“Something like that, Skreet.” Blake patted the goblin on the shoulder and turned to Nyara. “So, you’re the guide. Which way?”
Nyara raised her eyebrows. “Well…” and she chopped her hand past Uldo, Cid, and Maddox into the depths of the forest. “Judging from how far short we have landed from the falls, we need to strike southeast from here. Eventually this should bring us to the river.”
“Sounds simple enough,” said Maddox.
“Don’t get too excited,” Blake murmured as Nyara set out into the trees. “We have a long way to go.”
And with a final nod to Skreet, Blake followed the elf, his disparate band of companions falling in behind him.
TWELVE
1
Deep in the heart of the World Tree, surrounded by huge sinews of living wood, a structure resembling a throne had twisted into being. Its beauty was unparalleled, summoned by the skills of the elder wizards ages ago, with mighty, ancient branches interwoven with supple green budding shoots. In the midst of warm spring, its smell was a heady mixture of cloying, golden running sap that sometimes foamed about its base, and the scent of a thousand different flowering trees running together, at once familiar and yet entirely unfathomable. For the World Tree was the Mother of All Trees, a gigantic, ancient beating heart at the centre of the world.
It had stood for all time, so the ancient scrolls proclaimed, growing outwards from the void to form the bones of the planet. Then slowly, over eternities, dust had clung to its sticky fibres to protect the kernel of its living soul with an impenetrable armour. The New Science of later times would dispute the tales, calling them myth, and suggested a less romantic answer: that it had merely grown like an invasive weed across Terevell from a simple spore until it dominated the planet. Either way, its wonder and its majesty could not be denied. All who witnessed it were given to awe. All, except those who knew it best: those who spoke to it or listened to its heartbeat in its dreams. To them, like the High King of Ilmaris, it was as familiar and comforting as a mother’s lullaby, and a mighty tool that could be cajoled to suit his purpose.
The throne room, as far as High King Zerian was concerned, was the very best place to commune with the World Tree. This was not a popular theory with the Elder Wizards, of course, who declared that the earthy, Chthonic chambers amongst the ever-moving, blindly feeling tendrils of the Root was where it listened best.
Not to Zerian.
He believed the throne room was the centre of the tree’s being, and therefore its seat of power. It was why he spent so much of his time lounging on its throne. With his long, delicate fingers spread out across its arms, his silver-haired head resting against the knotted wood, he often closed his eyes and meditated, trying to attune himself with the moods of the Tree. And every now and again, a distant pulse would flow up through depths: a faint tremble of alarm or interest or even anger, that would reach the High King’s perception, and his eyes would spring open.
Such a time was now.
Zerian sat up slightly straighter on the throne when the first shudder came. His well-made face—imperious, and even cruel for all its beauty—lifted slightly to one of the apertures that served for a window in the World Tree, sending a shaft of grainy sunlight into the royal chamber. He heard a flurry of clapping wings from a roost of blue doves that nested in the branches just above the eastern balcony, a signal that something was remiss. And he smiled faintly as he turned his attention to the grand, twisted doors to the throne room in anticipation. It did not take long before his apprehension was rewarded.
When the doors finally burst open, High King Zerian settled back into the throne. An ancient elf, clothed in dirty robes, shambled into view. His eyes pale, fingers stained green and booted feet muddied, he immediately dropped to his knees, dirty white hair falling across his sallow face. Here then was the king’s Tree Reader, the last of his kind. At least, the only one permitted to live by Zerian. After all, the High King was no fool. Tree Readers commanded great power. They were the only ones in the world capable of manipulating the World Tree; to seduce it to do their bidding. And whoever could do that was a potential threat, even to the High King himself. As it was, whenever news reached his royal ear that a new savant had been discovered (perhaps some young child who had the gift to make a flower bloom or speak the language of the earth to converse with birds or animals), Zerian had been swift and brutal in his actions. One wizard was quite enough. One he could control. So, now there was just one. Crosas. Talented, untrustworthy, vane, and ultimately weak-willed. A perfect combination to be manipulated.
