The Red Knight (36 page)

“
Don’t love nothing, and then nothing can hurt you.”
That’s what Minchin, one of the older boys in the orphanage had told him. Then as now, he understood what he’d meant.

For a moment—a heartbeat, he regretted that he’d wandered into the wrong inn and let a blue-eyed girl strip him of his defences, because just for a moment, with Weyhithe burning behind him, he felt as vulnerable and helpless as a five year old boy grieving for his murdered mother.

A few miles from Weyhithe, the shifters disappeared into a stand of trees. Garian and Suli took the opportunity to catch their breath. They returned a short while later in human form. Garian guessed that they must be brother and sister by how similar they looked. They were the same height; both had the same sandy coloured hair and very similar features. Like Suli’s mother, it was their eyes that he found most disturbing, even in human form. They were too bright and a little too large—hunter’s eyes. The male smiled a toothsome grin, displaying the tips of sharply pointed canines.

“Garian, I’d like you to meet my cousins,” said Suli. “This is Pytre.”

The male stood forward and tipped him a nod.

“And this is Lhazinia.”

The female smiled. “Garian Tain; the King’s man. We’re pleased to meet you.”

“And I you. Thanks’ for the help back there.”

“Don’t mention it, we’re kin. Family look out for family, isn’t that so even amongst the Gadji?” Lhazinia asked.

He snorted. “In theory.”

He spared no detail when he told them what had happened. They took it in, but neither they nor Suli showed the level of concern he would have expected. He concluded that rather than a lack of empathy it was probably because they were nomads and didn’t have strong ties to any one particular place. He shouldn’t have been surprised that they didn’t feel the loss of Weyhithe as keenly as he did. They were more concerned that mercenaries and Guthani were roaming the countryside, and it was quickly decided that Lhazinia would go and warn the Charaval.

“These are ill tidings for all, not only the Gadji,” said Pytre.

Garian grunted his agreement. He was bone weary and the thought of what he still had to do was daunting, even for him.

“What’s wrong, Captain?” Suli asked.

“Nothing.” There
was
something, but he was reluctant to ask more of Suli and her family.

“I don’t believe you. What is it, Garian?” She pushed him towards the inevitable request.

“Suli, Pytre; do you think you could track the Queen?” He asked quickly so that the question wouldn’t stick in his throat.

The shifter raised his eyebrows and smiled a perfect, white-toothed smile. “The mortal hasn’t been born who I cannot track, cousin.”

“I know I’m asking a great deal of you and your people… you’ve already done so much…”

Pytre rested his hand on Garian’s shoulder. “We’re your people now. You are family, Garian Tain, and really, it’s not much of a task.”

“Thank you, both of you.” As much as he was grateful, he felt uncomfortable being obligated to anyone, but this was too important to let pride get in the way.

“I’ll catch up with you when I’ve found her; it may take a few days. Tell ‘Zia where I’ve gone when she gets back, and be careful.” Pytre kissed Suli on the cheek and set off at a jog, back towards Weyhithe.

Unlike the shapeshifter, who looked like he could run all day and night without tiring, Garian was dead on his feet, but he still had to find the King. “I’d better be going too… do you want to come with me?” he asked Suli, trying not to sound as desperate for her to say yes as he was.

She gave him a kiss. “Try stopping me.”

Chapter Twelve

G
allen Arth was like an old dog sleeping through its dotage. It either didn’t mind, or hadn’t noticed Kilner’s presence. Some of the other Arths, like Trelanlith, were positively hostile and jealously guarded every drop of power, but not Gallen. Here essence dripped like honey from the deep well of its untouched reserves and he drank his fill. Kilner liked Gallen for that reason, and because the great, high walls and huge, drum towers made him feel safe.

It was a pity that he’d have to leave soon. He didn’t like travelling or being out in the wilds. He feared the creatures that hunted in the dark forests and lonely moors, and now they were saying there were brigands and mercenaries abroad to add to the danger. He was capable of defending himself if he had to, he was a mage after all, but the very thought of violence made him feel ill. Kilner did not like conflict. If only he had enough coin so that he didn’t have to work
. If only I could turn rocks into gold and had my own personal well of earth essence…

“Ah, there you are, Master Magus—just the person I was looking for.”

The voice jolted Kilner from his daydream, but he had the presence of mind not to turn around. Pretending not to have heard her, he put his head down and continued at a brisk pace in the opposite direction. He thought he’d got away when he reached the Guest Hall, until a heavy hand slapped down on his shoulder. Groaning inwardly, he turned to face Lady Berwick.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were trying to avoid me,” she said, a wry smile on her face.

“You’re right: you don’t know better. Now leave me be or…” the mage mumbled and made to go inside.

She palmed the door closed and casually leaned against it. “Or?”

Kilner took a step back; his knees were already turning to water. “Just leave me alone. I can’t help you. How many times must I tell you before it sinks in?”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t! I’ve told you: you are what you are, what you were born. It cannot be undone, you’re g… going to have to learn t…to live with it,” Kilner stammered. “Or not. I don’t care, just leave me be.”

“I still think if you tried you could do something to at least help me keep control.” Her smile vanished. “I’m tired of drugging myself just to get through the day, just to feel…human.”

Kilner felt sorry for her, even though she’d hounded him from the moment she arrived with the other knights, he wasn’t made of stone. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I’m not as young as I was. It’s too risky and…I just can’t. Earth magic doesn’t work like that. I must use what I’m given, we cannot destroy—only…well, I can’t take it out of you, and if I tried to change your pattern, I’d most likely end up killing you or worse, killing myself—and I will not risk either outcome, so please, stop hounding me.”

She looked downcast. Kilner really did feel sorry for her, but the risk was too great…for him.

