Dancer's Lament: Path to Ascendancy Book 1 (40 page)

This achievement was itself epochal. The discovery – or rather the reawakening – of a Hold lost to all. Powerful entities would take notice. Already during her investigations she’d had to shy away from the attention of the one left behind within Kurald Emurlahn, its champion.

She would most certainly not wish to be caught by
him
.

And yet the puzzling question remained: how was this done? She sensed no Tiste Edur blood or legacy. And Emurlahn was theirs just as Galain was of the Andii. She could only conclude that access was not achieved directly to Emurlahn. Rather, that reliable voluntary access to a halfway region, or bridge, had been forged. A human Warren. The wild chaotic half-realm named Shadow.

A dangerous non-place, this Shadow. Things were rarely as they seemed. Things were layered. What seemed reality was in fact . . . inconsistent. Even flagrant deception.

She sensed then that she was not alone, and as she identified her visitor she smiled at the poetry of it. She opened her eyes, blinking as she resurfaced from journeying so very far from herself, and said, ‘I was just thinking of Galain and Emurlahn. It is therefore only fitting that Liosan should be present as well.’

The Protectress of Li Heng, Shalmanat, stood before her. Her hair shone silver in moonlight shafting down through the ruined floor above. Soot from the burned remains smeared her leathers at sleeve, thigh, and cuff. Sister Night inclined her head. ‘Greetings, Lady.’

‘Lady no longer. That was another life.’

‘Regardless. What can I do for you?’

‘Why are you here? What do you want?’

‘I told you – I am investigating interesting theurgist phenomena.’

Shalmanat scowled sourly. ‘There is more to it than that. I know who you are, or more to the point:
what
you are. Your kind bring only destruction. I’ll not have it. I want you gone.’

‘I will go. When I am ready.’

The Protectress clenched her fists until her arms shook then let go a great gust of breath and raised her face to the moon in silent resignation. They both knew she did not have the power to force compliance. She sat then among the fallen brick, surprising Sister Night, and hung her arms limply over her knees, appearing utterly dejected. ‘Will he come?’ she asked.

Sister Night blinked. ‘Who?’

‘The Son of Darkness.’ She gestured to the night sky. ‘I do not think I could bear to face him. Will his Keep blot out the sun above and blast us into rubble?’

Face him, Sister Night wondered? There are few today who . . .
ah, I see
. Oh, Shalmanat. After all this time. And he probably does not even remember you. She shook her head. ‘He does not guard the borders of Emurlahn.’
There is another who sees to that
.

‘Yet he will be angered by this breach.’

‘Will he? Who is to say? Times change. People . . . change.’

Shalmanat pressed her hands to her face. She whispered, nearly choking, ‘So many dead – and for what?’

‘A long time ago, Protectress.’

The hands whipped down and Shalmanat glared, her eyes swimming. ‘Not to those who lived it! We can’t just make it disappear!’

Sister Night had nothing to say to that.

They remained silent for a time; the wan silver light of the moon rippled down upon them among the fallen brick and burned timbers. Eventually, Sister Night cleared her throat, saying, ‘If it comes to it, I will – do what I can.’

Hugging herself, Shalmanat nodded, openly relieved. ‘My thanks.’ Rising, she tottered, steadied herself at a fallen charcoal timber then ran her hand through her snowy hair, leaving a streak of black soot. She nodded a farewell and climbed the slope of fallen brick.

Sister Night remained, staring off into the dark. It was true, she had not considered that this breach, or development, might rekindle the old enmities – hardly any of those old players remained. Yet, obviously, there were many who could not let go of the past. It was how they had learned to define themselves. So many reflexively looked to the past rather than the future. She wondered, then, whether she had just tripped upon a fundamental division in what characterized approaches to life and to the world at large.

She tilted her head in the dark, her black hair brushing her shoulder, and considered what other things her own preoccupations might have blinded her to. It was a troubling thought. She resolved to broaden her attentions in the future and try to remain more open to wider potentialities when they were offered.

Perhaps this was what brother K’rul had meant when they spoke. It was not for nothing, after all, that he was known as the Opener of Ways.

SILK WAITED IN
the night just north of the city walls. The broken ground was hard, glinting with ice and crescents of wind-blown frost particles that could not yet be called a proper snowfall. The sky was clear and it was unusually chill. The cold bit at him and seemed to stab his very bones. He drew his thick fur cloak tighter about himself as his breath plumed.

