by Damien Black
Salmor gave the order and they all withdrew a few paces behind Ulla. Adelko could feel his sixth sense tingling, myriad needles probing at his psyche. As much as he felt anxious, part of him was excited too: after everything they had been through, now at last they might learn who else was behind the attacks on them. Not to mention an insane plot to harness a power that would bring about hell on earth.
With the tome open on the table beside her the witch touched the surface of the pool and began to recite the incantation. The words were foul to the ear; they sounded harsh and unnatural on human lips.
Adelko found himself wondering how the Unseen, the very Archangels themselves, could have taught something so foul to the Almighty’s foremost creation. But then perhaps the language of magick had not seemed so foul in the long-gone days of the Platinum Age.
The crone’s face was a mask of concentration as she mouthed the words, over and over, touching the pool gently with each incomprehensible line. From where he was Adelko could not see into the pool, but he could discern a strange light begin to emanate from it. The sunlight streaming in through the open window seemed to grow darker, and the novice fancied he could hear sounds that had no origin in his vicinity.
And then the surface of the pool began to cast a shimmering light across the room; it ran up the walls like quicksilver before turning a deep sea-green colour. It changed again to a bloody crimson, before deepening into black and blotting out the sunlight altogether. He watched in darkness before colour and light returned to the room; he fancied he saw the vague semblance of a human face stretched macabrely across the walls.
Then a voice filled the chamber. Clear and cold it was, almost without emotion.
‘Who are you? Where is Ragnar?’
The distended lips of the reflected face moved in ghostly time with the icy words. Adelko shivered, his body breaking out into a cold sweat.
‘He-he is busy with the war, he has l-left me to commune on his behalf,’ stammered the crone. She was trying to remember all of Horskram’s instructions, but what she saw in the pool clearly terrified her.
The voice came again. This time it was underscored with contempt.
‘What? Has that Northland hedge wizard dared to take an apprentice without my leave? He might have picked a prettier one. Where is he? How does the war speed? Has he succeeded in putting that fool Krulheim on the Pine Throne yet?’
‘The-the war rages on, my lord,’ stammered the crone. ‘The th-throne is not yet won.’
‘Yes, I’d fathomed as much from his lack of communication, you wretch!’ There was bitter hatred in the voice now, an unreasoning hatred of all things living it seemed to Adelko. ‘When Ragnar returns, tell him to contact me directly – I didn’t take him into my service so he could send his lackeys to tell me the obvious! What else have you to say?’
Trembling, the witch licked her sore-coated lips and said: ‘Ragnar t-told me to ask you if the fragments are safe.’
A moment’s silence. Then a sibilant hiss came from the pool. There was a deadly susurration to it, more menacing by far than any of its previous tones.
‘What did you say?’
‘R-Ragnar asks where the fragments are being kept. H-he says he knows you have them.’
‘Who told him of this? Oh, but wait... I see! So the meddlesome monk has been captured! Excellent! Where is he? Is he still alive? I would have him brought to me if so – but why does Ragnar send the likes of you to discuss such important matters?! Begone, you cur – send for your master immediately, do you hear me? At once! If he has to transform himself into a raven and fly all the way back to Salmor – I want to see him now!’
‘He-he is not present, my lord,’ was all the crone could stammer.
‘Where is the monk?’ yelled the voice from the pool, cracked and harsh with mounting fury. ‘Where is he?’
At this point Horskram stepped forwards, gently moving the witch to one side and squaring up to face the pool.
‘Here he is,’ said the adept softly. ‘I cannot say you are well met, Andragorix.’
Laughter filled the room. It was clearly from a human throat, but the sound set Adelko’s teeth on edge. He thought it every bit as evil as the hideous shriek of the thing that had pursued them between Ulfang and Strongholm. Only it was undeniably human – and somehow that made it even worse.
‘So, you have overcome my Northland hedge wizard!’ the voice exclaimed mockingly. ‘I might have known! Horskram of Vilno, master monk of the Order – you just won’t die, will you?’
‘Your devilish servant did its best to try,’ the adept replied levelly. ‘But the Redeemer watches over his own.’
