Justice

by Ian Irvine

  “If you don’t take him on he’ll know something is wrong, and so will everyone else. It’ll strengthen him and weaken us.”

  “I never said I wouldn’t take him on. I’m going to play cat and mouse with Rixium. He’ll never know when I’m going to strike—or which of his supporters I’m striking at. You can break a man’s spirit quickly that way, without ever coming face to face with him.”

  He walked around Yulia several times, looking down at her, then turned away. “Take her—and Tali—to Bastion Barr with a guard of a hundred men. Syrten and Rufuss will escort you. I’ll join you there shortly.”

  “What are you up to?” said Lirriam.

  “When you’re knocked down, you get up at once and fight all the harder.” He headed west towards his army, leaving the squad of guards behind.

  Lirriam, taking pity on Syrten, called him across so he could see that Yulia was going to live. After allowing him a quarter of an hour with her, Lirriam sent him to bring the horses, dry clothing and clean bandages, and a horse-drawn litter for Yulia.

  Lirriam had much to think about. What could “Maloch’s true master” mean? Where had she heard it before? And was Grandys losing his nerve? There was much to be lost if he was—much to be gained, too, if she had the courage.

  She put her hands over the wound again. Yulia was too cold. Lirriam rejuvenated her healing charm, then followed it with the strongest warming charm she could manage. Yulia soon grew warm under her hands and the pallor began to be replaced by pink. Her breathing strengthened.

  Lirriam sat back on her heels. Her head spun and she had to support herself with her hands. It had been a long, wearying day—her part in the creation and maintenance of the black, protective pyramid this morning had drained her to the marrow of her bones. Then the long, bloody battle, plus the shield charm she’d had to hold in place all through it to protect herself from errant arrows, spears and sword thrusts. And now this utterly exhausting healing. It had all come from within her and the day wasn’t finished yet.

  “Lirriam?” Yulia said in a faint voice. “Do you have—water?”

  Lirriam rose wearily and tested the water in the second bucket. It was still hot, though not too hot to drink. She held a half mug to Yulia’s lips and supported her head while she drank.

  “Was I… dead?” said Yulia.

  “Very close. Your heart stopped a few times.”

  “But you saved me.” Yulia raised a hand as if to reach out to Lirriam, but lacked the strength to complete the gesture. Her hand flopped down.

  “Yes.” Lirriam looked around. Rufuss was still standing guard fifty yards away. There was no sign of Syrten or anyone else. “Yulia, do you remember when we were on the First Fleet, coming here from Thanneron?”

  “I was just—sixteen. It was the adventure—of my life. Of course I remember.”

  “Do you remember how Grandys ended up with Maloch?”

  “Why does it… matter?” said Yulia. Her voice was fading.

  “It matters. I’m sorry; I need to know right away.”

  “It came to him after… after Envoy Urtiga was murdered… month out of Thanneron. She left a… a signed deed—”

  “What did it say?”

  “If she died before completing… quest,” said Yulia, “Grandys… take over… aided by Maloch. That was when he bound us… in Five Heroes. You must remember.”

  “I remember. Was anything said about Maloch’s ‘true master’?”

  “Heard it mentioned…” Yulia’s voice went hoarse. Lirriam gave her some more water and she spoke more strongly. “Master has to be Grandys… can’t be any of us. Couldn’t bear to touch Maloch—could you?”

  “Not willingly,” said Lirriam. She lowered her voice. “Who do you think killed Urtiga? Could it have been Grandys?”

  “Always thought… Rufuss.”

  “So have I—even then he had the air of a killer. I’ve never understood why Grandys protected him, or why he made Rufuss one of the Five…”

  “Don’t want to think about him.” Yulia reached down towards her belly.

  Lirriam moved her hand away. “Don’t touch the wound; I’m worried about it getting infected.”

  Yulia caught Lirriam’s hand instead, holding her in a surprisingly firm grip. “How—how bad is it?”

