The Unchosen: Book One of The Queen Beyond

by Simon Markusson

“Maybe.”

  “You should have stayed a Lion, Grand Commander.” James smiled. “Should’ve.”

  “Who’s there?” an unsteady voice called from a chair by the window.

  “It’s the old Grand Commander,” James answered, still not looking at Sir Haeigwyn. “Not the dead one, though, so you needn’t worry.” Then he said to Conrad in a lower tone, “He’ll tell you what’s happening in Rurhav.”

  Conrad turned when James closed the door with a faint click. Blankets lay halfway drawn across the floor from the thin bed that stood against one of the walls, beside a toppled stool with a platter that had spilled food all over the stones. The only other furniture was a chair by the window and the different telescopes and far-lookers standing on their pin legs. A pungent smell of sweat stung his nostrils.

  “Is it Grand Commander Conrad Hardae?” the voice called from the chair.

  He saw the gray scalp of the man sitting in it, but not Haeigwyn’s blond hair. “Haeigwyn?” he asked uncertainly, taking a step closer.

  “So, it is you,” the man in the chair said — Haeigwyn said — and then he chuckled weakly before he broke into a coughing fit. “The Reclaimer comes when the Harp is dying and the world is dying, yet how can what is destroyed be reclaimed?”

  The man leaned forward to look through the lens of the far-looker, and Conrad could see more of his white, wispy hair. Gods, what has happened to him? Haeigwyn had been a lively man full of youth and hunger for challenges. He had been a great scout.

  “And you were a great commander, Sir Conrad.”

  Conrad faltered at once. “What?” he asked, his heart beating wildly.

  “I said that you were a great commander.”

  “You said and.”

  “Oh?” asked the brittle voice. “Did you not give me a compliment?”

  “No,” Conrad said.

  The man was silent for a moment, and then he grunted. “I’m sure you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Then are you sure that I said and?” Haeigwyn asked. “Words are so fleeting. We hardly hear them before they become distant and unclear in our minds.”

  Conrad did not know what to think, but he was puzzled, and he walked up to the man. The face that turned to look at him with blind, staring eyes was none that he knew. It was sunken, tired, and creased, barely human from all the warts and boils that grew upon that gray, dry skin.

  “Boh!” Haeigwyn said, and he cackled wildly, sending spittle flying over his robes, before coughs choked him.

  “By the gods, man!” Conrad exclaimed. “What has befallen you?”

  “Do you mean to say that I am not my usual, charming self?”

  “How has this happened?”

  “Oh, if you want such a difficult question answered, you should ask the creature named Karnc.” Haeigwyn leaned in to look through the far-looker again, despite clearly being blind. “It introduced itself before it ate Ronne. I had the worse fate, I’m afraid. Just a little scratch, it said, and just a little blood mingled, and so and so, here I am.”

  “What insanity is it that you speak of?”

  “Insanity, to be sure. Do you know how it looked? Like a moose, yes, dressed in rags and bones, walking on its hind legs like a man and having the teeth of a wolf. Twelve feet tall, Karnc was, and old as Wythrax itself. I can still sense it, out there in the Hills. It wants to see through my eyes, but I only let it see the Hills.”

  “But...are you not blind, Haeigwyn?”

  “Yes.” The man smiled to reveal rotting teeth. “Isn’t that strange?”

  Confronted with such madness, Conrad didn’t know what to think. “Tell me everything,” he said decisively at last. “Tell me what you died for.”

  21

  A Leper’s Mirth

  The man cackled again at the request, but the mirth was as horrible to witness as his ravaged visage. “The things we found...” he sputtered as a cough stole his breath. “Oh...the things we found. Perhaps you shall want to sit? You can take the stool there. The fools keep putting food on it.”

  “I will stand.” Conrad doubted if he’d be able to sit while listening to this man. He looks nothing like Haeigwyn. He acts nothing like Haeigwyn. Gods, can it be him, still?

