by Ian Irvine
“I don’t want you to spy on him again,” said Tobry, late that night.
They were up under the dome where he was accustomed to practise magery. Though it was exceedingly cold, it was a large open space where there was no chance of anyone eavesdropping on them.
“And I don’t want you going off to kill Grandys, so we’re even.”
“If you’re finished arguing,” said Holm, “can you get on with it? We’ve got an early start in the morning and I need my sleep.”
Tali sat on the blanket she’d brought up, studied the self-portrait of Lyf for a minute to fix him in mind, then closed her eyes and focused her magery on his temple. She hadn’t needed such help last time.
“It’s a lot harder to see than before,” she said after several fruitless minutes. “Is the temple protected, I wonder, or is it my weakening gift?”
Neither Holm nor Tobry replied. She tried again and, with no warning, broke through.
“If you’d kept the catalyz on —” Errek was saying.
“Don’t speak the name!” hissed Lyf. After a long pause he went on. “Besides, my father the king cautioned me not to wear it unless I was about to use it. It’s our most precious secret.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” growled Errek. “I created king-magery in the first place – and the key.”
“I know you did,” Lyf said hastily. “But —”
“Some secrets are best hidden in plain view.”
“What’s that?” cried Lyf.
Tali withdrew hastily. Her heart was pounding as if she had just climbed a high ladder.
“Did you see anything?” said Tobry.
“He mentioned something called a catalyz. Wearing it.”
“What were their words, exactly?” said Holm.
She repeated them. “Is a catalyz a magical talisman? In olden times, Grandys stripped the temple looking for a talisman. At least, that’s what Wiven said before Lyf had him put to death.”
“It’s an alchymical term,” said Tobry. “A catalyz isn’t magical in any way. It’s just something that needs to be present before something else can occur.”
“Like the detonator in a grenado?” said Holm.
“No, the detonator explodes and makes the grenado go off. A catalyz doesn’t make anything happen – it simply allows it to happen, when conditions are right.”
“Is the catalyz the key to king-magery?” said Tali.
“Possibly.”
“So that’s why Grandys could never find a talisman,” said Tali. “There wasn’t one, because the catalyz isn’t the least bit magical.”
“If Errek First-King created king-magery to heal the land, why did he also make the catalyz? What’s it really for?”
“I think I can answer that,” said Holm. “From my study of history.”
“You must have studied it more deeply than I have,” said Tobry.
“I’ve certainly studied it a lot longer. In old Cythe, magery was forbidden to anyone save the king, and bound around with all kinds of punishments if anyone else tried to learn even the tiniest spell. But why?”
“To preserve the mystique of the king,” Tobry said cynically.
“Perhaps. But here’s a thought – what if any adept who learned the procedures – the spells, if you like – could use king-magery? It would put the whole realm in peril, and most of all, the king. Perhaps that’s why Errek created the catalyz.”
“Why?” said Tali.
“To be a secret key, known only to the current king or ruling queen, without which king-magery could not be used. And the secret would only be passed on as the old king passed on king-magery to his heir.”
“It fits the evidence,” said Tobry.
“If we can find the key, the catalyz,” said Tali, “we might command king-magery. It’s the greatest magery of all; it could win us the war.”
“Nothing is that simple,” said Tobry. “Even the kings of old Cythe had a long and difficult struggle to learn king-magery, I’ve heard, and some never did.”
“All right,” said Tali. “But if Grandys gets it —”
“That,” said Holm, “is a truly terrifying prospect.”
“It would certainly make him invincible,” said Tobry.
“That’s not what I meant. Errek designed king-magery to heal the land, and every king had to swear publicly that he’d made that choice. If Grandys tries to twist king-magery to destructive purposes, instead of healing the land, it could destroy it.”
“How does that work?” Tobry said curiously.
“I don’t know. But this land can be deadly when things get out of balance. Lake Fumerous was created when the fourth Vomit blew itself to pieces in ancient times. If it happened again, would any human life survive in Hightspall?”