  Lirriam had never thought of herself as being particularly compassionate but she could not bear to say the words. She did not want to cause Yulia, the closest person she had to a sister, so much pain, or to rob her of the thing she most wanted. No, Lirriam thought, I’ve already done that.

  “You were dying,” said Lirriam, looking away. “I did what I had to do to save you.”

  “Tell me the truth. I’ve got to know.”

  “The arrow missed your bladder and bowel, luckily, and it didn’t touch the spine…”

  “But?”

  “It tore through your womb, and you were bleeding so badly—”

  Yulia’s hand clenched painfully around Lirriam’s. “Tell me!” she gasped.

  “There was no time. I had to seal the wound at once, to stop the bleeding. I’m sorry. It did a lot more damage. I—I don’t think you’ll ever be able to have children.”

  Yulia held her hand for a few more seconds, her eyes searching Lirriam’s face as if hoping, desperately, that it was not true. Then her hand fell away.

  “Then what’s it all been for?” she said in a dead voice.

  Lirriam did not reply.

  “I was sixteen when I became one of the Five,” said Yulia. “Now I’m twenty-eight.”

  “I know,” said Lirriam. “I was eighteen and now I’m thirty-two.”

  “Thirty-two?”

  “I lived another two years after you were turned to opal… before Lyf did the same to me.”

  “Oh!” Yulia continued, speaking in gasped phrases separated by long pauses. “I’ve spent almost half my life pursuing… sacred quest for the Promised Realm… and all that time I’ve made excuses for the bloodshed… the destruction, the barbarism. It’s for our quest, I told myself… and once we found our Promised Realm… we’d make up for all the ruin by creating a beautiful new world… I told myself I’d make amends… for all the terrible things I’ve collaborated in… all the things I’ve turned a blind eye to… by little creations of my own.”

  “You’ve wanted children as long as I’ve known you,” said Lirriam, aching for her.

  “I kept thinking, just another year… and just another year. Now it’s too late… I was a party to all the destruction… and there’s nothing I can do to balance it. How empty our lives have been… how wasted…”

  “Yes,” said Lirriam. Not being the contemplative type, she had never thought about the meaning or the value of their lives. Now she did, and did not like what she saw.

  Yulia clutched Lirriam’s hand again, with both hands this time, twisting it back and forth in her agitation. “Promise me you’ll do better. You’re the only one of us who has a chance.”

  “Because I’ve got Incarnate?”

  Yulia tried to sit up, moaned and fell back. “No, don’t use it,” she said in a ragged voice. “It allows perilous choices. Forbidden choices. Get rid of it!”

  “Then why do you say I have a chance?”

  “You’re the only one… who never really believed in the quest… the only one of us who isn’t irredeemably corrupt… You can change, Lirriam; there’s still time. Promise me, when the war is over… you’ll live a better life—a life of creation rather than destruction.”

  “There’s only one way to do that,” said Lirriam. “By going where no one has ever heard of the Five Heroes.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” cried Yulia. “We’re… only family you have. How could you bear to abandon us… for some land where you know no one… where everything is strange?”

  “You can’t imagine how I long for such a land, where no one knows anything about me. It’s the only escape I have.”

  And there was only one way to find s
uch a place. Lirriam had to wake Incarnate, whatever it cost.

  CHAPTER 15

  Rix lost sight of Grandys in the chaos of the great battle with Lyf, though it was clear he’d had a great victory. Lyf’s army was retreating south, almost in a rout. Ominously, Grandys’ force, which had been harrying them, had halted on the plain as if awaiting orders. Orders to attack Rix?

  Several hundred yards north, a large squad of Grandys’ troops stood guard over a group of people on a gentle rise. Two of them were kneeling and two standing, further away. Could it be a Herovian prayer ceremony? Rix focused his field glasses. No, it was the Five Heroes—and one of them was lying on the ground.

  “Let it be Grandys,” he said to himself.

  “Sorry?” said Glynnie.

  Her eyes were wide, her breathing ragged. She had seen fighting before, but not the hideous violence of a large-scale battle. Neither had Rix, for that matter, and though he had trained as a warrior and an officer since he was a boy, he never wanted to see it again.

