by Martin Ash
Leth fought back his anger. Rasgul spoke, showing no emotion at Harg's pointed insinuation. 'He is right, Swordbearer. You can do nothing.'
Leth remounted. He looked again at the tragic child, then his thoughts flew ahead. Where were his children? In the Fortress that lay somewhere before him? Alive - that is, fully alive - or had they too been reduced to ambulant corpses or transformed into mindless child-warriors?
'Let us move on!' he ordered.
They had not gone more than a few yards before he realised the worst. The boy had not stood alone on the plain. Now Leth saw the others emerging out of the strange haze. There were scores of them; possibly even hundreds or more, for the haze, closer upon the riders now, revealed nothing beyond a distance of a hundred paces or so away.
The children’s ages ranged from fifteen or so down to tiny infants barely able to walk. They stood, sat, lay prone upon the cold dusty plain. Alone or in small knots and groups - it made little difference for they were unaware of one another’s presence and no communication passed between them. Some of them walked in slow, foot-dragging circles, others meandered aimlessly. Some, like the first, shuffled from foot to foot but never left the spot where they stood.
And there were the dead. The plain was strewn with corpses, new and decaying, and small skeletons clad in tatters and rags.
And the silence . . .
It was in some ways almost the worst thing. So many children. Their noise, their boisterousness, the spontaneous youthful celebration of living that could rise so naturally over almost any hardship - all this was terribly and completely absent.
Leth stared at the faces of those they passed close to, dreading that at any moment he might recognize the ruined features of his own child.
'Have faith that yours are not among them, Swordbearer,' said Rasgul.
Leth was haggard. 'Faith?'
'You can’t stop and examine every one. They are lost. They are too many, and every second spent here diminishes the hopes of those still imprisoned in the Fortress. It is those you must consider now, the ones that the Great Sow has not yet fed on.'
Deep within himself Leth acknowledged the truth of this. Jace and Galry's one hope was that the Kancanitrix had not yet touched them and that he might still reach them before she did.
The air had taken on a faint reddish tinge. Everything was toned by a dull bloodlight. The seven had entered the outermost fringe of the areas touched by the red glow that Leth had first spied from the road to Ardbire Keep. They were far out on the bed of the Death Abyss now. At almost any moment, Leth knew, he would be setting eyes for the first time upon the Fortress of the Dark Flame, and the monstrous creature that it housed would be separated from him by no more than the thickness of its protective walls.
iv
Rasgul, at the fore again, raised his hand abruptly. They had advanced well into the red haze. They halted. Leth brought his horse alongside the Abyss warrior. 'What is it?'
'I must take your weapons now.'
Leth could see no more than fifty yards or so in any direction. The haze was deeper, closer all around. It had become oppressive, a weird half-light that played upon his nerves. Children wandered within it like ghouls, or stood stock still, darkly bloodlit shadows, some with lips moving soundlessly like the first, none acknowledging in any way the seven riders in their midst.
'I’m not happy with this.'
Rasgul's features were set. 'We have come this far; this is the only way if we are not to turn back. Do you want to turn back?'
'You know I can’t.'
'Very soon now we will encounter warriors from the Fortress. They must see that I am bringing back captives.'
Leth turned in the saddle and saw Harg and Juson giving up their swords. With a resigned sigh he unbuckled the scimitar Harg had given him and handed it to Rasgul. Then he unbuckled the Orbsword. Dembarl dismounted and came to take it from him. He staggered under its sudden weight and looked up in some surprise at Leth, then bore it over to Rasgul's horse and held it while Rasgul strapped it behind his saddle.
'You see, the hilt is unharnessed,' said Rasgul to Leth. 'Summon it and it will fly to you.'
Harg and Juson were having their hands tied behind them. Rasgul approached Leth with a short length of cord. 'Don your helm, Swordbearer.'
Leth did so, then crossed his wrists behind his back. Rasgul bound his wrists and said, 'Check it. It’s a slip knot, and not tight. You can pull free with the minimum of effort, as you must do if we are discovered.'
Leth tested the binding. Rasgul adjusted the knot then climbed back on his horse. Now they rode forward with Rasgul at the fore and Leth, Harg and Juson coming behind in single file. Dembarl and Huuri rode guard, one upon each flank, and Fhurn brought up the rear.
The flat plain dipped a little. Huge, strangely conformed boulders stood out here and there, emerging suddenly as if thrust up out of the ground. The dark red luminescence grew more intense. Leth watched the children still, peering into the faces of those he was close enough to make out. He calculated that he had already passed more than a hundred, plus countless dead. Of the living, not a single one showed a spark of inner life, but either shambled slowly or was silent and still, eyes cast sightlessly to the dust. He wondered how many more there could possibly be; how many Ascaria needed to fulfil her aims.
Rasgul uttered a sharp word of warning. A party of Abyss warriors rode up the slope towards them. Leth slumped forward a little in the saddle to give the appearance of dejection.
