The Best Weapon

by David Pilling

  Fulk saw them all die, all these hopeless youths, drunk on dreams of glory, felled by a mental blast from the Oldest One that froze the marrow in their bones and stopped their hearts. And that was the true fate of the First Reconquest, so long a mystery in the Winter Realm.

  "Since you are so powerful, why do you not face the Devourer?" demanded Fulk, looking without fear at the glistening mass of the Oldest One.

  "I have not survived these many eons by picking fights I cannot win," purred the smooth, self-assured voice, sweet as honey, lethal as a thousand vipers, "far better to watch from afar and let others take the risk. And in any case, it was your damned family who created this mess, so you can clear it up."

  "Very well, but I will come back. One day I will come back, and there will be a reckoning for all the brave men you killed."

  "I look forward to it, No Man's Son."

  Fulk raised his hand and the core of white flame re-appeared, crackling and rapidly expanding to light his way out of the dark beneath the world. He strode confidently back the way he had come.

  * * * *

  The Speaker waited outside the gates of the fortress all night, leaning on her staff in a silent vigil outside the black gates. Banner Chief Kavsna and his men stayed with her. As the grey fingers of dawn stole across the land more Godless Ones, drawn by curiosity, wandered over from their encampment.

  He dared not show it in front of his troops, but Kavsna was nervous. The Speaker hadn't said anything for hours, and her body was as rigid and motionless as any corpse. Kavsna assumed that she was in the grip of some trance, but without her guidance he had no clue as to the fate of the prisoner they had dumped inside the castle, or what was supposed to happen next.

  Being so close to the fortress filled him with a primitive dread. His people did indeed refrain from worshipping any of the recognised gods, but they paid homage to the Oldest One, the all-powerful presence that dwelled beneath the earth. It never came above ground but communicated with them via the Speakers, long-dead men and women reanimated by the force of the Oldest One's will. Privately, Kavsna had no love for the Oldest One, or the demands the Speakers made of his people, and preferred to stay away from the crumbling ruins it dwelled under.

  His gloomy train of thought was interrupted by a dull boom coming from inside the castle, like a hammer striking a mighty anvil. The ancient iron gates bulged outwards for a moment and the Godless Ones standing closest to them hurriedly gave back. They were wise to do so, for the next moment the boom sounded again, much louder this time, and the hinges of the gates were engulfed by crackling blue fire.

  The metal of the hinges began to bubble and hiss, solid iron melting away to black slime in a matter of seconds, and the gates slowly toppled outwards. Kavsna stood and stared, as people will when confronted by the impossible. The massive iron gates thumped into the ground and a familiar figure strode out from under the blackened archway.

  Kavsna recognised the prisoner, though he was a very different man from the one he had locked inside the fortress. He walked with an air of command and wreaths of blue fire played about his hands and wrists. The Banner Chief gasped at the sight of Fulk's face and the two red raw bleeding holes where his eyes used to be, and the troopers around him cried out in fear.

  One raised his javelin. Without breaking stride, Fulk snapped his fingers and the man's heart stopped beating. His face turned the colour. of grey ash and he flopped to the ground.

  That was enough for Kavsna. He took to his heels, precipitating a general rout that left only the Speaker standing in Fulk's way.

  * * * *

  The old woman remained motionless as Fulk approached. Drunk with his newfound power, he yanked away the bandage that covered her eyes.

  Like him, her eyes had been plucked out, but it had been done long ago and the empty sockets were now dry and healed over with puckered bits of yellow skin.

  She came to life and opened her mouth. Fulk knew that the Oldest One would speak through her, and decided he could not bear to listen to that voice again.

  He summoned fire into his throat and spat a long trail of orange flame into the Speaker's face. Her skin was the colour. and consistency of parchment, and the fire engulfed her almost instantly. The long-dead corpse screamed as its body burned, but it was a scream of anger rather than pain.

  There was no smoothness in the Oldest One's voice now, no mockery, just shrill outrage at the destruction of one of its servants.

