The Pity Stone (Book 3)

by Tim Stead

  “We?” Cain asked.

  “Of course. How did you expect to return?” Urgonial said.

  “If you leave the door open…”

  “For how long? A day? Two?”

  “You are right,” Cain admitted. “You must come with us.” He turned to Skal. “Will you go first?”

  They all walked through, Skal first, then Jerac, and after that Sheyani and Cain together with Urgonial bringing up the rear. As soon as the boy had stepped out into the cold north he gestured and spoke a word. The door vanished. It was noticeably colder now, and darker even than inside Skal’s tent. The tall trees crowded the grey sky with their naked branches and down on the forest floor shrubs hemmed in the great stone, the duplicate of Urgonial’s art.

  “North then,” Cain said. Jerac set off at once, and Cain caught a questioning glance from Skal. He shrugged. “He always seems to know.”

  They followed Jerac. They made no attempt at stealth because they wanted to be seen. Cain had no more idea than the others what Wolfguard was, what it looked like, or how well it was guarded. Their good intentions were their best protection. No more than half a mile, the boy had said. That would be ten minutes.

  In the end it was less. They came to a place where the trees stopped, and a large clearing lay before them. In the centre of the clearing was a mound, broad and shallow, but with a door, quite clearly a door, facing them. Cain could see the planks that made it, the brass handle on the outside, and an iron hook above it.

  “Is that it?” he asked. “Is that Wolfguard?” He was disappointed. He had expected something grander, but it looked little more than a broad hut.”

  “The tales teach that most of it lies far beneath the earth,” Sheyani said. “This is merely a doorway.”

  Cain walked out from the trees. He would rap on the door and see what happened, but he was less than halfway across the clearing when two things happened. The door sprung open, and he heard a whisper in the air and an arrow took him in the side, knocking him over.

  He swore. Farheim he might be, but that did not deaden the pain.

  Before he had time to rip the thing from his side he was picked up and rushed towards the doorway. He had a glimpse of Skal running past with Urgonial tucked under one arm and then they were through the door, and it slammed behind them.

  Cain worked himself free from the tangle of bodies enough that he could rip the arrow from his flesh and throw it to one side. He felt the pain fade.

  “Now you will tell me who you are and why you are here.”

  Cain didn’t know the voice, but he looked up to see the man who had opened the door for them standing a few paces down a stone lined corridor. He was a silhouette against the lamps that burned behind him, but Cain could clearly see the hilts of twin blades poking over his shoulders. Yet this was not Narak.

  “You are Caster,” Sheyani said. There was a degree of awe in her voice that Cain had not heard for a long time.

  “I know who I am,” Caster said. “I want to know who you are.”

  Skal was still on his feet. He stepped forwards and made a polite bow.

  “I am the Lord Skal Hebberd of Avilian,” he said. “I an honoured to have the favour of Passerina, who I believe is within this place. These others are The Lord Cain Arbak of Avilian, his wife, the lady Sheyani Esh Baradan, and Sir Jerac Fane, all in Narak’s favour. This other here is the Mage Urgonial of Durandar, who brought us here.”

  Caster studied them as they rearranged themselves and dusted off their clothes. “An august gathering,” he said, but there was a slight hint of irony in his voice. “But I fear you have come for no reason. Narak is away and Pascha sleeps and cannot be woken.”

  “She summoned us,” Sheyani said.

  Caster looked at her to see if this was some attempt at humour, but seeing that it was not he shook his head. “This is some Durander thing, isn’t it?”

  “She is with Pelion,” Cain said. “We saw her. She told us to come here and give a message to Narak.”

  “Yet Narak is not here,” Caster insisted.

  “Passerina wears a ring,” Sheyani said. “It is a calling ring. Whoever wears and covers it can speak to Narak, though he cannot reply.”

  “She told you this?”

  “And entrusted us with a message.”

  Caster hesitated for a moment only, then he turned on his heel and strode off down the passageway into the heart of Wolfguard. “Follow me,” he called.

  They hurried after him. Caster led then down and down until the came to a curving passage where the one they were following ended. Their guide turned right and continued downwards, passing other doors. Cain heard voices in one place, and in another smelled the presence of a kitchen, but all they saw were closed doors.

  In the end they came to another cross passage, short and wide, and at the end of it large double doors. Caster stopped before these and turned to face them.

  “Only one of you may enter at a time,” he said. “The rest must wait.”

  “Sheyani will go,” Cain said. “She knows the message and is familiar with the magic.”

  Caster nodded. He opened the door and Sheyani went in. Caster followed her inside and the door was closed again. They stood in silence for a moment.

  “What was the message?” Skal asked. Cain glanced at Urgonial. The boy mage seemed to have recovered his composure, and it was certain that anything said here would find its way back to Morianna. But what did it matter?

  “It is simple enough,” he said. “Passerina is with Pelion. She will return, and when she does the Sirash will be ended, and the Benetheon will be no more.”

