Fearsome Journeys (The New Solaris Book of Fantasy)

by Jonathan Strahan

  Hai Hai droned in repetition: “I will leave this room.” She walked down the steps of the dais. “I will leave this room,” she repeated, “...after you cook my breakfast, eat my cunny, and die by fire!”

  The Weavers were confused, their half-rotted minds unable, it seemed, to understand drollery. When Hai Hai flew at them with her sabers, though—they recognized that.

  Zok felt his mind clear in an instant. The spell holding him had broken with the Weavers’ concentration. The girl screamed and ran out of the room.

  And then Zok heard another voice in his head. A woman’s voice, as different from that of the Weavers as day was from night. Place your hands on the Ebon Chest! Free me! Your worthiness will open the lock! The voice was like sunlight and honey. Zok obeyed it instantly. His placed his hands on the lock.

  There was a sound like a thousand chimes, and the lid flew open in a burst of golden light. All movement in the chamber stopped.

  The Diamond Diadem floated up out of the Ebon Chest. It revolved slowly in midair, suspended in a beam of golden light, sparkling with the light of a thousand sun-dappled diamonds. Zok had been in the presence of powerful sorcery a hundred times, but nothing like this. He felt waves of pure power and grace wash over his soul.

  Something very different happened to the Weavers when the light hit them. There was no flame, but they burned nonetheless. There was a horrible wailing, then robes and mail, flesh and bones all dissolved into ash. And just like that, Zok stood alone in the room with Hai Hai and the true Diamond Diadem of Virgin Queen Glora, which slowly lowered itself back onto the velvet cushion that sat inside the Ebon Chest.

  Hear me, Zok Ironeyes! Hear the voice of the light! As with the voices of the Shadow Weavers, the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. But it was unmistakably a single voice—female, powerful, and clear as a clarion breaking a silent morning. Suddenly the Ebon Chest seemed more a throne than a box.

  I am Glora, the Virgin Queen, servant of the Fathergod. I am the Diamond Diadem.

  I was made to fight the Shadow Weavers, but they sought to use my power for evil. But you, in your worthiness, have freed me!

  But you must not take me to the one who sent you. He means to serve the Fathergod, but he is consumed with pride and ambition. I release you from his power.

  Zok heard a tinkling like glass. He felt the amethyst band around his neck crumble to dust. Beside him the same happened to Hai Hai’s.

  Over the centuries and millennia, granted glimpses by the Fathergod, I have watched humanity. And I have learned much. One of the things I have learned is that His servants sometimes take the most unlikely shapes. In your impurity, Zok Ironeyes, you are pure. And you have great strength. The strength that the world needs. That is why you must claim me.

  Zok finally worked up the power of speech again. “You want me to wear you?”

  No. The voice sounded like a pretty woman’s sad smile to his ears. Like clouded sunshine. No, you must destroy me. The power I bear is too great for men to wield. Only now do I see that. Now that I have been found again, this world is in grave danger.

  But saving this world of men will mean a long journey and great sacrifice. You must cast me from the peak of Broken Sword Mountain, into the fathomless depths of the Sable Sea. There, the tainted waves will devour me—and I will finally be beyond the reach of men and demons alike.

  “And if I don’t?” Zok asked.

  There was a long silence. If you do not, Zok Ironeyes, then evil will triumph!

  Zok stretched. It had been a hard few days, and he ached all over. “Sorry to say it, Majesty, but I really don’t give a black bear’s bushy balls about all that. Goodbye.” He turned to go.

  You do not understand! If I am not destroyed, some evil man—or worse, the Weavers—will find me! Darkness will cover the land! Children will die!

  Zok shrugged, listening to the sound of his armor. It was good scale, and if he was lucky he could sell it for a few months’ fancy boarding for Hai Hai and himself. That was about the best that he was going to get out of this miserable little adventure, it seemed. Ah, well. He’d had jobs that paid worse.

  “Children die,” he said at last. “The girl was in front of me. That’s why I freed her. As for the rest of it, Majesty... well, the world will take care of itself. It always does.”

