Dancer's Lament: Path to Ascendancy Book 1 (44 page)

She limped out into the night, a hand at the grip of her whipsword. Soldiers ran past while officers bellowed orders. Iko made for the king’s quarters. The level of panic she encountered was rather worrying: the regulars either milled about uselessly or stood frozen in terror. But much of the effectiveness of any sorcerous attack was in the broader fear it generated, or so it seemed to her.

Whatever was attacking the camp was rampaging about seemingly at random, as she heard the monstrous braying moving hither and thither. She crossed a trail of its destruction in a line of trampled tents, scattered equipment and torn corpses. One body she passed had been bitten in two across the torso, and she wondered what manner of horrific daemons had been loosed upon the camp.

She reached the pavilion that served as the king’s private quarters and was waved through by her sister Sword-Dancers who held the perimeter. Within, she drew up short, as she saw next to Chulalorn a giant whose twisted body resembled the caricature of a man. She took the arm of Sareh nearby and hissed, ‘What is this?’

Sareh’s face echoed her own distaste. ‘None other than Juage himself.’

She released her sister’s arm in a flinch of disgust. Juage! The ogre of the southern mountains! He had ruled a kingdom high among the peaks until Chulalorn’s grandfather had defeated him and chained him beneath the very mountains he had terrorized – or so it was said. In the south they named his kind Jaggen, or giant. Inhuman, in any case. This was a sorcerous escalation of the worst kind. Deals with devils. Hallens’ warning appeared to be justified as the fear struck her that events were spiralling out of anyone’s control.

While she and her sisters guarded the perimeter of the tent, Chulalorn argued with his pet fiend.

‘Can you not dismiss them?’ the king was demanding.

‘They will go shortly, m’lord,’ Juage answered in his rumbling bass. ‘They cannot stay long from their . . . well, their native realm.’

‘So there is nothing you can do.’ Chulalorn’s tone was sneering.

‘There is nothing anyone can do against these particular . . . summonings.’

‘I wonder then why I do not release you back to your internment.’

The ogre bowed obsequiously. ‘I will defend you should they attack . . . m’lord.’

‘Yet you say they are not sent by Shalmanat.’

‘No, m’lord. A minor hedge-wizard only. A dabbler and a fool. No doubt dead now.’

Chulalorn snarled, outraged, ‘Are you saying a minor wizard has destroyed my camp?’

Juage bowed again. ‘Give an imbecile a torch and you will get a fire.’

Chulalorn exhaled noisily, mollified for the moment.

Sareh touched Iko’s shoulder and motioned to the outside, tilting her head. Iko listened and heard only the yells of the soldiers, the crackling of flames, and the occasional bellowed command. The sisters about her all eased slightly in their stances, listening as well.

Juage raised a huge gnarled and misshapen hand. ‘I believe they may be gone now.’

The king grunted his satisfaction. ‘As you predicted.’ He crossed his arms, regarding the creature. ‘I am tired of this interminable siege, Juage. You said you would end it – do so.’

The ogre bowed once more. ‘Soon, my king. Soon. It is almost cold enough.’

‘Make it cold enough. Quickly.’

‘As you order,’ and the monster bowed, very low and unctuously.

Iko looked away in distaste. Disgusting! This was beneath Chulalorn, surely. Yet he would have his way – there was nothing new in that. The will of kings. Hallens had warned her of this as well.

Yuna, who with Hallens’ death had been given command of the Sword-Dancers, came to Iko and looked her up and down in obvious disapproval. ‘Get back in your cot. You’re of no use here.’

And Iko bowed as low as she could with her splinted leg. ‘As you order . . .’

*

On the north bank of the Idryn a bedraggled, mud-slathered shape drew another limp form up the mud bank and fell to the ground, gasping. All was dark but for the fires burning in the Kanese camp to the south. Dorin wiped the cold slick clay from his face and lay exhausted, luxuriating in the sensation of just being alive. Sleep pulled at him but he knew that the deep sleep of the cold was a slow sure death and so he roused himself, lifted the unconscious Wu over his shoulder, and staggered inland searching for cover.

In the ruins of a burned-out barn he started a meagre fire from leaf litter and sticks and huddled about it with the still unconscious Wu. The Dal Hon youth had taken quite a hit to the head from the bouncing of the cage, but at least his nosebleed had clotted over. He may wake up addled, as so many who take such strikes to the head did, but in his case how would one know?