  Knowing that he had just made an enemy that would come back to haunt him, Fulk smiled and wrapped the bandage around his own eyes. Then he picked up the Speaker's staff—miraculously, the gnarled length of oak remained untouched by the fire even as its owner burned into a heap of ash—and turned his face south.

  Towards Temple Rock.

  7.

  Naiyar and Kayla sat opposite Husan al Din outside the Caliph's tent. The sun had recently disappeared beneath the horizon, turning the sky red and silhouetting the desert. The fire danced and writhed as Naiyar stared into its brilliant heart.

  He thought about how completely the desert changed after dark. In the daytime, life was dictated by the oppressive midday sun, beating relentlessly upon the searing hot sand. In the night, almost total darkness, and a drop in temperature which chilled a man to the bone. Two opposing worlds existing in the same space.

  Just like himself.

  He sat cross-legged on an animal skin, his back against a rock, a jug of Husan al Din's strong wine in his hand. Kayla leaned against him. Another skin was wrapped around them both.

  Husan al Din lounged on a couch on the other side of the fire, the pipe from his hookah hanging from the side of his mouth. His faithful guard, Basim, stood nearby, at the entrance to his tent.

  Kaiyal and Appiah emerged from the darkness, followed by Colken. They knelt side by side in the sand by the fire and bowed their heads. Colken stood behind them looking down at Naiyar.

  The two Djanki warriors were silent. Appiah blinked as tears ran down his cheeks.

  Kaiyal stared at the sand, appearing more worried about his own skin than regretful of what he had done.

  Husan al Din looked at Naiyar and raised his eyebrows.

  Kayla reached down and held Naiyar's hand.

  Finally Naiyar turned from the fire and rested his gaze on Kaiyal and Appiah.

  "Do you know what I said to my sister, Evva, before I went into the jungle to be hunted?" Naiyar's voice was cold.

  Appiah began to sob audibly. Kaiyal seemed to be praying, mouthing words to himself.

  "I promised her something. I promised her that I would watch over her. I promised her that I would protect her. I never imagined that she would need my protection from my own people."

  "Do you know, Kaiyal," Kaiyal flinched as Naiyar said his name, "I would gladly trade my life for hers, I would die now if I thought it would undo what happened. But unfortunately it turns out that's one of the few things I can't do."

  Husan al Din nodded enthusiastically as smoked billowed about his head.

  "Lord, I—" Kaiyal finally spoke, but Naiyar cut him off.

  "I am not your lord, I am your Prophet. Your chief stands behind you." Naiyar pointed up at Colken, who put one hand on chest as if to say, Me?

  Husan al Din looked at Colken and grinned. Wine trickled through his teeth and dripped from his chin. His eyes twinkled mischievously in the firelight.

  "Appiah, you stood by and watched Grizzal murder my mother and my sister. For that you must pay penance." Naiyar paused for a moment. "As you failed to protect my family, perhaps you can atone for your lethargy by protecting me instead."

  Appiah looked up at Naiyar, his watery eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

  "You are now my personal guard."

  "Naiyar, please, I must protest!" Colken exclaimed.

  Naiyar raised his hand. "You cannot be a chief and a guard at the same time Colken, and the Djanki need a leader. Besides, I've seen Appiah fight, he is nearly as good as you. He'll
make a fine guard."

  Appiah had a mixture of surprise and gratitude written on his face.

  Husan al Din raised his jug, took a breath to speak and immediately began choking as he inhaled a mouthful of wine. He slumped back on to his couch and continued to choke and gasp, waving his hand as if giving permission for proceedings to go ahead without his contribution.

  Naiyar gestured for Appiah to stand.

  Tentatively, Appiah rose to his feet. Kaiyal began to rise with him.

  "Not you!" Naiyar pointed at Kaiyal. Colken grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down on to his knees.

  "You helped to kill my father." Naiyar stared at him for a few minutes, thinking. "Too many Djanki have died today." He nodded at Colken. "Your chief will need a servant."

  Colken opened his mouth to protest again but Naiyar raised his hand for silence.

  "Come now, Colken. The people cannot see their chief pouring his own wine or fetching his own food."

  "Very well," said Colken, "Kaiyal, your first task will begin tomorrow. If I am to teach Husan al Din the art of Kentau, he will need a sparring partner."