‘Ah, my demonic servitor gave you a merry chase, eh?’ chuckled the voice of Andragorix. ‘But you won’t be able to cower at Strongholm forever – even now you are beyond range of that which protected you. Oh, I know my old legends as well as you do, Horskram! It is only a matter of time before I recover my strength – you’ll never reach that fool Hannequin alive, mark my words!’
‘There are others who can tell him of your crimes if we fail,’ replied Horskram, unperturbed. ‘But in any case, I do not think you will be sending any more of your servitors to trouble us.’
The adept reached deep into the folds of his habit and withdrew something on a slender iron chain. Hanging from it was a tiny crystal phial. As he held it up above the pool, its unearthly light caught the red dot of a single drop of blood.
The revolted screech that escaped from the pool had everyone in the room but Horskram flinching.
‘No, no! Not that! Put it away! Get that out of my sight, oh mother no...’
Horskram’s lip curled in disgust. ‘Don’t call on your witch mother’s trapped spirit to help you now – look upon the blood of the Redeemer, poltroon, and despair!’
Andragorix must have recovered himself, for he quickly retorted: ‘Ha! Do you think I am a devil, and can be turned by such talismans of your false faith? There are plenty of ways to kill you that a relic won’t protect you from!’
‘Granted,’ replied Horskram. ‘But to do that you’ll have to face us yourself. Where are the fragments, Andragorix?’
The voice from the pool sneered. ‘Safe and sound, quite beyond your feeble grasp! Awaiting their brothers to rejoin them!’
‘Andragorix, know this – wherever you are, I am coming for you,’ said Horskram in a voice that was flat and emotionless. ‘And when I find you, this time I shall not be merciful. You are quite mad, and must be stopped at all costs.’
Another hoot of maniacal laughter shot from the shimmering pool. ‘Oh hear, mother, now he threatens us! Tell me, how is Sir Belinos? Did he smell good after I cooked his flesh? I hope you didn’t have too much trouble burying his remains.’
The voice was cruelly mocking now. But Horskram remained ungoaded. ‘Belinos is in the Heavenly Halls, where his soul rightly belongs,’ he replied calmly, making the sign. ‘I’m sure he was pleased to take your hand with him.’
‘Oh that?’ replied Andragorix. ‘Never mind – I made myself a new one! Those idiot druids were good for teaching me some things – do you like my silver hand, Horskram? I’ll use it to tear out your spleen before long!’
‘I would fain give you the opportunity to try,’ answered the adept. ‘Just tell me where you are – and I’ll come and face you. You and your servants against me and whatever companions will join me. Let’s settle this business between us once and for all!’
The voice laughed again. ‘Oh ho, I always forget you used to be a knight! Spoken like one, truly – the duel of honour, eh? Ah no, I think not, Brother Horskram – you’ll have to work a bit harder than that to find me! Until then, be assured I’ll be keeping a close eye on you – now I know better than to rely on an idiot pagan priest to watch you while I attend to more important matters. And rest assured, I’ve plenty of other servants I can send to test you, ones that won’t flinch at the sight of a prophet’s blood!’
The pool suddenly went dark.
A moment of stygian blackness, and then daylight was streaming through the window again, and all was as it had been before. Horskram stepped back from the pool, making the sign and intoning a quick prayer.
‘We have learned all there is to learn,’ he said presently. ‘Let us clear the room and have all the paraphernalia destroyed. Then I will put a blessing on the room and it can be used once more for cleaner purposes.’
The crone, who had been cowering in a corner, now shuffled up to Horskram. ‘Now you’ll let me go, lord monk?’ she inquired, looking at him with beady, hopeful eyes.
Horskram turned to eye her coldly. Then he looked over at Kelmor and said: ‘My lord, have your men seize this witch immediately.’
The crone wailed piteously as Salmorlund gave the order.
‘Gag her and bind her at once, before she tries any chicanery!’ cried Horskram.
This was quickly done, Adelko looking on aghast. Ulla was a lecherous and greedy old crone, a hedge witch of low character. But she’d never really harmed anyone – and she’d just helped them identify one of the most dangerous black magicians in the Free Kingdoms. Surely this was no way to repay her?
