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

by Adrian Cole

  'How do we get up there?’ said Guile. ‘There can be no path.’

  A shout drew his attention, and he turned to see some of his men jerking away from one of the vines. One of them had hacked at it with his sword, and it had writhed like a man in pain. An entire wall of the sickly vines convulsed, but became mercifully still again.

  'Touch nothing!’ called Korbillian. ‘You transmit messages to the plateau as if you speak to it.’

  Ygromm pointed to the rocks. ‘We must go along that ridge. There was once a way up to the plateau. Xennidhum is above, I am sure now.’

  By midday, after another difficult march, they had found no way up to the plateau. Its walls leaned over them, unscalable. Even if it had been possible to climb, there was the unsightly vegetation to consider. It was a variety of hues, and grew in the most unlikely of shapes, eerie and mocking. No one dared touch it, as if it were poison. While the men rested, eating into their supplies, now running dangerously low, Ygromm's scouts came scampering into the camp.

  Ygromm reported breathlessly to Korbillian. ‘They have found old ruins, possibly a place where there was once a harbour. But it is overgrown with—well, you must come.’

  Korbillian mounted up and as he rode across the grey sand, he found Wargallow and Guile beside him, their faces mirroring the strain on his own. In silence they crested a rise and looked down upon an unexpected sight, for all Ygromm's preparing them. What ruins there were here had fallen, almost completely rotted by the heat, columns and walls eaten and cracked, tumbled this way and that like the discarded toys of children. What had displaced them seemed to be huge domes, pink and striated, like vast mushrooms. As the men watched, they pulsed like living organs, their bases apparently dug into the earth as if they fed on the corpse of whatever city had been here.

  'Their roots,’ said Ygromm from nearby, ‘are like the one we saw in the passage. They run very deep.’

  'Are they dangerous?’ said Wargallow.

  'No,’ said Ygromm. ‘They feel, as we do. But they are not hostile. No more than the plants we know of in the west. But there is more power in them than we—” He stopped, his mouth slack. Wargallow drew back. One of the huge, ovoid growths had puffed itself out to twice its size, about fifty feet across, and had wrenched itself free of the ground. It lifted up, floating like a great spore, dangling fibres and roots beneath it. In a moment it had sailed high up, finding a thermal in the sky and it used this to spiral still higher. Where it had been was a shallow crater, and the men could see thick roots there.

  'A single plant,’ commented Ratillic, who had been studying it. ‘When its seeds are ready, they break free and drift with the wind.’

  Something occurred to Korbillian, who was still watching the great oval floating away upward. ‘They are going up to the plateau. They must be—the desert would kill them.’

  Ratillic nodded. ‘It is their only hope of survival. But the chances of their growing successfully up there are little better than in the desert.’

  'Tell me, can they support men?’

  Ratillic stared at him, considering the possibilities. ‘Perhaps. But there is an army here!’

  Korbillian pointed. ‘We need men up there. To see what lies beyond. To provide us with information. Possibly even to find the way up for the army.’

  Ratillic's face creased in a rare smile. ‘I will investigate.’ He rode along the rim of the uncanny valley, watching the great domes as they gently pulsed, and beyond a cluster of them saw what he was looking for. It was vast, a giant of a dome, and the veins stood out vividly like thick scars. Ratillic dismounted and approached the plant. From the low ridge, Ygromm and a number of his people watched.

  'No harm,’ said Ygromm. ‘The wise one understands them.’ He had shown particular awe of Ratillic, and the Earthwrought thought of him as being even more powerful than Korbillian, in spite of the storm, for Ratillic communed far more deeply with living things.

  Ratillic closed his eyes and stood before the towering dome. He could hear the gases escaping its curved sides and feel the movement of its complex root system connected to the main taproot, which threaded like a mighty artery beneath all the domes. He opened his mind and images tumbled in like floodwaters, almost knocking him to his knees. But like a ship ploughing through heavy seas, he kept his course and slowly mastered the confusion. After a while he was able to allow his own thoughts and questions to penetrate the thought patterns of the plant. What he learned both surprised and pleased him.

