Assail

by Ian C. Esslemont

  ‘A worthy goal,’ Fisher said.

  ‘You will always be welcome in our hall.’

  ‘I shall look forward to such a visit in the future.’

  ‘And you too, Kyle, friend of the Children of the Earth, and wielder of the white blade.’

  ‘I thank you.’

  ‘Until then,’ and Orman bowed and headed down the slope, thumping the butt of the spear loudly to the stones as he went.

  Fisher let out a heartfelt breath. ‘That spear makes me as uncomfortable as your sword.’

  ‘There is something primal about it. And it is an Imass weapon, after all.’

  Silverfox approached with Pran Chole and the woman Kilava. Kyle and Fisher scrambled to their feet to bow to her. ‘Summoner,’ Fisher welcomed her.

  She waved off their formality, addressed Kyle. ‘Thank you, White-blade. I do not know what it is you carry, but somehow it tipped the scales in our favour. I am not naïve enough to believe that the Forkrul have hearts, but perhaps it touched something within them. A sense of nostalgia, maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘In any case, you have my gratitude.’

  ‘I think of what I carry as friendship,’ Kyle said.

  ‘Friendship?’ She brushed back her wind-tossed hair. Kyle was struck by the unexpectedly girlish gesture from such an apparently aged woman. ‘Would that they could understand such a thing,’ she murmured.

  ‘You are off?’ Fisher asked.

  ‘Yes. We head south. I would gather up as many of the T’lan as I can, then we shall continue our search.’

  ‘Your search?’ Kyle asked.

  ‘Yes. I will find them all, friend Kyle. And when I have found them they will know the gift of the Redeemer and I shall release them. None shall be left behind.’

  Fisher bowed once more. ‘I wish you success.’

  Pran Chole gave them a nod, dipping his deer headdress. ‘Farewell. Or not. Perhaps we shall meet again.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Kyle acknowledged.

  Last came Kilava. The short powerful woman now carried a half-smile on her lips. ‘That went far better than I had hoped or expected. Well done, Whiteblade.’ She faced Fisher. ‘Bard. Good to see you again.’

  ‘And you, Kilava.’

  She leaned forward and planted a light brush of a kiss on Fisher’s cheek, then walked off. Kyle watched her go, astonished, then returned his wondering gaze to the bard.

  ‘You were once …’

  Fisher sat once more, sighing, his hands hanging loose over his knees. ‘Another time, Kyle.’

  They were alone now with the moaning, gusting wind. The thick deck of clouds churned below, effectively cutting off the world beneath. It seemed to Kyle that here among the frigid peaks they were in the realm of the gods. The day was cooling: the sun had descended behind the cloud cover to the west.

  He blew upon his hands to warm them and knew that without his Iceblood, his Jaghut heritage, he would be frozen stiff.

  Fisher opened the satchel at his side and withdrew the stringed box, the kantele of the Losts. He examined it to make certain it hadn’t been harmed.

  ‘Will you play?’ Kyle asked.

  He shook his head. ‘No. Too cold.’ He wrapped the instrument and gently returned it to its case.

  ‘What tale will you tell of what has occurred here?’ Kyle asked.

  The bard nodded profoundly. ‘Ah yes. That is the question.’ He extended his legs straight out before himself and crossed them at the ankle, meshed his fingers over his chest. ‘One mustn’t feel constrained by the facts.’ He shot Kyle a sideways glance. ‘Poetic truth is a higher truth, you know. Names and events must be changed to disguise the mundane – and invariably disappointing – truth behind.’

  Kyle smoothed his now long and drooping moustache, smiling. ‘Of course. In other words, you’ll make up what you want and claim that’s what happened.’

  ‘Of course. Now, tell me the tale of your finding of this stone.’

  Kyle eased back among the rocks as best he could. He shot a glance high above, searching for any sign of Jethiss, then pulled his cloak tighter against the wind. ‘Well … I didn’t find it. It was given to me. Left behind by a friend.’

  EPILOGUE

  SHIMMER OPENED HER eyes to find herself once more standing among the grassy hills and broad ring of canted stone menhirs mottled orange and olive-green by lichens. It was chill, the day was bright, the sky blue and dotted with wispy clouds, yet she could not see the sun. Now she understood why she was here, and she sighed, hugged herself, and started walking a circuit of the stones.

