Assail

by Ian C. Esslemont

  Ut’el nodded his welcome, murmuring, ‘Greetings, Pran Chole of the Kron.’

  Pran answered: ‘We honour the Kerluhm.’ He held out empty open hands that were no more than bundles of sinew-wrapped bone. ‘Tellann is suppressed here, Ut’el. May I offer a gift that was given us, unbidden and unlooked for, in lands beyond these?’

  The bear-head hood covering Ut’el’s head dipped as he gave his assent. Pran advanced to press his hand to the Bonecaster’s forehead. It seemed an instant later that the Kerluhm Bonecaster snapped backwards as if having received a blow from a hammer. He raised his hands to his face and studied them. His sockets were empty pits, but it seemed to Shimmer that open wonder and amazement filled his features. ‘Who gave the T’lan Imass this gift of hope of a realm for our spirits?’

  ‘We name him the Redeemer.’

  At that, the Kerluhm Bonecaster appeared to flinch, stricken by pain. He bowed to Silverfox. ‘I can do naught but strive to honour it,’ he murmured, his voice even more faint and breathless. He turned to the one named Lanas, who waited, immobile, her incisors bright in the hard light of the heights. ‘You knew of a realm where we might find peace after the Vow … yet you withheld it?’

  ‘We each sought to serve the Vow in our own way.’

  The Bonecaster shook his lean desiccated head beneath its hood of curving bear fangs. ‘I thought such hope long gone from us, Lanas. Yet it lives again and I repent of my despair. Think on this during your ages-long imprisonment.’ He swept his hand and the Imass dissolved into a scarf of dust that the wind immediately scattered across the snows.

  Ut’el turned to Silverfox. He knelt on one knee. ‘We of the Kerluhm offer ourselves to your judgement, Summoner.’

  Silverfox laid a hand upon his bear headdress. ‘There can be no punishment worse than that which the T’lan have already endured tenfold, Ut’el. Stand with me. The Kron and the Ifayle welcome the Kerluhm.’

  Ut’el stood and he and the two other Bonecasters grasped one another’s forearms: Pran Chole, and the other Shimmer now recognized as Tolb Bell’al, whom she had met on an ice-floe during their journey to Jacuruku. The Summoner, she noted, looked to the other woman, the short powerful one with hair like a long black mane that whipped in the wind. This one stood rigid, her arms wrapped tightly about herself, her cheeks wet. For an instant she appeared familiar to Shimmer; a ghost memory of having seen her before drifted across her awareness, only to waver away. Somewhere – she’d seen her before – she was certain.

  As if summoned, this woman now strode towards her. An unreasoning urge to flee grasped Shimmer’s throat. She couldn’t breathe and she felt the hair rising upon her arms and neck in terror. Something awful is coming, she realized. Yet her feet in their frayed boots remained frozen to the ice, her lips numb with cold, and her arms heavy – so very heavy.

  The woman faced Shimmer and K’azz and Blues and Cal-Brinn, lined up as they were to challenge the Kerluhm should they attack. Yet there was no hint of challenge in the woman’s wind-darkened features. No, what horrified Shimmer was the sadness there, the open compassion in her dark eyes.

  The woman said to Silverfox, over her shoulder: ‘One more task awaits you before we may go, Summoner. One I do not envy you.’

  Silverfox drew a heavy shuddering breath. Her hands closed to pale fists at her sides. ‘This is not my burden, Kilava,’ she answered, resolute.

  The woman named Kilava closed her eyes for an instant, let her arms fall. ‘But it is.’ She added, ‘I’m sorry.’ Yet to whom she was apologizing was unclear to Shimmer.

  Swallowing through her dread, Shimmer addressed K’azz: ‘What is this?’

  The man was holding himself rigid. His hollowed cheeks and bruised sunken eyes made him look so very ill. Was this what they were speaking of? That he is near to death? ‘I’m so very sorry, Shimmer,’ he answered, his voice choked and ragged. ‘This wasn’t what I wanted – please believe me.’

  ‘What is it, please?’ she begged.

  Silverfox seemed to drag herself to stand before them, flanked by Tolb Bell’al and Pran Chole. She studied them each in turn and the anguish in her eyes terrified Shimmer. ‘The Crimson Guard,’ she murmured, nodding to herself. ‘If only we had met earlier. I would have recognized it immediately, K’azz.’

  ‘You are the Summoner,’ he said, his voice hardly more than a groan.

  ‘Yes. So the task must fall to me though I wish it otherwise.’

