by Jen Williams
‘They took Ristanov.’ He did his best not to make it sound like a question, but it was so hard to concentrate. On the edge of his hearing, he could hear the murmur of a great many people in a high-ceilinged room. A man was speaking there, and his voice pierced his heart.
‘Yes, sir. Devinia the Red and the old medic, they took the captain with them when they fled.’ She bit her lower lip, and glanced at the Dawning Man where it stood motionless on the shore. It was late evening, and the thing was a great black monolith traced in the light from their campfires. ‘Sir, we should go back. Take what we can salvage and make our way to the Poison Chalice. This place has been nothing but poison for all of us.’ She was looking at him closely now, and she was unable to hide her expression of horrified disgust. ‘Maybe if we get away from Euriale, there’s a chance we could heal.’
Kellan cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on her face, to try and see her clearly. There were tendrils of the red infection at her throat.
‘And see everything we’ve fought for, lost?’ Kellan smiled, feeling the skin on his face twitch and stretch under the weight of the fibrous red growths. ‘We are so close to glory. Can’t you see it? Can’t you feel it?’
‘Kellan, you fool, we’re losing people all the time.’ She bared her teeth at him, a genuine flash of anger, and then with another glance at the Dawning Man, got herself back under control. ‘Not just from the disease. People are running away. They’d rather take their chances in this cursed jungle than … It’s all falling apart. You have to give this up now.’
‘Give it up? Just let them go?’ For a moment, an image of Wydrin Threefellows floated in front of his eyes, and it briefly obliterated the whispering voices and even the terrible itch. ‘When that little bitch comes back, where will she go? Who will she go to first? Her bitch-mother, of course. And I intend to be there when she turns up, and then I will skin her alive, I will have the Dawning Man pull her arms from her shoulders, slowly, and she will see, you will all see—’
The voices came back in a rush. The pirate woman was watching him with wide eyes.
‘You’re thinking, I’m not your bloody captain.’ He leaned in close to her, taking a perverse satisfaction in how she pulled away. ‘You’re thinking, fuck the Banshee and her poxy, diseased treasure. Well, I might not be your captain, but I—’
He reached up and touched the tips of his fingers to the golden crown at his head, and his vision flooded with blood. When it cleared away, he was in a stone hall with a roof of clear, glittering glass. Lined up against either wall were ten of the Dawning Men, five on each side; all enormous, golden, and filled with ruby fire. He was sitting on a throne, the weight of the golden crown a burning presence against his forehead. There were people in the hall too, men and women in elaborate furs and robes, all clustered down the far end of the hall. It was their voices he had been hearing, chattering constantly. Now that he was closer, he could tell that they were afraid. This pleased him. He looked down at his hand and saw that it was a twisted, red thing. On the floor below the throne, a young woman knelt on a crimson carpet, her skin impossibly white against the blood-coloured fabric.
‘You don’t have to do this, Father,’ she was saying. Her face was an unblemished moon. ‘This can all end with you, here.’
In this strange hall of stone and glass, Kellan raised his withered red hand and watched with satisfaction as his daughter’s clear and unblemished cheek suddenly puckered and blistered red, tiny tendrils of the Red Waste spreading rapidly, clawing up her cheek to caress her lower eyelid. His daughter did not cry out or curse him, but her eyes filled with silent tears. Behind her, the cries of the nobles grew hoarser, more angry, and with a rumble, the Dawning Men began to move—
Abruptly, Kellan was back on the beach in the fading light, and the pirate woman was still peering at him in confusion. He took a breath, tearing his fingers away from the golden crown.
‘I am not your captain, but I am the Red King reborn!’ He spat at her, waving one hand at the Dawning Man in the shadows. ‘I will have the revenge that was promised to me, or I will crush every one of you.’ He gestured, and the Dawning Man took a ponderous step forward, sloshing water up the beach. ‘Gather what supplies you can carry, and follow me. We’re going after our escaped prisoners.’
65
Pink.
