When the Heavens Fall (82 page)

“Not for me. I will never be able to see her. Even if there comes a time when I can control the call of my blood, Aliana will have her own life. Better for her if she knows nothing about me, or the history we share.”

“Perhaps so in her tender years, but later…” The Gorlem studied her closely, then sighed. “What wilt thou do next? Where wilt thou go?”

“I have not decided.”

Tumbal's form was becoming more misshapen with each moment. He took a breath as if summoning up his courage. “A word of advice, my Lady, if thou would'st forgive me the presumption. Before we met I spent many years traveling these lands. I was ever an explorer at heart, and I have witnessed such wonders as made my spirit sing. I have walked the streets of Dian and watched the Dragon Gate rise and fall over the Sabian Sea. I have seen the Tears of Heaven rain down on parts of the Broken Lands and breathe new life into a realm laid waste by the death throes of a god. I have climbed to the summit of the Thorn and observed khalid esgaril weave their dance of death over clouds tipped with fire.” Parolla could tell from Tumbal's distant look that he was seeing these sights again in his mind. Then his gaze focused on her. “But always, my delight was tempered by the sense that something was missing. Too long, I now believe, I lived with only my poor self for company. It was thy friendship that shone a light on the emptiness within me. I do not know where thou wilt find a worthy companion, but make finding that person thy goal. Thou dost deserve—”

“You are wrong,
sirrah,
” Parolla cut in. “I deserve nothing more than what fate has granted me. Your faith in me is unwarranted. It always was.”

“No, my Lady, it is thy lack of faith in thyself that is misguided. I have heard the role thou did'st play in dethroning Mayot.”

“It was not I who secured passage to the underworld for the undead. It was not even my idea to seek release for my mother.”

“And the woman that thou did'st heal? Jenna?”

“Her companion was about to pledge himself to Shroud. I sought only to spite my father.”

“I do not believe that.”

“Believe what you will.”

Tumbal appeared about to speak again, then changed his mind. A frown creased his forehead, and Parolla wondered what the Gorlem saw in her that always drove him to melancholy. Finally he said, “It pains me to leave thee, but I feel the draw of Shroud's Gate. Somewhere on the other side, my people await.”

Parolla had known the time was upon them, and she forced a smile. “Go then. I pray the underworld is all you hope it will be.”

Tumbal returned the smile. “I doubt that is possible, but then I was never able to master the art of keeping my expectations in check. Farewell.”

He descended the steps without a backward glance and moved to join the river of souls. The Gorlem was taller than the Vamilians round him, and Parolla was able to follow his progress as he was swept into the gloom beyond the rent. For a few heartbeats his image flickered amid the swirling shadows.

Then he was gone.

As she watched the darkness claim him, Parolla had never felt so alone.

*   *   *

To reach Vale and Luker, Ebon had to cross the river of souls, and he hesitated at the edge of the flow before plunging in. The touch of the spirits made him shiver, and their restless whispering stirred uncomfortable memories of his days of spirit-possession. Who was to say that the Vamilians who'd once tried to invade his mind were not the same as those flowing round him now? And while most of the spirits were doubtless content to pass through to the underworld, might not some be tempted to try to possess him in a final effort to avoid Shroud's embrace?

Grimacing, he quickened his pace.

Vale was waiting for him on the other side. The Endorian's gray hair had thinned, and the crow's-feet round his eyes had deepened. How many years had his companion now lost in service to the Galitian throne? A decade ago, when he had first pledged himself to Isanovir, he had looked no more than a dozen years Ebon's senior; now he appeared old enough to be his father. The time was fast approaching when Ebon would have to release him from his oath, however much the Endorian protested.

But not yet.

Drawing level with his friend, the king put a hand on his shoulder. “Give me a moment,” he said, then crossed to speak to Luker.

The scarred man was crouching beside Jenna, but he rose as Ebon approached. His look seemed friendly enough, yet there was something in his bearing that put Ebon in mind of a lioness standing watch over her sleeping cub.

“How is she doing?” he asked.

