Nothing but Tombs

by Tim Stead

  He watched them ride away. “Colonel Tamarak, My Lord Redcliffe, let’s talk.”

  They rode up the path to the gates and through. It was busy inside. There were hundreds here, manning the walls, tending the horses. A few of them were even playing some sort of game that Fane didn’t recognise, kicking and throwing a ball about to shouts of delight and frustration. Tamarak led them past all this and into the keep. The three of them went into what had once been the Lord of Great Howe’s day room.

  “So, Redcliffe, why are you here?”

  “The King sends his greetings…”

  Fane waved aside the formalities. “He didn’t send a troop of horsemen here to say hello. To the heart of it. My Lord.”

  Redcliffe nodded. “If we win, Bel Arac is yours,” he said.

  “Bel Arac? The old Hebberd family estates? The King offers me a traitor’s name?”

  “Not at all,” Redcliffe said. “The man was a traitor. Skal has redeemed the family and the estates carry no burden.”

  Fane went and looked out of the window. This was unexpected. Did he want to be the Marquis of Bel Arac? It was an attractive offer. Alos Stebbar, the man he used to be, would have been gratified, but was this home? Could it be? He’d lived longer in the homeland than he had in Avilian, but he’d been born here and his ties with the homeland had grown old and died many years past. But Lordship, the old style of Lordship, was what his men were fighting against. He could hardly accept the title and continue to lead his army.

  “Perhaps the king will make this offer again when the nation is at peace, but I cannot accept it now, not the way things stand. I must be all general and no lord at all to win this.”

  Redcliffe frowned. “You are not wholly the king’s man, then,” he said.

  “I am Farheim. I cannot serve the king as you do. I wear the wolf’s head ring and owe my abilities to Eran Pascha. My service lies there, and with my friends and those who have entrusted me with this rank.”

  Redcliffe grinned, which made Fane like him a little more. “Well, they say you cannot tame a storm,” he said. “What is your plan?”

  “Simple enough,” Fane said. “We wait at The Pinch for Eran Callista. She will clear the road for us and then we will march south after Alwain, to aid Cane Arbak. Will you ride with us?”

  “The King ordered me to avoid engaging the enemy, but I have in mind that he wanted to be certain that I delivered his message. That done, I see no reason we should not fight.”

  That was good news. With Tamarak’s men he could now call on the best part of five hundred men on horseback. That gave him more options.

  “Then we should prepare to abandon Great Howe. The army will be at The Pinch by nightfall and I expect we will have a clear road by morning.”

  “I will give the order,” Redcliffe said.

  They ate while the Castle was stripped again, and Tamarak recounted his tale in detail. Fane was disturbed by this new appearance of the unknown god-mage. It seemed the man was determined to frustrate them, and his actions grew more dramatic as time passed, almost as though he was growing in strength, determination, or both. It was a trend that made Fane uneasy. For all his Farheim strength, he knew he was helpless against such power.

  They rode from the castle two hours before sunset, when they saw Fane’s army approaching the small town of Great Howe. They skirted the settlement and continued towards The Pinch.

  Callista was waiting for them.

  The god-mage was sitting on a rock about half a mile from the blocked road. She appeared to be reading something, but when Fane rode within earshot the book vanished and she stood.

  “Best stop where you are, Fane,” she said. “This is going to be messy.”

  He swung down from the saddle and approached her seat.

  “Messy?”

  “Very. There’s two things. Firstly, behind that wall is a lake containing millions of gallons of water. When I remove the wall, it’s going to come out. Secondly, all he did was raise up a massive block of bedrock. He left a hole underneath. That’s filled with water. When I push it back down, you’re going to see a fountain like nobody’s ever seen. It’s hard, though. Pushing down is harder than pushing up.”

  Fane looked at the wall. It was raw rock, all jagged edges and clean. A waterfall tumbled over the rim and gouged at what had once been the river bed. He tried to imagine that wall made of water and succeeded. He walked back to Redcliffe and Tamarak.

