Sovereign (33 page)

Lynan turned to Gudon. 'Return to the column. Bring it in. Burn this town to the ground. If anyone resists, kill them.'

Lasthear took Jenrosa to a smithy she had discovered in the poorer section of Daavis, which possessed a small furnace and produced iron household goods. Lasthear asked the blacksmith if she could demonstrate to Jenrosa her magik, while he worked.

'Magik?' the smithy asked nervously.

'To speed up your work and improve the quality of the iron.'

The smithy grinned then and readily agreed.

Lasthear said to Jenrosa, 'If you try to do both—make the furnace work more efficiently and improve the quality of the iron—you will greatly increase the stress you place on yourself without necessarily succeeding. It is best to concentrate on getting the magik right for one or the other.'

Lasthear stood as near to the furnace as possible and started a chant. Whether it was the magik or simply his belief in the chant's efficacy, the blacksmith began working more energetically. In a short period he made two ladles and a cooking pot. Lasthear withdrew from the smithy to cool down. Sweat poured off her.

'Why don't you take your shirt off?' Jenrosa asked.

'What, here?' Lasthear asked, widening her arms to include the city. 'Amongst all these
strangers
?' She was astounded.

'But at the High Sooq—'

'At the High Sooq I was working with my people. They have seen naked magikers working next to foundries all their lives. Here everyone wears clothes all the time.'

'Maybe you could start a new fashion,' Jenrosa said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

'Or a riot,' Lasthear countered.

Jenrosa's smile broadened. 'Well, at least you wouldn't get so hot.'

Lasthear harrumphed and led the way back to the furnace. The new ladles and cooking pot had been placed on a workbench for the blacksmith's son to finish off. The blacksmith looked eagerly at Lasthear. 'What next, Madam Magiker?'

'Have you something especially difficult or expensive to make?'

The man scratched his head. 'Begging your pardon, but everything's difficult in a small furnace like this. Inherited it from my da, o'course, like most in my line, and seeing as how I'm wedged between Orvin the Baker with his oven and Milt the Tanner with his vats, there's no room left to expand—'

'Or something expensive?' Lasthear prompted.

'Well, the last big job I did was a mirror base for some cheap lady near the palace. Cheap for her, I mean. It paid off nearly all my debts—'

'But you have nothing like that now?'

'No, except for a new pan for Orvin next door who wants to try out a flatter loaf.'

'What's so expensive about that?'

'Not expensive so much as extra difficult. It can't have ribbing or beading on the bottom, and has to be the right size. I keep on putting it off until I have more time, but the time don't come and Orvin's getting impatient.'

'He's not the only one,' Lasthear said under her breath. 'Let's do it now. I'll help you.'

The blacksmith grinned and started preparing for the task.

'I'm going to be using the second kind of chant,' Lasthear told Jenrosa. 'Although it takes more concentration to get right, it's slower and more evenly paced and in the end doesn't make you as tired… or sweaty.'

Lasthear started singing, and the blacksmith, instead of setting to with urgent energy, fell in with the pattern of the chant. He worked carefully, methodically, but never tiring, and Jenrosa wondered if the chant had an effect on the blacksmith as much as on the fire.

Jenrosa moved from the side to stand behind the blacksmith, taking care not to get in the way of his swinging hammer, and stared into the furnace. The flames whipped around inside their cage, driven by nature and magik, the heat buffeting Jenrosa like an invisible sea. She found herself almost hypnotised, and without meaning to she started picking up the chant, her voice rising and falling in time with Lasthear's. After a while she noticed there was something in the furnace that was neither flame nor ingot, something that writhed with the fire but was apart from it, more substantial. She tried to focus on the shape and her voice changed without her meaning it to, becoming deeper, stronger, and Lasthear's own voice followed like a stream running into a river.