  Something in what they were saying made Shimmer dizzy; the thing lurking behind their words threatened her so much she thought she would lose her reason. She raised a hand, pointing to Kilava. ‘I have seen you before …’

  The woman nodded. ‘Yes. Once. The day of your Vow – Shimmer, is it? That day your Vow touched upon Tellann and so I came to witness.’

  Touched upon Tellann … the words spun like a destroying whirlwind in Shimmer’s thoughts. Echoes of their Vow washed over her. Eternal opposition …

  The woman addressed K’azz: ‘What do you think lent power to you Avowed? Sustained you all this time?’

  K’azz nodded, his eyes downcast. ‘I knew. For some time, I have known.’

  Silverfox gently raised a hand and pressed it to K’azz’s forehead. ‘Though it brings me terrible pain to do so, I welcome you, K’azz D’Avore, Commander of the Crimson Guard.’

  Tolb Bell’al inclined his ravaged skull. ‘We of the Ifayle are also saddened, yet we welcome you gladly. Long has it been since we have welcomed a new clan among the T’lan Imass. We offer our greetings to the K’azz T’lan Imass. The Red Clan.’

  ‘Gods above and below,’ Shimmer heard Blues moan.

  ‘We thank you,’ K’azz answered, the words jagged with suppressed pain. Then he turned to her, took her hand – his fingers so cold. ‘I’m sorry, Shimmer … please …’

  But she hardly heard him. The thing in her mind was close now. The truth she did not want. It all made sense now. Now she knew why she’d run from this knowledge. Avoided it at all costs. Why she’d refused to see it. She understood, and could see the truth of it. Her hand rose to press against her chest where, weeks ago, a blade from the Sharr attack had struck, and she knew. She finally accepted that for some time now – she’d been dead.

  With that giving up to the fact, that yielding, came darkness and nothing more.

  *

  When Shimmer collapsed into her commander’s arms the man gently lowered her to the ground and the others, Blues and Cal-Brinn, knelt with him next to her. Kyle could only wonder on the shock of such an unveiling. The Crimson Guard Vow – a curse in truth, just like that of the T’lan. He shook his head at the horrifying injustice of it. Then jerked, startled, as the Jaghut elder raised her arms, calling: ‘Summoner! We have delayed here too long.’

  Silverfox spun from the kneeling figures, sudden panicked awareness in her face. ‘T’lan guard us!’ she ordered.

  The ranks of the Kerluhm came clattering forward across the rocks to form a broad defensive circle around the Crimson Guard and the Jaghut elder and her descendants.

  Fisher, Jethiss and Kyle pushed forward into the circle. Moments later the Icebloods, the three of the Sayer, and the son of the Heels, joined them.

  Beyond the nearest boulders and debris of this high shoulder, all round them, there rose ash-grey shapes from among the fallen rocks. Kyle had never seen them before, but he immediately knew them for what they were: the slate-hued, thin and elongated shapes of the Forkrul Assail. He also knew at that moment that it was unlikely that they would get off the mountain alive.

  The alien figures remained immobile, as if carved of stone themselves. The Imass waited, obsidian and flint swords readied. Kyle drew the white blade and to his astonishment – and extreme discomfort – saw the attention of the Forkrul shift to him as their slit eyes all moved at once.

  Jethiss moved to confront them but Fisher snapped up a hand to grasp his arm, pulling him back. ‘Not yet,’ he murmured, ‘if you must at all.’

&
nbsp; The Andii eased backwards, acquiescing to the bard’s urgings – at least for now.

  The Forkrul then raised arms to point up the slope to a higher ridge of stone. Kyle glanced up to see two there waiting. Stones crunched as the Jaghut elder passed through the circled Imass. She paused then, looking back to them. ‘One from each of us gathered here must come,’ she said. The words troubled Kyle in that he sensed something deeper behind them. Something profound and ritualized.

  Further steps sounded over the stones as Silverfox stepped forth. With her came Kilava and Pran Chole. The Sayer youth, Orman, joined the Jaghut elder, the wicked-looking spear cradled in his arms. The matriarch gestured, inviting up Jethiss. He turned to Fisher, who nodded, and in turn reached out to pull on Kyle’s arm. Kyle resisted. ‘There are enough,’ he said.

  ‘No. The white blade must come. I understand this now. This is no accident, Kyle. This is why we are here.’ Fisher peered about, his eyes widening. ‘Great Abyss,’ he murmured, ‘Four. We are four again.’ He pressed his sleeve to his face, daubing away a sheen of sweat. ‘Gods guide us!’

