Heartwood (10 page)

The most ironic thing was that the hand he had lost was not the one with the brand of servitude on it, but the one with the Heartwood tattoo.

It had been a devastating injury for a knight whose whole life had been spent with a sword in his hand.

He knew he did not belong in Heartwood. The Militis tolerated him because he was one of Valens' favourites, but he could not live off that forever. And he didn't want to. He was nobody's pet, and he didn't like being on a leash. However, so far he had resisted the urge to just leave, knowing it would break Valens's heart.

The large oak door to the Capitulum was shut. Dolosus pulled it open, raising his lantern to scan the interior. This was the room where the Militis gathered at the Tertius Campana for daily readings by Dulcis from the pulpit. The only items of furniture inside were wooden chairs, and although these had been swept up in the flood and many had been broken, no other damage had been done.

He left the room and moved along to the next one, which was the Apotheca, or store room. This had suffered quite extensive damage. Broken bowls and foodstuffs lay scattered on the floor, soggy loaves of bread, tipped-over fruit barrels, dripping pots of honey and empty flagons of ale. He didn't even bother to go in; there was clearly nobody there.

So where was everyone? He left the room, frowning. There should have been lots of Militis around; after the Veriditas the members of Heartwood who weren't involved in the Congressus would mostly have returned to their positions, many of which were in the Castellum itself, such as the Cellarer, the Chamberlain, the Refectorer and the Granarer. Unless they were all outside dealing with the visitors…

He pushed open the door to the Refectorium and stood in the doorway.
Ah
, he thought.
So this is where they all are
.

Bodies had been heaped around the dining room in an untidy tangle of torsos and limbs. Dolosus walked slowly around the room, treading carefully so as not to slip in the blood. His mind puzzled as he moved, wondering who the warriors were, and why they had caused such destruction. He couldn't help but admire the relentless way they had disposed of the trained Militis knights with ease. There had not been so much carnage in the Curia. That made him wonder if the warriors who had attacked them in the Curia had merely had the task of distracting them while the rest of them desecrated the Arbor. Heartwood's best knights had all been in the Curia – Valens, Procella, Beata, all the lords of the Twelve Lands. It didn't make sense that the water warriors hadn't put their strongest force against those warriors unless the main objective was distraction.

“Help…”

Dolosus turned and looked down at the person who had called out at his feet. It was Brevis, the Refectorer. He knelt down to look at him. The Militis had been skewered like a pig. Whoever had done the job knew how to make sure his victim didn't get up again. They had twisted the blade inside Brevis, leaving a gaping, jagged hole out of which spilled greasy grey intestines.

The Refectorer clutched hold of Dolosus's hand with blooded fingers. His face was pale as a bowl of milk, his forehead beaded with sweat. “Help me,” he whispered, his other hand clutching his innards and trying to push them back in.

Dolosus extricated his only hand from the other's grip with distaste. “I think you are past help, my friend,” he said coolly. Tears ran down Brevis's face. The Refectorer was a large, plump knight who ran his kitchens with a harsh hand. Dolosus had seen him beat the young Militis who served as part of their training on more than one occasion for no reason other than accidentally dropping a piece of food on the floor. He knew Brevis disliked him, and thought less of him because he had come late to Heartwood, as if somehow that tainted him and made him less worthy of being a Militis.

Brevis must have seen the look on his face because his eyes went wide and his mouth opened and closed like a fish. Dolosus leaned back against the table and folded his arms. “I think you will die by sun-up,” he said, leaning across and retrieving an unblemished apple from an upturned bowl. “We will soon find out, will we not?”

 

V

Chonrad decided not to blow out the lantern, now they had gone to the trouble of getting one lit. He didn't think they would find any water warriors. They had got what they came for and retreated, he presumed, as soon as they had it, so he doubted there would be any left hanging around.

Still, he and Fulco proceeded cautiously, keeping to the walls as they made their way around the right side of the colonnade.

