by Greg Keyes
“Kauron?”
Yes. I’m more powerful here. You’ve passed the fourth fane. There is only one more. Listen to me. What you feel is your mind trying to accept everything in the river. You can’t do that without dying, without ceasing to become who you are. Can you understand me?
“I think so.”
Then let me help you fight it.
“Aren’t you dead, too? Why are you different?”
Because I walked this faneway, too. Because when my body died, I would not permit the river to have me.
“I—” But the voices were coming back, and he couldn’t think. “Help me find the last fane,” he gasped.
Be strong, Stephen. Hold on to yourself. Hold on to me. It isn’t far.
It seemed far, however. He realized at some point that the light and wind weren’t illusions, that somewhere along the way he had left the innards of the mountain and was winding up its slopes. Kauron stayed with him, talking to him and not to the other voices, reminding him that he was the real one. It felt as if the ancient monk were walking right beside him, although when he looked, he could not see him.
“The Vhelny,” Stephen managed to ask. “What does it want?”
“Vhelny?”
“The thing you warned me against, the thing in the mountain.”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t think it would be someone else seeking the power of the faneway, not if he already knew where it was. One would think he would have slain you and walked it himself.”
“That’s what I thought,” Stephen said, pausing to make certain that the hand he was using to steady himself was his own.
“So it’s someone who wants you to have the power.”
“But the prophecy says he’s my enemy. I’m your heir, and he’s my enemy.”
“If I had an enemy like that, I don’t remember. It’s possible, I suppose. Ghosts, even ghosts like me, aren’t aware of the things they’ve forgotten. Anyway, I don’t think I would know much about prophecies concerning Kauron’s heir, would I? They were all made after my death.”
Stephen felt a deep shock of dizziness.
Stephen! The voice was back in his head, fainter, alarmed.
Listen to me, Stephen. Focus on my voice.
The vertigo eased back. “What happened to you, Kauron?” he asked. “How did you die?”
“I died on this very mountain,” the ghost replied.
“Did the faneway kill you?”
“No. It’s a long story. I actually returned here to die.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. I just thought I ought to. It appears I was right.”
“But—”
“The fane is just ahead. The path is narrower than in my time.”
“I wish—it’s hard to think, to ask what I want to ask.”
“I know. I remember. Think about who you are. Tell me about who you are.”
“I—I love languages. You’re a thousand years old! There’s so much I could learn…” He shook his head, trying to focus. Was he still moving?
Yes, inching along. He saw something up ahead, something like a standing stone.
“I, ah—when I’m angry, or frustrated, I make up a little treatise, as if it’s going to go into a book.”
“Of course you do,” Kauron said. “I used to do much the same, especially when I was a novice. I wrote mine down, though, and one of the other brothers—Brother Parsons—found it and showed the others.”
“What happened?”
“They made fun of me, of course, and I had to clean the stables for a year.”
Stephen had a sudden vivid image of standing ankle-deep in horse muck.
“It’s hard to imagine the great Kauron cleaning stables,” he said.
“What’s so great about me? What did I do?”
“You brought Virgenya Dare’s journal here for safekeeping. You must have been important among the Revesturi.”
“Like you are, you mean?”
“What are you saying?”
“I was no one. Hardly anyone. I lived in the scriftorium, I found the journal; I found the location of the mountain. My fratrex sent me to bring it here because he reckoned that no one would suspect I was up to anything important, that no one would follow me.”
“There are prophecies about you.”
“No, it sounds like there are prophecies about you, Stephen. I’m just in them, doing what I’m supposed to do: helping you.”
The voices were fading now, and his sense of where he was returning. He was on a spit of stone sticking out from the mountain, a triangle four kingsyards at the base and seven long. It slanted up as it narrowed toward its apex, where stood a little spike. The Virgenyan symbol for “five” was barely visible scratched on it.
“It’s funny,” Stephen said. “You asked me to talk about myself, but it was talking about you that helped.”
