Orbelon's World (Book 3)

by Martin Ash

  'What do you mean?' Grey Venger said, a muscle twitching high on his left cheek.

  She watched him closely to try and gauge how her statement affected him. 'The Child made no reference to you or the True Sept, nor to the One God who is his father. When I left him it was with a feeling that he does not know you. In fact I do not believe he knows his purpose at all.'

  Venger glowered at her with murderous eyes, grinding his teeth, but she thought, for an instant, that a flicker of. . . could it have been fear? …showed behind the terrible glare. Before he could speak she followed up. 'How is he to find you, Venger? Can it be that he doesn’t know his true role, that he has to be told?'

  The thought came to her even as she voiced it. But its effect upon Grey Venger was illuminating. He leapt from his seat again and stood before her, arms outstretched, tortured face turned to the ceiling. In a voice tortured with emotion he proclaimed, 'It is the time of the godless, known by the Righteous Powers which will range themselves against the Unbelievers and their foul King Who Is Without A Soul. And at this time the Child of Legend shall be born and will seek out its followers, the Righteous Believers of the One And True Sept who have paved His Way! He shall come among them and restore the True Faith, for he will know them just as he will know the Unbelievers: He will know them by their ways! And he shall join with his Father, the One True God, and together with the faithful they will restore the world to the wholeness that went before.'

  The wholeness that went before! Even as Grey Venger stood before her with a crazed triumphal grimace, breathing hard, daring her to challenge his words, the veins standing out on his temples and neck, Issul struggled to extract and make sense of the essence of his words, behind the bombast and rhetoric. Restore the world to the wholeness that went before. Orbelon had said that the Higher Ones, the gods of Enchantment, hardly knowing what they did, warred endlessly in order to survive, and that their conflict maintained the energies that Enchantment itself needed to survive. The world had once been all as Enchantment was now, and the ultimate aim of the beings known as gods was to reclaim the world, to return it to the flux that is Enchantment.

  Is this what is happening here? Can the True Sept itself be, unwittingly, a pawn of the forces of Enchantment?

  The thought threw a new fear into her which she was not yet able to fully assimilate.

  'Thus is it written,' Grey Venger declared, lowering his arms and standing, teeth bared, before her. 'The Child is here, just as we predicted. And that is the proof. He knows us. Now, enough of your questions, Issul. Tell me now about the Legendary Child.'

  TWO

  I

  When she came from Grey Venger's chamber Issul was unable to prevent herself trembling. As Pader had warned, Grey Venger's personality was extreme, exuding a rancour and hatred that was almost palpable. The tension of dealing with him had been almost unbearable. She felt that he had somehow got inside her. Her head throbbed, the muscles of her chest had tensed, constricting her lungs so that she breathed in short, shallow gasps.

  The sergeant-of-the-guard in the corridor outside came forward with a strained look and enquired whether she needed assistance. She replied in the negative and went on her way, in a daze. Her mind was abuzz with the possible ramifications of what she had gleaned. Venger, largely unwittingly, had given her much to think about. In the latter stages of their meeting, when Issul had recounted elements of her encounter with Moscul, his agitation had mounted. She had left him with the conviction growing ever more forcefully upon her that the True Sept might be being manipulated by forces it had no real knowledge of.

  She turned a corner. A side-portal opened a short distance ahead of her and the slight, aged figure of Pader Luminis stepped into the passage. He waited, dressed in a loose grey robe bound at the waist with a cincture of soft, tasselled cord. His thin hands were clasped at his chest, a small affectionate smile upon his lips as he peered over a pair of glass discs balanced low upon his nose. When Issul came alongside him he took pace with her.

  'Did you see and hear all, Pader?' Issul asked.

  'I heard, certainly,' the little Murinean replied. 'Vision was not as clear. The plug in the wall panel allows a very restricted view. You handled him well, dear Issul. In fact, I do believe you unsettled him. The results may be interesting to witness.'

  'Do you think so?'

  'I believe you planted a seed of doubt deep within his psyche. That is remarkable in itself. He will do everything in his power to suppress and eliminate it. But the mere possibility of the Legendary Child's being something other than he has spent his life believing. . . well, it threatens the very foundations of his creed. And you have met the Child. This he cannot ignore. In fact, he can hardly bear it! Now he is alone, and must mull over his thoughts without the support of his brethren to reinforce him. Whether the outcome will benefit us in any way is, of course, another matter entirely.'