  “Very well,” the blind man rasped, and then he turned to gaze out the window. “We left perhaps a month ago, before all the reports had started pouring in, though we did suspect barbarians were in the Hills. Oh, when did they ever daunt us? Ronne and I went well prepared on our reconnaissance, packed with supplies and weapons, and with coursers that could carry us swiftly when necessary. Others had departed before us, plenty of scouts going towards Druhm or the Worm to search for any significant gatherings of the savages. We thought we’d search the other direction, and we made our way up towards the Martyr’s Passage. We even resupplied in Cawarath and decided to continue north, to the Frosty Plains and the Upper Straits. Why not go to the Highlands, we thought, and get a view over Wythrax and the coast. Bold, eh?”

  “Indeed,” Conrad confirmed. Such a trek was dangerous even for seasoned veterans, especially when travelling in such small numbers. Mountain lions were known to attack lone scouts in the wild, though they’d still be the least of the threats.

  “Oh, we did see many mountain lions.” Haeigwyn smiled. Conrad’s breath caught in his chest. Is he reading my mind? “It was all quite normal in the beginning, yes. We traveled carefully, avoiding making fire when we couldn’t hide it well enough. We saw the great cats prowling on their cliffs, watched the eagles soaring in the sky and the mountain goats climbing over the rocky steeps. No barbarians did we encounter, and we almost began counting it a dull journey when we had been out for a few days.” Haeigwyn sighed. “Ah, but shouldn’t you be ever careful with what you wish for?

  “We continued, and we crossed the Frosty Plains, catching only glimpses now and then of some few savages at a long distance, but never a considerable force of them. So, why not continue? We knew already that other Lions were scanning the east of the Hills, and they would spot any barbarians that we did not. And there was certainly no great danger that discouraged us. Rurhav appeared quite peaceful, and we began making long use of our hours of daylight — almost growing impatient even. Where was the thrill? We reached the Highlands.”

  “And what did you see from your vantage points?” Conrad asked with growing anticipation, knowing what views one could find in the highlands of Rurhav.

  “A very pretty landscape, as you can imagine, though frozen and with precious little life. See, we found no barbarians even here, and we traveled along the heights for days, always looking over the valleys and the frozen tundra and the great, stretching sea of thorns and shadows that is Wythrax.”

  “For days? And you saw nothing?”

  “We did not at first,” Haeigwyn said, and he gazed out into the night. “I don’t know what happened, but one night, we both awoke suddenly. Not to a sound, not to a scent, not to anything. But we stared in fear at the dark forest, and both of us could feel how something had changed. Almost without word, we decided to return immediately and ride hard for Cawarath. But from then on, the beasts were among us.”

  “Among you?” Conrad asked. “You were attacked by something?”

  “Every night, we feared them, for that is when they came, always in darkness. We saw them, though, and we heard them, too, around us upon the plains and then among the Hills. Always, we made fires now, big fires, hoping that the flames would keep those beasts at bay. They were kept away, but never far. We dared not close our eyes to sleep when we saw the shadows darting about our camp, shadows that would sometimes snarl like the greatest beasts of the woods. They came out of Wythrax, we knew at once, for nowhere in Undran or in the Hills had such things been sighted.”

  “How did they look?” Conrad demanded. “These things, what were they?”

  “You do not use the same description for the wolf and the bear and the eagle.” Haeigwyn cackled loudly, a mad cacophony that mad
e Conrad’s hairs rise. “But maybe you should!” After a few rustling hacks, his mirth stifled. “What if we have no names for these things? Just as we have none for Karnc. Oh, but do you know how I would name them?” Haeigwyn’s dead eyes turned to stare into Conrad’s, and his dry lips moved to form the words in whispers. “Manticore, I would say. Gryphon... Chimaera...” he began rattling off the names of mythical beasts, and Conrad shook his head in disgust to end the harangue.

  “Will you speak sense, man? What disease has afflicted you?” He had seen lepers before. Haeigwyn reminded him of them, and the man’s mind had clearly not borne the plight well.

  “Disease?” Haeigwyn tasted the word. “Maybe. But I would say curse, rather. I do not know what Karnc would call it... Why should such a beast have a name?”

  “What beast? Tell me what beast attacked you!”