The shape inside the furnace and the flames around it started to merge, not back into the fire but into something new altogether. Jenrosa could see buildings now, and the flickering silhouettes of people fleeing, burning, tumbling in the dirt. She tried to look away, caught a glimpse of the blacksmith hauling out his iron and hammering it, sparks waterfalling in the air, and then found her gaze following the iron as it re-entered the furnace, saw again the terrible scene of carnage and destruction. She tried to bring the chant back to Lasthear's original song, but it resisted her. She felt as though she was pushing herself into a windstorm, and the air smelled of burning flesh. The fire got brighter and brighter and the vision was swept away, replaced with a face made up of the whitest, hottest flames, the face of Lynan peering out at hers.

She screamed, reeled back and out of the smithy. She heard a terrible oath, a hammer falling, Lasthear calling to her, and then she was out in the cool air, still screaming and falling to the ground. Rough hands caught her, let her down gently. There were more cries. Water hissing and steaming. Lasthear's voice, attenuated, whispery, in her ear.

She opened her eyes. The blacksmith hovered over her, looking frightened and angry. His son cowered behind him. The smithy was filled with smoke. Lasthear put an arm under her back and helped her to her feet.

'The pan's right ruined, Madam Magiker, and that was my most expensive piece of iron.'

'I'll replace the iron,' Lasthear said to him over her shoulder, 'and make sure the pan is done right next time.'

'I don't know what your friend did, but it sure as hell made things hot in there. I think even the furnace might be cracked.'

'My clan will pay for a new furnace, Blacksmith. A better one.'

The man nodded dumbly, not having anything more to say, and shepherded his son away.

'What happened?' Lasthear asked Jenrosa.

'You don't know?'

Lasthear breathed deeply. 'How could I know? What you are capable of is so far beyond my experience…'

'Don't say that. Don't ever say that.'

'Can you stand by yourself?'

'I think so.' Jenrosa took all her weight on her feet; she felt dizzy but did not reach out for Lasthear. 'I'm sorry for what I did to the blacksmith. Was anyone hurt?'

'No. I remember feeling a change in the song, something deeper and more powerful than anything I'd ever experienced before, then you stumbled backwards out of the smithy. At the same time the heat became too much for all of us. I heard a crack, saw the blacksmith throw something in the tub of water and get out with his son.'

People were starting to mill around, and the blacksmith was babbling something to them and pointing at the two magikers.

'Let's get away,' Lasthear said. 'We need to talk about this.'

Slowly at first, but with quickened pace as Jenrosa regained her senses, they made their way back to the palace and Jenrosa's room, getting a ewer of cold water and two mugs from the kitchen on the way.

Lasthear poured the water, and as she passed the mug to Jenrosa asked, 'Can you tell me what you saw in the furnace?'

'How do you know I saw anything?'

'When the song changed I watched you very carefully. I know you saw something in there.'

'I saw a village or town burning, and people on fire, And then I
smelled
it all burning.'

'No wonder you pulled away,' Lasthear said.

Jenrosa nodded and did not mention seeing Lynan's face at the end. It was that, not the horror of what she had seen before, that frightened her so much she was able to end the chant.

Lasthear looked down into her own mug as if searching for some private vision. 'You have a destiny, Jenrosa Alucar, whether you like it or not.'

'Enough,' Jenrosa said angrily.

'No, it is not enough. You keep on hiding from it, but all you do is hurt yourself more by denying what you are capable of. You keep on stumbling on aspects of your power that are waking now you have been taught how to use magik properly. You cannot avoid what you are. You cannot avoid whatever destiny is laid before you.'

'There is no such thing as destiny. We make our own choices, decide our own future.'

'Undeniably,' Lasthear agreed, and Jenrosa looked up surprised. 'You make the mistake of assuming destiny is set down as law, that destiny demands only one path.'

'Doesn't it? Isn't that what destiny means?'

'Your destiny is where you arrive. How you get there is entirely up to you.'

Jenrosa laughed bitterly. 'So it is set down as law? There is no change to the ending, only the road I take to get there.'

'Which ending? The ending you saw in the river at Kolby? Or in the fire in our camp during the siege? Can you be sure they are endings, Jenrosa, or merely crossroads on your way there?'

Jenrosa looked up at Lasthear, desperation in her eyes. 'I see blood. All the blood of the world. That is all.'

Lasthear paled. 'I thought it might be something like that.'

'What does it mean?'

'Death.'

