by Alex Janaway
Kanyay shook his head. Despite the taste, he did feel a little more alive.
‘At least it’s over. I can go back and tell the leaders that.’
Marmus passed the canteen back.
‘Sorry, lad, I don’t think so.’
‘What? Did you not see what happened? They burned themselves alive.’
Marmus was quiet a moment. ‘I’ve been watching the eagles. They aren’t behaving like they lost. They are behaving like they won.’
Kanyay was confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘This was all prepared. Planned. We thought we had the rats in a trap. But the rats led you into one.’
Kanyay hissed. Then they had to do something. He started to push himself up but Marmus laid a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.
‘Stay there, lad. There’s a handful of you left with no fight in you. And my dozen dwarves will do no good against a half dozen Eagle Riders.’
Kanyay did not dispute the point. There was wisdom in Marmus’s words.
‘What do we do then?’
‘We pull back, gather the horses, put some distance between us and them. And then we watch what they do.’
‘And what is that?’
‘If you ask me, these Highlanders won’t be staying here. They know they are compromised.’
Kanyay understood that. The wood elves, diminished as they were, would not give up. He wouldn’t give up. ‘Where will they go?’
Marmus touched his nose.
‘That is the question. We watch, and we follow. And, if you’ll take some advice, you have a surfeit of horses. I suggest you might wish to use them to contact a dwarf column blundering around to the north trying to find that damned Tissan horde. We’ll need the numbers.’
Kanyay pulled at a fetish, feeling the tug on his scalp.
‘Can I have another drink?’
Marmus handed him the canteen.
Kanyay took a draw, this time preparing himself for the heat.
‘Withdraw you say?’
‘Aye.’
Kanyay looked at Marmus, then to the settlement. He wanted to hit someone, but he needed to sleep. ‘I don’t think any of my remaining kin can argue with you.’
Marmus reached out and took back the canteen.
‘Now there’s a first.’
CHAPTER 27 – MICHAEL
Father Michael and the others made their way north along the river. In the distance the ogre longboat had the easier time of it, letting the current pull them towards Vyberg. It was curious that, even though they were not many miles away, he could not see any towers and spires piercing the skies. They were almost fabled among those who had never been to the capital and spoken of in awe by those who had.
He feared the worst.
He feared that they had all been reduced to rubble; that the greatest city of the empire was gone. Yet the ogres said they had camped there the first night. And had not Aberpool’s walls survived the night of terror?
Ahead of the main group, vargr ranged freely, delighting in this new land of opportunity. There were new scents for them to experience, new things to hunt. Father Michael pitied the wolves. They were no longer the kings of the wild.
Father Michael traced the distant shape of the longboat, the mast barely visible, the sail secured, and the oars stowed. Such was their size and strength, they needed only one rower per bank on each side, twenty oars in total. He could only guess at what speed they could create on open water. He knew well enough the violence they could create in battle. And as for their queen, when she’d fixed her hungry eyes on him, he’d actually felt a little chill down his spine.
He looked to Ellen. She sat on the back bench of a wagon, looking worried. She had not been the same since they had encountered the ship. In fact, none of the Gifted had. They carried the memory of what they had lost, the burning of their monastery, the slaughter of dozens of young Gifted. All at the hands of ogres. He tried to understand what that must feel like, to lose the heart of your home. But he couldn’t remember a home. So perhaps the closest he could come was to think about how he would feel if he lost the Emperor. The tug in his heart at the idea gave him enough to work with.
‘Ellen, are you well?’ he asked, guiding his horse closer.
Her eyes turned on him and she managed a brief smile.
‘As well as can be expected, I suppose.’
Next to her, Rosen, raised an eyebrow.
Michael pressed on. ‘You do not trust them, do you?’ he asked, bluntly.
‘No. Not at all.’
There was no answer to that.
‘Yet they claim to be working with other Tissans. That must give you cause for hope?’ It did him. The news had flared a little light in his soul.
