The orange cat stretched, hind legs straight up, front legs flat, and climbed upon the child’s chest, peering into her face intently. Shea gave a mighty, jaw cracking yawn and opened her eyes. She found herself nose to nose with Khosa who blinked, settled more firmly on Shea’s chest and began her crooning purr. Not to be outdone, Akomi scrabbled up close to Khosa and joined his purr to hers. Nesh had put pillows behind Shea and now moved to slide his arm round Tika’s shoulders.
‘You made that seem easy,’ he murmured.
Tika smiled. ‘It was Nesh, it was. We must talk you and Emla and Kija and I. Perhaps I can mend Farn now.’
Shea struggled to sit more upright, dislodging the cats in the process. Khosa stalked to Tika, her back to Shea, indicating seriously injured dignity. Akomi was far more forgiving and settled calmly on Shea’s legs. She twisted her shoulder to look at it. The skin was smooth, a little paler perhaps, but nothing remained of the burns. Yet Shea remembered all too clearly the pain, seeing the awful mess when Tevros tried to clean it. Akomi’s gold eyes blinked up at her.
‘Tika mended you,’ he said to her mind.
Shea stared back at him and then said the first thing to come into her head.
‘I am so hungry!’
Tika and Nesh were moving away when Gossamer Tewk reached out a hand as if to stop them. They both paused, waiting for her to speak. But her hand dropped and she said nothing. A mountainous woman loomed over the three, looking down at Nesh despite his height and even further down at Tika who scarcely reached his chest. The woman grinned. Tika and Nesh could only stare. Nesh was appalled by the barbaric habit of filing teeth but Tika was rather taken with the purple stain. It reminded her of Seela.
‘I am Sergeant Essa,’ the large woman said. ‘I consider myself a friend of Gossamer Tewk.’ She half turned to Gossamer then frowned. Gossamer had sat back on her cot, her head bowed. Essa, her eyebrows forming a single dark line above her eyes, turned back to Tika and Nesh. ‘Gossamer carried you out of the Splintered Kingdom,’ she said, and moved to stoop over Gossamer, one huge hand on the other woman’s back.
Tika rubbed her eyes. It felt as if she’d only slept one night, yet from what she’d managed to work out, twelve or more days had passed. She held on to Nesh’s arm and they rejoined Emla and Kija.
‘He sleeps,’ Kija murmured in Tika’s mind. ‘It feels a natural sleep but it isn’t. Not quite. I dare not probe closer, but at least the pain seems gone. There are no screams waiting to burst from his mind now.’
Tika leaned against Kija’s chest, stroking Farn’s long beautiful face. ‘Did he harm many?’ she asked.
Kija huffed. ‘Yes,’ she replied shortly. ‘His anguish reached this Realm, which is why their Lady sent her people to us and others to find you.’
A woman approached them. Tika could sense her inner nervousness but there was no outward sign.
‘I am Jenniah,’ she introduced herself. ‘I am Palace-Keeper. Food is coming for you all but – erm – I wasn’t sure what. .’ she trailed off, staring up at Kija.
Kija lowered her head, her eyes, each as big as a man’s double fist, whirred a soft buttery gold. ‘We eat meat Lady Jenniah, but I have no hunger yet, and my son is, as you see, unable to eat for now.’
Kija had wrapped her words in pulses of soothing calm and Jenniah visibly relaxed. She leaned closer to see Farn’s face.
‘Poor lad. Let’s hope he’s soon himself again.’
Kija and Tika knew the Palace-Keeper spoke in all innocence, with no idea how accurate her words were.
‘Is there anything particular I can bring you young lady?’
Tika smiled. ‘Whatever you serve, will be most welcome. But I would like to know where your Lady is – your First Daughter I think she’s called?’
Kija and Tika, and both Emla and Nesh, sensed the roil of emotion in the Palace-Keeper.
‘She is recovering. She will sleep until she is fit.’
‘How long might that be?’ Tika asked. ‘I need to thank her for saving us all.’