To the west, across bare trampled fields and the broken black skeletons of burned trees, a battle raged on.

But it was not an engagement between the besieged Hengans and the invading Kanese forces. Rather, it was a running confrontation between the mercenary Crimson Guard and their quarry, the man-beast Ryllandaras.

A battle that began at sunset after he betrayed the creature’s whereabouts to the Guard.

All for the eventual benefit of Li Heng, of course. After all, he reasoned, the monster had served its purpose – driven the Kanese from the north – yet the fiend remained a menace to any future peace and so one would be negligent to let such a moment pass.

At least that was how Silk had presented his case to his fellow city mages. And they had concurred. The future prosperity and safety of the city and its citizens had to be considered.

He rubbed his hands to warm them then nodded back to Smokey who stood at the black cave opening sunk at the base of the city wall; a hidden tunnel that would be sealed and never re-used after this night. Smokey raised an arm in acknowledgement and ducked back within.

Now it was up to him. He ran his hands over each other slowly, feeling the cold smooth flesh, then opened his Warren. Once more he reached not for the familiar paths of Thyr but beyond, searching for that trace – or flavour – of Elder Liosan. Not that he would dare try to summon such potency again. No, this night the mere suggestion of its presence should suffice. The merest scent upon the night air, so to speak.

It should be enough to bait the trap.

Finished, he headed back to the tunnel opening. For it was the opinion of Koroll and Ho that the Crimson Guard – for all their vaunted martial expertise – did not themselves possess the power necessary to slay the beast. It was an ancient piece of wisdom that only an Ascendant could slay another Ascendant. And while Silk had no idea as to the accuracy of the saying, having seen Ryllandaras up close he doubted that the Guard could finish the job.

Halfway there he stopped, turned back, and crouched, waiting. He did not have to sit long. Out of the dark came the thump of heavy footfalls. A pale shape emerged, crashing into broken trunks, half falling, loping onward.

The form resolved into a blood-streaked Ryllandaras. Chains snaked behind him. One trailed from a wrist, another from his neck.

‘M’lady!’ the creature bellowed, roaring, desperate. ‘You are here?’

Silk straightened, waving. ‘This way!’

The man-beast lumbered towards him. Behind came calls and the clatter of armour. Ryllandaras frowned down at Silk, blinking. Though slashed and bloodied he still emanated ferocious power and vitality. Silk considered the old saying that a wounded animal is the most dangerous. ‘You?’ the beast roared, pulling up short.

Silk pointed to the tunnel. ‘She waits within – she offers sanctuary from your hunters.’

The man-beast examined the chain dangling from his wrist, shook it, and barked a rolling laugh. ‘Sanctuary from my hunters! Ha! I was besting them!’

Appalled, Silk crossed his arms. ‘Do you wish to see her or not?’

‘This way!’ came a distant shout from the dark.

The monster ducked, grunting his agreement. ‘I will enter, little mage. But not in search of sanctuary from any foe. I go to see her.’

Silk waved him on. ‘Very good.’ The man-beast thumped past, heading for the opening. Silk followed, walking backwards, his Warren of Thyr now raised.

Shapes in dark armour came running out of the night. Silk raised a bright flare of light, causing the closing mercenaries to halt and throw their arms up over their faces. Silk recognized Cal-Brinn among them, who blinked at him. ‘Stand aside!’ one of their number called.

‘The hunt is over,’ Silk answered.

‘Just kill the bastard!’ shouted another of the Guard, and he pushed forward.

Silk intensified his light into a sizzling white ball that he waved before him. ‘Would you make war upon Li Heng as well?’

Cal-Brinn threw an arm before his companion and addressed Silk. ‘You do not know what has happened.’

‘Inform me.’

‘The beast has slain Malkir, heir to the throne of Gris.’

Silk merely shrugged. ‘He was a fool to have risked hunting him.’

Cal-Brinn gestured to the wall. ‘And what is it you are risking?’

Silk dared a quick glance back: the aperture of the tunnel was even now closing as a great slab of dressed stone descended. He lowered his Warren and blinked in the dark. ‘You could not have slain him – we’ll finish the job.’

