She stood tall on the edge of the dell to receive the creature as it landed. She pictured herself as of one day ago doing such a thing and running screaming in terror, hands over her ears, begging the Gods to save her. Now, though, this was just what she wanted. So far everything was going as she had hoped.
At last the creature landed, its head not ten feet from Ceriana’s own. Lissa’s blood, but the thing was huge. Its narrow V-shaped head alone was three times her height. Teeth, nay tusks, the length of her arm protruded either side of its immense jaw. The impact of its landing hit Ceriana with such force that she staggered and would have been thrown clean off her feet had she not put her hand to the ground to steady herself. And finally the great dragon stood before her. It folded its vast leathery wings ribbed with veins over its ridged scaly back and watched her through slitted yellow eyes, larger and wider than the deepest water well, the widest cartwheel. It did not move, inhaling and exhaling slowly, its breath rumbling with such a low frequency she could feel it through her feet. Conquering her understandable nervousness, Ceriana slowly and deliberately came towards the dragon, catching its great unblinking eye as it stared at her. She walked past its head, past the massive foreleg, one claw of which could split her in two, to its long torso on which the great scales glittered like cut rubies. She put out her hand to touch it – it was warm, the muscle underneath so powerful it was like touching granite lying under a noonday sun. She gently placed her head against it, hearing the blood rushing through veins like saplings, hearing the steady pounding of its heart. In the kitchens at Edgecliff she had seen the hearts of cattle being prepared for the feast and she pictured that now, extrapolating what she had seen and multiplying it fifteen fold to give herself an idea of the scale of the heart of the beast now waiting before her. Finally, she walked back to the head and that giant eye again. Putting out her hand she placed it on its broad neck, hard as iron, as enduring as adamant, stroking the smooth scales gently and lovingly.
‘By Elissa, you are so beautiful!’
Its breath rattled over its tongue like the purr of a great cat. It obviously liked what she was doing. So Ceriana did not stop. Stroking and caressing and even leaning close to whisper into the pit of the ear. ‘So, so beautiful. I thank you so much for coming to my aid, for answering me and not forsaking me as others have. Thank you.’
As if in answer to her words came other wing beats, shallower but still evocative of great power and strength. She looked up to see the moon had cleared the clouds once more, and across it flew the great drakes screeching their anger at the stars. Over her they flew, not stopping, not landing but heading west, over Thakholm harbour and out over the sea where Osperitsan Island lay waiting for them. Ceriana watched them go and shut her eyes. She could still see them – her link with the dragon made it possible – and so she stayed as she was, the two of them watching together, just waiting to see exactly what these creatures would do before the night came to an end.
33
She had never thought it possible before but Overseer Kherat could actually sneer with her eyes. She did so now, barely hiding her contempt as she gazed at Syalin lying on the floor in a foetal position, bathed in sweat and grime and tasting the blood in her mouth after she had bitten her tongue to distract herself from the agony coursing through her body. It was all part of her training, she knew that, so that she could serve the Emperor all the better, but it did little to assuage the hurt.
‘You are pathetic!’ the overseer hissed at Syalin. ‘Ten minutes with the orb and look at you, writhing on the floor like some snivelling cur. Get up!’
‘Yes, Overseer Kherat.’ Syalin eased herself to her feet. She was barely thirteen years old, yet even then, like the other trainees, she was only allowed to wear enough to barely conceal her modesty. It was another part of the training, the humiliation, the stripping away of the human part of her, for a Strekha had no need for humanity – her body existed only as the Emperor required it; it was not even hers to control.
‘You are doing passably well so far.’ Kherat grasped the girl’s jaw, firmly turning her head so that she stared directly into those cold black eyes. ‘I think one more test for you and we are done for today. Tell me’ – she pushed her face close to Syalin’s own – ‘you were with the Emperor last night, were you not? How do you feel when he touches you? Do you enjoy it, or does your skin crawl with loathing?’
