A Solitary Journey (31 page)

The night was chilly so Meg created warming stones for the people to share before she found a place of her own for sleeping. A Ahmud Ki climbed two arm-spans into a cleft in a rock face several paces from her spot,
curled up like a possum and was instantly asleep. She envied people who could sleep so quickly and easily. Her sleep was regularly punctuated with recurring dreams, although it frustrated her that she couldn’t recall most of them. A few remained vivid. She still dreamed of a vast library of books in a ruined city to the east. She dreamed of standing on battlements as an old woman. Sometimes, she dreamed of the past—of her family, of Button Tailor and her brothers and her mother, Dawn Farmer. And those dreams often changed into a darker dream. And she wondered how A Ahmud Ki could ever fulfil his promise to help her rescue her children now that she knew he had lost his abilities. He couldn’t. She accepted that fact bitterly. If she had known she might not have released him from his prison.
Yes I would have,
she told herself.
I wouldn’t leave anyone like that.
She huddled against a large rock that rain and wind had smoothed over time and waited for Whisper to curl up in the crook of her arm. Sleep poured in.

She was in a city—like Port of Joy as she remembered it, but smaller—near the ocean. No one knew her or even looked at her, as if she was a ghost drifting through the crowded streets towards the docks. She saw lines of children heading towards the wharf, crying children, children with blank faces, being led and pushed up gangplanks into the holds of creaking ships by men—Kerwyn men. She searched the faces for her children—for Jon, Emma and Treasure. But Jon was already dead. She had buried him. There was still Emma and Treasure. She searched the faces, drifting effortlessly through the crowds, searching. Then there was a shift and she was a little girl and someone was holding her hand and pulling her away from the crowds. She was crying. She didn’t want to leave, but she was being made to go.

‘Wake up!’ Meg jolted upright into a world full of cries and frantic movement. ‘Come on, Lady Amber!’

She recognised Talemaker’s voice. ‘What’s happening?’ she blurted from the depths of waking.

‘The Kerwyn!’ Talemaker cried. ‘They’re killing everyone!’

She heard screaming as she clambered to her feet, trying to make sense of the chaos. Something whistled past her head and a thundermaker boomed, the flash of light drawing her attention to the head of the gully where shadowy figures were struggling in the moonlight. A heavy weight thudded into the ground. ‘They’re dropping rocks from overhead!’ Talemaker yelled as he wrenched Meg towards the cliff. She pulled away from him and spread her arms and white light illuminated the fighting at the gully entrance. Wombat’s huge frame commanded most of the space and he was swinging a Kerwyn sword brutally, driving the enemy back. Beside him, Dark and three more men fought the Kerwyn desperately until the enemy broke and withdrew. A Ahmud Ki ran to Meg and pulled her back, disrupting her spell. ‘Why did you do that?’ she demanded, wrenching free of his grip.

‘You make the light for your people to see,’ he explained between clenched teeth, ‘but the same light lets the enemy see you. You die.’ She couldn’t see his face in the shadow of the cliff, but his anger was like crystal and it annoyed and pleased her that he should care so passionately.

‘Lady Amber!’ a woman cried. She moved quickly towards the voice and found Ladle stooped over a figure. ‘It’s Littleleaf,’ said Ladle, sobbing. Meg knelt and made a tiny light sphere and let it float above her hand as she checked the young woman. A pellet hole puckered her forehead. Meg let the light go out.

‘They’re coming again!’ Dark yelled from the entrance.

‘Get everyone as deep into the gully as possible!’ Carter bellowed.

Meg rose and strode towards the defensive line as a thundermaker boomed. Reaching the line as the shadowy Kerwyn charged into the opening, she pointed a finger and a burst of magical energy punched through a Kerwyn warrior’s chest. She focussed on a man aiming a thundermaker and killed him with a second energy bolt. Wombat bellowed with rage and the gully filled with the sound of furious battle as swords and armour clashed. Meg conjured a directional ball of light above the Kerwyn frontline, blinding the four men at the fore and the Shessian defenders hacked them down as they struggled to see. ‘We’ve got them beaten!’ Dark yelled as he drove a warrior back with a spear.

