The Ragged Man

by Lloyd, Tom

  The three were silent as they watched Legana catch Isak’s attention and eventually down sit beside him.

  Then Doranei spoke, his voice a rasp. ‘Or it could be he’s just fucking mad and we’re all screwed.’

  Mihn nodded. ‘True.’

  — Do you remember me?

  Isak looked up at Legana’s face. There was no recognition in his eyes, but eventually he nodded. ‘We are both broken,’ he said, returning his attention to the surface of the lake. ‘All twisted and broken.’

  She looked at his face side-on. The lines of his head were unnatural, reminding her of a copper bowl battered by years of careless use. White-eyes could heal remarkably quickly, and often with barely a trace of the original injury, but Isak’s head bore the record of the abuse inflicted upon him.

  Scars ran up his cheek from jaw to hair-line. The curve of his earlobe was frayed, like the wing of a dead butterfly. A furrow ran down the ear that looked remarkably like a massive claw had raked it. The furrow petered out where it reached the clear indentations of a massive chain pulled tight around his throat, each link looking like it had been burned into the skin with acid.

  The extent of the damage shocked her, and she was reminded of the battle between the Lady and Aracnan. Her last memory of her Goddess had been one of agony, both personal, and that radiating out from the Lady as the power of a Crystal Skull burned through her divine form.

  — Not completely broken she wrote. She held the slate in front of Isak’s face, but he said nothing.

  — Mihn sent a message to King Emin. About Lord Styrax.

  Isak shrank back from the name in front of him, drawing his hands protectively up to his chest until Legana pulled the slate away. Eventually he took a deep breath and turned to look at her again, and this time Legana saw a spark in his eyes, the return of something human that was hiding behind the damaged remnants of his mind.

  ‘There are holes in my mind,’ Isak said. ‘I will never be remade - not even the Gods have such strength.’

  — What do you see in those holes?

  ‘Shadows,’ Isak said, with a lopsided attempt at a smile that would have terrified children and unnerved the mortal Legana . . . but it was pity that filled her heart now. ‘I see shadows where once there were memories, the parts of me I’ve lost.’

  Legana looked at him, and Isak reached out a hand to awkwardly pat hers; he had two fingernails missing and not one finger followed the natural line. A man’s touch had always made her skin crawl, sparked a flutter of panic in her heart. It had taken her years to learn how to keep such reactions in check, even with her unyielding strength of mind . . . but Isak was as a child.

  She took his hand and held it between her own, feeling him tremble slightly as he spoke.

  ‘These holes are the only weapons I have.’ He raised his other hand and Legana flinched as she realised he held Eolis in it. ‘This I have no use for, I’m just waiting for someone to need it.’

  Legana let Isak go and wrote - Will holes be enough?

  ‘Perhaps,’ Isak replied, enigmatically, ‘but no. There will still be sacrifices. How it may be done I don’t know.’

  — I don’t understand.

  Isak stood, and looking down at Legana, said, ‘I know what will stop . . . him . . . but . . .’ He flexed his damaged fingers, as if reaching for a solution, then said sadly, ‘The pieces are not yet complete.’

  — And Azaer? ‘How do you kill a shadow?’

  — There are ways. There has to be.

  Isak held up a bag that hung from his waist. ‘These are the key, hidden somewhere inside them.’ He opened the bag and showed Legana the object within, a Crystal Skull. It wasn’t one of those given to Isak by the Knights of the Temples, but the Skull of Dreams, the one fused to Xeliath’s skin until her death.

  ‘Look inside and find the answers. That’s what I was born to do: crack open skulls and expose what lies within. These were there at the beginning, when Aryn Bwr set out on the path of rebellion. They were old when he found them, they were old when the shadow led him to a barrow caught in twilight and twisted history. To understand this war I must understand them and their place in this Land. Until then, we are lost.’

  Legana shivered, the small spark of Fate that remained within her vibrating as he spoke the words inscribed on Doranei’s arm.

