‘I understand,’ he said quietly. ‘Moneva, I can never repay you for what you did in Samir Durg. You got all of us out of there, when we all thought we were dead. You’re an amazing woman. Truly amazing. I’m sorry if I didn’t support you properly.’
She heard his voice catch and a lump came to her throat. Part of her said this conversation was stupid. But another part knew that it was important, and that they should have had it a long time ago.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to let anyone in. I wanted to deal with it myself. That’s just what I’m used to.’
Gods, how pathetic, she told herself. Since her father had died—no, probably since her mother had died before that, she had been alone. She had learned to deal with things herself. It was better, safer, to be like that. But now, when she heard herself speak, she sounded like a bloody mess.
‘I had a lot of time to think in Samir Durg,’ Gyrmund said. ‘I lost all my family when I was young. An illness—I was the only one who survived. I lived with Farred’s family after that. I never spoke about it, no-one ever asked me about it. I got on with things, but I couldn’t wait to leave. As soon as I was old enough I went wandering around Dalriya, telling myself how free I was, what an exciting life of adventure I had. But part of that, a big part, was me running away from what happened. Being by myself, not having to care about anyone else, moving on before I put down roots anywhere, before I got close to anyone. In the mines I realised that was wrong. I did want to be with someone, and that someone is you, Moneva. I promised myself I wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t take the easy option and walk away any more. So I’m always going to be here if you want me.’
Moneva moved into him, put her arms around him and he did the same. She felt a tear rolling down her cheek. A simple hug—it felt so good, made her feel so much better. She needed to allow herself this. Be a bit kinder to herself. If she had done this six months ago she would have felt a lot better a lot sooner.
There, she was doing it again, telling herself off. Gyrmund said she was an amazing woman. Maybe it was about time she believed that and let someone else care about her.
They stood that way for a while before, reluctantly, she pulled away.
‘That’s enough of that nonsense,’ she said. ‘We’ve got a job to do.’
They made their way to the Temple, peering over the outer wall. There wasn’t much to see—no lights, no sounds of activity either.
‘Alright,’ she whispered.
Gyrmund bent at the knees and linked his hands together, forming a step. Moneva put one foot in. He stood up and she pushed up with her foot, placing one hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She touched the top of the wooden wall. It was rough and sharp, so she removed a blanket she had tied around her waist and placed it on top of the wall. She placed her hands on the blanket. Fine. She looked over the top of the wall to the ground directly beneath it. Just grass. Confident, she took all her weight on her arms and vaulted over, landing securely inside the Temple.
If the Bow was stored here, it was almost certainly in the pagoda, on the other side of the complex. She walked through the garden, using the paths and being careful where she placed her feet. It was quiet, the only sound she could detect was animals moving about in the wooden sheds that lined the walls to her left and right. She found herself in the centre of the garden. All the paths seemed to meet here, though they clearly took their own, individual, meandering routes. Here, one huge tree stood, dominating the other vegetation in height. The larger branches that radiated out were themselves the size of trees. Moneva had the sense that it was very old, probably predating the Temple itself, but beyond that she could discern nothing more, not even the species.
Moneva walked through to the end of the garden, approaching the pagoda. Here, it became clear that few, if any, people actually resided in the Temple. Outside the pagoda there were some small cells, nothing more than wooden shacks, so thin and tiny, each with a little individual door, that they could only fit in a bed for one person, with no room to stand. They didn’t seem to be permanent living quarters, more like places to sleep while on a vigil of some kind. Jalakhs who were visiting for other reasons, Moneva considered, would almost always bring a yurt with them and have no need for accommodation.
She crept up to some of the cells, listening intently. She could detect breathing in at least two, but the idea that someone was sleeping in one of them next to the Jalakh Bow was a ridiculous one, so she moved on to the last and best option. The pagoda.
It was a pretty little building, full of fanciful curves where each tier of the building met the one above.
