Rythe Falls

by Craig R. Saunders

  But always a woman's voice. Deep and powerful.

  Could anyone else hear it? She thought not.

  'Time is on us, love. Wake...'

  Often, the same thing. Sometimes, other words, but never the sense that the owner of the voice was speaking to anyone but the sleeper. Conversational, sometimes, sometimes chiding, but always this one-sided conversation and little else beside.

  Tirielle moved another grape closer to a silver fork, tarnished from use a few days ago. The Seer, and her companions...she picked up a piece of cheese for the Rahken...moving to Sybremreyen.

  How did she know this? The wizard ship, Sia and her companions? She knew because it seemed that not only could Tirielle hear the mysterious voice of the woman in her mind, but from time to time she caught thoughts and words from the Seer, too.

  Once, connected, it seemed that connection could not be broken.

  But you're not insane, Tirielle, are you? Not really.

  She couldn't be entirely sure, but she thought not. Desperately, perhaps, no more than hoping this to be true, because there was something in Sia's thoughts that she picked up on, and from the other woman's thoughts, too. The other woman she merely thought of as The Waker, though she knew the woman must be more to project her words to Tirielle.

  There was a sense, in both these stolen missives, that Sia and the woman both knew more than Drun and Caeus and perhaps the rest of Rythe together. A sense that time had not just caught The Sleeper, but caught them all.

  *

  Chapter Nine

  'There are fast ways...all across the land,' the old Rahken said. She had not lied.

  The suns had barely moved since Reih and Perr and their new companion had set out across the swamplands for the temple Sybremreyen. Their horses seemed tireless, the Rahken loping easily alongside, behind, ahead. The Rahken were almost as many as the sly, sharp grasses of the swamps, or the heavy fronds that grew, it seemed, on the murky water itself.

  The two shining paladins who accompanied the seer rode beautiful horses that seemed bred for war, rather than speed, but they kept pace just as easily as the Rahken. The girl-child, Sia, rode with the paladin named Yuthran, side-saddle across the man's lap. The other warrior, face hidden deep in the shadow of his helm, rode alone. That one never spoke, but Yuthran was nearly garrulous...though compared to Perr a dead man would have seemed talkative.

  Through the swamp for what seemed like hours they rode hard and fast, did not tire or hunger.

  'How long have we been riding?' she asked of the Rahken beside her mount at one point.

  'Minutes, only,' said the beast. But it seemed like hours to her.

  Magic pathways, strange creatures, plants and trees and beast-song that was all alien to her, knowing only the north. No sense of great speed, but a hint of something otherworldly. Almost as though there was a constant buzz in her ear, like an insect spoke to her in a tiny voice she could not understand.

  It could be that they had only been riding minutes, as the Rahken told her, though her mind was convinced it should now be late in the day, near the first sun's setting. She looked for the suns, but both were still high and seemed not to move. Time, outside this path, standing still?

  She didn't know. Nor could she gain any sense of their direction. If the fabled Sybremreyen was hidden, as it was rumoured, in the deepest part of the southern lands, then it was deep in the swamp indeed. Far as the southern-most coast, maybe.

  The maps would have Reih believe that the swamps of the south bled their rot into the sea where it reached the end of Lianthran lands. But Reih was learning that you could not trust maps. Maps lied. Cartographers made mistakes - deliberate or accidental, it didn't matter. The fact was, should they be abandoned on this odd path that took them unhindered through the murk of the swamp, she and Perr would most likely breathe their last here. No one would ever find them.

  The thought gave Reih a moment's pause, but as she glanced around at the swamp, her companions (hardly needing to steer her horse at all - she let the mare have her head and the mare was happy enough to run), then, up to the sky, she realised that the suns were...dim.

  Not because of foliage - trees here tended to be short things, it seemed - but because they were...setting?

  A younger Rahken noted her skyward glance, and nodded to her. Seemed the creature grinned, though it was so full of teeth and fur, you couldn't really call it a grin or a smile, even.

