When the Heavens Fall (29 page)

Then she saw a small figure, no more than half her height, move in front of the fire and sit down with its back to her. Her breath caught.
A child?
It had to be. But alone, out here on the steppes? The son or daughter of a clansman, perhaps? No, any native of these lands would know better than to violate the sanctity of the grove.

From behind, Parolla heard a noise. Growling. A banewolf, maybe. She paused to listen. There it was again, closer this time. Looking back, she saw movement in the darkness, approaching swiftly. Her pulse quickened. The wolves on the steppes grew to the size of horses and could easily bring down a lone traveler. As yet, Parolla could only see one shadow, but banewolves rarely hunted alone.
But are they stalking me or the child?

Her mind made up, she strode toward the fire, stepping over the ditch of bones before entering the stand of trees.

By the time she realized her mistake, it was too late.

The small figure, a man, swung round as Parolla approached. She stumbled to a halt.
A Jekdal.
The dwarf was naked but for a loincloth, and thick white hair sprouted from his heavily muscled shoulders and chest. Black paint was daubed across his forehead and cheeks in a series of swirling patterns. Parolla's gaze was drawn to a finger bone hanging from a chain round his neck.

On the opposite side of the fire was the motionless body of a huge four-armed man, his skin scorched black by sorcery. A spear had been driven through his right eye, pinning his skull to the ground. Gelatas crawled over the corpse.

No matter how many wolves were on the plains, Parolla wasn't staying here. She bowed. “My apologies,
sirrah,
” she said in the common tongue. “I did not mean to disturb you.” She turned to leave.

“It is too late for that,” the Jekdal replied, gesturing with one hand to the ground beside him. “Join me.”

It was not a request.

Parolla looked over her shoulder at the steppes and saw a pool of blackness approaching.

The dwarf spoke again. “Calm yourself. For now, they will not trouble you.”

They?
Parolla scanned the darkness, but she could see no sign of the “others.” Nor could she pierce the shadows that shrouded the … creature … moving just beyond the grove. Standing as tall as the smallest of the trees, it seemed to flow across the ditch of bones as it positioned itself to block her retreat.
And snap go the jaws of the trap.
A trap Parolla had blundered into, green as a youngling. Taking a breath, she stepped past the dwarf and sat down by the fire with her back to a tree.

The Jekdal was no longer looking at her. In one hand he gripped a piece of wood that he was carving with a knife. “Most unexpected, your arrival,” he said. “I confess, I sensed nothing of your approach. You came through the rent, yes?”

Parolla kept her silence.

“I must say I am impressed you made it out of the Shades alive. Your triumph, though, will only be temporary,” the dwarf went on. Shavings of wood flew from the edge of his knife. “The Kerralai will hunt you down.”

Again Parolla did not respond, suspecting it might work to her advantage if the Jekdal thought the demons were coming for her. “You are far from your homeland,
sirrah
. I have visited the realm of your kinsmen. Five, maybe six, years ago, now.”

The dwarf set down the piece of wood he had been shaping and picked up another. “Then you have journeyed there more recently than I.”

“You are an exile?”

“Of my own choosing. Small-minded are my people. Lacking in ambition.” He spat on the ground. “My people no longer.” Pushing himself to his feet, he walked to the fire. Using the pieces of carved wood, he constructed a crude frame over the flames. Then he crossed to the corpse of the four-armed man and began cutting strips of flesh from the inside of one of the thighs.

Parolla tore her gaze away.

When the Jekdal returned to the fire his hands were covered in blood. He started threading meat onto wooden skewers that he then suspended over the flames. Behind him, the pool of darkness Parolla had made out earlier had advanced to the edge of the firelight, but she could still see no sign of its companions. Then a branch snapped a short distance behind her. It took a supreme effort of will not to look round.

“Aren't your friends going to join us?” she said.

The dwarf was licking his fingers. “My pets have taken your interest, I see.”

“Pets?”

“Conjurings.”

