Heartwood (53 page)

Staring at himself in the mirror, he strapped on a breastplate of iron-hard shells over a thick reed jerkin, surprised to feel it move as he moved, although he had been told that, in spite of its flexibility, it would repel any sword or spear. Standing beside him, his father handed him the golden sash, which announced his birthright. Damaris lowered it over his head and buttoned it at his waist.

He stared at himself in the mirror. The part of him that was Dolosus, the earth elemental, was buried deep within the water elemental's form, sinking deeper every second. And yet although he had two spirits, he was still one person, with access to the thoughts of both water and earth elemental.

Somehow, he felt his watery spirit had always been stronger than his earth one; he was sure that was why he had felt so out of place and had struggled so on Anguis. Damaris and Dolosus had been fighting for superiority ever since he was born, and finally, Damaris had won.

He closed his eyes. Around him, he could feel the gentle but insistent pull of the ocean. It had been growing stronger since his arrival at Darkwater, and at first, he had thought it was because he was adjusting to life under the sea. He had only just connected the feeling with the fact that the High Moon was approaching. Now, he felt the presence of the satellite in the sky, even though he was miles below the surface of the ocean, as if she were urging him to rise, as if he were attached to her with watery threads and she was trying to pull him out of the sea. Above him, he knew the tides would be at their highest, the waters gnawing at the cliffs on the coast and rivers straining at their banks. With the continual rain, the time was ripe for invasion.

Inside him, Dolosus squirmed. Damaris smiled. He could feel his alter ego's torn loyalties.

Then, inside his head, he saw a flash of the face of Valens. His smile faltered.

His relationship with the Imperator was a long and complicated one. He was well aware Valens saw in him the son he had never had, and that had always puzzled him, for it was hardly as if he was the epitome of the Heartwood knight, a shining example of a Militis. But he knew little of Valens's past and had come to the conclusion the older man had had some similar problem when he was young; perhaps he had rebelled against his upbringing, or had been resentful or impatient in his youth. Dolosus had tolerated Valens's subtle attentions, thinking it was nothing to do with him, and if it in any way granted him a quieter or easier life, then he might as well cultivate the relationship.

However, as time had gone by, he had come to admire the quiet but steadfast knight. The Imperator demanded nothing from his Militis he was not capable of himself; he expected them to be physically strong, devout and honest, brave, unflinching in the face of danger, resolute in the presence of evil. And gradually, Dolosus's feelings for him had deepened.

He could not bring himself to say he loved the old knight. Dolosus did not consider himself capable of that emotion. But he did admire him and until now had considered himself loyal, and suddenly, the thought of advancing on Heartwood with a thousand Darkwater Lords in tow struck a chord within him that resonated through both earth and water elemental.

He had always thought Heartwood in no way meant the same to him as it did to the other Militis. He had not been chosen in the Allectus, had not grown up there, and did not seem to feel the same draw to the building the others did. He carried out the rituals with the others because it was required he do so, but they meant little to him, and he was not a deeply religious person.

The Arbor… He thought of the tree, and his insides twisted. He did not know what he thought of the Arbor. If asked, he would have said it meant nothing to him; it was just a tree, a symbol for the Militis to focus on. But inside, he knew it was more than that. He had touched the tree and felt its heart beating; he had drunk the tea made from its leaves; he had watched the Veriditas and seen the Arbor grow, and it had changed him without his knowing.

In the mirror, his eyes met those of his father. The huge water elemental's face was impassive. Damaris looked at his impressive physique, at his hard features, and shivered. Heartwood did not stand a chance against an army of elementals like this. He wondered if Thalassinus could read what he was thinking, and whether he would be angry, but the High Lord just smiled.

Damaris looked at himself in the mirror again. He wished he could expel Dolosus from him, split himself into two, although he knew that was impossible: Dolosus could not be extracted without killing them both.

“What will happen when we arrive at Heartwood and leave the water?” he asked. “Will my water spirit will once again be engulfed by my earth one?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what happens to you?”

