Light of the Radiant (The Reckoning Book 2)

by Matthew Ward

  The sword point dropped; only a little, but enough. "Then… this is real?" she asked tiredly. "I thought we'd died… that Astarra had stolen our souls."

  Finally I understood Calda's reaction. Our legends had told us that Ashana and Astarra, the divine sky-sisters, had ever quarrelled over the fate of mortals, and no true Hadari wanted to find him- or herself captured by Astarra. I supposed if I'd been badly wounded, then woken up in the presence of a serathi, I might have had the exact same reaction. Except I wouldn't have attacked Irina, and I hoped the Calda, reckless as she often was, had not been foolish enough to do so.

  "No,” I said. "The serathi are our... are complicated. But they don't mean you any harm."

  "So we're not in Astarra's sky-palace?"

  "Yes, but..." The sword came up again. "...but it's not a realm of the dead. We're very much alive. Trust me Calda. Have I ever lied to you?"

  "Edric hasn't. How do I know you're him, and not a mournwraith?"

  I bit back my frustration. Apparently Calda placed her faith in some of the blacker legends concerning Ashana and Astarra. I dredged my memory for scraps of half-forgotten myth. "Aren't Astarra's tormentors supposed to take the forms of closest kin? Shouldn't I then be one of your brothers, or perhaps your father?" Calda's family had been slain by corsairs many years ago, and would have made better candidates than I for an impersonation.

  Calda let the sword fall loosely to her side, and shook her head. "You must be Edric.”

  "Calda, I need to know what happened here. Did you kill Irina?".

  "No!"

  "Then how did she die?"

  "I don't know. I woke up. She was slumped across me, dead."

  I put a comforting arm around Calda's shoulders. She shrugged me off, and pointedly took a step away. Apparently she still didn't quite believe that I was who I said I was.

  Not knowing how to further reassure her, I squatted at Jamar's side. A quick examination confirmed that he, at least, was alive, although very badly battered. Careful of Jamar's injuries, I retrieved a cushion from the bed and placed it beneath his head. "And Jamar? Was he also like this when you awoke?"

  "No. He was fighting that thing."

  "What thing?" I asked, my mouth inexplicably dry.

  "That stone creature."

  "A drudge? He was fighting a drudge?"

  "I don't know what it was," she said testily, and I recalled that she and Zorya had never met. "It struck him down before I reached them."

  "Go on.” Something about this felt wrong, but I couldn't yet see the shape of it. That a drudge could defeat Jamar, I could well believe. Working alone, Zorya had brought down an entire bridge, and I doubted other drudges possessed lesser might.

  "I stopped it killing him, and heaved it out of the window."

  "I know," I said drily. "It nearly landed on me."

  She shrugged. "That's it. That's all I know."

  "Did the drudge speak at all?"

  "Not so I heard."

  I wasn't at all satisfied with her account. I didn't doubt Calda's word, but there were plenty of things wrong with the story. How had Calda bested the drudge when the larger and stronger Jamar had not? For that matter, how was Calda well enough to move, let alone spring vigorously from bed and into a fight?

  "How are you feeling?" I asked carefully.

  "Fine. Better than I should."

  At least that was something on which we could agree. I felt instantly ashamed of the thought. I'd hoped beyond hope that Calda would recover, but now, with those hopes fulfilled, I could only question the reason why. I shook my head at my ingratitude.

  Calda mistook the action for something else. "What? It's true."

  "I didn't mean that..." I broke off as a breathless Koschai burst into the room, took in the scene, and came to an abrupt halt.

  "Irina's dead," I told him gently. "A drudge attacked her and Jamar, but Calda stopped it. Calda, this is Koschai Trelan, late of the Tressian Republic." I'd already spoken the words before I'd realised their unfortunate phrasing, but Koschai's mind was on other things.

  "What happened to the drudge?" he asked.

  In answer, I pointed at the jagged ruin of the window.

  "Ah, that explains that.” The Tressian's reaction was strangely muted. He crossed to the bed, and looked down on the dead serathi. As he did so, Calda retrieved her clothing from the chest at the end of the bed, and vanished behind a wooden changing screen at the far end of the room.