He tucked the lad’s ice-cold hands to his chest and patted his shoulder.
Well done, you crazy lunatic. You really did save our arses – even if it was you who endangered them in the first place.

Dorin sat back against the charred wall and kept watch through the dawn.

The mage’s eyes popped open a good while after sunlight slanted down to warm him. The eyes roved about the ruins, red and bloodshot, and then the fellow grunted, satisfied, and croaked, ‘As I said. Quite safe.’

Dorin would have laughed had he the energy. He motioned him up. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Not the river, I beg you.’

‘No, not the river. The north is open. I know a number of ways in.’

Wu strained to rise, groaning and hissing. ‘Thank the gods.’

Once inside the walls Dorin kept them to narrow back alleys, for they were alone, and much of the territory they had to pass through was held by either Urquart or Pung. Eventually they came limping back into Wu’s domain; or, more accurately, his lads’ and lasses’ domain, for in truth they did all the organizing and fighting. All was merely done in his name.

When they came staggering down the chute of a tunnel a lass approached Dorin, motioning for his attention. Dorin allowed a gang of lads to take Wu from his hands.

‘There is someone here to see you,’ the girl said.

‘Who?’

A shrug. ‘I’ll take you. This way.’

She led him to a block of quiet, near-abandoned disputed streets that lay between Wu’s gang and Pung’s. This long into the siege few citizens ever left their quarters, which were barricaded and barred. It was now just a matter of waiting it out. You either managed to survive with what you had, or you didn’t, for there was no longer anything left to buy, barter, or steal.

The girl led him to a cellar, one open and known to all parties. Here he was surprised to find Rheena – much skinnier, paler, and looking markedly older, but unquestionably Rheena. The girl started from her chair when he entered, gasping, ‘What happened?’ and he realized that he must present an even worse appearance.

He tried to straighten his mud-streaked half-dried leathers. ‘I was out . . . scouting. What are you doing here? Pung would kill you if he knew.’

She bit her lip, and pulled at her tangled red hair. ‘I’m sorry, Dorin. I’m very sorry. I tried to warn you. I had nothing to do with it. I kept my mouth shut, but Loor knew. He talked. He’s angry with you – he thinks you betrayed him. Please, don’t kill him. Please. He’s just a dumb kid. He doesn’t understand . . .’

He took her cold hands in his. ‘What’s happened?’

She would not raise her eyes. ‘I’m finished with Pung now,’ she whispered, fierce. ‘This isn’t what I joined for. She wasn’t even involved . . . I’m sorry . . .’

Dorin let her hands fall. He backed away shaking his head, then he turned and ran.

He did not remember his passage to the streets of the caravanserai staging area in the west Outer Round; it all passed in a blur. He refused to think of what might await him but the moment he entered the narrow alley next to Ullara’s family barn he knew, for there among the rubbish lay two dead birds.

Proud predators both had been in life, a red falcon and a kestrel. They lay now broken and bloodied. Looking up he saw smears of blood at the ledge of the open gable far above. He climbed while refusing to allow himself to think at all – he held it all at bay, waiting until he reached the loft.

Within it was as he dreaded: scattered feathers and broken bodies of every single roosting bird that Ullara had taken in. All had died fighting to defend her; all had been slashed or crushed. And amidst all the corpses, Ullara lying on her side, her legs and arms trussed. Gently, he untied the rope, releasing her blue hands and feet, and turned her on to her back. When she rolled over he flinched away, for her eyes had been gouged out.

The next thing he knew he was vaguely aware that someone was saying sorry over and over again in a cracked broken voice while he held her pressed to his chest, rocking her. Her chemise was wet against his face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ that person was whispering, hoarse. ‘It is my fault. All my fault.’

He kneaded her hands and feet, massaging the life back into them. She stirred with the pain of the blood returning. He found a rag and wrapped it about her head over the savaged holes that had once held her eyes.

He sat with her head cradled on his lap through the night. He arranged her skirts, set her hands on her chest and sat looking down at her. He studied her for a very long time before blinking heavily and coming back to himself. Ever so slowly, he drew up the rope that had bound her and coiled it as he did so.

A fine length of slim taut hemp. Pung’s thugs must have brought it with them.

He had a use for it too.

