SHIANG

by C. F. Iggulden

  The king sighed and shook his head.

  ‘What of that? How did it profit him? He has more regrets now than before. They come wounded to the line, son. They come broken and weeping. I’ve seen it more times than I can say.’

  On the plain, the battle began, with great squares marching and slicing into one another. It seemed less real over distance, though it held the king rapt. He stared in wonder at something he had only ever known in the midst of the fighting.

  ‘I should be down there, in the fray,’ he said, dreamily. ‘Not here on the hill.’ He took a step down, then another.

  ‘Please,’ Taeshin said. ‘Call Gabriel and Sanjin back. Even if you cannot send me home, undo that wrong first. Nothing is right until they are here.’

  The battle was not going well without the king to lead them. It was a slaughter, with entire regiments vanishing from view as they were cut down and routed. In all the variations Taeshin had seen, he had never witnessed such a colossal defeat.

  When the king turned to him once more, anger darkened his gaze.

  ‘I should not have come with you. My place is down there, with them, to live or die each day.’

  ‘And to do it again, over and over, without end or purpose?’ Taeshin said in frustration. ‘This is not heaven, Majesty. It must be hell, it must be. You can see that, can’t you?’

  The king was very still, watching his regiments scattered and broken. The slaughter would have been appalling in life. The other king rode the grey waste, up and down, up and down.

  ‘The battle is lost,’ the king said, despairing.

  ‘Then win it tomorrow, when you do it all again!’ Taeshin snapped. ‘But call back the men who escaped first. Call back the ones who took my life from me and put me here. Do as you said you would, if you remember anything of honour in this place.’

  Gabriel brushed dust from his coat, gun smoke drifting like fog around him. The armoured warrior had gone down hard under his blows and Gabriel had staggered away, desperate to save Thomas. He shook his head. He did not know if Thomas lived. He did not even know how many men he had killed that night. It was strange how Darien differed in so many ways from Shiang. In the royal precinct, he’d slaughtered Mazer swordsmen and royal guards, spattering himself with blood until he left red footprints on the marble. Yet in the end, as he’d taken the royal sword and sat the throne, the rest of them had surrendered. The city had fallen into line in days, without rebellions or riots.

  It seemed the lords of Darien were more stubborn, or perhaps it was simply that he had not gone straight for the king. Symbols mattered, Gabriel thought with disgust. Once more he was covered in fluids and filth, with dust and pieces of flesh stuck to his face. If he and the others had not been challenged at the gate, perhaps they would have made their way to the royal estate and cut just one head from the wolf.

  He snarled, sending flames sputtering in a ring around him to force the soldiers back.

  ‘How many more of you need to die?’ he snarled at them. ‘I swear, if you …’

  ‘Taeshin?’ he heard.

  He knew the voice in an instant, of course. Something in him leaped closer to the surface, terrified to have Marias appear in that place of savagery. He had not mastered the shield of air and he could only stare as she walked towards him with the Fool at her side.

  ‘Go back!’ he shouted, though it was not his own voice. Gabriel roared, trying to clear his throat of the one who had made words come. He would not share this body, not after all he had done to keep it. The Bracken Stone pulsed on his skin and he drew more from it, goosebumps rising all along his arms.

  ‘Marias! Go back! Before you get yourself killed!’ Taeshin shouted suddenly.

  The king tilted his head and looked at him in confusion. A breeze began to blow and the king almost staggered as he realised he had never known one before, not in that place. He waited until Taeshin’s focus seemed to return and rest on him.

  ‘You are bound to the world, still,’ the king said, in wonder.

  ‘Then send me home,’ Taeshin pleaded. He could feel the night air of Darien, cold on his face. He could hear the crackle of gunfire and smell burned powder as some part of the world he had known drifted into the grey land. The king smelled it too, filling his lungs. After so long without, even that bitterness was intoxicating.

  ‘If I could, son, I swear I would,’ the king said. ‘But can you see? The link is getting weaker, even now. This is a place of death. If some part of you still lives, I do not think it can survive for much longer.’

  ‘But I can feel the cold air! I can smell burning!’ Taeshin said. ‘Please. I am just a word away from going home.’

