A head broke the surface.
Andar Talgorian took great gulps of air, his lungs burning. He was so numb from the cold that he couldn’t feel his body except as pain. Somehow, the bonds tying his wrists had broken.
He didn’t imagine surviving for more than a couple of minutes in this cold. The irony of escaping death twice in succession, only to fall at the last hurdle, was not lost on him. Perhaps the gods were set on him dying.
It was getting harder to keep afloat, or even to think straight. His stamina was draining away, and his limbs were growing weaker. The cold was beyond cold, and seeping into his very bones. What he found amazing was that the equivalent of a sizeable town had just dropped into the lake and you wouldn’t know it. He couldn’t see anyone or anything else.
Then he heard a sound. Or thought he did; his ears might have been cut off for all the feeling he had in them. There it was again. A voice. Correction, voices. Shouting. He saw nothing the way he was facing. So laboriously, painfully, he turned himself about.
Something was coming towards him. He couldn’t make out what it was. As it got nearer it began to look like two figures walking on the water. Crouching, more like, the closer they got. They were calling and waving. They hauled him out. He lay gasping on their makeshift raft, the hangman’s rope still about his neck. One of his rescuers put a pocket flask to his lips. The fiery alcohol brought back some feeling as it burned its way through his system. As his senses returned, he realised that the sodden clothes the two men wore were uniforms.
‘Nechen and Welst, Palace Guard Auxiliary,’ one of them said. ‘How are you, sir?’
‘Thank…you,’ Talgorian managed.
‘Glad to share our good fortune, sir,’ the other told him. ‘Why, if it hadn’t been for this piece of wreckage, we wouldn’t be here ourselves.’
Talgorian focused on the slab of wood supporting them. It was the trapdoor from the gallows.
Many stories were told about the day destruction swept the empires and their many protectorates. Some would become legends.
One concerned a notorious pirate chief who threw in his lot with the empires against the fledgling rebel state.
It was said that on that fateful day a man came seeking an accounting with the pirate, a man terribly wronged and ill-treated by him. He came not by sea, but through the air, riding a wondrous flying disc. Alone he overcame the pirate’s band, raining down magic from above that blasted and seared, until at last only the pirate captain himself stood against him.
The release of the magic caused great convulsions, in many ways. One was uproar in the balance of nature. Many disasters were triggered, and there were earthquakes as the world accommodated itself to the loss. Where these happened at sea, their offspring was tidal waves.
As the pirate and his foe battled to the death, a cluster of breakers as tall as mountains swept their way. They crushed the buccaneer’s armada, sinking every ship bar his. It was taken by the biggest wave and flung into a portside hamlet on the Diamond Isle, giving the pirate the island he coveted, though not in a way he had intended.
Many believed the avenger perished too, paying the ultimate price for bringing his enemy’s predations to an end.
And then there was the way things ended on the Diamond Isle itself.
The island suffered its own upheavals, but the redoubt was comparatively untouched. Being too impoverished to have much in the way of magic was an asset for once.
Initially, the islanders were unclear as to what was happening in a wider sense. Being in the middle of an invasion, that was understandable; and they had enough remarkable things happening to keep them stretched as it was.
As the disturbances began to subside, there was a tense lull in which to prepare for the final onslaught.
Serrah and Reeth volunteered for lookout duty, and found themselves stationed on one of the redoubt’s battlements. It was the first time in many hours that they were able to be alone. Across the plain, the empires’ combined armies had gathered in even greater numbers.
‘They could just walk in here any time they like,’ Caldason reckoned, ‘and we couldn’t do a thing about it, other than making them pay a price in blood. So why are they holding back?’
‘It was you, Reeth. You did them some real damage.’
‘Only enough to slow them down. Whatever stopped me did it before I could finish the job.’
‘Finish? You’re not seriously saying you could have defeated a horde like that single-handed, are you?’
‘I don’t know what I was capable of in that condition. But I do know that it felt…It’s difficult to explain, Serrah. It felt as though I could do anything. The potential, the power…it’s why the Founders have fought over me for so long, and why some of them wanted me dead.’
‘But you’ve not been able to do it again.’
‘I’ve only tried once. But it was like there was nothing there.’
‘Maybe you need to recuperate, build up your strength or…I don’t know. There’s too much going on, Reeth. It overwhelms you after a while.’
‘Doesn’t it just? And this thing about Tanalvah, it…beggars belief.’
‘That’s what I thought, at first.’
‘There’s no doubt?’
‘I don’t think so. It was a deathbed confession. And I believed her. You would have too, if you’d been there.’
‘What would make her do something like that?’
‘She thought she was saving Kinsel. She did it out of love.’
‘I sometimes think as much evil’s done in the name of love as hate.’
‘That sounds cynical.’
‘It’s not supposed to; it’s just an observation.’
‘Well, let’s be sure our love never generates evil, shall we?’
‘It couldn’t.’ He put an arm around her, and they kissed.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I can’t think of Tanalvah as evil. Sounds crazy, I know, after what she did, but I still don’t see her as bad.’
‘It’s about potential again, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘We’re all capable of being righteous or wicked. Sometimes both. The seeds of good and evil are in us, just waiting for something to set them off.’