“I doubt it,” said Tobry.
“But surely Grandys would understand the risk,” said Tali. “He’d know not to go too far.”
“A man like him?” said Holm. “He never listens; he would never believe that such a rule would apply to him. What megalomaniac would?”
Tali looked down at Lyf’s self-portrait, which was still resting in her lap. “This circlet looks a bit out of place, wouldn’t you say?”
“Why so?” said Tobry.
“Lyf’s wearing elaborate kingly robes, yet his crown is a simple silver circlet.”
“The kings of Cythe never wore crowns,” said Holm. “Perhaps it’s something he had as a boy and put on to give himself confidence.”
“Then why paint himself wearing it as a newly crowned king?” said Tali.
“To remind himself to stay humble? Lyf never wanted to be king. It fell to him when his older brother died suddenly.”
“What if the circlet is the catalyz,” Tali said slowly. “Holm, was there a circlet among all the artefacts in Tirnan Twil?”
“I wouldn’t know. There are whole floors of artefacts and we didn’t go up there.”
“It doesn’t take a very hot fire to melt silver,” said Tobry, “and from what you said about that fire, it was a conflagration. If the circlet was there, it would have been fused into a useless lump.”
“Wait a minute,” said Holm.
“What?” said Tali.
“Silver was never used by the kings of Cythe – not for ceremonial purposes, anyway.”
“Why not?”
“It was considered an ignoble metal.”
“What did they use?”
“Gold, mostly,” said Tobry. “Sometimes platina which, as I recall, Lyf had a lot of in his caverns.”
“Gold or platina, it would still have melted in a fire like that,” said Holm.
“Gold, maybe, though it’s harder to melt than silver,” said Tobry. “But not platina – it takes an exceedingly hot fire to even soften it. Any ordinary fire, fuelled by wood and paper, wouldn’t affect it.”
“So if the circlet is platina, and it was at Tirnan Twil,” said Tali, “it could still be there. And sooner or later, Lyf is going to reach the same conclusion.”
“Can’t say I’d want to go back and see what fire did to all those people,” said Holm.
CHAPTER 82
“They’re comin’, Tali,” moaned Rannilt, shaking her. “They’re comin’ for you. You gotta get out.”
The chancellor’s entourage had camped in a steep valley four days’ ride west of Garramide. Tali could not see Rannilt’s face; their tent was dark as the inside of a rock. The child’s warnings weren’t always reliable but Tali did not ask questions. She began heaving on her boots; they had all slept in their clothes. Down the other end she could hear Glynnie, who shared the tent with them, doing the same.
Belt, knife, journey-cake, fur-lined coat, and Tali was ready. “Which way, Rannilt?”
“Don’t know.” She let out a sob. “Stupid buttons! Can’t do ’em up in the dark.”
“Let me,” said Glynnie. Clothing rustled. “There you are. Got your knife, water bottle, food and kindling?”
There was a faint
rustling as Glynnie checked her pockets. In this weather, going outside without food and a pocketful of dry kindling could mean the difference between death and survival.
Tali eased open the tent flap. Snow was driven into her eyes. She shielded them with her hand and looked around, but it was as dark outside as in. The wind howling through the tent ropes was a hedge witch crying out their doom.
“We’d better hold hands.”
Tali took Rannilt’s left hand and Glynnie her right. “Should we run and warn the others?”
“No time,” Rannilt said hoarsely.
“What are you seeing?”
“They’re comin’ over the ridges.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know. Lots. They’re after you, Tali. They really hate you.”
That doesn’t narrow the list down much, Tali thought.
Further up the slope, a guard bellowed over the howling wind, “Chancellor! We’re attacked —” His voice ended in a scream.
Tali’s hair stood up and a jolt of sick fear rippled through her belly. How could she run when she didn’t know which way to run to?