Parolla silently cursed.
More demons.
Gods, what an idiot she was! She had walked straight from one hell into another. And why, because she'd thought she could help a child? As she'd helped the
mestessa
in Xavel, perhaps? “You are a summoner?”

“No mere summoner,” the dwarf said. “I am a demon lord.”

A pity Mezaqin is not around to hear your boast.
“And which of the Nine Hells do your servants hail from, may I ask?”

“You may not,” he said, turning back to the fire. Fat from the meat was dripping down and sizzling in the flames. The Jekdal grabbed one of the skewers. Pulling off a chunk of flesh, he tore at it with his teeth. He gestured to the remaining wooden spits. “Eat!” he said between mouthfuls.

Parolla was ashamed to hear her stomach growl at the suggestion. “I'm afraid I've lost my appetite.”

“What walks on four legs you will eat, but not what walks on two? What difference is there?”

“If I need to explain then I'm wasting my breath.”

The dwarf snorted.

“You were unwise to spill blood here,
sirrah,
” Parolla continued. “This grove is sacred ground.”

“What of it?”

“Can you not sense the earth-spirits beneath our feet? Their anger?”

The Jekdal shrugged, then tore off another piece of meat. Bloody juices ran down his chin. “Weak, these spirits are. Chained to the land.”

“Perhaps, but they will alert the clans.”

“And you think this unintended?”

“What do you mean?”

The dwarf cast aside the first skewer and reached for a second. “The land about us is dying, my provisions running low.” He grinned. “Now I have no need to go searching for food.
It
will seek
me
out.”

Parolla shivered in spite of the fire's heat. The words had been spoken with a chilling confidence. Did the Jekdal really think he could cut a swath through every tribe on the steppes?
Then again, he's made it this far.
She gestured at the mutilated body of the four-armed man. “Who was he?”

“A Gorlem.”

“I know
what
he is. I meant, what was the reason for your enmity?”

The dwarf snapped his fingers.

Parolla was only partway to her feet when three pools of darkness swept from the trees and descended on the corpse. Even in the firelight Parolla was unable to pierce the blackness that cloaked the demons. The gelatas swarming over the Gorlem took flight in a hissing cloud, and the body disappeared beneath churning shadows. Bones cracked. Blood misted the air. It was over in a matter of heartbeats, the shadows retreating to leave behind only shreds of clothing. The gelatas returned, settling in their scores on the blood-soaked ground.

As Parolla leaned back against the tree she blinked sweat from her eyes. The speed with which the demons had moved was unnerving. If they had come for her, she would not have been able to react in time.

The Jekdal had now finished his meal, and he was sitting with his hands over his belly. In response to Parolla's earlier question he said, “Our enmity? The Gorlem was traveling toward the source of the threads of death-magic.” He paused, then added, “As are you.”

“You seem sure of my plans.”

“Another reason you have for being here? A convergence is under way. Power draws power.”

“And what is your interest in this power?”

The dwarf stared at her for a while. “Resurrection.”

“Resurrection?” Parolla repeated.
Through the portal? He intends to bring a soul back through Shroud's Gate.

“Your ignorance is amusing. Pitiful, also.” The Jekdal fingered the object hanging from the chain round his neck. “I seek the rebirth of the owner of this bone.”

“A friend?”

“No. We have unfinished business.”

Parolla raised an eyebrow. “And what did
he
do to offend you?”

“Not he,
she
. She resisted me. Thought by killing herself she could escape from me. I intend to prove her wrong.”

Parolla was on her feet. A surge of darkness flooded her mind, staining her vision so that the light of the fire seemed to dim. The necromantic energies from the Gorlem's death still lingered in the air, seeping into her flesh. One of the shadowy demons moved to flank its master, and Parolla could hear cracking branches behind her again. The gelatas took flight.

The dwarf sat watching her impassively. “Such an ill-advised show of temper,” he said. “Much you have revealed to me of yourself, your power. I am tempted to kill you, but why go to the effort when the Kerralai can do the job for me?”