  The king shook his head.

  ‘Stars burn bright in their last moments. Close your eyes and reach out, Taeshin. Perhaps she will hear you say goodbye.’

  Taeshin stepped forward and wrapped his hand over the lip of the king’s breastplate, drawing him in. He spoke in a low growl, his temper surging in the air of Darien that swirled around them both.

  ‘Call them,’ he said. ‘Gabriel and Sanjin. They are your men. You are responsible. Call … them back.’

  Gabriel slaughtered four men who charged suddenly out of the darkness, cutting them down as if they bent their necks on purpose to his blade. He paused as the last one fell, watching the entire facade of the Bracken estate fall into the yard. It struck with a rolling thunder, scattering stones and revealing a greater inferno. Gabriel smiled at the sight. He had thrown the armoured warrior of grey and green to that part of the yard. He loved flame for its destruction, though the sword was cleaner.

  Freed, he moved again towards Marias. If a bullet found him, he sealed the wound. The flames had caught houses on either side of the little square and there were screams in the dark and women crying for help. He let his lips slide back in a feral expression. If this was hell, perhaps he was its master. He had brought light to Darien, after all.

  He raised his hand in warning to Marias, but the presence within him was fading. He had not known how completely it had made a home, like some curling vine grown through all his joints and along the marrow of his bones. He knew it only when he felt it wither and grow soft, weakening as he grew strong. He smiled at Marias. In that moment, he knew he could kill her. Gabriel thought he would do it, just to show his contempt for the lover who had tried so hard to claim back his flesh. More, he would do it to demonstrate his control to that dying spirit, that pitiful failure. To make his last memory of the world a cry of despair.

  Gabriel loped forward. To those watching, he seemed to skitter across the ground like some fearful insect, at a clattering, blurring speed. Bullets chipped stone around him as he attacked her, seeing her expression change to shock. He brought his sword down across Marias’ neck – and came to a halt, trembling, while the Fool smiled. Gabriel began to curse as he understood. He readied fire, drawing deeply from the stone on his arm. The Fool had challenged him, one of his own. One of the Returners. It would not stand.

  ‘You should not have done that, brother,’ Gabriel said.

  Gabriel heard the scrape of a step behind him and whirled round. He almost laughed when he saw only Tellius there. He had feared the patchwork green warrior, or the maniac with his red shield. In desperation, just one old man had crept up on him in his distraction. Gabriel readied himself to burn the skinny old devil to ash, but then he recognised the hilt of red and black.

  ‘Give me that sword,’ Gabriel said. ‘You have no idea what it is. It is mine. Give me the blade and live, or I swear I will kill you.’

  ‘No. You are not worthy to carry it,’ Tellius said. He lowered his stance a fraction, perfectly balanced between front and back leg, so that he could move to attack or defend in any direction. The Yuan blade rested in the air, ready to strike.

  Gabriel wanted to laugh at him, at his pitiful defiance.

  ‘I see you were a Mazer swordsman once,’ he said. ‘When was that, though? I can almost hear you creak, old man. Will you ma
ke me kill you? For what? Just give me the sword and go back to your nurse, would you?’

  Tellius struck: a step forward and a straight lunge that might have come from the first page of any combat manual for swordwork. He was quick for one of his years, though compared to Gabriel, it would always have been too slow. With a sneer, Gabriel brought his own sword up, flicking it across to knock the attack straight up and away from him. The blow was a hard one and he thought it might break the old man’s wrist.

  To Gabriel’s astonishment, his sword slipped past the Yuan blade in two pieces, so that the lunge passed straight through and sank into his chest. Gabriel gaped as his mouth filled with blood, unable to understand how it had happened. Had his sword snapped off at the hilt?

  He fell backwards and Tellius went with him, keeping both hands on the Yuan blade and pushing it further in, pinning him on his back.

  Gabriel began to heal himself, though the blade had pierced a lung and cut his heart almost in two. Whenever he managed to stop the bleeding, the old man wrenched it back and forth, torturing him. Blood surged in his throat and he tried to spit and speak.

