Light of the Radiant (The Reckoning Book 2)

by Matthew Ward

  *******

  Now free of the forest's snares, I travelled swiftly. Despite the brightening sky, I saw no other travellers. This struck me as unusual. I'd only been to Thrakkia a handful of times, but her people were no less industrious than those of Tressia or the Empire. Where were the merchants and the farmers? Where were the road wardens, for that matter? I should have seen someone by now, surely?

  At least Elspeth was quiet. Either she couldn't speak in her current form, or chose not to. It mattered not to me, as every conversation so far had been something of a burden. I confess, I'd little sympathy for her plight, self-inflicted though it was. Better that she remained silent as long as possible, so that my limited patience wouldn't be put to the test.

  The sun rose higher in the sky, and miles fell away beneath my tireless feet. I wondered whether Constans had made some kind of mistake, but that fear was quashed when I came across a crudely-carven milestone set beside the road. It stood about a foot high and half that around, with a likeness of the Thrakkian crown graven upon the side facing the road. If the milestone could be believed – and I saw no reason why it could not – the town of Indrig lay fourteen miles ahead, and the royal city of Antorg some fifty miles in my wake.

  Constans hadn't failed me. Indrig was itself only a few miles from the Tressian border, an easy enough journey at the worst of times, and laughably so now concerns such as food were things of the past. Giving the milestone a grateful pat, I continued north.

  I crossed the rise, but saw no sight of Indrig, for the roadway passed into a forest of towering pines. Had the Thrakkians been in the habit of building good, straight roads as I was used to further north, I might have glimpsed the town, but such was not the case. This road, like all others in this land, wove back and forth across the landscape to accommodate the boundaries of the fiefs through which it crossed.

  The Thrakkian thanes were very protective of their territory, and seldom allowed a road to cut through just anywhere – especially if to do so would give advantage to a rival. As much as I hated the politics of the Tressian council and Hadari Golden Court, the Thrakkian way of life was worse. For a thane, every neighbouring lord was a potential enemy. As I understood it, it was not uncommon for neighbouring fiefs to engage in all-out war to settle the tiniest of disputes. It seemed to me a barbaric way to behave, and one that too often sacrificed innocent lives to avenge a nobleman's tarnished honour.

  As I rounded a bend in the still-empty road, I came upon a victim of such squabbles. Set back from the road, behind a battered and split wooden palisade, stood a charred ruin. Collapsed beams and wooden pillars, too stubborn to submit completely to the fire, projected from the remains like blackened bones.

  I felt a moment of sorrow for whatever poor souls had perished within. This had once surely been a coaching tavern. Had its landlord offended a local thane? Or had his premises been caught between two Thrakkian warbands as they settled some perceived slight?

  I spotted bodies amongst the ruins. Not just one or two, but dozens. I abandoned the road north to take a closer look. No matter the circumstances, Thrakkians were obsessive about interring their slain, believing that without the proper rites, the dead could not find their way to Skanandra, the halls of feasting and delight. Many Thrakkian mercenaries had fought and died to defend Tressia against Malgyne, and I'd been struck then by how tirelessly the survivors toiled until their dead rested easy. That a foeman should be left in the field was considered a terrible sin. That anyone would be left so long as these poor souls was unthinkable. Yet left here they had, and for some weeks.

  Unable to do anything for the dead without losing precious time, I rejoined the empty road. Something was badly wrong in Thrakkia – that much was plain. All of a sudden, seemingly trivial details of the last few weeks came together to paint a picture I didn't much like. There was the fact that the emissary from the Thrakkian merchant league was long overdue in Tressia, and that Ivor Dan, Thrakkia's ambassador to the Republic, had returned home without explanation. Furthermore, I knew that the serathi had travelled through Thrakkia before I'd encountered them. Was that a coincidence? It seemed unlikely.

  The road took a sharp left turn and headed downhill. Elspeth, still silent, shifted position on my shoulders. I considered talking to her about what we'd seen, but then realised I'd feel ridiculous speaking with a cat, especially as I couldn't expect much of an answer.

