A Solitary Journey (32 page)

At the mouth of the bay, ships fought for position and wind to make their break. Cutter counted a dozen vessels already gathering speed as they disappeared around the bluff on their escape route, but the Kerwyn armada was closing in and it became clearer by the second that most of the Shessian ships were trapped and doomed. Cutter’s gut tightened. There were women and children and old folk on the ships.

The battle out to sea was finished. He made out the tattered sails of three Shessian ships running south, pursued by Kerwyn, but the rest of the Shessian ships were either sunk or boarded and no longer recognisable in the flotilla. A dozen Kerwyn ships turned to starboard to pursue the ships that had already left the bay while the rest bore down on the floundering Shessian fleet. Panic set in. He saw dark dots leaping into the heaving
ocean as the enemy ships rammed and grappled the Shessian vessels, and hulls clashed and rigging wrapped and tangled as the ships heeled and rolled against each other. He knew King Future’s ship was trapped in the confusion, but he couldn’t make out which vessel carried the Royal household in the spreading flames and smoke. The spectre of an old dream came to mind and made him shudder, imagining the terror of drowning in the wild chaos as he watched the horrible slaughter unfold at the harbour mouth. The Shessian kingdom was dead.

T
he room appeared unchanged, familiar, reassuring, except for the smell of smoke. Talemaker stared in astonishment at the room while A Ahmud Ki was at the window overlooking the courtyard. ‘No one’s here,’ he announced and headed for the door.

‘What do you mean?’ Meg asked.

‘I mean this place is abandoned,’ he replied as he opened the door and peered into the hallway.

‘Where are we?’ Talemaker inquired.

‘The palace in Port of Joy,’ Meg told him. Talemaker gasped in disbelief. ‘Impossible.’

‘Port of Joy is the capital of your world?’ A Ahmud Ki asked from the hall.

‘Of Western Shess,’ Meg corrected. A dull explosion drew their attention to the window. A Ahmud Ki strode to join Meg and Talemaker who were staring at the shattered palace gates. Yellow flames licked the wood and smoke curled skyward. Kerwyn soldiers were visible in the street beyond.

‘Why did you bring us here?’ A Ahmud Ki asked, as he moved away from the window back towards the hall.

‘I thought it would be safe,’ Meg replied.

‘Port of Joy has fallen to the Kerwyn,’ Talemaker said, as the Kerwyn soldiers pushed aside the burning gates. ‘Where has everyone gone?’

Meg saw A Ahmud Ki disappear into the hall and followed him. Talemaker trailed behind. ‘Where do these doors lead?’ A Ahmud Ki asked. ‘And these stairs?’

‘The stairs go down to the entry hall. The doors lead to bedchambers.’

A Ahmud Ki glanced down the stairs, ignored the doors and turned right to follow the main hall. ‘This goes to the Royal Counsel Room,’ Meg informed him as they walked. The familiar aubergine walls with their tapestries sparked a host of memories—of Smallone and Spring and Queen Sunset—of attempts against her life—of the Seers.
Why did I bring us here?
she wondered. Lost in her thoughts she went several paces before she realised A Ahmud Ki had stopped to stare at a tapestry. Talemaker stood beside him, also studying the tapestry.

She remembered it. The work was ancient, its colours faded and edges tattered, and it portrayed a battle with a young warrior in golden armour and dragons. The depiction of the dragons had fascinated her when she first came to Queen Sunset’s palace. A Ahmud Ki must have noticed them as well. As she approached the men she was amazed to see the emotion on A Ahmud Ki’s face. Talemaker was gazing at the picture with curiosity, but A Ahmud Ki’s expression was stranger and unexpected, as if he was seeing something very familiar and was both pleased and astonished. He looked at her, his eyes excited. ‘Where did this come from?’

‘I’m not sure. The Royal kings used to collect things from all over.’

‘It used to hang in the Great King’s castle,’ A Ahmud
Ki told her. ‘I thought you said you didn’t know about Andrakis.’

‘I told you I’ve heard of it and read books from it, but I don’t know where it is.’

‘Someone here does,’ said A Ahmud Ki.

‘What
is
going on?’ Talemaker asked, unable to understand the exchange in A Ahmud Ki’s foreign tongue. He looked to A Ahmud Ki and Meg for an explanation, but A Ahmud Ki turned to study the other tapestries while Meg shrugged to suggest that she didn’t know either.

‘The tapestry shows Aian Abreotan killing dragons and defeating the Dragonlords,’ A Ahmud Ki said in Andrakian, but using the Aelendyell
draca
for dragon. ‘It’s meant to give humans hope.’

‘You talk as if dragons were real,’ Meg said.

His serious expression left no doubt that he meant what he said. ‘Yes. Dragons are real.’