Moneva circled around the pagoda, checking for entry points. On the other side to the one she started from was a grand opening. Four pillars supported a roof, and this structure faced a gate in the outer wall, the main entrance into the complex. Moneva walked up a small set of steps and passed between the two middle pillars, moving under the roof. Two double doors faced her, the wood heavily decorated in geometric patterns. She approached the doors and, ever so carefully, pushed at one of them. The door gave, barely making a noise, and she slipped inside.
She hesitated briefly but decided in the end to leave the door open. It was riskier, but allowed some moonlight into the ground floor of the pagoda. Nonetheless, it was still dark, and Moneva allowed her eyes to adjust for a little while. Around the wall were stairs with a railing, circling all the way to the top. A central pillar climbed all the way to the top. She could just make out thin planks of wood radiating out from the pillar above her, with lattice style flooring on top, making a second floor. She walked a full circle around the pillar, returning to where she entered. Four statues had been placed around the pillar. Looking closer, she could see they were identical representations of the same man. Flowers, presumably cut from the garden, had been placed next to each statue. It was hard to understand what she was looking at. She went down on her knees, touching the statue, feeling to the sides. But there were no other offerings but the flowers, and no sign of a bow or a place where a weapon might be kept or displayed.
Deciding not to waste any more time, Moneva took the stairs. She walked up to the next level. Tentatively, she placed a foot on the latticed wooden floor. It held her weight no problem. She moved over to the central pillar. Nothing, and the cobwebs she found told her all she needed to know. No-one ever came up here, except perhaps when the structure needed maintenance work on it.
Knowing she was wasting her time, but just to eliminate the chance, she explored all the way to the top of the pagoda. It was the same story. She had found nothing of any use, and if she stayed any longer she was taking unnecessary risks. She moved quickly now: descending the stairs, then out of the pagoda, closing the door softly behind her. She retraced her steps, back into the garden, and through it to the outer wall she had climbed over. The blanket was still there.
‘Gyrmund?’ she hissed.
‘Still here,’ came his voice. ‘I’ve got the blanket.’
Moneva reached up to grab the end of the blanket that hung over her side of the wall. With Gyrmund holding the other end, she used it to pull herself up, feet jammed against the wall until she could reach the top. She clambered over and landed on the other side, pulling the blanket with her.
‘Well?’ asked Gyrmund.
‘Nothing. It’s certainly not on display anywhere. There wasn’t much to look at to be honest. I’m fairly sure it’s not there.’
‘Well, we tried.’
‘Still,’ said Moneva, ‘it wasn’t a completely wasted trip.’
‘How’s that?’
Grinning, she pulled Gyrmund in, and they kissed, the passion of it taking her by surprise. At that moment, she didn’t care very much about finding a stupid bow.
Siavash walked down the dimly lit corridor until he found the cell with the prisoner he wanted.
‘This one,’ he said.
The guard stepped forward and unlocked the door.
‘Leave.’
&n
bsp; ‘Yes, lord.’
Siavash entered the cell. He allowed himself a bitter smile. This was where he had kept Soren imprisoned, who had dared to challenge him, in the Throne Room of all places. He and Soren had unfinished business. But then, he conceded, without the Magnian’s insurrection, Erkindrix would still be the Lord of Ishari and he would merely be a member of his Council. That way of looking at it meant that he owed Soren a favour. He would enjoy deciding what to do with him when he was caught and returned here.
He glanced briefly at the Haskan prisoner. He was unharmed, as Diis had commanded. The man, on his knees in chains, looked terrified. As well he might, Siavash allowed, though what exactly was going to happen here he didn’t know. It was time to find out.
He called to Diis. Diis, who had chosen him above Arioc, above all the others. He would prove to his lord that He made the right choice.
Diis emerged, His face inside Siavash’s face, His body inside his body. It took all of Siavash’s strength to keep Him contained there, for he was a God, who should not be constrained to live inside a mortal’s body. He would not need to for much longer. It made Siavash wonder about the hundreds of years during which Erkindrix had been a vessel for Diis, and he found he gained a new respect for his predecessor.
