3 Weaver of Shadow (16 page)

“This shall be your dwelling place during your time among us,” she said. “You are free to come and go within the boundaries of the steading, but do not go beyond them.”

Kormak nodded.

“I suggest you get some sleep now. What is coming may prove to be an ordeal for you and you will want your strength.”

Kormak stepped within and the leaves around the opening folded together like a door closing. He felt trapped but when he moved towards them again, they rolled up and formed an exit once more. It seemed he was not in a prison.

In the centre of the chamber was a pile of soft petals, they were perfumed with a clean, tangy scent. He lay down on it and the glowing flowers emerging from the bole of the nearby tree dimmed. He felt himself relax but for some reason he could not get to sleep. He slid his blade partially from its scabbard and saw, as he had known he would, that the runes along its upper length glowed in response to the flow of magic all about him.

He slid it back into the sheath and lay down again. Above him he heard a soft popping sound. Something tingly landed on his skin. In the dim light, he could see that the pods in the roof had burst open and glittering pollen was falling on him. Roots were emerging very slowly from the ground and beginning to entangle him. He tried to move but found that he could not. His limbs felt weak and he could barely move.

His lips and skin felt numb but he noticed a slight prickling sensation on his limbs. When he looked down he saw that he was held by entangling roots; from each of them small thorns had emerged and were biting into his skin. There was a faint pulsing about them, and they had reddened and he wondered if they were drinking his blood.

What sort of trap had he stumbled into he wondered, but then blackness took him and all consciousness and all sensation left his mind.

He floated in a sea of green light. Around and below him he had a sense of vast presences, as if he had been immersed in the ocean and beneath him Leviathans swam. Even as that thought occurred to him, one of the presences came closer. He felt like a rat watching a dragon advance upon him. He was tiny and fragile and brief and the thing was immense and ancient and watchful. His body vibrated or so it seemed to him and he realised he was listening to voices so great that they resonated within him.

“His blood is clean,” said one voice.

“His flesh holds only the usual taint,” said another.

“His brain is whole.”

“Then we must dig deeper,” said the most potent of the voices.

“Agreed,” said the others in chorus.

He had the sensation of being invaded, of titanic minds, vast and slow, examining his thoughts, his memories, inserting tendrils into his very soul. He knew he was being judged as he had never been judged before by beings as remote from humanity as the face of the moon.

“You are aware of us,” said a voice, and Kormak knew the thought was directed at him.

“Yes,” Kormak said.

“You are not a child of the Green and yet in this place, you can speak with us, as you spoke with all that was left of Mayasha.”

“It would appear so,” said Kormak. “What do you wish of me?”

“We wish to see that you are free of taint.”

“And am I?”

“As much as any of your kind can ever be.”

“Free enough?”

“Yes,” said the voices in agreement. “And we will cleanse you of that which is in your blood.”

“You have seen then why I did what I did, that I meant no sacrilege, that I was merely an agent of the will of Mayasha in what I did.”

“So it would appear.”

“Then you know I meant no harm, was seeking only what is best.”

“We know you believe that.”

“Am I wrong?”

“It is too early to say.”

He felt tendrils of thought burrow deep into his soul, like the roots of a plant seeking water in a desert land. He saw images of his blighted childhood, the massacre of everyone in the village where he had grown up by an Old One, his rescue by Malan of the Order of the Dawn, his being taken in and trained at the Chapter House on Mount Aethelas. He saw the war with the orcs and his battles with demons and werewolves and vampires. He saw his capture by the Lost and his encounter with Mayasha.

The light of the green penetrated his mind now and he felt like he was drowning in it, just becoming one more of this chorus of voices, that his mind was starting to come apart under a strain it had never been intended to endure.

The tendrils of thought moved away from him. He was there now seemingly forgotten for the moment, simply observing part of the great composite mind of the forest. At last a decision was reached.

“You may go,” said the voices in his head.

Kormak opened his eyes. The luminescent blooms glowed dimly above him. In their light, he could see Gilean. “Is it over?” he asked. He sat up. He felt better than he had in a long time. All weariness had fallen from him and a number of small aches and pains troubled him no longer.

She nodded. “We have found what we needed to know. Now we must deal with Weaver and the Blight.”

“How will you do that?”

“The Blight must be eradicated if we can do so. Contained, if it is not. If worst comes to worst we must use the flame that cleanses. And we will need allies.”

“You want my Order to help you.”

“Yes.”

“So you are letting me go.”

“We will aid you to reach the boundaries of our land, provide you with food and water and a steed when you get there.”

She produced a large brown leaf folded around something, unwrapped it and removed what looked like a small green gem. It was a piece of resin of some sort. “When you are ready, burn this, and breathe the incense. It will let you visit the Green once more and communicate with the Listeners.”

He took the resin. It felt a little sticky under his fingers. He packed it once more in its leaf and placed it within his pouch. She tilted her head to one side and studied him with her strange green eyes, leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

“Farewell,” she said. “We shall meet again before this is ended.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

KORMAK LOOKED BACK at the army strung out along the road behind him. There were thousands of armed and armoured men there and he prayed to the Holy Sun that it would be enough.

The great Dragon banner of his Order was at the forefront, borne by a company of brothers. It was the sign of the Burning, the summons that had brought all of these petty noblemen together. It had not been raised in this part of the world in decades but all of the local rulers knew what it meant. That their lands were threatened by a supernatural force so great that the Order of the Dawn felt it necessary to call on their aid. He could see the faces of the brothers carrying it. They were all younger men, and they were proud, revelling in the importance at being at the head of the Burning, in knowing that the organisation to which they belonged was capable of wielding such power. Other than the Order only the King of Taurea would have been able to assemble a force such as this.