The camp was set at the upper end of a windswept, U-shaped valley. There were steep ridges on either side and a cliff at the upper end.
Red flared up and out like a three-lobed leaf, some kind of mage-light at the top of the camp, and Tali saw a horde of shadows creeping upon the tents from either side of the valley. She crawled away for ten or fifteen yards, then pulled Rannilt and Glynnie close.
“There’s too many of them. We’ll never get out.”
“If we can get away from the camp,” said Glynnie, “they won’t know where to look.”
“If they’ve come all this way for me they won’t give up easily. Keep low.”
“Why don’t we head for the entrance to the valley —?”
“That’s what they’ll expect us to do. It’s the only way to get out.”
“Up,” said Rannilt in a cracked voice.
“If they know we’re up there, they’ll easily trap us.”
“Up!” Rannilt repeated. “No, wait. I can hear somethin’.”
“Get down!” Glynnie shoved them both into the snow.
Now Tali heard it too, a thundering roar that was shaking the hillside through the snow. What could it be? It did not sound right for a man on horseback.
She looked up as it came. He came. The Third Hero, Syrten. Massive, his monstrous hams pounding down the snow and driving that boulder-like body along relentlessly, the sandpaper thighs rasping together like grinding wheels. The opaline encrustations on his skin winked red and green and blue as they reflected the mage-light.
“It’s Grandys,” said Glynnie. “He’s come for you, Tali.”
One of the chancellor’s horses whinnied, another let out a scream of fear, then in a mass the horses broke through the side of their sapling corral and stampeded down the valley.
Syrten was driving down the slope directly towards them and it was too late to move. All they could do was lie still, half buried in snow, and pray that he missed them.
“Golem,” whispered Rannilt. “Golem gunna get us.”
“He’s just a man.” Tali gripped Rannilt’s hand and squeezed. The child was gasping as if she was about to scream, and if she gave way to it they were lost.
Syrten thumped closer. Judging by the way his footsteps shook the ground, he must weigh half a ton. If he ran over them he would crush their skulls or snap their bones. Then Grandys would finish the job.
Tali pulled herself into the tightest line she could manage. If Syrten caught them, she would have to use magery. Destructive magery, whatever the cost, though she did not think it would avail her against him. And it would instantly reveal her to Grandys.
The bursts of light from up the hill were more frequent now, and stronger, highlighting struggling groups of figures in many places. Battle was being done with magery up there and every blast sent needle pains through the top of her skull.
Syrten was hurtling down and it seemed impossible that he could miss them. Tali put her hands over the top of her head, scrunched herself further into the snow, and prayed.
A blast inside a tent, a hundred yards up the valley, lit the night sky – orange flame, human outlines wheeling through the air, a bellow of pain. Syrten propped, skidding sideways down the slope towards them and sending up a great deluge of snow. Was he going to skid right over them?
The golem feet broke through the snow, found purchase on rock beneath, then he shot away at right angles, directly for Tali’s tent.
“Come on,” she whispered. “We’ll go up in his tracks.”
Taking advantage of a momentary darkness, they scurried up the pounded snow to the ridge crest, which was tipped with slabs of slate like the plates running down the back of a land leviathan of olden times. The wind was howling up here, lifting the fallen snow and whirling it around in clouds.
“At least they won’t be able to track us,” said Tali, though she did not think anyone could have heard. “Glynnie, which way?”
No answer. “Glynnie?” said Tali. “Rannilt?”
“Right here,” said Rannilt after a pause. “But Glynnie ain’t.”
“What happened to her?”
“Don’t know.”
“She didn’t… get trampled?”
“Don’t think so. I thought she was comin’ behind. Couldn’t see nothin’, but.”
“We’ll have to go back for her.”
“Better wait,” said Rannilt. “They’re searchin’ below.”
“How many do you think there are?” said Tali. “I thought about a hundred.”
“Wasn’t countin’.”
