by William King
“I don’t know. But I think you and Sardec are.”
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, knowing what she was going to say before she said it. “The Inquisition have been asking about you.”
“They picked you up?”
She nodded. “Back in Halim not long after I spoke to you. They dragged me off to the Palace. Threw me into a cell. Held me there overnight.”
“Then they asked you questions.” He suppressed a cold laugh. The thief-takers back in Sorrow worked in exactly the same way sometimes- picked you up and then left you to stew in a dank cell with no knowledge of why you had been lifted or what they knew about your activities.
She nodded again. Tears ran down her face. The memory had shaken her. “They asked how I knew you and how I knew him.”
“You told them?”
“I told them about Mama Horne’s.”
“What else did you tell them? What else did they ask you?”
“They asked about hill-men.”
“Did they give you any clue why?”
“There had been some murders. One of them was a scout who led the Foragers into the hills to find the Prophet Zarahel.”
“Vosh?”
“That was his name.”
“What did they want to know?”
“Whether either of you had ever talked about him. What happened to him in the end. It seems you were seen talking to him the night he died.”
Rik shuddered. So they knew that, did they?
“I had nothing to do with his death,” he said, hoping the lie was not evident in his voice. He had not killed the little hill-man but he had no doubt that the death was related to his knowledge of the grimoire he and the Weasel and the Barbarian had taken from the corpse of the Prophet’s tame wizard. If the Inquisition knew about that, it might be burning for sure.
“I never thought you did,” she said. “I told them that. They kept asking any way. They were very persistent. They said that a Terrarch Magister had died on that expedition, and that it was a serious business.”
It got worse, Rik thought. The Inquisition took the deaths of Terrarchs very seriously, particularly magicians. He had thought the regiment had managed to cover the matter up but it looked like he was wrong, and the thing was going to come back to haunt them.
“What else?”
“They asked me whether Sardec and I lived together. They talked about the miscegenation laws. They told me it was a serious matter for both of us. Were they telling the truth?”
“I’ve not heard of anyone being prosecuted under those laws for years but they are still on the books. No doubt the Inquisition find them useful when they want to put pressure on folks. What did you tell them?”
“The truth-- what else could I do? They knew so much already, I could not risk lying to them. I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. Do you think I’ve got Sardec into trouble?”
Rik considered the matter. He was no great expert on the politics of the Terrarchs but he had more experience of them than any other human Rena was likely to know. “I doubt it. He’s from an old and powerful family. His sort can look out for themselves.”
“They said his family would disown him if they found out about us. There would be a scandal. He could lose his commission then what?”
Anger twisted its knife in Rik’s stomach. He hated this. He hated the way their rulers felt no compunction on putting pressure on those who could least defend themselves. They stacked the odds against humans worse than Weasel stacked the cards playing hookjack and then accused the humans of cheating when it suited them.
“Half the officers in the army have human mistresses. If they cashiered all of them they would have to promote humans to lead. How likely do you think that is? They could not afford to do anything to upset the officer corps, not now, not with a war on.”
She looked suddenly hopeful. “You really think so?”
He was in no way certain. Maybe busting one officer would merely make the others more circumspect, but he felt the need to reassure her, and himself too. He did not like feeling like he was at the sharp edge of the Inquisition’s investigations.
“What should I do?” she asked.
Rik thought about it for a moment. There had been a time when he had hated Sardec with a passion and here was an opportunity to drop him into the mire. All he had to do was tell Rena to walk away or maybe come up with some other way to use this information. He considered the thought only briefly and then dismissed it. Once he might have jumped at the chance to do the dirty to Sardec and Rena but he found his hatred had faded, and that he disliked the Inquisition more than ever he had them.
“Maybe you should go and talk to Sardec. Tell him what’s happening. He might be able to use his family’s influence to protect you both.”
“Why would he do that? I am a human. He is a Terrarch.”
“Because it’s in his best interests to do so. It would avoid a scandal for him and his family.”
“Oh,” she said. She looked disappointed as if she had been expecting a different answer to the question entirely. “Do you really think I should do that? Do you really think he would want to speak to me? He was very cruel the last time we talked.”
“He’ll see you if you let him know what it’s all about. He would be mad not to do so.”
Another thought occurred to him. If Rena caused problems for Sardec and his family one easy solution would be to have her disappear permanently. He did not think Sardec would do that, but he was a Terrarch and who knew what they were capable of when their interests were threatened. And even if he meant Rena no harm, his family might use their influence in a way that did her no good whatsoever. Terrarchs were not famous for their regard for human life.
He weighed the possibilities in his mind and found no easy answer. The likes of Joran were capable of using her as a lever to get what they wanted, and that included pulling down Asea and himself. There was no certainty that Sardec and his family would do Rena harm. As far as he could tell, going to Sardec was the best thing for her to do.
He prayed he was not wrong.
