Suddenly, she realised that the bow-women were riding off the road and into the trees. She called after them but the only response was a contemptuous backward glance. The sergeant was drawing near, as was Chaugor who rode up with a torchbearer and an angry face. Once he heard what had happened, he stabbed a finger at the sergeant, Nerek and one of the spearmen.
“You three – go in there and tell those harridans that I'm ordering them to return to the road immediately. Go!”
Wet undergrowth cracked under their mounts' hooves and dislodged snow made quiet sounds. They were about fifty yards into the trees when shouts and the clash of fighting came from behind. She glanced at the sergeant, then twisted in her saddle to look back at the torchlit road but all she could see was flickering movements. When she turned back the sergeant's horse was there but he was gone. Her newly-enhanced awareness fed her instincts and she ducked in her saddle while swinging to one side…a spear came flying silently out of the darkness, cutting the air where she had been.
There was a thud from the shadows as it struck wood, startling her horse which set off through the trees. She swung her other leg over, then dealt the beast a sharp slap on the withers and dropped off, rolling to a crouch while the horse crashed off through the brittle, snow-laden undergrowth. Her eyes showed her more with the Wellsource now at her beck and call. She could see other hoof tracks leading deeper into the woods, evidence of the two Daughters, and just smell their taint on the air. She could also hear those who hunted her, three in number, creeping carefully but not, to her hearing, soundlessly in the dark. It was the work of a moment to cloak herself in silence before setting out after the Daughters' mounts. Her pursuers, meanwhile, chased hers which was heading northeast, back to the road.
Nerek felt warmer, as if some quiet fire was spreading through her limbs. She almost felt clothed in the power of the Wellsource, such was its ubiquity, but she also sensed its ceaseless eagerness, its unrelenting need to be used.
Snow crunched underfoot but made no sound. Black leafless branches rattled together as she pushed by in unbroken silence. Emerging into a clearing on a slope, she saw the signs of a struggle, dark swathes of disturbed snow and a moment later she found several bodies, two horses, one of the enemy mask riders and one of the Daughters. They had been dead a very short time, and the surviving Daughter had left tracks and a definite taint of blood in the air, proof of a wound.
The tracks led up the slope and along to a large tree that hung at an angle over a gully and a frozen stream. With sharp eyes she could see the Daughter sitting at the foot of the tree bole with the stump of a spear jutting from one thigh while both hands held a readied bow as she stared out at the darkness. Nerek decided to circle around to the other side of the tree rather than risk becoming a target.
She was half way round when the darkness shivered and a tall shape lunged at her with a long blade. She spun away from the attack, swinging out her own sword in a savage mid-torso cut...just as an arrow whirred past her head. She heard her assailant grunt, then a light snapping sound. Under her focussed gaze the shadows seemed to dissolve a little and the face of Azurech-as-Byrnak came into view. He was smiling as she backed off several paces, seeking cover from the bow-woman.
“So you do remember how to use the power.” He laughed, a glamour of silence masking his voice so that only she could hear him. “Once tasted, never forgotten, eh? Our master has faith in you, Nerek, and the certainty that you will return to his side as the mirrrorchild of his power…He knows you.”
“He knows what he wants to know,” she answered. “I am not who I once was.”
Azurech shook his head. “How could a father not know the thing he made? Come back with me, Nerek – you know that the mages and the rebels cannot last much longer.”
That unspoken dread she already knew, but worse by far was the insistent voice which wanted more than anything to go back to him, and which was growing stronger all the time.
She steeled herself, then called on the Wellsource and filled her free hand with dazzling Sourcefire. Without looking away from Azurech she brought up her sabre and ran its edge through her cupped palm. The sword burned in the darkness.
“I will never go willingly,” she said.
Before Azurech could answer, a strange ullulating cry came from up in the sky. Something flapped down to perch among the topmost branches, sending laid snow sprinkling down. It gave voice to that shivering sound again then took flight on great wing beats, heading west. Azurech glanced up then back at Nerek, bearded face alive with a malign smile.