“So it’s not his army, just a raiding party that can move quickly. Grandys, Syrten, and a bunch of experienced fighters.”
“Do you think Rix —?”
“Grandys would hardly take Rix on a raid against his friends.”
Another flash revealed a line of men moving across the snow below them. “They’re cuttin’ us off,” said Rannilt. “We can’t go back.”
They scrambled up the ridge, which rose ever steeper, groping their way through a darkness illuminated by flashes from the head of the valley.
“This isn’t right,” said Tali, clinging to a slab to catch her breath. “People are dying and I’m running away.”
“Dyin’ to protect ya,” said Rannilt. “Chief magian’s umbrella spell will stop them trackin’ ya, but it won’t hide ya if you’re seen.”
“I know, but my friends are down there. Tobry, Holm, Glynnie…” The catalogue of her friends was a short one.
“If they had to escape,” said Rannilt, “you’d be fightin’ so they could. Up there.” She was indicating the dark mass of the cliff where the ridge ran up into it.
“What’s up there?”
“Bit of a cave. Go in the back, and don’t look out. They can’t even get a glimpse of ya.”
They huddled in a broad, shallow space no bigger than the bed of a wagon, Tali facing away from the entrance.
“You’ll tell me if anything happens.”
“Don’t think they’re doin’ much killin’,” said Rannilt a while later. “They’re roundin’ people up. Settin’ up magery lights and searchin’ for ya.”
Tali desperately wanted to look around, to see for herself. “Can you tell who they’ve caught?”
“Too far away.”
The minutes passed.
“They’re still searchin’,” said Rannilt. “They’re brightenin’ up the mage-lights. Draggin’ someone out into the centre. Oh, don’t look —”
“Can you tell who?” Tali held her breath.
“A short, round little bloke.”
“Not the chief magian?”
Rannilt didn’t answer. She was breathing heavily. The blizzard squall passed and suddenly the night was ablaze with stars. Rannilt cried out, and at the same moment Tali felt a piercing pain pass through her from top to bottom. Suddenly she felt naked, exp
osed, vulnerable.
“They’ve killed him,” Tali said dully.
“Chopped his poor old head right off. How did you know?”
“The shield broke. They’ll be able to use magery to find me now.”
Who else were they going to kill? Grandys had already condemned Tobry, and if they had Glynnie, as Tali assumed, she would probably die as well. Grandys might put the whole camp to death. He had the reputation for it.
A tremendous flare of emerald green fire lit the night, bursting up and out in all directions and carrying what looked like dozens of people – or bodies – with it. Pain jagged through Tali’s skull.
“What was that?”
“Powerful magery,” said Rannilt. “Chief magian’s.”
“But he’s dead.”
“Must’ve left a booby trap behind. Killed dozens of them.” She paused. “They’re goin’.”
The raiders raced up the slope, over the ridge, and disappeared.
“Gone to their horses, I expect,” said Rannilt sagely.
“Do you think it’s a trick?” said Tali once they were gone. “Are they lurking nearby in case I go back?”
“Don’t know.”
Tali waited another ten minutes, then said, “I’m not game to go back, just in case. Come on.”
“Where are we goin’?”
“Down the ridge to the mouth of the valley. The horses stampeded that way, but I don’t think they’d go too far.”
“Are we leavin’ the wicked old chancellor?” said Rannilt. “Goody.”
“In a way. We’re going to Tirnan Twil.”
CHAPTER 82
“They’re comin’, Tali,” moaned Rannilt, shaking her. “They’re comin’ for you. You gotta get out.”
The chancellor’s entourage had camped in a steep valley four days’ ride west of Garramide. Tali could not see Rannilt’s face; their tent was dark as the inside of a rock. The child’s warnings weren’t always reliable but Tali did not ask questions. She began heaving on her boots; they had all slept in their clothes. Down the other end she could hear Glynnie, who shared the tent with them, doing the same.