  'He is. . . terrifying,' seethed Issul through clenched teeth.

  'If terror was your experience you concealed it admirably. I think you even gained his respect - as far as is possible for the sputum of a louse plucked from the crotch of a diseased dog, that is.'

  Issul laughed briefly. 'He has a remarkable ability to charm.'

  'I’ve heard that he selects his wives by gathering together half-a-dozen young women in a ritual setting. They are subjected to various abuses, commencing with verbal and graduating to more violent forms. The process can last for hours, even days, without let-up. The woman who withstands his attentions the longest without breaking gains the honour of bearing his child.'

  'It must make her very proud.' They arrived at an intersection of passages, and Issul halted. 'Pader, apply yourself to the minutiae of what you have just witnessed. Later we will discuss it in detail in the hope that something useful may come of it. For now though, I must clear my thoughts of that man.'

  She departed, filled now with self-reproach. She trusted Pader implicitly; she was reliant upon his wisdom and insight. But she had not confided everything to him. Pader knew of the existence of the blue casket, knew too that it was of incalculable value and importance. But he did not know about Orbelon, nor that Leth and the children were trapped within the casket. Orbelon had forbidden her to reveal these things, and she was not yet ready to go against his wishes. She knew too little about him, and the consequences could be far too high. But to exclude Pader Luminis from vital information seemed self-defeating, placing restrictions upon the invaluable assistance his expertise could provide, as well as being a betrayal of an old friend.

  Issul carried on through the elaborate maze of Orbia's corridors, through fabulous marbled galleries lined with statues and tapestries of unimaginable value, along arcades opening upon flowering courtyards and pleasant gardens. Eventually she entered the military sections, and in due course stepped through an open portal onto the first level of a two tier gallery which overlooked a hall commonly used for weapons-training by officers of the Palace Guard. Below, her eyes fell upon Shenwolf, who was engaged in swordplay with Master Meles, one of Orbia's most eminent weapons'-masters. Among his many other duties, Meles was arms-tutor to Prince Galry, Issul's son. Issul had trained with him herself on many occasions, and knew him to be formidably skilled and a devoted and demanding taskmaster. So it interested her to observe that, facing Shenwolf, Master Meles was not having an easy time.

  Seated on a bench to one side of the hall were Kol and Phisusandra, the two companions who, with Shenwolf, had helped Issul escape the secret Karai camp in which she had been held prisoner. They sat with intent expressions, engrossed in the combat. Issul moved silently into the lee of a graceful fluted stone column supporting the upper tier, and observed unseen.

  The two fighters wore hauberks of stuffed leather, leather shin-guards and hardened leather bascinets. Master Meles fought with a light longsword, a slim dagger gripped in his left hand. Shenwolf, somewhat to Issul's surprise, used his own smallsword, notable for its unusual down-curving quillons. He
/>
  too held a slender dagger in his left hand. The fact that they were his own weapons suggested that the edges were not dulled, as was the norm in practice.

  The two men seemed not to have been duelling for long. Neither of them was breathing hard or had worked up a sweat. They moved cautiously across the floor, circling one another, sizing each other up. Occasionally one would make a feint, but neither seemed ready yet to seriously press the attack. Then Master Meles lunged. Shenwolf slanted his torso to the side, stepping backwards at the same time. Meles's blade pushed past his breastbone, missing him by a finger's breadth. Shenwolf's shorter blade came up and caught Meles's sword with the curved tine of his quillon. Shenwolf twisted deftly and thrust away, pushing Meles momentarily off-balance. Meles swivelled, quickly recovering his guard, and parried a thrust from Shenwolf. He leapt in and sent Shenwolf back with a series of blindingly fast thrusts.

  The combat was earnest now. Both men had the measure of their opponent, and each had gained the other's respect. They sparred back and forth. Issul found her eyes more frequently on Shenwolf. There was a grin upon his face; he was plainly enjoying the sport. A slight glow had begun to colour his cheeks and sweat could be seen gleaming on his brow below the rim of his leather bascinet. Likewise Master Meles was breathing harder, a sheen of perspiration on his face.