  When he rode back to Korbillian, he seemed relieved, but tired. ‘I have found an ally where I did not expect one. These plants wage their own kind of war upon the plateau and its life forms. They are descended from other kinds of life, these domes, possibly human, and their sentience, their reason, lifts them above the madness that surrounds them. As you suggested, Korbillian, we can go up to the plateau. But you must select a party. The entire army cannot go up on the domes. Only a few can be spared, and only a few are ready for flight. But they are willing to help. They know why we are here. There is an alternative to the domes, but it will be difficult. Yet we came for war, so we must fight.’

  'What alternative?’

  'There is a canyon that cuts into the plateau and leads up to the city of Xennidhum. This was the dock area of the city. The canyon is choked and overgrown, barely visible, but there is a road within it. Many of the plants that block this road now are dangerous, deadly poisonous. And hostile. So hostile that they are at war with themselves, preying on each other to survive. And they, too, know we are here. They have been told.’

  Korbillian nodded as though it was no more than he had expected.

  'Another thing,’ said Ratillic. ‘We can eat the flesh of the domes. It is permitted. Think what that means,’ he added. Another sacrifice, he thought.

  Korbillian rode back to the main body of the army, organising the men at once, preparing a group to go up to the plateau. He spoke again to Ratillic. ‘One of us must go up to establish a foothold. The other must lead the army against whatever blocks the road.’

  'I will be happy to lead the men into battle. It will be a long struggle, but we will have help. These plants have developed certain powers of their own. However, you are the commander. Might it not be wiser for you to lead the army? The men would respect a commander who stood in the van.’ He knows this, Ratillic thought. What is he thinking? What have I missed? To contemplate not leading the army now is insane, unless he has an excellent reason for going on ahead.

  Korbillian considered his words. ‘You are right. Then you must go up to the plateau. Find the surest route to the Mound. It may yet be days away. I will bring the army.’

  'Who am I to take?’

  Korbillian chose all of his main followers to accompany Ratillic, not wanting to risk any of them in a conflict. Again, this puzzled Ratillic, who saw something behind this that he could not quite fathom.

  When the men were told, Wargallow demurred at once. ‘There may well be grim risks at the plateau summit, but my Deliverers would likely scorn me if I deserted them and let them fight without me. No, I will stay with them and take my chances in battle.’

  Korbillian reluctantly agreed.

  'Similarly,’ said Ygromm, ‘I must lead the Earthwrought.’

  Elberon spoke up next and at once Korbillian had a rebellion on his hands. ‘We are an army now,’ Elberon chuckled. ‘Empire troops. Deliverers, Earthwrought, Strangarth's warriors, everyone! Let us fight as a unit. You are lucky we have held together for so long.’

  Wargallow smiled. ‘You are a man of peace,’ he told Korbillian. ‘That is admirable. But you are faced with the inevitable. Let those better-versed in blood guide you. Morric Elberon, like myself, is a man of experience.’

  Korbillian could not smile with them, but nodded. ‘Then I will select another party. Sisipher, I insist that you keep from the fighting. Ratillic, you will go up, and Wolgren.’

  Elberon's grin widened. ‘May I suggest Ottemar. I am not sure t
hat I want to return to Goldenisle and attempt to place a corpse upon the throne.’

  Guile chuckled. ‘It is no secret that I am inept with the sword. I'll go with Wolgren.’

  'Brannog?’ said Korbillian.

  'I will take a small company of Earthwrought,’ he said, as much to Ygromm as Korbillian. Both agreed.

  'Find the city,’ said Korbillian.

  Ratillic bowed. ‘We will have the help of the dome-plants. What lies up there is a bitter enemy to them. I will commune with them again.’ As he rode off, this time with Ygromm and a number of the Earthwrought, Korbillian prepared those who would go with them, and shortly after the march began once more. The men were apprehensive about this bizarre terrain, and those intimidating cliffs always seemed about to come down like fists. Yet the men knew that the conflict would begin soon and in that understanding there was a measure of relief. They watched the skies, seeing the wheeling of the birds far above them. Kirrikree and his folk, however, kept well aloft, and it disturbed Sisipher that she could not speak to him.