  “One of the Heroes is down,” said Rix, “and I can see the blood from here.”

  “I don’t suppose it’s our mutual enemy?”

  “No, the bastard is stalking back and forth, as mean as ever.” He moved the glasses a fraction. “I can see Rufuss, and Syrten with his back to us. He’s hunched over, that’s why I didn’t recognise him. It’s one of the women—Yulia, and Lirriam is attending her. It looks like she’s doing a healing.”

  “How bad is Yulia hurt?”

  “I can’t tell—but for all the others to be standing around, it must be serious.”

  As he spoke, Grandys turned his way and, as if he knew Rix was spying on him, shook both fists above his head. Rix choked, realised Holm was watching him and hastily turned it into a cough.

  “He’s saying, ‘You’ll keep’,” said Holm, who was squinting through a small black telescope.

  Grandys mounted and rode across to his army, and Rix lost sight of him.

  “What will he do now?” said Glynnie.

  “After every victory he puts on a great feast for his troops. Then everyone gets roaring drunk and Grandys kills some of the prisoners for the general entertainment.”

  “Does that mean we’re safe… for today?”

  “I wouldn’t bet he’s finished fighting,” said Rix. “He’s got the taste for blood, and Yulia to avenge, and there’s still hours of daylight left.” He had just turned away when Jackery said sharply, “He’s not finished.”

  A battalion of a thousand men had broken away from Grandys’ main force, led by Grandys himself, and was streaming south-east.

  “What’s he doing now?” said Rix.

  “Going after the Pale,” said Holm. “A thousand against five thousand. The same proportions as he used against Lyf.”

  “Surely he can’t hope to do it again,” said Glynnie.

  “He’s luring me out,” said Rix. “He knows I’ve got to go to their defence.”

  “Why, if he’s only attacking the Pale with a thousand?” said Holm.

  “They’re our only ally. And I’m not sure how solid their allegiance is, so I’m not taking any chances.”

  “The moment you go to their aid,” said Holm, “Grandys will attack with the rest of his force. It’s the reason he’s gone after them.”

  Rix did not reply. This was the trap.

  “Let him attack,” said Jackery. “Together our two armies number ten thousand. We’ll show him that good Hightspallers aren’t as easily beaten as the cowardly Cythonians.”

  Fine words, Rix thought, but he only had to look at his white-faced men to see what a battering their morale had taken.

  “If we don’t help the Pale we’ll look like cowards. That’ll be even worse for morale.” He turned to the signaller. “We march.”

  Rix rode to the front. Holm and Jackery went with him. Then Rix had a sudden thought.

  “Holm, you’ve got something of an alchymical bent. Take a few wagons over to where the black pyramid formed and see what you can find.”

  “Pick up some of their bombasts and grenadoes, you mean,” said Holm.

  “Collect some of every sort of alchymical weapon they have. Bring them back and see how they work… if you can without blowing yourself to bits.”

  “I think I can manage that. Any particular reason why?”

  “You never know when they could come in handy,” Rix said vaguely.

  Holm turned back. Rix looked the other way.

  “The Pale are two miles east,” he said, indicating their position with a sweep of his arm. “Grandys is a mile north of them; his battalion will get there first. We’ll march directly towards the Pale, following that slight rise. Grandys will move to intercept us from the north before we reach the Pale. We’ll stand and fight at the top of the rise, so he’ll be attacking uphill. We’ll have a bit of an advantage, his men being so battle-weary…”

  It sounded like a good strategy when he said it aloud, though Rix knew it would not work out that way. Grandys never took the predictable approach. The only thing he could be relied on to do was attack with unmitigated savagery when and where it was least expected.

  And he did. Rix’s force was still a mile away when Grandys’ battalion tore through the Pale army more quickly than Lyf’s army had been defeated. Within minutes the survivors were stampeding south, abandoning their dead and injured on the field of battle. Grandys’ battalion followed for a few minutes, cutting down the stragglers, then stopped, evidently awaiting orders.

