The Tower of Living and Dying

by Anna Smith Spark

The last bloke looked at his friends’ bodies and howled and dropped his sword and got down on his knees gasping “please.”

  Thank the gods. Tobias held his sword over him. “You surrendering?”

  “Yes. Gods, yes.”

  Landra said faintly, “You’re with Marith?” Let’s hope, eh? Tobias thought painfully. Bit pointless, all this, otherwise. Might be a bit late to apologize and wish them well on their way.

  The prisoner stiffened. “I serve the king.” The way his voice said the word “king,” sweet in his mouth, sucking on it as if it was honey. Made Tobias want to puke.

  “What are you doing here?” said Raeta.

  Silence.

  Tobias held up his sword. “What are you doing here?”

  “One of the guides deserted, ran off over the mountains. We were sent to track her down.” The weak face looked helplessly at Tobias. “Are you going to kill me? Though I’m dead whatever, now.”

  “Oh gods, man, don’t be so bloody melodramatic. And she meant, what’s he doing here? Your king?”

  The poor bloke stared all round him. Stared at Tobias’s sword. At his mate missing his head. “I don’t know. We’ve been camped here for days now. But I don’t know what he’s doing here. I swear. Nobody knows.”

  “What’s your name?” Landra asked the bloke.

  “Graventh,” the bloke replied. “Grav. From Sel Isle. You’re from the Whites?”

  “From Third Isle.” Landra turned away. Pretty sure she was crying. She made a choking sound. “Third Isle.”

  “He’ll kill you,” said Grav.

  “Yeah, yeah. What did I say about the melodrama? But before he kills us, you’re going to have to take us to him.”

  Landra’s voice came up suddenly in a scream. “I’ve trained to use a blade! I killed a man, when the bandits had attacked outside Skerneheh. Stabbed him in the hand, knocked him down, I rode my horse over him. I didn’t even manage to hold my sword properly.”

  Raeta said, “It was a good thing, Landra. He’s alive, he can lead us to Marith. You did a good thing, not killing him. Tobias and I … we failed, killing the other men.”

  Raeta looked at Tobias. Shook her head at him. Failed. Yeah. That was it, definitely. He nodded back. “Raeta’s right, Landra. We needed one alive. Well done.” Just don’t tell that to my bloody ribs and leg.

  The prisoner led them up along the bank of the river Elenanen. Whose name, Tobias had realized, must mean something like “Sorrow.” Or “Joy.” It rushed down in a torrent of snowmelt, ice cold, sharp and fierce. Well named, yeah, the way it rushed down. Kites and crows circled above. Watching them. They had come down in a cloud for the dead men. Raeta looked exhausted. Frightened. Landra was white faced, still mumbling about her knife. After a while, they turned off the road, scrambled up a narrow track like an animal track. The trees gave way to scrub grass and thorns and bare grey rock. Hard, bitter ground. Every step hurt the body, hard pain down into the bone.

  Gods curse this bloody godsdamned bloody place. I’m a sellsword, I’m not a fucking mountaineer. The rock beneath Tobias’s feet slipped suddenly, twisting his ankle round. He stumbled, landed hard on jagged stone, scraped his hands on thorns. “Gods! This godsdamned place! What in all gods is he bloody doing up here? He’s supposed to be bloody well invading bloody Illyr. Not fucking around camped up a bloody mountain.”

  “Treating the wife to a walking holiday? Taken up landscape painting? Heard about a particularly good hatha den hereabouts?” Raeta’s voice was harsh and drawn. She sounded so bloody afraid. “Think about it, Tobias. Think.”

  Landra said quietly, “He’s looking for something.”

  “Looking for what? Particularly viciously bloody rocks?”

  Grav smiled like daggers. “I lied. I do know why he’s here. Clever girl, Landra. He is looking for something. But not rocks.”

  An empty landscape. The Empty Peaks. The border between the world of cities and the wasteland where nothing lived. Why does nothing live here? Do you think?

  Raeta moaned. Landra wept. With fear or with pity or with laughter. Tobias pissed himself.