“And if I choose not to let
you
live?”

The Jekdal threw back his head and laughed.

“What will happen,” Parolla went on, “if you and your conjurings are here when the demons hunting me arrive?” She glanced at the pool of darkness behind the Jekdal. “Your pets aren't Kerralai, are they? Demons are not known for being tolerant of their kin from other realms. What if even now my hunters are creeping up on us?”

The dwarf's eyes narrowed. “I would sense them.”

“As you sensed me? We're only a few hundred paces from the rent. Would you detect the Kerralai in their own world? How long for them to close the distance when they choose to strike?”

“You threaten me? With your own death?”

“I can make sure you share my fate.”

“Then perhaps I will kill you after all.”

“And rob the Kerralai of their prize? I think not.”

For a moment Parolla feared she had overplayed her hand. The dwarf was staring at her with a calculating expression, idly tracing one of the black patterns on his right cheek with the index finger of that hand.
He's wondering why I'm not afraid of the Kerralai,
she realized.
Why I haven't tried to flee.
She returned his look evenly. No doubt the Jekdal suspected all was not as it seemed, but there was no way he could know of her agreement with Mezaqin. When his gaze flickered in the direction of the rent, she knew she had won.

“Be gone, then,” the dwarf said.

Parolla stretched and sat down again. “Leave,
sirrah
? But I've only just arrived.” She reached her hands out to the fire, noticed they were trembling. “I like it here. I think I'll stay.”

“The demons will be coming for you.”

“Then why are
you
still here?”

The Jekdal studied her for a long moment before rising to his feet. His lips parted in a snarl. “Your encounter with the Kerralai, I trust you will enjoy.”

“Time's passing,” Parolla said softly.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the dwarf's footfalls fade into the night.

*   *   *

The guardhouse loomed ahead of Ebon, its twin towers flanking arched wooden gates. With Vale beside him, he passed beneath the first portcullis and entered a broad passage. The ossarium leaf he'd taken earlier made the light streaming through the murder holes above seem dazzlingly bright. As yet the drug had failed to silence the spirits; if anything their whispering had become louder as Ebon approached the guardhouse. The tinge of madness was still present, but he could also detect in their voices a growing sense of agitation as well as … something else.
Sorrow?
For some reason the attack on the consel's camp troubled them, but why?

Ebon increased his pace. From beyond the city walls came distant cries, the clash of metal striking metal, the whinnying of horses. A burst of magic—from the consel's sorceress?—shook the guardhouse, and the king stumbled as he entered the guardroom. It was deserted. Red light came from a brazier of coals in the corner to his left. On a table in the center were clay goblets, half-smoked blackweed sticks, and a pile of cards and coins. The room stank of ale and sweat.

Crossing to the far wall, Ebon climbed the stairs that led to the top of the tower. As he stepped onto the battlements a strong wind blew hot and dry into his face. Overhead, the Galitian and Sartorian standards snapped in the breeze. To his left, Reynes stared out over the plains toward the Forest of Sighs. The general's cinderhound was curled up at his feet, and around him stood a cluster of Pantheon Guardsmen. Ebon followed their gazes. The shadows of the consel's encampment were several hundred paces away. With the moon shielded behind clouds, all else was blackness.

Then a flash of magic lit up the sky, and Ebon squinted against the glare. The detonation illuminated the Sartorian camp, and he saw scores of tents arranged in a circle round a pavilion. The ground in front of the pavilion was thronged with combatants. Among them was one of the consel's huge armored warriors, wielding its ax with mighty strokes against the smaller figures swarming round it. More attackers were running for the encampment from the Forest of Sighs.

The light died away, and the night rushed in to smother the camp.

Ebon frowned. It was impossible to identify the assailants at such a distance. Janir's soldiers, perhaps, sent by their domen to gain revenge for Irrella's death? No, his uncle could not have known the consel would camp outside the city walls, and there hadn't been time since this afternoon's audience to plan a raid. That left the Kinevar. But to attack a heavily armed company so close to Majack …