The Outcast

by Louise Cooper

  It must be done quickly, for there would be no second chance. Before, when he sought the Pendulum of Time, he had travelled through the seven astral planes, gathering strength and will from each in turn, until at the last he had cloaked himself in an iron strength that was sufficient for his awesome task. But now there could be no such precautions. There was but one way; savage and instantaneous. And an ancient memory was unlocking deep within him, opening the doors that would take him to that brink …

  Tarod reached out his will, and found the Chaos stone. It called him and he both loved it and loathed it; but he had to master it, or it would betray him. Every muscle in his body was locked rigid: all awareness of Cyllan, Drachea, the Marble Hall, faded away and was left far behind as he travelled onward and outward in spirit. The stone hung always ahead of him, just out of reach; he tried to breathe and found no air, and sweat soaked him as his hands clenched together into a sign which, in his human existence, he had all but forgotten.

  It was drawing nearer … He felt its presence like some grim nemesis, and again reached his mind towards the stone, needing its power now at this crucial moment.

  An image flickered at the edge of awareness; darkness, rust, decay … he pursued it and it eluded him.

  Darkness, rust, decay … remember what you once were …

  And slowly, slowly, it materialised before him, a monstrous shadow amid dense, evil gloom. The shaft reared up into an unimaginable void, and the titanic bob hung still and lifeless, red-brown corrosion encroaching across its surface. The Pendulum, Time’s arbiter in his own world, abandoned and rotting, a derelict hulk, frozen until the single bolt of power should wake it…

  Tarod reached down, far down into the deepest recesses of his being. His strength was failing, the power of the stone slipping away from him - he must make the last summoning now, or be defeated. Drawing his psyche like an animal poising to spring, he felt a white-hot flowering at his heart as the force of the Chaos soul, momentarily freed from its crystal prison, flowed into him. For an instant he and the Pendulum were one - and Tarod flung himself forward with the full power of his will.

  A high, thin shriek like a soul in torment split the darkness apart as the massive bob of the Pendulum gave under the forces that assailed it. The shaft quivered with a monstrous shock - and the Pendulum of Time swung forward, shattering the barrier between dimensions and hurtling into the world with a vast, clamouring boom that smashed Tarod back like flotsam against a tidal wave. Momentarily he glimpsed the tremendous bulk of the Pendulum bearing down on him, then it seemed to explode into a blinding, seven-rayed flash that blasted his senses. Walls rose from nowhere to meet him; he reeled, then his body crashed in a twisted contortion to the floor of the passage as all awareness was obliterated.

  The scream that tore from Cyllan’s throat was drowned by the awesome voice of the Pendulum, and the Marble Hall seemed to turn in on itself, the floor bucking and the walls shrieking a protest. She was flung from the block like a doll thrown by some giant, petulant child, and sprawled on the mosaic floor of the Hall with the reverberations of the great concussion still echoing in her head. Gasping like a stranded fish, she glimpsed through watering eyes the prone form of Drachea - then she was seized by a spasm of retching and doubled over as the muscles of her empty stomach contracted violently.

  Tarod … Memory crawled to the surface of her mind at last. Where was Tarod? Had they succeeded?

  And the stone … Her hand clenched convulsively and she felt the sharp contours of the gem against her palm.

  In her confused state, all she knew was that she must reach Tarod, and she began to struggle upright -

  ‘Ah, no, you bitch!’

  Cyllan whipped round, and saw Drachea bearing down on her. He had recovered his senses more quickly than she, and was already on his feet, though unsteady.

  Horrified she started to run, heard footsteps at her back - and Drachea flung himself at her, bringing them both down with a jarring impact. Cyllan kicked out wildly, and a fist smashed across her face, stunning her; she slumped, and Drachea breathlessly grasped her shoulders as he got up, made to drag her back across the floor -

  And stopped.

  ‘Aeoris!’ He dropped his burden and made the White God’s sign over his heart. The robed figures — some .twenty or thirty of them, women as well as men - who formed a circle around the black slab were all staring at him, their faces white and shocked and uncomprehending. One man, young and fair-haired, held a huge sword in both hands; now it fell from his fingers and clattered raucously on the marble floor as its wielder struggled to assimilate the sight that greeted him. A movement to one side alerted Drachea’s attention and he was in time to see a much older man slide to the floor with a soft moan and lie motionless; then a woman began to scream, a long, wailing, featureless cry of hysteria.

