The Diamond Isle

by Stan Nicholls

  ‘All right. But I’m going for her as soon as I get the chance.’

  ‘Fair enough. Now let’s get ourselves organised, shall we?’

  Runners were dispatched to find Frakk, and a crew of carpenters was brought in to work on the trebuchet. Rapidly, the device was rigged with multiple wagon wheels.

  As the work was being completed, Darrok received another glamoured message. This time, incongruously for winter, it came as a swarm of wasps that droned the tidings.

  ‘Somebody at HQ’s bored or desperate,’ Darrok commented.

  ‘What’s the news?’ Caldason said.

  ‘We’re holding off the landing west of here, just. But it’s taking too many defenders away from other fronts.’

  ‘How many other landings do we know about?’

  ‘Quite a few. But we’ll have to leave them to somebody else. Let’s concentrate on our patch.’ He turned in his hovering disc and looked to the barn doors. ‘Where is that sorcerer?’

  On cue, Frakk arrived, escorted by a small company of fighters. He looked dishevelled and befuddled.

  ‘Have you been told the plan?’ Darrok asked without preamble.

  ‘Er…yes. Well, the basics.’

  ‘We’ve got to move this to the next bay,’ Caldason said, nodding at the catapult. ‘Is it possible?’

  ‘Well, I’ve never tried moving anything this big before, but in theory it should work.’

  ‘Do you have enough of your…’

  ‘Energy cubes. Yes.’

  ‘How would we control the thing, steer it?’

  ‘With a wheel, like…’ Frakk scanned the barn. ‘Like that.’ He went to a wagon wheel that had been left standing upright, and laid his hands on it. ‘We connect it to the axle and it steers the load this way. Left…right. See?’

  ‘What about starting and stopping?’

  ‘Ah, that and regulating the energy flow is a magical function. It needs a sorcerer to control it.’

  ‘Then you’re coming with us,’ Caldason decided.

  Darrok didn’t join the trebuchet party. With too many calls on everyone, they decided Caldason alone would be in charge. The group he took with him numbered just ten, including Frakk.

  The Claw rumbled along ponderously, with the wizard steering, his knuckles white on the wheel. Caldason accompanied him, standing with an arm looped around one of the wooden uprights. The rest of the band rode on horses and an open wagon. It was evening by now, but they burned no lights.

  The ships of the invasion fleets felt no similar need. They were lit up by oil, wax and magic, and glowed like a fairy-tale city. All along the shoreline there were fires and gaudy detonations.

  ‘Can’t we go any faster?’ Caldason yelled.

  Frakk swallowed and nodded. The trebuchet lurched forward.

  They struggled to avoid potholes, and several times had to detour to evade steep inclines, but the power driving the wheels never faltered. Another half hour of bone-rattling saw them at their destination.

  ‘Well done, Frakk,’ Caldason told him.

  The sorcerer reddened bashfully.

  A crowd of defenders, deeply in need of heartening, cheered when they saw the trebuchet.

  Most of the islanders were stationed on a sweep of ridges that looked down onto the bay, and commanded the only road. The bay itself was illuminated by spiked lanterns, bonfires and glamour orbs, making it almost as bright as day, which was a necessity for invaders trying to establish a bridgehead. Barges were transporting men and siege engines from ships to shore.

  There were four or five land leviathans on the beach. Like moving houses, or more accurately, small fortresses, they held men, perhaps as many as fifty in the larger examples, and teams of horses. The latter were yoked to ingenious mechanical systems that produced the motive force. Each of the contraptions was iron clad, and probably spell protected. There was nothing magical about their means of propulsion, unlike the trebuchet, but their armoury included magical weapons of destructive ferocity. They moved slowly but were notoriously hard to stop.

  The islander’s main strategy was to rain arrows down on the beach. While it was difficult to see what else they could do, given their meagre arms, it was really no more than a hindrance.

  Caldason had several of Darrok’s men with him, members of the personal army that originally policed the Diamond Isle. Several had used the trebuchet, though not in anger. He put them in charge of operating it, and ordered the machine brought forward. Frakk didn’t have to do a thing, since scores of volunteers heaved the brute into place. Its pitching arm was wound back and secured and the generous leather cradle was spread out. From the scrubby terrain, a rock was selected, big enough that it took eight men to move it.