  'Yes,' said the Rahken, in answer to her unspoken question, 'the suns are setting. A day passed. Close your eyes if you wish - your mount will not tire, nor can she stray. The pathways hold us, still and true.'

  'A day?'

  The Rahken nodded.

  Reih shook her head. How could anyone be expected to fall asleep on a galloping horse?

  She should be hungry, or tired, or even perhaps a little scared...but she was not.

  So thinking, she rode on as the skies darkened and somehow, she knew not how, opened her eyes but a moment later to see bright light yet again, to find her behind sore and chaffed from riding, and herself atop her horse. Perr was beside her, holding her horse's reins in one hand, his helm on the pommel of his saddle. He grinned. She could tell a grin on his face, if not a Rahken's.

  'Seems we're here,' he said. 'Sleep well?'

  She slid, uncomfortably, from the saddle. 'Oddly, I did,' she told him.

  'Leave the horses, the packs. Not like they can go anywhere, right?'

  She turned full-circle, then back to Perr. For what might be as wide as two or three miles around them were long, lush grasslands. A high, ancient wall enclosed them against the ravages of the swamp, though she could see the swamp's attempts to scale the walls, like some invading army. Vines broke the walls in places, and in some the walls had been speared by the roots of some hardy trees. As she looked across the grass, she noted pools, trees. Heard birdsong and other, stranger noises, like groaning, but on a small scale.

  Walls around, grass within. A world within a world, almost.

  And far in the distance from them, at the centre of this strange enclave, was Sybremreyen herself.

  *

  Chapter Ten

  As she came closer to Sybremreyen, Reih began to understand why the builder, descendant of the temple's creators whom she knew only as Sventhan, had described this temple as the Kuh'taenium's sister-building. The similarities were obvious, like giant children made by the same architects mad imagination. The place was large - overly so, considering only eleven men had called it home. It was far from grand. More...disquieting, truth be told. Almost alien, like a building created before the mind of man even dreamed of making homes from sticks and mud.

  Ancient, undoubtedly. Yet not scored by weather, not pocked, like many old stone buildings Reih new. Even the Hierarchy's long-dormant minarets showed the marks and passage of time and weather. But Sybremreyen was pristine, the stone smooth and dark. No handholds, no way to climb up to the loftiest reaches.

  In scale, perhaps as large as a castle, but in design, more akin to the shell of some giant rock-beast. A clam, perhaps, with its widest reaches far off the ground and casting a long shadow across the grassland surrounding the anachronism. A timeless place, or a place entirely outside the remit of time itself. None of the ravages of the damp south had touched it. Unlike the walls surrounding the Sard's homeland, their temple haven, the walls of Sybremreyen herself sported no sign of moss or lichen. Not encroaching trees or vines upon the surface. Yet as Reih, Perr silent at her side, drew closer to the structure, she noted the walls were not entirely unmarked, as she'd first thought. Symbols were carved over the entirety of its outer shell.

  Though the day remained bright outside, as she walked underneath the temple and into the shadow, everything took on a gloomy cast. Perr's armour was dull, her own hands (looking down) pale where moments before she'd been tanned.

  Like the shadow of the place had weight enough to affect things on a deeper level than merely the visual. As though the shadow of S
ybremreyen could reach out and change things, should it want to.

  It's a living building, she reminded herself. And not my first. Show respect, take care.

  Ahead of her, the two paladins of the Sard and the Seer had already entered the building, taking the smooth stone steps up to the broad entrance. The rahken did not enter, but waited to either side of her path like an honour guard.

  At the foot of those long, broad steps stood a man. Reih thought she'd never in her life seen a man who seemed so lonely. He was stout, stocky, even. He had a full head of grey hair and just the shortest of stubble on his cheeks and chin, like he'd shaved maybe a day or two before. His bearing was proud, and a shield covered his back. Simple armour that Reih recognised well enough - northern style.

  'Reih Refren A'e Eril?' said the man with a grim expression as she reached him.

  'Should I know you?' she asked, and realised that she should. The man looked familiar to her. To her side she felt Perr's nod, as though in greeting. The old man nodded back. Two warriors who knew each other, for sure, if only by reputation.