Diis looked about the cell, coal black eyes finding his bearings. The prisoner whimpered and began rehearsing a prayer. But he prayed to some other god and Siavash knew that wouldn’t help him.
What news do you have, demanded Diis, speaking inside Siavash’s mind, not so very different to when Siavash spoke to Soren in this room.
We have completed the reconquest of Haskany and re-established control over Persala, Siavash informed him. My reforms to the army are complete and each host is ready to be given their orders.
He had defeated both Arioc and Pentas to secure complete control over the Isharites, the Drobax, and their dependent states. But he almost felt more pride in his reforms, that gave him greater personal control over the army than Erkindrix had ever had. Betrayals like those of Arioc and Pentas would now be a thing of the past.
But Arioc and Pentas are still at large, Diis bellowed in anger from somewhere inside him.
He whimpered, the prisoner staring at him in horror.
You are right, Siavash admitted. With all my foolish pride I have hidden those grave failings from myself.
For each failing you owe me a sacrifice, Siavash. You are stronger than Erkindrix was, and you can endure the punishment.
Yes, Siavash agreed. He would willingly make such a sacrifice.
Erkindrix and the Council made a great mistake. They underestimated the Krykkers and the Kalinthians. This allowed my enemy to use her weapons against me. We cannot afford further mistakes. Soon I will help you to open a portal to my birth world and together we will bring forth a creature that will help us to destroy the Krykkers. When I am in full control of this world I will have the power to bring many such creatures here. But for now, one will suffice.
Siavash couldn’t help but exult at the prospect. The destruction of the Krykker race would remove the last great obstacle to a complete conquest of Dalriya.
Now, I will take your first sacrifice.
Without warning, Siavash felt a horrendous, tearing pain engulf him. It was more than a physical pain. He could feel Diis, his claws sharper than diatine crystal, ripping at his very soul. He tried to withstand the pain, tried to maintain consciousness.
Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something that had been hiding, almost fully obscured in the dark prison cell. He saw his shadow move without him, and with a last agonising tear Diis completely severed it. Siavash turned in shocked disbelief, to see his shadow slide around the wall of the room, free of him, moving of its own volition.
Your shadow, said Diis. It can now do your bidding, allow you to move around Dalriya while your body stays here, safe from harm.
Siavash was speechless. This was a thing of nightmares, a void of colour moving about the cell. And yet, when he concentrated on it with only a fraction of his powers, he saw that he could indeed move it. Control it.
But a shadow is useless without a body to inhabit.
Siavash understood. He drew his knife, strode over to the prisoner and grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head up.
Not the neck, said Diis.
Siavash did as commanded, plunging the blade with all his force into the middle of the prisoner’s chest. The prisoner’s scream was cut off when he withdrew the blade and he sagged down, unconscious. Blood started to pour from the injury.
It is better to make the injury somewhere it can be hidden, Diis explained.
Siavash began to appreciate the possibilities. If his shadow was able to control the corpses of his victims, it could pass unnoticed, hidden in plain sight.
He concentrated on his shadow. It approached the prisoner and he forced it to enter, to reattach itself to a body, but this time a different one.
The prisoner’s head jerked up.
‘Release me from the chains,’ hissed his shadow in a Haskan accent.
Siavash stared in shock. It appeared that the Haskan soldier had returned to life in front of him, speaking again with his own voice. But he knew it to be nothing more than a reanimated corpse.
You will go to Kalinth, Diis commanded.
Halvia
XI
RABIGAR STOOD ON THE WHARF, watching the tall ships of the Sea Caladri out on the shimmering turquoise of the ocean. It was a beautiful sight, one he didn’t think he would ever see. But then, he hadn’t expected to ever be back home amongst the Krykkers, and here he was.