  Drachea and the fair-haired man continued to stare at each other, and all the words of triumphant greeting that Drachea had so carefully and frequently rehearsed died on his tongue. Then slowly, shakily, the fair-haired man moved round the block.

  ‘What … ‘ He shook his head, dazed and unable to form the question.

  Cyllan stirred. A livid bruise was spreading across her cheek where Drachea had hit her, and when she opened her eyes her vision wouldn’t focus at first. Convulsively, she tried to move, and hands viciously pushed her down.

  She winced in protest - then realised that someone was staring at her. And as her sight cleared she found herself meeting the light brown, steady eyes of a man dressed in a sombre, funereal garb of purple and sapphire blue.

  Recollection dawned - she had seen that face, that garb, before, in the grisly tableau on the astral plane …

  and then she recognised the symbol at the man’s shoulder; a double circle bisected by a lightning-flash.

  Keridil Toln, High Initiate of the Circle - and Tarod’s deadliest enemy …

  Drachea pushed sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes and made a creditable attempt at a bow in the fair-haired man’s direction. ‘Sir,’ he said when he had breath enough, ‘There’s much explaining to be done, and I’d consider it my privilege. But… Aeoris be thanked for your safe return!’

  Chapter 10

  Keridil Toln stared at Drachea and Cyllan, stunned by the sudden and violent interruption of the Circle ritual.

  To him, it seemed that he had but a moment ago been standing before the execution block, ceremonial sword raised high above Tarod’s head as he called down the White Flame of Aeoris to consume and finally damn the creature of Chaos. Then with no warning a colossal crash of thunder had split his mind, shattering the power he had built - and, reeling with the shock, he had opened his eyes to find his victim gone and two complete strangers fighting like wildcats on the floor of the Marble Hall. A combination of fury and fear of something beyond his comprehension filled him, and he snapped at Drachea, ‘Who are you? And how in the name of all the gods did you get here?’

  Drachea swallowed. ‘Sir, there’s no time for explanations now! Your enemy - the creature called Tarod - is at large, and must be found before he can wreak more havoc!’

  Keridil’s head snapped quickly round to look at the empty block. Tarod is behind this … ?’

  Before Drachea could answer, Cyllan twisted in his grasp and cried out, ‘No! He’s lying, it isn’t true! Listen to me - ‘

  Drachea’s bunched fist hit her hard on the side of the head and she collapsed to the floor. ‘Quiet, you harlot!’

  Drachea spat. ‘One more word from you and I’ll kill you!’

  Keridil’s face darkened with anger, and he said furiously, ‘I’ll have no such behaviour here!’

  Drachea stared down at Cyllan and said harshly, ‘Even towards a woman in league with Chaos? This treacherous bitch is Tarod’s paramour - and she has his soul-stone!’

  ‘What?’ The beginnings of comprehension dawned in Keridil’s eyes and he moved to stand over Cyllan. ‘Is this true, girl?’

  Cyllan stared back with mute def
iance, wishing that her mouth wasn’t too dry to spit.

  ‘She holds it in her left hand,’ Drachea said, giving her a vicious shake. ‘And there’s only one way to make her give it up.’ He touched the tip of the knife blade to Cyllan’s neck.

  ‘No.’ Keridil raised a hand, forestalling him. ‘I’ll have no violence against her until I’ve heard the whole story.’

  His eyes met Drachea’s again. ‘You say Tarod is at large. Where is he?’

  ‘I’m here, Keridil.’

  Everyone turned, save for Cyllan who was held rigid with Drachea’s blade still at her throat. Tarod walked slowly and unsteadily into the Marble Hall, barely able to stay on his feet. His sweat-soaked hair hung lank and his eyes were glazed with exhaustion; he had used the very last of his strength to call back Time, and its final draining had left him an empty husk.

  Four men moved forward, weapons drawn, then hesitated, remembering how the sorcerer had dealt with such assaults before. Tarod smiled thinly and with an effort. ‘Tell your friends they’ve nothing to fear, High Initiate.’

