Shadowkings (49 page)

"Gladly," Gilly said. "Once this clever old man gives me something for the hammering in my head."

Atroc shook his head while fumbling through the pouches on his belt. "Can't take his wine. Definitely no Mogaun ancestors."

Under Night's shadow,
Let the dead hoist their ancient banners and
Let the living fall and bleed and die.
I care not, for I am the earth
And I drink deep.

—Calabos,
The Black Shrine
, ch 11, vi.

The air in the tunnel was chill and dead from centuries of slow circulation through the stone maze of the Ordeal, but to Keren it was like wine. She relished the way it flowed icily down her mouth and throat and left an ache in her chest, especially after she had passed through one of the Wards. She had lost count of how many she and Orgraaleshenoth had traversed in their slow ascent, instead concentrating on the weaving of each one, the tone of its intent, the fabric of its punishment.

She vented a black laugh. Not that the final few Wards had presented any kind of genuine difficulty, for she had grown in strength as they progressed while the barriers had become steadily weaker. Oh, the voices of power that were in her now!

Keren went to the nearby wall, pressed her hands against the rough surface and let her iron senses sink into the stone. Before long she could hear the taut nets of ancient energies which permeated the towering mass of the Oshang Dakhal, and hear the rock itself singing, reverberating; hear the winds of the night gusting and wearing away at the crags and pinnacles; hear the click of talons and the beat of wings as the Acolytes' creatures stirred from their caverns and took flight; hear the pain of prisoners in their pens. And then hear footsteps approaching...

She opened her eyes and saw the Daemonkind Orgraaleshenoth stride into view. He had once again adopted the tall, haughty form of Raal Haidar and like Keren he possessed an aura which brightened the surroundings.

"I was listening to the song in the stone."

"There are songs in everything," the Daemonkind said.

"Yet, hard as I listened, I could not hear the Crystal Eye or anything that it might be."

Orgraaleshenoth nodded. "It was cunningly wrought to conceal itself from sorcerous perception by masking its powers and attributes. It is also able to protect itself by negating any kind of sorcery directed against it within a certain area." He smiled thinly. "A quality I have just verified. But Trevada is a place brim full of the Acolytes' dark workings, and by seeking out certain subtle absences of power I have deduced that it resides in a tower above the High Basilica."

"How shall we get there?"

He indicated the way up ahead. "The tunnel passes through an empty cave, then under the floor of the Basilica Hall and emerges in a chamber behind the altar. Nearby is a set of steps going up to the tower."

Keren waited for him to turn and lead the way, but he made no move.

"Do you want us to rest?"

The Daemonkind gazed at her with unfathomable azure eyes. "No. Before we continue I must fulfill my promise and return your flesh and bone to what they were."

She drew back in alarm. "But you know that I want to become one of you and return with you!"

"Only because I have made you my servant for a time." A wintry smile came to his lips as he raised a hand. "We are the ones who serve - we do not create servants."

"But wait..."

Change swept through her, a tidal wave of brute sensation rushing up from her extremities. She cried out, reeled against the stone wall, felt sharp points, felt her skin catch on the rasping surface. Trembling, she made herself stand as the wave crashed on through her, flooding every corner of her being. Awareness of herself as a collaboration of elements brought unwelcome news in its wake - she had a nagging headache, her stomach felt unsettled, and she had pulled a muscle in her shoulder.

"The power I gave you is still there," Orgraaleshenoth said. "Can you feel it?"

She could. It was like a low, single note thrumming in her, becoming clearer as the wild edge of physical sensation began to subside. Keren tried to recall how she had been before, remembered a sense of invulnerability, an outer numbness, a cluster of iron voices within. Great power and great solitude.

"Your body is as it was, but your spiritual essence is changed forever," the Daemonkind said. "Even if you decide to remain here, you will always have an affinity for the Realm of Ruin."

"I still wish to return there with you."

"Then come."

He turned and walked on, and Keren followed.

* * *

The Mogaun host swept through the night towards Besh-Darok, leaving a wide swathe of smoking ruin in its wake. Fences and huts were destroyed, fields and gardens churned into mud, dwellings put to the torch, stores ransacked and any resistance savagely put down.