  Soon she discovered she was not alone. Smoky, the dead mage – who was not dead in truth – walked with her. His sandalled feet kicked the frayed and scorched edges of his brown woollen robes. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, resolutely not looking to her … waiting.

  After a time, she asked: ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘We didn’t really know,’ he answered while he scratched at his patchy beard. ‘We suspected.’

  ‘Yet you said nothing.’

  ‘We would not burden the living.’

  ‘In which I no longer number,’ she observed, and was surprised by the lack of bitterness in her voice.

  ‘Yet you could return, as before. The option remains for you.’ She halted. ‘Why just me? Why not any of you?’

  He stopped with her, rubbed his chin ferociously, his gaze lowered. ‘Not just you, Shimmer. K’azz was the first to discover this.’

  Though she understood that she was not breathing in this place, Shimmer felt her breath catch and her chest tighten in dread – old habits. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, slowly.

  Still unable to match her gaze, he said, ‘He died long ago, Shimmer. When Skinner and Cowl buried him alive – he died. Yet he did not die. He discovered the truth of the Vow then. Eventually, he clawed his way free.’

  He drew a heavy breath – perhaps merely in a gesture to put her at ease. ‘I’m sorry. Anyway,’ and he shrugged, ‘had to happen some time. And we are coming back. Slowly. Eventually, we will return.’

  She nodded her understanding. ‘I see. Like the T’lan Imass.’

  He answered her nod, his hand at his beard. ‘Yes. Somehow, our Vow echoed theirs. Perhaps it was the location – the physical source of this spirit realm. Or K’azz’s words. Or the spirit of our intent and conviction.’ He lifted his bony shoulders once more. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘But we can never … leave.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She faced him. ‘So … everyone is here? All the fallen? Petal? Sept? Cole? Even … Skinner?’

  ‘Yes. All the Brethren.’

  She peered round, seeing no one. ‘Well? Where are they?’

  ‘We’ve found it best not to overwhelm. First things first.’

  She studied him, her gaze narrowing. ‘Such as?’

  ‘As before. Do you wish to return?’

  ‘Return? You mean … I may? I can?’

  ‘Yes.’

  For some reason she felt terribly unworthy of this gift. Unwilling to pursue it, as if it would be an insult to all the Brethren who had come here before her. ‘Why me? Why not the others?’

  He raised a hand as if to calm her. ‘I understand, Shimmer. Do not worry yourself. Some choose not to. Some do. In time, they will.’

  She took another steadying breath, though she knew it for a deceit. ‘Very well. Then yes, I choose to return.’

  He nodded at this and smiled crookedly. ‘We all knew you would.’ He held out his hand. ‘Farewell … for now.’

  She reached for his hand but somehow her fingers passed through his and she blinked, the world growing dim, then she blinked again to glowing brightness that made her flinch and cover her eyes. Someone held her hand and she saw that it was K’azz.

  ‘Welcome back, Shimmer.’

  ‘I wasn’t really gone, was I?’ she said in wonder.

  ‘No. Not really.’ He and Blues helped her up and steadied her. They still stood upon the i
ce-field.

  ‘Did you know?’ she asked of Blues.

  He scowled his dismay and amazement. ‘I knew something wasn’t adding up, but …’ he took a shuddering breath, ‘I still can’t believe it.’

  Cal-Brinn offered his hand and she took it, squeezing.

  ‘You knew, yes?’

  The old mage nodded. ‘I suspected. Omens and hints from Rashan told me to wait. That answers would come here. And so I waited.’

  ‘I see. What now, then?’

  ‘Now we wait a little more,’ and he gestured to the gathered Ice-bloods. They were peering up towards the cloud-obscured heights. Even the Imass faced the north. The wind sighed and hummed as it whipped between their bones.

  ‘And what of us?’ she asked K’azz.

  ‘We return to Stratem – all of us.’

  She nodded her heartfelt agreement. ‘Yes. All of us.’

  They waited in silence then. Shimmer now understood their long shared silences. They were Avowed. They could wait. A thought struck her, and she asked, ‘And what of Cowl?’

