Hero Risen (Seeds of Destiny, Book 3)

by Andy Livingstone

  Sophaya crept on the balls of her feet to the nearest doorway, lying flat to slide her knife blade past the edge of the opening and using the reflection of the blade at various angles to check for obvious signs of anyone within the room. Satisfied with her first inspection, she eased her head around the doorjamb.

  She jumped lightly to her feet. ‘Empty,’ she mouthed, and slipped inside.

  They found themselves in a wide square hallway, several doors at the far side leading presumably to bedrooms that would look out on the front of the lodge, and a stairway near them leading downstairs. They crept to the bannister and crouched to peer through.

  They saw a large open room, what appeared to be the general area of the lodge, with easy chairs and small tables before a large hearth. Seven men were rising from a long table that dominated the centre of the room, one of them Loku, his garb heavier than when Brann had last seen him in Sagia, in keeping with the more Northern weather but still with a distinct style of the South, much as he had worn when he had posed as an ambassador to Halveka. His black hair was, as ever, slicked back with oil above eyes that regarded all with cold calculation. Brann tensed, and felt Grakk’s restraining hand upon him. Angry at himself for allowing the distraction, he patted the hand in reassurance and looked with a more methodical eye.

  The men were splitting into small conversations, chatting quietly as if their meeting had finished. Brann cursed to himself. Had they been an hour earlier, or even less, they might have discovered much of the conspiracy’s plans.

  Something nagged at him, then he realised. No servants. It looked unusual where men of even minimal wealth gathered, and each of these men looked to be from a comfortable lifestyle. Five armed men stood silently at the far end of the room; Brann guessed that the sentries outside had been the estate manager’s men, and wondered which one of the others had come without a bodyguard. Perhaps Loku, as he had travelled from abroad. He dismissed his musing, for it mattered not. The numbers were the numbers; what they could learn and what swords they would face thereafter were their considerations for now.

  A tall man stood beneath the hidden trio, apart from the rest, his face unseen – distinctive dark red hair tied behind his head and extending past his wide shoulders to the small of his back. Loku moved from view but reappeared moments later, a decanter in one hand and two glass goblets in the other. He handed one to the red-haired man and poured wine into both.

  ‘It appears our plans are moving apace,’ the familiar voice said. ‘Will you carry favourable reports to the High Master?’

  A deep voice, harsh as a heavy grate drawn over stone, answered. ‘You know I have no access to he who leads us all. I must, as we discussed tonight, now travel north to attend to matters there and then on to Alaria and Halveka, but the Council of Masters will meet soon and I will make haste to meet that appointment immediately after. The one who does speak to the High Master will hear our reports and convey what is necessary to him.’

  Loku’s voice was eager. ‘But you will tell of our progress, Master? The campaign in the North, the camps around Belleville, the inroads in the North Island? Once we have subdued the Northern lands, we will turn our attention to the soft target that the South presents, and all will be in motion. We will rule in at least one kingdom and have seized some amount of territory in others. And despite being engaged in all of this activity, we have also sent on many men to the cause. You will remember to tell all of this, yes?’

  The man had been staring across the room, but now turned to look directly into Loku’s eyes from close range. He stood a good head taller, and the Empire’s spymaster stepped back, clearly intimidated. ‘There is an element in your questions, Taraloku-Bana, that extends beyond efficient reporting. A tinge of desperation. Why would that be, I wonder?’

  Loku almost cringed. ‘Halveka and Markethaven. I would not like the High Master to think I was capable only of failure.’

  The tall man thought a long moment before answering. ‘Halveka was, it cannot be denied, a failure. All you had built was wiped out; all you had planned was quashed. Any inroads your rebuilding makes there now is behind where it would have been had you conducted affairs there better. Markethaven, however, was not entirely a failure. You set it in motion with skill subtly and adeptly used over time. He who conducted it failed at the end, but the purpose was not conquest, as he thought, but the sowing of chaos and fear, as you intended. The High Master will already know of that success, and it will have redeemed you in his eyes for Halveka, I am sure.’ He placed a hand on Loku’s shoulder. ‘I will ensure the news of the work done by you and your colleagues here is carried to the High Master’s ears. He will know of your loyalty and dedication.’