Syalin knew this one. ‘Enjoyment is not mine to experience solely. It can only be experienced vicariously through the Emperor. If he derives pleasure or enjoyment through whatever I can give him, then my enjoyment is equal in part to his, though my senses are but a crude facsimile when compared to his own.’
‘Word perfect.’ She was sneering again. ‘Now follow me.’
She led her through several corridors, past one of the trainee quarters of the Remorseless Guard, who stared lasciviously at her, making their usual crude comments. (This was an almost daily ritual and she was not allowed to try and conceal herself from them.) At last they reached their destination, though she was in some part of the building she was not familiar with. Kherat led her through a dark iron-bound door into a circular chamber, poorly lit and bare save for what appeared to be a double-hinged trapdoor at its centre.
Kherat looked at her. ‘Curious?’
As Syalin watched she strode over to the door, next to which stood a substantial lever. Tugging at it, the doors fell open. Syalin pressed forward and saw that underneath them was a dark pit at the bottom of which lay some churning, viscous liquid the fumes from which burned her eyes. Kherat operated the lever again, causing the doors to shut once more.
‘It is a concentrated acid,’ she said gleefully. ‘Fall in that and your flesh will dissolve from your bones, your eyeballs will liquefy and when you scream the fumes alone will melt your lungs. There is a no more agonising way to die. Now, stand on the door.’
Syalin hesitated. ‘Overseer Kherat. Did you say...?’
‘Stand on it!’ Kherat struck her hard on the cheek. Technically, such punishment was forbidden; the skin of a Strekha had to remain pure and unblemished in case the Emperor wanted her that night. But both women knew that, as she had spent the evening before with him, he would not be wanting her again for a while. The overseers knew exactly when and how to punish their trainees, and seemed to take great pleasure in doing so.
Breathing hard, Syalin stepped on to the door. It held firm, causing her to sigh with relief. Kherat came over to her, holding something in each hand.
‘Take these.’
Syalin did so. They were two weights with iron handles attached to a length of chain that ran from both of them, to disappear through holes in the stone floor.
‘Stand straight and hold your arms out to your sides.’ After Syalin had obeyed she spoke again. ‘These chains are part of a mechanism. If either weight touches the door at your feet it will open and you will drop into the pit. Keep your arms outstretched, or I myself will pull this lever and again you will drop into the pit.’
Syalin felt a sickly fear chew the inside of her stomach. ‘For how long should I do this, Overseer Kherat?’
‘For as long as I say, for as long as a Strekha should be able to endure. Now, keep your arms outstretched!’
She did so, counting the time in her head. She tried remembering the lessons they had taught her, to keep breathing deeply and block out the pain, for her arms had started to burn. She stared ahead of her, Kherat stood close by the lever, a wicked look in her eyes.
She endured for an age but at last her arms started to shake. What had seemed like insubstantial weights at first now felt like two great boulders pulling at her shoulders, tearing at her muscles, dragging her arms down to her sides.
‘Arms outstretched!’ ordered Kherat. Syalin tried, but it was hard. So hard. Her limbs shook and every sinew, every inch, of her arms was burning like a fire was running up and down their length. Sweat poured over her face, which twisted with the effort and the agony.
‘Overseer Kherat,’ she gasped. Her voice choked as she begged. ‘Please.’
‘Please?’ Kherat’s voice thundered in her temper. ‘A Strekha never says please to anyone. She is above all other men except one; she needs no charity and she would never use such a word to plead with the Emperor! You are a disgrace, girl! A whining little worm! A fawning little toad!’
She could hold on no longer. The weights fell from her nerveless hands on to the door. Anticipating what was to come, she curled into a ball, wrapping her torn, protesting arms around her legs and screamed. A pure, shrill, high-pitched scream of a young girl in the grip of a naked terror as she could almost feel the plunge into the pit and the smell of smoking flesh as it was burned from her body. It was a scream that lasted a long time as if, merely by enacting it, her death throes would somehow be eased, her agonies diminished. And then she was silent.