  — We must go, she wrote, pushing herself upright again.

  ‘Where?’

  — To find the king. His last chance may already be in his hands.

  CHAPTER 31

  Major Amber stopped as an unexpected cool breath of wind drifted over him. He turned and looked at the city behind him, the dirty-white stone of Ismess nestled around the base of the slope he had been climbing. The wind tugged at his clothes with renewed force and Amber closed his eyes, imagining being carried up into the sky. When he’d started up towards the Library of Seasons there had been a Litse white-eye flying high above him, staring down at the grand, dilapidated temples and the sprawling Palace of the Three Winds.

  The slope, a huge stepped incline two hundred yards long, was called Ilit’s Stair. It was the only official entrance to the library, located inside Blackfang Mountain. The rulers of the Circle City’s other quarters had tunnelled through miles of rock to provide private entrances, so they could meet on relatively neutral ground. The rigid white lines of the library looked even starker against the black rock of the mountain, especially when lit by the summer sun high in the sky.

  Amber had ignored the hostile looks while travelling through the city of the Menin’s ancient enemy; he was used to them now. Walking up Ilit’s Stair however, he was reminded of the weapons stores in the guardhouse. Amber was from a military family, and his ancestors had doubtless taken part in the Menin slaughter of the Litse. The weapons — bundles of arrows and ballista-bolts, enough for every Menin who had participated - were stored even today, to prevent the quarter and the library being sacked again.

  ‘Didn’t help you though, did it?’ Amber called up to the dark shape in the sky. ‘You let us in this time.’

  He resumed his ascent, part of him still anticipating the flash of an arrow from the shadows, but he reached the open gate without drama and stopped to inspect the changes that had happened since he was last there. The damage to the buildings took him by surprise; he hadn’t been back since the guardian had been woken.

  As he walked through the gate, Amber realised the library was busier than it had been in years, centuries more likely. Blond-haired labourers swarmed over every building, even those that looked damaged beyond repair. As well as the workmen, he could see teams of engineers, soldiers and scholars, servants wearing the livery of the Ruby Tower — there were even some courtiers lazing in the shade or eating at long stone tables.

  ‘So it’s true,’ Amber murmured to himself, ‘Duchess Escral has moved herself to the library - but at whose suggestion, I wonder? If there really was a Devil Stair created in the tower by the assassins I can see why she would, but this isn’t the most obvious alternative.’ Intelligence on the assault on the Ruby Tower was sketchy, to say the least, but one mage had suggested the assassins had killed Aracnan by somehow casting him down into Ghenna. Amber suspected that before long the Menin would be getting the blame for it all, their lord having created that terrifying precedent in the recent battle.

  The duchess’ scrawny steward caught sight of him and hurried over. He bowed low as he said, ‘Major, welcome to the Library of Seasons.’

  Amber grunted in response and continued to scan the faces. Just emerging from the remains of the Fearen House, where the dragon had made a lair for itself, he spotted the waddling form of Lord Celao. As nominal custodian of the library, the obese white-eye should be securing his valuable property, but from the few Litse guards in view it appeared that wasn’t as great a concern as Amber had expected. Servants in a variety of liveries bustled around him, but he ignored them all - despite the fact some were carrying books from the Fearen House.

&nb
sp; Interesting. Celao’s not only tolerating the Byoran presence; he seems to be giving tacit agreement to it, else he’d be throwing his considerable weight around.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to ask me for my weapons, Steward Jato,’ Amber said eventually.

  ‘Aha, of course not, Major.’ Jato’s beaky face was a mass of wrinkles as he tittered obsequiously. ‘Can I fetch you some refreshment on this warm day?’

  ‘Just Kayel, please.’

  Jato straightened and frowned. ‘Sergeant Kayel? Certainly, Major. I believe he is attending the duchess in the Summerturn House.’ He pointed towards the building just past the ruined Scholars’ Palace. There were deep-scored claw-marks on the stone, but no apparent structural damage.