He had no idea how long he sat there with a hand on her forehead. The beginnings of a penance, perhaps. Dawn came and still he sat. Once, far above, came the heart-wrenching keening of a great bird, and he knew that her King of the Mountains still lived.

With the warmth of the morning she stirred. Her hands rose to her eyes but he caught them and gently lowered them to her chest.

She tried to speak – cleared her throat, and tried again, ‘They told me this was a warning.’

He nodded, then flinched inwardly with the realization that she could not see it. That she would never see again. He swallowed to wet his raw throat. ‘I understand.’

‘They offered me a choice, you know,’ she said, her voice eerily flat. ‘Hands or eyes . . . but I fooled them. I chose my eyes.’

A shudder took Dorin at her words. Something elemental and very dark seemed to move beneath them.

‘Listen, Ullara. I will take you with me. I can hide you. I know where—’

‘No.’

‘Don’t be a fool. I can hide you, truly I can. Keep you safe.’

‘No.’ She raised a hand to his face and gently brushed it down his features, caressing them. ‘Find him,’ she whispered through her sharp clenched teeth. ‘Find him and kill him.’

Dorin shuddered again at the ferocity contained in this slim young form. She seemed to burn in his arms. No wonder the birds of prey came to her. They recognized the spirit of a sister.

‘Yes. Yes. I will.’

She relaxed once more on to his lap. ‘Good.’ She pushed his hands away. ‘Go, then.’

‘Ullara! What of you?’

‘I will be fine. My father is below – too frightened to come up, no doubt. Do not worry. I will call him.’

‘But . . .’

‘Go. Find him. He thought you and I could be frightened off but he made a mistake. He doesn’t understand what we are.’ She pushed herself from him and sat up. ‘Go. Do not return until he is dead.’

Chastened by her fire, he took one of her bloodied hands and pressed it to his lips. ‘Yes. And . . . I’m sorry. I did not understand you either.’

‘No, you didn’t. Now it is too late. Now all that is left to us is vengeance and the hunt. So go.’

He clambered to his feet. ‘Ullara . . . I—’

‘Go.’

He lowered his head. ‘Yes. I will find him.’ Bending down, he kissed her brow above the stained cloth then descended to the alleyway below.

The moment he set foot on the littered cobbles movement snapped him around. Some sort of vagrant stirred beneath a dirty blanket and rose, coughing. As the figure straightened it wavered into the familiar elderly shape of Wu. The mage peered up at the gable then lowered his head and clasped his hands before his stomach. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘She was an innocent.’

‘Yes.’ Dorin nodded. ‘Yes, she was.’ He drew a long shuddering breath and released it feeling as if he were releasing everything with it – his every wish, every foolish grandiose ambition, and every childish dream. All his plans for any future. ‘It was my fault.’

‘Do not blame yourself.’

‘If I had moved against Pung as you wished this would not have happened.’

‘We cannot be certain.’

Now he frowned, vaguely irritated. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I am worried about what you’re going to do.’

‘You know exactly what I am going to do.’

‘Ah, yes, well. Exactly my worry . . .’

‘I thought you wanted Pung dead.’

‘Of course. But not you. Please, Dorin, let’s not be hasty . . .’

He thought of her slim frame – so tiny and frail – and shook his head. Blinding. A terrible, awful, cruel maiming. How could anyone do such a thing to an innocent soul? ‘Things have changed.’
Dorin died in that loft
.

‘Ah, I see. As you say. But let us take a moment to consider—’

‘No. No more planning or considering. Look what my delaying has cost. I am finished with it. I’m going now.’ He faced the Dal Hon mage directly. ‘Are you with me or not?’

‘Of course I am with you, as always. But please, for the love of the gods – wait for nightfall at the least, I beg of you.’

Dorin brushed past to the alley mouth. ‘Dusk, then,’ he allowed, grudgingly. Something among the litter caught his eye and he picked it up. A bird’s leg and clawed foot, torn or severed from its owner. Blood still limned the black curved talons. He studied the grisly object for a time then slipped it down his shirt.

‘Let us prepare,’ said Wu, and his short walking stick appeared in his hand.

In the loft above, Ullara felt about the floor before her, patting the messed straw, feeling her way to the gable window. Reaching the wall, she pulled herself erect and felt at the window ledge. She raised her face to the warm morning breeze. ‘Come,’ she whispered to the breeze.