Betrayal

by Lara Morgan

  Tallis smiled. Marathin had once been Attar’s mount and he knew the serpent was still fond of the old rider, but she belonged to no man, least of all him.

  ‘I’m sure, one day, she might let you ride her again, Attar, if you’re polite.’ And if we all survive this war, he thought to himself.

  Attar nodded. ‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘These Isles serpents just aren’t the same, you know what I mean?’

  Tallis nodded, he did know; the serpents of the Isles were committed to resisting Azoth, but none of them were as used to communing with humans as those that had lived in Salmut. The Isles serpents were wilder creatures and were more likely to direct the serpent rider than take direction, although he knew they would obey every word he uttered; they could not resist the command of their own ancient tongue.

  ‘Come with me,’ Attar said. ‘I’ve a cask of Cermezian wine I’ve been hoarding and now seems as good a time as any to crack it.’

  Tallis regarded him. ‘I’m not sure whether that would help or harm me,’ he said.

  Attar shrugged. ‘Hell, we could all die tomorrow. Let’s live for tonight!’ He clapped him on the arm. ‘Come on, clansman, if I have to suffer another evening with only Balkis for company I’ll go mad.’ He leaned in toward the younger man and said in a low voice, ‘Sons of merchants, Tallis, they’re all the same — no appreciation for my better jokes.’

  ‘All right,’ Tallis smiled, ‘but don’t expect me to laugh either.’

  ‘Done!’ Attar put an arm around his shoulder and dragged him toward the fire pits on the opposite side of the camp.

  Chapter 46

  Early the next morning, Tallis left the others to plan strategy and climbed the steep cliff to the top of the scarp. Clouds had covered the sky during the night and the air was heavy and still and thick with heat. He was glad to leave the camp to look for the scout. It would be good to be moving fast enough to cool some of the sweat off his face. And good too to escape from Balkis; the worry and pain he saw behind the blond man’s eyes reminded Tallis too much of his own fears for Shaan.

  Marathin, he stretched out his mind.

  Arak-ferish. The serpent’s hiss came and he saw her rise from the shade of a shallow ravine behind the scarp. The sound of an army preparing for war drifted up from the camp.

  So few, Marathin hissed, and landed beside him. Father’s Hive is many.

  Yes. He eyed her. What will happen when you meet them in battle, Marathin; will you be able to resist him? Will the Isles serpents be able to resist joining him?

  She blinked. You will protect us, Arak-ferish.

  But would he be able to? He wished he was as sure as she was. He put a hand on Marathin’s front shoulder and climbed up her foreleg to sit behind her crest.

  Fly then, semorphim, seek the scout, he commanded, and felt a shiver of recognition at his use of the ancient word.

  Arak-ferish, Marathin whispered, and flung herself up into the high winds that swept above the plains, her wings snapping wide like canvas, like a sail, until they were streaming across the earth toward the mountains, the camp nothing more than a speck behind them.

  Tallis flew her hard and fast, reaching out with his senses as they went, as far as he could, trying to feel if there were any serpents or perhaps Alhanti beneath them. They reached the village of Split, or what was left of it, gliding over its empty streets, the ground around singed with piles of ash. Nothing moved except a fragment of cloth caught in a breeze in a high open window. The beaten track that ran from the town through the low hills to the east split in two, heading on a northerly slant toward the Clan Lands and the town of Hed, and southeast toward Falmor. The scout had been sent to follow any trail that led toward Falmor but keen as Marathin’s eyes were she couldn’t pick where the man had been. Tallis supposed that was to be expected for a Hunter of the Faithful.

  He kept the serpent low to the ground, searching for a sign. Ragged trees grew in clumps at the base of the hills and small shrubs scattered the earth, but mostly the landscape was rock-strewn and crisscrossed with the trails of small animals and muthu. He passed over several narrow creeks, still muddy from the recent rain season, but saw no evidence of the scout.

  By late afternoon the occasional scent of the sea was on the breeze as they angled toward the coast. The land had become increasingly rugged, the low, flat-topped hills replaced by higher rocky peaks. Tallis began to see small farm holdings tucked into valleys, all abandoned and damaged. One was surrounded by the dead, bloated bodies of a herd of muthu.