  ‘What’s the target?’ an operator wanted to know.

  ‘That one.’ Caldason pointed to a leviathan freshly unloaded and making its cumbersome way up the beach. ‘And be ready to reload fast.’

  The operators set to adjusting the Claw’s alignment by spinning wheels and depressing levers.

  ‘Fire!’ Caldason yelled.

  The arm went up and over so fast it was a blur. Its rock spun through the air in a great arc, plunging towards its target. People on the beach scattered as the projectile descended.

  It missed.

  The rock landed mere feet from the leviathan, felling a handful of warriors but doing no harm to the siege engine.

  Caldason bellowed, ‘Reload!’

  The operators worked frantically to modify their settings. Arrows were winging up from the beach below, along with bolts of magical energy. The islanders replied in kind, though with less intensity.

  ‘Fire!’

  The trebuchet whipped off a fresh shot. This time, it reached its goal. It wasn’t a direct hit, but in a way, something better. The rock struck the back end of the leviathan as it was negotiating a slope. The fortuitous angle, and the force of impact, flipped the tank as though it were a toy. As it lay on its side, men scrambled free, several leading wounded horses.

  The islanders were quick to capitalise on their luck. They let loose a shower of flaming, tar-tipped arrows. Dozens streaked to the leviathan’s exposed and vulnerable underside, and almost immediately the machine was belching acrid black smoke and dancing sparks.

  Flocks of arrows and sizzling energy beams again scoured the ridges. Once more, the islanders returned fire as best they could, and were cheered to see several invaders engulfed by flames.

  ‘New target!’ Caldason ordered, pointing.

  They got off a couple more throws in fairly quick succession. The first was a dream hit, landing squarely on the roof of a vehicle with a deafening crash. For all its armour, the leviathan had little resistance to such a blow and was crushed to two thirds of its bulk.

  Perhaps over-confidence accounted for what happened next. The second rock missed its objective by a considerable margin, though it did bounce into a wagon, wrecking it.

  Looking for a fresh target, Caldason glanced out to sea. A barge was coming in, carrying two leviathans and a number of soldiers. He decided on a change of tactics.

  ‘Could you hit that?’ he asked the gang master.

  ‘It’s on the edge of our range. But we might make it if we use smaller rocks, and maybe we’d need to hit it more than once.’

  Caldason told them to try.

  In the event, the first shot scored well. By good fortune it came down on one of the few clear spaces on the barge’s deck. A shattering of timber was followed by an erupting spume of water. By the time the trebuchet had been reloaded, the barge was going down.

  The second volley was another hit. It didn’t pierce the craft, as its predecessor had, but it did enough damage to hasten the sinking. The leviathans were sliding across the creaking deck, and men were jumping overboard. A cheer went up from the islanders.

  Caldason organised teams to search out suitable rocks and transport them to the firing point in quantity. At the gang master’s suggestion, they tried shots co
nsisting of mixtures of smaller stones and debris. Falling like deadly hail, they were remarkably effective, not so much for harming the leviathans, but as a good way of keeping the enemy troops pinned down.

  A couple of hours after arriving at the cove, and with his crew firing off a constant bombardment, Caldason decided he could leave. He handed over command of the trebuchet to the highest ranking rebel he could find, then took a fast horse. Looking back as he left, he knew there was no hope of doing more than slowing down the landings.

  His route took him inland, so he saw nothing of fighting, but he passed plenty of islanders on their way to beef up the defences; and plenty more, the old, the sick and youngsters, heading for various refuges. All along the coastline, the sky was red.

  Caldason arrived at the redoubt in the dead of night. No one hindered his approach, and he was let in as soon as he was recognised. Although he wasn’t the only islander seeking shelter there, he was told most had made for the seafront fortress. He was given directions to the rooms Kinsel and Tanalvah occupied, and in the corridor leading to them, he found Serrah.