The light was pink, and it was familiar. It was that, more than anything, that drew him back. He had seen this light before, more than once, but the memory that stayed with him was of a dark night in his own forest, Wydrin watching him with open scepticism as he healed her arm. The magic then had been a force of its own, half leading him, half evading him. It had been the first time he had touched Wydrin’s face.
‘I think he’s coming round.’
‘It’s too soon. I haven’t finished.’
Frith tried to pull away from the voices. They weren’t the ones he wanted to hear, and one of them filled him with dread. He wondered where his brothers were. If he had slept in too late, it was normally Tristan who came to rouse him – if he was feeling kind, he would bring a freshly cooked pastry from the kitchen, and if he was feeling mischievous, he would slip a damp towel under the bedclothes. Frith would chase him out of the bed chamber, roaring his disapproval, and Tristan would scamper back down the steps whooping loud enough to wake the whole household.
‘Why is he smiling?’
‘Please, I’m concentrating. There is so much damage here.’
The light was brighter. Was it the sunset? Frith remembered the Secret Keeper’s room of glass, how it had been glowing with pink and orange light.
‘He’s bleeding freely again. I don’t know if I can do this.’
‘Be calm, Joah. Anyone else would have lost him by now. Just do what you can.’
There was pain, a dull ache in his chest that swiftly deepened into a burning agony. He was back in the Mages’ Lake, and they were torturing him, torturing him as Yellow-Eyed Rin had done. His brothers, his father, they were already dead. Memories came back in a sudden flood, pushed along by the pain, and he struggled to surface, panic tightening his throat. Where was Wydrin? Why wasn’t she with him? She had kissed him on the wooden platform of the Destroyer, he had seen her body twist away into the darkness below the Rivener, she had fallen from the griffin, the taste of her skin that first sweet time together in the tavern in the Riverlands – his memories were the shattered pieces of a glass, too confused and too sharp to put back together.
‘Oh, no. Hold him still! He will undo it all if he thrashes around like this.’
‘Keep working, I’ll do what I can.’
She was laughing and placing her chik-choks piece down on the board, she was pushing him back onto a feather bed, her skin like fresh cream against the tawny brown of his own, she was running into a fight, daggers in her hands and a grin on her face, she pushed him from the top of the Queen’s Tower, and they fell together.
‘Wydrin!’
‘Damn it, he’s awake. Quickly now, Joah.’
Pink light, and the stench of blood. Frith opened his eyes to see Selsye leaning over him, her hands on both his shoulders, holding him down. Joah Demonsworn was on the other side, the pink light spilling from his hands turning his face into a mask. They appeared to be in a tiny room lit with several oil lamps, and he was lying on a table. His clothes were stiff with dried blood, and his shirt had been cut away from his chest. As he watched, a long wound there sealed up, bathed in pink light. It left a livid purple mark.
‘That’s all I can do,’ said Joah. The pink light faded, and Frith could see how drained the young man looked. His face was damp with sweat. ‘It may not hold, even now.’
‘You did well, Joah, you really did.’ Selsye patted the young man’s shoulder and turned back to Frith. ‘Lord Frith, I cannot stress how important it is that you lie still for a moment. You will have a lot of questions, but the healing we have done here is very fresh and the wound you had was very serious. Please, just stay
where you are for a moment.’
Frith tried to sit up.
‘Where is Wydrin? What have you done with her?’
Selsye sighed and pushed him back down gently. ‘I don’t know why I expect anyone to listen to me, I really don’t. Wydrin is fine.’
‘But he killed her, he used, he used the Heart-Stone …’ shakily he lifted a finger to point at Joah, who had sat down heavily on a stool in the corner of the room. Frith squeezed his eyes shut. That wasn’t right. ‘I don’t – is she safe?’
‘She is about as safe as anyone can be,’ said Selsye dryly. ‘She’s in one of our most secure cells, and believe me she’s doing a lot better than you are at the moment. Here.’ Selsye leaned around him and pulled a wide swatch of clean white bandage across his chest. He shifted slightly, and for a moment an agony so complete washed over him that everything in the room grew dim again. When his vision cleared there was a thick bandage over the wound.