The explosion stunned them all. Meg turned in time to see the red-and-gold fireball pluming skywards at the rear of the gully. People screamed. Another explosion ripped through the gully and she covered her face from the heat. ‘The bastards are dropping thunderclaps on us!’ Carter cried. His anger was drowned by the Kerwyn war cry. Meg panicked and ran towards the flames flickering in the gully where the women had gathered, but A Ahmud Ki intercepted her and dragged her to the side with Talemaker’s help despite her struggling protest. ‘No!’ he hissed. ‘We’re trapped in here!’

‘But we have to help!’ she screamed at him.

‘Too late!’ he argued. ‘We have to escape!’

‘How?’ she yelled. ‘How?’

‘Portal!’ he yelled as a third thunderclap exploded and showered stones and dust over them.
Portal
? she thought. To
where?

‘Hurry!’ A Ahmud Ki yelled.

Meg looked up at the gully entrance where Wombat and the defenders were vanishing in a sea of Kerwyn warriors. How could she save him?

‘Meg!’ A Ahmud Ki screamed. ‘Portal!’

Where
? she asked herself. She remembered Summerbrook.
But my village is dead,
she lamented silently. ‘I don’t have poles to form the gateway!’ she yelled.

‘Grab a spear! Anything!’ A Ahmud Ki yelled, while Talemaker stared in bewilderment at the argument between the legendary woman and the silver-haired stranger. A Ahmud Ki searched and returned with two of the captured thundermakers from the stash of equipment taken from Kerwyn war bands. ‘Here!’ he yelled as another thunderclap erupted closer to the fighting and he leaned the thundermakers against the cliff wall. ‘Use that frame!’ he ordered. She glanced again at the collapsing defence and focussed. Her spine tingled as a blue haze crackled across the space between the barrels of the thundermakers. ‘In!’ A Ahmud Ki ordered, pushing the surprised minstrel. Talemaker tried to resist, overbalanced and toppled into the blue light with a yelp. ‘It’s safe!’ A Ahmud Ki declared and followed Talemaker.

Meg stared at the portal, overwhelmed by the flurry of action and A Ahmud Ki’s action. Whisper emerged from the darkness. As she scooped up the bush rat she heard a roar and heat swept across her back. The gully was awash with fire. Out of the wall of heat and flame staggered a blackened giant of a man. ‘Oh, Wombat!’ she gasped, horrified at the vision of his scorched face and smouldering clothing.

‘Fly, little bird,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘There’s nowhere safe here.’ He sank to his knees with two spears in his back.

Grabbing at his arm, she tried in vain to pull him towards the portal. ‘Come on!’ she screamed. ‘Come
on!’ but the big man was immoveable. Shadows flitted through the flames and smoke. A Kerwyn warrior charged out of the fire and thrust his sword brutally into Wombat’s unprotected back. Seeing Meg, he wrenched his blade out of his victim and scowled at the Shessian witch as if he was defying her to stop him. Meg pointed and sent him crumbling backwards with an energy bolt as more warrior shadows ran towards her out of the fiery wall. She turned, holding Whisper to her chest, and stepped through the portal.

K
ing Future Royal had too many reasons to be angry. He was losing the war with King Ironside and the Kerwyn invaders he brought into Western Shess as allies. His capital, Port of Joy, was burning and his people were evacuating to the ships in the harbour under Intermediary Goodman’s direction. Warmaster Cutter was fighting a desperate defence along the city’s northern perimeter with a rapidly dwindling army. The Royal Seers were not helping him when he most needed their magic to save his kingdom. He had a headache and a cold. ‘The Seers are waiting, Your Highness,’ the Elite Guard informed him. He studied the Guard’s black armour and decided the Royal black was too morbid.
I’ll change the Royal colours when this war is
over, he decided. He shook out his black leather coat, checked that his sword belt was buckled tightly over his right hip, picked up the gold crown that had been his mother’s and put it on his head, and swaggered up the steps towards the palace battlements.

