by Martin Ash
‘I’m looking for someone! Sildemund Frano of Volm! He came here to meet the professor!’
‘Stop!’ called the clerk. His cheeks, which had momentarily flushed, lost their colour again. ‘Whom did you say?’
Meglan sensed a change. The other clerks regarded her with new interest. ‘Sildemund. Master Sildemund, of Volm.’
The clerk seemed suddenly very ill-at-ease. He gestured to the guards to release their grip. ‘You- you are from the Palace?’
Meglan was nonplussed, but saw her advantage and seized the moment. ‘I’m here on very important business.’
The clerk became flustered. The guards withdrew to the shadows. ‘Madam, why did you not say? We- I didn’t- Forgive me, I beg you! You were right to have drawn your blade. Quite right. Yes, you should have struck me down. You had every right to. I am so sorry. Please, be seated a moment.’ He called to a colleague to bring a chair. ‘Madam, one moment. I shall fetch the professor immediately.’
He hurried from the chamber. Bemused, Meglan seated herself upon the chair provided. All heads were lowered once more. Not a single pair of eyes dared cast a glance at her.
She sat tall, relishing the moment but astonished that the mere mention of her brother’s name could have caused such a dramatic about-turn. Sil, what in the world have you been up to?
Some moments passed and then the door through which the clerk had exited flew open again and a plump, bald, flushed-faced fellow in a long lilac robe trimmed with vair rushed into the room, trailed by the troubled clerk. The newcomer hastened to Meglan, his arms spread, beaming obsequiously, and bowing almost before he had reached her.
‘Madam, my apologies. I hope you have not been inconvenienced. I am Professor Ractoban, at your service. It delights me to welcome you to our university. Please, allow me to escort you to my office where we can converse in private. May I offer you something? An iced cordial? Wine? Tea? Some biscuits or fruit?’
‘Water will be fine, thank you,’ said Meglan.
Professor Ractoban aimed a meaningful nod at his clerk, who signalled to another who made off to comply. Ractoban made an expansive gesture. ‘This way, if you will.’
Meglan was ushered from the chamber, along a short chamber, up a flight of stairs to a comfortably appointed office on the first floor. Professor Ractoban offered her a comfortable chair. As Meglan seated herself a servant entered, bearing a salver holding cups, a pitcher of cold water, another with iced raspberry sherbet and numerous dishes and small plates heaped with biscuits and cakes, fresh figs, dates and sliced watermelon. These were arranged upon a small table before her. The professor was at pains to attend to her comfort, urging her to eat and drink her fill. She gratefully accepted the sherbet, which was delicious and refreshing. Discovering herself hungry, she took biscuits and figs.
‘Now, how might I be of service to you?’ enquired the professor, seating himself on a divan opposite her. He made to recline, then changed his mind and remained erect, a little stiff. ‘You were enquiring after the young Master Sildemund Frano of Volm, so I understand. I was honoured to make his esteemed acquaintance only two evenings past. In the company of our beloved crown prince, no less! Of course, I am privileged to commune with Prince Enlos on a frequent basis, in the role of both friend and counsellor in a number of areas in which I hold expertise.’
‘You saw Sildemund? Was he well?’
‘Oh, very well. Hale and hearty. Yes. A most engaging young man – I took an instant liking to him. Destined for distinction, if I am not mistaken. You remind me of him, as it happens. Is there a family connection?’
‘He’s my brother.’
‘Ah, yes, I can see it. Well, I am pleased to say I was able to assist him, and Prince Enlos too, in a professional capacity.’
‘In what way, might I ask?’
‘I was called upon to offer an authoritative opinion upon a certain artefact which Master Sildemund had in his possession. It was fortunate that I was on hand, for no other had been able to provide information on this exceedingly rare article.’
‘You refer to the red stone, I presume, Professor?’
‘Indeed, the red stone!’ Ractoban seemed heartened that Meglan knew of the stone. She had the impression he was ever more ready to take her into his confidence.