“Till the next time, farewell.” Then he turned away into the shadows and was gone, leaving Nerek full of self-doubt as she turned her attention to the wounded archeress.
* * *
Bardow paced the floor of his inner chamber, torn by anger and worry.
“What was she thinking?” he said to Alael, who sat on a high chair next to a cluttered workbench. “I left her explicit instructions to meet with us here at first light. Instead, I hear that she went riding off with Yarram down the Grainway, narrowly avoided fighting with Azurech and took an arrow in the shoulder, from one of our own archers no less.” He paused by the slender, mullioned window and saw that the morning was bright. “This weapon of melded powers….will be a difficult undertaking, not least because the necessary powers may themselves be hard to bring forth...”
“Perhaps not, ser Bardow,” said Alael behind him.
“Hm, your optimism does you great credit…” As he turned his gaze to the young woman, his words failed when he saw the pure white flames dancing on her upturned palm. Elation bubbled up within him.
“The Mother's gift,” he whispered, sinking into a nearby chair. “Why didn't you tell me?”
Alael's eyes widened. “I have tried to broach the matter several times, but you would not let me get a word in edgeways!”
“Ah, yes – I do apologise, Alael. I've been running myself ragged since the fires began in the night, and this business with Nerek caught me unprepared…”
The night had been once crisis after another. First were the tortured unfortunates who came screaming out of the night to destroy themselves horribly in bursts of tenacious flame. Then there were the roving bands of enemy riders led by the rivenshades of Mazaret and Suviel – Suviel was unknown to the people of Besh-Darok, but Mazaret had been a public figure and panicky sightings of him were not confined to the snowfields outside the walls. Some claimed they saw him climbing over the wall to the north of the Old Town near the Gallaro Gate; others said they saw him stealing through the burnt trees of Lords Glade or clambering wetly out of the Olodar near Five Kings Dock. One sighting near Kulberisti Longmarket turned out to be a group of pale-robed Tobrosans walking in mourning for one of their number, but rumour of this led to a drunken mob taking out their fears on a guardpost manned by Yasgur's now-mainly Mogaun militia.
After that had come more of these vile flame sacrificers, only now inside the city. It was while riding with Yasgur and his men through the waterfront streets from fire to fire that he heard of Yarram's expeditionary force, though not of Nerek's part in it. Since then he had been trying to speak with all of his unruly mages, especially the Nightrook, Blind Rina and the Anghastani twins, Rilu and Luri, who were all searching for the mysterious spellcaster who had survived the fall from the Hendred college window.
But now there was this evidence of the Mothers Gift, usually displayed by the Earthmother priestesses and then erratically. He gave a weary but happy smile, and Alael smiled too.
“Now,” he said. “How did this come about?”
She told him about her dream, about finding herself in the Vale of Unburdening and meeting a woman who took her to see a monument then a group of open graves. Bardow felt a chill when he recognised Suviel in Alael's description of her guide, and was troubled when the account ended with the understanding that Alael's power really was a gift. But to what end?
Bardow's mood dimmed and as if in sympathy Alael closed her hand, snuffi
ng out the flames.
“She does such things for a reason, doesn't she?”
“Usually.” Then annoyance at his own gloom took hold and he slapped his hands on his knees. “But we also have reasons for the actions we take, and we must trust in our judgement for we know our cause is just.”
Alael was silent a moment, then said, “On my way back from the college, I looked at that translation of the revealed lettering, but I hardly understood its meaning.”
“That is to be expected,” Bardow said. “The rhythm and cast of writing was very different a thousand years ago. Scholars of the time used allegory and symbology as a matter of course – they would find our treatises and studies quite flat and lifeless. Was there anything in particular that puzzled you?”
She frowned. “There was mention of 'the Culvert', and later the inscription went on about 'the Kindred' and their 'quiddity'…”
Bardow, however, was only half listening as a strange, insistent sense of foreboding began interrupting his thoughts. After a moment of confusion he realised that it was a warning from the Crystal Eye, one that he had been dreading and anticipating for days. Someone with the Wellsource at their fingertips had just entered the city.