“I’m your guide.”
“I think we must be very much alike,” Stephen said.
“It sounds like it. At least in youth.”
“When I touch the stone, it’s over?”
“Yes. The knowledge and power are in you, but without the blessing of this fane you can’t control it.”
“What happens to you?”
“It’s my sacrifice to make, Stephen.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t worry. All is as it should be. I’ve guided you this far. Trust me a step farther.”
Stephen nodded, walking carefully forward. Sighing, he placed his hand on the upthrust of stone.
The last of the voices faded, replaced by a feeling of vastness. It was as if a great wave had passed over him, spun him in its waters, and set him back on his feet. Everything seemed new and different, as if he were seeing the world with completely novel eyes.
As if he had been reborn.
This is the Alq, he realized. It’s not really a place, it’s a state of being.
He sank down to his knees, utterly exhausted. He gazed at the beautiful march of mountains before him and felt a sudden, savage joy at the magnificence of it all, at the thunder and lightning that was the world. His body was tired, but inside he felt alive as never before.
But he knew he’d just begun: There was still plenty he had to do. The faneway wasn’t the last step. He still had to find the throne, and he had to find it soon.
Stephen stood up, and although his knees were still a bit wobbly, he felt he could walk. He was sure he remembered the way back to the Aitivar city, but it meant going halfway around the mountain, and it wouldn’t do to starve to death. Not now, when it was all there before him, when he finally knew what to do.
Something was rushing toward him on the wind, something hot and acrid.
He turned to face the Vhelny.
He still couldn’t see it either with his eyes or with the sense that dug beneath the surface of the world. Or maybe it really was nothing more than shadow.
But no, he felt the slow and terrible potency burning in it.
Congratulations, the shadow told him, and opened vast, obfuscate wings. Stephen felt the tickle of command begin. I can use one like you.
Stephen didn’t hesitate, and that fact in itself was a beautiful thing, almost erotic in its intensity. He flung his will at the Vhelny, drawing from the infinite flood beneath the world.
What met him was raw force of a kind he had never sensed before, and he suddenly felt as if he were wrestling with something of constantly changing form, like the alv-queen’s lover in the old tale.
But this was terribly real. He felt suddenly pushed back, surrounded, and it was more and more difficult to keep his focus on the demon, to match his power against it. This was not the power of the sedos; this was ancient night come to life, something that had existed long before the world itself or any of its petty powers.
No. I don’t know what it is, but it can be beaten. Take—
A surge of fresh energy filled Stephen’s limbs, and he suddenly understood.
W
hatever this was sat the Xhes throne. There had been another, years before, who had sat that, a Sefry warlock, and he had been bound, and now he knew how to do it.
He stopped fighting the Vhelny’s energies, let them enter him, take hold of his heart and will. And when the demon had committed itself, was in him, he grabbed those energies like the leash of a dog and twisted them, made them his, laid stricture after stricture until the chaos in the monster was hemmed by order and his command.
No, the Vhelny whispered.
“Yes. And thank you for your congratulations, and to paraphrase, I’m sure you will be of use to me.”
I will be free. I will grind everything in you.
“I don’t think so. Now, what say you fly me back into the mountain and we find my companions.”
You will pay.
But something wrapped around him, and in a moment they were soaring though the air, and he laughed in sheer delight.
He couldn’t wait to see Zemlé. And Winna. And Aspar. And Queen Anne, especially Queen Anne. The best part was how surprised they would be. He loved it when people were surprised, when they finally got the joke.
Of course he did. That was why they called him the Black Jester.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RETREAT
ANNE COULDN’T FEEL the reins anymore. The breeze seemed to spin her around, and then the ground reached for her.
She still could see, but nothing she saw made much sense. Horses’ legs were everywhere, and men were reaching for her, and then it was all just noise and color, and finally she was elsewhere, lying in a meadow by a mere. She lifted her hand and saw that there was no shadow. Her side hurt, and when she reached to feel it, there was a stick there. She pushed at it, and agony erupted along her ribs. Her hand felt wet and sticky, and when she looked at it, it was red.