“Steady,” Luker said. “Forced healing will have been hard on her. She's resting now.”

Ebon stared down at the sleeping woman, taking in her healed left arm protruding from its scorched half sleeve. “Not even a scar to show where the arm was severed. I suppose we should not be surprised considering who Parolla is. And yet…”

“Aye.”

“You will stay here until she recovers?”

Luker shook his head. “Another bell, maybe. Shroud may have crawled back under his rock, but this place still stinks of death. Sooner we're off, the better.”

Ebon shared his sentiments. “Would you mind looking in on Aliana first when she is born? There are a few things I must attend to.”

“Aye.” Then, “Vale told me about your city. Don't give it up just yet. That fortress will stand up to sorcery better than your gates did.”

“You have been to Majack?” Ebon said, covering his surprise.

Luker returned his gaze evenly. “Many years ago now. Just passing through.”

Ebon decided he didn't want to know the details. “And the fortress?”

“Seen a few of them around—Andros, Karalat, couple of others. Made by the titans, it's said. If that's true, means they were built to last.”

“You've witnessed them under attack by sorcery?”

“At Karalat, aye.”

“And?”

“The walls held.”

Something about the scarred man's expression told Ebon the story did not end there. “But the citadel fell nevertheless?”

Luker gave a dark smile. “Relax, man. Mayot Mencada didn't have half a dozen Guardians to send over the walls.”

Ebon wasn't sure what comfort he was supposed to take from that. Bowing, he turned to leave.

Luker's voice drew him up. “Meant to thank you before. For stepping in against Merin Gray.”

Merin Gray? Ah, yes.
“Just as I am grateful,” Ebon said, “that we were fighting on the same side. You are not the only one whose allies have proved unreliable of late.”

Luker squinted at him. “Your hidden benefactor—”

“What hidden benefactor?”

A slow smile spread across Luker's face. He offered his hand, and Ebon shook it.

The king returned to Vale, then led the way to the arch through which they had first entered the dome. The sound of waves was loud in his ears as he walked along the passage through the river of souls. Vale glanced back.

“Consel not joining us?”

“No. He is going to search for Ambolina.”

“Too bad.”

Outside, all was deathly still. It was early afternoon, Ebon judged. The dome of death-magic had gone. Drizzle fell from the clouds, and the king raised his hood. Everywhere he looked there were Vamilian corpses piled high, along with severed body parts and shattered armor and weapons.

From a ruined house a short distance away came the sound of a horse whinnying, and Ebon crossed to the building to find the Sartorian mounts hobbled inside. There were six in all, one less than had set out from the hilltop. Ebon exchanged a look with Vale. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

The Endorian shrugged. “Not as if their dead will need them now.” He paused to scan the animals. “Which one is the consel's, do you reckon?”

Ebon chose a chestnut gelding and began adjusting its stirrups. Its previous owner must have taken a wound, for there were splashes of blood on the saddle. Ebon used the hem of his cloak to wipe it clean.

“I saw you jawing with the consel earlier,” Vale said. “What was that about?”

“Garat has offered me his sister's hand in marriage. To seal an understanding between our two peoples.”

“And?”

“Her name is Belena—”

“That's not what I meant and you know it.”

Ebon sighed. “I said no.”

Vale was silent for a moment as he rooted through his saddlebags. When he spoke again there was a smile in his voice. “Good for you.”

“It is not what you think. When we return to Majack, I intend to abdicate the kingship.”

The Endorian took a sharp breath. “Why?”

“Because of the Fangalar. The one that got away.”

“You don't know he survived. Hells, you said yourself on the hill—”

“The odds of him living through this are slim, I know. But if he did, the Fangalar will come for me. I will not put the kingdom at risk.”

“Then let me go after him. I might still be able to find his tracks.”

“No.”

“He can't have got far—”

“Enough, Vale. My mind is made up.”

The Endorian muttered something, then swung up into the saddle. “How did the consel take the news?”

“With a healthy measure of skepticism. The idea of anyone renouncing power is unthinkable to him.”