  Not understanding the bard’s words, but granting the man’s urgency, he relented, and followed up the slope.

  Here, two Forkrul, no different from the others as far as Kyle could discern, awaited them. They stood tall, equal even unto the Jaghut, on gangly strangely jointed legs that looked able to bend backwards, with frail-looking thin arms, and long pinched heads. Oddly, each face bore a vertical scar, or suture, that ran from chin up to sloped skull. Kyle was not fooled by their frail appearance. He knew that they faced a great danger here, and not only they: all in this region faced destruction should these Forkrul bestir themselves.

  One tilted its head, studying the Jaghut. ‘You trouble us again,’ it said.

  ‘Through no choice of mine,’ she answered.

  ‘False,’ broke in the other Forkrul, its voice as harsh as cracking stone. ‘You chose.’

  ‘Do you dispute this judgement?’ the first one asked.

  The Jaghut sighed her assent, then, raising her chin to regard them more closely, asked: ‘What do we call you?’

  The first inclined its head as if to grant the appropriateness of the question. ‘That you ask reveals you are aware that names are irrelevant among any community of unadulterated Assail. All are equal. However, when communicating with you lesser kinds we adopt titles as we understand you require such props. Therefore, you may name me Arbiter, and this one Penance.’

  ‘Very well,’ the Matriarch answered.

  ‘So,’ Arbiter spoke again. ‘You trouble us though you know we could cleanse this landmass as we have others before. Do you dispute this?’

  She clenched her lips in distaste, but nodded her curt agreement. ‘Cleansing would avert further irritation,’ put in Penance.

  ‘You Forkrul,’ Silverfox suddenly announced. ‘Your conceit is matched only by your arrogance.’

  Arbiter fixed its slit eyes upon her. ‘Of all parties present, you Imass bear the greatest weight of guilt.’

  ‘Do you dispute this guilt?’ Penance demanded.

  Silverfox’s aged features paled. She exchanged a look with Pran Chole, then cleared her throat warily. ‘If you mean the Vow, then, no. I do not dispute this.’

  ‘The hostilities between you and the Jaghut is what we reference,’ Penance clarified.

  Silverfox pointed to the elder, outraged. ‘They started the war!’

  ‘Provocation matters not,’ said Arbiter. ‘What matters is you Imass broke the ancient founding of the peace.’

  Kyle tensed as Fisher stepped up. The bard raised his hands, saying, ‘And we are four now, gathered here once more.’

  Arbiter tilted its head once again. ‘Four?’ Its gaze fell upon Jethiss and it let out a long hissing breath. ‘Ah. I see. The K’Chain Che’Malle are for the most part gone from the lands. Yet a new race now stands among us. Dare you pledge to a new founding of the peace?’

  Jethiss turned to study Fisher for a time. Kyle was oddly reassured to see the man’s hands shake slightly as he rubbed them down his thighs. He took a deep breath. ‘Yet there are other races …’

  ‘True,’ Arbiter acknowledged. ‘But they have not moved together in all-out hostilities against other kind. As all of us gathered here have.’

  ‘We never did,’ the Jaghut elder corrected.

  ‘So you insist,’ Penance answered brusquely. ‘Yet here you are.’

  Arbiter raised a hand for silence. ‘I sense that while the others may not be here … they may have cast a vote.’ To Kyle’s horror the Forkrul pointed a crooked finger directly at him. ‘You – child of the Imass. You bear a potent token. Would you bring it forth?’

  Kyle shot an uncertain glance to Fisher, who nodded his encouragement and gestured him forward. Stepping up, Kyle drew the white blade. He offered it grip first.

  To his astonishment, the Forkrul shied away from the weapon and waved it aside with a disdainful flick of its fingers. ‘Not that thing of chaos. We speak of the token at your neck.’

  Now Kyle flinched back, confused and shocked. Not the stone – anything but that. He clenched his free hand to the amber at his neck, sheathed the white blade. He shook his head. ‘I’ll not give this up.’

  ‘It speaks well that you will not. May we examine it?’

  Kyle glanced again to Fisher. ‘On the understanding that he does not relinquish it,’ the bard said.

  ‘Of course,’ Arbiter answered, sounding almost irritated. ‘It would be of no value otherwise.’ It held out a long-fingered hand.

