Beyond the Wall of Time (3 page)

She then had to explain the context of her statement to those not familiar with the story of what had happened to her first
in Andratan and then months later in Fossa. Questions followed, one or two of them vehemently expressed, particularly from
Heredrew the Falthan. Noetos could think of no reason why the man should be so particularly concerned.

Robal then described how Conal had rescued Stella from the rogue Lord of Fear. “Never seen such strength and speed,” the guardsman
told them. “And afterwards the priest seemed unaware of what he had done.”

More questions followed, another story painstakingly told, more time wasted. This was followed by an account of Conal’s attempt
to kill Stella and Heredrew in some Falthan city. This story actually begged a few questions, but Noetos forbore. He was becoming
increasingly uneasy about the amount of time they were spending in the House of the Gods. Though he knew it was irrational,
though he acknowledged the gods would be able to find them anywhere they went, he still felt vulnerable here. And all the
while a dead body lay on the sand a short distance away.

“So,” he summarised, before anyone else could launch off into yet another tale, “you all hear the voice of someone you do
not know. He’s a magician, able to lend you powers you don’t normally have. And, by all accounts, he does not necessarily
have our best interests at heart.”

Three nods.

“You think someone in Andratan put something in your heads.”

Again, three nods.

“Then there’s only one solution,” he said, the words forming before he could question them. Pre-empting the obvious conclusion.
“You three need to leave the rest of us. It is too dangerous for you to remain.”

There was a general indrawing of breath.

“Father!” his son cried out. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”

Noetos found himself asking the same question. His own daughter, whom he’d thought lost! Yet he had a responsibility to everyone
here.

“Having a presence amongst us capable of slaying anyone without a moment’s warning is simply intolerable,” he said.

“There are many among us with such power,” growled Heredrew from somewhere behind him, in a voice that made the hairs on the
back of his neck stand up.

“You have that power yourself!” Duon shouted at the fisherman. “Must I tell everyone here all the details of what happened
in the Summer Palace at Raceme? You drew power from a voice in your head!”

This was not where he wanted the conversation to go. “That magic came from the sacrifice of my daughter, who acted as a conduit
for hundreds of refugees from the city,” he said angrily. “A perfectly legitimate exercise of her magical powers. Nothing
at all like yours.”

He decided not to mention that the voice in her head might well be able to reach him through her. Might even have assisted
him in the Summer Palace. If the others couldn’t figure that out, he’d not help them.

“You’d drive your own daughter away?” This from Stella, in the gentlest of voices.

“I do not see it as driving anyone away,” Noetos replied wearily, aware—and secretly grateful—that he was going to lose this
argument. “Rather, we are simply depriving our enemy of information. How can we help our three friends if our every plan is
overheard by the voice in their heads?”

“Spoken like a soldier,” said Stella. “Perhaps I’d feel more comfortable were you to speak like a father.” She stared at him
with something akin to loathing on her face.

Why do people always follow sentiment rather than common sense?
He gave it one more try. “As her father, I want Arathé to have the best chance of getting free of this curse that has her
in its grip. If that means sending her away—in the company of a priest and a very capable soldier, I remind you—so we can
work out in secret how to save her, then that is what, as a father, I ought to do. If I give in to sentiment and keep her
here beside me, we all might lose our lives.”

Incredibly, as he scanned his fellow travellers, he found himself facing a dozen hardened expressions.
They don’t understand.
None of them, it seemed, could take the tough decisions. His son’s attitude he could comprehend, but the others were leaders.
This ought to be the sort of equation they dealt with on a daily basis. He wondered at the scrupulousness that forced him
to argue for what was right and against what he wanted. Was it some failure in him; or was their rejection of his argument
their failing?

They hate me
, he realised.
They think me unfeeling. They will never follow me.

“You should not send them away,” said Lenares. “If you send them away they will be hurt. The hole in the world will swallow
them up. We need to protect them.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled across the group.

“Very well,” Noetos said, trying to contain his anger and hide his relief. “But this decision should be reviewed often. And
those three”—his finger punched the air in their direction—“must report to us every word this voice speaks in their minds.
No more secrets.”