  K’azz had been gazing off down the mountain slope and the immense vista beyond of snow and twisting spine-like ridges of black stone. He lowered that gaze to his feet, his brow clouding. ‘Yes. Cowl. He blames me still. He would kill me if he could, I think.’

  ‘I see that now. He thought I would share his rage.’

  He shot her a brief, wary glance. ‘And … do you?’

  She shook her head, sighed, and crossed her arms. ‘No. It was not deliberate. We all chose to swear. No. I am not angry.’

  She felt the tension uncoil within him, saw his shoulders ease. He murmured, his voice thick, ‘Thank you, Shimmer.’

  The afternoon lengthened. The light beneath the clouds darkened to a silvery pewter where shadow and light seemed to melt together. Movement drew her eye: a lone figure descended the rocky slope. A thick bear cloak draped his shoulders and a patch covered one eye. He walked thumping his long dark-wood spear to the stones as he came and Shimmer felt an atavistic shiver upon seeing him.

  ‘Success, it would seem,’ K’azz remarked.

  The Sayer, Orman, went to his brothers and sisters among the Icebloods and clasped arms. Next came Silverfox and the Bonecaster, Pran Chole, followed by Kilava. These went to the Imass and the other Bonecasters, Ut’el and Tolb Bell’al. Their sharing was in silence.

  First to come to them was Silverfox. She walked alone to stand before K’azz. Her face it seemed could not help but carry sadness and hurt when she looked upon him and the rest of them. ‘I’m sorry,’ she began again, but K’azz raised a hand to silence her.

  ‘There is nothing for you to apologize for. What happened above? Are the others coming? Kyle?’

  She drew a weary breath – one touched by a measure of disbelief. ‘We struck an accord. I have formally sworn off all hostilities towards the Jaghut. For reasons of their own, the Forkrul decided not to intervene.’

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘Do not thank me. Your friend, the Whiteblade, was instrumental.’

  ‘And where is he?’

  ‘He waits above with the bard for their companion, the Andii, who has entered into an exchange with the Forkrul …’ The shake of her head told what she thought of that decision, and of his chances.

  ‘I see. Well, I congratulate you all the same, Silverfox. I have heard the tale of your coming into your birthright in south Genabackis. The Pannion wars. I believe that all those who had a hand in your raising would feel vindicated and immensely proud right now.’

  Shimmer saw that these words struck the woman deeply. She blinked back tears, nodding. ‘Thank you, K’azz. You are generous even when …’ she could not continue, and had to break off to master herself. ‘Even when the curse of the Imass has fallen upon you and yours.’

  He held out his open hands. ‘We came to this of our own accord. It probably would not have emerged, otherwise.’

  She tilted her head, agreeing, and pushed back her greying curls behind an ear. ‘You understand that I am not the Summoner for you?’

  His answering smile was gentle. ‘Yes. We understand. We must await ours.’

  She tilted her head again and offered Shimmer a shy smile of farewell that was so incongruous on the face of an elder that she had to answer with her own. ‘Good luck,’ Shimmer offered.

  After she left, Kilava joined them. She regarded K’azz with a critical eye – perhaps her normal expression. ‘So, K’azz of the Red Clan. Full circle.’

  He nodded his grave agreement. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘This was never our intent. The opposite, in fact.’

  ‘I know. What of you, then?’

  She frowned her uncertainty. ‘I believe I will walk for a time with the Summoner – at least until we cannot bear each other’s company. We shall see.’

  K’azz offered his hand, which she took. She took Blues’ and Cal-Brinn’s hands as well, but when Shimmer offered hers, the woman pulled her close and hugged her with alarming strength. ‘I’m glad to see you are back with us,’ she whispered, and released her. Shimmer stood rather shocked, unable to frame a reply. ‘Farewell, Red Clan,’ she said. ‘We will see one another again.’

  The T’lan Imass set off across the ice-field. To her eyes they appeared so lonely, so frail, yet she knew this was not the truth at all. She felt that she was watching something timeless, yet something that would never be seen again.

  The Iceblood Orman came to them next. He was flanked by his twin guards, both quiet and watchful. He leaned upon his tall spear and regarded them with his one good eye. He still loomed taller than they.