The doors had not opened. She still lay upon them curled up into a ball. Slowly she uncoiled herself and stood before Kherat who was wearing the broadest, cruellest smile.
‘Enough of you die taking blackroot,’ she said. ‘Throwing more lives away needlessly is an expense no one can afford.’ She slapped her again, casually, as if doing such a thing was a complete boredom to her. ‘I never want to hear you beg again. Now, to your cell. I think you can spend a little longer with the orb tomorrow.’
She was drifting again. To do such a thing was unconscionable, even once, but of late so many memories, memories she had thought long locked away and buried, had been returning that she felt it beginning to affect her duties. She looked about her. Her charge, the Baron, was sitting in the great hall, glumly looking straight ahead. He had just dismissed a messenger and it was just the two of them and a few servants waiting patiently in the wall alcoves. There was no one else here.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked pensively.
‘Did you not hear him?’ Morgan replied.
‘A little,’ Syalin lied. ‘I am not sure I understood it all, though.’
Morgan grunted. ‘No matter. It is no more than I expected anyway. Come with me; I need to see the mage.’
She knew the way and so walked slightly ahead of him, noting with a grim satisfaction the way the chambermaids and kitchen scullions that they approached darted into side rooms or down stairs rather than stand and wait for them to pass.
It was easy to tell the girl’s room now, for two mailed knights stood outside it constantly. She had been told they were here to guard the girl, to keep her separate from the ordinary folk. Back in Koze there was a similar system – the mages there dwelt in great temples in the heart of the most hostile jungles. Any escape and they would die in days. Their faces were branded and, if they did have to fight with the army or travel to the cities, they were often chained or kept naked. Hostility to those with such powers was universal, so it seemed. She always had a little sympathy for them herself; being mistrusted for just being what you are seemed harsh in her eyes, though on a couple of occasions she had been sent to kill them, two escapees who had somehow survived long enough to reach a city. One was little more than a boy, clad in just a loincloth. He had tried a spell on her, but the metal of her armour dissipated it easily. She had done it quickly as he lay cowering before her; he had felt nothing, or rather that was what she had hoped.
Another involuntary memory. She was beginning to think her brain was of little more use than a sponge. Still, they were here now. She rapped on the door and turned to Morgan. ‘Shall I come in with you?’
‘No. You stay here. I will not be long.’
Cheris was sitting at her dresser, looking out of the window whose broad sill sported a crest of brilliant white snow. Somebody else wrapped up in her thoughts.
‘Oh hello, Morgan,’ she said quietly. ‘Sorry – hello, Baron, I mean.’
‘Morgan will do. It is what I am happiest with.’
‘As you wish. Where is your bodyguard?’
‘Outside.’
‘How are you finding her?’
He walked over and stood next to her. ‘It is strange. Take away the issue of her questionable sanity and her predisposition towards cold-blooded murder and she seems quite a sweet girl really.’
Cheris smiled. ‘You may be right there. We have talked a couple of times and she just seems terribly ... sad somehow, rather than just menacing, if you understand me.’
‘I do. I seem to be drawn to sad people these days or why would I be here.’
She shrugged. ‘You know my history. It is not something I can just shake off. And now the knights are here, I can barely undress on my own any more.’
‘I would have thought there was little privacy on the island.’
‘There is, but I was getting used to it here and rather enjoying it, too.’
Morgan looked sympathetic. ‘I am sorry. It was not I who sent for them; they just arrived with your friend.’
‘I know, I know. I am not grumbling; it is the law, after all. Anyway, they have given me some good news; someone I travelled here with, a squire named Roland, I had feared him dead, but it turns out he returned to the capital shortly after I arrived here. He was a nice boy and I am pleased that he did not get caught up in all this.’
‘Lucky might be a better word,’ Morgan replied. ‘Anyway, I have some news of my own and thought it best to tell you straight away.’
She craned her delicate white neck and looked directly up at him. ‘Yes?’