It was the first time he – and maybe, he thought, anyone but a Militis – had been inside the living area of Heartwood. He had known the Castellum was shaped like an oak leaf and he could see this layout now as he looked around at the buildings shimmering in the light of the Lamb Moon, high above them.

The centre of the complex was a large lawn, slightly wider at the Temple end than the west end, reflecting the narrowing shape of the oak leaf plan. Flotsam and jetsam littered the lawn, and the beautiful flat grass had been gouged in many places. To either side, rounded buildings formed the lobes of the leaf. In front of these, a covered walkway with arches led through to the lawn. He suspected that usually it would have been a tranquil place, but now it looked deserted and forlorn, like a dog tied up and left for dead.

He made his way around the northern walkway, Fulco following remarkably silently for such a big knight. They stopped outside the first room. Blood stained the floor and the door hung half open. Chonrad pushed it with his sword, waited in the doorway and lifted the lantern.

It was a library, or had been, anyway. Books lay in sodden piles of parchment on the floor, the beautifully scrolled words blurred and smudged. Furniture piled up to the side, and broken pieces of wood, torn books and candles littered the floor.

A body sprawled on the flagstones.

Chonrad went in and bent over the body while Fulco stood in the doorway, keeping guard. The dead knight – an old man – hadn't been wearing armour. His chest and stomach had been gouged out and spilled on the floor, where it had obviously mixed with the water, for there were bits and pieces of flesh and innards all over the place. Chonrad's lips tightened. An elder did not deserve to die in such a way.

He bent to pick up the body, intending to carry it out onto the lawn, and then he saw the faint light emanating from a hole in the corner of the room. He stood and walked over to the hole and looked through. A set of stone steps curved down and around, leading to somewhere he could not see, but the light and the slight shuffling sounds of movement meant someone was down there.

He whistled to Fulco, indicating he was going down. “Stay here, unless I call you,” he directed. Fulco nodded, coming over and holding the lantern aloft while Chonrad descended the spiral stone staircase. He did his best to walk quietly, but the steps were covered with loose bits of wood and stone and his feet crunched so much he knew he had no hope of creeping up on anyone. Sure enough, his head was barely below ground level before someone demanded: “Who is that? Who goes there? Tell me who you are!” and a tall, slender youth appeared out of the gloom, sword held aloft.

“Peace, friend,” said Chonrad in the language of Heartwood. Then, changing to Laxonian, he continued: “I am Chonrad, Lord of Barle. I mean you no harm.”

The tip of the youth's sword lowered to the ground. “I thought you were one of those… whatever they were.” He gave a ghost of a smile. “I am Nitesco. I help out – helped out – Caecus, the Libraris.”

Holding up his lantern, Chonrad could see the young lad's face looked white and drawn against his long blond hair, and blood marked his temple. “Are you hurt badly?” he asked, descending the last few steps.

The youth touched his head. “No, the bleeding has stopped.” He glanced up the staircase. “What is going on up there? I think I have been down here a while.”

“The Pectoris has been taken,” Chonrad told him. “There are many dead, including Dulcis, I am sorry to tell you.”

Nitesco stared at him, shocked. “Arbor's roots…” His mouth tightened. “What a terrible thing. The Pectoris gone… What will happen to the Arbor now?”

“I do not know. We are meeting at sun-up to have a discussion. They are starting to clean up upstairs,” said Chonrad. “There are many dead, and there has been a lot of damage to the buildings.” He looked around the place. They were in some kind of underground cave. It was dark and airless, and not very big, but filled from floor to ceiling with books, maps and other pieces of parchment. In the middle stood a lectern, on which was spread out a slender book, pages brown with age. “Where are we?” He had never heard of an underground room beneath Heartwood.

In the light of the lantern, Nitesco's green eyes gleamed. “This is the Cavus. It is part of the old Temple, the one destroyed in the Great Quake.”

“Did you know it was here?” Chonrad walked around the perimeter of the room, touching the books with his fingertips.