  From over the mountain came the sound of beating wings.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Night, and almost dawn. Thalia was sleeping, breathing softly, her hair hanging over her face, one hand raised near her mouth. Barely visible in the dark, the faint glow from the brazier catching on her skin. Marith sat and watched her for a while. His breathing in time with hers. Never ceased to wonder, watching her. Luminous bronze, like flowers opening, like water and light. The first time he saw her face, shining like that … Perfect beauty. Hope.

  Misplaced. Like everything. The pitiful illusion that life was worth something. Life is death, Marith. Love is death. There is no hope. He had not told her about Tyrenae. She would understand, perhaps. But it would burn like ice, to see her face if she knew. She would have to know in the end.

  I wish I hadn’t done it, he thought. Osen had asked him if he was certain. He had paused a long time, before he had said yes. And there, now, another guilt. I shouldn’t have asked it of him, he thought.

  Betray me, he thought, looking at Thalia. Destroy me. Please. If you love. Carin loved me enough to help me. You … do not, I think. The Chosen of the God of Living and Dying, radiant with light. You do not understand. You cannot.

  Osen understands, he thought then. It sickened him, then, to think that. Osen had always understood.

  He got up, wrapped the thick fur blanket carefully around her. Caring. Taking care of her. Even despite everything. She moved and frowned and sighed. Didn’t wake. He dressed quickly, feeling his clothes in the dark. His sword caught with a clatter on one leg of the brazier: he froze, guilty, waiting for her to wake. She stirred and sighed again, her eyes blinked open blindly, then rolled back into sleep. Marith counted to two hundred in his head. When she was certainly asleep he buckled his sword belt, fastened his bloodstained blood stinking cloak. The movement of the fabric raised a stench of rot in the tent. Flakes of blood moving in the draft blowing in through the tent’s seams. He trailed blood where he walked now, like a man who had been walking in the muck. Slug trails. Sometimes Thalia had to brush it out of her hair.

  He pushed aside the curtain separating the sleeping room from the main chamber of the tent, went through. A candle burned there on a low table set with fine worked silver jugs and cups. He lit a second candle, poured himself a drink, splashed water on his face. The wine was as cold as the water. He drank the wine off, refilled his cup, drank again. The cold sharp sweetness of it sang in his head. He drew a long breath. Stepped outside.

  It was perfect dark, no moon, no stars. The cloud had thickened overnight. The torches had all burned down to embers, the campfire was dead. Utter silence in the camp. Tal sat hunched in the tent doorway, sleeping, his sword drawn across his knees. Should have the man cut to pieces, for falling asleep on watch. Cut him and maim him and feed his eyes and his tongue to the dogs.

  He walked carefully over the curled bodies of the guards who should be watching. It was too dark to see, but he walked as if he could see. His eyes open. Staring into the dark. He walked further up the slopes of the mountain, his feet crunching on the stones. The air itself smelled of stone. In the sky in the east the very first faint whiteness of morning. He could see, without seeing, the tents damp with dew, the men sleeping, the dead fires, Thalia sleeping with her hands against her face. The slopes of the mountain were dead and silent. Everything still. Waiting. Afraid.

  A memory came to him: walking on a riverbank, in the dawn, watching the mist rise, the world pale and strange, his own vision pale and strange. The bog smell of the water. Silence, and then the harsh sad cry of a bird. A terrible, fearful knowledge of impending joy and horror, of something coming in the dawn. A keening grief struck through him as of something lost. A pain.

  I should kill her, he thought. Destroy her. Like I killed Carin.

  He stopped walking. He’d come far enough. The cam
p was below out of sight in the rocks. The sun was rising. It was time.

  So.

  Marith sat down on a rock, took a drink from the wineflask at his belt, rubbed at his eyes. His hands were shaking. Stupid. No need to be afraid, he thought. I have no need to be afraid. Not now. He took another drink of wine. Looked at the ragged face of the mountain before him. Stood up and raised his arms.

  “Athelarakt! Mememonsti tei essenek! Ansikanderakesis teme tei kekilienet! Athela!”

  Come out! Show yourself! Your king summons you. Come!

  His voice echoed on the rock. Nothing moved. Pink breaking dawn. Thick black clouds at the peaks. A dead land.

  “Athelarakt! Ansikanderakesis teme tei kekilienet! Ansikanderakesis teme! Athela!”

  Nothing.

  “Athela!”

  A crow called, off to his left. Marith almost laughed: was that it, all he would find, his voice’s echo and a crow?