‘How can they be? No one’s seen a dragon,’ she challenged quietly.

A Ahmud Ki turned his steady gaze on her. ‘I have.’ He headed for the door at the hall’s end, but he was stopped by a thumping sound that resounded through the walls and floor.

‘The Kerwyn are breaking into the palace!’ Talemaker cried.

‘Where does this lead?’ A Ahmud Ki asked.

‘There’s a stairwell at the rear of the Counsel Chamber that goes to the next level.’

‘And what’s there?’

‘The Royal chambers. The War Room. Stairs to the watchtowers.’

They heard a splintering crack. ‘They’re in!’ Talemaker cried. The trio ran for the Counsel Chamber and Meg led the men up the narrow staircase at the rear of the Chamber until they emerged in an antechamber.
She glanced at the door to the bedroom where she had spent time with Queen Sunset so long ago, but led her companions into the hall.

He’d seen the Kerwyn break through the palace gates so he knew that within a short time they’d be inside and climbing towards him. This was where he would make his last stand. The burning morass of ships in the harbour mouth filled the western sky with black smoke, threatening to smother the late afternoon sun before it sank into the horizon of clouds—a vision that reminded him of lines from a tragic ballad he heard sung by a wandering minstrel in a tavern when he was still a Leader in Queen Sunset’s army.
Now I’m the tragic hero,
he thought, and smiled wryly. His best defence was to wait on the tower at the steps. The Kerwyn could only come up the steps in single file or two abreast if they tried to force their way without weapons, and he would be in the superior position above them. He could hold this position until fatigue wore him down or the Kerwyn got lucky. He had his sword and a dagger. A shield would have been useful, but he’d lost that when the thunderclap exploded and left him deaf. The ringing in his ears was fading, but the world was still only made of dull sound. He could feel the wind on his skin—a silent, cold wind. He peered over the lip of the stairway, waiting for someone to appear, wishing he could hear their boots on the stone. A shadow spread across the steps and he edged back so that the Kerwyn wouldn’t see him first. He was guaranteed killing one or two of them through a surprise attack. He raised his sword to strike, anticipating the first head to appear above the lip—and stared in amazement, his arm frozen in shock as a woman’s red hair rose into view.

‘I thought you were a ghost,’ Cutter said.

‘Not yet,’ Meg replied, ‘but the Kerwyn might have other ideas.’ She let Whisper jump down from her hands and scamper across the stone to A Ahmud Ki who was gazing out to sea.

Cutter pointed at his ear. ‘I can’t hear very well.’

‘I’m not dead!’ Meg yelled, grinning, ‘Not yet!’

‘But all these years?’ Cutter asked. ‘Everyone thought that you died at Whiterocks Bluff.’

‘I went home. I was tired of all the killing.’

Cutter shook his head. ‘I can just hear your voice, not the words. Sorry.’

‘I hate to interrupt this reunion,’ said Talemaker, pushing between them, ‘but we’re going to be trapped up here.’

‘There’s no other way down from here, is there?’ Meg yelled to Cutter.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘I was going to make a last stand here.’

‘Oh great,’ Talemaker muttered. ‘I like singing about heroic last stands, but I don’t want to end up being in one.’

‘You gave me an idea!’ Meg yelled to Cutter. She pointed down. ‘There’s a bedroom two doors to the right with a poster bed! Meet you there!’

Cutter shrugged. She looked at Talemaker. ‘I’ll take him there,’ the minstrel said and grabbed Cutter’s arm to lead him down.

‘What about Lady Amber?’ Cutter asked as Talemaker pulled him away. Meg called to A Ahmud Ki. He scooped up Whisper who was on her haunches begging to be picked up before he followed the party down the stairs.

The hall was resonating to the noise of the Kerwyn pillaging the palace’s lower levels as they reached the
bedroom door Meg described. Within, they found a lavishly decorated bedroom, the walls draped with gossamer-thin materials of the palest pastels—blues and pinks—the gold-laced furniture padded in rich Royal black. A four-poster bed with a silver-embroidered white canopy dominated the centre of the wall opposite the door. ‘Who slept here?’ Talemaker asked. ‘The Queen?’

‘Concubines of the old king,’ Meg told him. ‘Queen Sunset hated this room.’

‘What are you doing?’ A Ahmud Ki asked.

‘I’m creating another portal,’ she told him. ‘This one will take us out of here.’

‘To where?’ he asked.

‘Whiterocks Bluff,’ she replied.

‘And more Kerwyn?’ he asked sceptically.

Meg met his steady gaze with her green eyes, and said with a bitter smile, ‘If we’re lucky.’

‘They’re coming,’ Cutter warned from the doorway where he was keeping watch. He closed the door and leaned against it. ‘Now what?’

Meg focussed on the posts at the foot of the bed and formed a portal. ‘What is that?’ Cutter asked, staring at the blue light.

