A four-strong patrol, two knights and two Hunters Children, passed him heading the other way, all of them bowing heads in respect. Annoyed but resigned, Bardow acknowledged them with a benign nod and murmured a blessing lifted from a dusty liturgy he had unearthed from the Keep library just before the hasty departure from Sejeend. As the men resumed their patrol, Bardow sighed and was about to continue along the ridge when a voice spoke from the shadows.
"Paternal benevolence suits you, ser Bardow. Have you ever considered fatherhood?"
It was Kodel, leaning against a spiraleaf tree, his arms crossed. Split seed cases from the tree's last monthly outbudding still littered the surrounding grass and as Bardow approached he could detect a trace of the sweet odour which they exuded.
"Mages rarely marry," he said. "Most women, through misconception and market rumour, believe us to be menacing or cold, or merely not quite human. And women who become mages...well, they have usually suffered in some way and seldom make agreeable companions."
"And those men who pursue the path of magecraft?"
Bardow smiled. "Eccentrics and misfits, for the most part, wedded to their solitude with unshakeable fidelity." He looked down at the town. "Except for those burdened with responsibility."
Kodel's gaze remained on the Archmage. "Has there been any progress in your bargainings?"
"Indeed, yes. The town fathers have agreed to hand over half of your boats and all the crews - "
"Half?" Anger glittered in Kodel's eyes.
Bardow shrugged. "There are claims that these vessels were stolen from Adranoth by those acting on your orders. But the Lord Commander and my colleague Medwin are still down at the guildhall trying to resolve these details."
Kodel's expression darkened. "They lie. It was only a handful of boats which my people seized, boats which the Mogaun were using to patrol this part of the coast. It seems to me that the point of a sword could swiftly settle such sham details."
Bardow regarded him thoughtfully. The twisting course of this man's moods were a constant source of fascination - he could by turns be considerate, witty, impassive, or brutal. The announcement back in Sejeend that his agents in Roharka had a flotilla of boats hidden at a small island and ready to use in the assault on Besh-Darok earned him new respect from many of Mazaret's officers. Also, his shrewd, even-handed tutelage of the young Tauric allayed much of the suspicion harboured by those older hands who had grown up believing the Hunters Children to be no more than dangerous fanatics. Against this was the undisguised savagery which occasionally leapt into view, sometimes without warning. Rumours persisted about cruelties perpetrated during the revolt in Oumetra, and more than one eyewitness told how Kodel, in a fit of berzerk rage, had hacked the arms from the corpse of Crolas, the mercenary chief.
Yet there was no doubting his commitment to their cause. It was just that at times, like now, he seemed more like a force of nature than an ordinary man.
"The point of a sword would leave an enemy at our backs," Bardow said. "Do not forget, it has been only days since the townsfolk freed themselves from the local Mogaun chief, thus there is an issue of pride at stake. In any case, they know we have an army up here, so it is a matter of patience and prudence."
"It is also a matter of time, which is growing shorter by the hour," Kodel said, his gaze full of unwavering intensity. "We must embark and sail for Besh-Darok very soon, ser Bardow. I have just had word from our agents there that the remainder of Yasgur's army has left the city. Except for the city militia and some foot-soldiers, Besh-Darok is almost undefended."
Bardow's heart leapt. "That's splendid news..."
"Yes, it would be so were it not that the departing army has turned south and is marching straight for Sejeend."
For a moment Bardow was speechless as the sudden elation died, leaving an awful hollowness. "When did you learn of this?" he said.
"In the last hour. One of my scouts is already on his way back to Sejeend with a message for the town's council, warning them to prepare."
"That army must number in the thousands," Bardow said, appalled. "They cannot possibly withstand it."
Kodel nodded sombrely. "Their only true hope is for us to reach Besh-Darok and take control of it. Nothing else would force Yasgur's host to turn back."
"You were right - time is against us." Bardow let his gaze drift out to the distant, dark sea, and shivered. "I must mindspeak with Medwin and appraise him of these developments."