  Kyle snapped the leather thong and handed over the modest token of polished amber – the one thing he had left of his time with the giant Ereko. The Forkrul held it in its palm, closed its eyes for an instant, then peered up with a strange new expression in its alien face. ‘We were almost as brothers, you know,’ it said. ‘We regard ourselves as children of the earth. It is … surprising … that you should carry such a gift from the Thel Akai.’

  ‘Speaking for the T’lan,’ Silverfox announced, ‘we pledge to a peace between us.’

  A long silence followed this as even the Forkrul seemed at a startled loss. ‘You so swear?’ murmured Penance, a dangerous note in its voice.

  Pran Chole bowed his head to Silverfox and she nodded her grave agreement. ‘We so pledge.’

  The Forkrul extended its hand and Kyle took the necklace. ‘What of the Jaghut?’ it asked.

  The woman motioned the Sayer youth, Orman, forward. The young man adjusted the patch on his eye and stepped up with his spear held straight. He thumped its butt to the stones, saying, ‘We so pledge.’

  ‘And the Tiste Andii?’

  Jethiss nodded solemnly. ‘I believe I have been sent here to make this pledge. And to ask of you a boon …’

  The two Forkrul exchanged a glance. ‘We will adjudicate that in time,’ answered Penance.

  ‘As to this new founding of the peace,’ intoned Arbiter, ‘we Forkrul pledge our honouring.’ It gestured curtly and the many Assail scattered among the rocks clambered quickly up the slope. All in eerie silence.

  Kyle examined the modest lump of amber in his palm. Did you know, Ereko? Was this why you left this behind? Yet how could you know? Perhaps it was a hope only; a seed cast into the future with the hope that it would find the right conditions, the right soil, to germinate. He retied the lace about his neck.

  ‘Well done,’ Fisher murmured low to him. The bard sounded infinitely relieved. ‘The giving of that stone is a tale I would have you tell.’

  ‘It is a sad one.’

  ‘Of course. All the important ones are.’ Then he turned away, his breath catching, and Kyle glanced over: Jethiss now faced the Forkrul. Fisher was at his side in an instant, taking his arm. ‘You need not pursue this,’ he hissed.

  ‘I wish to,’ the Andii answered, quite calm.

  ‘It is perilous beyond your grasp.’

  ‘My memories are slowly returning, Fisher. I believe that this w
ill complete them.’ The Andii offered a crooked smile. ‘Finding out who you are in truth is always a perilous undertaking.’ He faced the Forkrul. ‘I ask a boon.’

  Arbiter nodded. ‘Speak.’

  ‘Once, we Andii were blessed by the protection of a powerful champion and weapon. A storied blade. Now he and it are gone. I ask of you Forkrul a weapon worthy of us Andii. Worthy to protect us. Will you grant me this boon?’

  The Forkrul glanced to one another once again and Kyle intuited a great deal of communication was exchanged in each of these moments. They broke off the gaze and Arbiter turned to Jethiss. ‘We shall fashion for you a blade worthy of you,’ it answered.

  ‘I accept,’ Jethiss said even as Fisher drew breath to cut in with a shout.

  ‘No! That wording. I fear that wording. There is something there. Some hidden danger.’

  The Andii merely let out a long exhausted breath. ‘It is too late. What is done is done. Now we shall see what the Forkrul can provide.’

  In answer, Arbiter curled its thin fingers, inviting Jethiss onward. ‘Come.’ The Andii followed the two up the slope. Eventually he disappeared from sight behind a boulder.

  Fisher sat heavily among the rocks. He hid his face in his hands. ‘I fear we shall never see him again.’

  Kyle eased himself down next to him, sighed his utter weariness. ‘We shall see.’

  Footsteps sounded and a shadow loomed over them: Kyle squinted up at the Jaghut woman and Orman with her. ‘You will await your friend?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He is a fool to ask anything of the Forkrul. They are vicious, cruel, and amoral.’

  ‘Then it is best we do not disturb them,’ Fisher observed, sharply.

  The Jaghut woman tipped her head to him. ‘I have a modest abode nearby. I will bring you some food and blankets.’ She limped off. The stones rattled and crunched beneath her sandals.

  Kyle studied the young man, Orman. ‘You will return to your people?’

  He leaned upon the tall spear, touched self-consciously at the patch over his eye. ‘Yes. When the ice melts – and Mother assures me it will quite quickly – it is my wish that we should build a new Greathall where we shall all reside. All we Icebloods. The blood-feuds and vendettas between us, I hope, will be things of the past.’