A Place Among the Fallen [Book One of The Omaran Saga]

by Adrian Cole

  'She is a gifted one,’ said Ygromm. ‘And special to you?’

  Brannog nodded. ‘Yes, she is. But where would they go?’

  Ygromm's face twisted into a deep scowl. ‘It can only be to the Direkeep'.

  'Surely we can catch up with them now?’

  'We can try. But it will be more difficult. They have horses.’

  As they moved away, Brannog felt tiredness gnawing at his bones. The party would have to rest. Surely the Earthwrought were tired too. But if Wargallow had horses, how could they make up time on them? Only by night, when the Deliverer would rest. Ygromm confirmed that the Direkeep would be many days’ ride away, so there was yet a chance of overhauling them. Brannog knew that if they did not catch them before they got to the Direkeep, there would be little hope of getting into the place.

  They did rest briefly, but long before dawn were on their way again, picking up the trail of Wargallow's party easily. Ygromm had decided that it would now be quicker for the Earthwrought to travel overland, although they were frightened of the unfamiliar daylight and could not see well in it. Ygromm told his men that it was something they would have to get used to. ‘One day,’ he said, ‘your children will live by light and not under the ground. Remember, we are the forerunners.’ Although they had made a rough stretcher for Ilassa, they were still able to move much more quickly than Brannog would have expected, and he was relieved when Ygromm told him that Wargallow's horses were obviously not being ridden hard and were travelling at a gentler pace in general. Brannog ate more of the Earthwrought food and his own strength pulsed, renewed.

  At their midday rest, Ygromm drew Brannog aside. ‘Ilassa grows stronger and will survive. There is a river to be crossed, the Camonile. Better if you take Ilassa to the villagers at the trading post and leave him there. We can do little more for him. It is best if the Earthwrought go under the river, rather than over the causeway. The villagers may well attack us, or delay us at least. It is the way of most overmen, you understand?’

  Brannog agreed.

  'There is some bad news. We are followed. Whatever was watching us at the Swiftwater Bridge. An emissary of the east.’

  'The solitary guardian?’

  'Yes. I have had scouts circle back, but they have not found it.’

  They moved on, passing out of the slopes of the escarpment, following Wargallow's route down to the forest. They decided to stop for a longer rest that evening, gathering together in a camp. Ilassa, remarkably, had murmured in his sleep, and Brannog saw that the bruising on his face had subsided. He was still pale, but not the ghastly white he had been when they had dragged him from the edge of the river. It still seemed miraculous that he had not died, and again Brannog wondered at the power of the Earthwrought.

  Some of Ygromm's people had been in favour of camping under the earth, but Ygromm told them they must learn to accustom themselves to living on it. Even so, they never made a camp without first inspecting the surrounding terrain for potential tunnels into the earth—old animal lairs, or landslips, ancient delvings, anything that would give them an easy access to whatever workings would be found below (for there were inevitably some). Near this camp they had found the abandoned lair of a bear.

  After they had eaten, one of their scouts came bursting into the camp. ‘To earth! To earth!’ he growled anxiously. ‘Soldiers!’

  'Whose soldiers?’ called Brannog as they all made hasty preparations to flee. But the scout could not tell. They were not Strangarth's men, and they were not Deliverers, was all he could say. Quickly Ygromm got his men ready for the flight to the old lair, but as they reached the place they drew back in consternation, knowing at once that something was there before them.

  'The creature that has been following us,’ said Ygromm. ‘It has gone inside!’ He had no sooner spoken than a figure came shambling to the overgrown portal. It was a man, or had been, for its face was misshapen, bestial, the eyes yellowed, the mouth feral. A look somewhere between savagery and cunning twisted the features in the way that no human could have, and its clothes were caked with earth, torn and rotting as if it had clambered up from its own grave. Ygromm pointed to its throat where something gleamed.

  Brannog felt himself weakening. It was the hilt of a knife, and the point was lodged in the creature's throat. The darkness on its shirtfront was dried blood. How could this thing be alive? It stepped forward and gave a sudden horrific howl, which seemed to fill the very world. And it waited.

  'Stay clear!’ hissed Ygromm. ‘One touch from that thing is death.’