Squaring up to her, Horskram declared: ‘Ulla, the mark of the witch shall be branded on your forehead directly, so that all may know you in future. With Salmorlund’s consent I do also banish you from all his lands including Wethering, on pain of death if you return.’
‘I do so consent,’ intoned the Jarl.
‘Very well,’ rejoined Horskram. ‘Then you have a tenday to quit the Jarldom of Salmorlund. If you are found within its environs after that, you shall be put to death.’
Adelko finally found his voice as the soldiers dragged the gagging crone off to the dungeons with Salmor following behind. ‘But Master Horskram, you promised you’d set her free!’ he cried.
‘She is a pagan witch!’ snarled the adept, rounding on him. ‘No promises can hold when dealing with such.’
‘But, you lied...!’
‘Yes, Adelko, I lied,’ replied his master in a surly voice. ‘You may have noticed on our travels that I’ve done so several times, when need has dictated. Sometimes the greater good must be served with a lesser evil, as I’ve already told you. At least yon witch shall keep her life. Next to the sins of half the men you have kept company with these past weeks, I think this a small one, don’t you?’
‘But it still isn’t right,’ Adelko protested. ‘That witch helped us to identify Andragorix, and you just tossed her aside after using her! It doesn’t seem… well, fair.’
‘Oh for Heaven’s sake, Adelko!’ snapped Horskram. ‘Now is hardly the time for such trifling moral scruples! You’ve just witnessed a war! Think on everything you’ve seen this past fortnight, everything your King has had to do, far greater evils than I have just done, in order to save the kingdom and return it to peace. And now a branded hedge witch troubles your conscience? Don’t make me laugh.’
Adelko felt another rare burst of anger surge through him. His mentor’s cynicism appalled him.
‘So what gives you the right to sit in judgment – after everything you’ve done?’ he yelled. ‘That old crone might be a witch and a thief and a… lecher, but I bet she never killed anyone! “Let he who is without sin hammer the first nail” – that’s what Palom himself said!’
Adelko fixed his mentor with a look that was both triumphant and angry. Surely he had him now – the words the Redeemer had spoken when he abolished executions in his army were common knowledge among students of Scripture.
Horskram returned his gaze and held it. Then he laughed. ‘Ah, you have learned much, Adelko – as high as my praise of you has been, yet still I have underestimated you. Let he who is without sin hammer the first nail indeed! And are you without sin, that judges me so harshly?’
‘I… no. I’m not. No mortal is – every good Palomedian knows that. But I don’t lie. And I don’t have any blood on my hands either.’
A queer light entered the adept’s hard blue eyes. ‘Do you not? And what of the Battle of Salmor? Does the swordsmith not play a part in the deaths dealt by the sword?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Master Horskram. I’m no maker of weapons – I’m just a novice in the Order.’
‘Ah, just a novice in the Order,’ replied Horskram with mocking acquiescence. ‘A novice who played a crucial part in winning a battle, if I remember rightly.’
Horskram fell silent and stared at him pointedly. Adelko didn’t like where this was going. He felt awash with a muddle of emotions. It was suddenly difficult to think straight.
‘How many brave knights of Thule’s perished because you were canny enough to see through the Sea Wizard’s disguise and turn the tables on them?’ pressed Horskram. ‘Your second sight dealt Thule’s men a sounder blow than a hundred blades of Strongholm steel could have done.’
Adelko was about to interject but Horskram forestalled him.
‘Oh I know – treasonous knights died so loyal ones might live,’ he continued. ‘But can you say for sure that all of Thule’s men were bad? Or that all the King’s men are good? Think on Wolmar, as cruel and vain a knight as any that lived – quite possibly your perception saved his life too! Good and evil, noble and base – the lines between such are not so clear as we would like to believe, Adelko.’
Without another word, Horskram turned and stalked from the chamber.
Adelko stood alone in the room for a while, struggling to collect thoughts that were now troubled and confused. A timorous servant came to bar the door pending the chamber’s clearing and reconsecration. Gathering his wits, Adelko left.