  Skal and Jerac seemed to accept the message. After you have accepted the impossible the little extra credulity that might be demanded of you is a small step. Urgonial, on the other hand, was slack jawed and wide eyed at his words.

  “Pelion?” he asked. “Pelion lives?”

  “After a fashion,” Cain said. “I do not think that he is part of our world, but still swings a good staff. I would not want to cross him.”

  “What is the Sirash?” Skal asked.

  “I don’t know. I assume it is something essential to the Benetheon,” Cain replied.

  The doors opened again and Sheyani came out, followed by Caster. She nodded to Cane. The message was sent.

  “How long do you wish to remain in Wolfguard?” Caster asked. “Will you stay with us and watch?”

  “I want to see her,” Skal said.

  “I have told you, Lord Skal. She sleeps and cannot be woken. It would serve no purpose.”

  “Of all Avilian,” Skal said. “Of all Terras itself I was the only one to whom she granted the honour of her favour. You cannot deny me, Caster. I am hers.”

  Caster studied Skal for a moment, then stepped aside. “Of course,” he said. Skal, too, hesitated a moment. Perhaps he did not expect to be granted his wish, but he went through the doors and closed them behind him.

  * * * *

  Skal looked around the room. It was huge, flooded with lamp light, thickly carpeted. It contained only two pieces of furniture: a large bed and a chair beside it. Passerina lay on the bed, covered by a richly embroidered blanket, her hair was brushed and carefully tidied, her eyes closed. She really did look as though she slept.

  Skal sat in the chair and looked at her. She was tiny. A small woman, both ancient and young, but asleep she was barely twenty. All the age was in her eyes, in the way she spoke.

  He felt foolish. Why had he demanded to come into this room and see her? Caster was right. She was asleep and would not awaken, not for him, not for anyone until the time was right.

  But he had named himself her champion, her blade, and it did not seem right to him that she should be guarded by another when she was this helpless. He did not doubt Caster. The Sword Master was legendary, and he had seen with his own eyes the affection that he had for Passerina. It was no bad thing that he was her defender here, but it was still Skal’s duty. If she was a god mage, then S
kal was the first among her Farheim.

  But he could not deny his other duties. He had a regiment to command. Thousands of men depended on him, and he could not abandon them. He had a duty to Avilian. He was a soldier in the Kingdom’s service and could not abandon that calling until the war was won or lost. Then there was Latter Fetch, his estate, his home. Hardly a home, though. He had visited once, installed Sara, seen Elejine dead, and then run off to the war again.

  He could do nothing until the war was over.

  He took Passerina’s hand in his and knelt by her bed. Her skin was warm and dry, soft as a child’s. “You will understand if I do not stay and do my duty,” he said. “I entrust your safety to Caster.” He looked at her face again. She looked so untroubled. “I know that the world will change when you awaken, Deus,” he went on. “And I claim my place by your side. I will serve you in whatever way you wish, and for now that is in the prosecution of this war.

  “You chose me for the highest honour, Passerina, and it has led to this. If the others are yours by some accident then I alone am yours because you chose me. You chose me.”

  He stood, carefully tucking her hand back under the blanket. For all his words he was speaking only to himself. A small part of him had expected her eyes to open, as though she had been waiting only for his arrival, for his protection, but he knew that such a thought was foolish. She needed no protection from him. When she awoke she would be a god mage. If he was Farheim, then there could be no doubt, and she was being tutored by Pelion himself. She would be… He could not imagine it. There had not been a god mage for two thousand years, but if there had to be such a creature then Skal was glad that it would be Passerina. He thought her kinder than Narak, yet strong in the same way that he was strong.

  He went to the door and opened it. The others were waiting.

  “Guard her well, Caster,” he said.

  Caster did not look surprised. He did not look affronted as he might well have done. He simply nodded and smiled slightly, and Skal thought that he understood.

  “So,” he said. “Will you stay and watch with us?” he asked again.

  “I cannot,” Skal replied. “I must return to the regiment. Things are delicate there, and I believe they need me.”

  “Then so must we all,” Cain said. “Urgonial is in Skal’s service, and he is our only swift way back to the south.”

  Caster accepted this. “You will at least stay to dine with us,” he said. “Cain, Sheyani and Jerac, this is your home as well. You are Narak’s chosen, and this is his place, and all are welcome here who travel in such company.”

  “We will stay a few hours,” Skal said. “If it is agreeable,” he turned to Cain. “Your duty is discharged, is it not?”

  Cain nodded. “We can forget the war for a few hours, I think.”

  They followed Caster out into the passages of Wolfguard again, but this time they went up, following the curving stone walls until they came to more great doors, and Caster pushed them open, revealing a room as opulent as any Skal had ever seen. The room was dominated by a table. At first Skal thought that its legs were simply trees, but it dawned on him that they were carved to resemble trees. Nothing so small could have looked so wizened. The table itself was smooth as glass, but had been inlaid with a dozen or more woods of different colours to depict different scenes from the first great war.