  Zok stepped to the Ebon Chest. Slowly, carefully, he closed the lid.

  As Hai Hai and he walked out of the chamber, the muffled wailing of Virgin Queen Glora’s soul sounded like a harp being played by an angry weasel.

  They reached the outside, and footprints in the dust told Zok that the girl had done the same. Good.

  Keeping an eye out for any more demon-men, they retrieved the riding beasts. For a long time, they rode in silence. Finally Zok said, “The Weavers’ spell didn’t work on you.”

  Hai Hai shrugged. “Soul magic. And, as the fox-fucking Fatherpriests will be quick to tell you, I ain’t got a soul.”

  “But the Weavers were fooled. You could have fled alone.”

  Another shrug. “We are partners. That means something, right?”

  “Right.”

  The tips of Hai Hai’s ears drooped in annoyance. “Anyway, if you’re going to burble like a woman about it, get it over with now, huh? We’ve a long ride ahead.”

  Zok smiled at his partner, spurred his riding-beast to a scurry, and said not a word.

  CAMP FOLLOWER

  TRUDI CANAVAN

  CONTRARY TO WHAT the soldiers said, it was not after battle that Captain Reny enjoyed the services of the whore in his tent. After battle, he was too exhausted to do more than wash off the blood and gore, even if he only ever fought when the King decided to join the fight, or to protect his leader. Reny was too old for the victorious lustful celebrations the soldiers imagined their commanders enjoyed.

  It was during the time between battles, after long meetings to discuss strategy, that he made use of the woman. Aside from the physical release and the sensual pleasure, he gained something even more valuable—a time in which he was free from thought and care. The past and the future did not penetrate his mind.

  But all too soon he would be lying awake, his mind starting to dwell on matters best forgotten or ignored. As he was now.

  To delay the return of those memories, he looked down at the woman sleeping on the floor beside his narrow stretcher-bed, and thought about her instead. She’d told him her name was Kala, but he doubted that was her true name. It was too common among the camp followers. Apparently it meant ‘lucky charm’, which was far too appealing a name in a time of war to be a real one.

  Her waist was narrow, but she widened above and below in ways a woman ought to. He guessed she’d joined the other camp followers not long before he’d noticed her, or she would have been as skinny and wasted as they were. Yet he hadn’t chosen her for her body alone. Something in her eyes reassured him. It was an awareness that told him she knew exactly what she was doing, despite her obvious youth, and wasn’t tormented by it. It was the absence of desperation, loathing, horror or resignation in her face that had caused him to look twice, and invite her to join him.

  All his doubts about her had faded as the days and weeks, villages and towns had fallen to the advancing army. She did not chatter, did not fawn or beg, and never complained. She was quiet, obedient and willing. She rubbed his sore muscles after battle. She had a skill with the cook pot that could turn the worst of rationed foodstuffs into edible fare.

  Choosing her had been the best thing he’d done since joining the Conquest.

  LOOKING DOWN FROM the ridge, Reny felt the breath catch in his throat. Wavy, sinuous lines of trampled whetta ran between the forest and the farmhouse. A lot of people had passed this way. The sort of people who did not care if they ruined a crop. This could be evidence of their arriving or leaving. They could be gone or still in the farmhouse. Reny’s anger at this careless destruction was overtaken by dread.

  Then he was at the house. He t
ried to shout but could not make a sound. I don’t need to see this again. Though he knew what he would find, he started searching. I’m dreaming; I must wake myself up. There was nobody in the kitchen where he knew he should find his wife… doomed to die after agonising days of pain and fever from infection within.

  Better they had killed her than left her like this. The rooms upstairs were also empty. He ought to be grateful to not see, yet again, what they had done to his daughter and youngest son, but instead their absence left him fraught and hollow.

  They’re gone. Where have they gone?

  In the distance he heard the sound of horns—

  He jolted awake.

  And remembered.