  I sighted a village shortly after – perhaps a dozen houses in all, a league westward. I saw no sign this settlement had been ravaged by fire, but I nonetheless knew I'd find no living soul within. The wind was blowing off the hills, and stench of decay was heavy on the breeze.

  Something was very badly wrong indeed.

  Surely this wasn't the work of the serathi? Azyra was ruthless, I knew that well enough by now, but this stretched the bounds of what I'd been prepared to believe. Then I remembered the riddle that Morecet had posed the last time we'd spoken. What's the one thing you'd expect to find on Skyhaven that isn't here? I hadn't an answer then, but now I knew. The serathi had come through Thrakkia, and Azyra had wanted friendship and alliances, the better to prepare for the Reckoning. So why hadn't there been a Thrakkian on Skyhaven? Or any suggestion one had ever been there?

  I crested the next rise to find myself staring out across a valley. There, at last, lay what could only have been Indrig. The town was nestled on the near bank of a wide river, and the sight of it confirmed my worst fears.

  The centre of Indrig was a blackened crater, choked with rubble. Here and there, I made out intact structures of black stone. Many towns in Thrakkia and beyond were built around such ancient remains, and it appeared they'd endured where recent works had not. Here, the largest seemed a fortress of some kind, with low, squat towers sited at the centre of devastation. Curiously, Indrig's outer walls survived, as did buildings about the periphery, though many were in a state of partial collapse.

  I knew what had done this, of course. I'd seen it before, in Salkard. What made it worse was that I should've known long ago. We have already brought the Radiant's light to the land you know as Thrakkia, Azyra had said. The Radiant's Light. The Light of the Radiant. She hadn't even bothered to hide it; had thought me too blind to notice. She'd been right. There is already too much blood on our hands, Adanika had said much later. I now knew something of the scale.

  How many other Thrakkian towns had shared Indrig's fate? How many villages had the serathi slaughtered? I was seized by a darker wrath than I'd ever known. Had I not already possessed sufficient reason to see serathi stopped, I certainly did so now.

  I picked up my pace. Even if people still lived within its walls, there was nothing I could do for them, and little they for me, but I didn't want to swim the river if I could avoid it. That meant following the road through the town and over the bridge on the far side.

  The gatehouse had not fared so well as I'd first thought. Much of its rampart had fallen into the roadway, though not so badly as to render my route impassable. At least there was no smell of death. Perhaps folk still lived within Indrig's walls, though I saw no sight of them.

  Had Morecet known of this? He must have done. So must have Constans, surely, but why had he said nothing? For a few paces, I raged at the eternal's closemouthedness. He must have realised the tally of Thrakkian dead sweeping into his realm. Or perhaps he had not? Constans had seemed confident in his new role, but then it was hardly in his nature to admit to weakness. What else had he overlooked?

  I clambered over the tumbled stones and dropped down onto the road on the other side. Cobbled streets and timber-framed buildings crowded in on me, the former choked with debris from the latter.

  "You!" bellowed a deep voice in the harsh Thrakkian tongue. "What brings you to Indrig?"

  A bearded man emerged from a nearby house and stalked towards me. His long, reddish hair was braided and tied back, his expression neither friendly nor unfriendly. He wore armour of iron scales over a blue woollen jerkin, and had a long
-handled axe thrust through a belt-loop.

  I came to a halt, careful not to seem too wary. "I'm just a traveller."

  Much too late, I realised I'd have done better to skirt the town after all. In the crowded roads and streets I'd originally assumed I'd be travelling, I could have passed unnoticed. In this sorrowful and silent place, I couldn't help but draw attention.

  "There are no travellers through Indrig, not anymore." The Thrakkian strode closer. "Where do you come from, friend? Elsbarg?"

  In geniality lay a trap, I felt sure. The truth wasn't likely to help me much, but there was no sense walking into the snare set for me. "No. I've been on the road for some time."

  He nodded. "Then you've been lucky. The roads have been perilsome for weeks. Where are you headed?"

  There was an easy interest in his tone, but I didn't trust it. "Tressia. I've business there. I'll not add to your troubles, I promise."