  "Poor Irina," Koschai said softly. "She always seemed so sad. Are you sure a drudge did this?"

  "No," I admitted, "but it's the only obvious explanation." I supposed it was possible that Jamar had attacked Irina, and the drudge had come to her defence, but that seemed unlikely.

  "But they're not supposed to be able to harm anyone," Koschai protested. "I can't imagine a drudge arguing with a serathi, let alone attacking one." His expression darkened. "The serathi are not going to like this, not at all. It's been centuries since one died. You must tell them before they find out for themselves – they might suspect you otherwise."

  "I need you to do that for me," I said. "Calda and I need to take Jamar back to our quarters. I don't think it's a good idea to leave him here."

  Koschai’s brow knotted in thought. "I think the serathiel would take it better from you. Perhaps I should assist Calda with Jamar instead?"

  "No." Calda emerged from behind the changing screen, her sleeping robe exchanged for the travelling clothes in which she'd arrived. "I don't understand much of what's going on here, but until I do I'm not going anywhere with someone I don't know, Koschai Trelan of the Tressian Republic." Her eyes narrowed. "Wait? That Koschai Trelan?"

  Koschai shrugged. "Presumably. Can I take it you also know my daughter?"

  "I've met her. Which changes nothing."

  For good measure, she also threw a suspicious look in my direction. Being greeted by a self-confessed dead man was not exactly going to help Calda believe that she and I were still alive.

  “I didn't for a moment expect it would," he told her evenly. "Very well, I shall be the bearer of bad tidings. Can I at least ask that you both remain in your quarters for the immediate future, so the serathi can find you?"

  Personally, I was surprised they weren't already here. "We shall go nowhere else," I lied. There was something I wanted to take a look at, but there was no sense making Koschai into an accomplice, just in case the serathi did react as badly as the Tressian feared.

  Koschai clearly found nothing amiss in my answer. Offering Calda a deep bow – which she did not return – he departed.

  "Isn't he supposed to be dead?" Calda asked, the moment Koschai was out of earshot.

  "I might say the same about you." I pointed out. "The serathi rescued him ten years ago, he's been here ever since. You're not dead, Calda, I promise." I turned back to Jamar's prone body. "Are you up to giving me a hand with him? It's not a long way to go, but he's no small burden."

  "The way I feel, I could carry him by myself."

  "Well, let's not try that. We don't want your wounds to reopen."

  "They won't. They've healed."

  "What?" I asked incredulously.

  "It's true. You can see for yourself if you don't believe me." At last, and for the first time since I'd entered the room, Calda smiled. The sight was almost enough to make everything else worthwhile. Almost.

  "I'll take your word for it," I told her hurriedly. "Now, please help me with Jamar. I'm amazed that there aren't any serathi here already, and I'd rather be gone before they arrive."

  Calda nodded, and took Jamar's legs, leaving me to hook my hands under his shoulders. Fortunately, my bodyguard wasn't as heavy as I'd feared, and we soon had him back in our quarters. Along the way, I told Calda of everything she'd missed; of Koschai, the serathi, the Reckoning and the fate of Salkard. Calda was far less concerned for the villagers' fate than I, but then she seldom spared compassion for Tressians. With some small effort, we manoeuvred Jamar into bed
and made him as comfortable as possible. There seemed to be little else I could do for him, but I'd seem Jamar survive worse than this. In the meantime, there were more useful things I could do.

  "I need you to keep watch over Jamar," I told Calda.

  "Why?" she asked. "Koschai told us to stay here."

  "Actually, he asked me to stay here," I corrected. "If I'm quick he won't know I'd ever left."

  "And where are you going, exactly?"

  "Outside. I won't be long."

  Calda nodded reluctant agreement. Reflecting for a moment on the malevolent irony that had seen their positions of invalid and guardian reversed, I headed outside.