  Shenwolf was the taller and more slightly built of the two. His movements were fluid and graceful, extremely fast and perfectly controlled. It was almost like watching a skilled dancer. His attacks came from unusual angles. He would lean his body to one side, strike upwards to Meles's flank, forcing Meles to an awkward backhanded defence. He would raise his blade high and stab downwards over Meles's attack. At times he would appear to leave himself open, but when Meles moved to take advantage, Shenwolf would dart or twist or bend his body and Meles would strike only air, or clash against Shenwolf's blade.

  It was true that Meles was Shenwolf's senior by well over a decade, and might therefore lack the speed and stamina of the younger man, but he was superbly fit and powerful. His superior strength and experience, by Issul's calculations, should have outweighed any advantages Shenwolf had. But as the combat proceeded it became obvious that Meles was being forced onto the defensive far more frequently than was to his liking.

  Quite suddenly it was over. Meles was being pushed back, step by remorseless step, until he was close up against the wall opposite the gallery from where Issul watched. Each blow, had it struck home, would have impaled him. But he fended with quick, expert parries and deflections and further backward steps. Abruptly he stepped in with a powerful counterstrike. Shenwolf dodged, caught the blade with his quillon and twisted hard, this time with a sharp downward motion. Meles grunted; his sword flew from his hand and clattered across the floor. He straightened with an expression of rueful resignation, Shenwolf's swordtip at his throat.

  Issul clapped. All four men looked up. Kol and Phisusandra rose immediately from the bench where they sat, and they each bowed their heads.

  'Do not stand on ceremony,' said Issul. 'That was impressive to observe. An excellent display!'

  Master Meles, nursing his wrist, said, 'Master Shenwolf tried hard to convince me verbally of the merits of the shortsword over the long. I wasn’t persuaded and invited him to prove his case.' He wiped his forearm across his brow. 'I confess, I didn’t anticipate quite so much exercise.'

  'And are you persuaded now?' asked the Queen.

  'I’ve been well bested, on this occasion at least. He is a master of his craft. Even so, I can’t say that I am persuaded to recommend a wholesale change of weaponry for the entire army of Enchantment's Reach.'

  'Nor was that my aim,' smiled Shenwolf. 'But I hope I’ve successfully demonstrated that in certain situations, most notably when fighting in a confined space, the smallsword is the superior weapon. Musclebound soldiers will scoff and declare it to be suitable only for women and children, but I’ve seen more than one 'expert' bladesman pay the price for such an arrogant assumption.'

  'This is hardly a confined space,' Kol pointed out.

  Shenwolf gave a shrug, almost apologetically. He looked at Meles and grinned sheepishly. Meles slapped his shoulder. 'You beat me, lad, and there's nothing more to be said. I hope you will teach me some of those moves when an opportunity arises.'

  'Gladly.'

  'Your technique is unorthodox,' Issul observed.

  For a moment Shenwolf looked troubled. 'Where I come from the smallsword is more commonly the weapon of choice. Such techniques are the norm.'

  'Still, I suspect you have devoted much time and effort to their mastery.' Issul stepped back from the balustrade and descended to the floor of the hall via a winding staircase at one end of the gallery. 'Shenwolf, would it be too much to request another demonstration, or are you fatigued?'

  'I would be pleased to do so.' Shenwolf turned. 'Master Meles?'

  'No,' said Issul. She stepped across the hall to a weapons' rack which stood before one wall. 'You will fight me.'

  'My lady, Shenwolf uses his own weapon. The blades are keen,' protested Master Meles.

  'So I noted,' replied the Queen. 'It should add an edge of excitement, and I’m in need of the exercise. It will help to focus my mind.'

  She selected a smallsword from the rack, tested its weight and balance and took a few swift swipes at the air, then nodded to herself. 'Meles, would you help me into a combat suit, please.'

  'You employ your quillons to good effect,' she said to Shenwolf as Master Meles adjusted the straps of her leather hauberk. 'Our smallswords lack such refinement. It is clearly something our weaponsmiths should look at in future. For now, I must be wary.' She pulled a helmet onto her head and stepped to the middle of the hall and faced Shenwolf. 'Do you think to show quarter because I’m the Queen, or simply a woman?'

  Shenwolf grinned wryly. 'I have fought beside you, and know that to do so would be unwise.'

  'Good. Then let us engage.'