‘There,’ said Selsye. ‘Let’s hope your body can do the rest, Lord Frith. Joah and I have laboured for hours here, although Joah gave the most – he’s our most gifted healer, of course – and I don’t even want to talk about the state your back was in, I mean, did that woman even clean her sword?’
‘You used the healing spell on me?’ Every time he spoke there was a tugging sensation inside his chest. ‘Doesn’t that—?’
‘Have debilitating effects on the mage using the spell? Well, yes it does, but Joah and I decided you were worth the effort.’
‘You did?’
Joah was looking over at them, obviously too exhausted to speak. Selsye produced a jug from a table he couldn’t see, and handed him a clay cup full of water. ‘Here, drink that. Lord Frith, you represent an entirely new area of magical study that could lead to all sorts of breakthroughs in the field. It’s possible that what you can do is related to a third type of magic, and I don’t need to tell you how important that could be. Besides which, saving your life would be the reasonable thing to do, wouldn’t it?’
With some difficulty, Frith sat up and took a sip of water. It tasted sweet.
‘I owe you my thanks,’ he said eventually. ‘Tell me what happened. Why is Wydrin in a cell? Did Estenn escape? Where is Commander Xinian?’
Selsye and Joah exchanged a look. ‘This is where it gets complicated, Lord Frith. You may have noticed that this isn’t exactly the best place to treat a man who has suffered a sword wound as serious as yours.’ She gestured to the small, cramped room. ‘This is not our infirmary. The truth is, Lord Frith, no one else saw this Estenn of yours. What they saw was the artefact room broken into, the Red Echo missing, and Wydrin of Crosshaven wearing a pair of stolen gauntlets. Apparently, she then ran to the roof to escape, where you joined her and killed several of the mages who tried to stop her.’
Frith looked down at the water in the cup. He remembered seeing the mages throwing lightning at Wydrin, and he remembered reaching out for them with this new power. They had crumbled before him, turned to dust and bone. When he didn’t speak, Selsye continued.
‘As far as Archmage Reis is concerned, it is you who are the agents of the gods. Xinian has been suspended from her position, pending further investigation. Wydrin is, as I said, locked in a cell accused of high treason.’
‘That is ludicrous.’ Frith glared up at them both. ‘You know this.’
‘There are a lot of questions that need to be asked,’ said Selsye. She was wiping her hands on a cloth now, not quite looking at him. ‘All of this looks very bad. The Archmage is acting erratically, seeing conspiracies everywhere but refusing to look too closely at any of the facts. He was always such a meticulous man – this is not like him at all. He will not listen to Xinian. He will not listen to me. We—’ she shook her head. ‘Everyone thinks that you are dead, Lord Frith. We took your body away, saying that we needed to study your remains to see if we could find any clues as to your abilities. They let us do it.’
‘Does Wydrin know I survived?’
Selsye met his eyes. ‘She thinks you are dead, just like everyone else. She is being watched so closely there is no way to get a message to her.’
Frith pursed his lips, thinking of when he had seen Wydrin fall through the Rivener, her lifeless body twisting away into the darkness. He had thought she was dead then, and it had nearly destroyed him.
‘What do we do now?’
‘This whole situation is a mess.’ Selsye threw up her hands in a little gesture of defeat. ‘Xinian is not locked up, but she may as well be, with eyes on her at all times. She is as happy about that as you can imagine. Meanwhile, this Estenn woman could be halfway across Ede now with our artefact.’
‘You believe us, then?’
Selsye rolled her eyes at him. ‘What did you do? Stab yourself through the back? No one else here save for Xinian or Wydrin would even have a sword on them, let alone know how to use it, and, forgive me, but the red-headed, tough-as-old-boots mercenary is clearly madly in love with you.’ Across the room Joah looked up, an unreadable expression on his face. ‘No, it was this Estenn woman who tried to kill you, and we already know she can make herself invisible. What worries me the most is that Reis isn’t even willing to entertain the idea. Something doesn’t add up there, and it’s the key to this whole mess. We have to get you both out of here somehow, and we all need to get to Poledouris before this gods-crazy bitch does.’ Selsye cleared her throat. ‘Please excuse my language, it’s been an eventful night.’