“Your Majesty…”
Crosas who spoke into the floor in a soft voice. For as long as Zerian had been alive, he had been known to him. Crosas was one of the oldest elves he knew. He had been a wizard to Zerian’s own grandfather when he was on the throne, before the old king had been killed during the First Dwarf Wars. Crosas lifted his face, revealing those unnaturally milky eyes, the price of spending so much time in the dark and an in communication with the World Tree. Giving one’s mind over to such a monstrous power took its toll in all manner of ways.
“I come with news from the Root…”
“Yes, Crosas, I have sensed it too,” High King Zerian replied in his thin, brittle voice, and noted with some pleasure the slight frown skating across the ancient elf’s face. Zerian always liked to remind his Tree Reader that he that he was not the only one who could perceive subtle changes in the World Tree’s mood, even though his understanding of the precise nature of those was rudimentary in comparison to the Three.
“Disruption in Throgorolind, Your Highness,” Crosas went on. “A foreign intruder, sire. In the Deep Forest.”
“An intruder?” Zerian raised an eyebrow. “What kind of an intruder?”
“That is unclear, Your Majesty,” Crosas admitted. “But I sense the disturbance is not benign. Our mother has communicated a convulsion in the Root, sire. A tremor that suggests concern.”
“I see,” said the High King. “And can we trust our mother to deal with this intrusion?”
“Difficult to say. Although, whether it causes a greater imbalance is also uncertain. The future is shrouded in shadow.”
Zerian snorted. “Well, that’s hardly very helpful, is it?”
A hesitation. Finally, Crosas said, “No, sire.”
Sighing, Zerian turned his eyes back into the dusty light falling into the throne room. The sun was high. It was almost noon.
“How far is it?” he asked.
“The anomaly?” said Crosas. “Why, I estimate as far as two hundred leagues away, sire. Just west of Garia’s Point.”
“And the dragon?”
“From what I can gather, sire, the dragon ranges beyond the Vallaron Lowlands. There was a brief sighting a day or so ago.”
The High King grunted. “Then we would do well to muster some eagle riders as soon as possible,” he said. “Two of our best. Send them to where you believe the disruption occurred and have them investigate. And if there is a threat, they are at liberty to deal with it as they see fit.”
Crosas bowed. “As you wish, Highness.”
“Now go,” said Zerian. “And keep me informed of any developments.”
To which the Elder Wizard responded by scrambling to his feet and hastening from the chamber.
2
Left alone in the hushed sanctity of the throne room, Zerian thought on the information that had been presented to him. While he was fully aware that the World Tree often experienced all manner of tremors and convulsions, most were so subtle they hardly ever roused the interest of the Root. This was clearly more important. It suggested an Imbalance had occurred, and Zerian, more than any other High King or Queen since Karathus—the great Philosopher King—had been a great advocate of the Balance of All Things: that old philosophy handed down through the ages, scratched out on impermeable adamantine discs by the Ancient Ones, and kept under lock and key in the Holy Library.
That was where his father ha
d failed, Zerian thought, turning his eyes to the imperious wooden statue in a long line of royal statues that inhabited the throne room. He was too liberal with the signs the World Tree presented to him; often ignoring the Will of the Tree in favour of less long-lived beings. For the Soul of the World was All. It took the measure of everything it had created, and it signalled to those that understood when something was remiss. Which he had a duty to enact upon, having the honour of being seated within the greatest power across the entirety of the continent.
Not that everyone agreed on what the World Tree was communicating. Or, for that matter, how far the Law of the Imbalance should be taken. Zerian remembered all too well the many arguments he had had with his sister on the subject, before she was exiled. But in his opinion, there was no middle way. As far as he was concerned, the World Tree’s creation was to be preserved at all costs. And as the tree’s cultivators, the elves were duty-bound to have it flourish, clamping down on any threats whenever they presented themselves.