  She had communicated with the great owl a number of times before he took to the far skies, and it had become clear to her that all his efforts were spent controlling the birds, most of which would rather have winged away to the west and safety. Kirrikree had little opportunity to scout across the plateau, and what glimpses of it he had seen were fleeting, the land being a deep tangle of vegetation, every growth indistinguishable from the next. That there was other life there, the owl was certain, but it could not be contacted, shrinking from his mind like paper from a fire, and all that he felt in return was a rhythmic malice; the very earth was alive with it.

  Ratillic had returned to the huge domed plant, and when Korbillian arrived, Ratillic told him that he was ready for the flight up to the plateau. Like passengers embarking on a strange ship, those chosen for this perilous flight followed Ratillic, and they found it surprisingly easy to clamber across the surface of the dome to its flattish top. The Earthwrought who were with Brannog immediately sensed the life force within the plant, heartened by its empathy with them, and Brannog also knew that here was the first haven in this blighted land. Once the party had assembled, Ratillic, now in the role of steersman, seemed to speak privately to the plant. It trembled, drawing itself in as if taking a preparatory breath, then broke free of the earth. Wargallow and many another observer gasped as the great dome soared above the cluster of smaller domes, trailing countless scores of tendrils like anchors. It gained height quickly, and its human passengers were lost to sight. As it went, a dozen smaller domes left their own moorings and accompanied it like moons circling a planet.

  Korbillian pointed ahead to the base of the cliffs. ‘Ratillic has told me where the canyon begins. There is a road cut into the rock.’

  Wargallow drew out his killing steel and beside him Elberon raised his sword. ‘Let us begin,’ they said together, and at their side Ilassa had his own blade ready.

  Korbillian glanced at the heights. There is something here, he told himself, that reaches into all of us and tries to twist what is there, looking for the darkness, conspiring with it to make us evil. That is our true foe, that darkness within us. He called upon the power within him, shut far down in some mental sea, and like a remote surge he felt its molten shape surfacing. Up on the heights it was echoed by the similar awakening of power, as though a leviathan of the deeps had turned to face the challenge. Korbillian felt its glee, its faith in its invulnerability, and tried not to let his own faith shudder.

  PART FIVE

  THE MOUND

  * * *

  21

  THE SUMMONING

  Korbillian's army found the place where the ancient road led up into the canyon, and as they rode towards it, the vegetation shivered like a single being preparing to attack. Several thick roots protruded like cables from the rock and dug into the earth, and now they heaved like the stirring limbs of a god. Ygromm pointed to one and Korbillian followed the instructions he bad been given by Ratillic, who seemed to understand these things best. Korbillian dismounted and walked to the nearest root, watched by the entire army. It was five times as thick around as he was. Quickly he placed both gloved hands upon the sickly flesh of the root and called upon the powers within him. They answered, eagerly, thirsting for release. The root convulsed and almost flung Korbillian backwards. He went to it again and this time it burst into flame, the fire streaking back along the root towards the cliffs. In moments a great sheet of fire roared upwards, and the vegetation that was not immediately scorched by it curled back in waves.

  Ygromm shouted out to the Earthwrought above the din of the conflagration, ‘Close your minds! All of you!’ His warning came barely in time, for the screaming agony of the burnt plants would have torn into the Earthwrought like steel. They shut it out at once. Korbillian had remounted, hardly able to calm his frightened horse, and in a moment had ridden ahead to where the road began. Scorched stone pillars and dead, blackened vines marked the way as he rode upwards. Behind him the army came on, but the plants had hardly been touched; they hung in festoons, unfurling their sticky fronds.

  As soon as the first men were on the incline, these snaked towards them. Steel sang and flashed. From out of the tangled greenery came scuttling, spider-like creatures, many-legged and fast—they were difficult to kill. Korbillian reached out to more thick vines, gnarled trunks, overhanging branches, and all burst into flame, which roared back into the deeper growths. Like a molten river, the fire torched up the inclined road. Clouds billowed up towards the top of the cliffs.