  "Aye, that you won't." Before I could stop him, the Thrakkian darted forward and yanked my hood back. Elspeth hissed at the sudden indignity of being swept aside, and jumped down to the cobbles.

  "Just a traveller, eh?" The fingers of the Thrakkian's left hand were still wound about the material of my hood. Those of his right gripped the haft of his axe. "One been out of the sun too long, perhaps?"

  My anger, tinged with desperation, rose to match his. "I'm not what you think."

  He snorted. "Of course not." He raised his voice. "Another fallen!"

  Thrakkians filed into the streets, some from the same building as my captor, others from the ruined gatehouse, and still more from the battered dwellings ahead. A mixture of men, women and children watched me with hard eyes, all waiting eagerly to see me cut down.

  Elspeth ran across the cobbles and vanished into an alleyway. No one made a move to stop her. All eyes were on me.

  So much for her help.

  The Thrakkian tightened his grip on my hood, and raised his axe. "Any last words?"

  "Only that you're making a terrible mistake."

  "We'll see."

  He hacked the axe down.

  Three

  I hadn't come all this way to die under a Thrakkian blade.

  As the weapon came down, I threw my weight into my attacker. The motion tore me free of his grip. The axe blow went wide. My shoulder slammed into the Thrakkian, staggering him. Before he recovered, I hooked my leg around his and sent him tumbling backwards.

  Other Thrakkians – men and women both, all clad in iron scales and all armed with axes – emerged from the crowd. They approached with caution, but their intentions were obvious and their weapons sharp. I spun around. Half a dozen grim-faced warriors had already moved to block my path. I'd have to lose them in the streets.

  I feinted towards the gatehouse, checking my motion as the ring of Thrakkians shifted to match me. Aiming for what seemed to be the weakest point in the encirclement, I charged to break the line.

  The woman on my right was too hasty, and I ducked easily under a strike meant to cleave my head from my shoulders. The man to my left was cannier, or perhaps a little slower. He brought his weapon around, plainly intending to cut me in two just below the ribs. His was no ordinary axe, but a two-handed monster designed to shatter a shield without slowing, and he was strong enough to wield it with wicked speed.

  I threw myself back, wincing as the blade passed within an inch of my belly. The Thrakkian reversed the weapon for another swing. I lashed out. My fist caught him square on the jaw, and he went down. Vaulting over the stunned warrior, I barrelled into the street behind.

  "After him!" The man in blue gave the command, and other voices took up the cry.

  I ran straight, ignoring the alleyways looming to my left and right. A fire-scorched wall towered ahead, the street forking to either side. On impulse, I chose the right path and risked a glance over my shoulder. Perhaps a dozen Thrakkians still followed, my first sparring partner somewhere in the middle of the pack.

  A spill of rubble blocked the street ahead. Charred timbers leaned against the remains of the wall. I vaulted over the rubble. My straining fingers snagged a timber in the middle of the stack, and my momentum toppled the pile into the road behind me. A moment later, a series of thuds and curses told me at least one of my pursuers had missed his footing amongst the detritus.

  I allowed myself a brief smile and flung myself into an alleyway.

  Where was Elspeth? I assumed she'd simply fled, but if she had a plan, my running halfway across Indrig would hardly help. I pushed the thought out of my head. I didn't have many choices at the moment, and a Daughter of Ashana could surely improvise if she put her mind to it.

  The wall to my right had collapsed a short distance above my head, leaving a gaping hole into the building beyond. Without giving thought to the consequences, I gathered myself and leapt. I made it, but only just. I kicked my feet against the side of the building, searching for purchase, finally finding it on a length of timber protruding from the wattle wall. Soon after, I was head first through the gap and into the space beyond.

  It wasn't much of a room. The house was on the edge of collapse. The internal stairway and that entire side of the building had already fallen into the street below, as had the wall that should have lain directly to my left. In that direction there was nothing but a jagged gap, a space where the edge of the building had once met the street beyond, and then the dangerously canted upper floor of the structure opposite. That second building didn't even have a roof, and its surviving rear wall looked like it could give out at any moment.

  Staring through the ravaged frontage, I saw the strange black fortress standing proud amongst a sea of scorched rubble and ruined buildings. I'd scant chance of going unobserved in such surroundings.