The wind was blowing from the north and it was chilly, the kind of wind he associated with Shahk, not Tayooh. He pulled his collar up and headed for the two men in blue robes who were waiting at the watchtower
with several palace officials. Everyone bowed politely as he arrived. ‘I see your leader is too busy to attend a meeting with me,’ Future said pointedly in greeting, noting Vision’s absence.

‘Your Highness, His Eminence is busy with a study that might yet save the city from the Kerwyn,’ explained Seer Weaver diplomatically. ‘He sends his apologies.’

Future waited for the Seer to explain further, but when Weaver didn’t he asked, ‘And what miracle is he concocting?’

Weaver grinned as if he enjoyed the King’s peevish mood. ‘His Eminence is creating a way to fly, Your Highness.’

Future’s right eyebrow arched in disbelief. ‘Fly? Like a bird?’

‘Not quite like a bird, Your Highness, but fly nevertheless. It is a wondrous gift from Jarudha.’

‘And when can I see this new miracle?’

‘Soon, Your Highness.’

Future swore and turned to stare out to sea. Kerwyn sails seemed to fill the horizon, waiting like predatory animals for the killing frenzy to begin. Their prey, the Shessian ships laden with the city’s people, wallowed in the harbour below the palace bluff. Small boats were rowing out from the rocks, desperate refugees packed in so tight that their gunwales were dangerously close to the waterline. ‘Soon is not going to be soon enough,’ he muttered angrily. The thud of an explosion drew his attention from the ocean to the Northern Quarter of Port of Joy. Smoke hid most of the city from north to south, the wind driving it curiously around the palace and fanning it out across the ruins of the Southern and Foundry Quarters. The building fires were already at the foot of the encircling palace walls and the wild throng of people trapped in
the city were visible at the palace gates. ‘Soon will not save those people,’ he said, turning on Weaver and his young companion, Seer Sunlight. ‘Where is your precious Jarudha?’

‘Jarudha does not desert the faithful disciples, Your Highness. The common people out there are too full of sin for Him to save. Their deaths are irrelevant,’ said Weaver calmly. ‘We spoke about this many times before we returned from exile, Your Highness. Remember?’

Future remembered. Weaver accompanied him during his last year of exile and sailed with him from the Kerwyn capital to capture Port of Joy. He remembered Weaver teaching him that Jarudha’s plan was greater than the short and pointless lives of ordinary people. He watched another explosion blossom in the northern ruins. ‘The war is lost,’ he murmured. ‘Ironfist has won.’ He looked at Weaver and his face became resolute. ‘Tell Vision and the rest of your colleagues to make for safety. I’m leaving Port of Joy to Ironfist.’

‘But the miracle—’

‘Comes too late,’ Future cut in. ‘Accept what cannot be changed, even by your almighty Jarudha.’ He waved aside another attempted protest from the Seer and gave his attention to the company on the watchtower. ‘Gentlemen, I will be boarding one of the ships. We will sail south and find what haven we can in foreign lands.’ He stepped closer to the battlement, listening to the thunder of the waves on the rocks below, feeling the breeze pull at his coat, and removed the crown. He studied the symbol of Royal rule and smiled grimly. He had rarely worn the crown in the painfully short time that he had sat on the Shessian throne. With all of his strength, he tossed it firmly outwards and watched it drop towards the ocean. ‘So ends the rule of King Future Royal, descendant of Bigaxe, son of Queen
Sunset!’ he declared to his stunned audience, and as he walked away he felt quiet satisfaction with his theatrical gesture.

Warmaster Cutter received the news in the afternoon from Goodman with a shake of his head. ‘And the rest of us?’ he asked.

Goodman shrugged to show that he had no control over the decisions. ‘The King simply said that he wants you to make sure you reach the ships in good health. He’ll need your strength and support later when we reach whatever haven we can find.’

‘And leave my men fighting a pointless rearguard retreat while I scuttle away to my own personal safety?’ Cutter said with a sneer. ‘I don’t think so. There are a lot of people out here who can’t get on the ships. I can’t abandon them to the Kerwyn.’