Yes, Zerian thought, turning his eyes back into brooding middle distance, the Balance had to be maintained above all else. And that extended even beyond the protected limits of Terevell. For if the Tree was the heart of this world, so this planet was the heart of the Aetoreon System—a barometer for the health of all sentient races. It was why the many difficult decisions he made here were a signal of his wider intentions, though few could guess at them. The Kharg-Rillion Covenants were just a distraction, after all. A means to an end. Just like the dragon. These kept his enemies preoccupied while he mulled over his plans to rid the system of the greatest scourge the System had ever known. And restore the peaceful Balance to this world and others forever.
THIRTEEN
1
Gemini sat down in the pilot’s seat of her Chaser and shut down the automatic nav systems and powered down the shock drive. The ship shuddered, and the thin skeins of brilliance that were the stars in the background vanished into pricks of light. The trip had been entirely uneventful, which was welcome. Part of her had feared that Hanaway would somehow know she’d ignored his orders and at any moment she would have been hailed to return. As it was, she had even managed to grab a couple of hours rest while making the crossing from Genek IV, but she was glad of the hot coffee she was sipping as she peered out of the cockpit window. Now, the huge construction of the Border Gates slowly swelled against the brilliance of Terevell. Not for the first time, she shook her head slightly at the sight of it. Although she had been here more times than she could count, the size and magnitude of the feat of engineering never ceased to amaze her.
A light began to pulse on her console.
She flicked a switch and a colourless voice said, “This is Southern Hemisphere Approach. Please identify yourself.”
Gemini put a boot on the console, rubbing at her hair. She yawned and said: “This is Ranger Gemini Sohn, badge number 74181, asking permission to dock at Command Post.”
There was a pause. Then the dull voice came again: “Welcome, Ranger Sohn. Please transmit badge string and ID codes for immediate verification.”
“No problem.” Gemini dropped her foot from the console and pressed another button.
The verification process took no more than a few seconds. When she had been cleared, Gemini was instructed to move beyond a checkpoint and dock at the Southern Hemisphere Command Post where she would be met by an escort. Gemini offered her acknowledgement and eased the Chaser away. Her thrusters gently shunted her toward the eastern arm of the vast, interlocking bridgeways that connected each of the gates and circumvented the entire planet. Then, slipping into a docking bay, she powered down the Chaser, and slapped at a couple of switches. A metallic boom echoed through the vessel as the port were married. Then she pushed herself out of her pilot’s seat, snagged her jacket where it hung on a bulkhead, and disengaged the locks. The door slid open. She stepped through into a holding bay as another hatch swung aside, revealing a compact woman in a green uniform.
“Ranger Sohn?” the woman said smartly. She had black hair pinned in a tight bun and what looked like a wolf-blade tattoo on her throat. Ex-military Gemini realised. Some soldiers who had once been stationed on Genek IV to defend the Thresholds ended up as Border Guards. Fewer became rangers. That might have had something to do with the solitary nature of the job, Gemini reflected. Soldiers preferred to work in teams. “I’m Border Guard Lito,” she said. “Welcome to Southern Hemisphere Command.”
2
“I need to check your border code logs from the last twenty-four hours,” Gemini said to Lito as they walked down a long, busy corridor, heading toward the Border Gate. “I think there’s been an illegal breach. A party is probably already heading down to Ilmaris.”
“Ilmaris? Really? There hasn’t been a hunt in that part of the world for years.”
“I know.” Gemini detected the disquiet in Lito’s voice, and no wonder. Someone from the Border Guard was going to find themselves in a lot of hot water if it came out a hunting party had slipped through their fingers. “I have some partial border codes to match up and a possible timescale. Can you find me a slot to trawl through the records?”