He silenced Alael with an upraised hand then stood as a flood of alarmed thoughts and emotions streamed into his mind from the other mages across the city. Firmly, he persuaded them to rein in their anxieties and await developments, apart from Amral, Cruadin and Zanser with whom he strove to pinpoint the intruder's whereabouts.
Where is it? came the irritable Amral.
I've heard no sound of commotion, said Cruadin.
“I've perceived something of this person's course,” Bardow said. “I think they came by the Shield Gate…”
Is that likely? - Cruadin.
Bardow did not answer. Instead, aided by the others, he focussed his perceptions through the Crystal Eye. He could almost see the streets and buildings near the Shield Gate, with the pale, blurred forms of many people going about their business while through the bustling scene walked a figure that was no more than a shadowy outline. As if it were a barrier that the Crystal Eye could not penetrate.
“I cannot see their face,” Bardow said. “But it seems quite open about its intentions – now it's heading up to the palace.”
Seal the gates!
Turn out the guards, all the knights…
Have the emperor moved…
Bardow –
Someone new slipped through the mingling of panicky mindspeech, someone that he knew was level-headed.
“Yes, Terzis?”
It's Nerek, she said. She's the one you're all sensing.
“Aah...then I imagine that there is quite a story behind this.”
She insisted that you would be the first to hear of it.
“Is she a threat to us here?”
No, I really don't think so.
Bardow frowned, not knowing whether to be pleased or wary, but decided that a little caution would still be wise.
“Thank you, Terzis...Almar, would you be so good as to join me in my chamber? - Cruadin, alert the emperor's bodyguard and have them seal off his floor – Zanser, I would be obliged if you could make sure that the sanctuary room is secure…”
Several minutes passed before the door opened and the crippled mage Amral hobbled in.
Bardow watched the older man sit in a whicker chair which creaked slightly under his weight. Bardow could feel Nerek's approach, by his own senses as well as his attunement to the Crystal Eye. The door opened and she entered. She stood there in silence for a moment, looking about her. Bardow could see the change in her immediately, an alteration that was visible in the confident tilt of her head and the straightness of her stance, a regained power which showed itself in the hue of her skin, the glint of her eyes.
Bardow cleared his throat to speak –
“Hello, Nerek,” said Alael brightly. “We heard that you were hit by an arrow but you don't look hurt – have you been having adventures?”
Nerek gave her a grateful smile whose openness and warmth took Bardow by surprise.
“Greetings, Alael,” she said. “And yes… I have had a strange and unsettling adventure which I shall speak of – ” She turned to Bardow, “but first I must apologise for failing to be here when you asked, Archmage.”
Bardow nodded. “Apology accepted, Nerek, but it seems that events may have turned to our advantage. Now, tell your tale.”
He listened as Nerek, Byrnak's mirrorchild, told of the ambush on the Grainway, and how Nerek and others were ordered into the dark wood after the errant archers. When it came to her encounter with Azurech, her voice grew expressionless but relaxed again afterwards.
“...and when I went to help her, she put an arrow into my arm.” Nerek fingered a tear in the upper arm of her jerkin. “I don't think she was very pleased when I took away her bow and broke it in half.”
“And how does it feel?” said Bardow. “The return of the Wellsource.”
“I'm not sure,” she said. “At times, it feels like a missing limb has come back to me and I'm not crippled anymore. However, once or twice this morning I've sensed its ebb and flow within me – I had forgotten that the Wellsource almost has – ”
“A mind of its own?” said Amral who had listened in silence. “Or shouldn't that be the mind of its creator?” He looked to Bardow. “Archmage, this woman encounters a high servant of the enemy who does not attack her, while she regains her use of the Wellsource. She is clearly a danger to us all – who knows what dread beings might come to work through her?”
Nerek seemed to acknowledge his words and stood with a bowed head, while Alael was clearly upset.