Another shape came lumbering out of the dark, the Guard’s commander, Duke Courian D’Avore, together with some twenty more of his force. His iron cuirass was splashed with blood and he gripped his neck where fresh drops ran down his raised forearm. His son K’azz sought to support him but he shook him off. ‘He’s ours!’ the man bellowed, spitting in rage. ‘Paid for in blood! Yield him to us!’

Silk bowed to the Duke. ‘The city mages of Heng will see to Ryllandaras.’

‘Keep him as your pet, you mean!’

Silk felt far from confident, surrounded as he was by a maddened crowd of mercenaries who felt cheated of their quarry, but he crossed his arms nevertheless, hoping to convey complete indifference. He wished Koroll, Ho or Mara were here rather than he. But they no doubt had their hands full at the moment attempting to subdue the man-beast, wounded though he may be. Thinking on that, he reflected that perhaps he was better off here than closeted in a narrow tunnel with an enraged Ascendant.

Courian raised his bloodied blade. ‘Yield him to me now, or by the beast gods I’ll separate your smirking head from your slimy body.’

K’azz took hold of his parent’s sword arm. ‘We have made one enemy today, Father. Let us not make two.’

The duke glared down with his one good eye, scowling his confusion. ‘An enemy? What do you mean? What enemy?’

‘With Malkir dead his twin, Malle, is now heir,’ said Cal-Brinn. ‘She spoke against his coming and will not forgive us. I fear we will not be welcome in Gris.’

The duke grunted his assent, drew his blade across his already red cloak, and sheathed it. He peered at Silk through his one eye, slitted until it was almost closed. Silk had the impression of a bull squinting through a fence. ‘You’re lucky, little mage. If it were up to me alone I’d cut you in half just on general principles.’ He motioned Cal-Brinn onward. ‘We’ll return the body. Come, we’re moving out.’

The Guard backed away, covering their commander. All but the young K’azz, who remained behind. ‘What will you do with him?’ he asked Silk.

Silk studied the slender youth looking so very martial in his battered blood-red armour of overlapping iron bands, mailed sleeves and skirting, his bright pale eyes quite open and curious. Still to come into his full growth, yet already a good hand’s breadth taller than he. So this was the Red Prince romantics sang of. He felt an unaccustomed sensation of envy and it was so new he almost savoured it. He shrugged again, his arms crossed. ‘We cannot be certain of slaying him, so we will entomb him.’

The youth nodded, backing away. Silk turned to go.

‘You betrayed us,’ the youth called. ‘You used us to weaken him and drive him to you.’ Silk stilled, saying nothing. ‘One good betrayal deserves another,’ the lad called again from the dark, and disappeared into the gloom.

For a time Silk stood motionless, frowning at the night. Then he shook himself, shuddering with the chill, and hurried to the one remaining northern tunnel entryway to aid his fellow mages.

Finding his brethren together with the entrapped Ryllandaras was not difficult; the creature’s bellows shook the catacombs’ stone walls. Clashing chains and angry, frustrated yells guided him to the site of the struggle. All the tunnels were far too low to allow the man-beast to stand, and so he lay flailing and lashing. The chains crashed and rattled against the walls.

Ho was shouting to Mara: ‘Hold him still, dammit!’

‘Don’t you think I’m trying!’ she snarled.

Koroll had two of the beast’s chains in his hands and was struggling to drag the monster up the tunnel. Silk stepped over to where Smokey stood leaning against a wall. ‘Took your damned time,’ the mage of Telas murmured beneath the cacophony.

‘How’s it going – or need I ask?’

Smokey waved to indicate their lack of progress. ‘The damned beast’s not cooperating in his imprisonment. Rather like a drunken soldier.’

‘How unreasonable of him.’

Ho threw down the end of one chain and backed away to draw a sleeve across his sweaty face. ‘All right, you stubborn bastard. We tried being nice.’ He nodded to Smokey.

Smokey cracked his knuckles. The man-beast turned his long head to glare up one-eyed at the mage. ‘Don’t make me burn you bald,’ Smokey said with a smile.

Silk missed it; a telltale tensing of the muscles it must have been, or a slight drawing in of the limbs, but Mara caught it and even as the beast lunged forward, jaws agape, his head was smashed aside into the wall. Everyone cursed their surprise, ducking and backing off. Clouds of dust obscured the narrow tunnel. Silk slapped it from his fine blue shirt and black vest.