“Yes. We ingest an earth elemental and take its form.”

Damaris wondered who the earth elementals were the Darkwater Lords captured, but did not ask. He thought they were probably from the Gantlos Islands; after all, hadn't Nitesco spoken about the mysterious disappearances of people from there?

“What will happen when my earth spirit takes over again?” he asked. “Will it not keep me out? Follow its own course?”

Thalassinus turned to look at him. His eyes were like emeralds in the glitter of his face. “No, not now. Damaris has been awakened, is in the ascendant. Dolosus's sun is setting. He will no longer have a hold on you.”

Damaris thought of Heartwood, and of Valens, and wondered if that were true.

Thalassinus swam around him in a circle. “You look tired, my son,” he observed. “And I have chores to carry out. Why don't you rest for a while, gather your strength? You are still getting used to your new form; it will take time to adjust. In the meantime, you should rest as much as you can. You will need every ounce of strength when we advance on Heartwood.”

Damaris nodded and watched his father swim out of his chambers. He went over to his bed and curled up on the mattress of soft ferns. Lying on his back, he held his two arms up before him, seeing the shimmering, almost-translucent hands before his face. He was whole again, complete. And in this world, he was the son of a king and heir to a whole kingdom – what did he have on Anguis? An adopted father, too old and injured now to be a warrior on the battlefield, and a dormitory he shared with twenty of his brothers and sisters. And just the one arm, his missing limb on his mind from the moment he awoke until he closed his eyes at night.

Did he really want to give up a whole kingdom, and a whole body, for that?

Exhausted, he closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep.

Dolosus dreamed. He was back in Heartwood. He saw himself walking through the door from the Temple into the Domus. Although he knew he must be dreaming, he felt as if he were actually there; he could hear the scuff of his boots on the flagstones; he could smell the loam from around the Arbor, and taste the bitter Acerbitas drink in his mouth.

He entered the corridor behind the Temple, but instead of walking through to the Domus, he found himself climbing the stairs to the upper level. It was dark, and he met no one on the stairs. When he got to the top, he walked silently through the dormitory. The beds were full of sleeping forms, but he could not distinguish between them.

He walked along the row of beds to the one at the furthest end. He knew whose bed this was without looking; this was where Valens slept. He walked over to the bed and looked down. The Imperator's face was graceful in repose, his harsh features softened in sleep. Dolosus stared at the man he had thought of as his father until he met Thalassinus. He bent over. Valens stirred, then opened his eyes and looked at him. A smile appeared on his lips.

Dolosus stared at him for a moment, then raised his good right hand. To his shock, he saw it held a knife. His heart pounding, he tried to drop it, but he wasn't in control of his body. He raised his hand and brought it down hard. He watched with horror as the blade punged into Valens's body. Valens jerked, his eyes startled, filled with shock, disappointment and agony. Dolosus heard himself laugh.

Then his eyes flew open, and he realised he was still in Darkwater. It had just been a dream… Or had it? Maybe it was more than that: it was a portent, or a symbol, of what he had done. In defecting to Darkwater, he had caused Valens's death as surely as if he had plunged the dagger in his heart.

Dolosus stood and swam over to the mirror. And suddenly, he realised he was thinking of himself as Dolosus – not Damaris. In sleep, the earth elemental had somehow gained control of the water elemental again.

Dolosus raised his hands in front of his face. He turned them backwards and forwards, then flexed his left arm. Yes, it was wonderful to be whole once again. His arm dropped to his side. But it wasn't worth the price he had to pay. Being whole was more than physically having all your limbs. Whatever he thought of Heartwood and the Arbor and the rest of the Militis, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he caused Valens's death.

He turned in the water, thinking he heard movement in the doorway, but there was nobody there. Suddenly, everything seemed alien and threatening. He thought of the Pectoris sitting on the display stand in the ceremonial room and knew what he had to do.