  “Move the men back onto the rise,” he said.

  The word was passed and they shuffled off the road. The rise was no more than twenty feet higher than the road, but even that would make a difference.

  Callista watched them, and when she was satisfied, she turned back to the stone blockage. She was too far away for Fane to read her face, but her body tensed and a moment later the ground began to shake. He heard Redcliffe swear behind him, and inch by inch the stone began to sink into the ground.

  The lake behind it began to drain over the top. The waterfall doubled in volume, trebled, and then became ten times what it had been. The roar of water, even where Fane was standing, was deafening.

  Then it reversed. A spout of water the width of a house shot into the sky. Rock broke and was hurled upwards. It sounded like the earth itself was screaming for mercy, and it went on and on, the rock sinking, the water bursting out in all directions. Fane clapped his hands over his ears and watched.

  His horse panicked and reared. He fought for control, turning its head back towards the spectacle so that it wouldn’t run. He’d always been good with horses. He could calm them. It was part of being a Farheim, apparently. He covered the animal’s eyes and whispered to it, though it seemed more like shouting, felt it ease a little. He could hear confusion behind him as the rest of the cavalry struggled to control their frightened mounts.

  The cacophony stopped, the terrible noises echoing away to a mere roar of water again. Fane looked up to see the path open, but mostly occupied by a raging torrent that diminished even as he watched it. Within a couple of minutes there was little more than a small river, winding along a floor of bare rock, shallow and without banks.

  Fane looked behind him. The orderly ranks of his army were scattered. Most of the cavalry was still struggling for control, but had formed up half a mile away, a distance the horses were willing to accept as safe. There were wounded men among the infantry where the horses had bolted through their ranks and about a score of horses were riderless. He was surprised there weren’t more.

  Callista walked up the rise. She looked a little sheepish.

  “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she said. “But your way is clear now. That’s what I promised.”

  “Will you ride with us?”

  Callista looked undecided, or unwilling. Fane couldn’t really tell.

  “He grows ever bolder. He may attack us,” Fane said.

  Callista looked at him and nodded, but in that look he saw the real reason. She was afraid. And he understood that. She had never fought anyone – not like this. But even so…

  “I will ride with you,” she said. It was brave. Callista was no warrior. She was a god-mage, true, but beneath that she was the daughter of a minor lord. Her idea of war was probably a harsh word, not kill or be killed.

  He called for a horse and one was brought for her. It was one of the mounts taken from Alwain’s men. They’d been left at Great Howe. Dismounted and largely disarmed they were no threat.

  By the time Callista had climbed into the saddle his army had restored itself and they marched forwards into the renewed road. Fane looked across at Redcliffe. How would it feel to be a lord, he wondered? To have a grand home, land, servants? He’d dreamed of it a hundred years ago. It had been impossible then, of course. But now? Now he was different, he told himself. He no longer wanted these things. But those thoughts slid away from him to be replaced with half-forgotten dreams of privilege, of fine clothes, of a modest, beneficent power. Perhaps, disappointingly, he was not
quite so changed as he believed.

  92 For Ever

  Enali closed the book and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the great library of Col Boran. She had dreamed of this, of a fraction of this, and it had seemed like paradise.

  It wasn’t, of course.

  It was better. There was no denying that. She was free to study anything she pleased, surrounded by one of the greatest collections of knowledge in the world. That was all she had wished for, but she had forgotten two details.

  She was alone, apart from Swift-Foot, who followed her everywhere, and she had no purpose.

  The latter was not a problem – not yet – but it would be. She had read seventeen volumes of history – tales going back to the mage-wars, even back as far as the Sillish Empire. But there were dozens more that she could not read. Apart from her native Avilian she could read Berashi passably well and struggled in Afaeli but Telan was, and it made her smile a little even to think it, a closed book to her.