“Is it money? I can pay,” she said brightly. “I’ve got pots of gold.”

It was as though she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “Money can’t buy me my life back! I’m not a…a sorcerer. I don’t have power over life and death, I ca—” Without warning an excruciating pain ripped through his body. Kilner fell, paralysed and in agony, unable to even scream.

Berwick caught him as he collapsed. “What is it? What’s wrong with you? Reese! Speak to me!”

He could barely think, let alone speak. All he could do was send a weak pulse of power into the Arth to warn it about what was trying to break through, what had burned his very spirit. Before unconsciousness claimed him, he heard the Arth Ward scream.

Alyda was halfway to the door, sword in hand before she was even awake, dragged from deep sleep by the Arth’s deafening Ward. She looked around and tried to remember where she was. Constable’s room. The barbican. Gallen Arth. She hadn’t bothered getting undressed when she’d fallen onto the cot and ran from the room and down the stairs, in search of what had set off the Ward. She glanced out of the arrow loops, expecting to see an army massing, but all was quiet.

In the bailey, knights and civilians were running in all directions, hunting for the source of the disturbance. Over by the Guest Hall, she saw Bear Berwick kneeling beside a prone figure.

When she got closer she recognised the earth mage. He was as pale as death, but trying to speak. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

“He just collapsed, and the Ward started ringing,” said Bear, her eyes shining in the torch-lit darkness.

“I…I’m alright,” the mage gasped and raised himself onto his elbow.

“I know you…” Alyda said. “Reed isn’t it?”

“Close enough,” he groaned. “Listen, Captain—a sorcerer is trying to get into the Arth. In the name of all that is holy—
you must not let it in
.”

Alyda’s blood ran cold, she shuddered. “Where is it?”

He reached out his shaking hand and touched her sword. “Now you can hurt it, like her Ladyship here, but the spell won’t last long, so hurry!” Kilner fell back, exhausted, leaving Alyda no wiser as to where the demon might be.

Bear craned her neck, tilted her head as though she’d heard something. “It’s near Tal,” she said, and tore off towards the Keep Tower. Alyda followed.

The Obsidian Prince perched on the broken spar of a dead dragon’s wing bone while he waited for the hunting spell to find the human Queen. He held a trinket he’d made over a thousand years ago. It had survived in the mortal realm all that time. The flower was fashioned from Yorl—the metal of magic, formed of raw earth essence. It had been a gift for his lover.
Such a long time ago.
Back when his dragon had flesh on its bones.

He’d modelled the flower after one of the thousands that had grown in his lands, it was a perfect blossom—the most beautiful he had ever grown. Now the flowers were gone. In their place was the nightmare landscape of the Void, the demon haunted realm that terrified mortals, and filled their simple minds with fear. Writhing mists caressed the bones of the dead that littered the cindered ground. The sky was a monotonous grey, the air tasted of ash and sulphur as befitted the home of the damned.

Pained by memories of what had once been, the Obsidian Prince spent some of his hoarded power and made the Yorl flower bloom once more. It unfurled twirling stems and tiny buds and turned from a hair pin into a crown of radiant silver flowers, but that was all. It had a simple pattern and could grow no more. A crown made for a human princess, long since gone to dust.

Damn them, damn them, damn them
… he scourged his mind with the oft chanted litany.

“Are you still damning them for death?” The shade asked.

“My own brother did this to us. He broke our covenant, and condemned you to death. My own brother…”

The shade drifted through the dragon’s bones. “We’ve talked about this before. The Carmine Prince did the right thing. He freed me; death is a gift not a curse.”

“You were always so forgiving. How could he?
My own brother.
” If he could remember how, he would have wept.

“You should leave them alone, leave all of this,” she whispered. Her voice was the same, but he could never see her face; it was just shadows and memories. He let the crown change back into a hairpin.

“He took it from a dead girl and sold it to me. Forged a link, damn his eyes. I should have flayed the filthy creature for even looking at it.”

“I wish I’d destroyed it. It’s over, my love. Leave the humans, stop existing like this.”

The sound of his laughter vibrated the bone cage of his chest like a swarm of angry wasps. He wasn’t sure if there was anything left inside him except blood essence and hate.

“Don’t blame me, blame them, stupid animals.
Freedom,”
he spat
. “
Did they ask you if you wanted the freedom
to rot, to age, to die?”

“I accepted it, it was right. Things had to change or…”

“No they didn’t!” he raged. “No. They didn’t. The world was perfect, beautiful, and will be again. I can feel it; the storm is gathering, the gods are stirring.”

Even though he couldn’t see her face he could feel her eyes dripping pity. She was always so kind, so wise…
She is dead.
He was alone, had been for a millennia.

The ethereal hound bounded from Between and crouched at his feet. Trailing behind it was a pulsing strand of scarlet which would lead him to his prey.

The Obsidian Prince placed the flower on the dragon’s bones and wrapped the throbbing vein around his fist. With a casual flick of the wrist, he dismissed the spell. The spectral hound howled and flew apart like smoke. The sorcerer girded himself in spells of protection and stepped over the maggot-infested spine and into Between.

The trail led the sorcerer to Gallen Arth. As he drew closer, he could feel the furnace heat spilling from its burning heart.

The Prince revelled in the savage tide; it had been so long since anything had warmed him.
Stupid mortals
. They’d been lazy, or had forgotten how to use the power. If his pattern hadn’t changed he would have shown them how to shape a Ward, how to harness the power of the earth, but it was too late for that by a thousand years, and a thousand terrible deeds. Now, merely approaching the heart of the Arth would flay his spirit and consign him to oblivion.
Ah, but what a magnificent way to go.
The thought sent a thrill of pleasure running through his withered flesh.