We encountered other such conflicts in the misty streets. There was a bone-chilling ferocity to the fights. The strawjacks fought on until reduced to splinters of wood and mouldering bone, and I several times watched revenants unhesitatingly throw themselves into battles that they couldn't possibly win.
Arianwyn took care to lead us past these battles at as great a distance as she could manage. Sometimes the roadways were partially blocked by trailing vines of the kind we'd seen on our last visit. Such occasions forced us to draw nearer to an ongoing skirmish. By unspoken agreement, Arianwyn and I decided we'd rather take our chances with the strawjacks we could see, rather than those we couldn't.
Almost everything on that journey was unspoken. Arianwyn had retreated into herself once more, and nothing I said drew her out of her self-imposed silence.
As we walked, I noticed the ghosts were behaving oddly. When I'd last been in Otherworld, there'd been no discernible pattern to their movement. They'd all been heading somewhere, but it had been clear their travels led to different places, or were at least taking different routes to the same location. Now, however, every ghost journeyed in the same direction. It was mildly alarming to note that the flow invariably followed the same route as Arianwyn and I. Yet even this odd trend didn't tempt Arianwyn to speech. I grew steadily frustrated at my inability to help someone who was clearly in pain.
A few minutes later, this frustration led me to do something incredibly ill-advised. It happened as we turned into a small alley, no more than a couple of paces wide. For once, we were walking against the flow, and a steady trickle of ghosts streamed past us and into the road we'd just left.
I saw a face I recognised heading in the other direction. Such was my surprise that it was a few seconds before my brain registered what I'd seen. When it did, instinct took over, more's the pity.
I spun on my heel. By now, the ghost was long behind me.
"Hey!" My words only caused the spirit to pick up its pace. "Wait!" I set off in pursuit.
"Edric? Edric, where are you going?" Arianwyn called at my retreating back.
I paid her no heed and forged on.
So far, I'd merely been reckless, but now I did something really foolish: I tripped on a loose cobble and plunged face first through the ghost I'd been following.
Every other time I'd come close to a ghost in Otherworld, it had moved out of the way. Not this time. This time I passed straight through its incorporeal form and struck the ground. The ghost kept moving.
I knew something was wrong right away. A deathly chill crept through my head and torso. I felt tired and very, very cold. I closed my eyes for a moment, then found that they wouldn't open. Part of me succumbed to panic; the rest decided it didn't matter – the sensation was strangely soothing. The last sound I heard as I drifted off into darkness was Arianwyn's voice.
*******
I returned to wakefulness fitfully, lapsing in and out of consciousness before fully regaining my wits.
When I finally did so, I found myself wrapped in Arianwyn's cloak and lying before a feeble fire. Every part of me, from my limbs to my eyelids, felt sluggish and incredibly cold. I could feel no heat from the flames, but that I quickly put down to the lingering chill in my bones. That Arianwyn had somehow found materials to start a fire in Otherworld was nonetheless impressive. Then I realised the kindling had almost certainly come from dead strawjacks, and suppressed a shiver.
I shifted awkwardly into a sitting position and rubbed some feeling back into my limbs. We were in a ruined house. A pile of rubble sat where part of one of the walls should have been. Over this, I saw ghosts threading through the alleyway I'd collapsed in. To my relief, I saw no sign of either strawjacks or revenants. In my current condition I doubt I could have run from a single such creature, let alone fought one off.
"You're awake, at last."
Arianwyn knelt beside me. She stared intently into my eyes for a moment, then placed the back of her hand against my forehead. After a few moments she sank backwards onto her heels and exhaled slowly.
"I thought I'd lost you. Your skin was so cold." The words came out in so fast a torrent I'd have had no chance of interrupting even if I'd had the energy to speak. "I dragged you in here and made you as warm as I could, but there was only so much I could do..." She tailed off, her eyes tightening. "What possessed you to do such a thing? I warned you what could happen if you wandered off, if you touched one of the ghosts. Why couldn't you have listened? Don't you..."