‘There are other questions we need answers to,’ Joah lifted his head to stare at Frith. The young mage sat with his shoulders slumped. ‘Do not forget that, Mistress Selsye.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ Selsye put her hands on her hips for a moment, looking down at the floor. ‘How could I forget? Lord Frith, we were wondering if perhaps you could shed some light on this.’
She turned away from him, fetching something from the floor. When she turned back she was cradling his staff in her arms – in the warm light of the lamps he could see every carved piece clearly, the pale wood seeming to glow by itself.
‘Ah,’ said Frith. ‘That.’
‘Indeed. This.’ Selsye turned it over in her hands, running her fingers over the delicate carvings. ‘This was found near your body. A staff of rare, Edeian-enriched wood, carved with mages’ words. There are a couple of interesting things about this staff, Lord Frith. The first is that I know this wood. I grow the trees myself in Krete, within the Arkanium. I have been breeding the saplings for years, working to get the wood exactly right so it can be crafted. I would know the grain of it, the smell of it anywhere, and this is my wood. Second, I know that no staff like this exists on Ede, because I haven’t made it yet.’ She came over to the side of the table, and for the first time he saw something akin to anger in her eyes. ‘I have drawn plans to make this staff, Lord Frith. This exact staff. I could show you the drawings I have hidden away in my chambers, but I have a feeling you don’t need to see them. Do you have an explanation for this?’
For a long moment, Frith was silent. He could feel Selsye and Joah looking at him, waiting for the answers. It would be dangerous to tell them anything, but he also needed them to trust him. There had to be a way to minimize the danger.
‘I will tell you,’ he said, meeting Selsye’s eyes. ‘But I will not tell him.’
Selsye took a step back, still holding the staff to her chest. ‘Joah Cirrus just saved your life, Lord Frith. I’m not sure you understand, exactly, the sacrifice he has just made for you.’
‘I know, believe me,’ said Frith. He deliberately did not look at the young mage in the corner, who was watching him with wide brown eyes. ‘I also have my reasons. I will tell you everything I can, but those are my terms. I suggest you take them, if you really want to know what’s going on here.’
‘It’s all right, mistress.’ Joah stood up, still a little unsteady on his feet. ‘I will leave you now, if it furthers our understanding.’
Joah went to the door and left, not lo
oking back at them. They heard his footsteps echo away up the hall. Selsye glared at Frith, and placed the staff carefully against the wall.
‘You had better start talking then, Lord Frith.’
66
Xinian stood with her arms at her sides, staring straight ahead. She wanted to pace the chamber, she wanted to slam her fist down on the desk, she wanted to sweep all the instruments and bottles aside to crash on the floor, she wanted to kick the wardrobe in.
She took a slow, deep breath, and stared at the map that hung over Reis’s desk. Control was everything. She must not lose her temper now. She needed to put her case to Reis rationally, in a calm voice. Then he might start paying attention. Reis was on his way, the guards had told her, and that in itself was strange. Whenever he had summoned her before he had always been here waiting – she hadn’t thought the man was capable of being late. Stranger still, his chambers smelled of old food and stale wine. As much a soldier as a mage, Reis had always kept his own apartments scrupulously tidy. His chambers here were functional, unlived in, filled only with things necessary for the smooth running of the mage cause. But now there were unfinished plates of food on his desk, cast aside on top of maps and reports, and there were dirty goblets perched on every available surface. The food, the usual basic fare of Whittenfarne, looked largely untouched, and even the goblets were mostly full, as though the man kept ordering meals and forgetting them.
Something is not right.
To her left was a low table of dark wood. It used to house the Archmage’s globe, a functional wooden thing with the countries and seas painted in bright colours. Now that was gone, and on a swatch of black material were tiny figures of the gods, carved from yellowed bone. It wasn’t actually unheard of for mages to keep idols of the gods – their relationship had ever been a complicated one – but she had never seen such amongst the Archmage’s possessions. It was a small thing, but something about it sent a cold needle into her heart.