  When they finished embracing, he briefed her on what had been happening, then asked, ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘There’s a lot of activity but little actually occurring, if you know what I mean. Tan and Kinsel didn’t want to go to the fortress, which might be just as well, because we’ve had reports of successful landings there. It’s all pretty confused, but the place could already be under siege.’

  He thought of the people he’d seen heading for the supposed sanctuary, and of Disgleirio, who was trying to protect it. In all probability their fate was already sealed. ‘We always knew they’d get ashore. All our defences are predicated on guerrilla tactics, not the impossibility of keeping them off the island.’

  ‘If there’s enough of us left to fight. Have you seen those fires or whatever they are along the coast?’

  ‘A lot of that’s designed to fill us with fear and awe, remember.’

  ‘I think I’ve got quite enough of both already, thanks.’

  ‘Well, just bear in mind that if we’re going to get out of this, it’s by using our heads.’

  ‘Are we going to get out of it, Reeth? Any of us?’

  ‘Maybe with a miracle.’

  ‘Oh, great.’

  ‘Don’t knock it; they happen. I met you, didn’t I?’

  She smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘You’re a base flatterer. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I only speak the truth.’ He returned the smile. ‘Tell me, how’s Tanalvah?’

  Serrah’s expression saddened. ‘She might be in the first stages of labour, or will be soon enough. I’m worried about her. She doesn’t seem like the Tan we knew back in Bhealfa.’

  ‘She’s been through a lot.’

  ‘That’s what everybody says. It’s more than that, Reeth, though I don’t know what. It’s getting Kinsel down, too, although he’s too kind to admit it.’

  ‘What about the kids?’

  ‘Confused. Scared, of course. But holding up pretty well, all things considered. By the way, they’ve got Praltor here.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘The Covenant people thought it was the safest place. After all, he’s precious, isn’t he? Might come up with that miracle we need.’

  ‘Don’t mock.’

  ‘I wasn’t. Not really. Kutch is here too, along with the girl.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’

  ‘And Phoenix, of course. Oh, and Goyter’s around. Directing things efficiently, as always.’

  ‘Karr?’

  ‘Overseeing defences at the main port, I heard. I don’t know where Quinn is.’

  ‘He was there too, last time I saw him.’

  Neither of them wanted to say what they were thinking about the port area.

  ‘I’d like to see Kutch,’ he decided, ‘and find out how things are going with Mahaganis. Where are they?’

  ‘Not far. But wouldn’t you like to look in on Tan first?’ He hesitated, and she said, ‘I know you’ve had your differences in the past–’

  ‘Not on my side. She always seemed disapproving of me.’

  ‘Wasn’t there just a bit of ruffled feathers about your shared heritage?’

  ‘We’ve got different ideas about what it is to be of the Qaloch, it’s true.’

  ‘Don’t you think now might be a good time to bury the hatchet over all that?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve nothing against the woman. Even if she does worship Rintarah’s gods.’

  ‘Yes, well, you can keep that opinion to yourself. Come on.’

  She led him to the door of the apartment and knocked quietly. They heard a muffled invitation to enter. Inside, Kinsel greeted them, and was particularly pleased to see Caldason safely back.

  Tanalvah was in a bed on the far side of the room, well away from the shuttered window. She still looked very pale. The expression she wore when she saw her fellow Qalochian was unreadable.

  ‘How are you, Tan?’ Serrah asked.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she replied, unconvincingly. Her eyes were on Caldason.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said.

  ‘Reeth,’ she whispered, lifting her hand to him.

  It took Caldason a second to realise she wanted him to take it. When he did, lightly, her flesh was cold. She squeezed, her nails biting.

  ‘I’m sorry, Reeth,’ she breathed. ‘So sorry.’

  ‘There’s no need–’

  ‘Oh, but there is.’ Her gaze was intense. ‘Please forgive me.’

  Caldason said nothing. After a moment she let go of his hand and slipped into an apparent drowse.

  Kinsel came over and whispered a faltering apology.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Serrah told him. ‘We know she’s under a lot of strain. You all are. How are Lirrin and Teg?’

  He nodded. ‘Fine. Or as fine as we could hope under the circumstances. How are things going on the outside?’