  Azim taken, Marathin hissed, using the serpents’ word for humans.

  Tallis didn’t reply as they glided low over one of the farms. The roof of the main building was half caved in, the burnt structure beneath like a black skeleton, and the doors to the large outhouse behind it had been ripped from their hinges and lay on the churned earth of the yard. If Azoth’s warriors had been here, where were they now? And what had happened to those who had lived here? The skin on the back of his neck prickled as he urged Marathin to head further east. The gods knew how the people of Falmor had fared.

  The farmhouse was just behind them when he felt a strange sensation in his stomach, a twisting pull like a cry of warning, or a cry for help. It was very weak, definitely not Shaan or a serpent, but it was there and it was emanating from behind him.

  Back! he commanded, twisting Marathin around. His hair swirled past his eyes as the serpent banked sharply and sped back toward the farmhouse. They landed in the wreck of the yard between the buildings, dirt flying from Marathin’s claws as she clutched at the earth, her wings flapping hard as she settled. The call was stronger now. Reaching out with his mind, Tallis leaped from the serpent’s back and drew the sword at his waist as he ran cautiously toward the dark opening of the outhouse, drawn by the sense of something, or someone. He paused at the entrance to let his eyes adjust to the dimness, letting the drift of his power unfurl, holding it ready just in case.

  The building had been a storehouse and animal shelter, for muthu by the look of it. Stalls lined the right side of the building while a large bin for feed and various implements and racks of tools adorned the opposite wall. In the back left corner was a smaller room, built against the larger stone walls. It was dark and hard to see, but he could feel the draw of a presence there.

  ‘Who is it? Make yourself known!’ he shouted. ‘I’m armed.’

  There was silence for a moment, then a shadow appeared in the open doorway of the room and Tallis saw the pale glint of a blade.

  ‘Was it you on the serpent?’ a man asked.

  ‘Who are you?’ Tallis didn’t move. ‘Come out.’ His heart thudded as he waited.

  The man stepped from the shadows. He was tall, lightly built and dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and trousers and a leather vest. Blood darkened his side and his face and body were covered in dirt and sweat. ‘I’m Calem, a Hunter of Salmut. Are you the descendant?’

  Tallis breathed out in relief. ‘Are you the scout Balkis sent?’

  Calem nodded. He lowered his sword slowly, wincing. ‘I saw you, on the serpent.’ His voice dropped, fading, and he suddenly collapsed to his knees, breathing hard.

  Tallis sheathed his blade and crouched beside him.

  ‘I’m injured,’ Calem said, and a wry, pained smile quirked his lips. ‘But I think you guessed that.’

  ‘How bad is it?’ Tallis helped him up.

  ‘Bad.’ Calem closed his eyes briefly then opened them again.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ Tallis said.

  ‘I’m not sure, maybe two days.’ He shook his head.

  ‘I’ll get some water.’ Tallis ran back to Marathin and unhooked his pack from the leather strap rigged to her crest, then rushed back inside.

  The man’s wound was bad: a long, deep gash in his side that had become infected. Tallis cleaned it as best he could and ripped up his spare shirt to use as a bandage, but wondered if maybe it was already too late.

  ‘How did you call
to me?’ he said as he gently tied the strip of cloth.

  The Hunter frowned then coughed, clutching at his wound as he did. ‘Aagh!’ He shouted and one leg thumped on the floor. ‘Bastard!’ He took a deep breath. ‘Please, water.’

  Tallis helped him swallow some, and the man looked at him with dull eyes.

  ‘I didn’t realise I did call you,’ he said, ‘but maybe I did. When I joined the Faithful there was a short time when I thought I might join the Seducers, but —’ he shook his head, ‘— my mind was too weak, no control, couldn’t do anything unless I got angry, or hurt.’

  Tallis nodded. ‘Hurt like now?’

  Calem smiled wretchedly again. ‘Guess so.’

  ‘What happened?’ Tallis said. ‘Did you find out anything about Azoth’s army?’