  The steward started off in that direction, but before he’d gone a few yards Amber called him back. ‘Wait, I want to talk to you first.’

  Jato looked at him with an expression that Amber eventually realised was intended to be sombre concentration. ‘Of course, Major, how may I help?’

  ‘The child, Ruhen - what do you think of him?’

  ‘The little prince, sir? Why, he is a blessing for us all!’ Jato looked almost hurt at the question, and his pale cheeks coloured.

  ‘Does he — ? Well, does he seem like other children to you?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ Jato gasped. ‘He is above us all; untouched by the cares and fears of this life. He will lead us to salvation - to peace.’

  ‘And you’re his devoted servant, eh?’

  The hectic colour drained from Jato’s face. ‘Of course I am . . . why would you ask such a thing? What lies have you been told?’

  The fear was plain to see on Jato’s face, but Amber ignored his questions, saying, ‘That will be all, steward, thank you. Please fetch Sergeant Kayel.’

  Steward Jato squawked breathlessly for a few heartbeats, until the big soldier pointed towards the Summerturn House, whereupon he flinched away and bowed hurriedly.

  Maybe the link between Kayel and me remains strong, Amber noted as he watched Jato scuttle away. A magical link had been created in Scree between Amber and Ruhen’s big guardian, one that remained to this day. His best guess was it had been created by some follower of Azaer to add to the confusion and chaos that ended in the city’s destruction. He’d still not worked out how to exploit its existence. I shouldn’t have that effect on a man used to Kayel’s presence, not unless he had reason to fear.

  His thoughts were disturbed by a peal of high notes chiming out from behind him. Amber turned and saw a long bank of shutters had been opened on the top floor of one of the smaller buildings on the bank of the small stream that ran through the valley. It was called the Watersong House, if his memory was correct, and he could see a rail inside the now-open windows, hanging from which were long steel chimes and small polished bells. A team of servants were ringing out some strange tune Amber didn’t recognise, as they did every Litse feast-day.

  He looked back towards Ismess, suddenly remembering the drapes and flags he’d seen on the way here; at the time he’d been more interested in the Wall of Intercession set up at the arched entrance to the Garden of Lilies. The garden was one of the few elegant places in the city. It surrounded the foot of Ilit’s Stair, one of the most prominent positions in the quarter, so clearly it wasn’t just the Byorans who saw Ruhen as the answer to their desperate prayers - or, perhaps more accurately, the only one listening to their prayers in this time of violent fanaticism. One thing the citizens of Ismess had in abundance was desperation.

  ‘Well, if it ain’t the hero of the Byoran Fens?’ said a rough voice behind him. Amber turned to see Hener Kayel, wearing his usual evil grin. ‘Should I curtsey for the great man?’

  ‘Whatever you’re used to,’ Amber replied, disinterested.

  The sergeant wore his uniform breeches and high boots, but he had discarded the jacket for an open-necked white shirt - which looked incongruous paired with the long steel-backed gloves that covered both arms. Amber felt distinctly overdressed in the heat.

  ‘I’m not really used to heroes,’ Kayel replied, mockingly, ‘so I’m a bit out of practice. Best I leave it out entirely — wouldn’t want to get it wrong and cause offence.’

  Amber snorted, but before he could reply he sensed a sudden shift in movement. He looked around, and saw a group of Devoted soldiers approaching from the direction of the Akell tunnel, their red sashes, bearing the Order’s Runesword emblem, making them obvious, even at that distance.

  Kayel, watching people’s reactions, gave Amber a comradely tap and pointed to the Litse lord. The grossly obese white-eye, Ilit’s Chosen, was looking like a man afraid as he sensed the shift around him. His hand reached for his scimitar-bladed spear, which was carried by a servant. Gesh, first among the library’s white-eye guardians, stood near Lord Celao, watching heads turn impassively. There was no sign that he’d noted Celao’s fearful reaction, though he could hardly have failed to see it.