  'My lady,' said the man. 'I was Captain of Tirielle A'm Dralorn's household guard...I am...'

  'Gurt?' she said, shocked, and for some unaccountable reason suddenly conscious of the patch covering her barren eye socket.

  At last, the old man pushed out a tired smile. 'My lady. It is an honour.'

  'Please...Gurt...it is truly a pleasure...but you are far from home..?'

  'I serve Lady A'm Dralorn still,' he said.

  'A good man. Hard to find.'

  'Perr's a good man,' he said, with a nod. Perr didn't reply, but as he often did, let Reih speak for the two of them.

  'He is invaluable. Best I've known, I am coming to think.' She'd never said as much to Perr, but if he was surprised he didn't shift a single muscle.

  'You should go in,' said Gurt. 'We'll talk more after. Perr will have to wait here with me. The way's warded, Sard reckon. You'll pass. Sventhan of the Builders is inside. The two paladins, of course, and the girl-seer. Won't let me through, nor Perr, I think.'

  'Wait here?' she told Perr.

  'Did that before,' he said.

  She understood. He spoke rarely. Perhaps even more rarely since the night she'd lost her eye. As a result of, perhaps, both things, now she tended to listen.

  'Not my doing, Perr. Wait, I'll come back. Don't think we've a choice in this.'

  Perr looked her in the eye, then, and she looked back. She patted him on the arm, though she knew he wouldn't feel it.

  'I'll come back.'

  He nodded, then simply strode to stand beside the old warrior at the foot of the stairs.

  She felt their eyes on her back as she climbed, and then, went inside.

  *

  Chapter Eleven

  'Bugger this weather,' said Cenphalph pulling his cloak tighter about his shoulders on the long walk outside Castle Naeth's walls, high above the stinking city.

  'Keeps the smell down, I suppose,' said Disper.

  'Thought it was cold in the north of Lianthre,' said Cenphalph. 'Turns out cold's just as foreign as trees or people, eh?'

  'Apparently, this is nothing. This is just autumn. Winter brings snow and ice and frozen rivers. They keep their livestock in barns just to keep them alive.'

  'I confess, Disper, I don't understand these people. They're a hard people. Nothing pretty about the land. Mud and rain, wind and cold. Drab faces and farming and endless wars.'

  Disper paused in his walk, and Cenphalph was forced to stop walking if he wanted to continue to complain, which he did.

  'Renir's a good man.'

  'I don't deny it, Brother,' said Cenphalph. 'But why are we here? What do we do here? Act as honour guard to a would-be king while the Return draws nearer with each day? We are soldiers! Not guards, nor teachers.'

  Disper looked up at the walls. Kept on looking. They went a long way, almost straight up.

  'These people, too...they are warriors, Cenphalph. Renir no more wishes to be coddled in our bosom that we wish him within our arms. He is a fighter. His people, too. They chafe to be in battle, I think. Look - this castle? This is what they build. They know battle. Hardship. This weather? You and I think it harsh, but these people have lost family in the coldest of the winters, to the ice and snows. We come to teach war to a nation of warriors.'

  Cenphalph, too, looked up at the great walls of Castle Naeth.

  'It's big, alright.'

  'They do things differently, yes...but I think perhaps...we might learn a thing from them as they could from us. No?'

  Cenphalph's shoulders dropped, but his hand remained clasped about his cloak.

  'Well said, Brother,' conceded Cenphalph, eventually.

  Disper nodded, satisfied enough. 'I think Drun understands,' he said. 'Caeus...this red wizard? Maybe not. But perhaps Drun can talk sense to him. Perhaps. Renir needs to be among his people. As do we. The longer we sit in this castle, looking down on the Sturmen, the harder it will be to fight by their side.'

  Cenphalph clapped a firm hand on his brother paladin's shoulder. 'Tomorrow, we will speak to the Watcher.'

  Suddenly, the chill lessened for a moment and the night, gloomy and thick, lightened with a golden glow. The paladin's turned and smiled at the warmth of Drun's image, throwing off welcome heat as it appeared behind them. Not entirely solid, but not transparent, either, Drun's soul-form smiled back at them in greeting.