‘What, then, were you able to tell Sildemund and the Prince about the stone?’
‘Ah!’ Ractoban raised his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat delicately. ‘It is – it has to be said – an unwholesome thing. That much I detected instantly. An object of immense antiquity. It radiates an intangible aura, but one of quite uncommon intensity. At the Prince’s behest I have spent hours in the university library and archives during this past day and night, researching the provenance of this stone. In fact, that was the task I was engaged upon until just a few moments ago, when I was informed of your presence. I came immediately, of course, for I am honoured and most happy to be of service. Please do make that plain to the Prince, if you would.’
‘Of course. But the stone..?’
‘The stone. Yes. It is referred to, I am now virtually positive, in certain ancient writings.’
‘Really?’ Meglan sat forward. ‘In what way?’
The professor became guarded, perhaps a little embarrassed. ‘Madam Frano, forgive me, but regrettably I am not at liberty to pass on that information without written authority from the Palace. Do you have such?’
‘No.’
‘Then… please understand my position. It is Prince Enlos’s commission that I am engaged upon. If I can help in any other way?’
‘Is my brother still here, at the Palace, Professor?’
‘Why, no. As it happens, news reached me just a short while ago that he has departed Dharsoul early this very morning – with the Prince and full entourage, so I believe.’
Meglan’s thoughts flew back to the cavalcade she had seen on the road. ‘Departed? For where?’
‘For Garsh, in Tulmua, so I am informed.’
Her heart sank. So close. To have come this far and then to have unwittingly watched as Sildemund rode by. She stood, knowing she had no choice now but to leave immediately for Garsh, wherever it might be. ‘One more thing, Professor. Do you know of a man called Kemorlin? Sildemund also had business with him.’
Ractoban’s brow furrowed darkly and he was unable to keep the waspishness from his tone. ‘Kemorlin, yes. My understanding is that he also rides in the same company.’
‘To Garsh?’
The professor gave a curt nod.
‘And Zakobar? Do you know of him?’
‘I did. Sadly, he has passed away.’
XX
Back at the inn near the city gate Meglan forced herself to eat. A little fresh salad and grains soaked in oregano oil was all she could manage, for her agitation caused her stomach to rebel at almost every mouthful
She had to face Skalatin.
She considered the possibility of trying to elude him. Perhaps she could leave the city by another entrance? But to what end? She had no choice but to follow Sildemund to Garsh, and to use any route other than the most direct would prolong her journey by days. And Skalatin could find her, anyway. By his own account, confirmed by her experience, he knew how to track her.
She shuddered. He was out there, somewhere just beyond the walls, waiting for her, waiting for the heartstone. Or might he have followed her into the city? She knew he could be watching her from concealment even now.
How would he react to her failing to deliver the stone? Could she make him believe her?
Her mouth was dry. The food caught in her throat. She recalled the cavalcade that morning, in which Sildemund had almost certainly ridden by right before her eyes. She remembered how Skalatin had been distracted by it, just like her, as if he had half-sensed something. Was it the presence of his heart? The loss of it as it was borne away?
Just momentarily he had seemed unsure of himself, she was convinced of it. A vague, desperate idea began to tak
e form in Meglan’s mind.
She settled up with the landlord for her food and drink, then went to the stable at the rear. She hired a fresh horse, a roan mare, strong if somewhat aged and of an easy disposition. With sadness she left Swift Cloud in the hands of the ostler, paying him well for her care and promising to return to her as soon as possible. The grey filly had carried her faithfully over the past days, but she needed rest now. Meglan could not take the time to wait for her to fully recover her strength. She prayed she would be able to fulfil her promises.
She rode from the city, and before she had covered a mile she was met by Skalatin. He emerged from the midst of a clump of palms beside the road.
‘You are without it, pret-ty malkin.’
Meglan gave a nod. ‘It’s no longer in the city. I know where it’s been taken, though. I’m going there to find it.’
She braced herself, anticipating his fury, but he remained ominously still. ‘Where?’
Her nerve almost abandoned her. ‘I won’t tell you.’
