He had to find Keren and Suviel. There was no telling what direction he should take, but that monster could not have sent him very far. So he hoped.
A low, rumbling sound caught his attention and as it grew louder he recognised the sound of horses' hooves at the gallop.
Could be riders
, he thought.
Could be friendly, but my luck has been unreliable, lately...
Then a close-packed group of riders appeared at a bend in the gully, and let out a chorus of gleeful howls as they spotted him.
They were Mogaun. Gilly took one look then leaped to scramble up the way he had come. But he was only a short way up when a stretch of pebbly soil slid away beneath and sent him back down in a cascade of earth.
The horses were very near. He could feel the vibration of thudding hooves in the ground and as he struggled to get up he could see them mere yards away, with the malicious grinning stares of their riders fixed only on him.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a bony, grey-haired man clad in furs stepped in front of the oncoming riders and threw up his arms with an accompanying shout. The horses shrieked in terror. Many reared and a few riders were thrown, while others lost their footing or were reined aside in time. All the while, the elderly man just stood there, untouched by the pandemonium he had caused.
As the Mogaun brought their mounts under control, the man lowered his arms and turned to regard Gilly with sharp eyes.
"I am Atroc, Yasgur's eye-in-the-dark," he said. "And I have been waiting for you, Gilly Cordale."
Amid ancient glories overcast,
And treasures gone in fire and wrath
He scribes his lawless passage
Under skies veiled by ghosts.
—Avalti,
Augronac's Lament
With the towering massif of the Arengia Plateau at last within sight, Byrnak let his mount walk a few more paces beyond the tree line before reining in to sit and savour the view. Dense forest clung all along the base of sheer, pitiless cliffs. Flocks of small birds swirled and fluttered from treetop to treetop in pursuit of insects or fruit. As Byrnak watched, a larger winged shape fell like a stone out of the upper air and into the middle of one such flock, seizing its prey and swooping away to devour it in some barren higher perch.
Byrnak smiled grimly and turned his gaze eastwards, searching for signs of the encampment which was his destination. He had never been here before, yet everything he saw stirred recognition in him. Had Hegroun played host to the spirit of his god before and after the final battle? Byrnak thought that might account for his certainty that this trail dipped down between low hills to a fork, one branch curving north to join a road which came up from central Yularia, while the other continued east to meet the March Way, a wide track which linked the fishing towns of Mantinor with Ebro'Heth. And there was an easily defensible small bluff near the cliffs no more than half a day's ride from here, which would make an ideal camp...
He inhaled noisily, irritated by a sense of familiarity he could not share. It had begun to be wearing during the trip north through Khatris, the immense open skies of the central plains, the huge weathered natural stone columns of Pillar Moor, the ancient quarries of the Ogairn Mountains gaping like black wounds - everything held the resonance of old, old memories lingering just beyond recall. Occasionally, visions would impress themselves upon him, complete with smell, taste, and the feel of rain or sun or wind on his skin. And as he sat there on his horse, staring moodily across at the plateau, one such vision struck him like a blow, filling his eyes and skull, entrancing his mind for a passing instant.
Swaying in his saddle, head lowered as he rubbed one hand across his face, he heard the thud of hooves behind him, another rider approaching at a walk.
Byrnak straightened, gaze smouldering with a low anger. "Obax," he said. "Look out at all this and tell me what you see."
"I see the plateau, Lord."
"Yes. And?"
"...Trees, a wide forest, hills, a stream..."
"And living things, Obax?"
"Why, there would be creatures, Lord, birds, foxes, mice, fish - "
"I'll tell you what I have seen," Byrnak said. "Endless fields of mud and bloodied stone, a wrecked, ruined land, gouged and poisoned, a livid plain of filth where people writhe like worms amid decay." He let out a single harsh bark of laughter. "The realm of obliteration!"
And so saying he dug his heels into his horse's flanks and rode furiously down the trail, lashing it faster, as if he could escape that glimpse of desolation. For in his mind it was as if he had been shown all that would be left of himself, the self that was Byrnak, when all the Shadowkings were gathered together and the Lord of Twilight was made whole again.
