by Tom Lloyd
‘Are always a possibility in this life, yes,’ Torl finished for him. ‘It’s something you should take a keen interest in.’
‘Me? If you are trying to tell me that Lord Bahl—’
‘Hah! I’m not telling you anything, young man. I am, however, suggesting that it would be good to let men know you are more than what you showed on the field, and ...’ The suzerain’s voice tailed off.
‘And what?’ demanded Isak, scowling.
For the first time, the man actually looked a little uncomfortable. He lowered his voice to make sure only Isak and Vesna could hear. ‘When we searched the enemy bodies, we found—well, people will draw their own conclusions. A lot of them had a scroll hung about their necks, written in Elvish, of course, but Ked is enough of a scholar to read some of the runes. It was apparently something he had to translate when he was studying the language as a boy. I don’t know the full text, but we’ve all heard the rumours.’
‘What is it, for the love of Larat? You look like a scared child.’
Torl held up his hands to mollify Isak’s impatience and cleared his throat. ‘My Krann, it’s called the Prophecy of Shalstik, supposedly the most significant prophecy about this Age, but written thousands of years ago. This army we have just faced down was an army of the prophet’s disciples. With an Estashanti in their ranks, and the sheer numbers, from different houses at that, the elves must have organised themselves as soon as you were Chosen - perhaps even before that.’
‘Anyone with money will be able to find a translation somewhere,’ interrupted Vesna. ‘Every scholar of ancient languages will have one version or another, or at least know where to find one.’
‘What does it predict?’ Isak asked weakly.
‘The return of the Last King, who they believe will come to take his revenge upon the Gods - and he was the last mortal before you to wear that armour. My Lord, they seek to reclaim their holiest of relics and I fear they won’t stop at this defeat. Ked could only remember the first line properly. He said that all Elvish is open to interpretation, but—’ Now Torl looked pained, his face that of a man bringing bad tidings, ‘but that line was: In silver light born/In silver light clothed. For the Last King to lead them in their revenge, they need that armour.’
Isak didn’t reply. He didn’t trust his voice. All he could do was turn and look back the way he’d come, back to his tent where the cold lines of Siulents seemed to shine through the cloth and into the pit of his stomach.
Oh Gods, whatever horror they bring down upon us, it will all be my fault. And I don’t just have to worry about people resenting that, what if a duke or suzerain thinks to ask someone from the wagon-train? Not even Carel would see any harm in telling them I was born on Silvernight.
CHAPTER 16
‘I’m too old for this. Why haven’t I retired yet?’ General Chate Dev looked around the empty spaces of the temple plain and once satisfied there was no one in sight, he trotted over the dry, packed ground to the looming structure in the centre. He’d lived in Thotel all his life, but the immense pillars of the Temple of the Sun, hewn from a single pyramid of stone, always made him marvel.
‘Because you’d be bored to death, Chate!’ a deep voice chuckled from the temple.
The ageing Chetse walked over to the nearest of the four gigantic pillars as Lord Chalat stepped out from behind it. The base was a stone block eight feet high, and the pillar itself slanted up towards the centre of the pyramidal temple, dwarfing even Lord Chalat. The white-eye almost looked humbled in its presence.
In the dark, General Dev could just see the hint of a smile in the light cast by the eternal flame. So no mourning there, then - not that it surprised the general; it was common knowledge that Lord Chalat had barely tolerated his Krann, so the news of Charr’s mortal injury wouldn’t have grieved him overmuch.
Chalat was dressed in a simple warrior’s kilt that reached halfway down his calves. His torso was wrapped in thin white linen and his massive arms were bare, other than a number of copper bands set with lapis lazuli. The scars on both arms marked him out as having passed the five tests of the Agoste field - not that anyone could possibly have doubted that. Tsatach would never have Chosen a lord found wanting as a child. Strapped to Chalat’s back was the ancient sword Golaeth. A large ruby at his throat glowed in the weak light.