She looked away. I considered pointing out that I hadn't intended to do the latter, but decided she wasn't in a receptive frame of mind. Instead, I took one of her hands in mine. As a conciliatory and comforting gesture it was rather spoiled by the clumsiness of my numbed hands, but she didn't flinch.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I should have been more careful."
"Yes, you should," she replied, without looking at me.
"It's just... well, I saw Constans amongst the ghosts."
Arianwyn looked sharply at me. "You can't have done."
"I swear to you, I saw him." I paused. "Or at least, I thought I did. That's why I 'wandered off', as you so politely put it. I wanted to get another look."
"And did you?"
"No."
She fixed me with a steady stare. "You can't have seen Constans, you just can't." She snatched her hand away.
I couldn't fault the strength of her reaction, given the implications. But nor could I leave things half-voiced. The problem was how to broach the topic.
"When I was talking to Quintus, he told me Solomon had been warned we were breaking into the vaults." I waited for Arianwyn to interrupt, but she said nothing and just stared dully at me. "What if Solomon's thugs found Constans? He was in a pretty bad way and couldn't have put up much of a fight."
"You think Solomon tortured the information out of Constans, and then killed him?"
"It fits the facts."
I don't know what reaction I'd anticipated, but I hadn't expected Arianwyn to smile, which is what she did. "That's your theory? It's all based on a half-glimpse of a ghost and Quintus' word – and he can't exactly be relied on at the moment." She shook her head. "You've met Constans, you've seen how he carries himself, and how he sees the world. Do you really think he'd give up that kind of information? Let alone in so short a time?"
It was true that I didn't believe Constans would easily crack under torture, but then nor did I doubt Solomon's ability to break him. On the other hand, Arianwyn did have a point about the timing. Even being generous, Solomon would have had less than an hour to capture Constans, break him and then send Quintus to the vaults. Put in those terms, it was unlikely. Yet I was sure I'd seen Constans amongst the dead.
"Fine. How else do you explain what I saw?"
"Simply by pointing out that you're tired and your imagination is running away with you." She put her other hand on mine to soften the criticism. "With only a glance to work off, one ghost can look much like another, and you saw something you expected to see. As for Solomon knowing where we were? Any number of his informants could have seen us as we made our way to the palace. Or perhaps a praetorian saw us and chose to tell Solomon rather than raise the alarm?"
"I suppose so." My fingers tingled as the warmth of Arianwyn's hand drove away the chill.
"I promise you, Edric, Constans is alive and well, and is doubtless far more worried about what has become of us than you are of what's become of him." She paused. "What did the ghost look like? Not its features, I mean, but its form. How solid did it look? How pale was it?"
I closed my eyes as I tried to picture what I'd seen. "Wispy and pale – much more so than my brother." Which was less than two days ago, I realised. It felt longer.
Arianwyn breathed a sigh of relief. "There you are. The older the ghost, the more it fades, until one day there's nothing left. It sounds like the ghost you saw was a very old one indeed. Had Constans met the fate you describe, his ghost would have a much more solid presence, and
probably still be aware enough that he'd have spoken to you, rather than moved away."
I wasn't convinced, though I couldn't quite identify why. But then, I'd pondered about Constans several times since we'd left the vault. Maybe those thoughts had influenced me.
With a sigh, I decided it didn't matter. Neither of us could prove the other wrong unless – until – we got out of Otherworld.
I dragged my legs beneath me, noting with satisfaction that, though sluggish, they responded in a timely fashion. I looked down at Arianwyn's hand, which still rested on top of mine.
"Trying to hear my thoughts?" I asked, mock-seriously. "You said it needed physical contact."
Arianwyn whipped her hand away. "No... I... well, I was just..."