Without waiting for a reply, he rose from his position at the side of the gathering and strode rapidly away across the sand,
scuffing at the dirt. Walking off his frustration and confusion, just as he had done in Fossa after every argument with Opuntia.
Just as unsuccessfully.

He returned a few minutes later—it felt like a few minutes later—to find a fire lit and people eating food that would surely
have taken far longer than a few minutes to prepare. Time itself was playing tricks here; but then it was the House of the
Gods, in which the rooms moved about and the entrances could seemingly be anywhere. He squatted down near the fire.

“Now, to the question you asked earlier,” Captain Duon said, drawing his gaze across those gathered around the fire and nodding
to Noetos. Duon’s features were pinched, his lips pursed, as though about to deliver unwelcome news. “Who was Dryman?”

“He was a liar,” Lenares said. “An evil and cruel man. Look what he did to my Torve!”

Duon was clearly familiar with interruptions from the young cosmographer. “Yes, he was a liar, but even more, he was a deceiver.
Lenares, you have a great gift, but you did not penetrate Dryman’s disguise.” His voice was gentle. “That is because Dryman
had help from a god. You saw how he died. The Father, through Heredrew and Stella, confronted Dryman and spoke to him as the
Son. The Father tricked his Son and killed the body he inhabited, Dryman’s body, but the god escaped before Dryman died and
so continues to live.”

“The Father called him Keppia,” Lenares said. “Keppia spoke to the Daughter through Dryman’s lips, and she called him her
brother. Yes, he was the Son, Torve told me that.” Her brow crinkled in concentration. “But I don’t know how he managed to
hide it from me for so long.”

“There’s more, Lenares.” Duon sighed. “Dryman was the Emperor of Elamaq.”

Her eyes opened wide; Noetos could not remember seeing her surprised. “I know, Torve told me that too. He tried to tell me
for weeks, though I didn’t understand. But how did you work it out?”

“I overheard him talking with Torve,” Duon said. “Only a few days ago, or I would have warned everyone. I’m sorry I didn’t
reason this through sooner. In fact, I now have reason to believe the Emperor planned all this well in advance of us leaving
Talamaq.”

Lenares stood and started to pace. “The… No, I would have… But I
saw
the Emperor on the balcony as the expedition left.” She paused a moment. “No. I saw
someone
on the balcony. Not the Emperor. Someone pretending to be the Emperor.” She pulled at her lip. “Therefore the Emperor must
have been somewhere else. Someone took his place because… because the Emperor wanted to leave Talamaq without people knowing.
He left with us. Disguised himself as Dryman the mercenary, and I could not tell because I’ve never seen the Emperor’s true
face. He always had it hidden behind a golden mask. I knew something was wrong though. I just didn’t know what.”

She rubbed at her reddened eyes, then turned away. Everyone watched quietly as she walked the few steps to where the body
of the mercenary lay wrapped in cloth. No one spoke.

They all know this is hers to reason out
, Noetos realised.
She’s the one who prides herself on knowing secret truths about people from their numbers. The others are giving her the opportunity
to deal with the blow to her pride.

“Look,” she said as she pulled aside the cloth covering the corpse’s bloody face. “There’s the callus where his mask rested
on the bridge of his nose. Why didn’t I see? I can see now! All the clues were there. Torve tried to tell me, but for so long
he could not. I wondered why, I thought Torve was keeping secrets.” She pulled the cloth over the face. “But you weren’t,”
she said, turning to the Omeran. “You weren’t. I am sorry, Torve. You had to obey him. You wanted to tell me. But I couldn’t
work it out! And because I couldn’t work it out, he cut you.”

“I tried,” Torve said, his voice little more than a croak. “I tried to tell you.”

The man needs water
, Noetos thought, but before the thought was fully formed Stella reached out with a skin.

The Omeran handed back the water skin, cleared his throat and continued. “I didn’t know who he was either, until he revealed
himself the night we stayed with the Children of the Desert.” Noetos had no idea what Torve referred to. “That child—I’m so
sorry, Lenares, but the Emperor commanded me and I could not disobey him.”