Kodel pushed away from the tree, took a pair of long riders gauntlets from his waist and pulled them on. "Be sure to stress the urgency of the situation. You might also care to mention my own lack of patience." He gave a sharp nod. "Till later."
Bardow watched him walk away and down the other side of the ridge, down to where the bulk of the army was encamped. How joyless he seems, he thought. And how thoroughly in tune with these grim days.
Putting aside such reflections, he sat at the foot of the spiraleaf tree with the sweet tang of its seeds all around him, and with eyes closed let his thoughts settle. It took little time and effort to find Medwin, gain his attention and pass on Kodel's revelations.
(Events harry us like dogs after prey) was Medwin's dismayed response. (While these quibblers pick apart our every utterance then pick apart the words themselves. I almost feel that they are daring us to move against them)
They fear that we shall be defeated, Bardow said. You must convince them otherwise.
(I would sooner persuade rivers to flow uphill...ah, we must speak later - food is being brought to the table, heroic amounts of it...)
How is Mazaret bearing up?
(The honourable Lord Commander provides a plausible counterpoint of menace to my own very reasonable and affable approach. Sadly, it is not as effective as we would wish. Could you not postpone this meeting of yours and rejoin us?)
I must speak with our new colleagues, Bardow said. They are here out of their own volition, and if I do not greet them they may decide to go their own way. We cannot afford to lose such a group of mages.
(I understand)
I am sure there is a way to overcome our hosts' reluctance, Bardow said thoughtfully. If they will not be persuaded, perhaps they may be seduced.
(Perhaps...)
Medwin's presence faded, leaving Bardow poised between waking and the Void. Medwin was right - they were caught between pursuing their own strategy and reacting to the stratagems of others. They needed an advantage, like the Crystal Eye, but since his last search for Suviel, when he found her captured by Byrnak's mirrorchild, he had been unable to discover her whereabouts. She could be dead, he knew, or in thrall to the mirrorchild or worse. But he would have to try again. He had to know the truth.
Bardow was rested and recovered from the arduous struggles at Sejeend, and able to form the Spiritwing thought-canto in moments. He had only just pictured Suviel in his mind when the Spiritwing swept him off into the Void, down into the thronging nothingness, down through vasty heights and soaring depths. An endless dissolving dream, endless, deathless, timeless.
And yet there was direction in the Spiritwing's progress, a path which drew him onward to a place where the walls of the Void thinned to a veil. Through it he saw a dim passageway, its smooth walls of stone bearing long bands of carvings whose hauntingly familiar intricacies were lost in the poor light. Two forms lay on the floor, one curled up to one side, the other sitting against the wall, head fallen forward as if in sleep. But even as Bardow was taking in the details of the scene, the seated figure came awake, head snapping up in sudden alarm, lips moving, hands forming a gesture of warding.
"No, wait!" he said.
Suviel Hantika froze in mid-invocation, a fearful suspicion visible in her features despite the gloom. But that waned as she got to her feet and edged a little closer, caution shading into relief, mouth adopting a weary smile.
"Bardow," she whispered. "I thought I would never see you again."
"I've been trying to reach you, but you ha
ve been invisible to my every sense," he said. "And with no word from you, we have been fearing the worst."
She shrugged tiredly. "The power of others kept me from doing so, first as the mirrorchild Nerek's prisoner and now here in the Acolytes' domain."
Realisation struck quickly along with long-buried memories. "You're in Trevada, in one of the meditation galleries! Why, you can look across at the High Basilica from the inner balconies - "
But she was shaking her head. "Most of the balconies are gone, and the galleries...well, there are few stretches as whole as this one. The rest are shattered rock, laid open to the elements, or have become the lairs of monsters." She shuddered visibly. "It's only by chance that we've progressed this far without being taken prisoner."
"So who is your companion?"