Goodman flinched as a thundermaker report echoed across the wall behind him. ‘The King is adamant that you should escape while you can. He’s ordered a space saved on the last ship specially for you.’

A soldier, a young man with blood streaming along his left cheek, ran up to the pair and between gasps for air said, ‘Excuse me, Warmaster, but Leader Longshaft says he needs reinforcements over near the old shoemaker’s shop. The Kerwyn look like making a serious effort to break through there.’

‘Tell Longshaft I’ll bring them personally,’ Cutter said and patted the young man’s shoulder. ‘And get that wound dressed.’

‘Yes, Warmaster, I will,’ the soldier replied, and jogged away, back towards the fighting.

Cutter knew the young man would deliver his message and that he wouldn’t have his wound tended. ‘I’m not coming,’ he told Goodman. ‘And you’d better go now if you want any hope of escaping alive.’

‘But—’

‘I’m not coming,’ Cutter repeated resolutely. ‘Now go.’

‘Jarudha be your keeper,’ Goodman said solemnly.

‘And yours,’ Cutter returned. He watched the dishevelled and dirt-smeared Royal Intermediary disappear through the smoke, the Royal black costume blending quickly into the background, before he glanced towards a line of soldiers resting along a low wall and indicated with a wave that they were to follow him. They rose wearily and obediently followed the Warmaster towards the battleline.

Vision was frustrated by the King’s capitulation. Seer Reason’s experiments with a flying machine were close to completion. With the imminent arrival of the Kerwyn army and the uncertainty of what might transpire in the reckless time between the last Shessian resistance and the arrival of the Kerwyn Warlord, it was circumspect for the Seers to remain securely locked within the temple. Their fate rested with the success of Onyx and Faith in showing the Kerwyn that the Seers were doing what they could to undermine the Shessian king to enable a Kerwyn victory while appearing loyal to King Future. The Shessian Seers had survived every rebellion and every invasion for more than a hundred years by employing the same tactic. He acknowledged Weaver’s return from the battlefield and asked for the state of progress. ‘Warmaster Cutter is ordering the final stand in the Northern Quarter outside the palace gates while the last people that can be fitted on the ships are loaded. The King is already aboard,’ Weaver informed him.

‘Then we stay here,’ Vision said. ‘Have the temple doors sealed. We will remain inside until we hear from either Faith or Onyx. Jarudha will protect us.’

Weaver nodded and looked around the table at his colleagues. They all nodded.

A thunderclap explosion threw Cutter sideways into a pile of rubble and the air thumped from his chest as he hit the stones. Dust showered him. He rolled into a sitting position, removed his dented helmet and shook his head to stop the dull ringing in his ears as he watched the battling men move in a strange world of smoke, dust and silence. Realising he was part of that silent scene he clambered off the rubble and searched for a sword, finding one in the outstretched hand of a dead soldier. Armed, he faced the red-armoured Kerwyn swarming over the barricade by the shoemaker’s shop. A Kerwyn soldier charged with a pike. Measuring the man’s speed and angle of attack, he waited until the last instant, parried the pike’s point, spun a half-circle with the attacker’s energy and brought his sword around in a precise arc to hack across the soldier’s exposed back. He barely had time to block the blade of a second soldier’s sword before he was embroiled in the chaos. The ringing in his ears persisted, but he ignored it in his desperation to stay alive, taking a cut across his leg as he dodged two attackers to avoid being trapped against the smoking debris of a house. His shoulder ached from his unhealed thundermaker wound and the cut across his forehead had reopened, letting blood seep into his left eye. Around him, Shessian soldiers who weren’t dying were retreating, driven back by the sheer number of enemy pressing into the streets. The city defence was lost. All that remained was the palace. The last knot of Shessian soldiers near him fled. With a supreme effort he lashed out at the Kerwyn encircling him to force them back several paces before he chased his men.