‘My Lord,’ muttered the general as he reached Chalat and dropped to one knee at his feet. As he did so, he was distinctly aware of the empty plain behind him. No Chetse much liked the dark, and with the unyielding weight of the temple in front of him, he felt even more uncomfortable.
A shallow trench, no more than a foot deep, marked the boundary of the blessed ground of the temple. Everything within was illuminated by the eternal flame; the rest of this eerie, ancient place was black and hidden, as if a wall of stone stood there instead of a trench.
‘Get up, Chate. Now, why by Tsatach have you summoned me out here in the middle of the night? It might be magnificent in the light of day, but right now it’s a nightmare.’
The general murmured his agreement as he rose. The many temples of the plain were disturbing to behold at night: there was an awful sadness that lingered after dark. The temples dedicated to Nartis and Alterr were situated on top of the rocky cliffs at the north end so even those priests engaged in night-time rituals didn’t have to walk the plain at night.
The general had chosen this place for that reason. ‘It is indeed, my Lord. I thought it best not to have a crowd of onlookers ready to spread gossip. It may be that the eternal flame may help us in understanding the facts.’
‘The eternal flame? Who do you suspect of lying?’
‘The witness, my Lord.’ He looked around, and continued, ‘My men are bringing him along now - I thought you should know the facts, or as much as we know - before he arrives.’
Chalat made an irritated noise, then led the way back around to the inside of the pillar. The pair sat down on the wide steps cut into the rock.
‘So Charr wasn’t hurt in battle, then?’ Chalat began.
‘In a fashion yes. But his guards’ story is - well, unusual.’
‘Unusual?’
‘They were in the hunting grounds of the Black Palace - this was almost two moons ago - when one of the scouts saw people walking through the grounds towards them, half a dozen foreigners, from the north.’
‘Well, of course they were foreigners - no Chetse’s going to defy the hunting laws.’ He sounded irritated again.
The general continued quickly, ‘Exactly, my Lord, so Lord Charr decided to ambush the party.’
‘Hah! So the stupid bastard jumped right into a trap. He deserves to die for that.’
‘Yes, my Lord. In any case, the guards attacked and killed a number of the foreigners, but Lord Charr was hit by an arrow - straight into the heart - and no one even saw the archer. They loosed the hounds immediately, in the direction the arrow came from, but no one found a thing.’
‘If he was hit in the heart, how is he still alive?’ A gust of wind rustled over the smooth temple floor, on which the general smelled age and sorrow. In the background, the white shaft of the eternal flame, burning down from the apex of the temple to the altar, hissed quietly, as it had done for more than a thousand years.
‘We have no idea. Several surgeons inspected the wound: they all agreed that the arrow was lodged in the heart and he would die. They carried Charr to the palace chapel and left him there to die with his God. My Lord, Charr’s guards are devoted to him, but they agreed that there was nothing that could be done.’
‘So everyone was surprised when he was still alive in the morning?’
‘Quite so, my Lord. They fetched a priest and he claimed the wound was magical, that the fight for Charr’s life was a spiritual one, for his soul. The priest said that the arrow itself was made out of soot, enchanted to be as hard as iron.’
‘A spiritual battle? Useless shit’s buggered then.’ The white-eye laughed callously.
&nb
sp; ‘Quite so, Lord.’ The general waited patiently until his lord showed no further sign of interrupting. Chalat was like a mountain: he moved for no man. You worked around him, or broke your hands on his edge.
Chalat waved him to continue.
‘Armed with this information, the guards decided to bring Charr back to Thotel. If he was going to die anyway, they believed it would be better to be as close to the Temple of the Sun as possible.’
‘Pious of them. Stupid, but pious.’
‘They brought with them the one surviving member of the group they’d ambushed - as soon as he saw the arrow hit, he ran, but he surrendered later, once he judged their blood had cooled somewhat - he spoke Chetse; told them he had information about the assassin. His behaviour was strange enough that they decided not to kill him immediately - instead, they trussed him like a lizard and put him on the cart next to the Krann.’
‘And it’s his testimony you want me to hear? What did he tell you?’