Skalatin’s shoulders rose a little. His clawed fingers flexed and he leaned towards Meglan. ‘You will tell me, love-ly Meg-lan. You will. I can make you, and then I shall dine.’
She did not doubt his meaning, but she had gone too far to pull back now. ‘I’m going, Skalatin. I know where to find it – it’s a long way from here. But I can retrieve it for you.’
She wondered at the truth of this. She knew nothing. But all was bluff, anyway. She was fighting to stay alive, for a few more hours, a few more days. And what would the ultimate cost be? In effect, her proposal was to lead Skalatin to her brother.
She prayed she could somehow get the stone from Sildemund and pass it on, without risking her brother’s safety. Would that be an end to the matter? She was not convinced it would be, but she had to try. She would have sacrificed herself now if she had believed it would save Sildemund, but she did not believe it. Skalatin would find the red stone, somehow, just as he had managed to find her. Paradoxically, it was in this fact that her one hope lay.
‘I can find my heart.’
She nodded to herself. ‘Then do so.’
‘You do not know what I can do.’
‘I know enough.’ She faced him down. ‘Kill me, then, if that’s what you want.’
Skalatin seemed to swell with tension, and the intensity of his inhuman stare turned Meglan’s blood cold in her veins. But he made no move, and she drew courage. More and more she was coming to believe she was right. Skalatin might be able to find the heartstone, and it was plainly vital to him. But so was she! She could not identify why, but he had pursued her when he could have directly pursued the heart. He may have genuinely believed she carried his heart, but there was more than that. He was reluctant to let her go. He wanted both the heart and her together.
She prompted the roan forward. ‘I’m going, Skalatin. You must follow, if that’s what you want.’
A cart was approaching, drawn by a gaunt white ox. It was the only traffic on the stretch of road they occupied. An old man and woman sat at the fore, clothed in peasant’s tat. They looked across at the two as they drew close, and smiled at Meglan as she passed.
Meglan heard a growl at her back, low and guttural. She swivelled in her saddle. Skalatin was striding the road’s width. He leapt up onto the cart and with one hand seized the old man by the hair and yanked him erect.
‘No!’ Even as Meglan screamed she saw Skalatin’s free hand plunge deep into the man’s emaciated chest, burrowing there in a sudden wellspring of dark blood.
The old woman gave vent to hysterical shrieks. She rose, trying to beat at Skalatin, then turned rigid as she saw what he had drawn from her husband’s shattered ribcage. Discarding the shuddering body, Skalatin turned to her, but his eyes went deliberately to Meglan as he brought the beating heart to his lips.
He stood tall before the old woman, and ate. As he did so his form began to alter. She screamed, pressing her hands to her head as she found herself once more facing her husband, whose corpse also lay convulsing across the sideboard of the cart.
She made to escape, clumsy and stiff. Skalatin roared. He turned again to face Meglan, letting her see how perfectly he had assumed the guise of the man he had slaughtered. With an easy, fluid motion, he pounced.
As the old woman’s shrieks were cut short, Meglan heaved, voiding the contents of her stomach. Without thinking, she dug her heels into the roan’s flanks. Skalatin paid her no heed, intent with his business upon the cart. She screamed at the roan, driving it to frantic flight so she could be borne away up the road.
PART THREE
XXI
Sildemund gazed out across the wide valley, the breeze ruffling his hair. He focused beyond the troops encamped on the valley floor, past the great mangonels and ballistae erected higher up the slope, past the barricades and embankments set before them, and the hundreds of infantry dug in among the rocks and trees. He concentrated on the town that hugged the higher reaches of the hill, a battered stone wall snaking around its perimeter, following the line of the land. It appeared almost defenceless.
Garsh was wholly invested. Sildemund could not imagine anyone entering or leaving the town without the knowledge of the Tulmu forces that surrounded it.