'Of course it means death,' Jenrosa spat, unable to control her fear and anger any more.

'A close death,' Lasthear continued.

Jenrosa shuddered involuntarily. 'I know. I'm sorry.'

Lasthear's eyes widened with understanding. 'And you know whose, don't you?'

Jenrosa nodded savagely. 'Yes. I've known since Kolby. And every time I get a vision it is the same. I know whose death it is.' She closed her eyes in pain and grief. 'And I know I will be the cause of it.'

The very woods that protected their hideaway from easy detection also allowed the enemy to get within arrow shot without being seen. The first sign of anything awry was the scream of a sentry followed by the whistling of several hundred arrows falling among the boulders and trees. Charion and Galen sprung from their cave near the summit of the hill, swords in hand, looking every which way to determine the main axis of the attack, Arrows clattered on the ground nearby. More screams, Soldiers scrabbling for gear, sliding for cover.

'How did they find us?' Galen cried.

Charion did not answer. It was suddenly very quiet, There were no more flights of arrows, no more cries of the dying. Even the wounded seemed to be holding on to their breath.

'What is happening?' Galen asked.

Charion waved him silent. She could hear movement coming from the south side of the hill, from where the river ran closest to the hill. She started moving down the slope, but Galen grabbed her arm. 'Don't be a fool.'

Charion twisted out of his grip and glared at him, but she moved no further.

'Get down, your Majesty!' cried a nearby soldier.

'I agree,' Galen said, and squatted behind a low bush, pulling the reluctant Charion down beside him.

'That's twice you've grabbed at my royal person this morning,' she hissed at him.

He looked at her amazed. She had not reacted like that when they first woke this morning. 'What about—?'

'There's a difference,' she said coolly, and turned her attention down-slope again. She could see nothing among the vegetation and rocks, but she knew from the sound that there were a lot of enemy troops coming their way. Another flight of arrows ricocheted off rocks, slapped into leaves and tree trunks, into hands and faces.

'We're in trouble,' she said bitterly. 'We didn't have enough warning to prepare any proper defence. Our people are scattered all over this hill.'

'Do you think we're surrounded?'

'They'd need five thousand to encircle this place completely, and we'd have seen that many coming.'

'Then we can retreat.'

'We can, we have horses. Our recruits can get off the hill, but once on flat ground they'll be pursued and cut down by the Chetts.'

'They could surrender.'

'Would you accept a surrender after having one of your columns slaughtered?'

Galen breathed out heavily. 'No. But the recruits have a better chance than you say. They can get away in the woods—the Chetts have to go on foot there too—and our people are locals.'

Charion shook her head. 'I don't know…'

'What will happen if we stay here?'

'We'll die,' she admitted. 'Like we should have died in Daavis.'

'That's an incredibly stupid and callous thing to say,' Galen said.

She touched his face. 'Yes, I'm sorry. We have to save as many of these farmers and townspeople as possible. If only we'd had more time I could have done something with them.'

'You already have. We've tagged the grass wolf, and with luck we'll still get away with it.' He risked looking around the bush. 'Still clear. You go right, spreading the word. I'll go left. We'll meet on the other side then descend to the horses.'

Charion nodded, leaned forward and quickly kissed Galen on the lips. 'I think I love you,' she said breathlessly and then was gone.

'Thanks,' Galen said to air, and went the opposite way.

Lynan gazed at the blood on his hands. It had gone dark and gathered in the creases in his palms until his hands looked like they had been criss-crossed by red spider webs.

'The arrows are having an effect,' Ager, squatting next to him, said to no one in particular.

Gudon grunted in agreement, but Lynan ignored him. He was absorbed by the colour of his hands. He noticed the blood has also crusted under his fingernails. He curiously sniffed the ends of his fingers.

'Priest's blood,' he muttered to himself. It smelt no different to him than anyone else's, which was a disappointment. He had expected there to be something about it that was special somehow, tinged with the sacred. He remembered the priest bleeding after he had stabbed him. At first he had been shocked, as much by his own action as by the amount of blood, but that had changed to a terrible, secret glee, and for a fraction of a moment he understood Silona's desire for warm blood.