  ‘Someone else!’ Tellius shouted without looking round. ‘I can’t hold him like this for much longer. Take his head off. Bosin! Hondo! Galen! Where are you?’ He recalled he had sent Galen away to protect Lady Sallet. In that moment, he wished he had not.

  Gabriel reached up, his fingers bloody and shaking. The blade had sunk so far through him that it grated on earth and stone, deep in the ground. It would surely be ruined. He put his hands over the old man’s on the hilt and began to draw from the stone strapped to his forearm. He had to keep healing or die, but he needed to burn hot.

  With so many fires lighting the night, the air was already warmer in that place than anywhere else in the city. They were at the heart of an inferno and yet Tellius felt something sting his cheek as embers began to drift towards the struggling pair. He could not believe the monster still lived. He had felt only satisfaction when the Yuan sword went in, but that was quickly curdling and becoming fear. Tellius was over sixty years of age and his arms were weakening, while the man he leaned on seemed only to grow in strength.

  The woman was pleading with him and shrieking, Tellius realised. He pressed down on the sword, putting his whole weight behind it. Yet the woman began pulling at him like a wild thing.

  ‘Get away from me! If I let him up, he’ll kill us all. Sallets! On me, Sallets!’ Tellius bellowed.

  He could feel a worm of panic uncurling in his stomach. He’d had one move to make – one move based on the fact that he was of the blood of the royal house of Shiang. He’d known the sword would be alive in his hand, as it had never been for Gabriel. Yet it hadn’t brought an ending. His arms were shaking. The woman was actually scratching him with her nails and Tellius swore as she raked his cheek. Looking into Gabriel’s face, Tellius saw bloody teeth as the man smiled up at him and began to push back.

  Sanjin clenched his fists. He saw Gabriel intercept Marias and the Fool, though Gabriel turned to whip the life out of some soldier creeping up on him. Sanjin’s eyes widened when he saw the sword pierce Gabriel’s heart. He began to lurch into a run as Bosin scrambled from under the stone of a broken wall and turned his head, spotting Sanjin. The armour was more grey than green and Sanjin saw in delight that the thing could not stand up. He darted at it, ready for a quick blow. He’d cut the monster’s head off first.

  As he closed, another man Sanjin recognised came and hunched down in front of the patchwork Sallet Green, still struggling to free itself from the rubble. He carried a red shield and a black sword that looked more like glass than metal.

  Sanjin sent fire ahead of him. He thought it would have no effect on the green warrior, but perhaps he could scorch the air hot enough to kill the shield-holder. He closed the gap at the speed that marked all the Returners, the legacy of the Aeris Stone in their blood. His half-foot made him ungainly, but he was still a match for any ordinary soldier, hard even to see.

  Sanjin came through his own flame and struck the Regis shield hard enough to cut it in two. He lost consciousness in the impact, hearing only the sound of a bell as he crashed into rubble and a great stone fireplace that stuck out of the ground.

  Sanjin opened his eyes to see the green-suited monster lurching towards him, the shield man alongside. He closed his eyes again, feeling his mouth full of blood and sharp pieces of broken teeth.

  When he opened his eyes for a second time, they were both peering down at him.

  ‘Welcome to Darien, son,’ Lord Regis said.

  He made a sharp gesture and Sanjin struggled as the massive armoured figure took his head in its hands and twisted until they heard a great snap. They waited then to be sure he was truly dead, then dropped him and walked away.

  Taeshin jerked round when he saw another shadow form on the crest of the hill. He recognised Sanjin from the glimpses he’d had of Gabriel’s dreams and horrors. He heard the shade wail as he looked around him and understood where he was. Taeshin watched as the shape became more solid, but kept scrambling around the hilltop, looking for a way to return.

  ‘Did you call him?’ Taeshin asked the king.

  ‘It was time for him to return,’ the man said.

  Taeshin frowned at that, but he walked over to where Sanjin dug at the grey ground.

  ‘I must get back,’ Sanjin said as he sensed Taeshin standing there.