“She is not the only one who has a burden to shoulder, ser,” she said angrily, holding up one hand ablaze with white fire.
Amral froze and stared at this, speechless and Bardow seized the moment.
“Nerek, would you do the same?”
She frowned, then nodded and raised her right hand which silently burst into lurid green flame.
“Amral, you see before you two very courageous women, both willing to put their lives in utmost peril for the sake of a slim chance of defeating the Shadowkings.” Bardow stood, beckoned Nerek over to him then laid on her shoulder and the other on Alael's. “With these powers, we shall attempt to forge a weapon fit to slay our dark enemies.”
The elderly mage pushed himself upright and leaned on his gnarled stick. “I understand how desperate the situation is, Bardow, but I truly believe that this is a course of folly.”
“Had we sufficient time and resources, we might be able to study and consider all the available courses of action,” Bardow said. “But we don't have that luxury, Amral. We cannot afford to let any opportunity slip past.”
The crippled mage opened the door and paused on the threshold. “This reeks of the enemy's snares, Archmage, and I confess that I am glad not to be in your shoes. If I can be of assistance, you need only send for me.”
“Master Amral,” Nerek said. “I vow that I shall not betray any of you.”
“You may not, lady,” Amral said bluntly. “But the power you carry most assuredly will.”
Bardow sighed as the door closed with a soft thud. “He is by nature a cautious and bitter man, but his heart is good. Now – “ He looked at the two young women and they looked at him. “I have some complex explanations of what we must do and little enough time for them, so attend me well…”
* * *
After speaking with the dockside captain, Atroc walked along the deserted Squiresgold wharf, shivering in the cold, eyeing the pale and hesitant dawn. Snow masked the broad timbers all the way along, its whiteness heavily trampled around just two of the dozen or so piers that jutted out into the bay. A few fishing vessels sat tied up at one smaller jetty, their decks white, the crosstrees of their masts adorned with lines of dagger-like icicles, while overhead a few seabirds wheeled and cried out mournfully.
The aging seer
's breath steamed as he nodded to a pair of militia spearmen, both Mogaun, who were guarding a broken door in the high wooden fence which divided off one end of the wharf. They let him pass and on the other side was the rough planking of a long building with a set of steps leading up to a walkway. Going by the dockside captain's directions, he climbed up to the gantry and straight away caught a whiff of burnt wood and furs shot through with something nauseous and by now familiar. On his way to the waterfront he had passed by a handful of places gutted or damaged by the enemy's firebringers. Here a house, or there a workshop, or the outside of a building, and all had the taint of scorched blood and sorcery.
The walkway had a railing, for which he was thankful as he followed it round to the other side where it widened to a platform sitting on supports. Yasgur was there, standing hunched in furs and a heavy cloak as he stared moodily down at the fire raging in the private landing dock. He glanced round as Atroc approached.
“Finally,” he grunted, then looked back down at the blaze.
“Ah, my prince, I would have been at your side before now had I the wit to foresee your movements this morning…”
“Curb that tongue of yours, old man,” Yasgur said darkly. “I've not the patience for it.”
Atroc smiled to himself and tramped over to join his master. Below, some guards and labourers were struggling to move blocks of marble and slate away from the fire using wooden rollers. The fire itself raged across a large pile of bricks and several heaps of loose ore. Iron, Atroc thought, or perhaps copper. And across the bricks was sprawled a skeleton.
Yasgur pointed to a long sea barge which was tied up at the other side of the private dock. “Guards think that he was making for the ship when he started to burn.” He shook his head. “Whatever is within them, it burns without smoke until it meets something made of wood or cloth – all the bricks and ore are sitting on flagstones but the heat is starting to make the wharf planking steam.”
“Does not water extinguish it?” said Atroc.
“Water only spreads it wider then is boiled off.” Yasgur gave a dry throaty laugh. “Sand puts it out, we found too late – we're waiting for barrow of it to arrive from the riverbank.”
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