  Keridil stared at him for a moment as though weighing his words. Then he said curtly, ‘Bind him.’

  One of the Adepts used the belt of his robe to tie Tarod’s hands behind his back, then all four flanked him closely as he approached the gathering around the block, until at last he and Keridil stood facing one another.

  Keridil said softly, ‘So we failed to destroy you … I should have known you’d not admit defeat so easily.’

  Tarod, kill him!’ Cyllan suddenly cried out. ‘Kill him, before they - ‘ Her words choked off as Drachea wrenched on her hair and raised his knife as though to strike a death blow -

  ‘No!’ The harsh order came from Keridil, who swung round and knocked the dagger out of Drachea’s hand.

  Cyllan tried to launch herself towards Tarod, but the High Initiate caught her arm and dragged her back, his other hand locking on her left wrist. He was taller and heavier than Drachea, and she could only gasp a curse at him as he tried to prize her fingers open.

  ‘Let’s see if the young man speaks the truth about this girl … ‘ Keridil grunted as Cyllan ferociously resisted him, then twisted her hand round so that he could get at it more easily. Cyllan bit him with all her strength, drawing blood, and two other Adepts stepped forward to pin her while Keridil at last forced her clenched fingers to part.

  The stone fell free, and Drachea pounced on it as Cyllan shrieked a protest. He held it out to the High Initiate, who handed the struggling girl into the safe custody of the two Adepts before taking the stone - a little gingerly, Drachea noticed - and weighing it in his palm. His brown eyes looked with thoughtful speculation at the younger man for a moment, then he turned his gaze once more to Tarod.

  ‘We seem to have opened a veritable nest of vipers,’

  he said evenly. ‘But I think we hold the upper hand. We have the Chaos stone - and Tarod, it would seem, is in no condition to challenge us. Perhaps now someone will explain to me what has happened here!’

  Tarod said nothing, and Drachea stepped forward.

  ‘Sir, I am Drachea Rannak, Heir Margrave of Shu Province. I believe you are acquainted with my father, Gant Ambaril Rannak … ‘

  Keridil frowned. ‘I know Gant … and you have his look about you, I’ll grant you that. But how, by all that’s sacred, did you come to be here?’

  Drachea glared at Tarod. ‘I’ve been held prisoner in the Castle - just before the Spring Quarter-Day I was brought here against my will - ‘

  ‘What?’ Keridil was incredulous. ‘The Spring Quarter Day is two months ahead of us - ‘

  ‘No, sir! By now it could be two months or even two years past, for all I know!’

  Keridil looked quickly at his fellow Adepts. Their faces were blank, and he said harshly, ‘Explain yourself!’

  Drachea took a deep breath. ‘Time has been stopped.

  This Castle has had no true existence since the creature called Tarod used his demonic power to snatch it and all its inhabitants from the world and lock them in limbo.’

  He paused. ‘I’ve seen the documents relating to his execution. He called on his Chaotic powers at the climax of your rite, and banished Time itself.’

  Someone made a sound of shocked disbelief, and Keridil shook his head. ‘No - I can’t accept that such a thing’s possible!’

  ‘It’s possible, Keridil.’ Tarod spoke quietly, and when the High Initiate looked at him he saw a trace of the old malevolence in Tarod’s smile. ‘Did you think I’d meekly submit, at the last, to my own destruction?’

  Keridil stared at him, and realised that he was telling the truth. The thought of such a titanic power in the hands of one man chilled him to the marrow, and he suppressed a shiver before turning back to Drachea.

  ‘You say that Time here was halted - yet you and this woman found your way to the Castle. How?’

  Drachea shook his head. ‘I don’t know, High Initiate - but I believe it was at her behest.’ He pointed an accusing finger at Cyllan. ‘She’s a witch, a creature of Chaos herself - she duped me and lured me here, and since I arrived she’s been plotting with that hellspawn against me and against all who stand for Light and Order.’

  ‘Liar!’ Cyllan spat. ‘Traitor, betrayer!’

  Keridil looked over his shoulder at her and said calmly, ‘You’ll have your turn to speak, girl. Until then, hold your tongue - or I’ll cut it out.’

