Enchanter

by Sara Douglass

  “So,” said Reinald wearily from his comfortable chair by the fire. “I suppose you want to reflood the Lake.”

  Belial and Magariz looked at him in surprise, then turned back to Jack.

  Jack nodded. “Yes. If the Lake is reflooded, then Sigholt will be all but impregnable except to Gorgrael himself—and even he would hesitate to ask for entry at the Keep’s gates.” If Gorgrael got as far as the gates. “And reflooding the Lake may bring Zeherah back.”

  “You’re not sure,” Magariz said.

  Jack suddenly looked ashen and worn out. “No. I am not sure. She was tied to the Lake, but not completely. She could have left it, as all the other Sentinels have currently left their Lakes. If it was drained—by one of the criminal Dukes of Ichtar, I suspect—that would not of itself automatically have killed her. She could have continued to haunt the Lake site, grieving, but not mortally wounded. But there is no sign of her at all.”

  For long moments there was silence, then Arne broke in with his customary bluntness. “How do you intend to reflood the Lake?”

  Belial smiled. Trust Arne to ask the practical question.

  “I have spent the past three weeks making sure that it can be done, Arne,” Jack replied. “There’s a narrow gully behind Sigholt that runs back into the Urqhart Hills about half a league. It is overgrown with shrubs and weeds now, but I think that once it was a waterway.”

  “The gully leads into a small cavern. Inside the cavern there is a blockage of rocks. It is too neat, too regular to be natural. I think it is a plug placed over the spring that fed the Lake. If we can remove it then the water will once more flow down to the Lake.”

  “Can we?” Belial asked. “Do you think we can unblock it?”

  “You have three thousand men, Belial. If we can’t do it with three thousand, then no-one will ever do it.” Jack paused. “But it is not simply the blockage in the cavern itself. We will have to clear the gully of some of the obstructions that have fallen from the rocky walls since the water stopped flowing, and we will have to clear a path about Sigholt itself.”

  Belial frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Jack came and stood before the fire. “There is a deep depression about Sigholt that has been filled with rubble and boulders. I think the water flowed down through the gully until it reached Sigholt, then divided in two to flow completely about the garrison, forming a natural moat before it flowed into the Lake. With the water surrounding Sigholt on all sides, this garrison will be virtually impregnable.” And will be reinfused with the source of its magical power, Jack thought. Sigholt will live again.

  “Well, tomorrow we’ll take several of the engineers we have with us and go inspect this gully and cavern, Jack. Magariz, you can organise a detail to inspect this rubble-filled moat that surrounds the walls of the garrison. We will know by tomorrow eve if this feat is possible.”

  And whether or not we manage to unblock this spring, reflood the Lake and find this missing Zeherah, thought Belial, at least the attempt will keep the men fit and busy.

  That it did. With only five hundred men left on garrison duty—not that, according to Jack, Belial even needed to keep five hundred assigned to that task—two and a half thousand set to the unblockage of spring, gully and moat. For twelve days they laboured, fifteen hundred on the moat, and a thousand on the gully and inside the cavern where Jack claimed the spring was.

  Eight days after they had started Belial and Magariz stood at the outer edge of the moat and peered inside. A deep, wide watercourse had been uncovered, its sides and floor paved with great slabs of greyish-green rock, fitted together in a patchwork of incredible subtlety and beauty. Even though the builders had not used any mortar, the joints between slabs were so tight that Belial could not even get the blade of his knife between them.

  “No stonemason today could create such fine joinery and not use a single handful of mortar,” Magariz said quietly.

  “I wonder how much Jack knows about this Keep that he does not yet tell us, my friend,” Belial said.

  Magariz looked up. Today the wind was a little lighter, and he had discarded his heavy black cloak. “Belial, I worry less about what mysteries the Keep might hold than how we’re going to get into it should the men currently working in the cavern unblock the spring and allow the water to flow. At the moment we have no bridge worthy of the name.”