  He nodded to Cal-Brinn. ‘My thanks, Crimson Guard, for your defence of the Losts. I am grateful. What now for you? Will you await your friends above?’

  K’azz shook his head. ‘They will know where to find us, if they wish. We are for our homeland, Stratem. Best of fortunes to you, Orman of the Sayer. I hope you can carve out a homeland as well.’

  The lad’s eye glittered with a new confidence. ‘Oh, I believe we shall.’

  ‘Farewell, then.’ And K’azz bowed his head, as did Shimmer, Blues and Cal-Brinn. They headed off, following in the tracks of the T’lan Imass.

  Cal-Brinn, however, turned back as if struck by a thought. ‘Orman,’ he called.

  The lad looked up, ‘Yes?’

  ‘The Losts. Stalker and Badlands. They may still be alive. It’s just that … they’re lost again.’

  Orman ruefully shook his head. ‘I see. Thank you,’ and he waved a farewell.

  They returned to tramping through the snow. ‘Let us collect our scattered people,’ K’azz said as they pushed onward through the drifts. He offered Blues a joking smile. ‘Shall we split up to do so?’

  Blues waved his arms in alarm. ‘Gods no! No more goddamned splitting up!’

  Shimmer’s quiet smile was so fierce it almost hurt her lips. It was good to have K’azz back with them.

  *

  Orman watched the mercenaries, the Crimson Guard, wading their way through the snow down the ice-field. Beyond them, far down the serpentine slope, the Imass, the Army of Dust and Bone, had already disappeared. How odd it seemed to him now that he should pity them, his former enemy, labouring as they did beneath an endless curse. Yet endless no longer. Their Summoner had come. Perhaps, then, they would find deliverance.

  They might no longer be enemies – at least for the time being – but he hoped never to see them again.

  He turned back to his people. What he now saw as his extended family. Keth and Kasson followed, walking just behind at each shoulder. He planted Svalthbrul and examined these three: all survivors like himself. All knowing the true perils and secrets of these heights.

  He nodded to them. ‘It seems these upper slopes are ours once more. I doubt we shall ever see the Army of Dust and Bone again. If their queen has her way they shall remain of the dust and the earth. So, my offer stands. Shall we rebuild a Greathall and hold it together?’ He looked to Bar
an and Erta of the Heels.

  The brother and sister exchanged bruised and exhausted glances. Baran pulled on his tangled beard. ‘The question is where? These valleys are all scraped clean of trees and soil.’

  ‘If I may,’ the Myrni girl, Siguna, began timidly, ‘there are woods on the slopes farther to the west.’

  ‘What of the heights?’ Baran asked.

  ‘We must guard them still,’ Orman answered. He understood now what Jaochim and all the other elders had been doing all this time. Guarding the Holdings, yes, but more important barring the way to these heights and the secrets they contained. The hidden places that mustn’t be opened. He would honour that heavy purpose and guard these secrets. Perhaps, in time, he would come to be feared or cursed by the lowland newcomers as a hoarder of mysteries. But better that than the end of the world come again – perhaps in truth.

  ‘And the Matriarch?’ Erta asked.

  ‘She will remain. She will call us if she needs us.’ He studied the Myrni girl, turning his head slightly to see her better. ‘You will guide us west, then, Siguna?’

  She bowed. ‘Yes, Orman.’

  One last thought struck him and he turned to Baran. ‘Oh – I have heard that the Losts were last seen alive to the east. Will you hunt them out?’

  Baran bowed also, smiling behind his beard. ‘With pleasure.’

  Orman leaned more of his weight upon the thick haft of Svalthbrul. He nodded to Siguna. ‘Find us a favourable high vale that we may call our home.’

  *

  Jute haunted the cliff tops of Mantle Keep. They overlooked the one narrow clear channel that allowed access to the Sea of Gold through the ice cliffs. Great chunks of cerulean ice floated there, bumping and clashing on their way out to wander the sea. More fell daily, calving in massive eruptions of splitting ice.

  Sometimes the Jaghut sorceress joined him to exercise her leg. Yet her gaze was drawn not out to sea, but to the north, and he knew she was considering leaving soon to make the journey up the great serpentine ice-floe where she claimed her mother abided.