She crossed her arms. ‘An Eagle Rider. Yes. I suppose.’
‘One known to Bryce. It cannot be a lie.’
She quirked her mouth. ‘Father, it can. Who’s to say that this Rider was not captured by the ogres? That this is all just a ruse to keep our guard down?’
Father Michael thought quickly. She could be right. But … ‘Why else would they be here? Of all places? It makes no sense.’
Ellen’s eyes went wide and then she barked out a laugh. The other Gifted in the wagon sharing her amusement.
‘Yes, Father. Of course. I can’t keep up my defences against your relentless optimism.’
Father Michael felt himself flush a little. ‘I just want to believe that the future can be better than the past.’
‘That depends on whose future you mean,’ Rosen said, bitterly.
Michael turned his gaze towards Rosen, a thought striking him. ‘Can you see it? The city?’
Rosen frowned. ‘It has faded with memory, but, there should be …’ He paused, his face growing slack, his eyes turned upwards, staring at nothing. ‘It’s gone,’ he stated, in a flat, almost uninterested voice.
‘What? No.’ Michael looked at Ellen for support, but she shook her head.
Rosen blinked, drew back into himself, and locked eyes with Michael. ‘Yes. The city. Vyberg. It’s gone.’
‘It can’t all be gone. That’s impossible. Isn’t it?’
Ellen smiled at him with something akin to pity. ‘Father, it is the reason that the Emperor and his mother were able to escape. The enemy dwelled here, for a time.’
‘They wanted to make sure,’ added Rosen.
‘Sure of what?’
‘That we were forgotten.’ Rosen sighed. ‘I cannot see the city. Only the debris.’
Father Michael did not have the words. He urged his horse on to the head of the column.
If what they said was true, then his fears were realised. Up ahead several vargr came into view, loping along at an easy pace. Drawing closer he saw it was Nutaaq leading them. The vargr drew up beside Michael, his horse shying away slightly. Even though it had grown used to the smell, it still recognised a predator. Nutaaq pointed along the road they were following. He had a strange set to his face, one Father Michael had learned to read as confusion.
‘City. Vyberg?’ Nutaaq growled.
‘Yes?’
He shook his head. ‘No city.’
Father Michael’s heart sank further. ‘Thank you, Nutaaq. Let us see.’
Nutaaq ordered his scouts onwards then fell into step with Michael. They rode in silence over a gently wooded rise on to a plain of fields grown wild with lack of care. And beyond that, desolation.
‘Vyberg?’ asked Nutaaq.
‘Vyberg,’ agreed Michael.
‘Not any more,’ said Fenner, from his place in the lead wagon. Michael turned. The marines were all clustered around the front of the driving step, sharing looks of shock and awe.
It took ten minutes before they were at what had been the gates. Everyone dismounted or climbed out of the wagons. Marines and Gifted alike stood and looked at walls that had been torn apart so that not one block rested upon another.
Someone whistled.
‘They really did a number on the place didn’t th
ey?’ said Wendell.
‘I heard some of the lads talking, said they’d heard from an Eagle Rider who’d spoken to a Watcher. Said the elves used sorcery. Blasted the place clean,’ said Beautiful.
‘Blasted’s the word,’ muttered Coyle.
A vargr prowled along the stone barrier, sniffing at the edges.
Nutaaq spoke to Ellen. ‘He wants to know what we should do. He says this place is not fit for human or Nidhal.’
Michael turned to her. What should he say? What else could they do? ‘The Emperor has asked us to scout out the way and the city. We must still do that.’
Ellen tilted her head, she looked like she wanted to argue but must have thought better of it. She spoke to Nutaaq, the Nidhal’s gaze not leaving Michael’s. After a few moments, he nodded and gathered his riders.
Ellen scratched her neck. ‘They are going to reconnoitre inside.’
‘Thank you.’
Fenner tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at where the road met stone. ‘The route’s blocked but I reckon we can get inside with a bit of sweat and elbow grease.’