  Most of the important books were translated, though some of the translations were of doubtful quality.

  Still, she had time – centuries if she was lucky. She could polish up her Afaeli, learn Telan and the Durander tongue, but each language had its precedents, its ancient variants going back to Sillish and what they all seemed to call Kingdom.

  It was apparent that Narak could read them all.

  She had not imagined that The Wolf was a scholar. He didn’t have the reputation. But so many books here had been annotated in his untidy hand, references to other books, notes on where accounts of historical events disagreed, and they pointed to and fro between every language and era.

  She thought that perhaps he had read every book in the world.

  Enali left the library and walked up to the Great Hall. As she walked, she followed the same train of thought.

  There was still the problem of isolation. It was not absolute, of course. There were other young people in Col Boran, of her age if not her inclination. There were even some that she liked.

  She thought of Rodric. She thought of him often. He was a good-looking young man, if a little melancholy. That was understandable, though. His sister had died here and was immortalised in one of the glass windows of the Great Hall. She looked intimidating. Enali found the Great Hall itself somewhat intimidating, truth be told. It seemed a morbid place, dominated as it was by the portraits of the dead.

  It was peaceful, though, and that’s why she came here. Especially when Pascha was away. It had the sort of silence that encouraged dreaming.

  She sat close to the dais, a good distance from the fire that always burned here. Swift-Foot settled close to the flames. She’d never seen anyone feed it, but still it blazed – on and on. In that respect it was like Enali. She went on and on as well. She had never thought before that death was necessary in order for your life to have meaning, but recently she had begun thinking along those lines.

  “My Lady?”

  She looked up, startled by the loud words. It was a guard, one of the few that Pascha employed.

  “Yes?”

  “I carry a message, My Lady, from the Dragon, Bane.”

  “Tell me.” A message from Bane was the most interesting thing that had happened to her since she came back from Great Howe.

  “He made me memorise it, My Lady. His words were: By the ring you wear I ask that you seek out Lord Skal, separate him from his wife and bring him out of Col Boran to a place where you might meet a dragon with some discretion.”

  ‘By the ring’ meant that the message had to do with Narak. She was duty bound to obey. Swift-Foot raised his head and looked at her.

  “Thank you,” she said. The guard nodded and left. Enali and the wolf followed him out of the hall and set off down the hill to the particular mansion that housed the former King of Telas. Skal had been here since the beginning of Avilian’s civil war. It seemed to her than he was waiting for the call to arms, an excuse to fight. He was certain that Hestia resisted the idea. The queen was admirable in many ways, but quite single minded. The only things that mattered to her were Telas and Skal – in that order. But Enali had a way past that.

  She came to the door and hammered the knocker on the wood. A servant opened it. He saw her and bowed. His eyes strayed uneasily to the wolf at her side

  “Lady Enali, I will tell Lord Skal you are here.”

  She stepped inside and waited in the hall while the servant hurried off to find his master. She looked around her. Every day this place became more Telan. Hestia was gradually converting the interior to what she found comforting. This time the ironwork that served to hold lamps had been replaced, the old, plain pieces supplanted by intricate Telan confections. Enali had to admit they added to the elegance of the place.

  Skal strode into the hall, smiling.

  “So you think you’ve mastered the double pass, then?” he asked. It was a move they had been practising two days ago, a complicated thing that allowed a double cut to be effected from a parry. It required more flexibility of the wrist than Enali thought human. She shook her head.

  “No, My Lord, but I have another move to show you. Shall we?”

  “Ah, something of your own invention?” Skal’s interest was piqued. He picked up his sword and a light cloak. They usually practiced on one of the many lower terraces to the south of Col Boran. Skal followed her out of the door.

  Enali waited until they were two hundred paces clear before she spoke.

  “Bane wants to see us,” she said. “I think there is a message from Narak, but I don’t know why it didn’t come through Swift-Foot.”

  Skal didn’t even break step, but he smiled.