“Shot,” she managed. There had been a lot of arrows; she remembered that. And then the horses coming together, a shock like a giant ocean wave that threw everyone around her down until she drew, drew down from the sickle moon hanging pale as a cloud in the sky, and struck through them. She remembered seeing their eyes explode in gouts of steam, and the screams…
I did that?
“You did it,” her arilac confirmed, rising up from the earth. “Even Genya Dare would have been impressed by that.”
“Did we win?”
“You broke their charge and killed half of them before you got shot. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
“I am shot.”
“Yes.”
“Am I dying?”
“I don’t know, but you shouldn’t stay here in this condition. If he should come, you won’t be able to fight him.”
“I don’t—” Black spots were dancing before her eyes.
“I’ll help you,” the arilac said, and smoothed her forehead with one burning hand.
A hoof thudded in the earth next to her head, and someone shouted her name. She tried to sit up and gasped.
“She’s here!” a man shouted. “Saints know how. We were looking there—”
“She’s shot.” A face appeared above her.
“Hello, Cape Chavel,” she said.
“You can hear me?”
“Yes.”
“I have to get you up. Do you understand? I can’t leave you here; we’re in retreat. Unless you can—” He grimaced.
“I’m too weak,” she replied.
“You’ll ride with me. Your Craftsmen and the heavy horse have formed a rear guard. My horses are faster. We’ll get you back to camp and to a leic.”
Anne searched for a response, but she felt too tired.
It did hurt when he got her up in the saddle with him, and it hurt more every single time his horse took a stride. Although she tried not to, she cried, wanting nothing more than for the pain to end.
She woke flat on her back in a small, rumbling room that she eventually recognized as a wain. She remembered that Nerenai had given her something bitter to drink, and she had fallen asleep.
She felt at her side and found the arrow gone. So was her clothing. She was wrapped loosely in a blanket.
“There, mistress,” she heard Nerenai say. “Lie still.”
“What’s happening?”
Before Nerenai could reply, Emily broke in. “It’s very exciting. They say you made their eyes explode. Is it true?”
“I’d rather not talk about that,” Anne murmured. “Can you find Artwair for me?”
“No, Majesty,” the girl said. “He’s out forming up the lines. You killed a lot of them, but there’s plenty left. Like they knew we were coming.”
“They did know we were coming.”
“How?” the girl asked.
“I was outmagicked,” Anne replied. Pray saints Alis and Neil find this Hellrune and know what to do about him. He’s stronger than I.
A sudden thought occurred to her. “If we’re fighting, why is the wain moving?”
“We’re retreating,” Emily replied. “But orderly, so we don’t get slaughtered. Artwair’s a smart general.”
I led him into a trap, Anne thought. That will be hard to mend. Yes, she was queen, but she needed her generals to believe in her, especially Artwair.
“How many have we lost?”
“I don’t know. They think around two thousand. They attacked our infantry where we were camped, too.”
Two thousand? The number seemed unreal. Had she ever even met two thousand people in her life?
For three more days they fell back toward Poelscild. Losses on both sides were minimal. And then, a day’s march from the northernmost dike, the Hansan army stopped following them.
The next day Anne wasn’t sleeping in a wagon anymore but in a fine bed in Poelscild’s keep.
The count had almost three thousand of her soldiers sleeping in the ground.
“They haven’t gone far, Majesty,” Artwair told her the next day.
“You look tired, Cousin.”
He did. His face looked lined and ten years older than it had a month earlier.
“I’m well, Your Majesty.”
“So where have they gone, then?”
“About a league north, in Andemuer. They’re building a redoubt there. I expect they’ll reinforce it and then come here.”
Anne nodded. She’d made Nerenai and Emily sit her up. She couldn’t stand, but she didn’t want to face Artwair on her back. “And the fleet? Any word?”