Byrnak looked over his shoulder at the great dark mass of riders, their banners streaming, their standards swaying as they rode. Several bore his own sun-and-black-sword sigil, and he smiled. The Host had grown since departing Arengia and now numbered a little over fourteen thousand mounted warriors. The sheer brute force of it stirred a feral delight in him, but that was tempered by his awareness of Ystregul.

Thoughts of the other Shadowking made his delight fade into a smouldering hate. For all that Byrnak had been named the Host's general, in reality the army was divided. Byrnak led the right wing, and Ystregul led the left, each made up of their own followers, while a few maverick tribes kept to the centre and rear. With large clans like the Redclaws and Blackmoons, Byrnak had the numerical advantage but Ystregul had the support of many shamen who were being hurriedly schooled in the secrets of the Wellsource by his coterie of Acolytes.

He glanced at Obax, who rode next to him, and saw those pale ivory eyes staring back.

Your consternation is clear, my lord. Is it the Black Priest's stratagems which trouble you?

The Acolyte's mindspeech was a quiet whisper in his thoughts, yet seemed louder than the galloping thunder of the Host.

This is so
, he replied.
But my thoughts keep returning to those of your brothers who are aiding him so eagerly
.

Obax looked uncomfortable.
Great Lord, each of the Shadowkings possesses a fragment of our god, and we have faith in the strength of the Lord of Twilight's will, that through mysterious paths and workings shall all of his divine facets be united. It is our task, and our burden, to serve to the full.

And have you served me by talking to the other Acolytes and discovering Ystregul's plans?

I did speak with them, my lord, but I learned nothing conclusive.

Nothing conclusive
... Byrnak let his contempt show.
Is it not possible that Ystregul has swayed your brothers to his cause, and that their faith is now in him?

Obax was about to reply when shouts caught Byrnak's attention. He reined in his horse and looked northward to where many warriors were pointing.

The entire left wing of the Host was veering away towards a high ridge nearly a mile from Besh-Darok, the same ridge where Yasgur was seized by his father's spirit. There had been no previous agreement on this, no messages given, no signals, no signs. Rage filled Byrnak and his hands longed to grasp Ystregul's throat. But he kept his fury in check and beckoned one of his officers.

"We are to follow," he said, as if it was already determined. "Pass the order to the other chieftains." Then he turned to Obax. "Come with me!"

Without pause, he spurred his horse into a gallop, riding past the clusters of tribes and bands. Spears and flags were brandished and hoots and cries went up when he passed by. As he and Obax drew near the head of the great column, a group of riders broke away from it and rode back to meet them. Both parties slowed to face one another a short distance from the constant din of thousands of horsemen.

There were five of them, four Acolytes and one Flegros, chieftain of the Rockwolf clan. Flegros had long, unbraided hair, tallow-blackened eyes, and wore a long red coat over leather and mail. He made an obeisance from his saddle, but the black-robed Acolytes just sat and stared at Byrnak, a couple of them smiling openly.

"On behalf of our master, I present profound apologies to the great lord Byrnak," Flegros said, insincerity in every word. "But it was judged imperative that we pause by yonder ridge so that all the Shadowkings may gather in preparation for the coming battle."

"No mention of this was made previously," Byrnak said, his temper rising.

Flegros shrugged. "It was thought that you would immediately understand the situation and give appropriate orders, great lord. As is the case, I see."

Yes
, he thought.
Understand who considers himself the master
. In his mind's eye he pictured Flegros reduced to a pile of charred, smoking bones and had to fight the urge to strike the man down on the spot.

"Remind the Black Priest that the attack on the city must start soon," Byrnak said through gritted teeth. "Before Hegroun kills everyone in it."

"That now appears unlikely," Flegros said. "Yasgur's seer managed to cast out the shade of Hegroun and free the prince."

Byrnak smiled unpleasantly. "Another triumph for your lord and master."

'A minor setback. We shall..."

Just then, one of the Acolytes raised a hand and Flegros fell silent as the man addressed Obax.