“Not at all and, more importantly, neither did Caecus, as far as I know.” For a moment Nitesco looked forlorn at the memory of the sickening death of his mentor and friend. Obviously pushing that thought away, he continued: “And he knew everything about Heartwood.”

“Why was it not damaged in the flood?” The books were all dry, Chonrad could see, and the floor remained thick with dust.

“The hole was covered by a flagstone, which was also covered by a chest. I believe the waters moved the chest, and then heaped debris on top of the flagstone. It broke after the waters had receded from the weight of the damp debris.”

Chonrad shrugged. This was mildly interesting, but he had more pressing matters on his mind. “We will come down here and investigate further when things are more settled upstairs,” he said.

To his surprise, Nitesco shook his head. “No, you do not understand.” He indicated the books with his hand. “These all predate the Heartwood we know, the Castellum Temple and Domus. They all predate
Oculus
.”

Chonrad frowned. He failed to see the reason for the excitement in Nitesco's eyes. “I understand. I know we have very few documents of that time and therefore…”

“No! We have
no
documents of that time!” urged Nitesco. “The earliest document we have is Oculus's
Rule
and his
Theories
on the Arbor, which record the stories and oral traditions of his days. But this was written three hundred years after the Great Quake. As a historian I was taught that the truth can disappear in one generation.”

Chonrad sighed impatiently. “I still do not understand. What are you trying to tell me?”

“That Oculus was wrong!”

“Wrong?”

“Yes, wrong. Well, not completely. But he clearly misunderstood some of the basic concepts of our religion. I do not blame him; he could only piece together the stories he had; it is not his fault. But for a thousand years we have followed his writings – wars are being fought over them, for Arbor's sake!”

He walked over to the lectern and tapped the book that resided there with his long fingers. “This is the
Quercetum
. It was written by the Keepers of the Temple maybe two thousand years ago.”

Chonrad nodded. “That is very impressive. And I understand that, as a librarian, these things are important to you.” He pointed up the stairs. “But we have just suffered an attack on Heartwood. Incredible beings just sprang from the water fully formed; I do not even know where to start to explain that. And they took the heart of the Arbor, Nitesco, they took the Pectoris. So you can see why a dusty old book holds little fascination for me at the moment.” Chonrad moved to walk past the youth up the stone stairs. To his surprise, however, Nitesco moved too, blocking his way.

“You still do not understand,” he said firmly. He folded up the Quercetum and clutched it to his chest. “This book holds our history within its pages. It explains it all – who the water warriors are, the truth about the Veriditas, and why the land is failing.”

He took the book in both hands and shook it in front of Chonrad's face. “This has the answer to everything!”

 

CHAPTER FOUR

I

Heartwood spent the dark hours of the night dealing with the after-effects of the attack. Progress was slow, mainly because everyone was dealing with the shock of the fact that not only had a raid been carried out on such an important religious site, but that it had been successful.

Oculus had created the Militis for both the worship and the protection of the Arbor. In a relatively unstable position between two warring countries, it had become clear that some form of defence would be necessary to keep the tree in neutral ground and avoid it being taken over by any other country to use as a tool of control over everyone else. To make the Arbor's holy guardians also knights had therefore been a natural progression, and for a thousand years the Militis had trained the young to become fearless and skilled in battle, even as they took their holy vows.

But the expected attack on Heartwood had never materialised. That was partly why the Exercitus had eventually become peacekeepers, spending more of their time out on Isenbard's Wall and in the lands on either side than in Heartwood itself. The Militis had taken care to never become complacent and their military training was as extensive as ever, but still, an enemy had not set foot inside the Porta for over a thousand years.

Valens took a moment in between his organising of the meeting to go up to the top of the Porta and look over Heartwood. He had been putting on a brave face for the others: slapping backs, congratulating those who had fought bravely against the water warriors, raising spirits and spreading a feeling of strength and resistance among his compatriots, but now, alone and surrounded by darkness, weariness and sadness swept over him.