Father Michael followed his gaze. Yes, the rubble was not as dense or intimidating; on closer inspection the gatehouse had spread outwards in its collapse.
‘Right.’ He started to remove his cloak.
‘You weighing in?’ asked Fenner.
‘What do you think?’
An hour later, they had cleared enough of the stone and rubble to make an entry into Vyberg. Several Nidhal moved ahead with the marines fanning out to protect their flanks. Father Michael led his horse into the ruined city along a street that was only discernible because there happened to be less debris littered across it. The city had been famed for its stone dwellings, more than any other in the Empire, thanks to the wealth and importance of its place as the seat of power. It was easy to spot where each house or structure had been; a pile, no taller than a man, marked each one. It was like some incredible cataclysm, a wind or storm had smashed through, levelling all in its path. Only an act of a god could have achieved such a thing. Yet it was not the hand of the Divine Emperor that had wrought this. It was the magic of the elves. Father Michael was shocked at how much power they must have brought to bear; truly the Empire had had no chance. As they walked, there was an eerie quiet to the place. He could see no birds wheeling overhead, no spoor, no tracks. Instead, it was the plants that claimed dominion. Grasses, weeds, even trees were sprouting among the many and varied ruins. There were insects too. Things flitting between the green growth. Clearly they were not bothered by the aura of death that hung over the city.
Ellen walked up to join him, and they continued in companionable, if unsettled, silence.
‘You know,’ she finally said, ‘I read in a book, back in the monastery, about the geography of Drifa. It’s said that in the centre of the island there are volcanoes. Active ones, that when they erupt, cause a burst of energy, levelling all in their path. I had only ever imagined what it might look like.’
‘Until now,’ he said.
‘Until now,’ she agreed.
Fenner trotted back to join them. ‘We’re just about to hit the docks,’ he told them. ‘We’ll take a left turn ahead. They are not far.’
Michael nodded his thanks and the party, all of them bar a few Nidhal who had stayed by the wagons, made their way westwards along another street. Here the piles of destruction were different, lesser in volume, yet larger in their area. It was obvious when he thought about it. They moved among warehouses. Then after no more than a hundred yards, the street ended and in front of them was another line of reduced city wall, a road running parallel to it.
‘The damage looks lesser here,’ he said standing before the chipped and cracked stonework. In some places the blocks had been shattered.
‘The walls were not as thick on the river side,’ said Fenner.
‘Never needed to be,’ added Beautiful as she climbed on to the rubble. She whistled from the top. ‘There they are. Come on up.’
Everyone clambered on to the walls, some of the Nidhal staying mounted, the vargr making easy work of it.
Michael stopped and put his hands on his hips. He nodded appreciatively. This is better. Laid out before them was a long stone wharf running north, a few feet higher than the river next to it, the water current gently running along the side. Large stone bollards were spaced out at intervals along the wharf. And not far along, the longboat was already secured against two such bollards, on the opposite side of the river where the remains of other structures and smaller piers jutted into the water. All in all, the docks were in a far better state and useable.
‘Father?’
Michael turned to Fenner. ‘Yes?’
‘We’re here. Now what?’
Michael thought for a moment. What now? ‘The Emperor will want to set sail when he hears Bryce’s report. I suggest we find a place that we can set up a camp.’
Fenner scratched his head. ‘I guess we can find somewhere with a bit of space. Don’t think the palace will be any good though. Either way, we’ll need to start humping rock.’
‘We can get the ogres to help,’ suggested Michael.
‘Great. They’ll love that. You can go ask them,’ replied Fenner, with a straight face.
CHAPTER 28 – ELLEN
Ellen shifted on her perch, one of the bollards on the wharf. She realised had been sitting there for a good half an hour, judging by the passage of the night’s heavenly bodies above her. She liked watching the water, listening to its gentle rushing hiss, enjoying how it sparkled with reflected light. She felt isolated and alone, but in a good way. She felt at peace. There was a lookout further along but she couldn’t see them.