Suviel sighed. "It is Nerek, Byrnak's creation." And Bardow listened to her tell of how Nerek put a fire guardian over her before they arrived at the gates of Trevada, how they encountered first Babrel, an old servant of the academies, then a group of escaped children, two of whom possessed powers sufficient to overwhelm Nerek and cast her into a torment of the mind. The Acolytes were already hunting for the children, and Suviel and the deranged Nerek had been lucky to evade capture.
"The children was all so scared of being caught again," Suviel said. "According to Babrel, they would say nothing of their experiences, except for some mention of being locked in iron caskets covered in symbols."
"Strange," Bardow said, masking a dread suspicion. "Is that all?"
"No. When Nerek confronted the two boys, she told them she could see what shared their souls, and when they spoke I felt another voice speaking with them." She rubbed her eyes wearily. "I've never heard of such vile things being done to children, Bardow. Have you?"
"I'm not sure. I would have to consult the archives back in Krusivel." But that would be only to confirm details of a horror I am already certain of. Suviel cannot be burdened with such knowledge just now.
"If you're not at Krusivel, where are you?" Suviel said, peering closer. "Is that open sea behind you?"
"On a ridge overlooking Adranoth," Bardow said, and briefly related the highlights of all that had transpired since Suviel left Krusivel - the rebellion in Oumetra, the appearance of a direct descendant of Coulabric Tor-Caverill, the siege and capture of Sejeend, the abduction of Coulabric's heir by a Mogaun shaman, and the fateful decision to attack Besh-Darok by sea.
Suviel looked shaken by this last piece of information. "But how could we succeed against Yasgur and his army? And why go there in the first place?"
"I once read an old treatise on warfare which said that one should move quickly in unexpected directions and attack places the enemy cannot protect."
"Well, both you and I are certainly doing just that," Suviel said, sardonically. "Although the reasons for my course of action appear the more rational of the two."
"There are reasons...which I dare not speak of for now, but they are compelling, and they made it difficult for us to choose any other strategy." He paused. "But speaking of reasons, you have not yet explained why you are keeping Nerek with you."
"I thought she might be of some use," Suviel said, glancing down at the sleeping form, but Bardow saw pity soften her features.
"Is she not likely to put you in danger?"
Still watching her companion, she said, "And what of using Spiritwing to speak to me here - is that not perilous?" Then she turned, eyes tearful. "My apologies, master, I - "
"No, you are right." He felt stung by self-recrimination. "I must end this now."
"How is Ikarno?" she said abruptly. "Does he speak of me?"
"Not aloud," he said. "But he is well."
She nodded, relaxing a little. "Thoughts of him have kept my spirit warm when the nights were darkest. I will see him again, when I return with the Eye, I promise."
"Do what you can, daughter. Our thoughts are with you. Farewell."
And before she could say more, he released his mental hold on the Spiritwing canto. All its elements drifted apart in his mind, and the dim passageway faded from sight as his awareness toppled backwards through oceans of shadow, skies veiled in glittering black, deserts paved with snatching thorns...
He breathed in sharply, and blinked. All the night's smells, sounds and appearances came at him in a single leap. The tree against his back, the wet grass his hand lay upon, the sweetness of cracked seedcases, the darkness and a light sea-breeze, tang of salt...
Shouts came from nearby, a general hubbub of voices along with the creak of wagons. For an instant, Bardow thought the camp was under attack then he noticed one of Mazaret's commanders, Yarram, hurrying along the ridge towards the gully path. Bardow called out to him while struggling to his feet.
"Ser Bardow," the knight said as he approached. "Have you taken ill?"
"I appreciate your concern, captain, but I am in good health. I have just woken from a doze to all this activity - what is happening?"
"The tents are being struck, ser. Word has come that Adranoth's leaders have released all the boats and their crews, and even offered help with provisioning."
Yarram looked as openly bemused as Bardow felt. "What caused such a change of heart?"
Yarram rubbed his chin. "I do not know for certain, but it is said that half way through a feast earlier, the mage Medwin played a harp and sang a song of such surpassing valour and defiance that the town fathers were shamed into giving up their claims. Whatever the truth, we were ordered to break camp a short while ago.