  'There is no need,' said the projection, with Drun's voice. His voice was weaker than they were used to, even in this form, but they thought little of it.

  'Watcher,' they said as one, and bowed their heads. Quintal might be the leader of the Sard, but Drun was their heart and soul. When he spoke, they listened.

  'I agree with you both. We remain aloof from the people of Sturma, and Renir little better than a caged man. It is time we spread, learned of the people and the land. Become less the mystery...but, I fear...Caeus will not see it thus. He is...old. In body and mind and his ways and thoughts. But I will speak to him.'

  Cenphalph and Disper spoke as one. 'We are as one mind on this matter, Watcher.'

  Drun's apparition bowed his head. 'Brothers, soon, we commune in sorrow, too. This was why I came, but the dead should not outweigh concern for the living.'

  Cenphalph's own head bowed, and Disper merely shook his head.

  'I felt it...Drun Sard...Briskle? Yuthran?'

  'Time for sorrow, soon. Even sorrow must wait its turn.'

  'As you say, Drun...but...'

  'I feel your anguish, Cenphalph. Our brotherhood weakens with each death...but it is stronger, too. Our souls are one.'

  'Our souls are one,' said Cenphalph and Disper together, as did all those of their order who still lived, feeling the deaths of their brothers keenly.

  Then, Drun was gone, and without him the cold hit the two paladins hard once more.

  *

  In his room, high up within the castle, Drun opened his eyes and his golden light retreated from the night into his pupils. His room shone for just a moment, then all was dark. Gifted by his God, he held the power of the light, of the sun, for his God was the sun itself, Carious, the greater body in the sky. Drun could send his soul forth, like an apparition, heal wounds better than many, see into the distance...granted by his god. Each of his brothers held their own talents. Mostly, their tenacity as warriors...it was possible that his brother paladins were the greatest swordsmen of this age.

  j'ark had been the finest among them, but he was gone. Brother Unthor, too...dead. And now, distant and alone, Yuthran and Briskle's death-knell came to him from such a remove that he could not even understand the manner of their deaths.

  They were diminished and soon would be lessened yet again, for Drun Sard, the Watcher of the Order of Sard, was dying.

  When Drun's power returned to him, the room fell back to the darkness of the night. But the dark was fine. Drun Sard was not concerned about the darkness, knowing that in the dark his
god watched over Lianthre instead of this continent.

  It was the coming battle that concerned the old priest.

  He wasn't worried about Renir, not overly - the man was tougher than the sum of his parts. But Renir should be free to roam and live, and the Sard should not be lords of this castle, like foreign invaders. They were all free men, and a free people. Caeus was not evil...but stubborn. Ill-mannered, sometimes, perhaps, but a force for light. In a strange way, Drun even liked the creature he'd once known as the Red Wizard. But on certain things, Caeus was intractable. Renir's safety was one of those things.

  I need to do this right, thought Drun.

  Caeus would need to be spoken to...and the wizard would not like what Drun would say. Of that, he was sure.

  Renir is no puppet.

  As much as Drun Sard liked Caeus as a force for good...he liked and respected Renir Esyn more than most men or women he'd met in his long life. Long hair, long beard and a failing body. He'd met many, many people in his life, and Renir Esyn was one of the finest. Brave and bold despite being a decidedly ordinary man when their business had begun, he'd proven time and again to be a good man, a staunch ally, and a true friend. He should not be treated like some trinket of a king to be tucked away and used at the appointed time.

  'If he's to be king, then let him be a man, too,' grumble Drun to himself in the darkness.

  He really didn't want to speak to the Red Wizard. He knew that on this subject, more than any other, Caeus would be...difficult. But Drun had never shirked a duty in his life, and he wasn't about to start. With a grunt, Drun pushed himself from his seat upon the cold stone floor and stood. Even such little effort now made his lungs burn. For a second, he stood, swaying, desperate to cough but forcing his body to remain calm and still. It would not do to go before Caeus with blood on his robe.