Jenniah’s eyes filled with tears. Her voice was the barest whisper when she replied. ‘The most senior healers of the Realm are with her. They say it may be a year before our beloved First Daughter awakens.’
Chapter Twelve
Veranta, Imperatrix of Kelshan and the Confederacies, had broken a great many antiques in the last dozen days, as well as a lot of more mundane crockery. Her personal staff moved round her as quietly and warily as they could. A few courtiers suggested the Imperatrix was demented with grief at the disappearance of her daughter Shea, but they were the courtiers with an eye for promotion. The councillor, Raffer, had not been seen since Veranta had him removed from a meeting, escorted by her guards. The Advisor Waxin Pule, his apprentice Grent, and Veranta’s daughter Lady Shea, had not been seen either. The search for Shea had been cursory at best, but extremely intensive for Advisor Pule.
Veranta stood in her office this morning, staring out over the lower Citadel and the sprawling City beyond. Brisk boot heels warned of General Whilk’s arrival. Veranta sat behind her desk and folded her arms. The General entered, his green uniform impeccable, and saluted the Imperatrix. She waved him impatiently to a chair.
‘News from Captain Lessur?’ she demanded.
The General remained impassive but he was wondering just who, among several possibilities, was the spy in his offices.
‘Indeed my lady.’ He withdrew some creased papers from the top pocket of his tunic and passed them over the desk.
Veranta almost snatched them in her eagerness to read what they told. She got up still reading, and went to stand in front of the great map on the wall.
‘They have made better time than I’d hoped they would,’ she remarked.
‘They certainly have my lady. They could be in the foothills of the Barrier Range by tomorrow evening. And I do beg you to allow me to ride to join them.’
Veranta turned, chewing her lip, an unfortunate habit which did nothing to improve her plain face. So far, she had adamantly refused to let Whilk go with the “expeditionary force” despite his repeated request. She’d said he was needed here in case of trouble to the north, among the wild clans; in case of unrest within the City, of attack by pirates from the Sunset Isles. He’d countered every argument but her last: that he was too old. By Simert’s Balls, he was less than ten years older than her own forty-three years. And a damn sight fitter too, he’d wager. Now he held his breath and his tongue while Veranta thought. She tapped the papers against her cheek.
‘Yes,’ she decided. ‘I think you should be in command on the field.’
The General rose with alacrity. ‘I can leave at once.’ He spoke as calmly as he could manage: he didn’t want Veranta changing her mind now.
‘There is still no indication of Pule’s whereabouts.’ Veranta sat behind her desk again.
The General remained standing – he did not want to delay escaping, as he viewed it, from this unstable woman. But he felt some response was in order.
‘No hint at all my lady?’
Veranta shook her head and spoke almost as if to herself. ‘Nothing. Ternik can find nothing.’
General Whilk schooled his face to complete blankness although his thoughts churned. Ternik? Tutor to Veranta’s girls? Was she really the mage they’d known was in the Citadel and had been unable to find?
‘Never mind General. Now I expect frequent reports. Horses and riders are already staged along the route to the Range.’ She handed him a sealed packet. ‘Those are your orders. You do not need to read them until you have joined with Captain Lessur. I wish you a speedy and successful expedition.’
The General snapped to attention, saluted, and left, trying to contain his pace to a regular step, rather than running as he would dearly have preferred. Within the hour he was on the road with four men he trusted. Several others, attached to his staff, would be furious when they discovered he’d already left, but he’d have at least half a day’s start if
they dared to follow without specific orders.
General Whilk had made time to send a coded message to one of his contacts telling her that Ternik was the mage they’d sought and warning her to alert the others in the secret Web. Now, riding steadily south, he had time to consider the packet inside his saddlebag. If Ternik was the mage, then it was more than likely something had been put on the seal, the wrapping or the orders themselves. When the seal was broken, Ternik would know, or perhaps it was a directional spell, able to give an exact plotting of his location. General Whilk grinned fiercely, and wondered what his father would think of him now.