The warriors, six in number, halted and their leader greeted Rasgul in harsh, guttural tones. They exchanged a few words; Rasgul jerked his thumb back, indicating the three 'captives'. All the warriors' eyes were on the three, though most pointedly on the knight in sapphire armour and helm. Leth heard brief, coarse laughter, then the Abyss warriors went on their way, filing slowly past him, their pale faces curious. Rasgul signalled forward and they continued on.
'It’s an encouraging start,' declared Rasgul a short distance on, when the Abyss warriors were well gone. 'They suspected nothing. Now, prepare yourselves. The greatest test is before us.'
Though the glassy red light still persisted, the haze had lifted noticeably. Leth stared ahead to where the rough ground rose, some two hundred paces distant, to a long low ridge. Upon the ridge a dark, crouching form: a huge castle of three levels, characterized by massive fortified walls and five wide, lowering rounded towers. The walls followed the contours of the ridge; the entire edifice was constructed of a dark, red-black stone, and it seemed to Leth that it was from the Fortress itself that the red luminescence radiated. Lights glimmered about its battlements. An exposed, elevated roadway of a hundred yards or so led up to a colossal barbican. Leth’s stomach tightened.
Rasgul glanced back at him, his face sombre and haunted in the bloodlight. 'Are you ready, Swordbearer? Ascaria awaits you.'
EIGHT
i
Issul strained against her bonds, though it was futile. She was securely bound and no amount of flexing, twisting and manipulating was going to permit her to break free.
More than an hour had passed since she had fallen into the hands of this band of - what were they? Disciplined cutthroats? Mercenary outlaws? She still did not know. They had not harmed her and she remained under the impression that they were unsure of what to do with her. From their failure to enquire as to her identity or her reasons for being here alone in the forest, however, she had come to believe that they had a reasonably sure idea of who she was.
She was intrigued by the disappearance of their commander, the man in the blue cloak. There had been something about him that she felt she knew, though she had not seen his face. Now she wondered, had his departure at the time of her capture been coincidence? That is, had he simply left at this time on pre-planned business, or had he deliberately absented himself for fear of being recognized by her? Her intuition inclined her towards the latter.
Issul racked her mind, but she could not fit a face onto tha
t body which she knew instinctively was not that of a total stranger.
She had been perfunctorily questioned three times. On each occasion it was the burly, black-bearded man who she had seen earlier with the tracker, who had interrogated her. His questions were gruff and to the point - he wanted to know the whereabouts of the chest she had carried. He showed interest in little else.
Each time she answered evasively, pretending ignorance. Though plainly frustrated by her attitude, Blackbeard had until now pressed no harder. His chilling parting comment had been, 'You will tell us. Be sure of that. We are patient just now, but we don’t intend to wait forever. Think of what it will mean if you choose not to tell us.'
They knew about the chest, but not what it contained. They knew it to be significant, but not what its precise significance was. This much she was able to deduce - Blackbeard's interrogation skills were rudimentary, and he gave away more than he was aware of.
The last two times that he had come across to question her, Issul noticed something. Prior to his approaching her, another member of the gang, who she took to be on sentry duty, had arrived. They had conferred briefly, heads together with the other gang-members. Then Blackbeard had come over and put his questions to her. When he left her the men spoke again quickly, then the sentry made off once more into the trees.
Issul wondered, was the sentry conveying the content of her interrogation to another person? Did the mysterious blue-cloaked leader of this anomalous band wait somewhere close by, deliberately beyond her sight?
The afternoon wore on. Issul was left to ponder her predicament - deliberately, she supposed.
'Think of what it will mean if you choose not to tell us.'
Yes, those words had not been chosen lightly. They played upon her mind. She did not imagine they had originated from Blackbeard.
And it was not only the tortures and indignities that these men might inflict upon her that were implied here. Of equal if not greater importance were the consequences of her being led from this place without giving up the chest. The leader of this gang realised the possibility, just as Issul herself knew, that if she was taken far from here she might never locate the chest again.
Issul weighed this over and over in her mind. She could not afford to leave without Orbelon. Not under any circumstances.
But neither could she give him up to ruffians like these!
So what choice had she?
At the back of her thoughts hovered the unlikely prospect of somehow bringing these men around to the possibility of joining with her. It was a mad, absurd hope. She did not know who they were, or what precisely they wanted. Logically, they could not want to see the blue casket and Orbelon destroyed, for his destruction, ultimately, was also theirs. They might not know this, of course. Unless . . .
Unless what? Might they be True Sept members? Unlikely. They did not speak or convey themselves in the manner of fanatics. Nor did she suspect them of working for the Karai. So ultimately - though she could not be totally certain - they should have nothing to gain by seeing the casket destroyed.
But so many unknowns! Nothing could be relied upon!
Desperate and thwarted though she was, the knowledge that to lose Orbelon was to lose everything kept bringing her back to clutch at the flimsiest of straws.
How might she win the confidence of men like these?
The answer was that she did not have to. She had to gain the confidence of their leader, who declined to show himself.
It had grown cold in the dwindling afternoon. The sun was low now, the forest shadows long and full. A few acutely-slanting shafts of pale sunlight managed to stab through to the forest floor, but the uneasy dappled light they cast brought no warmth. The breeze, though light, still pierced inactive flesh. Motionless for so long, Issul had begun to shiver and her fingers and toes grew raw and painful. She called out to the men, 'Is it your intention to have me freeze to death?'