She looked flustered for a moment. So flustered, in fact, that I felt guilty for asking. Then she gathered her composure and regarded me coolly. "No, I can't read your thoughts by touching your hand. The way you talk sometimes I think I'd go mad if I tried." She'd aimed for an imperious tone, but her heart really wasn't in it.
"It's good to hear you talking," I said. "You've been so quiet."
Arianwyn lowered her eyes. "I know."
For a time neither of us said anything. I stared into the fire, and she gazed unblinkingly at the floor. Beyond the walls, the ghosts continued to file past to their unknown destination.
"The first man I killed was a Thrakkian," I said softly. "It was a long time ago, but in my mind it's like yesterday. One of your commanders paid a Thrakkian chief to raid our supply caravans. Scouts caught the trail long before his warband did any meaningful damage, and I marched my company to bring him to battle."
Arianwyn stared at me, but said nothing.
"I was a captain at the time, and unproven," I went on. "I'd had the finest tutors and instructors my father could provide. I'd learned all they could teach of strategy and sword-work. I was utterly confident in my ability to turn a flank or a blade, to fight a duel or in the press of a shield wall. Yet when the time came, I was terrified; not only of dying, but of killing. Afterwards, I didn't know whether to be proud or appalled. Proud because I'd done my duty; appalled because, despite my doubts, I'd killed so easily."
Arianwyn stared at me, reluctance and sorrow battling back and forth across her knotted brow. "I didn't mean to kill that praetorian, but when I saw him turn on the lieutenant, something inside me burst, like a dam before floodwaters. It felt glorious – righteous even. Then I saw what I'd done; what I was capable of."
"It doesn't change who you are," I said gently. "You saved Nierev's life..." Was that even true? Though I hoped otherwise, the lieutenant could well be dead by now. "...and ours too. And believe me, what you did was a pale shadow of what Quintus would have done if he'd have got there first. Our guard captain may not be terribly kind about his underlings, but he's ferociously protective of them, all the same."
She brushed an errant ringlet back behind her ear, and at last offered a wan smile. "So I'm the lesser of two evils?"
"No, not quite. More like the right hand of justice, delivering a merciful blow before a far angrier left hand can go to work."
Arianwyn stared up at the bowed ceiling. "That's not even the worst of it. All my life, I've scorned the idea of Sidara's divinity, that there was anything special about my bloodline. No, worse than that, I've resented her, even hated her for taking my father from me. After all, if it weren't for Sidarists, he'd never have left. For years, I told myself the magic proved nothing. There have been plenty of other mages in Tressia. I've even met some of them. Why shouldn't I have been like them?"
"Maybe you are."
Arianwyn shook her head. "No, no I'm not. In the vaults, when I... well, when he died... I used more magic than I ever have, and yet I felt a sea of it waiting for the call, like the sun hiding behind a cloud. It lay just out of reach, but mine to use if I'd wanted it. And I did want it," she confessed, "but then the praetorian hit the wall and I came back to my senses." She looked me straight in the eyes, her face riven with turmoil. "Don't you see, Edric, I'm not just worried about changing because I've killed. I'm worried I might not be who – or even worse, what – I think I am."
Once again I marvelled at her force of will. She was upset, angry and confused – and I could blame her for none of these things – but she remained in control. She'd shed her tears in the vault, and I was certain there'd be no more. I had no idea what it had cost her to speak so openly, but I was obscurely glad she had.
I put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. She stiffened slightly. I braced myself for an outburst, but then she relaxed and rested her head against my shoulder.
"If my experiences with my brother have taught me anything, it's that power is never good or ill of its own volition – only use makes it so." I paused, choosing my next words carefully. "You're still who – and what – you've always been. You might just be something else too."
"And if that 'something else' becomes something terrible?"
I shrugged my other shoulder. "Then you have my word I'll find a way to stop you. But I don't think that'll ever be necessary."
"I hope you're right."
As it happened, I hoped so too, because I had no idea how I'd keep my promise. Fortunately, Arianwyn clearly had more faith in me than I did. Or perhaps she was just eager to find comfort wherever she could.