His father, Gallit, had been chief of the Mountain Cat Clan, who made the long journey to Kelshan many years ago. He had been much impressed with Jarvos, both as Imperator and as a man. Gallit trusted him and swore his clan’s oath of loyalty to him. But in the last twenty years of Javros’s reign, the clans heard tales of the Imperator’s heir, Veranta. They learned, from traders, merchants, and their own spies, of Veranta’s wilfulness and spite. Gallit sent his youngest son Whilk, to a merchant with family ties to the Mountain Cat Clan. There, Whilk was taught the ways of Kelshan. He was provided with papers, showing he was the merchant’s nephew, and thus he was an official citizen of Kelshan.
After several years working as a guard for merchant caravans, Whilk applied to join the Imperium guards. He was twenty-six years old. His rise through the ranks was steady but swift, and gave him an ideal position from which to observe the increasing corruption within the Citadel. He had learned of the Web from his “uncle”, the merchant, and had become a Spider, passing information along the Web’s strands. Whilk knew only two other Spiders personally, and one of those had disappeared as completely as Waxin Pule, his apprentice, and the Lady Shea. And she had vanished at the same time. He had sent his warning to Snail, the Embalmer, a woman he had never met.
The villages Whilk and his four men passed were getting smaller and spaced further apart already. Officer Kestis pushed his horse up with the General. ‘First staging post ahead sir. Do we stop?’
Whilk shook his head. ‘Only to change horses. Grab some food if you need to, then straight on.’
Kestis dropped back and left the General to his thoughts. The old herb woman from the clans, Nenat, had disappeared too. Whilk fervently hoped all these missing people might somehow be together. He’d seen Seola at the gate, having her papers checked, and he had met her once in company with Nenat. His pulse speeded up, thinking of just what Seola might represent.
All his childhood he had heard stories of the Dark Realm. Very different tales to those told by the Kelshan people. It was said the Dark Ones had visited the clans on many occasions, and the old clan mages insisted they still did. Now, he had the chance to enter the Dark Realm and, no matter what Veranta’s orders were, he would not enter leading an attacking force.
The five riders swept along a track between greening fields and could see ahead a corral, with several horses already restless at their approach. Three days, maybe four, using the high quality horses the Imperium bred for speed and endurance, and he would reach Captain Lessur and his four thousand infantrymen.
Captain Lessur was feeling queasy. His force was camped beside a small shallow river, with the hills beginning to rise only a short distance above them. Beyond the hills, marched row after row of sharp peaks, reaching to the very sky, Lessur was sure. He felt queasy because Ternik had just spoken inside his head, telling him General Whilk was on his way at speed.
Lessur had been speechless when Veranta casually informed him that Ternik was a mage. Fortunately Veranta didn’t notice Lessur’s silence – it wasn’t his conversational skills that had landed him in her bed after all. By no amount of generosity, could Lessur be considered sharp minded. But even he realised what the outcome would be if the people of Kelshan learned the Imperatrix was employing a mage. Veranta herself had instigated the rooting out of all such people – one of her first acts after her accession. Those who used only herbs and simples to heal were spared, and many of those kept very quiet about any other abilities they might have.
Lessur was only twenty-five. He’d been eleven when Imperator Jarvos died, so he had little memory of mages in his world. He’d been taught to believe that all mages were of a dangerous disposition, untrustworthy, tricky folk. Lessur was aghast when Veranta told him he would lead a force into the Dark Realm. She mentioned in passing that she had her doubts about General Whilk’s loyalty.
To Captain Lessur, the General was a legend. His skill with a sword was to be emulated, his quiet courtesy to be respected above all. Veranta had no idea of Lessur’s hero worship of his General, but then, she was not an astute woman. Ternik had expressed doubts about Lessur’s capabilities which Veranta totally ignored. Before Ternik’s voice spoke in his head, Lessur had opened sealed orders of his own. Veranta had instructed him to do so when he arrived in the foothills.