‘You think we’re all capable of murder?’
‘That’s a strange question for you and me, isn’t it? It was your profession, and I’ve done more than my share.’
‘That wasn’t murder, any more than taking an enemy life in this siege would be murder. The people we killed were bad.’
‘A pacifist, like Kinsel, would say that was trying to justify it.’
‘Sometimes you have to defend those who are weaker, or protect your own life, or–’
‘You don’t have to convince me. I’m a Qalochian. Well, half of one, anyway, and you don’t get much more martial in outlook than that. But we’d be offended to be called murderers. I’m just saying that given the right conditions, enough of a shove, anybody could be a murderer. A killer in that bad sense.
According to Praltor, even the paladins were noble once.’
‘Does it bother you that Tan was a Qalochian?’
‘Bother me? You mean like letting the side down or something?’
‘I suppose I do.’
‘Being of the Qaloch didn’t make her any better than anybody else. We’re not saints.’
‘You never really got on with her.’
‘And you think what she did confirmed my opinion? Actually, it wasn’t my opinion; it was more a case of her not favouring me too much. Though I admit I think I made her uneasy, reminding her of our heritage.’
‘She had that heritage taken away from her. You of all people should understand that. She grew up in Rintarah; it was natural she’d take on their customs.’
‘I wonder how the funeral’s going to be.’
‘What kind of service, you mean? It’ll be presided over by a priest of the Iparrater sect. Kinsel’s quite keen on that,
actually.’
‘It’s the Qaloch gods who should be invoked.’
‘That’s a bit rich coming from you, Reeth. I thought you had your doubts about gods of any kind.’
‘I do, but it’s funny how the prospect of almost certain death can make what you were taught as a child seem meaningful again. Anyway, how is Kinsel?’
‘I think you can guess. Having the new baby and the children to care for is the only thing keeping him going, I reckon. He feels ashamed, you know. For what Tan did. He sees it as reflecting on him.’
‘He shouldn’t. He wasn’t responsible for her actions.’
‘You’re right. Oh, just a minute. Stand still.’ She reached up and plucked something from his head.
‘What was that?’
‘A grey hair. I’m damned if I know what to do to help Kinsel, Reeth. How do you get somebody through a thing like that?’
‘By being there for them. Which of course might not be possible.’ He nodded towards the brooding enemy forces. ‘And don’t forget the other complication. There’s a fleet in these parts that’s not either empire’s. We don’t know what difference that’s going to make to the balance.’
‘Whose might it be?’
‘I think we can guess.’
Disgleirio appeared, bounding up the battlement stairs with his usual athleticism. He made for them.
‘What’s up, Quinn?’ Serrah asked.
‘Phoenix asked me to relieve you.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. He’ll be here directly to explain.’ He looked out at the enemy ranks. ‘Sobering, isn’t it?’
‘You could say that,’ Caldason replied.
‘What I don’t understand is what they’re waiting for.’
‘That’s what we wondered.’
Somebody was moving along the line of defenders on the battlements, dispensing water from a pail. He proved to be Kutch’s newly returned brother.
‘Good to see you don’t think water carrying’s beneath you,’ Serrah said.
‘I’m happy to do anything to help,’ he replied, putting down his load. ‘But when the fighting starts I expect a much more active role.’ He patted his sheathed sword.
‘We need everybody we can get. Oh, I don’t think you two have met properly yet. This is–’
‘I know,’ Varee said. ‘Quinn Disgleirio. I’m honoured to meet you.’ He held out a hand.
Disgleirio took it. ‘And you’re Kutch’s brother. Well met. But how do you know me?’
‘I’ve seen you, more than once, back in Bhealfa. In fact, I once got very close to you indeed.’
‘Really? I don’t recall.’
‘You weren’t supposed to notice. It was during a riot. I managed to get a note into your pocket.’
‘It was you, was it? I’ve been wondering ever since who had the inside knowledge to warn us. Given your connection with Bastorran, it makes sense now. Well, I’m grateful.’
‘I’m still not clear on you, Varee,’ Caldason admitted. ‘What’s your story?’
‘That’s something everybody seems to want to know.’
‘Just tell us,’ Serrah advised him, ‘we’re notorious gossips.’
Varee smiled. ‘I’ll make it quick, I’ve got thirsty people waiting for me.’
‘How did you come to turn from the paladins?’ Caldason wanted to know.
‘I didn’t. I’ve always hated them. I got into their ranks because I hated them. I’m not clan blood, of course, but they take a certain percentage of outsiders to fill administrative posts. That was how I worked my way up to Bastorran.’
‘Why?’
‘You and I have something in common, Reeth. We both wanted revenge on the paladins. The only way I could see to do it was to climb as high in the organisation as I could, leaking bits of information to the Resistance as I went, anonymously.’
‘To what purpose?’
‘To get close to the highest-ranking officer I could and kill him. But you kindly undertook that part earlier.’
‘Sorry if I deprived you.’
‘Don’t apologise. I could never have taken Bastorran in a straight fight. You know he killed his uncle, to get the leadership?’
‘It didn’t take much guessing.’