One of the ships had furled its sails and was now heading in their direction. As it came nearer he could see the oars on both sides rising up and down, propelling it towards them. Red eyes painted onto the sides of the ship glared at them, as if she was a sea serpent come to lay havoc to the coastline.
They waited as the ship was manoeuvred into position. With Rabigar were two chieftains: Maragin of clan Grendal, and Hakonin of clan Swarten. They were going to cross the Lantinen Sea to visit with their cousins, the Krykkers of Halvia. There had been no contact with them for a year, not since the Kharovians had defeated the Vismarian fleet and established an iron grip on the Lantinen. The pirates of Kharovia would not be pleased to see Caladri warships in what they had declared to be their waters.
But they were going to Halvia for a specific purpose, too. Szabolcs, the wise man of the Shadow Caladri, had identified Halvia as the location of the Giants’ Spear, one of the missing weapons of Madria. The Giants, everyone seemed to agree, were long gone. The Krykkers of Halvia, therefore, were the first step in tracing the Spear’s resting place.
If Maragin and Hakonin were going as representatives of the clans of Dalriya, then Rabigar was going as the holder of another of Madria’s weapons, Bolivar’s Sword. He touched the hilt of the weapon, scabbarded at his side. His ownership of the sword wasn’t a popular choice amongst the Krykkers. No, it was downright unpopular. But he enjoyed a rather unique position amongst the Krykkers now—he was clan-less, exiled from the Grendals for killing Maragin’s father, and never formally brought into a new one. Should any other Krykker claim the blade, they would be opposed by all the other clans, demanding to know why it wasn’t going to them. No alternative claimant had come forward, and the longer it went on, the more secure Rabigar was. He had made it perfectly plain that he would not give up Bolivar’s Sword. Not to anyone. And it would be a brave Krykker who dared take him on.
The Caladri ship was tied off and the plank came down. Rabigar put one foot onto the wooden board. It flexed worryingly. He hated water and ships, didn’t know many Krykkers who didn’t. But it wasn’t going to stop him. He took a breath and marched purposely up the plank. He grabbed an offered hand when he reached the top and found himself stepping onto the deck.
He was surprised to see a familiar face amongst the crew.
‘Farred?’
It was Gyrmun
d’s friend—he had met him in Coldeberg. Quite what a Magnian was doing on a Caladri ship he didn’t know.
‘Hello Rabigar, good to see you again. This is the captain of the Red Serpent, Sebo.’
Rabigar and Sebo shook hands. He then introduced Maragin and Hakonin, who had made their way on board.
‘Welcome aboard all of you. It is an honour to have three Krykker lords sailing on my pride and joy, Red Serpent. Any questions or requests, please don’t hesitate to ask. If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I need to get her going, then I will come and speak with you some more.’
There followed an unpleasant lurching sensation as the ship cast off and the oars began to pull it away from the wharf.
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Farred,’ Rabigar said. He pointed at the Krykker countryside they were leaving. ‘Don’t know the last time a human was allowed to see this view. Clan Swarten’s lands are something of a secret, eh Hakonin?’
‘That’s right,’ said Hakonin. ‘It suits us for others to think of all the Krykker lands as impregnable mountains. But my people’s lands are the exception. Flat, and good for crops. We’re called the breadbasket of the Krykkers. We used to trade with the Halvian Krykkers when the Vismarians controlled the sea. Now you know our secret, I’ll have to kill you,’ he smiled.
Farred laughed. ‘Well, maybe you’ll spare me if I exchange a secret?’
‘Go on,’ said Maragin. ‘You have us intrigued now.’
‘Well,’ said Farred, looking more serious. ‘I sailed with Sebo all the way from Mizky. He showed me the charts he used. Two of them have the same people marked at the same place, in the South Lantinen. The Asrai.’
Rabigar looked at Maragin and Hakonin. The two most obscure weapons mentioned by Szabolcs, the Spear and the Cloak. They were closer to finding them both.
The Jalakh Bow Page 14