He read with terrified disbelief a list of reasons, some feasible, most outrageously unlikely, why General Whilk must meet with “an accident” on the journey through the Barrier Range. On no account, Veranta commanded, was the General to make contact with any citizens of the Dark Realm. That was to be Lessur’s task, and she would prefer that contact to result in the death of said citizens.
Captain Lessur sat in his tent and thought, harder than ever before in his life. For the first time, he realised some of the officers with him could well be Veranta’s tools. Was Ternik contacting any of them? Had any of them received secret orders? He folded the papers and tucked them inside his shirt. He called for the sentry outside.
‘We will remain here until General Whilk arrives,’ he said. ‘Ask the officers to attend me before the evening meal.’
The guardsman saluted and left. Lessur got up and went to the open tent flap. His gaze travelled south, up over the gently rolling hills, up, up to the majestic sweep of the mountains. He called to a man striding past and the man swung smartly in his direction.
‘Camp Marshal, we will be here several days. Make sure all is in order with the horse lines, the latrines, and the patrols. The men are not to slacken during this halt so make sure leaders organise the units as they would in barracks.’
‘Very good sir.’
Lessur gave a last look at the mountains and turned back in to his tent. The queasiness had left him, but now his head was beginning to ache. He realised he would have to try and assess his officers and gauge which ones would support General Whilk and which would follow Veranta’s orders without question. As he wasn’t the greatest conversationalist, neither was Captain Lessur the greatest thinker. He suspected his headache would be far worse before nightfall.
But Lessur was not skilled in subtlety or intrigue, and several of his fourteen officers were. Lessur turned in to his bed roll later in a mood of cautious optimism. He was almost cheerful the next morning, anticipating the General’s arrival within the following two days. It turned out to be one of his officers’ birthday, and a small party was announced. The officer celebrating was named Strannik and he was a year or so younger than Lessur. His wealthy banker family had bought his commission and also provided some rather special wine for just this occasion.
Lessur had no memory of returning to his tent, and did not rouse until late morning the following day. He tried to move and found he couldn’t. Turning his head caused pain to flare behind his eyes. When he reopened them he saw other bodies lying on the ground around him. Then he saw they were tightly bound and knew he was too. He groaned with both pain and humiliation. Someone else groaned and a body rolled over, bleary eyes staring into the Captain’s.
It took a great deal of time and effort to get themselves untied, but eventually they pulled the ropes from each other and began to free the others. Lessur counted six of his officers, roped and stuffed in his tent. He knew what he’d see when he finally got the tent flaps unknotted. An area of flattened grass. Patches of blackened ground where small camp fires had burned. Ten horses were still tied on
a small picket line. But of four thousand men, five hundred horses, and eight middle rank officers, there was no sign.
It took copious draughts of the icy river water to clear their heads sufficiently for them to evaluate their position and their next move. One small tent still stood behind the line of ten horses and they found supplies had been left them which should last until they reached the last village. Little was said as twilight drew down, bringing a stiff breeze from the higher land which carried the tang of snow. They lit a fire and made a meal, although none had much appetite. The youngest among them, Fent, poked the fire to a last blaze but the chill in the air soon sent them into Lessur’s tent.
Lessur lit a lantern, sat down and sighed. He reached inside his shirt and tossed the papers into the circle the men had formed.
‘All of you read that before we discuss anything more.’
The papers changed hands until they came back to Lessur.
‘Your views?’ Lessur asked.
His remaining six men glanced at each other. Finally Ollister spoke.
‘I would follow General Whilk to Simert’s Gates sir. None of those accusations are true.’
Heads nodded around the circle and Lessur relaxed a fraction. ‘I have to say that is my feeling,’ he said. ‘I think we should wait until the General reaches us and let him decide what action to take.’
The eldest of them, Delk, pulled at the grass which carpeted the tent. ‘The General has two choices as far as I see it. Turn back and face the Imperatrix. No doubt charges of treason, corruption – whatever takes her fancy – will be brought. On the other hand he could have the “accident” requested in those orders sir. Or, he can lead us on, somehow get round Strannik and the army, and warn the people of the Dark Realm of their advance.’
Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series Page 15