He could sense that nebulous presence hanging at the back of his thoughts now. His taut, harried mind often gave it fleeting, changeable forms, sometimes a hulking, simian shape without a face, or other times a shadowy carrion bird, watching, waiting. But always it was leaking deranged notions into his thoughts, like a black rivulet of something beyond evil which now and then burst forth in elaborate visions.
His horse had slowed of its own accord in its headlong rush and he brought it to a halt beneath an overarching tree where he waited for Obax to rejoin him. He watched the Acolyte's approach, discerning a look of satisfaction on that long, white-eyed face. Byrnak knew that his fits and fugues gave Obax great pleasure, being harbingers of the Great Prince's steady emergence and eventual triumph, and revealed as little of his inner torment as possible. Usually.
"Are you well, Lord?"
Byrnak's stare glittered with anger. "Seeking weakness, Obax? Delusions? Wanderings of the mind, perhaps? There is nothing for you to find."
The Acolyte gave a gracious bow of the head which somehow failed to display subservience. "On the contrary, Lord, your continued good health is most gratifying. It serves our common goal."
The milky orbs of his eyes seemed to look through him, and Byrnak toyed with the idea of striking this withered old snake down with a look of despite. But that would make him appear foolish and uncontrolled to his brothers, the four other Shadowkings. No, now was not the time. Besides, it might not be easy to find another Acolyte capable of carrying him into the Realm of Dusk.
"Do not presume to lecture me, Obax," he said with the right amount of soft malice in his voice. "Keep your life simple and free from harm."
Then he urged his horse back onto the trail at a light canter, thinking:
Let destruction come and take it all, let desolation reign everywhere but in my mind
.
And a dark form shifted across the backdrop of his thoughts, a shadow among shadows, silent and watching.
* * *
The eastward trail widened to a stony cart road which ran through acres of wild woodland where fingerthorn vied with dog-ivy for mastery of the undergrowth. Then the way rose and fell across a succession of bushy ridges, from which they had glimpses of mile upon mile of forest with the occasional rocky outcrop or clear width of a lakelet interrupting the undulating dark green.
It was late afternoon when they saw the first signs of the encampment, tails of campfire smoke rising above the trees. As they drew nearer, open and undisguised along the road, a Mogaun patrol emerged from a mass of foliage, spears levelled, bows at the ready. When they got a closer look at Obax and Byrnak, the warriors forgot their challenge and knelt to press their foreheads into the dust of the road.
"Hasten before us to your camp," said Obax sternly. "Tell your chiefs that the Great Lord Byrnak has arrived."
The patrol's leader raised his head. "I hear and obey, high ones!" He urged his warriors to their feet, sent one scampering off towards the camp, then gave the newcomers a crisp bow before taking his men back into the forest cover.
It took another half an hour to reach the encampment, and Byrnak frowned as he surveyed it. There was indeed a low bluff, part of a spur jutting from the looming plateau cliffs which over all. Fast streams fed by waterfalls ran either side and came together in a wider watercourse which flowed away into the forest. However, the main body of Mogaun tents, many hundreds of them, had been pitched on the ground around the bluff, protected on the south by a partial stockade wall. On the bluff itself sat a large tent clearly made from several canopies, and surrounded by a handful of smaller ones. A single huge banner hung motionless over the entrance, the device that of a green flame on a red background.
Byrnak smiled in disdain. Ystregul, Shadowking, and self-styled Father of Flames, was in residence.
The stockade gates swung open as they approached and a great roar went up from the thousands of warriors gathered to either side. Obax ignored the welcome, but Byrnak grinned and nodded, noting the clan and tribe totems that were raised and shaken as he passed by. A stench of unwashed bodies assailed his senses but he maintained an iron control over his features, and simply looked from side to side, sizing up these savage fighters. Sixteen years of overlordship had not made them soft and fat - their chiefs and shamen had seen to that, ensuring that no tribe or family forsook their traditional semi-nomadic way of life for the comfort of the cities. The petty rivalries and enmities that existed among the major and minor chiefs had served to keep their fighting edge, and had never been allowed to get out of hand.
Yet as he rode along, Byrnak noticed shrewder, less jubilant eyes watching and taking his measure, and recalled what his Shadowking brother Thraelor had said about certain chiefs who had been reluctant to attend this year's Blood Gathering.