  Brannog was appalled. This was the power of the east, far worse than he had imagined.

  'It is the man I spoke of,’ nodded Ygromm. ‘Taroc. The power that fills the stones-that-move has filled him. We dare not go near it.’

  Behind them came the drumming of hooves. There was no escaping them, and Brannog got the Earthwrought to form a tight circle. They wanted to break and flee, but he would not let them. He held his axe at the ready and they took what strength they could from it. As the horsemen arrived, the creature that Taroc had become withdrew into the lair, as if it had fulfilled its purpose in trapping the Earthwrought. In a moment they were ringed. A score of soldiers rode around them, and they wore yellow tunics with the edges trimmed in a double bar of black. Ygromm whispered to Brannog that he did not know them.

  Horses snorted, dust flew. ‘What have we here?’ called one of the soldiers. He pointed with a short sword at Brannog. ‘What are you, wild man? And what in the name of the Empire are these creatures?’

  'None that will harm you. They are the Earthwrought. I am Brannog of Sundhaven, in the west.’

  'Is that a wounded man I see there?’

  There was no denying Ilassa's presence. ‘Aye. And who are you? You speak of the Empire. Surely you cannot mean that of Goldenisle?’

  'The same. Servants of Quanar Remoon to the last,’ laughed the man, with a mock bow, and each of his soldiers laughed with him. Brannog was even sure that one of them spat.

  'You're a long way from home,’ he told them.

  'So, it seems, are you. Sundhaven, you say. Where's that? Not in Strangarth's lands?’ As he was speaking, other horses were coming up from beyond the trees. This must be a larger party than Brannog had realised. But what were men of the Empire doing here in the east? He tried to recall the things that Guile had told him, but that now seemed so long ago. One of the soldiers beside the spokesman leaned over to speak quietly to him and he seemed annoyed by what the man had said.

  'Your wounded man—where is he from?’

  Brannog said nothing, trying to think for a moment. ‘I have no idea,’ he said at last. ‘We found him in the woods.’

  'One of Strangarth's rabble?’ said the man, coming closer. ‘Better to let him die, if he is.’ He was about to give orders to his men, but was forestalled by the arrival of the new party from which a single rider detached itself. This rider was cloaked and wore a hood to mask itself, for the air was not cold in spite of the coming of night.

  'What have you found, Ruan?’ it asked the leader of the first party mildly.

  'Something that has crawled from the earth I think, sire. Here! Bring torches!’ Ruan bellowed, and at once brands were brought forward. The cloaked man rode very slowly up to Brannog's company of Earthwrought. Brannog could feel their fear. Silence fell, and none of the soldiers seemed prepared to break it. Their respect for the cloaked man was quite plain.

  'I have done no harm,’ said Brannog. ‘Neither have my companions.’

  The cloaked man gasped audibly. ‘I know that voice!’

  'And I know yours, thought Brannog, trying to place it. The man threw back his hood and grinned, leaping down from the horse. ‘I did not recognise you, Brannog!’ He clapped the latter on the back before the big man had moved. ‘It is you!’

  Brannog's confusion deepened. ‘Guile!’

  Guile turned to Ruan who also looked baffled. How was it that this earthy, dishevelled man of the woods could be g
reeted with such joy by Guile?

  'Go back to the camp,’ Guile said. ‘Prepare food, whatever is needed. These are no enemies. They have my protection, is that clear?’ He turned back to Brannog, who watched in further amazement as Ruan did as he was told, shouting orders to his men.

  'You command these men?’ said Brannog.

  Guile laughed. ‘I have some explanations to give you. I told you that my only gift is my tongue. But first I must have news. What are you doing so far from Sundhaven? Where have you been? You have changed so. And these people—”

  'They are the Earthwrought,’ Brannog told him with pride, and he introduced Ygromm and his followers. Ygromm bowed, hiding the trembling fears in his chest.

  'Sisipher,’ said Brannog. ‘Is she safe?’

  'So you followed us?’

  'It's a long tale. But, my daughter—I must know.’

  'Safe as yet. But a prisoner. We both have much to explain.’

  Ygromm's ears picked up. So the girl was the Wormslayer's own child. Why had he not said so?