Of the ogres, there was no sign. They had left the day after their arrival at Vyberg. Sasha had told them the ogre queen wished to return to Drifa and tell others of the change of circumstances. ‘The game’s changed now. The odds are shifting in your favour. There might be more ogre chiefs wanting to get in on the action.’
Ellen had pulsed to her, suggesting they could negotiate her freedom. The older Gifted had just given her a withering look, the meaning obvious – don’t be so bloody stupid.
Ellen shifted again and shivered involuntarily. It was unseasonably chill. She sighed, probably time to go back. Standing, she walked along the wharf and through one of the cleared gateways back to their makeshift camp, a cleared area within the boundaries of one of the larger warehouses, and found a space by the fire occupied by several of the Nidhal including Nutaaq, Arluuq and Gantak. She enjoyed their company, they did not judge her. Familiar faces welcomed her with nods of greeting and some chaga was passed over.
Arluuq tilted his head to a further fire, occupied by some of her fellow Tissans. ‘Marines?’ he growled out. He was not as comfortable with the human tongue as his brother. But the question was clear, how was it she was allowed to roam free?
She spread her arms out wide. ‘Where would I go?’ she said with a smile.
Arluuq made a face and grunted his understanding.
Nutaaq spoke to Gantak, too quickly for her to follow, and the old shaman responded tersely before the Nidhal leader turned to her.
‘Ellen?’
‘Yes, Nutaaq?’
‘Gantak. He wishes words.’
‘Of course.’
Nutaaq eyes narrowed slightly.
‘Silent words.’
Really? She shook her head and switched to her Gift. ‘He wants to speak to me alone?’
‘Yes. Alone.’
‘Very well,’ she said. She made to stand, expecting Gantak to follow. Instead, Nutaaq and his warriors got to their feet and moved away to join their fellows at other fires. She looked at Gantak but he did not meet her gaze, rather he stared intently at the fire. She sat for a few uncomfortable moments, before she realised that Gantak was murmuring to himself, the sounds barely audible over the gentle crackling of the fire and muted voices of their comrades scattered around the camp. As she wait
ed, her eyes were drawn to the flames. Something was happening. There was little wind and yet the tongues of fire were moving wildly, starting to bend and writhe, twisting and coiling around each other like snakes. She looked back at Gantak and found him staring right back at her. His black eyes gleaming. Oh. Damn. He knew. She opened her mouth to say something, but he raised a hand to stop her. What was he up to? Ellen knew that whatever it was, the Nidhal had chosen not to tell Father Michael or the others. At least, not yet. He lowered his hand then pointed one gnarled digit at the flames. They had reverted back to their natural state, flickering upwards, sparks and embers drifting into the night. He continued to watch her quietly. His meaning was clear. Your turn.
Oh well, there was no point trying to hide it. She nodded and bent her head to the task. She focused on the fire, reaching out with her mind, her feelings, thinking of nothing else but the flames before her, thinking of their nature, understanding that, as a living thing, they could be controlled. No less than her own Gift in fact. It only required practice, belief and application. Yarn’s most important lesson to Ellen. She began to chant, her vocalisations soft, as low as Gantak’s.
And the flames began to move.
They bent left, then right. Like grass in the wind. Then she split them in two, making a clear space several inches wide. Then she joined them together, seizing the fingers of fire and twisting them around each other, braiding them like twine. As they did, a single strand of flame built higher and higher, gaining strength, until all the fire was suborned to it, all the heat, all the light, in one thick tendril. She bid it to sway, to slide, just like Gantak’s snakes. Then she moved it towards the shaman, and its top bent so that its tip was horizontal and pointing directly at Gantak’s nose. And there she left it, but inches away from his skin.
The shaman did not once move, rather he watched the play with intense interest. Ellen finally shifted the flame tendril away, reducing it, steadily relinquishing control until the fire was once more its own creature.
She locked eyes with the Nidhal. ‘Well?’ she pulsed.
Gantak’s mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile and he grunted. ‘Wakan.’
