The Heir To The North

by Steven Poore

  They were here.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was close to midday, but the sun was not welcome over Malessar’s dhar. There were no clouds, yet the light had dimmed, hazed and refracted by the two sorcerous powers in dangerously close proximity. The warlock stood firm at his balcony, his hands fast against the rail as though holding it in place, his face devoid of expression. Cassia saw the air around him distorting, tendrils of magic curling up to give him a truly demonic countenance.

  She held on to the door frame, staggered to one knee by the force of the quake. Flecks of plaster rained down on her, bouncing from her hair and her shoulders. It was all she could do to keep from screaming, just to be able to hear her own voice and know that she still lived.

  “Who dares?” Malessar called out. His voice rang with the authority of a god. “Who dares intrude on my domain?”

  For a long moment there was silence, broken only by the gasping that Cassia recognised as her own breath. Then there was the steady click of boot heels against tiles. Someone had come through the entrance hall, and now they stood at the edge of the courtyard, just below her.

  “I’m disappointed in you,” Baum said. “I thought you might have recognised and welcomed an old friend after so many years.”

  Malessar’s dark eyes narrowed. The rest of the warlock’s face was twisted by magic, his brows more prominent and his cheekbones hollowed. The haze made his mouth curl into a violent smile. “I have no friends. You have already outstayed your welcome, whoever you might be. I suggest you leave now, while you are still able.”

  Baum took two paces to one side. Cassia caught a glimpse of the nimbus that surrounded him, curling as though reaching up for her, and she shoved herself away in the opposite direction.

  “I am your past, Malessar. I am your appointed doom, sent by Pyraete to cleanse the memory of the North.”

  Malessar laughed. “Of course you are. Do you have any idea how many men tried to do that in the first hundred years after Caenthell? Did Pyraete tell you that when he whispered tender prophecies in your ear?”

  Cassia had made it as far as the end of the balcony, where it adjoined the stairwell. If she had considered fleeing downwards, onto the street, the haze of smoke and dust that rose from below dissuaded her. But now she could see Baum, hooded, holding his staff loose in both hands. His stance reminded her of the slaughter of Vescar’s men back in the hills. He would not back down.

  “You misused god-given sorceries to curse Pyraete’s entire land,” Baum spat. “Is it any wonder he wanted revenge?”

  “What makes you any different to them?” Malessar flicked one hand dismissively. Magic dripped down into the courtyard, shrivelling a cluster of blooms below.

  Baum shrugged his hood back. The malevolence in his expression matched that of the warlock. “I survived Caenthell.”

  That stopped Malessar cold. The sorceries wrapped around him shifted and flickered, as though reflecting his sudden uncertainty. “No man survived Caenthell.”

  “I am Baum. Captain of Jedrell’s guard. Come on, Man of Stone – don’t you remember me?”

  It was plain Malessar did remember him. “But you were no mage.”

  “No,” Baum agreed. “I was not.”

  Without warning he lifted his staff and pointed it at the balcony. The air erupted with a deafening deluge of sorcerous energy. The blast drove through the rail and into the wall behind it, shedding splintered wood and chunks of brick and stone in all directions. Cassia dived to the floor and covered her head with her hands as something struck her on the back of her neck.

  Another blast answered the first. Power exploded from the courtyard in waves of lethal colours, echoing from the walls like the screams of damned souls. Cassia risked a glance and saw Malessar, balanced upon the upright remains of the rail itself, energy whipping from each outstretched finger. His body was haloed by protective magic. Then the rail crumbled into dust, but the warlock did not fall. Instead he remained in the air, sustained by his own power. Cassia would have named him a god, if she had not known better.

  More blasts punctured the balcony behind her, lacerating the frescos that decorated the supporting pillars. The air tasted of stone, sand and nightmares. I can’t stay here. It’s not safe. But she didn’t know of anywhere that would be safe. Not while they fought like this.

  The ground exploded in waves towards Baum; the waves rebounded from his protective nimbus. Malessar descended beatifically to the ground, spells shattering all around him. The edges of his robes were afire, but he had not noticed. Or he did not care. His attention was fixed upon his opponent.