  The crow called again. Stones rattled behind him. Ah, gods … He swung round.

  “Marith.” Thalia was there, wrapped in her furs, Ithish diamonds at her throat. “Marith.”

  He said in confusion, “What are you doing here? It’s not … not safe.”

  “Not safe?” She smiled. “I chose to come. I think I will be safe.”

  “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I was. You woke me up. Crashing around with your sword trying to be quiet.” Her smile faded. “You shouldn’t drink in the mornings.”

  “I needed it, this morning.”

  Opened her mouth to speak, then sighed. Laughed. Bitter laugher. Sad. “I’ll have a drink too, then.”

  “You don’t need it.” Drops of wine red on her lips. It made him flinch, to see her drink. She gave the wineflask back to him.

  “Come on then,” said Thalia. Marith shook himself, followed her further up the slopes of the mountain, the path winding up and back on itself, a hard scramble over rocks that cut at their hands. Thalia’s cloak caught, he had to detach it, ripping the lining; her hair came loose and blew in the wind. She was panting a little. Enjoying herself. He’d taken her climbing at Malth Elelane, on the cliffs of the headland that ran down to deep rock pools and caves and the sea. She’d laughed as she climbed.

  They came to a narrow gap in the rocks, a thin passage through like an open door. The path ran through it, water running down in a stream making the ground shine. So narrow they had to go through sideways. It opened out into a wide gorge, sheltered and green, its walls great tumbled masses of stone. A peaceful place. Calm out of the wind. The cloud was coming down over the mountains, making it misty, as though seen through a hatha haze. Marith rubbed at his eyes again.

  “Here,” Thalia said. She took his hand. “Ynthelaranemyn mae.”

  He almost snatched his hand away from her. Then grasped hers more tightly. Warm. “Ynthelaranen, beloved. It will come. Singular. I hope.”

  They stood together looking at the rocks and the grass and the gathering cloud. Slowly the world fading, grey mist covering everything, closing off their vision. Grey mist and grey rock. The side of the mountain merged away. Morning light dimmed. Silence, different to the silence before the cloud came down, heavier and waiting. Like the memory again, the river mist, the dawn, knowing something was near.

  No, Marith thought. That, that was a memory of this place.

  Ah, gods. Flee. Run away from here. Take her away. She is betraying me? Then beg her to kill me here, now, before it’s too late. She is betraying me? Then she is as wise as she is beautiful, and all the world should thank her.

  The cloud stirred. Sounds in the rocks: scrabbling, stones shifting, stones dragging against stone. Stones shattering under great weight. A rasping breathing that sounded like a man breathing as he died in pain.

  Athelenaranen.

  It comes.

  Smoke smell. Hot metal. Charred meat. Colour, coming towards them through the cloud. A glow of burning. Something too huge to be properly seen.

  Marith drew a breath. His eyes itching. Fire. Smoke. Burning. Scalded metal. Fear. Joy. He clawed at his eyes. Thalia was trembling, her hand cold with sweat, fingers clutched into his palm. Marith squeezed it tightly. It’s all right. It’s all right, beloved. I’ve done this before, remember? That didn’t end … quite as badly as it might have done.

  It came closer. A vast shape, vast as buildings, blocking out the weak little light of the sun. Its own light, red as coal fires, flickering from eyes and mouth and scales. The scrape of stones breaking beneath it. A hissing of steam and the rasping raw breath.

  The dragon bent out of the mist. Lowered itself before Marith. Bowed its head.

  Like a horse, waiting to be mounted. Like a dog, beaten and begging for treats.

  Like a lover, kneeling in desire and surrender at his feet.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The camp was finally stirring as they made their way back down. Tal sat up and stretched, blinked heavy eyes. Marith smiled at him.

  “Pleasant sleep?”

  “My Lord King … Gods … My Lord King …” Groggy look on his face, that horrible feeling one got from sleeping in armour, sticky clammy like the skin was half rust. “My Lord King … My Queen …”

  “You’re forgiven. Everyone seems to be asleep this morning. Get people awake and a bath drawn. Some breakfast.” Marith went into the tent, began pouring himself a drink. Thalia’s hand came to rest on his arm.

  “You promised.”