‘The meld did the actual deed. It killed two birds with one stone for Devlor: he got the leadership and you conveniently took the blame.’
‘But why did you want revenge so badly?’ Serrah said.
‘With respect to Reeth, the Qalochians weren’t the only ones to suffer at the paladins’ hands. The Pirathons were farming folk for generations. Then a local lord decided he wanted our lands, and all our neighbours’, too. The paladins were contracted to do the job, and used utmost brutality, needless to say. We were just an unregarded backwater and nobody outside our community cared.’
‘This was before you and Kutch were born?’
‘Before Kutch. I was about two at the time. But that wasn’t all. Our father could never accept the unfairness of what happened to us, and he spent years trying to get justice. Petitioning officials, begging audiences with governors, trying to find somebody in authority who’d listen to him. I’m as sure as I can be that it’s what got him killed. He just became too much of an irritant, and eventually he simply disappeared. From what I’ve seen of clan records since, it’s pretty obvious they got rid of him.’
‘Kutch never mentioned any of this.’
‘He doesn’t know. Our mother kept it from him, and evidently didn’t tell him after I left to join the clans. In fact, she thought I’d enlisted in the army.’
‘You never saw her again?’
‘I didn’t want to run the risk of them finding out about her and Kutch. So I sent money when I could and bided my time. I’m going to tell Kutch everything, but not just yet. I think he needs time to get used to me being back first.’
‘So getting here to the island was part of your plan?’
‘No, not really. Bastorran ordered me to accompany him. But by then I knew Kutch was with the Resistance, so it suited me well. It goes without saying that it was Bastorran’s intention to kill you. The meld was along as back-up. Or possibly some kind of scapegoat, knowing Devlor.’
‘Where is your brother?’ Caldason said.
‘I don’t know. But here’s a man who probably does.’
Phoenix arrived, stern-faced. He got straight to the point. ‘Serrah, Reeth, come with me.’
‘Now?’
‘You’ll want to see this.’
He led them to a cluster of wooden buildings on the far side of the square. One was an unprepossessing storage silo with no windows and a single door. Inside, at the very back, behind stacks of crates, a small group of rebels were gathered around something. They moved aside for Phoenix and the others.
‘Well, now we know what happened to Kordenza,’ Serrah said.
‘Do we?’ Caldason wondered.
The meld was stretched on the floor, unmistakably dead, her face hideously contorted. There was an extensive, gaping wound down her left side, from which innards had seeped. A trail of blood and a glistening, mucus-like material ran to a large burnt stain in a corner.
Phoenix pointed to it. ‘And that must have been her glamour twin…’
‘Aphrim,’ Caldason supplied. ‘What happened here?’
‘Self-evidently the twin killed his host by trying to escape from her body. That or something went wrong when she was bringing him out in her usual way. Look at this.’
They went back to Aphri’s body. For the first time, they noticed that one of her feet was bare.
‘She removed the boot herself,’ Phoenix explained. ‘If you were to examine her heel, you’d find that an object’s been inserted just under the skin.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Serrah assured him.
‘It’s a device Covenant’s familiar with, though it’s rare. Its function is to draw energy from the grid, almost certainly with the object of keeping her symbiote status
permanent. It clearly failed her.’
‘Not a pleasant death,’ Caldason remarked.
‘Not at all,’ Phoenix agreed. ‘Come on, there’s more.’ He marched for the exit.
As they trailed him, Serrah spoke to Reeth in an undertone. ‘You look a bit ashen, my love.’
‘My energy level’s down a bit. I’m all right.’
‘Maybe it’s what I said earlier: you need to recharge.’
‘Maybe.’
This time, the sorcerer took them into the redoubt itself. The damage from the attack was still very much in evidence, though the worst had been cleared. Phoenix made his way to the chamber where Praltor Mahaganis was lodged.
Kutch and Wendah were there, by the old man’s bed. He didn’t look good. It was as though he’d appreciably aged in a matter of hours, and his skin was like ancient parchment. Yet his countenance had an ease, a look of contentment, they hadn’t seen before. His eyes were closed, but he breathed steadily.
‘He says it’s gone,’ Kutch related.
‘What has?’ Caldason said.
‘The Source. Praltor says it’s not there anymore, inside him.’
‘It isn’t,’ Wendah confirmed. She appeared shaken.
The old man opened his eyes. The obvious signs of blindness remained, but again there was a different, calmer look. ‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘The weight’s left me. I can’t describe the relief.’
Serrah leaned in to him. ‘How did it happen, Praltor?’
‘Not through any doing of mine, or these wizards. It was wrenched away. There was pain in that, but nothing compared to what’s gone.’
‘Your life’s going too,’ Wendah murmured resentfully.
‘My dear,’ the old man soothed, reaching for her hand, ‘I’ve had more than my allotted span. More than I deserved.’
‘No, that’s not true.’
‘Shh. I’ve lived long and well, Wendah, and after all these years of carrying that terrible burden, I welcome rest.’
‘But what will I do without you?’
‘You’ll be fine. And you’re not alone. You have Kutch now, and you couldn’t wish for a finer young man.’
The Diamond Isle Page 38