A window in the corridor outside faced north. Blankly he looked out of it while the servant hurriedly barred the door behind him. Gazing on the hewn and punctured corpses of the slain piled up on the hills and fields around Salmor, he felt a surge of guilt.
And he realised then that his mentor was right – neither good nor bad, but just simply right.
He thought of the hundreds of knights the King had hanged, of the hundreds more dead and butchered yeomen they had ridden past. In his mind’s eye he saw the hopeless eyes of the peasant women at court on his first day at Strongholm, victims of the angry lust of frenzied soldiers.
What, indeed, was one more lie and a branded hedge witch on top of all of that? He was involved in high events now, and every decision had high consequences.
I would not have you seduced by the way of the sword, Adelko. A pure spirit is a precious thing.
His mentor’s words, on the eve of the march to war. He realised then what Horskram had been trying to tell him. But it was too late for such warnings now. Maybe he hadn’t killed anyone directly, but he had intervened in the work of killers, and that changed everything.
The side he had picked might well have been the right one – but even that would not excuse him from judgment, in the end.
Adelko hung his head, and a sorrow came over him. All his life he had thirsted for adventure. Now it had found him with a vengeance, and there could be no turning back. His innocence was gone forever.
CHAPTER XV
A Farewell Feast
King Freidheim turned from the window as Horskram finished relaying the events of the morning. They were alone in a chamber in a turret of the castle, from where he had been observing the preparations for the victory feast.
Salmor had been a hubbub of activity all day, as servants scurried to and fro. All the knights and lords would be crammed into the great hall, to celebrate the crushed rebellion with their King and his loyal barons. Outside, in fields directly south of the castle, trestle tables were being set up for the commoners who had taken part in the war, for summer was near and the nights were increasingly warm.
Freidheim prided himself on being able to concentrate on more than one thing at a time, but his scrutiny of the preparations had soon waned as the monk’s latest story unfolded.
‘Reus Almighty!’ breathed Freidheim, walking over to sit in a chai
r and motioning for Horskram to do likewise. ‘So you mean to tell me this Andragorix was behind Thule’s bloody uprising all along! Reus be damned!’
He knew he shouldn’t blaspheme, especially not before an Argolian. But the way he saw it, he was King and could blaspheme any time he damn well pleased.
‘Not directly, as I have just endeavoured to explain,’ rejoined Horskram, tactfully overlooking his transgression. ‘But presumably he was able to seduce the ambitious Northland priest to his will, who in turn was set to pouring poison in Thule’s ear. Thus will the servants of the Fallen One ever work, playing pawn over pawn.’
‘And this Ragnar, what of him?’
‘It seems likely that he transformed himself into a raven or other swift bird as soon as he saw all was lost,’ replied Horskram. ‘Andragorix himself intimated he had that power. Plus one of the windows to his chamber was open.’
The King pursed his lips as he considered this. The mysterious monk’s story still did not quite add up.
‘But one thing, Horskram,’ he pressed. ‘One thing puzzles me. If this Andragorix had scrying powers as you say he did, how then were you able to use that old crone to hoodwink him into thinking the war wasn’t lost? Wouldn’t he have divined as much using his black arts already?’
‘I was wondering if that gambit would pay off,’ replied Horskram. ‘But in his closing words he said he’d had “other matters” to attend to. He also let slip that his strength was not at optimum – from what we know of sorcerers, they can become psychically fatigued by their efforts, just as a warrior in the field can grow tired after one sword-stroke or forced march too many.’
‘I’m sure my men could tell you plenty about that just now!’ rejoined the King with a booming laugh. His recent victory had left him feeling more contented than usual. Wars were unpleasant, but by Reus it still felt good to win one.
‘Just so,’ continued Horskram. ‘It also became clear during our discourse that Andragorix had been relying on the Sea Wizard to keep tabs on Adelko and me during our journey – it was he who commissioned the Northland brigands to pursue us, having probably flown to Port Cravern to hire them at his master’s command. But even this conclusion doesn’t solve the mystery of just what has been occupying him – I have my suspicions in that area however.’