“I understand,” Lenares whispered. “You are Omeran.”

“Torve, you should not have to tell this,” said Duon. “But it must be told, so allow me to continue. The Emperor seems to
have conceived a desire to torture innocent people, and he forced his servant Torve to accompany him on their expeditions.
I overheard him commanding Torve to obey him in this, which was when I began to piece this together. Too late to be of any
use, regrettably.”

“We tortured hundreds of people,” Torve said, his eyes closed, his voice like stone grating on stone. “The innocent and the
guilty. Anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves in the dungeons of Talamaq Palace. My master kept notes. He… he wanted
to discover the secrets of death.”

“Because he wanted to live forever,” Lenares said triumphantly. “I saw that when I first met him.”

“Yes. I did not want to help him, but he was my lord. Despite appearances, he was a good master. He treated me like a human,
a real person, and even loved me in his own way. He loved me more than he loved anyone else.” The man’s voice broke. “I loved
him in return. He made me into more than any Omeran has been for a thousand years. He taught me how to read, gave me books,
and granted me access to the Great Library. He dressed me in finery and took me to his court, despite the murmurs from the
Alliances. He relied on my counsel. I would have done almost anything for him, even without the need to obey him. But not
torture people; I didn’t ever want to do that, even though—” He swallowed, lowered his face, then looked up again a moment
later, his eyes clouded. “I enjoyed the science of death, the thoughts it generated, the speculations we shared as we took
people through the gates of death.” He lowered his head and hissed, whether in pain or heartache, Noetos could not tell.

“When he sent me north with his army I was saddened and gladdened both. I was sent from his side for the first time since
I was gifted to him as a child, and felt abandoned. Yet I was relieved also, because now, I believed, the torture would stop.
But when Dryman revealed himself to me I was forced once again to help him. We researched dozens of people on our way north.
I am so sorry. His death—it has lifted a great burden from me, but… ” His face crumpled.

“I don’t understand this,” Phemanderac said, wriggling uncomfortably and grunting as he resettled his bony backside on the
sand. “Everyone has a choice to disobey, even if it costs their life. You seem a good man, Torve. How could you do such things?”

“Omerans are bred to obey,” Lenares said. “Everyone knows that. Mahudia said that just as an olive tree cannot produce grapes,
so an Omeran cannot go against his master’s commands. Three thousand years of careful breeding has produced animals that cannot
disobey their masters.”

“Animals?” Phemanderac looked puzzled. “Torve is a man, not an animal.”

Duon snorted. “Not to the Amaqi. They—we—destroyed every race of men who opposed us, save the Omerans who, in return for their
continued existence as a race, pledged to serve us. I am embarrassed to say it, but our religion declared them less than human
many centuries ago, which gave us the right to do with them what we desired. Most of them live brutalised lives of unquestioning
service. Torve here is a well-known exception, and at the court was often referred to as the Emperor’s pet.”

“So it’s impossible for you to disobey your master?” Arathé signalled, Anomer stepping forward to translate. At Torve’s nod,
she frowned. “How terrible. But you tried?” Another nod, more emphatic this time.

Noetos did not have to open his mind to her to be able to read her thoughts.

“Why?” said Lenares suddenly, breaking a short silence.

“Why what?” Noetos responded, more gruffly than he intended.

“Why did the Emperor leave Talamaq and travel north with his army? And why in disguise?”

“I seek answers to the same questions,” Duon said. “And I have a third: given he was both Emperor and god, why did he allow
his army to be destroyed in the Valley of the Damned?”

“He wanted it to be destroyed,” Torve said. “He encouraged the most powerful Alliances to supply their best soldiers and their
strongest sons for this expedition, but my master never intended them to get past the Marasmos. He told me later that he recruited
mercenaries from all parts of the empire, save Talamaq itself, and salted the Marasmian army with them. He supplied gold and
weapons to the Marasmians. Thus, by ridding himself of the major Talamaq houses, he strengthened his hold on the empire.”