  Kill her. Destroy her. If she will not destroy you. “It’s not every day one commands a dragon, beloved.”

  She considered this. Smiled. A wide, delighted smile. She picked up the flask and the cups and led him through into the sleeping area. “That’s true. Marith the dragonlord. Marith to whom dragons kneel in homage. That, we should celebrate.”

  A very nice day. Wine and love, and he could almost forget what she had done. Get deliciously drunk and fuck for hours. In bright sunlight, and in the evening shadows, and in the dark by candlelight. In the mountains, the empty places, it all seemed so far away. I’m wrong, he thought again. Osen was wrong. Thalia gave Landra a necklace. So what? I destroyed Landra’s home and all her family. Left her less than I ever was. Why should I grudge Landra a necklace? She sold it to buy bread. Bread! Thalia is so beautiful and so alive even the gods come to worship her, and yet she stays here with me. In the cold emptiness, in the tent, it reminded him of being in the desert, facing down another dragon, triumphant, glorious, beneath the endless sky. They whispered to each other of the dragon. Wondered in it, together. How can I think she will betray me, Marith thought, when we together have seen and done such things? Whatever comes after, she has stood by my side and seen such things. “Marith the dragonlord. Marith to whom the dragons kneel in homage.” Ah, gods, yes! Wine, and love, and memories of the desert, when he first met her, and that night they stood together drunk and laughing and watched dragon fire burn in mountain heights through soft spring rainfall, and stumbled together back into bed.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Watched the dragon circle high into the morning sunlight, beating its vast wings, breathing out fire, shrieking out a song. At last, long after it had vanished into the horizon, they crept onwards. Tobias saw it and felt it every moment, watching him. They went on bent over, crawling through ragged undergrowth, painfully vulnerable. The sound of wing beats, dragon song in the air. Hot faces, as though they already burned with dragon fire.

  “There,” Grav said after a long time crawling. “There. Over that ridge. His camp.”

  Tobias closed his eyes.

  “I’ll go and scout it out,” said Raeta.

  Tobias let out a sigh of relief.

  There was a tumble of rocks nearby, the remains of an old rockfall from the heights. Or from where dragon claws had torn and rent the earth. They found a sort of cave there. Landra found faded marks on the cave walls, letters carved in Itheralik. “Amrath’s soldiers,” Raeta said, “perhaps. When He crossed into Ith. Or deserter
s from His army, running back to Illyr.” She took off her pack, her cloak, left everything but her knife with them in the cave. “If I’m not back in an hour,” she said, “then …” She smiled at them. “You’ll have to kill him anyway.”

  She came back in much less than an hour. Yes. His camp. “Four tents,” she said. “Perhaps twenty people. Most of them armed soldiers. Nothing much seemed to be going on. I didn’t see him.”

  “No dragon?” Imagined it curled up like a watchdog, outside Marith’s tent.

  She snorted. “No.”

  “He’ll kill you,” said Grav.

  “I told you to stop being so bloody melodramatic.”

  Tobias considered Grav for a while. Sat on the other side of the cave looking at him. Went up close to him. He’s shown us to Marith’s tent. So his job’s done.

  He stuck his sword into Grav’s chest.

  Grav gasped like a fish and was dead.

  Landra cried out. Raeta cried out. Soft. We’re on an assassination mission here, you two, Tobias thought. He felt sick.

  “Extra couple of hours, he had, thanks to you,” he said to Landra. Could hear the tremor in his voice.

  She looked down at her hands. “Yes.”

  Neither of them helped him drag Grav’s body to the back of the cave. He wiped and swiped his hands on the scrub outside the cave.

  Landra came over after a while, gave him a torn bit of her skirt to clean himself up with.

  “I had to do it,” Tobias said. She didn’t say anything. She was squeezing her vile bit of yellow cloth.

  “We’ll do it tonight, then,” said Raeta. Her voice sounded strange. Heavy. There was a roughness to it. Like sawing wood. Her eyes flashed. “Tonight.”

  Here we are again, then. One more day to live.

  The day passed forever and much too quickly. They sat in the cave, stared at the walls, tried not to gag at the smell of Grav’s blood. I really shouldn’t have stabbed him, Tobias thought. I’m sorry, man. Nothing personal. Honest. Look, you’d have done the same thing to me. Probably with more relish.