I will take my measure of you, my friends
, he thought,
and there shall be a winnowing in the battles to come
.
The great crowd of warriors drew back as the two riders progressed, and a knot of more imposing Mogaun advanced to meet them. These were the senior chieftains, some tall and bearlike, others barrelchested, and all attired in a gaudy, eye-challenging motley of furs and pieces of shining armour, here a breastplate, there shoulderguards, or a long leather cloak with a high collar. There were ornate shields and swords - trophies from the war, crudely redecorated - and ancient tribal standards from which the shrivelled heads of vanquished enemies dangled. Most had more grey than black in their beards and manes, and would undoubtedly have ridden with Yasgur's father, the great Hegroun, when he led his vast hosts against the Khatrimantine Empire.
Yasgur. Byrnak almost laughed as the reason for the first phase of the Shadowkings' dark strategy came to mind. Then his mood turned grim as he contemplated what was to follow, once Hegroun's traitorous offspring had been dealt with.
The two parties came to a halt a few paces apart and one of the chieftains, a tall, brawny man with a long moustache and a forked beard - both silvery grey with the tips dyed blue - stepped forward and with a single motion thrust a two-handed sword into the ground. Byrnak knew that tradition expected him to descend from his horse and set his own blade in the foot-flattened earth as well. Instead he urged his mount forward a couple of steps, reached down and wrenched the great sword free to audible angry mutters, then held it point upwards above his head while staring directly at the cluster of tents atop the bluff.
The murmurs of outrage faded away, replaced by quiet laughter and gleeful nods. Byrnak dextrously slipped his grip down to the upper half of the blade and returned the weapon hilt-first to its owner, whose expression had remained stern throughout. Now, a bare-toothed smile showed as the ageing chieftain resheathed the sword and tossed it to a nearby servant who staggered under the impact.
"Greetings, Great Lord Shadowking. I am Welgarak of the Black Moon Clan," said the chieftain. "'Your blood is hot and your bones are iron'."
"And your army must be vast for you to challenge the Black Priest," said one of the other chiefs, a stout man wearing a horned helm over lank hair braided in long, tails dotted with fragments of gold and precious stones. He exchanged grins with his companions. "And, if I'm not mistaken, it's invisible as well!"
There was laughter at this but Byrnak remained sitting on his horse, a sharp smile upon his lips. "Why should I challenge one that I call brother?"
Laughter and grins faded. "Forgive my cousin Gordag," said Welgarak, directing a black glance at the stout chief. "Fortunately for the Redclaw Clan, he is as swift with his blade as he is with his mouth."
Gordag shook his head, braids clicking. "It is for the sake of our clans that I say these things," he told Welgarak. "And for our sake, too, cousin. We should know what the Acolytes and these Shadowkings intend for us, and why they insist on all the chiefs, high and low, attending the Gathering."
Eyes turned to regard Byrnak, but he was surveying the now-dispersing crowds of warriors. "I see no Firespear banners or shields," he said.
Welgarak spat in the dust. Hegroun had been chief of the Firespear Clan, as Yasgur now was.
"The boy has not arrived," he said. "Nor has he even sent word to say if he will."
"Were he my son," Gordag snarled, "he would be flayed and hung. If I were - "
"Hold your tongue!" Welgarak was suddenly tense, looking up at Byrnak. "Our loyalty to the Acolytes and the Shadowkings is without question. Whatever is asked of us, we shall do."
Byrnak nodded. "I know. There has not been a High Chieftain since Hegroun's death, am I right? But you are the chiefs of your people, and would know all there is to know about your warriors, yes?" He pointed at one, a lantern-jawed elder with a black bear pelt hanging from his shoulders, the animal's head covering his own. "How many warriors do you have on foot, and how many mounted?"
The chief almost sneered, then remembered to whom he was speaking. "On foot? - why, none. All Doubleknives fight from horseback, more than seven hundred of us."
Byrnak looked next at Gordag, who met his gaze sullenly for a long moment before replying. "Like Shestrol, all my men are riders and they total four hundred and seventy. A few have been training with the staff, though."