"Now, ser, if you will pardon my haste, I must attend to my troops and mounts."
"By all means."
He gave a slight bow and as he left, Bardow allowed himself a wry grin. Medwin the bard - who would have thought that he harboured such a talent?
Then he remembered the volunteer mages he was supposed to have met by now, and with a sigh hurried along the ridge path. How much calming and flattery and persuasion will this take? he wondered morosely.
Then he laughed. Maybe I could sing them a song....
Chapter Twenty-Five
Where the air is black,
Where frost burns and fire freezes,
Where the walls are cracked by screams,
Where hate drips from fang and talon.
—The Lair Of Monsters, 2, iv, Trad.
"Who am I?"
Suviel struggled with Nerek's weight as the woman's legs buckled. Keeping her own panic under control, she half-carried Nerek over to the wall and eased her down into a sitting position.
"Please tell me - who am I?...."
In the engulfing gloom of the gallery Suviel could not quite see her companion's face but she knew that those features were twisting and altering. She had witnessed several of these transitions, where the two personas inhabiting the body fought to gain the upper hand, and she was almost thankful for the darkness.
Since speaking with Bardow a hour or two ago, the possibility of capture had haunted her, causing her to stay on the move, searching for a way through these ruined galleries. From memory she knew that some passages led to other collegiates and seminaries, such as the Cloister of Songs (being a school of History) or the Forge (a hall of debating), and then directly into the High Basilica itself.
All I have to do is get through this maze without being trapped by the Acolytes or their servants, without even attracting their attention, then slip into the Basilica and unnoticed spirit the Eye away.
Ah yes, and keep Nerek safely with me.
She rubbed her tired eyes. It was a mad, hopeless strategy but it was better than having no strategy at all.
She waited only a few more minutes before coaxing Nerek up on her feet again. The woman made weak noises of protest but allowed herself to be led away along a cold, high-walled corridor whose ceiling had been supported by slender columns, several of which lay toppled. The spectral radiance of the starry night slipped in through holes in the ceiling, serving to reveal the outlines of great carven faces on the
walls, whose eyes were closed in tranquil smiles.
Presently, the corridor began to descend in a series of broad, shallow steps and Suviel knew that they would soon be near the entrance to the Forge. Thus far they had encountered no enemies and detected no evidence of anyone abroad in these broken galleries. Suviel had, however, sensed something in the air, a faint bitterness like refined minerals, the kind that Bardow occasionally employed in his spells. Perhaps it was just the smell of wrecked masonry and the old dust they were disturbing as they trudged along.
Roughly a dozen paces short of the foot of the steps was a place where part of the wall had either collapsed outwards or been torn away, leaving a tall, jagged gap which gave a breathtaking view of the lands west of Trevada. By night, the dense forests of Anghatan were a black cloak stretching north and south, and westward as far as the Druandag mountains. In the impenetrable darkness beyond was, she knew, the great inland sea of Birrdaelin, and beyond that the hilly domains of Jefren.
Sadness born of longing for what was past welled up in her. How beautiful it looked under the stars. She could not help recalling sweeter, happier times, summers spent in Jefren with her friends, Pelorn and Cavaxes, exploring ancient Nightbear tunnels in the southern hills, and paying respectful visits to the more hospitable of the witchhorse tribes.
Now brigands and bands of Mogaun roamed the hills and the witchhorses were no more, wiped out to the last by order of the Acolytes.
"I hate this place - why did you bring me here?"
At the sound of that petulant voice, Suviel's heart sank. It was Falin who had won out.
"To keep you from harm," she said turning away from the gap. Her companion stood by the opposite wall, head bowed, one hand pressed to the stomach as if in discomfort, the other raised to the face.
"It is you they would harm," was the reply in a voice growing louder. "I am faithful to my master, who is also their master!"
Shadowkings Page 31