  Haeigwyn’s chin fell against his chest, and for a moment, Sir Conrad thought the man had fallen asleep. But then his voice picked up again, though his eyes did not open. “We continued during the days, riding as swiftly as we could over the plains and into the Hills, stopping always before dusk so that we would have time to build our great fires. Yet the beasts always kept pace. They were ahead of us as well, already prowling the Hills. We found many signs of them. Carcasses of mountain lions rested upon the stones, eaten by things that had pulled out their entrails and left the flesh for the crows. What things in the Hills could slay a mountain lion? A cave bear, yes, but they do not hunt the cats and cannot catch them. No, we knew that the Hills were different now, with new creatures moving south in the night. Fire kept the things away. At least, the things without cunning.

  “We saw it first when we reached the Hills, a giant figure far behind us upon the heights, with great antlers like a crown on its head. It walked with a mighty staff, as if it were an old man and not a beast, and the sight of it made us fearful at once — for we knew that it saw us as well. It followed us. We could ride from dawn till nightfall, and yet every day, we would catch sight of the wanderer, closer now, gazing at us from a far cliff, a riverbank, a high crest of the Hills. Oh, we were more terrified of it than of any other beast we saw. Our stalker seemed gifted with intelligence and a cruel patience that had our hearts trembling. Ronne babbled and babbled that we would have to fight it. We had swords, aye, and bows. We would need to face this beast and slay it to escape. I talked much the same, though neither of us dared to wait for it.

  “It followed us day and night, so we continued our flight, knowing that it would sooner or later be upon us. Perhaps we allowed ourselves some hope of reaching Cawarath before the thing could catch us. Perhaps that was to Karnc’s amusement. It always let us spot it at some hour of the day or in the evening, as if to taunt us with its progress. Every time, we despaired, for every time we caught sight of that hideous creature, it was closer. We knew that it meant our doom.

  “There was no peace in the nights, no respite even in sleep, for it would enter our dreams and make us tremble under its gaze even there. Ronne said that perhaps if we did not make fire, it would lose us, and we could escape. But how could we do that with the new beasts that had come? If I had been allowed to make the decision again, I would have chosen to sleep in the darkness and in the cold and welcome them all.

  “Hope was kindled, though, as one day came in which we did not see our stalker. Perhaps it had tired, we thought, though we dared not yet rejoice. Another day followed without a sign of the beast. And then a third. I cannot express the relief we felt when we slowly realized that we had escaped it. The last day of our journey saw us close to the Martyr’s Passage and the safety that would be offered beyond it.

  “We were riding below the cliffs with laughter between us, for we could hold it back no longer. But then it appeared in our way. It was such a grisly sight...” Haeigwyn shook in his chair. “A moose with a strange, vulturous air, clad in the skins of all creatures, decorated with bones and feathers and skulls like a parody of the barbarians that we had sought. Our horses shied away at once — tried to run — but the beast raised a long, clawed hand and made them still by some sorcery. We could not escape. Ronne was clever enough to draw his sword, I remember.”

  The man laughed bitterly. “I was quite terrified, though, quite terrified, and I sat frozen while my friend spurred his reluctant horse on and charged the creature. It was a brave show, yet the creature was a giant, and Ronne must have known how he was doomed. The beast plucked him out of the saddle so easily, and squeezed him in its grip so that he dropped his sword, screaming while the horse fled.”

  Conrad tensed, waiting for what Haeigwyn would say next. When the man did continue speaking, his tone had grown vacant. “I watched as it ate him. Flesh was torn by teeth that no moose should have. I watched, for I could not turn away, and my horse seemed in thrall to the creature. Ronne screamed shrilly, not the way he’d wanted to scream. Not the way he’d wanted to die. I did not scream at all.”

  He began to chuckle again, as if he had no strength left to weep. “How terrified I was! Yet I sat in the saddle while my friend screamed and screamed and died. I don’t know how much time passed before the creature turned its black eyes to me, dropping what bloody pieces remained of Ronne on the ground.

  “The beast walked up to me, and the horse did not mind its presence. She grazed on some tufts of grass while the monster loomed over us. I think that Karnc smiled. Its teeth were pointed needles, red with blood now. They dripped when it spoke, yes, its voice a deep, braying thunder that carried its rotten breath to me. It mocked me for my cowardice, yet even as it did so, all my thoughts were saying, ‘It speaks, you can beg for mercy! Beg for mercy!’ And I did, stuttering some choked pleas, praying ‘Let me live!’” Haeigwyn made a parody of his own words, squealing them in a high pitch that soon broke. “I should have drawn my sword, but the thought never entered my head. The beast laughed at me, toying with my fears by hinting at perhaps sparing my life — when it did not complain of hunger. Oh, yes, it was hungry.