  Taeshin lifted him to his feet. He was tempted to knock the wind out of him, though he knew enough of the grey land by then to know it wouldn’t cause the man pain, not really. Those who died in the battle never cried out. Even the ones who lost a hand or sat with their guts spilled in their lap didn’t weep or wail. The grey waste was a place outside life, perhaps even outside death. Yet the man had tried to hurt Marias, so Taeshin hit him anyway, battering him to his knees and then kicking him down the hill until Sanjin found his feet and ran the rest of the way.

  ‘What was the point of that?’ the king asked him.

  Taeshin raised an eyebrow.

  ‘If I’m to spend eternity here, I want him to know I have his measure.’

  Taeshin turned to face the king. A breeze blew more strongly and he thought he could hear Marias calling his name. The real world was like a window, with his face pressed against it. Yet he could not go back. He struggled to remember every moment of his life – and Marias herself. The smell of her hair, the way she had laughed. He understood then that he had wasted years.

  ‘Call the last of them, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘If you have any power at all, bring Gabriel back.’

  25

  Gabriel

  Hondo answered the call. He fell into step with Bosin and the lord who had been so brisk on their first meeting, who carried a red shield and a sword of black glass. They had all taken a beating, though Hondo looked the worst. His face had swollen to an extraordinary degree. Black bruising spread all the way down his neck. He still tried to smile when he saw Bosin nod to him.

  ‘Just one of them left,’ Regis said.

  His voice had lost the brashness from before and Hondo could see he had been worn down. Every part of him was scuffed or grazed or bruised. One of his fingers stood out at an angle that meant it was broken. Yet he still winced when he saw Hondo’s face.

  ‘You look like a horse trampled you,’ Regis said.

  Hondo stared at him. They walked together to where Tellius pinned a writhing Gabriel to the ground like a bird with a maggot. A woman was heaving at Tellius, her hands deep in his coat. Hondo reached to push her away and found he could not touch her. His hand slid clear as if she was coated in clear glass. He saw a man crouching at her back, hissing like a snake. Hondo drew his sword, the sound attracting the gaze of each member of the tableau.

  Marias stopped clawing at Tellius, though her face was marked in tears and dirt and she was too spent to do more than stand there and weep. Hondo eyed the Fool, but saw no threat in him.

  ‘Orders, my lord?’ he
said, forcing the words out with huge difficulty past his swollen tongue.

  ‘Take his head off,’ Regis replied. ‘Or stand back and let me do it.’

  ‘I believe he was asking … me,’ Tellius growled at the red-headed lord. He was so relieved to see them standing in support that he began laughing weakly.

  ‘With respect, Tellius, you’re no lord,’ Regis said. ‘He’s … not … a lord, son,’ he went on, slowly and clearly, in case Hondo did not understand the ranks and ways of Darien.

  Bosin chose that moment to fold back the helmet of the Sallet Green they called Patchwork. It clicked and whirred open, half-sticking in the process before he was able to breathe in the night air. Regis watched him in amazement.

  ‘I knew there were men in them,’ he said. ‘I knew it. It doesn’t matter what magic can do – you always need someone at the tiller. Damn me, I wish my father was alive. I’d make him eat his words.’

  ‘If you have finished your discussion, I agree with Lord Regis,’ Tellius said. ‘He won’t die.’ As he spoke, he wrenched the blade back and forth like working a lever, cutting pieces out of the heart within. Gabriel gasped in fresh agony, snarling at him.

  ‘Let me stand,’ Gabriel gasped, ‘and I’ll show you how it’s done. I don’t think you …’ A confused look crossed his face like a shadow. ‘No …’ The hands holding the hilt fell back, splayed wide. The eyes went dull and life fled from him, leaving just blood and bone. Marias fell to her knees and wept at his side.

  The king drew his sword, stung to act at last by Taeshin’s scorn. He swung the blade wide, though it touched nothing. Then he reached and gathered folds of a shadow in his hand.

  ‘Come to me, brother,’ the king said.

  Taeshin heard a voice cry out in fear or despair and then the king dragged the shade back. Taeshin didn’t know the man’s face, but he had no doubt it was Gabriel. Somehow, in his moment of triumph, it was hard to raise either anger or hate. He suspected the reason was that the grey land had taken hold in him, so that nothing mattered as much as it had once done. Taeshin stood uncertainly as the king spoke to the newcomer.