  The fawning gratitude in Loku’s eyes was almost pathetic.

  ‘There is one other thing, Taraloku-Bana, that I must discuss with you.’ Wary fear replaced gratitude. ‘The one who thwarted you in Halveka. He was instrumental at Markethaven.’ Loku’s eyes widened, and Brann pushed back at the anger once more. ‘You had the chance to make him dead in Sagia, but chose instead a slow agony that you thought would kill him. It did not.’

  Loku paled. ‘I thought him an irrelevance to our plans. His fate was personal to me, and still is. His most likely destination is these islands, and I had men seeking him here after Halveka, so they continue as we speak. Master, be assured that I have at all times endeavoured to keep my personal retribution second to my service to the High Master, however. The tasks of my duty have always been my priority.’

  The voice was low. ‘The death of this one is now part of that duty. Word has reached a member of the Council of a prophecy attached to this boy. He matters more as a danger than as the object of your petty retribution.’ Loku could not stop his eyes from betraying his surprise, but he quickly hid it.

  Brann felt his companions looking at him, but steadfastly pretended not to notice. Now was not the time for discussion.

  ‘When you get the chance again, do not dally. Make it quick and make it final. Surety of death paramount over all as far as he is concerned.’

  Loku lowered his head. ‘So it shall be, Master.’

  The man nodded curtly. ‘That is all. I must be on my way.’ He drained his goblet, and handed it to Loku, who took it with a small bow.

  ‘We should go as well, Master. The less time we spend as one company, the less there is to connect us.’ He turned to those filling the rest of the room. ‘My friends, our business here is concluded and Master Daric must be to other affairs. We should return to our public lives, too, but before we do, I am sure you, like me, wish to express our thanks to the Master for his continued guidance.’

  All turned to face the red-haired man, placing their right hands on their chests and bowing their heads. The man gave a cursory wave and turned for the door, lifting his cloak from where it lay on the back of a chair.

  There was a general rumbling of movement from below, and Sophaya risked a quiet word. ‘Now?’

  Brann shook his head sharply. Should the red-haired man be among those who may spill from the lodge in flight, their companions waiting outside would not see him as different from any other target. ‘Let him leave on his own,’ he whispered. ‘We need him alive. The others will not betray their cover until they see sufficient people running from here to make their attack worthwhile and effective.’

  The Master swept from the building without a backward glance and headed for the stables. Within moments, he led his horse into view and mounted, before cantering to the edge of the clearing.

  Brann stood. ‘Now.’

  He put one foot on top of the bannister and launched himself. A flash at the corner of his vision was most likely one of Sophaya’s throwing stars, a cry from one of the agents as blood spouted from his neck lending weight to his guess. He landed knife in hand and feet first on the back of one of the men, hurling him forward to strike his face against the table edge. The knife across his throat ensured he would not rise.

  Brann had his axe in ha
nd as he turned in a crouch, ready to react. The axe was slower than his sword but, when swung, more fearsome to face and it was panicked flight that they were intending to induce. Sophaya landed lightly to his left, a second star already having found the chest of one of the agents, although this time the wound was not fatal. She had a short sword in one hand and a slim knife in the other, and was moving to complete the job her first star had begun, though whether she would reach the man while he still lived was uncertain. A guard was rushing Brann, his sword swinging, and he stepped to his left, holding the vertical axe at either end and blocking the sword’s movement towards his right. He continued the axe’s movement to cut the blade’s edge across the back of the man’s neck, slicing deep enough to sever everything less than an inch from the surface. A chop downwards finished what probably didn’t need finishing, but you never leave probably behind you in a fight.