  Ilassa fought off one of the dreadful pink-hued spider creatures, slashing through the strands of gossamer it had tried to net him with. He saw the first of the dome-plants breaking free of the mother root and lifting upwards. They drifted above the scene of the battle and the first of them burst, showering a cloud of thick brown dust down onto the plants below. As it struck it caused the vegetation to shrivel, withering away as the poison took instant hold. Ilassa grinned at this unexpected help, but his grin turned to a wince of pain as something deep within him constricted and he felt his bones bruising as though this place worked its havoc within him.

  The things that rushed from the vegetation were cut to pieces by Elberon's swordsmen as they found their weaknesses. Elberon himself was in the thick of the fighting, striking about him, face grim beneath his visor. Wargallow was no less active, his own men a deadly force. After an hour the denizens of the plateau had drawn back, as though like a single warrior they had received a terrible wound and sought a respite. Korbillian watched the fires he had unleashed burn themselves out some way above. There was still a long climb ahead, but the vegetation slithered away from him, faster and more sentient than any other plant life he had ever imagined. It seemed to know that he wielded its doom. Beside him, Ygromm watched, his ugly face set.

  'This is nothing,’ he said. ‘A trial of strength. What waits above us is far deadlier. This is no test at all.’

  'Neither am I tested,’ grinned Korbillian. He watched another wave of dome-plants drift past and burst over the verdure, destroying it as effectively as he had been doing. The army rested, congratulating itself, but Korbillian was content to let the men think they had won a victory. He looked for casualties, and mercifully there had been few. It would be a long day, and a tiring one. He began again.

  Far above, Ratillic had seen the smoke clouds drifting upwards to where the dome-plant spiralled gently on the wind, and he knew that Korbillian had begun the work. He told his companions and Sisipher shuddered. Guile was sitting in the middle of the rising plant, hugging himself and trying not to move, terrified by the dizzy drop beneath them.

  Brannog studied the plateau. They were above its brow, where huge, tubular roots clung like sculptured architecture to the stone, ivy a thousand times thicker than anything he had seen before. He was certain he could feel the liquid sap running within it like a stream, thick with poison, feeding the terrible growths below on the cliff face, being
rushed there by an invisible, all-embracing commander. Wherever the road came up, it was not visible, for not only had the jungle smothered everything, feeding on itself in places, but mist billowed over it all. The green carpet spread away on all sides, shrouded and deep. The city of Xennidhum could not be seen, nor the terrible Mound that had thrust its way up into its heart.

  Ratillic was able to direct the plant, but could see nowhere that looked suitable to land until a bare outcrop of rock pushed up from the mist. The plant hovered above it and then floated down, deflating as it did so. Its roots sought a hold on the stone, but found no purchase, and Ratillic feared that it would die here. Once the party had alighted, Ratillic allowed the plant to rise once more, and it drifted with the thermals.

  Again they tried to see the landscape around them. Unlike the Silences, this green wilderness was full of sound, the screeching of low-flying birds, the scream of unseen beasts hidden by the thick screen of vegetation, the rhythmic thumping of something unknown out in the mist. But there was nothing to see other than the matted greenery, and this bare rock seemed isolated, some geomorphic exception. When the clouds lifted, it should be possible to see far across the plateau.

  Sisipher was staring directly to the east and Ratillic knew instinctively that she was facing what they had come to find. ‘Do you see it?’ he asked.

  Her face was white, streaked with fear, as she nodded. ‘Beyond the jungle. The city. And at its heart, the Mound.’ She turned away. Ratillic frightened her: she thought of their first meeting in his cave, where he had stared at her and asked her to be left for him. She drew closer to her father for comfort. If she told him, she knew he would break Ratillic's back.

  Brannog was studying the strange growths that lapped at the lower slopes of this outcrop. ‘What can we achieve here? We'll not find the road. Everywhere is overgrown.’