"My master wished to know your reponse to his offer. Will you accept?"

Strike down this disrespectful vermin!

Half-agreeing with the outraged godhead, Byrnak gritted his teeth and decided to watch and listen.

"My reply remains as it was when the offer was made," Obax said levelly. "And will remain so in the future. I cannot accept."

"So you say. The offer, however, remains open."

With that, the four Acolytes wheeled their horses and rode back towards the head of the Host, closely tailed by Flegros. Byrnak watched them go then gave Obax a dark, penetrating look.

"I take it that they asked you to join them," he said. "You should have told me about that."

"I did not think it of importance," Obax said. "But I will accept whatever punishment you decide upon."

Ah, punishment. You will all taste it to the dregs.

"I shall forego punishment, this once," Byrnak said with iron resolution. "Just remember that where Ystregul is concerned, everything is important. Now, let us return to our warriors and persuade them that this is all part of the great plan!"

* * *

The meeting took place in a furniture warehouse by the river, in a long, low-ceilinged storeroom lit by glass-sided lanterns and smelling of sawdust. When Mazaret had arrived, Yasgur was already there, accompanied by two bare-armed guards and the elderly seer Atroc whom Gilly had mentioned. Mazaret had Gilly with him, and a couple of staff officers, and a head full of frayed nerves. When Gilly had appeared with an amazing story and Yasgur's offer of a truce, Kodel was nowhere to be found so Mazaret had no choice but to carry out the task himself.

Now he was sitting at a scored, notched carpenter's trestle across from Yasgur who was giving a brief account of his possession by the spirit of Hegroun and how Gilly and Atroc had brought him back. Despite its lurid, macabre nature, it tallied with what Gilly had said earlier and had several details in common with what had happened atop the Keep of Day.

"It was always my intention to send the boy Tauric back to you, not torture and kill him," Yasgur said. "Is he well?"

"He was in the High Spire when the stone monsters fell upon the city," Mazaret said, feeling weary. "The inner palace is cut off - the doors barred, the stairs wrecked, corridors collapsed, so we do not know what is happening."

Atroc nodded. "They want our deaths, even for us to be their slaves in death."

Yasgur shuddered visibly, fingering his oiled black beard, eyes full of a simmering anger. "I will tell you this - when the Host of Clans arrives, I will not submit to their commands, or surrender my walls."

"You mean to fight your own people?" Mazaret said.

"I must, for they are in thrall to evil creatures claiming to be messengers from our god." Yasgur leaned forward, face full of intensity. "It is they who have blackened the honour of my family and my clan by tearing my father's spirit from his grave, making him their servant and sending him against me. When they come to Besh-Darok I shall hurl defiance in their faces and resist them with all my strength." He narrowed his eyes. "I still have another army coming from the north. It should be here by dawn."

"With respect, that may be too late," Mazaret said. "The last scout reports I received suggest that the Host will be here in less than an hour. Those stone monsters may have completed their vile purpose well before your army arrives."

"Yes," Yasgur said sombrely. "Which is why I shall attack the false messengers as soon as they draw near to the walls, ride out and catch them unawares. If we can kill one or both of them, we may halt whatever is happening in the High Spire and prevent a catastrophe." He gave Mazaret a pensive look. "Will you join me? Will you bring your men to this fight? I will not hinder you if you wish to withdraw - these sorcerers have powers beyond reckoning."

Mazaret scarcely needed to consider the proposal. "While I have friends and allies held in fear of their lives in the palace, I cannot leave. We will stay, and we will fight."

Yasgur smiled and held out his hand, which Mazaret grasped. At that moment, there was a commotion at one end of the storeroom and one of Yasgur's men entered at a rush, breathing heavily.

"My lord, news...from outwith the city. The Host has turned aside..."

"What?" cried Yasgur, leaping to his feet.

"One of the mounted scouts reports that the clans are taking up positions on this side of the old fort ridge, yet they are not setting up camp."

"Why do such a thing?"

"Because of their servants up in the palace," Atroc said, his voice heavy with dread. "Something terrible is going to hatch out..."