  'What do you know of the Deliverers?’ asked Guile.

  Brannog told him as much as he could, speaking quickly, talking of the pursuit and of the creature in the lair. Guile scowled at that, at once suggesting they get to his camp. He gave men orders to flush out and destroy Taroc, and they readied torches for the grisly work. The camp was less than a mile away and Brannog was able to persuade Ygromm and his people that they were in the hands of friends, overmen who would be only too glad to join their own cause. Ygromm expressed anxiety about Ilassa, as the man Ruan had seemed keen to have him dead.

  Guile suddenly realised whom it was they had saved. ‘Ilassa! Alive? How is that possible?’

  Again Brannog explained. They reached the Empire encampment, which was unexpectedly huge, boasting well over a hundred tents. There was an army here, Brannog realised. But why?

  'Korbillian may be in danger,’ said Guile, when at last he was able to sit with Brannog in the privacy of a long tent. Ygromm and his people were now treated with deference by the soldiers, for Guile's orders had gone around the camp quickly. There was no mistaking his position; he was respected here. Brannog wanted to question him on that, but knew it would have to wait.

  'You are speaking of Wargallow?’ Brannog said.

  'Yes, Simon Wargallow. An icy customer, Brannog. What he seeks is beyond me. But he has your daughter, and the youth Wolgren (and there's a lad who deserves honours) and Korbillian. Wargallow declined to make sacrifices, blood to the earth. He is taking them to the Preserver, and Korbillian seems to welcome the meeting. He has no fear of it, and thus I feel your girl is safe. Korbillian has faith in his own power, and we have both seen something of it.’

  Brannog nodded. He had not forgotten the wave at Sundhaven.

  'But the Direkeep is a stronghold and infested with Deliverers. Even so, I have a mind to put that place to the test.’

  'With this army?’

  Guile laughed. ‘Why not?’

  Brannog remained perplexed, yet he managed a smile. ‘Why not? And we are no longer alone. Let me tell you more about Ygromm's wonderful people. They are more than ready to lend their powers to this conflict.’

  The flap of the tent was abruptly flung back and into the tent walked a tall, muscled warrior, dressed in light armour and with eyes that would have shrivelled a less stout heart than Brannog's. He gazed at the latter and then at Ygromm, finally chuckling to himself, privately amused.

  'Ah, Morric,’ said Guile calmly. He turned to Brannog. ‘I must introduce you. This is Morric Elberon, Supreme Commander of the armies.’

  14

  THE HIEROPHANTS

  Wargallow had never felt quite so vulnerable in his life before, and yet he had anticipated this shift in power. It was as if he had been dismissed by the two men of Ternannoc, commanded to remove himself from the debate that was to follow. But he had already made his mind up not to accept that. The Preserver's fear, something he had only dared hope might exist, was going to unhinge him, and if it did, Wargallow would not be caught up in the fall. Yet he still had certain motions to go through.

  'Remember the girl,’ he told Korbillian. ‘My instructions to my men were very explicit.’

  Korbillian's expression did not change. ‘You see me as an enemy, one who has come to destroy you. I hope to show you otherwise. Grenndak, how much of your past have you told Wargallow and your servants?’

  'Very little,’ said the Preserver softly. ‘But if you have not come to destroy me—”

  'Then it is time to disclose the history of what happened to our world.’ Korbillian sat down again, apparently at ease. He was expecting no attack, no rush of guards. ‘Well, Wargallow, you hold Sisipher's life in your hands. I have no wish to see her die. But will you listen to the story of Ternannoc?’

  This was what Wargallow wanted to learn above all else, but he turned to Grenndak. Suddenly the old man's eyes widened and a wild gleam came into them. He sat up, pointing. Fire flared around his hand. ‘No!’ he hissed. ‘Silence him, if you can. He speaks against the Abiding Word.’

  Wargallow turned with caution. Which of them would prove the stronger? He had to know. ‘The girl dies if you harm us.’

  'If she dies, I will raze this tower and all in it,’ said Korbillian acidly, ‘and every Deliverer that draws breath will die before the next dawn breaks.’ Wargallow was surprised by the venom in a man who had until now seemed far too mild to make such a threat.