  Grakk had made it halfway down the stairs before he had leapt the bannister, and his curved swords were making short work of a guard with a two-handed sword that was far too big for indoor work: apart from the clumsy movement, it also ensured that none of his colleagues could safely get close enough to support him. After stepping nimbly away from the massive swings, Grakk needed just three blurred movements to finish the contest.

  The energy of combat was surging through him, and Brann felt an animal roar burst from his lungs. Those facing them were shaken from automatic attack by the noise, and seemed for the first time to take note of the bodies of their fellows and the blood-caked figures, dripping blades in hand, stepping towards them.

  They ran, pushing and grabbing each other as they hurled themselves at the door.

  ‘Well,’ said Sophaya, retrieving her throwing stars. ‘That seemed to work.’

  ‘Flight always seems to be contagious,’ Grakk observed as they made quickly for the door. ‘We naturally attack as individuals, and have to be taught for it to be otherwise, but we flee as a herd. Interesting, is it not?’

  Brann grunted, exiting the lodge at a run and jumping the few steps to the ground beyond. ‘I am more interested in Loku and that Master of his.’

  He cast around him. Mongoose and Breta were engaging three mailed guards and one agent, with Gerens, Cannick and Marlo running either to help them or head off the fleeing figures beyond them. A rider galloped straight for Konall but Hakon stepped in front of the horse, his axe taking away its front legs. It went down in a tumble with a horrific squeal and Konall was already moving to engage the unseated man.

  Everywhere was shouting and screaming and running and brutal fighting, and as Grakk and Sophaya ran to give help, Brann caught sight of Loku breaking across an empty area beyond the stable and closing on the trees.

  Brann sprinted. A bow lay under a dead guard, a Halvekan throwing axe embedded in his chest, and Brann dragged it free and grabbed at the quiver thrown loose to one side, his hand coming away with just two arrows in his haste. Two would have to be sufficient.

  Loku had entered the trees but Brann kept his eyes on the spot where he had disappeared and tore after him. He heard the sound ahead of a man more intent on speed than silence and raced in its wake. In moments he saw movement, and angled to follow. The undergrowth was not thick in this part of the forest and he soon could clearly see Loku’s wild run. He forced his legs faster. Just a little closer and…

  He skidded to a halt on rain-soaked earth and leaves and flung up the bow, the arrow loosed an instant after. It barely skiffed against a branch, but the touch was enough to divert it past the man and into a trunk in his path. It may have missed, but it was enough to shock him into stopping. Brann moved closer again as Loku slowly turned.

  The man smiled. ‘Of course,’ he said between breaths. ‘It would be you, would it not.’

  Brann raised the bow.

  Loku held up both hands. ‘Wait.’

  Their mission now had new prey. The waiting was over for this one.

  He drew the bow.

  And the wood snapped.

  Brann ducked automatically as the shards of the bow flailed at his head. Whether it had been defective or had cracked when its owner had fallen was immaterial. All that mattered was what was possible now. His sword in his hand, his head came up with a glare and found Loku no more than a dozen paces away, and a mirror of him.

  ‘So,’ the man said, ‘it has come to this. Two who are dedicated to the death of the other, alone and together.’

  ‘I will take your head,’ Brann growled.

  Loku shrugged. ‘Possibly. But consider this: you want my Master. And you want to kill me. And you will probably kill me. I saw you in the Arena. And in the City Below.’

  ‘You put me in both.’

  ‘And so I made you what you are. I am your creator, I suppose.’

  ‘I am what I am in spite of you. You are nothing to me.’

  ‘And yet,’ Loku smiled, ‘you chase me across countries.’

  ‘I chase the truth of your work. Your death will be a bonus.’

  ‘But the truth of my work is at present on a horse riding from here.’

  Brann paused, and he could see in Loku’s eyes that he had spotted the doubt.

  ‘And there, dear boy, is your dilemma. Fight me and you will most likely kill me, but you are not so much better that it will be quick. And with every blow, that horse steps further from you. So you chase the horse, and the truth,’ the smirk returned, ‘or chase me.’