  His homeland had been invaded by the Henelan. The Laxen, his own people, had offered their empty throne to a sorcerer mercenary, Dael, if he would defeat their enemy. Within a year the Henelan, to the last child, no longer existed. A secret agreement was discovered between other neighbouring lands, who had planned to carve up Laxen among themselves once they defeated the Henelan. So a greater war started, until someone came up with the idea that lands united were lands free of warfare. And so, the Conquest began.

  A retired soldier and former strategy adviser to the King of Laxen, Reny had offered his services to Dael at the beginning. When he had told Kala this, she had asked how long ago it had been, and he could not tell her the exact number of years with confidence. More than ten. Not as many as twenty.

  The horns in his dreams rang out again, but his time he knew them to be real: the signal that the army was to pack up and be ready to march. Reny cursed and got to his feet. The woman looked up at him, a question in her eyes.

  “Packing time,” he told her.

  She got up and started moving about, opening the trunks that held his belongings and putting what had been removed back inside them. He moved to the tent opening and looked out, then sighed heavily and turned back to see her watching him, her smooth brow wrinkling in mute enquiry.

  “I should have been told about this,” he answered. “Vorl is still punishing me for disobeying him.”

  She nodded and started folding the bedding, but her frown did not fade.

  “It was something that happened before we… before I invited you to my tent,” he explained.

  The look she gave him was accepting, as if she didn’t expect him to tell her anything more, but he thought he saw a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

  He took a deep breath. “Vorl had just been promoted to General. He wanted to test his authority. In the wrong situation, that can make a man do needlessly cruel things. Or order others to do so. I refused.”

  She grimaced in sympathy and understanding. “Do you regret it?” she asked in her lilting voice. Her strange accent had been annoying at first, but now that he’d grown familiar enough to understand her he found it appealing.

  He considered her question, looking away as he remembered the incident. “No. Besides, I don’t think I could have managed it anyway. Perhaps Vorl guessed that and wanted me humiliated.” He turned back to find her looking bemused, and smiled grimly in apology. “Sorry, that won’t make much sense to you. Dael sent Vorl to attack a place in the mountains. Though it was not directly in the path of the army, there was a risk people there could attack our rear if we didn’t deal with them first. It turned out to be a temple run by women. Priestesses. No threat at all.”

  Kala went still, her face hardening as she comprehended the fate of the priestesses.

  “And you refused to take part?”

  Her voice was deeper and stronger than he had heard it before. It also had a tone of demand. Another man in his position might have punished her for that, he realised.

  “Yes.” He shuddered. To watch what had been done to his wife and daughter being done to others… He pushed the memory away and set his mind on packing. Kala, accepting his silence, said nothing more for some time; then, as the last tent rope loosened and the oilcloth collapsed on the ground, she glanced sideways at him.

  “Dael hasn’t got rid of you yet. You must still be valuable to him,” she said quietly.

  He shrugged, too astonished by her insight to be angry at her presumption. “Until Vorl convinces him otherwise.”

  “Vorl is a weapon, to be used and discarded when blunted. Advisers are like scrolls or books, to be consulted over and over. You don’t hit your enemy with a book, then go consult your sword, do you?”

  He stared at her in amazement, but she was walking away, stooping to take up one side of the tent and start folding it ready for travel.

  THE STINK OF sweat, blood and gut juices permeated Reny’s skin and clothing. These last were of an enemy soldier who had managed to dash through the front line of soldiers and Dael’s guards only to impale himself on the captain’s sword. Reny suspected he’d never forget the expression of surprise and dismay on the young man’s face.

  He reached the tent, staggered inside and stood there, swaying in the lamplight.

  I’m still alive. Another battle survived.

  Two buckets of water waited next to a neatly folded pile of clothing, ready for his return, but something was missing. He frowned and cast his eyes about the tent. Kala was absent.

  Probably getting more water. Or food. Or something. He shrugged and started cleaning himself up. Long experience had taught him to start from the top of his head and work his way down, so that gore that might be trapped within his armour, clothing or hair would not drip onto parts already cleaned. Each piece of armour was removed separately; the soiled clothing stripped off and set aside. It was not easy this time, without Kala’s help, but he felt a perverse determination to do it himself. Do I think that if I show her I can manage this myself, she’ll make sure she’s here next time in case I decide I don’t need her anymore?