  ‘Fat-boy’s scared,’ Kayel commented with a chuckle. ‘A nobleman from Tor Salan arrived in the night and demanded to speak to him.’

  Amber considered both Gesh and the statement a moment. The white-eye was still wearing his ceremonial armour, but he now carried an ornate bow rather than javelins.

  ‘Gesh has been made Krann of the Litse?’ he inquired.

  ‘That’s the one. Turns out the nobleman spent his entire fortune to commission a bow from the mage-smiths of Tor Salan, bankrupted himself a few weeks before you lot arrived at the gate.’

  ‘Our Gods are caring, then,’ Amber muttered, looking at the contrast between white-eyes. Gesh already looked more of a lord than Celao ever had, so he guessed it wouldn’t be long before a true ruler took charge of what Litse were left in the Land.

  ‘One of ’em, maybe,’ Kayel said with a wink. ‘I heard the man had the Lady’s luck - you lot killed all the mages in Tor Salan, so none of ’em lived to collect his final payment!’

  Amber smiled distantly and looked at the approaching Devoted, led by Knight-Cardinal Certinse, without his attendant priests for the first time in months. More curiously, they were ignoring the unmistakable shape of Lord Celao and instead headed towards the Summerturn House.

  ‘Quite some allies you’ve got here, Sergeant,’ Amber commented. ‘The frightened Lord Celao I can understand; the only way to keep the support of his people is to unite them against us, but the Devoted?’

  ‘As Ruhen says, it’s always good to have friends.’

  Amber frowned. ‘Are they Ruhen’s friends, or Duchess Escral’s?’

  ‘The duchess is the ruler of Byora,’ Kayel reminded him, ‘Ruhen’s a special little boy, but he’s not telling the duchess what to do.’

  ‘Leaves that part to you, does he? No, don’t bother answering that. I know the Devoted are having problems with their priests, but is it bad as all that?’

  ‘Depends whether you’d enjoy being strung up for impiety. As I hear, Akell’s at boiling point.’

  ‘But the Knight-Cardinal’s authority is based on the cults; isn’t every officer of the Order an ordained priest? It would be quite a step for them to seek outside help against their own.’

  Kayel nodded. ‘Their problem, not mine.’

  ‘But to look to Ruhen for help? Half the Order must consider Ruhen and your band of preachers heretical.’

  ‘Don’t you think everyone needs to wallow in the glory o’ the Gods?’ Kayel said in a deadpan voice.

  Amber glanced around, then gestured for Kayel to follow him back out onto Ilit’s Stair, where they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘I don’t think you do, no.’

  ‘What makes you say that, soldier-boy?’ Kayel asked, an edge of menace creeping into his voice. Amber felt his fingers ache for the feel of his scimitars.

  ‘Because I might not be as slow as I look, and nor’s Lord Styrax.’

  Kayel gave him an appraising look. ‘Jury’s out on that one, soldier-boy. You got a problem with me, spit it out, or draw those pretty swords
, but don’t just stand there catchin’ flies.’

  ‘I don’t think it’ll be a problem,’ Amber said, forcing himself not to square up to the man. There was something about the big sergeant that reminded him of a white-eye; that air of aggression and belligerence that could spark a fight from thin air. ‘But you’re not just a mercenary, and you’re not serving the duchess. Pretending otherwise is a waste of time and an insult to Lord Styrax.’

  ‘I think you better explain yourself better than that — so far I don’t like what I’m hearing.’ Kayel had his hand on his bastard sword now, and Amber could see by the set of his shoulders that the man wasn’t joking any longer; he recognised the readiness of a warrior ready to kill.

  ‘First of all, I don’t think there’s a problem between us, or our masters,’ Amber said in a calm voice, ‘so let’s not get straight to the cutting. I was in Scree, and I heard a name or two being thrown around. One was Azaer, another was Ilumene. Now any fool who lived through that little corner of Ghenna saw things that probably didn’t add up, pieces of the puzzle that were missing.’