From time to time he glimpsed signs of life behind the walls: tiny figures moving along narrow uppermost streets, or a solitary figure appearing for a few brief moments on the parapet of the wall. Their visibility bestowed an odd sense of normality upon the scene. White tufts of cloud moved overhead, at peace in a clear blue sky, further belying what was passing below, for in the town the people were believed to be starving.
Behind Sildemund a blue pavilion had been erected on a level area of grass. Within, Prince Enlos and the Supreme Haruspices were locked in talks with the commander of the besieging Tulmu force, Count Draith, a nephew of the king, Lalvi III. The Darch sought entry into Garsh. The Count, plainly uncomfortable with this new circumstance, withheld sanction. His orders were that none should enter or leave the town, save under conditions of full surrender by the inhabitants. Faced now with Darch’s most illustrious and persuasive personages, he was thrown into dilemma. The situation was without precedent. To offend such persons risked grave and far-reaching consequences. Yet his mandate was clear, and the circumstances under which he would defy his sovereign did not exist.
Count Draith could take some solace in the knowledge that help was on its way. Earlier, with the arrival of the Darch company at the border, a Tulmu messenger had been dispatched at speed to Pher, the Tulmu capital. Officials of the highest rank, conceivably even royalty, would now be making for Garsh. Count Draith expected their arrival within a day.
But the Darch were reluctant to wait.
~
The journey to Garsh had passed without major event. At the intersection on the Dharsoul Road, where the northern road led up along the edge of Dazdun’s Despair, fifty Darch horsetroops had detached themselves from the main force. They, Sildemund learned, were assigned the task of policing the road and dealing effectively with the Tulmu brigand, Fagmar the Angelic.
They had reached the border the following day. There was some hold-up as the Tulmu guards considered their predicament. Faced with the commanding presence of Darch’s crown prince, Enlos, who impressed the urgency of his mission upon them in no uncertain terms, they could arrive at only one decision. Indeed, they were not slow to acknowledge that there was no choice. Enlos was in no mood for wrangle or debate. Subtly, but certainly, he made plain the fact that his force would pass, legitimately by preference, but by other means if required. And the Tulmu here at the border lacked the manpower for armed resistance.
So they employed delaying tactics for as long as was reasonably possible, prolonging formalities whilst sending out riders to both Pher and Garsh to inform relevant parties of the Darch ingress.
Thirty miles or so further travel across remote back-country brought the Darch company to Garsh. It was a godforsaken place, set
in bleak hills far from anywhere. When the Revenants of Claine had been exiled here almost a century earlier, the town had long been uninhabited by all but wild animals and ghosts. The Revenants had laboured diligently to restore the old town, had sown crops in the thin soil of the surrounding slopes. They lived, peaceful, self-sufficient lives in accordance with their creed, and troubled no one. Until now.
By Ronbas Dinbig’s account the problem had begun to resurface a year or so earlier. Revenants were appearing in diverse towns and villages, in contravention of the statutes established long before by the Tulmu government, which forbade them from stepping beyond Garsh and its immediate environs.
During times past, before their incarceration in Garsh, the Revenants had roamed freely. They preached at will, gathered followers, lived as they chose. There were reincarnates among their number, and as their influence gradually spread the authorities in both Tulmua and Darch grew concerned. The Revenants preached no political dogma, professed no interest in the other religions of the region, nor attempted in any way to affect or interfere with the running of the state. But they claimed a secret, which they would not disclose. More seriously for the ruling powers, the ability of their elder members to be reborn at will gave them the status of godlings. Their potential to stir the people could not safely be ignored, and it was felt that they should be controlled.
‘About two centuries past,’ Dinbig had told Sildemund, ‘Tulmua took the first steps. It established a register of all individuals who claimed the ability to reincarnate. Seventy-four names were recorded. Most hailed out of Tulmua, but a number lived in Darch, and a few others in neighbouring Mor-Kim.
‘Once this had been done, new laws were brought in to limit the movements and activities of these Revenants. Any considered to be seriously in breach of these new restrictions would be arrested, banished to some remote corner and forbidden from ever again manifesting in the flesh.’