  Cassia fled the length of the balcony, ducking from pillar to pillar, flinching with every piece of sundered masonry that came close to striking her. The backs of her hands were bleeding in several places, although she could not remember receiving those wounds. Her entire body felt energised, blood surging into her extremities and causing her legs to cramp uncomfortably.

  They never mentioned this. The heroism, the daring adventures, the noble prince with a blessed sword – but not the terror. Not the foul, sour-fat taste of the air or the feelings of absolute helplessness and mortality. Not the way sorcery sucked at her very soul, trying to tear it out through her skin even though she was not in the direct line of fire.

  She skidded to a halt beneath one of the shutters of Malessar’s chamber. It hung from a single hinge, the paint bubbling and peeling. The courtyard below was barely visible, awhirl with a cauldron of energy that had taken on a life of its own. She could make out Malessar’s silhouette, and one that could be Baum, as they circled each other, but even as she watched the sorcery obscured them both again.

  I have to stop this! It’s all my fault! I led them here – and I didn’t warn him. I didn’t do enough. I’m no hero.

  I can’t stop it. I might as well throw away this sword. I’m not worthy of it.

  The balcony she had just crossed exploded violently, the stones illuminated by sickening blood-red shades. Cassia was thrown back against the wall. Breathless, she pulled herself up to her hands and knees again. She was a mouse – a gnat – caught in the open while gods raged about her. Each moment set loose some new terror in her soul.

  Caenthell. This is what Malessar did. What Baum lived through. I can’t do it.

  She was cut off from both sets of stairs now. If she stayed where she was, there was a good chance some random sorcery would find her and turn her inside out. No. Not like that. She looked in both directions and judged that the way forward was easier than the way back. The gap in the balcony was smaller outside Malessar’s room. She should be able to jump across it.

  Cassia checked her belt was secure, and then launched herself along the balcony before she could give herself time to think about what she was doing. She curled into the air, and saw the courtyard below for a fleeting instant – long enough to know she was wrong – and then she landed hard on the other side, all sense driven from her body by the impact. The balcony wobbled underneath her at the impact.

  Oh gods, oh Ceresel, oh just let me live!

  She scrambled along the wreckage, hugging the wall, until she reached the relative safety of the far stairwell. Her heart thumped against her ribs and her throat was raw.

  There was one other thing she had never accounted for. The courtyard rang with a cacophonous howl, layers of sound bursting through her ears and spending themselves through the very bones of her body. Sorcery made a mockery of every natural sound, forcing itself upon the world. The stones of the building seemed to shriek in pain.

  A fresh blast of energy shattered the top of the courtyard. Plaster and brick spun down in an arc. Cassia saw it falling, but it was on her before she could force herself to move. Something struck her hard in the ribs. Off-balance, she staggered back – and there was nothing behind her.

  The stairs –

  q

  She was wedged into a corner. Uncomfortable. Her scabbard jabbed into the underside of her leg, and her
shirt was rucked up over her head. She was upside-down, halfway down the stairwell. The iron tang of blood stung her tongue, and her ribs felt sore.

  The startling silence was much of a shock as the scale of the violence had been.

  Knocked cold – but for how long? A moment? More?

  Cassia slid down the last flight of steps on her hands and knees. The air tasted of ground stone and felt as oppressive as the moments before a breaking thunderstorm, but the storm had already been unleashed. Her skin still prickled and strange luminous shapes danced at the edge of her vision, the after-effects of the tumult of sorceries that had engulfed the courtyard.

  The garden was all but destroyed: plants withered and burned, the breakfast table twisted and thrown aside like wreckage from a fire. The debris still glowed and bubbled. The pillars around the small yard were chipped and charred and in some places even cracked, gaping fissures that threatened their integrity. One of the beautifully carved doors to Malessar’s hall sported a jagged, smouldering gash; its twin had been blown clean out of sight.