“It means war, then?”

Ebon placed a foot in the stirrup and mounted. “I think not. The loss of Ambolina will have weakened him. The very fact he made the offer suggests he is feeling vulnerable. When he returns to Sartor I suspect he will have too many other things on his mind to think about an invasion.”

“You suspect.”

The king gave a half smile. “While I was speaking to Shroud, it seems the consel spent most of his time drifting in and out of consciousness. When I told him what he had missed, he was most aggrieved. He feels the Lord of the Dead cheated him of his blood debt.”

Vale snorted. “Shame he didn't get a chance to share his thinking with the god. Shroud might've done us all a favor.”

“Perhaps. The point is, the consel felt
Shroud
owed
him
a favor.”

The Endorian's brows knitted. “What did he want?”

“I asked him the same thing. He even started to tell me before he realized how much he was revealing.” Ebon gathered the reins. “He wanted to know where Ambolina is. He needs her, Vale. Her and her demons.”

Vale's expression was skeptical. “Even if you're right, after the beating we've taken there'll be other redbeaks circling. Mercerie won't pass up the chance to rub salt in the wound.” He turned his horse. “Someone's going to have to pick up the pieces Mayot left behind. If not you, who?”

“I've a thought to that,” Ebon replied.
If he still lives.

Then, with Vale still waiting for an explanation, he dug his heels into his horse's flanks and steered the animal out of the building.

They rode in silence, Ebon leading the way toward the hill where they had fought the Fangalar. In the ruins to either side he sensed hidden eyes—more of Shroud's servants perhaps, or other strangers drawn by the Book who had arrived too late to take part in the fight with Mayot. None of the watchers approached.

When Ebon reached the hill he saw the slope facing him was covered with the bodies of scores of Vamilians. A handful of trees had been uprooted by the storm, and his eyes widened when he noticed a trunk suspended dozens of armspans overhead in the upper branches of two trees. On the hilltop itself, a circle of corpses surrounded a sea of churned mud perhaps two hundred paces across. Tree stumps jutted from the ground, and on one was impaled the body of a Vamilian woman. Death-magic hung so thickly in the air that every breath scratched the back of Ebon's throat.

For a time he sat staring at the devastation, his horse prancing beneath him as the wind buffeted them. To the east a flicker of lightning lit up the sky, and a score of heartbeats passed before a rumble of thunder sounded.

There was no sign of Mottle.

Ebon glanced back over the city. The damage caused to the dome by Mayot's sorcery looked worse from up here than it had inside. There were two holes on opposite sides of the roof, each a dozen armspans across, and cracks had begun to snake their way across the intervening stonework.

Ebon told Vale of his conversation with Galea in the dome. “Was I right, Vale? To refuse her?”

“You did what you had to.”

“She all but admitted she had done nothing to help Majack. And yet…”

“You still think she might have come good after all this time? Let it go. Even if the Book could do what she said, the bitch wouldn't have shared.”

“And if you are wrong?” Ebon asked. “What have we really accomplished here, Vale? For my kinsmen, I mean. Release for those enslaved by the Book? Dead is still dead. What if I just threw away their last chance of redemption? That is something I suspect I will always carry with me—the not knowing.”

Vale frowned, but said nothing.

As the silence drew out, Ebon shifted in his saddle. Now that the time had come to leave, his stomach had turned sour. For a few more days only he could hope. For a few more days he could dare to believe that Lamella and the others had survived the attack on Majack. He took a final look round, then gazed up at the sky and said, “Mottle, if you should hear this … You know where to find me, friend.”

Wheeling his horse, he set off down the hill.

*   *   *

A chill wind blew across the clearing. Luker rose from beside a mound of packed earth, his knees leaving deep impressions in the ground. It had taken him a bell to scrape out a shallow grave using only his hands and a spear he had found half-hidden beneath mud and roots. Water had seeped into the pit faster than he could bail it out, so in the end he'd had to tip Kanon in and cover his floating head and body as best he could.