He was barely two streets from the palace gates, but the sprint sapped his energy and his spirit and he
stumbled three times, overbalancing because of the ringing in his ears. Two soldiers running beside him fell, cut down he guessed by Kerwyn thundermakers, although he never heard the shots, and then he was running alone, dodging discarded weapons, abandoned possessions and bodies lying in the street.

Discovering the palace gates partially open, he squeezed through the gap, expecting to be greeted by survivors preparing to defend the last refuge in the city, but the courtyard was empty except for two brindle dogs that trotted gleefully towards him. He pushed the gates shut and used the winch in the gatehouse to lower the locking beam as a volley of Kerwyn thundermaker pellets thudded into the wood. ‘Defend the walls!’ he bellowed. Expecting the palace defenders to be on the parapets he climbed a set of stone stairs to the rampart, followed by the curious dogs.

There were no defenders. He peered over the parapet to see Kerwyn soldiers pouring from the tributary streets and alleys into the street along the foot of the palace wall. A Kerwyn Hordemaster was marshalling a group of soldiers around a battering ram, directing them towards the palace gates, and Kerwyn thundermakers were taking aim at the palace parapets. Cutter saw a puff of white smoke and a pellet chipped stone from the parapet near his hand. He ducked and headed back down the stairs. ‘Anyone here?’ he shouted as he ran across the courtyard to the palace’s wide marble steps. His voice echoed from the walls.
There must be people here,
he reasoned.
I just can’t hear them.
He glanced back at the main gates. They seemed solid, but he wondered how long they would withstand the battering ram. He rubbed his ears in the vain hope of hearing what was happening beyond the wall but the dull, disorienting ringing persisted. Resolved, he clambered up the steps to the palace door and pushed. It opened.

Inside, he found the chain used to drop the beam and seal the door and lowered the beam into place. Then he passed along the hallway and the portraits of the succession of Royal kings.
Everything ends,
he noted as he reached the portrait of Queen Sunset at the base of the stairs. Knowing the way to the palace’s watchtowers from previous visits, he ran along the upper halls, past the War Room and meeting chambers and climbed a succession of stone stairways until he emerged on the rampart of the south-western tower, heaving from exertion.

He first looked north to the burning city from where he’d run. A strong northerly breeze was breaking up the smoke haze, carrying it swiftly across the palace. The palace gates weren’t breached yet. Though he couldn’t hear, he knew the courtyard would be echoing to the steady thud of the battering ram against the wood-and-metal gates, and he expected the Kerwyn to be scaling the palace walls, but perhaps they realised the palace was undefended and that all they had to do was break through the gates.
I’d have sent men over the wall to unlock the gates,
he decided.

In the harbour, the black sails of the Shessian fleet were carrying their desperate human cargo to safety, while further out to sea, barely visible with their sails struck, rising and dipping between the whitecaps, the Shessian vessels loaded with the giant thundermakers stood in a defiant line to protect the main fleet from the Kerwyn. But the gallant defenders faced a massive tide of ships bearing down on them in the teeth of the north wind. Fascinated by the sea spectacle, the wind whipping his hair, Blade Cutter watched the conflict unfold. The Shessian ships loosed a volley from their starboard thundermakers, the wall of white smoke appearing and vanishing in the wind, and fiery explosions engulfed several hapless Kerwyn vessels, but
the rest swept on, undaunted by the firepower. Cutter could only imagine the frantic reloading of the thundermakers as the sailors tried to turn the Kerwyn armada from the main Shessian fleet.

The first Shessian ships transporting the city’s population reached the open ocean and heeled to port around the Bogpit bluff to head south, while the rest of the craft labouring into the west wind seemed to stand still. He knew nothing about sailing, but Cutter understood that the wind conditions had turned their fortune against the Shessian ships. Out to sea the Shessian ships loosed another broadside and more fireballs erupted in the armada. Then the black sails rose on the Shessian ships and their line broke as they scattered to avoid being rammed, while the Kerwyn ships swept through, running with the wind and racing across the waves towards the bay, intent on their quarry. The desperate Shessian ships heroically engaged random enemy vessels, but they were quickly overwhelmed in the futile battle.