‘Trask is on his way, with nearly three thousand men and their siege machines.’
She felt her face burning. Her eyes bored into Morgan with the intensity of fire.
‘There is no doubt?’
‘None. My messenger knows him. He leads a collection of mercenaries, Arshumans and our own turncoats. They will move slowly but expect him here within the week.’
‘Within the week? Lissa’s blood.’ She looked back to her dresser.
‘There is time if you wish to leave. I can send you south to Calvannen, if you wish.’
She shook her head. ‘No, no I am not frightened of him; it is just that I have a plan and am wondering how to best put it into action.’
‘A plan? What sort of a plan?’
‘A plan to kill him, of course, I have been working on it a while.’
Morgan looked grave. ‘You had best tell me about it. Does it have something to do with your trip to the waterfall? I did not think you climbed all that way to admire the view. And the knights tell me you are learning to ride, I wonder why that is? Do you need the exercise perhaps?’
She sighed dramatically. ‘Yes, it does have something to do with the trip to the falls. The city looks nicer from up there than it does from close up, almost pretty in fact. I will tell you the truth then, but you may not like it.’
‘Just tell me. I will not rant or rave.’
Oh how he regretted those last words as he stood and listened while she calmly elucidated her proposed course of action to him. He noticed she kept her voice low so as no words could travel beyond the door and also, as the alarm steadily rose within him, he realised how much she was trusting him. She must see him as a friend, he thought. He was flattered despite himself.
At last she finished, leaving Morgan wondering where to start.
‘But didn’t something like this kill the healer?’ he finally blurted out.
‘Oh I am not attempting what she did, not at all.’
‘That is reassuring.’
‘No. What I am trying to do is infinitely more dangerous.’
Morgan groaned. ‘You are not winning me over by saying such things.’
Cheris stood for the first time and came close to him. She was only slightly shorter and as she animatedly spoke he noticed the feverish excitement in her eyes.
‘Listen to me, Morgan. Anaya was a healer. Healing magic is subtle and nuanced, difficult in its own way and requiring a patience to master that I have never exhibited. But, with what happened to her, she was trying to do something she had no
familiarity with. She was not the Storm Queen. Elemental mastery is what I do; it is what I am. Granted it is on a scale I have never attempted before but my mentor always used to tell me I had a power inside me held by few others and now, for the first time, I believe him.’
Morgan shook his head slowly. ‘Cheris, the lives of thousands of my people are at stake here.’
‘They will be fine. Such powers do not like travelling through or over walls of stone, it weakens them almost to their death. When Trask comes, keep them within the city and it will be fine.’
Morgan’s insouciance continued. ‘And this damned book of yours?’
‘...Will be returned, once this is done. I will be punished by the knights, imprisoned on the island, never to leave it again, I imagine, but I must try. I cannot describe to you how I feel every time I think of ... of what happened.’
‘But when you fought at Grest you brought an army down with a spell then. Why not use it again?’
‘It was too arbitrary. I need to direct the power this time, to target it to seek out this man. I need something with sentience, something I can control.’ He could see she was practically pleading with him, her expressive eyes wide and earnest.
‘Can you guarantee that no one in the city will be hurt?’
‘Yes. I will use myself as bait if necessary. Make no mistake it will be desperate to kill me. Also, if all goes well, it could break the siege before it even begins.’
He sighed. ‘That would be fantastic, but the risk, especially for you, is colossal. Does this really mean so much to you?’
She nodded. ‘It does. I need to be able to sleep again without nightmares, to look at my face in the mirror once more. I did not need to tell you my intentions. I will be doing this without you after all but I felt you deserved to know and your acceptance of my plan, however tacit, will mean a lot to me. Now you know my intent you can stop me, arrest me, tie me up, whatever you wish, but I am begging you not to do so. I will get on my knees, if need be. To see this done I would happily offer myself to every man in the castle, that is how much it means; I cannot continue to live without trying.’
The Forgotten War Page 120