  ‘She should die!’ Drachea insisted vehemently. ‘Isn’t that the rightful fate of all Chaos’s servants? She’s a witch, a serpent - waste no time on her, High Initiate, kill her now!’ His hand went to the sword at his hip.

  ‘You’ve seen for yourself that she’s in league with this demon - and after what they’ve done to me - ‘

  ‘Touch Cyllan and I’ll see you damned!’ Tarod grated.

  Keridil looked into Drachea’s eyes and saw a feverish hunger for revenge. The young man was hot-headed; he had made his judgement and wanted to see it implemented. Cyllan’s continued survival was of no personal interest to Keridil - and if she had indeed plotted with Tarod against the Circle, she deserved the severest penalty. But he wouldn’t condone Drachea’s idea of summary justice … and besides, Tarod’s angry threat had given him a vital clue. Unlikely though it might seem, the girl was obviously important to him, and he was anxious to protect her - which placed the black-haired sorcerer at a singular disadvantage …

  Drachea was launching into a further tirade against Cyllan, but a searing look from Keridil silenced him.

  The High Initiate crossed the floor to where Cyllan still fought her captors, and, taking a handful of her hair, tilted her head back until she was forced to look at him.

  ‘It seems that Tarod sets great store by your safety,’ he said, quite gently. ‘We must see what we can do to accommodate his desire to protect you.’

  ‘I don’t want protection!’ Cyllan fired back. ‘I’m not afraid of dying, and I’m not afraid of you!’

  ‘Brave words.’ Keridil smiled. ‘But we shall see how your courage faces up to your soul’s damnation.’

  His words provoked the response he hoped for. Tarod shook off the four men who held him and stepped forward. ‘Harm her at your peril, High Initiate! If any hurt comes to Cyllan I swear I’ll destroy you, destroy the Circle, destroy this Castle!’

  The malign glitter was returning to his eyes, and Keridil guessed that he had regained some measure of strength. Not enough, yet, to make him dangerous; but nonetheless he’d be well advised to waste no time in sealing a bargain between them. He turned his back on Cyllan and walked with slow deliberation towards his adversary.

  ‘Very well, Tarod. Your loyalty is to be commended, and perhaps it can be used to the girl’s advantage.’

  His eyes hardened. ‘Your fate is ordained. We have the soul-stone, and we have the means whereby we can finally see you annihilated. But you’ve already proved yourself treacherous, and I intend to ensure that you don’t try to cheat us a second time.’ He stroke
d his chin, making a show of deliberation. The girl will stay in the Castle, under close guard, while preparations are made to repeat the ceremony which failed tonight. If you submit to us, she won’t be harmed, and when you are dead she will be allowed to go free. But if you attempt any treachery - just one move which could be misconstrued - then I’ll give her to the Heir Margrave to take the vengeance he craves.’

  It was the same blackmail which Drachea had used to force the return of Time, and Tarod’s heart was bleak.

  He knew Keridil well enough to realise that he’d have no compunction in carrying out the threat - his was a cold, calculated motivation, more dangerous than the personal score Drachea had to settle, and his choice was painfully clear. If he agreed to Keridil’s terms, he would die; cruelly, agonisingly. And the Chaos stone would remain in the world, a vehicle for Yandros’s ambitions.

  Yet if he did not, Cyllan’s death would follow on the instant.

  He could carry out his threat; destroy Keridil and the Circle, retrieve the stone and send them all to damnation. But he couldn’t bring Cyllan back to life, and without her there was no life worth the having. Damn the world … he cared nothing for whatever evil might threaten it if he allowed them to kill him. If Cyllan could live, that was all that counted.

  But Keridil had betrayed him once before … He looked up, met the High Initiate’s steady gaze.

  ‘What safeguard do I have, Keridil? What guarantee can you give that Cyllan will be treated kindly if I agree to your demand?’

  Keridil smiled reservedly. ‘My word as High Initiate of the Circle.’

  The green eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Your word is worth nothing!’

  Take it or leave it. You’re in no position to barter - unless you’d prefer to see her die here and now?’

  A sudden, violent scuffle broke out at Keridil’s back, and he turned in time to see Cyllan wrestling with one of the Adepts. She was trying to wrench his short sword from its scabbard, and blood flowed from her palm where she’d cut it on the blade.