  As the moat had been uncovered, Belial had ordered that a rudimentary bridge be erected across the divide. But it was flimsy and only carried men on foot. The moment a surge of water rushed through it would be destroyed.

  “I’d better start the men on building a more permanent replacement,” Belial said wearily. “Although where we will find the timber needed for such a structure I do not know.” The fifteen hundred working on the moat were close to exhaustion, and Belial had wanted to give them a few days’ rest before he sent them to relieve those still labouring in the gully and cavern. But a bridge was vital.

  “No need,” said Jack behind them. Covered in grey rock dust, Jack looked as tired as Belial’s men. His chest heaved as if he had been hurrying. “When the water flows, Sigholt will create her own bridge.”

  “What?” Magariz and Belial said together.

  Jack smiled. “Sigholt is a cunning lady. She was created by ancient Icarii Enchanters. Trust her.”

  “And when will the water flow, Jack? How is the work going in the cavern?” Belial asked.

  Jack wiped his forehead, smearing rock dust into the furrows as he did so. “Your three engineers tell me that whoever filled in the spring simply tipped cartload after cartload of rocks into the fissure where the water bubbled out. Although they finished off the outer layers with mortared masonry, once we cleared those layers all we found was rubble such as filled this moat. If they had taken the time to construct tightly mortared layers from the very base of the spring our task would be so much more difficult. But now we reach the lower layers of the rubble,” he smiled, “and find that the rubble is wet. Over hundreds of years the force of the spring beneath the rubble has been slowly eroding the base of the fill. What we have started at the top, the spring itself is doing from the bottom. Perhaps, eventually, the spring would have broken free anyway.”

  “So how close are you to clearing the spring?” Magariz’s excitement was clear in his voice. For some reason he could not wait to see the water surround this gracious garrison and fill the Lake again.

  “Three days, Magariz. The men in the cavern work slowly now—they have to be careful. The engineers are planning their route through the rubble cautiously. If they have calculated correctly, then they only need remove about four paces more of rubble before the force of the underground spring will blast the rest free.”

  “And the gully?”

  “Will be clear tomorrow morning.” Jack’s eyes glistened. “In four days at the most the Lake of Life will begin to refill and…and perhaps Zeherah will be freed.”

  Magariz laid a hand on the Sentinel’s shoulder. “How long is it since you have seen her?”

  A tear escaped and trailed slowly through the rock dust covering Jack’s cheek. “Over two thousand years, Magariz. It is a hard thing to be separated from a loved one so long.”

  “I too have loved and lost and now wait,” Magariz said quietly, “although I have not had to wait two thousand years. I hope in a few days’ time your waiting, at least, will be over.”

  Belial regarded Magariz curiously. What did he mean? Belial had always supposed that, like himself, Magariz had been too wedded to his profession to think of a wife as well. But now it appeared Magariz had other, sadder, reasons for remaining unmarried. Yet Magariz was a man of honour and worth, as well as being as handsome a devil as any woman could hope to have warm her bed.

  “Stand clear!” shouted Fulbright, the senior of Belial’s engineers. “The rocks shift. Stand clear!”

  Five men deep within the fissure scrambled to the ropes awaiting them, and teams of men hauled them to the surface as quic
kly as they could. A rumble deep within the earth confirmed Fulbright’s worst fears.

  “Haul, damn you!” he screamed at the men pulling the ropes in, and ran to the nearest team, adding his weight and power to theirs. “Haul!”

  The gods were benign this day, for the water burst forth the instant after all five had been pulled over the edge of the fissure. “Back!” Fulbright screamed again, but the men needed no encouragement. They scrambled to safety as the water shrieked and wailed its way to freedom, carrying with it the final remnants of rubble.

  Fulbright’s eyes widened as steaming water rushed towards the roof of the cavern in a great spout, then cascaded over the lip of the fissure and down the waterway towards the gully. It was a hot spring.

  “Axis save us,” he muttered to himself. “We’ll all have a hot bath tonight.”

  Belial and Magariz stood anxiously by the moat as the steaming water surged forwards, destroying the flimsy bridge.