‘If you don’t mind, my Lord, I’d like you to judge it for yourself. He’s less likely to lie to you with his hand in the eternal flame. He knows our language well, no doubt why he was chosen for the bait, so he must know about the flame. He did say that he’d been under some sort of enchantment, but that’s a detail we can decide later. It’s the assassin that I’m worried about.’
‘Worried he’s lying, or that what he says might be true?’
Harsh voices from the darkness prompted the general to clamber to his feet and walk out to the front of the temple. As Chalat joined him, the shapes of three men slowly appeared from the gloom. Two were Lion Guards, from General Dev’s personal legion; the third was a little taller and much more slender, even with the thick cords of rope that bound his arms to his body and hobbled his feet.
Both guards carried crossbows, and had battle-axes slung on their backs. The larger of the two also carried an iron-shod quarterstaff, the foreigner’s weapon. They threw the prisoner on to the floor and stepped over him to kneel at their lord’s feet.
‘Cut those bonds from his hands,’ ordered Chalat, ‘and bring him to the flame.’ Their footsteps echoed strangely over the polished surface, getting quieter as they reached the centre, as if deadened by the constant whisper of the eternal flame. The prisoner had hair dark enough for a Farlan, though he lacked the height or the tribe’s distinctive facial features. He stumbled along after the white-eye as best he could. Though the guards kept prodding him along, he couldn’t help looking up at the astonishing temple. His mouth fell open in awe as he followed the four pillars up to the apex, almost eighty yards above the altar in the centre. Nothing supported them; the thin white shaft of the eternal flame was the only thing that connected the peak and altar.
An open walkway that ran around the pillars at the midpoint was strictly the preserve of Tsatach’s priests. Anyone else who dared enter the stairs in the pillars that led to the walkway - even General Dev - would be executed on the spot. The walkways were supported only by air and magic: anyone other than the temple’s priests might disrupt the spells that supported the thousands of tons of stone and kill the pilgrims congregating below - on a feast day, they numbered in the thousands.
Chalat wasted no time when he reached the altar. He’d been enjoying himself with four of his favourite concubines and he fully intended to return to their delights as quickly as possible. Grabbing the foreigner by the scruff of the neck, he picked him up bodily and deposited him next to the flame.
‘Do you know what happens to liars who put their hands in the flame?’ he asked cheerily.
The man nodded, a little nervous, but remarkably calm - the general thought he looked as though he’d resigned himself to execution and had made his peace with the Gods already.
Chalat nodded in approval and took the man’s hand in his own. As the Chosen of Tsatach, the flame would never hurt him. If the foreigner lied while his hand was within the flame, his entire arm would be consumed. If he was quick, it would be just the arm.
‘What is your name?’
‘Mihn ab Netren ab Felith. I am called Mihn.’
‘Where do you come from?’
‘I was born into the clans of the northern coast. I have wandered the Land for several years now, often in the wastes.’
‘Tell me who the assassin was.’ Chalat had better things to do than waste time on pointless questions.
‘He—he called himself Arlal.’
‘What sort of a name is that? Farlan?’
‘No, Lord, elven.’
Chalat gave a cough of surprise, letting go of the man’s wrist for a moment in his astonishment. General Dev shrugged when Chalat looked at him. He looked at the flame; the man’s hand was still there and he had not even attempted to pull away, though the flames licked and danced over his skin. Even if Mihn were a sorcerer, he’d still not have the power to stop his hand burning. He must be telling the truth.
The man kept his hand in the centre of the flame, a defiant look on his face while he waited for the next question.
‘Arlal was an elf?’
‘A true elf, my Lord.’
Now the white-eye gaped.‘You were in the company of a true elf called Arlal? The one storytellers call the Poisonblade?’
Mihn paused, considering how to frame his reply so it was completely true. ‘It is possible. I don’t know how many true elves there are in the Land, but it is most likely. The Poisonblade is said to be an assassin.’
‘Did he tell you who paid him?’
‘No. He said little, other than to give us orders. He had some sort of amulet around his neck, I didn’t even consider disobeying him.’
