to trust them, but he couldn’t afford to have them turn against him either.

Warlord Cleaver Broadback stroked his finely trimmed beard, his single selfish concession to his rank, and studied the first war machine as the bullocks pulled it forward. It took eight bullocks to pull each wood-and-metal machine. There were a hundred machines in total, constructed from designs provided to King Ironfist by the Shessian Seers, and Broadback had ordered the machines to take up positions along the northern and north-eastern perimeters of the city. Each
machine could hurl a large thunderclap more than a thousand paces—a full walk—and they could be reloaded quickly to maintain a steady rate of fire. The thunderclaps could destroy a house in a single explosion. With a hundred machines at his command, Broadback expected to level most of the city of Port of Joy in a few days if the enemy were stupid enough to resist. The stormy season was over, the Kerwyn army was replenished with recruits from the north, the Kerwyn navy was assembled and ready to descend upon the Shessian ships and Broadback was eager to recommence the war.

Wheeling his horse, Cleaver Broadback cantered along the road and then angled through the bushland, heading for a tall hill overlooking the city. He startled a mob of grey kangaroos that went bounding through the mallee at the base of the hill. Shessian animals were strange creatures, all legs and tail, tasty when cooked, but harder to hunt than the bears of the Kerwyn mountains. Broadback had acquired a taste for the animals, but, like the Shessian barbarians, he knew that the kangaroos and other weird animals would be culled once the land was Kerwyn land.

Waiting at the crest of the hill under the shade of a broad white gum were familiar faces among the troop of soldiers. Doghunter nodded as Broadback reined in and Lance Shortarms was wearing a big grin while he restrained three Kerwyn war dogs on chains. Broadback swung down from his mount, letting a soldier take the horse for currying and a drink while he embraced his friends and half-brother. ‘Where’s Slayer?’ he asked.

‘Marshalling a war band to make some preliminary raids over the river,’ said Shortarms. ‘He wants the barbarians to know that we’re back.’

‘Good,’ Broadback declared. ‘I can already smell blood.’

The surrounding entourage laughed. ‘You’ve got a visitor,’ said Doghunter, who gestured towards a solitary figure wrapped in a dirty brown riding cloak with the hood up and guarded by four Kerwyn soldiers. ‘He came in unannounced this morning.’

‘Barbarian?’ Broadback asked, studying the man.

‘Worse,’ said Doghunter and he spat.

Broadback strode over to the prisoner, but halted as the man dropped his hood to reveal his white hair. ‘What do you want?’ Broadback demanded.

Seer Onyx’s expression remained impassive. ‘I expected better treatment,’ he said bluntly. ‘Your friends don’t understand the concept of etiquette.’

Broadback raised an eyebrow quizzically and remarked, ‘Fancy words and fancy manners have no place on a war field, priest, and wise men answer questions when their lives are worthless.’

Onyx’s face hardened. ‘Blunt. So be it.’ He glanced malevolently at Doghunter before saying, ‘I’m here with a simple message then. Jarudha’s purpose is sometimes not clear to our limited minds. He may have very different plans to what we intend and events may not turn out as we expected.’