  Jack stood unperturbed as the broken pieces of the bridge sailed past them. “Peace, gentlemen, and wait.”

  “Wait for what?” Magariz muttered. “Someone to hand me a piece of soap? This moat will be good for nothing but bathing if we cannot get into Sigholt.”

  Jack smiled. These Acharites were so impatient. “Wait for the warmth to penetrate Sigholt’s walls, Magariz. Then watch.”

  For another half an hour they all stood there, Belial and Magariz growing increasingly agitated. There were deep ruby tints in the stream, Belial thought, probably the minerals carried to the surface by the water. Dammit! His temper abruptly broke. What were they waiting for?

  “Jack,” he began, but stopped as the Sentinel turned to him, his emerald eyes agleam.

  “Don’t you feel it?” Jack asked, excited. “Sigholt awakes. Watch the water as it flows by the gate.”

  Belial peered, then he realised there was a…film…between his eyes and the surface of the water. As he watched, it solidified until what appeared to be a solid bridge of grey stone curiously marbled with deep ruby-red veins stood before him spanning the moat.

  His eyes bulged. “What? How?” He could not get any other words out. At his side Magariz stood similarly astonished. The bridge looked solid and wide enough to support not only mounted men, but heavily laden carts as well.

  Jack waved at the bridge. “Cross, Magariz, and see what happens.”

  Magariz glanced at Belial. Cross? This magical bridge? It might vaporise underneath his feet! He took a deep breath to steady himself then stepped forth to the edge of the bridge. But, just as he prepared to step onto the structure itself, the bridge spoke.

  “Are you true?” it asked in a woman’s deep melodic voice.

  Magariz leapt back a full pace, his eyes wide. “What?”

  “Are you true?” the bridge asked again, patiently.

  “Answer her, Magariz,” Jack said. “She will only ask three times, and after that you may never cross.”

  “Answer her?” Magariz repeated, dragging his eyes away from the bridge and turning to stare at Jack. “Answer what?”

  “Answer with whatever is in your heart, Magariz,” Jack snapped, “but answer! Now!”

  Magariz stepped up to the bridge again.

  “Are you true?” the bridge asked for the third time.

  Magariz hesitated, then answered. “Yes, I am true.”

  “Then cross, my Lord Magariz, and I will see if you speak the truth.”

  Magariz stepped onto the bridge and paused, obviously expecting to fall straight through. Then he took another step, then another.

  “You speak the truth, Magariz,” the bridge suddenly said. “Welcome to my heart.” And with that he was across.

  Magariz noticed all the men watching him, and walked back across, his gait now confident. “The bridge let me cross back unchallenged?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Jack said. “It is only the first time that the bridge will ask the question. She knows you now. She will greet you, but she will not challenge you again—unless she feels your heart has been corrupted since last you trod her back. Watch.”

  Jack stepped up to the bridge and placed a foot upon its surface unchallenged. As his weight bore down on the stone the bridge spoke.

  “Welcome, Jack,” the voice said warmly. “It has been many years since you have trod my back.”

  “I greet you well, dear heart,” Jack replied softly, “and it gladdens my heart to see that once more the waters flow.”

  “I have been sad,” the bridge said, “but now I am happy.”

  Later, after the bridge had questioned each member of Belial’s force, Belial stood with Jack in the courtyard of Sigholt.

  “Well? What of Zeherah?”

  Jack shook his head sadly. “Perhaps she needs the Lake to refill before she can return.”

  But as the Lake gradually filled over the next few days, there was no sign of the fifth Sentinel. After six days of watching from the rooftop Jack retired to his private chamber and did not emerge for many days. When he did, his face was creased and haggard with grief. There was nothing else he could do. Zeherah was lost unless he could discover the enchantments that bound her.

  12

  “I WILL LEAD YOU BACK INTO TENCENDOR!”