After a long moment of companionable silence, she pulled away, and walked to the other side of the room.
"Have you tried to draw upon the magic since we've been in Otherworld?" I asked.
"A little, but I can barely feel it. Then again, I've never really been able to access it here."
That was odd, but then so much of this was a mystery to me. "How do you open the portals back to the living realm?"
"It's hard to explain. It takes effort to propel us across the barrier from the other side, but the journey back is always easier. We're not supposed to be here, and Otherworld needs only a little encouragement to reject us. It barely even qualifies as magic. It's more a focus of will."
"Like the way you navigate Otherworld?"
"A little, although it's a fraction more involved than that." She shrugged. "How are you feeling?"
I flexed my legs. "Sensation's returning. We can get going in a few minutes. Less, if you don't mind me hobbling."
Arianwyn smiled. "I'd rather you were fully mobile. I can't run and carry you at the same time." She paused. "Edric, thank you. For everything. It's strange, but..."
I never found out what was strange because, at that moment, the revenants attacked.
Twenty
The revenants came straight through the walls, spectral forms melting through the stone like shadows in fog. Two bore down on me, swords drawn. A dozen more swarmed towards Arianwyn. She brought up her hands, instinctively trying to draw upon magic that she must have known wouldn't come. Then the dark circle closed around her and she was lost from sight.
By this time, I'd staggered to my feet, though it had taken three attempts. My left leg was still numb below the knee, and it made my balance precarious. Yet Arianwyn's plight lent me desperate strength. With a battle cry that was half frustration and half anger, I drew my sword and lurched at the two revenants before me.
I needn't have bothered.
As I took a second step, my leg folded up, pitching me forward. I regained my balance – I have no idea how – and swung. My near-collapse robbed my strike of all momentum. What I'd intended as a killing blow proved ridiculously easy for the revenant to parry. My sword went wide, and my treacherous leg again gave way. This time I tumbled fully to the floor, an easy kill, had either revenant sought to end me. Yet it seemed they did not. Having defeated my attack, they seemed content merely to stand and watch as I tried to regain my footing.
"Edric!"
Looking up, I saw the knot of revenants move towards the street, Arianwyn captive in their midst.
"I'm coming." Pushing off the ground, I hauled myself upright.
One of my revenants hacked viciously down. I caught the stroke square on my own blade, but the impact sent me sprawling to one knee.
Arianwyn and her captors were through the wall and into the street. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I sliced out at waist height. The two revenants simply drifted out of range. Frustration and anger burning hot within me, I regained my footing. One of my opponents struck another downward blow. I stumbled again as I parried. This time, however, the stumble had been deliberate – it had placed my left hand within reach of the wall.
As the revenant's blade came down, I pushed off from the wall. Steel hissed past me. My sword's flames sliced a diagonal path through the air, taking the first revenant at chest height, and the second slightly lower. Both creatures shrieked and exploded into ash. I barely noticed. I was already lurching to my feet and staggering after Arianwyn.
I stumbled through the gap in the wall, bracing my free hand against uneven stonework to steady myself. There was no sign of Arianwyn, or of the revenants who had taken her. There were only ghosts, mist, and a sickly feeling gnawing at the pit of my stomach.
"Perhaps now we've got that unpleasantness out of the way, we can reopen negotiations," suggested the immaculately-dressed young man standing on the opposite side of the road. Malgyne, for a certainty.
"Do you never give up?" I growled.
"Oh, very rarely." He offered a slim smile. "I'm very patient. I believe people write songs and depressing poetry about that very subject." He glanced at my leg. "Don't feel you need to keep up appearances. We can discuss our business with you sitting down as easily as with you standing."
"I'll stand," I said coldly. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of showing so obvious a weakness.
"Very well," said Malgyne. "Oh, and in case you were wondering? That sword really won't do much of anything to me."
Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1) Page 23