  It introduced itself as Karnc, and then it revealed that it had a purpose for me. It would send me not through the Martyr’s Passage but instead after an old man who had ridden south through the Hills. It wished to know what he did. Of course, I agreed.” Haeigwyn gave a shrug and a laugh. “I would ride to Richard’s Defense again and be safe, never again needing to lay eyes upon that hideous creature. But Karnc was more cunning and cruel than I had thought. A little scratch, a little blood mingled, yes. It almost clawed my chest out, and it dripped its black blood into my wound, causing me to scream with a pain I cannot forget. Karnc knows many dark secrets. I didn’t understand how old he was. So old...”

  The man looked up. “I rode day and night then. And I still saw beasts from time to time, though none of them would attack me anymore. They feared me. By the time I arrived at the city, Karnc had nearly killed me. Do you think I followed the old man? I did not! Instead, I sit here and rot, and Karnc can look out over the Hills until I have wasted away.” Haeigwyn sniggered and turned to look out the window. “Do you know what I’d do if I met it again? I’d draw my sword. I’d draw my sword and gut the beast, Conrad. Oh, such sweet dreams... Why must dreams always be so distant? Why do only the nightmares become real?”

  Conrad did not answer his question. He stood silent, almost anticipating it when the sickly man’s eyes turned to him again. “The nightmare will become real for all of us soon, Conrad. The beasts in the Hills...perhaps they shall come into the Harp and farther. But why did they start to move, though? You could ask Karnc that. It knows Wythrax, yes, and it knows what happened. I think it knows why the world is dying. It truly wanted me to follow the old man.” Haeigwyn cackled again. “How cross it is with me! The black blood burns in my veins. The physicians think I’ll die in a day or two, but what do they know? The world is dying, so maybe I’ll rot forever.”

  “Truly?” Conrad asked, trying to remain unperturbed in the face of such a wretched condition. “And what disease do the physici
ans say that you have?”

  “What does it matter!?” Haeigwyn snapped, spittle flying from his mouth. Conrad took a step back to avoid it. “They are fools who come with ointments and salves, as if they could remove the beast’s taint!” The cackle was full of bitter loathing now. “Nothing will do that. And yet, why should this be your concern? You ask because you do not wish to believe what I tell you. You ask because you have come to fear.” The man’s smile was as comforting as a viper. “You fear your passage through the Hills.”

  Conrad held his breath, his pulse beating quickly. “What?”

  “Who told me, you ask now. Was it Sir Wilfrey? Was it someone at The Green Gown? Why would they tell this wretched creature anything at all? Oh, I can assure you, Conrad, I am left quite to myself these days.” Conrad tried to order his thoughts, but Haeigwyn was ruthlessly overthrowing his efforts. “When you walk out of this room, you will soon conclude that I was tricking you, for the possibility is there so long as too many inquiries are not made. You are a sensible man, Conrad, and your mind shall know my words for madness. Yet your heart shall be filled with fear and uncertainty as you embark upon your journey, and then you will reluctantly come to consider what I have told you — until your resolve against these ‘delusions’ is brought to pieces. The beasts are terrifying, Conrad, but before you leave and do what you have to do, you should realize your greatest concern.” There was a brief pause, followed by that sinister smile. “Now Karnc knows that you will be coming.”

  The man’s cackles followed Conrad out of the room until he shut the door to muffle the sound.

  He had come to see his friend, but he had not found him. Still, Haeigwyn was only part of the reason that Conrad was here, and he prided himself at having sought him out first. Now he needed to go to the rookery.

  It was strange how he felt when he left the Watchtower in order to find another, squatter tower with a broad balcony in the same courtyard. He felt almost as if he had to sneak about his business, as if Sacrifice no longer held any welcome for him. Times do change, and often, they darken. He was pleased, however, to find that it was still old Voldonn who cared for the pigeons.