“I guess so. Something might free up in the next couple of hours. In the meantime…”
But Gemini quickly interrupted: “Next couple of hours is not going to cut it for me. Likelihood is, they’re on the surface already. I need the tracker co-ordinates as soon as possible if I stand any chance of intercepting them before the kill.”
“So, what kind of hunt are we talking about?” Lito asked.
“I’m not quite sure as yet,” Gemini lied. “But obviously, any hunt on Ilmarian soil is a Grade A violation, so…”
Lito nodded, almost to herself. “Okay. Look, follow me up to the Hub and I’ll see if I can find a place to plug you in. But I’ll have to inform my boss you’re accessing our records.”
And that was a problem too. If the Command Supervisor was informed, Hanaway would be contacted to cross-check Gemini’s permissions. It was why Gemini slowed and touched Lito’s arm to stop her in her tracks. The Border Guard turned and looked at Gemini questioningly.
“What’s wrong?”
Gemini made a face. “Listen, I might need a little latitude while I’m here, okay?”
“Latitude? I don’t understand.”
Gemini stepped back to the wall, steering Lito away from the busy traffic of people trying to circumnavigate them. Gemini said, “I’m kind of here…covertly, you know? On my own time. If you tell your boss I’m making enquiries into such a sensitive matter, they’re going to want to talk to my section chief and…well…it might result in an unnecessary holdup in the process. I’m sure you appreciate how sensitive to time these things are.”
Lito’s brow furrowed. “You mean, you’re not on a sanctioned investigation?”
“I’m working under the radar. That’s all.”
“Well, Ranger Sohn, I’m sorry, but I can’t make that sort of decision. I was just sent down to pick you up.”
“Yeah, I understand. And I’m not asking you to violate any protocol. I just need you to set me up, give me a few minutes leeway, and then you can tell whoever you need to. By then I’ll have the coordinates and I can be on my way.”
Lito took a moment, studying Gemini carefully, before she said, “I could get into a lot of trouble you know.”
“Unlikely. Really, you’re not doing anything wrong.”
“That’s not strictly true though, is it?”
“What? You’ve never bent the rules even a bit?”
“I used to work the Thresholds detail on Genek IV, Ranger. If we bent the rules, even a bit, things could turn very bad very quickly.”
“Yeah, I saw the tattoo. Wolf Blade Unit, right? Impressive. But here’s the thing: If I end up being delayed because of a lot of red tape, the moment could easily have passed. This situation is very fast moving. So, what do you say? We’re people of action you and me, right?”
The corner of Lito
’s mouth curled up. “People of action, huh?”
“I’ll be out of your hair in no time. I promise. Just help me get plugged in, okay?”
3
The Hub was alive with sound and chatter. Positioned overlooking the impossible beauty of Terevell, Border Co-ordinators fielded requests from all manner of interested parties hoping for access to the planet. Many were rejected, but on rare occasions some were granted border codes, at least to the outlying areas, such as Gorm in northwestern Ilmaris, or the Creef in the southern regions of Sigroell. Ilmaris, on the other hand, had become increasingly isolated. Even simple trading with the other free peoples had become challenging.
Lito showed Gemini to a booth with a holodeck and a single viewing pane. Her arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed by the supervisors who were cruising between the long banks of coordinators.
“I’ll give you a half an hour,” Lito said. “My boss is on his lunch break, so I can wait for him to get back before I tell him you needed access to the databanks.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Yeah, so do I.”
And with a quick look around her, as if she had just had a secret meeting with a spy, Border Guard Lito stepped away from the booth and marched back toward the entrance.
Immediately, Gemini dug into her pocket for the quick-link, uploading all the information she had been given by her pixie informant. The creature hadn’t promised her a definitive breakdown of all the border codes, so Gemini hoped to have enough to home in on a partial list from which she could crosscheck with the time tracks. Swiping the viewing screen, Gemini keyed in her ID and began her search, only to find, almost as soon as she brought up the information, that there was a problem. None of the border codes were associated with Ilmaris.
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