  Rix cursed. Unless he could bring the Pale back, it was now seven thousand against five thousand, odds he did not like at all.

  “Halt!” he roared. “Close ranks. Wait here—I’ll try and rally them.”

  He spurred off after the Pale and caught them within minutes. They were a miserable lot—a small people, poorly dressed in Cythonian clothing that hung off their slender frames.

  He rode alongside, looking for a single face and praying she had not been killed. The Pale, having been slaves for a thousand years, were a cowed people, used to obeying orders without question. Most lacked initiative and it was no use Rix, an outsider, trying to sway them. Only one person could: their true leader in Cython and ever since—Radl.

  It did not take long to find her; Radl was one of the few Pale who had never been cowed. Tall, olive skinned and black-haired, she was one of the least typical Pale he had ever met. She wore many bandages, both old and fresh, and he remembered Tali saying that she was a bold, even reckless warrior, always leading from the front.

  “Radl!” he yelled, cantering up to her.

  “No!” she said without turning around.

  He rode ahead ten yards, dismounted and stood in her path. She stopped. She was a striking woman, though war and exhaustion had erased the best of her looks—her eyes were hollow and her face haggard.

  “My little army is all that stands between Grandys and victory,” said Rix. “And victory for Grandys means enslavement or death for everyone else.”

  “After we threw the enemy out of Cython,” said Radl, biting each word off and spitting it in Rix’s face, “we were flushed with victory, fools that we were. We came out to help you, despite that Hightspall had abandoned our ancestors, child hostages, to unending slavery. Abandoned them, then blamed us for our own enslavement and called us traitors for serving the enemy.”

  “It wasn’t my doing,” said Rix, “and we have to deal with the now.”

  “The present comes from the sins of the past,” said Radl. “This sickening war is nothing like fighting for our freedom. Grandys fights for the joy of killing, and we’ll have no further part in it.”

  “We need you,” said Rix. “Without your aid, Hightspall must fall.”

  “I’m sorry, Rix,” Radl said, and he knew she spoke the truth. “They say you’re a decent man. But if Hightspall is doomed to fall, not you nor I can stop it.”

  “If it falls, all must fall.”

  “That remains to be seen. Cy
thon is strong, and we know it well, all its pits and traps. Grandys won’t find it easy to take. And perhaps, if all fails, your survivors will come to our doors.”

  “Please stay, we really need your help. We can’t do it alone.”

  “No,” said Radl. “Even slavery was better than the kind of war Grandys wages.” She extended her hand. “Good luck.”

  Rix shook it. He could not blame her. She turned south and called her people on. He mounted and rode north, back to his personal Armageddon. He rejoined his men and the two armies faced each other across half a mile, waiting. But Grandys did not move all afternoon.

  Or evening.

  Or that night.

  They could see the enemy campfires and hear the Herovians’ battle songs. “It sounds as though the bastards are drunk,” said Holm incredulously. He had sworn never to touch drink again after a tragedy in his own life, many years ago.

  “They’ve got a great victory to celebrate,” said Rix. “The Herovians are prodigious drinkers; I’ve known them to go into battle half rotten. The casualties were horrific, though that’s never bothered Grandys. He cares no more about the lives of his own troops than he does about the enemies’.”

  He walked away, then, on a sudden thought, came back.

  “How did you get on with the alchymical stuff?”

  “We collected three wagon loads of devices that hadn’t gone off. Bombasts, grenadoes, fire-flitters and so forth.”

  “Have you worked out what stopped them from going off?”

  “Are you asking if I can find a way to make them work?” said Holm, one hand in his pocket.

  “I guess I am,” said Rix.

  “From what I’ve seen so far, there’s nothing wrong with them. In other words, they failed to work because they were under that black shield of magery.”

  “So if we needed to use them, and there was no such shield, they’d work.”

  “I expect so. I’ll test one of each kind to make sure, when I get the chance.”

  “That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

  “I also found these,” said Holm. He opened his hand to reveal two small, stubby orange crystals, no longer than his little finger-nail and only half as wide.