  ‘Part of it is camped just east of Falmor,’ Calem said. ‘There’s a big valley there, near the edge of the mountains, filled with them. Scanorians, some Alhanti and the people they’ve burned out of the villages around here — the ones they’ve left alive to fight for them, anyway.’ He looked bleak. ‘And some of the women and girls, they’ve kept them alive.’

  Tallis knew what he meant by that. ‘Any serpents?’ he said.

  He nodded. ‘Some, but I guess most are still coming.’

  ‘How many warriors?’

  ‘At least three thousand in the camp, and that’s only the first lot of them.’ Calem looked grim. ‘I overheard their Alhanti general talking to another he was sending back. They have another five thousand Scanorians coming through the mountains, due to arrive sometime soon — they may even be there now — and Azoth is bringing more with him, and the serpents.’

  Tallis felt sick. ‘How many more?’

  ‘Two thousand, I don’t know.’ He shook his head, closing his eyes. ‘And over one hundred serpents. Too many,’ he said. ‘And they could be moving any day.’

  Tallis didn’t speak for a moment, a fierce anger at his ancient ancestor beginning to fill him. ‘How did you get injured?’ he asked.

  ‘Scanorians. Caught me on the outskirts of the camp. Six of them, sneaky bastards, but don’t worry, none survived. They won’t go back to tell of me.’

  Not until someone found their bodies, anyway. ‘Can you stand?’ he said.

  ‘If I have to.’

  ‘Come on, then.’ Tallis helped the scout to his feet then half carried, half dragged him outside and helped him onto Marathin’s back. As he was climbing up behind the injured man he heard a distant rumble and stared toward the black barrier of peaks on the horizon. Clouds had come in, darkening the sky, and night was approaching. Somewhere in there Azoth’s horde was moving, coming ever closer, and for a moment he thought he saw the flapping wings of a hundred serpents, massed and gliding in unison over the serrated barren crests.

  Sickening premonition roiled in the pit of his stomach again, bringing the taste of bile and blood into his mouth. Turning away he commanded Marathin to fly and she launched herself into the sky, soaring around to head back to the scarp.

  ***

  Shaan sat behind Azoth on Nuathin. The silk wrap was fastened tightly about her shoulders by a black stone pin, the long skirts of her dress tucked around her legs, but she was still shivering with cold. She had looked for her old trousers before they’d left but had found nothing but more dresses. It was just one more thing to be furious at Azoth about: this dressing her in fancy clothes as if she was nothing but a prize long sought. She checked that her pendant was well hidden beneath the silk and spat a strand of hair from her mouth as Nuathin angled his wings and tilted to sweep past a barren peak.

  Below the serpent’s belly the straps of the basket he carried creaked and swayed with his movement and the sounds of the Scanorian spears and shields knocking together came again. Alterin and Jared were also in the basket, carried like battle fodder to war. Shaan could only hope Tallis had perceived the brief flash of message she’d managed to send. He had to realise the urgency of her call and the extent of the force Azoth was bringing. On all sides serpents flew in unison, wingtips almost touching then parting as they swept across the cold black mountains, baskets full of warriors swaying beneath. She felt them brushing her mind if she didn’t keep a tight hold on herself, much like she could always feel Azoth now, his presence an invisible hook in her flesh. The air above the mountains was as cold and as dead as ever, echoing with the remnant of a despair that seemed to be embedded in the rocks. They would not stop in them — she could feel Azoth’s bitter anger at having to cross even this far side of them — it caused him physical pain and he sat tense and hard in front of her, the Birthstone humming a soundless rhyme as he held it in his palm.

  He had taken it out of its box as they crossed the first peaks in the night and had kept it clutched to him all day. His animosity toward the Guides that had forged the barrier was strong, and she guessed the Stone must help him through it. The power of that barrier was weakest here, near the edges of the mountain range as it neared the sea, but still the despair bled through and Shaan felt Azoth’s aversion to it as easily as she felt her own heart beating.

  Azoth regarded her, his eyes black. He didn’t speak but Shaan knew he wondered what she was thinking, felt him probing her mind. Frowning, she let the power in her unfurl and pushed back at him, angry that he kept trying. He smiled and turned away, flicking a stinging slap at her mind as he did so. Pain shot through her skull. Shaan forced herself not to retaliate; to force a confrontation would only result in her failure. She might harm him but she could not beat him — and besides, she must remember why she had been sent; she was here to save him, though the gods only knew whether those who loved her would be able to forgive her when she did.