‘A way out,’ Talemaker replied to no one in particular, expressing his awe for her power.

Something thudded against the bedroom door, jarring Cutter. ‘They’re here!’ he yelled and stepped away, wielding his sword in readiness.

‘Go through!’ Meg yelled. A Ahmud Ki immediately stepped through the blue light. Talemaker approached and hesitated. Something heavy thumped against the door again and it swung open, revealing Kerwyn warriors. ‘Hurry!’ Meg screamed. Talemaker stepped through. Cutter swung at the intruders, slashing one severely across the face which made the others retreat a
step. ‘Cutter!’ Meg yelled. Cutter parried a tentative jab from a Kerwyn. ‘Cutter!’ Meg yelled again, and realising the futility in her yelling she pointed and shot an energy bolt at one of the Kerwyn, who collapsed, clutching his arm. The unexpected show of magic broke the Kerwyn group’s resolve and they retreated into the hall.
One chance,
Meg decided, and she grabbed Cutter’s belt and spun him towards the portal. ‘Go!’ she yelled, pointing at the light. He stared at her. ‘Go!’ she yelled again and pushed him towards the portal, but he resisted when she got him within a pace of the light.

‘Where are the others?’ he asked, confused. She pointed into the light. A spear clattered against a bed-post, making the pair turn to the doorway and Meg’s heart race. Two Kerwyn were taking aim with thundermakers. With all her strength and weight, she barrelled into Cutter, catching him unawares so that he fell backwards into the portal as the thundermakers boomed. The smoke cleared and the Kerwyn charged into the room. Meg regained her feet, spread her arms, and her spine tingled as a wall of flame leapt into life between her attackers and her before she stumbled sideways into the portal.

Cleaver Broadback was irritated by the nonsense being spread by some of the men in his command. He was exulting in his victory—the annihilation of the Western Shess army and navy—and he intended to celebrate lavishly in the former Shessian king’s palace before his own king arrived to take his glory. Instead, he had a Hordemaster insisting that a Shessian witch made a light into which her party of Shessian barbarians escaped when they were trapped in an upper-level bedroom.

‘This had better be true,’ he growled as he strode along the hall with his half-brother, Lance Shortarms,
his personal entourage and a dozen torches to light his way. ‘If this is an old wives’ tale, Hordemaster Undermountain’s guts will be feeding the crows tomorrow morning.’

He was met at the doorway to a bedroom by Hordemaster Undermountain who saluted and waited rigidly. ‘Where is this magical doorway?’ Broadback asked. Undermountain pointed into the bedroom and lowered his head submissively. Broadback studied the balding patch on the top of the Hordemaster’s skull before he entered the room—and stared at the shimmering blue glow suspended between the end posts of a bed. He took three paces towards the vision and stopped, no longer certain of himself or his safety. ‘The witch went through here?’ he asked, without looking away from the light.

‘Yes, Warlord,’ Undermountain said from behind.

‘How many of them?’

‘We think there were at least two, Warlord.’

‘But you’re not certain.’

‘No, Warlord.’

Gathering his courage, Broadback walked to the side of the bed, studying the portal, noting that it was no deeper than the width of the posts and that it didn’t appear to be harming anything in contact with it. He moved closer, extending his right hand until he could almost touch it. ‘Has anyone tried to go through this?’

‘No, Warlord,’ Undermountain said.

Broadback withdrew his hand and turned to the Hordemaster. ‘Select twenty warriors. Go through and see where it leads. If the witch is there and you have the advantage, bring her back here. Alive. I want her alive. If not, come back and report what you find.’

Hordemaster Undermountain’s face flickered with concern, but it vanished under the Warlord’s stern gaze
and he saluted, responding with a vigorous, ‘Yes, Warlord!’ before selecting men to accompany him.

Broadback turned to his half-brother. ‘Get the barbarian priest up here immediately. He should know what this thing is.’

Shortarms grinned and ordered a soldier to fetch the Seer. He stood beside Broadback as he watched Undermountain prepare his soldiers to enter the portal and said, ‘Remember that time Slayer nearly shit himself because he faced that witch in the village up north?’

Broadback grunted acknowledgement. He remembered. The image of the dead woman in the stream—a woman who apparently conjured fire to kill his men, until Slayer’s thundermakers brought her down—had haunted his dreams for a while. She had long red hair, an uncommon feature. He expected to encounter others like her, but in the battles that followed his rise from Hordemaster to Warlord he encountered no more witches—only the barbarian priests: the Seers. As Undermountain steeled himself to lead his conscripts through the portal, on a whim Broadback asked, ‘This witch—what colour was her hair?’

Undermountain hesitated, recollecting what he’d witnessed earlier and replied, ‘Red, Warlord.’