As one they looked her way. They had lit no fire, presumably out of fear of drawing attention. From time to time they had been getting up and stamping their feet and performing exercises to stimulate their circulation. After a moment Blackbeard rose and came over to her. He drew a knife from his belt. 'I will free your ankles. You can stand and walk around a bit, warm yourself. No tricks, mind. We’re watching you.'
He stooped and cut through the ligament binding her ankles. At that moment one of the other men called to him and made a signal with his hands. He seemed to be indicating the woods off to one side. Blackbeard straightened.
'Wait,' he told her gruffly, before she could stand. He walked back to the others. Issul gathered that he had acted without permission, and was being advised to seek his leader's approval before allowing her to walk. She flexed her ankles and toes but made no attempt to rise.
She cast her gaze around. Was it possible to make a break for it, even with her hands bound? The men were watching her keenly and she knew lookouts were close by. She dismissed the thought. And at that moment something extraordinary happened.
Without identifiable reason Issul was visited with the sudden conviction that her husband, King Leth, was close at hand. The thought was irrational, yet the impression was overwhelming, so much so that she could not prevent herself responding to it. She turned her head and peered hard into the shadows.
Leth?
Her heart pounded. She was so sure he was there.
Leth?
It was madness, yet. . . a glimmer of movement in the undergrowth a little way off.
Help me, Leth! Help me!
He was on horseback, beneath the trees. Without another thought for her guards Issul clambered to her feet and began to run stiffly towards him. 'Leth, help me! Quickly, free me! I am in trouble!'
The figure on the horse moved towards her. She saw, not Leth, but a warrior-knight in fabulous, gleaming, blue-tinged armour, an ornate, horned and plumed helm upon his head. She stopped running, suddenly confused. There was something wrong. The horseman had also stopped. He was indefinite in form, a phantom. She did not know what to do.
There came the sound of pounding hooves. Out of nowhere a second horseman appeared, grim and pale-faced in black half-armour, bearing down upon her, a slender scimitar raised high. She turned away instinctively, but there was no time to get out of his path. She cried out.
She heard another cry: 'NNO-OOOOO!'
Leth's voice - unmistakeable!
But now there was nothing.
Issul staggered back, stupefied. Both horsemen had disappeared. Or had they never been?
She turned. Blackbeard and the others were just behind her. They had obviously rushed to seize her. But they stood stock still now, their expressions mirroring her own.
'You saw it, didn't you?'
It was a relief. For she had wondered whether she alone had perceived the phantoms; whether she was mad.
Her captors eyed her warily. It struck her then: They think I conjured this!
She had been on the point of asking them what they had seen, to verify her own experience. Did they think it had meaning? Where had the phantoms sprung from? But now she kept silence, thinking that she might just turn their suspicion to her advantage.
Blackbeard came forward and grasped her arm. 'I told you, no tricks!'
His eyes flickered edgily past her, into the woods. His grip was tentative, almost gentle. She sensed that she was being treated with a new respect.
She allowed herself to be led back to the tree where she had been seated, too dazed to offer any resistance. One of the men spoke in a nervous voice, but she did not hear what he said. Blackbeard's grip became a touch firmer as his fears that she might yet strike him down with magic were dispelled. She sat down again.
What happened here? What just happened?
She thought of the Reach Riders, spoken of by Orbelon: phantasmal creatures, awesomely powerful, which would come out of Enchantment, bringing with them a wake of chaos and destruction, paving the way for Enchantment to grow. Was that what
she had just witnessed? The thought chilled her; what will it mean if the first of the Reach Riders is free? Is there still time for us to act?
Without consulting Orbelon further she could be certain of nothing.
But why had she felt so certain of Leth's presence? Even now, despite everything, she felt him, as though he had somehow been close - and his anguished cry still echoed in her mind.
Her captors stood in a knot close by. They flashed her mistrustful glances and scanned the woods, apprehensive of another manifestation. Though obviously shaken by what they had witnessed, their overall composure, individually and as a unit, impressed her. Typical bandits, even many soldiers, would have been panic-stricken at the sight of the phantom warriors. They would likely have fled. These men, though alarmed, had not for more than an instant been deflected from their purpose. Once again Issul found herself wondering who they were.
She let her head tip back against the tree-trunk and closed her eyes. She was sinking again into despondency, not knowing how she could escape this terrible situation and continue with her mission. She heard a heavy footfall in front of her and opened her eyes to see Blackbeard looming above her.
'Was that your doing?'
Issul hesitated. Should she continue with her bluff, let them believe she commanded elemental powers? Or was it better to admit the truth? Or could she work upon them with half-truth, a middle path by which she might yet lead them in the way she wanted? She elected for the latter. 'Such phenomena will recur again and again, becoming destructive and uncontrollable, if I am not permitted to continue on my way.'
Blackbeard digested this with a frown, clearly not sure what to make of her. She saw in his eyes an alert, if cold, intelligence. 'Do you threaten us?'
'I merely state how it is.'
'You mean it has to do with the chest, and what it contains?'