“Can I speak with you, Lieutenant?” Sardec looked up from cleaning his sword at the sound of that familiar voice. It was not one he had ever expected to hear again.
“Of course you can, Rena,” he said, studying her closely. She looked pale and haggard and very lovely in the shadows and the firelight. There was a nervousness in her manner that made him feel ashamed. He wanted to tell her how glad he was to see her, but there were soldiers around and other Terrarchs and it would not have been dignified. “What do you have to say?” he could not keep a sullen note out of voice no matter how hard he tried to.
“Could we perhaps speak somewhere more private?” He sighed and picked himself up from the blanket on which he sat. He slid his sword back into his scabbard, and picked up his greatcoat. He draped it over her shoulders. It was surprisingly cold for the time of year and she was not well dressed for the weather.
“Walk with me,” he said, taking her gently by the elbow and moving slowly away from the fire. Rena’s face looked a little flushed. And she said nothing for some time. He waited, not quite sure what to say and unwilling to make a fool out of himself by speaking first.
“All of this frightens me,” she said at last.
“That is understandable. There is dark magic here. The dead walk. Plague stalks the land.”
She shivered. “That is not what I wanted to talk to you about?”
“I guessed as much. Take your time and tell me what is on your mind.”
“The Inquisition were asking about you, and about me, about us, really,” she said at last. Sardec did not know whether to laugh or be angry. She looked so serious. He did not know why he was surprised. It was the sort of thing the Inquisition was always interested in. Thinking about some of the things he had seen in the past year, it was a wonder that they did not have anything better to do. When he did not reply immediately she continued, “They said it wa
s a crime against nature, us being together -- against the natural order of things.”
“They would say that,” he said gently. “It’s the sort of thinking they are famous for.”
“They must be right. They are from the Church. They must know more about the will of God then we do.”
There had been a time not so long ago when he would have agreed with her. These days he had his doubts. What had happened between them could not be wrong but he supposed that, being a sinner, an Inquisitor would say he was in no position to make such a judgement. “I disagree.”
“Then that makes you a heretic and your soul is in danger.”
“Is that what Inquisitor Joran told you?”
“How did you know it was him?”
“I guessed. The Inquisitor seems to have his own reasons for sniffing around us.”
“You should not speak of him that way. He is a powerful Terrarch. He could do you harm.”
Sardec kept his voice gentle. “If that were his intention he would have done so already. I fear he has other reasons for going about this business, Rena. He is after bigger fish than you or I.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think he seeks to put pressure on me through you, and then he intends to use me against the Lady Asea.”
“You mean I am doing what he wants by coming to you?”
“It does not matter. You have done the right thing by telling me. And I am glad to see you, Rena.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. I could die in battle soon and I am glad to have a chance to see you tonight.”
She took his hands in her own. “You should not talk that way.”
“I am not planning on getting myself killed but accidents have been known to happen in combat.”
“You should not make jokes about it either.”
“I am just trying to lighten the mood. You look worried and I do not wish to see you so.”
“I do not want you to die.”
“That’s good because I do not wish to die either. We agree on something at least. We have not managed to do that very often of late.”
“I am sorry about that but you were so cold when we last spoke.”
“I know and I am sorry. I have been a fool. I always seem to be around you. I do not know why, but that is the way it is.”
“Do not be cold tonight,” she said. “I do not want that. I could not bear it if that were my last memory of you.”
Before he quite knew what was happening, she was in his arms, and he was kissing her.
Chapter Sixteen
The world scrolled by beneath Tamara, fields and forests visible through gaps in the clouds. The dragon’s monstrous wings slashed the air, impelling it forward with every stroke. The wind rushing past and the rise and fall of the great beast on every beat gave her a sense of motion. At this height, it was difficult to gain any sense of the distance covered from the movement of landmarks.
The chill bit into her bones. Fatigue threatened to overwhelm her. She took another chew of witchweed, and the drug trickled energy into her bones. Instinctively she glanced over her shoulder but she was alone in the sky save for the clouds and the sun. There were no signs of pursuit.
Surely she must have outdistanced it by now. She had passed over the Kharadrean border long ago and had taken a weaving flight path to confuse any dragon-riders that might have been after her. She could not rule out the possibility that the Brotherhood might have tracked Ironfang using scrying spells but still she doubted they could overhaul her now. Ironfang was a powerful ancient dragon and there were few in the world now to match him for speed and endurance.
She reached down and stroked his scaly neck lovingly. He could not feel the physical caress but the mental one would reach him through the link they shared. He responded in kind, sending her a wave of encouragement. His happiness at being airborne illuminated her mind like sunlight.
For a moment exultation touched her. She felt like a goddess and not even the knowledge she bore could bring her down. Beneath the dragon’s excitement she sensed hunger and the beginnings of fatigue and that brought her back to reality.
Below her a massive army marched, the formations so slow and strangely organised that she decided to get a closer look, even if it meant risking being shot at from the ground.