  “Well, that is a new move,” he said.

  “If he’d wanted Lady Hestia to know he’d have landed on your roof, I expect,” she replied.

  Skal laughed. “It wouldn’t have mattered. She’s planning to replace the roof tiles anyway.”

  They walked south, passing their usual practice ground, and along a line of low hills. Eventually they came to a valley with a bright little stream that tumbled off the Dragon’s Back. Bane was waiting for them. Enali didn’t quite believe how dragons could do that. Narak had told her that they could fly so high that men did not see them, and that from such a height they saw perfectly well. So they watched and saw and appeared where they could not be expected.

  Bane watched them approach.

  “Lord Bane, I received your message.”

  “So I see.” Bane’s voice was exactly what she expected of a dragon – deep and smooth as cream. His appearance was the same: dark, barely detectable scales, the lines of his body sculpted by the wind. Nothing on Bane was wasted. Like a shark, he was exactly what he needed to be.

  Bane turned to Skal.

  “Lord Skal,” he said. “The Wolf begs a favour of me and I have agreed to it. The second half of my task is offer you a bribe and beg a favour of you.”

  “A bribe? How fascinating.”

  Bane lifted a wing and revealed two sacks. “One of these is for you. The other is for Jerac Fane. If you join with Fane you get to keep what is in the sack.”

  It explained why Swift-Foot hadn’t carried the message. Enali knew that Skal was very wealthy, that he had been a king, that he wanted for nothing. She watched him looking at the sack, saw him lick his lips. A gift from the Wolf.

  “May I?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  Skal stepped forward and lifted the sack. He was clearly surprised by how light it was. He cut the string at the neck and pulled it open. He looked inside, his expression puzzled. He lifted out what looked like a black leather cuirass. It glittered.

  “Put it on,” Bane said.

  Skal did as he was told, and as soon as the garment was on it seemed to tighten across his chest. Skal rapped it with his fist. It rang like steel.

  “Armour,” he said. “But it is soft. What’s it made of?”

  “Wishes,” Bane said. “Try on the rest of it.”

 
Skal looked at Enali. “I have no armourer,” he said.

  “You won’t need one,” Bane assured him. “Just put it on.”

  Skal did as he was told, and as each piece of armour found its place on his body it tightened and seemed to merge with those pieces he already wore until he stood before Enali a glittering man-shape of black, jointless armour. She could not even see his eyes.

  “There’s no visor,” Skal said. “How do I put it down?”

  “It is down,” Bane said.

  Enali stepped up to him and peered at his face. “You can see me?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “But I can’t see you.” She reached up and rapped on the helm where his eyes should have been. Skal jerked his head back, then put his hand to his face.

  “But I can see through it,” Skal said. “Amazing.”

  “Move,” Bane said.

  Skal bent and picked up his blade. He made a few passes, jumped, spun on his heel, aimed a wicked cut at the air.

  “It’s as though it’s not there at all,” he said. “In fact I feel lighter, stronger.” He bent his knees and jumped again, this time rising ten feet into the air. He whooped with delight. “I am stronger!”

  “Give your blade to Lady Enali,” the dragon said.

  Skal tossed his blade to her and she caught it, a little awkwardly, and adjusted her grip.

  “You want me to hit him?” she asked. Bane nodded. She stepped forwards and Skal raised his hands in the air to give her room to swing. She struck him on the chest. The blade bounced off and left no mark.

  “Harder,” Skal said.

  Enali took a deep breath and swung with all her strength, an artless, brutal stroke. It clanged off his chest. Skal didn’t so much as take a backward step.

  “Harder,” he said again.

  “I can’t. That was everything. If you want a sterner test, perhaps Bane will oblige?”

  “There is no need,” Bane said. “The armour will absorb any blow. There is a pair of dragon steel blades to go with it. Do you like your bribe, Lord Skal? Will you fight alongside Jerac Fane?”