  Once he was clean, he donned fresh undergarments, then set about putting much of the armour back on. Fortunately the protective shell was not heavy. Most of it was hardened leather and when camped on the battlefield he avoided removing it as much as possible. The enemy might launch a stealthy night attack. It had happened in the past. The King’s army had lost many good leaders.

  Even though exhaustion usually overrode discomfort, it was torture to sleep in full armour, so Reny compromised by leaving off the back piece. When he was ready for sleep and found Kala still hadn’t returned, something made him turn from the bed and replace the missing piece. He paced around the confines of the tent slowly, then went looking for her outside.

  He trudged around the camp twice in the deepening night, even checking Vorl’s tent. In the end, he found her, but only because he had overheard a watcher chatting to the man sent to replace him.

  “…one with the yellow hair again.”

  “Same as last night. I searched her when she came back, but she wasn’t carrying anything. She still out there?”

  Reny had stopped to listen, his heart skipping at the mention of yellow hair. The two men were squinting out over the battlefield. His eyes followed their gaze. A thin sliver of moon lit a landscape that was far lumpier than it had appeared when the army had arrived a few days before. Figures moved about carrying lamps, bending and stooping over the dark mounds.

  Reny had seen and watched this post-battle ritual many times before. Long after battle had ceased, the field remained a scene of activity. The wounded deemed to have a chance at recovery were carried from the field, but those considered unlikely to survive were given a quick and merciful death. Despite rules against the practice, whores also slipped out after darkness to take trinkets and small weapons from the bodies of the dead, though if they were spotted returning to the camp they risked losing the most part of their takings to the watchmen as bribes. Soldiers did not look favourably on those who stole from the dead—unless they benefited from it themselves.

  Surely Kala was not partaking in this shameful trade? Reny had taken care of her as best he could, though admittedly hers was hardly a life of comfort and riches. Was she greedy for more? As
Reny stared out into the darkness his eyes were drawn to a figure, familiar in the way it moved. Suddenly he did not want to know. But if it is her and the soldiers hear I’m keeping a scavenger in my tent…

  Sighing, he set out onto the battlefield. As he approached the figure he felt his heart sink. It was Kala.

  She hadn’t seen him yet. He stopped, suddenly reluctant to approach. Perhaps he could try to pretend he didn’t know what she had done. The thought of throwing her out and returning to an empty tent each night was surprisingly painful.

  While he watched, she squatted beside one of the dark shapes. He heard a groan, and then a voice.

  “Please. End it for me,” the voice begged. “I can’t… stand it anymore. Please.”

  Kala reached out and touched the soldier’s face gently. “I will give you peace,” she said.

  She moved her hand down and spread her fingers out over his chest. Reny could see that the man was shaking convulsively. The air between her hand and the soldier rippled, then her fingers slowly curled into a fist. The man gasped, let out a long breath and went limp.

  Reny’s skin pricked with cold. He felt the world shift around him like a wheel on a carriage slipping into a rut. He knew nothing would be the same again.

  Kala got to her feet. She looked down at the soldier, then sighed and shook her head. Stepping away, she began walking among the bodies with slow and unhurried steps.

  She is no thief, Reny realised. She took nothing. But he knew that wasn’t true.

  She had taken the man’s life. Something within him knew this. He considered the shimmering air he’d seen between her hand and the dying soldier. It would be so easy to dismiss it as a bit of air heated by a campfire behind her, shimmering around her arm as she made a gesture of sympathy toward the man. But there was no campfire nearby.

  Clearly she was not just a whore.

  He had seen Dael perform magic, both subtle and dazzling. To deny the possibility that she was a sorcerer would be foolish and dangerous.Kala was walking away from him now. She hadn’t noticed him standing there. He waited until she was too far away to hear or see him, then he made his way back to the camp. As he reached the watchmen, two soldiers overtook him, carrying a wounded man between them.