  ‘Mixed,’ Caldason replied. ‘The best you can do is stay put here with your family, and do as you’re told if we have to evacuate.’

  ‘Will it come to that? I mean, where could we move to?’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t,’ Serrah assured him. ‘Now you concentrate on looking after Tan and leave everything else to us.’ She planted a kiss on the singer’s cheek.

  They made their goodnights in an undertone and slipped out.

  Once they were sufficiently far from the door, Serrah said, ‘What did you think?’

  ‘She doesn’t look much like a bonny mother-to-be, does she?’

  ‘No. Something’s definitely wrong, but the healers can’t find anything specific. It seems obvious it’s in her mind.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Serrah looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose I’m agreeing with what you said earlier; she’s been left low by her experiences. Melancholic. But she did try to make up with you.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes. She was apologising for your past differences.’

  ‘You think that’s what she was doing?’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Let’s find Kutch, shall we?’

  The Covenant sorcerers had been given a wing in the redoubt. On the way there, Serrah and Reeth ran into Goyter, who was looking for them.

  After welcoming Caldason back, she said, ‘Phoenix wants you. Apparently there’s been some kind of breakthrough.’

  They hurried to the wizards’ quarters and were quickly admitted. In a large hall, full of tables stacked with the paraphernalia of magic, makeshift beds and a scattering of chairs, Phoenix greeted them. Then Kutch emerged from the jumble, beamed widely, and joined them. Wendah, always his shadow these days, was close behind.

  ‘So what’s happened?’ Caldason wondered.

  ‘The hypnosis and infusions and…well, the several techniques we were able to apply to Praltor, have paid a small dividend,’ Phoenix explained. ‘But as he’s had the burden to carry I
think it only right that he be the one to tell you about it.’

  ‘A small dividend,’ Serrah repeated. ‘Not greatly significant then?’

  ‘A small part of the wealth of knowledge the Source undoubtedly contains,’ the elderly magician made clear, ‘but a revelation in the normal course of things. Come, hear about it.’

  They followed, intrigued. Phoenix took them to a bedchamber, one of several lining a corridor off the hall, and Kutch and Wendah crowded in behind him.

  Praltor Mahaganis looked tiny in the vastness of an imposing four-poster bed, but his complexion was ruddier, thanks to some nourishment and certain restorative herbs he’d been given. His sightless eyes had a vigour that was close to unnerving.

  Wendah moved to sit on the bed beside him, their hands meeting.

  ‘We have, you understand, come practically nowhere in terms of extracting any substantial material from Praltor’s brain,’ Phoenix said. ‘I’m not sure we ever shall, particularly given the time restraints we’re all labouring under now. But we have managed to unlock one segment, quite possibly as much by happenstance as intent, and released certain information into his conscious mind. Praltor?’

  ‘It was as though a whole slew of memories appeared in my head.’ There was a note of something like astonishment in the old man’s voice. ‘Which is absurd, because I couldn’t possibly have been present at the events depicted. Yet I…see what I see, in my mind’s eye, and it’s wondrous and terrible, and I don’t know if a mortal should be privy to such things.’

  ‘Go on,’ Wendah gently urged.

  ‘I was wrong,’ the old man confessed. ‘I thought that Founder descendants survived as some secret cult, hidden away from the world. I could hope for so comfortable a truth.’ He paused, massaging the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger. ‘The Founders were once something like us,’ he resumed. ‘That was an unimaginably long time ago, when even the stars in the sky held different patterns to the ones now. Theirs was a magical civilisation, like ours, except that they constantly originated and refined the sorcery, and didn’t just consume it. Over an ocean of time these beings developed an ever greater expertise in the noble art. And through its use they evolved into…something else. Somehow they conquered material existence, or rather transcended it, and cast aside flesh and blood to exist in a non-corporeal state. They created a realm that was infinitely malleable, where their hearts’ desires could be fashioned at will. This is what we call the Dreamtime, and it would have been utterly alien to us in every way. It’s the place that you, Reeth, have visited in the visions that plague you; one of the heritages of your Founder blood.’