  I heard a clattering from below. I turned to see the fingertips of one hand grasp the edge of the hole. I aimed a kick. The Thrakkian might have kept his grip, I don't know, for a large section of the wall came away with the impact and fell away with him. Bereft of support, the sagging timbers of the roof creaked. Not one of my better ideas.

  The next Thrakkian came up through the now-widened gap without so much as a handhold – a feat of levitation I attributed to a hearty shove from his fellows. It was my challenger from the gates. From the look on his face, he sought to avenge the humiliation brought on by the ease of my escape.

  Kill him! commanded an empty voice. You'll never be free of him otherwise.

  Where had that come from? I realised my hand had drifted to the hilt of my sword, and snatched it back. The thought had framed itself in my mind, but it wasn't what I wanted. I didn't desire to shed blood if I could avoid it. The Thrakkians were defending their home. Inconvenient as it was, their reaction was entirely understandable.

  Unfortunately, the wrestle with my conscience – or whatever it was – had cost valuable time. The Thrakkian had both feet in the room. His axe was swinging for my head. If I wasn't to kill him, I had but one choice.

  Side-stepping the Thrakkian's attack, I launched myself into the space between my building and the next, diving headlong for the sloped floor ahead of me. My elbows and knees slammed into the timbers. They shifted with the impact, and started sliding out into the street. After desperate scrabbling, I pulled myself clear from the sinking floor. Scarcely a moment later, the boards collapsed, taking a large and venerable armchair with them. It tumbled through the space I'd so recently occupied, and fell into the street.

  I clambered to my feet. The floorboards ended a few paces ahead, but a sturdy-looking beam projected over the gap beyond. It ran for perhaps ten or twelve feet before reaching sturdy planks. Beyond that, I glimpsed a banister rail, and stairs. If I was quick, I could get back into the street and be away. I edged out onto the beam.

  I'd only one foot on the beam when instinct made me turn back. I saw the Thrakkian charge towards the gap, gathering himself to leap.

  "Don't do it," I shouted. "You'll not make it!"

  And he wouldn't. I'd barely made the ju
mp, and now most of the floor I'd landed on had fallen into the street. Unfortunately, the Thrakkian either didn't hear, or didn't care to listen.

  In fairness to the man, he almost made it. His forearms and much of his torso smacked home against the floorboards a few paces behind me, but the rest fell through the hole I'd so recently made. He slid backwards immediately, but he didn't panic. He still had his axe gripped tight, and he drove the blade down into the floor in front of him. It lodged deep within the timber. He hung there, trying to heave himself up. Then the board in which his blade was embedded snapped cleanly down the middle. He fell backwards, the axe spinning into the darkness below.

  Still the Thrakkian didn't fall, not completely. The fingers of his left hand fastened around a creaking joist, and he twisted there, fingers grasping for fresh purchase. Each time his hand found only empty air.

  I was halfway across the beam, hating every step. I glanced down. The next floor down had already fallen away. A fall would carry me some fifteen feet onto rubble and splintered wood. As a fallen, it wouldn't kill me – probably – but it would hurt a great deal, and possibly incapacitate me. I needed to get off the beam, and quickly. But I didn't move.

  Instead, I looked back at the Thrakkian. I couldn't leave him like that. When the joist snapped and he fell, he'd at the very least suffer broken bones – a harsh price for a man dealing with what, to his mind, was a very real threat.

  So? the empty voice asked. What's more important? Escaping to rescue Arianwyn, or saving this fool's life? He'd not do the same for you.

  He probably wouldn't, at that, but it changed nothing. Turning gingerly around on the beam, I retraced my steps, knelt the floor's edge reached out. "Here."

  The Thrakkian stared up at me with obvious suspicion. "So you can drop me from higher up? I'll take my chances here."

  "If I wanted you dead, there are easier ways. I'm still armed, I could kill you without any difficulty. Now, give me your hand."

  He hesitated, then thrust his free hand into mine. A few heartbeats later, we both stood on the stable part of the floor, his eyes locked suspiciously on mine. "Why?"