Master Graydon of Westergate did not look as pleased. His old lined face was grim. His armour was bright and well maintained. His surcoat was immaculate. In his youth he had borne the sword of a Guardian and he knew what it was like to ride out against the darkness. He eyed Kormak distastefully, as if he personally was to blame for the Blight descending on the Settlements, as if it all represented some great failure on his part.

Kormak met his gaze evenly. It had taken him many sessions of questioning to convince the Master to raise the war-banner. He had gone over his story again and again. His description of his dealings with the Kayoga had seemed to particularly incense the old man, as if he suspected Kormak of being hell-bent on committing some foul heresy. He did not like dealing with the elves, so much was clear. It took a lot of gold to organise a Burning, and the Master behaved as if every guilder of the Dawn’s contribution came from his own purse.

Behind the banner-bearers came another company of the Order’s warriors and then ten Brothers of the Order of the Solar Flame, long allied with the Dawn, skilled in sorcery and alchemy, who would be called upon to purify the Shadowblight when and if the Burning triumphed. He carried some examples of their work on him. He had a new wraithstone amulet that one of them had carved for him. There was not a hint of blackness in its pearly heart. There was pouch of sunflares too, small incendiary devices that could light the darkest night and whose brilliance could dazzle a foe for crucial moments.

Stretched behind them were the knights. They belonged to the retinues of various lords, and rode under the banner of the lord himself. Here was the red gryphon of Lord Rhys, the lion’s head of Baron Enderby, the bloody hand of Baron Magnus and dozens of others. Behind the knights marched bowmen, spearmen and other infantry, some better armoured than others. Individual mages rode by themselves. Mercenary companies marched almost at the rear, and beyond them, raising clouds of dust was the baggage train and the vast hordes of camp followers.

Off to one side, accompanied by their personal retainers and wizards were the Lords themselves. Master Graydon had placed Lord Rhys in charge since he was the senior noble but it was clear to Kormak that the other aristocrats resented not being made commander and would most likely make matters difficult for the old man when push came to shove. He could see tall spare Lord Rhys being lectured to by the overweight bearded Enderby, while Baron Magnus sat back on his horse with his usual supercilious smile on his face.

Kormak was not too troubled by the dissent in the ranks so far. In his experience, things usually settled down once the enemy was met and that would be happening fairly soon.

Ahead of them was the Eastbridge over the river, the place that marked the beginning of both Elderwood and the Settlements. It was a massive stone structure, out of keeping with the frontier nature of the province but speaking of the monumental ambition of the king who had first seized the land from the elves and whose heirs had forgotten about it on his premature death. It spanned the waters on three mighty arches and it was wide enough for two carts to drive side by side. At each end were guard towers, set to watch against the onset of marauding elves and monsters from the forest.

It was getting dark and the army drew up on the civilised side outside the walls of the village built around its entrance. The locals had come to watch the arrival of the army. Some were busy trying to sell food, wine or themselves to the soldiers. Others watched nervously, fearful at what so many armed men could do so near their property. Some cheered though and Kormak guessed these were the ones who were most concerned with news from the other side of the river.

A herald rode up to Kormak. He wore a gryphon surcoat and he looked both very young and very full of himself. “Sir Kormak, my master desires your presence this evening. He would go over the maps with you one last time in the presence of his captains.”

Kormak nodded. He was watching the army starting to settle down for the night. Pickets were being set, watches assigned. Tents and pavilions were rising. A few men had thrown themselves on the ground, ready to sleep under their cloaks.

Kormak was pleased that, so far, the weather was surprisingly mild for the time of year. It had taken a month to assemble this force, and the rains had made the roads bad. Under normal circumstances no one would have thought of putting an army in the field so late in the year but these were not normal circumstances. Waiting out the winter and moving in the spring would mean giving the Blight more months to spread, and Weaver more time to recruit.

One advantage of this was that a higher proportion of the soldiers were professionals. The majority of the peasant levies had been left at home to look after the harvests, the slaughtering of beasts, the preparations for winter. The knights had come, of course, for the prospect of glory and they had brought their best retainers with them so that they might travel quickly.

Kormak was surprised that so many had ridden out. He would have expected more to be reluctant to leave their lands as the civil war threatened. He supposed that was one more advantage of moving so late. Greedy neighbours would be less likely to take to the field. The fact that they would fall under his Order’s interdict if they attempted to seize the lands of those engaged in the Burning might also have affected their decisions. Or perhaps he was being too cynical. Perhaps there was still a sense of honour and purpose among the Sunlanders. Perhaps something of the old chivalry still beat in their hearts and prompted them to respond to the call of the war against Shadow.

Kormak rode over to where the members of his Order were setting up their white tents. He could see that Elder Signs were deployed around the ground that had been marked out for them, and sentries already stood watching the surroundings. More were posted on the wagons, guarding the cauldrons of the alchemists and the mystical supplies of the wizards. It would be a disaster for those to be lost now. Graydon was right to be wary. The river might protect them now, but it was well not to be too certain of it.

It was possible that Weaver’s people might raid across the river or send some Shadow-spawned sorcery or creature against them. Taking a breath of the alchemical smells, Kormak decided that anyone doing that would be making a mistake.

As he rode by, he saw some of the younger brothers pointing to him. He was used to that. Among the Order, Guardians were well known and well-respected, possibly more so than many of the Masters since they stood at the sharp edge of the conflict with the Shadow and the Old Ones. Particularly among the younger brothers there were always those who idolised the Guardians and hoped to become one.

Kormak rode up to the tent of Master Graydon. The old man sat on a folding wooden stool that his squire had brought him and inspected some scrolls with an intent air. Even here on the borders of war, the business of administration was never entirely left behind. He rolled up the scroll. Tendons moved visibly beneath his parchment-like skin. Blue veins were visible in his hands.