  A body lay by the far wall, unrecognisably burned, one skeletal arm outstretched and blackened. Narjess. Or Leili. Oh gods above, no – please, no . . .

  But though the sight of the corpse appalled her, Cassia’s attention was drawn away by the other figures in the courtyard.

  Incredibly the two sorcerers still stood at either end, facing each other. Splattered with blood and dirt, their robes shredded, neither man had escaped injury. Baum’s hair had burned away, his face seared as though by the sun itself. Blood dripped from his fingertips to the scorched stone at his feet. His breath was ragged, his mouth twisted in pain. His shoulders had slumped and, as Cassia watched, he collapsed to his knees, barely catching himself before toppling onto his side.

  Malessar had fared no better. His left arm hung mangled by his side and blood stained his face. He held his right hand to his chest to stem the flow from a large wound, and he swayed on his feet, staggering forward to lean against the ruined fountain.

  It was a stalemate. Both sorcerers had expended their full strength against each other; now neither man was in any condition to continue. Their struggle for the future of the North would not be resolved here.

  She should be moving, she thought remotely. They would need help. Though how could she begin to help a sorcerer? To tend wounds caused by such awful magic? She felt utterly helpless, and she could not make herself step forward.

  Because I have to choose. I have to choose which man to help first. And that choice decides where my loyalties should lie.

  Malessar was a murderer. He had twisted history for hundreds of years. He had destroyed the whole kingdom of Caenthell, ruined the world he had known, all because of one terrible fit of impassioned anger. But she thought she had come to understand Malessar much better – even to like him – and she did not believe he was the monstrous tyrant Baum had described with such passion. He had treated her with kindness, had let her through the defences he had constructed over centuries. A proud man, and stubborn too, but principled and fair. A man who regretted everything he had so recklessly done, and who had been brought close to death for those sins.

  Baum’s obsessive quest for vengeance had almost killed him too, she saw as she turned to look at the old soldier. Even as his body twisted and failed under him, Baum stretched out a burned arm to claw the ground, a pale sorcerous nimbus barely surrounding his fingers. He was so single-minded that he would use the remnants of his powers against his old enemy rather than heal his own wounds.

  If he will not help himself then he’ll never help anybody else, she thought suddenly, knowing the truth at last.

  Malessar coughed and spat blood to clear his mouth. “Enough,” he said. His voice had lost its commanding tone, but the word still echoed across the yard. “This has gone on too long.”

  Baum raised his head. Cassia shuddered at the malice in his eyes. “For once we are in agreement,” he snarled.

  “There is nothing to be won here,” Malessar continued wearily. “Stop this now, before more innocents are hurt or killed by your quarrel with me.”

  Baum laughed. Red-flecked spittle sprayed from the corners of his mouth. “Spare me your moralising! Did you worry about killing innocent people when you pulled Caenthell down stone by stone around us? Or when you abandoned the defence of Stromondor and left the city to be sacked by the Hordes? I held those gates for two and a half days! Why should you care now?”

  The warlock wilted further. “Stromondor,” he said, the word heavy with memories and regrets. “I had no idea you were there too.”

  “Would that have made a difference?” Baum spluttered and shook his head. “You did not care back then, and you do not care now. I’ll not fall to honeyed words.”

  Cassia’s attention was attracted by movement. A figure had emerged from the doorway to the main entrance of the dhar, and now stood concealed by one of the wide pillars.

  Meredith.

  Somehow she forgotten about him, and she felt a flash of guilt. He wore a soft Galliarcan shirt, loose over light breeches. His greatsword was belted, as always, over his back. The sight of him squeezed at her heart. She wanted to fling herself into his arms.

  But now he was the Heir to the North. Here, that title was his armour, a wall she could not breach. More solid than the mountains, Meredith stared fixedly at the warlock. Cassia could not tell what he was thinking, or what he would do. His revenge has come. Oh Meredith – please listen . . .

  “Stromondor was my home for over a century,” Malessar said, a harder tone entering his voice. “I did not abandon it lightly, nor without reason. You have no right to accuse me of cowardice.”