“They anticipated us there, too,” Artwair said. “Met Liery in open sea. Five ships were lost, and about that on the Hansan side. Sir Fail brought them back to Ter-na-Fath.”
“So we’re in retreat everywhere,” Anne said.
“Everywhere we’ve ventured.”
“Everywhere I’ve sent us, you mean,” Anne said.
“There’s no blame to Your Majesty. It seemed like a good plan to me, too. But it wasn’t the surprise they thought it would be. And things could have been worse. This Hellrune of theirs isn’t perfect, either. He may have managed to trick you, but you fought out of his trap.”
“Barely. But I agree that things could have gone worse. I may know little about war, but I know that armies in retreat often fall apart and are destroyed. This could have been a rout. Your leadership prevented that, Duke Artwair.”
“I’m not the only one to credit. Lord Kenwulf kept our left flank, and young Cape Chavel our right. If we had ever been encircled, that would have been the end of it.”
“I will commend them, too,” she said. “What happens now?”
“I’ve sent for reinforcements, of course. Many of the landwaerden levies are already either here or reinforcing other forts along the edge of Newland.”
“Then we’re giving them Andemuer and the Maog Voast plain?” Anne asked.
“We’re not giving it; they have it. Northwatch fell two days ago, so reinforcements can come along the Vitellian Way without resistance. Copenwis is open to their ports. No, Newland is better fortified than the northern border and always has been. Ande
muer has gone back and forth between Hansa and Crotheny for exactly that reason. But they’ll have a harder time breaking us here. And if they do, we’ll retreat to the next canal and flood these poelen behind us, so they’ll have to swim at us.”
“You mention the danger of them coming down the Dew. Have you any reports from the east?”
“No report of attack yet, no, but I expect it.”
“And the south?”
He nodded. “We’ve heard that at least three Church legifs are camped along the Teremené River. That news is a few days old, of course. They may have started fighting already.”
Anne remembered Teremené.
“The river is in a gorge there,” she said. “They’ll have to cross at Teremené town or go north into Hornladh…” She trailed off.
“Majesty?”
She closed her eyes. Nothing; just another stupid thing I’ve done. Cazio, be as smart as I think you are.
“The Hellrune can’t help those in the south. I’ll see what my visions can tell me about what the Church is up to. Is there anything else?”
“Not that I know of, Majesty.”
“Thank you, Duke. I’d better rest now.”
She met her arilac on a heather-covered down overlooking an azure sea. The air was warm and wet and a little dirty-feeling.
The arilac seemed more human each time they met, although she still shone unnaturally at times.
“You were outmaneuvered,” the woman said. “With the law of death broken, the Hellrune is stronger than even I suspected.”
“You should have warned me,” Anne replied.
The arilac raised a fiery eyebrow. “That would have been an insult to your intelligence. If you could see the results of what he saw, how could you not imagine it wasn’t possible for him to do the same?”
“But when does it end?” Anne asked. “If I had seen the trap, couldn’t he have seen me seeing it? And so on, into utter madness?”
“Yes and no. As you’ve learned, the future isn’t a fixed thing if you can see it. But it has a path and momentum. When the Hellrune saw that your army would march the way it did, and you saw that he had seen that, you might have done a number of things. You might have decided not to go that way, or not march at all, or bring thousands more with you—or what you did: try to turn the trap against itself. The Hellrune would have been shown all these paths, but dimly, and one would have seemed infinitesimally brighter. In turn, his possible reactions—abandon the plan, send more men, and so forth—would be even more contingent, first because your choice was one of dozens, then because his was. That’s why you didn’t see the reversal of the trap: It was a wispy thing, unnoticeable. For him to see the outcome of his reversal I would call impossible, which is why you managed to escape. So to answer your question, your duel with the Hellrune went as many strokes as it could, and he won. When you are in full mastery of the power, you might see one step farther. Might.”