  She drove forward with a yell, her blade flashing, a blur of motion. Shenwolf was pushed back. The clash of their swords reverberated around the hall as he deflected her flurry of moves. He dodged, drove in with a slashing blow to her middle. Issul blocked him, but was forced to step back to avoid the dagger in his left hand. Now it was Shenwolf who advanced, Issul defending against a rain of blows that came hard and fast, vibrating along the length of her arm, almost numbing her. Shenwolf's eyes were bright, his lips parted, smiling with sheer exhilaration.

  The combat continued, back and forth, neither gaining the upper hand. Issul changed her tactics, switching suddenly from deflective moves to an attack. Shenwolf foiled her, she retreated again. Suddenly she was against the wall. Shenwolf stepped in quickly and pushed aside her blade-arm. He was suddenly up against her. His sweat was strong in her nostrils; she felt the heat of his body almost pressing hers. Shenwolf's hands were against the wall behind her. He breathed hard, their faces separated by less than a hand's breadth.

  'No quarter?' breathed Issul.

  'Neither expected nor given.'

  She pushed him off, ducked beneath his arm, and stepped back, panting. Shenwolf faced her, lowering his body, his weapon held towards her. Issul sprang, stabbing. Shenwolf drew back. They circled, then he lunged forward, aiming a blow at her middle. In an instant Issul dropped to the floor, raising her sword to block his and at the same time sweeping his advancing foot away with her own. Shenwolf fell, and Issul rolled and came up over him, her leg pressing his to the floor, her blade at his windpipe.

  'Your death, I think.'

  'Ah, but I can at least console myself in the knowledge that I do not go to my grave alone.'

  He glanced down between them. She looked down and saw his dagger blade held firm, its tip a mere finger's breadth from her ribcage. Had he thrust forward, or had she pushed towards him, she would have been impaled.

  Shenwolf threw off his leather helmet and let his head fall back upon the floor, closing his eyes for a moment, breathing h
ard. For a moment Issul gazed at him. His damp hair clung to his forehead. He opened his eyes and met her gaze. She rolled away and rose to her feet.

  Master Meles approached, clapping. 'Superb! Most instructive to watch.'

  He began to help Issul unfasten the straps of her hauberk as Shenwolf stood. Shenwolf looked with irony at Issul. 'And you called my technique unorthodox? That last move with the feet is something I’ve never encountered before.'

  Issul smiled. 'But I don't think you’ll be caught by it again.'

  Shenwolf gave a sigh, sheathing his blade. 'Ah well, it was an enjoyable tussle.'

  Issul shrugged off the hauberk. Her face became pensive. 'I’ve given much thought to your station here within Enchantment's Reach. You’ve demonstrated loyalty and service over and above the call of duty. I learn, too, that you earned King Leth's personal commendation before you rode from Enchantment's Reach in search of me. I’m grateful, Shenwolf.'

  'I did only what was required in the circumstances.'

  'No. You did far more. Will you accept promotion? I would have you raised to the office of captain. Furthermore, I wish you transferred from the King's Cavalry to the Orbia Royal Guard, where you will serve in my personal guard. You will be quartered here, within the Palace, in your own private apartment. Is this agreeable to you?'

  Shenwolf bowed his head. 'This is a great privilege. I’ve served such a short time.'

  'But exceptionally, with courage, initiative and signal devotion to the Crown. You have shown yourself again and again to be more than worthy. It would please me immensely if you would accept.'

  'Then I accept gladly.'

  Issul turned to Kol and Phisusandra. 'And you two, who are also my brave and loyal companions. I promised financial reward to those who returned with me to Enchantment's Reach, and this will be forthcoming. Furthermore, it is my hope that you will choose to stay here with us. On the face of it the prospect may not appear too enticing, given the conflict that’s upon us. But the conflict will not end here unless we of Enchantment's Reach can bring about its end. It will spread in ways we cannot yet imagine, for it is no natural conflict that we face. All the known lands will be engulfed, and those which lie beyond too. So, if you choose to leave you will depart with my fond and grateful good wishes. I will provide you with the best mounts, and your purses will bulge. With fortune on your side you may yet somehow escape the terrible war that embroils us. On the other hand, I need loyal and responsible men around me at this time more than ever. Out of gratitude I will provide decent homes for you both, with money enough to establish yourselves in whatever business you may choose, without further commitment on your part. If you have a taste for the soldier's life, however, I would also have you both drafted into my personal guard, to serve directly under Shenwolf's command.'