  Kaiyal glanced at the drunken Caliph.

  Husan al Din stared into Kaiyal's eyes as a filthy laugh rattled up from his belly and was released with a spray of wine and smoke into the fire.

  * * * *

  That night Husan al Din had a tent set up for Naiyar and Kayla. It was a simple tent, split into two compartments, each with bedding. Apart from that their tent was bare. He had tried to offer them some luxuries; wine, food, pipe-weed, but they had declined.

  Colken had been equally reluctant to indulge in Husan al Din's hospitality, insisting that he would share the watch with Appiah, who was guarding Naiyar's tent.

  Naiyar awoke some time in the night. The entrance to his tent was open, flapping in the breeze.

  "Appiah?" He called out to his guard. "Colken?"

  There was no reply. He rose from his bed and approached the entrance to the tent. As he did so he peered into Kayla's side of the divide. Her bed was empty, and appeared to be undisturbed. Perplexed, he poked his head outside.

  The desert was completely empty. No guard, no tents, no army. Nothing.

  The night seemed very dark, even for the desert. He could see stars in the sky but he couldn't see the moon, so the land all around him languished under a black curtain. All he could see was a single set of footprints in the sand for a few strides in front of him, before the veil of shadow engulfed his view.

  He felt a flutter of panic in his chest. Had they packed up and left without him? That was surely impossible to have been done without waking him?

  He looked down at the footprints leading away into the night. They were small, he was sure they were Kayla's. He could see no other signs of activity, no other footprints, no hoof prints, no scorched patches to mark the spots where fires had been made. The desert was pristine except for Kayla's tracks.

  He grabbed his spear from inside his tent, wrapped a skin around his shoulders and followed the footprints.

  He felt as though he had walked for a long time when he saw a tiny light in the distance. It looked like a star, but below the horizon.

  A desert fox sat beside the trail, watching him.

  "You'll never reach the light, Naiyar," said the fox.

  "But I must find Kayla."

  "Kayla does not care for you. She manipulates you for her own gain."

  Naiyar felt angry and hurt by the fox's words.

  "You must not trust her. She wants to lead you to your brother so she can destroy you both. She wants to rule the physical world, but she cannot do so while you both live."

  "You lie!" Naiyar could feel the rage burning inside him. He wanted to fight and cry at the same time.

  "She came from the light and she will return to the light. And you can never follow her there, you belong in the nether world. This is all just a game to her."

  "Liar!"

  "You have feelings for her. I know. But she will betray you. She is a god. How could she love a lump of clay and dirt like you? She thinks only of her own desires. She will destroy you."

  "But she has helped me to realise who I am." He stared at the fox with tears in his eyes. A hopelessness assailed him.

  "So she can gain your trust. As soon as you meet your brother she will use you as tools, as weapons, and then destroy you both."

  "Who are you?" Naiyar was shaking with anger now, tears running down his cheeks. "Why do you tell me these things?"

  "I am here to help, Naiyar. I just want what is best for you."

  Naiyar felt weak. He felt as though something weighed upon him, crushing him, stamping out his resolve.

  "I can help you, Naiyar." The fox spoke soothingly as Naiyar wept. "You just have to do as I say. Join me. Turn your friends against Kayla, warn them that she is not to be trusted. You can save them from her treachery. You belong with me, Naiyar. I created you, it is I who will love and protect you."

  Naiyar felt the weight of hopelessness ease and stood facing the fox. "Yes, I—I will."

  He began to walk towards the fox, away from the trail Kayla had left.

  Just then, a clap of thunder sounded far away. A fork of lightning could be seen over the horizon and the ground shook as the distant storm rumbled. As it did so the fox cowered in fright.

  Something sparked in Naiyar's mind. A memory, jogged by the fox's reaction to the thunder. He halted and narrowed his eyes. The animal's shape was beginning to stretch and contort, as though trying to contain something unstable within.

  "I can promise you everything your heart desires."

  Naiyar suddenly shook himself, as though he had emerged from some form of hypnosis, and pointed a finger at the changing shape before him.

  "You will not use me," he said.