  It surprised Skal that it was not show signs of age. The surface was pristine despite what he assumed were four hundred years since it had been made. Certainly it was a gift to Narak, and certainly it would have been made in the immediate aftermath of the war.

  He studied the scenes where they were not obscured by plates and cups. They were scenes of death, scenes of blood and slaughter. In every image he could see the unmistakable figure of Narak, twin bladed, wading among the dead and dying. No wonder the table seemed unspoiled. Who could sit and eat at such a memento mori night after night?

  “Where did this bloodthirsty thing come from?” he asked.

  “A gift from the grateful people of Afael,” Caster said. “Fine craftsmanship, but not to Narak’s taste.”

  The remainder of the room was not as eye catching as the table, but every piece of furniture, every tapestry and rug was of the finest quality. Skal poured himself a cup of wine and found both the cup and the wine exquisite. The spread laid out on the table was also exceptional, and he helped himself with gusto. Too long on the road, he thought, too long eating hard bread and dried rations.

  He saw that Cain was also indulging, and Jerac was only restrained by his unfamiliarity with such largess.

  “You presumed we would accept,” Skal said.

  “I guessed,” Caster replied. “But the food would not have been wasted. There are many people in Wolfguard, and it would have been eaten.”

  “And we have not seen one, other than yourself.”

  “Narak’s people are used to a second sitting, Lord Skal. Wolf Narak is often not the easiest of dining companions, and the men and women of Wolfguard do not eat with him unless they are asked to do so.”

  “Not even you?” Skal asked.

  “Not even me.”

  “My Pardon, Caster,” Sheyani said. “We have not mentioned it, but I would like to know who it was that shot at us as we came to your door.”

  “I thought you would have guessed,” Caster said. “He is everywhere, these days, but mostly here.”

  “The man with a metal head?” Jerac asked.

  “The same. I have been out to hunt him, but as soon as I draw close he vanishes into the air. I do not seem able to surprise him. And he’s damned quick with those arrows.”

  “I met him,” Skal said. “He was with the Seth Yarra that we fought.”

  Caster was suddenly interested. He leaned forwards. “And did you cross blades with him?”

  “I did,” Skal admitted. “He is Avilian trained, and I will swear he is Benetheon.”

  “And?”

  “When I disarmed him he fled, and his men surrendered a moment later.”

  “He vanished then?”

  “He did.”

  “And he was not replaced by anything, any animal?”

  “No.”

  “Then how can you say that he was Benetheon?” Caster demanded.

  “I cut him a dozen times with a good steel blade, and he did not bleed.”

  Caster raised an eyebrow. “A dozen times?”

  “Or more,” Skal assured him.

  Caster laughed aloud. “Well, Lord Skal, I can see that we must test each other some time. It is a challenge that I look forward to.”

  “I will be happy to take it up,” Skal replied, “when we have more time.” He drew his blade and laid it on the table. “This is what I took from him,” he said. “You can see that it is blood silver, I think, and not a Seth Yarra form.”

  Caster picked up the blade and weighed it. “Aye,” he said. “It looks Avilian for certain. And he fought like an Avilian, you say?”

  “Trained that way, I’d swear.”

  “It does not help,” Caster said. “I have thought about this since we first got wind of him. If he were Benetheon the others should have been able to sense him.”

  “I have given it some thought myself,” Skal said. “Why does he wear a helmet that conceals him so completely? He is afraid to be recognised – that much is certain, but there is something else.”

  “There is,” Cain said. “He has been known to appear without his helmet. He was in Bas Erinor, posing as Lord Hesham, and then he was bare faced, but wore a silver circlet about his head, or so the duke said.”

  “Blood silver,” Skal said. “It hides him from the others.”

  Caster banged the table, jumping all the plates and cups. Cain snatched his cup to stop it spilling. “So it could be any of them!” Caster said.

  “Not a woman,” Skal corrected him.

  “And not a tall man,” Jerac added.

  “And not Beloff. We know that Beloff died, and besides h
e was a loyal friend to Narak.” Caster concluded.

  “You did not tell us that we had guests, Caster.”

  The voice was a man’s, and Skal turned with the others to see a tall, imposing figure, broad and fine features, standing in the doorway. Beside him stood a black haired woman, gazing at all of them with dark eyes. She was stunningly beautiful in a fleshy way, swarthy skin and thick lips. Skal thought her a sluttish parody of Hestia. It was the sort of beauty that would age badly in someone that aged. Sithmaree, of course, would not.

  Caster was on his feet and bowing. “Deus, Deus,” he said. “I would have sent a message, but these are Narak and Pascha’s people, summoned by her for a purpose, and that purpose was carried out.”