  *******

  A few minutes later, I reached the spot where Koschai had pushed me clear of the falling drudge. Whilst talking to Koschai, it had occurred to me to take a look at whatever was left of the creature. I also had in my mind the memory of the amber flash preceding its fall, the significance of which I'd only just realised. When Zorya had been injured, her wounds had shone with a similar light, which suggested what Koschai and I'd seen had been the result of Irina's attacker being wounded. Neither Calda or Jamar possessed the strength to inflict that manner of damage on a drudge, but perhaps Irina had. Of course, it was highly unlikely that I'd be able to learn anything from the drudge’s remains, but it had to be tried – better to make a fruitless search than regret not making one at all.

  Unfortunately, by the time I'd returned to the scene, no trace remained of the shattered drudge. In the minutes since I'd last been there, other drudges had presumably cleared away the remains. And not only the remains. A female drudge laboured to replace a shattered flagstone, and the damaged statue had been removed; presumably borne away to some workshop for repair.

  I walked over to the kneeling drudge. She had already removed most of the shards of the broken flagstone and placed them in a woven basket. A replacement rested against a nearby wall. Given what Calda and Jamar had barely lived through upstairs, I was less than eager to move to within reach of a drudge. But then I harked back to the times I'd seen Zorya put herself at risk to save others, and reminded myself that one rogue drudge did not make the rest so.

  The drudge must have heard my approaching footsteps, for she stood and faced me. [[Greetings master. How may I assist you?]]

  "How do you know I'm your master?" I asked, curious.

  [[You are a guest of the serathi. Therefore we serve you as we would them. May I know your name, master?]]

  "It's Edric."

  [[Thank you, Master Edric.]]

  "What is your name?"

  [[I do not have one.]]

  That was odd. The sentinels that I'd encountered in Tressia had all possessed names. "Would you like to have a name?"

  [[What purpose would this serve?]]

  “For a start, it would mean I'd know what to call you."

  The drudge considered for a moment. [[I think I would like to have a name. Would you please provide one?]]

  "Then I'll call you Edina." I'd a distant cousin of that name, and something about the drudge's heart-shaped face brought her to mind.

  [[Thank you, Master Edric.]] The newly-named Edina nodded. [[How may I assist you?]]

  "What happened to the pieces of the other drudge?"

  [[They have been removed. The serathi wished it.]]

  "Do you like serving the serathi?"

  [[I do not understand the meaning of the question.]]

  "Do you choose to? Does it give you joy?"

  The drudge considered before replying. [[It is what I am for. In service, there is fulfilment.]]

  "And does fulfilment bring you joy?"

  [[I do not understand the meaning of the question.]]

  I suppressed a grimace – not that I expected Edina would otherwise have taken offence. My conversations with Zorya had been similarly circular, although she delighted in evading the purpose of my questions – much as the serathi did, in fact – whereas this drudge simply gave the impression of not being able to comprehend. It was odd, almost as if there were different kinds of drudge. Or perhaps Edina was simply dull-witted. "Have you always served the serathi?"

  [[For as long as I can remember. Are these questions important, Master Edric?]]

  "Probably not," I admitted. "Where have the fragments of the broken drudge been taken?"

  [[I regret that I cannot say, Master Edric.]]

  "Meaning that you can't tell me, or that you don't know?"

  [[Yes. May I return to work? I do not wish to displease the serathi.]]

  I considered pressing the issue, but decided not to risk causing Edina any trouble. Besides, my memory of the other drudge's fall had given me another idea. "By all means. Thank you for your time.”

  [[Thanks are not necessary, Master Edric.]]

  Leaving Edina to her task, I walked over to rosebush and peered through the branches. There, as I'd hoped, I saw the fragment of stone that had earlier bounced past my head. Clearly the drudges who had tidied up had not thought to check whether or not they had collected all of the pieces.

  I reached in amongst the tangle of leaves and flowers. I did so too hastily, and swore loudly as I caught the back of my hand on a thorn.

  [[Is everything well, Master Edric?]]

  Edina was on her feet once more, and watching me closely.

  "I'm fine, thank you," I said, sucking blood away from the gash.

  [[Good. Please do not damage the garden.]]

  "Not a flower out of place, I promise you."