  The fox-shell burst open, and the Lord of Lies emerged. His form shifted and convulsed into repellent mockeries of the human form. Flames licked about him and Naiyar could feel the heat of the fires of Hell. But he was not afraid, and looked on the swirling form of his creator with contempt.

  "I know what I am," said Naiyar, "it is you who created me for your own selfish reasons. Then you abandoned me. You left me to fend for myself until I grew strong enough to serve your purpose! But I will not be your creature. I am the Prophet Naiyar."

  "My son, my fragment of clay and water," rumbled the Lord of Lies, "do not presume on any love between us. You were created for a purpose, and that purpose you will fulfil. It is inevitable."

  "You cannot tempt me. Go back to your pit!"

  Naiyar threw his spear. The spear tip flashed in the light of hell-fires as it blurred towards the indistinct form of his creator. Lockjaw seemed to shimmer as the spear made contact, and then he disappeared.

  The spear glowed white as it hung in the boiling air. For a split second all was silence.

  Naiyar covered his eyes as an agonizing light flared from the burning tip of the spear. He felt as though the skin was being melted from his bones as he crouched and covered his head, crying out in pain.

  8.

  Fulk entered the deserted encampment of the Godless Ones to find the remnants of his war-horse, Thunder, lying next to a smouldering fire. Her throat had been cut and her carcase half-stripped of its skin, while great chunks of her flesh were slowly roasting over the hearth. The Godless Ones had no use for such a massive beast as a mount, so they had slaughtered her for the meat and skin.

  The loss of the horse that he had raised from a foal made Fulk angry, but there was little he could do about it. He ransacked the abandoned tents, taking as much dried meat, bread and cheese and water as he could comfortably carry. Then he walked out of the encampment with his stolen provisions slung over his shoulder in a haversack. Fulk stole clothes as well, breeches and a loose robe, and carried these rolled up along with the provisions. Mindful of the long trek ahead, he also took a pair of the soft knee-high brown leather boots that the Godless Ones favoured.

  Fulk's
intention was to head south and follow the trail of the army, all the way to Temple Rock if he had to. The Oldest One had given him no clue as to how he was supposed to avert the coming apocalypse, or even where he was supposed to go, but his instincts drew him south. Temple Rock was reckoned to lie at the very heart of the world, the place where the High Gods had created the first humans out of dust and water.

  That was why the Templars of old had built a fortress on the site, as a symbol of their authority and importance. A doomed symbol, as it turned out, but the legends surrounding Temple Rock still retained their power. If anything was to threaten the world, then it seemed to Fulk only natural that it would manifest there. Also, he was still a Templar at heart and wished to know what had happened to the army since his capture.

  After several days of walking the landscape around him began to change. The flat grasslands devolved into gently rolling hills and dales, and there was at last some woodland to break up the featureless monotony of the plains. The air grew more humid and the misty haze that hovered over the grasslands dissipated.

  As a child of the frozen North, Fulk had never experienced such heat. The sky was a perfect duck-egg blue canvas dominated by the blazing yellow disc of the sun, and he was forced to shed his mail hauberk, stripping himself of the heavy steel coat and dumping it on the ground like a snake shedding its skin. Without horse and armour he no longer felt like a knight, but that was preferable to collapsing from heatstroke.

  Fulk was grateful for a respite in the evenings, when the temperature dropped sharply and he could rest. At those times the sky darkened from rich cobalt to purple, and he would gratefully drop his haversack and stretch his full length on the ground. When the perpetual ache in his feet had lessened to a dull throb he would sit up, dig out some supper and try to think.

  Considering what had happened to him, Fulk knew he should be a twitching, incapable mess, but he felt remarkably calm. The Oldest One had cleansed him in some way, ripping aside the human self that had always cowered away from acknowledging the other side of his existence. He knew that his own people would label him a witch, certainly Comrade Malet would, assuming the man was still alive, and that they would probably try and kill him. Despite that knowledge, he had no fear. Each night he sat cross-legged with his stolen staff across his knees, willing himself deep into a meditative state, where his consciousness could roam back and forth through the history of the Old Kingdom.