The sound of footsteps running over the plain made them all jump. The two soldiers had their crossbows raised and ready to fire when a voice hailed them from the gloom, sounding far too scared to be a threat.
‘General! He’s awake!’
‘It’s Gerrint. Put your bows down,’ General Dev ordered. ‘It’s my adjutant, Lord Chalat. I left him in charge of the Krann.’
The soldier pounded his way over the temple boundary, nearly tripping as he remembered how disrespectful it was. He stumbled to a halt, looked around as if expecting a furious priest to appear from the pillars, then walked as fast as he could to the altar.
‘My Lord, General Dev, the Krann has recovered!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Gerrint; he was all but dead when I saw him.’
‘I know, sir, but he’s up and walking around. But he looks different my Lord, changed. The wound is a black stain on his chest, nothing more. The medic said that the arrow crumbled to soot suddenly and stained his skin - then Lord Charr got up and threw out everyone but his personal guards. I came as quickly as I could, sir, my Lord.’
Chalat frowned, looking deeply concerned, and drawing his sword, walked away from the altar.
The coppery surface of Golaeth glinted in the light of the eternal flame as Chalat used it to score a circle on the floor almost two yards in diameter. A faint black trail followed the path of the sword while Chalat whispered the words of a spell under his breath. That done, he sat down, cross-legged, within the circle, looking faintly comical as he carefully tucked his thick legs under himself. He nicked his finger on Golaeth’s edge and placed the sword across his knees, then caressed the ruby gem at his neck with the bloody digit.
General Dev walked nervously around his lord, keeping far enough away that he didn’t disturb his work but, as always, fascinated by the magic. He shivered as the open space suddenly became darker and a sharp chill appeared in the air. Chalat’s breathing slowed until it was almost imperceptible. The Bloodrose at his throat smouldered brighter, then blazed for a brief moment before the air around Chalat returned to normal.
‘He’s at his homestead. There’s a darkness surrounding him, something I don’t recognise.’ Chalat’s voice sounded hollow and distant, as though his lord had been somewhere else and part of him hadn’t fully returned.
‘I can have the Lion Guard ready in
half an hour, the Ten Thousand within the hour—’ He stopped as Chalat held up a hand.
‘What’s that sound?’ The lord blinked owlishly at the darkness, cocking his head to one side.
Everyone listened hard as a sudden rushing noise came from behind, like a rogue gust of wind. The general turned as a wet gasp cut the air, instinctively diving away from the oncoming shape. In a blur of movement he felt a figure slam into him, and he saw the two guards fall dead behind it. Pain flared in his arm as a blade cut deep, then he was smashed out of the way. His head thumped against the ground and stars burst before his eyes.
The figure, the shape of a Chetse man, but with long claws and spiky protrusions along its limbs and shoulders, crashed bodily into Chalat and knocked the white-eye over. As the lord tried to rise again, the creature threw itself upon him, flailing madly as a ruby light enveloped the two for a moment. The general felt hands on his back, urging him down; though he tried to move, his body betrayed him and he could only submit as Mihn, now free of his bonds and armed with his staff, advanced.
Chalat kicked his attacker away and the Bloodrose flared again as it absorbed another wound. Mihn immediately swung at the creature, but had to fling himself back when he missed, trying to avoid the raking claws. He waved his staff in a wide half-circle, not daring to risk another strike at the monster, but trying to distract it. The twisted perversion of a man had bony growths pushed through the skin; it looked daemonic, and the furious snarls sounded like the dying breath of a ruined throat, amplified by rage.
With the creature’s attention on the foreigner, Chalat had the time he needed. Golaeth’s coppery surface blazed in the light from the eternal flame and Chalat roared as he hacked down at the creature. The blow was somehow turned by the creature’s arm, but it could do nothing to stop the sword when it lanced forward into its belly. Razor-sharp claws lashed forward as it tried to shred Chalat’s flesh, but the white-eye had already withdrawn. He struck again, and this time cut off one of the monster’s arms, then as he chopped deep into its neck, it collapsed, flailing violently before falling abruptly, rigid. One last twitch came, then it was still.