  Chapter 47

  Calem was barely lucid by the time Tallis made it back to Hunters Scarp. Marathin landed outside the crumbling gates and half a dozen men, with Balkis leading, ran toward them carrying torches. It was an hour off midnight and they had flown back as fast as they could, but he didn’t think the man was going to make it.

  ‘The scout,’ Balkis said as he reached him, ‘you found him.’

  Tallis jumped off the serpent. ‘He was in an abandoned farmhouse, near the mountains.’

  ‘Get him to the healer,’ Balkis said to the men as they pulled him from Marathin’s back. ‘Did he say anything to you?’ He looked at Tallis.

  ‘He saw part of Azoth’s army.’

  ‘Close?’

  ‘Too close.’

  ‘Come on, then, you need to tell Rorc.’ Balkis turned to go back through the gates.

  Most in the camp were asleep and the place was quiet as they strode quickly toward the command tent.

  ‘Did he say how many there were?’ Balkis asked as they walked.

  ‘At least three thousand in the camp and another seven thousand on the way.’

  Balkis swore. ‘More than I thought,’ he said.

  ‘Tallis?’ Mailun came out of the darkness of the tents on his left. ‘Son, you’re back.’

  ‘Mother.’ He kissed her briefly on the cheek as she fell into step with them.

  ‘Bad news?’ she said, seeing the rigid set of his face. ‘Shaan? Did you feel her?’

  He shook his head, not wanting to see the hope in her eyes. ‘No.’

  Her mouth tight, she said nothing more as they reached the tent. Torches had been placed on either side of the entrance and more lamps burned inside, sending huge shadows against the canvas walls as Rorc and Attar moved about inside. Moths and tiny insects surrounded the flames in a fluttering mass and a few flicked against the side of Tallis’s face as he entered.

  ‘You found the scout?’ Rorc looked up from the table where he had been drawing battle plans on parchment.

  ‘He was barely alive,’ Tallis said.

  ‘But you found out what he knows?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Attar picked up a jug from the corner of the table and poured him a cup of water. ‘Here.’

  Tallis downed it in one
swallow then told them what he had found out from the Hunter.

  ‘They could be across the mountains within a day,’ he said. ‘I haven’t felt them yet but that doesn’t mean anything. Azoth could be shielding them, or they could still be on the outskirts.’

  ‘Attar,’ Rorc said, ‘rouse the captains and tell them to come to the tent.’

  ‘Sir.’ Attar strode from the room, giving Tallis’s shoulder a thump as he passed. ‘Well done, clansman,’ he grinned.

  Tallis couldn’t smile back. Attar seemed all too ready to go to war. The dark premonition rose again and he felt his sleeping power stir, as if called up by the thought of bloodshed. It ghosted up his spine like a lover, filling him with energy, an awareness. Something was moving out there, reaching toward him.

  ‘You need some rest,’ Rorc said. ‘Go and sleep for a few hours. I’ll call you before dawn.’

  Tallis shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘Tallis?’ Mailun said, frowning.

  He realised he was clenching his hand around the hilt of the sword at his waist. Rorc’s eyes narrowed. ‘You feel something?’

  He nodded. ‘Something,’ he echoed.

  ‘Shaan?’ Mailun said.

  He frowned and tried to feel her, testing the air. Nothing, only the dark energy filling him. He shook his head. ‘No, but it’s …’ He struggled to explain it. ‘It’s as if I feel a storm coming,’ he said, ‘a great cloud of darkness coming this way.’

  ‘Get some sleep,’ Rorc said quietly. ‘You’ll need it.’

  ‘I can’t sleep, I —’ He paused, suddenly feeling Marathin and the other serpents’ fear.

  ‘What is it?’ Rorc said.

  ‘The serpents. They feel it too. I have to go and calm them.’

  ‘Do you need help?’ Balkis said.

  ‘You can’t help them,’ Tallis replied, and saw the blond man stiffen. ‘You can’t talk to them like I can,’ he tried to explain, but Balkis’s expression became closed.