  Using his staff to lever himself up, Baum rose to one knee. His only reply was a dismissive grunt.

  Malessar drew himself up. “And your obsession? Caenthell? You have pursued that lost goal all this time? My death will not return Caenthell to life, nor the people who died within it. Believe me, if you will – if my death could bring anyone back to life I’d have opened my own wrists centuries ago. But that curse can never be lifted, Baum. Not unless you want to damn the whole world to hell. Pyraete’s land has spoiled behind the curse wards. To remove them would unleash an unspeakable evil upon the world. I can show you that truth.”

  Cassia’s breath caught as Baum stared steadily into the warlock’s eyes and a hard, determined smile spread slowly across his face. She realized with a jolt that he didn’t care what would emerge from behind the wards. Beating the curse – beating Malessar – was all that mattered to him. She flicked a glance at Meredith and saw with despair that his expression mirrored that resolve.

  “You have no choice in this matter,” Baum said. “I have not been idle since our paths last crossed. I know the making of curses now; more, I know the breaking of curses. This curse, in particular. As much as I wish to, I will not kill you.”

  His head turned and he looked across the yard. Malessar’s troubled gaze followed, his brow creased as he tried to grasp Baum’s meaning.

  Meredith came forward, his stride measured and merciless. Cassia rose to her feet, her heart hammering, indecision suddenly banished from her mind.

  The Heir to the North halted a few steps from the ruined fountain. “I am Meredith of Caenthell,” he announced.

  Malessar stared at him for a long moment. Then he sighed. “You favour your illustrious ancestor, Meredith of Caenthell. A well-designed plan; you would undo me by the terms of my own curse. You have worn me down. I cannot defend myself with sorcery and I am maimed. Very well, so be it. I will not give you my sword, however. You must take it from me.”

  Meredith’s reply was the rasp of metal as he drew his sword and settled into a practised two-handed stance. Cassia could think only of the great shrine filled with shieldmen that had frightened her so badly. Meredith resembled one of those constructs, indomitable and implacable. Malessar straightened, stepping gingerly away from the fountain, turning to reduce his profile. The warloc
k looked exhausted and his sword wavered in his hand. This would be a brief and unworthy fight, Cassia thought.

  “Meredith, wait.” She moved forward at last, stumbling out from the bottom of the stairwell. “You can’t do this. You mustn’t do this. Malessar’s right.”

  Neither Meredith nor Malessar appeared to have heard her. Their attention remained fixed on each other. Somewhere behind them Baum’s low chuckle turned into a hacking cough.

  “Meredith, I’ve been to Caenthell.” She tried again, desperately. “Something is waiting there, waiting for the curse to be broken. Can’t you see how wrong it would be to do this? Please Meredith, listen to me!”

  It had no effect. The young prince began to move, inching around to Malessar’s left, aiming to slip past his guard. Malessar was forced to react, staggering back a step as he turned.

  There was no other way, she thought. It was inevitable. Her story could only end in this manner. Cassia stepped between the pair. “This will not go on,” she declared. “If you will not put up your sword, Meredith, you will have to kill me first.”

  Finally his dark eyes locked onto her and she was shocked to see a sad smile settle upon his face. “This fight is my life,” he said softly, but his blade never wavered. “This is who I am, why I exist. You do not understand that. It is not my wish to see you hurt in this.”

  His gaze flickered for a second in Baum’s direction and his voice lowered to a whisper. “You may still walk away before this tragedy goes further.”

  She blinked. He was trying to tell her something, but her mind was so awhirl and battered by the sorcerous battle that she could not comprehend the meaning behind his words. I have made my decision, for good or for ill. I cannot stand down now.

  Cassia pulled the sword of Pelicos from its sheath. Meredith inclined his head and took a few steps back to give her room. The sad smile was still upon his lips.

  Malessar said something, but Cassia did not hear it. The crushing roar in her head blocked out both his voice and Baum’s feeble, croaking laughter. Her arms trembled as adrenaline surged through her body.