  Grenndak's mouth worked almost imbecilically. ‘Is this the man who stood before us and preached peace?’

  'Your master,’ Korbillian told Wargallow, ‘is from my own world, Ternannoc. Unlike Omara, Ternannoc was a world where everyone had power. The high and the low. Everyone. Even the animals and the growing things. Is that not so, Grenndak?’

  Grenndak did not answer and so Wargallow gently prompted him. If this was true! A whole world!

  'Yes,’ admitted the Preserver at last. ‘All had power.’

  'Most powerful of all were the Hierarchs,’ went on Korbillian, and he explained something of their great powers and of their workings. ‘There were no gods on Ternannoc, and no rulers in the usual sense, although countries had their leaders and their councils. The Hierarchs and their powers were available to everyone, in spite of their independence. It was their first law, to help those in difficulty. They considered themselves above the rest of the world, and there were those of Ternannoc who whispered that the Hierarchs had assumed the role of gods. So although they were invaluable, the Hierarchs were not completely popular. There were also people who had developed certain other powers, not so complete as those of the Hierarchs, and who worked closely with the earth powers and with the creatures of the earth, and they were the Hierophants. They taught the only real religion of the world, if I may use the word for convenience, and they held that the world was alive, a single being, with everything a corporate part of it. All life was its blood.’

  'So it is held in Omara,’ said Wargallow.

  'I will come to that. The Hierophants, like the Hierarchs, shared their powers, healing the wounds of the world, although there were some who went their own way, hiding themselves and ignoring their responsibilities. This was the tragedy of Ternannoc, that those with the greatest powers did not always share or consult with the greater numbers, those that did not have them.’ Korbillian spoke then of the working that had led to the opening of the world-gates and of how it had brought ruin upon the world. ‘The Hierarchs consulted no one but themselves before deciding to undertake the working.’

  Wargallow listened in disguised amazement. He could see merely by glancing at Grenndak that everything Korbillian said was truth, and he felt the foundations of his own beliefs, that had been driven into him since boyhood, shifting.

  'After the disaster, there were two schools of thought. The Hierarchs, who had already caused such terrible destruction, held that Ternannoc could be saved if everyone was prepared to sacrifice their pow
ers to do it. No matter how small the power, if it could all be pooled and poured into a counter-working, Ternannoc could be saved and the evil undone. The world-gates would have been sealed quickly.

  'But the other school of thought, that adhered to by the Hierophants, who had now banded themselves into their own Council, refuted the claim of the Hierarchs. They said that the Hierarchs were responsible and had to be broken. Ternannoc could not be saved, for too much damage had been done. To sacrifice any more power, said the Hierophants, would not only have seen the end of Ternannoc, but the end of the entire race. No one would survive, they said. There were dire arguments, and when the masses of Ternannoc saw the terrible indecision, they grew afraid and more confused. They began the exodus, and they used the gates to escape into other worlds, thinking soon that Ternannoc would be no more.

  'When the Hierarchs realised that their efforts were going to fail and that the great communal sacrifice was not going to be possible, the majority of them reached another decision. They did not want their own powers scattered across a dozen worlds. The strength of their power was in its combining. Their only hope rested in that belief. Even though they had wrought havoc, it had not been deliberate. They had in mind only to do beneficial things. They had lost a great deal of power, power that had been drained by the working, and power that had been burned up in an effort to reverse the working. And power that had gone out from them to be twisted into a mindless destructive force on other worlds. Now they sought to keep all their remaining power together. But how?’

  'They had no right!’ snapped Grenndak, again coming to life. As Korbillian had been speaking, Grenndak had been staring sightlessly ahead, as if seeing everything again before him. ‘We each had our own power, our own control of it. To take it from us was a foolish plan. Only I can control my power. In another's hands it would be dangerous.’

  'Then what Korbillian says is true?’ asked Wargallow. ‘You were one of these Hierarchs?’ At last! he thought. The truth about his power.

  Korbillian answered for him. ‘Not all of them agreed with this plan. Those that did not fled before the final decision was made. Grenndak was one of them. He must have fled here to Omara, for its world-gate was open.’