Quietly, Dolosus swam out of his chamber and along the tunnel that led deeper into the palace. He twisted and turned through the passageways, swimming silently, ducking behind walls and entrances each time he thought he heard someone coming the other way. Although there was no such thing as day or night in Darkwater, there were rest times, and many in the palace would be sleeping. And somehow, he didn't think Thalassinus suspected he might give up being the heir to a vast city such as Darkwater. Dolosus almost laughed then. What was he doing? But his mind was made up.

As he approached the ceremonial room, he saw a guard standing sentry outside. He swam up to him slowly. The guard saw him and straightened, eyes ahead. Dolosus nodded and swam past him, then turned in the water. Drawing the dagger the High Lord had given him only hours before, he drew the blade swiftly across the sentry's neck. The sentry went limp and floated to the floor slowly, dark green blood leaking from the jagged hole in his neck.

Dolosus entered the ceremonial room. To his relief, it was empty. He swam straight up to the Pectoris, which lay on its cushion, beating very slowly. He stared at it for a moment, then, carefully, he lifted the large object from its resting place. The Pectoris in his hands, he held his breath. Nothing happened. No alarms went off, and no one came running. The Darkwater Lords had not anticipated this at all; they clearly thought there was no way anyone could come down from Heartwood to rescue it, and they obviously thought there was no way he would turn his back on what they had offered him.

Ignoring the little voice inside him that screamed What are you doing? Dolosus reached for the bag he had slung across his back and placed the Pectoris in it. He pulled the handle of the bag over his head. It was heavy, heavier than he had anticipated. It would slow him down in the water, and he wasn't as fast as the Darkwater Lords to begin with. Still, it was pointless for him to return to Heartwood without it.

Leaving the display room, he swam silently out of the door and past the sentry he had put out of action. Nobody had raised the alarm yet. He went along the corridors, keeping his head down when he passed the occasional servant still working, and then suddenly, he was outside the Palace and swimming through the loops and tunnels towards the cavern entrance.

The large green curtain that covered the entrance to Darkwater was in sight when he heard the first alarm – a giant bell ringing from somewhere deep in the palace, although how they could ring a bell underwater he didn't know, but the clapper reverberated through the water, and he felt rather than heard the peals echoing throughout the city.

Well, this is it, he thought. He had got farther than he had hoped before the alarm was raised. There was no point in keeping quiet and trying not to be noticed now.

Dolosus increased his speed and shot towards the cavern entrance like an arrow released from a bow.

 

III

Down in the depths of the Cavum, the young Libraris, Nitesco, was oblivious to everything going on in the Castellum above his head. Since his return to Heartwood, following his failure to transform the knights into water elementals, Nitesco had not left the Cavum, spending the time with his head buried in the books and parchments, and even sleeping down there. Some small part of him felt if he discovered the location of the fifth Node, it might make him feel better about his failure to complete the transformation spell.

He had been determined he would not leave until he found some clue as to its whereabouts. Both Valens and Chonrad had visited him at various times to try to persuade him to return and help out with the fortifications, but Nitesco had refused, insisting he could be of more help in his searches. However, even he was beginning to feel it was useless, and his time would be better spent doing something with at least some guarantee of a result, such as helping to carry stones from one place to another.

He turned over the last page of a heavy book and, sighing, picked it up and put it to one side. He had already been through all the books in the room; this was his second search and so far was proving as fruitless as the first. But inside, he knew the answer was in the Cavum; he didn't know how, but he just
knew
it.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. The constant reading of such small writing in such bad lighting conditions had long been giving him a bad headache, but he had refused to give in – until now. He sighed again. Reaching to a bottle at his side, he took a long swig of the water that had been there since the morning and was now covered in a fine layer of dust. He coughed, then swigged again. He must remember to drink more often. He just forgot when he got lost in the books…

It was no good; he was too tired to read any more. Knowing it would be useless to continue reading because he wouldn't be able to process the words, Nitesco curled up on the pallet he had brought down there and pulled the thin blanket over his legs. A short doze might refresh him enough to find something new, he thought.