Down, she told Ironfang.
The dragon altered the flexion of its wings, and swooped lower. The earth seemed to rise to meet them. She had a sudden dizzying attack of vertigo as it came closer with fantastic speed. Beneath her an army stretched to the horizon. Massive wyrms towed huge gun carriages. Squadrons of cavalry raised clouds of dust. Regiments of purple clad soldiers marched in ordered ranks. Noticing the direction she had come from, and assuming she was friendly, they sent up a ragged cheer.
She was so low now that she could make out individuals. She waved to them as they blurred past. A few of the Terrarch officers waved back. They most likely assumed she was a scout or a courier. She nudged Ironfang in the direction of the things that had first drawn her interest.
What she saw staggered her.
Massive crowds of undead creatures marched in ragged rows to the beat of a dismal drum, rotten flesh hung from their bones, their corrupt stink rising to assault even the heavens. Dead eyes traced her path across the skies. There were thousands and thousands of them, and more streamed to join them from every direction. Something about the beat of those drums attracted them. As far as she could tell they were not armed, and they wore no uniforms, but they would not have to. The walking dead could tear a man apart with their bare hands and feast on his flesh.
She reined back and Ironfang began to climb, far slower than he had made his descent. She sensed the great dragon’s confusion and the instinctive revulsion he felt to the unnatural creatures below them. His emotions amplified her own.
The Brotherhood was gathering an army of the dead to invade the West by the power of its magic. The sheer scale of it was staggering and she knew that the size of the horde would grow with every battle. Even those who the plague did not kill would carry its spores in their blood and if they died would rise again. Spells of domination compelled them to flock to the Sardean banner. The longer the war went on the more unstoppable that army would become. The things she had seen were just the first small stones in an avalanche of undead flesh that would eventually overwhelm the world.
Not for the first time since she had set out did she wonder if she was wise to flee to her father’s ancient enemies. It was entirely possible that the West would fall beneath the power that Xephan had unleashed. There might be no escape there. Maybe the smartest thing she could do would be fly Ironfang to the uttermost West of the Ascalean continent and take ship across the Western Ocean. The chances were that it would not save her. In the end, if the Brotherhood won, they would conquer the entire world and there would be no escape from their grasp.
That was the curse of being a Terrarch, she thought sourly. If you lived long enough things caught up with you, and the chances were that she would have a long life.
Something of her anger touched the dragon and he screamed with a sound like a huge blade dragged down a giant shield. She did not want to run. She wanted to fight. She began slow breathing exercises to calm herself. One of the disadvantages of riding a dragon was that emotional feedback occurred. Her anger would stoke the dragons and its increased rage would feed back into her, forging a cycle of wrath that might eventually drive her berserk if she did not control it.
She urged her mount on, knowing that she would have to find a place beyond the reach of the Army of the Dead’s scouts if she was escape the clutches of the Brotherhood. Somewhere up ahead must be the army of the West.
Tamara circled over the Talorean army. There was no doubt it was them. They were heading East, the red dragon banner fluttered above many units though there were far fewer of them than there were Sardeans to the East. The trick was going to be reaching the army’s commanders without getting herself kille
d. Even bringing the dragon down to within hailing distance risked being peppered with fire by the Talorean Skywatchers.
Was she doing the right thing? She might get herself killed down there. There was a war on, and many would suspect her of being a spy. Their suspicions would be more than justified by the fact that until recently, that was exactly what she had been.
It would be easier to set down out of sight and join the army by stealth but that would mean abandoning Ironfang to his own devices and that she was reluctant to do. Without a rider, he might easily go rogue and in the coming struggle a full grown war-dragon was far too potent a weapon to lose. Besides that she had become fond of the old monster. A bond had been forged between them in more than the magical sense. They had shared fears and thoughts and emotions. He was her last link to her old life, and she was reluctant to give him up.
She continued to circle certain that someone down there had noticed her. She needed to come to a decision soon. It would not be long before a flight of dragons was sent to intercept her. She was not sure she wanted to face a trained dragonrider and his long-time mount, let alone a whole squadron of them. Even a beast as powerful as Ironfang would be torn from the skies by lesser dragons in sufficient numbers.
A plan formed in her mind. No time like the present, she thought, and ordered her mount down to land. She aimed for a point well to the fore of the oncoming army and prayed that no one would do anything stupid before they found out who she was.
Ironfang settled on the ground atop a small hillock, giving her a fine view of the oncoming army. An onrushing cloud of dust told her that she had been spotted, and that scout’s were coming to meet her. She forced herself to remain calm as they approached, removing her helmet and goggles so that they might see her face.
The Talorean scouts stopped at hailing distance. They were dragoons. A group of them dismounted and raised their carbines to cover her. Ironfang arched his neck and hissed a warning. Tamara had a dreadful sense that it was all about to go terribly wrong.