  And with that, he turned and ran into the forest. Away from the road heading north.

  Brann stared at his receding form, then back in the direction of Daric, then back at Loku. He roared at the sky. But he knew.

  He turned and ran for his horse.

  When he reached the clearing once more, the quiet after combat had fallen over all.

  He counted the standing and the fallen. All of his companions were standing, but not all of the foe had fallen.

  He ran to Cannick. ‘The agents?’

  ‘Three escaped. Loku?’

  ‘He also.’

  He looked at Brann’s face through narrowed, appraising eyes. ‘You had a choice to make.’

  Brann felt like his his head would burst with the pressure of anguish. ‘And that choice is riding north right now.’

  ‘Then let us get to Philippe and be on our way.’ Cannick rounded up the others as Grakk emerged from the lodge with folded paper in his hand.

  ‘We have another map,’ the tribesman said. ‘Their meeting would appear to have been purely verbal unless this Master has taken with him any written records, but they did have this map of the Green Islands, presumably as reference. Unfortunately, they have not added any marks appertaining to their plans or resources, so it gives no clue to their plans and capabilities.’

  Brann looked at it. ‘But it does give us an overview of the islands, which is helpful since none of us knows our way around.’

  Breta was looking over his shoulder. ‘Really? I thought these islands were your homelands?’

  Brann smiled sheepishly, reminded of how far his horizons had grown in the most recent part of his life. ‘The North Island, yes, but until Einarr educated me, I didn’t even know the name of anywhere further than the next town to my village. Your whole world is only as large or as small as your experiences, interests and needs, I suppose.’

  Breta grunted non-committally. ‘’Spose.’

  It was not long before they were thundering up the forest road that Daric had taken, but it quickly became clear that they were already too far behind their quarry to see even signs of his passage, never mind the man himself.

  Brann had hoped that Daric had been far enough from the lodge for the sounds of conflict to be inaudible and unable to alert him, but it now seemed that he had either heard the clamour and taken to his heels, or had already been so far beyond the limit of the noise that his head start was too much. Either way, he appeared unlikely to bring him into sight any time soon.

  Still, however, they pressed on, refusing not to try. I
t was only when both night and rain started to fall that they admitted that they would not find him that day.

  Brann spoke to Konall as they set up camp for the night. ‘You are the best hunter amongst us. Have you seen any signs of his trail?’

  Konall shook his head. ‘I can track beasts, and usually large ones where their trail is different from any other creatures moving over the same ground. This is a horse on the packed surface of an established road – a road that is well used by many other riders. This would be like trying to track a specific fish in a river.’

  ‘It was worth a try,’ Brann said.

  The haughty face looked down at him. ‘Only a farm boy would think so.’

  Brann flushed. ‘A mill b…’ He saw the hint of amusement at the corner of one of Konall’s eyes, the equivalent of a guffaw from Hakon. ‘I think I’ll see to my horse.’

  Konall nodded. ‘Good idea. Stick to your capabilities.’

  He abandoned the battle already lost and took a bag of feed to his horse, checking at the same time the extra mounts they had acquired at the lodge: a better horse for Philippe than the one he had ridden since the attack on the settlement, and an extra horse to join Philippe’s former horse as pack animals, carrying food for humans and beasts as well as tarpaulins they had requisitioned that would provide cover from the rain that they felt was inevitable at some point.

  Marlo was picking a stone from the hoof of Hakon’s horse, having groomed his own, as usual, to perfection. The animal was calm with the boy, allowing him to work efficiently and quickly. He was good with animals, Brann thought. Some people were just natural in certain ways. Perhaps the beasts just reacted as well to his pleasant disposition as humans did. Marlo looked over and nodded to him with a smile.

  He thought of the boy he had first met, eager to help at the gladiator school, eager to help after it. He had broadened and there was a little less naivety to him – but only a little less. Brann hoped it stayed that way. It was good to have some innocence around so much hardened cynicism.