  The Assembly Chamber of Talon Spike was vast, tiered with dozens of rows of golden-veined white marble about a circular floor of translucent and very beautiful golden marble veined with violet. Pale gold and blue cushions lay scattered about the benches. The lower circles of benches were reserved for the Elders, the Enchanters and the family of the Talon. These benches were completely lined with crimson cushions for the Elders, turquoise ones for the Enchanters, and royal violet for those of the House of SunSoar. The very top seventeen rows of benches reserved for the Strike Force were uncushioned, as befitted the hard muscles of warriors.

  A spectacular circle of gigantic pillars soared above the tiers and supported the domed roof of the Chamber. Five times life height, the pillars were carved into alternating male and female figures, their arms and wings extended joyously, their eyes open in wonder and mouths open in silent song. They were gilded and enamelled, with real gems in their eyes and in the golden torcs about their necks. Each individual hair on their heads and feathers in their wings had been picked out in gold and silver and the muscles in their pale naked bodies were carefully defined in the ivory tones of flesh. They supported a domed roof completely plated in highly burnished bronze mirrors which, due to the enchantments bonded into their making, gave off a gentle golden light that illuminated the entire Chamber.

  The Chamber lay empty, awaiting the Icarii and the man of the Prophecy who would lead them back into Tencendor and back into the lands of myth and legend.

  In the circular robing room RavenCrest SunSoar faced the man who demanded to be named his heir.

  The Icarii Talon, his violet eyes furious, paced to and fro, his black and speckled-blue wings rustling angrily behind.

  “I reserve the right not to name an heir!” he shouted.

  Axis understood RavenCrest’s reluctance to act. The Talon had not yet accepted FreeFall’s death, but Axis had to make him realise that an heir needed to be named while RavenCrest still lived. These were bad and dangerous times, and if an heir could die so precipitously, then so too could a Talon—and nothing was so threatening to the stability of any realm than uncertainty over the succession.

  Tonight Axis would address the full Assembly of the Icarii, and he needed to do that with the authority of an heir. He had to unite the three races—Icarii, Acharite and Avar—in order to weld them into a force that could defeat Gorgrael’s Ghostmen. He knew tonight could be his only opportunity to pull the Icarii behind him.

  He walked deliberately towards his uncle, wearing the golden tunic Azhure had made for him, the blood-red sun blazing triumphantly across his breast. I bless her for this gift of the blood-red sun, he thought as he held RavenCrest’s eyes, for it will be the emblem of what I will become.

  StarDrifter an
d MorningStar glanced at each other.

  Axis stopped not a pace from RavenCrest, his eyes calm before the Talon’s temper.

  “Your son is dead. Gone. You have no other children. RavenCrest, you have a duty to your people,” Axis paused, “and to your blood. You have no choice but to name me your heir. I demand it as my right. You have no choice.”

  RavenCrest gestured towards StarDrifter. “My brother stands in direct line to the throne.”

  Axis’ mouth curled ironically. “Uncle, if you follow that line of reasoning, then StarDrifter would be followed by his eldest son.” He paused, letting the full implications of his statement sink in. “Would you have Gorgrael knock on Talon Spike’s door to claim his heritage, RavenCrest? Gorgrael as Talon? If nothing else, I am the lesser of two evils.”

  RavenCrest said nothing, the muscles in his jaw flickering.

  “The whole mountain seethes with uncertainty over this issue,” Axis snapped. “Name me as your heir, or let your beloved people tear themselves to pieces once you have gone. You have no son or full-blood nephew to follow you, RavenCrest, and I am your only choice! You must decide and you must decide now! Why did you give me control of the Strike Force if you did not intend to give me the throne as well?”

  RavenCrest tore his eyes away from his nephew’s and looked at his mother.

  MorningStar inclined her head. “He is right, RavenCrest. You have no choice. You must name Axis your heir.”

  Her eldest son did not like what she said.

  “This has never happened before!” RavenCrest shouted, wheeling away and resuming his agitated pacing. “The Icarii have always had a full-blood Icarii SunSoar as Talon!”

  “The whole world is changing and being refashioned beneath our feet, RavenCrest. Nothing will ever be the same again.” Not only his voice, but Axis’ entire body stance exuded power and confidence.