  That answer seemed to satisfy the drudge, who turned back to her work. I briefly considered asking Edina to retrieve the chunk of stone, but I quickly discounted the thought. She'd have only whisked it away to wherever the other pieces had been taken, and I'd have learned nothing. With one last look in Edina's direction to be sure that she wasn't watching me, I pulled the sleeves of my tunic down to cover my hands, and I reached into the rosebush once more. A moment later, I'd my prize in my hands. And what a prize it was, for it answered many questions, even as it posed others. With one last backward look at Edina, I headed inside.

  When I returned to my quarters, I found not only Calda, but an unhappy Koschai waiting for me. Calda stared moodily out a window, and barely acknowledged my presence. The Tressian greeted me with a degree of agitation. "You promised me you'd remain here."

  "I know, I'm sorry," I lied. "I'm here now. Did you tell the serathi?"

  "I found Adanika.” Somehow I wasn't surprised at who he'd chosen to inform of Irina's death. "She's telling the serathiel now."

  "How did Adanika take the news?"

  "How do you think? One of her sisters is dead." He finally noticed the chunk of stone in my hands. "What do you have there?"

  That question lured Calda over from the window. She stood at Koschai's side; not too close, I noted, but not so distant as to be obviously wary. "Is that part of the drudge I pushed out of the window?"

  "It is indeed. It was the only piece I could find. Its fellows had tidied the rest away." I rotated the chunk of stone, so it sat right way up in my hands. "I think you'll agree that it was worth the effort of tracking down."

  From his puzzled frown, it was clear Koschai didn't understand the significance of what he saw. Calda, on the other hand, very much did. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the lump of stone in my hands, a lump of stone that had an hour earlier served as a drudge's head. Even though its expression was locked in the polite disinterest that characterised its kind, there was a malice about it that transcended rational explanation. I'd seen that face before. Under other circumstances, I might have thought my recognition the fancy of errant imagination, but the livid gash running from the top of the left brow, almost to the chin, made such a dismissal impossible.

  The face was that of Torvald Korag, better known to me as Scarface.

  Eleven

  Calda and I were alone in the common room of my quarters. Jamar was asleep in his bedchamber. His upper body was a riot of bruises – testament to the
drudge's clubbing blows – and one of his eyes was badly swollen. We'd left him to slumber in peace, but made sure to keep the connecting door to his room open so we'd be able to see instantly if he took a turn for the worse or, ludicrous though the idea seemed, another drudge came to finish what the first had started.

  Koschai had left, claiming he wanted time to think. I understood all too well. After all, he'd just learned that one of the drudges was nothing more or less than a vicious rogue somehow transformed. If one was such a fellow, then why not all? Had Zorya too been transformed by the serathi? If so, had we all, however unwittingly, taken advantage of a woman remade into a more servile creature? That was an unpleasant thought. Worse, was her true personality the one Koschai and I knew, or was there some suppressed malevolence just waiting to surface? In short, was Arianwyn in danger?

  I propped Scarface's head on the table in front of me, and I stared at it as if my gaze alone could force it to reveal all the secrets that I sought. My heart told me Zorya was no threat. My mind agreed. She'd had plenty of opportunity to cause harm before I'd met them, had that been her wish. But still the irrational fear remained. For Koschai, who'd been longer away than I, it must have been far worse.

  Calda had taken the potential peril of the drudges entirely in her stride – after all, there was nothing on Skyhaven that she didn't consider dangerous. "So much for the serathi being trustworthy."

  I glanced up. Calda's frown was little improvement on Scarface's marbled stare. "We don't know they not."

  She gave a bitter laugh. "Why do you keep defending them?

  "I told you before, they saved our lives – yours, in particular."

  "Maybe I didn't ask for it to be saved!"

  I'd seldom heard her so sound bitter. Angry, yes, but this was something else. "You can't mean that."

  "Can't I? They're serathi Edric, serathi: the handmaidens of Astarra. You grew up with all the tales I did. They're stealers of souls, deceivers, destroyers..."

  "...and also healers, truth-seekers and friends to those in need." It was always difficult to argue with Calda once she got going. My only hope was to defuse her temper before it became self-sustaining. "It depends which stories you listen to. And there's the matter of what they've done for us."